theirresponsiblereader's Reviews (607)

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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 What’s A Wash of Black About? 

A year ago, DI Erika Piper was assaulted in the course of her duties, she survived, but it was close. It’s her first day back to work, and it’s a doozy. 

A famous actress has been murdered and her body was essentially left on display. It’s a recreation of a very famous scene from a movie she starred in—the same way her character was killed. Well, almost. The film version departed from the novel it was adapted from on a couple of points—this crime scene is loyal to the book. The publicity around this case is going to be huge—as will be the pressure to solve this quickly. 

Is this a personal grudge against the actress disguised to throw off the police? Is this a crazed fan paying a gruesome tribute to the actress/movie/novel? Is this someone working off some other twisted purpose hiding it beneath the spectacle? 

This killer isn’t satisfied with one murder—and soon it appears the killer has Piper herself in their sights. 

DI Erika Piper 

Piper arrives in this book nearly fully-formed, sure, there’s room for development and growth in the books to come—but as a character, she’s fully fleshed out. She has a past (that we get a glimpse of), well-established relationships with fellow detectives, her superiors, crime scene investigators, coroner, and so on—as well as a full personal life. 

Frequently we get these layers a little at a time with a series like this, and only after a few books, do we get to see the character’s entire world (or at least a good deal of it). McDonald doesn’t go that route, we could be reading the 4th or 8th book in the series, not the first. I don’t mind taking the former route with a character—and I understand why authors might make that choice—but I love it when an author successfully pulls off what McDonald did here. 

She might be physically ready to come back to work, but she’s not fully ready on the psychological front (it’d be easy to argue she never will be). I don’t think she came back too soon, but she has some work to do on that front, and it was great to see a character actually do that work rather than the typical “detective does just enough to get the shrink to sign off on their return to duty.” 

I particularly enjoyed the relationship Piper has with DS Liam Sutton. They work so well together, and their interactions and rituals bring this part of her world to life. I’m hoping to see more of that in the books to come. 

A Mistake or a Red-Herring? 

I don’t know about you, but I frequently find myself talking back to books when characters are making mistakes. Boy howdy, did I mutter at Piper a lot about one thing. There’s a witness that I (based on my extensive training and experience as a reader of procedurals) figure should’ve been talked to right away. And Piper and the other detectives ignore them. 

Now, was this an oversight on McDonald’s part? Should Piper have tracked this person down? Is this a red herring designed to trip up readers like me? 

I’m going to assume it’s the latter—although it could also be a sign that Piper’s a little rusty. Either way, it drove me nuts. 

So, what did I think about A Wash of Black? 

I had such a great time with A Wash of Black. It hit the spot just right—well-executed and satisfying. It’s not reinventing the wheel, there’s nothing revolutionary about it. It’s a solid, confident police procedural that delivers all the twists and complexity that the genre demands—with a good cast of characters, an engaging protagonist, and a compelling killer. You don’t need to be flashy or to subvert conventions or anything when you get everything as right as this one does. 

I said it above, but it bears repeating—there’s no indication that this is the first in the series—or a debut for the novelist. McDonald approaches this with the assurance of an established writer. It shouldn’t need to be said, but just to be safe, I will—this is not the same kind of book as his Stonebridge Mysteries, and it takes no time at all to see that. Don’t go looking for anything cozy here. 

I’m eager to come back for the second, Whispers in the Dark, in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, I heartily recommend this to you. 

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

About a year ago, Rachel—a new widow in need of a companion—came into the Tara Foundation’s dog rescue facility and fell in love with a Chow Chow named Lion (who reciprocated)—Andy remembered her fondly. Then she calls out of the blue with a favor—will Andy take the dog if she dies and her stepson, Tony, can’t/won’t take the Lion? 

Andy says of course he will. Within a week, Rachel’s been murdered and Andy learns more about this woman. She was rich, in an eye-popping kind of way, and Andy is told to come to the will reading. He’s confused by this, but assumes it has to do with taking possession of Lion (just in an unusual way). The reading is interrupted by the police coming to arrest that stepson for her murder. 

Andy visits Tony and decides to take his case—for solid, evidence-based reasons, and not at all because he seems like a nice guy, his Great Dane mix had recently died and he’s excited to take Lion. Okay, that’s not true—Andy smells something off about the case, but it’s (naturally) because Tony’s a nice, dog-loving guy. 

The police and prosecution are presenting this as a case of an heir being angry at the size of their inheritance. But Tony doesn’t have a history of being that interested in money. Andy wonders if the murder might have something to do with the fact that Rachel had been taking an interest in her late husband’s company’s day-to-day activities lately. Or is there maybe something else afoot? 

