Wrecked

Joe Ide opens Wrecked, the latest of his neo-noir IQ series, with the book’s protagonist in a world of trouble. For Isaiah Quintabe, the eponymous hero of Ide’s novels, his world consists of the mean streets of LA. Yet, hot to help a desperate artist track down her long-lost mommy, IQ’s world expands as he becomes tangled with Blackwater-ish consulting firm involved with the Abu Ghraib atrocity. IQ, naturally, only wants to be involved with said desperate artist and her tricked-out GTI. Wrecked, unlike Ide’s other offerings, sets IQ’s usual introverted coolness into conflict with a perilous need for action. Intuitive reflection gives way to risky reaction, placing this otherwise unique offering a step into the general genre.

Ide is a master in presenting a character’s progression. Dodson, IQ’s quote-unquote partner, is a newbie daddy who begins to realize that the hustle of the street is not beneficial to being a father, or a husband. He introduces Grace, who is neither quite a damsel-in-distress nor a femme fatale yet sits in the delta of the love interest Venn diagram. Ide, as always, excels in cutting to the quick with the villains du jour: Walczak, an ex-CIA op, and Rictor, a disgraced ex-LAPD. Ide gives meaning to their machinations and even a touch of honor to their code, warped or not.

Wrecked, though, has too much going on in the peripheral to properly come into focus. Aside from the case with Grace, IQ dabbles in other side projects as well as his dealings with Seb, the Rwandan criminal responsible for the death of his older brother. Any of these sub-plots had the potential of greater real estate and at least one instance achingly demanded more screen time. Mixed altogether, Wrecked becomes heavy with possibilities, slowing down its cause for that one righteous quest.

But only slightly.

Wrecked is a hip, cool cat of a crime tale stroking Ide as a worthy successor to Leonard’s offbeat tales. IQ’s mythology works at its best when pitted intellectually against a foe while verbally sparring with the slick-tongued Dodson. Wrecked is pure mainlining of adrenaline. It misses out on those quiet beats where the story usually comes together deep in Isaiah’s thought stream.

Being the Sherlock Holmes of Long Beach comes with its share of responsibility, which makes for a great read. Wrecked is a worthy entry into a world where everyone needs some extra IQ.


As Always,
theJOE

Stoker's Dracul

Vampires are real. And the biggest, baddest, best known of them all, that Transylvania tramp himself, is not simply Vlad the Impaler, but rather is something much older, darker, and even more evil. At least that’s what horror writer Dacre Stoker, great-grand nephew of some dude named Bram wants you to believe. Dracul, an official prequel to Bram Stoker’s Dracula, binds hidden pages and notes handed down amongst the family claiming that not only are vampires real, but Bram as a young man encountered them, thus unleashing his historical inspiration, and his ultimate desire for cremation.

Dracul is well-written gothic horror, mimicking the manuscript style of collected letters and diary entries, which is what made Dracula so captivating. The tale within has Bram, out of university but before his time with the Lyceum Theatre, along with his sister Matilda and brother Thornley, fascinated that their childhood Nana Ellen never seems to age. When Thornley’s wife, Emily, begins acting irrationally, not mention the sudden appearance of two puncture marks on her lower neck, their search is escalated into all things creepy and undead. Ellen is, of course, a vampire, seeking to break away from her dark, dread master. A sharp, pointy stake to those who might be able to guess his identity.

Stoker perfectly captures a 19^th Century rhythm and environment. The cadence of the letter writing. The usage, and then complete disregard, of the scientific method. All are cleverly and professionally placed. The narrative itself is what takes a while for the reader to fully sink their teeth into. Bram and Matilda’s inquisitiveness as children make for a charming scene setting, but it is not until the hunt is on that the blood of this novel truly gets flowing. Stoker, along with co-author J.D. Barker, do indeed heat up that action to a boiling point. Be patient during that slow simmer.

Bram as an historical action hero certainly works, as Robert Masello in his latest, The Night Crossing, clearly proves. Yet as a prequel, Vlad himself is auspiciously absent through much of the chase. Relegated to shadows and rumor, his origins are mere whispers. He is not the xenomorph from Prometheus coming to birth only to attack and kill its creator, rather, an established evil already reigning as the Big Bad and well on his way to his Carpathian Castle. A true prequel, the story of this Dracul as well as that of Vlad the Impaler, is the story history is demanding.

Another, richer story of narrative significance would be that of the Stoker family history involving Dracula’s initial publication, which was all-too quickly mentioned in the author’s notes. The editing of Stoker’s original manuscript to include those original notes back into the original story would make a fuller, more compelling work of horror than the fiction presented within these covers. Alas, as Coppola displayed in his 1992 film, the sun always rises, sometimes too easily, chasing away those scary shadows into the recesses of our imagination. Dacre Stoker's Dracul, follows a similar path, this one laden with silver.


Fangs so very much to Netgalley and Putnam Books for the howling-good ARC.


