‘One Day You’ll Burn,’ by Joseph Schneider

G. K. Chesterton wrote, somewhere, that there are two different meanings for the word “good.” “For example, if a man could shoot his grandmother at a range of five hundred yards, I should call him a good shot, but not necessarily a good man.”

In a similar (not identical) way, a book can be good in terms of its writing, while not being much good for my personal purposes.

Which brings me to One Day You’ll Burn, an interesting cop novel by Joseph Schneider. Its hero is Los Angeles police detective Tully Jarsdel, an improbable policeman who abandoned the pursuit of a Ph.D. (to the despair of his two “gay” fathers) to become a cop, out of a spiritual resolution to make the world a better place. Promoted prematurely to the homicide squad by way of an experimental department program, he hasn’t yet earned the confidence of the veteran detectives, especially his own partner.

One day a body is found in the entrance to a shop in LA’s Thai Town, in front of a statue of Brahma. The body has been roasted like a Thanksgiving turkey, destroying both fingerprints and almost all DNA, which makes identification difficult. Tully’s partner “graciously” lets him take the lead in the case, assuming it will go unsolved and be a black mark on his record.

But Tully is methodical, and gradually he puts a few clues together, leading him into the bizarre world of Hollywood fandom and memorabilia collectors. And to a hideous killing scheme and a criminal so evil as to be (frankly) a little implausible.

The story was interesting, if a bit over the top. But what put me off, as a bigoted Christian, was that Tully sees himself as on a spiritual quest – a sort of undefined, New Age, semi-Zoroastrian crusade to serve Brahma by helping the world achieve its destined perfection. The world, as he sees it, is getting constantly better (I fail to see much evidence for that myself), and every crime he solves is a step to ultimate justice and peace.

I should say in the author’s defense, though, that he makes a point of the proper use of the term “begs the question.” I was very grateful for that. Also for a scene in which he denounces the corruption that permeates contemporary academia. In that, he was right on the money.

So, bottom line, I thought One Day You’ll Burn a pretty good book in its own right, but not for me.

‘Cold Fire,’ by Dean Koontz

I think I’ve read almost all of Dean Koontz’s novels, but I always understood there might be one or two here or there that I missed. I bought Cold Fire because it was on sale, and figured I’d likely already read it, but had probably forgotten the plot. However, it turned out to be brand new to me.

Jim Ironheart is a recent lottery winner, who could be living his life in leisure. But occasionally he has a mystic experience, and utters the word, “Lifeline.” He then sets out blindly, following his intuition, in order to be in place just in the nick of time, to save somebody’s life.

Holly Thorne is a disillusioned news reporter for a small-town newspaper, But when she witnesses Jim Ironheart saving a kid’s life, she suddenly needs to learn more about him. She locates him, shoehorns herself into his life, and they fall in love. Now they’re a team, following his lifeline summonses together.

But that’s just the beginning. Jim is being drawn home, to the house where he grew up, where he first discovered his gift. There, with Holly’s help, he will begin learning the secrets of his forgotten past, of the personal trauma that put him on the road to his present life.

Cold Fire is one of the early books of Dean Koontz’s bestseller period. I found it episodic and rather less intriguing than his more mature work. But it was worth reading. I enjoyed it.

Sissel: ‘Mitt hjerte altid vanker’

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. My greeting to you (I probably won’t be posting tomorrow) is this number from Sissel, a Danish hymn by Hans Adolph Brorson. Mitt Hjerte Altid Vanker has an earlier Danish melody, but this Swedish tune has become more popular, for reasons that will be apparent when you hear it.

It’s in Norwegian, of course, so I’ve gone to the trouble of translating the verses Sissel sings here for you. There are in fact 11 verses, but only 3 are used here. This version does a little mixing, combining lines from two different verses (and out of order too!) at the end.

But it works.

My heart is e’er returning
There where my Lord was born;
My thoughts forever yearning
In wonder at that morn:
My longing finds its home there,
My treasure gleaming bright --
My faith finds rest alone there,
That blessed Christmas night!
But ah! How to express it,
Things wisdom cannot know,
That God – no soul could guess it
Would e’er descend so low:
That He, the praise of Heaven,
The great eternal Word,
Into a stall was given
Our humble, infant Lord.

Oh come! My soul is sighing
Your work in me begin!
To Heaven’s heart I’m crying,
Come, Lord, and enter in! –
My heart, your blood has bought it,
It is no alien ground –
In flesh you came and sought it
Be here forever found!

