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theirresponsiblereader's Reviews (607)
hopeful
informative
medium-paced
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Body’s Keepers About?
I feel underqualified to try to describe this book, and you’ll see why here in a sentence or two. So, I’m just going to paste what the Publisher’s Site says: (yes, I typically would cite the audiobook publisher here, but the print edition’s publisher gives more details)
A remarkable account of the kidney and the scientific, medical, and health evolution tied to our understanding of it.
The kidney is an extraordinary organ – in many ways the regulator, the metronome, the keeper of the human body’s delicate equilibrium. On a given day, minute by minute, it purifies the body of toxins it encounters from diet, climate, activity, and injury. It allows us to be and to move in the world. And yet most of us know so very little about these extraordinary vessels nestled in our bodies – and indeed millions of us only really learn about them when they stop working. Nearly a million Americans every year have end stage kidney disease, about 37 million have some form of chronic kidney disease. And it is an incredibly common universe of challenge and ailment that, until relatively recently, would simply kill those afflicted with it.
Renowned nephrologist Dr. Paul Kimmel takes us on an eye-opening journey through the history of kidney disease, dialysis, and transplantation. Drawing on both his extensive research and decades of experience in the field, he explains the development of treatments, technologies, and medical practices that have advanced the care of patients with kidney disease. Kimmel illuminates the impact of medical advances on the lives of those suffering from this debilitating disease and offers a clear understanding of the challenges that remain.
The Body’s Keepers also reveals the inequities and injustices at the heart of America’s healthcare system. Filled with case studies, personal histories, and first-hand accounts, the book reveals the shocking truth about the exploitation of vulnerable populations in the pursuit of profit. Kimmel examines how disparities in access to care have led to life-threatening consequences for many Americans. He also looks at the ways in which the medical industry has profited from the suffering of others, and how the path to health equity is still far from being realized. With unflinching honesty and a passionate commitment to social justice, his book is an essential read for anyone looking to understand the complexities of modern healthcare.
What Did I Think About the Narration?
With all due respect to Dr. Kimmel, this could very easily have been a dry-as-dust book. Yes, there’s occasionally some wit and some passion in the text–Kimmel’s personality does come through. Lane Hakel makes sure that shines through. He maintains the appropriate tone and seriousness to the subject, but with simple and subtle changes in inflection and so on to help maintain the listener’s engagement.
If nothing else, Hakel helped me pronounce a few terms and medication names that I’ve always stumbled on (or heard multiple ways).
I’m not saying that Hakel made this a joy to listen to, or that it was entertaining in the same way that, say, Luke Daniels makes a book–nor should it have been. But he keeps the listening experience accessible and interesting–even when the text seems just to be a list of names and acronyms. (which doesn’t happen often, but, occasionally it seems like it).
My Interest in the Book
So, I saw this on Netgalley the day after my son’s first dialysis treatment. And I clicked the request button as quickly as I could. I’ve talked in this space a little about his kidney transplant a few years ago. But what I know about kidney disease and the treatment of it doesn’t amount to much–and it’s very focused. So the opportunity to learn more–particularly in a history, was more than appealing.
Sure, I was discouraged a bit right off when one of the first things that Kimmel says is that he won’t be discussing the kidney disease my son had. But, he spent a lot of time talking about End Stage Renal Disease and transplants. So that more than made up for the skipped subject. And even the topics that didn’t directly have anything to do with my son were interesting to listen to. Because really, at the end of the day, the more medicine learns about various treatments for one area of kidney disease/treatment, the better off all patients are.
So, what did I think about The Body’s Keepers?
Can a non-medical professional read/listen to this and profit from this book? Absolutely. Are we the target audience? I don’t think so–well, those interested in the overlap of politics/economics/prejudices and medical treatments are definitely part of the target audience. So it’s not just the kind of book for M.D. after their name. But it’s not written for the person browsing a bookstore/library shelf for their weekend read, either.
This is an 18-hour listen, and it’s not the easiest listen, either–both because of the subject matter and the thoroughness with which Kimmel discusses things. Folks who are just idly curious are probably not going to make it through this book. But those who have a connection to the topic–because of their profession or professional interests, because (like me) they are or know someone going through these things, or because they’re invested in the social aspects and things like equitable access to care, or some other connection–will make it through this book and be glad for it.
For those who are interested in this subject, this is a fascinating book and a good audiobook experience. I do think I may end up getting the print edition just to make looking up a point or two easier. But for non-reference use? The audiobook is a good way to go.
I learned a lot, I have to say. The historical development of nephrology is fascinating. For such a young science the advances made are truly astounding (for example, when you hear how they made the first “artificial kidney”–the precursor to a dialysis machine, your mind will be boggled). The origins of the treatment of kidney diseases and injuries really start because of the World Wars and now kidney transplants happen all the time (not often enough for those on a transplant list for years), dialysis is routine, and the medical research is very promising to improve and innovate both.
Yes, the impacts of race, sex, income, and so on when it comes to access to and varieties of treatment are dismaying and befuddling (and on those providing the treatment). But the book suggests there’s every reason to be hopeful for the future, and that progress has been made. Easy for this white guy to say, but that was my takeaway from Kimmel. And, as in this post, I’m talking about this as a listening experience rather than commenting on the society that is depicted–the shortcomings of the system (especially in the U.S.) contrasted to the successes make for a more engaging narrative.
I should add that in the early chapters while doctors and researchers were still figuring out how to treat various kidney ailments, the symptoms and treatments (and failure rates), were strong reminders of how correct I was in choosing academic and career paths that took me far away from medicine. Some of that was rough for me (and no, I will not watch any documentary Dr. Kimmel decides to make in the future). People of stronger constitutions will not be bothered.
I’m really glad I listened to this, and encourage those interested to give it a try. It’s not a book for everyone, but for the right people will appreciate this.
challenging
dark
emotional
tense
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Strong Like You About?
Walker Lauderdale is a high school sophomore and a starter for his small Arkansas high school’s football team. He and his cousin/best friend/might as well be brother Sawyer are fierce players for the defense (and we see that almost instantly). This should be the best time in his young life—but there’s something wrong.
His dad has been missing for a month. He’s not there to watch his first game. He’s not there to burst with pride, to offer advice, or to cheer from the stands. He’s just…gone. Walker’s dad and Sawyer’s dad (also best friends and teammates on the same high school team before marrying sisters) took off one night and haven’t returned. The two boys are certain they’ll be back any time—they’re frequently checking the bleachers to see their fathers up there.
