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Broken Bonds: A Novel of the Reformation by Amy Mantravadi

adventurous hopeful informative reflective medium-paced

3.5

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

This is a work of historical fiction focusing on April 1524-January 1525, at what will prove to be a significant period in the German Reformation. The narrative focuses on three men: Desiderius Erasmus, probably the greatest scholar of the era, and a would-be reformer of the Church; Martin Luther, the Reformer (who went further than Erasmus would’ve), and Philipp Melanchthon, a promising young scholar with ties to them both. 

The book follows their connections and interactions with each other—as theoretical as some of them might be—as leaders put pressure on all three to sway them one way or the other, to pick up their pen (or lay it down) for an end, to cease their efforts to reform the Church, to increase their efforts to reform the Church (in ways they cannot agree with), and so on. 

Martin Luther 

Luther is the most well-known of the trio today, for good reason. In this novel we see Luther trying to reason with his former friend Karlstadt as the latter continues to cause trouble for Luther and everyone in their area. Luther is also trying to get more compensation for and more opportunities to teach and write for Melanchthon—for the sake of the young man’s family and the University of Wittenberg, who could use him. 

He’s also dealing with some personal issues—how far does he go himself? Does he give up the monastic robe for that of an academic? It’s so much of his identity, he still holds the vows he swore before him, it cost Luther so much personally to follow this path—and despite the upheaval in his life, is he prepared to lay it all aside? This was so excellently done. 

We get some glimpses of some of Luther’s multiple medical issues, a little bit of his humor, and a delightful relationship with and interaction with his goddaughter, too. Mantravadi is careful to present us with a human Luther, not some superhero. 

Looming over all that Luther does here is an impending intellectual showdown with the one man he’s not sure he wants to debate with, but is steeling himself to lock horns with: 

Desiderius Erasmus 

Before Luther burst on the stage, it was easy to think of Erasmus as the greatest Christian thinker, writer, and scholar of his time. Erasmus did try to push for some institutional reforms and had many of the same aims as Luther, but he went about things in a less inflammatory way. 

He’s been dodging requests and pleas to interact with Luther for quite some time now—but the pressure is mounting and he’s not certain he can do so much longer. Reluctantly, he picks up his pen to compose On Free Will to directly counter some of Luther’s teachings. 

We get a very sympathetic view of Erasmus and his interactions with friends and Protestants he interacts with daily. His health struggles are different than Luther’s but painted just as vividly here. One bout of kidney stones, in particular, almost triggered flashbacks to my last one. I found myself really liking Erasmus and pulling for him. 

One of Erasmus’ greatest goals—to chill the Lutheran movement, to further promote diverse ideas in the Academy/Church, and to hand off his work to a brilliant scholar—is to get Melanchthon to come to work with him, and essentially assume his mantle when he’s gone. 

Philipp Melanchthon 

Melanchthon is a struggling academic, just trying to make enough money to provide for his wife and daughter. He loves to be in the classroom (and it shows), but he’s equally open to teaching in other places, too. He sides with Luther, just not as vociferously as some may want—but Luther appears to trust him. 

Melanchthon is tempted to take Erasmus’ offer—it’s a dream situation for him, it’s exactly what he wants. But he’s afraid that he’d have to water down or abandon his Protestant convictions and he’s not ready to do that. 

His depiction is easily the most relatable, the most appealing—between the way other characters (particularly Erasmus and Luther) talk about him and the way that Mantravadi shows him, you could make the argument that the others are supporting characters in a novel where the young man is the protagonist. 

He does frequently seem too much like a 21st-century man rather than one from the 16th. Particularly when it comes to talking about his wife and daughter. But maybe that’s just me. I really liked it, so I don’t care. Hopefully, it’s close to the truth. 

The last thing I want to say about Melanchthon is that there’s a scene with a bunch of students for a sort of study club (best way I can summarize it). It is one of my favorite fictional depictions of a teacher and a group of students since John Keating and that ill-fated group at Welton Academy. I don’t want to give you details, but more than I want his family life to be the way that Mantravadi depicts it, I want this to be true. 

The S-Word 

So, a lot of the subjects of this book—particularly when it comes to health, but even beyond it—are what some would call “earthy.” It wasn’t a pleasant time to live in many ways, particularly digestive. Anyone who’s read much of Luther’s daily life, humor, or personal history well knows that he can be somewhat scatological. The working of his bowels is a frequent topic for him. 

Erasmus isn’t much different. Melanchthon, thankfully, is—but not the people he spends time with. 

It’s likely not enough to put anyone off—if anything, it might recruit some younger readers 🙂 But Mantravadi has her characters use vocabulary that Christians in the 16th Century would for these processes and products, even if most 20th/21st Christians would hesitate to use it. Just a word of warning for those who might be put off. 

So, what did I think about Broken Bonds? 

I went into this with some hesitation—the last two fictional works I read about this time period put me off in a serious way. (one was pre-blog, so I can’t point you at anything I wrote, and I don’t feel like picking on the other again). But I know that Mantravadi has a good reputation among some Church Historians—and even heard her interviewed by one a few years ago, so I felt safe. 

I’m so glad that I did—these characters came alive to me in a way that two of them haven’t before (even if I think she handled Luther with kid gloves). She used their positions, arguments—sometimes even words—well in the progress of the novel. There are plenty of footnotes for those who want to dive more into their works. Which is always a bonus in this kind of work (also, footnotes—not endnotes). 

The historical detail is there, but not so much of it that you get bogged down in it—the pacing keeps moving at a good clip throughout. Are some of these events overly-dramatized? Quite possibly. Are some of these under-dramatized? Equally possible. It is, in the end, a work of fiction and that needs to be remembered. 

It’s a fast-paced read for something in this genre, it’s sympathetic to all its protagonists (even when they’re at odds), there’s good tension—even when it comes to talking about academic pursuits (not the easiest thing to dramatize), and there’s a heart and warmth to it all. 

I think this would work for middle school-aged readers, and for most adults, too. You might even learn a little about history and theology while you’re at it. It’s definitely worth the investment of time. I’m more than ready for the second in this duology. 

Pigeon-Blood Red by Ed Duncan

adventurous emotional tense fast-paced

• Plot- or character-driven? Plot
• Strong character development? It's complicated
• Loveable characters? It's complicated
• Diverse cast of characters? Yes
• Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

3.5

 ★ ★ ★ 1/2 (rounded up)
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader along with a Q&A with the author.
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What’s Pigeon-Blood Red About? 

