The Sea of Tranquility

 

Dying really isn't so bad after you've done it once. And I have. I'm not afraid of death anymore. I'm afraid of everything else.

The Sea of Tranquility

Katja Millay

 

Ah-h-h... Finally! A really, really good book. It sometimes takes dozens of reads, weeks and months of mediocrity, and then the breathless excitement and anticipation of a fresh, compeling story. And then, almost immediately I worry that it'll end too soon. I want the mysteries unfolded, the conflicts resolved, but I want to spend a lot of time with these characters. I really like them, with all there imperfections and misjudments; their brokenness and despair.

 

This time, at least twice I thought I'd read the last chapter, the end. Then, there was more. Enough more to bring not only resolution, but redemption and hope.

 

I want to spread the word, this is a well-conceived, well-written novel. Don't be deceived if you note a Young Adult classification to this title. It is a very mature story.

Another great paragraph...

 

Cookies, I need to bake cookies. It's the next best thing to running. Not really, but I do love cookies and I don't like the shit they sell in packages, which is what Margot buys. Oreos are acceptable. Because they're Oreos and no mattrr what you do, you can't replicate them. Trust me on this one. I've spent more than a few days in my kitchen trying to do just that. It's never going to happen. So Oreos get a pass, but factory-sealed chocolate chip cookies that are shelf-stable for up to six months are another story. Life is too short for that. Believe me, I know.

pg. 34

 

Stephen White

From the first...

 

 

To the last...

 

 

I'm a fan, as is CA. We've read each one along the way, and in 2007, I re-read the backlist.

 

We've grown intrigued by Boulder and the Front Range, internalizing locations and details. Visiting twice over the years, and recently with ideas of living in that area part-time.

I've loved the characters, their struggles and stories. Lauren's MS; Sam's bravado; Alan's ethics and loyalties. Raoul and Diane. Adrianne and Peter. Jonas and Grace.

 

I haven't loved the trajectory toward this last in the series of 20. Starting with Peter's startling demise and shocking deceit. Angry at the destruction of Lauren's character. The internal kind of character; not the invented person.

 

I'll miss Alan Gregory. My assumed knowledge of psychology and psychosis is built more than a little from these novels. I do love the mix of psychology and storyline. Much more interesting than spies or police procedurals.

 

The series is done. Like Patricia Cornwell stepping back from Kay Scarpetta, the time has come for Stephen White to give Alan Gregory a clean break. I don't expect a future resurrection, but I hope for more novels with Boulder and the Front Range as a main charcter.

 

Trains and Lovers

This is a story of four people, all strangers to one another, who met on a train, and of how love touched their lives, in very different ways. Love is nothing out of the ordinary, even if we think it is; even if we idealise it, celebrate it in poetry, sentimentalise it in coy valentines. Love happens to just about everyone; it is like measles or the diseases of childhood; it is as predictable as the losing of milk teeth, or the breaking of a boy's voice. It may visit us at any time, in our youth but also when we are much older and believe we are beyond its reach; but we are not. It has been described as a toothache, a madness, a divine intoxication--metaphors that reflect the disturbing effect it has on our lives. It may bring surprise, joy, despair and, occasionally, perfect happiness.

Trains and Lovers

Alexander McCall Smith

 

Great writing. Obvious contradictions. Love is certainly not ordinary. The complexities of love have enlivened centuries of literature, music, drama... Wars and crimes of passion are fueled by love and its opposite. Love is the driving force of all nature. Love is elusive; sometimes fleeting. We hunger for its constancy; fulfillment. We yearn for perfect love. Expect divine and expansive love. Yet, flee from Divinty. Perfect love casts out fear.

 

True Crime

 

I wonder how many books have been written with this very same title, True Crime? I mean, it's an entire genre. But, this one is fiction. Totally.

Now the eye of God and the eye of the news media are frequently mistaken for one another, especially by the news media. But whether or not Frank Beachum was being watched over by the former, one member of the latter had him firmly in her heart and mind.

True Crime

Andrew Klavan

pg. 6

1st paragraph, Chapter 2

 

 

I'll be interested in watching Clint Eastwood's take on this excellent book.

 

 

 

Tenth of December

From the title story, excerpted in...

“Writing short stories is very hard work.” That, at any rate, is what George Saunders had to say on the subject some years ago, in an essay about the postmodern master Donald Barthelme, and lest anyone raise a skeptical eyebrow — since by then Saunders had already proved himself to be one of the most gifted, wickedly entertaining story writers around — he continued to wring his hands, revealingly, a few pages later: “The land of the short story,” he fretted, “is a brutal land, a land very similar, in its strictness, to the land of the joke.”

NYTimes

By GREGORY COWLES

Published: February 1, 2013

 

I always enjoy short stories, and George Saunders' are supremely well-written and quirky. I found the opener--Victory Lap--to be poignant, introspective, and realistic. Stories layered into, around, and beneath the tale. I wonder about these kids' futures...

Why was it, she sometimes wondered, that in dreams we can't do the simplest things? Like a crying puppy is standing on some broken glass and you want to pick it up and brush the shards off its pads but you can't because you're balancing a ball on your head.

pg. 26

Tenth of December

George Saunders

 

 

 

The Devil's Cave

 

Bruno Courréges seldom felt happier about the community he served as chief of police than when standing at the rear of the ancient stone church of St. Denis, listening to rehearsels of the town choir. Unlike the formal ceremonies at Mass when the singers dressed in neat white surplices, the choir practiced in their normal dress, usually gathering immediately after work. But Father Sentout's daring decision that the choir should reach beyond its usual repertoire to attempt Bach's St. Matthew's Passion had required some additional rehearsels early in the morning. Farmers stood alongside schoolteachers and accountants, waitresses and shopkeepers. These were people Bruno knew, wearing clothes he recognized, and usually singing hymns that were familiar, perhaps the only memory of his church orphanage that still gave him pleasure.

Martin Walker

The Devil's Cave

 

 

This is 6th in the series of Bruno Courrèges, Germandier of St. Denis in the Dordogne department, southwestern France, which corresponds to the ancient county of Périgueux.

 

This entry in the series is my new favorite, although I've fully enjoyed them all--learning much about the history of the region and of France, the people and culture of the Pèrigueux, and the foods and produce that underwrites the economy and way of life.

 

Don't miss the unbelievable roast chicken recipe on pgs. 226-229.

 

San Miguel

About suffering, they were wrong,

The Old Masters; how well they understood

Its human position: how it takes place

While someone is eating or opening a window

or just walking dully along.

--W.H. Auden, Musée des Beaux Arts

Historical fiction. Extremely well-done. Makes me want to read the historical accounts of the true inhabitants: The Legendary King of San Miguel (Elizabeth Sherman Lester), San Miguel Island: My Childhood Memoir, 1930-1942 (Betsy Lester Roberti) and Mrs. Waters' Diary of Her Life on San Miguel Island (edited by Marla Daily).

Inez Deane

Does life go on? It does though she sank low enough to consider the alternative, even going so far as to take her stepfather's rifle down from its hook and caress the trigger where it shone silver from use, and she spent one dismal fog-haunted afternoon suspended over the ocean on a fragment of rock no wider than the seat of a chair, daring herself to jump. She could hear the crash of the waves, taste the salt spray. The damp penetrated her hair, slicked the rock till it might have been greased....

pg. 199

San Miguel

by T.C. Boyle

 

 

Great backlist. I'm excited. I love finding an author I love who's beenbwriting for awhile. Keeps me happy m