hc.newton
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s A Serial Killer’s Guide to Marriage About?
I had a long and drawn-out version of this planned, but I scrapped it when I realized it would be longer than everything else in the post—and you’d be in better hands if you read Mackay’s version.
So I’m going to try to be brief.
Every parent knows that having a child changes your life. There are two distinct phases—pre-child and post-child. If you’re in a marriage/long-term relationship, that changes, too. Significantly. Generally, it’s worth it—but we all know the “remember when we did X when we wanted to?” feeling. We all have to find new ways to relate to our partners, ways to keep things exciting.
But what if that X was killing people? People who abused women, in particular. What if the thing that brought them together, their joint purpose was this particular vigilantism—along with the travel necessary? What would they do after they had to put it aside for the safety and well-being of a daughter?
What would that do to their relationship? What would it do to them as individuals? What kinds of strain would be caused?
These, and many other questions, are answered in A Serial Killer’s Guide to Marriage
Hazel
You are going to almost instantly appreciate Hazel’s voice and perspective (assuming you can put up with the whole serial killing thing. But if you can’t, you’re probably not reading a book with this title)—part of that is because we start with her POV, partially because she’s a great character that anyone wants to identify with and empathize with.
She wants the best for her daughter and her husband. She’s a devoted mother and dotes on the girl. But she misses who she was. She misses who she and Fox were. She feels shackled by his decision to hang up their knives and live a “straight” life while raising their daughter (children?). She mostly agrees with the choice, but it chafes.
Hazel has never been good at making friends, but she’s trying to fit into her new, suburban life—going to mommy and baby groups, trying to forge relationships. And she is beginning to forge a friendship with a fellow mother when she discovers she’s made a bad choice. This new friend is a police officer.
Whoops.
Gripe #1: Fox’s Perspective
Fox does not make a good first impression—or at least Hazel doesn’t leave us with a good first impression. Thankfully, it didn’t take too long to see something from his perspective and it became possible to empathize with him some. In fact, once we get to see his self-deprecating wit, it’s hard for a reader not to like the guy a little—and to realize that Hazel was being (understandably) uncharitable.
It’s a thing that happens in marriage from time to time—especially the kind that could probably use a guide to marriage.
Fox is incredibly careful and thoughtful (about their criminal activities, anyway, not so much about his wife’s feelings). He does do much for Hazel—for their family’s sake—that he doesn’t tell her about, or explain fully.
There were two angles to things with Fox’s perspective that I think hurt the book as a whole while being things that Mackay clearly intended and I probably just don’t appreciate enough. The first is that we don’t know everything he’s up to and/or knows—this is done so we can learn about it at the same time as Hazel, which works for dramatic effect. But it feels like Mackay is cheating a little bit to get us there.
The other part comes as a result of Fox’s place in the novel—as a character, he’s second banana to Hazel. What she’s doing and thinking is far more important (and I get that), but in addition to having a lot hidden from us, parts of his story are rushed. There’s…a situation back in the States with his family’s company. We get a glimpse or two at it, and then it’s largely resolved—off-screen. It felt like a missed opportunity.
Gripe #2: Communication
One decent conversation with the person each thinks of as a soulmate. One decent conversation between people we see do so much for each other. One decent conversation between people who would die—or kill—for the other.
That’s all it’d take to make this a short story instead of a novel.
Or better yet, put them on a better footing so they could do other things together.
Yes, this is what happens between marriages all the time. Even ones where neither is a criminal of any kind. So it makes sense for Mackay to show this. But it could’ve been resolved quicker so we could see them as a couple (more or less on the same page, but not at loggerheads) when dealing with Fox’s family, Haze’s complicated taste in friends, parenting, etc., etc.
Sure, that’s not the story Mackay wanted to write—so I really shouldn’t gripe about it. But watching how she did everything else (very well, I want to stress), I’d have enjoyed seeing this version more.
So, what did I think about A Serial Killer’s Guide to Marriage?
I really enjoyed it. I wanted more from it though, as my second gripe (which looks worse on the page than it is in my mind) indicates—I think Mackay could easily have brought us something better. More like the Mr. and Mrs. Smith TV show than the movie (not that this is a great comparison in several ways, but it captures the gist).
So I’m going to move on from it there.
This is really aspirational in so many ways—their lifestyle? (obviously minus the murdering bits) Either in the carefree pre-parenthood days, or even the suburban version—is something that few of us will see. The travel, the house, the standard of living—it’s fun to imagine yourself there.
And honestly, we all sort of like the idea of being a lone vigilante (or a pair), doing the things the authorities don’t or can’t. Fox sees the comparison to a comic book figure—and embraces it with a grin. Readers will do the same.
At the end of the day, this is silly, trashy, fun—and I mean that as a compliment. I’m pretty sure that’s what Mackay was going for, and she achieved it. (if that wasn’t her aim, she still hit the mark). I think most readers are going to like it more than I did—I have a short list of people I’m gifting it to, and I am confident they will. Anyone who finds the pitch appealing is going to have fun with this Dexter-ish* comedy, and I recommend it to you.
* Heavy on the “ish.”
Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Random House Publishing Group via NetGalley in exchange for this post—thanks to both for this.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s A Serial Killer’s Guide to Marriage About?
I had a long and drawn-out version of this planned, but I scrapped it when I realized it would be longer than everything else in the post—and you’d be in better hands if you read Mackay’s version.
So I’m going to try to be brief.
Every parent knows that having a child changes your life. There are two distinct phases—pre-child and post-child. If you’re in a marriage/long-term relationship, that changes, too. Significantly. Generally, it’s worth it—but we all know the “remember when we did X when we wanted to?” feeling. We all have to find new ways to relate to our partners, ways to keep things exciting.
But what if that X was killing people? People who abused women, in particular. What if the thing that brought them together, their joint purpose was this particular vigilantism—along with the travel necessary? What would they do after they had to put it aside for the safety and well-being of a daughter?
What would that do to their relationship? What would it do to them as individuals? What kinds of strain would be caused?
These, and many other questions, are answered in A Serial Killer’s Guide to Marriage
Hazel
You are going to almost instantly appreciate Hazel’s voice and perspective (assuming you can put up with the whole serial killing thing. But if you can’t, you’re probably not reading a book with this title)—part of that is because we start with her POV, partially because she’s a great character that anyone wants to identify with and empathize with.
She wants the best for her daughter and her husband. She’s a devoted mother and dotes on the girl. But she misses who she was. She misses who she and Fox were. She feels shackled by his decision to hang up their knives and live a “straight” life while raising their daughter (children?). She mostly agrees with the choice, but it chafes.
Hazel has never been good at making friends, but she’s trying to fit into her new, suburban life—going to mommy and baby groups, trying to forge relationships. And she is beginning to forge a friendship with a fellow mother when she discovers she’s made a bad choice. This new friend is a police officer.
Whoops.
Gripe #1: Fox’s Perspective
Fox does not make a good first impression—or at least Hazel doesn’t leave us with a good first impression. Thankfully, it didn’t take too long to see something from his perspective and it became possible to empathize with him some. In fact, once we get to see his self-deprecating wit, it’s hard for a reader not to like the guy a little—and to realize that Hazel was being (understandably) uncharitable.
It’s a thing that happens in marriage from time to time—especially the kind that could probably use a guide to marriage.
Fox is incredibly careful and thoughtful (about their criminal activities, anyway, not so much about his wife’s feelings). He does do much for Hazel—for their family’s sake—that he doesn’t tell her about, or explain fully.
There were two angles to things with Fox’s perspective that I think hurt the book as a whole while being things that Mackay clearly intended and I probably just don’t appreciate enough. The first is that we don’t know everything he’s up to and/or knows—this is done so we can learn about it at the same time as Hazel, which works for dramatic effect. But it feels like Mackay is cheating a little bit to get us there.
The other part comes as a result of Fox’s place in the novel—as a character, he’s second banana to Hazel. What she’s doing and thinking is far more important (and I get that), but in addition to having a lot hidden from us, parts of his story are rushed. There’s…a situation back in the States with his family’s company. We get a glimpse or two at it, and then it’s largely resolved—off-screen. It felt like a missed opportunity.
Gripe #2: Communication
One decent conversation with the person each thinks of as a soulmate. One decent conversation between people we see do so much for each other. One decent conversation between people who would die—or kill—for the other.
That’s all it’d take to make this a short story instead of a novel.
Or better yet, put them on a better footing so they could do other things together.
Yes, this is what happens between marriages all the time. Even ones where neither is a criminal of any kind. So it makes sense for Mackay to show this. But it could’ve been resolved quicker so we could see them as a couple (more or less on the same page, but not at loggerheads) when dealing with Fox’s family, Haze’s complicated taste in friends, parenting, etc., etc.
Sure, that’s not the story Mackay wanted to write—so I really shouldn’t gripe about it. But watching how she did everything else (very well, I want to stress), I’d have enjoyed seeing this version more.
So, what did I think about A Serial Killer’s Guide to Marriage?
I really enjoyed it. I wanted more from it though, as my second gripe (which looks worse on the page than it is in my mind) indicates—I think Mackay could easily have brought us something better. More like the Mr. and Mrs. Smith TV show than the movie (not that this is a great comparison in several ways, but it captures the gist).
So I’m going to move on from it there.
This is really aspirational in so many ways—their lifestyle? (obviously minus the murdering bits) Either in the carefree pre-parenthood days, or even the suburban version—is something that few of us will see. The travel, the house, the standard of living—it’s fun to imagine yourself there.
And honestly, we all sort of like the idea of being a lone vigilante (or a pair), doing the things the authorities don’t or can’t. Fox sees the comparison to a comic book figure—and embraces it with a grin. Readers will do the same.
At the end of the day, this is silly, trashy, fun—and I mean that as a compliment. I’m pretty sure that’s what Mackay was going for, and she achieved it. (if that wasn’t her aim, she still hit the mark). I think most readers are going to like it more than I did—I have a short list of people I’m gifting it to, and I am confident they will. Anyone who finds the pitch appealing is going to have fun with this Dexter-ish* comedy, and I recommend it to you.
* Heavy on the “ish.”
Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Random House Publishing Group via NetGalley in exchange for this post—thanks to both for this.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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“Sorry.”
“For what?” Her honey brown eyes are equal parts amused and curious when she looks up into mine.
I don’t have an answer. Sorry is just a word you say when you have nothing substantive to offer. I’m sorry you missed your bus. I’m sorry your boss was in such a foul mood. I’m sorry everyone is such assholes these days. I didn’t cause any of these problems, and I can’t make any of them better, but I can offer you some useless empathy. I’m sorry your life didn’t turn out to be more fulfilling. Rest assured, however, in a parallel universe in which we didn’t break up, you’re happier. Maybe. And I’m sorry if you’re not. Or at least the parallel me is. He’s the one that let you down there.
What’s This Is Who We Are Now About?
Henry drags his wife and sons to his parents’ house for a few days. One son doesn’t want to leave his girlfriend behind, his wife is trying to finish organizing a charity activity that takes place while they’re away, and Henry really doesn’t want to be there because his family will be celebrating Henry’s 50th birthday.
When they arrive, his parents are having a yard sale, selling a lot of memorabilia from Henry’s childhood and he’s upset by that. A rivalry with his brother reheats, and he keeps running into his incredibly serious high school/college girlfriend.
Things go bad with his wife, his brother, his parents, and his kids. Henry repeatedly tries—and sometimes succeeds—to keep their connection alive. But the challenges (many self-created) continue. Can Henry make it through the visit with his family intact? Is it too late to come-of-age when you’ve hit 50?
So, what did I think about This Is Who We Are Now?
I can defend everything I’ve done since we arrived. Even the worst of Denise’s complaints, in isolation, would be waved away by most objective observers. Collectively, however, maybe it’s not a body of work to stake a flag in. Maybe the picture when all the dots are connected isn’t a flattering one.
I have struggled with this post—especially because I’ve had to write it in bits and pieces over a couple of weeks, which I do often enough that’s not the issue. But I keep changing my mind about the book every time I write—which leads to a lot of editing, re-editing, re-re-editing, and I just give up and walk away.
Even when Henry was making it really easy not to like him (which was often), there’s something very charming, very effortless, and pretty entertaining about this book. His moments with his sons would largely make you wonder why his family is in such a precarious state—then you remember he doesn’t have/make/take the time when they’re at home to be this kind of dad. Then there’s everything he says to, reacts to, or treats Denise…it’s just painful.
I thoroughly enjoyed everything about Henry’s sister, Margo, on the other hand. Her strengths, her bad decisions, and how she reacts to them are easily the saving grace of the novel.
I enjoyed this novel while reading it. But I haven’t been able to decide what I think about almost any part of it that doesn’t involve Margo or Henry’s kids. I think that says something about how realistic Henry, Denise, and their problems and family are. But I don’t know how real I want a book like this to be.
I like Bailey’s writing, I think he’s amusing enough when he wants to be, he gets you invested in his characters, and I wanted to like this a lot. But at the end of this day, I like it just enough to recommend it (most days, other days I could like it a lot more or a lot less).
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
“Sorry.”
“For what?” Her honey brown eyes are equal parts amused and curious when she looks up into mine.
I don’t have an answer. Sorry is just a word you say when you have nothing substantive to offer. I’m sorry you missed your bus. I’m sorry your boss was in such a foul mood. I’m sorry everyone is such assholes these days. I didn’t cause any of these problems, and I can’t make any of them better, but I can offer you some useless empathy. I’m sorry your life didn’t turn out to be more fulfilling. Rest assured, however, in a parallel universe in which we didn’t break up, you’re happier. Maybe. And I’m sorry if you’re not. Or at least the parallel me is. He’s the one that let you down there.
What’s This Is Who We Are Now About?
Henry drags his wife and sons to his parents’ house for a few days. One son doesn’t want to leave his girlfriend behind, his wife is trying to finish organizing a charity activity that takes place while they’re away, and Henry really doesn’t want to be there because his family will be celebrating Henry’s 50th birthday.
When they arrive, his parents are having a yard sale, selling a lot of memorabilia from Henry’s childhood and he’s upset by that. A rivalry with his brother reheats, and he keeps running into his incredibly serious high school/college girlfriend.
Things go bad with his wife, his brother, his parents, and his kids. Henry repeatedly tries—and sometimes succeeds—to keep their connection alive. But the challenges (many self-created) continue. Can Henry make it through the visit with his family intact? Is it too late to come-of-age when you’ve hit 50?
So, what did I think about This Is Who We Are Now?
I can defend everything I’ve done since we arrived. Even the worst of Denise’s complaints, in isolation, would be waved away by most objective observers. Collectively, however, maybe it’s not a body of work to stake a flag in. Maybe the picture when all the dots are connected isn’t a flattering one.
I have struggled with this post—especially because I’ve had to write it in bits and pieces over a couple of weeks, which I do often enough that’s not the issue. But I keep changing my mind about the book every time I write—which leads to a lot of editing, re-editing, re-re-editing, and I just give up and walk away.
Even when Henry was making it really easy not to like him (which was often), there’s something very charming, very effortless, and pretty entertaining about this book. His moments with his sons would largely make you wonder why his family is in such a precarious state—then you remember he doesn’t have/make/take the time when they’re at home to be this kind of dad. Then there’s everything he says to, reacts to, or treats Denise…it’s just painful.
I thoroughly enjoyed everything about Henry’s sister, Margo, on the other hand. Her strengths, her bad decisions, and how she reacts to them are easily the saving grace of the novel.
I enjoyed this novel while reading it. But I haven’t been able to decide what I think about almost any part of it that doesn’t involve Margo or Henry’s kids. I think that says something about how realistic Henry, Denise, and their problems and family are. But I don’t know how real I want a book like this to be.
I like Bailey’s writing, I think he’s amusing enough when he wants to be, he gets you invested in his characters, and I wanted to like this a lot. But at the end of this day, I like it just enough to recommend it (most days, other days I could like it a lot more or a lot less).
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s 42: The Wildly Improbable Ideas of Douglas Adams, Anyway?
from The Publisher:
When Douglas Adams died in 2001, he left behind 60 boxes full of notebooks, letters, scripts, jokes, speeches and even poems. In 42, compiled by Douglas’s long-time collaborator Kevin Jon Davies, hundreds of these personal artefacts appear in print for the very first time.
Douglas was as much a thinker as he was a writer, and his artefacts reveal how his deep fascination with technology led to ideas which were far ahead of their time: a convention speech envisioning the modern smartphone, with all the information in the world living at our fingertips; sheets of notes predicting the advent of electronic books; journal entries from his forays into home computing – it is a matter of legend that Douglas bought the very first Mac in the UK; musings on how the internet would disrupt the CD-Rom industry, among others.
42 also features archival material charting Douglas’s school days through Cambridge, Footlights, collaborations with Graham Chapman, and early scribbles from the development of Doctor Who, Hitchhiker’s and Dirk Gently. Alongside details of his most celebrated works are projects that never came to fruition, including the pilot for radio programme They’ll Never Play That on the Radio and a space-inspired theme park ride.
Douglas’s personal papers prove that the greatest ideas come from the fleeting thoughts that collide in our own imagination, and offer a captivating insight into the mind of one of the twentieth century’s greatest thinkers and most enduring storytellers.
A Few Short-Comings (only one of which is of any substance)
Not every piece of handwriting is transcribed—and no, I’m not referring to the more than a dozen examples of his signature (an interesting evolution to be sure). The majority of bits of handwriting are printed under, next-to, or following to make them legible. But not all—and there are a few things that I can’t quite suss out. And if you’d ever seen my handwriting, you’d know that I can figure out what a lot of messy writing says.
The other drawbacks are that the chapters covering Dirk Gently (in the various books) and The Last Chance to See (radio program and book) are too short. I could’ve used twice the material on both of those.
I Didn’t Expect to Get Misty-Eyed
Throughout the book are letters written by people who knew Adams to him, describing their relationship, what he meant to them, and how his death affected them. The first one, by Stephen Fry, is used as the foreword and threw me—I didn’t realize I was going to have an emotional experience while reading the book.
These were wonderful and heartfelt and make the reader feel close to someone they’ve only admired from afar. Sure, it’s a parasocial relationship at best (for almost everyone who reads the book), but especially reading those letters, it feels far less “para.”
An Overly Specific Suggestion
Do not read this book while recovering from abdominal surgery.
It is large (8.5″ X 11.9″ X 1.2″). For a book, it is heavy (roughly 4 pounds). There is no comfortable way to hold this book while reclining if you cannot rest it on your stomach.
That said, the large size, the high-quality paper, and the full-color pages are a wonderful way to present this material, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
So, what did I think about 42: The Wildly Improbable Ideas of Douglas Adams?
So, really, at this point, should I be allowed to rate books related to Douglas Adams? Probably not. But, this is my blog, so I get to set the rules.
There were some things that I’m not sure why Davies included, a couple of things I didn’t appreciate as much as I should’ve (some older British pop culture references/names that I’m too American to get/recognize). But by and large, I was captivated and entertained. I bet Davies had a blast compiling this and it couldn’t have been easy cutting some material (although I bet there was a bunch that he wondered why anyone hung onto in the first place).
While I (semi-) joked about the Dirk Gently and Last Chance to See chapters being too short, they really were the most interesting to me. I’ve read many, many things about THHGTTG over the years, and have seen a good amount about his career and education before then. but I’ve come across very little about these others—so I learned more, got more insight, and whatnot. I really could’ve read chapters that were three times as long on both counts.
Truth be told, the book could’ve been three times as long and I’d have been happy, too. Sure, you’d need a weightlifting belt to carry it around that way, so maybe it’s best that Davies stopped when he did.
You need to read Adams thoughts on the future of books—specifically ebooks. Other than the amount of money going to authors…he nailed it. You get great insight into how his mind worked by seeing early drafts (and the way he’d write to himself to keep going when it got difficult).
I found this to be mind-bogglingly delightful. Which is pretty much what I expected, true. But there’s expecting to appreciate a book and then getting to experience it and discover that you were right. It’s is kind of a doubling of pleasure.
If you’re a fan of Adams, you’re going to find at least one thing here that will interest you more than you anticipated. If you’re a big fan of Adams, you’re in for a treat. He was the hoopiest of hoopy froods, and this book gives you a glimpse into just how hoopy that is.
Disclaimer: I contributed to the crowd-funding to get this book published (my name’s right there on p. 314), so who knows if that makes me biased. But then again…when am I not?
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s 42: The Wildly Improbable Ideas of Douglas Adams, Anyway?
from The Publisher:
When Douglas Adams died in 2001, he left behind 60 boxes full of notebooks, letters, scripts, jokes, speeches and even poems. In 42, compiled by Douglas’s long-time collaborator Kevin Jon Davies, hundreds of these personal artefacts appear in print for the very first time.
Douglas was as much a thinker as he was a writer, and his artefacts reveal how his deep fascination with technology led to ideas which were far ahead of their time: a convention speech envisioning the modern smartphone, with all the information in the world living at our fingertips; sheets of notes predicting the advent of electronic books; journal entries from his forays into home computing – it is a matter of legend that Douglas bought the very first Mac in the UK; musings on how the internet would disrupt the CD-Rom industry, among others.
42 also features archival material charting Douglas’s school days through Cambridge, Footlights, collaborations with Graham Chapman, and early scribbles from the development of Doctor Who, Hitchhiker’s and Dirk Gently. Alongside details of his most celebrated works are projects that never came to fruition, including the pilot for radio programme They’ll Never Play That on the Radio and a space-inspired theme park ride.
Douglas’s personal papers prove that the greatest ideas come from the fleeting thoughts that collide in our own imagination, and offer a captivating insight into the mind of one of the twentieth century’s greatest thinkers and most enduring storytellers.
A Few Short-Comings (only one of which is of any substance)
Not every piece of handwriting is transcribed—and no, I’m not referring to the more than a dozen examples of his signature (an interesting evolution to be sure). The majority of bits of handwriting are printed under, next-to, or following to make them legible. But not all—and there are a few things that I can’t quite suss out. And if you’d ever seen my handwriting, you’d know that I can figure out what a lot of messy writing says.
The other drawbacks are that the chapters covering Dirk Gently (in the various books) and The Last Chance to See (radio program and book) are too short. I could’ve used twice the material on both of those.
I Didn’t Expect to Get Misty-Eyed
Throughout the book are letters written by people who knew Adams to him, describing their relationship, what he meant to them, and how his death affected them. The first one, by Stephen Fry, is used as the foreword and threw me—I didn’t realize I was going to have an emotional experience while reading the book.
These were wonderful and heartfelt and make the reader feel close to someone they’ve only admired from afar. Sure, it’s a parasocial relationship at best (for almost everyone who reads the book), but especially reading those letters, it feels far less “para.”
An Overly Specific Suggestion
Do not read this book while recovering from abdominal surgery.
It is large (8.5″ X 11.9″ X 1.2″). For a book, it is heavy (roughly 4 pounds). There is no comfortable way to hold this book while reclining if you cannot rest it on your stomach.
That said, the large size, the high-quality paper, and the full-color pages are a wonderful way to present this material, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
So, what did I think about 42: The Wildly Improbable Ideas of Douglas Adams?
So, really, at this point, should I be allowed to rate books related to Douglas Adams? Probably not. But, this is my blog, so I get to set the rules.
There were some things that I’m not sure why Davies included, a couple of things I didn’t appreciate as much as I should’ve (some older British pop culture references/names that I’m too American to get/recognize). But by and large, I was captivated and entertained. I bet Davies had a blast compiling this and it couldn’t have been easy cutting some material (although I bet there was a bunch that he wondered why anyone hung onto in the first place).
While I (semi-) joked about the Dirk Gently and Last Chance to See chapters being too short, they really were the most interesting to me. I’ve read many, many things about THHGTTG over the years, and have seen a good amount about his career and education before then. but I’ve come across very little about these others—so I learned more, got more insight, and whatnot. I really could’ve read chapters that were three times as long on both counts.
