richardrbecker's reviews
497 reviews

I picked up Cauldron (The Academy #6) as my first foray into the work of Jack McDevitt. I somewhat enjoyed what I read, even if the story feels uneven over three district parts — the intriguing pursuit of technological advancement and society's pushback on whether it's needed; the lull, which reads a bit like our protagonists' experience during transdimensional faster-than-light speed (a.k.a. boredom); and then some quick and somewhat quirky Star Trek episodes.

As one might imagine, these early Star Trek-like explorations (with a ship nowhere near as elaborate as any Enterprise) involve the crew (the reader, too) spending a few months suffering from cabin fever before making a few stops on their way to the center of the solar system. When the small crew does stop, they sometimes meet technologically advanced alien races that are very humanoid, including one race that is nearly identical to humans (except they are bugs living in the American suburbs, complete with slapstick television shows). The meetings don't amount to much. 

Overall, the book is largely plot-driven. And while McDevitt does a decent job with character interactions, they tend to lack any real depth. The end result is something akin to cheap and accessible SciFi channel movies. You get some SciFi, but it never really sticks. And while that might be fine for a lazy Saturday afternoon, deep down, you also know that there is probably something better to watch somewhere or maybe anywhere. You'd even change the channel if not for the fact that craving the genre is what made you tune in the first place. But, you stick with it for some reason, never truly satisfied or disappointed. 

And therein is how I felt after reading Cauldron: not really disappointed, not really satisfied. I was just strangely cured of craving SciFi but longing for something with more depth, like a peeled potato.

James Joyce's modern and somewhat uneven debut sometimes brushes up on genius; other times, it feels formless and rambling. But maybe that is the point. As Stephen Daedalus develops an identity, so does this 100-plus-year-old classic. 

At its best, the book conveys the religious and intellectual awakening of his protagonist, someone based in part on Joyce's own life. Specifically, during a period of religious fervor, Joyce conveys what it truly means to be cast into hell and suffer one's sins for all eternity. His accounting of those damned to hell for even the smallest of infractions is enough to keep one up at night. And, almost conversely, his exploration of creativity and how we create and perceive art as an artist. 

At its worst, it sometimes feels plotless as Joyce navigates various themes, including developing individual consciousness, religious extremism, and Irish autonomy. Or, perhaps, more concisely, Daedalus tries these things on as someone might try on different ugly sweaters and ultimately shed them all and escape to Europe. And yet, Daedalus is never completely sure he has escaped anything. 

It's this confusion that simultaneously delivers on the complexity of growing up and also overwhelms the story. Daedalus faces the constraints of family, religion, and politics before trying to pursue the artist's life, despite knowing that all these broken constraints still shape him. Ultimately, there is little closure in that Daedalus' eureka moment might be in discovering that there isn't one.

Alas, A Portrait is one of those books I didn't necessarily enjoy (although it had its moments), but I was still glad to have read it. Chaulk it up to being an artist reading art. 

David Barron uses the total solar eclipse of 1878 (not 2024) as a metaphor for change in a country recovering from a Civil War and anxious to find its footing on the world's scientific stage. He notes many changes were taking place in America, from the final days of the frontier to the first semblance of women's suffrage and the eventual emergence of a new empire.

In doing so, he captures American adventurism as eclipse chasers head west, alone or in tight groups. Many of them hold a renowned place in history, including James Craig Watson, E.L. Trouvelot, Maria Mitchell, and, of course, Thomas Edison. While all of them had their own agendas — from looking for a new planet to testing a new invention that could potentially measure the heat from the sun to proving  women had a place in astronomy — they all share a certain tenacity to brave uncertain weather conditions, Native Americans, and the wild west, complete with train robberies. 

Barron covers it all, revealing a passion for American history as much as his modern enthusium for witnessing a total eclispe. More than that, his words are infectious, encouraging us all on to set three minutes aside to see this remarkable phenononon first hand not matter where in the world it might happen next. He rightly shares that in such moments, we come to terms with the vastness of the universe. And, although not meaning too, he conveys how we come to terms with the vastness of time as well — as they are one in the same. 

