hc.newton

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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Few among us are aware of how much blood the human body contains—surging in thick waves should it chance to be spilt.

I had spilled it, meanwhile, and therefore drastic measures were required.

[redacted] was felled by a strangely skilful blow—as if I had studied the act, when in fact I had simply decided that he should stop being alive. He gurgled a disbelieving shriek, eyes ablaze with wrath and fear, looking perversely more alive than ever, each muscle taut with severest alarm. He even got halfway to his feet, reaching for me, rich gore soaking the fateful ledger.

Then his lips bubbled crimson, his blazing eyes hardened, and he slumped forward over the desk. His fingers, so graceful in life, twitched like the poisonous insect he was; his back ceased to shudder.

I cocked my head and gauged his condition: dead.

What’s Jane Steele About?

I got really long-winded in my first draft on this point and bored myself—if I can’t keep my interest, there’s no way I’m going to keep yours. So, because I’m a giver, I’m going appropriate the description from the Publisher’s site:

A sensitive orphan, Jane Steele suffers first at the hands of her spiteful aunt and predatory cousin, then at a grim school where she fights for her very life until escaping to London, leaving the corpses of her tormentors behind her. After years of hiding from the law while penning macabre “last confessions” of the recently hanged, Jane thrills at discovering an advertisement. Her aunt has died and her childhood home has a new master: Mr. Charles Thornfield, who seeks a governess.

Burning to know whether she is in fact the rightful heir, Jane takes the position incognito and learns that Highgate House is full of marvelously strange new residents—the fascinating but caustic Mr. Thornfield, an army doctor returned from the Sikh Wars, and the gracious Sikh butler Mr. Sardar Singh, whose history with Mr. Thornfield appears far deeper and darker than they pretend. As Jane catches ominous glimpses of the pair’s violent history and falls in love with the gruffly tragic Mr. Thornfield, she faces a terrible dilemma: Can she possess him—body, soul, and secrets—without revealing her own murderous past?

The Jane Eyre of it All

There are a couple of ways to talk about Charlotte Brontë’s work relating to this book. First, the novel is Jane Steele’s favorite novel. She makes frequent mention of it, plot points, and even when she buys a new copy. Jane is very aware of how events in her life parallel Eyre’s, and while the two women share responses to some things—ultimately, they’re very different people.

But my primary focus is from the perspective of the reader. The book was marketed as “what if Jane Eyre was a serial killer?” and “Jane Eyre + Dexter.” And that’s not wrong, but I think it’s more than that. Another way to put it is that this isn’t in the same vein as Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. The account of Steele’s life—broadly viewed—does follow the same outline as Eyre’s (the question can, and should, be asked how much of this is real and how much is a projection by the narrator). Also, I’m not crazy about the serial killer tag. She’s a vigilante who has killed enough to get the label “serial.” But it’s not ever presented as something she’s driven to do from within (although that might be a coverup by the first-person narrator).

But basically, it’s the same rough outline, with a lot of significant differences. The Flight of Gemma Hardy and Re Jane are closer re-tellings of Jane Eyre.

So, what did I think about Jane Steele?

In the end, not only is it a strange little love story and a little bit of a thriller, but there’s some reflection on humans as storytelling creatures. Not just in the stories we set down—Jane Eyre and Jane Steele for example—but the stories we tell ourselves and each other. There’s an essay to be written there by a more insightful blogger than I.

Faye did a good job of making most/many of the characters have Twenty-First Century sensibilities while walking around Nineteenth-Century London. Some authors can’t pull it off, but Faye did. The pacing is quick. The writing is crisp and clever, and there’s a humor to this that you might not expect (but is really the only way this is palatable)—after distancing the work from Dexter earlier, the humor of the novel really does match the Showtime version at its best. I wouldn’t change a thing about any of the characters, and really do regret that the nature of this story pretty much eliminates a sequel, because I’d like to revisit them (but a sequel would really be a bad idea).

I came for the Jane Eyre aspect, got hooked by the characters, and stayed for Faye’s prose and story. This ended up as far better than I expected and pretty different than what I thought I was getting into. I was glad to see it (don’t get me wrong, the Eyre stuff is great, but it’s just the icing on this tasty cake) and heartily recommend this to you.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Bunnicula: The Graphic Novel About?

This is easy—it’s a graphic novel adaptation of the modern classic, Bunnicula: A Rabbit-Tale of Mystery by James and Deborah Howe.

For those who missed this when they were kids, briefly, it’s the story about a dog (Harold) and a cat (Chester) reacting to a rabbit that their family brings home after finding him in a movie theater. The rabbit has some distinctive patterns on his fur that remind the kids (and Chester) of a classic Dracula-type vampire, so they name him Bunnicula.

Chester’s a literary type, with a taste for classic horror. Between his look, Bunnicula’s nocturnal habits, and the fact that every vegetable in the house starts being drained of its juices, Chester becomes convinced that the new pet is a vampire and tries his best to warn the family and destroy the intruder before he harms the family. Harold’s around as the voice of reason and tries to mitigate Chester’s shenanigans before his new little buddy gets hurt. Hilarity and shenanigans ensue.

Stephen Gilpin’s Work and the Look of the Book Overall

When I saw this on the bookstore shelf, I was intrigued because the original novel was such a favorite of mine—and then my kids, too. I had no real intentions of buying it because I could always just grab the novel again to revisit, but I picked it up to give it a quick glance and the art blew me away, and I had to buy it. Chester looked good, I clicked immediately with the character design for the Monroes (particularly the boys), Bunnicula was spot-on…

But the clincher for me was Harold. He might as well have been a werewolf drinking a piña colada at Trader Vic’s, because his hair (and everything else) was perfect. Sure, now it’s expected that the dog will be my favorite character in a book—but that wasn’t my default when I first encountered the book. But it took little time for him to be my favorite character in the series*. So when Gilpin knocked that character out of the park, he won my affection. Sure, it’s based on the illustrations from the original book, but he owned it and brought the look to life.

* It’s very likely that Harold laid the groundwork for my appreciation of canine protagonists, like Chet and Oberon.

Sometimes, I wonder what the point is behind doing a graphic novel adaptation of a written work—does it really add anything? This one did—there are some nice updates (Harold uses a computer, etc.) and some visual jokes and flourishes that could only be made in this format. Gilpin clearly made the most out of what Howe and Donkin gave him.

So, what did I think about Bunnicula: The Graphic Novel?

It’d be hard (but not impossible) to make something faithful to the letter (as much as space allows) and the spirit of the novel that didn’t make me happy. But this one wowed me—it brought me back to the day I first discovered this great band of people and critters decades ago, recapturing and repackaging the magic.

I’m not sure that it’ll have that impact on everyone—I don’t know if an 8-10 year-old picking it up in 2022 is going to get hooked on the series, for example. I can’t imagine how one doesn’t, but I don’t know if they will.

I wasn’t sure how to rate this, how much of my reaction to it was based on memory and nostalgia and how much was this new work. But I know how I felt while reading it and I saw how my (now adult) children’s eyes lit up when I showed them this version of the book, and I had to go with the full five stars.

Adult fans who remember the book—grab this, you’ll have a blast. It’ll probably work its charms on younger readers, too—and hopefully will work to bring them to the original series.

“It’s the people, in the end, isn’t it?…It’s always the people, You can move halfway around the world to find your perfect life, move to Australia if you like, but it always comes down to the people you meet.”

What’s The Bullet That Missed About?

Consequences, largely.

But that doesn’t tell you much. So let me expand a bit. The end of the book seemed to tie up everything with two nice and tidy bows. But you know what they say about appearances…

In The Man Who Died Twice, the Thursday Murder Club basically ripped off a International Criminal and got away with it. Well, almost. It turns out that a competitor (we’ll call him the Viking) of that criminal has evidence of their theft. The Viking tries to use that evidence to blackmail Elizabeth into killing the other criminal. She resists until the Viking turns it into an offer she can’t refuse.

Meanwhile, Joyce has picked the next case for the Club to look into. Years before, a local news anchor had gone missing and is presumed dead. Over her protests, everyone is sure she wants to look into the case because she wants to meet some people on TV, but the case is interesting enough that they’ll go along with it. Whatever her motives, it is an interesting case and gives the Club a lot to do (and, yes, they get to meet a local celebrity or two along the way).

The case brings Ibrahim into contact with Connie Johnson, the crime boss the Club had helped put away. She hasn’t forgotten him or Ron—and has grim plans for both of them upon her release (which she’s sure isn’t long off). But in the meantime, for her own amusement, she plays along with Ibrahim and helps out.

Murdering a criminal, solving an old missing persons case (that may be a murder), and tangling with an imprisoned drug lord. That’s a lot to squeeze into 337 pages, but there’s more: add in some romance/potential romance, some new friends and old, and Joyce’s continued experiments with Instagram, and you’ve got yourself a novel.

Stephen!

Elizabeth’s husband, Stephen, has been a rock for her throughout this series. He’s had a few good moments when it comes to both story and comedy—and heart, most importantly, the heart—but he’s largely been a supporting character. An important one, but supporting, nonetheless.

But he gets to shine in The Bullet That Missed. He’s thrust into the middle of one of the stories from the beginning, and plays a significant role throughout this storyline. In retrospect, I think I should’ve anticipated this happening at some point, but I hadn’t. It was so good to see this.

There’s a dark side to anything involving Stephen, too. We know from the beginning that he’s struggling with dementia. We all know too well that there’s only one direction for people dealing with that. So every time we see the character—or see Elizabeth thinking about him—the reader is confronted with this reality. As hard as some of the situations the Club faces in this book are—nothing is as hard (for characters or readers) than to see this progression.

Elizabeth seems so strong, so capable—frequently inscrutable and almost omniscient—but when it comes to Stephen, she is so vulnerable, so human (and now Joyce, too but always Stephen first). I have a blast reading über-competent Elizabeth, but I love vulnerable Elizabeth, and Stephen’s where she comes from.

The Heart of this Series

I have to be vague here, but I think I can get across what I want without ruining anything.

That quote I opened with is, ultimately, what this series is about—it’s what gets people hooked on it. The four members of The Thursday Murder Club—and their particular brand of friendship—is so appealing. There’s a chemistry and a warmth to them that inevitably attracts others, they want to be part of it. In the first book, they draw in such disparate people as a middle-aged Detective Chief Inspector, a Police Constable not quite used to the quieter locale, and a pretty shady Polish immigrant. You see something similar in the next book, too. The Bullet that Missed trumps them all—and the band of “Thursday Murder Club Irregulars” that they can now call on is pretty remarkable. It’s even drawn in Joyce’s daughter—not that they’ve ever been at odds, but you can tell their relationship could be better at first (and likely still could), and it’s getting stronger now.

That’s the more impressive part—not only are people drawn in by these characters because they want to spend time with them and help them (even if they’re being pressured, bullied, or blackmailed into it)—their lives are enriched by it. As are the lives of the Murder Club—everyone benefits.

This crosses generations, interests, professions, criminal records, ethnicities, national origins, classes, education levels—you name it. Sure, this is a cozy kind of “blue sky” outlook. But who doesn’t want to live in a world like that? Who doesn’t want to at the very least want to spend some time reading about a world like that? Even if it’s marred by murder, the occasional betrayal, and grief—it’s an optimistic antidote to loneliness and…I don’t know, the ineffable “everything else” that defines contemporary life.

So, what did I think about The Bullet That Missed?

The downside to everything I just said is that I wonder if we don’t have too many players in this book—we’ve got the core four, the extended circle of friends, Stephen, kids, a grandchild, old contacts, new friends, romantic interests, foes old and new. I felt like we didn’t get quite enough time with our protagonists. But I don’t want to lose a moment with the others…maybe Osman should take a page from Galbraith and start putting out a thousand pages at a time. (NOTE: That is absolutely a joke. I would eagerly read it, should he publish it, but I don’t want it.) That hurt the book a little for me, but there wasn’t a moment of this novel I didn’t find wholly charming and delightful.

In sum: the biggest problem with this book was all the new good stuff crowded out the old good stuff. Not the worst problem to run into.

The mystery was great—I got suckered by a red herring or two (and even when I suspected something was a red herring, I ignored that likelihood). The character work was typically fantastic. The conclusion was a knock-out and everything that happened after the killer’s reveal is even better. I’m firmly in raving fanboy mode now, so let me wrap-up.

Basically, this is a the literary equivalent of a cozy blanket and a nice up of tea—if you don’t feel better while reading it, I’ll be shocked. Yes, in this series (as in real life) grief and sorrow are around the corner—potentially great tragedy, too. for now, the Thursday Murder Club has nothing but a great time to offer you in The Bullet That Missed. Highly recommended.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Flight Risk About?

Grady and his daughter lose their dog while visiting Mt. Rainer—but never fear, they find him—much to their relief. They’re not at all relieved by the fact that when he’s found, he’s carrying a human leg in his mouth. While it’s a different jurisdiction, it’s soon determined that the (probably dead) man missing a leg is/was a Seattle resident, so Grady handles that end of the investigation.