The book is an extended monologue—or a series of them. Technically, an apostrophe, but let’s stick with monologue. Walker is addressing his father—catching him up on the turmoil and victories he’s missing, the hurt Walker feels because of his absence, and how he’s trying to make things work until his dad comes back. The grief, loss, and anger jump off the page.
Walker’s dad isn’t a great one, either, it should be stressed. Rarely employed, his income is largely illegal and irregular. Both missing fathers are abusive to their wives and sons. But in the way that we all can recognize, the boys are just that much more devoted to them because of it—making their dads proud is a chief aim of theirs.
Walker becomes determined to go look for his dad—which involves starting with the man his dad and uncle were last seen with—a truly frightening and violent man. Sawyer tries to dissuade him, but that just makes Walker even more certain that he needs to act.
But does he truly want to find the answers he’s seeking?
Learning About Guns
Walker—like so many people in the U.S.—appreciates guns. He’s quick to grab a pellet gun to (try to) chase away his uncle. But his cousin Sawyer? Sawyer is a nut for guns, he has magazines about them all over his room. At some point, Sawyer comes across a pistol (and somehow gets money for many bullets for it—or at least acquires them). There’s a big difference between a pellet gun and a Colt 1911, and it doesn’t take long for Walker to start learning about them.
Not what you learn in video games/TV, not what Sawyer’s survival mags teach, or anything like that. But about the reality of them—how they can invite violence, how holding one affects you, what destruction they can bring even without trying. There’s no pro-/anti- gun message at work here. No lessons or sermons were delivered. But the reality of what a gun can do to a person, a situation, or an attitude is presented in stark reality. I’d say it’s easily one of the best things about this book, but if I started listing the best things about this book, we’d be here for a long time.
Anger
Walker and Sawyer are angry young men—it’s simmering right below the surface, and comes out at inopportune times. Although, it does sometimes come out when it should*—and we see an example of that in the opening minutes of their first game of the year.
* Arguably, anyway. Their coach and teammates would say it’s appropriate.
There are plenty of reasons for them to be so angry—even before their fathers abandoned them. The more time you spend with them—Walker in particular—you see just how many reasons he has. It’s part of what his parents have passed down to him, part of the example they’ve set and the environment he’s been raised in.
The guy his father and uncle runs with, Lukas Fisher, has another kind of anger inside him—and he doesn’t hesitate to express it—where Walker’s parents shape him by their anger, Lukas “trains” his pit bull with his.* While we can see a little constructive use of anger, we can see some people who are angry due to circumstance and situations—but Lukas? He seems to revel in it, maybe even feeds on anger.
* This is off-point, but Simpson’s description of the dog’s barking was both wonderfully accurate and a bit of a tension breaker.
But back to Walker, it’s his anger that lands him in weekly sessions with the school counselor before the book begins. This counselor is one of the few who seem to look beyond Walker’s attitude, his anger, his disinterest in education, and his abilities on the football field. It’s unclear how Walker will respond to him—or even if he can respond to this man appropriately. But it’s a rare example of how his anger just might put him in the right place.
The Meaning of Manhood/Strength
Walker’s primary concern at the beginning of the book is to be strong—strong, as the title says, like his dad. For him, strength equals control. Control over your life, your circumstances, your choices—it’s also tied into how to fix things. How to make things better.
Yes, it absolutely is about physical strength first and foremost, but it’s about more than that, too. For a character presented as not that intelligent (Walker would say worse than that about himself), he’s really perceptive. He’s spent more time than many—probably even he—realizes thinking about the nature of strength.
Ultimately, this is what being a man is for Walker (and Sawyer, too)—maybe even Hank and Rufus, too. Walker sees Hank as strong—physically, emotionally, and mentally. This is what he aspires to—for himself, for his mother, and possibly even for Hank. If Walker gets to be strong enough—on and off the football field—he can make Hank and his mom proud. He can make their lives better, fixing those things that need fixing (that his father never gets around to fixing, despite Walker’s deep-seated conviction that he could and will).
Over the course of this book, this understanding of what manhood means and what strength means are seen in light of that anger mentioned above. One of the bigger questions of the novel surrounds Walker and Sawyer—as they navigate toward adulthood/maturity, what will win out? Strength or anger? What kind of men will they be?
The Love Story
Okay…after a few attempts, I realize that I cannot say anything about this without a spoiler. All I will say is that it’s perfectly conceived, perfectly executed, and just what this book needed it to be.
So, what did I think about Strong Like You?
I have several more things I wanted to talk about—but this is too long, and almost two days behind schedule (it’s at least 6 hours after I normally post something). What’s worse, every time I start writing “just one more thing,” I think of two more. So I’m bringing this in for a landing, and I may bounce around a little bit here.
I do not even like football—why do I keep reading books featuring it? Okay, I live in the USA and it’s pretty hard to escape, that’s a large part of it, but still… There’s a large part of me that doesn’t care as long as it’s a book like this one. And sure, he’s talking about a different game entirely, but Walker would agree with Dani Rojas—”Football is life!” He thinks in football terms and metaphors, he can’t explain to someone why he loves football—he can’t even understand why that person doesn’t like football, it’s like telling him that they don’t like to breathe. Most of the time, Simpson doesn’t have Walker or Sawyer tell us this, they just live this. The way he does this alone tells me that Simpson is someone to watch (or, I suppose, he thinks the same way as Walker does and it’s coming out organically—but I don’t think so)
I really should spend a lot of time talking about Walker’s guidance counselor and the arc of their relationship, there’s so much about Simpson’s work here that should be commended. There’s also this strange little tangent featuring a recent graduate of Walker’s high school and his little sisters that tells us more about Walker than anything except his attitude toward football—who he really is, not who he thinks he needs to be.
You don’t have to read very far before you know a couple of things—1. despite his conviction—or at least the conviction he voices—things are not going to go the way he anticipates, and that rough times are ahead for Walker; and 2. you are not going to want to put this book down until you reach the last page. I glanced at the first couple of pages to make sure it downloaded correctly and had to walk away from my Kindle, because I had multiple other deadlines and I knew if I didn’t do that, I’d finish the book before I did anything else. I can’t describe it, but there’s something about Walker’s voice, the way he’s talking to that father that isn’t there that just grabs you.
I’m not entirely satisfied with the way the novel ended. I liked the resolution to the various stories, let me be clear. But I feel like I could see Simpson’s not-so-Invisible Hand working to get some of the resolutions to work out the way they did. I like the way the storylines ended up, so I’m not going to complain too much. And since it was only in the closing pages that I thought about maybe criticizing something in the book, Simpson earned a little authorial heavy-handedness.
