I moved on from reading Eye of the Crow to something completely different: French Milk, by Lucy Knisley is a memoir, written in graphic novel format, of a month-long holiday the author took with her mother in Paris, France.

I came across this novel when I was reading around the blogosphere (when I do this kind of surfing around, it’s extremely dangerous for my TBR list, which grows at an astronomical rate); I immediately put in a hold request for it from the library (I’m not sure whether my librarians actually like me all that much anymore, because I’m always putting things on hold).

This was a lovely, quick read; what I liked most about it were all the descriptions of the food that Knisley and her mother ate, accompanied by Knisley’s charming illustrations.

Interspersed throughout are black and white photographs from the trip; the photos are a nice accompaniment to Knisley’s drawings.

The preface to the book talks about the self-discoveries Knisley made during the trip, as well as similar revelations about her relationship with her mother, but I didn’t feel this to be the book’s strong point; it’s not so much about the author’s fully coming into adulthood while in Paris, as it is about all the wonderful sights and experiences she had while there. Her mother accompanied her, true, but I didn’t get much insight into their relationship. If anything, I got more of a feel for the author’s relationship with her father, who joined them for a few days of the trip.

French Milk is at its heart a wonderful and charming travel memoir – a fun, quick read that will leave you dreaming of leaving regular life behind for a few lovely weeks in Paris.

Want to buy French Milk? Support MsBookish by purchasing through one of these links: Amazon.com) | Indiebound | Chapters Indigo | Amazon.co.uk

Despite appearances, I’ve actually had some time to read lately. Maybe “had some time to read” isn’t totally accurate – it’s been more like “squeezed some time to read” but regardless, it’s the end result that counts, right?

And I’ve been lucky, because everything I’ve picked up to read recently has turned out to be a good read. Eye of the Crow was a  really, really good read, in fact.

I picked up Eye of the Crow, by Shane Peacock, from the library one day; the “Silver Birch nominee” sticker on the spine caught my eye (as it turns out, it’s won a bunch of awards, including the Arthur Ellis Award for Juvenile Crime Fiction).

The book is about Sherlock Holmes’ first case, one undertaken when he’s a boy of just thirteen; I’m a Sherlock Holmes fan, and always on the lookout for good books about Holmes (Laurie King’s Mary Russell/Sherlock Holmes series is another favorite of mine).

But Eye of the Crow stayed sitting in the pile of books on my library shelf for most of the three weeks I had it out.

And then, luckily, one day I read Memory’s review of Death in the Air; it’s the sequel to Eye of the Crow. Memory mentioned that Death in the Air was a good read, but not as good as Eye of the Crow. I realized, “Hey! I have Eye of the Crow sitting in my library pile.”

So I dashed over to my library shelf, picked up the book, and started reading.

I didn’t stop until I’d finished the entire book. The day got darker, my to-do list stayed undone (which, when you think about it, is really not such a bad thing,  because it meant all I had to do was re-use the same list the next day, with a few more additions), but I finished the book, my heart racing because it was gloriously, gorgeously suspenseful.

I know this is a children’s book, but the fact is, once you start reading, you’ll find yourself drawn into the world of 1860s London – drawn so deeply in you can almost smell the grime and feel the grit. And you’re not going to be thinking to yourself, I’m reading a children’s book – you’re going to be too deep in the story to remember that you actually are reading a book.

And really, that’s the best kind of book to sink your teeth into.

Peacock has done an amazing job. His boy Sherlock Holmes gives the adult Sherlock Holmes exactly the right childhood background – all the pieces fall into place. The reasons behind why Holmes is the way he is are all there, in the childhood backstory that Peacock has created for the adult Holmes in Eye of the Crow.

Not to mention, the suspense builds and builds and builds. This one is a keeper, and for the Sherlock Holmes fan, a must read.

Want to buy Eye of the Crow? Support MsBookish by purchasing through one of these links:
Amazon.com) | Indiebound | Chapters Indigo | Amazon.co.uk

In The Likeness, by Tana French, we meet up with Cassie Maddox again, this time without her former police partner Rob Ryan by her side.

The body of a murder victim has been discovered in the ruins of an old cottage in a village outside Dublin. Not only is the woman Cassie’s virtual twin but the police discover the victim has been going by the name of Lexie Madison, an identity which the police had created for its drug squad years ago, and an identity which Cassie had used during her stint as an undercover officer.

With some trepidation, Cassie agrees to assume this old identity again, and go undercover as Lexie Madison. As Lexie, Cassie steps into the world of a Trinity College graduate student rooming with four other students in an old house close by the cottage in which the victim’s body was discovered.

I had enjoyed Tana French’s first novel, In the Woods, despite not liking the ending very much, so I’d been looking forward to The Likeness.

But when I finally got a hold of a copy from my local library, I found it difficult to get into the book. I kept reading a bit, and then putting it down and not coming back to it for days. I ended up having to renew the book for the maximum number of renewals, and the main reason I finished it was because, going into the last third of the book, I’d run out of renewals and knew that if I didn’t finish it then, I probably wouldn’t be likely to finish it anytime in the near future.

Tana French writes beautifully and eloquently – her writing was one of the things I really enjoyed about In The Woods. But when I finally put down The Likeness for the last time, I found I hadn’t liked it nearly as much as I’d enjoyed In The Woods.

I finally realized why the other day, and, as it turns out, it has everything to do with me, the reader, and nothing to do with the book itself.

You see, I’d picked up The Likeness anticipating a mystery, but the mystery itself isn’t really the draw of the book. The book’s appeal lies in French’s writing, and in her depictions of the many flawed characters who populate The Likeness.

So what happened was this: I expected a mystery, and I kept expecting a mystery. The mystery itself is, of course, an important part of the book, as without it, Cassie wouldn’t be living the tense life of an undercover police officer, surrounded by murder suspects. But I’m not so certain that the mystery itself was the point of the book.

I also tend to favor more of a clear line between good and evil in the mysteries I read, so that, at some point during the narrative, there is a specific  intent to cause serious harm to someone else. The murderer in In The Woods, for example, is a chilling adversary. This isn’t something that happens, however, in The Likeness.

At some point during my reading of the book, I probably should have shifted my expectations – but for some reason, I didn’t. And so I didn’t find it a very satisfying read.

I should have read The Likeness as a work of general fiction that uses a mystery as a device to bring readers deep into the lives of the four unusual people who are Lexie Madison’s roommates. I think it would have worked out to be a far better read for me if I’d approached it with these expectations.

So there you go. The Likeness is a well-written book featuring a cast of flawed and compelling characters. But I went into it with the wrong expectations – the mystery in The Likeness isn’t the sharp, suspenseful mystery (or mysteries, some would say) that drove the plot in In The Woods. So I wasn’t nearly as enthralled with it as I was with In The Woods, even considering that book’s somewhat unsatisfactory ending.

If you go into this book with the right expectations, though, I suspect you’ll enjoy it more than I did.

Where to buy The Likeness:

U.S. (Amazon.com) | Indiebound | Canada (Chapters) | UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Book details: published by Viking Adult, 2008, hardcover, 480 pages

I wish that I had known more about Flotsam, by David Wiesner, before I read it for the first time two weeks ago to Dylan, my six-year-old, at bedtime.

I might have done things a little differently.

For one thing, I would have had my husband standing by, camera in hand, ready to take pictures of Dylan’s face as we looked through this beautiful book.

It was such a pleasure watching his deepening look of wonder.

Flotsam, a wordless picture book, has a lovely little plot, and the best moment for me was the look on Dylan’s face when he realized what was going on. The amazement and wonder just blossomed on his face, and it’s something I’ll always remember.

Flotsam tells the story of an underwater camera, the pictures it takes during its journeys, and the children who find it. It is a gorgeous, magical and incredibly imaginative book.

We have read this book every night so far since that first night, and that sense of wonder is still there. The pictures are so beautiful, and have prompted many discussions. My personal favorite is the picture of the turtles with the cities of shells on their backs; Dylan’s favorite is the mechanical fish.

When we have to return this book to the library, I will be buying a copy for our own personal library. It’s definitely a keeper.

And even if you don’t have kids – even if you don’t like kids! – check your local library and see if they have a copy. Flotsam won the Caldecott Medal, so most libraries are likely to carry it. Browse through it and see for yourself.

This book trailer also gives you glimpses of what the book is like:

Where to buy Flotsam:

U.S. (Amazon.com) | Indiebound | Canada (Chapters) | UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Book details: published by Clarion Books, 2006, Hardcover, 40 pages

It’s really quite a strange thing.

My older son (who, by the way, would be cranky if he knew I was blogging about him, so please keep this under your hats) has always insisted that he’s not a reader.

“Mom, I don’t like to read” is a recurring refrain around here. We’ve all been hearing some variation of this phrase from the time he learned to read.

But if there’s one thing everyone in this household agrees about, it’s that he does like to read.

I’ll be upfront about this. My mission in life is to get him to one day say, “Okay, okay! I do like to read! Are you happy now?” (or some variation thereof). I call it my “Mom, I don’t like to read” quest.

The Nonfiction Segment – Accomplished

Every Christmas, he tells me at least 9.5 times, “Don’t buy me any books for Christmas this year, okay, Mom?”

Fortunately, I am as practiced at the nuances of selective hearing as my teenagers are.

So, every Christmas, there are always a few books under the tree for him. And every Christmas, you’re guaranteed to find him curled into a corner of the room, a pile of his “big” presents still unwrapped in front of him, and everyone else calling out, “Come on! We’re waiting. Put that book down and unwrap another present!” (because we are semi-organized about unwrapping our presents and like to do it together, in a sort of synchronized manner, thereby eliminating the possibility of one person being done with the unwrapping while another one still has a mound of stuff to get through.)

Somewhere along the way, I also discovered that, 80% of the time, nonfiction reading material left in my son’s vicinity will get picked up by him and yes, read by him. (This is actually a vaguely scientific finding, based on a small experiment I did where I put out ten books or magazines in places around the house where he’s known to frequent, and received the satisfaction of seeing him pick up and read eight of them.)

We have subscriptions to the Smithsonian Magazine, Discovery, and National Geographic. Every month, these magazines get left in strategic places around the house, and every month, they get read. Not by me or my husband or my daughter or my younger son, by the way. You get the drift.

So, despite the fact that he hasn’t yet said to me, “Mom, I do like to read nonfiction”, I feel a sense of accomplishment when it comes to my son and nonfiction.

The Fiction Segment – My Ongoing Quest

But I’m not really satisfied with this. I enjoy nonfiction, but to me, there’s no thrill that matches the excitement of immersing myself in a work of fiction. Deep in my heart, I just know that my son likes fiction, too.

One day, back when he was about 12, he happened to pick up an old Piers Antony Xanth novel I had lying around. It was great timing – the pun-filled Xanth universe is perfect for young teenagers.

And then I had another stroke of good luck. My sister Dawn, who is a highly organized and very tidy individual (yes, we are related, despite what you might be thinking), happened to be cleaning out her bookshelves. I mentioned that her nephew seemed to be enjoying the Xanth novel and almost instantly, or so it seemed, she was on my doorstep with a box of her old Xanth novels.

