hc.newton

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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If that doctor’s right, Nonc’s dad is going to die for sure this time. But the truth is, it’s just an event. Life’s full of events—they occur and you adjust, you roll and move on. But at some point, like when your girlfriend Marnie tells you she’s pregnant, you realize that some events are actually developments. You realize there’s a big plan out there you know nothing about, and a development is a first step in that new direction.

What’s Fortune Smiles About?

This is a collection of short stories—longer than most short stories I end up talking about here, but not novella length by any means. I’m not remotely sure how to describe the book or the themes as a whole…I guess I could steal that line from Semisonic, “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” These stories occupy the overlap of the new beginning and the end of the other beginnings.

Nirvana

Loss. Personal Grief. Dealing with disease, AI, and national grief. It was funny and gut-wrenching at the same time. I didn’t expect effective and affecting speculative fiction to start this collection (I honestly didn’t know what to expect, but definitely not that), but it was a dynamite start and raised my expectations for the rest.

Hurricanes Anonymous

This is not your typical post-natural disaster story. I don’t know what to say beyond that. I mean, I guess you could say there are somethings that are worse than the devastation a hurricane leaves in its wake—and we see at least one example of it here.

Other than to note the above quotation, the only thing I wrote about this was “I really don’t know what to think of it, but I’m glad I read it.” That kind of applies to the collection as a whole, but it really describes my reaction to this story.

Interesting Facts

This was hard to read—the emotions are so raw. This story is about the collapse of a marriage and the damage cancer wreaks—on the lives of the person with it and those around them.

George Orwell was a Friend of Mine

Years after the fall of the Berlin Wall—and everything that went with that—we spend some time watching the former Warden of a Stasi prison. His wife has left him, his adult daughter is having questions about him, and he’s still trying to adjust to the world he finds himself in and what the world thinks of his former career.

This was powerful stuff. I don’t know what else to say—for the longest time, you find yourself pulling for a guy you’d typically think was a monster (thankfully, while never thinking he was a stand-up guy). And then…well, maybe your perspective shifts a bit.

Darkness Falls

I could not finish this one—I’m willing to believe that there’s a decent ending to this, and there was a compelling reason to deal with this amount of darkness. But, I just couldn’t finish it because of the subject matter.

Fortune Smiles

This story is about a couple of North Korean men who defected to the South (one willingly, the other possibly less-so). Culture shock isn’t the right way to describe what they’re going through. I hope this doesn’t come across as dismissive—but it’s almost like Brooks Hatlen’s time after being paroled in The Shawshank Redemption, that’s the quickest way I have to describe their adjustment.

This story is just stunningly good, and it makes sense that the collection is named for it.

So, what did I think about Fortune Smiles?

This wasn’t a collection I could sit down and read back-to-back stories in. Frequently I had to take a day or more off between them (and sometimes I ended up taking more for other reasons)—Allyson Johnson’s recent WWW Wednesday comments* indicate that I’m not the only one who reacts this way.

* I’m expecting her to tell me how wrong I am about “Darkness Falls,” incidentally.

The stories, the points of view, the characters, circumstances, etc., etc., etc. are so varied from story to story that it’s hard to consider them as a collection. But here’s a few takeaways:

• Adam Johnson can write. Seriously great stuff.
• Adam Johnson will make you think. Particularly about things you haven’t spent (much?) time on before or actively try to stay away from.
• Adam Johnson will make you feel all sorts of things that you didn’t expect.
• Adam Johnson will not take a story where you expect or necessarily want him to. Until it’s over and you’ll regret your earlier dissension.
• Did I mention that this man can write?

I don’t know what else to say beyond that I’m glad Allyson put this on my radar, and I’m definitely recommending 5/6 of this to you all.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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…it’s never changed. Nothing does.” Their eyes met, a sudden weariness to his pupils. “Except me.”

“And now me.”

“Yeah. It’s…” he bit his lip “…nice to not be alone. Everyone’s living their lives, and I’m just here.” He turned, the light catching his eyes enough to show a glisten. “It’s almost like playing a video game. You can do a few things differently, but everyone just returns back to start. You can scream and yell at the world, but everything snaps back. No one is aware. They just resume their lives. And then it repeats.” He bit his lip again, eyes scrunched as he shook his head. “It just repeats. Nothing matters. Nothing changes.”

What’s The Jacket Copy Say?

I’ve spent a month tossing out my summaries of the plot/setup to the book. I give up—I either make this bland (and that’s a crime), I get too detailed in trying to describe something (another crime, I’m dull at it, and Chen’s not), or it’s so sketchy on details that it’s pointless. So, let’s turn it over to the professionals:

Grieving her best friend’s recent death, neuroscientist Mariana Pineda’s ready fo give up everything to start anew, even her career—after one last week consulting at a top secref particle accelerator.

Except the strangest thing happens: a man stops her…and claims they’ve met before. Carter Cho knows who she is, why she’s mourning, why she’s there. And he needs Mariana to remember everything he’s saying.

Because time is about to loop.

In a flash of energy, it’s Monday morning. Again. Together, Mariana and Carter enter an inevitable life, four days at a time, over and over, without permanence except for what they share. With everything resetting—even bank accounts—joy comes in the little moments: a delicious (and expensive) meal, the purr of a tiny cat, a tennis match, giving a dog his favorite treat.

In some ways, those are all that matter.

But just as they figure out this new life, everything changes. Because Carter’s memories of the time loop are slowly disappearing, And their only chance at happiness Is breaking out of the loop—forever.

The Everyday Lifeness of it All

Mariana is not good at living in the day-to-day. She’s always been goal-driven, more focused on her dreams and plans and how to achieve them than about enjoying the journey. Her friend’s death has rattled her, yes, but she’s still essentially the same.

Carter, on the other hand, is great at living in the moment. Sure, he was (and could be again) good at the goal-driven life, too—but he chose a path his parents didn’t choose for him. He’s able to get Mariana to stop and smell the metaphorical roses–as well as the literal food in front of her. He shows her how to enjoy a good meal for the sake of a good meal, to take pleasure in the little things—not just to consume enough fuel to keep her going.

In the midst of trying to figure out what caused the time loop, what the effects of that flash of energy that sends them back to Monday are on the rest of the world, and how to stop it all, a real friendship develops—Carter and Mariana bringing out the best in each other.

The Groundhog Day/Time Travel

Now, if Chen’s Here and Now and Then taught us anything, it’s that Chen can write good Time Travel fiction—he gets the strengths and weaknesses of the ideas, the pitfalls to avoid, the way to keep it compelling. Adding in a Groundhog Day-like twist doesn’t change that, it just makes it better (and keeps this from being just a variation on his first novel).

This is a different kind of Time Travel than his previous book—and (as always) Chen gives us just enough of the science to make it believable, but not so much that you could go out and test it (or pick it to death in the details). The Time Travel aspect is important, but it’s not the core of the novel—that’s the stuff I talked about before.

What I personally found fascinating is how close Chen’s science-ish Time Travel resembled Gareth Brown’s magic-ish Time Travel, both in how it works and how it’s used. Two very different novels, with very different goals—but the overlap is fascinating. (at least to me)

So, what did I think about A Quantum Love Story?

I probably grinned through most of this book—particularly after the first loop for Mariana. I absolutely loved the friendship between the two—and then when it started to become more (not a spoiler, it’s literally the title), I was fully on board.

Chen was at his best here with his character design (the whole backstory about Mariana and her dead friend was so good…the kind of thing that other writers would devote a whole novel to) and the plot of the novel was even better. The best material happens so late that I don’t even know how to tell you about it without spoilers abounding—so I’ll be vague, once Carter’s memories start going, what was a great, heart-warming yet strange story becomes a dynamite emotionally-rich story with some of crazy turns.

No surprise for anyone who’s ever heard me talk about Mike Chen novels for the past six years—I strongly recommend that you pick this up. It’ll be one of those novels you relish and think about fondly for a long time to come.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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WHAT'S KAY-9 THE ROBOT DOG ABOUT?

Ryan is having a rough time. His dad is overseas with the military—and Zoom calls just aren't cutting it (actually, they may be making it worse). His mom's allergies prevent them from getting a pet—and all Ryan really wants in the world is a dog.

So, he gets the idea of making one. Not in a bio-chem laboratory or editing genes to create a truly hypo-allergenic canine or something. But a robotic dog. His friend/neighbor Marcus helps out when he can—and Marcus' little sister, Mariah, pushes her way into the project, too (and actually has some good ideas and contributions).

It's not long before Ryan has moved beyond making a toy—between experimentation, online research, spare computer parts, and a little luck—he's on his way to creating a real artificial pet.

GULMIRE ZAGS WHERE OTHERS ZIG

It was in the 1980s that I first discovered stories where a kid/young person created computers, robots, androids, or spacecraft far beyond the capabilities of most professional computer engineers/corporate entities.* And while I rarely seek those out, I keep stumbling across them in various media to this day. I typically enjoy them—and have little trouble disengaging my disbelief for them, too.

* True, it was in the 1980s that I discovered pretty much everything, but that's beside the point.

On the surface, Kay-9 The Robot Dog is one of a long line of those stories. But there's something different about Gulmire's approach to the creation of the Robot. Typically, most of the creation-stage happens off-screen (with maybe some comedic moments of trying it out in real life). But not here, the focus of this novel is on the creation. Trial and error. Going back to the drawing board. Thinking of a new feature and figuring out how to add it. Learning about processes necessary to get from Point A to Point B—and then beyond.

Sometimes, Ryan has to ask for help—and typically, that's just a nudge in the right direction for research, not someone telling him what to do. The book could be titled "How to Build Your Dog" or something like that—it's that focused on the process. I was perfectly fine with the "oh, I've seen this before" feeling—Gulmire was doing a good job with the usual pattern—but then when it became clear that he was taking the road less traveled, I became strongly invested.

PARENTING

One of the big questions that every Middle Grade author has to deal with is "What do I do about the parents?" Often, they're written out of the book somehow—the protagonist is at camp, or boarding school, lost in the woods, or whatever. Maybe they're so busy at work that the protagonist rarely sees them (but generally in that case there's some other authority figure to contend with). Sometimes, they're written as witless or befuddled people who have to be avoided (which isn't difficult), or they're overbearing to one degree or another.

Ryan's mom, however, is just a good mom. She's involved, she makes sure he eats reasonably well, does his homework, and whatnot. They can enjoy a little back-and-forth in their conversation, but at the end of the day, she's his mother, and he will act accordingly. She's supportive and understanding of Ryan's desire to have a dog, his difficulty without his father around, and then for his Kay-9 project. She's his biggest cheerleader—but she makes sure to communicate the limits she'll tolerate.

Marco and Mariah's mom is also a great example of what a mom should be. The two of them together could be the focus of a TLC reality show.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT KAY-9 THE ROBOT DOG?

There's this strong theme of a community supporting Ryan, running throughout this—and it only builds as the novel goes on. It's understated, for the most part, but it's there—and it generates more heart-warming energy than it should for the space it takes. I really appreciated that.

I also really appreciated the way that Gulmire addressed Ryan's dad being overseas with the military and the stress it puts on everyone in the family. Like with so many of the things he succeeds with in this book, the depiction is strong and relatable. He never dips the toe into a "very special episode" kind of feel. But we see Ryan struggle with it, we see his mom struggle, too (we can imagine Dad's struggle, but it's not something the reader gets first-hand). Most importantly, this was dealt with honestly and compassionately.

This is a quick, light read (particularly for those not in the intended 7-12 year old audience). It's full of joy and heart, with some good (and subtly delivered) life lessons. It's a celebration of imagination, grit, and experimentation—all things we need more of. It's also a tribute to the power of a kid-sister (your own or your friend's) in getting things done. Best of all, it's a fun way to spend an afternoon.

Check it out—or at least help the kid in your life give it a peek.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Teaching Moments About?

It seems that after the events of Harvested, Max Boucher has developed a specialty when it comes to his PI work—animals. Granted, most of these are pretty small cases without a lot of excitement, but work is work, right? And if he’s getting the bills paid, he can spend more time thinking about the new evidence he found at his old home at the end of Harvested.

But that’s for another time, really. Max has been hired to leave Seattle and come to Cedar Peak—a small town in Idaho*, where someone from out of town sticks out like a sore thumb. He’s been called upon to investigate a missing—presumed stolen—horse, worth a pretty penny.

* I kept changing my mind about what city it’s based on, and decided to stop trying because it really doesn’t matter.

But before he can even start this investigation, he stumbles across a murder. Now, that’s not why he’s in town, but he sort of befriends the woman dating the dead man (who turns out to be related to the horse’s owner). He’s warned off by the local police, but he ends up looking into the murder, too.

It’s not long at all before Max discovers that almost nothing is what it seems and that he might have bitten off more than he can chew this time.

The Other POV

Interwoven with Max’s story is the first-person account of a young woman becoming a serial killer. On the one hand it’s easy to see why we get this (her weapon of choice is used in the murder)—but it frequently feels like it could be a different book.

Actually, you could excise these chapters (or at least almost all of them) and publish it as a stand-alone novella. You’d probably need a different conclusion to make it satisfactory—but it’d work that way.

This isn’t entirely a criticism (although it does feel a little out of place from time to time)—the way this story ends up merging with the rest of the novel really works and adds to the overall impact of the novel.

The only real complaint I have about it is that all these chapters are in italics, and it just bugs me to read that much italicized material, there’s gotta be a better way to set that kind of thing off from the rest of the text.

The Series Arc

After the way that Harvested ended (and well, the way that most of that book went), I assumed we’d get a lot more time and space devoted to the murder of Max’s daughter and the disappearance of his wife in this book. I didn’t expect that he’d solve everything so soon, but still.

