Johnny has
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| # | cover | title | author | isbn | isbn13 | asin | num pages | avg rating | num ratings | date pub | date pub (ed.) | rating | my rating | review | notes | recommender | comments | votes | read count | date started | date read |
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| 0765342944
| 9780765342942
| 3.49
| 57
| 2001
| Dec 15, 2002
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Disclaimer: It's pretty light on history, but what's there (except for Shakespeare's actual actions for purposes of story) seems accurate. Imagine the...more Disclaimer: It's pretty light on history, but what's there (except for Shakespeare's actual actions for purposes of story) seems accurate. Imagine the royal court of the Elizabethan Era (Shakespeare’s, not our current one] and all of the hangers-on in Elizabeth’s entourage. In The Slaying of the Shrew, Simon Hawke has a character describe the royal procession as Elizabeth’s sycophantic pilot fish (p. 133). I love this type of verbal imagery, much like the very complimentary comment that Will Shakespeare (yes, THAT Will Shakespeare) makes with regard to a character who states that he is very plain of speech and wit. Shakespeare looks out at a gaggle of nobility and wealth and states that “even a plain bird stands out among all this plumage.” (p. 175) If you enjoy that type of wordplay, you’ll enjoy these Shakespearean mysteries (not “written” by Shakespeare, although that isn’t unusual according to some scholars) where Shakespeare hasn’t yet penned (or, perhaps, pretended to pen) his famous plays and solves mysteries that leap from a twisted premise from those plays. Of course, speaking of personalities sometimes credited with being Shakespeare (apparently competing with himself), Christopher Marlowe always seems to be in the background of these mysteries and Shakespeare even claims to be Marlowe when it looks like he is going to be in trouble. In this novel, there is indeed a “shrew” (modern translation: forthright, independent and intelligent woman) named Catherine who has threatened society’s status quo and dampened her allegedly “slutty” sister’s happiness by refusing to marry the most obliging suitors simply because she didn’t love them and valued her happiness and future above her father’s ambition. Unlike some, she opts to do something to advance the revolution and she creates an elaborate plot against her father’s will which, of course, doesn’t work out as she expected it to end. In the Department of Coincidences, Catharine’s (Should we just admit she is the model for “Kate?”) best friend is Elizabeth Darcie (Wonder where Hawk came up with that name?), the heart’s desire of Shakespeare’s friend, Symington-Smythe (aka Tuck). And, in a further brief I will file with the Department of Coincidences, the Queen’s Players have been engaged to perform a play as part of several day’s festivities at the country manor where the wedding is to take place. Indeed, the players are to dress up as Roman Senators and greet the wedding party at their barge as they portray Caesar and Cleopatra. As a result of these coincidences, Tuck’s love for Elizabeth, Catharine’s love for another, and Catharine’s advice to Elizabeth all tangle together in a most tender trap. I think Shakespeare himself would enjoy the comedic aspects that surround this engaging little mystery—engaging enough that the solution is by no means telegraphed except in part. It’s one of those where you say, “I knew it!” just before you have to say, “But I didn’t know THAT!” Now, I know you’re going to be shocked when you discover that there is at least one funeral in this murder mystery. It’s like gambling in Rick’s Café from Casablanca; I know you were shocked, but here are your winnings. The funeral features a line reminiscent of a recurring verse in the biblical book of Daniel. Hawke writes, “The musicians who had been engaged to play for the wedding now played for the funeral instead, offering up sweet and solemn tunes which they played upon lutes, recorders, citterns, sackbuts, harps, and psalteries, coaxing more than a few tears from the guests…” (p. 142) [The italics are mine and offer the echo of Daniel, though the list of instruments serves a far different purpose.] Speaking of Rick’s Café, you’ll probably also be shocked to discover that both Shakespeare’s and Smythe’s lives are in danger in the course of this story. Of course, since the series continues with Much Ado About Murder, you probably also know that, for a modern novelist, Hawke is no George R. R. Martin when it comes to dealing with his protagonists. I don’t know about you, but there’s a place for both of them on my bookshelves. (less) | Notes are private!
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| Jun 13, 2013
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Jun 13, 2013
| Paperback
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| 0312513941
| 9780312513948
| 3.64
| 42
| Jan 1986
| Jan 01, 1986
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I generally love the Toby Peters mysteries by the late film historian, Stuart Kaminsky. Peters, as former studio guard and private detective (in the S...more
I generally love the Toby Peters mysteries by the late film historian, Stuart Kaminsky. Peters, as former studio guard and private detective (in the Sam Spade mode), consistently becomes involved in mysteries that involve one or more celebrities as potential victims, suspects, and/or allies. The Man Who Shot Lewis Vance is not exception to the Kaminsky formula. He’s crossed paths with W. C. Fields, Mae West, the Marx Brothers, Judy Garland, Bela Legosi, Gary Cooper, (Ringling Brothers clown) Emmett Kelly, and in this one, John Wayne. In fact, there is even a very sympathetic portrait of Charlie Chaplin as possible extortion victim/socialist sympathizer. If nothing else, one gets Hollywood history in a very pleasant way through these mysteries. Is it a mere coincidence that Toby Peters is moonlighting as hotel security in a run-down Hollywood hotel when a murder and a series of questionable activities are uncovered? It would be no spoiler to suggest that it isn’t. Why is John Wayne mixed up in shady activities at a hotel well off the “A” list? If extortion is a potential motive for the murder(s) [You didn’t think the body count would rest at ONE, did you?], who is really behind it and how are upcoming and high-powered celebrities being drawn into the scheme? At another point (or two), Peters seems to be set up as a potential patsy. And, of course, no matter how innocent Peters is, any friction with the police force means problems with his brother Phil, the cop who always beat him up as a kid. Sometimes, one thinks that Peters spends more time unconscious than conscious in these stories. The only good thing about this tendency is that one always wonders what Max Fleischer cartoon character, Koko the Clown (the character who used to come out of the ink bottle and off the drawing board in those old shorts), will do in Peter’s troubled dreams. That’s part of the comic relief in this series. Another bit of comic relief is the Abbott & Costello style dialogues that Peters has with his old-fashioned Eastern European landlady. I read The Man Who Shot Lewis Vance as a "completist." I’m not a huge John Wayne fan and just read it because it’s one of the few in the series that I’d never read before. Sadly, the bad guys were all too predictable in this one and it seemed reminiscent of too many other mysteries. As good as this series is, I fear The Man Who Shot Lewis Vance isn’t up to its standard. In fact, I don’t remember a lot of sex scenes in the Peters canon, but there’s a scene in this one that makes up for the lack in others. It isn’t overt, just unexpected in terms of the character. I only mention this for those who don’t like such scenes. I wasn’t offended; it just seemed out of place—like a lot of this novel. (less) | Notes are private!
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| Jun 02, 2013
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Jun 08, 2013
| Hardcover
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| 0804752982
| 9780804752985
| 3.74
| 23
| Sep 18, 2006
| Sep 18, 2006
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Taking Ourselves Seriously and Getting It Right is composed of a series of lectures by Harry G. Frankfurt, given at Stanford University and commented...more
Taking Ourselves Seriously and Getting It Right is composed of a series of lectures by Harry G. Frankfurt, given at Stanford University and commented by a panel of scholars (Christine Korsgaard, M. Bratman, and Meier Dan-Cohen). Frankfurt's thesis is that love, being volitional, can serve as both a unifying principle in the personality and as moral guidance. I found myself drawn to his approach because of his definition of and application of love as a formative, guiding principle in life. Even though I concede portions of the criticisms leveled by the first two scholars who responded to the lectures and found myself in near total agreement with the final response, I found Frankfurt's approach to be stimulating enough to be worth discussion. The entire argument is predicated on his definition of love (“Now love is constituted by desires, intentions, commitments, and the like. It is essentially—at least as I construe it—a volitional matter.” (p. 3)) and the assumption, “We [as humans] are unique (probably) in being able simultaneously to be engaged in what is going on in our conscious minds, to detach ourselves from it, and to observe it—as it were—from a distance.” (p. 4) Indeed, he goes further by stating, “Love is not a conclusion. It is not an outcome of reasoning, or a consequence of reasons. It creates reasons.” (p. 25) So, where Aristotle believed that becoming a responsible person meant “producing” personal character, Frankfurt believes it means to “take responsibility for it [one’s character].” (p. 7) As a result, “…willing acceptance of attitudes, thoughts, and feelings transforms their status. They are no longer merely items that happen to appear in a certain psychic history. We have taken responsibility for them as authentic expressions of ourselves.” (p. 8) With that in mind, I was quite pleased that he asserted that the mere fact that humans have desires doesn't mean that the world is strictly deterministic: “Some philosophers maintain that, just in virtue of having a desire, a person necessarily has a reason for trying to satisfy it….However, the mere fact that a person has a desire does not give him a reason. What it gives him is a problem.” (pp. 10-11) That is well-said, as is the following: “However, there is no reason why a sequence of causes outside our control and indifferent to our interests and wishes, might not lead to the harmonious volitional structure in which the free will of a person consists.” (p. 16) I wholeheartedly agree with the following three assertions. 1) “The volitional unity in which freedom of the will consists is purely structural. The fact that a person’s desire is freely willed implies nothing as to what is desired or whether the person actually cares in the least about it.” (p. 18) 2) “Willing freely means the self is at that time harmoniously integrated. There is, within it, a synchronic coherence. Caring about something implies a diachronic coherence, which integrates the self across time.” (p. 19) 3) “By caring we maintain various thematic continuations in our volition.” (p. 19) Going further, he definitely diverges from classical ethical stances by telling his hearers (and readers) that VALUE doesn’t set morality: “There are many objects, activities, and states of affairs that we acknowledge to be valuable but in which we quite reasonably take no interest because they do not fit into our lives.” (p. 27) In fact, general morality, as in getting along with others, won’t do because “…there is no convincing argument that it must override everything else.” (p. 28) I agree with his thesis, "Our interest in living does not commonly depend upon our having projects that we desire to pursue. It’s the other way around; we are interested in having worthwhile projects because we do intend to go on living." (p. 36) He contends that those who are so miserable that they sincerely want to die don’t hatelife; they love life, but they hate misery more! They would certainly prefer, if possible, to end the misery instead of the life. (p. 37) Desire for self-preservation is universal and irreducible “…a lavishly fecund source of reason for choice and for action. However, it is not itself grounded in reasons. It is grounded in love.” (p. 37) And so, he returns to his constituent definitions of love. For philosophical purposes, Frankfurt does not define love as “…romantic love, infatuation, dependency, obsession, lust, or similar varieties of psychic turbulence.” (p. 40) The sense in which Frankfurt means love is: “…a particular mode of caring. It is an involuntary, non-utilitarian, rigidly focused, and—as is any mode of caring—self-affirming concern for the existence and the good of what is loved.” (p. 40) “It is not essential to love that it be accompanied by any particular feelings or thoughts. The heart of the matter is not affective or cognitive, but strictly volitional.” (p. 42) Christine Korsgaard responded by taking the view that practical reason is the will and rejects Frankfurt’s view that normative authority is volitional, not rational (p. 57). Being Kantian, she believes the combination of hypothetical imperative to reach the ends one wants and categorical imperative in universalizing is the demonstration of the efficacy of practical reason (p. 58). She believes their primary disagreement is tied to Frankfurt’s understanding of rational as being purely logical (p. 59). In typical Kantian fashion, Korsgaard disputes Frankfurt’s idea that his volitional idea of love as normative guidance has a subjective element by insisting that any morality must have a public component—hence, the categorical imperative and its universalizing (p. 65). One needs to be able to share one’s reasons and that means practical reason. Michael E. Bratman insists that we still need value and moral judgment . Here, he disputes with Frankfurt that one can separate the will from rationalism because even if we see it as a necessity for us to LIVE (being in love with LIFE), we may not see the universal necessity of others living. So, we may not CARE (p. 80). In addition, Bratman thinks that Frankfurt has played fast and loose with the idea of “fundamental necessities” which he has not clearly defined (p. 80). Bratman does like Frankfurt’s idea of love as a “reason” for what we do, but notes that some people may truly love what is evil or bad to such an extent that they think it is a reason when it is, in fact, NO reason (pp. 81-82). I worried about Frankfurt’s contention when I first read this assertion and was glad that Bratman pointed this out in his response. Dan-Cohen doesn’t disagree with Frankfurt so much as to attempt to expand the concept of “wholehearted caring” and “love” to consider the social interaction of individuals as agents of action (p. 91). To demonstrate the need for more than Frankfurt’s basic position, Dan-Cohen cites two separate legal cases. The first was Regina v. Charlson where the latter was a man with a brain tumor who inexplicably killed his son and said, “I didn’t do it.” (p. 94) The second was State v. Snowden where a man had an argument with a woman outside a bar. She allegedly kicked him and he lost it enough to stab her 90 times in killing her. The issue was that Frankfurt asserted that the issue was whether an individual would take responsibility for her/his action. The jury found Charlson to be innocent by virtue of the brain tumor, but Dan-Cohen suggested that Frankfurt’s idea about being able to take responsibility could have absolved Snowden of responsibility—even though Snowden was properly found guilty in court (p. 95). As a result, Dan-Cohen stated that Frankfurt’s ideas must be supplemental to social concern. There is a serious problem in that blaming others is pointless unless the other cares what we care about (pp. 100-1). Dan-Cohen’s solution is to expand Frankfurt’s concept so that “us” is used collectively instead of merely distributively as Frankfurt did (p. 102). Although the responses demonstrate that there is still work to be done in developing Frankfurt's ideas, the basic ideas are quite attractive. In fact, Frankfurt would probably be surprised to discover that Christianity has had this emphasis on love as the basis for ethics since the teachings of Jesus. Unfortunately, ecclesiastical hierarchy and and the romanticizing of the idea of love pushed people away from the basic principle which, in many ways, resonates with Frankfurt's. (less) | Notes are private!