We downplayed the whole thing – I’ve learned that downplaying the whole “this is a book you’ll really enjoy” angle is extremely important, by the way (in case you’re planning on embarking on a similar quest). We put the box of Xanth novels in my son’s room, mentioned what they contained once, and once only, and then left, quietly. (I think we might have tiptoed away.)

Within two weeks, he’d read all the novels in the box.

Score one for Mom!

I’ve since worked with this method to get him reading the Nero Wolfe series by Rex Stout, too. And of course, he couldn’t resist the Harry Potter novels. He also discovered the alternate history novels of Harry Turtledove (the Worldwar and Colonization series). He enjoys these novels so much he’s reread them several times.

He still says, though, that he doesn’t like to read.

My Sookie Stackhouse Triumph

Recently, I scored a major victory in my “Mom, I don’t like to read” quest. I’d signed up for the Sookie Stackhouse challenge, and in anticipation of fulfilling the challenge requirements, I’d bought the boxed set of the first seven Sookie novels.

At the time, my son had just discovered the “True Blood” television series; I told him it was based on the Sookie Stackhouse novels, and waved the boxed set under his nose.

Sure enough, about two weeks later, he ambled into my office and nonchalantly asked where the Sookie books were.

Without hesitation, I gave him the entire set.

He took off with them, and read them all in a week. Yes, a week!

After he finished the first book, I asked him, “So, how do the books compare to the television series?”

He gave a shrug. “The television shows are better.”

When he’d finished the boxed set, I asked him again how the books compared to the television series.

“They’re different. But they’re both good.” Pause. “So, did you say there are some more books in the series? Are you planning to get them soon?”

“Admit it! You like to read, don’t you?”

“No, not really.”

“Do you want those last three books in the series or what?” (I am not adverse to certain levels of bribery, if you really want to know.)

“MOM! That’s not fair!”

A Mini Review(-in-progress): Leviathan, by Scott Westerfeld

All of this is my long-winded lead-up to a mini review of Leviathan, by Scott Westerfeld. A few days ago I was out shopping and saw the book on display; I’d been hearing about it at various other blogs, so, curious, I picked it up and took a look.

“It is the cusp of World War I, and all the European powers are arming up. The Austro-Hungarians and Germans have their Clankers, steam-driven iron machines loaded with guns and ammunition. The British Darwinists employ fabricated animals as their weaponry. Their Leviathan is a whale airship, and the most masterful beast in the British fleet,” I read from the jacket flap.

Oh my. An alternate history. Revolving around World War I. I don’t often buy newly released books in hard cover but I couldn’t resist this one.

I came home with it and gave it to my son. He glanced at it, then put it on his pillow and returned to his computer game.

“It’s an alternate history,” I piped up helpfully. “About World War I.”

He shrugged. Since I have quite a bit of experience with this kind of thing now, I left him to his game.

Late that evening, when I went to say good night to him, I found him sprawled on his bed, halfway through the book.

The next day, we had the following conversation:

Me: So, how’s Leviathan?

Him: It’s interesting.

Me: You put it down last night. Is it worth picking up to finish reading?

Him: Yeah. I’ve got homework tonight, though. But yeah. It’s pretty good.

(Here he launched into an explanation of the various Austro-Hungarian and German forces and their weapony, and the British Darwinists’ whale airship. Alternate histories really aren’t my thing, but I listened, rapt.)

Him: But it’s not really very practical, you know. I mean, really. A flying whale?

Me: You’re still going to finish reading it?

Him: Of course. It’s a good story.

So there you go. A mini review of Leviathan from someone who insists he doesn’t like to read.

By the way, if you want to help me out in my quest, I’d love to discover more alternate histories/science fiction novels that involve either of the two World Wars!

Update: Margot gave the most brilliant suggestion in her comment. She said, “He’s a reader; he just doesn’t want to have to fit your idea of a reader.” I never thought of it like this before, but I think now that’s it exactly! So … maybe my quest isn’t as ongoing as I’d thought; just maybe, it’s already accomplished …

In Louise Penny’s fifth Chief Inspector Gamache book, The Brutal Telling, the village of Three Pines is once again witness to murder. And perhaps “witness” is too light a word, because the body of the victim is found on the floor of the bistro owned by Olivier and Gabri, the bistro that is very much the heart and soul of the Three Pines community.

I’ve always thought that Louise Penny set a new standard for the traditional mystery when she came out with the first novel in the Armand Gamache series, Still Life, and as with the previous books in the series, The Brutal Telling explores the broader themes arising from the murder that lies at the heart of the mystery.

And there is more to the mystery in this book than the identity of the killer and the victim. This is a story about lies, myths and secrets, about greed and human nature, about what we treasure and what we learn to treasure. How do we know what is real, how do we discern the the truth?

“Who’s Vincent Gilbert, sir? You seemed to know him.”

“He’s a saint.”

Beauvoir laughed, but seeing Gamache’s serious face he stopped. “What do you mean?”

“There’re some people who believe that.”

“Seemed like an asshole to me.”

“The hardest part of the process. Telling them apart.”

I have grown to love and know all the recurring characters so well: Gamache, kind, just, with a quiet but powerful inner strength; Beauvoir and Lacoste, his investigative team, diligent and filled with the utmost respect and love for their superior officer; Clara, Peter, Myrna, Olivier, Gabri, all former outsiders who had stumbled onto the secret that was the village of Three Pines and made it their home; the mad, Governor-General award-winning poet, Ruth; and Three Pines itself, which is more of a character in my mind than simply a place.

And so I found The Brutal Telling to be a more intense read than any of the previous books, because in The Brutul Telling, we must watch as Three Pines is torn apart.

In addition to the mystery, I enjoyed the continuation of a number of smaller storylines, too: the progress of Clara’s artwork and Peter’s jealousy, Rosa, the duck who as a hatchling had impressed herself on Ruth, the transformation of the bleak, old and evil Hadley house.

I was not completely satisfied with the ending; the motivation didn’t feel as concrete to me as I would have liked. I don’t know, however, how much of this was due to my past relationship with the series; a reader who has read the series from the start is likely, I think, to find herself standing rather uncomfortably in Gamache’s shoes in the end.

For me, this wasn’t a book to race through; it was one I savored, taking the time to get re-acquainted with old friends once again. I closed The Brutal Telling with sadness, but I took away with me an end note of hope, too.

An aside: I also enjoyed a small side plot that found a bewildered Inspector Beauvoir showered with snippets of poetry by resident poet Ruth Zardo. Beauvoir has a bit of a macho flair to him, greatly dislikes poetry and is repulsed by Ruth; it was fun to watch him piece together the lines, and see Ruth’s poetic perception revealed as the poem emerges: “and lick you clean of fever,/and pick your soul up gently by the nape of the neck/and caress you into darkness and paradise.”

I’m not very good at things like this, so I might be very wrong, but I think this is a reference to something that happened to Beauvoir in the previous book, A Rule Against Murder (I just can’t see “Maddening, passionate, full of life” referring to Beauvoir’s wife Enid). If so, it was a soft, sweet thing to remember. If you’ve read both A Rule Against Murder and The Brutal Telling, what do you think? Am I on the right track?

(Note: Ruth’s poetry is actually that of Margaret Atwood, Ralph Hodgson and Mike Freeman, used with permission of the authors; the lines in this instance are from Atwood’s “Sekhmet, the Lion-headed Goddess of War”).

Another note: While I’ve given my review of this book from the standpoint of someone who’s very familiar with the series, The Brutal Telling definitely does also work as a standalone. It doesn’t contain spoilers about the previous books and you won’t need to have read the previous four books in order to understand the mystery in this book.

Another update: I might have been wrong in my assessment that this book works as a standalone, as I’ve read some reviews now where people unfamiliar with the series and the characters were somewhat disappointed with The Brutal Telling. The good thing is that it doesn’t give any spoilers, so you’ll have no trouble going back to the earlier books in the series. But if you do get the chance, it’s a very good idea to read them in order, beginning with Still Life.

Where to buy The Brutal Telling:

U.S. (Amazon.com) | Indiebound | Canada (Chapters) | UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Minotaur Books, 2009, ARC provided by publisher, 372 pages

In A Date You Can’t Refuse, by Harley Jane Kozak, greeting-card artist Wollie Shelley is made an offer she can’t refuse: the FBI wants her to be a cooperative witness and infiltrate the offices of MediaRex, as MediaRex’s newest “social coach”. In return, the FBI will ensure that Wollie’s brother, who suffers from schizophrenia, will continue to have a place at the federally-subsidized halfway house where he’s currently living. Everything’s going as well as can be expected for Wollie, until a coyote-chewed corpse turns up.

When I finished reading A Date You Can’t Refuse with a happy sigh, I was actually a little surprised that I enjoyed this book so much.

You see, a lot of things happen to Wollie from the moment she steps foot in the offices of MediaRex, a media-training company that teaches foreign celebrities how to handle living famously in America.

In novels where there’s a lot going on all the time, I tend to start feeling stressed and exhausted. Often, I get the feeling that the frenetic pace is forced, as if the author is worried that if there’s not enough “stuff” happening, readers will get bored and close the book. But it’s when things get too chaotic that I’m more likely to put the book down, never to return, or skim quickly past all the frenzy (and usually without really missing much when it comes to plot advancement).

Not so with A Date You Can’t Refuse. Wollie finds herself up to her eyeballs in stuff, but none of it ever feels forced. Yes, the pace is fast, but it all fits the story in such a natural way. And it was all really interesting, with lots of funny moments. Rather than feeling exhausted by all the action, I found I didn’t want to put the book down.

And here’s the main thing: I really liked Wollie Shelley. She’s smart, but vulnerable, too. And she doesn’t do anything dumb and out of character just to move the plot along (one of my pet peeves). She’s funny and endearing, the kind of woman you can see yourself becoming best friends with.

I also enjoyed Kozak’s secondary characters, and even found myself liking most of the suspects – Kozak has a knack for creating likeable and distinctive minor characters. The only characters I had problems with were Wollie’s two best friends, Joey and Fredreeq. Joey’s a sexy actor and Fredreeq’s a sexy soccer mom, and I kept getting the two of them mixed up. I liked them both, but they sometimes felt like they were the same person.

The plot has a lot of fun twists and turns and I didn’t figure out who-done-it before Wollie did. There are also some interesting side plots, such as Wollie’s wobbly relationship with her boyfriend, an FBI agent working undercover on another case.

All in all, I found A Date You Can’t Refuse to be a fun, fast and absorbing read with an endearing protagonist, a great cast of secondary characters and an interesting mystery. And because I stepped into this series with the most recent title, I’ve got a lot more to look forward to: not only Wollie’s next adventure but also the three previous titles in the series.

Where to buy A Date You Can’t Refuse:

U.S. (Amazon.com) | Indiebound | Canada (Chapters) | UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Broadway Books, 2009, trade paperback, 338 pages

Excerpt from the book jacket:

In his role as human guinea pig, Jacobs fearlessly takes on a series of life-altering challenges that provides readers with equal parts insight and humor. (And which drives A.J.’s patient wife, Julie, to the brink of insanity.)

