Wulf C. Krueger

Bog-standard feel-good stuff featuring clicheed, over-the-top characters, a rather boring story, conflicts that are resolved by "a good, strong talking-to" by one senior or another.

Readable but not worth my reading time.

Read due to a New York Times book review. Once I saw the cover, I should have known better...

Every chapter introduces a new issue which is promptly resolved in the next. The entire story felt like I had read it before (I hadn't!) because there's not a single original thought in this entire novel. Each and every character, from the saintly ex-con, the alholic(s), the small-town heroine and her estranged mother. There's also the reborn christian grandma (no worse human beings than those!) with her "tough love", the reformed music agent, and many more who feel like you've read about them a million times, or seen their story in some TV trash.

None of them were likeable in any kind either. Another complete waste of reading time.

Not so hot anymore but I'm too tired to write proper reviews right now.

So, this one? A complete, utter turd. A highly questionable detective who physically forces his "love" interest into submission. Said love interest, in turn, gets understandably angry, but not-so-secretly swoons at his manliness. (Yes, both.)

A troupe of pagans and satanists, pedophiles, drugs, corruption, the catholic church; all of these (often combined!) get thrown in. For good measure a bit of prostitution, homophobia, and incest complete this unholy mess.

Not so hot anymore but I'm too tired to write proper reviews right now.

While not quite as good as some of the earlier instalments, "Little Children" is most certainly a good read. Kim and her team are called out to help another team in Blackpool - while at the same time checking on said team.

The team dynamics are a bit different due to the different location and the strained collaboration with the Blackpool team but it's still an easily recognisable and devourable Kim Stone.

A good read, indeed, but I'm certainly looking forward to seeing Kim and her team in her usually haunts next time!

During this extremely warm summer, I'm writing bite-sized reviews at best.

FINALLY! Bruno is back in local crime and not up against international, state-sponsored, or other high-profile crime and/or terrorism right there, in the darkest backwaters of rural France.

It's a sensible, enjoyable novel that's very much about Bruno and his friends, the Greems, the Left, and the Right who all decide to go up against our noble hero policeman. There's a newly-dead woman, a new very-much-alive woman, dinners with everyone and, literally and metaphorically, their dogs, a woman who finally says good-bye, and, perhaps, a new job on the horizon for Bruno.

If you liked the earler Bruno novels, I'm sufficiently sure you'll enjoy this one. If you dislike this one's predecessors, you'll also like this one. So, what are you waiting for?

During this extremely warm summer, I'm writing bite-sized reviews at best.

Oh, well, this is kind of mistitled and the pen name is strongly misleading: This should have been called "Running" because our self-styled "Slutty Cheff" sounds more like a manic-depressive person who's telling us about how she starts to live up to her dream, then either gets bored, proficient, or panicky, runs away, and then restarts the cycle.

She's not "slutty" but constantly drunk while not in a kitchen, while also abusing cocain, ketamin, and heroin, indulging in (mostly) unsafe orgasm-less sex with the wrong people (puppy-eyes-style barman, cheating chef, asshole chef). Also, despite knowing full well about her mental health challenges, she only looks for professional help *very* late in the game, then proceeds to "hesitatingly" take her medication and wash it down with more alcohol...

You're really making those of us struggling proud, "Drunken Junkie Maybe-Cheff"! Also, don't hold your breath for another book of hers - she's sufficiently competent at writing now, so I guess she's drunkenly running away already...

Meh!

What’s better than a novel you don’t want to put down? Well, one that actually makes you take time off from your job in order to keep reading. I did, because it was so irresistibly great.

In ”The Drop”, Harry Bosch is back at “Open-Unsolved” with his new partner (after Ignacio Ferras completely fulfilled his potential in the previous novel (sorry, Belle! ;) )), David Chu, whom you might remember from the previous instalment in what’s quickly becoming my favourite series of all time.

This time, Harry investigates why a child’s blood (and, thus, DNA) was found on the body of a murder victim. Just when he and his partner start picking up the case, Harry is called out to a very recent body: George Irving, son of Bosch’s old nemesis, Irvin Irving, now a city councilman, has been found dead below the window of his hotel room. His father requests Bosch for the investigation.

True to his motto - everybody counts or nobody counts - Harry works both cases at the same time while also trying to be a good father to Maddy. She’s living with him and now, at 15, set on following in Harry’s footsteps and becoming a cop. While in previous novels, Maddie played a small role, if at all, in this one she really grows into an important and interesting person.

Harry also meets a person of, let’s say, “personal interest” during his DNA-related investigation who makes for a great (temporary?) addition to the cast and makes Harry re-evaluate his own perceptions.

As can be expected, there’s a lot of politics involved in the Irving case which makes for a truly riveting hunt for the truth below all the layers of deception, intrigue, and scheming - even from unexpected parties…

As usual, there are lots of twists and almost shocking revelations throughout the story, which made me lose a lot of sleep. They always make sense, though, and, especially near the end, come as a final surprise for Harry (and me) as well.

When it comes to style, this is vintage and quintessential Connelly at his best. The medium-length chapters are sensibly chosen, making the pacing perfect: the novel is never slow, nor too rushed. The narrative maintains a splendid and fitting balance, giving time for suspense to simmer without ever dragging. Every character has a distinctive “voice” and quirks, making them feel like real, living people.

