The American Spectator posted my latest article on Sunday. You can read it here. It’s all about the disadvantages of high intelligence, a subject about which I know nothing at all.
Also, I’m going to be at the Norsk Hostfest in Minot, North Dakota Wednesday through Saturday, God willing. If you happen to be there and want to see us Vikings, we’ll be in the Flickertail building which is (I think) south of the main hall at the state fairgrounds.
It seemed to Hugh as he sat there that this was a very bad place on the face of the earth, that it was unwise to bring to this place any decent impulse or emotion, because there was a curiously corrosive agent adrift in this bright desert air…. It would not be a good thing to stay in such a place too long, because you might lose the ability to react to any other human being save on the level of estimating how best to use them, or how they were trying to use you. The impossibility of any more savory relationship was perfectly symbolized by the pink-and-white-and-blue neon crosses shining above the quaint gabled roofs of the twenty-four-hour-a-day marriage chapels.
As I’ve been reacquainting myself with John D. MacDonald’s non-McGee novels, happily republished by The Murder Room in Kindle format, I’ve had one nagging worry. I remembered that one of these books in particular was a heartbreaker, a really tragic story. Now I don’t have to worry about it anymore, because I just read The Only Girl in the Game, and it turns out that’s the one. It knocked me down, made me cry, and took my lunch money. Excellent book.
Hugh Darren manages the Cameroon Hotel in Las Vegas. It’s interesting work and it pays well, which will help him with his dream of eventually opening his own resort in the Bahamas. He knows that the mob owns the place, but they’re on the casino side. Hugh just deals with food suppliers, employees, and customer complaints, that sort of thing. Oh, from time to time his genial, party animal boss asks him for a little favor, and he gets an off-the-books gift when he does it, but they’ve never asked him to do anything illegal.
He particularly delights in Betty Dawson, his new girlfriend. She’s a singer with a regular show in one of the small lounges. She’s tall and beautiful, smart and funny. Hugh is head over heels in love with her, but she’s made it clear she wants only a casual relationship.
What he doesn’t know is that their boss owns Betty. He has leverage on her, and that enables him to require her – not often, only once or twice a year – to do something that makes her hate herself, that makes her feel dirty. Nothing personal, it’s just business.
One day they’ll ask Betty to do something she knows she can’t do. And that day she’ll break free. Then everything will go very bad, very quickly.
The Only Girl in the Game was originally written for the cheap paperback originals market. It includes the obligatory scenes of sex and violence (though fairly mild by 21st Century standards). But it’s also a remarkably well-written and morally centered book. It’s all about the effects of gambling, on individuals and on communities. We’ve come to accept those effects since casinos have been legalized most everywhere, but we’ve paid a price. If you want to understand that price, this is a good book to start with. If you’re thinking of going to a casino for fun, this is a good book to read.
Highly recommended, with cautions as specified above.
The glorious hymn sung in the video above is William Blake’s original poem and is consequently theologically off-base. When we’ve sung it in church, we used this lyric by British composer C. Hubert Parry (1848-1918) and adapted it even further.
1 When did those feet in ancient times
walk upon Israel’s mountain green?
And did the Christ of Heaven come down,
was God in flesh both heard and seen?
And did He die to prove His love,
and did He rise again more powerful still?
And was His rule on earth started there
upon Golgotha’s tragic hill?
2 Bring me my bow of burning gold;
bring me my arrows of desire;
Bring me my spear, O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariots of fire!
I will not cease to spread His light.
My faith a shield, His word my sword.
‘Til Christ my Lord is crowned King,
and all the earth shall own him Lord!
Fans of comic books and some of the Marvel shows and movies have been talking about where the writers have taken the Incredible Hulk character. They compare the Ed Norton Hulk, who looks enraged while standing still, and the Eric Bana Hulk, also a rage monster, to the Mark Ruffalo Hulk, who was last seen patiently listening to his She-Hulk cousin explain how being a woman enabled her to control her anger “infinitely more” than he could.
