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Five Book Friday: In Memoriam
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Every year, the booksellers at Powell’s submit their Top Fives: their five favorite books that were released in 2023. It’s a list that, when put together, shows just how varied and interesting the book tastes of Powell’s booksellers are. I highly recommend digging into the recommendations — we would never lead you astray — but today...
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Linda Shelnutt has commented on (42) products
Days Of The Bitter End
by
Jack Engelhard
Linda Shelnutt
, September 10, 2008
Bitter Times... Flavored With the Best Espresso... An Ending Better than Bogart and Bergman. Being engrossed in a novel is all I ask, i.e., give me the opposite of a yawn. I know I will count no yawns when reading anything by Jack Engelhard. THE DAYS OF THE BITTER END, presently working toward a movie presentation, was as engrossing as other novels I've read by Engelhard. Yet, DAYS had something more. I'm not sure I'll be able to isolate that "more." What continued catching my attention while reading DAYS was the STRUCTURE of this novel of the 60's, a story seen through the unique perspective of a Jewish immigrant, Ben Jaffa, though the surface format of the story follows the high-talent-for-imitation and depressed-mental-state of stand-up-comic, Cliff Harris, John F. Kennedy's doppelganger. As is true for all Engelhard's composition, every word in DAYS paused slightly in pensive punch, as it flowed with neighboring words in a smooth-jazz literary-rhythm. That is the skill which usually impresses me first when I read one of Jack's books. But DAYS had that something more, a subtle structure alternating between two main characters and among several subsidiary characters, all of whom danced through pages in variously timed steps. Usually the chapters featured one of these characters, often opening with the character's name and perspective. But, as the book progressed, Cliff and Ben gradually took over the main show... with Cliff the front stage man of tortured soul, and Ben the backstage guy, sotto voce, living a LIFE. Cliff carried the opening. Ben carried the mundane reality (which is the true treasure of life), ultimately exposing the ethics and the end. An intriguingly structured, enthralling treatise on the youth driven 60's, the perspective of that time coming through DAYS is not at all what you would expect. It is what you would hope for, though. Very much that. I would recommend as high as I can reach that you read this novel in its original state, then go see the movie when it debuts, with hopes that the movie will translate the art of the book. Moving now into some of the grit in the story, as said above, I again relished this author's applied writing rhythm, which in this case felt like a "beat" (excuse the pun, but it did feel that way and drew me right in without skipping one). Again, I appreciated Engelhard's interesting takes on cultural conditions and especially the melancholic sense of the passing of this time even during the experience of its present... (You may have to read DAYS to understand what I mean by that.) Swirling the subplots from the base of Cliff's reaction to the announcement of Kennedy's assassination was an exquisite literary maneuver which fully exposed the ironic flips and conflicts in Harris's attitude just prior to, then at and after the announcement. A great technique used effectively, that of opening with the pervasive mood at Cliff’s matinee performance at the time of announcement, then backtracking. Also admired how the author brought in the graduated levels of dawning public awareness about Kennedy's death. The book’s opening line is a syntax masterpiece: >> Cliff Harris, America’s most popular comedic performer, was on stage and deep into his frolicsome Kennedy impersonation when word arrived upon the whisper of ravens that Kennedy had been shot. << As usual, I found a plethora of perceptive or pithy passages well worth quoting, but I’ll allow you the pleasure of meeting those as you read. Character depth was created with deft precision, yet the effect was sensitive and smooth rather than edgy or sparse. The chapters easily slide into the various head-spaces of each character's point-of-view, the effect of which exposed a fascinating situation of the connections between Cliff, Ben, Richie, and Louise. The circumstances were so realistic that I wondered if the author was a basis for Ben, and a personal friend of Harris. Louise's attitude toward her youthful vigor was delightfully presented and believable, along with Richie's guitar smashing reaction to it. The contrasting personalities of Ben and Richie were well done, and the "bleed through" was fascinating, of what appeared to be snippets of the author's personal history. At this point, I'm going to confess that I experienced an unusual reading-process-compulsion with this novel, which occurred when I was a quarter of the way into the text. I'll recount that process in a comment under this review, since those details do not directly pertain to a review of this novel, yet may be of interest to some readers. Also, that lengthy comment will give away whiffs of flavor of the novel's ending. Here's another confession while I'm at it: I've never been comfortable with, or attracted to relive, those times of the 60's, the philosophies and how they played out. It was Engelhard's perspective which allowed me to become a full resident in DAYS, his perspective brought forth through Ben as an immigrant who didn't forget where he came from and what he had here, his being gently appreciative of what so many were desecrating then. Being brought up by a woman like my mother (as described in Coal & Coca-Cola, an Amazon Short), and having the family and cultural background I did, I wasn't prey to the rage against America which surfaced during the 60's and 70's. This novel, though, allowed me to live in Greenwich Village, within the soiled and unsoiled foundations of the counterculture movement. I should mention that John W. Cassell's novels of the counterculture movement (Odyssey:1970 featured among them) provide excellent parallels to DAYS, in literary quality and reader involvement, for different reasons, and in different styles (see my reviews). In conclusion, I'll note that I align with Ben Jaffa's attitude toward these times, and I'm thankful that I lived through them where and how I did, at a distance from the rage. From this novel, though, I've broadened my sense of what occurred from the microcosm of Greenwich Village. I had no idea! Now I do. Signing off with hat off to a fascinating historic re-enactment, with no yawns anywhere in plot or out of it! Linda Shelnutt Shelnutt is the author of several Kindle books, including MYRTLE’S ULTIMATE MYSTERY; including The Books of Gem: THE ROSE AND THE PYRAMID, FULL MOON RISING, NEW MOON BLUES, QUARTER MOON DUES; including in Amazon Shorts a serialized novel, MORNING COMES The Pre Dawn Blues (Book 2 in The Books of Gem); including a nonfiction series based off the Gem Books: MOLASSES MOON, and SLIDING DOWN MOON BEAMS; and including a VISCERAL HISTORY (Shelnutt's term) series of short true stories featuring the mining industry in a small town in Colorado.
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Days Of The Bitter End
by
Jack Engelhard
Linda Shelnutt
, September 10, 2008
Continuing from what I had said I would in my review above... When I was about a quarter of the way into the novel’s text, I suddenly had to read the ending, knowing that I would retain a high interest for returning to read each word leading up to the ending. Usually, I resist skipping ahead to the end of a novel, fearing (usually correctly) that the interest will die for reading the interim after I know the ending. As said, in this case, I knew I would have as much, maybe more interest in reading every word in this book. I read the ending, then began backtracking toward where I had left off, sometimes reading backward by paragraph, other times backtracking a page or two, then reading forward again. Why am I telling you this? I suppose because this type of reading process is unusual for me, and somehow significant. In the rare times I've done this in the past, I've either been so strongly baited I had to know the ending immediately, or I had met a block in reading interest and felt it would help to skip to the end and move backwards for a while, or to skip ahead to a part which quickly re-kindled my interest. In this case, neither of those reasons for skipping ahead were the motivation. I just felt that If I knew some of the later parts of the book, that knowledge would help me get more out of the earlier parts. I read 1/4 of the ending, moving in reverse, then was ready to continue where I had left off in a normal forward reading. This process helped me to more clearly see some of the artistic techniques applied, as well as how some of the historic and philosophical details played into the plot, into the characters' motivations, choices, and actions. A major intuitive (hidden at first) reason for this process came to the fore as I began to see how the artistry in this novel could play into an artistry for the movie... I’m hoping that this movie will be a blockbuster, even beyond INDECENT PROPOSAL's box office success; maybe it's time now for the artistry and thematic essence of a novel to translate perfectly into a movie version... Returning to my commentary based on my change in reading pattern... Suddenly, as I continued again reading forward in Days, I began seeing how the use of chapters alternately featuring each of the character's perspectives could work into fascinating movie techniques. Of course, a rhythm was created from the varying length of each chapter, and the length seemed to shorten as each perspective was worked into the culmination of Cliff's matinee parallel to Kennedy's assassination. I began seeing each of those chapters having a multifaceted, psychologically-artistic "signature" relating to each of the characters, with each character's chapters having its uniquely identifying (though in subtle and somewhat subliminal effects) light/color filter... with each character's alternating chapters having its own uniquely identifying sound/musical score... each having it's own icon collections being flashed/repeated here-and-there in each chapter segment of scenic backgrounds... each character sometimes speaking in his own voice, from his thoughts (as classic detective fiction sometimes does), using verbatim some of the most literary lines from the novel. A type of general focus for translation from any novel to a movie came to mind, related to retaining the Sanctity of the Artistry of the Novel, and doing that partly by working from the artistry already in place within the novel, when possible, in this case, using, developing the artistry developed with alternating chapter's working from each character's thought/motive viewpoint. Something else I'd enjoy in this movie is some type of reading, maybe as a background voice from Ben (or possibly from each character's voice in alternate chapters), of some of the more literary passages, especially some of the astute and perfectly composed cultural comments, philosophical observations, historic event and attitude captures. That way, the literary voice and quality might actually translate into the movie... without resorting to a background voice reading the whole text along with the (7 hour) movie!!... and without losing the unique artistry of the language of film. Some of my favorite scenes, which I see as vital to "downloading" the thematic truth of Days, and which I feel should somehow be featured or played up, include (in my order of thematic significance): --- Ben's description and plotting of his REAL job with the navy on the ship's deck, and his various passages describing him as maybe not a Patriot, per se, but definitely as being grateful, from his perspective of a person who is an American citizen as a gift rather than as a birthright... featuring the differences between Ben's attitude Vs the attitude of his radical friends. To me, this is the main philosophical gift in Days, though there are indeed many gifts to readers in this novel. --- Mr. & Mrs. Bell with Ben and Louise, telling them of Richie's death, followed by Ben's description of the cultural and spiritual VALUE of people like the Bells. --- The scene of a fascinating and telling conversation among Cliff and friends, just prior to his matinee performance, in which they argued pro and con for Cliff's desire to descend his act into the dark side of human nature, thinking (falsely, though Cliff’s needs and motivations come through clearly and fairly) that this is what the public needs and should have from him, thinking (inaccurately) that this is what he was meant to do, thinking that this will place him on par with his idol, Lenny Bruce. --- The scene in which Cliff notices the irritating distractions of the many faces of followers of his performances, from Soviets, FBI/CIA/SS, past flames, etc. --- The ending, of course, with Ben and Louise parting at Penn Station, a high class, sensitive, artistic, even more sophisticated version of Bogart and Bergman's famous parting scene. I've had many more thoughts about a movie translation and about the book itself, but I’ll stop here, looking forward to that movie debut! For updates, stay tuned to Jack Engelhard’s web site and Amazon Profile Page! **************** I’m not sure if afterthoughts on Jack Engelhard’s novels ever end. Here are some contemplations on an additional main theme of DAYS to play up in the movie: Jimmy Bleeds’ theft from the True Artist in the plot, Ben Jaffa. From that perspective, this story, and those days in the 60's in Greenwich Village, is about the Art of Life as exposed in Art. Cliff Harris never got to the point of feeling he had succeeded as a true artist. Ben Jaffa had succeeded, in DAYS, in addressing the Art of Life. He also achieved a type of justice regarding the theft of his art. From this perspective, the scenes with Jimmy Bleeds focus a prime thematic statement to be translated from the novel into the movie, and should be added to my list above. I don’t know if this theme should be prioritized before or after the first item on the list. In DAYS Ben did justice to the jobs of Doorman, Play-write, Soldier, Journalist. Maybe he is still working toward receipt of true justice in acknowledgment, accolade, and fair financial return from his art. Maybe Ben’s True Job became that of an author/journalist. Maybe his true name is Jack Engelhard. I wish him the success he has earned many times and ways. According to the themes developed in DAYS OF THE BITTER END, how much were the youth-driven-60's about politics and philosophy... and how much were those Days about creative freedom and the individual ownership of art, ironically during a time when Capitalism, which supports the ownership of property, was being maligned. I may be seeing a Mise em Abyme of IRONY (see my article on the MEA on Gather and my Amazon-Connect blog). Irony within irony within irony, mirrored into infinity. A good story loves irony!
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Soldier of Aquarius: 1969-1970
by
John W. Cassell
Linda Shelnutt
, September 03, 2008
Step Out Into a New Life SOLDIER OF AQUARIUS is a great place to step out into a new way of life, with a fascinating literary hero. As is obvious from my discussion topic (in the Amazon Shorts forum on the USA Amazon site) toasting John Cassell's HELL'S QUEST: 1971, I've read all this author's collection of works, following a surge in literary exploration which has caused that forum to evolve into a commentary on each of those novels, as well as into a seminar on novelists talking about their work and writing techniques, including how ghosts, poltergeists, and possession of an author by a quickened character are related concepts. For the past several years I've been reading mostly mystery novel series as I enjoy the literary depth and continuity there. I escape into novels so thoroughly that I go through a minor grieving process when I finish a good one. Being able to follow a character through several books is a boon to that type of psyche, and to an author like me who also writes books in series. Prior to becoming addicted to the unique voice of Cassell, I had made a study of Robert B. Parker's Spenser series, reviewing each novel in that series, then moving into his two other mystery series. Through Spenser I enjoyed comparing the 70's to present day, and following various details of the evolution of cultural change beginning in the 70's then pushing heatedly through the 80's, 90's, and 00's. That craving led naturally, almost uncannily into Cassel's novels, which focus on the 1967-1973 seeding pivotal point of the huge number of philosophical, psychological, sociological changes which we're still sorting through today. My problem with some of The Literary Classics has always been that reading them depressed me. I was usually left at the end of a read feeling that the best next course of action would be to leap off a cliff. I was always disgusted that such amazing literary skill, such exquisite syntax, such blood-rich character development, such balsamic plot complexity was used to elevate either the artistry of ennui or of horrifying tragedy... concluding with, "Is that all there is?" or "Life is NOT a bowl full of cherries; it is The Pits of Terror and Torture." The GREAT GATSBY was one such. The wordsmithing and storytelling ability in that novel are almost unsurpassable. Yet, I feel nothing but an empty, horrible depression when I get into that book or movie. Even so, Gatsby is one of my favorite examples of a truly good novel. Too many of the Classics, for me, are the perfect promotions for Prozac. Given a choice, I'd rather read Cassell, Parker, and Jack Engelhard (THE BATHSHEBA DEADLINE, see my review) and keep my natural chemistry intact. What I like about those guys is that they provide engrossing entertainment, then leave me as a reader with a feeling of being well grounded into reality, including the dark sides, yet ready to work even harder to get what I want out of life and to spark others to do the same with their lives, through my writing. When I read I seek a spirit lift. I get enough daily drains on my life force from reality. I can't see welcoming them into my mind when I'm wanting the regenerating factor of an escape into an enthralling world created in my mind by another healthy mind. It'll be a while yet, before I've come to the conclusion of indulging this wallow into the works of a great author stepping out. I'm honored to say that my blurb has been included in this novel's publication, in good company with other authors raving SOLDIER OF AQUARIUS. Linda Shelnutt Shelnutt is the author of several Kindle books, including MYRTLEâS ULTIMATE MYSTERY; including The Books of Gem: THE ROSE AND THE PYRAMID, FULL MOON RISING, NEW MOON BLUES, QUARTER MOON DUES; including in Amazon Shorts a serialized novel, MORNING COMES The Pre Dawn Blues (Book 2 in The Books of Gem); including a nonfiction series based off the Gem Books: MOLASSES MOON, and SLIDING DOWN MOON BEAMS; and including a VISCERAL HISTORY (Shelnutt's term) series of short true stories featuring the mining industry in a small town in Colorado.
