This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s For We Are Many About? 

It’s been around 40 years or so since the Bobs started their mission of finding a place for the tiny sliver of humanity that’s still eking out a survival on Earth. They’ve started colonizing one planet and continue to look for others. 

On Earth terrorists upset with the evacuation priorities—and some that think humanity should die off—harass the efforts and cause a little trouble. Extra-terrestrial life (some sentient and some others) cause other problems for the Bobs. The Brazilian probes are still trying to attack, too. 

Then they encounter an alien space-traveling species—their first. This group (soon dubbed the Others) are enough to make Star Trek‘s the Bord look warm and fuzzy. Naturally, the Bobs quickly annoy them. 

But really, the biggest problem comes from within. The Bobs are having a hard time coping with their virtual invulnerability as they deal with humans (and others) who aren’t so long-lived. Some of the Bobs begin calling them “ephemerals” as they try to find ways to cope. Whatever the problems that come from their opponents throughout the universe, it looks like this one may be the biggest challenge. 

Ray Porter’s Narration 

Porter was the deciding factor for me trying out the series in the first place, and he’d be enough of a reason to stick around. I don’t need him to be—the story and characters are really what are keeping me around—but him doing narrating is a nice bonus. 

I really don’t know what to say beyond that—I’m becoming a real Porter fan here (and got excited a couple of days ago when I saw he’s done some work on another series I just started). 

So, what did I think about For We Are Many? 

This is exactly what a sequel to We Are Legion (We Are Bob) should be—the action picks up right where we left off, the stories continue to develop well and we get some good resolution, the stakes get raised, and the characters develop in ways that are natural yet unanticipated. The laughs are still there as is the tension—and maybe both are a little sharper. I love how all these Bobs are variations of each other, and yet come across as so distinctive (while Porter barely does anything different for almost all of them)—that’s in the writing and the performing, and it’s just great. 

The last hour or so was the best writing and character work in the two books and made me eager for the next one. 

This is great popcorn fun, and something tells me that I’m going to spend a lot of time with Mr. Taylor over the next few months (at least) (and hopefully more time with Mr. Porter, too). 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Amari and the Great Game About?
Amari has spent the last school year looking forward to one thing: it being over so she can go back to the summer program for the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs. Not only will she have the chance for regular contact with her brother, but it’s at the Bureau that she has found purpose and a place. She’s eager to start the second summer of training as a Junior Agent and whatever work she’ll get to do in that role.

But the day before that summer is supposed to start, something happens that reignites anti-magician rhetoric and sentiment. So much so that the new Head Minister bans her from the summer program. The PR surrounding that is decidedly bad, so Amari is admitted, but the ban is just the beginning of her problems.

Magicians and people with similar profiles are under the microscope, however, and those in power are engaged in all-out persecution–because of their reputations and records, Amari and Maria are spared this. At least overtly.

Meanwhile, Amari is given the opportunity to fill an office with the League of Magicians that would put her in charge — because of her age, she doesn’t think she’s right for the position and passes. She’s not who anyone should be looking toward if it comes to war against the Bureau. But when the opportunity passes to someone else — someone who needs to be kept away from it — she steps up. Starting the Great Game — a series of challenges where these candidates face off against each other for the role.

Amari decides she has to clear Magicians of responsibility for the event that kicked off this new wave of harassment as well as compete in the game. She has to play the game on her own, but she’s going to need the help of her friends and allies (including one very unexpected ally) to pull everything off.

So, what did I think about Amari and the Great Game?
I think Middle Grade readers are going to have a ball with this–it continues the fun and voice of Amari and the Night Brothers, raises the stakes, and includes some great moments for Amari’s friends as well as for Amari. Alston’s able to address misinformation/”Fake News”/propaganda and prejudice in effective and age-appropriate ways while telling a rollicking story.
 
For me, and I think others who fall out of the demographic will have a similar reaction, this isn’t quite the experience the previous book was. It really felt like Alston was cherry-picking elements from similar MG series and mashing them up into this. If you’ve ever wondered, for example, what a hybrid version of Dolores Umbridge and Rita Skeeter would be like, this book will show you. If you can read the Great Game segments and not think about The Tri-Wizard Cup, you’re a better person than I am. I’ve only mentioned Potter references, but to me, the whole thing had more of a Percy Jackson-vibe.
 
Readers better versed in MG Fantasies might have other parallels to offer, too. And there is nothing wrong with this–authors do this all the time, and I enjoy seeing the results. Stories lift elements from others because they work well and people enjoy them (and/or they need to be skewered). Outside of parodies, I prefer not to see the influences quite as easily as I did here. But…and this is an important point…a dude pushing 50 is going to read this differently than Alston’s target audience is going to. He shouldn’t be writing to please me.
 
