Author: James Patterson, Maxine Paetro
Published: April 28, 2025 by Little, Brown and Company
Format: Hardcover, 336 Pages
Genre: Police Procedural
Series: Women's Murder club #25
Blurb: SFPD homicide detective Lindsay Boxer knows her way around a crime scene.
But nothing can prepare her for the shock of recognition: the victim is Warren Jacobi, Lindsay’s onetime partner who rose to chief of police.
A top investigator until the end, Jacobi managed to leave Lindsay a clue.
Following a trail of evidence along the west coast, the Women’s Murder Club pledges to avenge Jacobi’s death before the killer can take another one of their own. (Amazon)
My Opinion: The first thing that stands out, aside from the oversized font, is how the novel launches into an immediate, high-voltage moment designed to seize the reader. It’s an opening that longtime fans won’t see coming, an abrupt jolt that momentarily tricks you into thinking this installment might break from the formula.
Lindsay Boxer’s presence moves at a steady pace, which is a welcome departure from the weakening character she’s had in previous books. She’s less insipid here, more grounded, and while that’s an improvement, the narrative itself still struggles with depth. There’s a subplot lingering in the background, barely scratching the surface of its potential, almost like a half-hearted attempt at complexity that the authors didn’t have time to flesh out.
And then the redundancy. Pages of fluff, rehashed descriptions, and scenes that could have wrapped in half the time. It’s frustrating. It’s the kind of padded storytelling that makes readers mentally plead with the authors to just move the story along. I’ll admit, I found myself talking out loud to the writing team: We get it, enough already.
Then, just as the plot hits the required page count—boom. It’s over. Abrupt, unsatisfying, and with an ending that clashes with the murder mystery genre itself. Instead of a gripping final act, it settles into something oddly saccharine, more happily ever after than thrilling conclusion. But with Patterson and his revolving door of co-authors churning out a relentless ten books a year, depth is a luxury they can’t afford. This novel proves it.
But nothing can prepare her for the shock of recognition: the victim is Warren Jacobi, Lindsay’s onetime partner who rose to chief of police.
A top investigator until the end, Jacobi managed to leave Lindsay a clue.
Following a trail of evidence along the west coast, the Women’s Murder Club pledges to avenge Jacobi’s death before the killer can take another one of their own. (Amazon)
My Opinion: The first thing that stands out, aside from the oversized font, is how the novel launches into an immediate, high-voltage moment designed to seize the reader. It’s an opening that longtime fans won’t see coming, an abrupt jolt that momentarily tricks you into thinking this installment might break from the formula.
Lindsay Boxer’s presence moves at a steady pace, which is a welcome departure from the weakening character she’s had in previous books. She’s less insipid here, more grounded, and while that’s an improvement, the narrative itself still struggles with depth. There’s a subplot lingering in the background, barely scratching the surface of its potential, almost like a half-hearted attempt at complexity that the authors didn’t have time to flesh out.
And then the redundancy. Pages of fluff, rehashed descriptions, and scenes that could have wrapped in half the time. It’s frustrating. It’s the kind of padded storytelling that makes readers mentally plead with the authors to just move the story along. I’ll admit, I found myself talking out loud to the writing team: We get it, enough already.
Then, just as the plot hits the required page count—boom. It’s over. Abrupt, unsatisfying, and with an ending that clashes with the murder mystery genre itself. Instead of a gripping final act, it settles into something oddly saccharine, more happily ever after than thrilling conclusion. But with Patterson and his revolving door of co-authors churning out a relentless ten books a year, depth is a luxury they can’t afford. This novel proves it.
No comments:
Post a Comment