Today’s hymn was written by the great John Milton (1608-1684). He wrote several paraphrases of select Psalms haven’t gained the favor of hymnal editors. The tune sung above by the congregation of Cathedral Church of Christ in Marina, Lagos, Nigeria is “St. Stephen” by William Jones, rector of the church in Hollingbourne, Kent.
“Let me hear what God the LORD will speak, for he will speak peace to his people, to his saints; but let them not turn back to folly. Surely his salvation is near to those who fear him, that glory may dwell in our land.” (Ps 85:8-9 ESV)
1 The Lord will come and not be slow, his footsteps cannot err; before him righteousness shall go, his royal harbinger.
2 Truth from the earth, like to a flow’r, shall bud and blossom then, and justice, from her heav’nly bow’r, look down on mortal men.
3 Rise, God, and judge the earth in might, this wicked earth redress; for you are he who shall by right the nations all possess.
4 For great you are, and wonders great by your strong hand are done: you, in your everlasting seat, remain the Lord alone.
Meekness! Humility! Gentleness! Patience! Kindness! It’s a revolting brew – when someone brings those things that are called fruits of the spirit into a cultural conflict on our enemy’s side, along with stoutheartedness. There are dangers for us there.
But the opportunities – they are so rich! Only convince your patient that those fruits of the spirit are not applicable, or not manly (if he is on the right) or are psychologically unhealthy and undermine the fight for justice (if he is on the left) and you’re home free.
Culture War: A judge rules out parts of an Iowa law. “The State Defendants have presented no evidence that student access to books depicting sex acts was creating any significant problems in the school setting, much less to the degree that would give rise to a ‘substantial and reasonable governmental interest’ justifying across-the-board removal.”
British Library:The British Library was attacked by hackers last October, and its digital resources are still offline, projected to take a year to rebuild and cost £6 million. (via Purfrock)
Shakespeare: Henry IV plays and adaptations. “More importantly, the greatest flaw of Chimes at Midnight is that Orson Welles sentimentalises Falstaff, removing much of his nasty side and turning him into a harmless fun-loving old man.”
British Post Office: A TV series, Mr Bates vs the Post Office, tells the incredible true story of a massive scandal in the British postal service, one that accused hundreds of subpostmasters of financial mismanagement and avoided finding fault with the source, the computer system they all used.
“Having Jones and Dolan as our entry point to the human cost of such horrifying corporate skullduggery is the perfect choice. But there were many hundreds of people who found themselves being gaslit by a helpline, and the cast is massive, and excellent, throughout.”
Photo: Opposition, England. From the Detroit Publishing Co. Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division
One book I own that I wish was in perfect condition is a Rankin & Bass edition of The Hobbit (1977). It’s a coffee table book, perhaps designed to read with two or more children in and around your lap. The full text is included, so you won’t miss any details, except maybe those skewed by the illustrations.
I assume my parents bought this, and I don’t remember it being a gift to me. I just acquired it at the appropriate hour. My own children rough it up a good bit, as they have done with many books.
The video above is a recording of “The Wellerman,” done by a Norwegian group whose name means “The Greedy Seagulls.” I’ve posted a version of this sea shanty before, and I’m not adding this one because I’ve sensed any clamor on your part for a reprise. My main interest is in the boat the singers are on (which, though it’s a sailing schooner, appears to be under engine power here).
That boat is the replica of the sloop “Restauration.” The original Restauration carried about 50 people on the first organized Norwegian immigrant voyage to the United States, back in 1825. There’s a plan to sail this boat to America next year, in honor of the 200th anniversary of the voyage.
I saw this replica, purely by accident, on my last Norway visit in 2023.
My own people did not come to America till the 1880s, so I can’t claim the honor of being what’s called a Slooper. However, the ship sailed from Stavanger, and a number of them were members of the Haugean sect, of which some of my ancestors were leaders. So they would certainly have known the Sloopers.
I understand when a cast of characters is in high school, the plot usually entails going to class, but I remember the third novel, Rise of the Circle, ending on big decisions and cosmic revelations. This novel, Omni’s Fall, begins with our hero struggling through math class.
I guess that means it’s just another Monday.
Teenaged metahuman Connor Connolly feels compelled to act, even when he doesn’t know what to do. That gets him into big trouble and threatens to end his heroic career. The authorities over him keep telling him to stand down and not draw attention to himself, while at the same his Batman-like mentor is calling him out to missions. After each feat of heroism, his metabands, the technology that makes him a superhero, look more damaged than before. Should he keep using them? As soon as he decides to rest a while, another threat or opportunity arises.
