Needed A Better Offense

Posted on November 5, 2013 by Robert Downs

Best Defense by Randy Rawls
My Rating: 2/5 Stars

The voice appealed to me about as much as liverwurst and onions. The style wasn’t much better on the overall appellate scale. That’s not to say the writing was bad, though, because it wasn’t. The prose was adequate; the story proved somewhat interesting and did its best to hold my attention; the dialogue was handled without the aid of a particularly heavy hand; and the story demonstrated logic from beginning to end.

But I had a hard time supporting characters that proved about as likeable as tarantulas or pythons, especially when I could have been the mouse tossed in the cage. The list of odious characters stood higher and weighed more than the ones that practiced a bit of congeniality and common sense. Beth Bowman dangled at the top of my least favorite people list, with Maddy Hammonds and Dick Bannon and Major Sargent and Chief Elston not far behind. John Hammonds and his daughter Ashley, in a cameo role, demonstrated high likeability as the dynamic father and daughter duo. The homeless posse provided a bit of comedic relief, but it wasn’t enough to save this tale for me.

BEST DEFENSE probably needed a better offense and an expert placekicker. The goalposts loomed large at the opposite end of the field, and the crowd stood with mouths open and faces leaned precariously forward as two bodies were taken off the field. Even after play resumed, the shock remained, and the coach didn’t offer up the most appropriate pep talk.

What really knocked this novel down another notch for me, though, was the climactic killer confrontation. What I certainly don’t need, and feel like I see a bit too frequently in mysteries, is the murderer spouting off at the chest why he or she committed the crime. Please, for the love of Krispy Kreme, just shut up. I don’t care if you plan to kill our beloved, or not so beloved, hero or heroine three pages later; I don’t care if you want to therapeutically justify why you did what you did (therapists and pills can solve this particular problem); and it doesn’t matter to me if your ego can’t handle potential misconceptions. Just shove a doughnut in your mouth and shut up. You’ll thank me later.

I received this book for free through NetGalley.

Debilitating Disease

Posted on November 4, 2013 by Robert Downs

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green
My Rating: 4/5 Stars

I’d have to say I wasn’t a big fan of cancer before I started this novel (I lost my grandfather to pancreatic cancer), and I’m even less of a fan of this debilitating disease after finishing this depressing read. But I have to give John Green his due. He could have taken the concept for THE FAULT IN OUR STARS and spun it in an entirely different direction, leaving me in a constant state of despair and depression and during which time I would have needed to be slightly medicated in order to push through the pain. Instead, though, there’s a lingering sense of sadness, but it’s coupled with a sense of hope and a slightly eccentric voice that at times might sound like it has been recycled through a respirator.

Hazel Grace Lancaster was fun and exciting and more than a bit eccentric and even now, it’s hard not to picture her wheeling around an oxygen tank. But she doesn’t want your sympathy. Instead, the tank manages to put another quirk in her step and offer up a bit of wind drag. Her idiosyncratic voice and her rather humorous take on a dire situation had me cheering for her every step of the way.

Even her best friends Augustus and Isaac offered up flashlights in the impending darkness. Despite life dealing all three of them a bum hand, and then piling on the cockroaches inside the mayonnaise sandwiches, the three handed their time-stamped lives with a wisdom and strength well beyond their years.

Relationships ended and others began, as the wheels of time continued to spin; books needed to be read and video games attracted attention; new classes were discovered; and families coped with the impending loss that might hover around the next corner, or then again, it might not. And I couldn’t help my sense of enjoyment, even as I knew it might come with an expiration date.

Pretentious Dialogue

Posted on November 2, 2013 by Robert Downs

Bellman & Black: A Ghost Story by Diane Setterfield
My Rating: 3/5 Stars

I’d have to say it’s rather difficult to describe my emotional state after finishing BELLMAN & BLACK: A GHOST STORY. On the one hand, this was a well-written, slowly developing story that caused me to contemplate the consequences of all my actions, not just the major, life changing experiences; on the other, it did have ghostly elements, but when I picture a ghost story, this isn’t exactly what I have in mind. It’s more of a literary ghost story where you realize the ghosts are there, but they hover above the playing field and never really step out onto the grass. It also develops this phrase in narrative form: Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it. Which proves an interesting expression to ponder for a novel, but I never felt like I was fully invested in this tale.

