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theirresponsiblereader's Reviews (607)
challenging
emotional
sad
tense
slow-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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A Quick Vocabulary Lesson
Leave it to our Teutonic friends to have a word for every occasion—in this case, we’re talking about “Fernweh.” Briefly, it’s the opposite of homesickness. It’s a longing for a far-off place, a farsickness. Not necessarily a particular place, but frequently it is one. The desire to travel would be another way to put it.
What’s Farsickness About?
Hal—he doesn’t really remember much about himself beyond his name—is hearing a voice inside his head. A voice telling him to go home. To go to Scotland (a place Hal doesn’t think he’s ever been, so how is it home?), to a particular castle there. Hal decides to call this voice “Fern” (from Fernweh, in case it wasn’t clear why I started talking about it) and does what Fern tells him to. Hal asks a lot of questions, only some of which get answers.
Then like Dante with Virgil, Christian with Evangelist (and others), Hal is taken on a journey once he gets off the plane in Scotland that is so strange, so fraught with peril and symbolism, and the difficult to explain, that I’m not going to bother trying. But in the end, Hal is taken on the journey to the places he’s really longing for.
So, what did I think about Farsickness?
The writing here—regardless what you think of what and who Mohr’s writing about—is worth your time. He’s got some of the nicest, most evocative phrases and sentences I’ve come across this year. They can make you grin until you remember he’s describing something horrible (or just plain weird). I think some passages would be great to read aloud—or listen to—just because of the sounds. There’s a scene of a submarine sinking, for example, it was a pure pleasure to read, the imagery was fantastic, it was a little funny, the vocabulary was vivid—and yet, it was about a manned vehicle going down. I tell you what, Tom Clancy, couldn’t have done it better (and he’d have taken multiple pages rather than the very tight paragraph or two Mohr used)—or as well.
I only have an ARC, so I’m not going to quote from it, just in case something changed—so you don’t get samples, but I’m telling you, it’s great. Think Lance Olsen, Mark Richard, or (because those names are likely too obscure) a decaffeinated Mark Leyner, and you’re on the right track. Kind of.
I’m clearly having trouble talking about that, so let’s move on to the who and what.
The more I think about it (and I’ve spent longer on it than I anticipated), I don’t know that Hal actually had fernweh. I think it’s something else—or we’re talking a metaphorical other place he wants to go. Or he thought he had fernweh, but was mistaken/confused/deceived. And…ugh. it’s hard to talk about what I’m trying to say without a lot of citations and deep-diving. It’s just something to think about as you read, I guess—”is ‘fernweh’ an appropriate term?” I actually think it adds another layer or three to things if Hal wasn’t feeling that after all. Not that it’s a bad or misleading title. I’m just wondering if we need to ponder it a while.
I’m also tempted to say that I’m overthinking things. But I’m reasonably sure that Mohr wouldn’t agree that I was.
(this would be so much easier to talk about if you had all read the book already. Why don’t you all agree to go read it right now and come back in 140 pages or so to read the rest of my post about why you should read it? Yeah…there’s something about that proposal that doesn’t work.)
Farsickness is one of those books that will tempt you almost immediately to try and figure out “what’s really going on,” to dive into the symbolism and other figurative representations to get to the bottom of things. I’d encourage you not to, just let Mohr and Hal take you along this surreal exploration of parts unknown (or are they?). Just let it unfold—relatively quickly you’ll start to think, “Oh, this is about ____.” Not long after that, you’ll know, “this is about ____.” Then you’ll start to see why it’s about ____, and why it matters. And everything you wondered about at the beginning will make utter sense. Then you’ll get some resolution to the story. Yeah, you could suss it out early on if you set your mind to it—but I think it’s a more satisfying experience (at least with this novel), if you let Mohr do the work.
Also, that approach lets you soak in and enjoy the very peculiar characters and imagery. Both of those deserve discussions of 500-1000 words a piece, but I’m not the writer to provide that.
There’s a pretty simple—and heart-tugging and sweet—story at the center of all this. But the 3+ licks to get to that Tootsie Roll center are enjoyable in their own way—and might do a little heart-tugging of their own. Yes, that candy shell is about trauma, healing, violence, forgiveness, and horror. But it’s not presented in a way that will make it too difficult to read. Like Hal, I didn’t know where I’d end up when I started the journey through Farsickness and I ended up far away from where I started—but it was absolutely worth the time (actually, it’d have been worth longer than it took, too).
This is no straightforward narrative, but the prose isn’t terribly dense and is fairly effortless to get through. After a few pages, you won’t notice it at all, Mohr will have sucked you into his absurd little reality and you’ll be turning pages like this is a thriller. I don’t know that I’d have gone out of my way for this (particularly with the cover), but I’m very glad Farsickness came across my path, and I wager you will be, too, if you give it a chance.
funny
reflective
fast-paced
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s How to Stay Productive When the World Is Ending About?
People being compelled to choose between having money to buy food/shelter/necessities and health (all while maintaining a social media presence) in the midst of worrying about the immanent death of the earth from climate change and various and sundry pandemics—this is the book for you.
a collection of essays, how-tos, and “inspirational” phrases to help you laugh when staying both sane and productive in a commodified world feels impossible. From “‘Doing What You Love’ and Why That’s Bad,” to “Why I’m Prioritizing My Career Over Finding a Better Career,” this collection perfectly skewers the indignities, big and small, of living through late-stage capitalism.
