Fallen Souls by Linda Foster

Title: Fallen Souls
Author/Editor: Linda Foster
Publisher: Glass House Press
Rating: WARTY!

DISCLOSURE: Unlike the majority of reviews in this blog, I've neither bought this book nor borrowed it from the library. This is a "galley" copy ebook, supplied by Net Galley. I'm not receiving (nor will I expect to receive or accept) remuneration for this review. The chance to read a new book is often reward aplenty!

I hate to give a negative review to this novel because from what little I know of Linda Foster (from her website, which you should visit - it's fun!) she seems like a really awesome person, but I critique the books on this website, not the authors. It's important to remember that. Well mostly not the authors! And certainly not in this case!

This story is listed on Net Galley (and on the cover!) as a novella, and it's also listed as book one of a series, but it's only sixty pages, and those pages are double-spaced, so it's really more like a novelette or even a short story than anything else. At least, that's how it felt to me. It also ends in a big cliff-hanger. I was, to say the least, dissatisfied with it. I expected a lot more, and got what really amounts only to a teaser.

It's in two parts, the Earthly and the heavenly. In the first part we meet Ash, a student who happens to be at a party with his older sister, and she's quite literally falling-down drunk. Ash isn't much better off. He keeps seeing a dangerous looking guy with glowing eyes staring at his sister, so he drags her from the party in a near panic. He ends up crashing the car and his sister is about to die when the stranger offers him his sister's life for his own soul, an offer he takes up. That's all we get of that story.

To take a brief detour into gender issues here, I have to say I found it sad that a female author put a female character in the position of having a guy rescue her, like she's totally incapable of taking care of herself and is reduced to being a damsel in distress. She's not even Ash's kid sister, which would certainly have ameliorated the situation somewhat. Grace is his older sister, so this was really hard to stomach. Could we not have had her get sick to her stomach from something she ate at the party or something - not from irresponsibly drinking, and this was why he was driving? Just a thought!

In part two we're in a heaven where the angels do not have traditional names! There is Kali, the good angel, who is female, and Adrian, the bad angel, who is male. Now this was a bit different, but it felt odd because the names were not remotely of Hebrew origin. Kali, for example, is Indian (Indian, not Native American) and is the name of a Hindu god, and Adrian is of Latin origin.

My real problem with the angels is that they behave exactly like humans. They speak the same, have the same emotions and wants and fears. They have lungs. They breathe. They fight. They're petty. How are they in any way, shape, or form different from humans? They're not. And for some reason, as usual, they use swords instead of modern weaponry or divine magic. This isn't a problem unique to this book by any means, but it is a problem of seriously-limited story, character, and plot imagination, and a complete lack of inventiveness and creativity in bringing something new to the table.

I found this story a bit too breathlessly told, too lacking in substance, and a very unsatisfying read. It wasn't - technically - badly written. Linda Foster has a voice which deserves to be heard and if it had been a longer story with more to say, and the world(s) fleshed out a bit more, I might have been able to enjoy. There are a lot of signs of writing potential, but it seems that the author isn't ready to spread her wings and fly yet. The plot on the heavenly side is right out of Kevin Smith's movie Dogma, for example, with angels (led by the psychotic Adrian) plotting a war against god.

I have to say that I'm not a big fan of angel stories, so if an author wants to draw me in, then I need something more than your traditional boiler-plate bog-standard choir of angels. Maybe others will like a familiar, cozy world like this, but it's not for me because it felt like there wasn't anything new on offer here, and it just makes me ask: where is my incentive to read it? The very word 'novel' means new. If it's not new, it's not really a novel, is it?! I can't recommend it, and I have no interest in pursing this series, but I wish the author all the best.

And in my 'fighting-a-losing-battle' effort to offer a parody song whenever I review something negatively, here's my "Angles of Heaven" to the tune of U2's Angels of Harlem

It was a cold and wet November day
When I read this book from Net Gall-ay
Rain was bouncing on the ground
I turned round and heard familiar sounds
of an angle

A story as old as a Christmas tree
With the same old shape and symmetry

Angles

Sword divine, and this sword just won't cut it!
No more! Angles of Heaven!

The cover blurb appealed to me
The story sounded like a symphony
We got spooky stuff, a mystery tangle
But it turns out it's just another one - an angle

Demons all evil, angels all good
Demons have eyes which are shining blood
Angles

Sword divine, and this sword just won't cut it!
No more! Angles of Heaven!

Angles of Heaven, yeah.

Angelic, divine, oh! but human motive!
Yeah, Yeah,
yeah, yeah
Yeah, Yeah, yeah, hey, oh no!

Too many writers have lost their way
Can't find enough words that are new to say
And despite the angelic acumen
The final solution's down to humans
Simple humans with simple lives
have to prevent demons and their connives
Can't we have a new fandango
Can't we have a brand new angle?

Angles in demon shoes just leaves me reading with the blues
Will I never read anything new?
Except angles! Angles of Heaven?

The Wedding Hoax by Heather Thurmeier

Title: The Wedding Hoax
Author/Editor: Heather Thurmeier
Publisher: Entangled
Rating: WARTY!

DISCLOSURE: Unlike the majority of reviews in this blog, I've neither bought this book nor borrowed it from the library. This is a "galley" copy ebook, supplied by Entangled. I'm not receiving (nor will I expect to receive or accept) remuneration for this review. The chance to read a new book is often reward aplenty!

I've hung on with Entangled for a long time because a couple of their early reads were so good that I couldn’t help but continue hoping for more. Just recently I favorably reviewed one of their teen romances which, while problematic, at least pretended that it could break the mold, but I've reluctantly come to the conclusion after several disasters in a row, that this publisher is just not for me, not as its currently operating.

The novels which appear under its banner are far too predictable and formulaic, and perhaps there are readers who love that and live for it, but I am not one of them and I know I never will be.

I can’t tell you what this story is about (except in the vaguest of terms, all of which you know already), because I made it only to page three before nausea hit me when I read this:

"Green eyes with little flecks of gold in them, a chiseled jaw that would make a Greek God jealous, and chestnut-colored hair just long enough to drag her fingers through but not so long it was feminine."

…because god forbid there should ever be anything even remotely feminine about a guy! God forbid we should have a young-adult male romantic lead who doesn't have gold flecks in his eyes! God forbid that we should have any romance novel where the male doesn't have a chiseled jaw and a muscular torso welded to his character! Seriously? I'm still nauseous from reading that even now, several days later. That's so may kinds of trite, trope, clichéd and wrong in one sentence that I scarcely know where to start. 'Sentence fragment' doesn’t even have what it takes to make such list.

Why is it so utterly impossible for female romance writers to take even one small step for a man and make a giant leap for womankind? Why are they so immovably transfixed by trope? Why are they so cramped by cliche and thereby so entangled in this cheap formulaic fabric which they've convinced themselves they must wear to be a romance writer that they hold their readers prisoner to it to? Do they not want to liberate women from this?

Are they so financially comfortable with it that it never occurs to them that they could deliver so much more? They could do a real service for others of their gender if they were willing to stretch a bit, so why do they, in this era of so much freedom for women, labor so industriously to keep their own gender imprisoned like this?

I don't know what any one writer's individual motives are, but I do know that publishers carry the bulk of the responsibility for this situation. There are publishers who will not entertain a romance manuscript if it does not conform to a specific template. In this era of self-publishing, there's no reason why we have to bow down to their demands.

