Once again, this is not a first impression of this book. I’ve listened to it MANY times and it’s part of one of my favorite series.

Already up to book 4 of the Dungeon Crawler Carl series, and it wasn’t until a good halfway through that I figured out just what I wanted to discuss from a writerly standpoint on this novel.
Time skips. Missing out.

So, one of the big points of stories is to put the consumer in the middle of the action. We want immersion, to be the hero or villain as the mood strikes us, to feel the emotions, hear the sounds, experience the action. We want to be in the story, to know every bit of activity that's going on in the world around us.

That's why when something is left unknown, it's either a huge thorn in our sides, a tease, or a crime. It's why we see movie scenes where the villain tells his master plan, even just to a minion. It's why we get the cheap "We all know that" exposition dumps to put things into context, and it's why we as the consumer get to know things the protagonist might not know.

It's also why it's such a great tool to use to build tension and stress in your readers (or viewers or listeners). Having your readers not having all the information can be priceless, but it's a very fine line to cross. My mind goes to Sherlock Holmes, where there are tons of details the reader simply cannot know, but the characters (Holmes, in particular) do know. Part of the charm of Holmes stories is in the role the reader plays. We're the Watson, the observer, and we get to experience the same wonder at deduction as those around the detective. It's heavy handed missing out there, but it's for a purpose, and one that suits the genre.

Doing something like that in a fantasy story, banking on the reader's being woefully ignorant of crucial information, can be more harming than anything. So missing out is a tool to be used skillfully and sparingly, at least in general.

But when you miss out on events, when you're reading a book through the eyes of a character who has a finger in every pie... well, that's a situation where our own immersion works against us.

In The Gate of the Feral Gods, we have a big time skip. In the series, each floor of the dungeon only exists for a certain number of days. Because of that, every day is critical. Every hour is, even. It's time to figure out the first priority: getting down to the next floor. After that, it's crucial time to train, to grind, to work on bigger problems like keeping as many other humans alive as possible and breaking the system from within. You know, all that stuff.

So losing FIVE DAYS is a humongous blow. When a floor is only open for fifteen days, losing five of them is literally stealing a third of your time there. There's no way to get them back and no way to know exactly what happened in those hours. Sure, we hear bits and pieces of what happened, but it's literal time lost with no recovering. Just dealing with the loss and moving on.
The first time I listened to the book, I was talking about the loss with the friend who introduced me to the books. At the time, from an author standpoint, I wondered if the reason for such a theft of time was for a couple reasons:

1. The book was getting too long and needed trimming management

2. The actual content planned was thin and would have needed a lot of somewhat useless fluff to flesh out to the usual standard

3. The author had written himself into a corner on the plot points involved there and this was an easy out

That's meta-thinking there, like I said, from an author standpoint. What I neglected to think about at the time were the real stakes. I missed the trees because I was looking at the forest. The gaps Dinniman put there did a number of great things plotwise on several levels. It advanced the agency of many supporting characters. It upped the tension and urgency of Carl and Donut, who lost the time directly. The loss is reacted to and felt so suddenly, because it feels like no time passed. Like a coma or blackout. The time is just gone, for the reader, as well. Time becomes a commodity that can be stolen, just like anything else.

You know where else time becomes a rationed commodity this way? Interstellar.

It's the ticking clock, the looming deadline, and that's what Dinniman really ramps up in this book: that ticking clock. And he does it with a gut punch.

Don't be afraid to steal time from your readers or make them miss out. It can be useful just like any other technique. Practice at it. Make it hurt... but don't make it destroy too much.

​Once again, this is not a first impression of this book. I’ve listened to it MANY times and it’s part of one of my favorite series.

So, DCC book 3, The Dungeon Anarchist’s Cookbook. 
This is by far one of the most confusing books I’ve ever read, but the amazing thing is, I don’t care. I’ve listened to this book probably going on 10 times at this point, and I still only maybe halfway understand the mechanics of it.
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But that’s kind of the point, and it’s what I’m going to focus on for this review.

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. They say art is amazing because everyone experiences and interprets it differently. Those sayings could not be more true that when you inspect the Iron Tangle. So, a little context, without getting spoilery. This floor of the dungeon has its own unique theme, one that in story context they say is ambitious and unlike anything done before. 

