If we’ve said it once, we’ve said it 100 times: We do honest book reviews here. If we love your book, we say so. If we hate your book, we say so. We have like, standards. And every once in awhile we come across a “book” that’s so bad, so supremely cringeworthy, so genuinely awful, it’s enough to make our hair ache. We let you know about said stinkers so’s you don’t waste your time on them.

Kimber: Consider it a Public Service Announcement.

Search for a Stone Cold Killer by “Professor” Alan Dale Dickinson is the worst book we’ve read in recent memory. Yea, verily. If Eau de Skunk was an Olympic sport, this stinker would bring home gold. Here’s why (the short version):

Not a Book

First off, this “mystery/crime “book” isn’t a book. It has no distinct beginning, middle, or ending. No real story. It just sort of careens from one thought and venue to another like a ball in a pinball machine. The protagonist – if you can call this guy that – is Charlie O’Brien. He’s allegedly a southern California private investigator and highly decorated Marine Corps veteran. Along with his partner and former Orange County District Attorney Todd Spitzer, O’Brien specializes in finding villains and putting them away. Or… something.

Oops

Well. The opening sentence in this novella sets the stage: Charlie is “cursing” down southern California’s Pacific Coast Highway in his brand-new BMW.

It’s all downhill from there.

For example, readers expecting a mystery/crime story may be surprised by the loquacious off-ramps into avenues that have nothing to do with a search for a stone-cold killer. Examples include a recap of the career of rock and roll legend Richie (sometimes spelled “Ritchie”) Valens of La Bamba fame. It’s painfully out of place and adds nothing to the narrative, especially when readers are wondering who shot Charlie as he awakens from a seven-day coma. Ditto who hired the hit man/woman who shot Charlie? Who’s the stone-cold killer? Was the hit retaliatory? A personal vendetta against Charlie that he doesn’t even remember? Suspects include a Russian, a Sicilian, and a German. Also a banker from Canada. A drug kingpin from Mexico. A bank president in the U.K. And the drug cartels.

Mom: I’m pretty sure none of the above have anything to do with La Bamba. Or Surfin’ USA.

While we’re wrapping our heads around this impressive list of suspects, The Beach Boys put in an appearance. The narrative then wanders through surfer music, concert venues, and a Tina Turner performance. Why or what these have to do with the search for a stone-cold killer is a riddle on the order of the Sphinx.

Jumping the Tracks

The story jumps the tracks again when we’re whisked north to Knott’s Berry Farm in Buena Park, California. While” investigating” an embezzlement case at Knotts sans any interviews, evidence, or anything else, Spitzer and O’Brien discover that some of the park’s amusement rides have been sabotaged. They deem it “domestic terrorism.” How they arrive at this conclusion or what it has to do with their search for killer suspects is unclear. (Yes, Knotts has the most fabulous chicken dinner you ever tasted. But why the Knotts Tea Room appears here is baffling.)

P.U!

We have no idea how the Knotts investigation pans out because next thing you know, O’Brien is “chasing the ‘bad guys and bad girls’ around the Globe (sic).” This includes a trip through Italy that reads like a chapter out of The Lonely Planet. Other items thrown into the blender include tidbits about UCLA, earthquakes in the Valley, and Pacific Security National Bank. If you’re wondering how any of these relate to solving an attempted murder, try humming a few bars of Good Vibrations. Or Surfin’ USA. The author seems to think that’ll solve anything.

Not.

If everybody had an ocean…

The story gets slightly on track in Chapter Seven when Spitzer rolls into Laguna Beach to investigate the O’Brien shooting. Is a “stone cold killer” hiding in this iconic beach town? When a “hit squad” starts taking pot shots at Spitzer, he wonders if these “gangtras” are the same crew who tried to kill Charlie. Then it’s a sudden U-turn into a musical trip down memory lane with the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, Jan and Dean, and the “fabulous” Beach Boys. (We’re waxing down our surfboards, we can’t wait for June…..)

It’s enough to give a body whiplash.

So, billing this a “mystery/crime” novella is like saying the neighborhood fluff ball is Rin Tin Tin.

Better grab another neck brace for some more whiplash. Cuz the story bounces back to the “stone cold killer(s)” in Chapter Nine. The killer’s identity is revealed in this final chapter. Big. Wow. We’ve been down so many rabbit holes by this point, we just don’t care.

The White Rabbit

If that’s not enough to make your head spin – and your hair ache – the writing is undisciplined, lacks focus and makes as much sense as a presidential debate. Typos, misspellings, grammatical and other errors pop up like overnight mushrooms. The text wanders into travelogue or musical memory mode too often, hopping down more bunny trails than the White Rabbit. In fact, roughly 85- 90% of the text has little or nothing to do with a “search for a stone-cold killer.” Or any “investigating.” That’s a little odd, considering the title and O’Brien’s alleged day job. It’s straight outta Skunksville.

By the way, dude, tucking “please excuse any typos or grammatical faux pas” into the Epilogue? Cute. Lame. But cute.

Here’s a better idea: Get a professional editor. Fast.

Our Rating: -1

We will now return you to our regularly scheduled blogging.

O, Happy Day!