hc.newton

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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What’s Nice Places About?

When we meet Georgie, he’s about to quit his job—but his boss fires him first. It was a mutual thing, really.

Georgie has a plan—he’s going to take a year and travel the world. He got a job right out of high school and has spent more than a decade at the company—he wants to grab some of that life experience so many people grab in their late teens/early twenties. He’s knocked off course from that attempt before he makes his first flight—and stumbles into something stranger.

He meets a mixed media artist named Ant. She’s working on her M.A. and is in search of a thesis project. Some silly thing that Georgie tries inspires her—and the two concoct a crazy plan that will suit Georgie’s quest for an experience and her thesis.

Odd times ensue. And a friendship develops between the two of them that will alter the courses of their lives.

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

Picked it up because Chu asked me nicely, and because I had fond (and vague) memories of a short story collection.

I stuck with it for two reasons—once you get into Chu’s writing, you don’t want to leave until it’s done. Chu doesn’t have a flashy style, or snappy dialogue, or a tight pace (this book would be ruined by any of those, these are not critiques)—but his writing is solid, appealing, and will carry you along without drawing attention to itself.

The other is the character and his little project; I just needed to see where it went. The relationship between Georgie and Ant—and the difficult way to characterize it—is probably more of a driving force for me.

What does this book tell us about humanity?

It’s tricky to tackle this question because that’s one of the points of the book, and to really answer it would involve ruining the book.

But I can talk about some of the things it focuses on thematically. Chu explores the idea of experiences and how we need them. Particularly shared vs. solitary experiences. The “shared” aspect comes out a lot—sometimes it’s just two or three people, sometimes it’s a family, or a group of acquaintances. Sometimes it’s something as large and vague as “the Internet reacted to X.”

You may not find yourself resonating or agreeing with everything that Georgie and Ant conclude—or any of the other points of view they encounter along the way—but you’ll enjoy the experience of thinking about them.

So, what did I think about Nice Places?

I’m not wholly pleased by the way this book ends up—but outside of a Wayne’s World-esque “mega Happy Ending,” I’m not sure I would be. But I get what Chu did, and it’s both more fitting and narratively satisfying than what I think I wanted. Note, you should not read into my comment that this has a nasty or unhappy ending—just not a “mega Happy” one.

In the beginning of the novel, I didn’t get Georgie at all, and progressed only because I trusted Chu—I was mildly amused by some of what happened to him, and then around the time his whole plan was derailed, I got hooked. By the time his ridiculous plan was hatched, I was fully invested. And that stuck with me for most of the book. What Georgie and Ant went through together was just great, and I’d have happily read another 50-70 pages of it. I admit that there was a period toward the end where Georgie seemed to wallow in ennui and depression, and I had a hard time caring at that point—his ennui was contagious. But once he re-engaged, so did I.

I’m going to avoid saying much about Ant. But almost everything the book has to say comes from her (or in reaction to her), and as a character, she’s drawn in such a way that you’re primed and eager to hear her. So well done.

The other characters are drawn just as deeply as they’re required to be—and not one bit more. But they come in and out of the story so well that you see them as deeply constructed. I wouldn’t have minded more time with some of them, but I was satisfied.

I think I got so hung up on the bigger themes and ideas (at least in my head) that I haven’t done a great job of describing just how fun the book was (with the exception of the whole ennui bit I mentioned above). It was a very enjoyable read, it just got me thinking so much that I haven’t been able to focus on the Georgie’s goofy plot (and I was rooting for it the whole time).

This whole novel was so unexpected, so creative—it’s one of those books that you just can’t guess what provoked Chu to write it, what might have inspired him. I really don’t care, I’m just glad he did.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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What’s City of Last Chances About?

I’m tired of trying to come up with a succinct way of saying this, so I’m just going to paste the text from the back of my paperback:

There has always been a darkness to Ilmar, but never more so than now. The city chafes under the heavy hand of the Palleseen occupation, the choke-hold of its criminal underworld, the boot of its factory owners, the weight of its wretched poor and the burden of its ancient curse. What will be the spark that lights the conflagration?

Despite the city’s refugees, wanderers, murderers, madmen, fanatics and thieves, the catalyst, as always, will be the Anchorwood – that dark grove of trees, that primeval remnant, that portal, when the moon is full, to strange and distant shores.

Ilmar, some say, is the worst place in the world and the gateway to a thousand worse places.

I’m not sure what I think about this…

There are several groups that oppose the occupation, each for their own reasons, too. Partially patriotic, partially something varied from group to group. And given that, there are different levels of eagerness to begin. Each group has a particular goal, a particular set of events that they’re waiting for to launch their rebellion—and each fully expects the others to join in once the fuse is lit.

That’s a mistake—some won’t when this particular fuse is aflame. Some will claim to be coming to help, but will instead hole themselves up. Others just want to bide their time.

And overcoming that is a lot for those who have thrown their hats in the ring.

This is probably very realistic—it’s never going to be as easy as a well-organized group rising up to counter the invaders/ruling class. It’s going to be various alliances and sects. So well done, Tchaikovsky. It very much makes it feel like a fantasy version of the French Revolution.

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

I picked this up because it was the Fantasy Book Club pick of the month.

I kept at it because there were a lot of interesting plot threads, some fascinating characters, and great scenes, and I was eager to see how they all tied together by the end.

What does this book tell us about humanity?

For one, there’s a great depiction of the utter lack of compassion and naked ambition that can befall those who are convinced they/their group are absolutely correct, the only determiner of what is right/wrong, as they try to elevate/educate/correct another group of people.

On the other side, we have a selfishness and greed that a resistance can give shelter to. “Yes, I want to push back against this oppressive regime—but not so much that it’ll interfere with my art/scholarship/business or cause me any more inconvenience than I’m currently experiencing.”

There are some who don’t seem so materialistic in their approach—I should stress, but their motives aren’t necessarily that “pure.” They’re just more intangible, while largely selfish.

There’s a lot of self-delusion to go around, basically.

So, what did I think about City of Last Chances?

There are just so many fantastic characters—on all sides of the conflict. I don’t know how many times I would get into a scene or return to a character and would’ve been content to stay in that POV for hundreds of pages. I never got that opportunity.

Some of the plot lines were just delicious—the combination of characters, their aims, and what they do to try to accomplish those aims. So close to perfection.

There were scenes that you just want to re-read to suck all the marrow out of it. Tchaikovsky phrases things so well, and crams so many ideas into the book that it can make your head swim. There are bits that are so sweet and heartwarming, there are bits that will make you chuckle, some incredibly gross moments, too—and your pulse will pound more than once. And you will frequently bask in Tchaikovsky’s cleverness in how he orchestrates scenes/events/plotlines.

However (yes, sorry, there’s a however). You put it all together and…it just flops. It might be that there’s just too much of a good thing; it could be that everything doesn’t have the chance to breathe and get fully fleshed out; I just might not have the attention span for it all (I would note that most at our Book Club meeting shared my sentiment here, though); it might be the conclusion of the novel wasn’t as satisfying as it could’ve been (I will not get into that more).

It’s entirely likely to be something else, too. I dunno—I just walked away more than ready for my next read.

Oh, and the fact that we don’t get back to this city until (as I’m told) the 5th book in the series? That makes it really hard for me to think about trying Book Two.

Your results may vary, obviously. The book and series have received plenty of honors. The fact that Tchaikovsky has released four books in the series so far, suggests that there is an audience for it. And if one of those wants to fill up my comments with all the reasons I should read on in the series—I’m all ears.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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When you’re a kid, your mother tells you not to let your friends peer-pressure you into drinking, doing drugs, and other stuff. But she never covered what to do if an acquaintance offered to help you summon a demon. Or at least mine didn’t. She completely skipped that chapter.

What’s Soul Fraud About?

Our narrator/protagonist is Matthew Carver, and we meet him on his 24th birthday, while he’s hiding from his friends. It’s also the fourth anniversary of the death of his mother and sisters, and he’s just not up for another well-intentioned attempt to cheer him up on the day.

That night, he also meets a particularly unscrupulous demon. I realize that seems like an unnecessary description—but even demons have to follow rules. Dan the demon works in Hell’s Sales Department—and he wants to give Matt10 fantastic years of life, for the low, low price of his soul.

Matt’s read enough books and watched enough films to know that this is a horrible bargain and turns him down. Dan’s apparently on a streak of no-sales and decides he can’t take one more, so he forges Matt’s signature on the contract and bolts.

Before you know it, unbelievably good things start happening to Matt, who is suddenly a believer in the supernatural.

Still, he knows these things shouldn’t be happening—and he doesn’t want to lose his soul. So he sets out to find a way out of the contract. With the help of a new supernatural (but mostly human) pal, Alex, and some other supernatural heavy hitters, set out to find a way out of this mess.

And let’s just say that isn’t going to be easy.

A Pet Peeve

It bugs me when Christians, anti-Christians, TV/Film/Books do this—which means I’m annoyed by this frequently. But the Nephalim are not the descendants of demons and human women (or, I guess, the reverse). That’s not what Genesis was communicating, and the abuse this view has led to in the hands of fiction writers gets to me. Seeing it here gave me pause.

That said…what Givler does with his Nephalim was a lot of fun. That they’re known as Fae or Demigods (and who knows what else), depending on the nationality of their appearance, was great. So, yeah, Achilles and Hercules are Nephalim (and a couple of others given by name, but let’s let you read them).

Basically, if Givler had called them anything else, I wouldn’t have blinked. If anything, I’d have thought “Oh, cool, he didn’t go with the stupid Nephalim thing” and totally forgotten it.

Matt’s Pet Peeve

There are two types of people: those who need at least twenty minutes of silence after waking up and savages. If you’re smiling before 9 a.m., there’s something wrong with you.

Matt is not a morning person. Particularly when he’s been physically attacked, or has had his soul stolen, or any number of other reasons that this book is full of. He makes this very clear on multiple occasions.

I, for one, related to them all—found his repeated rants about them funny and worth quoting. I really enjoyed Givler taking the time to let Matt talk about this repeatedly.

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

I picked this up because the premise sounded interesting, and it’d been too long since I pitched in for a The Write Reads/BBNYA book tour. Also, I sort of figure anyone who’s paying for a Chris McGrath cover has taken the process seriously enough that the book is going to be worth a read.

I stuck with it because I liked Matt—even through most of his whinging. But his self-deprecating humor, his general outlook on life, and his flailing around to get out of this hole endeared him to me. Also, he’s carrying around a lot of unearned guilt, and I’d like to see him deal with that. Things he does by the end of the book solidify that endearment, but I’ll keep them to myself for now.

Sure, I found his predicament and the other characters interesting—but as I’ve said repeatedly, give me a good narrative voice, and I’m in for the ride—and Matt has one of those.

What does this book tell us about humanity?