I can't recommend this novel or any other novel like it. And now, in yet another sorry attempt to perk up a negative review with a song parody, and since, on the subject of romance, I've been reading Pygmalion lately, here's my offering this time:

I have often read books like this before,
But must they always sport this self-same sorry list of bores?
All at once am I heaving heavy sighs,
Knowing I'm entangled in this blight.

Do the old growth trees need to be so cut down?
Must we read books with such a complement of clowns?
Does enchantment rage out of every page?
No, not in so clichéd books like this blight.

And oh, the horrible feeling
Just to know this book is so drear
The overpowering feeling
That every page will have a cliché that I fear.

People stop and read - they don't bother me,
They're just trapped in sorry romance reams of entropy.

Let the time go by, I won't care if I
Can avoid reading more of this blight.

People stop and read - they don't bother me,
They're just trapped in sorry romance reams of entropy.

Let the time go by, I won't care if I
Can avoid reading more of this blight.

(composer: Frederick Loewe, Librettist: Alan Jay Lerner, new words: Ian Wood)

When Mystical Creatures Attack by Kathleen Founds

Title: When Mystical Creatures Attack
Author/Editor: Kathleen Founds
Publisher: University Of Iowa Press
Rating: WARTY!

DISCLOSURE: Unlike the majority of reviews in this blog, I've neither bought this book nor borrowed it from the library. This is a "galley" copy ebook, supplied by Net Galley. I'm not receiving (nor will I expect to receive or accept) remuneration for this review. The chance to read a new book is often reward aplenty!

Erratum:
"dain" is mistakenly used in place of "deign" unless the author was actually talking about Norse mythology.... That's a bit sad coming from a book published by a university press!

I have to confess I'm not sure how this got published by the University Of Iowa Press when the author apparently has no connection with the U of I, but there you have it. I actually worked at U of I for a few years before the cold drove me south, not that this is really relevant..... I also have to confess that I'm not a fan of epistolary stories, which this one is. I find them to be as unrealistic as first person PoV stories in general. Having said that, this one wasn't too bad to begin with. What else do I have to confess? Okay, let's not get into that....

This story, which I was not able to finish due to boredom - is one of insanity, but whether it's of the insanity of Mrs Freedman, the high school English teacher who loses it one day, or of society itself, remains a mystery. I really loved the opening few pages where Mrs Freedman's students quite evidently did their best to free her desperately clutching fingers from the last vestige of her self-control (and succeeded with their fine, off-the-wall essays), but after that, the story went right downhill for me.

Actually, even at that point, I was cringing over the utter lack of respect these students had for her, and one or two of the appalling things they wrote. Clearly this is a classroom totally out of control, and the story seemed to be hewn from the same wood. It was a mess; it looked like it had been hewn and then tossed into a wood chipper, and I would know, because my name is Wood and I am chipper for the most part.

It was hard to know who was narrating the tale at some points. The emails and letters were, of course, easily attributed, but then random chapters would launch into a narrative and it took a moment or two to figure out who was talking and where we were at with the story after this new departure. There are even recipes at one point, with amusing titles made from plays on words, but these were let down by the boring text beneath, relating mundane stories of little interest.

In the end (not that I made it that far), the story wasn't that great, revolving as it did, around two students and a teacher, two of whom were completely irresponsible and the third of whom had lost not only her marbles, but all concept of what marbles even were.

The opening pages were hilarious, but after that, the tale became dark and sad, and very mundane, and it wasn't engaging for me. I didn't want to read more because I really didn't care what was going on, not even at those points where I fully grasped what was going on. I would have much rather read more of the student's contributions (even as I freely admit that some of them were beyond the pale).

I have to say that in a way I felt cheated, because I had honestly thought that this story was really about mystical creatures attacking a school. It wasn't at all. The mystical creatures are nothing but a metaphor and this, when pretentiously employed in the title of a book, is a sentence of death (and dearth) in my experience. Had I understood this ahead of time, I would never have asked to read this particular volume.

In pursuit of my failing aim to try and include a song in those reviews that I down-rate, here's my effort for this particular one. To the tune of The Beatles' Magical Mystery Tour:

Beware, beware of the mystical creature attack! Stay out of their way!
Beware, when mystical creatures attack! Beware, when mystical creatures attack!
Beware (and that's a metaphor now), when mystical creatures attack!
Beware (I'm feeling really floored now), when mystical creatures attack!
Mystical creatures are here, they're trying to take you away,
Trying to break up your day.
Beware, when mystical creatures attack!
Beware, when mystical creatures attack!
Beware (they'll take everything you are), when mystical creatures attack!
Beware (maybe you should hit the bar), when mystical creatures attack!
Mystical creatures are here, they're sucking your sanity dry,
And no one will dare tell you why!
Mystical Creatures!
Beware, when mystical creatures attack!
Beware, when mystical creatures attack!
Beware (and you're about to lose it), when mystical creatures attack!
Beware (and no, you cannot choose it), when mystical creatures attack!
Mystical creatures are here, they're tripping you up all the way,
Even as you're slipping away.
Mystical creatures are dying to lure you today,
Dying to lure you away, to in-sani-tay!

Dead Drop by Jesse Miles

Title: Dead Drop
(Barnes and Noble's website search engine doesn't seem to get the fact that if you type in title "Dead Drop" you really don't want titles like "Drop Dead"! No wonder they're losing out to Amazon!)
Author: Jesse Miles
Publisher: Robert Gordon Peoples (no website found)
Rating: WARTY!

DISCLOSURE: Unlike the majority of reviews in this blog, I've neither bought this book nor borrowed it from the library. This is a "galley" copy ebook, supplied by Net Galley. I'm not receiving (nor will I expect to receive or accept) remuneration for this review. The chance to read a new novel is reward aplenty!

I had some really mixed feelings about this and wavered between a negative and a positive rating overall. Even as I sat down to work through my first draft of the review, I felt I was going to go positive in the hope that a new writer will season and improve on these scores as experience (and more reviews!) weigh in.

In the end I couldn't bring myself to rate this positively because of the gratuitous treatment of women in it which irritated more and more as I re-read what I'd written and considered it against the overall story. It was when I realized that I was in danger of having to make excuses for the writing by trying to argue that the overall story was good, that I knew that I had to change my rating, or take the road marked "Hypocrisy This Way"!

This is part of the 'Jack Salvo' private investigator series, of which I've read no others - I believe this is the first, although it feels like it's further along than that from the way it's written - it feels like we're starting in the middle of something rather than at the outset.

The blurb sounded intriguing, but it goes completely against my self-imposed ban on reading novels of any kind in which there's a main character named 'Jack' since that name is so over-used and is so clichéd that it almost makes me physically sick. I end-up wanting to name these characters Jack-Ass. And "Jack Salvo"? Seriously? Please, since this is evidently a brand-new series, can we not follow the road less traveled?!

Having said that, the story itself was good overall. In general it was well-written (apart from, for example, the use of the non-word "Thusly" on page 55!), it moved quickly, and was interesting, thoughtful for the most part, with some mystery and not too much machismo. The plot was believable and the main character's actions were also (for the most part) - except for the part where every woman no matter what her age or circumstances, seems ready to lie down and open her legs for Jack.

On the downside, there was rampant objectification of women, and some age-ism going on here and there, which I didn’t appreciate at all. I found myself trying to gage whether there was a favorable balance between sheer inappropriateness and decent story-telling, although a writer ought never to put their readers in that position! In the end I concluded that it was too much to let slide.

A problem here is one I have with a lot of books in that it’s told from first person perspective (Salvo's of course), which is also pretty much a cardinal rule for hard-bitten private dick stories, but that doesn’t mean that the PI actually has to be a dick. Plus it can be difficult in this case to be sure what is the character's thinking and what is the author's, which is creepy at best.

