hc.newton

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Nobody’s Hero About?

A decade ago, Ben Koenig helped a woman disappear—and to do so in a way that even he (who knew more than anyone else in the world about it) wouldn’t be able to track her. But now, she’s surfaced—as someone responsible for a couple of brazen murders on the streets of London. He and his watcher/minder/handler Jen Draper are tasked with finding her and finding out what made her come into the open.

It takes all of their creative approaches to investigating—and Draper’s security firm’s extensive resources—plus a little luck to get on the path. But will they survive it?

Standing in their was is a team of assassins, criminal police officers, smugglers of various stripes, petty criminals—and bigger ones—and schemes that are truly chilling. Their strengths? The aforementioned creativity and extensive resources, some assistance from a certain Agency, their shared drive, Koenig’s lack of fear, his strange humor and odd trivia.

Obviously, the bad guys are in for trouble.

A Daring Move

Far too often when someone/some group in a novel has a completely innovative, genius, unbelievably original idea, it really isn’t. At best they’re usually clever, but nowhere near as mind-blowing as characters act. Too often, I think authors would be better off alluding to a plan without giving us all the details, and readers have to suspend disbelief to keep going.

For a while, I was worried that Craven had bitten off more than he could chew in revealing all that he did—when it was all shadows, I was really invested. But as the book progressed and we got more and more details about the scheme afoot, the more I realized that this was one of those exceptions that proved the rule. There’s some really ingenious stuff going on here.

I should’ve trusted the mind that brought us The Botanist (as only one example).

Can I promise that every reader is going to have their mind boggled by this? No. But even the cynics or the people who suss it out before the reveal are going to admit that this is atypically clever, and you can absolutely understand why Koenig and Draper have such difficulty with this—and are willing to risk so much to stop it.

The Title

I’m not going to get into it now, but I can imagine that more than one book club is going to spend some fun time speculating about/arguing over who the title is referring to.

I mean, I’ve spent some time speculating about it and arguing with myself over the identity. I figure Craven has multiple characters in mind, actually, rather than just one. But I’m prepared to be wrong about that.

Caveat Lector, or, the Fight Scenes

If you’re like me, and decided at one point or another to not have a meal while watching Bones, at least until the (first) body is taken back to the Lab (the CSIs may have driven viewers to a similar choice), you’re going to want to take a similar approach to the fight scenes in this book. That’s actually an excess of caution, you’re really only going to need it for some. But better be safe than sorry—really.

Now, once you put the meatball sub aside, these fight scenes are really well-written. I think they’re better than those in Fearless. Craven brings the goods in the technical sense/ability to depict things clearly, the impact on the plot, and the overall entertainment value.

So, what did I think about Nobody’s Hero?

This is really one of those books best discussed among people who’ve read it—most of the glowing things I want to say would reveal too much—and you don’t have to read too much of Craven’s work to know it’d be a bad idea to cross him. So what can I say?

Let’s start with this—between Fearless and Nobody’s Hero I read a couple of thrillers with a one-man Army in the Reacher/Koenig/Ash/Ryan/Orphan X etc. mold that soured me on the whole thing, so I started this with a little trepidation. Also, I didn’t know how he’d follow up Fearless and feared a little sophomore slump. It took me very little time to cast all that aside and just have a blast with this—I’m back to my appreciation of the genre, and I don’t know if Craven has the word “slump” in his vocabulary.

Ben Koenig is one of those characters that I hope to spend a lot of time with, there’s just something about him that I really like. It was good to see Jen Draper in action and to see the shift in the relationship between these two from where it was in Fearless and the beginning of this book to the end. They’re a good team.

I don’t know where to put this, but I need to say that between what we see in Nobody’s Hero and some of the Poe series, I really have to wonder what kind of drinking establishments Craven frequents (or I hope, for his sake, used to frequent).

One of the assassins has a…let’s put it generously and vaguely…a quirk. It feels like the kind of thing that Craven stumbled upon at some point in the last 15 years and said, “I need to put this in a book some day.” I’m very glad it did—I’m not convinced that a hitman could become a success with that quirk, really. But Craven uses it so well, that I’m not going to complain. I really enjoyed the way it paid off.

We didn’t get a monologue at the end by an evil mastermind, which still happens even after being made a cliché decades ago—it wasn’t necessary, and what we got instead was so entertaining. It was truly a great change from what was expected.

I don’t know that we need that last reveal—nor does the series—but, I look forward to Craven coming back to it in the future (however far away that future may or may not be).

Action, snark, and some really great twists. There’s a momentum to this that builds and builds and builds as the tension ratchets up in a way that shows you’re in the hands of a Thriller Master. Sure, every decent thriller has that characteristic. But anyone who’s read a couple of thrillers knows the difference between standard-issue momentum and tension and something special. This is the latter, and it ain’t even close.

Do you need to read Fearless before this? No. Will it help a little? Not much, but yes. The important thing is that you read both of them. You won’t want to put it down once you pick it up.

Long live Ben Koenig.

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Flatiron Books via NetGalley in exchange for this post—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s King Arthur & The Ladies of The Lake About?

This is a telling of the Arthur legend with a focus on the women in his life—his mother, sisters, Guinevere, the Lady of the Lake, and so on.

It’s also a telling of the clash between (a) Celtic religion and Christianity, with Arthur trying to maintain an atmosphere that allows both to coexist. I think the version of Celtic theology reeks of anachronistic thinking, and the “new” religion also feels a little off. But it works for this telling. It’s not just about religion—but about the way it works out in the lives and attitudes of Arthur’s people.

It’s really hard to say more than that—it’s Arthur from infancy through the end of his life, the growth of his reputation and kingdom, the controversies and losses.

A Word About the Art

So I really dig the watercolor art—it works well with the subject and the feel that Pompetti’s going for with the storytelling. There’s a dreamy quality to it that matches the storytelling, the magic and the visions that drive Arthur. I don’t know if that’s just how Pompetti works, or if he chose that deliberately for this story. Either way, it’s a win.

Yeah, there’s part of me that would appreciate a good inker and some more standard art and coloring. I think that’s primarily because that’s what I was raised with and am used to. But it just wouldn’t work as well for this work.

So, what did I think about King Arthur & The Ladies of The Lake?

I tipped my hand earlier when I talked about the clash of cultures driven by religion. Whoops (in my defense, I was trying to stretch that section beyond a couple of lines). While I didn’t appreciate the historical depictions, I did think it worked for a Fantasy tale.

In Pompetti’s telling there’s a feeling of groundedness to some of the standard elements of Arthurian legend—Excalibur, Guinevere’s affair, and so on. Yet, he didn’t remove magic and supernatural elements (I did wonder if that was the direction he was going for a moment)—it’s just not entirely the way we’re used to it with this story.

Like most people, I’m game for a good Arthurian retelling—and this is a pretty good one. I think the medium hurt it a little. 113 pages works for graphic novels, but it’s hard to squeeze in a lot of depth into those pages—particularly when the art looks like his does—the pictures are larger than they’d be with other artists, so the story details have to be lighter. It’s a tradeoff that’s worth it, I wouldn’t want Pompetti’s art to be smaller.

I enjoyed this on an initial read, and the bits I reread while preparing this post held up pretty well. I think it’s one of those books that I’ll appreciate more on successive re-reads, too. I’d absolutely read more by Pompetti and would encourage you to do the same.

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this from ARC from the Author via Edelweiss, and i appreciate that, but the thoughts expressed are my own.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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But she was also a little off. You could see it in her eyes. She was crazy. Had an edge to her, hard and sharp. There was an alpha dog, a predator, hiding behind that sweet, pretty smile.

What’s The Debt Collector About?

What do a couple of neighborhood drug dealers, some gang members, a bookie, a finance-bro who refuses to pay said bookie, a slightly bent cop, a low-level mobster, and miscellaneous henchman have in common?

Abigail Barnes. A debt collector who just wants a job.

Now Abby isn’t the kind of debt collector who calls you at inconvenient times of day and harasses you about outstanding medical debt, or whatever. She collects for people who can’t go through services like that. People like the aforementioned bookie. Or other drug dealers. Loan sharks. And other people who could collectively be called “criminals.”

She doesn’t look like your typical tough guy, however. The man who introduces her (in one way or another) to the above, Hector, describes her thusly the first time he sees her (while sober, but that’s another story):

He opened the door and saw a very attractive young blond woman standing there. She was a white girl, with very white skin; piercing, electric blue eyes, and a sort of round face framed by shoulder-length hair that added to her youthful appearance. She was average height for a girl with a well-rounded, curvy body that looked more solid than it did plump. She had on a white blouse that matched her very white teeth and blue jeans with black cowboy boots. She was carrying a six-pack of beer in one hand. In the other was his Maverick 88 pump action shotgun, angled upward and pointed directly at him at just about crotch height.

But as Hector will learn shortly after this—and just about everyone else she comes into contact with does, too—appearances are deceiving when it comes to Abby.

She’s got some training. She’s smart, too—she knows her limitations, and what people expect from someone who looks like her—and she combines those three attributes in ways that pretty much mean that she always comes out on top. At least regularly enough that she can earn money and stay off the radar of the authorities. But sometimes, things do get hot enough that she has to relocate and start over.

This is what she’s trying to do when she encounters Hector for the first time (and he’s nowhere near sober)—in one of those scenes that you can’t help but see play out like a movie as you read. It’s a great opening to the book, and then once Hector starts introducing Abby, we’re off to the races.

I Don’t Think I Want a Steady Diet of This, but…

Near the halfway point, there’s a pretty good fight scene between Abby and some people who have come to collect her—some of the henchmen I mentioned earlier. And, well, it doesn’t go well for them. This is a common theme in this book. And frankly, given the kind of novel this is—it’s not altogether unexpected.

But Russo does something cool here—he rewinds things a bit after the fight, and then we get to see the fight from the other point of view. It still doesn’t go well for the henchmen—but the change of perspective helps you see everything that happened in a fuller way, and better appreciate Abby.

I wrote in my notes, “that’s pretty cool, but I wouldn’t want to see that all the time.” If every time Peter Ash, Charlie Fox, or Ben Koenig got into a fight with someone we saw it from two angles, it’d get tiring (and would slow down their novels). But as a sometimes-treat? I’d love to see this kind of thing more often.

Particularly if the author did it as well as Russo did.

So, what did I think about The Debt Collector?

I had a blast with this novel—it’s one of those that in a world where I didn’t have work the next day, a family that I should pay attention to, or a blog to maintain, I’d have tackled in a single reading. I distinctly remember sitting down to dip my toe in the water one night, and maybe read 10 percent or so of the book. I got to 28% without noticing—and had to force myself to put the book down.

It just moved so smoothly—the first scene gets you hooked, and by the end of the first chapter, you’re invested in Hector and Abby (more the latter than the former, but he has his charm). And it keeps getting better and better from there.

I used the word “smoothly” above—and that’s the only word that comes to mind as I try to describe this experience. It feels effortless the way that the novel keeps you turning page after page after page—a sure sign that it took plenty of effort. There’s a little humor, Abby’s got a fresh-feeling perspective that you want to see more of. And the action? Really, really well delivered by Russo. You may think you have a general idea of how things are going to go early on (and you are likely right), but the way he reveals the plot and takes you through the fight scenes and the movement of the plot will have you not caring about your own theories when you can just keep turning the pages.

I thought the second half of the last chapter, in particular, was a tasty little cherry on top of the sundae. We really didn’t need it—but I tell you, I’m glad we got it. (The Epilogue is another thing we didn’t need—and the novel would’ve been completely fine without it—but it made me smile).

This was just a pleasure—and makes me really hope we don’t have to wait another five years for Russo’s next novel.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Hermit of Paradise About?

This starts with an old friend, Sunny, asking Aubey to find her some justice for an old crime.

Then we flashback a little bit to watch Aubey’s last days on the Dallas Police as a detective before his retirement.

Then we flashback to Aubey’s childhood days, living in his family’s home on a lake where he spends summers reading, fishing, and getting into antics with some older men and some children the same age. Free-range parenting at its best, and despite hanging out with criminals, Aubey seems like a well-adjusted kid in love with nature. The fateful summer in consideration, however, brings him into contact with a couple of peers who will change his life—including the aforementioned Sunny.

Something traumatic happens at the end of a beautiful summer—something that will haunt Aubey and his friends for the rest of their lives.

We then flash-forward to his retirement, Sunny asking for justice (with more context), and Aubey’s efforts to get that for her.

That’s the barebones of the plot, anyway. I gave a richer (and provided by the author/publisher) description on my Spotlight yesterday.

I’m Going to be Frank with You

(I’m always honest when it comes to my opinion on books, as far as I know, but occasionally I’ll pull a punch)

Under any other circumstances, this would’ve been a DNF for me. The pacing was off; the book spent far, far, far too long in the childhood section compared to the retired adult section; given what Aubey knew about the crime, too much of what we know about the people/area/history comes from inelegant info-dumping; what he did in the retirement section to investigate it made no sense—other than to make more opportunities for info-dumping….and I don’t want to beat up on things.

I could go on for paragraphs on how bad the dialogue was—I really want to rant about it (actually, ask anyone who lives in my house and they’ll tell you what I think of it). But let me just tell you this much: there are several conversations between two people where each part of the exchange contains the other persons name in the first sentence.

Allow me to illustrate from a well-known scene (with apologies to Mr. Tarantino):

Vincent asks, “And, Jules, you know what they call a… a… a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?”

“Vincent, they don’t call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?” Jules asks, surprised.

“No man, they got the metric system. Jules, they wouldn’t know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.” Vincent laughs and shakes his head.

“Then, Vincent, what do they call it?” Jules raises his voice.

“Jules, they call it a Royale with cheese.” Vincent replies, stretching out “Royale.”

“A Royale with cheese. Vincent, what do they call a Big Mac?” Jules wonders, chuckling.

Vincent shrugs a little, “Well, Jules, a Big Mac’s a Big Mac, but they call it le Big-Mac.”

“Le Big-Mac, Vincent.” He practices “Ha ha ha ha. Vincent, what do they call a Whopper?”