It’ll take the combined efforts of Andy’s firm, The K-9 Team, and the Bubeleh Brigade (the retirees-turned-hackers that Andy uses from time to time) to get to the bottom of this. 

When Will They Ever Learn? 

I’m not wondering why prosecutors don’t immediately drop the case when they hear that Andy has taken on a client. He does have a few guilty verdicts on his record. Although, you would think they’d require the police to tighten up their cases and make sure there aren’t any threads hanging once Andy requests discovery. 

But what I wonder is that given his track record, why they don’t take him seriously when he calls the FBI, DEA, Homeland Security, or any other three-lettered agency. (note: I wonder similar things when Joe Pickett starts meddling in non-wildlife issues). I’m not saying they need to roll out the red carpet or anything for him—don’t let Andy Carpenter, of all people, call any shots. But he shouldn’t have to rely on favors from a friend of a friend or threats to get someone to take him seriously anymore. 

How does no one have this conversation: 

 
Although, some of that threatening and calling in favors can make for entertaining scenes. So, y’know…
 
So, what did I think about Holy Chow?
Andy Carpenter #25? That’s a mind-boggling number. I know it wasn’t that long ago that I read #24, but I don’t think it registered. So, does the Andy Carpenter series have anything new up its sleeve? (I’m tempted to make an old dog/new tricks joke here) I won’t rule it out, but we don’t see much new here.

But that doesn’t make this stale, either. There’s a comfort and a reassurance in knowing Andy’s behavior while the jury deliberates, the fact that Pete and Vince are going to bust his chops and put their food on his tab, that taking a walk with his dogs will help Andy come up with an idea, and so on.

I’m not trying to take a shot at anyone here, but where this feels comfortable and not tired and repetitive is that Andy has settled into these patterns—this is his life. He’s not, say, constantly second-guessing his choice of career (as much as he complains about it), he’s not trying to decide between a sexy Homicide Detective love interest and a lethal and hot Security Specialist love interest after 30+ books. Just to come up with some completely random example that no way could be describing any particular series.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that the twenty-fifth novel in this series might not have a lot that’s new, there’s still a lot of fun to have. And, we might get a glimpse of a different side of a long-running character (a continuation of something from Citizen K-9)

The humor is still present and sharp, the courtroom antics are fun (maybe a little subdued this time compared to others because of the case), and you can’t beat the time hanging with these characters. Both the solution to this case, the reveals involved, and the resolution are as well-delivered as always.

Readers new to the series or those who’ve been around since 2003* will find plenty to enjoy in the pages of Holy Cow. A good time should be had by all.

* Or at least since Open and Shut, no matter when they read it.
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Love and Other Monsters in the Dark About? 

I have no idea how to answer this question in any but the most annoying way—it’s a collection of forty-two short stories and flash/sudden fiction (however you want to refer to them). Learning that this is only 186 pages long emphasized just how short these stories are. 

As far as this collection goes—the stories are about love and monsters, basically. The fact that the title says “Other Monsters” suggests a little about what kind of love stories will be told. Let’s just say that none of these will be fodder for a Hallmark movie. 

The genres these stories approach the subjects from are varied—there’s some Science Fiction, some Horror, some Crime, and a little General Fiction—there’s even a Zombie story (a Zombie story I liked—despite my frequent claims that I don’t like the genre). 

Self-Depreciation 

Jensen does not have a lot of good things to say about writers in these pages, those comments both ring true and are some of the funnier lines in the book. In one story, a character cites a line in an earlier story and casts aspersions on it. It’s a small moment, and if you don’t recognize the call back you will miss absolutely nothing—but if you do catch it, you’ll enjoy it. 

(yes, it’s possible that there are other self-referential moments that I missed. Which would only bolster that point about missing the one I caught not making that much of an impact) 

There are not many lighter moments in this book—it’s about monsters, after all. So it makes those that Jensen provides all the nicer. 

So, what did I think about Love and Other Monsters in the Dark? 

It’s even harder to answer this question than the first one…the short version is, that I really liked it and was more than impressed with Jensen’s skill and versatility. I could list names of stories that wowed me, but that wouldn’t be useful to anyone (and my list would be really long—and incomplete). If I told you a little about the stories or why they were so effective, I’d ruin the experience for you. My hands are tied on being too helpful here. 

