bookshelves of doom

Future bag.

Soon to be in my Etsy shop -- a bag displaying the best Hardy Boys picture I've ever come across (from a decrepit copy of The Arctic Patrol Mystery):

Heh.

Commute listening.

I still can't believe it's taken me so long to hop on the audiobook* train.  This morning, my twenty minute commute felt like a five minute hop, even though it was PROBABLY, in actuality, longer than usual because of the craptastic road conditions.

Anyway.

I just finished up The Essential Agatha Christie Stories, which was, for the most part, awesome.  David Suchet and Hugh Fraser read most of the stories, with Joan Hickson and Christopher Lee(!) popping in for a few. 

High points:  "Jane in Search of a Job" and "The Girl in the Train", which were both hijinks-type mysteries/love stories.  SO.  CUTE.  And they were new to me, which was exciting -- I thought I'd already read all of her short stories.

Low point:  The last story, which was narrated by Jonathan Cecil.  Wow.  I was not impressed by his Poirot.

Up next:  Pillars of the Earth.  I know, I know, like 25 years late.  Whatever.  I will not be bossed.

So far, I'm liking it, though I'm finding it rather repetitive.  Really, Tom?  You're angry that No-Lips bashed your daughter's head in AND you think Ellen is a hottie?  YOU DON'T SAY.  Oh, wait.  You DID say.  47 TIMES.

But, like I said, I'm enjoying it enough that my drive is seeming way short.  OH, LOOK.  REPETITION IS CONTAGIOUS.

________________________________________________________________________

*Though now I'm even more out of touch with current events, as I haven't been listening to the news in the morning.

_________________________________________________________________________

Amazon Affiliate:  If you click through to Amazon and buy something, I get money.

Catching up: The Season, by Sarah MacLean

While my TBR piles are still towering over me, the To Be Written About piles are starting to give 'em a run for their money.  So I'm going to do some short responses -- I need to return a pile of them to the library before my co-worker calls me a deadbeat again.

The Season, by Sarah MacLean

This one and I didn't get along.  I was so very excited about it, because:  Regency era!  Romance!  Murder!  Mystery!

But...

I found that the only aspect of the book that suggested that it wasn't set in the modern day to me (other than the descriptions of the clothes and the settings) was that the characters spoke slightly formally.  The main character slouched on a couch (while wearing the dress for her debut), she rolled her eyes at her mother, the banter she exchanged with the menfolk was more akin to stuff I hear from the kids in the library than anything I'd imagine actually coming out of the mouth of a Regency Miss, and while I've read and enjoyed many-a-book starring a Young Lady Who Can Think Of One Million Things She'd Rather Do Than Get Married and read and enjoyed many-a-book starring a Young Lady Who Is More Modern Minded Than Her Times, I just couldn't believe in Lady Alexandra Stafford.  Let alone like her.  And the other characters felt like props.

It is extremely possible that I didn't give this one enough of a chance.  I didn't finish it, because my annoyance level was so very high.  But I am aware that many others loved it, so maybe my inherent crank is causing trouble again.

Huh.  At this rate, I'll be through my pile in no time.

_________________________________________________________________________

Book source:  ILLed from my local library.

_________________________________________________________________________

I'm part of the Amazon Affiliate program.  Which I'd assume would be apparent by the ad in the sidebar, but assuming that you're bright enough to understand that is not enough for the FTC.  So, I will spell it out:  if you click through to Amazon and buy something, I get money.  Why, you ask? Well, gosh.  How else will I ever fill my swimming pool with gold doubloons?

Gentlemen -- Michael Northrop

Until I saw this book cover up close, I thought the kid was wearing a hoodie.

But... nope.  It's a body bag.  Yowza.  Big points to the designer.  [Later:  Just found this post about the process behind creating the cover.  They definitely made the right call in changing it.]

Since I loved his voice so very much, I'll let Micheal introduce himself (this is from page two):

I started out in 9A, in case you're wondering, one down from honors.  I'd done OK on the test they made us all take back at the end of eighth grade.  Better than OK, but the classes didn't work out.  They said I wasn't "applying myself," and that's fair enough.  Then I threw Oscar Tully a serious beating for saying something he shouldn't've, and that was that, down to general in the middle of the third marking period.  I had no idea what was going on in G, and I didn't really feel like trying to figure it out.  Sophomore year started and I found myself in 10R.

Fine with me, that's where someone like me belongs--someone of my "pedigree," if you read me.  This should clue you in:  My first name is spelled wrong.  It's Micheal instead of Michael.  Mom or Dad, one of them dropped the ball on that one, probably Dad, in the hospital or wherever it is you fill out that paperwork.  Not that it matters; everyone calls me Mike.  Still, it's a bad way to start things out.

Micheal, Mixer, Tommy and Bones have been friends for a long time.  They know each other well.  So, when Tommy doesn't show up in his afternoon classes after throwing a desk in math, the others don't think much of it.  After all, it's likely that he's been suspended.

But then he doesn't show up the next day.  And he doesn't answer his phone.  And his mother doesn't know where he is.

That's when the three remaining boys start to think about what went on in English class that day.  And about what may have really happened to Tommy.

Short version:  Gentlemen gets a Hulk-sized double thumbs-up from me.  I'm totally in love with it and you really should run to your local library and snag it immediately.

Longer-but-still short version:  What, you don't believe me?  See above.  Yeesh.  Really.  Micheal is very bright, very perceptive and always believable.  His voice is fresh and distinct, clever in a way that feels new, gritty and hard-boiled in a way that feels true to his age, and darkly funny in a way that never comes off as flip or downplays the situation.  He spun the story out in a way that kept me guessing until he himself realized what had happened and what was going to happen, and I'm just totally in love.  Even after finishing the book, I find that I'm thinking of him as a real person.

It's an outstanding, excellent book, and I very much hope that Michael Northrup will have more to come for the YA audience.

___________________________________________________________________

Book source:  ILLed from my local library.

___________________________________________________________________

I read this book for the 2009 Cybils.  (It had been on my TBR list for a zillion years as well -- the nomination just got my rear in gear.)

If you aren't up for reading the new Dan Brown...

...you could read John Crace's Digested version of The Lost Symbol.

Or even better, you could read his as-he-read-it play-by-play:

Langdon hurried towards the Rotunda. The lecture was due to start in five minutes and he was running late. Still, he was well-prepared. The Symbolism of the Freemasons was his latest research project and what better place than to deliver his lecture than in the hall designed by Benjamin Franklin and so many of the founding fathers of America and Freemasonry? He strode onwards through the clunky sentences and the turgid repetition of pointless information till he reached his destination.

Heh.

The Morgue and Me -- John C. Ford

The Morgue and Me begins:

When you're eighteen years old and you shoot somebody in a public place at two in the morning, of course you expect some attention.  Especially when it's the person I shot, and especially when you're found right there on the scene with that person at your feet, gasping away in a pool of blood that seeps around your shoes.  Still, I find it really embarrassing.

The summer before his freshman year of college, photography enthusiast and aspiring spy Christopher Newell gets a summer job at the morgue.  He was supposed to work at the NWMU astronomy department, but that fell through when... well, it's a long story.

Anyway, the morgue.  While snooping (there's really no other word for it) in the coroner's office, he finds $15,000 in cash.  Which is weird.  But then when he realizes that the coroner falsified his most recent report... well, Christopher Newell is pretty good at math.

He teams up with Tina, a Trans Am driving, fishnet wearing, drinking, smoking, big mouthed (and extremely attractive) young journalist -- he wants to solve the mystery, she wants a big break -- and before the two of them know it, they're up to their ears in an investigation that seems to involve every single powerful person in their Michigan town.

And powerful people do not usually take kindly to being investigated: especially when that investigation is conducted by a couple of nobodies and involves corruption, blackmail and murder.

Christopher's narration definitely brings to mind a hard-boiled detective -- not because he is one (or acts like one), mind you, but because he wants to be one -- and it especially comes out in some of his descriptions of people:

I've heard that lots of movie stars have huge heads.  I don't know about his acting skills, but Corbett was qualified in the head department.  His giant helmet of black hair was gelled so thick I could almost see a reflection of the clouds in it.  On his feet he wore tiny black loafers, equally shiny.  In between, there was lots of tailored clothing.

His relationship with Tina is especially well done.  He has to remind himself to stop drooling every time he looks at her even though he knows it is SO not going to happen -- and that attraction persists throughout the book, even as their working relationship develops into a genuine friendship.  And, very importantly, they're rather hilarious:

"See?"  Tina said.  "You lurk a little, you get your answers."

"I'm not sure it was the lurking.  I think it was more the asking."

"Whatever.  We're lurking till I finish this drink."

And while Tina easily could have become a two-dimensional stock character (because it isn't like we haven't met the brash and brassy type many, many times before), she didn't.  As the book progressed, as she and Christopher got to know each other, she became more and more real.  By the end of the book, I felt like she was as much a main character as he was.

Big thumbs up here -- it's a strong mystery (minus one plot point that felt really, really wrong) that feels both classic and contemporary.  It was suspenseful and twisty and funny with strong secondary characters and just good all around.  I know I always say it when I find one, but here I go again:  I'm so glad that we're starting to see more noir-ish crime novels written for and marketed to the teen audience. 

__________________________________________________________________

Book source:  My local library.

__________________________________________________________________

Cross-posted at Guys Lit Wire.

Cut to the Quick: Julian Kestrel Mysteries, #1 -- Kate Ross

From Cut to the Quick:

Julian Kestrel had first appeared in London society a year or two ago, and hardly anything was known about him, though he was said to be related in some dubious way to a landed family in the north.  If he had been anything but a dandy, such vagueness about his pedigree would have been fatal, but of course the most spectacular of the dandies were absolved from Society's usual inquisition into breeding and birth.

Really, I don't know why you'd need more than that.  I mean, if I were you, I'd have already heaved myself out of my chair and headed out to grab a copy.

Buuut if you do need more:  After rescuing young Hugh Fontclair from a tight spot in a gaming hell, Julian Kestrel is invited be the best man at Fontclair's wedding.  Which is odd, because before the rescue, the two had never even exchanged pleasantries.

Julian accepts the invitation and, with Dipper (his ex-pickpocket valet, because OF COURSE his valet is an ex-pickpocket) in tow, he wanders down to stay at Bellegarde, where he discovers that the pre-wedding atmosphere is anything but comfortable.  The two families about to be united by holy matrimony and wedded bliss hate each other so very much that they find it difficult to even spend time in the same room.

