Archive for January, 2013

Review: Knowing – Laurel Dewey

Thursday, January 31st, 2013
Paperback: 450 pages
Publisher: Story Plant, The (December 4, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1611880491
ISBN-13: 978-1611880496
Order book here:

amazon

Order E-book here:
amazon

Characters:

Jane Perry – A Colorado Homicide Officer
Harlan Kipple – An escaped killer with a secret that people are willing to kill for.

Synopsis:

After the life-altering ending in the third Jane Perry thriller, REVELATIONS, Jane Perry takes time off from the job to find the missing part of herself she never knew existed. But her journey is quickly hijacked when a wanted criminal, Harlan Kipple, steals her car. Kipple—accused of the heinous murder of a prostitute in a seedy motel—is on the run and desperate to stay that way. Jane’s personal plans take a back seat as she tracks down her stolen ride and discovers through an unusual source that Kipple may be innocent and is being framed by a nefarious group. When she trails Kipple and confronts him, every belief she ever had about this world and the next is put to the test.

Kipple, who by his own admission is not the “brightest bulb in the box,” received a heart transplant seventeen months ago. His life changed from the moment he woke up in the recovery room. In fact, he’s not so sure where he ends and his heart takes over. As strange as that sounds to her, Jane cannot deny what she witnesses after spending just two days with Kipple. It becomes clear that nothing is what it appears as Jane is drawn into a deep rabbit hole with dark webs and darker crevices that force her to operate on the other side of the law. With the police hot on Kipple’s tail and a devious faction intent on finding him first, Jane is caught in the middle and realizes that solving this crime could have fatal consequences.

With themes as diverse as immortality, regeneration, resurrection, transformation and death, author Laurel Dewey tackles this latest Jane Perry novel with originality and plenty of suspense. “Finding yourself” takes on a whole new meaning in KNOWING.

Review:

This was an interesting story. At times the relationship between Jane Perry and Harlan Kipple reminded me of that between George and Lenny in Of Mice and Men. Harlan, being the slow witted, but gentle Giant, and Jane playing the part of the hard edged protector, who deep down cared.

As a reader, you get to see the relationship build between these two. While the plot is about a secret cabal, the true story is about the relationship between these two characters as they fight to survive in a world that is against them both.

I’d read some Jane Perry short stories previously, but this was the first full length novel I’d read. It interests me enough in the character, that I’d like to go back and read others to see how she grows throughout them. I found the character of Harlan to be well developed, and while you are reviled by him before you meet him, like he does with Jane, he grows on you.

The plot is full of twists and turns, as first one clue then another is uncovered, and all the time they are overshadowed by the menace of unknown forces.

For an interesting thriller with a strong female lead, pick up Knowing. I think you’d enjoy it. If you read it, stop back by and let us know what you thought.

Due to language and content, I’d put this for older teens and adults.

Excerpt:

Sergeant Detective Jane Perry rolled to an abrupt stop in front of the gas pumps and checked the time. 7:17. It had been exactly seventeen minutes since she left her house on Milwaukee Street in Denver and headed south on I-25 but it felt like hours. Lately, reality had revolved in a surreal sphere, and Jane was looking forward to jumping off the mind-bending roller coaster and getting some heartfelt perspective on her life. But all that would have to wait now.

If Jane were still a smoker, she would have extinguished four cigarettes since she left her house. Even though it had been over eleven days since she was sucker punched by the news, the rawness of that first moment when she saw the truth in black and white was still fresh and stung like venom, hot and unforgiving. Nicotine would soften the edges but she’d made a promise to herself to quit, so she’d have to figure out how to steer through this oozing emotional wound without the comfortable dulling of pain.

That was proving more difficult as the days progressed. In one moment, Jane’s world not only blew apart, but her entire identity split with it. She’d spent the past days dredging up her turbulent young life yet again—propelling her heart back into the chaos—searching for clues in the multitude of unspoken words and wondering how she missed the torturous secret her mother chose to keep. Unfortunately, her memories had been fogged by time and over twenty years of abusing the bottle. If there was any sign of what was hidden long ago, it was now buried in layers of regret and omission.

Jane rolled down her window and adjusted the side mirror on her ’66 ice blue Mustang. She took in a deep breath, hoping it would abate her temp- tation for tobacco. The cool, mid-April breeze belied the promise of spring, even though March and April were known in Colorado as the wettest and snowiest months of the year. As Jane canvassed the flattened landscape so common for this section of the state, there was still no sign of the Isis of rebirth—no lush green panoramas to sink her teeth into and inhale the beauty. All that lay in eyesight were varying shades of taupe, edged by the blacktop of the frontage road. How was it possible for anything verdant to emerge from this lifeless topography? The sheer energy it took for Colorado to rise from the frozen ashes of winter never ceased to amaze and confound Jane. While the rains had abated over the last twenty-four hours, an uncommon moisture still clung in the normally dry morning atmosphere that lent a dampened spirit to her journey.

Jane leaned outside and caught her reflection in the side mirror. No, it couldn’t be, she thought. Moving closer to the mirror, she parted her shoulder length brown hair and found a cluster of gray. When did this happen? Had she been so preoccupied with the events of her last case that she failed to notice the preamble to death painted on her crown? She studied her brown eyes in the mirror and noted the bags underneath—badges of a hard fought life where sacrifice trumped freedom. Crinkling her nose, Jane forced the lines around the corner of her eyes to deepen. She could chalk it up to too much smiling but anyone who knew her would disagree since Jane Perry’s personality was not synonymous with grinning. She let out a hard sigh of resignation. How in the hell did she get so goddamned old in just thirty-seven years?

