theirresponsiblereader's Reviews (607)

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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Setting the Stage
It’s been a while since the last Twenty Palaces fiction was published (a novella 5 years ago, a novel more than twice that), let me give a quick review.

Magic is in the world, people who come across a book of it run the risk of opening a gate to another dimension and letting monsters (called predators) into our world. Once in, they won’t stop until our reality is gone.

Standing in the way is the Twenty Palaces Society—their peers track down the books and those who are using them and stop them. Almost always this is a lethal stopping. Annalise has been a peer for quite a while now, she gets the job done without really worrying too much about what stands between her and the target.

Ray Lilly is her wooden man. His job is to be a distraction, getting the attention of the troublemakers (human) and the predators focused on him, so Annalise can dispatch them. He’s not supposed to survive for long, but somehow he’s both lived and proven pretty effective when helping Annalise. Before this, he was a criminal—a car thief, freshly released from prison and trying to live a better life for the sake of the relatives who supported him.

What’s The Iron Gate About?
Annalise sends Ray into a building in a small coastal town to do some recon. They know a predator is in the building, but before she does something (probably destroying the building) he goes in—something happens and his ghost knife (the one spell Ray possesses) lands at her feet. Ray’s been taken by that predator but is still alive. She cancels the “apocalyptic tsunami of magic” she had planned for the building to wait for Ray to either die (which would get that tsunami rescheduled) or to escape.
 
Meanwhile, Ray finds himself in an Everytown, USA. Everyone calls him “Carl” and…ugh, I’m just going to copy and paste from the book description, because it’s more concise (and better) than what I’ve come up with:
 

 
While she waits to find out what’s going on with Ray, Annalise devotes her time, energy, and money into keeping other people from getting access to that building. The last thing she wants is anyone else feeding that monster.
 
It’s the Little Things
Ray’s Ghost Knife could easily be the MVP of this series. Despite being a simple spell—and Ray’s version of it screams “bargain basement” in an endearing and charming way—is a surprisingly effective and reliable piece of magic. It turns out to be as versatile as a certain someone’s Sonic Screwdriver.

The way it’s utilized in this book is completely different than we’ve seen before, and is probably responsible for me spending more time thinking about it than I would’ve otherwise (although it’s always been a favorite thing in each book/story). As much as I enjoy the whole world and magic system that Connolly has given us, it might really be this tiny element—which almost seems to be a forgettable gadget when we first saw it—that could be his masterstroke. Just for what it’s allowed him to do in each setting.

Character Growth?
There are certain characters you run into in novels/series that are formed. They don’t display a lot of growth and development and that’s fine, they don’t need to. Most of the time, that’s a flaw in the writing/character design—but sometimes the character just is who they are and that’s good. Everyone around them changes and grows, but they remain a rock. Like a rock that Marcus Aurelias would talk about amidst the raging waves.

Annalise Powliss has always seemed like one of those characters to me—Ray and the civilians they were around would change, and Annalise would remain pretty much the same (maybe relaxing a bit and trusting Ray, but that’s it). But man, over the course of this novel, things happen to change her. The Annalise who drives away from this is not the one we met in Child of Fire.

I’ve liked her since the beginning, but this version takes less effort. More than that, I enjoyed watching the transformation (and how much she hated it when she noticed it happening, yet she rolled with it).

So, what did I think about The Iron Gate?
This book is everything I’ve thought this series could be—not that I thought the previous novels, novellas, short stories, etc. lacked anything, but this seemed to be a slightly better version of them. That’s probably because Connolly’s a better novelist now than he was when he started the series.

Given the set-up for this series, that extra-dimensional powers are about to break into this reality and devour everything—there’s an inherent darkness to the books. Ray, Annalise, and the rest of the Twenty Palaces are the equivalent of the proverbial little Dutch Boy, and they might be running out of fingers to hold back the destruction. There’s a sense of futility to what they’re about, every victory is Pyrrhic. That doesn’t take away from the gripping nature of the storytelling or the entertainment value of the novels—but you don’t shake the feeling of impending loss. I didn’t feel that this time—I have a few theories to explain it, but most feel inadequate, so I’m not going to share them. I don’t know if that’s a tweak Connolly’s making to the series, something tied to The Iron Gate‘s events, or if he’s setting us up for something. I’ll buy any of those explanations—or a combination.
 
I wonder a little bit if that makes this a more commercial novel than the previous ones. Hopefully—and hopefully word gets out about this book and it finds the audience it deserves.
 
There’s so much in this book to celebrate—the way Ray figures out what’s going on and how he tries to address it, everything Annalise gets up to, the way things wrap up, and the promise of the last chapter for what’s to come. Connolly is firing on all cylinders here, and it’s great to see. You’ve got unique magic, great action, flawed protagonists, unexpected humor, and a couple of compelling intertwined plots—what more can you ask for?
 
