theirresponsiblereader's Reviews (607)

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Broken Trust About?
From that promising start, Laura Crain—the wife of the US’s 6th richest man—asks Spenser to help. Her husband has been acting strangely, and neither Laura nor his business partner can understand why. Their company is on the verge of completing a merger that will make them richer yet and will secure the company’s place in the electric car market.

The richer part isn’t that important—outside of the increasing opportunities for the very philanthropic couple to give even more money to causes. But strengthening the company to keep doing what it’s been doing is important to the Crains—they’re committed to this kind of environmentally friendly industry.

Spenser has a hard time starting his investigation because it’s such a vague target—maybe he can’t help her after all, but something about Laura Crain makes him want to try. He’s (reportedly, although some downplay this) almost paranoid, having outbursts—one nearly violent one is witnessed by Spenser—and his volatility puts many things at risk.

Then someone tied to the company is murdered. Spenser is threatened. Not long after that, someone else dies, too (probably another murder, even if it’s initially unclear). And now Spenser has a bigger mess to look into, assuming he can keep everyone else connected to the case safe and the target off his back.

The Obligatory Street-Cred Establishment
Each time a new author takes the reins of a Parker series, their first book is full of them establishing their bona fides when it comes to the series. They have to show that they understand the protagonist, the supporting characters, and the history of the series through references to past cases, quick/extended appearances of various supporting characters, etc. And Lupica goes above and beyond with these—almost all of them feeling like they were apropos in the moment, thankfully. I started to keep a mental list of his efforts, then I switched to writing them down when the list got long enough—then I abandoned it because I had better things to pay attention to and it was getting too long to print here.

The punchline? The dude knows his stuff and can show it off.

He even brings in a connection to Gino Fish. Given how long Gino’s been dead, that was nice. And, as difficult as it might be to justify returning to that connection, I’d enjoy Lupica finding a way to do it. I really enjoyed that particular character.

Now, I didn’t think that Sunny Randall’s quick appearance was necessary—nor do I think Richie Burke added much. But I liked how the latter was used (which may contradict what I just said about him), and it was a clever thing to do.

Martin Quirk
Martin Quirk gets a couple of good scenes here and his presence is felt outside of them, too—Belson brings him up a few times, which helps—but Quirk casts enough of a shadow it wasn’t that necessary. Part of that is due to the whole cred establishment, but not all of it, I don’t think. It also fits pretty well with this book—and you’d expect someone with his rank to be getting involved given the prominence of the people involved in these murders.

Beyond that, however, if Lupica wasn’t planting seeds for something major on the Quirk-front in the next book or two, then he faked me out pretty well. I hope he didn’t because I’m pretty curious about it—we haven’t gotten a lot of good Quirk material in a long time (since he got Spenser out of that southern jail cell back in the 90s, maybe?).

Mike Lupica
And what’s going on with Quirk is just one of the moves Lupica is making to put his own stamp on this series. And that’s one of the things I really appreciate about both the Publisher/the Estate’s handling of these authors taking over—they allow them to make changes to the characters. I’d absolutely understand if they had to keep the characters in some sort of stasis from how Parker had left them, like an ’80s TV drama or something.

I’m holding off forming an impression about what Lupica is doing with some of the characters at this point, I need to see it worked out a little more. But I do appreciate him taking ownership and making the moves.

I’ll be frank—I thought he did okay with the Sunny Randall books (the series I have the least attachment to, so I didn’t care too much how he did), and while I thought he was a step down from Coleman, he’s doing okay with the Jesse Stone books. But giving him the keys to the Ferrari of Parker’s series? That seemed like a dangerous move.

However, I think of all his Parker-verse work, this was the strongest. He rose to the occasion, and I’m greatly relieved. I hope he can continue it.

So, what did I think about Broken Trust?
 

 
One of my favorite parts about almost every Spenser novel is the initial conversation between Spenser and the client. Lupica nailed it, I thought. After that strong start, things kept rolling at or near that level for just about the rest of the book.
 
It wasn’t perfect, by any means, but it was quite good. For example, some of the Hawk-Spenser banter is a little jokier than usual—Hawk, in particular, seems a little looser as he teases Spenser over a handful of things. It’s subtle, but it’s there. I enjoyed it—maybe too much—but I think Lupica could dial back Hawk a notch or two.
 
To be a little more pointed: the last page (or so) of Chapter Eighty-Three, all of Chapter Eighty-Four, and the last half of Chapter Eighty-Five (which, sadly is the last half chapter of the book) were let-downs. If you took the first half of Eighty-Five and put it earlier and made Eighty-Tree/the novel end with the conversation in Spenser’s office, I’d have been more satisfied. I can’t remember when I’ve been so specific about this kind of thing (not a habit I’m inclined to get into, either)—but that probably says how much it rankled me. I probably would’ve given the book another half-star (at least) without these pages.
 
Lupica did a good job with Susan—a character that can frequently be divisive, but he dealt with her well (and the conversations with her about the case didn’t drag the book down). Other than Hawk’s teasing, I thought he did a great job with Hawk and the other returning characters*.
 
* He did brush off one of the more tantalizing things that Atkins left for him regarding Hawk in less than a sentence, however. I think that was a mistake, but I get it, too.
 
As for Spenser himself? I give Lupica high marks—both for keeping Spenser vulnerable, fallible, and human while seemingly superhuman at times. There’s a point where Spenser wonders if he’s invented a red herring for himself on one line of inquiry, which was a nice touch. Spenser takes probably the least likely punch he’s received in the series to date—and I believed it (and quite enjoyed the fallout). Basically, he treated the character with the respect due, and I suspect that comes from a fellow fan’s heart.
 

I really liked the case—and the turns it took. I do wonder if Lupica wrote himself into a little corner and had to use a deus ex machina to get him out of it in the latter chapters. It worked well enough that I’m not complaining—nor am I wholly convinced that’s what happened. It just seems like one (which is bad enough). But the layers to the case, the motives of the potential suspects, how everything played out in the end, and the secrets that came to light (and how they came to light) were really well handled and worthy of Parker at his best. 

Color me satisfied with this one, and my trust in Lupica strengthened. I think this would be a decent jumping-on point for someone curious about the character—or the idea of an aging PI still plugging away at things. Check this one out. 

 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s A Good Rush of Blood About? 

Creely Nash is almost forty, single, a waitress in downtown Portland, and a drug runner. That last item may be eye-catching, and it’s really the only thing in Nash’s life that could be described that way. 

She’s been driving for Animal for long enough for him to trust her implicitly—she gets the job done with no muss, no fuss, and no questions. Pick up from some place in the Western US and deliver it somewhere else. Period. She gets a nice flat fee and goes back to work. She’s started a savings account so that one day she can move south of the border and forget everything else. 