She leaned over and locked her Glock in the glove compartment on top of her badge. Even though her anticipated seven-day trip was purely personal, she never traveled without her service weapon. It was an anchor and a steel security blanket. Swiping her credit card, she selected the highest-grade gasoline for her cherished classic ride and filled the tank. A gust of wind blew across the service station, forcing Jane to button the collar of her leather jacket. She turned and surveyed the smattering of vehicles filling up at this early hour. Jane had always been a student of observation; always keenly taking in the minute details in front of her. That ability ran on autopilot and served her well as a cop when she had to recreate a homicide scene.

But lately, she’d taken to counting objects that were grouped together. It had almost become an obsession; something to indulge her addictive mind. At that moment, there were three cars, including hers, at the islands. There were seven islands, each with three options for fuel. But four of those fuel pumps were covered with yellow tape, marking them out of order. So, readjusting it, there were seventeen fuel handles available. Ironic, she mused. When she rolled into the gas station and looked at the clock, it was 7:17, which was seventeen minutes after she left her house. Odd.

She’d come to know these as syncs, clusters of seemingly disparate words, digital times on a clock, names, symbols or numbers that kept cropping up in such a way to herald a hidden message. While some of the syncs had been easy to decipher, most proved mystifying, leaving Jane to feel she either wasn’t smart enough to understand the significance or that the message itself wasn’t ready to be heard. This concept may have occupied illogical territory, but even the most logical human being has been guilty of latching onto a sign from above or below in an attempt to give meaning to an experience.

As much as Jane Perry primarily used her logic, these last few years had introduced her to phenomena that defied rational sense. The more she fought it, the more the strangeness attacked like a serpent, demanding to be acknowledged. More than anything, she couldn’t escape the weird coincidences and syncs that plagued her daily life and infested nearly every homicide she worked. The constant dovetailing of events was so common now that she no longer questioned the mystical belief of entanglement with other humans, both dead and alive.

The fuel pump clicked but Jane kept squeezing the handle in an attempt to force every last drop of gas into her tank. She noted the signage on the pump warning against “topping off” your tank and some reference to “creating a cleaner, greener planet.” Fuck that shit, she thought. She had a long drive in front of her and her hungry Mustang needed to be fed as much liquid “grass” as possible. When she finally filled it to overflowing, Jane removed the nozzle and hooked it back on the pump. Just as she did, she sensed the presence of the attendant behind her, ready to make a smartass comment. She turned, ready to verbally tackle him with her well-worn bravado. Yet to her astonishment, there was no one there. Jane spun around and scanned the immediate area, looking for any sign of an attendant in the vicinity but she came up empty. She chalked it up to a lack of sufficient caffeine, even though she’d already knocked back three cups of coffee in the last two hours. While gas station java swill wasn’t her first choice, it would have to do.

Inside the small Quik Mart convenience store, Jane found four aisles stuffed to the gills with every known junk food. Besides the corpulent woman behind the cash register who crunched on a greasy pork rind, the only other occupants were a beefy biker and a scrawny teenage boy who was loading up on enough “crack in a can” energy drinks to keep him awake until he stroked out. A small television, located above the cash register, was turned on with the sound muted. Jane briefly glanced up as a booking photograph of a heavyset man filled the screen. His wavy brown, scraggly hair matched his unkempt beard and mustache. His name flashed underneath the photo: Harlan Kipple, age forty-two.

Jane knew all about Kipple, although she’d never met him. For almost fourteen days, he had been enjoying “three hots and a cot,” courtesy of the Denver penal system. She would have caught the case but Kipple committed his crime southeast of Denver in Limon, Colorado and was only kicked to Denver because of his heinous, high profile crime and to insure he was secured prior to trial.

Kipple, an Interstate truck driver with only one past infraction of transporting illegal prescription drugs in his rig for his brother-in-law, had been accused of the macabre butchering of an unidentified black prostitute. It was your classic open and shut case since Kipple had been found in a dingy Limon motel, passed out in bed with the working girl, clutching a bloody hunting knife and covered in her blood. To make the case even more depraved, the poor girl had been gutted like a deer and her head cracked open, leaving her brain draped outside of her skull. As expected, drugs were involved and that part of the murder made Harlan Kipple nefariously notorious. Lab reports showed he injected the girl with ketamine hydrochloride—a PCP analogue used as an anesthetic in veterinary medicine but gaining popularity on the street as a date rape drug. Known on the club scene as “Special K,” “Super K,” “KO” and “Make Her Mine”, ketamine was distinguished from other date rape drugs in that it produced a dissociative anesthesia, rendering the victim detached from all bodily sensations but often aware of what was being done to them and yet paralyzed and unable to respond. Picture being encased in a glass ball, while watching the unthinkable happen to you and having no way to fight back. It was the ultimate torture because if the victim survived the attack, they usually suffered from amnesia but were prone to subsequent, suddenly triggered vivid hallucinations that replayed the rape or attack, forcing the victim to question their reality. To Jane, ketamine was the epitome of a true mind-fucking drug that left its twisted mark on survivors for many years. As for the unsuspecting prostitute that Kipple mutilated, her last minutes were likely spent watching herself being raped and then filleted open until the grace of God separated her body from her soul.

But the incongruity of Kipple’s case didn’t end there. About two years prior to the grisly murder, he had been given a life-saving heart transplant—a surgery that nearly ensured him another healthy two decades of life. The fact that those years would now be spent confined to a cell and probably end in execution was God’s little irony, Jane deduced. What a waste of a good heart, she recalled thinking when the story broke.

Kipple’s face lingered on the television inside the Quik Mart. The press named him “Kipple, the Heartless Killer.” Nothing works like an obvious alliteration when you’re selling freaks to the public. Jane stared at his photo, searching out the darkness that always lingered behind the eyes of all psychos. But Kipple was a tough nut to crack. Instead of the penetrating evil, there was a strange softness and quiet sweetness that projected from his photo. Good God, was she losing her touch?

“Can I help you?”

Jane turned away from the screen to find the cashier staring at her, a speck of pork rind dotting her upper lip. “I need strong coffee.”

