hc.newton

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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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 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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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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From the Back of the Book

No matter how you come into this world, you come out broken . . .

In six intense, haunting short novels, Don Winslow returns to the themes that are the hallmarks of his acclaimed body of work—crime, corruption, vengeance, justice, loss, betrayal, guilt, and redemption—to explore the savagery and nobility that drive and define the human condition.

In Broken, Winslow creates a world of high-level thieves and low-life crooks, obsessed cops and jaded private detectives, dope dealers and government agents, bounty hunters and fugitives. Diverse and richly drawn, these characters—some familiar, others new—are lost souls driving without headlights on the dark highway of modern America. Set in New Orleans and Hawaii, Southern California and south Texas, each story in this collection is distinctively Winslow, shaped by his trademark blend of insight, humanity, humor, drama, and consummate literary craftsmanship.

A powerful, gripping collection of tales that will become classics of crime fiction, Broken is Don Winslow at his nerve-shattering, heartbreaking best.

I’m not so sure I’d call these “short novels,” or novellas, or whatever. They’re long short stories. 50-60 pages or so each. But eh, who cares what they’re called? They’re a bunch of stories by Don Winslow—that’s enough for me.

Here are a few words about each.

Broken

Stunning. Gut-wrenching. Violent.

At its core, it’s about a narcotics officer in the New Orleans Police Department out for vengeance against the drug lord who killed his brother.

It’s about the price of vengeance, the hole a death can leave in a family, the costs of the War on Drugs to those on both sides, and what can happen when the watchmen aren’t watched.

Crime 101

Winslow is a master of style. It’s like he periodically decides to show the world that he’s the flashiest Crime Fiction writer in action. Sometimes he does it in a chapter (or less) of a novel, sometimes he does it for longer (I recall Savages being that)—this is one of those times. The entire thing is so quotable. The term cinematic comes to mind—you can practically see everything as you read it—maybe even reach out and touch it.

The story focuses on a master thief—so good that no one knows what he looks like. He’s referred to as the 101 Bandit because his targets seem to be focused up and down the Pacific Coast Highway, Highway 101.

Davis is everything you want a master thief to be (especially if you’ve watched too many movies). He’s cool, he drives flashy cars, he has exquisite taste in food and drink, and—because he lives by certain ironclad rules for his jobs–he’s never been caught.

Lou’s the detective who’s devoted to catching him. He’s not cool or stylish—he’s leaving his (cheating) wife, starting a new chapter in his life, and is determined to put the Bandit away.

Both are very good at their chosen professions—which is better?

The San Diego Zoo

Rightly or wrongly, I think of Winslow stories in one of two ways—they’re either full of gritty realism (think The Force, The Cartel trilogy, or Broken above). Or they’re this kind of crime story that you want to laugh at, even though it’s not really a comedy. They’re just as grounded, but there’s a joy to them that seems impossible to come from the same pen as the others.

This story belongs here. I shared the opening a couple of months ago—and it hooked me hard. I’m pretty sure that I texted the friend who gave me the book about my fanaticism for the story before I was half-done. I really think that I could read this daily for a month and still enjoy it.

Oh, what’s it about? A chimpanzee has escaped from the San Diego Zoo and somehow got a pistol. One of the cops at the scene is instrumental in getting the gun away from the chimp without a tourist (or anyone) getting shot and helping the Zoo retrieve it. Then gets curious about how the chimp got the gun and does his best to answer the question, and the reader gets taken on a wild ride.

Sunset

I will always and forever take an excuse to read about Boone Daniels from The Dawn Patrol and The Gentleman’s Hour. In this story, Boone is off to chase down a beloved and legendary surfer who’s skipped on bail. How beloved? Some time ago Boone tagged this man with the nickname “ELT” for “Everyone Loves Terry.”

But now Terry’s on the verge of ruining a bail bondsman’s business. And yeah, he’s beloved—except by those he’s taken advantage of (like Boone, who keeps letting him do it).

I’m on the verge of retelling the whole thing in a lousy way. So I’ll just shut up. It’s a great cat-and-mouse hunt starring the world and characters from The Dawn Patrol (my personal favorite Winslow novel).

Even if you don’t regard the initial novel as an almost-Platonic ideal, even if you’ve never read that novel, you’ll find something to enjoy in this story.

Paradise

The trio at the center of Winslow’s Savages and The Kings of Cool head to Hawaii to vacation and hopefully start doing some business. Because it’s this particular trio and they attract trouble, things go horribly wrong. But they go wrong in a flashy, stylish, and violent way. There’s some connection with other Winslow works, too.

It’s been years since I read them, so I can’t say for certain—but I think this isn’t as good as Savages, but better than The Kings of Cool. But both were so good, I’m not sure it matters.

The Last Ride

This was simply heartbreaking. It’s a story about a guard at an ICE detention center for children who’s had enough. The sight of one particular girl locked up moves him in a way that others haven’t. So he takes matters into his own hands.

So, what did I think about Broken?

This is a fantastic collection—not a dud in the batch, although I liked some more than others, but that says more about my tastes than the quality of the stories. This really feels like a broad overview of “here’s the spectrum of what Crime Fiction can be” (except for cozy, I don’t know if Winslow is capable of cozy). Each story is distinct and self-contained*—it’s hard to think that some are written by the same man—with different voices, different types of stories, and so on.

* Although there are some links between some of these stories in the volume—as well as ties to earlier novels.

One reason that I don’t want to quibble too much with the whole “short novel” descriptor is that unlike many short stories or novellas—every one of these stories packed the punch of a novel. The plots, intricacies of story and character, the emotional weight, and whatever else you want to ascribe to the reading experience felt more like it belonged to a 200+ page novel rather than a 50± page story.

Anything else I can think to say at this point is just a repetition. This is a great collection from a master of the craft. Don’t miss 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 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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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.

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 along with a Q&A with the author

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What’s BaIT About?

Amber is a few short months away from leaving high school behind, going to college, and studying to become a teacher. It will be difficult saying goodbye to her best friend, Jessica, who is moving across the country, and to her boyfriend (and almost certain future husband), Frankie, who is also moving out of state for college—but she’s going to be okay. She has a plan, she’s got her hunk of a boyfriend, and life is looking good. Her future’s so bright, she’s gotta wear shades.

Until one day when a young man comes into the coffee shop that she’s working in and takes her breath away. He’s gorgeous, he’s shy, and she can’t stop thinking about him. It’s not just her, Jessica, is almost as smitten—but Bastian (as they learn he’s called) really only seems interested in Amber.

What neither girl realizes that beyond their giggling lusting and certainty about true love—Bastian coming into their lives brings threats and complications that they didn’t know existed. It’s not long before Amber is involved in ages-old struggles between werewolves and vampires, werewolves and werewolves, and a father and son. None of these characters will move on unchanged.

Worldbuilding

This is the best part of the book, period. The particular take on Werewolves here (and to a lesser extent, Vampires) really worked for me. There’s a little bit of the flavor of The Marrok from the Mercy Thompson series—but there’s group of elders instead of just Bram (and many other differences, but like I said—flavor).

There’s reason to think that this exists in the same world as his Mostly Human books. But it feels like the werewolves are organized differently (for lack of a better term). This raises some questions: are there multiple types of lycanthropes in this world and different types of lycanthropic magics? Has Jolly changed the way he thinks about them in this world? Has he just been inadvertently inconsistent? I ask about this in a Q&A with Jolly that will go up in an hour or so, but I haven’t read his response yet. So go see what he said to get a better take on this paragraph.

There’s also this Djalia-esque place/plane of existence where Bastian communicates with some people who I won’t identify. That was an excellent touch and proved to be a good way for Bastian to develop.

Even the concept of soulmate is an intriguing addition to this world—and if it had been presented differently, I might not have the concerns I’m about to talk about.

Consent

Vague spoilers ahead. Feel free to skip to the next section header.

This novel was pitched to me as “a Paranormal YA-Romance novel focusing on the theme of consent”. This is not my typical cup of tea, but I’ve read enough of all of those to be interested in Jolly’s take on them (especially in combination). When I wrote about his Mostly Human 2, I talked about wanting to see a Lad Lit novel by him, and this might be something in that direction. So I went for it.

First, this is not what I’d call YA. NA/New Adult—sure. But that’s not what I want to talk about.

There is a storyline that comes up later in the book all about consent in the ways you typically think about that storyline. Impaired judgment tied to underage drinking (not for a second saying it’s deserved or excusable, just painting the scene) and some jerk not bothering to get consent (or care about it in the first place). It’s dealt with well, Jolly is really good here. I do wonder if the punishment fits the crime, but hey…when you deal with werewolves and vampires (even if you don’t know it), things happen.

