Rick Dewhurst is a writer who confounds me, to a great degree. I wasn’t sure what to do with his mystery, Bye Bye, Bertie, which I reviewed a while back, and now I’m not sure what to do with The Darkest Valley, a very different sort of book. Bye Bye, Bertie was a farce. The Darkest Valley is a tragedy. Neither is easily classified or compared with anything else I’ve read (or you either, in all likelihood).
Tom Pollard is a pastor in the island town of Cowichan, British Columbia. He’s barely hanging on in his ministry. The elders are on the point of kicking him out, and the street ministry center he fought to establish has borne little fruit, but has become a heavy burden with which he gets little help. His only success is Will Joseph, a young Cowichan Indian man. Will dreams of going away to Bible school, but lives in fear that his father, who follows the old ways, will have him kidnapped and brainwashed.
Meanwhile Tom’s wife Ruby is dying of cancer, dreaming of a miracle but worn down with pain, bitterness, and guilt. Tom and Ruby become friends with Jesse Thornton, editor of the local paper, who holds Christians generally in contempt but is avidly pursuing a young woman who attends Tom’s church.
The only thing I can really tell you about the course of the story is that it won’t go where you think it will. This book is true to life, not to Christian fiction conventions. I think that, in Flannery O’Conner fashion, God’s grace is at work in the shadows here, but to be frank the whole thing’s kind of depressing.
The writing isn’t bad, but Pastor Dewhurst needs to watch his homonyms (reigning/reining, tow/toe), and sometimes his sentences are poorly constructed. I’ve seen worse, but I’m pretty sure this author could do better. Also the book is told in alternating streams of consciousness, a technique that bores me after a while.
I recommend The Darkest Valley for Christians eager to struggle with very profound questions of faith. Not for casual entertainment.
I got my review copy free.
Category Archives: Reviews
Past Imperfect, by Kathleen Hills
A mystery set in a Norwegian-American community in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula was bound to get my attention, so I took advantage of a free download of Past Imperfect by Kathleen Hills. The book wasn’t bad, but I can’t describe it as compelling reading.
The year is 1950, and John McIntire, a native of the lakeshore town of St. Adele, has returned at last after five post-war years in England, during which he did something unspecified for the US government and married an English woman. His neighbors have elected him constable, noting that he seems to have little else to do with his time. Nobody expects him to have to investigate a murder. But his childhood friend Nels Bertelson is found dead on his fishing boat, killed by a bee sting, to which he was allergic. But why is his syringe of antivenin missing? And why are bees found in his clothing, as if planted there? John has hardly begun asking questions before a local teenage girl is found strangled, though her body disappears before the police can get to the spot. What’s it all about? Who could benefit from these deaths?
The mystery plot of Past Imperfect was all right, but the storytelling only so-so, in my opinion. Author Hills seems to have the same problem I’ve noted in many female authors – her male characters don’t come to life. Even the ones supposed to be energetic come off as remarkably passive. And everybody talks on and on, and when they’re not talking they’re paddling the stream of consciousness. Relationships are subjected to detailed forensic analysis. Past Imperfect moves much more slowly than it needs to.
Not generally objectionable, and not a waste of your reading time, I still can’t recommend Past Imperfect very highly.
The Baby Blue Rip-Off, by Max Allan Collins
There are elements in Max Allan Collins’ Mallory mystery novels which could easily have turned me against them. But Collins’ skill in handling sensitive issues is of so high a quality that he turns them into strengths. I thought this admirable element was especially on view in The Baby Blue Rip-Off, originally published in 1983 (which I’m constantly surprised to realize is a long time ago).
Mallory (his first name is never divulged) is a former soldier, former cop, and present mystery writer who has moved back to his home town of Port City, Iowa. When the story begins he’s been talked into doing a little volunteer work, delivering hot meals to elderly people. To his surprise he enjoys it, and becomes very fond of several old ladies on his route.
But on this night he finds a van backed up to one of the meal recipients’ houses. The place has been trashed and several men are carrying valuables out. Mallory gets seriously beaten, but his elderly friend is dead.