The woman pointed her fat finger toward the back of the store, in the corner next to the bank of refrigerated shelves. Jane glanced outside to her Mustang and then quickly walked to the rear of the store. She selected the strongest brew available and the largest cup, filling it to the rim. Searching for the sugar, she tipped over the plastic bowl that held the packets. She counted them as she put them back in the bowl. Seventeen. She snapped the lid on the cup and carried it around the corner of the aisle, staring momentarily at the array of artery-clogging snack foods that lined the shelves. She looked up briefly to glance at her waiting Mustang before searching the selections for anything remotely healthy. It was another promise Jane made to herself after recently escaping what she assumed was a death sentence. She found herself drawn to the pine nuts, even though she never would have made that choice a few weeks ago. She squinted to read what was written across the front of the bag in green lettering: ENJOY THESE NUGGETS OF NATURE FROM THE PINECONE! The price was right for the small bag, a buck seventy.

Jane grabbed all eight bags on the shelf as she felt the burly biker walk behind her. For some strange reason, he hovered awfully close. She allowed the intrusion to continue for another few seconds before spinning around. But there was no one standing there. The biker was, in fact, on the opposite side of the store. Jane stood still, sensing a muscular thickness around her; a phantasm imprint that lacked clarity. A few years ago, she would have ignored this curious feeling but she’d learned the hard way that the more she pretended it away or chalked it up to booze, flashbacks, PTSD or lack of sleep, the more dynamic it became.

Jane waited, looking into nothingness yet still clearly aware of the unassailable presence around her. She started to turn right but was drawn to the left. Moving around the aisle, Jane stood at the long magazine rack that framed the front windows. Cradling the eight bags of pine nuts, she made her way toward the cashier when she heard the soft brush of a magazine fall to the vinyl floor behind her. Jane turned to find a copy of “The Q”—a glossy, men’s sports and outdoor magazine—splayed open, cover side up. She leaned down, picked up the magazine and replaced it on the shelf. Turning toward the cashier, Jane took a step and heard the magazine fall behind her again. She stopped. The phantasmal stickiness gripped her like a defiant child demanding her attention. Jane carefully turned toward the magazine, finding it sprawled in the same position as before. She leaned down, turned it over and stared at the advertising found on page seventeen. Against an indigo background lay a mountainous landscape with snowcapped peaks. Featured in the foreground was a woman’s modest wristwatch placed upon what looked like a red satin cloth that stretched from one side of the page to the other. The hands on the watch pointed to 11:17. In the bottom left hand corner, there was an illustration of the “great and powerful” Oz from The Wizard of Oz peeking out from his purple curtained area. In bold, red block letters next to the image, it read:

IT’S TIME FOR A CHANGE, DOROTHY.

Jane searched on the page for the product or service being advertised and came up empty. She figured “time” related to the woman’s wristwatch and Dorothy correlated to The Wizard of Oz but the rest of the ad was nonsensical. There were no website links or phone numbers that related to whatever they were selling. Avant-garde garbage. That’s what Jane deduced as she inexplicably tucked the magazine under her arm and walked to the cashier. Suddenly, the presence that had hung so closely to her disappeared.

“That all?” the chunky woman asked.

“That’ll do it.”

The woman tapped her greasy finger on a greeting card stand to the left of the checkout. “We got Easter cards on closeout.”

Jane regarded the woman with an incredulous stare. Did she actually believe Jane looked like a woman who would send someone an Easter card? Jane glanced at the nearly empty card stand and saw a glittery greeting with the Archangel Gabriel blowing his trumpet. Who in the hell sends Easter cards? Jane peered around the card stand and saw liters of spring water. She grabbed four bottles and added them to her pile. “Okay. That’ll do it.”

“Thirty-three even.” Jane handed the woman a fifty.

The woman opened the register and handed Jane’s change back to her. “Seventeen’s your change.”

“What in the fuck is going on?“ Jane muttered.

“Excuse me?” the woman asked, offended.

“Not you.” Jane’s mind was elsewhere.

The woman dumped the purchases into a plastic bag.

“Uh-huh,” she replied, still affronted. “Hey…” Jane was still lost in thought as she tucked the seventeen dollars into her wallet. “Hey,” the woman stressed, leaning forward.

Jane awoke from her slumber. “What?”

The woman pointed out the front window. “Isn’t that your car driving away?”

Jane turned around just in time to see the back wheels of her ice blue Mustang squeal out of the parking lot. She raced outside, instinctively grabbing for her Glock and coming up empty. The only detail she could make out was the back of a man’s head and his thick neck.

About the Author

Laurel Dewey was born and raised in Los Angeles.

She is the author of two nonfiction books on plant medicine, a Silver Spur nominated Western novella, hundreds of articles, and three other novels in her Jane Perry suspense series, Protector, Redemption, and Revelations along with the Jane Perry novelettes An Unfinished Death and Promissory Payback and the story collection Unrevealed.

She is also the author of the novel Betty’s Little Basement Garden.

Tour Schedule:

Jan 6 Showcase: Teena in Toronto
Jan 19 Guest Post: Beth Art From the Heart
Jan 28 Review:  Kimberly’s Bookshelf
Jan 31 Review: Rhodes Review

Feb 7  Review:  Minding Spot
Feb 22 Review: LiteraryR&R
Feb 25 Review: FrugalMomEh
Feb 27 Guest Post & Review: Bless Their Hearts Mom
Feb 28 Review: Writers and Authors

Mar 1 Interview: J.C. Martin, Fighter Writer
Mar 2 Review: Mary’s Cup of Tea
Mar 4 Review: Smoochiefrog Reviews
Mar 5 Review: Deco My Heart
Mar 6 Review: Celticlady’s Reviews
Mar 7  Review:  Hott Books
Mar 8 Review: Deal Sharing Aunt
Mar 11 Review & Guest Post: Reviews By Molly
Mar 12 Review:  Vic’s Media Room
Mar 13 Review & Interview: Laurie’s Thoughts and Reviews
Mar 13 Review & Interview: The Wormhole

*Disclaimer* A special thanks goes out to Cheryl at Partners In Crime Tours for a review copy of this book. It in no way influenced my review. You can discuss it here or join my facebook page and discuss it there.

