Category Archives: Blogging

Books That Shaped Me: The Prince of Tides

I’ve sat looking at the title of this blog for the last half an hour or so, wondering if “shape” is the right word to use. I mean, I know what I want to say, but “shape” could be off-putting. But then again, maybe not. I guess what I’m trying to say is, until I picked up a book most of the world was unknown to me, apart from whatever my parents and teachers told me. I had to find a lot out by myself. As much as I loved TV shows growing up (I still do: if you look at my Twitter feed, I’m all about Line of Duty these days), when I opened a book and immersed myself in whatever literary world I decided to inhabit at the time, I learned more about human nature and human relationships that anything I heard in a classroom or a church pulpit. The genre didn’t matter; we humans act the same whatever the setting, wherever we find ourselves. So I think it’s right to say that as I grew into my reading, certain books impacted me in ways that still sit with me years and even decades later. Pat Conroy’s The Prince of Tides is one of those books.

Published in 1986, The Prince of Tides is the story of former football player and high-school teacher and coach Tom Wingo. Married with three young daughters, he has a twin sister, Savannah, a poet who lives in New York, who has had mental health issues since she was a child. Another suicide attempt uproots Tom from his home and family in South Carolina to his sister’s side. In doing so, he leaves behind his own mess: his wife Sallie is having an affair, and he’s not surprised by this at all. Clearly a number of things aren’t right with the Wingo family.

Tom meets his sister’s psychiatrist, a beautiful Jewish woman called Susan Lowenstein, and she challenges Tom to fill in the blanks in Savannah’s and his family history. It’s a journey down memory lane that is both traumatising and eventually healing. Along the way Tom and Susan form a relationship that is combatative but respectful. They come from very different backgrounds, financially and culturally, but Susan’s husband is indifferent to her and is also having an affair. So they have a lot in common when it comes to intimate relationships. Tom and Susan have an affair of their own, which changes how each of them views life, love, and family by the end.

I wasn’t familiar with Pat Conroy before I picked up this book in the early 1990s. I knew about the movie version, though, but hadn’t at the time seen it. I may have chosen to read the book because of the movie, being a fan of Barbra Streisand’s film and music career, and also who doesn’t love a bit of Nick Nolte. I followed his career from his Rich Man, Poor Man days. Perhaps I may have picked up The Prince of Tides because of its theme of family relationships and how they can, if they’re not nurtured and allowed to grow, mess up even the most steadfast of people. I confess to not being in the best of places in life when reading this book. Outwardly I might have looked like I was doing okay, but inside I was close to being a mess. I flitted between jobs and missed a couple of really good opportunities to do well in life and personal relationships, but I found myself making one bad decision after another, all of which had my family wondering where the hell my common sense had gone. I was also drinking too much (something Mr Nolte can relate to), and it took me another decade to do something about that.

Pat Conroy’s writing, however, sang to me. I don’t think there’s one author out there whose prose style has touched me in the way Conroy’s did. You would be surprised to know, though, that I never read any of his other books; this despite him being the author of recognised classic American novels like The Great Santini, Beach Music, and The Lords of Discipline. I don’t know why this it. It could be that I’m afraid to read an author who, though he came from a completely different background to me, seems to know what I’m about. That is scary.

Pat Conroy (image: The Guardian)

Writers and readers will ask the question of themselves and others: what draws you to a book–is it the plot or is it characters? For me, any writer worth their salt can plot a book until the cows come home. It’s the easiest part, in my opinion: Lord knows I’ve plotted enough books and stories over the last 15 years to fill a dozen trilogies. But characters are the key. Pat Conroy deep-dived into the hearts and souls of every character he put in The Prince of Tides. Only the Master of Horror himself, Stephen King, could consistently do this book after book after book, regardless of the plot. I’m sure Pat Conroy did the same, but I’ve got to pluck up the courage to read another of his works. Maybe soon, who knows.

