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theirresponsiblereader's Reviews (607)
dark
emotional
mysterious
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I’m going to start off by saying it took me far, far, far too long to figure out how the title was appropriate. I cannot express how clueless I felt once the light bulb went on. I should stress that I wasn’t sitting around pondering it—and had essentially forgotten the title. I’m pretty sure I’d have sussed it out earlier. The more I think about it, however, the less I think it’s appropriate—Polyptych would be better—Tetraptych or Quadriptych would be even more accurate. But who even knows those terms anymore?
Anyway, there’s a serial killer/rapist afoot in the Atlanta area—the ages, races, and socio-economic status are varied enough that the typical pattern doesn’t fit. The novel shows the hunt for the killer from three overlapping perspectives (with a fourth for a significant portion of the book, too).
The first is from APD Homicide Detective Michael Ormewood, who might be a perfectly adequate detective (it’s hard to tell at the beginning, but you have to assume he is). He is a terrible person however. I know the two aren’t related, but…ick. You want the killer to be stopped, but you really don’t want him to be the one who stops him. So, it’s nice that an agent from the Georgia Bureau of Investigations, Will Trent, comes along to consult on the murder investigation Ormewood’s involved with—and shows him that it’s connected to others.
The second perspective is that of an ex-con, who has been out for only a few months. You can’t help but like him—in sharp contrast to Ormewood—but he’s a convicted murderer and is a registered sex offender, so it’s hard to generate a lot of sympathy for him. The part of the novel focused on him includes so much backstory you’d be well within your rights to forget that you’re supposed to be worried about a killer in the present. He’s clearly reformed (but honestly, doesn’t remember committing the crime he’s convicted of), he’s a rare success story for the Criminal Justice system—sadly, the world isn’t going to recognize that anytime soon. Connecting him to the present case takes a long time, but proves to be pretty important.
The third perspective is that of Will Trent. I don’t know if this was supposed to be a stand-alone, or if the whole point of the novel was to introduce Trent as central character of the series. In the end, that was the result, though. Trent’s an oddball of a detective—but he’s incredibly good at what he does. Eventually he, and his on-again-off-again lover/lifelong best friend (a detective in Vice with an ugly history with Ormewood) start to put the pieces together.
Alllllmost DNFed
I didn’t like this novel much at all—and was pushing myself through it for at least the first half. Why? I don’t know—I just wasn’t in the mood for any other audiobook I had my hands on, I guess. Kramer’s narration, Slaughter’s style, the characters, and the experience as a whole, just left a sour taste in my mouth.
Eventually, while I still didn’t enjoy the book, I got to the point that I was going to listen just to see how the ex-con’s storyline ended up. Still, I almost returned this to the library at least eight times before that point (and once or twice after).
When Trent’s perspective took over, I enjoyed it enough to start thinking about getting book 2. Also, I wanted to see how Slaughter took this particular book and turned it into a series that’s gone on into eleven books (as of later this year) and spawned a TV series.
The Narration
Kramer does a capable job, I guess, but it just didn’t work for me. I’ve listened to other books by him before (have only written about one of them, though) and I’ve felt the same way. His name didn’t trigger anything for me, but that voice and delivery sure did.
Kramer has a list of credits that can only be described as “enviable,” and keeps getting work—so clearly I’m in the minority when it comes to him. His name isn’t enough to keep me from listening to a book—but it sure won’t convince me to give something a try if I’m on the fence about it.
So, what did I think about Triptych?
Huh. What do you know? I said pretty much everything I have to say already.
I actually think I’d have been better off walking away from it. The ending was satisfying and my curiosity about the ex-con was satiated. But I’m not happy with myself about it.
Trent and his friend (or whatever), Angie, are interesting enough that I do think I’ll come back for another ride, but I don’t think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. They’re the reason the book gets that 1/2 star.
adventurous
challenging
dark
mysterious
tense
fast-paced
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader along with a Q&A with the author (who had some great answers).
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What’s Killer Story About?
While studying journalism in school, Petra acted as a counselor for a high school journalism camp. In that role, she met and befriended a young girl named Livvy Anderson. Over the years since then, the two forged a strong friendship—almost like sisters. At some point though, the relationship faltered—in college, Livvy started posting videos online spouting (in Petra’s view) extreme right-wing politics, hateful speech, and the like. For example, she defended a star football player accused of raping a woman on campus by trashing her reputation and exposing personal details. Rather than pushing back or even arguing with her friend, Petra chilled communication, assuming it was a phase, and focused on her own work.
And it might have been a phase if Livvy hadn’t been killed. The murder was fairly sensational—it happened while Livvy was recording a video (but she paused the recording so no one saw it or the murderer). The accused killer was acquitted—and most of the country (including Petra) assumed it was a travesty of justice and that he got away with it. The Court of Public Opinion definitely found him guilty.
Years later, Petra has found herself (like most young print journalists) bouncing around from newspaper to newspaper, trying to stay employed. She’s now at a major Boston newspaper and thinks that life is stable—the subjects of her stories might not be that glamorous, but she’s working, and the big story is around the corner.
Until she’s laid off. She panics at this point—her boyfriend (who moved cross-country with her for this job, changing the course of his career) isn’t going to put up with the lack of stability much longer, and it’s going to only get harder getting a job at the rate she’s going. So she throws out a mad pitch to her editor—what if she could definitively prove who killed Olivia Anderson? She tells him this story isn’t just the kind of thing for the paper—it’d make a great podcast.
Visions of the kind of revenue that Serial and similar podcasts could bring to the paper, not to mention the publicity of this kind of story, he gives her two weeks to firm up the story, start producing the podcast, and they’ll see what happens.
Petra heads off to find the evidence she pretended to have during that meeting—and hopefully much more.
The Journalism of this Novel
I’ve talked before about how I’m a sucker for a novel about a driven journalist—typically a print journalist, too. I’m always ready, willing, and able to embrace and fall into the romance of the crusading reporter. Or just one who does the job well, without a crusade.