This would be a good jumping-on point for this series, Connolly gives you enough to get your footing in this world and overarching story while immersing you in this book’s plot (actually, he probably made this as accessible for new readers as the first book was). This is an Urban Fantasy for those who want something out-of-the norm, and is well worth your time.
 

  This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s A Death in Door County About? 

Morgan Carter owns and runs a bookstore in a tourist-y town in Minnesota. In her spare time, she’s a cryptozoologist—hunting for proof of creatures like Bigfoot, Lessie, chupacabra, Jersey Devils, and so on. She hasn’t found any yet—but that hasn’t stopped her from the search (something she inherited from her parents—along with enough money to pursue this). 

One day, the new-ish police chief of a local town comes by the bookstore to hire her as a consultant. There’ve been a few drowning victims—animal and human—in the last few months that have unidentifiable bite marks on them. The bites haven’t been made public knowledge, but the number of bodies with them and the short amount of time has him and state wildlife authorities curious. 

She jumps at the chance—but knows that if it’s not a large creature living in Lake Michigan, there’s a chance that there’s a human behind it. Finding a human cause would be a fast way to rule out a cryptid. So, while looking for indications of a creature, she does a little Jessica Fletcher-ing. One way or another, Morgan and her loyal dog, Newt, are going to find out who’s behind the deaths. 

Odds and Ends Bookstore 

So, I want to go visit Morgan’s bookstore tomorrow. It feels like it has a pretty extensive inventory—with a great selection of local information and history, esoteric cryptozoological material (due in large part to Morgan and her parents’ other gig), and some very strange non-book items for sale, too (like the non-magical section of Alex Verus’ Arcana Emporium)—I’m guessing they also have a decent selection of current books, on top of that.

The store has two employees (which does suggest it’s smaller than the inventory could suggest, unlike, say, Nina Hill’s bookstore). They’re the perfect level of quirk, competence (possibly hyper-competence), and humanity. They’re the kind of supporting characters that will be fun to follow. 

So, what did I think about A Death in Door County? 

I don’t have a lot to say about this one—it was a fun little diversion, with nice characters that I want to spend more time with. The conceit should fuel a good number of books. I can’t think of a lot to say about it at the moment, I feel like I need to see one or two more books before I can really start talking about things because so much of this book was establishing the characters and the world. The setting of Lake Michigan isn’t one that I think I’ve spent a lot of (any?) time in, so I’m looking forward to more of that. 

This was an entertaining, cozy-ish read—the addition of cryptozoology to the amateur detective who owns a bookstore was a fantastic touch. It’s really a great idea. Pick this one up, I think you’ll enjoy it. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Good Talk About?
It’s 2014 when the book opens, Mira Jacob’s son Z is six and he’s asking Mom a lot of questions (because he’s six). They start off talking about Michael Jackson—Z is obsessed with him. Z eventually asks about Jackson’s skin color—Z is half-Jewish, half-Indian and has several questions about skin color that stem from this (and likely predate this, but what do I know) which leads to questions about race, race relations, and what he sees on the news. Jacob’s committed to being open and honest with Z, but struggles knowing how much she should say—and how optimistic she should be about the state of the US in terms of Ferguson, MO, and a lot of the rhetoric surrounding the 2016 elections.

The memoir comes in as Jacob recounts several scenes from her childhood/young adulthood that shaped her. Her parents immigrated from India in the 60s (a week before MLK was assassinated) and took up residence in Albuquerque. We get a few scenes from her childhood and teen years before moving to adulthood, dealing with misunderstandings, assumptions, and unintentional rudeness based on her background. Eventually, she finds herself in New York City trying to make it as a freelance writer and dating. This is all told with frankness and humor. The kind of humor that reminded me of Amber Ruffin/Lacey Lamar’s You’ll Never Believe What Happened to Lacey from last year—you laugh so you don’t have to cry.

The Art
I really don’t know how to describe the art here, but this is a graphic memoir, so it’s a major component of the book. So I’d better try.

I saw someone on Goodreads use the term “mixed media,” and without researching it, I think it’s close enough to use as a description (maybe not technically right?). Please note that this is me trying to describe it, not being dismissive as it may sound. It’s like Jacob drew nice, but not fantastic, paper dolls of each character (some at different ages, others static) and put them on top of photographs or drawings of various locations and added speech bubbles.

I just saw that she has an Instagram account that uses images from the book (in addition to the regular Instagram stuff), so I figure I can “quote” something to show what I’m talking about:



This is nowhere near the kind of art that appeals to me in graphic novels/memoirs etc. Give me something dynamic, something with some flair, something I can bask in. But…this really worked for me. It helped give this a “documentary” kind of feel (don’t ask me to explain this, but it struck me that way). This isn’t about the glitz or the pictures jumping off of the page, it’s about a woman having tricky conversations with her loved ones—and complete strangers, sometimes. The focus is on the words, but the images help carry you along.

So, what did I think about Good Talk?

