Our ex-military genius and stud, Jack Reacher, and Lee Child's clever plots, are no more. The story begins where Lee Child's "Worth Dying For" left off, with our hero battered and bruised. But that's okay at first, because we know Reacher is tough and always gets battered and bruised somewhere along the story. But the reader quickly realizes that THIS Jack Reacher is somebody different -- someone we don't know -- a man who has succumbed to his years of loneliness, thumbing for hours or days or weeks on end in brutal environments, criss-crossing the US in cheap and soiled clothing, and reeking from days or weeks on end without a bath -- unless you count the time in this story where he spits into his hands and then cleans the blood off his face with his own saliva and slicks back his hair with the same spittle. Then we're painted the portrait of our man, standing on a dark highway at night in subzero weather, trying to hitch to Nebraska, with silver duct-tape across his face to protect his broken nose. Worse, although Dick Hill does the best he can with what he's been given by Lee Child, is that Reacher's once-commanding voice has been replaced with a weak and nasally sniveling because, as Lee Child writes, the soft tissues inside Reacher's broken nose are dangerously swollen, dried blood blocking any available remaining airway in his nasal passages, leaving him unable to breath through his nose, and Dick Hill is forced to narrate the entire story with the pitiful meow of a mouth-breather. Whatever sex appeal and powerful command of presence our hero once had have left the building. And I'm not sure we want him to return.
Add to this once-powerful character the weak plot, flat and trite characters, a very long and boring car ride (hard to get much action happening with four people riding in a small vehicle on a nearly deserted highway), a totally unrealistlc scene in which one of the passengers -- actually, a young kidnapped woman -- blinks out complex messages with her eyes to Reacher, each staring at one another without the other passengers figuring out something is up, and you've got one mess of a story.
This book is not worth a credit or money. It's hardly worth driving to your local library for. Better still, go outside, take a walk, play with your children, get to know your significant other again -- and hope that the real Lee Child shows up to write his next book.
No, but ONLY because I never listen to the same book twice (so many books, so little time) and it is quite a long story. But this audiobook is one of the wittiest, most fun-filled who-done-its I have read or listened to in a long time. It's not a comedy, don't get me wrong; it's a legitimate mystery, but the interplay among the characters -- and the interpretation given to each character by the narrator -- is superbly done. You'll even smile when you get the meaning of the title of the story. I highly and wholeheartedly recommend this audiobook.
All three attorneys for the defense: the murder suspect and his co-worker, both of whom are civil attorneys and know nothing about criminal law and courtroom drama, and the elegant, wonderfully articulate, perfectly narrated criminal attorney who worked with the pair with both patience and utter frustration (the "straight man", if you will).
I purchased this book by shear mistake. I was irritated when I realized what I had done but reluctantly turned the audiobook on while I was cleaning the kitchen. 30 minutes into the story when I was actually laughing out loud, I knew it was one of the best mistakes I had ever made. Admittedly it is a little slow at times (but never for very long) and it isn't really a "thriller" or "hanging by your fingertips" suspense novel. It is just a sophisticated, clever, darn good mystery that makes you feel good throughout the whole murder suspect's ordeal.
This book could never be a 4- or 5-star listening experience. None of the characters are believable, all of the characters are stilted and hackneyed, and the listener has no reason to like anyone in the book. The writing is horrid; for example, during a semi-romantic moment in the book, the author writes, "He ran his fingertips along her trapezius muscle . . . and they danced along her latissimus dorsi." Honestly; who writes like that?
His writing style. Mr. Andrews would do well to attend several creative writing programs before subjecting any reader to another novel.
Oh, dear, no! Mr. Childs has a fairly decent voice, but he has no talent as an audiobook reader. His vocal range is extremely limited so that all of the characters sound exactly the same and sometimes not even like normal people. He reads with a slow cadence whether the scene is supposed to portray scariness, sadness, or excitement.
The two brothers who are supposedly highly talented killers.
Frankly, I could not get past Part 1 of this book before I had to throw in the towel. I found it inane, totally unabelievable, and not the least bit humorous (other reviewers found the book hilarious, but it left me irritated). I suppose if one likes the idea of a new police recruit being able to speak to ghosts and learning to perform magic and wizardry while he's trying to solve a "mystery", it might have some appeal, but this was advertised as an adult mystery book, not for children, so it would have to be an adult with a child's mind. The new recruit's supervisor - who no one likes because he's too weird - is from some obscure division of the London Metro Police (ala X Files) and makes it a point to help train the new recruit. It's supposed to be like Harry Potter meets the X-Files, but it doesn't come close on either count, other than perhaps a little plagiarism.
Ditch the concept for the entire book and try writing something else. The disparaging remarks about women certainly did not add any appeal on any level.
The narrator at times read too quickly.,
No. The author borrowed ideas from different movies and books and tried to make a mystery story from it. He failed miserably.
The book is not worth commenting on any further.
Doubtful. I do not appreciate authors who try to advance the sale of their next book by creating novels that cannot stand alone but, rather, where the reader has to wait (and pay) for a follow-up novel to find out what happens next. If you've read the books "Outbreak" (inspired by the epidemic of Ebola in Africa during 1976), "Pandemic" (based on the SARS scare of 2007), "Outbreak and Contagion" by Robin Cook, "The Stand" by Stephen King, etc., it is obvious that the pandemic theme is not Brett Battles' genre. Weak plot, not enough intrigue, and poor character development (often the case in "series" where the writer knows he/she can possibly make up for it in the next installment). Battles should stick with The Cleaner, where he shines.
