Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris

While reading this book, it occurred to me a couple of times that it was more than a little depressing to work a stultifying office job all day and then come home at night to spend my free time reading about stultifying office work. That's not quite true, as my office is pretty cool. But boy, did this ever take me back to the days when I worked in traditional corporate hell. Ferris just nailed it. It's got plenty of comedy, which will I'm sure bring comparisons to "The Office". But he doesn't skimp on pathos either, which is what kept me happy. The POV was unusual, and I enjoyed it so much more than I expected at the outset. The narrator is never named. I assumed he was a "he", though his entire identity down to gender is a complete mystery. He tells the story in first person plural pronouns almost exclusively. Nothing is "I" and everything is "we", as illustrated for example in this section from the opening paragraph: Most of us liked most everyone, a few of us hated specific individuals, one or two people loved everyone and everything. Those who loved everyone were unanimously reviled. We loved free bagels in the morning. They happened all too infrequently. Our benefits were astonishing in comprehensiveness and quality of care. Sometimes we questioned whether they were worth it. The unusual POV is both blessing and curse. It's ideal to drive home the oppressive, identity-sapping group culture of conformity in a traditional office. But it doesn't work as well when the story needs to provide more intimate views into events that only involve 1-2 people, when the observing third party wouldn't believably witness the scene. There's a POV shift in the middle that I wasn't expecting and didn't like at first, but it grew on me and was absolutely necessary to move the plot forward. Until then, I was wondering where all this was going, but that section drove the action very effectively. If I were the editor, I would cut the last sentence of the main body of the book, and the last sentence of the flash forward to the present day. Both felt gimmicky and fit awkwardly with the rest. I also hated the term "walk Spanish" as a euphemism for being laid off. He uses it continuously through the first part of the book and it never failed to grate. As things get more dire in the office, and the team members lose their sense of humor about losing their jobs, it appears less often. For that, I was grateful.

A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon

To be honest, I didn't think Mark Haddon would be able to deliver a second novel as fantastic as his first (The Curious Incident of the Dog in Night-Time), but I will loudly declare my wrongness to anyone who will listen. I loved this story. I'm generally not a fan of modern British domestic lit, but this is a huge exception. Nothing has ever captured the middle-class middle-aged suburban British sensibility quite so brilliantly. I was completely immersed in the story's universe on a level that most books fail to achieve regardless of their time and place. It quite simply couldn't take place anywhere else, with anyone else, and still work as well. The end result is a novel that is a cut above. The story follows retiree George as he slowly rides off the rails into obsessive hypochondria. Parts are actually very disturbing as he loses perspective completely and dangerously, but somehow the charm remains even then. Put me down today for a pre-order on Hadden's next book, please.

The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield

I really loved almost everything about this book. So much so that I hardly even want to criticize anything. It was such a breath of fresh air after months of reading gritty mysteries because nothing else could hold my interest. It was exactly the blend of old-time sensibility and modern storytelling that I was hoping for. Vida Winter is a fascinating, enigmatic foil for the pragmatic, sensible biographer narrator. The twin elements of the story didn't feel exactly right, though I can't put my finger on what was off about them. But Margaret's enduring sense of her missing piece and her longing for maternal affection were played just right. Aurelius was also not quite right as a character, though again I have no specific criticisms for why he didn't work for me. Not helpful, I know. I look forward to Setterfield's next book, though I worry that the huge marketing push and success of this one is going to put way too much pressure on her to deliver again.

Neither Here Nor There by Bill Bryson

Bryson continues to be hilarious. I enjoyed the pacing of this one better than the last, as each chapter was the length it deserved, rather than matching the column-length requirements of the publication where they first appeared. There are a few distinct images from this book that can still make me laugh out loud at the mere thought of them. I tried to re-tell one of the stories to a friend, and was gripped by hysterical laughter while trying to get through it, rending myself completely incomprehensible. I love a man who's not afraid to make himself look like an idiot for the entertainment of all and sundry.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling

I don't think I'm alone in generally thinking this is the best book in the series, so I was really looking forward to the re-read. It doesn't disappoint. It's interesting how faulty memory can be. For example, I remembered Hermione's time turner as being totally out of the blue, but it SO wasn't. This was telegraphed from the very beginning. Scabbers' true nature was also hinted at very broadly, but the truth was so random and bizarre that I can't imagine anyone actually guessing what was up. The werewolf hints were so broad I can't believe I didn't get them the first time around. I also didn't remember Hermione getting her cat before; for some reason, I thought she always had him. My only major quibble is with a small plot point that doesn't feel true to me. I just can't buy that Ron and Hermione would stay at school during Christmas break. Don't Mr. and Mrs. Grainger ever want to see their daughter? Isn't attendance big Weasley family affairs sorta mandatory? It bugged me then and it bugs me now, even though it doesn't matter at all.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J. K. Rowling

I finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows about 2pm today, making it all the way to the end without being spoiled. Huzzah! I loved it. Generally, that's my reaction to most things, but it's true here too. As far as fannish opinion, I'm usually over in the corner where we pretty much like everything we see. For me, most of my critical thinking goes into the selection process. Once something makes the cut as far as "is this worth my time?" in the first place, I'm pretty much good to go. So my enjoyment of the book shouldn't be too much of a surprise to anyone, least of all me. With about 200 pages to go, I flipped to the end to check the page count and caught my eye on the "Nineteen Years Later" epilogue title page, which set my heart racing. I didn't know there was an epilogue, which I took to be the surest sign that the end was pretty fucking nigh as far as the author's involvement in the series. I probably should have figured that out much sooner, what with all the carnage. She really wasn't pulling many punches, was she? I like that she warmed us up with Hedwig right from the outset, though of course it was also convenient because he can't exactly go on the lam with a big ol' bird in a cage. Either way, she killed that bird pretty dang quick and never slowed down. I really felt the peril and the high stakes throughout the book, which was one of the things I loved. The near misses during their time on the run felt like true near misses, and the claustrophobia of nearly getting caught every time they took a single step forward kept my heart racing. I'm not much of a fanfic reader: can't actually think of the last fic I read, but it was probably sometime last summer. Even so, I was acutely aware of how fic-able the story was all the way through - how close to fanfic so many of the plot twists were, how much the character moments felt like fic, how many jumping off points there'd be, etc. I don't know if this series has always been that way, or if it's just my own preference for a closed canon before I jump in, but I found myself interested in checking out fanfic for the first time in a long time. I really expected most fan reactions to be violently negative in an "internet go boom" sort of way, but I've found that not to be the case at all, at least on my flist. Shows you how much I know. I thought the lack of Snape, the absence from Hogwarts, the absurd "Lupin and Sirius were straight, really!" retcons, the twee epilogue, and the overzealous bodycount would have everyone in a lather. For my money, despite how much I liked the book we got, I thought it would have been better as a post-series story rather than the final story in the school series. I am still really bothered by Harry, Ron, and Hermione dropping out of school. This is just not on, and comes closest to harshing my squee. I think it was the wrong message to send, and I think they all still had a lot of magic to master. I think a book billed as "Year 7" should take place at Hogwarts. And I just plain wanted more Hogwarts, dangit. I also think J.K. Rowling's strength as an author is in worldbuilding - not so much plot or storytelling (though she's gotten better at the former as the series has progressed), but creating the universe itself. The wizarding world is brilliant. And the center of that for me is Hogwarts. I still loved the story we got, but I would have loved to read Harry's last year at school too, and I feel a bit cheated on that front. I was unbothered by the twee epilogue, and in truth would have felt less settled in my heart without it. So much of this particular story is tied up in understanding and coming to terms with the previous generation(s) youthful indiscretions, bad decisions, and consequences. Closure on the past generation was achieved through the scene in the forest, and it felt right to then see the next generation at the cusp of their own journey. I liked seeing Harry my age, and at peace with himself and the world. The circle is complete, and the whole thing really warmed my heart. It was clumsily executed (ugh, those names...), but I thought the spirit of it was just right for the close of the series.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling

With the imminent publication of HP7, I found it necessary to pull out HP6 and refresh my memory. We'd just seen the movie for HP4 in DVD and then HP5 in the theater, so why not keep it going in prep for the final book? Of course, I have already read this book. I even reviewed it and blindly gave it the same star today as two years ago. But I've never actually read the copy I own - I picked one up in India and left it behind there, while the one on my shelf arrived on release day several months before I came home. So I read most of the day and night prior to HP7's release, but I think I would have enjoyed it more if I'd been more leisurely about it. Both times I've read this book it's been under time pressure, and both times I've grown impatient with the long stretches of prose where nothing much of anything happens. I think I was bothered more this time by Harry's obsession with the half-blood prince as well as everyone's challenges about it. None of it felt organic to the characters, but instead seemed like an artificially-imposed "divide the friends" inititive. I wasn't as bugged by Harry & Ginny this time, though. Maybe I've gotten used to the idea.

Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen

I have no idea how this book came to my attention. Amazon recommendations? Book review? Pretty cover caught my eye in a display? I'd guess the first one, but I could be wrong. I wish I knew, as I'd go immediately look for anything else the same way. This book was completely unexpected and I loved it. I've never enountered a first-person narrator like Jacob Jankowski. Of course, I'm not a 90 (or 93) year-old veterinarian rotting away in a nursing home, and neither for that matter is author Sara Gruen, but I'm absolutely convinced that it would be just like this. She's really captured something special here. The frailty, the desperation, the depth and experience hidden beneath an infirm shell - Jacob is all this and a thousand things more. He's also a great storyteller with a first-rate tale to unfold, and the flashbacks to the heart of his story are rich and varied and right. But it's Jacob today, aged Jacob, that will stick with me. The Benzini Brothers circus is horrible and disheartening and very hard to look at, much like the Great Depression itself. A number of passages are just plain painful, and I ached for Jacob, for his animals, and for the harsh reality of getting through the days. The ending is preposterous and absurd, and I loved it completely.

The Boleyn Inheritance by Philippa Gregory

My favorite of Philippa Gregory's works are unquestionably her historical novels set in the Tudor court of Henry VIII. So far, we've had individual novels about Wife One (Katherine of Aragon - The Constant Princess) & Wife Two (Anne Boleyn - The Other Boleyn Girl). I figured we'd move on to Wife Three (Jane Seymour), but I guess her 17-month reign wasn't quite meaty enough. Instead, we skip straight past poor doomed Jane and move on to a single novel covering both the second Anne (Wife Four - Anne of Cleves) and the second Katherine (Wife Five - Katherine Howard). I couldn't have told you two facts about either of these women before opening the book, so I had no expectations at all about what I'd find. Turns out, they were each fascinating women in completely different ways. Anne of Cleves is so strong and common-sensical, and I love her to pieces for her complete lack of bullshit. Kitty Howard is the polar opposite, but I still found myself laughing out loud and her for being all flibbertigibbet, all the time. I would never have guessed that such a vapid, stupid, self-centered child could be so engaging, but she was delightful. Obviously there are a lot of holes to fill in with historical fiction, especially when the subjects have been dead for 450 years and when politics of the day interfered with the stories that would have been told about them contemporaneously. Within a narrow band of historical events, Gregory has a lot to play with in creating inner lives and home lives for her women. She really outshines herself here, creating vibrant, living characters that leap off the page. The real horror of the book is Henry VIII, who with age and ill health is descending into a caricature of himself in his youth. I had never given much thought to the appalling truth about both his health problems and the age difference betwen himself and Kitty Howard. Both were given a lot of play here, and each turned my stomach in exactly the way the author wanted. I have one tiny nitpick. I can see wanting to work the word "Boleyn" into the title, since it certainly won't hurt sales to remind potential readers of the other Boleyn-titled book Gregory's published. But the title is otherwise pretty weak. While Jane Rochford (the Boleyn in question, widow of Anne's brother George) is a fascinating character, the real stars are the queens.

Meridon by Philippa Gregory

What a satisfying end fo the Wideacre Trilogy! I loved almost everything about it, with the possible exception of the mystical whosits illustrating Meridon's connection to the land. I completely didn't expect to spend so much time building up Meridon's circus life (pre-Wideacre), but I enjoyed it immensely. I was a bit afraid that we'd see a repeat of my problem with the first two books - artificial obstacles that arise from the willfull stupidity and blindness of the heroines to evil-doers in their midst, combined with good guys that were just too good to be believed. But for the first time, the heroine's single-minded focus on her goal made sense to me. I didn't begrude Meridon her obsession with "the best" and disdain for charity and mercy, as it seemed completely organic to her character. Likewise, her final resolution (spoilers for the end coming up!) was immensely satisfying. It made sense to me that the "right" answer for all the women in this trilogy - get out of the ruling class, get away from the men who want to own you, and follow the workers - was something that only Meridon could actually do. The other two women were too tied up in the ruling class to make it happen, but Meridon had no such constraints. And honestly, I cheered out loud at "I don't need your name. I don't want your title. I am Will Tyacke's whore - that's good enough for me." Great stuff.

The Favoured Child by Philippa Gregory

I approached this book with a lot of trepidation after reading Wideacre, the first in the trilogy, and having a sense of what I was getting myself into. I was squicked out enough by parts of the first book that I probably wouldn't have continued with the trilogy if I hadn't already gone ahead and bought all three books together in a leap of faith. This is definitely a stronger book than Wideacre, and I'm glad I bit the bullet. The only thing that was a bit tiresome was how broadly bad villain is. If Richard had a mustache, he'd be twirling it through most of the story. He's completely obviously, gleefully evil, and Julia's reasonably bright, and why she doesn't see what's plainly in front of her face for most of the story is eye-rollingly absurd. The good guys are too good and the bad guys are too bad, but for some reason I enjoyed the hell out of it anyway.

