by on

The great comic actor Danny Kaye once said of his Gilbert & Sullivan parodies: “You know, I like Gilbert and Sullivan; I love singing it. I always wanted to make some records of some of them. Then I start in all good faith to sing it properly and then something goes haywire inside me; I go haywire–and the words go haywire.”

Something similar happened to me once: I wanted to write a classic 1940s noir-style detective story. Like Kaye, I started in good faith to do it, but it went haywire. That is to say, it turned into one of my typical action stories, with too many shootouts and too much technology. So I gave up on it.

What’s this got to do with C. Litka’s latest short story? Well, unlike me, when he tries to write a noir story, it doesn’t go haywire. On the contrary, he captures the vibe perfectly, despite the fact that as usual, the setting is not Earth, but his own cleverly constructed sci-fi world.

Nevertheless, he nails the essence of the noir tale. I could practically imagine the main characters as Bogie and Bacall, bantering back and forth as they tail their quarry through snowy streets on a dark evening.

Now, although I say the story is noir, it’s not jet noir. Part of the charm of Litka’s stories is the fact that, unlike so much modern fiction, they aren’t gratuitously violent or debauched. Well, hey, many of the classic noir films had to follow the Hays Code, too, and yet they turned out all right.

Enough of this! You want details, right? Well, sadly, I can’t give too many, because this is a short story, and to say much at all would give away the fun. It’s another Redinal Hu story, set a few months after the first one. Hu is once again drawn into an intrigue among the rival Great Houses. And as in the first story, what I enjoyed most about this is how he uses his wits, rather than violence, to effect a solution.

Admittedly, the same can’t quite be said of his dog, who gets involved in the action quite unexpectedly. Dogs are not known for handling matters with subtlety and discretion, which makes for an entertaining twist in what feels like an espionage caper.

All told, another highly enjoyable entry in Litka’s series-within-a-series that is the life of Redinal Hu.

by on
Book cover of 'Betrayal of Trust' by Geoffrey M. Cooper, featuring a woman in a lab coat with long hair, holding a bloodied syringe, set in a medical environment.

What’s better than a Brad and Karen thriller from Geoffrey Cooper? A Brad and Karen and Martin Dawson thriller! If you read earlier books in the series, you know him as the soldier-turned-medical-researcher who is a good friend of Brad, and who has helped the duo out in the past. I always enjoy his scenes, and so I was delighted when he teamed up with them again, assuming he would once again heroically help them all work as a team to catch the killer, as he’s done before.

Well, the way it all works out in this book is a little different. But I can’t say how. Sorry, you’ll just have to read it. What I can say is that the book is about a mysterious killer who keeps striking important medical researchers. Brad and Karen’s theories regarding her motives are forced to evolve with each crime, until eventually the pattern emerges in an unsettling way.

But what I think I liked best of all about this book is what the title refers to. The betrayal in question could be multiple things, including one possibility that isn’t even connected directly to the killer. I like ambiguity and mystery, leaving things up to interpretation. For one thing, it’s what helps keep critics like me in business. 🙂

Jokes aside, this is another good book from Geoffrey Cooper. I have only one slight, nit-picky complaint. As always in Brad and Karen books, part of the fun is the good food the protagonists enjoy as they try to crack the case. But I felt like in this one, it was always a lobster dinner.

Now, lobster is no doubt a northeast staple, so I can’t claim its not authentic. But I want variety! One lobster dinner is okay, but can’t we have some other delicacies, too?

I kid, I kid. This isn’t really a complaint, or if it is, it’s only the kind of complaint a long-time fan of a series can make. Like the Star Wars fans who wish there was a movie all about Porkins or somebody; it’s the kind of complaint that comes from a place of love, and I always love reading a Brad and Karen adventure.

by on
A woman with gray hair and glasses holds a cake in front of a lighthouse, promoting the book 'Candy Apple Curse,' an Autumn Cozy Paranormal Mystery, by Eva Belle.

