My ardor for Peter Grainger’s King’s Lake police procedural series, set in northern England, has waned slightly in the time since he made the (probably inevitable) decision to let his previous main character, the enigmatic Detective Inspector D.C. Smith, retire (though he remains a presence in the stories). The team has a more modern look now, headed up by DI Cara Freeman (the obligatory Strong Female Lead), and including a black woman and a “gay” guy. (There may be other ethnic or societal subtleties that I missed because author Grainger is shy with character descriptions.) Nevertheless, I found Some Sort of Justice, book 17 in the series, engrossing and effective.
DI Freeman’s superiors offer her a case, implying strongly that she might be wise to turn it down. It’s a reinvestigation of a death more than a year old, and it’s also a potential minefield. The victim was an earl, whose sister is unsatisfied with the police’s conclusions. He was found dead in a pool after a party at the home of a high-level entertainment agent. Accepting the case, Freeman soon learns that the facts are very hard to determine. The cremated body is no longer available for examination. The host’s story doesn’t make sense. And it appears that a prominent politician was present and desires very much to cover that up. As the investigation goes on, the team is confronted again and again with the choice between doing the easy, political thing or seeking the truth. They choose to seek the truth, but they’ll lead a lot of intelligence, some shrewd strategizing, and a little plain luck if they’re to keep their careers when it’s all over.
I was highly pleased with more than one conservative sentiment expressed in passing. I enjoyed Some Sort of Justice. Cautions for adult themes.
A venerable custom on this blog is my post-Viking event saga review. During reenactment events I like to (at least most of the time) read from The Complete Sagas of Icelanders, to keep myself from (further) violating authenticity standards through reading off my Kindle device. During the Scandinavian Festival in Moorhead I read three sagas, two of them connected, all of them weird to various degrees. We’re getting into late sagas here, and weirdness goes with the territory.
The Saga of the People of Kjalarnes
The first one is The Saga of the People of Kjalarnes, which deals with early settlers in the area around Reykjavik. It’s also interesting because it depicts early Christian-heathen conflicts, and features one of the few saga descriptions of a heathen temple (historians consider this description pretty much worthless as evidence).
Helgi Bolan is an early Iceland settler, and we’re told he welcomed a group of Irish immigrants who were Christian. (I believe these people should probably be considered mixed Norse-Irish, ones who fled Ireland following military reverses in the Emerald Isle. These people would have thought of themselves as Norse, but had converted to Christianity.)
Every saga begins with a can of genealogical worms, and this can finally brings forth the saga’s main hero, Bui Andridsson. Bui is an open “Christian,” and is actually prosecuted at the Thing assembly for false religion. He is outlawed but (interestingly) simply ignores it. Nobody seems to be able to do much about it, because he’s such a skillful fighter. He has a foster-mother who keeps egging him on to desperate acts, justifying it by saying that his fate is already determined, so there’s no point playing safe. He finally burns Helgi Bolan’s temple down, killing a man in the process. (I think we’re supposed to sympathize with Bui, but objectively he sounds like a jerk.)
Outlawed, he flees to Norway, where the king sends him on a quest to the giant Dofri (identified with Dovre mountain in Norway; this element connects this saga to lesser-known legends about King Harald Fairhair). While staying with Dofri, Bui cohabits with the giant’s daughter, who is (we are told) very tall but very beautiful. (The mind boggles.)
Later he returns to Iceland where he’s finally killed fighting with Jokul, his own son, born to the giant’s daughter, whom he’s never met. The saga ends by telling us that they don’t know what happened to Jokul, but read on…
Jokul Buason’s Tale
Somebody must have wanted a sequel about the patricide Jokul, because that’s the next story in the collection. This is a saga that seems to have no historical basis at all, and so it runs wild along fairy tale lines. In his adventures, Jokul encounters a couple of giant sisters. He and his companion kill one, but spare the other, and she becomes their useful and devoted slave (giant psychology would seem to be somewhat different from human psychology).
The saga goes on to take Jokul, in the end, to the land of the Saracens, where he rescues a prince and princess. He marries the princess and succeeds her father as king of the Saracens.
