‘A Knock at the Door,’ by Peter Rowlands

I’ve had a conflicted relationship with Peter Rowlands’ novels. I like his prose, and I very much like his characters. But I find his plotting a touch weak. In writing A Knock at the Door, he set himself a daunting plotting task. It was – mostly – successful.

Rory Cavenham is a web designer, temporarily out of work. He’s staying at a friend’s large house in England’s Cotswolds when on a rainy night a woman knocks on the door. She’s young and attractive, and soaked to the skin. He’s reluctant to let her in, but she seems to have no one else to help her, so he does. To his astonishment, she claims to believe the year to be 1972. Her name, she tells him, is Rebecca. She is adamant that she doesn’t want to go to a hospital or talk to the police.

Rory turns to the internet (something Rebecca doesn’t understand), and soon learns that there was indeed a girl named Rebecca who disappeared in 1972 – a convicted murderer who escaped from a psychiatric facility. But how could she turn up fifty years later, little older than when she vanished? He also discovers another missing woman who could be her, who supposedly died in a fire a couple years back. But, oddly enough, that woman was a documentary researcher who’d been researching the original Rebecca’s story…

And when uniformed thugs show up to try to kidnap Rebecca, the whole thing starts spinning out of control,

I was often reminded of my own novel, Death’s Doors, as I read A Knock at the Door. The author navigated the same kind of plot situations, where a time-traveling newcomer has to be guided – and to some extent protected – through and from culture shock. The mystery of Rebecca’s identity was a compelling one, and kept me reading with fascination.

Rory, our hero, is a good character, but artistically weak in that he commits the sin of acting naively, in exactly the same way, on more than one occasion.

The final resolution – really a series of resolutions – didn’t, in my opinion, quite live up to expectations. It was emotionally satisfying, but less so in dramatic terms. In short, it fizzled a bit – not entirely, but the bang wasn’t quite what I hoped for. Also, I did see it coming, at least to some extent.

Rebecca’s culture shock was handled reasonably well, but in her surprise at how the world has changed, she fails to mention something that would surely have been remarked on by a true time traveler – the major demographic changes in England since 1972. I can understand why an author would feel it necessary to skip that part, but it weakened plausibility a little.

Still, all in all, A Knock at the Door was an enjoyable story.

‘The Fabled Falcon,’ by Neil Howarth

As I work my way through the backlog of free books I’ve been acquiring through online deals, I found that I’d arrived at two books in a row about art experts. The last one was Aaron Elkins’ A Glancing Light (review a few inches down), which I liked quite a lot. I liked Neil Howarth’s The Fabled Falcon too, at the beginning, but my enjoyment faded as the story proceeded.

Darius Fletcher (known as “Fletch,” not to be confused with Gregory McDonald’s American “Fletch” character) is a former soldier and a former convict. Now he’s a professor of art at the (fictional) Canterbury University in England. His college is funded by the slightly shady Bancroft Foundation. Fletch is a little shady himself, providing occasional help to an art forger friend, but he genuinely loves art in itself.

One day while he’s lecturing, he looks out at his audience and sees a man there who is not a student. That man turns out to be dead. Fletch recognizes him, though – he’s Francis, a young man with whom he recently worked on an archaeological dig on Malta. Francis had confided to him that he’d discovered something fantastic – a signed painting by the master Caravaggio, who only signed one other known work.

Though Fletch is briefly detained by the police, the Bancroft Foundation quickly secures his release, and sends him off to Malta to find out what’s happened to Francis’ discovery. What he doesn’t yet know – but will soon discover – is that this treasure is being sought by competing sinister, ruthless, and deep-pocketed interests. Teaming up with a beautiful Russian Interpol agent, Fletch does his best to stay one step ahead of them, following cryptic clues to uncover ancient secrets.

If all this suggests to you parallels with Dan Brown and Indiana Jones, you’re not wrong. For this reader, the book steadily lost credibility as mystical and supernatural elements began to intrude – implicitly, at least. I probably would be okay with it if those supernatural elements were Christian, but here the flavor is explicitly Gnostic.

On top of that, there was a definite Hollywood approach, not only in the Fighting Girl Boss character of the Interpol agent, but also in the hero’s tendency to quickly heal from injuries and come back battle-ready.

So all in all, I was disappointed with The Fabled Falcon. It was heretical and implausible (but I repeat myself).

My invaluable opinion on a Nobel-prize winning book

I’ve written a review of Norwegian author Jon Fosse’s Nobel-prize winning novel, Septology. It was posted today by Ad Fontes here.

‘A Glancing Light,’ by Aaron Elkins

In the last few decades the field of art thievery had developed well beyond the crude old days when paintings had usually been stolen and then held for ransom. Now, with the prodigious rewards offered by insurance companies, nasty ransom demands had become unnecessary. You could be more decorous. You merely stole the piece of art, waited awhile, and then turned it in for the insurance reward. All you had to do was come up with some reproachless way of “finding” the object in question and getting the word to the insurance company.

I have read at least one novel by Aaron Elkins before, and I reviewed it favorably. Nevertheless, his name is one of those that remains vaguely familiar in my mind, but I can’t quite place it. Maybe A Glancing Light will help me remember in the future.