Stop me if you’ve heard this before, but a grizzled enforcer and his partner make a mistake that leads to a panicky guy stealing from their boss. This guy, Robert, is already in some serious debt to their boss, Litvak, and this just makes it worse—especially when Robert leaves town suddenly and tries to use the theft to leverage Litvak into writing off the debt. Litvak doesn’t like this idea, and sends the enforcer, Rico, to track down Robert, deal out some punishment, and come back with at least the stolen item—and maybe more. 

Yeah, this feels incredibly familiar—which is not a deal-breaker at all, it just makes it easy for the reader/listener to get into the story. As always, it’s what the author does with a familiar set-up that makes it worth the ride. And Duncan doesn’t disappoint there. 

That largely has to do with other people that Rico and Robert encounter along the way—some of whom get swept up in Rober’s foolhardy and desperate moves and find themselves in Rico’s cross-hairs when they’re just trying to live their lives. But you should learn about them for yourselves. 

Some of These People are the Worst 

Seriously, you can hear Jean-Ralphio singing it as you think of some of these people. I’m not even talking about the hitman here—but some of his targets. Okay, his boss isn’t that great, either. But he’s supposed to be a morally bankrupt scoundrel. The more we get to know—and the more we see from—Robert and some others and you can’t help but wonder if the world will be a better place without them. 

I will say that it took me a little longer to warm up to Rico than is usual in this type of book. Our introduction to the character—the first real thing we see from him—really made it hard for me to want anything more than to see Litvak put him in a hole somewhere, but that changed. 

How Was the Narration? 

My initial reaction to the thought was “absolutely fine,” and I was prepared to move on. However brief that answer was. 

But Keyser deserves a little more than that, I think. He really was a great match for this material—I wish I could find other audiobook credits for him to see how he does with other genres (and am a little discouraged to see that he’s not attached to the rest of this trilogy). He could handle the lighter moments–the sweet moments–as well as the not-even-close-to-sweet moments when bullets are flying equally well (and we’ve all heard narrators that can’t quite pull that off in the same book). 

I really enjoyed his work and think he made a series of really smart choices and executed them well. 

So, what did I think about Pigeon-Blood Red? 

After various and sundry delays, it was hard for me to remember some details that I wanted to, so I listened to a few bits again—and I really had a hard time forcing myself not to just listen to the whole book again (if I had one more day on a Libby book, I probably would’ve indulged myself). I think that says plenty about this book. 

Duncan assembled this particular book very well, there were a lot of moving pieces—and plenty of backstories to bring in—and he managed to keep the reader engaged with all the characters while maintaining the pace and building the tension. I really admired that–in a longer book that might have been easier, actually, but this is a quick listen and to cram as much in as he does is no mean feat (and it never feels crowded, crammed, or rushed). 

There’s a scene that I’ve spent some time thinking about again and again since I listened to this–it’s a pivotal scene toward the end. It could be a scene from a farce—it’s full of mistaken identities, close calls, crazy chains of events, and so on. You add a jaunty, bouncy soundtrack and an exaggerated facial expression or two, and it could be seen as comical. If you ignore the blood, terror, and death, that is. I could see it all very clearly in my mind, and I think Duncan faked me out a little bit (see: mistaken identities). Duncan and Keyser both were spot-on during this scene/sequence and earned a lot of trust from me there. 

I found something to like in all the primary characters, (other than Robert and unnamed persons from the above section), and got invested in the outcomes surrounding them. By the end of the book, I wasn’t actually sure what character(s) the trilogy would follow and could see myself signing on to whatever ones Duncan stuck with. I was pretty sure it’d be Rico—and the title of the third book, Rico Stays gives it away. But that I’d have been open to some others, I think tells you a lot. 

Was this a book that ever really blew me away? I don’t think so—but I was engaged and entertained through it all. It was entirely satisfying (if you ignore the bump with Rico in the beginning, but I got over it). And now that I’ve finished this post, I can get to listen to the rest of the trilogy in short order. Be prepared to sign on to a trilogy if you start this (a quick-moving trilogy, I should stress). 

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this audiobook from the author and Kelsey Butts at Book Publicity Services. Other than giving me something to opine about, this did not influence my opinion which is honestly reflected above. 

The Good Samaritan Strikes Again by Patrick F. McManus

lighthearted slow-paced

3.0

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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Over half a century of poking around the woods and mountains, I have rescued several dozen wild creatures from life-threatening situations. Almost none ever expressed an iota of gratitude. Instead, they have attempted to bite me, peck me, claw me, scratch me, gore me, even as | rendered them the service. The only one to repay the favor of my rescuing it was a skunk, when I was eight years old, and it spent all of its resources to purchase my freedom from school for a whole week. In my experience, however, that skunk was unique among wild creatures for its kindness and generosity.

 
What’s The Good Samaritan Strikes Again About?
This is a collection of 24 of McManus’s essays, pulled from a variety of sources talking about…well, mostly the things he always talks about—his life, hunting, fishing, and things he finds interesting.

There’s not a recurring theme or anything, I’m guessing this is just a collection of pieces written in the early 1990s (the previous collection was published in ’91, the following in ’94).

McManus’s Humor
I think the best way to describe this humor is gentle. He’s not one for clever wordplay (although he will occasionally indulge), this isn’t biting satire, he’s not as outlandish and goofy as Barry. It felt like Lewis Grizzard at half-volume—I think it’s similar to Garrison Keillor (although I really can’t say) or Tom Bodett.

I can’t imagine you’ll guffaw—or laugh out loud. But you’ll be amused. You’ll smile—maybe even chuckle.

So, what did I think about The Good Samaritan Strikes Again?
I haven’t read McManus since the mid-80s—there were a couple of years where some of his early collections were in heavy rotation amongst my extended family and I sampled a few. Mostly I didn’t get his humor at the time—even then I didn’t relate too much to the hunting and fishing jokes. I understood more of them now, at least—but I don’t know that I found them more amusing now.

I feel like I need to turn in my Idaho Citizen card for saying that kind of thing—McManus and I were born in the same city, we were inculcated with many of the same values, and had the same kind of environment growing up. But our senses of humor didn’t develop along the same lines.

The pieces that had the least to do with outdoors-y topics worked best for me. He touches on aging and worry, there’s a little bit of satire relating to PR, there’s some stuff on coping with stress, recounting his first kiss…the title essay involves trying to help a motorist following an accident. Then there are a lot of things involving camping, hiking, fishing, hunting and the like…most of those had something I found amusing—a paragraph, a clever sentence—many of them were largely entertaining. But that’s for me—and humor is more subjective than most things I talk about here (although everything is pretty subjective here)—so who knows how you’ll react.