Connelly is just as sharp when it comes to the bigger picture. The novel really digs into the messiness of politics - both in City Hall and inside the LAPD - and shows how complicated justice can get. All those tangled relationships and shifting alliances feel completely authentic, and the way Harry tries to stick to his code while dealing with so much pressure really rings true. Plus, as always, Los Angeles isn’t just a setting - it’s practically another character in the book: textured, gritty, and full of life.

One point worth mentioning: for reasons I can’t go into without spoiling things, this is probably not the best entry point for newcomers to the Bosch series (but truly, who starts a series at book fifteen anyway?). Fans will find plenty to love here.

So, grab a beverage of your choice, some snacks, and make yourself comfortable to immerse yourself right into “The Drop”.

Five stars out of five.

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Michael Connelly’s “The Lincoln Lawyer” is probably the most convincing legal thriller I’ve ever read. Mickey Haller’s world comes alive on the pages - his “office” the back seat of a Lincoln, his (sometimes questionable) clients, and his approach which is an exquisite mix of street-smart savvy, courtroom elegance, and hard-earned cynicism.

Each twist lands, every setback ratchets up the tension, and Mickey’s voice carries the narrative with wit, weariness, and surprising vulnerability. He is far from the “white-knight” lawyer - constantly dancing on the edge between pragmatism and principle - but it is the flashes of conscience and dry humour that give Haller real depth.

»My greatest fear had been realized, realized for two years but I hadn’t known it. Not until now. I had been presented with innocence but I had not seen it or grasped it. Instead, I had thrown it into the maw of the machine like everything else. Now it was a cold, gray innocence, as dead as gravel and hidden in a fortress of stone and steel. And I had to live with it.«

Connelly’s supporting cast is just as convincing - whether it is the investigator, Raul, the ex-wives (especially Maggie!), or the primary client here whose story is never quite what it seems, each adds momentum to the story.

Perhaps most impressive is the way Connelly melds hardboiled crime, legal manoeuvring, and a thoughtful exploration of justice and morality - without sacrificing entertainment. “The Lincoln Lawyer” brims with energy, depth, and an appeal which makes for compulsive reading.

Whether you are new to courtroom thrillers or a seasoned crime fiction reader, for me, this was an absolute page-turner and a remarkably strong series opener.

Compared to Connelly’s Harry Bosch, Mickey Haller is - at least in this first instalment - less gritty and slightly more “glossy”. I greatly enjoyed it.

Five stars out of five.

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Oh, wow, this was ridiculously bad.

Carter and Arizona have been friends since fourth grade. They are the closest of platonic friends - until they, as is most convenient for the plot, both suddenly at the same time realise how insanely hot they are for each other.

With all the language skills of a teenager and the sensitivity of a butcher, Whitney G. spins a tale as coherent as a fever dream and as inventive as a rerun (this novel contains not a single original thought).

Arizona sneaks routinely into paid cooking lessons, and, in doing so, manages to get a full scholarship at “the second best culinary school in the world” in France and plans to move there. The remaining two weeks until her departure, she spends nearly every waking moment and every night with Carter. He, in turn, is so great between the sheets, he sexually awakens her, and Whitney G. writes smut like this:

»“Oh… Oh...Oh god…”. I felt him [...]. “Ahhh… Ahhh…”«

And that’s just the very obvious tip of the proverbial iceberg of bad, weird writing throughout the entire novel. In my reading experience, G.’s authorial eloquence is pretty much at rock bottom. It’s so bad that she used to self-publish under what is probably her real name, Whitney Gracia Williams. In Germany, the media must shorten the names of criminal suspects. That G. does it herself seems perfectly fitting.

Just before leaving for the airport, Arizona finally expresses her feelings for Carter to him in plain words. Carter, who wants to become a hotshot lawyer, has the amazing idea to respond by pushing her firmly away (“I don’t love you like that and it was just sex for me.”). He does it because he is obviously convinced Arizona needs to be protected from herself…

(Which she will actually confirm to be true later on.)

To top off this male chauvinist crap, Carter is obviously as smart as a paramecium when he tells Arizona the following near the end of the reader’s torture:

»If I knew that what I said would make you give me the cold shoulder or stop talking to me, I can promise you that I never would’ve done it and I would take it back in a heartbeat.«

Arizona moves to France, becomes the ultimate cooking princess there, befriends characters as flat as cardboard cutouts (which every person in this novel is), and eventually returns home with a boyfriend to whose presence Carter predictably reacts like an enraged gorilla. He first pounds his chest until Arizona caves and finally lets him pound her again.

Much to my dismay, the author also seems to face semantic or memory challenges:

»Panting and trembling, I shut my eyes—not answering any of his questions that he peppered with forehead kisses.«

In this scene, Carter didn’t ask a single question…

There’s also this gem of a scene in which Arizona confesses her feelings for Carter to her mother:

»”I asked him if he had feelings that were more than friend-like, if he felt like there was something more than sex between us, and he said no.”

“You asked him that in person?”

