THESE BURNING STARS (The Kindom Trilogy #1), by Bethany Jacobs

Book blurbs that compare any given story to other published works can often lead a potential reader astray: that’s what happened to me when the ARC for These Burning Stars became available, because it was often compared to Ann Leckie’s Radch saga, and since unfortunately those works never seemed to meet my tastes, I decided not to request Ms. Jacobs’ book. Luckily for me, however, some of my fellow bloggers did read the book, and their enthusiastic reviews compelled me to rethink my approach: once again I am very thankful for their recommendations, because These Burning Stars proved to be not only an excellent read, but also a debut novel that feels like the work of a very accomplished veteran.

This novel is a perfectly balanced mix of intriguing world-building and fascinating characterization, and even though it throws the reader into the middle of things with very little explanation, soon enough this story of a years-long cat-and-mouse chase sweeps you up in its powerful current and never lets you go until the very end.

The Kindom is a civilization composed by a number of planets ruled by what looks, for all intents and purposes, like a theocracy controlled by three powers: clerics, secretaries and cloaksaan – in other words, the spiritual guides, the administrators and the enforcers. It’s a harsh universe, one where the people who wield power can oppress those who don’t, and often do it with unmitigated brutality. Enter Esek Nightfoot, member of one of the most influential families in the Kindom, and a powerful cleric: she is brilliant, capriciously cruel, and relentless and when we meet her she’s visiting one of the kinschools where the future generations are taught. Academy children are assigned no gender and no name, and Esek’s attention is caught by the child named Six, a very promising pupil whose family is linked to an infamous character, so she decides to ruin Six’s future prospects while challenging it to do something extraordinary that will wow her. Six leaves the kinschool shortly thereafter and over the years poses a constant, elusive threat to Esek and to her family’s interests, compelling her to launch into a relentless chase that leaves a trail of blood and no prisoners in its wake.

Chono is a cleric as well and used to be one of Esek’s acolytes; she’s the complete opposite of her mentor’s character and also the thin connection between her and Six, since she was their schoolmate when she herself was named Four: Six keeps sending their taunting messages to Esek through Chono, whose loyalties are quite torn between her admiration and, yes, love for Esek and her horror at her mentor’s ruthlessness.

Jun Ironway is another one of Esek’s victims: her family was almost totally exterminated by the senior cleric and she now lives a precarious life as a caster (which is something like a very sophisticated hacker): that ’s how she comes into possession of a memory chip that could not only ruin the Nightfoot family and their lucrative business, but also destabilize the whole Kindom, so that Esek’s hunt for Six becomes inextricably linked with her search for Jun and the damning evidence she possesses.

This summary hardly pays justice to what turned out to be a many-layered narrative told in alternating timelines, where both the past and the present add to the labyrinthine mosaic of this engrossing story: Bethany Jacobs does an excellent job in creating a rich and intriguing universe and building it in bits and pieces as she moves forward with the narrative and adds shades and complexity to her characters. And the characters are indeed the most fascinating aspect of the novel…

Esek is certainly the most intriguing one among them: she is vicious, cold-blooded and merciless, she possesses all the attributes to be someone we would love to hate, and yet she is also mesmerizing and larger than life and totally fascinating. Her obsession over finding Six is as layered as her personality, because it’s composed in equal parts of hatred and admiration, need to destroy and desire to understand: these are also the reactions that she provoked in me as a reader, because I found her both despicable and spellbinding. This dichotomy also stands at the basis of Chono’s relationship with Esek, which goes beyond the mere link between master and disciple and is compounded by her natural empathy and by the unexpressed gratitude for the circumstances in which she became part of Esek’s retinue, an event that is probably one of the rarest instances in which the senior cleric was “guilty” of a good deed.

Besides being the story of a dogged hunt, These Burning Stars is also one that touches on sensitive themes like the harnessing of finite resources, the subjugation and exploitation of defenseless people and the callous use of those same victims as political scapegoats, and does it through a perfectly paced narrative that never confuses despite its complexity and that keeps you riveted from start to finish. And I have not yet mentioned the truly massive twist that will hit you toward the end of the book, one that comes so unexpectedly that it will have you reeling in shock for quite a while, so that I can hardly wait to see how it will impact the next books in the series.

Well done, well done indeed….

My Rating:

CALAMITY (Uncharted Hearts #1), by Constance Fay

I have often said I am not a fan of romance as an ingredient of my reading choices, but in the case of Calamity I choose to make an exception: for starters, this book received a very positive review from Tammy at Books, Bones and Buffy, and experience taught me that I can always count on her recommendations, and then in her review she used the magic words “Firefly vibes”, which never fail to attract my attention, so I decided to take the proverbial plunge and give this book a chance, and now I’m glad I did.

