In 'The Searcher,' French finally offers a somewhat happy ending

Perhaps Irish-American author Tana French’s nihilism is softening with age, but the main character of The Searcher, which launched in October, is less tortured and ends up less troubled than any of the detectives in her Dublin Murder Squad series or her first stand-alone novel, The Witch Elm.

American ex-cop Cal Hooper buys a run-down farm in a tiny Irish village in an attempt to escape the trauma of his former job and his failed marriage. A North Carolina country boy, Cal is damaged by what he sees on the job with the Chicago police force. He wants nothing more than to fish, shoot a few rabbits, visit the pub occasionally, and have little to do with other people.

That plan is shattered when a local kid asks for his help. Trey’s brother has been missing six months, and Trey first asks then pressures Cal to help. Cal reluctantly agrees, but he’s no longer a cop, so his only resource is his own wits. Cal starts asking questions, and that’s when trouble finds him.

Cal discovers that his seemingly idyllic village is not as it appears, and his neighbors have secrets he never would have guessed. He also discovers that he must re-examine his own moral code and perhaps make some adjustments. He learns that he can’t be the person he was in Chicago and still be happy.

Typically a French novel concludes with the protagonist destroying his or her career, life, or both. In some there is no clear resolution, which leaves the reader unsatisfied and anxious. In fact, in French’s previous novel, The Witch Elm, the main character ruins his life because of his own self-doubt.

However, The Searcher leaves the reader feeling more satisfied than French’s other novels. Cal comes to realize he can’t “fix” every wrong, but he can help Trey, and himself, find some closure and some peace. Most of French’s protagonists destroy what they were hoping to build. Refreshingly, Cal finds a way to salvage his dream.

As always, French’s prose is spellbinding and lyrical:

At first the river feels like what he needs. It’s narrow enough that the massive old trees touch across it, rocky enough to make the water swirl and whiten; the banks are speckled orange-gold with fallen leaves. Cal finds himself a clear stretch and a big mossy beech tree, and takes his time picking a lure. Birds flip and sass each other between branches, paying no attention to him and the smell of the water is so strong and sweet he can feel it against his skin (p 89).

The beautiful imagery combined with the dialect of the earthly, witty characters creates an appealing atmosphere that engages the reader even when the action slows down.

When Cal expresses concern about him and his neighbor angering the bar owner after a particularly long and raucous visit to the pub, his neighbor reassures him: “’Barty?’ Mart says with magnificent scorn. ‘Sure, that pub’s not even rightly his. He only got his hands on it because Sean Og’s son fancied himself sitting in an aul’ office, the big jessie. He can put up with us having a wee carouse every now and again’” (p 216).

Additionally, the third person limited point of view keeps the focus entirely on Cal, his struggle adjusting to his new life, and his methodical investigative process.

Not what anyone would call fast-paced, The Searcher still holds the reader’s attention with tense, sometimes violent confrontations, one shootout, and the conversations of the hilarious old men in the pub. However, it is not nearly as slow at The Witch Elm, French’s previous title, which is only slightly longer, but offers no narrative hook or inciting incident until about 150 pages into the book.

‘The End of October’ accurately predicts pandemic

I was a bit nervous about reading Lawrence Wright’s “The End of October,” a novel about a flu pandemic, during a pandemic. However, I was intrigued about this book, released in June, that predicted 2020 so well.

Wright began his career as a journalist. He has written for Texas Monthly and Rolling Stone and is currently a staff writer at The New Yorker. His prose is definitely that of a reporter: clear, concise, and engaging.

In fact, I finished the book in just three sittings despite its nearly 400 pages. I could have finished it in just two, but I had to make myself put the book down around midnight. This is not bedtime reading.

The main character is Henry Parsons, an infectious diseases expert with the CDC. He goes to Indonesia to investigate a particularly strange outbreak at a refugee camp. Other experts have concluded that the outbreak is shigella, a type of bacteria. However, what Henry finds at the camp is shocking, and he begins his months-long search to identify the virus and a treatment.

However, it is too late for Henry to prevent a pandemic. He has to use his wits to return home after he is trapped in Saudi Arabia and hitches a ride back to the U.S. aboard a nuclear submarine.

Wright accurately predicts not only the spread of a novel virus and the reactions of individuals and nations, he also predicts an outbreak at the White House, and that the U.S.’s adversaries use the opportunity to launch attacks on America.

Some readers have complained that the first half of the book contains too much scientific information. However, I regard that as one of the book’s strengths. Through Henry’s investigation, the reader learns about the different types of influenza viruses and what their names mean, about important scientists in the fight against viruses that have plagued humanity, and about famous accidents in that research.

