theirresponsiblereader's Reviews (607)

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s A Hard Day for a Hangover About? 

Wow, this is hard to do. This is the third book in a trilogy, so let’s start off with this—all the ongoing storylines are progressing—barrelling to some sort of conclusion, we get to know everyone a little better, we see the ramifications and ripple effects of the deaths, arrests, plots, and everything else from book 1 and 2, secrets are revealed, lives are changed, and….well, it’s a third book. A lot happens, many things end, and some things start. 

There are a couple of new/book-specific plotlines: the town flasher gets stabbed by an unlikely weapon; a prisoner escapes from state custody, which leads to some uncomfortable questions for Sherrif Vicram; someone breaks into the home of one of the town’s elderly residents (and she wants it covered up); a young woman is found beaten and hanging on for dear life—and she may not be the first woman in that situation; and a group of grade schoolers starts a boy band (you won’t believe which of those storylines intersect). 

All in all, this is a bad week for Sunny to start hungover. 

Hot Ones 

I’m not a die-hard fan, but my wife and I watch a lot of Hot Ones—and we frequently buy and use the sauces we see on the show. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you should fix that, and this illustration won’t make much sense. Sorry about that. 

When I’m eating those sauces, I generally prefer the ones that are in the 1-3 slots, but occasionally, I can enjoy up to a 5 (and, yes, I’ve eaten sauces in all 10 spots—and have consumed “The Last Dab” more than once). If you convert Hot Ones‘s sauces into sex scenes in books, I think you’d find my tastes for those pretty well align. Keep things mild, close the door before things go too far, and let these people have some privacy. 

Jones clearly has no designs to do anything like that. This book (like the rest of the series) is definitely not erotica—but it’s far too spicy for my taste. It’s not so distasteful that I have to stop reading, but my skim-reflex does kick in. As I said when I talked about A Good Day for Chardonnay, All I could think of as I read those sections was, “My mom is going to read this.” She’s going to read it because I bought her the first book. Not only is she going to read this book, but she’s also going to know that I read those scenes. And then I wanted to burst into flames. 

I would guess that there are fewer spicey scenes in this book, but they rank higher on the Scoville scale. That’s going to please some (most?) fans, but others should know that going in. 

Too Much? 

Like the previous two books, Jones keeps the action jumping back and forth between Sunny and Auri, from case to case, or from case to personal arc constantly. And every time you think you’re about to settle into one of the stories for a while, she yanks the focus from you to something else (quite possibly something you’d forgotten was going on). There are times I felt like a lab dropped into a herd of squirrels, never sure what I should be focused on because there were so many things to watch. 

And, on the whole, I found this as effective and fun as before. I don’t think Jones could write a boring story, but I’m not sure because she never gives you the chance to start to get bored with a storyline, before she changes things. 

But…I’m not sure it was the right choice for this book. She’d given us so many great characters, so many wonderful ideas and plots, plus the new ones we that she introduced in this novel. I think it was just too much. There were (at least) two great characters that we never got to see this whole novel—they were mentioned, but the life-changing nature of what transpired in the storyline they’re attached to could’ve used their presence. Mostly, I’m bothered because one of them was one of the brightest rays of sunshine in the series (and in this series, that’s saying something).* 

* I take that back. Sort of. One of the two I’m thinking of shows up for one scene. The fact that I remembered this just before publishing both illustrates what I said about this being overstuffed and undercuts my complaint. 

Then there are storylines that seem to be given short-shrift—I can’t get into specifics without spoilers—but there were a couple of storylines that we’d spent so much time over the previous two books that I expected something major to occur here—but we get token bits of instead. That’s largely true for some of the storylines introduced in these pages, too. 

Still, there’s just so much happening—so much to enjoy and get caught up in—that other than the absence of that bright ray of sunshine I mentioned, I didn’t notice and/or care about this until I sat down to think about and write about the book. I do think that this novel could’ve benefited from another 70-100 pages to give us all the characters readers expect to see and give adequate space for all the storylines. But in 350 pages for Jones to accomplish all that she does is an impressive feat and I don’t want to complain about that. 

I guess I’m just feeling like someone who goes to a concert for a favorite band and they don’t play as many of their hits that you wanted them to, just most of them—and seemed to cut off the encore a little sooner than you’d hoped.
 

So, what did I think about A Hard Day for a Hangover? 

I had such a blast with this. I seriously didn’t want it to end—not just because of what I talked about in the last section—but unless this trilogy spawns a sequel or becomes a longer series, this is the end of the road for these characters. I don’t want to be done with them—especially not Auri and her friends. We’ve gone so far with all of these characters and I want to see what happens to them next. 

That doesn’t seem fair to this book—it’s funny, it’s charming, it’s sweet—probably sweeter than the rest just because of where various storylines resolve. Even the silly raccoon storyline will elicit a few “awwww”s. The banter between Sunny and Auri is as great as ever—ditto for Quincy and Sunny. I don’t need plots, Jones can just release occasional 30-40 page collections of conversations between those pairs every now and then as they go about their daily lives, and I’ll buy every one. 

The mysteries were resolved nicely (and I got one pretty large surprise along the way)—although I thought the missing prisoner story was resolved a bit too neatly (space issue, I’m sure). It’d be easy to overlook most of those stories in the midst of all the other stuff going on, and that’d be a shame—Jones really can tell a mystery story well and I hope she returns to the genre soon. 

I’m honestly at a loss for what to say beyond this—if you’ve read A Bad Day for Sunshine and A Good Day for Chardonnay, of course, you’re going to want to read this—and you’ll be so glad that you did. If you haven’t read the previous novels—do not start here, go back and start from A Bad Day and you’ll thank me. This book—like the series—is a little bit Moonlighting, it’s a little bit Veronica Mars, it’s a little bit Gilmore Girls, and it’s a lot of warm-hearted fun. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Snowstorm in August About? 

Joaquín Alboroto is the head of Mexico’s largest drug cartel—and is a character straight out of Winslow’s Cartel Trilogy (and, likely, reality). He’s powerful, ruthless, calculating, and vengeful—and right now, he’s angry. His anger is directed at New York City and the family of one judge from NYC, and he goes after both. 

