Cari Mora

Cari Mora

From the creator of Hannibal Lecter and The Silence of the Lambs comes a story of evil, greed, and the consequences of dark obsession.Twenty-five million dollars in cartel gold lies hidden beneath a mansion on the Miami Beach waterfront. Ruthless men have tracked it for years. Leading the pack is Hans-Peter Schneider. Driven by unspeakable appetites, he makes a living fles...

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Title:Cari Mora
Author:Thomas Harris
Rating:
Edition Language:English

Cari Mora Reviews

  • J.D. Barker

    With CARI MORA Thomas Harris does what he does best - takes us on a spine-tingling, edge-of-your-seat ride steeped in intrigue and nail-biting suspense. You will not sleep. You will not eat. This book screams to be devoured in one sitting.

  • Jason

    Goodness....eek.

    What....uh....what was that?

    Cari Mora, the most recent brain child of famed writer Thomas Harris, does 2 things brilliantly: it confuses the reader, and it bores the reader.

    There are so many flimsy character connections and even flimsier motives behind the characters' actions that I didn't know what the hell the novel was trying to be. Crime novel? Thriller? Psycho-thriller? Horror? Historical fiction? Nature pamphlet? Miami vacation tour brochure? We are introduced to so many ch

    Goodness....eek.

    What....uh....what was that?

    Cari Mora, the most recent brain child of famed writer Thomas Harris, does 2 things brilliantly: it confuses the reader, and it bores the reader.

    There are so many flimsy character connections and even flimsier motives behind the characters' actions that I didn't know what the hell the novel was trying to be. Crime novel? Thriller? Psycho-thriller? Horror? Historical fiction? Nature pamphlet? Miami vacation tour brochure? We are introduced to so many characters, with almost no character development for any of them, that I couldn't remember to which team each of them belonged, nor who was the bad guy or good guy half the time.

    I'm not entirely sure what point Cari had in even being in the story, other than to be a half-assed attempt by Harris at constructing a successful heroine on par with Sterling in Silence of the Lambs. She is given bizarre, choppy flashbacks which are supposed to give us some insight into why she is the way that she is - but it fails, because Harris forgets to tell the reader just who the hell Cari Mora is supposed to be. Why is she there? What's her purpose? What's her motive for anything? Because I'm not believing her past as having any connection to her present-day motives. Her character might have made sense if handled more carefully, and/or if it had been fleshed out. She's interesting...ish, but only if the writer does her story justice. Her story felt lazily done, as though Harris wanted us to care about her, maybe even cry over her, but didn't want to actually put in the work to get the reader to that point.

    Then there was Hans Whomever: the villain that wasn't. I don't even really know what to say other than I have no idea if he was there for the gold, or to murder people, or to kidnap Cari, or to get his jollies off, or to....whatever. I just am not sure. One thing is for sure: he ain't no Hannibal. Not scary. Not creepy. Not really anything.

    By far the most interesting character in this novel was the random crocodile, which even got its own brief chapter of about 3 pages near the latter portion of the book. Also some of the birds. The birds are nice. Tweet tweet.

    The chapters were also confusing. The locations were sometimes unclear to me, though I was sometimes quite bored so I might have been zoning in and out. This might be surprising; at first glance, you'd think that a 300+ page book has plenty of room to fully flesh out an interesting story. Not this kind of story, nosiree. There's too much back story and too much historical significance to a lot of it to just gloss over the way Harris did. This book could have been 200 pages longer, maybe more, and then it might have been good. Also, don't be fooled into believing for a second that this book is a legitimate 300 pages - the font is so large it reminds me of those times in university when I'd increase my font size to make my essay a couple pages longer. I'd be surprised if this was even a 250 page manuscript, then suddenly became 300+ when they increased the font size from 12 to 16. Oh, and also added a blank page in between each of the chapters, which were only like 3 pages each to begin with.

    It wasn't all bad, though. It had some good moments. Some of the action-y moments were good, but too short-lived. I'd have liked more of that. It was just missing complex characters; what we got were cardboard cutout characters and an anti-climatic conclusion. Typical Good, Typical Bad, and finally, Typical Ending. It felt lazily composed of, hastily published. Apart from the beautiful book jacket, there's not too much going on here.

    Perhaps in time, and with distance, this book will improve in my head. I've also rounded up, cuz I just feel bad giving it 1 star.

    Until that time, onwards.