As Always,
theJOE

The Night Crossing

Author Robert Masello’s latest travels back for another go of historical fiction set in Victorian London. Two years back, Masello had Robert Louis Stevenson stalk Jack the Ripper in The Jekyll Revelation. Upping his game, Masello bites into the most-enduring of all horror stories, Dracula. The Night Crossing exhumes Bram Stoker’s background as he investigates, of all things, an ancient Egyptian curse that is the potion needed for his famous novel’s origin. Along the way he is enamored, and ably assisted, by a regal Gypsy lovely who possesses knowledge of that most desolate of lands, Transylvania. Yes, that plot summary is as heavy-handed as the novel itself and unfortunately comes nowhere near a hopeful Dracula vs the Mummy crossover.

Instead of MST3K-worthy schlock, Masello writes an intriguing and well-documented piece of work, truly making his fiction as historical as possible. He doesn’t craft Stoker as a retread of a hero, rather as a fiery Irishman who is solely attempting to do something good, albeit for the sake of gathering story material. Tales of Victorian virtue don’t always make for the most gripping of literary devices, so in Stoker’s quest for doing the right thing, the plot jumps around as ungrounded lightning. The current is there, both bright and hot, but the straight flash of the story becomes lost. Carpathian adventures, a cemetery ghost story, unification of labor workers, a cursed gold box, and a certain trans-Atlantic voyage wraps The Night Crossing within several layers of heavy gauze, entombing the sure-shot tale into a deeply buried sarcophagus. Gothic horror and Victorian crime is a genre ripe for blood-letting. Masello needed to abandon the historical plight of man and let it flow. Less of the theater backstage, and more of the spectacle, please.

Masello is asking his readers to take a ransom cab with him and explore Stoker’s inspiration for Dracula. The story is sound, and the ride a fun one - dark and creepy with fog and large insects - but impaling the Egyptian Book of Dead with the legend of Vlad Dracul was an unexpected mashup that required an unnecessary amount of explanation. The beginning for Dracula should be as easy and smooth as an Irish carbomb. Whisky. Guinness. Done. Anyway, didn’t the Lore podcast already cover Drac’s origin tale?

Garlands of garlic and fangs of thanks to both NetGalley and 47North for the ARC. And hey, Masello… I’m truly a fan. Looking forward to your next book.


As Always,
theJOE

The 7½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

The 7½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle is a highly original mashup of genres. A “what if” concept mixing elements of Quantum Leap and Groundhog Day written as an Agatha Christie mystery. The conception is compelling, the story more-than-intriguing, and the fast-paced read irresistible. Congrats, Stuart Turton, on one incredible debut.

Set in the early 20^th century, Aiden Bishop is a man with a mission: prevent the murder of socialite daughter Evelyn Hardcastle. He has eight chances to solve the mystery and stop the crime. These chances come as he leaps into different host bodies at the start of everyday, which happens to be the same day, looping over and over again. He deals with the confusion of awakening in different places and in separate situations while also attempting to retrace his steps as he is seeming setback to the go square any time he makes headway. Bishop learns to be resourceful and quickly comes up with plans of communicating between his various hosts as each day, and each host, provides a new clue, and a different viewpoint, on the events ahead.

Turton’s writing style is fresh and illustrative. He retains the cadence of a Hercule Poirot plot, of an old time dinner murder mystery, but brings in new world twists and ideas. Setting the story as a first-person narrative, the reader comes to understand Aiden Bishop, feels the anguish and uncertainty the character faces, and most importantly, learn to like the bloke. More than a man out his element, Bishop is man out of his time in a way. He questions his moves and his decisions. The same old day becomes unique with feelings of hope and promise trickled out amongst the dread and anger. His thought process allows the reader to absorb the mystery but not stray too far ahead. Turton could have easily gone all-out gonzo, striking forth as a disrupter of past genre reads. Instead, he crafts his tale as a careful homage, feeding off the literary past, and blossoming into a unique creation, one that is bright and inviting.

One might look for a scorecard to keep up with the characters, their references, a time stamp for activities. A word of advice? Simply pay attention to the story. Turton cleverly provides clues and details along the way allowing you, dear reader, to play the role of the ninth host.

Many thanks to NetGalley for the advance, and completely enjoyable, read.


As Always,
theJOE

The Pictures

Along with the built-in worldwide adoration, actors during Hollywood’s Golden Years apparently had immediate and abundant access to booze, drugs, and illicit women, all of which was enjoyed at a premium. Woe, however, to the john caught, for if the studio’s fixer couldn’t provide an out, the mob would, particularly with a bullet, knife, and/or noose. At, least this is all hypothetical according to Guy Bolton and his debut crime noir novel, The Pictures, which is a piece of fiction. Right?