But those kinds of stories are getting harder to tell and to believe in our current media landscape. Not just because print journalism is dying (for worse or for worser). It’s definitely not the track that Witten takes here. Petra is desperate and acts desperately—she lies to her editor at every turn, overstating her case and the evidence she has at each step of the way. Almost every fictional reporter* cuts a corner here and there and bends a rule and the truth in pursuit of the story and/or the truth. Petra amputates corners and forces the truth about her actions into positions only the most experienced yogi can handle—at least when it comes to what she tells her editor, coworkers, the police, her boyfriend, and so on.
* Lawyers, please note that I’m not saying anything about the methods of actual reporters or the companies they work for. Please don’t sue me.
When it comes to her actual reporting, however—in print, podcast, and elsewhere—Petra is much more honest. Bowing to editorial pressure she may say something earlier than she should* and while she never lies, she sure edges close to it. Her scripts feature incredibly well-chosen words—true, but open to interpretation.
* There are a few hundred words I could write about other journalistic ethical moves here, but I’d be getting sidetracked.
The journalism—both in print and in the podcast—we see here is very likely what fills our screens and earbuds. It’s sensationalistic, click-driven, and not necessarily all that honest. It’s depressing to think about, and it’s not great to read about if you think about it in those terms—but it makes for a thrilling (and realistic) read. Still, I think I need to go watch Deadline – U.S.A. or something to restore my faith in humanity.
The Alt-Right Depiction
Thanks to Livvy’s online persona, even now, she has a good number of fans. Many of those fans are not happy about Petra’s podcast—and make that displeasure well known online. At least one goes further than that. Between them and Livvy’s videos (and other online activities), Witten has to walk a careful line—he needs to depict them in an honest and believable way without turning them into a convenient punching bag for a reader or character to spend a lot of time venting about their politics (perhaps even himself). Or, to go in the other direction, too.
I really appreciated the restraint he showed in this regard, it’d be easy to slip here, but on the whole, he simply reports on the views espoused—sure, it’s clear that Petra and her colleagues (and many of the witnesses that talk about it) disagree with Livvy and her fans/defenders, but with only one exception, we don’t get details their differences with the alt-right views.
That exception comes from Petra having to do a deep dive into their activities and to try to interact—so it comes about organically. Even then, Witten doesn’t let Petra go too far.
I mention this to say that readers shouldn’t let the politics involved in the book dissuade them—it’s there, but it’s just part of the atmosphere. And it’s fairly evenly handled, and I can’t imagine many readers having a problem with it.
So, what did I think about Killer Story?
Early on in the novel, I made assumptions (as you do) about the kind of story that Witten was telling and what kind of things the reader should expect from the plot and characters. I was wrong on just about every point. It was a very different kind of story, the characters ended up going in directions I wouldn’t have guessed (Petra’s editor, boyfriend, and best friend were probably the exceptions to this), and every theory I had about the killing was wrong.* And the result is a richer, deeper, and more satisfying novel than what I thought I was going to get (and I anticipated this being a good one!).
* Well, almost. I did have the motive and killer right for a chapter or two, but Witten and Petra got me off of that path.
Witten’s story in last year’s Jacked was one of the higher points in a collection full of high points, and this novel solidified my appreciation for his writing. Before I got to the point where I realized that the novel wasn’t telling the story that I thought it was and shifted my expectations, I spent a good deal of time not liking the book—but I couldn’t stop reading it or thinking and talking about it when I wasn’t reading it. It was just too well done. It got under my skin. Actually, it’s still there—I can’t stop thinking about Petra and her choices. I even emailed Witten to ask a couple of questions I had about some points—points that I think the reader could have divergent opinions on, but I wanted his authorial take on it. I’ve never done this before. But I had to know—and even having his take on them, I’m chewing on it.
I’m going to be haunted by Killer Story for a bit—in the best way. If you’re looking for a mystery you can sink your teeth into and chew on, look no further.
challenging
dark
emotional
funny
lighthearted
mysterious
reflective
tense
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Everything’s Changing About?
When I finished this, I sent a quick email to the publicist that started with, “How is anyone supposed to write something about Everything Changes??” There’s a decent chance that this post could end up as long as—if not longer—than several of the stories in the book. I’ll try to avoid it.
This chapbook contains 20 flash fiction pieces previously published in a variety of outlets about…well, I don’t even know how to summarize this (I already alluded to that, didn’t I?). Here’s what’s on the Publisher’s site:
Everything is changing in towns across the United States. What we think we know is wrong. Animals have gone wild. Myths and fairytales are upended. Women’s bodies are growing weapon appendages. Nothing is certain anymore. The stories we tell ourselves are shifting. EVERYTHING’S CHANGING is a chapbook full of everyday magic, transformations, chaos, and coming to terms with the world as it is and how we want it to be.
So, what did I think about Everything’s Changing?
The rest of that email I sent read, “So weird, so good, so beyond explanation…” And that’s going to be a theme for this post. My notes for the first story, “Worship What Keeps You Alive” ended with “So, this is going to be a weird book.” And I didn’t know how right I was.
Weird, but compelling. This collection includes what could be the best AITA ever (I’m so glad it’s fictional). “Modern Ghosts” is something I’m going to re-read. The story “Party Animals” just made me happy. There were a few that fell a little flat for me, and they’ll probably be your favorites.
The prose isn’t just concise, it’s crisp, with some stunning imagery. Stickle has a way with words that’s impressive—and not a little disturbing (I mean that as a compliment). I’m so glad that I read this—and will be getting her previous chapbook soon.
This is a fast, strange, and overall enjoyable read—pick it up!
emotional
funny
hopeful
lighthearted
reflective
slow-paced
Next year, when Dog Show time comes round, we would like to see a wholly new brand of showmanship introduced into the Garden… A dog should be made to work for his ribbon, each breed in his own wise. Pointers should have to point, Shepherds should be required to herd a band of sheep from the east goal to the west goal. Poodles should be required to jump through a paper hoop, not just follow Mrs. Sherman Hoyt around the ring. English bull terriers should be made to count up to ten, retrievers retrieve rubber ducks, Scotties chew up old shoes. Greyhounds should be put over the high hurdles. St. Bernards carry brandy to anyone in the audience who feels weak, preferably us. Beagles would jolly well have to bealge, or shut up. How about it, dogs—are you dogs or mice?