  • Nilufer Ozmekik

    Two it cannot be true I waited for 13 years and got this boring, predictable book with worst plot reminds you of low budgeted action movies stars!

    As soon as I hear, one of the greatest thriller writers is back with a new book, I started to dance and raise my punch in the air while I was screaming “Yess!”. Well, when I start flipping the pages, my punch was still raised in the air but this time , it was punching an invisible man ( actually I was imagining the writer on my head, because I was so p

    Two it cannot be true I waited for 13 years and got this boring, predictable book with worst plot reminds you of low budgeted action movies stars!

    As soon as I hear, one of the greatest thriller writers is back with a new book, I started to dance and raise my punch in the air while I was screaming “Yess!”. Well, when I start flipping the pages, my punch was still raised in the air but this time , it was punching an invisible man ( actually I was imagining the writer on my head, because I was so pissed off when I see missing potentials and opportunities and this book is totally both of them)

    We meet Hans Peter Schneider, a serial killer, sadistic, dangerous man but there is nothing sophisticated or intriguing about him( if you compare him with Hannibal, he’s Disney character and worst copycat, only interesting thing he shares name with Hans Gruber/ all time best villain 😊)rents the house on Miami Waterfront was once owned by notorious Pablo Escobar,for finding millions of dollars of buried gold.

    The house caretaker Cari Mora, tormented but tough heroine, escaped from violent past, is still scared of being sent back to her native country.

    When I expect more Chianti and fava beans, I didn’t even get a Cuban cigar. Because vague and graphic parts weren’t terrifying, they were just distasteful!

    From the beginning, I waited to see more action, more complications, anything witty, smart, surprising but I got none of them. I got bored and wanted to take an early Siesta break because I couldn’t stop my yawning !

    Dull and pointless characterization, a storyline loses its own way and finishes predictably.

    Well Hans- Cari’s only similarities with Hannibal and Clarice are the first letters of their names. They are never gonna have memorable, creepy , blood freezing prey and hunter kinda relationship !

  • Darwin8u

    Ugh. I bought a copy with Harris’ signature in it from B&N. If not for the neat autograph, I’d ask for my money back. The best thing about this book was the cover. Someone needed to pay-off a mortgage, a mistress, or send their kid to Harvard. I feel like I did when I was a kid and saw Tom Clancey jump the shark. It is so bad, it makes me question all his other books a bit.

  • Krystin Rachel

    |

    German sausage.

    Lisbeth Salander on Ambien.

    Twisted into boring knots.

    I can't believe I waited 13 years for the author who inspired my love of writing and reading and serial killers, to reenter my life only put me to fucking sleep.

    I'm so sorry Mr. Harris, but girl what is you doing?

    After such an extended hiatus, one would think the brilliant creator of Hannibal Lecter - arguably the greatest villain of all time - had come out

    |

    German sausage.

    Lisbeth Salander on Ambien.

    Twisted into boring knots.

    I can't believe I waited 13 years for the author who inspired my love of writing and reading and serial killers, to reenter my life only put me to fucking sleep.

    I'm so sorry Mr. Harris, but girl what is you doing?

    After such an extended hiatus, one would think the brilliant creator of Hannibal Lecter - arguably the greatest villain of all time - had come out from hibernation because he had a story that just needed to be written and shared.

    After reading the blurb, I thought that was clearly the case here because the summary is straight fire so I needed this book immediately! ASAP. Pronto. Gimme!

    Beneath an unoccupied Miami Beach mansion that used to belong to Colombian drug lord Pablo Escobar, there is rumoured to be millions of dollars worth of gold. Two men are in a race to get to the gold first. Don Ernesto, a Colombian mob boss, and Hans-Peter Schneider, a depraved "business" man who kills women and sells their body parts to wealthy buyers to satisfy whatever their particular sexual fetish is.

    Cari Mora is a US immigrant and the caretaker for the mansion. A former child soldier, Cari has no idea there is literal treasure hidden under the house that is filled with slasher-movie props and "sex furniture." But to Ernesto and Hans-Peter, Cari is in the way and needs to go.

    Okay, so that's basically an amazing sounding story. It's got everything, hidden treasure, dead drug lords, the mafia, a heroine who is vying for the title of the newest Badass Female in Fiction, sex furniture and a demented body parts smuggler who really enjoys the murder-y part of his work.

    So, please, take a moment to register my utter shock and heartbreak that this book was boring AF.