Years ago, we talked about the first Avengers movie and the controversy of Bruce Banner appearing to be able to transform on command. The point in the movie was the wildness of the Hulk. Banner could use the Hulk’s power to a degree, but if things got out of hand, the Hulk would bring even more chaos.
In Avengers: Infinity War, the Hulk is beaten into submission right out of the gate. This takes one of the strongest characters out of the picture to make room for many others who need a few seconds of their own. The movie proceeds to follow Thanos to each of the remaining Infinity Stones and half of the time sets up an identical scenario: Thanos threatens to abuse and kill one character unless another one forfeits a stone.
But what if Thanos’s brutal beating had caused the Hulk to go wild? Initially, he would appear beaten, Thanos would leave, and the heroes would plot their defenses. Then Thanos would confront a group about the stone they’re guarding, and a wild, uncontrolled Hulk would return with more rage than ever, turning everything to chaos. It wouldn’t be repeated bad decisions that give Thanos the stones in the end. It would be the impossibly strong Avenger who couldn’t be stopped.
This movie would have villain and anti-villain with a hoard of heroes to manage both. They could even have Captain Marvel fight him. She should be able to handle him for a while. Maybe Wanda Maximoff could even save him in the end by pulling him out of his rage.
Or he could be taken by the snap, in which case he’d have to come back as Bruce to give everyone a breather.
But I guess they’ve taken that wildness away from the cinematic Hulk to make him more of a team player.
We do not want to risk coming out of the shadows, preferring to remain in the darkness of lives of quiet desperation, afraid of all that is unknown about God and holding on to our only certainty, even if this certainty is the pain we know and understand.
How come nobody ever told me about Sigmund Brouwer before? (I’ll bet somebody did, and I overlooked it.) He’s a Canadian writer, and yet in Out of the Shadows he’s produced an excellent mystery in the Southern Gothic style. It reminded me a little of Walker Percy.
Nick Barrett is a son of Charleston aristocracy, but only in a marginal way. His mother married into the old, moneyed Barrett family, but then bore a child – Nick – out of wedlock. After she disappeared, with Nick’s trust fund money and (according to rumor) with yet another lover, Nick was raised in the family home and tolerated. But they never let him forget his inferior status. He thought he’d beat them all when he married the beautiful Claire, also from their circle. But that all blew up a few nights after the wedding, when several of the young people were in a car accident. Nick lost half his leg in that accident, while Claire’s brother was killed. And Nick found himself faced with an ultimatum from the corrupt county sheriff – sign an affidavit admitting to being the drunk driver (which he wasn’t) or go to prison. Nick left town, the marriage was annulled, and he traveled the world before settling down to teach astronomy at a small college in the southwest.
But now he’s gotten an anonymous letter, telling him that if he comes back to Charleston he can learn the truth about his mother’s true whereabouts. He goes back, limping on his prosthetic leg, to face the still-hostile relatives, and starts kicking over stones and stirring up hornet’s nests. People will die, including (nearly) Nick himself, before the truth comes out and he learns the true power of love, the reality of forgiveness, and something about God.
Out of the Shadows knocked me for a loop. It was thoughtful, lyrical, and even action-packed (I didn’t see that coming). I’ve read a fair number of Christian novels, but never one where the actual act of conversion is portrayed as effectively and movingly as it is here. I was reminded of Leif Enger, but Brouwer is more explicit in his message.
Highly recommended. Really, you need to read Out of the Shadows.
I mentioned recently that I’d had a book review accepted by a scholarly journal. The book reviewed was Sigrid Undset, Reader of Hearts, by Fr. Aidan Nichols. You can now read the review here, on the Davenant Institute’s Ad Fontes journal site.
I thanked him and sat down in one of the armchairs, feeling much the same as I had when I’d been called into the headmaster’s office at school. The big clock ticked off the seconds with an unusually heavy tread, as if it were driving a rivet with each tick.