Review: The Legend of Mickey Tussler – Frank Nappi

Thursday, January 31st, 2013
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: Sky Pony Press; 1 edition (April 1, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1616086580
ISBN-13: 978-1616086589
Order book here:

amazon

Order E-book here:
amazon

Characters:

Arthur Murphy – Talent Scout for the Milwaukee Brewers Baseball Team.
Mickey Tussler – 17 year old baseball player with autism.
Molly Tussler – Mother of Mickey, she’s trapped in an abusive marriage.

Synopsis:

In the late 1940s, the minor league Milwaukee Brewers are foundering yet again and manager Arthur Murphy is desperate. When he sees seventeen-year old Mickey Tussler throwing apples into a barrel, he knows he has found the next pitching phenom. But not everyone is so hopeful. Mickey’s autism—a disorder still not truly understood even today—has alienated the boy from the world, and he is berated by other players and fans. Mickey faces immense trials in the harsh and competitive world of baseball while coping with the challenges inherent to his disorder. An honest and knowledgeable book about overcoming adversity, and the basis for the television movie A Mile in His Shoes, Mickey’s powerful story shows that with support and determination anyone can be triumphant, even when the odds are stacked against him.

Excerpt:

The mailbox outside the farmhouse was beaten and weathered, a gray wood container nailed to a crooked stake with the name “Tussler” barely visible through all of the chips and cracks. He followed a narrow, winding path that led him past a tiny field with slanted gravestones overrun with cucumber vines and crabgrass that eventually gave way to a small stable.

“Hello,” he called out. “Anyone home?”

He stepped forward and opened the doors, looking curiously at the scene inside. Two horses, a couple of chickens nesting in the corner and a few pigs eating quietly from a trough.

“Not much of a farm,” he thought.

The animals seemed to be just as unimpressed with him. They barely stirred, and probably would have remained completely still had it not been for the sudden thumping from behind the far wall. He followed the sound around the stable until he found its origin. He stood, with his back and left foot flat against the side of the stable, watching in amazement at the young farm boy, standing next to a curious pattern of crab apples in the dirt – six rows across, five apples deep – firing one at a time from one hundred feet away into a wine barrel turned on its side.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Stunned, Arthur watched as the boy shifted his weight back, cocked his right arm, then exploded forward, splitting the center of the barrel every time. He didn’t have much of a windup, and the mechanics were awkward, but it was the most astounding display of power and accuracy he had ever witnessed.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He was about to walk a little closer when he stopped suddenly, taken back by an unusual, spastic motion the boy was performing. His throwing hand, curled into a fist, was buried inside his other and he was rolling his arms violently. Arthur watched as each elbow rose and fell rhythmically, over and over again, until at last the boy stopped just long enough to reach down in front him in order to resume the awesome exhibition.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Three more strikes. Then came the rolling of the arms. Arthur stared as the powerful young man repeated the process, time and again.

He was captivated. Once the pristine rows of projectiles had vanished, Arthur walked over to the boy. The kid was bigger up close. His face was youthful, round and fleshy, with sandy brown strands of hair that barely concealed a dark purplish line under his right eye. He must have been at least six foot five. His legs looked like two oak trees and he had the biggest hands Arthur had ever seen.

“Excuse me,” Arthur said. “Hello. I had a little accident with my car. Do you live here?”

The young giant was startled and tense. He began to chew his lower lip. His eyes darted wildly.

“I live here,” he answered.

“Is there someone who can help me with my car? I mean, your parents. Is your dad around?”

He didn’t answer. He was just standing before him, his glance shifting from Arthur’s hat to his shoes and all points in between.

“I didn’t mean to bother you son,” Murph said, holding out his hand. “I’m Arthur Murphy. My friends call me Murph.”

The boy’s expression softened. He pushed away the wisps of brown hair that hung carelessly in his eyes.

“Michael James Tussler, sir,” he answered, pulling awkwardly at one of the straps of his overalls. “Folks ‘round here just call me Mickey.”

“Mickey, huh? Say, that’s quite a shiner you got there,” Murph said, pointing to the boy’s eye.

“How’s that?” he responded.

“Your eye. I was talking about your eye. How’d you get that?”
The boy fidgeted.

“Aw, don’t reckon Mickey remembers,” he answered.

Arthur smiled softly.

“Well, that’s alright now. It’s nice to meet you Mickey. You’ve got quite an arm there.

Really. I was watching you from over there. How old are you?”

The boy was biting the inside of his cheek.

“I got me some pigs sir. Want to see my pigs?”

“Uh, sure. Maybe later.”

“I got six of ’em. My favorite one is named Oscar.”

Arthur studied the boy. He was certainly in amazing shape. A fine athletic specimen. But there was something about him. A vacuity behind his eyes that seemed to overshadow everything else.

“Well, that sounds very nice son. Say, how old did you say you are Mickey?”

“Seventeen.”

“Ever play baseball?”

Mickey just looked at him.

Murph thought again about Dennison’s ominous admonition and how desperately grave his situation with the ball club had become.

“You, know. Baseball. Three strikes. Home run. All that good stuff.”

“I don’t reckon I have. I’ll show you my pigs now. I got six of ‘em.”

Then Mickey placed his hands together and began rolling his elbows once again.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay Mickey. In a minute. But first, how’s about waiting here while I run to my car. Then maybe you can show me that neat trick of yours again– you know, throwing those apples in the barrel?”