Expect to learn about much more than one star. This book is five stars.

I Am Pilgrim is an escapism spy thriller with a slightly horrific plot — the creation of the hardened smallpox virus by a terrorist who wants to unleash it on the American public. Terry Hayes introduces our protagonist, Pilgram, when he is called in to give his opinion on a crime scene. 

The subplot crime is later used as a cover when Pilgram is asked to come out of retirement to stop the Saracen, who is dead set on inflicting a fatal blow on what he considers the "far enemy" of the Middle East. The Saracen was radicalized after his father was beheaded by the Saudis and his wife and daughter were killed by an Israeli missile. Discontent to settle the score with "near" enemies, the Saracen is convinced that his suffering is the will of Allah to fuel his jihad. As a doctor and veteran of the Soviet-Afghan War, his is more than formidable.  

Pilgram, a.k.a. Scott Murdoch (among other names), is an Americanized post-9/11 James Bond/CIA superspy. In some ways, Murdoch is more accessible than many spies. Namely, he has a heart. But he is also ruthless and fanatical about protecting the United States. 

Hayes weaves in Murdoch's interesting backstory as an orphaned child, one who grew up with the benefit of having an adoptive billionaire father but the misfortunate of an adoptive mother who didn't love, like, or even want him. This makes Hayes a loner and ideal for being recruited out of an Ivy League school to serve an off-the-book intelligence agency primarily charged with investigating double agents and traitors within other intelligence agencies. In sum, he is the best of the best. He has to be or he would be dead. 

Some readers find I AM Pilgrim's Australian author to be pandering to Americans, but I disagree. While he certainly knows his readers, Hayes makes a great case for being sympathetic to the Saracen's cause, if not for his ruthlessness and disregard for human life. He callously kills innocent people to further his objective, which is to kill as many people as possible because he doesn't believe any infidels are innocent. 

At the same time, it's nearly impossible not to root for Murdoch in trying to stop the Saracen from dealing a fatal blow to America by introducing an especially vicious and deadly plague. However, despite his humanity, Hayes makes it clear that Murdoch can be equally cruel. And maybe that's the point. All humans tend to chastise what others are capable of and yet give themselves a pass for doing the same things in the name of national security or dogma. 

This is also why Murdoch and Saracen seem to reach an unspoken understanding by the novel's end. Then again, this isn't the kind of book you need to think so deeply about. Simply put, it's a five-star spy thriller, but I won't put it on my favorite books shelf. 

Can there be too much of a good thing? Paul Murray is a master storyteller. So many times I was swept up in the tiny moments that framed the lives of his Irish family after the financial crash of 2008 As we learn more about the Barnes family we discover that their problems are rooted in something more than the outside world The real challenges they face come from within And I'll share more about that in a moment

So how can there be too much of it? It's not so much the size of the book that becomes troublesome as much as the lack of punctuation Paul Murray writes without quotation marks like many Irish writers He then takes it a step more while writing from the perspective of Imelda All of her sections are stream-of-consciousness and like punctuation It's symbolic of her lack of formal education and also the unstructured nature of life. 

The decision makes sense until it doesn't Whereas most stream-of-consciousness speeds readers along Imelda makes reading sluggish enough I dreaded her bits despite how important they are She married into the Barnes family and thought she had escaped the poverty of her youth Early on it wasn't her husband that she intended to marry She was in love with his brother Frank and would have married him had he not died prematurely 

Like the bee that stings Imelda on her wedding day it is clear that there will always be trouble with her union to Dickie He runs the family garage franchise and car dealership that is suffering grave financial challenges But the real challenge is that Dickie might have been better off coming out rather than being subjected to blackmail 

