Review: The Lost Girls of Johnson's Bayou by Jana DeLeon

Archeologists date The Lost Girls of Johnson's Bayou to 2012 in my TBR stack. I was going on about missing gothic romance and a friend sent me a couple Harlequin Intrigue titles to try. DeLeon was an interesting author. Her mechanics are off but the finished product reads smoothly. I'd suggest this one for the night you just can't settle down but still want to read. The Lost Girls of Johnson's Bayou is an undemanding read. There is an air of the older gothic with definitely modern touches.  It's soap-tastic in it's you've-got-to-be-kidding-me plot details.

Ginny walked out of the woods sixteen years ago with no memory of who she is or how the school in the center of the Bayou burned down, killing the students inside. Paul is a former cop who has switched to private investigation. He has a personal interest (of course) in the mystery that Ginny has largely put behind her. Paul is woefully undeveloped by DeLeon. I knew roughly who he was but he never became more than a sketched in concept of a lead. For the purposes of the story we don't really need more, yet filling in some of those empty areas would have made for a much richer experience. Of course Ginny and Paul team up to work the puzzle, endangering themselves and those important to them in the process.

The Lost Girls of Johnson's Bayou is a solidly working class story. Ginny has a job and a side hustle. She and her mother work hard and count costs. Paul has a partner but no special connections or heavily financed back up. The actions they take are believable. When Paul asks Ginny out to dinner in The Big City she reminds him she has an early shift so they stay close to home. Their response to danger is reasonable as well - no one goes on the run, gets whisked to a safe house, or calls in the FBI. While the emotional punch of one plot resolution is pulled by the speed (and sheer chance) of it's resolution, not every question is answered. I appreciated the author's willingness to let a few loose ends lie.

DeLeon brings in some elements I was concerned would overwhelm the mystery (or be a face palm of a resolution) before setting them aside in favor of a more original explanation for the events in Ginny and Paul's past. The red herrings are appropriately explained with enough foreshadowing for the reader to find the revelations at the end satisfying. While there is a baby in the epilogue it isn't Ginny or Paul's. Overall, a decent read and an author I'll try a second book by.

Spoiler Alert: The questionable element is a nod to the obsession with satanic cults and child abuse that ran rampant a few decades back. I thought DeLeon was going there, but fortunately she only side swiped it. 

*This review originally appeared at Love In The Margins.

Review: Beautiful Darkness by Fabien Vehlmann and Kerascoet

Beautiful Darkness is a French comic book. (Wait, come back.) I implore you to read it. I understand if graphic novels don't work for you, I absolutely do. This isn't a manga or something you have to read in a specialized manner, It's a straightforward American-style comic book. Give it a try. I want to review this without spoiling any of the reveals in Beautiful Darkness. The story unfolds so elegantly that to disrupt the pacing would diminish the experience. Just put your library request in and come back later. Or keep reading.  (But buying it works too.)

Spoiler Alert: After a young girl dies suddenly in the forest the fairy tale creatures find themselves lost and disoriented in the woods. Aurora, being purest of heart, takes charge of the necessities of food and shelter while her prince forms an exploration team.

Vehlmann and Kerascoet (Kerascoet needs an umlaut on the e, but the alt text commands I know are being rejected by Wordpress. forgive me Kerascoet.) have created an absolute masterpiece. (Dascher's translations are smooth and natural.) It's been quite a while since I read a graphic novel that stayed with me for the rest of the week. Beautiful Darkness is deceptively straightforward, even light. It's a fairy tale in the most traditional sense of the word. Romance and quiet horror play out side by side in Beautiful Darkness while the reader considers the moral choices made within. There's a princess, of course (Aurora) and a prince or two. There are talking animals and girls lost in a forest and quests to overcome. 