At the same time, Leda is approached by a man to find his sister. This is a major step up for Leda’s psychic consulting—since the news coverage stemming from the events in Grave Reservations, she’s been hired to find a few missing things (mostly successfully), but a person that’s been gone for a month is a significant case. She takes it on with some hesitation, and several caveats toward the brother that she might not find anything, and he might not like what she is able to find.

Naturally, there’s a connection between both missing persons, and Grady and Leda team up again.

Leda’s having a hard time making headway, at first, with her case, and calls in the woman who’d offered to mentor her for some help. Almost immediately the medium demonstrates that this was a wise choice and that she’s the real deal. As she works with Leda, providing a nudge or two, she hints that Leda may discover other abilities as she grows as a psychic—which will be interesting to watch, for sure.

Det. Grady Merritt

Flight Risk features a lot more of Grady on his own (still plenty of Grady with Leda and Grady with everyone else, don’t worry) doing police work. It’s good to see him plugging away at things and interacting with his partner (who I hope we get more time with in the future—Sam and Niki would be a fun team-up).

He doesn’t strike me as a super-cop like Bosch or Ballard—but he’s the kind you hope our police departments are full of—decent guys who are dedicated to their jobs, driven by curiosity and a sense of duty. He just happens to be pretty lucky and he now has a psychic friend who can lend a hand. I enjoy reading about this kind of police detective*, it gives me hope.

* I’m still devouring books about Bosch, Ballard, Washington Poe, and other super-cops, don’t get me wrong.

Niki

Leda’s best friend Niki is, of course, back. In Grave Reservations, Niki essentially pushed Leda to take risks, to persevere in the investigation, and so on. Then, when she accompanied Leda and Grady when they were investigating, she could be relied upon to go a little further than Leda, and would carry the comedic weight in her scenes.

Here in Flight Risk, she has the same roles. But Leda’s more confident now and doesn’t need her friend egging her on quite as much either on-stage or in her office. She is still a little more “out there” when she rides along with Grady and her friend, but I think she’s more restrained there, too.

I might be a little off here, and if I revisit this next year, I’ll wonder what I was thinking here. But right now, Niki seems to be the weak link in this book, not bringing quite enough to the plot or to the comedy. A toned-down Niki is more grounded, more realistic—absolutely. But if she’s not being Lula to Leda’s Stephanie Plum, I’m not sure what purpose she’s serving. I should stress, I don’t think Priest shouldn’t have her around, nor do I want her to be as goofy as Lula (the world doesn’t need another one)—but we just need her to be a little less restrained.

The Law of Interconnected Monkey Business

So, anyone who’s read a mystery novel before will be pretty sure that there’s a tie between Grady’s and Leda’s cases are going to be connected. Obviously, if you read the above section or the description on the back of the book or on the online store of your choice, you’ll know that, too.

That’s not what I want to talk about—it’s the way that Priest combined these two cases and got Leda and Grady to work together again. I honestly expected that this series would be Grady bringing cases to Leda, either on his own or because he’s instructed to, when the SPD comes up against a tough case. But that’s clearly not going to be the case.

There’s going to be flexibility—even possibly some times when Grady comes into things pretty late in the game (I can’t see leaving the police out of a book entirely). The fact that Priest stayed away from the structure of the first book already is an encouraging sign and shows that this isn’t going to be a cookie-cutter kind of series, but that she’s going to bring something new each time.

So, what did I think about Flight Risk?

I have to say this one was a tough one to write about—I almost felt like I could copy and paste what I said about Grave Reservations here. If you liked that novel, you’ll dig this one—having introduced the characters and world, Priest (and the readers) can focus more on the mysteries, and the book is better for it.

The mysteries were well-designed and executed, with the psychic clues/impressions/whatever along the way pointing Grady and Leda in the right direction, but not giving them so much that they don’t have to work out things for themselves (with one notable exception). This is the way to do a Psychic Detective novel. The red herrings and false trails were particularly well-done and I enjoyed seeing our protagonists dealing with them.

We got a better sense of all the supporting characters, as one would expect/hope, and I enjoyed them all. This is really a pleasant little universe that Priest has given us and I hope we get to hang out with these characters for a good while to come.

Flight Risk would be a good introductory novel for this series as well as a pleasant continuation for those who read Grave Reservations—it’s light(ish) fun with a dash of the supernatural to enliven the mystery, the combination of police and amateur detectives working together is a tried and true way to make things entertaining—and Priest uses it well. This novel hit the spot for this reader, and I look forward to another case or two soon. I definitely recommend this one to you.

What’s Racing the Light About?

The essence of the case is that Elvis is hired by the mother of a young man who has gone missing to find him. This is pretty par for the course for Elvis Cole—a missing persons case.

Here’s what makes this distinct: the mother has money—she pays a generous retainer in cash (so generous, Elvis gives some back) and you get the impression that it wouldn’t be difficult for her to add a few more thousand. Before she walks into the office, two people come in and do a security sweep. Adele Schumacher believes her son, Joshua, has been taken by government agents for his investigation into Area 51 for his podcast. So, yeah, not a typical day in the office.

The podcast is called In Your Face with Josh Shoe, and it’s frequently about government corruption, conspiracies, and whatnot—but they’ve branched out to things like interviewing a porn actress. His childhood friend/podcasting partner, Ryan, tells Elvis that Josh is trying to move to more mainstream topics (Ryan doesn’t seem on board with this, for what it’s worth). Ryan shares Adele’s theory for Josh’s absence, Josh has been taken because he returned to Area 51 and found something.

But Elvis starts to find evidence that Josh is investigating something he didn’t tell Ryan about—Elvis can’t figure out what it is, sadly, but he starts to figure out who Josh might be interviewing for this story. And one of them has gone missing, too. Is this tied to his disappearance or did the twenty-something self-employed and single guy just flake off for a few days?

It’s not long before Elvis starts to think he’s not the only one looking for Josh and he enlists help from Joe Pike (who brings in Jon Stone). If those two get on board, you know things are about to get dangerous.

Pike and Stone

The problem with getting to know the PI’s more lethal/less-hung-up-about hurting people friend/sidekick/partner better is that it’s harder to keep them feeling dangerous and mysterious—it maybe even gets to the point where they stop being quite as prone to violence as they once were, and their charcoal-gray hats get a little closer to white. With Joe Pike getting some novels of his own, a lot of his sharp edges have been dulled for fans, so it was nice that Crais brought along Jon Stone so when Pike couldn’t be ruthless and cold-blooded, there’d be someone who could.

He gets to be that guy here—he’s helpful (very), resourceful, and mercenary. He pitches in because Pike pushes him to—not because he cares about Elvis or the fate of Josh. But what he does, he does well. (and is amusing for the reader throughout)

Pike is also not quite the active presence in this book that he has been lately—so when he does show up and act, it makes it feel a bit more super-human. Crais really upped his game with Pike in this novel and it allows him to steal almost every scene he’s in. Naturally, the phone calls between Pike and Cole are still fun to read—if you can write an entertaining conversation with one party being nearly-monosyllabic, you’ve got a gift.

Lucy and Ben

Lucy and Ben come by for an almost-unannounced visit to ensure that Elvis can’t give his full attention to the case. Which sounds snarky and may not be wholly fair of me. But it’s not wrong.

I enjoy the character of Ben and the way he interacts with Elvis—and continue to do so. I appreciated and believed what he was going through—both on his own and with his mother—at this stage of life, and Crais’s portrayal of this was one of the (many) highlights of this novel. It was also a good way to remind the reader just But Lucy has bothered me for a while now (although I was initially a fan), and I’m not certain that this book alleviates that (nor do I think Crais is altogether worried about it). I’m going to reserve judgment on this appearance for now. I did like Cole’s response to her visit and presence (when it didn’t take him off of his game, although I thought that was a nice touch).

So, what did I think about Racing the Light?

I need to spend some time thinking about this idea, but while reading this book I started to think of some notable first meetings between a PI and their client—like The Big Sleep, The Doorbell Rang, God Save the Child, and The Judas Goat*—and how those meetings can be a bellwether for the rest of the book. If the meeting seems pretty good/typical, the rest of the book will be, too; if the meeting catches your attention, the rest of the book will be of a higher quality.** The first meeting between Elvis and Adele Schumacher definitely fits—it’s not your standard meeting (the presence of her personal security helps). Right away, I could tell this was going to be a better-than-usual Elvis Cole novel. There’s not much that can beat that, in my book.

* This is a list generated in a rush, and I know I’ve left off some big ones, but as indicated, this is a theory-in-progress, I might work it out fully later.

** It’s likely that a better book is going to be better from the first chapter, and I just like the idea of creating a litmus test.

My opinion never wavered from that point on—this is some of the best writing Crais has given us in a long time—there are some passages/sentences/phrases I’ve had to read a few times just because I enjoyed them so much. I’m going to have a hard time limiting myself when quoting from the book once I get the hardcover. I’m already looking forward to a re-read of this somewhere down the road.

Along those lines, there’s one passage following a conversation between Elvis and Josh’s father that I’d believe Crais stole from one of the earliest Robert B. Parker novels. It’s not often that I get a reminder of the shared DNA between Elvis and Spenser. I appreciate what distinguishes the two more than their similarities, but it’s good to see the family resemblance is still there—it’s what attracted me to both characters (and their authors!).

We see the return of some characters that Crais hasn’t used in a while, too—which adds to the overall feeling of this novel hearkening back to earlier Elvis novels more than the last few. Another of the ways this book shines is in the supporting characters, not just that many from the old gang are back, but characters for this book. We get to know a couple of people connected to the missing persons really well, they’re well-fleshed out, and you can’t help feeling empathy for them and connected to them. For example, there’s a man who lives in Griffith Park who’s a witness to part of a cover-up—we get four chapters from his perspective. And I like him enough already that I’d read a short story/novella just about him.

I’ve probably gone on more than long enough at this point, let me wrap it up.

New readers will find plenty to enjoy here as well as well-established fans should. Obviously, newcomers won’t get all the character moments that come from the buildup of 17 previous novels, but that doesn’t mean they won’t walk away with a sense of them. Don’t let the existence of those novels dissuade you, see them as an added bonus of backstory you can explore if you get into these characters.

I don’t see how long-term fans aren’t going to relish this novel. Racing the Light doesn’t carry the emotional heft of L.A. Requiem or The Last Detective (primarily because those books explored the characters of Elvis and Pike in depths that Crais can’t repeat), but in terms of plot, pacing, and character this is their equal. I haven’t been this excited about a Robert Crais novel since The Promise.

I’m telling you, readers, don’t miss out on this one.

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

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WHAT'S THE STORIES BEHIND THE STORIES ABOUT?

It's right there in the subtitle, isn't it? "The Remarkable True Tales Behind Your Favorite Kid's Books." Higley takes 29 well-known and well-loved children's classics—most from the Twentieth-Century, with a couple from before and a few after it.

We get roughly two pages on each book, with a full page of art to go along with them—although one of those pages will be heavily illustrated, too. The text will give a little biographical information about the author and then talk about the book itself—maybe how it was written, or received, or what inspired it. There's also a sidebar with a little trivia about the book, too.

The books discussed range from Curious George to The Boxcar Children to Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief, books written for children too young to read through books for Middle Grade readers.

THE DESIGN AND THE ART

This is a wonderfully put-together book—let's start with the cover design, a giant "Little Golden Book" look is an inspired choice for this. The collages used to illustrate the rest of the book are equally well done. They jump off the page and are well-paired with each book discussed.

Sure, the text of the book is my focus—and it should be here, too. But when it comes in a package this great to look at? That's just a bonus.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT THE STORIES BEHIND THE STORIES?

I sat down to read about one or two of the books before starting something else one day, and read five before I realized it and had to force myself to stop. I ended up reading the rest of the book in one sitting. It's the literary equivalent of Lay's Potato Chips, "bet you can't read just one."

I've read 24 of the books talked about, and meant to read most of the others, so I was primed and ready for this—many readers in the target range (7-11 will be familiar with at least half, and this might inspire them to read more of them).

I think I learned a little about each of the books selected for this—except maybe Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, because that's been covered so well for so many years. Some of what I learned surprised me—The Boxcar Children was controversial? (okay, I probably should've guessed that one) Rawls almost didn't get Where the Red Fern Grows published, and once it was, it took a lot of work to get it read—or put another way, I almost didn't get my heart ripped out by it.

It's engaging with a little dash of mild humor, nothing over-the-top—just enough to bring the occasional grin while not distracting from the point. It's written in such a way that the target audience will have no problem reading it, and it'll keep the attention of older readers, too—anyone who likes children's books will find something to enjoy here. And you put that in an attractive package? It's a win all the way around. I strongly recommend this book.

What’s A Death in Door County About?

Morgan Carter owns and runs a bookstore in a tourist-y town in Minnesota. In her spare time, she’s a cryptozoologist—hunting for proof of creatures like Bigfoot, Lessie, chupacabra, Jersey Devils, and so on. She hasn’t found any yet—but that hasn’t stopped her from the search (something she inherited from her parents—along with enough money to pursue this).