Temperance “Temper” Reed is the ostracized member of one of the ruling Families that govern this version of the universe and she’s now part of the crew running the scout ship Quest, eking out a precarious existence on the fringes of explored space. When the ship’s captain, who was her secret lover, chooses to abandon the crew to elope with the intern, Temper decides to buy him out and carry on, but it’s easier said than done: the ship is far from new and needs costly repairs, so when the powerful Escajeda family offers the Quest a mission that looks as lucrative as it is shady, she has no other choice but to accept.

There is one condition though, Arcadio Escajeda, the second in line for the family’s rule, will accompany them as added security – and observer. Temper does bristle under this imposition, but only up to a point, because Arcadio is a perfect human specimen who manages to make her hormones act up just as strongly as her annoyance. As the mission progresses and its true objective becomes clear, Temper and the crew will have to deal with aggressive troops from a rival Family and a local group of religious fanatics, while Temper must also battle with her growing attraction to Arcadio, who keeps showing great competence and an unconventional readiness to go out of his way to help them survive.

If I had to use only one word to describe Calamity, without doubt it would be FUN: the balance between the intriguing background, the almost non-stop action and the characterization turns this story into a fast-paced adventure, one that’s imbued with enough humor to effectively counterbalance the inevitable tropes that pepper the narrative. This humor is what made the romance element palatable for me, because the insta-lust plaguing Temper from her first sight of Arcadio is offset by her constant, self-deprecating attitude toward her own impulses: the way she critically observes her reactions turned the inner monologues into amusing asides instead of the annoying navel-gazing that usually plagues this kind of storytelling, and the Greek-chorus-like observations of the other members of the crew added a further layer of playfulness to what might have otherwise been a predictable enemies-to-lovers journey.

The background is an interesting one, a space-faring society ruled by competing Families that look more like crime syndicates than anything else, one where strife can turn deadly as the various groups battle to gain the highest rankings which assure the best margins of profit. Life in a Family sounds like a harrowing kind of existence, one where the slightest deviation from “norm” can lead to banishment – as it happened to Temper: it’s a condition made manifest by a permanent face tattoo that renders the affected individual a persona non grata in the volume of space controlled by the Family of origin and therefore limits their freedom of action. Piece by piece we are made privy to the reason for Temper’s banishment, and the revelation adds several layers to her personality and turns her into a captivating character whose self-mocking humor is the most endearing quality.

The same cannot be said about Arcadio, who gains little depth besides his willingness in helping out the crew of the Quest and his role as the focus for Temper’s attraction, while the rest of the ship’s crew gets a far better treatment and the three of them – Caro, Itzel and Micah – each get some intriguing background story and an important role as the humorous counterpoint to Temper’s growing attachment to their “guest”.

I can honestly say I had a good time with Calamity, and quite appreciated its no-frills entertainment value: it’s refreshing to let oneself enjoy a so-called popcorn read now and then, one that’s able to make us smile, or laugh, while presenting an engaging story that flows smoothly from beginning to end.

My Rating:

THE FIFTH WITNESS (The Lincoln Lawyer #4), by Michael Connelly

Times are difficult for defense attorney Mickey Haller: the economy is on a downward slope and even criminals seem less inclined to spend money for an attorney, so Mickey is forced to turn toward the less prestigious but still lucrative field of foreclosure disputes. It might not be as glamorous, but exchanging quality for quantity helps in keeping up with the bills – that is, until something changes in the daily routine: his client Lisa Trammel, one of those battling with foreclosure, is charged with the murder of Mitchell Bondurant, the banker dealing with the reclamation of her home.

Ms. Trammel has become something of a public figure since she opened a website catering to people battling with foreclosure, and mounted several protests against Bondurant’s bank, becoming so obnoxious that a restrictive order has been issued against Lisa. Once the body of Bondurant is found in the bank’s parking lot, the police investigation turns immediately toward Trammel, even though she loudly claims her innocence. There is some circumstantial evidence against her, though, and Haller will need to deploy all of his legal wiles to keep his client from being sentenced as a murderer.