The Narrators
Mara Wilson and Jay Aaseng did a great job—a very dry delivery (unless something else was called for) and earnestness really sold the satire. I can’t help but imagine that they had to do many takes of parts of this because it was difficult to get through with a straight face. Even for professionals like they are.
I think Aeseng got to show a little more range in his performance, but that’s just because some of the things he was asked to do demanded it—when Wilson got to do more than the straight, dry reading, she stepped up as well. Maybe if I wasn’t multitasking, I could’ve taken more notes and kept better track, and I’d see that the ratio was different.
Essentially, they did a great job—I’d listen to more audiobooks by them—and they thoroughly entertained me.
So, what did I think about How to Stay Productive When the World Is Ending?
The website for Reductress states that it’s
The first and only satirical women’s magazine, Reductress was founded in 2013 by Beth Newell and Sarah Pappalardo. The mission of Reductress is to take on the outdated perspectives and condescending tone of popular women’s media.
and that tone and direction are clear throughout this book. Thankfully, even when it’s not targeted toward me, I can still (frequently) enjoy humor and satire done well. And this book, reader, is done well.
Very little of the satire and humor was mean-spirited toward an individual, political persuasion, or most lifestyles (I honestly can’t think of an example at the moment that was, but I’m going to say this to be safe). It does skewer the lifestyles/thinking of those who promote/require people to have to hold down a side-hustle or three to make ends meet, for example. But even then, not in a mean way.
I don’t think people should grab this audiobook, however. (no offense to the narrators, see above) Or if you do, don’t listen from beginning to end in a sitting or two. Listen for 15± minutes at a time and then switch to a podcast or other audiobook. It’s just too much at once, and all the jokes blur together. Also, I’ve looked at some of the samples of the book online—between the graphics and layout, and the ease of picking it up, reading a bit and then putting it down; print is the way to go with this book.
That said—I thought it was frequently hilarious, funny at almost every point—each piece had something that made me grin or chuckle. Most had several lines that did that—and a good portion made me laugh out loud. I even played a couple of pieces to my wife and daughter (my chronically ill daughter really enjoyed the piece, “How to #Grind when your #SideHustle is #ChronicIllness”). It feels like cheating to mention this one in particular, but I have lived (and know others who have, too) “Why I’m Prioritizing My Career Over Finding a Better Career.” Reader, I laughed so hard. And cringed.
That’s pretty much my reaction to the book as a whole.
I would absolutely recommend this to anyone with the above caveat about format.
adventurous
emotional
mysterious
reflective
tense
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
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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I paused as Dorothy Kisling, the owner and operator of the Busy Bee Café, sidled up to the table, pen and pad in hand. “Howdy. Whose murder?”
I sat my menu back on the table and looked out the window at the ducks treading water in Clear Creek. “An old one.”
“What, you’re running out of current ones?”
“Thank goodness.”
What’s The Longmire Defense About?
While out on a search and rescue hunt for a woman who hit snow she wasn’t ready for, Walt comes across a place his father had told him about—the place where his father saw his first dead man. That’s the kind of story that sticks with you, I’d imagine. At the time, it was ruled an accidental death, but no one ever figured out who had shot the man. Shortly after encountering the woman he was looking for, Walt’s dog finds a gun that had been tucked away for years—the kind of gun used in that accident. Assuming it wasn’t an accident (and the way the gun was left at the scene, that seems likely), Walt suspects the men who were hunting with the dead man. Except, of course, his father.
One of those men in the hunting party was Walt’s grandfather, Lloyd. Walt narrows in on him almost immediately as a suspect and charges into the investigation—not to clear him, either. It’s not long before Walt starts to uncover a motive for the killing—and it suggests something far bigger than one murder—and maybe to criminal activities that are continuing today.
Meanwhile, the woman who was stuck in the snow keeps getting into trouble. Walt does what he can to help her, but is so focused on the cold case that he maybe doesn’t do everything he could for her. It’s understandable, but it rankles me (and probably will bother Walt once he realizes it)
In the end, Walt’s past—and his family’s past—and future collide in a way that will leave him knowing much more about his family than he expected to learn.
Off His Game?
Walt’s still recovering from the injuries suffered in Hell and Back, technically, right before Hell and Back and this is really his return to work. He needs to shake a little dust off to return to form. That’s derailed as soon as he uncovers that rifle and connects the crime with his grandfather. He also has to deal with a personal issue or two, a personnel issue or two, and some other changes (including the return of an old friend to town—not all of the distractions are negative)
We’ve known for some time that the relationship between Walt and Lloyd wasn’t good—Walt clearly holds a great deal of resentment (to maybe understate it) toward his grandfather. But it’s here that we really dig into things—but I don’t think we get to the bottom of it all. Walt rarely has seemed so determined to prove something—perhaps forcing clues to lead to a conclusion.
Because of these distractions, he’s missing some things—he certainly doesn’t handle things as well as he could with a couple of personal items. The contemporary crime he’s confronted with really could’ve used more attention, and I’d like to think he’d typically give it that focus, and prevented some of the worst outcomes. But he’s so preoccupied with his grandfather and what might have happened in the past…
Walt’s human. He makes mistakes. He holds grudges. We know this—but it’s not often we see it placarded like this. Anyone tempted to hero-worship the Absaroka County Sheriff should get disabused from that by this book. It’s the way he reacts to these errors that will tempt the reader back toward the idolatry (however tarnished).
