The Wheel of Darkness (Special Agent Pendergast Series #8) Book

This book is calamari.

Before I explain WHY this book is calamari, it's important to note two things: 1) in a pretty spot-on demonstration of my poor taste, going back to Relic, I've elected to use food metaphors to describe each book in a series that usually features serial killers; and 2) I hate seafood, with one exception.

Wheel of Darkness sees the Pendergast series careening wildly through thriller tropes and treading dangerously close to parody territory. If Sherlock Holmes, Bruce Lee, and Macgyver cranked up the Kenny G, passed around a bottle of Jergens, and created a homogenous mixture of their, ah, genetic material, which was then used to fertilize an egg from Barbara Gordon, you'd get Pendergast. Toss him onto the surging high seas along with his mysterious ward Constance Green, a bunch of rich assholes, and a mystical and potentially world-ending object and you've got the makings of one very weird locked-room mystery.

Hence, calamari. Like I said, I hate seafood'my rule of thumb is that for me to eat something that used to be sentient, it needs to have been cute and cuddly at one point, not look like whatever alien species ultimately conquers earth and turns us into either food or sex toys. But, for reasons inexplicable, I don't mind calamari (okay, it's actually probably pretty explicable'deep fry anything and it's generally edible). But, it's gotta be done right'if it's breaded and fright and crunchy and not too squiddy, it's a delight. If it's seared and lemony and not breaded at some fancy pants eating venue, it's like, "Hey, awesome'thanks for giving me the opportunity to pay $20 for the privilege of chewing on some lemon-flavored rubber for a little while before I swallow and it feels like cold baby bird feet sliding down my throat." And, whether it's breaded and fried or not, if it's in tiny octosquid form rather than shaped into little rings…? Forget about it and fire your head chef.

Wheel of Darkness represents the entire continuum of calamari. At times, it's crunchy and delicious and you just want to scoop it up and go to town. At other times, you're looking side-eyed at it like it's going to regain locomotive abilities, crawl across the table, and force its way down your throat whether you want it or not. (It could also really use some editing, because there are multiple instances where basic information is repeated with the same or similar phrasing in rapid succession for no particular reason.)

But, I've said it before, and it bears repeating here: Preston and Child are absolute masters of their craft, and even when they're writing something set in an environment where at any given moment the characters might literally be jumping a shark, it's compulsively readable and has in no way diminished my desire to continue on with Pendergast and company in subsequent adventures.

Not the best example of what Messrs. Preston and Child are capable of, but sufficiently entertaining, and if you're in on Pendergast, probably worth a read. But, you may need to drown it in cocktail sauce here and there to choke it down.