theirresponsiblereader's Reviews (607)

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What I Knew About the Franchise 

Going in, this was the sum total of my knowledge about Halo:

In other words, I had no preconceptions about this going in. My tabula was about as rasa as you can ask for. 

What’s Halo: The Fall of Reach About? 

In the 26th century, humanity has colonies in star systems throughout the galaxy. And finally, that moment we’ve been waiting for happens: First Contact. And like SF movies from the early 20th Century tried to warn us: the alien race we make that First Contact with is vastly technologically superior and isn’t friendly. 

They’re called the Covenant, and are apparently made up of an association of various races—each with their own specialties. And unless something dramatic happens, they’re going to wipe out humanity. They don’t seem that interested in humans joining with them or assimilating humanity. It pretty much seems like they want humans eradicated. 

Enter Dr. Catherine Halsey of the Office of Naval Intelligence. She’s got an insane, ethically-vacant, implausible idea—she’s going to take a bunch of children, train them to become the greatest soldiers in history, surgically/medically augment them, equip them with unbelievably advanced suits of armor, and set them loose on the Covenant. Basically a combination of Urban-Legend understanding of ancient Sparta + Ender’s Game + Red Rising + Tony Stark’s suits. 

We see these Spartans in action, flashback to their early training, and then see them at their—and possibly the war’s—most pivotal moment. We get to know a few of them, a bit—but the focus is on the trainee who will become their Master Chief. 

There’s also a plotline focusing on one starship commander (he switches vessels a couple of times, so I’ll go generic there) who takes a lot of risks—and has some solid crew members to back him up. Their combination of nerves, cleverness, and luck makes them about as successful as you can be without the scientific enhancements that the Spartans get. Eventually, they play host to the Spartans on a last-ditch mission, and that’s when things really start cooking. 

So, what did I think about Halo: The Fall of Reach? 

I don’t have a lot to say about this. Like every book (so far) that I was recommended in this 12 Books challenge, this isn’t something I’d typically read. But this was pretty fun. Sure, Pierce Brown and Mike Chen aren’t going to be looking over their shoulders worrying about Nylund—but the dude can write an entertaining scene with some decent character moments. 

The battle scenes in particular were just what you want in a book like this (or a video game like this, I assume). The space battles brought me back to Jack Campbell’s books or the Robotech novels that I lived on in the late 80s. I need to make time for more stuff like that. 

Reach, I should mention, is the biggest and most important military base for humans outside of Earth—the location of both are tightly kept secrets. So the book focusing on the fall of Reach tells you right away that this book will have an ugly end. And, spoiler alert, the title is apt. 

But there’s hope—in the Dumb and Dumber “So, you’re telling me there’s a chance”—kind of hope. But that’s enough for a bioengineered super-soldier, a cocky AI, and a starship of maverick officers, right? 

I’m definitely not going to rush and grab another Halo book to see what happens next or to learn about other escapades of the Spartans/Master Chief. But if they come across my path? Yeah, I’d read more. 

If you’re into Halo or if you want to understand what someone in your family/friends group sees in the game, this might be just the ticket. It’s a decent amount of fun with just the right amount of action. Give it a shot. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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Oops
I knew I should’ve written this post before I talked about this book on the Barbican Station podcast, I’ve been struggling to write this since—I’ve lost the impulse, having said just about everything I can think of about the book.

But I’m about to run out of renewals at the library, so I’d better get something done.

What’s Reconstruction About?
On the surface, this is a story about an inadvertent hostage situation. A young man, Jamie Segura, is told that if something happens to his boyfriend, he’s to go to a nursery school in Oxford and find a lady there who can help him understand. Which is what he does.

On the way to the school, through circumstances far beyond his control, Jamie picks up a gun. So when he shows up at the school, he gets the attention of those present—one of whom, the teacher, shows a remarkable amount of presence of mind and locks the place down, so that no more people can be stuck inside with him—it’s just the aide who cleans up the place, this teacher and one father with his twins. Louise’s quick thinking keeps the other staff, parents, and students away.

In addition to the instruction to find the lady at this school, Jamie has a name, Ben Whistler. Whistler worked with Segura’s boyfriend, they both are accountants for MI6. Not really the kind of guy you want in a hostage negotiation, but when he’s the one man the hostage-taker will talk to, you make do.

As the novel progresses, we learn what brought each of the people to the school that morning—their motivations, their past, and their very tenuous present are peeled back and exposed (mostly for the reader, but some for them)—while we also see what happens from the time Whistler arrives. This novel is like an onion—or an ogre—each time you pull back a bit and reveal something, you discover there’s a lot more you need to discover. For me, the structure is reminiscent of Hawley’s The Fall but in a more compressed time—and perhaps more effectively told. But now I’m clearly out of things to say describing what happens and have started talking about the book in an evaluative way, so I’d better move on to the next heading.

The Gun 

 
One of the things that really grabbed my attention early on was during the hostage situation was that the attention wasn’t on Jamie Segura, but on the gun he was holding. It’s all about the gun—at the moment, Louise probably couldn’t have described him at all, he’s a boy, that much she’s got, but nothing more. She’s not alone there, the others are in the same boat—the gun is what’s important, the gun is essentially personified.
 