The dialogue proved a bit pretentious for me with many characters never really becoming enamored with contractions. While William Bellman was certainly an interesting and intriguing character, he never grabbed my attention the way I hoped he would. He was stiff and aloof and more than a tad bit prickly, rigid, and distant. And the pace often proved a bit too leisurely for my tastes. It was more of a meandering jaunt in a field of lilies than a race in an open field. But the writing often sung a soprano solo in the middle of December, I just found myself only half-listening.

In the end, I wanted to enjoy this story, and even though I tried a bit too hard at times to do so, ultimately I just wasn’t the right audience. Since I received THE THIRTEENTH TALE in my Bouchercon book bag, I’ll take it for a spin on the merry-go-round, but I’ll do so with a bit more careful consideration.

I received this book for free through NetGalley.

Blackout Periods

Posted on November 1, 2013 by Robert Downs

The Juliette Society by Sasha Grey
My Rating: 4/5 Stars

Since this is the closest I’ll ever come to making love with a porn star, I wanted to take full advantage of the situation, having been introduced to Sasha Grey through the marketing and promotional campaign of The Girlfriend Experience—although full disclosure I never did see the movie. Thank you Steven Soderbergh. And if I can still remember her name years later…well, that probably gives you some indication of why I read so many novels a year. So continuing on in my current erotica experiment, which has grown into something resembling an expedition, and is probably on the brink of turning into a full-blown epidemic, I bring you THE JULIETTE SOCIETY for your whispering pleasure.

This novel blew my mind. Literally. With periods so intense I thought I might blackout, it’s safe to say Ms. Grey writes as well as she fucks. The lucky bastard who marries her might pass out on a nightly basis from sheer ecstasy and pure bliss, find himself in a sex-induced coma, and hooked up to an oxygen tank and sucking pineapple juice through a straw. I’d like to go into explicit detail on the sex scenes, as I convey my state of erotic involvement, but I feel like this might somehow cheapen the whole affair. And this novel wasn’t cheap for me. It was intense and weird and thoroughly entertaining.

The Fuck Factory really doesn’t need much more of an introduction. And the women. Holy. Hell. I need some Crisco. Stat. Anna—round ass, big tits, voluptuous, pale, and curvy in all the right places—was so completely in tune with her sexuality and uninhibited, I could practically feel the pages vibrating whenever she stepped between the white space. And Catherine in many ways the zin to Anna’s zang was considerably more of a minx than she first appeared. And I sucked it all up like a Slurpee.

It was raw and powerful and emotional and disjointed and invigorating and fulfilling and wonderful and sensual. As for me, I was stimulated and lubricated and aroused and satiated and turned on faster than a drilldo. And I devoured all of it greedily and lustfully, finishing it in two days’ time.

I think it’s safe to say Sasha Grey can write (even her less than enthusiastic reviewers have acknowledged as much). She writes with passion and an animalistic intensity, baring her soul with a powerful mindfuck that opened my eyes wider than a chasm. I found myself pondering questions I had never pondered before. Like where did her writing come from? And did she work on her soliloquies and monologues and diction and dialogue as she was getting pounded in the ass?

If Ms. Grey is anything like her debut novel, she’s not the most conventional individual. And that’s why this story spoke to me. With plenty of flashbacks and storytelling within the story, spending a lot of time in Catherine’s head, and more than a few cinematic references, this novel was executed with haphazard precision.

Her name sold me on the first book, but I’ll be coming back for more like some lust-induced bunny, especially if she takes another stab at the erotica genre. A professional fucker who writes about fucking. What more could you possibly ask for?

I received this book for free through NetGalley.

Funny All Of The Time

Posted on October 31, 2013 by Robert Downs

Edward Adrift by Craig Lancaster
My Rating: 5/5 Stars

I can state rather emphatically that this book does not suck elephant balls. In fact, you may have to hold your tallywhacker in place as you bend over at the waist from laughing so hard. Edward, my man, you are more than just pretty funny sometimes. I’d say you’re funny all of the time, even when you’re not trying to be.

I’d even go so far to say that I have what might be construed as a bromance with Edward Stanton. I don’t know if I’d call him my hero, but he’s a damn fine character, and this is one damn fine story. His preference for facts, dry sense of humor, cursing like he jammed his toe against the sofa and then smashed his head on a wooden table, repetition of choice words and phrases, photographic memory, extensive vocabulary, and his unique love for words make this son of a politician an absolute joy to behold. So much so that I just had to finish EDWARD ADRIFT in less than twenty-four hours.