If I did this as a profession, I’d take the time/effort to give you numbers here, but I’m not, so you’ll get impressions. A little more than half of the flash fiction aren’t complete stories—they’re the beginnings of stories, the introductory page or two for a short story, and then they end. Oddly, with one exception, that was enough for me—I was satisfied. 

Well, I say I was satisfied, but I’d have loved to turn the page and get the rest of the story. Yet in a way that I cannot really understand (or, evidently, explain), what Jensen gave was enough. And that one exception had nothing to do with the brevity, it was the piece—I don’t think it would’ve resonated with me no matter how much content was provided. 

Now, when she told a whole story in either the flash or short fiction? Some of the best short fiction I’ve read in a dog’s age. Sure, there were two or three stories that didn’t work for me, but that’s about my taste, not Jensen’s writing. 

There are moments of sweetness (frequently deserving the prefix “bitter”, sure, but the sweetness is what I remember), there’s some heartbreak, too. There are just some horrible people and worse outcomes. I’m not sure there’s a “happily ever after” to be found, but maybe a few “better than it could’ve been” endings. Sure, there are also the horror stories or the SF that tends in a horror direction. Those might have been my favorites. 

I’m going to stop flailing around, trying to describe my impressions of this book. In short—this is the kind of short fiction I want to read more of, and the kind I don’t find that often, which is why I read so little of it. Fast, well-written, impactful—these literary snacks will stay with you longer than you’d think they will based on the length. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s We Are Legion (We Are Bob) About? 

Bob Johansson is a nerd—he’s both into SF and actual space travel, and the technology we’re developing to study space—he’s also come into some pretty good money by selling off his software company. Just as you start to like the guy, he’s killed in a freak accident—and he wakes up 117 years in the future. 

Between cryogenics not really working out the way anyone intended, some change in governmental policies, and a bunch of other stuff better described in the book—Bob finds himself as a sentient AI, a possession of a post-USA government. Assuming he functions well enough to pass some training, Bob’s destined to control a space probe—one capable of making duplicates of itself (himself?). 

Bob and his clones are charged with finding new planets for humans to colonize—a task made urgent after events that happen after the initial launch. 

The Tone 

What I haven’t said anything about there is the tone—this is a comedy. There’s interstellar travel, combat, death, destruction, and the threat of human extinction—but Bob and his clones are a hoot and they’ll keep you grinning and chuckling throughout. 

It’s not a comedy like Adams—it’s more along the lines of John Scalzi or Scott Meyer—there’s a decent plot and a mostly serious story with actual stakes—but the characters are ridiculous and/or consistently funny and quirky. 

How was the Narration? 

I thought the description I read for this book had promise, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to give it a try until I saw that Ray Porter was narrating it. A no-longer active book blogger had told me Porter was her favorite narrator, and I thought he did a fantastic job with Winslow’s The Dawn Patrol. His involvement convinced me. 

I’m so glad it did—he was great. I think I would’ve enjoyed this with most narrators or in text form, but something about Porter’s narration and characterization of the clones added just the right element to an already fun book. Part of the conceit of the book is that the clones have slight (but noticeable)-to-significant variations in personality. I think making some of those with the slight variations noticeably different in the first-person narration is a great achievement—it’s hard to describe, I realize. You need to hear it for yourself. 

So, what did I think about We Are Legion (We Are Bob)? 

I don’t have a lot to say about this, sadly, it’s one of those I wish I could say a lot about. I had a lot of fun listening to it, and couldn’t wait to get back to it when I walked away. 

It had just the right amount of seriousness to keep it from being nothing but jokes, and you really got invested in all/almost all the clones—that level of investment in AIs is rare for me. Bob (well, the Bob that woke up an AI) and his several clones are nothing but fun. 

I spent most of the book thinking that as much fun I was having, I probably wouldn’t continue. But by the time I finished, I knew I’d be back for more. I’ve read/listened to a little more SF this year than I normally do, and it’s books like this that are fueling that. 

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

Mace and his dogs are moving in different circles after the events of The Keepers, and get called to help the FBI look for a missing mother and daughter—they were kidnapped after a home invasion went wrong. Their husband/father, financier Kenneth J. Druckman, was beaten and left behind. It’s up to Mace and Vira to give them a lead. 

Sadly, it doesn’t take long for Vira to find the mother’s body on Druckman’s land, or for her to act like Druckman did the killing. It’s not like Mace can just point at the billionaire and shout, “J’accuse!” He’s going to need to find more than the word of his young dog—he also needs to help the FBI (if he can) to find the five-year-old girl before it’s too late. 

Kippy Gimm (now a detective) and the rest of Mace’s dogs are, of course, in on this, too. 