Truth be told, the book could’ve been three times as long and I’d have been happy, too. Sure, you’d need a weightlifting belt to carry it around that way, so maybe it’s best that Davies stopped when he did.
You need to read Adams thoughts on the future of books—specifically ebooks. Other than the amount of money going to authors…he nailed it. You get great insight into how his mind worked by seeing early drafts (and the way he’d write to himself to keep going when it got difficult).
I found this to be mind-bogglingly delightful. Which is pretty much what I expected, true. But there’s expecting to appreciate a book and then getting to experience it and discover that you were right. It’s is kind of a doubling of pleasure.
If you’re a fan of Adams, you’re going to find at least one thing here that will interest you more than you anticipated. If you’re a big fan of Adams, you’re in for a treat. He was the hoopiest of hoopy froods, and this book gives you a glimpse into just how hoopy that is.
Disclaimer: I contributed to the crowd-funding to get this book published (my name’s right there on p. 314), so who knows if that makes me biased. But then again…when am I not?
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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I hate dying. It usually hurts something awful and ruins my whole day. I avoid it whenever possible.
What’s Bizarre Frontier About?
This is a collection of the first three novellas in Poulsen’s Bizarre Frontier series. This series focuses on the adventures of the former Deputy Marshall, Willard Beckett. He didn’t always wear a “white hat,” back in his black hat days, he was cursed by a dying Romani woman. He can’t stay dead. He can die, he can go through all the pain and suffering before death—but he shakes it off after a little while.
As curses go, it’s not the worst, actually.
On Moths
In the first novella, we meet Beckett and learn about his, um, condition.
As any “retired” protagonist in a Western starts, Beckett is living alone, away from everyone else, self-medicating and merely existing. His wife divorced him, he lost the taste for the work (or so I assume, I don’t remember it being spelled out), and really doesn’t have much purpose in life. Until, of course, his old boss comes for help. It seems some brothers that he ran with are causing problems in a local mining town and they can’t be stopped.
The funny thing about that situation, those brothers were killed by the aforementioned Romani woman.
Hanged Man’s Boots
After finding out how those brothers got in the position where they could terrorize the town, Beckett and his ex-wife, Sue, learn that the man behind it all is cutting a swath of destruction behind him as he tries to escape justice. Can the pair stop him?
Husk
The big hook to this one comes from Willard not doing something I’d assumed he took care of in between novellas. And the fact that he didn’t made me roll my eyes pretty hard. Yes, he justified his lack of action to someone later in the novella—and it’s plausible, but I still don’t buy it. Still, without his being careless, we wouldn’t have gotten this story.
It begins with Willard going off to take care of the repercussions of his carelessness and Sue having to go rescue some of her sister’s sheep following a storm and her brother-in-law coming into close contact with a monster (or so he claims and not enough people believe).
Craziness and action ensue. And while the last novella brought the pair into contact with evil made stronger by the supernatural, this one brings them into some supernatural mayhem. It’s hard to argue which is worse
The Strangest Bit
For me, the thing that was stranger than Willard’s curse—or anything else he ran into—was the way he (and everyone else) called the woman who cursed him (and her family) Romani instead of that term that I grew up hearing. I’m not complaining about it—if I’m buying a Deputy Marshall who can’t stay dead for long, I can buy a degree of cultural sensitivity that is just as out of place.
It just took me a second to accept it. But honestly, I like the fact Poulsen made that choice, he didn’t need to.
So, what did I think about Bizarre Frontier?
These stories are light on the Western and heavier on the Urban Fantasy—which is fine with me, if you forgive the anachronistic nature of that. They’re Western enough to qualify, but by a hair—they remind me of the Bodacious Creed Zombie-Steampunk-Westerns in this way. (and actually fans of one of these series, should check the other out)
I wouldn’t mind a little more depth to each of these, but I don’t think they need much more. They work really well for what they are—quick, episodic, adventures with just enough of a tie between them to keep readers coming back (if you get them individually) or to carry you through the omnibus (if you go that way).
There’s a lightness to the prose that keeps it engaging and fun even in the midst of monsters, death, and mayhem. The action is smooth, the recurring characters are fun and I can see hanging out with Willard and Sue for quite a while to come. I’d like to see them deal with something that has no contact with anything they’ve encoutered yet—but if Poulsen keeps going down this path, I’m not going to complain.
I will be back for more as soon as I get a chance. It’d be nice if there was a second omnibus (I mention in case Poulsen reads this), but it looks like I’ll be picking up the novellas at my earliest convenience. I’d recommend you trying these yourself.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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I hate dying. It usually hurts something awful and ruins my whole day. I avoid it whenever possible.
What’s Bizarre Frontier About?
This is a collection of the first three novellas in Poulsen’s Bizarre Frontier series. This series focuses on the adventures of the former Deputy Marshall, Willard Beckett. He didn’t always wear a “white hat,” back in his black hat days, he was cursed by a dying Romani woman. He can’t stay dead. He can die, he can go through all the pain and suffering before death—but he shakes it off after a little while.
As curses go, it’s not the worst, actually.
On Moths
In the first novella, we meet Beckett and learn about his, um, condition.
As any “retired” protagonist in a Western starts, Beckett is living alone, away from everyone else, self-medicating and merely existing. His wife divorced him, he lost the taste for the work (or so I assume, I don’t remember it being spelled out), and really doesn’t have much purpose in life. Until, of course, his old boss comes for help. It seems some brothers that he ran with are causing problems in a local mining town and they can’t be stopped.
The funny thing about that situation, those brothers were killed by the aforementioned Romani woman.
Hanged Man’s Boots
After finding out how those brothers got in the position where they could terrorize the town, Beckett and his ex-wife, Sue, learn that the man behind it all is cutting a swath of destruction behind him as he tries to escape justice. Can the pair stop him?
Husk
The big hook to this one comes from Willard not doing something I’d assumed he took care of in between novellas. And the fact that he didn’t made me roll my eyes pretty hard. Yes, he justified his lack of action to someone later in the novella—and it’s plausible, but I still don’t buy it. Still, without his being careless, we wouldn’t have gotten this story.
It begins with Willard going off to take care of the repercussions of his carelessness and Sue having to go rescue some of her sister’s sheep following a storm and her brother-in-law coming into close contact with a monster (or so he claims and not enough people believe).
Craziness and action ensue. And while the last novella brought the pair into contact with evil made stronger by the supernatural, this one brings them into some supernatural mayhem. It’s hard to argue which is worse
The Strangest Bit
For me, the thing that was stranger than Willard’s curse—or anything else he ran into—was the way he (and everyone else) called the woman who cursed him (and her family) Romani instead of that term that I grew up hearing. I’m not complaining about it—if I’m buying a Deputy Marshall who can’t stay dead for long, I can buy a degree of cultural sensitivity that is just as out of place.
It just took me a second to accept it. But honestly, I like the fact Poulsen made that choice, he didn’t need to.
So, what did I think about Bizarre Frontier?
These stories are light on the Western and heavier on the Urban Fantasy—which is fine with me, if you forgive the anachronistic nature of that. They’re Western enough to qualify, but by a hair—they remind me of the Bodacious Creed Zombie-Steampunk-Westerns in this way. (and actually fans of one of these series, should check the other out)
I wouldn’t mind a little more depth to each of these, but I don’t think they need much more. They work really well for what they are—quick, episodic, adventures with just enough of a tie between them to keep readers coming back (if you get them individually) or to carry you through the omnibus (if you go that way).
There’s a lightness to the prose that keeps it engaging and fun even in the midst of monsters, death, and mayhem. The action is smooth, the recurring characters are fun and I can see hanging out with Willard and Sue for quite a while to come. I’d like to see them deal with something that has no contact with anything they’ve encoutered yet—but if Poulsen keeps going down this path, I’m not going to complain.
I will be back for more as soon as I get a chance. It’d be nice if there was a second omnibus (I mention in case Poulsen reads this), but it looks like I’ll be picking up the novellas at my earliest convenience. I’d recommend you trying these yourself.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s Heart of Fire About?
I can’t quite talk about the story of the book without saying something I shouldn’t, so, I’ll let Nightingale describe it:
Camilla has always been told that humans are inferior. They cannot use magic. If they bond to dragons, they will doom the creatures to extinction. She has never believed a word of it. She has always known that she can use magic, and she suspects it is the elves who harm the dragons by keeping them to themselves. Now, she is presented with the opportunity of a lifetime: a dragon’s clutch is hatching and while she will earn the wrath of her captors if she is caught, she has the chance to see a dragon hatch and perhaps even to Recognize.
Kario’s people have feared dragons since time immemorial. When an unrealistically huge black dragon flies in while she is hunting, she is certain she will die. Instead, her life is changed when Nelexi, Obsidian Guardian of Areaer, chooses her as her final rider. Kario takes the name Flameheart, but she is soon homesick and afraid that she is insufficient to be the partner of a god.
The Good
First off, the dragons are cool. You give me cool dragons and I’m going to let you get away with a lot.
I think this world is fantastic. I love the relationships between dragons and riders—the bonds between them, and how they communicate with one another. I like a lot of the suggested ways that dragons and riders change and evolve over time.
I think the geo-political and racial relationships are intriguing—and how people on different continents relate to dragons (and many other creatures, likely). The elven-human dynamic is something I really want to see developed.
I think Kario is a fasctinating character and I relished the bits of time we got with her and Nelexi—I wanted more.
The Bad
I don’t think that Nightingale brought everything in her mind onto the page. She clearly has a lot of this world worked out in details that there’s no way to communicate. Every author has those—that’s not what I’m talking about. But in the Preface, she talks about having two of the characters in her mind since childhood—she knows them well, she understands their story in a way that many authors would likely envy. But—this is just a guess—I think she knows the story so well that I don’t think she realized she didn’t give her readers all the details we needed to follow.
I stopped writing things like “so, I missed something?” or “how did we get here?” after a bit. I just couldn’t follow good chunks of both storylines—but Camillla’s more than Kario’s.
Although—and this gets us on to the other “Bad” topic—I’m okay with not following Camilla’s because I just couldn’t like her. She was petulant, self-centered, egotistical, and short-sighted. All these are things that can be grown out of, and I’m not suggesting protagonists have to be likable. But I didn’t want to spend time in her head—it’s just a nasty place. Her dragon, Radiance, was fine. Her brother seemed okay—as did the other dragon rider with them (I’m going to leave names out because it feels like something you need to learn as you read)—although there’s room for some personal growth there, although I think that character has made the right kind of strides on that front so you can root for them.
But Camilla? I really hope in the next book in the series, she’s grown up a lot.
So, what did I think about Heart of Fire?
Nightingale swung for the fences with this one, you can practically see the effort on the page as you read. But I think she missed too many of the pitches she took, and foul-tipped pretty frequently when she made contact. But she got on-base enough to stay in the game, and even to chalk up a win. That’s the end of the baseball metaphors, I promise.
There’s so much promise in this book—and enough delivery on them to come back for the second volume. But not enough to be enthusiastic about it. I do want to know what happens, and I think most who read this will share in that.
Also, cool dragons. Can’t overlook that.
The parts of the book that worked—worked pretty well, and made me want to keep going. Still, I can only give this the most lukewarm of recommendations—I know I’m in the minority when it comes to this book—go read what others had to say about it.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s Heart of Fire About?
I can’t quite talk about the story of the book without saying something I shouldn’t, so, I’ll let Nightingale describe it:
Camilla has always been told that humans are inferior. They cannot use magic. If they bond to dragons, they will doom the creatures to extinction. She has never believed a word of it. She has always known that she can use magic, and she suspects it is the elves who harm the dragons by keeping them to themselves. Now, she is presented with the opportunity of a lifetime: a dragon’s clutch is hatching and while she will earn the wrath of her captors if she is caught, she has the chance to see a dragon hatch and perhaps even to Recognize.
Kario’s people have feared dragons since time immemorial. When an unrealistically huge black dragon flies in while she is hunting, she is certain she will die. Instead, her life is changed when Nelexi, Obsidian Guardian of Areaer, chooses her as her final rider. Kario takes the name Flameheart, but she is soon homesick and afraid that she is insufficient to be the partner of a god.
The Good
First off, the dragons are cool. You give me cool dragons and I’m going to let you get away with a lot.
I think this world is fantastic. I love the relationships between dragons and riders—the bonds between them, and how they communicate with one another. I like a lot of the suggested ways that dragons and riders change and evolve over time.
I think the geo-political and racial relationships are intriguing—and how people on different continents relate to dragons (and many other creatures, likely). The elven-human dynamic is something I really want to see developed.
I think Kario is a fasctinating character and I relished the bits of time we got with her and Nelexi—I wanted more.
The Bad
I don’t think that Nightingale brought everything in her mind onto the page. She clearly has a lot of this world worked out in details that there’s no way to communicate. Every author has those—that’s not what I’m talking about. But in the Preface, she talks about having two of the characters in her mind since childhood—she knows them well, she understands their story in a way that many authors would likely envy. But—this is just a guess—I think she knows the story so well that I don’t think she realized she didn’t give her readers all the details we needed to follow.
I stopped writing things like “so, I missed something?” or “how did we get here?” after a bit. I just couldn’t follow good chunks of both storylines—but Camillla’s more than Kario’s.
Although—and this gets us on to the other “Bad” topic—I’m okay with not following Camilla’s because I just couldn’t like her. She was petulant, self-centered, egotistical, and short-sighted. All these are things that can be grown out of, and I’m not suggesting protagonists have to be likable. But I didn’t want to spend time in her head—it’s just a nasty place. Her dragon, Radiance, was fine. Her brother seemed okay—as did the other dragon rider with them (I’m going to leave names out because it feels like something you need to learn as you read)—although there’s room for some personal growth there, although I think that character has made the right kind of strides on that front so you can root for them.
But Camilla? I really hope in the next book in the series, she’s grown up a lot.
So, what did I think about Heart of Fire?
Nightingale swung for the fences with this one, you can practically see the effort on the page as you read. But I think she missed too many of the pitches she took, and foul-tipped pretty frequently when she made contact. But she got on-base enough to stay in the game, and even to chalk up a win. That’s the end of the baseball metaphors, I promise.
There’s so much promise in this book—and enough delivery on them to come back for the second volume. But not enough to be enthusiastic about it. I do want to know what happens, and I think most who read this will share in that.
Also, cool dragons. Can’t overlook that.
The parts of the book that worked—worked pretty well, and made me want to keep going. Still, I can only give this the most lukewarm of recommendations—I know I’m in the minority when it comes to this book—go read what others had to say about it.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Bang-Bang Sisters About?
I’m not even going to try to pretend to be able to summarize this, so I’m going to copy and paste the official description:
Meet the Bang-Bang Sisters: Brea, Jessie, and Flo. Together, they’re a kick-ass rock band with an unbreakable bond.
But that’s only half the story. Offstage, they’re highly skilled vigilantes, traveling the country in their beaten-up tour van to exact justice on criminals who have slipped through the system. Part rock stars, part assassins, they’re a force to be reckoned with.
Drawn by a tantalizing lead, the sisters head to Reedsville, Alabama—a city crawling with destitution and corruption—where they close in on a notorious serial killer known as “the wren.” But they soon discover that they have walked straight into a trap set by Chance Kotter, a ruthless mobster with a personal vendetta.
Bruised and beaten, the sisters find themselves at the mercy of Chance and a sadistic game of survival that will pit them against each other: Forty-eight hours. One city. Three sisters. Only one of them can survive.
Full of gripping action and shocking twists that come at a breakneck pace, The Bang-Bang Sisters is a relentless, edge-of-your-seat thrill ride that will leave you breathless.
What did I think about The Bang-Bang Sisters?
I’m afraid if I spend my usual amount of time talking about this (or trying to come up with something coherent to say), I’m going to put it off for too long, and maybe overexplain. So let’s just go with this:
It captures the spirit of music and live performance (and inter-band dynamics) as…well, any rock novel I can think of.
You have a serial killer equal to Francis Dolarhyde.
You’ve got a violent, kill-or-be-killed, “game” as nasty as The Hunger Games, without the love triangle.*
You’ve got a violent, kill-or-be-killed, “game” as nasty and detailed as Chain-Gang All-Stars without the redeeming social commentary.
You’ve got a rich Southern guy as fat as Boss Hogg, as corrupt as Johnny Stagg, as weasely as Gríma Wormtongue.
You’ve got three great women characters with all the style, skill, and general badassery as The Deadly Viper squad.
Throw it all into a book with the violence level equal to—if not greater than—Kill Bill, Vol. 1.
It’s got the pacing of a classic rock song—with occasional bursts of speed metal.
It’s fast, it’s furious, it’s bloody, it’s raw emotion, it’s dangerous. It is so much fun. It is Rock and Roll.
If you can handle that combination, you’re in for a great ride. If one part of the above doesn’t appeal to you? Skip this.
I thought this was great, I hated to walk away from it every time I had to. Kristen Sieh’s narration was precisely what this book needed.
By the time the book ended, I felt like you do after a great concert—elated, a little worn out, and riding a high you don’t want to come down from.
* There is a love triangle, but it’s a good kind—it’s a supportive, sororal triangle.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s The Bang-Bang Sisters About?
I’m not even going to try to pretend to be able to summarize this, so I’m going to copy and paste the official description:
Meet the Bang-Bang Sisters: Brea, Jessie, and Flo. Together, they’re a kick-ass rock band with an unbreakable bond.
But that’s only half the story. Offstage, they’re highly skilled vigilantes, traveling the country in their beaten-up tour van to exact justice on criminals who have slipped through the system. Part rock stars, part assassins, they’re a force to be reckoned with.
Drawn by a tantalizing lead, the sisters head to Reedsville, Alabama—a city crawling with destitution and corruption—where they close in on a notorious serial killer known as “the wren.” But they soon discover that they have walked straight into a trap set by Chance Kotter, a ruthless mobster with a personal vendetta.
Bruised and beaten, the sisters find themselves at the mercy of Chance and a sadistic game of survival that will pit them against each other: Forty-eight hours. One city. Three sisters. Only one of them can survive.
Full of gripping action and shocking twists that come at a breakneck pace, The Bang-Bang Sisters is a relentless, edge-of-your-seat thrill ride that will leave you breathless.
What did I think about The Bang-Bang Sisters?
I’m afraid if I spend my usual amount of time talking about this (or trying to come up with something coherent to say), I’m going to put it off for too long, and maybe overexplain. So let’s just go with this:
It captures the spirit of music and live performance (and inter-band dynamics) as…well, any rock novel I can think of.
You have a serial killer equal to Francis Dolarhyde.
You’ve got a violent, kill-or-be-killed, “game” as nasty as The Hunger Games, without the love triangle.*
You’ve got a violent, kill-or-be-killed, “game” as nasty and detailed as Chain-Gang All-Stars without the redeeming social commentary.
You’ve got a rich Southern guy as fat as Boss Hogg, as corrupt as Johnny Stagg, as weasely as Gríma Wormtongue.
You’ve got three great women characters with all the style, skill, and general badassery as The Deadly Viper squad.
Throw it all into a book with the violence level equal to—if not greater than—Kill Bill, Vol. 1.
It’s got the pacing of a classic rock song—with occasional bursts of speed metal.
It’s fast, it’s furious, it’s bloody, it’s raw emotion, it’s dangerous. It is so much fun. It is Rock and Roll.
If you can handle that combination, you’re in for a great ride. If one part of the above doesn’t appeal to you? Skip this.
I thought this was great, I hated to walk away from it every time I had to. Kristen Sieh’s narration was precisely what this book needed.
By the time the book ended, I felt like you do after a great concert—elated, a little worn out, and riding a high you don’t want to come down from.
* There is a love triangle, but it’s a good kind—it’s a supportive, sororal triangle.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Poetry Comics About?
Rather than try to really describe this book (and I wouldn’t do a great job of it), here’s a shody photo of the back cover (forgive the partial library barcode)
Photo of the Back Cover to Poetry Comics by Grand Snider
A Word About the Art
If you’re a fan of Snider’s characteristic simple drawings, you’ll enjoy the art here. I am one of those, so I did.
The panels pair up really nicely with the poems—sometimes augmenting the shape and construction of the poem, sometimes simply illustrating them. Either way, it’s just what you want in this kind of book. They never detract from the poems (they probably make some of the simpler ones better—they definitely disguise their brevity*).
* I don’t mean to suggest that simple/brief poems are bad, they’re simply short.
So, what did I think about Poetry Comics?
This book is a shining example of adequasivity. It was perfectly fine, but on the whole, it really didn’t do much for me.
There were a few poems about writing a poem—they were nice (not particularly practical). Most seemed to be trying really hard to be uplifting—and many of those fell flat to me, primarily because they were clearly trying really hard, but I did enjoy a couple of those. I’m going to guess that I really enjoyed about 10% of them—but there were none that I’d consider “bad,” on the whole, the book was adequate.
So adequate that I knew halfway through that I’d have to look up that Newsradio video linked above.
Do I think readers in the target age range would appreciate this more than I did? Sure, if they like poetry (and possibly those who are ambivalent to it).
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s Poetry Comics About?
Rather than try to really describe this book (and I wouldn’t do a great job of it), here’s a shody photo of the back cover (forgive the partial library barcode)
Photo of the Back Cover to Poetry Comics by Grand Snider
A Word About the Art
If you’re a fan of Snider’s characteristic simple drawings, you’ll enjoy the art here. I am one of those, so I did.
The panels pair up really nicely with the poems—sometimes augmenting the shape and construction of the poem, sometimes simply illustrating them. Either way, it’s just what you want in this kind of book. They never detract from the poems (they probably make some of the simpler ones better—they definitely disguise their brevity*).
* I don’t mean to suggest that simple/brief poems are bad, they’re simply short.
So, what did I think about Poetry Comics?
This book is a shining example of adequasivity. It was perfectly fine, but on the whole, it really didn’t do much for me.
There were a few poems about writing a poem—they were nice (not particularly practical). Most seemed to be trying really hard to be uplifting—and many of those fell flat to me, primarily because they were clearly trying really hard, but I did enjoy a couple of those. I’m going to guess that I really enjoyed about 10% of them—but there were none that I’d consider “bad,” on the whole, the book was adequate.
So adequate that I knew halfway through that I’d have to look up that Newsradio video linked above.
Do I think readers in the target age range would appreciate this more than I did? Sure, if they like poetry (and possibly those who are ambivalent to it).
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
Blood Reunion
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Blood Reunion About?
There’s a nasty, Buffy-Summers-would-be-paralyzed-with-fear level vampire loose on Wistful. Rohan and his friends, some new allies, and a couple of people he’d really not rather work with have to stop it before it kills everyone aboard and countless others when it can escape—or before the Empire obliterates Wistful to achieve the latter end.
’nuff said.
Back to Wistful
I guess some readers complained that the second book in the series took place on Earth, not on Wistful, the sentient space station that Rohan calls home. I didn’t share the sentiment, but I guess I could understand that—it wasn’t just Wistful that we didn’t get that much from, it was most of the other characters that were introduced in the first turn.
Being back on Wistful, however, has me thinking that maybe those people were on to something. Having our hero back on his adoptive home turf—with the advantages and challenges that it brings really adds something to the story. Wistful is an interesting character and a great setting (and we get to see a lot more of both aspects of Wistful here). Having characters like Wei Li and the Ursans on hand is a major plus, too.
I won’t complain about Rohan going to visit Earth—but I’m sure glad to see him home.
Daddy Issues
We met Rohan’s fantastic mother in Return of The Griffin, and now it’s time to meet Dad. Boy, I missed Mom—and this isn’t a knock on Berne’s work introducing us to Dhruv, I think we’re supposed to find hi a problematic character.
He’s got quite the charm about him, do doubt. He’s determined, he’s focused, he’s powerful, he’s wily—things that he clearly passed on to his son. He’s also deceitful, egotistical, stubborn, and unwilling to consider opposing points of view (other things you can see in Rohan, but he’s fighting them).
He and Rohan have a complicated relationship, let’s say.
