5 stars In this book, everything takes a tragic turn. Every major character experiences some kind of personal tragedy and awakening, a final understanding of what everything means. It’s funny, that I found the most tragic characters to be Jacob and Cooper, the “drug addicts,” for lack of a better description. They felt the most like victims to me and I was saddened by what happened to them. It seemed they were the most interested in helping others, and as a result, the most likely to get carried away into doing things they didn’t want to do. Steve’s emotional condition is explored a bit more, as he seems to be slowly falling apart. “He wanted to do something and nothing at the same time. It was an odd feeling. He wasn’t aware that he wanted to fill an emotional void, he just knew he needed a distraction… And he couldn’t have his spare time spent like this with his new friends Anxiety and Doubt.” He’s still coming to terms with the loss of his mother and his acknowledgement of his loss of Olivia, and as he watches TV and hears someone describe one of the characters, he has an epiphany. He suddenly realizes how funny it is “how differently people see you than how you see yourself.” Meanwhile, a couple of Steve’s fellow officers are working a case. “When Rhonda LaJoyce answered the door, she wore nurse’s scrubs and a scowl. It was almost impossible for her to appear more annoyed, but she managed it once she saw who was at her door.” This made me chuckle. Which was a good thing, because there was so much depressing about this story. Luckily, some of the cops from outside of the department offered some comic relief. I loved this exchange between Nate and Nelson (from the suburb of Cambria): “There’s at least two handguns and a shotty we know about,” Nelson said. “A shotty?” “You call them something different in the city?” “We try not to sound stupid trying to be hip, yeah.” When the Feds, Roundtree and Palmer arrive, Martins tells them he was wondering whether they’d show up before or after the case had been closed. Without missing a beat, “We always try to make it just after,” Roundtree said, smiling. “Got to keep our reputation intact.” With this in mind, this later exchange was priceless: “Some people,” Roundtree said, “no matter what it is, they got to take credit for someone else’s work.” Palmer nodded like Roundtree’s words were solemn and sacred, not realizing the irony of what he just said, given their office’s reputation. For the first time, the reader is privy to Dana’s experience. I felt a small bit of sympathy for Joe but then read this from Dana: “Every time she pictured the future, she saw Joe and the kids—actually , when she pictured the future, she saw the present, thinking it would never change.” I felt much more sympathy for Dana after that. Surprisingly resilient and intelligent, she is no longer the two-dimensional character Joe imagined her to be. That’s refreshing. Bridget reappears, playing an important role in the plot direction. Chelsea, Joe and Steve’s sister, also emerges as one of the stronger characters, supporting the pivot away from the male “victims” to the female “survivors/nurturers.” Overall, the total shift in the plot takes the story in a new direction. There was much more exploration of the characters and the plot was almost secondary. I only wish Brian Gold had gotten what he deserved, but there’s always next season. December 26, 2020
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Elizabeth J ConnorWriter. Editor. Proofreader. Archives
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