Tag Archives: suspense

Damn Near Deadly

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10739830 by
My Rating: 3/5 Stars

She’s a tool. A weapon. Like Jason Bourne or James Bond. Able to blend into her surroundings. She speaks 22 languages, and she’s damn near deadly with a knife. And she’s androgynous. She’s Vanessa Michael Munroe. Or Michael for short.

Revenge might as well be her middle name, though. She reminded me of Lisbeth Salander with the way rage completely consumed her. And yet she still managed to show some heart, or at least her slightly abbreviated version of it. Emotions seemed to fill her, consume her, even as she struck out at the imperfections of this world.

Her ability to seek out, consume, and process information rapidly helped explain the title. Even when she was just traversing through a particular area, it felt as though her brain worked at a higher level than everyone else around her. Almost like a game of dominoes where she already had the perfect plan mapped out in her head.

The Equatorial Guinea setting proved as real and as feral to me as she was, and it was the perfect setting for such an untamed creature. Had THE INFORMATIONIST been set anywhere else, it probably wouldn’t have worked as well as it did.

Kudos to you, Ms. Stevens. Michael is one interesting, intriguing character, and this proved to be one interesting and intriguing read.

Check My Tongue

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18822308 by
My Rating: 3/5 Stars

If it weren’t for Kemper and Dan, I might have never heard of Megan Abbott. And had I not heard of her and went through life aimlessly lacking direction and motivation and reading material, I might have had to kill myself. That would have resulted in a serious shit storm that would have blown the universe to smithereens, and thereby reducing the otherwise wonderful and happy-go-lucky world into the next apocalypse. Yeah, kind of like a Megan Abbott novel. Don’t let her small height and cherubic features deceive you, she’s one cold-hearted bitch. But if you have any sense, you love her anyway. Because she’s that cool. I mean, she’s like the latest reality star, only she actually has sense and a brain and can actually form a coherent sentence. And not just one, mind you, an entire novel filled with coherent sentences that make me want to swoon with lust-filled envy, right after I pull the knives out of my back and thigh, and practice my duck and cover maneuver, so that I actually live to see my next birthday and my wife and unicorns and rainbows and peace signs.

Even sitting in the same room with her, her coolness reaches your level, after it drops from the rafters, and basks you in warmth and smiles. But you don’t smile while reading a Megan Abbott novel, if you know what’s good for you, and you don’t turn your back on it either. You run through that gauntlet like there’s a rattlesnake that’s about to devour your skinny ass, and you crash through the nearest brick wall you can find, even if it results in a knot the size of Wyoming and thirty-seven stitches.

And if I had any sense whatsoever, I’d probably avoid writing the below review, because of all the greatness that has come before me. But I need to have my head examined, and until then, I’m under the distinct impression that I’m somehow a contributing member of society. So…here we go.

THE FEVER made me want to check my tongue in the mirror, swallow a round of medicine, and turn in early for possibly the rest of my life. But, on the other hand, I finished the novel, and found myself wanting. Wanting more story, more character, and more straight evilness, even if the high school depicted in these pages made me want to pull the fire alarm and run for the nearest exit. And even if I finished said novel in rapid fashion with no real time to slow down and smell a few dandelions.

Sure, Ms. Abbott has some serious writing chops, and her credentials could make even the most brazen teenager blush, but I just can’t seem to help myself in my pursuit of excellence. The funk is most likely my own, and I blame the greatness that has blazed the path before me for my sudden hard right turn into the nearest ditch, as I look to cop a feel in the front passenger seat of my motor vehicle with a woman dressed in a miniskirt and pom-poms and a smile white enough for the TV.

The prose sung, the dialogue had punch and direction, and yet I still wanted more. Maybe I need to have my head examined, and possibly the only cure is to read more Megan Abbott. So I’ll have to take a note and make that a priority. So I can learn the error of my ways. As for you, my fellow reader, you may want to read Queenpin and Dare Me, like stat, because those two novels are seriously fucked up in an absolutely wonderful way.

I received this book for free through NetGalley.