Saying Goodbye
Wow, there’s a lot of goodbyes to take in over the course of this novel. Some are said, some are implied, and others just happen. Absaroka County won’t look the same after The Longmire Defense
Okay, maybe it’s not saying goodbye in every case. I guess there are several points along the way that make this more of a “Death Card” in tarot (at least as far as I understand it)—there are a lot of phases of life that close here. Many things change. Careers, families, and so on.
Johnson isn’t letting anything like a status quo settle in with the series—and for book 19, that’s great to see. It’d be really easy for him to coast along and just keep getting the team back together for another adventure like one or two they’ve had before. Instead, Johnson moves several characters in new directions, introduces someone we may see a lot more of, and makes sure we see parts of Walt we’ve never seen before (whether or not we may like those parts).
Ummm…What?
When you read this from start to finish, everything works—you’re going to be into it and will be enjoying yourself. Once everything is over, you’re going to look back over things and think of one scene/event and it’ll be jarring. In retrospect, I absolutely don’t understand it. I wonder if one of the people involved could’ve used some therapy leading up to it—and one of them might need a little after it. I’d seriously like to ask Johnson what he was thinking when he wrote it (and why his editors let it stand).
Once you’ve read this book, and are wondering what I’m talking about, feel free to send me a message to see if I’m talking about what you’re thinking I am. (you’re probably going to be right)
So, what did I think about The Longmire Defense?
The snow dropped down to about six inches and I couldn’t help but feel good chugging along with the rays of the sun warming my back and doing one of the things I really enjoyed: putting a little effort out to help someone. I sometimes wondered how I’d ended up being a sheriff—if it had simply been the path of least resistance from being a marine investigator in Vietnam, becoming a deputy when I’d gotten back stateside, and then eventually running for the office. I like to think it was more than that, and the thing I usually settled on was being of assistance when people needed it the most.
I know it sounded corny in the modern era, but it was what I was good at, something I did well.
Yeah, maybe corny, but it makes me feel better to think that there are people out there like this.
I’ve been up and down when it comes to this series since Depth of Winter—The Longmire Defense is an up— big up. I think it’s entirely possible when I reread this (and I will) that I’ll wonder why I only gave it 4 Stars (but then I’ll remember that therapy-inducing scene and a couple of other things).
The character work was fantastic—for Walt, Henry, and Sancho in particular, along with the rest of the regulars and all the new characters, too. The murder investigation (not-really-a-spoiler to say that) was intriguing, and the lengths people went through to cover up the details of the related crimes were astonishing (until you realized what the related crimes were, anyway). The final reveals and ultimate resolution to that story were fantastic.
Early on, I sent a message to a friend who’s had to delay reading the book saying, “I know exactly when you’ll be texting me.” And it has nothing to do with anything associated with that case. Rather it’s one of the Death Card moments. That one in particular, but all of them, were just so well-written and timed that long-time readers will love them (even if they’re not crazy about what they mean long-term). New readers to the series will pick up on a lot of the weight thanks to Johnson’s writing, and won’t feel lost, either. They just won’t get it all, as you’d expect.
I thoroughly enjoyed the read—it’s one of those that you don’t want to end because you’re having so much fun, but AAAARGH! you just have to know how it all gets resolved ASAP. I hope this is a true return to form for the series*. If not, I’ll love that we got The Longmire Defense. I strongly recommend this to Longmire fans new, old, and yet to start.
* I’m going to keep reading them regardless, it’ll just be nicer for me if it goes this way.
adventurous
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Nancy’s an adventuresome girl who helps in her (adoptive) parents’ bakery. There’s something about her that puts most children off—but on the whole, she enjoys her life—and gets up to a lot of mischief by running all over the rooftops of the small town she lives in. (she seems a little young, and historically early to practice Parkour, but really that’s what she does).
Through her antics, she has managed to make one friend, Arthur. Arthur’s father is overprotective due to his mother’s death and keeps a short leash on his son. But these two find ways to stretch the leash and have fun together.
Some strange things start happening in their town, pointing to the arrival of a fair. There’s no way that either of them will be permitted to attend, but they’re determined to have a look. It seems fun enough, it’s something that doesn’t happen often (not in their lifetimes, anyway), and they’ve been forbidden by their parents. For pre-teen Middle-Grade characters, you know that means they’ll sneak into it and get into adventures. Nancy has another reason to go—but she can’t bring herself to tell Arthur—she’s pretty sure that she’ll learn something about the circumstances around her parents leaving her to be found and taken in by the Crumpets.
And they do sneak in, they do get into adventures—most of which are far beyond what they could’ve imagined. The fair—the Scareground—is much more than a typical traveling fair.
Kecojevic’s Language
There’s something about the language—particularly a couple of word choices—that bothered me. A few words (like “macabre,” and “maritime”) are used perhaps too often. It feels like someone learned a new word and was trying to squeeze it in as often as possible. I obviously don’t think that’s what happened—it just feels that way.
Aside from that, the vocabulary and phrasing do strike me as someone trying to capture or create a mood—a feel to the book. One that’s reminiscent of a fairy tale or a story from another time. I don’t know that Kecojevic was entirely successful at it, however. But you can’t help but see that’s what she was going for, and it adds just the right amount of whimsy to enliven this story and the characters (Nancy in particular).