That’s such a great choice. The reader is focused on the gun so easily, just like Louise and the others. Really, at that moment—even the reader isn’t that concerned with knowing anything about Jamie, just what’s he going to do with the gun. Later, once Ben Whistler arrives and starts to get Jamie to open up a little, then our attention and interest shift to him, as they ought. But that’s secondary.
 
Later in the novel, there are other guns that are important—but that, too, is for later. And even then, they’re not focused on the way this gun is, because we know the people behind them (largely) and what they’re going to be used for.
 
The Prose/Narrative Voice 

 
We meet the narrator of this very early on—at the same time they tell us they’re not going to be around anymore (they might have 2 sentences total where they mention themselves). So we know that this isn’t some sort of neutral or omniscient third-person. There’s a human involved in telling this story, but we know precious little about them. But it does add some color to the reader’s experience.
 
The novel is told in a wry, detached sort of humor—but there’s nothing funny going on. It’s very strange—it’s not a comic thriller, those contain things you’re supposed to laugh at, actually funny moments. This is told like that without any humor. Individual phrases, sentences, paragraphs—even a couple of paragraphs are funny if you read them out of context. There’s a lot of wit involved in the way the words are assembled. But in context, nothing’s funny. It’s deadly serious, and even the wry narrative comment or three doesn’t relieve the tension–if anything it ratchets up the tension.
 
I don’t know how Herron pulled it off. I really don’t. I spent time re-reading passages trying to see if I could figure it out. And I just can’t. It’s the kind of thing where I see it in action, admire it and then have to move on.
 
What Exactly is Being Reconstructed?
I don’t spend too much time thinking about titles to books, really. I’ll think about “The 2019 X Character book” or “The Y Writer Stand-alone about Z” with a vague idea about when I read it—if I need the title, well, that’s what my spreadsheets and Goodreads are for.

But every now and then, a title will stick in the back of my head as I read a book—this is one of those cases. What could Reconstruction be referring to? The rebuilding of post-war Iraq? The police (or someone else) taking all the evidence around the hostage situation and putting together how it happened? The narrator taking in everything and putting it together in a way the police can’t? or…I have a list of around a dozen guesses. I’m pretty sure at least half of them are defensible. Like the layers of story and character that Herron peels back, there’s a lot to think about in just the title.

So, what did I think about Reconstruction? 

 
The book opens with (almost) all of the characters waking up, going about their normal business not knowing if today is the first day of the rest of their life or the last day…all they know is that they have to get up and do some things. Then The Gun (and the poor, scared young man holding it) show up at the nursery school, and everything changes.
 
I’ve read and listened to Slow Horses, and while I enjoyed it, I’ve yet to move on in the series (I’m not sure I can explain why). But this book turned me into a Mick Herron fan—it’s going to be one of those books I’m thinking about for a long time to come. (and the more I think about it, the more I like it)
 
It took me a little bit to settle in—but even before I did, I was loving the prose and narration. Once Herron finished setting things up and introducing characters and starts letting them just do what characters do, I was hooked. From the surprising and horrific image (and sound!) of a car striking a man running out in front of it, through the events at the nursery, to the jaw-dropping last page—and killer last line. This is a great read.
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Double Take About?
Madison is approached by Travis, the desperate boyfriend of Barrett Brown, a reporter for an almost impossibly-small newspaper who’s been missing for five days. He’s afraid she’s been abducted, he’s afraid she’s being tortured or worse, and is about to die.

Madison is dealing with some medical issues and just finished a case that took her out of state, but how can she possibly leave this to the police (who don’t seem to believe that Barrett didn’t just ghost Travis)? So she jumps into action—retracing Barrett’s steps, figuring out what story she was working on—assuming that’s the reason she’s missing.

This leads Madison down a twisty path into a criminal conspiracy that she can only see the barest outlines of—and might end up leading her into grave danger.

While she’s searching, Madison has to deal with someone having her followed, the aforementioned medical issues, and a truly inconvenient spark of attraction between her and Travis. Who might not be the great boyfriend he gives the initial impression of being.

My Alma Mater
Chapter One takes place on the campus of the University of Idaho—so you know Breck gets extra points from me for that. Would’ve been an easy 5-Star read if the whole book had taken place there—or at least most of it.

But no, Madison has to go home to San Diego—sure, it’s hard to blame her, San Diego in October has got to be more pleasant—wrecking my hope for a PI novel on campus.

Madison’s Development
After the events of Anonymous, Madison’s picked up some notoriety—she’s become a go-to for missing persons. This is great, she’d been bemoaning how all she’d been doing was insurance work in Anonymous, and it wasn’t that fulfilling—but as we see in the above quotation, she’s finding satisfaction in her work. It’s also nice to see that she’s getting some attention, you frequently get the idea in P.I. fiction that the work is largely unseen.

Another departure from the norm is that Madison’s monetarily successful at the moment—the typical PI is scraping by. Not Madison—at least not now.

The focus on missing persons reminded me of Elvis Cole, just up the coast from Madison—but despite some wealthy clients, you don’t get the idea that he’s as successful. He definitely doesn’t seem to get the notoriety. So, I guess I have to update my one sentence description of Madison from being “Kinsey Millhone for today” to add “with an Elvis Cole twist.”