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Crossroads: 1969
by
John W. Cassell
Linda Shelnutt
, September 02, 2008
Kindling From Monkish Ecstasy. Seeds of a Saga. Future Classics in Literature. >> I'd already begun the battle to secure a berth for myself in a seminary at Berkeley, having submitted the necessary applications and labored over the essay which was supposed to explain in detail why I wanted to become an Anglican priest. All my friends and family had their own ideas on the subject, ranging from the worst reasons to the best. Mine, I am afraid, would have probably surprised them all and could never have been included in the essay. In truth, I was looking for a dream world to inhabit, a small country parish in the west of England where I could write scholarly theological works, drink scotch, and go prematurely senile minding a turnip garden. << For me, there's no substitute for reading a passage of the author's own words, to get a sense of whether you'd want to read a book. When I read that passage, I was already pulling for this warm, intelligent, spirited young man to succeed in living in that dream world, even though I feared that reality of pure scholarly theology might not even exist within some of the darkened political arenas of religious sanctuaries. I wanted that world to exist, if only for John Cassell to be able to cloister himself into that dreamed type of sacred luxury of religious ecstasy and intrigue. As the novel's plot developed, and I saw how John was blocked from entry into that dream world, it was too clear that another world and path awaited this young man's footprints. It didn't take long before the author Cassell's words immersed the reader into subcultures of different paths and possibilities, each disallowed or road-forked-way for various reasons. Each time I fully shared John's disappointments, as I admired his ways of moving ever onward into whatever experiences he lived, through nightmares and joys, catastrophes and raptures, empty spaces and intrigues. One thing John's life and his books do not provide is any whiff or hint of boredom. Enthrallment is in there! In this case, the enthrallment was not only through a philosophical journey with fascinating directional changes; it's one of the most unusual, intimate travelogues you'll ever read about a USA citizen touring Europe and North Africa. There are a few logical ways to approach a first step into reading the sequential counterculture novels of John W. Cassell: -- One is to begin with CROSSROADS: 1969 (published 2005) and follow that with AN AQUARIAN TRAGEDY: 1970 (published 2006 under pseudonym James Mundell). [[ASIN:1592991920 An Aquarian Tragedy]] -- Another is to begin with SOLDIER OF AQUARIUS (published November, 2007) [[ASIN:1592993206 Soldier of Aquarius: 1969-1970]] SoA is a compilation of the two above novels; the two component novels were formatted for each other in their original united state. After reading the pair of books (CR & AAT) or the original manuscript which had both of those novels in one (SoA), the road fork would offer: -- ODYSSEY: 1970 [[ASIN:1592991629 Odyssey: 1970]] That novel gives a brief summary of CR, then covers the plot of AAT with a few chapters added to extend the protagonist's experiences through the whole year of '70, the effect of which broadens the view (through the expanded time structure and interjected research of major, news-breaking events) of what Cassell calls the Counterculture movement, with its multi-angle-motivations (realistically exposing dark and bright). Whereas CR & AAT focus on an individual's personal perspective of how he reacted to and worked within and through those timeframes; ODYSSEY presents a broader cultural perspective, looking outward into the world as well as inward into the psychological, sociological impositions and enhancements of the same individual. John Cassel's suggestion is to read CR:69 + Odyssey:1970... or S of A. Then, the sequence would be as follows: -- HELL'S QUEST: 1971 [[ASIN:1592991971 Hell's Quest: 1971]] This novel continues from the base of either of the above alternatives, through the same protagonist, based on the author himself. In HQ, however, the author adds extensive (and fascinating) fictionalized elements to some of his biographical base, whereas the other novels listed above are based strongly on autobiographical realities. -- DEVILLIER'S COUNTRY BLUES: 1972 [[ASIN:1592992765 DeVilliers County Blues: 1972]] This novel continues where HQ leaves off, including the addition of fictionalized elements into a biographical basis, with the balance of fiction continuing to increase. -- UNCERTAIN PARADISE: 1973: Part 1 (Release scheduled for late December, 2007) This novel continues where DCB leaves off, with the balance of fiction again increasing. This novel is a satisfying read in itself, even if Part 2 does not materialize. You will want more of JWC's novels, no matter what books you read first. Get in at the beginning of classic literature in the making, Linda G. Shelnutt Shelnutt is the author of several Amazon Kindle books and Amazon Shorts, including THE ROSE AND THE PYRAMID (also a collector's item in trade paperback), MYRTLE'S ULTIMATE MYSTERY, and MORNING COMES: the Pre Dawn Blues
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Hell's Quest: 1971
by
John W. Cassell
Linda Shelnutt
, September 02, 2008
Worth It's Weight in Diamonds John Cassell's HELL'S QUEST: 1971 has a feel of literary majesty, high intrigue, and history X-Rayed. Iconic graphics and photo collages on the book's cover conceptualize the panorama. Of course the diamonds spilling out of the velvet bag were what I noticed first, then the playing cards. The opening chapter taking place in 1914 immediately surged a historic intrigue among blood-warm (and chilled) characters. Style and mood stepped off the textual stage as news releases served as ambiance for contrast between the reality, the politically demonic twists of it, and the journalistic reporting of the twisted versions. As chapter two opened, the 1971 stage eased into focus, fading the panoramic past into the quietly personal, easily growing connection between John and Toni in their present. The first two chapters exposes HQ has a grand, magnetic presence which takes the reader beyond and into every day life, with more power and majesty than most saga-type novels. I was impressed with the way Cassell presented the ugly political lies, fully exposing the true, casual evil in the opening chapter. I too easily forget that people exist who live to pursue that type of perverse manipulation with casual, effortless execution, with no concept of compassion. Humans are means to ends of whims, plots, or conspiracies. The twists were perfectly accomplished, as was the way Mullaney was entwined into evolving machinations. The contrasts of news reports with sequential events was fascinating, especially in the gossip column which captured the style of that type of "journalism." The dream sequence on the sail boat was fantastic. Cassell had said it was a dream prior to describing it, but it was so vivid and captivating, that I had forgotten his preface and began seeing it as a reality in its setting. When John woke up I was surprised, then glad to remembered it was a dream. That's good writing! I'm speculating that this author lives in his written worlds so vividly that they come alive in the book partially because of that all consuming mind-set. When a writer is in the story that far, the words come in service to the visions; words serve rather than calling attention to themselves. I don't mind, though, when a collection of words become a literary symphony, singing to be quoted with admiration. Reading was effortless, engrossing at a good level. I wanted to say at a comfortable level, but Cassell conjures so many intense emotions, that word seemed off. Yet, enough joy and compassion was shared that even the essential pain was felt as entertainment instead of being too heavy. I had thought I was going to (and did) get a globe trotting, travel extravaganza of a story steeped into a rich panorama of a long gone history. Yet, I could have spent a lifetime reading the intriguing interchanges between John and Mrs. Seabrook, in her warmly haunting, cool, dark mansion; then holding her hand at the side of her hospital bed. Talk about being willingly soaked up into a book. The storm scenes were mesmerizing, developing around John's history and connections at Stubbe's grocery; the flooding journey in his delivery truck; then the scenes and "THE SCENE" at Mrs Seabrook's (who turned out to be a highly significant character in both John's family life, his future, and the historic panorama opening this saga) dining table during a high tea of high historic revelation. I was surprised and interested by the wisdom inherent in John's contemplations about the diamonds, particularly this: "One thing I'd always liked about myself was my ability to be happy with very little. For better or worse, my refusal to develop any kind of lust for wealth or power had given me a very precious kind of freedom, one I liked. I knew all about the frustrations of poverty...I knew nothing about the frustrations of wealth. I figured I'd let the issue ride for a day or two." Laura Christian entered to open a new saga, capturing Cassell as he captured her, with the reader willingly in the wings. That scene no sooner faded and Best Friend Roberta showed up on Cassell's mother's doorstep, with John leaping to open the door. As I've noted repeatedly, this story continues to capture with solid emotion engaged, and curiosity creaking with carefree abandon, when it's not catapulting the reader further into Cassell's sagacious panorama. I enjoyed observing John's personality complexity applied to women friends; it's refreshing encounter a male character who's not a womanizer, yet who relates beautifully with various types... after getting through his initial stumbling shyness (which, endearingly, he overcame in each case). The quality of writing comes through HQ-71 so strongly, it feels like it's been written at a level of GATEWAY potency. One doesn't open the pages of John's novel ready to expend an initial effort to seat words into mind for a short period prior to book coming alive. When one opens the pages of HQ, a gateway opens automatically. This type of immediate "in" to a read is a strange, uncanny effect which I attribute to those types of authors who are in regular touch with their souls, writing from there, slipping into a visionary state of living what they're writing. Is this novel worth the ten million in diamonds which moved through time and trial to get to the fictional hero of John W. Cassell (a take off from the reality JWC who delightfully named his hero after himself)? The fact says something worth noting, that I had to give pause to seriously consider that question after posing it, and that I'm still contemplating that this story might truly be worth more than ten million in diamonds. Linda Shelnutt Linda Shelnutt is the author of several Kindle books, including MYRTLEâS ULTIMATE MYSTERY; including The Books of Gem: THE ROSE AND THE PYRAMID, FULL MOON RISING, NEW MOON BLUES, QUARTER MOON DUES; including in Amazon Shorts a serialized novel, MORNING COMES The Pre Dawn Blues (Book 2 in The Books of Gem); including a nonfiction series based off the Gem Books: MOLASSES MOON, and SLIDING DOWN MOON BEAMS; and including a VISCERAL HISTORY (Shelnutt's term) series of short true stories featuring the mining industry in a small town in Colorado.