What’s E. B. White on Dogs About?
This is a collection of essays, articles, letters, and other brief notes written by E.B. White about dogs. In other words, it’s what the title says. Most of the entries are very short—1-2 pages, some are a paragraph long—but (especially toward the end), we get some longer letters and essays.
Most are about White’s dogs—particularly Fred, a beloved dachshund. But there are pieces about dog shows and other dogs, too.
A Few Highlights
This is going to be tough, there are just too many options. Something about Dog Shows brought out the best and/or snarkiest in White, and are possibly my favorite moments.
There’s a point where he describes how a dachshund climbs up and down stairs and the optimum height for said stairs. I don’t know about the height, but he described perfectly how our pug uses the stairs and it’s something I’m going to borrow. He had, over the course of his life, multiple dachshunds and his affection for the breed is evident. But you can tell that Fred had a big impact on White—both during and after his death. The piece White wrote after his death is possibly the highlight of the book.
There’s a long (for this book, anyway) piece about taking a dog on its first coon hunting trip—it’s just wonderful. It’s tonally different from most of the book, which probably helps it stand out—but it didn’t need much help.
Some Non-Dog Moments
Not everything in this book is focused on dogs but involves them tangentially. The best of these pieces are about contemporary politics—I knew some of the names, but not all of them, but that didn’t change things really.
There’s an essay from The New Yorker that I’d probably have paid half the purchase price of the book for—it’s called “Khrushchev and I (A Study in Similarities).” Some newspaper published a feature on the Soviet premier, and from what I can tell, it was the puffiest puff piece around. White takes some parts of that feature to show how much he and Khrushchev are alike—they’re devoted to their families, like walking in the woods, and so on. The last paragraph points out some important differences, too—size, amount of hair left on their heads, the fact that White has never threatened to bury America…the usual differences. And just as he has you chuckling in a different way than he has for a few pages, the last line or two are somber and sober. Fantastic stuff.
So, what did I think about E. B. White on Dogs?
Overall, this was a great collection. It does feel like Martha White hit “Ctrl-F” on an electronic version of everything her grandfather had written and pasted the entire contents of that search into this book. Some of the letters contain one sentence about a dog—not always that cleverly written or interesting—and I had to wonder why she bothered, outside of a drive for thoroughness.
I don’t recommend reading too much of this at once—but maybe that’s just me, my attention waned after too many entries. But if you’re familiar with White’s non-children’s writing, or have the desire to be, and enjoy reading about dogs (and a couple of cats, and a squirrel or two)—you’ll enjoy this.
Speaking of his non-children’s writing—in her note to the reader describing the impetus for the book, and their approach to editing, keeping the pieces “largely as they appeared originally, not attempting to mesh the inconsistencies.” (including some phrasing I don’t think you’d get away with today). Martha White says,
The letters…are more casual in style and my Tillbury House editor was surprised to find that the co-author of The Elements of Style did not always get his that and which correct, especially in the early years. Our hands-off policy nearly killed her.
I feel for that editor and can’t help but chuckle about E.B. White’s divergence from his own book.
All in all, this book delivers what the title promises, and if that’s up your alley, you’ll enjoy it. I sure did.
emotional
funny
hopeful
inspiring
medium-paced
And there goes the last DJ
Who plays what he wants to play
And says what he wants to say
Hey hey hey
And there goes your freedom of choice
There goes the last human voice
And there goes the last DJ
Sure, that’s Tom Petty and not Ian Shane. But I had that song stuck in my head for almost the entire novel, they might as well be writing about the same guy.
What’s Radio Radio About?
Erik Randall is a DJ—that’s all he’s ever wanted to do. He loves being on the radio, sharing music with whatever corner of the world he can. He comes alive on the microphone, he seems to be good at the technical bits, and he loves the medium. What it has been, what it is, what it could be—but he’s very much not a fan of what it’s becoming.
He’s a True Believer, though, and is convinced that if given the opportunity, radio can still be great. He’s even formulating a plan so that one day, he can make at least one station great.
We don’t meet him on that day—in fact, shortly after we meet him, his station comes under the thumb of a corporation that makes cookie-cutter stations all over the country. In the same way you know what you’re going to be served at an Olive Garden in a different state from home, you know what you’re going to hear on the radio in your rental car once you hear a familiar station tagline. That’s what they’re going to turn his radio station into.
About the same time, he meets a local singer/songwriter, Myra. Erik’s still reeling from a semi-recent breakup and isn’t in the right frame of mind to think about romance—but she’s the kind of woman he’s dreamed about. His co-worker/friend, Shakespeare, has been pushing him for months to date again, and once Shakespeare meets Myra, he increases the pressure.
His professional life is falling apart, his personal life is looking promising for the first time in forever—can Erik handle it?
So, what did I think about Radio Radio?
I thought there was something grating—something blindly immature about Erik’s attitude and antics at work. Yes, he’s firmly in the model of the rebel DJ who cares more about the art than the business side. And as such, I can enjoy the character. Maybe it’s because I’m reading this through the eyes of someone in 2022 so I have 14 years of insight to know just how Quixotic Erik is being and how reality is going to hit him hard. Shakespeare, on the other hand, I could get behind—he’s a realist. There’s a romantic streak in him—he wants Erik and his vision to have a chance, but he knows better. I was enjoying the novel, but I really wasn’t on board with it. Which isn’t to say I didn’t find Erik amusing—I just found him a grating sort of amusing.
But then, Myra comes on the scene and two things happen. Erik starts to change, the bits of his personality that grate on me get pushed to the background.* Secondly, Ian Shane writes this stuff really well—like the way that Erik and Myra interact, the way that Erik makes an utter fool of himself because of her, the way that Myra and Shakespeare interact—this is where Shane’s later novels shine, and you can see him building that ability here. If this was the first Ian Shane book I read, shortly after Myra comes on the scene is where I’d order his next two books.