This is a real winner—Strong Like You shares so much DNA with Eli Cranor’s Don’t Know Tough (but is not a copy in any way) and even hearkens back to Early Autumn by Robert B. Parker. And anytime a book can make me compare it favorably with those two knockouts, I’m going to put it down as pure joy.
If you’re someone who gets hung up on the YA tag, push “Pause” on that for 224 pages. This is a book that deserves a fair shake and many, many readers—Simpson’s debut is as strong as Walker hopes to be.
emotional
mysterious
tense
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Djinn’s Apple About?
Nardeen is a remarkable twelve-year-old. Her father is a physician known for translating medical texts from a variety of languages into Arabic, and Nardeen soaks up his work. She has an astounding memory and ability to understand what she memorizes.
But due to some political intrigue that she doesn’t wholly understand, Nardeen and her family have to flee their home one night. Sadly, she’s the only one who survives.
Nardeen vows revenge on those responsible for her family’s murder—certain that a friend of her father’s is ultimately to blame.
But before then, she finds herself being taken under the wing of a legendary physician and teacher, Muallim Ishaq. He recognizes her gifts and her heritage from her father—he arranges (mostly by the force of his will) to have her learn at The Bimaristan, a hospital of great renown. There, she’s able to hone her skills and knowledge—and sharpen her tools, resolve, and ability to mete out that vengeance.
Father vs. Father
There are a handful of various conflicts in this book (like with any good book), but at the core, this book seems to be a conflict within Nardeen herself. On the one hand, she has her memories of her father and what he taught her—what he showed her by example—about the way to live. She also has to wrestle with what she’s told about her father—by those who profess to have admired him and those who worked against him.
On the other hand, she has her (for all intents and purposes) adoptive father, what he’s trying to teach her—what he shows her by example—about the way to live. She also has to wrestle with what she’s told about him—by those who profess to admire him and those who work against him.
In many ways, these two fathers line up—but in significant ways, they follow and lead her down divergent paths. So much of how the plotlines of this book resolve depends on Nardeen’s acceptance/rejection of what these men stand for.
The Setting
So, this takes place during the “golden age of Baghdad”—Harun al-Rashid’s rule of the Abbasid Caliphate from 786 to 809. Now, everything that I know about this period of time comes from the appendices to this novel “Harun Al-Rashid: The Golden Age of Baghdad” and “The Bimaristan.” As they are appendices, I read them afterward. So I came into this not knowing anything—which is a bit intimidating. And I figure I’m not alone in this (particularly for the intended YA audience, who probably haven’t had much opportunity to study Eigth-Century history).
But honestly? Anyone who reads Fantasy/SFF knows how to approach something like this—sure, this is a representation of actual history, but the same tools and imagination you need to understand Westeros, Panem, or the world of the Shadowhunters equip you to get into this world.
And, like with those worlds, after getting this taste, you’ll likely want to read more about it.
While reading, and since then, I do have to wonder a little bit about how much Morani was stretching things about the opportunities presented to women in this time and place. Not just for Nardeen, either—but all the women she encounters at the Bimaristan (and I’d be saying this if the city was Paris or Rome, not just because it’s Baghdad). But I’m willing to both suspend disbelief for the sake of a good story and to trust that someone who’s as familiar with Arabic literature as Morani is more than my hunches.
So, what did I think about The Djinn’s Apple?
This book hits the ground running—Morani doesn’t give you the opportunity to settle in and get comfortable in this world or anything like that. She thrusts the reader—and poor Nardeen—straight into life-or-death action. Nardeen has a slightly better understanding of what’s going on than the reader does—but not much. This was a great way to start this read—you don’t get the chance to indulge curiosity or get lulled into thinking it’s a different kind of book than it is—you have to rush to catch up and then keep up with Nardeen and only get the luxury of starting to understand the world until she’s (relatively) safe.
There were a couple of times that I wondered about the timelines and how well they worked. I assume I just missed something (and didn’t want to take the time to go back and check). It wasn’t anything that bugged me enough to look into it, but I would’ve appreciated things being a bit clearer.
The characters of Nardeen and Muallim were so well drawn, so vivid, and so compelling that I really wish we had more time with them. Particularly Muallim—this cantankerous genius is the kind of character I really respond to. Now, given the pacing of this book, that’s impossible. And Morani picked the better option for her story. But the eccentric teacher and the stubborn and gifted student is a combination that could’ve made for a lot of fun.
Somehow in the midst of this propulsive pacing, Morani is able to litter the book with some great observations, some drops of wisdom (primarily from the teacher and student), and memorable prose (some of that credit has to be given to Hussain as well).
This is a fast, immersive read that’ll leave you guessing from the beginning right up to the end. You’d be doing yourself a favor if you pick it up.
adventurous
emotional
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Another Girl About?
Serena Butler is loaned out to do some plainclothes intelligence gathering in a nearby city. She misses a check-in with her handler, right after saying something tantalizing about making some new friends. This galvanizes her team back at King’s Lake and her DCI pushes her weight and rank around to get involved in the investigation into her disappearance–and the drugs investigation Butler was helping with.
At the same time, there’s an apparent hit and run for the Murder Squad to look in back at home–and while they do their due diligence with that, their concern for one of their own clearly has captured their attention (also, an absent pathologist means a delayed autopsy, so they can only do so much).
A Change of Focus
Initially, DCI Cara Freeman and DC Serena Butler carried most of this book–although DI Tom Green gets a lot more focus than he’s ever received before. And that was just great, I always liked him, but I wanted to see him get to shine a bit. Freeman and Butler are a great pairing and really establish this as a different kind of entry in this series.
Yes, when Waters shows up roughly mid-way through the book, he ends up getting a lot of the focus, as we’re used to. Still, the narrative really does take advantage of Waters’ absence and explores the team and uses the multiple POVs to a greater advantage than Grainger has in the past. I don’t want Waters to get pushed to the background on a regular basis–but man, I really appreciated this.
But this is Serena’s book, really. We start with her assignment hitting a bump in the road and we finish by it going deeper than she was ready for. But throughout, we get to learn a lot more about this character that’s been around for twelve books and really takes on new life and a greater depth. She’s been a favorite of mine from early on in her first appearance–and I like her more now that I understand her better. Honestly, if she got her own spin-off series in the future, I’d be game, or just for more books like this. (a book that uses Green more would also be welcome, but given the way his character typically operates, I’m not sure that’s possible).
