This thriller from the author of The Thorn Birds (1998) makes up in entertainment what it lacks in verisimilitude.
Third in McCullough’s set of thrillers starring harried college-town police captain Carmine Delmonico.
Amid the racial and political strife of 1968, Holloman and Carew, the towns surrounding Chubb University (McCullough’s stand-in for Yale), are being stalked by their worst threat yet. A rapist has been serially attacking accomplished young women. After the seventh of his victims reports the crime—she was bound, raped and choked by a masked man who gained entry to her apartment—the other women come forward. Carmine and his team piece together the MO of this madman, who calls himself the Dodo. He studies his victims, cases their apartments in advance with pilfered keys, then dons a bizarre disguise to strike, usually every three weeks. With the law now on his trail, the Dodo has apparently decided to silence future prey. A young black doctor is the first to die. A neighborhood watch group, the Gentleman Walkers, are about as helpful as the Whiffenpoofs. And Carmine’s newest detective in training, spoiled, lovely apricot-tressed trust-fund baby Helen, is upsetting her working-class co-workers. But when Helen’s boyfriend, physics phénomène Kurt, scion of West German industrial chemical tycoons, is kidnapped, Helen’s knowledge of Kurt’s family politics helps Carmine crack the case. Carmine’s hunt for the Dodo is beset by other distractions. His wife Desdemona’s lingering postpartum depression has left her at the mercy of a tyrannical toddler. His underling Corey overlooked a junior detective’s drinking problem, with tragic results. In a nearby luxury mall, a vandal has targeted a glass shop owned by woman-with-a-past Amanda, to the chagrin of her would-be fiancé, mall owner Hank. Could the vandal and the Dodo be one and the same? And what of Amanda’s effete twin nephews, who may, as youngsters, have been not-so-accidental parricides? McCullough’s omniscient narration builds suspense by cutting away from the POV of the guilty party just in time. The '60s atmosphere, however, is less than convincing.
This thriller from the author of The Thorn Birds (1998) makes up in entertainment what it lacks in verisimilitude.Pub Date: Jan. 1, 2011
ISBN: 978-1-4391-7831-7
Page Count: 352
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Review Posted Online: Dec. 2, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 1, 2010
Amateurish, with a twist savvy readers will see coming from a mile away.
A woman accused of shooting her husband six times in the face refuses to speak.
"Alicia Berenson was thirty-three years old when she killed her husband. They had been married for seven years. They were both artists—Alicia was a painter, and Gabriel was a well-known fashion photographer." Michaelides' debut is narrated in the voice of psychotherapist Theo Faber, who applies for a job at the institution where Alicia is incarcerated because he's fascinated with her case and believes he will be able to get her to talk. The narration of the increasingly unrealistic events that follow is interwoven with excerpts from Alicia's diary. Ah, yes, the old interwoven diary trick. When you read Alicia's diary you'll conclude the woman could well have been a novelist instead of a painter because it contains page after page of detailed dialogue, scenes, and conversations quite unlike those in any journal you've ever seen. " 'What's the matter?' 'I can't talk about it on the phone, I need to see you.' 'It's just—I'm not sure I can make it up to Cambridge at the minute.' 'I'll come to you. This afternoon. Okay?' Something in Paul's voice made me agree without thinking about it. He sounded desperate. 'Okay. Are you sure you can't tell me about it now?' 'I'll see you later.' Paul hung up." Wouldn't all this appear in a diary as "Paul wouldn't tell me what was wrong"? An even more improbable entry is the one that pins the tail on the killer. While much of the book is clumsy, contrived, and silly, it is while reading passages of the diary that one may actually find oneself laughing out loud.
Amateurish, with a twist savvy readers will see coming from a mile away.Pub Date: Feb. 5, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-250-30169-7
Page Count: 304
Publisher: Celadon Books
Review Posted Online: Nov. 3, 2018
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 15, 2018
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
One small step, no giant leaps.
Weir (The Martian, 2014) returns with another off-world tale, this time set on a lunar colony several decades in the future.
Jasmine “Jazz” Bashara is a 20-something deliveryperson, or “porter,” whose welder father brought her up on Artemis, a small multidomed city on Earth’s moon. She has dreams of becoming a member of the Extravehicular Activity Guild so she’ll be able to get better work, such as leading tours on the moon’s surface, and pay off a substantial personal debt. For now, though, she has a thriving side business procuring low-end black-market items to people in the colony. One of her best customers is Trond Landvik, a wealthy businessman who, one day, offers her a lucrative deal to sabotage some of Sanchez Aluminum’s automated lunar-mining equipment. Jazz agrees and comes up with a complicated scheme that involves an extended outing on the lunar surface. Things don’t go as planned, though, and afterward, she finds Landvik murdered. Soon, Jazz is in the middle of a conspiracy involving a Brazilian crime syndicate and revolutionary technology. Only by teaming up with friends and family, including electronics scientist Martin Svoboda, EVA expert Dale Shapiro, and her father, will she be able to finish the job she started. Readers expecting The Martian’s smart math-and-science problem-solving will only find a smattering here, as when Jazz figures out how to ignite an acetylene torch during a moonwalk. Strip away the sci-fi trappings, though, and this is a by-the-numbers caper novel with predictable beats and little suspense. The worldbuilding is mostly bland and unimaginative (Artemis apartments are cramped; everyone uses smartphonelike “Gizmos”), although intriguing elements—such as the fact that space travel is controlled by Kenya instead of the United States or Russia—do show up occasionally. In the acknowledgements, Weir thanks six women, including his publisher and U.K. editor, “for helping me tackle the challenge of writing a female narrator”—as if women were an alien species. Even so, Jazz is given such forced lines as “I giggled like a little girl. Hey, I’m a girl, so I’m allowed.”
One small step, no giant leaps.Pub Date: Nov. 14, 2017
ISBN: 978-0-553-44812-2
Page Count: 320
Publisher: Crown
Review Posted Online: July 16, 2017
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 15, 2017
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