From Booklist: Ventura County probation officer, law student, and single mom Carolyn Sullivan, first introduced in Sullivan’s Law (2004), has a truly sinister criminal as a client this time. Sullivan is known throughout the county for her remarkable ability to get perps to talk–about why they did the heinous things they did. Meanwhile, it’s Carolyn’s brother, Neil, who causes her the most anxiety; he’s an artist and a dreamer, which Carolyn finds endearing, but he also lives dangerously close to the edge, which unnerves her. Too close, it turns out, when he calls Carolyn with the news that his girlfriend was found dead in his pool. Sure, he’s eccentric, but is he a killer? Carolyn has been protective of Neil since their father’s death, but when a family secret is revealed, she begins to doubt how well she really knows him. Still, she resolves to help him. This is a bit of a departure for Rosenberg, more psychological thriller than police procedural, but the sense of authenticity is still present, and the author’s ability to generate narrative drive still holds readers. A dark, perilous, and compelling ride. Mary Frances Wilkens
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From Publishers Weekly

Magazine junkies who remember the original Jane will devour this cheeky roman à clef by Jane Pratt’s former assistant of nine years. Unlike Anna Wintour’s alter ego in The Devil Wears Prada, Yampolsky’s alter ex-boss is an off-the-rack heroine. Raised on a commune by inattentive hippie parents, Georgia girl Jill White was an outcast at her New England prep school before a predictably eye-opening stint at Bennington. After Jill descends on New York, a succession of magazine gigs leads her to editing Cheeky (i.e., ’90s grrrl glossy Sassy) and, eventually, Jill. At that eponymous publication, idealistic Jill goes up against bottom-line obsessed Nestrom Media (a thinly veiled Condé Nast). Fictionalizations of Pratt’s personal and professional moments as editor-in-chief add frisson: Sassy‘s skewering profile of actress Tiffani-Amber Thiessen becomes Cheeky‘s roasting of “Kelli Hyer-Burke”; there are plenty of other cameos. In the end, Jill comes off as a sometimes selfish but mostly likable woman who gets beat by corporate magazine land. Survivors of the era, however, may question Jill’s claim that she “coined the term grunge.”
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