This book is the sequel to Harvest and Haunt: An Autumn Cozy Paranormal Mystery, which I reviewed last year. This one is much shorter, and isn’t so much a mystery as it is just a straight-up fantasy novella. Nova Powers is once again drawn into a case of supernatural doings when her aunt Grace is poisoned. Investigating the crime leads Nova to the door of a mysterious woman named Mary Lightning, who runs an occult bookshop. (Side note: once I make my fortune, perhaps I should open an occult bookshop.)

But, as in Harvest and Haunt, what matters here is not so much the plot. Nor is it the characters. No, here it’s all about the setting. Or, as the youth of today are apt to say, “the vibes, man.” (Usually, they say these “vibes” are “off” right before I tell them to get off my lawn. But I digress.)

These books are for enjoying of a cool Autumn evening, with a gentle rain and the Halloween lights glowing in the mist. The Pacific Northwest is ideal for this sort of thing, as David Lynch well knew, and Eva Bell does as well. The atmosphere does practically all the work of establishing a pleasingly eerie Autumn mood.

It’s true that I would have liked more emphasis on the mystery aspect, and I don’t think there were any scenes as memorable as in the first book, when Nova finds her yard filled with cornstalks on a dark and windy day. And I missed some of the supporting characters from the first book as well.

On the other hand, the end of the book includes what looks like a delicious cookie recipe, so there’s that. You’ve got to like any book that gives you instructions on how to enjoy the same meals as the characters you’ve just read about. Kinglsey Amis was entirely right about food making us feel more drawn into the world of the story, and that’s all you can ask from a cozy mystery.

by on

Some people say I’m too prone to romanticizing the past. And they’re right; I am. I wasn’t always this way; I used to look at the past much more critically back in the good old days.

I was thinking about this because this is where I normally say something like, C. Litka writes books that are a throwback to a better era of literature. But maybe that’s not true. After all, he wrote them in this era, so they are, ipso facto, of this era. And if they are of this era, why not say so? Nothing could possibly be more satisfactory!

Still, if anyone else is writing stuff like this right now, I don’t know who it is. The Darval-Mers Dossier is actually a story-within-a-story; it is one of the Red Wine Agency detective stories, alluded to in Litka’s recent Chateau Clare and Glencrow Summer, in a world which is slowly losing the advanced technology on which it depends.

In this setting, we meet Redinal Hu, who is not really a detective yet, but only a messenger. A mysterious client gives him a message to deliver to a wealthy young-man-about-town, that states simply, “If you care for her, stop seeing her.” Redinal has no idea what this means or who the “her” in the case may be, but he delivers it all the same. And then, as always happens in stories, one thing leads to another.

Compared to some of Litka’s other books, the story is actually a bit darker and more hard-boiled. But these are relative terms; as is customarily the case in Litka’s books, people are (mostly) pleasant and any violence is threatened rather than overt. Nowhere is this more plainly shown than in Litka’s rendering of the traditional Big Scene of the mystery novel, where the detective has all the players gathered in the drawing room. The way he does it is quite clever, and I bet Agatha Christie fans in particular will get a kick out of it.

So, by Litka standards, this is a gritty, fast-paced thriller. By modern standards, it is a cozy mystery. But which is it really, in absolute terms?

Haha, trick question! There are no absolute terms when it comes to this sort of thing. If there were, that would imply rules of writing, and we all know where that discussion goes. No, the fact is Litka’s books are sui generis, and that’s what makes them so wonderful.  If they sometimes recall elements of writers like Wodehouse and the pulp mystery writers of yesteryear, well, they also have some themes which seem much more modern. I love Wodehouse, but I can’t recall any story of his that makes you think about the changing role of technology in our lives.

If you’ve already read some Litka books, I doubt you need me to convince you to try this one. But maybe you haven’t read any yet. If so, you might pick this one up, because it fits more easily into a familiar genre than some of his others do. If you’re in the mood for a pleasant mystery to read on a summer vacation, then this may be just the ticket.

by on

This is a noir mystery with some supernatural elements. The genre the author gives for it is “decopunk”. Well, what’s not to like about that?

It features a colorful cast of characters, and a plot involving a MacGuffin in the form of a typewriter case and an identical case filled with cursed dominos. It’s a good story. But as with Raymond Chandler’s tales, it’s not so much the story that’s the big draw here; it’s the writing.