To live, one assumes, happily ever after.
Gold-Thorir’s Saga
Gold-Thorir’s Saga returns us, tenuously, to some connection with the real world. Gold-Thorir is Thorir Oddsson, who as a young man vows sworn-brotherhood with a group of other young men. They go out to have adventures. They rob a grave mound, where the ghost prophecies great wealth but a bad end for Thorir. After that, we’re told, Thorir’s personality changes.
They go on to assault a clutch of dragons in a cave, managing to kill the dragons and seize their treasure. As their leader, Thorir is awarded the larger share of the loot.
[One peculiarity of this saga is that a few pages are missing. They weren’t lost, but were erased, probably with the intention of re-using them (not uncommon with old book manuscripts). Someone wrote in a summary of the missing material, but we don’t know if it’s authentic.)
In his old age, we are told, Gold-Thorir becomes increasingly sour and antisocial. Finally, according to the saga, he actually turns into a dragon. And his treasure disappears.
Chesterton is often misquoted with a couple lines about fairy tales and dragons. Here’s what that master of words actually wrote in “The Red Angel.”
The timidity of the child or the savage is entirely reasonable; they are alarmed at this world, because this world is a very alarming place. They dislike being alone because it is verily and indeed an awful idea to be alone. Barbarians fear the unknown for the same reason that Agnostics worship it—because it is a fact. Fairy tales, then, are not responsible for producing in children fear, or any of the shapes of fear; fairy tales do not give the child the idea of the evil or the ugly; that is in the child already, because it is in the world already. Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey. What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey. The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon.
Exactly what the fairy tale does is this: it accustoms him for a series of clear pictures to the idea that these limitless terrors had a limit, that these shapeless enemies have enemies in the knights of God, that there is something in the universe more mystical than darkness, and stronger than strong fear. When I was a child I have stared at the darkness until the whole black bulk of it turned into one negro giant taller than heaven. If there was one star in the sky it only made him a Cyclops. But fairy tales restored my mental health, for next day I read an authentic account of how a negro giant with one eye, of quite equal dimensions, had been baffled by a little boy like myself (of similar inexperience and even lower social status) by means of a sword, some bad riddles, and a brave heart. Sometimes the sea at night seemed as dreadful as any dragon. But then I was acquainted with many youngest sons and little sailors to whom a dragon or two was as simple as the sea.
The Scandinavian Festival in Moorhead is over, and I am safely home. I am tired and sore but intact, as is my car – thanks be to the Lord.
The picture above shows my little bookselling booth, with Viking tent attached, set up right at the southwest corner of the stave church, a replica of the Hopperstad stave church in Norway (I met the guy who built it once, but that’s another story).
Here’s the rest of our camp, or most of the rest. I didn’t photograph everything.
There was an odd symmetry between the two days of the festival, at least for me. History did not repeat itself, but it rhymed, sort of, in very different existential modes.
Our big concern on Friday was the weather. The day was forecast to be mostly cloudy, with rain showers in the early afternoon. Our hope was that the showers would be light and quick to pass. The rain turned out to be fairly heavy, and at one point it actually started hailing on us. As it happened, the hail began just as I was in the middle of working a credit card transaction on my cell phone – fortunately, my customer was a good sport, and was not deterred. I should have asked her to come in under my awning, but my awning is not that waterproof anymore. When it rains heavily, the rain drips down in a straight line across the lowest point in the canvas. I had my books out in front of that line, while I myself stood in back of it, the Veil of Drip separating us in the fashion made popular by the veil of the temple in Jerusalem.
I sold exactly three books on Friday. We all hoped things would be better on Saturday, because the weather was supposed to be nice and, well, it would be Saturday.
My sales on Saturday, as I hinted earlier, sort of paralleled Friday’s weather. I sat for hours without a single sale, worried that the whole thing would be a bust. Then, around early afternoon, customers started streaming in (like a storm, get it?). Fully four of those customers took advantage of my Festival Discount to buy the entire Erling saga all at once. Then business passed away like the hailstorm, but I’d sold enough to satisfy me.
Everybody else seemed to enjoy the festival too. I was delighted to be stationed so close to the stave church.