One day, the new-ish police chief of a local town comes by the bookstore to hire her as a consultant. There’ve been a few drowning victims—animal and human—in the last few months that have unidentifiable bite marks on them. The bites haven’t been made public knowledge, but the number of bodies with them and the short amount of time has him and state wildlife authorities curious.

She jumps at the chance—but knows that if it’s not a large creature living in Lake Michigan, there’s a chance that there’s a human behind it. Finding a human cause would be a fast way to rule out a cryptid. So, while looking for indications of a creature, she does a little Jessica Fletcher-ing. One way or another, Morgan and her loyal dog, Newt, are going to find out who’s behind the deaths.

Odds and Ends Bookstore

So, I want to go visit Morgan’s bookstore tomorrow. It feels like it has a pretty extensive inventory—with a great selection of local information and history, esoteric cryptozoological material (due in large part to Morgan and her parents’ other gig), and some very strange non-book items for sale, too (like the non-magical section of Alex Verus’ Arcana Emporium)—I’m guessing they also have a decent selection of current books, on top of that

The store has two employees (which does suggest it’s smaller than the inventory could suggest, unlike, say, Nina Hill’s bookstore). They’re the perfect level of quirk, competence (possibly hyper-competence), and humanity. They’re the kind of supporting characters that will be fun to follow.

So, what did I think about A Death in Door County?

I don’t have a lot to say about this one—it was a fun little diversion, with nice characters that I want to spend more time with. The conceit should fuel a good number of books. I can’t think of a lot to say about it at the moment, I feel like I need to see one or two more books before I can really start talking about things because so much of this book was establishing the characters and the world. The setting of Lake Michigan isn’t one that I think I’ve spent a lot of (any?) time in, so I’m looking forward to more of that.

This was an entertaining, cozy-ish read—the addition of cryptozoology to the amateur detective who owns a bookstore was a fantastic touch. It’s really a great idea. Pick this one up, I think you’ll enjoy it.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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“My name is Ray Lilly,” I said to the empty room.

There it was. I’d remembered my name, and with it came the realization that I had come to this place, whatever this place was, to find someone—no idea who at the moment—and kill them.

Setting the Stage

It’s been a while since the last Twenty Palaces fiction was published (a novella 5 years ago, a novel more than twice that), let me give a quick review.

Magic is in the world, people who come across a book of it run the risk of opening a gate to another dimension and letting monsters (called predators) into our world. Once in, they won’t stop until our reality is gone.

Standing in the way is the Twenty Palaces Society—their peers track down the books and those who are using them and stop them. Almost always this is a lethal stopping. Annalise has been a peer for quite a while now, she gets the job done without really worrying too much about what stands between her and the target.

Ray Lilly is her wooden man. His job is to be a distraction, getting the attention of the troublemakers (human) and the predators focused on him, so Annalise can dispatch them. He’s not supposed to survive for long, but somehow he’s both lived and proven pretty effective when helping Annalise. Before this, he was a criminal—a car thief, freshly released from prison and trying to live a better life for the sake of the relatives who supported him.

What’s The Iron Gate About?

Annalise sends Ray into a building in a small coastal town to do some recon. They know a predator is in the building, but before she does something (probably destroying the building) he goes in—something happens and his ghost knife (the one spell Ray possesses) lands at her feet. Ray’s been taken by that predator but is still alive. She cancels the “apocalyptic tsunami of magic” she had planned for the building to wait for Ray to either die (which would get that tsunami rescheduled) or to escape.

Meanwhile, Ray finds himself in an Everytown, USA. Everyone calls him “Carl” and…ugh, I’m just going to copy and paste from the book description, because it’s more concise (and better) than what I’ve come up with:

[Ray] realizes that for some time now he’s been living as a puppet, his body and mind under the complete domination of an unknown power, and the townsfolk think this puppet is his real identity.

And that power can still seize control of Ray’s body at any time, forcing him and the people around him to playact in nonsense stories that center around a mysterious boy and his monster dog.

The town and its people shift and change, but only Ray seems to notice.

While she waits to find out what’s going on with Ray, Annalise devotes her time, energy, and money into keeping other people from getting access to that building. The last thing she wants is anyone else feeding that monster.

It’s the Little Things

Ray’s Ghost Knife could easily be the MVP of this series. Despite being a simple spell—and Ray’s version of it screams “bargain basement” in an endearing and charming way—is a surprisingly effective and reliable piece of magic. It turns out to be as versatile as a certain someone’s Sonic Screwdriver.

The way it’s utilized in this book is completely different than we’ve seen before, and is probably responsible for me spending more time thinking about it than I would’ve otherwise (although it’s always been a favorite thing in each book/story). As much as I enjoy the whole world and magic system that Connolly has given us, it might really be this tiny element—which almost seems to be a forgettable gadget when we first saw it—that could be his masterstroke. Just for what it’s allowed him to do in each setting.

Character Growth?

There are certain characters you run into in novels/series that are formed. They don’t display a lot of growth and development and that’s fine, they don’t need to. Most of the time, that’s a flaw in the writing/character design—but sometimes the character just is who they are and that’s good. Everyone around them changes and grows, but they remain a rock. Like a rock that Marcus Aurelias would talk about amidst the raging waves.

Annalise Powliss has always seemed like one of those characters to me—Ray and the civilians they were around would change, and Annalise would remain pretty much the same (maybe relaxing a bit and trusting Ray, but that’s it). But man, over the course of this novel, things happen to change her. The Annalise who drives away from this is not the one we met in Child of Fire.

I’ve liked her since the beginning, but this version takes less effort. More than that, I enjoyed watching the transformation (and how much she hated it when she noticed it happening, yet she rolled with it).

So, what did I think about The Iron Gate?

This book is everything I’ve thought this series could be—not that I thought the previous novels, novellas, short stories, etc. lacked anything, but this seemed to be a slightly better version of them. That’s probably because Connolly’s a better novelist now than he was when he started the series.

Given the set-up for this series, that extra-dimensional powers are about to break into this reality and devour everything—there’s an inherent darkness to the books. Ray, Annalise, and the rest of the Twenty Palaces are the equivalent of the proverbial little Dutch Boy, and they might be running out of fingers to hold back the destruction. There’s a sense of futility to what they’re about, every victory is Pyrrhic. That doesn’t take away from the gripping nature of the storytelling or the entertainment value of the novels—but you don’t shake the feeling of impending loss. I didn’t feel that this time—I have a few theories to explain it, but most feel inadequate, so I’m not going to share them. I don’t know if that’s a tweak Connolly’s making to the series, something tied to The Iron Gate‘s events, or if he’s setting us up for something. I’ll buy any of those explanations—or a combination.

I wonder a little bit if that makes this a more commercial novel than the previous ones. Hopefully—and hopefully word gets out about this book and it finds the audience it deserves.

There’s so much in this book to celebrate—the way Ray figures out what’s going on and how he tries to address it, everything Annalise gets up to, the way things wrap up, and the promise of the last chapter for what’s to come. Connolly is firing on all cylinders here, and it’s great to see. You’ve got unique magic, great action, flawed protagonists, unexpected humor, and a couple of compelling intertwined plots—what more can you ask for?

This would be a good jumping-on point for this series, Connolly gives you enough to get your footing in this world and overarching story while immersing you in this book’s plot (actually, he probably made this as accessible for new readers as the first book was). This is an Urban Fantasy for those who want something out-of-the norm, and is well worth your time.

Sometimes, you don't know how confused you are about something important until you try explaiing it to someone else.

WHAT'S GOOD TALK ABOUT?

It's 2014 when the book opens, Mira Jacob's son Z is six and he's asking Mom a lot of questions (because he's six). They start off talking about Michael Jackson—Z is obsessed with him. Z eventually asks about Jackson's skin color—Z is half-Jewish, half-Indian and has several questions about skin color that stem from this (and likely predate this, but what do I know) which leads to questions about race, race relations, and what he sees on the news. Jacob's committed to being open and honest with Z, but struggles knowing how much she should say—and how optimistic she should be about the state of the US in terms of Ferguson, MO, and a lot of the rhetoric surrounding the 2016 elections.

The memoir comes in as Jacob recounts several scenes from her childhood/young adulthood that shaped her. Her parents immigrated from India in the 60s (a week before MLK was assassinated) and took up residence in Albuquerque. We get a few scenes from her childhood and teen years before moving to adulthood, dealing with misunderstandings, assumptions, and unintentional rudeness based on her background. Eventually, she finds herself in New York City trying to make it as a freelance writer and dating. This is all told with frankness and humor. The kind of humor that reminded me of Amber Ruffin/Lacey Lamar's You'll Never Believe What Happened to Lacey from last year—you laugh so you don't have to cry.

THE ART

I really don't know how to describe the art here, but this is a graphic memoir, so it's a major component of the book. So I'd better try.

I saw someone on Goodreads use the term "mixed media," and without researching it, I think it's close enough to use as a description (maybe not technically right?). Please note that this is me trying to describe it, not being dismissive as it may sound. It's like Jacob drew nice, but not fantastic, paper dolls of each character (some at different ages, others static) and put them on top of photographs or drawings of various locations and added speech bubbles.

I just saw that she has an Instagram account that uses images from the book (in addition to the regular Instagram stuff), so I figure I can "quote" something to show what I'm talking about:

This is nowhere near the kind of art that appeals to me in graphic novels/memoirs etc. Give me something dynamic, something with some flair, something I can bask in. But...this really worked for me. It helped give this a "documentary" kind of feel (don't ask me to explain this, but it struck me that way). This isn't about the glitz or the pictures jumping off of the page, it's about a woman having tricky conversations with her loved ones—and complete strangers, sometimes. The focus is on the words, but the images help carry you along.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT GOOD TALK?

Sometimes, you go along with it and pretend nothing happened. Sometimes, you hold your breath until the feeling of wanting to believed passes. Sometimes, you weigh explaining against staying quiet and know they're both just different kinds of heavy. Sometimes, when it's your mother-in-law—a woman you started calling Mom the day you got engaged because you admired the ferocity with which she loved her children, and maybe even wanted some of it for yourself—you look ahead and see all the years of birthdays and graduations and weddings that will be shadowed by things that she can't imagine about your life. Sometimes, you can't hold your breath long enough.

I typed "I really enjoyed this book", but I'm not sure that's the appropriate response. I don't know that supposed to enjoy this—but her style and humor are really engaging and there's enough hope in there that it feels natural to say. I feel okay saying that this is a good read—it'll make you think, it might make you grin, and it'll definitely make you wince.

Right away, when Jacob goes to visit families in India and they tell her that her skin tone (darker than her parents' or her brother's) marks her out as not as attractive or a good prospect for marriage, you can tell she will pull no punches. And you can understand why she wouldn't want to. It's one of the many, many things that guys like me on Scalzi's Lowest Difficulty Setting don't have to think of. There are many sections of the book that hit the same way—like the chapter where she talks about being mistaken for "the help" at a party her mother-in-law was hosting. The above quotation is part of that—she decides mid-way through the conversation that she's not going to try to explain what happened, nor argue about it. Constantly having to explain your experiences—your life—to people who don't get it has to be a kind of exhausting that I can't imagine.

But there's a lot of humor and hope here, too—not all of it at the expense of clueless white folk saying dumb things. There's the chapter about getting her dad to use marijuana to help the pain of his cancer treatment, for example. It's funny and heart-warming. Until he dies, of course, reminding you that this isn't that the hope is tinged with reality.

I really recommend this book—it's a deceptively easy read, and you shouldn't let the style or format fool you into racing through it. There's a lot to chew on, a lot to reflect on—and a perspective that should be listened to. Even if you can't relate to her struggles, can't agree with her politics, and find the whole discussion unsettling. Maybe especially then.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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WHAT'S STATION ETERNITY ABOUT?

In the not-too-distant future, Aliens (of various species) have made Contact with Humanity. It's not unheard of for them to be seen on earth, looking around. Many humans are worried about war with the aliens—that they're around to invade or something. What they can't accept is that the aliens just don't think enough about humanity to bother.

Nearby—but not that near—is a Space Station where the aliens that Earth knows about are living. It's important to know that the Space Station is sentient. She's allowed three humans to live on board. One is an ambassador from the U.S. (you're going to spend a lot of time wondering how he got that appointment, until—of course—Lafferty explains it, and then it'll actually make sense); another is our protagonist, Mallory Viridian (more on her in a bit); and Xan, an Army quartermaster, Mallory met in college a few years back.

People tend to die around Mallory. Well, that's not exactly true—people in Mallory's vicinity have a tendency to be murdered. When that happens, Mallory is really good at solving the murders, too. Sure, she has to repeatedly convince law enforcement that she wasn't involved in the murder—but after that, she's great at figuring out who did the killing. Her presence on the Space Station is her attempt at staying away from people. Her thinking is that if she's not around people, they can't be killed. Yes, there are two other humans on board, but she avoids them as much as possible for their own sake.

But now...Eternity has decided to allow a shuttle-full of humans to visit, and Mallory is worried. Beyond worried, really. She tries to convince Eternity to call it off, but before she can...there's a murder. And before long, there are others—is Mallory up for the challenge?