Michael Connelly is my go-to author when I look for a book I’m certain will not disappoint (even more so these days, as I find myself in something of a reading & blogging slump), and he’s also a very skilled writer who knows how to create narrative tension and keep it up all throughout the novel: The Fifth Witness is indeed that kind of book, dealing as it does with the cat-and-mouse play between prosecution and defense as Haller and his counterpart Andrea Freeman, a very determined, very competitive assistant district attorney, spare no tricks to win the battle. And indeed this story shows how a trial is less the search for the truth and more a clash of wills, a chess match where a stalemate is not contemplated, or desired. Haller himself does not care about the guilt or innocence of his clients – although in this case Lisa Trammel does look innocent – but rather cares about a courtroom victory, and the courtroom becomes the battleground where he and his adversary spare no punches to reach their goal.

There is an interesting comparison Haller makes, when speaking about his work, that aptly describes the story told in The Fifth Witness: he likens it to Ravel’s Bolero, which starts quietly with only one or two instruments playing, and slowly but surely gains intensity and moment as more instruments add their voice to the music, until the final crescendo is reached. That’s what happens with the trial – and the parallel investigation conducted by the defense – where the “instruments” Haller brings into play add to the “music” he performs for the jury, to win their hearts and minds in favor of his client.

A client who, despite her protestations of innocence, is as unpredictable and unsympathetic as they come, and in a couple of instances throws an unexpected curveball into the mix and seems to deliberately want to sabotage her own defense, particularly when she gives in to the seduction of notoriety and opens up to the ever-hungry media against her lawyer’s warnings. Haller’s clients, so far, have not been very likable characters but I have to admit that my antipathy for Trammel was immediate and unshakable, so that the story’s final twist, as surprising as it was, did not come as a complete shock.

When the novel does not deal with courtroom debate it focuses on the search for clues about an alternate perpetrator, and here Haller’s staff is portrayed with brief but enlightening touches that add to the story’s depth: from Cisco, the former biker turned skilled investigator, to Lorna, Haller’s second wife for a brief time who now works as his secretary, to Maggie, the lawyer’s first wife and dedicated prosecutor who still harbors some feelings for her ex-husband but cannot abide his methods. They are joined here by Mickey’s young associate, a recent graduate from law school still fueled by ideas of justice and rights: there are many moments in which we see her struggle with the demands of Haller’s practice and with the progressive loss of innocence caused by contact with the harsh reality of courtroom skirmishes.

And of course Mickey Haller’s personality gains a few more facets as the demands of the current trial see him divided between the duty of obtaining a victory for his client and the pull of his conscience: at some point he admits to not being very familiar with integrity, and he knows that’s what his clients need to win, but at the same time he wants the approval of Maggie and of their teenage daughter, he wants to feel worthy of them – and that might be the reason which pushes him, after the conclusion of the trial, to change sides and work as a prosecutor. It was a surprising choice, and it will prove to be both a career change and a change in outlook, and I wonder what this will mean for the next novel – or novels – in line.

What I am certain about is that no matter which field Haller decides to play in, the stories Michael Connelly will tell about him will continue to be as entertaining and compelling as the ones I read so far.

My Rating:

MISTER LULLABY, by J.H. Markert

If the author and/or the publisher wanted to stress this novel’s “Stephen King vibes” by choosing a cover where a child in a yellow raincoat faces a dark opening into the unknown, reminiscent of the inciting incident in King’s IT, they managed to do so quite well. Mister Lullaby does indeed possess many of the qualities of King’s older narrative, while being at the same time its own story with an intriguing horror background.

In the small town of Harrod’s Reach there is an abandoned railway tunnel where mysterious, often deadly events have been happening for over a century, and in more recent times the escapade of a group of children on a dare ended with one of them, Sully Dupree, being hurt and falling into a coma. Sully’s older brother, Gideon, never overcame the guilt for the incident – a guilt that’s been stressed by the whole community – and shortly after he enrolled in the Army to put some distance between himself and his regrets. Three years later, as the story starts, Gideon is back home, recovering from an injury and decorated with a Purple Heart, and the town is ready to welcome him back when the party is interrupted by the news that Sully woke up briefly, shouting “Run!”.

It’s only the latest in the weird, sometimes horrific occurrences that have been cropping up lately, like the discovery of two horribly mutilated bodies near the tunnel’s mouth, or the maiming of the town’s doctor, but these events are all connected and the tunnel’s nature is going to be revealed in all its terrible danger, jeopardizing the survival of Harrod Reach’s inhabitants and probably of the world beyond…

I quite enjoyed reading Mister Lullaby, it possesses the same narrative quality I appreciated in the older Stephen King novels, a quality that lately seems to be somewhat missing: the dynamics of a small town are portrayed quite well and work perfectly in the depiction of the sinister climate that progressively takes hold of the small community as the evil coming from the tunnel becomes more apparent and encroaches on the peaceful life of Harrod’s Reach. The story is told through a series of different POVs that allow the reader to get the “pulse” of the town and to envision the story’s background without need for lengthy exposition. The other side of the narrative is instead carried by the figure of Teddy Lomax, a man marked from childhood as different because of the parallel growths on his scalp that are now growing into horns, a manifestation of his allegiance with the dreamworld of Lalaland, a landscape where everything is twisted in a nightmarish way.

