hc.newton

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s However Long the Day About?

This is a The Prince and the Pauper-esque story set in New York in 1918 with the son of a wealthy politician and an activist mother hiring his doppelganger, a recent Irish immigrant, to stand in for him for one night. Fredrick (the rich guy) got caught (again) doing something reckless and is about to be subject to a lecture/tirade from his father before being sent to his room for the evening (a room, it should be noted, that’s bigger than the apartment Niall is sharing with his uncle). Sure, it’s ridiculous that someone in his early-to-mid-20s (I’m guessing) is being treated that way. But if he wants to siphon off of his parents, I’m guessing he has to put up with ridiculous things like this.

I’d better move on before I open another parenthesis.

Niall was offered more money than he could make in a year, so he has to sign on. This kicks off 12 hours (or so) of mistaken identities, women kissing the wrong me, kidnappings, abductions, fights, beatings, criminals, police, criminal police, plots being hatched, secrets being exposed, plans going awry, plans coming to fruition, and so much more.

Frederick Philips

Frederick is a spoiled and apparently useless man desperate to get out from underneath his father’s thumb. He’ll do anything to accomplish that, except get a decent job and put in an honest day’s work. He needs to live in the manner to which he’s become accustomed, and there’s no way he can do that easily. I’m pretty sure Archie Goodwin would call him a “fop,” and although that word’s not really used anymore, it feels rather fitting (and not just because of the setting for the book).

He appears to have tried gambling and some other hare-brained (and likely illegal) schemes that have put him on the wrong side of at least one crime syndicate. One of the things he’s trying while Niall pretends to be him is the culmination of a lot of his scheming—he’s trying for the big score that’ll equip him to set up a new life in Philadelphia.

Niall Donovan

Niall has been in NYC for a month and we meet him as he’s struggling to substitute for his Uncle Paddy on his ice delivery route. Paddy’s fighting off the Spanish Flu* and needs someone to cover so he can keep his job. Niall’s not that good at the fairly thankless job, but it’s a way he can contribute.

* The grief given to the police officer wearing a mask—and his defending the practice—feels pretty timely.

Other than in appearance, Niall’s everything that Frederick isn’t—he’s a hard worker, he’s honest and honorable—and can acquit himself well in a fight. You’ll have a really hard time not being immediately charmed by him and wanting to see him succeed everywhere. He might be so loyal, so devoted, so determined to do the right thing that he puts himself in some stupid and dangerous situations, quite honestly. And more than once you’ll shake your head at him making a choice that’s sure to lead to problems—but you’ll still root for him.

Other Characters

Frederick’s ally/accomplice in all this is named Ivy. She lives near him, with parents in a similar social standing—she’s equally miserable but doesn’t have the means to get away from home. She’s a little more level-headed than Frederick and works with him—urging him to take some chances for both of their sakes.

Flora works in domestic service for one of the homes on Paddy’s route and Niall is pretty sweet on her (the feeling’s mutual). She’s hands down my favorite character in the book—she’s everything that Niall is (but backwards and in high heels), but generally thinks more clearly (except for the one time she encourages Niall’s foolhardiness. Both of them end up regretting that). I wish I could tell you all the reasons I love Flora, but that’d involve spoilers.

Niall’s Uncle Paddy is a great guy, too. He’s doing all he can (in his very limited way) to help Niall acclimate to New York and to get established.

And I’m going on too long—I can’t talk about all the great characters—but Reed’s got a knack for creating characters that come to life. There’s not one of them that you’re not going to have a very solid impression of—and probably a pretty good mental image for (despite minimal description in the text). I could’ve easily enjoyed more scenes with each and every character—except maybe Frederick—because I just enjoyed watching them in action so much.

The Object Itself

Most of the time I don’t talk about things like covers, printing, and whatnot—it’s just not something I want to dwell on (and frequently it’s stuff outside an author’s control). But when it’s done this well—particularly by a self-published author, I want to take a moment to talk.

The printing, binding, and so on for this book is top-notch. Indistinguishable from most of the hardcovers on my shelf. The cover design as well as the interiors were done with skill and care. Does this help the reading experience much? Probably only a negligible amount. But it’s clear that Reed put some money into the production end of this—money and care. As much effort into that as he put into the words on the page (or close).

I wonder if he regrets that—or if by trimming a few costs, he’d be closer to making a profit. But for me? I appreciate an author putting their money where their mouth is. Again, I don’t know if it added much to the experience, but I sure enjoyed that part.

So, what did I think about However Long the Day?

As far as I can tell—Reed nailed the historical setting. His NYC of 1918 looks and feels like histories of the era that I’m familiar with—and with books from around that era that I’ve read. I’m no expert by any means, but it felt accurate—and if I raised an eyebrow at any of his historical details, they didn’t bother me enough to remember or write in my notes. I’m open to correction on this point, but I’d say he dealt with this part well.

I’ve talked briefly about the characters already, so let’s move on to the plot. It took a while for a clear picture to develop about what was going on, but the ride to that point was so fun, I really didn’t care—I just kept wondering what the next scene would bring. Sure, there were some moments early on that I wondered if he was trying to juggle too many storylines and characters, and I will admit to shaking my head a few times when he’d throw in something new or insert a new difficulty or obstacle for Niall or Frederick to overcome. Eventually, I started to see the tapestry he was weaving and was glad to see that patience rewarded—Reed knew where he was going and led us on a straight path that only seemed to be meandering.

Every now and then, I wondered if Reed was hitting either Niall and Paddy’s Irishisms* a bit too hard—or if he was laying on the 1910s jargon/slang a bit too thick. But it was less often than I assumed I’d think something like that going in—and it really was rare that I wondered that. There was a time or two that I wondered if the dialogue in general was a bit preachy (whether or not I agreed), or wordy in general.

* Flora using the term “Irishism” also seemed a bit strange, but it worked in the moment so well, that I’m not going to complain. And not just because it was Flora who said it. Although that helps. I’m telling you, I loved her.

But overall, I was really impressed with Reed’s writing. Near the 300-page mark I got a little uneasy. There was maybe 30 pages of story left, how was he going to fill up another hundred or so? It turns out that it was super easy, barely an inconvenience. Not only that, it was some of the best story-telling he’d done up to that point. Most of it didn’t even depend on the mistaken/interchangeable identity aspect of the book. It’s not often that I misjudge an author’s pacing anymore, especially not a first-time author (and when I do, it’s generally not a good thing)—but Reed taught me a welcome lesson in humility there.

I was pleasantly surprised throughout this book—I didn’t expect anything much to strike me as funny when I picked it up, for example. I was optimistic about the premise and anticipated enjoying it. But I expected a fairly earnest, straightforward drama. But Reed gave us some good action, some interesting hijinks, and some solid comedy. (Yes, there’s a chance that I found things funny that I shouldn’t have…I’ll grant you that, and apologize to Reed if that offends him).

One example of the comedy that really stood out to me–there’s a recurring discussion about the choice of cake vs. fruit pie. It feels straight out of Tarantino, or maybe Jim Gaffigan. It essentially becomes a personality test–and Frederick fails, incidentally. It becomes this nice bit of humor, it helps solidify Flora as a character, it humanizes some of the gangsters (see Tarantino), and is something that really helps the reader to connect with the characters. The fact that it has almost nothing to do with the plot is a great bonus, it becomes something where the characters can interact as human beings regardless of what’s going on. Also, anything that allows Flora to shine and makes Frederick look bad is worth pointing out.

Clearly, I enjoyed this book a lot. If this is what Reed can do for a debut, I can’t wait to see what he accomplishes for a follow-up. I strongly recommend you all to go pick this one up.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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Placing the Book

It’s been too many years (and too many books) since I read the early books in The Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences series, so I’m a little fuzzy on the Ministry Seven. But from things said throughout this book—and my dusty memory—I’d put this book slightly earlier than that series (or maybe right after book one…but I’m pretty sure it’s earlier). We’re in your classic Victorian Steampunk area dealing with an agent for the Ministry dealing with fringe science and other weirdness and the street urchins that he uses for things he can’t do.

Think the Baker Street Irregulars. But with goggles.

What’s The Curse of the Silver Pharaoh About?

Verity Fitzroy’s primary focus in life is finding out what happened to her parents and why. She’s tracked down one person who she’s convinced could help her—and when she attempts to contact him, she disturbs a Ministry operation involving their Ministry contact, Agent Harrison Thorne. Because things go so wrong during this operation an Egyptologist is kidnapped and Verity’s contact is gone.

Thorne recruits the Seven to help him track down the kidnap victim. All tracks lead to the Delancy Academy—a school outside of London for students gifted in the sciences (most of whom come from money, obviously). The oldest two are enrolled (and, shine, it should be said) in the Academy to try to discover the tie between the Academy and the kidnappers.

The rest take up residence on a nearby farm to wait for their chance to help out. These children aren’t ready for life in the countryside—the work is different from what they’re used to doing (scrambling for scraps on the streets of London) and the environment as a whole takes some adjusting.

So, what did I think about The Curse of the Silver Pharaoh?

I don’t have a lot to say about this, and it kind of bugs me. Because it seems like I should. I had a real blast with this—it had a different flavor as a whole than the Ministry books—there’s more of a supernatural bent to things, and the whole sexual-tension thing between Books and Braun is absent (obviously).

There’s more of a YA-feel to it, too. Largely because the oldest two in the Seven are young adults. But it doesn’t ever scream YA—it’s just a fun fish-out-of-water adventure for a bunch of Steampunk kids.

I liked the devices that the Academy’s students cooked up and would’ve been very content to spend a few months watching things at the school before the main action of the novel kicked in. Verity’s new friend Julia McTighe is part Luna Lovegood, part whatever Amari Peter’s best friend was called (I can’t believe I can’t come up with it)—and all sorts of fun. I hope they find a way to bring her back for the second book.

It’s a short, fast, steampunkily fun adventure. That’s good enough for me.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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I apologize in advance for all the references to Stephanie Plum that follow. This is sort of like all the people who mention Adams or Pratchett when talking about humor in Science Fiction or Fantasy, even if the styles don’t match. It’s just hard to talk about a character like this and a book like this without mentioning Stephanie.

Also, Crane did that herself when I met her. So she stuck it in my head.

What’s Barking for Business About?

After the latest in a series of successful investigations that double as calamities (you’ll have to read the first couple of chapters to see), Specialist Cynthia Sharp, MP, and her partner, Sgt. Pupperson, are discharged from the Army and return to Cyn’s hometown of Sweet Pea, OH—a very small town that should provide some peace and quiet while they decide their next move.

Before they can even enter the Sharp residence, a neighbor approaches Cyn with a job—someone has been taking money from the church bingo funds and she wants Cyn to put an end to it. Mostly because she can’t say no to this older woman—and because she has nothing else to do—she agrees.

This puts Cyn on a collision course with a military crime, a murderer, some serious gangsters, identity thieves, and more. She also has to deal with a love (lust?) triangle and reuniting with a best friend whose fantastic baked goods could probably prove dangerous to anyone with a weakness for sweets.

Sgt. Winnifred Pupperson

Winnie, as she prefers to be called, is a Belgian Malinois dog that found her match in her K-9 handler. She’s reckless enough to make Chet the Jet look disciplined, is very food motivated (sure, she’s a dog, so that’s a given—but as most dog people know, there are levels—she can sniff out junk food faster than Brenda Leigh Johnson, and is the perfect combination of canine athleticism, furry chaos, and unintentional hilarity.

My only complaint is that there’s not quite enough of her. Cyn leaves her at home too often. Probably a realistic amount—but too much for my taste. Hopefully, in time the people of Sweet Pea accept her presence in places they shouldn’t so she can be in on more of the action.

And You Think Stephanie Plum is Hard on Cars?

Hopefully, this isn’t too much of a spoiler, but it’s so good I have to talk about it.

Early on, Cyn breaks her arm in an understandable mishap. And over the next 240 or so pages, has to keep replacing the cast after catastrophe after catastrophe befalls it.

Somehow, every time, the reaction of the medical staff and the predicament she finds herself in makes me laugh. Every time. I cannot believe how well this recurring joke worked for me (that’s not a slight on Crane—it’s about my sense of humor/patience). You think she’s done with it—and she’s not. In fact, you find yourself wondering how it’ll happen again and looking forward to it.

The Fun Twist of Character

Yes, she’s clumsy. Sure, she’s easily distracted. Her dog handling skills are, um, sub-par. But I tell you what…when it’s crunch time? When things matter? Cyn is sharp.* She is more competent than you expect—piecing together clues, dealing with dangerous situations, and saving the day like the seasoned pro you’d expect from someone just out of the MPs. When that aspect started to really show itself I was impressed. This isn’t about someone flailing about and somehow stumbling on to the truth of the matter (like a certain NJ bond enforcement officer or Inspector Gadget)—it’s about an accident-prone woman who can shine when given the opportunity.

