Adult Fiction

The Devil Went Down to Austin

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by Rick Riordan
ages: adult
First sentence: “The first time I knew I would kill?”
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Our erstwhile college professor and PI, Tres Navarre, is off to UT Austin for the summer to teach a class in Medieval English lit. Which means, since he’s not interested in getting an apartment for six weeks, he gets to bunk with his older brother, computer programmer extraordinaire, Garrett.

Except, because it’s Tres, things don’t quite go as smoothly as planned. He ends up going early because he’s found that Garrett’s mortgaged the family ranch to cover costs for his new start-up tech business. Which is failing. Badly. And then, Garrett’s partner and long-time friend, Jimmy, ends up shot dead, and Garrett’s the main suspect. So, it’s up to Tres (well, it’s not, but Tres decides it is) to figure out who, besides his paraplegic older brother, could have done the dirty deed. Throw in a scheming ex-wife, some rich but estranged relatives, and a cutthroat businessman out for blood, and you’ve got some dangerous people to deal with. Not to mention Tres’s ex, a successful corporate lawyer, that he hasn’t seen in two years.

Just like in The Last King of Texas, Riordan piles it on fast and furious. He’s moved the local to Austin, and while he doesn’t have the same affection for that town as he has for San Antonio, he captures the unique flavor of Austin and the UT campus. That said, the town itself takes a backseat to the story, which is all kinds of gripping. It’s an incredibly gritty story, but for different reasons than King was: dealing with domestic issues as well as business ones. Still, Riordan puts the reader through the paces, keeping us guessing as to who the real murderer is. And when the twists come (and they are there), it’s enough to knock you out of your seat. And yet, they are not out of nowhere: the ground has been laid, and it makes perfect sense when they do come, right at the end. But, even with the grittiness and twists and turns, Riordan doesn’t skimp on character: Tres is fleshed out even more, and the relationship he has with his ex is a fascinating, complex one.

I would say I’m finding it hard to believe I’m hooked on these mysteries, but honestly, I’m not. I adore Riordan’s writing. And these definitely qualify as good Riordan writing.

The Fairy Godmother

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by Mercedes Lackey
ages: adult
First sentence: “This is not the way to spend a beautiful spring morning! Elena Klovis thought, as she peered around the pile of bandboxes in her arms.”
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Elena was supposed to be stuck in a tale. You know, the one where she sleeps by the fireplace, spending her days doing all sorts of grudge work for her step-mother and step-sisters? And then she gets to go to the ball and marry a prince?

Except, she doesn’t.

She turns 21, and her step-mother and -sisters decide that this part of the Kingdom isn’t doing them any favors (not to mention that their debts are mounting), so they take off and leave Elena the house. Which the debtors then claim. Elena figures that she can’t do any worse in life, and so tries to get hired out.

And that’s when her life gets interesting. She is picked up as an Apprentice to the Fairy Godmother. See, in the 500 Kindgoms, there’s this thing called The Tradition: magic that is pushing, pulling, forcing people into tales. And it’s the Godmother’s role to direct, push, pull, prod and help people into, along in, or out of these stories. The best part of the book, I think, was working with Elena as she learned about the magic and how to manipulate the stories. The Tradition is a powerful thing, and if one doesn’t think about what one wishes, or even says, dire consequences abound. There were clever asides to several fairy tales, as well as the categorization of characters. It’s all very organized and delineated, which made me smile.

Of course, there has to be a love interest, and that shows up in the form of Alexander, the stubborn prince who ends up as a donkey for several chapters. He’s arrogant, angry and conceited, but eventually learns his lesson and takes on his own destiny, which includes breaking tradition and falling in love with a Godmother. I expected things to slow way down, but Lackey has got her books down (she should after as many as she’s written), and managed to throw a couple of steamy sex scenes in there as well as giving us a big finale to end on, both which served to, um, keep my interest.

It’s fluff, but it’s fun, enjoyable fantasy fluff. And I can’t say anything bad about that at all.

The Last King of Texas

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by Rick Riordan
ages: adult
First sentence: “Dr. David Mitchell waved me toward the dead professor’s chair.”
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My in-person book group is reading The Red Pyramid for their selection this month. Since I’ve long since devoured everything Riordan’s written for kids, and since I usually include the sentence “he’s also written a mystery series for adults but I’ve never read them” while talking about Riordan, I figured the least I could do is find out what the whole mystery series for adults is about.