The first step in this process is blanketing Central Park in cocaine—it looks like a snowstorm swept over the park. Horses, dogs, squirrels, birds, children, and adults out for a fun day in August are killed or hospitalized—countless lives are irrevocably damaged at once. And Alboroto promises more to come. 

The NYPD is totally unprepared for this—the current commissioner isn’t the right man for this moment, he’s better known for working the political and bureaucratic sides of things. Preventing attacks of this type isn’t in his wheelhouse. 

A former counter-terrorism officer in the NYPD is recruited to head up a group of retired officers to confront Alboroto and similar threats. This is a vigilante group with private funding, but in their hearts, they’re still NYPD and want to serve the city. Using old contacts (on both sides of the law), liaising with the Mexican government, and armed with the best hackers and technology that money can buy—plus their own experience and grit—this small group just may be able to stop Alboroto before his next strike. 

The Baltic Avenue Group 

This right here might be my favorite idea in this novel. So you’ve got a non-governmental anti-terrorist strike force—you need to fund them if they’re going to be effective at all. So, sure, you could have one of them be a super-genius inventor/entrepreneur (like Tony Stark), an orphaned heir of a super-rich man (Bruce Wayne), a group of thieves and con artists turned Robin Hood (Leverage), or a Powerball winner. Something. 

Karp gives us a group of billionaires who know the economic impact that a terrorist attack can bring on the city—and on themselves. They don’t want to go through that again, so they’re willing to spend a lot of money to keep them from losing much more. They’re benevolent and out for themselves at the same time. That’s as close to a perfect description of heroes for our time as you’re going to find anywhere. 

So, what did I think about Snowstorm in August? 

This book made me flashback to a book that I hadn’t thought of in years—I posted about it on October 25, 2013, so probably the last time I gave it any thought was the 26th (though probably the afternoon of the 25th)—Dick Wolf’s The Intercept. There’s a very similar elite group of cops ready to take down terrorist threats with all the fancy tech and everything. That group, however, was part of the NYPD and should’ve been controlled by things like the Constitution, the courts, and the city’s budget. This book, however, features retired cops acting as vigilantes with a budget that probably shames even all of The Big Apple’s. Also, the writing is crisper, the characters aren’t cardboard, and it’s more entertaining. My intent wasn’t to find another excuse to disparage The Intercept, but because the books were similar in so many ways, I had to figure out why I really liked one and had little good to say about the other. 

Sometime after 9/11 I remember reading about (and I think I heard one or more of the participants discuss this), some governmental agency brought together some thriller writers, movie makers, etc. to think up some possible, but unlikely attacks that could be launched on the U.S. so contingency plans could be thought up as well as ways to deter this. Does anyone else remember this? Anyway, a lot of what Albortoro gets up to in this book feels like the product of those meetings—possible, but unlikely. Still, if you picked up your phone tomorrow morning and whatever social media feed gives you your news described the attack on Central Park (or any of the other things in this book), you’d believe it. I’m not so sure how willing I am to believe that a handful of ex-cops and federal agents could stop it. But I’d like to think it could happen. (I clearly have more confidence in the ingenuity of criminals and killers than I do in people who’d want to stop them). 

There’s an incredibly cinematic feel to this—if your brain doesn’t project a lot of these scenes onto a mental movie screen in your head, something’s wrong. That cover shot alone deserves a Wagner score (although that seems overused, maybe substitute Harold Faltermeyer*). That cinematic feel lets Karp get away with a few things that I’m not sure that other thriller writers could get away with (and some thriller writers use all the time) 

* Composer of Top Gun‘s score. 

Combine all of those two paragraphs, and what Karp has given us is a blockbuster novel with a very realistic grounding, but it doesn’t necessarily play out that way. But Karp hooks you quickly and keeps on hooking you—he’s not content to get you invested just once, he wants it all. There’s a romantic subplot that works well and rounds out Danny’s character, but I wondered a couple of times if it messed up the pacing a bit (and made me wonder about Danny’s priorities at least once). Aside from that, the pacing was spot-on, and the novel kept picking up speed as it goes and you barrel into the conclusion—I don’t know how someone is supposed to put this down during the last 50 pages (it’s slightly easier in the 50 before that—slightly). 

Satisfying action, well-executed plot twists and turns, characters you want to see again, and very believable villains. Snowstorm in August is the action-adventure novel you need to read. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What to Say? What to Say? What to Say?
This is one of those books that I have a lot of things that I want to talk about. There is so much worthy of discussion. But if I talked about it all—in the ways that I’m tempted to—you’d finish reading this post and say, “Yeah, H.C., this book sounds like it’s full of interesting ideas, but now I don’t need to read the book.” Then I’d have to admit you were right, and I’d feel bad and the tens of you that read this wouldn’t buy Brayken’s book. So then I’d feel guilty, because he seems like a real nice guy, so then I’d buy multiple copies of it to make up for the copies you don’t buy. Then Mrs. Irresponsible Reader would see what I spent and a fi—ahem—an intense discussion would ensue. Annnd….

Well, let’s just say that’s just too much drama. So I’m going to have choose what I discuss carefully.

What’s The Veiled Edge of Contact About?
Okon is no one’s idea of an SF hero—including his own. A former chef of some notoriety, he hasn’t worked in some time, instead, he’s lived a life of comfort. His wife, Efawi, is an engineer-entrepreneur who is very politically active. Okon isn’t sure that he shares her politics—he definitely doesn’t want her as active as she is (particularly as it puts her under the unfriendly gaze of the government). A few years back, she’d become hugely successful and he’d quit working, and mostly sat around all day playing video games and watching movies (or a futuristic equivalent).

It’s been seventy or so years since a large war of some sort in Africa (and, possibly, other places, it’s not made specific). They live in a country near the largest jungle—but the specifics (again) aren’t given. The couple has little in common beyond a shared history and commitment to each other. As all marriages do, they’ve had their ups and downs—they’re currently in the middle of a prolonged down—but Okon is sure (fairly sure), they’ll turn it around.

