Fiction, Reviews

‘Shooting Gallery,’ by Stuart Doughty

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I sometimes complain that action novels are written like movies – that is to say, the action is implausible if you stop to think about it.

Stuart Doughty’s Shooting Gallery was (in my opinion) more like a TV show. The plausibility was even less plausible.

I’d read one of Doughty’s John Kite novels before, and liked it more than not. I found it insubstantial but fun. Shooting Gallery, seventh book in the series, is much the same, but it struck me as a little formulaic and (possibly) shopworn in concept.

John Kite’s specialty is recovering stolen works of art. At the beginning of Shooting Gallery, he’s in Massachusetts, attending the unveiling of a stolen Modigliani painting that he recently recovered. But during the ceremony, an intruder starts shooting a gun from a balcony, in the general direction of the front stage. Nobody is seriously hurt, but John (with the reckless disregard for danger that seems to be his style) pursues the shooter on foot, though he does not catch them.

Shortly thereafter, he learns that the recovered painting is a fake. As he asks questions and digs into the records, he begins to suspect that one of the most important figures in the art world, a man on the verge of an important government appointment, is a fraud, a murderer, and very likely something worse.

The writing in Shooting Gallery was generally good – not great, but better than average in this degenerate age. The attempts to render American dialogue could have been better, but I probably couldn’t do any better writing British dialogue. (I might add that there were opportunities to criticize American gun laws, and the author — to his credit — did not take advantage of them.)

What bothered me most was John Kite’s TV-style heroism. More than once he rushes to confront armed opponents with no weapon of his own, and walks into obviously perilous situations without a plan for survival. TV characters act like that, but not, I think, real people, even heroes. If they do, they don’t last very long.

Shooting Gallery was okay as pure entertainment. Read it if it seems like your cup of tea.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Ruse,’ by Pete Brassett

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One of several quiet British police procedural series that I enjoy is the Scottish one starring Inspector Munro, by Pete Brassett. I have to admit, though, that I have trouble telling them apart from the Inspector Skelgill series set across the border in England. The central figures and supporting casts are highly similar, but I like both of them.

In Ruse, the latest Inspector Munro book, we find Jim Munro newly retired, but still meddling in investigations. This is not resented at all by his old team of detectives, who are happy for his input.

Tam McDonnell has retired from his career and bought a pub, but isn’t doing very well. Then a young man approaches him and offers his services as a DJ. He promises to deliver a big crowd for one night, in return for a percentage of the night’s takings. It all seems to go splendidly, until a young woman’s body is found in a restroom, stabbed to death.

The investigation will uncover links to drug dealing, Meanwhile, there’s been a string of robberies in high end shops in the town of Ayr. The proprietors find themselves suddenly unconscious, to discover on awakening that valuable goods are missing. In time, a link between the murder and the thefts will become apparent.

Ruse is standard Brit, Midsomer-esque police procedural stuff – the gruff older detective showing his younger subordinates the way. But it’s solid standard stuff too, well-written, reassuring and fun. I enjoyed it. No major cautions for subject matter.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Blind Trust,’ by Colin Conway

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Sheriff Tom Jessup is investigating the death of an elderly man, a loner, in Whitman County, Washington state, as The Blind Trust begins. It could be natural causes, but something doesn’t seem right. His investigations will put him in touch with Detectives Quinn Delaney and Marci Burkett in Spokane, who are investigating another death. Gradually a picture develops of an extremely dysfunctional family, of five siblings who haven’t communicated in years, suddenly dying out at the same time. What no one can figure out is why anybody would go to the trouble of killing them.

As the story unrolls, they’ll cross paths with another Spokane detective named Morgan, a corner-cutter neither Delaney or Burkett likes. They have the same objectives, but will their mutual mistrust delay the resolution of the case?

As with all the books in Colin Conway’s The 509 series that I’ve read so far, I relished The Blind Trust. I especially enjoyed the fascinating, layered characters. I was particularly intrigued with the dubious Detective Morgan – a lesser writer than Conway might have made him a caricature, but when we spend time in his head, his thinking makes perfect sense – from his own point of view.