The hero of A Glancing Light (this is the second book in a series) is Chris Norgren (extra points for the Scandinavian name!) a curator for a Seattle art museum. Chris is preparing for a trip to Bologna, Italy to arrange for an upcoming exhibition. He gets a request to evaluate a couple paintings that showed up unexpectedly in a shipment for a low-rent art importer. One of the paintings he dismisses as a fake. The other turns out to be one of a group of paintings stolen in a recent major art heist.

Arriving in Italy, Chris is treated to a welcome dinner by a group of friends. Afterward, he sees one of them being attacked by thugs. Chris rushes to help him. He escapes serious injury himself, but his friend is permanently crippled. Chris is certain this has something to do with the aforementioned art heist, but when he goes to see Bologna’s chief artistic crime cop, he’s not impressed with the man – and the feeling is mutual. The information he has to share is dismissed, and he is ordered to stay out of the whole business.

As you can guess, he will not follow that advice. Before he’s done, he’ll have cause to regret the.

The tone of A Glancing Light is (appropriately) fairly light. Chris is not one of those omnipotent amateur detectives who’s always one step ahead of the police, which makes him all the more believable. And the book is educational too.

I very much enjoyed A Glancing Light.

Sunday Singing: At the Name of Jesus

“At the Name of Jesus” sung by the congregation of First Plymouth Church in Lincoln, Nebraska

Today’s hymn a regal song of praise that ends with the promise of his soon return. “At the Name of Jesus” was written by English writer Caroline Marie Noel (1817-1877). She spend many years in sickness and took up writing devotional poetry for herself and other invalids she could send them to. This song was one of those published in 1861 in a book called, The Name of Jesus and Other Verses for the Sick and Lonely. The majestic tune was written for these verses by the great Ralph Vaughan Williams.

“. . . at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father” (Phil 2:10-11 ESV).

1 At the name of Jesus ev’ry knee shall bow,
ev’ry tongue confess him King of Glory now.
‘Tis the Father’s pleasure we should call him Lord,
who from the beginning was the mighty Word.

2 At his voice creation sprang at once to sight,
all the angel faces, all the hosts of light,
thrones and dominations, stars upon their way,
all the heav’nly orders in their great array.

3 Humbled for a season to receive a name
from the lips of sinners unto whom he came,
faithfully he bore it spotless to the last,
brought it back victorious, when from death he passed.

4 In your hearts enthrone him; there let him subdue
all that is not holy, all that is not true:
crown him as your Captain in temptation’s hour:
let his will enfold you in its light and pow’r.

5 Brothers, this Lord Jesus shall return again,
with his Father’s glory, with his angel train;
for all wreaths of empire meet upon his brow,
and our hearts confess him King of glory now.

Had the Crew Dealt in Books They Would Have Gone Broke

An original limerick for your weekend.

A ship with a creative crew
would trade in Newport and ports new
their haphazard wares,
their slapdash and spares,
for the loan on their ship had come due.

Live within your means, readers, and stay ahead of any judicious loans you take out. And now, on with the links.

2023 Books: Bookseller and podcaster David Kern offers “eight novels published in 2023 that I’ve been handing to people because they remind me why I love novels in the first place.”

And more recommendations, this time of the spy-thriller nature from John Wilson—”more than enough regional and global conflicts to keep spies and spymasters busy and readers turning the pages.”

Writing in the Woods: The writing life can take many forms, like when a friend lets you live in a cottage on their land for a summer.

Writing about Magic: During the Renaissance, the practice of and the writing about magic produced mixed results. “Renaissance magicians were often bookish.” Sounds like Mr. Norrell.

Photo by Hector John Periquin on Unsplash

Sissel sings ‘Amazing Grace’

This is my favorite arrangement of John Newton’s “Amazing Grace.” The singer, of course, is Sissel. There are several videos of her doing this hymn on YouTube, but none of them have exactly this arrangement (Andrae Crouch wrote it, I believe), and not exactly in this quality.

Have a graceful weekend.

Writing report: Teasing my audience

Photo credit: Towfiqu barbhuia, Unsplash license.

I wish I’d started getting up early to write years ago. This discipline, which I adopted last year, has borne genuine fruit in steady, consistent progress on the book I’m working on, to be called The Baldur Game. This, in case you’re new here, will be the seventh and final (in six volumes) entry of my Saga of Erling Skjalgsson.

Of course, up until a few years ago, I got up at about that same time (6:30 a.m., if you must know) to get ready for my paying job. So I’d have had to rise around 4:00 a.m. to write in the early mornings, and I’m bloody well not going to do that.

So never mind.

I’ve said this before, but I really like this book. If it’s my nunc dimittis, my Simeon song, the final work of my life, I’d be just fine with that. Looking ahead, I have no idea what I’ll write next. I took a cooling off break from revising a few weeks back, and tinkered with a book I started long ago, and got stuck on. I still made no progress at all. I’ve got a character I like and a setting that intrigues me. But I can’t think of a problem to set for the guy. I just seem to send in one rabbit after another, to see if he’ll chase one, but he’s not interested. Raymond Chandler had a formula from which I’ve profited many times – “When in doubt, send in a couple guys with guns.” But in this story I’ll soon have a room full of (metaphorical) guys with guns, and none of them seems to have any idea what to do with them. I think some of them might be ATF.