Dreams – and of course nightmares – are front and center in Mister Lullaby, where the power of dreams is seen as the possible doorway for something sinister that refuses to be confined to its own twisted realm and obeys a driving need to expand and conquer. And dreams are not the only aspect of everyday life to be shown in a distorted perception – after all dreams are our way to process daily experiences as our bodies gets their necessary rest – because something as innocent as lullabies, with which we used to be accompanied into sleep in childhood, is here turned into a dreadful tool, somehow weaponized for the use of the other side’s goals. This novel stresses the concept that there is often an element of evil in those apparently innocent songs, something we blithely ignore until made aware of the hidden meanings – and that’s hardly a new notion, because fairy tales as well can hide in plain sight ghastly details barely concealed by the overlaying story….

However much I appreciated Mister Lullaby, nevertheless it turned out to be somehow lacking in some departments: the pacing is at times uneven, and there is a massive buildup of the dangers inherent in Lalaland to which corresponds a far-too-short time spent there, which left me a bit disappointed because I found the concept awfully fascinating. Moreover, that same buildup leads toward an abrupt ending: it might mean that there will be a sequel, which I will certainly welcome, but I felt almost cheated by the way the story closed, leaving several narrative threads still hanging.

And despite the terrifying events that the evil of Lalaland visits on the town of Harrod’s Reach – a veritable sequence of apocalyptic destructions – I hardly felt a real sense of danger, or of urgency, hanging over the characters. An example? There is a scene in which a group of people tries to make a stand in a house, and the forces of evil set fire to the basement, with the flames rapidly advancing: as the group prepares the leave the house, braving the deadly dangers that wait for them outside, two of them find the time to start the record player and dance, reconnecting with each other after a time of emotional distance. It seemed to me so out of context that for a moment it broke my immersion in the story – which is not something I appreciate…

Despite these small distractions, however, I never regretted the time spent on this book and look forward to sampling Mr. Markert’s other works: a new voice in this genre is quite welcome indeed.

My Rating:

THE DROP (Harry Bosch #15), by Michael Connelly

With long-standing series, no matter their genre, there is always the danger of incurring in a repetitive formula, one that might offer the comfort of a pleasant read, granted, but also one that could ultimately lead to boredom: this is not the case – so far – with Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch series: this author has the gift of making his stories feel always fresh and engaging, and his main character shows definite signs of change as his age and outlook on life evolve, most probably thanks to the parallel, real-life evolution of his creator.

In this 15th book we find Bosch still investigating cold cases for the Open-Unsolved Unit, and the twenty year old one he and his partner David Chu have just been assigned promises to be a weird one: the DNA analysis on a trace of blood found on the victim just came up with a correspondence in the police database, pointing to a serial offender. Problem is, at the time of the rape and murder of young Lily Price, the offender, Clayton Pell, was 8 years old, so either the crime lab made a mistake, or the detectives who processed the case did: Bosch and Chu really have their work cut out for them… But since there is no rest for the weary, they are also unexpectedly called to a fresh scene, that of a fall from a hotel balcony that could either be murder or suicide: Bosch’s presence has been directly requested by his old nemesis, councilman Irving, because the deceased is his own son George and Irving wants to be assured of the best police work available. No matter his past differences with Bosch, the councilman admits his admiration for the detective’s integrity and wants no one else to deal with the situation.

The book’s title obviously refers to George Irving’s fall from the hotel balcony, but it’s also the acronym for the Deferred Retirement Option Plan, the scheme that allowed Bosch to temporarily return to active duty and that is now reaching its limit: in a little over three years he will have to retire for good, and while that might prove a good opportunity to be a full-time father for his teenage daughter, the detective is not sure he’s ready to give up his life’s mission. This awareness colors his actions and thoughts as he tries to juggle both cases and for the first time in his life feels he might not be up to the task, that his keen instincts might be somewhat dulled by the passage of time.

This might be one of the reasons behind his truly cantankerous treatment of partner David Chu, who is practically kept in the dark about the cold case investigation and used for mostly menial tasks: granted, Chu is young and somewhat inexperienced, and he’s guilty of a serious misstep at some point, but Bosch’s attitude here is inexcusable and stresses the darker side of his character. I appreciate how Connelly shows both the best and the worst of his creature: one does not necessarily have to like a book character to enjoy the way it is portrayed, and I found that it’s refreshing to see how the drive to seek justice for the victims can lead to negative behavior, even for the “hero” of the story.