This book, in a way that you really only get in Fantasy/Urban Fantasy, is a case study in the frailty of humanity. Matt faces person after person after person (or, better, entity after entity after entity) that could squash him like an already dead bug. And he persists—in fact, he insists on staying involved even when he’s told to let the powerful types handle a situation (very much like Harry Dresden). Nevertheless, he is virtually a nothing compared to everyone he’s dealing with.

Honestly? I think it’s good for fiction—or non-fiction—to remind us of our place in the universe. I’ve read too many things where humans are taking on every challenge without a sweat, or seem equal to anything that comes their way. And all you have to do is look at a blue whale and know how ridiculous that is. You get something bigger/more powerful? (for example, Satan’s girlfriend) It needs to be a nigh-overwhelming challenge. And that’s what we get here.

So, what did I think about Soul Fraud?

…I was tired of not being able to help anyone. I was tired of not being able to control my life. I was tired of hurting the people I cared about. I was going to do something about it, come Hell or high water. Or I would get eaten by a ghoul. One of the two. My tombstone could read: HERE LIES MATT, AT LEAST HE TRIED. ONCE.

I would’ve liked the series title to be explained—or even hinted at—in these pages. But I can be patient. I really don’t care what the series is called, just that there are already a handful of books for me to press on with.

I do wonder about Matt being 24 and having so little experience with alcohol—if he turned 21 at the opening of the book, it’d make sense. I don’t mean to suggest that there’s a requirement that every red-blooded American male has to have a lot of experience with it by the time they’re 24, but he should have some—or at least have an explanation in the text. If it’s there, I missed it.

I also missed any discussion of his job—he has to make money from somewhere. Sure, he and Connor discuss jobs he can look for. But I didn’t register anything that he had—or any attempt to explain to his employer where he is over the couple of days he falls into supernatural shenanigans.

And that’s the sum of my problems with this book. Excepting my personal pet peeve, the rest of it clicked like clockwork for me.

The supporting characters are pretty interesting and well-drawn, and the book moves fast and smoothly (there’s one or two points that might drag a bit, but they provide much-needed world-building and they’re not that long). At one point, Matt compares himself to a pinball at one point—and that’s a great comparison—he bounces from one life-threatening event/encounter to another with just enough time to recover, mostly.

You fill that amount of action with a quippy protagonist, an almost-as-quippy friend, and some super-powered allies/foes? We’re talking a lot of fun.

I’m planning on getting to book 2 quickly, and in the meantime, I encourage you to grab Stolen Fraud right away.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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What’s Banners of Wrath About?

In short, Namarr is at war—from within and, pretty soon, from without. Some characters are trying to stop the war (which, at this point, equals winning it before it gets worse), some are trying to take advantage of it, some are ignoring it in favor of their own concerns, and some are just trying to survive.

Obviously, the bulk of the book is picking up where Book 2, A Graveyard for Heroes left off. But there are some smaller plots that were largely absent from the last half that get picked up, too. And there’s one storyline that wasn’t really a factor in that book, but is coming back into the spotlight (although not as much—as it was in The Price of Power).

It’s hard to talk about this beyond that—I’ve tried, but really, this is part 3 of something that needs to be read from the beginning.

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

This is a very simple answer for both questions: because of the first 100 pages of The Price of Power (possibly fewer). I’m in for this series until the final page, or until Garlenna is killed, whichever comes first.

Okay, that’s not true—I’m in until the last page, if only so I can rant about Michel offing Garlenna with full context and be able to defend how it wasn’t worth it for the ending.

What does this book tell us about humanity?

That we are a giant mixed bag of depravity, self-interest, fear, and noble actions. Sometimes, good—on a micro- or macro- level—comes from this, often it doesn’t. So, you know…it’s a pretty accurate representation.

There’s a lot to admire in various characters—self-sacrifice, acts of love, people trying to improve themselves. People “improving” themselves against their own impulses because of someone else. People fighting dark inner impulses (not always successfully).

So, what did I think about Banners of Wrath?

Michel is on the verge of telling too many stories—and some of them make me wonder why he’s telling them. Are they really going to pay off in a way that justifies stretching our attention? Also, the chronology of too many of the storylines is slippery; it’s hard to know just when past events are happening (and each time I think I nail it down, I’m given a reason to question it).

Note, however the use of the word “verge” there. Also, I’m sure that the chronologies will become clear soon enough.

The important things to say that this book is as good as the last—both almost as good as the first (see what I said about the number of stories). The character development (and/or what we’re shown about them before we met them) is fantastic and entirely satisfying. The combat scenes are so well executed—and most of the emotionally raw scenes are better. The characters…ugh. I can’t talk about how much I love these characters (even the ones I hope end up losing a duel to the Dread Pirate Roberts “to the pain.”).

My big complaint is how Michel spoiled us by releasing the first too books so close together so we were lulled into thinking we’d continue to be fed that quickly (and, yes, he was clear about his schedule from the beginning—shhhhhh). Other than that, all I can say is that book four is going to be so grim, that I can only hope he gives us a few rays of hope as he prepares us for the final book.

If you haven’t yet—go get The Price of Power and A Graveyard for Heroes. Then come back here after you’ve read Banners of Wrath and tell me what you’re thinking. Deal?

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out! --- So at this point, if you haven't read Twelve Months, there are only a few reasons to explain it: You're not a Harry Dresden fan; You're a new Harry Dresden fan and haven't gotten far enough yet; You're still on a library wait list; you're waiting for the paperback and are trying to avoid spoilers. If any of those are true, I'm not going to convince you to read it. And I'm okay with that. I still want to talk about it some. Spoilers for everything before this book.

If I tried to write a full post about this book, I wouldn't finish. There's just too much to say, so I'm going to fall back to one of my bullet point lists of things that I'd like to fully develop, but I know that I can't. I'm most likely missing 6-12 things from this, too. I really have so much I want to talk about when it comes to this book. I just loved the whole experience I had with it.

* The book focuses on a grieving Harry—not just grieving Murph. But for all the damage, death, and destruction wreaked on Chicago. Also, the...you know, everything that's happened in the 17 books before this. It's raw, it hits you hard. And it is just what this series needed. * This novel also gives a lot of the fans who are still trying to deal with Karrin's death with the chance to do so with help from Harry. I still don't want to think of the next few books being Murphy-free, but I'm better about it now. * I didn't expect to see Fitz return from Ghost Story. When I re-read or listen to Ghost Story, I enjoy him and wonder what happens to him after it—but I promptly forget him. Now that he's back for the long haul, I'm more than happy to see that. Watching the way that Harry is working with him in ways he didn't with Molly is interesting—a good sign of character growth (also just a reflection that Molly and Fitz are different). * We got far, far more new characters to the series than I expected. Especially characters that look like they're going to be around for a while. Better than the number is the quality of the characters. * Of those, my favorite has to be the Valkyrie, Bear. She's a mighty warrior. She's wise and oddly emotionally aware. And she's just fun. I can't wait to see her and Thomas go into action side-by-side. It's going to be fun. * I should say something about how powerful the depiction of grief and (the beginnings of) dealing with it were. * Yes, the new characters were great. But the established ones? Even better—Bob, Waldo, Mouse, Sanya, even Daniel Carpenter...I'd missed these guys (yeah, I just finished going through the series again a couple of months ago—but still, I'd missed them). And Will? Will should get a post unto himself. * I've long enjoyed Lara as a semi-antagonist, a mostly-trustworthy ally (when they're forced to work together), but now? I'm on the verge of actually liking her as a character. I'm a little uncomfortable with that. I also trust that I'll get over that. * I didn't expect we'd learn so much about the origin of the White Court—and I really didn't expect it to be anything like what it was. * Part of me feels that the Thomas story arc in this book (and going back to Peace Talks) might have been a little too easy. I don't know if I could defend that point outside of bullet points like this, but that's my gut. * I should say something more about how powerful the depiction of grief and (the beginnings of) dealing with it were. * Everything with Maggie just melted my heart. I love this girl like she's real. * Everything with Molly was almost as good—there was no way to predict that Harry's padawan would end up anything like she did (so far). I would've liked to see her involved some more in Harry's adventures, but I see how that's not possible all the time (and might make things less of a challenge for him, so it's good that she's not) * There's a major scene where Harry does some of the biggest and most complicated magic we've seen in this series—and wow. Butcher nailed that so well. * In that aftermath, the way that Mab and Mother Winter interact with each other and with Harry? I got chills. * I really want to stress how powerful the depiction of grief and (the beginnings of) dealing with it were. * That said, I laughed a lot and hard throughout this book (right before or right after I got choked up, usually). I cheered so hard at things, too.

Simply put, this is the best thing that Butcher has written. I mean, I've spent almost two decades expecting to love a Jim Butcher novel (and have only been let down twice), but Twelve Months has impacted me in ways I didn't expect. I'm just beyond impressed with this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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The Origin of the Book

Day explains this better in the book, but I bring this up because it’s kind of a key to thinking about this book. Day came across a reference to a curse that was imposed on Helen of Troy and her sisters—which led to her rethinking Helen. As she looks into that some more, she reads about Helen’s sister Philonoe being made immortal by Artemis. And that’s it. No details provided.

Which gets her imagination percolating and us getting this graphic novel.

What’s The Lost Daughter of Sparta About?

Whereas big sister Helen was a legendary beauty (literally), Philonoe was born with a birthmark denoting her as ugly—think Gorbachev’s scalp birthmark but covering about half her face. She’s sent to live with goatherds for most of her life, but is brought back by her parents following the Trojan War to get married.

Her future husband is a prince of Gla. If he has a redeeming quality to him, Day didn’t do a great job of making sure we saw it. Her mother reveals to her the nature of the curse that Aphrodite had put upon her and her sisters.

Philonoe goes to Aphrodite’s to ask for help with this curse and is sent on a quest to retrieve three items. Due to a previous sacrifice to Artemis, that goddess is paying attention to her, too. Artemis plays Ghosts of Sister Present with her, letting her see how things are going for them in a way to help her learn about the world.

What did I think about the art?

I’m of two minds when it comes to the art. It’s not the cleanest, most attractive, or most consistent art you’ve come across. But there’s a charm to it—the more I read, the more I enjoyed it.

I know MacColl is capable of cleaner work—I’ve checked out their website and have seen it. So what I’m trying to talk about has to be intentional. There’s part of me that sees some similarities between the art and figures on Grecian Urns I’ve seen in books.

So, what did I think about The Lost Daughter of Sparta?

There’s just nothing subtle about the storytelling, or the dispensing of the moral(s) of the story. It might have been a bit more effective if it were.

Still, it’s hard to fault the moral(s) she’s dispensing—particularly if her daughter is the primary target audience.

This isn’t a feminist re-imagining of a classic character, like so many we’ve seen. Philonoe is a blank slate as far as history and literature are concerned, so Day has the freedom to draw whatever she wants on it—and she’s taken advantage of it. There’ve been so many interpretations of Aphrodite and Artemis over the centuries that one more isn’t notable (and Day likely echoes as many as she diverges from)—the two of them are rather amusing together.