* I am fine with a protagonist grating on me—as long as there’s something about them or their story I can get behind. But I prefer the alternative.
I should also note, that some of Erik’s work attitudes and behaviors remind me of other characters in similar situations—the works of Adam Shaw, Matthew Hanover, and Andy Abramowitz jump to mind—so I’m not trying to say that Shane messed up by having Erik be this way. I just find it grating. What he does and says are, by and large, what an immature twenty-something would think and do. As he is an immature twenty-something, he’s spot-on.
Speaking of needing to grow up a little—a lot of the ways he approaches the big changes he needs to make, the conversations around them, and the way he reacts to people like Shakespeare making those changes himself, displays that immaturity. In those cases, I find it endearing and relatable.
Maybe I’m just the office crank? Out of the office issues don’t bother me as much.
One other challenge for me is that like with Postgraduate, I felt like Shane was judging me for my musical taste. And he probably should—because my musical taste not the kind of thing that Erik Randal (or anyone at Championship Vinyl) would approve of—very I’m fairly plebian, really. Frankly, I’m okay with that—and I did make a note or two to follow up on some music. I do wish I could hear Myra’s stuff, because I think I could get into it. That’s not a reflection on the novel, I just wish Shane would write a character with mainstream taste who is seen in a positive light.
This is a sweet book—there’s good character development, a strong cast of supporting characters (most of whom I didn’t mention) that I would love to see again in some form, great banter, solid comedy in a variety of forms, insight into an industry I know practically nothing about, and a sweet and well-told romantic story. It’s not as strong as his later novels, but it’s easy to see that he’ll be capable of greatness. Buy this book, it’ll make you happy.
adventurous
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Her Name is Knight About?
I’m struggling here (and have been for a week or so) to come up with something succinct and yet descriptive. So I’m going to cop out, and borrow the description from the author’s website, because I want to get this posted (if only so I can get this book back to the library). I don’t know if I’d have said everything the third paragraph does myself—feel free to skip the first sentence of it—but I figure if Angoe is willing to say it, it can’t be that spoilery.
Stolen from her Ghanaian village as a child, Nena Knight has plenty of motives to kill. Now an elite assassin for a powerful business syndicate called the Tribe, she gets plenty of chances.
But while on assignment in Miami, Nena ends up saving a life, not taking one. She emerges from the experience a changed woman, finally hopeful for a life beyond rage and revenge. Tasked with killing a man she’s come to respect, Nena struggles to reconcile her loyalty to the Tribe with her new purpose.
Meanwhile, she learns a new Tribe council member is the same man who razed her village, murdered her family, and sold her into captivity. Nena can’t resist the temptation of vengeance―and she doesn’t want to. Before she can reclaim her life, she must leverage everything she was and everything she is to take him down and end the cycle of bloodshed for good.
The Dual Timelines
So it turns out that this novel is told in two timelines. There’s the “After,” describing the present time (everything that the description above talks about), and the “Before”—the things that happen between her village was attacked and her being brought into the Tribe. This had all the makings of a problem for me.
This feels like it’s a confession—maybe it is—books with two timelines making up the plot aren’t for me. I’m not talking about flashbacks, or anything like that. Or a big time-jump somewhere along the line. But where you have Story A taking place in one time and Story B taking place some in some other time and you have to follow each of them along for the entirety (or just about) of the novel until one timeline takes over or they merge. I’m not saying I don’t read them, or that I don’t enjoy those books. But they’re really not my thing—if for no other reason than I almost always only care about one of the timelines. Which one I care about might change while I read, but when we switch from A to B, I almost always begrudge it because I just don’t care about B and just want to get back to A.
This is particularly true when we’re dealing with the past of a character (as we are here). If I can’t guess or assume pretty much the major events in a protagonist’s childhood from what I know of them in the present, then the author either failed in their depiction of the present or is deliberately withholding something (which usually backfires in these situations).
That’s absolutely the case here with Nena Knight. You knew the bulk of what was happening in the “Before” timeline—it’s her origin story and in the “After” story we’re told about some of these events/people prior to them coming up in that timeline, or we get allusions that are clear enough that we can assume the rough outline.
However.
Angoe pulls it off—both timelines are gripping throughout (okay, it took a little bit—maybe a chapter or two—for me to get into the “Before” just because I assumed Angoe would have the problems that 90% of writers have with this setup). I did resent jumping from “After” to “Before,” because I wanted to know what happened next, but I was also glad to get back to the “Before,” because I was on tenterhooks about it after the last jump. When that chapter ended, I didn’t want to leave that timeline, but I had to know what was going on in “After.” It was a vicious cycle. A delicious one, too.
Don’t ask me how Angoe succeeded where so many falter. Skill? Magic? Both? Sure, why not?
Also? The two different voices for the timelines are an excellent choice. Angoe describes her approach:
During her childhood her story is in first person present tense so that you see the world and her journey through her eyes. As an adult, her story is in third person past tense to give you a panoramic view and scope of what this kick-ass assassin can do.
This works so well—I was a little skeptical going in, but she made a believer out of me quickly.
Now, if Angoe tries this again in the next book, will it be as effective? It beats me. I’m leaning toward no, because so few can repeat the same trick. But I’m prepared for her to prove me wrong.
So, what did I think about Her Name is Knight?
There are so many elements here that we’ve seen dozens of times before—Nikita, Black Widow, Hanna, Villanelle, etc.—young female with a traumatic past, raised by people other than her parents, trained to be a spy/assassin/etc., starts to wonder if/discovers that she’s been lied to by her handlers, and makes some connections outside of her organization that feeds their desire to get out/question. Now, there’s a reason we’ve seen these things so often—they’re reliable, there’s something about them that people enjoy. Angoe does something new and different (even if only a little) with these tried and true elements so that they feel fresh and inventive.
I’ve said it before—and I’ll say it again, and keep saying it—I don’t care if you’re telling me a story I know (unless it’s book four in a series and you’re telling the same story each time), as long as you tell it in an entertaining way. This is what Yasmin Angoe has done here.
