On Fesperman, McMurtry and sportswriting in The New Yorker

Book 71: Layover in Dubai by Dan Fesperman

It's an entertaining book, but Dan Fesperman's Layover in Dubai is nonetheless a book that relies far too much on convention and cliche.

The recipe is a familiar one: take one innocent, drop him into a pot of boiling trouble and watch him not only escape the boiling pot, but succeed admirably by bringing a quintet of bad guys to justice.

You've read it before. We all have. In this case, the innocent is Sam Keller, an auditor for an international pharmaceutical company. Sam's asked to do a favor of the company's head of security; a favor that begins by extending a six-hour layover into a couple of days. Before you know it, Sam's on the lam, wanted by his company, the corrupt Emirati police and a couple of hulking Russian no-goodniks.

Sam's only ally is the one non-corrupt man on the Emirati police force who -- yes, it's true -- has a lovely daughter who defies Muslim convention, along with her mother and father.

What lifts Layover in Dubai above the run-of-the-mill thriller is Fesperman's detailed description of Dubai. It's not a place I want to visit, except from the safe confines of Fesperman's novel.

Book 72: The Only Game In Town, Sportswriting from The New Yorker, edited by David Remnick

I suppose that if you weren't a sports fan you might make a case against The Only Game In Town. Then again, the writing is so crisp, so vivid and just so damn wonderful that I don't think a case can be made against the anthology at all. Instead, I'd argue that it shows once again how great writing can (and does) make any topic fascinating.

In compiling such an anthology, Remnick has had a rich treasure trove to plunder. Here's John Cheever, Calvin Trillin, Dan DeLillo, Susan Orlean (with an all too short article), John McPhee, Malcolm Gladwell and . . . that's only a fraction of the writers.

Shaq is here. Tiger Woods, too, and Lance Armstrong.

The Only Game in Town shines because of both the writers and the written about.

My favorite piece, and one that I estimate I've read a dozen times, and would gladly read a dozen more, is The Web of the Game by Roger Angell. Angell sits in the stands with Smokey Joe Wood while watching a baseball game between Yale and St. John's. The game is notable because Wood is in the stands and Ron Darling and Frank Viola are on the mound for Yale and St. John's respectively.

My suggestion is buy this book now and set it in the shelf for the coming winter. When winter arrives, I prescribe a story a day.

Book 73: Hollywood by Larry McMurtry

Larry McMurtry's a clever man as evidenced by his multiple careers as rare book dealer, novelist and screenwriter.

He's written about each in a series of memoirs -- Books, Literary Life and now Hollywood. Yes, that's correct. Three memoirs when one would have done the trick.

All are rather light; each even given to the occasional one paragraph chapter. McMurtry notes, coyly I thought, in Hollywood that readers have complained about the brevity of the chapters in the previous two books.

My sense is that McMurtry believes he'll generate a little more coin for himself through the sale of three memoirs rather than one. Perhaps so. I certainly bought all three.

More power to him. There's the occasional entertaining anecdote, but no more than that. Really, Larry, you could have done better by yourself.

Tepper's The Margarets a deeply moral work; Petterson's I Curse the River of Time falls flat

Book 68: The Margarets by Sheri Tepper

The Margarets by Sheri Tepper is a sprawling book featuring one protagonist who is really seven characters (or seven protagonists who are really one character), an assortment of minor characters, numerous alien races and equally numerous planetary settings.

Yet somehow -- well, we know how, Tepper is a vastly talented writer -- Tepper keeps all the plates spinning and delivers a thoroughly suspenseful, thoroughly satisfying read. The Margarets stands alongside some of her finest work -- Grass, The Gates to Women's Country and The Family Tree.

The Margarets is about the efforts of a shadowy collection of cat-like aliens, humans and minor god to save the human race by giving humankind a racial memory. The only way this can be done is by fulfilling an ancient prophecy that "one road is seven roads, walked simultaneously by one creature." Hence, the Margarets, seven individuals spawned from one young girl who begins her life on the Martian satellite, Phobos.

The Margarets is a work of vast imagination. And, like the best of Tepper's writing, it is also a deeply moral work, exploring the boundaries between good and evil inhabited by the human race.

Book 69: A Fatal Grace by Louise Penny

Listen closely. These are words I do not often use. I was wrong. In writing about Louise Penny's first book, Still Life, I indicated that this new series, set in Canada, would feature Chief Inspector Armand Gamache of the Sûreté. And that is true, some of the paperback editions of this series proclaim that it is A Chief Inspector Gamache Novel.

But . . . I did not go far enough, because these novels are also about the small Canadian village of Three Pines. (Other paperback editions of the series proclaim that the book is a Three Pines Mystery.) Each murder has occurred in Three Pines and at least a half dozen of its villagers have been recurring figures in the two mysteries I have read so far.

Now that the record is straight on to A Fatal Grace.

I liked Still Life quite a bit, but was disappointed with A Fatal Grace in its early pages. Or so I thought. Actually the book's murder victim, who is alive in the first 50-odd pages, is such an annoying and unlikeable person that I was reacting to her, not Penny's work. Once the murder takes place and Gamache enters the scene, we have a delightful and diverting mystery.