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| Jun 03, 2013
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Jun 08, 2013
| Paperback
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| 1616142499
| 9781616142490
| 3.33
| 531
| Dec 2010
| Dec 01, 2010
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Mike Resnick (or his publisher) bills The Buntline Special as a “Weird Western,” but it could just as easily have been tagged as “steampunk.” Like the...more
Mike Resnick (or his publisher) bills The Buntline Special as a “Weird Western,” but it could just as easily have been tagged as “steampunk.” Like the old role-playing game, Deadlands, it could be either for both the RPG and the novel. If you’re a stickler for historical fiction, this one isn’t for you. Of course, you can probably tell that from the lavishly illustrated cover. Alas, even though the same artist executed the cover and the internal line drawings, there seems like a huge disconnect between the gorgeous cover and the odd illustrations inside. In The Buntline Special, a famous gunfighter shows up in Tombstone as a zombie, another one is ensorcelled into a “monster” that matches his nickname, Thomas Edison has electrified Tombstone, Ned Buntline is a bona fide inventor, and Big Nose Kate Elder uses metal…er…ladies in her…uh…establishment of hospitality. The Buntline Special, in a typical Resnick switcheroo, doesn’t refer to the long-barreled pistol attributed to Buntline’s invention that is historically disputed, but to a very special, one-of-a-kind weapon needed in this scenario. Much of the so-called “Gunfight at the OK Corral” is true to what we know historically, but the aftermath has some supernatural wrinkles that one doesn’t expect. Plus, the Native American chiefs play important roles in this conflict. I love the confusion among the Native American Shaman-Chiefs after the climax. By far, however, the most interesting character in The Buntline Special is Doc Holliday. Holliday is every bit as fearless as he is in legend and witty as he was in some of the Wyatt Earp movies. He is fearless as a gambler, fearless in verbal tete-a-tetes, and fearless in making a bold play at the Clanton’s ranch where his actual motivation isn’t clear. [Resnick clearly fooled me here and I loved it.] Although the story is full of familiar western ideas (Faro, Poker with a tense climactic conclusion, saloons, horse-stealing, Native American ambushes, and gunfights), but it also has brass buggies, metallic, steam-driven stagecoaches, electrical force-fields, brass armor, and Gatling pistols. Add the idea of zombies, vampires, and magic into that mix and you have a heady formula for adventure. Finally, in a worthy effort to untangle fact from the fiction, Resnick offers some vital appendices so that readers can get some genuine perspective on the actual events and historical characters involved in that era of Tombstone (and beyond). Having been to Tombstone, I was thrilled to mentally walk those streets again with a bit of a twist. My only objection to Resnick’s take on this is that the capricious use of that overused word derived from the Latin faco, facere [“I make, to make”] simply doesn’t ring true to the dialogue I would expect. I was much more impressed by the use of dialogue in the remake of the True Grit film than the occasional Kevin Smith-style use of the “F-bomb.” I don’t usually complain about language (Well, I don’t think I do.), but the usage here jarred me and disrupted my suspension of disbelief much like the “S-bomb” in Kevin Costner’s film excuse for Robin Hood (as if everything else about the Costner movie wasn’t disruptive of my suspension of disbelief; I never did get into the zone). Other than that, though, I really liked the book. The battle between the Earps and the Cowboys is even larger than life in Resnick’s adventure, but it can’t help but remind you of the dangerous edge these men walked in the historical period. (less) | Notes are private!
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| Jun 06, 2013
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Jun 08, 2013
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| 0812564545
| 9780812564549
| 3.42
| 77
| Dec 05, 2000
| Nov 19, 2001
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I have friends who think that Simon Hawke is a hack. I don’t know. I just know that every book I’ve read by him has been entertaining. His “Timewars”...more
I have friends who think that Simon Hawke is a hack. I don’t know. I just know that every book I’ve read by him has been entertaining. His “Timewars” series was a delightful pastiche of time travel adventures where, instead of traveling into the “real” past, the Time Corps (if I remember correctly) found themselves in historical fiction. Somehow, it all seemed more interesting that way. I didn’t worry about details, I just surfed the waves of the action and surprises like reading a golden age superhero comic. They even inspired me to revisit novels like The Prisoner of Zenda, Ivanhoe, and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea because the plots approached the old stories from new angles. So, I was delighted to discover that Hawke has a series of mysteries based on the “life” of William Shakespeare, sort of radio drama versions of Shakespeare in Love except for the fact that they are shorter and deal more with an intriguing supporting cast than with Will himself. The co-star is a fellow named Symington Smythe III, a young man who gave up a path toward nobility in order to join a company of players—hardly a gentleman’s pursuit since “…a brothel is simply a playhouse with better furnishings.” (p. 100) As a former Shakespeare professor, Hawke offers a delightful picture of the disreputable nature of Elizabethan players and he adds in a dash of the playwright-as-spy motif that Harry Turtledove used so effectively in Ruled Britannia only the “spy” who also writes plays is one who goes by the name of “Kit.” If you’ve ever wondered about his untimely death in “real life,” this historical version of Shakespeare’s famous contemporary will add to your speculation. The story is delightful, but it is not exactly a mystery. The conceit for this series appears to be that Hawke takes elements from the eponymous (more correctly, semi-eponymous) plays represented in the titles and reworks them into a mystery with enough elements from the original plays to “inspire” the Shakespeare of the fiction to write the “actual plays” in the future (roughly corresponding to reality). It is a delightful premise and I plan to devour all of them, but diehard mystery readers may feel that using pre-set elements gives too much away too early. Well, that’s why I didn’t rate this book any higher—whether I’m correct in my observation or not. Mystery of Errors deals with a woman of marriageable age nearing the threshold of spinsterhood (I believe she was “19” in the story.) who has been betrothed in a business proposition between her family and a noble family, bartered in her father’s desire for upward mobility (or should that be upward “nobility?”). Strange events occur and convenient circumstances abound, much as in the namesake’s story, such that Shakespeare and his pal, Smythe, have to unravel the mystery. How can a noble say one thing on one given night and another thing the next day? How can a noble be dead one night and alive the next? Who is the mysterious caped assassin? Why would a noble double as a highwayman? There are as many double-takes and laughs as in a poorly written Elizabethan performance (such as the play Shakespeare is hired to “fix”) where the actors have to use crude ad-libs, gestures, and presumably, pratfalls to get the laughs. Don’t take it that this book is poorly written. I merely refer to plays where the actors have to overcome their material with sight gags and Hawke has handily incorporated some gems worthy of vaudeville in these pages. Along the way, Hawke even sheds a little bit of light upon the composition process by detailing the submission of the finished plays to the Master of Revels for censorship and approval and describing the nature of “original” manuscripts. “Their first drafts were usually covered with ink blottings and crossed-out lines and changes written in the margins and between the lines and, not infrequently, food and ale or win stains. Hence, the term ‘foul papers’ for the manuscript initially submitted.” (p. 130) As for the characters, Hawke doesn’t give the whole show away. The mystery is solved, but it isn’t clear whether Smythe will follow his dream or take an alternate offer from an influential noble. If this were a television series, I think he would take the offer. Even the noble isn’t certain, though. He says, “Far be it from me to tell a man what he should or should not do, for as much as I have done that from which I should, I have done even more that I should not, and have enjoyed the latter far more greatly than the former.” (pp. 136-7) Gee, sound advice and bad advice at the same time, yet couched in Elizabethan English, it sounds somewhat profound. It’s intriguing to speculate on what might happen, but with Hawke, I cannot be sure. All I know is that I intend to read all of these and I hope he publishes as many titles as he did in the Timewars series. If he does, though, he may want to kill off Will Shakespeare as badly as A. Conan Doyle wanted to be rid of that other famous detective. (less) | Notes are private!
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| not set
| May 29, 2013
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May 30, 2013
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| 1616200391
| 9781616200398
| 3.89
| 1,815
| Aug 28, 2012
| Aug 28, 2012
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Upon realizing that The Revised Fundamentals of Caregiving had a series of pre-set questions for book clubs at the back, I expected a sloppy sentiment...more
Upon realizing that The Revised Fundamentals of Caregiving had a series of pre-set questions for book clubs at the back, I expected a sloppy sentimentality and improbable circumstances –possibly even a happy ending. What I found was a handbook on loss, grief, and coping. There may be a tad of forgiveness and redemption that flashes from time to time, but there is no overarching epiphany, there are no easy answers. “I’ve been thinking about the cruel mathematics of my life, looking at my sums and wishing I’d shown my work.” (p. 254 in my eBook, using the two-page spread format I prefer as opposed to the one equivalent to the trade paperback—perhaps, p. 142?) That’s a devastating observation from a devastated protagonist/narrator and it resonates with every person who took mathematics prior to the “new math” and feels like the things that have gone wrong in their lives are because they didn’t work hard enough. Even roughly a third of the way into this novel, one isn’t sure how much of the protagonist’s condition is because of the “slacker” lifestyle lived prior to the events of the novel (although short flashback chapters fill in the holes of the character’s past in overlapping, slow exposure excerpts from his memory) or because of some capricious fate or vengeful deity. And even though one is almost certain that this is going to be one of those tales where the caregiver has care given to him, one senses fairly quickly that there are no easy answers. This is a world where characters have lost spouses, parents, step-parents, children, jobs, and health. This is a world where characters are trying to fill the person-shaped holes in their lives with activity, courage, rage, and stoic fortitude. This is a world where the following is an honest question: “Who wants to live in a world where suffering is the only thing that lasts, a place where every single thing that ever meant the world to you can be stripped away in an instant?” (pp. 423-4, possibly 234?) As a minister, I can’t help but think of the “God-shaped hole” we speak of. For me, I wished that these characters could have found some of the comfort and strength I’ve experienced with God. But, that is not their experience and part of the value of fiction is being able to move in a skin that’s not yours, to think in a pattern that is not akin to your regular pattern. So, I struggled with the caregiver protagonist and the young patient, a young man with Muscular Dystrophy who has been cheated out of a “normal” adolescence and is likely to have his tenure on earth attenuated by the disease. I looked up fetishes on the online urban dictionary that don’t sound in any way appealing to me. If you know what Alabama Hot Pockets, Dirty Muskies, and Pittsburgh Platters are (to name a few), you can feel sorry for my ignorance and outsider’s disgust in discovering what they were. On the other hand, it seems realistic to think that a person deprived of traditional sexual outlets would mentally push the limits into the most degrading sexual fetishes (pardon the judgmental nature of my observation here, as I am judging the fetish not the fetishist). I understand the references between these two characters as an outlet, a violent verbal flip-off to their condition as abandoned spouse and disabled adolescent—neither ready for a loving relationship but both needing one. As a reader who has dealt with his share of depression, I identified with the protagonist’s confession about “…those nights when I was courageous enough to stay sober but still too cowardly to end my life decisively,…” (p. 450, or 247). As someone who is inordinately self-centered, I felt a slight catharsis when the protagonist saw someone else’s need and understood why he wasn’t the answer: “She can no longer navigate a world with no signposts, no living landmarks, only colored plastic ruins. She cannot live on a borrowed light that only grows weaker with each passing day, cannot walk among the lengthening shadows of her dead.” (p. 555, or 306?) There is the key as to why so many relationships break up after tragedy. The joy of this book is that people learn lessons, “grow up” if you will, and are able to cope and move forward. The sorrow of this book is that people may still make bad choices, even when they’re moving on and that they may be stuck in an emotional equilibrium of their own making instead of reaching beyond the envelope of their comfort zones. What can I say? The Revised Fundamentals of Caregiving moved me to sentimental, hopeful tears at times and devastated me with existential angst at others. I have to rate this book reasonably high because of the profundity that reeks out on several occasions, but unless one thinks that reading Dostoevsky is a ton of laughs, I don’t recommend it for anyone seeking light reading. I think it would make a marvelous book club book, though. “I’ll never stop caring. But the thing about caring is, it’s inconvenient. Sometimes you’ve got to give when it makes no sense at all. Sometimes you’ve got to give until it hurts.” (p. 560, or 308?) (less) | Notes are private!
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| May 30, 2013
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May 30, 2013
| Hardcover
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| 0553248464
| 9780553248463
| 3.76
| 284
| Apr 1982
| Sep 01, 1984
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The memoirs of American League Umpire Ron Luciano make for both interesting and disillusioning reading in The Umpire Strikes Back. His memories are in...more
The memoirs of American League Umpire Ron Luciano make for both interesting and disillusioning reading in The Umpire Strikes Back. His memories are interesting for nostalgia’s sake (I watched a lot more baseball in the ‘70s and ‘80s than I do in my present situation) where he talked of people I’d watched, rooted for, and, on a couple of occasions, met. His anecdotes are disillusioning because of the overt pride he took in sharing about his bad calls and his unrepentant willingness to change them (although, he did once as described on pp. 68-69). Even after sharing about an umpire who had to change a call three times to get it right (admittedly, the changes were due to changes in circumstances because the ball arrived in time for the tag—out, the infielder missed the tag—safe, the runner slid past the bag and was tagged—out, the infielder dropped the ball again—safe—p. 194), he couldn’t admit to changing the call—even when his colleagues on the team told him that he’d blown it and that he’d blown it badly. If I hadn’t felt that Luciano was biased in favor of East Coast teams (even though he says he liked my Oakland A’s in the early ‘70s – after I became disillusioned with the Angels and when Alvin Dark was manager—and even though he claims that he truly disliked Earl Weaver). Later in life, when I met Earl Weaver at a Winter Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas, we were looking at Electronic Arts’ Earl Weaver Baseball and laughing about how often the Earl avatar came out and argued with the umpire so often. The programmers agreed to tone down the probability and Earl said something about the only time he would have argued that many calls would have been in Luciano was umpire and Luciano would have thrown him out after the first argument. So, I wasn’t pre-disposed to like this book in spite of its humorous, forthright, and “breezy” style. But I did enjoy the book. I just wished Luciano had been a little less mantic and ADD when my teams were on the field. The book is a delightful blend of Luciano’s self-deprecating anecdotes and a crisp writing style from his ghost writer, David Fisher. I loved lines like the description of the Umpires’ Strike when they were trying to get support from other unions and, “He sat down with the man and told him the complete truth, except for the parts he made up.” (p. 236) I think, perhaps, the wisest line in the book is: “Baseball, I learned, is more a game of anticipation than action.” (p. 162) I probably chuckled loudest at, “Because of my great speed and range, they found the proper position for me. Catcher.” (p. 159) Of course, when Luciano showed respect for players and managers, it raised them up a notch with me, as well. When Luciano doubted that the retired Ted Williams really meant what he said about being able to see the seams of the baseball when he hit the ball, Williams recruited a pitcher to throw in game-like conditions and put pine tar all of the barrel of the bat. When the pitches came in and Williams hit them, he would say that he hit one seam or someplace near a seam and when the balls came back, they were exactly where Williams said they would be five out of seven times (p. 130). In another story, Alvin Dark once made an entire parcel of substitutions and handed Luciano the scorecard. Luciano handed it back and said that Dark must not be managing the same game that he was umpiring because some of the guys being substituted for were already out. Dark apologized and said he must have given him the substitutions he’d been planning on making if they were behind in the 8th. Now, THAT’S risk management to plot out entire games inning by inning before they happened (p. 189). I did think it was quite remarkable that some of his childhood friends (the Barbaras) were, yes, the ones who owned the ranch where the big Mafia round up in Apalachin (1957). That weekend, Ron had been told he couldn’t come up to the ranch because their dad had friends in for the weekend. When he read the Sunday morning paper, he discovered that the dad’s friends were the leaders of the nation’s most influential crime families. (p. 5) You can’t make that stuff up. Frankly, I still don’t like Ron Luciano. But I did enjoy “his” book. (less) | Notes are private!