If that’s all that happened, I’d wonder why it was described as “about consent” because while it’s a vital storyline, it happens relatively late in the novel.

I can’t help but wonder, however, how the novel undercuts what it wants to say about consent. Throughout the novel Amber, Jessica, Frankie, and Bastian are really careful along those lines, and everyone is open and honest about their desires. But there’s this magic whammy of the Soulmate at work. Where Amber and Bastian are tied together emotionally, physically, and supernaturally before they know each other.

Can Amber and Bastian truly be said to consent to anything? It’s definitely not an informed consent. Had the whole soulmate thing grown out of their bond, or enhanced what happened naturally, that’d be fine. But truly they had no agency here—they chose to spend time together, to love each other, to be intimate with each other, and so on. But could they have made any other choice? I can’t buy it.

I might have missed something. I might be misinterpreting something—I absolutely am open to that. But for now…ick.

So, what did I think about BaIT?

This is a tough one to write. Jolly and I have interacted a bit over the years and I like him as much as you can like someone you’ve emailed with a couple dozen times. I enjoy his writing on the whole and look forward to seeing new books by him. And I have no doubt that there are people who are really going to get into this book and want more like it. And more power to them.

I am not one of those people.

It’s not just the consent issue (although that’s part of it). It’s not that I’m a prude and this book is definitely (and almost aggressively) “sex-positive” (although both are true, I’ve read and enjoyed more graphic work since this book).

Some of what put me off were the intensity of every thought and emotion expressed—it really felt like everything said, thought, or felt by the characters in their teens and twenties should’ve been accompanied by 5+ exclamation points. The pacing of the relationships, personal growth and change, and the story felt off and too accelerated to be believable.

I really think that this book plays into his strengths (it’s very much along the lines of the parts of Mostly Human 2 that I thought were the most successful). There are some great moments (Frankie witnessing werewolves changing and realizing what he was seeing, for example). There were some promising characters. Again, I really liked the Elders council idea. But for every “pro” in this book, I had two or three “con”s.

I’m not—very carefully and deliberately—saying, “don’t read this book.” I’m saying, “go into it with open eyes.” It’s a book that feels to me like it needs—like its primary characters—to grow up and mature a bit.

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

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What’s Kneading Journalism About?

This book is centered on the idea of the kitchen table—a (perhaps mythological) place where people can sit down, have a meal, and discuss a wide range of issues with respect and frankness. What can be found in every culture on the globe on those tables as a staple—particularly when enjoying the company of someone outside your household? Bread.

Ganzer used to work in a bakery and has recently gotten serious about his breadmaking again. He brings bread into this collection in two important ways. First, he includes a recipe for a different kind of bread to accompany every essay. Secondly, he incorporates something about the enjoyment, projection, and/or history of a bread into the essay about journalism (this sounds like it’d take some stretching or forcing of the issue—but it doesn’t. Or Ganzer’s just so good that he can force it without it feeling that way).

Beyond that—the essays themselves are about the state of journalism/news media in the U.S. and in other countries around the world (not exhaustively, just where Ganzer has some experience), along with personal reflections on his career in journalism. Some of the topics he covers are: journalism education (and how it can help “consumers” as well as “producers”); Machiavelli and his relation to the media as well as contemporary equivalents; The Daily Show and similar “journalism cosplay”; and being a reporter in the middle of the Egyptian revolution.

Bread

I want to start by saying how much I love this way of organizing the essays and the motif of the bread.

I’m no expert, but the recipes (advertised as for any level of baker) do look easy enough and pretty tasty. I need to get around to trying them someday.

But more importantly, the way that Ganzer weaves the various breads and factoids about it (wow, Germans seem to love the stuff) into these essays is really commendable and helps hook the reader into the rest.

Journalism

Ganzer is an advocate for and believer in a certain type of journalism—one that cares more about informing citizens for the public good, not one that’s about reinforcing our own bias.

To say that he takes a dim view of most cable news would be an understatement. He’s also not crazy about the way that public figures are calling the press the enemy of the American people—and going out of their way to erode trust in the press. Since Watergate, American esteem of reporters has shifted, and over the last few years that shifting has sped up.

What Ganzer wants to reinvigorate is a respect for constructive journalism. Reminding the reader that reporters can—and should—serve a vital function in society. Particularly in a democracy.

He compares and contrasts, for example, the way the press has been viewed and used throughout history, as well as in other parts of the world—like Egypt and Germany.

I’m going to cut myself off here before I say too much about Ganzer’s arguments—he’ll do a much better job of it, and I don’t want to muddy the waters.

So, what did I think about Kneading Journalism?

This is a great read—challenging, but in a friendly, welcoming way. Thoughtful and thought-provoking without being combative or overly critical. Ganzer has a point of view—and makes no claim about lack of bias here—but isn’t pushing a partisan outlook, just a pro-responsible press outlook. Brief, but not insubstantial.

I enjoyed reading these essays and appreciated the insight and opinions. But I couldn’t stop with just reading—I spent time afterward thinking about the individual essays as well as the book as a whole. Both in terms of the content of the essays as well as in how to apply and evaluate what I read/watch.

I’m afraid this isn’t going to find the readership it deserves—but I hope it does find readers that the message resonates with and that they can at least spread the ideas and carry them into their own lives and media consumption. It’s something all Americans need to think about before it’s too late.

I encourage you to read and think about this. I’d grab a new book by Ganzer without much thought and would hope that there are other books like it out there for me to read, too.

A cat, free from the restraints of flesh, muscle, and organ, stretched on the edge of the wagon, as if that would do anything for its skeletal body. Then it jumped down next to Mina and plodded over to the woman, who had returned to her chair by the fire. A partially- knitted scarf coiled in her lap as she continued to work on it. The skeletal cat found a comfortable piece of the woman’s dress, curled up at her feet, and licked its non- existent crotch with a non- existent tongue.

What’s A Necromancer Called Gam Gam About?

Twelve-year-old Mina is being pursued by armed men—armed men who had just killed her father. She has a special kind of magic, and those in power want to use her because of it.

She runs across a kindly grandmotherly type who introduces herself as Gam Gam. Gam Gam, it turns out, is a necromancer with a soft spot for endangered little girls. (probably endangered women, and males of all ages, too). She takes her Mina in and promises her safety. Gam Gam is a necromancer and can back up that promise (not definitively, but more than most people can).

They tell each other their stories—Mina tells her why she’s on the run, and Gam Gam tells her that she became a necromancer after the death of her grandchildren so she could resurrect them.

But first, Gam Gam decides that she needs to do something to keep Mina safe.

The Types of Magic

The bundle of bones at the top of the stove raised its feline skull and looked at Mina, then disregarded her and returned to a nap. Why did skeletal cats need so many naps?

Great question. But that’s not what I want to talk about here.

We see two types of magic portrayed with our two protagonists—with others floating out there in this world for us to encounter in future installments, I assume.

Necromancy is rarely something I’m interested in reading about unless the necromancer is about to be thwarted. I know there are exceptions (including here), but it’s hard to think about magic involving reanimating the dead as a good thing. But Holcombe not only makes that specialty seem interesting but gives the reader a necromancer you can root for.

I really liked the way one of the characters describes Gam Gam’s magic to Mina. It grounded the practice, for starters—you could understand it. It’s also idiosyncratic enough to fit Gam Gam to a T. From that point on, I could see that explanation at work—even when the text doesn’t refer to it.

Now Mina’s magic is a kind I’ve never encountered before—maybe a few things like it (particularly in SF rather than fantasy)—but it took almost no time at all for Holcombe to convey the potential—both for a character in fiction, as well as for an evil empire to exploit. In the hands of someone with little experience—for example, a 12-year-old—it could be dangerous. Okay, it could be dangerous in the hands of anyone, but people with experience would control and target the damage they inflict, a child would just inflict damage.

Having a novel (or novella, in this case) with a great magic system is a good start—but it’s how you convey the use of magic to the reader that’s the make/break point for me. And Holcombe nails this part. Mina’s as well as Gam Gam’s. This is a big selling point for me.

The Unexpected Content

Tears escaped her and raced down her cheeks. Was it possible to ever run out of tears? She couldn’t possibly have many more before she would start shriveling up.

