MsBookish.com » Reviews

The Passage, by Justin Cronin

Belle — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 16:11:45 +0000

I was hesitant about reading The Passage, by Justin Cronin; I loved the premise of the book (a secret government project to create super warriors ends up unleashing a deadly vampiric virus onto an unsuspecting world – I ask you, how could I resist?), but I was uncertain because of the dystopian nature of the book (those of you who know my reading likes and dislikes fairly well probably aren’t surprised; I have several books on my list I’m hesitant about simply because they’re dystopian).

But one day, I was feeling a little bored, and fooling around with my iPhone (which happens to be one of the best little tools for alleviating boredom that I know of), and I ended up downloading the two free preview chapters of the book from one of my favorite ebook sites.

I started reading, and I was hooked. Stephen King had this to say about The Passage:

“Every so often a novel-reader’s novel comes along: an enthralling, entertaining story wedded to simple, supple prose, both informed by tremendous imagination. Summer is the perfect time for such books, and this year readers can enjoy the gift of Justin Cronin’s The Passage. Read fifteen pages and you will find yourself captivated; read thirty and you will find yourself taken prisoner and reading late into the night. It has the vividness that only epic works of fantasy and imagination can achieve. What else can I say? This: read this book and the ordinary world disappears.”

And let me say, he is so right. I literally read those first fifteen pages and I was captivated. After thirty pages, and I could not put the book (or rather, my iPhone) down.

It’s a hefty tome, weighing in at 784 pages, but I read it all on my iPhone, and when I finished the last paragraph, I did so reluctantly, not wanting to leave the world Cronin had weaved.

In a Q&A at Amazon, Cronin was asked, “You are a PEN/Hemingway Award-winning author of literary fiction. Does The Passage represent a departure for you?” His reply:

I think it’d be a little silly of me not to acknowledge that The Passage is, in a number of ways, overtly different from my other books. But rather than calling it a ‘departure,’ I’d prefer to describe it as a progression or evolution. First of all, the themes that engage me as a person and a writer are all still present. Love, sacrifice, friendship, loyalty, courage. The bonds between people, parents and children especially. The pull of history, and the power of place, of landscape, to shape experience. And I don’t think the writing itself is different at all. How could it be? You write how you write.

And I think this is exactly why the The Passage gripped me so tightly. Yes, it was a fabulous thriller of a book, about a vampire virus running rampant, a world pushed into destruction, and the power of the human race to continue living despite it all. The plot was breathtaking in its breadth and excitement, exactly the kind of thing I like in a book.

But at The Passage’s core are those themes that Cronin talks about – love, sacrifice, friendship, loyalty, courage. And this is what makes the book such a beautiful read.

It says a lot that today, about two weeks after I finished the book, I still remember all the main characters. They remain so very vivid to me. If book two begins with these same characters, I know they will come back to me immediately, as full of life as when I read the final pages; and if book two begins with different characters, I have the utmost faith that I will be drawn into the new story immediately.

And the dystopian aspect? I loved it. The dark, bleak hopelessness that I associate with dystopian fiction isn’t what dominates the book; it’s a dystopian world that, despite everything, is filled with so much human hope and potential.

When I first finished reading this book, and began thinking about writing this post, all I could think of saying was, “Wow. Wow. Wow.” And “OMG, you’ve GOT to read this.” I still want to say these things, and so I’ll end my post this way.

The Passage is an incredible, absolute wow of a read. Read it, and you’ll be captivated. If you’re at all uncertain, do what I did – download the free preview chapters from your favorite ebook site, and take the plunge.

And a PS: despite the vampire virus/destruction of the world theme, there is minimal blood and gore. Cronin’s writing is wonderful, and he’s quite able to provoke an emotional response from the reader without the need to be extreme.

Reading The Lost Symbol, by Dan Brown

Belle — Mon, 31 May 2010 21:19:05 +0000

I’ve been reading Dan Brown’s The Lost Symbol.

I found the book extremely exciting; it’s definitely a real page turner.

I really enjoyed all the research, too. I was very tempted several times while reading to stop for a moment and go to the computer to Google some of the things that Brown talks about in the book.

So here’s the paradox: despite this, I returned the book to the library without finishing it.

This is exactly the same thing that happened when I read Angels & Demons, the sequel to The Da Vinci Code (I enjoyed The Da Vinci Code enormously, by the way, and yes, I did finish it).

I had put down Angels & Demons with about a quarter of the book left to go. I’ve never been able to figure out why, exactly – I mean, here we were, coming up to the finale, there was a ton of excitement, which I’d enjoyed thoroughly, and suddenly, I lost interest.

