Category Archives: Fiction

‘When Christmas Comes,’ by Andrew Klavan

“I have,” he told her mildly, “a strange habit of mind.”

“Oh?”

“I hear about things. Things people tell me. Stories in the news. Or I read about things online somewhere. And sometimes, I can think my way into them. Imagine my way into them, as if I’m there. And because of that, I begin to discern the causes of events when other people can’t.”

“You’re talking about…”

“Crimes mostly,” he said….

A new Andrew Klavan book is always cause for celebration. In this case, it’s a Christmas celebration. If Graham Greene had written A Christmas Carol, it might have turned out something like When Christmas Comes.

Cameron Winter claims to be, and actually is, an English professor at a midwestern University (apparently it’s in Indiana). But close examination, especially of his hands, indicates he’s something more. He used to be (and probably still is) some kind of a covert government operative. Yet he seems to have freedom to operate on his own.

The story of When Christmas Comes starts with three different narratives, their connections not initially apparent. A young military veteran in the idyllic town of Sweet Haven has confessed to murdering his wife, a school librarian who was universally loved and whom he adored. Cameron Winter, in a session with a psychologist, tells a long, poignant story about his first love, a girl with whom he spent many Christmases in the past. But her family had a dark history, devastating when revealed. And Cameron gets an appeal from a former lover, now married and a lawyer. She’s defending the accused veteran; she knows she can’t get an acquittal, but can Winter discover anything that might give the judge grounds for showing mercy?

As Winter pokes into the lives of the veteran and his victim, he uncovers more secrets. Dangerous ones. If he makes the wrong decisions, he may ruin lives and get people killed.

I loved this book. Wished it were twice as long. Nobody is better than Klavan at delivering, not only a riveting story, but living, breathing characters with palpable inner lives, all packed up in a bed of crystalline prose.

You should read this book. Can’t recommend it highly enough. I pray Cameron Winter will return for another story.

‘Pieces of Death,’ by Jack Lynch

I continue reading through the late Jack Lynch’s Peter Bragg novels. Enjoyable, if not top rank. With the added charm of being written before the world went all PC.

In Pieces of Death, San Francisco PI Pete Bragg is hired by a friend in the newspaper business who wants him to bodyguard a friend of his own, coming in on a plane from the east. The guy doesn’t seem like someone who needs much protection, but they get along pretty well – until a couple gunmen show up and kill the protectee.

In spite of this failure, Pete’s client wants him to help him out with related work. The guy was coming in to participate in the assembly and sale of a fabulous historical treasure several people hadn’t even known they shared until recently. But will they manage to close the deal before a mysterious killer wipes them all out, one by one?

The whole thing’s kind of a riff on the classic Maltese Falcon scenario, and it was competently handled. I found the basic “Maguffin” somewhat far-fetched, though, and the story sort of meandered. Also, it still kind of annoys me that Pete never figures stuff out until it’s too late to avoid the shoot-out. Though I suppose the shoot-out’s the real point of the story.

But Bragg’s a likeable character, with a sense of honor that seems a little old-fashioned in this century. So I recommend it.

‘The Way of a Ship,’ by Derek Lundy

Benjamin had found the work on a square-rigger hard and testing beyond anything he had imagined. Nevertheless, as the barque turned away from the gale to run fast to the south, not slogging into the eye of the wind or hove to, but for the first time truly sailing, he became aware of something else: fascination, and the rapture of a young man in glamorous jeopardy.

Among the many things I didn’t know before I read Derek Lundy’s The Way of a Ship was that, at the very end of the Age of Sail, during the late 19th Century, there was a time when the square-riggers served their own nemesis. It was apparent to all that the steamship was on its way to replacing wind-sailing ships. But those steamships needed coal to run on, and (for technical reasons having to do with engine efficiency and payload) at the time the cheapest way to transport coal was in sailing ships. So the sailors carried the fuel for their usurpers. These last sailing ships were not wooden, but iron, their rigging made of steel. The profit margin in this commerce was narrow, so the companies economized by keeping the crew sizes at a minimum. The food stores were minimal as well. Men died because of it, but that’s one of the costs of doing business.