THE ALIENS

There's a lot that I liked about this novel—more than I'm going to be able to really dig down into. But one of my favorite aspects of the novel is the alien races, their cultures, how they relate to humans, and so on. Aliens should be...alien. They shouldn't all be humanoid with a few cosmetic differences. Novels are a better place for this than movies/TV because they're not limited by an F/X budget, but still, we tend to get variations on a theme. Lafferty's good at keeping the aliens strange and humans should be equally strange to them (beyond a McCoy-can't-get-the-whole-Vulcan-logic thing)

A couple of examples to start with: there's the food on the station—a lot of it is lethal to humans, some is just unpalatable (think of the way 80s sitcom characters would react to the idea of sushi, and then multiply that). There's also the way way that the universal translation device (fairly reminiscent of Adam's Babel Fish) being implanted is a bloody and painful process—which is still not easy and pain-free by the end of the book. Unless I'm forgetting something (likely) or haven't been exposed to the right things (very likely), I'm used to this being a seamless, easy and pain-free process in SF.

We are talking about races here that can remember thinking of species like humans (and some others on the station) as "masticatables,*" before they got to the point where they saw them as sentient beings who should be treated with respect and on the same level. Physiology, communication, ethics, and worldviews that we can't comprehend easily. Not only are they only barely interested in dealing with humans (it's never stated, but I think most of Eternity's residents wish they'd waited a few centuries before making First Contact)—they're sure not going to go out of their way to make things accessible to humans. It's up to the three on board to figure out how to survive.

* Of the thousands and thousands of words that I read last week, that's probably my favorite one.

That said, they are pretty curious about humanity's squishy bodies full of wetness, our lack of symbiotic relationships (oh, yeah, I forgot to mention—every other race in this book is in some sort of symbiosis). Isolated creatures are hard for them to wrap their minds around. Throughout the novel, various characters repeatedly express how they can't understand how humans get by without a symbiotic relationship of some kind—in fact, they pity humans for how they must be isolated and hampered by it.

I could keep going here, but without writing a few hundred words on each race, I'm not going to be able to say enough (besides, that's Lafferty's job, not mine). Let me just sum up by saying that these aliens are alien, and we're pretty strange to them. I love seeing both of these in action.

A QUESTION OF GENRE

In my Spotlight post, wrote that Station Eternity is:

"a witty, self-aware whodunit with a unique sci-fi twist" (at least that's what the promotional material says—I'd call it a witty, self-aware Sci-Fi novel with a unique whodunit twist, if I was in the mood to split hairs).

Now, largely, genre is used as a marketing tool—how do we get this in front of the readers who are most likely to respond with their attention (and wallets, can't forget to get Lafferty and the publisher paid). As such, maybe it doesn't matter what genre it's classified as—and there's something to it. But genre also helps you talk about a book—the conventions of the genre, the way a book diverts from and/or uses them, etc. It also helps you find a book, "I'm in the mood for a good book," really doesn't get you very far, whereas "I'm in the mood for an Urban Fantasy," points you in the right direction.

So, Ace's marketing—and the title of the series itself—leans on the mystery. And I think that's fair. But I think the emphasis in this novel is on SF elements. That might not really be the case* in future novels in the series, but it felt that way this time. Lafferty's own bibliography and résumé are pretty heavy on Speculative Fiction, too—so it makes sense that the book would be Science Fiction-heavy.

* Pun unintended. But I really wish I had planned it.

Considered separately, I think the mystery part of the novel isn't as successful as the SF part is. That's largely because the SF aspects change the rules for the mystery. Thankfully, you don't have to consider the two strains separately—the book doesn't, there's little reason for a reader to do that (unless you're trying to talk about it in a blog post or something).

As I mentioned, most of the various races in the novel are in a symbiotic relationship of some kind to survive (and things do not go well for them when the symbiosis is disrupted). I think the relationship between the two genres here could be thought of that way—it's a mutually dependent relationship. The SF needs the mystery to generate and advance the plot, and the whodunit needs the SF to have a setting and for the characters to work.

Ultimately, I think a Mystery-reader who isn't that into SF is not as likely to enjoy this as a SF-reader who isn't that into Mysteries will. But I think readers of either genre who are open to the idea are going to find themselves really getting into this.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT STATION ETERNITY?

I've said almost nothing about Mallory, Xan or any of the other humans running around this book—but this has gone on too long already. Also, most of what I'd say is best discovered in the novel. So let me just say that Mallory is a fantastic character, and I'll sign up for at least three more books about her now. She's this great mix of neurosis (tied to all the murders around her, so they're understandable), talent, determination and snark. We don't get to know Xan quite as well—but I'll eagerly take at least one more book about him, too. He's going to be able to be a very different person after the events of this book, and I'm curious to see what that looks like.

Eternity herself is a character I want to understand more—and everyone on board, too. There's a Princess, for example, who seems like good comic relief when we meet her—and stays that way for most of the book. Then she does something and becomes a whole different kind of character—she's still a hoot, but she's a whole lot more.

That goes for the series, too—after Lafferty has created this world and shaken it up pretty well in this book, I want to see what happens afterward.

But I've gotten side-tracked, I want to focus on Station Eternity—there's a lot of backstory woven into plot, and Lafferty handles it well. We learn enough to advance the plot and understand the characters—but not so much that she can't throw us a curve-ball every now and then to be surprised by someone. And she does—and I relished each of them. These events and the characters will keep you on your toes.

This is a funny book—in the narration, some of the situations, and the way the characters relate to each other. The circumstances around a lot of the murders that Mallory encounters, for example, are frequently ridiculous. But it is not a comedy—we're talking about a lot of murders for one thing. Then there's intergalactic intrigue, the dangers of space travel, and life-or-death situations all around. The interactions and histories between the various characters are full of drama and the serious stuff that comes from being a person, too. There's a great balance of light and darkness throughout the book and Lafferty writes both with skill and a touch of panache.

I had a great time with this book and will be thinking about it for a while to come—and as I've suggested, I'm eager to see what's around the corner. I strongly recommend this book for mystery fans open to aliens walking around, SF fans interested in a different kind of story, and readers who like good things.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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WHAT'S SANTA'S LITTLE YELPERS ABOUT?

There's a new employee at the Tara Foundation—he's an ex-con, and an ex-lawyer (the former led to the latter). Chris is clear that he was wrongly convicted, but is trying to rebuild some sort of life and move on from there. Andy, Willie, and Sondra are happy to have him on board—especially because one of the shelter's dogs just had a litter, and Chris has taken mom and her pups into his house until they're ready to be adopted.

But since this is an Andy Carpenter novel, you know what's coming next—the dog lover introduced at the beginning of the book is headed for trouble. Chris is told by the major witness in the case against him that he was lying and will recant in court. But before Andy can get anything filed on Chris's behalf, the witness changes his mind. Chris goes to confront him, the witness is murdered, and, as we all expected, Chris is arrested for that crime.

It's up to Andy, The K Team, and the rest of Andy's team to try to prove him innocent of the murder—and maybe the initial crime.

IT'S BEGINNING TO LOOK (A LITTLE) LIKE CHRISTMAS...

I'm not sure why Minotaur keeps doing these Christmas-themed Carpenter novels—there's very little Christmas-y (or other holidays) in them. The Christmas content in this one is less than usual—don't worry, there's enough to justify this being considered a holiday novel or to satisfy those who want that content. But just enough for that—not one sentence more.

I should stress—I'm not complaining about this. I'll take any excuse for an Andy Carpenter novel, and this gives us two in a year—and some of these "Christmas" novels have been better than the others released that year. I'm just wondering.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT SANTA'S LITTLE YELPERS?

Between the 25 previous books in the series and the 3 K-Team books, I like to think I'm pretty familiar with Rosenfelt and his bag of tricks—the series and I are old friends by now, and while I have a ball with these books, I pretty much see most things coming. Or so I thought. Sure, most of the book went as I expected, and I was enjoying it as much as I expected to. And then Rosenfelt pulled off a twist that I didn't see coming—my interest and appreciation for the book increased.

And then he did it again. I wouldn't have guessed that by book 29, Rosenfelt would be surprising me twice in one book. I'm not saying that I don't appreciate the twists and the turns of the stories in most of his books, because I really do—but I usually know something like them is coming—I didn't see either of these coming at all. (I do think I should've been in the ballpark for one of them, though, if I'd been on my game). And because of these reveals, a lot of the book played out in ways I didn't fully expect. I love it when an author does this.

Are all semi-savvy readers going to experience this? Not necessarily—but you just might.

Even without that—this is a classic Andy Carpenter book, there's some good Ricky material, Laurie and Marcus get to do their thing—Corey and Simon Garfunkel get some nice moments, too. Sam Willis (very minor spoiler) gets some out-of-the-office work, which is fun. And Andy meets a new judge and prosecutor and doesn't totally alienate them (I'm not sure he endears himself to either, either).

It's a good time, a clever case, with some typical quotable lines. Everything an Andy Carpenter fan wants—and, as always, this would be a good jumping on point for a newbie looking for an enjoyable mystery/legal thriller to read.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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WHAT'S DIRECTED BY JAMES BURROWS ABOUT?

This is largely a professional memoir about the long and storied career of TV director/producer James Burrows.

The book starts with a chapter and a half (or so) describing his childhood, early family life, and so on—talking about his father's Broadway writing and directing a bit and how that did/didn't influence his career choices. Then we get about a half-chapter talking about his education/theater work. Which is all a lead-up to his TV career. We get a little more of his personal life sprinkled in throughout the following chapters, but not much—Burrows knows the interest in his own story is in the stories he told—and more importantly—helped others to tell. That's where the focus of the book is—he's giving the people what they want.

And it feels like a pretty a fairly exhaustive tale of the various shows he worked on and his involvement in them, with an occasional interlude to talk about something like screwball comedy and why one would use it, with some examples from his own career. There's no way it can be exhaustive—and it sure isn't detailed by any means*—he's got too much under his belt, but he comes close.

* That's a description, not a criticism. Burrows gives plenty of details, but not blow-by-blow kind of stuff too often.

He starts with a discussion of his time on The Mary Tyler Moore Show where he learned from some of the best around how to do what he does—and a lot about comedy. Then he moves on to where he becomes a driving influence on the show—and that's the majority of the book. Which is what's named in the subtitle: Taxi, Cheers, Frasier, Friends, Will & Grace. There's plenty covered in the "and More" for sure—including many things I hadn't realized he'd worked on (but make a lot of sense knowing that he did). The book does cover what he did in 2020 and 2021, so it's about as up-to-date as you could want.

The stories of these shows include a lot of how they came about in terms of writers and networks and what kind of story they were going to tell before moving into casting, shooting the early episodes, audience reception, and success. The bulk of the material is behind-the-scenes, but there are a lot of descriptions of what ends up on-screen (including short-to-lengthy portions of the script), and how it landed. Most of his work is done with a live studio audience, so the immediate audience reception is almost more important than the TV audience's.

There are stories of failure, things not working out quite right—and how he/the show recovered—either immediately or long-term. But almost all of the book is about the successes (why give more than a few sentences, for example, to a pilot episode that less than 100 people have seen/will see?)

THE NARRATION

Burrows has some performing in his background, but not a lot. And that's pretty evident in the narration here. He's just not that good—there's very little feeling in it—even when he's telling a story he clearly (and correctly ) thinks is funny, you don't hear it. When it's an emotional moment for him, you don't hear it. His affect is pretty much the same no matter what he's talking about, and that really hurts the book.

Also, when he's reading dialogue from a scene? You wonder how an actor will listen to him and come up with a good way to deliver a line. That feels harsh to say, but that's the way it struck me. I think here it's a deliberate choice—my gut tells me it's a desire not to try to do an impression of an actor (especially one that would come across as unflattering) or he could be avoiding trying to give a different/competing take on the line. I don't know—it comes across as flat, and these lines shouldn't.*

* See We Had a Little Real Estate Problem for where a similar approach to narration worked better.

I know Burrows can tell a good story—I've heard and seen him interviewed. But here, he just comes across as wooden.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT DIRECTED BY JAMES BURROWS?

It's clear to readers of this blog that I read a lot, but I could've easily done a TV-watching blog—and started one about the same time as this (but that's another story). James Burrows is one of the first non-actors whose name I recognized as creating the TV I watched back in elementary school, and his involvement in a show will definitely get me to watch at least an episode or two if I'm at all interested in the premise. I'm the target audience for this book, no doubt.

The material overcame the narration—the first chapter and a half were really rough, I couldn't connect with it at all, and was thinking about giving up. But once he moved into TV, I got over the fact that I didn't care for the narration and had a blast with the book. The man has many insights, anecdotes, and memories that TV fans will eat up, and shares many of them.

Directed by James Burrows is full of trivia, insights, and just great stories. If not hampered by the narration, I'd be gushing about this. Instead, I'm just giving a hearty recommendation. TV junkies? You're going to want to get your hands on this one.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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WHAT'S MOVIES (AND OTHER THINGS) ABOUT?

Serrano discusses movies from the point of view of a massive fan—he knows what he's talking about, he can discuss them objectively, critically, and as a fanboy—mostly a combination thereof. In this collection of essays, he approaches films of the mid-80s (largely) to today, answering burning questions such as:

* Who's the better tough guy movie dog owner? (Will Smith in Legend, Tom Hardy in The Drop, or Keanu Reeves in John Wick?)