I did enjoy this–and can’t wait to see what comes next. I wasn’t prepared for the way this book wrapped up, but think it was a great choice on Alston’s part. I really like the way he’s developing the characters as well–both individually and in their relationships with each other. Yes, I’ll go into Book 3 with lower expectations than I went into this book with (I think that’s because the first novel was just that good)–but I’ll be towards the front of the line to read it when it comes out.
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s 6 Ripley Avenue About?
6 Ripley Avenue is a Probation Hostel—similar to what we call a halfway house in the U.S.—focusing on probationers convicted of violent crimes (including murder). It’s been plagued by controversy since before its opening two years ago. The concerns go beyond the typical NIMBY protests because of the violent nature of the residents.

Sloane Armstrong, a freelance investigative journalist, and Helen Burgess, an elderly woman who lives next door to the house, have been at the forefront of the effort to move and/or close Ripley House Approves Premises from the start. Their friendship was forged by this effort but has grown since then.

Now, a resident there—a convicted murderer—has been killed. The investigation into the murder highlights many of the concerns Helen has voiced and Sloane has published—poor staffing levels, inadequate security, malfunctioning CCTV, and more. Helen and Sloane see this as their opportunity to close the facility once and for all and work to uncover as much as they can about the crime and the systemic problems it exposes as possible for their purposes.

On the other hand, Jeanette Macy is the Senior Probation Officer on staff—she learns of the same problems (and more) during the investigation and sees this as the opportunity to improve things both at Ripley House and throughout the system.

The narrative bounces between the perspectives of these women as they investigate the happenings of that fateful night and interact with each other and the police during the inquiry. Will any of them be fast enough in their investigation to ensure the murderer is caught in time to save more lives?

It’s almost a locked-room mystery—but if you can’t trust the locks on the room…

The Prologue
I see a lot of hate/antagonism toward Prologues online lately. I’m not sure I get it, but if people want to skip them, I guess that’s their prerogative. However, anyone who is anti-prologue probably hasn’t read a Noelle Hotlen prologue—they’re consistently very good. This is one of her best—it’s not Dead Perfect—good, but it’s close.

If you read this book, don’t gloss over/skim/skip it.*

* I think that should apply to Prologues/Epilogues in general, but whatever. You do you.

On the Other Hand…
I think the last two chapters could be cut and the book would be stronger. I get (I’m pretty sure) the impulse for them, and they do make sure that some of what was suggested/implied in the text was nailed down. I also wonder if she answers a question or two that would be better left lingering. But I think most readers would either assume almost everything contained there—or wouldn’t care. It’s like watching deleted scenes from a movie and thinking “yeah, that was good to see, but I see why it didn’t make the final cut.”

Okay, the last six paragraphs of the penultimate chapter—they’re a distinct section—would’ve made a good, punchy last chapter on their own. But the rest felt like overkill.

Your results may vary, and it’s not like these chapters hurt the book significantly. But for me, they took a little of the luster off.

So, what did I think about 6 Ripley Avenue?

 
The violence in this book centers on those places you’re meant to be safe—home and family—and what happens when that safety is disrupted. The whodunit of the novel is the focus—but there’s a lot said about the ripple effects of (many, but not all, of) the crimes talked about. How the repercussions of a moment of violence or other dangerous choices are long-lasting and alter the lives of those only indirectly affected by them. Crime Fiction in general is getting better at showing this, and few do it as well as Holten does.
 
Holten’s signature style of terse chapters and paragraphs is well-evident here,* jumping from perspective to perspective to make sure the plot is always steadily advancing. This makes the pacing almost relentless and it’s hard to put the book down, no matter what the reason for doing so may be. I’m not saying that I burned any meal or let a pot boil over while reading this, but I’d absolutely understand why someone would. Thankfully, the style also makes it incredibly easy to pick back up and get fully immersed in the story immediately. You could easily read 6 Ripley Avenue in one sitting without intending to.**

* Really, does she draft on cocktail napkins? What would happen if she invested in a couple of reams of 8.5 x 11/A4?
 **The fact that it took me as long as it did to read this is a commentary on my schedule this month, not the book.

The only problem with the pace is that we don’t get quite enough time to see enough of Helen and Sloane’s friendship—it’d be easy to see their relationship as Sloane exploiting the lonely woman for ammunition and Helen as desperate for an emotional connection. That’s what I saw it as initially. But as the novel progresses, we see actual affection between the two and it’d have been nice if circumstances had allowed us to see more of it. On the other hand, things do allow the reader to change their initial impression of Jeanette over the course of the novel (at least this one did).