 
I typed “I really enjoyed this book”, but I’m not sure that’s the appropriate response. I don’t know that supposed to enjoy this—but her style and humor are really engaging and there’s enough hope in there that it feels natural to say. I feel okay saying that this is a good read—it’ll make you think, it might make you grin, and it’ll definitely make you wince.
 
Right away, when Jacob goes to visit families in India and they tell her that her skin tone (darker than her parents’ or her brother’s) marks her out as not as attractive or a good prospect for marriage, you can tell she will pull no punches. And you can understand why she wouldn’t want to. It’s one of the many, many things that guys like me on Scalzi’s Lowest Difficulty Setting don’t have to think of. There are many sections of the book that hit the same way—like the chapter where she talks about being mistaken for “the help” at a party her mother-in-law was hosting. The above quotation is part of that—she decides mid-way through the conversation that she’s not going to try to explain what happened, nor argue about it. Constantly having to explain your experiences—your life—to people who don’t get it has to be a kind of exhausting that I can’t imagine.
 
But there’s a lot of humor and hope here, too—not all of it at the expense of clueless white folk saying dumb things. There’s the chapter about getting her dad to use marijuana to help the pain of his cancer treatment, for example. It’s funny and heart-warming. Until he dies, of course, reminding you that this isn’t that the hope is tinged with reality.
 
I really recommend this book—it’s a deceptively easy read, and you shouldn’t let the style or format fool you into racing through it. There’s a lot to chew on, a lot to reflect on—and a perspective that should be listened to. Even if you can’t relate to her struggles, can’t agree with her politics, and find the whole discussion unsettling. Maybe especially then.
 

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

In the not-too-distant future, Aliens (of various species) have made Contact with Humanity. It’s not unheard of for them to be seen on earth, looking around. Many humans are worried about war with the aliens—that they’re around to invade or something. What they can’t accept is that the aliens just don’t think enough about humanity to bother. 

Nearby—but not that near—is a Space Station where the aliens that Earth knows about are living. It’s important to know that the Space Station is sentient. She’s allowed three humans to live on board. One is an ambassador from the U.S. (you’re going to spend a lot of time wondering how he got that appointment, until—of course—Lafferty explains it, and then it’ll actually make sense); another is our protagonist, Mallory Viridian (more on her in a bit); and Xan, an Army quartermaster, Mallory met in college a few years back. 

People tend to die around Mallory. Well, that’s not exactly true—people in Mallory’s vicinity have a tendency to be murdered. When that happens, Mallory is really good at solving the murders, too. Sure, she has to repeatedly convince law enforcement that she wasn’t involved in the murder—but after that, she’s great at figuring out who did the killing. Her presence on the Space Station is her attempt at staying away from people. Her thinking is that if she’s not around people, they can’t be killed. Yes, there are two other humans on board, but she avoids them as much as possible for their own sake. 

But now…Eternity has decided to allow a shuttle-full of humans to visit, and Mallory is worried. Beyond worried, really. She tries to convince Eternity to call it off, but before she can…there’s a murder. And before long, there are others—is Mallory up for the challenge? 

The Aliens 

There’s a lot that I liked about this novel—more than I’m going to be able to really dig down into. But one of my favorite aspects of the novel is the alien races, their cultures, how they relate to humans, and so on. Aliens should be…alien. They shouldn’t all be humanoid with a few cosmetic differences. Novels are a better place for this than movies/TV because they’re not limited by an F/X budget, but still, we tend to get variations on a theme. Lafferty’s good at keeping the aliens strange and humans should be equally strange to them (beyond a McCoy-can’t-get-the-whole-Vulcan-logic thing).

A couple of examples to start with: there’s the food on the station—a lot of it is lethal to humans, some is just unpalatable (think of the way 80s sitcom characters would react to the idea of sushi, and then multiply that). There’s also the way way that the universal translation device (fairly reminiscent of Adam’s Babel Fish) being implanted is a bloody and painful process—which is still not easy and pain-free by the end of the book. Unless I’m forgetting something (likely) or haven’t been exposed to the right things (very likely), I’m used to this being a seamless, easy and pain-free process in SF. 

We are talking about races here that can remember thinking of species like humans (and some others on the station) as “masticatables,*” before they got to the point where they saw them as sentient beings who should be treated with respect and on the same level. Physiology, communication, ethics, and worldviews that we can’t comprehend easily. Not only are they only barely interested in dealing with humans (it’s never stated, but I think most of Eternity’s residents wish they’d waited a few centuries before making First Contact)—they’re sure not going to go out of their way to make things accessible to humans. It’s up to the three on board to figure out how to survive. 

* Of the thousands and thousands of words that I read last week, that’s probably my favorite one.
 

That said, they are pretty curious about humanity’s squishy bodies full of wetness, our lack of symbiotic relationships (oh, yeah, I forgot to mention—every other race in this book is in some sort of symbiosis). Isolated creatures are hard for them to wrap their minds around. Throughout the novel, various characters repeatedly express how they can’t understand how humans get by without a symbiotic relationship of some kind—in fact, they pity humans for how they must be isolated and hampered by it. 