So it almost isn't even that surprising when a murder occurs.

Cut to the Quick is the first book in the Julian Kestrel series -- a series that I've been meaning to read forever and ever, but that I kept putting off because I was pretty sure I'd fall in love and then be bereft when I finished the last of the four.  (The author died in 1998.)

So, you know.  I'd been avoiding future literary misery.

But, you know.  I had to put an end to my years of procrastination and start myself down the road to depression SOMETIME.

After reading Book One, I'm pretty durned sure that I'm going to be seriously depressed when I'm done.  Because, wow.  Love Julian Kestrel.  Love love love. 

Like Peter Wimsey, people tend to underestimate him because he's a dandy and because he's comfortable letting people underestimate him.  But he's just wonderful in every way, as 11-year-old Philippa quickly learns:

"If everyone who died with unpunished sins on his conscience came back as a ghost, the living would be crowded out of ever house in England."

"You're cynical.  I thought you would be.  Can you sneer?"

"With terrifying effect."

"Oh, do it, please!  I want to see it!"

"I'm afraid you're much too young to withstand it.  I should be accused of stunting your growth--perhaps ever sending you into a decline."

"I wouldn't go into a decline.  I'm robust.  My governess says so.  But, come along, I mustn't make you late to dinner."

Sadly, she didn't end up appearing in much of the book, but I highly, highly, HIGHLY recommend it to those of you who like the Regency era, historical mysteries, Dorothy Sayers, Georgette Heyer, etc., etc., etc.  It's got great characters, setting, dialogue, clothing descriptions, and it's a really decent whodunnit.  While I correctly identified the murderer very early on, I had no idea what the motive was, and there were a million-and-six very reasonable red herrings. 

In a nutshell: HOO-FREAKING-RAY, this book is made of awesome!

_____________________________________________________________________

Book source:  ILL, because my local library doesn't have this series, GRRR!

The Case of the Two Watsons.

(via Hark, A Vagrant!, which I will be following from now on.)

Happy Accidents*.

I've discovered that while full-length novels don't really work for my daily commute (it makes me bananas to stop and start in the middle of a chapter), I've discovered that short stories really work for me.  So I've been listening to David Suchet and Hugh Fraser read Poirot's Early Cases.

I'm in love.  I'm going to be so depressed when I've listened to them all.

Oh, the serendipitous part?  I just noticed (via sarahw) that Christie week is coming up.

______________________________________________________________________

*I love that movie.  Do you love that movie?   YOU HAVEN'T SEEN IT??  For shame:

Happy Accidents Marisa Tomei Vincent Phillip D'Onofrio | Movie Trailers

And Only to Deceive -- Tasha Alexander

When Emily accepted the proposal of the dashing (and rich) Viscount Philip Ashton, it wasn't for any of the usual reasons.  Not for his money or his title, and certainly not because she loved him.  It was to escape her domineering mother.

So, when Philip died on safari shortly after the wedding, Emily was less distraught than one would expect.  After all, though she had had some nice moments with Philip, she hardly even knew him. 

She has to act the grieving widow for society -- but secretly, widowhood agrees with Emily.  She has much more freedom than she ever would have as a wife, and she has much more freedom than she ever did have as a daughter.

As she comes to the end of her mourning period, though, she begins reading her husband's recently-unearthed journals.  Not only does she discover that there was much more to her husband than she'd previously believed -- not to mention the fact that he was truly, deeply in love with her -- but she also uncovers a mystery.  One that, if explored too deeply, may put her own life in danger...

One of my very favorite things about And Only to Deceive was that Emily exhibited actual development of character.  Rather than an Unusual Upbringing Resulting In A Heroine With Semi-Modern Sensibilities (a la Lady Julia Grey and Amelia Peabody*), Emily explores her new-found freedom slowly and tentatively, and (almost) always remembers to keep Society's Opinion in mind.  That isn't to say that she doesn't make some mistakes -- a bit of freedom to someone unused to it can make for a bit of recklessness.

Add to that a love story with a dead (or is he?) man, a couple of swoony moments with a live man, a discovery and exploration of classic literature and archeology on the part of our heroine, and a rather xenophobic lady's maid, and the result is an enjoyable romantic mystery.

I was a bit disappointed with Emily's inability to spot the villain from a mile away -- after all, she's supposed to be very bright, as well as a great reader of popular novels, so she really should have pegged him from Minute One -- but I can't fault her for much else.  After all, there were plenty of pieces of the puzzle that I wasn't sure about until I was quite close to the end.  I'll pick up Book Two soon.

______________________________________________________________________

*That is NOT to suggest that I don't adore Lady Julia and Mrs. Emerson with all of my heart.  Because I do love them.

______________________________________________________________________

Book source:  Bought with money earned from the sweat of my brow.

Mistress of the Art of Death -- Ariana Franklin

England, 1170.  After the Catholics of Cambridge turn into a riotous mob because they believe that the Jews are to blame for the particularly horrific murder of a child, Henry II finds himself in a bit of a bind.  As all of the Cambridge Jews are now living in Cambridge castle (for protection), he's losing much needed tax revenue.  Also, it's clear that they are innocent.

So he contacts the King of Sicily, and asks for a "master of the art of death".

And the King of Sicily complies.  Sort of.  He sends Simon, an investigatory genius -- who happens to be Jewish; Mansur, a Saracen castrato; and Vesuvia Adelia Rachel Ortese Aguilar, a Mistress of the Art of Death.

Of course, in England, publicly admitting to being a female doctor is an impossibility.  So the three companions set up shop in Cambridge, with Mansur standing in as the doctor and Adelia as his translator and assistant.  And the investigation begins.

Well, I'm in love.  After finishing this one, I pulled Ye Olde Babble at the library.  Patrons had to listen to me yap on at length about how much I loved it and about how now I was all curious about Henry II and about the medical school at Salerno and about how if the library didn't get Ariana Franklin's other books, I was JUST. GOING. TO. DIE*.

The writing was lovely and evoked especially vivid images in my mind (though not always pretty ones), and it brought me to another time and place.  Adelia's status and perspective as an outsider in England allowed for plenty of musing on the culture of the time -- she noticed and thought about things that a Cambridge native probably would have taken for granted, and that, I think, added to the richness of the description and world building.  I cared about the characters very much, and found that even most of the secondary characters became real to me, the plotting surprised me again and again, and for me, best of all, I was really, really emotionally invested -- there was one specific section that had me deliriously happy until Something Bad Happened.  And I said, "Oh."  (Out loud, though I was alone in the house).  And then I had to put the book down, get up, drink a glass of water and compose myself.  Only then could I dive back in.

So thanks so much to Elizabeth and Arlene for the recommendation.  Good lord.  I totally owe the two of you a whoopie pie** or something.

________________________________________________________________________

*The director ordered them.  Possibly just to shut me up, but I'm not going to complain.  Because A) I'm not big on complaining and B) gift horses.

**In college, I discovered that there are many people who don't know what whoopie pies are.  Which is just wrong.  And sad.

_________________________________________________________________________

Book source:  My local library.

More sewing.

I've been sewing like a champ -- and I'm all about Nancy Drew bags at the moment. 

Just added two to my Etsy shop that feature illustrations I rescued from a falling-apart copy of The Mystery at Lilac Inn:

The Angel of Death: Cameryn Mahoney, Book 2 -- Alane Ferguson

I'm a sucker for cover art that features toe tags.  I realize that might mean I have problems.

I read The Christopher Killer ages and ages ago, had on-the-cooler-end-of-lukewarm feelings about it, and never got around to posting those thoughts here.  So The Angel of Death is not my first go-round with Cameryn Mahoney, seventeen-year-old forensic genius.

Cammie has pressure on her from all different directions: she lives and works with her coroner father, who encourages her interest in forensics -- but she also lives with her Catholic grandmother, who thinks that her interest is going to send her to Hell.  She and Deputy Crowley are clearly attracted to each other, but she's still in high school AND they work together.  And then there's that whole thing with her mother:  for reasons explained and explored in the first book, Cammie's mother hasn't really been in the picture in a long, long time.  Now she's back in the picture.  Sort of.  But Cammie hasn't told her father. 

So that's a source of stress.

Add to that an extremely dead high school teacher found by Big Man On Campus Mr. HottieMcHotHot Eagle Scout Kyle O'Neil -- who takes a shine to Cammie during the investigation -- and there's suddenly a lot going on in a usually sleepy Colorado town.

I still haven't found a forensics series that I adore, adult or YA.  The subject is just, well, neat, but as of yet, the characterization and writing in every forensic mystery I've read gets overshadowed by the science -- for me, the investigation and the detecting work steal the show.  Angel of Death was not an exception, except that not much of the book dealt with the actual forensics.  So... yeah.

Part of my issue with the book was certainly personal -- among other things*, I just don't like Cammie very much.  She's prone to being amazingly tortured and angsty** ("Now everyone, it seemed, hovered over Cameryn, anxious to find out what was happening inside her head, as though they possessed a set of sharp autopsy instruments all their own, poised and ready to pick her mind and dissect her heart.") and she's very much the type of brilliant-yet-clueless heroine that I end up yelling "OH, COME ON!  REALLY?  WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT?  HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW WHO THE BAD GUY IS???  I HAD HIM PEGGED BY THE COPY ON THE BACK OF THE BOOK!" at, and so without the forensics to entertain me, this one, sadly, didn't really work for me.

But it has, like, five stars at Amazon, so I'm clearly in the minority.

_____________________________________________________________

*I really did not find the dialogue believable.  Or the interactions between the teen characters.

**Just like I was in high school, so it's quite possible that the younger me would have enjoyed this much more.

Nobody's There -- Joan Lowery Nixon Read for the 4th Annual 48-Hour Book Challenge.

Abbie Thompson, 17, goes a little haywire when her father leaves the family, starts dating a much younger woman and buys a shiny red convertible.  So she chucks a rock through That Woman's apartment window. 

Because she has no prior record and there are clearly extenuating circumstances, the judge puts her on probation and requires that she join the Friend to Friend teens-helping-seniors program.  If she sticks it out (and keeps her nose clean) for a year, he'll give her a clean slate.