Edward has some rather righteous curse words. Here are a few of my favorites: shitburger, whipdick, shitballs, chicken’s asshole, sort out the shithouse, and assweeds. I’d have to say it was fun to be fucking loaded and take a trip through Idaho and Wyoming and singing along to my bitchin’ iPhone playing R.E.M. songs on shuffle.

I really can’t decide whether 600 Hours Of Edward or EDWARD ADRIFT is better. It’s easy to make an argument for either one, and if you start spouting off to the wrong hothead, you may end up in fisticuffs. So choose your argument wisely and be ready to back it up with empirical data, not conjecture.

I won’t give away the ending, since I know you’ll want to read this literary masterpiece for yourself, but I will say it was the perfect ending to a perfect story. Had it ended any differently, Edward and I might not be on speaking terms right now.

I’d like to say you’re a cocksucking assweed if you don’t buy, beg, borrow, or berate your local library into carrying this novel, but I won’t. You may, however, have to hang your head in shame if you don’t hop in your Cadillac and traverse to your local bookstore to pick up your copy.

25 Days Of Enjoyment

Posted on October 30, 2013 by Robert Downs

600 Hours of Edward by Craig Lancaster
My Rating: 5/5 Stars

For the first time in my life, I actually felt like a hypochondriac. And for a day I thought I had Asperger’s syndrome and obsessive-compulsive disorder, my every movement tracked and accounted for, as my social skills dropped off a precipitous edge, only to return to normal the next day.

Edward Stanton rocked 600 HOURS OF EDWARD like Mick Jagger in his prime. His head (and mine) filled with numbers, as we tracked weather patterns, wrote letters of discontent, and consumed spaghetti and Diet Dr. Pepper with reckless abandon. And like Joe Friday all we’re after are the facts.

The voice jolted through my brain like I was driving down the interstate at 70 MPH with the windows down and R.E.M. blaring through the speakers. Possibly even “It’s the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)” turned up to maximum volume as we cross the border. It was a beautiful feeling, and I’m sorry to say it ended way too soon.

But it was Edward’s relationship with his father that stood at the center of this novel, defining both he and his dad with every letter and lawyer intervention. Without it, this story would have been a shell of the novel it could have been, even if the words for both Edward and his father didn’t always come out right, or took on new meaning in the course of one social evening.

Since online dating has become the next big thing, there’re even a few amusing bits about what can go right (and then horribly wrong) in the course of one evening. Edward has his timetable that he follows to the letter, and now I have mine: to purchase Edward Adrift when it becomes available on my Kindle on April 9.

Took My Breath Away

Posted on October 29, 2013 by Robert Downs

Sisterland by Curtis Sittenfeld
My Rating: 4/5 Stars

I went Back To The Future in this gem of a novel. Although it saddens me to think in fifty years teenagers probably won’t get many of the pop culture references, I’ve decided to live in the moment, or the recent past, as this novel clearly does. With The Simpsons, American Idol, Letterman, Saturday Night Live, The Tonight Show, Rihanna’s “Umbrella,” Rolling Stone, Christina Aguilera, The Fugitive, “The Way You Look Tonight,” Today, Animal House, Spin Doctors, Blues Brothers, Monty Python, Good Morning Vietnam, Mannequin, and The Exorcist, they somehow all managed to “Take My Breath Away.” But this novel has more staying power than Cool Ranch Doritos, Wonder Bread topped with butter and cinnamon sugar, and gonorrhea.

Kate and Vi Shramm both have extrasensory perceptions (ESP), along with being identical twin sisters, although each chooses a much different path. While Vi chooses to embrace her powers and attack the spotlight like she wants to ensure she receives every minute of her fifteen minutes of fame, Kate shies away from her powers like she might have caught an STD from some overzealous frat boy. Both seem sexually experienced in my limited knowledge of the world, but for entirely different reasons. Vi uses her assets, in this case ample breasts, as a weapon to manipulate unsuspecting male suitors, and in some cases, just for the hell of it, tossing around hand jobs and sexual favors like ice cream cones to six year-olds, while Kate takes a more reserved approach to sex, except when gentleness, kindness, or bouts of uncontrollable passion cause her to expose her naughty bits.

