The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets Nest

I don't know what there is for me to say about The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets Nest that I haven't already said about ...Played With Fire. But here's my biggest problem.

I've never visited Sweden, let alone lived there. I am completely uneducated in it's politics or social customs. But here's the thing; I refuse to believe that it is anything at all as Stieg Larsson describes it in these books.

I'm not talking about the organised crime or the shady government agencies; that stuff happens everywhere, to a lesser or greater extent, and this is fiction after all so exaggeration for dramatic effect is to be expected. I'm talking about the fact that 2 out of every 3 male characters is a misogynistic pig of the vilest sort. We aren't talking sexist, 'put the kettle on love' or 'get em out for the lads' which would be bad enough but believable; we're talking vile woman hating scumbags.

 Not a chapter goes by without one character or another; be they Private Eye, Cop, Politician, Spy, Doctor, Social Worker or Drug Dealing Mass Murdering Psychopath; spout off about whores, bitches and cunts, and it just gets ridiculous. When everyone is as hateful as that, what possible impact can your 'main' villains have?

Of course it's always possible that Larsson made virtually every male character behave in that fashion because he understood that it was the only way to make his hero look good by comparison. Don't get me wrong, I like Mikael Blomkvist; when he's being a capable reporter and/or a doggedly pursuing proof of Salanders innocence. It's when he's doing anything else that he pisses me off big style. This is not giving your lead 'foibles' or having him be 'difficult'. This is having your lead be a total shit. Seriously, how does this man have friends? His sexual attitudes alone... I'm no prude, I once read a Jackie Collins novel, but I just want to punch this man whenever his attitude to sex, or monogamy, came up.

What of Lisbeth Salander though? Well for a start off she barely registers. Huge swathes of the book are people sitting around talking about her; take a drink every time someone uses the phrase 'lesbian satanist' and you won't live through the first 100 pages; but we don't see her actually do anything much of note until probably the last 50 pages or so. At which point Larsson realises she doesn't have her 'big scene' of the book; and other people have pretty much resolved her plot for her; so he contrives to give her one last 'kick-ass' fight scene against the unstoppable man mountain killing machine who feels no pain. Yeah.

And that's where it ends. We go from the title character in mortal danger, to the book being over and her (spoiler)  perfectly safe in the space of about 3 pages. Then she forgives a man she should by rights have been slapping the face of and the book's over. A far cry from the 'when will this bloody thing end?' feeling that the last 100 pages of book one engendered, but still far from perfect. Never did find that middle ground, this series.

So yeah, this book is one big bundle of flaws. Which is a crying shame, because it has a really intriguing plot at it's core, if you can forgive the horrible convenience of everyone in the world seemingly being connected to Salander in some way. He just never quite manages to dig the plot out from under the exposition and 'gritty' sex talk.

Anyway, that's the end of the Millennium trilogy. I didn't hate it, but I can't say it particularly blew me away either. Onwards and upwards though, because next week I talk about the 2nd trade paperback collection of The Boys. Good times.

Stieg Larsson

The Girl Who Played With Fire

It's ironic that a novel with as tedious and drawn out beyond all sane reason an ending as The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo had should spawn a sequel that's biggest, though by no means only flaw, is it's overly busy and rushed climax. Yet that's exactly what you get with The Girl Who Played With Fire.

Leaving the end until the end though, what else is there to be said about The Girl Who Played With Fire?

Well, you could say that within it's 569 pages is a taut 250/300 page thriller fighting desperately to get out.

You could say that the peril befalling the protagonists veers worryingly close to cartoonish at times.

You could say that the plot relies *far* to heavily on coincidence.

You could even say that Mikael Blomkvist and Lisbeth Salander, so mesmerising as creations and so competent as characters in the first book, are compromised beyond repair.

The plot this time around, when it finally gets going, is a far more personal one for Salander, and delves much further into her history, her social circle such as it is, and the behavioural issues that saw the state declare her incompetent to manage her own life. All of which, sadly, is presented with all the dramatic flare of a cost/benefit powerpoint presentation at the AGM of a plastic spoon manufacturer. Persevere though, and there are some nuggets of gold.

Blomkvist, on the other hand, is brought into the plot entirely by a series of coincidences and he  blunders around being even more of an arrogant, selfish tit than he was in the first book, while his sexual/relationship proclivities continue to present the burning question of why any woman with half an ounce of grey matter would give him the time of day.