Book 70: I Curse the River of Time by Per Petterson

Amazing, isn't it, how themes so often appear in our reading. I disliked a character in Louise Penny's mystery and it affected my entire outlook of the novel until she exited.

In much the same way, a character's personality has a negative influence on Per Petterson's I Curse the River of Time. If we're going to compare books, and that is inevitable, I think, then I Curse the River of Time is not in the same league as Out Stealing Horses, the superb novel that introduced most Americans to Petterson's writing.

The problem is Arvid Jansen, the book's narrator. Arvid is 37, but as his mother observes, "I wouldn't call him a grown-up. That would be an exaggeration."

Arvid is attempting to come to terms with the knowledge that his mother has cancer and little time to live. This is difficult for Arvid because there is a long-standing emotional distance between him and his mother, largely because Arvid is immature and self-centered. His fascination with Communism, his refusal to further his college education and his impending divorce all serve to make him a disappointment to his mother. Since being a disappointment to one's mother is something we've all experienced to one degree or another, this should make Arvid a sympathetic figure. It doesn't.

Petterson is a skillful and insightful writer, but in this book that seems to work against him. Arvid is such a vivid character and the tone that Petterson has built is so unrelentingly bleak that the reader feels compelled to keep the book at some distance. As with Arvid and his mother, the reader cannot make an emotional connection with the writer.

F**K Me, Ray Bradbury, a literate pop video

You never know what's going to pop up on the Internet these days, do you?

Take, for example, Fuck Me, Ray Bradbury, a music video featuring a literate (truly), pop song about a school girl's love, and lust, for the celebrated science fiction author.

In your face, Nabokov.

Kings of the Earth a terrific companion volume to Finn

In March 2008, Jon Clinch made an appearance at a bookstore in northern Virginia. There were less than a dozen of us in attendance to hear Clinch read from and talk about his debut novel, Finn.

That must have been a disappointing night for Clinch, to appear before such a tiny crowd on the outskirts of Washington D.C., in a bookstore that would normally attract more than a hundred readers for well-known authors -- Elmore Leonard, for example, or Ian Rankin. I remember sharing his disappointment.

Finn had been received well critically, but obviously didn't attract many readers. I thought it was a smashing debut; inventive in telling the mythic story of Huck Finn through the eyes of his cruel, devious and drunken father, Pap.

Kings of the Earth, Clinch's second book, is just as inventive, just as powerful and just as well-written as his first novel. It's captured the attention of critics and, one would hope, has also attracted more readers for this deserving author.

Kings of the Earth is the story of three brothers who lives are largely confined to their dairy farm in upstate New York. The story is told through multiple points of view -- a well-meaning neighbor, the brother's sister and nephew, the brothers' mother and the brothers themselves -- and jumps back and forth through time.

The book's publishers (Random House) published a quote from the San Francisco Chronicle on the book jacket's inside flap that compares Clinch to William Faulkner, Toni Morrison, Cormac McCarthy and Edward P. Jones. Those comparisons aren't wide of the mark, but one name is missing from that list -- E.L. Doctorow.

In its Gothic tone and sympathies that are stoutly in support of this trio of innocent, yet ignorant protagonists, Kings of the Earth greatly resembles Doctorow's 2009 novel, Homer & Langley. Both books delve into the eccentric, yet benign, side of man.

One can't help but wonder if the appeal of these two books -- beyond the excellent writing -- doesn't lie in the fascination we have for such eccentrics and in the realization that there, but for the grace of God go I. One only needs to watch a couple of episodes of American Picker to know that there are oddballs throughout the country and, if displaying a little self-awareness, understand that a love for books can all too easily become a mania.

Kings of the Earth is a terrific companion volume to Finn. Clinch has established himself as a first-rate novelist and an insightful chronicler of the loners and oddballs who populate the sidelines of American life.

An ear for dialogue distinguish Faithful Place and The Friends of Eddie Coyle

Two hits, two misses.

The misses first:

Book 63: Bicycle Days by John Burnham Schwartz

I have an affinity for the writing of John Burnham Schwartz. It's not simply that I like his writing, but his tone, the subject manner and his approach to it and, finally, his romantic sensibility all appeal to me.

Bicycle Days is Schwartz's second book. The problems inherent with most novelists' second books are present here. Schwartz loses control of his material near the end of the novel and that's disappointing. But to his credit, Schwartz deftly handles most of this story of a stranger in a strange land. It's closely observed. Schwartz gives us a sense of what it is like to live in a foreign land. He also approaches the Japanese with fondness and respect that foster genuine understanding.

I can't say that Bicycle Days is a great book, or even a very good one. If you like Schwartz, I think you will like this one, or parts of it anyway. If you're unfamiliar with Schwartz try Claire Marvel or The Commoner.

Book 65: Work Song by Ivan Doig

Let's get this out of the way. Work Song is a disappointment. I truly admire so much of Doig's work: This House of Sky, Winter Brothers, The Sea Runners, English Creek, Dancing at the Rascal Fair, but the magic that filled those books is missing here.