DC’s Shadow
DC Smith (it still feels strange to call him David) has always loomed large over these King’s Lake books, but it seemed to me that it was a little larger this time than it had been since Songbird (but it’s not like I keep statistics or anything). He’s either mentioned in conversation (by people on all sides of the law) or thought of by Chris and Serena–who will remember some advice/guidance he gave them–which allows Granger to slip in a line or two using his DC voice–and I’m always going to be in favor of that.
Which, I guess, brings us to:
A Word About the Narration
This is an audiobook, so I need to talk about the narration. But as I keep saying, I don’t know what to say about Gildart Jackson’s work on this series that I haven’t said umpteen times.
When his voice starts coming out of my phone, my mind instantly settles in for a good time. There’s a calmness that he evokes in me almost instantly (note: it’s not his voice, I rarely felt calm during the Alex Verus books). He catches the humor, the tension, the camaraderie, the…I don’t know, the spirit of these books. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, I’m not picking these up in print (although, I know at least one non-audiobook person who says they’re great in print), I have to have Jackson’s voice.
So, what did I think about Another Girl?
Grainger doesn’t frequently put his King’s Lake characters in peril (I thought about listing exceptions to that rule, but I won’t–but the point stands), this series is about typical investigations. But when he does, he does it effectively. And boy howdy, he does so here. I haven’t been this concerned for the fate of a Grainger character since A Private Investigation‘s close.
But more than just the danger aspect, watching Serena deal with the pressures of working undercover (especially as she initially wasn’t supposed to go as deep as she ended up) was so well done. Equally well done was watching her team fret about her when they couldn’t contact her and weren’t sure what was going on.
The hit-and-run story never got the time I initially expected, but the way that Grainger worked it into the overall storyline was his typical well-done work. He was able to weave it into the drugs story and show how it is about much more than drugs.
This tied this particular novel into something we first saw in On Eden Street and will likely show up for at least one more novel. Which isn’t to say that this novel isn’t largely a stand-alone like the rest, but there’s something that will tie it to further books.
I think I’ve rambled enough–possibly too much. I had a great time with this one, and as always I strongly encourage you to give this one a try. It would serve as a fine jumping-on point to the series (like every book so far), but if you have the time and means, I’d suggest starting at the beginning. Or somewhere. Just start with Peter Grainger, Gildart Jackson, and the detectives in and around King’s Lake Central.
funny
hopeful
lighthearted
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Charm City Rocks About?
Billy Perkins is happy. Everyone knows this–he’s got his dream job (music teacher), he’s good at it–and makes enough money to keep going. He’s got a great kid, and a solid relationship with the kid’s mother. He’s well-liked in his neighborhood and at Camden Yards. Who wouldn’t be happy? He’s also got this newfound appreciation for cardigans, “the perfect garment, like, the convertible of sweaters”–and he looks good in them. If you can find pleasure in the little things like that…why not be happy?
Margot Hammer is a drummer best known as part of the all-female rock group Burnt Flowers*. Then as the wife of Lawson Daniels, the giant movie star, her fame grew even more. Then she dumped the cheater, quit the band in a dramatic fashion, and vanished from the public eye, becoming a “whatever happened to…” name. She was pretty satisfied with that until Burnt Flowers is featured in a documentary series, which renewed that itch to play again and generally reminded her of what she lost with her bandmates.
* Not for nothing, that’s just a great 90s band name. I would thoroughly enjoy hearing Norman talk about coming up with it and what some of the other contenders for that name were.
But after listening to his dad talk about Margot after seeing her on that history of rock documentary on Netflix, Billy’s son, Caleb wonders–what if his dad isn’t as happy as he could be? Is he maybe a little lonely? So Caleb does something harebrained, problematic in several ways, and destined to fail.
He brings the two together in a move straight out of a rom-com’s first draft, but instead of the meet-cute he hopes for–we get kind of a meet-ugly. Billy, being the almost-impossibly decent guy that he is, tries to salvage the time and make it up to her. Also…how often does he get the chance to spend time with his all-time favorite drummer?
Something strange ensues for Margot–she has fun. With Billy and in general. She also gets a little social media attention (which spills over into mass media). This is enough to get her old record company to try to capitalize on that. She’s not interested in doing that, but does decide to spend a little more time with Billy.
The pair have great chemistry–and maybe more. But will figures from their pasts derail them? Should they?
Baltimore
As they stand on Thames Street, he imagines the neighborhood from Margot’s perspective. Daquan is one block over, pounding away. The sun is moving toward the horizon. The twinkly lights strung around the outdoor eating area at the Greek restaurant next door come on, and people are out with their tattoos and interesting outfits and cool beards. Like always, there’s music everywhere.
“It’s not like how everyone says,” says Margot.
“What isn’t?”
“Baltimore,” she says. “I thought it’d be, I don’t know, more murdery.” …
“Be patient,” he says. “The night is young,”
As much as this book focuses on the love story between Billy and Margot, there’s a strong thread about love for Baltimore. I knew, on some level, that there has to be more to the city, but at the end of the day, I really think of Baltimore in much the same way as Margot in the quote above.
But that’s not Matthew Norman’s Baltimore–and it’s not the Baltimore of these characters. Frankly, if this Baltimore resembles the actual thing, I’d love to spend time there (you know, assuming I can shake the David Simon associations).
There are two neighborhoods (that don’t seem too far apart) that we spend most of our time in–and both have a strong sense of community about them. Particularly the area that Billy’s apartment is in, which also contains the place where Caleb’s plan was executed and the bar that the adults found themselves in to recover. The neighborhood figures from this area both grounded and sold the experience for me (and, I think, Margot). Too often people talk about the location of a novel/movie being another character–but when someone depicts their setting so strongly and so warmly, it’s hard not to resort to that kind of language.
Caleb
I’ve frequently talked about great Mother/Daughter and Father/Daughter relationships in various books, but I don’t think I’ve talked much about great relationships with sons. I also can’t think of many off the top of my head.
The relationship between Caleb and Billy, however? It’s a standout. Caleb’s relationships with his mother and stepfather are good to see, too. But man…the link between Father and Son here is something special. The lengths that Caleb went to in order to give his father a shot at happiness–and the life-altering choices he makes because of his parents (particularly, it seems, his father)–tells you a lot about this kid and the bond he has with his parents. I really can’t think of a better son in Fiction (not that I’ve spent a lot of time trying, but authors seem to do better at daughters).