Neither character comes out of this book looking particularly good, but they can at least rest easy in the knowledge that they are the leads so Larsson doesn't dare do as thorough a hatchet job on them as he does on every other character in the book.  Every second man  we meet is a sadistic misogynistic pig, and those who aren't are borderline incompetent; while the women, who are few and far between, spend all their time acting like gullible mugs. It's all well and good to tell us how smart and independent and savvy the women are, but when their every action belies that assertion, you're doing something wrong.

That last paragraph leaves something of a sour taste, because it would be obvious to a blind pheasant who only reads Urdu that Larsson has some pretty hefty anger towards what he sees as social injustices, whether motivated by misogyny or otherwise. His message is a good one. It's just a shame he isn't a better writer, and the whole thing comes off smacking of naivete.

The Girl Who Played With Fire is full of narrative dead ends as well. To give one, very prominent, example; the whole opening of the book. Not to put to fine a point on it, but it's entirely pointless. Salander is living it up in a secluded paradise with some of the money she nicked in book one when she figures out that one of the other guests at the hotel is planning to kill his wife. A storm hits, and Salander uses it as cover to kill him first.

Now, had this been used as a means of saying "Look, she's willing to kill, so she might be guilty of these crimes she's accused of" I could understand it, but that's never even intimated. Had the police discovered her crime, or at least suspected it, and used it to bolster their theories about her, I could have understood it. Neither of those things happen though, and you're left to wonder why Larsson bothered writing any of it.

From the beginning of the book, to the end of the book; it just stops. Absolutely nothing is resolved; he villains are still out and about being villainous, Salander is still on the run accused of murders she didn't commit (but not accused of the one she did) and while Blomkvist has figured out a fair amount of the story he's in absolutely no position to do anything about it. Come back for book 3 suckers!

In fact, you could spend almost as long relaying the books flaws as Larsson spent creating them. It would be pointless though, and not a little churlish; because you see, the book is eminently readable and immensely addictive. The flaws niggle and the flaws annoy, but they don't stop you reading. I'd like to tell you why but... I don't know. What meager critical faculties I might once have possessed have admitted defeat at the hands of this book and all I can say is... it's objectively rubbish, but if you read it, you'll probably enjoy it.

As I typed this post I came to a realisation that I didn't reach while actually reading; Larsson is a Star Wars fan! A standalone first story, followed by a sequel that digs into the lead's past, makes a massive reveal about their paternity, leaves another major character incapacitated, has no real ending to speak of and is pointless without the 3rd part. The Girl Who Played With Fire is The Empire Strikes Back! Only not as good, obviously.

The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo

There are some truths which can not, however hard we try to delude ourselves otherwise, be denied. In my case, one such undeniable truth is that it will take approx 5 years for any significant literary pop-culture phenomenon to make it's way past my my fiercely defended ramparts of established series/authors, and force it's way into my reading consciousness. It's why Order of the Phoenix was on it's way before I'd heard of Harry Potter, it's why I haven't read The Hunger Games, and it's why I have just now gotten around to reading the first of Stieg Larsson's Millennium trilogy; The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.

You've doubtless read the praise. In all likelihood you've read the book, or at least seen one of the movie versions. Most people have. Which makes it difficult for someone to read it now without a nagging sensation of "you must like it, or you aren't normal. " Something so universally praised must be excellent, right? Everyone can't be wrong, surely?

Well, everyone can be., and everyone often is. In the case of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo though... Let's just say that the majority does sometimes get it right.

First things first. Yes, it takes a while to get going, with a lot of quite dry set up regarding the (very) extended family around which the stories main thread revolves. And yes, the epilogue is far too long; if you've wrapped up your A plot and need another 100 pages to tie up your B plot, you're doing something wrong. Those two points alone lose the book points, at least in my view. One explanation for these faults, which could have been fixed with a little editorial tinkering, could be Larsson's untimely and regrettable death shortly after handing in the manuscripts. His death precluded any collaborative editing, and to aggressively edit without his input may have been deemed disrespectful.*

But the mystery at the heart of the book; the disappearance of a young girl in 1966 which has haunted her family, especially it's patriarch, ever since; is compelling enough to make all but the most demanding reader forgive the book those flaws. To untangle the mystery is to unearth all the secrets her wealthy family strove for so long to keep buried, and as secrets go, there are some doozies here.

