theirresponsiblereader's Reviews (607)

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

This is a novel about a house in Dallas, TX. It’s told in three eras—early 50s, early 80s, and something relatively recent. Those dates are pretty vague (and precision isn’t that important), but those are my best guesses based on details mentioned in the text. 

In each of these eras, the house is owned (or lived in) by three different women, and we spend a little time with each of them and see their relationship (for lack of a better term) with the building. 

Bunny 

Bunny should give the reader a very Betty Draper vibe—but without quite as many issues. Essentially, she’s a lonely housewife whose husband spends more time at his club or on the road for his company than he does at home. Her sister lives nearby and the two do spend time together, but it doesn’t appear there’s a strong bond between them. 

She spends time regularly at the library—secretly, it should be added—reading a variety of things for pleasure and education. At some point, she begins dabbling in things like palmistry, which leads one of the librarians to befriend her and introduce her to people and ideas Bunny hadn’t encountered before. 

There’s a great paragraph where Bunny imagines her house as a museum and her as one of the exhibits. I don’t know that we learned much about her in that paragraph, but it crystalizes everything about her that her portion of the novel was saying in just a few lines. 

Jessica 

Jessica is an actress who (to paraphrase her), has passed her opportunity to be seen as a sexy star and has become eligible only for Lady Macbeth parts (since we’re not given details about her age, I do wonder a bit about that, considering the ages of some of the actresses she alludes to, but it’s not that important). 

Now she wants to be away from L.A., where everyone recognizes her as someone who “used to” be in movies or on stage. So she moves to Dallas, buying the home. 

She lives a very solitary life—which is her plan, after all—but it doesn’t take long for the shortcomings of that kind of life to become clear to her. 

Amanda 

Amanda buys the house to flip it as a competitor on a Reality TV show where she’ll be competing against people from across the country doing the same thing. 

This is an outreach of work she’s done to make her brand—she’s done a little interior decorating and is striving to be a life coach—and this show could put her on the map. 

We watch her chronicle her work to refresh the house on her own social media and the show’s filming. At the same time, she’s dealing with parental pressure to settle down and her boyfriend’s ambivalence toward her activities. 

So, what did I think about Foundations? 

I honestly don’t know what to think of the book as a whole. I think one of the pieces of art that Amanda picks for the house does a really good job of describing what the novel aspires to (a ceramic statue of three intertwined women), but I’m not particularly sure that the novel intertwines them that much. Their connection feels much more coincidental and circumstantial. 

Considered separately, I have some definite thoughts on each woman’s story. It felt to me that Bunny’s story was the most realized, the most developed, and really showed more of the spirit the novel seems to want to show. Her life of quiet desperation feels familiar—like one we’ve all seen time and time again, but Stewart’s depiction of it is as fresh as it ever was. 

Jessica’s segment of the book is the least developed, and possibly more of a cliche than Bunny’s. It also felt rushed with an ending that was too pat—I think if we’d had more time with Jessica, I might have reacted better to her and her situation. While I appreciated the character, I thought she got short shrift and it was hard to connect to her. 

Amanda, on the other hand, was easy to relate to and connect with. Part of that comes from her living in the present, with immediately identifiable struggles, complaints, and interests. But there was more than that—Bunny just exists until she finds her new friend, and Jessica is running away from things—Amanda has hopes and dreams—she may not be certain about where she’s going long-term, but for the short-term, she has a plan and is focused on it. I think that’s what I appreciated most about her. Still, I think we could’ve gotten a little more time with her, too, to fully flesh her out (but it wouldn’t take much more)—but Jessica needs those pages more than Amanda did. 

You can consider the book to show the changing face of feminism through the years, and as such, it’s successful. But I don’t know that it actually says anything about those faces beyond just helping the reader to see them. 

Obviously, setting the book in Dallas plays a role in what’s expected for each woman—how they should act, how they should relate to the world around them, how they should feel about spending their days in this house. But I wonder if the danger in stereotyping Dallas is as great as some of the preconceptions of how a woman should comport themselves is.* 

* Of course, I realize that coming from a man, that notion could be problematic. So I do want to stress that’s something I wonder about, and don’t have a firm opinion on. Stewart and her characters are apt to reach a conclusion that doesn’t match mine. 

It’s a quick read—only 150 pages or so—with some passages and phrases that will knock you out. Different readers will walk away with varied impressions of the three women than me (obviously), and some will likely see something in the whole novel that I’ve missed (I’m hoping someone can show me what I’m not seeing). But I don’t think many will be able to walk away unaffected. 

I do recommend this book—I think the small investment of time required will pay dividends for the reader above that. 

 This originally appeared in Grandpappy's Corner at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Wonkey Donkey About? 