Non-Mace Perspectives 

Typically, I’m not a fan of a first-person narrated book frequently switching to the third person—usually the killer. It doesn’t turn me off of a book, but I really don’t enjoy it. Burton, however, has done a better job of it in this series than most authors. I don’t know that I can say that I’ve enjoyed every instance of it—but, unlike most, in the previous two books in this series, those sections have added to the novel. 

That really doesn’t sound like a compliment, but it was one. 

In The Lost, most of those scenes/chapters are essential. The way this novel is set up—and the crimes perpetrated by the various criminals involved (and there are a handful)—necessitates that we see things from several perspectives that aren’t Mace’s. There’s just no way that he can find this information (he doesn’t require it, but the reader is going to demand to know what’s going on)—and it’d take months of investigation after these events for the FBI to figure some of this out (assuming they’d try). 

The later in the book we get, the better these non-Mace portions get. Particularly those from the daughter’s point of view, they brought a lot to the table and got me really invested in these characters. 

I still think I’d prefer more Mace and less of everyone else in future books in the series—but The Lost really shows that this approach can work. It also underlines how good at it Burton is. 

So, what did I think about The Lost? 

I’m not sure how the space is given to the non-Mace perspectives in this book compares to the previous novels, but it’s significantly more—that alone makes this novel feel different. The fact that many/most of those sections of the book take place prior to Mace’s involvement with the Druckman family also contributes to that feeling. I appreciate the fact that Burton’s doing things in Book 3 to make sure the series doesn’t get in a rut. 

Sure, it’d be a fine rut to get stuck in and I’d have gladly read more books that were structurally similar to The Finders and The Keepers.* But I’m glad Burton made the step now and didn’t wait until he needed to shake things up. 

* I read The Keepers a year ago and didn’t get the title until right this moment. I’m not too proud to admit that. 

I’m not sure that we needed to learn about Kippy’s job woes at this point—it didn’t have an impact on this book, as FBI-centric as it was. It might have been better to talk about her difficulties with her new assignment when it’d have a bearing on the plot, and wouldn’t risk feeling like a repeat when it does come up. It’s not a good position for her to be in—I don’t want to minimize that—I’m just not sure the reader needed to get that information now, I don’t know what we’re supposed to do with it. As complaints go (and I think it’s the only one I had with this book), that’s a pretty minor one. 

The pacing on this is strong—we hit the ground running with Mace and Vira at the beginning and we really don’t stop. There isn’t a lot of time here for contemplation and rumination—it’s not a breakneck speed, but it’s a steady jog. Again, it shows that Burton’s doing something different in this book. 

I feel like I’m spending too much time talking about how different The Lost is from the other books—and I don’t mean to harp on it, I’m just commenting on the various ways it is. I don’t know that readers who aren’t writing about the book are going to spend that much time thinking about it—I think they’ll note the freshness of it, they’ll feel the overall effect, though. I’m not saying it’s better or worse than the other two, just appreciatively different. And that’s a nice thing. 

As always, any time spent with Sue, Maggie May, Delta Dawn, Vira, and Billie Joe is a boon. They’re a fun pack of animals to read about—and I’m already looking forward to their next adventure. Mace and Kippy are good, too—but we all know who the stars are here. 

This would be an okay jumping-on point to the series, I’m not sure you’d get the full idea of Vira’s special talents—but that’s okay, it’s not required to appreciate the books. The important thing is that mystery readers—particularly the dog-loving kind—jump on to the series at some point. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Against All Odds About?
Two years ago, Lt. Jacob Grimm, did the right thing in a crisis situation. Sadly, the optics of his action were horrible and the political fallout from it turned a promising Naval career into a dead-end endeavor. He’s assigned to an obscure post—where he does well but is destined to fall into obscurity and having to leave the navy.

Then politics intervenes again—and he’s assigned a ship to command. The commander unexpectedly died of natural causes a couple of months ago, and Interceptor needs someone to get it back into shape. Grimm doesn’t know the politics behind this assignment—and doesn’t care. This is his last hope of doing anything with his time in the Navy that won’t be covered in scandal.

In the intervening months, the ship has fallen into disrepair (its major drive component is missing!), and there’s little-to-no discipline among the crew. Grimm has his work cut out for him.

Meanwhile, a hostile (foreign) government, pirates, other criminals, and an obsessed scientist are at work in this sector—naval high command is up to something, too. Grimm and his crew only know about the pirates, so they don’t realize just how interesting/dangerous life is going to get.

