The theme here, told convincingly in well-crafted prose and plotting that is both fiendishly clever and simple, is that the people you dislike the mosThe theme here, told convincingly in well-crafted prose and plotting that is both fiendishly clever and simple, is that the people you dislike the most will get what they want… (Maybe not a book for the conspiracy-minded, or for when you’re having a bad day.) There are no happy endings, and there are no heroes.
This has a great introduction, which is exactly the right tone: introspective - alert and knowing - not quite despairing. I especially enjoyed the capitals here:
…because any suggestion that the British Secret Service would betray its own was deemed derogatory to its ethical principles, bad for recruitment, and accordingly Bad for Britain, a charge to which there is no effective answer.
The introduction claims that British intelligence allowed this to be published because it was so ridiculous, and then the author was shocked to see it sell and the extent to which people believed it:
Presenting myself to the press in New York a few months after the novel had made its mark in the States, I dutifully if nervously mouthed my denials: no, no, I had never been in the spy business; no, it was just a bad dream. Which of course it was.
The paradox was compounded when an American journalist with connections told me out of the corner of his mouth that the reigning chief of my Service had advised a former director of the CIA that I had been his serving officer, and that he had told nobody but his very large retinue of best friends, and that anyone in the room who was anyone knew I was lying…
The novel’s merit, then—or its offense, depending where you stood—was not that it was authentic, but that it was credible. The bad dream turned out to be one that a lot of people in the world were sharing.
This is really, really intelligent. The introduction tells you baldly exactly what sort of story this will be, and then the novel follows that script. I didn’t want to see it coming, but of course there was no other way....more
This makes for compelling reading. And yet it’s so chaotic: it’s very much a late-in-the-series book, when there are a lot of threads there for the taThis makes for compelling reading. And yet it’s so chaotic: it’s very much a late-in-the-series book, when there are a lot of threads there for the taking, and a lot of characters who can be written about.
And so the solution here is, write about everything! A murder mystery - a theft - a new vampire - a new government auditor - dwarf politics - troll politics - wizards - Carrot - Vimes* - the butler -
And then fold in history and its modern-day implications, and myth, and dwarf mysticism -
The novel is structured competently, so the plotlines all matter and everything comes together neatly. I like the way the game has a hand in so many elements! The chaos does resolve. But that doesn’t prevent this book from feeling overfull - or from feeling too pat once it’s all resolved.
*I think I’m supposed to find it sweet that Vimes is such a great father. Instead I find it pretty gross that they shut down traffic because Vimes showed poor time management skills. ...more
Vampires suppressed witches and witchcraft for a thousand years. Now it’s our turn. The age of vampires has ended. The age of black witchcraft is not
Vampires suppressed witches and witchcraft for a thousand years. Now it’s our turn. The age of vampires has ended. The age of black witchcraft is not beginning. The next age will belong to us, and to our human kinfolk and allies.
That’s from Part I; it’s this story’s mission statement. He’s no Henry V, but this has a certain clarity that leaps off the page and characterizes Grayson.
“Right. And to stop her, here you are, a couple of kids who ought to be in high school.”
“I assure you, no,” said Keziah, her tone dry.
This might be the series’s mission statement. (It might be the mission statement of YA in general. I laughed.)
This is really, really close to five stars. I’ve been waiting for this book since the first book launched, back when this series was supposed to be a trilogy*, and I loved the experience of reading most of this. In fact, a lot of times, I stopped reading and waved my hands speechlessly and marveled at what a great experience this was - horror and all. But this isn’t without its flaws, and then there’s an epilogue. More on that later.
This is the real story of Silver Circle; the two books prior to this one are all setup. A piece of setup pays off right at the beginning: that YouTube influencer. I’m not sure her story makes sense - what did her channel talk about, before she conveniently filled up her tank near Ethan and Co.? - but I think she’s great. (There’s an interesting “new media” arc here. Ethan taking advantage of that is hilarious to me. I love Ethan.)
And the story just takes off afterward: they’re attacking witches right away, and oddly enough (for me, at least) the attacks are riveting. The worldbuilding comes together, and the characters shine, and the tension is fantastically grounded and legitimately compelling. I was nervous - really nervous - so many times!