I know it’s all-but de rigeur to have this sort of predatory ogling of women in such a "hard-bitten and cynical" genre of novel, but this isn't the 1950's. Just because it's traditional doesn't mean we have to perpetuate it. Is there no one out there who can ditch convention and strike out on their own trail - one which has a PI story which isn't written in 1PoV and main character who doesn’t objectify or prey on women, no matter how indirectly?

The age-ism eared its ugly head on page 43 where Salvo first meets Wendy Storm, a fifty-year-old woman who may have some information which will help his investigation. I'm not remotely convinced that her age has to do with anything in this story, but it’s employed to generate this charming observation: "Thirty years and thirty pounds ago, she would have stopped traffic." Is that supposed to endear me to the main character, that this woman is fifty and somewhat overweight and is therefore somehow second-rate? It doesn’t. It makes me think Jack-Ass Salvo is a low-life, and it makes me dislike him immensely.

I know it flies in the face of Hollywood predilection (or predation), but you know what? There’s nothing wrong with older women (or older men). Anyone who is deluded enough to honestly think there is, needs psychiatric attention. There was no need at all for that observation, and it bothers me that this author seems to think, as evidenced by too much of what he writes here that involves on women, that the only really important thing is her looks.

That stinks regally, and we see it repeatedly expressed in Salvo's attitude towards most every woman he encounters, right from the start of the book. All he thinks about when he meets a woman is the superficial: how attractive or unattractive she is, how hot she is, how skimpily or provocatively dressed she is. It’s tiresome. Frankly, it’s pathetic and detracts from the power that this character could have, were he written better. The irony here is that Salvo is, believe it or not, a philosophy teacher. This leads me to believe that he must be also schizophrenic, to be a student of philosophy on one hand and to objectify women to an obnoxious extent on the other. I can't reconcile these things adequately!

Fortunately (for my continuing reading this and for my rating of it), although those kinds of references were common where women were "in play" in this story, they were thinly-spread through material because there were a lot of other things going on, most of which were good, and/or interesting, and/or intriguing. To be fair, there were occasions where women were portrayed positively: smart, capable, brave. The problem with that, though, was that the way these things were represented was as though they were something special - as though most women don't have these qualities, so let's be glad that this particular one does. Now maybe I got off to a bad start, having my perception tainted by his first interaction with a couple of women in the first few pages, but I wasn't the one who tainted that perception.

Some of the references were a bit off, too. For example, in one instance, Salvo makes the sarcastic observation that he could be the next Clint Eastwood (page 65), but Clint Eastwood hasn’t been a real movie star for decades. Making a reference like that makes the lead character seem like he's fifty or sixty, but he isn’t. He's younger than that and should, therefore, have a somewhat different frame of reference. For example, he mentions Brad Pitt at one point, so could he not have referenced Matt Damon or Vin Diesel, or Will Smith for his deprecating self-comparison? The analogy just leaped out at me as wrong.

On the subject of which, I have to also mention a cop's use of "…that broad's rear end…" at one point in the story. I don't have a problem with that particular observation because there are people who think like that in the real world, and it's unrealistic to pretend they don't exist in your novel, but in this day and age, does anyone really say 'broad' as a rather derogatory term for 'woman' or 'girl'? It seemed even more anachronistic than the Eastwood reference. Who knows? Maybe people do still say that.

The main female interest was Lilith, and she was written quite well, but I have to say I find it rather bizarre that she thinks that bad guy Faraday should be shot for putting his hands on her whilst "searching" her, yet she has no problem with Salvo ogling her and making remarks when she first meets him.

I also find it odd that when Salvo is watching Lilith's apartment because he fears for her safety, he outright lies when questioned by two cops in a patrol car, about his reason for being there. By lying, when there was no reason at all to do so and every reason not to, he put Lilith's safety in jeopardy. If he had truly cared about her, then he would have told the cops everything, putting her safety before all else. He hardly seemed smart or chivalrous to me after that. The only reason this was done was to achieve a certain end the writer wanted, and it was badly done.

There was another such weak spot when Salvo is fastened to an evidently wooden chair by a chain. I don't get why he doesn't simply break the chair. He has some ninety minutes before the bad guys return, yet he sits around and makes no effort to get free of the chair or to arm himself by breaking the chair and taking a piece of it for use as a club. I know he was concerned about making noise, but lives were in danger. This seemed too passive for the kind of guy we'd been led to believe he was.

Despite all those latter kinds of issues, I would have been willing as I said, to rate this positively, but I simply couldn't get past the way women were abused and misrepresented, thus (not thusly) I cannot recommend this novel.

Melancholy Manor by Ellie DeFarr

Title: Melancholy Manor
Author: Ellie DeFarr
Publisher: Amazon Digital Services
Rating: WARTY!

DISCLOSURE: Unlike the majority of reviews in this blog, I've neither bought this book nor borrowed it from the library. This is a "galley" copy ebook, supplied by Net Galley. I'm not receiving (nor will I expect to receive or accept) remuneration for this review. The chance to read a new novel is reward aplenty!

Erratas and curiosities:
P63 "Any suspicions of fowl play…" should be "Any suspicions of foul play…" unless the character has a pet chicken.
Chapter 31 (paragraph 4) "...preferring to follow from behind..." - how else would one follow?!
"He seemed do distraught." I forget the location, but this clearly should be "He seemed so distraught."

This novel, which has a title that sounds like a children's book, isn't. It is one of a series, but each episode is discrete, so you don’t have to have read the first, or the whole preceding set (however many or few that might tally) to enjoy this one. I appreciated that! I was immediately drawn-in because this is a PI story, but it isn't told in first person PoV, which I detest, so major kudos to the author for being independent and original in that regard. Unfortunately, it failed to keep my interest.

Another reason I was drawn-in was that private investigator Hera Hunter (yeah, I know the name is a little bit too much like 'Hero', but I let that slide!) is very different. We first meet her in this story dispatching a child molester and murderer who got away with his last crime. Hera, 29, was a marine sniper and she took out this criminal in a park early one morning, and sauntered off home without a hint of guilt for her action. This lack of remorse or feeling is important for her later inexplicable reactions.

Next she's breaking into the home of a dishonest collector of valuables to steal back a precious diamond which the collector stole on behalf of some criminal element, and additionally, she's worrying over the unidentified body of an Asian woman found in a park. The body is unidentified, yet the police are somehow convinced she's not a prostitute. I don't get how they figured that out! I also found it rather too convenient how many useful coincidences crop up during Hera's investigations! She's always overhearing vital conversations, or seeing odd things going on that prove of use later, or meeting or hearing of people who are crucial to her solving the crime. It was too much.

I had an issue with the ubiquitous invincible hacker motif, too. Hera's partner at her PI agency is able to hack into anything just by tapping a few keys. Bullshit! That trope is tired and sad, and not even remotely realistic. As I said, I did like the story from the start, but the big question was, with issues like this cropping up so often, could the author keep me liking it? No, she couldn't.

There were too many white caps that hindered smooth sailing here. One big one, was a little yappy dog named "Lucky" belonging to Hera, which she literally takes everywhere with her, including into bars and along to visits with potential clients without even offering them courtesy of asking if it’s okay. This was absurd at best. I'm a dog lover but even I would draw the line somewhere. In this novel no one ever does and that was way beyond the bounds of credibility.