Author Derek Lundy conceived an interest in a collateral ancestor of his, a young Irishman named Benjamin Lundy who sailed in a coal ship around the Horn in 1885. He hunted for information, and found it sparse. The old logs, and most of the old letters, had disappeared. The best he could do was learn what he could about the commerce in general, and then imagine a voyage for his ancestor, on a fictional ship, The Beara Head, with an imaginary captain and a (mostly) imaginary crew, and send them through a fairly typical voyage from Liverpool to Valparaiso, and then on to San Francisco.

It’s a harrowing journey. The book it most recalled to me was Richard Henry Dana’s Two Years Before the Mast. But Dana dwelt less on the horrors of the voyage (fewer sailors die in his book). Author Lundy did some sailing as part of his research, including time on a genuine square-rigger. Also he’s a superior wordsmith. Thus he’s able to convey some inkling of the kind of dangers and sufferings these sailors experienced. The oddest thing about it, when you think of it, was that all this was routine. People took it for granted. If you went through an adventure like this today, you’d be on television and get book deals. It’s as if we’re a whole different species from these men.

I found The Way of a Ship utterly engrossing and educational. I recommend it highly. The rare political asides seem pretty even-handed. Some profanity, which kind of goes with the territory.

New Words, Smiles, Blogroll, and Our Man in Havana

Merriam-Webster added 455 words to their dictionary last month, both new terms and new definitions. Because gets a new meaning as a preposition, “often used in a humorous way to convey vagueness about the exact reasons for something,” as in, “She drove all night because Daryl.” A new word is copypasta, something that has been spread around online.

Also new are deplatform, digital nomad, Oobleck, zero day, fluffernutter, and ghost kitchen. 

Michael De Sapio describes the moral imagination of Graham Greene’s Our Man in Havana, a spy comedy. “Dana Gioia writes that Catholic fiction, contrary to what a secular reader might expect, ‘tends to be comic, rowdy, rude, and even violent.’ This is true of Our Man in Havana, which jostles us through brothels and nightclubs and striptease houses, conveying the dinginess of a decaying city side-by-side with the sanctity of the Church. The comic juxtaposition of the sacred and the profane points up the duality of human nature in the most visceral way possible.”

Speaking of Cuba, playwright Garcia Aguilera, who has been promoted by the government in the past, is now calling for political reform and peaceful protest. He has become what Cuban officials call a “counterrevolutionary.”

“In his Dictionary, Dr. Johnson defines smile as ‘a slight contraction of the face.'” Yeah, but there’s more to it than that.

Allergies of the Gondolier, as told by Damian Balassone
“From the monstrous canals of his nose
a tsunami of mucus arose.”

Marvin Olasky summarizes John Frame’s A History of Western Philosophy and Theology. “In discussing early Christian philosophers, Frame criticizes those who have an insufficient sense of antithesis between Christian and Greek philosophy. Frame states that ‘the attempt to make Christianity intellectually respectable, and therefore easy to believe, is one of the most common and deadly mistakes of Christian apologists and philosophers throughout history.'”

Photo: Texaco gas pumps, Milford, Illinois, 1977. John Margolies Roadside America photograph archive (1972-2008), Library of Congress.

Is It Worth Reading the Princess Bride?

“Look: I would hate to have it on my conscience if we didn’t do a miracle when nice people were involved.”

“You’re a pushy lady,” Max said, but he went back upstairs. “Okay,” he said to the skinny guy, “What’s so special I should bring back out of all the hundreds of people pestering me every day for my miracles this particular fella? And, believe me, it better be worth while.”

A couple years ago, a rumor went around that Sony Pictures wanted to remake The Princess Bride, and many fans respectfully demurred. Remaking it after the pattern of many remakes would produce just another sequel film no one wants to see.

But having read William Goldman’s novel, which is now available in beautifully illustrated hardcover–can you imagine–I could see another movie made from this book. Definitely not a remake of the movie. But another movie based on the book could work if it were done creatively independent from the existing movie.

I’m thinking of something in an artsy style that includes new scenes and probably original material. Maybe the part about dad reading to his son is limited and animated. Inigo’s and Fezzik’s backstories could be told. Prince Humperdink would be a barrel-chested hunter who hated matters of state and enjoyed playing around in his Zoo of Death. There’s enough in the book to do something different with it in a movie–even though while reading the book it’s easy to believe all the best part made it into the existing movie. Goldman did the adaptation himself masterfully.

