Book Review: Two Kinds of Truth by Michael Connelly (Harry Bosch series)

Book Review: Two Kinds of Truth by Michael Connelly 

(Harry Bosch series)

(Los Angeles) Who has the time or money to read books anymore? The sturdy hardcover, paper versions are $30/apiece, maybe you can save some cash by downloading it on your Kindle® but it still takes time to finish 400-pages. 

Here’s my quick proposition for the latest Michael Connelly book: save the cash and check it out from the local public library, because this one you won’t be able to put down!

Why review the 30^th novel of one of the most famous crime fiction novelists of our time? Because his books interweave prior characters, including his famous series starting in 1992 involving a hardened, over-60 retired LAPD detective, Hieronymus “Harry” Bosch. In the past few installments, I have to reveal that the author has disappointed me a little, so I was skeptical. 

I’m not throwing Michael Connelly under the bus, to use a hackneyed phrase or “today’s terminology” as an old lawyer claims reluctantly in the current book: “Two Kinds of Truth” (Little Brown, 2017); however, after finishing this 20^th installment in the Harry Bosch series in about 48 hours, it felt right to sing his praises and yell out to readers in the earshot of this blog, “Harry’s back!”

Two of Hollywood’s most popular recent films, Last Jedi and Wrinkle in Time, took over an hour to get to the launching point of the story’s action. That’s an awfully slow Part One, making for a long afternoon in both experiences. Connelly uses half the pages to finish Part One, but this time I was thankful for a thorough introduction to the action involving two major story-lines: one is ripped right from the headlines of TIME® magazine and the other is very personal to Harry Bosch and hence the title of the book. Unable to compare the book to those films, let me warn you that the next 30% of the novel (Part Two) flies-by like a juiced up Yamaha® crotch-rocket through L.A. traffic on the 101.

Part Three (18%) smartly closes up the story and gets into the psychological side of Harry Bosch’s worldview, appealing to police-procedural fans who take the time and spend the money to follow this popular series. Harry’s point of view relates to what many people think about criminal law, when they either ponder it or are brought-in against their will to a system which unfortunately emulates the world around us. It also gives the reader a peek behind-the-front-desk, into the complicated, layered reality of police work.

“What’s this world about, Harry?” the police chief asks. Bosch explained what happened that week and also added that the truth was, it felt like to him he was walking in circles: “true justice was the brass ring just out of reach.” Echoing Raymond Chandler, Connelly reflects Harry's angst: Vietnam War veteran who closed homicide cases for 30-years on the mean streets of Los Angeles, forced into retirement by department politics, feeling empty when facing the enormity of the evil in the big city, or even the small suburb of San Fernando where he's landed. The author's power comes, however, in the masterfully consistent, genuine "character" of Harry Bosch played out once again in Two Kinds of Truth; it's why readers keep up their relationship with him by their loyalty:

"“To be a character” is to maintain a few qualities, nourish them to excess until they dominate and dictate all others. A character is delineated and thus generally delimited. To “have character” is to have reliable qualities, to hold tightly to them through the temptations to swerve and change. A person of character is neither bribed nor corrupted; he stands fast, is steadfast." From The Identities of Persons (1976) by philosopher Amelie Rorty. (quote not about Harry Bosch)

As an executive producer, Connelly branched out into an AmazonPrime® TV-series called Bosch, starring Titus Welliver as the eponymous character; which in full-disclosure I have not been able to watch. Nevertheless, based on the latest novel which I highly recommend, I’ll be back in the hunt for his next fictional episode in 2018, featuring a new character working with Harry, Detective Reneé Ballard, in Dark Sacred Night.    ## 

2018©Mark H. Pillsbury

Part II: Heartbreak Hotel: Snake-eyes (The Shelby Austin series)

Heartbreak Hotel:  Snake-Eyes

Shelby Austin series Part II

“Make sure the elevator is locked dude, this one has serious shock-value,” the Detective reminded his assistant, “there are 800 people down at Clive’s party that would fall out if they heard about this!”

“And check everyone’s smart phones as they leave, by the way; I don’t want anyone in here selling us out to TMZ.” LA paparazzi would give their first-born children for salacious pictures of the great Shelby Austin sprawled out naked in her bathroom, dead.

“There’s not much to photograph here Mike, no note, or blood, far as I can tell,” said the Detective.

“She looks fine to me, no blunt force trauma or signs of foul-play.” He was talking through the scenario in his mind as much as lecturing his assistant Michael Donnelly. The Detective was a Beverly Hills Cop, but he knew the signs of nefarious acts as sure as any LAPD Detective from Sunset, or Van Nuys.

The pill bottles were ominous, he thought, and there was booze all around the expansive suite on the fourth floor of the Beverly Hilton, the host hotel of the largest pre-Grammy® party in Los Angeles.

The starlet hit her prime just as police officer Michael Donnelly was born in 1985, he had very little knowledge of the sheer wattage provided by Shelby Austin, the preeminent icon of 80s and 90s pop music.

“She dreamed of para, para, para-dise,” he hummed as he inventoried the room; Michael pondered how sad it was that another Hollywood pillar had broken and crumbled; his point of reference musically, the Coldplay song, “Paradise,” was about a similar young woman whose expectations were out of reach and so she flew away from her dreams.

“This Xanax® bottle needs to be tagged and tested by the ME,” the Detective pointed as he directed Michael his assistant, “remember the socialite who swallowed a bunch of these and chased them down with half a bottle of Skye last month?”

“That sh*t is smooth, Detective,” Donnelly replied enthusiastically,” other than the burn, it tastes like water; it’s carbon-filtered five times, I wish the LA water system was that good!”

Taking Xanax® and booze is like doubling down on the central nervous system, depressing the brain to the point where sometimes breathing stops. Combining alcohol with Alprazolam is never safe. The drinker never knows how much would prove fatal if mixed with the anti-anxiety drug. The alcohol takes away judgment, making one feel good but not thinking normally; tragically, 40 and 50 year olds are more likely to die from an accidental drug overdose than adolescents.

“Didn’t Mrs. Austin-Green sell like millions of records? Michael asked.

“Ms. Austin is divorced from that asshole, Michael, besides, she is known as “Shelby” in the business. He is probably downstairs right now chasing his next girlfriend,” referring to the bad-boy ex-husband Gerri Green who introduced Shelby to this destructive lifestyle.

“Remind me to check out her financial records and insurance, make sure no one was heavily “invested” in her passing.” The Detective added cynically, “street cred is that she is hurting big time, hadn’t had a good payday in a decade. Gerri Green nicked her good in the split.” He followed the tabloids like some cops read Sports Illustrated.

“If it ain’t suicide and murder looks improbable, do you think she died by accident? Michael asked the Detective.

“Time stands still on that junk Michael, it’s like people who believe that the most expensive thing has to be the best you can buy,” he said ruefully, “just one more pill and I will feel alright, one more drink will wash away the pain.”

As a ship off course a few degrees will ultimately go miles from its destination, Shelby Austin spent a decade drifting from her innocent roots and girlish fame. She was now a hardened Hollywood warrior, in and out of rehab, lost in a fog of forgotten fame. Probably sensing fear, regret, and nostalgia as she anticipated performing at the Grammy® awards tonight, she suffered heightened anxiety (Xanax®), and  clouded judgment (alcohol), self-medicating en route to the stage.

The Detective declared out loud, “She was way past the point of no return, been there for years.  Might be the dice came up snake-eyes this time?” Michael Donnelly was gazing upon the doorway to the suite’s massive bathroom, not hearing, but there was a light shining out of the darkness.

Fiction posted 02/15/2012

©Mark H. Pillsbury