But before they can, Efawi’s political activity puts her on the outs with the government, she’s accused of some serious crimes and goes missing. Several days later, Okon finds messages for him to come after her and meet her—she’s on the verge of a discovery that will change everything. Assuming she can finish it without being arrested. She wants her husband with her and has left him directions and equipment—including an armored exosuit—to follow.

Weeks after she’d gone missing, Okon follows her into the jungle. Something about the jungle (and he assumes what she came looking for) interferes with almost all of his tech—particularly the communication portions. So he’s relying on data drops Efawi left behind giving directions to the next one, and the next, and both are starting to despair about how long it’s taking him to catch up.

Okon then stumbles upon a group that call themselves Wuchumbu. They’re possibly the last people group on Earth unfamiliar with and untainted by technology, “modern” culture, etc. They want nothing to do with anyone not in their group and set to attacking him. Stuff happens, and he ends up living with the Wuchumbu and looking for his wife. He’s certain that there’s something about the Wuchumbu, their practices, their location…something that is tied to the tech issues. And therefore, this is where he’ll be able to find Efawi.

And then a whollllle bunch of other stuff ensues.

The Tone of the Novel
This doesn’t read like an SF novel (not that there’s a monolithic tone/voice for SF, but not many come across this way). It might feel like a Mike Chen SF novel, if it was set in an African jungle. But that’s as close as you’re going to find.*

* If I wasn’t late getting this up in the first place, I might spend 3-4 paragraphs on this point. Part of me wants to restart the whole post and say “Pretend Mike Chen wrote a book that’s set…” The more I think about this comparison, the more apt it feels.

The whole novel is rather dark and dystopic but is written in such a way that you can easily forget that. Okon is a likable fellow and his voice (it’s a first-person narration), is pretty much what you’d expect from an adult male who spends his life watching movies and playing video games while his wife revolutionizes science and tries to shake up her country’s government. That same, laid-back attitude crosses time and culture, apparently.

When you wipe everything away, this is the story about a man looking for his wife, increasingly concerned that he can’t find her—but who habitually (and through force of will) is optimistic in the face of increasing challenges. Making this ultimately a sweet—and potentially sad—story. Largely because of Okon’s outlook, his voice, and his devotion to Efawi. Those challenges—mostly those things we just wiped away—take the form of the Wuchumbu, the government Efawi is fleeing from, Okon’s tech issues, and a mess of other obstacles.

A Question of Genre
The descriptions for this book describe it as “genre breaking.” I’m not sure about that. I don’t know that it’s wrong, but I fear that it might mislead some readers (I went into it with skewed assumptions, for example). I’ve got a Q&A with Brayken coming along later today, and he might convince me otherwise—I haven’t read his responses yet, so I don’t know.

What I would say is that The Veiled Edge of Contact is a great example of the wideness of Science Fiction, the range of ideas and settings that it’s capable of, the diversity of characters, and more. I’m not saying that Brayken has done things I haven’t seen in SF before, but the way he combined most of the aspects of this book is pretty rare. (I’d say it’s unique, but as soon as I do that, someone’s going to point out something similar out there, so let’s stick with rare).

The fact that he mixes so many ideas together successfully, with wit and polish not usual for a first novel makes this stand out.

So, what did I think about The Veiled Edge of Contact? 

 
I felt a little lost at the beginning—there’s a pretty big disconnect between the Prologue and Chapter 1. But I pushed on through and Brayken quickly won me over and I forgot about everything that I got hung up on in the Prologue and the disconnect I felt. Literally forgot—so much so that when that material became relevant again, I had to work to remember it. Which is a compliment, Brayken got me so sucked into to Okon and the Wuchumbu and everything that was immediately going on that it consumed all my attention.
 
I wanted to see what was around the corner, what was going to befall our (mostly) hapless protagonist next. But I also just wanted to live in the moment and spend more time with him and that moment to go on—because whatever befell him next was going to push the narrative to an end and I’d have to say goodbye. We’ve all been there before with novels, you know that sensation. I got a major dose of it from this book.
 
I don’t know what more to say about the book than that. Brayken plays with SF concepts, tropes, and mainstays, and does things with them that are familiar and are strikingly unfamiliar. Mostly at the same time. But on the whole, while he’s doing that you don’t care—you just want to see what’s coming next. All the thoughts about what he’s doing and why and how it changes the story come after you’re done—or when you step away for a while for work or whatever.
 
I would love to sit down and pick his brain some time over a meal and dig down into his thinking and some of the choices he made. I’m not crazy about all of them—but they were absolutely the right choices, and I’m glad he made them (maybe especially the ones I’m not crazy about). Brayken immersed me in another world and I really didn’t want to leave. There’s not a whole lot more I can say that’s more complimentary than that.
 
Now, I’ve behaved and haven’t said too much. It’s your turn to keep the other end of the bargain. Go and do the right thing and buy this book, will you?
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority About? 

Part of this feels like too much to say, but it’s right there in the title (also, the publisher’s description), so… 

Practically simultaneously, two wealthy and well-known producers are killed. One was shot by a sniper pulling off an incredibly difficult shot. The other was killed by a knife attack in broad daylight with no witnesses. These two were brothers, and each had given some people clear motives to kill them. But both at the same time? It’s difficult to tie them together. The NYPD Red squad—with Kylie MacDonald and Zach Jordan in the lead—is assigned to these cases and they want to consider that there’s one person behind the killings—with two accomplices doing the killing. But can they actually establish a link? 

During their investigation, a theory begins to surface about a team of assassins operating under the name of a sorority—Kappa Omega Delta. KOD—Killers On Demand. It sounds farfetched to the partners (and their captain), but they keep running into the idea. And soon, they might start to find some actual evidence pointing to it. 

Meanwhile, in a probably unrelated incident, Kylie’s boyfriend is shot. Officially barred from investigating (and she is front-and-center on a case the media and City Hall are focused on), Kylie is mostly watching this from the sidelines—but manages to help the detectives on the case while worried about his recovery. 

