Some of her selections have sold hundreds of thousands, which is very exciting for those select authors; but this article has a remarkable detail about the book industry as a whole. It says that with 300,000+ new titles published in the US every year and 2,200,000+ published worldwide, readers want to get recommendations from celebrities they trust.
But here’s the shocker. Though sales of selected books soared when Oprah picked them, the overall sale of books that year stayed within expectations. “Exactly as many people bought books as were already going to buy books.” More readers are reading certain books, but apparently more people are not reading. Or at least they are not buying books to read.
A few days ago I put up a post about a translating job I’d done. It turns out my information was incomplete. Also, my comments were out of order. Please disregard that post, which has been deleted.
The gray sky, which often broke up or dissolved by midmorning, remained as solid as fresh paint.
I had read and reviewed a previous novel in Scott William Carter’s Garrison Gage mystery series, and decided not to read any more. I don’t clearly recall why; it likely had something to do with the main character’s open (though not obnoxious) atheism. But Bury the Dead in Driftwood sounded intriguing, and I bought it. I have to admit, it was pretty good.
Garrison Gage is a small-time private eye who relocated to
Barnacle Bluffs, a town on the Oregon coast, to get away from his past. He
walks with a limp (often with a cane), due to an old knee injury. A widower, he
has adopted a daughter, who is now away in college. He finds, to his amusement,
that he’s become a local character, “the detective.”
He didn’t know Harriet Abel, the high school teacher whose
body was found under a pile of driftwood on the beach. But she had his name on
a piece of paper in her possession, and apparently wanted to hire him. Gage is
curious what she wanted from him, and impressed with the universal respect she
seemed to command. So he decides to investigate, even without a client.
Property and development money will appear as motives, but things
aren’t as simple as they appear. Amusingly, Gage finds beautiful women –
including the police chief’s daughter – throwing themselves at him in an almost
embarrassing way. A mysterious professional killer appears to make chilling
threats. And the one woman Gage cares about more than life itself – his adopted
daughter – refuses to keep a safe distance.
I enjoyed Bury the Dead in Driftwood far more than I expected. The one scene involving religion – in a syncretistic Universalist church – took no skin off my nose. The multiple women with Gage in their sights worked up to a very funny scene of embarrassment. And at the end, Gage was able to deliver a fairly non-PC defense of a man’s sense of obligation to protect women.
Mark Twain said of Huckleberry Finn that he had attempted to do a book without weather. Bury the Dead in Driftwood is nothing like that. The weather and geography of coastal Oregon are active characters in this book, beautifully described. Readers will feel as if they’ve been there.
Cautions for the usual, including one “sex” scene that
actually involves no sex at all. Pretty good.
John Wilson of Books & Culture, the Christian review of books published bi-monthly 1995-2016, talks about book reviewing with FORMA.
Is it harder to control the “gush” for a book you really like or the harshness for a book you think has major problems?
Wilson: Ha! It’s not so much a matter of “controlling” gush (just say no); it’s rather a matter of finding a way to single out a really good book at a time when people are acclaiming “masterpieces” right and left, cheapening the conversation. I don’t often review books that I think are terrible, or that are entirely uncongenial to me, but a reviewer who’s never critical—sometimes sharply so—is letting the side down.
But having said that, I’m reminded of another widespread misconception: that reviews are all about “evaluation,” the reviewer—from his or her lofty perch—saying “5 stars” or “2 stars” or whatever. There’s so much more to it.
I took a chance on the first novel in an unfamiliar detective series, Bad to the Bones, Book 1 of James Harper’s Evan Buckley series.
It held some interest, but didn’t work for me.
Private Eye Evan Buckley (I never really noticed where he
lives) suffers a shock and vows to end his meat and potatoes work –
investigating unfaithful spouses for divorce cases. His original motivation for
becoming a PI was to find missing people, like his own wife who disappeared
without explanation. A (surprisingly) friendly police detective refers him to a
woman whose son and husband both disappeared some years earlier. She believes
the police found an easy explanation and dropped the case without really
solving it. Evan vows to discover the truth for her.
Which he does. But the journey to the explanation seemed
weird to me. Character relationships struck me as unrealistic – people start by
snarling at each other, then suddenly become bosom buddies. The police don’t
operate like real police at all.
And the final “resolution” was so horrific that I couldn’t
at all comprehend the sense of closure we’re supposed to believe both Buckley
and his client feel at the end.
So I don’t really recommend Bad to the Bones. I saw potential in the author, so maybe the following books will be better.
There really isn’t much to say about a new Gray Man novel, except that it’s a Gray Man novel. One knows what to expect – rising levels of implausible, cinematic action, improbable endurance of injuries by the hero, and a running cast of characters who, if not profoundly portrayed, are interesting and amusing.
Mission Critical (Number 8 in the series) offers a couple fresh elements – new developments in the Romeo-and-Juliet-with-guns romance between hero Court Gentry and the former Russian agent Zoya Zakharova, and the introduction of a new villain whom Court, with all his skills, actually fears.