There’s a strong—very strong—chance for Nena Knight to become my favorite kick-ass female in the near future. Lily Wong, Charlie Fox, Vanessa Michael Munroe—you’re on notice. There’s something very compelling about her, her values, and how she’s living them out. Her ass-kicking abilities are pretty compelling, too. (I’m not really a fan of that phrase, but after quoting Angoe earlier, I can’t think of another way to put it)
The supporting characters—I’m not sure how many of them will reappear in the series, so I’m going to hold off talking about them in any kind of detail—are just as well done. I could take a lot more focus on any one of them in a future book and have a blast with it. The Tribe, too, is a fascinating take on a shadowy international cabal employing our assassin-protagonist. I’m hoping to see a lot more about how and why they work in the books to come. There, too, I’m not sure how much to say. I have to see the future installments.
I’d better wrap things up because I feel like I’m spinning my wheels here—this is a killer introduction to a series. It’s so satisfying and so tantalizing at the same time—I need to know what happens to Nena next. How is she changed, and what’s stayed the same for her (that might be more interesting—what is she holding on to, or what’s so much part of her that she can’t shake it)? If you’re looking for your next thriller, you’d do well to make it this one.
hopeful
informative
reflective
slow-paced
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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How I’m Going to Approach This
There is very little reason to believe that Veronica Chambers didn’t write this book. Obviously, Marcus Samuelsson provided the stories, the perspective, the passion, the insight—but I doubt he had much to do with the composition, the organization, and so on. I assume it’s his voice reflected in the style.
But the pronoun used to tell this life story is “I,” not “he.” Whatever agreement the two of them made didn’t even get her name on the cover (thankfully, subsequent editions do give her a “with” credit). She does get a couple of paragraphs devoted to her work in the acknowledgments, so there is that. Anyway, I’m going to follow along with the book and talk about “him” and “Samuelsson” when I talk about the book—but let’s all imagine a big asterisk each time I do, okay?
(I thought about actually putting an asterisk each time with a little footnote—but there’s the potential for that to get really messy)
What’s Yes, Chef About?
In Meki, the small farming village where ’m from, there are no roads. We are actually from an even smaller village than Meki, called Abrugandana, that does not exist on most maps. You go to Meki, take a right in the middle of nowhere, walk about five miles, and that is where we are from.
I really should think of another way to start off this post—because really, it’s all on the cover: “Marcus Samuelsson” and “A Memoir.”
This is about the life of Marcus Samuelsson—there’s a brief description of his life in Ethiopia for the first few years of his life. What he’s reconstructed about his mother, as well as her journey to get medical care for herself, Marcus, and his sister. She died before she could get help, but her children got the help, recovered, and were adopted by a wonderful Swedish couple. We spend a few chapters looking at his life in Sweden—family, friends, soccer, and then cooking—before moving on to him beginning his education and career.
He spends a lot of time on the early days of his training and career, talking about his struggles, his opportunities, his drive. There are highs and lows—somehow cooking for one chef’s dog becomes a high “I did my best. That old, ill-tempered retriever ate better than anybody: I’d take a piece of tenderloin, salt and pepper it and sauté it off quickly, then maybe put mustard on it.” Samuelsson’s attitude, optimism, humility (frequently self-conscious and/or self-imposed), and drive made a lot of these lows into highs—or at least not terribly low. We get a little bit about his personal life here—but not much. Part of that is because the focus is on Marcus Samuelsson the chef, but it’s also because Marcus Samuelsson the would-be chef sacrificed almost every moment of his life to become the chef he is.
Then he talks about his time in New York—the early struggles, the big opportunities, and how he (with help, he’s always quick to talk about everyone who helped). As we get to the last decade or so of his life, the chronological approach is largely discarded for a topical approach—reconnecting with his family in Ethiopia (and the foods of Africa), race in high-end restaurants, his wife, meeting his abandoned daughter, professional failures (big ones), preparing the first state dinner for President Obama, and his (then) new Harlem restaurant.
A case could be made that this entire book is a sales pitch and mission statement for that restaurant, Red Rooster. As that (at the point this book was written) was the pinnacle of his career, what the whole thing was leading to, that makes sense. It almost comes across as one of those books that presidential hopefuls publish right before they announce their candidacy. I do wonder a bit what this book would’ve looked like if he’d written it now, a full decade later, would the philosophy behind and mission of Red Rooster be as prominent, or would it be a stepping stone to whatever his new project is? Or would it get the same kind of treatment it did, with a “at the same time, X, allows me to express this, too” kind of feel?
Food
This food has as much integrity and power as any French food I’d ever eaten. Why did people fly in Dijon mustard when they could make their own, fresher and better? I started to ask myself, Who lied? Who started the lie that France had the greatest food in the world? That question ran through my head every time I bit into something new and that changed my notions of what “good food” is.
The book starts with an element of cooking—an Ethiopian spice mix—and it doesn’t stop from there. I doubt something about cooking, flavor, or food is mentioned on every page. But I’m going to say it’s on 95% of them. (and if you told me I was wrong and it was on every page, I would believe you). Part of this is the branding, but most of it is this is the way that Marcus Samuelsson looks at the world (that might be changing later in life, but from his teen years to the age he starts making time for family, that’s it).
Now, almost no one is going to pick up Samuelsson’s memoir unless they care about high-end cuisine, his particular type of cooking, or anything like that. No one is saying, “I love that guy’s taste in hats, I want to read about his life.”* This book will reward that food-conscious reader—I loved the parts about his training, the kitchen struggles, the story of working up through the ranks—and how he’s helping others through that process now. And the food? Wow. Anytime you read about someone caring so much about something—regardless of what it is—you can’t help but get energized about it.
* Sadly, there’s almost no discussion of his fashion choices—just his food—I could never pull off his style, but I wouldn’t mind picking up some tips on hat and shoe selection.
I’m not a gourmet—I enjoy watching chefs at work, hearing—and occasionally reading—about their work. But most of the food in this book would not be something I’d enjoy. That retriever’s dinner sounds pretty good to me—as does a lot of the street food Samuelsson tried out in his early NYC days, and the Ethiopian food he’s exposed to when he first visits. But the stuff that Samuelsson prepares? No thanks. I’ll read about it any day, but you can leave it off of my plate.