He gets off a little easy when it comes to the shenanigans he got up to in introducing his dad to Margot, really the more I think about it, the worse it was (but consuming a large amount of edibles thinking they’re just candy is a pretty good justification for it). But, I think Norman is right to cut him some slack and not get into just how bad it was. Actually, most books (and almost every movie I can think of) would’ve allowed Caleb’s scheme to work for a bit, and would extend the nonsense for far too long before having it collapse for the sake of drama. I am so, so, so glad that Norman didn’t do that. He simply let the idea fall apart and then moved on, making lemonade out of Caleb’s citrus offering.
So, what did I think about Charm City Rocks?
I knew I should’ve read the book as soon as it landed on my doorstep in June. I knew I was missing out on something–and I was. But on the plus side, it’s a pretty good way to start off the year, too. This is just a fun book.
So I loved the whole super-star story and the debacle Margot made of her career and life–it’s a very VH-1 Behind the Music tale. All the behind-the-scenes show business stuff, both in the past and present, were great. But what sold me was the connection both Billy and Margot (and several other characters) had to music–listening to it, performing it, creating it–even just thinking about it. Strip away fleeting fame and money, that’s what counts. That’s why people care about musicians, it’s because of the music that they bring us and what it does for our souls and psyches. As Norman celebrated that, you couldn’t help but respond. (and as flakes wanted to twist that for their own benefit, you respond as well)
One shouldn’t overlook Caleb’s mother–even though I pretty much have–her ARC isn’t pivotal to the book as a whole, but it’s so satisfying. She’d be an easy character to bring on for a few scenes as a plot complication, or just to add a little flavor to the world–but Norman fleshes out her character, gives her an arc, and gets the reader invested in her and her happiness.
There’s another ex- in the picture, and while you know how they’re going to complicate the characters’ lives almost instantly upon their introduction, I can’t bring myself to get into the details. I wanted to say something about a jealous toddler wanting their discarded toy just because someone else has it–but Norman wisely takes that option away. That’s not to say that the character doesn’t muck things up pretty seriously for almost everyone in the book…I’m just saying they’re not a monster.
I think the best way to sum up my reaction to the book is that I noticed that every time I put the book down for some reason, I was grinning. Not because I set the book down, but it just made me happy. Not Billy-happy, but happy.
A little cheesy? Sure. Generally predictable? Sure. Engaging, charming, witty, optimistic, and upbeat? Sure. If you’re looking for more in a rom-com, you’re not looking for a rom-com. This won me over in the beginning and kept my affection throughout. This was a sure-fire winner for me.
adventurous
funny
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
It was true that Miller wanted to be busy; but he hadn’t been counting on picking up such a big case on his first day back. That was the way things went, though. You were desperate for a day or two to catch your breath or even just looking to recharge your batteries after a major inquiry and someone decided to poison their husband or stab a passer-by because they didn’t like their trainers.
People were so bloody inconsiderate, sometimes.
What’s The Last Dance About?
Detective Sergeant Declan Miller cuts off his bereavement leave to return to work. It may be too soon following the murder of his wife (and we get plenty of reason to think that it may be), but the time off isn’t doing him any good and accomplishing things, staying busy, and getting out of the house just might do him so good (and we get plenty of reason to think that it might).
Before he has a chance to reacclimate, he and his new partner are assigned a case—the son (and presumed heir) of a local crime boss has been killed—assassinated, really—in a local hotel. In the next room over, an IT consultant has, as well. It’s unclear what the connection is between the two, or what either was doing in hotel rooms in their hometowns.
The other thing that Miller does to try to return to his pre-widowered life is to go back to the dance class that he and his wife attended. It’s difficult being a single person there, but these were their friends, and it helps him to do so (as much as it hurts, too). We get a whole different set of supporting characters here, a different perspective on things. I really like the way that we get two different sides of Miller like this—yes, there’s a good deal of overlap, but seeing him in such starkly different contexts really helps you understand the character.
DS Sara Xiu
‘I’m your replacement,’ she said. “Well, I was.’
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘It looks like we’re going to be teaming up.'
‘Even sorrier.’
She smiled. 'That’s a joke, right?’
‘Not really.’
It almost seems like a disservice to her character to make Xiu a supporting character. She could star in her own series easily. She’s got the tortured detective thing down—she drinks too much, parties too hard, etc., etc. But on the job? She’s good, and she just might warm to her new partner at some point—at the very least they work together well.
This book might be all about Miller, his inner demons, and eccentric methods—but having him work with such a good partner isn’t a choice many would make. In a book or three, I can see their partnership equaling Bosch and Kiz Rider’s, and she could play a big role in Miller’s unofficial investigation (see below).
Alex Miller
Miller’s wife, Alex, was involved in a major investigation when she was murdered. The police haven’t found her killer—and he’s not particularly certain they’re working too hard on it (it’s a different homicide unit than his). No one from the investigation is updating him either—they want him to stay out of it, for obvious reasons.
And he technically does—but that doesn’t mean he’s not thinking about it a lot, and poking around the perimeter of the investigation—especially in areas that the others don’t seem to be paying attention to.
Apart from that, we spend a good deal of the novel seeing Miller mourn her and talk to an imaginary version of her as both a way to work through his case and her not being around anymore. Those scenes are great on so many levels—the reader gets a real sense of who she was (at least as her husband saw her) and how they related to each other, and how the loss is hitting him. It also gives us a kind of insight into the way his mind works through problems that we don’t often get from procedurals.
Tone
If anyone deserved a plaque on the wall of most local police stations, or a Lancashire Prison System loyalty card, it wag Gary David Pope. He’d been a well-known face — or more usually a photofit – on the criminal scene for as long as any serving officer could remember, and while he never really did anything that would merit serious jail time, and drink or drugs were almost always involved, there was rarely a crime committed anywhere within a twenty-mile radius that Gary didn’t have some connection to. It was like ‘Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon’, only with stolen cars and cocaine.
Gary Pope wasn’t the worst criminal Miller had ever encountered, not by a long chalk, but he was probably the most consistent.He was a seriously committed wrong ‘un.
It wouldn’t take much to turn this into a very dark read featuring an unreliable and unpredictable detective. Thankfully, Billingham went the way he does—the darkness is still there, it’s just mollified by Miller’s sense of humor and perspective. He really reminded me of Peter Grainger’s DC Smith—but without the almost cozy feel of Grainger’s work. Blackpool is a harsher location than King’s Lake, too.
Still, I think fans of one will appreciate the other. Miller’s humor (and that of the narrator) is a bit sharper, and less subtle than Smith’s—but only by degrees.
