#ReadSoulLit ~ Sisters in Crime

#ReadSoulLit is a Black History Month project organized by booktuber, Frenchiedee.  When Frenchie reached out and asked did I want to contribute to the project, I didn't hesitate.  I most certainly did.  And when she asked what I would do my video on, with so much ease I said black women writing black women in crime fiction.  And what a project this turned out to be.  I stressed for about three weeks, then one day got tired and decided to just jump up and do me.  Now, I have to share the videos here with you all.  I've drained myself a little putting this one together.  So I hope you all enjoy...

#ReadSoulLit ~ Sisters in Crime 1: Where I'm Coming From...

#ReadSoulLit ~ Sisters in Crime 2: Their Stories...

When Bored With a Book...

...Buy more.  That's right.  I'm bored to tears with Chang-Rae Lee's On Such a Full Sea.  If Obsession in Death hadn't released to interrupt the process, I may have walked this week finishing absolutely nothing.  Nonetheless, I've bought plenty and think it's time I put Lee aside for the time being.  No, seriously.  On Such a Full Sea is boring.  Though it's an interesting look at the dystopian theme, it's kind of hard to really connect with as it's told through the first-person plural.  However, it's led by the character of a sixteen-year-old girl who you never really have access to her consciousness throughout its telling.  So I'm on the fence.  Part of me wants to power my way through.  Part of me wants to just give the whole thing up.  Part of me is upset because I loved and was captivated by The Surrendered and hoped this book would be the same.  Nonetheless, I went to the bookstore Friday.  Grabbed the laptop and hung out for awhile before my cousin and I went to our favorite Asian restaurant in the area.  I browsed exclusively in the non-fiction area and walked out with these...

India Calling by Anand Giridharadas substituted for my actual desire for Maximum City by Suketa Metha.  I decided to go into India gently, I suppose.  Hitler's Furies just caught my eye and interest.  Women killers during the Holocausts.  Ouch.

Obsession in Death

So let me set this book up for you, before I get into what I loved about it. Eve Dallas is somewhat of a celebrity cop in New York.  Her and her cases are often featured on the local news as one of New York‘s top homicide lieutenants. Books and movies have featured her cases–and in turn her likeness. And her celebrity comes increasingly valid with a billionaire husband at her side. So without a doubt, Eve is as profile as they come.  The problem is while many hate her (which is an understatement), some admire her. And some admiration comes with a deadly (another understatement) and twisted psychology. 

In Obsession in Death Eve has become the object of someone’s personal fixation. A fixation so apparent and disturbing that this person believes they must kill for Eve, to show and express the value of their “relationship.” The killings are about justice. Respect. They are offerings to Eve, and it becomes all the more evident as each murder relates back to suspects and victims from Eve’s old cases.  Obviously, Eve doesn’t appreciate these offerings. And it’s only a matter a time before their killer turns completely on Eve.  Hence... Obsession in Death.

It’s here. It’s done. Finally, all caught up on J. D. Robb’s In Death series. I thank those who've followed along on this semi-obsessive compulsive journey, as I read my way through four books until arriving at Obsession in Death‘s release on February 10th (where I snatched it a Kroger‘s after filing my income taxes; I had to get Kosher hot dogs anyway). I would go on about my grateful pleasure to those who've kept up with me, but I think I've said enough over the past two months.  Therefore, I'm going to make this quick. 

Obsession in Death is not only the 40th book, but it also marks the twentieth anniversary since the In Death series began with Naked in Death‘s publication on July 1st, 1995. (I'm always amazed, seeing that I was only twelve-years-old on that day.) That’s twenty years and still going; not too many series covering any genre have that longevity. Furthermore, the cool thing in all this realization regards how Obsession seems to recognize the series' hero and its own history. It’s the book that looks closely at the character and evolution of Eve Dallas herself. It’s the book that takes nods to previous cases, previous victims and suspects as well as old, crooked wounds within some of the cast.  It looks back at Eve's relationship with others, and even takes us back to Eve's apartment where she resided at the beginning of it all. I found it somewhat of a tribute to the series–a celebration of sorts. And it was a thrill that easily out beat its predecessor, Festive in Death.  I found myself very much standing at two in the morning to read the book.  I didn't want to get comfortable, I didn't want to sleep.  From start to finish it was a ride–both the syrupy sentimental and a plot that races the clock kind.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Girl, What? Welcome, Ms. Hayes