And while Max (and/or Lambert) didn’t blow off the topic, the novel didn’t focus on it as much as I’d assumed. I think it’s good for the long-term health of the series, as long as Lambert doesn’t drag things out in this regard. The closing pages of this novel bring in a new twist to the series that can help out with the overall arc(s), too.

So, what did I think about Teaching Moments?

It feels pretty uncharacteristic of me not to mention Max’s dog so far. Russ is one of those rescued at the end of Harvested and he’s become an important part of Max’s life. He’s a very good boy, and a canine I’m pleased to make the acquaintance of.

I don’t think I was as surprised at a lot of the serial killer story as the novel wanted me to be. That may be because I read too many things in this genre. It was well-executed and I don’t have any noteworthy negative things to say about it beyond I thought it wasn’t that unexpected. I don’t need to be shocked, I just want a good story, and that’s what Lambert delivered.

A solid PI novel is one of my favorite things in the world. Lambert’s Max Boucher novels are good examples of the genre. Yes, the setting and the central crime might not be common for the genre, but they work well in Lambert’s hands. I’m definitely looking forward to more of these, and recommend them to you. Even if you’re not looking for a series, Teaching Moments could work as a standalone. Either way, you should give this a shot.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Below the Falls About?

This is a diverse collection of 25 short stories (some very short, some not). I’m struggling to say more than that about it.

The title comes from the first story, but it applies pretty well to the collection as a whole. Some more directly than others. Each story does deal with the effects of a fall–metaphorically, naturally (with an exception or two). Sometimes the protagonist is the one who fell (or is falling), sometimes they’re next to or observing the fall, maybe dealing the the consequences of it.*

* I fought hard against the impulse to say “dealing with the fallout” there.

The Publisher’s description puts it this way:

Two climbers in the North Cascades risk their friendship and lives ascending a frozen waterfall. The girlfriend of a famous comedian in Greenwich Village must decide whether she wants to raise a child in the spotlight of fame. A mysterious Bird of Paradise makes daily overtures to an elderly widow in the frigid Midwest. A Texas fracking mogul struggles to find the love his money prevents. The deeply rendered American landscapes of these stories emerge as a vital background for characters faced with conflicts that cannot be easily resolved, illuminating interior worlds filled with contradiction.

I might have picked other stories for the blurb, but then again, those are probably some of the easiest to summarize in a sentence.

So, what did I think about Below the Falls?

Like most short story collections, this is a mixed bag. And your results are going to vary (perhaps wildly) from mine. Which sounds like I’m trying to weasel out of giving a firm opinion, but it isn’t.

There’s a meme that I see everywhere (except for now when I’m looking for it) that says something about running across a sentence that makes you close your book for a while to sit and think about it. Nearly every story in this collection has one or two of those sentences, or at least sentences that I had to read a couple of times just to appreciate them.

Too often, those sentences were all I had to commend a particular story, however. My notes are filled with comments like, “why?”, “a plot would’ve been helpful here”*, or “what was the point?”

* Yes, yes, yes–they’re not always needed for compelling reading. But they are sometimes.

However…the other stories more than made up for that. For example, an early story was described aboVe as “A mysterious Bird of Paradise makes daily overtures to an elderly widow in the frigid Midwest” story (“Small Firey Bloom”). It was haunting, beautiful, and is probably what kept me going after a rough start.

I’m not going to list the others that were as good–without getting into too much detail, it’d be hard to describe my reactions in a meaningful way. But more importantly, anyone who reads this collection is going to end up disagreeing with me about which ones I was knocked out by and which ones I found skippable or pointless.

So, I’ll just leave it with this–there’s a lot of dross in this collection. But there’s also some of the shiniest gold you’re going to find, too. You’ll have to do some sifting, some panning, and maybe even some chiseling to get it–but you’ll be so glad you did.

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from the author and Lori Hettler of The Next Best Book Club in exchange for this post and my honest take—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Takeout Sushi About?

This is a collection of 17 stories—13 taking place in contemporary Japan, and 4 in other parts of the world and other times.

It’s difficult to describe a common theme or anything with this collection—you’ve got one crime story, one thing that straddles Science Fiction and Contemporary Fiction, and then a few that fall under slice-of-life kind of things. I’d compare them to the shorter works of Raymond Carver, John Cheever, or John Updike—at least in the kind of stories he’s telling, I’m not equipped to talk about literary quality. I will say that I liked most of these better than almost everything I read by those guys.

Characters in the Stories

Speaking generally, these stories focus on one person, with 1-3 other characters. I guess that’s frequently the case for short stories in general, but as I read it, this collection felt more focused on an individual or two rather than the outside world.

With several of these, I have the impression I got to know the protagonist as well as I do some characters in 400-page novels—Green has a real gift for getting us up close and personal to his characters. And, I guess, we really don’t get to know these people all that well—but in the moment, you’ll be convinced you know them better than their own mothers or psychiatrists.*

* That’s a joke, I can’t imagine any of these people seeing a psychiatrist. Most should, however.

Mawage

There’s probably an entire post to be written about the marriages depicted in the book—and, on the whole, the institution doesn’t come out looking to good. There are a couple of exceptions—and one promises to be better soon after the story’s events (thanks to an oddly sympathetic police officer). But, particularly early on, my notes are full of comments about the strange and (often) strained relationships between husband and wife depicted here.

I will say this—Green is fairly even-handed in what partner is “the problem.” Too many collections like this would tend to paint the wife negatively—or the husband—but Green bounced back and forth between the two.

Basically, don’t give this as a Valentine’s Day gift.

So, what did I think about Takeout Sushi?

Almost every time I talk about a short-story collection, I end up saying something like, “there were some real winners, and some that didn’t do much for me, I expect you’ll find the same (just with a different list of stories in each category).” I hate to repeat myself, buuuuuut…

Now, those that were real winners were just amazingly good. “Laugh out loud from surprise because you didn’t expect to read something that skillfully done and imaginative” good (and occasionally laugh out loud because of the conclusion). Those that didn’t rise to that level (in my estimation, I stress), did absolutely nothing for me. I even re-read a couple of them to see if I could figure out what I missed—I just didn’t understand the point of them. There was one exception to that—the penultimate story, “The Pool.” It was effective and affective—and completely not for me—but at least I got it.

A few years ago, I read a short story by Russell Day called “Not Talking Italics.” It blew me away and started a years-long obsession with Day and his shorter and longer pieces. Green’s “Crimes for Dummies” hit me in almost the same way. My note at the end was just one word: Fantastic. A few others were almost as good (“The Choice”)—or better (“Spinning Wheels”).

I’m not going to say any more about them because it would rid those stories of their punch. But those three more than justify the purchase price of the book—whatever you end up spending on it.

As usual, I’m more than prepared for people to come along and tell me that “The Pool” was brilliant (and explain why), or that “Spinning Wheels” was silly or derivative of something. Because tastes differ—as they should.

In any case, I expect that whoever picks up this collection are going to frequently have a real blast with it—and a couple of things to shrug at before diving into the next one that will get them giddy with excitement.

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book from Neem Tree Press and The Write Reads via NetGalley.

★ ★ ★ 1/2 (rounded up)

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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WHAT'S GREAT MINDS ON SMALL THINGS ABOUT?

In 1764, Voltaire published Dictionnaire philosophique. In 1957, Roland Barthes published Mythologies. In 1987, Quiddities: An Intermittently Philosophical Dictionary was published by W. V. Quine. Taking a little something from all of these (and others), in 2023, Matthew Qvortrup brought us Great Minds on Small Things: The Philosophers' Guide to Everyday Life.

This is a (brief) survey of what philosophers from Plato to George Santayana, and several points between (and a little spillover on either side) have to say about topics that aren't usually thought of as subjects of philosophical meditation. More like things discussed over beers with coworkers and friends, pontificated on by stand-up comics, or things that people mutter about on social media between photos of sandwiches or cats.

Rather than the meaning of life, the source of ethics, the nature of the will, or social contracts, Qvortrup collects thoughts on things like artichokes, smoking, hiccups, sports, sports, and more sports. Told with a little bit of humor and a clear familiarity with the thinkers and writers he's covering and quoting, Qvortrup's survey is both entertaining and educational.

THE BREADTH OF TOPICS

Qvortrup hits on so many things--here's a (very non-exhaustive) list that I compiled to give you a taste (the categories are mine, Qvortrup lists things alphabetically). The things I didn't jot down are just as varied and strange, let me add.

Food/Drink

• Artichoke

• Beer

• Breakfast

• Cheese

• Coffee

• Quiche

• Radishes

• Tea

• Tomato Juice

• Wine

Inventions

• Boilers

• Cars

• Ships

• Telephone

Pets

• Cats

• Dogs

Activities

• Baseball

• Basketball

• Dancing

• Football*

• Being Lazy

• Marriage

• Smoking

• Sneezing

• Tennis

• Wrestling

Human Bodies

• Excrement

• Farting

• Hiccups

• Laughter

• Penis

• Ticklishness

• Urination

• Winking

• Wiping (no, really)

• Yawning

* Sorry, Americans, he means "soccer."

And, sure, while this is about everyday things, Qvortrup does interact with some of the deeper thinkers in (mostly Western) history, and does end up brushing up against some of their deeper thoughts and categories--so, he includes a glossary to help readers like me get through it all.

ONE PROBLEM WITH THE TONE

Yes, I enjoy writers mixing humor (mild or otherwise) with deeper or controversial topics. Even just a lighter touch to writing is a winner for me. And Qvortrup makes this whole thing really amusing.

Sometimes, however, I had a hard time telling when he was exaggerating for humorous effect or just making a joke and when he was conveying actual information in a whimsical way. It doesn't take away the enjoyment from the reading--it just makes it hard to know what you can repeat in conversation or cite in writing (you know, if you're the kind of person who does that.)

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT GREAT MINDS ON SMALL THINGS?

I had a great time reading this book--it's a great mix of light reading with some interesting perspectives--and can easily be used as a launching point to further reading or research. "So-and-so used baseball to describe X economic principle, I want to see how that actually works out beyond this quick summary." "Hanna Arendt's personal story seems interesting, especially how it is expressed in Topic Y." It's also just fun to think about names you've read about (or maybe read) debating the type of breakfast that's best for productivity or enjoyment of life.

I do think it's best to dip in and out of the book, and not read from cover-to-cover the way I did. When I return, it will be to look at particular topics (not necessarily the ones I listed above).

My major complaint is the brevity of the book--I don't think most of the entries needed to be longer, I just wanted more entries. Some letters only have one thing listed. Sure, it has to be difficult to find everyday things that philosophers have opined about, but now that Qvortrup has shown us some, it's hard to believe there isn't more to see.

Pick this one up, folks, you'll have a good time.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Namaste Mart Confidential About?

It seems (especially in film and novels) that Los Angeles is filled with people who’ve moved their to start their lives. That’s certainly the case for Richie Walsh, a stand-up comedian trying to build his audience and act, and Adam Minor, an aspiring novelist. While they wait for their artistic careers to take off, they need to pay their bills—and so they get jobs at the greatest grocery store in the country to be employed at (as far as I can tell, anyway—I’ve never known anyone to have such a good gig while working at one).

Some time back, however, the two of them stumbled upon a kidnapper and rescued his latest victim—getting them some attention from the local media and starting a side gig for them: Unlicensed Private Eyes. They’ve had a few successful cases, nothing as headline-worthy as their first however, and then entered a dry spell.

They’re pulled out of it when a co-worker’s mother hires them. She runs a few lingerie stores (higher-end stuff), and one of her top employees has gone missing. Shayla Ramsey has had a troubled past—escaping from the frying pan of a polygamous marriage to the fire of addiction on the streets of L.A. She’s put her life on the right track—and now she’s vanished, with both parts of her past equally likely to have pulled her back in.

Neither grocery store clerk could expect—or be prepared for—where the trial for Shayla takes them. But readers are going to have a blast going along for the ride.

A Real Kitchen Sink Novel

What doesn’t this book have, really? First off—and it’s easy to forget this, but you shouldn’t—it’s noir. Then you have a slice of L.A. life in 2013, and boy does it feel like it. There’s some comedy. There’s some satire. There’s commentary on the rise (and growing acceptance, it seems) of polygamous LDS groups*. There’s some drama. There’s some over-the-top action movie-style gunfights. There’s a splash of politics. There’s more than a little commentary on the nature of celebrity. There’s some actual sweetness through one of the smaller arcs. You’ve got Armenian mobsters. Ex-actors turned business executives. Ex-actors turned artists. Grocery store clerks and very odd customers (just that part of the novel alone could be turned into a decent sitcom). A strange Scientology-esque group.

* I read three novels that featured them last year alone. An odd trend in crime fiction.

This is not an exhaustive list—and I know that once I publish this post, I’m going to think of other things I could’ve included.

But the important thing to know going in—it all works. This jumble of seemingly incompatible ideas/topics that Miller brings to the table fit together in a way that feels natural. It’s like one of those cooking competition shows where the contestants are handed a bunch of ingredients that no one in their right mind should put together and they make something that gets that gets the approval of experienced chefs and restauranteurs. Miller ain’t getting chopped for this meal.

Anger

At one point in the show Justified, Winona tells her ex-husband, “Raylan, you do a good job of hiding it. And I s’pose most folks don’t see it, but honestly, you’re the angriest man I have ever known.” That line came to my mind a few times while reading this book—I don’t know that Adam or Richie are quite as angry as Raylan—but they’re noticeably younger than him. Unless something happens to them in the next decade or two (you know, presuming they survive this novel), I do think they might attain that high mark.