You’re able to have a lot of fun given the humor in several situations that aren’t fun at all. But he’s not just funny and eccentric. Miller has a lot of heart, compassion, and empathy for crime victims and survivors. I’m not sure how much he had before his wife’s murder—or how much he let himself show before then. But after it, he’s able to connect with them in a way that few police officers seem to be—or at least are willing to be.
You combine those three elements? I’ll be around for the long haul in any series.
So, what did I think about The Last Dance?
Billingham knows his way around police procedurals—that’s very clear. He also knows how to play with the conventions—and which ones to stay away from or treat straightforwardly. He does it all with skill and panache (not unlike his protagonist).
For example, in his time away, a detective that Miller…hmmm…doesn’t respect, shall we say, has been promoted to DI, and seems intent on making his return as miserable as possible. What is it about almost every immediate supervisor in police procedurals being so intent on being horrible to their star investigators, rather than use their brains to improve their own careers? For every exception to this rule that I can think of, more than a dozen that follow it come to mind. Well, DI Stevens is a shining example of this, and I rather enjoyed Miller’s reactions to him. That’s the only tolerable part of the character.
There are so few quibbles I have with this book—and they’re so outweighed by the good—that I’m not going to bother talking about them. I’m also not going to talk about all the things that Billingham does right with this—I haven’t talked about the victim’s wives, the various crime bosses, even Gary deserves more than that quotation above—and Miller’s homeless informant deserves at least four paragraphs.
Fans of police procedurals or other detective novels are going to love this. I did, and I’m eager for the next. And if it’s nearly this good (and how can it not be, given Billingham’s experience), I expect to be in for the (I hope very) long haul with this series.
adventurous
mysterious
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Death in the Dark Woods About?
Chief Jon Flanders has another possible cryptid for Bookseller/Cryptozoologist Morgan Carter to look into. It’s not his case, but he’s serving as the go-between for a Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources Warden. There’ve been a couple of killings in her jurisdiction that she’d like Morgan to look into—and is willing to pay her out of pocket to do so.
Charlie Aberdeen isn’t even the head of the investigations, but she has a vested interest in the outcome. The official cause of death for both men (a bow hunter and a recreational fisherman) is a bear attack, but a witness account and some of the evidence don’t match that. Particularly the wounds. But Charlie’s the only one willing to say anything along the lines of “Bigfoot.” The existence of this particular creature is a known interest of Charlie’s—and local LEOs will send anything along those lines to her.
Morgan, naturally, jumps at the opportunity—no matter how long of a shot it is to find the elusive cryptid, she’s got to take it. Her loyal dog, Newt, jumps at it, too—because he jumps at anything she does.
Not surprisingly, some of the locals aren’t crazy about her meddling—a Sherriff’s Deputy seems particularly hostile (okay, “is” there’s no seeming to it)—but some insist they’ve seen something that could be a Bigfoot themselves. Others just think it’s a pipedream and are mildly amused that Charlie and Morgan are wasting their time. There’s another cryptozoologist sniffing around, too—Morgan’s run into him and his spurious methods before—he’s more interested in making money off of locals than he is in finding anything.
Be Careful
Don’t read the Author’s Note at the back before you finish the book—it’ll spoil things. I occasionally do that—I don’t know why, but I like seeing what an author mentions in their Note or Acknowledgements, so I start there (or take a peak while reading). Man, am I glad I didn’t do that this time.
(but also, maybe bury that information in the second paragraph or later?)
So, what did I think about Death in the Dark Woods?
This was a fun little adventure and a natural next step from A Death in Door County. A hunt for a Bigfoot/Sasquatch-type creature is a bit more familiar in North America than a Lake Monster, but that doesn’t mean it’s tired out. In many ways, Morgan’s hunt reminded me of Gideon Oliver’s in The Dark Place—but I enjoyed the way this one wrapped up much more.
Another thing I want to draw attention to is the relationship between Jon and Morgan—Ryan’s doing a nice job of letting the inevitable relationship grow slowly, and even stumble a bit. It’s really well done.
The narrative and some of the dialogue could be done a bit better—occasionally clunky is the best way to put it. It’s never enough to make me want to do anything other than roll my eyes and push on, but it could be easily made better.
Still, like its predecessor, Death in the Dark Woods is a pleasant diversion with some characters you could want to spend more time with. Which is all I’m looking for in a cozy-adjacent murder mystery. I’ll be back for more.
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adventurous
funny
hopeful
lighthearted
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
It’s a metaphor of human bloody existence, a dragon. And if that wasn’t bad enough, it’s also a bloody great hot flying thing.
What’s Guards! Guards! About?
We start with a motley bunch of people who have been recruited by a mysterious figure to summon a dragon from another world—they don’t know this initially, but the purpose is to take over the city of Ankh-Morpork for less-than-benevolent reasons.
Meanwhile, a tall and naive young man is informed by his father that he’s not who he’s always thought he was. In fact, he’s been brought up by another species. Carrot had spent his whole life believing he was a dwarf like everyone he lived among, rather than a human. “It’s a terrible thing to be nearly sixteen and the wrong species.” Carrot has a hard time accepting this truth but does what his father tells him. He sets off for the city to become a member of the City Watch and will send his wages to his family. It’s impossible (for me, at least) to read Carrot and not think of Buddy the Elf. I don’t know if Ferrell and Favreau had this book in mind when they worked out the character—but they could’ve.
Like Buddy, Carrot doesn’t understand the human world and its nuances. He’s very literal, he’s a hard worker, doesn’t know how to be dishonest, and sees the world in black and white. So he goes about the business of the Watch like that—he’s a one-man anti-crime crusade. Arresting people the rest of the watch doesn’t have the energy to pursue—and those they’ve been told by the city leadership to leave alone.
His presence shakes up the Watch and awakens a sense of duty in them. So when they start finding traces of the dragon—and a corpse or two, this lethargic group gathers itself together and tries to save the city from the dragon, those behind it, and those who can’t be bothered to care.
And a whole bunch of other things transpire, are said, and whatnot. But that’s enough to get you started.
More Than Jokes
“Down there,” he said, “are people who will follow any dragon, worship any god, ignore any iniquity. All out of a kind of humdrum, everyday badness. Not the really high, creative loathesomeness of the great sinners, but a sort of mass-produced darkness of the soul. Sin, you might say, without a trace of originality. They accept evil not because they say yes, but because they don’t say no. I’m sorry if this offends you,”
All good novelists will work in things that have nothing to do with the characters (directly), their development, or the plot to their books. Some sort of commentary on the world, an observation about humanity or a portion of it, etc. If you ask me, the more comedic novelists are better at it than others—it’s probably that spoonful of sugar thing. That could just be my preference, I admit.
