Category Archives: Fiction

Guess These First Lines

Here’s a list of opening lines from various novels. The potential titles follow. There will be no prize, except the satisfaction of a job well done. I will suggest that I would score well on a quiz like this, but I’m not taking it, am I?

  1. “Who is John Galt?” The light was ebbing, and Eddie Willers could not distinguish the bum’s face.
  2. “I have been here before,” I said; I had been there before; first with Sebastian more than twenty years ago on a cloudless day in June, when the ditches were white with fool’s-parsley and meadowsweet and the air heavy with all the scents of summer; it was a day of peculiar splendor, such as our climate affords once or twice a year, when leaf and flower and bird and sun-lit stone and shadow seem all to proclaim the glory of God; and though I had been there so often, in so many moods, is was to that first visit that my heart returned on this, my latest.
  3. It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.
  4. Hazel Motes sat at a forward angle on the green plush train seat, looking one minute at the window as if he might want to jump out of it, and the next down the aisle at the other end of the car. The train was racing through tree tops that fell away at intervals and showed the sun standing, very red, on the edge of the farthest woods.
  5. It was Wang Lung’s marriage day. At first, opening his eyes in the blackness of the curtains about his bed, he could not think why the dawn seemed different from any other. The house was still except for the faint, gasping cough of his old father, who room was opposite to his own across the middle room.

Choose from these titles:

  • Catch-22, by Joseph Heller
  • Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand
  • Absalom, Absalom, by William Faulkner
  • 1984, by George Orwell
  • The Good Earth, by Pearl Buck
  • Wise Blood, by Flannery O’Connor
  • Brideshead Revisited, by Evelyn Waugh

Pattern of Wounds, by J. Mark Bertrand

One of the keys to a long career in law enforcement is learning how to tell police psychologists what they need to hear without sounding deceptive. The only alternative is good mental health, which to me has always seemed too unrealistic a goal.

That’s Houston Police Detective Roland March, hero of J. Mark Bertrand’s crime novel Pattern of Wounds, a sequel to Back On Murder. I liked the first book very much, and I think I liked this one even more. Bertrand is doing almost exactly the thing I’ve tried to do (with far less success) in my own fantasy novels—to portray the real world through eyes of faith, giving both believers and unbelievers a fair chance to make their cases.
Roland March is a Houston cop, at once admired and disliked in his department because of his erratic career history. Successful enough as a crime solver to have been the subject of two true crime novels, he went through a slump period (following the death of his daughter in a car accident with a drunk driver) during which he seemed to be on the way out. In this book he tells us something we didn’t know before about that period—he was cutting corners because he didn’t trust the justice system. Always staying within the limits of strict legality (or so he believed), he nevertheless bent the law in order to insure “true justice” as he saw it. Continue reading Pattern of Wounds, by J. Mark Bertrand

Not a review: The Love You Crave, by John Locke

I’m not going to post the cover of John Locke’s The Love You Crave, because it’s kind of racy for our standards in these parts. And I’m not even going to link to the e-book, because you can find it if you want to. I do not in any way endorse Locke’s Donovan Creed novels, of which The Love You Crave is the first I’ve read (and, I’m relatively certain, the last). But there are things to be said about the series as a phenomenon, and not just “Tsk, tsk.”

The Donovan Creed novels are a series of “humorous” thrillers about a government agent and assassin. He’s a little like James Bond on cocaine. The books (judging from this one) are full of violence and sex, and attempts at humor which (according to reviews) work for some people, though I’m not one of them.

The book suffers from a severe lack of likeable characters. The hero (not himself very likeable) tries at one point to figure out one of his friends whom he can trust with his life. He realizes that most of his friends have tried to kill him at least once. Continue reading Not a review: The Love You Crave, by John Locke

The Need to Interpret Our Tragedy

Adam Kirsch writes about the novel and our current instant-information environment.

In our lifetime, no event has ignited the human instinct to find and create meaning like the 9/11 attacks. From the first moment, Americans spoke of the catastrophe as unprecedented in its enormous deadliness and sheer surprise; it was natural to feel that America had changed forever in a single morning. But on reflection, it’s clear that neither the scope nor the surprise nor the sheer malevolence of the 9/11 attacks was new in human history. Ten years later, it seems that the real uniqueness of 9/11 was, rather, the sheer speed with which we spectators moved from seeing the disaster to interpreting it.

Though many have written fictional accounts of the September 11 attack and some have argued against the need, Kirsch says the definitive 9/11 novel has yet to be written and may never be. (via Books, Inq.)

E-book: The Donzerly Light, by Ryne Douglas Pearson

I got this book free for my Kindle (it still is free, at least as of this writing), and I have to say it’s one of the better free books I’ve downloaded. Ryne Douglas Pearson is known as an author of techno-thrillers, but, as he explains in an Author’s Note, before he started in that genre he wrote The Donzerly Light, a Dean Koontzian supernatural thriller, which didn’t sell. He remained fond of it though, and the advent of e-publishing made it possible for him to offer it to the public.