The Reincarnationist Papers by D. Eric Maikranz

In July of last year million of us around the globe sat down to watch the latest hit movie to come from Netflix. The Old Guard starred Charlize Theron as Andromache (Andy) of Scythia, one of a group of near immortal beings, masquerading among us mere humans as soldiers of fortune, mercenaries travelling the globe taking on causes to help humanity. It was as action-packed as it was thought-provoking, drawing on the myth, and sometimes the hope, that gods live alongside us.

In 2009, author D. Eric Maikranz self-published his debut novel, The Reincarnationist Papers, urging his readers to act as agents and promote his book to Hollywood movie producers. Fast forward to this year, 2021, Infinite, directed by Antoine Fuqua and starring Mark Wahlberg, based on Maikranz’s novel, is scheduled for release in September. I’m really looking forward to the forthcoming adaptation, because this book is really good.

Like The Old Guard, The Reincarnationist Papers tells the story of a group of people who live forever. Unlike the heroes of Theron’s movie, the characters in Maikranz’s book age and die naturally. Some die by other means, but in the main, when their bodies die, their souls are reincarnated into another newborn body. The concept behind this is, I think, we all reincarnate but only a very, very small number of us remember our previous lives. This is what happens to the main character, Evan Michaels, who from an early age can recall two previous lives: a Bulgarian who fought in World War I; and a young boy from Georgia in the United States who died in a fire. Needless to say, these memories mess him up and when we meet Evan, he’s a professional arsonist, making money from people defrauding insurance companies, and contemplating suicide. When a job threatens to go south on him, he’s rescued by Poppy, a mysterious woman who lives with her servant in an abandoned church. She nurses Evan back to health and tells him a story he doesn’t quite understand but nevertheless is close to believing.

D. Eric Maikranz

Poppy is one of an elite group of 27 people who can remember their previous lives. She is convinced that Evan is another reincarnated soul, but he must meet the other members and prove his worthiness through a trial known as Ascension. The book then takes Evan and the reader on a journey through time and memory. Maikranz backs up his main story with plenty of thought-provoking and philosophical discussion about life without death. I found these sections fascinating and important to the story as a whole. Peppered throughout are narratives about Evan’s and Poppy’s previous lives. We learn more about most of the other members of the Cognomina (the name they give themselves), who meet up in Zurich every year on Midsummer’s Day. They are rich beyond comprension and Evan wants –needs — to be part of this family.

My favourite characters are Samas, an art collector who has his own agenda for Evan; and Poppy herself, who is mercurial and not altogether trustworthy. These beings, despite being long-lived, have human needs and traits, and each of them has a backstory that could fill another book or two in this series. Maikranz has a second book coming out in the near future, too, thank goodness: Evan and his new family practically demand it.

Also available from the author is a free-to-read origin prequel, which serves as an interesting prologue to the main book. I recommend you read this first, though it’s not a prequisite. D. Eric Maikranz has written a little beauty here, full of great characters and excellent story-telling. If you have the slightest interest in life and rebirth, I don’t hesitate in asking you to read The Reincarnationist Papers. Don’t wait for the movie.

The Children God Forgot by Graham Masterton

I have a soft spot in my black little heart for the works of horror maestro Graham Masterton. Some time in the eighties I must have read close to a dozen of the author’s early work. Personal favourites were The Manitou, Charnel House, and for me, the daddy of them all, The Devils of D-Day, a crazy book that placed demons, angels, and all kinds of mythological beings right at the heart of WWII. I thought it magnificent.

(Image: HorrifiedMagazine.co.uk)

Masterton’s books are literal page-turners. He wastes no time in setting the scene and getting straight into the beat of the story. In his most recent book, The Childen God Forgot, we’re thrown into a series of freaky situations that have doctors and police officers baffled. The setting is multi-cultural London, and our main characters DS Jamila Patel and DC Jerry Pardoe, who appeared in a previous book, Ghost Virus, have to deal with a strange occurence in the depths of London’s sewage system. A man has gone missing, and his colleagues tell a horrifying story of malformed children and an eerie green light. When the man is eventually found, he’s in serious condition, with his life hanging on a thread.