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Odyssey: 1970
by
John W. Cassell
Linda Shelnutt
, September 02, 2008
A Drifter Turned District Attorney Writes The Great American Novel This is nothing short of a landmark novel. The precision of research into this segment of history melded into the deeply significant personal experiences of an author seasoned in his art feature a finesse worthy of the literary classics. I've never read a book, fiction or non, which accomplished more in clarifying alternate angles in play during a heated, hassled period of recent times. The voice of this author on this subject is pure, clear, and charismatic. As a slight sample of evidence of the verity of this praise, read an excerpt of the opening of chapter one of ODYESSY: 1970: >> For a town of just over thirty-five thousand people, one telephone exchange and with tumbleweeds frequently blowing across its main north-south thoroughfare, Santa Fe, New Mexico boasted some pretty impressive distinctions. For one thing, at six thousand five-hundred feet and more above sea level, it was the highest altitude state capital in the country. To get there from Albuquerque, itself a mile above sea level, one had to limb a steep mountainside of almost a thousand feet before arriving at he plateau on which the town was located. From there, it angled upward even more as one approached the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.... I guess it was fitting that I should be spending the second full day of 1970 in such a place. I was boasting of some pretty impressive distinctions these days as well. << As added evidence that this novel is a hallmark of classic literature, note some of the chapter titles in the Table of Contents, which itself reads like a list of seasons of literary excellence: 1. Aquarian Passages 2. New Myths And Old Realities 3. The Wisest Eighteen Year Old In The World 4. More Streets And Roads 5. The Worm Turns 6. Menace And Movement 7. The Long March Back 8. Armageddon 9. Inside The Kaleidoscope 10. By The Dark Of The Moon 11. The Green Leaves Of Summer 12. The Attack Of The Badge People ******* 21 chapters conclude brilliantly with an Epilogue, Acknowledgments, Glossary Of 1970 Slang, Police Radio Ten Code, and a Bibliography on page 683 of this thick trade paperback worth lifetimes beyond its price. Kent State and Cambodia are dramatized and unearthed as the facets of politics and youth unbounded clash in an X-Ray exposure of cultural change in catalytic process. In a discussion forum titled "Toasting John Cassell's HELL'S QUEST: 1972, An Ongoing Commentary," located in the Amazon Shorts main category, you'll find a quote (posted Feb 2, 2008 by author John W. Cassell of a passage in this novel) which you won't want to miss, including the commentary around that excerpt. That quote focuses a philosophical pivotal point upon which Cassell's collection of novels build a maturity of art and life which he has exquisitely executed and fully lived, with ODYSSEY: 1970 being a prime literary jewel in the crown of his books. Don't miss reading the best examples of classic literature, at the moment in time of the author's pausing on a precipice of acknowledgment and accolade. With greatest admiration and respect for a friend and colleague, Linda Shelnutt Shelnutt is the author of several Amazon Shorts and Kindle books including: Myrtle's Ultimate Mystery (KINDLE) Morning Comes: the Pre Dawn Blues (Amazon Short series) The Rose and the Pyramid (The Books of Gem) (KINDLE) Full Moon Rising (The Books of Gem) (KINDLE) New Moon Blues (The Books of Gem) (KINDLE) Quarter Moon Dues: Book Two (The Books of Gem) (KINDLE)
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Accidental Florist
by
Jill Churchill
Linda Shelnutt
, May 17, 2008
Play it again, Sam ... Spade? Why Did The Egg Shell Crack? She did it again. Jill Churchill, an admirably incorrigible author, repeated what she did in BELL, BOOK, AND SCANDAL, # 14 in her Jane Jeffry series. In THE ACCIDENTAL FLORIST, # 16 in the series, Churchill stretched a toe out of the confines of the mystery genre, entertaining and intriguing this reader more than she would have if she had stayed within staid boundaries. I wonder, though: Does this type of breakout appeal to me only because I've written novels, which allows me to identify with Churchill's creeping beyond containers of her craft, especially when making the first cracks in a long revered egg shell incorporates more of her author life into established appeals of Jane and Shelley? This time, the daily life and work of an author was inserted into the story with bravo perfection, in my copy of the book with a lusciously-fluffy, lemon-souffle aura, cat and bouquet included. It's true that the author is expanding a recent trend in this series, a trend which has placed the murder and its resolution by amateur sleuth-hood on the back burners of subplot stews, so far back, in fact, that the murder and its investigation didn't take its usual active space in the story. Somewhat because of that fact, I enjoyed THE ACCIDENTAL FLORIST even more than I've enjoyed each of the prior 15 books. Churchill is such a subtle genius at flowing undercurrents of cultural issues, that she's able to keep me above those undertows, at a level of an easy-flowing, craved type of reading entertainment. She accomplishes this through a narrative style of such natural grace that I doubt even Santa Clause could see the insights intended, until the final page is turned and cerebral spotlights are surged, and lighten up the cerebellum-gestalt of plot machinations. Again, Churchill managed to subtly accomplish a collection of (not so fluffy) literary goals with such finesse that I didn't see them until I had closed the book that final time and allowed myself to ruminate through a few questions. --- Why this title, with its play on the literary offering, THE ACCIDENTAL TOURIST? (I'll give my speculation on this in a comment added to the review, which is longer than I wanted it to be.) --- Why did Churchill have Jane basically leave the mystery solution to her soon-to-be new husband, detective Mel Van Dyne? (Well, except that, Jane did come up with a creative M. O. which Van Dyne expanded, and which ultimately worked efficiently to corral the culprit.) --- Why did Churchill add Mel's new, young female assistant (thin, pale, and not really pretty ... until she smiled in shy pride of her accomplishments) to the mix? To answer those questions, ask a few more: --- How do amateur sleuth mystery series make even slightly believable, the excuses they offer to justify the amateur repeatedly taking over investigations, solving them ahead of or beyond the capacities of professionals involved? --- How do professionals in real life respond to amateur sleuth mysteries repeatedly making them look like idiots or fools in a widespread genre which has become horrendously popular with mystery afficionados of all media presentations? (Don't get me wrong. I love amateur sleuth mysteries ... they're FICTION; I also admire and support investigative professionals.) --- Did Churchill decide to design Jane's character, after having accepted herself as a successful, professional author, decide to do that job to her best ability, and let go of attempting to do other people's jobs? Has Churchill allowed Jane to self-actualize? Has Jane developed an inner strength and solid confidence to the point that she has learned the joys of letting go of responsibilities to those who should be allowed to shoulder them, more rightfully than she? Within the subplot menagerie of THE ACCIDENTAL FLORIST, Jane has a full life around her work as an author, all of which was dramatized with simple literary grace in this landmark novel of understatement of a skill not to be underestimated. When I finish the novel, as I usually do with a Jane Jeffry novel, I put it aside, and allowed my brain to make the connections, to see beneath the now stilled waters of Jane and Shelley's seemingly simple shenanigans. I'm happy I could say again, "Oh. I see." I see why Mel's new assistant was so endearing. I see why Churchill exposed here even more than she did in previous novels in this series, an author's life and trade as it weaves through subplots of a real life. This narrative opened a window onto the everyday life of an author who is also a good Mom, a friend, a companion, and a self-actualized woman who no longer catered to everyone and everything in her path ... who was able to say "No," simply, clearly, and unequivocally, to any approach or attack contrary to her well being or that of a loved one. When Jane stood up to Thelma and Addie, several times in various ways, sometimes my automatic response was to feel empathy for the older women instead of for Jane. "How cold," I thought, or, "How bossy, or rude." Then, I reminded myself how I felt in prior novels when those women and others repeatedly and viciously ran over Jane when she didn't yet have the backbone to fully stand up to them. I felt like I always do when a woman in a novel lets people repeatedly walk all over her. Jane has strengthened her backbone in this novel. Maybe she went too far. I don't know. I was very involved reading the book, and left it with much to contemplate. Respectfully Submitted, Linda Shelnutt Shelnutt is the author of several Kindle books, including MYRTLE’S ULTIMATE MYSTERY; including The Books of Gem: THE ROSE AND THE PYRAMID, FULL MOON RISING, NEW MOON BLUES, QUARTER MOON DUES; including in Amazon Shorts a serialized novel, MORNING COMES The Pre Dawn Blues (Book 2 in The Books of Gem); including a nonfiction series based off the Gem Books: MOLASSES MOON, and SLIDING DOWN MOON BEAMS; and including a VISCERAL HISTORY (my term) series of short true stories featuring the mining industry in a small town in Colorado.
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Accidental Florist
by
Jill Churchill
Linda Shelnutt
, May 17, 2008
Play it again, Sam ... Spade? Why Did The Egg Shell Crack? She did it again. Jill Churchill, an admirably incorrigible author, repeated what she did in BELL, BOOK, AND SCANDAL, # 14 in her Jane Jeffry series. In THE ACCIDENTAL FLORIST, # 16 in the series, Churchill stretched a toe out of the confines of the mystery genre, entertaining and intriguing this reader more than she would have if she had stayed within staid boundaries. I wonder, though: Does this type of breakout appeal to me only because I've written novels, which allows me to identify with Churchill's creeping beyond containers of her craft, especially when making the first cracks in a long revered egg shell incorporates more of her author life into established appeals of Jane and Shelley? This time, the daily life and work of an author was inserted into the story with bravo perfection, in my copy of the book with a lusciously-fluffy, lemon-souffle aura, cat and bouquet included. It's true that the author is expanding a recent trend in this series, a trend which has placed the murder and its resolution by amateur sleuth-hood on the back burners of subplot stews, so far back, in fact, that the murder and its investigation didn't take its usual active space in the story. Somewhat because of that fact, I enjoyed THE ACCIDENTAL FLORIST even more than I've enjoyed each of the prior 15 books. Churchill is such a subtle genius at flowing undercurrents of cultural issues, that she's able to keep me above those undertows, at a level of an easy-flowing, craved type of reading entertainment. She accomplishes this through a narrative style of such natural grace that I doubt even Santa Clause could see the insights intended, until the final page is turned and cerebral spotlights are surged, and lighten up the cerebellum-gestalt of plot machinations. Again, Churchill managed to subtly accomplish a collection of (not so fluffy) literary goals with such finesse that I didn't see them until I had closed the book that final time and allowed myself to ruminate through a few questions. --- Why this title, with its play on the literary offering, THE ACCIDENTAL TOURIST? (I'll give my speculation on this in a comment added to the review, which is longer than I wanted it to be.) --- Why did Churchill have Jane basically leave the mystery solution to her soon-to-be new husband, detective Mel Van Dyne? (Well, except that, Jane did come up with a creative M. O. which Van Dyne expanded, and which ultimately worked efficiently to corral the culprit.) --- Why did Churchill add Mel's new, young female assistant (thin, pale, and not really pretty ... until she smiled in shy pride of her accomplishments) to the mix? To answer those questions, ask a few more: --- How do amateur sleuth mystery series make even slightly believable, the excuses they offer to justify the amateur repeatedly taking over investigations, solving them ahead of or beyond the capacities of professionals involved? --- How do professionals in real life respond to amateur sleuth mysteries repeatedly making them look like idiots or fools in a widespread genre which has become horrendously popular with mystery afficionados of all media presentations? (Don't get me wrong. I love amateur sleuth mysteries ... they're FICTION; I also admire and support investigative professionals.) --- Did Churchill decide to design Jane's character, after having accepted herself as a successful, professional author, decide to do that job to her best ability, and let go of attempting to do other people's jobs? Has Churchill allowed Jane to self-actualize? Has Jane developed an inner strength and solid confidence to the point that she has learned the joys of letting go of responsibilities to those who should be allowed to shoulder them, more rightfully than she? Within the subplot menagerie of THE ACCIDENTAL FLORIST, Jane has a full life around her work as an author, all of which was dramatized with simple literary grace in this landmark novel of understatement of a skill not to be underestimated. When I finish the novel, as I usually do with a Jane Jeffry novel, I put it aside, and allowed my brain to make the connections, to see beneath the now stilled waters of Jane and Shelley's seemingly simple shenanigans. I'm happy I could say again, "Oh. I see." I see why Mel's new assistant was so endearing. I see why Churchill exposed here even more than she did in previous novels in this series, an author's life and trade as it weaves through subplots of a real life. This narrative opened a window onto the everyday life of an author who is also a good Mom, a friend, a companion, and a self-actualized woman who no longer catered to everyone and everything in her path ... who was able to say "No," simply, clearly, and unequivocally, to any approach or attack contrary to her well being or that of a loved one. When Jane stood up to Thelma and Addie, several times in various ways, sometimes my automatic response was to feel empathy for the older women instead of for Jane. "How cold," I thought, or, "How bossy, or rude." Then, I reminded myself how I felt in prior novels when those women and others repeatedly and viciously ran over Jane when she didn't yet have the backbone to fully stand up to them. I felt like I always do when a woman in a novel lets people repeatedly walk all over her. Jane has strengthened her backbone in this novel. Maybe she went too far. I don't know. I was very involved reading the book, and left it with much to contemplate. Respectfully Submitted, Linda Shelnutt Shelnutt is the author of several Kindle books, including MYRTLE’S ULTIMATE MYSTERY; including The Books of Gem: THE ROSE AND THE PYRAMID, FULL MOON RISING, NEW MOON BLUES, QUARTER MOON DUES; including in Amazon Shorts a serialized novel, MORNING COMES The Pre Dawn Blues (Book 2 in The Books of Gem); including a nonfiction series based off the Gem Books: MOLASSES MOON, and SLIDING DOWN MOON BEAMS; and including a VISCERAL HISTORY (my term) series of short true stories featuring the mining industry in a small town in Colorado.
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The Bathsheba Deadline: An Original Novel
by
Jack Engelhard
Linda Shelnutt
, May 17, 2008
A Kaleidoscopic Tapestry Seen Through A Glass Darkly. A Rabbi-Blessed-Cane Conjures Red-Votive-Candles In his novel, THE BATHSHEBA DEADLINE, Jack Engelhard has crisply, brilliantly reflected our deadly world in its ugliest, dirtiest descents. Yet the novel's varied moods shift regularly into a barely perceived, underlying beauty, seeming to refract darkly, through a war-cracked looking-glass. Using a simple, yet subtly-sophisticated syntax, this author voices deeply-rhythm-ed Songs of Israel, back-dropped by the relentless clacking of dedicated Underwoods. “Phil Crawford was easy to dislike, which is probably why I liked him.... Maybe I didn’t like him all that much, but he was okay. We had our differences, politically.” I'm not merely impressed, but in awe, of how many threads of vital issues Engelhard has woven and mirrored in BATHSHEBA... right-now politics; media foibles and “facts”; deadly-dangerous, romantic roller-coaster rides; political correctness spotlighted in hypocrisy and lack of glory; spiritual moments dawned in the ebony richness of potential doom... Yet the weave is not too tight. It allows spaces for contemplation between color contrasts; it allows repetition of subplots to prevent unraveling of wayward strings. The result is a kaleidoscopic tapestry of an engrossing tale which should be terrifying and depressing by content, yet which gives an incredible amount of hope, because of, rather than in spite of, Jay Garfield's last line, which is as exquisitely honest as it is inevitable. Loved that line, though my favorite line was of political incorrectness gone right, from Jay to Lyla, “Can’t you stop being a girl for a minute?” I wanted to stand up and cheer. A favorite plot twist was Jay’s Muslim friend’s wife breaking out in compassion to Jay, “Allah be with you.” THEE favorite plot twist was a Muslim acting rightly to save Jay’s bacon, no fuel intended! My favorite exposure was not a Northern one; it was the “going South” of the dark sides of religion and politics, as they enact the power and purpose to sink humanity in one tar glob, into the black holes of anti-life, where falsehoods are sold as truth. (That tar would not be aligned with environmental mania’s attempts to discard industrial waste; it would be the byproduct of philosophical idiocy burned balsamic into goo.) Every word in this novel, alone and by its placement within phrase, syntax, paragraphing... speaks of literary power, full-on and brilliant. The reader receives those searing spotlights willingly (actually he begins craving them). This reception occurs within a strange type of comfort, within what could ironically be called light entertainment. I see this light touch as essential, since what the author is exposing through Jay is a world, now and through history, which should be irrevocably hopeless. Engelhard's composing style, and gentle use of constant contrast ("This, but that, too") seem to serve as a continual release of the bondage of powerlessness... a bondage which sometimes arrives from setting in concrete a belief or stand, before the time has come to do so. As Garfield says, a true prophet always knows what time it is. Jay comes to his time at the right moment. I believe Engelhard could accomplish this release for readers through fiction or through his type of journalism, as he chose. In this wholeness of effect Jack Engelhard has transcended the literary greats (who too often begin and end with nothing beyond eloquently detailed depression). This transcendence comes through a painting in words of the elemental forms of profanity and powerlessness. This transcendence comes within a syntactic paradigm of a not overdone, barely-there sense of hope for redemption, a sense of joy in the power of a soul connected to the Height of Good... (... even if that good is way up there somewhere, barely reachable beyond ozone layers and holes in the Universe, beyond the broadest rainbow... yes it was a HUMAN who stole the ONLY pot of gold... and it wasn't John Galt!) For me, the most potent segment of this novel is Jay’s journey to, and short stay in Jerusalem, where he sinks into the physically dark, spiritually enduring events and ambiance there. In that pilgrimage, this novel's power explodes and implodes. An uncanny dynamic balance comes to catharsis through a scene in a motel room in the middle of the night: ... the sense of a presence... the shadowed, mirrored image of a tall, thin, bearded man... the gifting, discovery, and working into acceptance of The Blessed Cane. That scene had the seated feel of being lifted from a lucid dream Engelhard may have had, around which he may have written this book. The actual dream there served as a quantum kernel of hope, seeded within the essence of horror. The motel room sequence felt like touching a spiritual force, delicately but absolutely, like touching a purity of potency which is not limited to any religion, book, or viewpoint, possibly not to be as easily found in any of those, as through the individual soul of each human being. It was so very appropriate that Jay would touch that through his father's heritage, sharing it from that paradigm. Icons of religious trappings, talismans, and traditions exude a mesmerizing magic. These can be good, as can an un-tethered soul in solitary search. After contemplating the Jerusalem sequence in the middle of night, I clarified what I saw in connection to this novel, in a puzzling vision of red votive candles, which I had after reading the first part of the book. This novel subtly nurtures a type of hope I felt in my youth, from red-votive-candles flickering in church at night. I felt a clean, quiet sense of rightness to come. As I felt that subtle connection to BATHSHEBA, doubts flared, discounting the feeling and votive candle parallel: Why would an image from my Catholic past intrude on a novel with Jewish spiritual symbolism (which has always fascinated me). Yes, Garfield's mother was Catholic; his father Jewish. But that joined contrast wasn’t woven into BATHSHEBA’S plot or subplot tapestry... It was after reading the scene of the Rabbi-Blessed-Cane, that I realized the link of the cane to the candle. I was sparked to visualize those images artistically overlapped in a painting of spirit-in-oils which might do justice to this novel’s holy moment. I couldn't hold the symbols within the same visual, tactual space. They needed to be kept separate to avoid breaking down a reality, a reality which is working both those icons, and more like them, from different spiritual kaleidoscopes. Yet, I wanted to see them together. I can recreate my vision of the votive flickering... or I can call up Jay's vision of the shadowed presence in the mirror (felt like a rabbi from higher realms), and the cane. The red-votive flickers gave a welcome memory of my few times as a child going alone to the church at night, sitting in a middle pew on the right, breathing the presence, focusing the candle collections, always lit. Sometimes I would kneel by the candles and pay my coins to the box, then watch the flame I had lit, for a long, peaceful time. I enjoyed being in the church alone at night much more than I enjoyed the Masses with their Holy Words (they were supposed to be holy, were to me then, but I don't quite see some of the meanings that way now) voiced, read, and prayed, among the day's light and crowds. The above doesn’t begin to hint what this novel draws to consciousness, even on the spiritual tumbles of the kaleidoscopic tapestry of BATHSHEBA. Then there are the political, journalistic, romantic... Buy and read the book! See how this wealth of global microcosms works into a story of high entertainment, possibly better than any other book you’ve read, with more truth exposed than you’ll know what to do with. Months will go by; you’ll reflect on these scenes and schemes, and you’ll know. With confidence I say that Jack Engelhard expertly manages the medium of the novel, as he does journalism and op-eds. He is an Nth degree, mastered professional of the effective use of the writer’s voice. With greatest respect for those among us who walk with words, Linda Shelnutt Shelnutt is the author of several Kindle books, including MYRTLE’S ULTIMATE MYSTERY; including The Books of Gem: THE ROSE AND THE PYRAMID, FULL MOON RISING, NEW MOON BLUES, QUARTER MOON DUES; including in Amazon Shorts a serialized novel, MORNING COMES The Pre Dawn Blues (Book 2 in The Books of Gem); including a nonfiction series based off the Gem Books: MOLASSES MOON, and SLIDING DOWN MOON BEAMS; and including a VISCERAL HISTORY (my term) series of short true stories featuring the mining industry in a small town in Colorado.