This is one of those novels that is strengthened by the use of multiple POVs—the overlapping motives, agendas, and methods of the women looking into the crime and its repercussions, sometimes in alignment, sometimes at odds, but leading to getting at the truth was really well done. I’m not sure that, outside of the first bit of narrative from the Killer’s point-of-view that having their perspective present is that helpful—but I’d say that about at least 98% of those that I’ve read, so take that comment with a boulder-sized grain of salt.

This standalone solidifies Holten as an auto-buy for me, it’s a pleasant departure from Holten’s series work, displaying her already visible strengths and giving her a chance to show new ones. 6 Ripley Avenue is a fast, compelling, read that will stay with you for a while—you can’t ask for more than that.
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Bunnicula: The Graphic Novel About? 

This is easy—it’s a graphic novel adaptation of the modern classic, Bunnicula: A Rabbit-Tale of Mystery by James and Deborah Howe.
 

For those who missed this when they were kids, briefly, it’s the story about a dog (Harold) and a cat (Chester) reacting to a rabbit that their family brings home after finding him in a movie theater. The rabbit has some distinctive patterns on his fur that remind the kids (and Chester) of a classic Dracula-type vampire, so they name him Bunnicula. 

Chester’s a literary type, with a taste for classic horror. Between his look, Bunnicula’s nocturnal habits, and the fact that every vegetable in the house starts being drained of its juices, Chester becomes convinced that the new pet is a vampire and tries his best to warn the family and destroy the intruder before he harms the family. Harold’s around as the voice of reason and tries to mitigate Chester’s shenanigans before his new little buddy gets hurt. Hilarity and shenanigans ensue. 

Stephen Gilpin’s Work and the Look of the Book Overall 

When I saw this on the bookstore shelf, I was intrigued because the original novel was such a favorite of mine—and then my kids, too. I had no real intentions of buying it because I could always just grab the novel again to revisit, but I picked it up to give it a quick glance and the art blew me away, and I had to buy it. Chester looked good, I clicked immediately with the character design for the Monroes (particularly the boys), Bunnicula was spot-on… 

But the clincher for me was Harold. He might as well have been a werewolf drinking a piña colada at Trader Vic’s, because his hair (and everything else) was perfect. Sure, now it’s expected that the dog will be my favorite character in a book—but that wasn’t my default when I first encountered the book. But it took little time for him to be my favorite character in the series*. So when Gilpin knocked that character out of the park, he won my affection. Sure, it’s based on the illustrations from the original book, but he owned it and brought the look to life. 

* It’s very likely that Harold laid the groundwork for my appreciation of canine protagonists, like Chet and Oberon. 

Sometimes, I wonder what the point is behind doing a graphic novel adaptation of a written work—does it really add anything? This one did—there are some nice updates (Harold uses a computer, etc.) and some visual jokes and flourishes that could only be made in this format. Gilpin clearly made the most out of what Howe and Donkin gave him. 

So, what did I think about Bunnicula: The Graphic Novel? 

It’d be hard (but not impossible) to make something faithful to the letter (as much as space allows) and the spirit of the novel that didn’t make me happy. But this one wowed me—it brought me back to the day I first discovered this great band of people and critters decades ago, recapturing and repackaging the magic. 

I’m not sure that it’ll have that impact on everyone—I don’t know if an 8-10 year-old picking it up in 2022 is going to get hooked on the series, for example. I can’t imagine how one doesn’t, but I don’t know if they will. 

I wasn’t sure how to rate this, how much of my reaction to it was based on memory and nostalgia and how much was this new work. But I know how I felt while reading it and I saw how my (now adult) children’s eyes lit up when I showed them this version of the book, and I had to go with the full five stars. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Jane Steele About?
I got really long-winded in my first draft on this point and bored myself—if I can’t keep my interest, there’s no way I’m going to keep yours. So, because I’m a giver, I’m going appropriate the description from the Publisher’s site:
 

 
The Jane Eyre of it All
There are a couple of ways to talk about Charlotte Brontë’s work relating to this book. First, the novel is Jane Steele’s favorite novel. She makes frequent mention of it, plot points, and even when she buys a new copy. Jane is very aware of how events in her life parallel Eyre’s, and while the two women share responses to some things—ultimately, they’re very different people.