Our erstwhile hero is Dr. Jackson Navarre, Ph.D. in Medieval Studies, also known as “Tres” (Spanish for three, not “Tray”; a mistake I was making). Tres is also a private investigator. In fact, that’s the reason he moved back to San Antonio, after years in the Bay Area. He’s offered a position at UTSA, in part because of his P.I. job: the man who had the position right before Tres ended up being shot to death in his house, after receiving several death threats via letter. Then, in the middle of the interview, a pipe bomb is delivered, exploding shortly thereafter. Of course Tres takes the job. It’s a series of twists and turns from there, as we explore the gritty underbelly of 1990s San Antonio. This is the third in the series (the first published in hardback, and the first my library has. I love Riordan, but not enough to hunt down the first two Tres Navarre books), but works just fine as an introduction to the world of Tres. There are a lot of characters to juggle, but Riordan manages that beautifully; Tres is easy to like, as are many of the other characters. Even the baddies are well-drawn, and have intriguing and complex motivations for their actions.

It’s vintage Riordan, to say the least. Not as funny as his books for children, but still quick-witted and engaging. It’s quite the homage to San Antonio; even though it’s rough and edgy, there’s an undercurrent of love and admiration for Riordan’s hometown. Probably most importantly, it’s brilliantly plotted (which is something that Riordan always does well); there’s enough information in the book to make the mystery solvable if you follow the clues (I didn’t call it!), but there’s also enough twists and turns to make the book exciting. Sure, it’s clunky in spots, but it’s also a page turner from the point a pipe bomb explodes into the first chapter until the final reveal at the end.

Which it to say: it’s Percy Jackson awesomeness for adults.

One Hundred Years of Solitude

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by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
ages: adult
First sentence: “Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distand afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.”

The short story? Magical realism and I just don’t get along. I don’t know what it is; you’d think with all the fantasy books I read that I’d love the subtle of play between reality and magic, but it just doesn’t work for me. I find it grating and somewhat annoying and confusing and just plain irritating.

Also: I really don’t trust books that were part of the Oprah Book Club.

The long story? I’ve heard about Gabriel Garcia Marquez for years and years, and always figured, since he was so highly acclaimed, that I ought to read him. So, when I finally got the opportunity, I was quite interested. And yet, it didn’t take me long to realize that this book is completely incomprehensible (to me). It was flipping between time and memory and the plot was utterly confusing. I wasn’t getting much out of the lives of the characters.

So, halfway through when I couldn’t see a way out of this muddle that Marquez had gotten me into, I bailed. Without a backward glance.

Because magical realism and I are just not friends. At all.

Their Eyes Were Watching God

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by Zora Neale Hurston
ages: adult
First sentence: “Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board.”
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I really didn’t know what to expect when I started this book. Honestly. I hadn’t heard much about it, and I only knew Zora Hurston from Zora and Me which I read last fall.

So, my impressions…

Shall I get the negative over with? The dialect dialogue drove me nuts. Random sample: “Dat’s jealousy and malice. Some uh dem very mens wants tuh do whut dey claim deys skeered Tea Cake is doin’.” Not too bad on it’s own, but pages and pages of it pulled me out of the flow of the novel. Every single time. I do have a couple prejudices when going into novels, and dialect is one of them. (Present tense in the other.) However, I am proud of myself: I kept going in spite of being pulled out of the novel.

Mostly because the writing (when it was in English and not Southern) was so gorgeous. Random sample:

“So, gradually, she pressed her teeth together and learned to hush. The spirit of the marriage left the bedroom and took to living in the parlor. It was there to shake hands whenever company came to visit, but it never went back inside the bedroom again. So she put something in there to represent the spirit like a Virgin Mary image in a church. The bed was no longer a daisy-field for her and Joe to play in. It was a place where she went and laid down when she was sleepy and tired.”

So simple and yet so evocative. The whole book — the narration, anyway — was like that. Simply gorgeous, poetic. And the story about a woman coming into her own, finding her own path to happiness in the face of expectations and overbearing/abusive husbands. It’s a testament to the resilience of women, the inner strength a woman has when faced with Life.

And for that, the book is more than worth reading.

Naked Heat

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by Richard Castle
ages: adult
First sentence: “Nikki Heat pondered red lights and why they seemed to las so much longer when there was no traffic.”
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Oh, you knew this review was coming.

Yep.

I figured, since I’ve already caved into the publicity machine that is ABC, and the meta-ness of it all (and am really kind of finding it all fun and games), what the heck. Why not read the second one?

Besides, it’s a really good book to read when I’m on the elliptical at the gym: engaging, but not hard to follow.