Okay, you’ve got this friendly and caring Grandmother-type character. You’ve got a lost little girl who needs comfort. There’s a cute (in a certain way) cat. And using knitted goods as a bribe/reward/gift for the undead. Really, this sounds like it’s full of warm fuzzies and maybe a little bit of fun along with the adventure that a Fantasy should bring. Rightly or wrongly, I expected something with a similar tone to A Wizard’s Guide to Defensive Baking.

And it’s there. However…

You’re dealing with a twelve-year-old girl whose devoted father was murdered in his own home trying to protect her. She’s on the run from armed men who are out to use her for their own purposes. You’re also dealing with an elderly woman who mastered an entire type of magic at her advanced age fueled by grief in a gambit to cheat death. There’s nothing warm and fuzzy there.

These two characters are suffering—they need each other to get through what they’re dealing with. There’s healing (and the promise of more to come). But healing, comfort, and all that comes at the end. The cliché “the only way out is through” comes to mind here—most of this book (and likely future books) is in the “through.”

This is a bigger selling point for me.

So, what did I think about A Necromancer Called Gam Gam?

When [the zombie] chose socks, Gam Gam instructed it to lift a foot, then tugged the sock into place.

“Is this necessary, Gam Gam? Can they even feel the cold?” Mina asked.

“Of course it’s necessary, sweetie,” Gam Gam said as she pulled the second sock onto the zombie’s other foot. “Just because they’re undead doesn’t mean they have to be neglected.”

I was charmed instantly by this book, and that only grew throughout. Particularly once I cottened on to the fact that it wasn’t going to be a cozy kind of read—despite the scarves and sweaters. Once I saw what Holcombe was up to, I really got into things.

I don’t want to spoil anything but don’t get attached to any character. Just sayin.’ (okay, it’s called Book One of Chronicles of Gam Gam, so it’s probably safe to get attached to one. Although, given the loose correlation between death and characters doing things in this book…)

Holcombe has created a great little world for his characters to dwell in, and pairing Mina and Gam Gam together is a big one. He knows how to show the emotions of the moment—and to get the readers to buy into it. Even better, his depictions of the way magic works here are really well executed.

Even his choice of novella-length was smart. This isn’t a story that would work well with another 2-300 pages to tell it. Nor should it be the first part of a novel—this tight story is one that needs to be by itself.

I see that there’s a short story in this world that takes place sometime before this novel. I’ll be jumping on that soon while I begin the wait for Book Two.

This is a short read that packs the punch of a longer one, and I encourage you to give it a shot.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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First things first

I read a Beta copy of this—but a late-stage one, I think—so not a lot will have changed between what I read and what you’ll hopefully read. Still, there’s a chance that some things will have improved by the time you get to it.

What’s Mrs. Covington’s About?

This is a cozy fantasy, and as holds true for most of them, the plot could be summarized in a sentence or two. So I’m going to try to do that in a way that leaves some mystery.

Jacob is the son of one of the wealthiest businessmen in the Archipelago*, and is being pressured to join the family business, groomed to take it over, and so on. But he wants his own life. He wants something more than just carrying on his father’s work. Possibly even adventure. A life at sea perhaps?

* Yes, it takes place in the same world as the Azure Archipelago series, but it’s independent of that series and you don’t need to know anything about it to read this.

He’s dissuaded from pursuing that by someone he respects and looks for a new way to establish his own path. While doing so, he stops by a quiet pub in the city he’s visiting for a drink. While there the owner (mostly) jokingly offers to sell him the place. After thinking it over a bit, Jacob does that.

The bar is named for its resident capybara—Mrs. Covington—at sea, the capybara is supposed to bring good luck. She hasn’t seemed to do much for the pub yet, but maybe soon.

The first thing he has to do is find a way to make a profit—he offers the two employees there (a human, Tadrick, and a cigupa, Cora) full partnerships if they help him get this place in shape. Together they come up with a new business plan, redecorate, and start to devise new ways of bringing in customers (not all at once and not necessarily in that order, but I’m trying to summarize). The other thing Jacob does is befriend his neighbor, a widowed faun trying to raise two children and run a restaurant.

These four become friends and start to collaborate in a handful of ways.

When he bought Mrs. Covington’s, Jacob also received the parchment describing a local treasure hunt that belonged to the pub. People have been looking for the treasure for a while, and there’s no reason to think that Jacob and his new friends will have more success than anyone else. But like Wade Watts and his chums, they might as well try, right?

Platonic Relationships FTW

There are plenty of romantic relationships in this book, but none of them are the focus (as much as Cora’s parents try to steal focus with theirs). There’s even a nice past romance and the promise of a potential future one by the end of the book. But the relationships between the core characters are entirely platonic.

I don’t mind romantic stories or arcs—I think they’re a great way to show character, develop character, advance a plot, etc. But a good platonic friendship is one of those things that I admire more and more all the time—particularly between people who’d likely be coupled up in other books.

If the studies and stories I read hold true, friendships between adults are less and less common, and (American, at least) adults are more and more lonely and isolated. So maybe books about good friends are a new form of aspiration/fantasy? We don’t need to read books about swooning over someone we fancy anymore, just stories about falling into deep like?

Whatever lies at the root of it—I liked these friendships. All of them—the mutual support and encouragement in whatever configurations of characters were solid. Mrs. Covington’s sounds like a great place to hang out—maybe if you can’t hang out there with your own friends, reading about others doing it is a handy substitute?

Interludes

Something I should’ve mentioned in my beta feedback are the Interludes.* Three times we walk away from the story to get a glimpse of what’s going on with good old Mrs. Covington.

* Whoops. Sorry, K.R.R.! I’ll make it up to you next time.

These don’t advance the plot, give insight into the other characters, or anything like that—I’m not even sure they give insight into Mrs. Covington, because that would require a level of self-awareness that the rodent doesn’t seem to possess.

They are simply interludes. Nice, short, and quiet breaks from the novel. They’re the literary equivalent of taking a brief break to watch nature videos on Youtube or something. I’m just theorizing here, but it wouldn’t surprise me to find that they’re largely inspired by Lockhaven taking writing breaks to watch capybara videos.

I’m not sure why I used the term “quiet” there, it’s not like I’m talking about an audiobook here, but it fits. I guess it felt to me like there’s a film score playing quietly in the background (except when the band, Bilge Rat, is performing), and then the music dies for these interludes and all you get is crickets in the background or the sound of birds in the distance.

I’ve spent far more time than I originally intended to trying to describe the effect of these breaks. All I meant to say is that they’re an unexpected (unless you just read this) and thoroughly pleasant little addition to this book—and the kind of thing that most authors wouldn’t have thought to throw in.

I doubt that Lockhaven would be able to find enough of a story to justify a novella or novel along these lines. But a collection of scenes/episodes/random days in the life of the titular capybara would be something I’d jump on and probably return to often. Especially if he could get a great illustrator on board.*

* There’s your next Kickstarter, K.R.R. You’re welcome. Maybe this evens the score?

So, what did I think about Mrs. Covington’s?

I joked earlier about the plot being minimal—although it’s true. That’s not to say that the plot is inconsequential or bland. It’s a fun little story–Treasure Hunts have been a tried and true story engine since at least the time when Jason and his pals went on that cruise. And who can’t relate to a group of friends coming together to build something special? There’s enough plot to get your teeth into even while it’s not likely to be what you focus on.

I’ve made it this far and haven’t even talked about the villain of the piece. Ugh. You can tell how much importance I put on him. Think Charles Durning’s Doc Hopper from The Muppet Movie or Chris Cooper’s Tex Richman from The Muppets, or a good number of the men behind the masks in the original Scooby-Doo series. I’m not sure why I’m stuck on examples like them instead of something more highbrow, but that’s the frame of mind I’m in. He’s mean (actually, I don’t think he cares enough to be mean…maybe spiteful?), he’s power- and money-hungry, and doesn’t like anyone not acceding to his whims. He’s perfect for this story—and not that important ultimately. Yes, he’s standing in the friends’ way, so they have to do something—but he’s not as present as other obstacles.

I do have some quibbles about the timing of some of the elements. I think some of the relationships develop too quickly, and I wonder about the timeline for a couple of things. I don’t know if Lockhaven’s able to massage that a bit before the final version comes out, but I do think it needs some tweaking. That said—they’re only quibbles. I liked where every relationship went, how they developed, and so on. And all the events that happen too suddenly for my comfort? I enjoyed them all and understand why he put them where he did. So ultimately, I don’t care if that kind of thing works well because I enjoyed the results. To paraphrase Joel Hogson, “repeat to yourself, “It’s just a book, I should really just relax.”

