Reading Log 2026

My Fiction Quality Rating Scale:

1. Terrible execution of its prose, premise, themes, plot, worldbuilding, and/or characterization. Failure to deliver what it promised in its blurb. I regret reading it, but for some reason finished it instead of doing something else.
2. Below average execution of its prose, premise, themes, plot, worldbuilding, and/or characterization. Might have failed to deliver what it promised in its blurb. I believe this book is objectively bad, but enjoyed at least one aspect of it.
3. A neutral kind of just okay. Not outright bad, but not very memorable. Delivered what it promised in its blurb.
4. Good execution of its prose, premise, plot, worldbuilding, and/or characterization.
5. Good execution of its prose, premise, plot, worldbuilding, and characterization.

(I don’t really rate nonfiction or comics, though.)

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. Really good, 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)

3 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.

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).

1/5. 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.

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?

February

In the Lions’ Den by Iris Mwanza (2024)

3/5. It’s an interesting plot, but I wouldn't call it a thriller or mystery. It is more of a literary novel with a lawyer protagonist who happens to try investigating a murder. The focus isn’t on gathering clues and solving the mystery, or even in building the legal case. It's more of an exploration of Zambian government, society, and religion in the 1990s. It’s not bad, but it is what it is, and sometimes it seemed like it was biting more than it could chew (e.g. whether Grace’s epilepsy actually was a connection to the spirit world or not, it didn’t come up enough to be a proper subplot or tie-in with her personal struggles with Christianity; it was just something that was brought up in passing early on and dropped soon after). My biggest gripe is that often two different characters would speak in the same paragraph.

It’s Elementary by Elise Bryant (2024)

3/5. I think it tried to cram too many plotlines in, without giving any of them room to fully develop, and the pacing and tone were inconsistent so it felt like there were a lot of padding chapters with little-to-nothing going on.

The narration was first person, present tense, stream of consciousness in a very Millennial tone that I found funny at times and grating at others. On at least three scenes of Mavis having an internal monologue, someone looks at her funny and it turns out that she actually had been speaking out loud the whole time. This is the author’s first adult book, and I wasn’t a fan of the melodramatic screaming scenes—even the satisfying ones. That whole meeting about the ring camera footage *could* have been an email.

I was onto the right suspect from the get-go in my usual “I don’t know how you’s done it BUT I KNOW YOU’S DONE IT” fashion, and the reveal of howdunnit was extremely satisfying and also bittersweet because of the whydunnit. Despite the title being a Sherlock Holmes quote, the emphasis should be on the fact that it’s a pun (Elementary school, that is). Mavis is not a good detective because, well, there was absolutely nothing qualifying her to investigate, but she attempted it anyway because she witnessed something suspicious early on. She was constantly wandering, unfocused, getting distracted, and acting like there was a crisis going on.

I mostly found the romance plotline cute, though my “this series may attempt a love triangle in the sequel(s)” senses were tingling by the end. The discussion questions at the end were a fun touch, and I spent some time thinking them over after finishing the book. (As for the summer reading list: I DNF Finlay Donovan is Killing It and found the Thursday Murder Club just okay, so Elise Bryant’s tastes and mine don’t seem to align. And that’s fine.)

Child of Silence by Abigail Padgett (1993)

2/5. It’s heavily dated, but some of the prose was written so well that I’d often reread paragraphs because they were so enjoyable. The book does best when it’s following Bo’s POV, but the tendency to depict Bo hearing objects speak left me confused as to how those weren’t auditory hallucinations (which people with manic-depression, now called Bipolar disorder, don’t experience).

I liked following along as Lamarche developed a crush on Bo; it was an understated, unobtrusive way to have a bit of romance b-plot. The main plot, however, I detested. The villain and the reason for the crime fell extremely flat for me. What on Earth possessed Padgett to do a Flowers in the Attic homage? This (and I suspect the rest of the series as well) is firmly a thriller instead of a mystery (the climax is about saving a child from danger, not figuring out the whodunnit/whydunnit/howdunnit of said danger), but that’s no excuse to underdevelop the reasons behind the plot.