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| May 25, 2013
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May 27, 2013
| Mass Market Paperback
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| 0312876491
| 9780312876494
| 4.03
| 2,382
| 1991
| Apr 07, 2001
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Disclaimer: Several years ago, a valued friend highly recommended Charles de Lint to me and I acquired a copy of Someplace to be Flying. I tried to re...more
Disclaimer: Several years ago, a valued friend highly recommended Charles de Lint to me and I acquired a copy of Someplace to be Flying. I tried to read it and just couldn’t find any traction. I didn’t care about anyone or anything in the first few pages. Then, I attended a World Fantasy Convention where de Lint was named as an award winner to much applause from his peers. I quickly resolved to try Someplace to be Flying once again when I returned from that convention. I failed to find anything remotely interesting in the book and gave up again before I’d managed even 20 pages. I sold the book unread to Half-Price Books before moving cross-country. I share this superfluous information to reveal any bias to be observed in my rating and in the following review. It was probably a combination of the cover painting with a fiddle juxtaposed against an antique book and the title, The Little Country, that drew me to this book. Then, I sighed upon realizing that the book was authored by Charles de Lint, one of the few authors who has managed to write a novel that I couldn’t, at least, plow through. So, if it hadn’t been on sale, I probably wouldn’t have bothered with it. Again, I almost set it aside, even at that, when I realized that the story was set in Cornwall as opposed to Ireland or Scotland as I had supposed. Then, I saw that the protagonist’s name was Janey Little. I snickered to myself in undeserved snobbery and started to dismiss what was obviously a bad pun. Of course, I happen to like puns—bad or otherwise—and it suddenly felt right for a book about “Smalls” or the fey little folk of many folktales. I started to read and it wasn’t long before I discovered that there was an eponymous The Little Country novel within the novel that, like a play within a play, drove the story forward. So, one protagonist is Janey Little and another is Jodi Shepherd. The author opted to break one of those cherished guidelines for new authors (as if to show that he was definitively above such constraints) and gave two major characters similar first names and two other major characters similar names between “The Gaffer” and the “Gossip.” Now, I’ve always said that such rules were designed for little minds and this was the first time I’ve ever had to go back and re-read a couple of pages to make sure I was thinking of the right protagonist or the right supporting character. Suddenly, I have new respect for that “stupid” rule. And, while I’m complaining, let me share one other thing that both bugged me and intrigued me. There is a spot, toward the end of the book, where de Lint leaves one major character in a cliffhanger before dealing with the climactic confrontation. Then, he leaves the character in the cliffhanger while spending several pages on the denouement. Once everything is revealed and weeks have passed from the confrontation, de Lint whiplashes the reader back to the close of the cliffhanger. Before that happened, I had to (I know I said I rarely do this, but this was yet another time in this novel) go back and read the cliffhanger chapter just to make sure I hadn’t missed a subtle literary way of killing off the character. I hadn’t. The resolution simply didn’t make sense. Even after reading the full revelation of the plot, I don’t get the artistic or editorial decision for placing the resolution of the cliffhanger where it ended up. But there was something that intrigued me about the arrangement of the book. Toward the end, the story jumped from character in critical situation to character in critical situation at a breakneck pace (another reason for being confused by the placement of the resolution mentioned in the previous paragraph). Those who follow these reviews will remember that I don’t like “epic” style novels where it jumps from point-of-view character to point-of-view character. But, I have to admit that Charles de Lint spaced out his POV shifts leisurely enough at the beginning of the book that I was able to get involved with the characters. Then, I really felt the adrenalin rush and a sense of multiple events occurring at once when the book was rushing to its climax. So, I thought the pacing worked. Charles de Lint likes to adorn the opening of chapters and sections of his novels with provocative quotations (Well, he did here. I can’t remember enough of the “boring” novel to consider whether he did there or not.). I liked the one from Beethoven that read, “Music is the one incorporeal entrance into the higher worlds of knowledge which comprehends mankind, but which mankind cannot comprehend.” (p. 273) I also enjoyed the one attributed to R. Buckminster Fuller which reads, “I seem to be a verb.” (p. 508) Hopefully, it won’t serve as a spoiler to realize that at least one of the “bad guys” has been tainted by a shadow world that feeds upon a sense of injustice and deprivation. There is a terrific description that reads, “...it was the shadows themselves that were the real enemy. Their incessant whispering. How they trapped those whose despair and weakness left them susceptible to their endless chattering voices. And their false promises….” (p. 515) Such descriptions seem to look into the darkest thoughts of evil itself and there are many occasions in the novel where de Lint draws the shadows clearer than he paints the lush light of hope. It was with a sad heart that I read one quotation involving the idea of church that is later affirmed rather forcefully by one of the major characters. The quotation reads, “A church is a stone tooth in the jawbone of the ground. That’s why the cold bites. The toothache of antiquity, the twinges of time. The church gets you ready for your coffin.” (quoting Ian Watson on p. 548) Later, when a hopeful event occurs and positive energy is flowing, a very pagan sentiment is expressed: “Just don’t let them build a church around it or something. …It needs to be free to work its magic.” (p. 561) I understand that a warped understanding of the Genesis imperative to “subdue” the earth may have been used to create the polluting technology that threatens nature and humanity today. And I understand that some, especially neo-pagans who want to be open to the ecological and magical concept of Gaia, may perceive the church as complicit in destroying the delicate relationship between humanity and nature. Since they perceive the power in nature, they would see the church as a deadening influence. Of course, if you read my reviews, you know that I perceive the church as being a source of light, of energy, and of life. So, I was saddened by that perspective—particularly in a novel that blames “iron” as a symbol of technology for the destruction of magic as a symbol of good and loving power. Yet, the story is powerful even if one disregards the brief slam against the church. I still don’t agree with everything, especially a teaching attributed to someone who shares the same family name as I do—Colin Wilson. That Wilson allegedly stated, “…We accept the present moment as if it were complete in itself. But the present moment is always incomplete and the most basic achievement of our minds is completing it. In making all the connections.” (p. 572) Well, yes. Humans are the most fecund pattern-making beings ever; we even connect dots that aren’t there. Just read some conspiracy books if you don’t believe me. However, it isn’t the present that we “complete” by making those connections; it’s the future we build. See? A novel has done its job if it makes you think about more than just the story. The story itself is full of love, betrayal, violence, anger, and even sex. No one can say that this story is shallow or that the characters are caricatures. They are vivid. They are rich. They are varied. They are interesting. From the cult leader through the musician to the porn actress to the confidence man to the ugly thug and the eccentric inventor, they are all too plausible. For a fantasy novel, they may be all too real in spite of the fantastic elements in the book. For all of that, the book was enjoyable to me but doesn’t merit distinction as a classic (such as the blurbs on the back cover). For all of the enjoyment it gave me, I think it could have used more editing in terms of both structure and brevity. Then again, I’m biased. I hope I’ve given anyone who reads this enough data to decide. (less) | Notes are private!
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| May 24, 2013
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May 24, 2013
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| 0060664932
| 9780060664930
| 3.50
| 4
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It probably comes as a surprise to the average believer that even the individual books of the Bible often went through a long series of development. T...more
It probably comes as a surprise to the average believer that even the individual books of the Bible often went through a long series of development. To the naïve believer, the idea that a letter with its original body from the Apostle Paul may have been modified by a later disciple of Paul or even a congregation which had never met Paul, but felt it necessary to clarify an idea or expand a theme is likely to cast doubt upon the “authority” of the Bible. My personal take on this attitude is that it is unacceptable because it makes the truth found in the Bible subordinate to our historical assumptions about authorship. It would, in my crude example, make the Holy Spirit dependent upon Paul rather than vice-versa. To the more rationalistic believer, the idea that a portion of a gospel may have near-direction quotations from Jesus as well as church-derived interpolations of what Jesus said means that the biblical scholar must sift through the text to find those original sayings and afford them greater value than the work as a whole. Norman Perrin, former student of Joachim Jeremias and trained in a liberal Baptist tradition, would fit in the second category. His Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus is designed to clarify and affirm a methodology for determining the authentic (I prefer “core” as in an onion enveloping a core, but all of it still being an onion—the saying may be authentic and the next layers derived, but it may still be an organic truth) Jesus tradition from the ecclesiastical add-ons. Although I benefited from reading Perrin’s work, I have to differ from his take in a couple of ways that are, at least, important for me. First, I believe it is possible to see the complex layers of tradition in biblical books as part of the ongoing revelation of God. While I believe it is useful to look at what we can carefully affirm for the historical Jesus (a very small portion of the biblical writings would serve as acceptable historiography in the usual, modern sense) and the historic Christ (the understanding of Christ that grew and was expressed in the post-Resurrection Church—what some scholars call the “faith-image”), parsing one facet as authentic and another as interpolation or extrapolation may undermine the authority of the latter. Who is to say, however, that the extrapolation from the “authentic” saying is not also “inspired.” I may be overreacting here because of my high concept of biblical truth, but even if I am not, Perrin’s approach may not be particularly helpful to the average believer who doesn’t have time to bring all the relevant methodologies and considerations to bear (see particularly Perrin’s summary of the issues and usefulness on pp. 246-247). Suffice it to say that Perrin and I approach the New Testament differently. Yet, I gleaned significant benefit from reading this work. First, there was a somewhat interesting reversal in methodology from my work in the Old Testament or Hebrew Bible and Perrin’s work in the New Testament. It hadn’t registered to me that while the existence of Aramaic terms and formulations of phrases in the Old Testament indicated that the texts or manuscripts were “later” in development, the opposite is true in the New Testament because Aramaic terms and phrases indicate “earlier” literary/historical influences (p. 37). I also liked Perrin’s cautionary concern when he suggested, “Any historian tends to see the past in terms which are most real to him personally, …” (p. 50). As a result, part of his concern in seeking what he considers “authentic” in Jesus’ teaching is to throw off both those subjective assumptions of the early Church as well as our own subjective approaches. To do so, Perrin offers a three-fold methodology to get at what he calls “authentic” and I call the “core:” 1) dissimilarity, the early form is different from emphases we would expect in Judaism or the early church (p. 39); 2) coherence, the developed form seems consistent in being derived from the dissimilar statement (p. 43); and 3)multiple attestation, the dissimilar statement is preserved in several sources behind the synoptic gospels (p. 45). To demonstrate these, Perrin divides the parables into seven different categories: 1) emphasis on joy and divine activity, 2) express the challenge inherent in the divine activity, 3) establishing the necessity for immediate, urgent decision for God, 4) warning against preconceived ideas about pleasing God, 5) depicting the necessary aspects of responding to God’s challenge, 6) stressing confidence in God in spite of experience, and 7) expressing confidence in God’s future (p. 83). Frankly, I like what Perrin does with the parables in demonstrating his methodology, although I disagree with his overreaction to the allegorizing of parables by the early church fathers and much of the evangelical tradition. Perrin, like Joachim Jeremias, believes: “The secret in interpreting a parable, then, is to find the analogous situation and so come to understand the point of the comparison.” (p. 84) While this is a fabulous starting point, I still believe that it is an inadequate understanding of language, literature, and symbolism. Perrin doesn’t like the idea of seeing the parable of the two sons (Matthew 21) as pointing to the self-righteous Jewish community as the hypocritical son, but he ignores the fact that such an interpretation fits perfectly as it has been sculpted into the context of the gospels and the church’s situation (p. 119). Because it is perceived as interpretive, Perrin isn’t interested in it as authentic. I can’t go that far. One aspect in which I can readily resonate with Perrin is his idea of the Kingdom of God as being expressed in deeds (p. 55) and how study of the parables shows Jesus’ interest in the individualization of the Kingdom of God (p. 67). Hence, the definition would be that the Kingdom is God acting decisively in the life of an individual (p. 74). The main aspect in which we agree is with regard to the importance of faith. When Perrin studies Hellenistic and Jewish apocryphal exorcism/healing stories, he notes that these stories do not have the “thy faith has made thee whole” aspects of Jesus’ encounters (p. 134). This opens the discussion to a rapid fire discussion in which I pulled several favorite quotations: “Faith means to recognize the concrete situation for what it is and to respond in the only appropriate manner to its challenge.” (p. 140); “The appropriate response to the challenge is trust; trust in God, but trust in God in the concrete situation and in the particular instance… (p. 141); and “To the Jews trust must of necessity issue in obedience, faith becoming faithfulness, and so here we must understand the response of faith as including both trust and obedience, absolute trust and complete obedience.” (p. 141). Two insights from Perrin made reading the entire book worthwhile for me. The first was his contention that, in the New Testament, passive tenses often refer to the activity of God (p. 145). That seems right from my experience and I like it as a general principle. The second was about Jesus’ teaching on “time.” He wrote, “Time, in the teaching of Jesus, is something which God fills and fulfills, and it is something which man experiences, rather than something which moves from past to future.” (p. 206) In other words, Perrin contends that Jesus’ teaching about time is more concerned with kairos or opportunity and potential for action than chronos or chronological time. All in all, this was an interesting book for me to read. I tend to read more books like this on the Old Testament, but had I been working on a New Testament degree rather than an Old Testament degree in my graduate school days, I would have encountered this book long ago. This book is primarily for those who want a challenging perspective on the New Testament. I’m not sure it will be helpful for everyone, but it was useful for me. (less) | Notes are private!