But my primary focus is from the perspective of the reader. The book was marketed as “what if Jane Eyre was a serial killer?” and “Jane Eyre + Dexter.” And that’s not wrong, but I think it’s more than that. Another way to put it is that this isn’t in the same vein as Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. The account of Steele’s life—broadly viewed—does follow the same outline as Eyre’s (the question can, and should, be asked how much of this is real and how much is a projection by the narrator). Also, I’m not crazy about the serial killer tag. She’s a vigilante who has killed enough to get the label “serial.” But it’s not ever presented as something she’s driven to do from within (although that might be a coverup by the first-person narrator).

But basically, it’s the same rough outline, with a lot of significant differences. The Flight of Gemma Hardy and Re Jane are closer re-tellings of Jane Eyre.

So, what did I think about Jane Steele?
In the end, not only is it a strange little love story and a little bit of a thriller, but there’s some reflection on humans as storytelling creatures. Not just in the stories we set down—Jane Eyre and Jane Steele for example—but the stories we tell ourselves and each other. There’s an essay to be written there by a more insightful blogger than I.

Faye did a good job of making most/many of the characters have Twenty-First Century sensibilities while walking around Nineteenth-Century London. Some authors can’t pull it off, but Faye did. The pacing is quick. The writing is crisp and clever, and there’s a humor to this that you might not expect (but is really the only way this is palatable)—after distancing the work from Dexter earlier, the humor of the novel really does match the Showtime version at its best. I wouldn’t change a thing about any of the characters, and really do regret that the nature of this story pretty much eliminates a sequel, because I’d like to revisit them (but a sequel would really be a bad idea).

I came for the Jane Eyre aspect, got hooked by the characters, and stayed for Faye’s prose and story. This ended up as far better than I expected and pretty different than what I thought I was getting into. I was glad to see it (don’t get me wrong, the Eyre stuff is great, but it’s just the icing on this tasty cake) and heartily recommend this to you.
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Bullet That Missed About?
Consequences, largely.

But that doesn’t tell you much. So let me expand a bit. The end of the book seemed to tie up everything with two nice and tidy bows. But you know what they say about appearances…

In The Man Who Died Twice, the Thursday Murder Club basically ripped off a International Criminal and got away with it. Well, almost. It turns out that a competitor (we’ll call him the Viking) of that criminal has evidence of their theft. The Viking tries to use that evidence to blackmail Elizabeth into killing the other criminal. She resists until the Viking turns it into an offer she can’t refuse.

Meanwhile, Joyce has picked the next case for the Club to look into. Years before, a local news anchor had gone missing and is presumed dead. Over her protests, everyone is sure she wants to look into the case because she wants to meet some people on TV, but the case is interesting enough that they’ll go along with it. Whatever her motives, it is an interesting case and gives the Club a lot to do (and, yes, they get to meet a local celebrity or two along the way).

The case brings Ibrahim into contact with Connie Johnson, the crime boss the Club had helped put away. She hasn’t forgotten him or Ron—and has grim plans for both of them upon her release (which she’s sure isn’t long off). But in the meantime, for her own amusement, she plays along with Ibrahim and helps out.

Murdering a criminal, solving an old missing persons case (that may be a murder), and tangling with an imprisoned drug lord. That’s a lot to squeeze into 337 pages, but there’s more: add in some romance/potential romance, some new friends and old, and Joyce’s continued experiments with Instagram, and you’ve got yourself a novel.

Stephen!
Elizabeth’s husband, Stephen, has been a rock for her throughout this series. He’s had a few good moments when it comes to both story and comedy—and heart, most importantly, the heart—but he’s largely been a supporting character. An important one, but supporting, nonetheless.

But he gets to shine in The Bullet That Missed. He’s thrust into the middle of one of the stories from the beginning, and plays a significant role throughout this storyline. In retrospect, I think I should’ve anticipated this happening at some point, but I hadn’t. It was so good to see this.

There’s a dark side to anything involving Stephen, too. We know from the beginning that he’s struggling with dementia. We all know too well that there’s only one direction for people dealing with that. So every time we see the character—or see Elizabeth thinking about him—the reader is confronted with this reality. As hard as some of the situations the Club faces in this book are—nothing is as hard (for characters or readers) than to see this progression.

Elizabeth seems so strong, so capable—frequently inscrutable and almost omniscient—but when it comes to Stephen, she is so vulnerable, so human (and now Joyce, too but always Stephen first). I have a blast reading über-competent Elizabeth, but I love vulnerable Elizabeth, and Stephen’s where she comes from.

The Heart of this Series
I have to be vague here, but I think I can get across what I want without ruining anything.