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Mcnallys Secret
by
Lawrence Sanders
Linda Shelnutt
, June 09, 2006
Cure Cultural Volcanics with Bubbling Champagne. Design Life To Suit Taste & Times. The opening of this novel was classic, and felt to be the initiation of what Sanders was born and itching to write, beyond the sagas of his other fine works. Of course the first lines in SECRET, the sipping of champagne from a belly button would snag the attention of even the most sexually skittish reader of the nose-raised, neck-cricked, personality persuasion. But, truly and honestly, what sunk me with every hook were the few lines exposing why Archy could never be serious. I believe that passage, beginning on page 1 chapter 1, is one of the main selling points of the series: ?I had lived through dire warnings of nuclear catastrophe, global warming, ozone depletion, universal extinction via cholesterol, and the invasion of killer bees. After a while my juices stopped their panicky surge and I realized I was bored with all these screeched predictions of Armageddon due next Tuesday. It hadn?t happened yet, had it? The old world tottered along, and I was content to totter along with it.? I?d bet my fortune (which is based on a skill of ?make do?; there are no bananas in it) that the above passage is what captured a collection of readers so absolutely in a ?right on? agreement that this series spanned the grave of the author and is still spewing pages and stretching shelves. As I relished the final chapters and pages of SECRET, I had a thought about the beauty, warmth, lovely literary melancholy, and subtly complex richness radiating from those concluding textual treasures: In retrospect, this novel didn?t feel like a planned pilot to a mystery series. It felt to be a singular novel, like but not like, the ones Sanders had written prior to it. What it felt like to me is that Lawrence hit upon a ?soul speak? story which couldn?t halt the cultural conversation it had initiated, however serendipitous that initiation may have been. Based on Agatha Christie?s official web site, Miss Marple was not originally intended to be another Poirot, and look what happened there. To me, Archy appears to be a gatekeeper for pure and primal, hidden wishes and dreams. Living home comfortably, guiltlessly at 37, on the top floor of his parent?s mansion in Palm Beach; eating drool-food from a house chef; having established a club like The Pelican as a side atmosphere to partake in daily; working at a cushy, just challenging enough, engaging career for discreet inquiries ... If an author?s (or reader?s) going to retire that would be da place (or at least an entertaining option). Get the SECRET of the McNally collection.
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Cook In Time
by
Joanne Pence
Linda Shelnutt
, May 30, 2006
The reading capture in this one was so consistently smooth I forgot my habit of remembering exactly what grabbed my lapels and jerked me into the book. I wasn?t grabbed or jerked; I was just there, and there, and there. Period. This is good! Angie?s backbone and skeptical criticism seemed to have kicked in with this 7th book. Given the fact that previous plots have pushed her through buying into preacher cons, flitting through gothic mansions with ghosts & gurus, dancing with a sour serial killer, food fighting through bubble-popping movie star veneers (oops, that plot was in # 11), etc., Angie?s no longer the wide-eyed, endearing puppy, warming entertainingly to every out-of-the-park scenario. This time, she?s scrunching her nose and darkening her judgments of the collection of ?odd balls,? as she silently terms them, at a meeting of UFO scientists. As much as I cherish Angie?s spirited gullibility, I enjoy her maturing skepticism even more. One of the most endearing, lighthearted male bonding scenes occurred in this novel, between Yosh and Paavo. Their exchange of shared angst, resulting in mutual confirmation that the loves of their lives were indeed still in love with them, was as real and warm as I?ve read anywhere. The scene was played very much as it should unfold between two males such as these. Loved it. You won?t want to miss it. Another ?not to miss? in this offering Pence doing an about face to stand up and cheer for in one of her characterizations. Instead of having this guy gradually gain in stature and personality intensity after she etched his caricature, he stepped into the plot hot, strong, heart-stopping, and eye-popping; then he deteriorated in seamless increments as Angie?s new titanium backbone took no flack whatsoever from him. Loved it! What also interested me was that this theme of The Millenium change?s craving of info on the strange and unusual, which was so prevalent when this novel was released, is more interesting to me now, in retrospect, that it would have been then, in 2000.
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S Is For Silence
by
Sue Grafton
Linda Shelnutt
, May 27, 2006
Using a crisp, time-warp prologue (or first chapter acting as a prologue) is a classic way of opening a P.I. mystery. I admire the artistic feel of this opening style, yet I generally have a hard time getting into a story which doesn't sit me right down into an ongoing, "right-now" narrative. I slid fairly easily into Kinsey's "I am a..." intro in chapter 2, with the bar/lunch scene in which Millhone reluctantly met her client over a "to drool for," scrumptiously described grilled kaiser roll with salami and pepper-cheese, fried-egg, innards. The melted white cheese infused with red-pepper-flakes definitely hot glued me onto a bar stool along with the characters. The usual Quarter Pounder with cheese would have worked, too, but, for whatever reasons, Kinsey somehow got the gourmet bug in "S." Once the flow of the flashback chapters seated into the flow of the "I-Kinsey" narrative, the Third Person narratives were engrossing as well as intriguingly and stylishly written. Maybe Grafton had an itch to explore thought patterns of characters with varying degrees of anti-heroic traits, who would be vastly divergent from Kinsey in behavioral motivation. With tremendous panache, Grafton painted these psychological portraits from "inside-the-hearts-of-sinners-and-saints," and she blended them so seamlessly into the 1987 reality that I began to lose track of the 30-yr-cultural-gap, even though the 50's icons, idioms, and inlets-to-the-past were firmly crayoned into each July 1953 chapter. Though some of the facts uncovered held a dark horror more like King's work than Grafton's, and though that ambiance was released abruptly, I felt no let down with the ending. The full circle symbolism of the kimono and the kaiser roll was exquisite. "S" is more a work of literary art, a true and classic novel with an experimental edge in the narrative machinations of the psychological profiling chapters, than it is a standard offering of detective fiction, though, for me, it also satisfied the cravings of that genre. I was left with a compulsion to reread several parts, then with a desire to reread the whole. This book has too much psychological pith to get it all in a single run through. The epilogue left me with the peaceful, haunting essence of the first sight of cherry blossoms after an extended, bone chilling winter. Only one question remained as I closed the book: Sue has earned the most exquisite, leading-edge, oil-painting renditions of the thematic essence of each of her books. Why is one of the classiest, most astute and revered publishing houses putting out Sue Grafton's phenomenal series with no artwork on the book-jackets?
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S Is For Silence
by
Sue Grafton
Linda Shelnutt
, May 27, 2006
Using a crisp, biting, time-warp prologue (or first chapter acting as a prologue) is a classic way of opening a P.I. mystery. I admire the artistic feel of this opening style, yet I generally have a hard time getting into a story which doesn?t sit me right down into an ongoing, ?right-now? narrative. I slid fairly easily into Kinsey?s ?I am a...? intro in chapter 2, with the bar/lunch scene in which Millhone reluctantly met her client over a ?to drool for,? scrumptiously described grilled kaiser roll with salami and pepper-cheese, fried-egg, innards. The melted white cheese infused with red-pepper-flakes definitely hot glued me onto a bar stool along with the characters. The usual Quarter Pounder with cheese would have worked, too, but, for whatever reasons, Kinsey somehow got the gourmet bug in ?S.? Once the flow of the flashback chapters seated into the flow of the ?I-Kinsey? narrative, the Third Person narratives were engrossing as well as intriguingly and stylishly written. Maybe Grafton had an itch to explore thought patterns inside-the-heads of characters with varying degrees of anti-heroic traits, who would be vastly divergent from Kinsey in behavioral motivation. With tremendous panache, Grafton painted these psychological portraits from ?inside-the-hearts-of-sinners-and-saints,? and she blended them so seamlessly into the 1987 reality that I began to lose track of the 30-yr-cultural-gap, even though the 50's icons, idioms, and inlets-to-the-past were firmly crayoned into each July 1953 chapter. Though some of the facts uncovered held a dark horror more like King?s work than Grafton?s, and though that ambiance was released abruptly, I felt no let down with the ending. The full circle, yummy symbolism of the kimono and the kaiser roll was awesome. ?S? is more a work of literary art, a true and classic novel with an experimental edge in the narrative machinations of the psychological profiling chapters, than it is a standard offering of detective fiction, though, for me, it also satisfied the cravings of that genre. I was left with a compulsion to reread several parts, then with a desire to reread the whole. This book has too much psychological pith to get it all in a single run through. The epilogue left me with the peaceful, haunting essence of the first sight of cherry blossoms after an extended, bone chilling winter. Only one question remained as I closed the book: Sue has earned the most exquisite, leading-edge, oil-painting renditions of the thematic essence of each of her books. Why is one of the classiest, most astute and revered publishing houses putting out Sue Grafton?s phenomenal series with no artwork on the book-jackets?
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Dark Tort
by
Diane Mott Davidson
Linda Shelnutt
, May 27, 2006
Mesmerized by the luscious book jacket on DARK TORT, I picked up the hardback with my right hand, and ran my left fingertips over the face of the cool, smooth, brail effective jacket. I was more than ready to pick up on what this author had done subtly differently this time to continue infusing her stories with the edge and surge which had kept them riding tips of waves of cravings for culinary mysteries. A riveting intensity in the opening scene of DARK TORT (the legal term for wrongful act, not ?torte? as in pastry) was sparked by the first sentence of chapter one, page one. But what welded the rivets for me was the culinary catastrophe in the third paragraph: ?The bag of flour I was carrying slid from my hands and exploded on the carpet. Two jars of yeast plummeted onto the coffee table, where they burst into shards and powder. My last bottle of molasses sailed in a wide arc and cracked onto the receptionist?s cherry-wood desk. A thick wave of sweet, dark liquid began a gluey descent across the phone console. My steel bowl of bread sponge catapulted out or my arms and hit the wall.? With each sensory impression in that paragraph having opened gateways into my mind, I would be reading onward with awakened interest. The first 40 pages had the feel of a nightmare; I had half expected Goldy to suddenly point to her pillow, at a place to ponder about the dream, which would, of course, be a clue to a murder which would occur later, in the waking state. Ironically, those first 40 pages also had the feel of the reality of ?tripping over a dead body? (of a close friend) and dealing with that type of emotional/mental/spiritual trauma, compiled with the ongoing chill of threatening police procedural impositions impregnated with that metallic taste/smell, which Goldy made note of a few times during those opening pages, usually in reference to heat systems blowing warm air with that blood chilling flavor. Goldy cooks up storms of clues in her spaciously gourmet, commercial kitchen, simultaneous to sorting through the ones which come ?round to bat her body and soul while she?s in an eternal state of grieving exhaustion (to which, as faithful readers, we?ve become happily addicted). So, how does she ever GET anywhere? That spring-loaded titanium back bone. And Tom?s hugs accompanied by his ?to die for? sharing of the career-laden-Mom-homemaker?s loads of eternal daily duties. Then there?s ESPRESSO, the Energizer Bunny bean! Couldn?t love more the way Goldy snarls at anyone who has the wherewithal or gall to trash the natural, real values of caffeine, butter, eggs, and/or creme.
