hc.newton

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s The Blue Horse About?

For Porter Beck and the Lincoln Sheriff’s Department, change—and a pandemic—are in the air. But we’ll talk about that later. The main thing that they all have to focus on is a controversial wild horse roundup.

It’s a Federal mandate that it occurs, and there are plenty of good wildlife management and other environmental arguments in favor of it. There are also plenty of traditional, environmental, or animal rights arguments against it. Naturally, the event faces protests both large and small—even in the middle of a pandemic. So Beck and his team are providing some security.

Because of that security, Beck and Tuffy are around to witness a helicopter involved in the roundup crash. Thanks to them, it’s not written off as human error or some other accident—they know it was murder (a difficult one to perpetrate, mind you).

The easy answer seems to be that it’s someone associated with the protests, but Beck’s not satisfied with that. And despite what the FBI wants to focus on, he starts assembling evidence to buttress his hunch. Then another, grisly murder happens. And all signs point to something worse on the horizon. The Feds want a quick resolution, Beck wants the truth.

Brinley and Rafa

So, while all this is going on, Beck can’t rely on his sister to pitch in. As a follow-up to the volunteering she did in Shades of Mercy with the “at risk” youth of the area, she’s off with a handful of these teens on a wilderness retreat. Rafa, in particular, is one she can identify with and really wants to help. He, on the other hand, wants no one’s help. He’s learned that he can only rely on himself and what his own strength, temper, and brutality can provide for him.

One night, after Brinley had already started to think he’d run off, he does just that. Annoyed at herself for letting her guard down enough to let that happen, and assured of her superior ability to track compared to the other adults in the group, she takes off on her own to track him down. As it’s Brinley that we’re talking about, she’d normally be right—but with COVID symptoms kicking in, are her stamina and clarity of mind up to the task? And what will she do if/when she finds him?

Sometimes, it can be a critique for a reader to note that a subplot like this one is frequently more interesting and engaging than the primary story. Early on, I was mildly irritated every time we cut from this back to the murder investigation. I really enjoy Brinley and Rafa is both a good character by himself, as a foil for Brinley? He’s perfect. Together, it’s a great combination.

I eventually came around on the murder investigation—it was more of a slow-burn for me, but by the end, I was equally invested in both storylines.

COVID-19

I thought it was gutsy for Borgos to tackle COVID and the reaction to both the virus and the social reactions to it. Especially in places like Beck’s part of Nevada, you’re not going to get a lot of people reacting to either of them the same way as you would in L.A. or NYC. (I think this is going to be the case for readers drawn to the series, too)

Borgos dealt with it as well as you could hope—Beck didn’t seem to take a firm stand on things like masking or hand-shaking himself—he basically matched the environment he was in (somewhat begrudglingly at times). And his deputies clearly saw it as overblown—particularly one deputy who showed clear signs of it. The clinic is full, and the disease shows up in several ways—some that hit too close to home for Beck, too.

At the same time—the impact of the virus itself was clearly shown. Whether it was a temporary, minor obstacle or a life-altering disease (or points in between) for the characters—COVID made its presence felt. Beck doesn’t have an overabundance of deputies for his large county on the best day. You force them to deal with murder cases like this—plus the security they need to provide for the roundup—with deputies out sick? That’s going to have a major impact on their ability to do any of their jobs effectively.

More than a gutsy move by Borgos for the social observation, it’s a smart move for narrative tension.

All the Personal Stuff

I was relieved to see Charlie Blue Horse back again—not only was she a good addition to the cast in Shades of Mercy, but I really didn’t like the idea of Beck having a new romantic interest/dalliance in every book. I’d have been perfectly content to have a few books without one, too—but a returning romantic interest is a good way to go, too.

I did think that Beck was a bit too clueless in the beginning—you can tell how he got to his age still single—but that’s a tangent.

There’s a lot more going on for Beck outside the case—his father’s health continues to deteriorate, there are big changes looming for the Sheriff’s office as we learn early on. Basically, these murders come along at a juncture for our Sheriff and serve as a welcome distraction as much as they could interfere and possibly derail his plans.

Deputy Frank Columbo

Bo may have been a two-time washout from the K-9 academy, but he’s a good, loyal companion for Beck—and he shows signs of being a good seeing-eye dog in the future. Who doesn’t want a good dog along for a story like this?

But honestly, he just seemed to be a nice little flavoring—something to add to the Western/Sheriff setting. Like Spener’s Pearls, Joe Pickett’s dogs, Max Boucher’s Russ, Ballard’s Lola, and didn’t Quinn Colson have one? They’re there, they’re fun to see, but they’re not a major player in the story.

But by the end The Blue Horse, he’s that and more. He’s not quite as remarkable as Longmire’s Dog, or Sharp’s Winnie, (definitely not in Chet Little’s league). But he’s on the way—this will come as no shock to anyone who’s read me, I loved Bo’s moments of glory (even if they weren’t appreciated at the time). I don’t need this series to become the Beck and Bo show, but I hope he gets more chances to shine.

Then again, would the Beck and Bo show be a bad thing?

So, what did I think about The Blue Horse?

We’re only on book three of this series, but we’ve got a strong recurring cast already (with promises of more). There’s the FBI Agent that Beck didn’t really get along with last time (and he continues to not really get along with now), there’s our friendly hacker doing the things Beck and Charlie can’t—but legally (probably), all the great characters in the Lincoln County Sheriff’s office, and even X Files. Yes, he’s back again—and I loved the way he get’s involved with this one. There’s more to this guy than paranoia and delusion. The characters—suspects, witnesses, standers-by, and more—are up to the same standards, and you’ll end up hoping that those who live and aren’t serving time come back sometime soon.

Three books in, one thing that Borgos has clearly shown us all is that he can people his novels with compelling characters. What about the story? I don’t know that anything will (or can) live up to The Bitter Past, but this is as good as you can ask for next to that. The storyline involving the murders is really well-paced and plotted—the herrings are the perfect shade of red—and Beck’s atypical approach to policing really helps here. Aside from my own impatience early on, there’s nothing to complain about here.

Mild-spoliery thoughts—feel free to skip this paragraph. I do wonder a little about Chapter Two—it takes away some of the mystery, you’ll know that the murders likely tie into it at some point, and you might not bite on some of the bait Borgos wants to tempt you with because of it (at least not as hard as you might otherwise). But it also makes a twist or two seem like they don’t come out of nowhere. I can argue both sides of it convincingly to myself. The more I think of it, I think Borgos made the smart move. But I instinctively disagree and think he should’ve skipped it. I’d love to hear what others think.

Maybe other readers feel this way when they read about the Mexicantown in August Snow’s Detroit, or about Ballard/Bosch’s LA, the racial tensions in the LAPD that Trevor Finnegan navigates, the gang-culture in Eve Ronin’s LACSD, or the changes in the Edinburgh police that Rebus has witnessed (and felt)—but the society/politics that Borgos shows hit close to home. The former are interesting to read about, but Borgos hits close to home (C.J. Box does, too). Lincoln County, NV could easily be 20-30 minutes south of my house, rather than the 8+ hours it really is. Borgos reflects the attitudes of the area so well—it feels easy at a distance to take issue with the gangs Ronin faces, but there’s a way for locals to understand both sides of something like the roundup that I just can’t with the others. I know and trust people on every side of that issue, and sympathize with them. For every hint that Borgos gives you about his (or Beck’s) opinion—he provides one that might disprove it. I fully expect readers from Scotland or New York to roll their eyes at one group or another that Borgos shows us. But I can’t—they’re my neighbors, are married to my coworkers, and share a pew with me on Sundays. I love how well Borgos does that. A good Crime Novel talks about society without getting on a soapbox, and Borgos excels at it.

Setting that aside, let’s focus on the experience of reading The Blue HorseYour heart will be in your throat in at least two occasions, you will be horrified at man’s inhumanity at least once (it’s comparable to the opening of The Bitter Past), you’ll feel sadness, relief, and even joy throughout. I wasn’t looking for another Western-set mystery series to become addicted to, but Bruce Borgos has made me a die-hard anyway. Jump on the bandwagon!! We’ll make room.

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book from St. Martin’s Press via NetGalley—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Dogged Pursuit About?

Andy Carpenter has recently left the Prosecutor’s Office to become a defense lawyer. He’s rented an office, helped one client, and…well, that’s it. His wife is leaning on him to take a job as a corporate lawyer (and her father can get him such a position), but his heart isn’t in it.

He has decided it’s past time for him to get a dog after years of wanting one—so he goes to a shelter, falls head over heels with one, and adopts her. The shelter tells him that his new dog (Carpenter fans know Tara very well at his point) has bonded with the dog she shared a run with. So he offers to adopt her, too. That can’t happen because her owner is in jail awaiting trial. They assure him that if he can get a release from the owner, he can take the dog.

Carpenter fans know at this point that this will be Andy’s first client. People new to the series will probably know this, too. Rosenfelt isn’t playing his cards close to his chest here.

And, hey, what do you know? That’s exactly what happens. The trick is that Andy’s new client is charged with multiple murders—that of his old friend and boss who fired him two weeks previously, and the two people he was giving a ride home to (so they wouldn’t drive after drinking at a corporate party).

The circumstantial case is pretty strong—almost too strong. No one that Andy talks to at his client’s old company could believe he’d be capable of such a thing. And he really seems to care about his dog. Which is enough for Andy to dive in.

He just needs evidence on his side, an investigator to do some work for him, and a clue about how to defend this particular client. But that’ll come, right?

The Prequel-ness

I was surprised when I saw this was a prequel. I don’t know that I ever stopped and wondered, “How did Andy get started in the business?” Particularly as early in his career that book one, Open and Shut, isn’t that far into his career and really serves just as well as an origin story.

That said…this is a really good novel, a solid prequel, and a treat for fans of the series. Let’s take a quick glance at some of the series regulars we meet here:

• Tara. You don't have an Andy Carpenter book without his best friend. Their meeting goes beyond a meet-cute, and watching their relationship blossom is great. Honestly, the rest of this list isn't necessary, as long as Rosenfelt nailed this one, and it's no surprise that he did.
• Sam. Sam gets a little more "screen time" here than he typically does. This is a-ok with me, Sam's great. We get some seeds planted for a lot of what we see from this accountant/hacker in the future. What we don't get—and this is the biggest problem with this book—is the song talking. I get that he and Andy have grown out of it by later books (as odd as it is to think of Andy maturing). I miss it, but I can cope (as well as grumble about it). But they're not there yet. Something that so characterizes their relationship in the first few books should be here now.
• Laurie. Andy meets and hires Laurie here, a wonderful decision on his part. It's totally platonic, Rosenfelt shows us that Andy is a stand-up guy on that front (as he continues to be). Given where their relationship ends up, I have to give Rosenfelt a lot of credit for keeping it professional. Laurie struggles some (as I think she continues to do for quite a bit) with working for the defense—not as much as say, Harry Bosch does (although she wasn't working for the PD as long as Bosch did). And that's good to see, but her adaptability and smarts are on full display.
• Pete. Pete and Andy aren't as friendly as they will one day be. It's actually nice to see them approach bonding, and the beginning of Andy picking up Pete's tab.
• Nelson Carpenter. We don't get to see a lot of Andy's father before his death, so it was really nice to see the healthy relationship here. It's hard not to like this guy, and you can see why he was such a legend in the legal community in the area.
• Edna. Andy hasn't hired—much less met—Edna at this point, but she's mentioned to him a few times as someone he should hire. Reading what Andy is told about her, and what we know about her, is one of the best chuckle-generators of this novel.
• Nicole. This has to be the trickiest one in the book—the relationship is doomed, we all know this. But neither Andy nor Nicole is ready for it to end. Rosenfelt has to show the crumbling, without showing the last straws—as those straws are still to come. And man...I liked Nicole. I enjoyed seeing her bond with Tara. I liked seeing her interact with Andy; she seems like a pretty good match for him.

Marcus

In a couple of the more recent books, I’ve wondered if Marcus is losing a bit of what made him such a fun character for the readers because we’ve learned more about him. Is the mystique gone? Is he on the verge of becoming just another member of Andy’s circle?

That question gets set on the back burner for a while—phew—because in this prequel, Marcus is all mystique. Nothing but mystique and mystery.

So, what did I think about Dogged Pursuit?

Okay, let’s set aside all the fun of the prequel stuff. How’s the mystery, the case, the resolution?

Those are just what you want. Andy’s not the cocky, flashy trial lawyer he will become. But you can see it on the horizon. He’s nervous—in and out of the courtroom. He’s not prepared to meet with some of the truly nasty characters he needs to—or the threat they can represent.

There are plenty of twists and a revelation or two at the end that are just satisfying.

There’s not a huge conspiracy with international implications afoot. There’s some criminal activity around the murders that Andy runs across—but it’s not at the heart of the book.

There are some truly good lines (particularly involving Andy’s cowardice and lack of ability to defend himself—always a good place for Rosenfelt to return to). The momentum carries you right along, right up to the surprises at the end.

Throw in Andy and Tara’s relationship? You’ve got a solid book.

I strongly recommend this book to people who’ve read Andy Carpenter in the past (even if you’ve taken a break for whatever reason). If people have seen my glowing posts in the back and haven’t wanted to dive into a series of 30 mid-stream, this is a great place to jump on board. If people have never seen a thing I’ve written about this series before—this is a great place to jump on board, too. Really, there’s no one that I wouldn’t recommend this book to. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and I think you will, too.

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book from St. Martin’s Press via NetGalley—thanks to both for this. I apologize for the tardiness.

★ ★ ★ ★ 1/2 (rounded up)

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s The Medusa Protocol About?

I’d written about half of this section, and wasn’t quite satisfied with it, and took a quick glance at the Publisher’s Description and realized that 1. I was echoing it in an unnerving way, and 2. It was better than i could deliver. So, I’ll borrow it and save myself from plagiarism accusations:

When Astrid, known in her assassin days as Azrael, stopped showing up to Assassins Anonymous, the group assumed her past had caught up with her. Only her sponsor Mark, formerly the deadliest killer in the world, holds out hope that she’s okay. Then, during a meeting, the group gets a sign, or rather, a pizza delivery. Is there another psychopath out there who actually likes olives on their pizza, or is Astrid trying to send Mark a message?

Meanwhile, Astrid wakes up in the cell of a black site prison, on a remote island. A doctor subjects her to mysterious experiments, plumbing the depths of her memory and looking for a vital clue from her past. She’ll do anything to escape, except…killing anyone. Hmm. Turns out it’s not easy to blow this joint without blowing anything, or anyone up.

Looking for Astrid

The group at the meeting splits into two groups—some head for safety, just in case someone’s coming for someone in addition to Astrid. Mark and Booker take the sign of the disgusting pizza as a signal to go looking for Astrid.

This is where you get your thirst for adventure slaked. They take a globe-trekking route while hunting for clues, pick up an ally or two along the way, go up against some pretty lethal guys—and really lethal snakes.

They do this with aplomb, nerve, and some really bad jokes.

Astrid’s Story

Meanwhile, Astrid faces two challenges—figuring out where she is, why she’s there, and how to make the best of the situation until she can find a weakness to exploit and get out of there. None of that will be easy.

But also, whatever this doctor is doing to her causes her to relive some of the bigger moments in her life—things she’s never really put behind her, but she has to look at them anew, and maybe a bit more intensely than she usually does.

The stakes are high (higher than she realizes), and without support, she has to rely on what she’s picked up from the meetings and her own grit to make it through each day.

Sobriety

While Assassins Anonymous showed the meetings, Mark hitting rock bottom, and choices to pursue this group’s particular expression of sobriety, The Medusa Protocol focuses on taking responsibility for your actions, making amends, and maintaining one’s sobriety. While none of the 12 Steps seem particularly easy, these things seem like harder work to me—and it’s good to see that reflected honestly.

(There’s some other things along these lines, but we can talk about that after you’ve read this book.)

The decision to stay sober—especially in the circumstances these characters find themselves, fighting for their lives against people who don’t have any problem taking a life, when a lifetime of reflexes tells them to do something else—takes a monumental effort. It takes monumental effort for more “traditional” 12-Step program attendees, too. But this makes for more exciting reading—it should, however, remind the reader what their friends/acquaintances go through on a daily basis.

I really admire Hart for this focus in these books, and hope these keep coming if only for it.

So, what did I think about The Medusa Protocol?