That quote I opened with is, ultimately, what this series is about—it’s what gets people hooked on it. The four members of The Thursday Murder Club—and their particular brand of friendship—is so appealing. There’s a chemistry and a warmth to them that inevitably attracts others, they want to be part of it. In the first book, they draw in such disparate people as a middle-aged Detective Chief Inspector, a Police Constable not quite used to the quieter locale, and a pretty shady Polish immigrant. You see something similar in the next book, too. The Bullet that Missed trumps them all—and the band of “Thursday Murder Club Irregulars” that they can now call on is pretty remarkable. It’s even drawn in Joyce’s daughter—not that they’ve ever been at odds, but you can tell their relationship could be better at first (and likely still could), and it’s getting stronger now.

That’s the more impressive part—not only are people drawn in by these characters because they want to spend time with them and help them (even if they’re being pressured, bullied, or blackmailed into it)—their lives are enriched by it. As are the lives of the Murder Club—everyone benefits.

This crosses generations, interests, professions, criminal records, ethnicities, national origins, classes, education levels—you name it. Sure, this is a cozy kind of “blue sky” outlook. But who doesn’t want to live in a world like that? Who doesn’t want to at the very least want to spend some time reading about a world like that? Even if it’s marred by murder, the occasional betrayal, and grief—it’s an optimistic antidote to loneliness and…I don’t know, the ineffable “everything else” that defines contemporary life.

So, what did I think about The Bullet That Missed?
The downside to everything I just said is that I wonder if we don’t have too many players in this book—we’ve got the core four, the extended circle of friends, Stephen, kids, a grandchild, old contacts, new friends, romantic interests, foes old and new. I felt like we didn’t get quite enough time with our protagonists. But I don’t want to lose a moment with the others…maybe Osman should take a page from Galbraith and start putting out a thousand pages at a time. (NOTE: That is absolutely a joke. I would eagerly read it, should he publish it, but I don’t want it.) That hurt the book a little for me, but there wasn’t a moment of this novel I didn’t find wholly charming and delightful.

In sum: the biggest problem with this book was all the new good stuff crowded out the old good stuff. Not the worst problem to run into.

The mystery was great—I got suckered by a red herring or two (and even when I suspected something was a red herring, I ignored that likelihood). The character work was typically fantastic. The conclusion was a knock-out and everything that happened after the killer’s reveal is even better. I’m firmly in raving fanboy mode now, so let me wrap-up.

Basically, this is a the literary equivalent of a cozy blanket and a nice up of tea—if you don’t feel better while reading it, I’ll be shocked. Yes, in this series (as in real life) grief and sorrow are around the corner—potentially great tragedy, too. for now, the Thursday Murder Club has nothing but a great time to offer you in The Bullet That Missed. Highly recommended.
 

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

Grady and his daughter lose their dog while visiting Mt. Rainer—but never fear, they find him—much to their relief. They’re not at all relieved by the fact that when he’s found, he’s carrying a human leg in his mouth. While it’s a different jurisdiction, it’s soon determined that the (probably dead) man missing a leg is/was a Seattle resident, so Grady handles that end of the investigation. 

At the same time, Leda is approached by a man to find his sister. This is a major step up for Leda’s psychic consulting—since the news coverage stemming from the events in Grave Reservations, she’s been hired to find a few missing things (mostly successfully), but a person that’s been gone for a month is a significant case. She takes it on with some hesitation, and several caveats toward the brother that she might not find anything, and he might not like what she is able to find. 

Naturally, there’s a connection between both missing persons, and Grady and Leda team up again. 

Leda’s having a hard time making headway, at first, with her case, and calls in the woman who’d offered to mentor her for some help. Almost immediately the medium demonstrates that this was a wise choice and that she’s the real deal. As she works with Leda, providing a nudge or two, she hints that Leda may discover other abilities as she grows as a psychic—which will be interesting to watch, for sure. 

Det. Grady Merritt 

Flight Risk features a lot more of Grady on his own (still plenty of Grady with Leda and Grady with everyone else, don’t worry) doing police work. It’s good to see him plugging away at things and interacting with his partner (who I hope we get more time with in the future—Sam and Niki would be a fun team-up). 

He doesn’t strike me as a super-cop like Bosch or Ballard—but he’s the kind you hope our police departments are full of—decent guys who are dedicated to their jobs, driven by curiosity and a sense of duty. He just happens to be pretty lucky and he now has a psychic friend who can lend a hand. I enjoy reading about this kind of police detective*, it gives me hope. 

* I’m still devouring books about Bosch, Ballard, Washington Poe, and other super-cops, don’t get me wrong. 

