Fiction, Reviews

‘The Ridge,’ by Michael Koryta

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At this point I’ll just cop to it – I’ve become a Michael Koryta junkie. I’m plowing through his books, one after the other, and when I run out I’ll probably have to check myself into a rehab center somewhere.

The Ridge is not my favorite of his books, but it kept me biting my nails. And Koryta’s great trademark – the head-fake, the illusionist’s trick of diverting the audience’s attention so they can be astonished when the rabbit (or, in this case, the cougar) emerges from the hat – is there in abundance. The wonderful thing about this artistic technique is that it increases verisimilitude (life is full of surprises like that) and offers plenty of opportunities for deeper, more complex characterization.

In the hills of eastern Kentucky an idealistic young couple has established a sanctuary for exotic cats. They are full of hopes and love for the animals, but they dislike their closest neighbor, a crazy old man who has built an actual lighthouse nearby, and keeps telling them this is a bad place for them to set up.

The same old man has been warning Deputy Sheriff Kevin Kimble about some weird danger that he can’t define. Kimble pays the old drunk little attention, but when the old hermit suddenly kills himself, Kimble finds a number of mysterious newspaper articles and photographs tacked up in his house. They all relate to accidents and murders that happened at , or to people who’d been at, the ridge. As he investigates, Kimble grows increasingly convinced that there is evil at work up there, and it’s his job to figure out how to fight forces not of this world.

The Ridge was a pretty complex story – perhaps a little too complex. It must have been a challenge to plot. But all the thrills were earned, and the the ending was dramatically satisfying. Think Dean Koontz, if you’re looking for a comparison.

Recommended. Cautions for grownup stuff.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Mean Business On North Ganson Street,’ by S. Craig Zahler

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Someone suggested I read an S. Craig Zahler novel, just to see what I thought of it.

So I went and bought Mean Business On North Ganson Street.

There are many good things I could say about this book. First of all, it’s well written. Author Zahler is a very good stylist. He turns out punchy, neo-hardboiled prose, with a razor edge: “The silver luxury car rolled past a street that was blocked off by an overturned pickup truck, which had been torn open like a zebra on the plain.” “The windshield wipers shoved powder across the glass, and through the opening, Bettinger saw Victory. Covered with snow and viewed from a distance, the city resembled a mildewed autopsy.”

Also, the characters are vivid and the plotting propulsive. This is very good writing.

But the reading experience provided? That’s a whole other thing.

Jules Bettinger is a police detective in Arizona. His record is good, but his customer service attitude isn’t, and he gets himself fired. His only option to stay on the job is a transfer to the city of Victory, Missouri, notorious for having the worst crime rate in the country.

When he gets there, he finds his fellow detectives brutal and probably corrupt. He observes clear violations of suspects’ rights. Then he learns more, and discovers why the cops are acting the way they are – in Victory, the situation has gone far beyond law enforcement. It’s now total war. When his own family gets pulled into the violence, Jules takes the gloves off and enters fully into the battle.

And that battle will lead from the better parts of Victory, which are merely blighted, to the worst parts, which are post-apocalyptic.

It’s a descent into Hell.

Reading Mean Business On North Ganson Street was an uncomfortable experience. Shocking, offensive, full of disillusionment. This is Nietzche’s world; the cops are just patrolling it.

I can’t really recommend the book, unless you have a taste for scenarios out of a Hieronymus Bosch painting.

I also thought the sex scenes were unnecessarily explicit.

I fear I am not going to be a S. Craig Zahler fan.

Blogs, Socials, Fiction

Fiction Throwdown: Can Chat GPT Tell a Better Short Story?

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Bestselling fantasy author Mark Lawrence asked three established fantasy authors to write 350-word short stories along with him and let his blog readers compare them to four similar stories produced by ChatGPT. He ran this experiment two years ago and concluded Team Human still had the edge. This year, not so much.