“I dunno, Jules, I didn’t go into Burger King.”

Except every sentence should be longer—if not a small paragraph—overflowing with exposition and nowhere near as interesting. If I had a hard copy, I’d have thrown it across the room the second time I encountered this (I could let it go once). But I wasn’t about to throw my phone or e-Reader, as nice as it would’ve felt.

So, what did I think about Hermit of Paradise?

The childhood flashbacks made me think of someone trying to go for a Scout, Jem, and Dill feel. Or something out of a William Kent Krueger novel. It even kind of reminded me of A Snake in the Raspberry Patch by Joanne Jackson or something of a Tiffany McDaniel-talks-about-young-people feel. But Sanders isn’t in their league (yet?).

Sanders swung for the fences in every chapter—more than once in every chapter. I think there’s a decent (not necessarily good, but at least decent) novel hidden here. But Sanders needs a few more drafts and a skilled editor to bring that out.

If I was talking about intentions, desires, and aims here—I’d have a lot of good to say. But I’m not—I’m talking about the characters, writing, and novel—so I can’t say a lot of good.

I do think the characters (most of them, anyway) were promising—too many of the minor characters were interchangeable enough that we didn’t need them all. Again, a little more refining and editing would’ve helped a lot there.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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This Was Harder to Write than I Expected

There was a part of me that wanted to just do a light edit of my post about Cunk on Everything: The Encyclopedia Philomena and call it good. But that seemed like cheating. But there are giant parts of it that would work.

Still, I’m borrowing a little here and there from it, just so I don’t have to re-invent the wheel. I apologize in advance if you don’t appreciate that. Also, let this section serve as an all-purpose footnote so no one accuses me of plagiarism.

What’s The World According to Cunk About?

It’s a history of the world, as much of one as Cunk can fit into 50,000 words with minimal research, anyway. The point is to get it out in time for the holiday season—targeted toward the UK and the US, so it’ll predominantly be about the history of that/those cultures, while remaining the sort of history book that recognizes that things happen in parts of the world that aren’t dominated by Western Culture.

Also, we’re told, that she’s taking the innovative approach to history and will be writing chronologically, not alphabetically or by some other standard. Whodathunk it? History in order. I tell you, what this Philomena Cunk is a gutsy maverick.

If you’ve watched YouTube videos, Instagram reels, or any of the other quick ways we share videos online (with or without copyright infringement), or if you’ve seen any of the various series/specials on Netflix or

British TV networks that I can’t remember the names of, you know what you’re getting into with Philomena Cunk. If you haven’t, well, that’s trickier. It means you’re a reader or something rare like that—Cunk is a fictional documentarian (or at least the presenter of them). her approach to the documentary specials or the history in this book are a combination of naïveté, misunderstandings (especially in mispronunciation/misspellings), and cynicism.

Miscellaneous Observations

Doing a deep dive on this would be difficult for two reasons—I read an ARC, so I don’t want to quote anything (also, it would be very hard to know when to stop. Ask my wife, after you read the end). The second, and primary reason, is that if I talk too much about things, it’ll ruin the jokes for you when you read this (and you really should)

In lieu of that, here are some miscellaneous observations:

• Every time Cunk looks at non-English speaking cultures was a win.
• You’d think that there are only so many jokes you can make about “the Dark Ages” involving the absence of luminescence—and that few of them would be funny. And you’d be wrong on both counts.
• Best WWI humor since Black Adder Goes Forth. I don’t know that there’s a lot of competition there, but Cunk nailed that material.
• The technology jokes landed every time.
• I’m still chuckling at the phrasing for Caesar’s cause of death
• You are going to hear Diane Morgan’s deadpan delivery in your head whether you read this or get the audiobook. Just know that going in. (you likely assumed it that already, so know that you’re right).

It Did Falter a Bit

The last chapter, “The Global Globe” started off strong, but as the history got more and more current, the humor changed. Maybe it’s that Cunk’s particular brand of absurdity requires some distance to really work. However you explain it, this just didn’t work for me.

Now, was it funny political humor? Satisfying satire? Yes—I truly appreciated almost all of it. It just didn’t feel very Cunk-like. I couldn’t “hear” Diane Morgan’s voice. If it’d been in another book, I’d have really liked the end of this last chapter. But here? It just felt out of place.

So, what did I think about The World According to Cunk?

I didn’t see (but maybe overlooked) the writers behind this book listed anywhere—but whoever they were, they deserve a round of applause. Or two.

I chuckled and laughed out loud a lot while reading this. There’s really not much more to say—that’s what they were going for.

My wife doesn’t get the appeal of Philomena, I don’t know why, I think it’s undeniable and obvious. So I really annoyed her by reading lines or paragraphs to my daughter while the three of us were in the same room. Sometimes, I had a stockpile of parts my daughter would like from reading when we weren’t in the same room. My kid and I had a lot of fun laughing together at this while my wife just looked at us strangely. I don’t share this to give you more insight into our fun little family dynamic—but to say that at least once (maybe three times, but Mrs. Reader denies this) even she laughed.

Seriously, up to the end of the last chapter, this was about as fun as you could want. Since I discovered Dave Barry Slept Here decades ago, I’ve been a sucker for history comedy—and The World According to Cunk by Philomena Cunk is a great entry in that category. (you might want to skip most of what happens after 1980).

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Grand Central Publishing via NetGalley in exchange for this post—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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Ruby

Ruby is a young twentysomething-ish woman*, new to Boston, having moved there following a bad breakup. She’s left the comforts of home and family to start again and prove to herself (and probably her ex) that she can do it on her own. She’s generally optimistic, talks to herself, is a bit overwhelmed with everything but she still has a cheerful personality—which is reflected in everything from the way she dresses to the way she looks at life. Despite Winter in Boston, which really isn’t treating her well, that is.

* Just before scheduling this post, I remembered that Ruby can’t spend time in bars. So, she’s a really young twentysomething-ish. I could probably look it up, but that’s good enough.

She’s jobless, but looking, and is getting close to the desperation point. But she’s not going to quit until she has to.

She shares her apartment with a woman who is very different than her, and their communication…well, it’s lousy. And not just because Ruby’s killed all but one of her houseplants.

Cordelia

Cordelia is noticeably older. Not truly grumpy, but optimistic and bubbly are definitely not things she’s been called (or would want to be called). She’s maybe not a huge success, but she does well enough that she’s not worried about money or comfort (there’s more to it than that, but I’ll let you read it for yourself). She likes to stay home in the evenings and read.

And drink. And drink some more. I don’t know if she’s technically an alcoholic (a functional one, for what it’s worth) or if she’s just a heavy drinker. It’s probably an academic question, really.

Cordelia doesn’t have much of a social life, she gets along with her coworkers—none of whom know that up until recently she’d been having an extended affair with their very married boss.

She doesn’t understand Ruby’s optimism, her approach to life/job hunting, resents what she’s doing to her houseplants, and just doesn’t know how to get through to her at all.

A large part of that stems from the fact that Cordelia was found dead a few months ago, and is now a ghost who likes staying in her former apartment while she gets a handle on the whole afterlife thing. Ruby, is (I should’ve said earlier, but I just assume it) very much alive and was more than happy to move into an already furnished apartment.

What’s A New Lease on Death About?

The book opens with Cordelia trying to talk the brand-new ghost of their neighbor through the opening minutes of his afterlife. He’d been murdered just outside their building and he is not taking the whole experience very well.

In one of the early attempts at actual communication between the roomies, Ruby gets the idea that Cordelia is trying to tell her they should investigate the murder like someone on one of the True Crime podcasts she’s a huge fan of. Cordelia was actually trying to keep Ruby as far as she could from all that, and seemed more than ready to accept the police’s rushed theories.

Before you know it, these two had become much more than people…entities?…sharing an apartment, they were a semi-functional team on the hunt for a killer.

The Ghostly Brass Tacks

This isn’t a book steeped in magic, supernatural creatures, and other things common in Urban Fantasy or even other supernatural mysteries I’ve talked about here. The Supernatural (at least in this book) is limited to ghosts who linger around—and not many do. We’re not really told why, but Cordelia has a theory.

It’s not easy to help someone when you’re incorporeal, invisible, and unable to make yourself heard. It’s also hard to “lean on” or assist someone if you’re not all that sure is actually around, or off doing their own thing.

And honestly, that’s just the beginning of their problems.

Blacke paints a picture of Claudia’s reality, her state, her learning curve, and her abilities to interact with the physical world and people in a way that absolutely makes sense, is consistent, well thought-out, and believable. It’s truly impressive—and darn entertaining—to watch Claudia try to be Ruby’s partner through all this.

It’s strong to say there’s a relationship between these two, but there is.

So, what did I think about A New Lease on Death?

In brief—this is everything I hoped it would be (well, I wanted a few more jokes, but I got over that). I bought in right away to everything—Blacke made that really easy—and both the plot and characters kept me fully engaged. I was faster than the pair on a thing or two (nothing applicable to this case, but what appears to be the next one), but didn’t get to the solution to the mystery until about the same time as Ruby and Cordelia.

It’s both a fun and well-executed novel and a solid introduction to a world and series (it’s at least a duology, I just don’t know how many books Blacke/Minotaur Books have in mind). There’s not a huge cast of characters that we can expect to see again—but there are some. We’ll see some of Ruby’s coworkers, I’m sure (eep—minor spoiler, she finds some kind of job); there are some figures we’ll see from the apartment building; and there’s one ghost I expect Cordelia to learn a bit more from. But it’s essentially a cast of two—and that’s more than enough to fuel this book and series.

In a step in a new direction for Blacke, this isn’t a cozy mystery—or so Blacke’s website says. And it’s true, I suppose—largely depending on how strictly you define “cozy.” But almost every cozy reader will embrace the storytelling. Blacke’s fans, in particular, will be fine with this after a little adjustment, and will likely embrace it without much trouble.

It’s not as lighthearted, warm, fuzzy, and pun-filled as The Record Shop Mysteries were. There’s little in here that’s outright funny—although you’ll smile most of the time, and the book is rarely dark. Tonally, it’s close to Darynda Jones’ mysteries, Janet Evanovich, and Lee Goldberg’s Eve Ronin (although all of those contain more jokes).

What Blacke carries over from the Record Shop Mysteries is her charm. You will like these two women right away. You’ll look for signs of friendship, camaraderie, and understanding between the two—and be pleased when you find them (and when you don’t have to look anymore).

This is the fourth book by Blacke that I’ve read, and it’s the fourth book of hers that I enjoyed. But she’s displaying a greater skill when it comes to writing, plotting, and character here than she has before. I think that’s a function of subject/subgenre rather than skill or anything. I’ve liked her books before, but this impressed me in a way the others haven’t. I don’t think it’s me comparing the two series—because I honestly want her to circle back soon to the environs of Sip & Spin Records (as little as I expect it). It’s just this is a better canvas for her to display more of her talent.

If you’ve tried her earlier material, you’ll see what I mean. If you haven’t, just realize I was dancing around a point—and maybe landed near it.

Regardless—this is a fun odd couple/buddy cop outing featuring amateur sleuths (so, yeah “buddy cop” isn’t technically right, but you know what I’m saying) with a side order of supernatural woowoo. The solution to the mystery is satisfying and fitting—and the conclusion of the novel launches into the next novel/series. What’s not to like? Very little. I’m already eagerly awaiting the next volume. I feel like there’s something I’m not saying, but I can’t figure out what it is. So I’ll just leave it at this point.

I’m looking forward to the next book, I expect almost everyone who reads A New Lease on Death will find themselves in the same boat. And I really hope many people come aboard—like you. Yes, you. Pick this one up.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Black Maria About?

Detective Felix Kosmatka knows he shouldn’t think of this murder case being a launching pad for his career—his ticket out of the hometown where everyone of a certain age (including the police department’s receptionist) still uses an embarrassing nickname. But thinking about that does help distract him from a sight that threatens to make him lose his lunch.

The grandson of the region’s richest person has been found in his bed with his throat slit. There’s no sign of a break-in, nothing is missing, and everyone is accounted for (except for his father).

The grieving grandfather is prominent enough that a specialist from outside of area is brought into this small Pennsylvania mining town to help Felix. Detective Adam Shaffer wants to find the obvious answer, but Felix isn’t sure that Occam’s razor applies here and is determined to find something deeper.

In this former coal town, there’s plenty of deeper and darker places to go. By the time this investigation ends, everyone in the Department and everyone touched by the case will changed in one way or another.

My Other Post About the Book

Last Tuesday, I posted my thoughts about the book at about 100 pages in. In this post, I made some guesses about where I thought the book was going to go. It took less than 60 pages* for Boyer to prove me wrong. Very wrong about a lot of it—the kind of wrong where it might have felt like she was rubbing my nose in it, if I cared. Which I really didn’t—I was having too much fun reading the thing.

* I could tell you exact pages for both of these points, but I won’t to preserve a little bit of surprise.

Also, the formatting on the post was questionable and says a lot about the rush I was in to get it done on time. It’s actually more embarrassing than how wrong I was about the book (because it’s entirely my fault, and not because of a clever writer).

So…can I explain why I was wrong without giving much away? Not really—but I can say that I made the same mistake that both the detectives (and others) made.

So, what did I think about Black Maria?

There’s a lot that was impressive about this book—there’s a solid twist that derailed me, and some really well executed reveals throughout.

This is a police procedural where the whodunit isn’t that interesting (and is given away really quickly), the howdunit is pretty obvious (although the reasoning behind the how…), it’s all about the why and when. The how/if the killer gets caught comes in as a close second.

Boyer gets the people—the detectives, the killer, the victims, and the relatives of them all (and anyone else I didn’t mention). There are a lot of rich backstories at work here—we don’t get them all, we actually get very few of them. We get flashes of several others, just enough to tempt you, really. It feels like everyone tied to law enforcement (and more than a few others) could be part of a long-running series, and we only get to see them in this one installment. It’s a nice touch.

