As a #MeToo novel, Complicit plays it relatively straight. Unlike the revenge thriller or dystopian fantasy version that seems more common amongst commercial #MeToo fiction, Complicit tells the tale of a young woman who enters the film industry with major ambitions to be a producer. And from the start, it’s pretty obvious how the story is going to unfold.

Our first introduction to Sarah Lai is when she’s 39, a decade removed from the industry, now teaching mostly disinterested film students at a local community college. She’d once had a promising career in film, and her last project was with Holly, a lead actor who’s since become a Hollywood A-lister, and Hugo, a powerful financier who’s now facing multiple #MeToo accusations. A reporter interviewing Sarah for the New York Times forms the frame narrative.

Two things make Complicit stand out: its heroine is Chinese-American, the middle child of Hong Kong immigrants who own a Chinese restaurant in New York. Most #MeToo stories feature white heroines, so it was nice to see the author explore how Sarah’s Asian identity, and her family’s immigrant background, added even more barriers to her making it big in film. Also, unlike many other #MeToo novels, Complicit — as hinted by its title — explores how Sarah can be both a victim of sexist exploitation, and complicit in perpetrating it towards other women.

The thing is, when the reveals about Sarah’s complicity do come out, they’re more tragic than damning. The journalist, Thom, fully exonerates her of any wrongdoing, and despite Sarah’s own guilt, he’s also very much in the right to do so. In both cases that Sarah played a role in another woman’s victimization, she was also very much an innocent herself trying to survive. And while she probably could have made different and better choices to protect other women, it’s clear that little blame, if any, actually rests on her shoulders.

All this just makes Complicit more depressing than truly disturbing or disquieting. As much as we should never be numbed to #MeToo experiences, Sarah’s story is one we’ve read dozens of times at this point, in newspapers and magazines, and even on Notes screen caps posted by various celebrities on social media. The novel does raise a valid point about how Sarah’s story, and the stories of those like her, are relegated almost to footnote status in splashier headlines about more famous figures like actors, directors, and industry leaders. And perhaps for that alone, this novel is a good call to pay attention to lesser known stories as well.

Complicit is a solid novel, and the writing is good. There are also some really strong standout moments — I love the friendship between Sarah and Holly, and the subtle way in which Li showed how things evolved on that front. I also really liked the scene where Sarah discovers a hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant while filming in LA, and how the place anchors her with its tastes of home. And I particularly like the novel’s depiction of Sarah’s boss Sylvia, who, as an older woman with her own film production company, was also a striking depiction of someone both victimized by, and complicit in, a sexist system. The way her star director Xander and Hugo keep sidelining her in her own production company feels all-too-relatable. And the way she tries to protect Sarah at first, yet diminishes her when she becomes a viable threat to Sylvia’s power, is a spot-on depiction of the ways in which surviving in a sexist industry can mean compromising on a bit of your humanity.

Overall, Complicit doesn’t really say anything new or surprising. But it’s a solid story, and well-told. I like how the ending gave a touch of hope.

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Thank you to Atria Books for an e-galley of this book in exchange for an honest review.

The Heights is a fun and twisty thriller. I devoured it in a couple of days, which, these days, is pretty rare for me. Ellen Saint’s world is rocked when she sees Kieran on a rooftop terrace: she blames Kieran for the death of her teenage son Lucas, and arranged to have him killed two years ago. Told within the frame narrative of a journalist reporting Ellen’s story, the main narration is from Ellen herself, writing her memoir, Saint or Sinner.

Because we initially meet Kieran through Ellen’s perspective, it’s easy to fall into her immediate suspicion of the teen. She tells us how rude he is, how much he leads her otherwise studious son Lucas astray into a life of partying and drugs, and how he seems to have an irrational hate-on for her, giving her menacing looks when no one else is looking. Only Lucas’ father Vic seems to share Ellen’s suspicions; both Ellen’s younger daughter Freya, and Lucas’ girlfriend Jade seem to have fallen for Kieran’s natural magnetism. And while Ellen’s husband Justin is more sympathetic to Ellen’s concerns, he mostly hand-waves them away as Lucas just being a regular rebellious teen. For me, at least, it was easy to share Ellen’s anxieties over Kieran, and to accept her word that he was responsible for Lucas’ death.

