It's official: Daniel José Older is now on my authors-to-watch list. I first encountered Older through his YA book, Shadowshap
"The streets is hungry."
It's official: Daniel José Older is now on my authors-to-watch list. I first encountered Older through his YA book, Shadowshaper. While Shadowshaper is a rich, vibrant story, Bone Street Rumba is right down my alley. I love urban fantasy, underpowered protagonists, and political skirmishes in the magical world. Add to that a set of complex, interesting characters, a gritty plot, and some seriously creepy roach dudes, and I was sold. TL;DR: Half-Resurrection Blues (Bone Street Rumba#1) just became my first book purchase of the year.
The story is narrated by Carlos, a half-dead agent for the Council for the Dead and the protagonist of the previous book, Reza, a driver/hitter for a local gang, and Kia, a mischievous teenager who works at a botánica and finds herself pulled inextricably into the center of events. There's a reason why Kia is on the front of the cover (and have I mentioned i loved the cover?) instead of Carlos, who is pretty much worse than useless for the whole book. One of the reasons I picked up the first book is that I'm rather interested to see what Carlos was like when he was actually effective and didn't just spend all his time angsting and moping. Kia, on the other hand, is a lot of fun. I loved her constant banter with Carlos:
"I smile. “Things will go much easier for you when you realize that I know everything.”
"We’ve been through this already, C, and we don’t have time to go through it again. If you leave me behind, I’ll do something stupid like follow you all by myself and get killed and then you’ll feel guilty. Let’s save ourselves an argument we both already know I’m gonna win.”
She has some interesting depths as a character, from a traumatic childhood experience to her insight while navigating a biased world.
The politics of Midnight Taxi Tango are less overt and more nuanced than Shadowshaper, but all the more interesting and effective for it. One of the subplots involves Capoeira, which, as the instructor notes,
"Is how my people survived European domination in Brazil [...] It is a martial art disguised as a dance, but it is also a dance disguised as a martial art. Why? Because we were not allowed to train to fight. We had to disguise our training as dancing, yes? We had to become clandestine warriors in a system that did not believe we are human, yes? Maybe this is something you can understand today, or maybe not."
Kia's perspective illuminates the pervasive racism she experiences:
"I’d never been to this neighborhood before. Maybe driven past once or twice with my dad, but it was all white folks, and the feeling of don’t belong, don’t belong hung heavy in the air, like all the molecules wanted me to leave too."
She perceives, and is angered by, the constant assaults on diversity surrounding her, from the white policeman who feels it is acceptable to harass her on the street to her realization that she, as a black woman, can get shot for carrying a sandwich, let alone a ghost-killing knife. One of my favourite moments was her reaction to a conversation between a group of white teenagers in the botánica:
"Kenny, what’s this mean, a love potion?” “Yeah, that’s supposed to be bring the ladies right to you, man.” “Let’s get it for Bill. Maybe Christine will stop friend zoning his ass.” Wild laughter. Because really, what’s funnier than other people’s cultures and sexual coercion?"
Another aspect where I felt this book improved upon Shadowshaper was the humor. Midnight Taxi Tango was constantly, quotably funny. Carlos, Reza, and Tia each have their own unique narrative flair, and while I loved them all, the dialogue and situational humor tickled me to death; for example:
“So you brought the demon-child assassin to my house and locked him into the bathroom across from the girl he’s trying to kill?” My whisper is more like a strained cough. “The fuck else was I sposta do with him, man?"
I feel like I've been saying this a lot lately, but while I felt like the plot was a bit of a mess, I just didn't care. (view spoiler)[One of the aspects that I think was really underdeveloped was Jeremy. Because seriously, what makes a person decide that being a nest for a colony of creepy roaches is a desirable career plan? I know the implication here is that to an imperialistic ideology, power of any variety makes any sacrifice worthwhile, but given the glimpse of Jeremy that we get from Gio and Kia, this didn't really fly for me. How did the beautiful, laughing, dancing boy that so entranced Gio come to the decision that roach master was the way to go? Was it a sacrifice to save Gio, or something he really wanted? I also would have liked to see a confrontation between Gio and Jeremy. I felt their broken romance was thrust aside, and it would have been interesting to explore it. (hide spoiler)] Like Shadowshaper, Midnight Taxi Tango is a complex, vibrant, refreshing change from cookie-cutter urban fantasy. Add to that a set of villainous magical roaches--and who doesn't find roaches creepy, particularly when they crawl into your mouth or peel off your skin-- and a constant barrage of banter and situational comedy and I was utterly sold. Count me in for the sequel. And the prequel. And anything else Older has in store. ~4.5
~~I received this book through Netgalley from the publisher, Berkley Group Publishing, in exchange for my honest review. Quotes are taken from an advanced reader copy and while they may not reflect the final phrasing, I believe they speak to the spirit of the novel as a whole.~~
If you've been searching for truly grimdark urban fantasy, then I've found the perfect book for you. In terms of gritty, graphic violence and unre~3.5
If you've been searching for truly grimdark urban fantasy, then I've found the perfect book for you. In terms of gritty, graphic violence and unrelenting darkness, Splintered is out to give Abercrombie and Lawrence a run for their money.
Anna Ruiz keeps promising herself that this will be her last job for Enoch Sobell, but they've been promising themselves that for a long time. Once the sorcerous criminal overlord gets his claws into you, it's not so easy to escape. And so at Sobell's order, Anna and her team find themselves escalating from thievery to kidnapping, and it isn't long before they find themselves trapped in a magical battle that leaves kidnapping the least of their problems.
As I said, if you're into grimdark, then this book will be a perfect fit. My problem? While I take my urban fantasy with plenty of grit and grime, grimdark is too depressing for me. At least from what I've seen, one theme that unites true grimdark is the lack of agency. The characters, are, of course, stuck in a bad situation within an already hostile world, but in grimdark, the characters can't divert from a course that will lead to their destruction. In Splintered, the characters have been drawn into a situation that they don't understand and will never comprehend completely. They know they're being played, yet they can do nothing except fall right into the trap. At each turn, the consequences of their previous actions transform any new decision into a forced choice. As one character puts it:
"I don't even know what we're in the middle of now, and I don't know how we get out of it."
I wanted the characters to break free, to escape the vicious cycles of self-destruction. And yet even as I wanted to pull away, I was sucked into the plot. The compulsion was as strong as it was unwelcome. It was like watching a car ahead skid on ice and veer off the road, knowing that the crash is inevitable and unable to tear your eyes away. The weight of suffering is suffocating, yet I couldn't put down the book.
