My understanding is that the photographer dragged out photographing the group on purpose so as to get the look of impatience and boredom he wanted on the faces of the stars. Boy – if looks could kill!
new (adj.): Middle English neue, from Old English neowe, niowe, earlier niwe “made or established for the first time, fresh, recently made or grown; novel, unheard-of, different from the old; untried, inexperienced, unused,” from Proto-Germanic *neuja– (source also of Old Saxon niuwi, Old Frisian nie, Middle Dutch nieuwe, Dutch nieuw, Old High German niuwl, German neu, Danish and Swedish ny, Gothic niujis “new”).
This is from PIE *newo– “new” (source also of Sanskrit navah, Persian nau, Hittite newash, Greek neos, Lithuanian naujas, Old Church Slavonic novu, Russian novyi, Latin novus, Old Irish nue, Welsh newydd “new”).
From mid-14 C. as “novel, modern” (Gower, 1393, has go the new foot “dance the latest style”). In the names of cities and countries named for some other place, c. 1500. Meaning “not habituated, unfamiliar, unaccustomed,” 1590s. Of the moon from late Old English. The adverb, “newly, for the first time,” is Old English niwe, from the adjective. As a noun, “that which is new,” also in Old English. There was a verb form in Old English (niwian, neowian) and Middle English (neuen) “make, invent, create; bring forth, produce, bear fruit; begin or resume (an activity); resupply; substitute,” but it seems to have fallen from use.
Jeff Koons Killed Her Review: The decision by an arts journal to allow the famous artist to veto a historian’s essay about his work created “a chilling effect on the critical culture,” a journalism expert said.
news (n.): late 14th C., “new things,” plural of new (n.) “new thing” (see new (adj.)); after French nouvelles, which was used in Bible translations to render Medieval Latin nova (neuter plural) “news,” literally “new things.”
The English word was construed as singular at least from the 1560s, but it sometimes still was regarded as plural 17th C.-19th C. The odd and doubtful construction probably accounts for the absurd folk-etymology (attested by 1640 but originally, and in 18c. usually, in jest-books) that claims it to be an abbreviation of north east south west, as though “information from all quarters of the compass.”
The meaning “tidings, intelligence of something that has lately taken place” is from early 15th C. The meaning “radio or television program presenting current events” is from 1923. Bad news in the extended sense of “unpleasant person or situation” is from 1926. Expression no news, good news can be traced to 1640s. Expression news to me “something I did not know” is from 1889.
News-agent “person who deals in newspapers” is from 1817. News-hound “reporter” is by 1908. The newspaper office news desk is by 1840. News-monger “one who employs much time in hearing and telling news” is from 1590s. The News in the Virginia city Newport News is said to derive from the name of one of its founders, William Newce.
brand-new (adj.): “quite new,” 1560s, from brand (n.) + new. The notion is “new as a glowing metal fresh from the forge” (Shakespeare has fire-new; Middle English had span-neue “brand new,” c. 1300, from Old Norse span-nyr, from span “chip of wood,” perhaps as something likely to be new-made). Popularly bran-new.
fresh (adj.1): c. 1200, fresh, also fersh, “unsalted; pure; sweet; eager;” the modern form is a metathesis of Old English fersc, of water, “not salt, unsalted,” itself transposed from Proto-Germanic *friskaz (source also of Old Frisian fersk, Middle Dutch versch, Dutch vers, Old High German frisc, German frisch “fresh”). Probably cognate with Old Church Slavonic presinu “fresh,” Lithuanian preskas “sweet.”
Sense of “new, recent” is from c. 1300; that of “not stale or worn” is from early 14th C.; of memories from mid-14th C. The metathesis, and the expanded Middle English senses of “new,” “pure,” “eager” probably are by influence of (or from) Old French fres (fem. fresche; Modern French frais “fresh, cool”), which is from Proto-Germanic *frisko-, and thus related to the English word. The Germanic root also is the source of Italian and Spanish fresco. Related: Freshly. Fresh pursuit in law is pursuit of the wrong-doer while the crime is fresh.
fresh (adj.2): “impudent, presumptuous,” or as Century Dictionary puts it, “verdant and conceited,” 1848, U.S. slang, probably from German frech “insolent, cheeky,” from Old High German freh “covetous,” related to Old English frec “greedy, bold”
I don’t have a review for this month, as I stress-quilted two quilts for Christmas (plus baking and all the other crafts). So have this bird pic as recompense!