Mickey nodded blankly. Murph was gone and back in a flash, fearful that the boy might change his mind. With his breath short and erratic, Murph reached down to pick up one of the wormy specimens that had managed to fall outside the original makeshift grid. He tossed it in the air a couple of times. Then he reached into his pocket with his other hand and presented to Mickey a beautiful new baseball.

“What do ya say kid?” he prompted, holding out both his hands. “They’re almost the same exact size. Except mine is real clean and smooth. Go on. Have a feel for yourself.” Murph watched as the boy’s hand swallowed the ball.

“Pretty neat, huh?” he asked.

Mickey ran his fingers over the laces.

“Mickey likes it sir,” he replied.

Murph smiled. His heart beat on.

“How about giving it a toss Mickey?” he asked. “You know, right over in that barrel.

Just for laughs.”

The boy nodded.

“Can I show you my pigs now?” he asked.

“Well, sure you can son,” Murph answered. “But first, I’d love to see you toss that baseball into that barrel.”

The monotony of the conversation sank into a vague haze through which Murph’s glittering visions persisted. He placed his hand on the boy’s back and nudged him gently. “What do you say son?” he prodded. “Will you do that for me?”

“Okay Mr. Murphy. Mickey will do it.”

Murph watched with immeasurable fascination as the boy held the ball, brought his hands together, and rolled his arms. Then, like a bolt of lightening released from the heavens, the ball took flight, a streak of white radiance that cut the air with a whizzing sound before landing directly in the center of the barrel, splintering the wood. Murph’s eyes widened like saucers. His breath was gone again. Then, in the flatness that followed the euphoria, Murph knew, just knew, that he had stumbled on something special.

Review

I’m not a huge fan of baseball, but this ended up being a poignant story about friendship and the removal of life’s barriers.

The characters are very vivid and realistic. You feel a sense of dread whenever Clarance Tussler shows up, you feel Molly’s anxiety being around him, and you feel Mickey’s grasping with trying to survive in a world he doesn’t understand. This book gave me an idea on what some with autism must feel like inside, at least those along the lines of Rain Man.

The writing and description of areas are very detailed. I often found myself with images in my head of old black and white baseball footage while I was reading it. There are two basic plots. One plot involves Mickey’s mother Molly and her unhappy marriage and desire to get out of it, while the other plot involves Mickey and trying to get society to adjust him, sometimes with tragic consequences. The book managed to pull different emotions from me, and I think that’s the mark of good writing. I was smiling, angry, sad, happy…

There is some mild language and adult situations so for that I’d recommend it for older teens and adults. But if you’re a fan of baseball, or just a fan of good character fiction, then pick up The Legend of Mickey Tussler. When you do, stop back by and let us know what you thought.

About the Author

Frank Nappi has taught high school English and Creative Writing for over twenty years.

His debut novel, Echoes From The Infantry, received national attention, including MWSA’s silver medal for outstanding fiction.

His follow-up novel, The Legend of Mickey Tussler, garnered rave reviews as well, including a movie adaptation of the touching story “A Mile in His Shoes” starring Dean Cain and Luke Schroder.

Frank continues to produce quality work, including Sophomore Campaign, the intriguing sequel to the much heralded original story, and is presently at work on a third installment of the unique series.

Frank lives on Long Island with his wife Julia and their two sons, Nicholas and Anthony.

*Disclaimer* A special thanks goes out to Nicole at Tribute Books for a review copy of this book. It in no way influenced my review. You can discuss it here or join my facebook page and discuss it there.

Review: The Sophomore Campaign – Frank Nappi

Thursday, January 31st, 2013
Paperback: 280 pages
Publisher: Sky Pony Press; 1 edition (April 1, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1616086637
ISBN-13: 978-1616086633
Order book here:

amazon

Order E-book here:
amazon

Characters:

Arthur Murphy – Talent Scout for the Milwaukee Brewers Baseball Team.
Mickey Tussler – 17 year old baseball player with autism.
Molly Tussler – Mother of Mickey, she’s trapped in an abusive marriage.
Lester Sledge – A catcher Murphy hires from the Negro Leagues.

Synopsis:

It’s 1949 and eighteen-year-old pitching phenom Mickey Tussler is back with the rejuvenated minor league Brewers in the sequel to The Legend of Mickey Tussler (the basis for the television movie A Mile in His Shoes). Despite Mickey’s proclamation that he will never play baseball again after last season’s violent conclusion, his manager—and now surrogate father—Arthur Murphy cajoles the emotionally fragile, socially awkward boy with autism into giving it another shot. Mickey reluctantly returns to the field and must once again cope with the violence and hatred around him. When a young African American player joins the team, the entire team is subjected to racial threats and episodes of violence, one of which Mickey witnesses firsthand. Struggling to understand such ugliness and hatred, and fearful of reprisal should he tell anyone about what he has seen, the boy’s performance on the field suffers. Mickey now must deal with a side of human nature he scarcely comprehends.

Excerpt:

“What the hell is wrong with Mickey?” Murph asked. “Did something happen out there?”

“I think it was Lefty,” Danvers said. “That jackass was jawing at  him from the dugout, and making all kinds of gestures. I put a stop to it but I think it may have rattled him.”

Murph saw the boy struggling, and was quick to intercede. “Hey, Mick, what’s going on pal?” he said. “Everything okay?”

The boy did not move. Just stood there, catatonically, his fragile soul naked in his glassy eyes. He was remembering the last time he saw Lefty. And he could still hear the assailant’s voice, cold and vituperative, and the pathetic cries of Oscar, his favorite pig, after Lefty plunged his boot into the porker’s side, killing it instantly. Then there were the hours that followed, with Sheriff Rosco, and all the questions. So many questions. The recollection was overwhelming. Frightening. He just wanted it to all go away.

“‘Slowly, silently, now the moon, walks the night in her silver  shoon…’”

“Mickey, come on now. We’re not doing that now. There’s no  need. You’re home here. We’ve got a game to play here. Hear that crowd? Listen to them. They all came for you.”