It’s good that she’s got money coming in, because this self-employed, and likely under-insured woman has medical bills. I wasn’t sure what to think of the discussion of Madison’s past cancer in the first book, but seeing it here, I’m seeing what Beck’s intention is and I like the way it gives the character another dimension and unconsciously (sometimes, anyway) shapes her actions.

Madison and Barrett
One of the ways you can see the appropriateness of the title is that from the first conversation with Travis, Madison starts noting all the coincidental parallels between what’s she’s told about Barrett and what she knows about herself. This can go one of two ways, typically—either this becomes a large hurdle for the protagonist doing their job, or it’s a motivator. This largely serves as a motivation—but it also causes a couple of problems for Madison—at most it’s a distraction occasionally.

It’s arguable that she gets invested pretty quickly because of the parallels, but not by much. Also, Breck finds a way to use this sense of them being so similar in both a positive and negative way for Madison—and then adds a new layer to this later in the book. It didn’t go the way I expected, fully, but I appreciated it.

So, what did I think about Double Take?
I was pretty enthusiastic about Anyonymous, and this cemented my initial impression of Breck and Madison. I was enjoying this the entire time, but toward the end, Beck shifts into high gear and…wow. It’s the kind of ending where you find yourself leaning forward as you read, because somehow that helps you get to what happens next faster; you don’t hear the music/people/animals around you; and your eyes move just too slowly. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating there, but woe betide anyone who attempted to distract me during the last quarter or so of the book.

This is a fast-paced book. The main action starts Monday evening and ends in the pre-dawn on Friday. In that time, Madison has to find a missing (hopefully still alive woman), figure out why she’s missing/abducted (which leads to a larger criminal act), deal with some personal (some of which should have been dealt with already) and medical issues—and maybe catch a wink or two of sleep. All that in a short amount of time helps explain a couple of the blunders she makes—but those help ground and humanize her, so who cares about them? Especially the way Breck uses those mistakes.

And, hey, she still quotes Nero Wolfe twice. University of Idaho and Wolfe quotations—it’s really like Elizabeth Breck wrote this for me. A delusional thought, I realize, but I like my delusions.

I do wish Breck had made it a little more difficult for the reader to see the things that Madison didn’t/put together. I get why she did that, and it was probably the right move, but I still would’ve preferred to work a little harder. That’s the sole issue I have with Double Take, and who knows, any other day, I might have considered that a feature instead of a bug.
 
Even if you’re not me, if you’re a fan of P.I. novels, I don’t see how this novel/author/character/series doesn’t appeal to you. Madison’s tough, smart, lucky (and knows how important that is), and committed. Brisk and assured writing. A nice bit of sleuthing to find a pretty clever crime (committed by some people who really shouldn’t ever get into criminal activity—and some who seem born to it). My only regret is that I have to wait for the third book in this series to be published before I can dive in.
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Pay Dirt Road About? 

Annie just graduated from college and moves back to her hometown to decide her next move. That’s the generous way to look at it, anyway, we’ll get back to that in a bit. She’s waiting tables at a local diner—well, the local diner in Garnett, TX. It’s hard to say exactly how large Garnett is, but it’s not big. But given the nearby oil fields, there’s a lot of money as well as a lot of poverty in this smaller town. 

Annie and her roommate/cousin spend a lot of their evenings drinking, frequently with others they graduated from high school with. One night they go to a bonfire at the home of one of Annie’s former classmates and unexpectedly run into a co-worker, Victoria. Victoria has overserved herself at this point and doesn’t show signs of slowing down. When Annie decides to leave, she tries to find Victoria but is told that she’s gone off with someone. 

That’s the last anyone sees Victoria—the last anyone will admit to, anyway. Her body is found a few days later. Driven by guilt for abandoning her, Annie takes advantage of an offer from her grandfather—former sheriff, now a PI—to work for him and look into the case. 

Annie 

Annie is what many would call a deeply flawed character, but others would just say human. She’s trapped by her own insecurities as well as ego. She knows she could likely do well in law school—but it would be hard and risky. She could probably talk herself into the challenge, but failing means losing hope she could get away from Garnett, and I don’t think she’s willing to do that. 

Like so many people in similar circumstances, not knowing what to do, she drinks, so she doesn’t have to think about it for a while. And drinks a lot. This wouldn’t be a big deal for me as a reader, but Annie spends a lot of time judging her grandfather for his drinking—especially when they’re supposed to be working. She doesn’t say anything to him, she just keeps it inside and lets herself indulge. It’s things like this that make her a wonderful, complex character. 

The Sense of Place 

I’m vague on a lot about the town of Garnett (size, demographics, etc.), but I also have some concrete visions of certain parts of it. It reminds me a lot of the TV version of Dillon, Texas—which seemed to change size, economic status, and makeup from week to week, depending on what the story called for. 

As I type that, I realize that my ideas about Garnett are basically half-Samantha Jayne Allen/half-Friday Night Lights. Annie would basically fit in with the Tyra Colletes and Tim Riggins of the world, not the Jason Streets and Lyla Garritys (although we get glimpses of that part of Garnett, too). I just thought of three paragraphs I could do paralleling the worlds of these two fictional towns, so I’d better move on before this becomes a very different kind of post. 

What I kept getting was a feel for the town more than anything—it’s the kind of place where the best and brightest leave after high school, and the big question is: will they come back? You get the impression that if they do, it’s not because they chose to—they either have no choice, or it’s just as a way station–like Annie intends. Some of those in the latter category end up sticking around, usually not by choice. This bleakness covers the whole of the novel—in the successes as well as the failures (and the in-between moments). 

