‘The Houseboat Detective,’ by Jay Allan Storey

I am, as you’ve doubtless noticed, a sucker for mysteries about detectives who live on boats. This is due to a (fruitless) yearning for some second coming of Travis McGee. The Houseboat Detective by Jay Allan Storey was available for free, so I gave it a shot.

It wasn’t bad, but it was (perhaps intentionally) about the polar opposite of a Travis McGee story.

Jake Sommers does not live on a luxurious seagoing barge yacht like McGee, but on a quaint little houseboat, never intended to sail anywhere. And it’s docked more than a nation away from Fort Lauderdale – in Victoria, British Columbia. Jake inherited the boat from his hippie aunt. He ekes out a marginal living playing piano in a bar (he’s a talented musician, but lacks ambition), and he’s working on a serious drinking problem.

One of his neighbors, just to send him a wake-up call, puts up an online ad, advertising Jake’s services as a private investigator. (Jake has a little intelligence training, from the military, but has neither experience nor interest in the work.) But when Evangeline, a beautiful young woman, shows up at his houseboat, offering him money to locate her missing sister, he can’t resist. The woman tells him she never knew she had a sister, and the woman’s profile has now been pulled from the DNA testing site where she found it. Purely by trial and error, Jake begins to turn up leads, though the sister has left suspiciously few traces behind. Meanwhile, the mercurial Evangeline is fascinating him more and more. Even as it becomes increasingly clear that she’s been lying to him from the start.

I get the impression that author Storey is still learning his craft, but he shows some promise. Jake Sommers is an intriguing, wry character (though his bravery when the action starts is a bit surprising to the reader), but he could have been more effective if he’d been written in the first person (there was no plot reason not to). The prose could have used some cutting. It’s not awful, but meanders.

Still, not bad.

‘Last Words,’ by Michael Koryta

…He had called on every resource for survival and found that your resources didn’t matter much when you were lost in the dark. You needed help from outside the blackness then. That had been the most unsettling realization of his life. I cannot save myself.

A while back I picked up a novella by Michael Koryta, my latest author enthusiasm. It was called The Last Honest Horse Thief, and told a story about Marcus Novak, a young boy living an itinerant life in the American mountain west. His mother, whom he loved but was ashamed of, was a fraudulent psychic and con woman. The story told how he got a chance at a different life, but chose to go back to her, honoring what he felt to be his responsibility. Like all Koryta stories, it didn’t go where I expected it to, but was satisfying in its own way.

On picking up Last Words, the first book in a series, I discovered that the novella had been a prequel, and that Marcus Novak is the hero here. He’s grown up now, having happily fled the mountains that carried so many bad memories. Now he lives the good life in Florida, as an investigator for a nonprofit foundation that investigates wrongful death penalty convictions. Or rather, it was the good life, until his wife was murdered. Since then he’s been obsessed with discovering her killer – so that he’s close to losing his job.

To get him out of the board of directors’ sight, Marcus’ boss sends him to Indiana, to investigate a case that doesn’t even match their organizational criteria. Ten years ago, a teenaged girl was lost in a cave. An eccentric local spelunker brought her dead body out, claiming he’d lost any memory of finding her. Public opinion agrees that this man must have murdered her, but there’s no evidence, and he’s never been charged or convicted. He is, in fact, the one who asked the foundation to send an investigator, to settle the truth once and for all.

Marcus has no interest in going to Indiana, and doesn’t care about the case. The secret lies in the cave, and he doesn’t like caves. The secret also involves a hypnotist, and he doesn’t trust hypnotists. Still, he will get drawn into it, and dark truths will be revealed.

I’m afraid I was a little disappointed in Last Words. The writing, as always with Koryta, was good. But I found the hero kind of passive. He got drawn into things against his will, and although he was tested in a major way, I wasn’t sure what he learned from it. But the big thing was that I wasn’t greatly surprised by the solution. I expect more surprises from Michael Koryta.

Also, there’s a lot of hypnotism in the story. I’m skeptical of hypnotism myself (someone tried to put me under once, but I’m a bad subject), and I thought the claims here were implausible.

But I’ll stay with the series. Last Words was all right, just not the author’s best work. In my opinion.

Are we all Ned Ludd now?

When you do a web search for “Ned Ludd,” this is the only picture our computer overlords have to offer.

