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Silly Rhymes for Belligerent Children by Trace Beaulieu, Len Peralta
That’s pretty much what the book is—in the forward/Author’s Note, Beaulieu says these poems were inspired by daydreaming, and what better source could there be?
Some are short…some are longer (at least when it comes to page count), they’re all a great mixture of fun rhymes, great images, and eccentric (to say the least) ideas. Some are morbid (in a kid-friendly way), some are just strange, some are gross (in a kid-friendly way).
My One Complaint
There aren’t enough poems.
Or illustrations.
Or anything else.
I want more of everything in this book.
A Quick Word about the Art
WOW. The art is fantastic. Can you go through this book, ignore all the words in black type, and still enjoy it? Probably—some of the pictures won’t make sense without the black text, but yeah, I can see the book working if you think of it as a collection of odd illustrations (I’ve tried this twice, but keep slipping and ended up reading the poems, so I can’t promise).
They are the perfect augment/supplement/accompaniment to Beaulieu’s quirky rhymes and sensibilities.
So, what did I think about Silly Rhymes for Belligerent Children?
This is just silly fun. I, apparently, am an odd adult with nothing better to do, because I’ve read this a handful of times from cover to cover in the last few months and am pleased I did so each time.
You know how there are certain movies/shows that when you’re just mindlessly flipping through the channels (assuming you still do that) you have to stop and watch for at least a few minutes? This book is kind of like that. I cannot tell you how many times since I first read it that I’ve stopped to read a poem or two when I see this book. I’ve yet to pick it up without reading at least three poems. Generally more. And not always the same ones, either.
From the poems to the illustrations and all points in-between, I had a blast with this. I wish I knew about this back when it was first published, my kids would’ve loved it then. I probably can’t get them to slow down enough for it now. Hopefully in a few years.
Track down a copy and lose yourself in these pages. Your inner child (and inner odd-adult) will thank you.
funny
lighthearted
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? N/A
- Strong character development? N/A
- Loveable characters? N/A
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? N/A
3.0
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Silly Rhymes for Belligerent Children?
The back of the book says:
You certainly don’t need to be a belligerent child to appreciate these silly rhymes by Mystery Science Theater 3000’s and Cinematic Titanic’s Trace Beaulieu – but you may learn a thing or two about handling infected pets or living dangerously through sledding. While the subject matter may make you a bit queasy, you’ll delight in the perfect storytelling encapsulated in each poem. Each selection is a dark and distasteful delight – a fascinating collection of raw honesty, cool understatement and looming tragedy, all brought to life by the whimsical illustrations by Len Peralta. Silly Rhymes for Belligerent Children isn’t the book you’ll keep on the bookcase for decades. It’s the book you’ll keep under your bed within easy reach so you can page through it long after you’ve committed all the poems to memory.
That’s pretty much what the book is—in the forward/Author’s Note, Beaulieu says these poems were inspired by daydreaming, and what better source could there be?
Well, these rhymes are meant for the kind of child I was, and frankly still am.
So don’t come here looking for nice little poems with fuzzy-wuzzy pictures of fluffy cute animals or impossibly happy youngsters fetching pails of water.
This book is intended for kids who hate that kind of stuff: older kids, of course, and adults with… well nothing better to do.
Some are short…some are longer (at least when it comes to page count), they’re all a great mixture of fun rhymes, great images, and eccentric (to say the least) ideas. Some are morbid (in a kid-friendly way), some are just strange, some are gross (in a kid-friendly way).
My One Complaint
There aren’t enough poems.
Or illustrations.
Or anything else.
I want more of everything in this book.
A Quick Word about the Art
WOW. The art is fantastic. Can you go through this book, ignore all the words in black type, and still enjoy it? Probably—some of the pictures won’t make sense without the black text, but yeah, I can see the book working if you think of it as a collection of odd illustrations (I’ve tried this twice, but keep slipping and ended up reading the poems, so I can’t promise).
They are the perfect augment/supplement/accompaniment to Beaulieu’s quirky rhymes and sensibilities.
So, what did I think about Silly Rhymes for Belligerent Children?
This is just silly fun. I, apparently, am an odd adult with nothing better to do, because I’ve read this a handful of times from cover to cover in the last few months and am pleased I did so each time.
You know how there are certain movies/shows that when you’re just mindlessly flipping through the channels (assuming you still do that) you have to stop and watch for at least a few minutes? This book is kind of like that. I cannot tell you how many times since I first read it that I’ve stopped to read a poem or two when I see this book. I’ve yet to pick it up without reading at least three poems. Generally more. And not always the same ones, either.
From the poems to the illustrations and all points in-between, I had a blast with this. I wish I knew about this back when it was first published, my kids would’ve loved it then. I probably can’t get them to slow down enough for it now. Hopefully in a few years.
Track down a copy and lose yourself in these pages. Your inner child (and inner odd-adult) will thank you.
America Fantastica by Tim O'Brien
How Was the Narration?
It was fine—any problems I had with the book weren’t on Wyman’s side. He didn’t work too hard on making each character stand out from the others with a distinct voice so that in each scene you knew immediately who was talking, but this isn’t the kind of book that lends itself to that. Also, the book didn’t become hard to follow because of that—nor did individual scenes. That’s all I really care about (as much as I might enjoy very distinct characters when the narrator does that).
The one heavily accented character’s accent didn’t sound quite right to my ears, but I’m not precisely sure what their accent should’ve sounded like. And…well, in context, I’m not sure their accent should’ve sounded right.
Basically, Wyman did well enough, and I’d easily listen to something else he narrated.
So, what did I think about America Fantastica?
I’m going to sound a little self-contradictory here. I think I missed most of the point of this book/narrative, and O’Brien was as subtle as a pallet of bricks.
There are intercalary chapters/sections (I’d have to see the print version to know for sure) describing the spread of “mythomania” across the nation like an infection (to be followed by COVID). And this is very clearly what the book is supposed to be about—contemporary America’s hunger for lies, half-truths, alternative facts, myths, whatever you want to call it. I’m not disinclined to argue with this as a whole—I just found these portions wanting. I’m not sure what it was I didn’t respond to here–lack of nuance and a feeling that O’Brien was trying to be too clever, come close, but really I just can’t put my finger on it.
Then there’s the narrative—narratives. I didn’t connect with any of them for very long (if ever). I kept going because many of them seemed to be on the verge of paying off, or at least giving me something to sink my teeth into. If I didn’t know this was a satirical novel from the description, I wouldn’t have picked up on it. I’m not really sure I get everything that was being satired (and really don’t care). The best way I can describe the storylines was that someone took a bunch of discarded ideas from disparate Elmore Leonard novels and mashed them together, whether they fit or not, and without Leonard’s skill/craft—then threw COVID into it at the end.
O’Brien had some very clever ideas, some nice writing, and a good line here and there. But the ideas didn’t pay off, the writing went nowhere, and the good lines weren’t worth the effort to get to them.
Maybe this was the right book at the wrong time for me and if I’d read/listened to it a few months ago—or a few months from now—I’d be recommending it, maybe even raving about it. But I listened to it now, so that’s what we’re stuck with. So the me of “now” says that it was an endurance race for me. A determined effort for me to understand why I should like this. A reminder that the sunk cost fallacy is something that I’m very susceptible to.
I’m more than prepared for people to come along and tell me why I should’ve appreciated this. But I can’t recommend this to anyone, and I would recommend you look elsewhere for a good commentary on the U.S.
adventurous
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
2.0
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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How Does the Publisher Describe America Fantasica?
At 11:34 a.m. one Saturday in August 2019, Boyd Halverson strode into Community National Bank in Northern California.
“How much is on hand, would you say?” he asked the teller. “I’ll want it all.”
“You’re robbing me?”
He revealed a Temptation .38 Special.
The teller, a diminutive redhead named Angie Bing, collected eighty-one thousand dollars.Boyd stuffed the cash into a paper grocery bag.
“I’m sorry about this,” he said, “but I’ll have to ask you to take a ride with me.”
So begins the adventure of Boyd Halverson—star journalist turned notorious online disinformation troll turned JCPenney manager—and his irrepressible hostage, Angie Bing. Haunted by his past and weary of his present, Boyd has one goal before the authorities catch up with him: settle a score with the man who destroyed his life. By Monday the pair reach Mexico; by winter, they are in a lakefront mansion in Minnesota. On their trail are hitmen, jealous lovers, ex-cons, an heiress, a billionaire shipping tycoon, a three-tour veteran of Iraq, and the ghosts of Boyd’s past. Everyone, it seems, except the police.
