I agree with the critic

To quote the unamed critic (from Wikipedia)
"I’m all for character development and, if it’s pertinent to future events, I don’t really mind if it drags a little. But the first few hundred pages of Cradle are filled with more-or-less pointless character development, clearly written by Lee, that would be perfectly at home in a Harlequin romance novel. A few pages of sci-fi, clearly not written by Lee, are interspersed so that the reader may be reminded that they paid $6 for a Clarke novel and not $2 for a grocery store romance tome ( )

Clarke, Arthur C., and Gentry Lee. Cradle. 1987. Gateway, 2011.
Great hitters sometimes strike out. Great writers don’t always manage a masterpiece. Sadly, in Cradle, Arthur C. Clarke and Gentry Lee are not at their best. Both writers usually work well together, and both know their science; yet Cradle falls well short of their Rendezvous with Rama. Like RWR, Cradle is a first-contact story featuring aliens who are on their way somewhere else. This time we have a spacecraft downed off the Florida coast. Its robot minders co-opt some hapless scuba divers to get them the stuff they need to make repairs. Like Hal in 2001: A Space Odyssey, the robots are well conceived, and the technology of the spacecraft is fascinating. But almost every reviewer has noted that the character drama has little to do with the rest of the story. Some have even said that it sinks to the level of a Harlequin Romance. I would not go that far, but the characters do seem needlessly emotive and not focused on the task at hand. In fact, I think the story would be better with fewer characters and a less busy plot. 3.5 stars for good robots. ( )

Quite dated and ended with a bit of a fizzle for me. ( )

I always assumed that Shaun Hutson's [b:Slugs|3836481|Slugs|Shaun Hutson|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1248256416s/3836481.jpg|907812] would be the worst book I ever read. People being chased and caught by ferocious, man-eating slugs was sufficient to break my usually robust suspension of disbelief. However, Cradle was bad in a whole different way. I don't mind character development in science fiction, but the clumsy attempts at it in this novel are just embarrassing to read. A typical chapter could be paraphrased by:

Steve turned away from the courgette-shaped alien. Suddenly he was fifteen years old again, vividly reliving a traumatic experience; probably one involving a courgette. Sex was probably involved too. When the memory ran out of narrative flow he realised he was sad. 'I'm so sad,' he thought, sadly. Then he kicked a puppy lest anyone saw through his tough-guy exterior and realised he just wanted to dance.

The author(s) feel obliged to point out the deep, psychological reasons behind each barb the two main characters exchange, until fifteen pages from the end when these two admit to each other what terribly hackneyed characters they are and hook up. Despite hating themselves and one another. Worse, most of the 368 pages in the book are made up of this stuff, the actual science fiction is crammed into three brief 'interlude' chapters and some barely developed scenes toward the end. After discovering an alien spacecraft during one of these rare late scenes the protagonists are remarkably nonchalant, occasionally remarking that the whole thing feels like a science-fiction book. At this point I couldn't help but imagine the two authors nudging me and winking, proclaiming "Because it is a science-fiction book, geddit? Geddit?!" Ah, forget it. ( )

I always assumed that Shaun Hutson's [b:Slugs|3836481|Slugs|Shaun Hutson|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1248256416s/3836481.jpg|907812] would be the worst book I ever read. People being chased and caught by ferocious, man-eating slugs was sufficient to break my usually robust suspension of disbelief. However, Cradle was bad in a whole different way. I don't mind character development in science fiction, but the clumsy attempts at it in this novel are just embarrassing to read. A typical chapter could be paraphrased by:

Steve turned away from the courgette-shaped alien. Suddenly he was fifteen years old again, vividly reliving a traumatic experience; probably one involving a courgette. Sex was probably involved too. When the memory ran out of narrative flow he realised he was sad. 'I'm so sad,' he thought, sadly. Then he kicked a puppy lest anyone saw through his tough-guy exterior and realised he just wanted to dance.

The author(s) feel obliged to point out the deep, psychological reasons behind each barb the two main characters exchange, until fifteen pages from the end when these two admit to each other what terribly hackneyed characters they are and hook up. Despite hating themselves and one another. Worse, most of the 368 pages in the book are made up of this stuff, the actual science fiction is crammed into three brief 'interlude' chapters and some barely developed scenes toward the end. After discovering an alien spacecraft during one of these rare late scenes the protagonists are remarkably nonchalant, occasionally remarking that the whole thing feels like a science-fiction book. At this point I couldn't help but imagine the two authors nudging me and winking, proclaiming "Because it is a science-fiction book, geddit? Geddit?!" Ah, forget it. ( )