As far as the book itself: I think it holds up better than the first book as a novel. Sure, it’s still in-jokes from the series (the book opener is lifted pretty much straight from the season 3 TV opener), and the basic plot lifts from a few episodes of season 2 Castle. The murder is of a gossip columnist, which ends up being a triple murder/suicide. There’s some nice twists and turns in the plot, and the outcome didn’t really become obvious until nearly the end. It was plotted much more evenly as well; it was more character- and plot-driven, and relied less on the reader knowing the background of the show. This is a book I could see non-Castle fans picking up and actually liking on its own terms. That’s not to say there isn’t the jabs and in-jokes (in fact, what made me laugh the hardest was the moonlighting profession they assigned to Jameson Rook. Too, too perfect).

Additionally, it’s much less about wish-fulfillment on the part of Castle, the character, and more about getting the story across. In other words, Nikki comes off as more of a real character this time — she’s smart and resourceful (and remember that episode where Castle has Alexis duct tape him to the chair? That’s important.) and while she does a lot of saving Castle’s butt (coming to his rescue at least twice), they’re also working more as a team than they did in the first book. The sex is dialed way back (though there is a couple of scenes; they are just briefer and less “steamy”), and it’s more about building an actual relationship between the two characters.

So, the discussion I ended up in with Hubby was about whether or not there will be more. On the show, they’ve kind of abandoned Castle’s premise for following Beckett around, and — if I remember right — he’s not done much writing this season. So, is ABC going to keep churning out the Nikki Heat books if there’s no reference to them in the show? Hubby seems to think that they could put out as many as they like independent of the TV show, but I think that the books lose much of their charm if you divorce them from the fun of the weekly episodes. Either way, I’ll probably keep reading them until they stop being brain candy.

The Scarlet Pimpernel

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by Baroness Orczy
ages: adult(ish)
First sentence: “A surging, seething, murmuring crowd, of beings that are human only in name, for to the eye and ear they seem naught but savage creatures, animated by vile passions and by the lust of vengeance and of hate.”
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I’ve heard about this book for years. YEARS, I tell you. From people who love it mostly; I don’t remember hearing much bad about the book. And so, when finally given the push to pick it up and read it (for the in-person book group), I was quite intrigued, to say the least.

Thankfully, I’d been forewarned about the first few chapters; had I not been, I’d have thrown in the towel. As far as gripping beginnings go, this one is terrible. Horrid. Confusing and distracting, it’s supposed to set the mood, but doesn’t really do much for the story. Sure, I get that the Baroness was trying to emulate the novels of the time period (it’s set in 1792), but it was a really, really bad way to get one into an adventure/mystery novel.

Once we settled on Lady Marguerite Blakeney and her husband, the foppish Sir Percy, the story picks up. For those of you who haven’t read it (people tell you they love the book, but they never tell you what it’s about!), it’s the middle of the French revolution, and about a year int’ Marguerite’s, who’s French, and Percy’s marriage. There’s been a bit of an estrangement between them ever since it came out that Marguerite inadvertently said something which sent a couple of nobles to the guillotine. On top of that, she’s incredibly clever and fashionable and Sir Percy is, well…. not. In the backdrop of all this, the folk hero The Scarlet Pimpernel has been, under the cover of night (and under French police chief — I think; I was never quite sure — Chauvelin’s nose) rescuing and transporting condemned French nobles to the relative safety of English shores. This infuriates Chauvelin, of course, who sets out — blackmailing Marguerite along the way — to discover the identity of The Scarlet Pimpernel and get Rid of Him Once and For All.

Not a bad bit of plot, there; except that it seemed to go everywhere and nowhere at once. It seemed that the world was so populated with people flitting in and out that, while it felt busy and it felt like things were progressing, it never gave anyone a chance to really shine as a character. There are pages and pages of nothing, until the book’s nearly over when we finally figure out (called it!) who the Scarlet Pimpernel is and the adventure part begins. Except, since we’re seeing it through Marguerite’s eyes, it never really goes anywhere either. Speaking of Marguerite, there was a lot of hysterical clinging and wishing and crying on her part, which got old quite quickly. And, in the end, the real point of the plot was not really to figure out the Scarlet Pimpernel, or to criticize the French Revolution, but rather a simple love story: to reunite Percy and Marguerite.

Which is okay, I guess. It just didn’t work as well for me as I had hoped.

Heat Wave

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by Richard Castle
ages: adult
First sentence: “It was always the same for her when she arrived to meet the body.”
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“Oh, Melissa,” you say. “We know that you are really eclectic in your reading. But, a book written by the main character of a TV show. Really? Isn’t that a bit meta for your tastes?”

Yes. Yes, it is. And yet, it sat out there in cyberspace, it’s sultry cover calling to me, piquing my interest. Eventually, I had to cave in.

