By a bizarre coincidence, New Year’s Eve falls on exactly the same date this year as last year. I think we’re in a rut. And I’m grateful for it.
Though we don’t get the solid, long-lasting, well-built years anymore that we had when I was boy. I clearly remember talking about the new year with my grandmother, in her little house. I think it was the end of 1956. Grandma said there would never be a year 1956 again, and I couldn’t see how that could be true. Still seems wrong to me.
Above, Sissel Kyrkjebø does Auld Lang Syne, in Scottish and Swedish. Wearing a butch men’s suit, just to annoy me, but in excellent voice.
I want to thank all our faithful readers for their loyalty (and patience) through another year. We do all this for you, and I hope you feel properly guilty about it.
Special thanks to Phil Wade, who – I should remind everyone, including myself – is the host of this hall.
I’ve had better years than 2025. I take comfort in the fact, much cited in the Middle Ages, that fortune is a wheel. If I’m down at the moment, the wheel should (probably) come around again. I’ll keep you posted.
I’m reading Njal’s Saga again. It’s a long saga, so I’ll probably be posting reading impressions for a few days, as I work my way through it.
Watch for that, if you can handle the excitement.
Now to celebrate New Year’s Eve in my own way, which is not at all.
“I woke up this morning feeling great. Absolutely great. Busting with energy. Know something? I want to get involved in the life and times of Esterland and son. I want to go out and con the people. I want to have to bust a couple of heads here and there and have somebody try to bust mine for me. Why should I feel a little bit guilty about feeling like that, Meyer?”
My life takes me into the state of Iowa fairly frequently, and back in the 1970s and 80s, a frequent feature of my drives down there was the sight of hot air balloons traversing the broad heavens. Iowa was a center for the sport of ballooning back in those days. Since that time, I’m informed, the activity has moved to the southwest. But that period remains memorialized in John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee novel, Free Fall In Crimson, originally published in 1981.
In sequence, this novel follows The Green Ripper, in which McGee lost a woman he loved and hoped to make a future with. So he’s pretty low at the beginning. He’s losing weight, and even pondering dropping his “salvage” business, to become a boat salesman or something. His friend Meyer worries about him.
Then he’s contacted by Ron Esterland, a newly successful artist from New York. Ron explains that he’s troubled by the circumstances of his father’s death. His father was a successful Florida businessman, married several times, once to a movie star. He was dying of cancer when he was attacked in a highway rest area and beaten to death, more than a year ago. Ron had been estranged from his father, and doesn’t care about his money, but the timing seems suspicious. Could his father have been killed by someone connected to the actress ex-wife, for the inheritance?
McGee agrees to check it out, without great enthusiasm. But when he meets Anne Renzetti, manager of a hotel that Esterland had owned, his interest is piqued and his enthusiasm for life rekindled.
The investigation will take him back to Hollywood, to that snake pit from which he barely escaped alive back in the adventure of The Quick Red Fox. Once again he’ll encounter Lysa Dean, the gorgeous, calculating movie queen to whom he once delivered a rare rejection. She’ll connect him with the ex-wife’s boyfriend, a Hollywood director who’s shooting a movie about ballooning in Iowa. And that will lead him into a confrontation with a psycho motorcycle outlaw who’ll unleash a whole lot of reckless violence and death on a lot of people before the final showdown.
I’d read Free Fall In Crimson before, of course. But I hadn’t remembered much about it except for the balloon ride. I found it to be a very well-written and serious book, and I recommend it highly – with cautions for adult themes and a whole lot of innocent bloodshed.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
Websites store cookies to enhance functionality and personalise your experience. You can manage your preferences, but blocking some cookies may impact site performance and services.
Essential cookies enable basic functions and are necessary for the proper function of the website.
Name
Description
Duration
Cookie Preferences
This cookie is used to store the user's cookie consent preferences.
30 days
These cookies are needed for adding comments on this website.
Name
Description
Duration
comment_author
Used to track the user across multiple sessions.
Session
comment_author_email
Used to track the user across multiple sessions.
Session
comment_author_url
Used to track the user across multiple sessions.
Session
These cookies are used for managing login functionality on this website.
Name
Description
Duration
wordpress_logged_in
Used to store logged-in users.
Persistent
wordpress_sec
Used to track the user across multiple sessions.
15 days
wordpress_test_cookie
Used to determine if cookies are enabled.
Session
Statistics cookies collect information anonymously. This information helps us understand how visitors use our website.
Google Analytics is a powerful tool that tracks and analyzes website traffic for informed marketing decisions.
Used to monitor number of Google Analytics server requests
10 minutes
__utmb
Used to distinguish new sessions and visits. This cookie is set when the GA.js javascript library is loaded and there is no existing __utmb cookie. The cookie is updated every time data is sent to the Google Analytics server.
30 minutes after last activity
__utmc
Used only with old Urchin versions of Google Analytics and not with GA.js. Was used to distinguish between new sessions and visits at the end of a session.
End of session (browser)
__utmz
Contains information about the traffic source or campaign that directed user to the website. The cookie is set when the GA.js javascript is loaded and updated when data is sent to the Google Anaytics server
6 months after last activity
__utmv
Contains custom information set by the web developer via the _setCustomVar method in Google Analytics. This cookie is updated every time new data is sent to the Google Analytics server.
2 years after last activity
__utmx
Used to determine whether a user is included in an A / B or Multivariate test.
18 months
_ga
ID used to identify users
2 years
_gali
Used by Google Analytics to determine which links on a page are being clicked
30 seconds
_ga_
ID used to identify users
2 years
_gid
ID used to identify users for 24 hours after last activity
24 hours
_gat
Used to monitor number of Google Analytics server requests when using Google Tag Manager
1 minute
_gac_
Contains information related to marketing campaigns of the user. These are shared with Google AdWords / Google Ads when the Google Ads and Google Analytics accounts are linked together.
90 days
Marketing cookies are used to follow visitors to websites. The intention is to show ads that are relevant and engaging to the individual user.
A video-sharing platform for users to upload, view, and share videos across various genres and topics.
Registers a unique ID on mobile devices to enable tracking based on geographical GPS location.
1 day
VISITOR_INFO1_LIVE
Tries to estimate the users' bandwidth on pages with integrated YouTube videos. Also used for marketing
179 days
PREF
This cookie stores your preferences and other information, in particular preferred language, how many search results you wish to be shown on your page, and whether or not you wish to have Google’s SafeSearch filter turned on.
10 years from set/ update
YSC
Registers a unique ID to keep statistics of what videos from YouTube the user has seen.
Session
DEVICE_INFO
Used to detect if the visitor has accepted the marketing category in the cookie banner. This cookie is necessary for GDPR-compliance of the website.
179 days
LOGIN_INFO
This cookie is used to play YouTube videos embedded on the website.