It’s a classic hero’s journey that is full of commentary on Greek heroes and how they are used by the Olympians. I’d have liked to see a bit more of that, really. But what Day gave us was pretty effective.

It’s a fast read with some fun turns—it’s not perfect, but what is? Is Day capable of better? Yes. Can you feel her investment in the project on every page? Yeah, pretty much.

I’m glad that I read The Lost Daughter of Sparta, and I assume anyone the premise appeals to will be, too. I’d suggest checking it out.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out! ---

Marcone is an asshole.

And I was furious.

But some part of me realized that I would not have been so angry if he didn’t have a point in there somewhere. And I was past the point in my life where I would let my anger direct my reactions.

You know. Mostly.

What's Out Law About?

Shortly after Twelve Months (or parallel to the last chapter or so), Johnny Marcone shows up at Dresden’s castle to call in a favor. He wants Dresden to help one of his “employees” to go straight.

Dresden knows it can’t be that easy—Marcone isn’t going to square their debts for honorable reasons (he wouldn’t believe that before the revelation in Battle Ground, and there’s no way he will believe that now). But it seems that this man is sincere in his desire to live a “straight” life, and Harry’s not going to walk away from someone trying to turn over a new leaf.

So…Harry’s in, and finds ways to help extricate this man on legal, criminal, and magical fronts. While keeping an eye open for clue’s into Marcone’s real motivation.

So, What Did I Think About Out Law?

"Kid, there’s plenty of evil out there. No-kidding, black-hat, malicious-as-Maleficent evil. You don't run into it every day. Most people can’t get there. Most people don’t run into it in a lifetime. But it’s real, and there's no mistaking it when you find it. Whatever this Creature was, it was the genuine article. I mean, it hit a dog and everything.”

At this point, it’d take a real dud for me to complain about a Butcher novella—I think that’s clear. But I’m not seeing a lot to quibble with here regardless.

This is a direct sequel to The Law, featuring many characters from it. It also feeds into the overall arc of the series—particularly to Changes. For that alone, it’s worth the read. Seeing Felix and Bear in action again helps solidify them in the series post-Twelve Months (we even get a glimpse of the Spice Goyles).

It was satisfying—some good lines, some great actions, and a solid conclusion. Not much more to ask for from a novella. Fans will not want to pass this up.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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The tears on Cherry’s cheeks were fat.

In the months after Tom left—and the months after it became clear that he wasn’t coming home—Cherry’s tears had changed.

There were days when her eyes felt so full, the tears ran in rivulets. She’d swear that crying had never felt that way before—that before, she’d cried drops, and now, she cried streams. There must be some science to it, one sort of crying for transient pains and another sort for crippling grief.

What’s Cherry Baby About?

Cherry is a pretty successful marketer in Omaha; her husband was in advertising and did a little webcomic in his spare time. It was semi-autobiographical and had almost no followers. At some point, around the time that they started to see each other, a new character, “Baby” enters the cast (unbeknownst to her). Sometime after that, Tom’s comic caught fire. It was published in book form—and optioned as a film.

Now Tom is in L.A. working on the movie, and Cherry—along with his dog—are still in Omaha. Cherry and Tom are getting a divorce. And Cherry isn’t taking it well.

She’s in full-grieving mode. A few months in, she treats herself. Tom hated concerts, she’s always loved them, and one of her all-time favorite bands will be doing a show in town. So she goes, anticipating a pick-me-up. While there, Cherry runs into Russ—a friend from college. Russ isn’t “the one who got away.” But he is the big “what if” question in her life.

Apparently, the feeling was mutual. Even better, Russ hasn’t read Tom’s comic and knows nothing about it. He’s probably the only person in Omaha who doesn’t connect Cherry and Baby (even her family equates them, which Cherry hates). What could be better?

A solid meet-again-cute. A woman in need of a fresh start. A guy who is almost perfect. What could be better?

Fat Girl Life

A fat girl can’t wait for boys to pluck her like a flower or find her on the beach like a seashell.

Cherry had never been Cinderella. She’d always been the prince chasing down what she wanted. (She’d been a witch, enchanting apples.) She’d had to reach for things. For love. For attention.

Cherry has had nothing but Fat Girl Summers her whole life. And the other three seasons, too. She’s fat—she tells us this from the outset. Her mother and her sisters are, too. It’s not due to laziness, overeating (not that any of them are shy about eating, however), lack of exercise, sedentary lifestyles, or whatever. It’s a genetic thing; their family is just fat. And they’re all okay with it.

Well, they’re more than okay with it. Not quite proud of it, but unashamed is the better word.

And the fastest way to get on Cherry’s bad side is to imply there’s something wrong with it. She’s pretty (possibly more than pretty, it’s hard to judge from the way it’s presented), charming, fun, caring, and fat. In her eyes, she’s the whole package.

And it’s really hard to argue with her (if you wanted to).

This, obviously, has shaped her life—it’s not easy for Fat Girls/Women/Boys/Men in the U.S. She accepts it, realizes how it molded her personality and expectations—but thanks to her mothers and sisters, she’s been able to gain the level of confidence that she can get through it. Not unscathed, but whole.

The Proverbial Door is Ajar

Granted, it’s been a while since I read Rowell—but this is a bit, ahem, spicier than I appreciate. Definitely more than I’m used to with her. The door does close—eventually—on the sex scenes, but it stays open a lot longer than I think it needed to (or opens earlier than it needs to).

But that’s a matter of taste, I realize. And I’m not trying to put down Rowell here, I think I get why she made the decisions she did in this regard. But I’m not suggesting this book to my mother, sister, or daughter (but I wouldn’t discourage their reading it, either).

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

I picked this up because I really enjoy Rowell’s writing (well, I couldn’t make myself pay attention to the fan fiction bits of Fangirl, so I didn’t read the spin-offs, but otherwise…), and I was glad to get a chance to read her again.

I stuck with it because I really liked Cherry and got invested in her life. Also, Rowell’s voice and tone is just so comfortable, there’s no reason to think about stopping.

I’m sure there’s a better way to put it—but comfortable is better than cozy, which I keep using. There’s a warmth, a humanity, and a little bit of humor—and so much heart. You just want to keep reading, no matter what’s happening (or isn’t happening.)

What does this book tell us about humanity?

I think this book has a lot to say about the need to love and the need to be loved—as you are and as the object of your love is. Not as you want them to be, not as they were, but as they are (although as they were does play a role)—and the same for you. Loved as you are, for who you are.

Not just romantic love, either. There’s friend love and family love, too. The book focuses on romantic love, but family love comes in second.

The depictions aren’t always pretty—in fact, in this book, many of them are messy and nasty, with a great sense of “it shouldn’t be like that.”

So, what did I think about Cherry Baby?

Cherry had trusted Tom. She’d taken him for granted—she’d thought that she was supposed to. She’d believed they were a settled question.

Cherry’s family is a nice, vaguely Lutheran, group who want four things for Cherry: 1. to be happy; 2. to get back together with Tom; 3. failing that, to start dating this nice man from their church; and 4. to come back to church (there’s a not-at-all-subtle link between 3 and 4). They’re a loving, close family, but really don’t get what makes Cherry tick. Still, their interactions—in person or in group chats is one of the many, many highlights of the book.

Stevie, Tom’s dog, is another one. She’s a Newfoundland-Great Pyrenees mix, and the cause of a huge increase in lint/hair rollers in Cherry’s budget. She was more dog than Cherry was ready for when Tom got her. And then when he left, the two only had each other. And a great bond was made. Stevie’s chaotic energy is wonderful. And one scene (spoiler: the dog lives) with the two of them toward the end of the book, just about broke me.

The rest of the book is just great. Once we meet Tom (in the book’s present), you understand why Cherry loves him—and why it’s so hard for her to be going through this period. When we see him at the beginning of their relationship, you have a hard time believing they’d go wrong. The romance with Russ could be just the thing to keep her afloat in this dark period in her life—and you can see it working.

But like that one guy said, the course of love never did run smooth. And some roads are bumpier than others. With sharp drop-offs to either side. And maybe some snow.

Still, Cherry’s the kind of person you want to watch navigate that course—so you can root for her, cheer for her, and maybe weep with her.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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What’s She Who Became the Sun About?

This is an epic saga about a China-that-Could-Have-Been back in the 1340s. We follow (well, several people, but let’s focus on a couple of primaries) a young girl who assumes her dead brother’s identity and becomes a monk. This brother had been predicted to rise to greatness (as he was practically starving due to drought and famine, this was quite the fortune to receive). Zhu eventually becomes involved with the rebellion against Mongol rule, and begins to find her way to a new life—one of greatness and power.

On the other hand, we follow General Ouyang, one of the main leaders of the forces set to put down the rebellion. Ouyang is the one member of his family who survived the Khan’s wrath—as a eunuch. He is trusted by some in power, while many others consider him defective and untrustworthy, despite his victories and viciousness.

When these two meet on opposing sides of the conflict—both their lives are set in new directions, and the fate of a nation may be, too.

A Question of Genre

At a couple of points along the line—the last time was about the 2/3 point, I put in my notes, “Where’s the Fantasy?” (I wrote that larger than usual that last time). The elements are just not there—at least not as much as you’d expect in something shelved in that part of a store. In talking with a friend about it, I started calling it the La Croix of Fantasy novels.

It’s there, if you can really focus on it and hope. I have been assured that the Fantasy elements are stronger in the second part of the duology—but not much.

If this had been sold as General Fiction, or Alternate History or something—no one would’ve objected. And I wouldn’t have been distracted by wondering when magic or a dragon or something would come up.

As a fictionalized 14th-century China with a couple of tweaks—this is a great world, and the setting (place and time) is great.

What does this book tell us about humanity?

I’m not entirely sure that this book has much to say about people in general. It has something to say about particular characters—and that can be applied to some, but not all.

Zhu starts off wanting to survive—with the thought that she could claim her brother’s fortune. It’s debatable, but I do think she has some sort of genuine Buddhist convictions—if only because that’s what she’s supposed to believe. Before ordination, she’s given some permission to not be that devout. And her convictions turn to herself—there may be some vague faith about things in general, but ultimately she’s convinced of her own abilities (and if she has to pay for that in lifetimes to come, she’s ready to accept it).

At one point, Zhu—in the midst of trying to encourage someone else—gives sort of her personal mission statement.

“But you know what’s worse than suffering? Not suffering, because you’re not even alive to feel it… Learn to want something for yourself, Ma Xiuying. Not what someone says you should want. Not what you think you should want. Don’t go through life thinking only of duty. When all we have are these brief spans between our nonexistences, why not make the most of the life you’re living now? The price is worth it.”

Without getting into the rightness or wrongness of her choices throughout the book (and she has plenty of both). I’ve come to think of Zhu as a Walter White character. She starts off as clever and resourceful, looking to do the “right thing.” But at a certain point, she realizes how clever and resourceful she is—and what kind of success can come from that, and her pride (warranted or not)—pride that can (should?) be seen as arrogance—starts to fuel her.

