The review was for I, Weapon.
And I utterly savaged it. My review was
Everything that was bad with New Wave SF
This is a dire piece of drek. It combines everything that was bad about the New Wave, made the sex and violence both utterly gratuitious and utterly uninteresting, and makes blunders about biology, physics, and computers on nearly every page.
But what's worse is that it's not a novel. It is, instead, a writer's bible for what could be a novel. The structure alternates between chapter long exposatory dumps, and chapter long meetings between talking heads where they give each other "As you know, Bob" style exposatory lumps.
But the funny thing is, I don't have any memory at all of reading this book, or of posting this review. I must have utterly flushed it down the memory hole.