Part of the allure was the worldbuilding. Anna's world has a fascinating magic system. In the end, all magic comes from demons and is thus inherently destructive. Using magic is like "burning one's soul up with a candle," and each spell leaves the caster just a little less human. Part of it was the characters. No matter how stifling and frustrating they were, my heart broke for Anna, who is trying to save her friend, and Nate, the self-proclaimed "king of enablers," who can't seem to stop himself from bailing out his worthless brother again and again. While I jumped into the series at the second book, Schultz did a great job in pulling new readers into the world. The writing, too, reeled me in. The violence is impressively graphic. I don't consider myself particularly squeamish, but parts of the book had me hyperventilating. I found so much of the story agonizing, yet I simply couldn't disengage. If you're a fan of Abercrombie or Richard K Morgan and looking to branch out, or you're looking for a truly dark, intense read, then this series is definitely worth a look.
~~I received this ebook through Netgalley from the publisher, Penguin Group, in exchange for my honest review. Quotes are taken from an uncorrected advanced reader copy and may not reflect the final version; however, I think they speak to the spirit of the book as a whole.~~...more
"Please allow me to introduce myself… No. Strike that. Period stop backspace backspace bloody computer no stop that stop listening stop dictating end e
"Please allow me to introduce myself… No. Strike that. Period stop backspace backspace bloody computer no stop that stop listening stop dictating end end oh I give up. Will you stop doing that?"
Meet Mo, a.k.a. Dominique, employee of the UK's super-secret black-ops magic organisation (they call it the Laundry), wife of Bob Howard (a.k.a. The Eater of Souls), bearer of a psychotically evil soul-sucking bone violin, and combat epistemologist. When Mo takes a trip to do a little glad-handing with the Deep Ones (aka BLUE HADES), she thinks she's finally going to get a bit of well-deserved R&R. But before she knows it, a tiny mistake has landed her neck-deep in trouble, and even worse, in bureaucratic paperwork. In Mo's world, the end is nigh, and all hell is beginning to break loose. As the barriers between our world and the Elder Ones of the Dungeon Dimensions break down, more and more people are gaining magical abilities. Magic is rationalized in the context of culture, and given the superhero craze, suddenly there are a disturbing number of people running (or flying) around in Lycra suits that may not precisely flatter them. And a series of mistakes leave Mo in charge of a brand-new superhero ops organization tasked with stopping the superhero singularity. To make things worse, there's a new supervillain Mad Scientist on the loose, and he he's leaving behind messages of the "Tremble, Fools, Before It is Too Late!" variety, and worst of all, the messages are printed in Comic Sans.
I suspect that the most divisive part of the book will be the change in narrators from Bob to Mo. Personally, I strongly preferred Mo to Bob. She's introduced to us in the midst of an unjustified attack of jealousy, but once she gets past that, I really warmed to her. I've grown a bit tired of Bob, and Mo's spiky, sarcastic, vibrant personality revived the series for me. I also wasn't too surprised by their marital issues; intentional or not on Stross's part, I've never sensed any chemistry between Bob and Mo. (Since much of the series is a Bond spoof, there are quite a few obligatory Bond girls, and Bob doesn't really think of Mo when she's not around.) While the previous books in the series don't really defy their Bond roots in the sexism department, I thought Stross did a pretty good job with his female characters here. He even has a wonderful riff on the Invisible Middle-Aged Woman syndrome. (Sure, there's the obsession on Bob's past partners, but Mo's Bechdel test failure moment is actually called out in-book.) The plot itself is rather measured, dealing mostly with Mo's struggles to get her fledgling superhero team going. I'm pretty sure anyone who has dealt with bureaucracy will find it amusing. For me, however, the ending was a bit of an off note. (view spoiler)[
If I understand matters correctly, the combined incompetence of Mo and the Laundry causes thousands of deaths. If the Laundry knew what was going on--and the conversations with the SA certainly suggests that--why not go after the organization? They're not all-powerful. They're not even magic. Surely a bit of explanation, shock and awe, or, in the worst case, deaths would have solved matters. Also, I know I'm a pedant, but I'm a bit weirded out by the oath bit. We (the barbarian Americans) also have the "lawful" bit, but for us at least, "lawful" means that it has to pass the legislature and be part of the law--just because an executive said so wouldn't make it right or true. Firing upon unarmed civilians without cause is kinda not cool with the UCMJ. So what about an immoral order by a superior officer makes it lawful? And how on earth was there not a witchhunt against Mo? She was shown on live TV to be killing a mass number of people with an enchanted weapon she was known to own, and, presumably, control. I pretty much do consider Mo and the Laundry culpable, and that assessment includes the mitigating factors.
And Mo made everything worse. She deduced nothing. She solved nothing. She acted as the puppet of everyone around her. She didn't even withstand Lecter and ends up requiring rescue. Again. Granted, that's what always seems to happen to Bob as well, but given the context, it was somehow worse here.
The other thing that really, really pissed me off was the ending, when Mo meets up with Mr Patronising Git, aka Dr Armstrong. In the last paragraph of the book, he responds to her valid concerns that (a) she did more harm than good, (b) she's worn out with it, and (c) the Laundry is an untrustworthy organization with a patronising speech in which he pretty much directly calls her hysterical. And she apparently takes it.
There are moments in the book when Stross's gender biases surface. Mo spends a lot of time jealously obsessing over Bob and the women who knew him, and there's quite a bit of the catfight vibe in the opening. I found it rather irritating, but sure, maybe some women are like that. But Stross's complete ignorance of a serious hotbutton is just a step too far. There's a proud and ongoing tradition of dismissing women as hysterical or overemotional. It's so common that these days, it's part of bias training. Yet the book ends with this arrogant git calling her overemotional and telling her she'll "calm down" and "regain her center" and think better of it all? Really? And you're going to end the book with that?
I would have loved to give this book five stars. Up until the ending, I really thought it would happen. But between the too-neat cop-out and the blind sexism of the last paragraph, the end left a bad taste in my mouth. (hide spoiler)]
As always, Stross is absolutely hilarious, and this time, you don't need a computer science degree to get in on the jokes. Some of my favourite quotes:
"Yes, she's a blood-sucking fiend. But she's also a superbly competent administrator and has an MBA which I think you'll agree makes up for a lot of sins."
"Scientific research is a bottomless money pit. You can approximate Doing Science to standing on the Crack of Doom throwing banknotes down it by the double-handful, in the hope that if you choke the volcano with enough paper it will cough up the One Ring."
"Despair, dismay, disorientation, and delusion: the four horsemen of the bureaucratic apocalypse."
Unfortunately, though, I don't really think it's possible to read this without the context of the previous books. I skipped only one (#5, The Rhesus Chart) and found myself quite bewildered by the references to recent events. I can't imagine how hard it would be to read this without some knowledge of the Laundry, the Eater of Souls, and CASE NIGHTMARE GREEN. However, if you're looking to give the series a try, I think you can start with #2 (The Jennifer Morgue) or #3(The Fuller Memorandum)--I did.
**Note: quotes were taken from an uncorrected advanced reader copy of this ebook and may not reflect the final version. However, I believe they speak to the spirit of the book.