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May 21, 2013
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| 0385721080
| 9780385721080
| 3.94
| 863
| Aug 01, 2000
| Nov 06, 2001
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Fans of the intrepid poltroon, Sir Harry Flashman, will need no introduction to the scandal and intrigue laced comedies of the late George MacDonald F...more
Fans of the intrepid poltroon, Sir Harry Flashman, will need no introduction to the scandal and intrigue laced comedies of the late George MacDonald Fraser. Fraser was an advocate who contended that even Hollywood history with its inevitable bowdlerizing (or scandalizing, depending on the director/studio), synthesizing, and mythologizing for purposes of box office formula was better than no history at all (see The Hollywood History of the World: From One Million Years B.C. to Apocalypse Now). The truth is that I revel in the alleged memoirs of Sir Harry Flashman (first introduced to us as a public school (in the English, not U.S. sense) bully in Tom Brown’s School Days by Thomas Hughes) as he draws misadventure like an electro-magnet and experiences more undeserved luck than an overpowered role-playing game character. To those who do not know Flashman, you should be aware that there is absolutely no redeeming value to this cowardly scoundrel except for the fact that he makes no bones about the fact (at least in these purported memoirs) that he is an irredeemable cowardly scoundrel. The fact that he blunders into success and heroic stature in spite of being one-hundred-and-eighty degrees opposite to said stature is part of the comedic nature of the novels. He is such a bald-faced liar and patented coward that he becomes ironically charming. Don’t get me wrong. Flashman is no 19th (and early 20th) century Maxwell Smart. The blunders are usually well-conceived plans that twist against him through fate, misunderstanding, and the egregiously poor decisions of others. His “risk management” strategies are as ill-fated as the battle plans which von Clauswitz proclaims will never survive contact with the enemy. And therein lies the humor. Flashman is amoral, lascivious, and as self-interested as an Ayn Rand protagonist, but somehow circumstances and those flashes of his humanity come together to make things interesting. In general, Fraser gets to put a dig in at historical figures such as Otto von Bismarck and Lord Asquith. Fraser, at least in the nominal words of Flashman, cannot abide the heroic reputations of those who won their reputation through utter folly—often at the expense of those they commanded. Flashman and the Tiger is a rather different novel. It is loosely strung together with one large pearl adorned by two smaller ones. It is rather like a tenuously redacted set of novella plus two short stories to make a work that Flashman would have composed and compiled hurriedly before he passed on to his expected judgment and hoped for, yet undeserved, reprieve. Normally, I would have glanced over the early pages in the bookstore and copped to the fact that it was a loose compilation of shorter works and avoided it. I’m glad I avoided my usual inclination because the three stories have been placed in such a way that they make perfect sense as somewhat disjointed memoirs that somehow close gaps in Flashman’s checkered (or, considering his nationality, should that be chequered) autobiography. In the first, and longer, story, Flashman is a victim of poetic justice as he is trapped between his latest amorous conquest and the offspring of a former foe. It turns out, these two are in league with each other in order to leverage Flashman into saving Austria-Hungary’s Franz-Joseph from involuntary abdication via regicide. One senses that Flashman is being dragged along into this counter-plot involuntarily himself. Yet, the story turns on one character being rather to true to his/her nature to Flashman’s disadvantage and another character being rather true to his/her nature to Flashman’s distinct advantage. This first story has some rather vivid action in it, but readers will have to patient for the pay-off. One scene is almost as vivid as the dueling scene beside the cliff in The Princess Bride, if actually more exciting than the other is funny. The second turns off a mixture of revenge and misunderstanding. The misdirection in this piece is delightful and hinges upon the sexist attitude of Harry. Prince Albert (not “in the can”) plays a prominent role in this story and it clearly involves a crisis that would be highly unlikely to evoke royal consternation today. Bertie has presided over the bank in a game of baccarat during a society weekend. One of the players may have cheated and, should the crisis not be resolved satisfactorily, the future King Edward may end up as “Having Something in his Sling, Edward.” For me, the reveal was tipped too early, but it was still risible when it happened. Indeed, Bertie (Prince Albert) has a rather important cameo in the final story, as well. This one turns out quite differently than I anticipated. This one had elements of vintage Flashman involved in an extortion/revenge plot with the added bonus of Flashman forcing himself against character, only to discover that…well…”blood will out.” It was a perfect jewel of a story. My favorite terms and phrases in the book included a caustic indictment of Jesuits, “Crooked as a Jesuit’s conscience…” (p.68), and Harry’s dismissal of Oscar Wilde’s sycophants (toadies) as “harumphrodites” (p. 314). At one point, Harry argues, “Some clever ass has said that ‘if’ is the biggest word in the language, but I say it is the most useless.” (p. 198) At another point, Harry proclaims, “Show me melodrama, and I’ll show you truth, every time.” (p. 320) Of course, in a Flashman novel, even what Harry believes to be true may be held against him. And, being a fan of the Inspector Lestrade series by M. J. Trow, I rather enjoyed the quite erroneous deductions of the unnamed great one as the presumed Holmes and Watson find Harry looking rather disheveled and indisposed. But there is certainly nothing to be held against this book. Unlike many “forced” compilations of shorter works, Flashman and the Tiger works—every time. The fact that I still prefer novels with a central plot which is resolved will account for the loss of a star. Otherwise, vintage Flashman in the best (or should that be worst) sense of the word. (less) | Notes are private!
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May 16, 2013
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| 0515133078
| 9780515133073
| 3.62
| 268
| Jan 01, 2001
| Apr 30, 2002
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When Raymond Benson introduces Never Dream of Dying with a joint counter-terrorist operation between the French D. G. S. E. and Bond’s SIS goes wrong...more
When Raymond Benson introduces Never Dream of Dying with a joint counter-terrorist operation between the French D. G. S. E. and Bond’s SIS goes wrong and plenty of innocents are killed, it offers plenty of verisimilitude. It sounds very much like the intelligence agencies in the U.S. government that seem to have ignored cues that might have held off 9/11 and the Boston Marathon bombing. Even in the novel, it seems like the agencies got something wrong. Unfortunately for the fictional world in which the novel is set, but fortunately for the reader, this error portends a greater threat or threats—at least one of which is something very like the bombing just mentioned. And, there is an unexpected (at least, to me) tie to this, apparently, botched mission as the book reaches its climax. In the meantime, Never Dream of Dying has everything one might expect in a solid Bond novel. It has a larger than life “boss monster” or “Ultimate Bad Guy” with powerful minions. It has an ultra-secret base. It has a beautiful woman with whom our favorite spy becomes almost fatally involved. It has cool technology out of Q Branch (although it isn’t specifically called that in this novel). And it has exotic locations! Much of the story takes place on the French Riviera, Monaco, and Corsica. There are scenes that take place at the Cannes Film Festival, Monte Carlo casino, a Riviera film studio, and a Corsican archaeological site, as well as the obligatory underwater scene with Bond piloting some exotic scooter. The villains are credible and Benson stakes out their motives well. Even when we think we understand the non-Bond characters well and our assumptions prove unfounded, the motivation for that difference is clear-cut and understandable. The sex scenes are not extraneous to the plot and are just enough more explicit than Fleming’s descriptions to reflect modern sensibilities without turning it into soft-porn or a steamy bodice-ripper. Some supporting characters show just the right amount of fear to make the evil of Le Gerant (the Ultimate Bad Guy) seem palpable and one supporting character even added some intriguing mysticism. In fact, the eponymous fear of dying in a dream is tied to that character, a so-called mazzeri or dream hunter. These mazzeri are called by a power to hunt down various people and kill them in a dream. Two such mazzeri in this story take the form of wolves. Bond doesn’t buy it, but it provides a warning for him that could be considered prophetic. Fear and passion for vengeance are just two of the emotions expressed throughout the supporting cast that were so real that I worried about the future of the Bond character. Trust me. In spite of how strange my description may sound, the book ends on a sane and rational conclusion. Maybe it was the exotic venues (only a portion of which I’ve been privileged to visit) and maybe it was wrapping up a portion of a meta-plot, but I found myself more satisfied with this Bond novel than with any for a long time. I may have slightly overrated it, but de gustibus non est disputandum. (less) | Notes are private!
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| May 2013
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May 03, 2013
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| 0451463889
| 9780451463883
| 4.16
| 730
| Feb 01, 2011
| Feb 01, 2011
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Rising Tides, the fifth volume in the Destroyermen series, should have been exactly what I was hoping for. It pulls together a lot of the cliffhangers...more
Rising Tides, the fifth volume in the Destroyermen series, should have been exactly what I was hoping for. It pulls together a lot of the cliffhangers and peripheral side-quests from the last couple of volumes and provides interesting resolution on most fronts. I also believe that it provides a sense of realism by allowing something of a lull between the storms of the last action-packed volume and the next volume with the inevitable next clash with the Grik (I am assuming. I haven’t read the synopsis of Firestorm.) From a reader’s perspective, I do know that the Grik’s have come up with much improved technology and alarming new tactics as a result of the traitor to humanity who once honored his emperor and now serves the Grik. In spite of my description of this volume as a respite from the greater campaign with the Grik, don’t think that there isn’t some intriguing action. In working to rescue the ship with the crated planes, the mission force encounters an intriguing culture with a hive mind. This section was the highlight of this volume from my perspective. I was thrilled to catch up with what was happening with this mission force and with those trying to liberate the submarine. Neither plot line worked out exactly as I expected and I truly admire the author’s ingenuity in handling that portion of the story in that way. The best action scenes took place on New Britain. One knew that the “company” and the captain would not get along, but just as no one expects the Spanish Inquisition, no one expects the Holy Dominion. The idea of Catholic/Protestant wars continuing in this alternate dimension/timeline was a circumstance I didn’t quite anticipate. Even so, it has quite a different flavor to it than “The Troubles” in Ireland or the English Civil War that resulted in Cromwell as Lord Protector. This section of the book has some Machiavellian aspects to it—even if some seem telegraphed by the author (whether intentionally or unintentionally, I’m not sure). Of course, my description of “this section of the book” also underlines the reason I didn’t rate this book as highly as other books in the series. In order to tie so many of the loose strings together, Rising Tides necessitated the kind of teleporting around from storyline to storyline that causes me to put the book down and come back to it later. This is the first time I’ve put one of Anderson’s books down and read other books before I finished his. It’s still good reading and quite memorable (especially the maiden air attack with the airships of their construction—not the crated planes from our timeline), but it’s not what we’ve come to expect in this series. (less) | Notes are private!
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| Apr 28, 2013
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May 03, 2013
| Hardcover
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| 1577482239
| 9781577482239
| 4.13
| 60
| Jun 01, 1998
| Jun 01, 1998
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This biography of Chinese pastor and martyr Watchman Nee was surprising to me in a lot of ways. One major way was that it ruined a song I used to like...more
This biography of Chinese pastor and martyr Watchman Nee was surprising to me in a lot of ways. One major way was that it ruined a song I used to like. It appears that Watchman Nee’s wife died a few months before the good pastor died in prison. The song I liked was written as though it was a word of comfort to her after his death (“Hush, Lady Watchman don’t you cry; you know he’ll never die. He’ll just walk into the arms of Jesus. And though it hurts to see him go, Lady Watchman you must know, he was born to die a watchman for the Lord.”). It was catchy, moving, and inaccurate. More than that, however, was realizing how Nee failed to respond to accusation and innuendo. On one occasion, his mother was visiting the, then single, pastor and several gossips claimed that he was “living in sin.” He refused to defend himself, using the illustration, “The lower we put something, the safer it is. It is safest to put a cup on the floor.” (p. 29) On another occasion, “Brothers, if people trust us, there is no need to explain; if people do not trust us, there is no use explaining.” (p. 12) I also found it meaningful when he spoke of the likelihood of being hurt the most by those one trusts the most, citing Zechariah 13:6 and being wounded at the house of one’s friends. I loved his little teaching on baptism. “Please remember you are not the only one who is in the water. As you step down in to the water, a whole world goes down with you. When you come up, you come up in Christ.” (p. 41) He also scored some points with me with his centipede parable. In the parable, a centipede was asked to identify what order the creature used to move his legs in order to walk. When the centipede thought about it, it was paralyzed with indecision. Similarly, “We all work too hard at being religious. God is much easier to live with than we are with ourselves. As Paul said to his friends in Ephesus, simply ‘walk in love.’” (pp. 77-78) There were also some nice quotations from Nee’s sermons. For example, when he preached about the believer’s place in the world, he said: “Before we put their boats in the water, I want them to spend a few days considering the water that is already in their boats.” (p. 93) In other words, boats are made to be in the water, but one lets water into the boat to one’s own discomfort and risk. Again, Nee expressed the idea by saying, “I have no interest in Christian societies that build legalistic barriers around themselves to keep untainted from the world. Jesus Christ is our only effective barrier against the world.” (p. 97) Two of my favorite quotations from the book would include the one about power and the one about fruit. “The reason many do not have power before God is due to their either being closed on the end toward the Lord or on the end toward sinners.” (p. 100) Again, he used the parable of fruit to suggest that different people be witnessed to at different points in their lives. “Some fruit take longer to ripen than others. It is just as wrong to pick an unripe apple as it is never to go into the orchard at all.” (p. 106). In evangelical Christianity, we often have trouble understanding the relationship between faith and works and Holy Spirit-led guidance and self- and socially-influenced conscience. Nee said, “So you see that faith is the cargo and your conscience is the ship. If the ship is wrecked, the cargo will fall out. When your conscience is strong, your faith is secure; but when your conscience accuses you of sin, you faith will leak out.” (p. 107) One of my surprises was to discover Nee’s idea of gender in the church. Some women objected to the use of “Brothers” as a term of general address in the epistles to various churches. On one occasion, Nee was asked about the term “brothers” and responded, “Are you talking about the male brothers or the female brothers?” (p. 118) With regard to suffering, Nee explained, “The fact is that you will never be the same after you pass through suffering. Either you will have your capacity enlarged or you will become more hardened.” (p. 150) He knew of which he spoke. Because of his help in starting China Biological and Chemical Laboratories with his brother, he was imprisoned as a capitalist at age 50. The indictment was 2,296 pages long and he lived for 20 years before succumbing to death on June 1, 1972—a malnourished prisoner who had won over many of his fellow-prisoners and guards to the cause he believed in. “What is a blessing? It is the working of God where there is nothing to account for His working.” (p. 164) Having read many books by the late Watchman Nee, this biography was encouraging to me. It didn’t dwell so much on the suffering and persecution as upon the man’s faithfulness to the message—even in the face of difficulty. (less) | Notes are private!
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If I could give this story (really more of a story than a book, but since it's available as a eBook...) a 3.5, I would. To me, it was better than the...more
If I could give this story (really more of a story than a book, but since it's available as a eBook...) a 3.5, I would. To me, it was better than the first story in the Steam Nations series, but not as good as Heart of Steam and Rust in the Empires of Steam and Rust series (which I judged as four stars). I can easily see Automata Futura as a novella in the old Amazing Stories magazine. Victor von Lang is the very model of a modern mad scientist (sincere apologies to the major general in the lyrics of another work associated with a Sullivan) when we read his description of blonde hair askew and greasy goggles on his face. Indeed, there may be some foreshadowing in the very selection of the name. You would never expect that amazing advances in automata (some call them, “robots”) and erotic hanky-panky would take place in this story. One thing is certain; these aren’t the YA stories that I originally thought I was reading. The mature content in these stories is present, but not overdone. And, where used, the mature content seems appropriate to where the story is going. I also like the direction Sullivan is taking Zoe Tesla, the brilliant inventor from the first Kit Chapman-Challenger story. Whereas we have previously seen Zoe as superbly confident in her inventions and scientific prowess, we see her as vulnerable, insecure, and hesitant in this story—hesitant, that is, until the scientific challenge is presented to her. She dives in as seamlessly as an Olympic diver with a 10 from every judge. Beyond that, I can’t talk much about this story without creating a spoiler. Suffice it to say that I love the way the automaton comes together. Sullivan describes the process of bringing an innovation to life in a fantastic way. By mixing a passionate work ethic and a passionately budding relationship to the process, he weaves together some powerful elements. There are even more steampunk elements in this story than in its predecessor, Kit Chapman-Challenger and the Last Ranodon. Better yet, I think this is a stand-alone story that bodes well for future tales featuring Zoe Tesla and her impressive idyll, Dr. von Lang. Frankly, I would have rated this story higher if it had been the first chapter or two of a longer work. In some ways, it seems to wrap up too perfectly. In other ways, I want it to go a little further in exploring the aftermath of the “big reveal.” If you aren’t prejudiced against short fiction, you should enjoy this one. (less) | Notes are private!