Niki 

Leda’s best friend Niki is, of course, back. In Grave Reservations, Niki essentially pushed Leda to take risks, to persevere in the investigation, and so on. Then, when she accompanied Leda and Grady when they were investigating, she could be relied upon to go a little further than Leda, and would carry the comedic weight in her scenes. 

Here in Flight Risk, she has the same roles. But Leda’s more confident now and doesn’t need her friend egging her on quite as much either on-stage or in her office. She is still a little more “out there” when she rides along with Grady and her friend, but I think she’s more restrained there, too. 

I might be a little off here, and if I revisit this next year, I’ll wonder what I was thinking here. But right now, Niki seems to be the weak link in this book, not bringing quite enough to the plot or to the comedy. A toned-down Niki is more grounded, more realistic—absolutely. But if she’s not being Lula to Leda’s Stephanie Plum, I’m not sure what purpose she’s serving. I should stress, I don’t think Priest shouldn’t have her around, nor do I want her to be as goofy as Lula (the world doesn’t need another one)—but we just need her to be a little less restrained. 

The Law of Interconnected Monkey Business 

So, anyone who’s read a mystery novel before will be pretty sure that there’s a tie between Grady’s and Leda’s cases are going to be connected. Obviously, if you read the above section or the description on the back of the book or on the online store of your choice, you’ll know that, too. 

That’s not what I want to talk about—it’s the way that Priest combined these two cases and got Leda and Grady to work together again. I honestly expected that this series would be Grady bringing cases to Leda, either on his own or because he’s instructed to, when the SPD comes up against a tough case. But that’s clearly not going to be the case. 

There’s going to be flexibility—even possibly some times when Grady comes into things pretty late in the game (I can’t see leaving the police out of a book entirely). The fact that Priest stayed away from the structure of the first book already is an encouraging sign and shows that this isn’t going to be a cookie-cutter kind of series, but that she’s going to bring something new each time.
 

So, what did I think about Flight Risk? 

I have to say this one was a tough one to write about—I almost felt like I could copy and paste what I said about Grave Reservations here. If you liked that novel, you’ll dig this one—having introduced the characters and world, Priest (and the readers) can focus more on the mysteries, and the book is better for it. 

The mysteries were well-designed and executed, with the psychic clues/impressions/whatever along the way pointing Grady and Leda in the right direction, but not giving them so much that they don’t have to work out things for themselves (with one notable exception). This is the way to do a Psychic Detective novel. The red herrings and false trails were particularly well-done and I enjoyed seeing our protagonists dealing with them. 

We got a better sense of all the supporting characters, as one would expect/hope, and I enjoyed them all. This is really a pleasant little universe that Priest has given us and I hope we get to hang out with these characters for a good while to come. 

Flight Risk would be a good introductory novel for this series as well as a pleasant continuation for those who read Grave Reservations—it’s light(ish) fun with a dash of the supernatural to enliven the mystery, the combination of police and amateur detectives working together is a tried and true way to make things entertaining—and Priest uses it well. This novel hit the spot for this reader, and I look forward to another case or two soon. I definitely recommend this one to you. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Racing the Light About? 

The essence of the case is that Elvis is hired by the mother of a young man who has gone missing to find him. This is pretty par for the course for Elvis Cole—a missing persons case. 

Here’s what makes this distinct: the mother has money—she pays a generous retainer in cash (so generous, Elvis gives some back) and you get the impression that it wouldn’t be difficult for her to add a few more thousand. Before she walks into the office, two people come in and do a security sweep. Adele Schumacher believes her son, Joshua, has been taken by government agents for his investigation into Area 51 for his podcast. So, yeah, not a typical day in the office. 

The podcast is called In Your Face with Josh Shoe, and it’s frequently about government corruption, conspiracies, and whatnot—but they’ve branched out to things like interviewing a porn actress. His childhood friend/podcasting partner, Ryan, tells Elvis that Josh is trying to move to more mainstream topics (Ryan doesn’t seem on board with this, for what it’s worth). Ryan shares Adele’s theory for Josh’s absence, Josh has been taken because he returned to Area 51 and found something. 

But Elvis starts to find evidence that Josh is investigating something he didn’t tell Ryan about—Elvis can’t figure out what it is, sadly, but he starts to figure out who Josh might be interviewing for this story. And one of them has gone missing, too. Is this tied to his disappearance or did the twenty-something self-employed and single guy just flake off for a few days? 

It’s not long before Elvis starts to think he’s not the only one looking for Josh and he enlists help from Joe Pike (who brings in Jon Stone). If those two get on board, you know things are about to get dangerous. 

