‘The Rose of Tralee’

Three posts from me in a single day. Am I generous, or what? I’ve been reading a lot of books lately, and if I get too far behind in my reviews I forget what a lot of them are about.

But I feel Father Ailill would never forgive me if I didn’t observe St. Patrick’s Day with a musical selection, at least. So here’s Daniel O’Donnell with The Rose of Tralee, a song I reference in my novel Death’s Doors.

I’ll add an ancient Irish blessing I made up a few years back on the Baen’s Bar discussion board:

“May you always have bread for your table, and more bacon than bread, and more beer than bacon. And may you have no need of any of it, having eaten yourself full at the wakes of your enemies.”

‘Murder For the Bride,’ by John D. MacDonald

The temporary relief of the rain hadn’t lasted long. The thick heavy heat had spread itself over the city again, like a fat woman face down on a mudbank.

Another non-McGee MacDonald, an early one. I think Murder For the Bride is one of John D.’s less celebrated books, but I liked it fine.

Our hero, Dillon Bryant, is an oil engineer. When Murder For the Bride opens, he’s in South America on a job, thinking every minute about Laura Rentane, the beautiful woman he married just before he left the country. It was a whirlwind courtship, but she was the girl of his dreams. More than one friend expressed doubts about her character, but Dill wouldn’t hear of it.

Then a letter comes. Dill had better come home to New Orleans. Laura is in big trouble. When he arrives, he finds a police detective outside their apartment door. Laura is dead, he is told. Strangled with a length of wire.

Dill has to do something about it. He starts asking questions. The more questions he asks, the more he’s forced to realize that Laura lied to him. Her name wasn’t Rentane. She was older than she looked. Her background wasn’t what she claimed. When the FBI takes over her case, the cops toss Dill some clues, just to spite them. They think they know what Dill is likely to do, but they’re not prepared for how far he’s willing to go.

As in any John D. MacDonald book, the prose in Murder For the Bride is crisp and compelling. There’s just enough sex to satisfy the original paperback audience, which is pretty tame by today’s standards. And beneath it all, a story of integrity and coming of age.

As an added bonus, Commie spies are involved, and there’s no moral ambiguity in their depiction. This is anticommunism at its best, circa 1951.

Recommended.

‘Death Hampton,’ by Walter Marks

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Detective Jericho (first name never given) used to be a cop in Harlem, but ended up with PTSD. Not coincidentally, his marriage fell apart, and his wife moved with their daughter to East Hampton on Long Island. Jericho joined the force there to be close to them.

The novel Death Hampton begins with Susannah Cascaddan, the beautiful, abused wife of a property developer in East Hampton. She’s contemplating leaving her husband when, in defending herself against an attack, she knocks the man out with a wine bottle. In desperation she drags him from their beachside home to the ocean and drowns him.

When Jericho comes to question her, there are immediate romantic sparks. But there are secrets which neither of them knows that will put both their lives in danger before it’s all over.

When I started reading Death Hampton, I marked the book down as a competent story written by a less than professional writer. The writing wasn’t awful, but it was very, very pedestrian.

However, that changed when it got to the sex scenes. The sex scenes in this book are needlessly explicit and remarkably clumsy: “The spark of connection that had flashed between them over the past few weeks burst into an engulfing flame” isn’t even the worst of it.

Also the gun stuff was badly researched. Two of the characters carry .50 Glocks (a huge pistol, if it existed), with silencers (handguns can only be suppressed, not silenced, and that works best with small calibers).

Not recommended.

The Irish Sing “Remember, Lord, Our Mortal State”

“547 Granville” from The Tenth Ireland Sacred Harp Convention in 2020

For St. Patrick’s Day, give a listen to this Sacred Harp convention in Cork, Ireland, singing an Isaac Watts text listed as 547 Granville. Sacred Harp music began in London but flourish in America. It found a path to Ireland in 2009 via University College Cork.

The singers above begin by singing the shapes to get the music down before singing the lyric.

Remember, Lord, our mortal state;
How frail our lives! how short the date!
Where is the man that draws his breath,
Safe from disease, secure from death?

