I hated this book. I wouldn’t have finished it were it not for The Project and that I needed it for the tally.
I have a longtime fascination with forensic science (which I had way before it was cool and popular, I feel compelled to point out) and studied it for a short time in graduate school, so pop-science books about it are usually a fun read. One of my favorites of the genre is Dead Men Do Tell Tales, by the late William Maples, one of the founders of the science of forensic anthropology.
This book promised an inside look at the life of a real crime scene analyst and her adventures. What we got were some drawn-out, not terribly interesting anecdotes with no beginning, middle or end, related by an extremely unpleasant narrator who seems to have nothing but contempt and disdain for everyone who isn’t her. She writes her “adventures” as if she’s writing a sitcom script starring herself as the cleverest, most snarky ones, giving herself all the best smartass lines. I say “best” with tongue in cheek, but she isn’t very funny, but clearly thinks she is.
The book is also rife with egregious editing errors. Three times the word “hoards” is used when “hordes” is intended. The tone is offensive, there are long tangents into things I don’t care about (such as her mother’s superstitiousness and – no kidding – the toilet habits of pretty much everybody Kollman knows), and based on the slapdash way she seems to have gone about her job I’ll be amazed if she ever gets another one once people read this book.