There’s part of me that wants to copy and paste most of what I said about Assassins Anonymous last year here. There’s also part of me that wishes I’d re-read or listened to it before this—not because I need the refresher, I just had fun with it. Yet…I think this is a better novel. It’s not quite as fun—Astrid’s POV is too prevalent for that and her sense of humor isn’t what Mark’s is (this is a good thing)—but the story is more emotionally developed, Astrid’s trauma is deeper-seated, and that comes through in the flashbacks (obviously).

Also, the Big Bad of the first book is a pretty standard kind of bad guy for the genre. The person responsible for Astrid’s plight, on the other hand, is just evil. Like a gut-twisting, I don’t want to think there are people like this in the world, kind of evil—sadly, it’s probably the most realistic part of this book.

I’m afraid I might give the impression that this book is so heavy on the trauma, the emotions, the recovery struggles, and so on that it’s not a Thriller. Sorry if I did. This is a rollicking, rocking Thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat with the kind of action you expect in a Thriller about a group of former (and current) assassins. If you liked the action, the humor, the pacing, and all the thriller aspects of the last book, don’t fear—it’s still there. It’s just the percentages of the book devoted to each are a little different. Mark is still a prominent character, and you can’t get away from his sarcasm, his humor, and his efficiency in a fight scene. That goes for the other people in the program, too. And when Astrid gets to do her thing, either in the present or in flashback—I’m telling you, it’s good stuff.

I had a blast with this, enjoying the opportunity to reconnect with characters like Mark, Astrid, Valencia, Booker, and so on. The one new face (at least) that will recur? Oh, I’m looking forward to getting to know them a lot more. The new characters we meet that we definitely won’t be seeing again? They’re as good as you want them to be.

Oh, and the titular Medusa Protocol itself? That was really cool.

There’s no reason not to pick this up if you’re in the mood for a thriller that embraces and yet puts a twist on the conventions. Would it help to have read Assassins Anonymous first? Yeah, but you’ll get in the groove pretty quickly if you haven’t.

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book from Putnam Books via NetGalley—thanks to both for this. Sorry that it’s up late.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s I See You’ve Called in Dead About?

One night after a disastrous blind date (oh, and the word disastrous seems inadequate), obituary writer Bud Stanley gets drunk and accidentally publishes his own obituary. This earns him a suspension (once you get to the part where it’s revealed why he can’t be fired, you’ll roll).

During this suspension, he’s inspired to attend the funerals of strangers. He drags his close friend with him to these, and the two of them gain some new perspectives, new insights, etc.

I should add—before the drunken mistake, during the date itself, is when I decided I liked Bud and couldn’t wait to spend seven hours and change with him.

It’s, of course, after he published the greatly exaggerated reports of his own death that Bud finally has the opportunity to learn how to live. Will he take advantage of it?

Is He Maybe Too Perfect?

I’m not talking about Bud here. No one is going to spend more than a half a paragraph before they start finding flaws with him (love the guy…but man, is he a work in progress). But his landlord/friend, Tim, just might be too perfect.

He’s kind. He’s generous. He’s wise. He’s…well, really, you’re going to have to look long and hard for a problem with the character. And that, of course, is hard to swallow for a primary character in a work of fiction. As in life, so in fiction, pobody’s nerfect.

But…and here’s the thing that applies to a lot of Mary/Marty Sues (and I don’t think Tim is one, but he might be their first cousin)—he’s so fun that you get over it. He works as Bud’s Jiminy Cricket as well as the guy he can joke around with. It’s likely that Bud just doesn’t give us a lot of Tim’s flaws in his narration, because he doesn’t see them.

Friendship

Which leads us to one thing (there are others, but this dominates the novel) that Bud seems to be pretty good at, friendship. Sure, frequently being a selfish jackwagon, he’s not great at being a friend—but the bonds he’s made are strong enough that they can take it.

There’s Tim, Bud’s office-mate (a strange friendship, but one that’s deeper than one might think), the friendship between Bud and his editor/boss, and then a sweet friendship with a lonely and eccentric little boy* who lives nearby. Bud may not have figured out how to successfully adult, but he’s assembled a great group of friends to help him navigate through it.

I’ve read/listened to a lot of people (in fiction/non-fiction) talk about how close male friendship has really taken a hit in the current culture—it’s not emphasized, it’s not modeled, and almost never discussed after a certain age. Take or leave that argument, it’s rare enough to see a decent portrayal. Bud has four of them—of various strengths and circumstances. But all are wonderful to watch.

* That kid (his name escapes me, and that bothers me) deserves a book of his own. I need someone like Wesley King, Victoria Willimason, or R.J. Palacio to buy the rights.

What did I think about the narration?

Well, there were a couple of location names that I wondered if Hopkins was pronouncing correctly (he probably was). But beyond that, he nailed the work. He got the humor, he got the heart, he got the…strange mental place that Bud spent most of the book in.

I don’t believe I’ve heard him in action before, but I’d like to.

So, what did I think about I See You’ve Called in Dead?

I assumed this would be a fun read from the premise. I wasn’t prepared for something that would make me care so much.

I did think the humor around the millennial HR employee felt overplayed, and that Kenney should’ve dropped it (or skipped it entirely). There might have been one or two other jokes that he could’ve skipped—but on the whole? Some of the best comedy I’ve encountered this year—and some of the dumbest, too. Bud, Tim, and Tuan (his office-mate) don’t seem to think there’s a joke to dumb to make. I don’t disagree, but I figure I should warn you. They also aren’t afraid of being awfully clever in their jokes as well.

There’s an extended bit in a Greek funeral that Tim and Bud attend, for example, that will make you roll your eyes—and then you’ll end up really loving as it continues.

I haven’t talked about the strange friendship/romance at all between Bud and the woman who starts him attending the funerals of strangers. It’s the kind of quirky thing that filmmakers used to give Zach Braff, Michael Cera, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and the like. But it rarely feels forced, and she’s definitely not manic. I don’t think her storyline is nearly as well-done as the others, but it’s satisfying enough that I’m not going to complain.

And of course—we need to talk about death and life. Bud and his circle spend a lot of time witnessing death and grief—and how it looks for various people. And from that, they all take different lessons about death and what can—and should—come before. Sometimes it feels a little heavy-handed, or rather, it feels like it’s going to be—you can feel the “special episode” atmosphere building. But it typically is delivered subtly and almost seamlessly. Kenney does it the right way.

This is a funny, wise, and heartfelt book—affirming, challenging, and downright entertaining. What’s not to like?

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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“You know this is how you’re going to get yourself killed, right? Something stupid like this?”

“I hope not.”

“I’m serious. It’s when you least suspect it, Walt.”

What’s Return to Sender About?

For the previous twenty books, we’ve learned a lot about Martha, Walt’s late wife. We learn a little more about her here—she had a cousin who is now the Postal Inspector for Wyoming. Sure, this doesn’t give us a lot of insight into her as a person—but it does allow this cousin, Mike Thurmin, to call upon Walt for a favor.

A few months ago, a postal worker who carries mail on the longest route in the U.S., 307 miles, disappeared from the face of the Earth. Law enforcement has written it off as an adult willingly leaving her home, her boyfriend has sold off pretty much everything she left behind, but her supervisor/friend isn’t satisfied. And that lack of satisfaction worked its way up to Thurman—who roped Walt into looking for her.

It’s possible, if not likely, that Blair McGowan’s boyfriend is behind her disappearance (he’s certainly unpleasant enough that you can see why many people would speculate about it); she’s an activist, and it’s possible she’s irked someone powerful; there’s a lot that can happen in 307 miles; or the aliens she claimed that abducted her a few years ago came back and picked her up again. Walt’s pretty sure it’s something else, but he has to look into things.

This book pretty much has three acts—let’s take a quick look at them.

The Search for Blair McGowan

In this part, we get the lay of the land and meet the essential characters. Walt tries to go undercover as a postal carrier brought in to cover for Blair temporarily (at least). While doing so, he makes some attempts to investigate—many of which lead people to believe he’s not a postal carrier.

Still, Walt and Dog have some interesting encounters with people in and around the Red Desert of Wyoming. There’s a little bit of consultation with Vic over the phone, and she (and a few others) repeatedly remind Walt to get to Cheyenne for a reception that is important to Cady.

The Women in Walt’s Life

Vic, Cady, Ruby, and Lola feature prominently in the second act (although we don’t get to really see Lola)—with a quick chat or two with Lucian and Henry. It’s all about the change in Wyoming government—a new governor and a prospective promotion for the greatest legal mind of our time.

That promotion to A.G. is complicated by her father’s position in the state—both as a sheriff of one county and his prominence in the law enforcement community.

It breaks up the search for McGowan, it moves some storylines forward, but it largely feels out of place in this book. Still, it was good to see these things move forward a little (and we can assume it will continue to do so).

The Next Search for Blair McGowan

That dealt with, the search for Blair picks back up in earnest. There’ve been a few developments while Walt was in Cheyenne, but Walt has reason to question them—and a greater determination to get to teh bottom of things.

This Act takes up the majority of the book, and we learn a lot more about almost everyone we were introduced to in the first Act. There’s a lot of action, some fun new characters are introduced, and Walt is pushed to the limits physically and maybe mentally.

We really have to go back a few books for me to enjoy things as much as I enjoyed this portion of the book, really. I’m thinking Daughter of the Morning Star or Next to Last Stand. The first two parts felt more like Johnson was getting warmed up, and then things really kicked into gear when Walt came back.

Dog

Dog rarely gets to shine in this series—he’s largely just a presence to receive a pat or two, to scarf down some food, and maybe to intimidate someone. But when he does get the spotlight—as he does a few times in Return to Sender—it’s a lot of fun. He’s almost too good to be true, but honestly—who cares? Johnson keeps it pretty grounded (much more so than the ghost of Virgil that might pop up here and there).

For a lot of this book, it’s Walt and Dog against the world—and there are few dogs that can carry that weight.

Oh, yeah, that…

There’s some movement on the part from First Frost about the disappearance of Ruth One Heart. But that’s pretty much all I can cover.

So, what did I think about Return to Sender?

I watched my family members enjoying themselves and then asked. “Lucian, how did you know it was time to hang up your star?”

“You came along.”

“No, seriously.”

“l am being serious.” He stopped and turned to look at me. “When I saw the county would be in good hands, I stepped down and never bad a second thought.”

“I don’t think I have that luxury. Saizarbitoria isn’t ready, and the voters won’t elect Vic.”

He smiled. “Maybe if you gag her.”

Walt’s retirement has been discussed a lot recently, and it seems like it’ll come up more (up until he actually puts in his papers).

Now, I was fully entertained—but also frustrated by Johnson—in the first two Acts. But I have few quibbles or frustrations with the rest. I do wonder about Walt’s ability to do everything physically that he did—but what’s the point of being able to suspend disbelief if you don’t do it occasionally? And there’s much to be said for the combination of adrenaline, necessity, and stubbornness.

Walt vs. nature; Walt vs. big odds; Walt’s determination to do the right thing even when he’s on his own. These are all hallmarks of the best of this series. We got them all, with some great character moments for friends old and new.

What’s not to like? This would work as a jumping-on point for the series (Johnson says every book should work like that, but I beg to differ). For fans? It’s a must read.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s the Deal with The Great Gatsby: Alphabetised Centennial Edition?

i could (should?) save myself a bunch of time and just point you to The Publisher’s Explanation of the book and its background. Seriously, skip most of what I write here and just read it.

But because I feel compelled to say something about this unique offering, I’m going to plow on.

Inspired by Concrete Poetry (which is something I don’t think I’d heard of until I read the above from Fahrenheit Press) and the centennial of The Great Gatsby, Chris McVeigh has taken the classic, and as you should assume from the subtitle, alphabetized it.

As McVeigh writes in the introduction:

…this alphabetised edition of The Great Gatsby is not a puzzle to be solved, or a parody to provoke. It is rather, a re-seeing of language in the raw – a confrontation with the building blocks of a story we think we know.

Removed from their narrative scaffolding, Gatsby’s words fall into new patterns, unexpected rhythms, and visual clusters. “Daisy” “dream” and “death” no longer emerge from plot, but jostle for position in a flattened, democratic field. The result is a text not about the American Dream, but made of it—its’ language laid bare, its’ seductions and emptiness exposed with surgical neutrality.

What would T.G. Eckleberg have to say?

Who knows, but those giant eyes of his would probably enjoy taking this in.

You really don’t even have to read the words, you can just open any page and take in the visual impact, the shapes that emerge from just bare words—limited punctuation (mostly apostrophes), no paragraphs, just a word-space-word-space-word sequence for 197 pages.

It’s striking, mesmerizing, and can even evoke an emotional response somehow.

So, what did I think about The Great Gatsby: Alphabetised Centennial Edition?

I honestly don’t know. But I can say I’ve thought about it a lot since getting it.

McVeigh asks:

Is story found only in sequence? Can meaning survive fragmentation? Might new meanings emerge—accidental, ambient, and poetic—from the ruins of arrangement?

At this moment, my answers are: Yes. Possibly? (pronounced with a heavy question mark) Yes, just don’t ask me what any of them are.

I’ve picked this up and read through a few pages several times in the week or so since I got this, and each time I start to think I’m getting something. Like Dirk Gentley said, I felt like I could “grapple with the ineffable itself, and see if we may not eff it after all.” But I’ve fallen short each time, but I’m going to keep trying.

But this is not a book for everyone, I should stress. For example, I showed this to my wife, who I thought might appreciate the idea. She looked through it and gave me one of those looks and asked, “You spent money on this?”

Yes, I did. Happily so—and am still glad I did. Not just for the novelty (which probably drove the purchase, to be frank), but because it’s giving me the opportunity to ask those questions I started this section with. This might not be much of a review, but I think it’s the heartiest endorsement I could give of the project.

I spent money on this, you should consider doing the same.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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Caveat Lector

I’ve yet to write a word of this post, but I’m going to tell you now that I’m going to end up spoiling some things from the first book—there’s just no way to talk about this book without it. I will try to keep them vague if I can’t avoid them, but they will be there.

But also, why are you reading this post if you haven’t read the first book? Read The Price of Power and I predict you’ll move on to the rest reflexively (as many of “the rest” are out when you finish, that is).

Still, be careful what you read from here.

What’s A Graveyard for Heroes About?

The first book was very focused—well, as much as you can be with 4 characters/storylines. You saw the impending (or not so impending) collapse of the nation/confederation in the background (to one degree or another) of three of the storylines, but the reader’s focus was rarely on that—it was these people getting to know them and their immediate circle. Through them you started to understand the world, its cultures, its history.

In the closing chapters of the book, the first visible domino of the collapse falls over.

In Graveyard, we keep our focus on these characters—but we also see the ongoing collapse, the ongoing treason (and the treason within that movement), and how it’s affecting not just the characters we got to know in The Price of Power, but also in others—faces and names new and old.

The story grows grander, our perspective enlarges—and assuming that the pre-Price status quo was as good as it could be, this civilization is in trouble from many sides.

*There are several reasons to believe the system could be better—as every system could be and every character we got to know recognized. But the stability, order, and painfully slow opportunities for reform were there.

The Missing Character?

Of the four characters/groups of characters that were the focus in the first book, one seemed to be almost missing. Not entirely, but so close that it’d be easy to miss.

Unless of course, their name/appearance has changed. I’ve spent a good amount of time thinking about this, and am pretty sure I’ve made up my mind about what I think. (at the same time, I’m ready for Michel to show me how I missed something).

Regardless, it’s fun to chew on.

Thephus

When we saw him last, his fate seemed uncertain. Frankly, I’m even less sure about what’s going on with him now. It’s as frustrating as it is satisfying to see Michel not giving us all the answers.

While I liked the guy—and felt bad for him—from the time we met him. My respect for him as a person has grown—he’s a well-conceived and complex character. Not just complex, he’s pretty confusing, too. Moreso to himself than anyone else. I wonder who will figure him out first—the reader or Thephus himself?

Just because his storyline bothers me and leaves me with more questions at the end of every one of his chapters doesn’t mean I think him any less. On the contrary, I think that sentence applies to every single chapter he’s been featured in since his introduction.

So much is going to make sense to us when we do get answers—and if all we’re doing now is piling up the questions, how much more satisfying will it be? Also, the part of this world that Thephus and those like him inhabit is more than intriguing.

So, what did I think about A Graveyard for Heroes?

This is me speculating here, as my precognition abilities are on the blink right now. But I’m guessing that you can make the case for Books 1 and 2 of Dreams of Dust and Steel serve as a massive prequel for an epic trilogy. To borrow a phrase from the back cover, “The pieces are set. The gameboard is chosen.” And now…things are going to really get going.