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Even before opening Kit Chapman-Challenger and the Last Ranodon, I wondered if there wasn’t a bit of a tip of the hat to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Prof...more
Even before opening Kit Chapman-Challenger and the Last Ranodon, I wondered if there wasn’t a bit of a tip of the hat to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Professor Challenger books in Kit Chapman-Challenger’s name? After reading it, It seems so, especially since the protagonist’s first appearance is in a story about finding dinosaurs in South America. Admittedly, Kit Chapman-Challenger (hereinafter CC as her crew and compatriots call her) only finds one species of flying reptile while Professor Challenger found a “lost world,” but the homage does come to mind. What isn’t as clear upon reading about CC and company is whether this book is targeted at a young adult audience or a more mature audience. At times, the prose is so simplified that it seems as though the author is working with a restricted vocabulary set and then, we suddenly get a word like archebiologist, arachnid, or Rolleiflex. At times, the characters seem stereotyped and then, we get more subtle ideas like CC’s cousin’s drinking/womanizing problems and the fact that CC may have a little sexual tension with Zoe (a nice twist on the tinkerer/inventor trope) herself. So, I decided early on that it wasn’t designed to be a YA novella (it isn’t long enough to be considered a novel). It just read a little too much like one for my tastes (and as you know from my reviews, I read some YA material—particularly YA stories from before I was born). But, I was glad I read this story—not the least because it introduced a character that I really like—the villainous Colonel Pavlina Alexeyevna Ivanova. Of course, this story is told from CC’s perspective (using first person narrative in the historical present—somewhat jarring, at first) and there is nothing redeeming about the Russian spy other than that she is resourceful, resilient, and, because of her blonde hair and obvious beauty, perhaps we shall add resplendent. You’ll have to move on to Heart of Steam and Rust to plumb the depths (at least figuratively in more than one sense) of Colonel Ivanova. I was also glad because the cast of characters travelling with CC seemed reminiscent of Doc Savage’s supporting cast. Each is potentially formidable in her/his own right (Zoe Tesla (wonder where that last name came from) as the inventor extraordinaire, Captain O’Brien’s adventuresome spirit in spite of his irascible impatience, and Ray Armstrong’s good looks, marksmanship, and courage in spite of his aforementioned flaws) and adds to the potential chemistry of future stories (as witnessed by Zoe’s key role in Automata Futura). I also liked the steampunk/pulp adventure mix: cannon with special shell, spider grapnel (a clockwork arachnid, if you will), and helioships make for an intriguing mix. The story moves at an appropriate breakneck pace for pulp fiction and there are a couple of plot twists that seemed telegraphed to me, but were very much worthy of a story in Doc Savage magazine. Of the three steampunk pieces that I’ve read by Stephen D. Sullivan, Kit Chapman-Challenger and the Last Ranodon is the weakest but it paves the way for more interesting fare and what I hope will become a successful series (Empires of Steam and Rust), even though this one is billed as part of the Steam Nations series. (less) | Notes are private!
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What if you took the incredibly resourceful villain of one set of stories and transformed her into a sympathetic character in another series? That is...more
What if you took the incredibly resourceful villain of one set of stories and transformed her into a sympathetic character in another series? That is exactly what Stephen D. Sullivan has done in Heart of Steam and Rust, the first short novel in his Empires of Steam and Rust series. This is what I’ve been looking for in a steampunk novel. I like the period—tsarist Russia. I like the approach, multiple dimensions accessible by a mad scientist for purposes of the imperial state. It’s fascinating to observe Ivanova comparing the dimension of Steam Nations with this pre-revolutionary Russia. The airships are different (and less efficient) and the assumptions are different. This is a very nice touch. I like the mystical use of Rasputin and the ambiguity concerning the efficaciousness of said mysticism. I like the fact that this former “villainess” is (a la Howard the Duck) trapped in a world she never made (grin). I like the fact that she is trying to track down her murderer (of sorts) and to locate a traitor in their midst (Interestingly, all three plots in Sullivan’s steampunk works have at least one betrayal at some level or another!). I like the fact that she has psychic powers of which no one seems to be aware, but lacks thaumaturgical powers that everyone thinks she should have. Heart of Steam and Rust begins with an interrogation. If you’ve read other stories in Sullivan’s corpus, you probably feel like the woman deserves to be on the spot. But everything is just “off” enough that you aren’t quite sure what’s going on. I love being kept off-balance like this and it’s fascinating to be able to discover what’s going on simultaneously with the protagonist. In this case, Colonel Ivanova is, but isn’t, the person we met in the Steam Nations series. She is intuitive, powerful, resourceful, and creative. She is intelligent, beautiful, and deadly. She wishes she could go back to her dimension. As my mother used to say, “Be careful what you wish for.” Heart of Steam and Rust pulls together a lot of mysteries and opens the door to several more. It is a fascinating world that is so vivid I wouldn’t be surprised to see an aging Harry Flashman sneaking into the boudoir of her royal highness. The book has historical flavor with that alternate history flavor and it has the potential to have some supernatural hijinks, as well. If you can only afford one of Sullivan’s steampunk offerings, Heart of Steam and Rust is the one. (less) | Notes are private!
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| 4.11
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This was the second book I read this week with an unexpected near-supernatural element to it. Jolie Blon's Bounce has to be one of the most disturbing...more
This was the second book I read this week with an unexpected near-supernatural element to it. Jolie Blon's Bounce has to be one of the most disturbing books I've ever read. Talk about palpable evil? The text of this book should be hyperlinked to that phrase ("palpable evil") every time it's used. James Lee Burke is a master at reaching into the dark forces that shaped one's past and illuminating those demons--whether of alcoholism, drug abuse, sexual perversion, or violence. And all four of those demonic forces invade the reader's comfort zone in Jolie Blon's Bounce along with the racism and violent atrocities associated with Louisiana's past. There is even a powerful metaphor in the battle-scarred Confederate flag owned by one of the characters and displayed prominently in a glass case. The plot is simple. A young white girl is brutally raped and murdered. A young black male has plenty of circumstantial evidence pointed his way. Dave Robicheaux is not convinced of the perp's guilt, so he sets out to prove it either way. That quick synopsis is probably as ambivalent as the suspect himself. On the way hand, he seems to be a no-good dope addict and on the other hand, he seems to be a phenomenally talented zydeco musician. This gives Burke a chance to drop names like Clifton Chenier into the mix and remind people like me of some music I really enjoy that seems like a cross between blues and rock-a-billy. Cajun culture and tradition is highlighted throughout the story. I didn't realize that there was a grammatical construction similar to that in many languages where they use separable and inseparable pronouns. For example, in Latin, the pronoun is part of the verb. "Amo" means "I love." Sometimes, you read, "Ego te amo." Technically, that would be "I, I love you!" In some languages, the double pronoun is used for emphasis. Apparently, in Cajun, there are phrases that sound like "I will do this, me!" or "You better be going, you!" I didn't know that. I also didn't know about the game of bouree, a trick-taking card game where the trumps are determined randomly, that was mentioned twice. There is an antagonist in the book that I will never forget. His name is Legion Guidry and he is described as, "Legion Guidry comes from someplace the rest of us don't. That's a theological statement." (p. 230) A former prison guard and plantation slave overseer, this mass of pus and evil has supernatural strength and that kind of negative charisma that freezes almost everyone who comes into contact with him. Even presented by text on a page, this guy is scarier than the villain in a chain-saw movie. You find yourself wishing for the most horrible and disgusting violent acts to be perpetrated on him. What Robicheaux does is incredible and I won't spoil it. There is a potential suspect in the book. Almost a caricature of the Bible salesman in Paper Moon, you know there is something wrong with Marvin Oates from the time you meet him. But you just can't quite figure out where he fits in the situation. Like Guidry, he seems to have power beyond his person. You don't want to believe all those hymns and scriptural references he makes, but you just aren't sure, sometimes. There is also the benevolent black grandma, a victim of the plantation days. She makes a statement early on that the seed of whatever happened occurred long before, but she was unwilling to elaborate. That failure to speak almost wreaks ugly havoc in far too many lives. And what am I supposed to make of a mysterious figure named Sal Angelo, an Italian and fellow soldier from Dave's past. Is HE for real or does he represent something quite akin to his name (both of them, since it would be Salvatore Angelo)? It's another area where you might be on the verge of the supernatural. Burke doesn't go over the line in these areas, but he sure makes you wonder. My favorite line from the book was also the most haunting, "I was bothered by the nagging speculation that has troubled me since I became a police officer, namely, that no matter how heinous the crime or evil the deed, human beings feel at the time they commit the act that they are doing exactly what they are supposed to be doing." (p. 447) That was as sobering as some of the most frightening descriptions of atrocities I've read in my life. (less) | Notes are private!
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| 4.15
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| Nov 11, 2010
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Robert Crais wants to have it both ways. He wants every Joe Pike or Elvis Cole novel to stand on its own and he wants all of us avid readers to unders...more
Robert Crais wants to have it both ways. He wants every Joe Pike or Elvis Cole novel to stand on its own and he wants all of us avid readers to understand the ongoing character development that takes place in the meta-universe of the books. These are excellent books. I devour them, but I’ve never bothered to find all of them together and check all of the copyright dates to get the order correct. I suppose I could even find a website and see what the order is supposed to be. But that just seems like I’m humoring an author’s affectation. I begin this quick review with that rant because it is the only thing that detracts from these books for me. I wish I had read them in order. I try to do so when I know characters are ongoing. But Crais’ affectation messed me up on this. So, if I say anything ignorant about this book because I read it out of order, please forgive me. Joe Pike literally is the mysterious The Sentry of the title. He intervenes in a gang beating that ends up weaving an intricate chain of events, a DNA for danger if you will. As usual in Crais’ novels, the protagonist becomes involved with a woman, a woman who either is or seems vulnerable (they have been both). This one moves fast, faster than most of these novels. And there are more twists and turns than there are on Mulholland Boulevard. In this story, Crais blends an almost supernatural element into what could have been a combination street gang and drug cartel story. The prologue puts one off balance from the beginning, but all of the elements are pulled together in the most intriguing way. Pike’s traditional disdain for authority melds with his uncanny propensity for superhuman focus and lets the reader navigate some pretty treacherous shoals of betrayal and selfishness. The action is vivid and the drama is just right. The portrayal of a Mexican street gang rings as true as it can to me (since I’ve never been part of one and have only seen a couple of members of one in real life) and it reeked of refugees caught in a trap not necessarily of their own making. One could see how easily it would be for people from Ghost Town (a part of town so bad that only the hopeless and helpless “lived” there) to fall into the gang life in hopes of finding some sort of dignity, power, and hope. Yet, Crais also depicts how they were “short-sheeted” by the promise of dignity and power such that the gangs really made them more disenfranchised than ever—unless, of course, they became part of that new breed of Mexican Mafioso which was also depicted in the novel. As usual in the Cole/Pike novels, the non-protagonist partner plays a vital and competent role, but really doesn’t do much out of the ordinary. One senses the bonds of friendship and loyalty between these two and the more cerebral Cole complements the more physical Pike quite beautifully. In this case as in others, Pike might have made a fatal mistake were it not for the professionalism and intervention of Cole. One word of warning is necessary. While I don’t think the use of profanity and really disturbing expressions/descriptions in this novel is over the top, I want to remind anyone who might be interested in this book that it is about gang members. One wouldn’t exactly expect them to use euphemisms like “Fudge,” “Heck,” “Shoot,” and “Hecky-darn.” They don’t. There are some places in the book where the dialogue seems like it was rewritten by Quentin Tarantino (a writer who, in my worthless but strongly held opinion, wouldn’t know how to put together a scene without an overflowing fountain of epithets), but the bottom line is that the language rings true to a street gang. Unlike the aforementioned comparison, I don’t have the feeling that the profanity is being used for punctuation and decoration. It is used to good effect and reminds me of yet another reason why I couldn’t write a novel like this. I’m not “dissing” the book because of the language; I just think I ought to warn anyone who might want to avoid language like I avoid a certain writer-director's films. (less) | Notes are private!
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Mar 23, 2013
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| 3.75
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Since World War: Striking the Balance is the fourth book in a tetralogy of alternate history, anyone reading this review probably doesn’t need anythin...more
Since World War: Striking the Balance is the fourth book in a tetralogy of alternate history, anyone reading this review probably doesn’t need anything about the set-up explained to them. Just in case, the entire WorldWar series is a mash-up of World War II meets an invasion by technologically superior aliens. Of course, if I hadn’t seen the titles of these novels in advance, I probably would have been surprised at the conclusion of this series. Don’t get me wrong, I really think it’s a very realistic conclusion to a very unrealistic premise. And I really liked it! Here are some of my favorite lines and scenes from this novel. There is a very uncomfortable (because it has too often be so) conversation between the infamous Vyacheslav Mikhailovich Molotov (the Soviet Union’s foreign affairs expert) and Iosef Vissarionovich (“Uncle Joe”) Stalin where the former says, “It is in the Americans’ short-term interest to help us defeat the Lizards, and when, Iosef Vissarionovich, did you ever know the capitalists to consider their long-term interest?” (p. 105) At another point, there was some fascinating use of propaganda on the Soviet side that was worthy of some of Goebbel’s misdirection in our real history. In the novel, Stalin stated, “The only reason the Soviet Union occupied the eastern half of Poland was that the Polish state was internally bankrupt, the government had disintegrated, and the Ukrainians and Belorussians in Poland, cousins to their Soviet kindred, were left to the mercy of fate.” (p. 169) I loved the response of a Soviet partisan to her Jewish guide when he said that it wasn’t going to be easy to get where they were going. “’One thing I’ve learned,’ Ludmila said, ‘is that it’s never easy, getting where you’re going.’” (p. 171) Immiscible – never heard of this word for not being able to blend something together before (p. 215) In the novel’s context, it was used to suggest that the tradition so valued by the aliens and the circumstances they found on an ever-changing world were immiscible. Later, the fleetlord explained to one of his subordinates. “When we meet change, we feel like it is inflicted on us. The Tosevites [Earthlings] reach out and seize it with both hands, as if it were a sexual partner for which they have developed the monomaniacal passion they term love.” (p. 300) In the midst of a possible peace negotiation between the major world civilizations and the aliens, a wise human responds to a question from the “Exalted Fleetlord” Atvar by saying, “Sometimes war does lead to war. The last great war we fought , thirty years ago now it started, sowed the seeds for this one. But a different peace might have kept the new war from happening.” (p. 348) I don’t know whether the fictional character is right or wrong, but I do know that the Treaty of Versailles didn’t help to prevent WWII. Frankly, Turtledove gets it right. He understands human history perfectly, even when he is standing it on its ear. (less) | Notes are private!