When Ford Prefect’s editors were done with his revisions to the entry for Earth in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, the entry summing up our planet read “Mostly harmless.” Similarly, I think The Good Samaritan Strikes Again could be summed up as: Mildly amusing.
 
Your results may vary, obviously, but it’s a pleasant way to spend some time—not much more. But honestly, who wouldn’t mind a pleasant couple of hours?
 

Chasing Empty Caskets: A Raunchy Small Town Mystery by E.N. Crane, E.N. Crane

adventurous funny lighthearted mysterious medium-paced

3.0

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Chasing Empty Caskets About? 

So, sure, Cyn (and Winnie) has opened a P.I. business, but is there that much for a Private Eye to do in Sweat Pea, OH? As the book opens (and for some time before that) Cyn is taking on cases involving missing pets, potentially haunted homes, and the like. 

But then a makeup artist at a local mortuary approaches her with a case. The paperwork at her mortuary indicates that there are more bodies there than she can find. This has been going on for a while and she wants Cyn to look into what’s happening to the missing bodies. Rhetta doesn’t want to bring it up to her boss herself and risk losing her job, but something isn’t right. 

Some of this investigation will end up right where the reader assumes—but there’s also plenty going on that you don’t expect until it’s in your face like a proverbial thrown cream pie. 

Meanwhile, Cyn tries to have a love life. She goes on one of the worst dates you’ve read about and stumbles across another crime or two that she needs to look into. But there are some better developments in that area afterward (after you read about the date, you’ll realize what a low bar that is) 

We meet a potential new recurring-character and spend time with plenty of those we met before. 

Take This With Whatever-Sized Portion of Salt You Wish To 

Even if the rest of the book was a dud*, the first chapter was so funny that I’d have been more than happy that I paid for the book. Particularly the first 8 pages, the 243 that follow were just gravy. 

* It was not 

Obviously tastes, especially when it comes to humor, differ, so I can’t promise that everyone will have this reaction. And there might be a bit of hyperbole expressed above. But, I started this book the evening after that surgery I had a couple of months ago, and laughing at those pages hurt me. They also made me chuckle as I re-read them before I wrote this section. 

So, what did I think about Chasing Empty Caskets? 

The important thing to remember is that this is a comedy with a mystery thrown in. Suburban Dicks and the Fox and O’Hare books, for example, are Comedic Mysteries/Thrillers. This is a Crimey-Comedy (there’s probably a better name for that somewhere). 

So, yeah, the mystery parts may not be the clearest at times. Cyn may overlook some pretty obvious clues, and an action scene or two may come across as convoluted. But that’s because they’re there to serve the comedy. This isn’t to say that this isn’t effective as a mystery novel, the “may”s in the opening sentence should be emphasized, but it does come into play. 

The running jokes in this novel are—mercifully—different than the ones in the first Cyn/Winnie novel. Crane isn’t setting us up for a running gag like Stephanie Plum’s car problems (seriously, at this point why does anyone let her drive anything other than that ’53 Buick? Why does she try to?). I enjoyed the cast-gag in Barking for Business more, but these were good enough, and I applaud Crane for going somewhere new. 

There are many other things I’d like to compliment, but I don’t know how to do that without ruining plot points or jokes, so I’m not going to try. Basically, if you want silly, madcap, fun with plenty of canine-involved slapstick, look no further than Chasing Empty Caskets and the Sharp Investigations series. 

First Frost by Craig Johnson

adventurous mysterious tense slow-paced

• Plot- or character-driven? Character
• Strong character development? It's complicated
• Loveable characters? It's complicated
• Diverse cast of characters? Yes
• Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

3.5

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

This is a dual-timeline novel—which isn’t altogether new for the Longmire books. In the present time, the shootings that ended The Longmire Defense* are being looked at, and Walt’s possibly facing criminal charges. 

* I don’t think it’s much of a spoiler to say that. Most Longmire books end with one. 

In the other timeline—which gets most of the ink—we watch Walt and Henry try to drive cross-country after graduating college in California so they can report for Basic Training on the East Coast. A road mishap and a bit of bad navigation on Walt’s part result in them getting stuck in a small Arizona town for a few days, where they find some trouble. 

Now 

On the one hand, I get the antagonism that Walt and Vic show toward the proceedings because it’s instinctual to get defensive when someone’s questioning your actions (and, well, Vic’s antagonistic about a lot). But it seems excessive—Walt’s enough of a believer in doing things The Right Way (in contrast to his grandfather or Lucian, for example), that he should be in favor of this exercise. 

That said…it’s clearly motivated by politics and big-money-fueled corruption. So maybe it’s justifiable for them to push back against this. I’m not entirely convinced that the way this stage of the investigation ends is really less corrupt than the way it starts. 

Then 

It’s 1964 and the first thing we see is Walt and Henry surfing one last time before taking off on their drive to Oklahoma for Henry to see some family and then to their respective bases. Everything that happens in California is vintage Johnson and if he’d maintained that quality, I’d have been very happy. 

But once Walt breaks something in their truck when he breaks to avoid a dog in the road (coyote, Henry insists), I think the whole thing goes to pot. Walt thinks something’s hinky in the tiny and sparsely populated town they find themselves in. Rather than just waiting for the truck to get fixed so they can hit the road, he starts asking questions and annoying all the wrong people. 

Meanwhile, Henry plays tourist, checking out the abandoned Japanese Internment Camp nearby (which, of course, ends up playing a role in what Walt’s stirring up) and flirting with a local young woman. 

It’s not long before people are starting to end up dead and Walt’s life becomes endangered. 

So, what did I think about First Frost? 

If I think about this as Johnson’s tribute to Route 66 (and, boy howdy, was it one) and a way for him to talk about Japanese Internment Camps, I like this more. If I think about this as a Longmire novel, my regard diminishes. I do frequently enjoy Johnson multitasking—talking about Van Gogh’s murder, the Sturgis rally, Native American Women going missing, and so on, while telling a Longmire story—so that’s not it. I just don’t think the stories were executed as well as Johnson usually does. 

Both stories wrapped up too easily—a little too _____ ex machina (I can’t tell you what non-deus entities were involved). At the same time, the 1964 story took a little too long to come to its resolution. I’m not sure how that’s not contradictory, but it’s not (at least in my mind). 

I believe the major function of the present storyline was to set-up a future novel or two (see also: the first time Walt and Henry watched Lolo Long’s niece, Jayla, play basketball)—so I could come around to appreciate what Johnson was doing here. But what we saw in First Frost left me wanting. 

The 1964 story ultimately suffered from what a lot of prequels do—it’s hard to believe that the Walt and Henry who just finished college act so much like Walt and Henry with their respective military trainings and decades of experience do. I had no problem when we looked at Walt as an MP (in whatever book that was), I think Johnson got it right there, ditto for rookie Walt in The Western Star. 