* Which Movie had the more intense opening, Face/Off or Finding Nemo?

* When did you know Booksmart was special?

* Who's in the perfect heist movie crew

* Which race was white-saviored the best by Kevin Costner?

* When did Michael B. Jordan break your heart into the most pieces? (which was immediately followed by)

* When was Diane Keaton the most charming in Something's Gotta Give?

The mental whiplash between those last two shows the range that Serrano is capable of. He also ranks the deaths/trauma in the Kill Bill movies, discusses adjusting recent Academy Award nominations/wins after making sure Romantic Comedies are given their credit due, what movie villains would be fun to hang out with, and how an NBA post-game style press conference with Michael Myers would go.

There's a great combination of movie knowledge/insight, social commentary, and humor mixed throughout each of these. Even when it came to movies I've never seen, have no interest in seeing, or saw ages ago and don't remember well, Serrano kept me pretty engaged and entertained.*

* Except maybe with the Fast and the Furious discussion, I don't know why...I just can't care about this franchise.

A WORD ABOUT THE NARRATION

I've heard Serrano as a guest on podcasts, and would've assumed his natural ability, experience, and passion would've made him a natural to read his own audiobook. But for whatever reason, Mario Toscano got the nod instead.

And I can see why—I had no problem believing I was hearing Serrano himself read these (maybe if I'd pulled up a podcast to listen to first, that wouldn't have been true)—which is important when I'm hearing something so personal or passionate as this often is (see Black Nerd Problems, for example). Toscano sounds like a knowledgeable film geek going off on various topics—I think he could've put a little more energy into some of the quotations, but I'm sure there are good reasons for not doing that.

OHH, MAN...

While researching this post, I saw that the ebook has three additional exclusive chapters...I might have been able to resist, but one of the chapters is "When Was Hans Gruber's Subtlety the Most Threatening?"

So, I'm going to have to buy a print copy of this, too. I have to read this take.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT MOVIES (AND OTHER THINGS)?

I had a blast with this—it's the equivalent of sitting around with a bunch of friends talking about movies for far too long, which is one of my favorite ways to spend a lot of time. Even when I think he was out to lunch or arbitrary in some of his choices, I could get behind them for the sake of argument or be entertained by them.

Man, I wish I knew where he came up with some of the topics. If I spent a year doing nothing more than coming up with the chapter titles (never mind the content), I couldn't be half this creative.

I didn't need anyone reminding me of Opie Winston's death scene— ever . But especially not in a book about movies where I didn't know to be emotionally prepared for such a thing. Serrano lost a star from me for that one.*

* Not really, but it was cathartic to say that.

That incredibly important quibble aside, if you're a current/former/would-be movie geek, grab this, you'll have a blast.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

---

“Something wrong?”

“I'm not sure, but I'm thinking I might’ve screwed things up.”

“How?”

“The way you always do, by doing a good deed.”

WHAT'S HELL AND BACK ABOUT?

Recently, Walt has across repeated references to Fort Pratt—a military base and a school for natives there. Neither Walt nor Henry had heard of this place before, and it made him curious—he did a little looking and asking around about it and found one person who knew something.

And now...Walt wakes up in the middle of the street in that town. He doesn't know who he is, or what he's doing there, and keeps running into people he vaguely recognizes (or thinks he should) and readers do. Then he finds himself witnessing events surrounding that school's destruction by fire—which killed the 31 boys living there.

Meanwhile, Henry Standing Bear and Vic are trying to track down Walt. He's been on the hunt for a suspect in a murder and hasn't checked in for a while—they get to the area he was last known to be and find some disturbing signs, but no Walt.

While they look for Walt, our favorite sheriff and the reader have to figure out where he is and why—and does it have anything to do with the Éveohtsé-heómėse, the Wandering Without, that Walt encountered in the last book?

HMMM...

I wanted to give a section focusing on each of our main trio of characters—or at least the two main storylines. And I can't. Anything I say would divulge so much of the plot/mechanics of the novel that I'd ruin something.

So why am I spending time talking about this? 1. I don't want it to look like I'm harping on just one point (see the next section) and 2. to make a point—these threads are so tightly woven in this book that to look at any of them, you have to look at how it all plays out—from beginning to ending. Don't decide—or try to decide—what you think of anything until the ending—you'll be wasting time and effort.

IS CRAIG JOHNSON TAKING A STAND?

A mixture of native Spirituality (beliefs, practices, and possible occurrences) have been around since the beginning of this series as a constant, but emphasized in books like Hell is Empty and last year's Daughter of the Morning Star. But the novels have never really taken a stand on whether a spiritual entity/entities or powers are interacting with Walt and others or whether that's one possible interpretation—and maybe Walt was hallucinating/dreaming due to physical injury, mental exhaustion, hypothermia, etc.

It really seems like Walt believes it's true in the moment (sometimes he has to be convinced), but then brushes it away. Although a couple of times, I thought it was Henry who suggests an alternate explanation—Vic never seems to give a mystical idea any precedence.

If only for the amount of this book that appears not to transpire in our world, I think that Johnson's not really pretending to be neutral anymore. Even Walt's "but maybe..." take seemed halfhearted.

I think I'm fine with it—if only so we don't have to have this discussion so often within the books. As long as Johnson isn't trying to veer into Urban Fantasy or anything (and I don't think he is), go for it. Let Walt be convinced by his experience, embrace them, and move forward that way. At least let him wrestle with it, not just brush it away.

Now, if Vic starts seeing Virgil White Buffalo or something like him...that might be a problem.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT HELL AND BACK?

In his Acknowledgements, Johnson says he attempted to create "a Western, gothic-romance with traces of horror." "Traces" is a good word—it's just a hint, like the hint of whatever fruit a particular can of La Croix tells you it has (maybe a little heavier). The rest seems like a good description of the result—I guess I'm not sold on "if" he should've tried, or at least tried in this way. I don't want this series to turn into a bunch of cookie-cutter novels about Walt and the gang solving mysteries at home or in a nearby county. But...not all experiments are successful.

I'm torn. I enjoyed this, I like that Johnson is constantly trying to keep each novel from being a duplicate of a previous one and trying to do new things with well-established characters. I thought the ideas were great, I appreciate that Johnson wants to discuss things like the horrible conditions and events in "Indian schools."

But I think this was a lousy Walt Longmire book. There were some strong character moments for Vic and Henry (and a moment or two that I'm not so sure about for each). I don't think it was a good use of the character of Walt Longmire or the kind of story that's good for the series. There are a couple of things that could spring from this for future books, but I think Johnson probably could've gotten there a different way.

Yes, I'm prepared to eat my words in that last sentence, but I feel pretty safe about it.

This was a good follow-up to the previous book, but it's also a wholly unnecessary follow-up. It ended so well, and yet so ambiguously on one point that I thought was very effective. This book takes away that ambiguity and takes away the power/mystery from the conclusion.

Long-time fans will find enough to justify their time (there's a moment where Vic reveals a lot of herself to another character that's one of the most honest moments in the series for her, for example), but I expect most will be unsatisfied by the book as a whole. I think I was. Still, while this might not have been the most successful Walt Longmire book, I tip my cap to Johnson for giving it a shot.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

---

THE WORLD OF THIS NOVEL

This is a Fantasy world where the Muggles (here, they're called "Usuals") know about Magic and the Supernatural populace (called "the Unorthodox"). They're largely not that comfortable with them, it doesn't seem—and maybe look down upon them. We don't get a lot of Usual/Unorthodox interaction, so it's difficult to get a good read.

The Unorthodox are policed by a division of the Department of Unorthodox Affairs called Auditors. They're witches with the power to enforce the laws governing the Unorthodox. And there are rules governing how the Unorthodox interact with Usuals. We don't get to see a lot of them here—but you know they exist.

It occurs to me now that we really don't get that much insight or information about all the situation the protagonists find themselves in (more below). Dead Man's Hand cares about the story and will let the rest take care of itself. It took me until now (and this is the last section of the post I'm writing) to realize just how little we know because I didn't care. My mindset apparently was the same as the novel's: just tell me the story. I got the impression that there were rules and bureaucracy and some sort of history, but my focus was on this case.

That's kind of cool, really—until it comes time to think about and write about the book.

SO WHAT EXACTLY IS DEAD MAN'S HAND ABOUT?

One of our two protagonists is Grimshaw Griswald Grimsby. Grimsby grew up wanting to be an Auditor and tried to work on the requisite skills as much as he could to prepare himself. He's not the most powerful witch, but he can do a lot with what he has (roughly the equivalent of "street smarts" vs. "book smarts"). He's flunked out of the Auditor Training Program at the very end and has to go find a job in the Usual world.

He ends up as a performer/custodian at a Chuck E. Cheese-style restaurant, where the animated figures are powered by his magic. It's humiliating, embarrassing, and eats at his soul. Grimsby went through some big trauma in his childhood; was on the verge of his dreams coming true before that ended; and now he's scraping by demeaning himself and his abilities. It's hard to find a character with supernatural abilities downtrodden or pitiful, but...Grimsby is. To put it concisely, he's a schlub and he's fully aware of that.

The other protagonist is a Usual who worked with the Auditors, Leslie Mayflower, better known as The Huntsman. He's responsible for enough death and destruction amongst the Unorthodox that many don't believe he actually exists—he's an Urban Legend to keep people in line. In reality, he's a guy who's seen too much, done too much, and when personal tragedy hits, he's done. He retires to drink himself into oblivion to avoid the memories and his own tragedy.

The Auditor who flunked Grimsby is considered one of the most powerful and dangerous witches in the world. Mansgraf is respected and feared—mostly feared. And when the novel opens—she's been killed in a fairly brutal fashion (the only way she's going to be able to be taken out). Mayflower spent his career (at least the bulk of it) as her partner—and he's brought in to look at the scene to see if he can pick up any clues. He comes up with one—and doesn't share it with the Department—and it points right to Grimsby as his prime suspect.

The Huntsman is back in the saddle for one last ride—to get vengeance, and his target is a man currently wearing a pink tutu with taco wings and an avocado wand. The Taco Fairy at Mighty Magic Donald's Food Kingdom.

It's almost patently obvious to Mayflower that Grimsby can't have killed Mansgraf, but that's where the evidence points. The Auditors won't be far behind, and they'll be less inclined to listen to Grimsby. So Mayflower has to stay one step ahead of them while protecting the witch and using him to help the investigation. The result is a buddy cop kind of story—without that much comedy or much in the way of buddy-ness. The duo drag themselves and fight their way through a variety of hazardous situations facing a variety of supernatural obstacles (some are solid takes on well-established ideas—some are new and surprising twists to them).

BROKEN HEROES

Mayflower is your typical brooding, laconic, action hero. He's grizzled, he's serious, and he really only cares about wrapping this up so he can get back to destroying his liver. But he's fair, he's got a strong moral core, and on some level, he feels sorry for Grimsby and wants to help him out. We know just enough of his backstory to understand what kind of man he is and the scars he carries.

We get more information about Grimsby and the hardships he's endured. His cowardice, his lack of confidence, and his lack of career prospects make him a relatable kind of character, and you want to root for this underdog. Although you (and Grimsby) know that he's going to need a lot of help from Mayflower to survive, much less succeed here. His problems are both played for laughs and treated with respect—frequently in the same paragraph. He has a genuine reason for being scared by things, but it can result in some laughs/grins. I keep thinking about Arthur from The Tick.

There's a stoic, stay standing while the waves crash against you, feel to Mayflower's outlook and the way he treats Grimsby. Yes, life is hard, but keep moving because that's what you have to do. Whatever problems there are with that worldview, the immediate circumstances the duo finds themselves in, it works. if they survive it, maybe more nuanced approaches and help can be found. But that's a problem for another day.

COMPARING THIS TO THAT OTHER BUTCHER

I really don't want to spend a lot of time comparing this Butcher to his father, but 1. everyone I talk to about this asks about it and 2. the publisher's description mentions him, basically inviting the comparisons. I'd prefer to consider him on his own—but here we are.

Honestly, I don't see a lot of similarities—beyond seeing the influence that Jim Butcher has on many UF series (see Anton Strout, Kevin Hearne, Mike Carey, Benedict Jacka, etc., etc.). Sure, there are similar attitudes portrayed, similar character types and voices, and even a couple of situations that feel like I could easily name some parallels to in The Dresden Files. But again, every time I could point to something and say, "That's his Dad," I could point it and say, "That's Peter Hartog" or "That's Jacqueline Carey." So maybe it's just James J. Butcher.

His writing style is different, the characters aren't just retreads of Harry or his friends, and the particulars of the plot don't seem to fit something for Harry.

If you're looking for someone who writes things in the same general vein as Jim Butcher, you can look to James J. Butcher. But if you're looking for Butcher 2.0? There are other options that would be better.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT DEAD MAN'S HAND?

This is a solid introduction to a series. I want more of the worldbuilding, I want to see how Usuals/The Unorthodox interact when they're not at a lousy restaurant, etc. But I'm more than content to wait for it—like I said, I didn't really realize what we didn't get until now.

