Category Archives: Reviews

Fiction, Reviews

‘Yeager’s Law,’ by Scott Bell

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Since I enjoyed Scott Bell’s Sam Cable novels so much, I figured I’d try his Abel Yeager series as well. I did enjoy Yeager’s Law, though I’m less wholehearted in recommending it to you.

Abel Yeager is an independent Texas trucker, down on his luck and scrambling for loads. When somebody tries to hijack his truck at a rest stop near St. Louis, things escalate quickly. Turns out a simple hijacking isn’t the object – somebody wants to kill him. Only the unlikely appearance of “Charlie” Buchanan (a beautiful woman) with a big handgun saves his life. She’s a Texan too, and a bookstore owner. He gives her his card, and not long after that she calls him to ask him to pick up a couple pallets of books from a distributor. Neither of them know that her sleazy ex-husband has concealed a large sum of drug cartel cash among the books. Even worse, he’s trying to double-cross the cartel, which puts Sam and Charlie right in the crosshairs.

Fortunately, Abel is no ordinary trucker. He’s a seasoned combat veteran from Afghanistan, an experienced and ruthless hunter of men when he needs to be.

The story goes on into kidnapping, torture, and big gunfights and explosions.

As you’re aware, I’m a timid soul, and my taste for extreme violence has faded. I enjoyed the book mainly for the developing romance between Abel and Charlie, and for the camaraderie Abel shares with the old army buddies who come to back him up. Also the fact that Abel is a genuine working-class hero, something you don’t see often.

This book was a little rougher than the Sam Cable books. There’s a romantic sex scene, and also several rapes. Some of it got a little more explicit than I care for. As in so many thrillers, the main characters’ survival depends on sheer luck in a couple places, which always gives me pause.

Recommended with reservations.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Uncle Dynamite,’ by P.G. Wodehouse

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If you call at a country house where you are not known and try to get the butler to let you come in and search the premises for photographs of his employer’s nephew, you will generally find this butler chilly in his manner, and Coggs, the major-domo of Ickenham Hall, had been rather chiller than the average. He was a large, stout, moon-faced man with an eye like that of a codfish, and throughout the proceedings he had kept his eye glued on Sir Aylmer’s, as if peering into his soul. And anyone who has ever had his soul peered into by a codfish will testify how extremely unpleasant such an ordeal is.

Among all the priceless works of P.G. Wodehouse, my favorite individual piece is (I’m sure I’ve told you this before) is the short story, “Uncle Fred Flits By.”  But Uncle Fred, the Earl of Ickenham, the living embodiment of aplomb, a man of good nature but utterly without shame, also stars in a few novels. One of those is Uncle Dynamite, and I think it’s one of the Master’s best. I’m not sure if I’ve read it before; I know I got a kick out of it now.

The plot of Uncle Dynamite is difficult to describe, because it’s one of Wodehouse’s most complex tales. I shall merely note that fact and describe a couple of the main story lines.

Uncle Fred’s long-suffering nephew Pongo Twistleton is in love with a girl name Elsie Bean, of whom Uncle Fred approves. But their engagement has been broken, and now Pongo is engaged to Hermione, a beautiful novelist who wishes him to go to her father’s country estate and judge the babies at the Bonnie Baby Contest at the approaching church féte. This is, of course, a prospect to make Pongo tremble and reach for a sustaining drink – except that he’s pretending to be a teetotaler, to please her. Uncle Fred, who finds himself temporarily at liberty because his wife has gone on holiday, offers to come along and substitute for him. Hermione’s father immediately suspects that Pongo is an imposter. Meanwhile, Elsie Bean (the former fiancée), who is a sculptor, has hidden some jewels inside one of her clay busts so that a friend can smuggle them into America and avoid tariffs. But that bust finds its way into Hermione’s home, and somebody will have to burgle it…

You get the gist.

Uncle Dynamite was a pure delight. I chuckled all through. It has my highly prized recommendation.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Case of the Gilded Lily,’ by Erle Stanley Gardner

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I’ve been picking up Perry Mason novels by Erle Stanley Gardner whenever a bargain deal shows up for an e-book. I didn’t expect much from them at first, frankly, but I’ve found them surprisingly enjoyable. These are artefacts of an earlier publishing era, when mystery writers did not aspire to literary brilliance (though Gardner delivers good, polished prose), nor psychological insight (though Gardner can surprise you), nor cinematic thrill rides. The goal was to play a game with the readers, providing all the clues and challenging them to solve the puzzles.