I think there’s room for a little original material too: another woman to interact with Buttercup and give her some screen time in the castle or before. They could adapt scenes to show how Humperdink noticed her and solicited her hand in marriage like the big jerk he is–no love required. And they could probably insert a Monty Python-style historian toward the end of the first half to comment on Florin and Guilder relations, which of the women alive at the time were known to be uncommonly beautiful, and related innanity.

It would be tough, but I think it could work.

Is the book worth reading? Yes, it is. But if you’ve seen the movie several times already, you may find the book to be a little different.

‘Scarecrow,’ by Eaton K. Goldthwaite

It’s possible to appreciate a novel without enjoying it much. That’s my reaction to Scarecrow, the first novel in the Lieutenant Dickerson series, first published in 1945.

Lieutenant Joe Dickerson is a Boston detective with a reputation for case-solving. His superior assigns him to go to the small town of Sudwich, Connecticut as a consultant, to help with the first murder the town has seen in many years. Sudwich has one industry, run by Old Man Kendall. But the old man has withdrawn from the world since his son Cotton was lost in combat in the Pacific.

One day, a strange, misshapen figure turns up in the town square, saluting the flag. Soon after, the town Lothario is found shot to death in his car, and a local beauty is stabbed in her apartment. That’s when they call in Lt. Dickerson. Dickerson sets about painstakingly analyzing crime scenes, interviewing witnesses, and picking his way through a tangle of relationships, hatreds and other motives to finally identify the murderer (whose identity did surprise me).

What I appreciated about Scarecrow was the (relatively) realistic portrayal of professional police work. Dickerson doesn’t rely on flashes of intuition, or on his flashing fists, but on science and reason. I suspect (I don’t know) that this book may have been an advance in the police procedural sub-genre. (Dickerson does, in a rudimentary way, the same sort of thing they used to do on the CSI shows.)

What I didn’t like was that the book was boring. It took forever for the plot to get going. The dialogue was stilted, all the characters speaking in the same formal, unnatural way. Also, this was clearly the work of an Englishman, though the setting and characters are American – there were Britishisms everywhere, “petrol” for gasoline, and “torch” for flashlight, for instance.

So I can’t recommend Scarecrow very highly. Though you may appreciate the utter absence of profanity.

‘The Saint to the Rescue,’ by Leslie Charteris

I recently reviewed The Saint on the Spanish Main, and found Leslie Charteris’ famous hero, Simon Templar, a little different, and more intriguing, than I had guessed based on the TV shows.

The Saint to the Rescue is an earlier series of stories, first published in 1959. In these six neatly constructed little tales, set either in California or the American South, I learned yet more about Simon Templar, and I was a little shocked. In a fun way (in real life it might be different).

Several of the stories involve people being blackmailed. The Saint considers blackmailers lower than murderers, and has no objection to a private death penalty for them. That’s not something I’m accustomed to in fiction, but it provided this reader a genuine frisson of guilty pleasure.

Modern readers, if they are liberal, will appreciate the Saint’s contempt for Florida land developers who ravage the environment. Conservative readers will appreciate his condemnation of foreign aid and his spirited defense of the British Empire (remember that author Charteris himself was a non-white child of the Empire, son of a Chinese father and an English mother).

And those of us, young or old, who are weary of Gender Feminism will appreciate the complete absence of Evolved “masculinity.”

Shocking. Fun. Easy to read. I recommend The Saint to the Rescue, unless you’re Woke.

‘Unauthorised,’ by Ed Church

…The guy looked like he’d been chiselled from granite then dipped in a vat of nicotine.

The latest installment in Ed Church’s Brook Deelman series, Unauthorised, seems to take the books in a new direction. I’m not sure I’m entirely happy about that, but the book is worth reading.

Brook is called up, to his own surprise, to join a special task force of the London police. He isn’t there long before he figures out he wasn’t recruited for his investigative skills. His friend Kev is part of the team. Kev has finally reached his career ambition of being on the Homicide Squad. Unfortunately, he has apparently reached his Peter Principle level of incompetence. His superior is easing him into a less demanding job at the police academy, and Brook is just there to babysit him during the transition.

