Review: The Drowned Girls (Angie Pallorino, #1) by Loreth Anne White

★★★★½

Montlake Romance | 2017

Filed Under: Protect your lady-bits

I’m telling you right now, this book is the motherfucking shit.

Not even an exaggeration, honey.

And it’s the shit for one reason. Yes, it’s got murder. Yes, it’s got sex. Yes, it’s got a psycho serial killer. Yes, it’s hitting that fine line in the level of detail. Yes, it reads like real-life honesty. Yes, it’s got gore. Yes, it takes place in C to the A to the N to the A to the D to the A…

Hold on, did I spell that right? *goes back to check* Yep.

CANADA!

But listen to me readers and lovers: without Detective Angie Pallorino as a lead character, we would be sitting at a three-star rating. That’s just the truth.

Was there anything astonishing about the storyline? Not really. It’s interesting, but at the end of the day, it’s a police procedural. Extra points for taking place in Canada and getting my Canadian ass a little hyped because I’m always reading books that take place in the UK or the US. And quite honestly I’ve had just about enough of the United States at this moment in time.

I’m pretty sure serial killers obsessed with religious bullshit have been done to death.

But do you know what’s not done to death?

Serial killers obsessed with religious bullshit who are being hunted by Angie Pallorino.

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Review: In Cold Blood by Truman Capote

★★½

Random House | 1966

Filed Under: How much bullshit in true crime is too much bullshit?

I have an ~~unhealthy obsession~~ totally normal interest in true crime. I love mystery-crime fiction. And I’m not comfortable just resting on my laurels and staying in the here-and-now. I want to know the history of the things I love. I want to develop an appreciation for those that came before and helped contribute to making these genres as accessible as they are, and as artistic as they’ve become.

I also want to be that girl who reads classic books and has a nighttime face routine and wakes up early to take her dog for a walk before making a fresh smoothie full of kale or cucumber or like, avocado toast. Whatever the healthy people are doing these days.

But if my reading experience with In Cold Blood has taught me anything it’s that I’m none of those things and classic books are boring as shit. I got out of bed this morning fifteen minutes before I needed to leave. And I don’t give a fuck.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic. I give a tiny baby of a fuck and not all classic books suck. #NotAllClassics.

Honestly, I’m super disappointed that I didn’t like this. I feel like I should have. It’s almost a rite of passage to read this book if you’re in the murderino scene. It’s so popular and has all those keywords on the cover – “spell-binding”, “masterpiece…”

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? This book is giving me an extensional crisis.

In Cold Blood was written over a period of seven years and published in 1966. It was not the first true-crime book ever written, but it is the first to bring the true-crime genre to mainstream culture. Capote created the blueprint. He’s a trailblazer.

And I didn’t like it?! I DIDN’T LIKE IT.

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Review: Missing, Presumed (DS Manon, #1) by Susan Steiner

★★

The Borough Press | 2016

Filed Under: Bridget Jones’ Murder Diary

If you’ve ever thought to yourself “what would Bridget Jones be like as a homicide detective?” then you’ll want to read this book.

I myself have never wondered about Bridget Jones taking on different career paths, (really she does enough of that in her own stories,) but now that I have some idea of what a “DS Jones” would look like, I’ll tell you, it doesn’t work.

Missing, Presumed is the first book in the DS Manon Bradshow series – a UK police procedural revolving around the disappearance of the twenty-something daughter of a prominent doctor.

Overall I found this to be severely lacking on the police procedural part and overwrought on the personal character-study side, like to such an annoying degree that I’m physically disappointed by this book. And also fucking exhausted.

It’s certainly not what it was presented to be on the jacket or in the blurbs.

This “anecdotal, emotional personal story-time” style of writing is likely why the author draws comparisons to Tana French, but I’ve read Tana French and this is in no way as poignant, complex or relevant in its attempts to create emotionally stirring connections to the multiple character POVs.

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Review: The Fifth To Die (A 4MK Thriller, #2) by J.D. Barker

“You can’t play God without being acquainted with the devil. “

★★★★½

Houghton Mifflin Harcourt | 2018

Filed Under: Mother Yod

This is what you have to know going into the 4MK series:

This story is a marathon, not a sprint.