Adam says he wants to pursue this case for a different reason—and that might be true (he certainly believes it), but it seems to me that his life as a whole is driven by anger. Anger at his family for the way he was raised, the religion he was inculcated in, and the way they responded to him rejecting their faith and way of life. This spills over to an anger at any religion—or pseudo-religion/cult. It frankly gets in his way, and makes this case (and probably others, as well as other aspects of his life) much more difficult. Richie’s anger (more on that in a moment) may put them in immediate jeopardy a time or two, but I’d wager that Adam’s chip on his shoulder about religion/religious beliefs is a bigger detriment/hindrance to the duo.

I should probably add that while Adam thinks he’s angry at his family and their religion, I actually think he’s angry at God for not existing. Or at least not existing and behaving the way that Adam expects him to.

Richie’s anger is a little easier to see—there are no tears of this clown to be seen, just a violent streak that can be seen from miles away. Miller doesn’t give us as much insight into it as we get with Adam’s—but we may get more examples of it in action. Richie is definitely more honest with himself about the outward expression of this (although he might underestimate his ability to control it).

So, what did I think about Namaste Mart Confidential?

Based on his short story in Jacked, this was not the novel I expected from Miller. But I don’t know what he could’ve written that would’ve made me think he (or anyone else) would produce something like this book.

Anytime I hear “unlicensed private investigators,” my mind goes to the fantastic FX show, Terriers and while Adam and Richie aren’t Hank and Britt, I could see Adam becoming Hank-like with another decade or more experience (I think Richie’s already a better P.I. than Britt). The designation allows Miller to take advantage of all the P.I. tropes he wants to—and to keep these guys strictly amateur. So they do not have to follow all the rules a licensed P.I. would have to and make dumb mistakes and act like renegade escapees of a cozy novel. It’s definitely a best-of-both-worlds kind of situation and a great choice by Miller.

I cannot tell—and I’d hesitate to speculate—if Miller has a lot he wants to say about religion and faith, or it it just fit the plot and the character of Adam. I’d buy either explanation (or both). I would like to see Adam and Richie back in action in a story that didn’t have that much/anything to do with religion to see how Adam acts when he doesn’t have something like that to bounce off of, I think it’d be interesting to see the contrast.

This is a very L.A. novel—even if you disregard the Hollywood-adjacent portions (although it would be difficult to do). This book wouldn’t function the same way were it set in Chicago, Dallas, Boston, or Orlando. It would take someone better at analyzing these things—or at least in describing them—to tell you why. But these events need L.A. (with a quick detour to Mexico), and I relish things like that. By and large, Spenser, Elvis Cole, Madison Kelly, or Kinsey Millhone can take place just about anywhere. But Lydia Chin/Bill Smith, August Snow, Annie McIntyre, or Adam Minor/Richie Walsh need their geography*. I’ll read any of those at any chance I get, clearly, but there’s something distinctive about those tied into their cities like that.

* Obviously, they can travel outside their typical bailiwick, but then you’ve got the duck-out-of-water thing going on.

I seem to be jumping around a little bit in this section (and perhaps the entire post), because there are just so many aspects of this novel that I want to talk about and I’m not certain how to link them all together—and which ones I have time and space to cover. It may be a bit hyperbolic to say I could open this book up to any random page and find something I could talk about for at least a paragraph or two—but only a bit. It’s not often I think that in a P.I. novel—and I love it.

Miller nails the pacing of this novel. The circuitous path our duo takes to track Shayla fits both their strengths and weaknesses. The dangers they face feel genuine—and their lack of ability to really cope with some of that danger endears them to me more than when they’re being competent (not that I don’t enjoy them doing their job well, too). Familiar and unexpected all at once—Miller tackles this novel like a pro, and I can’t wait to see what he does next. (although if he wants some suggestions, I’d point him to the short story I talked about a few paragraphs back)

If you’re in the mood for a gritty P.I. novel with a lot of zip, look no further than Namaste Mart Confidential.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Rhythm and Clues About?

An old college acquaintance of Juni Jessup has approached her and her sisters with a proposition—he and his partner will invest in Sip & Spin Records, help it succeed—and take a good portion of the profits. Juni and her old (and maybe future) boyfriend, Beau, attend a hockey game with them for a little wining and dining (or beering and snacking) along with the pitch. It’s not the beginning of a Record Shop Mystery that you’d expect, but it’s pretty fun.

The fun goes away later that night when a monster storm hits their area, knocking out power to the entire town, and threatening to flood buildings as well. Juni and her older sister dash to their store to try to mitigate the damage there. Before you know it, the event readers were waiting for happens—one of the investors is dead outside their shop and Juni is the one who discovers the body.

The police warn her off—but the surviving partner has heard of Juni’s previous adventures and asks for her help. Which is convenient—because she wanted to look into the murder anyway.

The storm has made leaving—or entering—Cedar River impossible for a few days, so the murderer is definitely still around. This could be a problem because it seems that everywhere Juni looks, she finds another suspect with plenty of reasons to want that investor gone. Will she be able to find them before they can get out of town?

The Investors

For various and sundry reasons (starting with all the roads being washed out), Juni ends up spending a lot of time with the dead man’s business partner and gets to know their business practices much better than she did during their pitch to Juni (or her sisters).

While they don’t do anything illegal, and probably not strictly unethical either, there’s something about their methods that just don’t sit right with me (or several others in the novel). As a mystery reader, we get to encounter all sorts of unsavory characters and actions that aren’t necessarily illegal, but sure aren’t good. Very often you wonder how realistic they are while hoping some fiendish writer made it all up out of whole cloth (but secretly knowing they didn’t). I suspect that Blacke is sharing something that came up in her research—or something that people she knows have run into for their own small business.

I truly hope the latter isn’t the case, because I’m sure people like this exist and people suffer because of them. It makes me glad to not own a business and have to worry about it.

Juni’s Growth

She’s been on her own for several years, and until an economic hit at her company led to her coming home, seems to have found some sort of success in life. So you’d think she’d come back to town as an adult—and she does, but she also seems to be largely treated as pretty much the same kid she’s always been. And maybe part of that is just coming back to the place where everyone knows you as that kid you were when you went to college and aren’t ready to accept that you’ve grown up.

But she’s been coming into her own, little by little, over the course of the series—and arguably arrives in this book. Maybe she’s just more comfortable in her own skin and her old hometown. Maybe it’s the way others see her. Probably a little bit of both. It certainly doesn’t hurt things at all the way she keeps finding herself in the middle of murder cases.

The important thing is that it’d be easy for Blacke to freeze all the characters so that they’re who we met in Vinyl Resting Place for the rest of the series. But she doesn’t do that—Juni’s the most notable example of this, but there are others, too. I’m so glad that Blacke has taken this path, it opens the door up for more changes, more development—and will keep readers like me engaged with the characters and the stories they find themselves in.

In my post about the last book, I said, “I do worry that at some point the residents of Cedar River are going to decide that Juni’s the Angel of Death having brought so many murders to town with her.” They still might do that—but so far, they’ve gone in another direction. Particularly the first responders in town. There’s a moment involving them and Juni that got me to laugh out loud. And I don’t know how to say more about it than that.

Juni’s Drinks

Blacke’s music pun-inspired coffee drink names are as good here as they’ve ever been, if not better. Now, I understand why she doesn’t give us too many per novel. But I think she could give her fans some supplemental material—bonus tracks, if you will—just give us some of the seasonal menus from the time between books. Just throwing that out there as an idea.

That Moment

When it comes to a lot of procedurals or other mystery shows on TV there’s a moment where the detective sees something or hears something that a friend/coworker says, they get this look in their eye and they dash out of the room, they’ve got the whole thing solved now. Gregory House was great at these—Temperance Brennan is the other prime example that jumps to mind (but I know there are many others).

It’s hard to depict those moments in novels, however. But you can still see them happening—Juni has one of those here. Well, she starts to anyway, and something comes along to take her out of the moment. For most/all readers, we won’t get taken out of the moment—if anything, we’ll keep going with it and solve the mystery (or at least get a lot closer to it). Blacke really handled that well—a trick I wish she’d teach others.

While commending her for this, her creation got on my nerves because of it. Juni took forever to circle back to that breakthrough moment and finish her thought. I was so relieved when it happened without me having to climb into the book and shake her by her shoulders until she’d focus.

So, what did I think about Rhythm and Clues?

Blacke is really onto something with these books—this is her best yet, and she shows no signs of slowing down (I hope she gets to keep going). The writing was sharp here, the characterizations—particularly of the investors, and the new people Juni encounters during the case—were on point and vivid, the mystery was her best and twistiest yet. The herrings were a bright and lively red—practically vermillion. The resolution was so, so gratifying.

This series is quickly becoming a solid favorite of mine—I’m never going to be a giant cozy mystery fan, but when I read one that works as well as this one does, I want to go find more. It’s a very clever and fast read, with some heartfelt emotional moments and it brings a lot of smiles to my face.

I honestly don’t know of a better way to put it or a better reason to commend it to your attention. Rhythm and Clues was as satisfying a read as you’re going to find. You can jump on here or you can get the first two books in the series and have a good time with them first. Either way, I encourage you to track it down.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Rift in the Soul About?

As is so often the case with books in this series, there’s a lot going on–issues with Nell and her powers, Nell and her sisters/pets/family, and some sort of supernatural-based crime for starters. So this isn’t going to be exhaustive (I hopefully never am, but I felt like I should say that here).

Nell is summoned to appear before Ming of Glass, the vampire Master of the City. They’ve had an interesting relationship in the past, and from the moment the two encounter each other in these pages you know things are going to be much more so. Because this book happens after the events of Final Heir and Ming and her vampires aren’t quite like they were last time Nell crossed paths with them.

There’s a body on Ming’s land that she wants Nell to take away and investigate. Her people aren’t responsible for the death–and none of them understand it. As it’s on Ming’s property, it’s a PsyLED problem.

Before PsyLED can do anything about it, Nell catches the attention of vampires that aren’t associated with Ming. And…I don’t know what else to say about that beyond, drama, violence, and other tense nouns ensue.

Oh, and in the middle of all this, Nell has to prepare for Christmas with her expanding family and a wedding. Because even for a PsyLED Special Agent, there’s more to life than just ancient vampires on the hunt.

The Jane Yellowrock Ripples

I may spill a bit more from the end of the Yellowrock books than people who haven’t finished might like. If that’s you, read this next paragraph and then skip to the next heading, okay?

As I’ve said frequently when it comes to this series–if you haven’t read the Jane Yellowrock books that it spun off from, you’re going to be okay. You have all the information you need in the Soulwood books. However, if you have read both, you’re going to get a lot more from the series.

Boy howdy, is that true here. Yes, it seemed like almost everything got resolved and wrapped up in a pretty little bow at the end of the Yellowrock series. Buuuut…there were enough things dangling to make it seem realistic and maybe allow for short stories from those characters and so on–or, for Soulwood to pick them up and do something with them.

For example–is everything peachy keen in the vampire world now? Is everyone getting along? (I think we know the answer to that) What does it mean for vampires to have their souls back? That’s a bigger question than this book can really answer, but we get a peek into the answers.

There are some other things, too–but you should find those out for yourself.

I found this aspect of the novel very satisfying and it scratched an itch I didn’t realize I had. We don’t see Jane or hear from her directly. But we get to hear a vague update on her and a couple of familiar names pop up to help out here.

The Vampire Tree/The Green Knight/Soulwood

Every time we readers–or Nell–seem to think we all have reached some solid conclusions about Nell’s abilities and her land, Hunter comes along, shakes her head at our naiveté, and shows us how little we actually get.

This is all the clearer when it comes to The Vampire Tree and The Green Knight persona. As both seem to be developing and evolving, it’s understandable that we (readers andNell) keep being surprised. It’s also kind of nice that we can’t get complacent. Nell was rocked by some of what she experiences in this book–and, reader, you will be, too. You will almost certainly want more details–like 4+ bonus chapters just about these things (you’ll know it when you see them), and will likely have a couple of dozen questions to ask Nell and/or Hunter.

But wait, there’s more. We get to see the way that Mud and Esther connect to all this–and it is not precisely the same way that Nell does.

Fans are going to sink their teeth and/or claws into this aspect of the book–and might not care that much about the plot in contrast to this. Well, that might be overstating it–but many fans would be content to hit “pause” on the action for a bit to focus on it.

Speaking of things that we readers think we understand…

As one would expect, things (outside of Nell’s personal life) bring us back to God’s Cloud of Glory Church/cult/compound. We end up circling back to events of Blood of the Earth and Curse on the Land in troubling ways. This leads Nell to rethink some of the theories and conclusions she reached back then, and to ask uncomfortable questions.

It’s only when you get a series to this kind of length that it becomes this rewarding to come back and take a second look at things like this (sorry for the vagueness). But in the light of these new circumstances, it’s good that we readers and Nell get that second look. It really pays off.

I wouldn’t mind a little less from this group in the future, but I don’t know if that’s possible given the way this series has been build. (at the same time, I don’t mind seeing them, I’m just worried that it’s becoming a rut)

So, what did I think about Rift in the Soul?

I don’t want to overstate this, but I’m not sure how I could. Nor am I going to explain this. No future Soulwood book is going to be like the ones that came before this one. Yes, yes, yes–the crimes, the monsters, the magic in each is a different kind of problem. But beyond all that, there’s a lot to each of these books that take on similar shapes, and patterns–just in the characters, but outside that, too. That all changes here.

And it’s a good thing–as comfortable as it is to watch the same set of investigators run down leads, do some magic, shift into wereforms/other shifts, and so on. A good, healthy series grows and develops–like, a garden or a forest (golly, why would someone think in botanical terms when it comes to this series?).