So, what did I think about Scareground?
As many good things that were in the book, several little choices that Kecojevic made added up—like the final words of the prologue which were an over-the-top threat delivered to no one at all just so the villain could monologue for a bit—and almost makes this book die a death of a thousand cuts. Please note the “almost” there. Thinking back to the prologue—you snip that monologue and you’ve got a nice, disturbing introduction to the book.
The book works well if you take it on the surface, enjoy Nancy and Arthur—and the friends they make along the way—and get caught up in the story and the strange world it takes place in. If you think about many aspects too much, it doesn’t hold up too well. It’s not a house of cards by any means, but maybe balsa wood.
Or, come to think of it—think of this as a carnival ride or fair attraction. That’s appropriate, right? It might be a spooky ride through a house of horrors, it might be an exciting-looking roller coaster, or it might be a pretty carousel—but if you look behind the curtain, or too closely at the structure, or spend too much time looking at the paint job on the horses or the lighting fixtures, and it’s less impressive.
Thankfully, you’re not going to find a lot of the target audience dwelling on aspects—they’re going to be in it for the ride. Which, getting back to my main point—works well when you take Scareground that way.
Nancy and Arthur are a whole lot of fun. The Crumpets are a delightful couple and the kind of parents (biological or not) that you want to see in fiction. And so many other characters could be talked about in this way. Nancy’s extra abilities are a wonderful, imaginative touch—but so is her heart and drive. Arthur matches that heart and drive without her abilities, and it’s their friendship that makes a lot of this work.
It’s a fast and strange ride that will entertain, for sure. I recommend it to readers of the right age.
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Hansel and Gretel About?
This is the story of Hansel and Gretel almost straight from the Brothers Grimm—given a quick shine by Gaiman. There’s nothing particularly Gaiman-esque about the writing or the approach to the story. It’s a pretty decent and straightforward approach to the story.
The Art
In the spirit of “If you can’t say anything nice….”, I’m tempted to leave a few lines of blank space here and move on. I don’t get it. Really. I just don’t understand what Mattotti was going for here. The pictures are spread over two pages, and most of those pages are black. There are bits of white to help you get an image or the shadow of an image, but again—it’s just black. The kind of black that would’ve threatened to bankrupt printers just a couple of decades ago.
Maybe a quarter to a third of each two-page spread was interesting—but the rest. Ugh.
Call me a Philistine here…but I just don’t see why someone would bother.
I’ve looked at Mattotti’s website, and I like a lot of what I saw there…but this was a swing and a miss.
So, what did I think about Hansel and Gretel?
So, the text was okay. The art was disappointing. Overall, I give this a “meh.” If this were a person’s first exposure to the story—it’d work well. And honestly, if that’s what someone uses it for—I’d probably rate this higher.
But for someone wanting a little bit of that Gaiman magic applied to this familiar tale? It just doesn’t deliver.
adventurous
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
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader, along with a Q&A with the author, excerpts, and more.
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What’s Eclipse About?
Django and Mikka are just going about their lives like they have been. They’ve never met—and likely never will. Their lives couldn’t be more different. But because they’re the primary characters in this book, we know they will at some point.
How does an agricultural specialist from a space station come across the path of a cargo-hauling ship’s captain?
That’s where the rakish, brash, legend-in-her-own-mind, Abigail Monroe, space pirate comes in. Abigail just being Abigail starts a ripple effect that will end up disrupting the lives of these two and maybe even change much, much, much more.
That’s not much of an answer to the question, let’s take a look at it like this…
Django’s Storyline
Django has a life he’s been contented with. Like his family before him—he works on the agricultural ring of a space station, growing food for his fellow residents and creating the fauna that will help rebuild the ruined Earth below. He likes his work—he’s dedicated to his mission (while he knows it will be his descendants who will actually reap the benefits when they can live on Earth again). But his lifelong friend (and he probably would like more than that) Eventide is leaving the agricultural wing. She’s worked her way into a more prestigious job and he’s feeling left behind as she prepares to fully transfer—including moving to a new ring. I’m not convinced he realizes how much it’s bothering him, but we readers can tell.
The day of his sister’s wedding things start to go wrong—first of all, now that his sister’s wed, the pressure for him to settle down is going to move to him. And Eventide’s move is happening, and then…well. Disaster strikes and part of his family dies. At the same time, Django may have seen something that undercuts his entire life’s work and beliefs. Like any good human, he convinces himself that everything’s actually okay and he misunderstood what he saw. But…his uncle isn’t convinced. In fact, his uncle starts to sound like some sort of conspiracy theorist, even talking about getting off the space station. Django didn’t even think that was possible.
Django can’t wrap his head around it all. Between grief and confusion, he’s overwhelmed. Over the next couple of days, things get worse and Django starts to wonder if he should be leaving.
Mikka’s Storyline
Years ago, there was a space pirate named Jax Luana, who enjoyed some renown. Suddenly, she dropped off the map—with a lot of questions and rumors surrounding that. For reasons I won’t divulge, she got out of piracy, and changed her name and appearance. After a couple of lucky breaks, Mikka is able to get a small ship and a partner and takes on small cargo jobs and the like—see Mal Reynolds and his crew on a good day. Her mother has a long-term—probably terminal—disease, and Mikka pours all her profits into her mother’s care.
