Rant: an Oral Biography of Buster Casey, Palahniuk. Yes. I was surprised how much I enjoyed this, having given up on Fight Club very early in. Palahniuk is extremely skilled, and Rant has a number of interesting ideas (despite one of the fancier ones being awfully similar to a classic Zelazny creation). While there were a number of “Oh, I see what you did there” moments, none of them ever reached the level of “Oh, that’s really cool” that would have put Rant into the realm of greatness.

All Clear, Willis. Yes. I remain convinced that Blackout and this could have been trimmed. I don’t know if perhaps Willis thought the seemingly endless agonizing at the end of Blackout and the beginning of All Clear were heightening the tension, but I found them nothing but irritating. I suggested to my book club buddy (who gave up before the 20th page) that skipping the first fifty pages would likely only enhance the experience. Once All Clear got out of Waiting for Godot mode, though, it proved extremely enjoyable.

Behemoth, Westerfeld. Yes. Follows Leviathan, with apparently one more to come in the series. Classified as YA by my library, it’s certainly not a dense read, though it does have a number of interesting ideas threaded through. I was appalled to see “led” spelled “lead” at least twice (spelled correctly at least once); it’s a depressingly common résumé error, and it’s very disappointing to see it creeping into prose. That was really the only issue I had with the book, though: I like the characters, and their adventures do not leave my eyes rolling out of my head, and there haven’t been many books lately that I’ve breezed through quite so pleasantly.

The Waters Rising, Tepper. NoYes. Tepper has for years been one of my old reliables: if she wrote it, I wanted to read it. Sure, it was preachy; sure, there was a bunch of justice ex machina required for her thesis not to fall completely apart; sure, her villains never really had any depth; but her writing was always solid, her stories held my interest, and her non-villan characters were usually well-drawn.
This time, though, while the writing was mechanically sound, and all the usually positive features were present, the book was lumbered with an astounding amount of exposition and explanation. There is a stretch, far enough into the book that the plot has at least picked up a little momentum, where there are ten consecutive pages of nothing but exposition and history. I thought for sure she was starting a multi-book series, with the amount of who’s descended from whom and centuries-ago political struggles recounted, but this was a stand-alone novel. So, between the tremendous volume of telling (not showing) and the eye-rolling quantities of the usual negative features, I would gladly have given this one a miss.
In the two weeks between composing this review and posting it, my feelings about the book haven’t changed, but I’ve found myself selectively remembering bits of the story that I enjoyed, so I have had to revise my recommendation, but not my review.

In the Woods, French. Yes. I’m probably going to have to read The Likeness again, which on the one hand makes me wish I had read In the Woods first. On the other hand, I’m glad I didn’t read it first, because, while I would have liked it just fine, I might not have read any more of French’s books: the foreshadowing was just a little overdone for my taste, and the writing didn’t grab hold of me as tightly as French’s later works have. It’s a fine first novel, and I highly recommend reading the works in order, but know that they get noticeably better after the first one.

Vanilla Ride, Lansdale. Yes. While I enjoyed Vanilla Ride, I don’t expect to read any more of Lansdale’s Hap and Leonard books. My only mechanical complaint was the rendering of “y’all” as “ya’ll”—especially disappointing after the narrator reliably got lie and lay straight—but there was never quite enough there to make me think I needed to read more.

The Real McCoy, Strauss. No. Strauss shows every sign of being a skilled writer, and mechanically I have no complaints. Even the flirting with non-linear narrative was not overly distracting, though neither did it serve any discernible purpose—except, perhaps, to mask how little story there was. Skill notwithstanding, the world Strauss presents is filled with unpleasant people, about whom I could not have cared much less. I did experience occasional flickers of interest, which leads me to suspect this might have been a decent, or at least bearable, novella.

Faithful Place, French. Yes. Before I was 15 pages in, I was certain this book would break my heart. I continue to enjoy French’s writing, and am especially happy that the Irish idioms have not been cut out for American consumption (or at least not as far as I can tell). Dialogue, characterization, plot, all make me hope I won’t have long to wait for French’s next release.