A lot of this novel wouldn’t work if it wasn’t told in the early 1970s, but I still wonder why that was important to Boyer to do. Did she start with an element of the story and/or a desire to tell something having to do with it, and then had go put the rest of the story there (and which element was that?). Or does she really just like that period of American/Pennsylvanian history? I don’t think it matters, but I’m curious.

I don’t know that except for the thing I alluded to in the previous section that I was ever blown away by the writing or the plot. But at every point, it was clear that Boyer was executing her vision exactly the right way. This is a solid piece of writing from someone I’d gladly pick up another book or three from. I might not be moved to rave about this book, but I will gladly recommend it widely. This is the way to do a historical mystery.

Disclaimer: I was provided a copy of this ARC by the publisher, without any expectation that I would post about it. My choice to do so, and what I chose to say are mine alone.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s The More the Terrier About?

The Carpenter family returns from a vacation to find that their house/dog-sitter has brought in a stray from the weather. Before they can take it to their rescue shelter to scan for a chip, his son, Ricky, recognizes the dog—he’s a little terrier that they’d fostered a few years ago, who’d gotten lost and found his way back to a place he knew.

Andy returns the dog, to find out that this was a bit of coincidental timing. The dog was adopted by a mother and son—the son attends a local college, and is in jail awaiting trial for killing a professor. His current lawyer is pressing him hard to take a deal, but BJ is resisting. Andy has a conversation with BJ and takes over the case—there’s something fishy about this lawyer and how he got involved in the case.

As one expects by now, the more that Andy looks at things, the more complex things appear. Soon, Andy and his team are up in their necks with experimental computer software, drug dealers, sexual assault (don’t worry, it’s not anywhere near graphic), and other sorts of criminal activity. This includes one of the biggest challenges (possibly the biggest) Marcus has faced in this series.

Marcus

At one point in this book, Andy and Marcus are having a conversation and in the middle of it, I stopped just to marvel at a totally normal conversation happening between the two without any wisecracks in the narration about finally understanding him or anything.

It was just strange. It’s good, I think I like it this way. But it’s taking some getting used to.

Marcus as a whole is losing some of his mystique, though. He’s becoming more human—which is a good (and a bad thing, I miss the superhero).

The Holiday-ness of It All

Since this is a “Christmas”/”Holiday”-themed release, I like to take a moment to talk about that aspect of the book. There’s barely any. If someone had told me that Rosenfelt had spent a day changing the Summer 2025 book into the Holiday 2024 release, it’d come out like this.

That said–it worked. We don’t need chapters upon chapters every year about Christmas, Laurie’s obsession with Christmas decorations and music, all the stuff about gifts, etc. If you’re a fan who reads every book, the allusion is enough. If you’re new to the series–or just not obsessive–there’s enough Holiday content to add flavor, to set the mood.

This is not a comment about quality or quantity. I’m good with either—it’s just an observation. Also, it’s hard to find something to talk about here at book #30.

Metaverse Overload?

So the Metaverse is a major component in this novel—it’s a place where the victim spends a lot of time, as well as several other characters in the book. There’s a lot of conversation about it, and so on.

Few things speak to the lead time between the submission of a manuscript and its publication as clearly as something like this. I verified my assumptions with the Gen Z and Millennial people in my family, and they all tell me that the Metaverse is just not as big as these characters made it seem (and people thought it would be a few years ago).

Does this hurt anything? Nope. It just made me roll my eyes.

So, what did I think about The More the Terrier?

Few things in my life are as certain as that I will have a good time with an Andy Carpenter book. The More the Terrier is no exception. We get to spend some time with some good friends, maybe make another friend or two (maybe just good acquaintances)—we get to see that Corey’s relationship is growing (we need another Team K-9 book!!).

The mystery is satisfying. The way that Andy and Co. solve it is, too. Andy’s narration is reliably entertaining and chuckle-inducing. The material about the dogs is great (the Sebastian jokes are something I’ve started to really look forward to). Andy’s courtroom antics are restrained here, but the trial is still the best part.

I really don’t know what else to say—this is a fun read. If you’ve never read an Andy Carpenter book, you’ll enjoy it–if you’ve read 1-29 of them, you know this is the case.

Rosenfelt’s books are like potato chips—once you start, you just can’t stop. Go ahead and open this bag.

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

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Candle & Crow About?

What isn’t this about? Al has to address a potential treaty violation of a group against some British citizens, which leads to some treaty re-negotiations; Gladys wraps up business she started in the last book, prepares to leave her job, and sees some shite; the Morrigan tries to settle among humans in her new body; Al, Buck, and Nadia are targeted by the police; Al has to help out his American counterpart with a tricky problem; Al gets a line on who cursed him; and…a few other things that I can’t figure out how to describe in a phrase or two.

Seriously, this book is busy. But somehow, it doesn’t feel crammed or over-stuffed; everything gets as much time as it needs to be addressed; everything makes sense; you don’t lose track of any plotlines; characters get to grow and develop (and be introduced!). And the last couple of chapters are so satisfying that I don’t care that I can’t finish this sentence properly.

A Trio of Druids

Fittingly for what Hearne has stated will be the last book in the universe of the Iron Druid Chronicles (I’m waiting for him to change his mind. Maybe a foolish hope, but it’s one nonetheless), we get to see all three of the Druids from that series for a little while—and none of them togther.

Working with his students has been good for Owen, Atticus—I mean, Connor—is in a good place (in several senses of that word), and Granuaile is…well, still Granuaile. I think I’ve mentioned she was getting on my nerves toward the end of IDC, and she’s still there. But she’s still essentially the same character—so if you weren’t annoyed by her, you’ll enjoy her appearance (I did, even with my attitude).

We got just enough time with them all to get a sense of where they are, what the future holds for them, and to see that they’re doing well—the events of Scourged are far enough past that they’ve settled into the next stage of their lives. It’s a good way to say goodbye to this world.

Deities

Since at least book 3 of the IDC we’ve had a good understanding of how gods, goddesses, and lesser deities function, live, and have power both now and throughout the ages. Hearne’s had Atticus and Al explain it a time or two since then, so faitful readers will get it.

But in these pages, we are given two examples (or three, depending on how you want to count something) of how this functions toward entities that aren’t part of the major pantheons (or minor ones, either—how would you describe Perun’s?). They are two divergent types of entities and the application of what we know about deities in this world is quite different (while linked).

I think it’s clear that I’m struggling to describe this without giving something away (if you haven’t noticed, let me assure you that I am). However, for fans of this world and fans of just good worldbuilding—Hearne does a great job with this stuff, if I didn’t know better*, I’d say that he started building toward this novel in Hammered.

* Okay, I don’t know better, he might have had this as part of his Master Plan all along. But I’m willing to bet he didn’t.

Al and the English

Al has to deal with a representative of the British government a few times over the course of this book as a part of his sigil agent duties. I honestly don’t know if I’ve been so purely entertained by Hearne (outside of an Oberon-heavy moment) as I was in reading Al’s narration during these parts.

He really doesn’t like this guy—and it’s tough to say that Al gives him a real chance before deciding to write him off—but the reader can understand why. I think that Al gets close to mean in his attitude and actions toward this man, but I don’t think he crosses the line. Then again, I was chuckling and highlighting so much in these interactions, I might have missed it.

So, what did I think about Candle & Crow?

I have said many good and complimentary things about the books in this series—and I stand by them—but this is what all of the Ink & Sigil books should’ve been like, at least at their core. We’ve seen a little of the Sigil Agent life, but there’s been a lot of other things going on, and not that much of it has to do with the administration and enforcement of contracts. It was just so cool to focus on that as much as we got to here. Yes, the big action stuff, taking on whacky monsters and nasty people experimenting on supernatural creatures and whatnot is pretty cool, too. But we get that kind of thing in all sorts of UF—we don’t get to see a lot of supernatural people wrangling with human governments over the wording of a hundred year old document* and the deadly ramifications of that wrangling not going well. It’s a shame that Hearne embraced this aspect of Al’s life so completely here at the end.

* Well, we get glimpses of that in The Rivers of London series, don’t we? But it feels very different.

I enjoyed every bit of this book—and am not sure how to talk about it without just blathering on and on about how good everything was. The action—and despite what I may have suggested earlier, there was plenty of it—was gripping and moved well. The emotional arcs of the characters were done with Hearne’s typical deftness (and maybe more than typical deftness). The humor was Hearne at his best. The magic at work was perfect, and…yeah. I just have nothing but compliments upon compliments here.

If you have any kind of emotional investment in Buck, Nadia, or Al going into this book, you will love the ending. It was a real treat, the last chapters just made me feel all warm inside.

I was so enthusiastic about this book that I think I might have convinced a friend to pick up the first IDC book just so he can catch up and appreciate all of this book—and another friend who’d read Hounded through Scourged to pick up this trilogy. And I’m more than ready to do that to anyone else reading this post.

I don’t know what Hearne’s next project will be, but I’m ready for it. In the meantime, I’m just going to bask in how wonderfully satisfying that Candle & Crow was.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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The Back of the Book

There’s no way I could put all this as concisely as (I’m guessing) Sharp did for the back of the book. Also, I think I’d trip over myself not saying some of this, but I clearly think some things are more spoiler-ish than others do. So I’m just going to steal this:

Life is looking pretty good for thirty-two-year-old Jessica Dodd. She just bought her wedding dress and closed on a house with her trial lawyer fiancé, Thomas. But first, she needs to take care of one tiny issue: her husband – a youthful indiscretion from a drunken weekend in Vegas years ago. She never saw the guy again, so it didn’t really count. Still, she needs to get divorced.

CIA agent Parker Salvatore has thought of his “Vegas wife” over the years, though it was never time to start dating her. However, when he returns from a two-year assignment to find that she is literally in bed with the enemy, he realizes it’s time to make his move. First, he needs to catch the bad guy, then he can woo the girl.

Things begin to unravel when Jessica finds out Thomas has been lying to her. Determined to confront him she follows him to Italy. Fueled by a surplus of caffeine and a colossal lack of sleep her plan becomes a hell of a lot more complicated when she walks straight into the middle of the CIA’s criminal investigation of her fiancé.

Set against the backdrop of the Tuscan countryside, Parker and Jessica find themselves treading the perilous waters of infiltrating a well-known crime family, filing for divorce and attempting to keep their rekindled attraction at bay.

Slightly Ajar Door Romance

I’m not an expert on this kind of thing, but I can read definitions online, so I feel safe saying that this isn’t a closed-door romance. But it’s really not that far off–I’ve read books (Romance and otherwise) that put more on the page. Sharp does fade to black pretty quickly, thankfully*, but she could fade a bit quicker–and take a little more time before fading back into light.

* That’s a reflection of my prudish-inclinations.

I just figure that I should mention it since I’ve talked about things like this in the past–and I know some of my readers care. Basically, I’ve learned from the Sunshine Vicram books–these are not ones I will give my mother. Although I have to say, I kind of think I’d be more comfortable knowing that my mother read this over Sunshine (and much more comfortable with my mother knowing I read these, too). That might be a silly basis for rating, but that’s where I am.

So, what did I think about Big Trouble in Little Italy?

I only took one note while reading this book–after the first chapter, I wrote simply “Zany.” And I really never came up with anything to say beyond that. There is a lot more to the book than that–but that word is pretty much always applicable.

Sharp’s voice is infectious–I thoroughly enjoyed the writing here, more than the rest of it (which is saying something). The characters lept off the page and right into your heart (except for the small handful you just wanted to spit out as quickly as possible, and then spit on). There’s an Italian agent working with Parker who is one of those characters that comes close to stealing the show–I’d love to read more about him. That’s true for most of the more significant supporting characters, too. Yes, the focus of the book is (rightly) on Jessica, Parker, and Thomas–but Sharp has this book bursting with characters you want more of.

This is very much a Romance novel–yes, a Romantic Comedy, yes, a Romantic Comedy with a Thriller flavor. But the key word there is Romance/Romantic. As such, I’m not really the intended audience for this, but after talking with Sharp at an event this Spring, I really wanted to read something she wrote–and thankfully, the Comedy and Thriller parts of the book were strong enough that I could handle the Romance.

I’m not sure what people who read more Romance fiction than I do would think of this. I think die-hard Thriller readers would think it stretches things a bit (but not as much as a couple of Lee Child books have, for just one example). The Comedy never misses, though. Not once.

I can see myself coming back for more in this series, actually. I can also see me dropping it pretty quickly if the laughs die down. I say that without rancor–but because I recognize that I’m just dabbling in this world.

I’d definitely like to hear what people better versed in Romantic fiction have to say about Sharp’s work. But for my money, this is worth your time and money. The plot zips along well, the CIA-Crime story zigs and zags the way it should, and the comedy is pretty consistently goofy and yet heartfelt–actually, all of it is heartfelt. Zany and Heartfelt. A heckuva combination.

Oh, be sure to have your local Italian restaurant’s online delivery menu pulled up, you’re going to want to use it. Or have it, and your payment methods, locked away if you don’t need to treat yourself in that way.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Buddy the Knight and The Queen of Sorrow About?

Buddy the Knight is a teddy bear. A valiant teddy bear, devoted to protecting his Person from the monsters from The Realm-Under-The-Bed. He’s a knight and has spent years defending a little girl named Mieya from these fearsome foes. He’s frequently assisted by his companion, a stuffed tamarin—a mandolin-playing bard. Esteban not only fights at Buddy’s side, but his songs frequently tell the tales of Buddy’s victories.

One night before Buddy can dispatch it, a monster inscribes a rune over Mieya—one that will bring her certain doom unless Buddy can defeat the monster’s master—the Queen of Sorrows. Buddy is given an enchanted googly eye to guide him and Esteban as they journey to the heart of The Realm-Under-The-Bed to find this Queen. There are countless enemies and obstacles along the way, but they have until dawn breaks to complete their quest, so they will have to be quick as well as brave.

The Cover

I don’t do this enough, but I need to call out the cover here. Candice Broersma knocked it out of the park with this one. I just love this cover. It’s one that you want to have on your shelf/eReader.