Unfortunately, Abbie doesn't get paired up with a sweet little tea-drinking, bon-bon-eating, Chinese-checker-playing, sunflower-hat-wearing grandmother-type.  No, she gets matched up with Edna Merkle, a crusty, bossy, grouchy old battleaxe who dresses like Claudia Kishi and thinks she's a PI.  Edna may be crazy (and crazy obnoxious), but she isn't stupid -- and when someone attacks and almost kills her, Abbie realizes too late that Mrs. Merkle may have been onto something big.  With the help of her 10-year-old brother and the comatose Mrs. Merkle's notebook, Abbie needs to crack the case so that someone doesn't get away with attempted murder.

Sadly, Nobody's Home was pretty weak.  It was one of Joan Lowery Nixon's later books -- it came out in 2000 and she died three years later -- and it just didn't have the spark that some of the others did.  It didn't feature much in the way of crazy-ass similes like The Name of the Game Was Murder.  Instead, it had the most cliched mid-life crisis/divorce storyline you could imagine (complete with cardboard Terrible Father, Sleazy New Girlfriend and Weepy Mother), a whole lot of stilted Scooby-Doo-ish dialogue:

"You're the worst kind of backstabbing snitch.  The world would be better off without you in it." (30)

"That car was headed right for us.  Didn't you see how fast he was traveling?  The driver didn't even slow down." (98)

"You and that old hag just couldn't mind your own business, could you!" (194)

and a plot devoid of twists.  Oh, and an awesome bit where Abbie calls the police station and they have no issue with giving her loads of information about the case.  I can take it when it's Nancy Drew getting info from the River Heights PD 24/7.  Anyone else, no go.

Not her best effort.  Rats.  But, you know how it is -- if you write over 130 books, there are bound to be a few stinkers.

____________________________________________________________________

Previous Challenge Books:

The Name of the Game Was Murder (also JLN)
Bloody Jack
Wild Girls

The Name of the Game was Murder -- Joan Lowery Nixon Read for the 4th Annual 48-Hour Book Challenge.

The Name of the Game Was Murder is Joan Lowery Nixon's take* on the classic Island Mystery set-up**, but it isn't just that -- it's also a solve-the-puzzle-to-find-the-treasure story.  The difference is that the characters aren't seeking a nice treasure, like in The Last Treasure.  Oh, no.  They're looking for a hidden manuscript that contains career-ending, life-ruining secrets.

Fifteen-year-old aspiring writer Samantha Burns invites herself to her great-aunt's house for a vacation because she wants some face-time with her great-aunt's husband:  novelist Augustus Trevor.

Turns out, he's a total jerk.  He's got two sides -- nasty and nastier.  It also turns out that her visit coincides with a treasure hunt/house party he has planned.  At first, despite her disappointment about her great-uncle's disposition, Sam is excited at the thought of rubbing elbows with celebrities:  an actress, a romance novelist, a football star, a Senator and a clothing designer***.  But she soon realizes that this is no regular house party -- none of the guests are really here by choice -- their "invitations" all included the line:

"If you don't take part, you'll soon regret it."

At dinner on the first night, Mr. Trevor outlines the game he's come up with:  Each guest will receive a series of clues, and the person who solves the puzzle won't be included in his tell-all book.  Everyone else will be ruined.

It will come as no surprise to anyone who's read a single murder mystery:  Augustus Trevor doesn't make it through the night alive.  And so it becomes a race to find the manuscript before the police investigation begins:  For Sam, because she believes the manuscript will be the key to finding the murderer, and for everyone else -- including her aunt -- because if it is destroyed, all of their darkest secrets will be safe.

I can't believe I just spent so much time explaining the very simple premise of this book.  I found, actually, that as I read, I kept trying to make the story more complicated than it was:  MAYBE HE'S NOT REALLY DEAD!  MAYBE THE HOUSEKEEPER IS ACTUALLY HIM OH NO WAIT THERE WAS THAT SCENE WHERE SHE WAS IN THE ROOM WITH HIM DAMN WELL MAYBE HE'S HIDING IN THE SERVANT'S HOUSE AND THE SERVANTS ARE ALL IN ON IT AND HE'S REALLY A JOLLY NICE FELLOW AND THERE'S A GOOD REASON FOR ALL OF THIS!  (That would be The Westing Game influence.)  Let me help you out here:  He's really dead.  He's really a nasty piece of work, and he's really dead.  There.  Now you can read it and try to figure out the clues without distraction.

I'll give you a hint, though -- you don't need the clues.  If, as you read, you keep an eye out for the MOST OBVIOUS HIDING PLACE THERE IS, you'll do just fine.  And you'll probably find the manuscript a good 120 pages before Sam, despite her Puzzle Prowess.

Joan Lowery Nixon does lurrrve the similes -- a few for your enjoyment:

Finally, his pupils, swimming like fat fish in goldfish bowls, focused on me. (4)

...her golden eyes [she's a sparklepire?] trained on Thea like piercing spotlights. (20)

...her words dragged, plopping themselves down like reluctant feet. (23)

I actually stopped keeping track of them because, despite the silliness of many aspects of the story, I got pulled in -- and despite my being almost 99.98% sure about the identity of the murderer, there were moments that had me genuinely feeling the suspense.  So, fun.  I'm glad I've decided to revisit Nixon and Duncan.

_______________________________________________________________

*Or at least one of her takes -- she's got so many books that I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that there are more.

**You know the one:  A murder occurs at a gathering in an isolated area while there is coincidentally a storm so that all of the characters are stuck together with a body and a killer for at least a weekend.  Think And Then There Were None.

***Who wears at one point, I kid you not, a shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest and what must be the world's largest ascot.

I must return to River Heights.

Nancy Drew and the Secret of the 3 Black Robes

Pish Posh -- Ellen Potter

Pish Posh begins:

If you walked into the Pish Posh restaurant on any given night, you would be sure to find a smallish eleven-year-old girl wearing large black sunglasses sitting by herself at a little round table in the back.  She had excellent posture and kept quite still--no fidgeting, no hair twisting, no smiling--while she watched the glittery and fabulous customers come and go.  Because her glasses were so large and so black, you could not tell whom she was looking at, which made the glittery, fabulous customers at the Pish Posh restaurant very, very nervous.

Eleven-year-old Clara Frankofile makes the glittery, fabulous customers nervous because she is able to spot, unerringly, people who have gone from being Somebodies to being Nobodies.  And Nobodies are not welcome at Pish Posh.

When she identifies Dr. Piff as a Nobody, his reaction leaves her feeling... unsettled.  Rather than slinking away, never to be seen (at least by Anybody Who Is Somebody) again, Dr. Piff sits down at Clara's private table.  And, before he leaves the restaurant forever, he mentions that there is something "peculiar and mysterious" going on at Pish Posh.  Something that Clara doesn't know about.  Which should be impossible.

But, as she soon discovers, it isn't.  There is something distinctly odd about Pish Posh's soup cook, but the investigation hits a dead end.  That forces her to do something she's never done before:  work with someone else.  And that someone else just so happens to be her own age -- and a jewel thief, to boot. 

I know I've said this before, but I really don't understand how or why Ellen Potter isn't more well-known.  Her books -- and I've now read all of them (so far) -- have a timeless quality that I'd think would appeal to Dahl and Snicket fans, as well as readers of older classics like Ruth Sawyer's Roller Skates.  Her books are set in the real world, but they have a fairy tale feel.

Pish Posh was no exception -- Clara, especially at first, is a bit of a horror:  pompous and snobby, an aged socialite in a young body.  But the more I learned about her, the more her behavior made sense, and, it wasn't long before her existence -- opulent private apartment, indoor roller coaster and all -- just seemed sad.

The mystery component of the story, while interesting and complicated (especially given the just-over-150-pages-length of the book), was very definitely secondary to Clara's personal journey.  This is a book about a girl figuring out what Life Is About.  And what she wants her life to be about.  Some readers have expressed distaste about the dark, violent part of the Pish Posh mystery, but that storyline, I felt, worked in favor of the classic feel -- think back to Roller Skates, for example (if you haven't read it, read it) -- and some have complained that there's too much going on in such a short book to allow for much depth, but the whole thing really worked for me.  I felt for Clara.  And I couldn't help liking her and rooting for her, even when she was being awful.

_________________________________________________________________

Previously:

Slob
Under the Radar Recommendation:  The Olivia Kidney books
2. Olivia Kidney and the Exit Academy
3. Olivia Kidney and the Secret Beneath the City

Bad Girls Don't Die -- Katie Alender

Alexis isn't a fan of much other than photography.  At school, she's pretty content being an outcast -- some might say she revels in it a bit.  She hangs out with the Doom Squad (her secret name for the Goth kids), but she hasn't had a best friend since eighth grade, when harassment from the jerk cheerleaders drove Beth Goldberg across multiple state lines to Florida.

Her mother is constantly working, her father isn't there even when he is, and her thirteen-year-old sister is obsessed with dolls.  Life isn't great, but it is what it is.  And, hey:  How many fifteen-year-olds have their own darkroom in the house?

But then things start getting weird.  While photographing her house late one night, Alexis sees a weird glowing ball outside.  She tells herself it was a swarm of fireflies. 

Then Kasey, her sister, starts acting... different.  Alexis tries to tell herself that Kasey's just going through a phase -- that she's just suffering from massive moodiness -- but deep down she's well aware that most normal mood swings, no matter how drastic, don't involve black outs and a change in eye color.

Yay for spooky ghost stories and yay for Bad Girls Don't Die.  I really liked this one.  I even read it in the car.

Although I liked it a whole lot, it should certainly be mentioned that I had a running commentary about my issues going in the back of my brain, but I mostly just ignored it because I was enjoying myself so much.  My SPOILER-Y COMMENTARY focused mainly on my issues with Alexis' denial (I understood it to a point, but only to a point -- after that, COME ON and also as the ghost had approached her as well, I'd think that she'd be more likely to figure it all out a bit sooner) and her eagerness to fall for what was very obviously a red herring (didn't she think that the story that just Came To Her might possibly be important?) and the Cheerleader with a Heart of Gold Who is Also Psychic and Omigod Actually Personally Involved in the Mystery storyline was a little much for me END SPOILER-Y COMMENTARY.

Again, despite the issues, way fun.  Genuinely creepy, with likable characters, a snarky-but-not-too-snarky narrator (Alexis describes her house's "intricately-carved" foyer as looking like "a fairy tale had exploded all over the walls"), a decent amount of action and a believable romance.  Recommended if you'd like something along those lines and aren't in a nitpicky mood.  I'll be keeping an eye out for the author's next book.

