My Rating:

Favorite Quotes:

 

Glenn ate crisps the way a squirrel might; his hands moved so fast you had to slow the film down a little to see them, and his jaws clashed in rapid-fire.

 

Another man was with them, with a high, receding hairline, glasses and a tweed jacket. He had a pinkish hue to his face, as if he’d recently shed his skin. Freya could only categorise his appearance as that of a teacher who frightened you.

 

She let herself in, turned on every light, screamed aloud before she hurled open each and every cupboard, poked underneath the bed with a broom handle and was particularly vicious with every pair of curtains before she was satisfied that she was absolutely, positively alone.

 

My Review:

 

This one was quite a bit outside of my comfort zone for creepiness and the crimes depicted were cringe-worthy, gruesome, and disquieting, I worry about having those images in my head. P.R. Black is one twisted mamma jamma and his neighbors should be cautious and quietly tiptoe past as with the snap of the fingers he could easily plot clever vengeance on anyone who disturbs his contemplations, knocks over his bins, or allows their dog to piddle on his plants.

The writing was strikingly descriptive and pulled strong and haunting visuals that often left me shuddering, but I am a bit of a wimp. I will seek out lighter fare for my next read in order to catch my breath and flush out residual tension and adrenaline. The storylines were busy and itchy, and relentlessly poked and prodded my curiosity while also causing my stomach to churn. I often found my teeth clenched and shoulders in my ears yet I was intrigued and much liked the Woodcutter’s victims, I was hopelessly ensnared. Mr. Black has mad skills.

 

 

My Rating:

Favorite Quotes:

 

I could weave you a friendship bracelet made of hair. I decided against it. It has a serial-killer quality to it, though it’s useful if you want to go down the voodoo route.

 

‘The playground mafia has been around for years,’ Joyce carries on. ‘In my day it was Jeanie McGovern. I had her son round to play and he came to my house and crapped in a drawer. When I told her, and I was discreet about it, she told me I’d made it up and then spent years spreading rumours around about Tom.’ ‘What sort of rumours?’ I ask, mortified at the thought of someone defecating in a drawer. ‘It was such a bizarre reaction. She made him the centre of every nits outbreak for years. It ended with me slapping her in the playground.’

 

‘You joined the PTA?’ she asks. ‘Emma told me it would be a good way to make friends.’ ‘Never listen to Emma. Her girls are in a private school where everyone wears padded gilets and eats pheasant. Their PTA raffles off cars. Mine raffles off dusty bottles of cherry brandy. I won a bottle once that was half-drunk.’

 

You forget about the cascading effect of social media in these playground battles. One moment you tell a group that your son has a rash and the next he’s a social pariah with possible leprosy.

 

‘Gracie,’ she says, softly. ‘We lost Cam, her dear Olivier and our wonderful Tom. We will never replace them. That light has gone out. We shouldn’t replace them. But never think people can’t come in, that we’ve lost some capacity to love. We’re still alive, it does our loved ones no justice to be sitting here in darkness.’ And there it is. This is why I welcomed Linh into my world. Beautiful turns of phrase like that soothed my tired and confused soul; they still do. And she’s right. We lost three amazing people but, through their loss, our lives all became entwined.

My Review:

 

 I savored every perfectly chosen word of this riotously humorous yet poignant tale. I adore Kristen Bailey and of the handful of books I’ve read, this may be her best yet. The crisp storylines were rife with every type of rib-tickling humor from wry and acerbic wit to ribald comedy. I smirked, chortled, and giggle-snorted my way through although there were also just as many thoughtfully written, insightful, and heart-squeezing scenes of great loss, vulnerability, grief, anger, and betrayal. Ms. Bailey hit all the feels and plundered every emotion with agility and finesse.

As always, her characters were fully inhabited and enticingly intriguing and curiously alluring. I am eagerly anticipating Lucy’s story and cannot wait to see what this clever scribe does with the inner musings of the last remaining Callaghan sister’s tale. I had a feeling she would be saving the best, and most outrageous character of Lucy, for last.

One can only hope she is currently locked in the attic scribbling away. Please write quickly, Ms. Bailey, you won’t even need to leave home for sustenance as your devoted fangirl can have offerings of gin and Marmite winging your way.

 

My Rating:

Favorite Quotes:

 

He probably imagined he could handle himself because of the endless hours he spent at the gym. It took a lot more than that. Weights didn’t fight back.

 

The male ego at work once again, imagining he could satisfy a younger woman without bringing on a heart attack. Still – ten out of ten for effort. At one point, he’d made a sound in his throat like dolphins talking to each other and she’d thought he wasn’t going to survive. But he had. On Monday, Algie would be boasting to his colleagues about the foxy lady he’d tamed on Friday night.

 

With his gangly stride, from this distance he looked like a well-dressed stick insect on his way to the Ugly Bug Ball.

 

I was born at night, Kenny, but it wasn’t last night, you get what I’m saying?

 

My Review:

 

I continue in my fascination with Mr. Owen Mullen’s gift of words skills as found in his creation of the Glass crime family of London. And while they were a horrid collection of shared DNA, their adversaries are so much worse I caught myself admiring Luke Glass – say what now?   I had fallen so far into their criminal vortex I had lost my real-world perspective, which is a testament to Owen Mullen’s cunning skills in weaving a tale.

The storylines were just as intense, violent, amusingly snarky, and even more intriguing than the first book in the series as I was itching to uncover the mole and so very wrong in my hypothesis.   The pacing and plotting were shrewd and nothing short of brilliant. But after losing myself in two of Mr. Mullen’s tautly written and absorbing tales, I am in dire need of a vat of wine, rom/com reading material, and a spa day to soak and hammer out the residual tension.