Work Song is set in Butte, Montana just after the end of World War I. It's a rough town. Violent, with conflicts constantly brewing between the owners of the Anaconda Copper Mine, the miners and the Wobblies (the I.W.W.) Yet Doig's tone is all wrong; it's almost light-hearted, blithe in a way that does not ring true with the tenor of the times.

Much of the problem is with Doig's characters. Morrie Morgan, who first appears in The Whistling Season. Morgan is too good to be true. He may have succeeded, marginally, in a one-room schoolhouse in the Marias Coulee, but in Butte, in a novel about a conflict between miners and miners owners, he isn't believable or appealing.

Doig also throws into the mix a pair of good-hearted, retired Welsh miners; a comely, yet good-hearted landlady; a skinny, but speedy waif improbably dubbed the Russian Famine; and a reformed rancher, who once hung rustlers with impunity, but now confines himself to collecting rare books; as well as reviving "Rabrab," one of Morgan's students in The Whistling Season, now grown into a comely, but good-hearted young woman, who is dating the head of the miner's union;

It's an unappetizing, unbelievable jumble by an author who has written so many better books.

Now on to the hits:

Book 66: The Friends of Eddie Coyle by George V. Higgins

We're approaching the 40th anniversary of this crime novel written in 1972 by Higgins who was an assistant U.S. Attorney in Boston at the time.

Much of Eddie is dialogue. In his work in the U.S. Attorney's Office, Higgins developed a ear for the way people talk and he was able to vividly capture it on paper.

It's a great novel, and an important one, providing a template for all the writers of crime novels and thrillers and mysteries that followed.

Eddie was made into a film in 1973 starring Robert Mitchum and Peter Boyle.

Book 64: Faithful Place by Tana French

I read this book under the worst possible circumstances. I knocked off the first 200 pages in a couple of days, but then work and travel and vacation meant that it took more than a week to finish the remaining couple of hundred pages. There were days I didn't read it at all, and days where I was lucky to read 10 or 15 pages without interruption. Most novels can't survive that kind of inattention. Faithful Place not only survived my neglect, but established itself as one of the best books I've read this year.

Set in Dublin, the novel is a stew of family regrets and resentments and class warfare. Early in the book a character asks, "What are you willing to die for?", but a better question might be "what are you willing to kill for?" because murder -- two of them -- is at the heart of the lies and anger and violence that animate this story.

French is a powerful writer, who, like Higgins, has an ear for dialogue. Her characters are finely drawn and one cannot help but hope that she will write again about her central character, Frank Mackey, a Dublin cop, who hasn't seen his family in more than two decades.

Mackey is reluctantly drawn back into contact with his family and his old neighborhood when a suitcase that surfaces in an abandoned building leads to the discovery of a body. The mystery that Mackey sets out to unravel is sufficient to carry a book, but French has raised the bar by also weaving a compelling narrative of Mackey's efforts to delicately weave his two lives into one.

Book 62: Kate Atkinson's One Good Turn

Book 62: One Good Turn by Kate Atkinson

Hi Kate! Remember me, it's your Number One Fan Boy. I just finished One Good Turn and here's a funny thing -- I hope you think it's a funny thing -- I read this book in 2008, but I didn't remember that until Goodreads told me so.

I checked the archives of my reading lists (yes, I really call it my archives) and Goodreads was right. It's not that I'm obsessive-compulsive or anything like that, but the book was on my reading pile (pile 3, the one comprised of books to read now) and I thought, "Well, do I put it back or read it again?" And I went ahead and read it again. It was on the pile. I mean it could have been, must have been, fate.

I'm glad I did. Since I had originally read it before Case Histories, which introduces Jackson Brodie, I was missing important perspective on Jackson and Julia. I'm glad you included her in this book. I wasn't expecting that, but it provided important insight into her relationship with Jackson. (Although I guess that's off now.)

I hope this won't mean a demotion -- from Number One Fan Boy -- but I didn't like One Good Turn quite as well as Case Histories or When Will There Be Good News? Still, an average book by Kate Atkinson is better than the best book by a lot of authors. I really believe that!

Many of the characteristics that I've begun to associate with you as a writer are present: your humor, your Dickensian use of minor characters and your ability to take a good many, seemingly discrete events and wrap them all together into a satisfying whole. (I especially like how you even make fun of that last characteristic near the end of this novel.)

So that's it. I know you have a book coming out this fall and I am SO EAGER to read it. Meantime, I can feed my addiction by reading a couple of your early books that I still haven't read. At least, I don't think I have! Ha! Ha! I'm just being funny too. Of course I haven't read them. (I think.)

With affection,

Still, and Always, Your Number One Fan Boy!

Coe plays games with the reader in The Terrible Privacy of Maxwell Sim

Book 61: The Terrible Privacy of Maxwell Sim by Sebastian Coe

Seldom has an author undermined his own novel as successfully as Sebastian Coe undermines his most recent work, The Terrible Privacy of Maxwell Sim.