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

 
And goes on from there to describe this unfortunate equine in more and more detailed (and ridiculous) ways–starting with its three legs, going on to describe its taste in music, coffee consumption, attitude, attractiveness, and so on.
 
Let’s Talk about the Art for a Minute
Katz Cowley is fantastic. The natural world and physical objects are presented in a great realistic fashion–heightened just a bit. The titular donkey and a bird that shows up in every scene, however, are a goofy cartoonish exaggeration of that fashion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The other thing my wife’s friend told us was to get the board book–and she was right again. Parents/Grandparents/Etc. Do NOT get the paperback or hardcover. If the child(ren) doesn’t/don’t like the book, you’ll have spent too much money. If they do like the book (the more likely outcome), they will destroy it. It’s going to demand the number of re-re-re-re-reads that anything else won’t hold up to it. It’s also going to end up being one of those books a kid is going to carry around with them and flip through themselves–a lot. Paperbacks/hardcovers will not survive the gumming, accidental ripping, deliberate ripping, and overall expressions of toddler love that are so destructive.
 
I can’t see where this doesn’t become a tongue-tying obsession. The book you know the kid will love, you enjoy (the first few times a day you read it), you end up memorizing without trying to and just hope your lung capacity holds out during. It’s fun, it’s goofy, and it’s the kind of thing you’ll look back on in fondness.
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Lie to Her About? 

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

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

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

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

Chief Deputy Todd Harvey 

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

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

The Time Frame 

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

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

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

So, what did I think about Lie to Her? 

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

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

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

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

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

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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Before I begin, let me just say that you are wasting your time reading this post when you could be out buying or borrowing and reading this book. 

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

What’s Chain-Gang All-Stars About? 

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

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

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

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

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

The Links 

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

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

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

Everyone Else 

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

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

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

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

The Endnotes 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This Book Could’ve Been Shorter 

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

and then there’s a map showing the immediate vicinity and some of the major buildings/landmarks of the story, making it very obvious that, based on what we know, all the characters are really near each other and that the likelihood of them running into each other in the very near future is pretty high. The reader will not be able to look at this map and not start imagining how all that running into each other is going to go.
 
I made a note at this point, that Barry could’ve ended the novel at that point—that exchange, the map, and the reader’s imagination—and it’d have been a fun and satisfying read.
 
However, odds are, your imagination isn’t as good as Barry’s is (mine sure isn’t), and as zany as I thought things were going to get from this point, the truth was far zanier. His conclusion to the novel (not just the immediate every character and storyline coming together in one spot, but everything that followed) was better than any of the ideas I came up with (and I liked most of my ideas a lot).
 
Still, there’s part of me that wishes he’d left things with that line and the map. I’d have laughed hard at that.
 
So, what did I think about Swamp Story?
I really enjoy reading Barry’s novels, and Swamp Story is no exception. It’s a different kind of humor (largely) than Barry’s columns or books, but it’s just as satisfying. I’d want to say that it’s more subtle, but that’s not true at all. There’s more character-based humor, and some of it’s the dialogue—which strikes you differently than the straight humor pieces he’s best known for.

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

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

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

* Apologies to Pirandello.
 

  This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Scratching the Flint About? 

Detectives Alex Johnson and Cecil Bolan are part of the Toronto PD’s anti-fraud division. They’re in the midst of trying to take down a vintage car theft ring. Sadly, their witnesses are being targeted by the head of this ring–they’re being mocked and murdered in a way that sends a very loud message to quiet anyone else who might be thinking of coming forward. 

One of these witnesses is an old high school friend/basketball teammate of Cecil’s. He reacts badly to this, but his commanding officer and his partner are doing their best to keep him from interfering with the homicide investigations and to focus on the ring (as much as they can without interfering with homicide) or other anti-fraud work. 

It’s not long before the pair are given an involuntary vacation–in lieu of a suspension–leaving Cecil with too much time on his hands and not much opportunity for Alex to keep him reined in. And that’s where things have the opportunity to go from bad to worse–to potentially much, much worse–in this noir examination of crime and policing at the turn of the century. 

2001 

Smith is very careful throughout the book to locate the book in 2001 and captures the feel of it so well. At least, the way I’d imagine it’d feel in that part of Canada. The use of specific games of the Toronto Blue Jays really helped ground that. 

Smith has some very specific aims for that–and most of the reason I struggled with this post comes from trying to interact with those aims but I don’t think I can without spoiling a good deal of the book. So let me just say this when it comes to the chronological setting–enjoy the flashback (for those who can remember the year) and just know it’ll give you plenty to chew on as the book goes along. 