I loved The Guinea Pig Diaries, by A.J. Jacobs. It came into my life just yesterday – I spotted it while out shopping and couldn’t resist the title, especially since Jacobs’ The Know-It-All had been highly recommended by Carrie from Books and Movies (The Know-It-All is currently sitting in my to-be-read pile).

It’s rare that I decide to read a book on the day that I receive it; I’m such a moody reader, and my mood has to coincide with a book’s genre, plot and theme first. But late in the afternoon yesterday, I was feeling a little down, so I decided to read an essay or two from The Guinea Pig Diaries because I just didn’t feel in the mood for a novel.

What a ride those first few essays were! I couldn’t stop at just two essays; I ended up reading the entire book last night.. Did I say “feeling a little bit down”? It’s hard to stay down when you’re laughing out loud, and laugh out loud is exactly what I did while reading this book.

The charm of the book doesn’t stop there, though. Jacobs is very funny, but his words are more than pure comedy. He takes his experiments seriously, and writes about the insights he’s gained during the course of each experiment. Each essay ends with a Coda that talks about how the experience of the experiment itself has altered his life, for good or for bad.

And the experiments run such a wide range. There’s his outsourcing experiment, where he decides to spend a month outsourcing both his work and his personal life to a team out in Bangalore, India:

I had [Asha] call AT&T to ask about my cell phone plan. I’m just guessing, but I bet her call was routed from Bangalore to New Jersey and then back to an AT&T employee in Bangalore, which makes me happy for some reason.

Then there’s the month he decides to give Radical Honesty a try. Radical Honesty isn’t just about not lying; it also requires you to remove that filter from your brain and your mouth, so that you’re always – and that’s always – saying what you think:

One other thing is also becoming apparent: There’s a fine line between Radical Honesty and creepiness. Or actually no line at all. It’s simple logic: Men think about sex every three minutes, as the scientists at Redbook remind us. If you speak whatever’s on your mind, you’ll be talking about sex every three minutes.

There are other experiments, too. There’s the month he decides to live his life according to George Washington’s 110 Rules of Civility and Decent Behaviour in Company and Conversation; the month he gets a taste of what being a beautiful woman is like when he persuades his sons’ nanny to let him handle her online profile at a dating site; there’s the time actress Mary-Louise Parker agrees to write an essay for Esquire about what it feels like to pose naked (with an accompanying photo), provided Jacobs agrees to appear in the magazine naked too; and there’s the time he appeared at the Academy Awards disguised as a celebrity, for his “240 Minutes of Fame”.

My favourite piece, though? It’s a toss-up between “The Rationality Project” and “Whipped”. During Project Rationality, Jacobs decides to eliminate all cognitive biases from his brain for a month:

As one scientist puts it, we’ve got Stone Age minds living in silicon-age bodies. Our brains were formed to deal with Paleolithic problems. When my brain gets scared, it causes a spike in adrenaline, which might have been helpful when facing a mastodon but is highly counterproductive when facing a snippy salesman at the Verizon outlet.

What I liked most about “The Rationality Project” was the aftereffect Jacobs experienced as a result. There’s something that’s so appealing to me about letting go of the assumptions we make all too readily about various situations in life, and Jacobs highlights some real long-term benefits of his experiment.

In “Whipped”, Jacobs decides to go along with readers’ suggestions that he make it up to his wife for all that she has  had to put up with during the course of his quirky quests and experiments:

I need to pay Julie back in a more appropriate fashion. I need to spend a month doing everything my wife says. She will be boss. I will be her devoted servant. It will be a month, they say, of foot massages and talking about feelings and scrubbing dishes and watching Kate Hudson movies (well, if Julie actually liked Kate Hudson movies, which she doesn’t).

How could I not enjoy reading about that? Jacobs was figuring that his wife would get bored of being in charge. Do I even need to say it? That didn’t happen.

I loved The Guinea Pig Diaries. It was funny, yes, but each essay also made me think. And to me, that’s essay writing at its best.

I’m very eager now to read Jacobs’ The Know It All – or at least, I would be, if it weren’t for the fact that he misspelled Wayne Gretzky’s name in that book (and that is an inside joke you’ll only get once you’ve read The Guinea Pig Diaries).

Where to buy The Guinea Pig Diaries:

U.S. (Amazon.com) | Indiebound | Canada (Chapters) | UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Simon and Schuster, 2009, Hardcover, 236 pages

From the jacket flap:

Things aren’t pretty for Emerson Watts.

Em was sure there couldn’t be anything worse than being a brainiac the body of a teenaged supermodel.

But it turned out she was wrong. Because that supermodel could turn out to have a mother who’s gone mysteriously missing, a brother who’s shown up on her doorstep demanding answers, a former best friend who’s intent on destroying Stark Enterprises to avenge the death of his lost love, and a British heartthrob who’s written a song about her that’s topping the charts.

How can Em balance all that with school, runway shows, and weekend jaunts to St. Johns – especially when she’s got ex-boyfriends crawling out of the woodwork who want more than just a photo op; a sister who is headed to the high school cheerleading championships; a company she represents that seems to be turning to the dark side…

Not to mention trying to convince the love of her life that models aren’t really airheads after all…especially one model in particular.

But then, nobody said it was going to be easy being Nikki.

Being Nikki, by Meg Cabot, is the second novel in the Airhead trilogy, and despite the book’s cliffhanger ending, it was, on the whole, an enjoyable read. Being Nikki takes the original premise outlined in Airhead, and adds in some very interesting twists and plot turns. Now not only do we get to see what it’s like to find yourself in the body of a gorgeous supermodel, there’s also a good dollop of suspense and mystery.

While I enjoyed reading Being Nikki a lot, I must admit the ending disappointed me. Not the fact that the ending is a cliffhanger; cliffhanger endings in a book can work, as long as they’re constructed properly. In Being Nikki, the mystery that occupies the characters throughout the book is resolved before we’re moved toward the cliffhanger at the end, so as cliffhanger endings go, this one works. I still don’t like being left in the air like that, but I’ll accept it enough to be on the edge of my seat for the last book in the trilogy.

What disappointed me, then? It seemed to me that Em made what I call a “damsel in distress” decision in the end, which then leads to the cliffhanger. A “damsel in distress” decision, in my opinion, is a decision that generally results in the protagonist being put into peril unnecessarily. I probably shouldn’t call it a “decision”. It was more of an “I have no choice but to …” sort of thing. I just wasn’t convinced that Em had no other choice. Sure, what she did was noble and self-sacrificing, and guided us smoothly to the cliffhanger ending, but I wasn’t sure such a noble and self-sacrificing act was actually necessary, not for a smart cookie like Em.

Still, I’m looking forward to Runaway, the next installment in the trilogy, to see what happens. Cabot is a masterful storyteller, and in her hands the plot and characters are nothing short of fun. So despite my disappointment with the ending, I still found Being Nikki to be a good, fun read; if you haven’t read Airhead yet, I’d definitely recommend you read the two books back to back. Then settle back to wait for the last book in the trilogy.

Where to buy Being Nikki:

U.S. (Amazon.com) | Indiebound | Canada (Chapters) | UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Point, 2009, Hardcover, 336 pages

In the European city of Beszel, the body of a murdered woman is found; Inspector Tyador Borlú is assigned the case, but further investigation leads him to believe that the murder is not as routine as it looks at first glance: the woman appears to have connections with the city of Ul Qoma.

This complicates matters considerably. Beszel and Ul Qoma uneasily occupy the same physical location, a feat that is accomplished through both the willingness of the denizens of the two worlds to “unsee” each other and the powerful and mysterious force known as “Breach”; strict laws enforce the illusive boundaries between the two cities, and penalties for breaking these laws are severe.

I’m going to cut to the chase here: The City & The City is one of the best books I’ve read this year. It was a book that carried me deep into its pages and never cut me loose until the very end; it was a book I closed with a sigh, reluctantly detaching myself from immersion into its world and back into my own reality.

In The City & The City, China Miéville has created a world that is both incredible and realistic. He has placed his world of sister cities, nestled together on the same physical terrain but with very different cultures, into our current world, and the melding of the things we do know – cell phones, the United Nations, television, airplanes, Google, email – with the concept of a place physically occupied by two cities whose citizens accomplish the feat of maintaining the separateness of each by “unseeing” any signs of the other, produces a setting that feels so tangibly real, one is tempted to pull out an atlas and search for signs of Beszel and Ul Qoma.

The language Miéville uses gives credence to this illusion: the words read as if they have been translated into English from a rich and foreign tongue. There is a lushness to the writing that takes you straight into exotic streets:

Laced by the shadows of girdered towers that would loom over it if they were there, Ascension Church is at the end of VulkovStrász, its windows protected by wire grilles, but some of its stained panes broken. A fish market is there every few days. Regularly I would eat my breakfast to the shouts of vendors by their ice buckets and racks of live molluscs. Even the young women who worked there dressed like their grandmothers while behind their stalls, nostalgically photogenic, their hair tied up in dishcloth-coloured scarves, their filleting aprons in patterns of grey and red to minimise the stains of gutting. The men looked, misleadingly or not, straight off their boats, as if they had not put their catches down since they emerged from the sea, until they reached the cobbles below me. The punters in Beszel lingered and smelled and prodded the goods.

The mystery itself is a complex and intricate one, with the tension as we edge towards denouement building relentlessly until we discover the identity of the murderer, the motive, the how, the why.

Finishing the book, I was dazzled by Miéville’s skill in creating such a realistic world, impossible though it may be; it was a world that stayed with me, a world so credible even now it seems to me that perhaps the impossible is not really so improbable. Miéville also stays committed to the mystery, never letting that slide by the wayside, and wrapping it in the layers of the world of Beszel and Ul Qoma so that it merges seamlessly with his worldbuilding.

The City & The City vividly demonstrates, too, that separation and boundaries can, indeed, be fashioned from nothingness, and perhaps even more disturbing, the role we ourselves play in the maintenance of such illusions.

Whether you enjoy science fiction and fantasy, or are a mystery lover, or simply enjoy a well-written book with language that reaches out and grabs hold of you, I highly recommend The City & The City.

Where to buy The City & The City:

U.S. (Amazon.com) | Indiebound | Canada (Chapters) | UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Ballantine Books, 2009, Hardcover, 312 pages

In 1984, three children walked into the woods surrounding the suburban estate they lived in; when they failed to come home, police and community came together to search for them. One of the children was found, standing paralyzed against a tree, wearing shoes that had been filled with blood. The boy is catatonic and when he finally wakes up in the hospital, he has no memory of what happened. Despite massive-scaled searches and an extensive police investigation, his two friends have never been found.

Twenty years later, that boy is now a detective on the Murder squad in Dublin; he finds himself involved in a murder case involving a 12-year-old girl whose body is found in those very same woods.

In In the Woods, Tana French entwines the story of the 20-year-old murder with this new murder; we meet both Rob Ryan, now a flawed adult, and his new partner Detective Cassie Maddox. I was pulled into the book immediately, and found it impossible to put down.