I could keep going here, but without writing a few hundred words on each race, I’m not going to be able to say enough (besides, that’s Lafferty’s job, not mine). Let me just sum up by saying that these aliens are alien, and we’re pretty strange to them. I love seeing both of these in action. 

A Question of Genre 

In my Spotlight post, wrote that Station Eternity is: 

 
Now, largely, genre is used as a marketing tool—how do we get this in front of the readers who are most likely to respond with their attention (and wallets, can’t forget to get Lafferty and the publisher paid). As such, maybe it doesn’t matter what genre it’s classified as—and there’s something to it. But genre also helps you talk about a book—the conventions of the genre, the way a book diverts from and/or uses them, etc. It also helps you find a book, “I’m in the mood for a good book,” really doesn’t get you very far, whereas “I’m in the mood for an Urban Fantasy,” points you in the right direction.
 
So, Ace’s marketing—and the title of the series itself—leans on the mystery. And I think that’s fair. But I think the emphasis in this novel is on SF elements. That might not really be the case* in future novels in the series, but it felt that way this time. Lafferty’s own bibliography and résumé are pretty heavy on Speculative Fiction, too—so it makes sense that the book would be Science Fiction-heavy.
 
* Pun unintended. But I really wish I had planned it.

Considered separately, I think the mystery part of the novel isn’t as successful as the SF part is. That’s largely because the SF aspects change the rules for the mystery. Thankfully, you don’t have to consider the two strains separately—the book doesn’t, there’s little reason for a reader to do that (unless you’re trying to talk about it in a blog post or something).

As I mentioned, most of the various races in the novel are in a symbiotic relationship of some kind to survive (and things do not go well for them when the symbiosis is disrupted). I think the relationship between the two genres here could be thought of that way—it’s a mutually dependent relationship. The SF needs the mystery to generate and advance the plot, and the whodunit needs the SF to have a setting and for the characters to work.

Ultimately, I think a Mystery-reader who isn’t that into SF is not as likely to enjoy this as a SF-reader who isn’t that into Mysteries will. But I think readers of either genre who are open to the idea are going to find themselves really getting into this.

So, what did I think about Station Eternity?
I’ve said almost nothing about Mallory, Xan or any of the other humans running around this book—but this has gone on too long already. Also, most of what I’d say is best discovered in the novel. So let me just say that Mallory is a fantastic character, and I’ll sign up for at least three more books about her now. She’s this great mix of neurosis (tied to all the murders around her, so they’re understandable), talent, determination and snark. We don’t get to know Xan quite as well—but I’ll eagerly take at least one more book about him, too. He’s going to be able to be a very different person after the events of this book, and I’m curious to see what that looks like.

Eternity herself is a character I want to understand more—and everyone on board, too. There’s a Princess, for example, who seems like good comic relief when we meet her—and stays that way for most of the book. Then she does something and becomes a whole different kind of character—she’s still a hoot, but she’s a whole lot more.

That goes for the series, too—after Lafferty has created this world and shaken it up pretty well in this book, I want to see what happens afterward.

But I’ve gotten side-tracked, I want to focus on Station Eternity—there’s a lot of backstory woven into plot, and Lafferty handles it well. We learn enough to advance the plot and understand the characters—but not so much that she can’t throw us a curve-ball every now and then to be surprised by someone. And she does—and I relished each of them. These events and the characters will keep you on your toes.
 
This is a funny book—in the narration, some of the situations, and the way the characters relate to each other. The circumstances around a lot of the murders that Mallory encounters, for example, are frequently ridiculous. But it is not a comedy—we’re talking about a lot of murders for one thing. Then there’s intergalactic intrigue, the dangers of space travel, and life-or-death situations all around. The interactions and histories between the various characters are full of drama and the serious stuff that comes from being a person, too. There’s a great balance of light and darkness throughout the book and Lafferty writes both with skill and a touch of panache.
 
I had a great time with this book and will be thinking about it for a while to come—and as I’ve suggested, I’m eager to see what’s around the corner. I strongly recommend this book for mystery fans open to aliens walking around, SF fans interested in a different kind of story, and readers who like good things.
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Santa’s Little Yelpers About? 

There’s a new employee at the Tara Foundation—he’s an ex-con, and an ex-lawyer (the former led to the latter). Chris is clear that he was wrongly convicted, but is trying to rebuild some sort of life and move on from there. Andy, Willie, and Sondra are happy to have him on board—especially because one of the shelter’s dogs just had a litter, and Chris has taken mom and her pups into his house until they’re ready to be adopted. 