The addition of Rohan’s mother to the series was fun and mostly sweet. This is fun and…something else. I’m not sure what that something is quite yet. I think we need to see a little more from Dhruv, and I expect we will.
Rohan’s Dilemma
This right here is what draws me to Rohan (well, in addition to the banter, the action, and everything else)—Berne isn’t satisfied to just give us a super powerful, quippy, superhero. Rohan is trying to get away from his past and to live differently.
But…like the man said, “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in!” Rohan can’t get away from his reputation, his status, his errors/crimes, and even his inclinations to act as the Griffin. Not only can he not escape all that—he has to rely on it here. I don’t want to get into details here, but Rohan has to play the Rohan card to keep the il’Drach Empire from coming in making a bad situation worse.
He also has to wrestle with himself—he knows (on some level) and is being told repeatedly by just about everyone—that to save the people on the station (and maybe even beyond it), he has to kill the vampire. But he’s trying not to do that anymore. Also, he thinks there are ways to defeat the vampire without killing him…Rohan just has to figure out what those are. But he’s torn—if he does “the right thing” for him and his morals, what’s the risk/damage to the innocents on Wistful? Should he be willing to even consider that?
Beyond that…Rohan has to let some people jeopardize themselves—and even outright sacrifice themselves so he has a chance to stop the vampire.
I really love that Berne is making Rohan deal with this (it’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last, I trust).
So, what did I think about Blood Reunion?
It’s a JCM Berne book. This means I liked it and I think you should read it. I have two unread JCM Berne books on my TBR shelf—I can tell you now, with 98.732% confidence, that’s what I’m going to say about those. The question here is…what do I say specifically?
The vampires (both kinds we see here) are just cool. Nothing incredibly revolutionary about them—it’s nigh unto impossible to do something new with a vampire, it’s just about how can you make one of the most utilized creature-types feel fresh. Berne pulls it off. They’re even different than the vamps in Return of the Griffin, so that’s a neat trick. I want to say more about this, but that’d violate my spoiler policy.
Dhruv was just great—I mistyped that a second ago as “grate,” but maybe that was a slip of the Freudian-type. Because he can be a little grating, too. By design, I should stress. But I look forward to his return as much as Rohan is apprehensive about it.
The exploration of Wistful was interesting and the promise of finding more layers to her is fantastic. I would’ve liked a bit more of it now though, it’s the one point where I think Berne could’ve improved here. Maybe in the aftermath of this, Wistful and Rohan (or Rohan and Wei Li) can debrief some on this and I’ll feel better about it.
Speaking of Wei Li—if anyone is going to supplant Rohan in my book, it’s going to be Wei Li. Can we get a spinoff novella or seven?
I have to mention the dialogue, not just the bantering (but especially the bantering). Berne has reached Jim Butcher-levels here. I don’t care what the story is, I just want to read his characters talking.
I don’t have anything else to say, really—action, dialogue, great aliens, some good moral dilemmas, and some quality time with characters that are becoming old friends. Blood Reunion is another winner from Berne. Go grab Wistful Ascending and dive in!!
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s Blood Reunion About?
There’s a nasty, Buffy-Summers-would-be-paralyzed-with-fear level vampire loose on Wistful. Rohan and his friends, some new allies, and a couple of people he’d really not rather work with have to stop it before it kills everyone aboard and countless others when it can escape—or before the Empire obliterates Wistful to achieve the latter end.
’nuff said.
Back to Wistful
I guess some readers complained that the second book in the series took place on Earth, not on Wistful, the sentient space station that Rohan calls home. I didn’t share the sentiment, but I guess I could understand that—it wasn’t just Wistful that we didn’t get that much from, it was most of the other characters that were introduced in the first turn.
Being back on Wistful, however, has me thinking that maybe those people were on to something. Having our hero back on his adoptive home turf—with the advantages and challenges that it brings really adds something to the story. Wistful is an interesting character and a great setting (and we get to see a lot more of both aspects of Wistful here). Having characters like Wei Li and the Ursans on hand is a major plus, too.
I won’t complain about Rohan going to visit Earth—but I’m sure glad to see him home.
Daddy Issues
We met Rohan’s fantastic mother in Return of The Griffin, and now it’s time to meet Dad. Boy, I missed Mom—and this isn’t a knock on Berne’s work introducing us to Dhruv, I think we’re supposed to find hi a problematic character.
He’s got quite the charm about him, do doubt. He’s determined, he’s focused, he’s powerful, he’s wily—things that he clearly passed on to his son. He’s also deceitful, egotistical, stubborn, and unwilling to consider opposing points of view (other things you can see in Rohan, but he’s fighting them).
He and Rohan have a complicated relationship, let’s say.
The addition of Rohan’s mother to the series was fun and mostly sweet. This is fun and…something else. I’m not sure what that something is quite yet. I think we need to see a little more from Dhruv, and I expect we will.
Rohan’s Dilemma
This right here is what draws me to Rohan (well, in addition to the banter, the action, and everything else)—Berne isn’t satisfied to just give us a super powerful, quippy, superhero. Rohan is trying to get away from his past and to live differently.
But…like the man said, “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in!” Rohan can’t get away from his reputation, his status, his errors/crimes, and even his inclinations to act as the Griffin. Not only can he not escape all that—he has to rely on it here. I don’t want to get into details here, but Rohan has to play the Rohan card to keep the il’Drach Empire from coming in making a bad situation worse.
He also has to wrestle with himself—he knows (on some level) and is being told repeatedly by just about everyone—that to save the people on the station (and maybe even beyond it), he has to kill the vampire. But he’s trying not to do that anymore. Also, he thinks there are ways to defeat the vampire without killing him…Rohan just has to figure out what those are. But he’s torn—if he does “the right thing” for him and his morals, what’s the risk/damage to the innocents on Wistful? Should he be willing to even consider that?
Beyond that…Rohan has to let some people jeopardize themselves—and even outright sacrifice themselves so he has a chance to stop the vampire.
I really love that Berne is making Rohan deal with this (it’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last, I trust).
So, what did I think about Blood Reunion?
It’s a JCM Berne book. This means I liked it and I think you should read it. I have two unread JCM Berne books on my TBR shelf—I can tell you now, with 98.732% confidence, that’s what I’m going to say about those. The question here is…what do I say specifically?
The vampires (both kinds we see here) are just cool. Nothing incredibly revolutionary about them—it’s nigh unto impossible to do something new with a vampire, it’s just about how can you make one of the most utilized creature-types feel fresh. Berne pulls it off. They’re even different than the vamps in Return of the Griffin, so that’s a neat trick. I want to say more about this, but that’d violate my spoiler policy.
Dhruv was just great—I mistyped that a second ago as “grate,” but maybe that was a slip of the Freudian-type. Because he can be a little grating, too. By design, I should stress. But I look forward to his return as much as Rohan is apprehensive about it.
The exploration of Wistful was interesting and the promise of finding more layers to her is fantastic. I would’ve liked a bit more of it now though, it’s the one point where I think Berne could’ve improved here. Maybe in the aftermath of this, Wistful and Rohan (or Rohan and Wei Li) can debrief some on this and I’ll feel better about it.
Speaking of Wei Li—if anyone is going to supplant Rohan in my book, it’s going to be Wei Li. Can we get a spinoff novella or seven?
I have to mention the dialogue, not just the bantering (but especially the bantering). Berne has reached Jim Butcher-levels here. I don’t care what the story is, I just want to read his characters talking.
I don’t have anything else to say, really—action, dialogue, great aliens, some good moral dilemmas, and some quality time with characters that are becoming old friends. Blood Reunion is another winner from Berne. Go grab Wistful Ascending and dive in!!
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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Why this Book Today?
Last Spring, I read Lashaan Balasingam talk about this book at Roars and Echoes and put it on a wish list instantly. I was given a copy of it last year, but aside from glancing through it then, I hadn’t taken the time to really sit down with it. But with Hobbit Day yesterday, I made time Saturday to do just that—so I could post about it today (and maybe add this and some other things to a recurring thing like I do with Towel Day).
You should really see what Lashaan had to say about it, not only does he do a (typically) better job of it than I’m about to, but he liked it a lot more than I did.
What’s Pictures by J.R.R. Tolkien About?
Well, it’s pictures drawn by Tolkein in his spare time—when he wasn’t teaching, creating new languages, writing epic fantasies, or smoking his pipe (well, he probably did both of those at the same time).
The Publisher describes it this way:
With Christopher Tolkien as your guide, take a tour through this colorful gallery of enchanting art by J.R.R. Tolkien, as published originally in the first groundbreaking Tolkien Calendars of the 1970s.
This collection of pictures, with a text by Christopher Tolkien, now reissued after almost thirty years, confirms J.R.R. Tolkien’s considerable talent as an artist. It provides fascinating insight into his visual conception of many of the places and events familiar to readers of The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, and The Silmarillion.
Examples of his art range from delicate watercolors depicting Rivendell, the Forest of Lothlorien, Smaug, and Old Man Willow, to drawings and sketches of Moria Gate and Minas Tirith. Together they form a comprehensive collection of Tolkien’s own illustrations for his most popular books.
Also included are many of his beautiful designs showing patterns of flowers and trees, friezes, tapestries, and heraldic devices associated with the world of Middle-earth. In their variety and scope, they provide abundant visual evidence of the richness of his imagination.
This enchanting gallery was personally selected by Christopher Tolkien who, through detailed notes on the sources for each picture, provides unique insight into the artistic vision of his father, J.R.R. Tolkien.
How’s the Writing?
Well, it’s pretty bland. It’s just straightforward descriptions of the pictures, where it came from, where it was originally published—who added color (sometimes), and so on.
It’s not bad, it’s not good—it’s just there. And that’s good enough, this isn’t supposed to be about Christopher Tolkien’s wordsmithery—this is about the pictures.
How’s the Art?
Well, I think it’s clear why we think of Tolkien as a writer, scholar, and storyteller and not a visual artist. Don’t get me wrong—I can’t hold a candle to his drawing. But it’s nothing stellar.
But it does deliver the flavor of Middle Earth and its denizens in a way the books can’t quite manage (or does manage, in a different way). You get a real sense of the scope and scale of the world. It’s clear that Jackson and his team spent some time with Tolkien’s art and drew a lot from it—and you can see why they’d want to (beyond just trying for authenticity). I did like it—and could easily spend time studying the details.
Lashaan’s post has a couple of samples if you’re curious. But honestly, if you’re basing getting your hands on this book on the quality of the art, you might be missing the point. (still, check out the samples to get a feel for it)
If you want great fantasy art, may I suggest starting with Larry Elmore, Chris McGrath, or Isabeau Backhaus? But there’s something about seeing it from the hand of the creator, you know?
So, what did I think about Pictures by J.R.R. Tolkien?
As a book, it’s…fine. As a collection of pictures, it’s…nice enough. As a way to get to know a different side of Tolkien and how his brain, his creativity, and his personality worked? It’s pretty cool. I’d love to see sketches, drawings, and even paintings by other authors to get inside their heads (okay, no one wants inside Thomas Harris’ mind, but you know what I’m saying. Keep the visuals for Hannibal and the rest locked away.)
Am I glad that I own this? Yes. Am I glad that I finally got around to taking it out of its slipcase and really worked through it? You bet. Am I just a little underwhelmed by the whole thing? Yup.
But I will return to flip through it and pour over the contents repeatedly.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
Why this Book Today?
Last Spring, I read Lashaan Balasingam talk about this book at Roars and Echoes and put it on a wish list instantly. I was given a copy of it last year, but aside from glancing through it then, I hadn’t taken the time to really sit down with it. But with Hobbit Day yesterday, I made time Saturday to do just that—so I could post about it today (and maybe add this and some other things to a recurring thing like I do with Towel Day).
You should really see what Lashaan had to say about it, not only does he do a (typically) better job of it than I’m about to, but he liked it a lot more than I did.
What’s Pictures by J.R.R. Tolkien About?
Well, it’s pictures drawn by Tolkein in his spare time—when he wasn’t teaching, creating new languages, writing epic fantasies, or smoking his pipe (well, he probably did both of those at the same time).
The Publisher describes it this way:
With Christopher Tolkien as your guide, take a tour through this colorful gallery of enchanting art by J.R.R. Tolkien, as published originally in the first groundbreaking Tolkien Calendars of the 1970s.
This collection of pictures, with a text by Christopher Tolkien, now reissued after almost thirty years, confirms J.R.R. Tolkien’s considerable talent as an artist. It provides fascinating insight into his visual conception of many of the places and events familiar to readers of The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, and The Silmarillion.
Examples of his art range from delicate watercolors depicting Rivendell, the Forest of Lothlorien, Smaug, and Old Man Willow, to drawings and sketches of Moria Gate and Minas Tirith. Together they form a comprehensive collection of Tolkien’s own illustrations for his most popular books.
Also included are many of his beautiful designs showing patterns of flowers and trees, friezes, tapestries, and heraldic devices associated with the world of Middle-earth. In their variety and scope, they provide abundant visual evidence of the richness of his imagination.
This enchanting gallery was personally selected by Christopher Tolkien who, through detailed notes on the sources for each picture, provides unique insight into the artistic vision of his father, J.R.R. Tolkien.
How’s the Writing?
Well, it’s pretty bland. It’s just straightforward descriptions of the pictures, where it came from, where it was originally published—who added color (sometimes), and so on.
It’s not bad, it’s not good—it’s just there. And that’s good enough, this isn’t supposed to be about Christopher Tolkien’s wordsmithery—this is about the pictures.
How’s the Art?
Well, I think it’s clear why we think of Tolkien as a writer, scholar, and storyteller and not a visual artist. Don’t get me wrong—I can’t hold a candle to his drawing. But it’s nothing stellar.
But it does deliver the flavor of Middle Earth and its denizens in a way the books can’t quite manage (or does manage, in a different way). You get a real sense of the scope and scale of the world. It’s clear that Jackson and his team spent some time with Tolkien’s art and drew a lot from it—and you can see why they’d want to (beyond just trying for authenticity). I did like it—and could easily spend time studying the details.
Lashaan’s post has a couple of samples if you’re curious. But honestly, if you’re basing getting your hands on this book on the quality of the art, you might be missing the point. (still, check out the samples to get a feel for it)
If you want great fantasy art, may I suggest starting with Larry Elmore, Chris McGrath, or Isabeau Backhaus? But there’s something about seeing it from the hand of the creator, you know?
So, what did I think about Pictures by J.R.R. Tolkien?
As a book, it’s…fine. As a collection of pictures, it’s…nice enough. As a way to get to know a different side of Tolkien and how his brain, his creativity, and his personality worked? It’s pretty cool. I’d love to see sketches, drawings, and even paintings by other authors to get inside their heads (okay, no one wants inside Thomas Harris’ mind, but you know what I’m saying. Keep the visuals for Hannibal and the rest locked away.)
Am I glad that I own this? Yes. Am I glad that I finally got around to taking it out of its slipcase and really worked through it? You bet. Am I just a little underwhelmed by the whole thing? Yup.
But I will return to flip through it and pour over the contents repeatedly.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s Ghost Stations About?
New York City is a bit much for Corbin—he’s more than out of his element (a status he’s getting used to after running from the cult he’d pretty much been raised in, finding himself in a strange world of magicians and magician factions). But this is where the task that Mister is set to tackle. There’s a new drug variant floating around in parts of the US that affects magicians in a dangerous way. The Circle can turn a blind eye to the standard version of the drug, but this new form is a step too far.
Kirin, meanwhile, is back home. A place she hadn’t expected to see for some time yet. Her family is here—with all the interfamily and intrafamily dynamics and politics that brings. As are her friends—that found family established in her teen years that seems tighter than blood. Corbin gets shunted off with them to stay out of the way while Mister and Isaac get into it.
It doesn’t take long for Kirin’s group to decide that they’re supposed to be sticking their noses into it anyway—and what else to they have to do? So, they seek out a source for this drug—they know someone who can do the right kind of analysis on it to see how it was made. The figure if they can get that information, they can trace it to the source.
While dealing with this, Corbin has to learn to navigate the powerful families that make up the Circle, the strange subcultures of magic in NYC, and the strangest challenge of them all—interpersonal relationships. Colin was never equipped to handle life outside the cult—to be thrown into the intense world of twenty-somethings with too much money, drugs, alcohol, and hormones flying around. (sure the drugs and the magic and the danger are the more pressing things—but Colin and handle that)
The Little More of the World
In Rites of Passage, we were told about the Circle—the group that runs the world of magic in the States—at least in the major population centers, while other areas have more of a local group controlling them. I’m not going to say that after this, the reader will understand the Circle and how it operates fully. But we get an idea—a good look at it.
And honestly, it’s not that pretty.
I think that The Inner Circle, like Jacka’s Stephen Oakwood, is doing a good thing in Urban Fantasy—a new thing, too. Where most Urban Fantasy deals with magic/groups in terms of detectives/police vs. criminal acts and structures (either organized crime or werewolf packs that act like motorcycle gangs). Presley and Jacka are presenting us with “legitimate” sources of power—economic elites.
In these worlds, it’s the 1% of the magic world (which is already an elite caste of sorts) that holds the power. Not only does this allow Presley, Jacka, and (I assume) others I am not thinking of/haven’t been exposed to comment on a rising oligarchy and the power of these elites. But it gives the reader a handy way to think about these things without getting too tied up in contemporary political labels or societal movements.
As Mister, Isaac, and Corbin keep traveling the country, I look forward to seeing other ways that this is shown and dissected.
So, what did I think about Ghost Stations?
All that aside—this is just a rollicking story. Most of the things I really want to talk about are spoilers (the way the drug works, the people that Corbin meets and makes deals with, and so on).
The change of setting—and the promise of more settings to come—helped this seem very fresh compared to the first, and should do the same for the following books (it’s the second, the series is obviously still fresh, it’s more of the promise here). And Corbin not understanding much of how this world he’s in now works, allows Presley to inform the reader while maintaining the story’s momentum. His cluelessness allows us to be. New case, new setting, Corbin and the reader both get to learn a lot. Thankfully, we readers are safe from whatever magic whammy is threatening our dowser.
As before, his magic helps. But it’s Corbin’s instincts, his watchfulness—even his outsiderness—that help him to get where he needs to go. While watching someone sling magic is always fun, it’s the guys like Dresden, Alex Verus, Mercy Thompson, and Corbin that really make a series like this work.
I liked most of the world we got to see—I wouldn’t want to live in this NYC (or any other, to be honest), but it was interesting. Her brother seemed cool and her friend TJ was someone I hope we see soon. The other member of her group was generally a tool who’d be a great antagonist in an 80s teen movie. Still, he was a good example of the type. Everyone else we met? Fascinating. Presley seems incapable of creating a dull character (even if we only see them for a chapter).
Ghost Stations is a solid follow-up with a great hook, a better world to explore, and enough turns and twists to keep you engaged from the creepy start to the satisfying conclusion and all points between.
I’m eager to see where the next novel takes us, but for now, I just want to encourage you to pick this one up.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s Ghost Stations About?
New York City is a bit much for Corbin—he’s more than out of his element (a status he’s getting used to after running from the cult he’d pretty much been raised in, finding himself in a strange world of magicians and magician factions). But this is where the task that Mister is set to tackle. There’s a new drug variant floating around in parts of the US that affects magicians in a dangerous way. The Circle can turn a blind eye to the standard version of the drug, but this new form is a step too far.
Kirin, meanwhile, is back home. A place she hadn’t expected to see for some time yet. Her family is here—with all the interfamily and intrafamily dynamics and politics that brings. As are her friends—that found family established in her teen years that seems tighter than blood. Corbin gets shunted off with them to stay out of the way while Mister and Isaac get into it.
It doesn’t take long for Kirin’s group to decide that they’re supposed to be sticking their noses into it anyway—and what else to they have to do? So, they seek out a source for this drug—they know someone who can do the right kind of analysis on it to see how it was made. The figure if they can get that information, they can trace it to the source.
While dealing with this, Corbin has to learn to navigate the powerful families that make up the Circle, the strange subcultures of magic in NYC, and the strangest challenge of them all—interpersonal relationships. Colin was never equipped to handle life outside the cult—to be thrown into the intense world of twenty-somethings with too much money, drugs, alcohol, and hormones flying around. (sure the drugs and the magic and the danger are the more pressing things—but Colin and handle that)
The Little More of the World
In Rites of Passage, we were told about the Circle—the group that runs the world of magic in the States—at least in the major population centers, while other areas have more of a local group controlling them. I’m not going to say that after this, the reader will understand the Circle and how it operates fully. But we get an idea—a good look at it.
And honestly, it’s not that pretty.
I think that The Inner Circle, like Jacka’s Stephen Oakwood, is doing a good thing in Urban Fantasy—a new thing, too. Where most Urban Fantasy deals with magic/groups in terms of detectives/police vs. criminal acts and structures (either organized crime or werewolf packs that act like motorcycle gangs). Presley and Jacka are presenting us with “legitimate” sources of power—economic elites.
In these worlds, it’s the 1% of the magic world (which is already an elite caste of sorts) that holds the power. Not only does this allow Presley, Jacka, and (I assume) others I am not thinking of/haven’t been exposed to comment on a rising oligarchy and the power of these elites. But it gives the reader a handy way to think about these things without getting too tied up in contemporary political labels or societal movements.
As Mister, Isaac, and Corbin keep traveling the country, I look forward to seeing other ways that this is shown and dissected.
So, what did I think about Ghost Stations?
All that aside—this is just a rollicking story. Most of the things I really want to talk about are spoilers (the way the drug works, the people that Corbin meets and makes deals with, and so on).
The change of setting—and the promise of more settings to come—helped this seem very fresh compared to the first, and should do the same for the following books (it’s the second, the series is obviously still fresh, it’s more of the promise here). And Corbin not understanding much of how this world he’s in now works, allows Presley to inform the reader while maintaining the story’s momentum. His cluelessness allows us to be. New case, new setting, Corbin and the reader both get to learn a lot. Thankfully, we readers are safe from whatever magic whammy is threatening our dowser.
As before, his magic helps. But it’s Corbin’s instincts, his watchfulness—even his outsiderness—that help him to get where he needs to go. While watching someone sling magic is always fun, it’s the guys like Dresden, Alex Verus, Mercy Thompson, and Corbin that really make a series like this work.
I liked most of the world we got to see—I wouldn’t want to live in this NYC (or any other, to be honest), but it was interesting. Her brother seemed cool and her friend TJ was someone I hope we see soon. The other member of her group was generally a tool who’d be a great antagonist in an 80s teen movie. Still, he was a good example of the type. Everyone else we met? Fascinating. Presley seems incapable of creating a dull character (even if we only see them for a chapter).
Ghost Stations is a solid follow-up with a great hook, a better world to explore, and enough turns and twists to keep you engaged from the creepy start to the satisfying conclusion and all points between.
I’m eager to see where the next novel takes us, but for now, I just want to encourage you to pick this one up.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Big Empty About?
I’m tempted to skip this part and rush to the bit where I insist you go pick this up, throw up the five stars, and call it a day. But I won’t—I’d feel guilty about it. But honestly, feel free to skip this. It’s just filler until I get to the .jpg with the stars.
The Baker Next Door is an Internet sensation, she’s moving on to TV and brick-and-mortar stores. But her success isn’t enough for her, something’s been chewing at her for a long time, so Traci Beller comes to Elvis with a cold case. The ten-year anniversary of her father’s disappearance is coming up, and she wants some answers. She’d prefer Elvis find him hale and hearty, but she doesn’t expect it. But she wants to know what happened before. Five years ago good investigators that Elvis knows couldn’t find him, and the state declared him deceased. But Traci wants to try again.
Something about her and her determination gets to Elvis, and he agrees to look at the LAPD’s file—as well as the records from the other PIs. Also, Traci gave him muffins. It probably doesn’t hurt that Ben Chenier is fan, either.
Still, it’s a cold case. It’s not going to be easy to find something new—and it’s only something new that will move the case forward. Otherwise, he’s just going to be doing what his predecessors did, just probably less fruitfully. Thankfully (otherwise this would be a short story, not a novel), Elvis asks the right question and gets the answer he needs.