The KOD Story 

I’m both annoyed and glad that the description of the book tipped its hand so much about the assassins. I prefer to discover that kind of thing in my mystery novels—don’t tell me what the characters are going to figure out, let me do it with them. But knowing it was coming did make it easier to buy into. 

Up to the point that Zach and Kylie really start to take the notion seriously this novel had the feel of a pretty by-the-book procedural. They were being methodical, beating the bushes, checking off the things they needed to—and that’s the kind of thing I really appreciate seeing in detective novels. I’ve said it before, I’ll keep saying it, too. 

Then there’s a shift in the way the novel worked once we get to that point, though, and it takes on a heightened reality*-sense as the detectives try to work out the details of the KOD group—how they operate**, who they are, and how to track them down. The shift isn’t a qualitative one, really, it’s more subjective—it’s a different feel to the book. One that is probably more in line with the rest of the series. The transition jarred me a bit, but not so much that it took me out of the book—but it reminded me what kind of book I was reading. 

* I really need to find or develop a synonymous phrase for that, because I use it too often in this post. Sorry about that. 

** I fought off the temptation to really dig into this part here, you should read it for yourself. 

Looking back over this whole thing, I’m really impressed with it—at several points Karp plays against what you believe is happening. I don’t think he ever pulls the rug out from beneath the reader—but he gives it a good, strong tug, and makes you stumble a bit. It may not be as flashy as a huge twist but can leave the reader just as discombobulated and unprepared for what’s next. 

The Personal Subplots 

I thought these were handled pretty well. There were elements of Zach’s story that seemed like pretty large coincidences, but if a reader isn’t willing to accept a convenient coincidence here and there, it might be time for a new hobby. I do think that story was handled pretty well. 

The same goes for the plot about Kylie’s boyfriend and the shooting (and what that suggests about the ongoing story about her now-missing husband). I think this shooting, the investigation, and the resolution was actually the strongest storyline in the novel and Karp developed it well. Especially in the heightened reality of this series, this came across as pretty grounded. 

I’d have to go and look at my posts about the first two books in this series to see if I say anything about it—but I don’t want to. I’m pretty sure that at the time I thought the books spent too much time on the personal lives of these two detectives. To an extent, it made sense while establishing the characters, but I still thought the balance was off. Perhaps it’s because this is a later book in the series, perhaps it’s the shift in authors, maybe it’s just the way things worked out here in NYPD Red 7—I’m not sure I care—but that problem is gone. I even paused to note a couple of times how compared favorably to my memories of the first two books. 

So, what did I think about NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority? 

I went into this book with apprehensions—I dropped this series after two books and while I don’t remember being opposed to coming back, I sure wasn’t in a hurry to. But when someone mails me an ARC, I tend to read it. And I’m really glad I did—it won me over pretty easily, I got invested and caught up in the story, and generally had fun reading the book. 

The best thing I can compare this to is an episode of Castle—but with two Detective Becketts and no novelist. Detectives—and their friends, lovers, contacts—who are impossibly attractive and extraordinarily bright on the trail of implausibly effective and skilled killers. And it’s just as entertaining as that series was at its best. 

The heightened reality of this series works well in the cases these detectives are involved with—Entertainment personalities and the super-rich. I’ve always liked the idea of a squad like NYPD Red (see also, The Closer‘s Priority Homicide), and halfway assume something like this actually exists. Given media scrutiny and politics, it makes sense for cases of this profile to be handled differently (as long as no one’s ignoring other cases per Bosch’s maxim). I enjoy seeing detectives work in this world as much as I do seeing them in more “everyday” settings belonging to the middle and lower class. 

There’s part of me that wants to harp on the implausibility of KOD. But I don’t know why I would—it’s a fun idea and works well in this novel. Karp’s version of this thing that we’ve seen and read about in other books/shows/movies/comics is as successfully conceived and executed as I’ve seen it. And as I said before, if you accept the world of this series, the outlandish nature of the KOD works well. So, I don’t know why I feel like I have to make excuses for it or justify it, but I do feel that way. The KOD is a good challenge for Kylie and Zach and the way they confront it is entertaining. Which is what this book is about. He’s not attempting to tell a gritty story like Winslow’s The Badge (which has parts that are just as implausible)—this is an action-adventure story. 

This is a fun read—I raced through it because Karp’s writing and pacing wouldn’t let me put it down until I had to. I thought the novel was stronger than the first two in the series and I’m tempted to go back and see where the series started improving. I’m definitely interested in NYPD Red 8, assuming that Karp gets to do another one and I hope the sales without Patterson’s name on the cover allow it. 

Even if you’ve never read this series (maybe particularly), pick this up if you’re in the mood for an adventurous Police Detective novel, I think you’ll be glad you did. 

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

Cassie’s a bit better situated as a private investigator now, she’s not raking in the dough, but for a private investigator in Montana, I can’t imagine she could be doing much better. This book focuses on two independent cases—I don’t mind a good two-cases-turning-out-to-be-related-after-all mystery, but I really like seeing an investigator juggle two cases like this. 

The first case is initially something that Cassie’s not interested in at all, but she gets sucked into things. A woman from Florida wants to hire her to find a con man who has bilked her out of a big chunk of change. She’d hired a local P.I. who traveled all over the country, seemingly milking her for expenses before ending up in Montana and ghosting her. He suggested that he was zeroing in on the target, and the client wants Cassie to take over from there. 

Cassie focuses on the P.I.—if she can figure out what he was doing there, where he went—maybe even finding him—she can use that as a launching pad to finding the con man. This leads Cassie to find several other victims and a pretty solid lead on her target. 

The other case is something she’s been working on off and on for a while—and will pay off significantly if she can successfully close the case. Years ago, someone left a cryptic poem on the whiteboard of a Montana restaurant, promising a pile of gold to whoever could crack the clues in the poem and find it. Someone claiming to be that poet hires Cassie to see if she can figure out who he is. He’s worried that someone could find the gold by figuring out who he is, rather than deciphering the clues. So he wants to see if he left himself open that way.* A couple of things break Cassie’s way while she’s working the con man case, and she starts to put two and two together. She just might be on the right path now. 