And it’s easy to relax with this book—because it’s such a pleasant, comfy atmosphere. A treasure hunt with the staff of the friendliest bar this side of Cheers! might be the plot of this cozy fantasy novel. But the book’s core is kindness, community, optimism, and helping. Brought to you in a great fantasy world with a light and engaging voice, Mrs. Covington’s will leave you snug and content.

The book delivers on what it promises—comfort. Warm fuzzies. Kindness. Good times. It’ll brighten your day, and make the world feel like a better place for a bit.

Read it when you can.

What’s 100 Places to See After You Die About?

Ken Jennings provides a handy tour guide through one hundred visions of the afterlife for the modern reader. Complete with tips on places to see, areas to avoid, local lingo, bits of trivia, dining tips, and so on, it’s just the kind of thing you’re going to want to peruse before you shuffle off this mortal coil, so you know where to go.

The book is broken down into: Mythology, Religion, Books, Movies, Music and Theater, and Miscellaneous. Then (alphabetically) Jennings looks at a variety of afterlife locales in each category.

For example, the Books section covers:

Aslan’s Country • The Bridge • The Cemetery • The Empyrean • The Five Lessons • Half-Life • The Inbetween • Inferno • The Kingdom • King’s Cross • Mansoul • The Null • Pandemonium • Paradiso • The Parish • Purgatorio • Riverworld • The Third Sphere • The Time Bubble • The Undying Lands • The Valley of the Shadow of Life*

* From Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia and The Great Divorce; O’Connor’s story “Revelation”; Saunders’ Lincoln in the Bardo; Milton’s Paradise Lost; Albom’s The Five People You Meet in Heaven; Dick’s Ubik; Sebold’s The Lovely Bones; Dante’s The Divine Comedy; Twain’s “Captain Stormfield’s Visit to Heaven”; Rowling’s Harry Potter; Moore’s Jerusalem; King’s Revival; O’Brien/O’Nolan’s The Third Policeman; Farmer’s Riverworld; Matheson’s What Dreams May Come; Oliver’s The Time Bubble; and Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings.

Jennings describes each place with wit, humor, Dad Jokes, puns, irreverence, and plenty of facts.

Dancing Through a Minefield

It’s one thing to talk about places like Valhalla, Hades, The Bad Place, Bill & Ted’s Bogus destination, or Futurama‘s Robot Hell in a light-hearted or flippant fashion. It’s an entirely different can of worms to discuss the LDS Three Kingdoms of Glory, Jannah, Jahannam, Ariel Toll Houses/Telonia, and so on—in the same tone.

I will not say that Jennings was able to fully succeed in discussing the afterlives described in some major religions in an unoffensive manner. Primarily because I’m not an adherent of any of the religions he discussed, so my tolerance for that is really high. Had he tackled something I believe in, I very well could’ve been at risk of insult.

That said, I think he did okay. Yes, he walks close to irreverent. But he maintains a decent degree of respect. The humor largely comes from the way he describes the beliefs not at the expense of an article of faith.

Still, some people might want to skip over a chapter or two if they’re worried about getting their toes stepped on. (but those people probably aren’t going to be reading this book in the first place)

A Few Highlights

Ohhh, there are just so many.

The Books section was my favorite—followed closely by Movies and Television—this is the kind of thing I blog about, think about, and so on, so it makes sense that those sections resonated with me most. The Books section, in particular, discussed portions of those works in ways I could really sink my teeth into.

But there were multiple highlights in each section—I learned a lot about D&D, I couldn’t help singing “Ghost Riders in the Sky” during that chapter, I think he pointed out a good plot hole in It’s a Wonderful Life (I don’t know, maybe he’s not the first), I loved the discussion of Bosch’s paintings, and so on.

The chapter on The Good Life was fantastic—a great systemization of the series’ take on the afterlife (and several characters). The chapter on Nirvana was sublime.

Books, movies, mythologies, songs, etc. that I’ve never heard of, much less, read/watched/listened to/studied were described in enough detail that I could appreciate those chapters and maybe even develop an interest in following up on.

Problems/Quibbles/Things That Didn’t Work for Me

Um. Hold on, I’ll think of something.

…

…

oh! Here’s a problem: the eARC came with the typical “don’t quote from this version until verified by the published edition” warning—but it was more pronounced than usual. I really want to use samples throughout this post, but I can’t. (and I wouldn’t have even without this warning, because I know things get tweaked in the final stages).

Actually, I do have a legitimate gripe. There are no footnotes—or even endnotes*—for anything that Jennings says. Most of what the book contains could fall into the category of “General Knowledge” (at least for people who know anything about The Good Place, Dante, or the religion of the Maori). But I wouldn’t have minded a point in the right direction to learn some more details, context, or background on many, many, many things Jennings wrote about.

* It’s been decades since I haven’t asked why a book uses endnotes when footnotes exist, and yet I’d have liked to have them in this book more than the nothing we got. That’s how much this bothers me.

I Can’t Help Pondering…

Given the argument of Planet Funny: How Comedy Took Over Our Culture by Ken Jennings, I wonder about his approach to the subject of the afterlife. Sure, even Planet Funny was frequently funny as it critiqued the overuse of humor in our culture, but for his next book to take this tone, seems to undercut the work.

Or maybe it just shows that even as he can look with clear eyes at some of the weaknesses of our culture, he’s part of it and is subject to the influences. It’s almost like he’s human.

So, what did I think about 100 Places to See After You Die?

This section is going to be shorter than usual because I think I’ve pretty much answered the question already.

From the “throwaway lines” to the big ideas, this was a delight from start to finish. I thoroughly enjoyed this approach to the subjects—quick hits that tell you the essentials and make you smile while telling them.

Jennings' style is one I aspire to, and can’t say enough good things about.

I can’t think of a reason not to give this 5 Stars, but my gut tells me not to. So I’ll knock it down to 4 1/2 (which isn’t a big deal since Goodreads, NetGalley, etc. won’t let me use 1/2 stars, I’ll round up). It’s educational, it’s entertaining, and it’s thought-provoking. You can’t go wrong with this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Sunbolt About?

We start with a chase scene through a street market that might as well be scored by Alan Menken (although Jafar or Genie is to be found anywhere in the rest of the book, Hitomi would have no problem with a Jafar). Our protagonist, a thief—and someone of a clearly different ethnicity to everyone around her—is scrappy and nimble, getting away from her pursuers (quasi-official mercenaries) with the help of some of the sellers in the market.

We learn that this brash young woman is named Hitomi and she’s allied (somewhat) with a group calling itself the Shadow League, which is trying to stand up to an increasingly corrupt and oppressive government. The government is backed by the Arch Mage Wilhelm Blackflame (who is just about to be running everything through puppets).

Hitomi and some allies head out one night to save a powerful family from arrest and (likely) execution—and almost everything that could go wrong does. Hitomi and some of the family are captured. And then…well, this book about scrappy freedom fighters becomes something very different.

The World Building

At the beginning of the book, Khanani provides a guide to pronouncing some of the names in the book—I always appreciate that kind of thing (if one was grading, I’d have gotten a low B, incidentally, on my own). In her lead-up to that, she mentions that the fantasy world she’s created and the cultures within it “are primarily based on a variety of real-world historical cultures.” I wish she’d have listed (at least a partial list) of those cultures just for curiosity’s sake. I spent a little too much time wondering what X or Y came from after reading that. (and was very likely wrong 60+% of the time)

But ultimately, it doesn’t matter what those sources were, because she’s made them into something new and fit for her world. And whatever the backgrounds may be, they work really well for this novel—perhaps better than it do in our own. It’s familiar and yet foreign all at once. Khanani doesn’t drown us in details or anything like that (thankfully), but you have the impression that everything has been worked out thoroughly (whether or not it has been) and that this a fully-developed world with a fascinating history and a future worth saving.

We only get a hint of the magic system, but has a lot of promise. The variety of magical races (for lack of a better term) is great, and (again) familiar to a fantasy reader, but specific to Khanani’s world. You can’t help but want to learn more about both the magic system and the races, you get enough to carry you through the novel—but you want more.

So, what did I think about Sunbolt?

Sunbolt is short. Freakishly short for the genre, really. But that brevity works so well for this story. Like a wizard and punctuality, this book is precisely as long as it needed to be. It tells the story it needs to in a satisfying manner and then is done. Yes, it prepares you for the second book in the series, but not in a cliffhanger way.

I wouldn’t have minded if the book was longer if it meant we got to spend more time with the characters—but that’s what a sequel is for, right?