“No. It was in a text message. Same thing.”«

The thing is: She actually did ask him in person before leaving for the airport. It’s bad when an author doesn’t even remember what they wrote before…

As if all of that wasn’t bad enough in itself, the pace is that of a snail on tranquilisers. Thankfully, I read this mostly at night, so the way this steaming turd wore me out helped me find my way to bed. Since the novel was also as emotionally moving as reading IKEA instructions, it numbed my mind sufficiently to sleep at any moment.

Stay well away from this, my friends! Don’t be a non-DNFing Wulf!

One star out of five.

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Phew… Once more, I was looking for a fun romance and despite recent disappointment, I chose to go with Christina Lauren’s “Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating”.

This first sentence of the blurb accurately sums up the essence of this entire novel:

“Just friends. Just friends. JUST FRIENDS. If they repeat it enough, maybe it’ll be true…”

“Hazel”, the same blurb goes on to tell us, “knows she’s a lot to take”. Absolutely, and Hazel does it so well, it leads to a string of boring, horrible, humiliating, and/or confusing double dates on which Josh and Hazel set each other up.

Through these ordeals, which they go through about nine times, they and the reader suffer, but Josh and Hazel realise only very late they were actually going out with each other. This reader, on the other hand, would have had the chance to learn through pain and DNF this… novel. (He didn’t.)

Josh — well, guess what: Josh was so memorable, I’ve already forgotten everything about him. I’ve made no annotations about him, I have no highlights that would showcase his character. Just nothing. I think that either speaks volumes about my memory, or about the blandness of the character. You get to be the judge of that.

There’s not much more to be said about this one: It was clichéd, adequately written, sometimes a bit slow, and at no point did it exceed mediocrity.

Hazel’s pregnancy before she and Josh even get together, how she handles that, as well as the ending, further soured my enjoyment.

Compared to the fresh, sensitive, and much more enjoyable “The Paradise Problem”, or the “raw, awesome honesty” reflected hilariously in “The Unhoneymooners”, “Josh and Hazel” feels simplistic, old-fashioned, and more shallow and bland.

The novel is still good enough for three stars out of five.

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Another read, another Bosch. A better Bosch than the previous one and, yet, still not back to old form.

It begins interestingly enough when Bosch is called out to a liquor store he knows from way back, the owner of which has been murdered. Just as usual, this sets off a police procedural with Harry Bosch at its front and centre. Ignacio Ferras, his latest partner, also makes some appearances, but only attains any kind of significance at the very end.

What comes next, though, is in several ways a complete departure from earlier paths: Maddy, at this point 13, is abducted in Hong Kong. Bosch is contacted and is told in no uncertain terms that he’s to stop looking into things. This is where a completely different part of the novel begins.

Bosch, of course, travels to Hong Kong to join forces with his ex-wife, Eleanor Wish, to rescue their daughter. This part is basically a wild manhunt through the city and its seedier districts. There’s much violence, and almost gore, in this part, and it felt like a bit too much. It’s also very different from other Bosch novels because here, Harry plays the role of a vigilante, and that doesn’t really suit him. Also, Eleanor deserved a better ending: She is shot and killed in a simple mugging attempt, instead of, as in the TV show, being killed for revenge.

Back in L.A. things start getting better until a very rushed ending that’s also told in a flashback - a curious decision on the author’s part.

Still, it’s a Bosch, and it was definitely more satisfying and interesting than “The Overlook”.

Four stars out of five.

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Ugh… I didn’t expect this. A bad Bosch novel!

Well, bad is, of course, relatively speaking: “The Overlook”, instalment 13 of the ongoing Bosch series by Michael Connelly, isn’t outright bad. It’s just surprisingly and significantly mediocre.

For the first time in his new job in Robbery Homicide Division (RHD) at Homicide Special as a senior investigator looking into cases that might require long-term engagement, Harry is called out to the eponymous overlook where a murder took place.

Soon it becomes clear the case might not solely be a murder, but also a case of terrorism, and so the FBI is called in. Rachel Walling is first among them. If you remember the previous novel’s outcome with respect to Harry and Rachel, you might wonder at the tension between them. There’s a bit of it, but not much.

“Not much” is, in fact, something that can be said about many aspects of this novel as well as the novel in its entirety. Harry is still Harry, but even he slowly meanders along for most of the story, and, suddenly, it all comes to a rushed ending.

Harry’s new partner Ignacio “Iggy” Ferras feels like stuffing – he’s hardly around, and if and when he is, it’s as a semi-serious sidekick with much of the character and personality of a toothpick.

The investigative part also suffers from this strong imbalance: Whereas Harry follows a sound and logical train of thought, the FBI and other three-letter agencies are on a wild goose chase for domestic and international terrorists. They never really come together, nor do they clash as spectacularly as in other Bosch novels.

Similarly to earlier Bosch novels, but on the positive side, is the writing which is just as clear, dark, and gritty as always. “Overlook” certainly is an easy read, if at times a bit slow, and at its end there’s a lot of action and some suspense. It’s just like a fast food version of Bosch: Easy to devour, but not very nourishing.

»Bosch checked his watch. It was almost one. He had ridden the case from beginning to end in little more than twelve hours.«

“Overlook” reads just like that. I was also rather surprised to see an already short novel end, at less than 200 pages, at 80% of the ebook.

Three stars out of five.