But I’m happy with The Baldur Game. Last year, when I was lecturing to a group, somebody asked if I could bring back a character they liked from an earlier book. I had assumed that character dead, but on examination of the story I discovered that no body was ever actually found (you think I remember everything I ever wrote? At my age?). So I did bring that character back, and they turned out to serve an excellent purpose in the plot.

I also decided to do something I’d vowed not to do from the beginning, because it just rounds the saga out, and I figured a way to use it thematically, and I just think I owe it to my fans.

Am I teasing you now? Trying to raise expectations?

I guess I probably am.

‘Three Minute Hero,’ by Craig Terlson

I’d been away long enough that I struggled to connect the word home with this landscape. My body still felt it. My heart did, too, but that organ was buried in so much scar tissue it was hard to get a solid reading from it.

Sometimes a novel will astonish you with its high quality. Such is the case with Three Minute Hero by Craig Terlson, who – so far as I can tell – is an author who should have written a lot more novels, and ought to be much more famous than he is.

Luke Fischer, our hero and narrator, is a native of the Manitoba plains. But he fled the small town where he grew up, finally drifting to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, where he works now in an informal way – favor for favor – for Benno, a crime boss. Now Benno wants him to drive a car up to Canada, to look for a fellow employee Luke calls “Mostly Harold.” Mostly Harold is a professional hit man, a huge guy who wears cowboy boots and is devoted to the music of Burt Bacharach. He set out for Canada himself recently, in pursuit of a girlfriend who dumped him. And Benno suspects she had something to do with the recent murder of his own nephew.

Luke hasn’t been back to the Canadian plains for a long time, and he doesn’t find the folks especially friendly. Particularly as he’s following a string of dead and wounded tough guys, left behind by Mostly Harold’s juggernaut. But he’ll still find some time to confront his own past along the way.

The most obvious quality of Three Minute Hero, for the fan of hard-boiled detective fiction, is the obvious inspiration of Raymond Chandler’s Farewell, My Lovely, another mystery centering on a big thug in search of a dangerous dame. But (with all due respect to Chandler) Mostly Harold is a far more complex and interesting character than Moose Malloy.

The prose is also very much in Chandler’s league. I don’t think I’ve read such a well-written hard-boiled story in a long time. Finely-crafted lines abound, like, “Worn-out tables were filled with circle fossils as memories of beers gone past.”

Some of Chandler’s weaknesses are also emulated. The plot is extremely complex and confusing. It was hard to keep track of the players. And there are some rookie factual errors, probably derived from TV and movies – pistols seem to have infinite ammunition supplies, a bullet wound to the shoulder is dismissed as minor, and automobiles get undue credit for their bullet-stopping properties.

Three Minute Hero is clearly set sometime before the turn of the 21st Century – there are no cell phones or internet. I don’t know when the book was actually written – the data on Amazon.com gives no clue. The author, Craig Terlson, is apparently a successful graphic artist as well as a novelist. I wish he’d written more than he has. This is good stuff.

Cautions for language and lots of violence. Highly recommended for hard-boiled fans.

‘Murder at Home,’ by Bruce Beckham

The air is still and smells of mulch and fungal spores, and woodland sounds resonate – the harsh porcine screeching of jays and the fine ticking of robins.

The snippet above is just a sample of the deft natural descriptions that give Bruce Beckham’s Inspector Skelgill novels their unique tactile qualities. I’m not a great fan of outdoor stories, and I prefer my detectives more cerebral than instinctive. Which makes these novels entirely wrong for me, but I like them very much anyway.

In Murder at Home, book 22 in the series, our hero is out fishing on Bassenthwaite Lake, his favorite haunt, when he notices an old man on the shore in a wheelchair. The old man greets him as if he knows him, and talks to him about fishing. When a nurse comes to collect the old man, she tells Skelgill that he’s an indigent, dumped in a hospital and on the minimal welfare plan. They call him William, but aren’t sure that’s his name. He suffers from dementia.

Skelgill feels an affinity with the old man and decides to look more closely into the situation. This is not entirely outside his duties, as he and the attractive Detective Sergeant Jones are investigating welfare fraud.

Their other cohort, DS Leyton, is working undercover as a welfare worker. A flirtatious co-worker gives him a tip that the scam he ought to be looking at is one where people create false identities and then “double-dip” under their own and their assumed names. That will lead to a mother and son who are living the high life, not only on double benefits, but on murder.

I was a little ambivalent about Murder at Home at the beginning, purely for emotional reasons. But it grew on me, and having finished it I consider it one of the best entries in a stellar series. Highly recommended. The mature material is subdued enough to qualify the book as a Cozy, but the tone is a little tougher than a Cozy.

Oh, I might mention that all these books are written in the present tense. I object to that on principle, but in actual practice I always grow inured a few pages in.