After running into Abigail Monroe, the tenous life and reputation she’d built starts to fall apart. That’s not true—it crumbles almost instantly. Like Michael Corelone, she’d gotten out and they’ve pulled her back in. Now Mikka has to become the pirate for her own sake as much as her mother’s.
I could be wrong about this, but I think this storyline doesn’t get quite the same space as Django’s—which I get. But it bugs me, because I really wanted the balance to be different. Honestly, I’d have been fine without him at all, with just a book about a pirate who’s gone straight and is having a hard time staying that way.
* Please note that I’m not saying I didn’t like Django or his story. I also think in future books I’m going to enjoy having both of those characters and their stories to follow. I’m just saying this is how much I liked Mikka’s story.
So, what did I think about Eclipse?
This is essentially a “getting the band together” kind of book, we meet all the players for the series (at least many of them), we get an idea of the political/criminal/social forces at work while they near a boiling point, and put our characters in place for the books to come. We don’t get much more than that—and I think that was an error on Steuernagel’s part. It just felt too much like an introduction without any real payoff. I don’t think we needed much more—another chapter or two leading to a cliffhanger of sorts to propel us into the next book would’ve been enough. The novel’s arcs have resolved, we see that longer stories are in the future, and the metaphorical table is set for more to come, but that’s all we get.
Instead of an exclamation point, the book closes on ellipses.
Along the same lines, I have a whole bunch of questions about what happened on the Eclipse that have nothing to do with Django, and everything to do with Eventide. I don’t know if it’d have helped the novel much for Steuernagel to have taken a moment to fill in some details—but I’d have felt better about it (perhaps the storylines in the future will address it, but I’m not holding my breath).
That said. I did like the book, and will close this post by recommending it. I just wanted to like it more.
Django is a great example of a farm boy being yanked out of his pleasant life to get involved in a struggle involving powers and plots well above him that he’s frankly not all that interested in. We know that kind of character so well because they work so well almost every time we see one—Django is going to be great to watch as he grows and is exposed to things he never thought possible. Eventide will be equally great to get to know as a character herself—we essentially know her as Django’s friend and not much else (but there’s more to her, obviously). The same thought applies to Mikka’s partner/navigator Kiara. As I suggested, everything we saw about Mikka was enough to make me want more of her—as she returns to the life of a pirate, but this time with a mission? She’s going to be something great.
As for the agent of chaos, the monkey wrench in the works, the black fly in your Chardonnay, Abigail? I cannot wait to see her in action. In our Q&A, Steuernagel says she gets talked about the most—and I understand that. I want to be one of those who talk about her a lot, but I can’t figure out how to do that without spoiling a lot. Just know that she’s great.
This is a fun novel that really whets the appetite for more—give it a shot, and I think you’ll be as eager for Book 2 as I am.
adventurous
lighthearted
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
I murdered a young father today. Shot him in the head. This is my job. Call me all the names you want— scumbag, snake, sneaky little lowlife, murderer. I don’t care what you think. This is what I do. I take care of (kill) people when they don’t obey the rules. The rules of the streets. The rules to life.
I do the work 99.9 percent of people don’t want to do. You hire me and I guarantee you will be happier because I’m getting rid of your problems. Sometimes it’s just a warning, you know, a slap on the wrist. But most of the time I’m here to kill.
What’s The Lemon Man About?
When Dublin hitman Patrick Callen finds a baby living in the squalor-filled apartment of his latest victim, he’s overcome by empathy. It’s not like he can call the authorities to come help or anything, right? On an impulse, an unexpected burst of compassion, or temporary insanity—he grabs the baby (after looking up how to change a diaper on YouTube and taking care of a much-neglected task) and takes him home.
Of course, it’s hard to achieve a work-home balance as a busy hitman, so Callen calls on the escort he’s been seeing lately for help. This spurs some
Meanwhile, Callen’s been having trouble with his work—it doesn’t seem like he has the taste for it anymore and is having trouble completing a few tasks. But he’s busier than ever and it seems like something’s changing for the crew he’s with. Maybe this is the first step toward a new phase of life for him. Assuming he can survive his current assignments (and all the life changes that taking care of an infant brings), that is.
So, what did I think about The Lemon Man?
As I’m leaving, Jack says, “It’s not the gun you’re having the problem with.”
Stories about hitmen turning a corner due to love or a child aren’t new—and I’m a sucker for them. So this is right up my alley. The mix of humor and tension/action fits this situation well. A bicycle-riding hitman alone is a fun idea. Bruton pulls off all of this with style and confidence.
Bruton takes full advantage of the strange—ludicrous, even—situation he puts his characters into. Callen running from the police while pushing a stroller is a fantastic scene and it had me grinning and chuckling throughout. His jobs that don’t go right (I’m thinking of one killing and one attempted threatening in particular) are the kinds of things we need to see more of in Crime Fiction—not necessarily played for laughs, either—but not all criminals succeed in their first attempts—targets don’t always respond the way one plans on, etc.
But it’s not just fun and games—sure, Callen has some doubts about his profession, he’s more than a little worried about what his boss is up to, and he’s not so sure he can get away with everything he’s trying to do (keep the child, save his friend that he’s discovering feelings for, etc.)—but this is what he does. It’s all he’s known. He doesn’t—can’t—just walk off into the sunset with his strange new family. Does he really want to?