On the other hand, he might have preferred the less eventful version.
Elvis and Joe
At this point, Joe Pike is practically a super-human, or maybe a human so fantastic as to be unbelievable—like Batman or Jack Reacher. And I don’t care (I don’t think anyone does)—because he’s not infallible and we all love to see him come in to save the day.
Meanwhile, Elvis has always seemed pretty mortal. Something happens in The Big Empty that emphasizes this mortality. It is not like what happened to Spenser in Small Vices, but it reminded me of it. But Crais handles it better and more believably—Elvis is not infallible, he’s not invincible, and it’s good for the reader—and for him—to get a reminder of it.
Still, it appears that Crais has taken the “stop the characters aging” route—we don’t get references to Vietnam anymore to keep them from seeming as old as they are (see also: Spenser dropping references to Korea). I don’t care how much Tai Chi or whatever Elvis does—he’s too old to do half of what he does. I’m absolutely okay with that, I don’t need to see inconveniently-timed sciatica messing up Pike’s silent approach to a building or Elvis needing a cane or a hearing aid to get through the day.
Basically, I wouldn’t change a thing about what Crais has done with these characters, nor what he’s doing with them now—and The Big Empty is one of the best books to showcase the strengths of his approach to the characters since The Last Detective.
On the Other Hand, We Have John Chen
Really, truly, John Chen is a lousy excuse for a human being—he’s a decent criminalist (it seems) and he’s really easy for Elvis to manipulate into getting what he needs. But the guy is about as self-aware as a piece of toast. His self-delusions are at the level of Pike’s omnicompetence—this doesn’t make him any less entertaining (or cringe-inducing) to read, but wow…some growth in his character would restore some of my faith in humanity.
I was so happy when he showed up in these pages, and I loved every moment with him. (so, yeah, I really don’t want him to grow or develop as a character)
But what I really want—and I don’t know how this could happen—is a short story/novella where John Chen and Roddy Ho have to team up. It would be the ultimate in HR nightmares, and the two would hate each other (I assume). But boy howdy, would it be fun to watch.
So, what did I think about The Big Empty?
Yes, it’s almost a foregone conclusion that I’m going to love a new Elvis Cole novel. But that shouldn’t take away from just how ____ing good this was. If this was my first time reading Crais, it would not have been my last—and I’d have a stack of library books next to me now (which would be replaced by a stack of paperbacks fresh from the bookstore after I read one or two more).
There’s just something about Crais’ prose that makes you race through it. Because of the pace at which he puts books out lately, I wanted to take my time and savor it. Relish each paragraph. But you just can’t do it—the prose is so smooth, so well put together, that every time you try to slow down, Crais comes along behind you and gives you a nudge and you remember that you’re on a bobsled hurtling down the track. That almost sounds like you’re out of control—but you’re not. Maybe a better metaphor would be that you’re in a Lamborghini Murciélago, trying to drive slowly down a deserted highway to take in the scenery. But that car isn’t built for 35 MPH, and before you notice, you’re doing at least 80.
Also, that wasn’t me complaining (too much) about the pace Crais is publishing lately—if he was faster, that prose wouldn’t be as honed. He can take as long as he wants.
We got a larger-than-usual cast of supporting characters for a Cole or Pike novel (or so it seemed, I didn’t do a headcount, nor am I going to go back and do one for the last few books). I thought they were all great—from the antagonists, to the villains, the witnesses, and the innocent parties that got sucked up into something they shouldn’t have been. I believed them all and would like to see almost all of them again (if only it were possible). I can’t tell you the best characters because it would ruin too much, and I want to stay on Putnam’s good side. But when you get to the last chapter, the character there that I haven’t mentioned in this post? That’s the best character (by a nose) in this one.
The first chapter was great—maybe it didn’t do much in terms of story, but it gets you right back into Elvis and Lucy. Then we meet Traci and her manager (that you want Elvis to punch almost as much as he wants to), and you’re with Elvis in wanting to help her—and the book keeps building from strength to strength there—right up to the perfect closing paragraph.
The sole quibble I have with this was the way that the relationship between Elvis and the Sherriff Department’s detective. It just seemed off the way it developed from the natural antagonism to the endpoint where it seemed more (not completely) collegial easier than it should’ve.
So, yeah, I think I’ve made it clear that I really enjoyed The Big Empty, I don’t think it’s the best thing that Crais has written—but it’s gotta be in the top 5 (it could be recency bias talking, but I don’t think so). I’d have to think long and hard to come up with many (other than The Promise, because of Maggie). Regardless of how it stacks up with the rest of Crais’ oeuvre, it’s a dynamite novel, one of the highlights of 2024 for me—and I predict many people will say it’s a highlight of 2025 for them when it’s published next week.
Get your pre-orders or library holds in now, friends, you want to get your hands on this.
Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Putnam Books via NetGalley in exchange for this post—thanks to both for this.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Big Empty About?
I’m tempted to skip this part and rush to the bit where I insist you go pick this up, throw up the five stars, and call it a day. But I won’t—I’d feel guilty about it. But honestly, feel free to skip this. It’s just filler until I get to the .jpg with the stars.
The Baker Next Door is an Internet sensation, she’s moving on to TV and brick-and-mortar stores. But her success isn’t enough for her, something’s been chewing at her for a long time, so Traci Beller comes to Elvis with a cold case. The ten-year anniversary of her father’s disappearance is coming up, and she wants some answers. She’d prefer Elvis find him hale and hearty, but she doesn’t expect it. But she wants to know what happened before. Five years ago good investigators that Elvis knows couldn’t find him, and the state declared him deceased. But Traci wants to try again.
Something about her and her determination gets to Elvis, and he agrees to look at the LAPD’s file—as well as the records from the other PIs. Also, Traci gave him muffins. It probably doesn’t hurt that Ben Chenier is fan, either.
Still, it’s a cold case. It’s not going to be easy to find something new—and it’s only something new that will move the case forward. Otherwise, he’s just going to be doing what his predecessors did, just probably less fruitfully. Thankfully (otherwise this would be a short story, not a novel), Elvis asks the right question and gets the answer he needs.
On the other hand, he might have preferred the less eventful version.
Elvis and Joe
At this point, Joe Pike is practically a super-human, or maybe a human so fantastic as to be unbelievable—like Batman or Jack Reacher. And I don’t care (I don’t think anyone does)—because he’s not infallible and we all love to see him come in to save the day.
Meanwhile, Elvis has always seemed pretty mortal. Something happens in The Big Empty that emphasizes this mortality. It is not like what happened to Spenser in Small Vices, but it reminded me of it. But Crais handles it better and more believably—Elvis is not infallible, he’s not invincible, and it’s good for the reader—and for him—to get a reminder of it.
Still, it appears that Crais has taken the “stop the characters aging” route—we don’t get references to Vietnam anymore to keep them from seeming as old as they are (see also: Spenser dropping references to Korea). I don’t care how much Tai Chi or whatever Elvis does—he’s too old to do half of what he does. I’m absolutely okay with that, I don’t need to see inconveniently-timed sciatica messing up Pike’s silent approach to a building or Elvis needing a cane or a hearing aid to get through the day.
Basically, I wouldn’t change a thing about what Crais has done with these characters, nor what he’s doing with them now—and The Big Empty is one of the best books to showcase the strengths of his approach to the characters since The Last Detective.
On the Other Hand, We Have John Chen
Really, truly, John Chen is a lousy excuse for a human being—he’s a decent criminalist (it seems) and he’s really easy for Elvis to manipulate into getting what he needs. But the guy is about as self-aware as a piece of toast. His self-delusions are at the level of Pike’s omnicompetence—this doesn’t make him any less entertaining (or cringe-inducing) to read, but wow…some growth in his character would restore some of my faith in humanity.
I was so happy when he showed up in these pages, and I loved every moment with him. (so, yeah, I really don’t want him to grow or develop as a character)
But what I really want—and I don’t know how this could happen—is a short story/novella where John Chen and Roddy Ho have to team up. It would be the ultimate in HR nightmares, and the two would hate each other (I assume). But boy howdy, would it be fun to watch.
So, what did I think about The Big Empty?
Yes, it’s almost a foregone conclusion that I’m going to love a new Elvis Cole novel. But that shouldn’t take away from just how ____ing good this was. If this was my first time reading Crais, it would not have been my last—and I’d have a stack of library books next to me now (which would be replaced by a stack of paperbacks fresh from the bookstore after I read one or two more).
There’s just something about Crais’ prose that makes you race through it. Because of the pace at which he puts books out lately, I wanted to take my time and savor it. Relish each paragraph. But you just can’t do it—the prose is so smooth, so well put together, that every time you try to slow down, Crais comes along behind you and gives you a nudge and you remember that you’re on a bobsled hurtling down the track. That almost sounds like you’re out of control—but you’re not. Maybe a better metaphor would be that you’re in a Lamborghini Murciélago, trying to drive slowly down a deserted highway to take in the scenery. But that car isn’t built for 35 MPH, and before you notice, you’re doing at least 80.
Also, that wasn’t me complaining (too much) about the pace Crais is publishing lately—if he was faster, that prose wouldn’t be as honed. He can take as long as he wants.
We got a larger-than-usual cast of supporting characters for a Cole or Pike novel (or so it seemed, I didn’t do a headcount, nor am I going to go back and do one for the last few books). I thought they were all great—from the antagonists, to the villains, the witnesses, and the innocent parties that got sucked up into something they shouldn’t have been. I believed them all and would like to see almost all of them again (if only it were possible). I can’t tell you the best characters because it would ruin too much, and I want to stay on Putnam’s good side. But when you get to the last chapter, the character there that I haven’t mentioned in this post? That’s the best character (by a nose) in this one.
The first chapter was great—maybe it didn’t do much in terms of story, but it gets you right back into Elvis and Lucy. Then we meet Traci and her manager (that you want Elvis to punch almost as much as he wants to), and you’re with Elvis in wanting to help her—and the book keeps building from strength to strength there—right up to the perfect closing paragraph.
The sole quibble I have with this was the way that the relationship between Elvis and the Sherriff Department’s detective. It just seemed off the way it developed from the natural antagonism to the endpoint where it seemed more (not completely) collegial easier than it should’ve.
So, yeah, I think I’ve made it clear that I really enjoyed The Big Empty, I don’t think it’s the best thing that Crais has written—but it’s gotta be in the top 5 (it could be recency bias talking, but I don’t think so). I’d have to think long and hard to come up with many (other than The Promise, because of Maggie). Regardless of how it stacks up with the rest of Crais’ oeuvre, it’s a dynamite novel, one of the highlights of 2024 for me—and I predict many people will say it’s a highlight of 2025 for them when it’s published next week.
Get your pre-orders or library holds in now, friends, you want to get your hands on this.
Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Putnam Books via NetGalley in exchange for this post—thanks to both for this.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Adrift in Currents Clean and Clear About?
One of the advantages (and, to be fair, aggravating parts) of this series is that each book can be from anywhere on the series timeline. Here in the tenth installment, we get the origin story of someone that we got to know in the third book (Beneath the Sugar Sky). Reality itself is wibbly-wobbly in this series, why not timey wimey?
We meet Nadya at birth—where a young Russian woman who is not ready to be a mother is rushing to give her up—even before she’s freaked out that Nadya is missing an arm. As we watch Nadya growing up, she doesn’t really seem to care about the arm she never had. But when a couple of Americans come to adopt a disadvantaged Russian child, it starts to become a factor in her life.
She’s not comfortable with her new life in the States (yet?), but when a prosthetic arm is imposed on her (in the name of help—see below), she’s made to feel incomplete as well as Other. Her only solace is the pond a short walk from her adoptive parents’ home where she can watch turtles—an animal that has long fascinated her.
Before she knows it, she falls through a Door and ends up in a world she doesn’t understand or recognize (but really isn’t that much stranger than the change from a Russian orphanage to a Colorado suburb).
The Lost and the Lonely
I probably shouldn’t have—but I laughed when she got the “Be Sure” message. It’s in a seemingly-cruel place, but it was original and it meant the story was progressing. I also found her Door rather intriguing.
But better than that was the way her arrival in Belyrreka, the Land Beneath the Lake, was explained to her. Sometimes people come to Belyrreka* because a hero is needed to do something. But sometimes, it’s just that someone isn’t at home in their world and they need a place to fit in. Nadya is the latter, so it seems. Given that most of the children we’ve seen go through a Door to do something heroic, it’s nice to see this option.
This doesn’t mean she’s incapable of heroism, or of doing something important. It just means that she probably ended up in Belyrreka because she belonged there more than on Earth.
This is really a slice-of-life story. We just get to see how Nadya lives and matures in a place where she feels that she belongs, with family, friends, and a purpose. Yes, in the back of our minds, we know that something is going to happen and she’s going to end up at Eleanor West’s Home for Wayward Children. But until then… This novella is like the years between Aslan coronating the Pevensies and the fateful hunt for the White Stag—nothing heroic, nothing particularly notable. Just…life. Regular, ordinary, day-to-day life.
Well, “ordinary” in a world that’s described as Beneath a Lake, where everyone is underwater to one degree or another (breathing without gills), full of talking animals, and where a river can magically endow people with gifts/obligations. So it’s a loose use of the word “ordinary.”
* And by implication, other worlds
I’m Not Entirely Sure This One is Fair
Many of the children we’ve met—particularly if we’ve met their parents, too—aren’t all that fond of their parents. They’re critical of them (even before their Doors appear, definitely afterward). By and large, I’ve been with the children in their critiques and evaluations of the parents—even when it’s clear that the parents are doing their best (which doesn’t happen as often as it should).
I’m not convinced that Nadya is entirely fair when thinking about the adults in her life. Her appraisal of the orphanage staff (at least after they arranged for her to get adopted) is harsh when they really just did what they could to help her get out of the orphanage (which she sees, but attributes it to less-than-altruistic ends). Her parents really don’t understand her (beyond the language) and are clumsy at best in their attempts to help her fit into Colorado. It’s hard to tell how much of the assessment of their motivations and attempts comes from the omniscient narrator and how much is Nadya’s. But really, I think whoever is doing the assessing could be more charitable (without giving blanket approval).
Particularly her adoptive father—I really get the sense that his affection is real and that in time, he’d have become what she needs. I’m not so sure about his wife, however… On some level, they are trying to make life better. But her ideas of better and what needs improved differ.
Now, Nadya is a prepubescent child yanked out of the only home she ever knew, brought to another country and culture without warning (or consent), and forced into a mold and environment that she’s unprepared for. So, sure, she’s going to be less than charitable—it’s justified and understandable. I just wish the narration did a slightly better job of showing that.
So, what did I think about Adrift in Currents Clean and Clear?
That aside…I loved Nadya. Getting to know her like this was great.
This is a book about home. About acceptance. About finding your place in the world, with people who “get” you, who care about you, and who want the best for you—even if that best doesn’t necessarily make a lot of sense to them.
It’s nice, it’s comforting, and it’s reassuring to see Nadya find this for herself and getting to enjoy it for as long as she does. Yes, it’s hard to see her end up back in the “real world” knowing that means some misery before Eleanor comes to her (at least partial) rescue.
There’s a little less whimsy to this novella than many of the other installments in the series—outside of the construction of the world. But if I had to tag this with any description, I’d probably use “cozy.” If I didn’t know this series, I’d assume it would belong with Travis Baldtree or S.L. Rowland. Maybe Heather Fawcett. But I do know better—this series continues to transcend easy categorization. Wayward Children is its own subgenre.
McGuire brings the emotional depth that Nadya and her story need. Belyrreka is a great world that operates on its own (self-aware) logic—it’s a place I’d love to visit (assuming I wouldn’t panic at the whole living underwater thing, which I can’t promise), but wouldn’t want to live. But McGuire brings it to life and fills it with people I wish I could get to know more.
This is definitely one of the stronger books in this series that is on a great roll lately, I commend it to your attention. As with just about every book in the series, it can be read as a stand-alone or as an entry point (but I strongly encourage reading at least Every Heart a Doorway before any of the others). I was sad when it ended—not because of the way it ended, I just wasn’t ready to move on. I predict I won’t be alone in that.
Now, excuse me…I need to go figure out a way to cram in a re-read of Beneath a Sugar Sky to my schedule.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s Adrift in Currents Clean and Clear About?
One of the advantages (and, to be fair, aggravating parts) of this series is that each book can be from anywhere on the series timeline. Here in the tenth installment, we get the origin story of someone that we got to know in the third book (Beneath the Sugar Sky). Reality itself is wibbly-wobbly in this series, why not timey wimey?
We meet Nadya at birth—where a young Russian woman who is not ready to be a mother is rushing to give her up—even before she’s freaked out that Nadya is missing an arm. As we watch Nadya growing up, she doesn’t really seem to care about the arm she never had. But when a couple of Americans come to adopt a disadvantaged Russian child, it starts to become a factor in her life.
She’s not comfortable with her new life in the States (yet?), but when a prosthetic arm is imposed on her (in the name of help—see below), she’s made to feel incomplete as well as Other. Her only solace is the pond a short walk from her adoptive parents’ home where she can watch turtles—an animal that has long fascinated her.
Before she knows it, she falls through a Door and ends up in a world she doesn’t understand or recognize (but really isn’t that much stranger than the change from a Russian orphanage to a Colorado suburb).
The Lost and the Lonely
I probably shouldn’t have—but I laughed when she got the “Be Sure” message. It’s in a seemingly-cruel place, but it was original and it meant the story was progressing. I also found her Door rather intriguing.
But better than that was the way her arrival in Belyrreka, the Land Beneath the Lake, was explained to her. Sometimes people come to Belyrreka* because a hero is needed to do something. But sometimes, it’s just that someone isn’t at home in their world and they need a place to fit in. Nadya is the latter, so it seems. Given that most of the children we’ve seen go through a Door to do something heroic, it’s nice to see this option.
This doesn’t mean she’s incapable of heroism, or of doing something important. It just means that she probably ended up in Belyrreka because she belonged there more than on Earth.
This is really a slice-of-life story. We just get to see how Nadya lives and matures in a place where she feels that she belongs, with family, friends, and a purpose. Yes, in the back of our minds, we know that something is going to happen and she’s going to end up at Eleanor West’s Home for Wayward Children. But until then… This novella is like the years between Aslan coronating the Pevensies and the fateful hunt for the White Stag—nothing heroic, nothing particularly notable. Just…life. Regular, ordinary, day-to-day life.
Well, “ordinary” in a world that’s described as Beneath a Lake, where everyone is underwater to one degree or another (breathing without gills), full of talking animals, and where a river can magically endow people with gifts/obligations. So it’s a loose use of the word “ordinary.”
* And by implication, other worlds
I’m Not Entirely Sure This One is Fair
Many of the children we’ve met—particularly if we’ve met their parents, too—aren’t all that fond of their parents. They’re critical of them (even before their Doors appear, definitely afterward). By and large, I’ve been with the children in their critiques and evaluations of the parents—even when it’s clear that the parents are doing their best (which doesn’t happen as often as it should).
I’m not convinced that Nadya is entirely fair when thinking about the adults in her life. Her appraisal of the orphanage staff (at least after they arranged for her to get adopted) is harsh when they really just did what they could to help her get out of the orphanage (which she sees, but attributes it to less-than-altruistic ends). Her parents really don’t understand her (beyond the language) and are clumsy at best in their attempts to help her fit into Colorado. It’s hard to tell how much of the assessment of their motivations and attempts comes from the omniscient narrator and how much is Nadya’s. But really, I think whoever is doing the assessing could be more charitable (without giving blanket approval).
Particularly her adoptive father—I really get the sense that his affection is real and that in time, he’d have become what she needs. I’m not so sure about his wife, however… On some level, they are trying to make life better. But her ideas of better and what needs improved differ.
Now, Nadya is a prepubescent child yanked out of the only home she ever knew, brought to another country and culture without warning (or consent), and forced into a mold and environment that she’s unprepared for. So, sure, she’s going to be less than charitable—it’s justified and understandable. I just wish the narration did a slightly better job of showing that.
So, what did I think about Adrift in Currents Clean and Clear?
That aside…I loved Nadya. Getting to know her like this was great.
This is a book about home. About acceptance. About finding your place in the world, with people who “get” you, who care about you, and who want the best for you—even if that best doesn’t necessarily make a lot of sense to them.
It’s nice, it’s comforting, and it’s reassuring to see Nadya find this for herself and getting to enjoy it for as long as she does. Yes, it’s hard to see her end up back in the “real world” knowing that means some misery before Eleanor comes to her (at least partial) rescue.
There’s a little less whimsy to this novella than many of the other installments in the series—outside of the construction of the world. But if I had to tag this with any description, I’d probably use “cozy.” If I didn’t know this series, I’d assume it would belong with Travis Baldtree or S.L. Rowland. Maybe Heather Fawcett. But I do know better—this series continues to transcend easy categorization. Wayward Children is its own subgenre.
McGuire brings the emotional depth that Nadya and her story need. Belyrreka is a great world that operates on its own (self-aware) logic—it’s a place I’d love to visit (assuming I wouldn’t panic at the whole living underwater thing, which I can’t promise), but wouldn’t want to live. But McGuire brings it to life and fills it with people I wish I could get to know more.
This is definitely one of the stronger books in this series that is on a great roll lately, I commend it to your attention. As with just about every book in the series, it can be read as a stand-alone or as an entry point (but I strongly encourage reading at least Every Heart a Doorway before any of the others). I was sad when it ended—not because of the way it ended, I just wasn’t ready to move on. I predict I won’t be alone in that.
Now, excuse me…I need to go figure out a way to cram in a re-read of Beneath a Sugar Sky to my schedule.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
The Killer’s Christmas List
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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A Quick Note
For reasons he’s probably detailed somewhere (and I likely read/heard and forgotten), Chris McDonald wrote this under the pen name Chris Frost (and who knows, McDonald might be a pen name, too). But as he’s not being covert about it (his Twitter account uses both names), I’m going to talk about them as if they’re the same person, because McDonald’s work informs the way I reacted to this.
What’s The Killer’s Christmas List About?
Previous drafts of this have been over-complicated as I explain too much and yet try to be spoiler-free, or they’ve been so bland as to be useless (“A new DI is assigned to a holiday-themed murder. Detecting ensues.”). So I’m going with the crutch of the Publisher’s description of this “anti-cosy Christmas” mystery:
In the picturesque village of Kibblesworth, DI Tom Stonem is dreaming of a quiet Christmas alone.
But in the shadow of the Angel of the North, a body lies waiting. The dead man is posed with a child’s Christmas list in his pocket, and the first mysterious item – 1. No angel – is crossed off.
When a second body is found – a woman, stabbed in the abdomen after her work Christmas do – Stonem is convinced there’s a grim connection between the crime scenes and the seemingly innocent list. 2. Red partee dress. Could this be a murderer’s twisted code?
As a blizzard rages in the Tyne & Wear countryside, the body count is snowballing. Can Stonem stop the killer before they get everyone on their Christmas list?
He’s So Good at This…
This is a minor thing, but Frost is so good at this (like McDonald, see A Wash of Black)—I can think of other examples, too, but few are as smooth as Frost/McDonald is. Stonem is really introduced to us as he arrives on the crime scene as his first day on the job in this station. So we get a blend of our introduction to him, the other officers, and the crime all at once.
The skeleton of the series is established, the kind of detective Stonem is, the identities and character of those he works with, and the kind of crimes we’re going to be seeing—both for the rest of this series and the rest of this novel. It’s so economical, so organic, and efficient that I can’t help but admire it. You start off with the whole world for DI Tom Stonem delivered in a chapter or two, rather than getting it in dribs and drabs like most people do. I have no problem with that approach—but when you see it done like this, it just seems so right.
The Flashbacks
We get regular flashbacks to someone’s childhood throughout the book—it’s a child who doesn’t have a lot in life, and a couple of parents who need financial help, and probably addiction treatment (and a lot more, too). It’s clearly connected to the killings the book focuses on. But, of course, just how it is connected is held back.
