A heatwave has devastated the WoTland, and the parching climate is described at length, but I can’t say I cared. Rand al’Thor, who has wangled himself three attractive girlfriends, spends quality time with one of them: Min Of The Goon-Show Name. He plans an attack upon the blond-haired, scarred Evil-fellow, Sammael, and I can’t say I cared. Then he gets stabbed with a magic dagger by evil former-pedlar Padain Fain, although not stabbed fatally, and I can’t say I cared. I thought Padain died in a previous instalment, but I must have got that wrong. Must keep up. What else? Mat, Nynaeve, and Elayne look for a magic bowl with the power to end the heatwave, but I can’t say I cared. Perrin does a lot of sniffing around; literal sniffing, since he’s a half-man-half-wolf, but I can’t say I cared. The Evil characters plot and counterplot and plot some more, but I can’t say I cared. There's some more awkward titillating nudity, and a lot of waffling about. I just can't say I cared.
Did I care about anything in this novel? Well, I cared about the quality of the writing, which seemed to me markedly worse than even previous instalments. In the prologue, e-e-evil Elaida talks with a subordinate called Alviarin, a lady described as being ‘slim and cool-faced’ , though I’m not sure what that means.
The Ajas sent to the Keeper whatever dribbles from their own eyes-and-ears they were willing to share.Eeew! As for Alviarin, ‘the slim woman merely smiled her cool smile’ . Cool, you see. ‘Her voice became cold ... [she] stood there, calm as a frozen pond ... the woman’s reply was cool and smooth as her face ... if anything it should have coated the walls with frost.’ You get the idea. Ah but it’s ironic, see, because the world is suffering an unnaturally prolonged heatwave! D’you see the irony?
I started keeping note of some of the more out-leap-y examples of WoT/THoG style:
That old woman reminded Sevenna of a landslide plunging down a mountain. But after 120-pages of this I exhausted the patience necessary to interrupt my reading with jotting examples down in my notebook. I wanted to get through the damn thing as soon as possible. That's not to say that the writing get any better, for it does not ('cold eyes followed her in a bubble of silence', 493).
The threat hung in the air like a gleaming dagger. 
The birdlike fellow made Valda itch 
Suddenly he pressed the looking glass to his eye as a woman galloped a tall black horse. 
This had been his first real lesson as a soldier. You always had to pay the butcher. 
Shoulders wide enough to make him seem shorter than he was slumped under the weight of responsibility. 
Worry ... ate inside him like a ferret trying to burrow out of his middle. 
Perrin shut out the rest, no easy task, with his ears. 
He sounded like a bumblebee the size of a cat instead of a mastiff. 
A rabbit watching for a hawk might have been as intent, but never with that air of menace. 
Min held herself stiffly and took ginger steps. 
Her slightly tilted eyes fastened on him, dark liquid moons. 
His nose strained for a scent of her, but the perfume was too strong, and the fear. She had a reason for being there on the dais, a good reason. She did. 
Gently he took her by the shoulders and lifted her until those big tilted eyes were level with his ... Berating himself for being an oaf he let her go, arms springing apart, but before he could apologize her fingers clutched his beard. 
One thing that sticks most in my mind is the book’s very un-Tolkienian, un-Herbetian obsession with interior design and soft furnishings:
The case clock balanced the door to her sitting room ... the carpet covering most of the tiles came from Tarabon, patterned in red and green and gold; silk carpets were the most precious. In each corner of the room a marble plinth carved in unpretentious verticals held a white vase ... Hideous bourgeois Homes-and-Gardens decor-porn, the lot. 'Egwene returned to her unsteady chair and pushed her breakfast tray aside ... filled her teacup, setting it and the blue-glazed honeypot on the corner of the table.'  Can you imagine Arwen eating off a breakfast tray? Aragorn?
The furnishings were Domani, striped wood inlaid with pearlshell and amber, bright carpets in patterns of flowers and scrolls ... 
Tall gilded stand-lamps with mirrors on every branch ... scattered niches held bowls and vases and now and then a small statue, in gold and silver or alabaster ... 
Carved chairs heavy with gilt stood in paired lines to either side of a golden Rising Sun, two paces wide, set into a polished stone floor ... a carpet spread for the occasion was green and gold and blue in a Tairen maze. 
Min watched him, rooting through the coats in the huge ivory-inlaid wardrobe. How could he sleep in this room, with all its black, heavy furniture? 
Otherwise: 'the fox-faced woman across the way popped into his view again' . The fox-faced woman? Really?
That's enough wotveee! for one week, I think.