Before I forget, there’s a great story about this executive chef with multiple restaurants (at the time) being schooled by a woman in Ethiopia using a dented can as a ladle while preparing injera, “her words of encouragement were delivered with the patient tone you take with a not-so-gifted child.”
Race
Growing up when and where he did, Samuelsson knew he was different—but by and large (and he describes why), this wasn’t an issue for him until he left home. But doors were closed for him because of his race, and he knew it.
It’s worse in the U.S. than it was in Europe, but it wasn’t a cakewalk there.
Between his life experience, his success, and seeing other people’s struggles/successes, Samuelsson has a lot to say about race and its place in restaurants (front and back of house). Because of his upbringing, when it comes to the U.S., he’s an informed outsider—but when it’s about restaurant culture, he’s an insider through and through. He has valuable insights on both fronts.
The Organization of the Book
I would eventually learn that all chefs worth their mettle have their own styles and their own passions, but every single one of them can go from zero to asshole quicker than the average Joe. You have to be willing to be a jerk. Otherwise it’s not worth it, the years of apprenticeship, the never Wall Street—level money, the ungrateful diners, the misfit miscreants you count on to execute each service flawlessly, not to mention the prima donna behavior of all those raw ingredients—the coquettish egg whites that may or may not fluff properly for you today; the potatoes that may decide that today is the day that they will burn, not crisp; the tomatoes that didn’t ripen because of an unexpected heat wave. As a chef, you are at the mercy of the farmer, the butcher, the fishmonger, the weather, and God.
I thought I had more to say about this than I do, but I want to give a little time for this—when we get to fairly contemporary events, the book becomes more topical than chronological. I understand this to an extent—here’s all his professional failures, here’s his professional/personal failures, here’s his personal growth and failures, etc. Also, it’s harder to consider “current events” in your own life chronologically.
But I really wish that wasn’t the approach—all the backtracking makes it hard to track how this professional shortcoming feeds into this personal triumph (and vice versa). For me, that would’ve been better storytelling.
So, what did I think about Yes, Chef?
Food memories give people something to talk about—our food, our culture, our journey. The North Star here is Harlem. The restaurant had to be a place that honored and mirrored the mystique of the renaissance but showed the new Harlem—inclusive of both old and new. The menu had to tell the story of all of Harlem’s residents—Latin, Southern, Caribbean, Jewish, Italian. When I cook, I see faces: When I make meatballs, I see my grandmother and her smile. When I make my flan with condensed milk and whipped chocolate, I try to honor all the young Latinas from Spanish Harlem for whom this is a signature dish. My take on dirty rice—shrimp with curry rice—is a tribute to all of the many multiracial Jamaican families who are a mix of black, Indian, and Chinese. I want to do them all justice.
I ended up enjoying this more than I expected to—I picked it for a Reading Challenge because I knew a bit about Samuelsson having watched him on roughly 17,000 various things on Food Network and Netflix, and figured it couldn’t help but be an interesting read just for the biography part alone. But I really didn’t expect to connect with the food parts as much as I did (but I really should have)—and I thought what he said about the people, places, and history he’s connecting with and helping with Red Rooster was pretty inspiring.
I said that thing about a presidential campaign book earlier as kind of a quip, but I haven’t been able to get that out of my head. That’s really what this is—here’s Chef Marcus Samuelsson’s mission statement. If you’re on board with it, go visit his restaurant(s), try to think about these things as you cook yourself (or evaluate other people’s cooking).
If you’re into food at all—beyond fuel to keep going—you might want to give this a read. Samuelsson (and Chambers) will reward your time.
adventurous
emotional
hopeful
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Emily Wilde’s Encyclopaedia of Faeries About?
Emily Wilde is a dryadologist. Imagine, if you will, what post-Darwin scientists and naturalists were doing for the study of plants and animals in the late nineteenth/early twentieth centuries; or what Carter and the rest were doing in Egypt; but dryadologists are studying fairies (oh, in this world, they are as real as the tomb of Tutankhamun—she’s not a literary theorist). Humans have been dealing with fairies for centuries, but what we know about them is really limited. Mostly left to legends, tales told around the fire or in an inn—where a third or fourth-hand account is rare and as close to an eyewitness as most people will ever get. Emily and her counterparts throughout the world are seeking to bring that to an end. She has a position at Cambridge but is hoping her current project is the kind of thing that will secure her tenure and allow her to further her research.
Her project is the first comprehensive Encyclopedia of Fairies (hence the title). She could publish what she has now and probably receive scholarly acclaim—and tenure. But she’s driven. She’s a completist. And, to be honest, she has a little bit of an ego and she wants more than probable acclaim. So she rents a small shack in a Norwegian village for a few months to try to find, interact with, and document the least-understood fairies in the world. The northern Hidden Ones (both the common and regal varieties) are powerful and secretive. They don’t interact much with humans—and when they do, it’s generally bad for the humans. If Emily can be the first to get any scholarly research done, it will definitely put her on the map.
Sadly, as good as she is at dealing with and understanding Fairy, Emily is bad with humans. She has no people skills, is aware of it, and doesn’t care. But in this inhospitable climate, she really needs help to survive—much less to learn a lot about the Hidden Ones.
Thankfully (?), soon after her arrival, a colleague/competitor—and her only friend—gatecrashes her trip and takes up residence in her shack with her. Wendell Bambleby is the very picture of a Victorian gentleman-scholar. He’s a charmer, and soon has the villagers eating out of his hand. He’s also pampered and demanding (would probably have been considered a bit of a dandy at the time)—and has a really hard time not wrapping his head around things like cooking for himself, working to keep the fire burning, etc. He’s decided that he’s going to collaborate with Emily (not really caring if she agrees) and that their work in Norway will be the thing to help him reclaim some academic respectability following a scandal.
He may be under a cloud, but Wendell has connections and can open doors for Emily to get her the audience she really needs. So she accepts his proposal to collaborate, assuming she’s going to do almost all of the work.
Things ensue. I really can’t say more than that.