Take out the lightness and quirks and you’re left with a pretty solid novel (although the baby would be hard to explain without that part). With them, you have a really fun and rewarding read.
I’m struggling to find something more to say without getting into the nuts and bolts of the plot and how it works out—so I’ll spare us all my attempts to struggle through. Here’s the main takeaway: this is a good, quirky, fast read that’ll leave you with putting Bruton on your radar like he is on mine.
adventurous
lighthearted
tense
fast-paced
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Proxies About?
Jair Howard is a tech working to maintain the Faster-Than-Light network. Lambert doesn’t give us a lot of details about it, so I’m going to give you even less. The pilot he works with during his maintenance runs, Merab, is his girlfriend. Or maybe. Jair’s reluctance to commit to starting a family has put things on the ropes.
A bigger—or more pressing, anyway—concern is that during their last trip, Jair found some disturbing evidence of hacking into the security network. He’s having trouble convincing anyone of it because the evidence is largely gone. Jair keeps digging, though, he knows what he saw and anyone who can do what he saw—and remove all traces of it—is someone to worry about. Then some of the evidence reappears, and it points at Jair. Suddenly everyone who doubted what he said about a security breach believes it and is coming for him.
To keep his freedom for a little while longer—and hopefully to find proof of what’s really going on—he needs to get into space and get access to the network. The only way that’s going to happen is with Merab’s help.
Remember When AI Wasn’t the Enemy?
Jair doesn’t work alone—in fact, he doesn’t do most of the work. He has a team of AIs helping him. Jair’s a classic movie fan. Black and White Movies that we consider classics today—he’s far enough into the future that he has to think of them as practically ancient. He’s such a fan that he’s given his four primary AIs the names and personalities of the Marx Brothers.
He spends a lot of time tweaking their personalities and humor to get them to better match the versions he knows from film—and finding a way to get Harpo to be able to communicate what he needs to while capturing the essence of the silent brother. It’s something for him to fiddle with while waiting during interstellar travel or while a report generates and the like.
It’s a fun bit of whimsy in the book—and it felt very strange to read while being hit with headline after headline after headline about the problems with AIs this summer.
So, what did I think about Proxies?
The heart of this book isn’t the threat posed by the hacking that Jair found and then lost, etc. Nor is it the efforts that he and Merab undertook to expose and maybe stop the threat. It’s in Merab and Jair’s efforts to get their relationship to work. The bulk of that is on Jair, to be sure—but Merab has some work to do, too.
That’s about all I’m willing to say about that, although it deserves more—because Lambert did a great job with that. As much as I enjoyed the relationships that the protagonist of his first book found himself in, they didn’t feel as grounded as this one. They were clearly there to serve a story, create conflict, and so on. Here, the relationship is the story—and that makes all the difference. If he continues to grow as an author this way, I’m going to be happy reading him for a long time.
This is a Space Opera, so the details of space flight and other science-y stuff don’t need to be really well worked out or discussed—which is good, because Lambert doesn’t bother to (whether that’s because of the genre, or he went with the genre so he didn’t have to doesn’t matter). And a lot of the detailed work into the investigation can be waved away with “Groucho and Zeppo did a thing and came back to tell Jair the results.” I both wanted to see more of the science-y/investigation bits and was perfectly satisfied with the lack of them, because that left time for all the people-y stuff. (I’m clearly in the mood to talk in generalities today).
If you’re looking for some light Space Opera with a lot of heart—you’ll want to pick up Proxies. If you’re not looking for that, you still might want to try it, it’s a fun way to spend a few hours.
emotional
inspiring
reflective
slow-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 Norah’s Ark About?
This is a book about a couple of eleven-year-olds in the English city of Hull who bond over their mutual attempts to help animals. Starting with a nest of baby birds who’ve been orphaned by a hungry cat, these two overcome various barriers (largely in the form of their parents) to various stray and abandoned animals they encounter. Along the way, they end up helping each other through some of the bigger challenges they’ve faced.
Norah (and her father)
Norah’s father lost his job a few years ago, which led to them losing their home. Since then they’ve bounced from one temporary housing situation to another, barely scraping by on his benefits and whatever short-term and low-paying jobs he can get. They attend a church regularly—and gorge themselves on the post-service snacks. They also use a food bank from time to time—but it’s hard for her father to swallow his pride and deal with the judgemental looks they receive when they do (how many of these looks are only in his mind, it’s hard to tell—but some of them are real).
Norah has some learning disabilities, too—and she’s never in one school long enough to really get the help she needs. Which leaves her open to being bullied while she falls further and further behind.
Norah loves animals and would do anything for a pet. Because she can’t get one due to their housing situation—well, other than the spiders she keeps on her window sill—she does what she can for whatever strays she finds like the aforementioned birds. She takes care of them for a while until one day they’re missing. They and their whole nest—what could’ve possibly happened?
Then she sees some rich boy on the other side of the fence carrying that nest. It’s not fair—he has so much already, a great house, a big yard, a treehouse, fancy clothes (that fit!), and whatever he wants to eat (he is a little overweight).
