Category Archives: Reviews

Positive feedback

It took a full week for me to find out about it, and it was Calvin Gordon Dodge who finally brought it to my attention, but the immortal Andrew Klavan linked to my review of Agnes Mallory on his web site here.

Lars Walker is a fantasy novelist who, I’ve noticed, occasionally leaves literate and intelligent comments here and at my PJ Media blog. Now, at the C.S. Lewis inspired journal Touchstone Magazine, he gives a lovely review to my novel Agnes Mallory, which was just recently released as an e-book by Otto Penzler’s MysteriousPress.com.

Our Daily Bread, by Lauren B. Davis

Albert Erskine, 21, is “mountain,” which distinguishes him and his clan (all more or less family) from the “townies” of Gideon. They keep to themselves, and they don’t spill their secrets to anyone. Life, as Albert describes it, is a river of sewage; you have to swim through it the best you can and keep your mouth shut. He lives near the top of North Mountain, which has gorgeous views of the sunrise and sunset almost every day, but the Erskines aren’t a nature-loving, life-affirming clan. They are horrible perverts who abuse themselves and their children in every way. Albert has tried to separate himself from his uncles (who have been making moonshine for years, but are branching into methamphetamines now), his grandparents and mother, but he can’t leave. He doesn’t want to abandon the children, ages 2-15, who can only dodge and hide from the adults to survive.

Tom Evans is a father who lives in town and loves his wife dearly but wonders if she really loves him. He doesn’t understand what’s bothering his son, Bobby, but then who can understand a 15 year old? Bobby’s distant, doesn’t seem to fit in—kind of like his wife actually. Maybe an anniversary trip, a special meal on the day they returned to Gideon as a couple, will spark her interest again. And maybe after a few years, they’ll grow out of their current problems.

Continue reading Our Daily Bread, by Lauren B. Davis →

Film review: "Hugo"

I made a point of catching Martin Scorsese’s change-of-pace movie, Hugo, because it was highly praised, both by film critic Michael Medved, and our friend Anthony Sacramone of Strange Herring. My own response is ambivalent. This is a brilliant, fascinating, beautiful movie, suitable for all ages. Nevertheless, it hasn’t done very good business (I saw it in a theater almost empty), and that doesn’t actually surprise me much. As Sacramone notes, “…it’s a kids’ film for adults.” I don’t think actual kids will love it (that may not be a bad thing either, as I’ll explain below). But adults, especially ones who love cinema, will embrace it once they discover it. I expect cult status on DVD is in its future.

The titular hero is Hugo Cabret (Asa Butterfield), an orphan boy who lives in the Paris railroad station. He was brought there to live by his drunkard uncle, who took care of the station clocks. After teaching Hugo to do the job, the man disappeared. Hugo has been maintaining the clocks on his own ever since, afraid of apprehension by the Station Inspector (Sacha Baron Cohen in an interesting performance), who takes perverse delight in sending orphans to an institution.

Hugo lives off pilfered food, and also steals small mechanical parts, especially from Georges (Ben Kingsley), an old man who runs a toy shop in the station. He wants the parts for his ongoing project of repairing an automaton (a moving clockwork human figure), his only inheritance from his father. The two of them had been repairing it when his father died, and Hugo believes that if he can get it working, it will somehow deliver a message from his father. Continue reading Film review: "Hugo" →

Agnes Mallory, by Andrew Klavan

‘Look,’ she said wearily from the stairs. I was leaning against the stove, studying her stupid sneakers. My arms crossed, my soul leaden with sorrow. ‘I just don’t want to approach you too fast. I know you don’t like journalists. I saw you on TV: slamming the door? That’s why I was watching…’

‘Oh, admit it: you were being mysterious and romantic.’
‘Jesus!’ One of her little sneaks gave a little stomp. ‘You sound just like my father.’
Fortunately, this arrow went directly through my heart and came out the other side, so there was no need to have it surgically removed, which can be expensive….
Back in 1985, the young author author Andrew Klavan had a novel published in England which didn’t find a home in the U.S. This novel is Agnes Mallory, which is now, thankfully, available in a Kindle edition from Mysterious Press.
The narrator of the story is Harry Bernard. Harry lives in a secluded cabin, outside the New York suburb of Westchester. He is a recluse, a broken man, a disbarred lawyer who has left his family behind.
He wants nothing to do with the young woman who follows him home one evening, in the rain. Klavan introduces her in such a way that the reader isn’t sure at first whether she’s real or a ghost. And that’s appropriate, since this is a kind of a ghost story—but the ghosts are the memories we carry with us and the dreams we’ve buried in the cellar. Continue reading Agnes Mallory, by Andrew Klavan →

