I don’t know what I was thinking requesting this from NetGalley. I have the hardest time writing about Harper’s books. I only managed to get one word posted about his last one—and that’s not enough for NetGalley. So, yeah, this took several days longer than it should’ve. But I can almost live with this.
A Violent Masterpiece
DETAILS:
Publisher: Mulholland Books
Publication Date: April 28, 2026
Format: eARC
Length:TEXT
Read Date: April 27, 2026
The Sequel-ness of the Book
This is a follow-up to 2023’s Everybody Knows, but I really wouldn’t say this is a sequel. It’s more of a shared universe kind of thing. The Venn Diagram of the two novels does have some overlap in terms of characters, locations, corporate entities, and events. But the two novels are entirely self-contained and you don’t need to read Everybody Knows to fully appreciate A Violent Masterpiece.
That said—if you read Everybody Knows and want to know what happens in those situations (or at least many of them) six months down the road—you’ll be satisfied. But honestly, that was such a perfect way to end a novel, if you don’t want to step back in—you’re good.
Similarly, if you read A Violent Masterpiece and think “I’d like to know a little bit about how things got to this point,” Everybody Knows, exists. But you have everything you need in these pages.
Now, with that out of the way…
What’s A Violent Masterpiece About?
Take some characters:
The first is Jake Deal. He livestreams crime scenes, tours of historic L.A. crimes, and more. He used to work for a TMZ-like media company, and he still has the skills to get the dirt on people. He’s given an opportunity to make some good money if he uses those skills on a few targets.
A homeless woman, dealing with some dubious legal charges, who is trapped in an uncaring (at best) system.
A serial killer, the L.A. Ripper, killing women throughout the city. The LAPD isn’t prepared to call the killings related, but the rumor mill and the Internet are more than prepared to.
A former TV star/producer who is (very credibly) accused of any number of sex crimes, who is prepared to start naming names of accomplices and others who are just as guilty (if not more so). If he’s going down, he’s not going down alone.
Kara Delgado, a former barista, who was sucked in by the glamor and glitz—and generous salary—to work for a private concierge company. In that role she’ll procure just about anything someone who has the money wants. She’s not sure that that “just about anything” covers anymore, and is starting to have some doubts about the whole thing (but can she walk away?)
Jake’s former boss at the not-TMZ company. She used to work with the producer. She’s involved with some of the same people that use Kara’s company, too. She finds herself entangled in the legal and financial fallout of the producer’s fall into ignominy.
A defense lawyer—think Mickey Haller in the opening pages of The Lincoln Lawyer (before he starts to make a name for himself and some bigger money). Doug Gibson thinks of himself as the knife you bring to a gunfight—and while he may not win, the prosecution’s case will not walk away unscarred.
Throw these characters, a couple of corporations, other entities and far, far more money than a mortal and comprehend and mix them into the heat of L.A.—with all its lights, parties, action, would-be stars, hangers-on, drugs, wealth, and violence. They’re all on courses that will collide—the questions are, who will survive, what will be made known, will anyone I didn’t just name care, and will anything change?
Why did I pick this up? Why did I keep reading?
Jordan Harper. ‘Nuff said.
What does this book tell us about humanity?
There are no guys with white hats running to the rescue. The one character here who is tempted in their better moments to regard themselves that way isn’t really—and when pushed just right, falls apart and casts off his morality.
But for many of the characters—our three primary and at least one other (that I will remain vague on), there can come a breaking point. A point where they cannot keep going down whatever destructive/self-destructive, amoral path they’re on and they are and they have to depart from that path and try to balance the scales, make amends, mitigate the evil they see (and may have participated in). They’re relatable, they’re believable—they’re broken and trying to make their way in the world to find a little peace for themselves, and maybe some others, too. They’re not trying to fix every injustice, right every wrong—just maybe not let things get worse in their immediate circle.
Alternatively, I’d like to say that Harper shows how even at their worst, there are glimmers of hope of some people—there are some “villains” that aren’t all bad, there’s a streak of goodness in them, some kindness—even a part of them that regrets the evil they do and they want to turn from it—and just might. I’d like to say that, but no. There are some truly vile, corrupt, and evil people—alone or in concert with others—that are wholly despicable.
That’s fitting for a noir novel. It also seems pretty realistic.
So, what did I think about A Violent Masterpiece?
So yeah, things sound pretty bleak after that last sentence. But here’s the difference between reality—in all of it’s banality, evil, and bleakness—and a Harper novel. Harper’s voice, style, characterization, and dialogue are just beautiful. You can get lost in that, revel in it, enough that you can set aside the depravity from time to time and just focus on that.
I think the pacing of this book is a little faster, a little smoother, than Harper’s previous novels. I’d even say that the primary characters are 1-3% more likable. Although, even as I say that, I want to note that every one of Harper’s novels feel so different from each other that it’s hard to say something like that with any degree of confidence. Even the two that are most related.
This is a book that’s going to haunt me. Probably not to the point that Everybody Knows did, just due to the nature of the last couple of chapters of each.
Political commentary, social commentary, cultural commentary—even pop culture commentary. There’s little that Harper doesn’t put in his sights. And he nails it at every turn.
From the first chapter, it was clear that this was going to be a rollicking read. I found myself in a situation with nothing to do but read for a couple of hours and was able to read the first half of this in one sitting. And despite the situation being resolved, I thought about sticking it out longer so I could finish, no matter what side of midnight it was. It was good to get a breather to mull on the book some—but boy howdy, it’d have been satisfying to gulp it in one.
This is a harrowing look at L.A. and the industries the run it (and the money and depravity they allow to flourish). But it’s not just about L.A.—as the novel reminds us, L.A. is America. Everything that happens in this novel happens all around the country on different scales. We’re swimming in it, it’s just a matter of if we want to see it. Harper holds the mirror up to L.A., to the U.S.A., and to ourselves. The challenge is not to avert our eyes.
This is just a brilliant read.
Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Little, Brown and Company via NetGalley in exchange for this post, which contains my honest opinion—thanks to both for this.
This post contains an affiliate link. If you purchase from it, I will get a small commission at no additional cost to you. As always, the opinions expressed are my own.
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