And then Animal has her do a job in Palm Springs, California. When she was 16, Creely ran away from her mother there and never looked back. She’d never been back, either. She should’ve told Animal no—it might not have been good for their working relationship if she had, but it’d be better than it ended up being. 

One thing leads to another, and she runs into a face from her past who tells her that Creely’s mother is doing life in Chino for murder. The wheels come off at that point—there’s no love lost between Creely and Blossom, but you don’t shake off news like that. Creely delays returning to Portland (angering Animal) to stop in Chino. Blossom tells Creely she’s innocent, but not much else. 

Creely decides to stay in Palm Springs and get some answers—at least for herself, but maybe for her mother, too. Animal is beyond angry at this point and promises Creely that if she’s not home soon, she’ll be killed. 

She’s about as unlikely an amateur detective as you’re going to find—and this is no cozy where gumption and banter are going to get her anywhere. But luck, making a good friend or two, and a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time just might put her on the right trail. 

So, what did I think about A Good Rush of Blood? 

I didn’t think of Know Me from Smoke once while reading this book. But I’ve had a hard time not thinking about it every time I’ve thought about the book since then. Briefly—this is a better novel in just about every way that I can think of. But I didn’t care about what was happening or the people it was happening to nearly as much as I did with Know Me from Smoke. This probably says more about me than either book (I’m not sure what it says, however). 

Now that I’ve got that out of the way, hopefully, my subconscious will allow me to focus on this book by itself. 

The characters are so well-drawn that it’s hard to think of them as characters. It’s common to talk about a well-depicted as “flawed.” These characters are beyond flawed—some of them seem to be nothing but flaws. This is not a criticism in any way—these characters are real. The kind of people that we pass by every day—some of us even are these people. 

Throughout the book, Creely accumulates people to help her in one form or another. And she does very little to obtain these helpers—in fact, she sometimes tries to shake them off. But it’s only through the addition of her allies that she comes closer and closer to getting the answers that she’s looking for. It’s not that she’s been friendless before—or ally-less even. But I didn’t get the impression that she’s had this many at once before. 

I don’t understand the motivation for two of her allies—the two who end up personally most important to her. The more I consider the novel—and what these two characters say about themselves and their reasons for helping Creely—the less I understand them. It’s not that I find them unbelievable as characters (see what I said above), nor that I think we have to understand the motivations of everyone in life or fiction. But I really want to sit them down and ask, “Why are you putting yourself through this for this stranger? I know what you said, but really, why?” Maybe it’s because they’re easily the most likable characters in the book that their involvement in this mess (to put it succinctly)—and the ones who will benefit the least from it—that I’ve spent so much time thinking about them. 

But those are secondary matters—the focus of this book is Creely. The murder mystery and what she (and others) must accomplish and endure to get answers is secondary, too. This is ultimately a matter of Creely understanding herself and getting a better understanding of the world. That is not to say the reader will necessarily agree with the latter—but it’s important. Creely would, I believe, sneer at the notion of “self-discovery” (I’m not sure that Phillips would be crazy about it either), so I won’t say she’s on a voyage of self-discovery here—although that’s the cliché one would appropriately use for any other protagonist in similar circumstances. 

Creely’s life has been characterized by survival—I imagine her aspirations have been low, characterized primarily by “different than now” and “less bad.” Even her vague plans for getting out of drug running (eventually) could be seen as “getting by in better weather.” But this news about her mother and how it impacted Creely give her the opportunity to do something that counts. Something that could have a lasting impact for someone (in a positive way). It’s not about making a mark on the world in a way that draws attention to herself, garners fame, or any of the usual things we see in fiction. Creely finds an opportunity to accomplish something that will affect people. She’s not had that ever—and is unlikely to have it again (especially if Animal finds her. 

That’s what drives Creely, what drives the novel—and she discovers, like so many of us, that she really didn’t understand much about her childhood, her parents, and what set her on her path. Sure, there’s more tragedy and drama in her past than some experience—and few have as hazardous a path to learn this as she does. But most readers will be able to relate to what she goes through in some way. By the end of this experience, Creely might be able to do more than simply exist, there might be more for her than getting to the next day. I doubt self-reflection has been a big part of her life prior to these events—and it might not be a huge component after. But she does do some now—and that’s no small thing. 

I’ve gone on a lot about character, self-discovery, and whatnot—and you may be saying to yourself that this is a far cry from the “sweaty, fast-paced neo-noir” “[p]eopled with bent cops, grizzled reporters, hardened drug dealers, eccentric sidekicks, and sexy librarians” that the back of the book promises. You’re absolutely right to do that. I can only blather on like that because I’m late with this post—if I’d written this immediately (as intended), I’d have focused on that kind of thing and maybe devoted a paragraph to the things I’ve started to explore above. But I’ve had time to ponder. 

“Sweaty” is an incredibly apt word. I kept thinking greasy and grimy for some reason while reading—just a present and real sense of wanting to wipe your hands off on something throughout. It’s like that hole-in-the-wall restaurant where you know why the lights are dim and you don’t care what kind of dodgy things happen in the kitchen because the food is great. “Fast-paced: might be an exaggeration, but it is propulsive—once the “murder” comes into play, there’s a momentum that carries you forward and you can’t get off. Like the moment the roller coaster starts to move and you get the sense that nothing can stop it now. 

There’s both a rawness and a cleanness to the prose that makes you know that Phillips sweated over every line—possibly every syllable. It was absolutely worth it—it’s been five years since I first read Phillips, and he’s put them to good use (and the memory of the quality of that writing has remained with me longer than other books I read that year). The power of what he’s given the readers is going to linger in your subconscious. 

This is one of the noir-est books I’ve read in 2023—a statement that would hold up in almost any year you read it—solidifying my impression of Runamok Crime as an imprint to stalk. Fans of Jordan Harper, Eli Cranor, or Vern Smith would do well to pick this up. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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A Vocabulary Lesson and The Title 

Let’s start with the word “Ostler”—what is that? It’s apparently a variant of hostler (which doesn’t help me at all), someone who tends to horses at an inn. Words like “archaic” show up when you look and various dictionaries. 

Now, I have to wonder—why entitle your novel with an archaic term that many people aren’t going to be familiar with? There’s a certain charm to using a term like that with a historical mystery. Also, maybe the term is a bit more familiar to readers in the U.K. Still, it seems risky to me. Who’s going to be drawn to that? 

Sure, Grossey knows her audience—so it’s probably a smart move. Also, for Grossey fans, they’re going to be drawn to her name rather than the book’s. 