But since this is an Andy Carpenter novel, you know what’s coming next—the dog lover introduced at the beginning of the book is headed for trouble. Chris is told by the major witness in the case against him that he was lying and will recant in court. But before Andy can get anything filed on Chris’s behalf, the witness changes his mind. Chris goes to confront him, the witness is murdered, and, as we all expected, Chris is arrested for that crime. 

It’s up to Andy, The K Team, and the rest of Andy’s team to try to prove him innocent of the murder—and maybe the initial crime. 

It’s Beginning to Look (a Little) Like Christmas… 

I’m not sure why Minotaur keeps doing these Christmas-themed Carpenter novels—there’s very little Christmas-y (or other holidays) in them. The Christmas content in this one is less than usual—don’t worry, there’s enough to justify this being considered a holiday novel or to satisfy those who want that content. But just enough for that—not one sentence more. 

I should stress—I’m not complaining about this. I’ll take any excuse for an Andy Carpenter novel, and this gives us two in a year—and some of these “Christmas” novels have been better than the others released that year. I’m just wondering. 

So, what did I think about Santa’s Little Yelpers? 

Between the 25 previous books in the series and the 3 K-Team books, I like to think I’m pretty familiar with Rosenfelt and his bag of tricks—the series and I are old friends by now, and while I have a ball with these books, I pretty much see most things coming. Or so I thought. Sure, most of the book went as I expected, and I was enjoying it as much as I expected to. And then Rosenfelt pulled off a twist that I didn’t see coming—my interest and appreciation for the book increased. 

And then he did it again. I wouldn’t have guessed that by book 29, Rosenfelt would be surprising me twice in one book. I’m not saying that I don’t appreciate the twists and the turns of the stories in most of his books, because I really do—but I usually know something like them is coming—I didn’t see either of these coming at all. (I do think I should’ve been in the ballpark for one of them, though, if I’d been on my game). And because of these reveals, a lot of the book played out in ways I didn’t fully expect. I love it when an author does this. 

Are all semi-savvy readers going to experience this? Not necessarily—but you just might. 

Even without that—this is a classic Andy Carpenter book, there’s some good Ricky material, Laurie and Marcus get to do their thing—Corey and Simon Garfunkel get some nice moments, too. Sam Willis (very minor spoiler) gets some out-of-the-office work, which is fun. And Andy meets a new judge and prosecutor and doesn’t totally alienate them (I’m not sure he endears himself to either, either). 

It’s a good time, a clever case, with some typical quotable lines. Everything an Andy Carpenter fan wants—and, as always, this would be a good jumping on point for a newbie looking for an enjoyable mystery/legal thriller to read. 

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

Gregory “It’s not lupus” House, MD’s guiding dictum was “Everybody lies.” Every police officer/detective knows and expects this, too. But there are cases where the lies fly thicker than others—this is one of those. 

DS Chris Waters and DCI Cara Freeman are called to sign off on an apparent suicide/accidental overdose. But because this isn’t a short story, they both notice some things that make those scenarios highly improbable/impossible, and the Murder Squad takes the case (incidentally, they haven’t had a lot of work to justify their existence, so it’s coincidentally good for them). They soon discover that the victim was a sex worker. This alone pretty much guarantees that everyone is going to be lying to them—her roommates, clients, the people at her former booking service. 

Some good breaks, some lucky leaps of intuition—and a little advice from a certain retired detective—help the team get to the truth. A very nice touch was seeing how Waters being a decent guy with a good memory from a previous case or two pay off now. His training served him well. 

Just Enough 

We get a little more backstory for DCI Freeman here—rounding the character out a bit. It’s nice, but I don’t know that her character needs to be humanized or anything. She’s a driven and highly compartmentalized person, and if we really only see her at work, I think that’s enough. I clearly don’t think that’s the case for all characters in this series (I’m a huge fan of the current romantic subplot for Waters, can’t get enough of John Murray as father, etc.), but for her, I’m content as is. 

But hey, if Grainger wants to shed some light on her? I’ll take it—and I thought it was a good way to show what made her into the person she is today. 

I’m Not So Sure About This… 

This could be spoiler-ish, but I’ll try to keep this detail-free. So when Grainger introduced a whole lot of new characters in On Eden Street, I wondered how he was going to serve them all—and so far, the answer is sparingly. But he’s not ignoring them, and they seem like better people to work with than the characters on the other side of the office back in the DC Smith series. We got to know some of them in On Eden Street, but there was one character Grainger didn’t do much with, but he addressed that this time. 

I think it was better to ignore her. Her activities land Waters in some hot water—and it could’ve been interesting to see this play out. It also could’ve been annoying because there’s no way that any reader would believe Chris did something that questionable, and Grainger really couldn’t afford to damage the character at this point. At the same time, it seemed almost too easy for Waters to get out of that hot water. I knew he’d be okay, but he should’ve had to work a little harder for it. 

Unless this storyline circles back in a future book, I just don’t understand why it happened. It’s the first time in 11 books that I’m really questioning something that Grainger did. 