Rift in the Soul acts as a pivot point, or maybe a stepping stone between versions of these two (let’s go with a stepping stone, so I don’t have to keep hearing Ross Geller yell “PIVOT!” in the back of my mind). There are some hellos, some goodbyes, some…”huh, that’s new.” (some of which I alluded to above, a lot I haven’t). This novel acts as a cap and a launching pad at the same time for the series.

It’s tough to consider this book without reference to that, honestly, because so much of the warp and woof of the novel is that. But let’s try: you’ve got some solid vampire action, you’ve got strange vampire action, too. Some great action scenes. Good, strong character development. Solid emotional beats that are well-executed and earned. Things might not be the same soon, but for now, this is a good time with your group of friends.

Obviously, I don’t recommend this as a jumping-on point for the series, but it would be okay if you decided to. (but don’t, go back to the beginning). I think you’ll like the time in this world. But for people who’ve been with Nell and her team/work family/blood family since the beginning? You’re going to walk away very pleased.

Oh, one last note before I go: Faith Hunter/Publishers: Mud deserves at least a solo-novella. You’ve got something great here, use it. (unless you wanted to team her up with Jane Yellowrock’s Angie)

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s The Body’s Keepers About?

I feel underqualified to try to describe this book, and you’ll see why here in a sentence or two. So, I’m just going to paste what the Publisher’s Site says: (yes, I typically would cite the audiobook publisher here, but the print edition’s publisher gives more details)

A remarkable account of the kidney and the scientific, medical, and health evolution tied to our understanding of it.

The kidney is an extraordinary organ – in many ways the regulator, the metronome, the keeper of the human body’s delicate equilibrium. On a given day, minute by minute, it purifies the body of toxins it encounters from diet, climate, activity, and injury. It allows us to be and to move in the world. And yet most of us know so very little about these extraordinary vessels nestled in our bodies – and indeed millions of us only really learn about them when they stop working. Nearly a million Americans every year have end stage kidney disease, about 37 million have some form of chronic kidney disease. And it is an incredibly common universe of challenge and ailment that, until relatively recently, would simply kill those afflicted with it.

Renowned nephrologist Dr. Paul Kimmel takes us on an eye-opening journey through the history of kidney disease, dialysis, and transplantation. Drawing on both his extensive research and decades of experience in the field, he explains the development of treatments, technologies, and medical practices that have advanced the care of patients with kidney disease. Kimmel illuminates the impact of medical advances on the lives of those suffering from this debilitating disease and offers a clear understanding of the challenges that remain.

The Body’s Keepers also reveals the inequities and injustices at the heart of America’s healthcare system. Filled with case studies, personal histories, and first-hand accounts, the book reveals the shocking truth about the exploitation of vulnerable populations in the pursuit of profit. Kimmel examines how disparities in access to care have led to life-threatening consequences for many Americans. He also looks at the ways in which the medical industry has profited from the suffering of others, and how the path to health equity is still far from being realized. With unflinching honesty and a passionate commitment to social justice, his book is an essential read for anyone looking to understand the complexities of modern healthcare.

What Did I Think About the Narration?

With all due respect to Dr. Kimmel, this could very easily have been a dry-as-dust book. Yes, there’s occasionally some wit and some passion in the text–Kimmel’s personality does come through. Lane Hakel makes sure that shines through. He maintains the appropriate tone and seriousness to the subject, but with simple and subtle changes in inflection and so on to help maintain the listener’s engagement.

If nothing else, Hakel helped me pronounce a few terms and medication names that I’ve always stumbled on (or heard multiple ways).

I’m not saying that Hakel made this a joy to listen to, or that it was entertaining in the same way that, say, Luke Daniels makes a book–nor should it have been. But he keeps the listening experience accessible and interesting–even when the text seems just to be a list of names and acronyms. (which doesn’t happen often, but, occasionally it seems like it).

My Interest in the Book

So, I saw this on Netgalley the day after my son’s first dialysis treatment. And I clicked the request button as quickly as I could. I’ve talked in this space a little about his kidney transplant a few years ago. But what I know about kidney disease and the treatment of it doesn’t amount to much–and it’s very focused. So the opportunity to learn more–particularly in a history, was more than appealing.

Sure, I was discouraged a bit right off when one of the first things that Kimmel says is that he won’t be discussing the kidney disease my son had. But, he spent a lot of time talking about End Stage Renal Disease and transplants. So that more than made up for the skipped subject. And even the topics that didn’t directly have anything to do with my son were interesting to listen to. Because really, at the end of the day, the more medicine learns about various treatments for one area of kidney disease/treatment, the better off all patients are.

So, what did I think about The Body’s Keepers?

Can a non-medical professional read/listen to this and profit from this book? Absolutely. Are we the target audience? I don’t think so–well, those interested in the overlap of politics/economics/prejudices and medical treatments are definitely part of the target audience. So it’s not just the kind of book for M.D. after their name. But it’s not written for the person browsing a bookstore/library shelf for their weekend read, either.

This is an 18-hour listen, and it’s not the easiest listen, either–both because of the subject matter and the thoroughness with which Kimmel discusses things. Folks who are just idly curious are probably not going to make it through this book. But those who have a connection to the topic–because of their profession or professional interests, because (like me) they are or know someone going through these things, or because they’re invested in the social aspects and things like equitable access to care, or some other connection–will make it through this book and be glad for it.

For those who are interested in this subject, this is a fascinating book and a good audiobook experience. I do think I may end up getting the print edition just to make looking up a point or two easier. But for non-reference use? The audiobook is a good way to go.

I learned a lot, I have to say. The historical development of nephrology is fascinating. For such a young science the advances made are truly astounding (for example, when you hear how they made the first “artificial kidney”–the precursor to a dialysis machine, your mind will be boggled). The origins of the treatment of kidney diseases and injuries really start because of the World Wars and now kidney transplants happen all the time (not often enough for those on a transplant list for years), dialysis is routine, and the medical research is very promising to improve and innovate both.

Yes, the impacts of race, sex, income, and so on when it comes to access to and varieties of treatment are dismaying and befuddling (and on those providing the treatment). But the book suggests there’s every reason to be hopeful for the future, and that progress has been made. Easy for this white guy to say, but that was my takeaway from Kimmel. And, as in this post, I’m talking about this as a listening experience rather than commenting on the society that is depicted–the shortcomings of the system (especially in the U.S.) contrasted to the successes make for a more engaging narrative.

I should add that in the early chapters while doctors and researchers were still figuring out how to treat various kidney ailments, the symptoms and treatments (and failure rates), were strong reminders of how correct I was in choosing academic and career paths that took me far away from medicine. Some of that was rough for me (and no, I will not watch any documentary Dr. Kimmel decides to make in the future). People of stronger constitutions will not be bothered.

I’m really glad I listened to this, and encourage those interested to give it a try. It’s not a book for everyone, but for the right people will appreciate this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Strong Like You About?

Walker Lauderdale is a high school sophomore and a starter for his small Arkansas high school’s football team. He and his cousin/best friend/might as well be brother Sawyer are fierce players for the defense (and we see that almost instantly). This should be the best time in his young life—but there’s something wrong.

His dad has been missing for a month. He’s not there to watch his first game. He’s not there to burst with pride, to offer advice, or to cheer from the stands. He’s just…gone. Walker’s dad and Sawyer’s dad (also best friends and teammates on the same high school team before marrying sisters) took off one night and haven’t returned. The two boys are certain they’ll be back any time—they’re frequently checking the bleachers to see their fathers up there.

The book is an extended monologue—or a series of them. Technically, an apostrophe, but let’s stick with monologue. Walker is addressing his father—catching him up on the turmoil and victories he’s missing, the hurt Walker feels because of his absence, and how he’s trying to make things work until his dad comes back. The grief, loss, and anger jump off the page.

Walker’s dad isn’t a great one, either, it should be stressed. Rarely employed, his income is largely illegal and irregular. Both missing fathers are abusive to their wives and sons. But in the way that we all can recognize, the boys are just that much more devoted to them because of it—making their dads proud is a chief aim of theirs.

Walker becomes determined to go look for his dad—which involves starting with the man his dad and uncle were last seen with—a truly frightening and violent man. Sawyer tries to dissuade him, but that just makes Walker even more certain that he needs to act.

But does he truly want to find the answers he’s seeking?

Learning About Guns

Walker—like so many people in the U.S.—appreciates guns. He’s quick to grab a pellet gun to (try to) chase away his uncle. But his cousin Sawyer? Sawyer is a nut for guns, he has magazines about them all over his room. At some point, Sawyer comes across a pistol (and somehow gets money for many bullets for it—or at least acquires them). There’s a big difference between a pellet gun and a Colt 1911, and it doesn’t take long for Walker to start learning about them.

Not what you learn in video games/TV, not what Sawyer’s survival mags teach, or anything like that. But about the reality of them—how they can invite violence, how holding one affects you, what destruction they can bring even without trying. There’s no pro-/anti- gun message at work here. No lessons or sermons were delivered. But the reality of what a gun can do to a person, a situation, or an attitude is presented in stark reality. I’d say it’s easily one of the best things about this book, but if I started listing the best things about this book, we’d be here for a long time.

Anger

Walker and Sawyer are angry young men—it’s simmering right below the surface, and comes out at inopportune times. Although, it does sometimes come out when it should*—and we see an example of that in the opening minutes of their first game of the year.

* Arguably, anyway. Their coach and teammates would say it’s appropriate.

There are plenty of reasons for them to be so angry—even before their fathers abandoned them. The more time you spend with them—Walker in particular—you see just how many reasons he has. It’s part of what his parents have passed down to him, part of the example they’ve set and the environment he’s been raised in.

The guy his father and uncle runs with, Lukas Fisher, has another kind of anger inside him—and he doesn’t hesitate to express it—where Walker’s parents shape him by their anger, Lukas “trains” his pit bull with his.* While we can see a little constructive use of anger, we can see some people who are angry due to circumstance and situations—but Lukas? He seems to revel in it, maybe even feeds on anger.

* This is off-point, but Simpson’s description of the dog’s barking was both wonderfully accurate and a bit of a tension breaker.

But back to Walker, it’s his anger that lands him in weekly sessions with the school counselor before the book begins. This counselor is one of the few who seem to look beyond Walker’s attitude, his anger, his disinterest in education, and his abilities on the football field. It’s unclear how Walker will respond to him—or even if he can respond to this man appropriately. But it’s a rare example of how his anger just might put him in the right place.

The Meaning of Manhood/Strength

Walker’s primary concern at the beginning of the book is to be strong—strong, as the title says, like his dad. For him, strength equals control. Control over your life, your circumstances, your choices—it’s also tied into how to fix things. How to make things better.

Yes, it absolutely is about physical strength first and foremost, but it’s about more than that, too. For a character presented as not that intelligent (Walker would say worse than that about himself), he’s really perceptive. He’s spent more time than many—probably even he—realizes thinking about the nature of strength.

Ultimately, this is what being a man is for Walker (and Sawyer, too)—maybe even Hank and Rufus, too. Walker sees Hank as strong—physically, emotionally, and mentally. This is what he aspires to—for himself, for his mother, and possibly even for Hank. If Walker gets to be strong enough—on and off the football field—he can make Hank and his mom proud. He can make their lives better, fixing those things that need fixing (that his father never gets around to fixing, despite Walker’s deep-seated conviction that he could and will).

Over the corse of this book, this understanding of what manhood means and what strength means are seen in light of that anger mentioned above. One of the bigger questions of the novel surrounds Walker and Sawyer—as they navigate toward adulthood/maturity, what will win out? Strength or anger? What kind of men will they be?

The Love Story

Okay…after a few attempts, I realize that I cannot say anything about this without a spoiler. All I will say is that it’s perfectly conceived, perfectly executed, and just what this book needed it to be.

So, what did I think about Strong Like You?

I have several more things I wanted to talk about—but this is too long, and almost two days behind schedule (it’s at least 6 hours after I normally post something). What’s worse, every time I start writing “just one more thing,” I think of two more. So I’m bringing this in for a landing, and I may bounce around a little bit here.

I do not even like football—why do I keep reading books featuring it? Okay, I live in the USA and it’s pretty hard to escape, that’s a large part of it, but still… There’s a large part of me that doesn’t care as long as it’s a book like this one. And sure, he’s talking about a different game entirely, but Walker would agree with Dani Rojas—”Football is life!” He thinks in football terms and metaphors, he can’t explain to someone why he loves football—he can’t even understand why that person doesn’t like football, it’s like telling him that they don’t like to breathe. Most of the time, Simpson doesn’t have Walker or Sawyer tell us this, they just live this. The way he does this alone tells me that Simpson is someone to watch (or, I suppose, he thinks the same way as Walker does and it’s coming out organically—but I don’t think so)

I really should spend a lot of time talking about Walker’s guidance counselor and the arc of their relationship, there’s so much about Simpson’s work here that should be commended. There’s also this strange little tangent featuring a recent graduate of Walker’s high school and his little sisters that tells us more about Walker than anything except his attitude toward football—who he really is, not who he thinks he needs to be.

You don’t have to read very far before you know a couple of things—1. despite his conviction—or at least the conviction he voices—things are not going to go the way he anticipates, and that rough times are ahead for Walker; and 2. you are not going to want to put this book down until you reach the last page. I glanced at the first couple of pages to make sure it downloaded correctly and had to walk away from my Kindle, because I had multiple other deadlines and I knew if I didn’t do that, I’d finish the book before I did anything else. I can’t describe it, but there’s something about Walker’s voice, the way he’s talking to that father that isn’t there that just grabs you.