Here’s how it begins:

This is that thing most hated and feared, the thing they tell you to skip, like the opening minutes of a meeting. It is the thing everyone says to cut—Cut it off like Cinderella’s poor stepsister cut off her heel to fit in the shoe (once you are a queen you won’t have to walk anymore). This, my dear readers, is The Prologue. 

The whole book is narrated like that, with a voice that occasionally calls out the fictional nature of the story itself, down to describing which beat of the plot we are about to encounter.

Now, this style of narration is currently out of fashion. Which is naturally why I liked it so much. The author wasn’t afraid to use a voice that felt right, current fashions be damned.  The richness of the prose made the story feel fresh, much more so than if exactly the same plot had developed with a different narrative style. I like a story that’s not afraid to give a knowing wink to the audience.

There’s nary a sentence that feels like it was lazily tossed in to move the action along. Every word is deliberately chosen to evoke exactly what the author wanted. It is a work of exquisite craftsmanship.

With that said, the book as whole seems like it is merely a prologue to a much larger story. Which, since this the first installment in a series, is only fitting. It’s an excellent introduction to an offbeat setting with equally unusual characters.  Most importantly, it feels like it was written as a labor of love, and a desire to tell a unique tale. In a world of spin-offs, reboots, and sequels, this is a quality that is most welcome. Highly recommended.

by on

I think I figured out Geoffrey Cooper’s secret. This is the 8th book in his Brad & Karen series, and when a series reaches that many, you start to wonder what magic is behind it.

Well, I’ve got it, I think: they are like cozy mysteries.

Of course, they don’t fit the standard definition of cozy mysteries. Generally, cozies have at most one or two deaths, fairly lightly described, not very grisly, and usually of unlikable characters. Not so in these thrillers–sometimes bad things happen to good people.

And cozy mysteries tend to be fairly lacking in high-tension fights. Again, not the case here. The Plagiarism Plot has one of the most high-powered combat sequences of the whole series; a full-blown military-style gun battle that would not be out of place in a Peter Martuneac book.

So, again, not cozy. Therefore, on what do I base my assertion that it’s like a cozy mystery?

Mostly, it goes back to the two leads. No matter how dark the crime, it’s always a pleasure to rejoin Brad & Karen in solving it, because they are both likable and fun.

And then of course, there’s the food, which both of them enjoy regularly. Kingsley Amis said that writing about food is the surest way to get your reader sympathizing with your characters, and I think he was right on.

There’s a real comfort in reading about these familiar characters, and that’s what makes it feel cozy, or cozy-adjacent, even as Brad and Karen are once again plunged into the cutthroat world of academia, where ruthlessly ambitious people are willing to go to any lengths to achieve their goals.

I highly recommend this book and this series; even if thrillers aren’t normally your thing. You might just find that you enjoy the less intense, quieter moments of the story.

by on

You know how I sometimes talk about I struggle with having enough description in my books? Mark Paxson, who is himself a fan of minimal description, has even said that sometimes I should add a little more description. He’s right, but unless it’s something really nifty, I generally get bored describing things. I’d rather move the story along.

Well, this book does NOT have this issue. It has some of the most description I’ve ever seen. Fans of description will be in, as they say, hog heaven.

Which, to be clear, is as it should be. It says right on the cover that it’s a cozy mystery, and cozy mysteries are, above all, about vibes. The town of Cape Mystic, Washington is shown in vivid detail as a windy, rainy, Halloween-obsessed community, with more than a few mysterious legends and secrets hidden away under its gray skies.

In short, it’s exactly the sort of place I could fall in love with; and so I didn’t mind reading about it described down to every last richly Autumnal detail. If you love Autumn and/or Halloween, you should enjoy this book.

Now, some of you might remember that a while back, I reviewed a book called Junkyard, which was also a sort of cozy mystery–albeit a sci-fi one. I enjoyed the book, but Chuck Litka read it after seeing my review, and his review was much harsher. (And frankly, extremely entertaining.)