Gildart Jackson’s Work* 

I don’t have anything new to say about Jackson at this point. I thoroughly enjoy his work, I can’t imagine listening to one of this series with anyone else, nor do I think I’d enjoy reading one on my own half as much. 

* Yes, I’m just plagiarizing myself at this point—and will likely do so in the future, I’m not creative enough to find a new way to talk about how good he is. 

So, what did I think about Roxanne? 

This is another winner from Grainger and Jackson. Grainger has this gift for taking what looks like a “small” case, an everyday kind of thing—no grand conspiracy, serial killer, or especially violent death like we so often get in procedurals—the kind of case you expect the police to deal with on a pretty regular basis, and turning it into something as interesting for the reader as a “flashier” case would be in other series. 

There’s not a lot of character development going on here—these are all adults who are good at their jobs—they’re gaining experience, getting better at them, and are progressing through their careers/personal lives as we all do. So at this point, it’s about us getting to know them better (this is not, in my mind, contradicting what I said about not needing to know more about Freeman outside of work), understanding them better, and seeing how the past builds on itself. Grainger is able to do this while telling stand-alone stories in a way that few others can. It’s one of the surest pleasures in my life watching him do this. 

Not surprisingly to anyone who’s read me before—I strongly recommend this, and all of Grainger’s DC Smith/King’s Lake Investigations series. Solid, entertaining mysteries; characters that will endear themselves to you; and a reliably clever narration (the text itself and the audiobook narrator). 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Directed by James Burrows About? 

This is largely a professional memoir about the long and storied career of TV director/producer James Burrows. 

The book starts with a chapter and a half (or so) describing his childhood, early family life, and so on—talking about his father’s Broadway writing and directing a bit and how that did/didn’t influence his career choices. Then we get about a half-chapter talking about his education/theater work. Which is all a lead-up to his TV career. We get a little more of his personal life sprinkled in throughout the following chapters, but not much—Burrows knows the interest in his own story is in the stories he told—and more importantly—helped others to tell. That’s where the focus of the book is—he’s giving the people what they want. 

And it feels like a pretty a fairly exhaustive tale of the various shows he worked on and his involvement in them, with an occasional interlude to talk about something like screwball comedy and why one would use it, with some examples from his own career. There’s no way it can be exhaustive—and it sure isn’t detailed by any means*—he’s got too much under his belt, but he comes close. 

* That’s a description, not a criticism. Burrows gives plenty of details, but not blow-by-blow kind of stuff too often. 

He starts with a discussion of his time on The Mary Tyler Moore Show where he learned from some of the best around how to do what he does—and a lot about comedy. Then he moves on to where he becomes a driving influence on the show—and that’s the majority of the book. Which is what’s named in the subtitle: Taxi, Cheers, Frasier, Friends, Will & Grace. There’s plenty covered in the “and More” for sure—including many things I hadn’t realized he’d worked on (but make a lot of sense knowing that he did). The book does cover what he did in 2020 and 2021, so it’s about as up-to-date as you could want. 

The stories of these shows include a lot of how they came about in terms of writers and networks and what kind of story they were going to tell before moving into casting, shooting the early episodes, audience reception, and success. The bulk of the material is behind-the-scenes, but there are a lot of descriptions of what ends up on-screen (including short-to-lengthy portions of the script), and how it landed. Most of his work is done with a live studio audience, so the immediate audience reception is almost more important than the TV audience’s. 

There are stories of failure, things not working out quite right—and how he/the show recovered—either immediately or long-term. But almost all of the book is about the successes (why give more than a few sentences, for example, to a pilot episode that less than 100 people have seen/will see?) 

The Narration 

Burrows has some performing in his background, but not a lot. And that’s pretty evident in the narration here. He’s just not that good—there’s very little feeling in it—even when he’s telling a story he clearly (and correctly ) thinks is funny, you don’t hear it. When it’s an emotional moment for him, you don’t hear it. His affect is pretty much the same no matter what he’s talking about, and that really hurts the book. 

Also, when he’s reading dialogue from a scene? You wonder how an actor will listen to him and come up with a good way to deliver a line. That feels harsh to say, but that’s the way it struck me. I think here it’s a deliberate choice—my gut tells me it’s a desire not to try to do an impression of an actor (especially one that would come across as unflattering) or he could be avoiding trying to give a different/competing take on the line. I don’t know—it comes across as flat, and these lines shouldn’t.* 

* See We Had a Little Real Estate Problem for where a similar approach to narration worked better. 

I know Burrows can tell a good story—I’ve heard and seen him interviewed. But here, he just comes across as wooden. 

So, what did I think about Directed by James Burrows? 

It’s clear to readers of this blog that I read a lot, but I could’ve easily done a TV-watching blog—and started one about the same time as this (but that’s another story). James Burrows is one of the first non-actors whose name I recognized as creating the TV I watched back in elementary school, and his involvement in a show will definitely get me to watch at least an episode or two if I’m at all interested in the premise. I’m the target audience for this book, no doubt. 

