I haven't done a series review in some time, which might have something to do with the fact that I haven't binge-read a series in some time! That changed in the last two months when I sped through the Truly Devious books by Maureen Johnson. I enjoyed all the novels, which together create a series that is clever, fun, and engrossing.

I read Truly Devious when it first came out in 2018, then re-read it in December since I couldn't remember more than its very basic plot. The series opener introduces true crime aficionado Stephanie "Stevie" Bell, a 16-year-old from Pittsburgh. She is beginning her first year at Ellingham Academy, a boarding school for talented kids who are allowed to study their chosen subjects with no limitations, financial or otherwise. Built by an eccentric gazillionaire in the 1930s, the school is located on a remote mountaintop in Vermont and features a plethora of hidden rooms, secret tunnels, trapdoors, and other playful hideaways. Stevie, who applied on a whim, is shocked by her acceptance there. She's determined to prove her worth at Ellingham by finally getting to the bottom of the "unsolvable" crime that rocked the school when it first opened. Not only were the founder's wife and child kidnapped, but the former was murdered as was an Ellingham Academy student. Little Alice Ellingham's body has never been found. Although a man was convicted of the crimes, no one really believed he was guilty.

As Stevie studies the case on-site, strange things start happening on campus, things that mirror what occurred back in the 30s. When a student is murdered, it sends shockwaves through the place anew. Has the "Truly Devious" killer struck again? Or is someone playing a macabre game of copycat? Stevie vows to solve all the murders, past and present. Can she do it?

Spoiler alert: Yes, she can. 

The Vanishing Stair begins shortly after Stevie solves her classmate's murder. Even though the killer has been identified, they're in the wind. Convinced Ellingham Academy is not safe, Stevie's parents pull her out of school and make her come home, where she's miserable in her soul-sucking public school. A powerful figure intervenes, allowing her return to Ellingham. For a price. Stevie makes a deal with the devil that makes her very uncomfortable. Nevertheless, she's thrilled to return to the only place she's ever felt truly at home.

Stevie resumes her investigation into the murders that occurred at Ellingham in the 1930s. While doing so, she discovers the dead body of another classmate. Why were they killed? When another strange death happens in nearby Burlington, Stevie's certain they're connected—not just to each other but also to the Ellingham cold case. Can she get to the bottom of things before she loses someone else she cares about?

In the last book of the main trilogy—The Hand on the Wall—a series of disturbing events, plus the threat of an oncoming blizzard lead to the closure of Ellingham Academy. Despite the danger, Stevie and her friends do not want to leave. It's crazy to stay with a dangerous storm on the way not to mention a murderer running loose, but Stevie's convinced she can solve the Ellingham murders and figure out how everything that's happening in the present connects with them if only she can get a little more time. Hiding out so they don't have to leave, Stevie & Co. remain at Ellingham. As tension rises, putting them all at risk, Stevie pushes herself to puzzle out all the answers. Can she do it before they all run out of time?

Spoiler alert: Yes, she can.

After Stevie solves the Ellingham case, which has stumped investigators for decades, she becomes a bit of a sensation. In The Box in the Woods, she's home in Pittsburgh for the summer, prepared to die of boredom sans friends and without a puzzling case to keep her busy brain occupied. When she receives a tantalizing invitation to work at Camp Wonder Falls, she's immediately interested. It's not because she loves the outdoors (she doesn't), but because the rebranded summer camp was the site of a notorious quadruple murder back in the 1970s. The camp's new owner, an offbeat podcaster, wants Stevie to investigate the cold case so he can feature it on a show he's producing. Stevie's game.

Summoning her besties from Ellingham, Stevie and the reunited gang began their investigation. As they talk to residents of the nearby town who knew the victims, Stevie becomes more and more confused. Why would someone brutally kill four teenaged camp counselors? The kids weren't saints, but they hardly seem like the kind of people who would inspire the amount of rage that was unleashed on them. 

When one of the people helping Stevie dies in a suspicious accident, it becomes quickly apparent that someone knows what really happened the night the kids were killed and that they will do the unthinkable to make sure the truth never comes to light. If Stevie doesn't stop nosing into the past, she might be next. Can she solve the case before she becomes the next camp counselor to die? 

It's natural while reading a series to like some installments more than others. That's true of the Truly Devious books for me, but overall, it's a very well-crafted series. The characters are fresh and likable (my favorite is Nate, by the by), the mysteries are twisty and compelling, the boarding school setting is intriguing and appealing, and Johnson's prose is skilled and upbeat. I found all of the books engrossing, which explains why I buzzed through them so quickly. In every instance, I definitely wanted to know what was going to happen next. Johnson did not disappoint. 