What did I love best about the book? In addition to French’s writing – and she writes very well – I enjoyed the relationship that Ryan and Maddox had with each other. There was an element of playfulness and fun that was a nice complement to the otherwise dark edges of the novel.

Which is why I enjoyed the first half of the book more than I liked the last half of the book. I don’t want to give anything away, but if/once you’ve read the book, I’m pretty sure you’ll know what I’m talking about.

I did spot “the big clue” right when it surfaced, long before the detectives themselves clued in and it became the beginning of the resolution. I also had a pretty good idea who the murderer to the main mystery was, and why, long before Ryan figured it out; I didn’t know how, though, which kept me racing to the end of this book.

I was definitely a little disappointed in the ending, but I can’t really say why without giving away too much. At the same time, though, it was a realistic ending in many ways. And oddly enough, the fact that I knew who the murderer was before it was spelled out actually meant that I wasn’t totally surprised at the way things ended.

Despite my disappointment, the writing is so well done, I find myself quite able to forgive the book its ending.

I enjoyed this book, and I’m looking forward to reading The Likeness.

Where to buy In the Woods:

U.S. (Amazon.com) | Indiebound | Canada (Chapters) | UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Viking/Penguin Group, 2007, hardcover, 429 pages

Odd Thomas is a regular nineteen-year-old with an unusual gift: the ability to see the lingering spirits of the dead. To Odd, it’s not such a big deal. And most folks in sleepy Pico Mundo, California, are much more interested in the irresistible pancakes Odd whips up at the local diner. Still, communing with the dead can be useful. Because while some spirits only want a little company … others want justice.

When the sad specter of a very frightened boy finds its way to him, Odd vows to root out the evil suddenly infecting the sunny streets of Pico Mundo. But even with his exceptional ability – plus the local police and his pistol-packing girlfriend, Stormy, backing him – is Odd any match for a faceless stalker who’s always a step ahead … and determined to kill again?

In Odd We Trust is a graphic novel written by Dean Koontz and Queenie Chan and illustrated by Queenie Chan. I have never read Koontz’ Odd Thomas series, so this was my introduction to the character of Odd Thomas. I had heard, however, that Odd is one of Koontz’s most-liked characters.

This is also the first graphic novel I’ve read that isn’t superhero/action comic based. I’ve been wanting to start reading more graphic novels, and this one was on the library shelf. The storyline sounded appealing so I decided to give it a try.

Overall, I enjoyed the story. I suspect it’s hard to convey the kind of depth that a full-length novel can convey within the boundaries of a graphic novel; In Odd We Trust was an interesting and easy read, but I didn’t quite grasp the things about Odd Thomas that have made him Koontz’s best loved character.

A digression: one thing that really confuses me in graphic novels is the use of drops of sweat. Being a mystery buff, my first reaction on seeing someone breaking out into a sweat (who hasn’t just finished running a marathon) is that he’s, well, guilty of something. By the time I finished In Odd We Trust, I knew a character breaking out into a sweat definitely doesn’t mean a character’s feeling guilty (especially since Odd Thomas himself had sweat drops on his face a few times).

So I asked my daughter, who is a big anime fan – she both reads and draws anime. This is what she told me: when you see drops of sweat around a person’s head, it usually means the person is bewildered or astonished or befuddled about something or someone (well, she didn’t say befuddled, she actually said something like, “he’s thinking, ‘what the crud?’”). When the drop of sweat is depicted on a person’s face, it means that character is undergoing some sort of intense emotion.

I suspect with this additional piece of information, graphic novels I’ll be reading in the future will make far more sense.

So, getting back to the review: what I liked most about reading In Odd We Trust, though, was that my copy included an interesting essay by Dean Koontz called “The Odd Face in the Mirror” where he talks about writing the first Odd novel, and working with Queenie Chan on the graphic novel.

It also included the first chapter of Odd Thomas, and that was quite the disaster for me. When I finished up the chapter, I knew I needed to read the rest of the book. And I had an inkling why Odd Thomas is the Koontz character that people like the most.

Where to buy In Odd We Trust:

U.S. (Amazon.com) | Indiebound | Canada (Chapters) | UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Del Ray, 2008, trade paperback

At the start of Holly’s Inbox, by Holly Denham (the pen name of Bill Surie), Holly Denham starts her first day as a receptionist at a busy corporate bank. From here the reader is taken into her email inbox as she emails several different people throughout the course of her work day. The reader gets to tag along to read her emails to and from friends, co-workers, and service providers.

Not only do you get to peek at someone else’s emails, there’s also a romantic storyline to follow, along with a few funny subplots.

Don’t let the size of this book put you off. It weighs in at 665 pages, but since each email is formatted as an email, with appropriate From and To lines, the actual story isn’t as long as it seems. The style of the writing is in keeping with the breezy, chatty style of personal emails, so the book is an easy and fun read.

I read the book in one sitting, and one thing I noticed was that, by making the reader aware, gradually, that there are certain things we don’t know about Holly, there’s actually a nice bit of suspense – it was this suspense that sent me galloping over the last third of the book, because I wanted to find out answers to certain questions.

Not that I didn’t have some quibbles about Holly’s Inbox, though. I don’t want to include any spoilers, so this might not make complete sense to you until/unless you’ve read the book. I really didn’t get James’ character. (James is Holly’s new boyfriend). It just didn’t feel that credible to me that James pre-Spain/up-to-Spain and James post-Spain were the same person. Given what James post-Spain is like, seriously, why would he do what he did while in Spain? Guys like James post-Spain don’t do things like that – there’s no point. What happened in Spain just didn’t make sense to me.

And why was James post-Spain the way he was? We don’t really get a reason for the change from James pre-Spain and James post-Spain, and it’s a bit frustrating not to know his motivations.

Jennie also seemed a bit unbelievable, although incredibly fun to read, especially at the end when she got her comeuppance. And the reason behind Holly’s animosity toward Toby is a plot mechanism that’s pretty old.

But still, despite these quibbles, I enjoyed this book. It was a fun and quick read, and I laughed out loud several times. I thought Bill Surie developed his characters quite well within the limitations of the email format.

Holly’s Inbox has been compared to Bridget Jones’ Diary, and there are certainly some similarities. For me, it wasn’t as good a read as Bridget Jones’ Diary, but regardless, it was a good read overall.

Where to buy Holly’s Inbox:

U.S. (Amazon.com) | Indiebound | UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, 2009 (originally published in 2007), trade paperback, 665 pages, review copy provided by publisher

The Mysterious Mr. Quin, by Agatha Christie

A conjurer of skill with an instinct for detection, Mr. Harley Quin has an almost magical flair for appearing at the scene of the most remarkable crimes. But is it just a trick of light that haunts his shadow with a ghostly apparition? Is it fate that invites him to a New Year’s Eve murder? And what forces are at work when his car breaks down outside Royston Hall, an isolated estate with a deadly history?

The Mysterious Mr. Quin is a collection of 12 short stories featuring little Mr. Satterthwaite and Mr. Harley Quin, a mysterious man that Mr. Satterthwaite meets for the first time in “The Coming of Mr. Quin”, the first story in the collection.

Unlike Christie’s other mysteries, the stories involving Mr. Quin and Mr. Satterthwaite are not always pure mysteries, although in most of them, a puzzle presents itself to Mr. Satterthwaite, who, with the help of Mr. Quin’s questions and general guidance, eventually hones in on the solution. Most assuredly, though, these stories are not at all like Hercule Poirot exercising his little gray cells, or Miss Marble using her knowledge of village life to unravel the mystery.

The Mr. Quin stories are among my favorite Christie stories. Mr. Quin represents a touch of otherworldliness, a gentle dip into the world of the paranormal. At the end of the collection, while we still cannot say with any certainty who Mr. Quin really is, we do have a pretty good idea that he is not like other men, that he is not really human.

I am also very fond of dapper little Mr. Satterthwaite, that keen observer of life who, under Mr. Quin’s guidance, begins to find in himself the ability to see beneath the surface and understand the true reality of a situation. There is a kindness and gentleness to him that’s very appealing, and there is something so charming in his delight when he encounters the mysterious Quin in each story.

As with most of Christie’s works, there’s often more than a hint of romance. The stories also have a more modern feel to them; for example, in one story, involving an illegitimate child, the child’s mother is depicted as an admirable woman, rather than one who’s wandered down a wayward path. In another tale, a character is encouraged to seek out the woman of his dreams, despite the fact that, unlike him, she is a member of the upper class.

My favorite story is probably “The Man From the Sea”, involving a mystery that’s not about crime as much as it is about life and love; it’s probably better described as a love story that’s wrapped in a cloak of mystery.

In this reread of The Mysterious Mr. Quin, I listened to the audiobook version, narrated by Hugh Fraser, a superb reader who brings all the characters to life.

Where to buy: Amazon U.S. | IndieBound | Chapters (Canada) | Amazon UK

Danny Boyle is a 24-year-old part-time cop in the summer resort town of Sea Haven. His partner is John Ceepak, a former military police officer just back from Iraq who is also new to the Sea Haven police department. This summer, though, things are heating up in the usually quiet tourist town: Reggie Hart, a multi-millionaire real estate developer, has been shot to death in front of his teenage daughter Ashley at the base of the tilt-a-whirl in Sea Haven’s run-down old amusement park.

Tilt-a-Whirl, by Chris Grabenstein, is the first in a series of mysteries set in Sea Haven and featuring Danny Boyle and John Ceepak. I first heard of the series at Beth Fish Reads back in June, and since then have gone on to read (or rather, listen to, in audio) all five books in the series, including the latest one, Mind Scrambler.

There were many reasons why I enjoyed Tilt-a-Whirl so much that I embarked on a reading blitz and polished off all the books in a two-month period. First, the town of Sea Haven is wonderfully depicted; it’s the summer resort town many of us have visited some time in our lives, so busy in the summer but as a tourist, you have your suspicions that it’s a relaxing place to be once all the vacationers are gone.

The story is narrated by Danny Boyle, and it’s lighthearted in nature; Boyle is a beach kid becoming an adult, and his narrative has a fresh, fun feel to it, along with a sincerity and honesty that’s very appealing.

And then there’s the mystery. Despite Boyle’s lighthearted narrative style, there’s far more to the mystery than meets the eye; ultimately, it’s a story that involves the dark side of human nature. It’s a combination that’s both unusual and very engrossing.

But most of all, I enjoyed Tilt-a-Whirl so much because I fell in love with the characters. Danny Boyle is just such a kid – he’s doing the part-time cop thing because he wants to earn extra money to have fun with his beach buddies. There’s something extremely endearing about his innocence; he’s like the kid brother I never had, and it was very enjoyable watching him grow into his position as a Sea Haven police officer, part-time or not.

And then there’s John Ceepak, fresh out of the military, with his stern code of honor – “I will not cheat, lie or steal, nor tolerate those who do”. When Boyle first introduced me to Ceepak, I wasn’t sure I’d like the guy. He seemed inflexible and rather humorless. But as the story developed, Boyle began to learn more about his new partner, and so did I – and I liked what I saw. John Ceepak is a Hero, with a capital “H” – in this day and age, he’s like a modern version of a knight of Camelot, living his life according to a code of chivalry.