When the Devil Whistles, by Rick Acker

I’ve been pleased, especially since I got my Kindle, to discover some writers who are lifting the Christian fiction genre to a higher level. When the Devil Whistles qualifies for that kind of praise.

Rick Acker’s novel centers on a young woman, Allie Whitman, who leads a sort of secret life, taking temporary jobs at corporations that do business with the government, nosing out fraud, and then filing lawsuits against them through a company of her own called Devil to Pay. She works closely with her lawyer, Connor Norman, who does the litigation while she stays anonymous. Each of them is attracted to the other, but any romance would spoil their profitable business.

Then Allie is caught out by an employer, a deep-sea salvage company. Instead of just firing her, they blackmail her into investigating another company, a business rival. Continue reading When the Devil Whistles, by Rick Acker →

The Unquiet Bones, by Mel Starr

If you’re mourning the end of Ellis Peters’ Brother Cadfael novels, you could do a lot worse than giving a try to Mel Starr’s series of medieval mysteries featuring Hugh de Singleton, Surgeon. Especially if you’re a Christian.

The Unquiet Bones begins with the discovery (in a castle waste pit) of a human skeleton. Hugh de Singleton is called by the Baron, Lord Gilbert, to examine the bones and determine if they belong to one of two castle visitors who disappeared a few months before, a nobleman and his squire. Hugh soon realizes that these bones belong to a young woman. And nobody in the neighborhood is missing a young woman.

Hugh, narrating his own story, explains that he is the younger, landless son of a minor nobleman, and studied to be a surgeon at Oxford and Paris (his Oxford mentor, John Wyclif, appears in a couple scenes). His fortunes in his profession were unremarkable until he sewed up a wound for Lord Gilbert, who was impressed enough to invite him to move to his own castle to serve his household and tenants. Hugh is all the more eager to do this as he has fallen in love with Lord Gilbert’s sister, Lady Joan, though he has no illusions about the possibility of marriage to someone so far above his station.

As the inquiry widens, Lord Gilbert appoints Hugh his bailiff, with authority to investigate crimes. Hugh systematically canvasses near and distant villages. He identifies one man as the murderer and then, troubled by doubts, uncovers evidence to clear him, which sends him back to square one. But he perseveres, and the mystery is revealed in the end. At times of doubt and puzzlement he resorts to prayer, which does not fail him.

There’s little suspense in this book, and the violence generally happens offstage. This will be a plus for those who read mysteries for the puzzles more than the action. The material is handled in a way that’s suitable for any reader old enough to follow the story.

I enjoyed the 14th Century setting, and the fruits of Mr. Starr’s research (he is a professional historian). I would have liked a little more dramatic tension, and the prose sometimes slipped into neologisms which spoiled the spell somewhat (he refers to a comfortable bed as “a special experience for me” at one point).

But all things taken together I enjoyed the book greatly, and plan to read more of the Hugh de Singleton mysteries.

Dark Quarry, by David H. Fears

[Cover art omitted, because it might embarrass some of our readers.]


I liked the way her hips swayed hard. She was a chiropractor’s dream.

I’m rooting for David H. Fears. He’s attempting to revive the classic hard-boiled mystery in his Mike Angel novels. On the basis of Dark Quarry, the first in the series, I’d say his reach still exceeds his grasp a bit, but he’s close enough to persuade me to come back and see how he progresses.

Dark Quarry is set around the year 1960. It starts, in a sense, where The Maltese Falcon ended, if you imagine that Sam Spade had agreed to “play the sap” for Brigid O’Shaughnessy. New York private eye (he later relocates to Chicago) Mike Angel finds Kimbra Ambler, a woman he’s been shadowing for a client, standing over the body of her abusive husband, whom she’s just shot. Instead of turning her in, he lets his heart guide him and assists her in getting rid of the body.