Suck My Soul

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13068332 by
My Rating: 4/5 Stars

If you’re packing a pair of DDs beneath your peek-a-boo blouse, you may want to keep the following in mind: “With great breasts comes great responsibility.” Or so says a t-shirt. That I briefly considered acquiring simply for the amusement factor alone. Maybe I could get my wife to wear it. Although there’s a more than good chance she probably won’t find it nearly amusing as I did. Just as I’m convinced some of you (and I can’t imagine why) won’t find SECOND GRAVE ON THE LEFT nearly as amusing as I did. And if you don’t—let’s get this out of the way right now—I’m sorry but I can’t help you. Because this is some highly entertaining shit. I mean, the voice and zingers and main character are more than worth the price of admission, and I just happen to have a stack of ones at the ready.

When I die and float up to the big house in the sky, I want to pass through Charley Davidson, the hottest grim reaper in seven continents. She has a mouth on her, doesn’t like mornings, is as stubborn as a loan shark chasing after a man with a gambling addiction, and may, or may not, have somewhat questionable taste in men, but she’s got a juicy ass and a seriously enlarged chest area. If you’re a guy, it kind of makes you want to cry (in a good way). At least if you’re into that sort of thing. Which for the record, I’m going to go ahead and say it right now “I like curves, damn it!”

It’s really hard to say if I liked the story as much as the first one. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say probably not. It just seemed a bit too contrived to me, but crap on a cracker, Charley’s welcome in my world anytime she wants to stop by for a visit. Given the right temptation, I’d probably even let her suck my soul from my body with a straw.  Who knows? I may not even need it anyway. And if I do, I can tell the big boss “Woo-eee, I had one hell of a ride!”

And that, my friends, is probably the best way I could ever possibly sum up this novel. I can’t wait to come on back for the third installment. I’m thinking I’ll need a fix again real soon.

Pedal To The Metal

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18462304 by
My Rating: 4/5 Stars

I liked this novel. Well, that might be a bit of an understatement. I really, really liked this novel. Probably not loved it, but I’m as proud of it as if it had been my own story. But then I love finance and interest rate fluctuations and bond markets and stock markets and financial analysis and market analysis and fundamental and technical analysis and trading and investing and growth opportunities and domestic along with overseas investing. And it doesn’t matter if we’re talking stocks or bonds or mutual funds or index funds, as long as that fucker is growing faster than the inflation rate. So it’s probably safe to say I like the thought of making fuckloads of money in the financial markets. Will I get there? Probably not. But I’m going to have a whole hell of a lot of fun trying.

Sure, I may have to forgo even the most basic sense of morality, but any good analyst worth his salt has the moral code of a politician involved in the latest sex scandal who was then discovered to be funded by both North Korea and the Chinese. Analysts may be arrogant little pissants who put money before God and country and the almighty dollar, but if I were to have a lobotomy to go along with my serious injection of badass, I might wipe the floor with more than a few Yale and Harvard grads and then kick the crap out of a few Stanford grads to round out the equation.

One day I’d like to strive for some real intuitive investigative work of the financial persuasion where I call out some seriously bad dudes who like to twiddle their thumbs and play with numbers all day. Even if it means I get smacked around in a bar fight, tossed into the middle of a war game field exercise, shoved on a plane headed to Detroit in the middle of the mother of all power outages, and stared down by the SecDef, I might still consider it a good investment, or then again, I might not. It’s really hard to say at this point.

I even like the military with its rules and regulations and lack of creative thinkers and checks and double-checks and inside-the-box thinking and command directives and statuesque tendencies where the orders come down from above with a finger and a fist pump and smiles are rather hard to come by and the general wheels around in a Humvee and if I’m lucky, I might get to see another sunrise tomorrow.

THE ASCENDANT bounced between finance and the military with effortless ease, tossed in China and Las Vegas and Wall Street and the Midwest for good measure, and cut and recut as this brisk, relentless ride never let up. I might have passed a missile silo or two in my rearview mirror, and a nuclear reactor might have been ready to explode in my vicinity, but I didn’t care, because it was pedal to the metal, baby, all the way to the finish line.