* I know. I know. I’m sorry.

So, what did I think about Barking for Business?

This was just ridiculously fun. It’s hard to come up with more to say than that (obviously, I’ve found a way, but the temptation to just write that sentence and move on was strong).

There’s a little too much peril and action for this to technically be a cozy, I think. But I could be wrong about that. Regardless, it’s in that same zip code. The focus is never really on that—it’s about the puzzle, it’s about the antics of Cyn and Winnie. Cozy fans should feel very at home with it. More than anything, Barking for Business is a comedy—there are few pages that go by without something—a little slapstick, a nice bit of humor in the narration, Cyn saying something she’ll regret, or worse, learning something about her parents that she’ll regret.

Do I worry that the town is too small to keep things happening? Sure. But when their first case starts with money missing from the church’s bingo earnings, it’s obvious that Crane can make much from little. Do I worry that the schtick of the series will get old by book 5 or 6? A little. But I worry that about the premise of several series, and it means that I have at least 4 or 5 more books to enjoy before that happens. For now? I’m just going to shut my pie hole and enjoy the ride.

This is a fast, breezy read that’s full of excitement and humor. It’s the perfect book for people who fondly remember the first few Stephanie Plum books or have ever wondered what it would be like if Miranda Hart or Mindy Kaling wrote crime fiction (possibly co-writing it). I’ve got the second novel on my shelf already and am trying to figure out how to get it read quickly.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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Sheriff Titus Crown

We’re going to start with this character, instead of the plot. He makes or breaks your experience with this book more than anything else.

Titus Crown had a long career in the FBI until he retired and came home to take care of his father after a surgery. (or at least that’s what he tells people). An opening in the office of Sheriff presented an opportunity, and Titus was talked into running by many in the community. He’s now the first black Sheriff of Charon County, Virginia. It looks likely that he’ll be the last one for a while, too.

Electing Titus hadn’t initiated a golden era of racial reconciliation. True, minorities weren’t routinely pulled over for little reason, aren’t beaten, and so on—they’re treated fairly under the law. As are white men. Because Titus knows he has to play it straight—if he acted the way some of his supporters wanted him to, he’d be no better than his predecessors—and there’s no way the county government would let him stay in power. But mostly Titus treats everyone the same no matter their race or financial status because that’s the way he’s built. It’s just not in him to do otherwise.

Sadly, for many of the people that voted for him, that means he’s not the first black Sheriff anymore. He’s blue.

He is smart, controlled, and driven. For him, these are both strengths and curses—his life would be easier if those qualities weren’t so strong in him. Then again, he wouldn’t have accomplished almost everything he has otherwise.

When he’s not doing a thankless job that he wonders why he asked for, he’s trying to keep his girlfriend. He knows he’s not good at long-term relationships, but he keeps trying. He wants to be good at them—or at least better.

The Instigating Incident

I feel okay talking about this because it’s in the book description—I wouldn’t have otherwise (and am very glad I can because I don’t know how I’d have danced around it).

On the two-year anniversary of his taking office, Titus’ relaxed morning is interrupted by reports of an active shooter at the high school. In the midst of the chaos he and his deputies encounter when they arrive on the scene, he learns that one teacher has been killed in a targeted attack. They have a brief conversation with the shooter before his deputies open fire and kill him.

Titus has to calm the public, investigate both the shooter and his deputies, and somehow explain to an old friend why his son is dead at the hands of his department. But first…

What the Novel is Really About…

Until that morning, there’d been two murders in Charon County in the last fifteen years. Following up on something the shooter said, Titus and his deputies stumble onto something that makes the school shooting the least horrible thing imaginable. It turns out that there’d been more than two murders—several more. A serial killer has been active in Charon County for several years.

This is the kind of serial killer that will haunt the dreams of every officer involved in the investigation for the rest of their lives—and more than a few waking hours, as well. There’s the sheer number of victims that happened in this supposedly quiet and peaceful community without anyone noticing. There’s the brutality (a word that somehow feels inadequate) of what was done to the victims. And then they start to learn about the psychology of the killer—and what kind of life must’ve driven him to these killings.

Any of those are likely to leave some scars on Titus and his team—the combination is sure to. And when the killer changes up their modus operandi in reaction to people discovering what they’ve been up to and to discourage Titus? A new level of horror emerges.

Some of the Other Things Going On

On top of all of this are:

• Too many things with Titus’ father, brother, and religion to talk about.
• An ongoing investigation into a suspected drug distribution center.
• An internal investigation into a suspected dirty cop.
• Pressure from the County Government for Titus to clear all this up before tourist season is even more endangered than it is.
• Pressure from a group called “The Sons of the Confederacy” to make sure that someone from Titus’ “cultural background” offers them adequate protection from protestors during the upcoming Fall Fest celebration/rally to protect a statue commemorating a Confederate officer.
• Titus’ last girlfriend, a journalist turned True Crime podcaster who has come to town to report on the killer.

All in all, Titus has to wish that he’d never moved back home.

I’m pretty sure I left some stuff off that list—but this book never feels overstuffed.

So, what did I think about All the Sinners Bleed?

It’s this kind of book that makes me wish I was a real reviewer instead of a fanboy yelling by bookish yawp across the rooftops of the world. This begs for literary analysis. Sparse, but rich, prose that further disproves the notion that genre can’t be the home of good writing. Cosby tackles hard issues—but really doesn’t try to solve them—he merely puts them on display for readers to acknowledge and wrestle with.

It’s also just a cracking thriller that could be read as shallowly as you want and would keep you white-knuckled and racing to the final confrontation. Tricksy writer that he is, Cosby’s style makes that incredibly easy to do—but if you go that way, you miss the richness of this book.

Cosby’s Blacktop Wasteland blew me away as did this one. I wrote:

From the first paragraph that made me sit up and say “Oh, this explains the hype,” to the devastating last line—and all points in between, Blacktop Wasteland is one of those books that a guy can’t describe without seeming hyperbolic.

All the Sinners Bleed starts off more slowly (although the first few lines are dynamite), and it’s last line hits far differently, but the quality in between is just the same. Cosby’s going to knock you out every time you pick up one of his books, he’s just going to come at you from a different direction than last time.

This is not the beginning of a series—but I wish it was. I’d love to spend years with (many of) these people. Instead, we get to join them for one intense period in their lives and in the dark history of their town. That’s more than enough.*

* Also, more crimes like this in Charon County would be stretching credulity in a way that would be difficult to do with integrity.

Hopefully, I’m not over-hyping this book. My rating is one of the easiest 5 stars I’ve ever given. When I finished this book, I texted a friend that “Well, I really don’t have to read anything else this year, right? What’s going to match this?” Cosby’s talked frequently about the impact that some of Dennis Lehane’s early books made on him—there’s at least one yet-to-be-published crime writer out there who will be talking about All the Sinners Bleed in the same way in the years to come.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Stray Ally About?

Ex-Special Ops soldier, Todd Clarke, is on his way to an interview for a job he doesn’t need, but can’t turn down–to act as part of the security for the new governor of Idaho at a special event–when a tragedy on the freeway stops him. Next thing he knows, he’s being framed for murder.

Clarke escapes from custody and sets out to hide from the authorities while his wife’s high-priced attorneys do their job. But then a Colonel that Clarke had investigated for Aryan activities (and other malodorous actions) sets U.S. troops out to hunt him down and the gloves have to come off.

Accompanied only by a dog that befriended Clarke after the death of his former owner, he evades capture for a while. Then he realizes what’s going on and has to risk capture–and probably his life–to stop that Colonel and his allies.

The Unanswered Question

At some point, it starts to click with the reader that not only is Sparky a fantastically behaved dog–better than training alone could explain, but it’s fiction–roll with it. But every other dog behaves strangely, too. I’m not going to say more than that.

We are never given an explanation for that. I have a handful of theories–all half-baked and probably wrong. But Lambert really doesn’t even hint at an explanation.

And it works. All sorts of characters–white hats as well as black hats–recognize the behavior, and some even wonder about it. But they all just accept it as something that’s happening. This really helps the reader to roll with it, too. But more than that–the pacing of this book doesn’t really encourage reflection or consideration of plausibility. You’re just trying to hang on to the ride and not get thrown out at the next turn.

In most circumstances, I’d get annoyed and ask for a little more to be given to the reader. But Lambert’s adventure is one of the exceptions. I’d like to be told that one of my hare-brained notions was right–or to be definitively told I was wrong. But honestly? I don’t care. Dog Complex #2 doesn’t need to bother with explaining things–just give me another story like this.

The Most Unbelievable Thing

I’m very tempted to classify this book as a Fantasy novel more than anything else. Sure, there’s the very strange, nigh-unbelievable, and unexplained dog behavior (see above)–but you know what? It’s easy to suspend disbelief and roll with that.

But an African American being elected governor of Idaho in a contemporary story? Come on, Lambert…pull the other one. Add to that a large, multi-ethnic, progressive Christian group gathering to celebrate that election? In Boise? Next to that, it’s time to start talking about the gritty realism of a Terry Pratchett or Douglas Adams book.

Set this in 2070, and I could go with it. Although that’d still be hard to swallow. Set in a 2020-ish world? Forget it. I’m not saying that I’m against that kind of thing happening–I just can’t see it. Sorry.

So, what did I think about Stray Ally?

This was a fast and furious action thrill-ride. A protagonist with a murky past that you know is doing the morally right thing (even if you wonder about some of his methods) up against an obviously evil plan with the odds stacked against him by men on both sides of the law.

You can’t help but root for this guy and love every second of vigilante action.

Large parts of this book felt like a contemporary First Blood–the ex-special ops soldier taking on all-comers and finding a way to win. But then it shifts into just pure action-hero kind of area and is just fun.

Grab a bucket of popcorn and buckle in for a wild ride with Stray Ally.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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Real Tigers‘ Flap Copy

I don’t like what I’ve come up with to describe the book, so I’m just going to use the flap copy:

London: Slough House is the MI5 branch where disgraced operatives are reassigned after they’ve messed up too badly to be trusted with real intelligence work. The “Slow Horses,” as the failed spies of Slough House are called, are doomed to spend the rest of their careers pushing paper, but they all want back in on the action.

When one of their own is kidnapped and held for ransom, the agents of Slough House must defeat the odds, overturning all expectations of their competence, to breach the top-notch security of MI5’s intelligence headquarters, Regent’s Park, and steal valuable intel in exchange for their comrade’s safety. The kidnapping is only the tip of the iceberg, however—the agents uncover a larger web of intrigue that involves not only a group of private mercenaries but the highest authorities in the Secret Service. After years spent as the lowest on the totem pole, the Slow Horses suddenly find themselves caught in the midst of a conspiracy that threatens not only the future of Slough House, but of MI5 itself.

The Introduction

I absolutely love the way that Herron introduces Slough House and its denizens in each book. It reminds me of the way that Rex Stout’s Archie gives the rundown of Wolfe’s Brownstone and the routine in each book. But Herron’s unique approach to each introduction has really clicked with me and I look forward to this part of the books.

I can see just opening up one of these at random from time to time, reading the description of Slough House, and moving on with just a quick refreshing hit of Herron’s magic.

Roddy Ho

Roddy Ho is a great hacker—that’s clear. He’s probably almost as good as he thinks he is. The level of delusion he has about his desirability to women outdoes even Crais’ John Chen (and that’s saying something)—it’s a fun character trait, even if it is hard to believe that someone can be that clueless about themselves.*

* 5 minutes on social media reminded me of the power of self-delusion. Never mind.

That said…it’s easy between books to remember how fun it is to see him getting verbally smacked around by Lamb or River pressuring him to work, and how good he is at the technical stuff, etc.—but to forget just what wholly unpleasant person he is. I mentioned John Chen before, Chen is helpless and harmless (while being a misogynistic creep). Roddy doesn’t have that veneer of hapless charm that Chen carries—and is a bigger misogynistic creep. I just want to wash my hands after a scene focused on him if it shows him thinking or talking about women. He probably belongs in prison and would’ve ended up there if not for being employed by MI5.

Team Building?

I will say, for a bunch of misanthropic individualists, when it comes to one of their own, the Slow Horses are really good at teamwork. They spend so much time on their own, regretting their own mistakes that landed them in Slough House, dreaming and scheming their way back to Regent’s Park, etc. that they all have a serious bit of tunnel vision. They’re all focused on themselves to the exclusion of pretty much everyone else—but they’re becoming closer to a true team—particularly when one of them is in some sort of jeopardy.

It’s nice to see—and generally funny, because they’re so bad at teamwork. But the bits that they get right—either on the job or off—are heartwarming to see.

As heartwarming as this series gets, anyway.

So, what did I think about Real Tigers?