I believe The Box in the Woods is the last book in the Truly Devious series. While it offers a satisfying conclusion to the series, it definitely leaves room for more installments. I am 100% up for that, although I'm still waiting for Johnson to finish the Shades of London series...

Grade:

Although the installments vary in content, if they were movies, all would be rated:

On the morning of April 29, 1986, a fire alarm sounded in the Los Angeles Public Library. As the moments passed, the patrons and staff who had been cleared out of the building realized this was not the usual fire alarm. As one fireman recounted, “Once that first stack got going, it was ‘Goodbye, Charlie.’” The fire was disastrous: it reached 2000 degrees and burned for more than seven hours. By the time it was extinguished, it had consumed four hundred thousand books and damaged seven hundred thousand more. Investigators descended on the scene, but more than thirty years later, the mystery remains: Did someone purposefully set fire to the library—and if so, who?

Weaving her lifelong love of books and reading into an investigation of the fire, award-winning New Yorker reporter and New York Times bestselling author Susan Orlean delivers a mesmerizing and uniquely compelling book that manages to tell the broader story of libraries and librarians in a way that has never been done before.

In The Library Book, Orlean chronicles the LAPL fire and its aftermath to showcase the larger, crucial role that libraries play in our lives; delves into the evolution of libraries across the country and around the world, from their humble beginnings as a metropolitan charitable initiative to their current status as a cornerstone of national identity; brings each department of the library to vivid life through on-the-ground reporting; studies arson and attempts to burn a copy of a book herself; reflects on her own experiences in libraries; and reexamines the case of Harry Peak, the blond-haired actor long suspected of setting fire to the LAPL more than thirty years ago.

Along the way, Orlean introduces us to an unforgettable cast of characters from libraries past and present—from Mary Foy, who in 1880 at eighteen years old was named the head of the Los Angeles Public Library at a time when men still dominated the role, to Dr. C.J.K. Jones, a pastor, citrus farmer, and polymath known as “The Human Encyclopedia” who roamed the library dispensing information; from Charles Lummis, a wildly eccentric journalist and adventurer who was determined to make the L.A. library one of the best in the world, to the current staff, who do heroic work every day to ensure that their institution remains a vital part of the city it serves.


I love libraries and books about libraries and books about books, so naturally I was excited to read this one.  Orleans' examination of the devastating fire and her ruminations about books/reading in general are fascinating, but The Library Book still got dull for me in places.  It made for such slow reading that I actually put the volume down several times.  In the end, I enjoyed the read overall, but I didn't love it like I thought I would.  Bummer.

(Readalikes:  Hm, I can't think of anything.  Can you?)

Grade:


If this were a movie, it would be rated:

In Just Mercy, Stevenson's first book, he recounts a situation he encountered early in his career.  It was during his fourth year with the SPDC that the young lawyer became embroiled in a real-life To Kill a Mockingbird-esque case that would teach him truths so startling and profound he would never forget them.  While visiting a prison in Alabama—a state that had a large incarcerated population and no public defender system, meaning many of its death row inmates had no legal representation at all—Stevenson met Walter McMillian, a middle-aged African-American man from, ironically enough, Monroe County, Alabama.  Like the fictional Tom Robinson, McMillian was accused of harming a young white woman.  In McMillian's case, it was a murder charge—Ronda Morrison, an 18-year-old store clerk, had been shot during what appeared to be a robbery at her place of employment.  While Morrison upheld an unblemished reputation, McMillian's was undeniably spotty.  Though married, he was a notorious ladies' man (who had just ended a troublesome relationship with his white, married lover), who was also rumored to be part of the "Dixie mafia" and a drug dealer.  Still, McMillian emphatically maintained his innocence in Morrison's killing.  Although he had an alibi for the night the crime was committed, one verified by a dozen people, police pursued the matter, which eventually landed McMillian on death row.

A Northern Light by Jennifer Donnelly tells the parallel stories of Mattie Gokey and Grace Brown, although it's really the former's tale. Mattie's the kind of narrator who's easy to identify with - she's sympathetic, believable, engaging and, most charmingly, word hungry. The reader feels her longing, her desperation, her desire for something beyond the dreary confines of her world. Her voice is so compelling that it makes her story burst into vivid life. And what a story it is. Filled with family drama, mystery, romance and humor, it's one of those historical novels that just has it all. Both entertaining and evocative, A Northern Light is not to be missed.

To the FTC, with love: I borrowed this book from my local library. I received no compensation for the review - in fact, I paid 40 cents for keeping the book longer than two weeks.