Poe
The first fairy that Emily meets is a young brownie—she ends up referring to him as Poe. It’s great to see her in action with him. it shows that she does know what she’s doing—we don’t just have to take her word for it (not that we have any reason to think she’s lying, but it’s good to know).
Poe really ends up showing us so much about Emily—and other characters, too. He’s ultimately so integral and important to the novel—and in a very real sense, not important to the plot in any way. But through his interactions (both that the reader sees on the page and those that happen “off-screen”) with various characters, so much of the plot becomes possible and the reader gains a whole lot of insight. Really, he was well, and cleverly, used by Fawcett. I can’t say it better without spending a few hundred spoiler-filled words, but the more I think about him, the more impressed I am by Fawcett.
Knowing More than Emily
Around the time—probably a little before—I figured out that the story of the novel isn’t really what you think it is, I figured out a couple of things that Emily is utterly blind to for a very long time.
Knowing more than a protagonist can be frustrating—I spend a lot of time yelling at detectives in mystery novels in particular. But sometimes, it can be fun watching them catch up to the reader. Fawcett’s able to draw humor from us knowing things that Emily doesn’t. It also helps us empathize with both Emily and other characters as we see her work through various situations and conversations.
And then, when Emily catches up with the reader—and reality—it’s all the more satisfying. Most/all of what we know that she doesn’t really wouldn’t be that believable if we learned it when she does. We get to spend many pages urging, “Come on, come on, come on…open your eyes/pay attention/etc.” And then, finally, cheer when she does. It’s the closest many readers will get to the position of a sportsball fan yelling at their TV to communicate to someone in a stadium miles/states away.
Slamming on the Brakes
I did have one significant problem with this book. As part of her research—part of her life, really—Emily specializes in stories about faeries. She shares some of them as part of her journal. It makes sense, they serve both the character and the overall novel. They’re truly fitting.
However.
It was like slamming the brakes on. Everything that had been building, all the tension, the momentum, the development, and so on all came to a rapid stop. And then picked up again after the stories. It reminded me of a time in Kevin Hearne’s Hammered when everything stopped for some of the characters to tell stories. As fun as those stories were, it really made that novel hard to get through (that series went on for 6 more books, two spin-off series, and a number of novellas and short stories—so the jarring stop was obviously not too catastrophic).
If the transition to them had been smoother—or maybe they had been more spread out. Just something, I probably wouldn’t have mentioned them—or I’d have talked about what a great way it was for us to get an understanding of the Northern Fairies without an infodump. Instead, it came across as a stumble—one that the novel recovered from nicely. But in the moment, it really bugged me.
So, what did I think about Emily Wilde’s Encyclopaedia of Faeries?
Stick with me for a minute—I could tell from the opening pages that this was a well-composed and well-structured novel full of fantastic world-building. But it took longer for me to move beyond appreciation and admiration for what was being done to really care about it. I did, though, the book started out slowly and picked up momentum as it went—and as it did, I got more and more invested (and my appreciation and admiration increased, too). Somewhere around the mid-point, maybe a little later, I was as invested as is possible and only my notes tell me it took time for that.
I think I just used too many words to say—it’s a slow burn of a novel in almost every conceivable way. Not unlike Emily’s rented shack—it takes a while for a fire to really start heating the place, but once it has time, it’s nice and toasty warm.
There’s a lot I’d like to talk about, but I’m not sure how. I can see later installments being easier, but so much of the novel is about beginnings. To really talk about it would be to discuss the last 20% of the novel. And no one wants me to do that.
Just because of my own prejudices, I could spend a few paragraphs on her dog, Shadow, too. As much as he deserves them, I’m going to leave it with “he’s a very good boy.” I hope to see more of him in the books to come, too.
This book is rich in character, story, world-building (and world-revealing), magic, and subtlety. I’m not sure if you can be rich in subtlety, but Fawcett pulls that off. This is absolutely something I recommend and imagine the next few months are going to be filled with people gushing over this. Readers of this post might as well get in line now to be one of those gushing.
adventurous
dark
emotional
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Also, the problem is, when you think you’ve been without monsters for so long, sometimes you forget what they look like, what they sound like, no matter how much remembering your education urges you to do. It’s not the same when the monsters are gone. You’re only remembering shadows of them, stories that seem to be limited to the pages or screens you read them from. Flat and dull things. So, yes, people forget. But forgetting is dangerous.
Forgetting is how the monsters come back.
What’s Pet About?
Jam and her best friend, Redemption, live in the city of Lucille—a city that’s evolved beyond things like bigotry, crime, inequality, and more. Just ask anyone who lives there—that’s what they’re told, that’s what they believe.
But then Jam is visited by a creature from another world. This creature is there to hunt—not everything is as good and pure as the people of Lucille believe, and this creature is here to hunt someone hurting someone. And the creature (Pet) wants Jam to help with the hunt. Pet can’t tell Jam what the issue is, their prey is at Redemption’s home.
Redemption tries to tell his family about the problem, but no one believes him—that kind of thing doesn’t happen anymore. Everyone knows that.
The World
Lucille is in many ways a dream city—some sort of revolution occurred (it wasn’t entirely peaceful, but we don’t get details). And a Progressive utopia has been established for a generation or so. No sexism, no bigotry, full equality for all, no ableism, no crime, no want. And everyone (as far as the reader can see) buys into the vision for the city.
Am pretty sure those who aren’t that interested in this vision for life aren’t in Lucille anymore, whether voluntarily or not.
It feels oppressive, honestly. A benevolent oppression, it seems, but I’m not sure that’s really that much better.
One danger of this thorough monoculture, complete with everyone buying into the belief, is that humans aren’t good. There will be problems, criminals, broken people, and those who will find ways to get pleasure from hurting others (in various ways)—in short, sinners (however you want to define sinners). If the cultural orthodoxy is that this has been fixed, no one will look for the outlier. No one will look out for the victim, either. As mentioned in the opening quote—that’s a danger.
Harry Harrison painted a similar picture in his Stainless Steel Rat novels (although his outliers were frequently the heroes of the story as often as the villains—and the government was on the look for them).