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It’s nice to know that professional military officers don’t take their jobs for granted. It has been my experience that good military officers are con...more
It’s nice to know that professional military officers don’t take their jobs for granted. It has been my experience that good military officers are constantly learning just like professionals in any category. It was my privilege to attend a conference at our own Air University at Maxwell Air Force Base a few years back (it was a conference on games and the military). I was extremely impressed at the level of scholarship with which our officers studied the science of war—especially since it’s a brutal human reality where laypersons such as me think more of barbarism than scholarship. Yet, the truth is that it could be much more barbaric without studying the lessons of past conflicts. The War in the Air: 1914-1994 covers 80 years of conflict in which air power has found a role. Edited by the Air University’s Alan Stephens, this features 14 papers delivered at a joint conference in Australia complete with questions and comments at the conclusion of those papers. It’s the next best thing to having attended the conference. Amazingly, even in the discussions of air campaigns as disparate as WWI’s early use of winged aircraft and modern missile and smart technology in the Falklands/Malvinas conflict and first Gulf War, there are several recurring themes: 1) the need for air superiority (control of the airspace to ensure unhindered operations on land/sea below—pp. 8, 34, 85, 149-50, 174, 210, 227n, and 339), 2) effectiveness of close air support (assuming air superiority--pp. 88, 148, 238, and 264 (expressing impossibility in Malayan Emergency), 266 (another perspective of Malayan Emergency), and 3) necessity of centralized command structures (pp. 146-7, 241, 294, and 339, (though there is also a case for decentralization on pp. 368-9). Of course, along with notes on air successes, The War in the Air: 1914-1994 isn’t afraid to evaluate the failures, as well. The losses could be horrifying. The 8th Air Force’s loss of 11.5% of its B-17s (133 planes) during less than a month of 1943 is chilling to read (p. 75). That the R.A.F. lost over 1,000 planes in the Battle of Berlin just makes you shake your head at the waste in lives, machines, and munitions (p. 75). Early on in the Arab-Israeli Wars, the losses for the Israeli Air Force were more acceptable (1 IAF loss versus 40 enemy planes), but when their enemies switched to SAM defense, that loss ratio went to 2:4 (p. 203). And, just as I was traumatized to discover about the dud rate in WWII submarine torpedoes, I was quite aghast to read about the problem with bouncing bombs in the Falklands/Malvinas Conflict (p. 235). I was also surprised to read about the horrible pilot:aircraft ratio of 3:1 in the ‘90s era Russian air force (p. 314). My copy of this compendium of analysis is marked through and through with scribbles. My favorite references in the book were a quotation from General Eisenhower and one from the late economist John Kenneth Galbraith. The former was an incident in late June of 1944 where Lt. John Eisenhower was sitting in a jeep stuck in a major traffic jam in Normandy with his father, the late general and eventual President. The son commented to the more famous father, “You’d never get away with this if you didn’t have air superiority.” The general answered, “If I didn’t have air superiority, I wouldn’t be here.” (p. 100) The latter involved that very economist who was so optimistic about bombing after World War II as saying that Americans “…should react with a healthy skepticism to the notion that air power will decide the outcome of a war in Kuwait and Iraq.” (p. 379) He likely changed his mind because of the lack of bang for the buck in Vietnam where much of the infrastructure being targeted was too easy to replace and the combat situations they needed to support were to be found in unfavorable terrain. But in the desert and with clear air superiority, both the Gulf War and the “liberation” of Iraq were largely won by air power. So, as smart as Galbraith was, he was wrong on this count. Since it is a set of papers delivered at a conference, The War in the Air: 1914-1994 is not a typical history book, but it is full of some of the best historical research possible from the military perspective and offers rare insights into the process of conducting war. I gathered a certain amount of assurance in reading these papers and their responses. I suspect that many people would do so, as well. (less) | Notes are private!
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| 3.75
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| Jul 01, 2003
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Ensign Flandry, the first volume I’ve read in Poul Anderson’s famous series of books about intergalactic intrigue and espsionage reminds me, of necess...more
Ensign Flandry, the first volume I’ve read in Poul Anderson’s famous series of books about intergalactic intrigue and espsionage reminds me, of necessity, of Keith Laumer’s famous Retief (of the CDT, Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne) series and Harry Harrison’s Stainless Steel Rat series. The necessity, of course, is that all three series deal with intergalactic spies. The latter two, however, have some of the most hilarious scenes in science-fiction (or, at least, in space opera). Laumer’s Jaime Retief maneuvers through the bureaucratic landscape like Wodehouse’s Jeeves at an exclusive country estate, constantly garnering laughs at the expense of alien and higher-ranking diplomat alike. Harrison’s “Slippery Jim” diGriz is more like an outrageous version of James Bond (not a Maxwell Smart by any means, but pretty funny nonetheless). Dominick Flandry, on the other hand, is a serious version of intergalactic spy. His initial story is full of backstabbing, bureaucracy, “Cold War” politics, alien technology, espionage, and twists both benign and malignant. There are Bond-like girls (though the scenes are less described than implied) and tense moments with individual, small unit, and ship-to-ship combat. Indeed, there is even a mystery. Why are the Merseians, the enemy aliens of the Terrans throughout known space, letting themselves get bogged down in a land-based war on a valueless planet? On that question hinges the entire plot of the book. Without spoiling the plot, let me just suggest that the book is an interesting for Anderson’s development of cultures as it is for the plot itself. There is a primitive civilization where the female gender is dominant (a warrior class) and where the males are essentially drone-like. To complicate matters, these are humanoids related to ferocious feline genetics and one of the finest warrior females has her beautiful eyes set on Flandry. Of course, those incisors make the attraction somewhat less than mutual. There is also an underwater civilization which is both defended against and attacks with intriguing tactics. The conclusion, while appropriate in terms of acknowledging heroism, has a very Vietnam-esque atmosphere to it. In fact, while the Retief books and Stainless Steel Rat books to which I referred in the opening paragraph also have the distrust of simple jingoistic causes and authority, as well, Ensign Flandry is the only one of the three that accomplishes its purpose through meaningful dialogue rather than ridicule. As such, it offers a different feel than the other books offered. While all three books make their points about the wastefulness of war and present cynicism about certain authority figures (or abstract levels of authority?), Ensign Flandry was the book that caused me to contemplate the deepest on what I know about human nature and how I feel about certain forms of social manipulation. If art is, as some have defined it, an expression that causes you to rethink your feelings or opinions on something, Ensign Flandry is not only interesting science-fiction, it’s truly art. Remember, “…you most definitely can’t have a peace that isn’t founded on hard common interest, that doesn’t pay off for everybody concerned.” (p. 72) There you are, a Utilitarian approach to diplomacy that summarizes the entire book. (less) | Notes are private!
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Speaking of Radio: Chuck Schaden’s conversations with the Stars of the Golden Age of Radio is a delightful anthology of interview transcripts from a r...more
Speaking of Radio: Chuck Schaden’s conversations with the Stars of the Golden Age of Radio is a delightful anthology of interview transcripts from a radio historian’s interviews with actors who had outlived the era of radio drama and comedy. Schaden hosted Chicago’s Those Were The Days, a celebration of radio broadcasts from the Golden Age of Radio for decades. As part of his efforts to be the curator of what is virtually an “on-air radio museum,” as well as his responsibilities as one of the directors of the Chicago Museum of Broadcast Communications, he was able to interview many of the great voices from the era—many shortly before they died. Indeed, that is a recurring message in this book. With one or two exceptions, the interview would end with something like, “J. Edgar Somebody was born February 27, 1912 and was 67 at the time of our conversation. He was 72 when he died.” I remember David Nelson (the older brother of Ricky Nelson) as being listed as alive when the book was published. So, it is not only a fascinating collection of interviews, but it reveals insights into people of whom no further questions can be asked. As such, it seems priceless to me. Frankly, I hadn’t realized to what extent Chicago was king of the daytime drama (aka “soap opera”) scene in the early days, as well as the children’s adventures (“Little Orphan Annie,” “Captain Midnight,” etc.) and comedy shows (I knew “Amos ‘n Andy” and “Fibber McGee and Molly” started out of here, but didn’t realize Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy, “One Man’s Family,” and “Vic and Sade” came from here.) that used to delight me. And, even though “The Shadow” didn’t start in Chicago, I was delighted to “hear” from Bret Morrison (the longest running lead player in “The Shadow” ) that because the show was aired on Sunday afternoons, he was sometimes known as “Five o’ clock Shadow.” (p. 360) I was amused to realize how many performers who were paid by the program used to cab from the parking lot beneath the Wrigley Building to the Merchandise Mart (from Mutual to NBC) in order to hit their cues with moments to spare. Those performers were known as “The Bridge is Up Club.” Although I had heard an MP3 recording of th`e interview published here with Phil Harris (the bandleader and performer on Jack Benny as well as the voice of Ballou for Disney’s The Jungle Book), it was fun to read it at my leisure. My favorite interviews were with Lurene Tuttle (who played more female characters than I could possibly have imagined), Edgar Bergen, and Harriet (Hilliard) Nelson (the “Harriet” of Ozzie and Harriet). However, the most insight into Ozzie Nelson probably came from his son, David. According to David, someone once said that the success of Ozzie and Harriet was due to the fact that Ozzie had his pulse on Middle America. Ozzie retorted, “That’s not true at all! If you’re out there guessing what an audience is going to like, you’re in trouble! You have to listen to yourself.” (p. 339) It seems like good advice for publishers of magazines and game publishers, too, from my experience. Carlton E. Morse, creator of I Love a Mystery, told of a convict named Harold Leopold who was facing a death sentence on December 9, 1939. He was able to hear the last installment of a story called “Hollywood Charity” just before he was taken to the gas chamber. According to the Denver Post, the criminal said, “It was great! I got the final solution to the story just in time. I Love a Mystery is my favorite radio program!” (p. 285) I’m not sure the creators of the mystery program really appreciated that endorsement, but in retrospect, it’s a pretty unique anecdote. When I was very young, I remember Art Linkletter interviewing young children and collating those interviews into a best-selling book called Kids Say The Darnedest Things. What I didn’t know was that the show also did some crazy stunts like putting a message in several bottles and floating them into the ocean. The message said that the first person to read the message and contact a certain address would win $10,000. An individual from a South Pacific atoll received one of the messages and contacted the show first. They flew him out to Hollywood and filmed him experiencing Western Civilization for the first time. Then, he flew back with the $10K. As it turns out, the economy of that island was so depressed that the guy was able to build a reservoir to change their water situation and construct a medical center with just that much money. He changed the life of an entire island with a minimum exposure to a radio show (p. 272). Amazing! I love books like this. If you don’t like radio, you’re not going to like it, but if you do, I don’t think it can miss. (less) | Notes are private!
