Fiction, Reviews

‘A Woman Underground,’ by Andrew Klavan

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Since in Winters’s interior world, it was always the year 1795, he did not like to curse in front of a lady, so he swallowed his first reaction and said, “That’s awful.”

I wish Andrew Klavan’s Cameron Winter novels were two or three times longer than they are. It’s a gift of God that a writer of Klavan’s caliber has become a Christian, thus permitting the creation of amazing books like these (though the Christian subtext is always kept sub). I suppose not everyone reacts to them as I do. Some people don’t like them, after all. And perhaps I respond viscerally to the main character himself, because I identify with him.

In any case, A Woman Underground begins with one of our English professor hero’s stories from his past, as told to Margaret, his psychologist. It’s a disturbing story about a colleague of his from his days as a government assassin, the straightest arrow of all straightest arrows and a devout Christian, who disappeared on assignment in Turkey and Cameron was sent to find out what happened to him….

But Margaret interrupts him. She wants to know whether he’s phoned the woman he met in the last book, the one with whom he had a mutual attraction. No, he hasn’t. Why not? Well, he’s been dealing with some things…

Yes indeed, he has. He’s still obsessing about Charlotte, the girl he fell in love with as a child. She learned some shocking things about her family years ago, and just went off the rails, running off with a fringe political group.

You need to find Charlotte, to get some closure, Margaret tells him. And almost immediately, Charlotte appears – sort of. Cameron goes home to his apartment and smells her childhood perfume in the air. An examination of his building’s security recordings shows that a woman did come to his door. It looks like it might have been her. She’s carrying a book. That book will be the clue that leads Cameron on a trail into the shadowy world of the right-wing underground, to lies and betrayals and shattered illusions.

The previous Cameron Winter books have run on a formula – Cameron’s “strange habit of mind” kicks in – his brain enters a sort of fugue state, where he intuits a crime that the police can’t see. And so he goes in to meddle and see that justice is done. This time, the big mystery is his own, and though the “strange habit” makes its appearance, this time it’s to help him solve mysteries rather than to discover their existence. This way works just as well.

I know I’ll read it again. I read them all again. A Woman Underground is a stellar addition to one of the best mystery series going.

Bookselling, Fiction

Major publishing news!

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Due to tremendous popular demand, my novel The Elder King is now available in paperback form.

If you order it now, it’ll take a few days to arrive, as the engines of industry must be reconfigured to accommodate the expected sales rush.

But it’s in the system. It’s official.

Bookselling, Uncategorized

Personal appearance alert: The Great Northern Viking Festival

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I’ll be doing a Viking event this weekend, and this time I’m giving you a whole day’s notice to make your plans to attend!

Because I love you and want you to be happy.

The Great Northern Viking Festival will be held Saturday and Sunday, Oct. 19 and 20th, in Mankato, Minnesota. I plan to be there Saturday only, and only for the “family friendly” daytime hours. In the evening, I’m informed, they will let their hair down a little (those who haven’t inflicted History Channel haircuts on themselves). I myself am too old – and too conventional – for such shenanigans.

This is the first year this event has been held. I have no idea what to expect, really. Several Viking groups will be present, each doing its own peculiar thing.

For all I know, it will be a heathen thing, and I’ll have to flee like a monk at Lindisfarne, shaking the dust from my feet as I scamper. But we’ll see. I’ve loaded my car with a substantial supply of good and uplifting books, either written or translated by me, which ought to raise the tone in any case.

Come by if you’re in the area and feel like checking it out.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Sins of the Fathers,’ by James Scott Bell

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But then the guy smiled. His teeth were like pylons coated with ocean grime.

I’m a great fan of James Scott Bell, one of our best Christian thriller writers (after Andrew Klavan, of course). But for me at first, Sins of the Fathers labored under a few handicaps.

First of all, there’s a female protagonist. I just avoid them in these days of Mary Sues (not that a male writer is likely to write a female Mary Sue.)

Secondly, the setting is early in the 21st Century, when conditions in our country (and specifically in Los Angeles, where this story is set) were somewhat different from today. This was the days of tough, lock ’em up LA prosecutors (I believe one of our current presidential candidates was part of this). It was a very different environment from what we see in California today.

Finally, this is an expressly Christian novel. It’s not the kind I generally prefer, where the Christianity is mostly subtextual (though Heaven knows I don’t practice what I preach in my own books).