The Agatha Christie Murders.

Sounds like a book title, no?  Well, it probably will be one at some point, if it isn't already. 

From the Guardian:

Police in Iran believe they have caught the country's first female serial killer and are claiming she has disclosed a literary inspiration behind her attempts to evade detection: the crime novels of Agatha Christie.

The Sherlock Holmes trailer.

Okay.

I love me some Robert Downey, Jr., but I'm not sure if I can get behind this:

The Killing Way: An Arthurian Mystery -- Tony Hays

I'm feeling a teensy bit paranormalled out, so I've decided to add more grown-up mysteries to my reading diet.

When a young woman is brutally murdered and left at Merlin's door, Arthur is put in a delicate situation.  Despite the evidence, he knows (or is 99.47% sure) that Merlin is innocent.  But if he doesn't investigate that angle of the mystery fully, he will lose the trust of the people as well as his reputation for honesty -- which would be disaster, as the murder just so happens to have coincided with a gathering of all Britain's leaders to elect a new Rigotamos.

So he goes to Malgwyn.  Who hates him.  Now, Malgwyn hadn't always hated Arthur.  Once, he was even in his inner circle.  They fought the Saxons together, rode together, were friends.  But then Malgwyn lost his sword arm in battle, and rather than let him die, Arthur saved his life.  Malgwyn has never forgiven him.  Better to die on the battlefield than live as half a man.

Despite his hatred of Arthur, Malgwyn is intrigued by the mystery behind the crime -- and soon finds himself involved in a tangle of politics, religion, family, love triangles, betrayal and, of course, murder.

I had mixed feelings about The Killing Way.  On the one hand, I especially enjoyed the historical part of it -- I felt that the author did a great job of writing about the time, of introducing me to an era* I know very little about without ever letting the prose feel like he was trying to jam facts in there.  It flowed.  I felt transported.  And I liked Tony Hays' take on Arthur & Co., a vision of a man rather than a Legend.

My frustrations lay with the voice.  Malgywn had a problem with repetition.  (Or, to be more fair, I had a problem with Malgywn's tendancy towards repetition.)  He told me things again and again and again -- about his hatred for Arthur, his hatred of the Saxons, his status as half-a-man, his love of his dead wife, etc.  Towards the middle of the book, I started talking back to him:  "Malgywn, I KNOW."  "Malgywn, YES."  "Malgywn, MOVE ON."  I don't have an issue with the hard-drinking-with-a-painful-past archetype, but I also don't need the character to constantly be reminding me about WHY he is the way he is.

My other major issue was more of a personal taste thing -- lines like:

"Go to your homes!" Arthur commanded, his shoulder-length hair flying in the breeze.

were not few and far between.  Which isn't so much my thing.  But because of the things I liked about the book, I'm going to keep an eye out for the next one.

___________________________________________________________

*410-600 CE.  Ish.

Ruby Redfort is going to get her own book??

This blog post is about authors writing books that their own fictional characters read and blah blah blah how that might affect the industry (well it's very vaguely about that and the history of authors doing this and really it's mostly filler), but what I got out of it was RUBY REDFORT IS GOING TO GET HER OWN BOOK.

I'm so there.

Kisses and Lies: Scarlett Wakefield, #2 -- Lauren Henderson

When I got this one in the mail I shrieked and did a happy dance even though I was still miserably wearing my sick girl pajamas.  I'd been dying to read it ever since reading Kiss Me Kill Me last year.

Kisses and Lies starts right where Kiss Me Kill Me left off:  in the middle of 16-year-old Scarlett Wakefield's investigation into the murder of the first boy she ever kissed, Dan McAndrew.

Yes, you read that right.  You can imagine why I found the first book's ending so very frustrating.  While there is a bit of a recap at the beginning of this book, I'd definitely suggest reading the series in order -- both for the mystery details and to see Scarlett's transformation from shy girl desperate for popularity and terrified of being embarrassed to mostly confident amateur sleuth who'll do whatever she must to find out what she needs to know.

There's so much to love about these books:  Scarlett is British and her co-investigator, Taylor, is American, so there's always a bit of the culture clash going on, the combination of crime novel and Gossip Girl-ish Rich Kids Behaving Badly novel works so extremely well that I wish it would become a subgenre in its own right, and Scarlett's confusion about her various love interests* is spot on.  Her friendship with Taylor, the class differences with her gardener love interest, her family issues, her athleticism, her voice... it's all good.  This is one of those rare series that could appeal to readers who love the RKBB genre as well as to readers who want to punch the entire RKBB genre in the face.  So yay for that, too.

I found myself suspecting almost every character of some sort of malfeasance at one point or another, and though I spotted the villain a little while before Scarlett did, I never found her investigatory style even remotely slow or dimwitted.  Which might not sound like a huge compliment, but it is.  Mystery-wise, the story seems to be wrapped up, but the stage is clearly set for more action.  So bring it, Lauren Henderson.  I'm looking forward to more, more, more!

_______________________________________________________________

*Unlike whatsherface in the Cast vampire books, Scarlett's multiple love interests don't make her sound like a tramp.  They make her sound like a real person.  I have to admit that after just a few scenes with the New Boy, I'm ready to throw over her original crush for him -- and I'm not usually fickle like that.  But maybe I'll feel differently when Book Three rolls around.  There'd better be a Book Three...

_______________________________________________________________

Previously:

Kiss Me Kill Me

Own a Kindle?

Get yourself some free Lady Julia Grey.

Silent on the Moor: Lady Julia Grey Mysteries, #3 -- Deanna Raybourn

As usual, I'll try to avoid spoilers about the previous books.  But in some cases that can't be helped.  Especially in this case because the end of the second book totally lays the groundwork for the set-up of this one so really, if you haven't read these and would enjoy a light historical fiction/mystery set in the Victorian Era and narrated by a bossy and modern-minded young widow and heiress who has a passionate romance with a private inquiry agent who is easiest described as a cross between Heathcliff, Radcliffe Emerson, Sherlock Holmes and a werewolf*, you should snag the first book in the series and start from the beginning. 

Silent on the Moor begins with Lady Julia's sister Portia doing exactly what Brisbane told her NOT to do at the end of Book Two:  She heads out to visit his newly-acquired estate with Lady Julia in tow.  Lady Julia knows that he doesn't want her there.  But she's HAD IT.  She needs to know where they stand, and if Brisbane needs her help -- which she suspects he does -- she will be there for him, whether he likes it or not.  Society's opinion be damned.

She finds Brisbane more brooding and angry than ever, living at the aptly-named Grimsgrave with its penniless former owners, Lady Allenby and her daughters -- but that situation begins to look downright comfortable and cozy when compared with the mystery that beings to unfold shortly after her arrival... 

As Brisbane has always reminded me (in a good way) of Heathcliff, I'm glad that Deanna Raybourn just WENT FOR IT and set this one on the moors.  And I'm doubly glad that Julia and Portia actually talk about the Brontë-ish-ness of their visit (meeting a lady named Mrs. Earnshaw was just too much for them, I suppose).  I also loved the Mysterious Tolling Bell and the Egyptology.  And Valerius.  And I love Bellmont, awful as he is.  The March family is high up on my list of Literary Families I'd Like to Hang Out With.

Anyway.  I actually had the mysteries figured out early on, and, as usual, was a bit frustrated with Lady Julia for getting fooling by every red herring along the way -- I feel that more heroines should be well-versed in the old The Most Unlikely Character Is The Villain rule.  But I do give her points for having faith in Brisbane.  And the obviousness of the mysteries didn't really matter -- by the second-to-last chapter I was squawking, "WHAT?  WHAT?  THIS HAD BETTER END WELL, DEANNA!" at the book.  So clearly I was engaged.  I do enjoy my outings with these characters.

And immediately upon finishing it I checked her blog to make sure that this was not the end of the series.  It isn't.  PHEW.  I hope they go to India next.

________________________________________________________

*He isn't actually a werewolf, as far as I can tell.  But he seems to be as wolfy as someone could possibly be WITHOUT being a werewolf.  If that makes any sense.  Probably not.  But, whatever.  Usually the whole werewolf thing doesn't do it for me, but if Brisbane wolfed out, I'd totally be the Willow to his Oz.  ANYWAY.

________________________________________________________

Previously:

1.  Silent in the Grave
2.  Silent in the Sanctuary

2009 Edgar shortlists.

Best Juvenile:

The Postcard by Tony Abbott
Enigma: A Magical Mystery by Graeme Base
Eleven by Patricia Reilly Giff
The Witches of Dredmoore Hollow by Riford McKenzie 
Cemetary Street by Brenda Seabrooke

Best Young Adult:

Bog Child by Siobhan Dowd
The Big Splash by Jack D. Ferraiolo
Paper Towns by John Green
Getting the Girl by Susan Juby
Torn to Pieces by Margo McDonnell

Well, I loved all three of the YA books I've already read.  Time to track down the other two.

The rest of the lists are here.

Silent in the Sanctuary: Lady Julia Grey, #2 -- Deanna Raybourn

I'm trying to avoid them, but do know that this will include some spoilers about the first book.

For the past six months, Lady Julia Grey has been traveling in Italy with her brothers, recuperating from her brush with death at the end of her investigation into her husband's murder.  In all that time, she hasn't heard a word from Nicholas Brisbane.  All she has of him is a silver pendant and the memory of the endless kiss they shared on Hampstead Heath.  (Insert much emoting and throbbing of voice there.  And also possibly violins and lightning.)

Due to an angry summons from their father, the three siblings pack up and head home for the Christmas holidays with their friend Alessandro -- a young, handsome (and single!) Italian count -- in tow.  Little does Lady Julia know that Nicholas Brisbane will also be a guest at the house party... or that he is now engaged to be married.  Or that the house party, already rife with tension, will be the setting for MURDER.  And possibly a GHOSTLY PRESENCE.