Trains. A massive network of trains and train stations. Doesn’t sound so bad, right? Well, if you’ve ever navigated a metropolitan mass transit system, you’re maybe prepared for like 10% of what this floor has to offer. The Tangle is exactly what it is named: a tangle. There are hundreds (if not thousands) of train lines and a ridiculous number of train stations. Monsters ride the rails. Some trains only go on one-way trips. Some are on looped tracks. The characters have a whole thing going on most of the book trying to figure out where they want to go and then how to even get to where they want to be. It’s a total mindfuck to try and sort out and… Dinniman doesn’t care, in the best way.

He’s managed to write an entire book set in a place no one really understands. At least, no reader does. The point of a lot of the setup is that the layout makes sense to people in the DCC greater universe because it’s based on the context of things they’re familiar with but we simple Earthlings aren’t. We haven’t been exposed to a lot of the everyday technology, culture, and possibilities of the universe in the book series. We literally lack the context needed to interpret the art of this floor of the dungeon.

And that is what makes me, as a writer, admire what Dinniman has done. Not only has he created something completely alien, he has gotten across that it makes sense to aliens but not to us. The book actually has a disclaimer saying it’s really best not to try to understand the Iron Tangle.

It’s like a masterclass in bullshitting, when you get right down and think about it. I mean, to be totally honest, fiction writers/storytellers are nothing but professional bullshitters. I say that as a novelist and collaborative storyteller (read: tabletop RPG Game Master.) The whole job is to make up entertaining or poignant bullshit and make it look intentional. 

I don’t know if that’s something Dinniman really set out to do, or if he lucked into it, or what. Whatever the reason for the Iron Tangle being the affront to Earth logic the way it is, he did a great job bringing the characters along to understand their surroundings while still making it a challenge for the reader to make much sense out of it. It doesn’t help we pretty much cannot have a visual representation of it, mostly due to scale and a piece of huge context we get about it late in the book. The key to cracking it, so to speak. I’m sure someone, somewhere could make a real valid visual of it, but I absolutely would never take that kind of thing on myself.

This is a book where you really do just sort of need to let the setting wash over you. Everything else Dinniman has established so far in the series is still present and still at the forefront. The people are first and foremost. Their relationships, arcs, their fallings out, it’s all there. A lot of great interpersonal drama happens this book, and not always involving the characters you think will be involved.

It’s not even my least favorite DCC book, despite the confusion inherent in the level itself. Maybe it’s my inability to actually visualize stuff in my mind anyway that lets me brush off the frustration of trying to imagine the Tangle. Maybe not. Either way, always a good read or listen, this one. 

Once again, this is not a first impression of this book. I’ve listened to it MANY times and it’s part of one of my favorite series.
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I don’t think I’ve talked about this yet publicly, but those who know me should be familiar with my thoughts on the second book of a series. Second books are hard, and at least to my perception and experience, a lot of that is because of the nature of story structure. The beginning setup is exciting, the buildup to and crux of the climax are cathartic. But between those two areas, it’s hit or miss on how much excitement you can really manage. There’s a fine balance between boring and keeping things too tense and high-emotion for too long. Make things too exciting early, and you don’t leave yourself anywhere to grow to for the ending, and it becomes disappointing.

Carl’s Doomsday Scenario doesn’t have those problems.

I honestly don’t know how Dinniman does it. This is only book 2 of the series, and it’s just as exciting, fresh, and involved as book 1. The stakes are higher, the micro and macro plots all chug along at good paces, and the character growth is steady but still contained. He’s got a tight rein on the story and character growth, which I almost can’t even fathom. The road map this man must have, even of just the basics of things like abilities and stat growth, must be insane. It’s my understanding that Dinniman is largely a pantser, which I respect immensely. Not planning for me is a huge disaster when it comes to actually finishing projects, so I need a detailed idea about where I’m going, if not also how I’ll get there.

Anyway, a quick shakedown of what this book’s about. Now through the “tutorial” floors of the dungeon, Carl and Donut get to go through the game’s race and class selection before starting the third floor, the first of the regular themed floors. In the dungeon, floors 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, and 18 all share a common overarcing form and storyline, based off an old fable or child’s tale. Floor 3 is the Overcity, and it’s also the first time players are randomly spawned, so it opens up the character list to people from all over the world, not just the geographic location we started in.