I can only imagine that as grim as things look here for our heroes…but also, our villains…by the end of book three, they’ll all wish that they were back in these events. But man…there’s not a lot of positive in this book—at least not plotwise.

There’s a whole lot of positive things to say about the writing, storytelling, and characters. So much so that I know I’ve left off things I’ve told myself “You gotta mention this.” For example, there’s a treat for people who miss Tyrion Lannister’s personality.

And just because I said prequel—I am not suggesting that these books are skippable. They’re not—you’d be robbing yourself of so much. There’s a character we meet in this book, for example, on the worst day of her life. She quickly became one of my favorites of the series. I reached out to Michel and was assured that we’d see her again—but based on what we saw here, there’s nothing inherent in her story that demands it. He could’ve closed the door on her and moved on—and it’d have been worth it just to wsee hat we got here. (I’d go into this deeper in a spoiler-rich conversation if anyone is interested).

My point is, the book is full of things that like that—the overall plot and seeing what happens with the characters we already know are the big ticket items. But this world and how Michel is telling its story is so rich, so full of moments that will stay with you, that even if these first to novels are “merely” setting it up for the bigger stuff to come—you want to read them.

This is a fantasy novel, and like most of them, this features some very important fight scenes, as well as a few battle scenes. Frankly, I find the smaller combat scenes more satisfying—and I usually do, that’s probably more of a personal taste thing. The larger battle scenes were really well done, and were largely haunting. The one-on-one fights/small group vs. small group/one-on-small group fights were much more satisfying (and somewhat haunting, too). They had me in much more suspense than the others. I audibly reacted to the last one focusing on Ishoa—I think you could see that particular point in her arc coming (either in this book or not), but actually seeing it made me cheer and pump my fist.

I may have shouted at my ereader for what the last page held—especially once I realized it was the last page, and not simply the end of a chapter.

What I’m saying is that once Michel stopped setting up his dominoes and started the reactions, you’re going to care. You’re going to be reeling. You’re going to wonder—”just where is he taking this?” while not caring that much because the ride is so fun.

I don’t remember the last time I was this invested in a Fantasy series. I suggest you all hop on board.

What’s Dark Neon & Dirt About?

I’ve tried 6 different versions of this, and have ended up saying something I regret each time. Let’s see if I can nail it this time. I’m thinking of a recipe.

Ingredients

• 1 child who escaped Vietnam right after the fall of Saigon, who learned to defuse bombs to serve in Iraq, and is now one of LA’s most successful thieves
• 1 LAPD lieutenant whose driving interest (not quite an obsession, but you never know) is finding out this thief’s identity and apprehending him. I’m not sure if he cares about the order. His other interests? Best if you don’t know
• 1 member of the FBI’s Art Crime Team who decided that opening a gallery in France seemed like a more lucrative way to spend her time
• A generous amount of LA Noir to season

Directions

1. Combine the robber, cop, and seasoning, mix well.
2. Slowly pour in the gallerist.
3. Bring to rolling boil over a sweaty LA heat.
4. Serve hot.

Heat

If Trang isn’t one of Michael Mann’s biggest fans, he’s sure acting like it. Or at least the narrative voice of this book is. I was to wrapped up in things to count, but there were a number of direct references and allusions to Heat. Enough that there’s no way that the reader is not supposed to pay attention to as many as you can catch.

That said—despite what I expected after the first couple of references—beyond it being about a fairly successful thief being chased by a detective, and the cat-and-mouse between them and the biggest score in the thief’s career, there’s very little overlap.

I’m pretty sure if you enjoyed Heat that this is going to be right up your alley. But that’s true of people who enjoyed Winslow’s Crime 101, or any good cop-and-robbers story.

So, what did I think about Dark Neon & Dirt?

I want to say a lot about this book, but I’m afraid I’ll spill more than you want me to, prospective reader. Although…even saying that there’s something to spill is sort of accomplishing that anyway. I’m just not going to win here.

This grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. I rarely—if ever—knew just where he was taking the story or the characters. And even if I was right about something, it felt more like a lucky guess than me understanding what Trang’s plan was. That’s from the first scene to the last—and all stops in between.

It’s hard to elaborate on this, but let me make a couple of notes on character. Once you put down the novel for the last time, I expect you’ll take a couple of minutes and re-evaluate almost every choice made by the majority of the characters. You’ll also find yourself appreciating the way that every character felt like a new twist on a tried-and-true favorite type. You find yourself getting annoyed with, if not actively disliking, characters who would be the protagonists/heroes of pretty much every other crime novel you can think of. Most of the rest will generate a good deal of ambivalent feelings for you (eventually, in the moment, you’ll be pulling for their success).

Honestly, I’m still revising my thoughts on a couple of characters as I type this up.

One thing you won’t revise is how these people think and talk—especially talk. You all know how much I’m a sucker for good dialogue, and Trang did not disappoint. Especially Lt. Monroe, something about his lines endeared him to me.

I mentioned Winslow above, and this is just the kind of story he’d tell—Trang doesn’t have Winslow’s style (yet), but his voice and story-telling choices are similar. I can also see this as an outline that Elmore Leonard would work from. For a debut novel, it’s hard to ask for more than that.

Within a chaper or two, I pretty much felt like Trang came over and sat down too close to me on some bench, so I had to slide over a bit before introducing himself and telling me that I needed to make some room on my shelves between Tolkein and Tropper because he intended on filling it over the next few years.

Trang’s got the chops—I cannot wait to see what comes next. I strongly encourage crime readers (particularly those with an affinity for novels that live in the gray areas) to pick this up, while I go reorganize my shelves.

Disclaimer: I was provided a copy of this ARC by the author a day or two before I was going to order it, so it really didn’t affect my opinion of it–he just saved me a few bucks. (and I paid him back by not posting this on time, he really didn’t come out good in this deal).

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Kaua’i Storm About?

Makalani Pahukula, who has been serving Crater Lake in Oregon as a Park Ranger for years, comes home to Kaua‘i for the first time in even longer for the celebration of her grandmother’s eightieth birthday—which is going to be a family reunion/community gathering on a pretty grand scale.

When Makalani touches down, it’s not quite the joyous occasion she’d anticipated. Yes, her parents and grandmother are delighted to see her—as is an old friend (I’m going to forget to mention this later, but we needed more of her). But two of Makalani’s cousins are missing—one is in high school and the other is a former college football star.

Their disappearances are being written off as some foolish lark—although it gets the family squabbling—each set of parents blaming the other and lashing out. Makalani doesn’t think either explanation fits the cousins she remembers (while making allowances for people changing) and she wonders why the police haven’t been involved.* After a dead body is found in the nearby forest, Makalani starts to meddle and takes it upon herself to find her cousins—over the objections of just about everyone.

* And once the police eventually do get involved, you start to understand the families’ decision not to involve them, and they certainly make things worse.

A Question of Genre

First—I’m not sure that’s the best heading for this section, but it’s close enough. Secondly—I really don’t care about this when it comes to what I think about the book, but this kept running through the back of my mind.

This is billed as a mystery, and it kind of is one—I think more of a thriller than a mystery, but we’re getting into the weeds there. And Eldridge has a reputation as a thriller writer (thrillers that I greatly appreciate, I should add).

But her thrillers also involve a good layer of something else—descriptions of a minority culture (in the U.S.), trauma, business/family culture (in other nations), and so on. She pulls that off here, too. In more than one way.

We also get a fair amount of multi-generational family drama, a little social commentary, some local history, and more.

So much so that the thriller/mystery aspect of the book takes a back-seat to everything else for significant lengths of time. It doesn’t hurt the novel as a whole—in fact, it makes it richer. There are family members and friends that I can hand this to that I can’t hand a lot of the mysteries/thrillers that I read (and I wonder if a couple of the thriller-junkies in my life would put up with this).

Culture and Language

Speaking of that kind of thing…

I am as haole as you can get—so much so that I can’t pronounce it correctly or even consistently, despite having heard it in various formats for years. So, a lot of this book took work for me to understand—work I enjoyed and was glad to do, mind you. But there was effort.

Eldridge littered this book with ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i words and phrases and Pidgin English like crazy. All—or close enough to round up—can be understood in context with a little effort. But for those who want to be sure of their understanding, there’s a great glossary in the back—including words and phrases—both Pidgin English and ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i—as well as phrases, geographical references, historical and mythological figures. I didn’t consult it (foolishly?) until I was done—that’s just how I roll. It confirmed a lot for me and fleshed some things out, too. I do recommend consulting it in the moment.

I knew about, and chose to ignore, the Glossary. Until I finished, I didn’t realize Eldridge also gave us a handy dramatis personae, which would’ve been a great aid in keeping track of the relationships between this large cast. Do you need to read/consult it? No. But I certainly wouldn’t discourage it.

But even beyond the supplemental material, this book is about as close as you can get to a documentary on contemporary Kaua‘i as you can get while keeping this a work of fiction. There’s a lot about homesteading—and the ethnic makeups required for it (past and present), those who live off the grid in public lands, and…I’m not going to be able to provide an exhaustive list, so I’m going to just stop.

I’ll summarize by saying that this is a rich and informative look at the non-touristy part of Hawai‘i (or at least one island’s version of it). Added to the tiered cake of characters and missing-person plot, this icing is just great.

So, what did I think about Kaua’i Storm?

This is going up late—I realize that, and apologize to Eldridge and Thomas & Mercer for that—but I had a hard time resisting talking about all that this novel attempts (mostly successfully) to accomplish.

It’s a very crowded book, I have to say, Eldridge puts a lot into these 445 pages. There’s a storyline involving an overly-zealous student of culture that generally felt out of place, and maybe was. It couldn’t be told at another time, as much as I wondered if it could’ve been used in a sequel instead of this book, because it seemed of tertiary importance and interest compared to everything else going on. It was also entertaining and satisfying—so I’m glad she included it.

Still, it reads like a thriller of 250-300 pages, which is a neat trick.

I didn’t enjoy this as much as a Lily Wong book (it shouldn’t feel like one, and doesn’t), and I enjoyed it in different ways than her previous work (as I should’ve). Having established this world and the characters—it’d be very easy for Eldridge to lighten up on the background material in the future, and keep the focus on the plot and characters while exploring the world (and keeping up the commentary)—making it a leaner and more focused thriller/mystery. I hope that’s where Eldridge takes it—but I won’t complain too much if she doesn’t.

How did I make it this far without talking about Makalani? This is her book more than anything. We’ve all read/watched versions of her story—the kid who couldn’t wait to leave home who comes back discovering how much she missed it, how much she’s changed—and how everyone she left behind remembers her. This version of this template is very successful. She reconnects with her past, her heritage, her family—and she sees how who she is today comes from all of that. Plus, she’s a pretty kick-ass ranger. It’s going to be fun to watch her at work. She’s tough, resourceful, and determined—but not in your typical action-hero way, more like the kind of person you could meet in real life. Likely in the line of duty as a ranger. Her connection with the land—in Hawai‘i or Oregon—and sense of duty is going to get a lot of readers to respond positively to her.

This is a solid thriller, but it’s so much more. And it’ll definitely leave you hungry for a sequel. I strongly recommend it.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Class Clown About?

It’s really all there in the subtitle: it’s Dave Barry’s memoirs about his career as a professional wiseass—primarily through his humor column, but he’s found other outlets for it, too.

Here’s some of the jacket copy to help beef that up:

America’s most beloved wiseass finally tells his life story with all the humor you’d expect from a man who made a career out of making fun of pretty much everything.

How does the son of a Presbyterian minister wind up winning a Pulitzer Prize for writing a wildly inaccurate newspaper column read by millions of people?

In Class Clown, Dave Barry takes us on a hilarious ride, starting with a childhood largely spent throwing rocks for entertainment—there was no internet—and preparing for nuclear war by hiding under a classroom desk. After literally getting elected class clown in high school, he went to college, where, as an English major, he read snippets of great literature when he was not busy playing in a rock band (it was the sixties).

He began his journalism career at a small-town Pennsylvania newspaper where he learned the most important rule of local journalism: never confuse a goose with a duck. His journey then took a detour into the business world, where as a writing consultant he spent years trying, with limited success, to get corporate folks to, for God’s sake, get the point. Somehow from there he wound up as a humor columnist for The Miami Herald, where his boss was a wild man who encouraged him to write about anything that struck him as amusing and to never worry about alienating anyone…

Class Clown isn’t just a memoir; it’s a vibrant celebration of a life rich with humor, absurdity, joy, and sadness. Dave says the most important wisdom imparted by his Midwestern parents was never to take anything too seriously. This laughter-filled book is proof that he learned that lesson well.

His Origin Story

The first four chapters are the most autobiographical part of the book—a little less than 50% of it. Here we cover his parents, his childhood, schooling, and early career—from his first newspaper job, his detour through business education, and then finding his way back to journalism and becoming a humor columnist.

This is all the nitty-gritty stuff—what were his parents like? (nothing like you’d guess) What did his childhood entail? (bad jokes and throwing things) What did he write before making money with booger jokes? And so on.

This was the more educational—in a good way, I stress—part. He wrote about is parents, in particular, with warmth and humanity. He was open about some of their struggles, but with sensitivity. I really appreciated the way he talked about his marriages—past and present—very briefly, yet definitively. There is some humor, but it’s largely self-directed, or at the culture he and his parents were in.

This is really the kind of thing you come to a memoir for, and Barry did it well. He quotes some of his more serious (and some of his less-serious) columns here to show what he’s said about these things in the past.

Topical Memories

A little over half the book is devoted to what I’m describing as “Topical Memories”—he has a chapter on things like “My Readers,” “Politics,” and “Books, Music, and Movies.” In these, he relates a collection of stories and anecdotes from all over his career along these lines.

So we get stories about the great things his readers have sent him—and some of the less positive things they’ve said. Scandals he created—inadvertently or not. How he was involved in Obama’s first inaugural parade, or had Bruce Springsteen sing backup for him, how he accidentally offended an audience of Russians by screening one of his films. I particularly enjoyed him talking about his feud with his Neil Diamond-loving readers (I’m a pretty big Diamond fan, but thought Barry’s jokes were good and deserved, for what it’s worth)

There are several extended quotations from his columns here—and we get a lot of the stories behind the columns, too. Not the nuts-and-bolts of how he wrote them, but what led to them.

If the Origin Story chapters were educational—this was recess. Just a lot of fun and goofing off, telling wild stories and recounting past glories (and blunders). It was exactly the kind of thing that Barry readers pick up his books for.

The Appendix

I don’t frequently talk about appendices; they’re supplemental material, and I prefer to focus on the main portion of the book, but every now and then, one comes along that demands attention.

For example (as you might have guessed), this appendix. It was a hoot—its title is “A Good Name for a Rock Band.” Barry (like many of us) will frequently pick up on a phrase from something he quoted and say it would be a good name for a rock band (also known by the super-easy and memorable acronym WBAGNFARB). After discussing this practice a bit, Barry gives a non-exhaustive, but extensive list of some of those bands.

I think reading them in context is best—but you definitely can appreciate them in a different way with no context whatsoever. They are definitely more ridiculous that way.

It’s worth picking the book up from the shelf at your local bookstore/library just to read those few pages. (Of course, you’d be better served by reading the whole thing). Even people who don’t have a background with Barry will find some laughs there.

So, what did I think about Class Clown?

I’m fairly certain at this point in my life that I’m hardwired to enjoy Davy Barry’s writing, and that I don’t have the neuroplasticity to change that. No matter what apps for seniors I try. So maybe take this with a softball-sized grain of salt.

I really enjoyed this book. A lot—and on several levels.

Part of me would’ve liked a little more depth, a little more digging into details of his life, maybe his approach to writing. But it’d just feel strange knowing that much about Barry—and we all know what happens to a joke when you dissect it, knowing too much about how his sausage is made might not be that entertaining. Really, for Dave Barry—this is about as deep as we want. Every time I started to say “I wish he’d given us more about X,” I stopped myself and realized that no, this was just the right amount.

So no, it’s not as self-revealing as say, Patrick Stewart’s or Matthew Perry’s books—and that’s good.

This is a great way to get to know Barry a little better—given the nature of his work, a lot of us have had a para-social relationship with him before that was a phrase people used. It’s nice for us to deepen that relationship to a degree—before we get back to jokes about exploding cows, questionable song lyrics, or whatever.