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Cherry Cheesecake Murder
by
Joanne Fluke
Linda Shelnutt
, May 25, 2006
Pick, pick, pick. Push, push, push. ?Make your choice, Hannah!? All the characters were snapping down their two cents and hooting like owls, ?who, who, who.? Hannah-the-carrot-top showed her colors and lassoed me into the story by the brilliant way she turned off the tension of making an immediate decision about Mike and Norm?s dual marriage proposals. And their response to her ?proposal? (in my book) was perfect, as was their response to Ross, Hannah?s new love interest, before and after Ross garnered his rivals? friendship by giving them parts in the movie ?scene.? The scene of needing an emergency entre for a brunch being catered for the movie cast and crew was handled with lip-smacking panache, and sugar-glued me into the story for keeps. After the planned entre had been literally ?dumped,? Hannah stepped in with grandma Ingrid?s fruit-pocket-french-toast-casserole, drawing out the prep process in drooling detail as Edna and several of the women pitched in around Hannah to save the brunch. That culinary drama gave a reading enthrallment factor on par with Goldilocks Catering?s extensive in-plot kitchen machinations. I was intrigued by the complex (and juicy) weaving of the title confection (cherry cheesecake) into the story, prior to the prologue murder scene being plopped into the ongoing action. As I did in SUGAR COOKIE MURDER, I enjoyed the half-book build-up to the murder event. This allowed the development of the sweet and tangy scenes of the small town percolation to seat nicely before the character warmth went entertainingly sour as suspects were contemplated and death chilled the mood. Also, in this half-book murder-pop plot-timing, the clues have been brought in with a subtle, sneaky hand, and the reader has the option to lay back and enjoy the small town maneuvering instead of applying a magnifying glass to every scene in the early parts of the book. I did the lay back read first, then reviewed the first half of the book after finishing the read, to catch the clues which I had ignored while soaking up the purity of fun prior to the dark descent of human perversion. Genius has a way of weaving through even the lightest, most entertaining art. Yet, Fluke is smart enough to fuel her growing audience by keeping the Knapp light and bright, with dark and dreary used with a balsamic touch. This way she fully satisfies the cozy audience while giving a richer flavor for those whose magnifying glasses are humongous and heavy. Ugh. Where?s my hydraulic crane? CHERRY CHEESECAKE MURDER is the first of Joanne Fluke?s Hannah Swensen series to hit the New York Times Bestseller list. Congratulations, Joanne!!
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Cook's Night Out: An Angie Amalfi Mystery
by
Joanne Pence
Linda Shelnutt
, May 03, 2006
Baffling Betrayal. Paavo-Serpico. Angie-Chaplin Even if there were nothing else in the book, the evolving intrigue in the character of the reverend would surge my interest through the book. Is he a good guy; is he a con artist? Is he a comical, off-brand, visiting deity, a spinoff of little guy in the movie, with the cigar and the Brooklyn accent? Pence must have been giggling as she was typing, tweaking this character?s fun fluctuations. I relished every flicker of sunlight and shadow, all the way to the end of the story, which sizzled with a more creative resolution of Reverend Hodge than many writers could have conjured. In this plot, Paavo was forced to dredge the depths of his self-esteem sludge, plummeting to the hairy roots of his professional position, fighting like Serpico against internal corruption, presenting a foil against Angie?s continued dedication to his soul balance. I appreciated the way Pence?s characters were sorted so cleanly by their responses to the tarnishing onslaughts to Paavo?s professional integrity. Angie?s continued all-out support of Paavo, without losing a Quantum or Quark of her personal integrity, develops further in this plot as she chooses to remain within a bad situation in Hodge?s program, going against Paavo?s repeated demands that she stay away from there. If you want the cozy ?same ole routine? which we all look for in genre expectations, you?ll get satisfaction from Pence?s series. But you?ll get more than you hoped for, because Pence?s talent pushes her to take the ?norm,? do justice to it, then spin it around in a fast circle in her mind until something uniquely, honestly refreshing takes shape in a slightly shifting surprise. This # 5 in the series does that slight surprise a bit more than the other books, especially in resolutions of ongoing questions about, is it/he/she ?this way? or ?that way? ... a good or bad guy or deal? The twists are so numerous they become entertaining labyrinths, and sometimes the points become circles rather than zigs and zags. But ... what about the numerous varieties of ultimates in gourmet chocolate slathering this plot? They made me hungry for the exPENSIVE, freshly original, leading-edge types of confection! ?Chocolates are us? will never be the same. Lifting my goblet, swirling a dark red Merlo, please allow me to toast a master of gently stepping the toe of a high-heeled sandal through the ultimate barriers of intrigue ...
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Cooking Up Trouble: An Angie Amalfi Mystery
by
Joanne Pence
Linda Shelnutt
, May 03, 2006
The Partridge Slurped a Pear; Veggies Beware! ??I wouldn?t feed this swill to my cat!? Martin Bayman announced... The lentil-soybean cutlets were not a hit.? ? Quote from Joanne Pence?s pen poofing life into her newly green world. This 3rd book-in-series started out with a (metaphoric) bang, highlighting the captivating dud of soybean cutlets saute-tested for the menu of an out-of-the-way Inn to die in. I?m hopeless when it comes to taste-bud-uptake-inhibitors (like serotonin-uptake-inhibitors for which Prozac did the Pandora?s Box thingy?). If you abbreviate this title, CUT, you get a reference to ?cutlets.? Is synchronicity cooking here? Yeah, but the cutlet was meatless, until Angie waved her wooden-spoon-wand. Angie?s open-minded skepticism of metaphysical gurus was humorously warming, and the setting of the Inn in a Gothically remote, at-risk location was mysteriously inviting. As usual in Pence?s repertoire, fictional residents were well-rooted into emotional complexity. I don?t know how she does this repeatedly with new and old characters, but many of her plot people have enough comedic appeal to border on being cartoon-ish buffoons, and yet they?re fleshed out enough to skip off the pages. As a collective of unique individuals, these guys based in the real world, beyond the edges of phony, overdone, underdone, or irritating. What I love about these characterizations of boney but off-beat personas is Pence?s generous need to hand out realistic redemption on as many pages as possible, after and while spotlighting juicy dark sides with just enough balsamic dimming to prevent the comedy from bubbling the plot out of its heady, roiling stew. While I allow myself to freely enjoy whatever flavor calls to me at the moment, from beef to beets to borage, I can savor gourmet veggie, and Pence gave a good bite of that. In the conclusion, munching metaphorically, the savory-spiced Partridge had a pear stuffed stylishly in its mouth, and, while green, orange & gold ground-gems were ultimately elevated with class, no vegetables were spared.
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Cooking Up Trouble: An Angie Amalfi Mystery
by
Joanne Pence
Linda Shelnutt
, May 03, 2006
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Too Many Cooks
by
Joanne Pence
Linda Shelnutt
, May 03, 2006
Blend Egghead Chef Into Kaleidoscope Scene Swirls a la Sidney Sheldon I was drawn to the description and title of TOO MANY COOKS, hoping for a generous portion of good grit on grits. I thought, if a chef radio show is featured, and if a restauranteur is poisoned, as the back cover blurbed, my culinary cravings would be at least addressed, if not advanced to the "third degree." This 2nd novel in Pence?s ANGIE AMALFI series had a Sidney Sheldon feel, rising from Pence's shifting from scene to scene, each with a different character as central focus in his own world. After Angie, fretful and feisty, somewhat settled into her job with the egghead, Chef "Ahnree" (Henry La Tour), the scene shifted to Paavo's first day's return to his homicide department. The darker ambiance there was contrasted dramatically, with literary flair, to Angie's spritzy spunk. Riding through continued crafty writing style shifts and swanky mood swings, as soon as I was solidly into Paavo's world and cohorts, and bonded satisfyingly with Paavo's new partner, the scene cut to a murder in progress, which felt realistically ... Just. Like. That. By this time in the kaleidoscopic plot machinations, I was so far into the games, you couldn't have lifted me out of them except by a ceiling cave. And, in that case I wouldn't have been lifted. Of course I'd have been smashed. The ending of TOO MANY COOKS produces a labyrinth of mangy machinations, giving enough mystery complexity for even the most convoluted brains. But, is Angie an amateur sleuth, a romance heroine, a comedienne, or a well-fleshed player in a mainstream NOVEL. The problem is she's all of these, so I haven't been able to peg her cozily into one slot. Do I care? If I can't peg what Angie is; I can peg what her author has done to this reader. She hooked me absolutely into this series to the point that I slipped right through COOKING UP TROUBLE without being able to make myself take time to write a review after finishing TOO MANY COOKS. At that time, I had a couple more Amalfi books ready to go, and was including in my nightly prayers a thank you that several more Angie & Paavo stories were available. Yum!
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Gilt By Association
by
Tamar Myers
Linda Shelnutt
, May 01, 2006
Mix & Match Menageries; Don?t Miss the Merry Mayhem! The mansions, restaurants, coffee or tea breaks, and munching while clueing all served to keep me reading onward, happy as a clam. What I enjoyed most about this novel was the various routinely-natural and effortlessly-entertaining ways Abby worries out her mystery and interviews suspects, often over a meal in a luxury setting or at least one with rich aromatic ambiance of one intensity or another. Hey. I?m a culinary cozy addict. Here are a couple of my favorite Abby clue-strewing scenes: Bubble bath contemplations with her cat batting bubbles ... Ex husbands? current wife giving Abby a makeover as the current ?homemaker? moans over now being the other woman, while Abby soothes the angst of her exhusband?s wife with whom he cheated on Abby ... Yeah. And the scene works with both irony and warmth! Of course Abby?s excursions & exchanges with the gay Rob & Bob are delightfully warm & funny, and the gutsy gourmet meals Bob concocts which Rob & Abby beg to avoid are interestingly mouth watering ... from a distance. Really enjoyed the way Abby dealt with her approach/avoidance conflict (romancing ever-after Vs dragging feet) as her relationship with trained police investigator Greg Washburn grows more intimate and skidds toward commitment. This is a work of sheer and simple entertainment with a backwash of stereotypes squashed and genuine relating relished. Lots of hilarious mix & mismatch is stirred effervescently into the kettles of cuisine, means of marriage, ways of mystery, and action-packed menageries. Take it. You won?t leave it for long.
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Something's Cooking: An Angie Amalfi Mystery
by
Joanne Pence
Linda Shelnutt
, April 26, 2006
Sunrise Spice Omelet; Capers & Cheese w/Cinnamon Chaser Pence gleefully grabs reader attention in chapter one with Angie?s disaster loadstone magnetized on all angles. The "... don't bother to send a bomb expert. Send a plumber" was a perfect opening for a promising series. In chapter two Pence opens with a narrative setting which could cajole Joseph Conrad to leap out of the grave and compete. In a fun contrast to the eternal perk of Angie?s catastrophe-prone personality, the love of her life is introduced through a leisurely, macho Sunday afternoon as Pence?s sensual syntax sets the scene: ?The San Francisco Hall of justice, a massive, grey, granite structure, cold and intimidating, stood quiet without the chaos that routine police business brought during the week.? The slip into this novel was so seamless I didn?t have time or inclination to analyze (past the first couple chapters) what was drawing me in. I was just there, though I did periodically surface to notice the awesome talent of a true novelist at work behind the scenes. Angie possesses a repeating character ?flaw? which is spicy and fun, as well as scarey for those who come to care about her. She pauses, rests, and plays a bit within any protective prison she?s been contained within. She rambles around the cage, dutifully and sensibly. Then a spark from the ozone (or from somewhere over the rainbow?) surfaces and she leaps into crazy, chaotic situations most of us would maybe consider cautiously in a conquering hero day dream, but wouldn?t have (wouldn?t WANT) the chutzpah to ever, ever act upon. Yet, that makes Angie a perfect fictional heroine, instead of an every day person dancing with drudgeries outside the pages of a book. Being an every-day person is my job (when I?m escaping into fiction instead of writing it). That?s why I was able to relish Angie?s surging leaps, even as I cringed and skidded on the breaks of the ottoman upon which my feet were resting, with an afghan covering them cozily. I?m still not certain if Pence?s Amalfi series is a cozy culinary, a crime novel, a romance, or a mainstream offering. Honestly, at the beginning of my reading through this series, I didn?t care about its precise category; I cared only that I had 11 more novels in that series to read. Yum!
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Mcnallys Gamble
by
Lawrence Sanders
Linda Shelnutt
, April 26, 2006
Silver Ghost Rolls In Faberge Egg. Roll The Dice This one opened with a fast-moving, jazzy rescue of a kidnaped child, capturing me with Archy?s warmth to the victim?s father, and the hint of a crime to come which was billed to be more heinous than a child kidnaping. Following quickly on the heals of the rescue, I settled into the main plot, riding along with Archy?s loving machinations in prep for his father?s birthday dinner, after which the family cocktail hour sported the pater?s introduction to Archy of his new assignment. The mater was invited into the act by a request from her husband to describe how her friend and contemporary, Edythe Westmore, a client of the McNally law firm, seemed to have been taken in by a flimflam financial advisor with egg on his agenda, which would eventually be on his face, if justice prevailed and Archy?s Discrete Investigations got a clue. No unsettling, Gothic castle with Adams family cast offs in this one. Whereas McNally?s CAPER captured like a dark, luxuriously rich ale, GAMBLE captured with quality champagne easing the pain of a soured budget diminishing in a cash flop (executed by the financial wizard fop). Archy fizzed nicely through this plot with just the right amount of bubble and bounce, keeping the light hearted intrigue moving until the enigma-of-the-egg enhanced entertainment to arrive at an all time high in this series. One of Archy?s enduring and endearing characters, the old, moldy, Antique shop owner, Sydney Smythe warmed his way into my heart in this one, worming in through a few choice words from Sanders describing Mr. Smythe?s actions and reactions to Archy?s interjections. It?s amazing how much empathy for a character Sanders develops with light, limited touches of syntax, especially in contrast to the heavyweight, plethora of mouth-fulls he pours through Archy?s mug. Given the entertaining way Archie danced his way through this plot labyrinth and its resolution, if GAMBLE were to become a movie, it may have to be billed as a complexly delightful musical, no con intended.