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During this extremely warm summer, I'm writing bite-sized reviews at best. As for this one, it's fine. No third-act breakup, no excessive drama, a cute story. Never reaches the level of Brinn's pervious series but I still enjoyed it. Just all that sex is a bit much. I like smut but if there's more smut than "I love you", my brain gets embarrassed.

Isn’t it the worst act of treason when a book disappoints? I was looking for a fun romance by one (or actually: two) of my favourite romance authors. That’s how I came across “Love and Other Words” by Christina Lauren and, sadly, and unusually, it turned traitor quickly!

Macy and Elliott have been friends since childhood. They’re perfect for each other and they both know it. They even get together until one day, Macy breaks off contact for a whopping 11 years. The reasons? They do make sense, but eleven years? I’m not sure I can suspend my disbelief that much.

This is where “Love” starts: Macy is now a resident physician. Elliott is, probably, some kind of author. Either we don’t really get to know, or I already forgot. He seems to pretty much have all the time in the world.

Once they meet again, things start moving inexorably to the inevitable happily-ever-after. Unfortunately, despite many nice ideas, “Love” tells us much about their shared past and a bit about their present but it always feels “low stakes”: Yes, there’s some rather weird drama in lieu of a third-act breakup but it’s over within a few pages and then we’re back with Elliott and Macy on cloud nine.

»His front door is flat brown, and before it is a thin doormat with the Dickinson quote The soul should always stand ajar.«

Emily Dickinson’s poem in full reveals a clever double meaning to Macy whose soul Elliott hopes to “re-open” and “visit”. It also serves as a warning not to let this chance pass…

»The Soul should always stand ajar

That if the Heaven inquire

He will not be obliged to wait

Or shy of troubling Her

Depart, before the Host have slid

The Bolt unto the Door —

To search for the accomplished Guest,

Her Visitor, no more —«

They both know each other so immensely well (and neither of them seems to have significantly changed much during that decade apart) that both Elliott, and, to an even higher degree, Macy, know full well how they’re going to end up. They often end up asking each other “Do you really question that?”, and the answer is always and unequivocally a “no”. They know beforehand.

This is one of the reasons I’m not much into second-chance romance: the people involved have already been together, and in this kind of romance, will always get back together. So where’s the thrill of discovery? The allure of the new?

All side characters stay schematic and either serve to cheer Macy on (Sabrina), to be “mini villains” (Christian), or to be just plain “exotic” (her Danish father or her late but ever-present mother, Laís). Even Elliott’s family, of which we get to “see” a bit more, remains nevertheless vague and relatively insignificant to the story as a whole. They all play a part, but come across more as extras.

Even more so in a scenario like this: Macy and Elliott read like two halves of a whole. Apart from the event that broke them, there’s nothing but violins and fluff. The respective partners are quickly disposed of (Elliott pretty much immediately leaves his girlfriend; Macy conveniently finds out she and her partner didn’t even love each other in the first place) and, if Christina Lauren didn’t spell out the exact date per chapter, you’d think everything happens during a few days, or maybe weeks..

During the later chapters of their past, when our protagonists are in their adolescence (16 to 18, roughly), they, naturally, discover sexuality and each other (to some degree). I’ll be fifty later this year; their “explorations” made me feel somewhat uncomfortable and voyeuristic.

The latter was somewhat eased by the sensitive writing, and sustained consistency of the authors: Christina Lauren’s prose is fitting and competent. Despite the novel’s shortcomings, it reads very well: medium-length chapters, much showing, few instances of telling, and the emotions feel believable.

“Love” reads like pure (and simple) wish or fantasy fulfilment. I seem not to share those wishes. If you, though, are looking for this kind of wish fulfilment, predictability, or even nostalgia for young love, “Love” might fit your bill.

Three stars out of five.

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Michael Connelly’s “Echo Park” returns readers to the streets of Los Angeles, with LAPD detective Harry Bosch once again at the center of a haunting case which involves a file Bosch could never truly let go.

Years later, new evidence in the form of a serial killer’s confession offers closure, but as is typical for Bosch, easy answers don’t satisfy him. This is classic Connelly territory: police work that’s both methodical and deeply personal, drawing readers into the emotional and ethical struggles of a detective haunted by the ones he couldn’t save.

While “Echo Park” references previous Bosch cases and relationships, it would “work” for newcomers to the series as well. Long-time fans, however, may notice it lacks some of the intensity and inventiveness of earlier series entries, such as “The Concrete Blonde” or “The Last Coyote”. The plot moves briskly, but certain character arcs - particularly Bosch’s relationships with colleagues - sometimes feel eclipsed by the procedural elements.

Still, Connelly’s skill is in crafting small, human moments that bring the characters to life.

»He started the car and pulled out, heading back to the freeway. They drove silently. When he got back to the 134 the flower vendor was still in the median. Rider looked down at the bouquet in her hand, realized that Bosch had gotten them as an afterthought and started laughing. Bosch joined in.«

These understated moments create space within the propulsive plot, grounding the story in relatable emotion.

The novel’s central ethical dilemma - what kind of detective Harry Bosch chooses to be - comes late but at a crucial point in the story:

»And, well, Harry, I guess this is the dog you chose to feed. I hope you’re happy with it. And I hope it fits in perfectly well with the way of the true detective.«

Bosch’s stubborn pursuit of justice, regardless of consequence or cost, defines him as a character and the series as a whole.

