Small talk

It’s one of those nights when I don’t have anything worth writing. Whatever follows is guaranteed, certified piffle.

I did read another book, but it’s one in a series I’ve been following and reviewing for a while. You already know what I have to say about these books. A Skeleton in the Closet is the seventh in P. F. Ford’s Dave Slater series, about a small town detective in England. What can I say? Like the others, it’s lightweight but likeable. I estimate the Dave Slater books at about the intellectual level of a TV series – an American TV series. Which means they’re entertaining, but they won’t change your life. In this one, a colleague dies in an explosion, and Dave must delve into this person’s personal life, which turns out to have been full of secrets. At the same time, he’s under pressure from what in America we’d call Internal Affairs. In all contemporary fiction series, there’s a moment or two – or several – when certain cultural boxes must be ticked, in order to satisfy the commissars. This is a story where author Ford ticks off one of them. Upbeat and cheerful, good entertainment even with the social freight.

A Skeleton in the Closet

Classes begin at school next week, and I’m in the final throes of setting up the bookstore for fall textbook sales. Nearly done now. Tomorrow should finish it. My main thought as I survey the shelves of required textbooks is, “I ordered too many. I always do. Will the sales of books previously in stock cover the loss?”

God bless instructors who assign books we already have plenty of.

On the writing front, I’ve found my way at last after a long stretch wandering without a map. I feel keenly the fact that a few faithful readers have been waiting patiently for this book for years. All I can say is, I’m bringing it as fast as I can.

Product review: Fire 7, 7th generation

Fire 7

As I’ve been chronicling here for years, I’m a Kindle addict, thanks to the devious machinations of Hunter Baker, who gave me my first hit. A while back I transitioned to the Kindle Fire, which is now called the Fire Tablet. I recently acquired the latest (7th generation) Fire 7, and my review reads as follows.

I’d grown a little frustrated with my previous Fire, the 4th generation of the 7. I found it slow, and it had developed a habit of hanging “fire” (Get it? Fire?). So I ordered the 7th generation model (double 7s. Has to be lucky). (Why don’t I get an 8 with the 8-inch screen? Because the 7 fits neatly into my coat pockets in the winter. This matters to me.) I even sprang for the model with 16 GB storage capacity. All in all, I’m pleased with it.

I immediately noticed that this model was perceptibly lighter than my previous Fire. It’s a tad longer and narrower when you hold it in portrait position (can’t let those screen protectors or protective covers be interchangeable, can we?). The screen is bright and the definition pretty high, but no noticeable difference from my last one. It’s faster and streams movies without a problem so far (pausing to load was another frustration with my last Fire). A few minor changes have been made in the Kindle reader app (which have probably shown up in earlier Fires as well, I imagine), and I think it’s a little more intuitive.

My main concern was with the speaker. I say speaker rather than “speakers,” because this new Kindle 7 has only one. It’s mono. You get stereo when you use earphones, though. Since I mainly want stereo when I’m watching videos, and since I always use earphones when I watch videos, it’s not a big problem for me.

There are far more powerful tablets out there than the Fire. But if you primarily use it as a reader and video viewer, like me, it’s not a bad device for the money. I’m happy I upgraded.

Update: I meant to mention the battery. Battery life on the Fire 7 is noticeably longer than on my last Fire.

Netflix review: ‘Norsemen’

Norsemen

I really wanted to like Norsemen, a Viking Age comedy produced by the Norwegian NRK network. The series is filmed at the reconstructed Viking farm at Bukkøy, which is associated with the North Way Interpretational Center at Avaldsnes, Karmøy, Norway. Avaldsnes is the parish where my great-grandfather Walker was born and baptized. I’ve been to the Viking Farm, so when I watch this show I’m looking at a familiar place.

In the first episode, a shipload of Viking raiders under the command of Chieftain Olav return to their home in Norway. Olav’s brother, Orm, has been in charge in his absence, and he’s so bad at it that old men are reduced to jumping off a cliff to reduce the number of mouths to feed. Orm’s wife, Frøya, was along on the raid as a warrior, while Orm himself is pretty much useless with weapons. She despises him. Olav’s chief warrior is named Arvid. Olav arranges for Arvid to marry a widow – or rather, she becomes a widow after he’s killed her husband. But they find themselves incompatible. Meanwhile, the chief slave, Kark (saga fans will recognize that classical reference), gives instruction to the newest slave, Rufus of Rome, a professional actor who seems to think he’s on a pleasure cruise and keeps complaining about the accommodations.

What you’ve got here, essentially, is the History Channel’s Vikings series, crossed with The Office. The costumes and hair are intentionally similar to those on the Vikings show (which is to say, even worse. Black leather, which real Vikings never had, abounds). But the dialogue is straight out of The Office, with people talking in 21st century jargon. That dialogue concerns a lot of killing, which is played for laughs, and it’s also very smutty. The program was filmed in both Norwegian and English, so what you see on Netflix is neither dubbed nor subtitled.