I heartily encourage readers of Dave Barry to pick this up—even casual readers will have fun with this, you don’t have to be a die-hard like me. He’s one of a kind, and it’s great to bask in that for a little while.

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Simon & Schuster via NetGalley in exchange for this post which contains my honest opinion—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Hive About?

We open on a semi-functional (less so by the day) biodome some 30 years in the future (it’s vague, but safe to put it in the 2040s-2060s largely depending from when the reader picks this up)—there are two living humans, and an AI of sorts trying to keep going. There are some other biodomes out there, and hopefully, they’re doing better. The land outside the biodome is not fit to sustain human life—or much in the way of animal or vegetable life, either.

They have enough energy to use a spacetime bridge one more time as a last-ditch effort to go back and stop things from getting to this point. The target day was a fateful day for the two of them as individuals, and apparently one for the timeline as well (probably for different reasons, I’m not suggesting history pivots on them). They can send one person back with the sole idea of preventing their present.

I’m being as vague on details as the characters are here—you’ll get an idea about the particulars later.

We spend the rest of the book watching how this plays out from the point of view of some pivotal individuals (earlier versions of these characters in one way or another), with some observations from that AI about how well it’s working and the chances their mission holds of success.

A Quick Look at the Characters

Our primary characters (in the 2010s-2030s) are Matthew, Diego, and Isabel. Matthew and Diego did some work together in the past, and have some loose connections in the book’s “present”—but they’re not great pals or anything, and their stories don’t intertwine much (in Hive, anyway—I expect that to change). Matthew is a physicist of some repute and his expertise will be important.

When we meet Isabel, her divorce has just been finalized and she is excited and free from her husband (well, as free as you can be from an egomanical technocrat that you happen to work for and who owns your research). Diego is the would-be do-gooder scientist/entrepreneur who’s trying to do his part to help poorer countries with their water supply. Diego is also the one who got away, for Isabel. Through some unlikely coincidences (probably shaped by their future selves), they reconnect and try to start over/make up for lost time.

Also, they’ve received prompting from future-Isabel to stop Dave. It’s unclear what they’re supposed to stop him from doing, but they’re all in.

Dave is the kind of character that the reader is primed and ready to hate, or at least really dislike, from his first line of dialogue—and your impression of him goes downhill from there. There are a few sycophants in his company that we don’t get to know too well, but their devotion to him really solidifies your impression of them.

Meanwhile, Matthew is pretty much kidnapped by a couple of representatives of the U.S. government to work on a mysterious artifact, presumably (to the reader) something sent back to the past from the biodome. The senior member of this pair is easily as dislikable as Dave—almost irrationally so. And while he might be one of the “good guys,” or at least is working to help people, he’s definitely one of those envisioned by the coiners of the phrase, “Who needs enemies with friends like this?”

I’m focusing on these two here to be efficient—other than these two jackwagons, 99% of the rest of the characters (from very minor on up) are kind, pleasant, smart (if not brilliant), and are working to improve things. They’re the kinds of characters you want to spend time with—they’ve got good senses of humor, are optimistic and determined to keep going. Reading about them while there’s some sort of apocalypse around them is actually pleasant. Even if only you and the AI knew how bad things were going to get for them, you would like their chances and be pleased every time the AI mentioned their chances of improving their chances of success.

A Focused Armageddon

It’s hard to judge the scope of this/these calamity/calamities—our view is of Denver and the surrounding area. We get some hints that conditions are the same in other parts of the country as things get worse. But we really don’t know what things are like outside the U.S.

Given how bad it is 30+ years into the future when we first see things, it makes sense to think this happened globally. But it’s also possible that the devastation was limited to North America (or just the U.S.) and the rest of the world was able to protect itself, or weren’t exposed to the effects. During the bulk of our time with Diego and Isabel, some forms of communication work and some don’t for them, so it’s believable that they just have no clue what’s happening outside of Colorado. Communications around Matthew seem a lot more reliable, but he’s kept so much in the dark that it really doesn’t get the reader anywhere.

I’m not sure how much it matters for the story—particularly at this point. But I think it’s fun to speculate about while you’re reading and afterwards. Has the rest of the world moved on, fairly intact, waiting for things to calm down in North America so they can come over and try to rebuild? Or are they, so far removed from the three events, suffering just as much?

Crossing in Time

Feel free to skip this part and move on—I’m not sure this adds much to the overall post, but I can’t stop thinking about this.

This is a reworked version of Orton’s novel Crossing in Time. I listened to that book back in 2021 and enjoyed it—try as I might not to, I inevitably kept what was different about this version. The little voice in the back of my head just wouldn’t shut up. To make things worse—I think I have some details of Crossing in Time conflated with one or more other time travel books involving a strong love story.*

What I think she did here was lop off some later chapters, I assume to move them to Book Two. And introduce and/or beef up some of the chapters and subplots. I’m more sure about the former than the latter, if I’m right, that makes the ending more of a cliff-hanger that will springboard you into wanting Book Two in your hands straightaway.

I also think Orton removed what could be described as convolutions—making the novel more streamlined and fast-paced. Overall, I get her choices, and I do think it makes the book a stronger read.

But again, I could be wrong—but I couldn’t stop thinking about it as I read the book, or as I think about it now—so I had to get this out.

* With apologies to the author, there have been 800 or so books between now and then, details get fuzzy.

So, what did I think about Hive?

This is a fast-paced, propulsive read filled with amiable characters who aren’t afraid to joke around even when things are tense or confusing. The hook gets set pretty early, and the pages melt away as you plunge ahead to follow the events. It’s exactly the kind of popcorn read that helps you escape after a long day.

The tech is very cool—both the stuff that Isabel developed and the items that Matthew talks about and develops. Orton gives you enough to understand how it all works and to visualize it clearly without bogging down the pace with paragraphs and paragraphs of details. The plausibility of it all? Eh, it’s SF, it’s plausible enough if you come with a standard level of suspension of disbelief needed for time travel (especially, in this case, when the time travel comes with a side order of multiverse story).

Because of the pacing, Orton’s able to get away with a few things that maybe she couldn’t in a slower-moving book. I don’t actually see the grounding of the romance between Diego and Isabel—he’s carried a torch for years, she regrets making the choice years ago to walk away. But…that’s it. We don’t see many sparks, just have to take it because we’re told that. There’s no reason for the senior agent involved with Matthew to be such an ass to everyone, all the time, especially when just a sentence from him now and then would be enough to get people to work with him instead of his threats (and I don’t care how instinctive and characteristic his brusqueness is, you don’t move up in an organization simply be being mule-headed, there has to be at least an insincere level of cooperativeness expressed occasionally). All the depth of the characters that could be brought out are merely nodded to, or you have to assume them.

Actually, this all might be necessary because of her pacing. If so, I understand the choice (as much as I disagree with it).

I want to stress, however, in the moment, you don’t think about this (and if you do, you brush it off because you don’t want to step out of the movement). Everything works, everything clicks while you’re reading and speeding off to the next twist/revelation. It’s only after you get to the ending that leaves you holding onto the cliff’s edge with your fingers that this might occur to you if you stop and think about it. Mostly, you’re going to be thinking about how long it will be until you can get your hands on Book Two.

It’s easily enjoyable, engrossing, and entertaining. You should give it a try.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s One Death at a Time About?

Natasha Mason is a twenty-something still trying to figure out what to do with her life—her alcoholism led to her leaving law school, and now she’s paying bills by delivering food and doing other gig economy standbys in L.A., and making sure she makes at least one meeting a day.

At one of these meetings, a vaguely familiar-looking woman shows up—and is not the friendliest of people. She seems—well, is—more concerned about getting her court-mandated signature than in anything else. Mason volunteers to be this woman’s interim sponsor. Now this older woman had been sober before, but on the night that led to the court-mandated meetings had a blood-alcohol level that stunned a rowdy twelve-step meeting into silence. She’d also come out of a blackout next to the dead body of a former lover/decades-long antagonist and what was probably the murder weapon. For a night she couldn’t remember—it’d clearly been eventful.

The next morning, Mason shows up at the gate of her obviously well-off sponsee. Thanks to some time on the internet, Mason knows her to be Julia Mann—a former box office star, now a lawyer taking on cases for as many Davids as she can in a city of Goliaths. Oh, and in between careers, she’d been in prison due to the death of her husband—the former business partner of the dead man she’s currently suspected of killing.

This meeting didn’t go the way Mason suspected—for one, Julia Mann’s housekeeper is an amazing cook, as Mason learned. Also, the two kept butting heads—Mason wanted to talk about Julia’s sobriety, but Julia was rather fixated on the murder. And yet…something clicked between the two. In between verbal jousts,* Julia ends up hiring Mason to be her personal assistant and help with the investigation. Mason justifies this to herself as a way to stay near Julia and keep her sober. The chance to eat more of Claudia’s cooking and make more money than an app can pay doesn’t hurt.**

Before you know it, these two have got themselves involved in a separate murder investigation (another David for Juila to work for), arson, tensions around Julia’s former career in the film industry, tensions around Julia’s future career in the film industry (she wants none of it, but no one seems to care), brushes with organized crime, multiple reasons for both or either of them to ditch their sobriety, and more things that I can fit into this rambling sentence.

* The back-and-forth between these two is reason enough to try this book. Waxman will supply several others, it should be noted.

** Yes, this makes two books in as many months about an LA-based delivery driver turning amateur investigator.

The Murder Mystery(ies)

Murder mysteries surrounding the film industry tend to have a few things in common—secrets, petty grievances that get nurtured into full-blown rivalries (or worse), scandals (for an industry reputed to be filled with amoral hedonists, there really are a lot of moral scandals), and organized crime.

One Death at a Time ticks all of these boxes—and a few others that I should’ve listed above, but forgot to. This may be Waxman’s first mystery, but she clearly understands the genre and knows how to construct a classic whodunit in a contemporary setting.

You get all the twists, turns, red herrings, and layers upon layers of competing motives for multiple suspects that you need—doled out in just the right pacing with dollops of shocks and action along the way. The final reveal is satisfying, and every loose plotline is tied up. It’s a textbook example of the genre—pleasing in every way.

The Humor/Tone/Relationships

This might be a clumsy way to tackle these ideas, but it’s where I am.

Yes, Waxman is known for Rom Coms—or Rom Com-adjacent—books, so we all know she’s funny. This seemed to me to be more overtly comedic. There are jokes—many of them—not just funny situations and loveable, quirky characters doing goofy things. Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of those (as well as non-lovable, quirky characters).

This reads like Dave Barry’s kind of crime novel, with the restraint of a Richard Osman. The verbal jousting is great, and the physical comedy is almost as good. The situations are frequently ridiculous, but never so much so that you get taken out of the moment.

The technical term that best describes Mason is “wiseass,” and one with poor impulse control. Someone who doesn’t know how to keep her trap shut, powered by Waxman’s wit is a fun character to read. Julia’s no slouch in that department either, but she’s more mature, she knows that she should pick her targets with care—and is therefore usually more effective.

The rest of Julia’s team (I will not tell you about them, so you can meet them properly) and some of the other characters the reader encounters have drier wits, largely fitting into the typical Waxman model. Oh, except this one actress…nope. You wouldn’t believe me if I tried to describe her.

Mason’s support system consists of the meetings she attends, her sponsor, and her cat. Julia has a strong team of employees and friends (the Venn diagram there has a large area of overlap)—they’re just not that effective on the sobriety front, but they make up for that with their loyalty. Julia also has a pretty strong network of former friends, employers, and employees in and around the film industry. These are loyal to their grudges against her and their own self-interest—however, they (or at least most of them) want her to succeed in her search for the killer, so they can move on with their lives and careers.

You combine all of this—with a (slowly) growing relationship of affection, trust, and appreciation between our protagonists—and you’ve got yourself a great basis for comedy with heart.

Sobriety

One thing that Waxman never made light of in all of this was the sobriety of the characters. Yes, Julia would mock Mason’s approach to being her sponsor, but that was about the characters’ personality differences—both of them took it seriously.

Not all of the characters appreciated the struggle and what the characters did to preserve it—but none of the comedy was about the drinking.

The opening meeting did get me to chuckle frequently, but that was character-based humor. The book never gets preachy at the reader, just to each other.

So, what did I think about One Death at a Time?

I had a blast with this—if you couldn’t tell. This is my fifth Waxman novel, so I went into it expecting that I would. I just wasn’t sure how much I’d enjoy it, because of the genre. But if I didn’t know who she was before I picked this up, I’d be scouring the library for her Abbi Waxman now.

It does—as it should—feel very different than her previous works. I’d say this is closer to last year’s Christa Comes Out of Her Shell than the rest, but even saying that, this is different. The stakes are (obviously) higher for these characters; there are potentially lethal consequences for failure. Which might explain the more heavy-handed approach to the comedy.

I think I’ve said everything I wanted to above—the mystery part is really well done; the characters are well-designed and well-excecuted, the relationships between them are strong and obvious—you like the people you’re supposed to like enough that you wish you sat around the room with them, watching them go back and forth while eating whatever wonderful treat/meal Claudia has prepared. Also, it’s funny. That’s a one-two-three combination that I’ll always enjoy and recommend.

This feels like a standalone, but it could easily spawn a sequel or more. If it does, I’ll be first in line. If it doesn’t…well, that’s okay, too. It works really well either way.

Basically, reader, if any of the above tickles your fancy—you need to add this to your TBR. I practically guarantee you’ll have a great time.

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Berkley Publishing Group via NetGalley in exchange for this post, which contains my honest opinion—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s My Documents About?

Soon after the fall of Saigon, but not soon enough, a woman named Bà Nội manages to escape Vietnam with her four-year-old son—she’d been able to send two of her children to the U.S. earlier. Sadly, her husband was unable to leave with them. As the novel opens in the mid-2010s, we meet four of this son’s children—Ursula, Alvin, Jen, and Duncan.

These siblings and cousins are on the cusp of adulthood. Ursala is trying to make it as a journalist in NYC, Alvin is starting an internship (that will hopefully/likely turn into something more) at Google, Jen is enjoying the freedom that comes from being away from home at NYU, and Duncan’s passion is playing on his high school football team—and he’s pretty successful at it. All in all, this is a pretty good realization of Bà Nội’s American Dream (even if most of the family had hoped for something more lucrative for Ursala than being a writer).

Then the U.S. is rocked by a series of coordinated terrorist attacks that result in the overwhelming majority of Vietnamese-Americans being placed in various internment camps. Jen, Duncan, and their mother are placed in Camp Tacoma, while Ursula and Alvin are able to get exemptions.

The novel traces the lives of these four (as well as some of their relatives) through this dark time—showing how technology, business, the media, the government, and prejudice collude to create and maintain this system, as well as the public reaction and eventual distraction (with sporadic moments of attention and protest). But beyond that, we see how those most impacted by these policies survive this—and how they try to adjust, cling to their humanity, and try to do more than survive.

The Cousins

First, I should note that we also get some time with their shared father (who was not really involved in their lives growing up), Dan. Without getting into it, Dan took a very different path than his children—or the majority of Vietnamese-Americans—during this time. His actions—which we check in on sporadically—serve to contrast what the rest go through.

But I want to focus on—as the book does—the cousins. These are fantastically drawn, deeply flawed, and relatable characters. They all react very differently to their circumstances, and grow (or at least develop) through them in ways that are completely believable. In much the same way that the fall of Saigon and escape to the U.S. shaped the lives and psyches of their grandmother and father, this period does that to them.

More than Survival

In the beginning—even for those outside the camps—it’s just about survival. You do what you’re told, you make sure to obey the men with guns, you keep your head down and just hold on to whatever you can. But in time, you find ways to breathe, to relax, to find community and support, you even find ways to help others.

The guards organize football games for the detainees, which are attended by most of those in the camp. It allows Duncan to thrive. Jen gets work on the camp’s official newspaper—which, yes, is basically a propaganda machine (everyone knows this), but it helps her hone her writing and gets her exposure to most of the camp, as well as access. Because of her access, she’s brought into the circle of a smuggling operation that brings in some forms of food, life-saving medicine that the camp won’t bring in, and even digital copies of TV, movies, and music.

It’s through these temporary escapes from their daily circumstances—authorized or not—that the detainees are able to remember that there’s more to living than existing. There are flashes of joy and relief in the midst of their tense, precarious, and tragic circumstances.

It’s in this part of the novel that the reader is able to find more than just a frighteningly possible dystopia; it’s what elevates this.

So, what did I think about My Documents?