I took another picture of the church, though it’s incomplete. To get a really good shot, I’d have had to stand in the blacksmith’s booth. He probably would have let me – he’s a genial fellow – but I didn’t like to ask.
I also got a picture of the Hjemkomst ship inside the museum, or at least of its prow. One of my book customers had known Bob Asp, the ship’s builder, when he was a guidance counselor in Moorhead and he himself was a teenager.
Thanks to the Clay County Historical Society for letting us participate. I hope we can do it again.
Thank you, Valued Reader. You’ve been very patient during my two-day absence from this blog, and your reward will be TWO posts from me today. I am in a benevolent mood.
This post in particular is to announce the release of the biographical novel, Hans Nielsen Hauge: The Torchbearer, a fictional biography of the Norwegian lay evangelist. I did not translate this work, whose original author is Inger Anna Maridal Drangsholt, but I edited the manuscript, so the marks of my genius are all over the final product.
I’ve written about Hauge many times before on this blog, having a long family history in the Haugean movement; some of my ancestors knew the man personally. The Torchbearer is aimed at young adults, but I found it a very engaging and lively dramatization and I’m pretty excited about it. I recommend it for anyone unfamiliar with Hauge’s story.
There probably won’t be any more posts from me this week. I’m heading up to Moorhead, Minn. tomorrow, for the upcoming Scandinavian festival at the Hjemkomst Museum.
You might be interested to watch the video above, telling the story of the strange adventure that brought the Hjemkomst Viking ship into existence. Bob Asp, a guidance counselor from Moorhead High School, conceived the idea of building a replica Viking ship (based on the Gokstad Ship) and sailing it back to Norway. It seemed like a crazy idea, but he was able to get support and build the ship. Sadly, he did not survive to actually make the voyage, but his sons, his daughter, and others did accomplish it. (I was a young man then; I wish I’d gotten the opportunity to be part of that.)
Today, replica Viking ships are fairly common in the world, but this was (I believe) the first serious attempt to build a true sailing model since the Viking ship that made it to the Columbian Exposition in Chicago in 1893. Replica ships are archaeological experiments, and we’ve learned things since then that Bob Asp didn’t know – his ship’s example served as a corrective for later builders.
For instance, we know now that Viking ships were built with planks split out of logs in a sort of pie-slice pattern, then planed flat. Bob Asp’s ships used sawn boards, which are less resilient and crack more easily. Also, the Vikings used green wood to build, then let the planks season in place after fastening. This helped them maintain their shape (some of the planks on Asp’s ship, I have read, tended to pop out of place).
Still, Bob Asp had an epic dream and he got it finished. Not everybody can say that.
I’ve been relishing Alan Lee’s bracing thriller series starring US Marshal/secret agent Manny Martinez, a native of Puerto Rico but the most patriotic man in America. Manny generally saunters through his stories like a James Bond with better hair (and more scars). The stakes are high, but the tone is light, mostly because Manny refuses (as Stonewall Jackson put it) to take counsel of his fears.
But Martinez, the fourth book in the series, has a different tone. Manny is still Manny, but this time he’ll take a trip into his own past, brought into confrontation with his dark origins.
One day in the Marshals’ office, Manny recognizes a prisoner being interviewed. In a moment, that prisoner murders a marshal, wounds Manny, and makes a clean escape. The prisoner was not the man they thought they’d arrested. He was Manny’s own (probable) half-brother, Julian. When they were boys, they’d been inseparable partners in crime. Manny had been (we learn) the heir apparent to the main crime family in Puerto Rico. But he decided he didn’t want that life, and escaped to the US. Julian felt deeply betrayed. He rose to become one of the top assassins in the world, and now he’s decided the time has come to get his revenge on Manny. But not right away. First he’ll kill everyone Manny loves. In the end, he lures Manny home to P.R. for a final showdown.
Martinez was not as much fun as the previous Manny Martinez (code name Sinatra) novels, but it was exciting and gripping, and the great theme is mercy. I recommend it. Cautions for violence and language.
Our Viking camp at the Hjemkomst Center, one of the last times we were there.