In the final eight pages of the novel, Coe, a British author, commits the literary equivalent of seppuku. In those pages, Coe delves into metafiction. He pulls back the curtain to expose the fraud perpetrated upon the reader in the book's first 332 pages.

Metafiction is when an author self-consciously addresses the devices of fiction, exposing the fictional illusion. I have no problem with metafiction as a literary device. Paul Auster uses it to good effect. The difference between Auster and Coe is that Auster ushers the reader behind the curtain in the early stages of the novel. That makes all the difference. With Auster we're in the joke. With Coe, Ha, Ha, silly wanker, the joke is on us.

The Terrible Privacy of Maxwell Sim is a story of alienation, of a man lonely and alone in the midst of a communications cornucopia. Sim, who is clinically depressed, has lost his job, his wife and child. He's estranged from his father and his best friend. And, Sim discovers, having 72 friends on Facebook doesn't count for all that much.

Sims talks to the sat-nav system in his rented car (he's seduced by its voice), applauds the proliferation of chain restaurants because he finds the sameness they offer comforting and he seems to be in deep denial about his sexuality. He's one messed up man.

Early in the novel, there is a reference to John Updike's Rabbit novels. With reason. Sim's middle class angst, alienation and depression echo the life of Updike's Rabbit Angstrom.

Here's a suggestion, pass up The Terrible Privacy of Maxwell Sim and read the Rabbit novels. Updike isn't playing games with the reader.

An introduction to the writing of Louise Penny

A lot of my friends recommend books to me. It's something I welcome, and something I fear. Welcome, because through the years I have come to trust the judgment of many of my friends and family about books to read. Inevitably, I am introduced to a fine new author; an enjoyable new book. Fear, because my reading pile is growing at the rate of the national debt. It's difficult to keep up and there are times I simply don't want one more book that I've got to read.

So there was some trepidation, and a sigh or two, when a friend recently recommended the works of Louise Penny. Actually, my friend didn't merely recommend Penny's mysteries, he bludgeoned me with entreaties to read her. I received email after email explaining why I needed to read this Canadian writer.

So, I did . . .

One book. Her first, Still Life.

And exactly what I feared would happen happened. I liked it, a lot.

Book 59: Still Life by Louise Penny

Not surprisingly, Penny's books are set in Canada. They revolve around Chief Inspector Armand Gamache of the Sûreté. We learn a few things about Gamache in this introductory novel: He's a crack investigator; sensitive, observant, thoughtful and more than a little stubborn. His career has stalled. He and his wife are empty nesters.

Clearly, in future books, we will grow even more familiar with Gamache and his team.

Gamache is one of the reasons Penny's books are so appealing, but not the only one. In Still Life we are presented with a genuine mystery. Someone in the village of Three Pines has murdered a retired schoolteacher. Who? Why? So many books today that belong to the genre eschew the mystery, and it is the mystery that is often so exquisite. Penny has given us one to chew on.

And then there's Penny's writing. Given a rainy Saturday, this book would be a one-day read. That's not to slight Penny, but to praise her. She writes well, with clarity and pacing. She is as observant as Gamache, offering delightful insights and asides that contribute to the richness of the reading.

Humbert H. Humphrey once said, "My friends. My god damn friends." The context of H.H.H.'s remarks aside, I share his sentiments. Now I have four more books that I absolutely, positively need to read.

Book 60: When That Rough God Goes Riding by Greil Marcus

Recently, I returned from a business trip to Seattle. I flew out early to spend time with my oldest son who lives there. We spent a couple of days haunting book stores, record stores and restaurants. And when I flew home, I carried along a vinyl copy of Van Morrison's Tupelo Honey. I have a CD verison of the album, but misplaced the actual record years ago.

Coincidentally, or maybe not coincidentally at all because I like Van Morrison, when I returned home there was a copy of Greil Marcus's When That Rough God Goes Riding waiting for me. I had thought Marcus's book was a biography of the Irish singer. It's not, and if I'd paid more attention to the sub-title, Listening to Van Morrison, I would know that.

When That Rough God Goes Riding is a work of musical criticism. Marcus provides his observations about Morrison's performances on specific songs . . . Tupelo Honey, Baby Please Don't Go and Caravan, for example.

It's an interesting book, but not one that I can entirely embrace. The fault is not with Marcus, but myself. I don't have the sonic chops that Marcus has. We don't hear the music in the same way. He hears with a depth of understanding, and appreciation, I will never have. For me, I either like a song or I don't. The same with performers. And I don't give it much thought beyond that.

And that's the other reason I'm not enthusiastic about the book. I have no difficulty applying this kind of criticism to literature (can someone tell me, would it be considered deconstruction?), but I can't bring myself to think of music in this way. So I am just going to put Tupelo Honey on the turntable and listen to it and not think about the music at all.

+++

There's a Great Northwest theme to this post. I purchased Still Life at the Mystery Bookshop in Seattle. It's a marvelous little shop bursting with books. The staff is knowledgeable and there are some treasures to be found there. When That Rough God Goes Riding came from Powell's Books in Portland. It's as large and sprawling as the Mystery Bookshop is compact. There are treasures there too.