The way that this book deals with the Dead Lions-aftermath is the best part for me. Obviously, most of that has to do with Lousia, but it’s there for everyone to one degree or another. Yes, these books can be read as stand-alones, but there’s an impact to be felt from the previous novels. The MI5 and political machinations behind all the actions—the twists, double-twists, and triple-twists. I know that’s part-and-parcel for this series, so I’m not complaining about that. It felt off…overdone maybe? The Slow Horses doing their thing was entertaining enough. But the package as a whole felt like a letdown.

Still, I loved reading this book. Herron can put together a sentence like no one else. I can’t imagine there’s something I wouldn’t want to read him describe. Even when I didn’t really connect with the story, I couldn’t stop reading—that’s all down to Herron’s skill and the fantastic characters he fills his books with. I’m not just talking about the Horses, even the characters that you’re going to see for 1-2 chapters feel like they’ve got a depth to them that could sustain a novel.

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

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What’s Klone’s Stronghold About?

A year ago, Reeni escaped her abusive marriage—her ex-husband has turned into a stalker, he’s apparently a man of some status in the community and was able to get her fired from her job as a Special Ed teacher and Reeni’s on the verge of having to move a long way away just to find a new position. To add insult to injury, her family keeps trying to get her to reconcile with her ex.

Two dear friends convince her to attend a music festival with them—they love this band (she enjoys them, but isn’t going to be following them around like Deadheads). It’s a few days away from home, there’s no way that Karl is going to show up here. She needs some time in safety and peace to think about life. And if she happens to have a little fun? All the better.

Of course, it doesn’t work out. Karl shows up with some friends (or henchmen, your call). The band’s security takes care of them while Reeni finds a safe place to hide out. Before Karl had arrived, Reeni had struck up a friendship (or the beginning of one) with one of the security team—a supernatural of some kind. He comes to her with a proposal—he knows a guy who is working with a small group of supernatural people who are socially and educationally delayed, and are in need of a teacher to work on both areas. Due to the nature of their work and abilities, Karl won’t be able to approach her there; and she’ll get paid a very tidy sum if she commits for a few months in this out-of-the-way spot in the Eastern Oregon mountains.

Intrigued by the job—and desperate to get refuge—she agrees.

Because I’m struggling to finish this section, I’m just going to borrow from the official Description:

But things are not as they seem at the Stronghold, from the older proprietors of a nearby store and the Stronghold’s leader Alexander Reed Klone, to Reeni herself. She discovers it’s not just Karl who seeks to control who and what she is, but forces from her past that threaten her present. Can she learn the truth about herself and do what is needed in time to defend the Stronghold?

The Cozy That Could’ve Been

Sure, when Reynolds-Ward wrote this, cozy fantasy wasn’t really a thing (I’m sure it existed, but it was so far under the radar…), so it might not have crossed her mind to do this, but…

If she had abandoned the last 46% or so of the book and had just stuck with Reeni’s work in the classroom for a few months, letting us watch the progress she makes with her charges? I’d have been utterly charmed with it and would’ve likely enjoyed the novel more.

I’m not actually criticizing the last 46% of the book (most of it, anyway)—this is just a rabbit trail of a thought I had while reading this. That 46% results in a perfectly satisfying that I’m recommending, I’m just saying.

Now to try to turn this from an inadvertent criticism to something positive. I was interested in Reeni and her story and I was enjoying trying to figure out what was going on. But it was the moment that Reeni first started working with her students, connecting with them in a way that her employer didn’t see was possible that I got invested in this novel. I started caring about Reeni and her students then. Yes, the rest of the book was exciting, had magic flying about, secrets were revealed, and Big Things happened, etc. But the whole time, the back of my mind was asking—but what about the next week of lessons? When do we get back to that?

So, what did I think about Klone’s Stronghold?

I really could’ve focused on so many things here, Klone’s Stronghold is a target-rich environment for someone looking for things to write about. There’s Reeni’s attempts to escape her bad marriage, and worse husband. There’s her family’s reactions to her divorce (it’s eventually explained, but it makes it worse). There’s a twisting of religion. There’s something to explore with her great friends—new and old. You could go on and on about the supernatural species (or whatever you want to call them). But for various and sundry reasons I have to move on. Also, this could end up being 40 pages long if I let myself. You want a novel to inspire all kinds of rabbit trails for you to follow while reading? Look no further.

There are a couple of moments in the latter half of the book that I’m not sure we needed. Or at least we didn’t need all that Reynolds-Ward gave us. It’s tricky to talk about without spoiling—but it’s in the parts where Reeni is helped to understand what she learns about her background and family. Most of this section is really well done—and it’s all interesting. But parts of this take up a whole lot more space than I think they needed to—it dragged the story down, and didn’t illuminate much. With some trimming I wouldn’t have said anything at all.

Other than that, I found the pacing really well done—there’s a lot that Reeni goes through here—and the rate at which she experienced it and had to figure out how to deal with all she goes through was really well done—not just for Reeni, but for the reader.

There are so many scenes that make you stop and bask in them. Reynolds-Ward puts you in this world, and even when you’re trying to figure out exactly what’s happening because (for example) you haven’t worked out all the various kinds of supernatural beings there are—you can see and understand enough that it doesn’t matter.

I know that this wasn’t intended to be a series (or at least it didn’t become one)—and I don’t want to complain about a stand-alone (phew! Plotlines I don’t have to remember for books on end! I’m not signing up for a multi-year commitment!). But boy howdy, do I wish I could spend more time in this world. The general store (or whatever it should be called) and its owners along with the Stronghold and those that live there have all the makings of a setting you want to return to—even the band would be great to spend more time with.

That said, this was a very satisfying story that absolutely doesn’t end anywhere near where you think it will after the first couple of chapters. (which, incidentally makes it really hard to talk about).

I recommend this for people who want a very atypical fantasy (that brushes against SF, but not really) in a contemporary setting. Readers of Bledsoe’s Tufa novels might resonate with this. It’s a nice breath of fresh air. This is my first novel by Reynolds-Ward, but it won’t be my last (I’ve already got the next one picked out…and probably the one after that, too).

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s The Frugal Wizard’s Handbook for Surviving Medieval England About?

At some point in the future, scientists discover the ability to move between parallel dimensions, and even find a group of them capable of sustaining human life—and buy/license exclusive access to some of them with histories and developments similar to our own, but delayed somewhat, so that visitors from “our” world look advanced. And then you “sell” these universes to people who are looking for the ultimate getaway.

Sure, sometimes you temporarily lose your memory when you travel to your new dimension. So you need to write everything you need to know in a book that you carry with you. But if things get bumpy in your entry, that book might catch on fire, removing a lot of your information—so it takes a bit to recover your memory. Which is what happens to John West when he wakes up in a version of medieval England.

I know that Sanderson keeps saying that John West is inspired by Jason Bourne—but that suggests that he’s competent on multiple/several levels and that’s not John. He’s not even a Samantha Caine. He’s more like a Myfanwy Thomas. But for the sake of discussion, let’s go with Bourne okay?

Imagine Bourne wakes up in Terry Brooks’ Landover, and tries to pull off a Hank Morgan-con to convince the locals that he’s a wizard with great power. Throw in a little bit of Wizard in Rhyme‘s mixing of math/quantum physics into fantasy and a Douglas Adams-ish book-within-the-book (heavy on the “ish”) and you’ve got this book.

Oh, and mobsters from his time are wandering around, as is at least one undercover policeman. And they all know John West—and he’s not on anyone’s good side.

So, what did I think about The Frugal Wizard’s Handbook for Surviving Medieval England?

I recognize—and want to remind everyone—that this is a completely subjective thing, and if I’d read this two months ago or two months from now, I’d react differently. But…this was good. Not great. Certainly not bad. Good—but somehow underwhelming.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling the whole time that I should be enjoying it more than I was. I like the tone (although it felt like Sanderson was holding back and wouldn’t let this get as funny, snarky, or whatever as it should’ve been). I love the premise, the characters, the twists, etc., etc., etc. But…it felt restrained? Like he’s trying to assure everyone that no matter what he’s still Brandon Sanderson—he’s not going full-comedy (or whatever). I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d put this out under a pen name if he’d been able to let loose a bit more. If Scalzi, Cline, or Meyer had done this? Absolutely would’ve worked.

It’s been bugging me for days—I absolutely should’ve been raving about this, or at least enthusiastically talking about it. But I’m not. There’s utterly nothing I can point to that explains it, either. All the elements are there for the kind of book that I love, and they were combined to just become something that I liked. Explain that one, Gestalt.

I absolutely recommend this—and think that many readers will find it as enjoyable as I thought I should. And even if you walk away with the same whelmed-level as I did, you’ll have had a good time. But I’m not sure you should rush to it.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s A Fatal Groove About?

For the second time in the two months since she returned home, Juni Jessup finds a dead body. This time, she discovers the town’s mayor dead at his desk during the town’s biggest event—the Bluebonnet Festival.

It might just be all the True Crime podcasts Juni listens to and all the Police Procedural shows she watches, but Juni’s pretty sure he was poisoned from the evidence she sees. Sadly, the other thing she notices is that the mayor’s holding a coffee cup from her store in his hand—so it’s pretty likely that the source of the poison was the coffee her sister had poured him not that long ago.

Faster than you can say, “Jessica Fletcher,” Juni and her sisters are on the hunt for another killer to clear their store’s name.

The Bank Robbery

Decades ago, during this same festival, a bank in town was robbed while everyone was distracted by the festivities. The money has never been recovered, but it’s widely believed that the robbers buried it before they encountered the police. It’s now become a game during the festival for people to dig up a new plot of land each year to try to find the money. It’s like an Easter Egg Hunt for grownups, with less candy and more manual labor involved.

It turns out that the mayor and a few other people in town had turned this robbery into a hobby bordering on obsession, and the sisters can’t help but think that there’s a connection between the lengths the mayor and others were going to in order to figure out where the money is and his killing.

Texas

I’m pretty sure it was present in Vinyl Resting Place, but I was too busy getting to know everyone to really notice—but one thing I really appreciated this time was the way that Juni mused about Texas—the geography, the beauty, the flora, and the culture. She really missed her home state while living in Oregon—more than she realized—and now that she’s more settled back home, she can see all that she missed. Blacke does a great job of conveying that to the reader.

On the one hand, it’s hard to think that J. Todd Scott, Samantha Jayne Allen, and Attica Locke are describing the same state as Blacke is—and part of that has to do with the varied parts of the large state they’re describing, sure. But most of it has to do with the tone of their books—and once you adjust for that, they’re remarkably consistent and help readers who’ve never been there to get an idea of the place.

Still, all things considered, I’d rather live in Olivia Blacke’s Texas. At least Cedar River—it’s like Stars Hollow mixed with Bluebell, Alabama, but with better food (and better coffee).

A Small Confession

I imagine I’m going to be in the minority on this point, and most readers will shake their heads at me, but…I really didn’t care about the murder mystery. It was interesting enough, the red herrings were well-executed—as was the reveal and confrontation with the killer. But I thought the killer’s identity was pretty obvious, and nothing about that storyline really grabbed me. It happens sometimes.

But—and this is the important part—I didn’t care. I liked everything revolving around the murder mystery—particularly the long-unsolved mystery about the bank robbery. I enjoyed watching Juni and her sisters go about trying to solve things and everything else enough that it didn’t matter to me that the central story didn’t really click with me. I do think it says something about the world that Blacke is building here that I remained as invested as I did with that issue.

They Still Work

As I mentioned when I talked about the first book, the music-inspired punny drink names for their coffee counter are just perfect. They’re the kind of little touch that adds so much to a scene—you get an idea of the characters behind them if nothing else. Like the names of the stores and restaurants in The Good Place, they add a layer of enjoyment on top of everything else.

Blacke gives you just enough of them to keep you wanting more, but not so many that you roll your eyes at them. It’s a tricky balancing act, I’d imagine, but she pulls it off.

I’d say they’re the bit of whip cream on top of your specialty coffee drink to add just that nice finishing touch, but I can’t stand whip cream on my coffee. But you get the idea.

So, what did I think about A Fatal Groove?

I’m going on too long here…and there’s so much I haven’t talked about, for example:

• The love triangle—it's pretty tame and everything's out in the open (both guys know she's casually dating them both).W hile I think the right choice is obvious and it's annoying that Juni doesn't just make the right choice, it's not at the "ARGH" stage most triangles get to.
• Her sisters! I really need to spend more time talking about Juni's sisters.
• The way the bank robbery story was resolved was so good, it made up for any of my complaints about the murder story.
• The ability of the owner of a used car dealership to turn anything into a sales pitch is truly impressive. It would be annoying in real life (even if it's what made him a success), but it's fun in a fictional character.
• I have no idea how to talk about what Juni won at the fair and how it tied into resolving so much, but...that was brilliant.
• The funeral scene...so good.
• The way the bank robbery story was resolved was so good, it made up for any of my complaints about the murder story.