So I was a little slow getting into Sins of the Fathers. But it won me over, decisively.

Lindy Field is a defense attorney, but she hasn’t worked in a while. She suffered a bitter defeat in the case of a minor she defended, and she suspects a police cover-up. She actually suffered a psychological breakdown, and hasn’t worked for a while.

But her legal mentor asks her to take on a fresh case. It’s a high profile one, concerning a boy who opened fire with a rifle on a middle school baseball game, killing several boys and one coach. Public anger is high. A powerful victims’ advocacy group is calling for the maximum penalty.

Even worse, the assistant DA who beat Lindy on the last case will be prosecuting this one.

But her mentor thinks she can win. Get a sentence of mental incapacity for the kid. He says he believes in her. So she takes the case.

It will lead to frantic social pressure, media scrutiny, and an attempt on her life. But Lindy – for personal reasons that are only gradually revealed – needs to hold on. She needs to save this kid.

In terms of characterization and plot, I’d say Sins of the Fathers is as good as any thriller novel I’ve ever read, whatever the intended audience. There were delightful surprises, and I was moved by the book’s resolution.

I’ll admit I thought there was a little too much “God talk.” People bringing up Christ and faith in casual conversation, so that the message of the book could be explicitly stated. Of course, this was nearly 20 years ago. Society was different then. You could probably discuss such things in an LA courthouse in those bygone days.

Anyway, if you’re looking for an overtly Christian thriller, written at the very highest level, I can wholeheartedly recommend Sins of the Fathers.

Uncategorized

Yet another old man’s rant…

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Photo credit: Getty Images. Unsplash license.

Everyone knows that it’s one of the infirmities of old age to be forever comparing the present to the past – and the past always comes off better. Entertainment was better when I was young… the clerks in stores were more polite and helpful… everyone dressed better… books and movies were better… etc.

Which is all true, undoubtedly. The People in Charge of Stuff Today don’t even deny it – they tell us the old ways were founded on oppression and exploitation. We should be happy to live in a smaller, meaner time now. We’ve got it coming to us.

Still, purely as an intellectual exercise, I can try to name some things I like better about the present.

  • I like having the internet. It makes research a breeze. It’s endlessly entertaining.
  • I like… actually, I can’t think of anything else. All the rest seems diminished and shabby.

Which brings me, in a meandering way, to tonight’s topic (such as it is). Something I’ve probably discussed before here.

At the Viking Festival in Green Bay, I had a conversation with a fellow Christian Viking, one of about my own age.

He talked about getting interested in Norse mythology as a kid. Reading the books, imagining the stories.

“But nowadays there are all these people around who actually worship Thor and Odin,” he says. “It makes it awkward.”

“They took the fun out of it,” I said. He agreed.

Thor was fun when nobody believed in him. Now he’s an object of active worship. Anything I do connected with Thor has become suspect from a Christian point of view. I’ve never worn a Mjolnir, a Thor’s hammer, because I don’t want to look like a practicing heathen. It could do injury to my neighbor’s soul.

Halloween is similar. If there were Christians warning against celebrating Halloween when I was a kid, I never heard of them. We kids dressed up, we Tricked and Treated (not me, living in the country, but I did attend Halloween celebrations at the schoolhouse in town), and it was innocent, because everybody knew witches didn’t exist.

Nowadays, there are lots of people running around calling themselves real-life witches.

It stopped being fun.

Let me be clear – I’ve said this many times – I don’t believe in witches as such. Not witches with magic powers. In terms of magic, I’m a thoroughgoing materialist.

But other people do believe. So it’s become an area where Christians probably ought not to trespass. Just to avoid the appearance of evil.

Thus, Halloween is taken from the children, and given over to adults, who’ve now made it a season of kink. (Or so I’m informed.)

For me, it’s pretty much all about candy now. Halloween means candy – not to give away to Trick or Treaters, but for myself.

At the grocery store yesterday, I found the Christmas candy was already out on the shelves. Including the little ones from Lindt – I can ration those out, just a couple a day, until spring (there’ll be Easter candy later).

Okay, that’s something good we have now that I didn’t have as a kid. Lindt chocolate.

Hey, when civilization is sliding into ruin, you enjoy what you can along the way.