Also, I’d buy a print if Broersma/David were to make them available.

A Little Treat

There’s a reference at one point to a series of books that Mieya read. I hope, hope, hope that kids who read this have their curiousity piqued and go ask someone (like a librarian or bookseller) what it might be a reference to and then read those books. They’ll be in for (another) treat if they do.

Just seeing the reference was enough for me.

There are other nods to fiction and movies, too—cleverly hidden throughout, and just enough to make the grown-ups reading this smile (the Captain Shakespeare/Captain Johannas Alberic nod was particularly well done). None of them made me quite as happy as the series of books she read, but that’s me. You (if you’re above the age of 15), will likely have other favorites—but you’ll enjoy all that you catch.

So, what did I think about Buddy the Knight and The Queen of Sorrow?

I know that many people think that Paladins are boring characters. I’m not one of them—just think of Sturm Brightblade, Superman, Michael Carpenter, or Paksenarrion and tell me they aren’t great to read (okay, some people have made Supes a little boring—but not all of them). Buddy the Knight is yet another entry in the Great Paladin Characters list I should get around to compiling sometime.

Esteban is one of the better comic relief sidekicks with a lot of heart, too. As funny and heartfelt as Shrek‘s Donkey with the devotion of Samwise Gamgee. The other allies and people—including the sentient magic sword—who help Buddy out are really well done, too.

The monsters, other antagonists, and (of course) the Queen of Sorrows are equally well depicted—but unlike the above, you really don’t want to spend time with them. They’re all drawn from types we’ve all seen before, but given a twist to make them feel new—and the reason we’ve all seen them before anyway is that they’re just about always compelling, and with David’s twist? They’re just what this book needed.

Throughout the book—either in flashbacks that Buddy has to his maker’s lessons or in the things the characters say to motivate each other or themselves—the reader is going to get a lot of slogans, life lessons, or morals thrown at them. I appreciated reading them—and I expect that readers 40 years (plus or minus a couple) younger than me will, too. Coming from stuffed animals probably makes them more palatable and somehow less corny than they’d be coming from an authority figure (in fiction or real life). It’s likely that some of these will get lodged in the back of a young reader’s mind and will prove beneficial later in life.

The story itself is a pretty straightforward Fantasy tale—the hero and his allies (some picked up along the way) are on a journey with a deadline to fight a powerful in order to rescue someone. As always, it too, is effective.

There’s a lightness to the prose, but it’s not a comedy—it comes across as whimsical and fantastical. It will charm you as it draws you in. We don’t really see Mieya in action and don’t get to know her, but we want her safe, we worry for her, because Buddy, Esteban, and the others are so devoted to her. We care about her because we care about the bear and the tamarin, and anything they think is important we think is important.

This is the kind of book that 10 year-old me would’ve curled up with and read and re-read. It’s also the kind of thing that my kids would’ve loved—and I’d have had a blast reading to them. And 51 year-old me was just about as captivated with it as my younger self would’ve been. I strongly recommend this to those young at heart and those young readers you happen to buy books for.

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this eARC from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s The Teachings of Shirelle About?

I’m just going to go with what’s on the author’s site:

“Relish the day. If you’re not in awe, you’re just not paying attention.”

She hadn’t even been in the crowded pound a week, but she’d already developed a nickname, “Knucklehead.” As a puppy she destroyed property and precious clothes; as an adult she injured her owner, ruined romances… and changed the world-views of those around her.

Have you ever watched an animal and wondered how it thinks, how it sees the world, how it views you? And have you ever wondered what wisdom you might learn if you could see things as that animal does?

This unique book is many things: an amusing and moving memoir about a memorable dog, a poetic ode to a human-animal connection, and a serious philosophical, psychological, and spiritual inquiry into the lessons a man gleaned from the simple-minded brilliance of a teacher, a lover, a liver of life to the fullest… a Knucklehead.

That penultimate sentence is demonstrably false, but the rest of that gives you a pretty good idea of what to expect from this book.

The Good

Douglas Green truly loved his knuckleheaded canine companion. That is incredibly clear. She was frequently a goof, that’s clear, and brought a lot of joy and laughter to Green’s life and to those with whom she interacted (mostly).

The parts of the book that were just stories about Shirelle were great and brought several smiles to my face (and I expect the same will be true for many readers). They’re relatable, they’re fun, they might make you chuckle.

I really appreciated moments like where Green tried to describe things like the joy Shirelle (and just about every dog) expresses when their person returns home. And he’s right—why don’t we have the same kind of joy for each other? (we could probably express it without the jumping). Many—maybe even most—of the lessons he takes from Shirelle are similarly well-written, well worth the time, and showed the a smilar kind of thinking.

I couldn’t help but think about Dave Barry and David Rosenfelt’s lessons from their dogs during this time.

Even the parts about Shirelle’s medical struggles—that eventually ended—and what Green went through to get her the care she needed were rewarding reading (although by the time we got to that part, a lot of the book fell into what I talk about in the next couple of sections). Her making it through so much was great to see, even as you feel bad that she had to go through it.

The Meh

I’m going to lump in just about everything that Green puts about his biography, his various jobs, his love life, and his professional and semi-professional pursuits here. I didn’t pick up this book to read about Douglas Green, his career in film or stage—or his move into psychotherapy.

When Green wrote about Shirelle in conjunction with this, that really helped—she’s why people come to the book after all. Shirelle as an unofficial and untrained therapy dog is the kind of thing readers want to see.

The Bad

The metaphysical claims that Green makes, the philosophy he espouses, and things along those lines were tiresome, not well conveyed, and typically interfered with the book as a whole. Your results may vary, obviously, but if I want to read about manifesting or things of that nature—I’ll go grab Rhonda Byrne’s book, not a book about a ridiculous dog.

I’m not entirely sure that those parts of the book were all that internally coherent—I mentally checked out during most of those parts of the book for both of our sakes. That way I wasn’t miserable and I wouldn’t end up going on an extended diatribe about them. I’m on the verge of that now, however, so I’m going to shut up.

Well, after this one additional note. If you’re going to appeal to a term from Christianity (or any other religion) to buttress your point, you should maybe do a quick web search to make sure it means what you think it means. Hint: Christ’s “Passion” doesn’t come close to contemporary usage of “passion,” no matter their etymological link. It’s hard to take someone seriously when they do that.

So, what did I think about The Teachings of Shirelle?

I don’t think that Green and I would get along in person (I’d be glad to be given the opportunity to discover otherwise, and the drinks would be on me). I don’t think we’d actively dislike each other, but we’d just rub each other the wrong way. Until we started telling stories about the silly balls of fur, energy, and devotion that we share our lives with. Then, I think we’d find some great common ground and probably enjoy the conversation.

I bring that up because I think this book works for me along the same lines. When it’s about Shirelle as the animal companion that makes people laugh and/or feel good in other ways, I think the book is at its strongest and most appealing. I’m down for that kind of thing anytime and Green handles it well.

When the book strays from that, it loses me—and the further it strays, the less I care about it and the more I’m going to find things to quibble with.

Are you going to agree with me? I don’t know. Are you going to think I’m out to lunch and really jibe with Green and everything he has to say? It’s possible.

Either way, if you’re a dog-lover—or if you’re someone who enjoys reading about dogs. You’ll probably be glad you gave this a shot, I am (generally).

Disclaimer: I was provided a copy of this ARC by the author in return for my honest opinion, which he may be rethinking now.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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Research shows, and here I’m talking my made- up research, but I’m sure actual research would back me up on this . . . anyway, research, real or otherwise, indicates that once you’ve grabbed your readers’ attention (by, for example, throwing the word sex into your title), the best way to keep them turning those pages is to present them with prose so superbly written, so free of errors in spelling and punctuation and syntax, that they simply lose themselves in your wonderful narrative.

What’s Grammar Sex and Other Stuff About?

Well, that’s in the subtitle—it’s A Collection of (mostly humorous) Essays. The word “brief” is the only thing missing from the title—there are 32 of them and the book is 82 pages long, so none of them are all that long.

The title itself comes from the sixth essay, “Grammar Sex (How Dangling Your Participle Can Hurt Your Book Sales),” a fun list of tips for authors—aspiring or otherwise—when it comes to learning how to use language. That’s not all he has to say about grammar, either, a little later we’re treated to a series called “The Grammar Snobs Trilogy”—a combination of useful tips and some silliness (neither of which interfere with the other).

We also get essays about the brief experience he and his wife had as being an Arbitron family, Jury Duty, baseball (and the money behind it), a dog he bought in college, some semi-random observations, and more.

If You’d Like a Sample

Germaux has provided a few guest posts here over the years, in case you’d like to take a quick look at his work. One of those happens to be an essay from this book, so you can get an actual sample of this book—”Literally? Really?” popped up on this site back in 2016(!). It’s a good way to catch a little flavor of this collection—and just a decent read in general. You might as well read the others, while you’re at it (if you haven’t already—and/or could use a refresher)

So, what did I think about Grammar Sex and Other Stuff?

The non-humorous essays weren’t my favorite—they were a little too generic, a little too…something. They were heartfelt for sure, and I don’t want to take away from that. But they didn’t do much for me, it seemed like Germaux was restraining himself in one way or another so he could make a point, and I don’t think the price was worth the result.

The rest were well worth the (short) time it took to read—and probably worth more than the time. I’m not going to promise you that you’re going to laugh out loud on every page—or even in every humorous essay. But you’ll find enough amusing to keep going.

A couple of months ago, I described the humor of a Patrick McManus book as “gentle.” That’s a good word to describe this humor, too. However, there’s a little oomph to Germaux’s humor that McManus doesn’t really have—I attribute that to the clear influence of Dave Barry on Germaux. He doesn’t rip off Barry’s style or anything (and I should know, I used to do that a lot), but even beyond mentioning Barry a time or three, you can tell that Germaux has read his share of the Floridian humorist.

I had a good time with this collection, and am more than ready to try the next in the series (and not just because I accidentally purchased it when I tried to get this one). I do recommend this for some pleasant and mostly humorous reading time.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Cursed Cocktails About?

The cynical side of me wants to summarize this as a gender-flipped Legends & Lattes with a couple of twists. But as apt as that is, it feels petty and dismissive.

Rhoren is a retired blood mage. I won’t get into what a blood mage is, but it’s about as pretty as the name would lead you to believe. The fact that his nickname “Bloodbane” (a nickname known throughout the nine kingdoms, I should add), is another clue. The “retired” part of Rhoren’s description is a rarity, not many blood mages survive long enough to retire. Those who do, like Rhoren, aren’t in the best of health. Rohren’s given some advice about relocating to the coast (and away from the cold) for his health. Needing a change of pace and scenery, that’s just what he does.

And it’s just the right call for him.

Being in the military (and a fairly active part of it), he didn’t have a lot of chances—or reasons—to spend his earnings, so he has a pretty nice nest egg in addition to his pension. A new place to live and a good amount of funding—just what you need to start the second part of your life.

One of the first things he does when he moves to his new city is befriend a bartender, Kallum. Kallum loves his job, but dreams of being able to be more creative with a menu and creating new cocktails.

Rhoren needs a new purpose in his life and finds an open storefront building with an apartment above it. Sure, it’s open because it seems to be haunted, but what’s a rogue spirit (if the place is actually haunted) for a guy like Rhoren? So he buys the place, moves in, and suggests a partnership with Kallum.

It’s not smooth sailing by any means from this point forward, but chasing dreams (old or new) is worth a few risks, right?

Bloodbane

Rohren doesn’t like to think about his days of service—and likes to talk about it even less. He doesn’t want anyone to know he was a blood mage—especially not Bloodbane. He’s ready to shed that name, that vocation, and the reputation that follows both.

Also, using that kind of power the way he has for decades is the biggest thing impacting his health—the very reason he had to move.

But even the best-kept secrets have a tendency to come to light—especially when events outside of Rohren’s control might call upon him to unleash his abilities.

While I really have no complaints about anything in this book, I thought this was its strongest point. Rowland depicted Rohren’s desire to get away from his past, dealing with his health (both how he’s still limited, and how he’s improving with the weather), and having to step up and tell people about his past, with sensitivity and precision. That was really well done.

The Cozy-ness

After a little peak at the hardships of those who serve and protect in the north and the hazards they face, we shift into the cozy atmosphere we’re promised in this book. And aside from a scene or two (which don’t detract that much), that atmosphere pervades the rest of the book.

There’s some light humor (including some fantastic liquor names—and a cameo from a distinctive bottle design)—there’s a warmth between the characters, a largely supportive populace in the city, and the setting is ripe for stories.

You just can’t help but feel comfortable while reading this. You really might as well be kicking back in your favorite cocktail bar while reading this (and, I should add, you really should have something to drink—not necessarily alcoholic—nearby), you just feel content and warm.

So, what did I think about Cursed Cocktails?

There’s just enough conflict and danger to keep this from being the coziest fantasy that I’ve ever read—but it’s close. In fact, one source of potential conflict never produced any (which was a relief, but also a mild irritation), making the whole thing cozier.

That doesn’t mean the book is dull—far from it. It’s just that you turn the pages for another reason—instead of being on the edge of your seat to see what happens next. You keep going to keep the warm and fuzzy feelings going. It’s here that my mostly joking comparison to Baldree’s book really comes into play, if you got into one, you’ll get into the other.

And that’s a feeling that I don’t mind in the slightest. If you need a break from mayhem and suspense in your reading—or an escape from the world at large—Cursed Cocktails will give you the oasis you need. With at least two more books in this series that promise the same kind of thing, you’d best be hopping on board—you’ll be glad that you did.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Winter Lost About?

Mercy’s brother Gary shows up at their front door late one night in a royal mess—he’s almost unidentifiable. More than that, he’s having a hard time understanding what’s going on around him and is having a worse time communicating it. No one has any idea why he’s there, where he came from, or what happened.

A quick consultation with a couple of Fae sends Adam and Mercy to Montana—the type of magic that zapped Gary is characteristic of a particular Fae. Along the way, an epic winter storm engulfs Western Montana, Idaho, Eastern Washington—and perhaps more.