We have under consideration here an attempt at a new cozy mystery franchise, and it’s not a bad one at all. The Ten Commandments of Murder is sort of blend of Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot and Nero Wolfe, with a nice, well-integrated infusion of Christian morality. Utterly unbelievable, but plenty of fun.
Alfred More, our Watson/Hastings/Goodwin here, is at the time of the story (1903) a feckless young idler, the younger son of a Pennsylvania steel magnate. The company is run by his brother Jonathan, with whom Alfred lives. Every April, according to established family tradition, they host a dinner party at their mansion on Long Island for family and family friends. Alfred looks forward to seeing Violet, a young woman he’s been in love with since childhood. But that also means seeing her insufferable husband, Nathan Gale, who is vulgarly rich and delights in offending people. The party also includes the family doctor and a “progressive” clergyman and his family.
Nathan Gale loses no time in making himself odious to everyone. At one point he insults his wife Violet, and Alfred our narrator is incensed enough to say he’d like to kill him. That will come back to bite him when he hears a noise in the nighttime and enters Gale’s room, finding him shot dead. In the honorable tradition of stupid mystery characters since forever, he sees a gun on the floor and picks it up, to be found that way by the others.
What follows passes belief, but is highly suitable for a cozy mystery. The intelligent police detective who comes to investigate does not believe Alfred guilty (I was never sure why), and instead suggests that he engage the services of Mr. Malachi Burke, a former policeman and brilliant consulting detective. Burke turns out to be a huge, unkempt (think W. B. Yeats), aging Irishman who walks with a cane and quickly takes charge. He enlists Alfred to assist him (!) and explains his approach to crime solving, based on his personal list of the “Ten Commandments of Murder” (he also frequently refers to the real biblical commandments, and he’s deadly serious about it).
All the rest goes as expected. Malachi Burke discerns secrets, sees through lies, and ultimately identifies the real murderer.
It was all very satisfactory. The writing was good too (though the author has occasional trouble with homophone confusion).
But all things considered, I greatly enjoyed The Ten Commandments of Murder, and look forward to the next installment in the series.
I have yet another opportunity to recommend to you (assuming you have a Netflix subscription) a Norwegian miniseries on which I did translation work. In actual fact, not much of my own work made it into The Lørenskog Disappearance in its final form – our team worked mainly on treatments and scene outlines (as far as I remember), and a lot of our stuff seems to have gotten cut. But I still think it’s an intriguing series, and I recommend it.
Tom Hagen (his having the same name as Robert Duval’s character in “The Godfather” is purely coincidental) was and is one of the richest men in Norway, an energy tycoon. He and his wife Anne-Elisabeth lived in a modest home in a community east of Oslo. Their security was minimal. On October 31, 2018, he came home from work early, having been unable to reach Anne-Elisabeth by phone. He found her missing, but there was a note on a chair, demanding a ransom through an obscure form of cryptocurrency and warning him not to contact the police.
He did contact the police though, and what followed has often been second-guessed. Worried that the kidnappers were watching the house, they did not send in a forensic team immediately, leaving time for evidence to disappear or be removed. They made a mistake in their text communications with the ransomers. Tom paid the ransom, in spite of the fact that he’d gotten no proof of life from the kidnappers.
Anne-Elisabeth was never seen again.
After time passed with no further breakthroughs, suspicion began to turn toward Tom. It was learned that the marriage had been strained. Anne-Elisabeth had contacted a divorce lawyer, who thought the couple’s prenuptial agreement, heavily weighted toward Tom’s interests, could easily be broken. Tom was arrested, but the case against him was weak. Eleven days later the court ordered his release, and the investigation has stalled ever since.
The Lørenskog Disappearance is a docudrama. Many of the characters are fictionalized. We view the story through the viewpoints of four different groups: The police, the reporters (two episodes), the lawyers, and the informers. This produces a Rashomon kind of story, in which the same people and events are viewed from different perspectives. Particularly interesting are two reporters – a man who may be biased against Tom by his experience as the child of an abusive father, and a woman who may be biased toward him by her experience as the child of a Soviet political prisoner.