Only mild cautions are in order for language and mature subject matter.

Music

Sunday Singing: Come, Ye Sinners, Poor and Wretched

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“Come, Ye Sinners, Poor and Wretched” by Joseph Hart

Today’s hymn is one version of London language teacher Joseph Hart’s 1759 hymn, which seems to have many versions among its many publications. I’m more familiar this version, but the version I offer here is the one in the Trinity Hymnal. The 1852 tune is by Welsh composer William Owen.

  1. Come, ye sinners, poor and wretched,
    Weak and wounded, sick and sore;
    Jesus ready stands to save you,
    Full of pity joined with pow’r:
    He is able, (3x)
    He is willing, doubt no more. (2x)
  2. Come, ye needy, come and welcome,
    God’s free bounty glorify;
    True belief and true repentance,
    Every grace that brings you nigh,
    Without money, (3x)
    Come to Jesus Christ and buy. (2x)
  3. Come, ye weary, heavy laden,
    Lost and ruined by the fall;
    If you tarry till you’re better,
    You will never come at all:
    Not the righteous, (3x)
    Sinners Jesus came to call. (2x)
  4. Let not conscience make you linger,
    Nor of fitness fondly dream;
    All the fitness He requireth
    Is to feel your need of Him:
    This He gives you, (3x)
    ’Tis the Spirit’s rising beam. (2x)
  5. Lo! th’ incarnate God, ascended,
    Pleads the merit of His blood;
    Venture on Him, venture wholly;
    Let no other trust intrude:
    None but Jesus, (3x)
    Can do helpless sinners good (2x).

Bookselling, Poetry, Reading

Refusing or Finding Peace, Quiet Moments, and Satisfying Reading

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We live in a world that wants healthy bodies with clear minds but we eat junk food and deny the nutritional difference.

“For to set the mind on the flesh [the things of the world, only what we can see] is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace” (Rom 8:6 ESV).

In The Divine Conspiracy, Dallas Willard writes,

As we increasingly integrate our life into the spiritual world of God, our life increasingly takes on the substance of the eternal. We are destined for a time when our life will be entirely sustained from spiritual realities and no longer dependent in any way upon the physical. Out dying, or “mortal” condition, will have been exchanged for an undying one and death absorbed in victory.

Of course that destiny flatly contradicts the usual human outlook, or what “everyone knows” to be the case. . . . We find our world to be one where we hardly count at all, where what we do makes little difference, and where what we really love is unattainable, or certainly is not secure.

He notes that Aldous Huxley thought it natural to yearn for moments of escape from the pain or monotony of living and that perhaps a new drug would be developed to help us out. He says Tolstoy became overwhelmed by the seeming futility of everything, “until he finally came to faith in a world of God where all that is good is preserved.”

We will not find peace until we acknowledge the fount from which it springs.

New Book: Poet and Author Marly Youmans has released a new narrative poem, Seren of the Wildwood. She shares a couple reactions in this post. “Marly is a gifted visionary, her many published works reflect her unique talents, in Seren she presents a tale of no particular time or place, magical yet not absurdist, familiar yet surprising.”

Ordinary Life: “If we are concerned with what’s practical, the day will come when we will look back and it will be clear to us that there was nothing more practical than prayer, nothing more practical than perseverance, and nothing more practical than praising the triune God even when evil was pressing in on us.”

Ordinary Gratitude: A mom buys her kid a yellow raincoat, tweets about the reaction, and goes viral.

Poetry: Take a moment to consider Seamus Heaney’s “The Railway Children” from the book Station Island. Just a snippet here: 

We were small and thought we knew nothing
Worth knowing. 

Reading: “Much of mankind’s boredom derives from its inability to find satisfaction in a shelf of books.”

Photo: A painted 1969 Volkswagen, Yuma, Arizona. 2003. John Margolies Roadside America photograph archive (1972-2008), Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Side Hustle,’ by Colin Conway

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“The 509” is the eastern, more rural part of Washington state, where Spokane is the big town. I’d already read one of the books in Colin Conway’sThe 509 series, The Long Cold Winter, and liked it very much. So I picked up the first installment, The Side Hustle.