Pike and Stone 

The problem with getting to know the PI’s more lethal/less-hung-up-about hurting people friend/sidekick/partner better is that it’s harder to keep them feeling dangerous and mysterious—it maybe even gets to the point where they stop being quite as prone to violence as they once were, and their charcoal-gray hats get a little closer to white. With Joe Pike getting some novels of his own, a lot of his sharp edges have been dulled for fans, so it was nice that Crais brought along Jon Stone so when Pike couldn’t be ruthless and cold-blooded, there’d be someone who could. 

He gets to be that guy here—he’s helpful (very), resourceful, and mercenary. He pitches in because Pike pushes him to—not because he cares about Elvis or the fate of Josh. But what he does, he does well. (and is amusing for the reader throughout) 

Pike is also not quite the active presence in this book that he has been lately—so when he does show up and act, it makes it feel a bit more super-human. Crais really upped his game with Pike in this novel and it allows him to steal almost every scene he’s in. Naturally, the phone calls between Pike and Cole are still fun to read—if you can write an entertaining conversation with one party being nearly-monosyllabic, you’ve got a gift. 

Lucy and Ben 

Lucy and Ben come by for an almost-unannounced visit to ensure that Elvis can’t give his full attention to the case. Which sounds snarky and may not be wholly fair of me. But it’s not wrong. 

I enjoy the character of Ben and the way he interacts with Elvis—and continue to do so. I appreciated and believed what he was going through—both on his own and with his mother—at this stage of life, and Crais’s portrayal of this was one of the (many) highlights of this novel. It was also a good way to remind the reader just But Lucy has bothered me for a while now (although I was initially a fan), and I’m not certain that this book alleviates that (nor do I think Crais is altogether worried about it). I’m going to reserve judgment on this appearance for now. I did like Cole’s response to her visit and presence (when it didn’t take him off of his game, although I thought that was a nice touch). 

So, what did I think about Racing the Light? 

I need to spend some time thinking about this idea, but while reading this book I started to think of some notable first meetings between a PI and their client—like The Big Sleep, The Doorbell Rang, God Save the Child, and The Judas Goat*—and how those meetings can be a bellwether for the rest of the book. If the meeting seems pretty good/typical, the rest of the book will be, too; if the meeting catches your attention, the rest of the book will be of a higher quality.** The first meeting between Elvis and Adele Schumacher definitely fits—it’s not your standard meeting (the presence of her personal security helps). Right away, I could tell this was going to be a better-than-usual Elvis Cole novel. There’s not much that can beat that, in my book. 

* This is a list generated in a rush, and I know I’ve left off some big ones, but as indicated, this is a theory-in-progress, I might work it out fully later.
 ** It’s likely that a better book is going to be better from the first chapter, and I just like the idea of creating a litmus test. 

My opinion never wavered from that point on—this is some of the best writing Crais has given us in a long time—there are some passages/sentences/phrases I’ve had to read a few times just because I enjoyed them so much. I’m going to have a hard time limiting myself when quoting from the book once I get the hardcover. I’m already looking forward to a re-read of this somewhere down the road. 

Along those lines, there’s one passage following a conversation between Elvis and Josh’s father that I’d believe Crais stole from one of the earliest Robert B. Parker novels. It’s not often that I get a reminder of the shared DNA between Elvis and Spenser. I appreciate what distinguishes the two more than their similarities, but it’s good to see the family resemblance is still there—it’s what attracted me to both characters (and their authors!). 

We see the return of some characters that Crais hasn’t used in a while, too—which adds to the overall feeling of this novel hearkening back to earlier Elvis novels more than the last few. Another of the ways this book shines is in the supporting characters, not just that many from the old gang are back, but characters for this book. We get to know a couple of people connected to the missing persons really well, they’re well-fleshed out, and you can’t help feeling empathy for them and connected to them. For example, there’s a man who lives in Griffith Park who’s a witness to part of a cover-up—we get four chapters from his perspective. And I like him enough already that I’d read a short story/novella just about him. 

I’ve probably gone on more than long enough at this point, let me wrap it up. 

New readers will find plenty to enjoy here as well as well-established fans should. Obviously, newcomers won’t get all the character moments that come from the buildup of 17 previous novels, but that doesn’t mean they won’t walk away with a sense of them. Don’t let the existence of those novels dissuade you, see them as an added bonus of backstory you can explore if you get into these characters. 

I don’t see how long-term fans aren’t going to relish this novel. Racing the Light doesn’t carry the emotional heft of L.A. Requiem or The Last Detective (primarily because those books explored the characters of Elvis and Pike in depths that Crais can’t repeat), but in terms of plot, pacing, and character this is their equal. I haven’t been this excited about a Robert Crais novel since The Promise. 