I would say I'm not a huge fan of the epilogue—the events of it should prove interesting, even if I might want for a different storyline to be pursued—but I don't like the way it functioned in the novel. Personally, I'd have been happier if it had been a prologue to book 2 or 3, and let the book end without it. I don't think it was needed, and I think the book ending with Chapter 47 would give a stronger impression.

Aside from that, I really have no complaints about the book—I was solidly entertained and invested from Chapter 1 onward. I don't know that I can say that I was blown away by anything—but there are some things I'm not talking about here because of space/don't want to give something away, that I will be talking about for months (and have already started doing so). I'm not going to be announcing to the world that the next Jim Butcher/Seanan McGuire is here. But I will say that this new writer is really good and absolutely worth reading. You're going to be entertained. Seriously, pick this up just for the kid's birthday party scenes, and then stick around for the excitement.

In the last twelve months, we had to say goodbye to Jane Yellowrock this year and Alex Verus the year before, I'm glad we got to say hello to The Unorthodox Chronicles now. I think this series could be as long and as satisfying as those if it's given the chance to grow naturally and doesn't get overshadowed by Butcher's DNA.

You can do this, Cameron. You have intelligence, competence, and experience on your side.

“You’re right. I can handle this job on my own. I got this,” he huffed as he tried to make himself believe those words.

I was referring to me.

WHAT'S THE DAYS OF TAO ABOUT?

Cameron Poe is about to graduate from college—he would've graduated already if he hadn't picked up a D in Art History, of all things. To make up for that before he can start training to be a full-fledged Prophus operative, he's taking a summer class in Greece with a couple of his friends. It's a relaxing time in a fascinating part of the world with an interesting group of students—and a chance for one last college romance before he has to focus.

But then a Prophus agent needs immediate extraction because he has vital information to share, his life is in danger, and the Genjix are about to take their aggression to the next level throughout the world. And Cameron's the closest thing that the Prophus have to an operative in the country.

Cameron can't abandon his friends, though—and they won't abandon their classmates—so he ends up dragging along most of the group on his rescue mission (why make things easy for himself?)

WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT THE DAYS OF TAO?

I bought this shortly after its publication, and have no idea why I didn't read it until now (and don't get me started on The Fall of Io). If it accomplished nothing else, it got me thinking about the series and remembering how much fun it was.

I don't remember what I thought of them while reading them (and I'm not going to look), but I remember the Tao novels being a little longer than they needed to—that's not a criticism, but I think they could have been tightened up a bit. Not this—the advantage of the novella—there's not an ounce of fat to this, not one wasted word. That's not to say that it's all plot or anything— Beyond the action and the extraction, there are some good character moments, some necessary development of Cameron, and a couple of laughs—but this novella never slows or drags for a moment. Once the agent says he needs extraction (and, even before that), we're off to the races and you'd better be buckled up.

Looking at this book's place in the series, it serves to put the action and the characters (including Io) in place for The Rise of Io. Was this a necessary bridge between the Tao and Io books? Not really no. That's one thing about these Subterranean Press books—they're a nice bonus to completists, but people who don't want to/are too slow to shell out the money for the nice hardcovers (and don't want to go ebook or audiobook) don't miss anything they need. But man, it was a nice way to spend an hour or so with some old friends. I really enjoyed this and would commend it (even at this late date) to fans of Tao and the Tan family.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

---

WHAT'S WEALTH MANAGEMENT ABOUT?

Not that long ago, Catherine, Rafe, and Majid had attended Harvard Business School together—they were competitors, friends, and (at least briefly) more than friends. After graduation, they'd each gone their separate ways, but life has brought them all back together in Geneva, Switzerland.

Catherine is working for a large and important bank, Majid and his partner run a fairly new hedge fund management firm, and Rafe...well, there's what he tells people and what's really going on with him. The personal entanglements have started/resumed before we see the reunion of the trio, and they become more entangled after the book begins. As do the professional dealings—and here's where it gets messy.

It turns out that one of Catherine's more significant clients seems to be involved in some money laundering (and is dragging her along with him)—and possibly some worse crimes. Majid's firm is in serious cash problems, that might have been saved by one client—but he and his partner are concerned about this client and how he knows just the right stocks to sell short. And Rafe just might be able to save both of them from these, shall we say, complications.

There's at least one murder, a terrorist act or two, some CIA agents, a persistent (and possibly honest) Nigerian police detective, and other assorted criminal and conspiracies afoot as well—and once Majid and Catherine become aware of them (and/or stop lying to themselves about how complicit they may be), it looks like Rafe's help isn't only attractive—but their sole lifeline.

Can Rafe help his friends/lover/frenemies? Can they uncover—and maybe stop—a terrorist plot?

THE FINANCIAL SIDE

Like I said last week when talking about Nineteenth Century Monetary Crime—I'm not particularly interested in, or seemingly that capable—of rolling up my sleeves to get into the nitty-gritty of the World of Finance. I get the broad concepts—and can even appreciate the broad outlines of a discussion of short-selling (and things along those lines).

I was a little apprehensive about that idea before I started the book. Would this get into the weeds with that kind of thing? I remember learning too much about nuclear submarines or the inner-workings of an aircraft carrier deck's operations back in the 80s and 90s when all I wanted was some action. Would the infodumps/background information slow things down too much?

Yeah, I was also a little worried about not being able to follow the focus of the action—no one likes their novels making them feel dumb. Or even if I could understand it, would it really be interesting enough to hold my attention?

Thankfully, it didn't get too far into the weeds. I could understand the financial actions—and it wasn't dull at all. Actually, I think this is the kind of thing that'd be good to see more of. Just how do terrorist groups—or even criminal organizations (outside of theft or selling drugs/guns/whatever)—fund themselves? It's not like you can reuse explosive materials or bullets, and they don't grow on trees—the money has to come from somewhere, and it sure isn't from bake sales. The idea that certain targets/plots are motivated as a way to generate income for a terrorist group is a great way to cost a guy some sleep (and hope that "the good guys" are able to stop them).

And if cryptocurrencies reared their head at all, it was so briefly* that it didn't leave a lasting impression—right now, you have to be grateful for that.

* Also, a quick word search didn't turn up the term.

I'M NOT ENTIRELY SOLD ON THIS...

There's a Love Triangle here among our protagonists—it's not a significant part of the story, but it's not insignificant either. Well, "Love" might only apply for 1-1.5 of the sides, but "Friends-With-Benefits Triangle" doesn't have a great ring to it, and "Sex Triangle" seems to suggest all sorts of things that Zuckerman didn't have in mind.

If this is a product of a "you have to have sex in a thriller to sell" kind of a thing, I guess it fulfilled its cynical function—and didn't put off prudes like me.

If it's to round out these characters and make them more than young professional types out to make all the money they can—or to ground them in reality and/or make them more interesting? I guess it succeeded (maybe not in the interesting part, but its possible).

If it's to add layers of additional and conflicting motivations to the characters—giving them reasons to trust, distrust, and be unwilling to work with each other? It's not bad—but I think it could've been played up a bit more—or at least more thoroughly. We get some of this, but I think it could've been explored a bit better.

It's likely all three of these things—and probably more—and as such, it largely succeeds. But my gut tells me that it could've been done a bit better without turning the book into something all about the Triangle.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT WEALTH MANAGEMENT?

Okay, I called this a Financial Thriller (as does the publisher)—but never fear, there's the requisite gunplay, hand-to-hand violence (and threat thereof)—and actual terrorist activity. The thrills aren't all in deft trades and market chicanery. The money material is the focus and does provide most of the thrills—and it's what distinguishes this book from the rest of the market. In the end, we get a tight and intricate novel full of intrigue.

At one point, I counted a dozen competing/conflicting motives/goals/actions at work among the named characters—plus a handful of people we don't meet. Zuckerman keeps the action jumping from character to character quickly, advancing each plot line a little at a time so they can come together in a nicely dramatic fashion.

Some of the characters aren't that developed—but there's enough to hang on to. With most of them, it's easy to see that in another 50-100 pages or so, you could see them being described as such. But with a cast as big as this one in under 300 pages? You're going to get some that are undercooked, there's just no way to do that. Like with most thrillers—if it comes down to a choice between plot vs. character, plot wins—especially when it's paced the way this is. It's not a bug, it's a feature (not my favorite feature, but it is one).

My initial reaction when I was emailed about this book was, "'MBAs," 'Banking', and 'Thriller' are not terms I'd expect to be together"—and they're still not. But when done right—done the way that Zuckerman did it in these pages—I'm glad to say that I was wrong.

This is a very effective thriller, a little something different in the diet—and generally a good time. Yes, I think that another hundred pages could've been added to better develop characters, the whatever-triangle, and to flesh out a few other aspects of the book—but I think that might have sacrificed pace and tension, and you don't want a ponderous thriller. So, I think Zuckerman made the right choices there. A quick glance at IMDB shows you, that he knows his way around a tight plot—also any author who is able to induce a moment of acrophobia deserves kudos.* I'm glad to recommend Wealth Management and encourage you to check it out.

* Sure, in real life or on film (or via a Go Pro video), I'm on a hair trigger for that kind of thing, but to do it without visual stimuli is a trick.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

---

“I guess drinking was his way of dealing with it tonight.”

“That was always my first option,” Jesse said. “And second. And third. But no matter how many times I tried, it never seemed to work.”

There was a pause at her end.

"He didn’t get into any fights, did he?”

“Just with himself,” Jesse said. “Spoiler alert? He lost.”

WHAT'S FALLOUT ABOUT?

There are two murders for the Paradise Police Department to focus on in this book—and both have a lot of personal resonance.

The first is the suspicious death of Suit's nephew. He was a senior in High School and a hot college baseball prospect—naturally, a great athlete—and had been getting better because of Jesse's mentoring. Suit thought of Jack as a son more than a nephew and he's devastated by this. It's unclear if he died after a drunken fight at a party, or if he'd been driven by inner demons to end his own life. No one wants to believe the latter—but they can't rule it out. A very not-subtle cone of silence around the team is being enforced—as that was pretty much all of Jack's life, that means the investigation isn't getting very far.

Some time ago, a former Paradise Police Chief moved back to town and befriended Jesse. The two regularly had dinner together, and one of the first things we see is a meal between Jessee and Charlie Farrell. The woman that Charlie's been seeing was recently swindled out of a few thousand dollars and now it looks like scammers have targeted Charlie. He's been retired for decades, but still has the instincts and reflexes to try to track them down himself rather than turn things over to Jesse's crew. He must've been on the right track because he was killed. This shakes (an already shaken) Jesse, who sets his sights on this case so much that he turns Jack's death primarily over to Molly. He was Chief before any of the officers we know joined the force (as far as I can tell), but it's still about "one of their own."

JESSE'S BATTLE WITH ALCOHOL

I'm not crazy about Lupica's way of dealing with Jesse's alcoholism compared to Coleman's—but it's better than Parker or Brandman did. But I really liked Jesse's ruminations about people being able to stop drinking while the bottle still had something left, or when the option to order another glass was available. Actually, all of the material about his drinking in this book was good—better than he's given us so far. Hopefully, the trend continues.

MISCELLANEOUS BULLET POINTS

I don't have time/inclination to expand these beyond brief paragraphs—but I felt compelled to mention a few things.

* Okay, the over-use/over-reliance on Crow, basically making him Jesse's Hawk, bugs me. It also doesn't do that any favors for the character of Crow or Jesse—and really doesn't help Molly's character in any conceivable way (although Lupica may have a long game there). Parker (inadvertently?) tamed Hawk by using him too much—and was well on the way to doing that with Bobby Horse and Chollo, too. And now Lupica's doing that with Crow. Use him less (far less) and he retains his mystery, his edge, and his ability to do the things that Jesse won't do.

* This isn't evaluative, per se, I guess I'd file it as a general musing—it felt to me like this book was (for lack of a better term) swear-ier than I'm used to. Parker and the other authors in the Spenser-verse have never been reluctant to use a four-letter word when the situation called for it, by any means. It seemed like a noticeable uptick in those words. I'm not saying that Lupica's turned into Kevin Smith or anything, it just gave everything a slightly different feel. I wonder if that'll continue, if it was just a blip, or if I'm imagining things.

* It really feels like Lupica is trying to write off Jesse's son, Cole. Had Coleman continued with the series, I'm curious about how he'd have handled the character. I've had so many questions about his introduction in the first place, and now it feels like Lupica's trying to pull a Chuck Cunningham with him—sending him to law school in London and taking him out of Jesse's life. He actually thinks, "The kid sounded happy. Leave him alone."

* So Molly came clean with her husband about her fling with Crow several years ago. Now her marriage is all but over. No one has given us enough time with Molly's husband over the previous 20 books for us to get that invested in the marriage—so putting it on the rocks doesn't do much for the character either. I really don't care either way, except that it feels like Molly's character is drifting and becoming a different person. But that happens to all of us, so I can't complain on principle, just...

* Yeah, Parker created his three series in a way to allow the characters to intersect—but other than the Jesse/Sunny love story, and the Sunny/Susan therapy relationship, the primary characters didn't intermingle too much. I'm not sure if the current approach of bringing them all together so much is the right way to deal with them. I'm not sure it's not, either.