At the same time, it seems that few of these people are there by choice. It is their home. Up until two weeks before her death, Victoria had been tied to Garnett, but she had plans. Annie intends on leaving. But when it comes to the land of Garnett? Their families’ acres? There’s a reflexive, instinctive, and deep sense of possession and binding. Everyone knows that Annie’s going to leave town at some point—but when there’s a suggestion that someone is going to buy the land she’s set to eventually inherit? That sets an emotional fire in her that I think surprised even her. You see something similar with Victoria, too. People like them may not like Garnett, may not want to live there but it’s home. It’s their home, and will be. 

So, what did I think about Pay Dirt Road? 

I don’t know that I can say that I particularly enjoyed this book—by design, it’s not a good time. But it’s a great experience. Allen’s sense of character and sense of place ensures that the reader feels what’s going on. Particularly, but not limited to, Annie’s experiences. 

Like with any good mystery—and look at character—Pay Dirt Road is as much about the investigation as it is the history of the characters—for Annie, this goes back to High School, for her family, the history we see goes back far before that. The past illumines the present, and helps the reader—and eventually, Annie and others—to see what’s going on in the present. 

Last year, I finally got around to reading The Far Empty by J. Todd Scott. Garnett doesn’t have the same kind of corruption (at least that we see) going on, but it has the sense of setting, of bleakness, and dedication to place/city/home. Between these two books—not to mention Locke’s Bluebird, Bluebird and Kent’s The Dime—I’m starting to think I should focus more of my Crime reading on the Lone Star State. 

This could be the beginning of a series—and if it is, I’ll be at the front of the line for the sequel. This could be a stand-alone, and if so, it leaves the characters in a good place—both in terms of closure and promise for the future. Either way, this is a book that’s going to linger in the back of my mind for a while, and I think that’ll be true for others. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Death in the Sunshine About?
Moira retired as a DCI doing undercover work, moved into a retirement community in Florida, adopted three dogs, and started on the next stage of her life—and tried to put everything that happened before retirement behind her. That was her goal, she was done with all that. Until early one morning when she finds a murdered woman floating in the swimming pool.

A neighbor and acquaintance—and leader of the community watch—comes upon the crime scene after the police arrive, sees Moira, and brings her back to his house to find out what’s going on. His wife was a CSI officer back in the UK, and Philip was also a DCI—he and Moira never crossed paths in England, just once she moved in. Philips’s friend, Rick, is a retired DEA agent and is also involved in the community watch.

Philip and Rick see this murder as an opportunity to get back into their old lives and bring some peace of mind to their neighbors—there’d been a string of burglaries recently, and now a murder, in their supposedly incredibly safe and secure community. They take it upon themselves to drag Moira and Lizzie into their impromptu investigation into the murder.

The police have no interest in, or patience with, what these four are discovering. They’ve got a quick and easy theory and solution in mind and are pursuing that—no matter how off-base they might be.

In addition to this murder (and possibly the string of burglaries that have gotten more than a few residents on edge), there are other mysteries bubbling under the surface—some involving the retired detectives, and others around their new home. We’re not going to get a resolution to them all in this book, maybe the sequel. Broadribb gives us just enough to get really invested in them without the reader feeling cheated that we didn’t get a resolution while making sure we’re coming back to see if we get to uncover the answer.

Un-likeable Leads
I’m not one who thinks you need to like all the protagonists in a book as people—but it helps if you like them as fictional characters. Death in the Sunshine gives a prime example of how it’s not necessary to like all the protagonists for a book to work.

I’m going to withhold the names, but I only liked two of these four as people—but all four made compelling characters. One of those I didn’t like, I might end up liking, once I decide how much I can trust them. But the fourth just rubbed me the wrong way all the time.

I can’t believe how many times I grumbled about Character X in my notes. I understood a lot of what made X act in the ways that made me dislike them so much, but that doesn’t excuse the choices they make throughout—that could have easily put the kibosh on their whole investigation.

Is it possible that Broadribb will change my mind about X in the next book? Absolutely. But I kind of hope she doesn’t, as long as I can keep liking the other two.

Pet Peeve
It’s been a bit since I’ve grumbled about this, but if a UK-based writer is going to write American characters, they really should get an American Beta reader to focus solely on making sure they sound like people who grew up and live here. I assume the experience for me is similar to someone from London listening to Dick Van Dyke’s Mary Poppins accent.

Now, I will say that it’s not that bad in this book, it’d take me only a little browsing through my archives to find worse offenders. But I expect a bit more out of Broadribb. She did make a wise move, I think, by having three of her four leads be from the UK, though.

So, what did I think about Death in the Sunshine?

 
You start this thing having read the description, and you think this is going to be The Thursday Murder Club with different accents and a less amatuer-ish feel. This assumption lasts maybe two chapters before crashing headlong into the sharp rocks of reality.
 
It’s a wholly different setup, wholly different tone, with wholly different kinds of characters, and a wholly different relationship to the local police. This is a grittier kind of feel, with characters that feel like they could’ve stepped from the pages of other series right into this one.
 