In Tilt-a-Whirl, we come to learn there’s a lot more to John Ceepak than meets the eye. And we admire him because, despite all that he’s been through (and, as we discover, he’s been through a lot), he’s managed to still be who he is, someone honorable, likeable and, well, pure at heart.

Here’s a glimpse of how Danny Boyle feels about Ceepak at the beginning of the book:

Before the Army, Ceepak told me he studied criminology. Before that, he was an Eagle Scout. Before that? I’m not sure, but I’ll bet he was one helluva hall monitor in kindergarten. This is his first civilian cop job. He told the local newspaper, “he loves being on the job in Sea Haven” because he can “help visiting children safely enjoy wholesome family fun”.

Okay.  Fine.

Despite all of this, Boyle, and the reader, through Boyle’s eyes, gradually learns to really like and admire John Ceepak.

I listened to Tilt-a-Whirl in audio, and Jeff Woodman’s narration is excellent. He captures Danny Boyle’s youthful perspective perfectly, and his Ceepak never leaves you in doubt that it’s Ceepak talking. In his hands, the secondary characters also come to life; he does women’s voices so well you’re never thinking in the back of your mind, oh yes, that’s a man doing a woman’s voice.

If you’re interested in reading the John Ceepak mysteries, I highly recommend you start with Tilt-a-Whirl, and then read the books in sequence. It’s not that each book doesn’t work on its own, but earlier characters do show up in later books in a way that could ruin a bit of the mystery of the earlier books if you haven’t read them yet.

Where to buy Tilt-a-Whirl:

U.S. (Amazon.com) | Indiebound | Canada (Chapters) | UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Audible Inc., 2007, audiobook, 8 hours and 18 minutes in length

A Boeing 777 packed full of passengers lands at JFK and begins its way across the tarmac when it suddenly stops dead – the engine’s turned off, all window shades are down, all the lights are off, and no-one on board is communicating with the outside world, not even passengers screaming about delays through their cell phones.

The Strain, by Guillermo Del Toro and Chuck Hogan, begins with this eerie situation, and continues to pull you deep into the story at a full gallop. If you’ve been reading MsBookish.com for a while, you’ll know that I saved this book to take with me on holiday to Nova Scotia, where I then proceeded to read it one fog-filled morning, and didn’t put it down until I finished the book, late that same evening.

Perhaps not surprisingly, considering Del Toro’s film credentials, the book reads very much like an action-packed movie. Chapters are filled with shorter scenes that take the reader back and forth from place to place and character to character, all at a wonderfully thrilling speed that makes it difficult to put the book down until the very end.

Can you tell I enjoyed this book a lot? You’ve got a vampire virus thing going around, tons of suspense, the beginnings of some dark and evil mastermind plot and a motley crew of unlikely heroes – so yes, I loved it!

Be warned, though. The vampires in The Strain aren’t dark and handsome. They’re not about to play the romantic lead in any play, that’s for sure. Think more along the lines of brain-dead zombie-like creatures that just happen to want to suck your blood, and you’ll be on the right track.

Even though these ugly zombie-like vampires are involved, I wouldn’t call the book a horror novel. Nor did I find it extremely violent, either (although there are ample chopping and slashing scenes). I would put this book in the suspense thriller category, with just the right touch of spine-tingling suspense – the kind of suspense that makes you jump if someone comes up behind you while you’re reading it, especially when you’re reading it at a cottage by the Atlantic Ocean on a dark and foggy early summer night.

You don’t really want to read this one on a dark and stormy night when you’re home alone by yourself. But then again, maybe you might …

Where to buy The Strain:

U.S. (Amazon.com) | Indiebound | Canada (Chapters) | UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by William Morrow/HarperCollinsPublishers, 2009, Hardcover, 401 pages

In Janet Evanovich’s Finger Lickin’ Fifteen, Stephanie Plum’s good friend Lulu has just witnessed a murder – and the murderers have witnessed her witnessing the murder. The murder victim turns out to be a Food Channel celebrity chef, and despite Lulu’s eyewitness account, the murderers are still on the loose … and coming after Lulu, the only witness.

That’s not all Stephanie has on her hands. Someone’s been burglarizing Ranger’s clients, and he’s not very happy. Ranger asks Stephanie to help  – which she does, while trying to stay out of his bed. Since Ranger is, well, Ranger, this isn’t exactly easy for Stephanie.

The main thing I have to say about Finger Lickin’ Fifteen is this: do not read this as a mystery. If you read it because you’re eager to read a good mystery, you’ll just end up frustrated, gnashing your teeth and recalling the good ole days when a Stephanie Plum novel meant a nice mystery with bits of humor thrown in, dang it!

The mystery part’s just not going to happen with Finger Lickin’ Fifteen. Of the two storylines – the murder Lulu witnesses, and Ranger’s problems – Ranger’s problems offer up far more of a mystery than the murder, and that’s really not saying much, because even Ranger’s troubles are far less of a mystery than your typical, well, mystery.

So why read Finger Lickin’ Fifteen? Well, if you’re a Stephanie Plum fan, and you’ve taken heed of my advice above, you read it for the laughs. You’ll get a lot of Lulu, and a lot of Grandma Mazur, and if you’ve read previous Stephanie Plum books, you know what that means: madcap zany comedy, Evanovich-style.

There is, for example, the scene outside a funeral home, with Grandma Mazur packing her trusty little firearm. Or the scene where Lulu gets stuck in the window of one of Ranger’s cars; I admit, the humor in this scene was on the juvenile side, but it did have me laughing. There’s also a cross-dressing fireman, antics at a barbeque cookoff, and the reaction Stephanie faces when she finally nails one of her skips, a flasher with a fondness for exposing himself to older women.

Here’s the thing, though. I’m not sure how I would have felt if I had read Finger Lickin’ Fifteen in hardcover.

I listened to this book in audio, and can definitely recommend it in audio format, especially to Stephanie Plum fans. Lorelei King is a superb narrator; she is particularly good at bringing both Lulu and Grandma Mazur to life. In her hands, and with her more than capable voice talents, the listener never has a chance to get bored. As an audiobook, Finger Lickin’ Fifteen provides six hours and eighteen minutes of pure entertainment.

But if you don’t like audiobooks? I’d recommend waiting for Finger Lickin’ Fifteen to come out in paperback. With the right mindset, it can be a fun and quick read – but not at hardcover prices. Just remember – do not read it for the mystery. Because you’ll regret it if you do.

Where to buy Finger Lickin’ Fifteen:

U.S. (Amazon.com) | Indiebound | Canada (Chapters) | UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by St. Martin’s Press, 2009, Audiobook

Jane Roberts and Scarlett Harp, best friends since grade school, are rooming together in L.A.; Jane is an intern for the famous and infamous event planner, Fiona Chen, and Scarlett’s starting her first semester at USC. While at a local nightclub hotspot, they’re spotted by reality TV producer Trevor Lord, who signs them up to star in his next big reality hit, L.A. Candy, along with heiress Madison and the somewhat ditzy Gaby.

Jane soon finds herself right in the middle of the spotlight as L.A. Candy explodes onto the reality TV scene. She’s a star, now, and getting the celebrity treatment from everyone. The problem? As Jane will discover, celebrity status isn’t always fun and games.

Sounds pretty good, right?

If it weren’t for one big thing, I’d probably be writing something like “A fast, easy read. While the characters tend toward stereotypes, the behind-the-scenes look at reality television is interesting. The storyline picks up pace midway through the book, propelling the reader to a satisfying …”

And that’s the problem. You see, I can’t write that the reader is propelled to a satisfying ending.

The thing is, L.A. Candy, by Lauren Conrad, doesn’t have an ending.

I was rather stunned when I read the last line of the last paragraph and realized there were no more pages to come. In fact, I even went to Amazon, and typed in a sentence from the last paragraph into the “Search inside this book” feature, because I had the vague notion that, perhaps, a few chapters were missing from the end of my copy of the book.

Unfortunately, there were no missing chapters. That was the ending. Or rather, non-ending.

As a reader, I really dislike cliffhanger endings. There’s just something annoying about investing all that time into reading a novel, only to find out you’re not going to be told how things end, not until the next book in the series.

Still, some cliffhanger endings do work; usually, the characters resolve the main storyline, the situation that’s driven them for most of the novel, and then the author slips in a little something extra, leaving everything up in the air again. That’s not the case here. In L.A. Candy, nothing is resolved.

Cliffhangers also generally involve something major. You know, like maybe the fate of the world is hanging in the balance. Big stuff like that. In this particular cliffhanger, though, what’s hanging in the balance doesn’t come anywhere near the fate of the world (well, except maybe to Jane). As a reader, I just didn’t feel that invested in Jane and her story for a cliffhanger ending to work for me.

L.A. Candy is the first book in what looks to be a three-book series. And yes, if it had been titled L.A. Candy, Part I, I wouldn’t have liked the cliffhanger ending any better, but I would have at least been prepared for it. In this case, for me that element of surprise most certainly did not work to the book’s advantage.

The Rest of This Review

Leaving aside my antipathy for cliffhanger endings, and understanding that not every reader shares this dislike, here’s the rest of my review, in list format:

1. Jane Roberts is, as her name indicates, the average girl next door. The problem I had with her was that she was just a little too bland. I do understand that TV viewers always love the girl next door, but as a reader, I would have liked a little bit more.
2. On the other hand, I loved Scarlett Harp, Jane’s brainy and gorgeous friend. I found myself wishing she had a larger role in the book.
3. Being in a reality TV show is definitely not all fun and games. I thought the book did a pretty good job of showing a behind-the-scenes look at how it would feel to be a reality TV star.
4. Conflict isn’t introduced until midway through the novel, which is probably a little late in the game; however, I found the glimpse into the making of a reality TV show, which takes up most of the first half of the novel, interesting enough to compensate for the lack of conflict initially.
5. Once the hint of conflict was introduced, you could pretty well see the shape and form it would take from a mile away; still, it had me reading quickly to see how things would go. Until that non-ending, of course. But wait. I said I wasn’t going to talk about that here, didn’t I?

All in all, this would have been a light, easy read, perfect for the beach, if it weren’t for the cliffhanger ending. On the other hand, I am, obviously, not the target market for this novel. With this in mind, I’ve given my copy of L.A. Candy to a friend of my daughter who is 16, an avid reader, and also happens to watch The Hills – in other words, solidly within the target market. I’ll be interested to see what she thinks.

Where to buy L.A. Candy:

U.S. (Amazon.com) | IndieBound | Canada (Chapters) | UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Harper Teen, 2009, ARC, 326 pages

Jinx, by Meg Cabot

The only thing Jean Honeychurch hates more than her boring name (not Jean Marie, or Jeanette, just . . . Jean) is her all-too-appropriate nickname, Jinx. Misfortune seems to follow her everywhere she goes—which is why she’s thrilled to be moving in with her aunt and uncle in New York City. Maybe when she’s halfway across the country, Jinx can finally outrun her bad luck. Or at least escape the havoc she’s caused back in her small hometown.