    The only decent chapter was one told from the perspective of an alligator that was having digestive issues after eating a person. And honestly, that chapter made no sense in context with the rest of the novel and shouldn't have even been included. So, honestly, wtf?

    I can't believe the author who brought characters like Clarice Starling into existence could so completely miss the mark with the characters in this novel.

    Cari could have been a really amazing protagonist, but she's not given much to do. The plot dodges and drags around her and for a while, I was curious what her purpose even was. There are some clunky flashbacks to her past in Colombia that was meant to create an emotional, fleshed-out space for her, but those moments were so sterile in delivery that they failed to connect. Really all character development and tether to the plot is tenuous at best and non-existent at worst. And considering the book is named after her that's

    The intention was to have her be a badass - I've seen a couple of reviewers compare her to Lisbeth Salander, and I can see it. Cari is tough and damaged. She knows how to kill, how to survive. But Lisbeth shined because her motives and personality were vibrant and visceral, and she was so sharp in her dialogue and actions. Cari has the basics, but the execution is a flop. It's like she's an outline of a character and the author forgot to finish writing her.

    And let's talk about Hans-Peter Dingleberry-whatever.

    He's the main Big Bad of the story and what a hollow, shallow disappointment that is. I don't mean that in comparison to Hannibal. I'm putting that aside. Hans-Peter is lame as shit all on his very own. Try as he might, Hans never achieves becoming terrifying. Maybe it's partly because he keeps singing German limericks, I don't know, but he was a cartoon that might as well have been leaving ACME traps for Cari. Instead of creating tension and a palpable sense of danger, I found that he brought the feeling in the novel down to a level that was basically goofy.

    He wasn't scary. He wasn't even really very clear in his psychopathy. Okay, he killed his popsicle-parents, but what else is going on here? Why Hans?

    My opinion comes down to this: only one person has ever done a villain named Hans correctly, so don't even bother, honestly.

    Some other quick points: There were too many characters in this novel and they were 100% not required and only served to muddy up the plot waters.

    The pacing of this was so goddamn sedate you might as well stick it in a pill bottle and prescribe it to insomnia sufferers.

    The plot itself, while ballin' in a summary blurb, was actually very linear and didn't involve anything that could be described as climactic or unexpected. But at the same time, the narrative is complicated and hard to follow? And also totally uninteresting?? So, I guess props for confusing me with how this is possible.

    I don't understand how Thomas Harris could actually be the author behind this novel. What is happening?! I blame Trump. It's this goddamn multi-verse we slipped into in 2016 where nothing makes sense and Nazi are chillin'.

    I'm about to go all Annie Wilkes up in here.

    I love Thomas Harris dearly, and that's why this is getting two stars instead of one.

    But, it's a straight up mess.

    ⭐⭐ | 2 stars

  • Matthew

    1 star . . . maybe 1.5 because the climax was okay . . .

    I read through many other reviews of this book before starting my review. I have taken a lot of guff on at least one of my 1-star reviews in the past, so since I was feeling another 1-star review, I knew I should probably tread carefully. In this case, it seems like the majority agree with me.

    In at least one of the positive reviews I read it was mentioned that maybe memories of Silence of the Lambs was causing too much of a comparison and,

    1 star . . . maybe 1.5 because the climax was okay . . .

    I read through many other reviews of this book before starting my review. I have taken a lot of guff on at least one of my 1-star reviews in the past, so since I was feeling another 1-star review, I knew I should probably tread carefully. In this case, it seems like the majority agree with me.

    In at least one of the positive reviews I read it was mentioned that maybe memories of Silence of the Lambs was causing too much of a comparison and, thus, led to generally negative reviews. I like to think I went into this not expecting more of the same. If anything, I think it is more of a pre-conception of how I feel about Harris as an author. In this case, I have read Harris books I loved and Harris books I couldn’t stand, so I guess I was figuring anything goes!

    I will stress that I did not look at reviews of this before reading, so I was not influenced by bad reviews. In fact, the only thing I heard about it was from a person who liked it. So, by the time I was about 2/3 of the way through and thought the book was not good, I figured I would be in the minority of thinking this. Imagine my surprise when I went to Goodreads and saw an average review of 2.89 stars! (as of August 11th, 2019) So, I was going into this review feeling the same as many! As much as I don’t like to celebrate 1 star reviews, I am glad to have some company.

