Reading Log 2026
January
Crashing (IDW Comics | 5-issue Miniseries) by Matthew Klein (Writer) and Morgan Beem (Artist).
I’m a bit annoyed about some typos in the dialogue, but that’s literally my only complaint. Lovely art, engaging story, and Rose is wonderfully messed up protagonist dealing (poorly) with addiction, keeping secrets from her husband (who is campaigning to pass a stereotypical “Super Powers Registration Act” that would restrict superpowered people’s access to healthcare), treating her patients regardless of if they have superpowers or not, and being indebted to a supervillain. Bittersweet, messy but hopeful ending. 10/10, would recommend.
Sins of Our Fathers by A. Rose Mathieu (2017).
DNF. Legal thriller mystery. Clunky prose, and I hated the main character with every fiber of my being.
Killers of a Certain Age by Deanna Raybourn (2020)
2.5 out of 5. A solid “just okay.” A Popcorn Thriller, but not a page-turner. I don’t regret reading it, but I won’t be picking up anything else by this author.
The book is told in past tense from Billie’s first person point of view for the present day and present tense third person point of view for the flashback chapters. The prose was serviceable, though some of the dialogue was stilted and the banter felt forced. We get just enough about each character to keep them distinctive from one another, but nothing super deep. The plot was slightly predictable, and they had a lot of downtime in between hits, which lowered the tension. Mostly, it reads like it was aiming to get picked up for an adaptation.
It’s sorted on goodreads as a Mystery Thriller, which puzzles me because it’s clearly more of an Action Thriller. The small mystery element of wanting to find out who set the protagonists up to look like traitors to their organization and ordered the hit on them was handled almost as an afterthought, not as a fair-play mystery. It’s about cool fight scenes and elaborate murder methods, more camp than gritty realism. (Billie applies minty toothpaste to her nostrils to avoid smelling a corpse at one point, but in reality that would actually open up her nasal passages and make her take in more of the corpse smell, for example.)
I can suspend my disbelief for the Museum being a totally benevolent assassin organization with nothing but the world’s best interests at heart. It’s to make it palatable to as many readers as possible. Okay, that’s fun.
I do find it a little odd that all four of our leads were still active in the field until their retirement instead of having been promoted to desk jobs or training new recruits (like their mentor, who was roughly around the age they are now when she trained them). But “older ladies who can still kill” is the hook of the premise, so okay, let Billie strangle a younger assassin to death. That’s what we’re here for.
What drove me up the wall was a fairly insignificant subplot that didn’t come into play until the 80% mark.
“Angry? I’m not angry, Billie. Angry is when you find out the dry cleaner lost your favorite shirt. What I’m feeling is the sort of emotion you don’t even admit to your confessor. Five days after Christmas I get a call from Sweeney telling me you four are dead. That’s all, just the bare fact of you no longer being in this world. It is now the middle of January,” he said, pointing to the calendar tacked on the wall to make his point. “That’s weeks later. Weeks of thinking you were gone.”
I might have pointed out that all of this could have been avoided if Sweeney had bothered to call him back after I’d made contact and he knew we were alive, but Sweeney had been after the bonus. No way he would have taken the risk of Taverner either taking the job himself or tipping us off. But I figured none of that would make him feel better, so I said something else instead.
“I’m sorry.”
He folded his arms over his chest and gave me a long look. “Do better.”
“I am sorry, Taverner. I didn’t think—”
“No. But then, you never do.”
Why the shit would she go “I know we’re being actively hunted down by the international assassin organization we work for, but lemme call this dude I broke up with decades ago (who went on to marry someone else and have a family) really quick to tell him I’m alive”? The two of them haven’t interacted in any capacity in years (at least four, given that she’s surprised to hear that one of his daughters has 3-year-old twins, but probably more, given that he tells Billie what his daughters’ jobs are like Billie hasn’t heard of them since they were young). Why are we acting like she was shutting out someone she was actually close to? She has nothing to apologize for! This is so forced.
Taverner sitting next to me, eighteen inches and thirty years of history between us.
They had a relationship 30 years ago. They broke up after three years together because they wanted different things. He married someone else. Billie politely sent a card when his wife died. They haven’t interacted in any capacity otherwise, or if they have we’re not told about it. It happened 30 years ago, but it’s not “30 years of history.” Stop trying to pretend it’s some great romance.
He could have been written out completely (somebody else could have thought of purchasing fireworks, his contributions during the climatic fight were small mentions of stuff that happened off-page that could have been attributed to someone else) and nothing would change. It was transparently an attempt to set up a romance in a possible sequel, and I didn’t care for it.
The Mournful Teddy (1 of 6) by John J. Lamb (2006).
3/5. Published on 2006, but the book takes place on 2004. Charming and enjoyable enough in the moment, but I wasn’t eager to pick up the next one right after finishing.
As a retired cop from San Francisco whose wife is into teddy bear collecting Mr. Lamb is writing what he knows, and it shows. Adding a profile of a real custom teddy bear maker he’s met at the end was a nice touch.
Let’s get the worst thing outta the way first: the story takes place in a fictional town in Virginia, US, so all the characters are white, and the main character’s brother-in-law is a Civil War reenactor for the Confederate (pro-slavery) side of the Civil War. Brother-in-law’s role was small enough that it wasn’t a deal-breaker for the series, but it’s definitely there.
Another thing is that it’s a book about a retired cop written by a retired cop, so some amount of coppaganda is bound to seep in. This is somewhat balanced out by the Sheriff and his son being antagonists. The main character might have been a rare good cop, but he is used to dealing with bad ones. Still, let the killer have a lawyer while confessing! Stop demonizing having a lawyer present while talking to the cops!