Read the eight stories here and keep your own tally on whether a story is written by AI or author and what rating you would give it out of five stars.

I read through them today and had hoped for better results at picking out the AI writing. I picked half of them correctly: two human written, two AI. I didn’t score the stories high in general, giving only one five stars and another four. Three I gave three stars. The remaining three earned twos and a one. It’s a little embarrassing to say my two high ranking stories were AI written. Two of the ones I disliked the most were manmade.

Jon Del Arroz, another fantasy author, reacts to the poll in this video.

Music, Religion

Friday hymn: ‘Built on a Rock the Church Shall Stand’

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Health update: I still feel lousy.

Tonight, another Scandinavian hymn. It was written by N. F. S. Grundtvig (1783-1872), a controversial Danish pastor who adjusted his theology several times over his career, but rarely lowered his voice. (I think he believed – wrongly – that the origin of the Creeds preceded the writing of the New Testament and therefore they had greater authority. My Haugean forebears always considered him a dangerous thinker.) He also had the delusion that the ancient Vikings were some kind of proto-Protestants, and invented the term “Asatru” (popular among reenactors today) for worshipers of the old gods. You may remember a mention of him in Catherine Marshall’s novel Christy, which praises his development of the Folk High School movement in Scandinavia – one of the roots, I believe, of modern alternative education systems.

His followers were known as “the Glad Danes,” while the Pietists were called “the Sad Danes.”

What we have here is a hymn I remember well from childhood (we may have suspected Grundtvig’s theology in my home church, but we were fine with his hymns): “Built on a Rock the Church Shall Stand.” The original Danish text says “The Church, It Is an Ancient House.”

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Prophet,’ by Michael Koryta

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There is no God.

You walk alone in the darkness.

To prove this, to imprint it in the mind so deeply that no alternative can so much as flicker, is the goal. This is power, pure as it comes….

The prophet’s goal is simple. When the final scream in the night comes, whoever issues it will be certain of one thing.

No one hears.

Reading fiction is an activity entailing many pleasures; among them is the constant possibility of discovering a truly wonderful book. I had that pleasure – in a big way – in reading Michael Koryta’s The Prophet. It’s a book that has a lot to do with football, and it hit me with the impact of a linebacker.

In 1989, brothers Adam and Kent Austin of Chalmers, Ohio were both on a winning high school football team in that football-obsessed part of the country. But Adam made a mistake on the night of their greatest victory, a mistake that destroyed their family. Today, Adam is a bail bondsman, still living in Chalmers, in the old family house. His brother Kent is the local football coach, a much-respected figure. He’s a devout Christian, and regularly leads Bible studies in a nearby prison.

The brothers almost never speak to one another.

When Adam now makes a second mistake, resulting in a young girl’s death, he is overwhelmed with guilt. He makes a promise to the girl’s mother – he will find the murderer, and he will not turn him over to the police. He will kill him.

Adam has no intention of letting this ugly business slop over into his brother’s life – but it does. It turns out that Kent was part of the plan from the beginning – innocently and unintentionally, but he and his family will be drawn inexorably into a drama scripted by the killer.

In a separate plot thread, we follow the progress of Kent’s high school football team, as they surmount one obstacle after another (not least survivor’s grief) to pursue a championship they’ve never won before. This theme provides a sort of harmonic counterpoint to the main plot, revealing character and illuminating the narrative.

It’s been a long time since I’ve read a novel that impressed me as The Prophet did. (And I’m not even interested in football). In addition, the book surprised me though describing the struggles of a sincere, decent Christian – not in an evangelistic way, but honestly and with sympathy. This is something you don’t see often in mainstream literature.

I could go on and on. Drop whatever you’re doing and buy The Prophet. You’ll thank me.

Cautions for adult stuff.

Religion

An older brother ponders the Prodigal Son

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“Return of the Prodigal Son,” by Rembrandt van Rijn, 1668. Public domain.