“Echo Park” may not reach the atmospheric heights of Connelly’s best work, but it remains a satisfying read: taut, engaging, and true to the spirit of its detective hero. If you like Bosch, you’ll enjoy this book.

Four stars out of five.

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I went into “All the Colors of the Dark” by Chris Whitaker thinking it was a mystery or thriller which for the most part, it absolutely isn’t.

“Colors” basically is the story of Patch, a one-eyed boy who helps a girl about to be abducted, and is abducted himself in the process. During his incarceration in absolute darkness, he’s joined by a girl, Grace, with whom he shares a year in captivity. He’s never going to get over her.

»“I carved our initials in the oak tree by the graveyard,” he said.

“Defacing nature for me, be still my beating heart,” she said, biting her lip to keep back her smile.«

On the other hand, there’s Saint, a girl Patch’s age and his best friend. Even though she is a teenager when she meets Patch, it quickly becomes clear that Saint loves Patch boundlessly and unconditionally. After Patch’s abduction, Saint investigates tirelessly until she finds him.

»To love and be loved was more than could ever be expected, more than enough for a thousand ordinary lifetimes.«

This could have been the point at which a novella might have ended with a happily-ever-after for Saint and Patch. “Colors”, though, is not that kind of novel. Instead, it moves on to show how things evolve from this point: Saint going on to become a police officer, join the FBI, and, finally, returning to her hometown becoming the new chief of police - and hunting Patch.

Patch is obsessed and as deeply in love with Grace as Saint is with him. He never ceases searching for her and other missing girls, painting their portraits with obsession and artistic merit that, ultimately, make him rich and famous. His obsession, though, frequently brings Patch into conflict with the law and so Saint does her utmost to be the one hunting for him, in order to bring him in safely.

Chris Whitaker tells a striking tale over decades during which we follow not only Saint and Patch but also their friends and relatives for whom the many twists and turns at times become as difficult as for the reader.

While the story is, without exception, always captivating and engagingly told in short, punchy chapters, there are some elements that made me roll my eyes, thinking “Was that really necessary?!”. (A certain vet at a zoo comes to mind…)

The story, at times, also slows down significantly to the point at which I wished for a bolder editor.

Amusingly, though, just like the novel I read before this, “Colors”’s messages are what made this novel work for me. Not least among them:

»[The objectors to legally sanctioned murder] would fall silent for those ten minutes when their government carried out one murder in vengeance for another.«

At times, the story is weighed down with strong pathos:

»Nix sat alone in the far corner, smiled when she met his eye, though in his she saw a hollow that dampened the stained glass, the triforium, the clerestory of color.«

Never in my life have I read “triforium” or “clerestory” before; no wonder, there are about 0.1 and 0.3 occurrences per million words respectively in modern written English according to the Oxford English Dictionary. I was not a fan of that.

Beyond the few twists and turns too many, though, I still really enjoyed “Colors” and basically didn’t want to put it down.

Four stars out of five.

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There’s a dragon in the land, and the prince needs to vanquish it in order to free the fair maiden. They triumphantly return, marry, and live happily ever after.

I’ve never really questioned the scenario or really thought about it. With “Damsel” by Elana K. Arnold, this changed: The dragon’s lair is actually beautiful. Our damsel, Ama, isn’t all that much in distress - at least until the arrogant, self-serving prick of a prince, Emory, picks her up.

As the story proceeded, I grew increasingly uncomfortable about how Ama is treated not only by the prince, but by everyone around her. All of her needs and wishes are dismissed at best, punished at worst. Ama is treated like a vessel; she has no “value” as a person but as a means to an end. (If you’re living in the US right now, Emory, under another name, is your king.)

Ama is literally and metaphorically hurt by this, but never broken. In a furious, angry finale, she transcends the confines of what was supposed to become her existence, and raison d’être.

Staying in the realm of fairy tales, let me utter three wishes (even though I lack the genie to make them come true):

• I wish for a world where no one needs to be an Ama; for everyone to be seen, heard, and respected for who they truly are. 🏳️‍🌈
• I wish for the Emorys among us to realise that genuine partnership, founded on equality, is worth infinitely more than dominance or rulership.
• I wish for each of us to have the courage to question the stories we've inherited, to claim authorship of our own narratives; to recognise and break the chains of harmful traditions, so that future generations may write new, brighter stories.

By literary merit alone, “Damsel” might not have earned a five-star rating. Combined with its message, though, this is an easy one:

Five stars out of five.

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She has a death wish, he’d rather retire than help—in “The Wolf Tree” by Laura McCluskey, Georgina “George” Lennox and Richard “Richie” Stewart make for a weird pairing in a complicated story about life and death on Eilean Eadar, an isolated Scottish island.

After months of leave due to having been injured during an operation, George makes it back to the police force and her old partner, Richie. Their assignment is to look into the assumed suicide of a young man from the aforementioned island, due to “inconsistencies”.

At the outset, everything seems fine and the small community of about 200 people is close-knit. And, yet, there is something “off” from early on that neither the reader nor the inspectors can exactly point to.