I do love these books.  Lady Julia continues to be rather Amelia Peabody-ish, all take-charge-y and attitudinal, and Brisbane continues to be brilliant and just the right kind of tortured (he broods, but is also snarky and able to laugh on occasion -- like a cross between Sherlock Holmes, Radcliffe Emerson and Angel).  So obviously the romance part of it was fun -- and unlike many other situations like this, in which the heroine is confronted with the sight of HER MAN involved with ANOTHER WOMAN (see Last Train to Memphis), Lady Julia isn't having any of it.  She doesn't get all insecure and mopey, because she knows that there's no way on Earth that Nicholas Brisbane would voluntarily get involved with a simpering ninny like Charlotte King.  But obviously there's something strange going on, and she's going to find out what it is...

And the mystery part of it works as well -- there's the Brisbane Engagement question, there's the How Did Brisbane Get Injured Question, there's the ghost, there's the MURRRDERRR... and I think I might be forgetting one.  Oh, right, the attempted poisoning.  And, sad as this is, I'd actually read this book before and I still couldn't remember how it all worked.  So nothing was hugely obvious, which was nice, but the author offers up some clues, too, so that's nice as well.

Oh, and quite a bit of the end-of-the-chapter foreshadowing, especially towards the beginning of the book:

We exchanged a smile, and I thought then that this might very well be the most interesting house party that Bellmont Abbey had seen since Shakespeare had spent a fortnight here, confined to bed with a spring cold.  Of course, I was entirely correct about that, but for reasons I could never have imagined.

Hooray.  Just plain great fun, with a swoony kick.  I'm so happy that I have an ARC of the next book in the series.

_________________________________________________________

Previously:

Silent in the Grave

This is not the way to ring in the new year.

Donald Westlake has died.

I am so depressed.

Contest over at Elizabeth Scott's blog!

Go!  Give her the title of a fave book from 2008 for a chance to win a copy of Dooley Takes the Fall AND a copy of the movie Brick.

Thank you, Elizabeth, for bringing attention to this Fabbity-McFaberson of a fab book!

Another rave review for Dooley Takes the Fall.

Don't trust me?  Trust Elizabeth Scott.

This is from an email she sent me on Saturday:

Just wanted to thank you for writing about Dooley Takes The Fall--I'm always a little skeptical of young adult "mysteries" but when I read your rave review and got to the mention of Brick (LOVE!)  I took myself off to Amazon right away and got it.  I finished it last night and you're right--it's FANTASTIC, more than just a "mystery"--it's got heart, brains and amazing writing.  I adored it, and think it's one of the best young adult novels I've read this year.  I'm just sorry that I'm going to have to wait until sometime next year to read more about Dooley.  (But!  Another story about him!  YAY!)

So.  Dudes.  For the love of all that is delicious pie, please go and read the book.

Parts 1 & 2 of the Benjamin Black profile up at TEV.

From Part One:

There are precedents for writers adopting a pen-name when they try their hand at other genres, but Mr. Black makes it clear that he’s not slumming. His conversion came when he discovered Georges Simenon’s romans durs – the hard novels – which are distinct from the novels that feature Detective Maigret, for which Simenon is best known. Mr. Banville has written eloquently and at length about the staggeringly prolific writer, who wrote 193 novels under his own name and over 200 more under 18 pseudonyms. Banville makes no bones about his devotion: "He’s an extraordinary, extraordinary writer."

Another author Banville cites as an "exemplar" of "existential crime fiction" is the work of Richard Stark, the alter ego of Donald Westlake. Both pen crime novels, but Stark’s novels are more hardboiled.  Westlake employed a pseudonym to convey a mode of storytelling distinct from its predecessor so as not to confuse or disappoint his fans.

Part Two here.

Dooley Takes the Fall -- Norah McClintock

Seventeen-year-old Ryan Dooley has been trying to walk the straight-and-narrow.  His uncle's strictness chafes, but Ryan's been going to school regularly, avoiding drugs and alcohol, and generally just trying to stay out of trouble.  He was on his way home from work at the video store when he found the body. 

"I thought I recognized him," Dooley said, which was true.  "But his head was kind of smashed up, so I wasn't sure" which wasn't true, but it sounded a lot nicer than saying was he was actually thinking (It couldn't have happened to a more deserving person), which would only have annoyed his uncle.  "Anyway, I didn't know that was his name and the cops didn't tell me," which was also true.  He glanced at the picture in the newspaper and this time recognized the face right away--Mark Everley, his longish hair combed back, posed in front of one of those gray-blue screens that school photographers use, smiling at the camera, looking like your average high school student, which was a whole lot different from looking like a broken doll.  The newspaper picture of Everley triggered another one in Dooley's mind, but this one wasn't from school.  Dooley's dominant impression:  Mark Everley was an asshole.

What with his past, it isn't long before Dooley becomes a prime suspect in what might be a murder investigation.  And it isn't just the cops and his uncle who suspect him of having something to do with the death -- it's also Mark Everley's sister, a girl who Dooley's been curious about for ages. 

Dooley Takes the Fall is fantastic.  FANTASTIC.  This isn't just a simple murder mystery.  Dooley has that aspect of the story to deal with, but the reader has more:  Dooley's past -- What He Did before coming to live with his uncle and his history with Mark Everley -- spools out slowly, and it, more than the actual mystery*, kept me entranced from the first page to the last.  One of the real strengths of this book was the lack of expository dialogue -- I felt like Dooley and the other characters acted and spoke realistically throughout, never explaining things to each other just for the sake of explaining them to me.  Norah McClintock has respect for the reader's intelligence, trusts the reader to be an active participant.  I love that.

Dooley himself is a great character.  He's a classic noir hero type -- troubled past, problems with addiction and unlucky in love -- which I always find appealing.  And he's got great taste in movies:

Dooley said he liked some of the British stuff better.  "You mean, Guy Ritchie and what's-his-name, the guy who did The Limey?"  Mr. Fielding had said.  No, Dooley said.  Some of the quieter stuff, the stuff they showed on TV there but that you could rent here.  He said he liked Robbie Coltrane, the character he played, he drank too much, he ate too much, but he always figured out the case without breaking a sweat, and you know what?  They guy didn't even own a gun.  Yeah, Dooley liked him a lot.

He's talking about Cracker!  Cracker, if you haven't watched it, is outstanding -- if I hadn't already been hoping that all would go well for Dooley by that point, that passage would have won me over.  Speaking of hoping things would go well -- until the very end of the book, I really didn't know which way things would go.  There was no element of predictability -- yet another thing I loved about the book.

Highly, highly recommended to people who are disappointed by the lack of crime novels in the YA section, to people who liked the movie Brick, and to people who like their mystery novels to be more than simple mysteries with quick quips and chases scenes, but stories with depth and heart.  Dooley Takes the Fall is a crime novel, yes, but it's also a story about trust and redemption.  I loved it unreservedly.

I am so grateful to the person who nominated this title for the Cybils.  Until now, Norah McClintock hadn't been on my radar.  Now I'm planning on going back and reading her entire backlist while I wait for the second book in the Dooley trilogy to appear.

(cross-posted at Guys Lit Wire)

_________________________________________________________

*That said, the mystery was strong, too.

The Laughter of Dead Kings: Vicky Bliss, #6 -- Elizabeth Peters

In the foreword, Elizabeth Peters explains "the current now".  That, although Vicky Bliss first appeared in 1973, her adventures are always set in the present -- so the world is thirty-five years older, but Vicky is still in her early thirties.  Fine by me. 

So.  John has continued to keep his word and live an honest life*, running an honest antiques business**.  He and Vicky have continued to be a unit or an item or whatever it is they choose to call it.  (I actually think they choose not to call it anything.)

But, even though he's Mr. Honest now, Crime is never far away.  John's mother's house is burgled and (one would assume coincidentally), KING TUT HAS BEEN STOLEN.  Obviously, John is a Suspect, so obviously, they have to figure out what really happened.  It's off to Egypt again.

The first half of the book wasn't really doing it for me, but then...

SCHMIDT!!!!  SCHMIDT!!!!  HE IS THE AWESOMEST PIECE OF AWESOME EVER AND I'M SO GLAD THAT ELIZABETH PETERS CLEARLY LOVES HIM JUST AS MUCH AS WE ALL DO!!!!  AND HIS NEW OBSESSION ALMOST KILLED ME!!!!

Yep.  That's about all I have to say.  But was it just me, or was the John/Vicky relationship just not as swooneriffic as usual?  (Except for the "three little words" scene towards the end...)  The mystery itself I had figured out pretty early on.  While this one probably won't ever break into my top three (I'll only know for sure after a few more reads), I will say that our darling EP did pull out all the stops at the end and satisfied my fangirl soul to an extent that I never would have thought possible.

Oh, and I just got the aural thingie that CC and Elizabeth were talking about in the comments, like, four books ago.  Ha ha.

_________________________________________________

*Or has he?

**Or is it?

_________________________________________________

Previously:

1. Borrower of the Night
2. Street of the Five Moons
3. Silhouette in Scarlet
4. Trojan Gold
5. Night Train to Memphis

Reginald Hill at Shelf Awareness.

From the interview:

Book you've faked reading:

In my younger days I did a bit of faking with stuff like Finnegans Wake, but once I grew up and began to realize no one really gives a damn what I think about a book (or a play or a movie or a pork pie for that matter), faking seemed pointless. Now if I don't like a book after 50 pages, I hurl it aside with great force, but, unless provoked, I try not to elevate my personal taste into a critical position.

The Case of the Missing Marquess: Enola Holmes, #1 -- Nancy Springer

I have a new love.  From The Case of the Missing Marquess:

Dipping the pen into the ink, on the cream-coloured stationary I wrote a few words to the local constabulary, informing them that my mother seemed to have gone astray and requesting them to kindly organise a search for her.

Then I sat thinking: Did I really have to?

Unfortunately, yes.  I could put it off no longer. 

More slowly I wrote another note, one that would soon wing for miles via wire to be printed out by a teletype machine as:

LADY EUDORIA VERNET HOLMES MISSING SINCE YESTERDAY STOP PLEASE ADVISE STOP ENOLA HOLMES

I directed this wire to Mycroft Homes, of Pall Mall, in London.

And also, the same message, to Sherlock Holmes, of Baker Street, also in London.

My brothers.

Although I spent the entirety of pages 7 through 72 frustratedly thinking, "HELLO!!  ENOLA!!  Your mother gave you a booklet of ciphers for your birthday!!  Don't you think it might be important??", I loved this book unreservedly.  Once she had her forehead-slap moment, she was off to the races.  Mycroft and Sherlock were as Mycroft-y and Sherlock-y as you could imagine, and Lestrade even played a part.