Let’s move along to the more important things: 

What’s Ostler About? 

Our titular Ostler is Gregory Hardiman, a veteran of the war against Napoleon and other things—he has some sort of obvious facial injury, and more than a few memories he’d rather not have. He didn’t return home when his time was up, but took up residence in Cambridge and started working as an Ostler. He has a way with horses that garners him (and the inn he works for) a great reputation. 

He’s also a reader—a big one. He’s constantly trying to educate himself—he carries a notebook of words he’s trying to learn with him and is frequently updating it. This, as much as his injury, seems to mark him as an oddity, and endears him to some characters as much as it will the reader. 

Anyway, a coworker is found killed and his widow wants answers. Too many people (particularly the officials) write his death off, but neither his widow or Hardiman are convinced. Haridman finds himself assuring her that he’ll get to the bottom of it. On the one hand, she’s desperate for answers, so she’ll take the help of anyone who takes her seriously. But I’m not sure why either of them think he’s the right man for the job. 

Naturally, as this is the first of a series, he clearly is, but Hardiman doesn’t strike me as the best candidate at the beginning. He starts by looking into the brother of the dead man—he’s familiar with the outskirts of the law, and just seems shifty. 

This leads Hardiman to some dealings with Clement College and officials there—he uncovers some shady dealings and earns the trust of the faculty. While continuing to look into the murder, he ends up taking on another investigation for the College. 

Hardiman—and an interesting hodgepodge of allies—uncovers a lot more than he expected to. Including some dangerous men who aren’t intimidated by an ex-soldier. 

As Historical Fiction 

So, what I know about this time period in England—particularly about the way colleges functioned, life in Cambridge and its environs, and so on would fit on the back of a postage stamp. With room for a florid signature left over. So Grossey could’ve made everything up out of whole cloth and I’d buy it—worldbuilding worthy of Rothfuss, Martin, or Jemisin. 

But I’m certain* that’s not what happened here. Grossey paints a detailed picture of life in the time, a robust set of characters from a variety of socio-economic classes and professions. It reeks of authenticity. I want to read whatever books come next in the series just so I learn more. I jokingly told Grossey that I felt like I should ask her for a reading list to understand the time/setting—and she volunteered to provide such a list, but I think I’m just going to let her spoon-feed me things as I spend more time with Hardiman. 

*98.7% certain, anyway. I feel like I should leave a little room for cynicism. 

So, what did I think about Ostler? 

This succeeds on multiple fronts—as a mystery, as a piece of historical fiction, as a showcase for a unique (and potentially fascinating, time will tell) protagonist, and as a series start. I don’t know that this book has it all (few do), but it certainly has enough to heartily recommend. 

The story is compelling, the pacing isn’t quite what you’d want in a contemporary Crime Novel, but it fits for the time—which isn’t to suggest it lags at all. You really do want to spend more time with most of these characters again (including most of them on the wrong side of the law)—few more so than Hardiman. The circumstances in his life undergo a significant change by the end of this book, and I’m eager to see how he adapts to them (his life seems to be a series of adaptations already, he’ll do fine). 

As a slice of early 19th-century life, I found it most intriguing, and I wager most who at least dabble in historical fiction will as well. As with her Sam Plank series, Grossey is able to bring things to life in a way that gets even the uninformed 21st-century reader to see things and to immerse yourself in the period.
 

Give this one a shot—at least one thing in this book will appeal to you, probably several. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Mysteries About? 

Here’s the Publisher’s Description, if I try, I’m going to end up telling the whole, brief story: 

 
I’m not going to say more, even though I think we could use a teensy-weensy expansion to really sell the story. But the story isn’t the important part because…

WOW. The Art!
This is why you pick up this book. Period. You’re curious about what Watterson’s been up to for the last umpteen years, how his art has changed and developed. What’s got his attention? And we won’t really know much given how short this book is and how atypical it is, but still, that curiosity is there.

Maybe you know John Kascht’s work and want to see what he’s been dabbling in.

Either way, this is why you come to this book—and you will be well rewarded for it.

I’m not going to try to explain how these black-and-white images capture so much—and yet, leave so much to the imagination. But I’ve already gone through this book a few times just to see the art without caring about the words (which, yeah, I’ve read twice—but not as often). There are a couple of samples here.

So, what did I think about The Mysteries?
Honestly, the story doesn’t do much for me. It’s fine—good enough to justify your time, but that’s it. It feels like the first 50-70% of a Neil Gaiman story (but told in far fewer words). Honestly, anyone who described something like that to me would be enough to get me to pick it up—but I wanted a little more from Watterson.
 
But the more I think about it, I’m always going to want more from Watterson than he seems willing to give. So I should shut up and be happy about it.
 
I cannot say enough good things about these images, though—the visual look of the book as a whole, either. I’m so glad I got this just for that experience. And it’s an experience I can repeat frequently.
 
I’m not going to give this a rating, because…I don’t know. I can’t assign a number to this. I’m just happy to see that Watterson is still out there doing creative things and hope he decides to share some more in the years to come.
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Long Past Dues About?
Tired of the grunt-work and make-work befitting a rookie and relatively-untested Auditor (despite the heroics that got him his job), Grimsby acts on impulse and hijacks a case assignment from the closest thing he has to a friend in the Department of Unorthodox Affairs. It’s an investigation into the remains of an unidentified ritual. His job is to figure out what the ritual was supposed to do and who was behind it—particularly if the ritual was intended to produce something hazardous to humans. Rayne can’t—or won’t—tell anyone why she was so curious about this particular ritual, but the fact that Grimsby stole the assignment from her is enough to put their already tenuous relationship at risk.

Jumping into something out of his depth and under orders to make sure he’s not working alone, Grimsby tries to shake Mayflower off of his new/renewed attempts at putting the bottle to his head and pulling the trigger. Mayflower eventually emerges to help—not because of anything Grimsby said, or out of a sense of duty. But Grimsby dropped a photo that reminded Mayflower of one of his biggest successes, one of the rare times he shot someone and wasn’t haunted by it. How is anything about it back to rear its head?

Grimbsy and Rayne fluctuate between working together, racing each other, and trying to save each other while on this case.

While Grimsby was waiting for the Huntsman to come around, he spent a little time trying to help Wudge with something. It didn’t go wholly according to plan. Or much according to plan at all, really. Along the way, Grimsby picked up something that twists his magic in a way he’s having trouble adjusting to. And picked up an enemy—or at least adversary—or three. All of which is going to complicate things for him in the immediate future.