Broadribb does a pretty good job of balancing the point-of-view characters, but I thought we could’ve gotten a little more of Rick, the ex-DEA agent, but that might just be me. Some of the supporting characters were a lot of fun, too—hopefully, they’re around in the sequel(s).
 
I particularly enjoyed the way Broadribb had these four reflect on what got them into investigating this case, and what it brought back for them. I’m years away from having to think about what life’ll be like when I leave the workforce, but there’s something about their reactions that spoke to me.
 
Strong characters and settings that we don’t see a lot of in Crime/Detective Fiction, some voices/perspectives that we could use more of, neck-deep in a case that should satisfy most genre fans. Now that Broadribb has established this world and characters, I’m expecting things to get better from here (and they’re pretty good where they are).
 
Jump on board this train while you can, readers.
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Drown Her Sorrows About? 

A new deputy investigates a report about an abandoned vehicle and calls Bree for backup, the owner left her home three days earlier after a fight with her husband and hasn’t been seen since. He’s been waiting for her to cool down and hasn’t been worried about her—it’s not the first time this has happened. But given the state of her vehicle, the deputy and Bree fear the worst and begin searching the area. They soon discover the body of a woman who looks like she jumped off a bridge into the river—they presume it’s the missing woman, but can’t be sure because of the body’s condition. 

Once it’s determined that the woman has been murdered—Bree and her investigator, Matt, get to work—was she killed by her husband? Was it her sister—driven by repeated disagreements on how to deal with their mother’s medical bills? Was it her temperamental boss with the shifty-looking business practices? 

Throw in her continued adjustment to a domestic life and helping her niece and nephew process their grief, learning how to be the top banana in a Sheriff’s Department (including having to work with deputies that aren’t interested in doing things by the book; the beginning of a secretive romantic relationship with Matt who happens to work for the department as a consultant)—and you’ve got yourself a novel. 

Chief Deputy Todd Harvey 

Something that struck me in the last book, but jumped out to me here, and bugged me throughout—Leigh isn’t doing right by at least one of her supporting characters—Chief Deputy Todd Harvey. We’re told that Todd was one of the non-corrupt members of the department under the previous sheriff; he tried to do right by Matt during his troubles, and he’s been super supportive and helpful to Bree. He knows the area—and the politics—and yet he’s basically Detectives Ryan and Esposito—he’s around to deliver exposition, deliver timely information, get warrants, etc. That’s all. 

There’s a pretty similar dynamic to Bree/Matt in the Walt Longmire books with Sheriff Longmire and his undersheriff, Moretti—those two are at the forefront of the cases, doing most of the work that the reader sees with other members of the department playing supporting roles. But even there, Saizarbitoria, Double Tuff, or even the new hire whose name escapes me at the moment, get to do more than deliver exposition or do behind-the-scenes work. If they appear in a book, there’s something that they bring to the story beyond delivering messages or warrants. 

Ol’ Todd deserves better. Let him sit around and participate in the brainstorming. Let him handle an interrogation, or find the missing evidence, etc. Just give him any kind of storyline. Bree’s old partner, now housemate, serves a similar role on the homefront—and Leigh started to give her a story in this one, so I know it’s possible. 

Series Timeline 

We’re told that this book starts roughly four months after the murder of Bree’s sister. That doesn’t seem like enough time. 

It may be about the right time frame for Bree’s niece, and you could argue that it’s about right for her older nephew. They’re still adjusting, still grieving, still trying to figure out how to behave in school, etc. But you mean to tell me that in four months, Bree’s closed two major cases (with one more underway), settled into her new job, started a (secret) romantic relationship, hired some new deputies, and is getting the runaround from elected officials about her budget? I just don’t buy it. That’s not enough time. 

Another way to look at it is: you’re telling me the spate of murders in the last four months doesn’t have them throwing money at her to crack down on the crime stats? 

Does this really affect me or my enjoyment of the book? Not really, but every time they bring it up I have to stop and think about it for a minute before shrugging and moving along. It’d be great if that part wasn’t necessary. 

So, what did I think about Drown Her Sorrows? 

This is another engrossing and entertaining read from Melinda Leigh. Once you get the setup for the novel, the pages just melt away. I always finish these faster than I expect to and am surprised when they end. 

There’s something effortless in the prose and engaging about the characters and stories. Sure, I have quibbles and questions about some of Leigh’s choices after I put the book down. But while I’m reading (other than the Todd stuff), they don’t register with me, and I’m just wanting to find out what happens next and if I was right about the killer’s identity. The reveals are satisfying, the twists are well-delivered, and the herrings are just the right shade of red to keep you guessing. 

These are fast and fun books, you should check them out. So far, these work as stand-alones or entries in a series, so you’re probably safe to jump in at any point. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Spelunking Through Hell About?
Alice Price—grandmother to the primary protagonists of this series—has spent the last fifty years jumping from one dimensional reality to another, seeking her husband who has been taken from her as part of the deal he made with the crossroads. Alice has sacrificed just about everything—her health, almost every waking moment, her children’s childhoods, and her relationship with them, for starters.

Now, given some information Annie was given as she defeated the crossroads recently, Alice knows that the clock is running out, she’s going to have to take some risky and dramatic moves in a last-ditch effort to bring her husband home. Assuming she can find him, that he’s still alive, and interested in coming home, that is.