Enola herself is bright, courageous, stubborn and sees the ridiculousness of the Way Things Are Done* -- all qualities I love in a heroine -- and I'm DYING to read the other books in the series.  Highly recommended to young readers of historical fiction and to grown-up fans of the Holmes brothers, whether it be Doyle's originals or fanfiction like Laurie R. King's Mary Russell series.  GREAT FUN.

______________________________________________

*From the book, while riding her bicycle towards London:  "I met with just another such beige-clad figure upon a gravel wagon track, and we nodded in passing.  She looked all of a glow from the heat and the exercise.  horses sweat, you know, and men perspire, whereas ladies glow.  I am sure I looked all of a glow also.  Indeed, I could feel all-of-a-glow trickling down my sides beneath my corset, the steel ribs of which jabbed me under the arms most annoyingly."  I think Amelia Peabody would QUITE approve of Enola.

Night Train to Memphis: Vicky Bliss, #5 -- Elizabeth Peters

Ha ha ha ha ha.  Best blurb ever:

"This time Elizabeth Peters has gone too far.  The woman has been annoying me for years.  She's a fairly good writer, actually, and this is probably her best book.  Per usual it's funny and exciting, but this time she has gone overboard on the romantic stuff in flagrant imitation of me.  This is actionable!  I shall demand a share of the royalties!"

--Barbara Michaels*, author of Houses of Stone

Vicky Bliss knows a lot about a lot of things.  Egyptology is not one of them.  Despite that, when the need arises for an operative to help foil a robbery attempt on a Nile cruise, her old friend Karl from the Munich Police Department recommends her.  She hems and haws and gets all bent out of shape (as Vicky will), but she ends up going.

Almost the first person she runs into when she arrives is, of course, John Smythe.  And his mother.  And his new bride.  Yep.  Bell, book and candle, John Smythe is married.  For real.  To the anti-Vicky.

Even though it's chock-a-block full of references to old country songs and Vicky's other adventures and even though there is a romance novelist on board** and there are a few references to Ameila Peabody***, Night Train to Memphis isn't one of my favorites**** -- the first half is very angsty, and I prefer my Vicky angst-free. 

However, if the first half wasn't so angsty, the second half wouldn't be quite as awesome.  (See?  I can be reasonable.)  And the second half is VERY awesome -- if you haven't realized that Schmidt is the coolest guy ever before reaching this point, it'll happen here.  (And if it doesn't, I don't know if we can be friends anymore.  Seriously.)  If Schmidt isn't a draw (WHAT??), there're some great moments between John and an old school chum... and yes, OF COURSE between John and Vicky.  AND there are a few moments that suggest John's family may be related to the Peabody-Emerson clan (see ***).

Up until very recently, this was the last Vicky Bliss book.  The end of this book feels very much like the end of a series -- and up until recently, I was okay with that.  I don't mind re-reading the same five books over and over and over again.  But now I've got The Laughter of Dead Kings to look forward to -- and I'm pretty confident that soon, I'll have six books to read over and over and over again.  Ah, Bliss*****.

_____________________________________________________

*For those not In The Know, Barbara Michaels IS Elizabeth Peters.

**EP is particularly hilarious when she picks on romance novelists.  Want proof?  Read Die for Love.

***Does the fact that I love those moments make me a fangirl?  Probably.  Oh well.

****My favorites, in order:  #4, #2, #3, #5, #1.  But let's face it -- that's just varying degrees of lurrrve.

*****See what I did there?  I am a comic GENIUS.

_____________________________________________________

Previously:

Borrower of the Night
Street of the Five Moons
Silhouette in Scarlet
Trojan Gold

Trojan Gold: Vicky Bliss, #4 -- Elizabeth Peters

Oh my God, I'd forgotten how much I LOVE THIS BOOK!!

Okay.  So, Vicky is minding her own business (as usual), when a bloodstained package arrives for her in the mail.  The stain is so large that the return address is obscured.  So that's mysterious.

Even more mysterious is what the package contains:  A recent photograph of a woman wearing the lost gold of Troy.  Which disappeared in 1945.

So OBVIOUSLY she has to try and contact John Smythe.  Because, you know, this is right up his alley.  And even though she hasn't heard from him in the eight months since his "death", she knows he's alive.  Well... she's pretty sure.  Mostly.

One of the many awesome things about these books is that no matter how many times I read them, I forget who the bad guy is.  No exception here.  Until the Big Reveal, I really had no idea who it was -- and I didn't even care.  I was too busy enjoying Vicky sparring with John (because OF COURSE Elizabeth Peters wouldn't off His Awesomeness), John winding up Tony (from the first book, and who is now engaged to a petite woman with clouds of smoky black hair and a heart-shaped face... sound familiar?), Schmidt in his many bright snowsuits, Gerda just being Gerda, the best bedroom farce scene ever, and a ridiculous line-up of possible villains.

Another awesome thing about Trojan Gold?  No matter how many times I read it, it makes me laugh out loud and even now, I'm grinning as I type.

Some fun from early on in the book:

"You are going to look to look through the trash from the missing envelope."  Schmidt savored the phrase.  "The missing envelope . . . A good title for a thriller, nicht?"

"It's been used.  Probably by Nancy Drew."

Schmidt didn't ask who Nancy Drew was.  Maybe he knew.  As I said, he has deplorable tastes in literature.

_________________________________________________

Previously:

Borrower of the Night
Street of the Five Moons
Silhouette in Scarlet

Silhouette in Scarlet: Vicky Bliss, #3 -- Elizabeth Peters

Things to love about Vicky Bliss #98:  She keeps jelly doughnuts in her purse.

It's been three years since Vicky solved the mystery of the Street of The Five Moons* and a year since she's seen John:

We had spent three days together in Paris.  On the third night he had departed out of the window of the hotel room while I slept, leaving behind a suitcase full of dirty clothes, an unpaid hotel bill, and a tender, charming note of farewell.  My fury was not mitigated when I learned, from a sympathetic but equally frustrated inspector of the Surete, of the reason for his precipitate departure.  They had waited until morning to close in on him, feeling sure--said the inspector, with a gallant Gallic bow--that he would be settled for the night.

The police wouldn't tell me what it was he had stolen.  I didn't really want to know.

This time around, John lures Vicky to Stockholm by sending her a red rose (fake), a plane ticket (the cheapest possible), a hotel reservation slip (not pre-paid, of course) and a piece of paper bearing the words WIELANDIA FABRICA:

Scandinavia, fabled goldsmith, jewel thief . . . It made an odorous little syllogism, as neat and as crazy as one of Lewis Carroll's exercises in logic.  John was on the track of a Viking treasure.  Or rather, that is what John wanted me to believe.  I didn't believe it.  If he really intended to commit grand theft, I was the last person to whom he would broadcast his intentions.  The message was just a lure, a juicy chunk of bait--and a fairly ingenious one.  My interest was definitely aroused.

When she gets to Sweden, she discovers that (of course) John is Up To Something -- but that he has competition, and that his competition isn't at all friendly.  Within days, Vicky is wooed by a giant blond man named Leif (who may or may not be a government agent) and is possibly being stalked by a small, round, bearded man.  Aaaaand then she, her possibly fake sixth cousin and John are imprisoned on an island where John's rivals plan to carry out a full-scale excavation... and then murder John.

Make sense?  It doesn't matter.  We've got Vicky, John, Schmidt, buried treasure and a villain who gives Vicky advice about her love life.  Also, Elizabeth Peters is totally aware of the cliches of the genre and mocks them while still using them quite effectively.  Who needs sense?  Oh, swoon.  These books make me almost deliriously happy.

_____________________________________________

*The Mystery of the Street of Five Moons.  Ha ha.  I just made up a Nancy Drew title.

_____________________________________________

Previously:

Borrower of the Night
Street of the Five Moons

Street of the Five Moons: Vicky Bliss, #2 -- Elizabeth Peters

Okay.  So in Borrower of the Night, we met Vicky Bliss, medievalist and art historian with a huge brain whose blonde hair, blue eyes and extreme curves make men underestimate her and women hate her.

It's been almost a year since the events of the first book, and Vicky is now working for Herr Professor Doktor Schmidt at the National Museum in Berlin.  When Schmidt comes to her with an almost perfect reproduction of the Charlemagne talisman that was found sewn into a dead man's clothing (which obviously means that there must be a plot to rob the museum!) and asks her to put her amateur detecting skills to work, well, who is she to argue?  After all, he IS offering her an expense account!

The clues lead her to the Street of Five Moons in Rome, where she has her first run in with her soon-to-be on-again-off-again lover* and nemesis, Sir John Smythe:

I didn't need the clipped, characteristic accent to tell me he was English.  The tea and biscuits I had found the night before had led me to expect that the present manager of the shop was of that nation, and his appearance was unmistakable.  He reminded me of Lord Peter Wimsey--not only the fair hair and the skin scarcely darkened by the Roman sun, but the air of mild contempt.  You couldn't say his nose was big, but it seemed to dominate his face, and although he was sitting down and I was standing, he gave the impression of looking down his nose at me.

Oh, le sigh.  If you aren't already acquainted with Sir John, you may not be able to tell that he's a dreamboat, but do take my word for it.  He is.  He's extremely sarcastic, well-read, very bright, not at all chivalrous, a secret romantic and a bit of a coward.  Also, he plays the piano.  See?  Dreamboat.

More reasons to love Vicky:  although her physical assets frustrate her in the academic world, she has no problem putting them to good use while investigating crimes -- she giggles and sighs and inhales deeply and men just fall over themselves to give her information.  She learned how to pick locks in tenth grade from a boy called Piggy Wilson.  She is clearly a huge reader -- not only does she compare John to Wimsey in the above passage, but she's always making and recognizing literary references. 

And while she and John are running away from Big Men with Big Guns (these things happen...), she isn't shrieking and terrified and exhausted -- instead, she is convulsed with laughter.  And, of course, she and John have fantastic chemistry and while they would never admit it, the genuinely enjoy each other.  While locked in a cellar, Awaiting Their Fate:

"My hero," I said.  "I have misjudged you.  I am abject.  I grovel.  And of course my girlish heart is palpitating with rapture because you risked your life--"

The wineglass smashed against the wall with a musical tinkle, and Smythe, turning, threw his arms around me and yanked me up against his chest with a force that drove the wind out of my lungs.