Digging Deeper into Mayflower
The first book explored both partners, but we learned more about Grimsby for sure. The accent fell more to Mayflower in this book—at least when it came to backstory and filling out the character—Grimsby was the focus of the plot again, to be sure.

That said, I think most readers would’ve guessed correctly to 95+% of what we learned about Mayflower here. But it’s good to have it spelled out for us—not in a spoon-feeding way, but the kind of confirmation that’s welcome. We also get a better understanding of what Mayflower sees in Grimsby, why he stuck up for him, and did what he had to to get Grimsby recruited by the Department.

Again, we probably could’ve guessed it, too. But I liked actually getting to see it.

I enjoy the way the two partners see themselves and each other—the way those perspectives conflict with each other and the way they roughly match up.

Wudge
It’d be super-easy to consider Wudge as comic relief primarily—with a hint of pathetic. Sure, he’s good for another perspective on the supernatural world and to help Grimsby out in a pinch—but he’s first and foremost someone to laugh at. Like Dobby. (I’m saying that because I’ve slipped into it, and that makes me feel better)

But it’s a mistake to think that—he’s more like Gurgi early on—funny, pitiful, with a hint of malice. Like Hearne’s hobgoblin Buck, but less trustworthy (and less easily amused). He’s dangerous, he’s looking out for himself more than anything—and is perfectly willing to take advantage of Grimsby. You, like Grimsby, can’t help but like him when he’s around. You feel bad for the guy and hope that Grimsby can give him the assistance he needs.

But something tells me that he’s more like the scorpion that stings the frog as they’re crossing the water together—his nature isn’t to pal around with a human. And we’re going to regret chuckling at him in the near future.

Or, I’m way off base and I’m going to have to come along and issue a retraction.

The Anti-Nick Fury?
Without getting into particulars, this book ends in a very similar way to the way its predecessor did. Someone out there is scheming, picking up the pieces from whatever Grimsby, Mayflower, and the rest of the Department left behind (and one has to assume they’re doing this with non-Grimsby cases, too). Exactly what they’re doing with the people and artifacts left behind we’re not told. It’s clearly ominous, but that’s about it.
 
It’s like the opposite of the post/mid-credit scenes in the early MCU movies where Fury is recruiting people for the Avengers Initiative. It’s more like those scenes in the Garfield Spider-Man movies (although, it’s been a few years so my memory is pretty fuzzy)—everyone, including Spidey, has thought he saved the day, righted the wrongs, and sent the bad guys packing, someone is out there coming along behind him with something clearly nefarious in mind.
 
Now, if James J. Butcher has really learned much from Jim Butcher, I expect that we’ll see/start to see what this has all been leading up to in Book 5. But I figure he knows that readers might expect that—so maybe it’ll be Book 4 or 6 instead. Whenever he reveals what’s cooking in these last looks, it’s going to be big. And it’s going to be bad news for Grimsby and Mayflower. It’ll be good for the reader, no mistake, but bad for our heroes.
 

 
So, what did I think about Long Past Dues?
So, yeah, I picked up on the big twist pretty early on. And then the twist to that twist, too—although I’m not sure I got that earlier than Butcher wanted us to. Being ahead (?) of where we were supposed to be didn’t diminish things at all for me—if anything it amped up the suspense for me because I wondered how long it was going to take for Grimsby and Mayflower to suss it out, and how bad things were going to have to get for them to see it.

I’m rarely that into a twist surprising me—I’m far more interested in how the reveal is executed and Butcher did it just right here—I wouldn’t have minded the heroes putting the pieces together a bit quicker, but I’m not going to complain about how it came about. What I didn’t expect was just how it was going to play out after the reveal—and what the long-term ramifications were going to look at. And…whoa.

So much of what I thought was going to happen to/hoped would happen for Grimsby over the next few books went away in a paragraph or two. I feel so bad for him—and am so filled with anticipation to see what Butcher replaces my expectations with.

I really appreciate the way the partnership between the Huntsman and the rookie Auditor is developing. Whatever their bond in Dead Man’s Hand may have been, they’re not BFF’s by any means at this point. There are growing pains ahead, stops and starts to their partnership, and some pretty big obstacles they need to work through. But at the core—that relationship, respect for, need (?) for each other is a great starting point to see both grow as people and agents. I don’t know that Mayflower will ever get all his issues resolved, all his personal demons exorcised, etc. But he can get closer, he can maybe become really functional again—and that’s enough.

We got a couple of new and potentially recurring characters here that I really enjoyed. The magic—and the magical worlds—are enough to satisfy an Urban Fantasy fan. The monsters—and how they manifest in the real world—are great. The societies—Usual and Unorthodox—are intriguing in all the right ways. The banter is just what a buddy-cop reader wants to read. The moral choices aren’t easy or too clear-cut (which is great). The principal characters are engaging and believable. Basically, this series is really working for me. I can’t list all the things it’s doing right, actually.

I don’t have any major criticisms or complaints—I just want more of this series. Next year and for at least a handful of years to come. Long Past Dues didn’t disappoint and lived up to the promise of Dead Man’s Hand. Can’t ask for much more.

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Chaos Terminal About? 

A contingent of humans is about to arrive on Eternity—a mix of scholars wanting to interact with all the alien races on board, a couple of tourists, a couple of spies, the detective who had Mallory in his sights for years, and the new ambassador to Eternity. Sadly, they arrive at a bad time—Mrs. Brown, the new host for the sentient space station has left for some training on how to be a better host, leaving Eternity functional, but not optimally so. Mallory has been left as the primary contact for Eternity (which only Mrs. Brown and Eternity seem to think was the right choice)—but she’s not quite herself once these humans arrive. 

Now, as is wont to happen around Mallory, one of this group is murdered. Something is going on with the Sundry that no one can quite understand. The Gneiss outside of Eternity aren’t happy with what Tina and Stephanie did in the concluding chapters of the last book—and just might attack the station to express their displeasure. Oh, and among the newly-arrived humans are two people Mallory has had zero contact with for years—her High School BFF, Amy, and Amy’s brother, Parker. Parker is Mallory’s long-lost unrequited love, and it’s pretty clear that he’s never really put the torch he carries for her down anywhere. 

Adrian 

After what happened to him in Station Eternity (and what he did before that), I really thought we were done with the former ambassador, Adrian. Alas, I was wrong—he’s still around. For a guy who’s not a villain or a real antagonist, he’s really unpleasant as a character. I really wish he was something other than “the annoying human on the station.” 

He’s toned down a little bit after his recent experiences, but at his heart, he’s still an arrogant twit who doesn’t contribute much of worth to anyone. At least that I can tell. I really hope that now that his replacement is on board he decides to head back to earth. 