The boy’s affectations were unchanged. He continued to stare  vacantly, rocking back and forth, trying desperately to drive the hateful memories out of himself.

“This way and that, she peers and sees, silver fruit upon silver  trees.”

Murph put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed gently.  “Hey, Mick, you’re okay. Save that poem for home. Come on now.

Just you and Boxcar. Like always. Focus on that glove. Nothing else. Toss that apple right to the glove. Just like you used to do for Oscar. Right to the target. Can you do that for me?”

Maybe it was his manager’s touch, and the way Murph’s urgency  flowed through his fingers and into Mickey’s body like some electrical charge. Or maybe it was the mere mention of the name Oscar, said out loud, that made the difference. Maybe it was both. Whatever it was, the boy began to free himself slowly from the demon that had seized him. He blinked several times, as if cleaning the lens to his mind’s eye, and stopped his recitation of the poem.

“Oscar didn’t like Lefty, Murph,” he said. “No sir. Mickey don’t  like him much either.” Murph grinned and shook his head.

“Don’t sweat it, kid. Nobody here does.”

The Brewers took the field moments later, led by their ace and  fan favorite, Mickey Tussler. The crowd was bristling with an untamed enthusiasm, waving placards professing their unconditional love for the “Baby Bazooka” and chanting his name. In the wake of his superhuman exploits on the field, and all of the misfortune and injustice that had befallen him elsewhere, Mickey had become a cult hero of sorts.

Review

Mickey, The Brewers, and Murph are back for their second season. They are still faced with the same antagonists from before, however this time they are faced with the serious illness of someone they are close to, as well as the haze of racism.

The areas about the racism brilliantly capture one of the ugliest parts of American History. You see the ugliness of the Klan, of the crowds, and you witness the silent strength in the character of Lester Sledge, who has to endure.

I found this a great followup to The Legend of Mickey Tussler. There is supposedly a third story in the works, and I look forward to its publication. Readers need to be warned though, that this book is set in the 1940s and thus there will be language used that while true to the period, may be offensive to some audiences today.

Due to the content, I’d recommend it for middle teens and adults. But if you are a fan of baseball, know someone with autism, or just want a good story about overcoming all the odds, then pick up both of these books. I think you’ll enjoy them.

About the Author

Frank Nappi has taught high school English and Creative Writing for over twenty years.

His debut novel, Echoes From The Infantry, received national attention, including MWSA’s silver medal for outstanding fiction.

His follow-up novel, The Legend of Mickey Tussler, garnered rave reviews as well, including a movie adaptation of the touching story “A Mile in His Shoes” starring Dean Cain and Luke Schroder.

Frank continues to produce quality work, including Sophomore Campaign, the intriguing sequel to the much heralded original story, and is presently at work on a third installment of the unique series.

Frank lives on Long Island with his wife Julia and their two sons, Nicholas and Anthony.

*Disclaimer* A special thanks goes out to Nicole at Tribute Books for a review copy of this book. It in no way influenced my review. You can discuss it here or join my facebook page and discuss it there.

Giveaway – The Legend of Mickey Tussler/The Sophomore Campaign

Thursday, January 31st, 2013

Thanks to Nicole and the folks at Tribute Books I’m able to offer my readers not only 1 paperback copy of the Legend of Mickey Tussler, but one copy of the followup novel The Sophomore Campaign as well. To enter, follow these simple rules:

1) One Entry if you’re a follower [You can follow through Google Friend connect to the right, you can also sign up to follow through Twitter or Facebook].
2) An Additonal Entry if you blog about this contest.
3) An Additonal Entry if you’re a new follower.
4) One entry each for posting on facebook and/or twitter.
5) Must leave a comment letting me know how you follow me, blog link to this post, facebook/twitter link, etc.
6) Contest will continue until 2/14/2013.
7) This giveaway is open to residents of US Only. No PO Box addresses (street mailing only).

See our review for The Legend of Mickey Tusler here and The Sophomore Campaign here.

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Review: My Journey as a Combat Medic – Patrick Thibeault

Thursday, January 10th, 2013
Paperback: 201 pages
Publisher: Combat Medic with Indianapolis Business Journal; 1ST edition (October 7, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 193492265X
ISBN-13: 978-1934922651
Order book here:

amazon

Order E-book here:
amazon

Review:

A memoir of Patrick Thibeault’s career as a combat medic.  As a reader we see not only the duties of the combat medic, but get to experience through his words the entire process from first joining, to paratrooper training, to his medic training.  What unfolds is an interesting life devoted to being the first line medical care for our wounded troops.  Many people think of MASH  and in a lot of ways it did seem to be similar, but unknown to me, there was much more training.  He had to earn multiple combat badges, multiple medical badges, it seemed like he was constantly training.

He also goes a lot into a problem that is often overlooked among all the troops, that of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  Suffering from it himself he is able to give a lot of advice on dealing with it.  He also provides priceless advice for anyone who would want to follow in his same career as to how they can get involved as a Medic.

 Overall a very interesting memoir of a little talked about combat role.  We often hear about the Seals, Snipers, etc. but this was the first opportunity to hear about the Medic.  I found it to be an enjoyable and well written story.  If you get the chance, pick it up and see what you think.  Be sure and drop back by and let us know what you thought.