“Yes, but it can’t have been a good book. It’s written by a fictional person!”

Well, it wasn’t fine literature, that’s true. And I’m not sure it wasn’t even a good mystery, since I called it about halfway through. It did feel pretty pedestrian as far as books go. But, it was fun, and that’s all I was expecting. I’m guessing the screenwriters wrote it, by the way.

“What makes you say that? Nathan Fillion’s headshot’s on the back cover… they went pretty far keeping the illusion that Richard Castle ‘wrote’ the book.”

I know! And that’s one of the things I liked (besides Nathan Fillion’s headshot on the back cover). It really was an in-joke kind of things for fans of the series. Scenes in the book that were lifted straight from episodes; in many ways it was a mash-up of Castle, season one. Aside from Nikki Heat thoroughly beating up a bad guy while buck naked, of course. (Though honestly, I wouldn’t mind seeing Stana Katic pull that off…)

“So, if it’s just a bunch of scenes from episodes thrown together by the screenwriters, is there even a plot?”

Yes, it does have a plot. Nikki Heat is a NYPD detective and the latest murder is millionaire developer Matthew Starr. Jameson Rook is a celebrity journalist following Nikki around to get background for an article he’s writing. As they investigate Starr’s murder, things unravel about his background, his wife, and his business, centering in on the $60 million art collection in his house. Of course, lives are put on the line, banter is had, and sparks fly. It’s not as fun as the show, and I got annoyed with a few things — like calling Detectives Raley and Ochoa “Roach” — but mostly, it’s was just fluffy fun.

“Even if it is fun, why should we, who don’t really watch Castle or follow Nathan Fillion obsessively on Twitter, read it?”

My response: Why aren’t you? It’s quite fun as TV goes. Great writing, pretty good stories, it’s some serious fun. Seriously, though, if you’re not a fan of the show, I really don’t know why you’d pick up the book. Unless you really, really like mysteries and will read just about anything. But, if you’re a fan (or even if you only just watch the show), it’s a quick, fun, fluffy read.

“*sigh* That means you’re going to read the sequel, doesn’t it?”

Yep. It does.

How to Survive a Garden Gnome Attack

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Defend Yourself When the Lawn Warriors Strike (and They Will)
by Chuck Sambuchino
ages: adult
First sentence: “Keep reading if you want to live.”
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You know you have that zombie invasion handbook sitting on your bookshelf. (Or maybe it’s hidden in your personal safe?) But really, zombie invasion? That’s so not happening. The real threat? Those stupid garden gnomes you have in your yard (or if not you, your neighbors). (Yes, I do have one in my backyard, thankyouverymuch.) Thankfully, Chuck Sambuchino has done the research necessary to help you protect yourself (and your friends and neighbors, should you choose to share).

I found this one through Whimpulsive, and knew I had to find a copy for myself. It sounded so hilarious. And in many ways– mostly because it reads like a 1950s bomb shelter advert — it was hilariously funny. There are instructions, illustrated with pictures of gnomes in various attack modes (too funny!), on how to asses the risk of attack and protect and defend oneself against the homicidal maniacs. It’s too far-fetched to even remotely be realistic, but, it also takes itself seriously enough that I could sense myself almost being convinced: yes, I do need to fortify my house! Then I’d do a double-take: it’s only silliness. Ah, the power of propaganda.

At the very least, it’s a fun way to spend an hour. I think I’m going to go check my garden gnome now, though. Just in case.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

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by Betty Smith
ages: adult
First sentence: “Serene was a word you can put to Brooklyn, New York.”
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I’ve heard about this book for years, mostly from people who absolutely love it. So, while I knew next to nothing about this going in, I did know it was beloved by many, many people whose opinions I respect.

Happily, it lived up to my expectations. As the Anna Quindlen pointed out in the forward, this book is both about nothing and about everything. It’s so hard to summarize: how do you take a childhood and distill it down into a few pithy sentences? It’s semi-autobiographical, Betty Smith’s childhood was probably not unlike that of her main character, Francie Nolan. It’s a childhood in Brooklyn, New York; but it’s not a glorified childhood: Smith holds nothing back. There’s poverty, discrimination, abuse, drunkenness, attempted rape, murder, death. It’s life, in all its griminess, for all to see. And yet, for all that, it’s not depressing.

In fact, while I hesitate to call it lyrical, it is thoughtful and very evocative, of both a life and a place and a time. There were parts to make me laugh, parts to make me think, and while I think it kind of petered out at the end, it petered out in a hopeful note (I was actually very happy there wasn’t an epilogue; that would have killed the book entirely). I found it to be a very touching portrait of a life, and now I understand what everyone is talking about.