Beautiful Darkness is like stepping into a vintage Disney piece. The deceptively simple artwork reminded me of the late 1950's with a bit of Harriet Burns and Mary Blair mixed in. Aurora is separated from her prince by a natural disaster. The book follows her through a traditional fairy tale journey of self discovery as she seeks personal and romantic fulfillment. Like most fairy tale heroines, Aurora asks nothing for herself, she is focused on providing good for others. I don't think it's a coincidence that Aurora shares her name with Disney's Sleeping Beauty. There are enough woodland creatures to satisfy even Walt's mouse fetish. Not everyone in Beautiful Darkness gets their happy ending. It's the trip, not the destination.

* This review originally appeared at Love In The Margins.

Things You Could Watch: The L.A. Complex

Ok, two television reviews, two CW shows. I know what you're thinking, but I am not a pro-ana tween. In fact, it has been so long since my PTA days that I never saw a single episode of Felicity or Dawson's Creek. My tweendom involved Phoebe Cates. I blame her for my occasional dips into the CW now. Ok, not really. But I do blame specific actresses, because there are women I will follow anywhere. (Oh hai Jewel Staite.)

After five DNF reads in a row I fired up the TiVo and drowned my sorrows in The L.A. Complex. On the surface The L.A. Complex is a completely disposable show doing a paint by numbers DeGrassi style underbelly of entertainment bit. Really, it's pitching to the choir with me. I appreciate a nicely done soap as much as I suspect that the entertainment world is filled with soul killing narcissists who would have mirrors embedded in their shoes if only the light didn't disturb setup. Under the surface The L.A. Complex is pretty much what it was at first glance. It's plot twists are telegraphed, it's characters neatly fill an Edgy Casting 101 class. What made me go a fourth episode (and has me all in till the finale) is an honesty in the script coupled with some exceptional performances. Jewel Staite is ripping the role of Raquel apart. It's up there with Kudrow's deeply uncomfortable (but far too mannered) Valerie Cherish. While an element of discomfort remains, Staite goes in a completely different direction. Her Raquel is all internal rage and frustration. She knows how talented she is, knows how the clock ticks in Hollywood, but by going against her own instincts her career is deader than Johnny Chase's in the early seasons of Entourage. Raquel will claw her way back to the top if she can just find a place to grab. (Note to Raquel - if they offer you Dollhouse, don't take it. That show is a rapetastic mess.)

The rest of the cast is a mishmash, again Degrassi style. You've got the Hot Young Star, Connor. His mommy didn't love him enough and he self harms just to feel something. See, you don't care about him either. We can just move on. Abby, Illegal Immigrant (cough, young Raquel) is a confused mess. Will she strip? Will she act? Will she sing? Will she sleep with the entire cast in the first season? I don't care and neither will you. She's fine, but she's basic. Abby spends a lot of time with Nick, the unfunny comic. Nick's story arc is learning to get out of his own way, plunder the lives of those around him, and cast off the compassion for his fellow humans that will eternally block him in Hollywood. They cast a James Franco type that is so James Franco it required a script nod. Joe Dinicol is a better actor than Franco but the role is going nowhere fast. Actually, the rest of the cast is such a jumble that we should just skip ahead to the other standouts.

Benjamin Charles Watson does a great job with the oh so out there Gay Black Man. He's working with an underdeveloped role while playing off the cliched P. Diddy style world surrounding him nicely. Some of his choices are absolutely absurd (A remote B&B? Really, Tariq?) but Watson is giving a great vulnerability. He's suggesting almost a young James Baldwin as he takes the world around him in and tries to process a place for himself inside it. His counterpart, Ice-T/50-Cent OG with a record rapper Kaldrick is a perfect foil. Andra Fuller develops real charisma out of an unstable character. You've every reason to dislike Kaldrick (and the heavy handed statement he is a human stand in for) but Watson and Fuller are probably going to break my heart.