There’s a moment really early on that made me grimace—Khanani over-explained a moment robbing it of its power. And as I so often do, I murmured a silent plea (pointless since the book had been out for a decade) for her to trust her audience. But that was the only time that the book stopped me with something like that—most of the writing was subtle, nuanced, and smooth. I did have to stop a few times to re-read sentences because I liked them so much.

Hitomi—fierce, independent, determined, and over-her-head—is one of those characters you gravitate to immediately and while you know she’s making a blunder here and there, you can’t help but root for her. Sadly for her, her blunders tend to work out better than some of her plans—a treat for her readers, however.

I’m going to avoid a deep dive on the rest of the characters, although I think many of them deserve it. I’m not sure I trust everyone in the Shadow League, but they’re all intriguing characters—and I’d gladly read a Shadow League novel tomorrow to get to know them better. The villains are some of the worst I’ve run across this year, and you can’t complain about that. Then there’s someone who becomes rather important to Hitomi in the closing chapters…I think they could go down as one of my favorites of the year (and easily become someone I despise in a future encounter).

A well-paced story, with strong characters, and a great fantasy world to explore. That’s all the makings of a winner in my book. Sunbolt is a quick, fascinating read that will make you want to click on the order button for the sequel as soon as you finish.

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

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What’s The Hero Interviews About?

The child and sibling of heroic adventurers, Elburn Barr, has taken a different path in life—one fit for someone with his particular set of skills (or lack thereof). He is a Loremaster—no spells, weapons, or danger for him, thank you very much. At this point in his life/career, Elburn has set out to understand what makes a hero tick—what is it that drives them, what early influences molded them, how do they keep going on? Does it vary from type to type? Are Barbarians made of different stuff from a Cleric or a Thief? What about a Ranger or a Wizard?

In addition to interviewing various leading examples of each type of hero, he talks to non-heroes, too. Like a farmer whose farm was saved(?) by some heroes from a dragon, the curator of a hero museum, people who run/design dungeons, etc.

We get these interviews in transcript form—with a little introduction from Elburn at the beginning of each, and maybe a little narrative about what’s going on around them during the interview, or what he does after. But primarily, it’s transcriptions of the interviews.

In addition to trying to understand the heroic psyche in general, Elburn’s hoping to understand and maybe connect with his adventurer-filled family. But he has an ulterior motive for all this—his older brother went off adventuring ten summers ago, and Elburn would like to know what happened to him. He’s hoping to find him alive somewhere but will settle for just knowing what happened.

This sounds heavy—but I should stress that this is a comedy. There’s a serious story (or three) being told, sure. But the book is a comedy.

Comic Footnotes

I’m a long-established fan of comic footnotes in novels—see what I’ve said about Josh Bazell, Lisa Lutz, Thomas Lennon, and K.R.R. Lockhaven for example. But Ewington puts them all to shame.

At least in terms of volume—there are almost 2 per page, although I’d have wagered it was higher than that (that’s an average—there are pages with several). Occasionally, it feels annoying to stop the flow of what you’re reading to check it. All I can say is that if you’re feeling that way, just keep reading and then circle back for the footnote after that bit of dialogue or at the end of the chapter—it’s not going anywhere.

On the whole, they work better in the moment without doubling back, so click the link if you’re not at the annoyed point. I did it both ways depending on my mood and can vouch for both methods. Whatever you do, don’t skip them.

You get a good sense of Elburn’s personality and attitude toward his interview subjects from the main text—but it really shines forth in the footnotes. To really understand the protagonist, you need to read them.

But your comedy-per-word ratio is higher in the footnotes, too. In the main text, comedy has to come out of the words, situations, and characters. In the footnotes, Ewington doesn’t have to do that—he can just make the joke. Frequently, that’s all it is—the joke. Neither is a superior joke-delivery method, it’s just easier to get to the funny bit in the footnote.

Audience

Anyone who’s into Fantasy to one degree or another is going to be able to appreciate most of what Ewington’s doing here. There is a pretty solid D&D-basis to everything, however, so the more you understand and/or have been exposed to the game.

The Length

There’s no getting around this point, The Hero Interviews is long. One might argue that it’s too long. I’m not sure I’d agree—but I wouldn’t disagree.

Early on (maybe around the 20% mark), I started to wonder if this thing wouldn’t work better as a trilogy. Break this into (roughly) thirds, add a 1-3 page Epilogue/Prologue to each to connect them and it’s a lot easier to digest. I think it’d work. Check out my Q&A with Ewington to see why he disagrees with that idea. I’m not entirely convinced, but at the end of the day, it’s not that important.

I do wonder how many readers will find their patience pushed by the length—I’d tell them to stick with it because it’s absolutely worth it (but taking a break every few chapters isn’t the worst idea).

A practical downside to the length is that it’s likely cost-prohibitive to publish this in paperback. This is a real shame because everyone I can think of to give this to won’t read it in ebook. (but I’m trying to think of a way to work around that)

So, what did I think about The Hero Interviews?

I hate when people drag out Douglas Adams or Terry Pratchett when talking about humorous SF/F, but I can’t get away from this one. For a long time, I’ve said that Life, the Universe, and Everything by Douglas Adams isn’t so much a novel as it is a series of comic episodes/scenes/bits trying to look like a novel.* As I’ve been trying to come up with a succinct way to talk about this book the last few weeks, I’ve decided that it’s the opposite—it’s a novel trying to look like a series of comic episodes/scenes/lines.

* I feel compelled to add at this point that I love the book, some of my favorite lines/paragraphs/ideas from Adams are in it. But it’s not a good novel.

It takes a while to see the plotlines emerge—it really does seem to be a light-hearted look at D&D clichés, stereotypes, tropes, etc. at the beginning, but eventually, you start to see the story arcs emerging and even start to see Elburn grow and develop. That’s something I didn’t expect to see when I started reading this.

If only because I have memories of interview transcripts and fantasy humor (and sadly, not much else), I expected this to feel like Off to See the Wizard by Clay Johnson, but it really doesn’t. Ewington’s ambitions are larger—and he packs more jokes into his pages. Ewington is also more interested in playing with the tropes and types of the genre, while Johnson was working within pretty well-established types.

Once I got to the interview with Gwenyn, the poor farmer with a field ruined by a dragon corpse left behind by heroes, I knew this book was for me. The Mime Warrior interview was so ridiculous that I had to love it—and I even came around to the least-Conan-like Barbarian (I admit I had a hard time with that one at first blush). Ewington both seems to embrace and relish going for the obvious joke—but the way he gets there, or what he surrounds the obvious joke with—that’s pretty special and creative. I’m not sure that makes a lot of sense, you’re just going to have to read it to see what I’m trying to communicate.

It’s really easy to see why Jodie recommended this one to me for the 12 Books Challenge, and I’m so glad she did (I wanted to, but hadn’t gotten around to buying it until she did). You should pretend that she recommended it to you, too (here, read her post about it). I mean, I’m recommending it to you—but maybe you’ll listen to both of us more than you’d listen to just me.

You’ll laugh; you’ll chuckle; you’ll grin; you’ll shake your head and roll your eyes while wondering, “Did he just find another way to make the same fireball joke?”*; and you’ll have a lot of fun. No better time than the present to go grab this, you’ll be glad you did.

* Yes, yes he did.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Death at Paradise Palms About?

After they solved a murder a few months earlier, the Retired Detectives Club has gained a certain amount of notoriety around the Homestead Retirement Community, so it’s not terribly surprising that when a resident has some concerns they call them for help. Particularly when that resident has had bad experiences with the police previously.

This particular resident is a retired movie star, Olivia Hamilton Ziegler. Her husband is missing, and she suspects foul play. They’re having no problems and it’s not like him to just not come home, not call, not pick up his phone, etc.

The Club jumps in, more than willing to help—they find a handful of decent suspects and start to dig into the background of each when a ransom demand shows up. Now they have a pressing deadline and more than a wife’s intuition. It’s time for these retired detectives to get to work.

Distracted Detectives

I’m not sure if this says something about Broadribb’s view of Americans, but in Death in the Sunshine we see that the three British retirees have things from their past that are hovering over them. I like that dynamic, but it’s good that not everyone has some deep, dark secret. Rick, our DEA retiree, seems to be baggage-free and easygoing. Maybe that just means we haven’t seen his baggage, or maybe Broadribb just thinks Americans are shallow.*

* I’m kidding. Probably.