‘The Dead Don’t Talk,’ by Alex Robert

I have a great fondness for the ancient city of York in England, because of its Viking connections. So a novel set in York always appeals to me a priori. Which is why I bit on a deal on The Dead Don’t Talk, by Alex Robert, book 2 in the Jack Husker series.

The aforementioned Jack Husker is a York police detective. In the previous book, we are informed, he cracked a big case and saved lives, becoming a local hero. As The Dead Don’t Talk begins, all that has gone down the toilet. A case he thought he had neatly tied up, against York’s chief gangster, has fallen apart in court, leading to an apology to the defendant and a reprimand for Jack.

To put a cherry on top of it all, Jack’s girlfriend, whom he had lost years ago and won again in the previous book, has had enough of his workaholism, alcoholism, and bad temper, and moved out on him.

His boss “temporarily” reassigns him to Missing Persons, where police careers go to die. Studying a recent case, Jack smells a rat. An elderly couple who disappeared during one of York’s Ghost Tours are supposed to be vacationing in Spain. But Jack finds the story told by their niece and nephew, who have moved into the couple’s house, just a little thin. More troublingly, witnesses are turning up dead.

Suddenly he’s interested in his job again. He’s also interested in Lisa, a young female detective who helps him out.

My takeaway: The Dead Don’t Talk wasn’t awful. The prose was generally grammatical, though it was often flabby. A lot of verbiage could have been cut, making the book move faster, and what was left behind could have done with some sharpening: “…her eyes fiery and offering the look of someone with an axe to grind,” for instance, is a pretty banal construction. In another place, the author writes, “Her fire would be tempered until Lang appeared.” In context, the meaning is that this woman would remain furious until Lang comes to cool her down. But that’s the opposite of what “tempered” means.

Also, Jack Husker is one of the less appealing heroes I’ve come across in a book recently. He’s sour-tempered and prone to pulling petty practical jokes, which just makes him unpopular at work. Yet we’re told that Lisa his associate, who is, we’re informed, quite attractive, finds him sexually fascinating – even though he’s described as considerably older than her, short, and overweight, as well as having a drinking problem. I know love is blind, but it’s rarely that blind in my experience.

I finished the book, and it did keep my interest, but I wasn’t sorry when it was over. I can only recommend The Dead Don’t Talk halfheartedly.

‘God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen,’ and Gary too

I seem to be thinking of old carols this Advent season, so today I figured I’d look at a genuinely old carol (as opposed to that counterfeit antique, Wenceslas, that I covered a few days ago). I’m thinking here of God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen. According to Wikipedia, we know of an early version of this carol from the 17th Century, though the version we sing today comes from an 1833 collection produced in England by William Sandys.

Now right off, I find myself on the wrong foot about some of the words. I’ve always sung it as “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” (more about the comma placement below). But according to the Wikipedia article, “In fact, ye would never have been correct, because ye is a subjective (nominative) pronoun only, never an objective (accusative) pronoun.” I, with my rough-and-ready workman’s grasp of English grammar, had no clue about this. (Oddly, the title on the YouTube clip above has it wrong, but the sing-along lyrics get it right.)

The most common misunderstanding about the song has to do with the meaning of the words, “God rest you merry, gentlemen.” Modern people assume the comma should go after you – “God rest you, merry gentlemen,” with “merry” describing “gentlemen.” But that’s because we’ve forgotten the idiomatic phrase, “rest you merry.” Shakespeare uses it in a couple of his plays, “As You Like It,” and “Romeo and Juliet.” It originally meant “God rest you [grant you to be] merry [peaceful and happy].”

Personally, I’ve been needing a little comfort and joy lately. One week ago tonight (Friday), my friend Gary Anderson passed away after a long illness. Gary was a founder and longtime central figure in my Viking reenactment group (that’s him on the right with me in the photo above). He was sort of a walking photo opportunity, an artist’s dream of a Viking, our most public face and voice.

He was a wounded and decorated Vietnam combat veteran. He was a professional Santa Claus in season, for many years. He was a dyslexic who taught himself to read. He came on strong, rather frightening me when I first met him, but he proved to be a stalwart and faithful friend. Another friend and I visited him a couple times during his last months, the final time about three weeks ago. Death is Grendel, a mighty foe, but it had to beat him to the ground before it took him. He never gave up. He went out as befits a Christian Viking.

The Wife Killer

Catherine plummeting twelve stories from their balcony meant Edward had committed three untraceable uxoricides, each at Christmastime. He didn’t hate women per se; dead wives were just thrillingly profitable.

He stepped inside to call the police and found his phone dead. Hers was on the kitchen counter, ringing. Caller ID: “Catherine.”

He answered. “Who is this?”

“Does uxoricide help you sleep, Edward?”

He returned to the balcony rail and looked. Far below, her crushed body faced him, wild eyes catching him like hands, pitching him into the air between them.

She whimpered, “I’ve never killed a husband. What’s it like?”


This original flash fiction is part of Loren Eaton’s 2025 Advent Ghost Storytelling Fest. Read other entries posted or linked on his blog, and let me know what you think of this one. You can find more 100-word stories like this by searching the tag “Advent Ghost Stories” or “Flash fiction.”

‘The Fragile Coast,’ by Scott Hunter

I gave a mixed review to The Fragile Cage, the first volume in Scott Hunter’s Cameron Kyle series, about an English ex-police detective living with a bullet fragment in his brain that could kill him at any moment. I liked the energy of the story, comparing it to the James Bond books, though I didn’t think the plot made a lot of sense.

In the second book, The Fragile Coast, the author seems almost to have been reading my review. Because now we’re taken straight into MI6 territory. A spymaster offers Kyle an assignment – to go to Spain and help look for a lost American atomic bomb. The agent they had in place has been kidnapped, and it happens to be a woman of whom Kyle is fond – Jude Bates, a former policewoman he’s worked with before.

But he hasn’t even gotten unpacked before he discovers he’s been lied to. Which sets the tone for the rest of the story. Every chapter seems to feature a twist, where something Kyle has learned turns out to be false, and somebody he trusted turns out to be an enemy. At least until the next plot twist.

Twists are good plot devices, but in my opinion they can be overdone. There’s such a thing as just jerking your reader around, and in my opinion The Fragile Coast committed that sin. The plot (yet again) seemed contrived.

Also, the book ended in a cliff-hanger. I hate those.

The Cameron Kyle series showed some promise, but I’m done with it.

‘Damnation Street,’ by Andrew Klavan

Bishop looked the man over. He was a big, evil chuckle-head. A white guy approximately the size of Denver. He had short blond hair and stupid eyes and a vague pharmaceutical smile. He had a voice so deep it sounded like an earth tremor.

Andrew Klavan’s Weiss-Bishop trilogy comes to a thundering conclusion in Damnation Street. I’m pretty good with words, but I struggle to express how much I enjoyed it. And I’ve read it before.

Quick background: Big, sad, middle-aged San Francisco private eye Scott Weiss has fallen in love with a woman he’s never even met – a prostitute who calls herself Julie Wyant. He also knows that she’s living on the run, in fear of the Shadow-man, a legendary professional assassin. The Shadow-man has a chameleon-like gift for disguise, and is an utter sadist. His dream for Julie is to catch her and torture her to death. That’s his idea of love.

This dynamic has formed a subplot in the first two books, but it takes center stage in Damnation Street, as very different obsessions draw these two men into a final showdown. In some ways they are mirror images of one another – so which force will prevail? Empathy or diabolic hate?

Weiss could use his partner, Jim Bishop, at a time like this, but Bishop failed him badly in Shotgun Alley. Bishop has always been the kind of man who lives on the edge, and he may have fallen beyond redemption now.

There is one more character in play, though. One I didn’t mention in the previous review.

The narrator of the trilogy is actually one of its most interesting characters. He’s clearly a fictionalized portrait of the author himself in his post-college days. He tells us he took a job with Weiss and Bishop because he’d always loved detective fiction, and wanted to learn about it first-hand, so he could write hard-boiled books himself.

In Dynamite Road, the narrator met Emma McNair, the girl of his dreams. But he was prevented from calling her because – with all the idiocy of young, horny men – he stumbled that very night into a sexual relationship with an older woman, and has been too cowardly to break it off since. In Damnation Street, he encounters Emma once again, and she gives him an ultimatum – “I want a man I can look up to and admire. Don’t come back until you are one.”

Which is how he comes to find himself in a fistfight outside of a brothel, giving Weiss the best backup he’s capable of.

But it all finally culminates in a showdown in a lonely house, where Weiss entices the Shadow-man. Author Klavan sets the scene like Hitchcock, letting us know everything there is to know about the Shadow-man’s plans, dangers Weiss can’t know. Time slows down, and the dramatic tension is exquisite, even after multiple readings.

These books can be taken on several levels. On the surface, they’re well-crafted hard-boiled mysteries. On a deeper level, they’re chivalric romances, transposed into a modern key. And – perhaps – on the deepest level, they’re meditations on that mystery of love and idealism that motivates all of Klavan’s work.

The publishers made a serious error in the Kindle edition, by placing their “Thank you for reading” message after the last numbered chapter, but before the Epilogue. Don’t miss the Epilogue, though. It’s important.

The Weiss-Bishop books are, I contend, an apotheosis of the hard-boiled genre. I recommend them, and even urge them upon you. But cautions are in order for violence, sexual situations, and very rough language.

Sissel sings ‘Glade Jul’

Tonight, because it’s not Christmas without a few hymns from Sissel, we have Glade Jul, the Norwegian version of “Silent Night.”

The Norwegian translation does an interesting thing with the lyrics. It pulls the whole story into the present – or pulls us into the past, back to the first Christmas. The Norwegian lines of the first verse go (more or less, my translation):

Happy Christmas, Holy Christmas. 
Angels descend unseen.
Hither they fly, with leaves of Paradise,
Where they behold what God has accomplished.
Secretly they walk among us;
Secretly they walk among us.

‘Dynamite Road,’ and ‘Shotgun Alley,’ by Andrew Klavan

“She changed things,” Whip Pomeroy went on in that same overly sweet, overly elevated tone. “She changed… everything. Everyone. She was like…oh—oh, an unreal creature. Like paintings you see. Or daydreams you have. She was the way people never are. You know? You can’t know.”

The time comes, periodically, when I know I need to re-read Andrew Klavan’s Weiss and Bishop trilogy again.

I think we’re all feeling a little out of sorts lately. The news has been pretty awful. Whatever way one feels the world ought to be going, it doesn’t seem to be going that way at all.

I get the feeling Andrew Klavan has been feeling like that too. I like to watch his podcasts – delayed, of course, on YouTube, because I’m too cheap to spring for a Daily Wire subscription. But Klavan seems a little tetchy lately. I get the feeling he’s getting fed up with the community he joined when he chose, some years back, to be baptized. Tired of e-mails from earnest souls asking how he can call himself a Christian when he writes about such awful topics, using such dirty language. I hope we don’t lose him over that, because we need him badly.

So I’ll supplement my previous reviews of the Weiss-Bishop books on this blog, and the one I wrote years back for The American Spectator, by again reviewing the two books I’ve read so far this time around – Dynamite Road and Shotgun Alley.

The heroes of these books are a pair of San Francisco private detectives – Scott Weiss and Jim Bishop. The names themselves are suggestive – “Weiss” means white, suggesting the proverbial White Knight. And if Weiss takes that role, then Bishop suggests another chess man, the oblique piece that never moves in a straight line.

Scott Weiss is a former cop, big, sad-faced, overweight, and middle aged. He foreshadows Klavan’s current character Cameron Winter in being an intuitive detective. He has a knack for getting into people’s heads, for discerning their motivations and fears, predicting their next moves. His ability to track down fugitives is legendary.

Jim Bishop is younger, a handsome, buff risk-taker, a natural outlaw. He treats women like disposable objects, and they love him for it. (Weiss envies him this talent, with guilt.) Weiss pulled him out of the gutter and gave him a second chance. Saw potential in him. He’s a valuable operative, but it’s largely due to his willingness to break the rules, while Weiss looks the other way.

In Dynamite Road, Bishop is sent to a small town aviation company, where one of the owners suspects his partner is using their planes for illegal activities. Bishop, an expert combat pilot, goes to work for them, with a plan to replace the pilot the criminals have selected for their coming operation, incidentally seducing his wife so he can pump her for information.

Meanwhile, Weiss has fallen in love. A woman shows up in an associated investigation – a prostitute with the face of an angel. He grows obsessed with this woman, Julie Wyant. (Her name is reminiscent of Clyde Wynant, the subject of the manhunt in Dashiel Hammet’s The Thin Man.) He gradually becomes aware that he’s not the only man hunting this woman. The other is a mysterious, legendary killer known as The Shadowman, perhaps the most dangerous – and relentless – criminal in the world. (Continued on next page.)

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