Later she comes back to try to kill him, but he disarms her, then just sends her on her way, still starry-eyed about her.

Because that’s the kind of mug Mike is. Continue reading Dark Quarry, by David H. Fears →

A Question of Blood, by Ian Rankin

My new custom of searching out free and cheap books for my Kindle (for instance here) has introduced me to several authors I hadn’t read before, and reacquainted me with some I’d lost track of. One of the latter authors is Ian Rankin, Great Britain’s foremost writer of police novels. A Question of Blood was a welcome reunion, and well worth the read.

As the story begins, the police are investigating the death of a petty criminal in a house fire. This criminal had recently been harassing Inspector Siobhan Clarke, friend and colleague of the continuing hero, Edinburgh Detective Inspector John Rebus. So eyebrows are raised when Rebus comes in to work with burned hands.

Considering Rebus’s already equivocal standing with his superiors, it strains credibility somewhat for the reader to believe he’s allowed to continue on duty, examining the murder of two students at a private school (and the wounding of another) by a former SAS commando.

It’s even harder to believe when we are informed that one of the victims was the son of Rebus’s cousin.

But the fulcrum of the Rebus series is his talent for working his way around his superiors and getting away with it, based on results. His inquiries bring him into contact with “emo” teenagers, street gangs, drug smugglers, military intelligence agents, and a politician campaigning for stricter gun control laws (it greatly increases my esteem for Rankin that this politician is portrayed as pretty slimy).

John Rebus is a fascinating character, hiding deep psychological scars under a brilliant mind, a hair trigger temper, and rash decisions. His relationship with Inspector Clarke is also interesting, as they both care for each other, but care for their jobs more.

Recommended for adults.

Film report: "The Viking" (1928)

This isn’t exactly a review, because I try to limit reviews, as such, to things our readers can actually buy or rent. The only place I know of where you can access the 1928 movie, The Viking, is on the web site where the friend who lent me the DVD he’d burned found it—and I won’t link to that site because it’s, frankly, mostly porn.

The Viking isn’t porn, though. What it is, is an interesting artifact of movie history—if I understand it right (the explanations on web sites are a little confusing), the first full technicolor movie with a sound track. Mind you, it’s not a dialogue sound track. Just music—the old black dialogue cards tell you what people are saying. Although MGM distributed it, it was actually made by the Technicolor Company, in order to demonstrate their new process (did you know there was technicolor before there were talkies? I didn’t). The color process hasn’t been perfected yet—the yellows and greens aren’t right—but it must have been pretty impressive at the time.

The story is about Leif Eriksson (spelled Ericsson here), very loosely based on the Icelandic Vinland sagas. Leif (played by Donald Crisp, who would eventually become one of Hollywood’s most successful and long-lived character actors) seems to be the lead character, although (somewhat awkwardly for the plot) he doesn’t get the girl. Continue reading Film report: "The Viking" (1928) →

The Good Book Club, by Rick Dewhurst

When Rick Dewhurst’s new P.I. Jane Sunday is first hired, she is asked to acquire evidence on her senior pastor, who is alleged to be adulterous. For the good of his daughters and the congregation, the pastor must be found out. Within days, the junior pastor of the same Vancouver church is found naked and dead in his swimming pool. As the ugly church politics unravel, Jane uncovers some very twisted people in a large network of corruption.

Dewhurst’s third novel isn’t a comedy like the other two. Jane’s sarcasm spices up almost conversation she has, but the story is serious, straight-forward detective fiction mixed with 1/3 cup of chick lit romance. It all weaves together pretty well. The villains have too much vinegar, particularly the boss of the pack. He comes across as Jabba the Hut.

But I’m not sure this novel is essentially about the murder mystery or the development of the 40-year-old female detective. It’s title, The Good Book Club, draws attention to the dozen or so pages that describe a women’s book discussion group. They chatter about The Great Gatsby, The Shack, and The Grapes of Wrath while the mystery unfolds, each from distinct perspectives which may be meant to represent the schemes in the visible church. Continue reading The Good Book Club, by Rick Dewhurst →