Adam and Mercy meet the one responsible for Gary’s state—to free him, they have to complete a task (the guy’s not being a jerk by this, it’s literally a condition of the spell). They have just a couple of days to find something, free Gary, save a wedding, and…I kid you not…save the world.

Everything Else

While the main story is plenty to talk about, there are a couple of other things to note. There’s some good development with Mary Jo, Honey is making some interesting choices, Tad and Jesse are up to something fun, Zee and Adam are involved in a project, and plenty of other things are afoot.

We continue the whole jockeying-for-dominance thing under Adam with Warren, Darryl, and Sherwood—but it seems to be going better than it was in the last book—but it feels like there’s some sort of slow-burn story going there and I’m not sure I’m going to enjoy where it ends up.

There’s more action on the building conflict with various witch groups and the conflict with Bonarata. I want to be super-vague about both of these, but want to mention them. They both took very little space in the novel as a whole and part of me wonders if we really needed them now—we could’ve come back to them in book 15 and spent more time on both (while assuming things were ongoing with both). But…I really liked the way that Briggs wrote both of them.

Bonarata is conducting some psychological warfare on Mercy, which seems to be pretty effective. As part of that, he’s hurting other people. The best example the readers get in this book is a certain kind of horrific. I don’t know if Briggs has shown something so depraved since Iron Kissed—but this time the victim is someone we don’t even know the name of. Part of me is really impressed with how Briggs wrote this, most of me wishes she hadn’t.

So, what did I think about Winter Lost?

There are a couple of things to say—first: I had a whole lot of fun with this one. Yeah, the stakes are higher than they sometimes are. But this felt more fun than the last couple of books, things have felt very weighty since Silence Fallen. This was closer to River Marked, it seems.

But more than that, Briggs was trying some new things narratively, both in the order and way she was telling the story—and in the way the cast of characters were spread out in this book. And everything she tried worked really well. At the moment, I can’t think of a way to talk about this with any level of detail and not spoil some big things—so let’s just leave it with Briggs trying some new things for the series and succeeding. I don’t know if she’ll want to try to tell another story like this anytime soon (and I’m not sure she should), but I like to see her experimenting—and hope she continues.

There’s not much more to say—there’s some great action, some solid character moments, a nice bit of new mythology, and Briggs has planted all sorts of seeds for a couple (or more) future installments in the series. This is just what Mercy fans needed, and I hope we get more of it soon.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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Where Does Grave Cold Take Place?

In a dystopian future the geography of the (what we’d now consider) the Western U.S. looks much different—states are a thing of the past, and two major population centers are the District of Utah (which does contain Salt Lake City) and the District of Portland (Oregon, not Maine). There are people who have been Genetically Modified for one reason or another—and in the D.P. they’re largely feared and ostracized because of what they are and what they can do.

D.P. is where the action takes place in the novel—and it feels like it came out of Portland, OR, too. And not just because Voodoo Doughnuts still exists. Yes, even in a quasi-dystopia people want their donuts. Maybe they need them more than we do, come to think of it.

There’s a lot of the tech, etc. that one usually associates with more utopian-looking/feeling SF. And maybe for many people it’s just that. But D.P.’s government is definitely of the dystopian type (and, boy howdy, do we learn more about that as the book continues), and the area outside the District feels that way, too, filled with mutants and who knows what else.

If you’re one of those readers who really gets into worldbuilding, you’re going to be happy with this read.

What’s Grave Cold About?

Cait’s a beautician with a lot flair and very little money. She’s scraping by, barely. When she sleeps (which she tries not to), the dead come to her and talk to her, trying to get her to do things. So…it’s easy to understand why she doesn’t like to sleep.

A man named Nyle sneaks into Portland after having been prevented legal entrance by a guard—and he’s not the only one like him who has been denied entrance. Nyle, however, is older, more experienced, more powerful, and probably more determined. He and those like him are called “ravens” (although there are other, more contemporary(?) names like “ferrymen”)—they’re tasked with freeing the spirits of the dead from their bodies. It’s been so long since they’ve been permitted in D.P. that Nyle has been compelled to come so he can do his work.

He and Cait have a strong rapport right away, she has some friends (and some family she has a troubling relationship with), but not that many. The two of them click right away, and Cait helps Nyle change his appearance so he can hide from the authorities. He tells her that she’s not Genetically Modified, she has supernatural abilities like him—she’s a necromancer.

While it’s not the same power, it’s close to his and he has experience with necromancers and guides her to use her abilities better.

Working together, they begin to free the spirits of the dead and learn why ravens have been blocked from entering D.P.—those spirits are being used by newly developed technology. This pits the pair against the authorities and other powerful people.

Here’s the Thing

I don’t get magic/paranormal/supernatural systems like this one where someone/something is required to separate souls from bodies at/around/near death. Whether it’s this book (and it’s oncoming sequel), Amber Benson’s Calliope Reaper-Jones series, the TV show Dead Like Me, or any of the other examples I had in mind for weeks to bring up that disappeared as soon as I started composing this post. It just doesn’t make any sense to me.

This doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy these works of fiction. I just don’t understand what ties these non-corporeal entities/substances/existences/whatever to the body at or after death and why someone has to come along and separate them.

So I guess I’m saying two things here—1. If you’re like me on this point, you can still get into this book. I honestly didn’t think about it while reading the Grave Cold, it’s only when I think about the book/system that it gives me pause. 2. If you’re not like me…can you explain this?

So, what did I think about Grave Cold?

I cannot describe it to my satisfaction, but Knight has embued this novel with an atmosphere, a texture that you can’t help but feel as you read. Her descriptions are pretty sparse, but at the same time, I really think I know what Cait’s environs look and feel like.

It’s difficult to think of spirits as capable of being mistreated or abused—they’re spirits of dead people, right? But in Knight’s world that’s exactly what’s happening. Abusing the dead ranks right up there with elder-abuse somehow. As Nyle says,

“It’s easy to see the dead as non-persons when you’re alive. It’s harder when you know them.”

Instead of going on to whatever is next once the spirit is released, the former citizens of D.P. are trapped and exploited.

While this story is dark and harrowing, there’s a real pleasure (and sometimes lightness) in watching the friendship between Nyle—a centuries-old being—and Cait deepen and grow stronger. It’s a tricky thing to attempt (much less pull off), but Knight does it well.

Great world-building, questionable (to me) magic system—but it’s cool to see in action, some well-designed characters (including all of them that I didn’t mention here), a plot that moves well and is intricate enough that you’re kept wondering where it’s going until the end. Knight has written (on my blog) about coming up with the sequel, so I know one is coming. And I’m looking forward to it—at the same time, were this a stand-alone, it’d be very satisfactory as one.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Bad Actors About?

Matt Spiller, Man Down‘s actor turned cab driver turned vigilante made it to Hollywood. His first feature film is about to drop, he’s on the verge of starring in a premier TV show—all his dreams have come true.

And then his agent from England drops in unannounced—blackmailing Spiller for a significant amount of his earnings.

Then the detective who couldn’t quite put him away in England shows up, wanting to pin the murder of another action star to him.

And a would-be up-and-coming actor starts acting aggressively toward him.

His ex-wife and her new flame are coming to town.

Maybe some of his nightmares are coming true, too.

Spiller being Spiller, there’s really only way way for him to react—and that’s violently.

But before it’s over, there’s going to be a lot more going on than Spiller trying to keep his career and money going on. He’s going to make some powerful enemies and may stop some horrible people from doing some horrible things. But he’s not going to be able to lie down with these pigs and not get dirty himself.

A Manifesto on the Movies

In between the mayhem and hijinks—several people from various backgrounds sound off on the state of movies today. I think they speak for a lot of us when it comes to complaining about violence, spectacle, shallow characters, and more at the cost of story, plot, and craft.

These complaints—coming from Pepper’s characters, and any number of people in the real world—aren’t going to change things. But it’s sure nice to read. Choir members do appreciate being preached to.

From Everyman To . . . ?

So, in Man Down, Matt Spiller was kind of an everyman who found himself in a situation beyond his control and reacted in ways that…well, few everymen would.

In Bad Actors, Spiller is on the verge of a Hollywood career. His first movie is about to be released, and the buzz is pretty strong (particularly after a memorable appearance on a late-night show). He has more money than he knows what to do with.

It’s harder to root for him this time—partially because of his success, but only minimally really. Actually, Spiller doing well after everything he endured is vicariously encouraging. But it’s everything that he does to maintain his new position in life that makes it difficult. Things go up and down—so your estimation of his actions and motivations fluxuate as well (as they may have during Man Down).

This has no effect on the entertainment value of the novel—just your perspective on Spiller.

So, what did I think about Bad Actors?

This is a sequel to Man Down, but there’s also an aspect that makes it more—if you’ve read Pepper’s Veteran Avenue or Man on a Murder Cycle

Do you need to have read Man Down before this? Nope. You learn everything you need to know about Spiller and the rest here. Would it add to the experience? Sure. And I enjoyed Man Down more, so it wouldn’t be the worst idea to pick it up.

As for Bad Actors? It was a heckuva ride. I was less than satisfied with the way that several aspects of the storylines wrapped up—and not merely due to the outlandish nature of them. I still recommend it.

I’m a little unsure how to wrap this up beyond that—so I’m just going to borrow my conclusion from my Man Down post—Bad Actors is a good sequel in that way.

This was a bonkers read—that’s a compliment, in case that wasn’t clear. On the one hand, it’s impossible to predict how Pepper is going to start at Point A and end up anywhere near Point Z, but he does, and when you look back at it, the logic is clear and sound.

I can’t tell you how many times he pulled the rug out from under me (he does the same to Matt almost as often)—sometimes eliciting a laugh, sometimes shock and dismay, sometimes I was so dumbfounded as not to know how to react. [deleted because of the stuff I talked about in the above section]

The humor is dark, the action is frequent and dynamic, with [many] characters that you want to get to know better and see more of. I’m not sure what else to say at this point without giving away everything, so let’s just go with if you’re in the mood for a Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride of a thriller, get your mitts on this one pronto.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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Every Who is shaped by a Where.

In this case, the Where is a tiny coastal village named Seaside. from the beach there is a constant, breathy shhh-ahhh sound as the waves flow first in, then out, each exhalation coating the simple, whitewashed buildings with a fine, salty mist. Through the village center runs the Queen’s Road, a winding ribbon that traces the curving shoreline of the island nation to which Seaside belongs. Grassy, rolling hills surround the village to the north, so that when viewed from above, it appears as a single pearl on a string nestled on a bed of seagrass.

Seaside was given its unimaginative name by its unimaginative people. In fact, hostility toward creativity and change is a central feature of the Seasider mentality, a proud tradition handed down from generation to generation. They value simplicity, practicality, and—above all—uniformity. For this reason, it has been decreed that every building in the village must adhere to the same basic plan: squarish shape, white walls, dark roof. This arrangement makes it obvious which villagers are lax in their home maintenance, and are therefore not to be trusted. The same principle applies to matters of appearance, behavior, and topics of conversation. Unsurprisingly, the most popular topic of conversation is the failure of others to conform….

With the matter of Where set aside, it is time to meet our Who—Sophie Farrier, a kind-hearted and imaginative young girl who fits into Seaside about as well as a whale fits into a rowboat, and has been just as uncomfortably shaped.

What’s The Glass Frog About?

Thankfully for her, Sophie will not spend the entire novel in Seaside. But she has indeed been shaped by that village, and try as she might, she will act in the way she was shaped (both in ways she recognizes and ways she doesn’t). She’s also been shaped by books she’s read—a scandalous notion to many people in Seaside—and a devoted older brother, Damon, who has stepped up in so many ways that her deceased parents cannot and that her guardian aunt will not. Without her books and her brother, Seaside would’ve turned Sophie into a successfully conformed young woman.

Things change in Seaside one day when some kelp harvesters find an unconscious stranger who had the absolute temerity to wash up on shore. It’s rude, unheard of, and not at all fitting with the unimaginative ethos they prefer. There’s some debate amongst the villagers—with a majority wanting to send this stranger back to the sea he came from—but a couple of stalwarts (including Damon) refuse and arrange for him to be cared for by the local doctor. Sophie helps the doctor in her own way—and the doctor beings to think she might have a future in medicine.

When the stranger finally awakes, he wastes little time before he sets out to leave Seaside and resume his interrupted quest. Something about him, about what he says to her—and some drama at home—drives Sophie to follow him. Or try to, anyway. He has a pretty solid headstart and can move much more quickly than she can. Also…Sophie’s never left Seaside, so she really doesn’t know what to expect or how to interact with people who aren’t from there.

Meanwhile, a powerful group arrives at Seaside, demanding that the stranger be returned to them or the city will be destroyed. Everyone in the Village who was ready to throw him back into the sea are more than ready to give him up. If they only knew where he was.

So, what did I think about The Glass Frog?

I’m not certain who Lowry’s audience is, like the BlueInk Review cited on the back cover says, it can work for “discerning reader[s], from middle grade to adult.” I can think of readers I know/have known up and down that range who would appreciate the book, and I can’t think of any reasons to try to wave off a middle grader (which is refreshing).

It’s hard not to like Sophie—and I don’t understand why anyone would resist it—her brother is a little tougher to like, but that’s not necessarily his fault. Most people that she encounters after she leaves Seaside are pretty likable, too (with some notable, and easy-to-identify exceptions). The people of Seaside are an interesting mix—most (maybe all of them, I didn’t take a census) are good fictional characters and the reader will appreciate them as such. As people? Eh, it’s a mixed bag. But it’s a more complicated question than you’d expect from the early descriptions of the village.

I don’t believe Lowry’s prose was particularly purple at the beginning of the book, but it was headed to that end of the visible light spectrum. My notes said something like, “you’d better not use every adjective in your account too early or you won’t have any leftover for the last chapters.” I do think he got it under control pretty quickly—or I became inured to it, I’d believe either, but I think it’s the former.