When the Sacred Ginmill Closes by Lawrence Block

Now this was interesting! Scudder is still drinking in this story, but the narrator is future Scudder. Sober Scudder. The contrast is fantastic. Story Scudder is a train wreck, but completely lacking in insight or concern about his life. It's painful to watch him move from one self-destructive choice to another and to see how close he comes to disaster, how often. I wonder how much the other early novels in this series would change if Sober Scudder was narrating them. I wonder how much Drunk Scudder glossed over. There's a lot of terrible crap about drinking that certainly never got mentioned before. Still, they say there's no zealot like a convert, and Sober Scudder has definitely drunk the kool-aid. You'd think there was nothing but drinking (or not-drinking) going on in these stories, to hear me tell them. The mysteries this time were excellent. Despite never having heard of any of them before, the mystery-bringers in this case seemed closer to Scudder than usual, and it was good to see him passing the time in friendly relationships. I suppose there's a bit of a foxhole mentality among fellow drunks, but these guys all seemed to be peas in a pod. I enjoyed the multi-threaded plot and look happily forward to the next installment.

Time to Murder and Create by Lawrence Block

Lawrence Block is two for two so far. I can't believe this series has been around all my life and I never found it until now. It's such a pleasure to uncover new treasures, and to know that there's more than a dozen other novels in the series just waiting for me. I had a little bit of a problem with the plot itself this time. Scudder is trying to find out which of three blackmail victims murdered their blackmailer, so that he can expose the guilty and let the others off the hook. The problem is, while only one of the three is the murderer in question, the other two did terrible things that in my mind need to be exposed and brought to justice. I'm not used to straddling this moral line, and it's an uncomfortable place.

The Sins of the Fathers by Lawrence Block

Wow, did I ever love this book. I've had it on my shelf for literally years, after caving to pressure from a friend to try out the series. Apparently, my definition of "try out" includes buying a book but not actually reading it, because I never quite got around to picking it up. Thankfully, the friend recently emphatically repeated her confidence that I must read this series right bloody now, and at last I gave in to the pressure. I think I might have actually read a chapter or two when I first brought it home because some things seemed familiar, but if that's the case I can't believe I wasn't immediately sold. This has absolutely everything I like in a main character: a deeply flawed loner on the fringes of society, troubled by his past and on the verge of self-destructing. Yes, please. But the best part is how perfectly it evokes the squalid atmosphere of New York City in the 70s. First published in 1976, this isn't a period piece but an honest-to-god throwback. Phone booths on the streets that take dimes! Corruption in law enforcement! Greenwich Village apartments that go for the staggeringly high price of $400/month! I tell you, it would be hard to swallow this in a contemporary novel set in the 70s, but as a 30-year old excavation I could just lap it up with a spoon.

Dead Watch by John Sandford

For some reason, I failed to notice the absence of the word prey in the title of this book, and so sat down expecting to see my good pal Lucas Davenport. After taking a while to regroup and reset my expectations, I was pleasantly surprised by how good this story was. I don't know if this is intended to be the first installment in a new series, but I for one would welcome it. I love political stories, and this one is interesting enough without going too far over-the-top into "political thriller" territory (Dan Brown & Tom Clancy, I'm looking at you here). The main character is a straight up political operative and all-purpose fixer, and one who is plausibly good at his job. He's smart and interesting and his limits are realistic. The whole narrative rang true and I just enjoyed the heck out of it. More, please.

The Closers by Michael Connelly

I'm caught up on Bosch! Sweet fancy Moses, that took me a long time. Seriously, 11 books (plus 5 Bosch-verse-but-not-Bosch entries) never seemed like such a big number. There were times I thought I'd never get to the end. And it's funny to be so relieved, because I loved almost every book and I'm sorry to see the end of them at the same time. But it still felt like I had a big Bosch-shaped monkey on my back a lot of the time, and I'm just glad to be caught up to current so I don't have to worry about being spoiled for future events. I think this is the perfect setting to show Bosch at his best. The cold cases he's worked - three of the eleven novels to date - have all been among the most interesting and best written. Putting him on open unsolved cases as a permanent assignment is perfect. Of course, now Connelly will change tacks between books and the next one will open on Harry as a volunteer zookeeper. Just you wait. I realized towards the end of the book how little time had passed in the world of the story. I think the entire novel takes place over the course of a day or two in the lives of the characters. The book is two thirds over before anything really gets moving on the plot, but that felt okay to me too. The tone, the plot, the story - all were vintage Bosch and left me gazing hungrily at the release date for the next book (in October) with a desperate need to find out what!happens!next! for my guy. Not a bad for an author churning out more than a book a year since 1992.