Sounds good, eh? Sadly, this is just the promising beginning of a story that, for a long time, doesn’t seem to go anywhere. George is bold to a fault, but never hesitates to help if she’s needed. She does take some risks because she can’t help it. On the other hand, George has some serious issues and that might impact her judgement.

Richie, in contrast, struck me as less than interested in the entire investigation: he implicitly asks George to be negligent in her duties - not to help - if it might pose any risk to her. Of course, Richie himself acts just like that. I wouldn’t put it beyond him to just “look the other way”.

We get a good look at the island, the islanders, both primary and secondary characters. What we do not get is anywhere beyond descriptions and character studies. There are very few actual results during the investigation, and only conveniently at the very end do lots of things happen in quick succession, leading to a dramatic showdown at land’s end.

What could have been a highly interesting police procedural, or mystery gets bogged down by endless walking and talking across the island. There were flashbacks to what happened to George that were so distracting, I actually looked up if I had somehow stumbled into the middle of a series. (I hadn’t; I think.)

Everything on the island reads like doom and gloom – the harsh islanders, sometimes referring to outsiders as “mainland scum”, two storms during one week, rain, cold, snow – it’s bleak out there, and so it reads. Some light outbreaks of humour…

»“Mr. Nicholson,” Richie says, stooping to be at eye level with the headstone, “thank you for letting us stay in your home.”

George puts her lips to Richie’s ear and croaks, “I died in that bed.”

Richie glowers at her. “Have a modicum of respect for the dead, DI Lennox.”«

…are quickly stifled by foreshadowing, rain, or people.

The writing itself is captivating - relentlessly bleak, yes, but never forced; the gloom settles around the story and characters in a way that feels both real and essential to the book’s atmosphere. There are a few irritations, like Richie occasionally being called "Rich" just to mark supposedly significant moments, which feels a touch clumsy. The prose isn’t high-brow or particularly elegant, but there’s a genuine accessibility to it that made reading easy and, at times, unexpectedly enjoyable. I genuinely liked the author’s style, if not her story.

In the end, when everything suddenly falls into place, the story becomes very convoluted, rather hard to believe, and hardly anything feels resolved.

Still, “The Wolf Tree” was weirdly captivating. It wasn’t that suspenseful, so I guess I must have wanted to know how it ends. Don’t let that happen to you.

Three stars out of five.

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“Great Big Beautiful Life” by Emily Henry was promised to be just that: The love child of a well-known romance author, centring on two authors set against each other. The prize: To write a book about a famous socialite from a legendary family who disappeared and is shrouded in mystery.

What could possibly go wrong? Well, for starters, while this novel had high hopes of growing up to become Taylor Jenkins Reid’s “The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo”, a strong and bold story, “Life”’s story is immensely conventional. Whereas “Life” is “Dallas” or “Dynasty”, “Husbands” is “The Crown”.

Margaret Ives, our former socialite, has no special story to tell our authors. It’s just a rich-girl story with some drama and tragedy and some, very simplistic, family secrets.

Alice Scott, an author at a run-of-the-mill yellow press gossip magazine, senses the chance of a lifetime when she finds Margaret. Sadly, she just isn’t a very interesting or convincing character. She falls in love with her competitor, Hayden, a Pulitzer Prize winner, at first glance. Apart from the friction due to both being after the same job, there is practically no chemistry between them.

Hayden is portrayed as the typical “grumpy” love interest which is pretty much all he is throughout the entire novel. He hardly has any discernible character, and despite spending almost as much time with Margaret as Alice does, we never see his perspective. In stark contrast to the tediously detailed interviewing sessions between the two female leads, we’re told only sparingly about his own experiences.

Seemingly worried we might not understand the dual timelines of the narration, Henry plasters a huge “The Story” over every part that tells Margaret’s story (as narrated by Alice). What follows is a brief, one-sentence ‘Their version’ headline from the yellow press, and then a much longer “Her version”.

In between, we get encounters between Alice and Hayden, but most of the time they simply hold back or occasionally even push each other away. Their story is just as boring and superficial as all the family drama around Margaret is conventional, convoluted, and rarely believable.

The writing is typically Henry: adequate but nothing special. Compared to Henry’s romance novels, this one feels like she tried to write a romance/family story crossover, but thoroughly failed at both. Emily Henry is to Taylor Jenkins Reid what Katherine Heigl is to Meryl Streep: they may share a profession, but they are not in the same league.

Two stars out of five.

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Martin Walker certainly knows his history and it shows in “A Grave in the Woods”. Bruno, beloved rural policeman in France’s Dordogne region, still in convalescence from his injury from the previous novel, is charged by his mayor with investigating a grave dating back to World War II.

Added to the mix is Abby, an American archaeologist who retreats to Saint-Denis to evade her “crazy” crypto-currency ex-billionaire ex-husband turned hacker. (Yes, I kid you not.)

There’s also major flooding, which Bruno must manage and try to prevent further damage from.

While the broad historical excursions are certainly interesting, anything “mysterious” doesn’t take up much space here. We never get to the bottom of the mystery around Abby and her ex-husband or his shady international dealings. We never get to actually know why he tried to hack Bruno and the police.