Although the family's story is interdependent, it is when Murray turns to the children's point of view that he is most effective I felt a kinship with PJ as he tries to navigate out of being blackmailed by a bully who accuses PJ's Dad of ripping off his mom at the garage At 12 PJ often appears to be the most venerable, spending many of his days texting a stranger about running away and being largely neglected by sister and father despite needing their attention His older sister Cass is also struggling and drinking her way through finals before escaping to college during the crisis She also has a love-lust-hate relationship with her best friend And we wonder what lesson she might learn from it 

Murray does a brilliant job of capturing all of their personal dramas — both hopes and despairs And I would have rated it five stars if not for the fact that the punctuation and later indentation of every line draw so much attention to itself that it is difficult to remain lost in the story Maybe other readers will feel differently Or perhaps I would have felt differently grabbing the audiobook over the printed page But it is what it is much like this review sans punctuation Still, I'm glad I read it 

Even the political intrigue in the book feels watered down. While the geopolitical prowess of the authors is plain, they don't do enough with it. In terms of creating a government crisis, it ultimately feels lightweight in the face of things many of us have experienced in the last 50 years. And that's a shame because they want us to consider the trajectory of society but don't do enough to warn us away from it. So, ultimately, it's well-written but bleh.

The Celebrants by Steven Rowley is a light and loving novel about six college students — four men and two women — who make a pact after losing one of their numbers fall to a sort of suicide (overdose). At the funeral, the five surviving friends decide that funerals for the living are a waste, and they should meet up together if any of them are feeling down and out or alone. 

Hosting a funeral for the living is an opportunity to remind any troubled soul that they are never alone. They are part of a pact, one of five surviving Berkeley transfers who had a profound impact on each other's lives and love each other. None of them take it all that seriously and barely remain connected, with the exception of Jordy and Jordan, a gay couple who ultimately marry. 

Of all the characters, Jordy and Jordan, a.k.a. the Jordens, feel the most developed. The others—Naomi, Marielle, and Craig—are akin to literary devices for the first two, despite each having its own section, as each calls for a funeral, with only the one facing certain death putting it off. The first to pull the trigger after 18 years have elapsed is Marielle as she faces a post-divorce midlife crisis.  The second is Naomi after her parents are killed in a car crash. The third is Craig, who faces imprisonment for accidentally selling forged art. The fourth is for Jordy after Jordan requests it as a precursor to his own mortality. 

As each unfolds, Rowley presents a montage of dramatic and comedic moments both in the present and as they rehash the past. It's mostly light and fun, if not predictable, and a little bit corny, as their unique brand of togetherness lays the groundwork for Rowley's thesis to enjoy the ones we are with before we aren't with them anymore. The sentiment is tender, even if the characters are relatively vanilla in their privileged lives. All of their hardships are remarkably accessible to anyone. 

 Although maybe closer to 3 1/2 than 4 stars, Rowley is a gifted writer worth rounding up. This is a great book to pick up if you're feeling poetic about old friendships or would rather read than turn on a modernized Hallmark movie with a cast of creatives who dazzle themselves with a seance, skydiving, magic mushrooms, and swimming race. And yet, it's a beautiful book, too. 

Samuel Adams is one of the most dynamic founding fathers, often overshadowed in classrooms by his cousin John Adams as the second President of the United States but not in the true makings of the revolution. Samuel Adams (son of the Samuel Adams who now adorns a beer brand) could arguably be called the grandfather of the American Revolution. It was largely his words — sometimes under three or four pseudonyms, that fanned the flames of independence in the hearts of the American colonists long before the battles of Concord or Lexington.

There is little doubt he was a master of propaganda and frequently accused of, if not directly linked to, some of the most violent episodes leading up to the revolution. He vilified many English loyalists along the way, rightly or not, including Thomas Hutchinson and General Thomas Gage. Neither nemesis had any chance to quell the convictions of Samuel Adams, who painted their every advance as unprovoked aggression and every retreat as inept cowardness. Hutchinson was eventually exiled and Gage was later recalled to Britain. 

