Category Archives: Reviews

The Black Mile, by Mark Dawson

Here’s a first class historical mystery. Mark Dawson’s The Black Mile takes place against the dramatic backdrop of the London blitz in 1940. Things are chaotic enough in the city, and plenty of people are dying, without the Blackout Ripper running around murdering prostitutes.

Charlie Murphy is the youngest son of a highly honored, almost legendary, London police detective, now a highly ranking officer. We first meet him in a squad of bobbies trying to put down an anti-Italian riot. Completely out of his element and disoriented, he ends up running away. Back at the station, he observes the abuse of some Italian prisoners by other policemen, and reports them, leading to the dismissal of two of them. This earns the anger of his older brother Frank, their superior.

Frank is a hard man, but no villain. A World War I veteran with facial scars from mustard gas, he orders his teenage daughter to stop seeing her Italian boyfriend, and she responds by running away. For the rest of the story he searches the streets for her, remorseful and terrified that she might be the next victim.

There’s also a newspaper man, only moderately honest, who sees the Ripper story as his ticket back to the front page. He knows things the police don’t, but he’s not sharing.

The most fascinating thing about this story (which is not to say the drama is weak—this is a book fit to be made into a thriller movie) is the depth of the character depiction. These are the kind of people we all know—essentially decent but flawed in various ways, caring for each other but wounded in their pride.

The prose slips occasionally, in terms of word choice. I noticed two instances where author Dawson repeated the same descriptive metaphor twice.

But those are minor problems. All in all a gripping, fully rounded, well-told story, which I recommend.

Cautions for language, violence, and sexual situations.

Red Gloves, by Tim Greaton

I bought Red Gloves by Tim Greaton because I quite enjoyed the first story in the Samaritans Conspiracy series, The Santa Shop. This isn’t top shelf literature, but it’s considerably better than the average Christian novel, and the author manages to radiate an atmosphere of goodness that’s hard for an author to do but welcome after you’ve read a few dozen gory thrillers.

Priscilla Harris is a detective with the Portland, Maine police department. Although she’s good at her job, she seems (to a male chauvinist like me) a pretty good argument for women—generally—staying out of policing. She’s close to breaking down under the pressures of her job and her family. Her teenage son, a former college basketball hot prospect, had his dream shattered in a car accident and has slid into drug addiction. She’s also certain her husband is having an affair with his secretary.

Meanwhile she’s got a growing drug problem in her city to fight. As she tries to defuse a stand-off with drug dealers in an apartment building, a mysterious stranger wearing a parka and red gloves steps in mysteriously to prevent bloodshed. Later the same stranger keeps her son out of a situation that would have gotten him arrested. Who is this man, and is he a good guy or a very clever bad guy?

The pleasant theme of the Samaritans Conspiracy books is the idea of a group of people devoted to acting in the world like we wish angels would, to straighten things out, rescue people, and turn people onto the right road. I like to imagine it, though I don’t actually think it would work very well in real life. Real life has a way of sending things to hell on a slippery slope of good intentions. But that doesn’t prevent me enjoying the story. And the characters are very well done.

Tim Greaton’s writing is good, but not entirely polished yet. He tends to overwrite, telling us more than he needs to. And his word use can be poor, as when he describes someone as having “an honest core about him,” or when he writes “allusions” when he means “illusions.”

Still, I think our readers will enjoy Red Gloves. Cautions for saltier language than you generally encounter in Christian literature.

In which the world is upside down, and there is no justice

James Lileks, to the grief of millions, has announced a short hiatus from his Bleat blog. He attributes it, with commendable frankness, to a bad review of his novel, Graveyard Special.

Someone whose opinion matters a great deal gave a rather brutal review of “Graveyard Special.” I admit it has its deficiencies, and had hoped that the $4.00 price and general spirit of fun would carry it along, but man. Aside from a note that it had occasional patches of “brilliant” writing, there wasn’t a single positive thing said. Not much said at all, really, beyond just “I’ve been dreading this” and “do you really want to know?”

I’d say that we all know the feeling, but I’m not sure I do. I’ve gotten bad reviews to be sure, but never from anyone whose opinion mattered a lot to me. I suppose this is the sort of thing that happens when you get into the big leagues and the sharks start noticing your scent.

In any case, I wish Lileks well. If this can happen to him, who among us is safe?

I, on the other hand, have an almost embarrassingly positive review to report. Novelist and opinion writer Hal G.P. Colebatch sent me the link to a review he did almost a year ago in the Australian News Weekly. I think I’ve got a new blurb somewhere in there.

Sound of Blood, by Lawrence De Maria

I’m half ready to become a big fan of Lawrence De Maria just on the basis of having read Sound of Blood. The other half is ready to cast him into utter darkness for a couple mistakes that seemed to me bush league.