As a story-telling tool, I typically don’t like this approach.* It just seems mawkish, usually ungraceful, and I really dislike the way it’s generally used to give us insight into a killer (or someone associated with the crime) without identifiying the person, it just grates on me like nails on a chalkboard**. However, the way that Frost used it ended up really working for me, and was some of the more effective writing in the novel. Good on him.
* I say that, but I probably get sucked in regularly. But at least I don’t think I like this approach.
** Readers of a certain age should ask their parents. And maybe suggest an updated comparison for me to use.
Spoilerish thought, maybe skip this paragraph: This did not go the way that Frost seemed to be telegraphing—it may be that he had a better idea partway through and changed things, but it was probably (and it makes him seem cleverer) that he faked the reader out. A couple of times in the case of this reader. I’m so glad that he did—not just because I enjoy it when an author fakes me out without cheating, but because the way it ended up works so much better than where I thought he was going.
Just how Christmas-y is This?
Not very. Christmas plays a role in motive, and the thing is set in the days leading up to December 25th. But there’s not a very holiday feel to this. Some Christmas mysteries (even involving murder, kidnappings, serial killers, and other acts of violence) still give you a Christmas cheer vibe or something like that. There’s so little of that here as to make it negligible. The holiday is important to the plot, but not to the “vibe,” for lack of a better word.
Basically, read this one whenever you get around to it. You don’t need to sip on egg nog with Andy Williams playing in the background to appreciate it.
So, what did I think about The Killer’s Christmas List?
This is not Frost at his best, I’m sorry to say. Something about the prose felt clunky and occasionally overwritten—maybe Frost and his editor got in some strange groove and didn’t read as critically as they could’ve in the last passes. Was anything so bad that it took me out of the book? No. I winced a little and moved on. But it’s kind of a shame. Also…there were a couple of lines of investigation I just can’t imagine an experienced detective (or one who’s watched more than 3 episodes of Law & Order) didn’t take from the get-go. It didn’t hurt Stonem or his team, it just felt weird not to at least have them mentioned. And I grumbled about it to the book, which thankfully didn’t reply.
But whatever.
The plot though? Really good. Frost’s storytelling makes up for my quibbles—the way he develops the story, the momentum he gathers, and the twists were really nicely done. I’d sussed out the killer ahead of time (but I couldn’t have been wronger about motive)—and Frost convinced me I was wrong until he got to the reveal.
I liked Tom Stonem—he’s not as instantly compelling as Erkia Piper was, but it didn’t take too long for me to appreciate him, and I think in future books, I’ll end up liking him as much as, if not more, as Piper. And I’m really curious about where Frost intends to take him. Some of the rest of the team will be fun to hang out with, too. They’re not the typical detective team that I meet in British Police Procedurals (which frequently feel interchangeable between series).
The Killer’s Christmas List was a solid and quick read that was pretty satisfying. I’m looking forward to more of these.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
A Quick Note
For reasons he’s probably detailed somewhere (and I likely read/heard and forgotten), Chris McDonald wrote this under the pen name Chris Frost (and who knows, McDonald might be a pen name, too). But as he’s not being covert about it (his Twitter account uses both names), I’m going to talk about them as if they’re the same person, because McDonald’s work informs the way I reacted to this.
What’s The Killer’s Christmas List About?
Previous drafts of this have been over-complicated as I explain too much and yet try to be spoiler-free, or they’ve been so bland as to be useless (“A new DI is assigned to a holiday-themed murder. Detecting ensues.”). So I’m going with the crutch of the Publisher’s description of this “anti-cosy Christmas” mystery:
In the picturesque village of Kibblesworth, DI Tom Stonem is dreaming of a quiet Christmas alone.
But in the shadow of the Angel of the North, a body lies waiting. The dead man is posed with a child’s Christmas list in his pocket, and the first mysterious item – 1. No angel – is crossed off.
When a second body is found – a woman, stabbed in the abdomen after her work Christmas do – Stonem is convinced there’s a grim connection between the crime scenes and the seemingly innocent list. 2. Red partee dress. Could this be a murderer’s twisted code?
As a blizzard rages in the Tyne & Wear countryside, the body count is snowballing. Can Stonem stop the killer before they get everyone on their Christmas list?
He’s So Good at This…
This is a minor thing, but Frost is so good at this (like McDonald, see A Wash of Black)—I can think of other examples, too, but few are as smooth as Frost/McDonald is. Stonem is really introduced to us as he arrives on the crime scene as his first day on the job in this station. So we get a blend of our introduction to him, the other officers, and the crime all at once.
The skeleton of the series is established, the kind of detective Stonem is, the identities and character of those he works with, and the kind of crimes we’re going to be seeing—both for the rest of this series and the rest of this novel. It’s so economical, so organic, and efficient that I can’t help but admire it. You start off with the whole world for DI Tom Stonem delivered in a chapter or two, rather than getting it in dribs and drabs like most people do. I have no problem with that approach—but when you see it done like this, it just seems so right.
The Flashbacks
We get regular flashbacks to someone’s childhood throughout the book—it’s a child who doesn’t have a lot in life, and a couple of parents who need financial help, and probably addiction treatment (and a lot more, too). It’s clearly connected to the killings the book focuses on. But, of course, just how it is connected is held back.
As a story-telling tool, I typically don’t like this approach.* It just seems mawkish, usually ungraceful, and I really dislike the way it’s generally used to give us insight into a killer (or someone associated with the crime) without identifiying the person, it just grates on me like nails on a chalkboard**. However, the way that Frost used it ended up really working for me, and was some of the more effective writing in the novel. Good on him.
* I say that, but I probably get sucked in regularly. But at least I don’t think I like this approach.
** Readers of a certain age should ask their parents. And maybe suggest an updated comparison for me to use.
Spoilerish thought, maybe skip this paragraph: This did not go the way that Frost seemed to be telegraphing—it may be that he had a better idea partway through and changed things, but it was probably (and it makes him seem cleverer) that he faked the reader out. A couple of times in the case of this reader. I’m so glad that he did—not just because I enjoy it when an author fakes me out without cheating, but because the way it ended up works so much better than where I thought he was going.
Just how Christmas-y is This?
Not very. Christmas plays a role in motive, and the thing is set in the days leading up to December 25th. But there’s not a very holiday feel to this. Some Christmas mysteries (even involving murder, kidnappings, serial killers, and other acts of violence) still give you a Christmas cheer vibe or something like that. There’s so little of that here as to make it negligible. The holiday is important to the plot, but not to the “vibe,” for lack of a better word.
Basically, read this one whenever you get around to it. You don’t need to sip on egg nog with Andy Williams playing in the background to appreciate it.
So, what did I think about The Killer’s Christmas List?
This is not Frost at his best, I’m sorry to say. Something about the prose felt clunky and occasionally overwritten—maybe Frost and his editor got in some strange groove and didn’t read as critically as they could’ve in the last passes. Was anything so bad that it took me out of the book? No. I winced a little and moved on. But it’s kind of a shame. Also…there were a couple of lines of investigation I just can’t imagine an experienced detective (or one who’s watched more than 3 episodes of Law & Order) didn’t take from the get-go. It didn’t hurt Stonem or his team, it just felt weird not to at least have them mentioned. And I grumbled about it to the book, which thankfully didn’t reply.
But whatever.
The plot though? Really good. Frost’s storytelling makes up for my quibbles—the way he develops the story, the momentum he gathers, and the twists were really nicely done. I’d sussed out the killer ahead of time (but I couldn’t have been wronger about motive)—and Frost convinced me I was wrong until he got to the reveal.
I liked Tom Stonem—he’s not as instantly compelling as Erkia Piper was, but it didn’t take too long for me to appreciate him, and I think in future books, I’ll end up liking him as much as, if not more, as Piper. And I’m really curious about where Frost intends to take him. Some of the rest of the team will be fun to hang out with, too. They’re not the typical detective team that I meet in British Police Procedurals (which frequently feel interchangeable between series).
The Killer’s Christmas List was a solid and quick read that was pretty satisfying. I’m looking forward to more of these.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Letters from Father Christmas About?
From 1920-1943 JRR Tolkien wrote letters to his children from Father Christmas—generally multiple letters per year. These were (generally) not quick little notes, but were letters that could take multiple pages. Tolkien wrote these in an ornate penmanship where Father Christmas talks about their letters to him, and tells stories about life at the North Pole. Part of his stories—and a frequent contributor to these letters was Polar Bear (with his own penmanship, and idiosyncratic spelling), and Ilbereth the Elf joins later and his handwriting might as well be one of those fancy typefaces people use for overpriced wedding invitations.
In addition to well-wishes, responses to the letters received from the children, and assurances of gifts coming the letters contain updates on life at the North Pole. Sometimes these updates are comical (usually involving the accident-prone PB), sometimes they talk about battles with goblins, or troubles with shipping and tracking addresses. Invariably, there will also be some sort of illustration to accompany the story.
This edition contains full-color reproductions of the letters and drawings in addition to typed versions (in varying typefaces so you can identify who is writing the letter).
The Art
I’m so glad this edition has full-color reproductions of the illustrations—the letters, too, which almost count as art. On the whole, it’s very similar to Pictures by J.R.R. Tolkien stylistically, which is is be expected. I bet his kids were thrilled to get this kind of thing from Father Christmas every year.
The Tolkien Estate’s website has several samples from this book to take a gander at. My favorites aren’t here, so, you’re going to have to track down copy yourself to see the best. But the samples are representative.
A Personal Observation
I was—and am—such a lazy and unimaginative father. Seriously—multiple letters, ornately illustrated, written in 1-3 distinctive handwriting, every year? I never came near that—not a bit. Never mind the content, full of imagination and whimsy—just the dedicated work that went into these letters.
Tolkien was something else…
So, what did I think about Letters from Father Christmas?
I loved this depiction of Santa—he’s more in the mold of the Kurt Russel/Dresden Files/Viking-ish Santa than the Clement Moore, Miracle on 34th Street, Rankin-Bass mold. Which fits with Tolkien’s interests, as I understand them. But in addition to being a Warrior Santa, he’s focused on his mission of spreading joy and presents—and is always expressing his affection for the children he’s writing to.
I enjoyed his stories about the battles and troubles he’d had that year. I wasn’t always into the Polar Bear mishaps, it seemed like picking on him to me. But I can see where kids would have fun with it.
One of the best parts for me was the way that Father Christmas talked to Priscilla about the difficulties in England in the 1940s—honestly (and age-appropriate) but filled with hope.
I can easily see this becoming a tradition to read with the Grandcritter and any siblings/cousins that might pop up. I also would enjoy revisiting this collection myself, I should add. I can also see better parents than me using this as inspiration for their own traditions.
If you haven’t tried this yet, I recommend it—for Tolkien fans or Santa/Father Christmas alike.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s Letters from Father Christmas About?
From 1920-1943 JRR Tolkien wrote letters to his children from Father Christmas—generally multiple letters per year. These were (generally) not quick little notes, but were letters that could take multiple pages. Tolkien wrote these in an ornate penmanship where Father Christmas talks about their letters to him, and tells stories about life at the North Pole. Part of his stories—and a frequent contributor to these letters was Polar Bear (with his own penmanship, and idiosyncratic spelling), and Ilbereth the Elf joins later and his handwriting might as well be one of those fancy typefaces people use for overpriced wedding invitations.
In addition to well-wishes, responses to the letters received from the children, and assurances of gifts coming the letters contain updates on life at the North Pole. Sometimes these updates are comical (usually involving the accident-prone PB), sometimes they talk about battles with goblins, or troubles with shipping and tracking addresses. Invariably, there will also be some sort of illustration to accompany the story.
This edition contains full-color reproductions of the letters and drawings in addition to typed versions (in varying typefaces so you can identify who is writing the letter).
The Art
I’m so glad this edition has full-color reproductions of the illustrations—the letters, too, which almost count as art. On the whole, it’s very similar to Pictures by J.R.R. Tolkien stylistically, which is is be expected. I bet his kids were thrilled to get this kind of thing from Father Christmas every year.
The Tolkien Estate’s website has several samples from this book to take a gander at. My favorites aren’t here, so, you’re going to have to track down copy yourself to see the best. But the samples are representative.
A Personal Observation
I was—and am—such a lazy and unimaginative father. Seriously—multiple letters, ornately illustrated, written in 1-3 distinctive handwriting, every year? I never came near that—not a bit. Never mind the content, full of imagination and whimsy—just the dedicated work that went into these letters.
Tolkien was something else…
So, what did I think about Letters from Father Christmas?
I loved this depiction of Santa—he’s more in the mold of the Kurt Russel/Dresden Files/Viking-ish Santa than the Clement Moore, Miracle on 34th Street, Rankin-Bass mold. Which fits with Tolkien’s interests, as I understand them. But in addition to being a Warrior Santa, he’s focused on his mission of spreading joy and presents—and is always expressing his affection for the children he’s writing to.
I enjoyed his stories about the battles and troubles he’d had that year. I wasn’t always into the Polar Bear mishaps, it seemed like picking on him to me. But I can see where kids would have fun with it.
One of the best parts for me was the way that Father Christmas talked to Priscilla about the difficulties in England in the 1940s—honestly (and age-appropriate) but filled with hope.
I can easily see this becoming a tradition to read with the Grandcritter and any siblings/cousins that might pop up. I also would enjoy revisiting this collection myself, I should add. I can also see better parents than me using this as inspiration for their own traditions.
If you haven’t tried this yet, I recommend it—for Tolkien fans or Santa/Father Christmas alike.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s An Instruction in Shadow About?
This picks up mere hours after An Inheritance of Magic, and Stephen is feeling pretty good about himself. His job is going okay, he’s continuing to improve in his magic, he’s got a good lead when it comes to his father’s location—sure, things with his mother weren’t quite what he’d hoped for. But she left the door open to further communication.
And it doesn’t take long for things to start going wrong—but nothing disastrous.
The best way to summarize this book is to say that: everything from the last book continues along the same trajectory, but gets harder. This means nothing if you haven’t read that book, but you really should (at the very least, go check out my post about it). Among the ways that happens—a cult (or cult-like group) tries to recruit him, an assassin makes an (almost successful) attempt on his life, he gets suspended from work, and he runs afoul of a group of Russian criminals.
Worst of all, Stephen gets in deeper with his mother’s family.
The World and Its Magic System
We don’t learn much more about sigl work or Wells—we see more examples of what we’ve already seen at work, but that’s about it. Alright, we get to see what medical sigls can do, so that’s new.
What we get more of-—and it’s just the tip of the iceberg, I’m sure–is insight into the families and companies that run the sigl economy and Well markets. If there are ethics governing them in any way, shape, or form, Stephen hasn’t shown them to us. It’s all about power, manipulation, and things that happen under the table and behind the scenes. It’s both unthinkable that things operate in this fashion in the 21st century—and somehow the part of the book that seems the least fictional or fantastic.
Much of this comes from an info drop or two—but they’re worked into the narrative perfectly. They’re neither disruptive to the overall story nor are they clunky exposition.
So, what did I think about An Instruction in Shadow?
Let me start with this: I would happily read books 3 and 4 in this series in the next couple of months, and still be eager for more. The more we see about this world—and the more questions we have raise, the more I want to learn and see.
Am I a little worried about the arc that Jacka is suggesting for Stephen? Yes. Am I also almost certain that the arc won’t go the way it looks, and that there’s nothing to worry about? Yes.
I really just want more of it—-I am not certain that I care too much about the whole “where’s Stephen’s dad” part of the overall story, but I’m pretty sure that I don’t need to, because the series has been inevitably moving in that direction since the beginning, and when the time comes, I’ll get invested.
But Jacka has got me sitting on the edge of my seat when it comes to everything else. I want to see more of how this economy works—on the legitimate side, the illegitimate side, and then the murky overlap. I want to understand how Stephen is going to operate and keep his head above water in it. He’s not just a MacGuffin, but he kind of feels that way right now.
I’m feeling really inarticulate when it comes to this series—and this installment in particular. Everything I said about the first one is still true. We really just got more of what he’d already given, so my position and thoughts are pretty much the same, too.
I did think that despite his struggles and the aforementioned almost successful assassination, things went a little too easy for Stephen this time. I’d have liked a failure or two. Or at least another draw or two. Even when things were at their hardest for him in this book, he found a way to turn the oncoming defeat into a victory. I typically really appreciate that kind of thing (obviously), but I had very little doubt each time that Stephen was going to come out on top. I just want a little more suspense and doubt on that front. But this wasn’t a major distraction or detraction—it’d just be good for Stephen’s life to be seen as difficult as he sees it.
Also, one of the better parts of An Inheritance of Magic was watching the trial and error Stephen went through—it was very effective in terms of character development and showing us the way sigls work. Give me more of that and I’m happy.
Again—I thoroughly enjoyed this book and am eager to read more. I just wanted it to be a teeny bit better.
If you’re into inventive UF, there’s no better time than now to jump on this series—I think you’ll be as invested in getting more as I am.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s An Instruction in Shadow About?
This picks up mere hours after An Inheritance of Magic, and Stephen is feeling pretty good about himself. His job is going okay, he’s continuing to improve in his magic, he’s got a good lead when it comes to his father’s location—sure, things with his mother weren’t quite what he’d hoped for. But she left the door open to further communication.
And it doesn’t take long for things to start going wrong—but nothing disastrous.
The best way to summarize this book is to say that: everything from the last book continues along the same trajectory, but gets harder. This means nothing if you haven’t read that book, but you really should (at the very least, go check out my post about it). Among the ways that happens—a cult (or cult-like group) tries to recruit him, an assassin makes an (almost successful) attempt on his life, he gets suspended from work, and he runs afoul of a group of Russian criminals.
Worst of all, Stephen gets in deeper with his mother’s family.
The World and Its Magic System
We don’t learn much more about sigl work or Wells—we see more examples of what we’ve already seen at work, but that’s about it. Alright, we get to see what medical sigls can do, so that’s new.
What we get more of-—and it’s just the tip of the iceberg, I’m sure–is insight into the families and companies that run the sigl economy and Well markets. If there are ethics governing them in any way, shape, or form, Stephen hasn’t shown them to us. It’s all about power, manipulation, and things that happen under the table and behind the scenes. It’s both unthinkable that things operate in this fashion in the 21st century—and somehow the part of the book that seems the least fictional or fantastic.
Much of this comes from an info drop or two—but they’re worked into the narrative perfectly. They’re neither disruptive to the overall story nor are they clunky exposition.
So, what did I think about An Instruction in Shadow?
Let me start with this: I would happily read books 3 and 4 in this series in the next couple of months, and still be eager for more. The more we see about this world—and the more questions we have raise, the more I want to learn and see.
Am I a little worried about the arc that Jacka is suggesting for Stephen? Yes. Am I also almost certain that the arc won’t go the way it looks, and that there’s nothing to worry about? Yes.
I really just want more of it—-I am not certain that I care too much about the whole “where’s Stephen’s dad” part of the overall story, but I’m pretty sure that I don’t need to, because the series has been inevitably moving in that direction since the beginning, and when the time comes, I’ll get invested.
But Jacka has got me sitting on the edge of my seat when it comes to everything else. I want to see more of how this economy works—on the legitimate side, the illegitimate side, and then the murky overlap. I want to understand how Stephen is going to operate and keep his head above water in it. He’s not just a MacGuffin, but he kind of feels that way right now.
I’m feeling really inarticulate when it comes to this series—and this installment in particular. Everything I said about the first one is still true. We really just got more of what he’d already given, so my position and thoughts are pretty much the same, too.
I did think that despite his struggles and the aforementioned almost successful assassination, things went a little too easy for Stephen this time. I’d have liked a failure or two. Or at least another draw or two. Even when things were at their hardest for him in this book, he found a way to turn the oncoming defeat into a victory. I typically really appreciate that kind of thing (obviously), but I had very little doubt each time that Stephen was going to come out on top. I just want a little more suspense and doubt on that front. But this wasn’t a major distraction or detraction—it’d just be good for Stephen’s life to be seen as difficult as he sees it.
Also, one of the better parts of An Inheritance of Magic was watching the trial and error Stephen went through—it was very effective in terms of character development and showing us the way sigls work. Give me more of that and I’m happy.
Again—I thoroughly enjoyed this book and am eager to read more. I just wanted it to be a teeny bit better.
If you’re into inventive UF, there’s no better time than now to jump on this series—I think you’ll be as invested in getting more as I am.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s What Were You Expecting? About?
This is not really a board book parody, it’s more like a book for grown-ups disguised as a kid’s book. Specifically, it’s a board book for a parent in the first year or so of parenting—something they can use to commiserate with, something to help them know they’re not alone. At the same time, it’s something they can read to their child in order to feel like a good parent—because, hey, reading!
The art supports this—and really, for kids in the first two years (at least), the pictures are what they care about. The words are totally unimportant.
So, Spires can write lines like,
This is an owl. Like you, it thinks day is night and night is day. Its brain is very small.
Or (my personal favorite),
This is a house. It’s a lot like the one we had to remortgage to pay for your daycare.
Just Kidding. We can’t find a daycare.
While Cho’s art will keep the little one’s attention.
Really, the cover image tells you all that you really need to know—both in terms of art, content, and tone.
SFW/SFB
Unlike the children’s books for adults by Adam Mansbach and Ricardo Cortés (like Go the F**k to Sleep and You Have to F***ing Eat), these are completely Safe for Work, or Safe for a Baby. The text is clean enough to eat off of, but barbed enough that you might not want to.
it’s also not all snark. There’s a very sweet ending that every parent will be able to identify with.
So, what did I think about What Were You Expecting??
I just liked the concept and had to buy a copy for my son and daughter-in-law when the Grandcritter showed up. Reading it before I gave it to them solidified that feeling. I think they appreciated it.
They liked it enough that the Grandcritter asks for it repeatedly at bedtime—so he must’ve been exposed to it plenty and now is returning the favor.
Cho’s art is exactly what you want in a board book. It’s eye-catching, vibrant, and energetic—while simple enough that it doesn’t overwhelm anyone.
Pick yourself up a copy—or go check out the sample on the publisher’s site—fill up your sippy cup with “Momma’s and Daddy’s Special Grape Juice” and have a couple minutes of fun.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s What Were You Expecting? About?
This is not really a board book parody, it’s more like a book for grown-ups disguised as a kid’s book. Specifically, it’s a board book for a parent in the first year or so of parenting—something they can use to commiserate with, something to help them know they’re not alone. At the same time, it’s something they can read to their child in order to feel like a good parent—because, hey, reading!
The art supports this—and really, for kids in the first two years (at least), the pictures are what they care about. The words are totally unimportant.
So, Spires can write lines like,
This is an owl. Like you, it thinks day is night and night is day. Its brain is very small.
Or (my personal favorite),
This is a house. It’s a lot like the one we had to remortgage to pay for your daycare.
Just Kidding. We can’t find a daycare.
While Cho’s art will keep the little one’s attention.
Really, the cover image tells you all that you really need to know—both in terms of art, content, and tone.
SFW/SFB
Unlike the children’s books for adults by Adam Mansbach and Ricardo Cortés (like Go the F**k to Sleep and You Have to F***ing Eat), these are completely Safe for Work, or Safe for a Baby. The text is clean enough to eat off of, but barbed enough that you might not want to.
it’s also not all snark. There’s a very sweet ending that every parent will be able to identify with.
So, what did I think about What Were You Expecting??
I just liked the concept and had to buy a copy for my son and daughter-in-law when the Grandcritter showed up. Reading it before I gave it to them solidified that feeling. I think they appreciated it.
They liked it enough that the Grandcritter asks for it repeatedly at bedtime—so he must’ve been exposed to it plenty and now is returning the favor.
Cho’s art is exactly what you want in a board book. It’s eye-catching, vibrant, and energetic—while simple enough that it doesn’t overwhelm anyone.