Lord, while we see whole nations die,
Our flesh and sense repine and cry;
Must death forever rage and reign?
Or hast Thou made mankind in vain?

‘The Case of the Exploding Shop,’ by Michael Leese

I have reached the fourth and final volume of the set of Hooley and Roper mysteries I acquired. I’ve got no major complaints to make about The Case of the Exploding Shop, but I can’t praise it very highly either.

Just to remind you, Brian Hooley and Jonathan Roper are London police detectives. The gimmick of the series is that Roper is on the autism spectrum. He’s brilliant at analysis, but other cops resent his tactlessness. Hooley is an easygoing sort who manages to get along with him, profiting from his investigative insights. Their current friction rises from the fact that Roper has noticed (correctly) signs of incipient heart disease in Hooley, and is nagging him to eat better and get more exercise.

During a single morning, a world-famous computer mogul is severely burned by a bomb detonated while he’s making a presentation on a new product. Then an Italian politician visiting London is murdered with a shotgun. And a bomb kills a number of shoppers at a fashionable Sloan Square boutique.

Hooley and Roper go to work, assisted now by a new female team member.

I guess, when I pick up a story about an autistic detective, I’m always looking for something along the lines of Monk on TV. Hooley and Roper are just not as much fun (at least to me). Roper’s value is now pretty well acknowledged on the Force, so there’s not a lot of office opposition. Roper, we are told, has been working on his social skills as well. I’m happy for him, but it makes the story less interesting.

Another thing that didn’t work well for me is Roper’s “rainbow spectrum,” a mental filing and classification system he uses to organize his thinking on complex problems. It’s a useful fictional device, I guess, but it’s also a sort of a black box – the reader can’t follow the logical process. That, I think, sacrifices intrigue.

Also, I’d like to see Hooley have more of a life off the job. Give him a girlfriend or something.

I didn’t hate The Case of the Exploding Shop, but it didn’t raise my pulse rate either. No major cautions for language or subject matter are called for.

‘Return to Evil, by John Carson

I’d read one of John Carson’s Harry McNeil mysteries before. I reviewed it as being a decent police story, but I thought the cop banter was inexpertly done.

In Return to Evil, Edinburgh Detective McNeil, fresh off Professional Standards (what we’d call Internal Affairs in the US), has been assigned to Cold Cases. The officers he works with there are not happy – it’s considered a squad where careers go to die. They’re looking at the murder of a girl in a cemetery, some years ago. She was 15 years old and pregnant, and someone tipped a gravestone onto her. It happened during the shooting of a science fiction movie, now considered a classic.

And now the movie is being remade on the same location, and  another girl is found dead in the same way. The cold case becomes a hot one.

My main problem with this book is one I’ve complained about in other books recently – most of the characters aren’t described. I had trouble keeping them straight. The cop banter didn’t annoy me as much this time out, but I still thought the male and female characters were excessively interchangeable.

Not bad, but I can’t recommend Return to Evil highly.

‘Close Your Eyes,’ by Thomas Fincham

Here we have a novel with an interesting premise, but in this reviewer’s opinion it was not well written.

Close Your Eyes has a plot consisting of two threads, which of course come together in the end.

One thread involves the lonely hero, Martin Rhodes. He’s a former cop who shot a criminal. He’d do it again, but he understands why he had to go to prison for it. He served his time, and now he’s out, walking the streets of the fictional city of Bridgeton, sleeping at a homeless shelter, trying to figure out what he’s going to do for a living. Idly looking at a display of police notices, he meets a man who recognizes him, knows who he is. The man says his son was murdered by a drug dealer. He would be willing to pay a large sum of money if Martin could find the murderer. On the strength of a decent advance on the reward, Martin agrees to look into it. Along the way he acquires a strange sidekick, a teenaged girl whom he rescues from an abuser.

Meanwhile, in the other plot thread, FBI agent Jo Pullinger is hunting a man who’s been murdering people and leaving them in subway cars. She has a secret she’s not sharing with anyone – she has a potentially fatal heart condition.