Other than that, this book balances extreme coziness with a few moments of police procedural in a way I found interesting.
The clues and information are presented in a linear and fair fashion, and it’s fairly obvious who did it despite the genre convention of not naming the murderer in the narration before the reveal. Still, there are enough moving pieces of theft and corruption to keep the case from being one-note. Plus, the quirky side-cast was interesting enough to make me want to see them again in the sequels.
Brad’s narration constantly points out that he loves his wife, Ashleigh, and supports her hobby-turned-business of teddy bear collecting and crafting. Kind of rare to see a male author cathering to the female gaze, and even rarer that he mostly pulls it off. I love how much they love each other, and that Ashleigh joins him in the investigation. Brad doesn’t have quite the same approach as Columbo (though he does talk very gently and politely to people and that gets them to tell him stuff), but imagine if Columbo was a cane user and brought his wife along to investigate murders and paused every so often to appreciate the majesty of nature and also there are teddy bears and that’s more or less what this book is like. Also, they have a dog and I appreciate that the dog actually behaved like a real dog.
Blanche on the Lam (1 of 4) by Barbara Neely (1992).
DNF. It was well-written, but I just could not get into it. Chapter 2 infodumped a lot of backstory that made me question whether this was actually a sequel. Blanche mentally derides other Black people for believing their white employers actually consider them family (Tell them you’re going to sit down with a cup of coffee to make some calls instead of cleaning their house and see what happens, she thinks) but she is basically instantly attached to one of her new employers just because he has Down Syndrome and therefore Actually Notices She’s Human. IDK, it didn’t suck, but I just didn’t feel like sticking with it to see where it went.
Jackal by Erin E. Adams (2023).
4/5. There was some clunkiness in the prose, but overall this was pretty solid! This did a great job of humanizing and centering the victims, which is sadly kind of a rarity in the genre.
It took me a while to warm up to Liz because she spent a lot of time basically just throwing herself a pity party, but that trait became less prominent after the plot kicked in, and the climax gave a reason as to why it had to be someone like her.
The non-supernatural side of the mystery was easy to guess for me, the reader, but I realize that was in part because the interludes gave me extra information that Liz didn’t have access to. And the supernatural side of the plot was intriguing. I am not the biggest fan of dream sequences (except for Nightmare on Elm Street or any other time when the dreams affect reality) but the ones in this book were short enough not to bother me too much.
Girl, 11 by Amy Suiter Clarke (2021).
2/5. A serial killer thriller like any other, without much other than epistolary podcast format of some chapters to set it apart from the pack. Probably better enjoyed as an audiobook.
The podcast transcripts intersped through the novel were interesting, but unfortunately the story undermined its own stated theme of focusing on the victims instead of the killer by having chapters explain the killer’s backstory and reasoning from his POV. Chapters that could have easily been told from the POV of his father, his first girlfriend, and his victims. Plus, giving Luisa and Leo a chapter or two would have made their investigative efforts seem like less of a convenient coincidence for the sake of plot.
I appreciate the diverse cast, but this was essentially the Brooklyn 99 “These cops are diverse so you can like them!” style of copaganda. Detective Sykes (originally in charge of the investigation, now retired and being interviewed in Elle’s podcast) is Black, and Commander Ayaan is a Black hijabi refuguee from Somalia. That’s not bad in itself, but nuances such as all the harassment/office politics they would have faced in the Minneapolis PD (or any police force) are missing. Even (white) Detective Sam Hyde, who initially is hostile to Elle, does a 180 later on and starts respecting her skills and Elle ends up getting over her distaste for him. No disliking of cops allowed in this novel, it seems. Why aren’t more True Crime creators anti-cop?
Elle’s Mexican husband, Martín, her wheelchair user Vietnamese online BFF/podcast producer, Tina, and Commander Ayaan felt like they existed solely to cheerlead or worry for Elle. Even when calling her out for her recklessness (which could have gotten her or a child killed) they do it in the most loving and understanding way possible. Compare that to Elle’s white friend Sash telling her to fuck off and get out of Sash’s house until the case is solved.
Most of Elle’s circle were just a bit too convenient for her in general. The dotting Medical Examiner husband who had all the facts of the murders at hand to share with Elle. The police Commander friend who invites Elle to be part of the investigation. The neighbor whose daughter is just so likeable that Elle and Martín care for her like she’s their own instead of fostering/adopting.
There are no twists, turns, or shocking revelations because the story telegraphed its punches early on, loud and clear, over and over.
This is the kind of mystery where I, the reader, knew who TCK would be revealed to be long before the 50% mark because this is a book and therefore all characters must be plot-relevant. So, the suspense came instead from wondering when and how the investigators would find clues that led them to him. It took way longer than I cared for.
Example spoiler time, though I called it pretty much immediately and it grew to be so in-your-face obvious that one of my notes for chapter 9 was just "OKAY, I GET IT, SHUT UP!":
Elle is Eleanor, the 11 year old girl that got away from The Countdown Killer. The "official" reveal doesn’t happen until the last quarter of the book.
This, of course, means she’s too close to this case. I know her gut-feeling is correct because I know what book I’m reading, but the story is supposed to be real life for her so I can’t get past how reckless she acted with basically zero tangible evidence to validate her theories. Title at times could have been Girl, speculation based on little-to-no-evidence. And Elle prides herself on knowing how to build solid cases “by the book” from her time working for Child Protective Services before she retired and began her podcast?