The dual investigation itself is the propulsive force in the story: on one side there is the search for the murderer of young Lily Price, a trail that in the end points toward a serial killer who acted undisturbed and undiscovered for over two decades; on the other there is the difficult scrutiny into George Irving’s last hours, a case with delicate political implications that might lead to upheavals in the higher echelons of both police force and city administration. These two different and unconnected stories turn the book into a compelling, fast-paced read where each new discovery raises the stakes and makes you eager to get to the truth: while there is never any doubt that Bosch will be able to find the solution to the mysteries he’s dealing with, the process is always a fascinating one and one that never ceases to intrigue me.

At the end of the book, Harry Bosch shows how this recent experience changed him, even if only a little: he acknowledges the rude treatment of his partner and makes some friendly overture that points toward some mellowing of his trademark uncompromising attitude. Maybe the pain of a betrayal from a very unexpected corner taught him that people can be hurt, and that he needs to take human weaknesses into account when dealing with other people. Or maybe fatherhood has melted some of the ice that encases his soul… No matter what, Harry Bosch remains a very intriguing character who I hope will keep being interesting for a long, long time still.

My Rating:

HOLLY, by Stephen King

Holly Gibney, the obsessive-compulsive, shy and reclusive character we first met in Stephen King’s Finders Keepers trilogy has come a long way since those early days, and now she is the protagonist of a novel focused solely on her: she has inherited the investigative agency Finders Keepers from Bill Hodges, who befriended her and started her on her journey of self-reliance, she is moderately successful in her chosen career and has made a few friends who support and understand her quirky personality.

As the novel starts, she is attending her mother’s funeral via Zoom: it’s 2021 and the height of the Covid pandemic, which would be a good reason for the agency to scale down its activities, but when Holly receives the impassioned request of Penny Dahl, whose daughter disappeared after leaving a cryptic message on her bike, she decides to investigate – if nothing else, to avoid dealing with the discovery that her overbearing mother and uncle had concocted a sort of financial fraud to try and keep her under their thumbs and deny her the new-found independence she’s come to appreciate.

As Holly starts her investigation she finds out that Bonnie Dahl is not the only person who disappeared in mysterious circumstances and that there might be a serial killer on the prowl: in this respect, King does not keep his readers in the dark for long because he reveals early on the identity of the killer – or better, killers – focusing rather on Holly’s search for clues and on her slow but constant reach for the truth, which in this case is totally devoid of supernatural elements, but instead sheds light on the horrors that twisted human nature can visit on others. King is not new to this more… mundane approach to horror, and in this case injects it with an added layer of dread thanks to the dichotomy represented by the outward appearance of the two aged professors-turned-killers on one side, and their twisted, appalling motivation for kidnapping and murdering those hapless victims on the other – a bone-chilling folie à deux carried on with gleeful casualness.

From my point of view, Holly turned out to be a story of two halves: on one side the narrative and character exploration half that worked quite well, and on the other what I labeled as the “King’s Manifesto” portion, which did not turn out quite as great. Holly’s journey toward independence and self-assertiveness continues here showing us that she keeps becoming her own person with every passing day: of course the shadow of her mother still peeks from the sidelines now and then, but Holly succumbs less and less to her smothering influence. Of course a big help comes from the discovery that she’s been lied to for a long time about the family’s financial situation, in an attempt to lure her back into the fold: the anger that comes on the heels of this revelation feels like a healthy reaction, and I liked to see how Holly manages to process it all on her own, since this time she is removed from her usual support group, given that both Robinson siblings are very wrapped up in their own affairs and her partner Pete is in isolation because of Covid.

Granted, her insecurities are still there under the surface, and they are expressed in some of her obsessive-compulsive habits, including the chain smoking that made me cringe every time she lighted a cigarette, but it’s encouraging to see her so at ease in her investigative work, so determined to get to the bottom of the mystery that looks even deeper and more gruesome than what she initially thought. Even in her most harrowing, most desperate moments, when it looks that she might become a victim herself, Holly keeps hold of some inner core of strength – and gallows humor – that shows she is not the timid, mouse-like creature that Bill Hodges encountered a few years back, not anymore. And it’s a very encouraging discovery, one that might hopefully lead to more stories about her.