The Technology of this Universe 

 
One thing every book about interstellar travel has to deal with is how both travel and communication are handled. I appreciated Haskell’s approach, it feels as grounded as any series that’s not going to force generation ships on everything can be.
 
The way he designed the technology/construction/etc. of the ships really appealed to me. There’s a very Star Trek-feel to the whole thing, but without the shiny panels and great lighting, the physical aspects of the ships are more Firefly-like. Think Moore’s Battlestar Galactica, just slightly less advanced.* There’s also a feel of 20th Century Navy ships and submarines—unforgiving metal everywhere, a focus on function over comfort/aesthetics; cold temperatures everywhere; worrying about what could happen to things that aren’t bolted down while the ship moves; food that’s nutritious, but not necessarily appealing.

* I’m a little annoyed with myself here. I spent the entire novel thinking about the Star Trek/Firefly comparison and only got around to BSG because I wanted to throw on some Bear McCreary as I wrote this. BSG is a better way to envision the tech/atmosphere. There’s a very non-subtle Star Trek homage in the novel, so I feel okay getting it stuck in my mind.

So, what did I think about Against All Odds?
I’ve enjoyed the first two novels in Haskell’s Full Metal Superhero series (and have been kicking myself for years for not reading more of them), but this? He’s clearly been working his craft since 2017, and it has paid off here.

I spent a good portion of the novel wishing he’d spend less time on the subplots—assuming they’d end up being important, but all I wanted to do was get back to the Interceptor. It made me question several of my reading choices over the last couple of years—why didn’t I read more things like this? There was a brief spy vs. spy thing, too, as part of a subplot—I could’ve used more of that. But once the subplots started converging on the Grimm/Interceptor story? It was like having my cake, eating it, too—and not caring about my A1C levels.

My impatience aside, this was skillfully paced—he kept the tension mounting as you become more invested in the various crews and characters, and as the layers of the plot get pulled back to reveal Haskell’s game plan. The combat scenes—the ship vs. ship scenes in particular—were great. There are times I feel shallow and adolescent for enjoying that kind of thing the way I do, but I get over that pretty quickly.

I would say the Epilogue felt unnecessary—if the reader didn’t assume most of what we got there already, I’m not sure they were paying attention. I think it’d have been better for Haskell to trust the reader to assume the Epilogue and/or to see the effects of it play out over the next book or two without spelling it out quite the way he did. That’s my major beef with the book, and if it takes until the Epilogue to get something like that? That’s a pretty good sign. There were a couple of other choices I questioned, but I want to see what Haskell does with them before I spend too much ink on them.

I’ve got Book 2, With Grimm Resolve, scheduled for mid-July—and at least one too many books on my June schedule—but it took all my discipline not to dive into it after finishing this. Do yourself a favor, grab some popcorn and settle down with this for a couple of hours—you’ll have a whale of a time.
 

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Magic Kingdom for Sale–Sold! About? 

Ben Holiday is a recently widowed trial lawyer from Chicago. His wife’s death has left him devastated, he is essentially going through the motions in all aspects of his life. One wintery day, his mail includes a holiday catalog addressed to his wife (younger readers should consult their parents about mail-order catalogs). She loved those kind of things, so Ben flips through it as a way to connect with her. One listing catches his eye—an offer to purchase a magic kingdom, with all that is implied by that. 

He can’t get the idea out of his mind, eventually flying to New York to meet with the representative for the company about the offer. It’s sincere, he’s told, for one-million dollars (largely refundable within a brief period of time), he can buy a kingdom—becoming its king, with all the benefits that come with that. 

He’s so desperate to change his life that Ben gambles on it. Takes a leave of absence from his practice, liquidates 1/3 of his investments, and buys it. 

He’s astounded to find out that the advertisement was true—it’s another world, he gets there magically and the world is full of magic. He has a wizard advisor, a scribe who’s a talking dog (okay, technically a man accidentally turned into a dog), a magic castle, and a pair of kobolds as servants. 

Sadly, it’s been so long since a legitimate king sat on the throne that the Kingdom’s magic is dying. The magic is weakening, and the people, plants, and animals are suffering. If something doesn’t stop it, Landover will cease to exist. 

Does Ben Holiday have the ability, conviction, and grit to restore Landover to its former glory? 

Ben’s Emotional State 

One of the best things about this book is the depiction of Ben’s clinical depression. It’s never described in those terms, but it was clearly shown. His desperation at finding a way out of this life—and then his second thoughts, once he saw how real (and un-fairy tale-like) Landover was, also rang true. 

