But when she gets too close to the truth, Nikki finds herself disgraced, stripped of her badge, and out on her own as a target for killers, with nobody she can trust. Except maybe the one man in her life who’s not a cop: reporter Jameson Rook.

In the midst of New York’s coldest winter in a hundred years, there’s one thing Nikki is determined to prove: Heat Rises.“

My last post took almost a month to complete, mostly because of the time I needed to finish “editing” the accompanying video. I have no such excuses for this post, since I finished reading this early in January. And I can’t even say the book is hard to write about, since off the three Castle stories, this is the one that I really enjoyed reading. So let’s just chalk it up to laziness. And lack of time–but mostly laziness.

Now, before I start writing about the book, I just want to bring something up (maybe, again. I’m not sure if I already brought this up previously.) The synopsis for books are usually written to help sell the book, correct? And while, I remember writing about this part before, some amazing books are bogged down with really horrible synopsis, what’s the deal with synopsis that reveal a huge chunk of twists from the story? Let’s take this book for example. We start with a single case. A problem arises at the precinct, with regards to their captain. These two, so far, aren’t joined together by anything–and yet, we already know that they will be. Sure, readers who like to read between the lines would quickly spot the lead-in to the bigger picture. But because the synopsis has already spoiled the part where there’s a conspiracy that “reaches all the way to the highest levels of the NYPD“, the story suddenly stales. And it’s not until we get to the point when the connection the NYPD is pronounced that we start looking forward to what happens next again.

Readers are not like viewers, in my opinion. As a viewer, I like knowing secrets ahead of time–because this is a set-up, and a preparation, for the emotional journey that I will be undertaking with the protagonist. As a reader, I like my secrets forshadowed–not laid out in the open. Especially in mystery novels where you’re also testing your mind capacity in solving the crime before your protagonists do. Plot twists revealed in the synopsis only manages to bring down a reader’s enjoyment.

Now, moving on to the story itself, I have to say that whoever’s written this particular novel has a better handle on the characters. For one thing, they’re no longer a copy of the characters from the television show the novels are tied-in on. While they are still influenced by the actions of the characters in the show, they are no longer mirror images. Which I think is good because it doesn’t paint the titular television character in a good light that his characters are mainly mimicking the people in his life. The thing with tie-in content is that it needs to protect the show as well; they have to co-exist and help further develop the characters in their created world. I shudder now, remembering the horrible tie-ins to Charmed and Smallville.

As for the case presented in the story–it’s novel. It’s not reaching to connect the many inconsistencies presented in the case, and yet it manages to tie-up everything perfectly near the end. I also like how some characters were presented to be clear-cut villains, but end up being just… well, slimy and not completely evil. The pacing of the story is fast enough to keep you going, but not too fast that it loses you.

I’ve already mentioned it before, but I’ll write it here one more time: Heat Rises is the best off the Richard Castle novels.

First off, I would like to thank Summit Books for being gracious enough to invite me. And I also apologize for being a bad blogger, since it might have looked like I abandoned the blog. I haven’t. I just found it harder to take a break from all the deadlines I had to meet. But that’s all been said and done now, so let’s move on to the actual event.

The “book launch” for the The Morning Rush’s Top 10 compilation isn’t really a launch, per se. The book was already widely distributed, and at the time of the event, it was already in the bestseller’s list of National Bookstore. But still, Summit Books decided to invite some media people, as well as a few bloggers, for an intimate reading and Q&A session with the hosts of the Morning Rush; with the event being hosted by their current third co-host Gino Boy.

At the “launch”, DJs Chico and Delamar shared a few behind-the-scenes stories about the Morning Rush’s Top 10 segment–as well as how the compilation came about. Short story made shorter, Summit approached them. But if you want to hear most of the story, it’s in the video I’ve embedded in this post.

Also in the video are a couple of snippets from the readings they did. I managed to capture a lot, but thought better to include all of them in the video. If you want the funnies, you can buy the book–it’s not expensive at all, and it’s available in bookstores everywhere. In Manila anyway. I’m not completely sure if it is as widely circulated in other parts of the country though.

I’m keeping my reactions to the compilation for another post. And with that, I leave you with my video coverage of The Mornng Rush Top 10 “book launch”.

I think I found my worst book for 2012.

