Earlier this year, archeologist found the largest Roman mosaic floor ever uncovered in London. It’s in the Southwark area about a couple blocks from the Shard skyscraper.
Smithsonian Magazine states, “Red, white and black stones make up the tessellated floor. Its pattern features large lotus flowers, colorful blooms and intricate twists of closed loops known as ‘Solomon’s knots.'”
Experts believe the floor was created in the late 2nd or early 3rd century.
If you’re anywhere around Brainerd Minnesota on Saturday, you have the awesome opportunity to see me at the Crow Wing Viking Festival, demonstrating the ancient Viking craft of selling paperback books. And, oh yes, there’ll be some other Vikings around, doing actual Viking stuff.
It’s held at the fairgrounds. You can learn all about it at the festival web site, linked above. We did it there last year too, and it was great fun. I recall we were all champing at the bit to go back in time again, after a long two long years of Plague and Penance.
This looks to be an interesting summer for me. I may be going as far as Montana next month, and I’m scheduled to participate in an alumni author’s forum at one of my several alma maters, in Iowa, for Homecoming. I’ll keep you informed.
I’ll have a post tomorrow, in spite of being out of town — if I can figure out how to set this contraption to “post later.”
If not, you’ll see the next post right away.
The engagingly readable historian David McCullough, 89, died this week. In 1992, he said he wanted readers to know “that things didn’t have to turn out as well as they did. I want them to know that life felt every bit as uncertain to people back then as it does to us today.”
McCullough was awarded Pulitzer Prizes for two books, Truman and John Adams. He also received two National Book Awards for The Path Between the Seas and Mornings on Horseback. He wrote many other books, those most recently published being The Wright Brothers, The American Spirit, and The Pioneers.
He made the case for reading history much like we’ve made a case for reading literature.
History isn’t just something that ought to be taught or ought to be read or ought to be encouraged because it’s going to make us a better citizen. It will make us a better citizen; or because it will make us a more thoughtful and understanding human being, which it will; or because it will cause us to behave better, which it will. It should be taught for pleasure: The pleasure of history, like art or music or literature, consists of an expansion of the experience of being alive, which is what education is largely about.
“Knowing History and Knowing Who We Are,” Imprimis, April 2005
Good writing. Fully rounded characters. Love, pathos, and moral horror. Chris Culver’s Those Who Remain is a fascinating and disturbing book. I can’t say I loved it, because it left me troubled. But it’s darn good.
Homer Watson is a sheriff’s detective in St. Louis County, Missouri. He’s a family man, and happy in his life. But there are pressures. One of his small sons is autistic, and doing poorly in school. He and his wife would love to put the boy in a special school, but their salaries just won’t stretch that far.
One day he’s called to the site of a possible suicide. He recognizes the victim. It’s Hailey Bowman, a young woman who killed a policeman a year ago. She claimed he’d tried to rape her and was found not guilty. There are a lot of cops who’d have liked to see her dead.
But Homer’s a straight arrow. When the death proves to be murder, he looks to his fellow cops for suspects. That doesn’t pan out, but he gets a tip that Hailey has been living as the kept girlfriend of her defense lawyer, a man Homer has personal reasons to despise.
And when Homer gets an offer of a good-paying job from someone he cleared as a suspect, and he accepts it for his son’s sake, all his colleagues suspect the worst about him.
But the reader knows from the very beginning that Homer’s on the wrong track. The person really responsible is Pilar Garcia, a loving grandmother. Pilar runs an ostensibly legitimate cleaning business, but her main work force is composed of illegal aliens. She brings these people in and pays them below minimum wage to maximize profits. On the other hand, she makes sure they’re well fed, healthy, and housed, and helps them get established once their indentures are over. She is full of good will, and cares about her family above all things. She cares so much for her family that she’s willing to kill innocent outsiders to protect them – or to keep them in line.
Pilar is a masterfully painted portrait of how even a human’s best natural instincts can lead to appalling evil. I don’t know what the author intended, but one can’t help thinking of the doctrine of Original Sin.
Those Who Remain was well-written, compelling, and horrifying. I’m not sure I’m brave enough to read the next Homer Watson book. But I can recommend this one highly.
Are schools getting more transgressive in your community? The national push will suggest a righteous war of librarians and school officials against parents who, I don’t know, want their kids to be safe and not exposed to content that can’t be read in a school board meeting.
Do educators allow parents to have a say in whether a book in the school library is pornographic? In a sane world, yes, but we live in 2022.
Here in the Midwest (which is actually the North Central US, but why be pedantic?), when we encounter something that’s unlike anything we’ve seen before, but still doesn’t impress us much, we damn it with faint praise by saying, “Well, that’s different.”
I’d describe Mark Gilleo’s Hunting Rabbits as “different.” I can honestly say I haven’t ever read anything quite like it before.
Charlie Gates is chief of police in Williamsburg, Virginia, home of Colonial Williamsburg. One day there’s a holdup at a local drug store, and the culprit is thwarted, getting his arm broken by a bystander who knows how to handle himself. The bystander then disappears.
The next part of the story confused me a little. Williamsburg isn’t a big town, as far as I know. But the police resources that are now devoted to this non-lethal crime struck me as implausible in any police department these days. Charlie is even able to secure the assistance of a big-city homicide detective, Luis “Quags” Millares, who becomes his trusty right-hand man.