I’m actually not entirely wild about the portrayal of the Cheyenne Nation in the 1964 Story, actually. Almost all of it seemed off—but I think it’s a good thing, it shows that life, experience, and maturation changed Henry. 

Obviously, time and re-reads/listens might change what I think about it, but on the whole, this one gets a “not bad” from me. I am curious about the stories I think were set up and think we could be in for some fun there (and a potentially good way to get Walt out of Absaroka County to keep the body count from rising). 

Long-time fans will find enough to satisfy them, people curious about the series should start elsewhere. 

Robert B. Parker's Hot Property by Mike Lupica

adventurous emotional mysterious tense medium-paced

• Plot- or character-driven? Character
• Strong character development? It's complicated
• Loveable characters? Yes
• Diverse cast of characters? Yes
• Flaws of characters a main focus? No

4.0

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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She closed her eyes again and was still, and I was afraid she’d gone back to sleep. Three tough guys in here with her, as tough as she had ever known, but she had always considered herself to be as tough as we were, even making her way in a mostly man’s world. But now she had found out what all of us found out eventually, that tough was always the one with the gun.

 
What’s Hot Property About?
Rita Fiore is shot while walking to the gym. It’s serious—no one knows if she’ll make it. Spenser, Hawk, Frank Belson, and Martin Quirk assemble at the hospital to wait for word and begin plotting how they’ll find those responsible.

Quirk and Belson will oversee the official investigation, and Spenser will take on the one that they all anticipate will get results. Hawk will be waiting in the wings for when he’s needed.

There are plenty of people who’d be interested in hurting Rita, sadly—a few dissatisfied clients, and many people that she faced off against in court and who came away hurting. Spenser starts there and then starts looking into her personal life, too.

Both of these angles end up revealing more than Spenser expected. Then someone dies—and Rita’s health remains uncertain. While she and the doctors do what they can to keep her going, Spenser, Hawk, and others will have to make sure she’ll be safe outside the hospital.

Honest Question
Do we know that Quirk and Belson are friends with Rita? I don’t remember them interacting in the books before—but we’re on 52 now, it’d be easy to forget. When she was a Norfolk County D.A., she probably didn’t interact with them much (if at all). And I don’t see how a litigator—particularly a defense lawyer—for the kind of firm she works for has a tendency to befriend Homicide detectives (or vice versa).

Lupica clearly knows his Parker lore, so I should assume that he’s right to portray things this way. But I just don’t remember it, and I can’t see why they would befriend her.

I do like the way this all played out, so I’m not complaining, either. It’s just pointing to a lacuna in my memory and it bugs me.

Susan

Susan always said that the problem with a good idea was that once it got inside your head, it was almost impossible to get it out.

I thought I might have one now.

One in a row.

 
I thought this was a decent usage of Susan throughout this book—she does a little more than just serve as an excuse for a plot recap and some banter (which even Atkins slipped into, although never as much as Parker did toward the end).
 
I was disappointed in her early reaction to Rita’s situation—but I should’ve trusted that Lupica wouldn’t leave her as petty (but not insensitive).
 
Lupica’s Style

“You’re a pretty funny guy,’ he said.

“Yeah,” I said, “but I’m trying to quit.”

 
Some of the humor lines felt a bit forced, but they still worked. It frequently felt like Spenser was trying to hone his crowd-work before his next stand-up gig, rather than just an inveterate smart-ass.
 
But that does bring up Lupica’s style as a whole. I’ve seen some people online (and in the comment section here) talk about how he doesn’t match Parker’s (or Atkins’) style. I think this is a good thing—I think he seemed to shoot for Parker’s voice with his Sunny and Stone novels, but here he’s not trying (or he’s doing a really bad job of it, probably the former). I don’t remember the voice in his Spenser debut, Broken Trust.

Instead of trying to mimic, he’s taking the path that Reed Farrel Coleman chose for his Jesse Stone books—he used his own while staying true (more or less) to the characters. Spenser and Hawk banter, Susan and Rita exchange suggestive dialogue with Spenser, Tony Marcus is obnoxious and code switches his diction on a whim, and so on.

Obviously, some people are going to prefer one take over another—I can actually argue both ways (and I think if you look back at what I’ve said about all the post-Parker writers you’ll see me doing that). But for now, I like what Lupica’s doing.

This is where I invite Robert Germaux to demur in the comment section (or in a Guest Post if he has a lot to get off of his chest). 🙂

So, what did I think about Hot Property?

“The dogs bark,” I said, “and the caravan moves on.”

Walsh raised an eyebrow. When I tried to do that, Susan said it looked as if ‘d developed a twitch.

“First Tennyson with you, and now Arab proverbs,” he said. “Are you absolutely certain you’re a private detective?”

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve asked myself that exact same question lately,” I said.

 
While I’m not completely sold on all aspects of this book, I do think it was an improvement over Lupica’s first Spenser novel (and I considered that his strongest Parker-verse work!).

It was an interesting choice to go diving into Rita’s personal life—as well as seeing some of her legal work that didn’t require a certain P.I. to help. It was a look into Rita that we’d never really got before. I don’t know that her creator would’ve made all the same choices with her but the current torch-carrier did right by the character (and Christopher Farnsworth followed up on this well, but that’s for another day).

Lupica had all the requisite twists and turns to keep the reader guessing, the pacing just right, and there were some real sweet moments (and some not so sweet) between characters in ways we don’t typically get to see.

It’s gotta be hard to find new ways to satisfy readers in the 52nd book in a series, without just pumping out replicas of earlier books—but Lupica has done that here, and I’m looking forward to seeing what he brings us later this year.

For readers used to this series or those who are looking for a new one to try, this Hot Property is worth your time and attention—you’ll be glad you gave it a shot.
 

Howl by E. Rathke, E. Rathke

adventurous dark mysterious tense fast-paced

• Plot- or character-driven? Character
• Strong character development? It's complicated
• Loveable characters? It's complicated
• Diverse cast of characters? Yes
• Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

3.0

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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We’d give until nightfall or the first howls before we gave them up for lost. Lost to never be spoken of again. Those ghosts trapped in meat who would become monsters to haunt us, to hunt us.

 
What’s Howl About?
That’s the end of the first chapter—and it tells you all you need to know about how warm and fuzzy this world isn’t.

This novella takes place in some sort of postapocalyptic future, and the world is in a very confusing place. It could be filled with the sufficiently advanced technology indistinguishable from magic or, it could be filled with sufficiently ordered magic indistinguishable from technology. Or maybe in the overlap of the Venn Diagram of the two. Eh…it doesn’t matter—one or both, it’s a cool world (for the reader, anyway, not so great for the residents).