At the same time, a number of women are tormented by creatures that appear in their wombs despite not being pregnant, but having either aborted a foetus or miscarried one. These creatures have the faces of cherubs but have bodies that cannot be defined as human. Yet they live. And they are protected by a mysterious presence who will kill to defend her ‘nestlings’.

Graham Masterton

Graham Masterton has a way with grotesque set-pieces. He doesn’t pull any punches with his action scenes, and violent dismemberment or death is never far away for any of the characters in these pages. DS Patel and DC Pardoe are an engaging duo, reminiscent of Mulder and Scully in the early days of The X Files. They get the cases no other branch will go near, and often place themselves in danger when others would just cut and run. The truth is not so much out there, but under London, in the sewers.

The Children God Forgot is a great and pacy read. You’ll get exactly what you ask for and expect in a Graham Masterton novel. He makes use of his characters cultural differences to good effect, with DS Patel’s Asian background coming in to play a lot of the time. Masterton has always had a strong feel for the supernatural, and the research he did for this book is there for all to see and read. I enjoyed this book, and it reminded me of a more innocent time when I devoured his early books. He’s been prolific ever since, and I look forward to a return journey into the dark heart of Masterton’s world.

The Time Roads by Claire O’Dell

Claire O’Dell says that The Time Roads is a story about murder, mathematics, and time. It is, but it’s also a deft, complex, and at times explosive political thriller, with characters that are well-drawn, intriguing, and who seek to understand the truth about the world they live in.

Eire is the country of my birth. You will know it as Ireland, a small island nation whose nearest neighbour, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, has a rather fractious history with it. Ireland spent generations fighting for its independence from its British masters, ultimately gaining sovereignty through a series of rebellions, a civil war, and then political agreement which resulted in the six counties of Northern Ireland remaining under British control. This divide continues to have repercussions in this new Brexit era.

But what if none of this happened? What if Eire was the dominant force in Europe, and the Anglian Dependencies sought independence for themselves? Claire O’Dell creates such a world. Alba (Scotland) is independent, but Anglia, Cymru, Manx, and Wight are subjects to Queen Aine Lasairiona Devereaux and her court of Lords at Cill Cannig, where the kings and queens of Eire had lived for six centuries. It’s a marvellous concept, one I found so intriguing that I had to get a copy to read for myself. I love speculative fiction that takes in alternate history.

Aine takes the throne after her father, the king, passes away suddenly. She is young, idealistic, and looks to a future where there is a league of nations, where there is peace and prosperity. But not every nation is willing to be part of this prototype U.N, though. There are anarchists in Europe who are willing to fracture time itself to stop this from happening. This happens because, at the start of the book, Aine funds the research of a scientist, Breandan O’Cuilinn, who has found a way to move objects into the future. There is a spark of romance between Aine and Breandan, further complicated by the arrival of Commander Aidrean O Deaghaidh, a former spy who’s now enlisted in the queen’s Constabulary, the Garda. There is a hint of a love triangle, but following a series of gruesome murders, and a tragic death, the story goes down a couple of roads that are literally fractures in time.

Claire 0’Dell

The Time Roads consists of four interlinked novellas, set years apart from one another. The Golden Octopus focuses on events in November 1897, which I have related in previous paragraph. We meet Aine, Breandan, Aidrean, and the many lords who make up the queen’s parliament of advisers. The second novella, A Flight of Numbers Fantastique Strange, is set in September 1902, and this is where the tale becomes more complex. We meet Siomon Madoc, a student of mathematics at Awveline University, whose sister Gwen is a resident at a sanitorium and does nothing all day but reel out sequences of prime numbers. Murders occur, or do they? Aidrean is investigating, but things are not what they seem. Time itself if fracturing.

The third novella, Ars Memoriae, is a good old-fashioned spy story, with Aidrean going undercover in eastern Europe, at great danger to his physical and mental well-being, as he attempts to root out anarchists and traitors to the cause. The book concludes with a section called The Time Roads, where Aine and Aidrean must confront a future that cannot be allowed to happen. It’s 1914 now, and the queen is older and wiser, and knows she has to stop a war that would destroy all she holds dear. She must travel along the time roads themselves.

