Although it starts out like a typical international crime thriller, Burdett's Bangkok Haunts quickly spins out of control through cultural mysticism.

I didn't mind the paranormal twist, however, by the last third of the novel, I was completely thrown into a foreign world where magic is as normal as breathing. Although Burdett writes with a command of knowledge of Thai culture, Buddhism, and investigative procedures, he cannot capture my mind and heart the way he did with Bangkok Tattoo.

I am a little hesitant to dive into the next novel in this series, as it explores another form of Buddhism with great depth, but Burdett's power as an author is his ability to leave you wanting more even when that more is not quite understood.

A challenging book in a hybrid genre, perfect for the reader wanting to grow in spiritual awareness while enjoying the rocky ride of a psychological suspense crime thriller. ( )

Okay, that's it, the ooky horror gore aspect has risen with each book in this series. And now I'm done. I liked the elements of Bangkok police noir, Thai Buddhism and sex industry characters they've all shared. I just don't like that the author apparently feels that he must top himself with grossness each time. ( )

Thai policeman half American, solves murder of his lover

Sonchai Jitpleecheep is shown a snuff film, and the murdered woman is Damrong, a prostitute with whom he fell madly and obsessively in love. Sonchai becomes haunted by the film, and is joined by an female FBI agent and his trusty male partner, who is undergoing a sex change funded by Sonchai. Once again, Sonchai takes on the politically powerful, including his crooked police boss. A lot of Far Eastern mysticism as in Burdett's prior books, while Sonchai works out who really killed Damrong and why.
( )

Not sure if I just read a sex tourism guide, a mystery, or some basic male purience with a Buddhist cover story. Maybe it's cross-cultural training about Bangkok sex work and societal corruption practices. Maybe it's a ghost story. But whatever you want it to be, the book could offend most women I know.

The sex, however, is not panting, drippy sex--well, maybe for some it could be-- but more of a plot device.

I do not know if the religious rituals and mouthings rise above exoticism, or if the cultural details ring true, but I can judge the characters depicted in the book, or at least the dead, snuffed uber-prostitute who kicks off the mystery. The author creates her as a new version dragon lady, trapping men in her hot little lap. I cannot suspend my disbelief enough to let her slip by. ( )