We also never learn what happened to those bodies in the concealed grave. We can understand they were killed by the French Resistance, but all their background remains unclear. This is especially aggravating since Bruno and his friends very publicly bemoan the death of the two young women and the violence of men against women – but any real interest on the part of the author and his “cast” are reserved for the male body…

The flooding is the only part that’s actually described interestingly; its force is suspensefully depicted, and climate change is explained to be at its core, but none of that is why I read the Bruno novels. I used to read them for a kind policeman investigating local crime. That, though, has been pretty much completely absent for years now. Instead, we get complicated (not just complex) stories about international espionage and terrorism. In rural France…

Many of Bruno’s friends make an appearance here, and we get not one but two Asterix-style feasts. Sadly, though, this mostly reads like fan service instead of integral parts of the story. The inevitable recipes, usually presented through descriptions of Bruno’s cooking, appear in the unlikely guise of sometimes page-long commands (!) from others to Bruno.

As usual, the writing is fine and marks a return to a less “grandiose” style of prose that much better fits these novels. Still, “A Grave in the Woods” doesn’t lend itself to being read as a standalone novel, or as an introduction to the series, since it generously references earlier novels that any new reader would not understand.

We end where we started – Bruno is injured again and goes back to hospital, where, again, Florence is taking care of him.

While this latest instalment of “Bruno” is not as annoying as its predecessors, it feels completely inconsequential in the context of the world Walker created. There’s no real mystery, no true resolution to any of the topics, and no satisfaction from its ending.

Two generous stars out of five.

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A children’s tale glorifying an abusive relationship with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer

Shel Silverstein’s “The Giving Tree” is often celebrated as a classic of children’s literature, yet, reading it now, I struggle to see the appeal. Where contemporaries in the genre – such as Maurice Sendak’s “Where the Wild Things Are” – bring subtext, wit, and magic, Silverstein’s approach here is relentlessly didactic.

The narrative, centring on a boy’s lifelong (abusive) relationship with a perpetually self-sacrificing tree, bludgeons the reader with its message of unconditional giving to the point of tedium. “The Giving Tree” has all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

The story’s moral simplicity feels not only outdated but, frankly, rather joyless. One leaves the tale with a sense of manipulation, not enlightenment. This might suffice for those in search of finger-wagging parables, but for those yearning for depth or nuance, there are far better options in the children’s canon.

One star out of five.

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I’m a fan of the entire Josie Quinn series by Lisa Regan. Sadly, “Husband Missing” left me disappointed on several levels.

It started out well: Josie is summoned to the crime scene of a mysterious murder. On her return home, she finds everything in disarray and, worst of all, her husband, Noah, is missing and there’s blood…

Of course, Josie wants to investigate, but is quickly sidelined because both cases seem to be linked. Josie, hardly able to keep a coherent thought, goes on a wild goose chase that leads her to her own past — including the late Lila Jensen.

We get lots of “big emotions” from Josie, but not much of the police procedural that I expected. Turner and Gretchen from her team make some appearances, but for most of the novel, we’re solely following Josie and her stumbling attempts to make sense of the whole convoluted drama that ensues. And, honestly, much of it doesn’t make much sense. Least of all does the all-too-convenient “deus ex machina” moment at the very end.

The rest of Josie’s team is also completely absent (apart from a collective cameo at a celebration at the very end). As a result, the usual dynamics are completely missing. The sole focus is on Josie and her frantic search for Noah.

As always, the writing itself is fine, but for some inexplicable reason, Regan chose to mostly stick to very short chapters – including introducing abrupt, nonsensical chapter breaks. Sometimes even in the midst of conversations that just immediately resume in the next chapter. This causes annoying, completely useless, and meritless interruptions while reading.

For fans and completionists like me, “Husband Missing” is a must-read. Everyone else should probably steer clear of this instalment. It also doesn’t lend itself as an introduction to this series because much of it simply won’t make much sense without knowing how Josie grew up…

Three stars out of five.

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Every legend starts somewhere — and Kim Stone’s begins in blood.

After finishing all “regular” entries of Angela Marsons’ Kim Stone series, I remembered reading about a prequel. “First Blood” was quickly discovered and read with glee. It’s the story of how Kim meets her new team for the first time and gets thrown quickly into a gruesome murder.

As can be expected from a Kim Stone novel, the mystery was engaging, relevant, and full of suspense. We also get a closer look at all of the team members much earlier in their careers: Stacey has just moved to CID and is rather insecure but quickly discovering her most important skills. She is far from the self-confident, married woman she becomes but already very likeable.

»Stacey was proud of her Nigerian heritage even though she had never stepped foot outside England and was equally proud to be British.«

Dawson, at this point, is an insufferable arse: he prefers sleeping in his car to going home and facing the music with his partner. He is hardly recognisable in this one, and too much of a nuisance during much of it for my taste.

»Yeah, Stacey had spent the day pounding the keyboard without stepping out of the office once. And yes, those efforts had yielded some results, he admitted grudgingly, but that wasn’t real police work. That was an office job.

And DS Bryant had spent the day following the boss around the outskirts of this case, driving her wherever she wanted to go. That wasn’t his idea of the job, either.«

Bryant, thankfully, is Bryant. He is the calm, collected, competent detective he will be during the entire series. It was good to see him already mostly as himself.

