The Black Ice - Michael Connelly

I've been traveling an AWEFUL lot for work.  (I won't comment much on that) This means I find myself picking up 'airport books' and reading 'airport books'. Of course, I've been reading Connelly off and on for years...

The Black Ice is the second Connelly novel...and the second featuring LAPD detective Harry Bosch.  He's a pretty interesting character, molded from the standard hardboiled detective mythos.  He's a Vietnam vet, loner cop, always on the outs with authorities, and love Jazz music...they all have to there little quirk you know.  I like Harry, always have...and like that he's named after surrealist painter Hieronymous Bosch (another little quirky thing).

Connelly is a good plotter.  He works well with common police procedural/detective novel tropes.  He's well researched.  His stories are almost always believable.  The Black Ice is no exception.  It centers on the suicide death of a corrupt cop and how it is tied to the fledgling drug trade of a new street drug Black Ice.  Connelly always does a good job of making his stories a sign of the times...and while Black Ice never really becomes the next Crack cocaine, as Connelly seems to propose (Meth, hello), he still does an admirable job of keeping this reader's interest even well over a decade later than the times of the story (and publishing date).

So, all that is to say Connelly does what he does well...hmm, well.  And really the only problem I've ever had with him is the only problem I had with Black Ice -- his authorial voice is about as interesting as eating powdered scrambled eggs for breakfast.

I've never sworn off Connelly, and probably never will.  I like Bosch. I like the stories. I just don't know whether I will ever LOVE them.