The story concerns Jake Scarne, a New York private eye with military and police experience. Jake is no Philip Marlowe, smoking a lonely cigarette in a seedy office. Jake recently moved into the big leagues. He has a nice office, a beautiful secretary, an expensive apartment, and a babe-magnet car. He’s approached by a wealthy man named Sheldon Shields, who believes his son Josh has been murdered. Josh was a reporter working on a story about a mysterious Australian business tycoon, Victor Ballantrae. Jake’s investigations lead him into a world of corruption, violence, and sex. They also introduce him to Alana Loeb, Ballantrae’s associate, a beautiful, seductive, dangerous, yet strangely sympathetic character. Continue reading Sound of Blood, by Lawrence De Maria

77 Shadow Street, by Dean Koontz

One thing that can be said for Dean Koontz is that he likes to mix it up. His characters may tend to look similar (as what author’s don’t?), but he likes to experiment with his stories. 77 Shadow Street, I think, is unusual among his books in featuring quite a large cast of characters and constantly jumping the point of view from one to another. I wish I could say I thought the experiment was a great success, but I wouldn’t call it a total failure either.

77 Shadow Street is the address of an exclusive residential apartment building, something like the Dakota in Manhattan, home to a number of wealthy and/or famous people. They include a drunken ex-senator, a stock broker with military experience, a single mother who writes hit country songs, a female novelist raising an autistic daughter, a retired lawyer, a working hit man, a famous geneticist, and others. When they first begin to notice strange phenomena in their building—lights, vibrations, and strangers appearing and disappearing in antique clothing—they aren’t alarmed at first. Until the whole building is transported into a future time where the world is depopulated and strange life forms stalk the hallways, intent on turning them all into something other than human. Continue reading 77 Shadow Street, by Dean Koontz

Netflix review: “The Last Detective”

One of our commenters, a while back, mentioned The Last Detective, a British semi-comic TV series starring Peter Davison, whom many readers will remember from All Creatures Great and Small, and as the first youthful Doctor Who. (Personally I liked him best as Mr. Campion, but that series didn’t last long.) Our commenter found the show depressing. I can understand this. However, I stayed with it and found things to like as well, though I can’t say I loved it all in all. The program is based on a series of detective novels by Leslie Thomas.

Detective Constable “Dangerous” Davies (his first name is never divulged) works out of a police station in Willesden, a North London suburb. His nickname is one of those antonymic male jokes, as in “Little John.” He is a laughingstock in the force. His superior, Inspector Aspinall, explains in the first episode that Davies is “the last detective” he will ever send on an important job. Apparently he testified against some other officer in an unspecified matter, and has been reduced in rank.

His personal life, which takes up a lot of screen time, is also a mess. He’s separated from his wife Julie, whom he adores, and lives in rental lodgings with an eccentric landlady in the first season. He spends most of his free time with his Irish friend Mod, who flits from job to job to unemployment, and reads a lot, generally coming to all the wrong conclusions.

Dangerous Davies is intended, it appears, to be a counterpoint to all those suave, omnicompetent TV detectives we see in other series. Davies has a life more like yours and mine, and the writers spare him none of those little indignities so richly distributed by life. Each episode opens with a short vignette in which he tries to do his job in a decent way, and gets rewarded with mud, torn clothing, personal injury, or public humiliation. He turns his eyes to heaven and carries on.

The series has an inherent weakness, I think, in the fact that it’s clear that Davies is not only a very competent cop, but the only non-idiot on the squad. Again and again he figures out the puzzle, but his reputation never seems to rise. (In one episode he actually takes responsibility for one of Insp. Aspinall’s errors, saving him a demotion, but even that doesn’t seem to buy him much.)

I think you could work out a Christian message in this. Davies is a man with a servant heart, who dies to himself daily and expects no reward for good work. Still, it’s kind of aggravating in the aggregate.

I thought the final, fourth season was the weakest, and it was probably time to draw the curtain on it. One positive development in Davies’ personal life was gratifying, but the writers seemed to be running out of ideas. One episode in particular, in which Mod got involved with a beautiful young Russian woman (that’s the sort of thing that TV writers love to invent, although it’s deadly to credibility) involved the series’ only moment of nudity (that I recall). Also, in another episode, Davies makes a “brilliant” suggestion to the forensic technicians which, I believe, ought to have been one of the first things they’d checked for.

The series is mostly unobjectionable, all in all. But if you’re prone to depression you might want to look for cheerier fare than this dark comedy.

TV review: “Elementary”



I ought to dislike the new CBS TV series, “Elementary” more than I do. Conan Doyle’s immortal character has recently been brilliantly updated by the BBC in the series “Sherlock,” which extracted the soul of the character with exacting precision and inlaid him in the 21st Century with barely a seam showing. This American version (starring Jonny Lee Miller) is far more ham-fisted. It takes an attitude to the source material closer to that of the recent Robert Downey films (which I did not like), except for the martial arts stuff, particularly in adding a grunge element which the original Holmes, a fastidious dresser, would have sniffed at. Nevertheless, I think it’s the very crudity of the adaptation that makes it watchable for me. I can never take this character seriously as Holmes, so I can watch him with amusement as a vaguely Holmes-like TV detective.