The Thin Blue Line 

This is hard to write about–and frequently difficult to read. Crime Fiction writers (and TV/Movie viewers) are used to cops that color outside the lines–and we frequently root for them. We’re even used to rogue cops who go to extremes to get the job done. Or bent cops who are the villains of the piece. 

Striking the Flint gives us none of those–or maybe all of those. Ian Patrick’s Sam Batford series comes to mind as a comparison (although this feels less like fiction and more like thinly disguised true crime). Our protagonists are detectives who seem intent on making their cases, on making arrests. But when push comes to shove, I’m not entirely convinced it’s about enforcing the law all the time with them–it’s getting a win, coming out on top over some of them. (I’m trying to behave here when it comes to spoilers, so I have to stay vague). 

Their superiors–and other police officers–are just as involved. Skirting regulations, finding dirt on people who might have legitimate complaints about police treatment, supporting clearly unethical/illegal behavior, and so on. There are outright crimes committed by these two (usually independently) that depending on the outcome and motive would be used for comic relief or in a way that would be justified in other novels. But Smith doesn’t let the reader find the humor or rationalization for them here–sometimes they get away with them because of the badge. Sometimes, they just get away with them. 

One only minorly-spoilery example: neither of these detectives owns a car. Alex’s ex-wife lets him borrow hers at the beginning of the novel. But partway through it, she takes the car back–leaving them without the means to do their jobs. So, Alex “borrows” it again without her knowledge–and gets away with it through a combination of police solidarity and misogyny. A lot of times, that would be played for laughs. I can see that being funny in a Stephanie Plum-like novel. Or someone like Bosch or Rebus would do it while feeling conflicted and have to face the music about it later. I initially took it as a lighter moment before realizing that Smith isn’t in that business. 

The back of the book promises that this book examines “the lowest common denominators of policing.” And it delivers on that and will make you rethink a lot of what you read and watch in the fictional realm in light of what we see on the news. 

Dialogue 

There is a distinctive way that these characters talk to one another–at least Alex, Cecil, and most (if not all) of the criminals. I think if I wanted to take the time, I could come up with a more definitive list of exceptions (and that might prove interesting). Perhaps it’s a time-specific Toronto-area affectation. But I don’t think so, I think it’s a Vern Smith-thing. Like every David Milch or Aaron Sorkin series shows a specific kind of speech pattern (this is far more Milch than Sorkin, it should be noted). 

It was a little odd at first, but an oddness I could appreciate. Then I got used to the rhythm and enjoyed it. By the end of the book, I don’t even think I noticed it anymore, it’d just become part of the novel’s world. 

I don’t think I see this kind of thing too often in fiction, but when I do, I just love it. It’s not flashy like some people are with dialogue, just distinctive. 

So, what did I think about Scratching the Flint? 

This was an intense read. I was wholly immersed in it and really didn’t want to come up for air. 

At the same time…these are not good people, at all. I think the characters I felt the most empathy for were Cecil’s wife (who seems utterly clueless about what he gets up to) and the lieutenant of the car theft ring’s head. He doesn’t show a lot of interest in going straight, but he doesn’t want anything to do with what his boss is involved in. 

Smith captured the time, captured the psychology of the characters (or at least what you think these kinds of “cops and robbers” would think like), and delivers one of the grittiest, most realistic works you’re going to run into. Canadian noir, whodathunk it? 

I cannot say I enjoyed Scratching the Flint (and I wonder a little bit about anyone who does), but it’s a powerhouse of a novel that will leave you thinking. It’s been more than two months since I read it, and I’ve chewed on bits and pieces of it almost every day since.* It’s an audacious work that will stick with you and one that will make you want more. 

* And not just because I was trying to figure out how to write about it. 

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

It’s been six months since Annie McIntyre solved a murder and began training as a Private Investigator under her grandfather and his partner, Mary-Pat. It doesn’t seem like Annie’s really sure of her current path, but at least it’s a path—hopefully out of Garnett at some point. 

A High School classmate—not really a friend, but more than an acquaintance—approaches her with a job. Mary-Pat tells her she’s ready to take the lead on their next case, and is about ready to apply for her license. So, she’s primed and ready—at least she thinks so. 

A couple of weeks previously a flash flood had wreaked havoc on the town and the cost in property damage and lives is high. Bethany, however, was saved through the actions of someone that she fears is a victim. But his body was never found. She wants Annie to find either the body or, preferably, the man so she can thank him properly. Not expecting the latter, and equipped with only a vague description, Annie takes the job. 

The police have nothing for her, and the local fire and rescue people found no sign of this man—many people think that Bethany imagined him. But Annie keeps looking—searching downstream from the area Bethany had been found in, Annie does find a body. But not of the man she’s been looking for—but a murdered woman. Now Annie has to ask, is her target a killer or a hero? 

