Review: The Black Ice — Michael Connelly

Read: 24
To Go: 76

Book List:
21. The First Deadly Sin — Lawrence Sanders
22. Exclusive — Sandra Brown
23. White Hot — Sandra Brown
24. The Black Ice — Michael Connelly


Finished reading: May 20, 2013

As I mentioned in my last post, I’m behind on book reviews—to be specific, 13 book reviews over due (including this one). So I figured that including in my posts the actual date I finished reading each book would be useful, just in case you wanted to track my progress (and have definitive proof of how much of a procrastinator I am). As you can see, I finished reading The Black Ice in mid-May, shortly after getting my wisdom teeth out.

Wow. That was a while ago…

In The Black Ice, Detective Harry Bosch is preparing his Christmas dinner for one when he catches wind of a murder over the police scanner. When he arrives at the scene he finds Calexico (Cal) Moore, a narcotics detective who went missing recently. As Bosch delves into the investigation, his leads take him to the border towns Calexico and Mexicali, and tie Cal Moore to the ruthless head of a drug smuggling ring, and two other seemingly random murders.

Michael Connelly’s second Bosch novel was a confirmation for me that the oldest books in the series were the strongest. The Black Ice was a tightly written narrative with a brilliant bait-and-switch that I didn’t see coming: evidence that suggests Cal Moore was a depressed cop who got pulled into a violent trafficking scheme he tried to leave but couldn’t continues to pile up on Bosch. But in the final pages, Connelly reveals Moore was not quite what he seemed, and ties up the case in a manner that could almost be described as poetic.

The Black Ice also introduces a Bosch character who, while short-lived, is a favourite of mine: Moore’s widow, Sylvia. Even during her first scene in the book, when Bosch comes to advise her of her husband’s death, it’s clear she’s the next love interest. But as a character I found her to be so compelling, with or without Bosch, and was thrilled each time she showed up in the narrative. My love for Sylvia Moore could even rival my appreciation for Eleanor Wish. But more on that in the next review.

Next book: The Concrete Blonde — Michael Connelly

– Kelsey


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