I received this book for free through NetGalley.

Man’s Best Friend

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7171908 by
My Rating: 4/5 Stars

Me and Bernie working a case. There’s nothing better. The wind whipping my fur, the barking—I was barking?—my head out the window taking in the breeze and the smells—don’t even get me started on the desert smells after a hard rain. The squirrels and the choke—squirrel—collar and the tumbleweeds and steak (juicy deliciousness) and bacon (definitely not the crisp kind) and little rats and weasels and biting pant legs and opening doors and hamburger and chew strips and an entire family pack of bacon—don’t even get me started.

And I bark and Iggy barks and I bark and Iggy barks, and then Iggy disappears—no, he’s back again—and I slurp fresh water (the smell) and of course I like Slim Jims—what kind of a silly question is that?—and silly stoners and Bernie needs a loaner and we’re off and running on the case, or maybe that’s just me. But then I see a squirrel and a Frisbee and of course I like fetch—what kind of a question is that?—and the Porsche with its clickety-clack-clack sound before it all breaks down. Bernie boxing for show and nearly losing all his dough and fast food—where? did I miss it?—and ice cubes (like a cold biscuit before it dissolves in my mouth) and special treats and sitting in the backseat—let me tell you, it’s not as fun as shotgun.

Holy hell, Chet and I could be best friends, but he’s man’s best friend, so it’s all good. But good doesn’t even begin to describe this massive amount of fun. Chet may have the attention span of a fruit fly, but he’s got the voice of an experienced gumshoe digging through the entrails of his next case, and he’ll see it through all the way to the end, even if he manages to get sidetracked every three-and-a-half minutes.

The sidetracks, though, are where things tend to get interesting. Sure, there’s a mystery—albeit a slightly simple one, but this is a dog we’re talking about after all—and sure, it’s solved by the end but the real excitement lies in the and back roads and dog shows—perfect for a world-class gumshoe of the canine variety.

I’ll need to hold my fedora in my hand the next time I see Spencer Quinn—there was a brief encounter at the Albany Bouchercon—because he really nailed Chet’s voice. Nailed it so well that I thought I was a dog for a few hours, and I really, really want to be a dog all over again sometime soon. It’s a good thing I have TO FETCH A THIEF in the reading queue. Because if I didn’t, I’d certainly need to put it there…like right now.

Identity Crisis

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18859308 by
My Rating: 2/5 Stars

I know I shouldn’t complain about free books, but just over three months to approve a NetGalley request and nine days after the book’s release date. Excuse me…what? Now my reviewing queue is all out of whack, and I feel like I’ve been hung from the rafters by my ankles by a former NFL linebacker.

I suppose I should have counted on the fact that my request might have been approved, but I’m a writer, and I know how rejection works. If you don’t hear anything after a month or so (sometimes longer), you mark that particular request down as a no, and you move on with your life. I know I did. But I was tossed back in the game. So here we are you and I.

Before we stroll too far in this particular endeavor together, though, I should mention this novel is Christian fiction. So if that ain’t how you like to spike your punch bowl, then you might want to exit stage right, or duck and cover. I won’t be offended, but Jesus might.

All this novel needed was a funeral. *BEGIN SPOILER* I mean, we have a wedding and an arranged marriage and painting and coins and kidnapping and running and an identity shift and a fake name and competing plotlines and a multi-billion dollar inheritance (wouldn’t that be nice?) and charitable giving and are you confused yet? Because I sure felt like I was headed in that direction, if I didn’t already find that particular exit. *END SPOILER*

Faith reminds me of a blanket wrapped tight around you. It’s beautiful and comforting and wonderful and protecting. It fills your life with purpose and hope and promise, and it points you in the right direction, guiding you along a path better than the one you could have chosen for yourself. But it can be a thin veil, and when it shatters or tears apart, it’s completely ripped to shreds, and those wonderful, comforting feelings disintegrate into a cloud of dust. Charlotte is broken, and UNSPOKEN covers her journey to find her way back.