In the tradition of Jonathan Swift and Mark Twain, America Fantastica delivers a biting, witty, and entertaining story about the causes and costs of outlandish fantasy, while also marking the triumphant return of an essential voice in American letters. And at the heart of the novel, amid a teeming cast of characters, readers will delight in the tug-of-war between two memorable and iconic human beings—the exuberant savior-of-souls Angie Bing and the penitent but compulsive liar Boyd Halverson. Just as Tim O’Brien’s modern classic, The Things They Carried, so brilliantly reflected the unromantic truth of war, America Fantastica puts a mirror to a nation and a time that has become dangerously unmoored from truth and greedy for delusion.
How Was the Narration?
It was fine—any problems I had with the book weren’t on Wyman’s side. He didn’t work too hard on making each character stand out from the others with a distinct voice so that in each scene you knew immediately who was talking, but this isn’t the kind of book that lends itself to that. Also, the book didn’t become hard to follow because of that—nor did individual scenes. That’s all I really care about (as much as I might enjoy very distinct characters when the narrator does that).
The one heavily accented character’s accent didn’t sound quite right to my ears, but I’m not precisely sure what their accent should’ve sounded like. And…well, in context, I’m not sure their accent should’ve sounded right.
Basically, Wyman did well enough, and I’d easily listen to something else he narrated.
So, what did I think about America Fantastica?
I’m going to sound a little self-contradictory here. I think I missed most of the point of this book/narrative, and O’Brien was as subtle as a pallet of bricks.
There are intercalary chapters/sections (I’d have to see the print version to know for sure) describing the spread of “mythomania” across the nation like an infection (to be followed by COVID). And this is very clearly what the book is supposed to be about—contemporary America’s hunger for lies, half-truths, alternative facts, myths, whatever you want to call it. I’m not disinclined to argue with this as a whole—I just found these portions wanting. I’m not sure what it was I didn’t respond to here–lack of nuance and a feeling that O’Brien was trying to be too clever, come close, but really I just can’t put my finger on it.
Then there’s the narrative—narratives. I didn’t connect with any of them for very long (if ever). I kept going because many of them seemed to be on the verge of paying off, or at least giving me something to sink my teeth into. If I didn’t know this was a satirical novel from the description, I wouldn’t have picked up on it. I’m not really sure I get everything that was being satired (and really don’t care). The best way I can describe the storylines was that someone took a bunch of discarded ideas from disparate Elmore Leonard novels and mashed them together, whether they fit or not, and without Leonard’s skill/craft—then threw COVID into it at the end.
O’Brien had some very clever ideas, some nice writing, and a good line here and there. But the ideas didn’t pay off, the writing went nowhere, and the good lines weren’t worth the effort to get to them.
Maybe this was the right book at the wrong time for me and if I’d read/listened to it a few months ago—or a few months from now—I’d be recommending it, maybe even raving about it. But I listened to it now, so that’s what we’re stuck with. So the me of “now” says that it was an endurance race for me. A determined effort for me to understand why I should like this. A reminder that the sunk cost fallacy is something that I’m very susceptible to.
I’m more than prepared for people to come along and tell me why I should’ve appreciated this. But I can’t recommend this to anyone, and I would recommend you look elsewhere for a good commentary on the U.S.
Warriorborn: A Cinder Spires Novella by Jim Butcher
adventurous
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? Yes
- 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 Warriorborn About?
A little time has passed since we met our heroes—training was completed, people have new jobs, promotions were given, the threat of war looms larger, and so on. The status quo, in short, is in flux and everyone’s trying to settle in before things get really messed up.
The mysterious and deadly Warriorborn, Benedict Sorellin-Lancaster, has been promoted to lieutenant—as one example. And, as you can guess from this novella’s title, we will be focused on him. The Spirearch is sending him on a mission to retrieve certain documents that the Spirearch seems to have misplaced at a colony that’s gone radio silent. As backup, Benedict is assigned three other Warriorborn for this mission—deadly criminals put away by Benedict, who will earn freedom in return for their help here. Not exactly a merry band, but they should be enough to tackle most threats they encounter.
But what they find when they arrive at Dependence isn’t what anyone figured, and “most” quite definitely doesn’t mean “all.”
The Development of the Series
There are a couple of notable things about this novella—first of all, we get a great look into the Warriorborn as a whole, not just what we learned about Benedict in The Aeronaut’s Windlass. The Warriorborn was one of the most intriguing concepts from that book, so getting to learn more about them was a treat. That right there is enough to justify the purchase price.
But even better is the little updates we get about many of the primary characters, setting the stage for where they’ll be in The Olympian Affair. I was already eager to dive in—seeing these flashes of their future, and the way that the war is progressing just makes me want to tear into The Olympian Affair.
So, what did I think about Warriorborn?
This was a fast-moving thrill ride. Yeah, there’s some character development and exploration of some of what makes the various characters (particularly the new ones) tick. Butcher knows how to write action—if you’ve read anything by him, you know this. Throw in some clever dialogue, and that’s enough to satisfy me.
The threat that they discover once they get to Dependence is as creepy as you want. The world of The Cinder Spires isn’t a kind world, and it’s hard for humanity (and felinity) in more than one way, as we’re learning now. But as long as there are people like Benedict and the crew of Predator, maybe there’s hope.
Despite this being a bridge between Books 1 and 2 of the series, this wouldn’t make a bad jumping on point—if you like this quick taste of this world, you’ll want to go see how Benedict and the rest got to this point just as much as you’re going to want to see what happens to them next.
In a podcast interview, Butcher described this as “an apology novella,” due to how long it took to get the second book of the series completed. In the eyes of this fan, apology accepted.
Malibu Burning by Lee Goldberg
What’s Malibu Burning About?
There are essentially two stories in this novel charging full-steam ahead until they inevitably collide. The first is a heist story—with a good revenge motivation in addition to the “let’s steal gobs and gobs of money” angle. The second is about an unlikely partnership between an experienced arson investigator and a rookie investigator (but former US Marshal, so he’s not that green and has habits to unlearn). It’s not a spoiler for me to say that these stories will converge—for one, what’s the point of them not? Secondly, that’s not the way Goldberg works—there’s no way his robbers aren’t going to be chased by some cops.
The Robbers
Let’s start off, like the novel does, with Danny Cole. If you’re familiar with Goldberg’s oeuvre, think of Nick Fox—only not as outlandish, and you’re pretty much there. If you’re not that familiar, Cole is a con man/thief—he has a few specialists (hackers, hitters, etc.) that he works with to pull off his heists and con jobs.
In the beginning of the book, we see him alllllmost get away with something—and if he hadn’t been forced into a good deed,* he just might have. Instead, he’s arrested, tried, and convicted. He gets his lawyer to push for him to serve his time in one of the convict firefighters’ programs. He spends years fighting fires for the State, forming bonds with others on the front lines, and starting to begrudge the state for how they treat those convicts. Also, he gets to case a few luxury homes while serving his time.
* How much was Cole trying to do a good deed and how much was him trying to avoid being charged with a more serious crime is up for debate—and Cole’s lawyer is ready for that debate.
One of his teammates dies because of State policies and one of those luxury homeowners throwing his money and power around. When his sentence is complete, Cole sets out to get revenge on the convict firefighter system, and that homeowner—all the while enriching himself. I mean, the money’s right there, he might as well. To do so, he and his team have to pull off one of the most audacious—and destructive—heists imaginable. The fact that his plan is actually feasible frightens me more than any horror or serial killer novel ever has.
The Cops
Let’s turn our attention to the good guys now.
Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Detective Walter Sharpe is a detective in his fifties—he’s got plenty of experience and is good at his job. He’s not so great with people—particularly those he works with. He’s rarely satisfied with the easy answer, and will find reasons to think arson when no one else does (he’s also good at finding “accident” when the easy explanation points to arson). It’s not (just) that he’s a contrarian, he just cares more about evidence and understanding fire than anything else. This also applies to firefighters.
Pesky firefighters with all that water, washing away evidence. What are their priorities? Saving lives and buildings? In the end, Sharpe says:
Against his will, Sharpe has been assigned a new partner. One with zero experience in investigating arson—he’s going to have to build him from the ground up. Former US Marshal Andrew Walker’s wife is pregnant and she’s put her foot down—his job is too dangerous, he needs to decide—her or the job. So instead of chasing down criminals (like Danny Cole), he’s now on the safer end of law enforcement—coming along after the crime is committed.