As Annie investigates, she finds herself in a new layer of crime, corruption, and danger. 

The Sense of Place 

When talking about the previous book, Pay Dirt Road, I had a few things to say about the city of Garnett’s depiction. I won’t repeat them here—but I really could. I don’t think it’s an issue so much with Allen’s writing, just my ideas about Texas communities. (not that I’d complain if Annie made some mention of the population size) 

What I failed to appreciate—or at least write about—was Allen’s depiction of, and description of, the natural environment. Given the storms and flood surrounding this book, it’s hard not to take note of it. Allen nails this material. 

I really can see the flood damage, the sky, the geography in general—Allen pairs her vivid imagery with a little bit of wry commentary (frequently, but not always) to really help the reader get a handle on the sights and sounds. I was reminded of Chandler describing L.A. This is not typically the kind of thing I spend a lot of time thinking about when reading a P.I. novel, but I really couldn’t help but do so this time—both because of the nature of Annie’s investigation and because of Allen’s skill at it. Particularly the latter. 

The Portrayal of Evangelicals 

So, so, so often lately—including in books I really like—evangelicals are brought in as bastions of corruption, hypocrisy, and prejudice. Especially if they happen to belong to a mega-church. 

The church that Bethany is part of, that her husband and father-in-law are pastors of, that some of the flood victims belonged to, that her missing man and the murder victim may be tied to, isn’t a mega-church yet, but is well on its way to being one. 

Yes, some of the members are tied to criminal activity, unethical activity, and some other hypocritical kinds of things. But by and large the members of the church are honest, faithful, and human. They’re not perfect, but they’re working at it. It’s an honest depiction, and while not necessarily flattering, it’s not vilifying, either. I appreciate that. 

Learning the Ropes 

I described this series as a friend recently as “a PI version of the Eve Ronin books,” and the more I think about that, the more I like it. 

Yes, Goldberg and Allen have very different tones. The tenor and flavor of the books are different—each fitting their setting and authors. But at the core, you have determined young women in settings that aren’t necessarily hospitable toward them, dealing with family issues and learning the ropes of their current professions. They make mistakes that experience would provide, get correction and guidance from their mentors (and their own reactions to their errors), but have good instincts and the drive to improve. 

They’re very different series and very different kinds of stories, but I like seeing Eve and Annie as different outworkings of the same idea. 

So, what did I think about Hard Rain? 

Last year, I said that I’d have been satisfied with Pay Dirt Road as a standalone, but that I’d be in the front of the line for a sequel. I’m glad I came back—this world and this character deserve the time a series affords (I see there’s already a third volume scheduled for next year). 

I enjoyed this one more than last year’s—I don’t know that it’s that much better, but Annie being more confident (maybe only by degrees, but it’s there) and the type of story made that possible. If you haven’t read Pay Dirt Road, Hard Rain will work as a stand-alone or as an entry point to the series, but you’d be denying yourself seeing Annie’s growth. 

Atmosphere, character (not just the protagonists, but all the supporting characters as well—maybe next year I’ll find/make the time to talk about Annie’s family, for example), and story—Samantha Jayne Allen delivers the goods on all fronts. I heartily recommend Hard Rain to your attention. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Please Return to the Lands of Luxury About? 

Jane, Timothy, and Rodney are three children living in the community of Yarborough. Yarborough is a small(ish) group of people living on an island of trash. I’m not being metaphorical here—it’s a landmass that serves as a dumping ground for the refuse of the rest of the world (at least a continent). Like the rest of their neighbors, the children spend their days scavenging for things they can use and eat out of the refuse. Robots that run the place provide a daily allowance of water for each resident. 

One day Jane finds a doll—almost pristine in condition—the nicest thing she or her friends can remember finding. The boys encourage her to cherish it and take it for her own—but the one who can read tells her that the attached tag says, “Please return to Gloria Thatcher.” It includes an address—in Paradise City, the source of the rubbish they live off of and among. 

Jane knows that if she’d lost something so fantastic she’d be heartbroken without it—and she has the means to get it back into Gloria’s hands. She only has to risk her life to escape the island and make it to Paradise City. It seems like the right thing to do—and it shouldn’t take that long, she can probably get it done and be back in time for the next water distribution.
 

Her friends try to talk her out of it—but they fail. Once they realize she’s gone, they attempt to find and rescue her. 

All three of them end up in dangerous situations—for both their physical and emotional well-being—and end up learning a lot about the world they live in. 

It’s Dystopian, but Not 

Most Dystopian novels are about people realizing the problems in their particular dystopia—or realizing they have the opportunity and ability to fight against those problems. I have nothing against those novels—I have (and likely will continue to) like many of those. 