~~I received an advanced reader copy of this ebook through Netgalley from the publisher, Ace Books, a Penguin Random House imprint, in exchange for my honest review. Thank you!~~...more
I’ve been procrastinating on this review, not because I have nothing to say, but because I’m not going to particularly enjoy saying it. This book did I’ve been procrastinating on this review, not because I have nothing to say, but because I’m not going to particularly enjoy saying it. This book did not work for me, to the extent that if it had not been from Netgalley, I would not have finished it. So while this review is going to be negative--perhaps vehemently so--I think it’s important to explain my reasons. After all, an aspect that drives me to distraction may be a draw for another reader.
The basic plot: Cassandra “Deadeye” Lee is a member of the LAPD in the semi-post-apocalyptic country of Pacifica. In 2038, a Muslim extremist (wince) turned the bioengineered Bacillus nosilla loose upon the unbelievers. (Really? You had to go there?) B. nosilla rapidly transformed the U.S., slaying a quarter of its citizens and turning many more into bizarre mutants. In the resulting turmoil, the U.S. broke into the non-mutant countries Pacifica, Atlantica, and the Commonwealth, and the mutants established the Republic of Texas and the New Confederacy. Nowadays, people wander the streets in disposable masks to avoid exposure to the airborne bacteria that the mutants still carry, and some women wear burqas (argh) to modestly cover their mutilated forms. Detective Lee finds herself thrown into mutant politics when the daughter of a bishop of an anti-mutant religion is kidnapped, apparently to act as a “surrogate” for mutants. Forced to work with a mutant partner, she must also stop the serial killer who murdered her father--before she becomes his next victim.
The basic plot aims straight at some of my favourite themes. Police procedural in semi-post-apocalyptic LA? How could you lose?
Quite easily, as it turns out. I’m primarily a reader of detective fiction, particularly detective fiction that bleeds into other genres. I read books with great attention to detail (“the smallest point may be the most essential”), which in turn means that I am extremely sensitive to inconsistencies. And this book is loaded with them. Let’s start with the disease. I’m not going to go into the whole “single bacteria causes lots of coherent animal mashup mutations” bit, because that’s pretty standard and can be seen as artistic license. But what I really couldn’t cope with was the treatment of the disease within the book. Apparently, mutants are carriers, and while they do tend to get segregated, moving back and forth between zones is acceptable without any quarantine or even any attempts at decontamination. If it was me, everyone in or out would be drenched in antiseptic and germicides, then quarantined until they were known to be free of disease.
Even in the mutant zones, normals can apparently take off their masks to shower, brush their teeth, or sleep. Dietz airily explains that drinking water and eating food “was safe because B. nosilla was an airborne disease.” The hell? Airborne diseases are the most contagious category because they do not require contact for infection. What does Dietz think “airborne” means? Even if the bacteria spontaneously combust when they hit a surface, said surfaces aren’t safe because the disease is airborne; they’re safe because the disease is magical. Plus, how does Lee manage to drink out of a straw whilst wearing a mask, or talk without breathing air whilst not wearing one? On a more personal level, apparently sexual contact is just fine, to the point that mutant men capture normal women to have their babies. So what, the only orifices the bacteria can enter through are the nose and mouth? Then how does the baby get it from a mutant mother? As I said, perhaps I’m a pedant, but that level of inconsistency drove me nuts. I’m not even going to talk about the bit with the Muslim extremists, or the Aztec Empire, or the Native Americans (no tribe mentioned) who shoot with bows and arrows rather than guns (because that's what they do, right? Argh). My blood pressure doesn’t need it. I was reminded, inevitably, of Mitchell and Webb’s doctor drama.
While fantastic characters and writing can enliven even the most absurd worldbuilding, unfortunately, I found the prose to be jerky, with lots of awkward phrasing, incomplete sentences, and stilted dialogue. Dietz also had a tendency to rely upon informed attributes and emotions rather than trying to convey them through the conversation or the character’s body language. Because of this, I felt distanced from the characters, and their personalities remained static, superficial, and unsympathetic. The plot, too, tended to utilize rather a lot of exposition and side-notes to the reader. One of the most irritating forms of this was Dietz’s insistence upon explaining, in parentheses, what various terms meant, from “BOLO (be on the lookout)” to “TA (transit area)” to Spanish phrases such as “hijo de puta (son of a whore)” and “cara mierda (shit face)”. Personally, I feel that authors need to either trust their readers’ intelligence or work the terms’ meanings into the characters’ conversations. The parentheses are distracting, especially when they’re inserted into dialogue. I suspect the baddie using “cara mierda” didn’t helpfully translate the term in an aside, even though the parentheses are in the middle of his comment. There is a lot of action, with quite a few shootouts, and I can see the book being made into a successful TV show. However, because I didn’t care for the characters, I didn’t care about their troubles, and I had to force myself to plow onwards. (view spoiler)[The characters don’t seem to care much, either. Am I the only one who was appalled by how quickly everyone forgot about Mama? Plus, is Lee really so shallow that she can’t get past Omo’s face? Good grief. (hide spoiler)]
In retrospect, maybe this just wasn’t the book for me. Even beyond the Critical Research Failure aspect, most of the plot involves the protagonist chasing kidnappers who sell young girls into slavery where they’ll be impregnated by the mutant men who buy them, and that’s just not precisely my favourite plotline. Not even the attempt at a cliffhanger piqued my interest in the next book. So while I can imagine it as a TV show, and can see how it might appeal to less persnickety readers than me, this book was most definitely not my cup of tea.
**Note: this review is of an uncorrected advanced reader copy. While the included quotes may not reflect the final phrasing, I believe they speak to the nature of the novel as a whole.**
~~I received an advanced reader copy of this ebook through Netgalley from the publisher, Ace, in exchange for my (depressingly) honest review.~~...more
Somebody's killing ley line witches, which is probably not a good thing, so the FIB hires Rachel to investigate, despBook Reaction (not a full review)
Somebody's killing ley line witches, which is probably not a good thing, so the FIB hires Rachel to investigate, despite the fact that even she knows that she has absolutely no aptitude for detective work. Rachel still has her demon-mark, her boyfriend is dabbling in demon magic, and the demon is lurking around and playing the Generically British Evil Tempter, and Trent is behaving even more suspiciously than usual.
I'm still enjoying these books, although I think a lot of it has to do with Marguerite Gavin's spirited narration and pleasant voice. Harrison's prose isn't too bad either, even though I'm not fond of the Instant Synonym Replay or the odd phrases such as "a smile crossed me" or "a frown crossed him." Unless Rachel's legs and torso start warping every time she grins, the smile is crossing her lips or her face, not her entire body.
I'm still really enjoying the worldbuilding. Intriguingly, apparently society really did crumble, and the term "serf" is not hyperbole. I was a little disappointed to see a promising plot arc closed so quickly, even though several new ones have been created. In fact, Rachel's newly-retconned backstory make me suspect that she's going to turn into a Chosen One. There's also a certain amount of series continuity error. For one thing, Harrison seems to be backpedaling and turning Trent into a Misunderstood But Ultimately Redeemable Bad Boy. Somewhere between the last book and this one, interactions with demons became commonplace enough that they teach classes in it and demon marks are easily recognized, which contradicts the whole "no demons have been seen since the Turn" bit of the last book.