On the sidelines, a TV reporter without principles is trying to play the murderer off against the police.

The story in Close Your Eyes was okay, and the characters were interesting in principle. The problem for me was the writing. There are two approaches to the challenge of conveying one’s meaning to the reader. They are generally known as the rifle approach and the shotgun approach. The rifle approach goes for a few words, well aimed. The shotgun approach involves throwing a lot of words at the reader, hoping a few of them will hit properly and say what you want.

The rifle approach is how professionals do it. Author Thomas Fincham is a shotgun writer. This annoys me. At least a quarter of the verbiage could have been cut without loss. So I didn’t enjoy Close Your Eyes, and had trouble finishing it.

‘Where Is Janice Gantry?’ by John D. MacDonald

“…You’ve never decided what you are, Sam. You want to be all meat and muscle and reflexes. You want to deny how bright and intuitive and sensitive you are. You’re a complex animal, Sam. You try not to think, and so you think too much. You couldn’t just plain love, Sam. You thought us to death. You like to talk ignorant and act ignorant. It’s some kind of crazy protective coloration. Maybe you think it’s manly. I don’t know. You seem to have to diminish yourself. But people sense that good mind, and it makes them uncomfortable because you are being something you’re not.”

Sam Brice is a former pro football player who left the sport under a cloud, losing his trophy wife in the process. He genuinely loved her, and has never gotten over it. Now he works as an insurance adjuster on the Gulf Coast of Florida. He used to date Janice Gantry, who works in the same office. She grew frustrated with his lack of ambition, and they broke up. But they remain friends. She’s thinking of getting married to someone else now, and Sam wishes her well.

As Where Is Janice Gantry? begins, Sam is awakened by someone scratching at his screen porch. It’s Charlie, a young local man who has escaped from prison. All Charlie wants is a place to sleep a few hours and a short ride. With some misgivings, Sam helps him; he always thought there was something off about the story of his crime. It’s still dark when he drives Charlie to a phone. Then, on impulse, he watches from concealment to see what happens next. Charlie makes a call, and soon Janice Gantry appears. She drives Charlie to the office where she and Sam work. Sam spies through a window as she makes a phone call. Then a suspicious sheriff’s deputy on patrol attacks him and arrests him for prowling. Sam is finally released by the sheriff, who knows him but doesn’t like him. The sheriff warns him to keep his nose clean.

The next morning Janice does not arrive at work, and soon she’s officially a missing person. The sheriff thinks Charlie must have murdered her, or she ran off with him. Sam can’t tell him what he knows, and wouldn’t be believed anyway. He talks to a friend, a local gossip, who directs his attention to the house of a reclusive millionaire who lives on a nearby Key. This is the man whose safe Charlie was originally convicted of robbing. Sam makes a plan to meet the millionaire’s lonely wife, but instead meets her sister, a lovely woman who happens to be visiting. She too senses something is wrong in the house…

Where Is Janice Gantry? is one of those John D. MacDonald non-McGee books that left a particular impression on my memory. Sam Brice is a little like McGee (who wouldn’t be created for about three years at that point), but he has the advantage of the non-serial character in that he’s allowed to grow. Sam is sympathetic, but secretly bitter and openly gun-shy about relationships and life in general. The extreme exertions and dangers he’ll face in this book will change his life.

There’s a lot of sex in this book. Sam’s beautiful new lover spends a fair part of the story pretty much naked, as was suitable for the paperback market at that time in history. Even though the sexual revolution was fairly new at the time, it’s already assumed that lovers will sleep together before marriage. So morality cautions are in order. One character may be meant to be homosexual, but it’s not explicitly stated.

Nevertheless, Where Is Janice Gantry? is a well-written, gripping mystery/thriller by a master of the genre. Recommended for grownups.

Sunday Singing: No, Not Despairingly Come I to Thee

“No, Not Despairingly Come I to Thee” performed on piano by Andrew Remillard

Today’s hymn of hopeful repentance comes from a Scottish author and hymnist who may not have the name recognition of Wesley and Watts but deserves to be widely known for his rich theological hymns. Honatius Bonar (1808-1889) published this hymn in 1866.