Sadly, the novel’s background did not work for me as well as the personal journeys, mainly because I don’t enjoy any reminders of the Covid times: we all endured those days and that memory is still too fresh for it not to become bothersome – I believe we need some distance, some perspective, before we are able to look at those times with a modicum of equanimity. And then there is what I call the “King’s Manifesto”: we can all agree that the Covid epidemic, like many worldwide occurrences, brought to the fore the best and the worst of humanity, and that it exasperated the polarized stances that have become endemic in our present society. Portraying those opposite attitudes as part of the story’s background did certainly add the necessary depth to the main narrative, but in my opinion it would have worked better if the author had done so with a few, well-placed brush strokes: he decided instead to throw whole bucketfuls of paint to the canvas, so to speak, and did it repeatedly, as if in doubt of his audience’s power of understanding, and that proved quite annoying in the long run, and distracting, while all I wanted was to focus on Holly’s investigation and her search for justice for the victims.

Maybe Stephen King badly needed to vent and took the opportunity to do so here, but I hope that he’s done with the preaching (which never works in favor of good stories…) and will revert back to the bone-chilling storytelling he’s better known for.

My Rating:

RED RIVER SEVEN, by A.J. Ryan

Amnesia has been used often, with varying degrees of success, to heighten the drama of a narrative background, but the way it was used in Red River Seven did not feel like a tired trope, on the contrary it enhanced the claustrophobic weight of the unknown hanging over the characters and their fate.

The story starts with a bang – not a proverbial one, but rather the noise of an actual gunshot which startles a man awake: as he looks around him, he sees a dead man, the one who just shot himself. Confused and bewildered, and realizing that he has no memory of his own identity or how he ended up here (wherever “here” is), the newly awakened man sees a name tattooed on the dead one’s wrist – Conrad – and looking at his own sees another tattoo: Huxley. Soon enough, he discovers he’s not alone, two more men and three women share space with him and all of them sport tattoos of famous writers’ names, which are Golding and Pynchon for the other two men, and Plath, Rhys and Dickinson for the three women: they appear to be traveling on a remotely controlled boat being driven along a river blanketed by a dense, reddish fog.

As the six survivors try to get some bearings in their puzzling situation, they become aware that while their identities and past remain a mystery, each of them possesses specialized skills, a sort of “muscle memory” that’s completely disconnected from any identifying detail. Soon enough they are contacted by a sexless voice through a satellite phone and given precise, if puzzling, instructions for missions in which each individual’s skills will play a pivotal role. All the while, they realize that something terrible must have happened, because from the fog-shrouded river banks come inhuman cries and the creatures they manage to glimpse through some breaks in the fog have little or no resemblance to human beings….

This is going to be a very short review because I don’t feel comfortable sharing more of the plot for Red River Seven: the less we know, the more we can appreciate this story, one where for once I did not mind the lack of focus on characterization, because the relentless pace of events – not to mention the six people’s amnesia – leaves little space for anything else: readers find themselves in the same state of ignorance as the protagonists, and the slow buildup of clues paints an increasingly horrifying picture whose piecemeal discoveries add to the heavy pall of anxiety hanging over the events.

The constant fog is indeed a representation of the characters’ situation: blind to their past and to their present, they are forced to cooperate to accomplish the tasks they are given without knowing the reason why they are doing them, and having to battle the paranoia born of the circumstances they found themselves in and of the mutual lack of trust. This makes for a very compelling and compulsive read in which the revelation feels less important than the buildup that precedes it: this is the kind of story whose descriptions of the eerie background take you straight to the heart of the narrative and create a very immersive experience that more often than not takes your breath away.

Red River Seven was my first book by Mr. Ryan, who I’m aware is more known for his fantasy novels rather than this foray into SF/horror, but it will certainly not be my last: this kind of powerful, captivating writing is indeed perfect material for my TBR…

My Rating:

AN EDUCATION IN MALICE, by S.T. Gibson

I received this novel from Orbit Books through NetGalley, in exchange for an honest review. My thanks to both of them for this opportunity.

After the mild disappointment suffered from S.T. Gibson’s other new novel, Evocation, I had high hopes that An Education in Malice would fare as well for me as the author’s debut novel, A Dowry of Blood, and that the return to the theme of vampirism would re-create the lyrical writing that thad captivated me completely in that first book. But sadly that was not the case: I will have to add my disappointed review to the ones some of my fellow bloggers posted in the past few days….

The story, in a nutshell: Laura Sheridan arrives at the prestigious Saint Perpetua college to further her poetry studies under the tutelage of renowned professor De Lafontaine and she finds herself almost immediately put in competition with student Carmilla, who is clearly the teacher’s favorite. De Lafontaine, however, hides a dark secret and soon enough Laura will find herself enmeshed in a competitive triangle mixing academic learning and dark passions with unexpected consequences.