One of the more chilling aspects of this book is how most Americans move on from the internment. It makes headlines and creates some scandal for a bit, and then the attention of the public shifts to something else. Every now and then, something will come up that gets people riled up a little bit, but nothing sticks for most of the public. This is a dystopia—but not for everyone. Not that many people suffer. And while things could be better for people like Ursula and Alvin, outside of their own missteps and failings, their lives are pretty good.

The more I think about that, the more terrifying it is. The more realistic and possible it seems, too.

There’s a moment toward the beginning of the book where Ursula is attending a lecture from a working journalist, who says that a good story tells us something about people—how they live and how they are self-deluded. It seemed like a pretty obvious spotlight on one of Nguyen’s themes. And it happens so early, I don’t feel bad getting that specific. Not only is that a good way to think about stories (true and fictional) in general—it’s a key to this work.

Every person we spend extended time with—and several that we don’t—are under one or more forms of delusion—some external, but many come from within. This, too, is Nguyen’s realism shining forth. The way these four fool themselves is so relatable and so pitiable. It may sound like I’m criticizing the characters (and maybe I am a little), but this is a testimony to the way Nguyen depicts them, they come alive in their failings more than in their strengths.

I would’ve liked to see a little more of the relationship between Duncan and Alvin. But the way we—and they—were denied that is one of the stronger elements, the more I think about it. Once they’re unable to communicate after the internment (which, naturally, comes with a total lack of mobile phone/internet access), they themselves think about the ways they missed out.

I do think some readers will be put off by how fun this book sometimes is. Jen has a similar thought when the underground starts distributing TV shows and people get so into them—but her smuggler acquaintance assures her that this is good. There’s a little bit of enjoyment in these people’s lives now—they’re doing more than just existing.Also, the moments of lightness do a great job of setting you up for the next gut-punch of a development. Nguyen’s is good at lulling his readers into that.

This is a gripping, well-plotted read that keeps moving along, too. There’s a momentum that slowly builds, almost like a thriller, until you’re barreling toward the conclusion.

This is a powerful, haunting, uncomfortable (purposefully) read that will also charm you. I’ve been having a hard time moving on from this book in the days since I read it. I keep finding ways to talk about it or think about it—and the more I do either, the more I appreciate this work. This is definitely one of the best—both affective and effective—books I’ve read in some time.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s The Price of Power About?

This is not the easiest question to answer, I’ll tell you right now. The title really sums it up well, this is a story about what power costs—political, familial, monetary, military, personal, magical.

But that’s not much of a plot, that’s more of a description. There are four plotlines—that somewhat overlap, but most of that overlap is promised for Book Two and beyond. But the further you read, the more you see how they are intertwined even if most of the characters don’t see/understand that yet.

So I’m going to steal a little from the blurb that Michel sent me (and that I posted recently) to give some quick thoughts about each plotline.

“A mad prophet determined to control reality”

This is the hardest one to talk about, primarily because this storyline is full of symbolism, visions, dreams, and magic. The point of view character and most of the people him aren’t sure what is going on—what’s real, what’s a dream, and what’s their imagination. Those who do know what’s going on are either lying, deluded, or a supernatural entity who is trying to trick the humans.

I was engrossed, though. I may not have understood it all, but I was hooked by what I did figure out. By the last chapter of this storyline? I was gobsmacked. While I felt like I should’ve understood what Michel was going for early on, there was no reason for me to have. It was one of those situations where an author did something fairly unexpected, but did it so well that you couldn’t imagine any other way it could’ve gone.

“A dead prince who isn’t dead”

This, on the other hand, is a straightforward story about a prince whose thirst for vengeance—driven by rage and grief—led to a type of destruction that might make Tywin Lannister take a step back.

Now he’s just trying to avoid contact with everyone, denying who he is, dwelling on what he did, and what it cost him (the price he paid, to make it less than subtle). You almost feel sorry for him and wish he’d snap out of his self-pity and self-destruction when he needs to (which is right about the time we meet him). But also…if anyone should hate themselves, it’s hard to argue against him.

The action in these chapters is just great—the prince and his allies face off against some very vile criminals. The fight scenes will get your blood pumping—and maybe a fist or two (but not every time). There are horrors—and the closest you’ll get to grins in this book.

Barodane is set up for a redemption story. But I’m not convinced that’s what Michel has in mind. Of all these four plots, this is the one I’m most invested in because of some of the surrounding characters.

“An orphan with hero’s blood”

This, too, feels like a familiar fantasy story. A princess raised to take the place of her dead parents leading the nation through a tumultuous time, with everyone wondering if she is capable of doing the job. You just can’t help but feel bad for this girl. She’s got the weight of the world on her shoulders (or at least the weight of a nation), and pressures and expectations on her are as high as can be.

On the one hand, what she’s called upon to do (so far) is easier than the rest—but her age and visibility even out the scales a bit. I like her, I like her teachers and her animal companion. But honestly, everyone else in her immediate circle could be wiped out and the only reason I’d care is because of the impact it’d have on those four.

I’m pretty sure that I’ve spent a decent amount of time leaning forward during her chapters like you do during a tense part of a film (am I the only one who does that while reading?). A lot of the turns her story took were expected—but not all of them were. And a couple left me reeling.

“And a powerful seer “

This is a hard storyline to work through. This grandmother/Obi-Wan figure is a tough old lady, having to act tougher than she really is to do what she has to. Her ability to see time and reality have shown her what needs to happen, and the price she and her grandson will have to pay.

Michel keeps the details vague at this point—but you get to see enough to keep you invested and eager to learn alongside her grandson. If, as I/the title/and I think the author say, this book is about the price you pay for power—this seer has paid a hefty price already and is preparing to pay a bigger price. She’s also caused (and plans on causing) others to pay—it’s a little unclear who benefited from them paying great prices, but the seer would claim it’s for the greater good (and probably believes that).

There’s a very cool magic battle in this story—at least one, anyway—and just knowing that this kind of thing is possible around this woman will keep you invested, even if you weren’t inclined to be anyway.

This seer is very much in the Elizabeth Best (from The Thursday Murder Club)/Taishi (from The Art of Prophecy)/Akina Azure (from Partial Function) mold of scarily competent elderly characters. Barodane might be a frighteningly violent warrior, but honestly, this woman would worry me more if I lived in this world. The way she’s tied to every other storyline just makes me want to understand her more than her own did.

Dramatis personae

There’s a lengthy (or maybe my e-reader font is just set large enough that it seems that way) dramatis personae at the beginning of the novel—if you’re like me, keep it open on your phone while you use an e-reader for easy reference. If you got your hands on a paper copy, keep a bookmark there—you’re going to want to check it often for the first third or so (results may vary on your attention span or memory).

Even if you don’t rely on it, it’s a good way to think about the book—4 rosters of characters to get to know now.

I expect that those who survive will get tossed together like a salad in the ensuing novels.

How the Novel Works

This isn’t a “Book One: Barodane”, “Book Two: Princess” kind of thing where each book tells the complete story of each character. Each character/storyline gets a chapter and then it moves on to the next, and keeps rotating that way. There are some variations from the pattern, but it holds more often than not—and any of the variations only serve to push the story forward.

There are two schools of thought when it comes to chapters—a lot of authors will close an idea, or a time period at the end of a chapter. This makes it easy to put your bookmark/quitter strip in the book and set it down to sleep, eat, converse with people, or whatever. Other writers will end a chapter in a way that propels you to move on to the next (Jim Butcher, for example, talks a lot about this practice). This keeps you engaged, moves you to keep reading—and is an excellent way to annoy a reader who really has other things they should be doing.

Michel falls into the latter category. Of course, the trick with this book is that as a Bardodane chapter leaves you hungry for the next thing in his story—but you have to go through three other plotlines before you get back to it (and each one of those will leave you hungry to press on with that storyline). I love this—I also hate it. Some people will choose to skip chapters to stick with one story through the end. This is a mistake—and will inevitably involve you getting something spoiled (I can think of at least once where that spoiler is major. There may be more to come).

So gird up, and prepare for Michel to play with you like a fisherman trying to tire out his catch before reeling it all the way in.

The Secondary Characters

To keep this to a length people would want to read, I’ve limited what I’ve said about secondary characters. This is a problem—some of them just as interesting and compelling as the point-of-view characters (possibly more so). That long dramatis personae is filled with people you will want to spend time with, or at least understand better. And sure, some of them are despicable and you will root for their defeat (but you’ll still want to understand them and maybe spend time with them on the page, just not at a pub).

There are a few secondary character deaths in this book—and you know there are more to come. One of them provoked me to send a message to Michel (the number of times I do that mid-read is incredibly small), threatening him if he did something similar to another character before the fifth book (at which point, I assume almost everyone will die or be defeated). I suspect I will not be alone in feeling that way about some of these characters, even if you pick ones that aren’t as cool as the ones I pick.

Michel is not playing around when it comes to character design or messing with his reader’s emotions.

So, what did I think about The Price of Power?

I don’t know what else to say here—I think I slipped out of my typical post outline above. In case you haven’t picked up on it—this book is one of my favorite Fantasy novels in recent memory.

This is about as far from cozy fantasy as you can get, obviously. But it doesn’t quite reach what I’d define as grimdark—I’m no expert in those definitions, but that’s what my gut says. Michel prefers the term gritty—and that makes sense to me. It’s very noir, a Fantasy version of hard-boiled. I’m not going to say that it’s what Nathanael West would’ve written if he wrote a Fantasy novel—but if that idea intrigues you, this just might, too.

The prologue wowed me. The first chapter raised the stakes—and as every point-of-view character was introduced the intrigue grew. I was already impatient for the next book to be published before I finished with this one.

Go grab this one as soon as you can. Books 2 and 3 are scheduled for release this year—Book 2 should be out in June—and you’re going to want to be ready for them.

I just don’t know what to say about Vol. 2 that, by and large, I said about Vol. 1 of Nothing Special, but I wanted to say something. So, yeah, I appropriated a good deal of what I wrote before. If Cook is going to be so consistent that I can’t say something new, I have to.

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I just don’t know what to say about Vol. 2 that, by and large, I said about Vol. 1 of Nothing Special, but I wanted to say something. So, yeah, I appropriated a good deal of what I wrote before. If Cook is going to be so consistent that I can’t say something new, I have to.

What’s Concerning Wings About?

Callie is focused on helping her dad around his shop–she’s all-in on this life now that she understands more about where she came from and is allowed to leave the town.

Declan is getting more comfortable with his new identity, too. Until he injures his wing and it makes him very ill. Far more so than he’d imagine. So Callie starts looking for a cure–they’re pointed to fairy healer. So they set off on a short trip to find one. Along the way they end up learning more about Fairies in general.

Lasser

I felt so bad that I couldn’t remember Lasser’s name when I posted about Vol. 1, so I made sure to get it this time.

This time his arc focuses on his obsession with Romance novels (they’d probably be classified as Romantasy in our world, but since he lives in Fairyland…they’re just Romance). They’re basically the prism he sees everything through. Until he gets the opportunity to talk to someone he finds attractive and…well. Let’s just say it works a lot better in books.

Declan and Cassie

If I’m talking about Lasser, I’d better mention these two. But what is there to day? They’re so cute. Individually and as a couple.

They’ve grown as a couple in between books–they know how to read each other, take care of each other–and have fun with each other. (even at the other’s expense, in a good-hearted way).

I should have something more to say about them, but I don’t. Based on the way this volume ends, I’ll have something more to work with after Vol. 3.

A Word The Art

I just loved it. It’s bright, energetic, lively, and adorable. That last one may sound patronizing, but I can’t come up with a better word for all of the art. It just brought a smile to my face.

The radish ghost (all the ghosts, but let’s focus on it) is one of the cutest things I’ve seen in months. The little accent bits of art throughout the book featuring similar looking ghosts and non-story jokes are just as good.

I don’t know what else to say, but I loved the art.

So, what did I think about Concerning Wings?

From the dedication (literally) to the end, and all points in between, I had a blast with this book.

I don’t have anything deep, meaningful, or particularly insightful to say here—nor do I have a lot to say (believe it or not).

I thought the story was fun. I less-than-threed the characters so much. The art made me smile—as did the book as a whole. The pages just melted away. It’s cute, it’s effortlessly charming, it’s sweet, and full of whimsy. ‘Nuff said.

Your results may vary, obviously, but this just made me happy. I’m in for the long-haul with this series.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s A Drop of Corruption About?

Dinios Kol arrives (as is his custom) in the canton of Yarrowdale, ahead of his boss, Ana Dolabra. They’ve been assigned to investigate the disappearance of a Treasury officer. This officer—and the rest of the Treasury delegation—is in Yarrowdale to negotiate with the King the final steps of Yarrowdale fully joining the Empire once and for all.

Right now, Yarrowdale is (rightly or wrongly) considered a backwater territory, valuable for one thing only—it’s a place that the leviathans do not travel to, so their corpses can be moved there and harvested for the copious near-magical substances used by the Empire. (incidentally, I found this whole aspect just tremendously cool. I won’t say more than that, but if we only got a novella about this part, I’d have been satisfied). This is the only place where this is safely done, so it’s hard to understate the strategic importance of Yarrowdale.

So one of the Empire’s chief negotiators going missing is no small thing—so Dolabra is assigned to find him.

Not at all shockingly (to any reader), the corpse of the officer is quickly located once Kol arrives. Its condition raises eyebrows and concerns—and that’s just the beginning, the more they investigate the circumstances around this killing the less sense things make, and the greatness of the mind behind it is seen. Dolabra is excited by the challenge, while everyone around her becomes more and more apprehensive with each discovery or conclusion she makes.

I won’t go on much beyond this—I’d love to summarize the whole book for you, but why? More victims are found, more questions are raised, the stakes keep climbing higher, and the implications for the future of the Empire are great.

Dolabra and Kol

When I talked about The Tainted Cup, I didn’t really talk about the primary characters. I hesitate to start now because I’m going to have a hard time stopping. But let me try to dip my toe into it.

Ana Dolabra is a brilliant investigator for the Empire—being sent to the trickiest investigations and given almost unlimited authority to get the answers she seeks. Due to some physical (and psychological) limitations—and the fact that she has zero interpersonal skills (and that’s being generous)—she requires a deputy to handle most of the actual investigating, bringing her the evidence and testimony that she needs to solve the crimes.

Which is where Dinios Kol comes in. He’s been altered to have a perfect memory—sights, sounds, smells, conversation…you name it, he remembers it all (even if he doesn’t want to). So he’s the perfect assistant for someone who will not interact with people of her own volition. There are jobs he’d rather perform—and places he’d rather perform them. But his family needs money to pay medical debt, and this is the surest way for him to accomplish that. He escapes into drink, drugs (I think it’s more like tobacco than anything, but I’m prepared to be shown that I’m wrong), and sex as often as he can. But is reliable when the chips are down—he has to be.

Ana Dolabra is very much in the Nero Wolfe mold—purposefully so. But she breaks the mold in all the right ways—her reasons for relying on someone else to interact with the outside world are different and less self-imposed. Her ego is as large (I wasn’t sure that was possible), and she takes some of these crimes as a personal attack on her and her genius (like Wolfe occasionally does). But she relishes the challenge—and talks openly about enjoying this case compared to the boring murders and whatnot she’s solved recently. She has a strange relationship with eating so that sometimes she sounds like her antecedent and other times the complete opposite.

Most people will not care about this (and I assure you, that paragraph could be longer)—but I’m incapable of reading any section featuring Dolabra without pausing to contrast her to Wolfe. She never comes out bad in these comparisons—just different in a creative way.

Her Archie Goodwin, Dinios Kol, can be compared and contrasted in the same way. I started to say he’s less like Archie, and I really want to. But I can really think of one major difference—what drives them. Kol’s motivation for the work (at this point, anyway, it may be shifting toward the end) is different. So he behaves with a little less loyalty. This makes him more interesting and makes up for his lack of humor. Ah, look there—I found another notable difference. Kol is far too serious to really be an Archie, but I wouldn’t want to change a thing about him.

Building on the Worldbuilding

In The Tainted Cup, Bennett introduced us to a fascinating and complex world of kaiju-esque monsters, magic-feeling science, and a massive empire that’s keeping humanity alive. it was both awesome and strange. In A Drop of Corruption, it’s almost as if Bennet tells the reader, “So you’ve seen the typical in this world, but you ain’t ready for this.” As strange and terrible as we thought things were…ha.