The time is the late 1990s. Jay Grady wakes, tied up and blindfolded, in a dark closet, with a cast on a broken leg. Rough hands lift him up and carry him to an interrogation room, where he is questioned by a man who does not seem to be a policeman. Jay was captured after being seen shooting a man to death. He does not deny the act. Once, we learn, he was a Wall Street celebrity, a young man with a gift for picking winning stocks, a mover on the way up. Then he suffered what looked like a psychotic break, and disappeared. For years he survived as a transient. Now here he is.

Jay hides nothing. His life was altered forever, he says, when he stopped one morning and gave money to a panhandler on Wall Street. The panhandler rewarded him with a “gift,” a form of magic that allowed him to identify rising stocks ahead of the market. The gift might almost have seemed a divine one, except that it led Jay into all the stereotypical excesses and acts of selfishness that so frequently go with being young and rich. Then, when his power changed in a terrifying way, he fled his old life. But he could not avoid a final showdown with the supernatural forces in which he’d dabbled.

I found The Donzerly Light (the title refers to a child’s misunderstanding of the line from the national anthem) an utterly fascinating story, worthy of comparison with Dean Koontz in his middle period, before he started adding explicitly Christian elements to his stories. (I might note that this book treats Christians with respect, and Jay, although he shares a motel room with an attractive woman drawn into his adventure, does not share a bed with her).

Fascinating, moving, with a genuine, page-turning mystery at its bottom, The Donzerly Light is a winner. If you have an e-book reader, I recommend it. Mild cautions for language and adult situations.

Uncle Abner, Master of Mysteries, by Melville Davisson Post

“Abner,” replied Dillworth, “how shall we know what justice is unless the law defines it?”

“I think every man knows what it is,” said Abner.

“And shall every man set up a standard of his own,” said Dillworth, “and disregard the standard that the law sets up? That would be the end of justice.”

“It would be the beginning of justice,” said Abner, “if every man followed the standard that God gives him.”

“But, Abner,” replied Dillworth, “is there a court that could administer justice if there were no arbitrary standard and every man followed his own?”

“I think there is such a court,” said Abner.

This passage, from a story entitled, “The Tenth Commandment,” in the book, Uncle Abner, Master of Mysteries, by Melville Davisson Post (published 1918), encapsulates, in its moral libertarianism, much of what I found fascinating, and irritating, in this collection. I would like to recommend it for some readers, but have a hard time saying what kind of readers those might be.

“Uncle Abner” is a Virginian backwoodsman living some time in the early 19th Century (I was never able to work out exactly what period. The clues were all over the map.) Most of his stories are narrated by his hero-worshiping nephew (hence the “Uncle”). Abner is a Christian of unimpeachable (frankly overdrawn) integrity and intelligence, a man without official office who nevertheless acts as an investigator whenever a murder is discovered in the neighborhood. His reading of the human heart is infallible, his observations invariably correct, his judgments infallible.

He has little regard for human institutions of justice. When he discovers a murder he’s as likely to let the guilty party off as to turn him over to the authorities, sometimes on the basis of reasoning that seemed pretty obscure to me. He seems to believe that God’s justice is active and inescapable, not only in eternity but in the present, and regards himself as God’s instrument.

In short, he’s a man many of us would like to be, and is also kind of insufferable. In addition I think his theology weak (at one point he says that the devil “is very nearly equal, the Scriptures tell us, to the King of Kings.” The Scriptures tell us no such thing).

The puzzles are interesting, some of them noteworthy in the history of mystery writing. The stories reminded me of Chesterton’s Father Brown mysteries, but were less didactic in terms of theology, and the characters less rounded.

I’d like to recommend this book to adults, but I suspect most readers (even Christians) will find them a touch naïve in terms of realism. I’d like to recommend them for children, but the depictions of black people (mostly slaves at that point in time in Virginia) are not the kind I’d like to see children exposed to.

So make your own judgment.

Jacob's Voice in Literature

On D.G. Myers’ new blog, he talks about Jewish American Fiction.

As proud as I am to serve as an enforcer for the Jewish literary mafia, I think the real explanation for the sudden and prolonged prominence of American Jewish novelists is much simpler. They sound different from other American novelists. And the sounds they make, “the jumpy beat of American English​,” as Philip Roth​ once described it, are hard to resist. Other novelists sound laconic, if not sleepy, by comparison. American Jewish fiction is the fiction that is written in a distinctive voice — Jacob’s voice.

Spoils of the weekend


It was one of the most exhausting weekends I’ve had in a long time, involving considerable interaction with other human beings, always a workout for me. But nevertheless it wasn’t a bad weekend. Two things that happened, in particular, pleased me inordinately.
First of all, I got this link from my friend and sparring partner, Ragnar. They’re going to do The Long Ships as a movie again. In fact, they’re going to do two movies and a TV miniseries. They’re going to do it in Sweden, and if the Swedes are to be believed (always, ahem, a gamble), they’re going to do it right this time. Continue reading Spoils of the weekend