There is nothing that saddens me more than failed expectations, particularly where a review book I expressly requested is concerned, and after the amazing discovery that was A Dowry of Blood those expectations were quite high, but this book – like the other 2024 offering of the author, Evocation – did not stand the comparison with S.T. Gibson’s debut, a fact that made me wonder if the pressure of producing not one but two novels in the same year did not weigh too heavily on the author’s narrative powers. The novel is hailed as “sumptuous and addictive” but I would hesitate to use those terms because the prose, although still very close to the style used in Dowry, is certainly moodily descriptive but often fails in the dialogues that at times feel contrived, and rarely manage to convey any emotional layering from the characters.

As for the characters themselves, the relationship between Laura and Carmilla feels hurried, moving from hostile rivalry to insta-lust in too short a time to be truly believable: the novel unfolds by switching between the two girls’ POV, but their “voices” are too similar to offer any real difference between them, to the point that I often had to backtrack to the chapter’s beginning to confirm which one of them was relaying the events.  The third point of the improbable “triangle”, that of professor De Lafontaine, constantly wavers between that of the oppressive adult who wields her power to abusive levels and that of the almost-mothering figure who still does not balk at taking advantage of her young charges.  The revelation about the professor’s true nature as a vampire, and the impact it has on Carmilla directly and indirectly on Laura, is one that required a huge suspension of disbelief from me, because Laura’s almost passive acceptance of a situation that should have seen her run screaming for the hills is quite absurd.

My list of grievances could still run for a little while, but I see no reason to keep berating a story that seems to have captivated many other readers: clearly I’m not the intended audience for this book and I probably set the bar too high by expecting another compelling story as Dowry of Blood.  Maybe someday in the future that will happen again….

My Rating:

BOYS IN THE VALLEY, by Philip Fracassi

Philip Fracassi was a new-to-me author in the horror genre, but after reading his Boys in the Valley I intend to keep him on my radar, because I found this story’s blend of supernatural horror and introspection into the human soul quite engaging.

The novel starts with a tragedy, a terrifying murder/suicide which turns young Peter into an orphan: in the next chapter we meet him a few years later, one of the children relegated to St. Vincent’s orphanage, a bleak institution set in a remote corner of Pennsylvania, in the early years of the 20^th Century.  If orphanages are not “happy places” by definition, life in St. Vincent is decidedly grim: the boys are ruled by the harsh hand of Father Poole, an individual more inclined toward dogma than compassion, and their hard labor in the fields surrounding the institution is rewarded with little food and even less creature comforts. Those who don’t follow the rules to the letter are often punished with a stay in the dreaded “hole”, a penance devised by Brother Johnson, a former prison inmate sent into Father Poole’s care to amend his many sins.   For Peter, the only light in such darkness comes from the friendship with some of his fellow orphans and the one with Father Andrew, who sees in the young man the potential for a future priest and is schooling the youngster toward that goal, although Peter is torn between dedicating his life to God and the strong affection he feels for Grace, the daughter of a nearby farmer.

The monotonous dreariness of life in St. Vincent is broken one night when the local sheriff and his deputies knock on the orphanage’s door asking for help: they carry a grievously wounded man who also shows signs of delirious madness and soon Father Poole understands that something evil is afoot and decides to perform an exorcism.  The inevitable death of the wounded man is not the end of the story however, since the following day sees an ominous change slowly spreading among the children: furtive, defiant glances lead to whispered conversation among small groups of the youngsters, and soon enough terror and death spread through St. Vincent like wildfire….

The increasing sense of foreboding that drives this story is handled with admirable skill and timing, since the author does not feel any need to prolong unnecessarily the sense of dread that becomes palpable with each turn of the page: what makes the horror element very effective is the sense that we are dealing with something resembling an infection, a disease that attaches itself to the more predisposed subjects and takes root with little or no opposition.  It’s not difficult to see how the demon-inspired violence that erupts within the walls of St. Vincent is certainly sparked by the possession, but it must be also stressed that it finds a welcoming, fertile soil  in the simmering resentment of the children, whose situation in the orphanage is just one step removed from outright abuse – and in some cases goes even beyond that.  The physical isolation of the orphanage, set in a desolate valley, and the violent snowstorm that further segregates the small community from the rest of the world, enhance the claustrophobic sense of terror that pervades the story and lets the reader know that there might not be any help for the unaffected children and their wardens, turning the novel into a breath-stopping experience that makes it next to impossible to put down the book.