But Brook is fascinated by the crimes they’re investigating, partly for personal reasons. Two police officers have recently been found dead, apparent suicides, surrounded by evidence (likely planted) of deep moral depravity and corruption. But the weird thing is that both had the same name – Jonathan Davies. And that is also the real name of Brook’s best friend, whom he calls Jonboy. And who’s been away in Croatia and is supposed to be back soon, but Brook hasn’t been able to reach him.

Meanwhile, in New York, a UN functionary tries to recruit an agent to help him with a plot to “save the world.” And that plot involves interfering in the London serial murder investigation.

Also, Brook meets a new woman and starts a tentative relationship.

The book was well-written and gripping, though the premise was kind of far-fetched. The UN thread moves us into the realm of Illuminati-style Conspiracy Theory, which I don’t care much for. There’s a character who seems to be a Christian believer, but I’m not sure what to think about him.

All in all, Unauthorized was not my favorite book in the series, but I’ll keep reading to see where the author takes it. Cautions for language and disturbing themes.

‘The Missing and the Dead,’ by Jack Lynch

In spite of the unwelcome appearance of pot-smoking in the previous volume of this collection, I enjoyed the first book in Jack Lynch’s Pete Bragg series enough to continue with the second book, The Missing and the Dead.

Here we find our San Francisco private eye retained by a local celebrity, an over-expressive female TV personality, to look for her brother, Jimmy Lind. Jimmy is an insurance investigator, and he’d been sure he was on the trail of a much-sought, missing artist when he vanished. Oddly, a cop disappeared around the same time in the same area, a sort of artist’s colony.

As is characteristic of the series (so far as I can tell so far), our hero works at solving the puzzles he encounters, but the malevolent genius in the background is such as he could never have imagined. Once again, he’ll survive by luck as much as by strategy, and he won’t really know what he’s facing until the Big Reveal, when it’s almost too late.

But one doesn’t read Hard-boiled for the puzzle solving. The Missing and the Dead was fun to read, a page-turner with lots of fighting and (implied) sex. Plus some surprisingly sensitive characterization. And most satisfactorily, it’s pre-Woke. When a drunk persists in harassing the woman Pete is romancing, he decks the guy, and she doesn’t lecture him on how she doesn’t a man’s protection, but rather appreciates his gallantry.

And the pot-smoking, though mentioned, is restricted to off-stage.

I recommend The Missing and the Dead as popcorn reading.

‘The Unpleasantess at the Bellona Club,’ by Dorothy L. Sayers

“Considering the obliging care we take in criminal prosecutions to inform the public at large that two or three grains of arsenic will successfully account for an unpopular individual, however tough, it’s surprising how wasteful people are with their drugs. You can’t teach ‘em. An office-boy who was as incompetent as the average murderer would be sacked with a kick in the bottom….”

Old General Fentiman, a veteran of the Crimean War, was pretty much a fixture at the Bellona Club, a stodgy gentlemen’s club for veterans in London. On Veterans’ Day, he becomes more a fixture than ever, being found dead in his accustomed wing-chair. Certain peculiarities about the condition of the body make it difficult to determine the exact time of his death.

And that becomes an issue, since, as it turns out, the old man had reconciled with his long-estranged sister that same day, and she had also died, after changing her will. The division of her large estate will now depend on which of them passed away first. Lord Peter Wimsey, himself a member of the club, is asked to investigate – as discreetly as possible. Lord Peter grows increasingly interested as he asks questions, and then (as he so often does) begins to dread what he’ll learn. He hopes very much the murderer wasn’t his friend George Fentiman, the old man’s grandson, who is very poor and suffers from shell-shock and the occasional fit of uncontrolled rage.

That’s the premise of The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club, fourth novel in the Lord Peter Wimsey series. At this point (in my opinion), author Dorothy L. Sayers is coming into her full powers as a detective novelist. Her writing is sharp and amusing, her characters vivid, and the puzzle is a neat one. Also on display are acid social commentary (especially concerning attitudes toward women) and problems of morality.

I like The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club very much, and recommend it highly.