An unusual and intriguing title, it sparked hope that I might have stumbled upon a writer reminiscent of a less-talented Peter S. Beagle with a science-fictional bent (even a less-talented Beagle would be a find). The cover was interesting, too; it was very much like the paperback cover of Robert A. Heinlein's The Rolling Stones:
I assume the same artist was responsible.
But it reads like a vastly inferior knock-off of Isaac Asimov's Lucky Starr series* - and much as I love Isaac's writing, those were the worst books he ever wrote.
When Asimov started the Lucky Starr series in 1952, standards were lower. The Treasure of Wonderwhat was written in 1977, twenty-five YEARS later. There is no excuse.
It is a sad commentary on the state of the genre and fandom that this book sold well enough to allow for the production of one or more sequels. I couldn't finish this dog; once I got far enough in to realize that it was virtually unreadable, I skimmed it and confirmed that the whole thing was of a type: sodden, limping prose and embarrassingly juvenile names and dialog. For me, it simply served to reaffirm the old saying: You can't judge a book by its cover.
Nor, obviously, by its title.
--------------- * - Is it just a coincidence that the author of The Treasure of Wonderwhat shares his last name with the protagonist of the Lucky Starr series, right down to the idiosyncratic spelling? I have to wonder!
I read this several years ago when it was fairly new and had fond memories of it, so I decided to give it a re-read. Sometimes I like stories more when I come back to my old teen favorites, but this one didn't hold up quite as well.
This book is a real product of the 70s. If you can get past the sexism (repeatedly pointing out how sexist the female characters aren't) and the wacky attempts at science, it's a fun space opera. I just felt like I was being beaten over the head with technobabble and space this, space that, as if the story was trying to prove it was really science fiction.