I’m not entirely satisfied with the way the novel ended. I liked the resolution to the various stories, let me be clear. But I feel like I could see Simpson’s not-so-Invisible Hand working to get some of the resolutions to work out the way they did. I like the way the storylines ended up, so I’m not going to complain too much. And since it was only in the closing pages that I thought about maybe criticizing something in the book, Simpson earned a little authorial heavy-handedness.

This is a real winner—Strong Like You shares so much DNA with Eli Cranor’s Don’t Know Tough (but is not a copy in any way) and even hearkens back to Early Autumn by Robert B. Parker. And anytime a book can make me compare it favorably with those two knockouts, I’m going to put it down as pure joy.

If you’re someone who gets hung up on the YA tag, push “Pause” on that for 224 pages. This is a book that deserves a fair shake and many, many readers—Simpson’s debut is as strong as Walker hopes to be.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s The Djinn’s Apple About?

Nardeen is a remarkable twelve-year-old. Her father is a physician known for translating medical texts from a variety of languages into Arabic, and Nardeen soaks up his work. She has an astounding memory and ability to understand what she memorizes.

But due to some political intrigue that she doesn’t wholly understand, Nardeen and her family have to flee their home one night. Sadly, she’s the only one who survives.

Nardeen vows revenge on those responsible for her family’s murder—certain that a friend of her father’s is ultimately to blame.

But before then, she finds herself being taken under the wing of a legendary physician and teacher, Muallim Ishaq. He recognizes her gifts and her heritage from her father—he arranges (mostly by the force of his will) to have her learn at The Bimaristan, a hospital of great renown. There, she’s able to hone her skills and knowledge—and sharpen her tools, resolve, and ability to mete out that vengeance.

Father vs. Father

There are a handful of various conflicts in this book (like with any good book), but at the core, this book seems to be a conflict within Nardeen herself. On the one hand, she has her memories of her father and what he taught her—what he showed her by example—about the way to live. She also has to wrestle with what she’s told about her father—by those who profess to have admired him and those who worked against him.

On the other hand, she has her (for all intents and purposes) adoptive father, what he’s trying to teach her—what he shows her by example—about the way to live. She also has to wrestle with what she’s told about him—by those who profess to admire him and those who work against him.

In many ways, these two fathers line up—but in significant ways, they follow and lead her down divergent paths. So much of how the plotlines of this book resolve depends on Nardeen’s acceptance/rejection of what these men stand for.

The Setting

So, this takes place during the “golden age of Baghdad”—Harun al-Rashid’s rule of the Abbasid Caliphate from 786 to 809. Now, everything that I know about this period of time comes from the appendices to this novel “Harun Al-Rashid: The Golden Age of Baghdad” and “The Bimaristan.” As they are appendices, I read them afterward. So I came into this not knowing anything—which is a bit intimidating. And I figure I’m not alone in this (particularly for the intended YA audience, who probably haven’t had much opportunity to study Eigth-Century history).

But honestly? Anyone who reads Fantasy/SFF knows how to approach something like this—sure, this is a representation of actual history, but the same tools and imagination you need to understand Westeros, Panem, or the world of the Shadowhunters equip you to get into this world.

And, like with those worlds, after getting this taste, you’ll likely want to read more about it.

While reading, and since then, I do have to wonder a little bit about how much Morani was stretching things about the opportunities presented to women in this time and place. Not just for Nardeen, either—but all the women she encounters at the Bimaristan (and I’d be saying this if the city was Paris or Rome, not just because it’s Baghdad). But I’m willing to both suspend disbelief for the sake of a good story and to trust that someone who’s as familiar with Arabic literature as Morani is more than my hunches.

So, what did I think about The Djinn’s Apple?

This book hits the ground running—Morani doesn’t give you the opportunity to settle in and get comfortable in this world or anything like that. She thrusts the reader—and poor Nardeen—straight into life-or-death action. Nardeen has a slightly better understanding of what’s going on than the reader does—but not much. This was a great way to start this read—you don’t get the chance to indulge curiosity or get lulled into thinking it’s a different kind of book than it is—you have to rush to catch up and then keep up with Nardeen and only get the luxury of starting to understand the world until she’s (relatively) safe.

There were a couple of times that I wondered about the timelines and how well they worked. I assume I just missed something (and didn’t want to take the time to go back and check). It wasn’t anything that bugged me enough to look into it, but I would’ve appreciated things being a bit clearer.

The characters of Nardeen and Muallim were so well drawn, so vivid, and so compelling that I really wish we had more time with them. Particularly Muallim—this cantankerous genius is the kind of character I really respond to. Now, given the pacing of this book, that’s impossible. And Morani picked the better option for her story. But the eccentric teacher and the stubborn and gifted student is a combination that could’ve made for a lot of fun.

Somehow in the midst of this propulsive pacing, Morani is able to litter the book with some great observations, some drops of wisdom (primarily from the teacher and student), and memorable prose (some of that credit has to be given to Hussain as well).

This is a fast, immersive read that’ll leave you guessing from the beginning right up to the end. You’d be doing yourself a favor if you pick it up.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Another Girl About?

Serena Butler is loaned out to do some plainclothes intelligence gathering in a nearby city. She misses a check-in with her handler, right after saying something tantalizing about making some new friends. This galvanizes her team back at King’s Lake and her DCI pushes her weight and rank around to get involved in the investigation into her disappearance–and the drugs investigation Butler was helping with.

At the same time, there’s an apparent hit and run for the Murder Squad to look in back at home–and while they do their due diligence with that, their concern for one of their own clearly has captured their attention (also, an absent pathologist means a delayed autopsy, so they can only do so much).

A Change of Focus

Initially, DCI Cara Freeman and DC Serena Butler carried most of this book–although DI Tom Green gets a lot more focus than he’s ever received before. And that was just great, I always liked him, but I wanted to see him get to shine a bit. Freeman and Butler are a great pairing and really establish this as a different kind of entry in this series.

Yes, when Waters shows up roughly mid-way through the book, he ends up getting a lot of the focus, as we’re used to. Still, the narrative really does take advantage of Waters’ absence and explores the team and uses the multiple POVs to a greater advantage than Grainger has in the past. I don’t want Waters to get pushed to the background on a regular basis–but man, I really appreciated this.

But this is Serena’s book, really. We start with her assignment hitting a bump in the road and we finish by it going deeper than she was ready for. But throughout, we get to learn a lot more about this character that’s been around for twelve books and really takes on new life and a greater depth. She’s been a favorite of mine from early on in her first appearance–and I like her more now that I understand her better. Honestly, if she got her own spin-off series in the future, I’d be game, or just for more books like this. (a book that uses Green more would also be welcome, but given the way his character typically operates, I’m not sure that’s possible).

DC’s Shadow

DC Smith (it still feels strange to call him David) has always loomed large over these King’s Lake books, but it seemed to me that it was a little larger this time than it had been since Songbird (but it’s not like I keep statistics or anything). He’s either mentioned in conversation (by people on all sides of the law) or thought of by Chris and Serena–who will remember some advice/guidance he gave them–which allows Granger to slip in a line or two using his DC voice–and I’m always going to be in favor of that.

Which, I guess, brings us to:

A Word About the Narration

This is an audiobook, so I need to talk about the narration. But as I keep saying, I don’t know what to say about Gildart Jackson’s work on this series that I haven’t said umpteen times.

When his voice starts coming out of my phone, my mind instantly settles in for a good time. There’s a calmness that he evokes in me almost instantly (note: it’s not his voice, I rarely felt calm during the Alex Verus books). He catches the humor, the tension, the camaraderie, the…I don’t know, the spirit of these books. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, I’m not picking these up in print (although, I know at least one non-audiobook person who says they’re great in print), I have to have Jackson’s voice.

So, what did I think about Another Girl?

Grainger doesn’t frequently put his King’s Lake characters in peril (I thought about listing exceptions to that rule, but I won’t–but the point stands), this series is about typical investigations. But when he does, he does it effectively. And boy howdy, he does so here. I haven’t been this concerned for the fate of a Grainger character since A Private Investigation‘s close.

But more than just the danger aspect, watching Serena deal with the pressures of working undercover (especially as she initially wasn’t supposed to go as deep as she ended up) was so well done. Equally well done was watching her team fret about her when they couldn’t contact her and weren’t sure what was going on.

The hit-and-run story never got the time I initially expected, but the way that Grainger worked it into the overall storyline was his typical well-done work. He was able to weave it into the drugs story and show how it is about much more than drugs.

This tied this particular novel into something we first saw in On Eden Street and will likely show up for at least one more novel. Which isn’t to say that this novel isn’t largely a stand-alone like the rest, but there’s something that will tie it to further books.

I think I’ve rambled enough–possibly too much. I had a great time with this one, and as always I strongly encourage you to give this one a try. It would serve as a fine jumping-on point to the series (like every book so far), but if you have the time and means, I’d suggest starting at the beginning. Or somewhere. Just start with Peter Grainger, Gildart Jackson, and the detectives in and around King’s Lake Central.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Charm City Rocks About?

Billy Perkins is happy. Everyone knows this–he’s got his dream job (music teacher), he’s good at it–and makes enough money to keep going. He’s got a great kid, and a solid relationship with the kid’s mother. He’s well-liked in his neighborhood and at Camden Yards. Who wouldn’t be happy? He’s also got this newfound appreciation for cardigans, “the perfect garment, like, the convertible of sweaters”–and he looks good in them. If you can find pleasure in the little things like that…why not be happy?

Margot Hammer is a drummer best known as part of the all-female rock group Burnt Flowers*. Then as the wife of Lawson Daniels, the giant movie star, her fame grew even more. Then she dumped the cheater, quit the band in a dramatic fashion, and vanished from the public eye, becoming a “whatever happened to…” name. She was pretty satisfied with that until Burnt Flowers is featured in a documentary series, which renewed that itch to play again and generally reminded her of what she lost with her bandmates.

* Not for nothing, that’s just a great 90s band name. I would thoroughly enjoy hearing Norman talk about coming up with it and what some of the other contenders for that name were.

But after listening to his dad talk about Margot after seeing her on that history of rock documentary on Netflix, Billy’s son, Caleb wonders–what if his dad isn’t as happy as he could be? Is he maybe a little lonely? So Caleb does something harebrained, problematic in several ways, and destined to fail.

He brings the two together in a move straight out of a rom-com’s first draft, but instead of the meet-cute he hopes for–we get kind of a meet-ugly. Billy, being the almost-impossibly decent guy that he is, tries to salvage the time and make it up to her. Also…how often does he get the chance to spend time with his all-time favorite drummer?

Something strange ensues for Margot–she has fun. With Billy and in general. She also gets a little social media attention (which spills over into mass media). This is enough to get her old record company to try to capitalize on that. She’s not interested in doing that, but does decide to spend a little more time with Billy.

The pair have great chemistry–and maybe more. But will figures from their pasts derail them? Should they?

Baltimore

As they stand on Thames Street, he imagines the neighborhood from Margot’s perspective. Daquan is one block over, pounding away. The sun is moving toward the horizon. The twinkly lights strung around the outdoor eating area at the Greek restaurant next door come on, and people are out with their tattoos and interesting outfits and cool beards. Like always, there’s music everywhere.

“It’s not like how everyone says,” says Margot.

“What isn’t?”

“Baltimore,” she says. “I thought it’d be, I don’t know, more murdery.” …

“Be patient,” he says. “The night is young.”

As much as this book focuses on the love story between Billy and Margot, there’s a strong thread about love for Baltimore. I knew, on some level, that there has to be more to the city, but at the end of the day, I really think of Baltimore in much the same way as Margot in the quote above.

But that’s not Matthew Norman’s Baltimore–and it’s not the Baltimore of these characters. Frankly, if this Baltimore resembles the actual thing, I’d love to spend time there (you know, assuming I can shake the David Simon associations).

There are two neighborhoods (that don’t seem too far apart) that we spend most of our time in–and both have a strong sense of community about them. Particularly the area that Billy’s apartment is in, which also contains the place where Caleb’s plan was executed and the bar that the adults found themselves in to recover. The neighborhood figures from this area both grounded and sold the experience for me (and, I think, Margot). Too often people talk about the location of a novel/movie being another character–but when someone depicts their setting so strongly and so warmly, it’s hard not to resort to that kind of language.

Caleb

I’ve frequently talked about great Mother/Daughter and Father/Daughter relationships in various books, but I don’t think I’ve talked much about great relationships with sons. I also can’t think of many off the top of my head.

The relationship between Caleb and Billy, however? It’s a standout. Caleb’s relationships with his mother and stepfather are good to see, too. But man…the link between Father and Son here is something special. The lengths that Caleb went to in order to give his father a shot at happiness–and the life-altering choices he makes because of his parents (particularly, it seems, his father)–tells you a lot about this kid and the bond he has with his parents. I really can’t think of a better son in Fiction (not that I’ve spent a lot of time trying, but authors seem to do better at daughters).

He gets off a little easy when it comes to the shenanigans he got up to in introducing his dad to Margot, really the more I think about it, the worse it was (but consuming a large amount of edibles thinking they’re just candy is a pretty good justification for it). But, I think Norman is right to cut him some slack and not get into just how bad it was. Actually, most books (and almost every movie I can think of) would’ve allowed Caleb’s scheme to work for a bit, and would extend the nonsense for far too long before having it collapse for the sake of drama. I am so, so, so glad that Norman didn’t do that. He simply let the idea fall apart and then moved on, making lemonade out of Caleb’s citrus offering.

So, what did I think about Charm City Rocks?