Studying surveillance camera footage, they learn that the crime-stopping bystander soon left the area on a bus, along with a couple other drug store customers. A little inquiry reveals that this bus is one of a private fleet whose sole purpose is to transport CIA trainees to and from “The Farm,” the nearby, high-security federal training facility.
Even more intriguing, a fingerprint on the robber’s gun, touched by the crime-stopper, matches a print from the scene of an old murder – that of Charlie’s own sister, one of the victims of a still-unidentified serial killer decades ago.
What confronts them then is what I’d describe as a “black box” investigation. Because of security regulations, the cops find themselves unable to interrogate either their suspect or any witnesses. What they end up doing is to present various threats of bad publicity to the Farm authorities, and then watch as they themselves clean up their own mess — not always getting it right, either.
I found the story unsatisfactory in several ways. The decisive stuff in the narrative happens mostly offstage. Our heroes are just spectators, sometimes unsatisfied spectators.
Also I thought the characterization was clumsy, especially at the beginning, where characters commit the common literary sin of telling people too much at their first meetings. And there were some homophone spelling problems.
The book wasn’t bad, but it didn’t leave me wanting more.
There’s much talk today of the death of Olivia Newton-John, the famous Australian singer. And that’s appropriate. She was a great talent (not to mention a heartthrob for my generation).
But I just learned of the death, last Friday, of another great Australian singer. Judith Durham of the Seekers succumbed to a long-standing lung condition. She was 79.
According to what I’ve read, Miss Durham was a Christian who hesitated at first to go into secular music because she was committed to Gospel.
The Seekers’ music was unique. I hope it lasts forever, because it sure means a lot to this old man.
Rest in peace.
Today’s hymn, “He Leadeth Me,” is by Baptist Minister Joseph H. Gilmore (1834-1918) of Rochester, New York, who was also on the faculty of the University of Rochester to teach English. The tune was arranged by William B. Bradbury (1816-1868) of York, Maine, after seeing the hymn text in a publication. He was a born musician and inspired the regular study of music in New York City public schools.
1 He leadeth me: O blessed thought!
O words with heavenly comfort fraught!
Whate’er I do, where’er I be,
still ’tis God’s hand that leadeth me.
Refrain:
He leadeth me, he leadeth me;
by his own hand he leadeth me:
his faithful follower I would be,
for by his hand he leadeth me.
2 Sometimes mid scenes of deepest gloom,
sometimes where Eden’s flowers bloom,
by waters calm, o’er troubled sea,
still ’tis God’s hand that leadeth me. Refrain
3 Lord, I would clasp thy hand in mine,
nor ever murmur nor repine;
content, whatever lot I see,
since ’tis my God that leadeth me. Refrain
4 And when my task on earth is done,
when, by thy grace, the victory’s won,
e’en death’s cold wave I will not flee,
since God through Jordan leadeth me. Refrain
I’ve run out of time to do a blogroll post this morning, so let me share a couple things before I install someone I love in a college.
Reading: In the U.K. Critic, Simon Evans writes about pretending to read books: “‘I am writing a book,’ says the man at the drinks party, in the old Peter Cook cartoon. ‘Neither am I,’ replies his companion.
“Still makes me laugh. But would now work with ‘I am reading a book’, too.
“’The larger the island of knowledge,’ goes the old Reader’s Digest phrase, ‘the longer the shoreline of wonder.’ I used to find that thought reassuring, even awe-inspiring. It is now absolutely terrifying. That’s before you factor in the fractal nature of the coastline. When you get there, there is no ‘there’.”
I have never pretended to have read something I haven’t read, but plenty of times I have suggested, discussed, or recommended books on the scantest of knowledge about them, which is something entirely different.
Southern Literature: Warren Smith notes that Marion Montgomery and Flannery O’Connor were close friends for a few years and gave us “perhaps the greatest definition of Southern literature anyone has so far come up with, certainly one of the most quoted.”
A good psychological thriller can be great entertainment, if the psychology is plausible. How does Dark Peak, by Adam J. Wright, stack up?
Mitch Walker is an English landscaper, a hard-working divorced father. Thirty years ago, his sister was abducted and murdered by a serial killer in Derbyshire, where his family lived at the time. His mother was so traumatized that she took him and fled away, and he never had contact with his father again.
Now he receives notice that his father has died, leaving him the Gothic-style mansion where they lived at the time, plus a fortune. Mitch doesn’t mind the money, but he doesn’t look forward to going back to the mansion. He still has nightmares about the place.
Elly Cooper is also divorced. She’s a former journalist who wrote a bestselling book about a serial killer and has been living off the royalties for some time. But book sales have fallen off, and her agent offers her a deal to do a new book, about a series of unsolved murders in Derbyshire, one of which is the murder of Mitch’s sister.
They will arrive around the same time, and their arrival will stir up old memories and old evil. It soon becomes apparent that the murders have not stopped – and someone in Mitch’s own family may be responsible.
The great weakness in Dark Peak was characterization – which ought to be the first thing you need to get right in a book of this type. If you don’t understand your own characters, how are we to believe you about psychopaths? The characters in Dark Peak commit the common fictional character error of keeping secrets from the police for reasons that advance the plot but seem unnatural in the real world. They also tell each other too much – real people rarely spill their guts to each other like these people do. It provides an excuse for information dumps, but again it rings hollow.
Also, for this reader, the murderer’s motivation, when finally revealed, didn’t seem very plausible.
The book is free for Kindle as of this review, so you might want to check it out, but I was rather disappointed. Cautions for disturbing content.