What I appreciate more (at least I think I do…maybe I’ll take this sentence back) is another kind of dystopian novel. The protagonists are sometimes aware the system is rigged, that things could be better. Sometimes, they don’t realize that’s where they are—like the fish who doesn’t realize it’s wet, it’s just life. But they press on, making do with what they have—or making things a little nicer for themselves and those around them—however temporarily. Those seem more realistic, more relatable, you know? 

This falls into the latter camp—the people (even the kids) in Yarborough realize that life is hard and that theirs is harder than most. They don’t spend time dreaming of social change, of bettering their station in life, or anything like that. They’re surviving, helping each other, and trying to stay alive—finding joy in little treasures they find and in each other (and in hiding a harmonica from someone who doesn’t know how to play one, but keeps trying anyway*). 

* Any parent—including, at one point, my own—can relate to this move. Yes, it’s mean—but it’s merciful to everyone else. 

Stand-Alone vs. Series 

This is kind of related to the previous point—I was a little discouraged to learn that this is part of a planned trilogy (at least, maybe more). I liked visiting this world and not having any real explanation for how things got to this point. How society evolved in the way it did, how a community emerged on a trash pile that should be bereft of life, what may happen now that some people in Paradise City know that the government and/or company have been lying to them about what goes on on the trash piles, and so on. 

Sure, I was mildly curious, but I was more invested in the story than the world. 

But now, to tell the story of Jane, Rodney, and Timothy after this book, we’ll need answers to the above—and maybe more—if the story is going to hold up. And I can’t imagine that the answers will make this a more interesting place—or that the following stories will match this one. Also, I’m a little worried that it’s going to end up being preachy—always a danger for books aimed at this audience, and I think the danger is greater in a dystopian world. 

I hope that Tilton is able to make me eat my words and that he delivers a satisfying series. But at the moment, this story is enough time in the world for me. 

So, what did I think about Please Return to the Lands of Luxury? 

My finger is not on the pulse of MG fiction—I don’t know that in the recent resurgence of dystopian fiction (especially on the YA front) if it’s carried over into the MG world too much. I can remember a little bit of it from when I was that young, but I don’t remember my kids reading much like that. So take everything I say about MG dystopian fiction with a grain of salt. 

I really liked the way that Tilton presented this world. Sure, there are things I’m not sure are all that consistent. For example, I don’t know how or why Timothy learned to read—particularly as much as he does. I absolutely get why Rodney and Jane can’t. There’s a lot about the culture in Yarborough that I don’t understand—and it’s fine, I don’t need to for this novel. But what we saw was enough. The tech makes sense (both the good and the bad about it), the consumerism seems more realistic than what we see in most dystopian fiction, and so on. And it was all really well communicated to be understood by the target audience. 

The characters were great—everyone was well-designed. I liked how the adults in Paradise City were earnest, caring, well-intentioned, and clueless about what they were doing. Given time and a little opportunity for thought, I think the latter could work itself out. They just didn’t have the time to wrap their brains around what was happening in order to be anything other than clueless. But the way they stepped up when presented with the need and opportunity is exactly the kind of thing I like seeing in MG fiction. 

It was exciting enough—with good tension (even if it was pretty easy to see who would survive and how—at least for older readers). But as good as the life-and-death material was, the interpersonal relationships were better. It mattered more how Rodney and Timothy got past the mutual offenses than if they lived. I cared more about Jane’s feelings, misunderstandings, and care for her home and friends than I did about the danger she faced—and so on. Tilton did a good job balancing all the aspects of this novel—and majored on the right aspects when he had to make a choice. 

A quick aside—this cover just pops! It feels playful and vibrant, but there’s something undeniably ominous in those robots—so, you know, it matches the book. Sylvia Bi did a great job on this cover. 

Misgivings about the next books aside, I’m coming back for them. I recommend Please Return to the Lands of Luxury for adults who find the idea of MG dystopian fiction intriguing and I heartily recommend it to anyone who might be shopping for an MG reader. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. 
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1. I don’t think I adequately expressed how good this book is below—it’s always a problem I have when I’m as enthusiastic about a book as I am about this one.
2. I typically post about a pre-publication book less than a month before publication, this is more than three months in advance. I just couldn’t wait that long to read it. See what I said about “enthusiastic” above.
3. Related to #1, I really don’t know if this is all that coherent–I get rambly when I’m this enthusiastic. I’m also not sure I rambled about the right things. You get what you pay for here. 
 

What’s Fearless About? 