Some of the better moments in this book—at least some of the best sentences—come from moments like the above quotation. There’s some cheap cynicism to be found in these lines—but there’s some well-earned cynicism, too, in Pratchett’s ideas about government, the people led by that government, and so on. But there’s some great stuff on love and hope to be found in here, too. Pratchett’s cup is half-full at least as often as it’s half-empty.
The one-liners; the satire of Fantasy tropes, humanity in general; and the overall comedy of his world might be what he’s known for—but at least here (and likely in general), Pratchett’s observations of and commentaries on humanity are just as noteworthy.
The Library/Librarian
The truth is that even big collections of ordinary books distort space, as can readily be proved by anyone who has been around a really old-fashioned secondhand bookshop, one that looks as though they were designed by M. Escher on a bad day and has more stairways than storeys and those rows of shelves which end in little doors that are surely too small for a full-sized human to enter. The relevant equation is: Knowledge = power = energy = matter = mass; a good bookshop is just a genteel Black Hole that knows how to read.
I don’t have the time to write the essay I want to write about the Librarian, the Library, what the Librarian did to save the day, and so on. But I really wish I did (besides, I’m pretty sure someone else has—several someone elses). It’s not the—or a—main focus of the novel, but it really could be. Instead, I’ll just note that the Librarian was a highlight for me, and I hope we get a lot more of him in the future.
So, what did I think about Guards! Guards!?
“I mean, [the dragon] wouldn’t want us to go around killing its own kind, would it?”
“Well, sir, people do, sir,” said the guard sulkily.
“Ah, well,” said the captain. “That’s different.” He tapped the side of his helmet meaningfully. “That’s ’cos we’re intelligent.”
One of the things I like to ask when thinking of a comedic novel is, would it hold up if you took the jokes out and played it straight? It’s hard to answer that for Guards! Guards! because of the satirical and ridiculous aspects of the novel. But…on the whole, yeah…it’d work. Thankfully, it’s not a question we really need to spend too much time on because it’s so funny that you don’t notice parts of the story/plot/characters that might not work—and with the comedy this book is so successful it doesn’t matter.
It took very little time for me to get invested in the story—maybe not the characters (as much as I enjoyed watching Carrot fumble through his new life), but the story and the storytelling carried me until the point that I started to see the various members of the City Watch as anything other than comedy delivery systems (although that’s primarily what they were). I was entertained throughout, so much so that I didn’t really spend much time thinking about comparing this to other Pratchett books or other Fantasy comedies I’ve read—I just wanted to have fun with this. Maybe I’ll do the other stuff with later reads.
My journey to this book—and to giving Pratchett another chance—is pretty well documented. It’s not that I disliked The Color of Magic or The Light Fantastic, but I didn’t get the fuss over Pratchett after reading them. After reading Guards! Guards!? I think I get it. After reading less than a third of Guards! Guards!, I was pretty sure I got it, actually. I’m so relieved…I wondered what was wrong with me that I missed what everyone else saw in his work. There’s this great combination of jokes, situational/character-based comedy, a skewed way of depicting the world that’s honest and true while capturing the absurdities—and wonder—of the world. Pratchett respects the reader enough to not have to spell everything he’s doing out for us, but not so much that he will avoid slapstick or bodily humor.
I’m sold. If you haven’t gotten around to trying this mega-series (and surely there are like 5 of you reading this who haven’t), stick your foot in. If you’re unsure where to start, here’s a great place.
I’ll be back for more soon.
dark
emotional
mysterious
reflective
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Book of Doors About?
Cassie Andrews grew up in the Northwest and had what you’d call a typical, nice life (with a little tragedy, because we all do). She grew up, had one big adventure, and then settled into New York City, and is having a typical life—with enough fun and love to keep going, but nothing exciting happens to her. Then one day a regular customer that she’d befriended dies and leaves a book for her. It’s a lovely little book, so she takes it home with her.
She quickly discovers that this isn’t any ordinary book—in fact, it’s called “The Book of Doors” and the inscription inside it tells her that every door is any door. An odd thing to say, but she discovers that it means she can open and step through any door with the book in her hand. Cassie and her roommate Izzy have some fun with the book, before Izzy starts to worry about the cost of this magic.
Cassie’s undeterred, however, and keeps experimenting. It’s not too long before a man called The Librarian (by some) finds them—warning Cassie that she’s in danger because of this book. There are many “special books” like the Book of Doors (not all as powerful), and there are those who want to add her book to their collection and will stop at nothing to get it. As these people are equipped with their own special, magical books—the things they can do are pretty remarkable.
Can Cassie stay ahead of these people—or off of their radar entirely? Can she use her book to help the Librarian keep his collection of books safe from a mysterious woman determined to possess them all?
Time Travel
This is more of a Fantasy kind of Time Travel than a Hard Sci Fi Time Travel. That’s really not a profound observation on my part, come to think of it—everything these books do is described as magical. So a lot of your typical rules when it comes to Time Travel are thrown out. You’re not going to get a butterfly effect here, or see what happens if you go back and keep your dad and mom from going to the Enchantment Under the Sea dance together. It’s more along the lines of what the Wyld Stallyns did (at least in the first movie, I can’t speak to the others).
I mention this just so you know what you’re getting into—I have friends who take a very purist approach to Time Travel, and want scientific explanations for everything (hopefully with a good amount of theorizing). They will probably not appreciate this book for that. On the other hand—I have friends who get tired of that kind of thing—they’ll have a lot of fun with Brown’s take. There are probably more people who won’t care, and will just have fun with the wibbly wobbly of it all.
The Rest of the Magic
There are many more books than The Book of Doors running around (more than we’re told specifically about), and all of them have applications you wouldn’t immediately think about. What the Book of Illusion can do by someone who knows what they’re doing? Awesome. The Book of Luck is pretty much what the tin says. The Book of Despair…it’s worse than you think, at least when used by someone who knows what they’re doing (and who should never be allowed to use it).
I’m tempted to keep listing the books, but that would get boring for you and me. The great thing about Brown’s magic system is the wide diversity of magical abilities and the way they’re used. I don’t know how much time he spent coming up with the ideas behind them, or if he just had a handful and then created a new book when he wrote himself into a corner—but either way, a good deal of ingenuity is displayed here, and I want to see more of it. (honestly, I assume he did a thorough job of coming up with the books beforehand, but I just like the idea of him getting to the point where says…”I need a Book of Antigravity so Cassie can float away from a thrown knife.”*)
* Not anything that actually appears in the book.