Alice calls in markers, gets help from several allies, and takes some big—possibly fatal—risks to follow her last theory about where to look.

Hopefully, it’s worth it.

Quo Vadimus
The first five books in the series, while interconnected, felt very stand-aloneish. Then we got Annie trilogy—which started out as something in the same vein, but then shifted into something else, something else that ended up informing this book—and then we had the pretty intense duology about Sarah. Now we have this one, which feels stand-aloneish again, but is also the consummation of things that go back to the beginning.

That’s how the series struck me as I read it, anyway—although between what McGuire has said and a little bit of thinking I’ve done in the last day or so, maybe it’s not the best way to think of things—easier to say from this vantage point. At any rate, this book sure feels like a turning point in the InCryptid series.

So where does the series go from here? Well, it can go back to the whole Covenant of St. George vs. the Prices (and all Cryptids in North America) conflict. Maybe touching base with things in Australia, along the way? It’d be nice if we saw Alex and Shelby again. Maybe there’s more fallout from Annie’s Crossroads takedown or Sarah’s adventures to deal with, too. Or something that seems out-of-nowhere but that McGuire’s been planting seeds for since at least the second book—I put nothing past her.

I realize it’s silly to speculate, but when a book is where a series has been heading for a while, it invites theories about where the series might be going next. Knowing McGuire, the answers are somewhere online already, but I’m going to wait until Book 12 to see.

So, what did I think about Spelunking Through Hell?
The last couple of books just didn’t do as much for me as the earlier books in the series did, I was so glad to get back to the previous levels here (sorry, Sarah!). There’s just so much to commend about this book, and so little to complain about. There was at least one point in the book that was a “Eureka!” moment for me—I couldn’t believe McGuire had tied X into this book. Thirty seconds or so after I got that surprise, I realized I should’ve been expecting it. I’m glad I hadn’t taken the time to think about things so that I would expect it, it’s more fun to get the Eureka.

Alice shares the same quippy attitude as her grandchildren, the same stubborn streak and aptitude for violence—which isn’t that surprising, really, where did I think the kids got it? Still, as has been the case for the other four narrators in the series, while there’s a family resemblance, there are individual distinctives so that you don’t confuse her with the previous narrators.

Inside the crunchy candy shell of quips, magic, trans-dimensional travel, and people fighting for their survival, there’s a chewy center of a very sweet love story. I have no problem with the crunch shell, but like with a Tootsie Pop, the center is what makes it all worth it. The dénouement may be better, however—I know I didn’t get through it with dry eyes.

This is not the book to jump into this series with. Yeah, I’ve said it feels like a stand-alone, which seems like it’d serve as a jumping-on point, but it’s really not. Go back at least to Magic for Nothing, but you’d be best served going back to Discount Armageddon. Just know that when you start (and you really should if you haven’t yet) at one of those points, you’re in for a heckuva ride when you get to this book.
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Madam Tulip and the Rainbow’s End About? 

Thanks to a series of events that probably rings true for many struggling actors, Derry and Bruce find themselves stranded by the touring company they’d been a part of without funds and a pretty hefty hotel/bar tab. One thing leads to another, and Derry finds herself suiting up as Madam Tulip to do some fortune-telling at a charity event to work off this debt. 

She’s happy to do that for a few reasons—it seems that Derry’s trying to cut back on her Tulip work, and really only does it for charities anymore. This time, she can do it for her own benefit and a charity, so she’s okay with that. 

As she’s wont to do, as Madam Tulip she befriends a couple of women—one local, and one fellow American (who turns out to employ the local woman). Both women have recently had family members die, and are still grieving. The local woman comes to Madam Tulip for confirmation of her suspicion that her brother was murdered—which Tulip gave her without realizing it. The other woman’s father was supposed to leave her a large amount of money, but didn’t—her focus isn’t on the money as much as it is on understanding what happened (which makes it so much easier to like her). 

Having confirmation of her brother’s murder, Mary Jo sets out to prove it and find the murderer—Derry’s friend, Bruce, is going to prove more useful than his psychic bestie on this front and is happy to try. Being able to look at things more objectively, Derry’s able to suggest a thing or two to Lena that might help her find the closure she needs. 

Given the nature of a cozy mystery novel, obviously, it won’t be long until Derry finds herself more caught up in the efforts of both women to get the answers they seek—and a little more peril than any three of them expected.* 

* Although by this point, Derry should know better—even without any psychic abilities.. 

Derry’s Gift 

Derry’s abilities that stem from being the daughter of a seventh son of a seventh son have gotten her into (and out of) plenty of trouble in the past few books—but they’re never enough by themselves. Derry’s got to figure things out and take advantage of the information she gains—and frequently needs an assist from Bruce for those things that those abilities can’t cover. 

This time out, she doesn’t get to take advantage of that gift too much—there are a couple of tarot readings that help her friends (and maybe some of the other readings she does in between those, but we don’t see them). But that’s pretty much it—the rest comes from Derry putting on her metaphorical deerstalker and sussing things out for herself (talking things over with Bruce helps, too). 

I think I like it better this way—Derry’s never used her psychic (or whatever) capabilities as a crutch to get to the bottom of things. But the further she gets from that, the better for me. 

