Fever Dream (Special Agent Pendergast Series #10) Book

Sometimes you crave food because it's predictably good'Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, for example, nature's most perfect glowing yellow, boxed food. Other times, you want to experience something you've never had before, and so you set your taste buds to open-minded (because, yes, tongues have brains'it's basic biology, people, which you would know if you am as smart as me am).

What happens, though, when you're expecting one kind of flavor and you get another?

It can go one of two ways: the mistaking-pistachio-ice-cream-for-mint-chocolate-chip way (exceedingly unpleasant, and I curse to the deepest bowels of hell the people who decided to make those two flavors, one abominable and one like an angel making sweet, vigorous love to your mouth, virtually identical in color), or the thinking-you're-getting-eggs-and-toast-and-winding-up-with-chicken-and-waffles way.

Fever Dream is the latter.

It all began during a rare childless getaway, highlighted by a stay at a bed and breakfast that is literally just begging to host a murder mystery (case in point: ). In fact, I swear I heard it say, "Please kill someone here, but conspire with the butler and make sure to sprinkle some red herrings about before you do" when I walked in. In addition to preparing to happily comply with the house's wishes, I also decided, given that I might actually have some quiet reading time, that a good mystery/thriller was in order and, knowing that Preston and Child (and Pendergast) are always reliable, decided to crack open the next book in the series that I hadn't read.

Only Fever Dream isn't really like its predecessors; for one, we start out in the sweltering heat of an African safari and progress to an unusually emotional Pendergast intent on solving a 12-year-old cold case involving someone very near and dear to him. It was most definitely not eggs; it was something completely unexpected, and something my literary palette was neither prepared for nor, did I think, in the mood for.

Now, while I am what you might call a picky eater (c'mon…I was born and raised in southwest suburban Michigan, where the Panda Forest at the mall is the most exotic cuisine one can experience), I have tried to expand my taste vocabulary over the years, particularly when I'm in a public setting, and especially when I'm in a public setting where I have no alternatives other than starvation and/or a bowl of stale hard candies in the parlor. And so, with an eager proprietor looking on, I shoveled a forkful of sweet waffles and savory fried chicken into my piehole and it was…well, it was good. The texture was odd, and it felt like a weird thing to consume in the stately dining room of a 150-year-old mansion, but it was delicious.

I ended up scarfing it down, licking the plate clean, and belching like a bullfrog into a bullhorn, much to the dismay of the proprietors of the B&B. Likewise for Fever Dream. It was an unexpected joy, and while I might have preferred a slightly more conventional setting given where I was, it all worked out in the end, despite the fact that Pendergast really went off the rails, Laura Hayward joined him, and there were a lot of creepy swamp rednecks running around shooting things. No matter how ridiculous these stories get, though'and they're getting more ridiculous by the book'Preston and Child remain masters of craft who keep pages turning.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go paint "Rache" on a wall, snuff out a party guest, and throw some KFC on my Eggo.