Wright’s book is a very compelling thriller. The characters are interesting, and the plot is believable for the most part. Wright does jump the shark with the “mad scientist” character who has learned to regenerate extinct species.

Although I did have a couple of nightmares after reading “The End of October,” I still enjoyed it tremendously, and I’m glad I read it, if only because we have not suffered the millions of deaths and the complete failure of society as did the people in the story.

Yet.

Reading often has side effects

Any reader can list the many important benefits of reading: a broader perspective, wider general knowledge, improved critical thinking, larger vocabulary, and, of course, enjoyment. But heavy readers, committed readers—addicted readers—can also list the adverse effects of reading.

A few of reading’s adverse effects are nearly inconsequential: a messy house, unwashed laundry, and a lack of sleep. Other side effects can be emotionally devastating.

For instance, the book hangover can leave its victims like zombies: the body functions, but the mind is absent. Well, not absent; just not present in the real world. A book hangover happens when a reader finishes reading a book but cannot let go of the story. The reader walks around, going through the motions of life, but her mind is still in the story.

Fantasy, science fiction, gothic tales, and period novels are the genres that most often produce a hangover, especially if the book is particularly long. I experienced one of my earliest book hangovers after I finished “The Mists of Avalon” by Marion Zimmer Bradley, a monumental retelling of the King Arthur legend from the perspectives of Morgan Le Fay and Guenevere. At nearly 1000 pages, and filled with love, magic, betrayal, and death, Bradley’s book easily takes possession of the reader.

I was only casually interested in the Arthur legend before reading “Mists.” Afterward, I was obsessed. I couldn’t let go of the story, so I sought it in other books, primarily “Le Morte d’Arthur” by Thomas Mallory and “The History of the Kings of Britain” by Geoffrey of Monmouth. I must have been desperate, because neither Mallory nor Monmouth would be considered “gifted writers” by any estimation.

Luckily, when I was teaching high school sophomores, the curriculum included a unit on the Arthur tales. There were three heavily edited tales included in the textbook. Fortunately, I had a wealth of materials, and enthusiasm, to supplement with. You can imagine my students’ reaction to my attempts to imbue my Arthur passion in them. I can still hear the eyes rolling.

A more debilitating side effect of reading is story grief. The greater the quality of the book, the greater the risk of grief once the reader is finished. Book grief is an overwhelming sadness and sense of loss after finishing a particularly powerful story. Sure, you can reread the book, and a second, or third or fourth, reading can give the reader greater insight into the plot or characters. However, first reading is special, when the reader falls in love with the characters, the setting, the themes, and the events.

Book grief sadness results from believing that you’ve just read the best story in the entire world and will never find another story that you like as well. My most recent experience of book grief was just a few weeks ago when I finished “Miracle at St. Anna” by James McBride.

“Miracle,” based on actual events, is the story of a group of four Buffalo soldiers fighting in Italy in WWII. They get lost in the mountains while trying to avoid the German troops massing not far away and planning a huge assault on the American forces. It’s primarily the story of Sam Train and the small Italian boy he rescues from a fire fight. The characters are earthy and endearing, the dialog is realistic, and the events are heartbreaking. This story, which includes magical elements, is one of both devastating loss and redemption.

A book hangover can be treated by reading more books on the same topic or with the same characters. For instance, after reading “Jane Eyre” many times, and each time feeling hungover, I turned to “The Wide Sargasso Sea” by Jean Rhys, and “Mr. Rochester” by Sarah Shoemaker. “Sargasso” is Bertha’s (the crazy wife in the attic) story, “Mr. Rochester” is Edward’s life story. Both offer new perspectives on the classic tale and allow the reader to ease herself back into the real world.

However, book grief cannot be so easily cured. Like any other kind of grief, the reader must allow herself to grieve. I find it hard to start a new book for several days until the book grief subsides. Moreover, I am wary of what I pick up next. I don’t want to ruin a perfectly good book by comparing it to the impossible standard of the book I am grieving.

So I’ve found it useful to go back to a guilty pleasure, like true crime, Nordic Noir, or sci-fi. Although I enjoy these genres, I don’t have the same expectations of them as I do with literary fiction.

You may have noticed that the cures for both adverse side effects is more reading. Naturally.

Substantial and fun titles fill a summer of lockdown and recovery

Like so many people at high risk (due to age and infirmities) because of the ongoing emergency, I am stuck at home. However, I had begun not just to get used to lockdown, but really to enjoy it. I was cooking like crazy, even making three different breads in one day, I adopted a kitten, and I was plowing through that to-be-read pile on my nightstand.

However, shoulder surgery has put a kink in my fun. I can’t cook, even with the help of a somewhat reluctant sous-chef (the roommate). I can’t exercise. It’s too hot to take a walk. All that’s left for me is reading. I am not crying.