Adam (and his parents)
Adam and his parents moved from London to Hull a few years ago to help him get the specialized treatment he needed for leukemia. It’s in remission now, but his mom has become overprotective following his diagnosis. Since she had to leave her job to care for him (and hasn’t thought about going back to work), his father has to work harder than before and really has no time for anything else—even Adam.
He can’t go anywhere without her. He can’t go back to school—even if the doctors say he’s not as immunocompromised as he once was, his mother still insists on a private tutor. He can’t go swimming—he’d dreamed of going to the Olympics before he got sick—again, because of all the exposure to germs, people, and other things that could hurt him. His treatments and lack of exercise have left him out of shape. He’s lonely. All he wants is a friend and to do something outside his home.
When he discovers that the neighbor’s mean (at least to him) cat has eaten the mother bird, he takes the nest up to his treehouse (without his mother noticing and panicking about the filthy animals). He notices a girl on the other side of the fence quickly riding off on her bike—what a great life she must have—able to go wherever she wants!
The Grass Ain’t Always Greener…
Soon, the two actually meet and decide to work together to help the birds get to safety.
They learn more about each other—both discovering the struggles the other has gone through. They have unfortunate encounters with bullies and thieves—and discover their parents want them to have nothing to do with each other.
But neither of them has really had a friend in a long time and they’re unwilling to lose their new one. So they do what they can to keep that friendship—even if that means being disobedient. Both kids soon have to deal with new problems with their parents and need someone to rely on.
So, what did I think about Norah’s Ark?
That’s a really good question, one that I’ve been chewing on for a few days now.
I do have a few concerns. For example, both Norah and Adam (Adam is a bit more prone to this) can be too mature and understanding for their ages when it comes to their parents and what motivates them. Most of the time, Williamson gets them right—unreliable narrators (not because they’re dishonest, but because they’re 11 and don’t get everything the adults are doing) who are doing their best to make it in the world and cope with the information they have, with the impulsivity and insufficient emotional control you’d expect. But occasionally, they’re too perceptive, too wise…basically, they sound like they’ve sat through a decent amount of therapy and have internalized it. Which would be fine if they’d been in therapy, or were in their twenties. But they’re a decade and change away from being fully believable on some of these fronts.
The other thing (and I’ll get into vague spoilers for the rest of this paragraph, so feel free to skip it) that has bugged me since before I finished it—the ending is a bit hard to swallow. It’s too easy. It’s too unearned for my tastes. It’s like Williamson took a page from Wayne’s World and went with the “Mega Happy Ending” and just imposed it at a certain point. Please, don’t misunderstand me—I want Adam and Norah to get happy endings. I like where the book puts them in the last chapter—I’d have been displeased if they didn’t end up where they did. But…it would’ve felt more real if it didn’t go that way. Or if it took slow, incremental work for them to get there—with a few big jumps along the way, sure. To use a bad illustration—you know how in some movies the uncoordinated guy goes through a training montage and suddenly can do all sorts of things they couldn’t before the song started? Well, it was like that—but Norah and Adam skipped the montage and went from clumsy to ready to win the dance/singing/martial arts contest.
Now this is likely just me—I’m willing to bet that most readers in the target audience aren’t going to have those issues. But I’d quite like to ask a few about their experience reading the books, particularly the ending.
Ignore all that for a moment (as I’ve said over and over again—it takes many more words to explain a problem I have with a book than to say all the good things I want to say). This novel nails the struggles for both these children and their parents—who are clearly trying their best (even if the kids don’t always see that)—no one in this book has an easy time of it. They’re all in extreme circumstances, with the cards stacked against them—and everyone is just trying to get through it as intact as they can for themselves and their family.
I loved, loved, loved that someone wrote about these situations in a Middle Grade book—you just don’t see enough things like this (or at least, I don’t, I shouldn’t suggest it doesn’t exist). I remember when I was in that audience, and Wooly Mammoths roamed the earth, that I got seriously excited when I came across a book that dealt with things like this, even if it made for hard reading. Since then, I don’t see it too often.
It’s impossible to read this without feeling empathy for Norah or Adam—or their parents—and to extrapolate that empathy and sympathy toward non-fictional people in similar circumstances. I’m not saying that this book is going to fix all sorts of prejudices that a child might have and fill playgrounds everywhere with mini-Brené Brown clones. But it should make it a little easier for them to put themselves in someone else’s shoes, to understand that peers—or strangers—could be going through something.
If you’ve read and enjoyed When We Were Vikings by Andrew David MacDonald, you’re going to want to check this one out. If you haven’t—read both books. I think readers young and old will find a lot to admire and commend in these pages. I feel strange saying you’ll enjoy a book about so much suffering—but you will, particularly when the characters find a moment of joy or peace. It’s very effective—and affective—to watch these two become heroes and get different endings than either expected for most of the book.
adventurous
challenging
dark
emotional
funny
mysterious
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This Post
Yeah, this isn’t going to be my typical kind of post. I know deep in my bones, the way you know about a good melon, that if I tried my typical approach I’d probably finish this in December. And since I don’t have that kind of patience—and this book was due back at my library on August 19. I’m in deep sh…aving cream already.
So, I’m just going to mention a few things I think are worth saying—and hopefully think of a conclusion to wrap it all up (but no promises).
