Review: The Cormorant by Chuck Wendig (4.75/5)

A (Brief) Moment of Doubt

Maybe it’s me.

Maybe it was the timing of reading The Cormorant shortly after having the first pages of my Work In Progress brutally critiqued. Whatever the cause, my initial reaction to the first pages of this book was disappointment.

I understand why Wendig starts out with an Interlude (which he has used to great effect with Miriam’s story in the past), but after a few pages I was wondering if maybe Chuck had pushed out too many books in too short a time. I just wasn’t jonesing the way that I expected to.

Then the bearded one bitchslapped me back to reality.

Miriam Black is back and she’s still trying to figure out how to live with her gift and her own bad choices.

Joey HiFi's Amazing Cover for Chuck Wendig's The Cormorant

The Cormorant from Angry Robot: Wendig lucks out again with another brilliant Joey Hi-Fi cover!

And Then Hang On, Because “Holy Shit!”

The remainder of the first quarter of the book catches us up with Miriam and sets us down the path to her next grand adventure. Miriam is heading to Florida, which seems the perfect place to go when you want to crank the volume on the fuckedupedness that is her life.

Miriam has been hired to tell someone how they are going to die. She has a vision of her client’s death, but this time Miriam sees something new — a message from a killer. A message written in blood. A message to her.

Think about that for a moment — cogitate on the possibilities and implications of a killer stalking Miriam across time and death.


From there, the booster rocket separates and the story hurtles forward, accelerating to within a hair’s breadth of losing control. There are a few more Holy Shit! moments, the return of Miriam’s mother and a delicious blindside from Miriam’s past.

I described the first Miriam book as GrittyDarkFast!, so I suppose I should call The Cormorant GrittierDarkerFaster!, but that doesn’t take its’ full measure.

This book is brutal and I finished it feeling like a dirty, over-wrung dishtowel.

Can we go again?

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