In this harsh world, a young man and woman are kicked out of their tribe, their names taken from them—they’re left to try to survive as long as they can in the wilderness (yes, I’m glossing over important things). Following an encounter with some beasts that no one wants to come across, they meet a woman powerful enough to help them. She’s a monster hunter who has recently lost her team. This pair are a team in need of shelter, food, identity, and purpose. She takes them in, starts to teach them about the world outside all they’ve known and gives them those things they need.

And then…well, as you expect from monster hunters—they run into something nasty.

So, what did I think about Howl?
The writing was solid throughout—with moments that surpassed that and approached “good.” This isn’t necessarily a book that requires good writing—it’s got an inventive setting, strong characters, a propulsive storyline, and strange magic/science. Solid, capable writing is enough to keep you engaged and turning the pages—it’s enough to bring you back for more in the series. But good writing? The parts where you really can tell that craft has gone into a sentence or more? That’s icing on the cake—and rathke brushes up against that on a few occasions. Enough to make you realize he’s capable of it–and that maybe he’ll deliver more of that soon.
 
That said, there were a few moments where I wondered if he was trying too hard to make some of the emotional beats hit hard. If he’s backed off a bit and let them impact the reader with their own gravity, rather than giving an extra “oomph,” I think it might have been more effective. One of those moments was tied to a big reveal for a couple of the characters—or at least they acted like it was a big reveal. All I could think at the moment was, “Were you not paying attention a few pages back? I was.” Having paid that kind of attention, the (second) revelation didn’t make much of an impact on me, so the characters’ reactions seemed a bit off.
 
But let’s ignore those points (or at least rush past them), they’re not all that important.
 
What is important is the action, the worldbuilding, the characters—and the promise that we’ll learn a lot more about everything we see in this novella.
 
Once it gets moving (and it takes just a little while to get there), things happen quickly and intensely. The action scenes are great, the dashes of humor are fun—and I want more of all of this.
 

The Mercy Chair by M.W. Craven

5.0

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

The book opens with Washington Poe in one of the least likely places we’ve seen him—therapy. Sure, he’s not there because he really wants to be—but he’s still there. Dr. Clara Lang is a trauma therapist, and she’s trying to help Poe recover from a case that drove him to the point that an “incident” occurred (SPOILER: it’s nothing as bad as what he did prior to The Puppet Show, but this one had witnesses). 

He’s not in a good space—nightmares are plaguing him, and the circumstances around this case are likely what pushed him over the edge. The founder of a group called The Children of Job—an independent religious group associated with “extreme” views on sex, sexuality, government, and several other “culture war”-type issues—has been murdered. Stoned to death, to be precise. Poe and Tilly’s old friend, the Bishop of Carlisle, wants them to look into this—the Children of Job have been trying to be recognized for years, and while he’s disinclined to do that, he’d like to get this murder cleared up and to explore the group some. Enter our heroes. 

It’s a brutal, brutal murder—but as the investigation goes on, they learn more and more about this Church, its practices and beliefs—practices that aren’t just questionably acceptable or orthodox—but some that are downright criminal. And every secret, every layer of mystery, that Poe uncovers shows another layer of dirt and darkness. You won’t feel that bad for the murder victim for too long. 

Also, their agency is being audited by the government—one auditor, Linus, is assigned to Poe and Tilly while they conduct this investigation. Poe dubs him an intern and treats him like one—hoping to dissuade him from continuing this “audit” or at least not to let things get bogged down by Linus. Poe can see through the story he and his DI have been fed about this auditor, but he’s still stuck with him for the duration, as complicating as his presence/observation is (if only because Poe has to worry about his real purpose). 

The Religion of The Children of Job (and others) 

I have several questions regarding the beliefs of this group, The Children of Job. For example, what’s with that name? It’s an odd one to pick. The leader/founder of the group is covered in religious tattoos, but they seem like a fundamentalist group (and are compared to Westboro Baptist Church)—and I really don’t see those two going together. But I could be wrong there. But other things that don’t work with that group are things like the dichotomy of mortal and venial sins (something we’re told the CoJ do hold to). 

I get it—the main thing we’re supposed to focus on with this group is their controversial (at best) beliefs and practices. They’re supposed to be the intolerant, unthinking group that Poe can rail and push against. But the lack of a coherent religious worldview and practice really doesn’t work. Yes, they should seem aberrant to Poe and Tilly’s secular point of view and to the Bishop of Carlisle’s very un-secular perspective, that’s beside the point. It should sill seem internally consistent—and the Children of Job don’t. They really feel like a hodgepodge of hot-button Evangelical/Evangelical-ish beliefs and practices forced into some religious chimera. 

If, like most readers (I suspect), you don’t notice or care about this sort of thing, you’ll do fine. On the other hand, if you take this stuff seriously and expect sectarian groups that border on being a cult would take it seriously, too…it will bother you. It should bother the COJ. Does this impact the experience of the reader? Not really. Does it impact the hunt for the killer, his/her/their motivation? Nope. Does it impact Poe, Tilly, or anyone else we care about in the book? Nope. Did it/does it occupy too much real estate in my mind? Yup. 

Along these lines—sort of, we’re told that Poe’s “intern” Linus read theology at university, and he’s treated as the investigation’s religion expert after that. Which is fine, it’s not like they can call the Bishop of Carlisle every time something comes up. But in Chapter 17 he pokes at one of my pet peeves, calling the last book in the New Testament “Revelations.” Now, the name of the book is singular—coming from the opening line, “The Revelation of Jesus Christ…” Back in Chapter 11, he got the name right. So, is he just sloppy? Maybe (but the more we get to know him, the less likely that seems). And for all her lack of interest in religion, how does Tilly not catch something like that and harp on it? Is this a case of sloppy copy editing? That’s possible. But I don’t know, and it irks me. It’s not a big deal, but it’s one of those errors that’s like nails on a chalkboard to me. 

Poe’s Life Battles 

One of the problems with juice and smoothie bars was that however much they dressed it up, they really only served fruit and vegetables. It didn’t matter that the ingredients had been blended, put in a cup and served with a soggy cardboard straw, it was still a gunky mess of unpalatable leafy greens and unbearably sour or sickeningly sweet fruits. Ingredients supermarkets wouldn’t put on the same aisles were forced together then given misleading names such as Liquid Sunshine and Endless Summer.