Pick yourself up a copy—or go check out the sample on the publisher’s site—fill up your sippy cup with “Momma’s and Daddy’s Special Grape Juice” and have a couple minutes of fun.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Real Festivus About?
It’s right there in the subtitle, isn’t it? It’s “The True Story Behind America’s Favorite Made-up Holiday.”
In this book you will learn, should you choose, how to celebrate Festivus according to the true and ancient traditions that have guided it since its birth back in the mists of the 1960s. But be warned: the secrets of this book can be dangerous. Do not read it while driving a car; that would be a bad idea. Do not use it to hold down important papers on a desk; it is flimsy and your papers may blow away. If you handle it carelessly, you may sustain paper cuts that are not only painful, but may attract sharks while swimming at the beach. Also, the way things are going in this country, reading books might soon lead to your arrest and a one-way black helicopter ride to some kind of orbital prison, or forced labor on an undersea kelp farm. Depending on the judge you get.
Why is there a need for this book? Well, O’Keefe addresses that right off the bat with his opening words:
So you think the holiday known as Festivus involves a metal pole, do you? Feats of strength? Commercial breaks? WRONG. That’s just the television version. Because a network audience couldn’t possibly have handled the real thing. A family huddled around a table by candle-light one random evening a year, eating and drinking too much, singing in German about a black pig, bitching about people who didn’t like them into a barely functional tape recorder, and displaying obscene, hand-scrawled signs of a political nature.
But if you go beyond simple belief, if you are one of those lost souls who, captivated by the television portrayal of Festivus, actually celebrates the damn thing… what’s up with that? Don’t get out of the house much, do you? Maybe you should get a pet or a hobby or something.* If you don’t already have forty cats in your studio apartment, which will eat your eyes when you die, alone.
*Hard not to take that personally…
He starts with the need for Festivus (a quick critique of some of the major holidays); then moves into the name and what it could mean; its origin; common misconceptions about the holiday (i.e., the Seinfeld episode); and some of the details about the holiday: the floating date, the poems, music, dinner, and gifts; he then details some particular commemorations of the day; and then spends a few paragraphs detailing what the reader needs to pull off an “authentic” Festivus celebration to wrap it up.
So, what did I think about The Real Festivus?
This is not at all what I expected. Sure, I knew the TV version didn’t match up with the O’Keefe family version exactly. But just how little overlap there was (basically: the name) astounded me.
Once you get past the kvetching about the TV Show’s version of Festivus (which seems a little heavy-handed, I have to say, but I think he was going for funny), what this book really is becomes clear. It’s a memoir about an eccentric family’s equally eccentric ritual. Every family has them—the O’Keefes were just nice enough to record them and have one son who achieved enough notoriety to get a publisher to pay for these memories (and the skill to deliver them).
It’s an amusing book infused with a particular kind of sweetness. I don’t know that it’s the kind of thing that will change my Festivus celebrations in the future (I really like the pole), but it’s a rewarding read.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s The Real Festivus About?
It’s right there in the subtitle, isn’t it? It’s “The True Story Behind America’s Favorite Made-up Holiday.”
In this book you will learn, should you choose, how to celebrate Festivus according to the true and ancient traditions that have guided it since its birth back in the mists of the 1960s. But be warned: the secrets of this book can be dangerous. Do not read it while driving a car; that would be a bad idea. Do not use it to hold down important papers on a desk; it is flimsy and your papers may blow away. If you handle it carelessly, you may sustain paper cuts that are not only painful, but may attract sharks while swimming at the beach. Also, the way things are going in this country, reading books might soon lead to your arrest and a one-way black helicopter ride to some kind of orbital prison, or forced labor on an undersea kelp farm. Depending on the judge you get.
Why is there a need for this book? Well, O’Keefe addresses that right off the bat with his opening words:
So you think the holiday known as Festivus involves a metal pole, do you? Feats of strength? Commercial breaks? WRONG. That’s just the television version. Because a network audience couldn’t possibly have handled the real thing. A family huddled around a table by candle-light one random evening a year, eating and drinking too much, singing in German about a black pig, bitching about people who didn’t like them into a barely functional tape recorder, and displaying obscene, hand-scrawled signs of a political nature.
But if you go beyond simple belief, if you are one of those lost souls who, captivated by the television portrayal of Festivus, actually celebrates the damn thing… what’s up with that? Don’t get out of the house much, do you? Maybe you should get a pet or a hobby or something.* If you don’t already have forty cats in your studio apartment, which will eat your eyes when you die, alone.
*Hard not to take that personally…
He starts with the need for Festivus (a quick critique of some of the major holidays); then moves into the name and what it could mean; its origin; common misconceptions about the holiday (i.e., the Seinfeld episode); and some of the details about the holiday: the floating date, the poems, music, dinner, and gifts; he then details some particular commemorations of the day; and then spends a few paragraphs detailing what the reader needs to pull off an “authentic” Festivus celebration to wrap it up.
So, what did I think about The Real Festivus?
This is not at all what I expected. Sure, I knew the TV version didn’t match up with the O’Keefe family version exactly. But just how little overlap there was (basically: the name) astounded me.
Once you get past the kvetching about the TV Show’s version of Festivus (which seems a little heavy-handed, I have to say, but I think he was going for funny), what this book really is becomes clear. It’s a memoir about an eccentric family’s equally eccentric ritual. Every family has them—the O’Keefes were just nice enough to record them and have one son who achieved enough notoriety to get a publisher to pay for these memories (and the skill to deliver them).
It’s an amusing book infused with a particular kind of sweetness. I don’t know that it’s the kind of thing that will change my Festivus celebrations in the future (I really like the pole), but it’s a rewarding read.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Sizar About?
A Cambridge student is found hanged, presumably by his own hand. But Master Vaughan calls on Hardiman to look into the circumstances of the suicide—what was it that drove this promising scholar to do this? It’s not long before another student is found dead—and this time it’s clear that someone killed him. This forces everyone to take another look at the hanging—was it self-harm?
Hardiman finds himself out of his depth again—but his determination and level thinking helps him to get at things that others miss or disregard. Soon, he’s looking into a gambling ring, the darker parts of student culture, and what may be a group of conspirators.
The Mystery
It didn’t take too much time to get a real handle on a motive for this. And not much more (or less) to suss out a really strong suspect. With that out of the way pretty quickly, you can focus on Hardiman and his world. How does he try to piece things together, what kind of evidence gets him moving the right way (and what detours does he take).
You also get to soak in the rest of the novel—the other plotlines, arcs, and characters. Grossey gives us a lot to focus on beyond the mystery in this book—and watching Haridman work through it all—false trails as well as the right moves—is better than trying to guess the solution.
Hardiman’s Personal Life
We get some more of the Book Club and library—and that bookstore owner really proves his worth as a friend. Who needs the Internet, apparently, as long as you have a friend who runs a Cambridge bookstore?
Actually, where the first book was largely focused on Hardiman’s day job as an Ostler as well as his investigation, this book focuses on his friends and other associates (while touching on his work a little, too).
It was great to see him like this—with friends, watching relationships develop, talking to the family of the officer he served with in the war—and so on. This aspect of the novel worked really well, it helped him become more than just a wounded vet with a need to expand his vocabulary. This humanized him and helped round him out. It was a good move, and made me like him more.
So, what did I think about Sizar?
The pacing of this is slow and methodical—a lot of that has to do with the era, they don’t have the need to rush that people at the end of the 20th Century/beginning of the 21st have. Also, communication works slowly across a city, or even further. Also, part of that is the slower pace that most (not all) British mystery novels take to investigations.
I understand it, but it bugged me a little. But that’s a personal failing, nothing wrong with the novel.
Even with the historical helps at the end, a lot of university/law enforcement structure makes me stumble (and I hate to take a break from the narrative to go look up facts), but it doesn’t take me out of the story, it’s just momentary “huh?” I’m getting better at is, thanks to the supplemental material Grossey gives. The evolution that these systems re going through at this point aren’t making things easier for me (or are they? I’m not sure).
The whodunit was a bit disappointing, and the why was pretty obvious—but how Hardiman solved things and resolved things, more than made up for that part. Really the procedural aspects are the bigger draws for most readers anyhow when it comes to procedurals. And none of what I said here addresses Grossey’s use of red herrings and twists, and both of those more than make up for what I might say is obvious or disappointing (and can make you doubt yourself a little bit)
Hardiman is a heckuva protagonist in a very interesting world—this is a unique series and one I heartily suggest you check out.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Sizar About?
A Cambridge student is found hanged, presumably by his own hand. But Master Vaughan calls on Hardiman to look into the circumstances of the suicide—what was it that drove this promising scholar to do this? It’s not long before another student is found dead—and this time it’s clear that someone killed him. This forces everyone to take another look at the hanging—was it self-harm?
Hardiman finds himself out of his depth again—but his determination and level thinking helps him to get at things that others miss or disregard. Soon, he’s looking into a gambling ring, the darker parts of student culture, and what may be a group of conspirators.
The Mystery
It didn’t take too much time to get a real handle on a motive for this. And not much more (or less) to suss out a really strong suspect. With that out of the way pretty quickly, you can focus on Hardiman and his world. How does he try to piece things together, what kind of evidence gets him moving the right way (and what detours does he take).
You also get to soak in the rest of the novel—the other plotlines, arcs, and characters. Grossey gives us a lot to focus on beyond the mystery in this book—and watching Haridman work through it all—false trails as well as the right moves—is better than trying to guess the solution.
Hardiman’s Personal Life
We get some more of the Book Club and library—and that bookstore owner really proves his worth as a friend. Who needs the Internet, apparently, as long as you have a friend who runs a Cambridge bookstore?
Actually, where the first book was largely focused on Hardiman’s day job as an Ostler as well as his investigation, this book focuses on his friends and other associates (while touching on his work a little, too).
It was great to see him like this—with friends, watching relationships develop, talking to the family of the officer he served with in the war—and so on. This aspect of the novel worked really well, it helped him become more than just a wounded vet with a need to expand his vocabulary. This humanized him and helped round him out. It was a good move, and made me like him more.
So, what did I think about Sizar?
The pacing of this is slow and methodical—a lot of that has to do with the era, they don’t have the need to rush that people at the end of the 20th Century/beginning of the 21st have. Also, communication works slowly across a city, or even further. Also, part of that is the slower pace that most (not all) British mystery novels take to investigations.
I understand it, but it bugged me a little. But that’s a personal failing, nothing wrong with the novel.
Even with the historical helps at the end, a lot of university/law enforcement structure makes me stumble (and I hate to take a break from the narrative to go look up facts), but it doesn’t take me out of the story, it’s just momentary “huh?” I’m getting better at is, thanks to the supplemental material Grossey gives. The evolution that these systems re going through at this point aren’t making things easier for me (or are they? I’m not sure).
The whodunit was a bit disappointing, and the why was pretty obvious—but how Hardiman solved things and resolved things, more than made up for that part. Really the procedural aspects are the bigger draws for most readers anyhow when it comes to procedurals. And none of what I said here addresses Grossey’s use of red herrings and twists, and both of those more than make up for what I might say is obvious or disappointing (and can make you doubt yourself a little bit)
Hardiman is a heckuva protagonist in a very interesting world—this is a unique series and one I heartily suggest you check out.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s Tooth and Claw About?
After his time with the Marines is over, Walt needs to get away from people, society, anything that makes him think of Vietnam and what he witnessed there. He also wants to get away from what he knows–and what fits that description better than Alaska? He takes a job working security on an oil field, replacing someone who’d killed himself.
He also finds himself drinking. A lot. There’s not much to do when he’s not on the job—and you get the impression he can do a lot of it with a little bit of a buzz on.
We encounter Walt in this state as Henry comes up to visit–he’s concerned about what Walt’s doing to himself (as is Walt’s former fiance, Martha). Henry shows up at the end of December, when there are very few hours of daylight each day up by the Arctic Circle.
Henry’s a little bored, truth be told, so when Walt finds the opportunity to take him along on a quick research trip to help keep a scientist safe they go.
The day trip doesn’t go the way they expect (naturally). Instead, the friends find danger, a blizzard, a large polar bear (even by polar bear standards), a ghost ship, and some garden-variety human evil.
So, what did I think about Tooth and Claw?
This quick novella was fine. Walt and Henry against nature—weather and animal—isn’t exactly new territory, but Alaska isn’t what we’re used to seeing from them. It makes Wyoming look crowded. It’s a bit more extreme than we’re used to for them.
Add in a bunch of people we don’t know and a ship out of legend, and you’ve got something even better. There’s a potential supernatural element here–and the story works either way you approach that element.
It’s not a perfect read. The criminal activity seemed a bit perfunctory—and really didn’t add much to the novella, I might have appreciated the novella more without it. I don’t know that Johnson sold Walt’s drinking as being as much of a problem as Henry and a couple of others made it out to be.
But for what it is—a quick thrill-ride and a look at young-Walt, it’s good. There are some entertaining moments, it’s good to see these two in another environment. There’s at least one character I’d like to run into again.
It’s not a must-read for Longmire fans or the best introduction to the characters—but it’ll please longtime fans and should whet the appetites of new readers for the full novels. That’s good enough, right?
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s Tooth and Claw About?
After his time with the Marines is over, Walt needs to get away from people, society, anything that makes him think of Vietnam and what he witnessed there. He also wants to get away from what he knows–and what fits that description better than Alaska? He takes a job working security on an oil field, replacing someone who’d killed himself.
He also finds himself drinking. A lot. There’s not much to do when he’s not on the job—and you get the impression he can do a lot of it with a little bit of a buzz on.
We encounter Walt in this state as Henry comes up to visit–he’s concerned about what Walt’s doing to himself (as is Walt’s former fiance, Martha). Henry shows up at the end of December, when there are very few hours of daylight each day up by the Arctic Circle.
Henry’s a little bored, truth be told, so when Walt finds the opportunity to take him along on a quick research trip to help keep a scientist safe they go.
The day trip doesn’t go the way they expect (naturally). Instead, the friends find danger, a blizzard, a large polar bear (even by polar bear standards), a ghost ship, and some garden-variety human evil.
So, what did I think about Tooth and Claw?
This quick novella was fine. Walt and Henry against nature—weather and animal—isn’t exactly new territory, but Alaska isn’t what we’re used to seeing from them. It makes Wyoming look crowded. It’s a bit more extreme than we’re used to for them.
Add in a bunch of people we don’t know and a ship out of legend, and you’ve got something even better. There’s a potential supernatural element here–and the story works either way you approach that element.
It’s not a perfect read. The criminal activity seemed a bit perfunctory—and really didn’t add much to the novella, I might have appreciated the novella more without it. I don’t know that Johnson sold Walt’s drinking as being as much of a problem as Henry and a couple of others made it out to be.
But for what it is—a quick thrill-ride and a look at young-Walt, it’s good. There are some entertaining moments, it’s good to see these two in another environment. There’s at least one character I’d like to run into again.
It’s not a must-read for Longmire fans or the best introduction to the characters—but it’ll please longtime fans and should whet the appetites of new readers for the full novels. That’s good enough, right?
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
“You want me to issue a shoot-to-kill order.”
“Well there’s no point shooting to wound. People would only get hurt.”
WHAT'S THE BACK COVER OF SPOOK STREET SAY?
What happens when an old spook loses his mind? Does the Service have a retirement home for those who know too many secrets but don't remember they're secret? Or does someone take care of the senile spy for good? These are the paranoid concerns of David Cartwright, a Cold War-era operative and one-time head of MI5 who is sliding into dementia, and questions his grandson, River, must figure out answers to now that the spy who raised him has started to forget to wear pants.
But River, himself an agent at Slough House, MI5's outpost for disgraced spies, has other things to worry about. A bomb has detonated in the middle of a busy shopping center and killed forty innocent civilians. The "slow horses" of Slough House must figure out who is behind this act of terror before the situation escalates.
THINGS I'M NOT GOING TO DEVELOP INTO PARAGRAPHS
(I just don't have the time or energy)
* Louisa makes a friend! A non-Slough House friend, it should be stressed. Which is great—and will hopefully help her deal with the events of Dead Lions. Sure, I pretty much like everything about Louisa, but this worked really well.
* This: "What happens when an old spook loses his mind? Does the Service have a retirement home for those who know too many secrets but don't remember they're secret?" Yeah, it could be phrased a bit more skillfully, but really—what is done in these situations (I have to assume more and more of these happen all the time)
* This book is really all about the power behind the throne. Sure, all the attention is on the leader (of whatever), but being the guy behind them—almost all of the power, but with almost none of the accountability or scrutiny, you can get a lot done. And you can direct the person at the top with just the right kind of pressure or incentive.
* Yes, the "Slow Horses" are, by design (of both Herron and MI-5) disposable, and impermanent. But some are pretty much irreplaceable, as the poor woman who is brought in to fill Catherine Standish's shoes learns.
* Everything we learned about David Cartwright and his activities seems realistic. It's chilling and troubling in so many ways. He deserves to be called OB. Or just B.
* Back to the impermanent idea. Herron shows us that he's in the same league as authors like George R.R. Martin when it comes to the mortality of characters. I both admire that and am angered by it.
* Roderick Ho...what can I say about him? At the beginning of the book, I couldn't believe what I was reading about him—it was far more hard to believe than any of the outlandish things we've seen Jackson Lamb's team encounter. By the end, it all made sense. And I might have felt pity for the guy (although he makes it hard)
* Herron's prose is so delicious. It's mirthful without actually being funny (and only occasionally jokey). It's so well crafted, it's...I can't put it into words. I just love reading him.
They were south of the river, half a mile from the Thames, near one of those busy junctions which rely on the self-preservation instincts of the drivers using it; ether a shining example of new-age civic theory, or an old-fashioned failure of town planning. On one of its corners sat a church; on another, earth-moving monsters re-enacted the Battle of the Bulge behind hoardings which shivered with each impact. A tube station squatted on a third, its familiar brick-and-tile facade more than usually grubby in the drizzle. There was a lot of construction work nearby, buildings wrapped in plastic sheeting, some of it gaudily muralled with visions of a bright new future: the gleaming glass, the pristine paving, the straight white lines of premises yet-to-be. Meanwhile, the surviving shops were the usual array of bookmakers, convenience stores and coffee bars, many of them crouching behind scaffolding, and some of them book-ending alleyways which would be either dead-ends where wheelie-bins congregated, or short-cuts to the labyrinth of darker streets beyond. Once upon a time Charles Dickens wandered this area, doubtless taking notes. Nowadays the local citizenry’s stories were recorded by closed-circuit TV, which had less time for sentimental endings.
SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT SPOOK STREET?
Once again, I couldn't stop asking myself why I am so behind in reading these? Why do I take breaks of months and months between them? Everything about this series is great.
I'm just happy the whole time I'm reading one of these books—despite the fact that the events are harrowing, the characters are generally despicable, and what the books suggest about humanity and Western security services (UK's in particular, but I can only imagine they function pretty similarly to the rest) doesn't fill one with optimism or confidence.
Spook Street is a solid winner from the horrible incident the book started with to the closing comforting paragraphs and all points in between. Herron planted more seeds than is typical for future installments—and I can't decide which I want to see first (on second thought, I want to see the Roddy Ho stuff come back to haunt him/Slough House as soon as is humanly possible).
If you're not reading these books—at my snail-like pace or at a rational pace—you are missing out.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
“You want me to issue a shoot-to-kill order.”
“Well there’s no point shooting to wound. People would only get hurt.”
WHAT'S THE BACK COVER OF SPOOK STREET SAY?
What happens when an old spook loses his mind? Does the Service have a retirement home for those who know too many secrets but don't remember they're secret? Or does someone take care of the senile spy for good? These are the paranoid concerns of David Cartwright, a Cold War-era operative and one-time head of MI5 who is sliding into dementia, and questions his grandson, River, must figure out answers to now that the spy who raised him has started to forget to wear pants.
But River, himself an agent at Slough House, MI5's outpost for disgraced spies, has other things to worry about. A bomb has detonated in the middle of a busy shopping center and killed forty innocent civilians. The "slow horses" of Slough House must figure out who is behind this act of terror before the situation escalates.
THINGS I'M NOT GOING TO DEVELOP INTO PARAGRAPHS
(I just don't have the time or energy)
* Louisa makes a friend! A non-Slough House friend, it should be stressed. Which is great—and will hopefully help her deal with the events of Dead Lions. Sure, I pretty much like everything about Louisa, but this worked really well.
* This: "What happens when an old spook loses his mind? Does the Service have a retirement home for those who know too many secrets but don't remember they're secret?" Yeah, it could be phrased a bit more skillfully, but really—what is done in these situations (I have to assume more and more of these happen all the time)
* This book is really all about the power behind the throne. Sure, all the attention is on the leader (of whatever), but being the guy behind them—almost all of the power, but with almost none of the accountability or scrutiny, you can get a lot done. And you can direct the person at the top with just the right kind of pressure or incentive.
* Yes, the "Slow Horses" are, by design (of both Herron and MI-5) disposable, and impermanent. But some are pretty much irreplaceable, as the poor woman who is brought in to fill Catherine Standish's shoes learns.
* Everything we learned about David Cartwright and his activities seems realistic. It's chilling and troubling in so many ways. He deserves to be called OB. Or just B.
* Back to the impermanent idea. Herron shows us that he's in the same league as authors like George R.R. Martin when it comes to the mortality of characters. I both admire that and am angered by it.
* Roderick Ho...what can I say about him? At the beginning of the book, I couldn't believe what I was reading about him—it was far more hard to believe than any of the outlandish things we've seen Jackson Lamb's team encounter. By the end, it all made sense. And I might have felt pity for the guy (although he makes it hard)
* Herron's prose is so delicious. It's mirthful without actually being funny (and only occasionally jokey). It's so well crafted, it's...I can't put it into words. I just love reading him.
They were south of the river, half a mile from the Thames, near one of those busy junctions which rely on the self-preservation instincts of the drivers using it; ether a shining example of new-age civic theory, or an old-fashioned failure of town planning. On one of its corners sat a church; on another, earth-moving monsters re-enacted the Battle of the Bulge behind hoardings which shivered with each impact. A tube station squatted on a third, its familiar brick-and-tile facade more than usually grubby in the drizzle. There was a lot of construction work nearby, buildings wrapped in plastic sheeting, some of it gaudily muralled with visions of a bright new future: the gleaming glass, the pristine paving, the straight white lines of premises yet-to-be. Meanwhile, the surviving shops were the usual array of bookmakers, convenience stores and coffee bars, many of them crouching behind scaffolding, and some of them book-ending alleyways which would be either dead-ends where wheelie-bins congregated, or short-cuts to the labyrinth of darker streets beyond. Once upon a time Charles Dickens wandered this area, doubtless taking notes. Nowadays the local citizenry’s stories were recorded by closed-circuit TV, which had less time for sentimental endings.
SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT SPOOK STREET?
Once again, I couldn't stop asking myself why I am so behind in reading these? Why do I take breaks of months and months between them? Everything about this series is great.
I'm just happy the whole time I'm reading one of these books—despite the fact that the events are harrowing, the characters are generally despicable, and what the books suggest about humanity and Western security services (UK's in particular, but I can only imagine they function pretty similarly to the rest) doesn't fill one with optimism or confidence.
Spook Street is a solid winner from the horrible incident the book started with to the closing comforting paragraphs and all points in between. Herron planted more seeds than is typical for future installments—and I can't decide which I want to see first (on second thought, I want to see the Roddy Ho stuff come back to haunt him/Slough House as soon as is humanly possible).
If you're not reading these books—at my snail-like pace or at a rational pace—you are missing out.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s Enough Rope?
It’s Dorothy Parker’s debut collection of poems, I think ninety of them–but I ran out of fingers and toes and had to make a guess.
Some are flat out funny, some are sweet (okay, not really that many), some are acidic, some are witty, some are ascerbic, some are lightly self-mocking–some are self-hating. It’s quite the range. Some are just somber and sober, without any species of humor (I think)–but those are few and far between. All show a degree of wit that too many poems I read don’t show (which is why I don’t read many.)