With our British friends, however, things have happened to push these problems from hanging over their heads to being front-and-center in their minds. Normally this would be good, they’re working on the issues, dealing with the issues. However, when this club is the only one working on this kidnapping—the only outsiders aware of it—dealing with personal stuff becomes a distraction. Potentially a fatal one.

All three of these people make huge mistakes in the course of this investigation, easily observable mistakes (especially to the reader). And it’s not because they’re older, it’s not because their minds are slower, or their bodies aren’t up to what they used to be able to do—it’s because their heads aren’t in the game.

This makes for compelling storytelling, it’s great to see flawed characters battling with their flaws—but it’s a good thing they’re all retired because this is the kind of thing that should hurt a career.

The Series Arc

Ultimately, I think this series going to be telling the story of the shenanigans at the top of the Homestead Retirement Community. In Death in the Sunshine we see pretty clearly that TPTB filter the news and do what they can to prevent anything negative from getting out to the public or into the residents. And if it does show up, it’s quickly erased.

This takes work on the Social Media, old-school media, and possibly even law enforcement fronts—there’s no way that it’s all coincidental, unintentional, or any other excusable motivation. So the questions that need to be answered are why is this being done, who profits, who is hurt by this, and what actions are being taken/pressures applied, to get these various and sundry groups to quash the information.

Some of the residents see that this is going on—but (if you ask me) not enough seem that concerned—Moira sure is and is doing something about it. She’s working with a local reporter, although she has reason to believe that this is not the safest path for either of them to be taking. But that doesn’t seem to deter her.

I really hope that she’s able to get more of the Club on board with this soon—not that I want them distracted from their next big case. But she’s going to need some backup.

So, what did I think about Death at Paradise Palms?

I remember enjoying Death in the Sunshine, but I’d largely forgotten why. It was good to be reminded—this isn’t your typical elderly amateur detective series—this is a grittier take on that trend, full of people who are only amateur now, it wasn’t that long ago they were professionals, and they’ve still got the goods.

I did clock the Main Bad Guy instantly, and can only excuse the Club for not doing the same because of all their distractions (and because they’re not aware that they’re fictional characters, a lot of what tipped me off came from being a reader). So for me, the tension came from wanting to know how long it would take them to get around to discovering the truth—and how they’d use what they learned from the false trails to get there. That was enough for me—the good in this series doesn’t come from the whodunit—but from how they’re caught.

This, like all of Broadribb’s work, is a fast and fun read—it hooks you early and doesn’t let go until it’s good and ready to. Just buckle in and enjoy the ride. I can’t imagine I’ll let the next one of these sit ignored on my Kindle as I did this one.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Haven About?

Let’s start with a little background: In a slightly future US, a scientist triggers a sudden mutation in people all over the world matching a certain genetic profile—these people developed certain abilities and displayed physical changes to match. Think X-Men like Beast, Nightcrawler, and Angel. For various reasons, these people take on the generic name of Fae and adopt the names of mythical/fantasy species that line up with their appearances/abilities.

Like every movie and comic book—and common sense—tells us, humans don’t react well to this. In fact, they try to exterminate the Fae. The Fae prefer to live and fight back. Eventually, the war ends and two “reservations” are set up for the Fae to live in. One in northern Canada and one in England. In Europe, tensions ease and the Fae are able to integrate pretty well with humans. In North America, the United States particularly, it gets worse and worse, with vigilantes hunting those newly Changed.

The novel starts fifty or so years after the war on the worst day of Owen Williams’ life. He’s out for a nice evening with his family when everything goes wrong—his wife dies in a traffic accident as he was speeding her to the ER. It turns out that she was in pain because she was beginning to change into a Gryphon. What’s worse—his children have been taken from his home, apparently kidnapped.

Reeling, he’s approached by a Fae who offers Owen a choice. Come along as they smuggle his children to their hidden city for their own safety (it’s likely some or all of his children will Change now) or never see them again. He throws in his lot with the Fae at a time the Cold War between them and the US is starting to heat up.

The Worldbuilding

This is a great piece of worldbuilding—yes, there’s an element to it that feels like The X-Men or Alien Nation or other fantasy series about people thought to be fictional revealing themselves to humanity. But while Domace’s take is familiar, there’s a freshness to it, too.

Also, there’s a reason so many stories are told with a similar framework—it works really well. I’m not criticizing anything by saying it’s familiar, I’m simply describing it.

The differences between the two settlements (we don’t see the UK version, but we hear about it) is a very nice touch. Our focus is on settlement in Canada, Tearmann. It was very well thought out and executed. My favorite thing is that other than what’s required due to physiology (dragons need more space than dwarves, etc.) the city and society is integrated—dwarves live alongside shades and elves. Sure the wolves tend to pack together, but they also are good neighbors.

Quibbles

Please see what I called this section—quibbles. Not “systemic problems” or critiques.

I think this world’s concept of Fae could’ve been introduced better. I hear “Fae,” I think races/species, not mutation. When it was said that Owen’s wife was Changing it threw me—had this been a secret she’d been keeping from him? Could she change back and forth?

His children could’ve been better developed and differentiated earlier—for most of the book, my investment in them was solely based on them being “Owen’s children.” For most of them, that changes by the end. But it takes too long for that (also, I had a hard time keeping them straight because we didn’t get to know them as people). This is fine when it comes to Tiffany, his wife—I’m okay with caring about her solely because she’s his dead wife—she dies so early I don’t need to know much about her (see: Uncle Ben Parker, Scout Finch’s mother, etc.)

One of the quirks of this series is that your fantasy creatures (largely) have everyday names—Jason, Peter, Betty, etc. They’re 0-3 generations away from humans and largely stick with the names they grew up with. This goes down as a plus in my book except for in the beginning—I’m still struggling to figure out what name goes with which of the five Wilson children and I get a Fae team named Jason, Nathan, Tony, Abey, etc. Just so many names flying around without a lot to associate them with. My quibble is only with this being unnecessarily not-easy for the reader.

Lastly, the events of the novel that come after the Wilsons are smuggled out of the country happen too quickly. We’re told the family adapted and fell into a routine after X happens—and then learn that it’d be three days? That’s not time for a comfortable routine for a family of 6. Deep friendships develop far too quickly, etc. (particularly between Owen and the Queen). Change the specifics about days and weeks in this part of the novel, and I wouldn’t have noticed. But they call attention to themselves when they become too difficult to believe.

To sort of take back what I said at the beginning of this section—I guess I have a systemic quibble—Domace needed to give everything more space, let it breathe a little, let the reader as well as the characters, be in the moments a little more so things can develop. I loved the platonic friendship between Owen and the Queen, but it happened too quickly, for example.

So, what did I think about Haven?

I want to stress here that I enjoyed this—but the things I liked are either too specific for a brief post like this or involve spoilers. I spent a lot of space on quibbles because it takes space to explain them. But something like “I loved the platonic friendship between Owen and the Queen,” is just ten words—to say more would ruin the experience for a reader.

Here’s another vague compliment—each Change that happens to a Wilson child is done perfectly—the child’s reaction, the family’s reactions, and the community’s are so great that I wanted to read them again just to see.

There’s a gentle humor shown throughout the book—adding just the right amount of flavor to some descriptions and keeping some dire scenes from being too gloomy. Domace’s descriptions of the people and city of Tearmann are vivid enough to prompt the reader’s imagination to fully see them.

Do I think this book could’ve been better? Sure—most things can. This is book is so close to being very good that its stumbles seem more obvious than others, though.

At the end of the day, I liked this book—and am curious about the sequel, because I think the choices that Domace makes are interesting and I want to see how things get resolved. I recommend this to readers of Mike Chen—it’s a similar mix of SF/F story with family drama (the ratio favors the SF/F than Chen’s typical ratio) as well as all readers who want to see a new and fresh twist on familiar ideas.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Lie to Her About?

The first crime scene Bree and her department are called to in this book centers around a man incapacitated by a stun gun and then had his head wrapped in a thick layer of plastic wrap to smother him. If that image doesn’t stick in your head for a while, you probably didn’t pay attention. During the autopsy, when the wrap is removed, it’s revealed that the word “Liar” had been carved into his forehead.

The rest of the crime scene was clean, leading Bree and Matt to conclude that this was a well-planned as well as very personal crime. The question is, was this enough for the killer? Or did they have a list of victims?

Sadly, it seems to be a list—another victim is discovered soon after. It doesn’t take the Sheriff’s Department long to focus on the dating app usage of both men and the women in common from their history.

It then becomes a race against time as the killer may have other targets—and they just might have added Bree to their list.