I have heard rumors – somewhere – that most of this country (not to mention the world) is not located in the Upper Midwest where I reside. And I’m pretty sure that most of our readers don’t live in these parts either. As a matter of fact, only half our Brandywine Books blogging staff lives anywhere near Minnesota.
Yet I do make these “personal appearances” from time to time, and feel obligated to inform you about them. Who knows? Some super fan may fly in from Florin or Guilder someday, just to meet me and get a book signed.
Hey, I’m a fantasy writer. Improbability is my wheelhouse.
The Festival will be held at the Hjemkomst Center, a museum built to house the Hjemkomst Viking ship, which was built in Hawley, Minnesota and sailed by a group of Minnesotans across the Atlantic to Norway in the 1970s. The museum’s park also features a lovely full-sized replica of the Hopperstad Stave Church. It is well worth visiting at any time.
If you’ve been reading this blog a while, you may recall that I’ve been to the Hjemkomst Center for Viking events before, but it’s been a few years. I’m looking forward to going back; it’s an excellent venue for Vikings.
If through some geographical anomaly you happen to be around Moorhead on Friday and Saturday, I’d be happy to see you.
If I’m not there, it’ll probably mean that the cold I’ve been fighting has gotten the upper hand.
It’s a psychological thriller, and like so many books of that subgenre, it borders on horror. Such books can be very good; think of The Silence of the Lambs.
But this book by Rowan Merrick falls far below that level.
The hero (sort of) is Ray Matthews, a former police detective who resigned under pressure. (There’s also talk about articles he wrote, as if he moonlighted as a journalist, which seems unlikely. It wasn’t really explained as far as I can recall.)
Now his old superior calls him back in to view a murder scene. The victim was tortured to death, words carved into his body. The words are from an old article of Ray’s, in which he wrote about the official malfeasance that led to the release of his (Ray’s) wife’s murderer. The present victim is one of the men culpable in the injustice.
Ray’s problem is that he can’t recall where he was at the time of death. He experiences blackouts occasionally, and it’s been happening more often recently. He’s terrified that he committed the murder and doesn’t recall it. As the first half of the book continues, his fears grow.
The second half of the book turns (mostly) to his sister Charlene. We learn their family history, how she’s been covering for Ray for most of their lives, and how she has curtailed her own life, partly out of love and partly out of fear.
The book ends with a Big Surprise.
And a cliffhanger.
I don’t like cliffhangers. I consider cliffhangers an offense to the reader.
Also, I found the psychology of this book dubious. I thought the decisions of several characters implausible. And I considered the “solution” unnecessarily complex.
In short, I was disappointed with Where the Bad Men Sleep. Not recommended.
YouTube, which grows more annoying as time passes, is now featuring old movies provided (for some reason) with the wrong titles. When one came up called “The Painted Memory,” featuring Joseph Cotton, I had an idea it was probably the 1948 film “Portrait of Jennie.” As is so often the case, I was right.
I watched it with great interest. I haven’t seen it since I was a kid, but it was one of those movies that stuck in my mind. When I first saw it, I was still aspiring to be a visual artist, so I identified with the main character. I little expected that the story would be formative for me in a way I never anticipated.
What do I think of it, after 60 years? Read on, if (for some reason) you care to know.
The film is based on a 1940 novella by Robert Nathan, an author who ought to be better remembered. He was a pioneer of what we call urban fantasy today, and his stuff is quite good. I found several of his books in a public library when I lived in Florida, and enjoyed them.
The plot: Joseph Cotten plays Eben Adams, a starving artist in Manhattan during the Great Depression. Dealers find his work competent but uninspired, and he doesn’t sell much. Then one day in Central Park he meets a little girl named Jennie Appleton (Jennifer Jones), who dresses strangely in old-fashioned clothes. They make friends, and he is charmed. When he looks for her the next day, however, she does not appear. He draws a sketch of her, and a gallery owner buys it immediately, saying it’s the first inspired thing he’s ever done. Throughout the year, Jennie shows up periodically, and each time she seems years older. Eben does research and discovers that she was the child of trapeze artists in old vaudeville, decades before, and was orphaned when they died in an accident. Then she went to a convent school and college. Finally she appears to him again as a young woman, and he paints her portrait.