Also winning me over is an absolutely perfect performance from Aaron Abrams as washed up child star Ricky Lloyd. Give him and his agent their own show and I am there. The L.A. Complex is the sort of show where vomit means still having to ride the city bus. You aren't broke in a giant Manhattan apartment paid for by your Oxford educated boyfriend - you're fishing through other people's trash for recyclables. I can forgive it the broadcast plot twists and straight from central casting characters for the sheer quality of half it's stars. (The other half can go to just about any other CW show on the schedule without my shedding a tear.) It's the sort of show where you know the stripper is going to be a porn star long before she's a backup dancer, but her desperate plea for support gets you anyway. Add Chelan Simmons to the list of actors to watch in The L.A. Complex. This is a footnote show - the thing you never watch and years later can't believe all this amazing talent was in. I'm just going to view it now. I'm hipster like that.

Edited to add - after writing this I decided to see how Staite views the role and googled up some interviews. Click for the best.

Review: Let's Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson

Jenny Lawson, I love you.

This is the story of my life, except completely different. A normal conversation between me and just about any other human on the planet goes something like this - "No, that's not the weird part. So then we - what? No that's not the weird part. I will tell you when we get to the weird part. Can you just listen? None of that is important, the important thing is..." Because apparently my entire life differs greatly from the average human experience. People give me the half cocked flopped ear expression of the RCA Victor dog. (You probably have no idea who that is. It's ok. I expect that.) Then they slowly say "You... should write a book." I don't want to write a book.  Jenny Lawson just wrote it for me. (Did I mention I love you?)

Let's Pretend This Never Happened is the best memoir I've ever read. Because it is about me. Except, as I already said, completely different. (Mine had way less taxidermy but far more domestic violence. I'm the ABC AfterSchool Special to her Independent Lens.) I even love the subtitle A Mostly True Memoir. Every person in my life (except my sibling) either has or will at some point turn to me with a horrified expression to say "Wait, you've been telling the truth. Everything you've said is true. All of those things, they happened." Of course they did. Why would I bother to make something like that up? I've learned to be polite about it but it's really kind of offensive. I never understood what they were feeling. Because of what I was feeling, their hand to mouth horror didn't mean anything. Until I read Let's Pretend This Never Happened. (Oh my god. Jenny Lawson. All those things. They happened.) Suddenly I knew what it was like to be a normal person waiting for me to get to the weird part. That was a gift.

It was such a gift I said thank you, because I am polite like that. I also called Let's Pretend This Never Happened something like Angela's Ashes, but for Rednecks. Hopefully that didn't offend her. Rednecks isn't quite the right term, but People Raised By Vaguely Southern Parents With An Affinity For Rural Poverty And Scaring Their Neighbors doesn't roll off the tongue the same way. Folks get what you mean by Rednecks, even if it brings a scary KKKonnotation you didn't intend. (Even Malachy McCourt told me to write a book. Mr. McCourt, if you're reading this - please check out Jenny Lawson. I think you'll like her.) Let's Pretend This Never Happened is much higher on the laughter scale than Angela's Ashes was. There is no dual citizenship or starving Irish children but we can't hold that against Lawson. I am sure if the opportunity to starve in an Irish slum presented itself she would have taken mental notes for her future memoir. She is also not a teacher. (This is a loss to children everywhere but possibly a relief to their parents. People don't understand the importance of diversity in education.)

Look, I don't even want to tell you what's in here. Just buy it. Pre-order it. Make a note. Set a calendar alarm. I don't care. Because if you can't laugh at a book filled with dead animals, vultures digging up graves and a young high school girl giving a cow a pelvic exam, then I don't know what you would enjoy. Frankly, I'm concerned. Because I thought it was hilarious. Yes, this is something of a blog to book experience. It doesn't read like one. While I would have moved a chapter here or there and ended in a different place those are minor quibbles. Jenny Lawson deserves a cabinet full of awards and a truck full of money dumped into an empty swimming pool for her enjoyment. Because I'm not the weird one in the conversation.

Review: Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? by Mindy Kaling

This book was sold by it's cover. I had no idea who Mindy Kaling was. I don't watch her show. (I'd heard conversation about Matt & Ben but assumed it was a Tony & Tina's Wedding type thing.) This is a book selling cover. Love the tones, love the pose, love the title, love the composition. (Great design, cover dude. Take a victory jog.)