- I need to start with the fact that I went into this with a wrong assumption—I misunderstood something I saw Brown say on Twitter some months ago and thought that this was the finale of the series. I started wondering pretty soon how that was going to be the case, but it took me far too long to admit that I misunderstood him and shouldn’t expect any kind of bow to be put on things by the end of
- Light Bringer. Once I gave that up, most of my lingering questions about pacing and character went away.
- Lyria. If Brown had done nothing else impressive with the post-Morning Star books, what he’s done in creating and growing this character would justify the time reading them. I just cannot get over her. At this point, I enjoy her more than Darrow, Virginia, or the rest. Kavax and Sevro are the only characters that compete with her for my affection. Also, Brown did an excellent job of faking the reader out when it came to her character arc after the last book.
- Darrow grows more in these pages than he has since…maybe The Institute. Or probably with Lorn. And a lot of that has to do with the right book being given to him at the right time in his life. (maybe my libro-fixation makes me focus on that part, but, I’m right). I want to see this change in action more—but what Brown does here gives me a lot of hope for our hero. Assuming The Reaper is our hero by the end.
- I really, really, really, really want to know how long Brown has been plotting out the major events of this novel—has he been building up to them since Iron Gold or before? Or were they things that came into focus when he started planning Light Bringer? It won’t change what I think of them (devastating, brilliant, etc.)—it’ll just help me understand how he works.
- The bonds between so many of these characters are fantastic. Particularly between the classmates turned colleagues turned friends turned enemies turned uneasy allies turned brothers. (or relationships that follow similar paths) How these people can be bound up so tightly with each other after all they’ve gone through is something else. So many times I start off thinking, “There’s no way that Darrow/Lysander/Victra/Whoever is going to trust them is there?” And then they do—and I buy it every single time, just the way that Darrow/Lysander/Victra/Whoever does. And I’m caught as off-guard as they are in the significant percentage of times they end up getting betrayed.
- I cannot believe how often these people make me laugh—genuinely laugh. In the midst of all of the death, destruction, revenge, societal upheaval, and uncertainty—there’s a core humanity at work in them all.
- After all these thousands of pages (especially when I count re-reads and audiobook listens)…how can Brown completely surprise me the way he does? I can’t even count how many double-crosses that become triple-crosses then go awry and end up becoming alliances that are quadruple-crossed in this book alone. (And that’s not a spoiler, if you’ve read the series, you know that’s going to happen—and I likely left off at least 5 backstabbings).
- Speaking of stabbing…Brown’s action scenes—particularly when it comes to small groups of people fighting—one on one, two on two, one on five, etc.—are just great. He’s never been shabby at this, but it felt like he topped himself here. (as he has in each successive book).
- Sevro, Sevro, Sevro…I felt so bad for him through so much of this book. Even before he inadvertently found out what happened to his family in Dark Age. But you never want to count the Goblin out, right?
- Although, the fox Sophocles just might have done a better job of breaking my heart. Not that it’s a competition.
- There’s a fantastic potential spin-off series introduced around the mid-way point. I hope Brown doesn’t give it to us (although I’ll read it if he does), I think I’d prefer my imaginary version of it.
- The bond that I referred to earlier is seen in loyalty, forgiveness (and the ability to work together when that forgiveness hasn’t been granted), and best of all, a humor based on shared experiences and attitudes. The humor in this book is almost never situational (too grim for that), or physical (outside maybe of Sophocles)—it comes from old friends being rude to one another, making a joke in reference to something that happened a decade or more ago, etc. And it works—you can’t help but chuckle alongside these men—even when they’re likely saying goodbye for the last time, they can make you laugh. Well done, Mr. Brown.
Let’s See If I Can Wrap This Up
I really think I could just keep going flipping back and forth through the pages of the book and coming up with more and more bullet points to ramble about. But who wants to read that? (especially now that I see that I’ve repeated myself)
I really wish I spent time in discussion groups, fan sites, etc. for this series, so I’d have known that this wasn’t the ending before I started. That preconceived notion really skewed things for a while. Oh well. Like I said before, once I started thinking of this as penultimate—everything clicked.
I do think it’s time for Brown to tie this up—as much as I love this series, readers can only take so many Master Plans that go awry when they meet other Master Plans only to uncover someone else’s Deeper Master Plan working against both.
But it’s been—and will be—quite the ride. These characters are so full of honor, and nobility (of various types), that even when they’re “on the wrong side” it’s hard to think poorly of them until they’ve turned into hypocrites or something. Brown gives us a great picture of so many people working for the common good—if only they could agree with what that is. Chess masters vying against one another to help their picture of the best for society to come about. Sadly, their moves aren’t made with game pieces, but with thousands or millions of lives at a time.
I’m, of course, ignoring the few giant vacuums of decency with a hunger for power and destruction that are also running through the pages.
In Dark Age (and I’m going to be vague just in case someone hasn’t read it yet)—there’s a scene when someone holds down a dying foe, cuts out two giant strips from their back to reveal their ribcage and organs—and pour salt on the wounds. There are a couple of scenes in this book that felt like that. (except for the fact that I was in my recliner sipping on something cool while reading). And with at least one of those scenes the person I was having my heart torn up about was a character I either was bored by or didn’t bother to form an opinion of until this book. But over the course of the novel, Brown’s able to get every one of these modified humans to become a person practically as real as any flesh and blood creature you run into.
It took me less than 50 pages into Red Rising to be awed by Brown and thousands of pages later, he’s still doing it to me.
Go read this series.