On the other hand, we have Ouyang. He is trapped by Fate. Or his idea of it—expectations of honor, family obligation, and therefore Destiny. He comes close to rebelling—or at least pushing against it—but is it close enough? He exercises agency and free will throughout—but it almost seems like he doesn’t think he can. Early on, he seems more lawless, more independent (for lack of a better word)—but by the end, he seems more constrained. Sort of the flipside.

In the book club meeting, the question was asked, “Does greatness necessitate cruelty in this world?” I’ve been chewing on that a lot. I don’t think so—I think there are a couple of examples of greatness (those perceived to be great, anyway) without cruelty. But by and large, the answer in this particular world is a resounding, “yes.” Or at least just about everyone thinks it’s the case. No one looking for greatness, or who happens to be in a position of greatness here can make it without cruelty. It is the epitome of a dog-eat-dog world, and as Norm Peterson would say, everyone is wearing Milkbone underwear.

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

I picked this up because it was the month’s pick for the Fantasy Book Club. And for quite a while, that was what kept me going. There were moments that made me think, “Oh, now we’re getting somewhere,” but that didn’t last for long. But curiosity and investment in a couple of secondary characters set in.

Also, I had to answer the question, “Where is the Fantasy?”

So, what did I think about She Who Became the Sun?

I’m really not sure. There was so much that worked here—but I’m not sure how satisfied I was with it in the end.

Parker-Chen can write some glorious lines—they can do more with one sentence of description than many authors can do in paragraphs. And getting to read them do more of that (if I get around to the sequel or wait until a new work) would be a treat.

For a book about war, it’s a relatively bloodless novel. Battles that take out thousands—conquer cities can take less than a page. If you want combat, you’re going to need some one-on-one situations—and there aren’t many. Battle, warfare, is the context of these events—it’s not the focus. Which is a pretty cool thing to see.

As much as I found the characters to be rich and complex (and I spared us all my bloviating about more of them—including the two or three that I like a lot more than those I talked about)—I’m not sure they’re enough to get excited about, alone. But this is a novel about more than the characters and the plot. There’s a lot going on about the nature of fate/destiny, gender, sexuality, morality, ancestry/ethnicity…

Is this a good read? Yes. Could it be better? Oh, yes. But a lot of that has to do with my expectations (magic, creatures, etc.). I just wanted a little more out of the book. If you go into this with the right expectations, you’ll probably get a lot more out of it and appreciate it more than I did. It’s worth the effort.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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What’s Electric City Switches About?

Corbin and Isaac are sent to the Carolinas, basically where Isaac’s origin story begins. Isaac’s former flame is headed there with some sort of recently stolen item. One of the Inner Circle’s best enforcers, January, is also on her way to retrieve the item (and whatever happens to Sheena, happens).

Once there, they have to deal with the local magic establishment, others trying to capitalize on Sheena’s impending arrival, and, of course, January. Thankfully, there’s a motel that caters to magicians and they strictly enforce no-conflict.

And, I have to admit, after a couple of drafts, I still don’t think that’s the best way to describe it. But it’ll do.

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

I started this because the first two Inner Circle novels were really strong and entertaining—how could I not?

I stuck with it because it got into my bloodstream almost right away—it’s got all the elements of the other two books, but the type of story isn’t the same (ditto for the other two).

What does this book tell us about humanity?

Presley deals with themes of family, duty, family duty, and other obligations. Some people evade one—or more—of these (because of their character); some embrace them wholeheartedly (and that shapes who they are); some outwardly comply/support, while inwardly rebelling or resenting (which reflects and further shapes who they are). We don’t see any of these characters on their first steps along these lines—most of them have been in their position for years, and they’re brought together (in many cases and configurations, brought back together) here to react with or against each other.

None of this is uncomplicated (not unlike that rambling paragraph)—but the combination of motives, character, morals (or lack thereof), and desires provides reactions that possibly only someone as Machiavellian as Mister could predict. But none of the characters did.

Sure, there’s the magic society stuff—and other magic shenanigans—which are not to be underappreciated. But the heart of this book is that list above—the magic is just the dressing.

So, what did I think about Electric City Switches?

This is my favorite entry in the series thus far. Okay, it’s only the third, so that probably doesn’t sound so impressive. But it’s going to take some work by Presley to top this (work I expect he’s capable of).

Presley isn’t afraid to jam a lot of things into his novels, but this one seems super-loaded (the advantage of doing a pretty good job of building the world in the first two books—he can focus on other things): there’s a network of hotels for the magicians in the U.S. that serve as “Accorded Neutral Ground” (to borrow a label from someone else); it’s possible for non-magicians to wield magic? Oh, that’s cool; magicians can actually go to college and get a degree (even one that’ll work for mundane interests). A novella/novel about any one of these things would be cool—and these are just background material or things that come up along the way.

The fight scenes in this book are fantastic—magic and bladed weapons are generally a fun mix—especially when you put them in a contemporary setting. I don’t think Presley has given us anything like this in the series so far (yes, there’ve been exciting scenes—but not at this level).

And it’s just a lot of fun watching Corbin discovering Indian food—and a touch of the family’s culture, too. In the midst of all the drama, just this little bit of joy really stands out.

Our cast of characters is really pared down—we’ve got two or three of our regulars (depending how you want to count), and that’s it. Honestly, we don’t need more—as much fun as I’ve had with them around. Mister is not around, but his presence is felt throughout the book. We get some good backstory on Isaac that expands our understanding of him. And Corbin finally makes some decent headway on his magic education. Everyone else is new, and all of them—well, the ones that survive—are ones I’d enjoy seeing again. Particularly Sheena, who could easily become my favorite character in the series.

At several points, people ask Corbin why Isaac keeps him around, given his lack of proficiency with anything but dowsing—and honestly, there are other ways to get that result. But over and over again, Corbin shows himself to be more clever and resourceful than they are (with a few blunders, he’s not perfect). Growing up where he did—and without abilities—he learned to outthink those around him. He’s observant, a fast thinker, and doesn’t see things in the same way as those in the magic world. His approach to things is what justifies keeping him around and helps him keep coming up on top of messes.

And now that he’s leveled-up (a bit)…he’s going to have a big future. Assuming he keeps his head.

This would work as a jumping-on point to the series for those who haven’t tried The Inner Circle yet, but you’d probably be better off with the first book, Rites of Passage. If you’ve dabbled in this world before, you’ll be more than pleased with this one. Go grab it now that it’s out!

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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What’s 51% About?

NYPD, Inc. detective Juke O’Keefe is assigned the case of a woman who was the victim of a murder and left in the street. He wants to find the killer. His partner, a crime marketing consultant, Haylee Navarro, isn’t so sure it’s the right case to take. If for no other reason, she doesn’t think they’ll be able to get much money for the investigation, and given the state of the victim, there are probably not many people who will care that much about finding the killer. Particularly when they find a chip embedded in her, signifying that she’s 51% owned by the syndicates.

If almost every word in that paragraph seems wrong, that just means you’re paying attention. Also, welcome to the dystopia depicted in this book.

Juke’s investigation (because Haylee’s just not that convincing compared to the uncompromising standards he holds himself to) brings the pair into contact with the upper echelons of NYC’s economy, to the poorest corners, working against an AI, and even across the path of a resistance movement on the verge of a significant move.

The Worldbuilding

It’s just exquisite. You could easily just read this for the worldbuilding alone, paying no attention to the plot or characters (outside of how both reveal the world). I remember early cyberpunk being defined as being fifteen minutes in the future—assuming I remember that correctly, Witten has set this novel 7 minutes into the future.

Gen Delta’s sensibilities rule (informally) societal mores, almost(?) everything that is government-provided for us has been privatized, and corporate syndicates “own” percentages of people indebted to them. If you need medical care, go to college, etc. you need to take out a loan which represents a certain percentage of you. If you’re a police officer wanting to investigate a crime, you essentially need to crowd-fund the money necessary for forensics and the investigation. So each detective is partnered not with another detective, but a PR agent who will shoot and promote videos about your case to capture the attention and emotions of viewers to raise that money.

Witten does a great job of explaining this process better than I just did in a non-infodump way.

From the slang to the tech to the finances and beyond—this world feels real, lived in, like a nigh-inevitiable future we’re heading toward.

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

When Witten sent me the description, I was hooked. Particularly in his hands—I just didn’t see how it couldn’t be good.

I kept reading because the execution lived up to the premise—the worldbuilding was great, and the story was just as good. You read just a little bit of this, and you’re going to need to keep going.

What does this book tell us about humanity?

I’m not sure that I have a good answer to this. There’s a lot of ugliness in the book—both corporately and individually. But the one thing that came up time and time again is people realizing how they’ve messed up (in big and small ways), and resolving to try to make a difference to make things better for others. Some do this in little ways—just feeding neighborhood cats. Others put their future at risk to protect an innocent person from wrongful arrest. Things like that. There’s just enough of that to keep you from utter despair as you walk through this world.

Or maybe the message is that Canada is the place to go in North America—as it has been for decades.

So, what did I think about 51%?

At its core, 51% is a murder mystery—yes, there’s a lot of futurism noise, political and social commentary, and the rest. But Juke’s hunt for a killer, the red herrings, the leads that don’t work out, and the race against other factors to make sure the right person is arrested—that’s the focus. And, as Jacked and Killer Story have capably demonstrated that Witten knows his way around a crime thriller.

I think the characters—even those on the side of the syndicates that own people—are well-written and complex (although there are some that are little more than stereotypes, but they’re well executed representatives of the type, so it’s hard to complain about them). There are no wholly straightforward motives; everyone has some shading about them.

The reveal of the murderer was well done, and the way the storylines are resolved is very satisfying.

I had a real blast with this one. I really relished the experience of being in the world and watching Juke’s crusade and Haylee getting pulled along in his wake (but also really not doing that). 51% is the kind of book that makes me wish I had a bigger audience so I could tell more people about it. Go read this thing, you’ll be glad you did.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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What’s Head Fake About?

Mikey has been unhoused a lot recently, but is currently staying with his father to recover from a sickness. If he can keep a job for a while, he can stay with him. His dad has a connection that can get Mikey a job at a school for high-risk offenders with mental illnesses as a bus driver.

It’s not much, but it’s something.

Then, due to a fun set of circumstances, he’s put in the job of coaching the team’s small basketball team.

Oh, I should probably mention that Mikey’s dad is a couple of months away from becoming the winningest High School basketball coach in the U.S., and despite the tortured relationship between the two, Mikey learned a lot from him.

Mikey needs to get the trust of his team (and the school’s administration), fight through his own mental illness struggles, and keep his father from tossing him out. That should be no problem at all, right? What did I think about the Narration?

I have no notes. Mondelli got everything from Mikey’s attitude, the students, his father, and everyone else just right.

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

I honestly don’t remember how I came across this book. But I put it on a list at some point, and eventually got around to picking it up.