Sheriff Brennan warns Mallory not to try investigating on his own, but he does it kind of half-heartedly, having resigned himself to Mallory’s curiosity and his personal stake in the case. As he runs down clues, Mallory gets beaten up again, re-kindles an old romance, and confronts profound questions of love, trust, and betrayal.
What particularly pleased me – and this is fairly surprising in a book whose narrator unabashedly declares himself a Democrat – is how deftly author Collins handles the politics. This especially applies to Mallory’s relationship with Sheriff Brennan. The sheriff’s son went off to Vietnam with Mallory years ago, but only Mallory came back. Then Mallory got involved with Veterans Against the War, which Brennan saw as a kind of betrayal. But in this story the two men warily reach out to one another and form a bond.
This is a masterly example of a technique many authors (perhaps even me) can’t seem to get. A failure in this department completely spoiled fellow Iowa author Ed Gorman’s Sam McCain mysteries for me. Gorman couldn’t concede that a Republican could be anything other than an idiot or a scoundrel. Collins, to the contrary, first of all includes a liberal character who is a jerk (which obviously doesn’t mean all liberals are jerks, as Mallory’s a liberal himself), and a conservative character (Sheriff Brennan) who’s a decent human being.
That’s all it takes. You don’t have to pander to the other side. Just grant them a little humanity, and admit there can be faults on your own side. It was enough to charm me completely, and enable me to get behind Mallory with enthusiasm.
Mild cautions for adult material, including Mallory committing adultery with a married woman. Otherwise highly recommended.
Netflix review: "Dragnet"
Not long ago, I acquired one of those “Roku” boxes, which allows me to watch Netflix programs on my actual TV instead of my computer. To my own surprise, I find myself watching rather more old TV than movies. They’ve got the whole run of the immortal Rockford Files, for instance, which is wealth at my fingertips.
But another old series I checked out was one I only remember vaguely from my childhood – the original Dragnet with Jack Webb. I’ve found it surprisingly fascinating viewing.
Like most people of my generation, I remember the show chiefly in its later 1967-1970 revival version, with Harry Morgan as the sidekick. And I’ve been watching some of those, too – not on Netflix, but on the broadcast Antenna TV channel. They’re OK (though it’s always embarrassing to see a record of how we dressed in those days), but there’s a strange flatness about them (and not only in the acting). In a strange way, the later color version is less colorful than the earlier, black and white series. The original 1951-1959 Dragnet was genuine TV Noir. Continue reading Netflix review: "Dragnet"
The Fifth Witness, by Michael Connelly
“I just don’t know why you can’t have it both ways. You know, give unbridled effort in your defense but be conscientious about your work. Try for the best outcome.”
“The best outcome for who? Your client? Society? Or for yourself? Your responsibility is to your client and the law, Bullocks. That’s it.”
I gave her a long stare before continuing.
“Don’t go growing a conscience on me,” I said. “I’ve been down that road. It doesn’t lead you to anything good.”
I’ve said before that, although I’m a big fan of Michael Connelly, I’m not a big Mickey Haller fan. Mickey, Connelly’s street-smart defense lawyer hero, is just a little shady. His aspirations are mostly monetary, or so he believes – though in the crunch he tends to learn he’s not quite the scoundrel he fancies himself.
I consider it a tribute to author Connelly’s storytelling skill that I found myself generally irritated with Mickey all the way to the end of The Fifth Witness, where a sudden reversal won me over completely.
When the story begins, Mickey has diverted his legal practice to a field currently more lucrative than criminal defense. That’s contesting mortgage foreclosures. Among his new clients, the most annoying is Lisa Trammel, who has turned her personal property fight into a crusade, and has started a protest movement. She’s pushy and entitled, and Mickey doesn’t like her at all.