This is one of those sequels that improved on everything that the original did right, expanding the world, and just having more fun with everything. Do you need to read Vinyl Resting Place first? Nope—it’s very easy to pick things up at this point—you’ll likely want to buy it after reading this, but the order isn’t essential at this point.

I do worry that at some point the residents of Cedar River are going to decide that Juni’s the Angel of Death having brought so many murders to town with her, but until then I’m looking forward to several more adventures with her and her family.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s The Bitter Past About?

Porter Beck is the Sheriff of Lincoln County, Nevada. We meet him as he and his deputies are looking at a horrific crime scene. A retired FBI Agent has been tortured and killed, and Beck and his crew are clueless as to why.

Well, that’s not entirely true—Beck has an idea, but he needs the autopsy results before he starts to act on it. Before he came back home and became Sheriff, Beck was in Army Intelligence and recognizes signs of a Russian Foreign Intelligence Service operation. An FBI Agent has been sent to look into the case and works alongside the Sheriff’s department, Beck confronts Special Agent Sana Locke about this and she comes clean.

The dead agent had spent decades trying to find a Russian agent who had infiltrated US nuclear tests in the 1950s, and there’s a reason to think that the Russians have come to find that agent for themselves. It’s up to Beck and Agent Locke to stop them.

The only way I can sense to talk about this book is to focus on each timeline/storyline separately.

The Present

We spend a lot of time getting to know Beck and his deputies—a colorful and interesting batch that I hope we get to spend a lot more time with in the years to come. We also get to know Beck’s father—the former Sheriff, now battling dementia—and his adoptive sister, a firearms expert and instructor (who could probably be the protagonist in a series of her own).

In addition to trying to find either the killer or the agent the killer was looking for (in order to find the killer), they have to deal with a missing woman from an FLDS compound.

Both active cases stretch the small department to the limits—it’s a large county (roughly the same area as Maryland)—and tensions within the department staff start to build as they do their best to cover routine duties as well as pursue (and generate) leads.

We don’t get to me a lot of non-law enforcement residents of Lincoln County, I assume that’ll change in future books—but those that we do tell me that I want to meet more of them.

The Past

In the mid-to-late 1950s* the US conducted several tests of nuclear weapons in the desert of Lincoln County. Our Russian Agent, Lt. Georgiy Dudko of the KGB, had spent a long time preparing to come to America and pass himself off as an American citizen**. Once here, he got hired on as a security guard on the base that conducted the testing and started gathering information for Moscow as worked his way into better and better positions on base.

* and maybe later, too—I’m not sure of the history off the top of my head, and it’s beyond the scope of this post to get into that.

** Think of the FX show The Americans but Georgiy never got to wear any of the impossibly great wigs. Poor guy.

Georgiy never lost sight of his mission—but at some point questioned some of his orders. He thought they damaged his overall mission and he had other moral/ethical concerns that I really can’t get into. But this led to the Present-time story, so the reader is able to start putting the pieces together right away.

This is largely background material, but that doesn’t keep Borgos from keeping it as gripping as if it’s the only story in the novel. Early in this story, I saw it as background and was in a hurry to get back to Beck’s storyline. That ended quickly and I didn’t want to step away from Georgiy’s story—even once I knew pretty much how things had to go. And my notes say that a lot.

The Setting

Obviously, the setting of any book is vital to the overall novel—you can’t tell Elvis Cole or Harry Bosch stories outside of L.A. (with a couple of exceptions), Spenser and Kenzie & Gennaro need Boston, Walt Longmire and Joe Pickett have to have their stories in Wyoming—the geography, the character of their homes, and the history of the area shape and form the people, crimes, and type of stories you can tell.

The same is true here—these are stories that can only be told in this part of the world. The history of the area informs so much of this novel that it cannot be overstated—but the empty spaces, the long distances between neighbors, and the amount of territory Beck’s department is responsible for are just as important as that history. It’s a perfect combination of locale and subject.

So, what did I think about The Bitter Past?

I cannot believe that I haven’t been reading these books for years—I felt right at home with the characters almost instantly. I could feel the rapport between them—even between Beck and his rival deputy—as solidly as if this were the fifth book in the series.

I want to spend some time discussing a couple of the deputies at length, but I’ve gone on too long already. So I’ll just leave it by mentioning my favorite parts of the book. There are a couple of scenes of Beck and the deputies looking around crime scenes and dissecting them—each pointing out evidence and trying to build an explanation for what’s before them, what happened during the crime, etc. Yes, Beck’s the Sheriff and has the most experience, but it’s a true team effort, which is just a joy to watch. If Borgos gives me a couple of those in every book, I will be reading him for as long as it already feels like I have been.

That opening crime scene is grisly—I can’t think of anything worse since M. W. Craven’s The Puppet Show—and any reader is going to want to read about that killer being stopped.

Borgos puts enough wit and humor in both storylines to keep things from getting too bogged down in blood and intrigue (and nuclear fallout), the characters are all the kind you want to spend more time with (even the Russian spy), and the cases are intriguing. The pacing is perfect—he keeps you turning pages and trying to guess at what’s coming next without keeping things at a breakneck speed, so you can enjoy the scenery and his well-put-together sentences.

I don’t know if Borgos will be able to structure another book like this—and I frankly don’t care. If all we get is Beck and his crew, I’m fine. If he does have another trick like this up his sleeve, I’m all for that, too.

I strongly recommend this book—particularly for fans of Craig Johnson and C.J. Box. This is the beginning of the next great Western Mystery series. I’d have ordered Book 2 already if the option existed, and I think I won’t be alone in that.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s The Worst We Can Find About?

This is one of those books where the sub-title tells you everything you need to know: “MST3K, RiffTrax, and the History of Heckling at the Movies.” The back of the book does give a fuller explanation:

Had you tuned in to the small television station KTMA on Thanksgiving Day, 1988, you would have been one of the few witnesses to pop culture history being made. On that day, viewers in and around St. Paul, Minnesota, were treated to a genuine oddity, in which a man and his robots, trapped within a defiantly DIY sci-fi set, cracked jokes while watching the terrible 1981 movie Invaders from the Deep. Although its origins may have been inauspicious, Mystery Science Theater 3000 captured the spirit of what had been a beloved pastime for generations of wags, wiseacres, and smart alecks, and would soon go on to inspire countless more.

The Worst We Can Find is a comprehensive history of and guide to MST3K and its various offshoots—including Rifftrax, Cinematic Titanic, and The Mads Are Back—whose lean crew of writers, performers, and puppeteers have now been making fun of movies for over thirty years. It investigates how “riffing” of films evolved, recounts the history of these programs, and considers how a practice guaranteed to annoy real-life fellow moviegoers grew into such a beloved, long-lasting franchise. As author Dale Sherman explains, creative heckling has been around forever—but MST3K and its progeny managed to redirect that art into a style that was both affectionate and cutting, winning the devotion of countless fans and aspiring riffers.

Sherman starts with some commentary on the history of what we now call “meta” and riffing in general—going back to Greek choruses. He then shows how movies started riffing/commenting on themselves (and each other).

He then focuses on MST3K itself—talking about Joel Hodgson’s background and the creation of the show. We actually get some good background on all the major players from the early years. He then describes the transitions in staff/cast as it moves from KTMA to Comedy Central to the movie (and, wow, what an effort to get that made) to SciFi and so on.

We then get a look at what the post-MST3K careers of the central figures look like and how riffing on movies has kept popping up in their lives (largely because people won’t let them stop) and how the show has come back from its ending a time or two.

My Sole Criticism

Sherman only cites previously available material—yes, he dug up a lot of things that many/most fans would never see, never think of looking for. But he doesn’t interview anyone himself, or provide anything outside a couple of personal memories that an industrious fan couldn’t have found on their own.

I don’t want to criticize what he did—it is no small feat to do what he did. And I’m so glad he did it—but the lack of original material keeps me from absolutely raving about this book.

So, what did I think about The Worst We Can Find?

Back when I talked about Scott Ryan’s Moonlighting: An Oral History, I’d said:

When I read a book about a television show, I want a few things—I want something to

• make me want to rewatch the show
• make me not really need to, because the book has helped me remember it in such a way that it’s not that necessary
• give me a lot of behind-the-scenes information about the show
• help me understand it better (not just information, but reflections on it—its legacy, cultural context, impact on television, et.)
• Ideally, teach me something about the art and/or business of television (preferably both)
• and if it can be fun (TV should be entertaining), that’s all the better.

Yeah, that seems like a lot to ask for from a book, but if I’m going to take the time to read a book instead of watching a behind-the-scenes show or listening to a panel discussion, I want bang for my buck—I don’t always get it (and know that going in), but I want it.

The Worst We Can Find delivered on all but the “make me not really need to” because there’s no way that someone could do that in a book form. I have watched some MST3K since then (more than I usually do because I’ve been inspired)—and some Rifftrax, too.

I don’t want ponderous, I don’t want slow. I don’t mind a lot of detail (in fact, I relish it), I don’t mind thoughtful (that’s why I read the book), but I want to be entertained. And Sherman delivered there. His chapter introductions were golden—worth at least half of the purchase price alone. I started to give a couple of examples, but why ruin it for you? So, I’ll be vague. I laughed aloud at Chapter 4’s introduction. Maybe all of them, but Chapter 4 was the point I stopped to make note of it.

I really appreciated the way Sherman pivoted in the last chapter to speak of “we” in reference to fans of the show, it’s clear throughout that he was one of us (there’s no way you do this work without that—or a bigger paycheck than he likely got for this book), but I appreciated the way he did it there.

The last paragraph was perfect, incidentally.

This was a great read, I learned a lot, I chuckled frequently, and I had a great time reminiscing about a favorite show. I think you will, too. I’d say is a must for MSTies. As I said, I can’t rave about it—but I can strongly encourage you to check it out. And keep circulating the tapes.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Pure of Heart About?

In this world, werewolves are born, not made, and apparently begin changing around adolescence. In Harper’s case, this is dangerous—her parents died before they told her anything about lycanthropy and she had to learn about it along with the uncle who took her in and raised her from the age of eight. Grady knew his sister got furry every full moon, so it wasn’t a total surprise—but that’s about all he knew about werewolves.

She’s in her twenties now and pretty much all she knows is that chains can’t hold her down and that her wolf will kill and eat people if given the chance. Harper’s taken it upon herself to make sure that doesn’t happen again. Her uncle and friend/veterinarian regularly hunt her down and shoot her with tranquilizers when her wolf gets out of the house.

Harper’s entire life seems to revolve around not letting the wolf get out of control. Which seems like a lonely existence—and it pretty much is.

Until a new woman moves to the small Colorado town to take over her late grandparents’ bookstore. Something about Emerson affects the wolf part of her—Harper can’t even come close to understanding it. But her wolf immediately acts strangely (and we’re talking strangely for a werewolf, so it’s really strange) as soon as Harper meets Emerson.

Harper’s got to figure out what’s going on with the wolf before something happens to Emerson.

Parker’s Werewolves

I guess I should say “Faoladh” instead—but whatever. Keeping in line with her tumblr page’s title, Parker’s “Werewolves Don’t Sparkle.” Harper’s wolf is dangerous to everyone and everything (particularly doors/walls/fences). There’s little tame about her. We’re reminded of that constantly (bordering on too often).

This shows up in Harper, too—her wolf is always below the surface and keeps her from being too likable to many people. That’s a nice little touch and as (if?) Harper and her wolf start getting along better as the series continues, it’ll be good to see how that changes her.

The way she describes the change (particularly from human to wolf) is really good. Over the years of reading werewolf UF, it’s become one of those things that jump out at me to differentiate the authors’ take on lycanthropes and Parker’s strikes me as one of the better versions of that.

Harper and her family know incredibly little about her, um, condition. And it’s almost wholly from trial and error (mostly error). Because he didn’t manifest the werewolf heritage, Grady’s parents and sister didn’t bother to tell him much about it. I find that difficult to swallow, but I’m willing to do that for the sake of the story. I do appreciate that her cousin isn’t going to have this issue, he knows almost as much as the reader does. Harper stumbling through all of this practically blind makes it very easy for the reader to jump in with her and learn alongside her.

We are told a couple of times that there’s a difference between Faoladh and what we think of werewolves thanks to books and movies. But we have no reason to believe that yet—I really want to see us have that reason as well as see how that actually works out. I’m not saying that because I’m skeptical, but because I think both will refreshing and stimulating.

On a semi-related note, people in this town are quick to take a couple of clues and jump to the conclusion that “this woman must be a member of a species that I thought was the stuff of folklore and horror movies until right this second.” A little more self-doubt would’ve been nice, but it’d have slowed the book down too much.