There was some pretty solid comedy in this book (particularly involving the citizenry of Seaside), but it’s not a humorous fantasy in the mode of Terry Pratchett or Sean Gibson. I’d categorize it as a light, whimsical fantasy with some really funny moments. But there are some serious moments, too. A lot of heartbreak and loneliness—some self-destructive behaviors on display, too. Maybe a dash or two of romance. Plus some villainy, cowardice, avarice, xenophobia, and manipulation to balance out the acts of heroism (intentional or inadvertent). A little bit of everything, really.

I don’t know that I want a sequel to this—but I would like other books set in this work (with Sophie and those close to her showing up in the background). There’s just so much to explore, and Lowry has created a bunch of fun places and ideas to play with. Some of the minor characters from this book would be great to see again as protagonists—or at least, playing a larger role than they got to here.

But most of all, I’m curious about what the next novel (in this world or another) from Lowry will look like, I bet it’ll be worth the time—just like The Glass Frog was. You should check it out.

What’s The Legendary Mo Seto About?

This is one of those books that I could easily tell you everything in my enthusiasm, but that’d take away the need for you to read the book—and Chan’s much more entertaining than I could be. So, I’ll try to keep it to the essentials.

Modesty (please call her Mo) Seto is a devoted student of taekwondo and has been competing—and dominating—in competitions for years. But a fellow student recently hit a growth spurt that passed Mo by and he has started to beat her in competitions. This is getting to her, it’s just not fair. After coming in second to him (again), she sees a call for open auditions for people in her age range for a role in an upcoming martial arts movie starring her favorite movie star/martial artist in the world.

Technically, Mo is too short for their requirements—the height issue again, will she ever just grow? She comes up with a cunning plan* to get into the auditions anyway with the help of her best friend and his grandfather posing as her guardian. Why a faux grandfather? There’s no way that her mother would allow her to do anything like this and her father is away on a sudden business trip and isn’t communicating with Mo or her mother the way he usually would.

* Slightly more elaborate than anything Clark Kent has tried, and just as believable. Just roll with it.

We follow Mo through the audition process—which starts to take on unexpected peril as the set becomes plagued by threats and unexpected problems—possibly caused by sabotage. Oh, yeah, and her classmate/rival is also going up for the part.

Can Mo get the part without the truth being discovered? Will Mo be disillusioned by seeing behind the Movie Magic? Will Mo’s dad start responding to her? And what’s up with this old book with a little-known martial arts form Mo just found in her basement? More importantly, can she use any of it to her advantage?

The BTS Stuff

Let’s get this out of the way: This is an MG Novel, not Cinéma vérité. There’s no way that the auditions can work the way portrayed in the novel—especially when it comes to kids. It is impossible that any of Mo’s antics and hijinks to get her into—much less stay in—the auditions would work. If you’re looking for accuracy and an honest look at making martial arts movies with actors under 18, look elsewhere.

That said, there’s enough of a flavor of Hollywood to all of this to work. The attitudes of the casting people—the shallowness of the initial assessments, the stress of the director, the attitude toward the fight choreographer/stunt professionals, and so on—really feel like what you expect. They’re entertaining enough that you really don’t care how realistic things might be, too—feeling about right is good enough.

For my money, the best part of this is watching Cody Kwok in action and how everyone reacts to him. Kwok is a Jackie Chan-esque figure (only younger). He’s known for doing his own stunts—many of which are just incredible—as well as not being tied down to any one genre (but making them all, eventually, about martial arts). Kwok, his entourage, and the film’s executives know what they’re doing when it comes to preserving his image and promoting it, and the auditioning kids (and media) see exactly what they’re supposed to. Chan does an excellent job portraying both that and showing the reader that the Superstar’s image might not really be the truth.

Characters Who Aren’t Mo

There’s a really strong cast of supporting characters who are as engaging as you want, I want to touch on just a few of them because it’d be too easy just to talk about Mo, and that’s not giving Chan’s work the credit it needs.

Mo’s rivals in the auditions are largely bullies when it comes to Mo (and some of the others), but they’re not all that bad. They’re just adolescent twerps who are probably covering up insecurities (well, a couple of them are entitled jerks who are on their way to being 80s movie villains)—the way they treat Mo is bad enough so you don’t make the mistake of liking them, can root for Mo against them, but you’re not going to worry about what they’ll do to her.

On the other hand, you get Mo’s friends who just make you like her more—if someone as cool as Nacho (real name, Ignacio) is her best friend, she must be pretty cool herself. And Nacho is cool—he’s supportive, understanding, artistic, and nerdy in all the ways that Mo isn’t. Mo’s a little too hyper-focused on herself at the moment, but Nacho gets it and is willing to wait for her.

His grandfather is a hoot. Gramps is an honorary grandparent to Mo, as well as Nacho’s actual grandfather. He’s recently widowed and lonely, but he hasn’t let it get him down—at least not in front of the kids. He’s a loving and goofy character who really comes through for Nacho and Mo—he’s the kind of grandfather I’d like to be.

One of the auditioners who befriends Mo is named Sanjay. I hope they find a way to bring him back for the rest of the books in the series. He’s apparently pretty good at karate and is as gregarious as the others are antagonistic. He’s one of those kids who cannot stop talking once he starts and is not self-aware enough to realize he’s doing it or how people react to him. He’d probably be pretty annoying in real life but as a comic relief character? He’s great.

Lastly—Mo’s parents. Parents in MG novels are so tricky to get right (I’ve often thought), and Chan gets it right. Not just the characters, but how they treat Mo—and how Mo sees them and how they treat her. Mo’s dad introduced her to taekwondo and Cody Kwok. He’s her biggest fan and source of encouragement—he also pushes her (generally) in the way she needs to keep going. When he’s not there, the impact on Mo’s confidence and emotions cannot be overstated.

Things are complicated with her mother. Mom comes close to being a stereotype, at least the way the narration describes her. But I’m not sure she is, essentially they don’t get each other—from Mo’s perspective, her Mom doesn’t like who Mo is. She doesn’t want a daughter into taekwondo (especially not to the near-obsessive level Mo is), but would rather she pursued something more acceptable, like dancing and Chinese immersion camp, a dainty academic superstar in the waiting. The reader will see that Mo’s not understanding her mother quite right, but there’s nothing malicious in it. It’s just a tricky mother/daughter dynamic (that appears to be starting to work itself out).

Mo Herself

In case I gave the wrong impression when I talked about Nacho, Mo is a cool person, but since we see the whole book from her point of view, it might seem biased. Mo is a confident, optimistic, go-getter. The fact that she’s probably not going to keep growing past her 4’9″ stature while everyone around her (especially Dax) is still growing, isn’t doing her esteem any favors. Her recent tournament loss is doing a number on her—she’s upset that Dax’s size puts her at a disadvantage and is ready to give up, but she’s also so determined that she just can’t. Chan portraying both competing impulses is a tricky proposition, but she pulls it off.

The chance to work with Kwok is the opportunity of a lifetime for Mo. She’s re-read his autobiography a few times (can quote portions of it), and has watched countless interviews—she knows him as well as anyone who hasn’t met him can (and as well as many people who have met him could). She’s such a superfan that it’s hard not to want to see a few Kwok movies yourself. When she describes one of his films, she always introduces it as “my favorite Cody Kwok movie”—it doesn’t matter which one she’s talking about. It’s a tiny touch, but I loved it. Her enthusiasm is infectious.

Actually, not just her enthusiasm for Kwok—but for everything. Her despondency is a little catching, too, and comes when it should. But her personality can’t stay down for long. She grows a lot over the course of the novel*—as she needs to, it’s the point of adolescence anyway. But she also has plenty of room to grow, and that’s easy to see, too. It’ll be fun watching that over the rest of the series.

* That’s growth in terms of character. Much to her chagrin, she’s as tall at the end of the summer as she was at the beginning.

So, what did I think about The Legendary Mo Seto?

I had about as much fun as is permitted by law while reading this.

Sure, it’s an MG book, so I’m a few decades older than the target audience. I guessed almost all of the big reveals (I think attentive MG readers will get most of them, too), I’m pretty sure I know how the next two books are going to go, and I rolled my eyes at some of the sillier aspects of the book. That’s not a problem with Chan’s writing—I think it means she hit her target. The fact that she was able to write for them while keeping an old guy like me entertained is to be commended.

This is a fast, engaging read that will entice readers from the jump and keep them turning pages (likely with a grin) almost as fast as Mo can dash around. Older readers will want to adopt Mo and Nacho as kid siblings (or false grandparents), and younger readers will want to be like Mo—and hang out with her friends. As good as the story and the writing are (and Chan’s subtle prose is deceptively easy)—readers are going to walk away from this book thinking primarily of this determined and brave girl, who will muster up whatever she has to in order to get a shot at her dreams.

I’m leaving things out that I should be saying, I know I am—but I can’t think of what they are at the moment. So be sure to see what other people on the Tour are saying. So let me just wrap up by saying that for the young or young-at-heart reader, this is a sure-fire win.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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If you do manage to find the restaurant, the décor is dated and worn. Homey, if one were to be generous. The service is atrocious, the proprietor a grouch. The regulars are worse, silent, brooding, and unfriendly to newcomers. There is no set menu, alternating with the whim and whimsy of the owner. The selection of wine and beer is sparse or non- existent at times, and the prices for everything outrageous.

There is a restaurant in Toronto that is magically hidden, whose service is horrible, and whose food is divine.

What’s The Nameless Restaurant About?

If that description in the first paragraph wasn’t enough to make you disinclined to visit this restaurant—that “magically hidden” part should take care of it. Between its location and the wards inside, only a select few come in. Which is just the way the proprietor, Mo Meng, wants it.

The majority of his clientele are magical beings—or magic users—and his staff know just enough about that to understand the nature of their customers, and little else (sure, how else does their boss get some of those fresh and rare ingredients if not for teleportation).

On this one particular night in addition to some regulars—and a couple of mundane/muggle/non-magical people who stumble in—there are some new diners. A jinn, her companion/student, and three mages from the Council who are hunting for the jinn.

The novella isn’t about the diners, per se, it’s about Mo Meng and his establishment. They’re just who happened to be there that night.

Step Aside Cousin Carmy

For there were more important matters before her. Much more than the fate of the world. After all, dinner was here.

There are all types of magic that could be thrown around the restaurant—and a little that comes into play. But the real wonder-working is what Mo Meng gets up to in the kitchen, and the results that his waitress brings to the table.

Wong gets into detail when talking about the preparation of the food, the recipes, and so on. You know how you can watch a show or two on the Food Network and think you can prepare something like Alex Guarnaschelli? Well, when I finished this book, I could imagine that all I needed was to re-read a couple of paragraphs in this book (after buying a wok).

At the same time, when you read about the customers eating, smelling, or looking at his food? You’re going to want to grab a snack—if not a few entrées. I easily could’ve put on 5-10 pounds just from reading this if there’d been food within reach (I’m so glad this is a novella and not a full-novel, especially of the doorstop variety—I don’t think I could handle that kind of temptation).

So, what did I think about The Nameless Restaurant?

Sure, she had a healthy appetite—which, when you considered the fact that she was a purely magical being was both fascinating and annoying—but she had never been gluttonous.

Not till now, at least.

This is a spin-off of Wong’s Hidden Wishes trilogy—but you don’t need to be familiar with it at all to appreciate this (I haven’t read it yet and I did). Might it help? Sure, but not enough to prioritize it.

We do’t get a lot of time with any of the characters who aren’t Mo Meng (there’s just not enough space in the novella)—but we get enough enjoy them all individually, and be at least a little curious about them all (and hope they show up in future novellas if only to see their reaction to future dishes).

The magic circumstances surrounding and repercussions of real-world events that are explained over conversations between the diners are a fun choice by Wong.

There’s not much to say beyond this because of the length of the book—I really enjoyed it, I got hungry, and want to read more of this series and more of this world. Thankfully, I can fulfill the latter easily—I encourage you to do the same.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Steam Opera About?

I’m both tired and apt to meander too much when trying to answer this question, so I’m just going to lift the answer from Lambert’s website:

London, England, 1894

Patrick Smythe lives a comfortable life in London coming up with new inventions. His close friend Thomas Melton finances many of these ventures and together they advance technology. Geoffrey Trenton takes the occasional investigative work after retiring from Scotland Yard.

Airships fill the sky

The world is on the move with dirigibles and Zeppelins hauling freight and passengers. On land and sea people travel at will in an era of plenty.

Unbridled invention fills the laboratories

New discoveries fill the news as scientists probe past the boundaries of human knowledge. Every field advances as knowledge of the natural world drives new innovation.

Telescopes scan the heavens

The Royal Observatory at Greenwich has a new telescope and the astronomers are using it to view the universe. Even when they’ve been told to take the night off. A strange discovery and a brutal murder draws Trenton out of retirement to investigate.

And we want to go to the moon!

Patrick develops his most ambitious project: a trip to the moon and back! With Thomas’s help securing financing and Trenton running security, what could possibly go wrong? But a mysterious organization wants to prevent this and will go to any length to stop them!

My Big Complaint

The next section will touch on a maybe larger concern. Or maybe it’s a quirk. I’m not sure. But I had an easier time getting over it than this part. There’s a quick arc that introduces us to the future security chief for this endeavor—it starts out pretty interesting, maybe more interesting than the “go to the moon” story at that point. And just as that story gets your hooks into you…it’s dropped. I do think that I can see where and how Lambert is going to pick it up again in the future. But the way he abandoned the story in this novel was abrupt and off-putting.

Lambert is capable of better.

Um…Where’s all the Steam?

You call something Steam Opera, you set it in the latter 1800s in London, you make it about inventors and engineers (among others), you give it that color scheme and cover design—you sorta indicate to your reader that this is going to be a Steampunk novel.

But we really don’t get one—we get a lot of Zepplins and dirigibles, science that’s more advanced than it should be, and the rest of it is pretty era-appropriate. No gadgets, no science that’s hard to pull off on this side of the Industrial or Digital Revolutions. Sure, there are plenty of people wearing goggles—but that’s about it. This is the least Steam-punky Steampunk I think I’ve read.