I found I loved this book. Mindy Kaling is walking a comedy tightrope here - self deprecating without being self pitying, self aggrandizing without coming across as overbold. She's trying too hard in all the right ways. There's a bit of the charmed life to Mindy, but she knows it. There's a lot of the serious work ethic to Mindy and she knows that too, even as she downplays it. A slacker doesn't finish and produce a two woman play much less a serious college degree.

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? is part memoir, part humor, part celebrity vanity project but it is completely enjoyable. This is up there with David Niven's Hollywood books. She's not burning any bridges or settling any scores, she's just telling you a few amusing stories over drinks in a stylish lounge. Kaling's stories are so compelling that one drove me to Google. After reading about a People photo shoot (in a land where a size 8 is anything but very slender) I had to see the photo that resulted. If I liked the book with no investment in her career, then this would be a home run gift for fans of The Office: American Edition.  (I seem to be reading quite a few Crown Archtype books lately. Nice job, marketing and acquisition. Get your sneakers out too.)

Review: Snag Films Meets Who Is Harry Nilsson

Ozy and I have been spending way too much time together lately. I was tired of everything he had to offer. I was sick of his games, I'd heard most of his stories and didn't care to hear the others. We needed something to take the edge off. Luckily, I found SnagFilms. Sometimes you just need a new app and SnagFilms was free. After a very short commercial for Goldman Sachs (what?) I was able to watch a film that's been on my Guess I Should Watch That Since People Keep Mentioning It list. I'd intended to watch Hype! but Who Is Harry Nilsson (And Why Is Everybody Talkin' About Him?) popped up. Reminded of it's existence I decided to give it a go.

Suppose Christopher Guest decided to make a new film and it was inspired by a late night viewing of Forest Gump. At first it seems like a complete put on. Here's the critical piece of information you need to understand the rest of this. I had never hear of Harry Nilsson in my life. Wait, you need two pieces of information. I have spent my life as an avid fan of 60's and 70's music, right down to Leo Sayer. I am conversant with Popsicle Toes and Put The Bone In. Plus punk. And funk. Also, disco and prog. I get around. So. This guy comes on who looks vaguely Monty Python meets Late Night Local TV and he segues into a clip of Dustin Hoffman sadly saying that some guy named Harry Nilsson had died. A person in the audience shouts something - maybe it's no - but it means he expects his audience to know who this dude is. Dustin helpfully tells me it's the guy who sang Midnight Cowboy's theme song. Got it. Ok, some session musician? Cool. Wait, he wrote One Is The Loneliest Number? Is that a picture of him with The Beatles? John Lennon is saying the guy is his favorite artist? What? Right down to having Eric Idle chatting after some guy with so much Botox that only his tongue moves when he laughs, this thing was playing like a fake. Except it wasn't.

I have spent decades in record shops, in flea markets, in garage sales, in people's parents basements. I have touched albums people haven't thought about since they were released and I've never come across Harry Nilsson? This tells me two things. The first is that obviously Nilsson lovers hoard the albums like jealous lovers. The second is that I am ignorant. Ignorant as the day is long and twice as uneducated. After I accepted that this story wasn't fiction and none of these pictures were photoshop, I set about understanding where he fits into the musical landscape. The answer was everywhere. In Nilsson's erratic catalog I heard influence being handed off to artists as diverse as Tom Petty and Bruno Mars. Even Cee-Lo has either heard this stuff or heard something from someone who has. Parts of it are as godawful as any 70's creation and parts of it could be recorded tomorrow. Yoko Ono and May Pang both eulogize Harry. (That takes a minute to process all by itself.)