So, what did I think about Pure of Heart?

I’m honestly not sure what I was expecting from this book—but it wasn’t what Pure of Heart ended up being. It’s a compelling read, for sure, just not for the reasons I’m used to in typical UF/werewolf novels, which is a pleasant change. For starters, there’s no big supernatural foe (unless you count Harper’s war within herself). It’s human drama, just with a massive side helping of the supernatural on board. Actually, I’ll just stop with that, too, so I don’t end up saying too much.

It’s also a great pastiche for Disney’s Beauty and The Beast—and once you start seeing that, it’s everywhere, adding a level of entertainment.

I don’t have a major problem with the romance arc that the book ended up focusing on, but it looked for a minute or two that we’d be swimming in strong and interesting platonic friendships, and those intrigue me more lately. So that was a minor disappointment, but just a minor one. I’m a little worried about the level of consent involved given the supernatural angle—see also, my qualms with Jolly’s BaIT—but Parker seems so focused on it, that I’m trusting her. Also, there’s reason to suspect that everyone involved is going to come to a greater understanding of Faoladh abilities soon, and that’ll give her a chance to assuage any feelings of creepiness.

Is it a wholly successful novel? Not quite—but it’s close enough to make getting (and reading) the second book a priority. The writing was compelling and engaging—Parker can tell a story and keep the reader curious and entertained the whole way. A lot of snark and love flows between her characters, Harper’s family/friends are a tight bunch and it’s hard to resist that feeling. Her characters brim with life. I think with another book or two under her belt, Parker could turn into a favorite author.

Check this one out, for sure.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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I really want to tell you everything about this book—and I also want to tell you nothing at all beyond what the jacket copy is going to say and just tell you that if that sounds good to you—it is, and maybe better than you think. If that doesn’t sound good to you, it still is, but it’s probably not your cup of tea. Let’s see if I can accomplish something in-between.

What’s Sleepless City About?

Nick Ryan is a detective with the NYPD—that’s all he’s wanted to be, and he’s good at it. Sadly, because his father did the right thing and testified against a number of dirty cops several years ago—Ryan (and his father) are hated by most of the rank and file (and probably more of those above those). It doesn’t matter what Ryan does, his career is going nowhere. He’s still doing good work and seems to accept his lot in life.

Until a few things happen—I’m going to ignore those and move on to the results: Ryan is recruited by a lawyer representing unnamed interests who are going to change things for him. He’s going to get a promotion, he’s going to get to choose what cases he works on—whatever strikes his fancy and curiosity. But when this lawyer calls, he will push pause on everything in his life to take care of whatever these interests want. He’s basically going to be a fixer for the NYPD, cleaning up messes they can’t, preventing problems, and essentially doing whatever needs done. They’ll provide the resources (off the record and unseen), and he provides the results.

In Sleepless City we get the origin story for Det. Ryan, we see his first two cases, and get an idea what the resulting series should look like. Here’s the best thing about these two cases (which I’m going to share even if some might consider it mildly spoilery to do so because it’s a great selling point): unlike in 95% of thrillers/procedurals these two crimes that apparently have nothing to do with each other do not come around in the end to be related. They are actually distinct from each other. The resolution of one has practically nothing to do with the other (only that some goodwill generated by Ryan in one situation keeps him out of hot water in another).

Problem 1

A few recent incidents (nationally and in the city) have tensions high between the police and black communities at the tipping point. Ryan’s called into the scene of a shooting death of an interracial couple by someone who never should’ve joined the police. Ryan’s impulse—and that of several others, it should be noted—is to let the facts come out honestly.

But with the city near the boiling point, the fear is that the ensuing riots will leave too many dead, too many homes and businesses (and survivors) ruined, and the outcome of the protests and riots uncertain. Ryan has to cover this up without turning the victims into anything but victims.

So right away, you know that this book/series is going to live in morally gray (at best) areas. The lengths Ryan goes to—and the means by which he tries to accomplish this coverup are, tell you just as much about the way this series is going to work while the ends tell you about the ethical quagmire it tries to navigate.

Problem 2

The second issue centers around a Madoff-like character who stole a billion or so dollars—a large amount came from various law enforcement unions. The havoc wreaked on the first responders by this loss is great—and the consequences for Ryan’s brother (as an example) are devastating.

They’re going to be able to put Aaron Lister away for a long time—there’s no doubt about that. But no one can find the money—and nothing that the police, the FBI, or the courts have been able to do can get Lister to reveal where it is so they can try to repay the retirement funds.

Enter Nick Ryan.

No White Hats In Sight

We get the idea early on that Nick Ryan is a stand-up guy, ready to do the right thing regardless of the consequences. But after the events that I alluded to before his recruitment, he takes a different position on the legality of his actions (and maybe that was present before, but it’s certainly strengthened now)—it’s about the end result for Ryan now.

He’ll cut corners, he’ll make deals with whatever devils he needs to, and he’ll resort to methods that are so far beyond the pale of right, moral, or legal that they should be measured in light years.

In the real world—I’d hate someone like him and want to see anyone doing these vigilante acts imprisoned. And it’s not just Ryan, all law enforcement characters like him—Raylan Givens should be tried on several charges, Jack Reacher should’ve been locked up (not for the reasons he was initially arrested when we meet him—but for everything else in that book, and the dozens following). I want Malcolm Fox to expose Rebus for the offenses he’s committed (not necessarily the one’s Fox thinks he has, though). Kate Burkholder should confess to shooting that man (in self-defense) and the coverup of that shooting in her teens. And so on.

But in fiction? Bring. It. On. I love this stuff. Particularly because I don’t think Ryan’s modus operandi is sitting well with him—I’m betting as the series progresses, we’re going to see him having a harder and harder time with what he’s doing. Possibly even driving him to eventually trying to bite the hand that feeds him and exposing the interests directing him to the world (and going down with them).

I don’t have time to talk about the mess that is his personal life—but there’s plenty of fodder there for personal subplots for years to come.

So, what did I think about Sleepless City?

I had a great time with this book—it’s a great action ride and you can spend hours debating the ethical questions it raises (with yourself, with the book, or with others—and I can’t wait until people I know have had the chance to read this so we can have those discussions).

The speed at which Ryan is able to pull off these fixes probably strains credulity, but this isn’t the kind of book to care about how long things take. And by the time you start to wonder about plausibility, you’ve blown past the point where the question arose and you’re more focused on what happens next.

Because he’s the reigning gold standard, I will say there are a couple of scenes where Ryan gets to have a Jack Reacher-esque moment, scenes that have nothing to do with the plot, just a chance for Reacher/Ryan to demonstrate their abilities and stop a wrong outside of the primary storylines. The way that one of these resolves is so un-Reacher that I laughed and re-read it to see where Coleman made you think Ryan was going to try to match the ex-MP’s style. Ryan can be violent when he needs to be (quite), but he starts with his brains and mouth when he can in a situation—as satisfying as a good fight scene can be, someone thinking and talking his way through a problem can be as fun.

I think Coleman pulled off quite the feat here—this doesn’t feel like his previous work (although I freely admit I haven’t read as much of his earlier work as I want to, so maybe it does). This is more about action and less about reflection and thought. But it’s not mindless violence and the Ryan is a thoughtful character.

There are moments of fun—Coleman’s able to slip in a joke or two, too. But really this book is all about forward momentum, as if once Ryan has taken on this role he can’t stop moving and the book follows suit.

I assumed going in between the premise and my past experience with Coleman that I was going to enjoy the book—but Coleman and Ryan delivered something not quite what I was expecting—and Sleepless City is better for it.

I hope I’m reading these books for years to come—and suggest you pick up Sleepless City as soon as you can.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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“How do you kill a person with a cupcake topper?”

“When it’s drenched with as much raw magic as yours are, so many different ways.” Sabrina ticked off options on her fingers. “As a potion additive, as part of a ritual, ingested by the magic-user to add to their own power. Yeah, those are probably the top three.”

“Yours was used to create a potion which was then added to a beverage the victim drank, from what we can tell,” Miles added helpfully.

I really didn’t feel so good.

What’s Cutthroat Cupcakes About?

Lina’s having a slow day in her store—a year-round custom-made candy store with a Halloween theme—when everything she knows about her family, herself, and the world as a whole changes.

Lina discovers that magic is real and that she’s a witch in one of the worst ways imaginable to learn these things—by being arrested by a supernatural cop for killing someone with an item you cursed.

This cop is a wizard with the International Criminal Witch Police who has a certain amount of leeway in his jurisdiction—since he’s easily convinced that Lina has no idea how she may have cursed the candies in her shop, he offers to cut a deal with her—if she helps to track down the person who used her unintentionally cursed items, he won’t pursue charges (ignorance of the law yada yada yada could still get her a few years as an Accessory). Apparently, once you know what you’re looking for it’s easier to find traces of your own magic than it is to find someone else’s, so it makes sense to recruit Lina into this investigation, even if she doesn’t know anything about the magical side of things.

Lina’s curious about this whole witch thing, desperate to not be convicted of a crime—and fairly attracted to this detective, truth be told. So she puts her store in the hands of a new (witch) acquaintance for a few days and takes the offer.

The Boise-ness of It All

“The three of you are it? For the entire city of Boise?”

Bastian huffed. “City? Town.”

“Hey, now. No smack-talking Boise.” I’d only lived here five years, but that was long enough to recognize that the place definitely had its charms.

“I’m not talking smack. I’m stating a fact. It’s a town, not a city. But to answer your question, the three of us cover the greater Boise area.” His lips pulled into a grimace. “Insomuch as there is a greater metro area.”

You know right away that this is some sort of fantasy—there’s no way that a homemade candy shop—particularly a Halloween-themed candy shop—survives in downtown Boise for as long as Lina’s has. Yes, the idea is appealing, but it’s easier to buy the idea of the magic, to be frank.

Outside of that, putting this series in Boise helps ground it—Lawley has some good fixed locations for things and is able to use that geography to her advantage. But no one who is unfamiliar with Idaho’s capital is going to suffer for it—it’s a nice bonus for those of us who make the same drive as Lina does to know how long it takes so we know how long the uncomfortable silence (or whatever) will be. But that’s about it.

The Cozy Factor

I drank my exceptional espresso with exactly the right amount of cream and tried to keep my annoyance at recent events to a minimum. Nothing like a rotten mood to ruin good caffeine.

This is pretty “cozy” on two fronts—the magic and the mystery. We only get very broad brushstrokes about magic, how it works, what it can/can’t do, the society of witches/warlocks/wizards, and so on. Lawley gives us enough details to keep the story moving. We do get to see some magic at work, and get a sense that some ritual and effort is necessary—but Lawley’s not coming at this like Butcher, Rowling, or Harrison.

The mystery part of the book is solidly in the cozy area as well—we’ve got a candy store owner, a detective who works out of a coffee shop, and a whole lot of generally nice people (even a suspect or two are pretty nice when you get to know them).

The effect of both of these is to make you as comfortable as if you’re relaxing with one of the some of the drinks and treats described while the world passes by.

So, what did I think about Cutthroat Cupcakes?

Maybe I should have dithered, asked for more information, heck, even asked for the questions first. But this was the guy who’d cured my headache. Despite having locked us in my store earlier and disabling my phones, he seemed a stand-up sort of guy. Maybe he wasn’t warm and fuzzy, but…I trusted him. And that’s saying a lot given the fact he arrested me.

I initially thought this seemed like a charming idea for a cozy mystery series, but I wasn’t prepared for the extent of its charms. I devoured* this in one sitting and if I owned it, I’d have likely rolled right into the sequel (I will be rectifying this situation soon). I want to use words like cute and adorable, but those both feel condescending, so I’m sticking with charming for now. Enchanting might work there, too. But that’s a little too something given all the witchiness of the book.

Lawley’s not afraid to have a little fun with the premise—the first (aware) witch we meet is named Sabrina, for crying out loud.

*Pun intended, naturally.

The characters are all great (I thought about spending some time talking about them, but why ruin your fun?). The candies are tantalizing—even for someone who abstains from sugar. The coffee shop owned by the detective (there’s not enough supernatural crime to be a full-time job in this area—and he needs a cover story for the non-magical folks) will cause cravings for sure.

Basically, this is a light-hearted, sweet, appealing, and charming book. I encourage you to grab a snack, pick up Cutthroat Cupcakes, and get lost in the world for a little while. You’ll feel better for it.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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Toby raised his eyebrows. What a ridiculous rhyme. Yet, every cell in his body quivered. The sensible voice inside his head reminded him there was no such thing as magic, but he couldn’t help wonder, would something happen?

What’s Toby and the Silver Blood Witches About?