As I wrote earlier, this is a complex story, one that held my attention from the first page. Claire O’Dell does some great world-building here, and while I would have liked to know more about this Europe and its nations of Frankonia, Prussia, the Turkish States, as well as the new world of Mexica, what information she gives to move her story along serves its purpose. There is a grander story taking place in this world, and Eire is at the centre of is. Being Irish myself, this is as it should be.

Previously published in 2014, writing as Beth Bernobich, Claire O’Dell repackaged The Time Roads for Kindle recently. It’s definitely worth reading, and taking your time as you do. There’s a lot going on, and at times you might find yourself puzzled by what’s going on. But rest assured, while not all answers are forthcoming, the resolution is gratifying and uplifting. Time can be our enemy, but if we use it wisely, it can be our greatest ally.

The Count of Monte Cristo: Chapters 1-4

Greetings, dear reader. I wrote in a previous blog that it was my plan to read Alexandre Dumas pere‘s classic adventure novel The Count of Monte Cristo over the course of the next couple of months, taking it three or four chapters at a time. Well, the time has come. Today, I will focus on the opening four chapters of this mammoth 118 chapter long novel. As stated earler, the edition I’m reading from Canterbury Classics, and was published in 2013. I picked it up from Amazon before Christmas for about $15. It has a soft faux-leather cover, and it’s pretty.

The story begins on the morning of February 24, 1815. The date itself is important for historical reasons, but it’s not yet apparent to the characters we meet in these initial chapters why this is. Edmond Dantes disembarks the merchant ship Pharaon at Marseilles. He’s had an eventful journey which took in unscheduled stops at the islands of Monte Cristo and, more importantly for the story, Elba, where a certain former emperor of France lies in exile. Dantes lands there because his fatally ill captain, Leclere, wishes to deliver a package to Napoleon’s marshall. In return he is to take a letter to Paris. Dantes, out of fealty to his captain, agrees to continue this mission when Leclere passes away from a brain fever. Dantes is a good man, but he doesn’t ask the obvious question, and this lands him in huge trouble on home soil.

In double quick time, we meet the Conspirators, and their individual reasons for wanting Dantes out of their lives. Because Dantes acquitted himself well when his captain died (he’s the ship’s mate when we’re introduced to him), his employer wants to make him captain. For one so young (Dantes is barely in his twenties), this is a dream come true. M. Danglars, the supercargo (representative of the owner on board the Pharaon), took a dislike to Dantes from the off and is none too pleased about this rapid promotion. When Dantes goes to see his elderly father, he is horrified to find out that the money he left with his dad to take care of himself while Dantes was at sea, was given instead to their neighbour Caderousse, a drunkard, because of a debt he and Dantes had. The elder Dantes was forced to live on 60 francs for three months. There’s not even a bottle of wine in the house. When Caderousse finds out that Edmond is back, he sees another opportunity to squeeze the man and his father for more money.

Edmond is still unaware of how his return to land and his apparent rise up the ranks sits badly with some of the men around him. No sooner has he said hi to his dad, he’s away to Catalan to meet up with the love of his life, Mercedes Herrera. Unfortunately for Edmond, he has a rival for the young woman’s affections, her cousin Fernand Mondego. He urges Mercedes not to marry outside her Catalan community, but she’s not having it. She practically falls into Edmond’s arms when he interrupts their awkward conversation. Mercedes expects the two men to become fast friends, but neither men like the cut of the other’s jib (and that’s putting it mildly).

As Edmond and Mercedes look at each other all doe-eyed and begin planning a quick wedding, Fernand, Caderousse, and Danglars drown their collective sorrows over several bottles of wine at a nearby tavern. So how do they solve a problem like Dantes? Simple: they plan to set him up. They realise killing him is out of the question because Mercedes implies that if anything were to happen to Edmond, she would take her own life. Danglars forges a letter to the king’s attorney, telling of Edmond’s planned trip to Paris to deliver a letter on behalf of the usurped emperor. Fernand takes the letter and heads off to the capital, ready to accuse the young man of treason.