Last week’s reads

When we used to go out into the world, we liked to visit the used book store, piling up ambitions to be fulfilled later. Sometimes titles get pushed to the bottom of the pile repeatedly for more intriguing finds. For me, one of those was “The Partly Cloudy Patriot,” a collection of essays by Sarah Vowell, an author, journalist, essayist, actress, and contributor to “This American Life.” I selected the book because I had heard a review of a more recent title, “The Wordy Shipmates” on NPR.

Vowell calls herself a history buff, and the essays in “Patriot” include topics such as presidential libraries, historical maps showing California as an island, a letter to her deceased congressman, and the founding of the Canadian Mounties. Although some of the essays are dated, bemoaning the election and inauguration of George W. Bush, (which seems quaint now) they are still entertaining.

Vowell addresses her topics with insight and humor. On a “pilgrimage to Gettysburg,” Vowell writes, “Fact is, I think about the Civil War all the time, every day. I can’t even use a cotton ball to remove my eye makeup without spacing out about slavery’s favorite cash crop” juxtaposed with Lincoln’s own words, that “it may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God’s assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men’s faces.”

Vowell also argues that Tom Landry was her first entrée into existentialism because he introduced her to “dread: nagging, doubting, gnawing fear. And I’m not even referring to the ’79 Super Bowl.” Rather, she refers to her Tom Landry Christian comic book, which was meant to inspire with tales of redemption, but instead “clued me in to the horrors of the world.” I will definitely be reading more from Vowell.

For one of my book clubs I read “Where’d You Go, Bernadette” (2012) by Maria Semple. It is a great, fun summer read. Talented, troubled, and quirky Seattle housewife Bernadette goes missing from her own home as her husband tries to have her committed to a mental hospital. But Bernadette is merely a misunderstood misanthrope. Her daughter, Bee, sets out to find her, following her to the literal ends of the Earth, Antarctica.

2013 Alex Award recipient Semple is an alumnus of the writers’ rooms of “Mad About You,” “Arrested Development,” “Saturday Night Live,” and “Suddenly Susan,” among other television shows. And “Bernadette” is in the same vein: hilarious situations, unbelievable coincidences, characters that change in an instant, and a very happy ending. Not a substantial read, “Bernadette” was fun and worth the time I spent on it.

This week’s read

I am in the middle of “Deacon King Kong,” by author, journalist, and musician James McBride. I put the book down only to write this column.

I taught McBride’s first book, a memoir, “The Color of Water,” for many years to my Advanced Placement juniors. To a person, they loved it. “The Color of Water” was a best seller and is considered a masterpiece.

Using two narratives decades apart in chronology, McBride relates his life growing up with 11 siblings in New York City, and his mother’s life as a Polish-born Jew who grew up in Suffolk, Virginia. McBride’s lyrical style and the book’s masterful structure make it a tremendously touching and a rewarding read.

“Deacon King Kong,” set in 1969 in a Brooklyn housing project, is a novel that gives us earthy, gentle, hilarious characters such as Sportcoat, Hot Sausage, and the Elephant. The novel opens with 50ish handyman and hard-drinking Sportcoat walking out to the project plaza, shooting baseball-phenom-turned-drug dealer, Deems, in the ear, and then not remembering any of it.

Drug ring enforcer, Earl, is then out to punish Sportcoat, but repeatedly suffers the same fate as the would-be burglars in “Home Alone.” Who knew that slapstick comedy could work so well on the printed page?

Sportcoat’s main concern is locating the church Christmas fund that his wife oversaw before she died by walking into the harbor. Where did she hide it? Where did she keep the records? Side plots include love stories: married cop Potts falls for the preacher’s wife and Tomaso “the Elephant” Elefante becomes infatuated with an Irish girl. And there are other mysteries. I can’t wait to get back to this one.

What’s next

On my TBR list are “Mexican Gothic,” “The End of October,” and “A Covert Affair.” The first two I chose for my book clubs. I love a good gothic tale. My favorites are “Wuthering Heights” and “Frankenstein,” and “Mexican Gothic” is in that tradition.

“The End of October” is a weirdly prescient and disturbing novel about a devastating viral pandemic that begins in Asia. I know what you’re thinking and you’re right. I could just watch the news.

“Covert Affair” concerns one of my strange obsessions, Julia Child. It is an exhaustive account of the time that Julia and Paul Child spent in the OSS, the precursor to the CIA. I’ve read many articles that describe the Childs as spies, but they were not. Julia was a keeper of secrets. She kept and catalogued secrets that the spies discovered, and then doled out information to other spies as they needed. She called herself a glorified file clerk. Paul, the artist, created maps and graphs before the days of desktop publishing. He was also a very skilled photographer, so happily for us, he left a treasure trove of photos of their life across the globe.