To translate, here’s what the book synopsis says: “from the cursed poverty and pitiful ignorance of the world she grew up in, Marie found the sweet and painful truth about love. But can she face the challenges of tomorrow? What will her fate be? Don’t miss the scenes in tonight’s tele-cine-series-novela that’s complete with maltreatment, impostors, amnesia, a wedding and a diary!”

Doesn’t make sense? It wouldn’t unless you’re familiar with the tropes of soap operas. Yes, of soap operas in general, and not just the ones in the Philippines. Though, I think the point of the book is to satirize the local entertainment industry. And it does exactly that, to an extent. Most of the time though, it read like lazy and haphazard writing.

Lumayo Ka Man Sa Akin contains three “stories”, ridiculing three of the more popular genres in the local entertainment scene: the action movies that star politicians in the lead, the horror films filled with characters who react unrealistically, and the romance drama filled with deception and secrets. I’m actually surprised they didn’t go for the fantasy genre too–though, that genre seems to already be in the decline nowadays.

I’ve always seen the good side of every Bob Ong book. But this time, no matter how hard I look, I just can’t find anything good in this book. It’s not exceptionally written, and it treats its readers as if we’re in on the joke. Well, we’re not.

And this isn’t because I’m writing for the industry. My friends know that I’m the first one to point out mistakes–even with my own works. It would be foolish of me to say that there’s no formula being followed–not to mention, I’d be lying too. But stories made for movies and television are more complicated than what is shown in Lumayo Ka Man Sa Akin.

The book takes everything bad about the industry, ties them all together, and presents them as truth. Or as semblance of truth. But they forget that there are good things about the telenovela genre too. It provides a temporary escape for those who just want to take a break from real life. And sure, the events don’t always make sense, but it’s not real life. It’s fictional. If people wanted to watch something that happens in real life, they’d watch the news. For escaping reality, you have to veer away from reality.

I’m sure some people enjoyed reading Lumayo Ka Man Sa Akin. If you did, good for you. But this one isn’t for me.

Yet amidst all this chaos, Elphaba’s granddaughter, the tiny green baby born at the close of Son of a Witch, has come of age. Now it is up to Rain to take up her broom–and her legacy–in an Oz wracked by war.“

What can I say about the final book off Gregory Maguire’s Wicked Years series? It’s easier to read than the three that came before it–but it’s not as impressive as its predecessors… The first two, anyway. I mean, I liked it. Enough. And it is a good end to the series. But, for some reason, I lost the sense of wonderment that I had while reading Wicked and Son of a Witch. I guess Gregory Maguire’s version of Oz has lost its novelty for me.

Then again, it’s great that I was no longer seeing the series as something that was just novel–but for it to happen with this book? The one that actually has a couple of winks to the fans of the Wicked musical? I guess it was just wrong timing. I could’ve kept the wonderment for one more book. After all, this is the last one. Right?

The first three books from the series all had its central characters. In Out of Oz, we have none. Well, all. I mean, most of them are central. But because so many of the characters are important, we never really focus on one character at a single time. Even when the narrative latches on to Rain, Elphaba’s granddaughter, she’s still part of a party. The only character to have a semblance of centrality (is that a word?) is Lady Glinda.

We start the story with Glinda’s point of view, as it is with her that Rain begins her journey–and it is also with her that events get propelled faster forward. After her chapter, we begin the shared stories of Rain, of Nor, of the Cowardly Lion, as well as those of Liir and Candle. Oh, and let’s not forget Dorothy. While we unravel this new Oz that we’re given, we also unravel the mystery of Rain’s upbringing–and her destiny. And while this main plot is centered on Rain, it is through the other characters that it is given life.

So is Rain the central character? I guess we can debate on that. But, for me personally, I found the Cowardly Lion more central to the story than Rain. Even though it’s Rain that has the destiny, it’s the Cowardly Lion who actually pushes the story along–through his courage, masked as cowardice.

Out of Oz is beautifully written. The plot pacing is mostly even. The characters are pretty fleshed out–though Nanny continues to frustrate the hell out of me. And the story is a fitting end to the Wicked series. And yet, there’s something about the book that just doesn’t speak to me. I’m not raving about this book as I was with the first three. Well, with the first two.