Toby Bean doesn’t have the easiest life. He’s a twelve-year old who’s bullied at school and he hasn’t spent much time with his football team or friends since his mother became ill a couple of years earlier with myalgic encephalomyelitis (it might have been nice if myalgic encephalomyelitis had been spelled out at least once) and he’s had to spend all of his time taking care of her/their house.

After hearing strange noises in their attic a couple of times, Toby goes to investigate only to find an injured woman in the attic—she’s strangely dressed, and what she’s saying is even stranger. She claims to be a witch who crashed on her broom, landing in the attic. Not only that, but she needs his help to be able to leave. He’s just this close to calling the police to come pick her up, but decides to indulge her. He finds her wand around where she thought it fell, and then he sees her use it.

And Toby’s complicated life just got more complicated—and more exciting.

He finds himself helping magical people in ways that only non-magical people can, visiting a city that’s shouldn’t exist, and taking on a secret organization to rescue some witches.

This summer break isn’t anything like what Toby’d expected.

Worldbuilding

It was obvious which of them was the Head Witch. It wasn’t just Willow’s height which gave her presence– she exuded a quiet air of authority. Her face was unreadable, neither stern nor overtly friendly. It bore no wrinkles, no lines. It was as if she never betrayed great emotion. She was impassive with a touch of the formidable.

Doherty’s worldbuilding is just great. The human/earthen conflict with the witches was introduced and dealt with in a way that is both easy to grasp and believe.

The witches’ hidden city was a great concept, and the tour of the city that Doherty took Toby (and the reader) on through it was well done and entertaining. Just about everything she gave the reader about witches—from Witch Bumble’s words for objects/animals (think The Little Mermaid‘s Scuttle) to their wands—is exactly what you want to find in a book like this.

I do think the big, evil human group could’ve been developed a bit better—they did stop short of twirling their mustaches or Tex Richman-esque maniacal laugh, but just by a hair. But that’d be my only complaint on this front (and that’s something that can be addressed in the next book so maybe I’m being premature on this point).

The Difficulty Setting

The more she talked, the more Toby felt as if he was falling headlong into a curious fictional world. He needed to take charge of the situation, before it completely spiralled out of control.

If you think of this as a video game, you’re definitely reading a play-through on the “Easy” setting. Every single arc resolves pretty easily and without a lot of tension—there might be some tension or suspense in the setup, but it goes away pretty quickly.

I noticed this first with the arcs involving Toby’s friends and his mother, but once I put my finger on it, I realized that’d been what was bugging me about everything.

This could be by design—particularly if Doherty is aiming at the younger end of the MG audience. If it’s not by design, I’d say all the elements for a more suspenseful and satisfying resolution are there, the text just needs to explore that better—and add another hundred or so pages to the book (that’s just an assumption on my part based on similar MG books I’ve read).

To be clear—this isn’t a flaw in the stories/arcs—everything ended in a very satisfactory place and I wouldn’t ask Doherty (or any author) to change that based on my whims. I just want the journey to that end to be more satisfying. The resolutions—particularly to the friends and mother—didn’t feel earned.

So, what did I think about Toby and the Silver Blood Witches?

Bumble leaned forwards. “It’s good to be different.”

“Being different is horrible. Being different means you get picked on,” Toby muttered.

“Being different is great! Who wants to be the same as everyone else?”

Toby looked up at her. She sat there in her bright patchwork dress, a bat peeping out of her pocket and her head held high.

Bumble smiled at him. “Be proud to be you, Toby ,” she said gently.

This was a perfectly charming and fun read—it was quick, too—not just because of the complexity, but primarily because the narration was so engaging that the real world melted away in the background and the only thing you wanted to focus on was the book.

Toby’s an endearing character, and you can’t help but root for him and those around him (other than his bullies, obviously). He ends up in a pretty good place and it’ll be good to see how a better-adjusted version of him who is already familiar with the world of witches deals with things in the sequel.

I did want more from Toby and the Silver Blood Witches—and think that MG readers would be justified in asking for it—but please note, I’m asking for more of something good. Not wanting a mediocre or disappointing read to offer more. It’s good, it just could’ve been better. Still, most MG readers are going to want to return to this world in the sequel(s) and from re-reading it.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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So Here’s the Deal:

I’ve tried to write a favorable post about this book a couple of times now, and I’ve failed. I’ve got to get this back to the Library soon, so I need to get something done. So…here are some bullet points describing why readers should avoid the book.

What’s the Book Jacket Say about The Manifestor Prophecy

I guess, to be fair, we should start with some facts. Here’s what the jacket copy has to say:

It’s not easy being a Remarkable in the Unremarkable world. Some things are cool—like getting a pet hellhound for your twelfth birthday. Others, not so much—like not being trusted to learn magic because you might use it to take revenge on an annoying neighbor.

All Nic Blake wants is to be a powerful Manifestor like her dad. But before she has a chance to convince him to teach her the gift, a series of shocking revelations and terrifying events launch Nic and two friends on a hunt for a powerful magic tool she’s never heard of…to save her father from imprisonment for a crime she refuses to believe he committed.

From internationally bestselling superstar author Angie Thomas comes a wildly inventive, hilarious, and suspenseful new contemporary fantasy trilogy inspired by African American history and folklore, featuring a fierce, irrepressible character who will win your heart.

Reasons to Avoid It

In no particular order, just the way they occurred to me:

• As all good Fantasy readers know, there’s a plethora of books (especially for MG audiences) with magic systems largely based on African American myths and folklore. It’s the same old-same old here, give me some WASP-y fantasy!
• An MG-book featuring a strong father-daughter connection, however flawed by good intentions and human nature? Bah. Who needs that?
• We don’t need a respectful, but still pointed, take on a certain magical boarding school series.
• The fact that there’s a way for Muggles, I mean Unremarkables, to access magic on their own is such a bad idea and adds nothing new to the genre.
• In many ways, you get the impression (although it might not be the case) that Coogler’s Black Panther influenced this storyline and world. Of all the superhero movies, why this one?
• The protagonist and her best friend be prepared for their adventures because of their devoted fandom of a series of fantasy novels. Nerds shouldn’t be action heroes. They should stay in their lane.
• “Chosen One post-traumatic stress disorder?” Listen, the notion of a Chosen One is sacrosanct and should be treated that way.
• It’s a Middle-Grade book, it shouldn’t acknowledge (but not dwell on) things like issues with the prison system, racism, the Underground Railroad, the Civil Rights Movement, and so on.
• Protagonists (and main characters) who make mistakes—serious ones—and have to adjust their behavior are not the examples that Middle-Grade readers need.
• Nic Blake finds herself as part of two supportive and encouraging multi-generational communities (who don’t see eye to eye, it should be said) and gets help from both when she needs it. But it’s not just help for her—the communities help each other—largely because it’s needed, not that they get anything in return.
• There’s a sense of fun and joy that pervades the entire book, without detracting from the stakes, and that’s such a turn-off.

So, what did I think about The Manifestor Prophecy?

Okay, fine…there are few reasons not to read this book, really. It’s a fun world filled great characters (both minor and major), and I’m ready to read the sequel today (if only so I can have another chance at writing something about the series).

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Flop Dead Gorgeous About?

Jenny Nichols went to the same high school as Andy Carpenter—but when he went to law school, she went to California and became a movie star. She comes back to Paterson frequently, even adopting a miniature French poodle from Andy’s rescue foundation and striking up a friendship with Laurie.

She’s staying in Paterson while filming her next movie in New York and Andy hosts a dinner with her and several others—during the dinner, her ex-boyfriend, current producer, and co-star (all the same person) shows up and causes a scene in an effort to see her. While Andy does nothing at all (his strength), Willie, Laurie, and Marcus shut down the producer and his bodyguards. They leave and the night goes on as before and everything seems fine.

Because this is that kind of book in that kind of series, that “fine” doesn’t last long. Jenny wakes up in the middle of the night to find her ex stabbed to death in her kitchen. With no one else in the house—and few people knowing she was staying there at all—the suspect list is really short, and it’s no time at all before Andy is hired to defend Jenny.

Wait, What?

I may be revealing what a horrible (as opposed to irresponsible) reader I am here—but in the second chapter, Rosenfelt said something that stopped me cold. Andy’s hosting that dinner for Jenny with a bunch of his friends and colleagues, including Sam, Willie and Sondra Miller, Vince Saunders—you know, the people you’d expect. Except for this: Marcus and his wife Julie. Did we know Marcus had a wife? Has she shown up a lot and I’ve totally forgotten her? I really don’t think so, but I don’t have time to read 20+ books (I can’t remember when he shows up first, book 2 or 3, I think) to see.

Part of my shock here has to do with the idea of Marcus having any kind of personal life is strange. It’s like when you’re in second grade and see your teacher in the grocery store. But I just have no recollection of this woman.

And, really, that’s not the strangest Marcus moment in the book…

Poor Eddie Dowd

Andy’s on his third associate in the series—the lawyer who does most of the actual lawyering, instead of the investigating and courtroom antics. He’s the guy who puts together briefs, looks up precedents, writes motions, and so on. This associate is usually comedic in some way, too.

Eddie shows up a little bit here, but nowhere is used to lighten the mood—we don’t even get one example of his overuse of sports metaphors. It was likely necessary to cut his jokes for space and/or to make up for the running joke (see below), but I couldn’t help but feel bad for the character. He barely got to do anything—particularly nothing interesting.

The Running Joke

There’s a running joke throughout this book that I can’t bring myself to ruin—or repeat. Initially, I wondered about Rosenfelt’s continued use of it—but in the end, I wouldn’t cut a single instance of it, and the later in the book we got the funnier I found each reappearance.

I don’t remember Rosenfelt going back to the well so often like this often (ever?).* Sure, he repeats jokes from book to book—Andy’s trying to retire, Edna’s lack of interest in work, Marcus’ lack of talking, etc. But fifteen+ appearances of a gag in one novel? I think this is new. I don’t know that we need it in every Andy Carpenter book from now on, but I wouldn’t mind it frequently.

* Fill up the comments here with the times he’s done it before and I’ve forgotten about it, by all means.

So, what did I think about Flop Dead Gorgeous?

I know I complain often about not knowing what to say about an Andy Carpenter novel that I haven’t said a few times before. And really, aside from what I’ve noted in the two sections above, I’m not sure what to say.

The one thing that I want to talk about the most is the one that I cannot discuss—the killer and the motive behind the killing. I can’t even think of a vague way to praise the choices Rosenfelt made in this novel’s structure. But for my money, the choice of the killer, motive, etc. are praiseworthy.

I do like the way Rosenfelt is aging Ricky—especially while not aging Tara—and letting Ricky pay attention to this case. Good character work.

Flop Dead Gorgeous features some of Rosenfelt’s funniest material in years. More of Andy in court (or so it seems) than we’ve been treated to lately. Good character work (both with regulars and new characters)—except for poor Eddie. The best mystery Rosenfelt’s given us in a long time. And Andy’s narrative voice has never been better (rarely been worse, too)—there are a couple of paragraphs that made me stop and note, “This is why I keep coming back to this series.”

We’re twenty-seven books in and I still laughed and was left on tenterhooks to see how Andy was going to prevail. That’s no mean feat. Rosenfelt hasn’t lost a step, and neither has this series. Naturally, I recommend Flop Dead Gorgeous to your attention.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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His dad. He was walking and talking with his dad. And his dad was…kinda cool? Rahim didn’t know what was more shocking—the fact he had traveled back in time or that his dad was once actually pretty fun to be around.

What’s The Rhythm of Time About?

Kasia is a homeschool nerd/computer genius. Her parents run a vegan co-op and help community gardens throughout the city. They know she’s smarter than them, but they also know they don’t fully appreciate how much smarter she is. For example, she’s designed a drone that can adapt, speak, and add features as it sees fit. She’s also made a (admittedly unattractive) smartphone for her best friend so he can call her and do homework.

Rahim lives next door to her and to call his father a Luddite is to understate things—and it’d probably result in a lecture from him about the inaccuracy of using the term for him. He’s a history professor who won’t allow computers, etc. in his home—his encyclopedias are good enough for Rahim’s homework, thank you very much*. He’s not that crazy about Rahim’s love of music or sports, either.

* Sure, it’s impossible in 2023 for even a grade school student to do homework without the Internet, we all know that. Shhh. Roll with it for the purposes of the book.

Rahim is overjoyed with his gift (although he does make a crack about its looks) and starts to use it right away. It takes him very little time to see that if he does things in a certain way, the phone will transport him instantly to various places. Kasia doesn’t understand that, but before she can figure out how that happens, Rahim discovers (the hard way) that the phone also works to send him to the past.

While Kasia tries to figure out how to get him home, she tells him to keep from interacting with anyone as much as possible. She starts trying to see what the satellites she hacked into to give Rahim his phone are doing to him and Rahim sees a kid about his age being bullied and before common sense can restrain him, he intervenes and saves the kid. The bullied kid turns out to be Omar, or as Rahim calls him, “Dad.”