A summary of recent reading

Book 55: Books Do Furnish A Room by Leslie Geddes-Brown

Books on books, one of my favorite literary genres, play a prominent role in my recent reading. (See below) This book by Geddes-Brown is a lovely entry. Short on text, long on photographs, Books Do Furnish a Room is a visual testament to its title.

I've kept this book close to hand for several months; leafing through a few pages at a time. I'm still reluctant to put it on the shelf. Gazing at photograph after photograph of book-lined rooms and inventive approaches to the shelving of books is, well, relaxing to me. Somewhat akin to my childhood practice of curling up with the Sears catalog as Christmas approached.

Book 56: Black Cherry Blues by James Lee Burke

Black Cherry Blues is the third book (1989) in Burke's series featuring Dave Robicheaux. All the ingredients found in Burke's later Robicheaux novels are present here, including the over-writing, florid descriptions and passages that simply don't make much sense. Which is to say that if you approach this book unfamiliar with Burke you may like it, but if you've read most of his oeuvre it's going to be deja vu all over again.

Why do I keep reading Burke's books when I feel as if it's the literary equivalent of the hiccups? I can only associate it with the same compulsion that causes me to probe a sore tooth with my tongue.

Book 57: The Case for Books by Robert Darnton

I was bitterly disappointed by The Case for Books, which leaves itself wide open to legal charges of willfully mis-titling a book. But then naming it, Boring Academic Essays That Are Largely Irrelevant to the Current State of Affairs in Publishing might not sell any books.

The essays are devoted to books, that much is true, but also e-books and the impact of e-books upon research libraries. Most of the essays were written early this century -- yes, as much as nine or 10 years ago -- and, thus, seems to have little or no relevance to the current state of affairs.

I like books about books, but not this one.

Book 58: The Jennifer Morgue by Charles Stross

I freely concede that most readers of this blog (all six of you) won't understand my affection for Charlie Stross's Laundry novels (this is the second and a third is due out soon), but I like them, Sam I Am. I do. I do.

As a reminder, the Laundry novels, which feature the cool, but nerdy Bob Howard, are a brilliant combination of Len Deighton's spy novels and the creepy other-worldly stylings of H.P. Lovecraft. Yeah, it's that weird.

In The Jennifer Morgue, Stross lovingly (actually he's a tad mean) spoofs the spy novels of Ian Fleming, creator of that most famous of spies, James Bond.

The super-villain is The Jennifer Morgue has cast a spell that makes it possible for only a certain archetype, a hero in the James Bond mold, to defeat him. Bob thinks he's the guy, but as it turns out he's not. I'll say no more, except that Bob is cast in another role very familiar to fans of Bond films.

It's all great fun. The soul-sucking, creepy crawlies from another dimension are cast back into the vasty deep and Bob Howard enjoys a well earned vacation. Sort of.

I Write Like . . .

Take note of The Book Bench's post on the I Write Like site. I dropped in some text and am told I write like Stephen King. I'm not sure how to take that. I've never read King so I know I'm not influenced by him. I felt an odd combination of amusement and gratification.

A fanboy's assessment of Kate Atkinson's Case Histories

Book 54: Case Histories by Kate Akinson

Raise the white flag.

Throw in the towel.

I surrender. Any attempt at objectivity or fairness is not possible. I am a Kate Atkinson fanboy.

With the completion yesterday of Case Histories, I have now read three books by Kate. And I like her better as a writer with each subsequent book.

Other than the fact that she's a great writer and storyteller, I like Kate's work (forgive the overly familiar use of her first name, but that's how we fanboys are) because it's Dickensian. There were obvious comparisons between Great Expectations and Kate's first book, Behind the Scenes of the Museum. But the similarities don't stop there.

Like Dickens, Kate has the knack for creating vivid minor characters. Characters who are not mere cardboard cut-outs, but who wear the mantle of humanity in ways that illuminate and amuse and that cause the reader to pause and say, "I know that man." "I've met that woman." Her characters are quirky and vulnerable and real.

And, like Dickens, Kate has the amazing ability to leaven horror -- a toddler gone missing, a teen-age woman inexplicably and brutally murdered -- with humor. She understands that one of the basic truths of life is that it goes on and that laughter and hope often follow the most horrific events.

Those moments of horror -- the missing toddler, the murdered teen -- along with a rural ax murder (it would have to be rural, wouldn't it), form the case histories that are presented to Jackson Brodie, Kate's retired military police and erstwhile police inspector, who is now a private investigator.

Some of the humor in Case Histories derives from Brodie's private musings and misgivings-- he's horrified by the stirring of an erection while in a dentist chair and he has absolutely no tolerance for his ex-wife's new husband. This is, of course, part of the reason Brodie is such a wonderful protagonist. He's smart and competent and affectionate and as deeply screwed up as the rest of us. He wants to move to France. He dwells on his eight-year-old daughter's safety and he sometimes sleeps with the wrong woman.

What important here, aren't the cases -- although Brodie does solve two of them and the third is resolved entirely to the reader's satisfaction (this reader anyway) -- but the interaction between Brodie and his clients. It is in this interaction that Kate's characters are at their most human and Kate is at her most entertaining as a writer.