    From the very beginning I was not invested in the story at all. The beginning of the book must hook me and at least get me interested. I don’t care how unusual, bizarre, or hard to follow it becomes after that. Once I am hooked, I can then figure out if I am headed towards a low star or high star rating. In this case, Harris just kept throwing out rotten bait and I just kept swimming around the boat looking for something tantalizing. A couple of times I thought I finally got a really juicy nightcrawler, but then it fell of the hook, so I just kept on swimming. I mentioned earlier the climax was okay – maybe by then I was tired of swimming and just finally gave up and let a moderately-tasty morsel pull me in because I could sense the end was in sight. Needless to say, I hope my next excursion looking for a hook gets me pulled on board right away!

  • Ron Charles

    Gourmand serial killer Hannibal Lecter may be off the menu, but now his creator, Thomas Harris, has added a new dish of terror. “Cari Mora” is Harris’s first novel since “Hannibal Rising” appeared 13 years ago. Fans of his earlier best-selling books — and the movies and TV shows wrung from them — will taste familiar ingredients in “Cari Mora,” along with a touch of Stieg Larsson’s “Girl With the Dragon Tattoo” and even a dash of Carl Hiaasen’s Florida zaniness. But the whole thing would definite

    Gourmand serial killer Hannibal Lecter may be off the menu, but now his creator, Thomas Harris, has added a new dish of terror. “Cari Mora” is Harris’s first novel since “Hannibal Rising” appeared 13 years ago. Fans of his earlier best-selling books — and the movies and TV shows wrung from them — will taste familiar ingredients in “Cari Mora,” along with a touch of Stieg Larsson’s “Girl With the Dragon Tattoo” and even a dash of Carl Hiaasen’s Florida zaniness. But the whole thing would definitely go better with some fava beans.

    The story is mostly a snooze: not so much “The Silence of the Lambs” as

    . It opens in Biscayne Bay at a mansion once owned by the late Colombian drug lord Pablo Escobar. After passing through the hands of playboys, filmmakers and speculators, this fabled house now sits unused, filled with monster mannequins, slasher-movie props, an electric chair from Sing Sing and something called “sex furniture,” which I must ask about the next time I go to Ikea.

    Only one person has the nerve to work as a caretaker of this old house of horrors: a beautiful immigrant named Cari Mora. At the age of 11, Cari was. . . .

  • Sam Quixote

    I’d give this zero stars if I could - what an unbearably tedious load of twaddle Thomas Harris’ new novel, Cari Mora, was!

    Cari Mora is the caretaker of a house on the Miami waterfront that used to belong to Pablo Escobar. Unbeknownst to her, there’s millions of dollars of gold buried somewhere on the property and bad guys, including psychopathic Hans-Peter Schneider, are after it - which means she’s in the way and has to go. But, of course, Cari is no pushover - let battle commence!

    I don’t kno

    I’d give this zero stars if I could - what an unbearably tedious load of twaddle Thomas Harris’ new novel, Cari Mora, was!

    Cari Mora is the caretaker of a house on the Miami waterfront that used to belong to Pablo Escobar. Unbeknownst to her, there’s millions of dollars of gold buried somewhere on the property and bad guys, including psychopathic Hans-Peter Schneider, are after it - which means she’s in the way and has to go. But, of course, Cari is no pushover - let battle commence!

    I don’t know how a writer as experienced and talented as Harris could’ve made such a dog’s dinner of a seemingly straightforward story, but he completely bungles the execution. It’s an unfocused and unnecessarily complicated narrative with awkward scene transitions (random flashbacks to the past) and too many pointless details that slow an already sedate narrative down to an interminably glacial pace.

    A lot of the time it’s confusing and unclear what’s happening and why, and it’s always, always uninteresting! It amounts to one set of dull wafer-thin characters vs another set with a predictable conclusion - duuuh, d’you think the obviously “good” character prevails against the obviously “evil” character? Yuh huh!

    And that’s the other thing: the cast are a bunch of vaguely-written nobodies. Cari and Hans-Peter are bargain basement Clarice and Hannibal stand-ins while the rest - of which there are way too many, particularly as none of them are important anyway - may as well be called Stock Detective Character and Stock FBI Agent Character; that’s how memorable they are!

    Cari Mora fails across the board. Badly written, boring beyond belief, and a total waste of time, I can’t believe this is the same writer that gave us The Silence of the Lambs - what a difference 30 years makes, eh?