Missing the mark
When we moved to Tularosa, NM, we found a couple of restaurants that were – and are – amazing. One of them has what are basically tempura avocados, and they are frankly fantastic. The chef has a deft touch, and the batter is light and crispy while the avocados are soft but firm enough, and we are compelled order them whenever we’re there.
But once in a while, as is true with everything, once in a while they don’t quite measure up. The tempura batter is thick and stodgy, the avocados have, as avocados will do, gone from firm to mushy in an instant. Mind you, these are still very good, but not the best.
So yeah, you know what I’m about to say about Craig Johnson’s latest “Longmire” novel. To change metaphors, everyone swings and misses at some point. He did not. Craig connected with the ball, but it didn’t go where he intended it to, I don’t think.
The Longmire Defense has Walt looking into a murder from 1948, one that it looks increasingly like his grandfather committed. Everyone who knew Lloyd Longmire knew he was capable of killing someone. Hell, he did it in the middle of the bank one day. And Walt’s relationship with Lloyd was touchy at the best of times, and there weren’t many of those.
I don’t have a problem with Walt being off-balance and out of sorts on this one. Actually, it’s one of the things I liked best about it. Walt Longmire is always human, and this time we get to see him at one of his less than stellar moments, and I love that.
But. But somehow it felt kind of remote, almost like I was watching a badly taped video of a good movie. The connections didn’t feel solid, and some of the incidents seemed almost forced. The ending was, in my opinion, really rushed, as if Craig had run out of time. Even the title feels strained.
Make no mistake, you need to read this book. Craig Johnson is still a master storyteller, and there are things that happen in The Longmire Defense which are going to have massive repercussions down the line. It’s a good story. Not perhaps the best one in the series, but still captivating, and some of the new characters are huge fun.
There’s been a view in the JFK assassination research area for a few years that the only progress that can really be made in learning what happened will come from sifting through the minutiae of government records. I believe this was first urged by British researcher Malcolm Blunt – have the patience to read the records, uncover obscure info, and insert the pieces into the existing puzzle.
This is the tack that filmmaker Mary Haverstick takes to excavate the background of A Woman I Know. What began as research the life of a woman who was amongst the Mercury 13 for a documentary launched her instead on a trip through the Cold War weeds of the CIA.
The fascination of her work is that she tracks down and compares the lives of this woman and other names through files, memos, receipts, even signatures on those papers to show how the CIA ran some agents as multiple people simultaneously, over years and different continents, that not only hid identities decades ago but perhaps still. One facet of this may answer why so many documents are still withheld to this day – some agents became entirely new people and their new and old identities are tangled up with history that remains ‘sensitive’.
Where she falls down is in describing the assassination itself. I can buy her claim to know the identity of the Babuska Lady but don’t agree with her ideas as to her actions. She also doesn’t mention the earlier Chicago and Tampa plots.
As James Angleton said, it is a wilderness of mirrors that Haverstack spent over a decade carefully navigating. Her work on this is terrifically important as it can easily be a pattern on which further research can be built.
candle (n.): A “cylindrical body of tallow, wax, etc., formed on a wick and used as a source of artificial light,” Old English candel “lamp, lantern, candle,” an early ecclesiastical borrowing from Latin candela “a light, torch, candle made of tallow or wax,” from candere “to shine” (from PIE root *kand- “to shine”).
The Latin word is also the source of French chandelle, Spanish candela, Irish coinneal, Welsh canwyll, Russian kandilo, Arabic qandil, etc. Candles were unknown in ancient Greece (where oil lamps sufficed), but common from early times among Romans and Etruscans. Candles on birthday cakes seem to have been originally a German custom.
To hold a candle to originally meant “to help in a subordinate capacity,” from the notion of an assistant or apprentice holding a candle for light while the master works (compare Old English taporberend “acolyte”). To burn the candle at both ends “consume or waste prodigiously” is recorded from 1730.
elf(n.): “one of a race of powerful supernatural beings in Germanic folklore,” Old English elf (Mercian, Kentish), ælf (Northumbrian), ylfe (plural, West Saxon) “sprite, fairy, goblin, incubus,” from Proto-Germanic *albiz (source also of Old Saxon alf, Old Norse alfr, German alp “evil spirit, goblin, incubus”), origin unknown; according to Watkins, possibly from PIE *albho– “white.” Used figuratively for “mischievous person” from 1550s.