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Mcnallys Luck
by
Lawrence Sanders
Linda Shelnutt
, April 26, 2006
Mossy-Car-Classic Sunk In Sea-Treasure-Bliss What I like most about Archy is his warm nonchalance contrasted with his old money manners and deference to his father. I very much enjoy being around for the daily routine luxuries of a casually (yet hugely) wealthy family, whose members have their professional lives and leisure activities precisely balanced for appropriate rhythms in living the good and useful life. It?s also interesting to ride along in the mind of a semi-playboy, privy to his ways of looking at and reacting to females who step into his presence. I have fun wondering how Sanders will jump start my reading rhythm through Archie in each book. In PUZZLE, Sanders gave Archie a shocking slap across the chops; in LUCK Sanders stepped Archie out onto the page lamenting cat vomit having spoiled a favorite lavender suede shoe. Actually, Archie wasn?t lamenting the vomit as much as the cat who did it. Of course the cat, Peaches, wasn?t the who DONE it. Generally, cat?s don?t murder people, they kill rats. Mostly what sticks in my mind from in this one is the dramatization of a type of simple daily routines of a life which I?d never be able to experience except between the covers of a healthy escape novel. I enjoy being Archy?s sidekick and daily guest for dinner and cocktails, along with feeling sympathy for his vulnerability of wanting to impress his ?cool as a cucumber? pater. Since alcohol hasn?t agreed with me since I was nine and permanently lost 3/4 of my liver from a deadly bout of hepatitis, and since I?ve cared deeply for a few too many alcoholics, I?ve never been able to enjoy the spirit of alcohol, as I sometimes wish I could. In Archie?s world, I can sip vintage wine with dinner, without fear or cost. Such a deal. Oh to have a gourmet chef in residence in a manse in Florida and freely (with $$$ no object), fearlessly eat and drink like that! Man. What a life.
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Misery
by
Stephen King
Linda Shelnutt
, April 21, 2006
Case Study In Soul Stench: Annie-ax, Evil Samaritan Throughout this book I drug my feet (oh so thankful they were both still hanging on my ankles), cringing, in what was to me the ultimate in horror, not only in the physical entrapment of being incapacitated, in horrendous pain, and at the mercy of the most insidious psychopath who could implement any type of torture she could conjure, any time of day or night as her victim, the reader as author, lies helpless in her guest bed. The gradual but relentlessly growing awareness that Annie Wilkes was not a caring, sane woman, that she was a very very Evil Samaritan, that she was indeed psychologically challenged to the bottom of her putrid soul ... the gradation of that insidiously seeping, flickering awareness of Annie Wilkes's twisted ebony heart was true horror. I don't recall ever reading the development of psychosis in a character being accomplished so clearly, so chillingly realistically. This may be King's most symbolic, significant novel. Throughout the book I wondered, is this what it would feel like to be a famous author, a creative soul trapped by the tastes of fans? One of the worst spiritual imprisonments would be to become known, loved, and sought after for a certain quality in a product, then be held hostage to that quality, to be compelled to continue to recreate, regurgitate that quality forever and forever with no hope for an amen, with no hope to ever take a tangent or get a new lease on writing. "I'm your Number One Fan." Each time Annie Wilkes said this, my hair would have stood on end if it weren't so thin, limp, and lacking, if I hadn't already pulled it all out in the first couple chapters of the book. If anyone understands the very essence of misery, it's Stephen King. If anyone can impart the ultimate in that feeling in a novel, it's King. Man, oh man, he did it. Her put misery on the bookshelves for keeps.
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Pet Sematary
by
Stephen King
Linda Shelnutt
, April 21, 2006
Blood-Stained Blacktop Loses to Dark, Dank Soil. Ironically, PET SEMATARY contains one of my favorite ?fictional? scenes, of a soul-renewing interaction between a father and his male toddler. The warmth and joy exposed in the kite flying ... the word that comes to mind is ?ceremony?... in this story goes beyond worthy of a great literary novel. Yet, by setting literary gems like this scene within the pure honesty of the horror genre, King has contributed as much (probably more) to human art and literature than he could have done as a Charles Dickens, an F. Scott Fitzgerald, a Joseph Conrad, or a W. Somerset Maugham... or even as a Walt Disney. Maybe Stephen King is too honest a man, too raw a personality, too richly complex a talent, to deal with life?s pain (and joy) anywhere but within the in-your-heart reality of horror. Even though the word ?ceremony? fits the immensity of emotional impact of the kite scene between Louis and Gage, it is too formal a word for that major but so simple event in which this father and son go out into the yard and soar a kite across the heavens. That scene cracks the egg shell of a seeming finality in death. Because of that scene, this book doesn?t just dramatize too exquisitely why ?dead is better? (than coming back from the grave). It paints a better than Norman Rockwell scene exposing simply and without overdone sentiment, the why of life and birth. In the first few pages of PET SEMATARY, the Creed family is (traveling in an automobile) ?trapped? in a common, natural, ugly tension in which relentless little stresses build to a point of members giving serious private thoughts of blasting the family into tiny bits of a jigsaw puzzle never to be returned to wholeness. Then the family is shown with dark emotions transformed in the brilliance and speed of a lightning flash, as each member views the gift of their destination, a house and setting which immediately speaks to the group as that rarely achieved, ever sought comfort as HOME. The house was settled off a lonely, paved highway vulnerable to frequent, messy, gut wrenching road-kill. This ?front? of the property was contrasted by the back door bordering on the power of evil in the ancient soil of the Micmac Indian burial ground, an essence-of-place which was ?there? since the beginning of earth. Shiny, glistening, blood-stained-blacktop loses to dark, dank, rich soil. Chaotic, greedy speed is swallowed seamlessly by the timelessness of an organic return and metamorphosis, total or incomplete, Creed?s choice. This novel is whole. It is richly complete. Possibly that might be its strongest compliment. I believe we all win, eventually. Life sometimes soars, now and then, and in the (true) ?end.? Go fly a kite!
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Hand That Rocks The Ladle A Pennsylvania
by
Tamar Myers
Linda Shelnutt
, April 21, 2006
Skinny-Boobed, Barren, Non-Cook Reigns In Culinary Cozy Tamar Myers gleefully gets away with spoofing (in good taste) the Amish, Mennonite subcultures. I?m thinking those communities might proudly read this series, loving Magdalena Yoder's religious outrageousness and pokes at their shared background. Myers gives a delightful view of this culture's ability to bubble with fun just under the surface of what they believe to be necessary religious severity. Maybe everything needs a relief valve. Misquoted idioms are the forte of Freni, Magdalena's cook, who is also a relative (according to Magdalena, most people in a small Mennonite community are related). Instead of "taking a page out of their book," Freni suggest to Magdalena that "You should take a page out of their dictionary." The people referenced as having the right page/dictionary from which to take are an Amish family who have shunned a relative who has installed rubber tires on his buggy. It seems that in this case rubber tires are too much of a lazy luxury. Might that be why Myers doesn't quite allow herself the gourmet luxury Diane Mott Davidson relishes religiously in her series, with Goldy Schulz catering at the helm? Maybe it's too sensual to watch a character wallowing in luscious details in a cooking process simultaneous to getting a clue. Or, possibly everyone has a different little bit of heaven to take to earth. The included recipes from the Pen Dutch were indeed GOOD. On page 23 of the paperback, "Bubble and Squeak? is featured, which is a gooey, flavor-lush, potato-pancake-thingy fried in bacon grease. (I?ve never purchased the expensive phobia of cholesterol. My Italian grandmother cooked everything in bacon grease and ate all the current ?no nos.? She lived, actively, to 94 years old. Her second day in any hospital was the day she died, telling my Mom, ?I?m going to go to sleep tonight and not wake up, Margie.?) This novel, an entertaining, gentle, and tasteful exposure of various levels of the Amish culture should remain not only a best-seller in the mass marketplace, it should receive kudos of the highest order as being a landmark offering within the annals of Cultural Conversations.
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Parsley Sage Rosemary & Crime
by
Tamar Myers
Linda Shelnutt
, April 21, 2006
Magda?s Spyglass Focuses Inward With Wide-Eyed, Grinning Honesty, as well as Outward With All In Fun Observations. Magdelana?s snap, cracke & pop descriptions of people in her world drives a quick, delightful read, so much so that it?s easy to miss some of the constant and intriguing, worthy cultural messages. What I enjoyed most in the opening chapters of this 2nd novel in the PenDutch series was the point at which Magdalena first turned her snappy spyglass onto her foibles, focusing a schooldays shadow as brightly as the dim wittedness she?d been observing outside herself. After establishing her humorous disgust of the reportedly lacking mental capacities of Susannah?s boyfriend and Hernia?s chief of police, Melvin Stoltzfus, Magdalena noted her collection of ?DUH? brain cells by confessing to the reader that it was Melvin?s paper she chose to copy that one-and-only time she ever cheated on an exam. I enjoyed the fact that Bugsy, in the first scene, wasn?t at all put off, insulted, or deterred by Mags?s clear and constant rips on his person, character, and apparent con-artist intentions. Be sure to spot the whitehead on his nose, which changes sides from day to day, and never escapes Mags?s focus. The humor in this series is fast, deep, and complex. I love it when a fictional female (or male, for that matter) actually spouts in public a few choice descriptions which I?d love to open mouth to but wouldn?t dare, for fear of either being stomped out of existence, or hurting someone I would never want to hurt. Magda periodically confesses that she?s living dangerously when she out pops with something most of us couldn?t get out of the voice-box outside the safety of paper and print. Usually, my take on this type of daring (fictional) humorous release is, that?s what novels are for? Magda?s scenes with doc bring out her sensitive side, in those precious moments when she relates to him with compassion, without comic cover (which can become a high-grade, sophisticated emotional firewall). Magda?s moxie hides the hugely sensitive, warm heart of a sometimes frightened woman, as evidenced by many subtle scenes, but especially in the first serious exchange and its culmination, between Magda and Arthur when her acting Voice finally lets go with a boom, and surges Arthur to utter his first speaking part in the plot, cancelling his prior grunting/muttering mode. Each time Magda turns her spyglass inward, to ferret foibles or vulnerability; in ?after-the-purge? scenes, she refreshes the reader with slips of warmth and generosities of spirit extended to some of her story mates. What her sarcastic edge might secret is that she loves her people and they love her, and the snipping wit is taken as moxie, charisma, a ?presence? worthy of a great actress.
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Too Many Crooks Spoil The Broth
by
Tamar Myers
Linda Shelnutt
, April 21, 2006
Heat The Kettle. Beat The Egg Whites. Quilt Amish Ambiance into ?Who Done It.? Susannah?s screaming at a corpse on a quilt in the opening scene was an effective capture. The plot time regression, backtracking from ?murder-up-page-one,? trailing events and road-forks which may have contributed to the murder, was a narrative technique of literary lace. The quilt was Amish and it had been spread, somehow wrongly, across a bed in the PenDutch Inn. Magdalena?s detailing the difference between a murdered corpse and a ?normal? dead body was an intriguing way to surge depth and reality onto the stage. As she will do throughout the series, Magdalena Yoder comes grumbling to the rescue. There?s a lot to do to clean up a murder or two, not to mention catering to a full house of high brow guests paying hefty prices and expecting the best, even within Magda?s ALPO ambiance. ALPO, of course, is the Amish Lifestyle Plan Option at the Inn, which avails guests of a trip into the cultural snootiness of choosing to clean their own rooms and common areas. My curiosity peaks to uncover how and why each guest decides to handle (or not) the broom. ALPO is such a deal for discriminating character nuance with a single sweep. I enjoyed observing the evolution of Magda?s narrative style in this pilot to such an auspicious, long-running series. I had to remind myself that at the point of writing and publishing this novel, Amish mysteries had not yet had the foundation which Tamar Myers brought to this amateur sleuth repertoire. I enjoyed the way Myers toyed with the bright/dark balance within each character, including herself. No one was offered a free ride outside the box of the PenDutch?s sensitive, sagely satiric pen. Nothing was left wondering here, except, if you had read this pilot prior to the publication of 13 or so sequels, you?d be not wondering if, but begging that Myers would cough up more and more PenDutch ambiance, to slide more cooks into the stew. That phenomenal publication story indeed has a good (never) ending, as Myers is still penning plush and posh.
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In Dutch Again: An Amish Country Mystery
by
Barbara Workinger
Linda Shelnutt
, April 21, 2006
An Amish Quilt w/Norman Rockwell Brilliance & a Spice Slash of Stephen King?s Dark Jewel Tones. The murder in this novel comes up in the first scene, with a simple realism which is sometimes lacking in cozy mysteries due to their style of underplayed viscera, a simple realism which is sometimes strangely unsuccessful in true crime novels due to overdone, exaggerated gore. Working from the murder scene, the book moves forward through a natural intimacy among characters, allowing a warmth to develop without discounting the chilling essence of death by malice and violence. The style of Workinger?s storytelling maintains a shifting balance between the boundaries of cozy Vs crime novels, a balance which gives a more engrossing reading experience that either style could accomplish within its separate, defined bailiwick. Natural, real, warm, and engrossing are the best words I can use to describe the reading experience of Barbara Workinger?s IN DUTCH AGAIN. It was easy for me to live in this story. Each time I picked up the book to begin reading, the settings came to mind easily, effortlessly, and stayed as a backdrop for character movement. Nettie's new/old farmhouse and 2 acre grounds is particularly well set, probably because of the way Workinger plotted Hanny going there and opening the bloody murder scene (with the lovely white-on-white quilt described so gorgeously in contrast), all of which was very well done. Actually it was excellently executed, with just the right amount and type of detail. The description and use in setting (and upsetting) of the deep, wrap-around-front-porch symbolism was particularly effective. And Hannah's dealing with, reacting to and taking action relative to that front porch scene, her studying and getting around the alarm system, provided great character development and a perfect means of sliding the reader('s own bloody footprints) into the story. One of the most successful ?reader-live-in? techniques in this novel is the contrast in lifestyle of the Amish (wedding celebrations) Vs the English (murder & mayhem), as it plays around two intriguingly intertwined murders and their resolution. Half way through the read, I had a culprit and conclusion in mind. Mine was way darker than the one Workinger brought through the portal of plot perfection, and mine would have required a mindset closer to that of Stephen King. Workinger?s wrap was just right for her voice, talent, background, characters, setup, and setting. This author is a master of maneuvering the convolutions of mystery to her own ends as a writer. Look for more from Barbara Workinger. There?s a reading richness here that?s not to be denied, not found elsewhere, and which will flourish in its own course.