I knew I should’ve read the book as soon as it landed on my doorstep in June. I knew I was missing out on something–and I was. But on the plus side, it’s a pretty good way to start off the year, too. This is just a fun book.

So I loved the whole super-star story and the debacle Margot made of her career and life–it’s a very VH-1 Behind the Music tale. All the behind-the-scenes show business stuff, both in the past and present, were great. But what sold me was the connection both Billy and Margot (and several other characters) had to music–listening to it, performing it, creating it–even just thinking about it. Strip away fleeting fame and money, that’s what counts. That’s why people care about musicians, it’s because of the music that they bring us and what it does for our souls and psyches. As Norman celebrated that, you couldn’t help but respond. (and as flakes wanted to twist that for their own benefit, you respond as well)

One shouldn’t overlook Caleb’s mother–even though I pretty much have–her ARC isn’t pivotal to the book as a whole, but it’s so satisfying. She’d be an easy character to bring on for a few scenes as a plot complication, or just to add a little flavor to the world–but Norman fleshes out her character, gives her an arc, and gets the reader invested in her and her happiness.

There’s another ex- in the picture, and while you know how they’re going to complicate the characters’ lives almost instantly upon their introduction, I can’t bring myself to get into the details. I wanted to say something about a jealous toddler wanting their discarded toy just because someone else has it–but Norman wisely takes that option away. That’s not to say that the character doesn’t muck things up pretty seriously for almost everyone in the book…I’m just saying they’re not a monster.

I think the best way to sum up my reaction to the book is that I noticed that every time I put the book down for some reason, I was grinning. Not because I set the book down, but it just made me happy. Not Billy-happy, but happy.

A little cheesy? Sure. Generally predictable? Sure. Engaging, charming, witty, optimistic, and upbeat? Sure. If you’re looking for more in a rom-com, you’re not looking for a rom-com. This won me over in the beginning and kept my affection throughout. This was a sure-fire winner for me.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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It was true that Miller wanted to be busy; but he hadn’t been counting on picking up such a big case on his first day back. That was the way things went, though. You were desperate for a day or two to catch your breath or even just looking to recharge your batteries after a major inquiry and someone decided to poison their husband or stab a passer-by because they didn’t like their trainers.

People were so bloody inconsiderate, sometimes.

What’s The Last Dance About?

Detective Sergeant Declan Miller cuts off his bereavement leave to return to work. It may be too soon following the murder of his wife (and we get plenty of reason to think that it may be), but the time off isn’t doing him any good and accomplishing things, staying busy, and getting out of the house just might do him so good (and we get plenty of reason to think that it might).

Before he has a chance to reacclimate, he and his new partner are assigned a case—the son (and presumed heir) of a local crime boss has been killed—assassinated, really—in a local hotel. In the next room over, an IT consultant has, as well. It’s unclear what the connection is between the two, or what either was doing in hotel rooms in their hometowns.

The other thing that Miller does to try to return to his pre-widowered life is to go back to the dance class that he and his wife attended. It’s difficult being a single person there, but these were their friends, and it helps him to do so (as much as it hurts, too). We get a whole different set of supporting characters here, a different perspective on things. I really like the way that we get two different sides of Miller like this—yes, there’s a good deal of overlap, but seeing him in such starkly different contexts really helps you understand the character.

DS Sara Xiu

‘I’m your replacement,’ she said. “Well, I was.’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘It looks like we’re going to be teaming up.'

‘Even sorrier.’

She smiled. “That’s a joke, right?’

‘Not really.’

It almost seems like a disservice to her character to make Xiu a supporting character. She could star in her own series easily. She’s got the tortured detective thing down—she drinks too much, parties too hard, etc., etc. But on the job? She’s good, and she just might warm to her new partner at some point—at the very least they work together well.

This book might be all about Miller, his inner demons, and eccentric methods—but having him work with such a good partner isn’t a choice many would make. In a book or three, I can see their partnership equaling Bosch and Kiz Rider’s, and she could play a big role in Miller’s unofficial investigation (see below).

Alex Miller

Miller’s wife, Alex, was involved in a major investigation when she was murdered. The police haven’t found her killer—and he’s not particularly certain they’re working too hard on it (it’s a different homicide unit than his). No one from the investigation is updating him either—they want him to stay out of it, for obvious reasons.

And he technically does—but that doesn’t mean he’s not thinking about it a lot, and poking around the perimeter of the investigation—especially in areas that the others don’t seem to be paying attention to.

Apart from that, we spend a good deal of the novel seeing Miller mourn her and talk to an imaginary version of her as both a way to work through his case and her not being around anymore. Those scenes are great on so many levels—the reader gets a real sense of who she was (at least as her husband saw her) and how they related to each other, and how the loss is hitting him. It also gives us a kind of insight into the way his mind works through problems that we don’t often get from procedurals.

Tone

If anyone deserved a plaque on the wall of most local police stations, or a Lancashire Prison System loyalty card, it wag Gary David Pope. He’d been a well-known face — or more usually a photofit – on the criminal scene for as long as any serving officer could remember, and while he never really did anything that would merit serious jail time, and drink or drugs were almost always involved, there was rarely a crime committed anywhere within a twenty-mile radius that Gary didn’t have some connection to. It was like ‘Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon’, only with stolen cars and cocaine.

Gary Pope wasn’t the worst criminal Miller had ever encountered, not by a long chalk, but he was probably the most consistent.

He was a seriously committed wrong ‘un.

It wouldn’t take much to turn this into a very dark read featuring an unreliable and unpredictable detective. Thankfully, Billingham went the way he does—the darkness is still there, it’s just mollified by Miller’s sense of humor and perspective. He really reminded me of Peter Grainger’s DC Smith—but without the almost cozy feel of Grainger’s work. Blackpool is a harsher location than King’s Lake, too.

Still, I think fans of one will appreciate the other. Miller’s humor (and that of the narrator) is a bit sharper, and less subtle than Smith’s—but only by degrees.

You’re able to have a lot of fun given the humor in several situations that aren’t fun at all. But he’s not just funny and eccentric. Miller has a lot of heart, compassion, and empathy for crime victims and survivors. I’m not sure how much he had before his wife’s murder—or how much he let himself show before then. But after it, he’s able to connect with them in a way that few police officers seem to be—or at least are willing to be.

You combine those three elements? I’ll be around for the long haul in any series.

So, what did I think about The Last Dance?

Billingham knows his way around police procedurals—that’s very clear. He also knows how to play with the conventions—and which ones to stay away from or treat straightforwardly. He does it all with skill and panache (not unlike his protagonist).

For example, in his time away, a detective that Miller…hmmm…doesn’t respect, shall we say, has been promoted to DI, and seems intent on making his return as miserable as possible. What is it about almost every immediate supervisor in police procedurals being so intent on being horrible to their star investigators, rather than use their brains to improve their own careers? For every exception to this rule that I can think of, more than a dozen that follow it come to mind. Well, DI Stevens is a shining example of this, and I rather enjoyed Miller’s reactions to him. That’s the only tolerable part of the character.

There are so few quibbles I have with this book—and they’re so outweighed by the good—that I’m not going to bother talking about them. I’m also not going to talk about all the things that Billingham does right with this—I haven’t talked about the victim’s wives, the various crime bosses, even Gary deserves more than that quotation above—and Miller’s homeless informant deserves at least four paragraphs.

Fans of police procedurals or other detective novels are going to love this. I did, and I’m eager for the next. And if it’s nearly this good (and how can it not be, given Billingham’s experience), I expect to be in for the (I hope very) long haul with this series.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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But we are all insane, anyway…The suicides seem to be the only sane people.

—Mark Twain’s Notebook, #40, (Jan. 1897-July 1900)

What’s According to Mark About?

This is tricky to describe, but let’s give it a shot.

Following a bad breakup, a despondent man, Robert, becomes convinced that the spirit of Mark Twain is trying to guide his life and thinking, giving him lessons in the form of quotations from Twain’s works. Eventually, Twain focuses on getting Robert to kill himself. Robert’s eager to follow the lessons of his hero, but things keep interfering with his efforts.

Meanwhile, Robert’s ex, Rebecca, is in therapy trying to deal with the breakup herself.

The novel takes us through Robert’s memories of their relationship while showing us the detritus of his life following the breakup and his efforts to do what Twain is calling him to do. In alternating narrative sections, we see Rebecca’s account of their relationship and we see a little bit of how she’s carrying on. Some of these accounts are synced to give us both perspectives on the events right after each other, some of them come several pages apart so the reader has to do some mental copying and pasting to get a chronological understanding of what happened.

That’s a pretty basic, yet comprehensive, way to tell you what the book is about without giving anything away. And it’s wholly unsatisfactory. Let’s see if I can do better in the next couple of sections.

Rebecca Morely

It’s entirely possible that Rebecca has been in therapy for some time before she and Robert broke up—she strikes me as the kind of person who may have seen therapists throughout her life as a way of staying healthy. Or maybe this is new for her.

Regardless, following the end of their long relationship, she’s in therapy now and her psychotherapist has instructed her to write a letter to herself as a means of coming to terms with the events. Rebecca tells us straight off that she’s struggling with some of the chronology, so we expect that the letter(s) won’t get everything perfectly straight and will hop around a bit, the way memories do. From her, we do get a fairly straightforward account of things between her and Robert—although she does circle around the events that led to their split a little, she doesn’t want to face it.

We see that Rebecca is a sweet woman. A sweet woman who is pushed around a bit by her parents’ expectations and wants for her—one of their big expectations is that she’ll eventually marry someone Rebecca’s known her whole life. He’s essentially an 80s teen movie villain who managed to grow up without Daniel Russo teaching him a lesson by kicking him in the face or Cindy Mancini setting him straight about how to treat women. She’s trapped by her parents expectations, and her understanding of society’s expectations, too.

But she’s finding her own way through that to focus on what’s best for her and what she wants. She wants love, marriage, companionship—and thinks she may have found that (or most of it, anyway) in the eccentric form of Robert. She’s very happy until things start to go wrong in his life and he won’t respond the way she thinks he ought. Little cracks in their foundation start to spread and eventually, things fall apart.

I really liked Rebecca. I empathized and sympathized with her—up to and including her self-recriminations. Possibly because of Robert’s view of her, I couldn’t see her as anything other than a wonderful person who made some tragic mistakes. Their relationship—particularly seen from her point of view—was so sweet even when we know it’s doomed. I found myself rooting for them even harder because I knew it wouldn’t work.

Horatio Robert Foxley

No man has a wholly undiseased mind; in one way or another all men are mad.

—Mark Twain, “The Memorable Assassination”

Robert (who hates the name Horatio), on the other hand…is hard to like (but you will). He’s hard to understand (but you’ll want to). He’s also a pretty unreliable narrator due to the way he sees the world in general, which grows worse as the book progresses. But you’ll get to where you can see through his narration to what’s really going on.

There are clearly a few (possibly several) diagnoses that psychotherapists and their colleagues would give Robert, but he never sees one to be given any diagnoses, medication, or other treatment. It’s tempting to play armchair psychologist and start listing some of them—but I’m going to resist that. O’Neill doesn’t give us the labels or diagnoses, so it’s speculation.

More importantly, this novel isn’t about a person with X. It’s not about his disorder. It’s not about his dealing with whatever issues he has. Those books have their places–and I’ve read my share of them. But O’Neill hastn’t written a novel about a man struggling with or coping with a diagnosis. It’s a novel about a man. It’s about Robert in all his strengths and foibles. He’s a man with many strengths, and some severe weaknesses, like most of us. According to Mark is about Robert’s life and his heart. He’s capable of great love, he’s capable of being loved. And like so many, when some of the supports in his life change or go away, his ability to cope with all the vagaries of life falters. He falters significantly because he needs his supports more than others seem to.

He and Rebecca have a Nancy Meyers-worthy meet cute, and his quirkiness (at least that’s how it comes across initially) attracts Rebecca. They build a life together—sure, she has trouble getting him to fit into hers—her friends and family don’t respond to Robert the way she wants, but they make do. He hits some bumps in the road, and doesn’t respond to them very well. Rebecca responds poorly to his responses.

Then he’s alone and Mark Twain starts whispering in his ear. Robert started reading Twain because of Rebecca, and quickly became a fan. Too much of a fan, one might argue. He read everything Twain wrote that he could get his hands on, and then everything he could about Twain. Rebecca chalked it up to enthusiasm, a sign that he was open to growth and that she had an impact on him—that he respected her opinion. But even she thinks he goes overboard with Twain. He’s driven enough, smart enough, and excessively concentrated enough on Twain that when these whispers start, they are actual quotations that Robert’s absorbed.

Once Twain starts talking to him, whatever was keeping Robert on the rails departs. And we are given a front-row seat to a mind falling apart. It’s horrific when you stop and think about it—but ever so compelling in O’Neill’s hands. More on that later.

Mark Twain

I learned more about Twain—particularly his time in England—than I’d known before thanks to Robert. I mean, O’Neill’s research. And naturally, the quotations that the book is full of make you want to go read more bons mots from him, if not actual works.

But at the same time…Robert becomes a case study in going too far with someone like Mark Twain, and I’ve been reticent to approach his work since then. I don’t think I’d end up like Robert, but…it’s like watching Jaws. You know it’s just a movie, that sharks like that don’t really exist. Buuuuut…maybe you should stay away from beaches/the ocean for a bit, just in case.

The Mark Twain in Robert’s head is an interesting figure—and one has to imagine that the actual Twain would appreciate (on some level) O’Neill’s use of his words.

Can You Laugh at This?

Man, I hope so. There are some moments around the first (that we see, anyway) attempt Robert makes at ending his life that seem to want to make you laugh. I did, anyway—like in Holland’s Better Off Dead—there’s some solid black comedy there (as Twain would want).