(or, fine, Lafferty does something really interesting with him in the next book would be preferable to losing him—she really didn’t this time out—but it’d have to be quite interesting not to get on my nerves) 

The Killer 

I want to start out by saying that I really don’t have sympathy for the killer and think things wrapped up justly for them (that’s a fairly spoiler-free way to put it, I think). 

But once it was revealed what led up to the murder—and how things spiraled out of control afterward—I kind of felt bad for them. They were unknowingly wrapped up in things and fell victim to bad assumptions because of that. Yes, their reactions were utterly wrong—but I can understand how they got to the point where murder seemed like a solution. That understanding lasted until they started taking the next steps to cover up the crime and everything that ensued. 

I do appreciate that Lafferty set things up that way for the killer—the alien cultures, the intrigue around the killer and the trip to Eternity, and the least-sympathetic murder victim I remember reading this year—help the reader to be ambivalent about the killer’s actions (at least initially). Not enough writers do that. 

So, what did I think about Chaos Terminal? 

The one thing I wish Lafferty had done differently was the humor in this book. Not that Station Eternity was a yuk-fest by any means, but there was a fairly steady stream of humor throughout—either in character moments, misunderstandings between the aliens and humans, or just the preposterous nature of Mallory’s abilities and what she did with them. The humor in Chaos Eternity was almost entirely centered on Tina. She was a walking, talking (and/or yelling) embodiment of chaos and slapstick. So much so that it started to be too much a few times (but Tina and Lafferty won me over each time I was tempted to give up). 

I do wish Xan had a little more to do, too. But he was integral to so much of the plot, but not in an overt way—I remember him playing a bigger role in Station Eternity than he did here. He was almost as important as Mallory before, and he was demoted to the fourth-most integral character. Here’s hoping that’s not a permanent thing. 

While I was engaged, very curious, and entertained throughout—I wasn’t having as much fun as I did with Station Eternity and I will admit I wondered if I misjudged the other book. Then two things happened—1. Mallory and Parker had a good conversation where they both communicated* and 2. The killer was revealed. After that (or in the midst of that) everything clicked into place and almost everything that had me on the fence about this book went away. 

* There was nothing wrong with the scenes earlier where they failed to actually communicate, both were distracted, unsure if they could trust the other, getting over baggage, and thinking they could delay the conversation. 

I did say “almost everything” there. I’m not wholly on-board with everything Lafferty was doing. I really haven’t had as much time to think about this book as I wanted to between the time I finished and the time I wrote this post—I assume that if I had, a lot of what I’m uncertain about would make sense to me. I really don’t understand some of the relationships in this book, why some of the interpersonal conflicts existed, and just why Lafferty decided to take up so much space with all that. However, most of that provided a couple of red herrings—or at least things that distracted Mallory from what she needed to focus on—which was likely a large part of the point. It could be as simple as Lafferty was using everything possible to add to the titular chaos. 

None of this detracts from everything that (eventually) worked about the novel, but it keeps me from raving about it. It’s not really what I expected from this sequel—and that’s such a good thing. What happens in the last few chapters ensures that Book 3 won’t be anything like this or Station Eternity. I’m not sure what’s going to happen—nor am I going to bother trying to guess (although it’s probably safe to assume that a new group of humans will visit Eternity and one of them will be murdered). I will trust Lafferty to come through with a satisfying conclusion however. 

And, boy howdy, did this conclusion satisfy. Everything was wrapped up fairly nicely—those things that weren’t really only served to set things in motion for Book 3. 

As the dust settled with the book’s events—and as the dust settles in my mind about those events and Lafferty’s plotting—I’m left satisfied and impressed with the way it all went down. I had my doubts, but they were quelled and assuaged, leaving me able to say that those who enjoyed Station Eternity would do well to pick this up—more importantly, those who like a good mystery in an even better SF setting, in the years soon following First Contact should grab both books in this series and prepare for something great next year (or so). 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Cunk on Everything About? 

Funny story (well, a story anyway), last week I was in my doctor’s office briefly and the nurse was being nice while she prepared to stab me with a knife (or maybe it was a tiny needle, the witness accounts vary) and she asked me what I was reading. I responded with, “Have you seen that show on Netflix called Cunk on Earth?” She hadn’t. Which made the whole small-talk pitch so much harder. 

Because if you have seen the show (even just a clip or two), this is easy—it’s Philomena Cunk’s take on just about everything. History, culture, science, art, philosophy, religion, sports, food, and some of the important individuals in those areas. Presented in her idiosyncratic way, of course. 

Now, if you haven’t watched the show—because you’re a reader, or something rare like that—this is trickier. Cunk’s approach to the documentary specials on TV or the encyclopedia entries in this book are a combination of naïveté, misunderstandings (especially in mispronunciation/misspellings), and cynicism. 

Miscellaneous Observations 

I don’t know how to talk about this book—especially as it’s essentially 1-5 page entries on a wide variety of topics (and that page count is just a guess, I couldn’t tell you from my eARC). The topics range from Alexander the Great, the Alphabet, The Alt Right, The Dark Ages, Democracy, Fake News, “Fullosophy,” Hair, the iPhone, The Mystery of Life, Sausages, “Weeing in Public,” and so on. So, right—forget trying to cover this all intelligibly. 

In lieu of that, here are some miscellaneous observations:

So, what did I think about Cunk on Everything? 

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

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

My daughter and I have spent months sending various Cunk videos back and forth to each other. But now I’ve transitioned to  reading her bits and pieces of this as I worked through it. I’m not nearly as good as Morgan at delivering the material, I realize. She’s probably glad I’m finished. But, man is this a quotable read—it’s virtually impossible to resist the urge to share this material. 

Whether you go from cover to cover, or dip into it here and there (probably for longer than you intend to)—these brief entries are almost certainly going to be a burst of entertainment for you. Not all of them are going to work for every reader—but never fear, just turn the page and you’re probably going to come across one that will. 

I had a blast with this—putting this post together took longer than you’d think based on the brevity of it because I kept getting distracted by the book and re-read large chunks of it. I think you will, too. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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This is Hard 

I want to limit my comparisons between this new series and Jacka’s previous series to just one section—but that’s not going to happen. It makes sense, I suppose. It’s Jacka’s first non-Alex Verus book (other than the two hard-to-find children’s novels), so comparisons are inevitable, but I don’t want to turn this into an X vs. Y situation. 

I will say at the outset, that if it wasn’t for the name on the cover, I don’t know that I’d have known they had the same author—so that tells you something about the comparisons. (except in quality—this is definitely up to the standards Jacka has established) 

What’s An Inheritance of Magic About? 