But trouble has definitely followed Jinx to New York. And it’s causing big problems for her cousin Tory, who is not happy to have the family black sheep around. Beautiful, glamorous Tory is hiding a dangerous secret—one that she’s sure Jinx is going to reveal.

Jinx is beginning to realize it isn’t just bad luck she’s been running from. It’s something far more sinister . . . and the curse Jinx has lived under since the day she was born might just be the only thing that can save her life.

My thoughts: I have always had a special spot in my heart for Meg Cabot’s works, particularly the novels in which she combines chick lit elements with the supernatural. If you’ve only ever read Cabot’s Princess Diaries series, or perhaps her Heather Wells mysteries, you might be surprised to discover that Cabot has an excellent touch with supernatural topics.

I once bought all six of the books in her Mediator series and polished them off during one lovely long weekend. More recently, I found myself a little bit disappointed with Airhead (only because it felt more like a prequel to Being Nikki) so I was pleased when I read Jinx shortly after (it’s an older release that I picked up from the library). In Jinx all the elements that make a great Cabot story are there, plus enough of the supernatural to occasionally send a slight shiver down your back. (Only occasionally, though – this is not a thriller nor a horror, nor is it meant to be.) If you’re looking for a light, interesting teen read with romance and supernatural elements, Jinx is a fantastic choice.

Where to buy: Amazon U.S. | IndieBound | Chapters (Canada) | Amazon UK

Introducing Flash Reviews here at MsBookish.com, in which I will occasionally group together shorter reviews in a courageous attempt to reduce the height of my to-be-reviewed pile (not to be confused with my to-be-read pile, which no amount of derring-do on my part will have any discernable effect on).

I’ve been listening to a LOT of Agatha Christie in audiobook format lately. There’s just something so incredibly comforting about listening to Poirot or Miss Marple demonstrate their brilliance and solve yet another case. It’s the kind of thing that makes you sigh and think, ah, yes, all’s right in the world …

In many ways, the audio version of a book is a great indication of the strength of the story the author is trying to tell. Stephen King has written:

There’s this, too: Audio is merciless. It exposes every bad sentence, half-baked metaphor, and lousy word choice. (Listen to a Tom Clancy novel on CD, and you will never, ever read another. You’ll never be able to look at another one without gibbering.) I can’t remember ever reading a piece of work and wondering how it would look up on the silver screen, but I always wonder how it will sound. Because, all apologies to Mr. Bloom, the spoken word is the acid test. They don’t call it storytelling for nothing.

As it turns out, Dame Christie wrote some very nice dialogue indeed, and she most definitely told a good story. Throw in a skilled narrator like Hugh Fraser, who narrates many of the Christie audiobooks, and what you’re likely to get is pure delight.

The following titles were all titles that qualify as “re-reads” for me (first listens, but re-reads nevertheless); in most cases, I remembered “whodunnit” a while before the actual unveiling of the culprit. I found that this didn’t take away from my enjoyment at all, which is perhaps as good a reason as any to give a Christie novel a re-read.

Murder is Easy, by Agatha Christie

It was just Luke Fitzwilliam’s luck to be stuck next to a dotty old woman like Miss Fullerton on the London-bound train-although he found himself quite entertained with her tall tales about a series of perfect murders in the quaint village of Wychwood. But when he reads the next day of the freak accident that killed her, too, Fitzwilliam’s amusement turns to grave concern. A visit to the isolated village confirms his worst fears. For Wychwood seems to be divided by an eccentric lot of locals: those who are in on a dark and dangerous secret-and those who don’t live long enough to share it. (Amazon.com)

My thoughts: This is one of Agatha Christie’s “standalone” mysteries, so don’t expect either Hercule Poirot or Miss Marple to show up (or Tommy & Tuppence or Mr. Quinn or even Superintendent Battle, for that matter). I think once a reader falls in love with a series detective like, say, Poirot, it’s difficult to beat back the flames of expectation that surely, those extravagant black mustaches must show up in the story some time?

Still, this is a nicely crafted story, featuring Christie’s version of a serial-type killer. As is usual with many of Christie’s books, there’s a romance thrown in for good measure and the denouement is quite quick-paced and thrilling (although I couldn’t help but feel that the good Poirot or Miss Marple would not have let things get quite so hairy before stepping in). I listened to the audio version narrated by Hugh Fraser, and he was very good, as always.

Where to buy: Amazon U.S. | IndieBound | Chapters (Canada) | Amazon UK

One, Two, Buckle My Shoe, by Agatha Christie

A dentist lies murdered at his Harley Street practice…The dentist was found with a blackened hole below his right temple. A pistol lay on the floor near his outflung right hand. Later, one of his patients was found dead from a lethal dose of local anaesthetic. A clear case of murder and suicide. But why would a dentist commit a crime in the middle of a busy day of appointments? A shoe buckle holds the key to the mystery. Now — in the words of the rhyme — can Poirot pick up the sticks and lay them straight? (Amazon.co.uk)

My thoughts: This was a marvelous re-read for me, as I continued to wonder “whodunnit” almost right up to the point of Poirot’s unveiling of the murderer. There were quite a few twists and turns, and a rather big red herring that threw me right off the track. Poirot is in on the action from the very beginning; this is something I like very much. Again, the version I listened to was narrated by Hugh Fraser; he really is perfect for the medley of characters encountered throughout the course of this mystery.

Where to buy: Amazon U.S. | IndieBound | Chapters (Canada) | Amazon UK

A Pocket Full of Rye, by Agatha Christie

After wealthy financier Rex Fortescue’ s sudden death, grains of rye are inexplicably found in his pocket. The coroner’s verdict is death by poisoning, yet only one of the dead man’s relatives seems upset. The others all have motives to want the old man dead. When two more members of the Fortescue household are murdered, Miss Marple enters the case. But is one bizarre clue — the pocket full of rye — enough to solve the strangest case of her career? (Chapters.ca)

My thoughts: This Miss Marple mystery is actually reminiscent of a Hercule Poirot mystery that I had listened to earlier in the year, Hercule Poirot’s Christmas (not the abridged regular audio version, but the wonderful BBC Radio dramatization). There are quite a few somewhat similar elements, and so perhaps because of my recent re-read/listen of the Hercule Poirot story, I was a little bit muddled. That’s probably just my excuse, of course; the point being, it took me quite a while to remember who the bad guy was.

As can happen with a Christie mystery, Miss Marple showed up later in the scene rather than earlier; I prefer her to show up earlier but still, it’s a great whodunnit for the cozy mystery lover. The audio I listened to was narrated by Rosalind Ayres, who gives Hugh Fraser a run for his money.

Where to buy: Amazon U.S. | IndieBound | Chapters (Canada) | Amazon UK

In Write Away, mystery novelist Elizabeth George writes about her “approach to fiction and the writing life”. I am always on the lookout for books about writing written by authors I know and love, and this is one of my favorites.

I am a big fan of George’s Inspector Lynley novels; I’ve read all of them with the exception of one (I couldn’t bear to read What Came Before He Shot Her because I’m still in grief over With No One As Witness, although I was able to jump right back in with Careless in Red), so it was also a lovely treat to read about how George came to write A Great Deliverance, her first book and the first in the Inspector Lynley series.

For those interested in the writing of the type of mystery/suspense novels that George writes, Write Away distills the author’s entire process. If you’ve read her works, you’ll not be surprised to learn that she is very disciplined with her writing; what I’ve taken away most from her process, though, are the ways she consciously makes the effort to tap into her right-brained self:

“I am strongly left-brained, as you can probably tell from my having such an intricate process in the first place, and I must do whatever I can to get the right side of my brain up and operational. Present-tense stream of consciousness does this for me. Writing in this fashion, I’m not worried about typographical errors, spelling, punctuation, sentence structure, figurative language or anything else that might make me stop, consider, and thus get derailed. I just start firing away at the computer keys, writing down what I see happening in each scene on my step outline.”

Because I don’t work from an outline, I haven’t applied her stream-of-consciousness approach to what she calls a step outline. I have, however, used it to create character analyses, something I’d never done before reading this book, and I’ve been amazed at the amount of detail that flows onto the page about my characters – things that I would never have thought of, but which feel so right once I’ve set them down on paper. George has this to say about her character analyses:

“This may come as something of a surprise, especially if you tend to think of crime novels – or any novels, for that matter – as all about plot. I don’t see novels in that manner, however, and for that reason when I’m writing one, I hammer down the idea and the expanded idea and turn at once to character in order to learn more about my story.”

There are detailed examples throughout the book, both from George’s own writing (including her character analysis of Eve Bowen from Missing Joseph, warts and all, so to speak, which clearly illustrates how the stream of consciousness process works), as well as from the works of other authors. She also writes about outlines, structuring scenes, dialogue, voice and the importance of setting.

Just as valuable are her sections on persistence. I am in awe that she wrote the first rough draft of A Great Deliverance over three and a half weeks one summer, and had the finished draft completed not too long after:

“A Great Deliverance more than any of my novels serves as a shining example of what high-quality bum glue can do for a writer. When I began it upon returning from a trip to Yorkshire, England, I had only forty-two days before I had to go back to El Toro High School and teach English for another year. I wanted to get the novel done in that time, so I wrote from eight to sixteen hours a day in order to accomplish it.”

I first came across Write Away a year ago; it made an incredible impression on me the first time I read it, and I continue to take it off my shelf to dip into when I’m finding myself in need of motivation. It’s a book that talks about one writer’s approach to her craft, and whether you’re looking for an entire process to guide you step-by-step, or bits and pieces to fill in gaps in your own process, or simply motivation and inspiration, I highly recommend it.

Where to buy Write Away:

U.S. (Amazon.com) or IndieBound

Canada (Chapters)

UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by HarperCollins, 2004, Hardcover, 257 pages

Eleven-year-old Flavia de Luce has a flair for chemistry and a love of poisons. When she’s not busy concocting weird and wonderful substances in her laboratory, she’s engaging in guerilla-style battles of the wit with her two older sisters. One day, shortly after she sees a stranger in an argument with her father, Colonel de Luce, she stumbles onto the same man, breathing his last breath, in the cucumber patch. Who is the killer? Is her father, or Dogger, their faithful gardener, involved? Flavia plunges into the mystery with single-minded devotion and gusto.

In The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, by Alan Bradley, it’s definitely Flavia who is at the core of the book’s allure. Incredibly bright for her age, with, at times, a wisdom that’s well beyond her years, she nevertheless embodies a certain childishness that makes for a quirky, not always endearing but definitely interesting character.

Inspector Hewitt burst out laughing.

“There are times, Miss de Luce,” he said, “when you deserve a brass medal. And there are other times when you deserve to be sent to your room with bread and water.”

This sums up Flavia quite well. Inspector Hewitt, the officer in charge of the murder investigation, definitely has his wits about him.

And perhaps that’s another reason why I enjoyed The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie so much. It’s not just that Flavia is such a perfect combination of genius, arrogance, wiliness and childishness; each of the supporting characters spring to life in their own individual ways, too.