Tour Schedule:

2011

So Many Precious Books  Jan 7 Review & Giveaway                 
JoyStory Jan 8 Review                                     
JoyStory  Jan 9 Interview
Rhodes Reviews Jan 10 Review                                   
Angela Shelton             Jan 11Review                          
Angela Shelton Jan 11 Interview
Every Free Chance Jan 14 Review &  Giveaway
Sincerely Stacie            Jan 15 Review                        
Jolly Blogger Jan 16 Review                                         
Book Lover’s Library Jan 17 Review                                         
Book Lover’s Library   Jan 18 Guest Post & Giveaway
My Devotional Thoughts Jan 18 Review                                
Second Bookshelf  Jan 21 Review & Giveaway
Sugar & Spice Jan 22 Review                                       
wall-to-wall books Jan 23 Review & Giveaway
Eclectic Books & Movies Jan 24 Review                                
Eclectic Books & Movies  Jan 25 Interview
Dab of Darkness Jan 28 Review
Greater Fort Worth Writers  Jan 28 Interview
Teena In Toronto Jan 29 Review                                              
Bibliophilia, Please  Jan 29 Excerpt
MN Girl in LA Jan 30 Review & Giveaway
Greater Fort Worth Writers Jan 31 Review                                                          

2012:

The Year In Books Feb 1 Review                                                 
The Opinionated Me  Feb 1 Guest Post
Everyday Is An Adventure Feb 4   Review                               
Everyday Is An Adventure Feb 5 Guest Post & Giveaway
Em Sun               Feb 5 Review                                                 
Ordinary Girlz Feb 6 Review                                                      
Book Through Garden Window Feb 7 Review                                                     
Book Through Garden Window Feb 8 Guest Post  
Older Mommy Still Yummy Feb 8 Review & Giveaway
Geo Librarian Feb 11 Review                                                    
Geo Librarian Feb 12 Interview & Giveaway
Peaceful Wishing Feb 12 Review                                           
readitallbookreviews Feb 13 Review

About the Author

Patrick Thibeault was born in Kittery, Maine.

His father was in the U.S. Army so he moved around the world as a kid. Glenn is an artist, still living in New York with his wife, a bulldog, a pug and a cat.

Patrick lived in Germany, the USA and graduated from high school in Korea. Patrick served in Desert Storm and in Afghansitan as a combat medic.

He was once a member of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. Patrick was inspired to write the book: My Journey as a Combat Medic: From Desert Storm to Operation Enduring Freedom because of his experiences.

*Disclaimer* A special thanks goes out to Teddy at Virtual Author Book Tours for a review copy of this book. It in no way influenced my review. You can discuss it here or join my facebook page and discuss it there.

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Review: The Big Show Stopper – Ken Dalton

Tuesday, January 8th, 2013
Paperback: 296 pages
Publisher: Different Drummer Press (September 16, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0578054590
ISBN-13: 978-0578054599
Order book here:

amazon

Order E-book here:
amazon

Characters:

J. Pinkus “Pinky” Delmont – Defense Attorney
Benate “Bear” Zabarle – Part time Bartender/Investigator
Florence “Flo” Sonderlund – Bear’s girlfriend/Tech helper.
Willow Stone – Chief Deputy District Attorney

Synopsis:

After their last adventure, Bear decides to treat Flo to a night on the town, followed by a concert by the nation’s top artist Brady Blackstone. But unknown to them, tonight will be his last performance. They will be witnesses to the murder that kicks off their next adventure.

Review

Once again a mystery strong on characters and humor, while having a somewhat simple plot. Brady Blackstone is dead. But it’s up to Pinky, Bear, and Flo to figure out who killed him and why? Bear and Flo are sent to follow the band around on it’s tour and question suspects. Meanwhile, Pinky, as he tends to do it seems, takes the hard part of the job by going to wine festivals and foreign locals. There’s plenty of the financial swindlings from bear, the introduction of a new character to perhaps permanently or temporarily replace an old one, and then there’s Flo, who I think tends to be one of the most entertaining parts of this series.

If you like lighthearted mysteries along the line of Stephanie Plum, then I think you should grab any one of the books in Pinky and the Bear series. This is the second book in the series, the last one having been reviewed last week. Next Thursday we’ll be bringing you book through, followed the following Tuesday by the last and newest in the series so far.

So mystery fans, run out there and grab a copy and let us know what you thought. Do to language, content, etc. I would give this one a rating of PG-13. That Bear can have quite the mouth on him sometimes, which some may find offensive.

About the Author

Ken Dalton was born in 1938 at Hollywood Hospital. He grew up with his parents, his older sister, Pat, and younger brother, Richard in Los Angeles. The year 1938 informs the quick reader that Ken’s older than a lot of people, but younger than some.

In a turn of bad luck, the dreaded Polio virus found Ken.

At the end of World War ll, Ken’s family moved to Cheyenne, Wyoming for a year where he learned how to live through snow blizzards, avoid walking through the large pile of coal in the basement, and how to survive life as an Army Officer’s brat on a base called Fort Warren.

By the age of sixteen, after eleven years of operations, therapy, and braces, Ken’s luck changed dramatically when he met the girl of his dreams at a party. A few years later they married, produced three wonderful children, and settled into a happy life in Southern California.

In 1966, Ken, who worked as a technician for Pacific Bell, and his family left Southern California for the green hills of Sonoma County where they bought a home in Sebastopol surrounded with apple trees. A few years later, Ken and Arlene built a new home on three and a half acres. They raised cows, pigs, and learned how to build outstanding fences. While their children grew, they hosted two exchange students, Eva Reimers from Sweden, and Tanja Wuttke from Germany, both of whom are still loved members of the Dalton clan. Also during those years, Ken was promoted to management at Pacific Bell. He eventually ended up responsible for all the central offices, sixty-three, in an area that covered five counties.

In 1977, Ken, Arlene, Bob Wiltermood, and his wife Norma, designed, built, and operated a 2000 case winery named Pommeraie Vineyards. They produced award winning Cabernet Sauvignon and Chardonnay. However, after Bob died, the winery was sold. Ken and Arlene moved to a hilltop in Healdsburg.

With the winery gone, and time on their hands, Ken and Arlene started to perform with the Camp Rose Players. Twenty years and forty productions later, both are still acting and singing.

Life was good. All Ken had to do was learn some lines and bow when the audience applauded.