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John Haughey calls those who won’t come to grips with the humanity of Christ, “Pedestalizers.” He writes, “Pedestalizers assume that the more unlike u...more
John Haughey calls those who won’t come to grips with the humanity of Christ, “Pedestalizers.” He writes, “Pedestalizers assume that the more unlike us Jesus is made out to be, the more awesomely we will look upon him. They seem to think that belief in him flourishes the less his similarity to us is emphasized.” (p. 11) He goes on to state that we can understand the role of the Holy Spirit better if we examine how the Spirit worked in Jesus’ life. “The difference was that, whereas Israel was under the mediation of the Law, Jesus was under the immediate tutelage of the Spirit.” (p. 12) And, of course, he asserts that the real difference-maker is divine relationship. “Every genuine relationship is a gift of God and opens out to God. Each deepens one’s ability to receive the presence of the other as other. At the same time it develops one’s ability to be fully present to another as oneself. Thus, each true relationship expands one’s capacity to stand in openness to God as wholly other.” (p. 13) This idea of relationship is the key idea in this delightful little treatise, published during the era of Roman Catholics grappling with the implications of Vatican II’s reforms and the stormy secularization of the ‘60s and ‘70s. Indeed, his very conclusion affirms that “given a relationship with God,” humans can appraise the value of self and everything (1 Corinthians 2:15) and, through the Spirit, experience the depths of everything, even the depths of God (1 Corinthians 2:10—references quoted on pp. 119-20). But Haughey is not so naïve as to think believers will experience this awareness and these depths whole cloth. He knows it is a process and sees, “Depending on their receptivity, the Spirit empowers men to become the reality they are being touched by…” (p. 64) In other words, the spiritual experience is one of being shaped into conformity with God by one’s own choice. But it isn’t something that happens all at once: “The capacity to discriminate between the conflict stimuli being experienced and respond accordingly, differentiating the bogus from the authentic, is the difference between infancy and maturity in the life of faith.” (p. 95) To get to that conclusion, Haughey appeals to the experience of Jesus and the Spirit, as well as that of Simon Peter’s experiences with Jesus and the Spirit. Remember that verse in the gospels about Jesus growing mentally, physically and spiritually? Haughey writes, “The more certain he became that God was loving, the more he knew he was loved. As the personality of God became manifestly that of a loving Father, Jesus learned that he was a beloved son. With infinite skill, the Spirit taught him to differentiate between himself and others, and understand that he was a son in a way no one else ever was or would be. He discovered who he was by discovering that God was his Father.” (p. 14) “The Spirit’s lessons have to do with the developing self-awareness or self-definition of a person. To be in possession of an accurate self-definition undistorted by sin is to enjoy self-knowledge.” (p. 17) So, Jesus could get the full lesson of the Spirit as opposed to the partial lessons we experience. “He did not arrive at a point where the presence of the Father ceased to be a matter of choice. No, this relationship was something he was continually choosing and just as continuously free to neglect or reject.” (p. 17) And I particularly liked the way he expressed that Christians have both “free will” and are chosen. “The Kingdom was a mode of intimacy with God, primarily. Living in the Kingdom meant constantly choosing one’s having been chosen.” (p. 18) Haughey argues that the Spirit doesn’t point to Himself but toward the Father and, as a result, Jesus’ teachings about the Father are a matter of sharing what the Spirit has shown him (pp. 19-20). It was not the work of Spirit to emphasize Himself, but to teach how to build the Kingdom (p. 20). Haughey points out that Jesus didn’t reveal much about the Holy Spirit to the crowds because: a) the Spirit of Yahweh was not perceived as distinct from God’s personal character and b) rabbis had taught that after the time of Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi, the Spirit had departed from Israel (pp. 20-21). “The words that Jesus spoke were not ideas. He was becoming what he was learning and speaking what he was becoming.” (p. 24) Thus far, I was on the same page as Haughey as I have been in the previous two books I’ve read by him. But his assertion that the parable of the two sons represents an internal struggle within Jesus where “he mus t have longed at times to be free of the responsibility God gave him” (p. 33). We know that Jesus expressed such a longing in the Garden of Gethsemane, but in the precise moment Jesus expressed that longing, he opted for complete submission to the Father—no holds barred. That doesn’t sound like the parable of the two sons. I liked his observations about the growth of Simon Peter and his experiences of the Holy Spirit. I particularly liked the way he paraphrased Jesus’ observation about Peter’s confession of the Christ in Matthew 16:17. “This process has not had its origins in your intellect nor will it remain merely knowledge.” (p. 43) In the same discussion, he suggested, “A knowledge of the identity of Jesus begins to transform the identity of the knower.” (p. 43) “It is important to note that the discovery that Jesus was the Anointed One of God involved as much a choosing as a seeing.” (p. 45) And Haughey is quite right to point out that Peter’s tutorial from the Holy Spirit didn’t settle the issue. Peter was still trying to shape Jesus in the Messianic image he had been taught from his youth. “Even the most precious of gifts, the gift of faith, can be exploited for one’s own means.” (p. 46) I liked the imagery of Peter’s impetuosity about the three tabernacles at the Mount of Transfiguration when Haughey wrote, “Peter was not at ease with this experience of transcendence, and he shows himself suffering from the temple syndrome, the need to containerize the sacred so that he could have recourse to it whenever and however it suited him.” (p. 47) I also enjoyed the devotional thoughts using Peter’s experience of walking (temporarily) on the water as a metaphor for the experience of following the Spirit in a physical body. “The Spirit was not to be the antithesis or inimical to the flesh but rather the principle of its activities.” (p. 52) In this sense Haughey interpreted the wind (which is the same word as spirit in both Greek and Hebrew) as representing that uncertain, almost threatening nature of the transcendent in one’s life (pp. 52-3). One aspect of Haughey’s interpretation that really resonated with me is that the wind/Spirit juxtaposition suggests a vital element of the spiritual life—TRANSPARENCY (p. 59). Just as the Spirit continually pulls the veils off our experiences of God, the Spirit is likely to give us an attitude of openness in our lifestyles. Another aspect of the wind/Spirit juxtaposition was the idea that the Spirit, like the wind, is both uncontainable and uncontrollable (p. 61). Of course, one cannot use Simon Peter as an example without considering the sending of the Holy Spirit on the Day of Pentecost. Two insights jumped out at me with regard to Haughey’s approach to these events. First, I liked his observation, “The Sent [Jesus] has brought the Sender [Holy Spirit].” (p. 74) Also, I loved his imagery of Pentecost as a “jail break.” (p. 75) From Pentecost, Haughey moves to a discussion of what was happening in his denomination during the era, dividing the factions into: programmatics (traditionalists focused on the past), autogenics (activists focused on social action and transformation in the present), and pneumatics (other-worldly, almost mystical, believers expecting God’s intervention in their future and the near future) (p. 85). Although Haughey sees a healthy church as being able to accommodate all of these perspectives, he recognizes that there will be friction because the programmatics rely largely on “obedience,” the autogenics rely predominantly on “rational interpretation of tradition,” and the pneumatics will use prayer to seek the “purely religious values” in every situation (pp. 86-87). Each group will handle both the institutional structure and crisis management differently. None are really adequate approaches to the Spirit in themselves, but their differences will always loom large if we don’t strive to understand them. As I read this, I believed these distinctions are not simply present within the Catholic church. But this leads to the idea of spiritual excesses and intolerance. How does one know the will of God and how can one be sure that the Holy Spirit is leading? I loved this part because most of the points he made in how one is to know the will of God were echoes of points I have made in recent sermons. Because Haughey sees God as “Divine Potter shaping each of us according to His special will for us” (p. 98), Haughey offers guidelines for how we are to discover the will of God. He suggests that the following principles will guide us: 1) The Spirit will guide in accordance with what we already know of the Spirit Himself (p. 98); 2) We can “test” the Spirit by looking at the effects of our decisions on the person(s) it affects (p. 99); 3) We can decide if something is the will of God if there is harmony between what we believe God is telling us to do and the way the Spirit is working in the lives of others (p. 101) [I say there are no “lone wolf” Christians.]; 4) If what we believe we are being led to accomplish is consistent with God’s work in the Gospels, it is a good indicator that we are following the will of God (p. 103); and 5) If the goal is to bring us into wholeness with God (p. 104). Although those seem useful and helpful enough, Haughey isn’t finished with the discussion. He observes that we have to be careful of making resolutions or building constructs which are not necessarily intrinsic to the transcendent experience itself (p. 107). Humans can sometimes use spiritual experiences as a foundation upon which they build the sub-standard constructions of wish-fulfillment, rebellion, and distortion (my summary, not his). To show why this might be so, he quotes St. Ignatius’ observation that the “…locus of the Spirit’s activity, as well as the evil one’s, will be more evident at the level of their emotions than at the level of their pious ideas or by the presence or absence of edifying thoughts.” (p. 109) Because of the tendency of human beings to “emotionalize” spiritual experiences, one must guard against excesses by carefully observing the whole course of thoughts (p. 110). Finally, I close my cursory summary of this incredibly worthy book with a fabulous quotation that summarizes my own belief. “The experience of God’s inbreaking love, therefore, provides the context for choosing rather than the content of the choice.” (p. 113) I’m going to remember that one! (less) | Notes are private!
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It seems like a long time since I picked up a mystery in the Emma Lord series. I’ve been reading them since The Alpine Advocate. Since then, we’ve had...more
It seems like a long time since I picked up a mystery in the Emma Lord series. I’ve been reading them since The Alpine Advocate. Since then, we’ve had nearly a complete Alpine Alphabet since this one represents “X.” I hope Mary Daheim completes the alphabet, but The Alpine Xanadu is written as though it “could” be the last. It ends in a very comfortable space with a lot of relationships settled and a very warm feeling. Of course, we could be seeing The Alpine Yeti or The Alpine Yakuza before we know it. After all, the fictional town of Alpine set in the very real Cascade Mountains of Washington (and near Snohomish Pass as far as I can tell) must have the highest per capita homicide rate in the nation. After a while, you start to wonder if Publisher Emma Lord is just unlucky or if she’s creating the murder rate to sell newspapers like William Randolph Hearst was once accused of doing (maybe not murdering, but “creating” the news). Still, Alpine is a marvelous place to visit from the comfort of one’s own chair. It’s a lot safer. People like Vida Runkel seem a lot more humorous when one is turning the page than if you were to meet her in real life. She’s the kind of old, small town crank that you’d expect to look on every newcomer with suspicion. In fact, she castigates my former residence of Bellevue, Washington at least twice during this book. The idealistic reporter, Mitch, a refugee from Detroit, reminds me of my younger days and all of that idealism and some of those old retired geezers seem uncomfortably close to where I am now. So, I enjoy my vicarious visits to Alpine through Daheim’s pages very, very much. The Alpine Xanadu didn’t refer to what I thought it did for much of the book. I thought it was talking about the monstrosity of a mansion that Ed Bronsky, the lazy salesman who reminded me of at least one who worked for me except for the overeating part, built with his quickly wasted inheritance money. In this novel, the mansion has just been converted into a rest home/mental hospital/care facility. So, I thought the Xanadu reference was referring to the monstrosity come of service to society. Instead, the metaphor has a very precise meaning that is revealed in the last few pages. I won’t spoil it because it made the book that much more memorable to me. I particularly enjoyed the fact that this mystery was so focused on relationships—even those which had little or nothing to do with the centerpiece murder—that it felt very real. Spouses and “exes” mingle with former girlfriends/boyfriends as well as current flings and affairs. Even in this tiny town, pornography, molestation, and child abuse show their ugly faces. Everyone seems to have a hidden connection with everyone else and these connections are not only fascinating, but they remind me of some communities where I’ve lived. Marital spats, blossoming relationships, break-ups, problems, and runaways create a tapestry of the human element throughout what would normally be a fairly straightforward story. Misunderstandings in the workplace and rivalries across the media (and politics) form some more of the backdrops behind the main plotline. Usually, I have an idea of the killer before I’m halfway through a mystery. This one was so wide open that I had only a glimmer of a suspicion until late in the game. I don’t know whether that meant I was off my (guessing) game or if the plot was more intricate in usual. Or, perhaps, the clues were so mundane that I just wasn’t picking them up. Regardless, The Alpine Xanadu was something of a Xanadu for me as I escaped into a fictional neverland that left me in better spirits than when I entered it. (less) | Notes are private!
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When Robert J. Randisi entitled his latest “Rat Pack” mystery It Was A Very Bad Year, he wasn’t kidding. The action takes place in late 1963 with the...more
When Robert J. Randisi entitled his latest “Rat Pack” mystery It Was A Very Bad Year, he wasn’t kidding. The action takes place in late 1963 with the time period including the assassination of John F. Kennedy. It includes the continuing distancing of the Kennedy clan from Frank Sinatra (not allowing the singer/actor to attend the funeral with Peter Lawford and wife having to deliver the news) and the kidnapping of Frank Sinatra, Jr. Yet, even though it seems like It Was A Very Bad Year is going to deal primarily with the kidnapping, there are two interrelated mysteries that have more significance. This novel seems shorter and more disjointed than earlier efforts. It was very fast commute reading and it held my interest, but it wasn’t full of the cleverly worded phrases and delightful characteristic surprises of the earlier books. It isn’t completely devoid of charm, however. The set-up is much the same as in the earlier works in the series. Former pit boss Eddie Gianelli has something remind him of events in the ‘60s and readers get to shadow him in the flashback where he either solves or serendipitously observes the solution to the mysteries (usually plural in each book and this one is no exception). In this novel, the Sands has long ago been imploded (as described in the prologue to Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime) to make way for the Venetian and Eddie begins the story with breakfast in the Venetian because it is the closest thing left to his old haunts in the Sands. The famous Jack Entratter who serves as Eddie’s boss (and Meyer Lansky’s handpicked manager of the Sands) had died in 1971 and, as the prologue begins, Eddie is reading the obituary of heavyweight boxer Floyd Patterson. Someone asks if he’s just lost his best friend and Eddie replies, “That’s not something you want to say to someone my age, Mark.” (p. 1) If the only line you really remember is the one on the first page, you know it’s not up to Randisi’s usual standards. There is, however, one combat narrative that really stands out. I don’t think it’s a spoiler since it doesn’t “solve” any of the mystery for you, but there is a terrific scene where three amateur leg-breakers come after Eddie’s old friend Jerry. Jerry is armed with nothing but a frozen turkey. Now, there’s a fight scene to remember (pp. 112-3). The story begins with one mystery (blackmailing Joey Bishop’s “wife” on the television series, The Joey Bishop Show) moves through the kidnapping and on to the grand prize. I suppose the meta-plot is plausible, but it simply seems like an ancillary story to the main plot which ends almost an anticlimactically as the real kidnapping. In fact, the whole story seemed less satisfying than the earlier novels. Maybe I should have waited longer in between reading them. Still, Randisi rarely stints on the cameo appearances and It Was A Very Bad Year is no exception. Eddie G. gets to meet Jimmy Van Heusen (his professional nom de plume named after the shirt maker), the songwriter who penned “All The Way,” “High Hopes,” and “Call Me Irresponsible,” not to mention the famous Sinatra hit, “My Kind of Town.” It’s very much a cameo and offers no detail on the fellow who foiled Sinatra’s 1953 suicide attempt and was considered so much a member of the family that he was buried in the Sinatra family plot. It gave me a kick to see this guy who wrote a song my mom used to sing (“Swinging on a Star”) appear in a mystery. [Of course, Married with Children fans won’t forget “Love and Marriage” while Sinatra fans will well remember “Come Fly with Me.”] I personally didn’t fly or swing on a star in this mystery, but it won’t stop me from picking up any others by this author. Maybe I’ll try one of his other ones. (less) | Notes are private!
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Titles like You’re Nobody ‘Til Somebody Kills You are initially what pulled me into the Rat Pack Mystery series. Robert J. Randisi has a sense of humo...more
Titles like You’re Nobody ‘Til Somebody Kills You are initially what pulled me into the Rat Pack Mystery series. Robert J. Randisi has a sense of humor, an encyclopedic knowledge of classic Las Vegas from the late ‘50s to early ‘60s, and a remarkable grasp of nearly every conspiracy theory that surrounded Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., and nearly anyone else getting their “five minutes of fame” during that era. Yet, he combines those three elements with engaging mysteries and a profound respect for the actual celebrities he uses to frame and present the plot. To be honest, due to a misprint in one of the volumes I located, I ended up missing one of the stories which preceded this tale, but nothing vital is missing from the gap. Even readers who missed the book in between Luck Be a Lady, Don’t Die and this one (I missed Hey There! (You With the Gun in Your Hand)) find out the parameters of the missing novel and nothing in the plot of this one hinges on that story. As usual in these Rat Pack mysteries, the story is bracketed by encounters in the modern era. The modern encounter has the aging Eddie G., pit boss from the Sands’ glory years, wax nostalgic about someone he helped as a result of Jack Entratter’s (“owner” of the Sands back in the early days before today’s right-wing political activist took over the company) tendency to be enamored with Frank and those in “The Summit.” At least, Entratter’s hero worship of Frank and the gang explains how a pit boss can take as much time off to solve crimes without getting in trouble. In fact, Entratter handles a lot of the details in keeping Eddie and company out of jail, as well as flush enough with cash to be able to handle necessary travel, bribes, and meals. The books don’t gloss over Frank’s alleged ties to organized crime, but nor do they dwell on it. Let’s just say that connected people seem to do favors for Frank and for Eddie as a friend of Frank’s. Get the picture? The “nobody” in You’re Nobody ‘Til Somebody Kills You is Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn seems to be having one of her paranoid episodes and Dino asks Eddie to find out if her fears are real or imaginary. It would be a spoiler to indicate which. Let’s just say that the author’s note at the conclusion of the book makes the probability starkly clear. And let’s also suggest here that Robert J. Randisi does a superb job of capturing the vulnerability of the film star clothed in an enchanting sensuality. But, just when you think his version of Marilyn might be devolving into a stereotype, he hits readers with an unexpected jolt—a welcome, intriguing surprise that pleased me to no end. I also enjoyed the fact that this particular story offered more prose sketches of old Los Angeles and Palm Springs than Las Vegas. It has a great little side plot of Frank Sinatra preparing for a visit by JFK that never occurred and a marvelous cameo of Clark Gable’s widow that was very moving. It even featured a nice role for Fred Otash, the so-called “private eye to the stars” who Peter Lawford hired in real life to investigate the death of Marilyn Monroe. But the real extra strand of DNA in this story is that Eddie is not only trying to help Marilyn Monroe as a favor to Dino, but he is trying to find out why his PI buddy, Danny Bardini, is missing. There was something for everyone in this “episode” of this delightful and nostalgic series. I may still be a “Clyde” with regard to folks like the rat pack, but I feel like I’m a “pally” when I’m reading one of these stories. (less) | Notes are private!