This is tricky. The Author’s Note at the beginning of the book tells us that this book is an introduction to the series. We are introduced to the world, the characters, the magic, and so on. Yes, there is a plot—a handful, actually—but the main point is for us to get oriented. 

Basically, we meet Stephen—he’s roughly 20 and is fairly aimless. He doesn’t have the money (or, really, ambition) to go to University. He bounces from temp job to temp job, hangs out at his local with his friends regularly, takes care of his cat, and works on his magic in his spare time. It’s his real passion, but he doesn’t do much with it. 

Then one day, some distant relatives that he’s never heard of come into his life (it’d be too complicated to list the reasons they give, and I think they’re half-truths at best, anyway). Suddenly, Stephen is thrown into a dangerous, high-stakes world of money and power—and he’s just a pawn to be used in the games of his “family” (and by family, I mean people that 23andMe would identify as relatives, but he’s never been in contact with or aware of for his entire existence). He’s a relatively unimportant pawn at that. He’s sort of grateful for that as he realizes it—but he’d have been happier if they never bothered him in the first place. Happier and with significantly fewer bruises. 

However, through their machinations, he’s introduced to new levels of magic society and ways that the magic in this world works. Best of all he finds ways that he can be employed and use his magic—the best of both worlds. Sure, his friends don’t get it (not that he tells many of them, because he prefers that they think he’s sane), but he’s bringing in enough money to live and he’s getting stronger and more capable. 

The World and Its Magic System 

So, where the Alex Verus series was about one man and his friends/allies trying to navigate (and survive) the politics and power of the magical society in England (largely), at this point the Stephen Oakwood series appears to be about one man making his way (and hopefully surviving) the money and power of a different sort magical society—and it’s intersection with the non-magical world. We’re not just talking Econ 101 kind of stuff here—Stephen’s family appears to be some of the 1% of the 1% and there are huge multi-national corporations involved here with defense contracts to governments all over the world. 

Basically, Alex had an easier place to navigate. 

Most of the magic that’s used in this world comes from sigils—physical objects created from various kinds of energy wells (earth magic, life magic, light magic, and so on) to do particular tasks (shine a light, augment strength, heal minor wounds, etc.). There are likely bigger and better things along those lines (hence defense contracts), but that should give you an idea. The overwhelming number of these sigils are pumped out by some sort of industrial companies and are only good for a limited amount of time. 

Stephen was taught (by his father, and by himself) to make sigils on his own—his are individualized, artisanal kinds of things. Think of a sweater you get from some hobbyist off of Etsy vs. the kind of thing you can get for much less at Walmart or on Wish—quality that lasts vs. cheap and disposable. He also reverse engineers almost all of his sigils—he sees something in a catalog (no, really, this is how people get their sigils for personal use) or in use and tries to figure out how such a thing will work and then sets out to create one. 

I don’t know where Jacka is going to go with all of this, obviously. But I love this setup. 

Alex and Stephen 

It wasn’t until I was just about done with the book that I finally figured out what Alex and Stephen had in common—which is odd, it was staring me in the face for most of the novel. But before that, I really wouldn’t have said they had much in common at all. 

Stephen is our entry point to this world, and he only knows a little bit about it so as he learns, so does the reader. Alex pretty much knew everything that was going on in his world, so he had to catch the reader up—or he could help Luna understand something (and make it easier for the reader to learn that way). Stephen has to learn almost everything by getting someone to teach him, or through trial and error—either way, the reader is along for the ride and learns with him. 

Similarly, Stephen’s really just starting to get the knack of his abilities where Alex was already a pro—sure he had more to learn (and his power increased), but Stephen’s not even a rookie, really when things get going. 

Stephen had a loving and supportive father growing up, a strong group of friends, and experience outside the area of magic users—something we never got a strong idea that Alex ever had. Alex had trauma and hardships behind him—Stephen doesn’t. So their personalities, outlooks, etc. are very different from the outset. 

It’s not really that shocking that the protagonists of two different series wouldn’t be that similar. And yet…we’ve all read a second or third series from an author with a protagonist that’s just a variation of their initial breakout character. So it’s good to see that Jacka’s able to make that transition between his two series—it gives you hope for what he’s going to do in the future. 

Oh, what did I finally realize the two characters shared? They watch and learn. Alex does it because that’s essentially what his abilities were—he could sift through the various futures and decide what to do based on that. Stephen just doesn’t know enough about anything so he has to sit and observe—and from there he can decide how to act. But where others will try to think first and act second, Stephen and Alex watch first—and for a long time—before they think and then act. It’s something not enough characters (especially in Urban Fantasy) seem to spend much time doing. So I’m glad to see it. 

So, what did I think about An Inheritance of Magic? 

I am just so excited about this series. I didn’t know how Jacka could successfully follow up the Verus series. I trusted he would, because he’s earned that over the last decade—but, I didn’t expect that I’d respond so positively so soon. 

We need to start with Stephen’s spunky attitude—with a little bit of a chip on his shoulder due to his circumstances in life (that grows to a degree as he learns how much he and his father missed out on and starts to guess why)—is a real winner. He’s got a gritty (in an Angela Duckworth sense, not Raymond Chandler or William Gibson sense) outlook, is generally optimistic—and can even be funny—all the attributes you want in an underdog. 

Then there’s the world-building that I tried to sketch out above—and did a not-wholly-inadequate job of. I want to know more about it—and figure increased familiarity is just going to make me more curious. 

I have so many questions about the family members who’ve inserted themselves in Stephen’s life related to their motivations, trustworthiness (I suspect at least one will turn out to be an ally, however temporary), goals, and abilities. I have those questions about Stephen’s guides and allies—and think at least one of them is going to turn on him in a devastating way (thankfully, he doesn’t trust most of them completely). There’s also this priest who keeps assigning him theological work to study. Some good theology, too. I don’t fully know where this is going—but I’m dying to find out. 

Are we going to get a Big Bad—or several—for Stephen to face off against? Or is this simply going to be about a series of obstacles Stephen has to overcome until he can carve out an okay existence for himself? Is this about Stephen becoming one of those 1% and the corruption of his character that will necessitate? 

I’m not giving this a full 5 stars mostly because of the introductory nature of the book—also because I want to be able to say that book 2 or 3 is an improvement over this (which I fully expect). But that says more about me and my fussy standards than it does about this book. I loved it, and am filled with nothing but anticipation for the sequel/rest of the series. It’s entirely likely that as this series wraps up that we’re going to talk about the Alex Verus series as Jacka with his training wheels on. 