Then, ten years ago, Ken started to write. His first article was published in Golf Illustrated in August 1996. More golf articles followed in national and regional magazines including Golf Magazine and Fairways and Greens.

After a two-year stint on the County Grand Jury, Ken felt the need to begin his first novel.

Now, after a decade of struggle to learn the craft of writing, Ken has become the publishing world’s latest overnight sensation.

*Disclaimer* A special thanks goes out to Nicole at Tribute Books for a review copy of this book. It in no way influenced my review. You can discuss it here or join my facebook page and discuss it there.

Review: The Bloody Birthright – Ken Dalton

Thursday, January 3rd, 2013
Paperback: 292 pages
Publisher: Different Drummer Press (October 6, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0578034441
ISBN-13: 978-0578034447
Order book here:

amazon

Order E-book here:
amazon

Characters:

J. Pinkus “Pinky” Delmont – Defense Attorney
Benate “Bear” Zabarle – Part time Bartender/Investigator
Florence “Flo” Sonderlund – Bear’s girlfriend/Tech helper.
Willow Stone – Chief Deputy District Attorney

Synopsis:

One brother is murdered, a second is killed in an accident? The son of the murdered man is arrested and the evidence looks bad. That is when Pinky Delmont arrives on the scene, determined to prove the man’s innocence, but most of all, collect a large payment for his services.

Review

I loved these characters. Like the similar Stephanie Plum series, the characters are light hearted. The stories are serious, but the author manages to throw some light humor into the interractions of the various characters. You can visualize one character irritating another, or feeling impressed by their knowledge. The plot is strong enough to keep you interested, without being so complicated that you find yourself lost.

The mystery was fun, but Bear, Flo and Pinky were the highlights. I found myself at the end looking for their next adventure. In an unusual pattern for us, we will be reviewing all four of the books in this series over the next two weeks. So stop back by on Tuesday to see our review of the next book.

I’d definitely grab this if you like light mysteries. I’d rate it PG-13 for language and content.

About the Author

Ken Dalton was born in 1938 at Hollywood Hospital. He grew up with his parents, his older sister, Pat, and younger brother, Richard in Los Angeles. The year 1938 informs the quick reader that Ken’s older than a lot of people, but younger than some.

In a turn of bad luck, the dreaded Polio virus found Ken.

At the end of World War ll, Ken’s family moved to Cheyenne, Wyoming for a year where he learned how to live through snow blizzards, avoid walking through the large pile of coal in the basement, and how to survive life as an Army Officer’s brat on a base called Fort Warren.

By the age of sixteen, after eleven years of operations, therapy, and braces, Ken’s luck changed dramatically when he met the girl of his dreams at a party. A few years later they married, produced three wonderful children, and settled into a happy life in Southern California.

In 1966, Ken, who worked as a technician for Pacific Bell, and his family left Southern California for the green hills of Sonoma County where they bought a home in Sebastopol surrounded with apple trees. A few years later, Ken and Arlene built a new home on three and a half acres. They raised cows, pigs, and learned how to build outstanding fences. While their children grew, they hosted two exchange students, Eva Reimers from Sweden, and Tanja Wuttke from Germany, both of whom are still loved members of the Dalton clan. Also during those years, Ken was promoted to management at Pacific Bell. He eventually ended up responsible for all the central offices, sixty-three, in an area that covered five counties.

In 1977, Ken, Arlene, Bob Wiltermood, and his wife Norma, designed, built, and operated a 2000 case winery named Pommeraie Vineyards. They produced award winning Cabernet Sauvignon and Chardonnay. However, after Bob died, the winery was sold. Ken and Arlene moved to a hilltop in Healdsburg.

With the winery gone, and time on their hands, Ken and Arlene started to perform with the Camp Rose Players. Twenty years and forty productions later, both are still acting and singing.

Life was good. All Ken had to do was learn some lines and bow when the audience applauded.

Then, ten years ago, Ken started to write. His first article was published in Golf Illustrated in August 1996. More golf articles followed in national and regional magazines including Golf Magazine and Fairways and Greens.

After a two-year stint on the County Grand Jury, Ken felt the need to begin his first novel.

Now, after a decade of struggle to learn the craft of writing, Ken has become the publishing world’s latest overnight sensation.

*Disclaimer* A special thanks goes out to Nicole at Tribute Books for a review copy of this book. It in no way influenced my review. You can discuss it here or join my facebook page and discuss it there.

1 people like this post.

Review: Rudy: My Story – Daniel Ruettiger

Tuesday, January 1st, 2013
Hardcover: 304 pages
Publisher: Thomas Nelson (September 4, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0849948398
ISBN-13: 978-0849948398
Order book here:

amazon

Order E-book here:
amazon
YouTube Preview Image

Review

Anyone who has ever seen the movie Rudy can remember the feelings they had watching Rudy, played beautifully by Sean Astin as he struggled first to become a student at Notre Dame, and finally to not only be part of the team, but actually play in one game. This is a memoir of that story, written by Rudy himself, Daniel Reuttiger. He details his life, the struggle it took to make the movie, and how others can tap into those motivations within himself.

Much of the novel played out more like an extended director’s cut of the movie, but the reader got to find out a lot more about Rudy’s life, and what drove him. I’ll admit there were a few times where my eyes grew misty in seeing him become triumphant over many obstacles including a learning disability.

Outside the retelling of the “Rudy” story though is the fascinating story of making the movie.  It turned out to be almost as large a struggle as it was to get to Notre Dame.  If you love the movie as I do, you would really enjoy this behind the scenes aspect.

For those who love the underdog story, loved the movie Rudy, or even sports fans, you should grab this book. You’ll find it moving, motivational, and one you’ll remember long after you’ve turned that final page.

About the Author

*Disclaimer* A special thanks goes out to Thomas Nelson at Booksneeze for a review copy of this book. It in no way influenced my review. You can discuss it here or join my facebook page and discuss it there.

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