1 No, not despairingly come I to thee;
no, not distrustingly bend I the knee:
sin hath gone over me, yet is this still my plea,
Jesus hath died.

2 Ah! mine iniquity crimson has been,
infinite, infinite, sin upon sin;
sin of not loving thee, sin of not trusting thee,
infinite sin.

3 Lord, I confess to thee sadly my sin;
all I am tell I thee, all I have been:
purge thou my sin away, wash thou my soul this day;
Lord, make me clean.

4 Faithful and just art thou, forgiving all;
loving and kind art thou when poor ones call:
Lord, let the cleansing blood, blood of the Lamb of God,
pass o’er my soul.

5 Then all is peace and light this soul within;
thus shall I walk with thee, the loved Unseen;
leaning on thee, my God, guided along the road,
nothing between.

Moral Sanctity, Authors Banned Left and Right, and a Speaking Tree

I heard a podcast this week that raised the idea of moral sanctity, meaning there is value, nobility, and even peace in the fact that you have never done particular things (and further, that you’ve never even thought that particular things could be done). This contrasts with transactional morality, meaning that we consider some actions wrong and forbidden only because we perceive they have unwelcome consequences.

Perhaps you’ve heard of mock moral dilemmas as intellectual challenges. Someone asks, “Would you do this evil or that one, if you had to choose one of the two?” How do you rationalize the consequences of one action against the other? More transactionally, if you were in a room where no one could see you or know you were there, would you do this nasty thing for a dollar amount of your choice? If all moral choices are transactional, then we determine what is right and wrong after a bit of cost-benefit analysis. Plagiarism is good, if you don’t get caught, and even if you do, it may still be good enough to have attempted it. It’s up to you.

With the backing of moral sanctity, you can say no to both of the questions above. You don’t have to choose one evil over the other. Instead, you would attempt neither. You don’t have to name a dollar amount to outweigh the nastiness of doing some vice where no one can see you. You can choose instead the value of being able to say to yourself, if no one else, that you’ve never done such a thing.

And that touches on a truth secular society has ruled out. We are never alone. What we confess in private, we confess in God’s hearing. What we choose, we choose under God’s watch, and the consequences we earn from his hand cannot be sidestepped.

I’m probably out of my depth here, so I’ll move on.

More Rewriting: Not only is the Roald Dahl estate allowing the publisher to edit his books to avoid offending sensitive readers, the Ian Fleming estate is following suit. But R. L. Stine claims his publisher has gone behind his back to change his books. “Altering published works to conform to ever-shifting standards is more Orwellian than just banning them,” he said.

More Banning: Joel Miller talks about this subject in “What Else Can We Censor While We’re Here?” “When novelist Jane Smiley recently discovered a school district in Idaho banned her Pulitzer Prize-winning 1991 novel A Thousand Acres, she was thrilled. ‘Most authors know that banning books can increase sales, so here’s hoping,’ she said.”

Comic Books: Word on the street is that Marvel and DC are struggling to keep their readers and have or will reduce the number of printed comic books they produce. Some might say this is a case of Go Woke and Go Broke. Andrew Klavan had a short discussion about this with comic book author Mike Baron, who notes several writers that have been pushed out of the comic space for not toeing the current party line.

Poetry: Dream of the Rood

Wondrous was the victory-tree, and I was stained by sins,
wounded with guilt; I saw the tree of glory
honored in garments, shining with joys,
bedecked with gold; gems had
covered worthily the Creator’s tree.
And yet beneath that gold I began to see
an ancient wretched struggle, when it first began
to bleed on the right side. 

Eleanor Parker writes about this ancient poem for Plough. “The story it tells is shaped to resonate with an Anglo-Saxon audience. By imagining Christ as a warrior and the Cross as his loyal follower, it echoes the relationship found in poems like Beowulf, where the bond between a warrior and his men is invested with the most intense emotions of love and grief.”

Photo by Maxim Lugina on Unsplash