Archived entries for Drek

Son of Stone: Drek II

Women are trained to make excuses for bad behavior. Here are some for Stuart Woods’  latest fictions:

1. Since James Bond, we all know that there are no married heroes of crime novels.  Stone Barrington can’t survive as Stone: cool, urban, sexual gourmand, in married bliss.  The minute Stone married Arrington she was doomed.

2. Woods’ predominantly male readership is carrying such huge hostility toward women over into the second decade of the 21st century that the only way to appease them is to kill at least one bitch per novel. Arrington was this year’s bitch.

3. The scene between a middle aged woman slapping a man with whom she is alone in a semi-finished house in the Virginia countryside is not  unrealistic, badly written dribble but the sly BDSM fantasy of every middle aged man with a faltering prostrate.

Devil’s Food Cake Murder by Joanne Fluke performed by Suzanne Toren

No mystery here. Lots of recipes, though. Maybe you could play it in the kitchen, as background noise for baking chocolate cake.

Getting Mad, Getting Even by Annie Sanders read by Suzy Aitchison

Two London twits, one Giantess and one Mum, run a domestic agency, performing unlovable chores for unlovable wives with money. The two twits  rehash I Love Lucy daffiness during the subprime era of extravagance.   Another  dose of the English language fading into bad American dialogue and imitation Hollywood idiocy.

Moscow Rules by Daniel Silva

The lines are drawn quickly – boom boom boom. Here is Israel, here is Russia, here is history. Here is crime, here is terror. Here stands Gabriel Allon: here, on the side of art. And Ivan stands here on the side of death. Like a Tarot layout.

There is a bird’s eye view of wealth, apres ski, and the new moneyed KGB, false passports, false names, false paintings, false millionaires.

There are the usual types: A fierce, crude, merciless, amoral Russian millionaire with 3 lovers, 2 children, a wife and a fleet of bodyguards. The hoary old spymasters, the believers, the Zionists. The mercenaries, the Americans, the businessmen.

Racy beginning but then the book is put on automatic drive.

The Scoop by Fern Michaels read by Natalie Ross

A mature, stubborn wealthy widow gathers up a group of brittle, neurotic or lonely girlfriends to help her daughter succeed as a journalist for one of the lesser entertainment magazines.  The helpful project helps the girls in turn. A Red Hat Club imitation, without the charm.

The Defector by Daniel Silva read by Phil Gigante

Forget the tax on sugar. Tax bad dialogue, dreadful characterizations, idiotic psychological profiles. To wit:

When he was a child the twitch had made him the target of merciless teasing and bullying. It had made him burn with hatred. And that hatred had driven him to succeed. Victor Orlov wanted to beat everyone and it was all because of the twitch in his left eye.

Read it as farce.

The Race by Richard North Patterson Narrated by Michael Boatman

Slow, cloddish, cumbersome and overcooked dialogue stretches across this morality play about an ugly presidential election. Add the ‘aching sadness’ and ‘fatal failures’ and ‘eyes shining with tears’ of flat white characters, but read on. Hear the slimy campaign advise of slimy campaign managers:

“Girlfriend is bad. Black girlfriend is worse. Black actress girlfriend is the fucking trifecta.”

Yep, the divorced war hero candidate couples with a beautiful black actress in the middle of the campaign. Guess what happens?

Stone Cold by David Baldacci. Read by Ron McLarty

Good idea, poorly executed.

You’ve Been Warned by James Patterson & Howard Roughan Read by Ilyana Kadushin

Another New York City nanny? No, no. This one wakes up screaming every morning, unable to stop the dream of a body bag around a not yet dead body. This one is having an affair with the father of the children she is nannying. This one sees cockroaches crawling on her body, and dead fathers watching her from across the street, and transparent bodies in photographs. Because this is New York, this “weirdness” mixes in with all the other weirdnesses in the city and what, after all, are a few hallucinations when you spend your days behind a camera. That’s right, this nanny is also a photographer, who shoots first and thinks later.

So Christian wakes up screaming, every morning, not because of what she sees, but because she cannot do anything about what she sees. The terror, the suspense, come from the inability to act.

The guilt and the hallucinations come from the inability to stop acting.

Paint it Black by Janet Fitch read by Jennifer Jason Leigh

Well crafted words read by a dulled, depressed and depressing voice. Read it instead.



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