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3.98 AVERAGE
3.98 AVERAGE
So much promise, so much meh. Am I really supposed to believe that Walling, a top FBI profiler now in disgrace, doesn't know basic firearms maneuvers? Or that she'd rush into an active crime scene and start grabbing on things, without even a "I know I should've waited but, dang it, time was of the essence!" or "I lost my head! It won't happen again!"
Nada. She's just basically the worst law enforcement officer in existence. Nice work with the jumper cables, btw. *shakes head*
Still, the Bosch parts are good, like they always are, even if Bosch is still in the running for Most Emo Police Officer In Existence. Terry McCaleb was enjoyable as a character, finally, what with being dead, and Connelly continues to give amazing L.A., this time with a side order of awesome Vegas that was entirely missing from [b:Trunk Music|58962|Trunk Music (Harry Bosch, #5)|Michael Connelly|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1386926044s/58962.jpg|449499]. And I liked the whole conversation about retired policemen, because it doesn't seem to come up as often or as well in other crime fiction.
A decent Bosch is better than no Bosch at all.
Nada. She's just basically the worst law enforcement officer in existence. Nice work with the jumper cables, btw. *shakes head*
Still, the Bosch parts are good, like they always are, even if Bosch is still in the running for Most Emo Police Officer In Existence. Terry McCaleb was enjoyable as a character, finally, what with being dead, and Connelly continues to give amazing L.A., this time with a side order of awesome Vegas that was entirely missing from [b:Trunk Music|58962|Trunk Music (Harry Bosch, #5)|Michael Connelly|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1386926044s/58962.jpg|449499]. And I liked the whole conversation about retired policemen, because it doesn't seem to come up as often or as well in other crime fiction.
A decent Bosch is better than no Bosch at all.
Continuation from The Poet.
A very good book. Very detailed about how the Poet goes about killing people and setting trap after trap for Rachel Walling to follow and hopefully stumble.
What I liked about this book is how the writer goes into detail about the movement and the plans of The Poet.
Other than that, the ending was also good because the reason why Terry McCaleb died wasn't because of the Poet but he did so for the betterment of the family
A very good book. Very detailed about how the Poet goes about killing people and setting trap after trap for Rachel Walling to follow and hopefully stumble.
What I liked about this book is how the writer goes into detail about the movement and the plans of The Poet.
Other than that, the ending was also good because the reason why Terry McCaleb died wasn't because of the Poet but he did so for the betterment of the family
I think this was supposed to be a sequel to The Poet, but it was not nearly as good as that book.
adventurous
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
N/A
adventurous
challenging
dark
mysterious
sad
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
dark
emotional
mysterious
tense
fast-paced
adventurous
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
I enjoyed The Poet much more than this sequel. Always a good brain rest from anything too deep.
The quintessential way to return to Bosch: our hero finds himself embroiled in investigating a serial killer from a different series (The Poet), who has murdered a protagonist from another (Blood Work). Michael Connelly blends multiple techniques, including mixed first and third person narratives in a work that is mostly pretty good but doesn’t all gel.
FBI Agent Rachel Walling, toiling in obscurity since the end of The Poet, is called back to the big leagues to consult on the return of the serial killer, who has been personally taunting her. Harry Bosch, still a private investigator, is asked to look into a natural death that may have been a murder. When the trail leads him to an FBI dig site, the cases combine, and our man on the outside teams up with Walling to ensure that the truth is uncovered, no matter how bad it makes the establishment look.
Like Lost Light before it, The Narrows treats the reader to Bosch’s first person narration. However, this being a two hander, the chapters that are either Walling taking on the case solo or observing Bosch for herself are third. Whether this is because Connelly wasn’t confident providing a woman’s direct voice or wanted a point of difference is unclear; unlike more omniscient Bosch novels, or the offbeat Void Moon, we get one more touchstone: that of The Poet himself.
However, The Poet’s segments are so brief and infrequent that they don’t really add to the piece, and mostly don’t contribute to a cat and mouse feel. It’s a rare misstep in pacing and revelations for Connelly, but it doesn’t hurt the novel so much as it feels slightly undercooked compared to the rest of it.