But the laughs taper off pretty quickly the more you understand Robert and what he’s going through. Also, his situation and mental health deteriorate steadily, and you forget about laughing and just want the guy to find some help (and, yes, things are already pretty bad as he’s suicidal when we meet him). This doesn’t make the book joyless or tortuous to get through—in fact, absurd moments, and little dashes of (mostly black) humor fill the book.

H. B. O’Neill

You really don’t have to read O’Neill’s website to know he’s a poet. His eye for detail is astounding. There are several instances of him focusing on a feature of a scene, a tiny aspect of Robert’s appearance, or something in his environment that made me put down the book to bask in it for a moment.

You can definitely see his poetry in word choices. There are repeated instances where Robert will look at the street and business signs around him, convinced that Mark Twain is communicating to him through them—the text will just be a string of these signs. And sure, it looks like O’Neill just wandered onto a random city block, took a few notes, and—presto!—had a paragraph for the book. But you know that’s not what happened—instead, he carefully constructed these lines to look like that—and yet to have a wonderful rhythm, provoke just the right images, and push Robert along the way he needs to be. I made a note at one point, “How does someone compose this? How does one revise this?” I’m just going to chalk it up to brilliance and move on.

The prose, the characters, the character arcs…these are all brilliantly conceived and executed, and I just cannot say enough good things about O’Neill’s writing.

So, what did I think about According to Mark?

If you cannot tell at this point, well, then I’ve really done a lousy job. You might want to just go by what I’ve said already because I may start overhyping it here.

This book wrecked me. It dominated my thinking and conversation at the end of November. I became obsessed with it—my friends and family surely got tired of me talking about it as I read on. I started compiling lists of who to recommend it to, who I should just buy it for (the publisher will be happy to know that I have purchased multiple copies already and I’m probably not done). I also have a list of people I’m going to warn away from this book, because, my friends, According to Mark is not for everyone. But the right people are going to love this book.

I’m not sure if I gave too much away above—I don’t think I did. And I tell you truly, I could’ve easily kept going on and on. This is me showing restraint.

It’s hard to put into written form what I want to say about this book. There’s part of Fridland’s Like, Literally, Dude where she shows all the way “Dude” can be used in a conversation with its various shades of meaning. I can see having a conversation with someone who’s read the book largely consisting of those shades.

“So where he makes her a bikini? Oh, dude!”

“And then with the lady at the library? Duuuude.”

“Oh, Dude! The poor dog with the swans!”

“Dude…” (laughter)

and so on. There’s an infamous scene from The Wire with a different four-letter word that would also work as an example of the conversation I could have with someone who’s read it.

But for you, the people that I’m trying to convince to read it? I don’t know how to convey exactly what I want to say.

Trust me. You want to read this. The writing is exquisite. These characters are wonderfully drawn and brought to life by O’Neill. According to Mark entertained me. It horrified me. It moved me. It disturbed me. It rattled me. It broke my heart. It gave me some odd hope. I loathed some of these characters, and loved others to a degree that’s unsettling. It’s been 64 days since I finished this book, and I’ve likely thought about this book on at least 53 of them (and not just because it took me this long to write this post). It’s one of the best books I’ve read in ages, and one I see myself talking about for years to come.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Death in the Dark Woods About?

Chief Jon Flanders has another possible cryptid for Bookseller/Cryptozoologist Morgan Carter to look into. It’s not his case, but he’s serving as the go-between for a Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources Warden. There’ve been a couple of killings in her jurisdiction that she’d like Morgan to look into—and is willing to pay her out of pocket to do so.

Charlie Aberdeen isn’t even the head of the investigations, but she has a vested interest in the outcome. The official cause of death for both men (a bow hunter and a recreational fisherman) is a bear attack, but a witness account and some of the evidence don’t match that. Particularly the wounds. But Charlie’s the only one willing to say anything along the lines of “Bigfoot.” The existence of this particular creature is a known interest of Charlie’s—and local LEOs will send anything along those lines to her.

Morgan, naturally, jumps at the opportunity—no matter how long of a shot it is to find the elusive cryptid, she’s got to take it. Her loyal dog, Newt, jumps at it, too—because he jumps at anything she does.

Not surprisingly, some of the locals aren’t crazy about her meddling—a Sherriff’s Deputy seems particularly hostile (okay, “is” there’s no seeming to it)—but some insist they’ve seen something that could be a Bigfoot themselves. Others just think it’s a pipedream and are mildly amused that Charlie and Morgan are wasting their time. There’s another cryptozoologist sniffing around, too—Morgan’s run into him and his spurious methods before—he’s more interested in making money off of locals than he is in finding anything.

Be Careful

Don’t read the Author’s Note at the back before you finish the book—it’ll spoil things. I occasionally do that—I don’t know why, but I like seeing what an author mentions in their Note or Acknowledgements, so I start there (or take a peak while reading). Man, am I glad I didn’t do that this time.

(but also, maybe bury that information in the second paragraph or later?)

So, what did I think about Death in the Dark Woods?

This was a fun little adventure and a natural next step from A Death in Door County. A hunt for a Bigfoot/Sasquatch-type creature is a bit more familiar in North America than a Lake Monster, but that doesn’t mean it’s tired out. In many ways, Morgan’s hunt reminded me of Gideon Oliver’s in The Dark Place—but I enjoyed the way this one wrapped up much more.

Another thing I want to draw attention to is the relationship between Jon and Morgan—Ryan’s doing a nice job of letting the inevitable relationship grow slowly, and even stumble a bit. It’s really well done.

The narrative and some of the dialogue could be done a bit better—occasionally clunky is the best way to put it. It’s never enough to make me want to do anything other than roll my eyes and push on, but it could be easily made better.

Still, like its predecessor, Death in the Dark Woods is a pleasant diversion with some characters you could want to spend more time with. Which is all I’m looking for in a cozy-adjacent murder mystery. I’ll be back for more.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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It’s a metaphor of human bloody existence, a dragon. And if that wasn’t bad enough, it’s also a bloody great hot flying thing.

What’s Guards! Guards! About?

We start with a motley bunch of people who have been recruited by a mysterious figure to summon a dragon from another world—they don’t know this initially, but the purpose is to take over the city of Ankh-Morpork for less-than-benevolent reasons.

Meanwhile, a tall and naive young man is informed by his father that he’s not who he’s always thought he was. In fact, he’s been brought up by another species. Carrot had spent his whole life believing he was a dwarf like everyone he lived among, rather than a human. “It’s a terrible thing to be nearly sixteen and the wrong species.” Carrot has a hard time accepting this truth but does what his father tells him. He sets off for the city to become a member of the City Watch and will send his wages to his family. It’s impossible (for me, at least) to read Carrot and not think of Buddy the Elf. I don’t know if Ferrell and Favreau had this book in mind when they worked out the character—but they could’ve.

Like Buddy, Carrot doesn’t understand the human world and its nuances. He’s very literal, he’s a hard worker, doesn’t know how to be dishonest, and sees the world in black and white. So he goes about the business of the Watch like that—he’s a one-man anti-crime crusade. Arresting people the rest of the watch doesn’t have the energy to pursue—and those they’ve been told by the city leadership to leave alone.

His presence shakes up the Watch and awakens a sense of duty in them. So when they start finding traces of the dragon—and a corpse or two, this lethargic group gathers itself together and tries to save the city from the dragon, those behind it, and those who can’t be bothered to care.

And a whole bunch of other things transpire, are said, and whatnot. But that’s enough to get you started.

More Than Jokes

“Down there,” he said, “are people who will follow any dragon, worship any god, ignore any iniquity. All out of a kind of humdrum, everyday badness. Not the really high, creative loathesomeness of the great sinners, but a sort of mass-produced darkness of the soul. Sin, you might say, without a trace of originality. They accept evil not because they say yes, but because they don’t say no. I’m sorry if this offends you,”

All good novelists will work in things that have nothing to do with the characters (directly), their development, or the plot to their books. Some sort of commentary on the world, an observation about humanity or a portion of it, etc. If you ask me, the more comedic novelists are better at it than others—it’s probably that spoonful of sugar thing. That could just be my preference, I admit.

Some of the better moments in this book—at least some of the best sentences—come from moments like the above quotation. There’s some cheap cynicism to be found in these lines—but there’s some well-earned cynicism, too, in Pratchett’s ideas about government, the people led by that government, and so on. But there’s some great stuff on love and hope to be found in here, too. Pratchett’s cup is half-full at least as often as it’s half-empty.

The one-liners; the satire of Fantasy tropes, humanity in general; and the overall comedy of his world might be what he’s known for—but at least here (and likely in general), Pratchett’s observations of and commentaries on humanity are just as noteworthy.

The Library/Librarian

The truth is that even big collections of ordinary books distort space, as can readily be proved by anyone who has been around a really old-fashioned secondhand bookshop, one that looks as though they were designed by M. Escher on a bad day and has more stairways than storeys and those rows of shelves which end in little doors that are surely too small for a full-sized human to enter. The relevant equation is: Knowledge = power = energy = matter = mass; a good bookshop is just a genteel Black Hole that knows how to read.

I don’t have the time to write the essay I want to write about the Librarian, the Library, what the Librarian did to save the day, and so on. But I really wish I did (besides, I’m pretty sure someone else has—several someone elses). It’s not the—or a—main focus of the novel, but it really could be. Instead, I’ll just note that the Librarian was a highlight for me, and I hope we get a lot more of him in the future.

So, what did I think about Guards! Guards!?

“I mean, [the dragon] wouldn’t want us to go around killing its own kind, would it?”

“Well, sir, people do, sir,” said the guard sulkily.

“Ah, well,” said the captain. “That’s different.” He tapped the side of his helmet meaningfully. “That’s ’cos we’re intelligent.”

One of the things I like to ask when thinking of a comedic novel is, would it hold up if you took the jokes out and played it straight? It’s hard to answer that for Guards! Guards! because of the satirical and ridiculous aspects of the novel. But…on the whole, yeah…it’d work. Thankfully, it’s not a question we really need to spend too much time on because it’s so funny that you don’t notice parts of the story/plot/characters that might not work—and with the comedy this book is so successful it doesn’t matter.

It took very little time for me to get invested in the story—maybe not the characters (as much as I enjoyed watching Carrot fumble through his new life), but the story and the storytelling carried me until the point that I started to see the various members of the City Watch as anything other than comedy delivery systems (although that’s primarily what they were). I was entertained throughout, so much so that I didn’t really spend much time thinking about comparing this to other Pratchett books or other Fantasy comedies I’ve read—I just wanted to have fun with this. Maybe I’ll do the other stuff with later reads.

My journey to this book—and to giving Pratchett another chance—is pretty well documented. It’s not that I disliked The Color of Magic or The Light Fantastic, but I didn’t get the fuss over Pratchett after reading them. After reading Guards! Guards!? I think I get it. After reading less than a third of Guards! Guards!, I was pretty sure I got it, actually. I’m so relieved…I wondered what was wrong with me that I missed what everyone else saw in his work. There’s this great combination of jokes, situational/character-based comedy, a skewed way of depicting the world that’s honest and true while capturing the absurdities—and wonder—of the world. Pratchett respects the reader enough to not have to spell everything he’s doing out for us, but not so much that he will avoid slapstick or bodily humor.

I’m sold. If you haven’t gotten around to trying this mega-series (and surely there are like 5 of you reading this who haven’t), stick your foot in. If you’re unsure where to start, here’s a great place.

I’ll be back for more soon.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s The Book of Doors About?

Cassie Andrews grew up in the Northwest and had what you’d call a typical, nice life (with a little tragedy, because we all do). She grew up, had one big adventure, and then settled into New York City, and is having a typical life—with enough fun and love to keep going, but nothing exciting happens to her. Then one day a regular customer that she’d befriended dies and leaves a book for her. It’s a lovely little book, so she takes it home with her.

She quickly discovers that this isn’t any ordinary book—in fact, it’s called “The Book of Doors” and the inscription inside it tells her that every door is any door. An odd thing to say, but she discovers that it means she can open and step through any door with the book in her hand. Cassie and her roommate Izzy have some fun with the book, before Izzy starts to worry about the cost of this magic.

Cassie’s undeterred, however, and keeps experimenting. It’s not too long before a man called The Librarian (by some) finds them—warning Cassie that she’s in danger because of this book. There are many “special books” like the Book of Doors (not all as powerful), and there are those who want to add her book to their collection and will stop at nothing to get it. As these people are equipped with their own special, magical books—the things they can do are pretty remarkable.

Can Cassie stay ahead of these people—or off of their radar entirely? Can she use her book to help the Librarian keep his collection of books safe from a mysterious woman determined to possess them all?

Time Travel

This is more of a Fantasy kind of Time Travel than a Hard Sci Fi Time Travel. That’s really not a profound observation on my part, come to think of it—everything these books do is described as magical. So a lot of your typical rules when it comes to Time Travel are thrown out. You’re not going to get a butterfly effect here, or see what happens if you go back and keep your dad and mom from going to the Enchantment Under the Sea dance together. It’s more along the lines of what the Wyld Stallyns did (at least in the first movie, I can’t speak to the others).

I mention this just so you know what you’re getting into—I have friends who take a very purist approach to Time Travel, and want scientific explanations for everything (hopefully with a good amount of theorizing). They will probably not appreciate this book for that. On the other hand—I have friends who get tired of that kind of thing—they’ll have a lot of fun with Brown’s take. There are probably more people who won’t care, and will just have fun with the wibbly wobbly of it all.