As you can see, no matter how many hours I devote to reading, the pile on my nightstand does not get any smaller.

Cooking with Julia

Like so many others, I have spent a great deal of time the last three months cooking at home. I think I’ve cooked more dinners in the last three months than in the last 20 years. As a public school teacher, I was probably putting in about 60 hours a week working, so I never felt inclined to stand on my feet another couple of hours cooking and cleaning up. My other half did nearly all the cooking for the last 30 years.

However, that has all changed. I fell in love with cooking after falling in love with eating on a trip to France in 2015. Naturally, any American who wants to learn to cook French cuisine is going to turn to Julia Child.

All I knew of Child was from the film “Julie and Julia,” so not much. I received “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” for Christmas that year. Child and her co-authors wrote the cookbook specifically for American home cooks who know nothing about French cooking. However, it is not for kitchen novices. Most of the recipes have many ingredients and many steps.

For instance, coq au vin (one of my favorite dishes) requires 16 ingredients and 11 steps, including pouring in cognac, “averting your face,” and igniting it. Very intimidating.

The next year I received “Julia’s Kitchen Wisdom,” which has become my cookbook of choice. This is the one I consult first when planning a menu or looking for a particular recipe. In a mere 135 pages, this book offers a full range of recipes from soup to dessert.

In the introduction, Child explains that this book began as her “loose-leaf kitchen reference…corrected as I’ve cooked my way through the years,” emphasizing technique. It doesn’t replace the gargantuan detailed, all-purpose cookbook like “Mastering.” Rather, it is a “mini aide-memoire for general home cookery.”

Because it is such a thin volume, the information is very dense. Child presents instructions for steaming, boiling, and sautéing vegetables in a series of charts. As in “Mastering,” recipes are grouped with the master recipe listed first, and then the variations.

Happily, many of the recipes are simplified. Coq au vin and beef bourguignon are grouped together because they are essentially the same recipe with different proteins. The recipe is shorter with slightly fewer ingredients than the ones in “Mastering.” And the coq au vin/beef bourguignon recipe doesn’t require igniting anything.

Another Child cookbook that I love looks like a coffee table book: it’s huge, thick, has glossy pages and stunning photography. However, don’t be fooled. The recipes and techniques in “Julia and Jacques Cooking at Home” produce delicious dishes.

Child collaborated for decades with Jacques Pepin. Reading the recipes and the commentary from each chef, one can easily imagine these two good friends in a kitchen, cooking and laughing (and drinking wine).

Many recipes are presented side by side, with Julia’s version and commentary on the left page and Jacques’ on the right page. And this is the book for both the serious, experienced cook and the beginner. The authors fill 11 pages just on artichokes, but also provide several sections on technique, including photos for each step.

Each chef provides a great deal of commentary on each section and each recipe. Julia prefers white pepper and Jacques prefers black, and they both prefer kosher salt because it is easier to pick up with the fingers. The size and weight of the book notwithstanding, this is an excellent book to curl up with and read in addition to being a useful tool in the kitchen.

With so much time these last months, I’ve been able to explore new recipes that have been successful enough that my other half takes seconds or requests a particular dish. I haven’t dined in a restaurant since March, but we have been eating well. And that helps make staying at home bearable.

A happy ending is good therapy

I’ve never been one to back away from books about difficult topics, including true crime, dystopian societies, ghosts and monsters, wars, abusive childhoods. I’ve enjoyed books about all of these. However, I’ve recently craved some happy endings. Maybe I’ve been reading and watching too much news lately, or maybe I’ve been confined to my house for three months. Or maybe both.

Last week I read “Hag-Seed” by Margaret Atwood. It made me smile, laugh, and feel a little bit better for a while.

If all you know of Margaret Atwood is “The Handmaid’s Tale,” this is nothing like it. “Hag-Seed” is a modern retelling of Shakespeare’s comedy “The Tempest.”

Washed up and half-mad theater director Felix Phillips, alias Mr. Duke, takes a job working with convicts in a medium-security prison. Each winter he selects a group of inmates to produce one of Shakespeare’s works, usually one with lots of battles or swordfights and few women’s roles.

However, when he learns that his nemesis (and usurper) and other corrupt government officials will attend his next production, he quickly chooses “The Tempest” and uses it to exact revenge on his tormentors and regain his job as artistic director of a small-town theater.

There is plenty of physical comedy and irony in this clever adaptation, including Ariel (a spirit) and Caliban (a monster). Readers do not have to be familiar with Shakespeare’s play in order to enjoy and appreciate “Hag-Seed.” However, for those who are interested, Atwood includes a detailed summary of “The Tempest” at the back of the book.