Enter disgraced journalist Mikael Blomkvist, fresh off a libel conviction, and needing something to occupy his time. Blomkvist is an odd creation, I must admit. Certainly the biggest romantic relationship in his life is one that would raise quite a few eyebrows, although since none of the other characters seem too bothered by it
that may be a cultural thing, given the novels Swedish setting; or it could just be a quirk of Larsson's sexual politics.**

Which is not to say that Blomkvist is an unpleasant lead. In all other respects he's the archetypal lead; smart, savvy, witty, charming, resourceful, honest, and totally unwilling to give up once he realises just what he's dealing with.

Of course, no-one is coming to these books for him. The draw, hence the title, is the enigmatic Lisbeth Salander; she of the big lizard. It's here that Larsson plays his master stroke, because this is a character so psychologically complex, so removed from anything we would normally expect in a hero, that the passages detailing her life; as unrelated to the main mystery as they are, are nevertheless among the most compelling in the book.

Easy comparisons could be made to the likes of Dexter Morgan; certainly she fits more closely to that breed of dark anti-hero than she does any traditional heroic role; but where his sociopathy is played, in many instances, for pitch black humour; and I'd wager doesn't bear a great deal of resemblance to any realistic conditions; Salander's detached way of life, and inability to function within normal societal parameters is presented not to amuse, but to inform. She is as she is, at least in part, because the system failed her; and her recognition of that failure, even if the system itself doesn't see it, forces her ever deeper into her shell of self reliance. Few characters can crack that shell, and it's not always a good thing when they do.

Incidentally, the 'guardianship' system under which Salander lives, if it exists in Sweden as Larsson describes it here, is as deeply flawed and open to abuse a system as I think I've ever heard of, and must surely contravene any number of the basic human rights of those placed in it's care. Larsson alludes to the fact that the relatively small number of complaints about this system could well be due to the fact that the subjects have little power with which to complain and you can't help thinking, sadly, that he is probably right.

Anyway, back to the book. The resolution to the mystery, when it comes, is both obvious, and a shocker, if that makes sense, in that it's the most logical explanation with the always helpful hindsight, but certainly not one that I got close to; my 2 theories, which I formulated at different junctures, both turned out to be about as far from correct as it's possible to get; and the villain one of the nastier examples I've come across in recent years.

All in all then, a book I thoroughly enjoyed and would recommend wholeheartedly, where it not for the aforementioned slow start and drawn out ending. As it is, I still think everyone should read it, just go in forewarned.



*I do not claim this theory as fact. Nor, in fact do I claim it as my own; it's far too insightful to have come from me. It was postulated by @McFlooze on twitter; a young lady well worth a follow.

**It wouldn't be the first time recently that I've read a book in which a character behaves ridiculously without arousing comment, leading to the unmistakable conclusion that the author 'doesn't think it's ridiculous'. Kathy Reichs, I'm looking at you, with your whole Ryan and his long lost ex thing.

The Thirty-Nine Steps

Shockingly, it has taken me many weeks to read the book I'm going to discus this week. Far longer, as I'm sure you'll all agree, than it ever should have. Why?

Well, it's certainly not because of the page count; the things barely more than a pamphlet.

And it isn't due to the somewhat over egged, melodramatic language used (which I'm aware is a product of both it's time and the genre the author was attempting to emulate), because if you can get through as many Terry Goodkind books as I have, you lose all fear you may once have had of impenetrable language.

It isn't even the somewhat elitist, racist and unsympathetic central character, although he is all of those things.

In truth, the reason it took me so long to conquer the scant 98 pages that comprise The Thirty-Nine Steps, is that I lacked the motivation to do so.

The flaws I mentioned above are all real. They are also, in large part, understandable. John Buchan was a product of his time and of his class; he crafted, in Richard Hannay, a character every inch the 'hero' figure of the day.That we look upon him slightly less kindly is more a problem with our understanding of the historical context, than with Buchan's writing. Similarly, in attempting to emulate a particular genre (the disposable 'Dime' Thriller), Buchan found himself following the conventions of said genre; conventions which perhaps didn't survive their trans Atlantic journey in particularly good shape. There are, after all, some very good reasons why we don't make 90210 in Britain, and why Darren Starr never attempted a remake of Crossroads.

So those issues aside; as I was more than willing to overlook them; what did affect my motivation to finish The Thirty-Nine Steps? Put simply, once you get past the initial set-up, which moves like a freight train (a murder in chapter one, the hero on the lam by chapter 2, all done in 17 pages combined), it quickly settles into a formulaic rut, so that urge, that need, that all the great books give you, to know what happens next; that unputdownable, pageturner element; is totally missing. You don't need to read on, because you know what'll happen next; a few pages of Hannay describing the scenery, a hint of danger from a circling plane that just misses spotting him, a close call with his pursuers on the ground and a vaguely comical encounter with a passing civilian.