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If Cooks Could Kill An Angie Amalfi Mystery
by
Joanne Pence
Linda Shelnutt
, April 17, 2006
Floating, Feasting in the Blue Ozone of Fiction The ethereal blue cover highlighting a plate of surreal spaghetti was a perfect indicator of the rich reading experience ahead. This novel?s featuring of The Connie Character goes beyond conjuring praise, as her scene-one opens in a cozy Italian restaurant as Connie fidgets with uncomfortably tight, female-attraction-trappings, in anticipation of the arrival of a blind date, a nephew of one of the ex-con, geriatric caf? owners. This may be one of the best in this series for drawing me in, from one heartbeat to the next. At first I had a whiff of a feeling that the Brooklyn Broad characterization was too much of a caricature, but, I thought, even if it is, it's fun and well done. Then, after about the 2nd page, Connie?s personality began flickering, like having her step through a gateway from a comic book world into a classic mystery novel. As I read into the smoothly developing relationship between Connie & Max, I began hoping that the interest growing around them, the warmth I felt and the curiosity about how their interaction would continue, and about the mystery beginning to brew so intriguingly but subtly from the base of their relishing a couple plates of spaghetti ... I was hoping that ambiance would develop a while before the scene faded. Of course, I was wondering if Butch's nephew (the blind date) was murdered, and like Connie, I wanted to know Max's story. All these ?hopes? (all the ?want-to-know?s) were fully developed; I wasn?t let down. Each character was painted deftly and quickly in that scene-one, from the three ex-con owners of the caf?, to Max, and the light steam of breathing continued through the last page. Pence does capturing character studies, of both male and female types. They often begin as colored-ink caricatures, conning the reader, cajoling smiles and chuckles. Then the cartoons flesh out and flit through pages, sometimes slipping off flat edges of print, landing on the arms of my easy chair. They sweat; they smell like roses. They strut and stumble. It?s mesmerizing to watch those transformations, the way the author accomplishes them with graceful, subtle touches. What a skill. I wondered at one point if Pence was hiding a magic Frankenstein wand (or electrical jolt stick). I don?t mean to imply that her characters are like Frankenstein, just that they are brought a distance almost as far as from death to life. This # 10 novel in the Angie series might be my favorite. The slip from scene to scene was seamless. This one deserves multiple awards; it may be the keystone of Pence?s talent which is so cohesively complex it melts like butter over croissant pages. Slurp the twisting, tangy noodles!
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Peach Cobbler Murder
by
Joanne Fluke
Linda Shelnutt
, April 17, 2006
Ripe Peaches Drip Into Southern, Crusty-Cobbler. Freeze! The opening scene of PEACH was a smiling grabber, of sneaking looks out the window spying on the new bakery competition. I could just about hear the stool being dragged by Lisa over to the window. And, Hanna's fluctuating frowns with attempts to stay positive were entertaining. Tracey was adorable. She'd be a great ambassador. Reminded me of Sidney Sheldon's WINDMILLS OF THE GODS (of course his novels are darkly addicting instead of sweet and chewy). Loved the way Fluke "snapshot-ed" Lisa?s wedding scenes around a couple lines from the ceremony; it created a lovely effect. Hanna's dream wedding was a nice touch. Loved the support and compliments Dolores gave to Hannah about the Peach Cobbler, and Dolores's change in old patterns by perfectly timing the phone call to Hannah while she was waiting for the con-artist lending institution with the nice guy quitting that day. Dolores was "there" yet not intrusive, pushy, or overly direct in her implied offer to help with the financial flukes. It was nice to see the cutting edge of Dolores mellow with her new love interest. Her daughters might end up growing to meet her, instead of the other way around, and it was fun to watch Hannah and Andrea's comical resistance to their Mom's "Regency" aristocrat. What makes for comfortable reading in Fluke?s series is the collection of warm, cuddly ongoing characters & cat. The town itself is a real draw, along with it's (its) character residents. The whole ?kit?n kaboodle? is fun to return to. I know I'll have a ready ?in? waiting for greedy fingertips to open to the first page. This book read as scrumptiously as dribbling hot almond butter over peach cobbler crust. It was definitely proof of a series author successfully reaching beyond each book with new releases. Fluke?s dialogue was more relaxed, descriptions more vivid and crisp, and characters were successfully stretching their struts in pleasant, upbeat ways. The surprises in the final 3 pages couldn?t have been more delectable if the words had been written in dark chocolate ink.
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True Believer
by
Nicholas Sparks
Linda Shelnutt
, April 16, 2006
Black Cherry Bookshelves. Tombstone Lamplight. Oz Bewitched & Ozone Baited This story bases beautifully from a vivid reality in the settings, the sports bar TV scene in NYC, Lexi's library made out of a two-story old house, the local caf?, homes of characters, and small town base, including, of course, the old, seedy cemetery. Okay. But, what's so special about this novel? It breathes. Strutting in spontaneous steps over a paper page stage, it lives. As the last page lifted from fingertips, the settings in the novel did not begin fading into the archives of memory. Somehow they remained lit, like the glow of morning twilight as the sun edges slowly above the Eastern land-line, or like a never-ending sunset spreading golden mists over the edges of scenes, like a dollhouse or a small town diorama highlighted for future use. Does TRUE BELIEVER descend the reader to the absolute bottom of an emotional well, and keep him there, deep enough and long enough that a catharsis blossoms peacefully from an artistically sensual depression? It doesn't wander through exactly that type of soulful solitude of deep dark spaces of the healing heart that A BEND IN THE ROAD does. But TRUE BELIEVER has its own special magic. I believe it. As one of his fan bases, Sparks seems to have established an appeal to sensitive yet feisty young women (probably mature ones, too, along with various types of testosterone bodies-of-water) who crave and seek what Miles Ryan describes as "sad and romantic." It seems as if Lexi and Jeremy are older souls than Sarah and Miles. It seems that the relationships in TB have, almost imperceptibly, matured and mellowed compared to earlier Sparks novels. The character connections in earlier novels seem younger and fresher, more emotionally volatile (to me that's not "for better or for worse"; it's just different). Viva la?
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Cooking Most Deadly An Angie Amalfi Mystery
by
Joanne Pence
Linda Shelnutt
, April 16, 2006
Secrets In Spaghetti; Caffe Latee w/Foamed Milk a la Dawn. The Egg & WHO? Lots of t?ings to t?ink about in this novel. Love, love, love the geriatric cons and their accented dialogue. Pence?s Angie books have shoved out of my keyboard words like ?favorite?; ?most?; and ?best.? Each time I read another of her novels everything is so superb and supreme, I feel like I?m burping the trite & cliche because I run out of superlatives. This time, I?m forced to toss any effort to spout super syntax in my raving. COOKING MOST DEADLY has literally gone too far out on several limbs with an enormous variety of high quality reading appeals, especially to my entertainment escape needs, my raison d?etre (reason for being) within the pages of a novel. When I picked up this novel (# 4 in the series), I had already read IF COOKS COULD KILL (# 10), so I knew that Angie would develop a friendship with the geriatric ex-cons, and I had already vicariously dined in their restaurant, Wings of an Angel. Instead of this prior plot knowledge spoiling my read of CMD, it enhanced the panache. I was overwhelmingly curious to see exactly how the relationship between Angie and these three grumpy old guys would go from Angie being an unwelcome first ?customer? in a ?restaurant? which was not, and which had no name and no menu, almost no cook. The plot, as it worked the expansion of the restaurant (from ?open? to open), as it developed the relationships centering around the cafe, kidnaped my involvement better than any other evolving situation in this series. I suppose I have a weakness for any type of failure being regenerated into the warmest, coziest type of success, especially for people and their places which have long been stuck in the upset underbelly of the opposite of utopia. The slapstick scenes in the caf? were some of the funniest I?ve read, anywhere. In sharp, effective contrast, Pence is amazingly adept with the development of the dregs of psychotic personalities (the killer in this one), as well as the zapping to life the most endearing of funny guys (the ex-con, geriatric trilogy, pseudo restraunt owners). Is Angie busy enough trying to find the perfect restaurant to review for her article for Haute Cuisine? Nooooo. She?s also busy ?getting to know? the serial killer, up close and personal. This strange ?relationship? development is realistic, chilling, and captivating. Only Angie?s character could believably bring out this unusual insight into this type of killer?s mind and personality. With all this, we have a secret ingredient, TOO? Yep. Who doesn?t love one version of this ingredient, and hate the other, both with capital letters required. Even with that clue, I wouldn?t have guessed it. This food item may be a closet craving for even the most snobbish of gourmands (including me).
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Red Hot Murder Angie Amalfi
by
Joanne Pence
Linda Shelnutt
, April 16, 2006
Sizzling Story. Butterscotch Mystery. Movie Material. The natural flow of the opening of this novel gives the effect of setting out into a fresh, colorful story, even more than the sense of settling into a complex novel, though this 13th offering in the Amalfi series accomplishes both at grand prize levels. For me, a story offers all that is high magic in fiction; it goes beyond what a novel is, into realms of wonder & rainbows, like being in Oz instead of KS, without losing KS. In RED HOT MURDER, Joanne has worked the classic mystery genre to its hilt, without losing the warmth and wholeness her series has developed and maintained, which is not often found in the classic/pure mystery offerings. Pence?s style in this book seems to have turned to a rich butterscotch, compared to previous offerings. That flavor allowed a more sophisticated & fascinating interweaving of subplots around main plot. The intense style flavoring also allowed the characters to come forth even more naturally and intensely than in prior books, though this observation does not diminish anything I?ve raved about prior novels in this series. Still, I was more deeply involved than my norm in the reading of this story, and I?m still digging for details as to why. I found myself measuring the remaining page thickness, not wanting to pass the half-way mark, because I wanted to be IN the reading of RHM for a long time. I didn?t want to finish it and leave the characters and situations. They were as entertaining as a good video, yet as rich and privately satisfying as a novel. I was intrigued by the development of the historic Waldorf chef machinations intertwining to the Jackpot historic intrigue of ghosts from stagecoaches doing Bermuda Triangle dips, with all that connected to Angie?s current work on her menu for the upcoming annual event in Jackpot. The resolution of a legendary, coveted gourmet notebook was fantastic. That side of the real gourmet world, in the ultra-strange tastes and entrees, was well presented; I don't recall ever seeing this dark side of gourmet brought into a culinary offering before. Watch this book. It?s going places. You?ll want to carry it in your bright, gypsy bandwagon, and store it in your mind where prime entertainment dwells in time-honored luxury.
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Mcnallys Puzzle
by
Lawrence Sanders
Linda Shelnutt
, April 15, 2006
The Parrot Also Rises, Against A Brilliant Yellow Sun? Usually I know why a book keeps me reading. I know exactly what the capture cons are. In the case of McNALLY?s PUZZLE, I kept reading with my own puzzle to saw with a jig. It had something to do with a jazzy writing rhythm and with the tightly focused, First-person-Narrative pushing Archy?s socially elite slang. I found myself wondering where I?d left my dictionary. I didn?t want to lose the frequent opportunities to learn new words. McNALLY?S PUZZLE was my first taste of this series. I was initially brought to it by readers? complaints about Archy?s obsession with food, and Lawrence?s including every tasty bite in the plot. In fiction I seek stimulation of the senses, though most often my moods prefer to go beyond and before the abundantly available ploys of the shock syndrome, and gregariously graphic sex. What else is there but solitary, tongue-in-teeth tangos with the manna of the gods? For me, the statement, ?... bites off a big piece of bread,? might work up a hint of saliva. That?s what I usually get in a work of food fiction, when I?m lucky. But, the descriptive luxury of, ?His teeth sink into the delicate texture of a soft, yeasty, French baguette, edged by the crunch of a crusty cover,? could get a stomach growl out of a full balloon. It?s the rhythm of the syntax, though. It is. And the tight focus on Archy. That?s what kept me reading long enough to get beyond my minimal irritation at the pondering push of the word dance. Once the rhythm had me going, and going, and picking up the book each time I had the time to read, I began being led by the nose, as well as the tongue, into the mystery developing with the precise timing of a master at a modern dance studio. Then the pace picked up slightly, plateau-ed, picked up a little more, and so on, to a perfect conclusion. That?s all I?ll say about that, not wanting to sing the secrets, or sling them around. Sanders exposed true writer?s confidence in the pacing pauses of Archy?s daily routines in this novel and especially in the succinct, crisp style of the picked up dance of denouement. I laughed out loud in cheering glee a few times during the final ten pages. Archy?s father?s heated question to a brouhaha which brought him out of his night sanctuary was classic, heart-healing humor.
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On Writing A Memoir of the Craft
by
Stephen King
Linda Shelnutt
, April 15, 2006
Riding Right Brain Chaos. Honed, Heavy Horror What admire most about this author, which was evident in this book is his regenerating honesty, his uncanny originality, and his demand of himself to toss reader boredom into a black hole and perform, within his printed words, 24/7 without fail. Also love the way he sincerely and humbly exposed his respect for his wife. Leave it to King, The Master, to write this semi-autobiographical expose on authorship craft in a more intriguingly unique organizational setup than anyone else could conjure or dare. Leave it to Him to force (or else) a (sort of) "how to" book into mesmerizing entertainment, to step into the job with a horrific grab about a kid suffering ear drum puncture, and to coerce an anomaly of styles and content to coalesce into a gestalt of genius which WORKS, period. How can a book on writing be riveting?? King includes only those salient parts of his personal history which have contributed to his writing career. He includes only the necessary elements to "teach" how to spark and stir creative fires. He includes only the necessary keys to his success (amazingly, he does know what those keys are). I was impressed with King's exposure of his method of writing from a SITUATION rather than from a precise PLOT outline; I still find myself chewing on that daring technique (though I do still appreciate a strongly plotted story). What I believe On Writing has exposed better than many writing ?how to? books is tapping into the Right Brain. As I?ve observed the styles of many authors of novels, they each seem to be almost ?designed? by DNA to work in different precise balances of Right/Left Brain. The Left Brain wants steps, plots, outlines, plans and structure to be elaborately perfect prior to that leap into the ozone. The pure Right Brain wants only the chaos of riding a storm of the absolute unknown, describing it as it explodes into the presence of present time, constantly changing, churning. That, my dears, is horror itself. And fun. That?s the fountainhead.
