For my part, I like picking around the edges of the Harry Bosch catalogue, either when I need a Los Angeles tale or a mind-numbing read. I don’t usually go for airport paperback fare but Michael Connelly has always felt like a cut above. I don’t mean that to condescend anyone who enjoys the James Pattersons and Jeffrey Deavers of the world. But for me, Connelly has always felt slightly above their level, with just enough sophistication to feel refined yet not too much to […]