And I’m not just talking about this particular book, number two in the series.

J.D. Barker has crafted a rich, intricate world full of robust, personality-driven characters and advanced storytelling meant for thicc-ass novels. You don’t get conclusions around here. There is no end until it ends.

It’s a train that never stops. It is always moving towards the next destination in this 4MK world where you’ll be given new threads and new clues and new revelations that put one more puzzle piece into the jumbled picture that is Anson Bishop and Detective Porter.

This series is detailed, not so much in the visual description, but in the depth of narrative and connections. They are flying all over the place, from past to present, from case to case. It could be too much for some readers’ tastes, but for me, I was filled with pure joy at how vast this puzzle really is.

And I don’t want to oversell this, but HOLY SHIT, YOU GUYS, IT’S THE GREATEST THING OUT THERE RIGHT NOW ON THE FACE OF THE EARTH.

…Yeah, that feels like the appropriate amount of cap locks.

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Review: Dark Game (DI Kelly Porter, #1) by Rachel Lynch

★★★

Canelo | 2018

Filed Under: Dan Abram’s Pecs

Welcome to another edition of Krystin Struggles To Write A Review For A Book That Was Just Okay!

These are my least favourite reviews to write. I think I’m a person who creatively operates best under strong swings on the emotional spectrum. I don’t know what that says about me psychologically, but I don’t want to either.

Writing a review for a book that didn’t get me fired up either way is kind of like being asked “how was your weekend?” by an expectant colleague and struggling to come up with an answer because all I did was lie around in my PJs mindlessly watching repeats of Live PD.

That Dan Abrams sure does like some tightly fit sweaters. And I am not complaining.

I don’t know, guys… Do you want to talk about this book or do you want to talk about Dan Abrams’ wardrobe? I’m leaning more towards the wardrobe. Blue is really his colour.

yas checking out GIF by Vanessa Marie Carter

Alright, alright! Let’s do this.

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Review: The Last Mrs. Parrish by Liv Constantine

★

Harper | 2017

Filed Under: My rage knows no bounds!

I wish the publishers hadn’t stuffed this novel into the psychological-thriller genre just because that’s where all the cool kids are, but had instead been honest about what this book is: a dark romance meets women’s fiction meets soap opera intrigue with a terrible, TERRIBLE message.

This level of dramatic soap-opera nutty-ness is just not my thing. It lacks humour and humanity, and is overpopulated with silly dialogue and tropes that feel like a reenactment. Not to mention, the internal misogyny that permeates the entire theme gets my feminist hackles up.

(This could get mildly spoiler-y because I’m going to rant, so if you’re super excited to read this, here’s my takeaway: Don’t waste your time with this, unless you’re cool with domestic abuse and the idea that it can be deserved. Otherwise, read on!)

So, this is pretty boring. It’s slow with dull scenes and so overtly dramatic in its boring elements that it becomes comical and cheesy. Ohhhhhh more rich people events with wildly cliché conversation? More descriptions of fancy clothes and designer labels and expensive underwear and boats and bikinis and hot bodies? Please, please, tell me again what else these people are spending their excessive amounts of money on!

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Review: The Woman in the Window by A.J. Finn

“Something’s happening to me, through me, something dangerous and new. It’s taken root, a poison tree; it’s grown, fanning out, vines winding round my gut, my lungs, my heart.”

★★★★★

William Morrow | 2018

Filed Under: WHERE IS YOUR WIFE?!

I went into this reading experience with full-blown anxiety triggered by a library return date breathing down my neck.

I assumed there was not enough time for me to get through this because my weekend included my in-laws staying over and a front-hall closet renovation. I decided to try anyway because I ain’t no quitter. I opened this Saturday night, so completely aware that I had a Monday morning deadline that I got a little high first to set my nerves.

And guess what, nerds? I blew through this baby so hard I gave myself TMJ.