I'm a little beside myself because I researched Charlotte Carter’s Nanette Hayes three-book series a number of times only to jump into it with the second book, Coq au Vin. I ordered it thinking it’s the first, which is actually Rhodes Island Red. And you know how anal retentive I am, finding it necessary to read series in order. Not exactly sure what happened, but I’m here and will go back to give this series a proper start. In the future.  So despite my misstep, I did enjoy Coq au Vin and my introduction into Carter’s New York native, jazz playing, smack-talking amateur sleuth, Nanette Hayes.

So until I can go back and speak about this series from the start, I'd better go ahead and begin where I am.

Nanette’s Aunt Vivian has always been a men-loving, money-hungry firecracker. And now she’s an international one, having left America for Paris years ago to indulge in her impulses. She has since gone rogue from a family that didn't too much care for her ways to begin with. Nonetheless, she’s always had a special relationship with her niece, Nanette “Nan” Hayes. So when Aunt Vivian sends a postcard and a telegram to Nanette’s mother relying danger, the family can't help but worry. Yet… they also sigh with exhaustion. While Nanette’s father wants nothing else to do with his sister, it’s Nanette’s mother who gives her daughter the task of seeking out her aunt in Paris. And it would've been easy to reject if Nanette didn't have the added responsibility of handing Vivian her inheritance. Unfortunately, by the time Nanette lands in France, Aunt Vivian has long been missing.

Coq au Vin takes you places. Places where you may forget what’s happening in the book as it relates to the mystery and/or purpose of Nanette in Paris. There are even moments when Nanette took note of how un-progressive she’s been in regard to finding her aunt, usually because she‘s busy sexing up her Paris boyfriend or looking for a place to eat. So in that situation, it never felt like a story with much at stake or any urgency as Nanette fluttered about Paris semi-sorta taking stock of little clues related to her aunt‘s disappearance. Simply put, Carter sprinkled the setup in the beginning, and it wasn't until near the end where it felt as if she crammed in her focus.

So instead, between those two points, more than once I felt like I verged off into a Parisian instant-love story, a black-conscience dialogue (which was the best), or a music history lecture. The book comes loaded with the history of blues and jazz music, from America to Paris. Topped with descriptions of Paris's locales as well, which wouldn't be so bad if you're familiar with the city and didn't require a little research. It goes into the world of the Paris jazz scene also. From the streets to the night clubs. However, you may find yourself wondering, repeatedly, why am I here and what’s the progress of the mystery, or the catalysis to all of these events. And personally, I'm always startled in a mystery book when a protagonist gathers a lead, but decides to go to a nightclub to dance instead of chasing it down. Focus, people. Focus.

The surprises along the way are limited. Some that I conceived would've probably really set the book off. Nonetheless, at last, it all sort of came together, except for a few characters who went off and were never heard from again. While I was over Nanette’s outbursts and arguments, I can say that she made a fantastic protagonist. Especially because she’s black, a woman, and is aware of both these things and how she relates–and is seen–by the world. Even in a place miles away from her New York roots.

I'll leave a few of my favorite moments from Nanette down below…

"Like every musician, probably, I had often wondered what it was like to play high on drugs.  All the cornball stuff crosses your mind:  does the heroin unlock some door in your soul?  Does it makes you better?  I don't just mean, does it make you play better.  I mean, are you better, however briefly

For all my musical forefathers, it had to do more than just make the pain go away.  God.  Negroes and their pain.  What the fuck were we going to do if suddenly it all did go away?  Would be even know who we were anymore?"