No review tonight; I’m reading a book that’s taking me a while, but is very well worth the time. I’m looking forward to reviewing it, probably tomorrow.

My summer cold persists in my head. It’s not as bad as it was at its peak, but this sucker has settled in for the duration. Today I actually dug out the old leftover Covid test I still had laying around. Negative. This means little, of course, as the virus has probably mutated, and the test kit has probably passed its expiration date. Nevertheless, I choose to believe it. As far as I know, that plague passed over my house like the Angel of Death over the homes of the Israelites in Exodus.

So here I sit. Of what shall I write? One racks the brain and furrows the brow (or wrinkles a stamp and thoughtfully licks the brow, like the absent-minded character in one of Ogden Nash’s poems). What do I have an opinion on, which I can inflict on my readers?

How about something inspirational? The Parable of the Prodigal Son. Luke 15: 11-32.

I think that, even in our time, a lot of Americans are somewhat familiar with the story. A younger son persuades his father to give him the wealth he would have inherited right now, then grabs the proceeds and runs to a far country, where he lives large until the money runs out. He is then reduced to working as a swineherd (a particularly shameful job for a Jew), and finally reaches the point where he’s sufficiently broken to go home and beg forgiveness, offering to become a hired servant. His father receives him with joy, orders a feast prepared, and returns him to his former status as a son of the house.

That’s the story most people know. And it’s perfectly good as such. It’s often cited by evangelists, which is appropriate.

But a lot of people aren’t aware of the rest of the story – the behavior of the Older Brother. When I look at the context, I note that Jesus tells this parable directly to the Scribes and Pharisees, in response to their criticism of his socializing with disreputable social elements.
(Continued on page 2)

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Fiction, Reviews

‘Hard Count,’ by David Chill

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I’ve read and reviewed a few of David Chill’s Burnside (he’s one of those fictional detectives who apparently has no first name) novels in the past. I liked them okay, but had a few quibbles. Hard Count comes several volumes along in the series from the ones I’ve read before, and I thought the writing was better this time, so kudos to the author for learning his craft.

Burnside, our hero, is a former pro football prospect and a former cop, now a Los Angeles private eye. His private life has improved to the point where he has a live-in partner, who has a young son on whom he dotes. Gail, his partner, works in the City Attorney’s office and is running for the top job. Burnside’s not-entirely-shining past is not helping her campaign, so he’s trying to be on his best behavior.

But it’s difficult. An insurance company hires him to check out a murder attempt on one of their high-end clients, a former pro football star, now a restaurateur. Somebody took some potshots at the man in his back yard, while he was in his hot tub with his trophy wife. But the investigation gets pulled inevitably toward the insured guy’s son, a college football player who’s a hot prospect for the NFL draft, and who’s already living the celebrity life.

I found Hard Count a competently written PI story, mostly in the classical tradition. The modern shamus, of course, is more feminist and sensitive than Philip Marlowe was. Though politics were involved in this book, and we’re told that Burnside’s partner is a Democrat, there’s no real political slant here (indeed, it seemed as if they were living in another decade, when prosecutors in LA still believed in arresting people).

In the past I noted certain stylistic and grammar weaknesses in the Burnside books, but I do not see them now. Hard Count didn’t stand out from the crowd of competing detective series, but it made the cut.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Winter After This Summer,’ by Stanley Ellin

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I’ve become fond of the mid-20th Century mystery writer Stanley Ellin. I already recognized that he was an essentially good writer, not just a clever creator of smart mysteries. Still, I wasn’t prepared for what I found in his novel The Winter After This Summer, which qualifies as a mystery, I guess, but is more of a literary novel.

We first meet our hero, Dan Egan, as he is being expelled from his college. The fraternity house where he lived burned down the previous night, killing his best friend and roommate, the football hero Ben Genarro. Everyone blames Dan for failing to save Ben – and Dan himself is not entirely sure what happened.