I’m not quite as convinced that Brooks’ depiction of his resolve to stay and fix things—or the reasoning behind it—was quite as successful. It was clear, but it was a bit more telling than showing. 

I’m willing to bet that when I read this back in the 80s/90s, I didn’t appreciate this aspect as much as I should’ve, but I sure do now. 

How Was the Narration? 

This was a much different book than the other time I listened to Jeremy Arthur (Looking for Calvin and Hobbes), so I wasn’t sure what to expect. I would’ve hoped for a little more “life” to it—I wanted him to bring out the personalities just a little more. I’m not saying he did a bad job, at all, he could’ve brought a little more “oomph” to it, is all. 

I do wonder if a little of that impression should be directed at the text and not Arthur. That’s absolutely possible, maybe even likely. 

I do see that the previous version of the audiobook was recorded by Dick Hill. Nothing against Hill, but man, I’m glad I got this version—I just don’t see how he was the right guy for the job. Then again, I’d have said the same thing about Dave Barry books, and he surprised me with Best. State. Ever., so what do I know? 

I guess what I’m saying is that Arthur did a fine job—I’m not over the moon, but I’m not complaining. I don’t think I did a great job of conveying that. 

So, what did I think about Magic Kingdom for Sale–Sold!? 

I don’t remember exactly the first time I read this book—it was published in 1987, and it’s entirely possible I read it that year. If not, it was soon after that. I loved it and read it several times in the following years. I wasn’t sure how it’d hold up after all this time, but I had hope that it’d be okay. 

It largely was. As is so often the case, the memory was better than the reality. Nostalgia a tricky thing. 

Some of the language—especially in dialogue—was a bit stiff and stuffy. I kept thinking, this is a story about a guy who buys a magic kingdom, it should be a little more fun. Holiday didn’t have quite the sense of wonder about Landover that I wanted—he had some, but he was a bit too serious about everything. He wasn’t quite like Eustace Scrubb pre-dragon cave, but he sure wasn’t like the Pevensies, either. 

I love the concept, I think all the characters are exactly what you want in this kind of story, and the worldbuilding was spot-on—all the ingredients are there, I just didn’t love the execution. It was an entertaining read and did everything right—it just felt reserved. If this was first published today, the drama would’ve been starker, the joy/wonder would’ve been turned up and it’d have been more amusing overall. 

Basically, I probably should’ve left good memories stay that way. 

I remember thinking the first sequel was okay but the next one really disappointed me, and I didn’t continue with the series. I went into this thinking I probably wouldn’t continue—and I likely won’t. If only to keep what luster is still attached to my memories. 

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

Newly minted DI, Charley Mann, returns to her hometown in Yorkshire. She grew up here, fell in (and out of) love here, and started her career in the police here. She clashed a bit with a superior, got promoted, and was sent to London for a few years to get some more experience. 

Now she’s back and ready to get to work with the people and area she loves. As is the rule for newly transferred DIs/DSs in British procedurals, before she can even meet with her team or superior, she catches a murder case. I’d pay good money to read a book where someone transfers into a new assignment, settles into their office, gets to know people, and starts to wonder if anything ever happens in these parts before being hit with a major case (if only to see how an author could give us a couple of interesting chapters along those lines). 

Back to Payback—this is a gruesome and odd murder. It’s not an easy crime scene to understand—there are too many things that are incongruous. Charley begins to suspect that’s intentional—a suspicion that grows after another body is discovered just as the investigation starts to stall. Things get really interesting from there. 

So, what did I think about Payback? 

I don’t have a lot to say about Payback, and that bothers me. Hopefully, Condemned sparks more thought. 

I’m conflicted here, I’ll admit. Let me start by saying that I enjoyed this book, I’m looking forward to picking up the second one, and I think that I can recommend it (with some provisos) to you. 

At the same time, there are some big problems with the book. The dialogue is typically wanting—frequently, it feels like they use 33% more words than they need to. Quippy bits, snappish retorts, etc. would land a lot better if they’d chop off a third of the lines. Trust your audience to get what you’re going for without the explanation. The narrative portions—especially those explaining Charley’s backstory or emotions—are less than good*. It’s the telling vs. showing thing, it’s a lot of being too wordy (see above), there’s some unexplained motivations—it’s hard to explain without spending more time than it’s worth. Lastly, the characters—with the exception of the killer—all need a little more sketching out. It’s the first in a series, so you can assume that’ll happen and I’m not going to complain about that (too much). 

* That said, there were a couple of moments that shone—I just wish they weren’t buried amongst the “meh.” 