In all fairness, the pages that describe the scenery are undeniably well written and infused with a genuine affection by the author (perhaps unsurprising given Buchan's background), and the implacable, relentless nature of his pursuers allows for a degree of tension, if not to the extent that the author intended (and certainly not to the extent implied by the hype). As far as the supporting characters go, however, they verge so closely on caricature as to render the suspension of disbelief impossible.

What then, was my final analysis of this book, once I did finally bite the bullet and trawl through the closing chapters? Well, I didn't enjoy it; let's get that out of the way first, although I doubt it comes as a surprise after the preceding paragraphs. Honestly though, everything I said in those comments would have been forgiven, had the book built to a satisfactory conclusion. Give a story a good ending, and that is what people will often take away from it; all earlier sins, if not forgiven, then perhaps forgotten. Buchan, in perhaps his biggest failing of them all, doesn't do that here.

Hannay manages, by some pretty lucky guesswork (we're told that Hannay has a history of making assumptions that turn out to be correct, so he's willing to accept his own guesswork as fact; OK), to figure out where the bad guys are, heads up there, confronts his suspects, thinks he might be wrong, decides he isn't because one of them does a distinctive hand gesture, and then there is a bit of a perfunctory scuffle before the bad 'uns are all arrested. The end.

It's strange, given how fast the first couple of chapters moved, but once Hannay goes to the villains house to confront them the story, which should be accelerating to it's conclusion, slows down dramatically and grind tortuously through one of the dullest hero/villain conversations ever, before resolving itself in two pages once the action finally does start. The pacing, to be frank, is all over the place.

So there you go; my first attempt to write up something regarded as a 'classic' on this blog. It didn't go well, did it? Sorry. Although I do genuinely think that this is one of those books that s called a classic because a few people decided it was, a few others didn't want to rock the boat, and it just snowballed from there. It really is nothing special.

206 Bones

The seconds tick away, minutes become hours, the sun rises and sets, leaves fall from the trees and then return and we all inch ever closer to the grave as all around us events on a global scale conspire to change the world we live in on a daily basis. It is, when you stop to think about it, very easy to say that there really is no such thing as the 'status quo'.

I'd like to think that some things really do never change; such as the fact that every month or two I read a Temperance Brennan book by Kathy Reichs. Sadly, even that comforting thought is no longer available to me. No, the time has come when I am almost; not quite, but almost, caught up with this authors output. At that point I will be reduced, like fans of longer standing, to the one new book a year that she releases. I don't look forward to that day, it has to be said.

First though, I have 206 Bones, the 12th book in the series. A slight change of pace for the series in this one, with the case (although still a cracker and a wee bit nasty), taking a bit of a backseat to the personal travails of our erstwhile heroine. Sadly, this can not really be called a good thing.

The, for want of a better term, 'soap-opera' element has long been one of the best aspects of these books, allowing the characters to grow and develop in a way that many long running procedural sequences do not have the space ( or inclination) to allow. Unfortunately, a couple of books ago Reichs implemented a storyline which seemed at the time to be an inoffensive contrivance to prolong the on/off nature of Tempes romantic life but has now morphed into a 'scream at the page' annoyance of the highest magnitude. It requires a particular (intelligent, mature) character to act in so ridiculous a manner as to make the character seem a) unlikeable and b) unrelatable.

It's the latter that makes this storyline so hard to read. No-one, and I do mean no-one, would ever act in the manner or make the decisions that this character does. Certainly, no-one outside of a daytime soap opera. It de-values him considerably, as a character. In fact, because at no point do any of the other characters point out to him the ridiculousness of his actions, it actually serves to make Reichs seem naive, because it seems that she thinks this is acceptable behaviour. Given the life Reichs has led, I don't believe for one second that she is, but that's the impression I got from this book.

That is one storyline among many (and one that thankfully seems to have come to a close finally in this book) so it seems churlish to judge the entire book based on it. Indeed, when the narrative focuses elsewhere, such as the aforementioned 'nasty' case, the slow disintegration of Tempes professional reputation in the face of several seemingly huge mistakes, or the incredibly claustrophobic account of a kidnap victims attempts to escape her tomb, it's actually a rollicking good read, up there with some of the best of Kathy Reichs earlier work.