The novel is also layered. In addition to being comical and histrionic, Felix also evokes our pity at the loss of his young wife and then his three-year-old daughter, aptly named Miranda. In his grief he imagines Miranda with him at whatever age she would have been had she lived. He talks to her at home and even imagines her accompanying him to the prison to rehearse the play. His imagination is so vivid, he nearly conjures her into being.

And Felix, like most teachers, quickly establishes trust and rapport with his students, their criminal backgrounds notwithstanding. He allows the cast to rewrite lines they find troubling and add their own rap songs to the script. He rewards their successes with cigarettes he smuggles into the prison.

“Hag-Seed” is a fun story in which the good-hearted are rewarded and the black-hearted are punished. It was just what I needed.

Dark tales from the land of the midnight sun

The world lost a literary great last month. Swede Maj Sjowall, an icon of Nordic Noir, passed away.

My first Nordic murder mystery was “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo” when it was released and immediately a best seller in 2008. A good friend then introduced me to the series that started the genre, the Martin Beck stories by Sjowall and husband, Per Wahloo, who wrote 10 books between 1965 and 1975.

Detective Beck of the Stockholm Murder Squad is a gloomy, unhappily married man trying to navigate a Sweden undergoing social upheaval while catching killers and bringing them to justice. In addition to presenting a fast-paced, riveting plot, Wahloo and Sjowall’s books also critique Sweden’s systemic dysfunction.

Sweden’s dark, frigid winters and sunlight filled summer nights create an other-worldly setting that reflects the emotional lostness of the characters in the Martin Beck stories as well as many other series that it inspired.

Although the protagonist of Stieg Larsson’s Millennium series is a journalist, not a detective, he shares the melancholy and personal demons that characterize the detectives of Nordic Noir. However, many readers consider Lisbeth Salander the hero and main character of “The Girl” books.

Her entire life has been a garbage fire, including sexual and physical abuse, retaliation against her antagonists, commitment to mental institutions, and foster care. In the first book, “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo,” Lisbeth gains her freedom from her abuser and state “care.”

Henning Mankell’s Kurt Wallander series is most like the Martin Beck books. Wallander is a murder detective in Ystad, Sweden. He is just as morose as Martin Beck as his personal life devolves with a broken marriage, an estranged daughter, and an ailing parent. However, Wallander’s skills at solving seemingly unsolvable crimes is not affected by his depression and alcoholism.

A couple of novels offer Wallander an emotional reprieve, such as “The Dogs of Riga” in which he falls in love with a Latvian woman. Some of the best in the series are “Sidetracked” and “Faceless Killers.” Many of the novels have been turned into TV series in both the UK and Sweden.

Amazon was offering Asa Larsson’s “The Second Deadly Sin” ebook for only $4.99, comparing her books to the Martin Beck stories. Of course I bought it. Since I prefer to read series in order, I also bought the first two books, “Sun Storm” and “The Blood Spilt.” In “Sun Storm,” Larsson’s protagonist is lawyer Rebecka Martinsson, who takes time off from her corporate firm to help a childhood friend that’s been accused of murder.

It is unputdownable. Quite a bit longer than a Wahloo-Sjowall book, it is fast-paced and scary. However, “The Blood Spilt” was a bit disappointing. Still traumatized by her experiences in the first book, Martinsson takes some time away from work and, of course, ends up in the middle a community with ugly secrets. Her whininess and self-pity get a bit tiresome.

Another popular series is the Harry Hole (pronounced “Holy” and spelled that way for the benefit of the English-language readers) including “The Snowman,” which spawned a popular movie adaptation. In “The Bat,” the first of the series, Oslo police detective Hole (or Holy) is sent to Sydney, Australia to observe the investigation of the murder of a Norwegian national. Of course, Holy does more investigating than observing and throughout the book Holy’s tragic back story emerges.

Holy seems not to be the typical Nordic detective character, morose and lonely. Instead, he seems easy-going and friendly. Until things start to go terribly wrong. Then Harry’s spirits and behavior take a serious nosedive.

Although not as prolific as others, another interesting Nordic writer is Camille Grebe, who has two detective series. “After She’s Gone” is book 2 of the Hanne Lagerlind-Schon books. Lagerlind-Schon is the victim in this novel instead of the detective. The story alternates between two present-tense narrations, of the lead detective and a witness, and the past-tense diary of Lagerlind-Schon, who can’t remember the crime that left her partner dead and her injured. The story is tense and fast-paced, and the plot structure is particularly effective at moving the story forward.