* I hope that made sense in summary—it’s clear in the book, I assure you. 

There’s a teeny-tine Joe Pickett cross-over here that will bring a smile to the face of Pickett fans (even those as behind as I am, and thankfully really doesn’t spoil anything for me). For people who haven’t read those, it’s not going to alter anything—you won’t even notice. 

The Narration 

This is now the third Dewell novel that Delaine has narrated, and while I don’t remember having a problem with the earlier female narrator, Delaine has definitely got this character down—and the recurring supporting characters, too. 

When the perspective changes from Cassie to some others (the criminals particularly), she does a great job harnassing their characters, too, helping me to get into their headspace and like them even less than I was inclined to (well, in the case of the criminals, that is). 

So, what did I think about Treasure State? 

I liked coming back to this world for a bit. It was good to see Cassie’s son doing well and Cassie getting more stability in her life. Even better, her mother wasn’t around much, so she couldn’t get on my nerves. I don’t know what it is about Box and mother/daughter relationships, but I’m pretty sure a book could be written on it between this series and the Pickett series. 

I was initially worried about some aspects of the con man case hitting some of the same notes as earlier Dewell novels—but I was glad to see that while they might have been the same notes, it was a different song. That’s a sentence that will make sense to people once they’ve read/listened to the book, but hopefully, it’s reassuring if you start to have the same concern. 

The treasure hunt/poet storyline was nothing but fun for me. Simple, dogged, investigation that follows one trail after another. Yeah, she catches a break—but there’s reason enough to think that without the lucky break, she’d have gotten there anyway—it just would’ve taken longer. Give me this kind of story any day in a PI novel and I’ll be happy. 

There’s a lot to like in this latest adventure with Cassie Dewell and nothing really to complain about. Give this a shot—whether or not you’ve spent time with her before, this PI novel will satisfy. 

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

Our protagonist, Terry, is a bright, energetic (very energetic) kid with big dreams. Huge dreams. He even has a name for them, and when he speaks, you can hear the capitalization—Big Dream Plan.* He is basically the living embodiment of joie de vivre. We meet him the day before he starts a new Middle School on the other side of town—he’s qualified for a scholarship and his parents are hoping this is his ticket to a better life. 

* Yes, this is a graphic novel, so you can literally see the capitals, but those around him hear the capitals. 

Not that there’s anything wrong with the life he has—demanding, strict, but caring and supportive parents. An older brother who always has his back (although he’s human and stumbles), who has the same hopes for Terry that he does. He even has a small-time criminal from the neighborhood looking out for him. It’s a good life, but his parents still hope that his talents and ambitions can give him a better (read: financially secure and in a better neighborhood). 

Okay, that’s more space than I thought the introduction was going to take, let’s get moving. His new school is dazzling—there’s clearly money being spent on all levels here. And most of the students come from it, too. It seems to take Terry a while to figure that out, and when he does, it doesn’t seem to phase him. 

Terry has a hard time making friends at first but is given a chance to get in with the “in crowd” (I’m sure no one says that anymore, but I’m not going to try to pretend I know what people say), by bullying a kid. It goes well enough, but he feels horrible about it and tries to make things right the next day. This leads to Terry landing a small group of potential friends (including the kid he bullied) and puts him firmly in the “out-crowd.” 

An extra-curricular group activity proves the perfect outlet for Terry’s creativity (which needs a large outlet, the kid cannot stop creating), but it seems to be damaging his grades. His mother puts an end to that—which causes some family tension and forces Terry to be even more creative in his approach to the extra-curricular activity. 

Things go on from there—basically, this is about Terry getting his feet wet in a new world of opportunity, learning how to navigate it, making some real friends, and learning to appreciate the support and direction of his parents. 

The Tone of the Book 

Terry’s pretty naïve—or at least he comes across that way. He’s so caught up in his dreams and the possibilities of the future that he really doesn’t seem to notice or understand the harsher realities around him. His big brother does a good job of helping him navigate through this without opening his eyes. 

This gives the whole book a similarly hopeful and almost starry-eyed tone and feel. But the art is thoughtfully used to make sure the reader sees the reality—the looks on the faces of characters around him, the changes in the economic status of his environments, the run-down nature of his neighborhood’s buildings, and so on. Terry’s eyes are on the bright future, but he’s living in a very real now, and the art serves well to show that both of these things are true. 

It feels like I’ve already transitioned out of this section into the next, let’s make it official: 

A Word About the Art 

Cory Thomas is a huge part of what makes this graphic novel work. From his capturing the dual worlds that Terry lives into his character designs and the sense of energy conveyed on the page, Thomas really brought this to life. 

As usual, I struggle to describe the artwork, so forgive me if any of the positive things I’m trying to say here don’t sound positive. 

Thomas’s artwork isn’t polished and full of fine detail—these aren’t beautiful panels like you’d get from George Pérez or someone in his school. The penciling and inking are rough, the lines are jagged—they convey an energy, a youth, and a vitality more like Bill Watterson (and the more I think of it, the more I like my floundering here landed on Watterson as a comparison). 

The expressions on the character’s faces alone make me want to commend his artwork here, from Terry’s almost ever-present smile (in various wattages) to the doubt or cynicism depicted on others, these characters pop off the page. 

So, what did I think about Terry’s Crew? 

In interviews (and in many of his performances), Terry Crews comes across as someone with an indefatigable optimism, an infectious enthusiasm, and a near-unrelenting positivity. I get the impression that this is a fully intentional outlook on his part and I can’t help but admire it. This book encapsulates that outlook and brings it to life in this fictional Terry. 

Yes, I wondered if the book ends up being a little Pollyanna-ish in the end, but I think that was the goal—and who doesn’t need a little sunshine? I had a lot of fun reading this—I think it’s difficult not to. Terry, his friends, family, and others (including the nefarious neighborhood supporter) show that with support, encouragement, and teamwork, small dreams can come true—with the assurance that comes from that. If you can make enough of those small dreams come true, even a Big Dream Plan is possible. 