Now that the one nagging irritation is gone (hopefully), the next book in the series will (hopefully, again) be able to capitalise on what Reichs (and Tempe) are so good at. Telling gripping tales of ordinary people dealing with extraordinary circumstances to bring justice for those who can't get it for themselves, with the Soap as a side dish that doesn't overshadow the meat. We shall see.

Break No Bones

Another couple of months have gone by and it's time for another book in the Temperance Brennan series. This time around, it's Break No Bones, the 9th entry.


If you don't ask, you don't get. Last time I talked about these books I specified my biggest problem with them as being my inability to immediately grasp some of the scientific content. Which, all things considered, is a pretty hefty problem with a series based around forensic anthropology and related disciplines. This time around, the science is scaled back considerably from previous levels. Which proves beyond all doubt that Kathy Reichs wrote this one just for me.

What? She wrote it when?

Alright, yes, I am still many moons behind with these books and I'll concede that it's unlikely something I wrote (and about 3 people read) a couple of months ago affected the plot of a book released almost 5 years ago but still...

Of course, Kathy Reichs being who she is, and what she is, the technical aspects are never going to disappear altogether. And nor should they. Indeed, once I manage to get my dunce cap off and actually get my head around this stuff I invariably find it enlightening and fascinating. It's just hard work is all.

Those concerns aside, what of the plot this time out? Well, after their foray into the investigation of religious relics in the Holy Land last time out the characters are staying a little closer to home here, with a series of unidentified corpses being discovered in South Carolina. Seemingly unrelated at first their deaths are revealed to share certain unexplained characteristics. I don't suppose it's giving too much away to say that yes, the disparate cases are indeed linked, in a suitably twisty turny fashion and it's erstwhile heroine Brennan to the rescue.

I have to confess, by the midway point of this book I was starting to flag a little. Several pieces of information had been revealed that led me to be pretty certain of where the story was headed and I was, in all honesty, a little disappointed, feeling that the coming 'twists' were obvious and a far cry from Reichs best work. I felt she had let herself down.

Which would have been the case, had any of what I was so adamant about actually happened. Instead, things played out in a manner which completely took me by surprise while at the same time seeming far more logical and believable than the 'obvious' route I had predicted. So my streak of never, ever, ever figuring out these things continues unbroken. And I was back to loving it again.

As always with this series the investigative storyline is complemented by the ongoing soap opera of Tempes life. Aside from an example of that one thing that is guaranteed to wind me up big time* but is, I'll concede, probably a necessary dramatic conceit, the soap aspects continue to be a major asset here, with a couple of pretty major developments on the domestic front promising changes afoot for Brennan. A large part of the appeal of these books is that the characters - not just Tempe herself but all the supporting regulars too - manage to remain sympathetic despite flaws and all manage to interact and co-exist in the way that real people do. They may not all get along but there are no ogres here, no cliched 'bad guys'. Professional, rational adults living their lives. It's one of the ways that, no matter how convoluted the plots, these books remain real. It's a quality that Reichs' work possesses that is sadly missing in that of many of her contemporaries.

I'm yet to dislike one of these books but I have to say that the slightly toned down tech talk, developments on the home front, the sidesteping of all my expectations at the mid point and a particularly gruesome case means that I'd probably rate this as one of my personal favourites.


*A visitor arrives unexpectedly in the exact 10second window to see something compromising out of context and storms off before getting an explanation

Kiss & Die

Matrioshki meets Arnie, with added ninjas. How does that sound?

As a youth Johnny Mann watched his father get murdered by Triads and vowed to bring them down. Later he learned that his father was actually a Triad himself and was killed for trying to get out. Now Mann is a member of the Hong Kong police force, doing all he can to bring down these criminal families whilst at the same time dealing with the stigma of his fathers legacy, not to mention the fortune he has inherited and doesn't want. Many of his colleagues don't trust him, the bad guys are trying to lure him to the dark side and there is a serial killer on the loose targeting foreign tourists. Mann has to catch the killer, stop a gang war and try not to spiral into drink and depression. It's all a bit bleak.

Except it's not, actually. It should be, but it's all laid on so thick, and with the subtlety of a brick to the temple, that it all just starts to feel ridiculous after a while.

Lee Weeks has written four Johnny Mann books to date, with Kiss And Die being the latest. They all follow the same basic pattern, with Mann being a bit grumpy while investigating some killings, his sidekick finding a couple of excuses to show off his kung fu fighting and the ongoing Triad storyline bubbling away in the background. The crimes usually have some kind of sexual theme, with prostitution, people smuggling, online kiddie porn and, well, just plain rape, being pretty much everywhere. This latest has as it's killer a young girl who likes to carve up men, during sex, which she accomplishes by drugging them and tying them up, then injecting their penises with a drug to get them physically aroused. (None of that is a spoiler by the way. These books are not whodunits, the killers and their methods being explicit from the start.)