And I can’t honestly say I disagree with what Chuck said in his review. The plot had holes you could fit 660 drums of maple syrup into. All Chuck’s critiques are quite valid; I don’t dispute them in the slightest. And yet, I enjoyed Junkyard. Why? I dunno; I guess just because I liked the setting and felt like all the rest was not meant to be taken seriously.

I think the same could be said of Harvest and Haunt.  It’s true that the mysteries which make up the plot are not the stuff of Sherlock Holmes or Hercule Poirot. And I’m pretty sure the Cape Mystic law enforcement officials do not follow proper police procedures most of the time. I bet if Chuck reviewed it—not to put him on the spot—he could find plenty more issues.

But, I’m not here for a taut legal thriller or complex detective story. No, a book like this you read because you want to feel like you’re immersed in the setting. Like you’re the one in the dark, rainy October evening; hurrying home along dark streets because the howling wind has knocked out the power, and a storm is rolling in, and loose Halloween decorations are swirling in the eerily charged air…

See? Certain things can bring out the desire to describe, even in me. If you want a strong Autumn atmosphere, this is a fine choice.

by on

A number of people I follow have read and reviewed this book already. I’m not sure how I didn’t hear about it before a few weeks ago.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from the cover. As it turned out, what I got was part thriller, part magical-realism, and part revenge story.

The book follows Teri Altro, an investigator on an anti-drug task force in Michigan. Members of a drug cartel attempt to assassinate her, but a stopped by a mysterious man with inexplicable powers, who disposes of the would-be assassins.

This prompts Altro and the rest of the task force to try to uncover who the man is and what is motivating him. Gradually, they uncover a history of a soldier named John Walker, who fought in Vietnam, and is now seeking to liberate the Hmong people from oppression by a brutal drug lord.

That’s the high-level plot summary. But there’s more going on here. The strange and mystical powers which Walker possesses, and which he uses to take revenge against the people “without honor” who have used him and so many others, is in many ways about healing from trauma. The theme of the book concerns Walker and Altro recovering from their personal wounds.

So, it’s a page-turning plot about supernatural vengeance for corruption and conspiracies with interesting characters. Is there anything not to like?

Well, I had a couple nit-picks. Mainly, the members of the anti-drug task force just didn’t behave like I would have expected. Their maturity levels were more like those of high school students than professional government agents. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part.

Still, it’s a good story, and the flashback scene sin particular are very vividly written. Anyone who enjoys thrillers, mysteries, or good old-fashioned revenge stories should give it a try.

by on

Friends, I have a problem. Admittedly, it’s a good problem.

I’ve just read a new book by one of my favorite authors, and I’ve enjoyed it immensely. But the problem is now I have to review it. Ordinarily, when writing a review of a book, I start out by telling you something about the plot, the characters, etc.

But this book is the second installment in a series, and so to introduce you to it much at all, I would have to tell you a little about the first book, including what series protagonist Liza Larkin did in it. And this is the tricky bit, partially because to do so would not only risk spoiling the first book in the series, but also because Liza herself is always a bit of a Rorschach test. (Come to think of it, she’s also a bit like the character Rorschach, the anti-social vigilante from Alan Moore’s Watchmen.)

So what I say about Liza’s action in book one will carry over and affect how she’s viewed in book two. It’s a bit like how, at the beginning of Knights of the Old Republic II, you have to explain what happened in KotOR I, which can vary depending on your choices. And my interpretation of the first book may not be everyone’s interpretation. I alluded to this when I reviewed it, and it’s even more true now. All I can really say is the Liza discovers a friend’s aunt is dead. While the death is ruled an accident, Liza is not convinced, and this sends her analytical, logical—and sometimes paranoid—mind to work.

What happens from there, though, is very much a matter of who and what you choose to believe. There are all sorts of dark twists and turns: fentanyl overdoses, an ongoing attempt by an ex-con to blackmail Liza, and multiple visits to a BDSM club. And none of this is even the really strange aspect of the book.

Which, as I said with the first book, is exactly what makes it good. Your view of what happens here may not be the same as mine. The truth is that we, as readers, are being asked to solve a mystery as much as (or more than?) we are following Liza as she solves it. We get clues. But what do we make of them?