But this is just me reacting to the book. If you want actual reviews, why don’t you try the following sites?
USA Today
The Washington Post
The Boston Globe

So, Series 1 ended with a cliffhanger: Moriarty has Sherlock and Watson cornered–and Sherlock’s about to do something desperate, namely shooting a vest strapped with bombs that would blow them all up to kingdom come. And how does this get resolved? By the Bee Gees. Music really does have a way of saving souls. Cop out or not, the resulting pardon Moriarty gives our heroes does set up his character nicely. Our main villain is unpredictable–and this pretty much sums up the three episodes of Sherlock Series 2. Unpredictable.\

A Scandal in Belgravia. One of the most popular characters in the Sherlock stories is The Woman: Irene Adler. She’s almost always appeared as a love interest for our titular hero–except in the original (and only) story she appears in: A Scandal in Bohemia. Miss Adler is set up as the only woman to have ever outwitted Sherlock, and somehow this was translated into him having feelings for her. Though it is alluded to, it was never verbalized out right.

With that said, I applaud the team of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss for being able to flesh out the closest adaptation to the real Irene Adler with their version of The Woman. She’s smart, she’s wicked–and she’s in it for herself. That was the Irene Adler we meet in A Scandal in Bohemia–and it’s the same Adler we meet in A Scandal in Belgravia. Well, except the modern version is more independent off men.

The way Moffat wrote Sherlock’s admiration for The Woman was admirable in itself. There are allusions to how other adaptations have presented Adler, as a love interest; there’s a slight wink at the Sherlock fandom (at least that’s how I read it) while alluding to the relationship between Sherlock and Watson; and the story is tweaked in such a way that a short story transformed into a full-length feature with ties to the end game. Moffat’s inclusion of Moriarty in the story serves to give the character of Adler more backstory–while, at the same time, letting Moriarty grow more as a formidable foe.

So however you felt about the resolution to the Series 1 cliffhanger, the main story of A Scandal in Belgravia will surely turn you into a believer again.

And then we come to: The Hounds of Baskerville.

I read the novel that spawned the adaptation–and I’ve given my two cents worth on what I thought about the story and how it was told. I’m happy to say that the modernized version lives up to the original story–and exceeds expectations. Unfortunately, coming from the astounding first episode, it does fall a little bit flat.

Mark Gatiss, who wrote the episode, really knows how to do horror. Creeping the hell out of you, and yet keeping you glued to your seats. But it’s the science of things that killed the thrill of this episode, I think. Which is a shame, because guest star Russel Tovey was amazing as the troubled Henry, the guy who hires Sherlock to investigate the death of his dad–that happened more than a decade ago.

Unlike the novel, where Sherlock was absent from the picture for the better half, the television adaptation has Sherlock very active in the case. A bit too active though, in my opinion. Just like the novel, there was certain disjoint in how Sherlock was in the first episode, and the last episode, compared to how he was shown here. Or maybe I just can’t get over the oddness of how the post-production staff (and the director) thought Sherlock’s “mind palace” worked. It just seemed very awkward and unnatural, in my opinion. And I still can’t enjoy the episode fully because that scene, with Benedict Cumberbatch twitching and shrugging and playing with thin air, continues to bother me.

The Reichenbach Fall. Of the three episodes, this is the only Sherlock story that I wasn’t familiar with. Based on The Final Problem, in which author Arthur Conan Doyle decided to kill Sherlock, I came in knowing that I would be crying buckets of tears–or, at the least, I’d be very close to crying by the end of the peisode. After all, if there’s one thing I learned from Steven Moffat’s time in Doctor Who, it’s this: Moffat is amazing as a horror writer–but he is ruthless when it comes to tear-jerking scenes. Then again, he wasn’t the one who wrote the episode. But this was supposed to be the end. And in a way, even though the series has already been picked up for Series 3, the episode was the end.

This episode served as a culmination of everything that happened from A Study in Pink onwards–especially with regards to Moriarty as a villain. Because, like Irene Adler, Moriarty only appeared once in the original Sherlock stories–and his only purpose was to be the cause of Sherlock’s death. The team behind the drama series managed to fully flesh him out, and turn him into one truly frightening villain whom you can see actually defeating Sherlock. And with that, they’ve truly made BBC’s Sherlock as the adaptation to end all adaptations.

You can’t get any better than this.