If you ever wondered what TV’s Raylan Givens would be if he prioritized Winona and Willa over Boyd Crowder, you’d get something a lot like Walker. Incidentally, Carly Walker is an entertaining character, and while I doubt the series will ever focus on her too much, I look forward to spending more time with her. The scenes between the couple feature an interaction that we don’t see a lot in Goldberg.
Anyway, Walker has a lot to learn about arson investigation, and Sharpe is just the right guy to teach him. They get along well enough, but both can see that their styles and personalities don’t necessarily mesh. The above glimpse of their first conversation illustrates some of that. But the higher-ups have spoken, so they work a couple of open and shut investigations together. Then they look around the starting point of a couple of wildfires in the area so Sharpe can show his trainee what to look for and what a natural/accidental fire looks like.
But between Walker asking beginning-investigator questions and some of Sharpe’s observations…these wildfires start to look planned. But why would someone put so many lives and so much property at stake?
So, what did I think about Malibu Burning?
Oh, I just had so much fun with this. I realize it’s not that shocking for me to say about a Lee Goldberg book—but when he writes things like this, how am I supposed to react differently?
Danny Cole is such a great character—I don’t know if I could take a frequent diet of him and his antics, but a prequel or two to this with him? Shut up and take my money. Between the (arguable) good deeds he performs and the targets of his cons, it’s hard to see him as a real villain—yes, he seems to commit more felonies by breakfast than most people do all day, but in a Robin Hood sort of way.
Then again…when you think of what he does in this book, and the collateral damage he (seemingly) unthinkingly inflicts, it’s hard to maintain any kind of sympathy.
His targets are harder to work up any kind of sympathy or empathy for. Some are criminals, some are just…rich, entitled slimeballs. It is so satisfying to see bad things happen to them. Another target is the convict firefighting system—assuming Goldberg matched the realities of the system to what it promises the participants (and there’s no reason to think he doesn’t come close), something there needs to be addressed.
But the real star of the show is the partnership between Sharpe and Walker—they’re interesting enough characters on their own, sure—but watching them start to figure out how to work together is the best part of the book. I hope Goldberg doesn’t rush (I don’t think he will, because he’s a better writer than that, but I just want to say it)
Also, arson investigation is one of those things that long-running series dip into from time to time, but I don’t remember seeing a series try to tackle that regularly. I felt like I learned so much just from watching Sharpe work a scene and explain things to Walker. It was like watching Gideon Oliver explain something to John Lau or whatever local law enforcement officer he was dazzling. I’ll read that kind of thing any time.
So, great characters—on both sides of the law—an atypical angle for a procedural, interesting ethical questions, a mismatched partnership that will provide dividends both comedically and narratively for a good while to come, and Goldberg’s knack for making almost anything entertaining? What’s not to like about Malibu Burning? Go get it now, so you can say you got in on the ground floor.
The next book in this series is going to be a cross-over with Eve Ronin, apparently. It’s bound to happen—they all work for the same Sheriff’s Department, after all—might as well get to it early. It’s going to be great—if only to see Sharpe and Duncan together, that dynamic is going to be fun to see.
adventurous
mysterious
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
Walker thought, police work for Sharpe was an intellectual pursuit, a mind game, analyzing the clues to get to the bad guy. It wasn’t about the chase. It was about being smarter than his quarry and everybody else.
For Walker, police work was all about the hunt, and the risk that came with it. As long as he was wearing a badge and carrying a gun, there was no way to truly mitigate the risk that came with a job in law enforcement, which was something Carly either didn’t understand or didn’t want to.
What’s Malibu Burning About?
There are essentially two stories in this novel charging full-steam ahead until they inevitably collide. The first is a heist story—with a good revenge motivation in addition to the “let’s steal gobs and gobs of money” angle. The second is about an unlikely partnership between an experienced arson investigator and a rookie investigator (but former US Marshal, so he’s not that green and has habits to unlearn). It’s not a spoiler for me to say that these stories will converge—for one, what’s the point of them not? Secondly, that’s not the way Goldberg works—there’s no way his robbers aren’t going to be chased by some cops.
The Robbers
Let’s start off, like the novel does, with Danny Cole. If you’re familiar with Goldberg’s oeuvre, think of Nick Fox—only not as outlandish, and you’re pretty much there. If you’re not that familiar, Cole is a con man/thief—he has a few specialists (hackers, hitters, etc.) that he works with to pull off his heists and con jobs.
In the beginning of the book, we see him alllllmost get away with something—and if he hadn’t been forced into a good deed,* he just might have. Instead, he’s arrested, tried, and convicted. He gets his lawyer to push for him to serve his time in one of the convict firefighters’ programs. He spends years fighting fires for the State, forming bonds with others on the front lines, and starting to begrudge the state for how they treat those convicts. Also, he gets to case a few luxury homes while serving his time.
* How much was Cole trying to do a good deed and how much was him trying to avoid being charged with a more serious crime is up for debate—and Cole’s lawyer is ready for that debate.
One of his teammates dies because of State policies and one of those luxury homeowners throwing his money and power around. When his sentence is complete, Cole sets out to get revenge on the convict firefighter system, and that homeowner—all the while enriching himself. I mean, the money’s right there, he might as well. To do so, he and his team have to pull off one of the most audacious—and destructive—heists imaginable. The fact that his plan is actually feasible frightens me more than any horror or serial killer novel ever has.
The Cops
“You’ve shot seventeen men.”
“Is that a lot?”
“I’ve never shot anybody in over twenty years in the department.”That was hard for Walker to believe. “Not even a little?”
“Is it possible to shoot someone only a little?”
“I’m working on it,” Walker said.
Let’s turn our attention to the good guys now.
Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Detective Walter Sharpe is a detective in his fifties—he’s got plenty of experience and is good at his job. He’s not so great with people—particularly those he works with. He’s rarely satisfied with the easy answer, and will find reasons to think arson when no one else does (he’s also good at finding “accident” when the easy explanation points to arson). It’s not (just) that he’s a contrarian, he just cares more about evidence and understanding fire than anything else. This also applies to firefighters.
“Aren’t firefighters the experts on fire?”
“They are the experts on water.”
Pesky firefighters with all that water, washing away evidence. What are their priorities? Saving lives and buildings? In the end, Sharpe says:
Firefighters are the best friends an arsonist can have.
Against his will, Sharpe has been assigned a new partner. One with zero experience in investigating arson—he’s going to have to build him from the ground up. Former US Marshal Andrew Walker’s wife is pregnant and she’s put her foot down—his job is too dangerous, he needs to decide—her or the job. So instead of chasing down criminals (like Danny Cole), he’s now on the safer end of law enforcement—coming along after the crime is committed.
If you ever wondered what TV’s Raylan Givens would be if he prioritized Winona and Willa over Boyd Crowder, you’d get something a lot like Walker. Incidentally, Carly Walker is an entertaining character, and while I doubt the series will ever focus on her too much, I look forward to spending more time with her. The scenes between the couple feature an interaction that we don’t see a lot in Goldberg.
Anyway, Walker has a lot to learn about arson investigation, and Sharpe is just the right guy to teach him. They get along well enough, but both can see that their styles and personalities don’t necessarily mesh. The above glimpse of their first conversation illustrates some of that. But the higher-ups have spoken, so they work a couple of open and shut investigations together. Then they look around the starting point of a couple of wildfires in the area so Sharpe can show his trainee what to look for and what a natural/accidental fire looks like.
But between Walker asking beginning-investigator questions and some of Sharpe’s observations…these wildfires start to look planned. But why would someone put so many lives and so much property at stake?
So, what did I think about Malibu Burning?
Sharpe took out his phone. “Ill start with the front seat and the body, you shoot everything else. With your camera, not your gun.”
“That’s obvious.”
“Maybe to most people,” Sharpe said. “I’m not convinced it’s true for you.”
Oh, I just had so much fun with this. I realize it’s not that shocking for me to say about a Lee Goldberg book—but when he writes things like this, how am I supposed to react differently?
Danny Cole is such a great character—I don’t know if I could take a frequent diet of him and his antics, but a prequel or two to this with him? Shut up and take my money. Between the (arguable) good deeds he performs and the targets of his cons, it’s hard to see him as a real villain—yes, he seems to commit more felonies by breakfast than most people do all day, but in a Robin Hood sort of way.