I stuck with it because I liked Mikey—his voice and him as a person. He got his hooks in me right away and wouldn’t let go. I really just had to find out what happened to him—the more I got to know the students, the more I got invested. (just the way a reader is supposed to)

What does this book tell us about humanity?

This is a book about broken people helping other broken people (and, in some cases, hurting broken people). While there are some similarities in the problems each character has faced and is facing, it’s not the commonalities that connect them—it’s that they’ve faced a problem and are still trying, however weakly.

Also, a love for basketball.

So, what did I think about Head Fake?

While set in a high school, this is not a YA book. But it is YA-friendly.

This book is really a mash-up of two sure-fire feel-good stories. First, you’ve got an underdog sports team battling just to be taken seriously—and it ends up winning a lot. Gordon nails this part. Granted, it’s hard to mess that kind of story up—but there’s something so satisfying when it’s done right.

The other part of the mash-up is the outsider connecting with students in an inspirational way. Think Lean on Me or Sister Act 2 (more of the latter than the former). Granted, a bus driver isn’t much of an authority figure—but that’s where the coach part comes in.

You combine the two with some strong character growth from one of the underest underdog characters I can think of, some dumb humor, and a metric ton of earnest goodwill, and you’ve got yourself a wholly pleasant book that I can’t imagine a reader/listener wouldn’t be charmed by.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out! ---

I don't know what I was thinking requesting this from NetGalley. I have the hardest time writing about Harper's books. I only managed to get one word posted about his last one—and that's not enough for NetGalley. So, yeah, this took several days longer than it should've. But I can almost live with this.

The Sequel-ness of the Book

This is a follow-up to 2023’s Everybody Knows, but I really wouldn’t say this is a sequel. It’s more of a shared universe kind of thing. The Venn Diagram of the two novels does have some overlap in terms of characters, locations, corporate entities, and events. But the two novels are entirely self-contained and you don’t need to read Everybody Knows to fully appreciate A Violent Masterpiece.

That said—if you read Everybody Knows and want to know what happens in those situations (or at least many of them) six months down the road—you’ll be satisfied. But honestly, that was such a perfect way to end a novel, if you don’t want to step back in—you’re good.

Similarly, if you read A Violent Masterpiece and think “I’d like to know a little bit about how things got to this point,” Everybody Knows, exists. But you have everything you need in these pages.

Now, with that out of the way…

What’s A Violent Masterpiece About?

Take some characters:

The first is Jake Deal. He livestreams crime scenes, tours of historic L.A. crimes, and more. He used to work for a TMZ-like media company, and he still has the skills to get the dirt on people. He’s given an opportunity to make some good money if he uses those skills on a few targets.

A homeless woman, dealing with some dubious legal charges, who is trapped in an uncaring (at best) system.

A serial killer, the L.A. Ripper, killing women throughout the city. The LAPD isn’t prepared to call the killings related, but the rumor mill and the Internet are more than prepared to.

A former TV star/producer who is (very credibly) accused of any number of sex crimes, who is prepared to start naming names of accomplices and others who are just as guilty (if not more so). If he’s going down, he’s not going down alone.

Kara Delgado, a former barista, who was sucked in by the glamor and glitz—and generous salary—to work for a private concierge company. In that role she’ll procure just about anything someone who has the money wants. She’s not sure that that “just about anything” covers anymore, and is starting to have some doubts about the whole thing (but can she walk away?)

Jake’s former boss at the not-TMZ company. She used to work with the producer. She’s involved with some of the same people that use Kara’s company, too. She finds herself entangled in the legal and financial fallout of the producer’s fall into ignominy.

A defense lawyer—think Mickey Haller in the opening pages of The Lincoln Lawyer (before he starts to make a name for himself and some bigger money). Doug Gibson thinks of himself as the knife you bring to a gunfight—and while he may not win, the prosecution’s case will not walk away unscarred.

Throw these characters, a couple of corporations, other entities and far, far more money than a mortal and comprehend and mix them into the heat of L.A.—with all its lights, parties, action, would-be stars, hangers-on, drugs, wealth, and violence. They’re all on courses that will collide—the questions are, who will survive, what will be made known, will anyone I didn’t just name care, and will anything change?

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

Jordan Harper. ‘Nuff said.

What does this book tell us about humanity?

There are no guys with white hats running to the rescue. The one character here who is tempted in their better moments to regard themselves that way isn’t really—and when pushed just right, falls apart and casts off his morality.

But for many of the characters—our three primary and at least one other (that I will remain vague on), there can come a breaking point. A point where they cannot keep going down whatever destructive/self-destructive, amoral path they’re on and they are and they have to depart from that path and try to balance the scales, make amends, mitigate the evil they see (and may have participated in). They’re relatable, they’re believable—they’re broken and trying to make their way in the world to find a little peace for themselves, and maybe some others, too. They’re not trying to fix every injustice, right every wrong—just maybe not let things get worse in their immediate circle.

Alternatively, I’d like to say that Harper shows how even at their worst, there are glimmers of hope of some people—there are some “villains” that aren’t all bad, there’s a streak of goodness in them, some kindness—even a part of them that regrets the evil they do and they want to turn from it—and just might. I’d like to say that, but no. There are some truly vile, corrupt, and evil people—alone or in concert with others—that are wholly despicable.

That’s fitting for a noir novel. It also seems pretty realistic.

So, what did I think about A Violent Masterpiece?

So yeah, things sound pretty bleak after that last sentence. But here’s the difference between reality—in all of it’s banality, evil, and bleakness—and a Harper novel. Harper’s voice, style, characterization, and dialogue are just beautiful. You can get lost in that, revel in it, enough that you can set aside the depravity from time to time and just focus on that.

I think the pacing of this book is a little faster, a little smoother, than Harper’s previous novels. I’d even say that the primary characters are 1-3% more likable. Although, even as I say that, I want to note that every one of Harper’s novels feel so different from each other that it’s hard to say something like that with any degree of confidence. Even the two that are most related.

This is a book that’s going to haunt me. Probably not to the point that Everybody Knows did, just due to the nature of the last couple of chapters of each.

Political commentary, social commentary, cultural commentary—even pop culture commentary. There’s little that Harper doesn’t put in his sights. And he nails it at every turn.

From the first chapter, it was clear that this was going to be a rollicking read. I found myself in a situation with nothing to do but read for a couple of hours and was able to read the first half of this in one sitting. And despite the situation being resolved, I thought about sticking it out longer so I could finish, no matter what side of midnight it was. It was good to get a breather to mull on the book some—but boy howdy, it’d have been satisfying to gulp it in one.

This is a harrowing look at L.A. and the industries the run it (and the money and depravity they allow to flourish). But it’s not just about L.A.—as the novel reminds us, L.A. is America. Everything that happens in this novel happens all around the country on different scales. We’re swimming in it, it’s just a matter of if we want to see it. Harper holds the mirror up to L.A., to the U.S.A., and to ourselves. The challenge is not to avert our eyes.

This is just a brilliant read.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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What’s Paranormal Payback?

This is a collection of twelve Urban Fantasy short stories revolving around the idea of revenge.

I’m not sure what else to say, honestly—after a pair of great introductions by the editors (I mean, really—can we get a collection of essays from Butcher?), we dive in with a Goodman Gray story by Jim Butcher. And boy—did I have fun with that. I don’t want to distract Butcher from The Cinder Spires or The Dresden Files, but man, I’d love a handful of novels featuring this character.

From there, we get stories of witches (of several varieties), ghosts, vampires, ghosts and witches, talking donkeys, and more.

So, what did I think about Paranormal Payback?

Without going into each story—which I briefly considered—it’s hard to really talk about this book in any sort of depth.

This is the second collection from these editors that featured a story from R.R. Virdi’s The Grave Report series—and now I know that I need to read more. I’m curious enough to track down Isla Jewell’s romcom series. Tanya Huff, Faith Hunter, Jennifer Blackstream, and Kevin Hearne all brought their A-game.

The only story that didn’t work for me was from Kim Harrison. But that’s just me—most readers will be fine with it. It’s a prologue to a story arc from her Hollows series that I utterly didn’t care of (and frankly was annoyed by more than I was left ambivalent), so it was almost impossible for her to entertain me with. I did understand that motive for the revenge story here—and found it amusing—but that was it.

But Maurice Broaddus’ “Black Bond” was the star of this batch. You’ve got a tale of friendship, social commentary (sadly needed), and ghosts. There’s some fun to it—and plenty that’s not fun. I want to keep talking about it, but I don’t want to ruin it for you.

Not a disappointment in the bunch (unless you go in with a prejudice like I did). Urban Fantasy readers are sure to have a good time—especially if you’re a fan of the authors/series involved. If not? You may find a new author or series or three to follow.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader as part of a quick takes post to catch up. The point of these posts is to be pithy, not thorough (as I typically strive for). --- Fred’s adventures bow out the same way they entered the scene—mildly amusing, full of kindness and hope, generosity of spirit, and community. There’s almost no suspense—which is fine, this series didn’t depend on that.

It’s just Fred facing overwhelming odds, coming up with a clever solution or two, relying on his friends (and them relying on him, too). He found a new level to his magic—which was pretty cool, I’ve gotta say. And scored some major victories. The last chapter (or was it an epilogue?) ties up a lot of loose ends and provides a glimpse into Fred’s future.

Heyborne's narration was as good as ever.

This was a fitting and entertaining ending to this series. Glad I was along for the ride.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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What’s Enemy of My Enemy About?

I don’t need a lot of words to describe this—Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of Crime, is dead. Shot in his own home, and all the evidence points to Frank Castle as the shooter. Well, most of the evidence, anyway. Castle even lets himself be arrested without incident and seems ready to take the fall. Matt Murdock knows the facts don’t match up (for one, a police officer was also killed in Fisk’s office and Matt knows the Punisher wouldn’t do that), and can’t let him get railroaded. So he basically forces Castle to accept his representation.

It’s up to Matt Murdock and Daredevil to make sure Castle goes free and that the right killer is identified.

This was cleverly released shortly after the launch of Daredevil: Born Again season 2, but it’s not that much of a tie-in to the television series. This is the comic book version of Daredevil and the rest. It’s a minor point, but it does explain things like why we get someone so cartoonish* as Hammerhead and why certain characters are dead/alive.

* This is not a criticism, but a description. I enjoy the character.

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

I picked this up because I like the idea of this Marvel Crime series, the strength of the Jessica Jones novel, and Segura’s reputation.

I kept at it because this is a smart mystery/legal thriller with some great comic book action. There are plenty of twists, some good curve-balls, and more uses of the word “internecine” than I typically see in a book.

How was the Narration?

There’s only one other voice I’d like to hear as Matt Murdock/Daredevil than Michael David Axtell, but I think it was good for them not to cast Charlie Cox. This was just great—he handled every character in a way that fit perfectly. I was as entertained by his performance as I was the by text.

Really well done.

So, what did I think about Enemy of My Enemy?