What ending? It continues into book 5, much to the delight of the author's bankers.
The narrator did a good job trying to make sense of the slow pace of the story. He's not in the top ten yet, but he'll get there.
This theme is so tired and trite. It's been written about extensively since at least the 1990s. I suppose teenagers would enjoy a movie, but there is not enough action for a TV series.
This novel is replete with advertisements, a new and underhanded scheme by the author, Deborah Crombie, which listeners must not accept. While the Crystal Palace (a plate-glass building quickly built in 1851, thus the reference to "broken glass" in the title) actually existed in English history, it is not critical to the theme of the book, and in fact its existence could have been completely omitted from the novel without changing any part of the story. However, the author repeatedly uses the words "Crystal Palace" as a reason to then cite the full website addresses of other authors' websites (even the BBC's) that cover the Crystal Palace's history and current status like a barker who attempts to attract patrons to an event they might otherwise pass by. It was very irksome to be listening to this mystery and suddenly have the narrator stop and clearly announce: "w w w dot Judy North dot com" (example only). Presumably the listener is supposed to think Deborah Crombie felt the need to give credit to other authors' thoughts about the Crystal Palace that Ms. Crombie pilfered for use in her own book, like footnotes in a thesis, rather than put the idea in her own words. But this is not a thesis; if the author felt compared to quote so much of other authors' works, she could have done so at the end of the story and all at one time. But since the Crystal Palace had no great significance to the theme of the book, why did Ms. Crombie want to interrupt her story with pointless website promotions about it? Did Ms. Crombie receive payment for each website announced during this novel? That's what it appears to this listener!
Omit the promotion of other authors' works during the narration of the story.
There was no scene that stood out as a favorite. The only thing that stood out was the blatant promotion of other authors' websites.
I don't know. I was too irritated with the "w w w dot Judy North dot coms" promotions to be able to pay the attention to whatever qualities the book may or may not have had to offer.
The narrator, Gerard Doyle, did his usual outstanding job.
The unique setting; the use of more humor than usual by the author but always in the right setting and which never takes away from the drama of the story itself; the well-defined characters and the interplay that occurs between them; and, as always in a Louise Penny novel but especially in this one, the feeling of evil wending its way throughout the story, maybe just around the next corner, but never where you expected to find it.
There were several great characters, as usual in a Louise Penny mystery, but in the end it was Chief Inspector Armand Gamache. His powerfulness of character, his intellect, and even his frailness are front and center in this novel.
His performance never takes over the novel, never interrupts it; he is flawless.
I cannot answer this question without giving away part of the plot, but I thought about this story -- am still thinking about this story -- long after I had finished listening to it.
This brilliantly written audiobook focuses not on how to get your child into the right preschool or whether that three-hour dance lesson each week is enough to get your child onto Broadway; rather, this audiobook basically concentrates on how to keep from raising a sociopath. The authors present heartrending examples of emotionally traumatized children whom they've helped counsel over their long years of child psychiatric practice, then explain in layman's terms how a child's brain works and how the child can be remolded, if caught early enough, to heal and function well in society, maybe even happily. While this is more of a textbook than easy-listening material, the journey into the child's brain and how it works is fascinating, and the overall theme of the book -- about a human's critical need for "lasting, caring connections to others" -- is thought-provoking long after the audiobook has ended.
"The Boy who was Raised as a Dog" should be required reading for all high school and college students -- and for all those parents and parents-to-be who think they know all about how to raise a successful child.
A critic writing in Audible.com indicated that Suarez was the heir apparent to Michael Crichton, which is why I brought this book. The critic was wrong. I did not have to listen very long to realize the Crichton and Suarez do not write about the same topics at all -- and Crichton would win out every time.
This is one of the best audiobooks of the past few years. Although there are other "mystery" books with more intricate plots, scarier themes, and, yes, more intellectual subjects, there are very few books that are as entertaining and that will touch your heart like this one. Don't read any more reviews, don't ponder over whether it's worth a credit: just get it! I dare you -- I double-dog dare you -- to be able to read it without, when it's over, saying out loud: Wow; what a great story!
A lot is missing from this book by Michael Connelly, including a competent editor and apparently enough time for Connelly to write a story with actual plot twists and turns. Add to that a narrator who put no heart into the story, as if he was reading an obituary to an empty room; the insipid Mendenhall character who seems to have had no purpose other than to irritate readers over her total lack of sense (e.g., she doesn't know a bullet from a stray piece of wood); and a lot of disconnect, such as the haphazard throwing in of Bosch's teenage daughter, his girlfriend, his girlfriend's son in prison, names of obscure jazz players, the 1992 LA riots, a viscious dog that isn't viscious, a military helicopter pilot who, for no reason given, flies into a house -- all of which (and more) seem to have been added for word count rather than actual mystery content.
Perhaps it's time for Michael Connelly to take a vacation from writing to recover that wonderful passion he once had for Harry Bosch -- and to find a decent editor for his novels.
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