Quinn Delaney and Marci Burkett are homicide detectives in Spokane. When they’re called to view the body of Jacob Kidwell, online financial guru, they find him with his neck broken at the bottom of a stairway in his apartment building. It could easily be an accident, but the detectives suspect he was pushed. The suspicion is increased when they learn that one of his two computers has disappeared.

Young Kirby Willis, an Uber driver and budding entrepreneur, idolized Jacob, who was his friend, and can’t resist making his own investigation. In theory, the cops should resent his interference, but he has sources of information unavailable to them, and anyway, Marci thinks he’s kind of cute.

Quinn, meanwhile, is having trouble concentrating on his work because of personal problems that he won’t discuss with Marci. When he does finally open up to someone, it’s almost the last person you’d expect… but that could be the very person who can offer him hope.

Author Colin Conway excels at portraying three-dimensional characters. I liked Quinn, Marci, and Kirby very much, and followed their adventures with just as much interest as if the book had been a blood-and-thunder thriller. The Side Hustle has the added value of actually offering good advice for living, at no additional charge.

I liked The Side Hustle even more than The Long Cold Winter. I’m officially a fan of this series.

Authors, The Press

An Overpromising Article on Sanderson Smells like Rage-Baiting

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Yesterday, WIRED published a curious story by Features Editor Jason Kehe with this title and subtitle: “Brandon Sanderson Is Your God: He’s the biggest fantasy writer in the world. He’s also very Mormon. These things are profoundly related.”

In over 4,000 words, he tells us Sanderson is a bad writer, his fans and family are overly devoted nerds, and his guest bathroom is awesome. He says he spent two days at a Dragonsteel conference talking to fans, many hours with the author in his home and over meals, and that he, the reporter, hates Hugh Jackman. There are many words on the opinions and efforts of the reporter himself. But what is the relationship suggested by the subtitle? That Sanderson is a millionaire fantasy writer and a Mormon. Can you feel the profundity dripping from that statement?

I can’t decide what this article actually is, because it isn’t a feature of a popular fantasy author. It could be an attempt at a substantive observation that Kehe couldn’t produce. It could be a salvaged second draft, because Kehe wanted to write about Mormonism using Sanderson as an anchor but WIRED didn’t want to publish it. Or it could be rage baiting, a piece written with the simple goal of saying, “Hey, kid, you know that thing you like? It stinks.”

Maybe it is an attempt at substance and the reporter (or the magazine) doesn’t have the depth to swing it. It also checks all the boxes for rage baiting. YouTube already has several reaction videos, and Twitter is not reserving its disgust.

Kehe seems to know all the mechanics of good writing, so I hope he finds better subjects for expressing them or a healthier publisher.

A Little More: Here’s a great contrast of this article with one from another magazine about another artist, written by Shane Morris of the Colson Center.

The Press

Rolling Stone Editor Sidesteps Key Details in FBI Raid Report

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Last October, Rolling Stone a story entitled, “FBI Raids Star ABC News Producer’s Home,” with this lede:

AT A MINUTE before 5 a.m. on April 27, ABC News’ James Gordon Meek fired off a tweet with a single word: “FACTS.” 

The network’s national-security investigative producer was responding to former CIA agent Marc Polymeropoulos’ take that the Ukrainian military — with assistance from the U.S. — was thriving against Russian forces. Polymeropoulos’ tweet — filled with acronyms indecipherable to the layperson, like “TTPs,” “UW,” and “EW” — was itself a reply to a missive from Washington Post Pentagon reporter Dan Lamothe, who noted the wealth of information the U.S. military had gathered about Russian ops by observing their combat strategy in real time. The interchange illustrated the interplay between the national-security community and those who cover it. And no one straddled both worlds quite like Meek, an Emmy-winning deep-dive journalist who also was a former senior counterterrorism adviser and investigator for the House Homeland Security Committee. To his detractors within ABC, Meek was something of a “military fanboy.”

The report describes the quick raid and says multiple sources believed it to be an FBI raid focused on James Gordon Meek. The article says, “Meek appears to be on the wrong side of the national-security apparatus.”