* Building from that—if you're going to bring these worlds together so much, and if you're going to introduce and kill off a police chief that coincidentally(??) shares the last name of a frequently used supporting character who is also a cop? Someone had better say something. If only so that readers stop thinking about it. In a Spenser-verse book, if someone talks about "Farrell," I reflexively think, "Lee." I can't imagine I'm alone there—I just don't get that character name choice. I bumped on it every time it was mentioned (and, as the central death in one of the two major storylines, it came up a lot).

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT FALLOUT?

This was entertaining and occasionally clever. I don't know that I felt the emotional impact of either murder—I felt for Suit, but I'm not sure I cared too much about it. Maybe if we'd been able to focus on what Suit was going through while he was doing the investigation—keep it a Jesse and Suit thing with some backup from Molly. In the end, it became primarily a Molly and Jesse thing with Suit in the background.

I don't know if Lupica's capable of delivering a great Jesse Stone novel, instead, I think we're going to get a streak of pretty good—and consistently so—novels (well, he's probably capable, but I don't get the impression that it's his goal). That's good enough for me, I might want something more, but consistently good and entertaining will sustain my interest.

I'm not sure if this is the place to jump onto the series—but it's not necessarily a bad place. It's the 21st in the series, but you don't need the knowledge that comes from the previous twenty. It might help, but not that much, you'll not miss much at all.

A good time will be had by those who take a dip into these waters.

WHAT'S AN EASY DEATH ABOUT?

I've tried this, and it gets too detailed (read: dull), so I'm going to borrow from Simon & Schuster's website:

In a fractured United States, a new world where magic is acknowledged but mistrusted, a young gunslinger named Lizbeth Rose takes a job offer from a pair of Russian wizards. Lizbeth Rose has a wildly fearsome reputation but these wizards are desperate. Searching the small border towns near Mexico, they’re trying to locate a low-level magic practitioner believed to be a direct descendant of Grigori Rasputin.

As the trio journey through an altered America—shattered into several countries after the assassination of Franklin Roosevelt and the Great Depression—they’re set on by enemies. It’s clear that a powerful force does not want them to succeed in their mission. Lizbeth Rose has never failed a client, but this job may stretch her to her deadly limits.

THE WORLDBUILDING

It's always interesting to see how someone launching an SF/F series introduces the world and its rules (eh, even in Crime/Non-Genre fiction this can apply), in this case, the Alternate-History, too. Harris takes a pretty bare-bones approach, on pages 3-4 you get a decent sketch of where this Earth's history diverged from us and a hint about the resulting politics. A few details will be added along the way, but not many (all that you need, and not a word more).

Throughout the book, she tosses in just enough to get you through the magic system, although most of that is left vague and mysterious.

You might be curious about several other things—both on the history and magic front. But you don't need to know about it for the novel to work, and Harris is just focused on Lizbeth and her clients. The rest just doesn't matter.

It's both frustrating (as someone who is curious about more than a few things) and refreshingly satisfying (who needs the info dumps and background?).

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT AN EASY DEATH?

I enjoyed it. I think of all the books I've been recommended for this 12 Books Challenge, Zane's is most likely to get me to read another by that author/in that series.* I'm very curious about what a second Gunnie Rose adventure looks like—how it differs (and how it doesn't) from this one.

* Although, to be fair, if a second book in the King Oliver book was actually out, it'd probably be a tie.

Gunnie's a compelling character, that's for sure. But, like the world-building, Harris has been sparing with the details about her. I think a lot of my conclusions about her so far are based on my preconceptions and assumptions about characters like her more than on what Harris provided. The differences in my mind between her and Shining Smith (for example) are mostly based on genre and the time setting of the books. What I do know, I like—and I want to fill in some of those missing details. I'm not sure either Gunnie or Harris are going to be all that forthcoming with the details, they seem to be playing things close to their vests.

The Alternate-History stuff was interesting enough, but it's not going to bring me back by itself. The idea of California-Oregon-Washington making up a Holy Russian Empire is intriguing, don't get me wrong, but I'm not sure we're going to get more about it than what's provided in this novel. As for the rest? Eh, I could go either way.

But the sparse and stark, Depression-era territory of Texoma and the pseudo-Western atmosphere and storytelling possibilities? That's a draw I feel, particularly with Gunnie around.

But that's for the series as a whole. What about An Easy Death? If in the first chapter or so you decide you want to see what happens to Gunnie, you're going to be in for a fun ride featuring some good action scenes, a mysterious quest, and strange magic. If you're not particularly interested in Gunnie's character by the end of Chapter 3? Close the book and move on.

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

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But the theft of that which represents money—of pieces of paper that can be exchanged for money—well, there we have something new. Mr Fauntleroy is not accused of going into his bank’s vaults and taking money belonging to others, but of changing pieces of paper to make it look as though their money belonged to him. We police officers will have to learn new skills to catch such people.

WHAT'S FATAL FORGERY ABOUT?

It's 1824, and Henry Fauntleroy is one of the leading bankers of London—it's a smaller bank, but it has a stellar reputation. Fauntleroy is the son of one of the founders, and while he's an utter and complete cad in his personal life, he earned both his position and reputation—it wasn't handed to him.

But then evidence comes to light that he's been forging documents and moving large sums of money around in some sort of complicated scheme. He's determined to plead guilty and avoid a trial. While the winds of reform are blowing, this type of offense is a capital crime. Fauntleroy knows this and is still ready to plead guilty and accept the sentence.

At least one magistrate involved wants to make sure that the investigation is handled properly and there isn't a rush to judgment/punishment. Sam Plank is a constable that works for him and has the same concerns--he is the one who arrested Fauntleroy and becomes somewhat invested in the investigation and his welfare (beyond what's called for in his duties). Plank is convinced that everyone is missing something vital in this case, but he's struggling to see what it is.

Will he be able to put the pieces together in time to save Fauntleroy's life?

FINANCIAL CRIMES

I get the impression that the monetary system was in a time of transition at the time the book was set, and the kind of crime at the center of this book was a new thing that the legal system wasn't quite prepared for. Much like we might be today with cryptocurrencies and we're still trying to figure out how to effectively police identify theft-type crimes. I've lost track of the number of books that I've read this year that include a discourse on cryptocurrencies (and I have a book to start this week that will likely feature a few of them), so it was nice to walk into a book about financial crimes that was sure not to include one—but behind all this is the equivalent, which is thankfully much easier to understand.

Now, I'm not a complete dunderhead when it comes to finance and economics, but (in both real life and fiction) things don't have to get too detailed before my mind checks out. I was a little daunted about trying to understand 1820s banking in the first place—much less any kind of scheme involving defrauding it. But Grossey's depiction of it was easy to follow—she wrote it in such a way that you don't have to come in knowing the nuts and bolts* of the machinery to follow Fauntleroy's crimes

* Nor will you walk out knowing them—it easily could've become a Tom Clancy-deep dive into Nineteenth Century monetary systems.

MARTHA PLANK

I think that Sam's wife, Martha, is going to turn out to be one of those supporting characters that turns out to be one of the MVPs of the series. At first glance, she seems to be simply a nice, supporting wife, who understands her husband's moods better than he does—and understands that she'll take a backseat to his job (at least from time to time). But at one point, she takes the reins for a bit and gets more information out of a witness than Sam would've been able to—and with far less fuss and bother.

I'm not saying she'll become the asset that Marybeth Pickett is to Joe's investigations, but I wouldn't be surprised if it turns into something in the same vein.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT FATAL FORGERY?

While Plank was clearly drawn to the case, trying to understand what made Fauntleroy ticked, and was disturbed by some of his non-financial crime activity, there isn't the same kind of emotional investment that characterizes so much of Police Procedural/Detective Fiction today. Part of that has to do with the era, I'm sure—Plank caring the way that Renée Ballard or Malcolm Fox does about a case would be unseemly. Still, he spends personal time on the case—even using a date with his wife as a pretense to go track down someone associated with Fauntleroy—and will later go to great lengths to wrap things up.

I liked that feel to the character, and think it serves to help establish the setting. But that might say more about my preconceptions about the time—and how it's been depicted in the fiction I've read.

I wondered if the setting—and the type of crime—would end up being a hurdle to reading and/or enjoying the book. But neither proved to be the case, I was pleased to see how easy it was to get into the book. And the pages just melted away when I got past the first chapter or so, which felt more like a speed bump than a learning curve. In the end, the setting and subject made this a very pleasant change of pace.

Fatal Forgery isn't the kind of thing that would catch my eye when I browse, and ultimately, not it's exactly my cup of tea--but I'm shooting to read at least one more in the series because I enjoyed this and am curious about what else can be done with the character (and I can see that easily turning into me reading all of them). I do know one reader who will likely burn through the whole series as soon as I give her the first one—if you're like her and a Regency-era police procedural with a minimal amount of violence piques your interest at all (even if it makes you mildly curious)—give this a try.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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“The thing that we thought might end up with Adam dead looks like it will work out okay,” I told her dryly as her feet hit the ground again. “We have another situation to replace it that might end up with Adam dead. Or me dead. Or maybe the whole pack. But at least we solved one deadly situation before we picked up another one.”

“Business as usual,” said Tad.

WHAT'S SOUL TAKEN ABOUT?

Wulfe continues to act strangely—for him, that is—as he was last time. Then he goes missing. And Marsilia tasks Mercy with finding him, or she and the Pack will face the consequences (not life and death consequences, either—something worse).

But it's not just Wulfe who's missing—there are others, too. The paths seem to lead to a Fae artifact believed to have been destroyed and a local Urban Legend/subject of a new Horror movie.

Sure, this isn't as strange as the miniature zombie goats, but it's close. And slightly less cute.

SHERWOOD POST

“I'll call Samuel and bug him.”

“Why not ask Sherwood?” Adam said.

“Did he sound like someone who was going to spill the beans to you?” I queried. “He talks more, but he doesn’t say more. He hasn't changed that much.” I found that reassuring.

After a lot of speculation, we finally get to know Sherwood Post's actual identity. And, um. Wow. As she clearly intended, the answer Briggs gave us only leads to more questions.

Several more questions.

For example: was this identity her plan when she first introduced the character? (likely, but I can see a scenario where it wasn't) Given how this changes what we know about the world, when did she decide to shake things up to this extent? Lastly, when do we start seeing the ripple effects from this revelation? Okay, maybe one more: how many other things has she been lying to us about? (okay, that last one is a joke. Pretty much)

UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCES

Mercy (and therefore, we) are aware of a decent segment of the supernatural/paranatural population of the Tri-Cities area (although I think I remember her being surprised by some early on in the series)—she knows all the werewolves, many of the Fae, the goblins, vampires, etc.

But we learn along the way in this book that because of Mercy's declaration a few books back that the area is under the Pack's protection many "lower powered" supernatural beings have moved into the area for that protection. Mercy and the Pack were unaware of this until they met some in the midst of their investigation. Briggs didn't spend much time on the idea, but it laid the groundwork for potentially several future storylines.

Even aside from that, I thought it was a great idea—and really seems likely to have happened given Mercy's action.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT SOUL TAKEN?

I'm never going to complain about getting to spend time with Mercy and the crowd. But I felt let down with this novel. The premise was promising, maybe even more than that; I thought the threats brought by Marsilia and how that played out were intriguing; I was glad to see who the Big Bad behind it all was; and the future ramifications for the seethe are promising. But the stuff in between the premise and the defeat of the Big Bad? Eh. Even the big fight scene wasn't that good—nor am I that invested in the means by which they were defeated (dancing around a spoiler there).

Really the things that interested me the most about the book were the ongoing arcs and development—the stuff about Sherwood, the lesser powers, some internal Pack matters, and Zee (there was a lot of great material with Zee here). When the subplots and the things the novel isn't about are what grab me, there's a problem with the book. The solution was too rushed, it was all too easy, really. If Briggs had taken another hundred pages or so to really dig into the premise and the hunt for the Big Bad, maybe that would've worked (but that'd make the book super-sized by her standards).

I just wanted more, I guess. It was fun enough to justify the time and I'll be back for more—but I expect more from Briggs. I do think long-time fans will enjoy Soul Taken—and despite what it might sound like, I did—but it will leave you wanting.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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This is one of those books that grabbed my interest and then I immediately forgot about it for months. Thankfully, the library system here had it in their audiobook catalog where I stumbled on it. Knowing what I know about it now, I'm pretty annoyed that I took this long to get to it.

THE HOOK

The book opens with the protagonist/narrator in a police interrogation room. Ruby Simon is being questioned about her husband's death. She's innocent--100% guiltless--it's clear from the get-go, that she did not murder her husband.

But...there are three other people that Ruby has killed over the last couple of decades. She's never even been looked at as a suspect in these deaths--they'd previously been judged to be accidental, in fact.

But after death #4, it's hard to believe that with all this smoke, there might not be a fire.