This worked for me, someone decades past the target audience, I’d like to think—and I hope—that this will bring some encouragement into the lives of the Middle-Grade audience, too. I recommend picking this up and putting it in the hands of the Middle Grade (maybe even younger) reader in your life. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What Happened Before Kestral’s Dance? 

This is the second book in the series, but don’t let that stop you from reading it first (although, I’m sure Massey wouldn’t mind you buying both before you do). Here’s some of what I picked up that will help you understand what this book is about before you decide. 

Obviously, this is going to involve a spoiler or two for Mad Kestral, so read at your own risk, I guess. 

Kestral was orphaned when she was pretty young and lived life on the streets with similar children before she found herself being taken in by a pirate. She grew up amongst them, eventually becoming rather skilled. So much so that she’s named captain when the previous one retires. She also helps that captain save the life of the king and is named privateer (perhaps The Privateer—I’m a little vague on that).* 

* I think the chronology of those events is intertwined and different from the way I laid it out. 

Kestral also has a bit of magic ability, tied to her whistling. She really doesn’t understand it and has learned to keep it under control and only uses it rarely (frequently tied to filling the sails with wind). During, or just before, that last adventure one of the King’s spies helped her establish a bit more control over her abilities. Now, I’m not particularly sure (even after reading Kestral’s Dance) how McAvery knew how to help her, but it doesn’t matter. Also, helping her in this way is just one of the several reasons that Kestral is attracted to him and can’t stop thinking about him as the sequel opens. 

Oh, there’s also the Danisobans. They are the official league of wizards. Kestral has tried to keep her abilities (and her person in general) off of their radar since before she lived on the streets. There’s a harshness and a cruelty to them evident right from the get-go in Kestral’s Dance and it takes the reader only a sentence or two to adopt Kestral’s prejudice against them. 

There’s a little more I could probably say, but that’s enough to get you going. Maybe more than I need to say, really, but I don’t have time to edit today—so you get a stream of consciousness. 

What’s Kestral’s Dance About? 

The Danisoban that Kestral knows best and likes least, comes to her with a message from the King. She’s to head out to a certain area and retrieve an animal she’s never heard of or seen for the King’s menagerie. This is the time of year that her ship should be in the dock, the men on leave, because of the stormy season. The neck of the woods that this creature lives in is particularly dangerous now. However, this is not a negotiation, it’s an order, so Kestral takes off with whatever crew that will go along with her. 

Underway, she learns that McAvery is in some sort of trouble in a different direction than their goal. She wants to go to his aid, but has no time and is unwilling to make her men face the king’s wrath (and isn’t that keen on facing it herself). Her quartermaster and closest friend assures her that McAvery can look out for himself and she tries to find comfort in that. 

While she’s struggling with the decision, they come across another (smaller) ship than hers that Kestral believes is tied to McAvery’s predicament. Privateers do what privateers do and that ship is soon under her control—they find a woman, a dancer who was supposed to be sold as a slave, who tells them that McAvery is about to be sold in an illegal slave market. She can help Kestral get there in time. 

This dancer has magic that seems to work similarly to Kestral’s, except she doesn’t whistle, she dances. This blows the pirate’s mind. She’s not alone? In fact, the dancer seems to know a lot about Kestral’s abilities and promises to teach her how to use them for a lot more than just filling the sails for a price. Her home is a year’s journey away, if Kestral will sail her there, she will instruct her. This will strain the crew and definitely put them out of the King’s good graces, but it might be worth it. 

But first, they have to rescue McAvery. 

Kestral 

She is a great character, and I’m annoyed that I didn’t get to know her in Mad Kestral. At this point in her life she’s confident (occasionally cocky—or at least acts as if she is), capable, and loyal (and loyalty-inspiring). She knows her limits—she’s not afraid of pushing them—but is clever enough to find ways around them. 

It can take me a while to warm to a character who’s a professional criminal, but I liked her straight off. There was something about her that clicked right away and I grew in my appreciation for her. Yes, it’s somewhat overdone to have the strong, confident, capable woman being a disaster when it comes to her love life. But (like with most overdone things) when it’s done well, I like it. Massey pulls it off here, and it adds to Kestral’s charm. 

The Magic System(s) 

I want to say I’ve encountered a magic system like Kestral’s before—tied to music and rhythm—but beyond zombie-control in The Dresden Files—I can’t remember where.* This is a great idea, it’s distinctive, and I’d love to hear more about it. Using the rhythms and sounds of life, of the world around us, to shape, mold and direct energy just makes sense. 

* Just before publishing it hit me—some of the Earth magic in the Jane Yellowrock books is shaped by music, but I think that was one particular practitioner, not the whole system. There are likely other examples, but they’re not coming to mind. 

On the other hand, the Danisoban’s magic is about blood, entrails, suffering, and power. There’s a sacrifice involved (whether or not is actual deities that empower them in response to the sacrifice I’m not sure). And really, it’s as off-putting as their personalities are. I’m not sure which comes first, but in the end, keep me away from those guys. 

So, what did I think about Kestral’s Dance? 

I can sum up the reason to buy this book with one phrase: Pirate Battles with Magic Users. Sure, there are more (and possibly deeper) reasons to read this book, but come on…a good Pirate Battle at sea is enough justification to spend a few hours with a book, but Massey includes magic users with hers. I could only post this paragraph with a link or two directing you to a place to buy the book and that’d be enough. 

But we all know I can’t stop talking after only a paragraph, right? 

This book features some great writing—yeah, there are a couple of sentences that are clunkers. But for every one of those, there are four or five sentences/passages that are just dynamite (and the rest of the book is simply good). Massey is particularly strong when she’s describing Kestral’s view of/appreciation of the sea, sailing, or her ship. I guess you could say it’s the romance of the sea, or something like that. I cannot relate to it—I can get violently seasick almost as fast as a fish can get wet. But after reading Massey for a bit? I can almost imagine enjoying being on an old sailing vessel. 