But according to NPR’s David Folkenflik, Rolling Stone reporter Tatiana Siegel had originally included an important detail about the reason for the raid. “Siegel had learned from her sources that Meek had been raided as part of a federal investigation into images of child sex abuse, something not publicly revealed until [February 2023]. Why did Rolling Stone suggest Meek was targeted for his coverage of national security, rather than something unrelated to his journalism?”

According to Folkenflik, Noah Shachtman, Rolling Stone‘s editor-in-chief, covered up the pornography angle without Siegel’s collaboration. Siegel moved to another magazine weeks later.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Trick Question,’ by Tony Dunbar

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I’m still getting accustomed to Tony Dunbar’s Tubby Dubonnet novels, set in New Orleans. They’re not my usual kind of fare; I like my heroes to have a little more existential angst and shining armor on them. But the series is growing on me.

In Trick Question, Tubby gets a desperate plea for help from a fellow lawyer. That lawyer is working a murder case as a court-appointed advocate. His problem is that he’s a hopeless lush, and he’s done almost no prep work, and the trial is about to begin and the judge won’t postpone. Tubby’s a sucker for an old friend, and he hates the idea of a defendant getting railroaded, so he agrees to do the best he can in the few days available.

The defendant, Cletus Busters, is the janitor at a medical research facility. One night he opened a freezer door, and a man’s frozen body tipped out onto him. The body was that of a scientist who’d been using that laboratory. He had complained in the past about Cletus playing with the laboratory mice. Also, drugs stolen from the lab were found in Cletus’ apartment.

In addition, Tubby is doing some estate work for a young female boxer, and he gets a peek into the world of that rising sport.

The whole subject of women’s boxing gives me the willies, personally, so that was uncomfortable. But eventually (spoiler alert), Tubby comes over to my view, so that was OK.

Cletus the defendant turns out to be a voodoo practitioner, but that’s played mostly for laughs, so I didn’t mind that too much either.

Trick Question was entertaining. Still not exactly my cup of jambalaya, but I can see why people are fans. Only mild cautions for subject matter are in order.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Murder on Long Island,’ by Owen Parr

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“Matt Scudder meets Father Brown” is what the Amazon blurb says about Owen Parr’s Joey Mancuso-Father Dominic mystery series. I suppose you could say that about it, assuming the two classic detectives met in an auto collision and both got stunned a little. I got a free copy of Murder on Long Island, and I read it all the way through just to give it a chance. It didn’t get better as I read on.

Joey Mancuso and Father Dominic are half-brothers, we are told, sons of the same mother, one with an Italian father, the other with an Irish one. Through some sorts of shenanigans in the previous volume (Murder on Long Island is volume two in the series), they ended up running a bar and cigar club together, and solving murders on the side, using the establishment as their office. Though Father Dominic, to his credit, devotes most of his time to his church.

A Long Island property developer is accused of murdering his wife. He claims he found her shot to death, but the timeline shows that he waited 20 minutes before calling the police. Also, he was found covered in her blood and had gunshot residue on his hand. The man’s daughter persuades their lawyers to ask Joey and Father Dom to investigate, and they agree to look into it. Joey begins to suspect that those lawyers haven’t been working very hard on the case. There are plenty of leads to follow up, but the trial has already begun.

There is the germ of a good story in this book, I think. Joey and Father Dom could be interesting characters (though I get uneasy when I’m told a priest is “adapting his ministry to the 21st Century”). But the writing simply isn’t very good. Misplaced modifiers are common. Word meanings are confused. Many passages are clumsily written and/or too wordy.

There are courtroom scenes, and (perhaps this was aggravated for me by the fact that I recently read a very good legal thriller) those scenes struck me as highly inauthentic, Perry Mason Show stuff.

There are also technical problems with the text. The paragraphs (without indentations) are separated by multiple spaces, so that many whole pages contain just one paragraph and a lot of white space. Also, oddly, there are occasional digital footnotes which seem to be notes from preliminary readers. These should have been stripped out, if any care at all had been taken with the publication.

Overall, this reader was not much impressed with Murder on Long Island.