But the main problem was that for a supposedly fast and convenient food, smoothie and juice bars were slow and inconvenient. Poe reckoned he and Linus had been waiting for fifteen minutes. And, to make matters worse, the place Bradshaw had sent them no longer did milkshakes. The teenager behind the counter had offered Poe frozen yoghurt instead, to which Poe had replied, ‘I’d rather piss in my shoes.’

While they waited Linus said, “You seem to have a lot of these little “life battles”, Poe.’

‘What battles?’

‘Well, this one for a start. All you had to do was say no thanks to the frozen yoghurt. Instead, it became a whole big thing. I’d be surprised if they don’t spit in our smoothies.’

‘And I’d be surprised if you noticed,’ Poe said.

 
It will come as no surprise to anyone who’s read this series—or any of Craven’s work because it’s true of all his protagonists—that Washington Poe’s greatest enemy is himself. As seen, even Linus (who hasn’t known Poe that long—and is kept at arm’s length) can see it.*
 
* Also, I rather enjoyed that pericope.

Each book in the series explores—in one way or another—Poe’s propensity to engage in these life battles, and what they cost him—whether it be his home, his job, his credibility, the purchase price for a roasted goat, or spit in Tilly’s smoothie (spit in Linus’ smoothie would be a gift to Poe).

To some extent those close to Poe, or those who’ve worked with him and have seen what his methods/personality result in, can tolerate this, or make allowances for it. But

Now, any armchair therapist would tie this into his mother abandoning him and him telling himself (or Linus in a couple of pages after this) that he just doesn’t care about what other people think. But that’s garbage, and as much as Poe will tell that story to himself—he may even believe it—this comes from a dark place (no surprise) and potentially wreaks havoc on his personal life. It’s done that to his career—and it may do it to individual cases.

When we first met him, there was D.I. Stephanie Flynn—a friend of sorts—and, that’s about all we know about in Poe’s life outside of work (and since they worked together…). But now he has a home, he has Edgar. He has grown over this series—see his relationship with Tilly, with Estelle—and even his working relationship with the police in Cumbria. There are people and things besides his stubborn self-reliance in his life. He might even be fighting fewer life battles. Hopefully not too many—he might be a slightly less entertaining character if he gives up on them completely. But seeing gradual change—growth, thankfully—in a mature character is a great feature in a series.

And all of that is due to Tilly Bradshaw. But following up on that is for another time…

Physical Descriptions
In the past, I’ve talked about Craven’s ability to make you see a physical location—and kind of feel, smell, and hear it, too. There are a couple of locations like that in this book (the most striking I’m not going to talk about, you get to find it and be haunted by it yourself).
 
But I haven’t done a great job in talking about his gift for physical description. There are some dazzling examples in this book. Like:
 

[Name] was as thin as garlic skin and twice as pale. He had hair like an unshorn sheep, and the physique of someone who drank his meals. His back was banana-curved. Given his background, Poe had been expecting an older version of Joshua Meade. Prim and prissy with a distasteful look, as if he had something smelly on his upper lip. But, in his ratty dressing gown and even rattier sandals, [Name] looked like a featherweight Merlin. His toenails were jagged and yellow and dirtier than a dustbin lid.

 

Virginia Rose was thinner than a lolly stick and meaner than skimmed milk. Her words were precise, her vowels trimmed. She spoke as if it was a necessary but unpleasant chore. Poe reckoned that five hundred years earlier she would have been a witchfinder’s assistant, gleefully passing them the heretic’s fork. Some people just gave off that vibe.

 
You don’t get descriptions like that everywhere, you know? Seriously, I could read pages and pages of those kinds of snapshots. I’m not even sure that Poe needs to do much but wander around a city and people-watch to make me want to read the thing.
 
Yes, I read this and other series for the stories and the characters—but when an author like Craven gives you this kind of detail, delivered in this kind of way (what one author recently described to me as “sparkle”)? That’s when he gets a lifelong reader, even if he doesn’t seem to know how many times to use the letter s in “Revelation.”
 
Story-Telling
The novel as a whole is about Washington Poe telling a story. And throughout it, a few people have stories to tell him (sometimes announced as such, sometimes not).

There’s an extent to which every mystery/detective/police procedural is about storytelling—the story the evidence presents (or seems to present, for Mickey Haller, Eddie Flynn, Andy Carpenter, and the like), the stories the witnesses tell, the stories that the detective/whoever assembles over the case, the stories the criminal tells, and so on—in addition to the story the novelist is telling.

But few are as upfront and in-your-face about it as The Mercy Chair is. Craven forces the reader—well, okay, that’s overstating it. Craven invites the reader to think about the layers of story in the book you’re holding/listening to—it’s similar to Churchill’s line about “a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.” I can’t delve into it to the depth it deserves in a post like this—nor am I sure I have the ability to explore it as it should be in general—but, like the section above, not every author delivers this kind of layer, meta-commentary, or element (whatever you choose to think of it) to a police procedural. So many—many that I enjoy, I hasten to add—are satisfied delivering a plot, a dose of character development, a clever mystery, and calling it a day. It’s the special authors that give you space and textual reasons to chew on things beyond the basics.

So, what did I think about The Mercy Chair?
Don’t ask me why—I don’t often find myself suffering from (and/or enjoying) the phenomenon called “Book Hangovers”—I think part of it is that I have so many books on my TBR that I don’t have time. For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about, one blogger defines them as “all those thoughts and feelings you get after reading a good book that prevents you from moving forward in your real life and/or your reading life.” Well, I got one from The Mercy Chair—not only could I not move on nearly as quickly as I typically do, I couldn’t even write anything that night. I was just in a mental daze that left me in a state to watch some mindless TV until I went to sleep. It just got under my skin, worked its way into the folds of my cerebral cortex, and into my bone marrow.

Basically, it haunted me for a few days.

And I loved it for it. Make no mistake, all of this is a good thing. A very good thing.

And then…when it came time to write this post, I kept coming up with more and more to say—and have exerted more self-control than I like (and a lot of trimming) to keep this from being a pamphlet.

I’ve said little about Tilly, which is a little odd. I could be wrong (I likely am), but I think the percentage of the novel that features her is smaller than usual. But it works (this time), due to the nature of the stories that Poe and Craven are telling. But when she’s around, she’s as fantastic as always (I have to bite my tongue on a couple of scenes that I really want to get into). Also, before the events of the novel begin—Tilly gets to shine in a very non-crime-fighting way. It’s good to have the reminder that not only does Poe think she’s brilliant—she actually is.

