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  • kjoannerixon


In some parts of my city, there are no coffee shops. There are drive-through espresso stands, but nowhere to sit and drink your latte while you mommy blog or study for exams or work from home. My neighborhood isn't really a work from home kind of neighborhood.

Which means that if you want to buy a coffee and sit around reading or chatting with friends, you go to McDonald's. The McDonald's closest to my house is open 24 hours, so not only can you have a Bible study there on Wednesday mornings, if you don't have a house you can spend an hour there at 3 AM with a $1 cup of hot coffee, getting warm.

This morning I went to McDonald's, had hot coffee and a fried potato thing in a paper packet, and read ABBOTT in one sitting. I could tell you how excited I was reading it, how I love the gorgeous art and the character design, the pulpy noir aesthetic and the 1970s Detroit vibe. I could talk about how much I admire every modern author who has engaged with Lovecraftian horror tropes in a way that addresses that old rotten racism and sexism with heart and humor and honesty, or I could talk about how CSI-style unrealistic glorification of cops has real life consequences and so I firmly believe crime stories should always have investigative reporters as the protagonists. Saladin Ahmed has been one of my favorite authors since I read THRONE OF THE CRESCENT MOON back in the day and started following his comic book career via his twitter.

But really the best book review comes from the small old black man working at the McDonald's who paused wiping down tables when he spotted my book cover. "Oh, are you reading ABBOTT?" he asked me. "That one's really good."

"I just got it from the library," I told him. "I'm only on page three, but I like it so far."

"Just wait until you get further in. About the middle, woosh." He ramped his hand up into the air. "It takes off. You're going to love it."

And I did.



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