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Novel
by
James A Michener
Linda Shelnutt
, April 15, 2006
A Living Literary Gem Set In Gestalt of Historic Novels It is very likely that, within the prolific progress of his production as an historical novelist, Mr. Michener received hoards of letters from writers who had spent a few years bruising foreheads on publishers? warded doors, then wised-up and tip-toed around to the alley looking for an in through an established author. THE NOVEL is a response to this and much more. A telling book about the gestalt of publishing, focusing on the midwife process of book-length-fiction, THE NOVEL releases the secrets of its journey from conception to The New York Times Best Seller List. Intriguingly, THE NOVEL is significantly shorter than Michener?s other novels, and it?s written in a somewhat experimental storytelling technique. In Michener?s other novels he uses honorable, tried-and-true techniques. In this toe-in-the-water literary experiment, Michener separates his narrative into four illuminating Parts, each written from the unique, First-Person-Narrative points-of-view of The Writer, then of The Editor, then of The Critic, and then of The Reader. Switching Narrative style has been a firm ?No No.? Once The Novel had established Lukas Yoder in First Person, the whole book would have been written from that point-of-view, i.e., ?I am Lukas Yoder and I got up this morning at 5 am feeling ... Here?s how I see my editor, critic, and reader ...? Too many experimental works of fiction, as Michener exposes in THE NOVEL, gleefully toss out the rules and write a piece-of-work so incomprehensible, so unidentifiable, so ?out there? as to be impossible to READ, let alone enjoy or, heaven forbid, escape into and live vicariously with well drawn characters who follow the rules of story-living. Michener breaks the rules just enough in THE NOVEL to have produced a refreshingly delightful, yet poignant and powerful literary work. He has delivered a literary presentation equal to the term, which, unfortunately, often brands any work of fiction with the stigma of being boring or depressing. THE NOVEL is far from dull or depleting. It provides a rich reading experience, alive with Pennsylvania Dutch ambiance bridged into the glitzy world of NYC publishing. Each of the Four parts of THE NOVEL work so well that the dramatic-display-of-differences among each of the four is clarified through a glass brightly; the nuances of each part are painted in oil-color, brilliant-contrast as they neatly emerge among antithetical ambiances of Writer, Editor, Critic, and Reader. When they?re read sequentially within the bindings of this novel, these four unique gestalts interweave warmly, coalescing into a portrait of the dynamic dichotomy of the world of, in, and around the living force of the Novel.
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R Is For Ricochet
by
Sue Grafton
Linda Shelnutt
, April 15, 2006
Darker Sunlight. Expanded Class & Syntax. Qtr Pounders Stable What I enjoy most about Grafton?s signature lead in is her suave philosophical tidbits about the truly big issues in life. In this case Kinsey was narrating her usual, a classic detective novel, neon-light soliloquy, about most of us never really learning anything to the point of making life, habit, or behavior changes. She?s moaning the moan about the backfire guarantee of most romantic choices people repeatedly make, and about her twice fried and burned, marital non-status. Easily shifting beyond the intro blurbs, riding w/Kinsey in her V-Bug to the scene of her new client?s abode, I looked around the mansion and studied Nord Lafferty, the debilitated, elderly rich man hiring kinsey. I read through the enlightenment that he wanted Kinsey to pick up, at a local prison, his only daughter, Reba, who was being released. After listening to the warning from the client that his daughter was rebellious and difficult to deal with, and his explanation that he had been recommended to Kinsey by one of the retired cops who had cancer (with whom Millhone had worked with in ?Q?), I closed the covers of the book, wide-eyed, feeling slightly depressed and tremendously impressed. Recalling the scene I had just read, I wondered why it felt so quietly angry and lacking in light (even though those scenes around meeting Nord took place during a bright, hot, sunny California day, the emotional temp felt like death on a holiday). I would no longer feel condensed when Kinsey stepped into her cute, miniature, remodeled apartment next to her landlord (a well-maintained, highly active man in his 80's). Her environment had expanded, but the expansion was (partly) into a wider, dark, frigid, hostile, degenerating world. I had noticed something else in those early scenes, beyond the subtle ?space expansion? of setting and plot Grafton had conjured. I noticed that the author?s syntax had kicked up several notches in painting the crisp clarity of a view of the world only Grafton could create. Her wordsmith ability had always been gutsy and grand. Now it was that, impregnated with what felt like an underlying, edgy realism, which worked into Sue?s plot/scene-complexity as an addicting spice upgrade. Of course, Grafton?s humor was still there, along with the warm scenes from her personal life around Henry & siblings, Rosie, and Cheney. AND, the various romances wove perfectly, flickering bright/dark/bright, into the thematic structure, applied with Sue?s signature genius carried through the last page and lingering.
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Shoofly Pie to Die
by
Barbara Workinger
Linda Shelnutt
, April 15, 2006
Pickle Barrels, Covered Wooden Bridges, Wrap Around Porches: lcons of the Amish Mystique. In this second book in this series, Granny Hanny opens the story again with the murdered victim scene one, front stage. This time granny doesn?t get far. She goes down. The brief, crisp, chilling prologue reflecting the books?s cover art creates a dramatic contrast to the first chapter?s warm exchanges around community goings on featuring Amish quilting events, past and upcoming weddings, and massive fund-raising auctions of quality goods. The word, ?barrel? returned the prologue events into chapter one, chust as this reader?s anxiety had almost been comforted out-of-mind. I had just let go of wondering how long I?d have to read to find out where in the plot the prologue scene would shoe-in and explain at least the first phase of itself: What the heck was Hannah doing in that wet-grass, stream-damp setting, and how did/would she get rescued? Workinger adeptly uses artistic cultural icons to ground her setting for plot workings. In the Hanny pilot, IN DUTCH AGAIN, Workinger used the deep, wrap around porch?s symbolism of the idyllic intimacy of farmhouse life, and of the natural exchange between outside elements of nature, and the protective structures of home fires. In this second book, in addition to the pickle barrel, the author featured an antique, covered wooden bridge, allowing horse & buggy to hoof-clop briskly over burbling streams. In chapter two the cover art sketched into the plot when Hannah mentioned her plan to get the lead out of a few pencils by etching the likeness of the covered bridge. The story?s gradual back-stitching from ongoing plot to pieces in the prologue gave a chilling, vivid contrast of malice set against the warm, bright, tones of Amish life, which was dressed cleanly within the clear-cut hues of black-on-white. In the ideals of the Amish world, black is as clean as white, both unsullied, even as they?re smudged with the soil and sweat of honest labors ... wood chopping, mowing, sewing, cooking, barn raising, and reaping. The realistic perspective on the Amish culture was friendly, without pushing either Amish or English as the better deal. Even though I don't quilt, which was the focus in Shoofly around which the plot pivoted, I found the quilting facts and ambiance to be appealingly informative. In wrapping up the overall character of SHOOFLY PIE TO DIE, I?m left with the natural warmth, the heavily satisfying, convoluted mystery plotting with multiple murders knotted together amazingly well, and the intriguing way Workinger deals with ?excuses? for the amateur sleuthing activities.
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Cooks Overboard
by
Joanne Pence
Linda Shelnutt
, April 15, 2006
Brain-Dancing With Grey Cloud Finesse This novel opened with a dramatic, brow-puzzling change in Paavo?s character. The change was so perfectly etched into flawless syntax and so absolutely unexpected, it zapped the buzz wizz chaos of my reality, welded it into a reading focus, and snapped me into the book before I could get a clue on what hit me. I was glued to Paavo?s every lifeless word and rare thought as Pence polished his presence as a lackluster blob of nothingness. Who was this guy dragging around a dead attitude of non-investment-in-anything-suspicious, shuffling around with a drool-grinning acquiescence of whatever slithered up to him? Due to the effective hook of this Paavo puzzle, COOKS OVERBOARD was more fast paced than some of the other novels in Joanne Pence?s Angie Amalfi series. I was compelled to surge my reading speed because I absolutely had to know what had caused Paavo to become to this lost soul, sleepy non-entity. Angie?s antics sidestepping around and hot-footing into Paavo?s dead-weight dullness was entertaining; her lively spirit was used well with poking, prodding attempts to re-connect to a Paavo who seemed to no longer be THERE. If I didn?t have a feel for the outer limits of Pence?s parameters for ozone travels into the paranormal realms, I?d have wondered if Paavo?s body had ingested an alien being, or been possesed by an evil spirit. I was given just the right amount of access to Paavo?s thoughts, in just the right amount of plot spacing to be strung along nicely without becoming impatient. In addition to be carried into the plot by curiosity about Paavo?s personality switcheroo, I easily slid into the vicarious venue of being aboard a freighter rather than a cruise ship. Lacking the garish, boorish, carnival brightness of the typical cruise mood, the no-frills freighter developed quickly into a surprisingly full-bodied fictional world. Pence made good use of the ambiance variances of the freighter Vs cruise setting by detailing the dining locations, types of menu, cabin arrangements, passenger interaction, etc.
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Godwulf Manuscript
by
Robert B Parker
Linda Shelnutt
, April 15, 2006
Boston-baked-beans. No Torn Halves of Claim Checks. Searing the Social Brine Different from the style Parker has perfected in his later Spenser novels, this pilot is richer and meatier in setting and action, with the dialogue taking a back seat to the narrative drama. I like the mood of the pilot, as well as the evolution of it as Parker geometrically-progressed Spenser into a phenomenon. The opening scene of an interview with the university principal captured instantly. I cheered Spenser as he identified and put down a classic, pompous azz. Couldn?t resist the soul honesty of a P.I. who wasn?t vulnerable to or taken in by sheer snootiness. Spenser continued reinforcing my be-glued-ability by being brutishly unimpressed by any type of status, prestige, power, or pomp. He breezed aloofly and artfully through the first half of the book, sloughing off every character?s attempt to control or intimidate him, including clients (who gave him retainers) with oodles of prestige and/or money and class-stature, including a heady collection of various levels and types of police presence (who gave him grief, which he returned in Sam Spade finesse). I gleefully began to get a picture of what Spenser didn?t respect (me neither), a clear idea of what he observed with crisply designed disgust. As I applauded with high entertainment, I was egged on to know the type of person he would respect. The first simple, ?I liked her? didn?t show up until I could measure well over a third the total page thickness. Note the ending passage of a murder scene in which Parker exposed his rich history of having wallowed in the marrow of detective fiction: ?There were no telltale cigar butts, no torn halves of claim checks, no traces of lint from an imported cashmere cloth sold only by J. Press. No footprints, no thumb prints, no clues. Just a drowned kid swelling with death in a shabby bathroom in a crummy apartment in a lousy building run by a grumpy janitor. And me.? It?s not the way a detective novelist describes Death which tells the tale of his seasoning. It?s the way he sets the murder scene, describes dead bodies, and picks at clues around them. To see this, read chapter 15 from its opening, through the murder scene, through the above quoted passage, to the point of the building super saying, ?Yes sir.? I slipped effortlessly from tearing to cheering. Loved the way Quirk and Spenser did their first male bonding scene in which Spencer answers each of Quirk?s litany of nagging concerns with ?me either.? Also enjoyed the earlier hostile scenes between these two justice juggling guys as they took their time taking measure of each other, yet seemed to sense kindred-ness ?at first sight.? This is a pure and polished gem upon which a pulchritude of a collection has grown, written by an author who had already primed his seasoning as a novelist. That he continued writing from that level and plateau-ed higher has earned him every sparkle of limelight. I?m thankful when what I get for my dime allows me to wine and dine in my mind, as the author sears the social brine.
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Mcnallys Caper
by
Lawrence Sanders
Linda Shelnutt
, April 15, 2006
The Whimsical Essence of Evil is Rancid Oil to Archy?s Fresh Spring Rains. CAPER is like a full-bodied, dry red wine with smoky breaths of woody violets and a nearly imperceptible wisp of grape (Concords). Archie?s relationships with other characters in CAPER are even richer than normal, especially the connection with detective Al Rogoff. This novel dealt with true eccentrics, and worked through a subtly sour attitude in Archy. His crankiness toward the chaotic castle actually made me look forward to an enthrallment effect of the Gothic castle setting. Archy?s continued reference to the whole world being crazy made me feel that Sanders was attempting a major revelation in CAPER, yet felt he might not be able to quite get it across. I was warmed by Archy?s continued exchanges with the child, Lucy. Those scenes drew me more deeply into the plot, and were ironically enhanced by the seeming increase in CAPER of the elder McNally?s chilly demeanor. ?What is it NOW, Archy,? was repeated each time Archy approached his pater with vital info he had been asked to obtain, yet Archy seemed to take this impatience in stride. It wasn?t until the ending scenes that the sire asked, ?What is it Archy? sans ?now.? Maybe Sanders was setting up a contrast to give the ending scenes more impact. If so, it worked. Archy seemed to be pushing his need to taste a variety of women, and to explore the more seamy, heartless, bloodless sexual expressions. His scenes with Sylvia were clearly a toe in the water of an ?evil? he described as whimsical, almost whispering-ly angelic, careless and thoughtless. And his conclusions were fascinating, at the time, and later, of the type of perversion which some of the characters embodied so compulsively. In this novel the characters periodically descend into various dark moods, but the kicker angle of angst was that restless type of empty depression which chains a soul to a dissatisfied body, agonizing over a primal moan, ?Is this all there is.? It appeared as if Sanders were studying that edgy mood of ennui which was so adeptly dramatized in THE GREAT GATSBY, the ?mood disorder? which can drive some people into the visceral dungeons of heinous acts. Archy is such an unlikely character to immerse himself into this type of mood, even with the noble purpose of understanding its every nook. In concluding scenes, several ?keeper? conclusions are zinged out by le pater, Archie, and Al.
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