The book as a whole is the darkest yet in this series—possibly the darkest thing that Craven has written (I still have one pre-Poe book to read, so I can’t weigh in on that). But it doesn’t stop being entertaining—thankfully. There’s at least one “awwww”-inducing moment as well as some lightness, some hope, some Poe and Tilly nonsense just around the corner up until the end game. And by that point, you’re so hooked by the tension and wowed by the revelations that you don’t care. I’m including the revelations that you may have guessed at, or close to—because the bits of them that you haven’t guessed at will make you feel like your hunches were useless anyway. It’s a good thing no one in my family dared to interrupt me during the last 80-100 pages, I’d probably have fewer people talking to me today.

It didn’t end quite as neatly as many of these books do—but it’s so close that no one’s going to care (and who doesn’t like a little ambivalence anyway?)—and there’s a problem discussed in the closing pages that is going to make things difficult for the partnership in at least the next book. I don’t expect that it’ll last too long—and at the very least it’ll be something that Poe and Tilly overcome. I’m not saying it’ll be a “super easy, barely an inconvenience” type of thing, but I don’t see Craven as having written himself into a corner. Still, it’s the closest thing we’ve gotten to a cliffhanger in the series.

The Mercy Chair is going to go down as one of my highlights of the year, and will likely be one of the high points of this series. It’ll be hard to distinguish it from the rest of the high points—the Washington Poe/Tilly Bradshaw books are filled with them, but I do think The Mercy Chair will poke up a little higher than the rest of this Himilayan-esque series.

Read this. Read everything Craven has published—and probably will publish. Heck, go through his trash to see if you can find a to-do list/shopping list—they’re probably worth reading.* Once you shake the heebie-jeebies that this novel will induce, you’ll be glad you did.

* Please don’t do that, I was just joking. That’d be creepy. Also…probably not safe, we know what kind of twisted things his mind is capable of, don’t make him angry.
 

Detours and Do-Overs by Wesley Parker, Wesley Parker

challenging emotional hopeful reflective medium-paced

4.0

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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WARNING 

If you haven’t read Headphones and Heartaches by Wesley Parker yet, don’t read this post. If you’re not sure if you’d want to—this is not the post to read, either. Go read my take on it and then go read Headphones and Heartaches. Or skip my post (just don’t tell me you did that, my ego is fragile) and read the book. That’s up to you. But the first sentence of the next section contains a major spoiler for it.
 

Something about senior year has caused a shift in my relationships with those closest to me. People have been weirder, going on soliloquies about the past and how much I’ve grown up. It feels like I’m at the beginning of a long goodbye.

 
What’s Detours and Do-Overs About?
When we left Percy, he was mourning his mother, being helped through her death by overdose by his adoptive mother, girlfriend, and best friend. When we pick up with him here…well, he’s still doing the same. But he’s getting better all the time. It’s the beginning of his senior year, with all the drama, tensions, and excitement that brings.

Percy’s thinking about colleges—something he’d never believed possible until now. He’s even thinking about out-of-state colleges, and the teacher who took him under his wing in the last book has helped him connect with someone from the University of Maine and thinks he can get him a great scholarship. It’s hard to say what it is exactly about that school that captures Percy’s attention—maybe just the novelty of him leaving New Jersey by choice. This isn’t going to go well with his girlfriend, who has her sights set on a local college, but he doesn’t have to tell her right away, right?

Yeah, he’s still pretty stupid when it comes to relationships.

While he’s trying to figure that out, his new mom, Grace is making plans for her future. If Percy isn’t going to be around, maybe it’s time for her new chapter, too. (Percy’s glad for her to be able to think this way, but that puts some pressure on him to leave, too)

But that’s all about the future—about next year. For now, he has to focus on completing his Senior Year. One thing he has to do is a community service project—one more involved than any I’ve seen a High Schooler have to accomplish. He volunteers at a homeless shelter/food bank. It’s a great match for him—he has a real passion for the work, he can relate to everyone there, and soon is even helping them plan the future for the shelter.

While Percy connects with everyone there in one way or another—there’s a little boy, Dante, whom he meets before his interview. The two of them have an instant rapport—Percy sees himself in Dante. He was Dante just a few years ago—living in and around places like this with a single mother trying to provide for the two of them while battling her demons. Dante sees someone a little older than him who genuinely cares about him and opens up to him in ways he doesn’t with anyone else at the shelter.

Those are the pieces—the novel follows Percy and the people above over the course of the school year—through lows (very low lows), highs, and everything in between. Until we get to the end and see where Percy and his decisions seem to indicate the direction of his life.

The Heart of this Book
That heading is probably overstating it a bit, but oh, well. The part of this book that makes you like Percy the most, the part that makes you root for him (even when he’s being a jackwagon) is Dante.

Yes, you have to wonder about the staff at the shelter letting Percy ignore any and all boundaries when it comes to this little boy. But Dante’s mother trusts Percy, Dante trusts him even more than she does, and the two become great friends. The affection both ways is real and will make you melt.

There are some shortcomings to this book—but absolutely none of them matter when Dante’s around.

Percy’s Immaturity and Insecurity
Percy had to grow up, in many ways, before he was ready to. His mother’s addiction and frequent homelessness made him deal with things that no child should. Even after moving in with Grace, some of the decisions he had to make called for a level of maturity beyond his years.

But that doesn’t mean he’s got everything figured out emotionally—he still needs to grow up. Add in adolescent hormones and the, ahem, urges that young men in deep-like/love with an attractive young woman wrestle with…and you’ve got a recipe for disaster. Maybe even worse. In a year where he has major choices to make, he needs to think clearly—which is a lot to ask of any young person, but for Percy, it’s even more.

Grace has been a great stabilizing presence in his life—and he’s picked up several others, too. But that doesn’t eliminate all the insecurities he’s built up over the years. In some way, Percy is sure that he will be left alone, that everyone he cares about will vanish, abandon him, or leave him in some other way. These insecurities added to the pressures I mentioned above threaten to overwhelm him.

Arguably they do more than once.

It’s so easy to look at Percy as a young man with it all together. He’s bright, he’s highly motivated, he’s eager, he’s committed, he throws all his heart and energy into his goals. But he’s just a kid, and that shows up in rather inopportune times. I know I lost my patience with him a couple of times as a reader—everyone who isn’t Dante in his life has to think the same things a few times.

Grace
Grace is one of the best mothers in fiction. I didn’t talk about her much when I posted about the other book, and I’m still not going to. She deserves a lot of space dedicated to her, but I think I’d just repeat that opening sentence in various ways.

She’s patient. She’s understanding. She’s supportive. She knows her boy—even if he hasn’t been with her that long, she pays attention to him (better than he does himself). She’s also good about letting him make his own mistakes so he can learn from them. But she’s quick to step in when he needs her to, too.