On Wednesday, my Close Personal Friend®, Gene Edward Veith, posted an article describing a recent report out of Microsoft Corporation, predicting which jobs are most threatened by Artificial Intelligence. Ed’s post is subscription only, but the report itself can be found here, if you care to read it. It includes the following list of endangered jobs, in order of endangerment:

  1. Interpreters and Translators
  2. Historians
  3. Passenger Attendants
  4. Sales Representatives of Services
  5. Writers and Authors
  6. Customer Service Representatives
  7. CNC Tool Programmers
  8. Telephone Operators
  9. Ticket Agents and Travel Clerks
  10. Broadcast Announcers and Radio DJs
  11. Brokerage Clerks
  12. Photographers
  13. Technical Writers
  14. Tour Guides
  15. Copy Editors and Proofreaders
  16. Librarians
  17. Museum Technicians
  18. Archivists
  19. Event Planners
  20. Public Relations Specialists
  21. Marketing Coordinators
  22. Social Media Managers
  23. Conference Coordinators
  24. Advertising Sales Agents
  25. Travel Agents
  26. Court Reporters
  27. Paralegals
  28. Insurance Underwriters
  29. Claims Adjusters
  30. Survey Researchers
  31. Market Research Analysts
  32. Fundraisers
  33. Grant Writers
  34. Instructional Coordinators
  35. Human Resources Specialists
  36. Compensation and Benefits Analysts
  37. Training and Development Specialists
  38. Executive Assistants
  39. Office Managers
  40. Data Entry Keyers

This will be, of course, a troubling list for many people. For me, it’s already kind of old news, as I, in my old gig, translation, (Number One on the list), have already been “made redundant,” as the English say.

Nowadays I find myself in sympathy with the legendary Ned Ludd, an English weaver who supposedly broke up a “knitting frame” because the technology threatened his traditional job. (In fact, his legend seems to be older, going back to a boy who was disciplined for sloppy work and smashed the machinery in a fit of pique. Later on, when mechanization arrived, the people opposed to innovation were labeled “Luddites.”)

A better hero for us enemies of progress would probably be John Henry, the hero of the folk ballad, who raced a job-threatening steam drill and beat it, but worked himself to death in the effort. I remember that even as a boy I viewed John Henry as emblematic of something that was going on in the world – little did I guess how high the stakes would get in my own lifetime.

(Continued on page 2)

‘Brush Up Your Shakespeare’

I have no real excuse for posting something fun and trivial tonight, except…

  • First of all, I don’t have a book finished for review;
  • Secondly, everything’s so sad today, and this clip amused me.

Above, a show-stopping number from the musical, “Kiss Me Kate.” The production, in its various manifestations, is a meta-narrative – a musical about a musical. It deals with a fictional musical production of a version of Shakespeare’s “The Taming Of the Shrew.” The producer and star is Fred Graham, played here by Howard Keel. The female lead is Lilli Vanessi, played by Kathryn Grayson. They are divorced, but still cherish suppressed feelings for one another, though each is now involved with someone else. Lilli’s guy is another actor in the play, who owes a large sum of money to a gangster, and has deviously signed Frank’s name to his IOU. The gangster sends two minions to collect from Frank; here they’re played by two of the great character actors of the 20th Century – Keenan Wynn and James Whitmore. Who knew they could dance like that?

(By the way, I have never seen “Kiss Me Kate” in any of its forms, and I get this information from the Wikipedia article. But I’ve long been familiar with the song.)

The lyrics are by Cole Porter, better than which you do not get.

The movie altered the plot somewhat from the stage version, so I don’t entirely understand what excuse they made for having the two goons encourage Frank with this number in the back alley. In the original play, they find themselves onstage alone before the audience, and improvise it.

Does quoting Shakespeare to women actually make a man interesting to them?

Not in my experience.

Psalms on a day of sadness

A dark day in Minneapolis. I used to live not far from where the atrocity happened. I could say a lot of bitter, partisan, thoughtless things, but best to keep my big mouth shut while people are grieving.

A friend alerted me to the clip above. I know nothing about Holy Groove, but it grabbed me right away. This (in my opinion) just works.

People who know me, know I don’t care much for contemporary Christian music. Based on how the controversy over CCM tends to run, I suppose they assume I don’t like new styles of music.

Nothing could be further from the truth. I have no problem with guitars in the sanctuary. I have no problem with drums in the sanctuary. Saxophones and electronic synthesizers are cool as far as I’m concerned.

My objection is to bland, repetitive lyrics.

May my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth if I ever object to the Psalms. And the blues are so flexible that they adjust to the text with smoothness and elegance.

Maybe there’s comfort here for someone today…

‘The Ridge,’ by Michael Koryta

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.”

‘The Prophet,’ by Michael Koryta

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.