So we’re off to a flying start, and we’re only 28 pages in. Dumas wastes very little time in setting up his tale of adventure, betrayal, and revenge. We know Edmond is in for a boat-load of trouble, and we’re unable to warn him and Mercedes. The plot is afoot, and the next few chapters await us.

2020 and All That.

2020 has been the most challenging year many of us have ever faced. Even if we haven’t lost someone close to us, we know someone or a family who has. It’s been a lot. But while the new year won’t bring us a hallelujah moment immediately, it’s important to note that although the light at the end of the tunnel is still far away, we’re moving ever closer to it. We still have to take care of ourselves and those around us, and not do anything silly that could jeopardise our futures.

I’m not going to get all introspective. We each have our own stories to tell about year about to pass, some more heart-breaking than others. But we’re still here. We survived so far. And 2021 is right around the corner.

I’m not one for New Year Resolutions. In fact I got very little done during the year, and it was only in the last month that I put myself in front of my laptop and created this blog. I count that as a win. I read plenty of books, and my TBR pile is gargantuan. But I’ll get through most of them.

Authors and their agents have begun emailing me and DMing me on Twitter, politely requesting reviews for their currently published and upcoming books. I’m cockahoop with joy about this. I intend to get through as many as I can, taking into account I’ve got my own stuff to do this year. (Yes, 2021 will be the year I finish my own novel’s first and, if I’m diligent, second draft of the novel that’s been in my head and computer for years.) I owe it to myself to do this. So, I’ve plenty to look forward to. I think we all need a goal for 2021, even if that goal is personal rather than professional.

I hope that we can, sometime in 2021, go see a movie, eat out at restaurants, and be close to family and friends. We’re human, and there’s nothing more human than being around other people who make us feel good. A lot of us haven’t seen our parents, grandparents, andsignificant others for a long time. But we need to hold out just a little while longer. The wait, I know, will be worth it. We have to do better for ourselves and each other. Also we need to be kind to ourselves and each other. Events of the last year have changed us: it is my hope that they’ve changed us for the better. Time will tell.

So, for my part, I will continue to read, write, and take better care of myself. I have a feeling 2021 will be a banner year for me and the people I love and care about. Let each of us do our part. Live. Learn. Love. Read. Listen to music. Dance and sing. Let us be responsible. Let us welcome in 2021 with hope, but never forget the lessons of 2020.

Happy New Year to you and yours. I’ll see you on the other side for more book reviews, book-related essays, and of course, my attempt to read The Count of Monte Cristo a few chapters at a time. Stay tuned.

Gotta Read A Classic

Back in 1982, Adrian Gurvitz, a British singer-songwriter, recorded a song called Classic. If you remember the 80s well (and I do), you might know this tune. In it, Gurvitz says he’s going to write a classic novel, in his attic, as a way of dealing with his broken heart. It’s a nice song, and it sat with me at the time. I too longed to write my own classic, having had my heart broken so many damn times. I may still do, though my heart is set fare, fully mended and settled with Her Ladyship.

Going back further in time, I’m sure most of you had to read classic novels as part of your curriculum. I recall drudging through Charles Dickens’ Hard Times in particular. But one English teacher recommended the class read John Wyndham’s The Day of the Triffids and Richard Adams’ Watership Down as side exercises. I enjoyed these better. Since school, though, I’ve found it difficult to read literature from bygone eras. My attempt to read Moby Dick failed more than once, and the less said about James Joyce’s Ulysses the better. I hadn’t the stomach for either of these classics.

I mentioned in a previous blog post that I would like to, at some point, read Alexander Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo. I’m sure we’re all reasonably familiar with the basic story. Edward Dante is wrongly accused and convicted of treason by jealous rivals, and sentenced to life imprisonment on the island of Chateau d’If. Following a brave escape, he comes into great wealth, takes on a new identity, and then spends a number of years plotting revenge against those who betrayed him. I’ve seen the 2002 movie version and I enjoyed it. Now, 18 years later, I’m about to take on the book itself.