I’m going to be vague and/or withholding a lot here because Ben Koenig/M.W. Craven will give you the details in a more satisfying manner than I will/can. So live with that—or go order the book. (the better option) 

Ben Koenig used to be a U.S. Marshal. Well, he never resigned, so maybe he still is one. But he’s no-showed enough that he probably isn’t anymore. Before he went off-the-grid six years ago, he headed up the Special Operations Group—a task force that went after the worst of the worst on the Marshals’ caseload. They’re the kind of guys that Raylan Givens would call when things got over his head (or hat, I guess). 

Koenig literally cannot feel fear—which is a great asset in a situation fraught with danger—it’s also a major problem. Fear keeps people from reckless and foolish moves. A move he might not have made if he’d hesitated a moment (but that he doesn’t regret) put him in a situation where he needed to disappear. No one is better at disappearing than someone who is great at tracking anyone. 

But something has happened, and the Marshals have to go to extraordinary lengths to find him. The Director of the Marshals Service, Mitchell Burridge needs his help. Mitch was Ben’s mentor/friend/father figure, so he’d agree to pretty much anything. Mitch’s daughter went missing from her college some weeks ago, and no one has a lead on her—no police force, no Federal agency. Mitch asks Ben to bring his daughter home (at this point, probably her body, but no one admits that out loud). And as for those who took her? Well, that’s also best left unsaid. Ben will address that when it comes time. 

As Mitch puts it, Ben’s an apex predator and there’s no one else who can do all of what needs to get done. He may be that, but he’s been acting more like prey for a long time so he makes a few stumbles along the way as he shakes the dust off. But it’s not too long before Koenig catches a scent and starts following it. 

That’s an Unfortunate Name 

There’s a figure mentioned pretty early on and then repeatedly throughout the book—it takes a while to know if he’s a victim of something, involved in the disappearance, tangentially connected to the abductors, a dupe, or a red herring—or something else entirely. But the name keeps coming up, and it threw me. 

The name is Spencer Quinn. Spencer Quinn is also the pen name of Peter Abrahams. Readers of this blog will recognize that name as the author of one of my favorite PI series, The Chet and Bernie Mysteries, among other things. The name is distinctive enough that it jumps out at you—it took me out of the moment each time. In a way that Rob Parker, Pat Cornwall, or Tom Harris might not (or even the non-nickname versions of their names). Will this be a hiccup for anyone who isn’t a Quinn reader? Nope. Was it easy to get over? Yeah, but there’s the instinctual flash of name recognition throughout. 

Craven had no idea he was doing this (as I’d assumed, although I’d theorized that he could be a major fan or a major detractor—depending on how things went with the character), although I have to confess I’m a little surprised that no editor stopped him along the way. 

Still, it’s a cool name, you can’t blame a guy for wanting to use it. Just ask Peter Abrahams. 

Michael Westen-Moments 

The show Burn Notice would regularly feature the protagonist giving voice-over lessons on spycraft, weapons, strategy, etc. to the viewer, and that’s the name I inevitably give to moments in thrillers when the first-person narrator, or the protagonist’s thought process described by the third person narrator, breaks down the hero’s decision making, etc. 

I love this stuff. Almost every thriller writer has to feed the reader this kind of thing because most of us don’t know how much pressure you have to exert on the trigger of Gun X to get it to fire, or why it’s important that the guy on the left is holding the knife the way he is so the hero knows he’s more dangerous than the larger guy on the right with the shotgun. Sometimes the protagonist—either through confidence (cockiness?) or to help intimidate the opposition—will deliver this in dialogue. I always appreciate the flair that gives. 

Ben Koenig is great at this kind of thing. When he Michael Westons his way through the way he approaches a certain building in the final confrontation, why he picks the type of car he does to use on his mission, why he punches this guy the way he does, etc. the reader can actually believe they’ve been given some information they can use in their daily life. You know, the next time they need to drive a car into another state to locate the missing child of their old boss. 

But my favorite Michael Westoning in this book—and the scene that hooked me—is early on when Koenig takes time to critique the group of deputies who came to bring him into custody for the way they went about it—location, timing, where the person with the shotgun was standing in relation to everyone else, etc. Sure, Koenig was the one being detained—but there was no doubt who was in control (and who could’ve made everyone’s day much, much worse had he wanted to). 

Incidentally, it’s been too many years since I read the book, but you can’t tell me that this scene wasn’t a tip of the hat to Child’s Killing Floor—and a suggestion to the reader that this character is going to be their next Reacher (who is also good at Michael Westoning). 

Who Wrote This Again? 