I've completed three highly entertaining books as June turns to July.

Book 51: Do They Know I'm Running? by David Corbett
This is Corbett's fourth book and his second paperback original. Allow me to linger on that concept for a sentence or two. Apparently Corbett's publishers have decided -- because of low sales, I suppose -- that he is worthy of publishing, but not in hardbound editions. Some day, this book will be in hardbound as will its predecessor and those that follow. Corbett is superb. Don't believe me? The cover blurb to this book, from George Pelecanos, compares him to Robert Stone and Graham Greene. Blurbs on the back are from John Lescroat, Daniel Woodrell and Ken Bruen. Lescroat compares Corbett to Greene and Hemingway.

Yeah, he's that good. And, if it's possible, Corbett raises his game in Do They Know I'm Running? It can be read as a simple thriller, but, like Pelecanos and Lehane, Corbett is attempting to write a serious book about a serious societal problem . . . illegal immigrants who make their way (or attempt to do so) from Mexico and Central America to this country.

I shouldn't say "is attempting" but Corbett succeeds at exactly what he sets out to do. He has given us a thoroughly entertaining work that lingers long after the final page has been read. Do They Know I'm Running? is a provocative exploration of the innocent men and women, young and old, who come to this country because they are trying to build a life, and a future, for their families.

Unfortunately, they are subject to predators on both sides of the boarder. In this country, they live in constant fear of deportation. They work the meanest jobs -- the jobs we won't work -- for low pay and ill-treatment. South of the border they are subject to the not-so-tender mercies of gangs, drug cartels and corrupt military and police.

Do They Know I'm Running? is a powerful and sobering work. It is Corbett's finest book to date and that's saying a lot.

Book 52: Burley Cross Postbox Theft by Nicola Barker

This is an epistolary novel, meaning it unfolds through a series of letters. The letters are ours to read because someone has broken into the postbox in the picturesque village of Burley Cross. The letters are recovered by the police and entered into evidence.

Through the letters, written by a variety of townspeople, we gain insight into Burley Cross as well as the letter writers. There's a lot going on in this English village, mostly behind the scenes.

Burley Cross Postbox Theft is an inventive, comic novel of rare insight.

Book 53: Spies of the Balkans by Alan Furst

Tone, setting, vivid characters and splendid research -- from the nuances of European history to the proper brand of cigarettes -- are the hallmarks of Furst, who delivers another entertaining novel of intrigue, heroism and political reality.

This one is set in Greece in the early 1940s. France is under occupation and Nazi Germany is beginning to turn its attention to Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Albanian and Greece. Furst's hero is Costas Zannis, a senior police official in the Greek city of Salonika, who is soon drawn into the war when he meets a Jewish woman from Berlin who is trying to help two young children flee the Nazis.

Spies of the Balkans has so many reasons to recommend it: a gripping narrative, tone and setting that are absolutely spot on and characters who emerge fully formed and whom the reader quickly comes to care about. This is a top-notch work by Furst.

Finally the July 5 New Yorker contains a short story, The Erkling, by Sarah Shun-lien Bynum. She's one of the 20 under 40 authors spotlighted by the magazine. It's a good story, creepy and open-ended, and among the best put forward in the magazine's 20 under 40 campaign.

50 books as mid-year approaches

The Trade of Queens, Book Six of the Merchant Princes by Charles Stross

Beyond writing his own brilliant brand of science fiction, Charles Stross has an absolute knack for reviving sub-genres created by other writers.

There is, for example, the absolutely weird, but totally captivating "Laundry" series that blends the creepy "things-go-bump-in-the-night" imaginings of H.P. Lovecraft with the thrilling espionage novels of Len Deighton.

In his "Merchant Princes" series, Stross taps into territory mapped out by the late Roger Zelazny. (Stross also credits the influence of H. Beam Piper.)

The Trade of Queens is the sixth and -- for now -- final installment in the Merchant Princes series. Although Charlie leaves this particular series with more questions than answers, one can understand his desire to explore new ground.

It's a good series, not a great one. Inventive, as all Stross books are, and throughly entertaining. Where else would you find Dick Cheney conniving to lure an alternate-universe group of narco-terrorists into bombing Washington D.C. (dispatching both the President and his residence) so that he can seize the reins of government? That's not really a question, the answer is nowhere.

Don't worry, Cheney's reign as President doesn't last long, although his successor is no prize either. I'll miss the series, but I'm confident that whatever Stross cooks up to replace it will be equally satisfying. In the meantime, I have one installment of the Laundry series yet to read.

Roger Maris, Baseball's Reluctant Hero by Tom Clavin and Danny Peary

The authors of this overdue biography spend far too much time at the beginning of the book exploring a rift in the Maras family. Yes, Maras. Roger and his brother and parents changed the spelling of their name after moving from Minnesota to North Dakota.

The undue focus on the Maris family feud is the only quibble I have with this biography. The authors' knowledge of the game is sound and they do an especially good job of placing Maris' career in perspective.