The plot and structure of the book are fun and maybe hold together, but they aren’t strong. I liked the villain and the new developments to the world. I still like the characters. But everything together didn’t work as well as I wanted it to.
It’s one thing for the hero to press on when everything is telling him to play it safe. Maybe he can’t stop, because the threat will run him down or the bad guys will get away. Maybe he’s the only one with all the facts to bring justice. It’s another thing for the hero to keep risking his life because “somebody’s got to do something.” No one throws himself in front of a runaway train because somebody has to do something to stop it. Of course, when you open the possibility of being able to stop the train with your super strength, how big does that possibility have to be for you to make the jump?
With the threat of his metabands failing, Connor must confront the possibility that he may no longer be able to fight bad guys as Omni, but when that argument comes up, he gets defensive and denies all of his worries like a man denying he has colon cancer. He isn’t mature enough to have the power he has, and he isn’t mature enough to recognize his immaturity. The fear of having your power taken from you is a good theme, but this story doesn’t go deep enough to make it compelling.
I read several of Randy Wayne White’s Doc Ford mysteries about a decade ago, and liked them, but I stopped because I found myself less and less comfortable with the worldview. But a deal showed up recently for one of White’s earlier books, Florida Firefight. This was written under the pseudonym Carl Ramm, and was the first volume in a series about a freelance commando named Hawker.
Shortly after Chicago policeman James Hawker has been fired for violating department policy by doing the right thing, he gets an invitation to spend Thanksgiving with a reclusive tycoon whose son Hawker had tried to save. The tycoon tells him he knows of a town in Florida called Mahogany Key, where Latin American drug smugglers are moving in. He’s concerned about his friends there and would like Hawker to go down and help. His cover story will be that he’s bought the local marina and wants to get it going profitably again. Intrigued – and having nothing better to do – Hawker decides to take the job.
What he finds is a depressed community, falling into ruin. The local residents had attempted to resist the incoming gangsters, but found themselves outmanned and outgunned, and now they’re beaten. With the assistance of a beautiful environmental biologist, Hawker forms a plan to defeat the narco smugglers and help the locals regain their pride.
There was nothing out of the ordinary about Florida Firefight. It follows the essential thriller formula that has worked so well for so many writers, like Lee Child and Gregg Hurwitz more recently. Lots of action, with a layer of inspiration in there somewhere. But I thought the book well written, except for some awkward information dumping in the first scene. Otherwise, the book was a fast and exciting read.
I found it melancholy, though. It reminded me of a time – not very long ago – when we lived in a very different country. We had a simple, comprehensible chief enemy in the world – Soviet Russia. Americans still had a sense of being one people, of sharing an identity. Remembering those times, under present circumstances, was kind of depressing.
There was one substantial sex scene, more explicit (in my opinion) than strictly necessary.
Florida Firefight was a well-written novel, and very entertaining on its own terms. I should mention that pretty conservative opinions got expressed, somewhat to my surprise.
As you know if you’re a regular here, I have no qualms about trashcanning a book after reading a couple of pages, if it fails to please me. This practice is made easier by the fact that I get a lot of books free or extremely cheap, through Kindle offers. The world is full of shabby, overoptimistic self-published books, and I’d rather not stomp on the author’s dreams by panning their book when I could just keep mum.
But occasionally a slightly more promising book shows up and keeps me reading long enough, before disillusioning me, that I don’t want to lose my sunk time cost without even being able to do a review. So I read that book through, and then I trash it here.
That is the story with Revenge at Sea, by Brian O’Sullivan.
What made me increasingly hate this book, as I slogged through it, was not only that the prose was bloated and bad (it started fair and deteriorated as it went along. This is not unusual. It’s common – and not actually a bad idea – to do a lot of polishing at the start, when you’re trying to hook the reader). It wasn’t just that the dialogue was stilted and not half as clever as it thought itself.
My main complaint was that our hero/narrator was an idiot.