Then again…when you think of what he does in this book, and the collateral damage he (seemingly) unthinkingly inflicts, it’s hard to maintain any kind of sympathy.
His targets are harder to work up any kind of sympathy or empathy for. Some are criminals, some are just…rich, entitled slimeballs. It is so satisfying to see bad things happen to them. Another target is the convict firefighting system—assuming Goldberg matched the realities of the system to what it promises the participants (and there’s no reason to think he doesn’t come close), something there needs to be addressed.
But the real star of the show is the partnership between Sharpe and Walker—they’re interesting enough characters on their own, sure—but watching them start to figure out how to work together is the best part of the book. I hope Goldberg doesn’t rush (I don’t think he will, because he’s a better writer than that, but I just want to say it)
Also, arson investigation is one of those things that long-running series dip into from time to time, but I don’t remember seeing a series try to tackle that regularly. I felt like I learned so much just from watching Sharpe work a scene and explain things to Walker. It was like watching Gideon Oliver explain something to John Lau or whatever local law enforcement officer he was dazzling. I’ll read that kind of thing any time.
So, great characters—on both sides of the law—an atypical angle for a procedural, interesting ethical questions, a mismatched partnership that will provide dividends both comedically and narratively for a good while to come, and Goldberg’s knack for making almost anything entertaining? What’s not to like about Malibu Burning? Go get it now, so you can say you got in on the ground floor.
The next book in this series is going to be a cross-over with Eve Ronin, apparently. It’s bound to happen—they all work for the same Sheriff’s Department, after all—might as well get to it early. It’s going to be great—if only to see Sharpe and Duncan together, that dynamic is going to be fun to see.
Nasty, Brutish, and Short: Adventures in Philosophy with My Kids by Scott Hershovitz
The book is broken down into three sections: “Making Sense of Morality” (covering ideas like Rights, Revenge, Punishment, Authority, and Language); “Making Sense of Ourselves” (surely non-controversial chapters covering “Sex, Gender, and Sports”; and “Race and Responsibility”); and “Making Sense of the World” (Knowledge, Truth, Mind, Infinity, and God—the easy bits of philosophy). While discussing these, Hershovitz will describe the idea(s) he’s focusing on—or the aspects of them, to be more specific; he’ll then illustrate them with questions from or discussions with his sons; give us a brief history of philosophy on the topic; and then his personal take on them. Usually with more input from his sons along the way.
How was the Narration?
Hershovitz was fantastic. If he gets tired of the whole professor/philosopher gig, he could have a new career in audiobook narration. I can only imagine that his classes are great to sit through.
He delivered the material that in the wrong hands could’ve come across as super-dry, or really jokey and kept it engaging, entertaining, and informative—with a little bit of the persuasiveness needed to keep someone listening to a book about philosophy.
I was quite impressed.
So, what did I think about Nasty, Brutish, and Short?
Oh, I have some serious issues with some of the philosophy here. The chapter on “God” (to the surprise of few who read this blog regularly) really bothered me—but it did underline the importance of Special Revelation to go with General Revelation.
The Conclusion, “How to Raise a Philosopher,” was fantastic. Truly some of the best parenting advice I’ve heard/read in ages (and I don’t even need that any more and I still found myself taking notes). For raising more than just philosophers.
Sure, I disagreed with some of his conclusions—but I loved hearing the way Hershovitz thought through the ideas he was proposing and/or discussing, the way he dealt with his kids and their questions, I appreciated the way he explained concepts both basic and complex in a way that non-philosophers could understand, and he managed to be entertaining all along. Some of his witticisms did cause me to react audibly. There’s a good deal of so-called common sense mixed in with the profound as well—always nice to see for a layman like myself.
This book is a strange alchemy of parenting advice (even if largely given by example rather than by precept), Philosophy 101, and humor. It works so well that it’s hard to explain. I can only hope there’s a sequel or three as Hank and Rex age.
All in all, I heartily recommend this for parents, people who want to get a start in philosophy but aren’t sure where (and don’t want to admit that to anyone), and others. The print version might be nice for easy reference, but the audiobook format is a real winner.
informative
reflective
relaxing
medium-paced
3.5
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Nasty, Brutish, and Short About?
The official description is:
Some of the best philosophers in the world gather in surprising places—preschools and playgrounds. They debate questions about metaphysics and morality, even though they’ve never heard the words and perhaps can’t even tie their shoes. They’re kids. And as Scott Hershovitz shows in this delightful debut, they’re astoundingly good philosophers.
Hershovitz has two young sons, Rex and Hank. From the time they could talk, he noticed that they raised philosophical questions and were determined to answer them. They re-created ancient arguments. And they advanced entirely new ones. That’s not unusual, Hershovitz says. Every kid is a philosopher.
Following an agenda set by Rex and Hank, Hershovitz takes us on a fun romp through classic and contemporary philosophy, powered by questions like, Does Hank have the right to drink soda? When is it okay to swear? and, Does the number six exist? Hershovitz and his boys take on more weighty issues too. They explore punishment, authority, sex, gender, race, the nature of truth and knowledge, and the existence of God. Along the way, they get help from professional philosophers, famous and obscure. And they show that all of us have a lot to learn from listening to kids—and thinking with them.
Hershovitz calls on us to support kids in their philosophical adventures. But more than that, he challenges us to join them so that we can become better, more discerning thinkers and recapture some of the wonder kids have at the world.
The book is broken down into three sections: “Making Sense of Morality” (covering ideas like Rights, Revenge, Punishment, Authority, and Language); “Making Sense of Ourselves” (surely non-controversial chapters covering “Sex, Gender, and Sports”; and “Race and Responsibility”); and “Making Sense of the World” (Knowledge, Truth, Mind, Infinity, and God—the easy bits of philosophy). While discussing these, Hershovitz will describe the idea(s) he’s focusing on—or the aspects of them, to be more specific; he’ll then illustrate them with questions from or discussions with his sons; give us a brief history of philosophy on the topic; and then his personal take on them. Usually with more input from his sons along the way.
How was the Narration?
Hershovitz was fantastic. If he gets tired of the whole professor/philosopher gig, he could have a new career in audiobook narration. I can only imagine that his classes are great to sit through.
He delivered the material that in the wrong hands could’ve come across as super-dry, or really jokey and kept it engaging, entertaining, and informative—with a little bit of the persuasiveness needed to keep someone listening to a book about philosophy.
I was quite impressed.
So, what did I think about Nasty, Brutish, and Short?
Oh, I have some serious issues with some of the philosophy here. The chapter on “God” (to the surprise of few who read this blog regularly) really bothered me—but it did underline the importance of Special Revelation to go with General Revelation.
The Conclusion, “How to Raise a Philosopher,” was fantastic. Truly some of the best parenting advice I’ve heard/read in ages (and I don’t even need that any more and I still found myself taking notes). For raising more than just philosophers.
Sure, I disagreed with some of his conclusions—but I loved hearing the way Hershovitz thought through the ideas he was proposing and/or discussing, the way he dealt with his kids and their questions, I appreciated the way he explained concepts both basic and complex in a way that non-philosophers could understand, and he managed to be entertaining all along. Some of his witticisms did cause me to react audibly. There’s a good deal of so-called common sense mixed in with the profound as well—always nice to see for a layman like myself.
This book is a strange alchemy of parenting advice (even if largely given by example rather than by precept), Philosophy 101, and humor. It works so well that it’s hard to explain. I can only hope there’s a sequel or three as Hank and Rex age.
All in all, I heartily recommend this for parents, people who want to get a start in philosophy but aren’t sure where (and don’t want to admit that to anyone), and others. The print version might be nice for easy reference, but the audiobook format is a real winner.
The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett
adventurous
challenging
dark
funny
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Tainted Cup About?
This is a Mystery/Detective novel set in a Fantasy world. But to say that almost diminishes it. This is a Fantasy world you’re not used to seeing—well, I’m not anyway, you might be better read in the genre than I am. At the core of the mystery story are tropes, characters, motives, and twists that anyone familiar with that genre will recognize and resonate with. Combining the two genres here only serves to make them better.