A few observations gleaned from the book:

• Maris was a talented, all-around athlete who had a deep understanding of the game of baseball. He was no mere slugger who got lucky in 1961. His defensive skills have historically been over-looked and under-valued.
  
  
• In a 12-year career, he played in seven World Series, winning three. He was a four-time All-Star and two-time MVP. His teammates, whether the Yankees or the Cardinals, universally respected him as a man and an athlete. Mantle sobbed at his funeral.
  
  
• George Steinbrenner emerges as a hero in the Maris story. Treated abysmally by the Yankees ownership while a player there, Maris nursed a long and bitter grievance against the club. Steinbrenner finally convinced Maris to return to Yankee Stadium where he was gob-smacked by thunderous applause.
  
  
• The New York press in 1961 was mean-spirited and irresponsible.
  
  
• Cardinal fans were much more knowledgeable about the game than their New York counterparts.

There's a preponderance of baseball bios in print just now. This one belongs at the top of any sports fans reading list.

The New Yorker, June 14 & 21; June 28
The New Yorker unveiled its "20 Under 40" list -- 20 writers under 40 that the magazine believes are among the best of their generation.

My thoughts on the stories of these writers in the two issues listed above:

The Pilot by Joshua Ferris: Ferris is always interesting. This story is a little creepy, but in a good way.

Here We Aren't, So Quickly by Jonathan Safran Foer: Mercifully brief. His novels were better.

What You Do Out Here, When You're Alone by Philipp Meyer: Meyer's American Rust was good, but not great. I liked this short story a lot.

The Entire Northern Side Was Covered With Fire by Rivka Glachen: Must be part of a novel.

Lenny Hearts Eunice by Gary Shteyngart: I couldn't finish it. I liked Absurdistan a whole lot more. At least I finished it.

Dayward by ZZ Packer: Part of a novel that I really want to read.

The Kid by Salvatore Scibona: I liked this better than his novel, The End, which I didn't like much at all. Again, this must be part of a larger work.

Twins by C.E. Morgan: Promising.

The Young Painters by Nicole Krauss: Part of a novel? I certainly hope so, it didn't make the grade as a short story.

Book 48: The Girl With Glass Feet

Every reader comes to a book with a certain set of expectations. Sometimes those expectations are met. Occasionally exceeded, and -- all too often -- expectations fall short.

That was my experience with Ali Shaw's debut novel, The Girl With Glass Feet. I'm not sure where the expectation came from, but I was anticipating a fantasy novel. What I got was something altogether different.

There are elements of the fantastic in this novel: a beast who turns any creature who looks into its eyes entirely white, moth-winged bulls and, most notably, a girl who is slowly turning to glass beginning with her feet.

I expected these odd elements to come together into a fantastic whole. I expected a quest. Wizards. Great battles. Heroism. Fantasy novels require something of the epic even in a prosaic setting: Think of the terrifying barnyard battle between good and evil in Walter Wangerin's superb Book of the Dun Cow.

There's none of that here. There is a love story and while it doesn't rise to the level of say Romeo and Juliet it has its moments. The young lovers evoke something heroic in one another; each is able to rise above their limitations -- one to face death bravely, the other to confront life.

It's an OK debut, but only that. Over-written as such novels tend to be. Quiet, but perhaps too quiet, too reserved. It wouldn't be a bad book for a wintry weekend amid ice and snow and lowered expectations.

Further thoughts on The Hand That First Held Mine

I'm still thinking about Maggie O'Farrell's The Hand That First Held Mine.

This first observation contains something of a spoiler. I won't go in to much detail, but take note, I don't want to ruin this novel for anyone.

There's a character in the novel who is both the victim of a deception and who later deceives another character in a similar manner. I didn't pick up on this at first and then I was gobsmacked. It's a brilliant piece of writing on O'Farrell's part.

I also neglected to mention in my post yesterday that the author's handling of her two main female characters is extraordinarily tender. It reminds me of the song Be Careful by Patty Griffin. Here's a sample lyric from that song:

All the girls working overtime
Telling you everything is fine
All the girls in the beauty shops
Girls' tongues catching the raindrops

All the girls that you'll never see
Forever a mystery
All the girls with their secret ways
All the girls who have gone astray

Be careful how you bend me
Be careful where you send me
Careful how you end me
Be careful with me

Be careful how you bend me
Be careful with me

Book 47: Maggie O'Farrell's fine The Hand That First Held Mine

The Hand That First Held Mine by Maggie O'Farrell (book 47)

Both the writing and storytelling in Maggie O'Farrell's powerful The Hand That First Held Mine contain a rare elegance and skill. Authors often fall prey to overwriting, which distracts from the beauty of the narrative, but not O'Farrell who writes with a clarity and a certainty that are a joy from the opening sentence to the final one.

The novel is made up of two stories that ultimately converge, although initially it is difficult to see how this can be.

When we first meet Lexie Sinclair, in the mid '50s, she is in her early twenties and soon to flee her parent's home in Devon for the arms of her one true love in London. While in London, Lexie also learns a craft and later becomes a talented and enterprising journalist.