I’m not going to try to claim that I’m an expert on M.W. Craven—but I’m fairly familiar with his work (I’ve read 6 of his 7 previously published novels—don’t ask me to explain the missing one). It’s easy to see that the Avison Fluke novels are written by the same author that gave us the Washington Poe novels. This makes sense, it’s fairly common amongst writers of multiple series—no one is surprised to learn that the Mickey Haller books are written by Bosch’s creator; the Sunny Randall and Virgil Cole/Everett Hitch series and the stand-alone Double Play are clearly the work of the Spenser writer; even if John Rebus wasn’t Malcolm Fox’s white whale, everyone could tell those series were written by the same man; and so on. 

But Fearless? It probably took me less than 50 pages to stop thinking of this as ‘the new Craven’ book and ‘the first Koenig’ book. If Koenig shares any DNA with Fluke or Poe, it’d take 23andMe or Ancestry.com to figure it out. If you know nothing about Craven’s previous work, all you’ll see is someone writing a book in the mold of Jack Reacher and Peter Ash—with a little bit of Nick Mason and Nick Heller thrown in. Well, writing in that mold—and matching each series at their best. 

So, what did I think about Fearless? 

I think the past 5 years have demonstrated pretty clearly that I’m probably going to love whatever Craven writes—and now I know that’s true even if it doesn’t feel like a Craven book. 

This just worked on every level—Koenig is a fertile character, well-designed to carry a series for quite a while. His assets are perfect for a Reacher/Peter Ash-type character. His flaws keep him from being invincible, and provide plenty of ways for him to be his own greatest adversary. His quirks (e.g., fixation on chocolate milkshakes, absorption of odd bits of trivia) round him out nicely. The reason he’s off the grid is better than being a Luddite/technophobe. Can he grow—and can the reader grow in their understanding of him? Sure. He can also believably regress and find develop new hindrances and weaknesses to work through or overcome. 

The narrative voice that Craven uses here will suck in the reader and keep the pages turning between action scenes. The action scenes might as well be directed by John McTiernan, Shane Black, or Chad Stahelski. I don’t know how “realistic” they are, but I don’t think you have to suspend much disbelief. And they’re so fun, who cares? 

The story could have been a little more intricate—just a tad. But given everything else that this book had to do—introduce Koenig, establish the series and his backstory, provide some good potential recurring characters—some things have to be sacrificed. Then again, I can point to several beloved and best-selling thrillers that aren’t as intricate as this one. So don’t take this point as anything but me being greedy. 

I did have a quibble or two with the novel—it’s not perfect. But I hesitate to get into them as I read an ARC, and there’s still a chance for them to vanish before publication. Also, they’re pretty much at the straining at gnats level, and I try to avoid that. In the end, those quibbles only serve to underline how great the rest of it is. 

This is clearly the first in a series (even if all the promotional materials didn’t call it that, you’d get that sense throughout—and the last five pages make it abundantly clear that there’s more to come. So I do think future books will have a slightly different flavor than this one—which could’ve very easily served as a standalone. 

To put it simply, I loved every second I spent reading this, Fearless was the highlight of the month for me—and I expect that I’ll keep talking about it throughout the year—I can’t wait for it to get published here so that American audiences can meet Craven. Put your orders in now, folks, July will be here before you know it, and you don’t want to miss this. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Vera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers About? 

I’m not sure that I can answer this question without just recapping the entire novel—but without the charm and warmth. 

Just Try… 

How much time do you have? 

It Publishes Today, You Need to Get Something Posted. Just Give Us the Setup 

Okay, okay, I’ll attempt it—but I really want to spend the next hour just regurgitating the whole thing. 

Vera Wong is an older Chinese woman, the owner of a small tea shop in San Francisco’s Chinatown. It’s dark, dingy, and doesn’t get much in the way of customers. She has one regular that she can count on to stop in early in the morning, and then spends most of the rest of the day waiting for someone else to walk in and order. Typically in vain. But it’s her life—she has nothing else to do with her time—her husband is dead, and her son is busy with work. So busy that he rarely has time to visit—or acknowledge all of the super-helpful advice she gives him to succeed at work and/or to find a wife. 

This doesn’t stop her from texting or calling him frequently to offer the advice, it should be noted. 

Then one day, she comes down the stairs from her apartment above the shop to discover a dead body in the middle of the floor. She has little faith that the police will be able to tell her who killed the man, so she decides to discover the identity of the killer for them. How hard can it be? She’s watched plenty of procedurals, is smart, and (unlike Sherlock Holmes) is a suspicious Chinese mother. The murderer doesn’t stand a chance. 

So she helps herself to a little bit of the evidence before the police arrive so that she can hunt for the murderer. It’ll be a good change of pace for her. 

She sets a trap for the murderer and ends up with four good suspects, it’ll just take her some time to figure out who killed him and why. In the meantime, she sees at least three younger people that need some guidance to get their lives in order—she decides to take that on along with her murder investigation. 