I think the narrative emphasis on how intelligent Weppo is vs. how the villains look down on him because they mistake his deafness for intellectual disability accidentally created the implication that it would be fine to look down on him if he actually was intellectually disabled. I don’t believe that was the intention, but it happened.

Also, the attempts at Spanish and French were a little rough. For example: El Cajón translates to “The Drawer,” not “The Coffin.” The city takes its name from Rancho El Cajón, which was named for the box-like shape of the valley that surrounds the city, according to Wikipedia. I guess someone could use the word as a euphemism for a coffin, but that’s a far cry from claiming it as an exact translation.

The Explosive Child by Dr. Ross Greene (6th edition, 2021).

Nonfiction. Child of Silence led me to idly browse YouTube videos about the US foster care system, and one of them was a book recommendation video that led me to pick up this book. It’s very short, a bit repetitive even, so I read it in a day. I don’t have children, but the technique here seems like good conflict resolution in general. Focuses on adults and children working together to come up with solutions to whatever is causing the children to struggle and act out. The catch is that the solution has to work out for both the adults and children, and be realistic for the long term. Would recommend it to parents and teachers, even if their children don’t have big behavioral issues. There’s a section on how to work with nonverbal children.

March

What the Dead Know: Learning About Life as a New York City Death Investigator by Barbara Butcher (2023).

Nonfiction. I started it in February. I love cool forensic details so therefore I loved this memoir, but it’s about as bleak as John Douglas’ books though her writing is less obnoxious than his tends to be, mainly because she can admit to her mistakes. It’s a little stream-of-consciousness at times, but it delivers lots of interesting anecdotes of her time as a Medicolegal Investigator (and later Chief of Staff) in NYC’s Office of the Chief Medical Examiner from the 90s to 2015.

Sex, Murder and a Double Late by Kyra Davis (2005)

DNF. I just couldn’t stand the characters, the plot-mandated romance, the try-hard humor, the awkward pacing, the painfully Sex and the City early 2000s slavish dedication to diet culture and the beauty industry permeating every word. It wasn’t for me. Also, Sophie drinks frappuccinos, so maybe there’s a reason for the title in later chapters but I don’t know and don’t really care.

Dead Time (Marti MacAlister #1) by Eleanor Taylor Bland (1992)

3/5. This is the kind of police procedural that revealed the killer’s motive to the reader via the internal monologue during an interlude of a different POV character instead of us learning everything at the same time as Marti, which isn’t my cup of tea, but it a solid enough plot and characters. Transitions between scenes or even from paragraph to paragraph were too abrupt, doubly so when introducing characters Marti already knew and when the same character continued speaking after a dialogue tag or action beat. It’s kind of very movie script-like in that regard, but very “telling instead of showing” in other aspects (like the aforementioned internal monologue climatic reveal of why this is all even happening). The attached excerpt for the next book in the series seems a bit more polished about the changes between speakers and character introductions, though, so I might pick up another one from this series at some point. There were a couple of typos in the copy I read, but they were probably fixed in later reprints.

Role Playing by Cathy Yardley (2023)

1/5. My endless quest for a romance novel I actually enjoy continues. This one was… for the chronically online Millennials, despite both MCs being about 50. Age is no guarantee of maturity, but I would have liked these middle-aged people to show some maturity in how they dealt with the people in their lives. Maggie a weird (sibling-like, in my opinion) relationship with her son, actively avoided making friends, and she had to be physically restrained by Aiden from beating up his ex for saying something mean about him. She does the “tomboy dress-and-makeup makeover” thing at one point and it’s supposed to be ~different~ because she actually did it herself and she’s been able to conform to societal femininity standards the whole time and can totally walk in heels. Bleeh. Aiden was better adjusted, though he was an extreme doormat.

I find it obnoxious when one romantic lead has to have their sexuality explained to them by a love interest that doesn’t share the identity, and while I love that they want to be respectful of each other, several paragraphs of dialogue asking “Are you okay? I’m here for you. How are you feeling? I don’t want you to feel pressured. Are you uncomfortable?” in every in-person conversation felt excessive.

Also, I’m not a gamer, but the videogame references felt off to me.

I read on more for the way it showed complicated family dynamics that don’t always have happy endings than the romance or either of the main characters, really.