Inspector Hewitt, though not the star of the show, is smart, not some dull-witted member of authority throwing his weight about. And I liked Flavia’s sisters, Ophelia and Daphne, both of whom played their roles as Flavia’s adversaries with considerable aplomb. They were exactly how the sisters of someone like Flavia should be, sharing the same deliciously malicious streak of ingenuity and making them quite worthy of being Flavia’s foes.

Even Flavia’s dead mother, Harriet, comes alive, so to speak. We catch glimpses of the woman she was, fiercely independent, flamboyant and fun; she’s very much the kind of person you would envision as the mother of children like Flavia, Ophelia and Daphne.

The mystery itself is complex and engrossing, reaching as it does into the past of Colonel de Luce’s boyhood, and involving rare stamps, and magic tricks. The end had me holding my breath.

This isn’t a fast-paced page turner action/thriller of a novel (although the reader is in for quite a thrilling ride near the end). Instead, it pulls you in right from the very start, and as the characters and the mystery are revealed, you find yourself not wanting to let go.

It was as dark in the closet as old blood. They had shoved me in and locked the door. I breathed heavily through my nose, fighting desperately to remain calm. I tried counting to ten on every intake of breath, and to eight as I released each one slowly into the darkness. Luckily for me, they had pulled the gag so tightly into my open mouth that my nostrils were left unobstructed, and I was able to draw in one slow lungful after another of the stale, musty air.

And that’s just the first paragraph.

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie was an enjoyable read; it’s the first in a series starring Flavia de Luce, and I am very much looking forward to Flavia’s next adventures.

Related Links and Fun Stuff

Flavia de Luce

Flavia Fan Club

Where to buy The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie:

U.S. (Amazon.com)

Canada (Chapters)

UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Doubleday Canada, 2009, Hardcover, 292 pages

The body of a very beautiful young woman has been found in an East London park. She looks peaceful, like she might be sleeping. But death has, indeed, come for her, and Detective Superintendent Duncan Kincaid and Sergeant Gemma James set out to discover the woman’s identity, and who hated her enough to kill her. The case leads them to a famous London tea company, and also back to the days of the London Blitz during World War II.

I’m not very good at resisting temptation, so I’m reading all of Crombie’s Kincaid/James mysteries out of order. In Kissed a Sad Goodbye, Gemma and Duncan are lovers but haven’t committed to each other beyond that. Gemma finds herself very attracted to one of the suspects in the case; meanwhile, Duncan is trying to make room in his life for Kit, the son he has only just discovered.

First up, an admission: I cried a couple of times while reading Kissed a Sad Goodbye. It happened later in the book, when Crombie had taken me deep into the story; scenes from England during World War II are expertly woven into the narrative, and these were the scenes that really pulled me in. She captures so well the story of a boy whose family sends him to safety in the British countryside, his feelings about leaving his family in danger back in London, his interest in his new surroundings and the people with whom he’s staying.

A barge passed by, lit only stern and prow by small, shaded lanterns. In the darkness and silence it seemed ghostly, primitive, a Viking longboat returned from the dead. Lewis shivered. Suddenly he felt a stab of homesickness as intense as those of his first few days at the Hall – and yet it was more than that. He wanted to freeze time, to hold everyone and everything unchanged, and the weight of his desire made it difficult to breathe.

“Da,” he said, forcing the words out. “Let me stay here. The war’s all bollocks anyway, everyone knows that. Nothing’s going to happen – there’s no reason I can’t come home.”

I couldn’t fathom what the connection was between past and present, not until the very end when Crombie lays it all out for the reader; what happened in the past to set off this tragic chain of events was shocking, and caught me very much by surprise.

One of the things the book makes you think about is the consequence of possessing great beauty. By the end of the novel, I found that there was far more to the victim than her initial beauty and interactions with people had lead me to expect. Despite the things she had done, I felt such sorrow that her untimely death had prevented her from finally, for the first time in her life, taking off on wings of her own.

“I’ve always thought that exceptional beauty was as great an affliction as any physical handicap – perhaps more so. It is so difficult for the beautiful person, male or female, to develop a good character, isn’t it? The odds are stacked against them from the start.”

Gemma frowned. “How do you mean?”

“They are never required to earn the regard or affection of others through their behavior; rather, they come to expect it as their due. And they are forgiven almost anything, simply because of the way they look …”

The only flaw in the novel for me came in the denouement; the motive for the murder was not quite as strong as I would have liked. That didn’t take away from the ending, though; it was still very satisfying to learn who the murderer was, and the strength of Crombie’s depiction of all the characters was such that I eagerly read the end of the mystery, the parts past the unmasking of the murderer, because I wanted to know what happened to each of the characters.

If you’re a P.D. James or Elizabeth George fan, and you haven’t read any of Crombie’s novels before, you’re in for a real treat. Her style has evolved far beyond the first book in the series, A Share in Death, which read more to me like a cozy; subsequent books in the series feature complex characterizations and storylines filled with all sorts of twists and turns. Highly recommended.

Related Links and Fun Stuff

As always in Crombie’s books, there’s a finely detailed map of the area in London that plays a large role in the mystery (click on image to view in large on author’s site):

Each chapter also begins with quotes from Dockland: An Illustrated Historical Survey of Life and Work in East London, and Memories of Childhood on the Isle of Dogs (the latter by Eve Hostettler).

Author’s website

Where to buy Kissed a Sad Goodbye:

U.S. (Amazon.com)

Canada (Chapters)

UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Bantam Books, 2001, Mass market paperback, 369 pages

Kyra Felis, a minor clothing designer whose life consists of working temp jobs to make ends meet between each collection she designs, meets Declan McKenna, an up-and-coming Irish actor who sweeps her off her feet. She finds herself married and moves from New York to Los Angeles, where she beings living a life of bliss – until a film Declan starred in a few years back is finally premiered, and he becomes Hollywood’s next big star.

Kyra reluctantly enters life in the fast lane. Declan’s career is sky-rocketing and there are Oscar rumors; in the meantime, celebrities are eying her designs and she finds herself on her own way to designer stardom. But she is uneasy with the changes in her life. Declan acquires a stalker, and the paparazzi are so terrible, they can’t leave the house without bodyguards. Kyra finds herself propelled toward making a choice she really doesn’t want to make.

I first read The Year of Living Famously, by Laura Caldwell, about three years ago, and enjoyed it enough that it has survived every subsequent purging of my shelves to date. Recently I felt like a “comfort read”, and decided to give it a re-read.

The book begins with Kyra telling the story of her brief rise to fame as the wife of a new superstar. Kyra’s voice is wonderful; you feel like you’re doing catch-up with your best friend whom you haven’t seen for a few years. Her relationship with Declan is oh so wonderful. It’s absolutely lovely when all is well, and when you throw in instant fame, a bitchy celebrity, scads of paparazzi and a delusional, possibly dangerous stalker, it really starts getting good.

But funnily enough, this was where the story derailed a little for me the second time around. Which makes me think that it’s me, and not the book, because I don’t have any memories of feeling this way the first time I read it.

What bothered me on this reading was the fact that Kyra didn’t really make much of an effort to enjoy the changes in her life, to be open to the possibilities. There seemed to me to be a decided lack of spunk, independence and spirit, no gleam of a “let me see how I like this” approach to life. She just seemed to decide she didn’t want this, she never asked for this, and it was all a very very bad thing, tarnishing even the bits that involved her own success. I think I would have liked it better if she’d been more open to things as Declan began his rise to fame, maybe approached things with an eye to seeing how this new life might have angles that fit her personally.

Having said that, though, this book was still a good read. I galloped through it happily, and had a warm glow-y feeling when I finished the last page. It won’t survive another bookshelf purge (in fact, I’ll be adding it to my Giftaway shelf), but all that means is that for me, it’s not a keeper anymore. Tastes change. But it was still well-worth the time re-reading it.

Where to buy The Year of Living Famously:

U.S. (Amazon.com)

Canada (Chapters)

UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Red Dress Ink, 2004, Trade paperback, 328 pages

“A hilarious novel about coming of age – in your forties” says the front cover of The Book of the Film fo the Story of My Life. Here’s the summary from the back of the book:

Frederick’s life is like a movie. All it’s missing is a hero.

Once Frederick Case passionately believed he could change the world. Sometime later, he decided to put up with it. Today, on his forty-second birthday, this New Zealander realizes he can’t do either, and now it’s the world’s turn. And it isn’t being kind.

Frederick is a struggling film producer who is losing his hair and tempted to accept money from his rich parents. He reads tons of lousy scripts and bemoans the loss of his wife, Sophie, to her hunky costar – the one who, with Sophie, made history with the first oral sex scene ever performed in a major motion picture. Now fortune strikes Frederick with an invitation to an exclusive island. With a gorgeous date – a vulnerable young hooker named Melissa – and Sophie and her lover among the guests (surprise!), he’ll finally learn the answers to life’s burning questions: Are people really who we think they are? Is real life as predictable as the movies? And can we really go home again?

I really enjoyed this book. It’s one of those gems that made me laugh, with characters who are both memorable and likeable. It truly is a coming of age novel, and why can’t one come-of-age at 42? It’s taken Frederick that long to finally figure out who he is, or rather, that he’s not who he would like to be, which is when you start coming of age, right?

Frederick’s really a producer, but he’s so bad at it that he’s reduced to reading really terrible scripts for the agencies. There are some deliciously funny excerpts from the scripts that Frederick reads, excerpts that made me laugh out loud. Frederick thinks they’re pretty bad. I have to agree. On the other hand, he’s been wrong about a script more often than not.

I have to say I do worry about the quality of my assessments. I started to worry when I noticed that the ones I trashed were always the ones that ended up winning prizes at film festivals around the world, whereas the ones I praised to the skies were never heard of again. I tried adjusting my style. I tried trashing the ones I liked and praising the ones I hated – it didn’t seem to make any difference at all to my hit rate.

(As a book blogger, this actually feels kind of familiar to me …)

Frederick is just so likeable, but that’s the thing – he’s always been likeable. He was always the one who saw life as one great big adventure. The only thing is, he’s older now, and he’s nowhere near where he wanted to be. He’s not who he thought he’d become. He’s feeling old, and tired, wondering about his life.

And by the time he arrives on the island for the exclusive bash, feeling not quite ready to face his ex-girlfriend and now mega movie star Sophia, I’m rooting for him all the way.

This is a book that I read with a smile on my face throughout. And when I finished reading, funnily enough, the first thing I thought of was, “this would make a great movie”.

Where to buy:

U.S. (Amazon.com)

Canada (Chapters)

UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Warner Books, 2005, Trade paperback, 320 pages

In Ruling Passion, by Reginald Hill, Pascoe and his girlfriend Ellie arrive in Thornton Lacey to spend a weekend with old friends from their student days. They find instead three of their friends dead of shotgun wounds, and a fourth friend at large, sought by the local police as a suspect in the killings. Meanwhile, back at home in Yorkshire, Dalziel wants Pascoe back to investigate a string of unsolved burglaries.