That’s a lot to complain about there, so why did I say I enjoy it? The police procedural part of the book—thankfully, the bulk—saves this. The murders, the motive, the way that Charley leads the investigation, all the ups, downs, and curveballs—that was exactly what I came looking for in this book. Even some of the “Charley over-explains things” work because she’s trying to help a detective and a uniformed officer understand some things about the job. The moment when Charley starts putting everything together, connecting all the dots, and so on at the end? That was great. I can shrug off a lot of problems when the central plot is executed as well as this. 

I realize a lot of people are going to disagree with me about some of my problems, and that’s okay, we’re all wrong sometimes. I do recommend this, I just think you need to go into it with the right expectations. I am looking forward to the next two books—I want to see if Bridgestock can build from this, how a story arc or two are developed, and if the one impending personnel change brings a better character than the one being replaced. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Crazy in Poughkeepsie About?
Mick comes home from two weeks at summer camp to find out that his brother’s trip to Tibet to find a personal guru ended up being much shorter than anyone expected. He did find a guru—Guru Lumpo Smythe-Finkel—and that guru came home to Poughkeepsie with him. The guru and his dog will be sharing Mick’s room for a while.

Mick’s life is sure different afterward—the guru takes him under his wing (or tries to) and they spend most of the daytime together. Mick also picks up a couple of friends—a would-be graffiti artist, who tags buildings with warnings of environmental/health dangers and a quirky young woman (who probably isn’t crazy) who lives in trees.

Before the summer year is out, Mick will play a ghost flute, attend a ghost party, meet people a whole lot stranger than anyone I’ve mentioned so far, see a dog use a stuffed rabbit to help a car navigate, and things too strange for me to summarize in this way.

How Were the Illustrations?
They were fittingly odd. I enjoyed them and thought they added a nice little bit of seasoning. They’re not essential to the text, they’re a pleasant accent.
 
I really liked the ghosts—the whale in particular. I think drawing ghosts among and around some of the living has to be a challenge, and I like Renier’s approach.
 

 
So, what did I think about Crazy in Poughkeepsie?
This is a wonderfully weird story. The absurd moments flow effortlessly from one to the next. As always, I’ll not that seemingly effortless moments obviously are the result of effort, skill, and talent.

I haven’t read a Pinkwater book since…wow. The 1980s? I don’t think he’s missed a step—some of the jokes feel a little dated—do people still do the plastic covering on furniture?. But maybe not (although when I was a kid I think I wondered the same thing). Either way, most of them are fresh or evergreen. Jokes aside, there’s a sense of ridiculousness running throughout this that has to appeal to readers young and old—especially those who embrace life’s quirkiness.

The plot is on the lean side, but it’s not the important part. This book is about the journey, not the destination—and it’s a fun ride (to a pretty good destination, I should add). It’s been too long since I’ve spent time with this author, I need to fix that.

Also, any MG book that’s both amusing and uses the word “obstreperous” casually is worth a read.
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Adult Assembly Required About?
This is not the most auspicious way to meet your protagonist—she’s in a new city, she knows nobody, and is about a month away from starting grad school, so is in kind of a limbo—waiting to start the next chapter in her life when her apartment burns up (with everything she owns) and she’s caught in a massive rainstorm before stumbling into Knight’s bookstore.

Thankfully, Knight’s is just the right place for someone to stumble into—not only will you find a great selection of books and people to help you find the right one, (at least in this case) they’ll take you in, get you a towel, a cup of tea, befriend you, and will help you find a place to live—the illegal boarding house that one of their staff lives at has an opening.

Maggie Morse is a widowed therapist, her children have moved out, so to fill up her house, she rents out as many rooms as she can—once Laura moves in, that total is five boarders, two dogs, and a cat. All are just a wee bit eccentric, which is just what Maggie wants—to fill her life with interesting people. The 80s sitcom just begs to be made, doesn’t it?

She and Laura hit it off, and Laura moves in. We quickly learn that today isn’t the only bad day that Laura’s had—she’d had a couple of years’ worth of them and has moved to L.A. for a fresh start as well as graduate school (she could’ve stayed in NYC for that, but her overbearing family and her ex-fiancé are there).

And from this point? Well, life—and possibly love—ensues.

No Islands, No Rocks

If The Bookish Life of Nina Hill was about finding and understanding family (while finding love), Adult Assembly Required is about friendship and its power to help you define yourself and your place in the world—alongside, or possibly in place of, family—(while possibly finding love).