The game has gone open world, baby! Even so, each book being its own setting change (yeah, that’s kind of the format of the series, not a spoiler) is a great tool in his belt for this. Each floor is self-contained, so there’s a lot of freshness with the problems of each area, with really only interpersonal issues being what’s carried over. Any floor issues are cast away with the ending of the floor. And there’s still the greater universe outside the dungeon in play, but that’s semi-intangible.

In this book, we also get introduced to quests, elite mobs, a day/night cycle, all kinds of things. New skills, spells, and gear abound.

And yet, Dinniman controls everything to a ridiculous degree. Sure, every single living player has moved far beyond the capabilities of a normal human, but there are still limits to what is possible.

For example, Carl doesn’t really have any good way to ascend or descend unless there are like… stairs or ladders.

That’s something I can really say for Dinniman. He’s great at pointing out small weaknesses and flaws in his characters and making them bigger than they seem to be or even should be.

There’s a lot to learn from Dinniman in this book about pacing, growth, and exploiting the failures and flaws of your characters. And I gotta say, what a climax and denouement to this one!

I’ll come out upfront and say this is not a first impression of this book. I’ve listened to it MANY times and consider it one of my favorite series.
Ah, Dungeon Crawler Carl. This is an irreverent, humorous-but-heartfelt LitRPG novel that very perfectly fits in with the gamer mentality.
At least in my personal opinion.
It’s cliche to say this, but it really feels like this is a book that was written for me. I’m definitely right smack in the target demographic (nerdy lifelong gamer/reader), but it’s not as niche as that might seem. Seriously. The fan base is vast and varied, but all as passionate about the themes, characters, and memes that make up this fantastic series.
Anyway, this particular book. To sum up, our main character is Carl, a mid-20s man who just broke up with his girlfriend and still has her pampered show cat in his apartment. Everything’s fine until the world ends.
You heard right. Aliens have claim to all the resources on Earth, and the time has come to harvest. However, intergalactic policy states that if a resident of the planet successfully navigates all 18 floors of a dungeon, they can lay claim to the planet and save it.
Enter the Dungeon.
This book covers floors 1 and 2 of the dungeon, bringing readers along with Carl as he learns how the game works and sees how people adjust to literally living in a televised game where magic is real, goblins are addicted to meth, and when you die, you die. I’d love to go into the plot, but to be totally serious, it’s best taken with no expectations to allow the insanity and joy of it all to just wash over you and take you by surprise.
Just know there’s no gratuitous sex, but there is a lot of really strong language, gore, more gore, and MORE GORE. There is sexual innuendo and suggestive stuff, but nothing explicit there. Not for the faint of heart.
Dinniman is a master of the unexpected but logical. Some of the unexpected twists and events seem to hit out of left field, but in retrospect (or a second or millionth read/listen), they are telegraphed well and subtly. Even better, he very deftly introduces the reader to the intricacies of the game along with Carl.
So, I mentioned relistening/rereading. This book is well worth multiple intakes. I probably listen to the series 2-3 times a year since I first discovered it, and I’m always finding something new about it: some new hint, detail, or just straight up something that I missed previously due to a momentary lapse in attention or memory.
I want to discuss the audiobooks primarily, mostly because they are so wonderfully done. The majority of that is at the hands of the narrator, the incredible Jeff Hayes. This man, guys… This man is so spectacular at voices and deliver that it surprises a lot of people to realize he does ALL THE VOICES. With a couple exceptions, Hayes does them all. If he isn’t doing a character, it’s because there was a guest voice actor brought in for someone particular— sometimes to great effect, sometimes not so much coughCriticalDrinkercough
I have not read the paper or ebook versions of this book, though I do own an autographed copy of this one. I’ve only listened to the audio, and it’s a hoot in and of itself. It truly brings the story alive, and that’s not even counting the fact that there are AUDIO IMMERSION TUNNELS happening, where the books are full audio dramas. I’ve heard snippets of those, and they’re one step further into really making the books real.
I plan to do reviews of each book as I work my way through the series again. Naturally, as we progress, the number of times I’ve consumed the later books will be less than the first few. When I first got introduced to the series, I believe book 5 had just been released. So I’ve been around for the releases of books 6 and 7, and am eagerly awaiting book 8. But book 6 I’ve only listened to 3 or 4 times, and book 7 twice. So I’ll be reviewing that after my third listen. Keep your eyes out for my impressions of the books, and seriously, grab a copy. You won’t regret it!

This being the first of the book reviews I’ve done in quite a while, I suppose I should clarify what my intentions are with them. In the past, I have written book reviews mostly with the intent of supporting author friends. I see no reason why I shouldn’t continue to support authorly friends, so if you have a book you’d like me to read and review for you, please contact me. I will warn that physical reading take a lot longer for me these days. Audio is better, mostly because of time and attention constraints. I have drive time that I can dedicate to listening where I can’t read a physical book while doing that. That’s a good 5 hours a week just listening to books. I also listen while cleaning, eating, cooking, that sort of thing. I can try physical reading again too, so please don’t let that deter you if you want my thoughts on your work.
I digress, as I so often do. What I intend with these book reviews: my own thoughts, such as they may be. Sometimes, it may be a lot of focus on plot and character. It could be on craft, voice, even setting. Knowing me, a lot will just be general thoughts. Anyway, in short, just know that I read widely and enjoy talking about books in general. So expect that from these reviews.
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This is not a first impression of The Handmaid’s Tale. No, I first listened to this audiobook probably 10-ish years ago. But I just finished a re-listen and it was better than I remember. And I remember liking it a lot then. That said, here are my thoughts on it as it sits fresh on my mind.
Atwood writes beautifully. Simply put, it’s wonderful prose that, at least in my opinion, perfectly encapsulates the protagonist’s mindset. It isn’t until the epilogue that we discover this story was “discovered” as a series of audio cassettes, but that one revelation makes the whole thing make so much more sense to me, from a technical standpoint. The fact that I have absorbed it through audiobook only drives that further home. The delivery of the version I have, read by Claire Danes, truly feels like half of a conversation, like the oral passing down of stories from elder to child a generation or two removed.
That’s what so much of this feels like to me: like a story told, not one written. Obviously I don’t know if Atwood intended that to be its format from the beginning, or if it came along during the process somewhere, but I like to believe it is intended to be heard more than read, in general.
I’m writing this on October 13, 2025 in the United States, and it goes without saying that this book very much hits hard right now. It’s well-documented that Atwood took a lot of inspiration from Orwell’s 1984, another dystopian fascist novel. It’s far too clear to see the parallels in Atwood’s prose and the current living situation of every human demographic other than rich, white, male Evangelical. What’s even more terrifying is that the things Atwood describes not only could happen, they are happening in the U.S. even as I type this. Speaking as someone who falls into a number of minority categories (being trans for one), it really struck my nerves and fears in a way it didn’t ten years ago.
What Atwood really nailed, at least to my listening this time through, is all the small ways so many people break the rules. The intense strictures of everyday life in the Republic of Gilead are no way for people to live. Even those who benefit from the rules know that. Even they: the Commander, Serena Joy, the aunts, they all have their own small breaks that give them more reason to go on. The Commander with something as simple as playing Scrabble, one of the Marthas (I forget which one, Rita maybe) cutting radishes into rosettes and other shapes, all the people with cigarettes, mentions of the black market, all these things build up. They are proof of humanity’s survival and constant desire to be more than a basic nothingness.
Yet somehow, Atwood always managed to capture the sense of hope. Hope buried, lost, found again, shared, kept, coveted, reveled in. Even at its darkest moments, those where the writings and rules of the government of Gilead are at their worst, Offred and other characters demonstrate that they are still people. At their basest, most primal state, they are still people with wants and needs and the drive to find ways to survive and achieve those wants. Something as small as a single match hidden in a bed frame is a symbol of something strong waiting to break free.
I can’t help but compare it to another media tale of “the beforetimes” transitioning to the current horrific situation, told in a horrid way from one sufferer to the next: Valerie’s autobiography in V for Vendetta. The single match being hope, Valerie’s “one inch” being the last thing that cannot be taken from us.
Seeing the country I grew up in turning into a world where threat of my being disappeared is very real makes those small hopes mean a lot more. That one inch of self is critical. That one shred of being unapologetically who you are, in whatever small ways you can, is a valuable way to fight back. It might not be a lot, but then, it might be everything.