I’m telling you, readers, don’t miss out on this one. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader along with a Q&A with the author.
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What’s The Stories Behind the Stories About? 

It’s right there in the subtitle, isn’t it? “The Remarkable True Tales Behind Your Favorite Kid’s Books.” Higley takes 29 well-known and well-loved children’s classics—most from the Twentieth-Century, with a couple from before and a few after it. 

We get roughly two pages on each book, with a full page of art to go along with them—although one of those pages will be heavily illustrated, too. The text will give a little biographical information about the author and then talk about the book itself—maybe how it was written, or received, or what inspired it. There’s also a sidebar with a little trivia about the book, too. 

The books discussed range from Curious George to The Boxcar Children to Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief, books written for children too young to read through books for Middle Grade readers. 

The Design and Art 

This is a wonderfully put-together book—let’s start with the cover design, a giant “Little Golden Book” look is an inspired choice for this. The collages used to illustrate the rest of the book are equally well done. They jump off the page and are well-paired with each book discussed. 

Sure, the text of the book is my focus—and it should be here, too. But when it comes in a package this great to look at? That’s just a bonus. 

So, what did I think about The Stories Behind the Stories? 

I sat down to read about one or two of the books before starting something else one day, and read five before I realized it and had to force myself to stop. I ended up reading the rest of the book in one sitting. It’s the literary equivalent of Lay’s Potato Chips, “bet you can’t read just one.” 

I’ve read 24 of the books talked about, and meant to read most of the others, so I was primed and ready for this—many readers in the target range (7-11 will be familiar with at least half, and this might inspire them to read more of them). 

I think I learned a little about each of the books selected for this—except maybe Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, because that’s been covered so well for so many years. Some of what I learned surprised me—The Boxcar Children was controversial? (okay, I probably should’ve guessed that one) Rawls almost didn’t get Where the Red Fern Grows published, and once it was, it took a lot of work to get it read—or put another way, I almost didn’t get my heart ripped out by it. 

It’s engaging with a little dash of mild humor, nothing over-the-top—just enough to bring the occasional grin while not distracting from the point. It’s written in such a way that the target audience will have no problem reading it, and it’ll keep the attention of older readers, too—anyone who likes children’s books will find something to enjoy here. And you put that in an attractive package? It’s a win all the way around. I strongly recommend this book. 

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

Under a dystopian U.S. government, a group of resistance workers coordinate through encoded messages in newspapers—but when the government sends censors to those outlets, they have to find a new way to spread the word to their operatives. 

Which is where Libby comes in—it’s a children’s TV show—sort of a Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?, but with puppets. The show’s new intern (a recently laid-off newspaper reporter) is using nonsense lyrics in their songs to communicate these messages. 

We join the story when the actor playing the human character on the show is being interrogated, and get flashbacks catching us up to the present. 

All of this happens under the watchful and helpful gaze of the “unhackable” Alexa/Siri-esque electronic assistant, Ophelia, that’s in every office, interrogation room, and restaurant. 

Khristine Hvam 

I’ve listened to something like twenty audiobooks narrated by Hvam—all reading Faith Hunter works (I thought I listened to a non-Hunter book, but can’t prove it). I enjoy what she does, she can deliver solid character work and accents, and evoke the right emotions. What I didn’t know is that a cartoon voice from her can crack me up—there’s a giggle we hear in this that would be worth the purchase price (if Audible didn’t include it for members). There’s one other character voice that doesn’t sound like someone from Hunter’s works, which is almost as good, too. 

I had a blast with this. 

So, what did I think about The Ophelia Network? 

A novel-length version of this story might be too much—but I think this novella isn’t quite enough. It’s just a little too short, the story doesn’t get to be fully played out. Yes, Lafferty closes things off cleverly (especially if she didn’t want to get detailed about the ending), and no, I don’t think we needed to see the government fall/change for this to be an effective story. But we needed something a little more. 

I am not complaining about what Lafferty and Hvam gave us, though—I just wanted more of it. I don’t know if a sequel is planned, but I’d welcome it. It’s a good Orwellian-ish story but with just enough humor to keep it from being entirely oppressive and dark. There’s a lot more to explore, but if that doesn’t happen, I’m satisfied with what we received. 

This caught my eye after I read Lafferty’s Station Eternity, and seeing Hvam’s name on it sealed the deal. I’m going to keep an eye out for more from Lafferty, there’s something that she’s doing that just clicks with me. The Ophelia Network isn’t perfect, but I enjoyed this glance at a dystopian future, the characters and plot worked, and Hvam knocked it out of the park. If you have the means, give it a shot.