Oops.

And well…things get worse from there.

The Take on Time Travel

Time itself is being pulled and stretched, and I’m kinda afraid it’s gonna crumble like graham crackers dunked in milk.

Like any self-respecting time-travel story, particularly one where the traveler meets a relative, things start to unravel—the timeline, future events, etc. And not just in the expected ways—the first sign we have that anything’s going wrong is that a different team wins the ’97 NBA Championship. There’s no relation to anyone in the book to anyone in the NBA (that the reader knows of), so the problems in the timeline aren’t starting out in the typical way. The authors deserve some big points for that.

Nor do the time travel-induced anomalies continue to play out the way they usually do. It’s when things are nearing their worst that Kasia says that about graham crackers in milk (a visual that has stuck with me for days).

(Mild Spoilers ahead in this paragraph) Some things remain constant—Rahim’s parents still get together and live next to Kasia and her family. Kasia’s just as smart, too (thankfully). And just when you start to think that maybe, just maybe, we’re going to get a Back to the Future kind of ending where things went differently for Rahim’s father and he found a different kind of success—but Rahim (for reasons you might not expect) decides to try a plan-so-crazy-that-it-just-might-work to restore the timeline. Emphasis on the might.

The Government Types

Disrupting, disturbing, distracting, and potentially disabling Kasia’s efforts are a couple of government agents. They seem like moderately overzealous, humorless types who are trying to do their job—if it happens to allow them to bully a little girl, so be it.

Eventually, however, these agents prove to be better than we think. In doing so they show that some of the government assets that Kasia has been, um, “helping” herself to aren’t exactly what she thinks they are. In fact, there’s a connection between them and The Philadelphia Experiment. But we’re not just treated to the typical urban legend version of the Philadelphia Experiment, Questlove and Cosby give the reader a Hidden Figures version of it. Which makes it all the more fun.

But just because there are all sorts of adults running around with official powers and equipment, don’t think that it all doesn’t come down to what Kasia and Rahim do. This is a Middle-Grade novel, after all.

So, what did I think about The Rhythm of Time?

It just felt so odd to be having so much fun on just about every page with Cosby’s name on the cover. I enjoy his stuff, but it’s not often that “fun” enters into the conversation. And fun is the best word to describe this.

The whole concept and the way it plays out are ridiculous—but they’re entertaining, and if you can accept any part of it, you’ll accept it all. And there’s no reason not to suspend your disbelief enough to buy into the story—because it’s not trying to be more than a fun adventure for grade school readers.* So just sit back, relax, grab some popcorn, and enjoy.

* Even if it had higher aspirations, you could still make the case for going along with things.

Rahim’s a great guy, and you can see where Omar ends up becoming the Dad that he is—and how his parents become the versions of themselves Rahim would come to know as his grandparents. All of that was really well done.

Kasia is the type of impossible genius making tech in her bedroom that has been the stuff of cartoons and Middle-Grade fiction since I was reading it (when it was called “Juvenile Fiction.”) Think Flavia de Luce meets Penny from Inspector Gadget meets Richie Foley (from Static Shock). I will read something about her anytime. If Rahim’s along for the ride, so much the better.

The book ends with a clear sign that the story goes on, but none of the online sources I see refer to this as the first of a series. I hope it does go on—but it’s also one of those endings that doesn’t require a sequel. We know that Rahim and Kasia are going to be up to more adventures, and in a way, that’s enough. By this point, the reader has enough to know how their adventures will go.

But I really hope the series keeps going.

Pick this up for some nice, uncomplicated fun for yourself or grab it for the Middle Schooler in your life (and then borrow it).

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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Back to the Covenant Story

The first few books of this series featured an ongoing arc concerning the looming threat of an invasion of the Americas by The Covenant of St. George. In the fifth book, Chaos Choreography, Verity basically invited that invasion. In the next book, Antimony went undercover to infiltrate them in order to gather intel on the coming invasion—and we largely abandoned that storyline for the rest of the Antimony-trilogy (the Covenant was around, obviously, but other things seemed far more important most of the time). Then with the next three books, that storyline took a giant backseat and most of the action focused on non-Earthbound species and/or didn’t take place on Earth.

Now that Alice, Thomas, and Sally are back on Earth, we can rejoin the Covenant story, already in progress.

What’s Backpacking Through Bedlam About?

This is precisely what this novel is about—Alice trying to reintroduce Thomas and Sally to Earth (the latter will be far easier since she hasn’t been gone quite as long) while coming to fight alongside Verity’s ragtag “army” in New York to protect the dragon.

Thomas doesn’t have to just remember what Earth is like and catch up on a few decades worth of technological advances, political and cultural changes, etc.—he also has to get used to his wife again. They’ve both grown and changed—yes, still deeply in love and committed to each other. But…they’re not the same people they were when he left.

Meanwhile, Alice has to learn to accept Sally as the not-quite-adult-daughter she’s never met. And Sally has to figure out her place in her new family. All while Verity and the rest of the Prices are going to have to adjust to Thomas actually being alive.

And, yeah, they have to fight a war and protect as many cryptids as they can from the Covenant. Should be a walk in the park, right? Or maybe that’s where the titular Bedlam comes in.

So, what did I think about Backpacking Through Bedlam?

When Verity declared war, I remember being taken aback by it—but also thinking, “all right, now things will get really interesting!” Just for that to be pushed to the background—or not even discussed—for quite some time. After getting over my initial disappointment, I settled in and didn’t have a problem with it, because what we got was plenty entertaining and intriguing on its own—who needed them to be the focus of the antagonism when you had all this other stuff going on?

But, I tell you what, it felt good to get back to this story. I really appreciate that we came back to it as we did, with Alice and the others having to jump in and catch up. This made it easy for the reader to get backstory thrown at us and we didn’t have to go back to the time of Magic for Nothing or thereabouts to see watch the invasion.

This was a solid novel in the series, and I think will serve as a really good way for the next arc to launch—letting us see all the Prices (in one way or another) fighting the Covenant. I don’t have much to say beyond that—InCryptid books bring a lot of snark, a dash of romance, a good amount of action, and some interesting musings on life, family, and what makes a decent person (human or not). That’s what you get in Backpacking through Bedlam.

I have no idea what’s coming next—or who our primary character will be in the next book—and I don’t care. I’m just eager to see it.

This wouldn’t be a bad place to jump on—there’s enough recapping of various and sundry storylines going on that it’s probably the best one since the fifth book (books 1, 3, 5, and now, 12 I think are the optimal jumping-on points). Just know that if you try it, you’re going to want to go back to the beginning.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Tower of Babel About?

I really don’t like not providing my own synopsis/tease for a novel. But I’m overdue with this post, and a lot of that has to do with stumbling on this section. So I’m going to appropriate it from Soho Press’ site:

Queens, New York—the most diverse place on earth. Native son Ted Molloy knows these streets like the back of his hand. Ted was once a high-powered Manhattan lawyer, but after a spectacular fall from grace, he has found himself back on his home turf, scraping by as a foreclosure profiteer. It’s a grubby business, but a safe one—until Ted’s case sourcer, a mostly reformed small-time conman named Richie Rubiano, turns up murdered shortly after tipping Ted off to an improbably lucrative lead.

With Richie’s widow on his back and shadows of the past popping up at every turn, Ted realizes he’s gotten himself embroiled in a murder investigation. His quest for the truth will take him all over Queens, plunging him into the machinations of greedy developers, mobsters, enraged activists, old litigator foes and old-school New York City operators.

Haaaaave You Met Ted?*

* Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Not that I tried all that hard.

Ted’s a good example of a very familiar type of Crime Fiction protagonist. At one point in the not-too-distant past, he’d been very successful for his age with a bright future ahead of him. Then he hits a personal and professional rough patch, and all that success and future vanishes. He’s now had to recalibrate his life, his legal career in ruins and so begins a new—albeit somewhat related—career, with new routines, a new home, new allies, and so on to restart his life.

Like most of this type, he’s moved on, but not really. He still misses his old life, still laments it, regrets the things that happened (unjustly) to bring down his house of cards, and would go back if he could. He’s given chances over the course of Tower of Babel to revisit that life, to see how green the grass is on that side of the fence, and his response to that really tells the reader more about who he is than anything else in the book can.

In a New York State of Mind

I love when a novel hits me with a great sense of place—and Tower of Babel did that to me. Sears doesn’t spend that much time describing the city or its landmarks or anything like that. But the city permeates everything. Travis Bickle drove the same streets as Mohammad did (and probably in a safer manner). Sherman McCoy struck deals with the same kinds of people. Det. Denny Malone would be known to the detectives on the murder.

This is a novel that has to take place in New York.* I just don’t see it working anywhere else—are there shady real estate deals, corrupt politicians, organized crime, and entities with too much power in Chicago, Miami, L.A., Boston, London, etc.? Absolutely. Do other major cities have teams that have a fanbase as devoted and as constantly disappointed as the Mets? Absolutely (although most of them don’t have to share a city with the Yankees). Ethnic diversity and economic disparity might have different mixes and present in different ways from metropolitan to metropolitan, but they’re there just the same. But I just don’t see how this novel works in Miami or Boston. The organized crime of it all would be different in Chicago. There’s something about shady real estate antics that seems quintessentially NYC (it shouldn’t, but it does).

* Granted, I’m just some dude from Idaho, what do I know?

Any book that transports me so convincingly is worth the time and effort (not that this took much of the latter).

Ted and Jill

Ted is still friends with his ex-wife, Jill. They’re obviously very important to each other and spend a good deal of time together—primarily because of the NY Mets and Ted’s season tickets. I absolutely loved this version of divorced adults interacting with each other (there were no kids involved, which likely helped). Early on, when I wasn’t as sold as I eventually would be on the murder storyline (and was still trying to understand the real estate angle), I put in my notes that I’d have enjoyed the novel more if it was just about them spending time together. By the novel’s end, I’d changed my mind—but I’d still take a novella just about the two of them.

It’s a healthy friendship, supportive and challenging—and just fun. (then again, this is a noir-ish Crime Novel, so I make no promises that the way things start is the way they will end).

So, what did I think about Tower of Babel?

I stumbled a little in the beginning trying to understand the way that Ted’s making his money now and the antics involved in all the real estate transactions (ethical, legal, and otherwise), but that’s primarily because my brain doesn’t do well with that sort of thing. I ultimately gave up trying and just accepted it in the same way I do with Asimov’s worldbuilding or things along those lines. By the end of the novel, I (am pretty sure that) I understood it all because I’d stopped trying to decipher it (I still can’t totally explain psychohistory or Asimov’s take on superluminal flight, for what’s it’s worth). The details are both not as important to the novel as everything else and not as difficult as I was making it.

I can see Sears settling into this character and this world and turning Molloy into a typical scrappy lawyer character in the vein of Mickey Haller or Eddie Flynn. But I don’t think that’s the direction this is going—would I read that version? Absolutely, but I already have Haller, Flynn, et al. It feels to me that this is headed in a more David vs. Corporate Goliaths tack, maybe with some murder, etc. thrown in, sure—but my money is on this series focusing on corporate crimes, and corruption (both political and economic). Either way, I’m in for at least one or two more books—and I expect most readers will feel the same way.

This is not your typical Legal Thriller, and Sears sucks you into the story in ways you won’t expect—actually, I think you’ll end up expecting very little about the story and characters as you go along. But in the end, you’ll realize that just about everything had to go the way it did. I love that feeling of being taken unaware and then seeing that there was no other way for this jigsaw to be put together. It’s so satisfying when you can look at the whole thing (and a great ride along the way).

Crimes you’re not accustomed to reading about—crimes you’re very familiar with—a cast of characters you don’t see every day, and an ethically dubious protagonist (or is he?). Tower of Babel is a great entryway into a series that should garner a fanbase, and you should think about hopping on before the bandwagon builds up too much speed.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Deadly Ever After About?

Two of Beverly’s sisters, the twins Olympia and Chelsea Brook, are hanging out with some people they just met around a campfire. It’s just a relaxing moment—when one of the group suddenly starts trying to eat them all. Olympia tries a magic whammy on him, which doesn’t help too much, but the others are able to capitalize on this and subdue him.

Over the next couple of days, others in the group suddenly start acting strangely—an actor quits his current project, dresses up like a frog, and starts to make nature documentaries; another takes a bite of an apple and goes to sleep like Snow White.

The sisters try to get some help from the Folly, but they’re too busy. Abigail gives a quick consultation but isn’t that helpful. So the sisters have to figure out what’s afoot on their own and try to set things right.

What About Peter, Nightengale, etc.?

They’re pretty deeply involved in some strange case and we see them briefly here and there—I’m curious about what they’re up to, but I really don’t want either a comic or a novel/novella to tell us—I just want to live with the random and odd images.