My issues from the last book have only been amplified here. As with any vamp-oriented universe, there's a weirdly glamorized portrayal of rape, but in this case, Harrison also continues to pile on the victim-shaming. At one point, Rachel fights back aggressively during a sparring session, triggering Ivy's vamp mode. Everyone's reaction is to suggest that Rachel must really "want it" because she's so obviously "asking for it." It's Rachel who is blamed and Rachel who ends up apologizing. By the same logic, if a woman contradicts her drunken husband, she must really want to be beaten and raped into submission, so it's all her fault, right? (view spoiler)[I know Piscary's attack on Ivy is accurately viewed as rape, but I'm disturbed that the similarities between Ivy's rape and Ivy's attempts to rape Rachel go seeming unnoticed. (hide spoiler)]
Overall, even if I'm not thrilled by the vamp aspect, I'm definitely enjoying the series--and the narration--enough to try out the next book.
“I have a strict policy. No magic, no monsters, no supernatural clients. Ever.”
So says Owl, ex-archaeologist and thief extraordinaire. Still trying to
“I have a strict policy. No magic, no monsters, no supernatural clients. Ever.”
So says Owl, ex-archaeologist and thief extraordinaire. Still trying to avoid the vampires that she managed to rile in a previous escapade, Owl is in no mood for a new job. However, she soon discovers that it’s really, really hard to say no to a dragon. It isn’t long before Owl is trying to navigate the tricky waters of supernatural politics while avoiding vampires, angry nagas, and a confusing romantic relationship. Without the help of her friends and allies, she’s all set to crash and burn.
I have such mixed feelings about this book. On the one hand, I loved the Indiana-Jones-With-Extra-Magic-On-The-Side vibe. I loved Owl’s vampire-killing cat, Captain. I loved Owl’s snarky, quip-filled narration:
“You know your sanity is in question when you find yourself in a two-way conversation with a cat.”
Charish put together a fun world, an entertaining story, and an intriguing villain, and I absolutely adored the ending--specifically, the last sentence of the book.
But certain aspects just drove me nuts. Like trying to enjoy a concert while the guy behind you is whistling “This is the song that never ends,” I found it really, really hard to concentrate on the fun parts.
First, I can’t buy the worldbuilding. The basic idea is that even though the clues of magic are everywhere, the world hasn’t caught on because the International Archaeology Association (IAA) has carefully hidden the truth from the world. How, you might ask? Well, apparently they’re a paramilitary organization with spies and influence everywhere and the ability to reach any archaeological crime scene before the police. Why are they hiding the truth from the world? Well, apparently No One Can Handle the Truth-- well, no-one other than the IAA, and the site guards who are trained to deal with the monsters, and the people funding the IAA, and the universities that the IAA is “strangling”, and the archaeology students, and the antiquity experts. I don’t know about you, but in my experience, any secret kept by more than two or three people leaks pretty darned fast. Masquerade worlds usually function via society’s unwillingness to accept the strange, but in this case, (a) there’s actual hard archaeological evidence of the weirdness, and (b) somehow there’s a vast organisation whose entire purpose is hiding magic, which leaves me with (c) absolutely no idea why anyone would bother, other than plot convenience. Not even the conspiracy itself is consistent; for example, the postdoc Owl worked with “had been falsifying data to hide a supernatural mummy from our supervisor,” who must have been as well aware of it all as the archaeologists themselves. (view spoiler)[ The worldbuilding wasn’t the only massive flaming inconsistency. What’s up with the game? How can the game designers be utilizing a secret code that supposedly no-one has deciphered for thousands of years? And the ending is a hot mess. Why on earth lock Owl up separately? Why not at least leave her with Nadya? Oh, right. Plot convenience. (hide spoiler)]
The other thing that drove me up the wall was Owl herself. Where to begin? As one might expect of an archaeology thief, Owl is not a good person. However, she combines duplicitous bitchery with an absolutely staggering measure of self-righteousness.
Let’s start with her backstory, which Owl seems unable to keep straight. Owl sold her principles for a promise of funding and a cushy post, but since she was too stupid to get any guarantees, the university promptly reneged on its promises. For most of the book, Owl keeps harping on and on about how she left because “My conscience had gotten me thrown out of the university.” Uh, no. She sold her integrity--twice, by my count--and felt betrayed when she discovered it wasn’t as valuable as she had thought.
So much for her honesty. Let’s consider her good nature. When Owl helps out a fellow grad student in desperate straights, she not only feels entitled to some quid pro quo and when he refuses her request, she starts threatening him. When Owl is double-crossed by one of her victims, she feels hurt and betrayed, whining that “Funny how when people’s lives are in ruins, they’re more than happy to associate with the likes of me. It’s after I fix everything that they suddenly recall I’m treacherous, unconscionable me. [...] No good deed goes unpunished.” That’s not precisely accurate. They remember she’s a treacherous, vindictive creep when she starts blackmailing them and/or setting up her little revenge schemes. (view spoiler)[The part with Marie is especially problematic. Owl’s reaction is to feel betrayed that Nadia is calling her on it:
“I sure as hell didn’t appreciate my best friend throwing it in my face [...] after the week I’ve just had, this is about the last thing on the planet I need right now.”
True, at some moments, the characters do call her on it:
“You did have a choice. You always have a choice, but you never take responsibility for your actions.”
I agree wholeheartedly with Nadya. Unfortunately, Nadya’s reaction is treated more as a fit of pique, and Owl’s actions as entirely forgivable. I don’t agree. (hide spoiler)]
Now let’s consider her skills. Throughout the book, there’s an assumption that Owl’s talents make her irreplaceable, but I’m not entirely sure what those talents actually are. Owl’s “train wreck” logistics, her tendency to mouth off to everyone she meets, and her inability to “plan her way out of a lit and unlocked chest” become a running gag throughout the book. According to one of her friends,
“You can’t help but do stupid things. It’s in your nature. It’s also what makes you the best at what you do.”
Which makes me think that her valuable skill must actually be for fucking up. Admittedly, she’s absolutely spectacular at that, as well as roping in others to take her knocks for her. (view spoiler)[In the end, it’s Rynn who actually manages to retrieve the artefacts and Nadya who decodes and reads the scroll, so other than her idiocy and recklessness, what was Owl’s actual utility?
A more minor pet peeve was Owl’s obsession with fashion. Owl makes a disingenuous pretense of being above fashion and complains about dressing up as one of those “things I do for a job.” But then she spends rather too much of the book shopping (snakeskin leather jacket, leather boots, Chanel jeans, Ralph Lauren jacket, Louis Vuitton something-or-others, etc., if you were wondering) and identifying and judging people by their designer labels (which apparently she can identify on sight.) Possibly I’m speaking from my own resentment as a fashion-blind t-shirt-wearing programmer, but that little hypocrisy really irritated me. (hide spoiler)]
The book showed so much promise. I loved the writing style. I loved the ideas. I'm well aware that the issue is just me Taking It Too Seriously. I really, really regret that I couldn’t enjoy it to the full. I can still heartily recommend it to anyone of a more forgiving and tolerant disposition.