The Case of the Gilded Lily is characteristic. Stewart Bedford is a wealthy, socially prominent, and respectable businessman. He has recently married a much younger woman, what would now be called a trophy wife, and he is proud of and devoted to her.

One day a shady character shows up in his office and threatens to publicize certain embarrassing facts about the new wife’s past, unless Bedford “loans” him a large amount of money. This leads to Bedford spending an evening (chastely) in a pair of motel rooms with a beautiful young woman. Later he loses consciousness, apparently drugged, and awakens to discover his blackmailer shot to death (with what will prove to be his own gun). Not a fool, Bedford calls Perry Mason first.

I have to give author Gardner full credit for misdirection. My experience with the Perry Mason novels is that I’m always pretty sure I’ve guessed who the real culprit is, and I’m always wrong. That’s the nature of the game, and Gardner was a champion.

I recommend The Case of the Gilded Lily.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Powers of Arrest,’ by Jon Talton

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Cops burned out of homicide. Not because of blood or gore or being outwitted by criminal masterminds. No, because of its monotony: The same easy suspects, the same filthy apartments, and same kinds of people doing the killing. The pressure from the brass to clear cases. And the paperwork. And that forever part, dead, gone completely… if they let themselves think about it too long.

Cincinnati homicide detective Will Borders is back on the job, but not as he would wish, in Jon Talton’s Powers of Arrest, second entry in a series. Will underwent surgery for a spinal tumor, which left him in a lot of pain, but able to walk with a cane. Because of his service record, the brass let him work now as Public Information Officer, sending out news releases and speaking to the cameras. It’s frustrating duty for a man used to being on the front lines, but it’s police work, and he’s mostly grateful to have it.

Someone is murdering young people, mutilating them sexually. Nobody links the crimes until a young female detective is killed – she’s an actual celebrity, star of a reality show. Will is drawn in when he finds clues leading to his own stepson as a suspect.

Among the murder victims are several nursing students, and that brings Will back into contact with their instructor, Cheryl Beth Wilson, with whom he shared danger – and some mutual attraction – in his previous adventure. This case will give them an opportunity to get closer, though Will fears he’s too damaged to be a lover.

I was impressed by Powers of Arrest. The book is well-written, the characters are interesting (though I thought the culprit insufficiently concealed). No political correctness was noted (perhaps the reverse), and Cheryl Beth is some kind of a Christian, though not a church-goer. At least her faith is treated with respect. Author Talton very clearly loves the city of Cincinnati, which he describes beautifully (you’ll probably want to visit). The love story was engaging.

Recommended. Cautions for language, premarital sex, and disturbing themes.

Fiction, Reviews

‘June Bug,’ by Scott Bell

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The air lay as heavy as a quilt soaked in used engine oil.

The third book in Scott Bell’s Sam Cable series, about a tall Texas Ranger with a remarkable capacity for absorbing physical trauma, including gunshot wounds, is June Bug. There are only three books in the series so far, but the author’s Afterword says he’s planning more. I look forward to them.

FBI agent Rita Goldman is the first to guess that a group of Chechen terrorists are planning a bioweapon attack on the US. This takes her back to Texas, where she is reunited with Sam, with whom she has a whole lot of sexual chemistry, though they’ve been hands-off so far. Memories of Covid are naturally recalled, but what they’re dealing with here is a lot more virulent and frightening than that. And this is not the kind of story where the Rangers save the day before a lot of civilians get hurt.

But worse is to come, if Rita and Sam can’t stop the ringleaders before they get on a plane. And that will be difficult once they’ve both been captured and tied up for use as hostages.

But don’t count them out.

I enjoyed June Bug, though it concentrated more on action than I prefer. I personally would have enjoyed a few more relaxed moments; I like the main characters’ back-and-forth. And the trope by which the hero keeps suffering disabling injuries but just continues on duty and fighting is overused in thrillers (in my opinion).