Kate was the more likeable character, except I did have a few moments of displeasure with her over the course of the novel. Vi, however, was self-absorbed, hypocritical, irrational, contradictory, only acted in her own best interests, constantly passed judgment, and sometimes experienced what might be considered sociopathic tendencies. So I didn’t mind poking around in Kate’s head for some 400 odd pages or so. Had Vi been the real star of the show, though, I might have had an entirely different opinion of SISTERLAND.

I received this book for free through NetGalley.

A Dude With Breasts

Posted on October 28, 2013 by Robert Downs

9732753 First Grave On The Right by Darynda Jones
My Rating: 4/5 Stars

Charlotte “Charley” Jean Davidson reminded me of a dude with breasts, a Meatloaf if you will, but with a rockin’ bod. Sorry Meatloaf. She has more attitude than a trust fund baby tooling around Albuquerque in a Lamborghini, stolen police siren, and Jimmy Choos. She even manages to name her womanly parts, and as far as I know, most women don’t bother. When you’re a guy, though, you can just name your penis Spike and be done with it. But coming up with four names certainly proves more of a challenge. If you’re curious, her breasts are Danger and Will Robinson, and her ovaries are Beam Me Up and Scotty. And if you don’t find that funny, or even slightly amusing, you probably won’t enjoy this novel.

Her voice sucked me in faster than you can say hoo-hah, as I rumbled along for one epic ride. I love great beginnings, and this novel certainly meets the criteria. FIRST GRAVE ON THE RIGHT opens with these two lines: “I’d been having the same dream for the past month—the one where a dark stranger materialized out of smoke and shadows to play doctor with me. I was starting to wonder if repetitive exposure to nightly hallucinations resulting in earth-shattering climaxes could have any long-term side effects.”

Maybe being pulled out of a dream like the one above helps explain why she doesn’t like mornings, and I couldn’t do a better job of describing her complete and utter dislike of daybreak than Charley: “While I normally weighed around 125…ish, for some unexplainable reason, between the hours of partially awake and fully awake, I weighed a solid 470.”

Other than the voice, though, this novel managed to keep me entertained with antidotes accompanying the beginning of each chapter grabbing my attention. Whether a personal quote, bumper sticker, or t-shirt, with references to the dead and ADD and bright, shiny objects, it certainly added a little extra to the amusing tone confined within the constraints of this novel. Oh, and I can’t forget about the names and character nicknames that pop up over the course of this comical tale there’s Strawberry Shortcake and Bobby Socks and Patty Cakes Strip Clubs and Cookie Kowalski and Ubie and a car named Misery.

The mystery may not have overwhelmed me with its complexity, but with Charley by my side, I thoroughly enjoyed the ride. While I had never contemplated having sex with a spirit before, were such a thing possible, I might have to reevaluate my Fantasy Sex Wish List. All in all, though, this particular concept sounds more intriguing to me than getting it on with vampires or werewolves.

Charley’s voice carried me above the usual fray and made my mystery/fantasy jaunt worth the journey.

Screwed Up Universe

Posted on October 27, 2013 by Robert Downs

16130228 Light Of The World by James Lee Burke
My Rating: 4/5 Stars

Sometimes it’s hard to tell the good guys from the bad guys. As far as I know, no one does this better than James Lee Burke. The good guys are bad, and the bad guys are really bad. It’s like reading about pure unadulterated evil crafted around poetic prose, and it’s pretty wonderful, even if he does create one fucked up universe.

LIGHT OF THE WORLD feels like it’s covered in pure darkness. It’s filled with sexual assault and rape and Russian roulette and dead bodies and exploding planes and serial killers resurrected from the dead and a rodeo cowboy with a dark, checkered past. It felt as gruesome as any Stephen King novel, only my first thought was this could really happen, and then my second thought was I don’t ever want to go to Montana. In fact, maybe we should remove the state from future maps of the US. And as far as actual vacations go, I wouldn’t wish this vacation on my worst enemy.

And you want to hear something even more screwed up than all of that? This novel was therapeutic, almost cathartic even, and it was exactly the right story for me to read at this particular juncture, after coming off an unhealthy stream of mediocre affairs. I had my love of reading jarred back into me like a masked man with a blackjack, brass knuckles, nunchaku, and a nine millimeter strapped to his waist. And I surrendered with a smile on my face.