I had a lot of fun with this one—for everything I just said in that last paragraph.

Segura nailed every character—well, I’m not sure about [surprise name withheld] because I haven’t read much about them, but given the way he dealt with everyone else, I figure he did right by them. And the cast of characters is large. Segura dove deeply into Marvel’s Hell’s Kitchen here.

Also, he wasn’t shy about killing off characters. It’s clearly outside the Marvel canon.

There’s not much else to say—it’s a solid thriller, a captivating superhero story, and you won’t see what’s coming. Enemy of My Enemy is a heckuva ride that I easily recommend to fans of any of the characters I mentioned.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader as part of a quick takes post to catch up. The point of these posts is to be pithy, not thorough (as I typically strive for). --- This was a perfectly decent Jesse Stone adventure. Jesse’s fate never felt like it was really in danger—but that’s okay, it’s about the struggle, the journey, right?

I’m a little disheartened by the way that Farnsworth is dealing with Lundquist. I know he’s not Healey—and I’m glad for it, I don’t want Farnsworth or anyone else turning him into a version of him. But the version of him being all by the book and cold here, really doesn’t match with the willing-to-be-maverick we met in Pale Kings and Princes, and I don’t think we’ve been given reason for that change (and I want to say this isn’t the first time I’ve been troubled by his characterization).

I really didn’t like Molly’s depiction for good chunks of the book—Farnsworth had a plan for her, and I liked most of what she did—I just think there was a better way to set up her investigative arc. (it’s hard to talk about vaguely). I think Farnsworth is really finding difficulty with her as she grows as a police officer—I think Lupica, did, too. Hopefully he figures it out soon (I should note, I like the way he’s dealing with Suit in the same situation).

Anyway, it's not a stellar installment in the long-running series—but it did its job well.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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“The tide is coming in,” he said. “The ocean has reached this little pool. There will be turbulence, and confusion, and ruin. This is what happens when something small joins something vast.”

What’s The Traitor Baru Cormorant About?

This is tricky…in brief, the Empire of Masks comes and (mostly peacefully) annexes the island of Taranoke. Social hygienists and others come in to help civilize and educate the inhabitants. Part of that involves teaching their children—Baru Cormorant is one of the (if not the) brightest of the students—and she is told that she can go far in the world. Perhaps even to be part of the Empire’s government. Which makes her study harder.

She knows that the Empire cannot be beaten—especially by her people—militarily. Any change will have to come from within, so she has to earn a position of influence.

After school, she’s sent to be the Imperial Accountant to a region annexed some time before her home was—but there are still many groups trying to rebel and a variety of methods being employed to keep them down.

Baru finds corruption and fraud on all levels—and comes up with a very clever way to throw cold water on the upstarts through a little monetary manipulation.

Then, she’s swept up in a movement on the other side—people from Aurdwynn tired of bowing the knee (literally and figuratively) to the Empire—they want their land back. And Baru ends up acting as one of their leaders in the effort. Maybe she couldn’t help her people, but maybe she can be of service to these?

Things get wild after that.

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

I picked this up because it was the Fantasy Book Club pick for the month. I knew nothing about it beyond that.

Why did I stick with it? Well, for the most part, because it was the Fantasy Book Club pick for the month. The writing was good, Baru was interesting, I liked the opening pages. But honestly—economic manipulation, political games that don’t seem to matter, and auditing the finances of the territory and various Dukes/Duchesses is not my idea of a riveting read.

But somewhere after the halfway point (arguably too late, and this would’ve been a good DNF candidate), things started to pick up. And then the action got a bit brisker, the political maneuvering wasn’t just about backroom deals that added up to little victories—they became about life and death—and not just in a theoretical way. The book kept getting better and better—like the proverbial snowball rolling downhill, getting bigger and faster all the way.

And then Dickinson threw in his twists, and…oh, reader, I cannot tell you how hard I fell for this book.

What does this book tell us about humanity?

First, I’m going to lift two paragraphs from my post earlier this week about Adrian Tchaikovsky’s City of Last Chances (a book I thought about a lot as I read this one)

For one, there’s a great depiction of the utter lack of compassion and naked ambition that can befall those who are convinced they/their group are absolutely correct, the only determiner of what is right/wrong, as they try to elevate/educate/correct another group of people.

On the other side, we have a selfishness and greed that a resistance can give shelter to. “Yes, I want to push back against this oppressive regime—but not so much that it’ll interfere with my art/scholarship/business or cause me any more inconvenience than I’m currently experiencing.”

But that’s a cheat—also, it’s not the biggest thing that stands out to me about this book. This book is a fantastic depiction of vengeance and what it can do to a person. Time after time after time, Baru gets the opportunity to live a decent life, to take some pleasure in things, to trust people (at least some), to work for the betterment of someone—anyone. And she really can’t—at least not for long—because she’s so entirely driven by her mission to change the Empire from within. Nothing comes before that—nothing is equal to that.

This makes her life dark, unpleasant, and unfulfilling, sure. It also makes her a handy tool for those who recognize her single-mindedness. I won’t get into who uses her in this way (or tries to, or sets her on a path to being used this way)—but despite what she thinks—and she really can’t see how easily she lets them do it to her. (or does she?)

I think it’s easy to see Baru and her thirst for vengeance all around us—not to the same degree that often (thankfully). But it’s there. It’s one of the uglier sides of humanity (and there are more than enough of those). And the reflective reader is going to pick up on this.

So, what did I think about The Traitor Baru Cormorant?

Even for the 200 hundred or so pages that I really wondered about this book, I couldn’t deny that Dickinson had writing chops. He captured characters and little moments between them so well. His descriptions were vivid and brought this world to life. And there were just so many quotable lines throughout the book, things like “This is the truth. You will know because it hurts.”

But, the pacing…I just don’t know. I don’t know if enough readers will stick with the political posturing, the economics, the audits, and the like to get to the good stuff. Yes, in retrospect, it’s absolutely worth it. And I can make the argument for him pacing it the way he did. I just don’t know that he should’ve. At one point, he writes about Baru, “She accepted the bargain without understanding the price. A terrible mistake, for an accountant.” I similarly wonder if the price Dickinson asks readers to pay to get to the latter half of the book is a terrible mistake for a writer.

But the book as a whole is just brilliant. For all the twists, turns, and shocks that fill these pages, he plays fair with the audience. Towards the end, there are a few pages where Baru thinks back over what had happened, and Dickinson lays it all out for us so we can see where he’d told us everything we needed to know. He’s like a Golden Age mystery writer, putting all the clues right out in the open for the reader to put together.

I was blown away by this book. Baru is a fascinating character—as are so many others, but I can’t really get into the who and why I find them so fascinating without revealing too much about them. Maybe I’ll be able to write about the survivors after the next book—if more than one or two show up.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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What’s Murder by Memory About?

Dorothy Gentleman is a ship’s detective on a ship called Fairweather on a centuries-long voyage. After one of her lives ended, Dorothy asked not to be put into a new body, but for her data/personality to stay “on the shelf” for a bit. But she finds herself awakened in someone else’s body.

A security protocol revived her and put her in the nearest body in order to investigate a murder.

Dorothy sets out on a series of conversations/interviews over several cups of tea, to not only find out who the murderer was (that was actually pretty easy), but why the murder happened (that’s the tricky bit in this case).

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

I grabbed this from the library because I saw something about the sequel, Nobody’s Baby, and that sounded great. But I have developed an allergy to reading series out of order.

I kept at it because of the narrator’s voice, I was curious about the world, and it moved so fast that I really didn’t have a chance to think about dropping it (I wouldn’t have, I should stress, but I didn’t have the time).

What does this book tell us about humanity?

There’s a good deal to question about if who a person is can be reduced to software that can be uploaded and downloaded. This book isn’t the place for that—but I can’t help thinking of other books that made me ask the same question. This is sort of the sanitized version of Altered Carbon in that way—you just have to accept it unquestionably, or the book doesn’t work.

There’s a lot about grief, loss, inevitability of aging, and what betrayal and (a twisted version?) of love can drive a person to, here as well. But again, it feels like trying to dig deeper than this novella invites you to in order to ask this. It really just seems like it wants you to kick back and enjoy the ride uncritically. Just to have some fun.

And that’s 100% okay. It’s even welcome. It just makes finding something to write about difficult, you know?

So, what did I think about Murder by Memory?

The balance between worldbuilding, character, and the mystery seems off. Worldbuilding and explaining that world takes an inordinate amount of space. However…that’s not true; it’s key for this particular mystery to have the worldbuilding (the tech, the social structure, and behavior of the ship) explained.

I do think that the characters get swallowed up a bit in everything, and could be better fleshed out. The mystery itself was…fine, but your investment in the investigation hinges on learning about the ship and the technology behind the transfer of consciousness from one body to another.

That was enough for me—and enough for me to suggest that you give this a shot—but I hope for better in the next book.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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What’s True Color About?

Have you ever had trouble describing a color to someone? Strange sea creatures, sunsets, a (hopefully) food stain on a shirt, paint on a wall? It’s not easy. For some of us more than others, I’m sure (I’m at the weak end)—but it’s not that easy.

Now, try to imagine doing it not for a friend or paint clerk—but for the thousands or more that might read your description (read: definition) in a dictionary or other reference work.

Stamper points to two significant markers in the development of these definitions. The first is that prior to the First World War, Germany was the world’s biggest source of commercial dyes. During the War, two things happened—first, those plants became weapons factories (and learning how easy that was is a bit disconcerting), and second, places like the U.S. had to start producing their own. And if, say, two different suppliers understood a tint of green differently—the camouflage they provided to the Army in Europe could have significant consequences.

The other is a little less dramatic, but no less impactful. When people in the U.S. started making oleomargarine in the 1800s, dairies were upset about them coloring it to look like butter—this resulted in legal battles, and eventually, the U.S. Congress weighed in.

These two things began efforts in the U.S. to codify colors, dyes, hues, and whatnot into some sort of standard.

Fast-forward to when Kory Stamper is editing Merriam-Webster’s website (and from her description, this is not an easy job), when she came across some odd color definitions. The wording was odd, the definitions themselves were puzzling—where did these come from?

Thus begins this story about the attempts to define colors—in a way that satisfies diverse audiences like artists, scientists, and general readers—during the development of their Second and Third Unabridged Dictionaries. Stamper tells the story of putting these dictionaries together, some of the editors who worked on them—and worked with outside consultants like I. H. Godlove (and his wife and colleagues) and others to craft these definitions.

It’s a book of human drama, academic politics, technological limitations, and the limits of human language and understanding.

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

I picked this up because I enjoyed Stamper’s earlier book Word by Word: The Secret Life of Dictionaries and because I was intrigued by the question—how do you define a color? I also hoped to pick up some tips to help me with that. Spoiler: I did not. But I don’t care. This was better. It’s also encouraging to know that even professional definers struggle.