We get to see new augmentations, we get to see how outsiders (or semi-outsiders) regard the Empire, we learn a whole lot of history about the Empire, the monsters, the science behind the augmentations, and so much more. I’m having trouble expressing it all.

In both books so far Bennett can bring the unbelievable and indescribable to life. Din will start a sentence by saying something like, “Words cannot express ___” or “It’s too incredible to explain” or something like that—and then will falteringly describe it in such a way that the reader comes away with a pretty good idea of what Din saw. Even when he’s not calling his shot like that, item after item, phenomenon after phenomenon, creature after creature that really shouldn’t make sense when written about comes through with a level of detail that leads the reader to think they’re imagining what Bennett imagined.

Sure….it’s likely that no two readers will have similar mental images. But that’s not important—you’ll think you do.

The Author’s Note

The Author’s Note (largely an Acknowledgement section, but a little bit more) is a must-read. I don’t know if you’re prone to reading them—particularly if they feel more like an Acknowledgment than anything else. But make an exception for this one. It’s worth your time.

So, what did I think about A Drop of Corruption?

I was blown away by The Tainted Cup, and so I was apprehensive about this one—could it live up to it? I’m pleased to say that it did. I very likely enjoyed this much more—because I was ready for the strangeness and could just let it build on what the prior book did.

I feel bad saying I had fun reading about all the trauma that these victims went through, but I really did. Kol and Dolabra—and Kol’s new local acquaintances are just so well-conceived and vividly drawn, that it’d be harder to be disinterested than captivated.

The mystery kept me guessing until the end (except for the time I thought I’d figured it out, and I was very wrong). There was even a point where I wrote in my notes, “Could this be a redder herring?” and it was anything but. I won’t go into details so you can be fooled like I was, but man… The only thing I like more than the smug satisfaction of figuring out a mystery before a brilliant detective is an author who can fool me into that smugness only to pull the rug out from under me. Not to get elitist or anything, but a fantasy writer should be worse at this than a mystery writer. Bennett didn’t get that memo.

I do think you could read this book without the first in the series—but don’t do that to yourself. Buy a copy of this now (or get on your Library’s waitlist), but get The Tainted Cup at the same time. If I’m right about where this series is going (or even almost close to right), you’re going to want to be ready for it. This is just dynamite.

This book deserves more compliments from me—but who has the time? (not the guy who meant to post this a week or so ago). A great mystery novel, a great fantasy novel, with characters that you’d want to read about even if the plots weren’t worth the time or trouble.

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Random House Publishing Group – Del Rey, Random House Worlds, Inklore via NetGalley in exchange for this post which contains my honest opinion—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s The Library Game About?

The project that Secret Staircase Construction is about to wrap up has a couple of distinctive elements (on top of the sliding bookshelves, escape room, etc.)—their client is dead, and his death is not a mystery at all. Most people might not consider that very distinctive, but those people haven’t read a mystery novel featuring Tempest Raj.

This client was an aficionado of classic mysteries—okay, aficionado is an understatement—he was borderline obsessed and had the money to indulge that obsession. As his death neared, he decided to turn most of his house into a library (leaving room for an apartment for his librarian nephew), stocked with his own collection. This sounds like a dream come true for most of my readers, right?

He hired Secret Staircase to give it just the right look and touch, even turning part of it into an Escape Room. Sadly, he died before it was completed, leaving his nephew to bring his vision to life.

While the library is being finished—and waiting for official approval to make it a public entity—there’s a neighborhood festival. To get some promotion for the library (and to be good neighbors), they’ve hired some local actors to stage a little performance.

During a dress rehearsal for that performance, something goes wrong—one of the actors disappears (I’m glossing over a lot here), so they try again the next day—in the midst of that… I don’t even know how to gloss over this. It’s like they all chanted “Macbeth!” while walking under a ladder and crossing a black cat’s path or something—so many things go wrong, and a body is discovered. Tempest’s magician friend, Sanjay, appears to be the prime suspect—although the rest of the actors and workers aren’t above suspicion either.

Well, more than one person floats the idea of the deceased client’s ghost being behind it all. So, there are plenty of suspects, however unlikely.

Tempest (and her friend group and family) has her work cut out for her if she’s going to clear Sanjay’s name, find the killer, and get the Library set for the festival.

The Sense of Fun

Yes, this is a murder mystery. Livelihoods, wrongful convictions, and more are on the line. But there is a strong sense of fun to this book. Our amateur sleuths are a group of friends who’ve been down this road before (three times to be exact)—in one way or another.

They like the challenge, they enjoy mysteries, illusions, and everything else going on here—and they can’t help but enjoy this in some way—and this comes out in their interactions with each other.

There’s a sense of play here as they work through this, some running jokes, and so on. I’m not saying that books two and three were absent fun, but it was played down a bit because of everything else. This is as fun as the first book—and maybe more so, because the relationships are better settled and Tempest isn’t under that cloud anymore.

Beyond the greater sense of fun than we’ve had for a bit, there’s the cozy and warm feeling you get from reading a solid found family/friend group (in the midst of a flesh and blood family), these people like each other. It’s hard to beat that feeling.

All of that serves as a bonus to a clever mystery.

So, what did I think about The Library Game?

I was fairly convinced that the previous book in the series, The Raven Thief was going to be the last one as it wrapped up a three-book arc, serving as a nice trilogy. I was so happy to be wrong—I wanted more time with Tempest and her friends—especially Ivy (I’d take a spin-off book full of her essays on locked-room mysteries) and Abra. Not to mention the fun of imagining Ash’s culinary offerings.

Beyond the characters, Pandian knows how to deliver a contemporary locked-room crime and how to keep the tension building while keeping the whole book entertaining. I need to make time for her backlist soon to see how these books compare with her earlier offerings.

I’d like Ernest Cunningham (or Ivy, I guess) to weigh in on Pandian’s books because I’m not entirely certain that she plays fair with her clues and solutions. Particularly in this case. But that’s just to satisfy a mental itch, because I really don’t care—I thought the solution to this and the reveal were pulled off satisfyingly well.

This would make a good jumping-on point for someone new to this world and is a must-read for people who enjoyed any of the previous three. It’s a clever book, a smart mystery, filled with good friends and warm feelings. Who doesn’t want that?

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from St. Martin’s Press via NetGalley in exchange for this post which contains my honest opinion—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader along with a Q&A with the author.

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You, like me, may assume that all Cyberpunk novels are set in joyless dystopias, where the neon lights and other brightly colored signs shine out against a gray and raining night (like every scene with Rick Deckard walking on his way to get some food). You’re largely correct. But what if I told you that didn’t have to be the case? Well, read on…

It was around 10 p.m. on a Thursday when Renji thought he might have a go at breaking out of prison. This idea was terrible for several reasons.

One, the prison in question was an Imperium International Forces Containment Facility, the kind widely reputed for being near-impossible to escape. Two, said facility was an airship in flight some fifty storeys above solid ground. The third, and perhaps most important reason was that he wasn’t even a prisoner, he was a guard.

But to I.I. Forces Cadet Renjiro Starkweather, the young man leaning out of the mess hall kitchen’s window to sneak a crafty cig, these reasons didn’t seem quite good enough to not at least have a try.

What’s Hit The Ground Running About?

Renji really doesn’t belong in the Forces—he doesn’t have the mindset, the discipline, any interest at all in serving, But he does have an Aunt who did most of the work in raising him. She’s rich, she’s powerful, she’s overly-indulgent of Renji, but she also has expectations. Hence, his presence in the Forces (which he probably would’ve washed out of already, if not for her influence).

But Renji’s at his breaking point, and he probably would’ve made an attempt at escape if not for the fact that he quite inadvertently interrupted an attempted jailbreak. The downside to this is that he ends up in custody with the jailbreakers—who turn out to be affiliated with a group Renji has been cheering on. They’ve recently released a lot of really embarrassing information about the Imperium International Corporation and other leaders of the city of Unity, in a WikiLeaks-type move. It didn’t do the damage anyone was really hoping for, but it did make a splash and get some people talking.

Okay, I’m taking too long here—Renji and the others (with some help from a super-competent hacker/”gal in the chair”) do eventually escape from the Facility in quite the flashy way, but without everyone they hoped to bring along with them. And Renji ends up visiting a part of the city of Unity he’s not that familiar with, Buried—it’s the part where the workers that support the corporation and government live (as well as their families, the unemployed, and whatnot). If you think of the city of Unity as The Titanic, this would be the third-class passenger area, but not as nice.

Renji wants to throw his lot in with the group, the Loose Ends. He wants to fight back against I.I., not out of any real outrage against them. But he thinks it’d be a fun adventure, and he does want to see things get better for the citizens down below—and to take I.I. down a peg or two. They’re leery of taking him on (mostly because they can tell his motives are shaky and he’ll probably get going when going gets tough—and not in the good way). But when a crisis hits, Renji comes up with a plan that just might work.

It’s nutty, it’s risky (mostly for him), but if he can pull it off with a little assistance from the Loose Ends and an older, battle-tested temporary ally of the Loose Ends, a lot of good can be done and the crisis could be averted.

The Characters and World

So the villain of this book is really “the System” as represented by Imperium International Corporation (and as you get to know them, you’ll be able to imagine any number of mega-corps of today turning into them).

But we get a few representatives of The System to focus on—nothing more than low-level hench-persons really. But higher-level reps will have to wait for the sequels. Primarily, we’re looking at Renji’s sergeant and three fellow-cadets who absolutely are not Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. But they do fit the same character types that those three do. All four of these antagonists are the kind you will enjoy seeing foiled—even if they are the bottom of the rung, you’ll have a lot of fun seeing Renji go up against them. Especially when he comes out on top.

The heroes—sort of a rag-tag rebel group (who really aren’t trying to overthrow anyone, just trying to survive). They’re a hodge-podge of ages, temperaments, and skills. You will almost instantly like them—while wanting to ask so many questions about all of them. I’m tempted to talk about all of them for a sentence or two, but that would get old. But I like their internal dynamics, I like them as individual characters and cannot wait to see Ashwin develop them all. They also have a number of allies—from people who work in food stalls, to a club owner, to a strange medic/tech repair duo. Really, the Loose ends and the allies we meet in this book deserve a short story or two each, just to give them a chance to shine. (Ashwin, if you see this post and run with it—no need to cut me in, the results will be reward enough. Unless this lands you a TV deal or something.).

Then there are the largely nameless and faceless people in Buried. They suffer due to what I.i. does. They have to deal with any retaliation that comes down due to Loose Ends. We don’t see much of them, but we get to meet their Community Council (even in a dystopia, lower-level government officials are petty and useless, good to know some things are constants). There’s enough citizens, and enough grudges, seen that Loose Ends will have a steady supply of potential allies in future books (and probably future turn-coats, but let’s focus on the positives).

Unity City, once-upon-a-not-too-distant time, was the city of Steelpool, which the corporation bought from a struggling U.K. government to act as its wold headquarters. It’s from Unity that I.I. can distribute it’s Internet programming, sell and market its products, and so on. Mid-level Executives on up, live there. The workers, support staff, their families, etc. are stuck in Buried.

Is This Actually Cyberpunk?

“Please, look at him. He’s even worse of a blagger than you. He looks like he’s gonna sell you life-coaching advice through the internet.”

“Does not.”

“Does too. He’s a budget vampire. That’s a bargain bin Dracula, that is.”

“You are not being a very supportive friend right now.”

“I’m not supportive. Or your friend. Besides, actual supportive friends would tell you when you’re dating an evil executive from a shitty Robocop sequel. He looks like he’s going to have his plans to bulldoze the zoo foiled by some plucky teenagers.”

It’s being marketed as cyberpunk. But I think a lot of readers are going to bump up against the tone—the humor, the snark, the optimism that Renji brings and wonder about that.

If you look at the tech (which I haven’t done a good job of describing), the merger of corporation/government/city-state military, the dystopian nightmare that most of these people endure. You’ve got yourselves the making of a decent cyberpunk reality. But what about tone?

But you’ll be grinning throughout this book, there’s some good laughs, there are some goofy moments, and so on. How does that fit with William Gibson and Bruce Sterling’s Mirrorshade vision? Can you do a non-noir cyberpunk? I think yes. Think of Snow Crash while Hiro is a pizza delivery driver (sure, that’s post-cyberpunk), some of Rudy Rucker’s work, and …a couple of others I suddenly can’t think of the names of. There are even bits of Gibson’s Sprawl trilogy that are about this amount of fun. So yeah, it’s an outlier, but it’s not without precedent.

I only bring this up because I’m pretty sure there are some purists who’d complain about this. People who ignore the whole “punk” part of the aesthetic, no rules, etc. I really don’t care what others think. I’ll take a cyberpunk that makes me grin any day (especially now).

So, what did I think about Hit The Ground Running?

“Stopping them.” The tired look in Minjun’s dark eyes seemed as though it came from a much older man. “This isn’t afable with some terrible dragon for the heroes to hunt down, or a magic combination of words that will break the overlords’ evil spell. This is a city, a society, an ecosystem with problems embedded in its very roots. How exactly do you stop a society?”

This is a heist novel and I wait until now to talk about a heist? What is wrong with me? It’s an audacious plan with a great and benevolent pay-off. Naturally, as any self-respecting heist story demands—it goes awry. The reader knows that even before Renji outlines his plan—the questions are: how does it go awry, and how do our heroes respond? All I’m going to say about that is that I’m eager for book 2 in this series.

This is a fast-moving story with a lot of moving pieces—Ashwin keeps the plates spinning just fine and moves the story along just fine. This is so hard to talk about without getting into the details of the heist, the character twists (of the two bigger ones, I saw one coming miles away and the other took me totally unawares) were revealed with panache, or anything else.

Ashwin’s been storytelling for a long time in graphic novels, she knows how to tell a story and bring characters to life. Turns out she can do that just as well with words as she can do with pictures and words (or so I assume, I haven’t dipped a to in to that yet).

There’s a bit of a budding romance (or is it just a lust story?) that acts as a great distraction for Renji, too. That didn’t do much for me, I thought we had enough other things to keep the story going—but it’s a good plot complication—and who knows, maybe it lays the groundwork for something better.

This is a quick read. A fun read. There are so many bits and pieces I’d call out here, but you should read them for yourselves.

If you’re up for a good time (even if cyberpunk isn’t your thing—just think of it as snarky SF), you’d do yourself a favor to give this a whirl. I need to see what comes next, and I expect after your introduction to the Loose Ends, you will, too.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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Obviously, there are some spoilers about the previous novel in the series, Aftermarket Afterlife to follow. And, you could probably say the same for the series as a whole. Take that into consideration if you read beyond the period at the end of this sentence.

What’s Installment Immortality About?

In the months that it took Mary to put herself back together after the attack on their training headquarters, the Covenant hasn’t been quiet. In fact, as they knew a ghost was involved in the attack, some of them have been targeting ghosts up and down the East Coast.

The anima mundi, still rebuilding its control, recruits (to put it nicely) Mary to stop them and rescue what ghosts she can. Mary gets permission to bring along some help from her family (the kind of help that can’t, say, get stuck in a ghost jar)—she doesn’t intend to, but she ends up bringing along Elsie and Arthur who have a need to do something, anything, to help them move on from their mother’s death.

So begins a cross-country trip filled with more danger than they expect (and they expect a lot).

More Mary

This book, like its predecessor, has done a fantastic job of showing the place of Mary in this family. She’s far more than just a quick message-delivery-system, or a genie that can show up at just the right time (she never really came across that way, but it’d be easy to see her filling those roles). It’s both heart-warming and heart-tugging.

She’s also changed a lot—thanks to Annie’s intervention at the Crossroads, and because of her new/growing relationship to the anima mundi. And there are more changes on the horizon—which will be fun to watch as people like me have become more invested in her after the last book.

I thought I had several things to say about Mary here, but just about all of them would need to be redacted. I really enjoyed our time with her, and while I expect that we’re going to be spending a few books focused on other characters after this one (Verity or Elsie are my guesses, which means it’ll probably be Alex), I’m looking forward to seeing what this new part of her life—ahem, afterlife—brings us.

Elsie and Arthur

Poor Arthur—I thought I had a pretty good handle on what was going on with him after the last book, but of course, there’s a lot more afoot than we could’ve known. With plenty of time with him—to see him interact with Mary and his sister, we get to hear a lot more from him and understand things from his perspective.

Then we learn even more from some outsiders. We’re going to have to spend some more time with Arthur soon, because leaving him where McGuire did is not comfortable.