Still, Scott Bell is a good writer, and I like the characters, and the dramatic tension never flags. I didn’t like June Bug as much as the previous two books, but I liked it fine anyway. The stories feature conservative dog-whistles too (in my opinion).

Cautions for rough language and intense situations.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Graffiti Conspiracy,’ by Colin Conway

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This is another installment in Colin Conway’s The 509 series, about policing in the Spokane area. I like Conway’s novels very much, his short stories (oddly) not much at all. But The Graffiti Conspiracy is a novel, and a pretty good one from where I sit.

Detectives Quinn Delaney and Marci Burke are assigned to the murder of Earl Ricci, a maintenance man for a real estate management company, who was shot to death while covering up graffiti painted on the back of a vacant building.

There are several suspects, including the talented young man who painted the graffiti, and former associates of Ricci’s (at one point he was accused of stealing money from an fleabag hotel, the Hope, which has since been gentrified. This theft, the subject of one of the 509 short stories, shows up in one way or another in several of these novels).

The solution, once it is found, does not involve any shooting or chases. Just a sad story in a sad world, where confused people take the line of least resistance.

Like all the other 509 novels, The Graffiti Conspiracy is character-driven and highly believable. Cautions for adult matter, and moral ambiguity.

I enjoyed it.

Fiction, Reviews

‘May Day,’ by Scott Bell

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“Please, God,” I said to myself, “don’t kill us today. I’d rather not go out like this, if it’s all the same to you, but if that’s your will, at least don’t let me pee myself.”

Couldn’t resist immediately picking up the second book in Scott Bell’s Sam Cable series, about a modern Texas Ranger.

As May Day opens, our hero, fully vindicated in respect to the criminal charges he faced in April’s Fool, is sent to California in a state-owned small airplane (which Cable hates), to pick up a fugitive in custody. This is a young woman, Jade Stone, accused of stabbing a man to death. About the time somebody shoots their plane out of the sky over New Mexico, he begins to suspect that this woman may be telling the truth when she says she was set up.

The story then becomes a wilderness cat and mouse tale, as Cable, Jade, and their injured pilot attempt to evade a crew of rogue federal agents. It won’t be a surprise to the reader that Jade Stone is gorgeous, and increasingly drawn to Cable – but she’s a fascinating character in her own right, and provides a very well-done plot twist toward the end.

Wilderness chase stories are not my favorite kind of fiction, but Sam Cable remains an appealing character, and the dramatic tension ran high. I judge that Cable came out lucky in a few too may close calls, but that’s common in the genre. I certainly enjoyed May Day, and I recommend it.

Cautions for violence, rough language, and a sex scene.

Reviews, Uncategorized

A medicine for melancholy

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Photo credit: weston m, shootnmatch. Unsplash license.

Beautiful day in Robbinsdale; the first really beautiful day of the year. The temperature soared to 70 degrees. Tomorrow will only be 45, and Friday colder yet, but still. It happened. We had a nice day. Means a lot in Minnesota.

I went to see my doctor this morning, to have him look at a small infection in one of my fingers. It wasn’t swollen to the size of a Hostess Twinkie, and it didn’t hurt all that much, but it just wouldn’t heal up. I’ve tolerated it for about a month, faithfully feeding it Neosporin and re-bandaging it twice a day, but it refuses to take the hint. So, shame-faced, feeling like a sissy, I went to see my personal physician. I fully expected him to sneer and tell me to rub some dirt on it, but he dutifully prescribed an antibiotic.

Now I’m waiting for the prescription. I am, to tell the truth, growing disillusioned with Walgreens. The last prescription my doctor sent them sat unfilled for a week, until I went in personally and requested an explanation. (They needed my new insurance information as it turned out, but they might have – you know – sent me a message informing me of the problem.) Now I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to go in and hold them up for my Miracle Bread Mold. I remember an old gag from Al Capp’s Li’l Abner comic strip, where somebody wanders into the Dogpatch post office and asks if there’s any mail for him, and the postmaster drawls, “Well, looky here – Ah got this Speshul Dee-livery letter fer yuh 20 years ago. Ah been meanin’ to drop it off next time I was in your neck o’ the woods.” Walgreens seems to have adopted a similar policy for prescriptions.

That wasn’t even what I meant to post about tonight.

