Review: Fifth Grave Past the Light (Charley Davidson, #5) by Darynda Jones

★★★★

St. Martin’s Press | 2013

Filed Under: Reyes is awful, I don’t get it

You guyssssssssssss, I love Charley! Sincerely, I have massive amounts of affection for her.

I wish she was my friend, but she’s not real, so… We could get drinks together, gossip about people (both alive and dead), maybe get high in our pyjamas and then pass out watching Rick & Morty.

She’s just honestly one of my favourite female characters.

And really, you don’t even need to read this series from the beginning to get into it, (but it does help.) You can jump in whenever and immediately know Charley. Because her voice and her personality are clear and genuine from the beginning. Darynda Jones has her figured out and never wavers from that cannon truth.

This time around Charley is dealing with a lot and it starts from page one. A cheating husband, gunfire, being confronted by the police about how exactly she manages to solve cases the way that she does. Not to mention, her apartment is filled with dozens of dead blonde women who may, or may not, have been killed by a serial killer. They are the worst houseguests too – climbing her walls (literally), hanging from the ceiling (also, literally), straight-up ignoring her requests to communicate but then also getting in the shower with her. Like you do.

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Review: The Ice Beneath Her by Camilla Grebe

★★★★

Ballantine Books | 2016

Filed Under: RUN BITCH RUN

Holy Nordic crime fiction, Batman!

OKAY, please completely ignore that I started this book review with a holy batman exclamation. I am high and it was playing on a loop in my head, so I had to say it.

If you’re a fan of the aforementioned genre, you will absolutely love this novel, I promise. Nordic crime fiction is always hit or miss for me, but this one by Camilla Grebe is a hit.

Let’s start our bookworm asses at the beginning, shall we? (Also, do worms have asses?)

An unidentified, decapitated woman is found in the bed of a moderately famous, very wealthy CEO. And he, Jesper Orre, has seemingly disappeared. He’s not a fucking magician, so what the fuck?

DI Peter Lindgren is the lead detective on the case. He’s a despondent, sullen character. He has an ex-wife who hates him and a troubled teenage son whose issues could probably be traced back to his ongoing search for a connection with his father. Only time and again, he finds that Peter has been, and always will be, more interested in his job than his family. It’s a tale as old as crime fiction itself.

You can take the detective off the job, but you can’t take the job off the detective…? That doesn’t make sense. Never mind.

Also lending their insight to the narrative is Hanne. She’s a former criminal profiler who had to leave her career behind after the effects of her early-onset dementia left her unable to do her job to the best of her ability. She’s stuck in a loveless marriage with a controlling man, and can’t even trust her own mind. So, when she’s asked to consult on the case of the headless woman, she says fuck it and finds her strength to make the leap into independence, despite her illness.

We love a badass, independent woman around here. Hanne keeps her badass-ittude very classy and understated. And I totally aspire to that. But for now, I’m a messy swamp demon made of contradictions. But still… I’m aspiring.

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Review: Stillhouse Lake (Stillhouse Lake, #1) by Rachel Caine

★★★★

Thomas & Mercer | 2017

Filed Under: Doxxing a serial killer’s family, like true internet heroes

After reading this I am going to be on high alert-code orange, for any signs my darling husband is a deranged serial killer.

I mean, he has serious deep-rooted hate for bunnies, so that’s got to be red flag number one. All I need now is to find a locked room in our house that I’m never allowed to go in, and it’s all but confirmed. I’m going to have to kill him. I can’t turn him in. I love him too much.

But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Stillhouse Lake by Rachel Caine is a different twist on the usual serial killer thriller. This time the killer is behind bars and the star of the show is his ex-wife.

For the duration of their marriage, Gina Royal had no idea her seemingly sweet husband and doting father of her children, Melvin, was stringing women up in the garage and doing things with the skin (Hannibal Lecter shout-out) until a drunk driver rams into their house and reveals his last victim. But honestly, with a name like Melvin, wouldn’t you have had an inkling? Sorry to all the Melvins out there, but let’s be real.

Usually, coincidental happenstance to bring about a plot event can come across as cheap or lazy to me, but the sheer drama of the reveal was so unexpected that it worked and was a perfect hook to open this novel. No one reads about a body hanging in a garage and thinks, nah this isn’t for me. Next!

Or like some people do, but I’m not friends with them.

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