This book felt like it had a bit of an identity crisis. Sure, there was suspense, and there was romance, but I never felt like the two blended together as seamlessly as they should have. Instead of peanut butter and jelly, it was more oil and water.

I didn’t hate it, but I can’t say I particularly liked it either. In the end, I just sort of shrugged my shoulders and set the book aside, as I moved on to the next one.

I received this book for free through NetGalley.

Mystery From A Dog’s Perspective

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6282379Dog On It by
My Rating: 4/5 Stars

If you ever wanted to stick your head inside a dog’s brain, wiggle it around a little, and see what decides to pop out, then DOG ON IT is the book for you. If you’re a mystery lover with a heightened sense of curiosity about said dog, then that’s even better. If you don’t love dogs on some sort of basic level, then you might find yourself in a state of uncertainty. Or maybe you like unique voices in detective fiction. But the bottom line is it’s all about the dog, and Chet fills every page with his unique perspective.

This book was an easy read, but it was a darn fine enjoyable one, too. Chet was lovable, affectionate, filled with happiness and joy, and just so darn cute. He changed direction about as often as Britney Spears changes her underwear, but I got caught up in whatever scent, or thread, or squirrel happened to pop into view.

As for unique voices, though, I’m drawn to those like cars are to potholes. Chet made me feel like I was driving down I-25 with my head stuck out the window and the wind assaulting me, as my nostrils filled with the fresh air after a brief desert rain. The rhythm of the sentences, the quick turn of direction, and the bubbles that seemed to pop with the utmost ease allowed me to believe I was inside Chet’s head every step of the way.

Sure, Chet had his faults, but he was as lovable on the first page as he was on the last. And sure the mystery could have been more complicated, but this is a dog’s perspective after all. It helps to look at it from a slightly tinted glass. Just smile and wave boys, smile and wave, because Chet is here to stay.

Jack-In-The-Box

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16058621 by
My Rating: 3/5 Stars

I’d like to thank my friend Delee for throwing down the gauntlet and shoving me with both hands toward the finish line. I couldn’t help but accept her challenge, and now I’d like to offer up one to you, my friends. If you haven’t read her reviews, you need to do so right now. I’ll wait twiddles thumbs and taps foot…and we’re back.

If that wasn’t enough history on this novel, I have a bit more for you. I met the lovely Jamie Mason at Bouchercon where we briefly discussed Goodreads—and no I didn’t mention that I was a card-carrying member—although I suppose I could have, and then puffed out my chest accordingly, only to be smacked from behind by the next guy in line. While her smiling personality didn’t persuade me in any way with this review, it’s one of those nice-to-know pieces of information that I like to keep in my hip pocket for emergency purposes.

I don’t really know what to think of THREE GRAVES FULL. Smarter people than me have rated it four stars, but since I’m not that smart I’m going to rate it at three, and end up in the same boat as Switzerland and Canada headed toward the Arctic Circle.

On the one hand, the writing popped higher than a jack-in-the-box, and I was left wishing God had actually granted me a few more IQ points, so that my prose might be wonderful and lyrical and fantastical. And I could form more than a coherent thought or two before—squirrel—the next distraction. There was plenty to distract my mind, and more than one storyline to keep things extra interesting, but then again, that might have been why I ended up seeing a scurry of squirrels around nearly every bend, and instead of taking me a few days (like Delee), this novel took me a few months, and I even added an additional one on for good measure.

On the other hand, I would have preferred a bit more action with my lyrical prose, and a stronger spine on Jason Getty, instead of one that bent rather abruptly at the slightest provocation. It really felt as though this novel tried to do a bit too much amidst its 320 pages—a darkly humorous literary novel with a clever twist and a tense pace. But I’m also fairly certain this is one of those it’s not you, it’s me instances.

