theirresponsiblereader's Reviews (607)

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
--- 
What’s Flop Dead Gorgeous About? 

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

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

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

Wait, What? 

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

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

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

Poor Eddie Dowd 

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

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

The Running Joke 

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

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

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

So, what did I think about Flop Dead Gorgeous? 

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

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

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

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

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

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
--- 

What’s The Only Truly Dead About? 

The ending of And Your Enemies Closer has changed the scene for this series—DI Iona Madison is clinging to her career by her fingernails—under investigation from the events on that roof, as anyone officer should be. But also, thanks to her old boss’ (now exposed) corruption, she has to clean her reputation, too. Those same events reshaped the criminal landscape of Manchester and Liverpool, with new leadership trying to solidify their places. 

Rumors are flying about something called the Twilight Express. But no one knows what it could be—other than big. Career-making (or saving) for the police officer who derails it. 

It’s risky, but Madison sees only one way to put a stop to Liverpool’s newest crime lord—bring her former DI, his brother, Brendan, in as a consultant. Brendan resists—until his teenage son starts spending too much time with his uncle. 

Find out what the Twilight Express is. Stop it. Extract Dan Foley from his uncle. Clear Madison’s name. Any of those would be enough to fuel a book. All four? That’s a daunting prospect. But Foley and Madison are probably the right people for the job. 

Poor Red Shirts 

Throughout this series, Parker displayed a real knack for introducing (or re-introducing) a character in such a way that you just knew they might as well be wearing a security red shirt from the original Star Trek (he’d also frequently tip his hat in dialogue sometimes so you’d know someone just changed into that uniform). Frequently it annoys me when an author does that—oh, okay, I can stop caring about this character and just wait until it happens. 

Parker (with an assist from Brown), however, consistently got me invested in these Red Shirts—and usually surprised me when they were killed. The fact that he did that when I was expecting it here was even more impressive. 

I don’t mean to say that he does this with every character’s death—there were characters who died—or survived—that I didn’t expect. And plenty of other surprising turns and twists along the way. 

A Pleasant Bonus 

Readers of Parker’s Ben Bracken series will see some old friends here—Salix and his NCA team get involved, which was fun. 

If you’ve never read the Bracken books, it won’t hurt your appreciation of the characters—you’ll just see them as more people working alongside Madison and Foley. It’s just nice to see some familiar faces in this setting. 

What About the Narration? 

It’s always important to get a good narrator for an audiobook, doubly (or triply) so when it’s an Audible Original. This is the way that audiences get to experience the book*, so it needs to be great. 

Warren Brown was a perfect choice for this trilogy—and you can hear that from the opening of Far from the Tree to the close of The Only Truly Dead. I’ve failed the previous two times to have something more to say about Brown’s work, so at least I’m consistent as I struggle here—he just does a fantastic job and there’s nothing to add to that. 

He seems pretty busy with the whole TV thing, but I hope he finds the time for more audiobooks—he’s great at it. 

* At least for several months before Red Dog Press can put it out in print. 

So, what did I think about The Only Truly Dead? 

This book just didn’t stop moving—sure, it was a little slow at the beginning as Parker was setting the stage—but even then, between moving between POV characters and scenes the book had momentum. And it kept accelerating and building up energy until it became unputdownable. (circumstances required I do that with about 90 minutes to go on Friday, and the only reason I didn’t delay any longer is that I knew it was only going to get worse—it was a long weekend waiting for a chance to dive back in) 

The ending was as gripping as you could want. A character or two says that it had to end this way, and they were right. As satisfying dramatically as that is—it didn’t necessarily make it easier, or less tense, to read. 

The only thing I want to call foul on is the final conversation between Madison and her Acting Chief Superintendent. I want to say that it’s nonsense and that as skeptical as he is of her, no decent officer is going to act that way. But…I can’t. Because it’s probably the most authentic moment in this procedural, if only for it being full of infuriatingly bureaucratic nonsense. You’ll know the scene when you get to it. 

Even if the first two books in this trilogy hadn’t hooked me—this one would’ve and would’ve impressed me (incidentally, it’s not vital to have read the previous two to enjoy this). As with the sequel, this isn’t just a repeat of the first novel—new crimes, new characters to enjoy, new and surprising levels of depravity, and a few people stepping up to do what needs to be done to push back against the darkness. A mix of hope and darkness, and a reminder that both have lasting effects. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
--- 

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

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

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

Rahim is overjoyed with his gift (although he does make a crack about its looks) and starts to use it right away. It takes him very little time to see that if he does things in a certain way, the phone will transport him instantly to various places. Kasia doesn’t understand that, but before she can figure out how that happens, Rahim discovers (the hard way) that the phone also works to send him to the past.
 
While Kasia tries to figure out how to get him home, she tells him to keep from interacting with anyone as much as possible. She starts trying to see what the satellites she hacked into to give Rahim his phone are doing to him and Rahim sees a kid about his age being bullied and before common sense can restrain him, he intervenes and saves the kid. The bullied kid turns out to be Omar, or as Rahim calls him, “Dad.”
 
Oops.

And well…things get worse from there.

The Take on Time Travel

 
Like any self-respecting time-travel story, particularly one where the traveler meets a relative, things start to unravel—the timeline, future events, etc. And not just in the expected ways—the first sign we have that anything’s going wrong is that a different team wins the ’97 NBA Championship. There’s no relation to anyone in the book to anyone in the NBA (that the reader knows of), so the problems in the timeline aren’t starting out in the typical way. The authors deserve some big points for that.
 