The instigating event is the murder of a significant, but not hugely important, military figure on an estate of one of the most powerful and rich families in the Empire. That’s enough to get the official investigator, Ana Dolabra, and her assistant, Dinios Kol, involved. When you add in the cause of death—a clutch of trees erupted from the Commander’s chest—well, that’s definitely going to get some official notice. And quickly put you in a Fantasy world. Feel free to read that cause of death a couple of times, it’s still not going to make sense.
There’s just so much to talk about with The Tainted Cup—I’m going to talk about some of the best parts of this book as you would an Oreo cookie. The Mystery part is the creamy center (at least a Double Stuff in this case), and then the crispy cookie halves of the World Building/Setting and the Science of this World.
The Mystery
I already wrote a section below that quibbles with the official description, and I feel bad about doing that twice (am I risking future NetGalley approvals by this?), but I have to. It starts off by saying, “A Holmes and Watson–style detective duo.” You can maybe stretch things and call Ana Dolabra a Holmes-type character. Maybe. But outside of being the first-person narrator, there is nothing Dr. Watson-esque about Dinios Kol. I do not know if Bennett is a Rex Stout/Nero Wolfe reader. I suspect he is, though, because Dolabra and Kol are firmly in the Nero Wolfe/Archie Goodwin mold. (there are other versions of this duo, Pentecost and Parker and Jake and the Fatman spring to mind, but there are others).
I mention this because I think the duo of Wolfe and Archie is one of the greatest achievements in Detective Fiction, and will joyously talk at length about them at length at any opportunity. Bennett using these types at the center of this book almost automatically guaranteed that I’m going to enjoy it. Particularly if he does it successfully. And, boy howdy, does he.
Ana Dolabra is a brilliant and eccentric figure. Our Nero Wolfe. She can be pressed into politeness with enough reason, but on the whole, she’s blunt, crass, and solely focused on things that interest her. For a variety of reasons, Ana rarely leaves her quarters, instead, she has clues, interviewees, and suspects brought to her (and frequently, those she reports to, too). More than once she brings suspects and interview subjects together to question and/or to reveal a solution, putting on a show for others.
She has a new assistant, Dinios Kol, to serve as her eyes and ears in the outside world—and to bring back those bits of the world she needs to do her work. Thanks to a special augmentation, he has a perfect and permanent memory and will remember entire conversations and things he sees perfectly, with the ability to describe them to the detail Ana needs. He looks at crime scenes, records, bodies, etc. for her, conducts initial interviews with witnesses and experts, and so on. He also seems to do his best to keep her interactions with others at socially-appropriate levels (although this is a challenge). If this isn’t Archie Goodwin to a T.
They’ve been working together for a while now—mostly on fraud cases. This is their first murder case—and they wrap it up quickly and efficiently. Except, Ana is pretty sure that this murder will be linked to others—something more than murder is afoot here, she’s certain. And she’s right. (I assume this is almost always the case—Dinios certainly does)
Soon, she and her assistant are assigned to help in the investigation in a nearby city where several others have been killed in the same way. Dinios is partnered up with an experienced Assistant Investigator, Capt. Tazi Miljin, who does some on-the-job training and mentoring while working the case.
Soon, they determine that this isn’t just a murder case—nor is it several connected murder cases, there is something much bigger going on. Something that puts an entire city—possibly the entire Empire—at risk.
The World
I don’t know that I want to get too in-depth here, because the discovery of it all* is part of the magic of this book.
* And by “all,” I mean all that Bennett is going to share with us in this book—there’s much more to learn in books to come.
We find ourselves in a minor city in an Empire at the beginning of the novel before we move to a larger city, a major center of military importance. We don’t know a lot about this Empire—it’s centuries old, there are civic religions/cults but we see very few true adherents, and many people are cynical about the government. But it doesn’t matter—they need the Empire to keep them alive. So they push on.
The military isn’t focused on other nations/city-states/bands of roving mercenaries or outside human threats (although they do take the time to focus on bands of deserters). Instead, they’re focused on the seas. Each year, during the rainy season, monstrously large sea creatures they dub Leviathans (both think and don’t think about other Leviathans you’ve come across—other than large, water-bound, and scary) attempt to come ashore and snack on humans, cattle, whatever.
Places like Talagray, where we spend most of the novel, exist to maintain the wall between sea and land—leviathan and Empire—it’s a massive wall (massive in a way I cannot get across to you) with the occasional weapons mounted to attack the leviathan. I saw Talagray as sort of Jackson’s vision of Minas Tirith, but flattened to one elevation. I’m not sure if that’s what Bennet was going for, but that’s what my mind saw. Maybe a little muddier.
While the local canton is concerned with the murders, naturally, their primary concern during this season is the maintenance of the wall. Some of these murders have threatened the integrity of the wall in important ways, threatening all of Talagray. As important as solving the murder is—stopping further murders and therefore preventing further damage to the wall is far more important. Also…they probably have something special in store for anyone who’d risk the wall in any way.
The Science
I’m disagreeing a bit here with the official description—so take my observation with a grain of salt (but I stand by it). There’s no magic in this Fantasy novel—which, sure, happens sometimes. But it’s still strange and notable.
What this novel does have is “sufficiently advanced technology [which] is indistinguishable from magic.” It’s not often that I get to apply Clarke’s Third Law this way, but it works. This is a very technological society, but nothing we’d recognize, really. There are no circuits anywhere, no electricity…horses and carts are the primary means of transportation for those who are going too far or need to go too quickly to walk. But they practice all sorts of engineering feats, genetic manipulation, medical marvels, and so on.
The source of their raw materials? The Leviathans that threaten them all. When these Leviathans die/are killed, the Empire’s scientists harvest blood, tissue, and bone for all sorts of things to accomplish the above. Leviathan bone is difficult to shape, but it results in tools and swords that are beyond the strength and endurance of metal. Tissues can be manipulated and applied to humans to extend their abilities (augmenting strength, enabling them to have memories that are like eidetic memory to the nth power, control of their pheromones to alter the behavior of those around them, and so on).
Especially when it comes to the abilities that some of these people have, or the freakish contamination that the murderer is using, in a Fantasy book featuring people on horseback using swords, this looks like magic. But it ain’t. It’s just a kind of science that’s sufficiently advanced that 21st-century Western Readers can’t distinguish. And I love that. Bennett does such a convincing and thorough job of describing this (without getting mired in the details) that it just comes alive and you believe it all—and want to learn more about it.
So, what did I think about The Tainted Cup?
My reflex reaction ought to be, I want more of the detective-y stuff. How could I not? That’s my default genre, Ana is a fantastic character, Dinios at work is so much fun, and the pair of them being new incarnations of Wolfe and Archie. But when you add in the world-building, the intrigue and politics, and all the cool science-y bits? I wouldn’t have it any other way. You need all of it to make something this good. And it really does—each section above would probably earn 4 stars or so from me. But when you put them together, the accumulated score has to be at least 5.
Also, all the other stuff in the book distracts from a couple of the problems with the mystery story. These aren’t significant problems by any means, but at one point Ana reveals that Person X is Person Y, and her assistants are shocked and amazed. I assumed everyone realized that as soon as Person Y was introduced and described. For it to take umpteen chapters for everyone to catch up astounded me (am pretty sure Ana was as fast as me, for the record). The other thing that I’d consider a problem, I won’t get into for spoiler-reasons, but I was distracted enough that I didn’t see it until the reveal. Also, it’s the kind of thing that Rex Stout himself would do, so I’m never going to complain about it. Mostly, because it worked really well for the story, so who cares?
Regular readers may have noted that I haven’t spent that much time talking about the characters. I chose not to for time/space reasons. If I focused on writing about Ana, Dinios, and Miljin alone—I’d double the length of this post. If I included every major character I want to talk about? I’d triple the length. No one wants to read me going on that long. So I’ll sum it up by saying that his characters are just as good and developed (and strange) as everything else I’ve talked about.
Bennett doesn’t show a lot of flair in this writing. It has almost none of Elmore’s “Hooptedoodle”—although he violates a lot of Elmore’s other rules (and does so for the betterment of the novel). This is a description, not a criticism, you’re not going to be wowed with his style. He doesn’t need that. The descriptions of characters, structures, and monsters are so vivid, so detailed you have no problem seeing exactly what he wants you to see (with just enough room for the reader’s imagination). The action scenes are well-executed. The descriptions of the trees growing from outside of a person are as disturbing as they should be. There are flashes of humor, flashes of hope and optimism in both the characters and the story—but it’s all in the shadow of the imminent threat posed by the Leviathans and weakened walls. So there’s a strong “The World May Be Ending Tomorrow if not Tonight” feel throughout. I was under the spell of the narration and story from early on.