But when Lisa is arrested for the murder (with a hammer) of a bank officer she’s been blaming for her troubles, she calls on Mickey to defend her. Sure, there’s blood DNA evidence to link her to the crime, but how did five foot three Lisa kill a man well over six feet tall with a hammer blow to the very top of his skull? And who sent thugs to beat Mickey up?
As he works through the evidence, Mickey begins to suspect he may actually be defending an innocent woman – something that troubles him more than an assumption of guilt would.
Very well done. Michael Connelly played on my emotions like a master all the way through.
Cautions for the usual, but nothing major by contemporary standards.
Don't wash your hands before you touch that!
Today was the first genuinely nice day of the year. I have a window (one) open as I sit here.
Sadly for you, there was no camera present to record the hauntingly beautiful “Welcome to Spring” interpretive dance I did this morning.
On Facebook, I had a short conversation with a truly remarkable man, Norwegian artist Anders Kvåle Rue. We’re Facebook friends, but there is a division between us. Despite the fact that we’re both Christian Viking aficionados, which puts us in a fairly small minority, he’s a supporter of St. Olaf, and I’m a supporter of Erling Skjalgsson. The feud of two men a thousand years dead lives on in our hearts.
I kind of like that.
Anyway, I went on to ask him about the video below (it’s in Norwegian) done by my translation publisher, Saga Bok. It’s about their trip to Iceland to examine the Flatey (Flatøy) Book, one of the great lesser-known troves of saga material in existence. Saga Bok is doing a Norwegian translation and Anders did the art. They wanted to get a look at the original artifact so he could match colors.
I asked him about something that may have surprised you too, if you watched it. He handles this precious object, well over a millennium old, with his bare hands. “Didn’t they want you to wear gloves?” I asked.
No, he said. The Flatey Book is written on parchment, made from animal skins. Unlike paper, which deteriorates from the acid in your fingerprints, parchment actually benefits from the body oils you deposit on it.
Amazing.
From the English Spectator, a review by the great Paul Johnson of Alister McGrath’s new C. S. Lewis biography. I might note that Johnson makes one mistake. He says Mrs. Moore was Lewis’ friend Paddy Moore’s widow, when she was actually his mother. Tip: First Thoughts.
Have a good weekend!
Free Fall, by Robert Crais
I’m pretty sure I’d read this one before, but I’d forgotten it enough to enjoy a second reading. Free Fall is one of Robert Crais’ earlier Elvis Cole novels. I personally think the later ones are richer, but this is a good mystery by a skillful author.
Jennifer Sheridan comes to see Elvis in his office. She’s young and beautiful and fresh, and Elvis half falls in love with her at first sight, but her mind is on her fiancé, Mark Thurman. Mark is an LA cop on an elite squad. He’s been acting strangely recently, and she’s grown convinced he’s gotten himself involved in something illegal.
The case seems to have solved itself a few minutes later, when Mark himself, along with his sleazy partner, walks into the office. He tells Elvis he knows why Jennifer was there, and that it’s all very simple. He’s fallen in love with another woman, and is just waiting for the right moment to break up with her. Elvis passes this on to his client, but she doesn’t believe him. She insists he look a little closer. That closer look eventually uncovers police brutality and a cover-up and gang violence, and leads to the deaths of innocent people and Elvis’ arrest. He’ll need all the help he can get from his fighting machine friend, Joe Pike, before he can get himself out from under a very nasty conspiracy.
Pretty good. There’s a strong element of morality in this story that pleased me a lot. Elvis informs us that LA cops respect and admire anyone who helps put a crooked cop away, which strains credibility a little, but that’s a small point. Minor cautions for the usual stuff, but nothing heavy.
A Grim review
It’s snowing again. Coming down pretty heavy. The weather man says five to eight inches this time.
I was going to call it an insult, but no. The last one was an insult. This is the one there’s no alternative to laughing over. Even if it puts down a foot, I declare here and now I won’t shovel it. It’ll be gone in a couple days anyhow.
I’m beginning to think we need to draw lots to figure out who offended the Almighty.
Only I’m afraid it’s me.