She’s also just a lot of fun to spend time with. I wish we readers got to see some more of the fun times that Percy and Grace share, it’s just encouraging and heart-warming. But the book has enough other things to cover that we can’t get too much of them.

So, what did I think about Detours and Do-Overs?
I don’t think that this is anywhere as good as the other book featuring Percy. That could be my mood when I read the two. But I don’t think that’s it. I really think my issues stem from the behaviors and attitudes of the teens in this book—they were pretty realistic, I have to say. But they all just really annoyed me.
 
Not that all the adults were perfect either—some of them displayed many flaws—but the way they all responded to seeing their flaws was encouraging to watch. Emphasizing that they’re adults who are largely well-adjusted. (Dante’s mother, sadly, doesn’t really fit this).
 
People familiar with Parker’s oeuvre will get a kick out of some of the new characters in Percy’s life, and will be happy to see where their lives have taken them. The resolutions to the various storylines are all satisfying and convincingly told.
 
One could be tempted to quibble with some of the tidiness of the lives of the characters at the end of the novel—and were this a non-fiction work, you’d be right to do that. This is a work of fiction with inspiring and heartfelt characters, so shut up and let them have nice endings.
 
Once again, Wesley Parker brings some laughs, a lot of joy, and some warm feelings. I hope he continues to do so. Go read this.
 

A Serial Killer's Guide to Marriage by Asia Mackay

adventurous emotional lighthearted tense medium-paced

3.5

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s A Serial Killer’s Guide to Marriage About? 

I had a long and drawn-out version of this planned, but I scrapped it when I realized it would be longer than everything else in the post—and you’d be in better hands if you read Mackay’s version. 

So I’m going to try to be brief. 

Every parent knows that having a child changes your life. There are two distinct phases—pre-child and post-child. If you’re in a marriage/long-term relationship, that changes, too. Significantly. Generally, it’s worth it—but we all know the “remember when we did X when we wanted to?” feeling. We all have to find new ways to relate to our partners, ways to keep things exciting. 

But what if that X was killing people? People who abused women, in particular. What if the thing that brought them together, their joint purpose was this particular vigilantism—along with the travel necessary? What would they do after they had to put it aside for the safety and well-being of a daughter? 

What would that do to their relationship? What would it do to them as individuals? What kinds of strain would be caused? 

These, and many other questions, are answered in A Serial Killer’s Guide to Marriage 

Hazel 

You are going to almost instantly appreciate Hazel’s voice and perspective (assuming you can put up with the whole serial killing thing. But if you can’t, you’re probably not reading a book with this title)—part of that is because we start with her POV, partially because she’s a great character that anyone wants to identify with and empathize with. 

She wants the best for her daughter and her husband. She’s a devoted mother and dotes on the girl. But she misses who she was. She misses who she and Fox were. She feels shackled by his decision to hang up their knives and live a “straight” life while raising their daughter (children?). She mostly agrees with the choice, but it chafes. 

Hazel has never been good at making friends, but she’s trying to fit into her new, suburban life—going to mommy and baby groups, trying to forge relationships. And she is beginning to forge a friendship with a fellow mother when she discovers she’s made a bad choice. This new friend is a police officer. 

Whoops. 

Gripe #1: Fox’s Perspective 

Fox does not make a good first impression—or at least Hazel doesn’t leave us with a good first impression. Thankfully, it didn’t take too long to see something from his perspective and it became possible to empathize with him some. In fact, once we get to see his self-deprecating wit, it’s hard for a reader not to like the guy a little—and to realize that Hazel was being (understandably) uncharitable. 

It’s a thing that happens in marriage from time to time—especially the kind that could probably use a guide to marriage. 

Fox is incredibly careful and thoughtful (about their criminal activities, anyway, not so much about his wife’s feelings). He does do much for Hazel—for their family’s sake—that he doesn’t tell her about, or explain fully. 

There were two angles to things with Fox’s perspective that I think hurt the book as a whole while being things that Mackay clearly intended and I probably just don’t appreciate enough. The first is that we don’t know everything he’s up to and/or knows—this is done so we can learn about it at the same time as Hazel, which works for dramatic effect. But it feels like Mackay is cheating a little bit to get us there. 

The other part comes as a result of Fox’s place in the novel—as a character, he’s second banana to Hazel. What she’s doing and thinking is far more important (and I get that), but in addition to having a lot hidden from us, parts of his story are rushed. There’s…a situation back in the States with his family’s company. We get a glimpse or two at it, and then it’s largely resolved—off-screen. It felt like a missed opportunity. 

Gripe #2: Communication 

One decent conversation with the person each thinks of as a soulmate. One decent conversation between people we see do so much for each other. One decent conversation between people who would die—or kill—for the other. 

That’s all it’d take to make this a short story instead of a novel. 

Or better yet, put them on a better footing so they could do other things together. 

Yes, this is what happens between marriages all the time. Even ones where neither is a criminal of any kind. So it makes sense for Mackay to show this. But it could’ve been resolved quicker so we could see them as a couple (more or less on the same page, but not at loggerheads) when dealing with Fox’s family, Haze’s complicated taste in friends, parenting, etc., etc. 

Sure, that’s not the story Mackay wanted to write—so I really shouldn’t gripe about it. But watching how she did everything else (very well, I want to stress), I’d have enjoyed seeing this version more. 

So, what did I think about A Serial Killer’s Guide to Marriage? 

I really enjoyed it. I wanted more from it though, as my second gripe (which looks worse on the page than it is in my mind) indicates—I think Mackay could easily have brought us something better. More like the Mr. and Mrs. Smith TV show than the movie (not that this is a great comparison in several ways, but it captures the gist). 

So I’m going to move on from it there. 

This is really aspirational in so many ways—their lifestyle? (obviously minus the murdering bits) Either in the carefree pre-parenthood days, or even the suburban version—is something that few of us will see. The travel, the house, the standard of living—it’s fun to imagine yourself there. 

And honestly, we all sort of like the idea of being a lone vigilante (or a pair), doing the things the authorities don’t or can’t. Fox sees the comparison to a comic book figure—and embraces it with a grin. Readers will do the same. 

At the end of the day, this is silly, trashy, fun—and I mean that as a compliment. I’m pretty sure that’s what Mackay was going for, and she achieved it. (if that wasn’t her aim, she still hit the mark). I think most readers are going to like it more than I did—I have a short list of people I’m gifting it to, and I am confident they will. Anyone who finds the pitch appealing is going to have fun with this Dexter-ish* comedy, and I recommend it to you. 

* Heavy on the “ish.” 

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Random House Publishing Group via NetGalley in exchange for this post—thanks to both for this.