It’s not just about Laura’s new friendships—there are so many layers of overlapping, intertwined, and free-standing friendships of various levels of closeness throughout this book it’d be nearly impossible to diagram. You could really excise (or ignore) the romantic plots within this and it’d still carry a heavy emotional impact.

Study after study, article after article, book after book talks about how disconnected Americans are today, that people are lonely and isolated—even those in close-knit families feel this way—that we need friends, friend-groups, and social connections outside the home. And to see all of these strong friendships and the impact they have on the people involved—topping it with how Laura’s life changes for the better and she becomes stronger because of and as she develops friends? It’s fantastic to see. You want to be friends with some/all of these people.

I’ve got nothing against a decent love story (over one book or a series), teams/partners working together are great, and there are plenty of great rugged individuals all over the literary landscape. But there’s something special about healthy and solid friendships.

The Nina Hill of It 

 
I was a little apprehensive about the idea of revisiting Nina Hill—that book was just so good, and we left her in the perfect place—a good chance of a Happily Ever After, a fresh start with her family, and her vocation/life purpose was revitalized and re-energized. Why disturb or revisit that?
 
But in making her a supporting character—Waxman gets to give fans (and, I expect, herself) some more time with this delightful character, but doesn’t have to jeopardize anything from the ending of The Bookish Life, because the focus is on Laura along with Polly and Impossibly Handsome Bob. Nina is just one more of the eccentric characters that Laura encounters in L.A. and as she becomes a friend she helps Laura—but the agency, the interest for the reader is on Laura.

I wasn’t sure I wanted anything like it, but now I’m fully on board with the idea of a Nina Hill Extended Universe and hope Waxman will return to it frequently (but not necessarily exclusively).

Only Missing Taylor Doose
One of the most impressive things that Waxman did in this book (and to an extent in The Bookish Life was making this little area of L.A., Larchmont, feel like a small town—not just a small town, but an idyllic small town like Stars Hollow.

It’s still in LA—with the traffic, weather, intricate highway systems, and questionable public transit—but in at least this one area it’s a community. Neighbors help and support each other’s businesses, know who the quirky people are, go to street fairs, have a Booster Club that’s apparently effective, et cetera.

I’m sure there are real communities scattered about in larger cities like L.A., but this feels different—yet believable.

So, what did I think about Adult Assembly Required?
I’ve tipped my hand already, here, I’m sure. But I loved this. By the time I’d read four pages I’d laughed enough that my daughter was giving me a look from the other side of the room. That settled down a bit as I re-acclimated to Waxman, but the book stayed as engaging and witty from there.

Waxman’s narrative voice is the real star of this book—Polly’s a fantastic character, ditto for everyone else in Maggie’s house, I’d love more time with Polly’s grandmother, and the assorted cats and dogs* are fantastic—but I’d be more than willing to read a version of this book without any of them just to read this narrative voice. It’s chatty, it’s snarky, and it’s still a reliable third-person omniscient. One day, I may be able to define the je ne sais quoi to define what it is about this voice that makes it so special, but until then I’ll just enjoy it (and not really care if I can describe it).

* Ugh. The pets! I forgot to write anything about the pets! Especially Daisy the pug. I don’t have time, and this post is too long anyway. They’re all pretty great, even the cats. But Daisy is magic. Am thinking of starting a petition calling for Book 3 in the NHEU to be about her.

I’ve spent a lot of time talking about everything but Laura Costello. Primarily because I don’t know how I could do so without making you reading the book irrelevant, once I start, I don’t know that I would know where to stop. From the moment you see her in the bookstore and hear about her bad day, you want to see her have a good day. When you do see that, you want to see more of them—and you want to see her put herself in positions to have many more of them. And as she has them, you want her to have even more.

She took some hard and important steps to put herself in L.A.—but those aren’t enough. She has more work to do (I don’t think she realizes how much more), and she needs support to get it done. The remarkable thing is that she gets that support, she’s surrounded by it, when she realizes her need—these friendships enable her to get to the point that she can see her need. And (very importantly), it’s not one-sided, she’s able to give support and encouragement and prodding even as she receives it.

Impossibly Handsome Bob is probably also Impossibly Good. But who cares? He’s just fun to read about, especially as he reacts to Laura.

Adult Assembly Required is funny, it’s sweet, it’s heartwarming, and will make you feel good all over. I canceled a thing or two and shuffled around my plans so I could find more time to read this because I just didn’t want to stop once I started (and didn’t regret it!). I’m not promising you’ll have the same reaction, but I don’t see why you wouldn’t have one like it.