Each book ends with some variation of Mann kicking loads of arse and slicing a few people up. Mann wraps up pretty much all of his cases by slaughtering a shedload of bad guys. His preferred method of killing is actually, just in case the kung fu sidekick wasn't enough of a cultural stereotype, throwing stars. One of which has a girls name, and is on an elastic, so it returns to him after use.

It's a bit of a shame really. The people smuggling and prostitution angles could have made for some excellent thriller/cultural commentary novels. God knows the issues are real enough and as anyone who has seen the criminally underrated TV show Matrioshki can attest, it is possible to tell a gritty crime drama with lots of sex and violence whilst still remaining respectful and educating the public as to what is going on under their noses. What we have here however is a case of real issues being cheapened to create a false sense of worthiness for what is essentially a brain dead action story of the type that Arnie was churning out in the eighties.

Why am I still reading, 4 books into the series? Well, I'll tell you. The characters are cliched, the storylines borderline offensive and some of the sexual violence is downright disturbing but for all of that, I love them to bits. A Mann book is never likely to win any great literary awards but so what? Sometimes you just want to switch off your brain and hearken back to the days when this kind of escapist nonsense was everywhere.When bad guys were evil, femme fatales were forever trying to seduce your hero and vigilante justice was king. It's tosh, of course it is, but it's mindless overblown tosh that can't help but entertain and doesn't outstay it's welcome. And anyway, who says every book has to mean something.

If there is a 5th Johnny Mann book (and let's face it, there will be a 5th Johnny Mann book, and likely a 25th) I'll be there to pick it up.

Cross Bones

Ever felt like a total dunce? I've felt like one quite often the last couple of weeks. Why? Because I've been reading a Temperance Brennan book.




Cross Bones is the 8th novel from Kathy Reichs featuring her creation Dr Temperance Brennan, a forensic anthropologist who consults on criminal cases in both the US and Canada. The novels, much like the TV show Bones, focuses on Brennan aiding law enforcement in the solving of murders. That's pretty much all the two have in common though. While the show is a glamorous, high tech product of the post CSI TV landscape the books are a much more grounded affair, focusing on the scientific realities of murder cases requiring the specific expertise of someone of Brennans particular discipline.

Which is where the confusion, and feeling like a dunce, comes in. Now, I flatter myself that I am a reasonably intelligent bloke, sort of, but I do tend to struggle with science of any kind. For me to persevere with something that has a lot of specific technical jargon that is necessary to the plot and can not be skimmed, I need to be properly hooked on the plots and I need to enjoy spending time with the characters. That's why I long ago stopped reading Patricia Cornwells Kay Scarpetta books* but have every intention of catching up and then keeping up with Reichs' work.

Temperance Brennan, or Tempe, is a far more well rounded and interesting character than her television namesake. A more, shall we say, mature, character, she comes intact with ex-husband, college age daughter and history of alcohol abuse. The 'will they/won't they' love interest is provided early in the series by Detective Andy Ryan, an ex bad boy turned cop with an eye for the ladies. I say early in the series because by the time of Cross Bones it's a pretty definite 'yes they will', with the characters firmly ensconced in a relationship and co-habitation being discussed.

It's this aspect of the books that keep me coming back. While the crime plots are as ingenious as you could want (this one takes in a trip to the Holy Land and a skeleton that may or may not be Jesus) and the science is pretty well laid out for the layman (it must be if I can get my head around it, albeit after multiple readings of the techy passages) the real strength of these books are the characters and Reichs willingness to a) develop their personal lives from book to book, avoiding the reset button, and b) do so in a believable, realistic and relatable manner that never seems forced and allows the characters to live and breathe on the page in a way some other ciphers singularly fail to do.

As far as crime thrillers go Reichs, for me, is up there in the top 3, alongside Mark Billingham and Val McDermid, and I'll be reading for as long as she keeps them coming.

*There is a quote on the back of my Cross Bones paperback that says 'It is becoming apparent that Reichs is not just "as good as " Cornwell, she has become the finer writer'. I'm not sure at what point that review was written because I seem to remember it being used in the blurbs of the last couple I've read as well but in my opininon it was readily apparent from the time her first book hit the shelves that she was always the 'finer writer'.