**Note: this review is of an uncorrected advanced reader copy. While the included quotes may not reflect the final phrasing, I believe they speak to the nature of the novel as a whole.**
~~I received this ebook through Netgalley from the publisher, Gallery, Threshold, Pocket Books, in exchange for my honest review.~~
Rating: ~3.5. Zoe Miller's life has never been television sitcom material. Raised by a single parent, Zoe has been moved from place to place by her anxRating: ~3.5. Zoe Miller's life has never been television sitcom material. Raised by a single parent, Zoe has been moved from place to place by her anxious mother, never able to settle down, never able to make friends, never able to quell the creeping anxiety that something is hunting her. Zoe's mother hasn't given her many details about her paternal family, but she knows that they're bad news-- and that they're out to get her. But Zoe's greatest fear is a betrayal from her own mind. Since the age of 16, when fearful or threatened, she has experienced a creeping temptation to slip into a personality she calls her Beast: an inhuman, vicious, angry, and clearly insane mentality. Despite it all, Zoe has just managed to piece together an almost normal life for herself. She's made friends, found and lost love, and graduated with a degree in archaeology. But when her mother dies, it all starts to unravel. Mysterious men are following her, the Beast's call is becoming even more strident, and one of her best friends is about to be used as the lure in a trap that Zoe can't help but step into. Since Zoe's only hope is through finding a lost mythological artefact, her archaeological background is about to become unexpectedly relevant.
Seven Kinds of Hell isn't a groundbreaking urban fantasy, but it's a pleasant and enjoyable read. The writing never ascends into lyricism, but it's solid and occasionally sophisticated, and very effective at sucking the reader into the narrative. Zoe is a sympathetic, likeable narrator, and I especially enjoyed the ways in which she brought her knowledge of archaeology into her perspective on the world. My favourite parts of the book were definitely these historical aspects. Cameron has a gift for inserting sly little comments and entertaining tidbits about ancient cultures without breaking the narrative flow. One of my favourites was a description of ancient Greek animal sacrifice: apparently, it was decided that only the bones, hides, and smoke of a sacrifice belonged to the gods, which conveniently left the succulent meat for the hungry worshippers.
The mythology of the world is also tied into the archaeological aspects. As might be guessed by the genre and series name, vampires and werewolves factor heavily into the mythos, but their origins and appearances are somewhat different than the standard tales. Some of the supernatural entities that Zoe encounters supposedly "aren't capable of true evil." These "good guys" are basically vigilantes, brutally murdering anyone they deem to be evil, but they solve this little contradiction by specifying a rather peculiar definition of "evil":
"We can't confuse political manoeuvring with real evil. [X] can be willful or wrong about many things. We can disagree, we can do stupid things...we don't thrive on the unhappiness of others, we don't murder or torture for pleasure, which is how I define evil."
n my opinion, this is a rather inane definition: every wicked man has a justification for his actions, good intentions are all too easily corrupted, and the worst evils come from those who convince themselves they are doing good. While Cameron does touch on this issue, I consider the initial premise so farcical that I was irritated rather than mollified by the simplistic debates. Requiring an entire species to be inherently good also necessitates removing its free will, but that never seems to occur to anyone within the narrative.
The basic plot is a race against time to find an ancient artefact before the rival gangs of bad guys get hold of it, plus a bit of the save-the-hostage game. Through her struggles to save her friends, Zoe is also forced to come to terms with herself. I'm reasonably fond of Indiana Jones/ Tomb-Raider type plots, and, true to the subgenre, Cameron manages to insert quite a bit of absurdist humour. One of my favourite quotes:
"I fell asleep to a German werewolf in a Speedo joyfully singing 'Midnight Train to Georgia' as he steered us over the choppy waves of the Aegean."
While I enjoyed quite a bit of it, the plot quickly devolves into an unintentional Wodehousian farce. Almost all of the action hinges upon a vast concatenation of improbable coincidences, many of which require utterly unnatural actions from a whole set of characters as well as an impressive bit of stupidity on the part of the protagonist. In fact, Zoe is so far past TSTL that I think I'm in need of a new term.
Every plot can be broken down into a set of tropes, and unfortunately, Seven Kinds of Hell used a few of which I'm less than fond. I'm never big on the "I have your friend"-type situations, because it requires the protagonist to be both incredibly credulous and impressively callous, willing to sacrifice the many for the sake of the one. I can usually tolerate a Hostage-for-McGuffin ploy once in a while, especially if the underlying philosophical conflict is explored, but Cameron actually uses the trope multiple times in one book, mainly as a lazy plot device. Sadly, the story also requires a Chosen One alert, a Friend-or-Idol Decision warning (although Zoe, remaining in character, never bothers with the thinking part), a Dismantled McGuffin notice, and, of course, a truly impressive amount of Contrived Coincidence, to the point where the characters begin wondering if it is all due to Fate. Last, this book definitely isn't intended as a standalone: in fact, much of the plot is left unresolved, a perfect setup for a sequel.
At the same time, I really appreciate how Cameron manages to avoid some of the most irritatingly ubiquitous tropes in urban fantasy. First, Zoe is far from isolated: although she starts out as a loner, she quickly develops a large coterie of friends and acquaintances. Second, the romance aspect is kept relatively low-key, and the love triangle is close to nonexistent--at least in this book. While I didn't find Zoe's main love interest to have much of a personality and thought he came across as a bit of a controlling asshole, he definitely isn't an alpha male--another big plus from my perspective. Despite her other forms of idiocy, Zoe is able to keep her mind on her problems rather than her passions, something I really appreciate. Last, for all the many plotholes and coincidences, the book kept me reading. Overall, if you're looking for a lighthearted urban fantasy jaunt with a different slant on the standard supernatural creatures, Seven Kinds of Hell is worth a look.
~~I received this ebook through NetGalley from the publisher, 47North, in exchange for my honest review.~~
In a future where adbots chase after an endless stream of hovercars, where bionic enhancement has become commonplace, where telekinesis is an acceptedIn a future where adbots chase after an endless stream of hovercars, where bionic enhancement has become commonplace, where telekinesis is an accepted skillset, where any food that isn't based off of the ubiquitous OmniSoy is a luxury, Kirsten Wren still manages to be an oddity. Kirsten is a psyonic in the police force's Division Zero, the psych squad. Her rare talent allows her to look into others' minds and wield literally mindblowing blasts of psionic energy, to see into the astral plane and interact directly with the ghosts that inhabit it. Rarest of all, Kirsten can do more than simply see ghosts: she can deal out damage. When Division Zero starts getting reports of android "dolls" going crazy with no evidence of hardware or software failure, Kirsten is sent to take a look. What she finds will take her on a path that will lead to vengeful spirits, corporate espionage, paid assassins, and some seriously narrow escapes.