Bookselling, Publishing

The ‘Mountain’ in my hand

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The package arrived yesterday. At last, after many a year, I can hold a paper version of Hailstone Mountain in my tremblous hand.

The book is thinner than I expected. I suppose that’s because of the 6”x9” format – more words per page. I’m used to thinking in terms of what’s called “mass market paperbacks,” the roughly pocket-sized books you generally see on racks in stores (or used to). For some reason, we self-publishers seem to gravitate toward a larger size. Perhaps we’re compensating.

Maybe the cream paper that I didn’t select would have been a little thicker, too.

In any case, my books are my children, and I’ve known this one only electronically up to now. Like having a kid whose mother took custody and then moved to California – you only know him through Zoom calls. Now at last he’s made his way to my doorstep. He needs money, of course.

I wonder how I should deal with selling these things at Viking events, as one by one they get instantiated in the physical universe. My bestseller at events is Viking Legacy. After that, it’s The Year of the Warrior (the paper version I have printed, not yet available on Amazon). West Oversea comes in third. This one follows in the sequence. I figure demand for each successive book should be smaller than for the previous one. I anticipate carrying a couple cartons of the later books of the saga with me to events, but I don’t imagine I’ll have to stock as many of those. It’s already a lot of cartons to lug around.

At the festival in Green Bay, I was signing somebody’s book and they complimented my handwriting. This surprised me. I’ve always considered my handwriting awful, for the practical reason that it’s hard to read. My writing may possess a certain grace of form, but it’s not pragmatically effective.

I wish my art to be useful as well as aesthetic. But not enough to write slower.

Music, Poetry

Sunday Singing: Dear Lord and Father of Mankind

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Today’s hymn is adapted from a poem by the American Quaker poet John Greenleaf Whittier. In that poem, “The Brewing of Soma,” Whittier describes a Hindu drinking ceremony over several verses before contrasting it with Christian repentance. “Our foolish ways” are both old pagan practices and the Christianized versions we may have replaced them with. Instead, may we hear the quiet voice of the Living God speaking through Scripture and natural disaster.

“For thus said the Lord GOD, the Holy One of Israel,
‵In returning and rest you shall be saved;
in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.‵
But you were unwilling . . . ” (Isaiah 30:15 ESV)

1 Dear Lord and Father of mankind,
forgive our foolish ways!
Re-clothe us in our rightful mind,
in purer lives thy service find,
in deeper rev’rence praise,
in deeper rev’rence praise.

2 In simple trust like theirs who heard
beside the Syrian sea,
the gracious calling of the Lord,
let us, like them, without a word
rise up and follow thee,
rise up and follow thee.

3 O Sabbath rest by Galilee!
O calm of hills above,
where Jesus knelt to share with thee
the silence of eternity,
interpreted by love!
Interpreted by love!

4 Drop thy still dews of quietness,
till all our strivings cease;
take from our souls the strain and stress,
and let our ordered lives confess
the beauty of thy peace,
the beauty of thy peace.

5 Breathe through the heats of our desire
thy coolness and thy balm;
let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;
speak through the earthquake, wind and fire,
O still small voice of calm!
O still small voice of calm!

Authors, Blogs, Socials, Fiction, Poetry

Have We Forgotten Too Much?

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Peter Hitchens blogged about memory a couple months ago, noting Orwell’s 1984 naturally, pointing out “Orwell’s description of the sort of things people actually do remember: ‘A million useless things, a quarrel with a workmate, a hunt for a lost bicycle pump, the expression on a long-dead sister’s face, the swirls of dust on a windy morning seventy years ago.'”

He spent half of the post on the former Communist novelist Arthur Koestler (1905-1983). He said at one point everyone with a decent education on world affairs knew about Koestler and the novel Darkness at Noon. “It was perhaps the most devastating literary blow ever aimed at Communist tyranny,” Hitchens said. Important because it exposed truths the world didn’t want to believe. In WWII, Stalin joined the Allied forces, and people wanted to forget any crimes he may have committed before that. Others wanted to believe Marxism was a force for good in the world, so they waved away evidence to the contrary.

“For a large part of my life,” Hitchens wrote, “this potent political novel, and its accompanying volume Scum of the Earth were vital parts of human knowledge and understanding.” Those who had read them were “the undeceived, and the hard-to-deceive.” Where are those people now?