Anyway, our friend Grim at Grim’s Hall has posted a review of Hailstone Mountain, with a call for discussion on a theological point which I, frankly, had never actually connected to the scene in the book he’s talking about. But now that he mentions it, I guess he’s right.
A Throne of Bones, by Vox Day
When I wrote my article on Christian Fantasy for the Intercollegiate Review, I made a disparaging comment about “wanabee George R. R. Martins.” I received a friendly e-mail shortly thereafter from none other than Vox Day of the Vox Popoli blog, wondering if I had had his novel Throne of Bones in mind. I hastened to tell him that I hadn’t. I’d seen the book on Amazon and thought about checking it out, but hadn’t done so yet.
The upshot was that I sent him a copy of Hailstone Mountain, and he sent me a copy of A Throne of Bones. It should be noted for the record that if our reviews of each other’s books are positive (I don’t know whether his will be, assuming he does one) that we have both received free books in the deal and may have been corrupted thereby.
Most anyone who starts reading Throne of Bones will realize that it’s very much the same sort of thing as George R. R. Martin’s Song of Fire and Ice books, and Vox makes no denial of this. But he’s trying to do the same sort of thing in a very different way, which for me makes all the difference.
The story takes place in an alternate world called Selenoth (it has two moons). The general situation seems to be something like that of the Roman Empire in the late Republican period (as best I can figure out), though there are differences. The time period seems more medieval than Roman, and the Amorran Empire (spell Amorr backwards) has believed in a religion which seems pretty much the same as Christianity for four centuries. The two most powerful houses in Amorr are the Valerians and the Severans, conservative and liberal respectively. The Valerians want to preserve the old form of the empire, while the Severans want to expand citizenship to the provincials. But General Corvus of the Valerians sets off a break within his own family through a necessary act of military discipline.
Meanwhile the Sanctiff of the Amorran church dies, and the conclave convened to elect his replacement is massacred by some kind of demonic attacker, something that’s not supposed to happen in Amorr, where magic is strictly prohibited.
Far to the north, the Viking-like Dalarans are being driven from their home islands by the Ulven, a race of wolf-men. They agree to submit to the king of Savondir (a heathen land where magic is legal) if he will give them refuge and help them reconquer their homeland. But strange shape-shifters have appeared among the Ulven, and pose a threat to Savondir as well.
And Corvus’ soldier son Marcus survives an army coup, managing to wrest control from the mutineers and finding himself, though woefully inexperienced as a commander, the general of an entire army, facing not only orcs and goblins but rebel Amorrans.
And there are dragons. And dwarves. And elves.
Pretty much all you could ask.
I enjoyed it immensely. Vox Day isn’t the prose stylist George R. R. Martin is, but he’s not bad. On the plus side we have a complicated, complex story with interesting and sympathetic, fully rounded characters. There are few out-and-out villains – everybody is doing what they think right. And unlike Martin’s stories, the fact that someone is virtuous and noble does not guarantee them a painful and ignominious death. In terms of pure story, Vox Day’s book is much more rewarding. And Christianity is treated not only with respect, but as a true part of the cosmos.
Much recommended.
Link sausage 4/12/13
Just a couple links tonight.
First of all, Kevin Holtsberry of Collected Miscellany has posted a review of Hailstone Mountain.
Also, it isn’t often I see personal acquaintances in national stories. There’s been some outrage on the conservative side over an article in Rolling Stone Magazine about how the firearms industry is supposedly seducing kids to buy guns (which of course they can’t actually do legally). Patrick Richardson of PJ Media deconstructs the article here.
The little girl with the pretty pink AR-15 in the Rolling Stone photo is Morrigan Sanders, daughter of my friend, Baen author Michael Z. Williamson. I met Morrigan once, long ago, when she was very small. I paid little attention to her at the time, but remember thinking she was likely to break some hearts in a few years.
Little did I know she’d become a celebrity.
Mike Williamson is a libertarian, so we agree on some things and disagree on others. But he’s a powerful writer, and he’s always encouraged me. Good luck to him and Morrigan both.