Like Lassie, Lucky has almost superhuman (or more appropriately, super-dog) instincts which are slightly improbable at best and farcical at worst. For example, Lucky can always tell if someone is a bad person, and is almost shark-like at detecting the faintest trace of a smell. That made the dog seem like it was from some cheesy kid's story.

The dog was written just like a human character, being given little comments here and there, such as in: "Arf, arf," the dog said, or as in: Lucky added, "Yip Yip", and so on. I found this juvenile and annoying, worthy of a middle-grade children's novel, but not an adult private-eye story. Initially this dog feature didn't irritate me too much, but the dog kept cropping up like that sad-ass Microsoft Windows "help dog" they used to have, and it was for no good purpose at all. I thought the dog was going to play a part in the mystery because it was featured so much. Thankfully it didn't, but this begs the question as to why we're hit over the head with little growly dog every few paragraphs?

Another oddity was that pretty much every significant guy Hera meets is very tall. I have no idea what that's all about, but this novel was introducing one such guy almost every ten pages in the first half of the book! Weird! It's not surprising that I quickly reached the point where there were too many things bothering me to enjoy this. One of the tall guys was a sleazy politician who happened to be related to Hera's assistant. The number of times he stopped by her office, the two of them had ample opportunity to record his voice and get him into serious trouble, yet they never did. Given Hera's radical action with the child molester, it seemed that she had way too much forbearance with the politician. It made no sense.

Another annoyance was the author's habit (I noticed it more than once) of reminding us of things which happened only a few pages before, and which were significant enough that your typical reader is highly unlikely to have forgotten unless they have some serious cognitive issues. One example of this is that Hera's (foster) sister is the proprietor of a brothel called 'Knickers' in town. Once I read that I didn't need to be reminded of it.

Hera is represented as a bit of a vigilante, hunting down the bad guys, and especially the ones who got away with it (that is until her own brand of thug-justice catches up with them), but the problem with that is that it disappears when she discovers her father! This is the man who shot her mother when she was a child and then fled, and who has been on the loose ever since - and who is very possibly a material witness in a case upon which she has just begun working. In fact, he's worse than that, but Hera does nothing about him!

Instead of shooting him out of anger, or more smartly, turning him in to the police as a murderer and a potential vital witness in another shooting, she just walks away. This was not only totally out of character given her previous behavior, it made her look completely inept if not downright stupid.

The situation was made worse by her schizophrenic attitude towards her dad. At one point she almost feels sad for him, at another she walks away from him, indifferent, at another she's infuriated by his behavior. It made no sense whatsoever, and served only as another annoyance for me. Admittedly Hera's idea of love is rather warped, and kudos to the author for not giving her a trope male love interest, but her attitude towards her foster parents was at best oddball.

As for the mystery, it was rather run-of-the-mill, and not very gripping. It was obvious who the bad guy was from the beginning, so there was no mystery there. Once we knew 'who', it was only a matter of what he was doing. This will probably be obvious to some readers, although it wasn't to me, I confess, but it seemed highly unlikely he would be doing what he was doing in such a relatively small town.

So while I was really drawn into this to begin with, it quickly became an annoying novel which I was glad to have finished so I could move on to something more engaging. I can't in good faith recommend this one. It didn't leave me with any desire at all to read any more in this series.

White Lies by Emily Harper

Title: White Lies
Author: Emily Harper
Publisher: Writers To Authors (no website found)
Rating: WORTHY!

DISCLOSURE: Unlike the majority of reviews in this blog, I've neither bought this book nor borrowed it from the library. This is a "galley" copy ebook, supplied by the author. I'm not receiving (nor will I expect to receive or accept) remuneration for this review. The chance to read a new book is sometimes reward aplenty!

Erratum:
10% in: "…all banned together…" should be "…all band together…"

This novel is so bad I wrote a song about it to the tune of Blurred lines:

Everybody screws up! Eew!
Everybody screws up! Uh!
Nay! nay! nay! Nay! nay! nay! Nay! nay! nay!

If you can't read what I'm trying to write,
If you can't read from almost any page,
Maybe I'm writing bad, maybe I'm going down; maybe I'm out of my mi-i-i-ind!

OK now she was dumb, tryin' to bed the captain,
But she's inanimate, baby it's not her nature, just let me educate ya
Nay! nay! nay! Shouldn't waste the pay-pa
Nay! nay! nay! That book is not your maker

And that's why I'm gon' write a one star
I know you earned it (I know you earned it), I know you earned it
It's a ba-ad bo-ok!
Can't let it get past me; it's not real hist'ry; talk about lambasted?
I hate this White Lies!
I know you wrote it; you do showboat it, but I have smote it!
But it's a ba-ad bo-ok!
It fails to grab me, it's pretty nasty; it's even trashy

What do you write this for? Why you got them reams stacked?
This book so down-grade, like a Shelley in a grave
Cover's adolescent,
Nay! nay! nay! It's really booked-up
Nay! nay! nay! What rhymes with booked-up?
Nay! nay! nay!

What an original title! B&N lists only sixteen pages of books with this title, or with titles similar to it. So why did I read it? Well, even though this novel suggested of itself that it would be a silly romance, I was tempted against my better judgment into reading it because it was set in the UK. By 10% in I'd already decided this wasn't a good novel. The main female character is so complete and shallow a ditz that she doesn’t need airbags in her car. She's already protected because she's such an airhead.

How she can be an airhead and completely vacuous at the same time, I don’t know, but trust me, she manages it and then some. She's also more than likely anorexic if we're to judge by the cover image, but then we all know covers lie just as effectively and routinely as back cover blurbs do!

Her life is so pointless that her every waking thought revolves around finding a guy to marry. We’re expected to believe this woman can’t find a guy even though she's portrayed as being hot and gorgeous. Of course these are purely skin-deep traits; why would anyone care whether someone is respectable, diligent, interesting, accomplished, smart, caring, self-possessed, supportive, fun, has strength of character, or whatever? It’s all about skin, and exposing it. The main (lack-of-) character keeps dreaming of finding a hunk regardless of personality or other traits. I keep dreaming of finding a romance story that's realistic and fun, but they're so few and far between that you may as well consider them extinct.

This novels truck me as a major example of wish-fulfillment on the part of the author, so naturally (not!), the mc meets 'the guy' accidentally in the elevator on the way up to her office (because why would she have any other kind of job?), and immediately starts hitting on him, even as we’re expected to believe she doesn’t recognize him as a potential partner. Instead she puts a want-ad in some random magazine, seeking a partner, and in time, goes on a date with a guy named Alan. Wouldn’t you know that she runs into "the guy" right there in that same restaurant? Coincidence of coincidences! How miraculous is that? HALLELUJAH! Thank you Baby Jesu!

When Alan shows up they have a perfectly fine dinner, but she obsesses over the unappetizing wine - like this one thing has really spoiled everything, and she has so little self-possession and self-respect that she doesn't even think to order something different. Meanwhile Mr Perfect, stalking jerk-off that he is, sends over a glass of wine to her table, and it’s perfect. Yeah, like he knows exactly what she wants and he's going to give it to her even when she's out on a date with another guy? Creep much?

Alan very kindly pays for the entire meal even though she is the one seeking a partner - and she doesn’t even remark upon that, let alone thank him, but as soon as they stand up to leave, she suddenly notices that he's a couple of inches shorter than she is. She didn’t notice this before? The truly sad thing is that this is all it takes for her to write him off. As if that wasn't bad enough, his hair is thinning. Never mind that losing ones hair in a male is a sign of testosterone! No! He's "short", he has thinning hair, therefore he's a no good low-life piece of trash and she’ll never see him again.