I didn’t set out to rave about this book. I was going to enthusiastically recommend it, but as I started to put my notes into some sort of order and write, I discovered that I really needed and wanted to rave about this. Fantasy fans are really going to get into this. Mystery/Detective Fiction fans who aren’t afraid to play in other worlds are going to go nuts over this. And I want to read the next book in the series today. But I’m willing to be patient—The Tainted Cup won’t even be published for 26 days. So I won’t start complaining about the delay in getting the next volume for 90 days (that seems fair).
Go place your orders or library holds now.
The Blacktongue Thief by Christopher Buehlman
The Narration
(I’m sure I’ve said this before) It can be dangerous for an author to narrate their own book, but when they’re good narrators, they can bring something special to the performance as they understand the book in a way a hired gun never can. Buehlman is one of those authors who should read his own material all the time. He did a bang-up job with the accents, the characters, the comedy, and the drama.
I don’t know how this would come across in the print version—I’m assuming it would somehow—but in the audiobook, Buehlman makes Kinch speak with some sort of Irish accent (probably safer to say it’s more Irish-ish so he can deviate when he wants), which communicates so much about him. You hear that, and you automatically get his strange cynical optimism, the poverty he came from, his odd sense of humor. I don’t know how quickly that would be communicated with some other accent—but it immediately made sense to me. Galva’s accent is very different, and utterly fitting, too. I don’t know if other narrators would’ve made choices like he did to communicate that all so well—but I have to give him kudos for that.
So, what did I think about The Blacktongue Thief?
I can’t really discuss what I think of this book and the various plotlines/characters without spoiling the whole thing. So let’s stick to overall impressions.
Buelhman can create a character that shows up for a few pages—or recurs throughout the whole book—that is so well-drawn that you could imagine them carrying their own novella (at least). The magic system (systems?) are inventive—or at least used inventively—and I can think of several mages from other series that would be in trouble if they tried to cross some of these. The main storyline for Kinch seems locked-in early on, but also it’s pretty clear (I think) that he’s going to diverge from his assignment early. But the way it happens is enough to make you sit up and take notice (and perhaps mumble something like, “Are you sure about this, man?”).
Among the many subplots here is a love story—and I don’t know if I’ll come across one so effective for the rest of the year.*note It’s so sweet, so real. And really strange in the way that only fantasy can pull off.
* Okay, I wrote that sentence before I got too far into Charm City Rocks by Matthew Norman a day later, I really shouldn’t make statements like that in January.
By the same token, there’s this rivalry between Kinch and someone he knew in childhood. Their lives took very different paths, and Kinch (somewhat rightly) feels guilt over the way things went—Malk feels a lot of resentment about it (somewhat rightly, entirely understandably). Watching them navigate this reunion in various circumstances is a real treat. There’s some good depth, some believable realism to it—and Beuhlman is able to keep it entertaining.
I don’t want this to sound like it’s a comedy or a light-hearted caper kind of novel. It’s not. There’s a lot of darkness in these pages, a lot of tragedy and bloodshed, there’s some kind of duplicity on almost every page, and absolutely no one comes out of this unscathed. Assuming they come out of this at all. But you will be hooked; you will be invested in these characters; you will be mystified, weirded out, and perhaps a bit grossed-out by the magic; and you will probably want to avoid large bodies of water juuuuust in case one of Beuhlman’s krakens are nearby.*
* I know nobody has happy, shiny krakens full of humor and rainbows. But something about his seemed a degree or two worse.
I picked this up on a whim, mostly out of mild curiosity. But now I have to know what’s coming next.
adventurous
funny
hopeful
sad
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Blacktongue Thief About?
I don’t know how to answer that question in under 8 single-spaced pages (okay, that’s hyperbole…but it feels honest). Also, this is one of those audiobooks that leaves a listener without a clue how to spell just about everything (for example, I just learned how to spell the main character’s name), so you have to factor into my utter inability to write character/nationality/etc. names to my trepidation about trying to sum it up.
So I’m going to just paste what the publisher’s site says…
Kinch Na Shannack owes the Takers Guild a small fortune for his education as a thief, which includes (but is not limited to) lock-picking, knife-fighting, wall-scaling, fall-breaking, lie-weaving, trap-making, plus a few small magics. His debt has driven him to lie in wait by the old forest road, planning to rob the next traveler that crosses his path.
But today, Kinch Na Shannack has picked the wrong mark.
Galva is a knight, a survivor of the brutal goblin wars, and handmaiden of the goddess of death. She is searching for her queen, missing since a distant northern city fell to giants.
Unsuccessful in his robbery and lucky to escape with his life, Kinch now finds his fate entangled with Galva’s. Common enemies and uncommon dangers force thief and knight on an epic journey where goblins hunger for human flesh, krakens hunt in dark waters, and honor is a luxury few can afford.
The Narration
(I’m sure I’ve said this before) It can be dangerous for an author to narrate their own book, but when they’re good narrators, they can bring something special to the performance as they understand the book in a way a hired gun never can. Buehlman is one of those authors who should read his own material all the time. He did a bang-up job with the accents, the characters, the comedy, and the drama.
I don’t know how this would come across in the print version—I’m assuming it would somehow—but in the audiobook, Buehlman makes Kinch speak with some sort of Irish accent (probably safer to say it’s more Irish-ish so he can deviate when he wants), which communicates so much about him. You hear that, and you automatically get his strange cynical optimism, the poverty he came from, his odd sense of humor. I don’t know how quickly that would be communicated with some other accent—but it immediately made sense to me. Galva’s accent is very different, and utterly fitting, too. I don’t know if other narrators would’ve made choices like he did to communicate that all so well—but I have to give him kudos for that.
So, what did I think about The Blacktongue Thief?
I can’t really discuss what I think of this book and the various plotlines/characters without spoiling the whole thing. So let’s stick to overall impressions.
Buelhman can create a character that shows up for a few pages—or recurs throughout the whole book—that is so well-drawn that you could imagine them carrying their own novella (at least). The magic system (systems?) are inventive—or at least used inventively—and I can think of several mages from other series that would be in trouble if they tried to cross some of these. The main storyline for Kinch seems locked-in early on, but also it’s pretty clear (I think) that he’s going to diverge from his assignment early. But the way it happens is enough to make you sit up and take notice (and perhaps mumble something like, “Are you sure about this, man?”).
Among the many subplots here is a love story—and I don’t know if I’ll come across one so effective for the rest of the year.*note It’s so sweet, so real. And really strange in the way that only fantasy can pull off.
* Okay, I wrote that sentence before I got too far into Charm City Rocks by Matthew Norman a day later, I really shouldn’t make statements like that in January.
By the same token, there’s this rivalry between Kinch and someone he knew in childhood. Their lives took very different paths, and Kinch (somewhat rightly) feels guilt over the way things went—Malk feels a lot of resentment about it (somewhat rightly, entirely understandably). Watching them navigate this reunion in various circumstances is a real treat. There’s some good depth, some believable realism to it—and Beuhlman is able to keep it entertaining.
I don’t want this to sound like it’s a comedy or a light-hearted caper kind of novel. It’s not. There’s a lot of darkness in these pages, a lot of tragedy and bloodshed, there’s some kind of duplicity on almost every page, and absolutely no one comes out of this unscathed. Assuming they come out of this at all. But you will be hooked; you will be invested in these characters; you will be mystified, weirded out, and perhaps a bit grossed-out by the magic; and you will probably want to avoid large bodies of water juuuuust in case one of Beuhlman’s krakens are nearby.*
* I know nobody has happy, shiny krakens full of humor and rainbows. But something about his seemed a degree or two worse.
I picked this up on a whim, mostly out of mild curiosity. But now I have to know what’s coming next.
Blood Betrayal by Ausma Zehanat Khan
adventurous
challenging
emotional
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Blood Betrayal About?
On one night, there were two police shootings in the Denver area. One is the shooting of a possible innocent bystander/possible fleeing suspect in a drug raid. The other is the shooting of a vandal by an officer who (claims? he) mistook a can of spray paint for a gun.
Both of the officers were white, and the men who died were young minorities. Both cases will call for the Community Response team to investigate, neither case will be easy for them (and not just because their limited resources will be stretched by simultaneous investigations of a charged nature).