»‘You wanna check the cost of putting me on your insurance, Bryant. I’ll pay.’

He laughed politely.

‘Yeah, I’m not kidding,’ she said, as he neared the location to which she’d directed him.«

Kim herself is only slightly different: We learn that she’s been handled like a hot potato due to her sometimes sub-par social skills. Her placement with DCI Woodward, quickly styled “Woody”, is no coincidence. Her early insights into her team members are interesting to read and seeing her in “early action” is enticing.

Woody’s character gets some “rounding out” as well. We get to better understand why he acts generously towards Kim – in this case as well as later ones.

»‘But this is like asking me to finish a jigsaw puzzle while keeping half of the pieces in your pocket.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, I’m afraid that does seem to be the case.’

If she didn’t know better she’d think he was enjoying the challenge he’d laid before her.

‘So, Stone, time to see just how creative you and your team can get.’«

All in all, this prequel was a good read. It does feel slightly “anachronistic”, having read it after all the other novels, but it’s still very much worth a read.

Four stars out of five.

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Präzision, Quellenfülle und historische Tiefe – Ullrichs Blick auf den Diktator im Untergang hilft. Geschichte verstehen, Gegenwart erkennen, Zukunft sichern.

Meinen Worten aus meiner Rezension des ersten Bandes dieser herausragenden Hitler-Biographie ist eigentlich nicht mehr viel hinzuzufügen.

Die gleiche klare, präzise und ausnahmslos zielsichere Sprache kommt der inhaltlichen Darstellung zugute. Über 3000 Einzelbelege, die in den Anhängen dokumentiert sind, unterstreichen die Aussagen und Interpretationen Ullrichs.

Nach einer kurzen Einleitung schildert der Autor Kapitel-intrinsisch und insbesondere in späteren Kapiteln auch übergreifend chronologisch von der weiteren Entwicklung Hitlers nach den “Jahren des Aufstiegs”.

Dabei beleuchtet Ullrich insbesondere die von ihm als besonders prägend dargestellten Abschnitte:

1 Die Entfesselung des Zweiten Weltkriegs

2 Polen 1939/40 – Auftakt zum Vernichtungskrieg

3 Entscheidung im Westen?

4 Strategisches Patt

5 Unternehmen »Barbarossa«

6 Kriegswende 1941/42

7 Der Weg in den Holocaust

8 Stalingrad oder Der Kampf ums Öl

9 Totaler Krieg und Volksgemeinschaft

10 In der Defensive

11 Unternehmen »Overlord« und Operation »Bagration«

12 Die Berghof-Gesellschaft im Krieg

13 Der 20. Juli 1944 und seine Folgen

14 Letztes Aufbäumen

15 Der Verfall eines Diktators

16 Die Inszenierung des Untergangs

17 Das Ende im Bunker

18 Hitlers Platz in der Geschichte – eine Bilanz

Die Einordnung Hitlers in die Geschichte am Ende ist insofern noch einmal besonders bemerkenswert, weil Ullrich darin seine eigenen Überlegungen zum Ausdruck bringt, aber auch mit denen anderer Hitler-Biographen wie Kershaw, Bullock und Fest in Beziehung bringt. Ebenso die Übereinstimmungen wie auch die Unterscheidungen zu diesen Autoren - hier wie in der gesamten Biographie - machen deutlich, warum diese Hitler-Biographie wichtig und hilfreich ist, die Vergangenheit besser zu verstehen und für die Zukunft wachsam zu sein.

Fünf von fünf Sternen.

»Der »Fall Hitler« bleibt für alle Zeiten ein warnendes Exempel. Wenn er etwas lehrt, dann dies: Wie rasch eine Demokratie aus den Angeln gehoben werden kann, wenn die politischen Institutionen versagen und die zivilgesellschaftlichen Kräfte zu schwach sind, um der autoritären Versuchung zu begegnen. Und: Wie dünn die Decke ist, welche die Zivilisation von der Barbarei trennt, und wozu Menschen fähig sind, wenn alle rechtsstaatlichen und moralischen Normen außer Kraft gesetzt werden und sie uneingeschränkt über das Leben anderer Menschen verfügen können.«

Ich sorge mich, dass wir genau dies gerade in den USA mit der republikanischen Regierung unter 47 erleben.

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Randall Munroe’s “What If? Serious Scientific Answers to Absurd Hypothetical Questions” certainly has a clever premise, and I recognise its appeal to the science-curious. Drawing from his background as a physicist and former NASA roboticist, Munroe sets out to tackle (mostly) nonsensical questions with rigorous scientific logic. While that might sound fun in theory, in practice I found the book trying far too hard to be clever, and as a result, it came off as more smug than smart.

Admittedly, some of the questions Munroe attempts to answer are genuinely imaginative, but his tone often feels too enamoured with its own geekiness. Rather than inviting the reader into a playful exploration, it too often felt like being caught in an endless lecture by someone who delights excessively in their own intellect. I couldn’t help but feel that the answers to these questions were taken far too seriously—so much so that any joy or playfulness quickly evaporated under the weight of equations and thought experiments.

But then, take my subjective opinion with a grain of salt: Despite its immense popularity, I don’t really enjoy Munroe’s XKCD either.

DNF at 78% and two stars out of five.

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