By this time I thoroughly detested the main character - and the novel. I had zero interesting on following this desperate louse-life another step. And note that I hadn't even reached the fact that she's an outright liar. White lies are nothing but lies after all. How shallow and pathetic can you be? Well read an Emily Harper 'romance' and you'll find out!

Doomboy by Tony Sandoval

Title: Doomboy
Author: Tony Sandoval
Publisher: Magnetic press
Rating: WARTY!

Translated by Mike Kennedy

I could not get into this story at all, which is sad because I'm usually good at making choices with graphic novels, and I typically end-up liking them, but I seem to have picked several in a row here which failed to make a good impression on me! Maybe I'm losing my touch?! At any rate, this one didn't do a thing for me. I'm not sure what it was about this exactly, but I can suggest a few candidates.

The drawing was really scrappy and amateurish, and too simplistic, while at the same time being really busy and messy - scruffy-looking without even being a nerf-herder! It turned me off, so I know that was part of it, but the dialog wasn't very stimulating either. Indeed, some of the early dialog was simply squiggles in balloons, and completely unintelligible.

I know this was intended to convey random, unimportant conversation, but it was distracting and combined with the very many panels where there was no speech at all - or any kind of communication other than purely visual about what was happening, it made me wonder if the entire book was going to be as vague as this.

Frankly it made me feel like the writer didn’t really care what was going on, so then I'm asking myself "If that's the case, then why should I care?" and it was quickly downhill from there. I didn’t feel any interest or investment in any of the characters, or any growing desire to find out how this story went.

Bumbling Into Body Hair by Everett Maroon

Title: Bumbling Into Body Hair
Author: Everett Maroon (no dedicated website found)
Publisher: Libertary Co.
Rating: WORTHY!

DISCLOSURE: Unlike the majority of reviews in this blog, I've neither bought this book nor borrowed it from the library. This is a "galley" copy ebook, supplied by Net Galley. I'm not receiving (nor will I expect to receive or accept) remuneration for this review. The chance to read a new novel is reward aplenty!

This is a review that is, in some ways, tied in with another book I read during this time. The two are not related except in that they're about gender identification. I thought it would be fun to review them both together (but separately!), so while the reviews cross-reference a bit, they're different (although both books are worthy reads), and I invite you to read both. On my blog, the reviews were both posted next to each other on the same day, but if you're reading this at some other venue you may have to dig around to find the other review.

So this is a book which I decided would be fun to blog along with Gracefully Grayson by Ami Polonsky. The two stories, one factual (this one) and one fictional, are like bookends to the entire spectrum of gender identity, which is a lot more complex than most people realize. Unlike the novel, which is middle-grade, this book deals with mature adults (or not so mature in some cases as the author testifies!), and additionally, carries the messy complexity of real life.

While Gracefully Grayson was fictional, it was the opposite of this story in many ways: it was about a young boy who identified more as a female than ever he did as a male whereas this one is of a very real journey from female to male. Indeed, this is almost a guidebook on what to do and not to do to make that journey successful and as painless as possible. For that alone, it's important and well worth the reading.

I have to say up front that I would have liked the author to have said a word or two (okay, Picky-Picky, some paragraphs!) about how this novel came to be - particularly about how it came to be so detailed. No one short of those with eidetic memories (and their attendant problems) can remember exact conversations and sequences of events, especially from several years ago, yet we read them detailed here, so clearly there is some sort of creative writing going on, even though the events and conversations depicted are, I have no doubt, real ones. I would have liked to have learned how this was done - how the author filled in the gaps (and the gaps in memory) since there's no mention of a detailed diary being kept.

Bumbling Into Body Hair is a true story about a man who was born in a woman's body and underwent a painful, amusing, rewarding, and educational transition to 'normalize' himself. The blurb for this book exaggerates the humor somewhat, and sadly underplays the trauma, but both are included in the story and are equally engaging. This story is very well written and very poignant. Sometimes it made me angry (ditch Pat already!), and sometimes it made me laugh, but mostly it made me feel for what Everett had to go through, and the fortitude and good humor with which he girded (yes, girded, I shall have it no other way) his, er loins!

Everett began life as Jenifer (one n), growing-up with a sister in a loving family home, and ending-up in a decent, although perhaps a somewhat monotonous job, but with great co-workers. Some might call it a comfortable rut. That's pretty much when the story begins for us, the readers, although of course it began long before this for Everett, trapped inside Jenifer and not even fully cognizant that there was indeed an escape route that didn't involve lying in a bath of warm water with a sharp knife.

Everett, as Jenifer, had long been identified as a lesbian, and I was intrigued that this author seemed to accept this label. I've read other accounts where a significant distinction is drawn between an XX person who identifies as a heterosexual male, and one who identifies as a gay female. I guess there's some dissent even among those who are more intimately familiar with all of this than am I!

The real hero of this story is the woman who plays a somewhat secondary role to us as readers, but who no doubt fulfilled a very primary role to the author: Susanne, who met Everett when he was very much an overt female, still struggling over what to do about his feelings, and who fell in love with him and stayed with him all the way through surgery and on into a marriage. That takes love, dedication, and courage, and I salute her.

It's actually because of Susanne that I had another - not so much 'issue', as 'bout of sheer curiosity' - over why so much painful detail was relayed about everything in Everett's life - which takes guts and a commendable commitment towards bravely informing others of what's truly involved in a literal life-changing pursuit such as this - and yet we're robbed of a lot of the intimacy of this remarkable relationship between his self and Susanne.

I don't know if this is because of personal privacy concerns, and I certainly wouldn't want an important story like this to spill over into pandering to salacious or prurient interests, but it struck me that a really critical part of this transition was the love and affection between these two, and yet we get not a hint of any joys or problems experienced as the two of them interacted physically, one very much a woman, the other transitioning from a woman to a man.

I would have liked to have read something about how they felt, how they perceived it, how their physical intimacy changed (or didn't) as this transition took place - or at least a word or two as to why Everett (and perhaps Susanne) chose not to share this! Yes, of course it's their life and they're entitled to share as little or as much as they wish, but given that he's already sharing such intimate details, a word or two about the nature of the relationship and how it grew and changed would not have been out of place, and would have been appreciated by me, at least.

In short, I recommend this story. I loved the detail, and the endless parade of things which cropped up - surprising things which might never occur to someone who had not undergone this change no matter how deeply they might have gone into it as a thought exercise. I loved the humor and the endless battle with bureaucracy as Everett gamely began to solidify these changes in terms of endless paperwork. It was all the more funny, I felt, because he worked in government, so in some ways he was getting a taste of his own medicine!

Most of all I loved this for the courage, honesty, and equanimity with which he pursued this dream, this need, and his sharing of this necessary course correction in his life. It's a warming message to us all, no matter what our own circumstances are - a heartening siren song telling us all that we can get there if we're willing to make the journey, no matter what our own personal journey is.

Note that Everett Maroon also has a novel out: The Unintentional Time Traveler. Note also that if you liked this story or Gracefully Grayson you might also like to read The Greatest Boy Ever Made a work of fiction which curiously has a lot in common with both of these books, and which I reviewed back in September.

Debbie Doesn't Do it Anymore by Walter Mosley

Title: Debbie Doesn't Do it Anymore
Author: Walter Mosley
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday
Rating: WORTHY!

For fifteen long, hard years, Sandra Peel Pinkney has hidden behind Debbie Dare, a white-haired, black porn legend with an eye-catching facial tattoo, who has had sex with literally hundreds of men and women, and she's still only in her early thirties. But that's the problem. The porn industry is even more brutal to mature women than is the hypocritical regular film industry and if you don't get out when it's dignified, you're inevitably going to be dumped unceremoniously.