So let’s deal with these in the order we learn about them…
Case 1
Harry Cooper isn’t a fantastic cop—nor is he a bad one. He’s a solid, middle-of-the-road officer, and has been one for years—and now is near retirement. He’s never used his weapon before, but while pursuing some vandals on foot, he fires a warning shot in the air. Then he’s sure he sees a weapon in the hand of the vandal facing him. So he shoots to kill.
It seems like a tragic mistake, but as he’s part of Sheriff Grant’s force, Lt. Seif seizes the opportunity to do a thorough investigation—to ensure that’s all it was, and to maybe get more intel to help his case against Grant.
A number of things start to not add up—mostly around the “vandal.” He’s not one. He’s an art student who isn’t even from Blackwater Falls. He’s taking part in a legitimate street art contest, for one, not someone tagging random private property. Secondly, Seif thinks the physical evidence may point to something bigger. But he’s just not sure what. He wants Inaya Rahman to lead the charge on this.
Case 2
But Inaya has other concerns. She left Chicago after being assaulted by a number of fellow officers, we learned last time. So when one of those officers shows up on her family’s doorstep, she’s disturbed (to understate it). John Broda has come to her for help—his son is a patrol officer in Denver assigned to help a drug raid on a marijuana dispensary that was known to sell harder drugs, too. In the midst of it, a potential suspect was shot. Officer Kelly Broday was arrested for murder, without saying he shot Mateo Ruiz, he is saying he’s responsible for his death.
John Broda wants her to investigate and clear Kell, and in return, John will give Inaya the evidence he needs to close her last case from her days in Chicago.
She starts to look into things in exchange for the evidence, but she’s soon convinced that Kell was set up—possibly by a gang within the Denver Police. But she can’t figure out if someone wanted Ruiz dead (or why), or if it all has to do with the officer. Or is it both?
Meanwhile, the communities both young men belonged to start to organize and protest—particularly the Hispanic neighborhood Ruiz was from—and the Police Department isn’t responding calmly. Time is of the essence for this investigation.
Everything Else
Which is just a pithy way of saying “Everyone’s Personal Lives and the FBI’s Investigation into the Blackwater Falls Sheriff.” We learn more about every member of the Community Response team (and the civil rights attorney they ally with), and whatever arcs we saw or got hints of in the first book progress nicely (well, at least for the reader—I’m making no promises about how the characters feel).
Those aren’t the important parts of these books, but the more we get invested in these characters, the more compelling we’re going to find how the cases impact them and their lives. As a plus, they’re all really interesting characters so the arcs make for good reading.
As far as the FBI Investigation goes? Well…it’s still a thing. I’m not sure how much more I can say.
So, what did I think about Blood Betrayal?
It’d be easy to write this series off as some sort of “woke” thing where a racially diverse group of police investigators find hate crimes everywhere. Especially when white cops kill black and Latino men. That would be a grave error, however. Khan writes complex stories that cannot be reduced to a simple, one-line explanation, never mind a label or two.
In Blackwater Falls we got one murder that led to the uncovering of a web of more crime and corruption. Here we have two murders that end up being about so much more—both cases are about as complex as the one from Blackwater Falls, but the way that Khan weaves the two stories together (if only because the investigators are the same) makes this an even more complex novel. We get two great crime stories for the price of one. Yes, I think one of the cases was easier for the reader to figure out—possibly too easy. But the way that the clues, motives, and solution were revealed more than made up for that. And the other case? You’re never going to guess the solution until Khan shows it all.
But better than that is the way Khan shows (again) how crimes like this can impact entire communities, and the tensions that result and build up (possibly spill over) between those communities and the police rings so true that you could believe it happening today.
But Khan’s not just good at the big, social commentary—the impact that these killings have on the families is obviously bigger than anyone wants to imagine. And, as she did in the previous novel, Khan shows the grief, confusion, anger, and the other emotions that strike a family at this time with sensitivity and keen observation. Over the last few years, I’ve started noticing this part of a police procedural, and I really appreciate it when the author does it well. Khan’s one of the best around in this aspect.
Throw in some strong writing and great characters to all this? You’ve got yourself a winner. One of the best sequels that I read this year. You’d be doing yourself a favor if you grabbed the two books in this series up and doing so soon.
The Mayors of New York: A Lydia Chin/Bill Smith Mystery by S.J. Rozan
adventurous
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
4.5
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Mayors of New York About?
New York’s first female mayor has a problem. A few months after taking office, her fifteen-year-old son has run away. It’s not the first time, but it’s the first time since she’s been elected. She’s in the middle of high-stakes negotiations with a police union, so Mayor McCann doesn’t feel like she can turn to them without taking some PR hits/weakening in the negotiations.
So, she has her aide hire Bill Smith (who brings along Lydia, of course). It’s not easy tracking down one of the most recognizable teens in the city without letting anyone know you’re doing that—and it almost seems like the “without letting anyone know” part might overrule the “finding the teen” part of the job.
Now, Lydia’s trying to decide if she takes on a case of her own at the same time. Readers know long before they do that these cases will end up intertwined—otherwise, why would Rozan bring it up? And once Bill and Lydia cotton on to that, a hunt for a runaway takes on a whole new layer. Possibly several layers.
The Characters
Nah, I’m not going to talk about Bill and Lydia today—I honestly don’t know if I have anything else to say about them outside how they’re probably my favorite partnership in Crime Fiction (Robin/Cormoran—learn from these two. They trust each other and communicate frankly. Your lives will be the better for it, and the books will be shorter, too. Everyone wins.).
I want to talk about Mark McCann a little bit. At first, he’s just the target. He’s little more than a MacGuffin to get the plot moving. Then we start to learn a little about him and he becomes an actual character—one I want to learn more about. Then we get to meet him, and I like him a lot. And then Mark goes ahead and does some clever and stupid (read: dangerous) things and I want to see more of him.
The wanting to see more of him goes for everyone who’s alive and not under indictment of some sort at the end of the book—the McCann’s household staff, the people who help Mark along the way (and then help Bill and Lydia), and so on. I know it’s not really Rozan’s style, but if we could run across them in future books for a chapter or so just to spend more time with them, I’d really enjoy that. These all have a little more life to them than your typical witnesses, bystanders, and so on in PI Fiction. I particularly appreciated the way they all want some sort of Mayoral favor shown to their neighborhoods/communities and the way that Lydia takes notes to pass them along. A very nice—and real—note.
I feel like I should spend a few paragraphs on the most interesting character in this novel—Aubrey “Bree” Hamilton, the mayor’s aide who hires Bill to look for Mark. She and Bill dated years ago, and it’s clear from Bill’s First-Person Narration that the chip on his shoulder regarding this particular cheating %#&@ has is still pretty deep, no matter what degree of happiness he’s found elsewhere. It’s not just the way she cheated on him—Bill has no sympathy for her former PR clients (lawyers, largely) or the politicians she now works for, assuming everything they do or say is calculated for their benefit. He trusts Bree less than her bosses—and we see that throughout—but something about a 15-year-old boy who keeps running away from home speaks to Bill, so he has to investigate.
I got off target there, but I thought I’d explain Bill taking the case when he can’t stand anyone involved. Bree is a perfectly designed character—the reader can see how she’s good at her job, calculating, smart, and generally three steps ahead of anyone (aside from our protagonists occasionally). It’s impossible to tell how much she believes a lot of what she says, or if she’s saying it out of duty. And then there’s what she says to yank Bill’s chain a little bit. Bill (and therefore his narration) is so jaded against her that it’s hard for us to know how much of our negative reaction to her is justified and how much it is seeing her through Bill’s eyes. A great move by Rozan.
So, what did I think about The Mayors of New York?
The pace is fast without being breakneck. The dialogue is sharp and witty. Bill’s narration has never been more hard-boiled (his contempt for the client/client’s intermediary helps). The characters jump off the page. It’s what you want in a PI novel.
Early on, I had inklings about what was behind everything (and I’m pretty sure Rozan intended readers to). As the plot moved forward and we received more and more confirmation about those inklings, it made me uncomfortable and a little queasy. Why couldn’t I have been wrong? Why couldn’t these have been red herrings? Thanks to some skillful storytelling you don’t get bogged down in the wrongness of everything that’s afoot—it’s there and it colors everything, but your focus becomes on the characters dealing with it all, the reveals to other characters and the nail-biting way this story is resolved.