Despite the darkness of the tale, I enjoyed the author’s depiction of his characters, the way he can convey their personalities and their backstory with a few, well-placed brush strokes: of course Peter is front and center, and his very human struggle between the calling of the priesthood and the mundane attraction for Grace is pictured with great sensibility. Given the tragedy that informs his past, and his present living conditions, he had to grow up quickly, but still he is able to maintain a form of childish innocence that quickly endeared him to me, particularly where the author describes his unquenchable thirst for the stories narrated in the books Grace lends him – a bookworm always understands another, even a fictional one…

Peter’s natural complement is his friend David: a bit more cynical than Peter, still he’s capable of great acts of generosity and courage that will become more evident as the situation in the orphanage turns tragic. Being among the oldest, while still being young teens, they both feel responsible for the younger children and it’s easy to see how their basic decency makes it easy for the little ones to trust them both and accept their lead.  The microcosm of St. Vincent almost becomes a test site for human behavior under stress and terror, and the author conveys the disparate emotions and reactions with believable accuracy.

As far as negative characters go, where Father Poole is an almost two-dimensional figure, his coldness and arrogance immediately placing him among the “bad guys”, I quite enjoyed the more nuanced depiction of Brother Johnson: even though we are made aware of his violent past and of the contemptuous harshness with which he deals with the children, there are several instances in which his humanity tries to assert itself over the darkness of his soul, even more so once the demonic “infection” has taken him over, conferring to his character an intriguing depth that was as fascinating as it was unexpected given its premises.

Boys in the Valley is a quick, compelling read that surprised me with its intensity and the way it drew me into the narrative, one whose outcome is uncertain until the very end, where the author surprised me with what seemed to me a quite sudden close and a very unexpected narrative choice that saddened me but did not diminish my appreciation for this story.

My Rating:

EVOCATION (The Summoner’s Circle #1), by S.T. Gibson

I received this novel from Angry Robot Books through NetGalley, in exchange for an honest review: my thanks to both of them for this opportunity.

When last year I read S.T. Gibson A Dowry of Blood I was swept away by its unusual story and equally unusual narrative style, so that when Evocation was announced I was more than eager to sample this author’s new work.

David is the latest in a long line of famed magic wielders; as such he’s part of the “aristocracy” in the Boston magical scene: rich, handsome and successful in both his occult and mundane activities, he has everything one might desire – that is, until one day he realizes he’s the one who will have to pay the price for a demonic deal underwritten by one of his ancestors. Frantic to escape the fate that’s in store for him according to the terms of the deal, he has no other choice but to seek the help of another conjurer, his ex boyfriend Rhys, provided of course that they are able to mend the rift that brought to their violent breakup, and that David can overcome the strong objections of Moira, Rhys’ wife and a powerful medium, who can barely tolerate him.

As the three of them meet over the course of several days, trying to get to the source of what ails David, who suffers both physically and mentally from the demon’s onslaught, David’s jaunty façade begins to crumble, revealing many of his insecurities and past wounds, and the feelings between him and Rhys start to surface again, while Moira discovers that she can appreciate David’s company and starts building a strong bond of friendship with him.  Their complex interactions also dovetail with some important changes in the Boston magical scene, while the pressure from the demon becomes almost unbearable and David’s life hangs in the balance….

I must confess that I had quite different expectations for this story: first and foremost, the synopsis hinted at a harrowing battle against powerful demonic forces, and at a deeper look into the influence of magic on our modern society, which this book presents as something quite natural. Unfortunately these elements are kept to the sidelines and the major focus of the novel is on the personal exchanges between David, Rhys and Moira and their slow journey toward a polyamorous relationship: granted, this latter element proved to be interesting, thanks to the exploration of the various dynamics of such a complex liaison and to the painful history of two of the concerned parties, but from my point of view it ended up taking the lion’s share of the narrative space, shunting the encroaching demonic danger to a corner, so that its weight on the characters and its resolution felt more like an afterthought than an integral part of the story. 

And then there is the tone of the narrative itself, which is quite different from the opulent, almost lyrical writing I enjoyed in A Dowry of Blood: the story’s setting of course required a more modern form of expression, but I could not avoid constantly comparing its… mundane feel with the rich, beautiful writing that so captivated me in S.T. Gibson’s previous novel, so that I have to sadly admit that the overall feeling I was left with at the end of the book was that of wistful disappointment.

My hope, since this is the first in a series, is that the next books might recapture that special quality and offer a closer look into the layers of magic present in this vision of our modern world…

My Rating: