Fiction, Reviews

‘Machinations of a Murderer,’ by Peter Zander-Howell

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I was surprised to find an authentic, old-fashioned British mystery, set in the 1940s, when I picked up Machinations of a Murderer by Peter Zander-Howell. A very original book, I thought, in an un-original form. It’s a plain, point-by-point police procedural, following first the murderer as he plans and carries out his crime, and then the detectives as they deconstruct his too-clever-by-half alibis.

Dr Robin Whittaker is an Oxford PhD, once a promising scholar. But his weaknesses for alcohol and gambling doomed his academic career, and now he works at a lowly job in a provincial museum. His wife, who has some money of her own, keeps him on a short leash. He chafes at the clean living she forces on him, and decides his only reasonable course is to murder her. Confident in his superior intellect, he’s certain that the alibi he constructs, along with the frames he constructs for hapless alternate suspects, will fool the stupid police, leaving him free to drain the funds he’ll inherit.

It’s not at all certain that even the ordinary police would actually fall for his hubristic scheme, but in the event local detectives are not available, so the police call on Scotland Yard for help. They send Chief Inspector Bryce (himself an Oxford-trained barrister) and his assistant, Sergeant Haig. They quickly recognize the doctor as a wrong ‘un, and put themselves to the task of breaking his rather neat alibi. It would disappoint Whittaker to know that one of the key clues in the case will be uncovered by a young, fairly inexperienced policeman who’s assisting Bryce and Haig.

There are no mysteries here. The reader observes everything as it happens, step by step. The great pleasure of this book (and it was a great pleasure to read) is the moral thrill of watching as a prideful and thoroughly unlikeable criminal slowly weaves for himself the rope of lies that will eventually hang him.

In all of Machinations of a Murderer I detected only one hint of a modern sensibility, and that was an intentional irony. Otherwise the author plays it straight from the 1940s. This absence of wokeness and political correctness was entirely refreshing. Aside from the narrative being fascinating in itself.

I highly recommend Machinations of a Murderer. Thoroughly enjoyable.

Fiction, Reviews

Dark, Stirring Sequel in Kotar’s ‘The Curse of the Raven’

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Something about the voice enchanted Llun. It awoke forgotten images of sharp mountain peaks and waterfalls at dawn, images associated with a childhood longing that flared in his heart whenever he listened to his mother sing a ballad of Old Vasyllia.

“I will gladly pay the price of my life,” said Llun.

“You do not know what you are saying.”

The Curse of the Raven, the sequel to The Song of the Sirin, appropriately focuses on the oppression suffered by everyone who survived the fall of Vasyllia. Llun the Smith keeps his thoughts to himself, while almost everyone else in the city parrots approved words and tries not to upset the overseers or their enforcers, the “dog-men.” But he couldn’t keep himself from making beautiful things or adding unnecessary ornamentation.

He is pulled into the enemy’s chambers where they imply he would be useful to them for a project they won’t describe. He is fairly certain that any job they give him will be the last one he ever does, but the enemy won’t make a demand, preferring to hint. They give him time to think about it.

I could give you ninety percent of the plot in three more paragraphs, because the story takes only 84 pages. It’s a good side story that allows time to pass while Voran, the hero of the larger story, is doing small things offstage. Another twenty pages are given to the first chapter of book three, The Heart of the World.

In these few pages, we feel the significant dread smothering the kingdom and have an opportunity to wonder if their hope for salvation is in vain. The Russian spirit still comes through in the nature of the oppression and neglect of the people, which keeps this book in the spirit of its predecessor.

I look forward to the next one.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Suit,’ by Colin Conway

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Even though Matt was younger, Craig admitted his brother was the smarter one. Now, many years after high school, Matt still read books when no teacher was making him.

Another novel in the 509 series by Colin Conway, which I’m enjoying very much. This is Number Four, and it’s called The Suit.

Times are tough for cocaine dealers in Spokane just now. The cops have shut their supply down, and nerves are frayed. One frustrated junkie, Craig, takes it into his head one day to stick a knife into a random guy walking past, a guy in a suit. But the “suit” surprises him by defending himself quickly and efficiently, leaving Craig with a broken nose. Video of the incident goes viral.

Craig’s brother Matt, meanwhile, is trying to keep his “crew” of coke dealers under control. To focus their attention, he suggests they play a game. It begins with “the knockout game,” a fad from a few years back where street punks punched strangers, trying to knock them out with one blow. But Matt adds a new wrinkle. They pool their money, film each attack, and then award points by vote. The winner takes the pot.

Detectives Quinn Delaney and Marci Burkett are on the case, but it’s a tough one. The attacks are random, scattered all over the city. But once the game finds a focus – once the attackers start targeting “suits,” men in business attire, alone, they begin finding a few leads. Which will lead them to, among other people, the original hero “suit” of the video – a man with secrets.

Another good book in an outstanding series. I personally enjoyed The Suit a little less than the previous books, because it required the reader to spend a lot of time with Matt and his “crew,” who are not pleasant company at all.

I also have to admit – and this will surprise no one who follows these reviews – that I have a little trouble with Detective Marci Burkett. I dislike the cliché of the kick-butt female cop who can beat any man. Marci is definitely one of those – I still insist that size and strength count for something, and such characters often seem to deny the laws of physics.

On the other hand, Marci is a better crafted character than most of her sisters in literature. It’s clear she has anger management issues, that her emotional ducks aren’t all in a row. That helps.

But mostly I put up with her because the books are so good otherwise.

Minor cautions for the usual stuff. Good book.

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.