The Narrows by Michael Connelly

Now this was awesome. I am clearly in the minority of entertainment consumers in my lack of enthusiasm for serial killer / FBI profiler / stranger-beside-me / "brilliant sociopath" / cat-and-mouse bullshit. Be that as it may, I thought everything about The Poet was interesting and well done, and I was happy to see him back on the scene. What can I say? I'm complex. Of course, The Poet is twelve kinds of brilliant and crazy and ambitious in a way no one ever really is, but whatever. It was totally over-the-top and fun, and I liked seeing all the characters from so many books come together at last. Even with Terry McCaleb dead (which totally blows), he's still somehow there in spirit. And Terry together with Harry Bosch and Rachel Walling and The Poet is worth the price of admission any day. I still don't like the first-person narrative from Harry, but it seems like maybe Connelly is troubled by it too, since he alternates Harry POV with chapters of third-person Walling POV. Feh. Change it back, dude. We'll still respect you. The ending was a foregone conclusion, but it was still exciting and well-played.

Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America by Barbara Ehrenreich

First off, this is a brilliant premise for investigative journalism, and the author deserves every bit of acclaim she's received. It's so perfect that I'm almost shocked it hasn't been done a million times before. It's one thing to hack out some stats on poverty and the working poor, but it's quite another to view it from the inside. Of course, Ehrenreich is the first to admit that she's not actually learning anything about the real experience of being poor. Hers is a vacation-poor, and the presence of her safety net plus the light of her real life at the end of the tunnel makes it a hopelessly apples & oranges comparison to the real claustrophobia of poverty. But as a simple exercise in logistics ("what does it take to break even at the end of the month as an unskilled worker?"), it's brilliant. My overwhelming feeling throughout the book is gratitude. I have put in my time at low-wage work, and I escaped. Others in my family have not been so lucky. It's been many years, but I have never forgotten the exhaustion, the frustration, and the futility of the work. It's shocking to me that there continues to be a debate about whether to raise the minimum wage at all, when simple math shows that even a 50% increase to the current minimum is still too low to live on. General discussion about this book tends to describe Ehrenreich as working minimum wage jobs. She didn't. The minimum wage is $5.15, and her jobs generally paid $6.50-$7.00. Never mind that the National Coalition for the Homeless calculated that the full-time wage necessary to afford an average 1BR apartment in America eight years ago was $8.89. My biggest complaint is that the book needed to be longer. I wanted to see more jobs, and more time in each of them. It was a good start, but someone needs to take the next step.

What Love Means to You People by NancyKay Shapiro

This book has been sitting on my shelf, taunting me mercilessly, for more than two months. This is the first time a sort-of friend has been published, and I was desperately afraid to read the book, hate it, and then have to say nice things to the author that I wasn't sure I could pull off. I should have known better, and I am ashamed of myself for having worried. In the end, I read the book in about a day and a half, hating every time I had to put it down. As with all her other unpublished works, the most prominent characteristic of this book is the brutal, gut-wrenching emotion that runs under every scene. The undercurrent of self-loathing and shame throughout the book were very difficult to shake off. There were times when the tragedy and desperatation made it hard to breathe. The inner lives of these characters are so rich that I wonder how one could possibly have so much insight about human urges and such skill at naming the unnameable. My only serious disappointment was with elements of characterization both minor and major. This usually stemmed from the small-town middle-American existence I know intimately, and which I don't think she captured particularly well. There were also some things I would have liked to see fleshed out in more detail, and shown rather than told. But for a good weekend wallow, I'm not complaining. The thing I liked best was the sense of how VERY fucked up things became for these characters, and the sense that their reconciliation faced obstacles that were absolutely insurmountable. There were no punches pulled, and it was hideous and ugly and horrible to watch. It goes beyond burning bridges and passed into the realm of nuclear fallout. And yet... in the end, things work themselves out. That's not to say that things are overly rosy or Pollyannic, but there's an understanding in the narrative that even the worst shit gets better over time, that fences mend, that people come together because they need to no matter what's come before, and that forgiveness and grace are possible against all logic and reason. This squares with my experience and my personal belief system, and it emerged here in a way that was particularly satisfying.