I ordered a copy online and it arrived yesterday. The edition I have was published in 2013 by Canterbury Classics, and is 1,055 pages long. The book contains 118 chapters, and if I get through it, it will be among the longest titles I’ll have ever read. (I think the longest book I’ve read is Stephen King’s complete and uncut edition of The Stand, which clocked in at 1,152 pages.)

So here’s the plan, dear reader and follower: I would like to read The Count of Monte Cristo along with you, if you’d like. I will read at least two or three chapters at a time, then post my thoughts and review each time. It’ll be a challenge that will kickstart 2021, and if I’m successful in my endeavours, I will continue the trend with another novel, many one that some of you will chose for me. There will be a post at least once a week, aside from my regular reviews and articles. I’m looking forward to it, as well as being slightly daunted by what’s ahead. But at least it’s not Ulysses. Come along for the ride. I would appreciate the company.

I’d like to take this opportunity to wish you and yours a safe, merry, and healthy Christmas. Watch out for each other. Don’t do anything foolish, and I’ll see you all on the other side. Take care and be well.

James

Childhood Christmas Books

I think I was about six or seven years old when I found out there was no real Santa Claus. I shrugged when the realisation hit me. It came about when I found a bag of books and toys hidden in my parents’ wardrobe (don’t ask me what I was looking for at the time; I can’t remember). My mother found out and came clean. To be honest, I was more interested in the books.

I can’t recall what titles they were. I just know that at the time I read pretty much everything Enid Blyton wrote, from The Famous Five to The Secret Seven, and beyond. (I stayed away from Noddy because he just wasn’t my thing.) I loved the adventure, the derring-do, and the sheer upper-class Britishness of Blyton’s books despite me being Irish, and I don’t think there was an Irish writer at the time who did what Blyton was doing. I am ready to be corrected, though. This is just my memory.

Every Christmas I would get books from my parents. About a month before the holidays I was given x amount of money to spend on books, and I would walk up to a nearby shopping centre where the only bookstore within a manageable distance was located. The store was called Books Unlimited and there I found a corner of joy in a world that was at the time, in the mid-to-late 1970s, going mad. (SPOILER: It’s still going mad.) As the seasons passed, my reading tastes changed. I left Enid behind and graduated straight to adult class literature. Smugglers Top was replaced by the Orient Express and mysterious goings-on at Styles. I devoured Agatha Christie, who is to this day, the best-selling crime novelist of all time. My wife and I would listen to podcasts dedicated to Dame Agatha’s books, particularly All About Agatha, hosted by Kemper Donovan and Catherine Brobeck. My wife would also listen to Christmas themed stories on audio at night time. (I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve heard Hercules Poirot and The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding this month.)

Later years would see me pick up every action thriller written by the great Alistair MacLean. I’m sure many of you will have seen the movie adaptations of some MacLean’s books, especially The Guns of Navarone and Where Eagles Dare, but the books are where it all began. He was a prolific writer, and while his characters and dialogue would be considered tropish in this day and age, you can imagine the thrill I got when I started a new story. At the time, there was no writer like him, even if the likes of Len Deighton and Hammond Innes were, without question, better at the craft.

Then, with the popularity of horror fiction coming in the wake of the blockbusting success of The Exorcist and The Omen, I read books of terror and dread into the small hours of the morning. I discovered Graham Masterton, who still publishes to this day. (In fact, I have a new book by Masterton on my NetGalley shelf, which I will read and review ahead of its publication this coming February.)

So, for me, Christmas was as much about new books as it was about food and family. And I love to think back to how it all started, with Enid, with Agatha, with Alistair, and how I looked forward to finally getting my hands on the books that had been bought by me and for me in the run up to Christmas Day. This year I can’t wait to open up the present I bought myself. More on that later.