Then the story jumps to Justin and Keziah. In the beginning that’s a break, a place for the narrative (and the reader) to breathe. That’s when I started thinking about what a fantasy this is. Witches and black dogs and magic - isn’t it obvious? But no: it’s when small-town cops and truckers pass word-of-mouth messages to bypass the black magic that I think, wow, what a fantasy. It’s justified, because no one wants vampires 2.0, and it’s satisfying. But I love it most the first time: that message gets repeated by every sheriff’s deputy, and it does get old.
The sheer publicity of a lot of this story works well, too: saying the witches were blocking most knowledge of their existence is one thing. Videos of assassination attempts circulating, showing live events on TV that devolve into total chaos, and having ordinary civilians talking about zombie towers in Denver - now that’s showing, not telling.
I love the skill with which the story comes together. Justin’s math brain recognizing centers and sizes - the side effects of binding a demon - the way the unexpected keeps happening, and yet the unexpected is also perfectly in keeping with this book and its theme.
There is a fundamental lack of balance. There are too many characters who all need their moments. Miguel as tactician while Grayson and Herrod are sidelined seems ridiculous. And obviously (view spoiler)[Nebraska wasn’t going to be the biggest deal by itself if only Justin, Keziah, and brand new characters were there, and all the heavy hitters were elsewhere. (hide spoiler)] But I’m almost ready to overlook that.
I wrote a bunch of notes after reading book two while I was waiting for this release. There are still holes in the worldbuilding, and there are some compelling themes, too. (view spoiler)[Why don’t they travel with priests?
Why is Justin the only Pure boy? (There’s a genetics piece mentioned in the author afterword, and two others show up in the epilogue. But epilogues don’t count. I need to go back to the first short story collection mentioned in the author afterword.*)
If vampires were so effective for centuries, how are there witches who are so established and so knowledgeable? How did they learn? This is partly answered by that very satisfying conclusion, where (view spoiler)[the demon effect may have been playing an outsize role. (hide spoiler)]
Why destroy the house and all its history? They were already rebuilding in a new way, and I liked that connection to the past.
Why are Tommy’s numbers necessary, especially since physical force is shown to be a smaller aspect of strength? Self-control (Ezekiel), alliances (Ethan), even the Mastery itself are shown to have outsize impacts, and these more interesting perspectives on strength are watered down by Tommy’s scale. (hide spoiler)]
There’s this interesting thematic interplay between the witches, who bind external demons, and the black dogs, who are often called demonic, and whose shadows can be described similarly to the demon possession. But there’s a clear demarcation. There are descriptions of the work put in by black dogs for control. Black dogs have records and histories and houses. Witches seem to be considered human, but they invite in demons; control seems impossible; they have flawed records and no histories, because they tend to be corrupt, paranoid, and power hungry.
The Special Forces have been in a lot of supernatural situations, and the contrast is clear. You don’t need repetitive locals spelling it out again and again: walk into one house and then walk into another. One has death and enslavement and selfishness; the other has community and families and children. Is it a complicated community? Yes. Does it have nonhuman instincts? Yes. Are its standards fairly unclear sometimes? Does it consider itself less subject to human law? Yes and yes again. And yet the choices show something.
On the epilogue: I tend not to like epilogues in general, but this one almost feels like a piece of a different universe. (view spoiler)[So many ideas about strength are muddied in the epilogue. Why does Sergei think he’s so strong, or is it posturing? How is Diego suddenly so strong? Why does Alejandro get his own sept? (So he can marry Camila? Not so necessary if they’re in Mexico anyway, is it? So he and Diego can work against Vicente? Isn’t that unnecessary if Vicente is being sent farther south?)
And Vicente the attitude problem! He highlights interesting hierarchy issues early on, but he feels like an anachronism in the epilogue.
Why “never challenge me?” Is that really strength? Why are there conversations repeated that have already taken place earlier? What’s with the circle? And why isn’t Miguel with them? (How is Grayson okay with this?) Why aren’t the lingering effects of witchcraft affected by the circle? In a way, isn’t Miguel the only one without a happy ending? (hide spoiler)]
I think I’m going to shelve the epilogue in my brain, if I can, and reread the story itself. Ultimately, the series pushes everyone’s backs against the wall, where they weather losses and do pretty incredible things. I’m not sure what that means when there isn’t any more danger. What was it like under Thos? Was there a time with no war? It doesn’t seem like their shadows are really different. Could the Zemlya story be a model for this new world and for working together - almost entirely focused on black dog politics? Are there still black dog politics? Why is this epilogue so noncommittal?
More to come, probably. I’ve managed to crank out a lot, but I’ve also only read this once, and I’m curious how this holds up to rereading.
*One notable thing about this series is its structure: I’ve never read a series where the short stories are vital parts of the overall arc, but if you haven’t read the Zemlya story, or a little about Keziah’s family, you wouldn’t know about certain major characters or plot points. I don’t know if this is legitimate, but it’s new to me. Bonus points for unusual choices....more
This one is all action. It doesn’t let up anywhere for a single second… and it’s only the beginning slice of the story. Some things were really, reallThis one is all action. It doesn’t let up anywhere for a single second… and it’s only the beginning slice of the story. Some things were really, really predictable: (view spoiler)[how many people wondered if Miguel was always so casual at the idea of killing? Isn’t Etienne exactly the sort of character (view spoiler)[who wouldn’t make it? (hide spoiler)] Isn’t the only way to bring in multiple points of view to tell multiple stories at once, in about six different places? (hide spoiler)] And some things were unexpected and really smart: (view spoiler)[Ethan finding himself overmatched - tracking Justin like that - using one of the new, loose-thread black dogs in a way that solved a lot of problems - actual fighting, not diplomacy, solving the big problem in Mexico… Martya and Grayson, did not see that coming, I like that a lot, they’d better not die… (hide spoiler)]
Am I a little annoyed at an eerily omniscient Big Bad who’s three steps ahead of hundreds of smart people who are managing to work together? Do I like the way massive amounts of death seem to be what give things heft in this world? Is it reasonable that Miguel has the weight of the world on his shoulders or (view spoiler)[that he so desperately wanted to be important and now, look, he is? (hide spoiler)] Is the narrative unevenly divided between points of view? Do I care about none of this, as long as my favorite characters survive and that survival has logic and meaning and potential all wrapped up in its future?
Yes to all, of course. I’ve been waiting for this book for a long time. Now there’s just part three left, coming in a few weeks. Not that much more time to worry about the ending… One of this series’s strengths is theme - strength and weakness and self-control, history informing the present and the future - and so far it’s impossible to say how those will play out. ...more
Setup, setup, setup. I understand the logic of breaking a very long final novel into three parts… but I don’t have to agree with it, right? This book Setup, setup, setup. I understand the logic of breaking a very long final novel into three parts… but I don’t have to agree with it, right? This book took too long to set itself up - too many characters, too many points of view, too much repetition within those points of view - and then poof, it was over. I made the (shockingly) smart decision to wait as long as possible before starting this series, so at least I had part two ready to go.
But this is definitely a sliver of a story and not an independent piece of writing, and while it does recap (often annoyingly so), it wouldn’t stand on its own even if all three parts were lined up neatly. Maybe this should have been two parts, not three?...more
This is more along the lines of my former impression of Pratchett: glib - sacrificing plot for humor - obsessed with the joke above all. There isn’t tThis is more along the lines of my former impression of Pratchett: glib - sacrificing plot for humor - obsessed with the joke above all. There isn’t that thematic breadth of Going Postal (which is a tour de force) and that might say something interesting: there may be a workaday solution to the mail, but apparently Pratchett cannot come up with an innovative solution for finance that doesn’t involve - well - miracles. Utter fantasy.
This isn’t really about finance: it’s about wacky old ladies and their fussy dogs and their wills, and an overdrawn-to-the-point-of-caricature Moist gets dragged in to… blather to the press? Be cornered? Draw a nonsensical deduction? He doesn’t propel the plot, which careens ridiculously in exaggerated ways. People’s faith in him feels misplaced to the point of farce; in Going Postal that reads as deliberate and here it feels sketchy and lackluster.
This book also has what I’d consider “the killer’s” point-of-view, too, and on my second read I did what I do in Nora Roberts books: skipped right over those sections. The book doesn’t lose anything by skipping them. Which says a lot about the writing here.
This book is about as subtle as its name, which is to say, not at all. It reaches for the audacity and panache needed to carry that off and instead lands on flippancy and superficiality....more
“…Nasty place, Uberwald. I heard where it’s a misery wrapped in an enema...”
On the one hand I have the impression of Pratchett as a glib storyteller
“…Nasty place, Uberwald. I heard where it’s a misery wrapped in an enema...”
On the one hand I have the impression of Pratchett as a glib storyteller for whom the joke is the point more than the story, and on the other hand I have Night Watch. This book might be the perfect bridge: it’s glib, it tells a lot of jokes, and it seems built around a giant joke of a premise - and yet it’s very, very good.
One interesting thing is the way its plot tangles up the completely predictable with the unexpected. The entire dwarf arc is almost perfectly done, really, an impressively constructed mystery, and the way it ties into Sybil’s story is great, too. But Vimes as ambassador hits every expected note: let’s send a policeman to be our diplomat! He’ll cause chaos which he really cannot help! His moral system will collide with politics! He’ll be blunt and rude! Isn’t that funny?!
And of course, since the book is superbly plotted, everything connects to Angua and Carrot and jokes about officers and chains of command. And while these plotlines work, they’re also expected.
“No one knows how to do officering, Fred. That’s why they’re officers. If they knew anything, they’d be sergeants.”
…Nobby was watching him with an expression of combined concern, friendliness, and predatory intent.
“What shall I do, Nobby?”
“Well, ‘Captain,’” said Nobby, and then he gave a little cough, “what officers mainly have to do, as you know, is sign things –”
In theory I might think that tempering the wacky with the expected is what makes the crazier elements work. But here I think Pratchett is talented enough to make just-the-crazy work. He can pair prison escapes and dwarf opera and Truth; does he also need dogs and wolves and werewolves, all behaving as the map would lead you to expect? Colon as Captain is funny, sure, but is funny enough?
And the inescapable conclusion is that this is the book’s theme: “I’m a policeman,” said Vimes. “I can always find a crime.” Everything comes to this. How can this book be both brilliant and by-the-numbers?...more
This is good, probably - and yet I only liked parts of it. It’s a hodgepodge of tones and characters and satire and points of view, and it’s not especThis is good, probably - and yet I only liked parts of it. It’s a hodgepodge of tones and characters and satire and points of view, and it’s not especially consistent. It’s got a little of that glibness I don’t like from Pratchett, and it’s got a heavy-handed message (there’s a gonne and it’s the most dangerous weapon in the world! What could it be?), and the ending makes it feel like a solution in search of a problem: how can we keep Vimes in his current job, without which this universe might very well implode?
(That conviction, Vimes as linchpin, makes the entire world flimsier in retrospect.)
There are parts I really like, but they stand out because the rest of the book feels pat and convenient and mediocre. That said, this isn’t mediocre, and even its glibness works:
Individuals aren’t naturally paid-up members of the human race, except biologically. They need to be bounced around by the Brownian motion of society, which is a mechanism by which human beings constantly remind one another that they are… well… human beings.
And I love what I have to assume is the Shakespeare reference here:
“I appear… to be losing a lot of blood,” said Lord Vetinari.
“Who would have thought you had it in you,” said Vimes…”
And It was important to ensure that rumors of his death were greatly exaggerated.
There are probably more of these I didn’t catch, but I didn’t care all that much. And I still haven’t figured out why Carrot is a king, though once again - didn’t care all that much. This book isn’t that great at making me care....more
I like Laura Griffin a lot, but this series is so insubstantial. The stories are too short; the first one gets around that by being spread over two voI like Laura Griffin a lot, but this series is so insubstantial. The stories are too short; the first one gets around that by being spread over two volumes (not a fan! Just tell the story in one volume!) but the subsequent two are over right after they begin.
Griffin usually writes about stereotypes, but she makes them work because she has the space to write about multiple interactions, and each one builds a little more humanity, a little more individuality. Here she has no space. Each story has to turn on a dime, so her formula never moves beyond formula. This story’s a combination of Beyond Limits and the attitudes of whatever Ryan’s book is called, and it’s too familiar to be effective.
Merged review:
I like Laura Griffin a lot, but this series is so insubstantial. The stories are too short; the first one gets around that by being spread over two volumes (not a fan! Just tell the story in one volume!) but the subsequent two are over right after they begin.
Griffin usually writes about stereotypes, but she makes them work because she has the space to write about multiple interactions, and each one builds a little more humanity, a little more individuality. Here she has no space. Each story has to turn on a dime, so her formula never moves beyond formula. This story’s a combination of Beyond Limits and the attitudes of whatever Ryan’s book is called, and it’s too familiar to be effective....more
This book is another example of the reasons I thought I didn’t like Terry Pratchett: it’s an extended joke that I didn’t find very funny, with charactThis book is another example of the reasons I thought I didn’t like Terry Pratchett: it’s an extended joke that I didn’t find very funny, with characters built around the joke, no real plot, and a haphazard resolution. I vaguely remember reading a few Pratchetts like this years ago, and my reaction is the same: what’s the point? It’s hard to believe that the same writer wrote Night Watch....more
So, this isn't a complete story. I really like what's here, but it's not much. I wanted more. Much more. This book introduces a bunch of storylines - So, this isn't a complete story. I really like what's here, but it's not much. I wanted more. Much more. This book introduces a bunch of storylines - (view spoiler)[Chris being released from prison, gang activity, two murders - (hide spoiler)] and then it just finishes, with no actual resolution. I feel like I read the first ten chapters of a book - really decent chapters, but the next fifteen just aren't there.
Merged review:
So, this isn't a complete story. I really like what's here, but it's not much. I wanted more. Much more. This book introduces a bunch of storylines - (view spoiler)[Chris being released from prison, gang activity, two murders - (hide spoiler)] and then it just finishes, with no actual resolution. I feel like I read the first ten chapters of a book - really decent chapters, but the next fifteen just aren't there....more
This is good… but it’s not great. It has its moments: I thought the overlap between concise coding and concise writing was established well; the setupThis is good… but it’s not great. It has its moments: I thought the overlap between concise coding and concise writing was established well; the setup was smooth, even fun; and don’t get me wrong, NICK!
Josh had a sudden realization. Finding the right word was like writing the right line of code. Once you got it, everything fell into place. He also realized that since his first day of sixth grade, Mr. N. had been programming him, making him work at his writing – which was why he kept on looking for the right word now.
But some details don’t hold up (view spoiler)[why does Mr. N. react in a way that both Josh and Vanessa read easily, if he knew the entire time? Why throw in the “he’s trying to behave in an opposite way from Mrs. Granger” wrinkle? (hide spoiler)], and the conflict is pretty weak and disjointed: it jumps from a (frankly confusing) debate about secrets to (view spoiler)[getting one book off the internet. (hide spoiler)] This is oddly placid compared to Frindle: nothing is that big a deal. Even the interview “scoop” peters out…
I don’t think these are the wrong choices, but they do mean that the book feels less important and immediate. Ultimately this is a slice-of-life story, one where (view spoiler)[you catch up on Nick’s life. Among other things, like finding out what happened to the word “frindle”, you find out that Nick - great-adult Nick, anti-technology tech genius Nick - has a daughter who calls a real-world view “the big screen”.
Is the hero here Vanessa? “She wants to know if the frindle made you rich.” I cackled.(hide spoiler)] Something about that cuts right through and reads as true. There’s something about this book’s central message - look, writing and coding aren’t so different, we have common ground! - that ends up feeling strained and distancing. It acts as both conflict and metaphor, and so it doesn’t quite succeed at either. It pulls in different directions. It never coheres.
I think, objectively, this is good - probably very good - but it didn’t hold together well for me, certainly not as well as Night Watch. It’s overly sI think, objectively, this is good - probably very good - but it didn’t hold together well for me, certainly not as well as Night Watch. It’s overly self-aware, for one (and that’s a tone I never appreciate) and it’s disjointed, too (maybe that’s all the point-of-view jumps). The metaphors are blunt and obvious, the humor is glib and obvious, the moments of profundity are not particularly profound and - well - they’re obvious, too. I kept coming across lines which I knew I was supposed to find sharp and funny, and yet I didn’t find them sharp or funny… There’s one page about policing which I think is great - probably because it creates such deliberate contrasts - and another point when Vimes is going in circles and starts suspecting (view spoiler)[the wallpaper (hide spoiler)] that is really effective, too.
But the ending is rushed and mixed with slapstick, and none of it feels especially meaningful, especially when it’s capped with this:
“The thought occurs, sir, that if Commander Vimes did not exist you would have had to invent him.”
That’s how this book feels to me: too convenient to be true.
Somewhere, buried beneath the conspiracies and literal lightning, there might be a thoughtful book about the realities of policing. But it’s hard to tell....more
Is the beginning a little over the top? Maybe. But it’s balanced out; I love a structure which tells you how a This is fantastic. It’s - wow, really.
Is the beginning a little over the top? Maybe. But it’s balanced out; I love a structure which tells you how a book will end right in the beginning, with details that will become poignant later - when it’s done right. It’s done right here.
And this manages to be great story and great satire (I think the satire is better because this is first a great story) and it manages to make fun of everything in hilarious, cutting ways - and then in the end it’s not especially funny anymore, but it’s so moving that you wonder how something so glib and casual and ridiculous can approach such profundity…
I loved this. And there’s so much that’s quotable here:
“I can’t believe what I saw. I thought he was a thug. And he is a thug. You can see his muscles thinking for him. But he overrules them moment by moment! I think I saw a genius at work, but…”
“What?”
“He’s just a sergeant, Madam.”
The writing is sharp, but the humor - by my count, Pratchett is mocking militarism, and ranking systems, and assumptions. In fact he’s addressing entire systems and the choices they encourage. In the space of three sentences.
That’s not to say Pratchett isn’t insightful in paragraphs, because he is -
There were plotters, there was no doubt about it. Some had been ordinary people who’d had enough. Some were young people with no money who objected to the fact that the world was run by old people who were rich. Some were in it to get girls. And some had been idiots as mad as Swing, with a view of the world just as rigid and unreal, who were on the side of what they called “The People.” Vimes had spent his life on the streets and had met decent men, and fools, and people who’d steal a penny from a blind beggar, and people who performed silent miracles or desperate crimes every day behind the grubby windows of little houses, but he’d never met The People.
People on the side of The People always ended up disappointed, in any case. They found that The People tended not to be grateful or appreciative or forward-thinking or obedient. The People tended to be small-minded and conservative and not very clever and were even distrustful of cleverness. And so, the children of the revolution were faced with the age-old problem: it wasn’t that you had the wrong kind of government, which was obvious, but that you had the wrong kind of people.
As soon as you saw people as things to be measured, they didn’t measure up.
I might buy this book for these paragraphs. I read them twice. The incredible thing about them - aside for what they say, which is one of those timely and timeless pieces of writing - is that they fit into this story. They don’t read as tonally mismatched. This book isn’t slapstick, even though it’s glib, and it creates a character who can be this wise, and -
I didn’t expect this, is all.
I did note the times Pratchett made fun of the USA - “I regret that I have only one life to lay down for Whalebone Lane!” - I laughed and cringed at the same time - and right after he does this, Vimes hits the horrific realization of the thinness of the veneer of civilization - and then of course things explode. And it works. All of it hangs together.
I haven’t read much satire, but this has got to be up there, even for people who have. This is so good.
PS: I wrote all this without mentioning the time travel, which is odd, because normally that would be the most important part to me. Anyway, the time travel is fine. It could be thought through better, and it suffers from the overall glibness (let’s add some comic monks, so we can gloss over the finer details!), but it works. Which is impressive and surprising....more
So simple, and yet just enough of a twist on a classic ballet story - here, a family full of talented people who need to make space for each other - tSo simple, and yet just enough of a twist on a classic ballet story - here, a family full of talented people who need to make space for each other - to be compelling. It’s got a little bit of that ballet “magic” (though it is a bit undercut in how it takes that sparkle for granted) and it’s fun that, Streatfeild-like, everyone is talented to an extent.
This might work better with more grief, less money, and more failure, but wouldn’t they all?...more
I didn’t like this, and I expected to. But nothing of any significance happened: this was a bridge book, and one that seemed to celebrate its lack of I didn’t like this, and I expected to. But nothing of any significance happened: this was a bridge book, and one that seemed to celebrate its lack of forward movement with a corresponding amount of excess - drinking, and shopping, and dinners - while it paid lip service to a ping-ponging past. (Look here! No, here! Here’s a dream! A nightmare! A vision! The mirror! Infodump!) And it was so sloppy.
And it started so promisingly! I liked that (view spoiler)[they didn’t get trapped in the past for a long time, and that there was a real threat right away. (hide spoiler)] But the writing started to let me down right away, too:
He thought of Owen getting a bottle only a few hours before when he’d needed to vent out that worry and anger, and all the frustration that came with it, to a friend.
This is so basic: who’s the “he”? Who’s the friend?
She thought of the first time she’d opened the door to Oliver Doyle II, on a cold winter day in Boston, and without any idea how that visit would change her life...
She opened the door to cool April air, and the man who’d helped change her life.
Isn’t catching unnecessary reception what an editor is for?
An editor should have also caught the flimsy justification for the twins being separated - She didn’t need two, just one - seriously? Wouldn’t she have wanted an heir and a spare? Haven’t power-mad people thought that way since the beginning of time? (The real reason is, because otherwise there would be no premise… can’t have that, can you?)
It was so easy to keep nitpicking:
Ace, in his three-piece suit, his mane of white hair, sat at the table’s head. His wife, the quietly elegant Paula, faced him from the opposite end. Deuce sat on his right, with Corrine beside him, Trey on Ace’s left, with Trey’s sister, Anna, beside him, and her husband, Seth, across.
So… next to Corrine, then? And why would Seth be at a law firm meeting? Why would Anna, for that matter? Why were all the details in this book so haphazard?
She thought of all that had happened since she’d dressed for dinner with Trey—and he’d had to cancel.
She’d walked through the mirror, Owen beside her. She’d seen Lisbeth Poole die at her own wedding reception. Watched Hester Dobbs glide through, a ghost among ghosts, to take Lisbeth’s ring.
I honestly didn’t know what this was talking about. Was there a dinner date Trey canceled in the first book? Because the events Sonya went on to list were a recap of the beginning of this book; why would readers need a recap 66 pages in?
“Do you have one?” Sonya wondered. “A fancy yacht?”
“What would I want with that? I’ve got The Horizon. A sloop, a beauty who heels and hardens up like a dream. Let’s move it, Jones.”
…He took his plate and hers to the sink.
“Do you have one? A boat?”
“I don’t need one. I’ve got The Horizon. Come on, Mook.”
Seriously: where was this book’s editor? And I’m not even counting the sloppy writing in phrases like Longer than she and Cleo and “You could’ve waked me”, or when they mentioned their clients’ names and pages later purported to care about client confidentiality…
I thought only one possibly significant thing happened in this book - (view spoiler)[when Sonya brought back the mirror, and of course promptly gave it away (hide spoiler)] - while all seven Horcruxes still need to be tracked down. But why give page time to those when you can watch a 3am show on repeat? When instead the ex can meet a professional comeuppance? (Sonya couldn’t get the job because she was better, oh no. He had to be nasty and then overheard… It’s so overkill that it’s not even wish fulfillment anymore...)
(She got the job because she was cheaper, obviously, right? Which is totally valid! Can you not have the call celebrating the biggest job of her life revolve around her ex? Oh, and I liked that her interviewers did ask her tech questions… Cleo’s advice aside, if you’re hiring one person and not a team, you do need to know she can do the entire job.)
I’m not picking on the tone, or the clipped sentences, or the choppy dialogue - all a matter of taste. The writing itself, on a sentence level, didn’t hold up. There was repetition and contradiction and endless circling around the same details; the only thing that progressed was the weather.
Nora Roberts has so much potential. And this book was such a waste of it. Instead, she wrote, for no clear reason, I had a dinner in the private dining room with some VIPs, and saw you when I came out.
Here’s to incipient liver failure, casual overspending, and VIP dining. Let’s ignore good writing, atmosphere, and anything that might be termed a plot. Cheers!...more
Oooooooooh. This was atmospheric and believable and good. This also has a cliffhanger (a great one!) and I’m not upset! That’s how well done this is. Oooooooooh. This was atmospheric and believable and good. This also has a cliffhanger (a great one!) and I’m not upset! That’s how well done this is.
Which is not to say it’s perfect: there’s some sloppy writing - unnecessary descriptions - drawn-out exposition positioned as expertise - awkward endearments - and the historical sections are written in a deliberately stilted way. (Even though it’s deliberate, it’s still stilted.)
Unnecessary descriptions:
Now Sonya pushed up to circle the room, and her legs in running-Saturday-errands cropped jeans ate up the floor. She gestured with her wineglass with one hand, shoved the other through her hair.
And dragged out the tie that held her maple-syrup-brown hair out of its long, straight tail.
No one needs this; it contributes nothing; an editor should have sliced it out. Also, the “now” coupled with the past tense bugs me.
The woman who answered wore a tie-dyed sweatshirt over black leggings. She had a dish towel over one shoulder, and her sunny blond hair was scooped back in a tail.
Does anybody “scoop hair back in a tail”? Does anybody talk like this except Nora Roberts? The awkwardness is almost distinctive.
One more example:
“I can’t say for absolute, but I believe I did absolutely.”
This got a loud WHERE IS YOUR EDITOR. WHO LET THAT THROUGH.
Drawn-out exposition: Sonya and Cleo both explain things in long paragraphs that never read right. It’s used to describe the house and even their work, and I think it’s too exposition-heavy to work as character development (or as dialogue).
Awkward endearments: “cutie” isn’t that cute, and “Son” as a nickname for Sonya always looks wrong.
But now that I got my quibbles out of the way, here’s what I loved. First, the way the paranormal elements built - the way the people she meets are upfront that the house is haunted but Sonya refuses to believe them, the way her dad’s paintings tie in, the dreams, the process of discovering (view spoiler)[the different ghosts (hide spoiler)], even the little paragraphs from a more omniscient point of view - those unfolded so well.
And the paranormal elements fit so well in this remote setting, and I love the way it isn’t too remote. But there’s a great family and small-town feel, and the process of moving to a new place is captured well, and the career elements work. There’s a good balance of everyday and paranormal. Does Sonya have enough of a past life (friends, professional contacts, people she leaves behind)? Is it silly that everyone becomes a client? Are some parts overdrawn (cough Bree cough)? Is all the artistry floating around too perfect? Do I understand how Sonya can justify the expense of hiring a photographer to pitch a job she might not get, when she’s so concerned about building her business?
And yet these details fit together. They’re integrated well enough to feel real. They create an incredible sense of place and pacing and momentum. The mystery barely progresses and yet it’s so strong and exciting! I can pick out pieces that don’t work, but everything else does.
I can’t wait to come back to this world. I can’t wait to reread this....more
This is good, but it’s not especially polished, so it doesn’t hang together well.
The interesting: the plot follows the classic pattern, but the main This is good, but it’s not especially polished, so it doesn’t hang together well.
The interesting: the plot follows the classic pattern, but the main conflict is invented. Its premise is fantastic and so its resolution is impossible to predict, and that means that, even with conventional plotting, the pacing is affected. Also, the resolution feels fabricated, though Roberts tries to get around that by tying it into the protagonist’s strength. It’s bizarre, and I don’t know if it works, but it is interesting.
The bland: I mean, Tyler. (His kid is fun, though.)
The bad: the writing comes too close to that chopped-sentence Roberts tic - I skipped the murderer’s perspective, which I always do in these books - the characters (with the partial exception of the main family) are cardboard cutouts: wonderful neighbor, best friend, caring local sheriff, band members, snooty rich relatives (who barely appear). There are no annoyances or petty differences, only misunderstandings smoothed over by communication - and one big bad. Of course there’s a happily-ever-after at the end: except for one random evil character and total chance, they’re all living the dream.
Has Roberts ever written a book about people living in poverty, or even about people worried about money in any capacity, without ending it with success and outright wealth? I’d like to see how she handles that. Then again, these are supposed to be wish fulfillment…
(One day I will figure out how writing the perspective of the murderer fits in with the wish fulfillment. Is it supposed to be gritty and realistic? Because honestly: no thanks.)...more
This was fun to read. This mystery was a good one even if the ending was rushed, on the weaker side, and there were too many bodies… (view spoiler)[PoThis was fun to read. This mystery was a good one even if the ending was rushed, on the weaker side, and there were too many bodies… (view spoiler)[Poor Ogden. And unlike Big Shot, where (in a quietly interesting way), the murderer wasn’t in the inner circle… how could anyone possibly think they’d get away with all this? Ellison? It didn’t read as cavalier or daring but as abject stupidity. Ellison didn’t need to solve this; it was going to become obvious on its own. (hide spoiler)]
I did find a bunch of typos in the ebook - always annoying. But it’s impressive that this series is still going strong. ...more
This series is still good. I liked this book a lot, even if it does use the word “beyond” as a modifier too many times, and even if Jarvis still preteThis series is still good. I liked this book a lot, even if it does use the word “beyond” as a modifier too many times, and even if Jarvis still pretends to be menacing too often to have any real effect.
(Is Victoria possibly more menacing than Jarvis? Do I love that Hero still calls her “Cousin Victoria”? Does the menace come only from Hero’s interpretation of their conversation? Is the long arc progressing much too slowly? Yes, and yes, and yes, and yes.)
This does a good job of showing what could be hiding underneath the rocks kicked up by a murder investigation, and it ties those societal things into red herrings very well. ...more