Chief Deputy Todd Harvey

I’ve had a section with this title for a few books now, and I might be on the verge of dropping it. Leigh’s starting to do right by Harvey! Sure, he had to go through some trauma in Dead Against Her to get to this point, but he’s coming back from it (it seems Bree’s having a harder time with it than Todd is).

Yes, he is still largely there to serve as a conduit for exposition—but in this novel he had both an independent personal story, and conducted part of the investigation on his own, trusting his gut and skills. It’s satisfying to see.

The Time Frame

We’re told (repeatedly) over the course of this book that it’s been almost a year since the murder of Bree’s sister, bringing her to town and to her new career as Sherrif.

It’s only been a year? That’s a lot of serial killers, multiple murderers, and so on for one smaller community. Not to mention all the havoc wreaked on the lives of the county as a whole. But if you just focus on what’s happened to Bree’s family and close associates? It’s a testimony to her that anyone’s still around her (multiple kidnappings, serious wounds, assaults, and attempted murders).

Hopefully, things slow down for them (in series-time, not in the release of books).

So, what did I think about Lie to Her?

Like with many police procedurals (or mystery novels in general), our main characters spend a lot of time pursuing dead ends. The reader isn’t given the killer’s identity here like it so often happens, but most readers will be able to tell that’s what is going on. By the time that Bree, Matt, and Todd are convinced it’s X and head out to make an arrest, the reader will likely have figured it out, though, and know they’re wrong—if only because of how many pages are left. Minor spoiler: Leigh gets our heroes on the right track much quicker than I expected, though.

I mention that because I didn’t spend as much time being frustrated with our investigators as I so often get—they’re pursuing the leads they have in a way that makes sense, and it’s not the case (for most of the novel) that the reader has more information, either. Leigh keeps the story moving at a good enough pace that the reader stays engaged while knowing that the wrong target is being chased.

The mystery itself was pretty satisfying, with a good motive and an interesting plan for the killer. The observations about the motive and method after the killer is stopped helped justify some of the story choices.

The personal storylines were just as satisfying—nothing exciting, just good and steady development.

The Bree Taggert series continues to be a reliable procedural and one I think mystery fans will appreciate. Lie to Her works as a jumping-on point for those who don’t feel compelled to start at the beginning (as do any of the novels in the series), and I’d recommend giving this a shot if you haven’t tried the series yet.

This originally appeared in Grandpappy's Corner at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Wonky Donkey About?

Lifted from the lyrics of a children’s song, the book starts:

I was walking down the road and I saw…

a donkey,

Hee Haw!

And goes on from there to describe this unfortunate equine in more and more detailed (and ridiculous) ways–starting with its three legs, going on to describe its taste in music, coffee consumption, attitude, attractiveness, and so on.

Let’s Talk about the Art for a Minute

Katz Cowley is fantastic. The natural world and physical objects are presented in a great realistic fashion–heightened just a bit. The titular donkey and a bird that shows up in every scene, however, are a goofy cartoonish exaggeration of that fashion

I don’t know who decided to give this donkey a prosthetic leg–but it only comes up in the illustrations, so I’m going to give Cowley credit for it. It’s a great detail on many levels.

The expressions on the bird and donkey are the stars of the show–better than the words (by a crooked hair). I don’t know how a child can look at them and not want to stare. Or not wanting to pick up the book for another reading session.

Especially when a child is the age of the target audience, the adult reading the book is going to see themselves in the coffee-less expression of the donkey on the page talking about the caffeine deprivation. So everyone wins?

You can see some of the art, and learn more about the book, on Cowley’s website.

How is it to Read Aloud?

Ohhh boy. This is going to be hard to convey. First, it was only after I’d read this that I took the time to track down the song, but I couldn’t help but get a sing-songy cadence and voice as I read it. I also found myself talking faster and faster as I went through the book–like there was this unconscious effort on my part to spend the same amount of time reading each pair of pages–like a snowball rolling downhill, growing bigger and getting faster. This is great and all, but it’s also kind of a workout of both stamina and verbal dexterity.

You can’t help having fun with these lines–even as they build up and repeat like the 12 Days of Christmas. Really, try being expressionless or frowny while saying “He was a hanky-panky crank stink-dinky lanky honky-tonky wink wonky donkey.” You can’t, can you?

You might need to start using a spirometer before cracking this thing open though. As fun as it is, you’re going to end up getting requests for encores, and after 2-3 readings in a row, it’s going to lose a little bit of its charm. So keep something else around so you can switch to it for a minute or two before having to come back.

(between you and me, the song isn’t my style. I really hope the Grandcritter doesn’t discover it, because it feels like the kind of thing that’d you’d have to listen to 30 times a day–like that ditty about an infant scaleless predatory fish)

So, what did I think about Wonky Donkey?

A couple of weeks ago, my wife was telling a friend about our prep work for grandkids, including all the books we’re starting to stockpile. Once she got over being aghast that we’d never heard of The Wonky Donkey, she insisted that we fix this. We dutifully complied and it’s either one of the best moves we’ve made or one of the worst (see what I said above about reading it).

Joking aside, this is a great book for the intended age group. I’m going to have to do a deep dive into both the work of Smith and Cowley.

The other thing my wife’s friend told us was to get the board book–and she was right again. Parents/Grandparents/Etc. Do NOT get the paperback or hardcover. If the child(ren) doesn’t/don’t like the book, you’ll have spent too much money. If they do like the book (the more likely outcome), they will destroy it. It’s going to demand the number of re-re-re-re-reads that anything else won’t hold up to it. It’s also going to end up being one of those books a kid is going to carry around with them and flip through themselves–a lot. Paperbacks/hardcovers will not survive the gumming, accidental ripping, deliberate ripping, and overall expressions of toddler love that are so destructive.

I can’t see where this doesn’t become a tongue-tying obsession. The book you know the kid will love, you enjoy (the first few times a day you read it), you end up memorizing without trying to and just hope your lung capacity holds out during. It’s fun, it’s goofy, and it’s the kind of thing you’ll look back on in fondness.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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Before I begin, let me just say that you are wasting your time reading this post when you could be out buying or borrowing and reading this book.

If you’ve made the mistake of sticking around, I’ll go ahead and talk about the book, I guess. But really, your priorities are wrong.

What’s Chain-Gang All-Stars About?

In the not-too-distant future, laws regarding the incarceration of serious felons have been adjusted, and the Criminal Action Penal Entertainment program is born. Under CAPE, convicted murderers (many with other convictions as well) can be set free before the end of their sentence if they agree to participate. Participation however, could result in their violent death.

Under CAPE, these felons will face off one-on-one (sometimes two-on-two) against other felons in a fight to the death. If you survive a bout, you score some points and progress to the next fight (in a week or so). As you gain victories, you can earn points to be used for weapons, better food, clothing, equipment, etc. After three years, you will be released.

These felons are organized in Chain Gangs associated with the participating prisons. Links (as the fighters are called) in the same Chain do not face off against each other, and become (to varying degrees depending on their chain) teams—encouraging each other, giving tips, etc.

This has become the largest sports entertainment in the U.S. Throngs show up for live events or to watch a stream. You can also subscribe to almost constant live feeds of the Links between fights. Some fighters become superstars, with corporate sponsors, merchandise, inspiring their own fashion trends, etc.

Over the course of the novel, we follow (primarily) one Link from her initial bout to the final weeks of her time. We get to know her Chain—a couple of Links in particular—as well as Links from other Chains, so we can see how people join, survive, and (usually) die through this entertainment. We also get to know some of the executives and sportscasters becoming rich from this, some fans and subscribers—as well as some of the protestors trying to stop the program.

The Links

Most of the time we follow Loretta Thurwar and Hamara “Hurricane Staxxx” Stacker. LT’s on the verge of freedom, and Staxxx isn’t far behind. They try (with some success) to get their Chain to act differently, to help each other in ways others don’t. At the same time, they’re dealing with the emotions of LT not being around for much longer (one way or another) and Staxxx moving into the leadership role. We get to know them and their team, what brought them to this point in their lives, and what might be around the corner.

But we don’t just focus on those two—there are other Links, in other Chains, that we watch. Some as they make the transition from prisoner to Link, some in their early (and final) bouts. As horrible as the fights to the death are—and they are—it’s the time with these other Links that really cements the horror of what is happening to and through all the Links. There’s one man who spends a lot of time in solitary confinement and some of what he goes through made a bigger impact on me than the bloodiest death.