In addition to elf/ælf (masc.), Old English had parallel form *elfen (fem.), the plural of which was *elfenna, -elfen, from Proto-Germanic *albinjo-. Both words survived into Middle English and were active there, the former as elf (with the vowel of the plural), plural elves, the latter as elven, West Midlands dialect alven (plural elvene).
The Germanic elf originally was dwarfish and malicious (compare elf-lock “knot in hair,” Old English ælfadl “nightmare,” ælfsogoða “hiccup,” thought to be caused by elves); in the Middle Ages they were confused to some degree with faeries; the more noble version begins with Spenser. Nonetheless a popular component in Anglo-Saxon names, many of which survive as modern given names and surnames, such as Ælfræd “Elf-counsel” (Alfred), Ælfwine “Elf-friend” (Alvin), Ælfric “Elf-ruler” (Eldridge), also women’s names such as Ælfflæd “Elf-beauty.” Elf Lock hair tangled, especially by Queen Mab, “which it was not fortunate to disentangle” [according to Robert Nares’ glossary of Shakespeare] is from 1592.
joy (n.): c. 1200, “feeling of pleasure and delight;” c. 1300, “source of pleasure or happiness,” from Old French joie “pleasure, delight, erotic pleasure, bliss, joyfulness” (11th C.), from Latin gaudia “expressions of pleasure; sensual delight,” plural of gaudium “joy, inward joy, gladness, delight; source of pleasure or delight,” from gaudere “rejoice,” from PIE root *gau– “to rejoice” (cognates: Greek gaio “I rejoice,” Middle Irish guaire “noble”).
As a term of endearment from 1580s. Joy-riding is American English, 1908; joy-ride (n.) is from 1909.
celebrate (v.): mid-15th C., “to perform publicly with appropriate rites,” originally of the Mass, from Latin celebratus “much-frequented; kept solemn; famous,” past participle of celebrare “assemble to honor,” also “to publish; sing praises of; practice often,” originally “to frequent in great numbers,” from celeber “frequented, populous, crowded;” with transferred senses of “well-attended; famous; often-repeated.” Its etymology is unknown.
General sense of “commemorate or honor with demonstrations of joy” is from 1550s; formerly it also could be with demonstrations of sorrow or regret. Meaning “make widely known, praise, glorify” is from 1610s.
cheer (n.): c. 1200, “the face, countenance,” especially as expressing emotion, from Anglo-French chere “the face,” Old French chiere “face, countenance, look, expression,” from Late Latin cara “face” (source also of Spanish cara), possibly from Greek kara “head” (from PIE root *ker- (1) “horn; head”). From mid-13th C. as “frame of mind, state of feeling, spirit; mood, humor.”
By late 14thC. the meaning had extended metaphorically to “state or temper of mind as indicated by expression.” This could be in a good or bad sense (“The feend … beguiled her with treacherye, and brought her into a dreerye cheere,” “Merline,” c. 1500), but a positive sense, “state of gladness or joy” (probably short for good cheer), has predominated since c. 1400.
The meaning “that which makes cheerful or promotes good spirits” is from late 14th C. The meaning “shout of encouragement” is recorded by 1720, perhaps nautical slang (compare the earlier verbal sense “encourage by words or deeds,” early 15th C.). The antique English greeting what cheer? (mid-15th C.) was picked up by Algonquian Indians of southern New England from the Puritans and spread in Native American languages as far as Canada.
angel (n.): “one of a class of spiritual beings, attendants and messengers of God,” a c. 1300 fusion of Old English engel (with hard -g-) and Old French angele. Both are from Late Latin angelus, from Greek angelos, literally “messenger, envoy, one that announces,” in the New Testament “divine messenger,” which is possibly related to angaros “mounted courier,” both from an unknown Oriental word (Watkins compares Sanskrit ajira– “swift;” Klein suggests Semitic sources).