My favourite aspect of the book was definitely the worldbuilding. The world is drawn with sparse, broad strokes: we know that Mars is settled, that there's some kind of war going on between a massive corporate conglomerate and what's left of the united states, that huge areas of the mega-cities were abandoned to fall into dangerous and disreputable Dark Zones, that towering city-structures caused the Beneath, the city under the city, to become the home of mutant humans and apocalyptics. I would have loved to understand more of the political climate, to see more of the underpinnings of the world, but I liked its wide scope. I really loved the little details such as the in-apartment auto-laundry machines and the restaurants perched atop the skyscrapers whose offerings consisted entirely of imaginatively reconstituted OmniSoy. Cox's imagined future has a multitude of rich detail, from the stint packs that can heal on command to the digital sticks used as money to the smart mattress gels that change shape and temperature to accommodate a body.
Despite the immersive worldbuilding, I had some difficulty getting into the book. Cox has a rather grating tendency to fall into infodumping, mostly of the "As You Know" variety. For example, the book starts out with a conversation between Kirsten and an old friend who proceed to have a long, awkwardly revelatory conversation about Kirsten's talents and background as well as the current structure of the world. While I understand that Cox is trying to avoid direct exposition, having people "tell" in a set of artificial conversations isn't quite the same thing as "showing." This infodumping led to a vague dissatisfaction because the characters' tendency to discuss and debate their own culture made them feel a bit like outsiders in their own society. While I looked forward to more details about the world, most of the infodumps centred on Kirsten's history.
Unfortunately, I also found Kirsten herself somewhat irritating. She has an impressively tragic past, but in my opinion, tragedy is not a substitute for personality. Kirsten is a slight blonde with beautiful "sapphire" eyes and a figure that is displayed to advantage by her skintight black uniform, and Cox never lets you forget it. Cox certainly put a lot of effort into writing an indisputably female character: despite the urgent situations around her, Kirsten spends a lot of time "hugging," "pouting," and "sulking," and also emotes and cries at the drop of a hat. She appears to think about men at least once every seven seconds and sizes up every Y-chromosome she meets for desirability; at the ripe age of twenty-two, she is already bemoaning her inability to catch a man and her inevitably single future. Even though the main character is female, the book came terrifyingly close to failing the Bechdel test, mainly because Kirsten's friend Nicole is even more appallingly "man-mad" than Kirsten. The two spend most of their conversations giggling about men, discussing "tits and asses" (yes, in those terms), and bemoaning the fact that men tend to stop sexually harrassing them as soon as they discover the women are Division 0. Take Kirsten's reaction to crude come-ons:
"That's hot. Pure girls are the best." [...] "Kirsten appraised him with an unprepared blink, surprised at her disappointment in the lack of direct come on."
The "tits and ass" jokes, are, in fact, ubiquitous throughout. As far as I could tell, most of the "humour" appears to be derived from the impressive amount of sexual harassment that Kirsten and other women receive from their male counterparts. Given that we encounter several women who are in positions of power, plus the fact that bionic enhancements would remove any disparities in strength, I found the entrenched sexual harassment to be unrealistic as well as utterly unamusing. Kirsten's attitude didn't improve matters. Given that she thinks that
"It's harassment only if you don't want it, and they don't stop when you tell them to get lost."
I surmise that someone is in need of basic sensitivity training.
The ghosts also felt like a missed opportunity. The general idea is promising: ghosts with unfinished business stick around. They will either vanish into a place of light or be dragged off by the shadowy Harbingers. While this setup provides a lot of interesting directions, most of the discussion centres around a somewhat sophomoric philosophical discussion of religion. Because of her background, Kirsten is vehemently anti-religious and takes the bisected world of bright light and horrible dark to be "proof" that there is no god. Not only did her self-righteous, narrow-minded attitude do nothing for her likeability; the standard light/dark duology constricted an interesting idea into a rather heavy-handed and pedestrian religious debate.
The plot itself is fast-paced, with plenty of adventures, attacks, and ghostly encounters. Kirsten spends most of her time with her partner Dorian, and I liked both his character and their dynamics. Certain awkward phrasing, such as "He sent a belaboured face at the ceiling" pulled me out of the narrative, but in general, I think the fast pace and heavy action made the book an enjoyable read. Unfortunately, the pacing meant that many of the world's most intriguing aspects were left unexplored. For example, I think the droids had a lot of potential, but internal inconsistencies lessened their appeal. In Kirsten's world, self-aware droids are able to gain citizenship and failing to repair a seriously broken droid is considered murder. Leaving aside the fact that failing to provide medical assistance to humans isn't considered murder unless you're a doctor, these same dolls are casually spoken of as objects to be bought and sold, as tools "on the market." All the dolls we see, even the self-aware ones, are utilized as tools by their owners rather than people, which seems inconsistent with the descriptions in-text. I was struck by certain similarities to a video game: the plot is action-filled, convoluted, and has a heavy dependence on concatenations of coincidence. At the same time, there was at least one twist I really enjoyed.
Overall, I really admired the breadth of imagination that went into the worldbuilding, and I think the interesting ideas and large scope did much to offset some technical flaws. While my issues with Kirsten and some aspect of the plot decreased my enjoyment in the story, if you're in the mood for a cyberpunk adventure with a lot of action and creativity, it's definitely worth a look.
~~I received this ebook through NetGalley from the publisher, Curiosity Quills, in exchange for my honest review.~~
Makenna "Mac" Fraser, a transplant from small-town North Carolina, is just beginning to adjust to life in the Big Apple.Cross-posted at booklikes.
Makenna "Mac" Fraser, a transplant from small-town North Carolina, is just beginning to adjust to life in the Big Apple. Getting used to her new job as a Seer for the SPI (Supernatural Protection and Investigations) is a trickier prospect. As the only Seer in the region, Mac's ability to penetrate the veils that hide the supernatural world from the rest of humanity are practically invaluable to SPI investigations. The short, blonde, frail Mac isn't exactly tough crimefighting material, so she's been paired with the supersoldier-ex-cop-monsterhunter Ian Byrne, and he's not precisely thrilled to act as her babysitter. Mac isn't one to let her lack of skills and experience stop her, but when she decides to do an off-the-books nachtgnome irradication for a friend, she stumbles right into a far more serious crime. A pair of killer monsters--descendants of the legendary Grendel--are loose in the city and looking for some long-delayed revenge. If SPI doesn't stop them before New Year's Eve, it won't be long before the whole world catches on to the supernatural shenanigans...