Look, the truth is that this is not a groundbreaking novel or even particularly original in its overall concept. I see a lot of middle-of-the-road reviews from my friends who just didn’t get into it, who thought it was overhyped and underwhelming, and I understand. I think those reviews had a “Lowered Expectations” effect on me because I FUCKING LOVED THIS BOOK.

Shout out to all the special people who got the MadTV reference. You are my people.

Maybe it was the library anxiety meets weed meets meh reviews, but holy shit if this isn’t the most fun I’ve had reading a book since…like…a week ago…

Okay, you know what? The timeline isn’t important.

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Review: The Vanishing Season by Joanna Schaffhausen

★★★

Minotaur Books | 2017

Filed Under: Birthday cards and beer bottles doing their best to be creepy

This novel reads like the author really likes to watch the Hallmark Channel or Lifetime movies. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing if you’re into that.

Thor knows, I’ve binged all the Aurora Teagarden movies like a fucking champ.

The Vanishing Season ticks off a lot of boxes on the “Cozy Lifetime Mystery Checklist.”

That’s a thing. Let’s go through it…

In a small town (✓), Abigail Hathaway, who now goes by Ellery and escaped a serial killer as a teenager (✓), is now a cop herself (✓). But no one knows about her dark past (✓) and she intends to keep it that way. Ellery, with knowledge no one else has (✓), connects three seemingly unrelated missing persons cases that she’s never worked on (✓) and decides there must be a copycat killer in her tiny town (✓), but no one believes her (✓) and won’t unless she outs her true identity (✓). What this killer really wants is her (✓)! The killer starts to leave her notes and packages to let her know he knows who she is and is watching her (✓).

Ellery calls for backup in the form of a disgraced FBI agent (✓), who also happens to be the same agent that saved her from certain death all those years ago (✓).

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Review: Eighth Grave After Dark (Charley Davidson, #8) by Darynda Jones

★★

St. Martin’s Press | 2015

Filed Under: Pregnant Mirror Sex

It physically hurts to say this, like I have bad gas, but I must tell the truth: I did not like this book.

I really do love this series and the characters have a special place in my heart, but WHAT IN THE HOLY-HELL IS GOING ON?

This can be my problem with long-running series: at some point, the author wants to take things to a new, unexpected level, but because the story has been going on for so long the only place left to take readers is right off the fucking rails.

And this is the book in Charley Davidson’s adventures that dropped off the tracks and decided to go careening off a bridge.

First of all, this book read more like a romance erotica novel than a true Charley Davidson instalment and I was just not fucking into it.

In case anyone forgot over the previous seven novels, Reyes is hot. Reyes is sexy. Reyes is the hottest, sexiest Son of Satan that ever did exist. Also, he’s Charley’s husband. They are married. They got married. Charley married the Son of Satan and he’s hot and sexy and beautiful, and they are so so SO in love and have amazing, mind-altering, orgasmic sex. Reyes is more beautiful than any human male could hope to be…

Honestly, this book might as well have been titled An Ode to Reyes Farrow’s Muscles and Beauty.

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Review: Into The Black Nowhere (UNSUB, #2) by Meg Gardiner

★★★★★

Dutton | 2018

Filed Under: Physical satisfaction

OKAY, FIRST OF-FUCKING-ALL: FUCK YES

And second: I’m so depressed this is over.

I’m not religious, but over this Easter weekend, I’ve decided I worship at the printing press of Meg Gardiner. And her books are my bible.

If you’re interested in my new religion, let me know. Maybe I’ll make some pamphlets.

I’m completely blown away by this instalment in the UNSUB series. I think I literally peed my pants over the first one. And it seemed a completely impossible task that an author would deliver an equally pee-pants worthy follow-up.

But, I’m peeing my pants right now. (Not really. I’m at work. No one would appreciate that.)

Still, this is a completely solid five-star rating, and my only little tiny, itty-bitty teeny issue is a completely personal one that comes from the fact that I know everything about Ted Bundy. He’s my favourite serial killer. Not in a weird way. You know what I mean.

Look, I’m not apologizing. It is what it is.

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