Why did I keep reading? There’s just so much trivia—especially in the beginning, so many strange little facts you pick up along the way—for example (taken from the publisher’s description, because I hate to ruin stuff like this) “did you know that the word ‘puke’ used to refer to a fashionable shade of reddish-brown before it was associated with vomit?”

But more importantly, I was just fascinated by the way these editors and experts went about putting together these dictionaries—the differences in approach between the two—and so on. Stamper can make what one might think is dry and dusty history come alive and fill it with humanity.

Readers of Nero Wolfe will learn that he wasn’t the only one who had problems with the Third Unabridged Dictionary—although most derided it in reviews or newspaper articles, rather than burning it page by page in their fireplace.

So, what did I think about True Color?

I was, again, fascinated by the people she focused on to tell her story. I wanted to talk to people about them—I’d like to learn more about them and their work.* Her following up with the Godlove family’s living relatives so we could get more insight into the people behind the work was a wonderful touch.

Like her previous book, True Color will disabuse many of what they imagine the behind-the-scenes of Dictionary production is like. You will read about one of the worst bosses around, for example. Stress, overwork, burnout, crazy turnover, rampant misogyny (okay, you might have guessed that given the time periods), tiny budgets, and more. It turns out that Dictionaries are put together by human beings, not beings of pure intellect.

Also, I cannot say enough about Stamper’s use of language. It will not come as a surprise that someone who works on dictionaries has a way with words—she has ready access to all the best ones, after al—but to see it in action is something else. Stamper’s rich vocabulary is on full display here, and she crafts it beautifully.

* I will not—particularly about their work, I wouldn’t understand it. But I wanted to.

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Knopf via NetGalley in exchange for this post, which contains my honest opinion—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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Before I get into things…that title is great (not that Quinn’s a stranger to good titles). I want to believe he wrote that title down some time ago and spent a couple of years thinking of a story to go with it.

What’s Cat on a Hot Tin Woof About?

One of the best things about the Chet and Bernie books is the wide diversity in cases they investigate—sure, the Little Detective Agency specializes in missing persons cases—but they do it all. Well, almost all. The clients they have this time are something that Bernie isn’t really ready for—and Chet would’ve been happier if they’d never run into them.

It’s a mother-daughter pair—the daughter had accidentally launched herself (well, her cat) to Internet fame and a very respectable income for a high schooler (well, more than respectable). Her mother is her business manager. Their problem? Miss Kitty is missing. Their sponsors are coming in soon to sign a new deal, and her audience is clamoring for fresh content. So the clock is ticking.

Bernie understands very little of this, but signs on—and quickly learns that despite what his clients believed—the cat didn’t slip out of the house somehow. She’s been stolen.

Naturally, it doesn’t stop with a stolen cat—more crimes turn up, as does an element of danger.

Bernie’s ex-wife, Leda, has some drama of her own, for him to deal with, too. But Bernie’s focus is on the case (although he takes time out for a fun scene to help Leda)

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

That’s simple—while Quinn isn’t a stranger to less-impressive books, he’s incapable of writing an un-entertaining one—particularly with this series. And it’s been a while since he stumbled anyway.

Why did I keep at it? There is simply something infectious about Chet’s voice—as much as you want to figure out what happened—who kidnapped the cat and why, will they figure out the other mysteries along the way, will Bernie lose a lot of money doing something foolish, etc.—you want to stay in Chet’s head for longer than it’ll take to finish the book. This book is a textbook example of that.

What does this book tell us about humanity?

There’s a good deal here about the human propensity for making mistakes you’d regret later—if not sooner.

There’s a lot about good parenting and inadequate parenting/parents. There are a couple of good parents in this book (one came so late in the book, you’d almost despair of seeing another one ever again), and several inadequate ones. Most of those didn’t realize they were—but boy howdy, they should’ve.

What this book tells us most about humanity—and this is largely true for every Chet and Bernie book is the importance of a connection between a human and an animal. Even if it’s just a connection for a short-time. We’ve got cats, a pig, and a couple of dogs. The cats enrich (literally, in at least one case) the lives of those they stay with. Chet gets to comfort people going through rough times and gets to support Bernie. The pig? Well, it’s there. The cats and the dogs are just wonderful and will make you want your own (assuming you don’t already).

So, what did I think about Cat on a Hot Tin Woof?

It’s a Chet and Bernie book—of course, I had a good time.

I’d have liked a little more clarity on a point or two about the conclusion. But when your narrator is delightfully unreliable, that’s hard. I think about these cases in a way Chet wouldn’t bother with, so unless Bernie muses about some of the action, there’s just no way that we get the answers I want.

But you have to expect that going in, so it really doesn’t matter.

It’s been a minute since “old man Heydrich” was brought up (and I’m more than okay with that), and I think his replacement could be fun. We get some good Charlie and Leda stuff. Weatherly could’ve been in it more (but was used well). The client herself is the kind that you hope Quinn finds a way to bring back (as he does with another client here), and…well, it’s all just good.

It’s a fun mystery that will keep you smiling throughout—even when Chet solves the mystery (and doesn’t realize it)—maybe it’d be better to say that the reader solves it through Chet’s eyes—and you’re just sitting there waiting for Bernie to catch up. That’s frequently a frustrating experience when I’m that far ahead of the protagonist in a book—but here, it’s just fun.

If you’ve never met our intrepid pair of P.I.s, this would be a perfect book to jump into the series with—honestly, any of them would work, but you might as well start with this one. If you’ve been around the duo before, this is as good as you remember. Either way—check out Cat on a Hot Tin Woof.

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from St. Martin’s Press via NetGalley in exchange for this post, which contains my honest opinion—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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The days without difficulty are the days you do not improve.”

Tau ran harder. He was not the strongest, the quickest, or the most talented, not by any measure. He knew this and knew he could not control this. However, he could control his effort, the work he put in, and there he would not be beaten.

He made a pact with himself, a pact he swore on his father’s soul. If he were asked to run a thousand strides, he would run two thousand. If he were told to spar three rounds, he would spar six. And if he fought a match to surrender, the man who surrendered would not be him. He would fight until he won or he died. There would be, he swore, no days without difficulty.

What’s The Rage of Dragons About?

Tau is a teenager who is destined for military service—like pretty much everyone in his nation. Tau’s advantage is his father’s tutelage as a swordsman. His father is training Tau’s higher-class friend and works Tau into the lessons.

Their nation, the Omehi, was driven from their ancestral home and took refuge in another land—and has spent every day since then combating the indigenous people for enough land to survive.

Several injustices are visited by people close to Tau, and then his father is struck down in a senseless fight—and those who did the killing (and ordered it) are protected by their status. Tau is not much more than a competent sword-fighter, but he commits himself to becoming skilled enough, powerful enough, to kill everyone involved in his father’s death.

The next few hundred pages tracks all of this learning and efforts toward that goal—the allies he makes, the many mistakes he makes, and the blood he spills along the way as his quest intersects with the Omehi’s war.

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

I started this because it was the Book Club pick for the month—and I was pretty curious, because I remember a lot of positive buzz when it was released years ago.

I kept at it because as frustrating Tau was—infuriatingly so, at times—I had to see what was going to happen to him. The broad brushstrokes of the plot were pretty obvious—it was a question of how he got to the point of “greatest living warrior.” Did he have allies left? Had he changed his worldview? Did he actually get any of the vengeance he set out for? Did he become some sort of monster along the way? Did he pick up any kind of wisdom?

Also, it’d just been a while since I’d read a fantasy novel with a bunch of action—and I tell you what, this is so far beyond “a bunch of action.” This was a big brick of adrenaline, and there’s no chance to think about stopping.

A Portrait of Monomania

Single-minded is an understatement when it comes to Tau. Where a lot of people will talk about devoting themselves to revenge, or justice, or a new business. But other than Bruce Wayne before he returns to Gotham, we’ll see them relax with a friend, take time for pleasure in something, and take care of themselves. Tau, on the other hand, literally has to be ordered to bathe; he eats and sleeps just enough to keep going—other than that, from waking to sleep, he’s working. His work ethic (obsession) reminded me of Adam Lowe, the Olympic Long Jumper from Running and Jumping by Steven Kedie, just more intense.

Where Adam is so focused on a millimeter or two of distance for the record—always just a little further, a little faster, Tau looks for just a little bit of edge when it comes to combat. And then a little more, and a little more, and then a little more. He’s destroying himself in the process of becoming what he demands of himself—and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Now, those of his fighting unit (“Scale”) are not unlike Tau—they’ve lost family members, they’re of the lowest caste—without a real opportunity to make anything of themselves to support their family if not as warriors (and even then, it’s not that much of an opportunity). They want all the things that Tau does—and more. But they’re not willing to give up as much, to deny themselves as much, to push themselves as much. They’d love the opportunity to help Tau, to be a team for him—to take part of his burdens on their shoulders, and have them do the same for him. But he’s so…obstinately focused on his vengeance that he doesn’t pay them the heed he should.

For example, one of his Scale is a solid tactician and could really help Tau with patience, subtlety, a plan. Tau’s idea of subtle is not shouting a battle cry before he attacks; a plan for him is knowing which sword he’s going to use first against you. That’s not true—he comes up with several plans throughout the book—and then abandons them at the first opportunity for a wild impulse to come along.

The Non-Tau Elements of the Book

If it sounds like I’m down on Tau, I’m really not. He’s an impetuous hot-head, but you can’t help rooting for him (as you keep wanting some sense to get knocked into him). But, it’s really good that he’s surrounded by characters who aren’t exasperating—and for the most part, are the kind of characters you’d typically want to focus on. The others in his Scale, his commanders, his love interest, his childhood friend, even some of the men he’s trying to kill are just really good, even fantastic characters—there’s even at least one Xiddeen that I enjoyed getting to know (as angry as I was with her for who she killed).

The magic system, the government of the Omehi, the way they control dragons (although I want to see them burn by dragonfire for it), the mysterious Cull that drove the Omehi from their land…all of that—utterly fascinating, so rich, frequently so unlike things we’re not used to seeing in Fantasy.

And really, you remove Tau from the equation and leave everything else—and Winter’d have the making of a pretty decent Fantasy novel/series. But when you mix in the living weapon that is Tau to the mix? Then you get something epic.

So, what did I think about The Rage of Dragons?

This is deep, this is rich, this is thoughtful—and it’s non-stop action. How Winter pulls off that trick is something you’d have to study this for yourself to really understand. But he does it.

I haven’t actually said it yet, but the combat scenes—either in training, or real combat—or the giant battle scenes? Some of the best I can recall. If it weren’t for Michael Michel, I’d probably say I couldn’t remember the last time I’d read some that were so good.

The Rage of Dragons hits all the marks you want in a Fantasy novel—characters, magic, setting, combat, a struggle between nations/peoples that’s a scale almost to hard to comprehend, an intricate social structure, and the promise of more of all of that in the books to come. Oh, and dragons. Can’t overlook them!