Sandra has never articulated these thoughts before, although she's always been aware, but this one day, the day this story begins, she actually has an orgasm on set. At first she's not even sure what it is, this pleasure being so rare in her life, but then it takes over her whole body and is psychologically shattering. And that's not even the biggest upheaval she will face this day.

Sandra arrives at her elegantly-appointed home to find the police all over her house and yard. Her much older and not-so-retired porn flick husband is dead. He's lying in her bathtub with a sixteen-year-old girl on top of him. The two apparently died while making a porn movie, when the camera fell into the tub and electrocuted them.

This precipitates Sandra's desire to quit her life and start over - or simply to end it. But there are complications. Over the next few days, Sandra learns who her friends and enemies are. She's fired from her current in-progress movie by her producer, Linda Love(!), and bad guy Richard Ness starts cruelly leaning on her to pay off her husband's $79,000 debt, which she can't because her husband has them in hock to the balls, and when she blows "Dick" off (and not in a good way), he sells the debt to Coco Marinetti, who's unafraid to actually carry out the threats Dick only makes. And she has a son.

Sandra wanders blandly through her life trying to make sense, to figure out answers, and to determine direction. Often her actions don't seem to make sense, but as we learn, her actions are informed by her past experiences, and Sandra has two strikes against her: she's black, and she's a porn industry lackey.

We see examples of both of these powerful influences on her life experience as she is, in one case, summarily handcuffed by three white male cops for no crime other than leaving her mother-in-law's house early in the morning! Her mother-in-law is white and lives in an upscale neighborhood. Sandra was only there to patch up a rift between them now that Theon, her husband, is dead, and this is her reward for that generous act of kindness?

I'm still bemused by the review of this in the Chicago Tribune where Carol Memmott writes, "She's beat up by the gangsters to whom Theon owed $72,000." Why use the grammatically correct 'whom' alongside the grammatically incorrect 'beat up'? It should be 'beaten up'. The phrase 'beat up' implies something completely different, but the only thing looking beat up in this story is Sandra's porn life. Rest assured that Walter Mosley writes a lot better than does Memmott, and this is the trigger which finally made me pick-up this book from the shelf. I've never read him before but I did know who he was and I figured his hand on the keyboard might make a difference. It did. This is not a story of erotica or sleaze, but it is written for adults who can handle that world in their literature.

In some ways this book is reminiscent of Vincent Gallo's The Brown Bunny - a soul adrift, wandering untethered through life looking for something, but this book is leagues better than that crappy movie. Like I said, I'd never read Mosley before, and I passed this novel on the 'new' library shelves several times, looking at it and thinking it wasn't going to impress me, but finally I decided what-the-hell? and I didn't regret it. I owe Mosley for that. The writing is beautiful, well-paced, well-spoken, warm, engrossing, and revelatory.

Talking of crappy movies, this one has its title evidently influenced by Debbie Does Dallas a porn move which has a fame far greater than it deserves, but the title is as far as the similarity goes. The plot is twisted, in more than one way, and the events - and often Sandra's actions - are unexpected. If I had two problems with it, one would be that the racism is overdone. Yes, there is racism in society and it needs to be highlighted, but highlighting it with a strobe-light will only blind people to it, not keep them aware of it.

There's also a dual standard at work here, that only white people can be racist, which is glaringly untrue. You only have to compare the standard schtick of black stand-up comedians with white ones to see this. It's understandable, given what history has done to people, but the way to fix a problem with a pendulum having been stuck in one direction for far too long isn't to purposefully glue it in the opposite direction. It's to lock it dead in the middle and never let it move again.

The second problem was that the ending is abrupt, and seems out of character with the rest of the novel. I think perhaps that it's intended as a warning: even when things seem to have been amicably resolved, Sandra still has a long row to hoe, and it's that mis-applied 'ho' which has taunted and haunted her for fifteen painful years. It isn't going to set her free so easily. I recommend this novel.

Clown Girl by Monica Drake

Title: Clown Girl
Author: Monica Drake
Publisher: Hawthorne Books
Rating: WARTY!

After disliking two Chuck Palahniuk novels in a row, you might call me crazy for reading one which - though by a different author - carries an introduction by him. The overly enthusiastic sycophantic babbling of one author whom I do not know personally makes no impression on me when it comes to recommending another author with whom I'm even less familiar, no matter how gushing the first author is on the front cover! My second warning should have been that Hawthorne Books describes itself as an "independent literary press". You put the word 'literary' in there and you've already downgraded your material by several notches or even nachos.

So while I'm more than willing to admit that I'm definitely crazy, at least I'm not willing to dismiss an author just because another author I don't like says nice things about them! The down-side of this attitude is that I have on occasion lived to regret it, of course. My hope going in to this was that this one would be the exception which proves the rule (where 'proves' is used in the old fashioned sense). I have to advise you now that I was disappointed in my quest.

Not to be confused with Girl Clown by Mary Wise, this novel started out just fine, with clown girl Nita plying her trade making balloon animals at a street fair near her lousy one-room 'apartment' which is actually the 'mud room' of some low-life's house. I'm not sure how much clowning is honestly involved in sculpting balloons art, but Nita faints from the heat because she was too dumb to bring along a water bottle, and she's taken to the ER. There we learn that while Monica Drake may well have an MFA from the University of Arizona, she's yet another author who doesn't get that it's biceps, not bicep, under the bp cuff....

Despite my detestation of first person PoV novels, this one turned out to be not so bad. It was not obnoxious, and Drake has a nice sense of humor (yes, josh and Drake go together - and if you get that one you must be an ex-pat Brit like me...). My early assessment of this novel was that it was entertaining, despite a rocky patch here and there. I almost laughed out loud at the author's aside at one point: "...a hearse of a different color."

Nita is in a bad way, unfortunately. She's only two weeks past a miscarriage, the baby being that of the focus of her obsession: Rex Galore, a fellow clown, who is out of town at some clown college. He doesn't yet know that Nita has miscarried and probably doesn't care. Nita is underweight and not eating well at all, so she's more than likely anemic at the very least.

The hospital keeps her overnight and then sends her home with a urine collection kit which consists of a large jug and what's called in hospitals a 'hat' - which is a plastic catch bucket designed to fit on your toilet seat and catch your urine. Upside down it looks like a white hat. She's supposed to use this to collect urine for 24 hours, but she's not smart enough even to get that going.

Nita promptly loses her hat when running from a cop she thinks is going to accuse her of graffiti-ing a derelict building which she's passing through on her way home. Despite the fact that she recognizes the cop as the one who helped her the day before when she fainted, she flees from him with vigor that can only be ascribed to acute paranoia. Nita has issues. And some of her issues probably have issues of their own, too. Clearly this cop is going to be her love interest to replace the absentee Rex, even though he wants to run her downtown on mere suspicion of having stolen a lawnmower. What? This guy's a jerk. I had been mostly on-board with this novel until at that point.

The problem came when I put this one aside for another book where I had a deadline to read it. When I came back to this one, the first thing I asked myself was: "Why am I reading this?" I think once you start in on something you have an investment in it even if it's bad, and you feel like it might get better or overall you might like it, but this is simply a bad investment, and sometimes you have to get some distance from it to realize how badly you're squandering your time here, when there is other writing that begs to be read so it can reward you better. This is known as 'the sunk cost fallacy'. I see it often in reviews written by others, and that's when I ditched this novel. I had sunk too much into this to waste more time reading it. I can't recommend it.