The aforementioned hero/narrator is Quint Adler, a reporter for a minor newspaper in California’s Bay area. Supposedly, he is highly talented (this is dubious based on his prose) but has never gotten his big break. One night, while in a hospital after an injury, he overhears a suspicious conversation between his roommate and a companion. It sounds like they committed a major crime. He snaps a picture of the guy’s information sheet and, after being released from the hospital, goes to check the guy’s home out. He finds the man dead, but does not inform the police. Instead, he sees it as his opportunity. If he can figure out what the guy was involved in, he can write the Big Story that might supercharge his career.
Gee, what could possibly go wrong?
Over the course of the next few weeks, Quint will lie to the cops, get some people killed (gruesomely), be framed for murder, and at last have a showdown with his nemesis on a yacht on the open sea. (The final climax is one of the least plausible I’ve ever encountered in a novel.)
Quint spends time in jail during this story. It doesn’t occur to the author to describe Quint’s feelings about being locked up. There is zero description of the jail experience. He knows people he’s talked to have killed by mobsters, but fails to make the connection that he might be in danger too.
Like I said, an idiot.
The author also misuses words, like “taciturn” when he seems to want “covert.”
This is, in short, a badly written book that I labored to finish.
The author shows signs of talent, but he needs a good editor. At least 1/3 of his verbiage could have been cut, and it would have only improved the experience.
From last June, my appearance on the “All Over the Place” podcast has just been posted on YouTube.
Eric and Jim used to be regulars on the old “Freedonia” blog, which was one of my favorite hangouts on the internet. It’s been gone for a while now, alas. It was nice to get together with them and have some facetime.
The world of mystery fiction, as you’re probably aware, is divided (broadly speaking) into the subgenres of “Cozy” (think Miss Marple) and “Hard-Boiled” (think Mike Hammer). But nothing in life is ever that simple. Hard-boiled has devolved over recent decades (mostly) into the Thriller genre, and that’s all we’ll say about that today. But sub-genres exist within Cozy . I had never heard of the “Humdrum” subgenre before I looked up John Rhode (a pseudonym for Cecil Street), author of The Paddington Mystery. At first I thought the descriptor “humdrum” a little dismissive, but gradually I came to understand the point.
The central character in The Paddington Mystery, set in 1925, is Harold Merefield, a young London gentleman. Harold grew up as a close friend to Dr Lancelot Priestley, a retired mathematician and amateur detective. He was even close to being engaged to Priestley’s daughter April. But then he came into money and decided to sample the high life. He joined a shady gentleman’s club and even wrote a scandalous novel – which sold well.
One night Harold he comes home drunk to his apartment in the early hours to find a dead man, soaking wet, in his bed. The police suspect him at first, but let him go when the medical examiner declares the death due to natural causes. Nevertheless, the mystery remains. Who was the old man? How did he get into Harold’s apartment in the first place?
Harold is suddenly concerned about his reputation, and the only person he can think of to approach for help is Dr Priestley. Dr Priestly, it turns out, is still kindly disposed, and he welcomes the mystery as a chance to exercise his powers of logical deduction.
It was at that point that the story, I must admit, began to drag. At the beginning I was quite taken with The Paddington Mystery. I liked the characters, and the morality was purely bourgeois. I felt right at home.
But what made the book “humdrum” was that pages and pages were spent on exposition of the puzzle, as various characters explained the mystery, and Dr Priestly went on and on, explaining every step in his logical deductions. It did get tedious.
Especially because I figured out whodunnit fairly early in the process.
So, I must say, with regret, that I can’t entirely endorse The Paddington Mystery. On the plus side it was old-fashioned and non-objectionable, but it was also kind of… how shall I put it? Elementary.
For January, we’re going to follow a theme of looking ahead to the Lord’s return. Today’s hymn was written by Edward Henry Bickersteth (1825-1906), at one time Vicar of Christ Church, Hampstead, London.
“Only hold fast what you have until I come” (Rev. 2:25 ESV)
1 “Till he come!” O let the words linger on the trembling chords; let the little while between in their golden light be seen; let us think how heav’n and home lie beyond that “Till he come.”
2 When the weary ones we love enter on their rest above, seems the earth so poor and vast, all our life-joy overcast? Hush, be ev’ry murmur dumb: it is only till he come.
3 Clouds and conflicts round us press: would we have one sorrow less? All the sharpness of the cross, all that tells the world is loss, death and darkness, and the tomb, Only whisper “Till he come.”
4 See, the feast of love is spread, drink the wine, and break the bread: sweet memorials, till the Lord call us round his heav’nly board; some from earth, from glory some, severed only till he come.
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