Bolton gives credit to Hammett, Cain, and Chandler in the book’s acknowledgments, and rightly so, as his writing style is a perfect complement to that powerhouse triumvirate of hard boiled fiction. Bolton takes that inspiration and presents a tale of yesteryear that is startling fresh as he plays with the many contradictions LA has to offer. The bright lights and dark streets. Movie magic and seedy deals. Fast, loud action and slow, strangling death. The pre-war hip vibe of the haves, and the sweltering soup lines for the have-nots.

Set in 1939 during the production of The Wizard Of Oz, Hollywood detective Jonathan Craine, the LAPD’s “fixer” for keeping the studios’, especially MGM’s, talent in line, and rookie detective Patrick O’Neill are assigned to the seemingly unrelated deaths of one of the film’s producers, as well as that of a model. Craine is a stalwart, loner of a cop, who would much rather sign off on case then performing an in-depth investigation. MGM helps support Craine’s lifestyle – his evenings to the top clubs, his fast car, and, oh yeah, his dead actress wife – and wants the case closed with zero publicity. O’Neill, however, is eager to make his mark with all eyes dotted and tees slashed. And if that doesn’t bring to surface a smooth homage of Elroy’s LA Confidential, then The Pictures is not the genre read for you. But it should be.

Bolton provides a read that feels like an MGM production complete with an incredibly-easy imagining of Bogie in the role of Craine, or, for a more modern interpretation, Kevin Spacy, with Guy Pierce in for O’Neill. Within The Pictures, whiskey is always single-malt, Chesterfields are inhaled everywhere by everyone, and murder is still the ultimate taboo. The constant is that crime does not pay. Might get the occasional comp, possibly a long-ish holiday, but if Cain taught us, and ultimately Bolton, anything is that the postman always rings twice. For The Pictures, that happens to Jonathan Caine. Hollywood is his beat. He carries a badge. And we are along for the ride.


As Always,
theJOE

Extinction... and not for the last time, either

The alien invasion plot is an industry standard that is now as boilerplate as Batman’s origin and Netflix’s Extinction upholds this formula in a by-the-books thriller yet manages to present the film in a slick and entertaining way. Yes, there is a plot twist deep in the third act that is satisfying and, believe it or not, even a little surprising, which helps provide an explanation in a Marvel No-Prize sort of way for the rather stilted performance from a usually affable Michael Pena.

For all of the standardization this film brings, such as video-game quality f/x and aliens that look like extras from the set of Doctor Who, Extinction does succeed with showcasing the family dynamic during wartime. Pena’s Peter is not a macho alpha male who goes all John McClane when the bullets start a’flying, but instead pauses, and thinks; he plans on how to get his family to survive. His actions are believable and are truly what makes an average direct-release sci-fi flick all the more enjoyable.

Plus, Sweet Christmas, Luke Cage guest stars.


As Always,
theJOE

Ohio

Ohio begins with a funeral and ends in murder. What happens in between is as depressing as a high school reunion, but man, Stephen Markley’s writing elevates the wrist-slashing fatigue into a Stanley Kubrick-like, art-house style circa Clockwork Orange. Still, Ohio is 500-page work that feels like it takes all four years of the riding the after-activities bus route to read through.

Markley recounts the impromptu high school reunion of 2013 following the incredibly-pitiful-it’s-laughable funeral of fallen solider Rick Brinkland as told through the antics and mostly-troubled thoughts of four New Canaan alum, each getting a novella to tell their tales of woes: of trying to fit in, on being attracted to the wrong gal or guy, running away from responsibility, and the youthful persistence of taking the moral high road. After all, if Kevin Smith’s Clerks taught us anything, it’s that’s what high school is all about: algebra, bad lunch, and infidelity. Markley would add “with a ton of drugs” to that statement as apparently that’s all early 21^st century kids in the Rust Belt seem to do. Ohio captures all of that and more. Sometimes, that’s too much.

Like its namesake river and the first ten years of the Columbus Blue Jackets’ existence, Ohio rambles on and becomes unwieldy. Markley’s accounts run so deep an Excel spreadsheet is needed to capture the dramatis personae, their nicknames, associates, sexual partners, and addiction of choice, because there is four years’ of catch up required for the reader while the story’s hook, that of the murder mystery, comes so late in the final act it’s nearly a post-credits zinger in a Marvel Studios film.

Aside from the back-and-forth storytelling told by a former basketball player, a beauty queen, a cheerleader, and a nerd, Markley builds a heavy universe, and one that is completely recognizable as anywhere in America and has the scars to prove it. Ohio may be depressing and fatalistic, but Markley’s craft brings a shine to this Shinola and casts a sense of importance to any of the fatalism plaguing fulfillment-seeking millennials. Unfortunately, this nine-course meal version of a history lesson suffers from distention well before any sort of a hopeful moral can be splashed back with Scotch.


Serious thanks to NetGalley and Simon & Schuster for the ARC. I just need a restorative nap and a mini-marathon of Teen Titans Go! for the laughs and I’ll be good to go.


As Always,
theJOE