Pet
I really liked Pet—particularly as he is in the last third or so of the book. I’m not entirely convinced by all his actions and what he tells Jam about himself at the beginning—it’s not that I think he was lying, I just wonder how consistent he is from beginning to the end.
I figure if I re-read the book a time or two, I’d end up being convinced, though. He’s probably the same being throughout, and I just understood him better at the end. Either way, he’s definitely someone you don’t want hunting you.
So, what did I think about Pet?
I bounced all over when it came to what to say about this novel.
It’s too short, really. Problems arise and are solved too quickly. And some of the rich, deep, thoughts weren’t given enough time and space to breathe—really, everything seemed like it was given short shrift.
But.
Oh man, this was just so wonderfully composed. Not a wasted word. Such a rich amount of world-building went into this—all the characters were so fully realized. And Emezi doesn’t need 3-4 paragraphs to do something like most writers—a sentence or two will do. Lovely and efficient prose.
This makes me think I’m wrong, and the book isn’t too short and everything is given enough space and time. But I’m not.
The worldbuilding alone is fantastic—no matter what I might think of the world. The story is haunting and disturbing in all the right ways. I can easily see why someone would become a big fan of Emezi based on this work, and I’m intrigued by the sequel/companion novel. If this wasn’t so abbreviated, I’d imagine that I’d be a giant fan (or a massive naysayer, come to think of it).
Either way, I’m glad I read this and do recommend it—there’s a lot to chew on here, and I’m looking forward to discussing it with Nisha, who recommended it to me for this Challenge. (I expect a lot of “you just don’t understand, Uncle H.” And I probably don’t)
challenging
tense
fast-paced
I look around, though, and I ain’t stupid. How’s this end? Just keep going like this forever? Naw. People gonna die.
What’s Sacrifices About?
That opening quote sums it up—the story, characters, and events of this trilogy can’t keep going. This ends—and not everyone is going to make it out alive. Maybe no one does.
After the end of Splintered, things were bleak—the team was, well, splintered. People were dead. Demons had infected (for lack of a better term) two of the team—and the biggest and most powerful one seemed to be working with the crime boss/would-be supernatural force that they’d been working so hard to get away from. But even Sobell didn’t seem to be fully in control and might be in danger from this demon.
This brings us to Sacrifices, Karyn had a vision/prophecy that gave hope that there was a way to defeat Belial. If they could just figure out what it said—of course, Belial heard it, too, and was at work to prevent anyone from fulfilling it. The FBI is lurking around—they may be willing to help, but are more interested in slapping the cuffs on Sobell and anyone else they could.
Now it’s just a matter of seeing what happens. Will their (literal and figurative) demons defeat them? Will Belial end up wreaking destruction on Los Angeles/the world? Will…actually, I don’t know if the reader—or any of the characters, actually—really gets a picture of the ultimate stakes here. I don’t think our minds could comprehend it—but it’s big, nasty, and possibly apocalyptic.
The solution to all this may lie in the fact that demons have an enemy. An enemy even more terrible and awful (especially if you look at older definitions of those words). But what will have to be given up to secure their presence?
I’m So Glad this Isn’t a Scratch ‘n Sniff Book
It came to her that this was the world as it really was, just thin tissue floating atop an unknowable black ocean teeming with horrifying, malicious creatures— creatures at the command of the demon before her. For the first time, she saw him as much greater than simply another enemy, if more revolting than most. For the first time she really understood that he was also unspeakably ancient and filled with knowledge and power beyond reckoning. This was the type of entity she dealt with each time she delved into magic
Some authors will mention the smell of sulfur or something like that and talk about rot and decay when talking about demons. Other authors will basically make demons out to be Byronic hunks (the Cullening of demons). Schultz does not do that—either of them. He dwells on the rot, the decay, the blood, grime, disease, and filth that comes with demonic possession, power, and or presence.
His demons aren’t misunderstood, they’re not occasionally benign or honorable, and there is nothing to them other than destruction and power—they may seemingly aid a human for a time, but it’s for a price. A price that no one should pay.
Schulz’s descriptions of the demonic effects—and just the life in L.A.’s heat for those without much in the way of resources—are so vivid that you feel a little grimy just reading it. From the description of the clear bottle that one man uses as a spittoon, bloody sweatpants that have been worn for days, various wounds, and so much more—Schulz makes sure that your visual images of these events are real and substantial.
A quick personal note
I’d fully intended on jumping on this book when it came out in 2016—and cannot tell you why I didn’t. It’s just been sitting there collecting dust on my Kindle since then—and it’s been so long at this point, I didn’t think I’d remember the story enough to make it worthwhile.
But within a few pages, I was right back—Schultz did a little bit of recapping, but not much. Mostly it was the tangibility of this world and these characters, just seeing them brought it all back to me, and it was like no time had passed at all. There are few authors that can pull that off, but he did it. And I’m impressed as all get out by that.
So, what did I think about Sacrifices?
“Funny, isn’t it? Lack of a demon isn’t usually a problem to be addressed. Quite the opposite.”
“I’m not laughing.”
Sobell made a clucking noise. “That’s your prerogative, but from my position, I’d have to say that if you don’t find any of this funny, you’ll find it unspeakably bleak.”
On the whole, this book is closer to the unspeakably bleak end of the spectrum, but there are a couple of moments of brightness (and maybe a little bit funny). And I do mean a couple of moments, a handful at best.
Even the more optimistic statements and moves come with the air of “This is probably not going to work, but it’s something to do.” The only characters that are operating without a sense of impending doom are those who are on the outside of the occult happenings in the city. The futility of every scheme, plan, and idea taints everything—but these people (and/or magical/spiritual entities) keep moving forward, scrabbling after the chance that someone will make it out alive. This is hard to read—I wasn’t even sure the planet would exist when the book ends—but once Schultz got his talons into your brain, there’s just no way that you stop reading—you have to know what’s around the corner, even if it will leave you despairing.
This is a great UF trilogy, and one that I am so sad that didn’t get the attention it deserved (including from me for the last 6 years). Pick up the set, you won’t be sorry.