Nor do the time travel-induced anomalies continue to play out the way they usually do. It’s when things are nearing their worst that Kasia says that about graham crackers in milk (a visual that has stuck with me for days).
 
(Mild Spoilers ahead in this paragraph) Some things remain constant—Rahim’s parents still get together and live next to Kasia and her family. Kasia’s just as smart, too (thankfully). And just when you start to think that maybe, just maybe, we’re going to get a Back to the Future kind of ending where things went differently for Rahim’s father and he found a different kind of success—but Rahim (for reasons you might not expect) decides to try a plan-so-crazy-that-it-just-might-work to restore the timeline. Emphasis on the might.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rahim’s a great guy, and you can see where Omar ends up becoming the Dad that he is—and how his parents become the versions of themselves Rahim would come to know as his grandparents. All of that was really well done.
 
Kasia is the type of impossible genius making tech in her bedroom that has been the stuff of cartoons and Middle-Grade fiction since I was reading it (when it was called “Juvenile Fiction.”) Think Flavia de Luce meets Penny from Inspector Gadget meets Richie Foley (from Static Shock). I will read something about her anytime. If Rahim’s along for the ride, so much the better.
 
The book ends with a clear sign that the story goes on, but none of the online sources I see refer to this as the first of a series. I hope it does go on—but it’s also one of those endings that doesn’t require a sequel. We know that Rahim and Kasia are going to be up to more adventures, and in a way, that’s enough. By this point, the reader has enough to know how their adventures will go.
 
But I really hope the series keeps going.
 
Pick this up for some nice, uncomplicated fun for yourself or grab it for the Middle Schooler in your life (and then borrow it).
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
--- 

Back to the Covenant Story 

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

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

What’s Backpacking Through Bedlam About? 

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

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

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

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

So, what did I think about Backpacking Through Bedlam? 

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

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

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

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

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

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
--- 

What’s Tower of Babel About? 

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

 
Haaaaave You Met Ted?*
* Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Not that I tried all that hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
--- 

What’s Deadly Ever After About? 

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

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

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

What About Peter, Nightengale, etc.? 

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

How’s the Art? 

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

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

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

So, what did I think about Deadly Ever After? 

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

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

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

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
--- 

 
* I want to stress that the above represents my guesswork on punctuation, Watson’s is probably superior)

What’s Semicolon About?
I’m going to go the lazy route and just lift from the Publisher’s Website:
 

 
Pam Ward’s Narration
Wow…just wow. Ward throws more emotion, dynamic changes, dramatic changes, and overall oomph! into this narration than several novels I can name. It was so striking, so entertaining, and engaging that most of what I liked and noticed about this book can be attributed to her.

Seriously, immediately before this, I’d listened to a book with multiple murders, other violent crimes, and a natural disaster threatening homes and livelihoods—Ward filled a book about a punctuation mark with more pathos and excitement than that.

At least half the stars down there belong to her.

So, what did I think about Semicolon?

 
The fact that this ends up being about more than the semicolon is both a strength and a weakness.
 
It’s a strength because Watson simply doesn’t have enough material to just talk about the semicolon for 200 pages (in the hardcover). The material was so wanting that she really had to spend a lot of time on the case about sales of alcohol in early 20th century Boson than it was worth.
 
I thought her material on Raymond Chandler and Martin Luther King, Jr. was fantastic. The origins of the semicolon and the ups and downs of its usage pre-grammar textbooks were fascinating.
 
But when she went off on grammar rules, how they get in the way of communication, can help shut down discourse, etc. The book suffered. Now, she was insightful, helpful, and persuasive on these points (and I say this as someone who reflexively comes down on the “prescriptivist” side in grammar debates). But when she did that, she walked away from “The Past, Present, and Future of a Misunderstood Mark,” and it bugged me. If Watson was going to write something like Emmy J. Favilla’s A World Without “Whom” or Gretchen McCulloch Because Internet, I’d be there in a heartbeat. (also, if she wanted to tackle punctuation beyond the semicolon like Shady Characters by Keith Houston, I’d be all for that) But for this book, she went too far afield for this reader’s taste and lost a lot.
 
At the end of the day—if you want a rousing celebration and examination of the winking half of an emoticon—or the mark’s more illustrious use and history, this is the book to grab. I almost never recommend a particular format of a book, but you need to listen to at least a sample of Ward’s narration.
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
---  

From the Back of the Book 

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

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

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

Crime 101
Winslow is a master of style. It’s like he periodically decides to show the world that he’s the flashiest Crime Fiction writer in action. Sometimes he does it in a chapter (or less) of a novel, sometimes he does it for longer (I recall Savages being that)—this is one of those times. The entire thing is so quotable. The term cinematic comes to mind—you can practically see everything as you read it—maybe even reach out and touch it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* Although there are some links between some of these stories in the volume—as well as ties to earlier novels.
 
One reason that I don’t want to quibble too much with the whole “short novel” descriptor is that unlike many short stories or novellas—every one of these stories packed the punch of a novel. The plots, intricacies of story and character, the emotional weight, and whatever else you want to ascribe to the reading experience felt more like it belonged to a 200+ page novel rather than a 50± page story.
 
Anything else I can think to say at this point is just a repetition. This is a great collection from a master of the craft. Don’t miss it.
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
--- 

What’s This Bird Has Flown About? 

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

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

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

The Love Story 

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

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

So why did I persist? 

The One Hit Wonder Looking for Another 

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

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

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

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

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

How was the Narration? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
--- 

What’s Justice Calling About? 

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

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

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

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

Jade Crow 

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

Her attitude and interests make me think of Ree. 

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

So, what did I think about Justice Calling? 

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

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

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