I watched three episodes. The first two, which mostly introduced us to the characters, seemed to me kind of rudderless. But the plot began functioning at the end of Episode Two, and I went on to watch the third one. I could probably continue, because the story got more interesting once I detected a plot, and realized that the characters I’d felt sorry for were pretty much as awful as the characters I’d hated. What it boils down to is that this is one of those shows about appalling people whom I don’t care about at all. And considering the level of profanity (very, very) black humor, and casual violence, plus a little nudity, I don’t think I’ll continue with it. And I don’t recommend it to our readers.

‘Brass in Pocket,’ by Stephen Puleston

Brass in Pocket

The idea of an obsessive-compulsive detective is not a new one. Most of us are familiar with the American TV series, “Monk.” The difference with Stephen Puleston’s North Wales detective, Inspector Ian Drake, is that Drake’s OCD isn’t played for laughs. His affliction puts a genuine strain on his relationships, his career, and his personal safety.

In Brass in Pocket, Inspector Drake is called to a crime scene where two policemen have been murdered – with a crossbow. An array of traffic cones has been arranged by their car, forming the number “4”. And then the killer sends the police a message, consisting of the lyrics of a 1970s rock song.

Struggling with lack of sleep and his need to carry out his personal, calming rituals, Inspector Drake, with his team, follows every lead they can find to stop a killer who’s constantly a jump ahead of them, as the numbers count down and the rock lyrics keep coming in. The solution, when they find it, is almost unthinkable.

The OCD element in the book is intriguing, but it wasn’t enough to make it work for me. Drake and the other characters just didn’t come alive. Physical descriptions were rare, and the players were hard to tell apart. The suspects completely blended into one another, for this reader.

My perceptions may be skewed, however. It’s possible that, since I have certain obsessive characteristics myself, I just found Drake’s character too close to home, and reacted against it. But I found the plot hard to keep track of, and the story undistinguished.

So I can’t recommend it. Your kilometerage may vary.

‘The Vikings: A New History,’ by Neil Oliver

The Vikings: A New History

Another history of the Vikings. This one, by Neil Oliver, a Scottish archaeologist and TV presenter, is more subjective than, say, The Age of the Vikings by Anders Winroth, which I reviewed recently. I don’t rate The Vikings: A New History as highly as Winroth’s book purely as a scholarly work, but I expect it might be just the gateway book for some readers.

The Vikings: A New History takes a generally chronological approach, which is a useful thing. Books on the Vikings, even histories, tend to separate various geographical spheres of interest into watertight sections. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I think there’s also a need for a work that displays the sweep of Viking activity overall, decade by decade. So author Oliver has done a service in that regard.

The execution is a little idiosyncratic. The book begins (apart from personal reminiscences by the author, telling how he came to be interested in the Vikings) with quite a long survey of Scandinavian history beginning in the Ice Age. In compensation, perhaps, it seemed to me the later stages of Viking history got treated in a somewhat perfunctory manner. As if the author was running out of pages and needed to compress. Continue reading ‘The Vikings: A New History,’ by Neil Oliver

Scandinavian crime

Scandinavian mystery novels are all the rage these days. I’ve reviewed a few here, though in general they’re not my cup of aquavit. But there’s a big murder case under way in Denmark right now. It doesn’t seem to be much of a mystery, though. But full points for bizarreness.

A Swedish journalist named Kim Wall, 30 years old (and quite attractive judging by her photograph), boarded a small private submarine in Copenhagen on August 10. She was there to interview its Danish inventor, Peter Madsen. Only the two of them were aboard. The submarine was reported missing the following day, and a search began. The sub was spotted returning to port the same morning, but it sank suddenly. Madsen was rescued by a private boat. He claimed Wall had been fine when he’d put her ashore the evening before.

Police raised the sub, and investigators began to examine it (they found blood). Madsen then changed his story, saying there’d been some kind of accident, and he’d “buried her at sea.”

(The old “buried at sea” defense. Works every time.)

On August 14, investigators announced that the sub had been sunk deliberately. On the 21st, a headless, limbless torso, weighed down with metal, was discovered in the area where the sinking had occurred. Police say it was “deliberately mutilated.” It has been identified by DNA analysis as Wall’s.

Innocent until proven guilty and all that, but this one looks open and shut. Not a novel’s worth of work for dour Danish detectives. Too bad sentencing is so light in Scandinavia.

The Party Line (non-political)

Rotary phone
Our original phone, as best as I recall, looked pretty much like this. Photo credit: Infrogmation (talk) of New Orleans.

