Two different types of readers can tell librarians a thing-or-two about mystery and romance. These readers know their authors, titles, series, and the order in which the books are to be read. I never squabble with a mystery or romance reader. It equates to betting with my brother. He smiles; I lose.
As a librarian, it is hard to read mystery and romance without letting other genres suffer. Even within the two, one will need to choose sides. I am familiar with both but I prefer mysteries.
I began with romance, as so many young readers, in my tweens. My mother handed me Danielle Steel but after eight books I began to wonder, “Where’s the sex?” Next, the librarian suggested Corrie ten Boom’s The Hiding Place and my romance reading languished.
To keep mystery readers happy, I like to keep a couple of Edgar winners in mind. The Edgar is a mystery award named after Edgar Allan Poe. It is decided by Mystery Writers of America and not the American Library Association. This year’s president is Lee Child.
Here’s a little trade secret for those looking for that next book. (Sorry, romancers, I got nothing for you.) Google Edgar winners or go to http://www.theedgars.com/ and find a wealth of titles from which to read. This is a proven method to keep 98% of mystery readers happy. I use it on my unsuspecting husband all the time. Through the website, I have introduced him to new authors and got him reading new series he would not have heard about otherwise.
This week’s book is one such winner in the Best First Novel by an American Author category for 2008. We travel to Ireland in Tana French’s In the Woods, which fits nicely in the subgenre of body-in-the-bog mystery.
All day the three children played in their Dublin estate neighborhood. They were seen by many neighbors traipsing over rocks, running around corners and hiding under bushes. It was after supper and none appeared to eat, that the parents began to worry. Their last known whereabouts were near the woods entry.
Later that night, one is found gripping a tree with his fingernails stuck in the bark and his shoes a flood with blood. Nancy Pearl says, “French’s plot twists and turns will bamboozle even the most astute reader.”
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
In the Woods (copy)
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Olive Kitteridge (copy)
This week our travels take us to a small coastal village in Maine named Crosby. Here we explore the 2009 Pulitzer Prize winning book by Elizabeth Strout titled Olive Kitteridge. Does the author sound familiar? Her previous novels include Amy and Isabelle and Abide with Me.
I hesitate to call it a novel. To me, a novel has a distinct timeline or timelines and plot. Olive Kitteridge is a collection of 13 short stories that all take place in Crosby and have one person, the title character, in common. One story does not flow into another, the characters change often, and plots are subtle if at all present in this book.
What makes this a delight to read is the character study. We begin to interact with the main character of each vignette with sympathy. We want them not to hurt but hope. We want them to shine and not be scared. We want those alone to find someone. Then, lo and behold, Olive shows up and says forget that. What we want as readers is nice and all, but not the way the world works.
Each vignette also builds on Olive’s character. There are times when Olive is merely mentioned such as the story titled “The Piano Player.” Angela O’Meara plays the piano at the Warehouse Bar and Grill four times a week. Never been married, has no children and has sustained a 20 year relationship with a married man, she is now in her fifties.
On a particular night before Christmas, Angela is playing carols as an ex-boyfriend walks through the door. He takes a seat in the corner to watch her play as the Kitteridges’ pass through to the restaurant. Angela notices both but acknowledges Henry, Olive’s husband, whom she likes with his favorite tune, “Good Night, Irene.”
Here we see Olive do a trademark move. She waves over the back of her head to Angela as she quickly moves on to the backroom. From this we imagine Olive cannot be bothered with small talk. She has an agenda we are not privy to but we feel it important; although, Angela admits feeling rather uncomfortable on those nights Olive does stop to chat.
It is easy to see why the Pulitzer committee chose this book. We know Olive. Along with that thought, we know an Olive or Olives amongst us. Heck, Olive exists within our own selves, too. The book falls flat as one big story but knitted togetherness shows its humanistic appeal is universal.
For an excellent review see Nan at Letters from a Hill Farm!
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
A Couple of Boys have the Best Week Ever (copy)
This week we are off to day camp. Yippee! So, run off and grab your backpacks with lunch and wet wipes, and let’s see if we can drive those counselors crazy. Okay, I’ll start and you guys join in, “Three little angels all dressed in white, trying to get to heaven on an end of a kite…” Camp, the word still fills me with all kinds of excitement. Whether it 4-H or Vacation Bible School, I was usually the first one on the bus ready to get on with it. I sang the loudest, talked the most, devised the late night raids, led the hikes, and became the counselor(s) best friend or it seemed since they all called me by name. Naturally, I collapsed in my bed at the end of the day.
In A Couple of Boys have the Best Week Ever by Marla Frazee, young readers experience camp through first timers, James and Eamon. The opening illustration depicts James in the back of a car on his way to Eamon’s grandparents’ house at the beach. He sits happily thumbing through the Nature Day Camp brochure.