I’m now in danger of over-hyping. Also, I’m going to just start repeating laudatory ideas. Urban Fantasy readers need to get on this now. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s ‘Twas the Bite Before Christmas About? 

On the night of the Tara Foundation’s holiday party, Andy’s friend Pete Stanton, of the homicide department, calls him to ask Andy to bring one of his volunteers outside, so the police don’t have to cause a scene. Andy does so and immediately steps into the role of the volunteer’s attorney. He doesn’t know Derek Moore very well, but he likes Derek—and Derek’s dogs (more importantly), and wants to protect him at least until they both know what’s going on.

Andy quickly learns something about Derek—as he’s arrested, it’s revealed that his real name is Robert Klaster. Up until a couple of years ago, Bobby was in a gang in South Jersey. It was growing more and more violent, up to the point that Bobby was the wheelman for a murder. He went to the cops and turned in the men he drove—after their conviction, the state witness protection program moved him to Patterson with a new name.

Bobby’s made the most of this second chance and has become an upstanding citizen and moderately successful business owner—in addition to a great dog shelter volunteer. But now one of the leaders of his old gang has been killed in Patterson, and a tip led Stanton’s men straight to Bobby—with just enough evidence for them to make an arrest. The case is strong, but not air-tight. The question in front of Andy is can he take advantage of the weaknesses while finding the real killer? 

And just why would someone bother setting Bobby up now? 

The Recurring Cast 

Almost the whole (and continually expanding) cast of regulars is around. Edna’s traveling, but we still get a couple of jokes about her work habits. Eddie shows up, but barely gets any dialogue—and not one sports cliché!—I really enjoyed those (see also: Sam’s song-talking), but the rest are about in their typical form. 

Which is important—as much as these books are about the mystery/mysteries surrounding Andy’s case, it’s Andy and the crew we come back to spend time with. Including Tara, Sebastian, and Hunter—Sebastian particularly has some good moments in this book. 

I do wonder if the supporting cast is getting too large, which is why Edna and Eddie get barely more than mentions. This makes sense, and it’d be good for Rosenfelt to rotate some of these in and out from book to book. It’d be better than cutting any of these for whatever reason—and better than just a token mention. 

That said, Rosenfelt gave us some more than typical reflection on members of the cast. It was good to see Andy explain the specialization of work in his firm and for Andy to bring up the ethics of what he gets Sam to do in his narration. Cory’s been good about that in the companion series, but it’s not that frequent in this series. 

I’m not sure if I had a point when I started this section, it’s basically turned into “assorted thoughts on the use of the supporting characters.” So let’s see if I can summarize my take on them for this novel—I enjoyed seeing them all, and am glad we got to spend time with them. I do wonder, however, if more judicious use of some of them per book rather than all of them each time, would be a better experience for the reader. 

The Holiday-ness of It 

So, this is the holiday-themed release for the series this year, as the title and cover image tell you. Very little in the book tells you that, however. 

We don’t even get the typical (and always enjoyable) rant about Laurie’s months-long commemoration of Christmas. He gives a compressed version, but it’s not the same. In its place, we get Andy’s extended (and not favorable) review of egg nog. There are a few references to Christmas and a couple of the following holidays—but it’s not focused on too much. Honestly, we spend more time on Ricky’s soccer-fandom* than on any Federal or religious holiday. 

* That was great to read about. Poor Andy. I get the same feeling when my kids prefer other SF franchises to Star Trek. 

Do I care? Nope. I’ll take any excuse to hang with Andy and the gang. But I figure since it’s part of the theme of the book I should nod in it’s direction. 

So, what did I think about ‘Twas the Bite Before Christmas? 

This has nothing to do with anything, but Andy references the case in Flop Dead Gorgeous at one point in the book. It’s been a long time since he’s mentioned a previous case (outside of Willie Miller’s, which gets mentioned from time to time). It’s a nice touch to keep the series building on itself. 

There were a couple of other things that stood out to me about this book compared to the rest of the series: Bobby’s about as close to an unsympathetic client as Rosenfelt gives us anymore (maybe ever—this is the twenty-eighth book in the series, I don’t remember the client in every one). And it’s good that Rosenfelt gives us some characters that are hard to root for—although a reformed criminal is pretty easy to root for, come to think of it. 

Secondly, Andy slips up (at least in his mind, although Laurie disagrees) and it leads to some tragic consequences. Now, no one’s out there thinking that Andy’s infallible by any means, but it’s rare that a move on his part has such an obvious negative consequence. I’m not suggesting that we need to see major mistakes from our hero in every novel—but it’s good to see that just because Andy Carpenter gets involved, not everything is going to be sunshine and roses. 

That said, he’s definitely at the point where I have to wonder why the DA keeps taking Andy’s clients to trial—when will they learn? Also, Pete sounds far too convinced that Andy’s client is guilty, you’d think he, in particular, would have more faith in his friend. This is a question countless readers have asked about Hamilton Burger and Lt. Tragg, as well, and the answer is simply: we wouldn’t get to see Andy or Perry Mason do their thing otherwise. 

‘Twas the Bite Before Christmas delivered just what I expected—a good time with characters I enjoy, a clever whodunit, some fun moments with fictional dogs, and a satisfying resolution. Rosenfelt delivers that and more—there’s a sweet bonus moment to the resolution that adds a little holiday glow to the book (that works equally well in mid-September as it will closer to the holiday, or at any point in the calendar year that you happen to read this in). You’d do well to pick it up, whether you’re new to the series or a die-hard fan. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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The Background of Godzilla and Godzilla Raids Again 

The movie producer, Tomoyuki Tanaka, brought some ideas (largely adopted from a Ray Bradbury story) to the novelist, Shigeru Kayama, and asked him to turn them into a story for a film. This story, in turn, was developed into a screenplay by Ishirō Honda and Takeo Murata (the director and assistant director) and became the movie Godzilla. 

Godzilla was such a success that Tanaka had Kayama come up with a follow-up story, that became Godzilla Raids Again (although Godzilla Counterattacks is a better translation, that’s not what the movie’s title was originally titled in English). 

About that time, Kayama was done with the movies and what they were doing to his idea about the monster—but he was helping to launch a series of books for young adult readers and adapted his original ideas for the movies into novellas for that series. These novellas came out around the time of the second movie’s release. Now, they’re being translated into English for the first time. 

What’s Godzilla About? 

The testing of some nuclear weapons in the Pacific Ocean has disturbed a long-dormant dinosaur/monster. Not only is it now awake, it may have mutated by the bomb(s). Angry and confused, it stumbles onto the Japanese islands and wreaks havoc on the people and cities it encounters. 