It is a failing to which old men largely tend, to talk about “the way it was when I was a boy.” We like to imagine that younger people are interested in this information. As a not insignificant bonus, it gives us the opportunity to brag about the sufferings and deprivations of our youth. There’s a subtext that says, “I’m tougher than you, punk, and if you don’t think so, just try me.”

We call this “passing on tradition.”

Somebody on Facebook recently asked about things we did and used when we were young that kids today just wouldn’t understand.

My immediate response was, “Party Lines.” You may have even run across the term “party line” at some point, where it did not refer to the agendas of political parties. This denotes the party lines of my youth.

I shall speak to you now of Party Lines. Continue reading The Party Line (non-political)

‘A Fragile Thing,’ by Kevin Wignall

A Fragile Thing

“I worry about you, that’s all. And I want you to be happy.”

He smiled, but said no more because he didn’t want to lie to her again, not about something so unimportant.

There is a class of authors whose work just flies over my head. I don’t get them. I accept their greatness based on the testimony of readers smarter than I.

Kevin Wignall is an author I sometimes don’t understand, but I like him anyway.

A Fragile Thing is a challenging book presented in disarmingly simple form. I enjoyed it, but I’m not sure how to evaluate it.

Max Emerson is an international money man, and fabulously rich, living in Italy. He invests money for some of the wealthiest, most powerful, and most evil people in the world – dictators, crime lords, drug kingpins, human traffickers. He tells people (frequently) that he never breaks the law. And that’s technically true. But he has facilitated and turned a blind eye to a number of crimes. Now he’s under pressure from the FBI, and hackers are threatening his records.

Max is alienated from his older brother and sister, and their families. His brother in particular is ashamed of Max’s reputation. This makes family events awkward, and Max generally visits his parents, in their Swiss mansion, only when his siblings aren’t around.

But when his parents are killed in an accident, and Max gets a posthumous letter from his mother, saying that if they die suddenly they’ve probably been murdered, Max is the one family member with the knowledge and resources to hunt down and punish the killer. Which he does, in a very surprising way. Continue reading ‘A Fragile Thing,’ by Kevin Wignall

‘Time and Tide,’ by Peter Grainger

Time and Tide

As you’ve probably noticed, I have a fondness for British police procedural mysteries. Of all the series I’ve sampled, I think I like Peter Grainger’s DC Smith mysteries best.

It’s probably mainly the central character I enjoy. Detective Sergeant D.C. Smith is a curmudgeon, an older cop who conceals an essentially kindly nature behind a crusty exterior. He uses his dry sense of humor as a tool to keep his opponents – both professional and criminal – off balance. He’s nearing retirement as Time and Tide begins. Police work is changing. He’s never warmed to the use of the computer (though he’s happy to have his underlings take advantage of them), and recent force reorganizations have played hob with his carefully trained and organized team. Although he’s only a sergeant (he rejected promotion; it would confine him behind a desk), he’s effectively the leader of that team.

In Time and Tide, a body is discovered floating in the sea off the Norfolk coast by a party of seal-watching tourists. The deceased was a large, tough-looking specimen dressed in an expensive suit, without any form of ID. In time he’s identified as a London businessman, once a gangster but now “legitimate.”

DC Smith is (or feels himself to be) as much hampered by the police bureaucracy as by the villains. He has a new detective inspector over his head, and he happens to be a man who once questioned Smith in connection with a murder. On the civilian side, he faces the challenge of a small community looking after its own – confident it can take care of its own problems, and resentful of official interference. And in the background, there’s a mysterious elderly woman of great natural beauty, a one-time pop star who has been living in obscurity on the coast for decades.

There’s a valedictory quality to Time and Tide. Smith has given his resignation and named the date of his retirement, and everything happens in the shade of that deadline. But there’s a couple months left, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if author Grainger doesn’t find a way to squeeze one or two more mysteries into that window of time.

Some people may find this book slow, because it’s pretty realistic about the amount of time and effort paperwork and legwork take up in any investigation. But I enjoyed it immensely. Only mild cautions for language and mature themes.

They Weren’t Stories

Every published writer is the beneficiary of luck. Among my good fortune was the fact that editors began to treat me as if they were my aunts. They were all women, of course. There were no men in the fiction departments. On one of my visits to New York, three or four editors from different magazines sat me down in the Algonquin, plied me with manhattans, and discussed my career. It was now three years since my big resolution. I was selling stories regularly. One year I sold more stories to Redbook than anyone else ever had, using several pen names. It was the consensus of the group that I was ready for more. I needed an agent.

Ralph M. McInerny, author of the Father Dowling series, wrote about his career many years ago in First Things.

“What I thought were stories piled up on the workbench. With time I began to see why they were rejected: They weren’t stories.”