I've heard great things about JA Konrath, but fewer than 50 pages in I had to stop reading. There were poisoned nails set as booby traps ... fear, carnage ... *shudder* ... I had to stop reading. So I gave it to my husband to review...
Reviewed by David Stainton
Forgive me, but when I inevitably discovered that 'J A' stood for Joseph Andrew, meaning the sexy, kick-ass Lieutenant Jacqueline "Jack" Daniels was created by a nerdy-looking forty something bloke, it put me off the book before I'd even given it a chance. Irrational I know, but I can't put it out of my head. It's probably what Victorian readers of Middlemarch felt when they discovered George Elliot wasn't a forty-Woodbine-and-ten-pints-of-ale-a-day fella.
That apart, I was left feeling unsatisfied as a whole at the end of the book. Putting aside my wavering suspension of disbelief about the whole plot, which revolves around a mad sociopath poisoning half of Chicago, and Daniels apparently having to solve the whole case by herself, it just wasn't thrilling enough for a thriller, suspenseful enough for a mystery, or funny enough for a comedy.
The writing is sharp enough, and if Konrath had concentrated on the investigation, without throwing in cliched hokum around ex-partners, both professional and personal then I could have cared more about the outcome. Unfortunately I didn't care enough to overlook the fact that once more than a dozen people had died horribly then the city would have been shut down till the murderer was caught.
As it is, Daniels lurches from one near-fatal encounter with her nemesis to the next, leaving a trail of dead cops and civilians in her wake. And the fact that she didn't see the blindingly obvious link to the killer which is revealed in order to lead her to the final showdown offends me as a fellow member of the law enforcement community. Sorry, but Jack Daniels left a funny taste in my mouth...
Rating: 2/5
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