I’d like to think of myself as hopeful,
optimistic. Will I ever meet that special someone? Probably not. Will I sell ten
million copies of my debut novel? Let’s be reasonable. Still, will my investments
rise above their double-digits? On second thought, perhaps I’m not as hopeful
or optimistic as I think I am. And yet when it comes to art, I’m as eager and as
enthusiastic as a teen with fervent hormones on his first date. In fact, I tend
to frighten people, particularly non-readers.
Sure.
It’s well established that I’m a literary snob. A man of letters, a prose elitist
of sorts. However, not everything I read was written a hundred years ago. Not
everything else I read is scholarly or highbrow. Indeed, gentle reader, despite
my better judgement, I frequently enjoy shutting off my brain and reading a modern
high-octane comedy of errors devoid of substance or profundity.
A
few months ago, I subscribed to Bookperk, a promotional service from Harper
Collins Publishers. The service sends me daily deals via email showcasing
ebooks in all genres ranging in price from one to three bucks. To Catch Her Death was one such deal. Based
on the cover and the blurb, I anticipated a mildly amusing romp through
frivolity. At a mere ninety-nine cents, I figured I couldn’t go far wrong. In
that sense, I got what I paid for.
The
novel marks my first foray into urban fantasy, and, to its credit, the story
provides an interesting concept told tongue-in-cheek. Lisa, an Alaskan
thirty-five-year-old mother of three, is a sassy, overweight, unemployed widow
whose husband died in a car accident only one year before this story begins.
She brandishes sarcasm and wit to cope with all sorts of conflicts, from her
mother to her children to her grief to her recent funk. Unfortunately, the
humor is extraordinarily predicable, low hanging fruit quality, and hence
rarely induces even a grin.
Happily,
the catalyst to the plot happens within the first few pages, when our
protagonist witnesses a death and finds herself entangled with the deceased
man’s soul. Shortly thereafter, she’s introduced to a secret organization known
as GRS (Grim Reaper Services). Yes. Apparently, a secret organization of
professionals exist who get paid to reap souls. Lo and behold, Lisa discovers
she’s a grim reaper. Not the one and only Grim Reaper but rather one of many.
Obviously
for such a premise, the reader must suspend disbelief. Which is fine.
Recommended. Commendable even. However, this shouldn’t mean the story abandon its
own internal logic. And this is where the eye rolling comes in. Despite my
efforts, the analytical part of me kicked in and I couldn’t help wondering,
among other things, who funds this organization.
Loved
ones of the deceased don’t pay these employees to reap souls. Presumably the
government is unaware of the organization’s existence as well, so it obviously
doesn’t fund it either. And since income is the primary selling point for our
protagonist Lisa who, heretofore unemployed and struggling financially, reluctantly
accepts the job, the author should’ve provided some explanation as to how this
organization, which works out of a brick and mortar, makes payroll, much less
pays its electric and water bills. Hell, tell us a billionaire mystic funds it
or that a secret society of millionaire spiritualists contributes proceeds from
its share dividends or that the organization poses as a legit bureaucracy the government
unwittingly subsidizes. I don’t know. Something.
Unfortunately,
the premise, while promising, is a gimmick and nothing more. We’re expected to
assume much for the sake of story. This would be fine if the story itself were
done well. Unfortunately, the narrative is bland, predicable, and full of clichés.
The humor Lisa employs would be better served coming from a teen rather than a
35-year-old mother of three.
Some
poor word choices and a stray homonym appear too, such as “… I was not willing
to except [sic] more humiliation.” On the plus side, it cost me only a buck and
it’s a quick read. But I won’t seek out the rest of this Grim Reality series. Too
many other great books are out there I have yet to read. Three out of five
stars. Rated PG-13.