I wanted to talk a little more about April’s Fool by Scott Bell, the delightful cop novel I reviewed last night. When I ask myself, what made it so much fun? the answer was easy – the hero was cheerful.

You realize how rare cheerful main characters are in today’s fiction?

Now I’m not exactly a world ambassador for happiness. I’m known, among my constantly shrinking circle of friends, as the Ancient Mariner at every wedding, the Banquo at every feast.

But I am not immune to the charm of a cheerful voice. I can’t produce the effect, but I can respond to it.

We have a highly false stereotype in literature, it seems to me, that says happiness equals shallowness (I blame the Russians). Anyone who acquires a teaspoon full of wisdom, our stories proclaim, must necessarily be plunged into despair.

Several of the police mystery series I follow – and enjoy – have heroes that blur together in my memory. I can’t distinguish one from the other, because they all have the same back story. Every bloody one of them is mourning the death of a beloved wife. He has never gotten over it, and he obsesses on his job to mask his grief.

I’m not saying it’s entirely unrealistic. But it’s become a trope.

Life, you’ll note, isn’t like that. Aren’t the best leaders people who know how to raise other people’s spirits? Aren’t optimistic people more likely to succeed than pessimists (such as I)?

If we want to be realistic as writers, shouldn’t most of our heroes (unless we’re writing tragedy) be optimists?

I think this qualifies as testimony against interest, so you should pay attention.

Fiction, Reviews

‘April’s Fool,’ by Scott Bell

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The captain lived in his car, ate takeout food every meal, smoked more than a creosote brushfire, and had his admin print all his emails rather than learn how to use a PC. Dinosaurs were more progressive than Captain Marshall.

One of the delights of being a reader is discovering books that are just fun. I’d never heard of Scott Bell (not to be confused with James Scott Bell, another excellent author), but it seems I’ve been missing something. April’s Fool is the first volume in a series starring contemporary Texas Ranger Sam Cable.

Sam has drawn the unwelcome job of providing personal security for a senate candidate. The candidate is a black woman with a chip on her shoulder, who delights in testing his patience. He disliked her, but hardly wanted her dead. So when he wakes up in her hotel room naked, lying next to her strangled corpse, he is completely unable to account for his actions.

Thanks to his commander’s support, he manages to stay out of jail – for the present. His orders are to lay low and let his colleagues investigate, but (of course) that’s not Sam’s way. He pokes into the candidate’s past and her present associations. Along the way he’ll form an alliance with a diminutive female FBI forensic accountant, and they’ll prove a formidable team.

April’s Fool featured many delights. The writing was sharp, in a brightly hardboiled way:

I was not in a good place. The sofa wouldn’t stop an angry fly, let alone a bullet, and it wouldn’t hide anyone bigger than Goldman. I felt like a cartoon bear hiding behind a pine tree.

Also the characters were vivid, and the dialogue often funny. This wasn’t exactly a comic novel, but Sam Cable is an ebullient personality who keeps his sense of humor most of the time. He’s easy to like. Racial issues are dealt with in what I considered an evenhanded way. All references to Christianity were respectful.

Highly recommended, with cautions for adult subject matter.

Fiction, Reviews

‘When the Wicked Rest’ and ‘Murder by Any Other Name,’ by Colin Conway

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I have bestowed glowing reviews on previous books in Colin Conway’s 509 series of police procedurals set in Washington state, east of the Cascades. When I purchased When the Wicked Rest and Murder by Any Other Name, I didn’t realize that they were not novels but short story collections set in the 509 area.

I discovered I don’t enjoy Conway’s short stories nearly as much as I enjoy his novels. The novels are well-written, character driven, and compassionate. The stories (at least in these collections) are more concentrated. They mostly deal with criminals – either losers who have no hope, or successful ones who make you fear for the world. Neither is much fun, at least for this timid reader.

One story in particular, in Murder by Any Other Name, is especially horrific. It’s called “Angel.” It’s a prison story, a short peek into Hell. Well done, but the stuff of nightmares.

My bottom line on these two story collections is that they’re good (in Chesterton’s sense of being good shots) but also not good (in Chesterton’s sense of shooting one’s grandmother from a distance of 500 yards).

Maybe you appreciate this kind of stuff more than I do. Cautions for extremely disturbing content and lots of bad language.