The beast kills and destroys multitudes and seems invincible to every weapon that the nation has access to. But one scientist has been developing a new kind of weapon, that he doesn’t trust any government to have access to—but he might be forced to unveil it to stop Godzilla. 

What’s Godzilla Raids Again About? 

It was theorized when Godzilla showed up in the first novella that he might not be the sole monster/dinosaur/kaiju to have been awakened by the tests. A pair of pilots* working for a fishing company stumble upon another Godzilla on an island near Japan—while they’re trying to escape from that Godzilla, it’s attacked by another monster/dinosaur/kaiju, later identified as an Anguirus. The two pilots manage to escape following the fight between the two monsters. 

* One of those pilots is named Kobayashi, and any good Star Trek fan knows bad things are about to happen as soon as that name is seen. 

They rush back to warn the Anti-Godzilla Task Force who begin to strategize a defense against the monster—they cannot access the same weapon used last time, so they’re going to have to come up with something better, and quickly. 

The Supplementary Materials 

In addition to the novellas, the book has some additional material—the first (and most useful) is an Afterword, “Translating an Icon,” by the translator (obviously). These 30± pages contained answers to almost every question I had while reading—including a few things that I think would’ve been helpful knowing going into the book (the relation of the novellas to the films, the extent of Kayama’s involvement with the creation of Godzilla, why he published the novellas, etc.). 

But there’s a lot of information that I’m glad I didn’t know going in—the critique of the U.S. nuclear testing, why it had to be so subtle, why the films didn’t include it as much as the novellas did, where (and why, sometimes) the films and novellas diverge, and the meaning of some of the more emotional moments. There were points where it was clear that something important or meaningful had happened, but I wasn’t sure exactly what it was—Angles helped a lot. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is that in a perfect world (at least perfect for me), we’d have gotten a foreword as well the afterword—but like just about every writer out there, Angles wasn’t writing to satisfy my whims. And as an Afterword, he could really get into spoilers and things it’s best to have explained after the text. 

The whole thing was so interesting I could’ve easily read something twice the length (and something tells me that Angles could’ve done that without much effort, it was probably harder for him to leave out ideas and details). The part I enjoyed the most was his discussion of a few translation issues, for example, the excessive (for a contemporary English reader, anyway) use of onomatopoeias throughout the book—but particularly in the battle scenes, or scenes when Godzilla is angry and taking it out on human structures and devices. Those pages read like the Batman TV series from 1966—full of Bams, Pows, and the like. And Angles describes how he cut many of them by translating them somewhat differently. He also discussed how he chose to spell the roars of Godzilla and Anguirus, and I really enjoyed that. 

There were some things that he wanted to do a more accurate job of translating, but given the history fans have with the films, etc. he chose to stay consistent with the films, so he wouldn’t have to fend off accusations of bad work from those fans. I absolutely get why he’d make that choice, and feel so bad for him that he had to make it. 

I’d noticed that there was a Glossary of Names, Places, and Ideas at the end of the book, but completely forgot to use it while reading the novellas. I don’t know that using it would’ve helped me too much during the reading—almost always the context was clear enough to get the meaning across. But reading it afterward helped clarify a thing or two, but by and large, those were minor details that not knowing them didn’t detract much from the text. The things I really needed (and some I could’ve guessed at) were in the handful of footnotes throughout the novellas. The Glossary was pretty interesting to read, I should note. 

So, what did I think about Godzilla and Godzilla Raids Again? 

Before I get into this, I want to take a moment to say how cool it was to get to read a book about Godzilla. From the time I can remember this monster has been something I’ve been aware of in some way. The old movies, cartoons about him (and his goofy nephew, Godzooky), the toys, the newer movies, and everything in between. He’s just been one of the coolest creatures in my pop culture awareness—there’ve been few times that I’ve clicked on “Request” so hard on NetGalley. Now, I do have to admit, it’s been decades since I watched the original films—I’m much more familiar with the Gamera movies than Godzilla. So I had to wait until the Afterword to know what was different between what I was reading and what audiences saw in the 50s (it was certainly different enough from the Emmerich movie from 1998, that I remember more of than I want to). 

I did think some of the dialogue was pretty stilted, and some of the character reactions seemed overwrought (and some underwrought). It actually reminded me a lot of the Gamera films and other English-dubbed live-action shows/movies I’ve watched—and while reading the book, I frequently thought that I owed those who wrote the scripts for the dubbing an apology—their work felt a lot like Angles’ translation. I don’t think that the dialogue or characterizations damaged my appreciation of the work, it just underlined for me that this is the work of another culture (and another time). So they’d better not sound like native English speakers, and should probably act/react in ways that don’t seem particularly American. What might be slightly off-putting at first quickly becomes part of the charm of the novellas. 

The intended audience for these novellas were young adults, and throughout Kayama would insert asides “You may not understand…” or “You’ve probably seen something like…” to help his reader understand what’s going on, or perhaps the feeling behind it. The first time it happened, it was entirely unexpected, but I enjoyed the idea. I liked each successive one more than the last and was disappointed that we didn’t get nearly as many as I’d hoped. I don’t know if this was characteristic of his writing (I suspect it wasn’t), but for these novellas, it really worked. 

We don’t see Godzilla right away, and Kayama did a great job of building the tension until we do—he’s there, doing damage and terrifying people, but the reader doesn’t get an idea of what they’re seeing until we’re about one-third of the way through the first novella. As impatient as I was to see the monster myself, I wish he’d been able to hold out a little longer. Now in the second book, we know what Godzilla looks like, so we can skip the build-up and throw him in right away—and then add Anguirus just a couple of pages later. 

I found everything about Godzilla more satisfying than Godzilla Raids Again, but the latter was more fun and action-packed. I can see where some might be put off by the not-at-all-subtle messaging of Godzilla, but I thought it fit the story and the need at the time. 

The Afterword and Glossary added a lot to my understanding and appreciation of what Kayama was seeking to accomplish and say, lifting the impact of the book as a whole. The novellas on their own would’ve been entertaining and satisfying, mostly as an artifact of another era (see what I said about the dialogue and characterizations)—but the supplementary material added the necessary context and definition to the novellas so that I walked away with a better understanding and appreciation for the book. Don’t skip those bits. 

I’ve said a lot more than I expected to—and have only scratched the surface of what I’d hoped to say. So let me cut to the chase—I really enjoyed this experience—fun novellas, a deeper understanding of the creature and the themes the original movie was trying to explore, and a glimpse into Japan of the 1950s. And, once again, it’s a book about Godzilla, do you really need me to say more? I heartily encourage you to check this book up. Now, I’ve got to go track down some black-and-white films.