Elsie, on the other hand, surprised me. I figured that like with Alex and Annie—and even the babysitter—when she got a chance to shine, she’d step up and show herself to be exactly the kind of kick-ass heroine that the Prices and Healys seem to specialize in. I won’t get into details, but she’s not cut from the same cloth as her cousins—but that doesn’t mean she should be taken lightly. It’s just that there’s an element of diversity even here that I wasn’t expecting, and I’m glad to see. I think it would’ve been boring to see her transform into a variation of Verity or Alice.

More interestingly than that for her was seeing her relationship with Arthur and how she’s reacting toward the Aeslin mice in their home.

So, what did I think about Installment Immortality?

This was a little bit of a let-down after the Aftermarket Afterlife. It was primarily a follow-up to it, tying up loose ends and getting us all ready for whatever is next. As such, it’s not going to be as good, it can’t be as powerful, and it should help the reader catch our breath. Also, saying it’s not quite as good as one of the best books in this series is not much of an insult.

But, oh man…there were so many things that are great about this book. For one example, there’s a conversation between Mary and one of the Aeslin Mice that is incredibly strange. And if you remember that we’re talking about a conversation between a ghost and a sentient, talking mouse with a perfect memory…strange should be expected. Not this level of it.

Of course, we get to meet new Cryptids, and more than a few ghosts. Their perspectives on the Prices, on the war with the Covenant, on Mary and the Crossroads (many don’t believe the Crossroads are gone, for example), and so on, are fascinating. It’s a good reminder—that we occasionally get, but not as strongly as we do here—how much people don’t instinctively trust this family. But we also get a variety of reactions to them along those lines.

This was very satisfying in terms of long-term character arcs, the war arc, and so on. Installment Immortality was also satisfying on its own terms. There’s some good supernatural, ghosty action. Some good reminders that the dead should not be messed with. Strong character development—no one leaves this book the way they came in. And some sweet moments that remind you that everyone can use a dog in their life.

This is not a book to jump into the series with, unless you want to spend a lot of time confused—Aftermarket Afterlife would function far better for that (as would starting at the beginning). But for long-term fans, this is exactly what they were looking for.

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Tor Publishing Group via NetGalley in exchange for this post which contains my honest opinion—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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A Note of Introduction

I typically stay away from spoilers, but this is one of those books where almost everything I want to say feels like it’s in that general neighborhood. So I use illustrations from other books that are pretty well-known by this point. I can’t think of another way to do it that’s fair to Karp and this text.

What’s Don’t Tell Me How to Die About?

This is one of those novels where it’d be easy to say too much, so let me rely on whoever wrote the jacket copy at Blackstone:

I have one thing to do before I die. And time is running out.

I had it all: a fantastic husband, two great kids, an exciting career. And then, at the age of forty-three, I found out I would be dead before my next birthday.

My mother also died young. I was seventeen, and she warned me that women would flock to my sudWherdenly single father like stray cats to an overturned milk truck. They did. And one absolutely evil woman practically destroyed his life, mine, and my sister’s.

I am not letting that happen to my family.

I have three months, and I plan to spend every waking minute searching for the perfect woman to take my place as Alex’s wife, and mother to Kevin and Katie.

You’re probably thinking, She’ll never do it. Did I mention that in high school I was voted “Most Likely to Kill Someone to Get What She Wants”?

The book takes place in three parts: 1. When Maggie and her twin sister were seventeen and was dealing with their mother’s impending death and the events after it. 2. After Maggie’s diagnosis and her trying to implement the above plan. 3. Where the weaknesses in her plan threaten to overtake everything else.

Tone/Humor

For much of this book, it felt like Women’s Commercial Fiction more than anything. But two things kept me from concluding that—1. Marshall Karp is going to write something with a mystery/crime element, period. and 2. that cover image with the blood (or whatever) writing the word “Die.”

Even before I figured out what Karp was up to with this book, it became clear that this fit in more with some of the recent books by Lisa Lutz (particularly The Accomplice)—I’m also thinking of Sascha Rothchild’s Blood Sugar or a restrained Darynda Jones—than it did with a Jennifer Weiner or Abbi Waxman.

So as I was preparing to read this novel, I said that it “looks like a return to his roots” because of some of the blurbs talking about Karp’s humor and so on. When I think of Karp and humor, I think of his Lomax and Biggs series. So that’s what I expected.

I was very wrong. It took less than a couple of pages to realize that this was a different Marshall Karp than I’d ran into before. That’s not an evaluation, that’s a description. Here’s an evaluation: he pulls it off well. Again, see Rothchild or Lutz. The more I think about the Lutz comparison, the more I like it—if you think of the change between her Spellman Files and things like The Accomplice, Karp’s new tone is somewhat similar.

Either way, you’re getting a guy who knows how to write comedy, no matter the flavor. He also knows when to pull back and let the drama take center stage.

Twists/Structure

I know that when it comes to psychological or domestic thrillers the twists are what generate headlines. While I appreciate a good twist as much as the next reader, what’s more important to me is the reveal of the twist. Plots go in strange directions sometimes—it’s how the author prepares the reader for the twist and how the author lets us in on the strange direction.

As an illustration: Benjamin Stevenson’s Everyone in My Family Has Killed Someone has a moment when he says that so-and-so enjoyed her final cigarette, or maybe she lit it, or something like that. The phrase “final cigarette” is the important part. Now, the reader has two guesses as to why that phrase is used here—1. She quits smoking after this or 2. She dies. As this is in the middle of a stressful weekend with her ex-husband’s family, with her on the verge of financial problem, her ex is definitely not coming back and is with his new partner, they’re all snowed in, there’s a killer on the loose, and the book isn’t close to ending…you pretty much know how that’s going to go for her. Does that matter? Not really, it’s how Stevenson sets us up for this and then how he shows us how she dies that’s important.

Now I’m not going to spill any of the twists or reveals in this book, but Karp does a few things like Stevenson did—they’re even more blatant, you could say. But he will distract you, make you wait a lot longer for the reveal, and will throw a bunch of red herrings at you (I won’t tell you how often I made a note like, “Oh, is this how he pays off X?” because I’d also have to tell you that I was wrong equally often). I didn’t guess anything right.

He also pulls a few things from seemingly nowhere—but explains them in such a way that you retrospectively say, “of course” or “y’know, that makes sense.”

Maggie

This is one of those books that you’re only going to keep reading (initially, anyway) if you get invested in Maggie, our protagonist/narrator quickly. Other elements might keep you going eventually, but Maggie’s diagnosis, Maggie’s plight (and kooky plan), and character/voice are what’s going to get you to commit.

If you ask me, you’re going to want to commit. You can tell from the beginning that she’s smart. She’s driven. She’s brave (at least in the face of some things…like dying). She loves her family. She’s gone through a lot. She’s pretty funny. (probably pretty, too, but that’s not that important, especially when you see the world through her eyes). You later learn what a good friend she can be and why she was elected.

Now, like a parfait, or an onion, or an ogre—Maggie has layers. I’m not going to talk about those layers because you need to discover them for yourself. But she has them—and you keep learning about those layers as the book continues. Each layer—for me, anyway, and I predict for most readers—got me to like her more as a person (pretty frequently) and as a character (always). Is there a difference? Sure—one extreme example (that doesn’t apply here, but gets my point across) would be Dr. Lecter. Fantastic character, but not someone you’d want to hang out with.

So, what did I think about Don’t Tell Me How to Die?

Is this as good as the first two or three Lomax and Biggs books? Probably not—although it’s been a long time since I last re-read them, also this is a different sub-genre, so I could be wrong. Also, that’s really high bar. Is this better than anything else that Karp has done since then? Yes.

The way that Karp unspooled this was so well done. I sat back and enjoyed the ride more often than I “ought” to have, and didn’t take as many notes and whatnot as usual—I was just into the ride that much that continuing was more important than jotting things down. At least in the moment…I’d be sure to write that idea down, right after this part. Well, maybe the next bit.

I should note that I dipped back in a couple of times while writing this post to fact-check myself and even now I ended up reading a few pages or a chapter when I only needed a clause or a name. Karp just doesn’t want to let me go.

Anyone picking this book up—unless you do it blindly (and even then it’s told to you within a chapter)—knows that Maggie’s mom died almost two decades before these events. And yet—in her final moments, her last personal triumph—I was moved. I shouldn’t care this much about the impending death of a character I knew was long dead. But I did. And again, even though it’s right there in the description, “And one absolutely evil woman practically destroyed [“my suddenly single father”‘s] life, mine, and my sister’s,” watching it feels like a traffic accident—you know it’s coming, but you can’t stop watching.

Maggie’s plot, when introduced, feels like a silly rom-com plot that’s going to blow up in her face. And for most of the book, her sister treats it that way. You kind of do while you’re reading, too. It feels like one, you react like one. Then…well, you start to take her seriously. As does her sister, Lizzie (eventually).

Speaking of Lizzie. I really would’ve enjoyed more time with her, she seemed like a hoot and a half. Her kids Katie and Kevin were also the kind of characters you want more of. And if we were looking at any other part of Maggie’s life, we would’ve had more time with all three and we would’ve been perfectly content watching them go through their life. But this book just introduces them, lets us spend some time enjoying them (in pretty un-enjoyable circumstances) and then we just have to imagine the rest of their lives. Which is enjoyable enough.

I feel like I’ve talked around the book a lot, hopefully, I’ve talked about it enough. But I’m not sure what else to say. On March 4, go pick yourself up a copy (or go put it on reserve at your library now, and read it ASAP). Then we can email or chat or something about it and I can say all the things I can’t put here.

Don’t Tell Me How to Die isn’t the Marshall Karp I know, enjoy, and respect. It’s a new flavor of him that I’m getting to know, that I did enjoy and respect. And I can’t wait to see what other sides he has up his sleeve (to torture the metaphor). I’m trying too hard. I’m babbling. Go read this and I’ll shut up. Deal?

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Blackstone Publishing via NetGalley in exchange for this post which contains my honest opinion—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Aftermarket Afterlife About?

Just before I started writing this (or started again…this is something like the 15th attempt since March of last year), I took a glance at what I wrote about Backpacking Through Bedlam. This was either a mistake because I said everything there that I was about to say to start this post and now I have to come up with something new. Or it was smart because now I can cut out a lot of things and point you to that instead.

I’m lazy enough to lean toward “mistake.” But let’s see what I can do instead.

Lest we think that the Covenant of St. George in general and Leonard Cunningham in particular have just been twiddling their thumbs while we’ve been focused on Annie’s adventures (although we see some of Leonard there) or the end of Alice’s quest, we learn very quickly that they’ve been active. They’ve been gathering intelligence and plotting. The result is a shock-and-awe campaign that takes the family and their cryptid (and human) friends and allies unaware—and results in several injuries, deaths, and loss of property. Probably more damage, too.

But before we can get to that, Thomas and Alice (and Sally) arrive at the Portland-area compound for a reunion/(re)introduction. This goes so incredibly poorly that the reader will initially be relieved by the attacks because you foolishly think that means things are going to get more entertaining.

All this results in Mary, of all people, coming up with a plan to take the action to the front door of the Covenant.

Luck Runs Out

I’m not sure that I noticed it during my initial reads of the series—but in the last couple of books, as I listen to them on audio, I keep hearing about the strange luck the family has. And honestly, even if I hadn’t used the word luck—it’s hard not to think that. Verity and her friends/family/loved ones (same for her brother and sister and their friends/loved ones) largely escape the novels unscathed.

The thing about luck is…it runs out. This can be seen in the way that Sarah’s rescue of Artie at the end of Calculated Risks isn’t as successful as we might have thought at the time. And for another telling piece of evidence is pretty much this entire novel.

Choice of Mary

I was initially surprised to see Mary the family’s babysitting ghost as our POV character for this one. I expected another of the Price kids to get the slot (it’s been too long since we spent real time with Alex, for example). But I wasn’t going to complain—if only because it was nice to see her backstory.

In retrospect, there was no other choice. The reader (and McGuire) needed someone who could rapidly move between the various parts of the country to see everything going on and to take part in the action in some (not all) of the places the Covenant was acting. Thanks to her being the major actor, we get a little more insight into what happened to the animus mundi following Annie’s defeat of the Crossroads.

There are a couple of other things that only Mary could contribute to this story, but I can’t talk about those. So, as I expected but didn’t see going in, McGuire didn’t have a choice in POV character. It just had to be her.

Hail The Aeslin Mice

It’s really hard not to feel bad for these guys (when they’re not making you smile) throughout the series. This is probably the hardest novel to get through because of what happens to them. Their losses—different from the losses the family takes, and almost worse—are so hard to watch. Ditto for the family talking about them.

What’s even worse is the note that the race as a whole likely doesn’t have many more generations left. I’m sorry…I’m just not okay with that. I hope/trust that we’re going to find out how wrong those predictions are.

So, what did I think about Aftermarket Afterlife?

When I put this down I said something—I don’t remember what—but my daughter seemed shocked at my reaction. I was stunned, I didn’t expect most of what I spent the last hour or so reading (or the hours previous to it) and I guess that came out forcefully. And I’m still in that frame of mind almost 11 months later. I’m stunned by what McGuire did here.

The InCryptid books have always been (in my mind) the lighter of McGuire’s series—Toby’s for drama and excitement, the Wayward Children are to fill you with whimsy and heartbreak, and Verity/Alex/Annie et al are for some goofy action and strange critters.

I should know McGuire better than that. She’s never going to just let something be light entertainment. Still, I wasn’t prepared for this escalation. I should’ve been. The signs have been there since the end of Chaos Choreography. I’m not going to get into all the ways she gut-punches the readers here. But there are several. Some small, some huge, some of indeterminate size as of this time.

Still, McGuire deals with the various personalities, histories, abilities, interests, and everything else like a master. The writing is quirky as it needs to be without taking away from the drama or heartbreak. Mary is a great character and it’s good to see her come into her own, and we see a lot from other family members that we haven’t spent enough time with, too—ll while catching up with old friends. This is McGuire at peak performance.

Installment Immortality is due soon, and I have no idea what to expect from it—nor from the series going forward. But it’s going to be a very different kind of entity than we’ve seen before. I can’t wait for it.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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A Bit of Personal History (feel free to skip)

Back in ’91 or ’92, I saw a copy of The Pilgrim’s Regress on a bookstore shelf. I was in a “read everything by Lewis you can get your hands on phase,” so I instantly picked it up. But the back of the book talked about it as the modern equivalent of Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress in a way that I figured I should read Bunyan before it.

It took me a little while to track down the Bunyan (the toilsome times before online bookshops), and by the time I worked my way through it, the bookstore didn’t have that copy any more and I was distracted by other things.

I’ve often thought about trying this book since then—but it wasn’t until I started thinking about this project that I finally combined ambition with general curiosity.

What’s The Pilgrim’s Regress About?

This modern-retelling of The Pilgrim’s Progressis an allegory about a man named John on his journey from childhood exposure to religion in Puritania to an Island of pleasure. Along the way, he has to deal with several physical, spiritiual and itellectual challenges to take him away from his journey (pretty much like Bunyan’s Christian).

This was the first thing that Lewis wrote after his conversion, and it’s considered to be an intellectual biography of that journey.

Basically, think Bunyan for the early 20th Century and you’ve got it.

A Couple of Things That Helped Me

Early on, John encounters a “brown girl” who distracts him from his interest in—or at least pursuing that interest. They begin a sexual relationship, which goes awry and causes some serious problems for John (actually, that entire relationship from her introduction on is a serious problem.) I was pretty sure that Lewis wasn’t making any kind of ethnic characterization or anything, but it’s hard to shake the feeling. Thankfully, reading this blog post by a Lewis expert made me feel so much better (and shows I was on the right path in general with it). I’d explain it, but Dr. Hurd does it better.

The other thing that helped was the afterword that Lewis wrote for the Third Edition, ten years after the original publication. He points to some flaws, or at least things he could’ve done better. I agreed with most of his self-diagnosis, and at least one point, his explanation made me understand an aspect of the book (and, yes, he was right to critique himself).

So, while I’m glad for the additional things that helped me appreciate the book, I trust that with very little effort, I could find more. I shouldn’t have to look to these kinds of things to appreciate a book. To gain a better understanding, sure. But to move me from “meh” to “okay, that wasn’t that bad/objectional” should come from the text itself—not from others.

So, what did I think about The Pilgrim’s Regress?