But then the circumstances around Lucas’ death are revealed, and it seems more a tragedy than a crime. And then we get a few chapters from Vic’s point of view, and it becomes clear that Ellen’s burning hatred for Kieran heavily colours her perspective, and that her grief over Lucas’ death has turned into an obsession. You start to question just how reliable her narration actually is.

Candlish hooked me from beginning to end with this story. As more and more layers are revealed, I shifted from sympathizing with Ellen, to sympathizing with practically everyone else around her, including Kieran himself. I did have an inkling of some of the later reveals, but mostly, the story kept me off-balance and guessing throughout. There’s a point when Ellen takes a full-on turn towards the dark side, in her quest to wreak revenge for Lucas’ death, and reading the story felt a bit like watching a train wreck: you desperately want someone to pull on the brakes, but you also can’t stop from watching the disaster unfold.

Overall, The Heights is a gripping, suspenseful, emotional read that will keep you turning the page.  There are elements of tragedy, and the ending isn’t quite a happily-ever-after, but Candlish tells the tale with a brisk pace and a high gloss sheen that keeps even the darkest moments from tipping too far over the edge. Save this book for a weekend, and definitely don’t start reading it right before bed.

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Thank you to Simon and Schuster Canada for an e-galley of this book in exchange for an honest review.

It’s a Wonderful Woof is a fun mystery, full of clues, red herrings, and surprising revelations along the way. But the secret to its magic definitely lies in its canine narrator Chet, one-half of the Little Detective Agency. The other, human, half, Bernie Little, is a large, rough-and-tumble kind of man, a tough PI with a heart of gold and a soft touch for his investigating partner.

Bernie knows nothing about art, so when a potential client comes to him asking for help on an art world case, Bernie refers him to another PI, Victor Klovsky. The case involves lots of online research and little action, and seems more Victor’s alley. Except that Victor disappears while investigating, and his mother elicits Bernie’s help in finding him.

The case itself is fascinating. Chet and Bernie’s investigation leads them to an old church, an archaeologist excavating some ruins, and a museum dedicated to local history and culture. As someone who likes art and museums, I was fascinated by all the talk about Caravaggio, and some of the finds (which, from Google, I figure are fictional) they come across got my inner art nerd all excited. There’s a moment when the museum’s director receives a donation that makes her burst into tears, and honestly, I fully understand why — such an acquisition for a small museum would be phenomenal. (Though a practical part of my brain can’t help but wonder about how they would afford the insurance required.)

Like I said, though, the key to the novel’s magic is Chet himself, who narrates the case with huge dollops of doggy enthusiasm. It’s a joy to see Bernie through Chet’s eyes — however other characters may respond to the PI, Chet genuinely believes Bernie is perfect and can do no wrong. So even when Bernie is discouraged about an aspect of the case, Chet’s narration assures us that things can’t be so dire, because obviously Bernie will know just what to do. Chet’s perspective is just so pure and full of joy and love, and it’s sheer pleasure just being in his brain. The case does get a bit violent at times — for example, a man was found murdered by waterboarding in a tub, and another scene shows a man getting shot by a sniper rifle. In many ways, the story has the elements of a hardboiled detective noir, but Chet’s narration softens the edges significantly, and gives it more of a cozy mystery feel.

It’s also fun to see the suspects and other characters through the perspective of a dog. For example, the archaeologist is described as becoming nervous all of a sudden, because of an unmistakable shift in her scent. In other scene, the museum director and Bernie have their heads close together; Chet notices how her scent changes, and she seems about to close the distance even more, but Bernie’s scent stays the same and he shows no inkling of moving closer. It’s a subtle moment, but beautifully portrayed; the author does a great job of showing how much dogs pick up that humans don’t.

Yet in other ways, Chet is also hilariously confused by human behaviour. There’s a scene where Bernie and a potential love interest are clearly on the verge of arguing. Chet can sense the shifts in moods, and the tension in both characters’ tones, but has no idea what’s going on. Chet’s also super self-aware of the limitations of his knowledge sometimes, which makes the scene even funnier.

Overall, this is a fun book. Bernie’s a great series co-lead, and I absolutely love how the author handles Chet as an equal co-lead and main narrative voice. The story wasn’t a super page-turner for me — it took me a while to finish it — but the series itself seems really charming. Chet and Bernie make a fantastic team.

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Thank you to Forge Books for an e-galley of this book in exchange for an honest review.