Still, when Connelly cooks, he cooks: lone wolf Bosch shows that he needs a system to work within and push against in order to get his best results; often he is on the outside looking in, which gives him more freedom in some avenues but less in others. The first person perspective works to reinforce his loneliness (he stopped taking saxophone lessons because his tutor died), and his alienation in his Las Vegas rental is heavily reinforced.
The Walling chapters are impressive in that they showcase a woman who made poor judgment calls in The Poet, who continues to make them again with Bosch here — you're not a Connelly protagonist if you don't make increasingly bad decisions that involve unprofessional application of the genitals — and they give Connelly himself the freedom to be critical of the legal apparatus, as he never feels the need to hold the feds in as much awe as the police. If nothing else, these books provide a masterclass in how a fictional law-enforcement worker can cover themselves in plausible deniablity on their way to getting results (you stupid chief).
Connelly subverts expectations in other ways: after the dust clears from the first solution, there's almost always an extra piece of the puzzle in these books. In The Narrows, Bosch's commitment to the truth interferes with his interpersonal relationships again; the real surprise being precisely how many times he can burn the same freshly rebuilt bridges. It's a case of playing to and against type at the same time, and it reinforces Connelly's own commitment to messy neatness — which works better here than it has in the past.
Good authority has it that Bosch returns to the third person in his next adventure, and his future is already more certain than it had been these last two outings. It's been fun riding on Bosch's shoulder, but the slight distance from the man may pay off: can you ever truly know a grizzled war veteran detective who fancies himself an amateur bluesman? Probably. Yet the mystique lingers still.
FBI Agent Rachel Walling, toiling in obscurity since the end of The Poet, is called back to the big leagues to consult on the return of the serial killer, who has been personally taunting her. Harry Bosch, still a private investigator, is asked to look into a natural death that may have been a murder. When the trail leads him to an FBI dig site, the cases combine, and our man on the outside teams up with Walling to ensure that the truth is uncovered, no matter how bad it makes the establishment look.
Like Lost Light before it, The Narrows treats the reader to Bosch’s first person narration. However, this being a two hander, the chapters that are either Walling taking on the case solo or observing Bosch for herself are third. Whether this is because Connelly wasn’t confident providing a woman’s direct voice or wanted a point of difference is unclear; unlike more omniscient Bosch novels, or the offbeat Void Moon, we get one more touchstone: that of The Poet himself.
However, The Poet’s segments are so brief and infrequent that they don’t really add to the piece, and mostly don’t contribute to a cat and mouse feel. It’s a rare misstep in pacing and revelations for Connelly, but it doesn’t hurt the novel so much as it feels slightly undercooked compared to the rest of it.
Still, when Connelly cooks, he cooks: lone wolf Bosch shows that he needs a system to work within and push against in order to get his best results; often he is on the outside looking in, which gives him more freedom in some avenues but less in others. The first person perspective works to reinforce his loneliness (he stopped taking saxophone lessons because his tutor died), and his alienation in his Las Vegas rental is heavily reinforced.
The Walling chapters are impressive in that they showcase a woman who made poor judgment calls in The Poet, who continues to make them again with Bosch here — you're not a Connelly protagonist if you don't make increasingly bad decisions that involve unprofessional application of the genitals — and they give Connelly himself the freedom to be critical of the legal apparatus, as he never feels the need to hold the feds in as much awe as the police. If nothing else, these books provide a masterclass in how a fictional law-enforcement worker can cover themselves in plausible deniablity on their way to getting results (you stupid chief).
Connelly subverts expectations in other ways: after the dust clears from the first solution, there's almost always an extra piece of the puzzle in these books. In The Narrows, Bosch's commitment to the truth interferes with his interpersonal relationships again; the real surprise being precisely how many times he can burn the same freshly rebuilt bridges. It's a case of playing to and against type at the same time, and it reinforces Connelly's own commitment to messy neatness — which works better here than it has in the past.
Good authority has it that Bosch returns to the third person in his next adventure, and his future is already more certain than it had been these last two outings. It's been fun riding on Bosch's shoulder, but the slight distance from the man may pay off: can you ever truly know a grizzled war veteran detective who fancies himself an amateur bluesman? Probably. Yet the mystique lingers still.