The documentary is wonderfully understated. Harry Nilsson was a train wreck. A very slow moving one. Like Lennon, he abandoned one child only to become Father Of The Year for the next. Like Lennon, he's got an ex wife who sees him as deeply flawed and damaged and a widow who reveres him. Like Lennon, he has a great cause in his life and is willing to sacrifice parts of his career to it's pursuit. Like Lennon, he hangs out with Beatles. He is like the slightly kinder, much softer version of his friend. Complete with deserting a child as he was deserted and never really getting that he's done that. Cuddly Toy may not be a Mr. Pindommy's Dilemma, but the Nilsson catalog proves to be both utterly familiar and bizarrely new. Alternating between "He wrote that?" and "He wrote THAT?" I was amazed. I think Nilsson was far less clever than the film presents - there is an element of dogged work ethic that erodes the narrative of simple genius. It makes it all the more impressive.

Review: Everybody Loves Our Town by Mark Yarm

Of course it's Kurt. It's still a great cover. Kurt turning away from the adulation he has sought says everything you need to say about him. Even the audience seems uncertain about their evening. Are we enjoying ourselves? Is it okay to enjoy ourselves?

Once, quite a few years ago, I was sitting in a bar attached to a small nightclub waiting for a show to start. I can't remember who was playing. After a while, it blurs together like a merry-go-round with a few bright moments standing out. So we're waiting for this band and a big screen is playing music videos. (It's what they did, once upon a time.) I'm in Connecticut with a girl from Indiana. I don't know why she's there. She hates concerts, music and those who play instruments. (I know she arrived suddenly and in some emotional distress so I assume I already had the tickets and just took her along instead of leaving her in my apartment with my razor blades. Go with it.) There we are, two friends. A Blind Melon video comes on and we both sigh. I say (truthfully) that I saw Hoon play shortly before he died and it's a damn shame. She says she didn't know I was a fan of Shannon Hoon. She wishes she'd known. We could have gotten together.

At this point I have known this girl close to a decade but we don't discuss music. She tells me she and Shannon grew up together. The Very Bad Things that happened in her life happened while she was in that scene. (None of it involved him.) Her brother worked for Axl Rose's parents. She was in the center of a number of music circles and I had known her for years without knowing a thing about it. The rest of the evening was a fascinating conversation we never repeated. None of it mattered to her. These were the people she knew and the things they did. It was exactly the same as the people I know and the things they've done. Why would I mention any of it? Who cares?

This is the brilliance of an oral history, when well done. Everybody Loves Our Town is exceptionally well done. If you've read this far and wondered why I told you about one night in a bar in the 90's, then it won't be the book for you. If you're wondering what she said to me, what I said to her, you will adore Everybody Loves Our Town as much as I did. This is the definitive history of a time and a place that affected a generation of young adults. (Stuck in a small town after growing up in a big city, it was Andrew Wood's voice that reminded me escape was possible. He was already dead.) Hearing the participants tell their story in all it's overlapping contradictory nature is like that bar conversation in the 90's. Free from music theory, free from obvious editorial direction, Mark Yarm lets the reader sit back and enjoy the conversation.

Starting when everyone is young and stupid (as we were all once) and moving through the Very Bad Things that always happen (when you go from young and stupid to slightly older and not much brighter) and then to the bright morning of After (where you realize you grew up somehow), Yarm tells the story of a specific scene with universal meaning. As close as you can come to a bar conversation with each of the participants, Yarm's oral history has all the power of Patti Smith's Just Kids. I hope it does just as well in the market. I recommend pairing this book with a basic knowledge of the Seattle sound and a viewing of Pearl Jam: Twenty. It will remind you your youth was never misspent, it was squandered on things you still love. (And if we're ever in a bar I might tell you my Kurt Cobain story, but I'm afraid the Shannon & Axl stuff isn't mine to reveal.)