He goes to the convent to talk to an old nun who knew her. She informs him that Jennie used to go out to a place on the coast called Land’s End, where she died in a freak tidal wave. As a present-day tidal wave builds out at sea, Eben rushes to Land’s End to meet her and – he hopes – to rescue her this time. He fails, but an epilogue tells us that Eben Adams achieved greatness as an artist after his “Portrait of Jennie.”
What did I think of it? The movie flopped on release, in spite of the popularity of the original novella. In the years since, critics have revised their opinions upward, and now it’s considered a minor classic.
For my own part, I was a little disappointed. (This is the way of things remembered from childhood. They never live up to your memories, do they?)
Websites store cookies to enhance functionality and personalise your experience. You can manage your preferences, but blocking some cookies may impact site performance and services.
Essential cookies enable basic functions and are necessary for the proper function of the website.
Name
Description
Duration
Cookie Preferences
This cookie is used to store the user's cookie consent preferences.
30 days
These cookies are needed for adding comments on this website.
Name
Description
Duration
comment_author
Used to track the user across multiple sessions.
Session
comment_author_email
Used to track the user across multiple sessions.
Session
comment_author_url
Used to track the user across multiple sessions.
Session
These cookies are used for managing login functionality on this website.
Name
Description
Duration
wordpress_logged_in
Used to store logged-in users.
Persistent
wordpress_sec
Used to track the user across multiple sessions.
15 days
wordpress_test_cookie
Used to determine if cookies are enabled.
Session
Statistics cookies collect information anonymously. This information helps us understand how visitors use our website.
Google Analytics is a powerful tool that tracks and analyzes website traffic for informed marketing decisions.
Used to monitor number of Google Analytics server requests
10 minutes
__utmb
Used to distinguish new sessions and visits. This cookie is set when the GA.js javascript library is loaded and there is no existing __utmb cookie. The cookie is updated every time data is sent to the Google Analytics server.
30 minutes after last activity
__utmc
Used only with old Urchin versions of Google Analytics and not with GA.js. Was used to distinguish between new sessions and visits at the end of a session.
End of session (browser)
__utmz
Contains information about the traffic source or campaign that directed user to the website. The cookie is set when the GA.js javascript is loaded and updated when data is sent to the Google Anaytics server
6 months after last activity
__utmv
Contains custom information set by the web developer via the _setCustomVar method in Google Analytics. This cookie is updated every time new data is sent to the Google Analytics server.
2 years after last activity
__utmx
Used to determine whether a user is included in an A / B or Multivariate test.
18 months
_ga
ID used to identify users
2 years
_gali
Used by Google Analytics to determine which links on a page are being clicked
30 seconds
_ga_
ID used to identify users
2 years
_gid
ID used to identify users for 24 hours after last activity
24 hours
_gat
Used to monitor number of Google Analytics server requests when using Google Tag Manager
1 minute
_gac_
Contains information related to marketing campaigns of the user. These are shared with Google AdWords / Google Ads when the Google Ads and Google Analytics accounts are linked together.
90 days
Marketing cookies are used to follow visitors to websites. The intention is to show ads that are relevant and engaging to the individual user.
A video-sharing platform for users to upload, view, and share videos across various genres and topics.
Registers a unique ID on mobile devices to enable tracking based on geographical GPS location.
1 day
VISITOR_INFO1_LIVE
Tries to estimate the users' bandwidth on pages with integrated YouTube videos. Also used for marketing
179 days
PREF
This cookie stores your preferences and other information, in particular preferred language, how many search results you wish to be shown on your page, and whether or not you wish to have Google’s SafeSearch filter turned on.
10 years from set/ update
YSC
Registers a unique ID to keep statistics of what videos from YouTube the user has seen.
Session
DEVICE_INFO
Used to detect if the visitor has accepted the marketing category in the cookie banner. This cookie is necessary for GDPR-compliance of the website.
179 days
LOGIN_INFO
This cookie is used to play YouTube videos embedded on the website.