How’s the Art?

The art for the Rivers of London has never been the strongest—it’s good, it’s dynamic, it moves the story along, and helps tell the story. But by and large, it’s not the greatest comic art in the world—I’ve never disliked it (I don’t think), but I’ve rarely been wowed by it either. It’s good, not great.

That’s what we have here—capable art that tells the story, conveys the emotions, and occasionally elicits a grin.

(all of this reads to me like the most sinistral left-handed compliment—I’m not trying to be that way, I’m apparently just having one of those days)

So, what did I think about Deadly Ever After?

I love the idea of getting stories in this world that only have a tangential connection to Peter and the rest. We all know that the entire Demi-monde/Supernatural world doesn’t revolve around the Folly. Things like this have to happen, before Peter was recruited, we know that Nightingale didn’t have time to handle everything—people cleaned up after themselves. And that’s what the twins try to do here—and mostly succeed.

I guess I really don’t have much to say beyond that—not only do I love the idea of this kind of story, I appreciated this example of them. We get a great magic story, meet some new people, and spend some time in this world that readers love. Can’t ask for more than that.

Sure, I hope to see more of the ol’ gang next time, but regular doses of the world outside like this one would be a good thing.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s This Bird Has Flown About?

Jane Star is your proto-typical one-hit-wonder. She rocketed to stardom via a cover song and its music video (which was intended to be a feminist critique of something, but really just made her into a sex kitten). She struggled to come up with another hit and eventually her career died down and she disappeared off the scene.

Following a major breakup, she’s trying to get her career re-established (if only so she can move out of her parent’s house). Her manager/friend arranges for Jane to spend some time in London with her to write—which turns into a once-in-a-lifetime chance to play with the man whose song put her on the map at the Royal Albert Hall. Can she use this to re-launch herself?

Meanwhile, she strikes up a whirlwind romance with a man she met on the flight to London. This is both an inspiration for her writing and a major distraction from it.

The Love Story

It absolutely didn’t work for me. At all. It was a lust/infatuation story fit better for teenagers than a world-weary rock star and a college professor.

And a lot of the “sexy” moments seemed to be trying too hard to be sexy, which just feels desperate.

So why did I persist?

The One Hit Wonder Looking for Another

The story about Jane Star, trying to cling to marketability and relevancy—and maybe, just maybe regaining some sort of career is the part of this novel that makes putting up with the rest worth it.

It’s hard not to wonder how much of Jane’s experience is based on Hoffs—but it’s an idle thought because what Jane is going through is more interesting than my own speculation. She’s trapped by that one cover song that thrust her onto the world stage and is something she just can’t live up to.

She’s trying so hard to recapture that magic, to live up to expectations that she can’t write anything. And anyone who’s lived through some sort of creative block will be able to identify with this.

But then there are some moments where she remembers why she’s a musician, gets to sing or play. Even gets to write a little. And it’s magic. Not just for Jane, but for the reader—Hoffs describes the sensation in a way that it’s impossible not to get caught up in it.

I love a good rock’n’roll novel, and Hoffs delivers here.

How was the Narration?

This is really where the book shone for me—Hoffs handled the narration and the dialogue for Jane, Stevenson did the rest of the characters.

Sure, we all know that Hoffs can sing—but she can handle other voice performance areas as well. I was really impressed by what she did and was thoroughly engaged throughout.

But Stevenson? Wow. Knocked. It. Out. Of. The. Park. Her accents, her emoting, her…everything. I hated every time a scene with her ended, and was only placated by knowing another was on the way, with her doing another voice or three. Her work as Pippa, Jane’s manager, alone made me a fan.

So, what did I think about This Bird Has Flown?

Overall, I enjoyed this. I didn’t get that invested in the “love” story but thought it resolved okay (probably more than okay if you are able to get invested in it). The novel wouldn’t hold up without it (although you could improve it without changing most of the rest of the novel), so I’m not going to trash it too much.

The creativity/musician/whatever storyline—along with the accompanying friendships and conflicts—was really well done and more than made up for my grinchy attitude toward the rest. I really got invested in it and thought my investment was rewarded.

I picked up the book because of a piece or two I’d read about Hoffs’ depiction of the musician’s life—and it paid off. It would’ve been nice if the rest had been as good, but I’ll take what I got. This Bird Has Flown is not great, but it’s a lot of fun with some fantastic moments. Give it a whirl.

If Hoffs tries her hand at novel writing again, I’ll be willing to try it.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Justice Calling About?

In the college town of Wylde, Idaho (which I’m guessing is inspired by Moscow more than anything else—definitely not Wilder, Idaho, but isn’t anywhere near any actual college), the residents are essentially college students or some kind shape-shifter. And those who are neither are likely associated with the supernatural somehow. Like our protagonist/narrator, Jade Crow.

A Justice comes to town, convinced that Jade is going to do something to kill several shapeshifters. At about the same time, the mother of Jade’s best friend is found in her animal form—apparently after a taxidermist. Which is pretty disturbing no matter what—the fact that this is someone she knows makes it all the worse. With the law enforcement arm of the supernatural world (the Justice) considering her suspect number one, Jade’s life has gotten very complicated.

She’s able to get the Justice to step down (momentarily) while she and her friends start looking into things. What they find is terrifying—but it does get the Justice to start trusting Jade. Sadly, she has to expend enough power to draw attention to herself—old enemies are probably going to come looking for her.

Jade has to decide—is it time to leave and save her skin, or does she stick around and try to stop whatever dark thing is afoot in Wylde?

Jade Crow

Jade Crow strikes me as a variation on Atticus O’Sullivan with a little bit of Ree Reyes thrown in. Her past makes you think of Atticus—she used to throw around a lot of power and was a force to be reckoned with—but then she stopped using her power, changed her name, and did all she could to stay under the radar to save her life.

Her attitude and interests make me think of Ree.

I’m obviously not suggesting that Bellet ripped off Hearne and Underwood—or anything like that. I’m just saying as a reader, those are things I was reminded of.

So, what did I think about Justice Calling?

This is a fast read. A breezy introduction to this world and the magic in it.

I thought everything felt a little rushed—the action, as well as Jade’s need to leave town (and her budding relationship with Kirov). But most of that occurred to me after the book was over—in the moment it worked really well.

I’m curious about where the series goes from here—the fact that there are 9 more is a little on the intimidating side. But if this is anything to go off of, there’s a lot of reason to keep going.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s It’s Great to Suck at Something About?

The Publisher’s Description is:

When was the last time you tried something new? Something that won’t make you more productive, make you more money, or check anything off your to-do list? Something you’re really, really bad at, but that brought you joy?

Odds are, not recently. We live in a time of aspirational psychoses. We humblebrag about how hard we work and we prioritize productivity over happiness. Even kids don’t play for the sake of playing anymore: they’re building blocks to build the ideal college application. We’re told to be the best or nothing at all. We’re trapped in an epic and farcical quest for perfection and it’s all making us more anxious and depressed than ever.

This book provides the antidote. (It’s Great to) Suck at Something “shows how joy and growth come from risking failure and letting go of perfectionism” (The Wall Street Journal). Drawing on her personal experience sucking at surfing (a sport Karen Rinaldi’s dedicated nearly two decades of her life to doing without ever coming close to getting good at it) along with philosophy, literature, and the latest science, Rinaldi explores sucking as a lost art we must reclaim for our health and our sanity and helps us find the way to our own riotous suck-ability. Sucking at something rewires our brain in positive ways, helps us cultivate grit, and inspires us to find joy in the process, without obsessing about the destination. Ultimately, it gives you freedom: the freedom to suck without caring is revelatory.

My description would be—Rinaldi is a devoted surfer. That doesn’t mean that she’s a good one—she has witnesses and video evidence to back that up. But she doesn’t care—she still loves it. In fact, she’s learned a lot about herself—and probably about the way people tick—from being a lousy surfer, and now she has some good advice to share about being lousy at things (and continuing to do them). She weaves this advice with a semi-meandering recounting of her surfing career in the pages of this book.

A Quick Word About the Narration

Rinaldi’s narration on this was really good—I’d listen to her narrate another book easily. Maybe it’s easier because it’s her book and she knows the emotions she’s trying to evoke—but I’ve heard enough authors not know how to do that for me to really believe it.

So, what did I think about It’s Great to Suck at Something?

I should start by saying that I’m 100% on board with Rinaldi’s central thesis and think it’s something that more people need to embrace and practice. I just have problems with most of the rest of the book.

We’ve all been to those “meetings that could’ve been an email,” right?* As I was listening I kept thinking—this is a book that could’ve been an article. Maybe a series of them. Or a few blog posts. But it had no business being a book.

Of course, not at my current job. I’m talking exclusively about previous positions.

Or at least not this book. If this had been sold as a “memoir of a lousy but committed surfer with some advice you can apply to your own passions/hobbies.” It would’ve been fine. The book wasn’t about the benefits of sucking at things, it was about a big part of Rinaldi’s life, and through it she offered some observations on the human condition—some of which she can offer footnotes to.

The book really didn’t need the turn to spirituality it took toward the end. It was very out of place.

Trim the personal anecdotes to anecdotes/illustrations, amp up the advice (and the reasons for it) and you’ve got a decent, albeit shorter, book. But as it is, it’s hard for me to say that a reader or listener isn’t wasting their time.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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Do I need my usual disclaimer about not being a poetry reader here?

Probably not, but I’ll throw it up anyway. This is the fourth time in about 10 years of blogging on this site that I’ve posed about a book of poetry. There’s a reason for that. I typically don’t like them.

There’s also a reason that I had to buy, read, and post about this one—after Facebook’s algorithm inexplicably started showing me his poems for a stretch back in January, I had to read more of them. So I bought this book, and now I have to talk about it. Because I try to do that about every book I read, but primarily because I want more people to have the opportunity to have fun with him.

What’s You Took the Last Bus Home About?

This a lengthy collection of poems (well, maybe not—it’s the lengthiest I own outside of textbooks, anyway) about love, loss, politics, and “everyday places and situations” (as he describes them in the Introduction—which I somehow skipped over until just now). Everyday situations like—someone wanting to borrow a phone charger (and being denied), beards, search engines, playing with a dog, and so on.

Bilston closes the Introduction by saying

I suppose these are not traditionally regarded as being teh stuff of poetry. But there is poetry to be found in anything if you look hard enough.

And Bilston looks that hard.

Playing with Form

One of the best things about poetry is the ability to use form to communicate. To play with the placement of the words on a page, and how they’re presented to get the meaning across—sometimes more effectively than the words used.

Bilston is a master of this.

From decreasing the type size in “Unforseen Consequences” to rotating the text in “Ode to a USB Stick” or something as simple as embracing the traditional shape of a Christmas tree in “Needles” (and then tweaking it), the visual impression of each page got you in the right frame of mind before you started reading.

See also his use of Flow Charts, Org Charts, Excel worksheets, etc.

So, what did I think about You Took the Last Bus Home?

I remember in college classes about poetry there’d be a certain tone of voice used with the phrase, “light verse.” It was eerily similar to the audible sneer used for the term “genre fiction.” And I get that—it’s the same reason that comedies are almost never nominated for an Oscar. It’s not right, but I get it.

But to brush this collection off because Bilston frequently brings the funny is a mistake. This is some really clever work–when he’s funny and when he’s not. The fact that he’s so frequently amusing (to one degree or another) means that when he drops that and goes for serious, earnest, or thoughtful—those are even more powerful (for example, “Refugees”). It shouldn’t be overlooked that he frequently is thoughtful and humorous in the same poem.

I like the creativity, I adore the wordplay, and—as always—I’m a sucker for anyone who makes me laugh/chortle/giggle/smile on the majority of the pages. I audibly laughed at the ninth poem—and several after that. My favorite haiku ever is to be found in these pages (and probably most of the top ten of that list, too*)

* A list that I didn’t realize I’d need/want/have until I started this book.

Did I love every poem? No. Did I skim a few? Yup. But in a collection this size, that’s to be expected, right? Particularly when it comes to someone who isn’t particularly a fan of poetry in the first place. The overwhelming majority of them absolutely worked.

This is a book to spend time with—open it up randomly, or read from cover to cover—whatever. Don’t do it all in one sitting, obviously—although I think it’d be easy to do, I typically read at least two more poems than I intended to per session (usually more than two). But it’s hard to appreciate them if you gorge yourself.

You’re not just going to want to read these yourself—you’re going to want to share these. I also couldn’t help but read a poem to whoever happened to be in the room with me—or make someone else read one that I really appreciated (especially if you needed to see it for full impact). My daughter received several messages from me that consisted of a quick photo of a page or two almost every time I sat down to read this volume.

I can’t say enough good things about this. I’ll be buying more of his work soon.