If you’re disappointed by the lack of specifics in this review, I hope I can at least convey this much: Malignant Assumptions is a terrific book, even better than the excellent Fatal Rounds. It is fairly typical for a thriller to keep a reader guessing what will happen next. What is more unusual is when it makes the reader second-guess what has already happened. But that’s what these books do, and so create a mental tension that, if nothing else, makes it easy to empathize with Liza’s own peculiarly (over?)active mind.

by on

It was a near thing, this. I almost didn’t have a book to review this week. I wanted an America-themed book since we just had Independence Day here in the USA. But until this past Monday, I couldn’t find anything short enough that I would have any hope of reviewing in time.

To the rescue rode Zachary Shatzer, on a horse that was white, but also red and blue. Or something like that. But you all know by now that I always love to read a Shatzer book, and when I saw his latest was a parody of political thrillers, a genre near and dear to me, you can well imagine my delight.

Puppet Dance features all the tropes we expect of thrillers: conspiracies, assassins, double-crosses and backstabbing. Except instead of being done seriously, it’s played for laughs. The president is a simpleton elected solely for his good looks. The vice-president has to juggle his Machiavellian plans for world domination with mending his relationship with his goth teenage daughter. And the assassin, who prides himself as a ruthless and efficient killing machine, is actually a bit of a bumbling buffoon; for example, when he drops his rifle and ammunition on the way to prepare for a job, and his forced to eat one of the bullets to conceal it from bystanders.

The plot is basically a power struggle between aforementioned vice-president and the director of the CIA, both of whom are vying to be the true power behind the throne of the empty-headed president. The only person capable of saving America–indeed, seemingly the only person capable of doing anything well–is Agent Dennings of the Secret Service, who saves the VP’s life at a hopscotch convention.

From there, it’s off into a madcap labyrinth of whimsy and silliness as only Shatzer can deliver. I could try to summarize it all, but really, the whole point of the thing is the humorous way the story is told.

Which is not to say there isn’t a deeper reading that can be made. What are literary critics for, if not to systematically suck the joy out of any work of fiction by imagining things in it that the author never intended? This, dear readers, is my speciality.

You can read a fairly scathing critique of 21st-century culture in the works of Shatzer. For example, the way Vice President Beanstar slowly builds a coalition of supporters by pandering to fans of various activities, celebrities, franchises and the like, could be read as a comment on consumerism; as people who fanatically (and remember always the word “fan” is short for “fanatic”) build their entire identity around some piece of pop ephemera are easily manipulated to advance the goals of a malevolent politician.

Or again, when Agent Dennings goes undercover as a television star, but the effort fails because people have so thoroughly conflated the actress with the character she portrays that they are unwilling to even speak to her. Much of Shatzer’s humor is derived from characters who have completely dedicated themselves to raising trivial issues to the level of zealous idolatry. Something that will be familiar to anyone who has ever been on the internet.

These are interesting themes, and no doubt a healthy corpus of literary criticism could be derived from them. However, that would just miss out on the real fun of Shatzer, which is basically that in his world, even the villains are basically good, if rather eccentric, and everything can always be resolved in a pleasingly amusing fashion.

Shatzer, like Wodehouse, is fundamentally optimistic, and this shows through in all his works. Even when he is making fun of something, you can always sense the affection at the heart of it. So, in these troubled times, when one can be forgiven for checking a little anxiously, and a little more frequently than usual, whether that star-spangled banner does indeed yet wave o’er the land of the free and the home of the brave, I think I’ll give the last word to Shatzer. Or rather, to Agent Dennings, the embodiment of humble competence in a world run by madmen, narcissists, and criminals:

It was a strange thing, she mused, that America could manage to be such a wonderful place when led by people like this. And it was wonderful, she had no doubts about that. The ideas on which it was based: freedom, equality, and opportunity, though never fully and perfectly realized, had also never been crushed by the ceaseless parade of corruption, morons, and corrupt morons at the highest levels of power. An incredible feat, when you thought about it.