Reamde by Neal Stephenson

Title: Reamde
Author: Neal Stephenson
Publisher: Harper Collins
Rating: WARTY!

The reader on this massive audio book version of this novel was rather annoying. He seemed obsessed with enunciating every single word with extreme precision, and it was really distracting. For example, instead of saying the indefinite article in its shortened form, as in 'hat', he insisted upon saying it as in 'hay' regardless of context. He also pronounced 'shone' as 'shown' instead of 'shonn' which just sounds weird to me.

The last thing I read of Stephenson's was his dreadful Baroque Cycle. I ought to have realized that anything which combines the words 'baroque' and 'cycle' had to be the most offensive collection of maximally tedious material ever put between six covers, but what can I say except that I was young and foolish? I pretty much swore off him after that, but Reamde struck me as something a bit different, something which harked back to his halcyon days of Snow Crash and Diamond Age, two of his which I did love.

Unfortunately, Reamde started out determined to prove that to was, very much, a Broke Cycle redux, if not in period then certainly in pedantry. There was a long and mind-numbingly tedious info-dump which seemed to be dumping as much flotsam as it was jetsam, and I found myself skipping track after track on the audio. Reamed is certainly how you'll feel if you read this drivel.

Florence of Arabia by Christopher Buckley

Title: Florence of Arabia
Author: Christopher Buckley
Publisher: Random House
Rating: WARTY!

Buckley wrote the novel which gave rise to the movie of the same name Thank You For Smoking which starred Aaron Eckhart and which I found amusing. It was one more reason to pick up this novel, the first being: how can you not like one with a title like this? Well it turns out that this novel failed to keep its promise which is no doubt why it's likely to be made into a movie.

Florence's real name is Firenze Farfaletti, an American of Italian descent who started using the Anglicized version of her name after too much teasing at school. In later years, she married a minor royal figure of the ruling family of Wasabia (yes, some of the names and other items are quite amusing). Florence discovered what a huge mistake that was, and she literally escaped his clutches to move back to the US, where she eventually wound-up working for the State Department.

After a traumatic encounter with an old friend, another bride of a prince, who she couldn't help and who was subsequently beheaded, Florence comes up with an outrageous scheme to liberate Islamic womanhood, and gets unexpected government backing in the form of a guy she thinks works for the CIA.

She refers to him as Uncle Sam, and he loads her up with massive volumes of cash. She uses this to fund her scheme, beginning with the recruitment of her team: a gay friend from the State Department, a James Bond style ex-marine, and a PR guy who has the morals of an alligator, and who took his tutelage from Nick Naylor, the morally-challenged protagonist of Thank You For Smoking.

Florence sweet-talks the Emir of Matar (which borders Wasabia) into allowing her to approach his wife on the topic of setting up a TV station, and she also then sweet-talks Laila, the wife of the Emir (and first lady), into running the TV station. They start transmitting rather slapstick and demeaning shows across the Middle East. In reality, no Arab nation would even allow this kind of condescending nonsense, yet here we're expected to accept that it causes a sensation and starts making money for the Emir from advertising. While i could see where Buckley was going here, I found this portion truly amateurish.

The Sheika is thrilled because it gives her a chance to get back at her husband who is constantly running off to his harem and he's thrilled because he's becoming ever more rich, yet things start going badly very quickly, and given the content it's hardly surprising. The neighboring nation denounces the TV transmissions. The news reader, a young woman, is stoned to death one day, and the Emir is killed in a coup.

This problem arises when the Emir's brother, who has been nothing but a playboy, is talked (by the French, who supply him with his Formula One race cars) into making a power-play for the throne. Civil disorder starts to brew, the marine ends up shooting someone in self-defense, a bomb explodes downtown, and the mullahs are stirred up by more French moolah into becoming vocal about the Emir's lifestyle. Oh and the ayatollah of the neighboring fundamentalist nation of Wasabia issues a fatwa on the westerners involved in producing the TV show.

The Emir's bother comes to power, yet despite all we've been told about his newly-found religious fanaticism, he fails to dispatch Florence despite having her in one of his jails for some time. Instead, she's inexplicably freed.

There were some real moments of laugh-out-loud humor in this novel, but for the most part it was plodding, juvenile, amateur, and worse: not very funny or very entertaining. I just kept reading wanting it to be over so I could go read something more interesting. When I put it down I didn't want to pick it up again and I found no reason for the story to drag on as long as it did.

Most of the humor simply wasn't that great, and this conceited fiction of having, once again, the white American come in and save the wee cute colored people (substitute which particular skin shade/ethnic region you wish here) from themselves simply wasn't funny at all. I can't recommend this one at all.

Praetorian by Jason M Burns

Title: Praetorian
Author: Jason M Burns
Publisher: Outlaw
Rating: WORTHY!

Illustrated by Ramon Espinoza

This was a comic I was handed at a comic con a couple of years ago which I read and put on a shelf and forgot about. I noticed it yesterday while cleaning off that same shelf. I read it again this morning and decided that, despite some minor issues, it was worth blogging positively.

Praetorian tells the story of four Roman guards who were present at the death of Jesus Christ, and who were granted immortality. Why? I have no idea! But you have to start a story somewhere and dumb is as good a place as any as long as you can carry a story with that dead-weight holding you back. Two thousand years later, one of these soldiers it seems, has become a serial killer, severing the head of apparently random victims and leaving the bodies to be found, while the heads disappear.

This is quite decently written except on a page towards the middle where a professor named Julian says, "...alive long enough to of broken bread with..." That's not how a professor would speak! Yes, real (and ignorant) people do substitute 'of' for 'have', but not a college professor. Bad writing!

I have to say I had some very mixed feelings about this comic. I really liked the main character, Rodriguez. She was strong, smart, and interesting. The other characters were just so-so. Rodriguez and her partner are tasked with tracking down this serial killer, but they're stymied by the apparent random choice of victim and the lack of any other evidence. The only thing they have to go on is the bizarre emblem carved on each victim's chest.

One problem I had was with the blind acceptance that there really was a son of a god crucified some 2,000 years ago. I don't buy that because none of it makes any sense, and because the only 'evidence' we have is a handful of 'accounts' all of which have a clear agenda and all of which were written by scientifically ignorant men. None of these accounts was written by a skeptic, none of them are logical or self-consistent, and none of them have any external supportive evidence. That said, I do enjoy a good religious fiction, because all religion is fiction to me.

Another issue I had was that these guards are described as Praetorian. It's become a trope in stories featuring the Romans or stories derivative of that (such as Richelle Mead's Gameboard of the Gods series, to have the Praetorians featured as some sort of antique 'special forces' unit, but they were not. They were just roman soldiers assigned to a cohort which was charged with protecting the emperor (and later to guarding Roman generals). They would never have been present at a minor crucifixion in Palestine, so this part of the story fails miserably.

There's also an unexplained anomaly during one of the assassinations - and here's a big spoiler - the serial killer is killing people of a certain bloodline, but while he kills a mom carrying her baby out to her car, he leaves the baby unharmed. Given his motivation here, it makes no sense that he would not have dispatched the baby, too.

In this case, and apart from those issues, I did enjoy this story, and the artwork was well done if a bit rudimentary. I really grew to like Rodriguez, not so much her partner, and I didn't get her attachment to him - it seemed unrealistic given what we were shown of their relationship. The story moved along at a good pace and was logical and intelligently written (except for one incident when the serial killer showed up in Rodriguez's hotel room intent upon killing her but does not. Given what we're told later, this made absolutely no sense at all).