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What if Neil Gaiman’s short-lived Mr. Hero: The Newmatic Man comic was to meet Alan Moore’s From Hell, the original Wild, Wild West television series...more
What if Neil Gaiman’s short-lived Mr. Hero: The Newmatic Man comic was to meet Alan Moore’s From Hell, the original Wild, Wild West television series (at least for the ambiance of cool private rail cars), and Marvel’s old Werewolf by Night with more than a little Native American garnish? If that doesn’t pique your interest, Dead Iron: The Age of Steam is Deadlands, Doomtown, and Malifaux, classic steampunk western settings for gamers combined with an unsettling mix of Victorian invention (in this case an alternate 19th century U.S.) and horror. It takes the idea of the transcontinental railroad and treats it as though it is the equivalent of supernatural strip mining. Unfortunately, it is impossible to delineate the cast of characters and some of the twists and turns of the plot without unwittingly unveiling some spoilers. Characters you think are neutral turn out to be compellingly evil and characters you think are bad turn out to be relative good guys (in kind of the Clint Eastwood “Man With No Name” sense). The main protagonist (who has a Native American curse problem) is strong and fascinating, but doesn’t turn out to be nearly as interesting as some of the supporting cast. You know there is going to be a major showdown with the ultimate bad guy toward the end of the novel, but you really aren’t expecting the exact mixture of allies on each side. The rituals and blood-driven clockwork mechanisms have an unsettling eeriness about them. The clockworks keep it from feeling like any real-world occult ritual, but there is just enough of the pervasive, dark magic portrayed that you feel like somebody is playing the soundtrack to The Exorcist (complete with its subliminal hog slaughter sounds) as you read. At one point, a bad guy spills the blood of an innocent child on a metal box with a clockwork dragonfly inside it. The blood activates the dragonfly so that its wings begin to flap quickly. The entire box is used to perforate the victim’s chest and then, the bad guy turns a key until the wings and heart slow and stop beating. What a strange deliciously wicked death scene (as long as it doesn’t happen in real life)! Guns, werewolves, magic, railroads, and mysterious young women! What more could you want? Two people claim they can remove a curse. Can they? A watch “heals” magically. Will it lead a character to someone presumed dead? The cursed loner, the brothers who are miners, the merchant’s weird daughter, the widow, and more provide a varied and interesting cast. Best of all, the story is extremely well-paced. For all the changes in point of view between the cast members, it was enough of a page turner that I completed it in two days of commuting. I’ll be watching for other books in what seems to be targeted as a series. (less) | Notes are private!
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| 3.94
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| 1920
| May 03, 2000
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I haven’t read an Oz book since my Children’s Literature class back in my early college days. The Wizard of Oz really came to life when I realized tha...more
I haven’t read an Oz book since my Children’s Literature class back in my early college days. The Wizard of Oz really came to life when I realized that within that well-known children’s story was a political statement on bimetallism (ie. “getting off the gold standard”). Okay, I know that Baum denied it but, come on, silver slippers and yellow brick road—emerald city (ie. greenbacks)! If it wasn’t deliberately written to advocate bimetallism, it’s one of the happiest coincidences in literature. Anyway, Glinda of Oz came onto my radar because of the new Oz movie coming out and I wondered what kind of political statement it might make. Regardless, I plunged into this piece of children’s literature with the same attitude as Dorothy when she wishes to accompany Queen Ozma on a trip to moderate peace between the Flatheads and the Skeezers. Dorothy says, “Whatever happens it’s going to be fun—‘cause all excitement is fun—and I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” (p. 15) Typing of bimetallism, check out the description of the Flatheads: “Small gold, silver, tin, and iron discs, about the size of pennies, and very thin, were cleverly wired together and made to form knee trousers and jackets for the men and skirts and waists for the women.” (p. 41) But it seems there was a feud between the Flatheads and Skeezers that matched the Hatfields and the McCoys. Neither Flathead nor Skeezer civilization is being run by “legitimate” authority. In this land of magic, it was possible for ambitious leaders to overthrow the legitimate authority by means of dark magic. Hence, you already know that Glinda, the good witch from the original story, is going to be vital in solving the situation. The head of the Skeezers stole power from the “three Adepts” but the citizens privately complain, “…she has used them as the three Adepts never would have done.” Would this sentiment, originally published in 1920, possibly be a commentary on the inhuman weapons of war used in The Great War a few years previously? Between the use of magic and technology with magic, it certainly seems as if Baum is writing a parable on the futility and atrocities of warfare. Of course, if you don’t believe the original story was about bimetallism, you’re sure not going to buy into a pacifist parable, are you? I think Glinda of Oz is remarkably imaginative. The characters are, at times, rather interchangeable and lacking in depth or complexity, but the story and the environment are worth exploring. I’m glad I did explore it and it underscores the fact that my book reviews in college barely scratched the surface of even late 19th century and early 20th children’s literature. Every couple of months, I find a juvenile novel from the 20th century (they weren’t really “young adult” in the early 20th century) with Tom Swift, Dave Dawson, The Sky Detectives, The Hardy Boys, and the Boy Detectives and I have to read them. I think the occasional Oz book could become part of that nostalgia snack reading, as well. (less) | Notes are private!
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Early in the introduction to The Gospel According to The Simpsons, the great 20th century theological voice, Reinhold Niebuhr, is quoted: “Humor is a...more
Early in the introduction to The Gospel According to The Simpsons, the great 20th century theological voice, Reinhold Niebuhr, is quoted: “Humor is a prelude to faith, and laughter is the beginning of prayer.” (p. 5) This is immediately followed by an observation that humor which is not founded upon a faith presupposition has a tendency to degenerate into cynicism and despair, while faith that doesn’t allow humor can quickly devolve into arrogance and intolerance. The entire book is predicated on this idea that humor expresses and informs faith. In some circles (including some where I’ve ministered), this is a bold step. Mark Pinsky, the author of The Gospel According to The Simpsons is of Jewish background himself, but as a journalist on the religion beat, he is astute enough to recognize that the “religion” espoused by the characters on “The Simpsons” is not the New Testament gospel of grace but a confluence of the idea of “good works” and distorted Old Testament sentiments. In fact, Homer seems to indicate in another episode what many modern people believe. Bart asks him what kind of religion the family is part of and Homer responds, “You know, the one with all the well-meaning rules that don’t work in real life. Uh, Christianity.” (p. 22) Authentic Bible verses are often deliberately misquoted and characters like Homer (and even the ironically named Rev. Lovejoy (who apparently doesn’t love joy)) occasionally mix in gibberish and pop culture without even the sophistication of Tevye’s occasional references to the “good book” in Fiddler on the Roof (I don’t know what his “good book” is, but it isn’t the Torah as most of us know it.). With years of journalism behind him, the author also knows that the series doesn’t depict everything about the church as authentically as possible. For example, he cannot understand how a pastor as ineffective as Lovejoy doesn’t have to deal with factionalism. He writes about disputes within churches and synagogues: “I have come to believe that the reason this occurs so frequently and can lead to so much bitterness and intense fighting is the depth of feeling people have about spiritual matters. I think it may also be a function of the powerlessness people experience in other spheres of their lives: work, home, school, government bureaucracy, and the political system.” (p. 61) Pinsky shows how this religion is handled both with sensitivity and authenticity at times, but is even more often exposed as the idolatry it is. For example, characters constantly try to bargain with God as though God is an angry deity whose wrath has to be placated. On pp. 13-14, Pinsky reminded me of an episode where Homer offers milk and cookies to God as part of a “plea” bargain and then, suggests that if God doesn’t intend for Homer himself to consume the milk and cookies, God should show NO sign. When nothing happens, Homer eats the milk and cookies as “God’s will.” It’s perverse, but it also satirizes the way some who claim to be believers still try to manipulate God, confusing faith and magic. By the way, in the episode, God gets the last laugh because Homer’s bargain was for God to leave everything exactly as it was and he soon discovers that Marge is pregnant with Maggie. One of the delights of reading a book like this is discovering some juicy excerpts from episodes one may have missed. I didn’t see the one where Homer ended up on a primitive island and forced the natives to build a church. Homer unwittingly expresses the ideas of many people with regard to institutional religion when he says, “I don’t know much about God, but I have to say we built a pretty nice cage for him.” (p. 17) There was also the time when Barney, the town drunk, indicated that he was clueless about the New Testament account of the resurrection because he says that Jesus “must be spinning in his grave.” (p. 22) It’s even interesting how the series expresses an interesting mixture between the possible supernatural and the responsibility of humans. Remember the episode where Bart has failed the test and isn’t ready to retake it? He begs God for one more day to study and gets that magical, mystery snow day. He studies and passes the test by one point, offering in exuberant thanksgiving to give God part of the credit for his “D-.” (p. 31) Whether believers think something miraculous has happened in answer to their prayers or that the event might be a coincidence, it seems clear that one has the utmost responsibility to do one’s best—even if it’s only to earn a “D-.” Of course, what really troubles me is when people pray and accept that “D-“ as though it’s all God could do for them. Sometimes, the humor cuts both ways. The superintendent’s words when he fires Ned Flanders from his job as interim principal of the elementary school reflect as poorly on liberals who think faith is irrational as upon believers who try to force their faith on others. “God has no place within these walls, just like the facts have no place in organized religion.” (p. 45) Pinsky also doesn’t “call” the writers on Rev. Lovejoy’s syncretistic comment when he performs Apu’s wedding (even though Apu has been both a Hindu and dabbled briefly into Scientology). Lovejoy says, “Christ is Christ” and implies that the Christ of Christianity is the same as some New Age concept of divinity within each human (p. 127). There was also a principle of Judaism that Pinsky introduced me to with regard to the counsel given to Lisa regarding her family’s theft of a pirate cable television signal. The principle is called shalom bayit (“peace in the home”) and means “…family harmony should prevail whenever possible, with an emphasis on flexibility, without compromising personal integrity.” (p. 86) Lisa is encouraged not to participate in the television watching and to quietly express to her family why she cannot be part of the activity. I also loved a line from that episode where we learn about Krusty the Klown’s background. As his rabbi father was kvelling about how wonderful his son was. The rabbi is accused of exaggerating and he responds, “A rabbi composes. He creates thoughts. He tells stories that may never have happened. But he does not exaggerate!” (p. 114) It’s a great callback to a comment attributed to Elie Wiesel that some stories are “true” that never happened. Wiesel was suggesting that stories usually express higher truths than commandments and facts. Somehow, such a statement seems appropriate in the light of the delightful analysis of the series presented in The Gospel According to The Simpsons. (less) | Notes are private!
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Having read not only the Sherlock Holmes body of work, but the Professor Challenger stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I was somewhat surprised to dis...more
Having read not only the Sherlock Holmes body of work, but the Professor Challenger stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I was somewhat surprised to discover that the good doctor also wrote historical fiction. Indeed, The White Company takes place in a rather intriguing part of European history known (somewhat erroneously) as the Hundred Years War. The White Company is the story of a cloister-raised young nobleman who discovers that his father was wise in establishing his legacy in giving him a year in the world before he could take his vows. Alleyne Edricson begins with the novel with an enchanting innocence and manages to hang onto a great deal of it while experiencing the gritty side of life and death. To be sure, the author writes about the futility of war with vivid images, but he also captures the rather odd idealism of romantic chivalry in the person of most of the knights which Alleyne meets, serves, fights alongside, or contends with. From a modern perspective, there are times when the reader wishes Doyle would quit having the characters lecture on chivalry and get to the action, but the action is worthwhile and interesting when it occurs. It is not as bloody as many video games or comic books of the present world, but there is carnage aplenty and the descriptions are occasionally more graphic than one would expect of an era where one spoke of lower limbs rather than legs. One even gets a glimpse of some of Doyle’s own feelings. “In the cloisters he had heard vague talk of the law—the mighty law which was higher than prelate or baron, yet no sign could he see of it. What was the benefit of a law written fair upon parchment, he wondered, if there were no officers to enforce it.” (p. 83 in my eBook version) “It was a terrible world, thought he, and it was hard to know which were the most to be dreaded, the knaves or the men of the law.” (p. 103) And his description of pillaging rang true, “By St. Paul! It is not they who carry the breach who are wont to sack the town, but the laggard knaves who come crowding in when a way has been cleared for them.” (pp. 466-467) At another point, Doyle described the land as so hostile that “…their only passports were those which hung from their belts.” (p. 881) When Alleyne is awestruck by appearances, a kind landlady of an inn offers this marvelous counsel, “You have had no great truck with the world or you would have learned that it is the small men and not the great who hold their noses in the air.” (p. 124) At another point, an archer contends, “Bless the lad, if he doth not blush like any girl, and yet preach like the whole College of Cardinals.” (p. 196) A few pages later, Alleyne preaches a brief sermon responding to a colleague who wants to defeat seven foes in a tournament. He says, “Here we are in the lists of life, and there come the seven black champions against us Sir Pride, Sir Covetousness, Sir Lust, Sir Anger, Sir Gluttony, Sir Envy, and Sir Sloth. Let a man lay those seven low, and he shall have the prize of the day, …” (pp. 208-209). I learned a new word. Doyle used the word “bobance,” a word for boasting that is derived from a type of fancy cloth, on more than one occasion (p. 168). In fact, if you look up the word on the web, you’re likely to run into the direct quotation on this from the novel. And, as an instructor in the history of games, I was delighted to see a reference to the game of Hazard (a medieval predecessor to Craps): “’Mort de ma vie!’ Aylward [a companion to Alleyne] shouted, looking down at the dice. ‘Never had I such cursed luck. A murrain on the bones! I have not thrown a good main since I left Navarre. A one and a three! En avant, comarade!’” (pp. 319-20) Doyle also brought in interesting references from history, noting “It was the age of martial women. The deeds of black Agnes of Dunbar, of Lady Salisbury and of the Countess of Montfort, were still fresh in the public minds.” (p. 331) This reminds readers of those staunch ladies who commanded the garrisons of their castles while holding off sieges while their lords were away at the wars. And I loved the reference to Geoffrey Chaucer, “…at the siege of Retters, there was a little, sleek, fat clerk of the name of Chaucer, who was so apt at rondel, sirvente, or sonson, that no man dare give back a foot from the walls, lest he find it all set down in his rhymes and sung by every underling and varlet in the camp.” (p. 349) The story is predictable and the resolution wouldn’t force any film director to recut the ending. Indeed, Doyle even closes with a moral summary: “Let us thank God if we have outgrown their vices. Let us pray to God that we may ever hold their virtues.” (p. 1221) (less) | Notes are private!
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