The material overcame the narration—the first chapter and a half were really rough, I couldn’t connect with it at all, and was thinking about giving up. But once he moved into TV, I got over the fact that I didn’t care for the narration and had a blast with the book. The man has many insights, anecdotes, and memories that TV fans will eat up, and shares many of them. 

Directed by James Burrows is full of trivia, insights, and just great stories. If not hampered by the narration, I’d be gushing about this. Instead, I’m just giving a hearty recommendation. TV junkies? You’re going to want to get your hands on this one. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Hell and Back About?
Recently, Walt has across repeated references to Fort Pratt—a military base and a school for natives there. Neither Walt nor Henry had heard of this place before, and it made him curious—he did a little looking and asking around about it and found one person who knew something.

And now…Walt wakes up in the middle of the street in that town. He doesn’t know who he is, or what he’s doing there, and keeps running into people he vaguely recognizes (or thinks he should) and readers do. Then he finds himself witnessing events surrounding that school’s destruction by fire—which killed the 31 boys living there.

Meanwhile, Henry Standing Bear and Vic are trying to track down Walt. He’s been on the hunt for a suspect in a murder and hasn’t checked in for a while—they get to the area he was last known to be and find some disturbing signs, but no Walt.

While they look for Walt, our favorite sheriff and the reader have to figure out where he is and why—and does it have anything to do with the Éveohtsé-heómėse, the Wandering Without, that Walt encountered in the last book?

Hmmm…
I wanted to give a section focusing on each of our main trio of characters—or at least the two main storylines. And I can’t. Anything I say would divulge so much of the plot/mechanics of the novel that I’d ruin something.

So why am I spending time talking about this? 1. I don’t want it to look like I’m harping on just one point (see the next section) and 2. to make a point—these threads are so tightly woven in this book that to look at any of them, you have to look at how it all plays out—from beginning to ending. Don’t decide—or try to decide—what you think of anything until the ending—you’ll be wasting time and effort.

Is Craig Johnson Taking a Stand?
A mixture of native Spirituality (beliefs, practices, and possible occurrences) have been around since the beginning of this series as a constant, but emphasized in books like Hell is Empty and last year’s Daughter of the Morning Star. But the novels have never really taken a stand on whether a spiritual entity/entities or powers are interacting with Walt and others or whether that’s one possible interpretation—and maybe Walt was hallucinating/dreaming due to physical injury, mental exhaustion, hypothermia, etc.

It really seems like Walt believes it’s true in the moment (sometimes he has to be convinced), but then brushes it away. Although a couple of times, I thought it was Henry who suggests an alternate explanation—Vic never seems to give a mystical idea any precedence.

If only for the amount of this book that appears not to transpire in our world, I think that Johnson’s not really pretending to be neutral anymore. Even Walt’s “but maybe…” take seemed halfhearted.

I think I’m fine with it—if only so we don’t have to have this discussion so often within the books. As long as Johnson isn’t trying to veer into Urban Fantasy or anything (and I don’t think he is), go for it. Let Walt be convinced by his experience, embrace them, and move forward that way. At least let him wrestle with it, not just brush it away.

Now, if Vic starts seeing Virgil White Buffalo or something like him…that might be a problem.

So, what did I think about Hell and Back?
In his Acknowledgements, Johnson says he attempted to create “a Western, gothic-romance with traces of horror.” “Traces” is a good word—it’s just a hint, like the hint of whatever fruit a particular can of La Croix tells you it has (maybe a little heavier). The rest seems like a good description of the result—I guess I’m not sold on “if” he should’ve tried, or at least tried in this way. I don’t want this series to turn into a bunch of cookie-cutter novels about Walt and the gang solving mysteries at home or in a nearby county. But…not all experiments are successful.
 
I’m torn. I enjoyed this, I like that Johnson is constantly trying to keep each novel from being a duplicate of a previous one and trying to do new things with well-established characters. I thought the ideas were great, I appreciate that Johnson wants to discuss things like the horrible conditions and events in “Indian schools.”
 
But I think this was a lousy Walt Longmire book. There were some strong character moments for Vic and Henry (and a moment or two that I’m not so sure about for each). I don’t think it was a good use of the character of Walt Longmire or the kind of story that’s good for the series. There are a couple of things that could spring from this for future books, but I think Johnson probably could’ve gotten there a different way.
 
Yes, I’m prepared to eat my words in that last sentence, but I feel pretty safe about it.
 
This was a good follow-up to the previous book, but it’s also a wholly unnecessary follow-up. It ended so well, and yet so ambiguously on one point that I thought was very effective. This book takes away that ambiguity and takes away the power/mystery from the conclusion.
 