When I was in high school, I attended a writer's conference at which I heard true crime writer Ann Rule speak. I found her so fascinating that I immediately checked out several of her books. Although gritty and raw, the books fascinated me, especially from a psychological point of few. Her experience with Ted Bundy (chronicled in her first book The Stranger Beside Me), especially, made an impact with its underlying question - How well can we ever really know the people around us? As compelling as her books are, their gruesome details soon got to be too much for me. I abandoned Rule years ago and never re-visited the genre she made popular. That is, until Hachette Book Group sent me a copy of After Etan by journalist Lisa R. Cohen. Like Rule's books, Cohen's is interesting and well-written (although Rule's style is less clinical, more readable), but also filled with so much human nastiness that it reminded me why I quit true crime books in the first place.

The book discusses the case of Etan Patz (pronounced AYTAHN PATES), a 6-year-old who disappeared from New York's SoHo neighborhood on May 25, 1979. The first-grader had been begging his mother all year to let him walk the 2 blocks to his bus stop. She had finally relented. But Etan never made it to school. He vanished, plunging his family - and parents all over the country - into a terrifying nightmare that jolted them out of their innocence. Suddenly, families became all too aware of the acute danger posed by sexual predators who preyed on children, an increasing problem that until then hadn't received enough attention. Fear made parents more vigilant - for a time, anyway. As the months wore on, all the Missing posters, neighborhood canvassing, televised pleas and police interviews came to naught. Blonde-haired blue-eyed Etan didn't turn up. Neither did his corpse.

As the case slowly went cold, new atrocities hit the news, burying the story of Etan's disappearance under fresh horrors. His parents still dutifully recorded every phone call they recevied, traipsed down to the police station for interviews and polygraphs, and investigated every "look alike" the detectives found, but one thing soon became obvious: The case was at a stand still. Federal prosecutor Stuart GraBois knew he couldn't let the case stagnate, couldn't let the Patzes down - determined to figure out what happened to Etan, he spent years in a dogged pursuit of the truth. After investigating several possible suspects, including the parents themselves, he honed in on a drifter with a history of violence toward children. GraBois refused to give up, even when Jose Antonio Ramos denied knowing Etan Patz. Although he never got a full confession out of Ramos, and never learned exactly what happened to the missing boy, the prosecutor's tenacious investigation of other of Ramos' victims put the dangerous predator away for the better part of his life. Maybe GraBois didn't crack the Etan Patz case wide open, but he did the next best thing - made sure Ramos could never again hurt a child. Without solid evidence to prove Ramos killed Etan, the child's case remains one of New York's unsolved mysteries.

Now, you're probably saying, "I guess there's no point in reading the book - Susan's just told me the whole plot." Well, that's correct, although the truth is that although this book chronicles the Etan Patz case, it's almost more about what happened because of the case: Because of Etan's disappearance, parents everywhere got a wake-up call about sexual predators. Because of his parents' ability to turn their own grief into something worthwhile, systems and laws were created that better protect and serve children. Because of young boys who bravely told their stories, a monster is behind bars. What started with man's inhumanity to man (although we don't know exactly what happened to Etan, we can assume it was nothing good) grew into something powerful, something important. It may have been too late to save Etan, but those whom he inspired have worked tirelessly to bring justice for all abused children. And that's what this story is really about.

Curiously, the thing I find most interesting about true crime stories - the psychological history of the perpetrator - was almost absent from After Etan. I think we all want to know what turns an innocent child into a person capable of committing unspeakable acts against another person. The book really didn't go into Ramos' history, which made the story seem incomplete. Maybe the investigators were just never able to turn up much information, but I would have liked to know (or maybe I'm better off not knowing) what made this guy tick. Other than that, I have no real criticisms. After Etan is certainly raw, it's definitely graphic, but it's also powerful and compelling. It's really a tribute to the dedication of law enforcement professionals, the bravery of victims courageous enough to speak out, and the plight of grieving families who allow their lives to be doubly torn apart in pursuit of justice. The fact that this book was published at all speaks volumes about the ability of one child to slip under our skin and into our hearts, pushing us harder to protect the most vulnerable among us - our children.

Grade: B

P.S. Interestingly, After Etan contains a couple of literary references. It includes a quote by Anna Quindlen, who worked for the New York Times between the late 1970s and early '90s. It also talks about Beth Gutcheon, who interviewed Julie Patz (Etan's mother) as part of her research for Still Missing. When the book came out, Julie was startled to find that the story mirrored her own so closely. Although she was grateful to Gutcheon for keeping the issue of missing kids in the spotlight, the novel "felt invasive to Julie, who also worried that readers would confuse the novel's fictional details - the disintegrating marriage of the boy's bereft parents, for example - with the real-life story of her family" (68). Interesting.

(Book image from After Etan's website)