Dan is the child of a somewhat tense marriage alliance between new money and old money, uniting two wealthy families in awkward coexistence. Refusing relatives’ offers of easy jobs, Dan instead goes to work in a shipyard, learning the mysteries of that dying craft. He tells us about his life, especially his disappointed love for Mia, Ben Genarro’s sister, who rejected him to marry into the American elite.

We also meet Barbara Jean Avery, a stunningly beautiful young woman who has escaped poverty in the Florida Keys, dreaming of James Dean and Hollywood. Mentally, she is an entirely ordinary girl, but Dan seizes on her beauty, dreaming of making her into a better version of Mia. Unfortunately, Barbara Jean has a husband, who is older and a religious madman. Their inevitable collision will bring the story to its climax

The Winter After This Summer qualifies technically as a mystery, I suppose, because it begins with an unexplained death – but that death is never actually explained. It’s more about Dan struggling with his personal background and trying to find his authentic self. The book could almost be described as Christian (Ellin in fact converted to Quakerism later in life), though the best Christian character in the book has fairly iffy theology. Readers should be cautioned about rough, realistic language and fairly frank sexual scenes.

I think my final take on The Winter After This Summer is that it’s one of those works that’s too smart for me. In the end, I wasn’t quite sure what I was supposed to take away from it. But it was a rewarding reading experience.

Poetry, Religion

‘The Hound of Heaven,’ read by Richard Burton

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This Friday night, instead of music, a poem. Actor Richard Burton (a lost soul, if there ever was one) reads one of the great English Christian poems, “The Hound of Heaven.” Francis Thompson (1859-1907), an impoverished Catholic poet who died young of tuberculosis, wrote this amazing ode to the relentless love of Christ, which was published in a collection in 1893.

There was a time — it doesn’t seem long ago, but it was — when I could recite this entire poem from memory. I still have big chunks of it in my head, and can recall the others when prompted.

I always recited it more slowly and meditatively than Burton, who reads it rapidly, in the tone of a fugitive, his pacing tight with dramatic tension.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Very Good, Jeeves,’ by P. G. Wodehouse

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He was fat then, and day by day in every way has been getting fatter ever since, till now tailors measure him just for the sake of the exercise.

It’s kind of a waste of time to review a P. G. Wodehouse book. The intelligent consumer knows the quality of the product. But it’s possible some reader (for some incomprehensible reason) has resisted the delights of “Plum’s” work to date, so here goes.

Very Good, Jeeves!, a story collection, is obviously a Jeeves and Wooster book, so there’s no mystery about what we’re getting. Idle London clubman Bertie Wooster – or one of his equally dimwitted friends – gets into some kind of ridiculous trouble. In the end, they turn to Bertie’s valet (not butler), Jeeves, of whom Bertie testifies: “There are no limits to Jeeves’s brain-power. He virtually lives on fish.”

The basic scenario is consistent (we’d be disappointed if it weren’t) but there are minor variations from story to story – sometimes Bertie turns to Jeeves at the very beginning, but unforeseen complications stretch the problem out. Sometimes Bertie delays resorting to Jeeves because some coldness has arisen between the two of them, over a disagreement about socks or golf attire or something. Once Jeeves is absent on holiday, and on another occasion Bertie’s imperious Aunt Agatha refuses to ask help from a mere servant.

But in the end Jeeves comes through, and the sun shines once again on the Edenic world of Wodehouse.

There are plenty of familiar characters in this collection – Bingo Little, Tuppy Glossop, and – most dramatically – Bobbie Wickham, the beautiful, red-haired, walking attractive nuisance.

Also, I noted, with interest, that at one point Bertie describes a portrait of himself as featuring a monocle. Bertie used to be portrayed with monocles in illustrations all the time, but I don’t recall actually finding one in a story before (there are probably others I’ve overlooked, though).

I think several of the stories in Very Good, Jeeves were actually new to me, which was delightful. The ones I’d read before were also delightful, though, so I had a thoroughly good time.

Book Reviews, Creative Culture