The Rest of the Magic

There are many more books than The Book of Doors running around (more than we’re told specifically about), and all of them have applications you wouldn’t immediately think about. What the Book of Illusion can do by someone who knows what they’re doing? Awesome. The Book of Luck is pretty much what the tin says. The Book of Despair…it’s worse than you think, at least when used by someone who knows what they’re doing (and who should never be allowed to use it).

I’m tempted to keep listing the books, but that would get boring for you and me. The great thing about Brown’s magic system is the wide diversity of magical abilities and the way they’re used. I don’t know how much time he spent coming up with the ideas behind them, or if he just had a handful and then created a new book when he wrote himself into a corner—but either way, a good deal of ingenuity is displayed here, and I want to see more of it. (honestly, I assume he did a thorough job of coming up with the books beforehand, but I just like the idea of him getting to the point where says…”I need a Book of Antigravity so Cassie can float away from a thrown knife.”*)

* Not anything that actually appears in the book.

Quibbles

It’s not a perfect book. Few are, so this isn’t about me listing off reasons to avoid this book. I just want to be thorough as I talk about it.

First off, the book (particularly in the beginning) relies too much on the POV characters looking at reflections of themselves. This is a pretty common thing—some would call it a cliche (particularly as a woman character describes some of her physical attributes)—and the first time that someone did it, I rolled my eyes and moved on. But then it happened again, quickly after that, while it was still echoing in my ear. And then again. And it became a thing I paid too much attention to because it happened so much. If mirrors and reflections had become very important to the magic or plot as a whole—I might have spent a paragraph or two lauding this. But it didn’t. It just distracted and kind of annoyed me.

The “Big Bad” doesn’t have a name. She’s simply, “the woman.” If she was a character who showed up in other places, and we were supposed to figure out which of female characters she was—that’d be one thing. But there’s never a doubt about that, she’s simply “the woman.” She doesn’t even get a nickname like “She Who Must Not Be Named” or even “The Big Bad.” Surely, at some point, the subculture surrounding these special books would’ve started referring to her as something along those lines. A name, a title (like The Bookseller did), something whispered in the shadows. Not just “the woman.”

There are probably other flaws in the book—undoubtedly there are*—but these are the only two that jumped out at me (and kept doing so). In the end—both were easily overcome by the weight of all the good-to-great things about it. But I was irked enough that I had to talk about them a bit.

* Just before I hit “Publish,” I remembered a chapter focused on “the woman” that made me briefly consider stopping entirely. I am so glad that I persevered, and it wasn’t that difficult to.

Now, let’s get back to the good stuff. I probably won’t think about these issues again myself, when I think back on this book, I’m only going to think of what I say next.

So, what did I think about The Book of Doors?

If you took Peng Shepherd’s The Cartographers and merged it with Robin Sloan’s Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore, you’d get something sort of like this. The secret subculture that arose around these special books—subcultures, really—made me think of these books, as well as the devotion to something that’s increasingly archaic—a typeface, paper maps, antique books, etc. There is great power, as well as great affection, in these artifacts of a former age. Sure, they’re not magical or mystical like Shepherd, Sloane, or Brown say. But these novels resonate for the same/similar reasons, these things call to us.

Setting aside all the magic and plot and character—just focusing on what The Book of Doors says about books in general, is pretty special. This aspect alone is going to speak to a lot of readers (most people who’d call themselves “readers,” in fact.). And you could spend time just flipping through those parts of the book.

On the whole, this novel was a slow burn for me—I was instantly drawn to the idea behind the books, I liked Cassie, and the way that Brown showed her reacting to the book. But then once we got into the story about “the woman” and the Librarian, my interest waned a lot. I’m not sure it should’ve, and many will likely have a different reaction, but it did. But as I kept reading, I got more and more invested and my inner-critic shut up because he was as interested in what was going to happen next as the rest of me was.

By the time you figure out what Brown’s end-game was—and Cassie’s, too—it’s so satisfying to see it all play out. It’s really a very tidy book and everything means something. But it’s not just the plot that works so well, all the emotional beats are so well-executed that you will be tempted to go back through Brown’s non-existent backlist to see where he figured out to write them so effectively.

If you like the idea of a kind of magic you’ve not seen before, magical time travel (among other things), an off-the-radar subculture devoted to this magic (or at least the idea behind it), and a quiet bookseller finding her inner strength and perseverance in the face of evil—you’re going to want to check out The Book of Doors. I strongly recommend you do.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Silly Rhymes for Belligerent Children?

The back of the book says:

You certainly don’t need to be a belligerent child to appreciate these silly rhymes by Mystery Science Theater 3000’s and Cinematic Titanic’s Trace Beaulieu – but you may learn a thing or two about handling infected pets or living dangerously through sledding. While the subject matter may make you a bit queasy, you’ll delight in the perfect storytelling encapsulated in each poem. Each selection is a dark and distasteful delight – a fascinating collection of raw honesty, cool understatement and looming tragedy, all brought to life by the whimsical illustrations by Len Peralta. Silly Rhymes for Belligerent Children isn’t the book you’ll keep on the bookcase for decades. It’s the book you’ll keep under your bed within easy reach so you can page through it long after you’ve committed all the poems to memory.

That’s pretty much what the book is—in the forward/Author’s Note, Beaulieu says these poems were inspired by daydreaming, and what better source could there be?

Well, these rhymes are meant for the kind of child I was, and frankly still am.

So don’t come here looking for nice little poems with fuzzy-wuzzy pictures of fluffy cute animals or impossibly happy youngsters fetching pails of water.

This book is intended for kids who hate that kind of stuff: older kids, of course, and adults with… well nothing better to do.

Some are short…some are longer (at least when it comes to page count), they’re all a great mixture of fun rhymes, great images, and eccentric (to say the least) ideas. Some are morbid (in a kid-friendly way), some are just strange, some are gross (in a kid-friendly way).

My One Complaint

There aren’t enough poems.

Or illustrations.

Or anything else.

I want more of everything in this book.

A Quick Word about the Art

WOW. The art is fantastic. Can you go through this book, ignore all the words in black type, and still enjoy it? Probably—some of the pictures won’t make sense without the black text, but yeah, I can see the book working if you think of it as a collection of odd illustrations (I’ve tried this twice, but keep slipping and ended up reading the poems, so I can’t promise).

They are the perfect augment/supplement/accompaniment to Beaulieu’s quirky rhymes and sensibilities.

So, what did I think about Silly Rhymes for Belligerent Children?

This is just silly fun. I, apparently, am an odd adult with nothing better to do, because I’ve read this a handful of times from cover to cover in the last few months and am pleased I did so each time.

You know how there are certain movies/shows that when you’re just mindlessly flipping through the channels (assuming you still do that) you have to stop and watch for at least a few minutes? This book is kind of like that. I cannot tell you how many times since I first read it that I’ve stopped to read a poem or two when I see this book. I’ve yet to pick it up without reading at least three poems. Generally more. And not always the same ones, either.

From the poems to the illustrations and all points in-between, I had a blast with this. I wish I knew about this back when it was first published, my kids would’ve loved it then. I probably can’t get them to slow down enough for it now. Hopefully in a few years.

Track down a copy and lose yourself in these pages. Your inner child (and inner odd-adult) will thank you.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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How Does the Publisher Describe America Fantasica?

HarperCollins.com says:

At 11:34 a.m. one Saturday in August 2019, Boyd Halverson strode into Community National Bank in Northern California.

“How much is on hand, would you say?” he asked the teller. “I’ll want it all.”

“You’re robbing me?”

He revealed a Temptation .38 Special.

The teller, a diminutive redhead named Angie Bing, collected eighty-one thousand dollars.

Boyd stuffed the cash into a paper grocery bag.

“I’m sorry about this,” he said, “but I’ll have to ask you to take a ride with me.”

So begins the adventure of Boyd Halverson—star journalist turned notorious online disinformation troll turned JCPenney manager—and his irrepressible hostage, Angie Bing. Haunted by his past and weary of his present, Boyd has one goal before the authorities catch up with him: settle a score with the man who destroyed his life. By Monday the pair reach Mexico; by winter, they are in a lakefront mansion in Minnesota. On their trail are hitmen, jealous lovers, ex-cons, an heiress, a billionaire shipping tycoon, a three-tour veteran of Iraq, and the ghosts of Boyd’s past. Everyone, it seems, except the police.

In the tradition of Jonathan Swift and Mark Twain, America Fantastica delivers a biting, witty, and entertaining story about the causes and costs of outlandish fantasy, while also marking the triumphant return of an essential voice in American letters. And at the heart of the novel, amid a teeming cast of characters, readers will delight in the tug-of-war between two memorable and iconic human beings—the exuberant savior-of-souls Angie Bing and the penitent but compulsive liar Boyd Halverson. Just as Tim O’Brien’s modern classic, The Things They Carried, so brilliantly reflected the unromantic truth of war, America Fantastica puts a mirror to a nation and a time that has become dangerously unmoored from truth and greedy for delusion.

How Was the Narration?

It was fine—any problems I had with the book weren’t on Wyman’s side. He didn’t work too hard on making each character stand out from the others with a distinct voice so that in each scene you knew immediately who was talking, but this isn’t the kind of book that lends itself to that. Also, the book didn’t become hard to follow because of that—nor did individual scenes. That’s all I really care about (as much as I might enjoy very distinct characters when the narrator does that).

The one heavily accented character’s accent didn’t sound quite right to my ears, but I’m not precisely sure what their accent should’ve sounded like. And…well, in context, I’m not sure their accent should’ve sounded right.

Basically, Wyman did well enough, and I’d easily listen to something else he narrated.

So, what did I think about America Fantastica?

I’m going to sound a little self-contradictory here. I think I missed most of the point of this book/narrative, and O’Brien was as subtle as a pallet of bricks.

There are intercalary chapters/sections (I’d have to see the print version to know for sure) describing the spread of “mythomania” across the nation like an infection (to be followed by COVID). And this is very clearly what the book is supposed to be about—contemporary America’s hunger for lies, half-truths, alternative facts, myths, whatever you want to call it. I’m not disinclined to argue with this as a whole—I just found these portions wanting. I’m not sure what it was I didn’t respond to here–lack of nuance and a feeling that O’Brien was trying to be too clever, come close, but really I just can’t put my finger on it.

Then there’s the narrative—narratives. I didn’t connect with any of them for very long (if ever). I kept going because many of them seemed to be on the verge of paying off, or at least giving me something to sink my teeth into. If I didn’t know this was a satirical novel from the description, I wouldn’t have picked up on it. I’m not really sure I get everything that was being satired (and really don’t care). The best way I can describe the storylines was that someone took a bunch of discarded ideas from disparate Elmore Leonard novels and mashed them together, whether they fit or not, and without Leonard’s skill/craft—then threw COVID into it at the end.

O’Brien had some very clever ideas, some nice writing, and a good line here and there. But the ideas didn’t pay off, the writing went nowhere, and the good lines weren’t worth the effort to get to them.

Maybe this was the right book at the wrong time for me and if I’d read/listened to it a few months ago—or a few months from now—I’d be recommending it, maybe even raving about it. But I listened to it now, so that’s what we’re stuck with. So the me of “now” says that it was an endurance race for me. A determined effort for me to understand why I should like this. A reminder that the sunk cost fallacy is something that I’m very susceptible to.

I’m more than prepared for people to come along and tell me why I should’ve appreciated this. But I can’t recommend this to anyone, and I would recommend you look elsewhere for a good commentary on the U.S.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Warriorborn About?

A little time has passed since we met our heroes—training was completed, people have new jobs, promotions were given, the threat of war looms larger, and so on. The status quo, in short, is in flux and everyone’s trying to settle in before things get really messed up.

The mysterious and deadly Warriorborn, Benedict Sorellin-Lancaster, has been promoted to lieutenant—as one example. And, as you can guess from this novella’s title, we will be focused on him. The Spirearch is sending him on a mission to retrieve certain documents that the Spirearch seems to have misplaced at a colony that’s gone radio silent. As backup, Benedict is assigned three other Warriorborn for this mission—deadly criminals put away by Benedict, who will earn freedom in return for their help here. Not exactly a merry band, but they should be enough to tackle most threats they encounter.

But what they find when they arrive at Dependence isn’t what anyone figured, and “most” quite definitely doesn’t mean “all.”

The Development of the Series

There are a couple of notable things about this novella—first of all, we get a great look into the Warriorborn as a whole, not just what we learned about Benedict in The Aeronaut’s Windlass. The Warriorborn was one of the most intriguing concepts from that book, so getting to learn more about them was a treat. That right there is enough to justify the purchase price.

But even better is the little updates we get about many of the primary characters, setting the stage for where they’ll be in The Olympian Affair. I was already eager to dive in—seeing these flashes of their future, and the way that the war is progressing just makes me want to tear into The Olympian Affair.

So, what did I think about Warriorborn?

This was a fast-moving thrill ride. Yeah, there’s some character development and exploration of some of what makes the various characters (particularly the new ones) tick. Butcher knows how to write action—if you’ve read anything by him, you know this. Throw in some clever dialogue, and that’s enough to satisfy me.

The threat that they discover once they get to Dependence is as creepy as you want. The world of The Cinder Spires isn’t a kind world, and it’s hard for humanity (and felinity) in more than one way, as we’re learning now. But as long as there are people like Benedict and the crew of Predator, maybe there’s hope.

Despite this being a bridge between Books 1 and 2 of the series, this wouldn’t make a bad jumping on point—if you like this quick taste of this world, you’ll want to go see how Benedict and the rest got to this point just as much as you’re going to want to see what happens to them next.

In a podcast interview, Butcher described this as “an apology novella,” due to how long it took to get the second book of the series completed. In the eyes of this fan, apology accepted.