However, like I said, the story left me with a good feeling, so I recommend it

I'll Give You Something to Cry About by Jennifer Finney Boylan

Title: I'll Give You Something to Cry About
Author: Jennifer Finney Boylan
Publisher: Shebooks
Rating: WORTHY!

DISCLOSURE: Unlike the majority of reviews in this blog, I've neither bought this book nor borrowed it from the library. This is a "galley" copy ebook, supplied by Net Galley. I'm not receiving (nor will I expect to receive or accept) remuneration for this review.

Here's another writer who thinks a book is entitled instead of just being titled. I'm in favor of entitlements, but not when it comes to books. I don't know of any entitled books, but I guess I'm fighting a losing battle on behalf of the English language and all who rail in her. Other than that (and the rather odd title itself), this novel started out intriguingly. I mean, what's not to engage the imagination in a Toyota Sienna minivan full of people of assorted ages, all of whom seem to be carrying a sorry-load of pills?

There's "Gammie" (shades of Dana Carvey) who comes armed with Lopressor (aka metoprolol, used for cardiovascular issues, particularly hypertension or high blood pressure). There's a young boy Otis, who carries Luvox (aka Fluvoxamine, used to treat OCD). There's the former son, now daughter Alex, who carries Spironolactone (an antiandrogen) and Premarin (a contraction of "pregnant mares' urine" - a type of HRT, or hormone replacement therapy) as well as stilettos and fishnet stockings(!). Riley, who's driving, has Celexa (aka Citalopram, an anti-depressant). Oh, and he has a prosthetic leg - a victim of cancer, for which he has an unfulfilled script. This is not a recipe written in Heaven, but it is a great recipe for a story!

The end point of that journey, but starting point of the story, is a ramshackle building in Manchester (New England, not Olde Englande) where Riley's estranged wife Junie decided to take a sabbatical to do something (writing) for herself.

Once she's on-board, the minivan heads towards Washington DC where Otis is supposed to play in a band for the vice-president. Road trip!

This novel bounces around between the characters. All is not well between Riley and Junie since they both have a different take on where their marriage is going (or not going). Otis is nervous about his performance. All is not well, either, between Riley and Alex, since he's not really on-board with her gender reassignment, which is why he's baulking at paying for her actual surgery. Right now she's what some people term a 'shemale': to all outward appearances female, including breasts, except for the fact that she still has male genitalia.

For me, Alex's story was the most engrossing and the best written. It really took an uptick, too, when she encountered a Geordie - amusingly while looking at the Liberty Bell! How portentous is that?! Lucas, in some regards, seemed to be a bit of a stalker, but in the end, his intentions were, whilst way too amorous, largely honorable. What really capped this for me was Alex's internal monologue. That, I thought, was brilliantly done.

I was less enamored of Riley and Junie, because their story was - intentionally, I should note - a complete mess, but even that had its moments, particularly when Riley had flashbacks to his younger self, right at the point where he first started becoming involved with Junie. The ending for me was a bit odd, and I enjoyed the part with Alex much more than the part with Junie and Riley.

Having said that, I recommend this novel for its originality and inventiveness, and for the really great character portrayals.

Ricochet by Mary Jo McConahay

Title: Ricochet
Author: Mary Jo McConahay
Publisher: Shebooks
Rating: WORTHY!

DISCLOSURE: Unlike the majority of reviews in this blog, I've neither bought this book nor borrowed it from the library. This is a "galley" copy ebook, supplied by Net Galley. I'm not receiving (nor will I expect to receive or accept) remuneration for this review.

This is a very short memoir (only 46 pages) but is packed with feeling and intensity. It's related by a print journalist who is resident in Guatemala. She covers wars and insurgencies throughout the area, but this story focuses on the El Salvador civil war, and the fighting going on during an election which the right-wing won and which then went on to rule the nation despite its association with callous death squads.

The narrator is friends with another journalist by the name of Nancy, whom she's known for years and with whom she's very close. The two take up residence in a nice, comfortable hotel along with a gaggle of other journalists from all over the world. In the past this pair has covered stories together, but here, though they share a room, they venture out individually and at risk of their life to cover potential stories for their US newspapers.

There is a stark contrast between their air-conditioned hotel life and real life (and death) out on the dusty, blood-stained streets. They're surrounded by shooting, bombs, and suffering, which hits hardest at the non-combatants - the families, the young children, the moms and dads, the siblings. The narrator seems able to compartmentalize this horror to an extent, but Nancy reaches a point, after a journalist friend is killed in a border crossing misunderstanding, where she cannot stand the idea of seeing another dead body, yet she remains in El Salvador to teach children how to be photographers (in between the times they must spend scavenging at the city dump).

The narrator doesn't believe Nancy will give up her reporting life, but she's wrong, and despite set-backs and a horror story, her friend makes a success of her newly-chosen avocation.

This kind of story is not normally my cup of tea (tequila?) but in this case, I have to say that I am so glad I read it. It's gritty and immediate, and regardless of the details: of how much is related exactly as it happened and how much is a filtered recollection, it's nonetheless as real as it's disturbing, and as depressing as it is heartening. I recommend this memoir.

Remnants of Passion by Sarah Einstein

Title: Remnants of Passion
Author: Sarah Einstein
Publisher: Shebooks
Rating: WORTHY!
pub. Shebooks

DISCLOSURE: Unlike the majority of reviews in this blog, I've neither bought this book nor borrowed it from the library. This is a "galley" copy ebook, supplied by Net Galley. I'm not receiving (nor will I expect to receive or accept) remuneration for this review.

Go Shebooks! It doesn't take an Einstein to figure out that this is a good idea, but it helps to have one on board, especially if it's Sarah Einstein. The only thing which might have tripped-up this publishing plan was poor reading material, but that's quite evidently not a problem from the sampling I've done, and which I'll review over the next couple of days.

This particular volume is a collection of shorts (no, not those kind of shorts!) with general observations on life - or at least something which resembles it - and it's hard to tell if they're memories or fiction. I hope not all of them are memories! When I say shorts, I really mean it, since this is only 37 pages long, so it's a good, solid read, and in nice bite-sized pieces.

A Meditation on Love is a memory of a trip to a summer-of-love style event where young people (and some not-so-young) free themselves from societal restraints and constraints and enjoy each other, and music and food, and comfortable, unpretentious clothes. This story amused the heck out of me because it seemed so realistic.

The Origins of My Problems With Fidelity tells a story of a sexually-confused high-school girl and her brief (no, not those kind of briefs) encounter with a fellow teen who may or may not have been a lesbian.

Self-Portrait in Apologies is exactly that; a series of apologies to people from the writer's past (real or fictional I know not), and it's both hilarious and sad, comfortable and discomfiting.

Fat is so mixed-up (to put it politely) that I can barely describe it, but it revolves artfully around the fact that there are two kinds of 'fat' when you're a woman: overweight, and pregnant. It's a sad story that really makes you want to go hug this girl and take care of her properly, even as you know you'll most likely be rejected by her if you make any such effort. I was in adoration of the segment relating the narrator's trip to the lesbian conference and the bizarre antics experienced there. This seemed so real to me that it tapped into my own recollections of various encounters I've had, and observations I've made. It's nice to feel that at least sometimes, I wasn't completely off-base with my views even if I was off the reservation!

I loved the honesty and the free-wheeling nature of this collection. It's warm and thoughtful, interesting and moving, and it decidedly has something to say. and I recommend it to both male and female readers who are looking for some honest and thoughtful entertainment.