1. The Shining Girls

By Lauren Beukes       

A man with violent psychopathic tendencies is drawn to a House of Dimensions in Depression-era Chicago.  He becomes a serial killer who can jump back and forth in time to hunt gifted girls while eluding the authorities. 

Sounds like a cool concept, which makes it such a tragedy that Beukes stinks as a writer.  I’m writing more than I should in expressing how disappointed I was in wasting my time with such mediocrity.  

First, the heroine, Kirby.  Unlikable and annoying. But she's young and cute, thus an object of attraction to the much older, jaded former crime reporter Dan (a composite of half-drawn cliches).  The attempt at chemistry between the two was cringe-inducing, mostly due to their clunky, hokey dialogue. Even the killer was not very well-drawn nor charismatic, and many chapters were devoted to his POV.  

So the plot.  The only thing the mysterious House demanded from the killer was an occasional tribute:  seek out and murder a young woman who had “the shine” – not the telepathic ability from the Stephen King novel, but a shining talent.  The House demanded that these bright stars  be snuffed out.  

Of course, Beukes never delved into the reason, which would be fine if this was a better written story.  In this case, it seemed more like a convenient omission.  In return, the House provided sanctuary for the killer and through its door, the ability to step into any year in the 20^th century (with certain limitations that I now forgot).

Despite the amount of research devoted to Depression-era Chicago, Beukes was not able to weave it seamlessly into her narrative.  I think the fact she’s from South Africa showed how she was an outsider looking in.  She was also incapabe of inhabiting her characters completely nor could she write invisibly.  As a result, I wasn't able to lose myself in the narrative like I could with Lisa Lutz’s The Passenger, for instance.  

Structurally, the novel jumped around in time and switched between the POVs of all the characters, including the victims.  It took SO long for the plot to move along, I ended up skimming over a lot of unnecessary exposition, which was supposed to contribute to mood, but failed in its attempt.  

Another frustrating factor was Dan being such a middle-aged fart.  He spent most of the bloody time not believing any of the clues Kirby had discovered until they broke into the House and saw all the supernatural shit - at the very end of the novel!  

Beukes had hit upon a cool sub-genre of supernatural crime thrillers, and because of her intriguing premises, I gave this a second go.  My first book of hers was Broken Monsters (2015) - it was also disappointing, but not as much as this one.   I found Broken Monsters to be the better book than The Shining Girls, her previous effort.  

At least I can now absolutely confirm that I do not like Beukes’ writing, and thus, this will be my last book of hers. Amen.

7. How To Kill a Rockstar

By Tiffanie Debartolo

When I was on maternity leave, I joined a mom’s book club.  As I suspected and learned firsthand, book clubs for moms are not really about reading books so much as getting together and drinking lots of wine.  Though only a couple of the women had something closely resembling a genuine curiosity or knowledge of good literature, it was nevertheless a pleasant way to hang out with other moms in the neighbourhood. 

One time, a valiant effort was made to vote on a book to read.  Somehow one of the younger and more vocal moms insisted on her recommendation.  Not only was it something she had already read, she also spoke with conviction about how good it was!   Soon after I learned yet another lesson:  books (like all creative media) can be very, very subjective.  A good book is in the eye of the reader.

And another thing I have always known about book clubs, and why I have avoided joining one for so long, is that you usually have to conform with the taste of the majority, which leans towards popular fiction and bestsellers.  

While HTKaR - which was published in 2005 - was not exactly Eat Pray Love, it came very close.  Instead of 30-something divorcees, HTKaR was marketed for twenty-something ‘alternative’ women (I think people were still using that term in the early oughts, right?).   Although the cover and title looked somewhat edgy, it was fairly mainstream dreck in its (lack of) style, characterization and mentality.  Simply put, it was bad and I did not like it.

Since this mom had already read HTKaR (and may have even spent hard-earned money on it), she had a copy she could pass around.  Lucky for me I was next in line after someone had finished it so I didn't have to spend a single dime on this annoying piece of fluff, so I won’t waste any more of my time trying to recall what I wished I had never read in the first place.  

Sadly, this was the only book our 'book club' ever read as a group during that summer.  A few moved away, or moved on, or went back to work (like I did), though I'm sure a few others stayed in touch.