This is an earlier Pascoe and Dalziel mystery, and as with all of Hill’s novels in the series, both continuing characters and the ones brought in specifically for this mystery are finely detailed. Dalziel is Dalziel, bigger than life, insensitive, bigoted and politically incorrect as ever:

“I told you I belonged to the old school. There’s nowt wrong with a woman that can’t be cured by colour telly, wall-to-wall carpeting and a couple of rounds up the spout,” [Dalziel} said with exaggerated coarseness.

Ellie thought of kicking him in the crotch. Then she started laughing. She laughed so much that people turned and stared and the dogs in the nearby kennels started barking wildly as though in reply.

Pascoe, in the meantime, is hit with an emotional bomb – could his old university friend really be the killer? And was he getting more and more confused, or were the two investigations really starting to look linked in some way?

The mystery itself is complex, with lots of fun twists and potential suspects. The motive for the murders is perhaps not as credible as it could be, but Hill’s writing is as rich and intense as ever. The characters live and breathe, and the reader is drawn deep into Pascoe and Dalziel’s world. Even though this was a re-read for me, I was still caught by surprise – caught by each of the twists in the plot, in fact. Which is another reason I like to keep my Reginald Hill books, as I do re-read them, and do so with much pleasure.

Where to buy:

U.S. (Amazon.com)

Canada (Chapters)

UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Grafton, 1992, Mass market paperback , 301 pages

A woman dies in her seat in an airplane en route to London from Paris. If not for Hercule Poirot’s quick eyes, her death may have been attributed to a wasp sting. Luckily, though, Poirot spots a half-hidden venom-tipped dart, and accident turns into murder. A search of the plane reveals a South American blowgun. Suddenly, everyone on board is a suspect.  Surprisingly, however, no-one has seen a thing. How could the sight of a dart blown out from a blowgun have escaped everyone’s eyes?

This audiobook version of Death in the Clouds, by Agatha Christie, is narrated by Hugh Fraser, who is a wonderful narrator for Christie’s Hercule Poirot books. While Fraser has played the part of Captain Hastings, Poirot’s sidekick (who doesn’t appear in this particular mystery) on television, in audio format he is a perfect Poirot, and also handles the voices of all the other characters very well, both male and female.

I’ve been listening to a lot of Christie’s works in audio lately, and it’s very clear that her focus on dialogue in her books translates very well into audio. The mysteries are always entertaining and with a superb narrator like Fraser, the action is easy to follow.

Having read all of Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot mysteries back when I was a teenager (Christie was a love handed down to me by my mother – I have memories of being sprawled on my mom’s bed, both of us deep into a Christie mystery), I usually remember who-dunnit at some point in the telling of the story, but that never takes away from my enjoyment. In Death in the Clouds, I had a vague intuitive sense about the murderer fairly early on, but even when I was certain of it, I couldn’t remember the how. Christie’s mysteries are great, I find, because of this – even if I remember the who, I don’t always remember the how or the why.

According to the Agatha Christie site, “In 1935, the year this novel was published, a regular London-Paris air service began – using converted bombers for the aircraft.” It was interesting to learn, from the descriptions of the murder scene in the book, that back then airplane interiors were designed more like train compartments, with people seated facing each other – another reason why it was puzzling that not a single person had seen the murderer killing the victim.

Death in the Clouds deals with exotic things like blowguns and venom-tipped darts, but at the core is, as always, Poirot working his little gray cells. Of course, in our day and age, forensics would be miles ahead of Poirot, but sometimes one craves a nice cozy mystery where the detective uses only his brain. The road to the murderer’s identity, motive and means is intricate, with lots of red herrings thrown in. And of course, at the end there’s the famous Poirot denouement scene.

I wouldn’t say that Death in the Clouds is one of Christie’s better Poirot mysteries; some things get a bit too convoluted and credibility is stretched somewhat. If you haven’t read the book before, the unveiling of the murderer will probably come as quite a surprise. All in all, (and especially with Hugh Fraser narrating), this was a very entertaining listen.

Where to buy:

U.S. (Amazon.com)

Canada (Chapters)

UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Audio Partners, 2005, CD

In Louise Penny’s latest Inspector Armand Gamache mystery, The Murder Stone (A Rule Against Murder in the U.S.), Gamache and his wife Reine-Marie are on holiday at Manoir Bellechasse, a luxury Québec chateau at which they stay annually. This year, though, they find themselves sharing the chateau with the wealthy Finney family, who have come to pay tribute to their father. All is not as it seems, however; tensions run high among family members and soon Gamache, of the Sûreté du Québec, is knee deep in a murder inquiry.

I enjoyed this fourth book in the Gamache series immensely. Gone is the side plot that was explored in the first three books of the series; it was a side plot that actually took away a bit of my enjoyment of the novels (especially when it reached its crescendo in the third novel), so I was delighted with this fourth book, with its intricate mystery and a new side plot that develops Gamache’s character further.

Penny writes in the British mystery tradition of P.D. James and Elizabeth George; Gamache has been a strongly developed character from the moment he first saw life in Still Life. In The Murder Stone we see a more personal side of him in his relationship with his wife, Reine-Marie. In the following passage, Gamache is thinking about the first time he brought his wife to Manoir Bellechasse, over thirty years ago:

And so they’d lain together for the first time, the sweet scent of the forest and kitchen thyme and lilac drifting almost visible through the screened window. But the loveliest scent of all was her, fresh and warm in his strong arms. He’d written a love note to her that night. He’d covered her softly with their simple white sheet, then, sitting in the cramped rocking chair, not daring to actually rock in case he whacked the wall behind or barked his shins on the bed in front, disturbing Reine-Marie, he’d watched her breathe. Then on Manoir Bellechasse notepaper he’d written. My love knows no –

How can a man contain such –

My heart and soul have come alive –

My love for you –

All night he wrote, and next morning, taped to the bathroom mirror, Reine-Marie found the note.

I love you.

We also learn something about his past that gives us great insight into Gamache the man. Armand Gamache is a complex, intricate character: strong, kind, moral, just and like each of us, imperfect. The suspects themselves aren’t flat, hollow characters, either; Penny brings them to life as deftly as she does all the continuing characters. We come to know them, and understand more their goals, their motivations, the reasons why they are the way they are.

One of the wonderful features of the first three novels in this series is the setting of Three Pines; I’d wondered in the past how Penny would be able to continue to credibly set mysteries in Three Pines, which has been as much of a character in the series as any of the human characters. What I’ve discovered with The Murder Stone is that Gamache is strong enough to carry a storyline all on his own; the setting of Three Pines plays a minor role in the novel but this doesn’t hurt the book at all.

If you love character-driven mysteries with complex plots, you’ll find The Murder Stone a very satisfying read indeed. For those new to the series, it’s fully capable of standing on its own, although you’re likely to find yourself searching out the first three mysteries in the series once you’ve finished this one.

For fans of the series, The Murder Stone is pure delight. Gamache is a wonderful character – the author notes in the acknowledgments that she has discovered she’s modelled him after her husband. Armand Gamache is one of my favorite detectives, and I’m eagerly waiting the next book in the series, which is due out this fall.

Related Links and Fun Stuff

Louise Penny’s blog

The Murder Stone has been nominated in the category of best novel in this year’s Arthur Ellis Awards. The Arthur Ellis Awards are presented for excellence in crime writing. Winners will be announced on June 4, 2009.

Louise Penny talks about The Murder Stone:

Where to buy:

U.S. (Amazon.com)

Canada (Chapters)

UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: published by Headline, 2008, Hardcover, 320 pages

The Essential Earthman, by Henry Mitchell, is one of my favorite books – it’s one I re-read frequently, and at least once between January and May. It’s also a book I’ll never lend, even though at heart I’m really a book lender. But while I might not lend it, I’ve been known to purchase it as a gift for others.

Henry Mitchell wrote the popular “Earthman” column in the Washington Post, until his death in 1993. The Essential Earthman is a compilation of some of his columns, and it’s a real gem of a book.

I discovered this book, and its companion, One Man’s Garden, one cold winter’s evening about five years ago, when my heart and soul were yearning for greenery and blooms. What I had, instead, was a warm fire, a hot mug of tea, and Henry Mitchell’s words … and I fell in love, right there and then. Since that day, I’ve pulled out this book often, to give myself the pleasure of becoming immersed once again in the beauty of Mitchell’s gardens and the lure of his words.

I would have liked to have known Mitchell. Reading his words, I’ve formed a wonderful image of him in my mind: Southern gentleman, kind, a bit curmudgeonly around the edges, generous, passionate about his flowers and his garden, opinionated, with a wonderful and often humorous way with words. I can see him in my mind’s eye as I read and re-read his columns, perfect little gems of essays that effortlessly bring sunshine into my inner life no matter what season it is.

On dahlias:

Dahlia fanciers, who, like all other horticultural fanatics, tend to be somewhat lopsided in their enthusiasms, profess to see great delicacy of shape among dahlia flowers, and to hear them talk you’d think these great, flamboyant daisied had every elegance, every grace. Let us admit it once and be done with it: the dahlia somewhat lacks the charm of the lily of the valley, the dramatic tension of the iris, the fragrance of the nasturtium, and so on. What it does offer is a brazen contentment with its flaunting color, so to speak; and when all is said and done it looks best in a sunny field among the corn and pumpkins. I cannot think of a more vigorous, spectacular, up-and-at-‘em flower for late summer. Regular tigers they are.

On roses:

First, there is no rose in commerce that is totally worthless. I cannot think of anything more distasteful, or really evil, than for some gardener to choose a rose he likes and then read somewhere it is “not worth growing.” Be sure of this: your labor is not in vain no matter what you choose. Any rose that delights you (and one of the most endearing qualities of gardeners, though it makes their gardens worse, is this faculty of being too easily delighted) is a rose you may plant with good conscience, no matter what anybody else thinks of that rose. Second, a number of “great” roses are called great merely because (a) they behave extremely well in rose nurseries, or (b) they are sufficiently death-defiant that even gardeners cannot kill them, or (c) they have some showy feature, usually blatant color or freak size, that endears them to people who can see nothing unless it is inescapably obvious. Third, there are some very wonderful roses that you don’t hear much about. Please keep this firmly in mind. It is as with everything else – the greatest pleasures and the happiest discoveries are not necessarily the first ones you see.

I could go on and on with selections from this book. I myself am not a particularly avid gardener but I love gardens and plants and flowers and grow a bit of green stuff here and there. The non-gardener will find much to love in this book, and I suspect might come away with an urge to send out for seed catalogues. For the gardener? This book is pure bliss. Highly recommended.

Where to buy:

U.S. (Amazon.com)

Canada (Chapters)

UK (Amazon.co.uk)

Review copy details: Published by Houghton Mifflin Company, 1994, Trade Paperback, 239 pages

The Snapshot Review

What I Liked: The diverse range of women’s voices represented in this wonderful collection of stories about first periods.

First Line of First Essay: The chronology: I learn, I cry, I wish, I get, I divulge. (Louise Story, “Oh, Brother, 1993”)

Ms. Bookish’s Very Quick Take: This is the book that I wish someone had given me before I got my first period; it is most certainly one that I will gift the young girls in my life in celebration of the first period. And it’s one that boys and men might find very enlightening.

Read the Full Review of <%= My Little Red Book %>