Elina Vilkuna, whose story is set in the present day, is a young Finnish artist married to a London film editor. When we first meet Elina she is recovering from a near fatal delivery of a baby boy.

Motherhood unites Lexie and Elina. O'Farrell writes poetically of the almost inexplicable love that wells up, like water from some spring deep in the earth, after the birth of a child. And, she writes with equal power of the drudgery -- the endless chores, the feeding, the crying, the cajoling.

In an article for her newspaper, Lexie writes: "We change shape . . . we buy low-heeled shoes, we cut off our long hair. We begin to carry in our bags half-eaten rusks, a small tractor, a shred of beloved fabric, a plastic doll. We lose muscle tone, sleep, reason, perspective. Our hearts begin to live outside our bodies. They breathe, they eat, they crawl and -- look! -- they walk, they begin to speak to us."

Motherhood, too, unites them in an unexpected way.

O'Farrell stitches the women's two stories together neatly with a slow, but steady hand. A painting is discovered in a bedroom. A name emerges that ties one character to another. And then the read becomes aware of a variation on another name.

As the novel's end approaches, it is clear that from Lexie's standpoint something horrific has taken place, but what and how only unfolds in the final pages.

There is great sadness here, but joy too; enough for a reader to smile through tears.

+++

One final note on this exquisite book. Take a look at the dust jacket from England that is pictured above and then find the jacket from an American edition. The American edition stinks. The cover of the English edition first attracted me to this book and, to me, perfectly captures the essence of the novel.

Three thrillers comprise June reading

Off the road. Back to the blog.

Three thrillers comprise my latest reading -- books 44, 45 and 46. There's no mystery here. These are all noir-ish, hard-boiled thrillers featuring a distinctive anti-hero.

The Last Good Kiss by James Crumley
Let's take them out of order and start with the book that influenced the others -- James Crumley's The Last Good Kiss. You can bet that Child and Corbett were influenced by Crumley. Even if they haven't read his work, they've read Lehane and Connelly and Pelcanos. And they have read Crumley.

In a September, 2008 interview with the Washington Post, written following Crumley's death, Pelecanos said: "If you asked us to name one book that got us jacked up to write crime novels, it would be The Last Good Kiss. He (Crumley) tried to describe the country in the wake of Vietnam. It wasn't a detective novel. It wasn't a cop novel. He showed us a crime novel could be about something bigger than the mystery itself."

There's violence and sex and a mystery here, but it's the tone that is most important. Crumley's P.I., C.W. Sughrue, is a man with a distinct code of right and wrong. He's hard drinking and has a touch of the romantic. He's the kind of guy that will take a beating silently, but get riled, to the point of murder, over the death of some dogs.

The Last Good Kiss doesn't end well. It's not meant to because Crumley's take on the world is that it's screwed up and men like Sughrue will do the best they can, but it's never enough. Ultimately, they have to walk away -- sadder, but wiser.

61 Hours by Lee Child
Child's anti-hero, Jack Reacher, would recognize Sughrue. Reacher's a bit more polished, but only a bit. Late in this novel Reacher dispatches a bad guy, who also happens to be the local sheriff, with a shot to the head. Reacher has never hesitated to execute his own brand of justice.

But I had problems with this book -- and I am a fan of Child's work. Reacher's a little late taking down the sheriff. The answer is right before him, but he doesn't recognize it until two good people die. That offended my sense of justice.

Plus, there is some doubt that Reacher survives his most recent escapade. Child's clever in how he sets this all up, even introducing a character that could conceivably (but not really) step in for Reacher in a new series. Authors get bored, I understand that, but I don't like the uncertainty created by this cliffhanger.

Besides, in a interview with journalist Craig McDonald Child notes that John D. MacDonald's Travis McGee series was "one of the great series of all time . . . He kept that going for 21 books. That would be a great target to aim at."

Reacher will be back.

The Devil's Redhead by David Corbett
I've been a fan of Corbett since reading his second novel, Done for a Dime. Such a fan, in fact, that I am flat out pissed that his most recent two books have been paperbound only. Obviously Corbett is still searching for his audience, but this decision by his publisher is inexplicable. Listen folks this guy is a great writer and a great read.

His first book, The Devil's Redhead, is a nice little love story. Really. Yes, there's a lot about moving shiploads of marijuana and the meth trade in California and the battle for supremacy of said trade, but the heart of the novel is Corbett's anti-hero, Danny Abatangelo's efforts to reunite with his lost love.

It's an exquisite tale that finds time to be instructional among the over-the-top violence.

Read all three books, but for my money Corbett is the guy.

Final photo from grand tour of Europe

This is my final "book" photo from Europe. This was taken at the Schloss Vollrads vineyards. I liked the juxtaposition of wine bottles and books.

Recently finished the new Jack Reacher novel, 61 Hours. Some thoughts on that book soon. It will contain spoilers.

Strasbourg and Amsterdam book stalls

The top two photos are from Amsterdam, where I stumbled on some book stalls. The bottom two photos were taken in Strasbourg, France, which has a lovely little book market near its city center. The books are sold in the shadow of the Notre Dame Cathedral.