And I know Lambert can pull off Steampunk gadgets—Aether Powered demonstrated that clearly. So why not here?

Really, why not?

So, what did I think about Steam Opera?

Okay—all I’ve really said after the description sounds negative, and I don’t want to sound that way. Because once you get past the above quibbles (which is really pretty easy), this is a perfectly entertaining read.

This is easily the most ambitious of Lambert’s first three novels, and his writing has improved over what his first books delivered (and I liked those I want to stress). His characters, prose, eye for detail, and imagination are better represented here (as is a capability to carry a story for another 100 pages or so than he has in the past). If he keeps improving like this, he should get the fanbase he deserves.

Lambert does a good job with the pacing—sometimes it seems he speeds up more than is advisable, and occasionally he swings the other way—but overall, he keeps things moving well enough to keep you engaged while dipping into some pretty technical areas (even if the technology is made up). It’d have been very easy for him to get so into the technical descriptions that he’d kill any momentum and turn this thing into a slog. All things considered, he made the right choices on that front.

And the technical bits themselves? I think Lambert really succeded there—both the way he adapted Zepplin-esque technology to mimic the work that the Atlas and other rockets did in our timeline and in the way he described their flight while still in Earth’s atmosphere—I bought it all. It seemed plausible enough for this world (moreso than, say, the music devices that The Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences enjoyed, for example)—particularly the in-flight moments.

I wouldn’t have minded some more named characters—and some female characters would’ve been good to see*. This is very much a book about Moon Men. However, the characters we did get were engaging and interesting (even the antagonists). The more time we spent with all of them, the more I wanted to spend time with them—which is always a good sign.

* The lack of female characters probably deserves its own section, I now realize—but what more is there to say? Yes, the Victorian-era was dominated by men in engineering and business, so it helps things ocme across as more realistic to not have women around. But if we’re going for that level of realism…maybe keep everyone on Earth?

What we learn in the closing pages and what leads up to them is came out of nowhere—or so it seems, but really didn’t. What’s better is it sets up the next book and satisfies your curiosity about “Why is this a Book One?” Sure, it creates a whole bunch of new curiosity about Book Two (and maybe beyond, I’m not sure how long Lambert is thinking), but that’s the point. As long as you give me some answers, you can add all the questions you want.

In short, I had plenty of fun with this book and this world, and am eager to return to it. As good as Lambert’s next release, Relics of War, looks—I can’t help but be irked that it’s not Moon Men Book Two. I really want to know where he’s going with this. But that’s a problem for future-H.C. Present-H.C. is happy to recommend this to you and strongly suggests you become familiar with the very pleasant experience that is reading a James T. Lambert novel.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader along with some further ruminations about it, comparing it to some of Hibbs' Non-Fiction work.

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What’s The White Door About?

A pull-quote on the cover calls this “Pilgrims Progress meets Stranger Things.” I’m not sure that Bunyan belongs in the conversation—maybe Lewis meets Stranger Things? This Present Darkness with better theology is closer yet.

There’s a great ensemble of characters featured in this novel, but let’s focus (as the novel does) on two—the first is Pastor Cleft Warrington. It’s evident soon after we meet him that he’s the kind of pastor you’d want—educated, compassionate, smart, and faithful. But there’s more than that to him—the small town in Pennsylvania that he pastors in has more going on than is visible to the naked eye. There are forces on the move—and he is one of the few aware of it.

The other character we focus on is Seth Logan—he’s a father of a couple of little kids and a writing professor. His wife is a steadying and supportive influence in his life, which he really needs. When we meet him, he’s unaware (like most people in this town) of the unseen workings around him. But all that changes when he comes across a stray cat one day while hiking.

I’m not sure how much else to say, but the cover blurb says little more—there are two doors (in places that have no business having doors, see McGuire’s Wayward Children series for examples). A white one and a black one—those who walk through them are changed. What, and how, they see is altered in ways that say a lot more about the doors than anything else.

The custodian (for lack of a better term) of the black door is named Skotos—he has been popping up in Dingmans Ferry now and then for quite some time. Cleft is trying to monitor his actions as much as he can. Cleft can’t say for certain what Skotos is up to—or what his aims are—but they are not for anyone’s benefit but his.

Those who walk through the white door get nicknamed “gazers,” because of their altered vision. They see things, realities, that others don’t–and cannot. Because of this power, they have a responsibility to their town (if not to more than the town) and its citizens. The gazers have allied with each other for this purpose and when they add members, they take them under their wings and help them understand their abilities and far more.

The Choice of the 80s

This is set in the 1980s, which is an interesting choice. And I’m not sure that it was necessary for the story. Sure, it eliminates the Internet in early or current form, so that’s an advantage—this would’ve been a difficult story to tell if characters could just check certain events online.

While there may be little about the events or the narrative that demands that time period, the smaller town feels more authentic in the 80s, I guess. There are plenty of little details that Hibbs provides to help it feel like that time.

The biggest thing that made me wonder about the choice of chronological setting (probably the only thing) was the way that Seth’s anxiety was depicted (and the way people reacted to him). I haven’t done any research on this—but I’m not sure that too many people in the 80s were talking about people with anxiety disorders or panic attacks quite the way these characters do. Particularly regarding adult men. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’d wager that was a stumble (as an example, see how strange it was in the late 90s for characters like Tony Soprano to deal with those things, and the ways they covered it up).

The Mix of Theology and Fantasy

Mixing Christian thinking, Christian belief, and fiction—particularly Fantasy—is a tricky thing. It can be done, and there is a tradition of it. But I can’t help wondering about the way that Hibbs does it. I enjoyed it thoroughly, but I had some questions and qualms.

The titular white door and the way it changes those who walk through it…both are great, full of symbolism and meaning. I really appreciated the effects produced in those who’ve entered it. But I have so many questions about it, too—why aren’t all the believers in town taken to it? Is it some sort of second blessing?* Why is it available for any random person walking by (although it is out of the way) to just walk through? Along those lines—Skotos’ victims…the way that Seth and his companions figure out what happened to them and the way they appeal to Paul’s writings to get there really misses the apostle’s point and even contradicts it. And that really troubles me.

* I know Hibbs wouldn’t go for that, but it kind of seems like one.

There are some other things depicted—some visions, another reality that’s visited (to put it as vaguely as I can), and things of that nature—that were just great. The pure fantasy stuff—or at least the things that he can talk about in purely fantastic terms—was great.

You take the blending of fantasy and theology out of this—leave us only with Skotos’ “magic” or whatever, the Deeper Magic of the Doors, and whatnot—I wouldn’t have a complaint at all. No church, no sermons, no Bible—just warring Good and Evil? The whole thing works. But Hibbs frequently stumbles when he combines them.

Now let’s set aside the Fantasy for a minute and just focus on the Theology. First of all, anyone who’s read much of Hibbs is going to recognize his thinking here. Narnia, Seth, and Cleft sound like they’ve studied Hibbes’ work (ignoring the anachronism there)—which is good. If only so you know that you’re supposed to think they’re on the right path. Other characters largely sound like they’re on their way to sounding that way, too.

Even the demonic (or at least really evil) character’s theology is rock solid. He rejects it—but he knows it. Watching him explain something, and then reacting to it, was really well done.

I have to add, that some of the gazers get animal companions—stewards—who can talk to the gazers. We see two of them in this book, Seth’s cat, Narnia, and Cleft’s dog, Roland. They are just fantastic. A Tolkein-quoting cat with a penchant for talking theology? That’s a critter I’d put up with my allergies attacking me to spend time with. Every bit with those animals are great. There are some other animals that show up later, too—I really dug them, too. But my spoiler policy prevents me from talking about them.

Some Word Choices

I’m going to throw this out there just to be thorough—and because I know a couple of my readers will think about it—maybe even be turned off by it.

The characters in this novel are not all Christians. And some of them are very recent converts who haven’t quite gotten around to cleaning up their language thoroughly. Hibbs has them use realistic words for people in those situations—a depiction of how the world is, not how he might want it to be.

That said, nothing too terrible is said in the book—nothing you couldn’t get away with in a PG movie (which isn’t the best barometer for some people, but it’s the easiest to convey) or a sitcom from the mid-80s.

Hibbs’ Writing

As a surprise to no one who’s read what I’ve said about Hibbs’ style and way with words before, I loved it. There are some sentences, some passages, and even some phrases that I just adored. If I had a final version and not an ARC, you’d be reading plenty of quotations in this post.

These characters and their emotional lives are richly drawn. The descriptions of little things as well as major events or scenes are the kind of thing that keep people reading regardless of plot and character.

There are two character deaths described that just blew me away. One happens just as the book begins and we see a grieving husband in the minutes after his wife’s death. It’s handled with sensitivity and care—and right from the get-go, you get attached to this character, his reactions feel just right. The other death that we spend an extended time on is handled differently, but perhaps even better. There are other deaths that don’t get this—or similar—kind of treatment. They’re handled the way that most fictional deaths are, and that’s fine. But the two we linger on? Hibbs gets everything right about those and I loved reading them (and will again).

I should add that this book isn’t full of character deaths—but there are some.

I’ve gotten off-topic a bit, but this is just some great writing. There’s a hint of poetry to so much of this energized by an eye for detail. Little things—like the description of Seth’s daughter’s laugh—are just beautiful, and some of the bigger things are done just as well.

So, what did I think about The White Door?

It’s been a long time since I read Christian Fiction regularly—sure, I read a few things by Christians (mostly local authors), but not a lot that calls itself Christian Fiction. In fact, I think this is the fourth book of that type I’ve posted about here. But when I heard that Hibbs was going to be bringing his first novel into the world, you know I had to give it a read. I’ve often said that his books are the best written theological/Christian Living/etc. books that I’ve read (published in the last 50 years, anyway), so of course I want to see what he does with fiction.*

* I should probably try his poetry, too. But it’s poetry, so don’t expect that anytime soon.

I’m so glad I did.

I have mentioned a few quibbles above—the downside of doing that is that it overshadows all the good that can be said. I can’t think of a way to do that without giving too much away. So my own limitation makes the book come across as worse than it should. Note the above paragraph, if nothing else.

It started slow, and I wondered for a while just what the book was going to be about (I didn’t bother reading anything about it before requesting a copy—I just knew it was the first novel for Hibbs, and that was enough)—but it kept me going—and it wasn’t long before I was fully invested (and that kept growing). By the time it was over, I wasn’t quite ready to walk away from these characters and this world.

The conversations that Cleft and Seth have together—or with other characters—about books, The Bible, language, and so on? They’re just great—and I could’ve read many more of them. There’s no justification in terms of character development or plot for us to spend more time with Seth (and Narnia) in Seth’s classes—but Hibbes could’ve given us more of them and I wouldn’t have complained. (I may have noted that he was padding the book with them, but I’d have enjoyed the padding enough to give him a pass)

Similar things could be said for Seth spending time with his family (with or without Narnia)—and so many other aspects of the book.

Every element of this novel works really well when considered on its own. Many of them work in conjunction with the others—it’s when all of them are brought together in these 484 pages that I think Hibbs trips over himself. It’s really a total is less than the sum of its parts kind of thing. But those parts are so worth your time and energy—and I wouldn’t be shocked to learn that I’m alone in some/all of my judgments.

I do encourage you to pick this up. It’s a good read, a refreshing, hopeful read—and I hope it’s the first of several novels from Pierce Taylor Hibbs.

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this eARC from the author, but the opinions expressed are mine and honest. And are what I would’ve said about the copy I bought—I’m just saying them a few weeks earlier.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Mystery Science Theater 3000: A Cultural History About?

This is a retrospective of the show—its history, development (highs and lows), spin-offs, and latest formats. It’s also an examination and consideration of the impact the show has made to its viewers and on the industry of entertainment, and the ripple effects it has had on pop culture.

It looks at how MST3K was shaped by the upbringing of its cast and writers—focusing on the tone and style of the hosts—as well as the network (or lack thereof) that brought the show to the audience.

It wraps up with an Appendix listing twenty episodes that best capture the show for new viewers—between the riffs, the movies themselves, and hosting segments—with each host being represented. They truly picked some gems—good for new viewers and established fans to go back and revisit some highlights.

The Worst We Can Find

“Hey, wait a second, H.C.,” I can hear some of you thinking, “you talked about this book last July.” Well, no. But I can understand the confusion. That was actually the book, The Worst We Can Find: MST3K, RiffTrax, and the History of Heckling at the Movies by Dale Sherman.

I haven’t done this a lot, but every now and then I read a book that is someone taking all/part of their doctoral dissertation and reworking it/part of it for a wider/popular audience. In many ways, that’s what this felt like—Foy and Olson’s work was the technical/academic book for those of a more scholarly persuasion, and Sherman’s was the version for the wider audience. Except that Sherman’s was longer, and it usually goes the other way.

This is not a criticism of either book—at all. They both over their respective emphases and quirks. They’re both dependent on interviews and articles produced by others; both are written by fans who’ve dedicated a good deal of time to both the research and production of the book—propelled by a greater deal of time developing an appreciation of MST3K; and both are the kind of things that die-hard fans will sink their teeth into. One’s just a bit more highbrow than the other.

Dissecting Some Frogs

Analysts have had their go at humor, and I have read some of this interpretative literature, but without being greatly instructed. Humor can be dissected, as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process and the innards are discouraging to any but the purely scientific mind.

The idea has been variously ascribed, but it seems that E. B. White and Katharine S. White first put it into print. Whoever said it first, the idea floated through the back of my mind at more than one point while reading this book.

There were repeated explanations of various jokes throughout the book—and not one of them was necessary (if you ask me, anyway). Maybe one or two of them will help younger readers who are not familiar with the pop culture of the 90s or earlier, but I think context alone will take care of the questions a reader will have. And you understand the authors’ impulse to explain them and maybe even admire their attempt while rolling your eyes at the outcome.

Flirting With Semantic Satiation

The term Intertexuality appears so often in this book, that you can imagine Tom Servo and Crow riffing on it. But it’s not like there are a lot of synonyms available, and it’s a real focus of the authors and a strong point of the book. Still, the SOL crews would hammer them on it.