The romantic/love triangle subplot tried my patience for a bit (as triangles do 99.4% of the time), but it did eventually win me over. And people who don’t have a triangle-aversion will probably enjoy all of it. 

I thought Kestral’s crew were great and my only real complaint about the book is that we didn’t get more interaction with them—I’d like to say we just needed a couple of more scenes with them at work or at play, but I’m pretty sure that if we had those, I’d ask for a little bit more. I’m really drawn to characters like that interacting the way they do, and would eagerly read a few chapters of daily life at sea without the drama. 

It didn’t take me long to figure out that I was going to really enjoy Kestral’s Dance, but I figured I’d just read this for the Book Tour and move on, but somewhere along the way, I decided that I needed to read more about her, this world, and the rest of the crew. I don’t know that I’m convinced to go back to Mad Kestral to see how we got to this point (but I might just to see more of the pirates in action), but I’m definitely keeping an eye out for the next volume in this series. 

For swashbuckling adventure, a dash of romance, a great magic system, and some compelling characters—you’d do well to grab Kestral’s Dance at your first opportunity. 

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

This takes place about four months after Risen, and definitely should not be read by anyone who hasn’t read it (I’m not going to spoil anything though). We do get to catch up with the world of Mages, the Council, and the state of things with Adepts post-Risen, but we do so from a different perspective and with a largely new group of characters (they ultimately interact with some people we know though). 

These characters are Daniel, Jess, and Emmanuel. They are youngish adepts with a little experience in thievery (although they really don’t like using that term) and are looking to expand. They’re hired by a mage to join a crew of others for a job to “retrieve” an object. 

The object is in the possession of a mage, who they are told will be away from home for quite some time. All they need to do is open a lock (through an interesting application of wind magic that I don’t think I’ve seen before) and find the thing. Assuming they can get along with the other group of adepts hired for this job (which is clearly going to be an issue from the get-go), it sounds like an easy job. 

But if it was an easy job, why would Jacka give us a novella about it? 

So, what did I think about Gardens? 

I had so much fun with this. It satisfied my desire to know more about this world and how things look after that fantastic finale—but was a different kind of story in it. Just not getting it told in Alex’s voice, but from a third-person narration, gave it a different feel immediately. Also, Jacka says that this is “a slightly different (but overlapping) genre to urban fantasy,” so that different feel is multiplied. 

With all due respect to Jacka, I think it’s still UF. It is a darker form of it than we’re used to from him, though. But that’s just splitting hairs, and there are much better things to do with this novella. 

Primarily we ought to just read and enjoy it—this is exactly what a heist-gone-wrong story told in the Verus-Verse should be. There’s in-fighting, double-crossing (maybe triple-crossing), lies, deception, unrequited love, and people in way over their head. Especially as we’ve been colored by Alex’s attitudes toward Adepts, it’s easy to forget what a great gulf there is between even a strong Adept and a Mage. Gardens does a great job of fixing that misapprehension. It’s a fast read with plenty of action—pound for pound, more than Jacka usually gives us, and I am here for it. 

Is this a must-read for Alex Verus fans? No, not especially. But my friends, you will be missing out. You will be so glad you took an hour or so for this. This is definitely a must-not-read for people who haven’t read Risen (and if you haven’t read Risen, you likely haven’t read anything else in the series—which is something you should fix). 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Sense of an Ending About? 

This is a short novel with a very simple story—well, a pair of them. The temptation at this point is to talk in detail about everything that happens—and I could still do that in fewer paragraphs than some longer novels I’ve written about. 

The other option is to be very sketchy about the stories—I think that’s the way to go, it’ll be easier to cover things without tying myself in knots to avoid spoilers and it feels like it’s the spirit of the novel. 

We meet Tony Webster and his friends in their teens, a new student comes to their school and they work hard to bring him into their circle of friends, and we stick with them for a few years—largely through the way the group dissolves as they disperse to various universities and make the attempts to stay in touch. Add some girls into the mix and the end is inevitable. Tony has one significant relationship that he spends some time relating with a young woman named Veronica—it’s a bad match from the outset, but both of them try to make it work. They eventually split, he travels America for a bit before coming home and getting a nice, comfortable job; getting married and divorced; and raising a daughter. (the post-America part of his life is covered in one paragraph). 

All of this is told through the perspective of Tony as an older man recounting his younger days and comparing what he and his friends experienced to what “kids these days” have. This is really the introduction to the novel, the foundation—and takes roughly sixty pages to cover. He’ll breeze by a lot, and then stop and focus on a conversation or an event. Much like a conversation with my parents and grandparents about their lives (or, increasingly, how I find myself talking to my kids). 

The second part builds on that foundation, Tony is now on the other side of marriage, divorce, career, “the fall of Communism, Mrs. Thatcher, 9/11, [and] global warming.” He’s contacted by a lawyer about a small item left to him in a will. Veronica’s mother, of all people, has left something for him. He has to work to find out what it is and then to actually get it from Veronica, who actually possesses the item. This leads to him having to revisit his past, re-examine friendships, their relationship, and how little he understood things then (and now). 

So, what did I think about The Sense of an Ending? 

While I feel an impulse to do a deep-dive on this book (like the kind of thing I’d do for a 400-level Contemporary Novel class or something, with all the journal articles, books(?), professional reviews, etc.), I’m going to resist that. I’m not even going to go as deep as I typically would because I’m not sure how I’d stop. 

Bear with me, this is going somewhere positive. I think. 

Tony and his friends initially struck me as the kind of protagonists you’d find in an Updike, Franzen, or Brodesser-Akner* novel, and I had to find solace in the fact that this was going to be shorter than my time with them. Well-written, crisp prose that would likely lead to something thoughtful and insightful—but I’d have to wade through some pretension, a lot of amoral callowness, and more masturbation than I really want (both literal and philosophical). 

* I could’ve made the list longer, but I think I made my point. I feel bad about using the last name, but I just saw the trailer for the Hulu series, so she was on my mind—and I thought it would be nice to mention someone who wasn’t a white male author, even if they’re worst offenders. 