Finally, for a series that is a little bit lighter, Jussi Adler-Olsen’s Department Q series, set in Denmark, offers some comic relief to accompany its damaged detective. Carl Morck survives a shooting that leaves one partner dead and the other paralyzed. Of course, he blames himself. Just recovered from his injuries, his boss “promotes” him to lead Department Q, which focuses on cold cases that other detectives have given up on.

Actually, his boss and colleagues just wanted to get him out of the murder squad because of his surliness. He’s assigned an assistant, a Syrian refugee, Assad. Assad turns out to be quite good at not only running down leads and doing research, but also putting the pieces together. His affable and accommodating personality make him appear the genial immigrant stereotype. Think of a combination between Clouseau’s Cato and Dr. Watson. However, Morck discovers that even Assad has secrets.

Book 8 of the series, “Victim 2117,” was released in March to positive reviews. As is convention for Nordic Noir, this one explores the plight of vulnerable people and the social and political failures to protect them from crime and exploitation, and in this book those are refugees.

Of course there are many other excellent Nordic Noir writers. I am still exploring authors.

Life during lockdown

Literally every American—everyone on the planet—has been affected by the health emergency caused by the novel coronavirus. Even those that refuse to follow rules and recommendations and instead gather in huge crowds at the beach to, er, “interact” will find that they, too, are affected in ways they might not find so nice. Washington Governor Jay Inslee put it best when he said that ignoring precautions could kill your grandad. Now is the time to think of others first.

Those who remain healthy and employed have a myriad of ways to help their neighbors that aren’t so fortunate. Donate to your local food pantry or animal shelter. Purchase take away food—and generously tip the staff. Purchase gift cards to use later or give to your neighbors who have been laid off. Call a neighbor that lives alone and may be lonely.

But, of course, this is a column about books and reading. So for those that are lucky enough to have leisure time and need to fill it, here are some suggestions.

First, you can read, of course. But it is difficult for even me to read for hours upon hours without a break. When you’re ready for a break from your book, you can organize your bookshelves. If you’re like me, when you’ve finished a new book, you just look for a bit of space on the shelf to squeeze it in. However, if you organize your books, even if only by fiction and non-fiction, you can find titles that you might be looking for later a lot faster.

And while you’re going through your shelves, pull out the titles you are ready to give up. Start a box of books to donate to the library once the emergency is over. Also, pull the books that you haven’t read yet. You may have several (or dozens if you’re like me) that you’ve purchased and not gotten to.

Now is also a great time to create an online catalog of all your books if you don’t already have one. I use LibraryThing, but there are many others, including GoodReads.

It’s also a good time to learn to use a video conferencing app like Google Hangouts or Zoom so that your book club can keep meeting even during isolation. Grab your book, pour a beverage, and cozy up to your laptop or phone to discuss a book with your friends.

Go outside. I prefer to have a physical book in my hands to read. However, I’ve recently tried a few audiobooks, and I must say, being read to is quite enjoyable. An audiobook is a great companion for a vigorous walk or bike ride. The exercise will lift your mood and boost your immune system.

Try something new. If you have a spouse, partner, or roommate, the two of you could choose books for each other. The person I share a house with likes to read westerns, especially books about Texas Rangers. Not really my cup of tea, but I’m willing to try one. Of course, he would have to read “Wuthering Heights.” I’ll let you know how that goes.

Many people who love reading also enjoy writing. Keep a journal of these very weird days. Can you imagine if you had your grandparents’ or great-grandparents’ daily journal from the pandemic of 1918, or from WWI, or WWII? What a treasure that would be. Get the whole family in on it. Keep your journals on a file sharing site like Dropbox or Google docs so that everyone can read each other’s entries. Or start a virtual writers group and read your entries to each other.

Do you have kids at home? Have them read to their grandparents or other relatives via Facetime. It’s great for the kids and the grans will love it.

Even though we’re supposed to be in isolation, we don’t have to feel isolated. Books offer us the entire universe, full of interesting and wonderful characters. Technology offers us the chance to interact without leaving our homes. Instead of focusing on what we’re giving up, like toilet paper and eating in restaurants, focus instead on what we can gain: a sense of shared purpose, consideration of others, and lots of time to catch up on our reading.

True crime, my guilty pleasure

One of my guilty pleasures is reading true crime books. Good true crime books. And there are a lot of bad true crime books out there, so you have to choose carefully.

This guilty pleasure started for me in 1974, when I read Vincent Bugliosi’s Helter Skelter. I was so fascinated by the genre, that I turned to that classic true crime book, In Cold Blood (1966). Although Truman Capote did not invent the genre—many true crime pamphlets and magazines appeared as early as 100 years before Capote’s book—he did popularize the genre and bring it in the mainstream of literature. I’ve read dozens of true crime books since then.