"I wanted to say something more than that, but I couldn't quite form the words yet.  The permutations of our relationship to the whole of America were endless.  You could hate white people but not hate America.  You could come to terms with the racism but never accept the insipid culture.  You could view our disenfranchisement as a kind of massive swindle–all that blood, sorrow, loyalty, hope, and patience deposited over the centuries, and the check keeps bouncing.  You could simply self-destruct.  Like I said, endless.  I figured I'd hear the particulars of his take on the thing soon enough."

"'My blackness is not open to challenge.  My father was black, so that means I'm black.  Period.  I guess what I mean is, my people deserve to be honored by me, and I'm serious about doing that–but I deserve some honor too, right?  Who doesn't?'"

February Housekeeping

It’s Saturday. It’s relatively warm. The sun is out. And I only had to work a quick four–though mildly nerve-wracking–hours on the job. A new episode of Ghost Adventures comes on tonight. I have no plans and don’t care to make any. So what did I do? I went to the bookstore. I had a few ideas in mind, but I mostly went in there blind and ready to browse at my leisure. No pressure, except that emptiness in my stomach alerting me that I didn't have lunch. Just shelf after shelf of… well… looking. As always, I first stopped in the non-fiction section, particularly the area concerning Asian and African (hyphen the two as you will) studies as well as Native American history. And I saw plenty there, but waited and browsed around some more with a couple of those books in mind. 

I wanted to avoid the Mystery and Sci-Fi/Fantasy section. Mystery because I have plenty of them, as they're a well that never runs dry here. Sci-Fi/Fantasy because I can never seem to find what I really want to read about in the genre. I was not–and I mean not–in the mood for female characters sexing it up with werewolves and vampires. Forget that!

I decided to hit the general fiction area blind, but not-so blind as I had my Amazon Wishlist app open like a Geiger counter. My experience with Chang-Rae Lee’s The Surrendered was a clear voice in my head–no doubt. It’s a voice that I tried and tried to fight by picking up another by Ruth Ozeki (after reading A Tale for the Time Being a few years ago, I wanted to go back to another of hers) and fell into shock when I found Junichiro Tanizaki‘s The Makioka Sisters there and available right at my fingertips. For a while, I walked around with Toni Morrison’s Home. Richard Wright’s Rite of Passage hung in there also.  

Like Rebbie Jackson, I was "Ready For Love."  I walked around with a set of three books. Put two back. Walked with one. I reverted back around and picked up one that I let down. I stood in the aisles contemplating prices and mood. And after some unknown amount of time I ended up with these…

Evidently, I couldn't resist that voice for another Chang-Rae Lee novel.  The Education of Little Tree, by Forrest Carter, went to war between The Ways of My Grandmothers by Beverly Hungry Wolf and Maximum City: Bombay Lost and Found by Suketu Mehta.  Hirohito and the Making of Modern Japan by Herbert P. Bix is still stuck on my list.  Nevada Barr’s Track of the Cat just kind of happened.  I wandered into the mystery section (who the hell was I kidding?) and recognized its familiar cover from my Amazon Wishlist.  It’s the first in her Anna Pigeon park ranger series.  I figured I wouldn't find it anywhere else in such a condition.

So there we are.  I look forward to sharing my experience with these books in the future.  Can you guess which I'll crack open tonight?  Hmmm...

Caught-Up in Death

It has finally happened–I'm caught up on J. D. Robb (except for two short stories) and am officially ready for Obsession in Death’s release on February 10th. (Which is six days away from where I'm standing.) Whoo-hoo! It’s been a thrill slamming these four books down these past two months. A truly fun and exciting treat/reunion. There were nights where I stood up to keep from falling asleep, as I chuck down 200 pages. In contrast, there was a time where I–pitifully–spent ten days with one book.  Which is not a good thing. I got Lay's Simply thick cut potato chips wedged in some books, as I snacked alongside Eve and crew. I silenced my Korean dramas with the MUTE button to funnel my concentration into some of the more gripping cases.  And I suppose I should mention how I was almost late for work one morning, having stayed up to read and awoke to follow-up with a few more pages.