As it turns out, I put down The Lost Symbol with about a quarter of the book to go, too; today, on my way to the library, I looked at it, sitting on my bedside table, and realized I probably wasn’t going to be in the mood to pick it up again, at least not in the near future. So I returned it.

This time around, I gave it a bit more thought. After all, I love a good story, with lots of excitement, a book that’s real page turner – so what happened?

Perhaps it didn’t help that I saw through all of the villain’s traps, right from the start of the book (that is, all the traps up until I stopped reading, which was just after Langdon fell into another trap despite my saying to him, “No! Don’t do that! Why aren’t you calling to check first? Oh, no, here we go again!”).

Still, despite this, as a reader I was quite willing to forgive Langdon for falling into these traps, even though they seemed so obvious to me (maybe I’m just way more paranoid or cynical than Langdon and after all, of course Langdon doesn’t know he’s a character in a thriller while I do know he is). Still, that wasn’t the reason I stopped reading.

The only thing I can think of is that there was just too much excitement for me. I already knew how the book would end – obviously, the world isn’t destroyed, and Robert Langdon lives to potentially get involved in another symbology caper – but really, I know that for most of the suspense novels I read. But the pace was relentless, and in the end, just too fast for me. I could keep up for a while, and the subject matter and all the research definitely kept things interesting, but as we headed toward the finale, I just found all the excitement to be too much. And I lost interest as a result.

So this is a real paradox, because while I did not finish the book, I actually really enjoyed every bit of the book that I did read. And I just noticed that there’s a special illustrated edition that will be published this November, and if my library will be ordering it, well, I’d love to flip through it, so I can see pictures of the things Brown talks about in the book (because yes, I did resist the urge to Google while I was reading).

How weird is that? But it’s true. I enjoyed every bit of the book that I did read. At the same time, it’s a DNF (did not finish) for me. And yes, I would be tempted by the illustrated edition.

How’s that for a wishy washy sort-of-review?

What about you? Have you read The Lost Symbol? Did you like it? And if not, is it in your TBR list?

A Parisian Holiday: French Milk, by Lucy Knisley

Belle — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 15:19:00 +0000

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

The Boy Sherlock Holmes: Eye of the Crow, by Shane Peacock

Belle — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 23:50:08 +0000

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

The Likeness, by Tana French

Belle — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 02:13:11 +0000

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

Review: Flotsam, by David Wiesner

Belle — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 20:19:05 +0000

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

The “Mom, I Don’t Like To Read” Quest (and a Mini Review of Leviathan, by Scott Westerfeld)

Belle — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 19:38:39 +0000

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 …

Chris Grabenstein and the John Ceepak Novels

Belle — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 13:18:00 +0000

Okay, I’m having a real fangirl moment here. Seriously.

I just stumbled on Part 1 and Part 2 of an interview with author Chris Grabenstein at M.J. Rose’s Buzz, Balls & Hype, as part of Gregory Huffstutter’s The Ad Man Answers feature.

Thanks to Beth Fish Reads, my biggest reading “find” of the year so far has been the John Ceepak mystery series, authored by Chris Grabenstein – I was so hooked after listening to the first book in the series, Tilt-A-Whirl, I promptly bought the rest of the books in the series and indulged in a reading blitz (or reading listen, I guess, since I listened to all the books in audio, narrated by Jeff Woodman, one of my favorite audiobook narrators). I reviewed Tilt-a-Whirl here.

In the interview, Grabenstein talks about his 20 years of working in advertising before he started writing novels (James Patterson was his boss at one time), writing the Ceepak novels, and a little bit about marketing books. And I learned that the sixth Ceepak book, Rolling Thunder, is due out in May, 2010!

It’s a great interview for writers and readers alike. Here’s what Grabenstein says about book trailers (which he thinks are definitely worth the effort): ‘We do not watch TV or book trailers and think: “Isn’t that nice, they did the best they could with no money.” We see a movie, we either like it or think it sucks.’

Chris Grabenstein Interview, Part 1

Chris Grabenstein Interview, Part 2

I hadn’t realized until reading the interview that Grabenstein also writes YA/MG novels. I’m adding The Crossroads, the first book in a middle-grade ghost story series, to my TBR.

The Brutal Telling, by Louise Penny

Belle — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 01:45:02 +0000

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

Review: A Date You Can’t Refuse, by Harley Jane Kozak

Belle — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 18:45:05 +0000

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