Court is catching a ride on a CIA transport flight when a
covert team transporting a hooded prisoner comes on board. Later, when the
prisoner is being transferred on a tarmac in England, the team is attacked by
unknown foreign agents – Court kills some of them, and is then sent by his
handlers to try to retrieve the prisoner.
Meanwhile Zoya, still being “debriefed” in a safe house in
the US, learns that her Russian spy father, whom she had believed dead, is
still alive. She makes a snap decision to escape and find him – thus narrowly
avoiding an attack on the house by hired assassins. Now she’s in the wind, and
the CIA is uncertain whether to consider her friendly or hostile.
There’s a big plot underway to deliver a devastating blow to
the intelligence services of all the English-speaking nations at a conference
in Scotland. It will take all Court, Zoya, and their teammates can do to stop
it – and there will be a price to pay.
Mission Critical was as good as any book in the Gray Man series, and they’ve all been good. High in entertainment value. The usual cautions apply for language, violence, and sexual situations.
After Shakespeare’s death his works were collected into a folio and printed. Two hundred thirty-three editions out of the seven hundred fifty originally printed still exist, and some of them have notes and marking from early readers. Now a Cambridge fellow believes he has compiled enough evidence to identify one annotator’s handwriting as belonging to the great John Milton.
Cambridge University fellow Jason Scott-Warren made the discovery in response to research conducted by Pennsylvania State University English professor Claire Bourne. Naturally he hesitated to suggest this, because it’s too easy to see what you want to see.
But he soon found that other scholars were agreeing with him. “Not only does this hand look like Milton’s, but it behaves like Milton’s writing elsewhere does, doing exactly the things Milton does when he annotates books, and using exactly the same marks,” said Dr Will Poole at New College Oxford. “Shakespeare is our most famous writer, and the poet John Milton was his most famous younger contemporary. It was, until a few days ago, simply too much to hope that Milton’s own copy of Shakespeare might have survived — and yet the evidence here so far is persuasive. This may be one of the most important literary discoveries of modern times.”
You know what Anne Frank wrote about her experiences under Nazi oppression. Now another diary from a Jewish girl living under the Nazis is being released this month. Renia Spiegel lived in Przemyśl, Poland, and she started writing about Nazi attacks and family disappearances in 1939. Renia’s Diary has been translated by her sister, who lives in New York City.
What a terrible night! Horrible! Dreadful. I lay there with my eyes wide open, my heart pounding, shivering like I had a fever. I could hear the clanking of wheels again. Oh, Lord God, please help us! A truck rolled by. I could hear a car horn beeping. Was it coming for us? Or for someone else? I listened, straining so hard it felt like everything in me was about to burst.
I heard the jangling of keys, a gate being opened. They went in. I waited some more. Then they came out, taking loads of people with them, children, old people. One lady was shaking so much she couldn’t stand, couldn’t sit down. The arrests were led by some fat hag who kept yelling in Russian, “Sit, sit down now!” She loaded children onto the wagon. The whole night was horrific. I couldn’t wait for the dawn to come.
Some of the people were crying. Most of the children were asking for bread. They were told the journey would take four weeks. Poor children, parents, old people. Their eyes were filled with insane fear, despair, abandon. They took whatever they were able to carry on their slender backs. They are being taken to Birobidzhan. They will travel in closed, dark carriages, 50 people in each. They will travel in airless, dirty, infested conditions. They might even be hungry. They’ll travel for many long weeks, children dying as they pass through a supposedly happy, free country.
And how many will reach their destination? How many will die on the way from illness, infestation, longing? When they finally reach the end of this deportees’ route somewhere far into Asia, they will be stuck in rotting mud huts, hungry, exhausted, ironically forced to admire the happy workers’ paradise and sing this song:
A man stands as the master Over his vast Motherland
Christian leaders have attacked contemplatives on and off for centuries, banning their books and threatening contemplatives with prison, exile, or death. The more concentrated church power became, the more it opposed contemplation. This type of prayer is beyond the scope of leadership’s control because it is interior and personal, even if it is cultivated and supported in community or through spiritual direction.
Mystics of all stripes probably should be pushed against, because they tend to encourage a loosely defined Prozac spirituality that leaves religious distinctives in favor of personal inner peace. Contemplative prayer habits step into the space of mystical Christianity. But I suspect the modern evangelical criticism of it comes largely from modernist thinking, not solid biblical interpretation.
For generations we have been taught that segments of the Christian life can be accomplished in a few clear steps. For prayer, some teach the pattern of adoration, confession, thanksgiving, and supplication. Such a pattern can be helpful in directing our prayers, but as with so many things we may hold to the pattern more than we hold to the Lord. And whether we pray this way or another way, we may hold to the answers we receive more than we hold to our Lord, even telling each other that our prayers were answered because we delivered them in a specific way. Contemplative prayer puts those things aside, so we have very little to hold onto and ask whether we’re doing it right.
If this is a habit that can cultivate a deeper satisfaction in Christ, then we need not neglect it.
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