Fun, indeed.

So the last four books are listed as: Calculated, Thankless, Concealed, and Festive in Death. If I had to rate them in order from best to worse, it'll be Concealed, Calculated, Festive, and Thankless. Nonetheless, you can visit my previous post on Calculated and Thankless to see what I thought of them.  From here I’m going into Concealed and Festive. Okay. Enough rambling.

Concealed in Death is book number 38 in Robb’s In Death series, and it ranks up there with one Eve Dallas’s creepiest cases. It started off simple enough. Eve’s billionaire husband–and series star–Roarke is interested in creating a haven for abandoned children/teens. He’s taken an interest in an old building that done such a thing almost twenty years previous.  Then, it was known as The Sanctuary. 

Nevertheless, a bit of demolition is required to fit Roarke’s taste for the building.  With the contractor present, Roarke wields a sledgehammer into a wall to get the process started. And what he uncovers is a pocket of space. Tucked in that space are the skeletal remains of two, wrapped in plastic. Roarke wastes no time contacting his wife, homicide Lieutenant Eve Dallas. And, upon her arrival, the skeletal remains of ten others are uncovered buried in further walls of the building.

This was probably one of the best In Death books since Treachery in Death. It’s books like this that make me roll my eyes at book snobs. You know, the individuals who look down on what they deem–snobbishly I should say–genre fiction. (Personally, I'd rather get rid of the “genre” and stick with Sue Grafton’s equivalent, “literary form.”) However, genre fiction, or mystery to be exact, explores social subjects and themes just as effectively as contemporary fiction. Though it's done under the duress of murder (which may be where all the snobby squealing comes from), that is only the vehicle to said themes and social conversations. 


Concealed in Death provided both murder and the conversation. Robb took readers on the individual stories of twelve (and then some) unfortunate teens who found themselves abandoned and/or abused by their families.  Subsequently, they're thrown into a shelter. Many of them gathered hard, abrasive defense mechanisms used to control those around them. Many harbored powerful, self-destructive rage. And many were so broken they were helpless and prey to a variety of influences. These teens manipulated, stole, and fought to relieve their sadness. And in the end, they were lured to their deaths by an individual just as destructive and broken.

Concealed in Death just goes on and on.  Whether it's the book's additional presence of mental illness and suicide; it opens conversation after conversation while telling a sad, troubling story that’s very much worth a discussion. It ranked right up there with the disheartening feeling I gathered after I closed Promises in Death six years ago.  Now, that's not to say that Concealed didn't have its flaws.  It certainly did.  However, just the conception of the case alone made it a winner to me.  Twelve skeletal remains hidden behind walls is chilling in itself.  Plus, I'm not one to nibble on flaws in books unless they're too big for me to swallow.

Which more or less brings me to book number 39, Festive in Death. A personal trainer named Trey Ziegler is discovered in his apartment. Murdered, of course. He was bashed over the head twice with one of his fantastic, high-flying fitness achievement trophies, before finding himself (well, his corpse of a self) stabbed in the chest with a kitchen knife attached to a note reading Santa Says You’ve Been Bad!!! Ho. Ho. Ho!  It would be somewhat easier for Eve if she found some sympathy for her playboy victim. Oh, yeah. The fact that he drugged his many sexual conquests takes part of her disgust. Nonetheless, this is her job; she must stand for the dead. So the search for his killer keeps going. From a fashion blogger, a native mistress, and Trey’s body-building rivals, the list of his potential killer goes on just as the variety of possible motives.  Was it a vengeance kill?  A passion kill?  Or maybe Trey was getting in the way of someone else's personal achievement? So, who killed Trey Ziegler and why?