I should just go onto the next section because I guess I’ve slipped into answering:
So, what did I think about Enough Rope?
I enjoyed it. Some of these were just delightful. Some made me think a little. I know that Parker can tend toward dark thinking, but there were one or two that could give Plath a run for her money.
Some of the poems by her that I knew already, like “Résumé” or “One Perfect Rose” were part of this collection and were just as good as it was when I discovered it in High School. “Verse for a Certain Dog” is going to be a favorite of mine for quite a while.
One that I don’t think I’ve read before is called “Finis.” It struck me as something akin to Auden’s “Funeral Blues,” in lamenting a lost love–until the final couplet which turns the whole thing into a jab at the man.
Overall, you get the sense of someone who is a jaded romantic. She understands love–she’s wary of it, knowing the pain it can bring–but she also knows the highs that come with it, and longs for it. And through the highs, lows, bliss, and agony–has kept her sense of humor and a perspective that all things will pass. After all, you might as well live.
It occurs to me (seconds before I hit “publish”), that this is possibly best exemplified in the last poem in the collection:
The Burned Child
Love has had his way with me.
This my heart is torn and maimed
Since he took his play with me.
Cruel well the bow-boy aimed,
Shot, and saw the feathered shaft
Dripping bright and bitter red.
He that shrugged his wings and laughed—
Better had he left me dead.
Sweet, why do you plead me, then,
Who have bled so sore of that?
Could I bear it once again? …
Drop a hat, dear, drop a hat!
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s Enough Rope?
It’s Dorothy Parker’s debut collection of poems, I think ninety of them–but I ran out of fingers and toes and had to make a guess.
Some are flat out funny, some are sweet (okay, not really that many), some are acidic, some are witty, some are ascerbic, some are lightly self-mocking–some are self-hating. It’s quite the range. Some are just somber and sober, without any species of humor (I think)–but those are few and far between. All show a degree of wit that too many poems I read don’t show (which is why I don’t read many.)
I should just go onto the next section because I guess I’ve slipped into answering:
So, what did I think about Enough Rope?
I enjoyed it. Some of these were just delightful. Some made me think a little. I know that Parker can tend toward dark thinking, but there were one or two that could give Plath a run for her money.
Some of the poems by her that I knew already, like “Résumé” or “One Perfect Rose” were part of this collection and were just as good as it was when I discovered it in High School. “Verse for a Certain Dog” is going to be a favorite of mine for quite a while.
One that I don’t think I’ve read before is called “Finis.” It struck me as something akin to Auden’s “Funeral Blues,” in lamenting a lost love–until the final couplet which turns the whole thing into a jab at the man.
Overall, you get the sense of someone who is a jaded romantic. She understands love–she’s wary of it, knowing the pain it can bring–but she also knows the highs that come with it, and longs for it. And through the highs, lows, bliss, and agony–has kept her sense of humor and a perspective that all things will pass. After all, you might as well live.
It occurs to me (seconds before I hit “publish”), that this is possibly best exemplified in the last poem in the collection:
The Burned Child
Love has had his way with me.
This my heart is torn and maimed
Since he took his play with me.
Cruel well the bow-boy aimed,
Shot, and saw the feathered shaft
Dripping bright and bitter red.
He that shrugged his wings and laughed—
Better had he left me dead.
Sweet, why do you plead me, then,
Who have bled so sore of that?
Could I bear it once again? …
Drop a hat, dear, drop a hat!
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s Running and Jumping About?
For a brief time, Adam Lowe was going to get the bronze in the Long Jump at his first Olympic Games—the 2008 Games in Beijing. But an American, Chris Madison, ends up beating him by 1 centimeter. Leaving Adam with the worst place to be—the guy just off the podium.
This sets Adam and his coach off on a mission—a detailed training schedule to get to the next two Olympic games—starting with the London games. For Adam, representing his country in the capitol is more than a dream come true. It’s his destiny. Or at least that’s what he’s going to make his destiny.
Sacrifice
We frequently think of the sacrifices an elite athlete has to make to get to that level—and sometimes we’ll even think of what their parents give up.
But what about their siblings? Can you imagine what it must be like having a brother who overshadows everything you do in life (as proud as you may be of them)? Well, we get a little idea here.
And the friends—girlfriends, wives, etc.—forget it. How would you feel to have a best man who won’t drink, who goes to sleep early, and who needs to go out of the country to compete the weekend of your stag night? And that’s when he’s even paying attention to you instead of training.
Then there’s Adam’s sacrifices—being that kind of brother, having to prioritize his career over friends, family, love—because if he takes just a little bit too long off, takes that one drink, loses focus for a moment—it can put an entire year’s work at risk, and the domino effect of that could jeopardize your next Olympics.
Obsession
And that gives you an idea of the way that Adam has to obsess over things—over everything it seems.
Now, I read a lot of Crime Fiction—which is filled with detectives (police, or private), or people who act like them, who are driven to find a certain killer—or all killers they come across. And on the other side of the law, you get those who are driven to fulfill some strange goal/mission, checklist of people who’ve wronged them, or something. Basically, Crime Fiction is filled with driven, ambitious, obsessed (or nearly so) characters. Very few of these can hold a candle to Adam Lowe (and some other athletes we meet, and we seemingly are supposed to generalize to every Olympian).
The focus he demands of himself—and the lengths he goes to in order to maintain it—might be more impressive than the physical accomplishments.
So, what did I think about Running and Jumping?
I’ve said it before, I’ll undoubtedly say it again—I’m not a sports guy. But a good sports novel? (or movie/TV show—Go, East Dillon Lions!). I’m totally game for that.
Still, I wouldn’t have figured that long jumping would be a great focus. Sure, you’re competing against others, but it’s not head-to-head. There’s none of the inherent drama of looking someone in the eyes at the beginning of a play, or seeing someone off to the side in your peripheral vision, etc.
But Kedie made the right choice—he is able to get the tension just right, to get you on the edge of your seat. Yes, it’s largely a competition with only yourself on the field (as much as your scores are compared to someone else)—but really, who’s a better opponent than yourself?
I was a little shaky at the beginning, but Kedie got his hook in me. I was there for the personal ups and downs, the athletic highs (and there were several) and the lows (too many to be good for my psyche), the rivalry between Adam and Chris was just intense.
This was really a surprisingly effective, moving, gripping, and entertaining novel. The psychology alone makes this more than worth the time. I don’t know how accurate it is, or how safe it is to generalize from Adam to Olympians in general—but when you read this, you can’t help but believe it is.
Take a chance on this one.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s Running and Jumping About?
For a brief time, Adam Lowe was going to get the bronze in the Long Jump at his first Olympic Games—the 2008 Games in Beijing. But an American, Chris Madison, ends up beating him by 1 centimeter. Leaving Adam with the worst place to be—the guy just off the podium.
This sets Adam and his coach off on a mission—a detailed training schedule to get to the next two Olympic games—starting with the London games. For Adam, representing his country in the capitol is more than a dream come true. It’s his destiny. Or at least that’s what he’s going to make his destiny.
Sacrifice
We frequently think of the sacrifices an elite athlete has to make to get to that level—and sometimes we’ll even think of what their parents give up.
But what about their siblings? Can you imagine what it must be like having a brother who overshadows everything you do in life (as proud as you may be of them)? Well, we get a little idea here.
And the friends—girlfriends, wives, etc.—forget it. How would you feel to have a best man who won’t drink, who goes to sleep early, and who needs to go out of the country to compete the weekend of your stag night? And that’s when he’s even paying attention to you instead of training.
Then there’s Adam’s sacrifices—being that kind of brother, having to prioritize his career over friends, family, love—because if he takes just a little bit too long off, takes that one drink, loses focus for a moment—it can put an entire year’s work at risk, and the domino effect of that could jeopardize your next Olympics.
Obsession
And that gives you an idea of the way that Adam has to obsess over things—over everything it seems.
Now, I read a lot of Crime Fiction—which is filled with detectives (police, or private), or people who act like them, who are driven to find a certain killer—or all killers they come across. And on the other side of the law, you get those who are driven to fulfill some strange goal/mission, checklist of people who’ve wronged them, or something. Basically, Crime Fiction is filled with driven, ambitious, obsessed (or nearly so) characters. Very few of these can hold a candle to Adam Lowe (and some other athletes we meet, and we seemingly are supposed to generalize to every Olympian).
The focus he demands of himself—and the lengths he goes to in order to maintain it—might be more impressive than the physical accomplishments.
So, what did I think about Running and Jumping?
I’ve said it before, I’ll undoubtedly say it again—I’m not a sports guy. But a good sports novel? (or movie/TV show—Go, East Dillon Lions!). I’m totally game for that.
Still, I wouldn’t have figured that long jumping would be a great focus. Sure, you’re competing against others, but it’s not head-to-head. There’s none of the inherent drama of looking someone in the eyes at the beginning of a play, or seeing someone off to the side in your peripheral vision, etc.
But Kedie made the right choice—he is able to get the tension just right, to get you on the edge of your seat. Yes, it’s largely a competition with only yourself on the field (as much as your scores are compared to someone else)—but really, who’s a better opponent than yourself?
I was a little shaky at the beginning, but Kedie got his hook in me. I was there for the personal ups and downs, the athletic highs (and there were several) and the lows (too many to be good for my psyche), the rivalry between Adam and Chris was just intense.
This was really a surprisingly effective, moving, gripping, and entertaining novel. The psychology alone makes this more than worth the time. I don’t know how accurate it is, or how safe it is to generalize from Adam to Olympians in general—but when you read this, you can’t help but believe it is.
Take a chance on this one.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
“If someone does try to shoot me this week, do you have to dive in front of the bullet?”
“That’s the idea,” says Amy, without conviction. “Though that’s mainly in films.”
It’s hard to dive in front of a bullet, in Amy’s experience. They go very fast indeed.
Some Preliminary Thoughts
While I’m always (or almost always) happy for authors to branch out in new directions, to see if they can do something they haven’t before, I’m frequently trepidatious about actually following them. Particularly if all I know is series X and they’re trying something new.
There are authors I’ve come to later in their careers, where they’ve already tried a few things, or authors whose first handful of projects are so different from one another that you know that’s what you’re going to get—something new.
But when you (as a writer, anyway) are known for a series of cozy-adjacent mysteries featuring octogenarians set in one community, step away to try something featuring someone far younger, and with more action and a lot of globe-trotting, you can understand why some readers wouldn’t be sure about stepping out with you. I think it’s fair.
The prologue (which wasn’t called that, probably just so people wouldn’t skip it) was pretty good, and caught my attention. The first chapter was strong, and I enjoyed it. 1.5 pages into chapter two, and I was more than ready to sign on for the rest of the book and was officially okay with Osman taking a break from the Thursday Murder Club (I imagine he’s greatly relieved to hear that).
Steve Wheeler
Probably longer ago than I want to admit, Ken Levine had a great bit on his blog about Sorkin always having a Danny in his shows (I’m sure he wasn’t alone in this observation, but I only remember his). I wonder if Osman needs a Steve in the same way. It doesn’t matter at all. That’s just a thought that struck me partway through, and I can’t shake it off.
So, what’s the deal with this Steve? He’s a retired detective, and it seems like he was a pretty good one before he settled down in a small community with his wife to enjoy that retirement. His wife pushed him into starting a PI agency, “Steve Investigates.” He does small jobs—the occasional marital observance, finding lost pets, seeing who’s messing with trash bins—that sort of thing.
He kept up the agency after his wife’s death, and does a quick patrol of the town twice a day on his way to sit on her favorite bench to enjoy the view and talk to her. Then it’s off to the pub to talk to some friends before going home to watch TV and pet his cat.
He speaks to his son rarely since his wife’s death, but speaks to his daughter-in-law frequently, almost daily.
Amy Wheeler
Amy is that daughter-in-law. She works in close protection and security. She globe-trots to do so, but tries to call Steve daily (unless she’s prevented by work or immanent danger). She’s very much Charlie Fox, with a sense of humor—and a different kind of trauma growing up.
She’s good at what she does, she takes it very seriously. She’s traveling the world and enjoying it—and lives for the adrenaline.
Rosie D’Antonio
Rosie is…a lot. That’s her in a nutshell, really. She’s Amy’s current client, as the book opens. She’s a world-famous author, from a time when that would make someone very rich—and she’s enjoying a career resurgence. She’s the best-selling author in the world, actually—if you don’t count Lee Child.
She’s wealthy, she’s of an uncertain age (and likes it like that), with a lust for life (and men).
She recently erred when she based a character off a certain Russian oligarch and did a very poor job of disguising it—so he’s put a price on her head. Which is where she and Amy got together.
What’s We Solve Murders About Then?
Three clients of Amy’s agency have recently been murdered in similar, ghastly ways. These influencers have little in common (at least on the surface) other than that. One of those murders happens close enough to where Amy and Rosie are staying that Amy goes to investigate (and brings Rosie along to keep her safe until she can arrange for something else).
Things start getting dangerous then—shots are fired, more dead bodies appear, and it’s clear that Amy is the next target on the list. Rosie’s having a blast with this—as long as no one’s firing at her, anyway. But Amy is going to need help from someone she trusts who also has experience in solving murders. So she essentially forces Steve to come and help.
More shots are fired and other attempts are being made at killing Amy. Flights to all over the world are taken in quick succession. Secrets are uncovered. Rosie flirts with many men. And an appreciation of Van Halen comes in far handier than anyone would expect.*
* Words would fail me if I tried to express how much the Van Halen material made me smile.
The Tone/Approach
I hate to dwell on the comparisons between this and his other books, but it seems like something I should talk about. First, this is told in a series of close-third person narratives from multiple perspectives. There’s no first person anywhere, and everything is told in the same typeface. That’s notable (if you ask me, anyway.)
Second, this is more overtly comedic. Clearly, TMC is full of humor, but it’s more of the gentle character-based humor. This is full of funny moments, situations, and lines that are clearly meant to get a laugh or a grin. In my notes I called it jokey, but I’m not sure it goes that far (too often, anyway). I’d compare it to Evanovich/Goldberg’s Fox and O’Hare books, Goldberg’s Ian Ludlow books (but more restrained), or Duncan MacMaster’s mysteries. (all of which are compliments, I want to stress)
But Osman is still Osman and there are plenty of earnest, heart-string-tugging moments, too. Particularly with Steven—talking about his dead wife or even considering his lifestyle and what has led him to his very self-contained life. Amy isn’t that reflective of a character (if anything, she avoids it with action), so we don’t get much of that with her—although the way she avoids thinking gets us to a similar point with her.
So, what did I think about We Solve Murders?
Did my appreciation of the book vary much from the verdict I made in Chapter Two? Well, I ended up liking the novel more than I did back there. Does that count?
This was just so much fun—while I had my reservations and questions before starting, I also had high hopes. The end result was better than those.
Osman can do an action scene pretty well—and keep the comedy going. We don’t have anything particularly drawn out here, but there are bursts. And his ability to create a story with strong momentum and great twists is well-documented.
More importantly—Osman’s gift for characters really shines here. The supporting characters—criminals, witnesses, people the protagonists happen to encounter (whether for a handful of paragraphs or for several chapters), are just golden. To describe the best of them would be to deprive you of your chance to meet them. Once it was clear that Rosie wasn’t just going to be someone we met to establish Amy as a bodyguard, I wondered a little bit about her tagging along. But it didn’t take me too long to fully embrace the character, and now I’m looking forward to seeing her in the future.
I’m not sure that I should’ve made the comparison to Charlie Fox above—you really can think of this as a Charlie Fox book with laughs and be pretty dead on. Others might disagree, but I’ve had the comparison stuck in my head for a couple of hours now and can’t shake it.
I’m not 100% sure the final solution was honest, it felt a little like he cheated to get [redacted] to figure out that the Big Bad was [redacted]. The Big Bad’s accomplice, however, was obvious for longer than it should’ve been to get the characters to suss them out. So, on average, he did okay there. The red herrings were great, and made up for whatever issues I might have had with the solution (but really, give us one more chapter where [redacted] goes over the clues again in their mind or something—actually, just a paragraph before they say “I know who Big Bad is.”)
This was just so good, really. At this point, it’s not quite as good as Osman’s other work—primarily because nothing had the emotional weight that the gang at Cooper’s Chase (which is close enough to Steve’s home to provide hope of the characters brushing up against each other) seems to find in their adventures. But the potential is there for this series to equal it. And, really, considering the tone of this one, that kind of punch might have felt out of place or contrived.
Either way, I strongly recommend this to Osman’s readers or people who’ve never heard of the man/his books. You will have fun, and you will want more. I guarantee that for 99% of you.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
“If someone does try to shoot me this week, do you have to dive in front of the bullet?”
“That’s the idea,” says Amy, without conviction. “Though that’s mainly in films.”
It’s hard to dive in front of a bullet, in Amy’s experience. They go very fast indeed.
Some Preliminary Thoughts
While I’m always (or almost always) happy for authors to branch out in new directions, to see if they can do something they haven’t before, I’m frequently trepidatious about actually following them. Particularly if all I know is series X and they’re trying something new.
There are authors I’ve come to later in their careers, where they’ve already tried a few things, or authors whose first handful of projects are so different from one another that you know that’s what you’re going to get—something new.
But when you (as a writer, anyway) are known for a series of cozy-adjacent mysteries featuring octogenarians set in one community, step away to try something featuring someone far younger, and with more action and a lot of globe-trotting, you can understand why some readers wouldn’t be sure about stepping out with you. I think it’s fair.
The prologue (which wasn’t called that, probably just so people wouldn’t skip it) was pretty good, and caught my attention. The first chapter was strong, and I enjoyed it. 1.5 pages into chapter two, and I was more than ready to sign on for the rest of the book and was officially okay with Osman taking a break from the Thursday Murder Club (I imagine he’s greatly relieved to hear that).
Steve Wheeler
Probably longer ago than I want to admit, Ken Levine had a great bit on his blog about Sorkin always having a Danny in his shows (I’m sure he wasn’t alone in this observation, but I only remember his). I wonder if Osman needs a Steve in the same way. It doesn’t matter at all. That’s just a thought that struck me partway through, and I can’t shake it off.
So, what’s the deal with this Steve? He’s a retired detective, and it seems like he was a pretty good one before he settled down in a small community with his wife to enjoy that retirement. His wife pushed him into starting a PI agency, “Steve Investigates.” He does small jobs—the occasional marital observance, finding lost pets, seeing who’s messing with trash bins—that sort of thing.
He kept up the agency after his wife’s death, and does a quick patrol of the town twice a day on his way to sit on her favorite bench to enjoy the view and talk to her. Then it’s off to the pub to talk to some friends before going home to watch TV and pet his cat.
He speaks to his son rarely since his wife’s death, but speaks to his daughter-in-law frequently, almost daily.
Amy Wheeler
Amy is that daughter-in-law. She works in close protection and security. She globe-trots to do so, but tries to call Steve daily (unless she’s prevented by work or immanent danger). She’s very much Charlie Fox, with a sense of humor—and a different kind of trauma growing up.
She’s good at what she does, she takes it very seriously. She’s traveling the world and enjoying it—and lives for the adrenaline.
Rosie D’Antonio
Rosie is…a lot. That’s her in a nutshell, really. She’s Amy’s current client, as the book opens. She’s a world-famous author, from a time when that would make someone very rich—and she’s enjoying a career resurgence. She’s the best-selling author in the world, actually—if you don’t count Lee Child.
She’s wealthy, she’s of an uncertain age (and likes it like that), with a lust for life (and men).
She recently erred when she based a character off a certain Russian oligarch and did a very poor job of disguising it—so he’s put a price on her head. Which is where she and Amy got together.
What’s We Solve Murders About Then?
Three clients of Amy’s agency have recently been murdered in similar, ghastly ways. These influencers have little in common (at least on the surface) other than that. One of those murders happens close enough to where Amy and Rosie are staying that Amy goes to investigate (and brings Rosie along to keep her safe until she can arrange for something else).
Things start getting dangerous then—shots are fired, more dead bodies appear, and it’s clear that Amy is the next target on the list. Rosie’s having a blast with this—as long as no one’s firing at her, anyway. But Amy is going to need help from someone she trusts who also has experience in solving murders. So she essentially forces Steve to come and help.
More shots are fired and other attempts are being made at killing Amy. Flights to all over the world are taken in quick succession. Secrets are uncovered. Rosie flirts with many men. And an appreciation of Van Halen comes in far handier than anyone would expect.*
* Words would fail me if I tried to express how much the Van Halen material made me smile.
The Tone/Approach
I hate to dwell on the comparisons between this and his other books, but it seems like something I should talk about. First, this is told in a series of close-third person narratives from multiple perspectives. There’s no first person anywhere, and everything is told in the same typeface. That’s notable (if you ask me, anyway.)
Second, this is more overtly comedic. Clearly, TMC is full of humor, but it’s more of the gentle character-based humor. This is full of funny moments, situations, and lines that are clearly meant to get a laugh or a grin. In my notes I called it jokey, but I’m not sure it goes that far (too often, anyway). I’d compare it to Evanovich/Goldberg’s Fox and O’Hare books, Goldberg’s Ian Ludlow books (but more restrained), or Duncan MacMaster’s mysteries. (all of which are compliments, I want to stress)
But Osman is still Osman and there are plenty of earnest, heart-string-tugging moments, too. Particularly with Steven—talking about his dead wife or even considering his lifestyle and what has led him to his very self-contained life. Amy isn’t that reflective of a character (if anything, she avoids it with action), so we don’t get much of that with her—although the way she avoids thinking gets us to a similar point with her.
So, what did I think about We Solve Murders?
Did my appreciation of the book vary much from the verdict I made in Chapter Two? Well, I ended up liking the novel more than I did back there. Does that count?
This was just so much fun—while I had my reservations and questions before starting, I also had high hopes. The end result was better than those.
Osman can do an action scene pretty well—and keep the comedy going. We don’t have anything particularly drawn out here, but there are bursts. And his ability to create a story with strong momentum and great twists is well-documented.
More importantly—Osman’s gift for characters really shines here. The supporting characters—criminals, witnesses, people the protagonists happen to encounter (whether for a handful of paragraphs or for several chapters), are just golden. To describe the best of them would be to deprive you of your chance to meet them. Once it was clear that Rosie wasn’t just going to be someone we met to establish Amy as a bodyguard, I wondered a little bit about her tagging along. But it didn’t take me too long to fully embrace the character, and now I’m looking forward to seeing her in the future.
I’m not sure that I should’ve made the comparison to Charlie Fox above—you really can think of this as a Charlie Fox book with laughs and be pretty dead on. Others might disagree, but I’ve had the comparison stuck in my head for a couple of hours now and can’t shake it.
I’m not 100% sure the final solution was honest, it felt a little like he cheated to get [redacted] to figure out that the Big Bad was [redacted]. The Big Bad’s accomplice, however, was obvious for longer than it should’ve been to get the characters to suss them out. So, on average, he did okay there. The red herrings were great, and made up for whatever issues I might have had with the solution (but really, give us one more chapter where [redacted] goes over the clues again in their mind or something—actually, just a paragraph before they say “I know who Big Bad is.”)
This was just so good, really. At this point, it’s not quite as good as Osman’s other work—primarily because nothing had the emotional weight that the gang at Cooper’s Chase (which is close enough to Steve’s home to provide hope of the characters brushing up against each other) seems to find in their adventures. But the potential is there for this series to equal it. And, really, considering the tone of this one, that kind of punch might have felt out of place or contrived.
Either way, I strongly recommend this to Osman’s readers or people who’ve never heard of the man/his books. You will have fun, and you will want more. I guarantee that for 99% of you.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
REASONS I HAVE DIED:
The emperor of the wasteland wanted to make an example of my mother, and started with me.
One of my mother’s boyfriends wanted to cover up what he did to me.
I was born addicted and my lungs didn’t develop.
I was born addicted and my brain didn’t develop.
I was left alone, and a stranger came along.
The runners came for a neighbor, and I was in the way.
The runners came for my mother, and I was in the way.