Blatant Yet Heartfelt Product Placement For SodaStream USA

Meet my friend, the Penguin. We got together a few months ago over an earnest conversation with my family about the role of Cola Addiction and High Fructose Corn Syrup in my life. You might call it an intervention, but I think I'll stick with earnest conversation. I freely admit that I am powerless over sugary fizzy drinks. I was one of those kids raised by parents who put discount grocery soda in my baby bottle. (It was cheaper than milk and I seemed to like it.) Soda and I, we go way back. Caffeine  was my close friend, aluminum cans littered my life like beer bottles after a frat party. I would talk to my kids about soda like other parents do about beer. "That's for grown-ups, honey. Get away from Mommy's stash." Just like kids everywhere, things for grown ups took on an impossible allure. Soda was the most desired item on the planet.

It was time to quit.

That lasted about three days. Maybe two if we're honest about it. I actually snuck out of the house to buy and drink a soda. Really, it was like that. I started to get defensive. What's wrong with a little sugar? A little carbonation? Who was I hurting? Pepsi Throwback didn't even use HFCS. Meanwhile, I was getting caffeine shakes and stockpiling cans against future shortages. My girlfriend Amy suggested I get a SodaStream because she lost like, a bajillion pounds cutting out commercial soda. Given that I'd rather skip food than soda (and ultimately deny myself neither) this had it's appeal. Instead of raising a generation of fat soda addicts, I could mix juice spritzers for the kids and sell it as soda. This was huge. Penguin and I hooked up.

SodaStream makes a line of flavors, but the organic ones were out of stock and the basic line was Splenda infested. (Hate Splenda. We had a bad night once.) Penguin and I came home to experiment. I discovered that a 1:5 ratio of orange juice to seltzer makes a pretty outstanding Orangina clone. I stuck to carbonated juices for about three weeks before my eye started to wander. Orangina is delicious and all, but what about a nice lemon lime? Perhaps a slightly sweeter taste.... I was off to the world of flavoring syrups. I woke up a few days later with a litter of Torani syrups around me and a new understanding of the Swedish affinity for Lingonberries. Suddenly I realized I was off the caffeine, my garage was ant free and I hadn't hauled the recycling bin out for over a month. That was a lot of consumer waste avoided by keeping a pitcher of cold water on hand for carbonating.

I still wasn't going to come here and let my addiction flag fly, this is a book blog. You're here for the reading. Two things happened. The first was an offer to review a Soda Cookbook. Seriously! A book on how to actually make soda from a pile of sugar and a dream? Count me in! The second was a school fundraiser. With donations down a call had been made to find desirable items for a silent auction. I am all about the kids having toilet paper and crayons, but our taxes don't pay for glue sticks, let alone fresh markers to sniff. With so many of the parents shopping at the Whole Foods or the Greenwise or the Gourmet Good For You markets, why did I find out about SodaStream from a friend in the (insert regional shudder) North? Obviously our market was underserved. (Do you know how much I've heard about Mona Vie and Acai berries? This isn't a market to keep fads to itself.)

Under the "all they can do is say no" theory I sent out tweets and emails. Nora Roberts stepped up. So did Alina B. Klein. The book community is a generous one. Before the hour was up I was feeling pretty good about the first round of solicitation when suddenly both my tweet and my email were answered. SodaStream would be happy to donate a Genesis unit with a dozen or so syrups for the kids to auction off. Not only was SodaStream my new best friend, they also believe in kids having tissues and construction paper and fresh pencils. As I expected, parents from the two schools were unfamiliar with and intrigued by the product. I bid pretty high myself (hey, I need one at my brother's house, don't I?) but I didn't win. I felt bad taking attention away from the truly amazing Angry Birds cake someone crafted, but an Angry Birds cake is for an evening - SodaStream is more of a long term relationship. I offered to review the product at Amazon and both my blogs, which SodaStream said wasn't necessary, but was awesome. Since I think the product and their donation policy is several shades of awesome, I'm breaking my book only policy to talk soda. Ask me anything soda related, I'll answer in crazy obsessive detail.

I hear this product works great with booze too, but I have kids. If I started drinking alcohol I'd never stop.