"Will he kiss her or kill her?" I gasped.  "Tune in tomorrow and hear the next--"

Smythe's face broke up.  He began to laugh.  He didn't release me, but his grasp relaxed, so that I was able to find a more comfortable position.  We sat there side by side till he finished laughing.

A corset-wearing count, the count's mistress, a huge fountain, a Lovecraftian garden, art forgeries galore, a huge chase scene, a murder, the stealing of clothing from a clothesline, the most frustrating phone call to Munich EVER, a Doberman pinscher named Caesar and an excellent smooch while hiding behind floor-length curtains... I can't wait to re-read Book Three!

_________________________________________________

*Blecch.

_________________________________________________

Previously:

Borrower of the Night, Vicky Bliss #1

Borrower of the Night: Vicky Bliss, #1 -- Elizabeth Peters

I decided to re-read all of the Vicky Bliss books before reading the new one!  Hooray!

We first meet Vicky in Borrower of the Night:

When I was ten years old, I knew I was never going to get married.  Not only was I six inches taller than any boy in the fifth grade--except Matthew Finch, who was five ten and weighed ninety-eight pounds--but my IQ was as formidable as my height.  It was sixty points higher than that of any of the boys--except the aforesaid Matthew Finch.  I topped him by only thirty points.

Poor Vicky.  Her troubles don't end there:

For several years my decision didn't give me much pain.  I wasn't thinking seriously of marriage in the fifth grade.  Then I reached adolescence, and the trouble began.  I kept growing up, but I grew in another dimension besides height.  The results were appalling.  I won't quote my final proportions; they call to mind one of those revolting Bunnies in Playboy.  I dieted strenuously, but that only made matters worse.  I got thin in all the right places and I was still broad where, as the old classic says, a broad should be broad.

BotN in a nutshell: Vicky is an art historian.  She comes across evidence that the legend of a long-lost shrine carved by Riemenschneider is more than a legend and decides to go after it.  She has competitors:  Tony, her co-worker and on-again, off-again lover* and George Nolan, the millionaire sportsman/playboy/big game hunter.  So they all end up at Schloss Drachenstein, there is much Gothic fun (including a seance!!) and treasure hunting and romance, and oh, really, what's not to love?

Well, I'll tell you.

Vicky, I love you.  I love you and Elizabeth Peters.  I love you, Elizabeth Peters, and Schmidt, who doesn't have a big enough part in this book.   I love you, Elizabeth Peters, Schmidt-who-doesn't-have-a-big-enough-part-in-this-book, and Sir John Smythe, WHO ISN'T IN THIS BOOK.  How could that have slipped my mind?  That's probably exactly why I've re-read the other books in the series 40 hundred times, but only read this one, like, 20 hundred times. 

I was somewhat mollified by Doctor Blankenhagen, who is made of AWESOME, especially at the very end. 

On to Book Two!**

_________________________________________________

*I really don't like that word.  It gives me the yicks.  But what else could I call him?  Boinking-partner?

**I'll have you know that I'm blaming Mr. Dickens for my recent over-use of exclamation marks.

Elizabeth Peters: BADASS!!

From a Q&A with Elizabeth Peters at Powell's:

Who are your favorite characters in history? Have any of them influenced your writing?
I have several favorite characters: Akhenaton the Heretic, Hatshepsut the Female King — and Richard III. He's a mystery writer's dream. Did he or didn't he? (Murder the princes in the Tower.) The clues are inconclusive and subject to endless debate. My fascination with him led me to write a book called The Murders of Richard III, concerning a group of modern-day Ricardians, as they call themselves, who have met to discuss their theories. The book offended the Richard III Society of England; they actually threatened to sue, and my British publisher caved in. They have now forgiven me, but to tell the truth I was rather thrilled to have a book that was too hot to be published.

I adore that book and I had no idea that that had happened.  I'm all a-twitter and now I need to dig out my copy and re-read it.

Silent in the Grave -- Deanna Raybourn

Anyone who knows me (or reads this blog with any regularity) knows that I am not a read-in-the-car girl.  It makes me want to barf.  Highway driving isn't quite as bad as driving around town, as it doesn't have the stops and the starts and the twists and the turns and the changes in speed and oh, yick, I'm making myself ill just thinking about it.  What I'm getting at is that if I not only start a book in the car, but continue and finish* it in the car as well, that is a Big Thing.

Silent in the Grave grabbed me from the first paragraph:

To say that I met Nicholas Brisbane over my husband's dead body is not entirely accurate.  Edward, it should be noted, was still twitching upon the floor.

Funny!  A possible suggestion of future romance (dude, this is how my mind works -- I make predictions based on 27 words)!  A twitching body!  A mystery (Why is he twitching?  Why is he almost dead?  Why is the narrator so flip?)!  In other words, a hell of a hook!

And then, the next paragraph made me happy, too:

I stared at him, not quite taking in the fact that he had just collapsed at my feet.  He lay, curled like a question mark, his evening suit ink-black against the white marble of the floor.  He was writhing, his fingers knotted.

The DRAMA!  Writhing!

Obviously, I had to continue.  And I did.  I read the whole thing on the first leg of our journey back home from Indiana.  (Luckily, the book had crazy-huge line spacing and short chapters, so I was able to take brief nausea breaks at opportune moments before diving back in.)

After the death of her husband, Lady Julia Grey is informed by Nicholas Brisbane, a private investigator, that Edward had engaged his services because he had been receiving threatening letters.  Lady Julia, grieving and insulted, sends Brisbane packing.

A year later, when she begins to clear out Edward's desk, she discovers that Brisbane had been telling the truth.  And so she goes to him and insists that they investigate the matter.  Together.

Lady Julia's voice was very enjoyable and reminded me a bit of Amelia Peabody's, though I think Amelia tends to be more forthright (when she thinks someone is attractive, she comes out and says it):

Brisbane put one in mind of wolves and lithe jungle cats, while Edward conjured images of seraphim and slim young saints.  It required an entirely different aesthetic altogether to appreciate Brisbane, one that I lacked.  Entirely.

Like Peabody, Julia is one of those familiar** raised-in-unusual-family-situation-therefore-less-inclined-to-worry-about-social-conventions-of-the-time female characters.  (And yes, there is a scene where she dresses up like a man.)  She has an unfortunate habit of being almost unforgivably dense on occasion, but about halfway through, I realized that it isn't due to a lack of brainpower on her part, but a lack of patience.  There were a lot of situations where if she'd just waited and thought for 30 seconds, even, she'd have avoided the problem or the ridiculous comment.  So I was happy with that -- I'd much rather read about someone who is rash than someone who is dumb.  Brisbane is a combination of Sherlock Holmes, Radcliffe Emerson, and Heathcliff (from Wuthering Heights, of course, NOT THE STUPID CAT). 

While I did identify the murderer using Ye Olde Most Unlikely Suspect rule, I had the motive as wrong as wrong can be, so the story did succeed in surprising me a few times.  And while I didn't find the characters or the storyline particularly original, the book was totally entertaining nonetheless. 

Super easy breezy read, absolutely a perfect, perfect summer pick -- if the sequel is checked out of the library at the moment, I will be very PUT OUT.

____________________________________________

*I seem to really be feeling the italics today. 

**Certainly familiar if you read a lot of YA.  If you start watching for them***, you'll notice many, many girls who don't follow the social conventions of their time...

***Heck, you don't really even have to watch for them -- they'll clobber you over the head as you walk by the YA section if you aren't careful.

"I don't think there is a casual reader of Nancy Drew," says writer Fran Lebowitz. "There may be casual readers of Proust, but not of Nancy Drew."

NPR on Nancy Drew.

Farthing -- Jo Walton

1949.  A murder occurs at a weekend house party.  Sounds like an Agatha Christie novel, right?

Wrong.  This isn't the 1949 we're familiar with -- the people at the house party belong to the 'Farthing set', the political group that overthrew Churchill in 1941 and made peace with Hitler.  When a prominent member of the set is found murdered, a dagger pinning a yellow star to his chest, suspicion immediately falls on the one Jewish man at the party.

From the very beginning, it's clear that David Kahn is being framed.  Well, it's clear to David, of course; to Lucy, his wife (who is the daughter of two members of the Farthing set); and it's clear to Inspector Carmichael.  But whether or not anyone can prove his innocence is questionable, because of the anti-Jewish sentiment in England and because the murder may have more far-reaching political implications than any of our heroes imagine...

As I said on Monday, I loved Farthing.  I believed in (and adored) Lucy from her very first two sentences.  This bit is from the end of the first chapter:

But anyway, when I heard that Sir James Thirkie had been murdered, that's the first thing I thought of, Angela Thirkie being mean to David the afternoon before, and I'm afraid the first thing to go through my mind, although fortunately I managed to catch the train before it got out of the tunnel that time so I didn't say so, was that it well and truly served her right.

You can hear her, right?  I hope so. 

Lucy narrates the odd-numbered chapters, while the even-numbered chapters follow Inspector Carmichael.  I loved it that I was able to follow the investigation and larger political situation from both viewpoints -- that I knew the bits that Lucy knew that Inspector Carmichael didn't and vice-versa -- but that I was still surprised again and again.  And I loved how the book began as a simple murder mystery but evolved into something much more.  I'm so very much looking forward to the sequel -- and then, to the third book!

Okay.  I'm not going to go on and on.  I loved it, the end.  Just know that there's a blurb from Ursula K. Le Guin on the front cover and that the author thanks Dorothy Sayers, Josephine Tey and Peter Dickinson in the Acknowledgments.  How could you possibly go wrong?

A Death in Vienna -- Frank Tallis

I ILLed this one because while my library has the sequel, Vienna Blood, it doesn't have A Death in Vienna, which is the first in the Liebermann Papers series.  Grrr.

Vienna, 1902.  A medium is murdered in a locked room.  Not only that, but:

'But,' said Mathias, 'there is no bullet.'

'I beg your pardon, Herr Professor?'

Mathias said again: 'There is no bullet.'

Rheinhardt nodded.

'It passed through her body?'

'No,' replied Mathias.  'The entire canal had a definite terminus.  Nothing came out the other side of her body.'

'Then what are you saying?' asked Rheinhardt.  'That the bullet was . . . removed?'

'No.  The bullet has not been removed.'

'You're absolutely sure?'

'Absolutely.'

