Shopworn, stumblebum prose redeemed by a manic mix of horrific violence, gross-out detail, and a crowd-pleasing sentiment.



Deliciously pernicious, archly melodramatic mean-streets revenger: Teran’s second helping of flawed, brutal L.A. noir is just as annoyingly good as his first (God is a Bullet, 1999).

“We’re going to kill a man tomorrow night . . . it won’t be easy, I know,” homicidal, near-deaf speed-freak Dee Storey lovingly tells her 13-year-old daughter. Dee hopes that Shay will be thrilled that Mom is using her as bait, but though Shay has let her mother rent her to pornographers and perverts, she’s nervous about luring trusting L.A. county sheriff John Scully to an empty patch of desert near Baker City. When she does, overwhelmed by the horror of the deed, Shay can’t administer a final coup de grâce. Left for dead, Scully crawls out of a shallow grave, then finds himself disgraced when evidence turns up that suggests, though doesn’t quite prove, that he was involved in drug dealing. Scully realizes he’s been set up but loses everything—until, 11 years later, crusading, agoraphobic journalist William Worth, a.k.a. Landshark, finds Scully and offers proof that he was a patsy for a vicious plot that succeeded in weakening the state’s case against Charlie Foreman, a loathsome drug-dealer punk linked by sex and drugs to a variety of abominable sociopaths, including former cop and yuppie-slime developer Burgess Ridden. As Landshark tries to persuade the burned-out Scully to help him fight the good fight, Foreman decides to blackmail Ridden over money the developer pocketed from construction projects built on environmentally contaminated land. When he isn’t dropping deathless howlers (“Death has no partners and seeks out the slender dares we pitch against it”), Teran snarls his complicated tale around Shay, who is trying forget her awful childhood and lead an honest life. Alas, just when Shay thinks she’s out, Mom comes to drag her back in.

Shopworn, stumblebum prose redeemed by a manic mix of horrific violence, gross-out detail, and a crowd-pleasing sentiment.

Pub Date: May 11, 2001

ISBN: 0-312-27115-8

Page Count: 366

Publisher: Minotaur

Review Posted Online: May 20, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 15, 2001

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A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.


Are we not men? We are—well, ask Bigfoot, as Brooks does in this delightful yarn, following on his bestseller World War Z (2006).

A zombie apocalypse is one thing. A volcanic eruption is quite another, for, as the journalist who does a framing voice-over narration for Brooks’ latest puts it, when Mount Rainier popped its cork, “it was the psychological aspect, the hyperbole-fueled hysteria that had ended up killing the most people.” Maybe, but the sasquatches whom the volcano displaced contributed to the statistics, too, if only out of self-defense. Brooks places the epicenter of the Bigfoot war in a high-tech hideaway populated by the kind of people you might find in a Jurassic Park franchise: the schmo who doesn’t know how to do much of anything but tries anyway, the well-intentioned bleeding heart, the know-it-all intellectual who turns out to know the wrong things, the immigrant with a tough backstory and an instinct for survival. Indeed, the novel does double duty as a survival manual, packed full of good advice—for instance, try not to get wounded, for “injury turns you from a giver to a taker. Taking up our resources, our time to care for you.” Brooks presents a case for making room for Bigfoot in the world while peppering his narrative with timely social criticism about bad behavior on the human side of the conflict: The explosion of Rainier might have been better forecast had the president not slashed the budget of the U.S. Geological Survey, leading to “immediate suspension of the National Volcano Early Warning System,” and there’s always someone around looking to monetize the natural disaster and the sasquatch-y onslaught that follows. Brooks is a pro at building suspense even if it plays out in some rather spectacularly yucky episodes, one involving a short spear that takes its name from “the sucking sound of pulling it out of the dead man’s heart and lungs.” Grossness aside, it puts you right there on the scene.

A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.

Pub Date: June 16, 2020

ISBN: 978-1-9848-2678-7

Page Count: 304

Publisher: Del Rey/Ballantine

Review Posted Online: Feb. 10, 2020

Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2020

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Dark and unsettling, this novel’s end arrives abruptly even as readers are still moving at a breakneck speed.


Ten years after her teenage daughter went missing, a mother begins a new relationship only to discover she can't truly move on until she answers lingering questions about the past.

Laurel Mack’s life stopped in many ways the day her 15-year-old daughter, Ellie, left the house to study at the library and never returned. She drifted away from her other two children, Hanna and Jake, and eventually she and her husband, Paul, divorced. Ten years later, Ellie’s remains and her backpack are found, though the police are unable to determine the reasons for her disappearance and death. After Ellie’s funeral, Laurel begins a relationship with Floyd, a man she meets in a cafe. She's disarmed by Floyd’s charm, but when she meets his young daughter, Poppy, Laurel is startled by her resemblance to Ellie. As the novel progresses, Laurel becomes increasingly determined to learn what happened to Ellie, especially after discovering an odd connection between Poppy’s mother and her daughter even as her relationship with Floyd is becoming more serious. Jewell’s (I Found You, 2017, etc.) latest thriller moves at a brisk pace even as she plays with narrative structure: The book is split into three sections, including a first one which alternates chapters between the time of Ellie’s disappearance and the present and a second section that begins as Laurel and Floyd meet. Both of these sections primarily focus on Laurel. In the third section, Jewell alternates narrators and moments in time: The narrator switches to alternating first-person points of view (told by Poppy’s mother and Floyd) interspersed with third-person narration of Ellie’s experiences and Laurel’s discoveries in the present. All of these devices serve to build palpable tension, but the structure also contributes to how deeply disturbing the story becomes. At times, the characters and the emotional core of the events are almost obscured by such quick maneuvering through the weighty plot.

Dark and unsettling, this novel’s end arrives abruptly even as readers are still moving at a breakneck speed.

Pub Date: April 24, 2018

ISBN: 978-1-5011-5464-5

Page Count: 368

Publisher: Atria

Review Posted Online: Feb. 6, 2018

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 15, 2018

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