John Connolly is a new author to me, and I love the first 2 Charlie Parker books. They remind me of James Lee Burke combined with Robert Parker, and a bit of something really out there. Can't wait to see how this character/series develops. ( )

This series is like a combination of a police thriller and an old Stephen King book- back when he wrote creepy, spooky books, without his leftist politics,but these don’t use any of the juvenile dialogue like his did. These are graphic, violent non stop thrill rides.
The prologue was a little hard for me to follow but it all made sense once I got into the book.
How this series has not been made into a show on Netflix or Amazon is mystifying. ( )

As in his other books I've read, John Connolly creates these super villains, seemingly exuding chaos, and also it seems their omniscient, that they can see you wherever you are, and be there before you get there:
".. I felt the urge to push him away, but I was stopped by a stronger instinct that told me not to touch him. I couldn't have explained why, but something foul appeared to emanate from him that discouraged any contact. To touch him, it seemed, would be to blight oneself, too risk contamination or contagion.
But it was more than that. He exuded a sense of extreme lethality, a capacity for inflicting hurt and pain that was so profound as to be almost sexual. It seeped from his pores and flowed viscously over his skin, seeming almost to drip visibly from the tips of his fingers and the end of his ugly brutish nose. Despite the cold, tiny bits of perspiration glittered on his forehead and upper lip, spangling his soft features with moisture. Touch him, I sensed, and your fingers would sink into his flesh, the skin yielding clammily to the pressure as it sucked you in.
And then he would kill you, because that was what he did. I was certain of it."

And here's a beef I have with so many male authors. They have to talk about women like they're just there for their use, and to look at, and to judge their body parts. There's no reason to do this:
" 'what do you want to know?'
'tell me about last Monday night.'
Again, he exchanged a look with jim, then seemed to resign himself to talking.
'It was a freak call, that's all. Guy rang from the Eastland over on high street, wanted a girl. I asked him if he had any preferences and he gave me short, blonde, small tits, neat ass. Said that was what he liked. Well, that was rita. I gave her a call, offered her this a job, and she said yes. It was only her third time, but she was Keen to make some cash. Cash for gash.' He smiled emptily."

This part infuriates me:
"how many times had I heard that voice whispered to me in the darkness, a Prelude to the soft caress of a warm hand, the feel of her breath against my cheek, my lips, her small breasts hard against my body, her legs like Ivy curling around me? I had heard it in times of love and passion when we were happy together, in moments of anger and rage and sadness as our marriage fell apart. And I had heard it since in the rustling of leaves on the grass and the sound of branches rubbing against one another in the Autumn breezes, a voice that carried from far away and called to me from the shadows.
Susan, my susan."
The f*** is wrong with this author? Do women authors talk about 'his tiny penis was felt against my leg in the night. His huge buttocks, on the other hand, more than made up for his tiny penis?'

Charlie Parker supposedly has some connection with the dead, imparted to him from the big woman in Louisiana, the blind woman:
"... That was Tante Marie's gift to me: I saw and heard my dead wife and child, and I saw and heard others too. Eventually, Tante Marie was among them. That was her gift, passed in the touch of a hand, and yet I could not explain it.
I think that it may be a kind of empathy, a capacity to experience the suffering of those who have been taken painfully, brutally, without mercy. Or perhaps what I experienced is a form of madness, a product of grief and guilt; maybe I am disturbed, and in my disturbance I have imagined alternate worlds where the dead seek reparation from the living. I do not know for certain. All I can say is that those who are absent, by its means become present.
But some gifts are worse than curses, and the dark side of the gift is that they know. The lost, the stragglers, those who should not have been taken but were, the innocents, the struggling, the tormented shades, the gathering ranks of the dead, they know. And they come."

This next part should have a caveat, apart from it, to tell readers that this is what happens to the "meat" that they have on their plate, before it's cut up and gets there:
"the tone of his voice grew gentler, but his face hardened as he spoke again: 'I'm sorry we have to do this to you, but I need to be sure that you understand what we've discussed. If at any point you feel you have something to add to what you've told me, just moan louder.'
He nodded at whoever was behind me and I was forced down to my knees again. A rag was stuffed in my mouth, and my arms were pulled back and secured with cuffs. I looked up to see hairlip limping toward me. In his hand, he held a short metal rod. Crackling blue lightning danced along its length.
The first two shots from the cattle prod knocked me backward and sent me spasming to the ground, my teeth gritted in pain against the rag. After the third contact I lost control of myself and blue flashes moved through the blackness of my mind until, at last, the clouds took me and all went quiet."

Despite all the things that pissed me off about this book, I'll probably read the next Charlie Parker in the series.
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Another good story about Charlie Parker and his friends. Pretty violent, but an interesting story; unfortunately, I was unable to write the review after finishing it, and now I've forgotten the details. So I'm skipping the full review, trying to catch up after my vacation. ( )

Dark, chilling, psychological thriller. The kind of crime novel that calls out to me. Violent acts abound and the details are pretty gruesome. It didn't stop me from turning the pages, but I can understand why it may be showstopper for some.

The supernatural elements at first didn’t appeal but I liked the way they came together at the end, offering both hope and justice. It's interesting how they are woven into Charlie Parker's persona without turning this into a ghost story. His spectral visions offer more in the way of guidance and comfort instead of haunting. And there's always the question - is this just in Charlie's head or is there more to it? The author isn't saying either way. It's up to the reader to try and decide.

John Connolly is an Irishman – not surprising ! He’s a great writer and storyteller. This was a good book and I'll definitely read more in the series.

I gave it only 4 stars because there were too many animals killed in the production of this novel.
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