Gretchen Horowitz sounds like the ideal male fantasy, all chestnut hair and tits and legs, until it was revealed that she could pull the ass out of a rhinoceros and she’d killed men without blinking an eyelash. Taking two in the face and one in the jugular while I slept suddenly sounded a whole lot less appealing.

Dave Robicheaux, though, makes these stories sing baritone from the first row of the choir. He has as many demons as he has friends, but that makes him all the more appealing. As for Clete Purcel, he likes to drink and he likes his women and he has no problem mixing the two, and married women aren’t any less appealing than the ones that aren’t. But that doesn’t make him a bad man, just a highly tormented one, in a novel chock full of demented individuals, many of which, sheriffs and detectives included, ought to be locked in the slammer with the guard swallowing the key like he was a street performer in the middle of Las Vegas.

The plot proved more challenging than a Montana mountain range. With twists and turns and double backs and winding roads and steep cliffs with jagged edges and serpentine monsters waiting at the top of the next pass. In other words, it was a beautiful, complicated monstrosity filled with piss and spit and spite and it roared with its jaws open wide and it slashed its claws six inches in front of my face.

I received this book for free through NetGalley.

Six-Pack Abs

Posted on October 23, 2013 by Robert Downs

17616105 Surrender Your Love by J.C. Reed
My Rating: 3/5 Stars

After the cover of SURRENDER YOUR LOVE flowed through my feed a few times…well, let’s just say I was pleasantly intrigued with more than a hint of enticement. The dark cover and toned legs paired with the thigh high red leather boots more than held my attention. Those boots popped out of my screen like daisies in the snow, and I was left sticking my tongue out as I tried to catch the snowflakes. And I have once again been sidetracked by an erotica novel.

I have every intention of tearing through the mystery and thriller and literary universe only to veer off to the side of the road and stare up at the sky when one of these beauties comes along. That’s probably the best way to describe erotica: A pleasant distraction from the more serious, deeper reads that cover my Kindle and bookshelves. And for you frequent readers, you’re already well aware that I’ve been a bit more distracted as of late. But I can’t seem to help myself. Every time I meander my way back out, I’m shoved back in…and we’re off.

The dialogue proved more than a bit cheesy to me, especially when compared to other erotica novels. It wasn’t porn quality dialogue, but it served to pull me out of the story at times more than it managed to enhance character and character development. I even managed to chuckle inwardly a couple times, and not in a good way. But frankly I’m more interested in the characters, relationship development, and of course, the sex.

Part of my fascination stems from the fact that I couldn’t write a realistic sex scene to save my life. Women, who are much better at sex than men will ever be, write some mojo-inducing scenes that could make a stripper blush. And this novel certainly had a few, with once again, the male anatomy never looking so good. It’s probably safe to say at this point that erotica novels like to round up when it comes to the size of the male member.

Brooke Stewart proved interesting and intriguing, and it was hard not to appreciate her luscious curves. She’s more tormented than Jett Mayfield, and we actually learn the reasons for her anguished nature, albeit down the road a piece. I won’t spoil it for you, dear reader, but suffice it to say, it was a nice twist. Sure, she might be a little fucked in the head, but I actually cared about her. She was a character I could get behind, as I try not to grab her behind.

Jett, on the other hand, was the more committed of the two right from the get go, which was a nice twist. But then he managed to have the usual problems that trouble all men: six-pack abs, toned muscles, and several million dollars stuffed in a safe in Switzerland. And I lost a bit of interest at the size of his growing member.

We also have the tried and true and possibly overused relationship formula for many an erotica novel that began with Fifty Shades and continues to this day. I realize it’s easier to go with the conventional than chart new territory in this playground, but just once I’d like to see someone break the mold. I’d like to see a couple captured by some axe-wielding maniac, locked in a basement, and they have to fuck their way to freedom. Or maybe the friend, in this case it’s Sylvie, who as per the usual course has looser morals than our main protagonist, could have feelings for Mr. Six-Pack, sleep with him, and then our main couple has to work through that particular bucket of firecracker wielding monkeys. Let’s spice it up a bit, or in the case of the latter, flame it up a bit.

Aside from the sense of déjà vu and practically predicting the ending, I’d have to say it was an otherwise enjoyable read if erotica is your thing.