“What if the past has already disappeared?”

Rings of Power: In far more trivial news, reviewer Erik Kain argues that defending Amazon’s ‘Rings Of Power’ by claiming Tolkien had no canon “would make Sauron proud.” A professor with ties to the show has said, “Tolkien’s ideas were ever evolving,” meaning all of his notes and drafts demonstrate none of his ideas, even the published ones, are fixed.

Poetry: To end on cheerful note, read this delightfully modern love poem by Daniel Brown. Here are the first three lines.

A first “I love you” still implies the start 
Of serious, but we moderns also have 
Recourse to a preliminary move; ...

Photo by Hans Eiskonen on Unsplash

Non-fiction, Reviews

‘The Road to Middle-Earth,’ by Tom Shippey

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This was Tolkien’s major linguistic heresy. He thought that people could feel history in words, could recognize language ‘styles’, could extract sense (of sorts) from sound alone, could moreover make aesthetic judgments based on phonology. He said the sound of ‘cellar door’ was more beautiful than the sound of ‘beautiful’. He clearly believed that untranslated elvish would do a job that English could not.

I didn’t really know what I was getting into when I bought Tom Shippey’s The Road to Middle-Earth. I had read his Tolkien biography, Author of the Century, and generally enjoyed it. When I stopped to see my friend Dale Nelson recently, he praised TRTME as one of his most prized books. So I thought I’d give it a try.

And it is a fine work. A deep-diving overview of J. R. R. Tolkien’s ideas, work life, and achievements. But it may have been more of a book than this reader was qualified to handle.

I was pleased that the author seems to have moderated his comments about Augustinianism and Manicheanism, which (in my opinion) went too far in his Tolkien biography, where he actually labels C. S. Lewis a Manichean. What he’s actually talking about is our conception of evil – is it (as Augustine – and C. S. Lewis, whatever Shippey says – insisted) a lack, a corruption of the good, or does it have existence in itself? He seems to be convinced that if you believe the Augustinian view, you can’t really embody evil in a character. I’ve never accepted that – it’s enough to have a character submit to evil and live out its qualities.

My personal difficulty with the book, I’m afraid, was that I haven’t read enough of the post-Rings Tolkien material. I’ve read the Silmarillion, and several of the books involving single stories, but I couldn’t make it through the books of Lost Tales, and never even tried to read The History of Middle Earth. That means that a lot of the material Shippey deals with in the later chapters of this book was unknown, or only vaguely known, to me.

But if you’re a true Tolkien geek, I would say this is a book you absolutely ought to read. It’s been revised twice, and the author conscientiously corrects previous errors (mostly errors of ignorance).

Highly recommended, for its proper audience.

Uncategorized, Writing

Hurricane memories, and writing update

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Photo credit: Laura Adai. Unsplash license.

I don’t follow the news obsessively, but my impression is that, in terms of Hurricane Milton, things could have been a lot worse. It seems as if the storm hit with less force than expected. No doubt there has been great loss and suffering, but apparently it might have been worse.

Almost as if our prayers had efficacy.

So I’ll come out and say it, and let the skeptics laugh at me (since they will anyway) – thanks and praise be to God.

I can never forget my Florida years, when I lived in a mobile home and ruminated much on hurricanes in my lonely bed. One year a bad one (I think it was called Aaron. Or Erin) hit while I was on vacation in Minnesota. I came home to find my tin house almost unscathed – but the screen porch had been excised as neatly as if by a surgeon’s knife. The only damage to the main structure was a slit in a window screen.

That looked like divine timing in my case. I had recently lost my job, and I took the insurance money for the porch and lived on it, until I got work back home in the north. I sold the house without a porch.

I am currently in the toils of shaping The Elder King up for its paperback regeneration. I’m finding more than one spot where I’d like to do some re-writing, but I am practicing restraint. I don’t want the e-book and the dead tree version to be too different from one another. I only change obvious – and small – errors. Mostly.

But I just discovered that a certain character, when I introduced him in this book, looked differently from the way I describe him in The Baldur Game. Which means I’ll have to dip into TBG and make some changes tomorrow. I guess it’s another divine providence that publication has been delayed.

Though I have no doubt there are myriad inconsistencies I’ve missed completely, and with which I’ll just have to live.