Here’s where you expect the “But, I came around to…”, right? Well, I don’t really have one. I did grow to have some sympathy and understanding for Tony—even if I did think he’d be better off with a different hobby than obsessively trying to get his hands on the item (and trying to understand Veronica). With one exception, my opinion of everyone else in the novel went down. I probably would’ve liked a lot more time with Tony’s ex, actually. And there are some characters we spend very little time with that I might like to read about. But the named characters that we get to know are really not the kind of characters you want to get to know. 

My other quibble with the book is how often Tony’s narration will say something to the effect of: “at least that’s how I remember it now.” The shifting of memory, interpretation, and perspective when it comes to relating events is clearly a theme of the book, but we don’t need to get hit over the head with it like a 2×4 in the hands of a 1980’s professional wrestler. 

Once I got to Part Two, I was hooked. I was only mildly curious about the item and Veronica, and (again) thought that Tony’d be better off putting it behind him. But I couldn’t stop reading about his efforts to get to the bottom of it—it wasn’t quite the way you have to stop to look at a fender-bender on the side of the road, but it was close. His reactions, his recalculations, his reinterpretations—and the way he was forced to make them—kept me engaged and thinking. I didn’t care about the destination, I wasn’t thrilled with the journey, but I enjoyed the route and the mode of transport (to stretch the metaphor beyond use). 

In a mere 163 pages (and it’s a small book in the other dimensions, as well—it could’ve been a much smaller novel had it been a more standard size), Barnes gives the reader a twisty little story with some solid character development (I refuse to commit to the word “growth” here, but it may be appropriate) and squeezes in some discussion on the nature of, and how we think about: narrative (both personal and fiction), metanarrative, history, relationships, life, death, memory, time (and its passage), aging, and other themes I didn’t pick up on during my first read or forgot to note. 

Believe it or not, I do recommend this book. There was a lot I didn’t particularly enjoy (I think I made that clear), but it’s going to stick with me longer than many novels do. I think there’s a better than even chance that were I to write this post in a month that it would end up saying something different. The writing is compelling, there’s a quality to it that is clear from the opening pages, and you can see why it would be in the discussion for some prizes (many of which it apparently won). This is definitely the kind of “literary” reading I want to do—I just wish Barnes had filled it with people I wanted to read about, spend time with, and get to know. 

And yes, I said first read, I think I’ll return to this in a couple of years. I’m pretty sure I’ll read more Barnes, too. 

I’ve given this three different star ratings since I finished reading it, so I’m going to skip that shortcut and just let that muddle of an evaluation stand. 

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

Charlie Hills, the former Desk Sergeant at King’s Lake Central and verbal sparring partner of DC Smith has a problem—his son has been arrested on drug charges. Charlie’s retired, and apparently forgotten about by everyone at the station, so can get no favors pulled on his son’s behalf. The lawyer he’s hired for his son is one of the best around, and they think they’re in good shape. But Charlie doesn’t want to wait for that. 

DC Smith gets wind of the trouble and volunteers to help out—he first has to get himself hired on (albeit temporarily) with PI firm so he can get standing to do any investigating. Then he dives in. 

It’s quite an adjustment having to rely on his own wits and guile, without any threat of official power behind him as he pokes around the evidence. On the other hand, when has DC not relied on his wits and guile more than anything? 

The investigation brings him close to more than one unsavory character, a couple of faces from his past, and a little more danger than we’re accustomed to DC facing—along with a bit of international travel and our man having to figure out how Airbnb works. That last just might cause DC to retire for good. 

What’s in a Name? 

DC decides to do his PI work under his Christian name, David. If for no other reason, the joke wouldn’t work without any Detective Constables around. So apart from some old friends of his (and the series’ fans), he’s called David or Smith by everyone. This is a rather minor note, but imagine what it would be like if we actually learned Spenser’s name and everyone started using it. 

I never adjusted to it—David will always be D.C. to me, and I didn’t stop doing audio double-takes every time anyone other than Jo referred to him as “David.” Neither in this post or any future ones (assuming there are future PI cases for him) will I call him anything but DC or Smith. It does make for a pretty clear line of demarcation between his two careers, but…ick. 

Gildart Jackson’s Narration 

I know I’m supposed to talk about the narration for this book—everyone who writes blog posts or articles about reviewing audiobooks says you have to. And, you really should—they are tasked to bring the author’s words to life, convey the characters, and keep the listener engaged. 

But I’ve talked about Jackson’s work on the 8 previous Smith novels, 3 King’s Lake novels, and likely some Alex Verus stuff. I don’t know what to say about him that I haven’t said before. He’s perfect for this series and it’s fantastic to hear him spending this much time with DC and other old friends. But I don’t know how to say anything new about him and I’m tired of saying the same things over and over (and loyal readers are probably tired of my stretches toward novelty). So, I guess I have to take a pass on it this time. 

So, what did I think about The Truth? 

It’s great to see DC back in action again—such an old pro playing the fish-out-of-water is a nice touch, too. Sure, with Rebus and Bosch (among others), it’s not unheard of to see the retired police detective doing the PI thing. But it feels different (if inevitable) with DC. He’s been such a believer in the police services, and so denigrated PIs, that it’s striking to see him do this. 

But oh, so good for the fans. It’s a good case for DC, no matter who is paying the bills. And it’s a good novel for the author—in particular, the last chapter or two are killers. Grainger’s firing on all cylinders here with DC back at the helm. It’s a joy to see. 

It’s clear from what Jo’s said to Chris over the course of time in the King’s Lake books that DC needed something to do other than putter around the house and play around with the dog. So you knew something like this was coming. It also seemed like it’d take something like Charlie Hills being in trouble to get him moving. Now the hope has to be that he realizes how good it was for him, so that Grainger has to work in the occasional (or frequent, I’d be okay with frequent) case for DC between King’s Lake books. 

I heartily recommend this one—it’d probably be best if you were familiar with the character before this novel, but not necessary. Come on in, the water’s fine.