There’s not that much I want to say about Festive in Death. I thought it was kind of standard. It wasn't all that exciting–especially after the gripping atmosphere Concealed gave me.  However, it was an enjoyable glide with Eve and the cast. See, the thing about Festive was Robb never really flipped any switches to me. I read it thinking to myself “wouldn't it be interesting if Trey’s killer was his gay lover”. Conversely, “what if Trey’s hiding someone else’s homoerotic voyeurisms.” Or even, “wow, I wish the character who seems naive and dumb was actually a blood-thirsty vengeful bitch.” Anything but the status quo would’ve done. And while it did twist a little in the end, it wasn't all that grand.  Plainly put, the book was too damn safe for me.

The true treat of Festive was probably the long scenes dedicated to Eve and Roarke’s life with family and friends. Seeing that this was a Christmas-themed book, it only made sense. Now, I'm not one to really invest too much in Eve and Roarke’s relationships with others. It’s true. To me, the books move so slow and are so stagnant in the relationship area that I don't feel like I really miss much.  Let me explain... 

Early in the series there was an arc where the dating couple, Peabody (Eve’s partner) and McNab (New York’s electronic division officer), were having a tiff.  He caught her being kissed by another individual and it deconstructed/reconstructed everything between them for a couple of books.  It was an issue that was there.  It came present, explored and experience without having been watered down or glossed over.  Another example comes when the resident psychologist, Dr. Mira, and Eve were on rocky terms during another arc in the series.  Their tiff had to do with an ethical disagreement involving a case. So other than that, nothing really sticks out to me concerning characters and their relationships with others. Perhaps I'm just blind to it, because I've read reviews where others are excited for growth in certain relationships where all I see is the same. Even with Eve and Roarke, I hardly see much of this “growth” people keep talking about. Basically, what I'm saying is that nothing breaks down to be built back up between these characters.  At least nothing serious, detrimental, or dynamic-changing.

I'm not as invested in the character relationships as other readers, but when it happens, I do notice piquing changes.  And I also want to add that I believe part of this issues comes with how everyone's world almost always orbits back around to Eve and Roarke.

Nonetheless, with all of that said, I will say that I did enjoy the parts in Festive not focused on the murder case.  (Honestly, I'm kind of shocked that I did enjoy them.) After all, a Christmas party is usually a good time. And in saying that, I still wish Robb would do something with the gay medical examiner Ty Clipper. So annoying how all these straight couples get to have all the fun. Even the coupling between a licensed male prostitute and a doctor (though I like them in general).

Well, that’s it. Enough rambling. I’m moving on to Obsession. Check with me there!

Balzac Said What?

"In this enchanting tale about the magic of reading and the wonder of romantic awakening, two hapless city boys are exiled to the remote mountain village for re-education during China's infamous Cultural Revolution.  There they meet the daughter of the local tailor and discover a hidden stash of Western classics in Chinese translation.  As they flirt with the seamstress and secretly devour these banned works, they find transit from their grim surroundings to worlds they never imagined."

~ Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress

There’s a lot to say, and then there’s not too much I can say about Dai Sijie’s Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress.  I mostly found it an ethereal, magical, coming-of-age, young-romance Chinese not-so-love story.  It’s short and sweet.  Flavored and gripping in its telling.  

Balzac takes place during China’s Cultural Revolution, a time where all things Western or foreign was prohibited in place of all things Mao (like that handy The Little Red Book).  Subsequently, many young Chinese were relocated from the cities (populated and occupied with educational prospects) and forced into the mountainous areas/villages for re-indoctrination.  After all, what better way to uphold Mao's principles than to throw the intelligent Chinese youth into the countryside as coal-miners and farmhands?  Anyway, it’s here that we meet the two Chinese teens sharing their story of political migration, and their desperation for love and knowledge.

It gets a little confusing toward the end as the narrative abruptly shifts into the heads of the various other characters.  However, I didn't find it a total disruption, because by that point I was pretty much solid with the simplicity of the story.  So in saying all that, Balzac isn't Ha Jin, Jung Chang, or Yiyun Li.  It's a fascinating and spellbinding read, but it only went so far in depth and conflict.  I left away feeling it was a glimpse, a slice-of-life (but certainly more) moment of what it was like to be a Chinese teen during the Cultural Revolution.  And all the political maladjustment that went into living in that era.