The consideration of how MST3K has trained a couple of generations in approaching intertextuality, media consumption, and responses to them is the intellectual core of this book. The show, in all its various incarnations, has shaped both the viewers and other shows, internet content, and general internet discussion in ways that are larger than the show’s ratings may suggest. The cultural footprint is oversized given viewership (the tapes did keep circulating, at least metaphorically).

I, for one, had given this very little thought until Fry and Olson pointed it out—along with their discussion of MST3K and its spin-off projects being at the forefront of newer delivery systems for media and programming. Given their humble beginnings, it’s really quite remarkable.

So, what did I think about Mystery Science Theater 3000: A Cultural History?

I’ve read two other books in this series (and keep meaning to read others), Friends and Gilmore Girls, comparing this to those, I’d say it captures the strengths of both and avoids what I recall as the shortcomings of the Friends volume and the spirit of the Gilmore Girls book. If nothing else, the diversity in these three installments demonstrates a strength of the series. You’re not going to get cookie-cutter approaches to the various series in consideration. Each author/team of authors is going to approach the show in question differently, reflecting the preferences and focus of the authors.

The only shortcoming I can think of (outside the attempted academic explanations of humor) is the lack of space given to Emily’s hosting/riffing style compared to the other hosts. I’m certain that this is a function of how few episodes she has appeared in, but it would’ve been nice to get a little more about her.

I was entertained by the book—both due to the authors’ style and the memories it conjured. I thought about the show and its legacy in ways I hadn’t before. I kicked myself for not taking part in the crowdfunding efforts I didn’t participate in. I was inspired to watch a couple of episodes I’d somehow missed—and just to make time for the show in general. Mostly this was an exercise in getting to know more about old friends, and seeing them in a different light.

I’m a sucker for anything MST3K related, so you know this worked for me. Do I know if you’ll appreciate this book if you’re not a fan or a media studies student? I doubt it’s for you. But if you’re either of those things—you’ll get something out of it.

What do you think, sirs?

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book from Rowman & Littlefield via NetGalley—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s The Last Shield About?

Briar is the commander of the Shield, the Royal Guard protecting the soon-to-be-King; his uncle, the Lord Regent; and the castle that serves as the capital for the realm of Sunweald. She’s been in the post for several years, also serving as the personal bodyguard and confidant of the regent.

There are two neighboring kingdoms that would like to take over Sunweald, as well as to loot the castle’s vault, which, according to legend, contains the kind of magical weaponry that can remake the world. Keeping that vault safe, secure, and unmolested is one of Briar’s primary responsibilities.

The prince is set to take over in just a couple of years, and Kester is the prototypical spoiled, indolent, and irresponsible royal who no one can imagine can/should assume the throne. Maybe, if he grows up a lot before becoming an adult, but that seems unlikely. Meanwhile, the realm is in the incredibly capable and wise hands of his uncle Alaric.

During a seasonal religious rite, an attack against the royal family leaves several guards dead and Briar near death, they have foiled the attempt, but at a great cost. After a long convalescence she’s recovered enough to move around a little bit, but not fit to return to active duty. After half a year of waiting and plotting, the survivors and some mercenary allies attack the castle from within—taking Alaric and some of the staff hostage, and killing others. Briar and Kester happen to be in just the right place and escape the sweep that collected so many. It’s up to them, each in their own way, to use Briar’s knowledge of the castle (and hidden passageways) to mount a rescue mission and to take down the small force who have taken over.

Shields

I’m talking literal shields here, not Briar and her guard.

Growing up, the only way I saw shields used was defensively—to block arrows or swords—until someone had to valiantly discard them because their dominant hand/arm was injured and they had to desperately use their shield arm to wield a sword, obviously. The only exception to this was Captain America (and a DC clone or two) and his implausible use of his.

And that’s pretty much how I saw the objects until now. But Clay Cooper and Briar have got me thinking about them as offensive weapons now. Their shields are very different in terms of size and material—but they’re both effectively used as a weapon. Briar does use her defensively, of course, but both prior to her time as a guerrilla fighter and now, she shows that a shield can be a potent weapon.

So my questions are: Have I missed how people use these things offensively all along? (either by reading the wrong things or not remembering anything but the swordplay, archery, and/or magic) Or have we entered an age where authors are embracing the full range of these objects strapped to an arm?

The Die Hard-Ness of it All

The Publisher’s description of this novel starts off with, “A gender-flipped Die Hard set in a mysterious castle.” And that’s absolutely what the book is—is that description reductionistic? Yes. Is it apt? Also, yes. But it’s also so much more than that summary. (but what a great elevator, pitch, right?)

I do not know if Johnston set out to write this as a Fantasy Die Hard, but at some point, he had to realize that’s what he was doing and (if you ask me) leaned into it. There are just too many similarities for me to believe anything else. But really, there’s one paragraph that seals the deal—I won’t give you details (but you’ll recognize it), but it is borrowing/appropriating/stealing an indelible image from the film. After reading that I knew it wasn’t just some ingenious marketer at Angry Robot who tagged it as “A gender-flipped Die Hard set in a mysterious castle,” as I half-way wondered, but it was Johnston’s intention. There’s just no way he does that.

I should stress that just because it’s a version of a movie that you likely know very well—do not think you know how this book is going to go. There’s plenty of suspense for the reader, as well as magical creatures that might have sent John McClane running for the hills.

Would I have been thoroughly entertained by The Last Shield without all the parallels to one of my all-time favorite movies? Yes. But being able to watch Johnston’s take on McClane, Nakatomi Tower, and the rest? It’s just an extra layer of frosting on an already delicious cake.

I do wish we’d gotten a Thornberg/William Atherton-esque character (should that get a spoiler warning), a non-villain that you despise almost as much as (if not more than) Gruber/his crew. Not because the novel was lacking anything, it’s just satisfying to see them get their comeuppance.

So, what did I think about The Last Shield?

This is a heckuva thrill-ride. Like its cinematic predecessor, the action in this novel is top-notch. It’s not non-stop, there are moments of reflection, of exhaustion, of trying to figure out how to survive—much less succeed against this force. The set-up to the main action also takes longer than you might think (but you should really just relax and let Johnston do his thing, it’s all important and helps establish what comes later). I was hooked almost immediately—and while I wondered when the “Die Hard” part of the book would kick in, I really didn’t care. I was having a good enough time with Briar, Alaric, and the rest.

But, boy howdy, when the action kicked in? What was a perfectly enjoyable book got so much better. Johnston can write an action scene—whether the action is hand-to-hand, bladed weapon against something else, supernatural-based…you name it, he can handle it with panache and aplomb. It’s well paced—with just enough downtime between fight scenes for you and the characters to be ready for the next. Once the book builds up enough steam, forget it—you’re not going to willingly put it down.

It’s not all about swords, shields, axes, and spells, however. Briar dealing with her injuries and recovery—both before the “Hans Gruber” moment and afterward—is done to almost perfection. There’s real growth—and real injury (and not just physical)—to be seen in several other characters. No one survives this time unscathed in one way or another.

The noted attorney and political operative Ainsley Hayes, noted, “they’re all about duty” when discussing the work of Gilbert and Sullivan.* This book, at its core, is just as much about duty as The Pirates of Penzance or H.M.S. Pinafore. Briar, ready to give her life fighting when she’s unfit for battle; Alaric, giving up decades of his life to step in as Lord Regent and govern; Kester figuring out what his obligations are to those he rules; several servants, guests, and others in the castle during the takeover carrying out their duties in what limited capacities they can as hostages—and the utter abandonment of duty by others. The Last Shield doesn’t have to be thought of in terms of good vs. evil (while it applies, it’s problematic when it comes to some characters). Instead, I suggest that it’s better seen whether these people live up to their duty/obligation or do they abandon that for selfish gain.**

And, there is something incredibly appealing to that way of thinking in our incredibly polarized and me-centric time. All sorts of people considering the cost and putting aside their wants/desires/lives in favor do doing what they’re supposed to do anyway.

* Yes, there’s no need to bring Ainsely into this, but I can’t help thinking of her and that line—or Leo, or Lionel Tribbey, etc.—when I think about duty.

** There are one or two characters who took over the castle that you could put forward against my claim, but I think I could make a strong (spoiler-filled) case in my defense, so I won’t do that pre-emptively.

I should probably talk a little about the three magic systems at work in this world—but this thing is going on too long already. But I really like seeing that diversity at work.

It wasn’t until I was preparing this post that I realized that Johnston wrote The Maleficent Seven, a book I’ve been meaning to get around to for ages. Now I’m even more motivated to do that (The Traitor God, too, come to think of it).

But that’s for another day, for today, I just want to revel in the near-perfection of this roller-coaster of a novel. I had such a good time with this novel and I’ve been telling everyone I know about it (I even think I sold the manager of a local bookstore on it, hopefully, he continues that chain). I was ready to read it again as soon as I was done.

Fantasy readers and action-adventure readers alike will dig this one. Go get your orders in now, unless you’re reading this on or after August 13—in that case, run down to your local indie bookstore and pick it up.

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book from Angry Robot Books via NetGalley—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s A Farewell to Arfs About?

We start off this book with Bernie and Chet finishing a case for the Sonoran Museum of Art (an institution we learned about a couple of books ago), and with things looking up—and money in Bernie’s pocket—this is a pretty happy way to start things.

But soon after that, Chet overhears a phone call that their neighbor, Mr. Parsons, is having—and the reader knows things are going bad for him. Bernie learns the next day that Mr. Parsons has been the victim of a phone scam and is wiped out. Bernie starts looking into it—and into the Parsons’ ex-con of a son. It looks like he may have turned his life around, and is helping other former inmates adjust to the outside world and to stay on the right path. But is that what’s really going on?

If Billy Parsons isn’t involved—who is? And is there any chance that Bernie can get back any of the Parsons’ money?

Charlie and Esmé

Bernie’s son, Charlie, has been a consistent pleasure in the series—particularly because of Chet’s devotion to him. But adding his best friend, Esmé, in the last couple of books has made the character much more enjoyable for me.

I really enjoy their dynamic, for those familiar with Syfy’s Resident Alien show, it’s similar to the dynamic of Sahar and Max, only Esmé has a little more patience with Charlie than Sahar does with Max.

Even better, we get to meet Esmé’s father in this book—who seems like a good guy for Bernie to talk to in general—he has no knowledge of Bernie’s past, he’s not involved with policing, investigations, or anything like that. Just a friendly guy—who happens to be smart and (coincidentally) involved in an area that Bernie needs help understanding for the case. I enjoyed their conversation and hope we get more in the future.

(still, I do like the way that Charlier got to shine a little brighter this time than he usually does)

Bernie’s Past

Whoa. I did not expect any of what we learned about Bernie’s father in this book. Frankly, I didn’t think we’d ever learn anything about him—we barely know anything about his mother (and I’m okay with that based on Chet’s descriptions). But all of a sudden, there’s a lot about Harry Little being talked about.

It works—don’t get me wrong—and now I want to know more about Harry, his relationship with Bernie, and what was going on with him in general. We don’t get that (now?), but we get a glimpse of the man that was a presence in Bernie’s life until his early death. And that’s not nothing.

Feelings, Nothing More than Feelings

So, all the stuff about Harry Little added some emotional weight to the novel. But we didn’t need any of it—I’m not objecting, don’t get me wrong—but the last thing this book needed was more going on emotionally.

There’s some drama between Bernie and Weatherly. Bernie’s found a new way to botch things up with a woman—no real surprise there. The only plus is that it is a new way—he’s not repeating mistakes he made with Leda or Suzie. Maybe there’s some growth there—but it’s not Bernie at his best.

Related to that are some real dark moments for Bernie—we’ve seen hints of things like this from him before. But I don’t think it was ever this pronounced. Bernie is not always a good guy, he’s not only a white knight—there’s a noir character in him, battling to come out. And Bernie’s control slips early on in the novel and he has to reckon with the fallout.

But that’s not all. The Parsons have been aging and declining in health for a few books now, and for them to get wiped out like this—and then whatever that may or may not say about their son? There’s just no way to read this without your heartstrings being tugged. Scratch that—they’re yanked.

I don’t want to be unclear here (he says after probably giving the wrong impression). This is still a Chet and Bernie book like fourteen that have come before. Chet’s still irrepressible, he’s still an unreliable narrator obsessed with Bernie, food, smells, putting his teeth on perps, and snacks. He will make you laugh, and you will enjoy Bernie tracking down clues and the rest. But, like the better installments of this series, there’s a lot more going on than Chet’s antics—and Quinn makes sure that the depth is there.

So, what did I think about A Farewell to Arfs?

I admit that I was hoping for a criminal named Mike Craven to show up—to get back at Craven’s accidental use of Quinn’s name in last year’s Fearless. But it’s probably too soon for that—maybe in the next couple of years?

Once I saw what Mr. Parsons was doing on the phone, I muttered to myself (and texted a friend) that “Quinn’s getting all the mileage he can out of the research he did for Mrs. Plansky’s Revenge.” More power to him, obviously, but it did feel a little like a re-run. Thankfully, the story went in a very different direction—as I assumed it would, but still. In fact, while this might have been the result of the same research, the nature of the phone scam was different enough to shut me up.

I’m not sure that Weatherly handled things as well as she could’ve, but I’m not bothered by an imperfect character—she can be as flawed as Bernie. But that was the only hitch I found in this book or the events in it.

I really appreciated the depth we see of Bernie’s character, an angle or two that we haven’t spent that much time looking at before—we get to focus on. There’s more to him than being a decent PI with a lousy approach to finances. And if how he treats the Parsons doesn’t make your heart melt a little, you weren’t paying attention.

We get the usual chuckles (including Chet giving the reader a good idea about what he thinks about legalized marijuana), a good story, all the feels I described above (and more), and some good action scenes. What more is there to ask for?

Nothing that I can think of.

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book from Tor Publishing Group via NetGalley—thanks to both for this.