None of these links would claim to be a good person—well, there’s one wrongly convicted man, but his innocence doesn’t last long as a Link. They know they’re criminals, killers, and most would say they don’t deserve life or freedom. But none of them deserve this.

Everyone Else

As fantastic as the portions of the novel about the Links are, I think it’s these characters and seeing how they relate to CAPE that is the genius of the novel. A society cannot spend so much money (and earn it, too) on something like this without it shaping it and the people in it. Think of how so much of the US economy, news, and entertainment in January/February is devoted to the Super Bowl. Now magnify that, make it year-long, and add some serious ethical and moral issues.

The corporate figures are easy enough to write off as villains. And Adjei-Brenyah does that really well—but he makes sure we see them as human villains. The kind of people it’s easy to imagine existing given the right circumstances—these are not cartoons.

The protestors we see are complex as well—they’re smart, passionate people, who are trying their best to put an end to this modern slavery. They make bold moves, some stupid ones, too. But they also have to wrestle with the ramifications of their positions. One in particular is the child of a Link—she doesn’t have a relationship with him anymore, she doesn’t want anything to do with him but doesn’t want him killed in this way. But she doesn’t want him roaming around outside of a prison, either. There’s an honesty to the portrayal of these protestors that I find admirable—they may not have the answers about the right way to deal with serious criminals, but they do know what’s wrong and are willing to take their stand.

The portrayal that’s going to stay with me the longest is of a young woman who finds the matches distasteful—not necessarily morally repugnant, but not the kind of thing she wants to watch. But goes along with her boyfriend to placate him—he’s a giant fanboy with strong opinions and facts to back them up. He’s reciting them to her constantly, but she tries not to pay attention. She does start to get involved in the live streams about the out-of-combat lives of these Links—think Survivor meets Big Brother. She eventually becomes invested in some Links through those streams and that opens a can of worms.

The Endnotes

The Endnotes are a particularly interesting feature of this book—so interesting I’ll bite back my default complaint about choosing to use endnotes when footnotes exist.

In this novel, the notes are a fascinating combination. The first type are notes about the characters and events in the novel—a little more background, or other detail that doesn’t fit in the text proper. I don’t remember seeing this kind of footnote in a book as serious as this one, but Adjei-Brenyah pulled it off well.

The second type of endnote material cites laws (real and fictional), studies, and actual history surrounding the contemporary American penal system. In addition to being valuable information for the reader to have in general—or when it comes to talking about this book—this is a clever device for Adjei-Brenyah to keep it fresh in the reader’s mind that while this is a novel, it’s a novel well-grounded in things that matter—things he wants the reader to care about and hopefully take action in response to knowing this material.

So, what did I think about Chain-Gang All-Stars?

This is going to be one of the best books I’ve read in 2023. It’s well-written, the characters are fantastically drawn and depicted, the pacing is perfect—the story doesn’t stop moving, and the perspective jumps just draw you in closer. The moral and ethical questions are real, but not all of the answers are. I don’t know how you walk away from this book unmoved and unprovoked to think and perhaps act. There are moments when Adjei-Brenyah makes it clear that you can enjoy yourself with these characters—but there are many more that will make you hate this world. Most of those will remind you how easily it could be ours.

But you won’t stop turning the pages until the end.

There’s so much that I want to talk about, so many things that Adjei-Brenyah did that many writers don’t—or wouldn’t have thought of. But I just don’t have the time to get into it (or I’d ruin the experience for you).

Here’s one example. At some point around the 20% mark, we’re given an (well-executed and seamless) infodump, that largely serves to tell the reader that anything they’ve surmised about the CAPE program is correct (or to adjust any misunderstandings, I guess) and to give a few more details. A well-timed and well-executed infodump is great to find—one that’s largely a reaffirmation is even better. That affirmation is welcome so that you can move on with certainty.

The author talks about changes in his outlook on the American penal system during the writing and research he did for this book. I don’t know that I can agree with him on those, but it’s something I had to consider because of the novel. And I can certainly empathize with his thinking. I can’t imagine there are many who don’t think our penal system needs reformation of some kind—there’s little agreement on what needs reform, and less on how it should be done. But a side-benefit of this novel is that the reader will have to think about their own positions some. It’s not all a diatribe about our prisons—it’s a book that you can just read for the story—but you’ll not want to.

Lastly, for a book that’s about death—violent death at the hands of violent people who only hope to go on so they can kill again—the book is really about life. It’s a celebration of life, a call to protect it, a call to see it for what it is. It’s a reminder that “where life is precious, life is precious.”

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Swamp Story About?

This is hard to summarize, really. Which is part of the beauty of the book.

Most of the characters in this book aren’t what you’d call likable. They’re not really villains or antagonists, they’re just…people you don’t want to spend time with in real life, people with more greed/ambition than common sense (or decency). There are a couple of guys living in a cabin in the Everglades trying to assemble enough footage for a reality show pilot (basically, the good-looking one of the pair walking around shirtless interacting with native wildlife). Their weed dealer owns a failing convenience store/bait shop and has a “so stupid it just might work” plan to put his family’s store on the map. There’s a would-be talent agent (or just anything to ride the coattails of his buddy who happens to make a little money). Oh, and there’s a lawyer and a cabinet secretary/presidential aspirant, too—can’t forget them.

On the villainous side, there’s the weed dealer’s supplier—a former football player who is still large enough to intimidate active linemen who will not tolerate missed deadlines. Two ex-con brothers who are the textbook definition of nasty are also running around. There’s also an Eastern European gangster and some of his employees from the old country who should make everyone quake with fear.

On the likable side, you have the shirtless would-be star’s girlfriend and mother of his child (who really regrets ever giving him the time of day, no matter how pretty he is). The weed dealer’s brother who really needs something to motivate him to do more than play games on his phone, might have found that motivation in her. You’ve also got a couple of aides to the secretary, who really need a better job. An alcoholic ex-reporter desperate to make a buck is just what the weed dealer wants for his idea. I can’t forget either the aging TV reporter desperate to cling to her former relevance or the champion snake hunter.

Put all these characters in a small geographic region, throw in a large amount of buried Confederate gold and a couple of viral videos, shake well, and serve. Swamp Story is the result.

This Book Could’ve Been Shorter

Around the 70% mark (I’m keeping it vague because I don’t know how it’ll go in the final edition), a couple of the characters have an exchange that essentially goes along these lines:

Character A: I hope nothing else happens.

Character B: What else could happen?

Character A: …

and then there’s a map showing the immediate vicinity and some of the major buildings/landmarks of the story, making it very obvious that, based on what we know, all the characters are really near each other and that the likelihood of them running into each other in the very near future is pretty high. The reader will not be able to look at this map and not start imagining how all that running into each other is going to go.

I made a note at this point, that Barry could’ve ended the novel at that point—that exchange, the map, and the reader’s imagination—and it’d have been a fun and satisfying read.

However, odds are, your imagination isn’t as good as Barry’s is (mine sure isn’t), and as zany as I thought things were going to get from this point, the truth was far zanier. His conclusion to the novel (not just the immediate every character and storyline coming together in one spot, but everything that followed) was better than any of the ideas I came up with (and I liked most of my ideas a lot).

Still, there’s part of me that wishes he’d left things with that line and the map. I’d have laughed hard at that.

So, what did I think about Swamp Story?

I really enjoy reading Barry’s novels, and Swamp Story is no exception. It’s a different kind of humor (largely) than Barry’s columns or books, but it’s just as satisfying. I’d want to say that it’s more subtle, but that’s not true at all. There’s more character-based humor, and some of it’s the dialogue—which strikes you differently than the straight humor pieces he’s best known for.

Now, that said, there’s a scene at the beginning—involving a rich child’s birthday party, a couple of costumed performers, and a difficult-to-crack piñata, that absolutely cracked me up and I’ve been replaying it in my head since I read it—it’s perfect slapstick.

Putting aside the humor, all the story arcs worked really well and I can see toned-down versions of all the arcs working well together in a grim version of this story. I’ve argued recently that a good test of a comedic novel is if the plots would work without the laughs—in this case they largely wood. But they’re so much juicer and more enjoyable in this comic and heightened versions.

There are genuine bad guys, some actual threats, several characters in search of a good idea,* and a couple of people you hope catch a lucky break and escape from everything they’re surrounded by relatively intact. Throw in some good laughs, and some clever writing, and you’ve got yourself a fun few hours of reading. That’s likely what the reader looks for in a Dave Barry novel, and that’s what Swamp Story delivers. Strongly recommended.

* Apologies to Pirandello.