And although Capote has been criticized since the book’s publication for taking liberties with the facts, it still remains one of the most important books in American literature.

Some people in my household do not share my fascination. Some think it’s creepy and weird that I like true crime books, crime fiction, movies and TV shows about crime. But I think it stems from a desire for justice, to see the guilty held to account. For me, that accountability seems to restore some balance to a universe filled with injustice.

And what, exactly makes a true crime book good? First, it should be based on first-hand experience or meticulous research or a combination of both. Bugliosi, the attorney who successfully prosecuted Charles Manson and his followers for the Tate-LaBianca murders in 1969, of course had intimate knowledge of the crime and the trial.

Capote began working on his groundbreaking book before the arrest of killers Hickock and Smith, and worked for six years, finishing after the killers were hanged. He was assisted by his childhood friend, Harper Lee. And although Capote does not footnote his work, the book is based on hundreds of hours of interviews, including extensive interviews with the killers as they awaited their sentences to be carried out.

Another criterion for judging true crime literature is whether it enlightens us somehow. Does it demonstrate a truth about human nature? Does it reveal irony? Does it ask us to question our assumptions, beliefs, or biases? Good true crime books, like all good literature, offers us more than just a voyeuristic peek at another’s tragedy.

And good true crime books respect the victims, the survivors, and those that bring the guilty to justice. Good true crime also holds accountable those involved in the case who do not share that respect: those that are incompetent, overzealous, or corrupt.

Finally, a good true crime book is readable. The prose must be precise and inviting. The dialog should be realistic. The descriptions must be detailed. It must be a rewarding read, even the parts that are heart-wrenching and disturbing.

So, what are my favorites? Probably too many to mention. However, I do want to tell you about some that I particularly liked. First, each of Gary LaVergne’s three books about killers is well worth the read. The Sniper in the Tower (1997), about the Charles Whitman murders, Worse Than Death (2003), about the Dallas nightclub murders, and Bad Boy from Rosebud (1999), about prolific serial killer Kenneth Allen McDuff, who was sent to death row in two different cases two decades apart, all focus on important criminal cases in Texas.

The Devil in the White City (2003) by Erik Larson is a modern masterpiece. Not only does it recount the crimes of one of the nation’s first and most prolific serial killers, it also details the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago to celebrate the 500^th anniversary of Columbus’s arrival in the western hemisphere. This world’s fair introduced people to the many products and inventions that would come to define the 20^th century: Juicy Fruit gum, Shredded Wheat, Quaker Oats, books printed in Braille, the Ferris Wheel, elevators, the electric chair, the moving sidewalk, electric dishwashers, and the Pledge of Allegiance. Westinghouse successfully winning the bid to provide electric light at the fair ended the war between direct and alternating current once and for all. There was even an assassination at the end of the exposition.

Some more recent titles include I’ll Be Gone in the Dark (2019), in which author Michelle McNamara searches for the Golden State Killer. Ironically, McNamara died suddenly at age 46 just two years before the killer was apprehended. In Death in the Air (2017) by Kate Winkler Dawson, London serial killer John Reginald Christie operates hidden by the killer fog of 1952 that resulted in thousands of deaths.

Whether true crime is already a genre you enjoy, or a genre you have yet to explore, you can find dozens of lists of titles in the web, as well as dozens of titles by searching the catalog at the public library.

New year, new books

Recent read

My book club selected “Disappearing Earth” by Julia Phillips recently. We found the title on the New York Times list of best books of 2019. This first novel was nominated for the National Book Award, a well-earned accolade.

The novel begins with the disappearance of two little girls in Petropavlovsk on Russia’s Kamchatka Peninsula. However, the focus is on the people who were directly or indirectly affected by their disappearance. It is a study in loss, regret, and desperation.

The isolated, wild setting creates a lonely, gray mood for the novel similar to that found in Nordic Noir, such as the Wallander books and the Millennium series. Located near the Arctic Circle and dotted with volcanoes, the Kamchatka is both beautiful and terrible. Phillips’s imagery contrasts the natural beauty of the setting with the horror of the crime:

“In the sunset, the pebbles on the shore shifted their color from black and gray to honey. Amber. They were brightening. Soon the stones would glow, and the water in the bay was going to turn pink and orange. Spectacular in the city center, where people feared to have their pretty daughters go.” (31)

One character, whose dog goes missing, crystalizes the theme of loss and responsibility in the realization that “[i]t hurts too much to break your own heart out of stupidity, to leave a door unlocked or a child untended and return to discover that whatever you value most has disappeared. No. You want to be intentional about the destruction. Be a witness. You want to watch how your life will shatter.” (205)

A quick read, “Disappearing Earth” will draw you in and keep you thinking about it long after you’ve finished.