A Few More Rounds

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18815227 by
My Rating: 2/5 Stars

I just need to stop reading historical fiction. Like right now. But I keep trying, like the little kid who keeps reaching for the electric burner, even though he’s bound to burn himself for the thirteenth time and once again lose several layers of skin in the process, or like the woman who just can’t stop dating that man-child with the six-pack abs and commitment issues and the Mickey Mouse voice, because damn it she can bounce quarters off his belly button, and that ought to be worth a few more rounds on the merry-go-round.

Because like that little kid I want to reach out and just one time find the burner turned off, or like the woman I just want to meet a man who looks like Brad Pitt but has a bit of substance for once in her damned life. Well, not me personally, but I feel your pain sister. With historical fiction, I am beginning to think it’s a bit personal, and I am beginning to think I’m the only one who hasn’t been let in on this wonderful, exotic secret that will somehow change my life, but maybe not. And it’s frustrating and intoxicating and I keep coming back for more. Just spin me one more time, and this stint is bound to be different.

And I end up…right back where I started. Let’s start with the dialogue shall we. Now I love me some good dialogue. I want to hug it and squeeze it and kiss it and pat its little forehead and somehow find a way to make it my own. More often than not (and this novel is no exception), I end up disappointed with the overused phrases tossed in my direction. It reminds me of the jellybeans often found beneath the sofa cushions. Just don’t eat them. Sure, they might have been great and wonderful three months ago (like the dialogue might have been snappy and witty about two or three generations ago), but I’m not feeling the love now. And I want to feel the love.

The characters proved a bit too unlikeable. Heck, let’s face it, at least one or two were probably borderline bastards. And that works for me, if the others pick up the slack and shine brighter than a Colt revolver. But I’ll be honest: I didn’t really like any of the sons-a-bitches. Again, sometimes that works when it’s done correctly, but yeah, that wasn’t really working for me either. The characters were just a bit too full of themselves, or completely and totally self-involved (like six-pack abs guy).

Let’s talk about setting. I love Massachusetts and Boston. I love the Cape and the North Shore with its quaint little towns and storybook houses. I love it even more when its spring or summer or fall, and when there isn’t a foot of snow on the ground with layers of ice packed underneath. But this didn’t really feel like Massachusetts to me. Something was just a bit off, and that’s probably a rather quick way of summing up TIGERS IN RED WEATHER.

Long And Winded Tangents

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20341036 by
My Rating: 2/5 Stars

If you like your tangents long and winded, then THE SPLENDOUR FALLS may just be the book for you. The dialogue may lack purpose and direction; the descriptions may be verbose to the point that it’ll keep your cabinet chock full of words; and you may find yourself meandering through a meadow filled with daisies and daffodils, but that’s just all part of the experience. Not parts I looked forward to, mind you, but I’m sure someone out there will just eat that up faster than a glazed doughnut.

While this may have been classified as suspense (and we all know Amazon is the authority on books *cough cough*), the only suspense I managed was if I could keep my eyes on the prize and make it all the way to the end without the aid of toothpicks or hallucinations. Instead, I’d rather see this novel classified under romance or historical or some combination thereof, with its castles and ancient letters and German occupation.

As writers, we understand the importance of place, but must we really mention Chinon (the name of the town) 108 times. I believe I received the message loud and clear after the first 107 times, thank you very much. Clos des Cloches received quite a few mentions as well—27 to be exact, or four times less than the specific town. What a shame. It was the little castle that could, but it just ran out of fireplaces.

The characters did prove somewhat interesting, but I lost sight of them amidst all the other words and phrases and tortuous plot points.

On a side note, I’d like to thank my beautiful wife for bringing to light the fact that nearly half of my one and two-star reads come from NetGalley picks, which either means I can’t pick worth shit, or when it’s free, I somehow manage to lose all sense of judgment and click that button faster than Pavlov’s dog. I promise to try and pick better in the future. In the meantime, though, we may have to deal with a few more less than glorious reads. If nothing else, I’ll do my best to bring the entertainment.

Ending with this glorious misstep of a novel, I’ll say the conclusion didn’t really do me any favors, nor did it necessarily enhance the story either.

I received this book for free through NetGalley.