Review: First Grave On The Right by Darynda Jones

Here's the problem. I want to discuss this book with you in such rant-tastical depth that I would absolutely spoil it for everyone. Plus, it's in hardcover, which means I have to wait a ridiculous amount of time to be certain everyone has had a chance to read it. (You're going to read it, trust me on that.)

First Grave on the Right has it's issues. There's some serious info dumping going on as Darynda Jones sets up her world. It doesn't read as pages of boring exposition, it reads like you walked into the middle of a series. Eve Dallas can get away with saying "Yes, it's just like in the Icove case" because the reader has either read that book or can google it quickly enough. When Charley says "Hoo boy, and let's not forget that day!" the reader is missing the context. It works well enough since it's pretty smoothly introduced, but it could certainly be streamlined.

Charley is the Grim Reaper. Not a Grim Reaper, but THE Grim Reaper. This is a step up from the conventional I-See-Dead-People, but it brings it's own problems. I'm going to assume there are other Reapers in the world, because otherwise the math just blows the whole book out. I mean, the dead have to pass through Charlie, she's the actual light, right? Worldwide, about 62 million people die yearly. Since there are only 1,440 minutes in a day... ok that is as much math as I am willing to do. It just doesn't work, right? Right. So no matter what Charley says, there's got to be other options for dead folks. Charley impressed me in her ability to take more physical abuse than even my girl Sookie Stackhouse. Girl keeps ticking. She's got a cop uncle, an ex cop father, a wicked stepmother, a non beloved sister, a bunch of men interested in her, a dead assistant, a live assistant and at least three jobs. This girl does not have time to sit about. (She also has awesome shoes, but that's my cover envy talking.)

Charley likes sex, but this is not a LKH read, it's pretty mild as far as the actual action goes while still having a heat meter. Unlike most books, I read all the sex scenes. They furthered the plot. I know, I couldn't believe it either. But they did. Charley's been having some pretty vivid dreams at night which may or may not be connected to her paranormal leanings. She's also got an entity that's been shadowing her since the day she was born and a fellow PI looking her way. I don't know if the love triangle (Quadrangle? Hexagonal?) is going to work or is even intended, because it's pretty clear pretty quickly who rings Charley's chimes. Too bad he's in jail. (I know! Daddy issues and inmates and tigers and lions and monkeys and bears!!) I actually have some real problems with Charley's boyfriend. Which is the spoiler-ish bits. I think some aspects (ok, most aspects) of Charley's relationship are going to cause heated debate about their appropriateness and her mental health. I mean, just his pick-up lines alone could light up the average message board. But the world Jones is building captivated me immediately. It's rooted in Christian Myth (if you prefer, Christian Fact - see what I mean? Debate!) but is in no way a "Christian Romance." I respect that. Paranormals that attempt to be areligious (irreligious? Double debate!)  annoy me. You can't have your demons and eat them too. (Wait...)


First Grave ties up 90% of the plot it introduces while only answering 10% of the world building questions, but not in an annoying way. In a sense, coming in to the middle of the story works, after all that is what happens to Charley every time she encounters a dead person.  I rather expect Charlie's BFF to drop dead any moment and leave Charlie as a custodial parent. This is what I mean about a dense world - she's not just Charlie's BFF, she's also her assistant, a single mother, a cancer survivor and in the middle of a potential recurrence. None of which is relevant to this particular story, but would obviously come into play later. Charlie's dad isn't just an ex-cop, he's an ex-cop who runs a bar, has a cop brother, is a widower (remarried) with another daughter and.... it's a very Southern way of meeting characters. "This here is Velma, she's Pearl's sister. You know how Pearl and Velma married brothers? Those brothers happened to be the siblings of my grandmother and it's a funny thing but they're also related these other two ways..." (True sentence. It was used to start off an approximately three hour story from one of my cousins. I'm not sure he ever finished.)

Read it so we can fight about it. It's full of Team Character opportunities and What Is She Thinking vs OMG SO HOT debatery.