My own weird obsession: Julia Child

I fell in love with French cuisine on a trip to France in 2015. I set out to learn to cook some French dishes, so I naturally turned to “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” by Julia Child, et. al. Last year, my daughter gave me a copy of “Dearie” (2013) by Bob Spitz. It is a huge and comprehensive biography of Julia Child, beginning with the birth of her grandparents, and ending with her death in August 2004, two days before her ninety-second birthday.

Child’s life was about so much more than cooking. She worked for the OSS—the precursor to the CIA—during WWII, where she met her husband Paul. Some have referred to her as a spy or spy-master, but her job was to catalog and dole out secret information to covert agents based on what they needed to know. She referred to herself as a “file clerk.”

I recently read “My Life in France” (2006), a book that Child wanted to write for many years. It wasn’t until at the end of her life that her grandnephew, Alex Prud’homme, finally convinced her to allow him to help her with the project. The result is a beautifully readable and entertaining account of what Child referred to as the best years of her life. I enjoyed reading it tremendously and was quite sad when I finished it. However, I can console myself with “A Covert Affair” by Jennet Conant, and “An Appetite for Life” by Noël Riley Fitch, two more Child biographies that I received this year.

Just finished

I just finished “The Night Tiger” by Yangsze Choo. A book club member selected it because it has “tiger” in the title and we loved “The Tiger’s Wife.” Well, she nailed it. Ji Lin is a dressmaker’s apprentice in colonial Malaya, who comes to possess a mysterious object that is said to bring good luck. Ren is a ten-year-old house boy on a mission to recover the item and return it to its owner, his recently deceased employer. An example of magical realism, this novel has multiple complex plotlines, ghosts, mythical man-eating beasts, and mysterious deaths. I highly recommend this one.

Last decade filled with great reads

We realized at the last meeting that our book club has been reading and meeting together for almost a decade. We began in spring 2011, so we’re beginning our tenth year together. After we discussed this month’s book, “Disappearing Earth” by Julia Phillips, we talked about many of the books we’ve read together and which ones were the best.

There’s not enough room here to list all of the good reads we’ve shared. So I’ll discuss briefly the best of the best.

Two of our early books were “The Tiger’s Wife” by Tea Obreht and “Cutting for Stone” by Abraham Verghese. “The Tiger’s Wife” was kind of a departure for me personally, and also for some in our club. The magical realism of it and Obreht’s second novel, “Inland,” which also made it to the Best of the Best list, is spellbinding. These are masterpieces of literature, AND they have ghosts. What more could a reader ask for? Few of my reading-pals liked “Inland” as much as they liked “The Tiger’s Wife.” However, this is my list, and I loved it.

“Cutting for Stone” presents a sweeping story of two generations sustained by love and tormented by betrayal. It kept me up nights, turning pages. I think the longevity of our book club is due not only to our long-standing friendships, but also the quality of the books that began this endeavor with. We often rate a recently read book to the first few great ones we read. We’re always looking for the next great one.

Another saga is Barbara Kingsolver’s “The Lacuna,” the story of a boy’s difficult and chaotic youth and his life among luminaries such as Diego Rivera, Frida Kahlo, and Leon Trotsky. Its critique of McCarthyism and xenophobia is sadly relevant in 2020. This one and “The Poisonwood Bible” are, I think, Kingsolver’s best novels.

We also read several classics, including “Rebecca” by Daphne du Maurier. I have read “Rebecca” several times, since it is one of my all-time favorites, but it was fun and rewarding to read it again with friends and talk it over. If you haven’t had the pleasure, “Rebecca” is a modern gothic tale of ghosts, secrets, and love set in wild and beautiful Cornwall.

Among the Pulitzer Prize winners we read is “Less” by Andrew Sean Greer. An unconventional love story, “Less” is hilarious from beginning to end. Arthur Less is a turning-50, failed novelist whose ex is about to marry Arthur’s rival. To avoid attending the wedding, he goes on a world-circling book tour of half-baked literary events. This slap-stick dark comedy rewards with a sweet ending.

Although our list is obviously fiction-heavy, we did read some great non-fiction. “The Boys in the Boat” by Daniel James Brown tells the story of the underdog American crew team at the 1936 Olympics. We read this one just before the 2016 Summer Olympics. The games had just finished as school started, and one of my students asked me what my favorite Olympic team was. Without hesitating, I replied “The 1936 eight-man crew team.” The student was a little taken aback, and responded, “Wow, miss. That’s oddly specific.”

Going over this list, I look forward to another decade of great reads, starting with “The Night Tiger” by Yangsze Choo, a tale of murder, romance, and superstition.