Reading about Adams stroking the fires of independence before the revolutions is fascinating, But Schiff's writing takes some time before finding its stride. Despite being well-researched, the early chapters often feel disorganized and jumbled (perhaps as much as Adams' actions were at times). As the book progresses, Schiff finally steadies her pace, almost in time with Adams becoming more focused in his affairs. Unfortunately, however, as Adams attempts to take on more traditional roles, it feels like Schiff has so much less to write about, leaving the last few chapters to feel thin and rushed. 

It's not all her fault, it seems. Samuel Adams was better at fanning the flames of independence than he ever was at governance. History frequently notes that Adams' waxes and wanes over his lifetime, becoming a force to be reckoned with and then quietly slipping into the shadows. While some argue he belonged to a school of revolutionists whose purpose became obscured by an actual revolution in 1776, his influence continued to shape American politics — such as adding the Bill of Rights to the Constitution. Schiff doesn't spend much time on the subject but does note that he had earned the admiration of  Thomas Jefferson. (Indeed, although I do not remember it included in the book, Jefferson once said "If there was any Palinurus to the Revolution, Samuel Adams was the man."

In sum, Schiff does a fine job flushing out Jefferson's "Palinurus" before the Declaration of Independence. She also breathes some life into several other historical allies such as Paul Revere, John Hancock, and Richard Henry Lee. But if the work feels less grounded than her usual historical offerings. Then again, we can blame the rascal she chose to write about, given he proved too much for Gage and Hutchinson and anybody else to pin down, too. 

Hidden Pictures by Jason Rekulak starts strong as a supernatural thriller before it almost becomes too twisty for its own good by the end. But despite the avalanche of new information at the end, it's still an inventive and entertaining read. 

Mallory Quinn takes a job as a nanny as part of her transition out of rehab. Unfortunately for her, the five-year-old boy she is hired to watch is haunted by a mysterious woman dismissed by his parents as an imaginary friend. The explanation would make sense if it weren't for his drawings, which quickly evolved from stick figures to heavily drawn, lifelike sketches focused on a woman being buried. 

Mallory suspects the drawings point to a long-unsolved murder, but she has a hard time keeping allies on her side. The boy's parents have explicitly forbidden any discussions about religion or supernatural occurrences. The nearest neighbor believes in the supernatural but possesses an extreme personality and an addiction problem of her own. And it's difficult to trust the young lawncare professional she befriends after lying to the young man for weeks. He thinks Mallory is a college student on an athletic scholarship.

Rekulak does an excellent job of laying ground in the wrong direction. Readers will be surprised three or four times over, but not in a way it's earned. They won't see what's coming because there is no way to see what is coming as new revelations flood the plot and sweep it away, leaving a very different kind of story than the one at the start. 

This short and seamless horror-crime story may not be one of King's more original works, but it does a splendid job fleshing out an interesting cast of characters as told through the eyes of Jamie Conklin, a young boy who can see dead people. More correctly, Jamie shares his memory of events that happened in the late 2000s and early 2010s when he was much younger. 

What makes this story about a young medium interesting, aside from King's ability to breathe life into his characters, isn't so much the boy's ability as the exploitation of it by those around him. His mom is the first to exploit it by asking Jamie to speak with a recently deceased author so their family might profit from it. His mom's former girlfriend (a dirty cop) is the next to exploit him, forcing him to help find where a mad bomber planted one last device before his demise. 

Talking to the bomber immediately becomes problematic because, unlike most dead people, he doesn't want to disappear and move on. He intends to haunt and harass Jamie as a punishment for meddling in what would have been his most deadly bomb. And as if that isn't difficult enough to deal with, his mom's former girlfriend decides to return a few years later for one more score.

It really isn't much of a horror story, although the protagonist insists on calling it one. Think of it more as a paranormal thriller. I enjoyed the straightforward plot for a change, but many King fans may be disappointed because it isn't as complex as his more memorable work. 

Those who are dissatisfied aren't necessarily wrong. This novel isn't as memorable as it is just done right. But I decided to rate it according to what it is as opposed to against all his other work.