Yes, I think Rozan could’ve just as easily and skillfully let the characters and readers wallow in the muck of the crimes behind everything—but it would’ve changed the tenor of the book so much that the early chapters would feel out of place, and we probably wouldn’t have found some resolution that’s as satisfying.
Also, just because some things weren’t red herrings, don’t think that Rozan doesn’t toss enough of them at the reader to keep you wondering.
Rozan has been on a hot streak since Paper Son, and The Mayors of New York shows no signs of her slowing down anytime soon. And I am more than okay with that. If you’ve never indulged in this series before—this would work as a jumping-on point. Almost any of them would, really. The trick is to jump on somewhere for some of the best that PI fiction has to offer. A touch of the classic American PI added to a hefty helping of the 21st century. The Mayors of New York is one I heartily recommend to all.
Ozark Dogs by Eli Cranor
I still stand by that, but figure you need more, I just wasn’t sure what to say. I’ve finally given up and am just going to paste what Soho Crime has on their website (which, frankly, gives away more than I would’ve).
Consequences
Don’t get me wrong—there’s plenty of crime, tension, drama, and all the rest in the novel’s “today.” But in a very real sense the novel isn’t about any of that. It’s about what happened almost two decades before this that set the families on their courses and what the outcomes of those courses are.
This is a book about ramifications, consequences, pigeons coming home to roost—however you want to put it. When you read about those earlier events a part of you is going to ask, “Why didn’t Cranor write about that?” Most—or at least many—authors would’ve, and then some would’ve added something like this as a sequel. Or maybe as Part II in a longer novel.
Cranor’s not about that, though. His focus is on what those events do to the present. How they’ve shaped the lives of those in the present (primarily without their knowledge or understanding), and how the sins of the fathers can be visited on their sons and daughters.
The Author’s Note
Frequent/Regular readers will know that I almost never mention this kind of thing when I talk about a novel. Do read this one after you finish reading about the Fitzjurls, the Ledfords, and the rest.
Unless I miss my guess, you’ll agree with every syllable.
So, what did I think about Ozark Dogs?
This, like Cranor’s first novel, would be really easy to over-hype, so I’m going to try to be restrained here.
The prose is so sharp, so…on point. You can tell every syllable was considered, if you read portions of this aloud (or, I’m sure, listen to the audiobook) you will feel the work that went into it—although it’s so smooth and flowing that it comes across as effortless. You see exactly what Cranor intends you to see, probably feel what he intended, and understand the motivations (even the ones that disgust you) of these people in precisely the way he planned.
The dialogue is so well done that you might find yourself sounding a bit like someone from Arkansas for a day or two after you finish.
These characters—it’s hard to think of them as characters, really, they’re people. People you can imagine seeing on the news or in a documentary about all this. It won’t be the most flattering documentary about anyone, I should add. I think every single one of them crosses a line—more likely many lines—that they’ve known their whole life they wouldn’t cross, at least have resolved they wouldn’t cross again years ago. But they do, sometimes with regrets, sometimes with eagerness. And your heart breaks for them, even for some of them that you hope horrible things happen to by the end of the book. Fully developed, fully realized, very human (read: fallible and flawed) characters on every page.
Earlier I said this book is about consequences, and that’s stuck with me for months. But it’s also about devotion—sometimes devotion that borders on obsession. Devotion to a cause, devotion to an idea, devotion to yourself, or (the most dangerous?) devotion to a person (or group of people). There’s a straight line between every character and what they’re devoted to and those consequences.
But if you don’t want to think about books like that—and you’re just looking for a great read? Ozark Dogs fulfills that, too. It’s a full-throttle, action-packed, revenge-driven, thrill ride with great fight scenes, enough blood and guts to satisfy the reader looking for that, and some twists and reveals that’ll stun you.
Cranor gives us another thriller that you can give to an anti-genre snob, who’ll appreciate it as much as people who only read Crime Fiction/Thrillers will. If you haven’t read him yet, do yourself a favor and get this (and Don’t Know Tough) now and start waiting for his July release while you’re at it.
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
<i>I've been trying to write about this book since April. I know I'm not going to do this justice, and so I keep procrastinating. But with 2 posting days left this year...I can push it off no longer.</i>
What’s Ozark Dogs About?
One of the bigger hurdles for me in completing this post was figuring out what to put here, I toyed with:
It’s by Eli Cranor, which means it’s going to have a Southern Noir sensibility, is probably going to have something to do with family, and is going to be excellent. That’s all you really need to know.
I still stand by that, but figure you need more, I just wasn’t sure what to say. I’ve finally given up and am just going to paste what Soho Crime has on their website (which, frankly, gives away more than I would’ve).
After his son is convicted of capital murder, Vietnam War veteran Jeremiah Fitzjurls takes over the care of his granddaughter, Joanna, raising her with as much warmth as can be found in an Ozark junkyard outfitted to be an armory. He teaches her how to shoot and fight, but there is not enough training in the world to protect her when the dreaded Ledfords, notorious meth dealers and fanatical white supremacists, come to collect on Joanna as payment for a long-overdue blood debt.
Headed by rancorous patriarch Bunn and smooth-talking, erudite Evail, the Ledfords have never forgotten what the Fitzjurls family did to them, and they will not be satisfied until they have taken an eye for an eye. As they seek revenge, and as Jeremiah desperately searches for his granddaughter, their narratives collide in this immersive story about family and how far some will go to honor, defend—or in some cases, destroy it.
Consequences
Don’t get me wrong—there’s plenty of crime, tension, drama, and all the rest in the novel’s “today.” But in a very real sense the novel isn’t about any of that. It’s about what happened almost two decades before this that set the families on their courses and what the outcomes of those courses are.
This is a book about ramifications, consequences, pigeons coming home to roost—however you want to put it. When you read about those earlier events a part of you is going to ask, “Why didn’t Cranor write about that?” Most—or at least many—authors would’ve, and then some would’ve added something like this as a sequel. Or maybe as Part II in a longer novel.
Cranor’s not about that, though. His focus is on what those events do to the present. How they’ve shaped the lives of those in the present (primarily without their knowledge or understanding), and how the sins of the fathers can be visited on their sons and daughters.
The Author’s Note
Frequent/Regular readers will know that I almost never mention this kind of thing when I talk about a novel. Do read this one after you finish reading about the Fitzjurls, the Ledfords, and the rest.
Unless I miss my guess, you’ll agree with every syllable.
So, what did I think about Ozark Dogs?
This, like Cranor’s first novel, would be really easy to over-hype, so I’m going to try to be restrained here.
The prose is so sharp, so…on point. You can tell every syllable was considered, if you read portions of this aloud (or, I’m sure, listen to the audiobook) you will feel the work that went into it—although it’s so smooth and flowing that it comes across as effortless. You see exactly what Cranor intends you to see, probably feel what he intended, and understand the motivations (even the ones that disgust you) of these people in precisely the way he planned.
The dialogue is so well done that you might find yourself sounding a bit like someone from Arkansas for a day or two after you finish.
These characters—it’s hard to think of them as characters, really, they’re people. People you can imagine seeing on the news or in a documentary about all this. It won’t be the most flattering documentary about anyone, I should add. I think every single one of them crosses a line—more likely many lines—that they’ve known their whole life they wouldn’t cross, at least have resolved they wouldn’t cross again years ago. But they do, sometimes with regrets, sometimes with eagerness. And your heart breaks for them, even for some of them that you hope horrible things happen to by the end of the book. Fully developed, fully realized, very human (read: fallible and flawed) characters on every page.
Earlier I said this book is about consequences, and that’s stuck with me for months. But it’s also about devotion—sometimes devotion that borders on obsession. Devotion to a cause, devotion to an idea, devotion to yourself, or (the most dangerous?) devotion to a person (or group of people). There’s a straight line between every character and what they’re devoted to and those consequences.
But if you don’t want to think about books like that—and you’re just looking for a great read? Ozark Dogs fulfills that, too. It’s a full-throttle, action-packed, revenge-driven, thrill ride with great fight scenes, enough blood and guts to satisfy the reader looking for that, and some twists and reveals that’ll stun you.
Cranor gives us another thriller that you can give to an anti-genre snob, who’ll appreciate it as much as people who only read Crime Fiction/Thrillers will. If you haven’t read him yet, do yourself a favor and get this (and Don’t Know Tough) now and start waiting for his July release while you’re at it.