Due to the strangeness of the crime, Detective Oskar Rheinhardt calls in his good friend, psychoanalyst Max Liebermann, to assist him in questioning the members of the seancé circle.

I enjoyed this one very much -- certainly enough that I'll be bring Vienna Blood home tonight, as well as requesting that the library buy the third book in the series when it becomes available.  Max Liebermann's style of detection relies on his training as a psychoanalyst as well as his Sherlock Holmes-like talent for observation.  So I loved that aspect of the book.  There's a secondary plot involving his fight to treat the multiple personality disorder of a (beautiful young) woman with psychoanalysis rather than electroshock therapy, and then there's his love life, which involves the very silly, very beautiful (somewhat immature) Clara.  There was a whole lot going on, and while I figured out whodunnit about halfway through, I didn't figure out HOWdunnit.

It IS one of those books in which it is clear that the author did loads of research about the era and seems determined to put it all in the book, regardless of whether or not it's necessary.  So there were little bits about life in turn-of-the-century Vienna that felt forced and somewhat extraneous, but A) I like learning about stuff like that and B) I enjoyed the characters and the mystery enough to give him a pass.  Hopefully the second book will feel less choppy.

Kiss Me Kill Me -- Lauren Henderson

From Kiss Me Kill Me:

I don't believe any of this is happening.  It can't be me who's bending to the bench to pick up my bag; who's managing to make eye contact with Luce and Alison, because I know the fury and betrayal I'll see if I catch their eyes.  It can't be me who's turning to Nadia, throwing a casual "See you tomorrow" over my shoulder at the girls, ignoring their deafening silence.  It can't be me crossing the road, walking side by side with Nadia Farouk, Plum's number-one sidekick, heading for the fountain.

But it is me betraying my friends, selling them out, leaving them behind the second something more glossy and shiny beckons.  Ninety-nine percent of me is fizzing with excitement when I allow myself to think that the golden doors are really happening to me, that I can at last be part of the world I've always wanted to join.

But the last one percent is saying:  Someone who would do this deserves everything she gets.

No prizes for guessing which part of me was right.

When 16-year-old Scarlett Wakefield accepts an invitation to a party thrown by the popular (and yes, terrifying) girls of St. Tabby's, she has no idea that her attendance will result in both a dream come true and a unimaginable nightmare.

Now, months later, she's enrolled at Wakefield Hall Collegiate, a prep school where her grandmother is headmistress, where no one knows who she is -- or so she thinks.  An anonymous note in her desk proves otherwise, and Scarlett is forced to remember the night she'd rather forget:  The night that she kissed Dan McAndrew just before he dropped dead. 

Kiss Me Kill Me isn't an easy one to categorize.  It has elements of a mystery novel (for instance, erm, a mystery...).  The flashbacks as well as Scarlett's "I should have known better..." introduction made me think more specifically of the hard boiled detective* sub-genre.  It's also, though, a book about the power of cliques and popularity, and about the difficulty of changing schools.  I think different elements will stand out for different people:  for me, it was a crime novel.

There's a lot about body image in it as well -- Scarlett is a gymnast, so of course she's very aware of what she eats and of her body in general.  But I've been noticing it in YA books more and more -- not just in issue books, where The Issue Is The Focus, but in books like Sweethearts and Girl Overboard.  I don't find it particularly surprising, what with the importance our culture places on it -- but it's an interesting trend.  Keep an eye out.  I bet you'll start noticing it all over the place, if you haven't already.

I liked it a lot.  A lot, a lot.  The more I think about it, the more I like it.  But it's going to drive people crazy (I know, because I just barely managed to restrain myself from throwing it across the room when I finished) because it doesn't have a satisfying ending.  When I was about twenty pages from the end, I realized that the book is an introduction -- that it may take quite a few books to tell the story.  While (after my initial rage) I've made my peace with it (and am actually kind of dying for the next installment), all you have to do is read the Amazon reader reviews to see that there are readers who are not cool with the lack of resolution.  So that's definitely something to be aware of -- I'm thinking that when I booktalk it, I'm going to mention that it's the first in a series.

Colleen, I know you've been wanting more teen mysteries -- if you haven't read it, you might want to give it a try!

*There's another, more obvious bit that points to the HBD, but it's spoilery.

Why I Write: Reginald Hill.

I wore my I ♥ Fat Andy t-shirt to work last week and (of course) had to explain it forty-seven times. 

But it was worth it -- a patron mentioned to me early this week that he'd read two Reginald Hill books since our chat and was headed back to the stacks for more.  Hooray!

From the Guardian:

When you were growing up did you have books in your home?
We were an ordinary working-class family. There was no library or butler. But I knew about libraries and butlers because my mother was a great fan of crime fiction. The adult books that came into the house tended to be Agatha Christie, Dorothy Sayers and Ngaio Marsh, which perhaps fed a taste which I developed later.

Storm: The Infinity Code -- E. L. Young

Will is an inventor, a loner, and oddly, a born leader.  Gaia is an explosives expert with a photographic memory and a talent for languages.  Andrew is a computer genius and the bankroll.  They are all off-the-charts brilliant, and they are all fourteen years old.  Together, they will become STORM:  Science and Technology to Over-Rule Misery.

If you read the copy on the back of the book:  "Watch out, Alex Rider!  There's a STORM on the horizon!", it's pretty easy to deduce what market they're going for with this one. 

Alex Rider fans will be looking for gadgets, globe-trotting, thrills, chills and of course, Kids Saving the World from a Madman.  Unfortunately, though there were certainly gadgets and globe-trotting, there wasn't much in the way of thrills and chills.  There were occasional moments of suspense throughout the book, but not much until the last fifty pages (out of a little over three hundred), and the characters never felt real.  They felt like... pieces in a board game. 

Granted, this was their first outing as a team, but they never seemed to come together -- as a team, or as friends.  Suddenly, at the end, I was expected to believe that they had fused into a unit, but there just wasn't much to back that up.

I did like the fact that all of the gadgets were based on real-life inventions and research, and I loved that the author included information about that in her Author's Note as well as information about other science that figured into the story.  Also, the Gadget File appendix was fun -- especially Spencer Wilson's illustrations.

I assume that it's the first book in a planned series.  If it isn't, it feels like one*.  Pilots are difficult -- all of the characters need to be introduced, their situation needs to be explained and conflicts have to be set up for the future.  I realize that.  But in this case, it didn't make for a great read. 

*Which made me think of Brian said yesterday about his frustration/irritation with books clearly being written with a movie deal in mind, except in this case, obviously, we're talking about a book series. 

2008 Edgar nominees.

Juvenile:

The Name of This Book is Secret by Pseudonymous Bosch
Shadows on Society Hill by Evelyn Coleman
Deep and Dark and Dangerous by Mary Downing Hahn
The Night Tourist by Katherine Marsh
Sammy Keyes and the Wild Things by Wendelin Van Draanen

YA:

Rat Life by Tedd Arnold
Diamonds in the Shadow by Caroline B. Cooney
Touching Snow by M. Sindy Felin
Blood Brothers by S.A. Harazin
Fragments by Jeffry W. Johnston

I've been meaning to read Touching Snow for ages now.  The rest of the nominees are here.

(Via Big A little a)

Bad Kitty -- Michele Jaffe

Jasmine (Jas) Callihan is on a family vacation in Las Vegas.  Everything and everyone should be relaxed, fine and dandy.  Except this is Jas Callihan we're talking about -- she's the girl referred to as "Calamity Callihan" by her cousin Alyson.  Within two chapters, she has been publicly mauled by a three-legged cat, leaves a wedding in shambles (with the bride AND the five-tiered cake in the swimming pool) and has been locked up by hotel security.

Granted, her cousin Alyson is a totally snarky evil beast, but occasionally totally snarky evil beasts do make valid points.

Yes, yes.  I know.  Two years!  This book has been out for two years!  How did I miss reading it until now?  Now, I already think that the chick-lit-mystery sub genre flat-out rules.  But Bad Kitty especially rules, due to:

1.  Jas's descriptive talents:

From the book:

"I take the animal now," the shadow told me, only he said "de" instead of "the" in that kind of accent Arnold Schwarzenegger has made so popular.  And really, if you'd been trying to cast a comic book villain named the Fabio-inator (which, okay, why would you be, but still) you could not have done better.  He was about eighteen feet tall and had long dark hair and a fake tan and a square jaw and biceps that bulged out in forty-three different directions.  Which were visible because all he was wearing were small, tight, black swimming trunks.  And a gun.

2.  The second- and third-tier characters:

Including Sherri!, Jas's stepmother who really does spell her name with an exclamation point, the aforementioned horrible cousin Alyson, who speaks in bizarre yet hilarious slang and Jas's best friend Polly, who is the owner of what is very seriously the coolest vehicle ever imagined.  EVER.  EVVVER.  Kitt, the Batmobile, possibly even the Tardis -- nothing on the Pink Pearl.  Not only are her friends super-quirky and super-cool, but whenever Jas says something that they feel the need to expand on (or object to), they hijack the story via the footnotes.

3.  Jas again:

I mentioned her descriptive talents, but that isn't her voice's only strength -- the verbal sparring with her friends is loads of fun as well.  It's witty and made me laugh out loud -- a lot.  She doesn't mean to be a smartass -- she doesn't think she's a smartass -- but if you were dealing with her, you'd definitely think she was a smartass.  She's also totally fascinated with forensics, which is something her father, well, let's just say that 'discourages' would be a huge understatement.  And she's got a penchant for really cool cowboy boots. 

The mystery itself... meh. I wasn't very concerned with it -- Bad Kitty was really more about the ride than the destination.  I loved Jas & Co. and their squabbling in the footnotes, found it hilarious* -- but also a bit distracting.  When I moved back up to the regular text, I usually had to re-read a bit to get back into the groove of the story.  So some people definitely might not take to the format -- but others will get a huge kick out of it.

Highly, highly recommended to those who love Lulu Dark (and/or the Ally Carter books and other chick-lit mystery books).  Because of the fun format, it might be a good way to get diary (see: Meg Cabot and Louise Rennison) readers and Lauren Myracle (TTYL) fans to branch into the mystery genre, and the chick-lit angle will makes it a good choice for (duh) chick-lit fans.  I am so very jazzed that there's a second one coming out this year.

*The chapter where someone keeps putting hearts next to the Fabioinator's name made me howl, as did the Kermit underpants debacle.