Long-time fans will find enough to justify their time (there’s a moment where Vic reveals a lot of herself to another character that’s one of the most honest moments in the series for her, for example), but I expect most will be unsatisfied by the book as a whole. I think I was. Still, while this might not have been the most successful Walt Longmire book, I tip my cap to Johnson for giving it a shot.
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Movies (And Other Things) About? 

Serrano discusses movies from the point of view of a massive fan—he knows what he’s talking about, he can discuss them objectively, critically, and as a fanboy—mostly a combination thereof. In this collection of essays, he approaches films of the mid-80s (largely) to today, answering burning questions such as:

The mental whiplash between those last two shows the range that Serrano is capable of. He also ranks the deaths/trauma in the Kill Bill movies, discusses adjusting recent Academy Award nominations/wins after making sure Romantic Comedies are given their credit due, what movie villains would be fun to hang out with, and how aN NBA post-game style press conference with Michael Myers would go.
 

There’s a great combination of movie knowledge/insight, social commentary, and humor mixed throughout each of these. Even when it came to movies I’ve never seen, have no interest in seeing, or saw ages ago and don’t remember well, Serrano kept me pretty engaged and entertained.* 

* Except maybe with the Fast and the Furious discussion, I don’t know why…I just can’t care about this franchise. 

A Word About the Narration 

I’ve heard Serrano as a guest on podcasts, and would’ve assumed his natural ability, experience, and passion would’ve made him a natural to read his own audiobook. But for whatever reason, Mario Toscano got the nod instead. 

And I can see why—I had no problem believing I was hearing Serrano himself read these (maybe if I’d pulled up a podcast to listen to first, that wouldn’t have been true)—which is important when I’m hearing something so personal or passionate as this often is (see Black Nerd Problems, for example). Toscano sounds like a knowledgeable film geek going off on various topics—I think he could’ve put a little more energy into some of the quotations, but I’m sure there are good reasons for not doing that. 

Ohh, man… 

While researching this post, I saw that the ebook has three additional exclusive chapters…I might have been able to resist, but one of the chapters is “When Was Hans Gruber’s Subtlety the Most Threatening?” 

So, I’m going to have to buy a print copy of this, too. I have to read this take. 

So, what did I think about Movies (And Other Things)? 

I had a blast with this—it’s the equivalent of sitting around with a bunch of friends talking about movies for far too long, which is one of my favorite ways to spend a lot of time. Even when I think he was out to lunch or arbitrary in some of his choices, I could get behind them for the sake of argument or be entertained by them. 

Man, I wish I knew where he came up with some of the topics. If I spent a year doing nothing more than coming up with the chapter titles (never mind the content), I couldn’t be half this creative. 

I didn’t need anyone reminding me of Opie Winston’s death scene—ever. But especially not in a book about movies where I didn’t know to be emotionally prepared for such a thing. Serrano lost a star from me for that one.* 

* Not really, but it was cathartic to say that. 

That incredibly important quibble aside, if you’re a current/former/would-be movie geek, grab this, you’ll have a blast. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Days of Tao About?
Cameron Poe is about to graduate from college—he would’ve graduated already if he hadn’t picked up a D in Art History, of all things. To make up for that before he can start training to be a full-fledged Prophus operative, he’s taking a summer class in Greece with a couple of his friends. It’s a relaxing time in a fascinating part of the world with an interesting group of students—and a chance for one last college romance before he has to focus.

But then a Prophus agent needs immediate extraction because he has vital information to share, his life is in danger, and the Genjix are about to take their aggression to the next level throughout the world. And Cameron’s the closest thing that the Prophus have to an operative in the country.

Cameron can’t abandon his friends, though—and they won’t abandon their classmates—so he ends up dragging along most of the group on his rescue mission (why make things easy for himself?)

What did I think about The Days of Tao?
I bought this shortly after its publication, and have no idea why I didn’t read it until now (and don’t get me started on The Fall of Io). If it accomplished nothing else, it got me thinking about the series and remembering how much fun it was.

I don’t remember what I thought of them while reading them (and I’m not going to look), but I remember the Tao novels being a little longer than they needed to—that’s not a criticism, but I think they could have been tightened up a bit. Not this—the advantage of the novella—there’s not an ounce of fat to this, not one wasted word. That’s not to say that it’s all plot or anything— Beyond the action and the extraction, there are some good character moments, some necessary development of Cameron, and a couple of laughs—but this novella never slows or drags for a moment. Once the agent says he needs extraction (and, even before that), we’re off to the races and you’d better be buckled up.

Looking at this book’s place in the series, it serves to put the action and the characters (including Io) in place for The Rise of Io. Was this a necessary bridge between the Tao and Io books? Not really no. That’s one thing about these Subterranean Press books—they’re a nice bonus to completists, but people who don’t want to/are too slow to shell out the money for the nice hardcovers (and don’t want to go ebook or audiobook) don’t miss anything they need. But man, it was a nice way to spend an hour or so with some old friends. I really enjoyed this and would commend it (even at this late date) to fans of Tao and the Tan family.