(although, I can’t imagine I’d complain too loudly if Book 6 or 7 has Derry acting more like Jean Grey/Professor X than Jessica Fletcher) 

Jacko Off-the-Grid 

You can’t have a Madam Tulip novel without Derry’s father, Jacko, turning up to make things interesting. This time, fresh off a new variety of financial woes (for him, anyway), he decides to rent out his home and go live on an isolated island for a while—to reconnect with his art and avoid the distractions of technology and the city. 

Neither Derry nor her mother have a lot of faith that this is going to work too well. But Derry wants to give him the chance and refuses when her mother tries to enlist her to stop him. 

In the end, Jacko’s storyline brushes up against Derry’s in a few places, but in more of a “what a small world” kind of way. The two barely interact with each other, and Jacko’s never part of the main action. This is a good use of the character, who is prone to taking over the books (in an entertaining way, but a bit too dominant). Here he gets to go full-on with his antics without impacting the main story—that’s perfect. 

So, what did I think about Madam Tulip and the Rainbow’s End? 

At this point, getting a Madam Tulip book is a chance to spend time with some friends—with all the warmth, comfort, and pleasantness that comparison brings to mind. Ahern’s got his world and characters down pat now, and the novel moves like clockwork. 

This isn’t the same old-same old by any means, however. As he mentioned in our Q&A about this book, Derry not only has to solve a crime this time but there’s a puzzle, too. 

Madam Tulip and the Rainbow’s End gives you everything you want in a cozy mystery—good characters, a grin or two, a clever mystery or two, a well-constructed story, and a diverting read for a couple of hours. As expected from this series/author, I’m glad to recommend it to you. 

I know Madam Tulip #6 is on the way, and I’m looking forward to it—and hopefully, several more before people in Ireland figure out that they need to stop inviting the fortune teller to their events if they want things to go smoothly (especially nefarious things). 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Lives Laid Away About? 

While August Snow is considering how to help out his neighbors in the middle of an ICE crackdown/intimidation campaign, his friend from the coroner’s office brings him a case he can’t get out of his mind. A young, unidentified, Hispanic woman was tortured, raped, killed, and dumped while dressed as Marie Antoinette. The police can’t get anywhere with the case and are ready to move on. Falconi can’t do that. So he comes to August for help. 

Snow’s not able to get the photos he’s been shown out of his mind, either. So he starts looking into it—knowing the right people to ask, he’s able to identify the woman within a day. This gets him looking in the right direction for answers—sadly, that direction is full of organized crime, disorganized crime, human trafficking, and corrupt government officials. 

August gets backup in both his brushes with ICE and the murder case from new and unexpected allies. There’s a lot going on in Detroit (and in his own past) that August had been previously unaware of, and he’s likely going to wish he’d stayed in the dark before all is said and done here. 

Tomás 

We met Tomás Gutierrez, August’s godfather, in the previous book and he provided some of the backup August required then. In this book, he’s basically August’s partner. 

He fills the fairly typical modern detective sidekick role (Hawk, Joe Pike, Bubba Rogowski, Nate Romanowski, Nick Petrie’s Lewis, etc.)—a little meaner, a little less bound by conscience, a little more prone to violence, has a better personal weapons stash, and so on. The big twist here is that he’s so much older than August. I don’t know if we’re told his age anywhere, but he’s no spring chicken—He’s his godfather, was good friends with his parents, he has a grandchild. And while his age is mentioned every now and then, he seems too spry to be really believable in this role. 

This might be because of the subjects of the book—his wife is being threatened, the dead woman was known to his wife, etc.—and in the next book, he won’t be as involved in whatever is happening. If that’s the case? I have no problem with it—but if he keeps acting as a partner, it’s going to have to be addressed. 

I like the character of Tomás and how Jones has been using him so far, I just don’t know if he’s a viable long-term option. 

What is it About Places Like This? 

Back in 2019, I posted about M. W. Craven’s Black Summer, and discussed how Craven’s description of a seedy pub made me feel like I was there. I had a flashback to that moment when Jones described the biker bar Taffy’s on the Lake here. It was so crystal clear and detailed that I felt like I was there. I don’t know if it’s me, and the one or two nasty bars that I’ve been in have stuck with me so much that when Craven or Jones describes one that I’m taken there, or if they’re just so good that I’d feel the same way without personal experience. 

I’m going to credit them with this, not just for the sake of my mental health. For example, in August Snow, Jones did a similar job with a small Mexican restaurant. In that case, his writing made me want to feel like I was there. 

He’s so good at describing places in a way that brings in all of your senses (there are other examples I could cite, but this one paralleled so nicely with Black Summer), that without ever stepping foot in Detroit (or the state of Michigan) that I can really get a strong feel for the settings. 

So, what did I think about Lives Laid Away? 

Is this as good as August Snow? I don’t think so. But that says more about how good it was than about the quality of Lives Laid Away. This was intense and exciting. You’re kept on the edge of your seat while being given things to think about. 

At the same time, while August Snow had enough action to satisfy any thriller reader, Jones stepped up the violence this time. I don’t know if this is the direction of the series in general, or if something about these circumstances brought it out in August, but wow. I can think of Jack Reacher/Peter Ash novels that contain less violence and action—I wouldn’t have expected that given the first novel. This is not a criticism, I’m just putting that out there for potential readers—it really worked for me (although I’m not sure I needed all the “enhanced interrogation” scenes). 