Vera 

I’d like to spend a few pages talking about Vera—I’m certain that if you ask me in December, she’s still going to be one of my favorite characters of 2023. 

She is so human—such a mass of contradictions and differing impulses. The fact that at her, um, advanced age she’s able to chart a new course for her life, to let people in, and adapt gives me a little hope. 

But it’s her spirit, her way of looking at the world, and not backing down that’s really inspiring. 

Once she’s done with these characters, I could use a grandmother like this. 

Be Careful 

Vera knows her tea, she spends a lot of time and energy on it—certain that she can make someone just the right kind of tea for whatever they’re facing to help them through the day. If you can make it through a chapter or two (especially in the early chapters) without needing a cup of your own, I’d like to know how. 

But other than needing to take the time to boil water and steep your tea, that’s not a big deal (unless you’re inspired to go shopping for more teas, which can get expensive—and can distract you from your reading). However, Vera also spends a lot of time cooking for her new friends and suspects. And she ends up spending more time cooking than making tea. 

This is where you need to be careful—if you’re not, you could find yourself putting on a few pounds before the killer is identified. Sutanto’s descriptions of Vera’s creations—and the way everyone responds to them—are so vivid, so enticing, they can send you to your pantry for a snack—or to your food delivery app of choice to order some Chinese food. 

I’m not saying that you should avoid these portions of the book—just be prepared so you can fight temptation (or have a handy justification to indulge yourself, if that’s more your preference). 

So, what did I think about Vera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers? 

By the time I got halfway through the opening paragraph, I’d started coming up with a list of people to recommend this book to. There was something about the voice that just jumped off of the page (er, screen) and said, “You’re going to have fun with this.” And I absolutely did—but there was more to it than that, being around these characters felt comfortable. I just wanted to spend time in their presence—like Stars Hollow, CT; the locker room of AFC Richmond; the Parks and Rec Department of Pawnee, IN; the Jigsaw Room of Cooper’s Chase retirement village; or Knight’s Bookstore in Abbi Waxman’s L.A. I don’t remember the last time that I read a cozy mystery that was so worthy of the title “Cozy.” 

Yes, I wanted to figure it out. Yes, I wanted to know what happened to the characters and wanted closure for this period in their lives. But I read as slowly as I could because I wanted to linger. 

It’s not just Vera that creates that feeling—it’s the other characters’ reactions to her, as well as their relationships with each other. Yes, she is undeniably the center of this little world, but it wouldn’t work without the others. 

There’s a lot of gentle humor and heart—that’s what fills this charming work. But that’s not all of it—there are laugh-out-loud moments, as well, and real emotions. There’s a budding romance, a rekindled friendship, family ties, and a lot of people finding the confidence to step out into something new—or into something they’ve tried before and have been scared to try again. The found family that’s created along the way makes all of that possible—particularly the last part—the mutual support (in various forms) and encouragement from the others enable the others to make those steps. 

I don’t want to give the impression that this book is all sunshine, flowers, and good times. There are portions of this that are hard to get through, sure—there’s a suspicious death, criminal behavior—at the very least the actions of a scoundrel—heartbreak and a great deal of loneliness and despair. But Sutanto doesn’t leave us there for long—she grounds the book in it, but provides a way forward—through grit, determination, and the help of others. 

The murder investigation was fine—probably more than fine, actually. It was a clever little story, with plenty of good suspects and nice twists. But the book isn’t all that interested in the murder investigation, really. It’s just an excuse for these people to come together and start interacting. Vera herself doesn’t really want any of her suspects to be guilty—she’s too busy meddling in their lives to improve them (in selfless acts of assistance only, she’d hurry to tell you). But she keeps plugging away at her little list of suspects because it’s something she’s started—and wouldn’t it be exciting to actually find a murderer? (even if it’s someone she doesn’t want to get into any kind of trouble). 

I talk about mysteries more than anything else here, and the fact that I’d started wrapping up the post without addressing the mystery part of this book says a lot to me. It’s the driving force behind the plot and the instigating incident—but again—it’s secondary to the rest of the storylines. Still, most readers will have a hard time finding sympathy for the murdered man, and more than once you’ll likely wonder if it’d really be that bad if no one figures out who did it. You probably won’t feel the way you usually do when a murder is solved when the culprit is named, either. 

There’s just so much to commend about this book—and so little to quibble with—I’m on the verge of repeating myself and/or overhyping this thing (but boy howdy, does it deserve a lot of hype!). So I’m just going to leave it with this—go get your hands on a copy, brew yourself a nice pot of tea (I promise you’re going to want tea), and lose yourself in this book for a few hours.