I don’t think it’s a secret that The Lørenskog Disappearance does not offer any final solutions. What it does offer is a fascinating examination of how we view the stories we see on the news.
Though the trailer above is dubbed, the version I watched on Netflix was subtitled.
The print media and national networks ran the same basic theme the next day. It was almost as if they were taking their cue from Melinda’s show. In a way they were. She was becoming a significant source for their stories, so they could start with the lame disclaimer, “It has been reported that…” Of course, this is totally unprofessional and unreliable, but it did provide cover for them. They could point to someone else and truthfully say whatever they reported had been reported elsewhere first.
Dennis Carstens is a poor writer, but an excellent storyteller. He badly needs a good editor to fix his prose and punctuation, but he has spun a riveting tale in Media Justice that had me changing my evening plans in order to see how it all came out.
Unfortunately, he also lost me as a reader. More on that below.
22-year-old Brittany Riley is a widowed, single mom. She has a strained relationship with her domineering mother, but depends on her for child care when she’s working out her frustrations by partying with friends. Being a mother can be tough, but Becky, her two-year-old daughter, is her pride and joy, and she dotes on her. And lately she’s met a man, Bob Olson, whom she thinks might just be Mr. Right…
Then one morning she wakes up to find Becky missing from her room. Bob has also vanished. Brittany panics, terrified of her mother’s anger, so for ten days she (stupidly) pretends nothing’s wrong. She searches for Bob and Becky in the daytime and parties with her friends at night to ease the strain.
When the truth comes out, the county sheriff’s office is helpful at first. But gradually they grow suspicious. This mysterious Bob Olson seems to have left no trace. Nobody ever saw him; nobody seems to know him. It’s looking more and more as if Brittany herself is a baby killer and a liar. When hunters find Becky’s body in a river, Brittany is soon in jail, charged with murder.
So Becky’s mother goes to defense lawyer Marc Kadella. It’s clear that the state’s case against Brittany is in fact circumstantial and fairly thin. But public sentiment is another matter. A local legal reporter has turned the case into her personal crusade, and her point of view becomes everyone’s point of view. And there are crazies out there… It all works up to a shattering climax.
The great strength of the Marc Kadella books is their realistic portrayal of the less glamorous side of the legal profession. There’s a real sense of authenticity in these stories. And the picture Media Justice offers of how “journalism” (especially TV “journalism”) filters facts and manipulates public opinion is genuinely horrifying.
I can always put a book down if I need to, but this one was harder than most.
And yet, I’m done with the Marc Kadella series. The author shows considerable laziness, in my opinion, in falling back – not once but twice – on a hoary entertainment trope, a phenomenon quite rare in the real world – the “murderous pro-lifer.” Using it once in a book I could perhaps forgive as a labor-saving shortcut. But doing it twice strongly suggests malice (as Marc Kadella might say in court), in spite of conservative moments in the story. This guy hates us. I’m confident he doesn’t want someone like me as a reader.
Too bad. I’ll miss him.
Irish-Canadian Joseph Medlicott Scriven (1819-1886) wrote this very popular hymn that has a bluegrass feel to me, probably because I live in the South. The tune is originally from Erie, Pennsylvania, in 1868 by composer Charles Converse(1832-1918).
1 What a friend we have in Jesus,
all our sins and griefs to bear!
What a privilege to carry
everything to God in prayer!
O what peace we often forfeit,
O what needless pain we bear,
all because we do not carry
everything to God in prayer!
2 Have we trials and temptations?
Is there trouble anywhere?
We should never be discouraged;
take it to the Lord in prayer!
Can we find a friend so faithful
who will all our sorrows share?
Jesus knows our every weakness;
take it to the Lord in prayer!
3 Are we weak and heavy laden,
cumbered with a load of care?
Precious Savior, still our refuge–
take it to the Lord in prayer!
Do your friends despise, forsake you?
Take it to the Lord in prayer!
In his arms he’ll take and shield you;
you will find a solace there.