An Avalanche Needed to Bury This Book (Jack Frost review)
Some things make no sense. Take me, and cold weather. There isn’t much extra “fluff” on my frame, which means I’ll probably shiver if the smallest breeze picks up. My extremities have less-than-robust circulation, so my fingertips and toes have this annoying little habit of going numb and turning a creepy shade of death whenever it’s chilly outside. And don’t get me started on the thought of jumping into any (unheated) body of water unless the day is over 90 degrees F. By all rights, then, I should have an aversion to all that is snowy or cold… yet that isn’t the case, at all. Maybe I just revel in being perverse (entirely possible), or proving how tough I am (also believable), but I actually really like that stuff, including reading about and watching it. So, when Christopher Greyson’s Jack Frost came across my radar, I thought, “A P.I. takes a case on the down-low for a client who produces a popular survivalist reality TV show, and the current season, set high up ...