In this adaptation, the self-possessed, comfortably self-supporting character of the original stories is turned into a desperate drug addict who’d be living in an alley if his wealthy father (a character who never appears in Doyle) hadn’t hired Dr. Joan Watson (Lucy Liu) to be his companion and nursemaid in his exile in New York City. He worked as a police consultant in London before his breakdown, and in that capacity met Captain Tobias Gregson of the NYPD, who hires him for the same purpose here.

If you think the idea of casting a woman as Watson is fresh and edgy, well, it’s not. The idea was first bruited by Rex Stout to the Baker Street Irregulars (the foremost Sherlock Holmes fan group) back in the 1940s. It’s been done before too, both on film and on TV. Actually it would be a little surprising if they hadn’t cast a woman in the role. And if you’ve got to have a female Watson, Lucy Liu is always nice to look at.

As far as stories go, based on the two episodes I’ve watched, they seem to be adequate. Last night’s plot concerned bankers, which gave the writers the opportunity to have Holmes spout their favorite Occupy Wall Street talking points for them. But this Holmes is pretty deeply disturbed, so nothing he says not directly related to clues really needs to be taken seriously.

In brief, I don’t consider this Holmes a real Holmes in any meaningful sense. But once you’ve made peace with that, the show is watchable.

Praise from Caesar

Today the American Spectator published my article on Andrew Klavan’s Weiss-Bishop mystery trilogy.

Klavan himself noted it on Facebook. He said, “Well, I like it when someone is both smart AND flattering…. When you sit down to write three books around the theme of love, you think to yourself, ‘Not that anyone will ever get that.’ It’s gratifying to be read so intelligently – and by someone who likes the books to boot!”

You may mark this down in the court records as a good day.

The Santa Shop, by Tim Greaton

If you’re looking for a Christmas entertainment in the same vein as A Christmas Carol or It’s a Wonderful Life, you could do much worse than picking up a copy of The Santa Shop, by Tim Greaton (if you’ve got a Kindle, it’s a free download as of the time of this posting).

The main character, Skip Ralstat, is a homeless man on the streets of Albany, New York. When he’s invited into a church by a kindly priest on a cold night, he refuses all suggestions as to how he might regain a normal life. He doesn’t want a normal life. He blames himself for the death in a fire of his wife and baby son, and he embraces social ostracism and suffering as his deserved penance.

But when he meets a strange homeless man who wears a dirty Santa wig, he hears of the town of Gray, Vermont, where there’s a bridge called Christmas Leap. Every year one homeless man leaps to his death from that bridge on Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve is the anniversary of Skip’s family’s deaths. It just seems right to him that he should go up there himself and pay the ultimate price at last.

He doesn’t understand the forces at work around him, though. There’s a conspiracy—a good conspiracy—of caring people who will force him to face the truth of his life and to understand the real value of what he’s lost and what he’s trying to throw away.

I found flaws in The Santa Shop (you guessed I would, didn’t you?). The book seemed to me overwritten in places, and sometimes the diction could be imprecise. But I was nevertheless wholly engaged in it, and I’d be lying if I denied that my eyes were damp when the story closed up (I should note that it’s a novella. A sample of the follow-up book takes up nearly half of the Kindle version file). The story is notable for having the feel of a supernatural story when in fact the only magic is the magic of God-inspired human love and kindness (exaggerated, I would say, but moving).

I think most Brandywine Books readers will enjoy The Santa Shop.

Shock Wave, by John Sandford

John Sandford is a darned good mystery/thriller writer, and more than a one-note performer. While the Lucas Davenport “Prey” novels that made his fortune continue to draw readers, he’s added a second, related series character, Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension investigator Virgil Flowers, who looks like a surfer boy, practices journalism as a sideline, and is pretty successful with the ladies (which explains the obscene nickname his colleagues use on him, which I won’t share here).

The Flowers books have a different flavor from the “Prey” books. They’re mostly set in rural Minnesota, and as you’d expect the crimes are generally more conventional, with less sociopathy and sadism.

I have to commend Sandford particularly for the way he handles politics in these books. If I were a lefty or a greenie, I might consider him a sellout (my spider sense tells me he’s a lefty in real life), but he passes by all kinds of opportunities to treat conservatives as idiots or monsters. In Shock Wave, his characters are well-rounded, credible, and generally sympathetic. Even Willard Pye, founder and CEO of “PyeMart” (obviously a stand in for Walmart), is not a caricature but a believable guy who has his own story.

The first crime is a bombing in the board room of PyeMart’s headquarters in Michigan, but when a second fatal bombing occurs at a building site for a new store in Butternut Falls, Minnesota, Virgil Flowers is called in to coordinate with the ATF and local police. The investigators figure there are two possible motives—environmental radicalism, or fear for their livelihood by local businessmen. Virgil and his allies set to work examining evidence and assembling lists of suspects (at one point by a radically novel method), and before long it looks like they must be getting close, because Virgil himself becomes a target.

Shock Wave is exciting, engaging, well-crafted, and politically even-handed. Setting aside the usual foul language and sexual themes, I recommend it pretty highly.