The Last Coyote by Michael Connelly

When I read the back cover blurb on this one, I sort of dreaded it. I should know by now that this series always picks cliched ideas and characters, just so the writer can make them sing in all new ways. I should learn to trust. The Bosch in this story was very different from the ones we've seen to date, and I'm curious to see what he's like in the next one, and the one after that and the one after that. I'm a little bit afraid that Connelly's going to get too invested in Bosch, and start protecting him from the dark. I've seen it happen to too many characters in popular series - they gain popularity by being dark, edgy, a little bit scary, a little bit crazy, and by giving readers the sense that they're on the verge of blowing everything. Then the writers seem to lose their nerve. I have a little bit of hope for this series, based on Connelly's frequent publication of non-Bosch books. I hope that means he's going to successfully avoid that dependence, that need to protect his main guy, his meal ticket. Anyway, I really loved having Bosch stripped bare (metaphorically speaking) in this outing. Bit by bit, he loses his hold on everything connecting him to the world - job, girl, home, history, mission - until he is completely naked and rudderless. He's clearly teetering on the brink, and I can't wait to see what happens next. I'm still a little bit shocked and not sure how I feel about Bosch's candor and emotional vulnerability in this one. I thought it was out of character at first, but then I came to accept it. He's not Jack Reacher, lethal loner - he's just a sad sack lonely cop caught in a fabulous noir wonderland. The more I think about the events of the story, the sadder I get for him. It's *interesting* to see a writer make such bold choices. Series writers: take note. This is how it's done. One troubling thing about this series is that I keep trying to picture Bosch in my head, and I can't do it. I usually read without having a clear mental image of the characters, but for some reason with Bosch I seem to need it. I've been trying to use various celebrities as templates, but nothing has really taken so far. I usually get a John Spencer type of vibe from him (it's the sadness), but Spencer doesn't have the agility and danger. So then I go with Kiefer Sutherland, who can definitely bring the right mixture of menace, vulnerability, and righteousness, but isn't old enough. And when I try to age Kiefer, all I get is Donald and that soooo doesn't work for me. Lately I've been trying out Al Pacino circa "Sea of Love" and "Frankie and Johnny", and that's worked well. It helps that Bosch actually seems to strike the middle ground between the characters Pacino played in those two movies. If anyone out there has a good Bosch template, let me know.

The Concrete Blonde by Michael Connelly

I didn't mean to read this book in just two days - two days in which I was also incredibly busy with other things as well. In fact, after the intensity of Jane Eyre I sort of thought I'd take it easy for a while. But I'm alone on a business trip and I need something to do with myself when waiting in restaurants, so there it was. And once I started this one, I couldn't stop. I didn't mean to stay up late into the night reading it to the end, but kept ignoring my own resolve to put it down and go to bed. In the end, I lay there in the quiet dark of an unfamiliar hotel room in a nearly-empty building in a foreign country, thoroughly creeped out and hardly daring to close my eyes for sleep. There were a number of times when this one nearly jumped the rails into horrible, no good, very bad cliche, but each time the author did the unexpected, turning it around and running off in a totally new direction. I always like it when detectives go down the wrong path - nothing is more boring to me than the "lucky" detective who goes from one astounding intuitive leap to another until the thrilling conclusion - and so this was right up my alley. Each time the detective(s) took a wrong turn, I was absolutely certain that the author was going to keep going, and was thoroughly satisfied with each abrupt pull of the reigns. The repetitive use of the title within the context of the story was irritating, and there were a couple of coincidences that were a little too, well, coincidental, but the whole package was a good enough to hardly justify quibbling. I'm a little afraid by how much I am beginning to like Harry. I can't tell if the author likes him too much, or whether he can be trusted to do the needful. I like to think that he's not so in love with his creation that he won't be able to make him suffer in future volumes. It's no fun if Harry's not struggling through twelve different kinds of trouble and angst. At this point, I'm most annoyed that it'll be at least four weeks until I get my hands on another Bosch, having only packed this one and the previous for this trip. I had no idea I'd whip through them so quickly. Blast.

The Black Echo by Michael Connelly

This book has almost no business being as good as it is. The marketing copy on the back cover is embarrassingly bad, breathlessly teasing with more crime novel cliches than I ever thought a single paragraph could possess. To describe the leading man or the plot and action of the story is to touch on every tired ingredient of every dimestore noir in history. And yet... there is something of brilliance here. Yes, the characters all have names that are far too clever. Yes, the heroic detective is a chain-smoking misunderstood Vietnam vet with a troubled past, a tragic childhood, many enemies, and a dark cloud of suspicion hanging over him. And a heart of gold. Yes, he's a loner out for justice. Yes, he's the one good cop in a sea of self-serving incompetents. Yes, he gets the girl. Of course he is. Of course he does. And yet... the writing is so good, I forgot all the bad examples of the genre to enjoy this excellent one. I didn't begrudge any of the familiar archetypes because the narrative was so rich that I enjoyed them despite the familiarity. I'm looking forward to a lot more Bosch in my future.