My Year in Books and Sudoku: 2020

As we’re just weeks away from throwing 2020 into the trashcan, many websites and media outlets are doing what they can to throw a positive spin on what has been a tumultous time for citizens of this planet of ours. It’s a hard task, I know. Many of you reading this will have been directly affected by the pandemic that wreaked havoc on the way we live our lives. Some of you will have lost someone dear, and are still unable to grieve properly because of national and international social restrictions. Life hasn’t been fair, and while we see a chink of light in the near distant future, we’re still anxious as hell.

(Image: Literary Hub)

But we found ways to cope. For me, while I was apart from my family in the US, I gained solace in three things. I put a lot of effort into cooking and baking, not just for me but for my family in Ireland. Cooking for others is a sure-fire way of showing love and gratitude, and it’s something I’ve done quite a lot of this year. The second thing to give me comfort just when I needed it is a YouTube website called Cracking The Cryptic. Thanks to an article from The Guardian in May, I came across two English gentlemen, Simon Anthony and Mark Goodliffe, who live solve complex puzzles twice daily. During the course of this year, they picked up so many subscribers to their channel that they now have over 303,000 followers, with one particular video attaining over 2.1 million views. They work hard on their content, and are a joy to watch. Because of them, I now attempt theNew York Times Hard Sudoku a few times a week. We take our comfort where we find it, and if it ends up being good for our brain, well, all the better.

Thirdly, and just as important, there wasn’t a time when I wasn’t reading a book. I started the year finishing off Stephen Donaldson’s Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, and began my journey to more than 40 books read in a calender year. Not a record, though: a few years back I managed over 50. One of the highlights of my reading year was James S.A. Corey’s science-fiction series The Expanse. I read books two through eight consecutively, touching nothing else until I was done. Now, like all Expanse fans, I wait for the new season to drop on Amazon in a matter of days, and the release of the ninth and final book in the series, Leviathan Falls, next year. Right now, I’m reading Ring Shout, P. Djèlí Clark‘s new novella. I’ll post a review of this brilliant piece of dark fantasy in a future blog.

Throughout the short life of this blog, I’ve written about many of the books and authors I’ve encountered this year. Very few, if any, let me down. And I read everything I started, including the bad boy of the bunch, Ellery Queen’s The Roman Hat Mystery, a book with a reveal so racist and disgusting, it will be a long time before I try anything from that era again. But it did lead me to Martin Edwards and his Rachel Savernake series, so at least some good came out of it. I enjoyed books mainly in the mystery, thriller, and sci-fi/fantasy genre. It was the kind of year where I needed the escapism, and I doubt 2021 will change my approach. Hooking up with NetGalley allows me to request books pre-publication, and I have Caldwell Turnbull’s hotly anticpated follow-up to The Lesson, No Gods, No Monsters, to look forward to early in the New Year.

So, do I have any favourites, any book I would urge you to read right now, out of all the ones I’ve read this year so far? Well, I’ve written about Anthony Horowitz twice already, so his books and series are always a good place to start. Mary Robinette Howal’s Lady Astronaut series will always have a special place in my heart, combining science fiction and alternate history with some whip-smart and hard-hitting social commentary. Get on these if you haven’t already. Steve Cavanagh continues to knock it out of the park with his Eddie Flynn series: Fifty-Fifty was yet another stunning legal thriller that very much kept to the high standards of previous instalments. Shout-outs to Kellye Garrett and Rachel Howzell Hall for providing me and their fans with a hefty dose of LA-centred crime fiction. Their characters and prose kept me up and entertained many a long night this year. I especially loved Rachel’s And Now She’s Gone, but I can’t wait to see what Kellye has in store for us in 2021.

For the year that was in it, Dave Hutchinson’s Fractured Europe quartet was a dream to read, and a nightmare to contemplate. I still want Rudy to cook all my dinners, though.

I hope to read at least 50 books in the forthcoming year, and it will give me great pleasure to talk about them on this website. I would appreciate the company, but with the world being the way it is right now, we’re all we’ve got and we need to stick together. Let’s live, love, read, and enjoy, and never stop caring for each other. Well done for making it through so far. I’ll see you on the other side.