The Grendel Affair is a fast, fluffy read. The basic setup is essentially a bowdlerized and gun-porn-free version of Larry Correia's Monster Hunters International (MHI), and the overall plot is the standard secret organization/race-against-time storyline. The style and characters felt very similar to those in Shearin's full-fantasy Raine Benares series. Like Raine, Mac is a low-power female saddled with some seriously significant supernatural skills. Like the Raine Benares series, the plot is lighthearted, the main protagonist is engaging, the cast is full of comic relief, and the romance is kept to a very low level. If you enjoyed Raine Benares, then definitely give this book a try. However, while I loved the idea of Revenge of the Grendels, the strong similarities to MHI, gaping plotholes, and some character issues meant that The Grendel Affair isn't going to make it on my favourites list.
Mac is a reasonably likable protagonist, but while I appreciated how Shearin used the Seer skillset to avoid the standard superbadass-tough-girl female of urban fantasy, I had very mixed feelings about Mac herself. Mac is klutzy, delicate, and pretty, and has a disturbing tendency to get herself into damsel-in-distress situations. At the opening of the story, I was vastly irritated by her combination of stunning incompetence and impressive self-assurance. As the story continues, even she begins to recognize just how clueless and incompetent she actually is, but she trades her overweening self-assurance for angst and self-doubt. Her feminine flutterings also seemed inconsistent to me; she's supposedly a country girl who has done her share of hunting. How can it possibly be harder to shoot a ravening monster than a solemn-eyed deer? It was frustrating to have a female protagonist who really did require a babysitter: while her comparative weakness could be due only to her self-doubting unreliability as a narrator, she gives plenty of factual instances of failure, such as the time she lets someone get kidnapped right in front of her without pulling her gun or putting up any sort of fight. Throughout, Mac highlights just how incompetent she is compared to her male peers. She repeatedly makes stupid decisions, freezes up, and gets herself into situations that she can't handle and that force one of the men to rescue her. As Ian the babysitter tells her,
"I'm learning that when I take my eyes off you, all hell's liable to break loose, so watching you is safer for everyone."
While I'm not big on supergirl protagonists and I like how much opportunity Mac will have to grow throughout the series, I kept wishing for Mac to exhibit just a little more competence once in a while. At the same time, I liked Mac's narrative style (and massive cookie addiction); I'm a subvocalizer, so I heard the whole book in her Appalachian accent (she's from near Asheville, NC) and enjoyed every minute of it.
While the story makes for a fast and easy read, I think it lacked a certain substance or solidity. I don't think Shearin put a lot of thought into her worldbuilding. Even the more imaginative touches weren't precisely original--for example, her holy-water paintball gun is ripped straight out of Jim Butcher's Dresden Files. Most of my issues with the book are entirely my fault. I'm a nitpicky, OCD reader; while I can easily suspend disbelief about magic, mayhem, and monsters, flaws in the story's internal logic drive me up the wall. Shearin's story takes place within a super-secret, super-hardcore organization, so to me, the massive security holes and impressively myopic, unprofessional actions that serve to push the plot along came across as plotholes and dented my ability to enjoy the story. Take the issue of doppelgangers. Doppelgangers are apparently a common problem in Mac's world, yet the top-secret SPI has no basic measures in place to prevent infiltration. How can Mac's adventure possibly be the first time they've been up against doppelganger problems?
The epic logic fail doesn't end there. (view spoiler)[ For example, why on earth do they assume that because they know a doppelganger was involved, they have the correct "version" of Mac now? She could have easily been replaced at any point within the story, both before and after the discovery of the doppelganger. How is it that after they know a doppelganger is present, they don't make any major security changes? Even assuming that doppelgangers have precisely the same biomechanics, fingerprints, DNA, etc. as their victims, even in our world, a standard security measure is ensuring that no employee swipes in twice without swiping out. Plus, given the existence of doppelgangers, SPI employees should have decided upon a set of "secret questions" that can be asked on demand with both true answers and dummy answers, where the dummy answers immediately indicate that security has been compromised. These questions should be repeated in a non-discernable pattern and changed regularly. Additional secret questions should be saved back for verification in extraordinary times. Doppelgangers were far from the only plotholes in the story. A few of my quibbles: --If you're going to use monsters to prove the existence of a hidden world, why use grendels? Since they don't have any superpowers other than strength and toughness, aren't they imminently explainable as a newly-discovered species or a genetic experiment gone rogue? --Why keep only one copy of the plans? Given that one of the baddies had the thumbdrive, why not make copies? And why on earth weren't the files encrypted? --Why abduct Ollie? --Why put his toupee in the refrigerator? What possible purpose could be served, other than alerting the SPI to danger? --Even the opening with the nachtgnome was irritating. Not only did it highlight Mac's staggering incompetence and even more impressive self-confidence; it also had an irritating logic fail: they had three bottles of alcohol. Three. Why did they give up at two? --While I liked the paintballing (despite its Dresden Files derivation), the use case is illogical. Why not spray the entire place with a wide-angle paint sprayer? Paint, water, or anything else would have made the monsters visible. There was no need for a seer or a precision shot except to make the plot more "exciting." --Another plothole was introduced by the camera scene. Since Mac can see past the veil via camera, why did she travel with one group down into the underground? Why not keep the incompetent, untrained Seer nice and safe by leaving her at SPI Headquarters and using a camera? That would also give her the opportunity to supervise all of the groups at once. Seer skills working over camera shots just opens up way too many possibilities that Shearin didn't consider. --And then there's the tequila gun. Call me a pyro, but that's a perfect opportunity to set everything on fire. --Even the origin story is a little fuzzy. Why did they manage to pick up on the veracity of Mac's skills from a National-Enquirer-style story? (hide spoiler)] As with most of my plot nitpicks, these issues could have been easily explained by some creative thinking or even a little judicious lampshade hanging. Yet again, I really, really wish there were such a thing as Plothole Beta Readers. They would save all the OCD readers like me a lot of tooth-grinding.
All the same, there are plenty of aspects of the story to enjoy. Beowulfian monsters are always a win, and I liked most of the characters, including the Russian werewolf and the (literal) dragon lady boss. I even rather liked the ever-put-upon and ever-patronising Ian. SPI also seemed like a fun place to work--I loved the little details like the coworker-donated desk trinkets. Overall, The Grendel Affair is good clean fun, and I can definitely think of worse ways to spend a few hours.
~3.5
~~I received this book via the Goodreads First Reads program.~~...more
"Personally, I'd never had any desire to save the world. Decorate it? Yes. Save it? No."
So says MacKayla "Mac" Lane, a blissful **edited 11/28/13
"Personally, I'd never had any desire to save the world. Decorate it? Yes. Save it? No."
So says MacKayla "Mac" Lane, a blissfully blonde, beautiful, buxom bartender Barbie from Georgia. Of course, that was before her sister is murdered, left alone to die in a dingy alley on the other side of the world. Reeling from grief, Mac embarks on an ill-judged journey to Dublin, and her life of cheerful banality utterly disintegrates. Suddenly, the continued availability of Iceberry Pink nail polish is no longer the biggest worry of her world. For when Mac reaches Dublin, she discovers that fairies are real and that she is one of the rare humans who can see through their glamours. With her new vision, the world is a more frightening place: predators suck the life and soul out of unsuspecting humans, terrifyingly beautiful beings attack humans with deadly allure, and a mysteriously knowledgeable man seems to have his own subtle schemes for Mac.
Why? Because I strongly disapprove of GoodReads' new policy of censorship. (The link brings you to a summary of The Story So Far, which has facts and links so you can make up your own mind about the GR débâcle.)
As this is one of the trope-makers for the urban fantasy genre, it was quite interesting to read. Even I found the worldbuilding fasc**edited 12/15/13
As this is one of the trope-makers for the urban fantasy genre, it was quite interesting to read. Even I found the worldbuilding fascinating. However, I did not enjoy it, and, as usual, I'm going to work off my ill humour by enumerating precisely why. With all my complaints, I do not exactly regret reading this. Hamilton's influence is visible throughout almost all of the books in our current urban fantasy genre, from the Dresden Files (Jim Butcher explicitly acknowledges his debt to Hamilton) to Kate Daniels to Rachel Morgan. Due to my failure to sympathise with the protagonist and the story's rather unsettling fascination with rape themes, I was unable to enjoy the book on its own merits. However, if you're a more easygoing reader than me and are interested in seeing the birth of many of the themes that echo throughout UF, take a look.
Gotta say, I'm impressed: this contains the shoddiest, most illogical worldbuilding I have so far encountered. Congrats on that! Basic**edited 01/18/14
Gotta say, I'm impressed: this contains the shoddiest, most illogical worldbuilding I have so far encountered. Congrats on that! Basically, our protagonist is dragged into a parallel world in which guns were never invented (Barant incorrectly dates their creation to the 12th century and says that history "went differently"), vampires and werewolves fought and won a battle with humans, and despite this, literally almost every single aspect of society evolved in precisely the same way as our own. Every country, every city was colonised in an identical fashion. Despite the radical disruption in timelines, practically every invention, institution, and product of our world--Crown Vics, plastic, the internet, servers, the Seattle Needle, the FBI, Prohibition, 401K's, Harleys, even freaking napalm--evolved identically.
I've been meaning to read Dead Witch Walking for a while, and when I found it on audio at my library, I snatched thBook Reaction (not a full review)
I've been meaning to read Dead Witch Walking for a while, and when I found it on audio at my library, I snatched the opportunity. I'm glad I did. Harrison has an addictively readable style, and her worldbuilding felt both fun and original. Long story short: after a genetic mutation carried in a tomato managed to exterminate half the world's human population, the supernaturals decided to step out of the closet. Forty years later, the humans tend to avoid the paranormal parts of town and have a paralyzing fear of tomatoes.
I liked Rachel as a narrator, even though I think she's an idiot who managed to dig herself into every problem she found and need her friends' help to extricate herself. She also wins Worst Supernatural Detective Award of the Month. (Seriously, how has she not yet guessed what Trent is?) Her impulsivity definitely propels the plot, and I loved her interactions with Jenks the positively potty pixy.
I have really only one serious issue with the book: the vampire version of slut-shaming. Ivy the vampire keeps misreading Rachel's signals as come-ons, and then Rachel accepts blame as unintentionally acting like a "vampire hussy." Their "compromise" is for Rachel to not get excited during arguments, wear particular perfumes, be careful with her clothes, etc, because clearly it's all Rachel's fault when Ivy loses control. It's the same rationalization as "She's wearing provocative clothing, so she was asking for it." Whatever the arena, I'm really, really tired of victim-blaming.
But for all that, I'm interested to see what Harrison does with her characters, and I adored how many plot arcs that the book set up. There are enough warning signs coming off of Nick to power a lighthouse, and we don't even know what will happen with the demon mark. Last but not least, the narrator, Marguerite Gavin, has a pleasant voice and an animated narrative style. I just put in a request for the next book. ...more
In Kate Daniels' dystopian world of post-Shift Atlanta, waves of magic and technology alternately shut down spellwork and machinery, **edited 01/02/14
In Kate Daniels' dystopian world of post-Shift Atlanta, waves of magic and technology alternately shut down spellwork and machinery, the cultish "People" control the minds of vampires, and tensions between shapeshifters and humans are growing. (Yes, this is a dystopia. My proof: the massive chocolate shortage.) Kate, recently mated to the Beast Lord Curran, is well aware of the dislike that human organisations such as the Merciful Order feel for the weres; in fact, shapeshifter backing might explain why Kate's new business venture as a private investigator has flopped so thoroughly. However, Kate is about to rue the day her boredom was broken. When she receives a call from a vampire navigator that one of his creatures has gone rogue, she soon realises that the sudden loss of magical control is far from an isolated incident. Since things clearly aren't complex enough, Kate finally receives her first case: find a missing inventor and his brand new doomsday device. On the positive side, at least she has a more interesting answer when asked how her day went...
To tell the truth, this is one of the many reviews I've been procrastinating on, in this case, because of an internal war between the irresistible urge to vent my viewpoint versus a bit of shame for being That Person. You know when you go out to see a fun comedy/adventure movie, and you invite your uptight friend along, and they ignore all the pulse-racing action scenes and hilarious one-liners and focus humorlessly on how politically unsound and sexist it was? Worse still, not only do they utterly fail to enjoy it, but on the ride home, they insist upon telling you precisely why? Fair warning--in this review, I'm going to be That Person. (Even more than usual.)
It's hard to imagine a worse familial situation than being married to two men and, due to an unfortunate concatenation of circumstances**edit 11/26/13
It's hard to imagine a worse familial situation than being married to two men and, due to an unfortunate concatenation of circumstances, being simultaneously pregnant with both of their children. Add in a psychotic father who wants you dead and you really have a party. So how do Kate and Curran get themselves involved with this interesting family? In Kate Daniel's world, panacea may not cure all ills, but it does help with loupism. With Julie's best friend in dire need, Curran, Kate, and most of their gang head off to Europe to try to get their hands on the magical medicine in exchange for guarding the pregnant woman from her loving relatives. ... Due to my disapproval of GR's new and highly subjective review policy,the rest (of my long, rather cranky review) is posted over here at Booklikes.
Now knowing that panacea has at least a little basis in previous worldbuilding, call it ~3.3....more
~2.5 I recently had a conversation with a non-native-speaker in which I tried to explain that American phrases are not the sum of thei**edited 11/27/13
~2.5 I recently had a conversation with a non-native-speaker in which I tried to explain that American phrases are not the sum of their parts, and, in particular, that (a) telling a woman that she "really gets around" does not imply admiration of world travel, and (b) to "put out" doesn't mean "put" plus "out." He complained that speaking with Americans was extremely difficult: they speak fast, use colloquialisms, try to turn every remark into a joke based on some obscure reference or other, and are constantly waiting to throw in The Dreaded Pun. He said he found that the best policy was to smile, nod, and hope that the inexplicable laughter wasn't directed at him. After reading this book, I have gained a new sympathy for his point of view.
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