  • *TANYA*

    “Pulse pounding thriller” I CANNOT BELIEVE THOSE WORDS WERE USED TO DESCRIBE THIS BOOK!!! Yes, I’m yelling a’la Annie Wilkes!!! No, just no. I was soooo looking forward to this book, how is it the same author from Silence of Lambs wrote this caca-doodie!?!! Needless to say I am gravelly disappointed. (I think this is the first 1 star book of this year.)

  • ☘Misericordia☘ ~ The Serendipity Aegis ~  ⚡ϟ⚡ϟ⚡⛈ ✺❂❤❣

    Q:

    The crocodile, pleasantly full, swam south, submerging whenever a boat came by. She was a fourteen-foot saltwater crocodile and she spent part of her time in the Everglades eating juvenile Burmese pythons and the odd muskrat and nutria, but she preferred the salt bay of the South Bay Country Club, where she basked on land near the golf course fairway. ...

    Crocodiles, unable to chew, must eat large creatures in chunks after they have decomposed and softened. But Chihuahuas can be swallowed whole, as can corgis, Lhasa apsos and shih tzus. They can be eaten fresh without having to soften in a larder, such as the one the crocodile maintained beneath the Escobar house.

    Other than Felix, the crocodile had eaten only one human, a drunk who fell off a boat full of drunks and was not missed at the time or ever accounted for or mourned. She had a buzz for perhaps an hour after eating him.

    The crocodile did not dwell on eating humans, but with her prodigious memory for food and the locations of food, she did recall how refreshingly free humans were of hair and feathers and tough hide and horns and beaks and hooves. Unlike a pelican, which is more trouble than it is worth.

    Dog owners with their shorts and their plump white legs, sneaking along briskly in the gloaming following their pets, were attractive to her and they could not see very well as the light failed. It only called for patience.

    The crocodile suffered some small discomfort in the night passing Felix’s headlamp, and left it beside the fairway, to the puzzlement of the grounds-keepers. (c)

    Q:

    A progression of lights on and off up through the house as Cari made her way through the mannequins, the crouching movie monsters, the seventeen-foot Mother Alien from the Planet Zorn to reach her bedroom at the top of the stairs. (c)

    Q:

    He sat naked on a stool in the center of his tiled shower room, letting the many nozzles on the walls beat water on him from all directions. He was singing in his German accent: “… just singing in the rains. What a glorious feeling, I am haaaappy again.”

    He could see his reflection in the glass side of his liquid cremation machine where he was dissolving Karla, a girl who hadn’t worked out for business.

    In the rising mist Hans-Peter’s image on the glass looked like a daguerreotype. He struck the pose of Rodin’s The Thinker and watched himself out of the corner of his eye. A faint smell of lye rose with the steam.

    Interesting to see himself as The Thinker reflected on the glass, while behind the glass, in the tank, Karla’s bones were beginning to stand up out of the paste the corrosive lye water had made of the rest of her. The machine rocked, sloshing fluid back and forth. The machine burped and bubbles came up.

    Hans-Peter was very proud of his liquid cremation machine.... If a girl did not work out, Hans-Peter could just pour her down the loo in liquid form—and with no harmful effect on the groundwater. (c)

    Q:

    She did not blink. The black pupils of her eyes had the smudge of intelligence. (c)

    Q:

    Two men talking in the middle of the night. They are 1,040 miles apart. One side of each face is lit by a cell phone. They are two half-faces talking in the dark.

    “I can get the house where you say it is. Tell me the rest, Jesús.”

    The reply is faint through a crackle of static. “You paid one-fourth of what you promised.” Puff-puff. “Send me the rest of the money. Send it to me.” Puff-puff.

    “Jesús, if I find what I want with no more help from you, you will receive nothing from me never.”

    “That is truer than you know. That’s the truest thing you ever said in your life.” Puff-puff. “What you want is sitting on fifteen kilos of Semtex…if you find it without my help you will be splattered on the moon.”

    “My arm is long, Jesús.”

    “It won’t reach down from the moon, Hans-Pedro.”

    “My name is Hans-Peter, as you know.”

    “You’d put your hand on your peter if your arm was long enough? Is that what you said? I don’t want your personal information. Quit wasting time. Send the money.”

    The connection is broken. Both men lie staring into the dark.

    Hans-Peter Schneider is in a berth aboard his long black boat off Key Largo. He listens to a woman sobbing on the V-berth in the bow. He imitates her sobs. He is a good mimic. His own mother’s voice comes out of his face, calling the crying woman’s name. “Karla? Karla? Why are you crying, my dear child? It’s just a dream.” (c)

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