On the next page, Eamon sits anxiously on the end of the cushions between his grandparents, Bill and Pam. Bill is credited for the idea of camp and getting the boys together. He loves nature and especially penguins. Throughout the book, Bill tries unsuccessfully to get the boys to join him on a trip to the zoo to see his favorite creatures. Quick note to the adult readers, be sure to notice Bill’s ever changing tee-shirts as the subtle humor will be lost on younger readers.
Ding-Dong! Finally, the boys are united and become one as Bill quickly coins them Jamon. Next morning and they are off to camp where they learn new vocabulary words from Bill which have nothing to do with penguins. On the return trip they tell Bill about their day. It was a day full of standing around, looking at flowers; although, snapshots, lining the book’s jacket, tell a whole other story.
At the end of the week, the boys praise the camp with, “I think it should be called Sit-Around Camp.” “Yeah, or Sweat-a-Lot Camp.” But, to look at the illustration, one sees them surrounded by four different crafts they made that Friday alone. Just when you think the book is winding down, the boys surprise readers with an impromptu display. I will not give it away, but I never saw it coming!
There is a multi-generational appeal to this picture book and I believe adults sans children will have a great afternoon reading this one, too.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
The Tortilla Curtain (copy)
The scene plays over and over in my head. I cannot stop it. When I make coffee the black tar on his teeth seems to gnaw at me. When I fold the laundry his crumpled up leg appears in the basket. When I bend down to feed the cat his row of ribs void of fat thrust out towards my hand. Even the day the coyote took our precious dog, Sacheverell, I saw the red in his watery blood-shot eyes penetrating me from that mangy beast.
I hit a man in my car the other day as I drove up the canyon to our home in Arroyo Blanco Estates. The damage minimum as a headlight and dent in the bumper were easily replaced and hammer out. It was the thought of his body flying in front of the car then doing some aerobatic maneuver that has me stunned and reliving the event.
Where did he come from? There are no houses on this stretch of highway. There are no businesses. It was like he appeared, did his act for my entertainment, and then magically disappeared all in the blink of an eye; unfortunately, it is my blinking eye or eyes. This scene plays as a rerun in slow-motion video for a dazed crowd who cannot accept the foul.
Foul is a light smell in comparison to the man I found ten minutes later. Had I not heard his moaning under the brush along the path to Topanga State Park, I believe I could have sniffed him out. His homeless look of tattered rags and oily hair now authenticated with his blood and sweat from the accident. He must be camping by the creek as I caught a glint of shinny shopping cart further down the path.
Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor? Can you walk? Do you want me to call you an ambulance? Didn’t you see my car? Why did you run into the road? All my questions were met with moans but no answer. Finally, the man grinned at me with his jagged blood stained teeth and said, “Monee?”
I handed him a twenty, got back in the car, drove to my soon-to-be gated community and cried.
This is my interpretation of main character Delaney Mossbacher in T.C. Boyle’s The Tortilla Curtain. A character I did not like at first. He cares more for the environment as this incident is soon forgotten.
This story turns and twists like the canyon road setting in California northwest of Los Angeles. Adding nicely to our summer travel theme, we also go south of the border in flashbacks. ¡Lectura recomendada, si!
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Lucky Jim (copy)
I booked a trip across the pond this week during arm-chair travel. A delightful three days were spent in early 1950’s Leicester, England, at a university one mile south of London. My tour guide for the event was none other than James Dixon, the bumbling hero of Lucky Jim by Kingsley Amis.
In this neo-classic, Dixon is a WWII veteran who lucks into a career as Instructor of History at an unnamed university south of London. He is profusely unqualified to teach and hopes others will not notice. It is bad when students use words he recognizes, but remains unaware of definitions. For instance, the word scholasticism, he thinks it might be a good idea to “look up” since he drops it into many conversations with students and faculty alike.
One of the things he is expected to accomplish in his first year is a published article. His, The Economic Effect of the Developments in Shipbuilding Techniques, 1450 to 1485 is a complete bore and editors revel in writing his rejection letters.
Since, this avenue is looking bleak he decides to run plan B where he charms Professor Welsh, head of the history department, into becoming great friends. At the beginning of the book we find Dixon, tripping over his words to please Welsh. He listens actively as Welsh orates, but internally he makes faces at the pompous wind-bag.
It is this stroll from one building to another, when Welsh ask him a favor. Would he speak on behalf of the history department at College Open Week possibly along the lines of his favorite subject Medieval History? Dixon is quick to say, “Yes, Professor.” Unfortunately, Welsh assigns the subject; something on “Merrie England” will be perfect since it is academic, but then again, not.
Dixon is at a loss. He wrote the article but now finds he has become the college’s expert on the Middle Ages. A subject he finds just as boring as his article, leads to another problem. How long can he pretend to be even remotely interested in history, too?
Lucky Jim is a comedy of errors as Dixon stumbles again-and-again socially and professionally only to come out on top in the end. Readers are left bemused as he squeaks through unbelievable situations to emerge smelling like a rose.
Note: The cover art is by Edward Gorey!
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