Digital Fortress by Dan Brown

I was shocked - shocked, I say! - by how much I enjoyed this book. Given how much I really hated DaVinci Code, I can't even tell you what inspired me to give it a chance. Maybe it was "eleventy billion fans can't be wrong" thinking, I don't know. I just know I'm glad I did. Like DaVinci Code, I read this one start to finish in a day. It's the short chapters, and the continual focus changes that do it. The man knows how to pace a story, that's for sure. There were a couple of huge things that I feared had been badly telegraphed for hundreds of pages, but I was thankfully wrong. I am a largely uncritical reader when I'm in the moment. I don't spend a lot of energy trying to figure things out along the way; I'm just along for the ride. So if the foreshadowing is obvious enough to tweak my sensors, then I guarantee you it's too obvious. But in this case, things that were foreshadowed came out just different enough from what I thought they'd be to still leave me satisfied. Okay, there was one totally stupid thing at the climax where he was just being dumb and trying to artificially extend the tension, but that was thankfully brief. There were also instances where the author took a moment to include irrelevant background details just so to show us that He's! Done! Research! for this book, which was one of my two major complaints about DaVinci Code. For example, there was a short digression on the origins of the word "bug" to reference computer glitches. This had nothing to do with anything, but the author seemed to think it was clever and wanted to show off his new knowledge. It's just... clumsy. It's beneath him as an author, and it's beneath me as a reader. So it wasn't perfect. The plot and story were pretty standard action movie fodder - and I really think this book wants to be a movie - but it was still a lot of fun and an okay way to spend a Saturday in my world.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling

Too many other people have too many smart, insightful things to say about the HP books for me to contribute anything at all. I am struck dumb by the thought of adding my voice to the choir. My reaction can be summarized as: didn't want to throttle Harry as much this time as last, which is good. In fact, I liked this one quite a lot. I'm not a huge HP fan, but I do enjoy each new book that comes out. And reading it the first weekend of release is almost an imperative. My interest is more cultural than anything. I get a warm feeling in my heart when I think about millions of people all over the planet reading the same thing as me at the same time. It was both strange and wonderful to be in India for this release. The mania is nowhere near the level of that in the UK & US, but there was still a good deal of fanfare for a kid's book. Plus, it was fun to hold the book in my hands a good twelve hours before anyone at home could do so. :) Yes, I'm a freak.

Broken Prey by John Sandford

I must not be the only one who's been unhappy with the domestication of Lucas Davenport, because his home life all but disappeared from this 16th installement in the Prey series. An extended assignment for Weather & crew in London was just what the doctor ordered. This was Lucas as I remember him. He may not be one bad day away from a major depressive episode, he may not be teetering on the edge of the abyss, he may not be manipulating the bad guys as shamelessly as they do him, and he may not be engineering things such that the bad guys end in body bags every time, but he's still recognizable as the same dude. Granted, I loved Lucas's dark side. I loved his demons, his complexity. But it would more than stretch credibility to have him still be in the same emotionally fucked up place in book 16 as in book 1. I'd like to see him get carried away by a case again, be overwhelmed and bested, but barring that this is as good as I'm likely to get. As a music fan who is also completely smitten with her new iPod, I both loved and hated Davenport's quest for the perfect 100-song playlist. I loved it because I can so relate, but hated it because every time the characters would start debating the list anew, my mind would wander off to my own wish lists and top songs and oh, I have to go get that song obviously.... Maybe it would have been better if I'd had a bit more self-control. But then, what wouldn't?

Devil in the Details by Jennifer Traig

Finally, something else good comes from memoir-surfing on amazon. I admit, I was drawn in by the clever title and snappy cover. Score one for the promo department. That the book was as enjoyable as the title was an unexpected and pleasant surprise. The author manages to straddle a very thin line of workable storytelling about mental illness, never straying too far into either comedy or tragedy, but bringing both elements to bear to tell her story. She underscores the unique truth about obsessive-compulsive disorder - those afflicted with it are perfectly aware how insane the behavior is, but still feel powerless to stop it. Traig never strays too far into tear-jerking sentimentality, but there are still parts that make me ache in sympathy for what she and her family endured. Kudos to all of them for coping as they did, and to Traig for capturing it all so beautifully. Highly recommended.

Holy Cow! by Sarah MacDonald

I have been 80% finished with this book since last October. My timing on this one has been off from the beginning. This is a good book to read before a trip to India. Not after. Before. Too bad nobody told me. I bought it at Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam on my way home from a three-week trip to Chennai. What better way to stretch out the India experience just a little bit more? As I sat upstairs eating a nice big beefy hamburger on my layover, I found myself not liking the author at all. Okay, I hated her. I wanted to slap her. Hard. I was basking in the glow of Indialove, and her mockery of and disrespect for all things Indian really upset me. In hindsight, I can see that she was re-constructing her wrong-headedness for the reader's sake, but she goes a little overboard to make this particular point. I kept reading, though, because I really wanted to like the book. There aren't all that many books by Western women about their experiences in India, dangit. I needed to make this one work. And over time she grew on me. I'm not sure why I set the book down for so many months. I think part of me wanted a bit more distance before getting to her conclusions and epiphanies, but another part of me just didn't want the journey to be over. All trips end, though, and this one's finish was particularly satisfying. Since all I ever get to do in India is work, I loved reading about all the spiritual enrichment one can find there if only one has the time, and so many of her bizarre encounters were uniquely Indian. As she mellowed and got into the India groove, I grew to like her quite a lot. Even so, it makes me ache to return to India. I feel this way much of the time, but finishing this book made it burn. Again, that would make this a good book to read before a visit.