It’s been almost a century since this was first published, and I cannot decide if it’s a good thing or not that so many of the characters and ideas John encounters are still relevant and identifiable (although some details may have altered a bit). The reader can see that these intellectual movements are nothing new—sadly, many of them haven’t been forgotten. One of the best things about reading theological works written generations before me is wondering exactly what the author is targeting (or why they’re bothering)—but the ideas that Lewis wants to confront are still in his readers’ lives. Probably even more than they were for him.

The beginning of the book seemed promising with an uncaring and cold clergy, parents who were off the mark, and so on—I thought John’s journey would lead us to a correction of or confrontation with these things. But no, we get the brown girl and then things go far from where I thought we were going. Naturally, I don’t mind that—but I would’ve appreciated something more definitive. That’s personal taste, though.

Like many allegories, particularly Bunyan’s, there is nothing subtle about The Pilgrim’s Regress. That doesn’t mean it’s not good, or that it’s so clear always that there’s no thinking involved, but, wow—it does tend to feel like it’s hitting you with a brick when John encounters a new person/idea.

Am I glad that I read this? Yes. So I can see Lewis’ development as a writer, to satisfy a certain curiosity in general, and to cross off a decades-old item from my “To Read List.” For people who don’t have at least two of those motivations to pick this up, I can’t really recommend it. I’m not sure I really can for those who do have those motivations—but it satisfies those particular itches.

Is this bad? By no means. It’s not good either. I did particularly enjoy certain lines, scenes, or encounters. I thought some of the ways that Lewis framed the better alternatives to be refreshing and helpful. But overall this really did nothing for me.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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How Does The Publisher Describe The Boys of Riverside?

In November 2021, an obscure email from the California Department of Education landed in New York Times reporter, Thomas Fuller’s, inbox. The football team at the California School for the Deaf in Riverside, a state-run school with only 168 high school students, was having an undefeated season. After years of covering war, wildfires, pandemic, and mass shootings, Fuller was captivated by the story of this group of high school boys. It was uplifting. During the gloom of the pandemic, it was a happy story. It was a sports story but not an ordinary one, built on the chemistry between a group of underestimated boys and their superhero advocate coach, Keith Adams, a deaf former athlete himself. The team, and Adams, tackled the many stereotypes and seemed to be succeeding. Fuller packed his bags and drove seven hours to the Riverside campus.

The Boys of Riverside looks back at the historic 2021 and 2022 seasons in which the California School for the Deaf chased history. It follows the personal journeys of their dynamic deaf head coach, and a student who spent the majority of the season sleeping in his father’s car in the Target parking lot. It tells the story of a fiercely committed player who literally played through a broken leg in order not to miss a crucial game, as well as myriad other heart-wrenching and uplifting narratives of players who found common purpose. Through their eyes, Fuller reveals a portrait of high school athletics, inspiring camaraderie, and deafness in America.

Yeah, But You Don’t Like Football…

True. And it’s okay to not be really into the sport and to listen to this. You dislike the sport, do not understand it, etc.—and still get a lot out of the book. Sure, it’ll help if you understand 8-man vs. 11-man football, what some of the positions do, and so on—but really, that’s just the dressing.

This book is primarily focused on human drama—if you can understand what it means to work hard for a goal—and to achieve or falter—you can understand this book’s story. With the challenges these young men face, it makes their work different, it makes the triumphs sweeter, and the slips more devastating.

Really, at the end of the day, your feelings about the game they play are pretty much negligible.

How was the Narration?

Frequently—probably most of the time—it sounded like Fuller was trying to narrate some sort of thriller like Jack Reacher, Jack Ryan, or Jason Bourne (basically anything Scott Brick would narrate). But once I got past that, it was fine. I’m not sure this story needed that feel—but it didn’t hurt anything.

So, what did I think about The Boys of Riverside?

So you don’t come away from this book with just a good sports story. Fuller discusses various aspects of Deaf Culture, schools for the deaf (particularly in California), the connections between football and Deaf teams that have spread throughout all levels of the game, and more.

Then there’s the players and coaches—also weaved into the narrative are some good profiles of different individuals associated with the team. Like any good sports story—from fiction to the Olympics—its the individuals that draw in a reader/viewer. And Fuller tells that part of the story well.

Of course, the main focus is the team and their pursuit of a championship. And Fuller paces that story really well—so much so that even if you know how it ends before you start the book, you’ll be hooked and invested.

This is an engaging and entertaining read—one that’s occasionally educational, too. What’s not to like?

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Buried Secrets About?

Jesse is called to make a welfare check on an elderly Paradise resident (no one he knows) and finds the worst outcome—they are weeks too late for this check. Also, the man was a hoarder, and it’s near impossible to navigate through his home to his body without disturbing some of his stacks of…whatever it was that he’d accumulated.

When one box of photos is dislodged, Jesse finds several photos of murder victims. Crime Scene techs soon find $2 million in cash stashed in the house. Either one of these finds would send Jesse’s “coply intuition” to sound alarm bills—the two together? He knows that they stumbled onto something bad—and worse is on the way to Paradise if they can’t wrap up this case soon.

The A Story and Jesse

(not that most of the cast of characters aren’t involved in this storyline)

Something about this case sets Jesse off. Something is eating him in ways that he’s unprepared for, and he gets a little on edge and grumpy (at least to those on the outside). The bottle is calling to him in a way it hasn’t for a while. The voice is loud and tempting. There’s at least once that he goes looking for a bottle that thankfully isn’t there anymore.

The way this—and the related issues it brings up—work themselves out through this novel shows just how far Jesse has come since he first came to Paradise—or even since he stopped drinking in earnest. But that battle isn’t over.

The rest of the PPD is involved in this storyline, but this is Jesse’s focus throughout the novel—it’s also where everything that Jesse goes through emotionally/psychologically is rooted. As such, I’ve found that I can’t keep talking about this without telling you too much. So let’s move on to:

The B Story and Everyone Else

The day that this body is found is also the first day for a new officer for the PPD. He’d spent some time on patrol in a major city, and then a smaller city before this relocating. He tells Jesse that he wanted to be in a town like Paradise, where he could do some good.

There’s an incident or two—you could see them as first-day on-the-job eagerness, a training issue, or something worse. Before you know it, people in Paradise (and in the PPD) are divided over this one officer. Jesse is too caught up in this case, the city politics, and other things to really dig into things. Some others in the department aren’t so sure about him. Others are willing to give him a chance or three. Essentially, Jesse is willing to let things shake out on their own—at least until he’s able to close the murder.

He might not get that chance. Making this call is arguably Jesse’s biggest mistake in the novel.

In addition to the story of this officer, Farnsworth is able to bring in some discussion of what it means to be a police officer in the 21st Century USA. What does it look like, what kind of people should wear the badge? What kind of equipment should police departments have? How can people who have a problem with the police in their area safely do? There’s a related scene that touches on public protest and social media/legacy media fanning the flames.

In many—most—ways, this story is not the main focus of the book—but it’s so close that it might as well be. And as much as I enjoyed The A Story, this is the one that hooked me the deepest. Farnsworth did the franchise proud with it, too.

Farnsworth at the Helm

Poor Jesse Stone, this is his fourth author since Parker’s death. Just for that reason alone, I hope Farnsworth sticks around for a while. He and his readers need some continuity. Once you figure in what a bang-up job that Farnsworth did, I can underscore that hope a couple of times.

Unlike just about every other (I think every other, but let’s throw some wiggle room into this), Farnsworth didn’t give us a lot of trivia from Parker’s books to establish his bona fides. There were some references, but they were the same kind that Parker himself made. Farnsworth showed us his credentials in the way he wrote these characters, this community, and the story.

I was a little apprehensive about him—I read at least the first two of his Nathaniel Cade books—maybe all three, but nothing since. There was something about whichever Cade book was my last that didn’t leave me eager to try him again. Don’t ask me what it was—it’s been over a decade. I’m glad my loyalty to the series won out over my vague sense of apprehension (it wasn’t a close competition). He nailed it.

The one item that I’m most happy about is that with one line of dialogue, Farnsworth expanded on—added depth to—Dix. Did we need this for Dix? But I love that we got it. Also…it was a great way to give that gift to us.

BTS Question

I know there have been conversations between some of the Parker-verse authors about moves they were going to make with certain characters and whatnot—I can’t remember the details, but I heard in one or two interviews that Atkins or Coleman had to make an adjustment to one book because of something the other did (I’m being very vague because I don’t remember too much and I’m too lazy to do the homework). So I’m sure that Farnsworth and Lupica had a conversation about this book and the events of Hot Property.

What I want to know is how did Hot Property impact this novel? Did Farnsworth have Rita’s scenes in this book completed and added a couple of lines to reflect it? Did he have something else in mind for those scenes and revised them to take advantage of Lupica’s latest? Just what kind of collaboration happened?

Does this impact my appreciation for either book? Nah. But I’m certainly curious.

So, what did I think about Buried Secrets?

At each step along the way, I kept thinking of other things I wanted to say about this one—and at book 22 of a series (no matter how many authors have contributed), that’s saying something. I’ve done my best to limit myself to the bigger matters, but I think I could add at least another 5 paragraphs without breaking a sweat (and they’d likely lead to others).

When Coleman got Jesse into AA, I saw one fan complain about him turning Jesse into “another whining Twelve Step wuss” (that’s very close to it). This seemed like an odd take, as most of Parker’s work (since 1974’s God Save the Child) has celebrated people getting help via therapy or some other means to improve—even save—their lives. I’m afraid that some of what this book does is going to elicit similar reactions from that fan and many others. I hope that the publisher, the Parker Estate, and Farnsworth ignore all that. I don’t see anything here that doesn’t fit in Parker’s worldview (or at least the worldview of all of his fiction).

The Paradise Police Department—particularly the officers we’ve spent time with since Night Passage—got to shine as they ought to. Sure, it’s Jesse’s series, but Molly, Suit, Peter, Gabe, and the others are more than just cardboard cutouts in the background (obviously we don’t know as much about Peter and Gabe as we do some others). The more the various personnel get to contribute, the more the books feel like it’s about a Police Chief—not some rogue lawman. I’m glad Farnsworth did that.

Buried Secrets was satisfying on every level that I can think of. It’s the best Jesse Stone novel in years (with all due respect to Mr. Lupica), specifically since The Hangman’s Sonnet or Colorblind (now that I’ve mentioned those two books in particular, I could probably have written a post just about the ways that Buried Secrets parallels major elements of those, something I hadn’t thought of until now). It contains a good mystery, some strong social commentary, some great character moments, a bunch of characters on the other side of the law that you just have to meet, some solid action, and most of all, time with characters that fans have been spending time with for decades.

I strongly recommend this.

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from PENGUIN GROUP Putnam via NetGalley in exchange for this post which contains my honest opinion—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Broken Bonds About?

This is a work of historical fiction focusing on April 1524-January 1525, at what will prove to be a significant period in the German Reformation. The narrative focuses on three men: Desiderius Erasmus, probably the greatest scholar of the era, and a would-be reformer of the Church; Martin Luther, the Reformer (who went further than Erasmus would’ve), and Philipp Melanchthon, a promising young scholar with ties to them both.

The book follows their connections and interactions with each other—as theoretical as some of them might be—as leaders put pressure on all three to sway them one way or the other, to pick up their pen (or lay it down) for an end, to cease their efforts to reform the Church, to increase their efforts to reform the Church (in ways they cannot agree with), and so on.

Martin Luther

Luther is the most well-known of the trio today, for good reason. In this novel we see Luther trying to reason with his former friend Karlstadt as the latter continues to cause trouble for Luther and everyone in their area. Luther is also trying to get more compensation for and more opportunities to teach and write for Melanchthon—for the sake of the young man’s family and the University of Wittenberg, who could use him.

He’s also dealing with some personal issues—how far does he go himself? Does he give up the monastic robe for that of an academic? It’s so much of his identity, he still holds the vows he swore before him, it cost Luther so much personally to follow this path—and despite the upheaval in his life, is he prepared to lay it all aside? This was so excellently done.

We get some glimpses of some of Luther’s multiple medical issues, a little bit of his humor, and a delightful relationship with and interaction with his goddaughter, too. Mantravadi is careful to present us with a human Luther, not some superhero.

Looming over all that Luther does here is an impending intellectual showdown with the one man he’s not sure he wants to debate with, but is steeling himself to lock horns with:

Desiderius Erasmus

Before Luther burst on the stage, it was easy to think of Erasmus as the greatest Christian thinker, writer, and scholar of his time. Erasmus did try to push for some institutional reforms and had many of the same aims as Luther, but he went about things in a less inflammatory way.

He’s been dodging requests and pleas to interact with Luther for quite some time now—but the pressure is mounting and he’s not certain he can do so much longer. Reluctantly, he picks up his pen to compose On Free Will to directly counter some of Luther’s teachings.

We get a very sympathetic view of Erasmus and his interactions with friends and Protestants he interacts with daily. His health struggles are different than Luther’s but painted just as vividly here. One bout of kidney stones, in particular, almost triggered flashbacks to my last one. I found myself really liking Erasmus and pulling for him.

One of Erasmus’ greatest goals—to chill the Lutheran movement, to further promote diverse ideas in the Academy/Church, and to hand off his work to a brilliant scholar—is to get Melanchthon to come to work with him, and essentially assume his mantle when he’s gone.

Philipp Melanchthon

Melanchthon is a struggling academic, just trying to make enough money to provide for his wife and daughter. He loves to be in the classroom (and it shows), but he’s equally open to teaching in other places, too. He sides with Luther, just not as vociferously as some may want—but Luther appears to trust him.

Melanchthon is tempted to take Erasmus’ offer—it’s a dream situation for him, it’s exactly what he wants. But he’s afraid that he’d have to water down or abandon his Protestant convictions and he’s not ready to do that.

His depiction is easily the most relatable, the most appealing—between the way other characters (particularly Erasmus and Luther) talk about him and the way that Mantravadi shows him, you could make the argument that the others are supporting characters in a novel where the young man is the protagonist.

He does frequently seem too much like a 21st-century man rather than one from the 16th. Particularly when it comes to talking about his wife and daughter. But maybe that’s just me. I really liked it, so I don’t care. Hopefully, it’s close to the truth.

The last thing I want to say about Melanchthon is that there’s a scene with a bunch of students for a sort of study club (best way I can summarize it). It is one of my favorite fictional depictions of a teacher and a group of students since John Keating and that ill-fated group at Welton Academy. I don’t want to give you details, but more than I want his family life to be the way that Mantravadi depicts it, I want this to be true.

The S-Word

So, a lot of the subjects of this book—particularly when it comes to health, but even beyond it—are what some would call “earthy.” It wasn’t a pleasant time to live in many ways, particularly digestive. Anyone who’s read much of Luther’s daily life, humor, or personal history well knows that he can be somewhat scatological. The working of his bowels is a frequent topic for him.

Erasmus isn’t much different. Melanchthon, thankfully, is—but not the people he spends time with.

It’s likely not enough to put anyone off—if anything, it might recruit some younger readers 🙂 But Mantravadi has her characters use vocabulary that Christians in the 16th Century would for these processes and products, even if most 20th/21st Christians would hesitate to use it. Just a word of warning for those who might be put off.

So, what did I think about Broken Bonds?

I went into this with some hesitation—the last two fictional works I read about this time period put me off in a serious way. (one was pre-blog, so I can’t point you at anything I wrote, and I don’t feel like picking on the other again). But I know that Mantravadi has a good reputation among some Church Historians—and even heard her interviewed by one a few years ago, so I felt safe.

I’m so glad that I did—these characters came alive to me in a way that two of them haven’t before (even if I think she handled Luther with kid gloves). She used their positions, arguments—sometimes even words—well in the progress of the novel. There are plenty of footnotes for those who want to dive more into their works. Which is always a bonus in this kind of work (also, footnotes—not endnotes).

The historical detail is there, but not so much of it that you get bogged down in it—the pacing keeps moving at a good clip throughout. Are some of these events overly-dramatized? Quite possibly. Are some of these under-dramatized? Equally possible. It is, in the end, a work of fiction and that needs to be remembered.

It’s a fast-paced read for something in this genre, it’s sympathetic to all its protagonists (even when they’re at odds), there’s good tension—even when it comes to talking about academic pursuits (not the easiest thing to dramatize), and there’s a heart and warmth to it all.

I think this would work for middle school-aged readers, and for most adults, too. You might even learn a little about history and theology while you’re at it. It’s definitely worth the investment of time. I’m more than ready for the second in this duology.