The runners came for my mother’s boyfriend, and I was in the way.
The runners came for no one, serving nothing at all but chaos and fear, and I was what they found.
Sometimes, I was just forgotten in the shed where she kept me while she worked or spun out, and in the length of her high and the heat of the sun I fell asleep alone and hungry and forever.
REASONS I HAVE LIVED:
I don’t know, but there are eight.
(that’s how you end a first chapter!)
A Quick Word
I read this to take part in Shared Stories Bookstore’s Sci-Fi Book Club—I’ve never been to a Book Club before, I’m looking forward to doing so again. But that’s not what I’m going to talk about here—but I need to say that some of what I’m going to say about this book has either been shaped/informed by or directly stolen from someone at that meeting. I won’t share their names, because I didn’t get permission, but I wanted it out there that the smarter things I say here comes from them.
What’s The Space Between Worlds About?
This is tricky for a few reasons, some of which I really can’t get into. In a sense there are four stories* in this book and each resolves (pretty much) before the next launches. So obviously, I can’t get into the latter stories. But the first one or two I can sketch out a little bit…
* This is stolen from our discussion leader.
In a pretty distant future world—following some sort of environmental collapse (and maybe some military-induced collapse, but mostly environmental) the world is covered in city-states (that’s actually a guess, we know almost nothing about the rest of the world). There’s a city called Wiley City—which is pretty much everything you think of when you think of a futuristic city—shiny buildings, cool tech, and whatnot. Outside the City is another settlement, called Ashtown. Ashtown is where the poor, the unwanted, the criminal classes live. There are also people who live outside Ashtown and in (or at least spend time in), called Ruralites—who are a strictly religious group and it seems most of the people of Ashtown are (at least nominally) dependent upon their efforts.
Travel between parallel universes is now possible. Maybe for just the residents of one Earth, anyway. The catch is, you cannot travel to a universe in which you exist—and it doesn’t go well for the person entering a world they exist in. This makes the ideal candidate someone on the fringes of society—those who are most likely to live a dangerous life or a life with inadequate resources, so they might die early from natural causes. The more realities that you’re dead in, the more you can travel on behalf of the corporate entity that runs the multiverse technology.
Enter Cara, a resident of Ashtown, who is dead on 372 of the worlds that humans can travel to. She’s largely keeping her head down, just trying to make it through the next few years without losing her job—which will result in her being removed from Wiley City—if she can last long enough, she’ll become a citizen and she can then relax a little. She cuts loose a little in the worlds she visits, but lives a pretty careful life on “Earth Zero.”
She receives word that she’s been assigned to a new world—yet one more version of her has died. When she gets there, things start to go wrong and she really can’t complete her mission. She can, however, by her mere presence, act as a catalyst for some big changes in the leadership of that world’s Ashtown and Wiley City. This will end up having some ramifications on Earth Zero—and maybe elsewhere, too.
The Technology/Its Depiction
This is one of those books that’s filled with all sorts of cool sci-fi technology—especially the traveling between universes, but it’s not limited to that. And Johnson gives us no Asimov-esque explanations for it. Zip. Zilch. Nada. I’ve already given you almost all of the details you’re going to get about the science behind the travel between universes.
And yet, it works. I’d hoped for a little more detail, but I wasn’t bothered by its lack. In fact, I cared so much about Cara and what she was doing—and the people she was surrounded by in the various Earths she went to, I didn’t stop to think about the tech. And when I did…it didn’t matter, really.
It’s there, it does what it’s intended to do. That’s all you need to know.
Spirituality/Religion
We get more of this, really, than the science behind the traveling and other tools they have in Wiley City.
The Ruralites have a hybrid religion with features of Christianity (that’s obvious) and Buddhism (I needed someone to help me see that) and some other things accumulated over the centuries. It’s pretty strict and regimented—but there’s grace and mercy, too.
There’s a burial scene—including a good part of the rituals used. It’s very detailed and tells you as much about the religion as it does the people taking part in it. It is so well done, that you almost want to see more people killed so Johnson will describe it again.*
* Sure, you can just re-read that part. But if she writes it again, she might include new details.
There’s also a superstition—if it’s not a full-blown mini-religion—that has developed among those who travel between worlds. It’s not endorsed by, or encouraged by, the company—but it’s pervasive and has a hold on those travelers. They will tell you there’s a presence, a person of some sort, governing the travel. Someone they can feel and sense between the worlds.
Our culture currently likes to pit science vs. religion/spirituality/whatever. There is no such division for Cara and most (if not all) of the people she knows. They exist side-by-side, informing actions and morality each in their own way.
This is such a good idea for Johnson to introduce and her execution of it—and explanation of both sets of beliefs are just great. We don’t get a creed or even a full idea about the religious tenants of the Ruralites—but we see enough to believe that such a creed exists.
So, what did I think about The Space Between Worlds?
In short, this is really just a stunning book. The back of the book promises “surprise twists” and yeah, there are some, but the book is about more than a twist or five, as skillfully as Johnson executes them. As someone at the book club said, you think the main story is about to wrap up but there’s a whole bunch of more pages to left. None of the storylines feel rushed nor do they feel stretched out. There’s one mini-arc you might want more time in, but that’s just because it’s so pleasant (and given the rest of the book, pleasant is nice).
Cara is a wonderfully complex character. When we meet her, she seems fully realized—like one of those characters that’s going to remain largely the same person at the end of the novel as she was at the beginning. But that’s not it at all—she goes through a great period of personal growth, of changing the way she sees the world and people in it. Her motivations behind her choices on Earth Zero get pushed to the limit, and she is going to be faced with some major changes in that reality (as well as others).
I don’t want to overlook the other characters…at least some versions of them. There are some truly despicable characters (one’s despicable on every world we see him on, one is despicable—vile actually—on most worlds—which makes it hard on the other to accept him (for Cara and the reader)). There’s an evil mastermind who is pretty chilling. There’s some criminal types who show more honor than anyone else in the book. There are some characters that are likable, admirable, and even loveable (depending on the world). It’s a rich, rich world full of wonderful people (that you meet several versions of).
I need to talk about the prose, and yet I don’t know how to adequately express how much I was blown away by it. You could almost open up to any random page and find something worthy of quoting, of meditating on, or marinating in. Johnson has this ability to take a benign, everyday, or plain sentence and turn on a dime and make it bleak, gutting, or even hopeful (that’s the less-popular option.) Cara does have some grit to her, she is a wiseacre. The book isn’t a doom and gloom, I frequently smiled. But her world is a harsh one, particularly outside the walls of Wiley City, and Johnson’s language reflects that.
Apparently, there’s a sequel. It didn’t feel like the first in a series—and can absolutely be read as a stand-alone. This is one of the best written books I’ve read this year—and the story is really compelling. With twists you won’t be able to guess most things that happen over the course of the novel. It’s a very SF novel, but it’s also the kind of SF that people who aren’t super-into SF can get into (like one person at the book club). I’m at the point where I’m just running in circles—so I’ll shut up, you go get the book. Deal?
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
REASONS I HAVE DIED:
The emperor of the wasteland wanted to make an example of my mother, and started with me.
One of my mother’s boyfriends wanted to cover up what he did to me.
I was born addicted and my lungs didn’t develop.
I was born addicted and my brain didn’t develop.
I was left alone, and a stranger came along.
The runners came for a neighbor, and I was in the way.
The runners came for my mother, and I was in the way.
The runners came for my mother’s boyfriend, and I was in the way.
The runners came for no one, serving nothing at all but chaos and fear, and I was what they found.
Sometimes, I was just forgotten in the shed where she kept me while she worked or spun out, and in the length of her high and the heat of the sun I fell asleep alone and hungry and forever.
REASONS I HAVE LIVED:
I don’t know, but there are eight.
(that’s how you end a first chapter!)
A Quick Word
I read this to take part in Shared Stories Bookstore’s Sci-Fi Book Club—I’ve never been to a Book Club before, I’m looking forward to doing so again. But that’s not what I’m going to talk about here—but I need to say that some of what I’m going to say about this book has either been shaped/informed by or directly stolen from someone at that meeting. I won’t share their names, because I didn’t get permission, but I wanted it out there that the smarter things I say here comes from them.
What’s The Space Between Worlds About?
This is tricky for a few reasons, some of which I really can’t get into. In a sense there are four stories* in this book and each resolves (pretty much) before the next launches. So obviously, I can’t get into the latter stories. But the first one or two I can sketch out a little bit…
* This is stolen from our discussion leader.
In a pretty distant future world—following some sort of environmental collapse (and maybe some military-induced collapse, but mostly environmental) the world is covered in city-states (that’s actually a guess, we know almost nothing about the rest of the world). There’s a city called Wiley City—which is pretty much everything you think of when you think of a futuristic city—shiny buildings, cool tech, and whatnot. Outside the City is another settlement, called Ashtown. Ashtown is where the poor, the unwanted, the criminal classes live. There are also people who live outside Ashtown and in (or at least spend time in), called Ruralites—who are a strictly religious group and it seems most of the people of Ashtown are (at least nominally) dependent upon their efforts.
Travel between parallel universes is now possible. Maybe for just the residents of one Earth, anyway. The catch is, you cannot travel to a universe in which you exist—and it doesn’t go well for the person entering a world they exist in. This makes the ideal candidate someone on the fringes of society—those who are most likely to live a dangerous life or a life with inadequate resources, so they might die early from natural causes. The more realities that you’re dead in, the more you can travel on behalf of the corporate entity that runs the multiverse technology.
Enter Cara, a resident of Ashtown, who is dead on 372 of the worlds that humans can travel to. She’s largely keeping her head down, just trying to make it through the next few years without losing her job—which will result in her being removed from Wiley City—if she can last long enough, she’ll become a citizen and she can then relax a little. She cuts loose a little in the worlds she visits, but lives a pretty careful life on “Earth Zero.”
She receives word that she’s been assigned to a new world—yet one more version of her has died. When she gets there, things start to go wrong and she really can’t complete her mission. She can, however, by her mere presence, act as a catalyst for some big changes in the leadership of that world’s Ashtown and Wiley City. This will end up having some ramifications on Earth Zero—and maybe elsewhere, too.
The Technology/Its Depiction
This is one of those books that’s filled with all sorts of cool sci-fi technology—especially the traveling between universes, but it’s not limited to that. And Johnson gives us no Asimov-esque explanations for it. Zip. Zilch. Nada. I’ve already given you almost all of the details you’re going to get about the science behind the travel between universes.
And yet, it works. I’d hoped for a little more detail, but I wasn’t bothered by its lack. In fact, I cared so much about Cara and what she was doing—and the people she was surrounded by in the various Earths she went to, I didn’t stop to think about the tech. And when I did…it didn’t matter, really.
It’s there, it does what it’s intended to do. That’s all you need to know.
Spirituality/Religion
We get more of this, really, than the science behind the traveling and other tools they have in Wiley City.
The Ruralites have a hybrid religion with features of Christianity (that’s obvious) and Buddhism (I needed someone to help me see that) and some other things accumulated over the centuries. It’s pretty strict and regimented—but there’s grace and mercy, too.
There’s a burial scene—including a good part of the rituals used. It’s very detailed and tells you as much about the religion as it does the people taking part in it. It is so well done, that you almost want to see more people killed so Johnson will describe it again.*
* Sure, you can just re-read that part. But if she writes it again, she might include new details.
There’s also a superstition—if it’s not a full-blown mini-religion—that has developed among those who travel between worlds. It’s not endorsed by, or encouraged by, the company—but it’s pervasive and has a hold on those travelers. They will tell you there’s a presence, a person of some sort, governing the travel. Someone they can feel and sense between the worlds.
Our culture currently likes to pit science vs. religion/spirituality/whatever. There is no such division for Cara and most (if not all) of the people she knows. They exist side-by-side, informing actions and morality each in their own way.
This is such a good idea for Johnson to introduce and her execution of it—and explanation of both sets of beliefs are just great. We don’t get a creed or even a full idea about the religious tenants of the Ruralites—but we see enough to believe that such a creed exists.
So, what did I think about The Space Between Worlds?
In short, this is really just a stunning book. The back of the book promises “surprise twists” and yeah, there are some, but the book is about more than a twist or five, as skillfully as Johnson executes them. As someone at the book club said, you think the main story is about to wrap up but there’s a whole bunch of more pages to left. None of the storylines feel rushed nor do they feel stretched out. There’s one mini-arc you might want more time in, but that’s just because it’s so pleasant (and given the rest of the book, pleasant is nice).
Cara is a wonderfully complex character. When we meet her, she seems fully realized—like one of those characters that’s going to remain largely the same person at the end of the novel as she was at the beginning. But that’s not it at all—she goes through a great period of personal growth, of changing the way she sees the world and people in it. Her motivations behind her choices on Earth Zero get pushed to the limit, and she is going to be faced with some major changes in that reality (as well as others).
I don’t want to overlook the other characters…at least some versions of them. There are some truly despicable characters (one’s despicable on every world we see him on, one is despicable—vile actually—on most worlds—which makes it hard on the other to accept him (for Cara and the reader)). There’s an evil mastermind who is pretty chilling. There’s some criminal types who show more honor than anyone else in the book. There are some characters that are likable, admirable, and even loveable (depending on the world). It’s a rich, rich world full of wonderful people (that you meet several versions of).
I need to talk about the prose, and yet I don’t know how to adequately express how much I was blown away by it. You could almost open up to any random page and find something worthy of quoting, of meditating on, or marinating in. Johnson has this ability to take a benign, everyday, or plain sentence and turn on a dime and make it bleak, gutting, or even hopeful (that’s the less-popular option.) Cara does have some grit to her, she is a wiseacre. The book isn’t a doom and gloom, I frequently smiled. But her world is a harsh one, particularly outside the walls of Wiley City, and Johnson’s language reflects that.
Apparently, there’s a sequel. It didn’t feel like the first in a series—and can absolutely be read as a stand-alone. This is one of the best written books I’ve read this year—and the story is really compelling. With twists you won’t be able to guess most things that happen over the course of the novel. It’s a very SF novel, but it’s also the kind of SF that people who aren’t super-into SF can get into (like one person at the book club). I’m at the point where I’m just running in circles—so I’ll shut up, you go get the book. Deal?
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
Nobody's Hero
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Nobody’s Hero About?
A decade ago, Ben Koenig helped a woman disappear—and to do so in a way that even he (who knew more than anyone else in the world about it) wouldn’t be able to track her. But now, she’s surfaced—as someone responsible for a couple of brazen murders on the streets of London. He and his watcher/minder/handler Jen Draper are tasked with finding her and finding out what made her come into the open.
It takes all of their creative approaches to investigating—and Draper’s security firm’s extensive resources—plus a little luck to get on the path. But will they survive it?
Standing in their was is a team of assassins, criminal police officers, smugglers of various stripes, petty criminals—and bigger ones—and schemes that are truly chilling. Their strengths? The aforementioned creativity and extensive resources, some assistance from a certain Agency, their shared drive, Koenig’s lack of fear, his strange humor and odd trivia.
Obviously, the bad guys are in for trouble.
A Daring Move
Far too often when someone/some group in a novel has a completely innovative, genius, unbelievably original idea, it really isn’t. At best they’re usually clever, but nowhere near as mind-blowing as characters act. Too often, I think authors would be better off alluding to a plan without giving us all the details, and readers have to suspend disbelief to keep going.
For a while, I was worried that Craven had bitten off more than he could chew in revealing all that he did—when it was all shadows, I was really invested. But as the book progressed and we got more and more details about the scheme afoot, the more I realized that this was one of those exceptions that proved the rule. There’s some really ingenious stuff going on here.
I should’ve trusted the mind that brought us The Botanist (as only one example).
Can I promise that every reader is going to have their mind boggled by this? No. But even the cynics or the people who suss it out before the reveal are going to admit that this is atypically clever, and you can absolutely understand why Koenig and Draper have such difficulty with this—and are willing to risk so much to stop it.
The Title
I’m not going to get into it now, but I can imagine that more than one book club is going to spend some fun time speculating about/arguing over who the title is referring to.
I mean, I’ve spent some time speculating about it and arguing with myself over the identity. I figure Craven has multiple characters in mind, actually, rather than just one. But I’m prepared to be wrong about that.
Caveat Lector, or, the Fight Scenes
If you’re like me, and decided at one point or another to not have a meal while watching Bones, at least until the (first) body is taken back to the Lab (the CSIs may have driven viewers to a similar choice), you’re going to want to take a similar approach to the fight scenes in this book. That’s actually an excess of caution, you’re really only going to need it for some. But better be safe than sorry—really.
Now, once you put the meatball sub aside, these fight scenes are really well-written. I think they’re better than those in Fearless. Craven brings the goods in the technical sense/ability to depict things clearly, the impact on the plot, and the overall entertainment value.
So, what did I think about Nobody’s Hero?
This is really one of those books best discussed among people who’ve read it—most of the glowing things I want to say would reveal too much—and you don’t have to read too much of Craven’s work to know it’d be a bad idea to cross him. So what can I say?
Let’s start with this—between Fearless and Nobody’s Hero I read a couple of thrillers with a one-man Army in the Reacher/Koenig/Ash/Ryan/Orphan X etc. mold that soured me on the whole thing, so I started this with a little trepidation. Also, I didn’t know how he’d follow up Fearless and feared a little sophomore slump. It took me very little time to cast all that aside and just have a blast with this—I’m back to my appreciation of the genre, and I don’t know if Craven has the word “slump” in his vocabulary.
Ben Koenig is one of those characters that I hope to spend a lot of time with, there’s just something about him that I really like. It was good to see Jen Draper in action and to see the shift in the relationship between these two from where it was in Fearless and the beginning of this book to the end. They’re a good team.
I don’t know where to put this, but I need to say that between what we see in Nobody’s Hero and some of the Poe series, I really have to wonder what kind of drinking establishments Craven frequents (or I hope, for his sake, used to frequent).
One of the assassins has a…let’s put it generously and vaguely…a quirk. It feels like the kind of thing that Craven stumbled upon at some point in the last 15 years and said, “I need to put this in a book some day.” I’m very glad it did—I’m not convinced that a hitman could become a success with that quirk, really. But Craven uses it so well, that I’m not going to complain. I really enjoyed the way it paid off.
We didn’t get a monologue at the end by an evil mastermind, which still happens even after being made a cliché decades ago—it wasn’t necessary, and what we got instead was so entertaining. It was truly a great change from what was expected.
I don’t know that we need that last reveal—nor does the series—but, I look forward to Craven coming back to it in the future (however far away that future may or may not be).
Action, snark, and some really great twists. There’s a momentum to this that builds and builds and builds as the tension ratchets up in a way that shows you’re in the hands of a Thriller Master. Sure, every decent thriller has that characteristic. But anyone who’s read a couple of thrillers knows the difference between standard-issue momentum and tension and something special. This is the latter, and it ain’t even close.
Do you need to read Fearless before this? No. Will it help a little? Not much, but yes. The important thing is that you read both of them. You won’t want to put it down once you pick it up.
Long live Ben Koenig.
Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Flatiron Books via NetGalley in exchange for this post—thanks to both for this.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---
What’s Nobody’s Hero About?
A decade ago, Ben Koenig helped a woman disappear—and to do so in a way that even he (who knew more than anyone else in the world about it) wouldn’t be able to track her. But now, she’s surfaced—as someone responsible for a couple of brazen murders on the streets of London. He and his watcher/minder/handler Jen Draper are tasked with finding her and finding out what made her come into the open.
It takes all of their creative approaches to investigating—and Draper’s security firm’s extensive resources—plus a little luck to get on the path. But will they survive it?
Standing in their was is a team of assassins, criminal police officers, smugglers of various stripes, petty criminals—and bigger ones—and schemes that are truly chilling. Their strengths? The aforementioned creativity and extensive resources, some assistance from a certain Agency, their shared drive, Koenig’s lack of fear, his strange humor and odd trivia.
Obviously, the bad guys are in for trouble.
A Daring Move
Far too often when someone/some group in a novel has a completely innovative, genius, unbelievably original idea, it really isn’t. At best they’re usually clever, but nowhere near as mind-blowing as characters act. Too often, I think authors would be better off alluding to a plan without giving us all the details, and readers have to suspend disbelief to keep going.
For a while, I was worried that Craven had bitten off more than he could chew in revealing all that he did—when it was all shadows, I was really invested. But as the book progressed and we got more and more details about the scheme afoot, the more I realized that this was one of those exceptions that proved the rule. There’s some really ingenious stuff going on here.
I should’ve trusted the mind that brought us The Botanist (as only one example).
Can I promise that every reader is going to have their mind boggled by this? No. But even the cynics or the people who suss it out before the reveal are going to admit that this is atypically clever, and you can absolutely understand why Koenig and Draper have such difficulty with this—and are willing to risk so much to stop it.
The Title
I’m not going to get into it now, but I can imagine that more than one book club is going to spend some fun time speculating about/arguing over who the title is referring to.
I mean, I’ve spent some time speculating about it and arguing with myself over the identity. I figure Craven has multiple characters in mind, actually, rather than just one. But I’m prepared to be wrong about that.
Caveat Lector, or, the Fight Scenes
If you’re like me, and decided at one point or another to not have a meal while watching Bones, at least until the (first) body is taken back to the Lab (the CSIs may have driven viewers to a similar choice), you’re going to want to take a similar approach to the fight scenes in this book. That’s actually an excess of caution, you’re really only going to need it for some. But better be safe than sorry—really.
Now, once you put the meatball sub aside, these fight scenes are really well-written. I think they’re better than those in Fearless. Craven brings the goods in the technical sense/ability to depict things clearly, the impact on the plot, and the overall entertainment value.
So, what did I think about Nobody’s Hero?
This is really one of those books best discussed among people who’ve read it—most of the glowing things I want to say would reveal too much—and you don’t have to read too much of Craven’s work to know it’d be a bad idea to cross him. So what can I say?
Let’s start with this—between Fearless and Nobody’s Hero I read a couple of thrillers with a one-man Army in the Reacher/Koenig/Ash/Ryan/Orphan X etc. mold that soured me on the whole thing, so I started this with a little trepidation. Also, I didn’t know how he’d follow up Fearless and feared a little sophomore slump. It took me very little time to cast all that aside and just have a blast with this—I’m back to my appreciation of the genre, and I don’t know if Craven has the word “slump” in his vocabulary.
Ben Koenig is one of those characters that I hope to spend a lot of time with, there’s just something about him that I really like. It was good to see Jen Draper in action and to see the shift in the relationship between these two from where it was in Fearless and the beginning of this book to the end. They’re a good team.
I don’t know where to put this, but I need to say that between what we see in Nobody’s Hero and some of the Poe series, I really have to wonder what kind of drinking establishments Craven frequents (or I hope, for his sake, used to frequent).
One of the assassins has a…let’s put it generously and vaguely…a quirk. It feels like the kind of thing that Craven stumbled upon at some point in the last 15 years and said, “I need to put this in a book some day.” I’m very glad it did—I’m not convinced that a hitman could become a success with that quirk, really. But Craven uses it so well, that I’m not going to complain. I really enjoyed the way it paid off.
We didn’t get a monologue at the end by an evil mastermind, which still happens even after being made a cliché decades ago—it wasn’t necessary, and what we got instead was so entertaining. It was truly a great change from what was expected.
I don’t know that we need that last reveal—nor does the series—but, I look forward to Craven coming back to it in the future (however far away that future may or may not be).
Action, snark, and some really great twists. There’s a momentum to this that builds and builds and builds as the tension ratchets up in a way that shows you’re in the hands of a Thriller Master. Sure, every decent thriller has that characteristic. But anyone who’s read a couple of thrillers knows the difference between standard-issue momentum and tension and something special. This is the latter, and it ain’t even close.
Do you need to read Fearless before this? No. Will it help a little? Not much, but yes. The important thing is that you read both of them. You won’t want to put it down once you pick it up.
Long live Ben Koenig.
Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Flatiron Books via NetGalley in exchange for this post—thanks to both for this.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.