The Hanged Man's Song by John Sandford

Kidd may just be the most unusual hero ever to have his own Mystery / Thriller genre series. He's a watercolor painter and reader of tarot cards who doesn't carry a gun and makes a living as a criminal. Picture John Cusack as Martin Blank, without the violence. Kidd's a computer hacker, but not in the cheesy TV-movie sense; he's really a terrific character. Kidd is teamed with LuEllen, a paranoid coke-snorting burglar who's never told him her last name or address despite many fruitful years of association. Kidd & LuEllen are ciphers who've never been fingerprinted, photographed, or otherwise identified by the good guys. They never even drive over the speed limit for fear of a ticket. They obviously love each other, but to call it such aloud would border on profane. They're pragmatic and sensible and intensely likeable despite their mercenary lives. I always go into Kidd novels - this is the fourth - with low expectations. I have no idea why. I am always, always really pleased with the results. It's too bad that Sandford can't hold the Prey series to the same level of quality. There's an energy and a freshness to every page that is invigorating. This one is a bit strange in that there isn't an external job for Kidd to do - it's all internal. A longtime friend, associate, and guru figure of the hack community is killed and Kidd is looking to catch the killer. But his motives are unclear - sure, he wants justice for a friend he's never met and whose real name he doesn't even know, but he wants just as badly to recover stolen property that leaves him vulnerable to the authorities. It's about self-protection as much as anything. I imagine the lack of new characters and outside forces might make the book inaccessible to readers who haven't read the first few books, but I still enjoyed it even though it's been years since I read the last one. I may even pick up the first three again as a re-read soon. Great stuff.

Persuader by Lee Child

The last couple of months have been all about Dennis Lehane and Lee Child for me. For a while there, I was alternating through the catalog titles in Lehane's Kenzie / Gennaro series and Child's Jack Reacher series. I finished the Lehane a few weeks ago, so I've been mainlining Reacher ever since. I think I'm in love with this character. Maybe it's a coincidence that I'm also currently obsessed with another Jack - Bauer, from "24" - but I'm noticing a big weak spot for ultra-competent men with violent tendencies and few words. The strong, silent type, if you will. This is the last paperback in the series for now (the eighth, The Enemy, is still only available in hardback and I'm going to try to wait), and it ends really strong. This is the first book to be written in first person, which made me extremely unhappy at the outset. I don't know if I was afraid that Reacher would share too many thoughts with us or what, but my fears were totally unfounded. In fact, the first person narration made it perhaps the best of the bunch. It's also the first one where I haven't been able to guess at all the major plot points well ahead (sometimes even from the very beginning), which made it even more fun. There's a little note at the end of the book that said he enjoyed writing the flashbacks so much that the next novel takes us back to Reacher while he was still in the Army. I don't know if I'm going to succeed in waiting for paperback. Good stuff!

Red, White and Blue by Susan Isaacs

I'm disappointed not in the novel, but in seeing how horribly so many of the Isaacs fans before me have missed the point of this latest work. Red, White, and Blue begins as a tapestry of brightly woven character vignettes where the journey takes precedence over the destination, and ends with the assertion that American patriotism is something that develops not through espousing a political agenda but through generations of living and striving to make a life for oneself in this country. I don't find it at all troubling that these characters descend from the same semi-reluctant immigrant woman, or that we know this at the outset while they do not. This bit of irony only underscores the novel's message about being American. It matters less how we identify ourselves (urban Jew, traditional western rancher) than how our history and shared cultural experiences through generations shape who we are at the core. As Americans so few of us have any grasp of our heritage going back more than a few decades, and what we do know is merely the product of what someone dared to speak aloud to the younger generation. Although we may not understand the actions or motivations of our ancestors on a conscious level, this knowledge imbues itself in our approach to the world around us and our response to adversities we face. Isaacs throws geographic, ideological, and religious barricades in front of the protagonists, setting them on opposite sides of the country and sociocultural spectrum, then sets about demonstrating all that they share without a heavy-handed shared genetic material revelation. For this, I thank her. I thank her also for shaping once again a novel of grand proportions that doesn't sacrifice the humanity of minor characters along the way.