If you haven’t picked this up yet, you’re going to want to. If you have—you’ll understand my excitement about this. I’m eager to find a way to work the second book into my schedule this year—and I heartily suggest you find a spot for The Rage of Dragons.

What’s The Land of Sweet Forever?

The short version is that this is a collection of eight short stories and eight short non-fiction pieces by Harper Lee.

That seems a bit lacking, so here’s what the Publisher says:

Harper Lee remains a landmark figure in the American canon – thanks to Scout, Jem, Atticus, and the other indelible characters in her Pulitzer-winning debut, To Kill a Mockingbird; as well as for the darker, late-’50s version of small-town Alabama that emerged in Go Set a Watchman, her only other novel, published in 2015 after its rediscovery. Less remembered, until now, however, is Harper Lee the dogged young writer, who crafted stories in hopes of magazine publication; Lee the lively New Yorker, Alabamian, and friend to Truman Capote; and the Lee who peppered the pages of McCall’s and Vogue with thoughtful essays in the latter part of the twentieth century.

The Land of Sweet Forever combines Lee’s early short fiction and later nonfiction in a volume offering an unprecedented look at the development of her inimitable voice. Covering territory from the Alabama schoolyards of Lee’s youth to the luncheonettes and movie houses of midcentury Manhattan, The Land of Sweet Forever invites still-vital conversations about politics, equality, travel, love, fiction, art, the American South, and what it means to lead an engaged and creative life.

There are three pieces that I want to focus on: two short stories and one essay.

“The Cat’s Meow”

This story takes place in Maycomb—our favorite fictional community. Our narrator (a thinly disguised Harper Lee) returns home for a visit from New York City, and stays with her sister (a thinly disguised version of her sister, Alice). In this story, Alice has a “Yankee Negro” gardener with a criminal past. His actions, life, and interactions with people in the community are the focus of the story.

The narrator is clearly not comfortable with the way that the gardener is treated—but lacks the courage to follow through beyond a comment or two lest she do something to cause an irreparable rift.

It’s easy to judge the narrator (as the editor seems to in her introduction), but it’s also really easy to empathize and root for her quiet push-back and hope for something bigger around the corner. Anyone who’s been in a dicey conversation in the last few years with a relative on the other side of a political/social divide will be able to relate to this.

The characters are fully human and flawed. Everything is incredibly relatable, and you can’t help but feel for the gardener (even when he makes some huge errors in judgment)

“The Land of Sweet Forever”

This story right here is worth the purchase price of the book. It showed up in Go Set a Watchman, but don’t hold that against it.

There’s something about the characters and conversations in this story that just worked for me—the storyline itself is almost non-existent, but the scenes that make it up are so good that it doesn’t matter.

I can’t put my finger on what about this that clicked with me, and I really don’t know how to discuss it. It’s a simple little story that made my heart swell.

“Love—in Other Words”

I wasn’t sure what to expect from the non-fiction portion of the book, but when I finished it, I put in my notes, “If this is what these essays are going to be like, I’m very happy.” Sadly, this was the best of the batch—by a lot.

It’s really a basic essay about love—Lee invokes historical figures, general sentiment, literature, and the Bible, and comes up with something that just strikes you as true. Practically timeless. Yeah, it’s basic, but it doesn’t need to be more.

So, what did I think about The Land of Sweet Forever?

A lot of the stories/pieces were just fine or underwhelming—the collection as a whole isn’t that great. The high points were high (and I didn’t discuss them all), and the low points were forgettable.

But this is definitely a case of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. We get to see a lot of different aspects of Lee here—ways she developed as a writer. The way she can lift bits of her older writing and incorporate them into her novels. Her personality. This is a great way to understand her.

I’ve heard and read the story so many times about her friends giving her a place to live for a year so she can focus on To Kill a Mockingbird. We all know how close she was to Capote, or how much she admired Gregory Peck. Reading those things in her own words just makes those things we all know resonate so much more clearly.

I don’t know how often I’ll read this entire collection again (certainly before I re-read Go Set a Watchman), but I can dip back into it here and there. But I’m so glad we have it. I think if you have more than a passing interest in Lee, you will, too.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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What’s Stakeouts and Strollers About?

Charlie Shaw, a former investigative reporter, is now a rookie P.I. His boss has him working low-risk cases as he learns the job—and because he’s a new dad. Charlie is besotted with his little girl, Callie. So much so that he does things like wear down his phone battery enough watching her on the monitor so he doesn’t have enough power to take the photos he needs to document his target’s affair.

Soon after, he’s back on the case and tracks the woman to the home of the man she’s having an affair with. Beyond getting the photos he needs to satisfy the client, two significant things happen.

First, he runs into a teenage girl who is seemingly trying to follow the same person. Secondly, he witnesses the man his target was seeing get beaten by a large man and acts to help him.

My summary is getting convoluted—that’s on me, not Phillips. Charlie tracks down the girl—Friday Finley—who didn’t turn out to have anything to do with anyone that was at the scene he met her at. She’s actually trying to track down her father, who ghosted her and her mother years ago, and is now seemingly tied to some criminals working out of a dive bar.

Charlie’s between jobs, thanks to getting the incriminating photos, so he can help Friday track down her dad. This is where things get complicated and dangerous.

Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?

The cover and title caught my eye, and the premise sold me.

I kept reading because Phillips’ text is smooth and engaging, and Charlie is one of those narrators that you can’t help but like immediately, so you want to see how things turn out for him. And I can’t imagine how a reader can’t want to know what happens next for Friday once they’ve met her.

Basically, everything about the book made me want to keep going.

What does this book tell us about humanity?

The big through-line with this book is family. Sometimes we’re talking about found families, but most of this is blood family.

Some of the families are dysfunctional, some are loving and supportive, some are still figuring themselves out, some are falling apart—but this novel is just littered with families. It’s the key to practically every motivation, decision, and goal for these characters.

Family is something many of us take for granted, at least one we can undervalue, given whatever day/stage of life we’re in. But seeing these characters do all these various and sundry things because of family rings so true. When X is doing Y for reason Z, it’s easy to dismiss Z as folly or greed. But as soon as it becomes “for reason Z and family,” both the character X and the action Y become relatable, understandable, and possibly even sympathetic.

This is on just about every page of this novel, and more than any other reason, it’s what grounds this work and draws you in.

So, what did I think about Stakeouts and Strollers?

This is just fun—Charlie’s got all the makings of a decent fictional PI, but Callie is a big distraction for him. Which makes you like him all the more—he’s such a girl dad. When it comes to Friday, he assumes a role between paternal and big brother.

A book that starts with a P.I.’s phone battery dying because he’s watching his daughter starts off with a certain tone—mildly comedic and light. Sure, there are legitimately tense and violent scenes (nothing that couldn’t show up on Prime Time TV), but the book retains that lightness. It’s practically wholesome—particularly any scene that features Charlie’s family.

The investigation itself is full of a bunch of great turns. And Charlie’s investigative chops are pretty evident.

I don’t know if this is the beginning of a series or just a fun one-off. Either way, it’s a satisfying time, and I recommend you pick it up. I’d enjoy watching little Callie grow while her dad tackles more cases. But if this is it, I can imagine that happening anyway. I expect I won’t be alone in hoping we get to see the family again.

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from St. Martin’s Press & Minotaur Books via NetGalley in exchange for this post which contains my honest opinion—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader. If you like this post, you might like others on that site. Consider checking it out!

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What’s Black Bag About?

A struggling character actor (who seems to primarily pay the bills with dinner theater gigs) receives an unusual offer—a local university professor wants to hire him as part of an experiment. He is to attend three class sessions a week wearing a large black satchel—only his lower legs and feet are to be visible. He is to not interact with anyone—no speaking, no gesturing, no reacting to anything while on campus.

In exchange, Black Bag gets a roll of cash each week.

Easy enough, right? But it’s harder to not interact with other people than our actor realizes. And while this inspires him to look for other atypical roles, they’re not that easy to get (and he’s not that sure he wants them). His childhood friend—a game streamer—starts to see ways to monetize Black Bag (I’m not saying his friend’s hallucinogen use inspires these ideas, but I’m not saying they don’t). Also, another professor starts to take an interest in Black Bag for their own purposes.

So, what did I think about Black Bag?

Let me start by saying that the opening paragraphs to this are among my favorite in the last year or so—the rest of the book is worth the time, too.

Beyond that…I’m finding it difficult to really talk about what the novel seems to want to talk about without talking about events and things said in the last 10-20% of the book. I’m not sure how important it is to avoid plot points when discussing this particular novel, because the plot seems tertiary (at best) for Black Bag, but I have an aversion to doing that.

I’m not entirely convinced that Kennard has an agenda that he’s trying to push—and if he does, he’s certainly not leading anyone by horns to it—but he wants the reader to think about certain ideas/themes. Some prominent ones (I won’t try to be exhaustive here, I’d fail) are: the place of art in society and how it should try to shape discourse; the intensity of online communities—and how fragile they are; sex without emotional attachment; monetization of personal details online; post-humanism; academic politics; contemporary expressions of masculinity—and the various movements cropping up to address the “crisis” of it; the need for attachment to others.

If the plot is tertiary, the themes and issues in focus are definitely primary. I think the characters are, too. At times—and even now—I’m tempted to see the characters as flat, merely placeholders for Kennard to attach arguments/points of view on. Arguably, this is a valid reading. But each of the characters is more than that—they’re all fairly well-drawn, and the depth of each one is seen in the way they react to and interact with Black Bag. Just as Dr. Blend intended.

Do they project their desire for a get-rich-quick scheme onto it? Or perhaps they see it as a tool for sexual pleasure. One student sees the bag as a solid point to discuss the class with (at?) in place of the erratic professor. And then there’s the narrator himself, at times in danger of becoming more than Black Bag—detached from humanity, his career, his reality—losing himself to fantasy during the lectures, observing those around him, doing little more than noting their reactions to him. The more we consider how the characters respond to Black Bag, the more we see about them. And, breaking the fourth wall (the narrator does this himself, inviting the reader to do the same), the way the reader reacts to Black Bag at various points of the novel reveals something about ourselves, too.

The narration itself is deceptively breezy and light. It is possible to lose yourself in the pacing and ease of the narrator’s conversational address to the reader and gloss over details—inherently, this is a strength. It would be very easy for this book to fall over under the weight of its own pretensions, but Kennard protects it from that. It keeps the reader engaged and entertained—Black Bag is frequently funny, both in how he bumbles through life and how he describes that to the reader.

I also find myself asking at this point, how would I react to the novel on a re-read? Knowing where all of this is happening, what meaning that Black Bag finds (for example) in the experiment, how would I react to him at the beginning, and in his early sessions. As a thought experiment, I’m getting nowhere—but I can’t stop wondering.

Surreal and absurd in the best way, full of challenging ideas, and brought to life through a very oddball collection of characters, Black Bag is a novel you won’t soon forget (nor will you want to).

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Zando Projects via NetGalley in exchange for this post which contains my honest opinion—thanks to both for this.