Along those lines, I’m not sure I really realized how ominous, “I gotta see a guy about a thing,” could sound. 

This isn’t just a novel about a vigilante ex-cop on a crusade—it is that, but it’s more—it’s also about a city dealing with contemporary pressures, contemporary issues, and a troubled (to be nice about) past. What is Detroit becoming? How is it treating the people who live there? How should it be? These questions loom large while August is trying to figure out who killed these women and why. Lives Laid Away is a solid, action-filled thriller with a social conscience and heart. This is not a combination that you see that much, but I wish we’d see more of. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Part About the Dragon Was (Mostly) True About?
This is that true story about Dragonia, told alongside the “official” account so the reader can see how the details were adjusted and tweaked to create the story everyone knows.

The town (or village, depending on who you ask) of Skendrick is being terrorized by a dragon—crops are being ruined, trade is disrupted, and the town is about to fall apart. Desperate, they put out a call for adventurers to come and kill the dragon. But they get no takers—so they go to Plan B. The villagers (or townspeople) pool their meager resources to hire a bard. This bard is to compose a song to make the attempt to kill the dragon sound appealing enough—and its treasure (which may or may not actually exist) enticing enough—to get a band of adventurers to come.

This is where Heloise comes in. She takes the gig and soon gets a new and yet unaccomplished band of adventurers to take up the call to action. I don’t want to get into describing the group, you want to meet them in the book.

They encounter difficulties from without and within; nasty, malodorous geography; orcs and other creatures; and, well, the dragon.

Heloise the Bard 

 
The half-elf, Heloise the Bard is our narrator—as you can tell from the quotations above, she has a fairly high opinion of herself and her abilities. She’s also rather impressed with her hair and certain other physical attributes. Probably her greatest skill is self-promotion.
 
She decides to accompany the adventurers, to chronicle their journey and the outcome of their clash with the dragon. Her wit and quick thinking prove valuable to their effort and her particular set of skills make all the difference.
 
She is a hoot. It’d be easy for Heloise to be an annoying, over-the-top character, but somehow Gibson keeps her as an entertaining, over-the-top character. I’ve been trying to come up with a character to compare her to, and I’m failing. Maybe she’s the Fantasy version of Evanovich’s Lula, except Heloise has the skills that Lula thinks she has. Maybe she’s the equivalent of High Fidelity‘s Barry. Somewhere in the Venn Diagram featuring Fantasy, Lula, and Barry, I guess.

She appears in a couple of other books by Gibson, and I’m eager to spend some more time with her.

The Humor
The section could easily be merged with the previous one because the humor displayed in the book is primarily Heloise’s. The jokes are pretty much non-stop—even in the middle of fight scenes, or when death is nigh. The danger is still present, and the combat (and so on) is as deadly as it would be in another book—it’s just surrounded by laughs.

It didn’t take me long before I’d highlighted too many lines to quote—not that it stopped me from going on. My notes on this one are ridiculous. I kept chuckling throughout the reading. I probably would’ve finished the book in 2/3 the time, if reacting to the jokes didn’t make me stop reading for a moment.

If you’ve read The Tales of Pell, you’ve got a good idea for the pace of the jokes—and tone of the book, too.

There’s slapstick, there’s scatological humor, a great Meatloaf (the singer) line, some fantastic bursts of alliteration for the sake of a laugh, some general silliness, clever dialogue, and…honestly, I’m having a hard time thinking of a kind of humor that’s not in there. There’s a running gag (that I’ve alluded to) throughout about whether Skendrick is a town or a village—I can’t tell you how often it’s brought up. And the joke works every time—I should’ve gotten sick of it, and I never did. I don’t know how Gibson pulled that off, but that alone is the mark of a fantastic humor writer.

In addition to The Tales of Pell, if you’ve enjoyed Christopher Healy, Dave Barry, K.R.R. Lockhaven, Peter David, Scott Meyer, Joe Zieja, Jim C. Hines’ Jig the Goblin series, or John Scalzi—you’re going to dig the humor here. And if you dig the humor, you’re going to really enjoy the book. It’s that simple.

So, what did I think about The Part About the Dragon Was (Mostly) True?

 
I think it’s pretty clear that I had a blast with this book, but I should probably make that explicit. I had a blast reading this book.
 
I think I should not that this is not a book to read if you’re in a “find out what happened and get to the end of the story” frame of mind. This is a “enjoy the trip, not the destination”/”stop and smell the roses” kind of book. The destination/what happens is fully satisfying, but the getting-there is so much better.
 
In addition to the jokes and the dragon, there is a running commentary on what “the adventuring life” is like outside of the glamorous or exciting bits. A lot of fantasy novels will show bits of it, but not enough of them do—and most don’t do it this way. For example, The Part About the Dragon Was (Mostly) True contains more description of various odors than every 99% of the fantasy novels I’ve read by a significant factor. If this were a scratch and sniff book…well, I can’t imagine anyone would stock it—you just don’t want that in your warehouse/store. Sure, it’s silly talking about realism in a book featuring orcs, halflings, elves, etc.—but this factor does ground the book and give it a seriousness (for lack of a better term) that makes this more than a collection of jokes.
 
This is the funniest book I’ve read in 2022, and I can’t imagine it’ll face much competition. It’s got it all, go get your hands on it.