WHAT COMES AFTER THE HOOK

The first part of the book focuses on the events in the interrogation room--the detective presses for details on these four deaths, and as Ruby dances around her answers, we get to see her life story in flashbacks. Her childhood (punctuated by a murder), her party days as a teen (punctuated by a murder), her college years and training as a psychologist (punctuated by a murder), and then her falling in love with her husband and beginning their life together (punctuated by his death by natural causes).

The rest of the book focuses on the legal battle that ensues--the investigation that follows, her eventual arrest, the decimation of her career and reputation that results, and the eventual resolution of it all.

CONFLICTING IMPULSES

Ruby is a completely horrible person, she's a murderer--and in two of the three cases, it's entirely unjustified. The motives behind those two are so...pointless is the best I can come up with. The third murder probably wasn't necessary, Ruby could've found a non-lethal solution to the situation--but you can understand and appreciate why she did it. She deserves to be behind bars (at least), she needs to be tried, convicted, and punished. It's the right thing.

And yet she's innocent here. She loved her husband, would never have killed him, and shouldn't be dragged through the mud over this. The reader/listener constantly finds themselves rooting for this character that in normal circumstances you want to be pursued by a dogged investigator.

It's similar to Dexter or Hannibal--with them, we embrace their homicidal acts and desires while rooting for them. There's part of you that wants Dexter to get away with it so he can take down another serial killer. A similar part of you wants Hannibal to slip away from custody because he's disturbingly charming. But it's different in Blood Sugar--we have an actual injustice, and we instinctually recoil from that and want her exonerated.

But...you can't get away from the injustice of her getting away with the other murders.

At the same time, you resent Detective Jackson for doing his job. He's absolutely wrong about Jason's death and shouldn't be in Ruby's life. But in any other book/series, we'd be rooting for him. He might as well be Harry Bosch or a similar character--he's got all these pieces before him and is assembling a case that's 75% correct. He's doing everything right, and has an actual killer in his sights--and you want him to fail. Not only that, you probably are angry with him and have some active distaste for him.

But if this book was told from his perspective? You'd love him and admire his ingenuity and intuitive leaps.

For a long-time reader of detective fiction, this is a great twist on the conventions.

RUBY'S ANTAGONIST

Someone has to be behind all her problems right? Det. Jackson isn't going to look into Jason's death without someone or something prompting him. Once you figure that out--which will probably happen before the actual reveal--it's delicious. This might be my favorite thing that Rothchild does in this book.

For a book that's full of confusing impulses for the reader, it's nice to have an adverse reaction to someone that's straightforward and uncomplicated.

A BRIEF THOUGHT ABOUT THE NARRATION

Ryan did a great job of this--she made Ruby Simon a human being. Her portrayal helps you identify and embrace Ruby as the innocent--with a shady past. You want to believe her when she says that she's not a sociopath.

There were a couple of scenes (with one of Ruby's patients in particular, and some involving Ruby's dog) where I was moved because of the narration. I don't know if they'd have been as effective (or affective) if I'd read the book, but with Ryan's work, I was absolutely gripped.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT BLOOD SUGAR?

I thought this was a great listen--a great experience.

I relished this approach to the story and characters, and the way you were forced time and time again to re-evaluate the characters, their actions, and your reactions to them.

Do I want a steady diet of this? No. Do I hope that a future Rothchild novel is either more conventional--or tweaks conventions in a different way? Absolutely. I can see Rothchild being a Lisa Lutz-type of writer. With stand-alones where you never know what you're going to get--other than some wry humor, deep characters, and an approach to Crime Fiction that you hadn't considered before.

I strongly recommend you pick this up in audio or print.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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THE "BACK" OF THE BOOK

Here's what the Publisher said about the book, anything I say will ruin the book (and not because it put me in a foul mood):

An original novella set in season three of The Orville—straight from the pen of Seth MacFarlane, creator of the beloved sci-fi TV show!

When Captain Ed Mercer and the crew of the U.S.S. Orville come face-to-face with one of humanity’s most vile ideologies, they must solve the moral conundrum of who to hold accountable for evil deeds real… and imagined. Occurring just after episode 308, this is the Orville like you’ve never seen it before.

THE ORVILLE

I watched all three seasons of the show this year, after putting it off since I started to hear positive things about Season 1. I really appreciated most of this not-Star Trek, although like the show it totally isn't ripping off,* it's not perfect.

* Wink.

One thing that The Orville surpasses its inspiration in is its sanctimoniousness. When this show gets preachy, there's nothing that compete with it. For the most part, I could endure those episodes, but a couple of them got pretty difficult. The last half of this book was pretty much one of those episodes. It's a lot harder to tolerate without F/X to look at.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL?

There was almost nothing about this that made it an Orville story. Maybe others can describe this without giving everything away, but I can't. Sure, every primary cast member from season 3 is in the novella—and some characters from other seasons are mentioned—so it's technically an Orville story, but just technically. A good tie-in story should feel like a long or an in-depth version of the source IP. This couldn't feel less like an episode.

And the writing? It was clearly written by someone who doesn't do prose that often—scripts, sure. It was lazy writing, the descriptions of characters were clunky, the dialogue was iffy, and the pacing was poor. We don't see a single character from the show until the 50% point.

Would I read another novella set in this universe? Oh, absolutely. Even another one by MacFarlane. I like the universe enough to give it another try. I just hope it's a fun, SF adventure next time (maybe even with a touch of the condescension, it's what the viewers expect). The only thing that was clearly delivered was the message.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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FIRST THINGS FIRST

I can't talk about this one without spoiling the end of Fight and Flight. This entire book is built on the foundation of that last chapter. Read at your own risk.

WHAT'S OUT OF SPITE, OUT OF MIND ABOUT?

Let's get the subplots out of the way (at least one of which is going to turn out to be important for the next book, and one will be important for this one). Gary hires a local peasant—and then several others—in a misguided, but surprisingly good-hearted, attempt to help them out. This is almost entirely a comic storyline, and I love that Meyer takes the time to do things like this.

Martin and Gwen are fighting (which happens a lot, sure)—because they both want to get married, but not right now, and things are awkward because Martin raised the subject. If that seems odd to you, imagine how poor Martin feels. It feels very sitcom-y—if the sitcom is in a later season and is trying to come up with some low-stakes conflict because the writers can't figure out how to keep happy couples interesting. I rolled my eyes at this stuff a lot—but found it a little amusing. Where this storyline resolved, however, might end up being the most grounded, mature, and admirable thing in this series.*

* Wow, I'm supposed to keep my evaluative-powder dry in this section. Whoops. Feel free to call our Customer Service line for a full refund.

The third subplot also involves Martin (he's our point-of-entry character for this series, so it makes sense that he gets 2 storylines)—he's convinced that Phillip is being stalked by some sort of masked figure who keeps launching stealth-attacks at him. None of the attacks are particularly successful—especially once Martin susses them out and works to prevent them. But they're also not at all lethal, at best they'd be impediments to his activities, irritations, distractions—ridiculously elaborate pranks, really. Phillip thinks that Martin is seeing things. Gary, Gwen, and the rest of the gang aren't really convinced either. It's Martin vs. the Masked Meddler.

But the main thing is this—in the last book, we learn that Britt the Elder has different memories of the events of Fight and Flight than Britt the Younger does. And we're not talking about how two people who were at the same event recall details differently—we're talking about different outcomes here. As Britt the Elder is—ask anyone who isn't Phillip—the older version of the Younger, who co-exists with her younger-self in a way that only works in silly time travel stories, that should not be.

Britt spends some time pondering this and trying to get to the bottom of it and ultimately determines there's a problem in the Code, and she's going to need help figuring all this out. While she's doing this pondering, she starts to develop some physical glitches as well. She's really going to need help. Sadly, the only person she can really rely on here is Phillip—who's dating her younger-self and really can't spend time with the Elder without getting the Younger upset. Things get stranger and worse from here.

HOW WAS THE NARRATION?

This is about an audiobook, so I need to say something about the work Luke Daniels put in. But...but...it's Luke Daniels. I've run out of things to say about how great a narrator Luke Daniels is. I literally have no idea what to say here.

This is the best I can do—my first exposure to this series was the eBooks, and I read the initial trilogy that way, Only coming to the audiobooks as a way to review the trilogy before getting to the second trilogy. I don't change formats for a series—if I listen to a series, I listen to a series. If I read a series, I only listen to re-read (and then not exclusively). After listening to Daniels narrate the first three, I'm not going back to the print version. I switched to audio-only for the remainder of the series (however long that is).

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT OUT OF SPITE, OUT OF MIND?

So all my complaints and concerns and whatever from the last book are gone. This might be the best book in the series since the first. Meyer and the characters brushed up against exploring the whole philosophical underpinning of the series premise—but don't get bogged down in it. And they fully embrace—and exploit—the silliness of time-travel conceits.

Earlier in the week, I talked about Chu's fantastic fight scenes in his new book—there's a fight scene at the end of this book that is almost their equal in execution and description—but far surpasses them in hilarity. The only way I can think of to describe this adequately is to say: "imagine a fight scene starring Lucille Ball, magic, and medieval weapons—with a soundtrack of 'Yakety Sax' (but not really, because the book specifies a different soundtrack)."

We get a dangling plot point resolved (and, boy howdy, do I wish we hadn't), we get some great comic stories, some strong emotional moments, and a good set-up for the next book (it's not as tantalizing as the set-up for this was, but it does make the next book sound pretty appealing).

If you're on the fence about this series after the first trilogy—get back to it. If you haven't read the series at all (how did you make it this far in this post?)—change that, but go to the beginning or it won't make any sense. These books are a great hybrid—Meyer got his comedy chocolate in his SF peanut butter and wrapped it in a candy-coating of Fantasy—and this is one of the more enjoyable installments in the series.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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I like detective novels. The dick is either smarter, braver, or just luckier than his nemeses. He, or even she, works pretty much alone, sticking out his jaw whenever there's a blow coming. If he gets arrested that’s okay. If some pretty young thing needs sex, it's probably not the right time for him, or her, just then.

The literary PI usually takes on one case at a time and he stays on the trail until it is solved, whether or not justice is done.

Sometimes I liked to pretend that I was a detective out of a book.

WHAT'S DOWN THE RIVER UNTO THE SEA ABOUT?

Ten years ago, for reasons he's still unsure about, King Oliver was framed for a crime that ruined his career as an NYPD Detective, destroyed his marriage, and put him in jail for months.

Today, he's keeping a PI agency afloat with his teenage daughter as an admin assistant. He's really never recovered psychologically (aside from some scarring, he seems okay physically) from his incarceration and the accusation. His daughter and the work are what keep him going.

When he receives a letter from his accuser, offering to help him clear his name—everything changes. He has a glimmer of hope, a renewed sense of purpose—and a new client. This client works for a defense attorney—he'd been representing a convicted cop killer and had vowed to free him. Suddenly, the attorney has changed his mind and is going to tank the case. The convict is a journalist/activist who claims to have been acting in self-defense, and this associate believes him. She wants Oliver to discover what changed the attorney's mind—but more importantly, she wants help clearing the journalist.

Oliver agrees to look at the files but makes no further promises. He's quickly intrigued by some of what he reads and It's not long before he starts working the case as well as working to clear his name. The letter has changed everything for him.

MELQUARTH FROST

Before he was framed, Oliver arrested Mel Frost, and earned his respect from the way Oliver treated him during the arrest and trial. After Frost's release, he came to thank Oliver and the two have struck up a strange near-friendship over chess games and the occasional meal.

Oliver realizes he's not going to be able to handle everything in these investigations—particularly when things get dicey, so he hires Mel to help him.

Mel fills the Hawk/Joe Pike/Bubba Rogowski/Nate Romanowski role—he's dangerous, he's skilled, and really has no moral compunctions about anything. He is aware of it, and knows he should follow a different path—and attempts, but will resort to his former ways in a heartbeat.

I'M SUCH A SUCKER

Shortly after that opening quotation, Oliver cites Tecumseh Fox. Fox was the protagonist of a short-lived series by Rex Stout, alongside Nero Wolfe. Elizabeth Breck gets big bonus points from me for her frequent citations of Wolfe, but a Tecumseh Fox reference is a heckuva deep cut. If I hadn't already decided that I really liked Oliver, this would've pushed me over the edge. Not only am I a sucker for Stout, but referring to a 3-book series that ended in 1941 really underscores Oliver's description as being someone who reads a lot.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT DOWN THE RIVER UNTO THE SEA?

I was born to be an investigator. For me it was like putting together a three-dimensional, naturalistic puzzle that in the end would be an exact representation of the real world.

I really enjoyed this book—most of the plot seemed pretty predictable, but I never minded for a second because of the execution. Also, there were a couple of twists that caught me flat-footed. I don't mind if everything plays out as you'd pretty much expect as long as the writer delivers a good story and characters (I know if I get on the freeway headed west, I'll end up on the Pacific Coast. I just want a smooth drive with maybe a couple of interesting sights and snacks along the way)—and there are few as good at that as Walter Mosely.

This wasn't really an origin story, this was more of a renaissance, a reawakening. Now that King Oliver is back—he's invested in life, his career, and people again—further books in the series are going to have a different feel, a different focus, and I can't wait to see where Mosely takes this character.