Quibbles
It’s not a perfect book. Few are, so this isn’t about me listing off reasons to avoid this book. I just want to be thorough as I talk about it.
First off, the book (particularly in the beginning) relies too much on the POV characters looking at reflections of themselves. This is a pretty common thing—some would call it a cliche (particularly as a woman character describes some of her physical attributes)—and the first time that someone did it, I rolled my eyes and moved on. But then it happened again, quickly after that, while it was still echoing in my ear. And then again. And it became a thing I paid too much attention to because it happened so much. If mirrors and reflections had become very important to the magic or plot as a whole—I might have spent a paragraph or two lauding this. But it didn’t. It just distracted and kind of annoyed me.
The “Big Bad” doesn’t have a name. She’s simply, “the woman.” If she was a character who showed up in other places, and we were supposed to figure out which of female characters she was—that’d be one thing. But there’s never a doubt about that, she’s simply “the woman.” She doesn’t even get a nickname like “She Who Must Not Be Named” or even “The Big Bad.” Surely, at some point, the subculture surrounding these special books would’ve started referring to her as something along those lines. A name, a title (like The Bookseller did), something whispered in the shadows. Not just “the woman.”
There are probably other flaws in the book—undoubtedly there are*—but these are the only two that jumped out at me (and kept doing so). In the end—both were easily overcome by the weight of all the good-to-great things about it. But I was irked enough that I had to talk about them a bit.
* Just before I hit “Publish,” I remembered a chapter focused on “the woman” that made me briefly consider stopping entirely. I am so glad that I persevered, and it wasn’t that difficult to.
Now, let’s get back to the good stuff. I probably won’t think about these issues again myself, when I think back on this book, I’m only going to think of what I say next.
So, what did I think about The Book of Doors?
If you took Peng Shepherd’s The Cartographers and merged it with Robin Sloan’s Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore, you’d get something sort of like this. The secret subculture that arose around these special books—subcultures, really—made me think of these books, as well as the devotion to something that’s increasingly archaic—a typeface, paper maps, antique books, etc. There is great power, as well as great affection, in these artifacts of a former age. Sure, they’re not magical or mystical like Shepherd, Sloane, or Brown say. But these novels resonate for the same/similar reasons, these things call to us.
Setting aside all the magic and plot and character—just focusing on what The Book of Doors says about books in general, is pretty special. This aspect alone is going to speak to a lot of readers (most people who’d call themselves “readers,” in fact.). And you could spend time just flipping through those parts of the book.
On the whole, this novel was a slow burn for me—I was instantly drawn to the idea behind the books, I liked Cassie, and the way that Brown showed her reacting to the book. But then once we got into the story about “the woman” and the Librarian, my interest waned a lot. I’m not sure it should’ve, and many will likely have a different reaction, but it did. But as I kept reading, I got more and more invested and my inner-critic shut up because he was as interested in what was going to happen next as the rest of me was.
By the time you figure out what Brown’s end-game was—and Cassie’s, too—it’s so satisfying to see it all play out. It’s really a very tidy book and everything means something. But it’s not just the plot that works so well, all the emotional beats are so well-executed that you will be tempted to go back through Brown’s non-existent backlist to see where he figured out to write them so effectively.
If you like the idea of a kind of magic you’ve not seen before, magical time travel (among other things), an off-the-radar subculture devoted to this magic (or at least the idea behind it), and a quiet bookseller finding her inner strength and perseverance in the face of evil—you’re going to want to check out The Book of Doors. I strongly recommend you do.
funny
lighthearted
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Strong character development:
N/A
Loveable characters:
N/A
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
N/A
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Silly Rhymes for Belligerent Children?
The back of the book says:
You certainly don’t need to be a belligerent child to appreciate these silly rhymes by Mystery Science Theater 3000’s and Cinematic Titanic’s Trace Beaulieu – but you may learn a thing or two about handling infected pets or living dangerously through sledding. While the subject matter may make you a bit queasy, you’ll delight in the perfect storytelling encapsulated in each poem. Each selection is a dark and distasteful delight – a fascinating collection of raw honesty, cool understatement and looming tragedy, all brought to life by the whimsical illustrations by Len Peralta. Silly Rhymes for Belligerent Children isn’t the book you’ll keep on the bookcase for decades. It’s the book you’ll keep under your bed within easy reach so you can page through it long after you’ve committed all the poems to memory.
That’s pretty much what the book is—in the forward/Author’s Note, Beaulieu says these poems were inspired by daydreaming, and what better source could there be?
Well, these rhymes are meant for the kind of child I was, and frankly still am.
So don’t come here looking for nice little poems with fuzzy-wuzzy pictures of fluffy cute animals or impossibly happy youngsters fetching pails of water.
This book is intended for kids who hate that kind of stuff: older kids, of course, and adults with… well nothing better to do.
Some are short…some are longer (at least when it comes to page count), they’re all a great mixture of fun rhymes, great images, and eccentric (to say the least) ideas. Some are morbid (in a kid-friendly way), some are just strange, some are gross (in a kid-friendly way).
My One Complaint
There aren’t enough poems.
Or illustrations.
Or anything else.
I want more of everything in this book.
A Quick Word about the Art
WOW. The art is fantastic. Can you go through this book, ignore all the words in black type, and still enjoy it? Probably—some of the pictures won’t make sense without the black text, but yeah, I can see the book working if you think of it as a collection of odd illustrations (I’ve tried this twice, but keep slipping and ended up reading the poems, so I can’t promise).
They are the perfect augment/supplement/accompaniment to Beaulieu’s quirky rhymes and sensibilities.
So, what did I think about Silly Rhymes for Belligerent Children?
This is just silly fun. I, apparently, am an odd adult with nothing better to do, because I’ve read this a handful of times from cover to cover in the last few months and am pleased I did so each time.
You know how there are certain movies/shows that when you’re just mindlessly flipping through the channels (assuming you still do that) you have to stop and watch for at least a few minutes? This book is kind of like that. I cannot tell you how many times since I first read it that I’ve stopped to read a poem or two when I see this book. I’ve yet to pick it up without reading at least three poems. Generally more. And not always the same ones, either.
From the poems to the illustrations and all points in-between, I had a blast with this. I wish I knew about this back when it was first published, my kids would’ve loved it then. I probably can’t get them to slow down enough for it now. Hopefully in a few years.
Track down a copy and lose yourself in these pages. Your inner child (and inner odd-adult) will thank you.