The Greek word was used in Scriptural translations for Hebrew mal’akh (yehowah) “messenger (of Jehovah),” from base l-‘-k “to send.” An Old English word for it was aerendgast, literally “errand-spirit.”
Of persons, “one who is loving, gracious, or lovely,” by 1590s. The medieval English gold coin (a new issue of the noble, first struck 1465 by Edward VI) was so called for the image of archangel Michael slaying the dragon, which was stamped on it. It was the coin given to patients who had been “touched” for the King’s Evil. Angel food cake is from 1881; angel dust “phencyclidine” is from 1968.
star (n.): “celestial body appearing as a luminous point,” Middle English sterre, from Old English steorra “star,” from Proto-Germanic *sternan– (source also of Old Saxon sterro, Old Frisian stera, Dutch ster, Old High German sterro, German Stern, Old Norse stjarna, Swedish stjerna, Danish stierne, Gothic stairno). This is from PIE root *ster– (2) “star.”
Used originally of the apparently fixed celestial bodies, which is the restricted modern sense. But it also was used of planets and comets, as preserved in falling star (late 15th C.) “meteor;” morning star “Venus at dawn” (Old English), etc.
The astrological sense of “influence of planets and zodiac on human affairs” is recorded from mid-13th C., hence “person’s fate as figured in the stars” (c. 1600; star-crossed “ill-fated,” literally “born under a malignantstar,” here meaning “planet,” is from “Romeo and Juliet,” 1592; star-struck is by 1787). The astrological sense also is in expressions such as My stars!, thank (one’s) stars, both 1590s.
The meaning “leading performer” is from 1824, originally of actors and singers; the sense of “outstanding performer in a sport” is by 1916; star turn“principal act or song in a show” is by 1898.
Stars as a ranking of quality for hotels, restaurants, etc. are attested by 1886, originally in Baedecker guides. Sticker stars as rewards for good students are recorded by 1977. A brass star as a police badge is recorded from 1859 (New York City).
The astronomical star-cluster is from 1870. Star-shower “meteor shower” is by 1818. To see stars when one is hit hard on the head is from 1839.
What We’ve Been Up To
I’ve been writing about some vintage True Crime on My 52 Weeks With Christie blog. Here’s my first entry about a poison pen writer in France.
Chapter 1: The Moving Finger & A Real Life Poison Pen Case
Recently I found myself stuck in a mental fog bank with an overwhelming urge to read something more involved than the instructions on a jug of laundry detergent. So I turned to my bookshelves for help. Knowing from past experiences that new stories are a no-go, I ran my finger along the spines until my eyes and index digit landed on The Moving Finger. At which point my brain sat up and bellowed YAHTZEE! Not a new read, but one I hadn’t cracked the covers of since 2014.
Stoked, I sat down and devoured it whole.
Discovering, much to my surprise, my perspective on this classic mystery shifted since I’d last read it nine years ago. (Amusingly, I’d also forgotten the malefactor’s identity and was fooled all over again by the Grand Dame of Misdirection.) Rather than impatiently waiting for Miss Marple’s entrance from stage left or touching the cherished memory of howling with laughter at Victor Borge’s bit on inflationary language with my grandfather in the basement of his house one summer afternoon — my mind caught on the McGuffin of The Moving Finger: the poison pen letters.
Since the villain in The Moving Finger used these letters to mask his true intent, which didn’t seem to fit with what I knew of the phenomenon, it made me wonder what actually drives a true poison pen writer to pick up their quill, so to speak.* Moreover, I wondered why the police and residents of Lymstock so readily accepted the idea that Mrs. Mona Symmington committed suicide over a single letter. So, on a day when the mental fog receded to the outer banks of my brain, I began looking for answers….and fell down a veritable rabbit hole.
Turns out I should’ve had more faith in one of my all-time favorite authoresses.
An view of Tulle from back in the day!
Twenty years prior to the publication of The Moving Finger, a small city in France found itself a hotbed of this postal based crime. From 1917 to 1922, over one-hundred-and-ten poison pen letters were opened in the small provincial town of Tulle. (Where the epitomes fabric of the same name was originally invented and manufactured.) And by the time authorities finally stemmed the flow of these malicious missives — three people were dead, two were remanded to lunatic asylums, and at least one recipient suffered a nervous breakdown. Not to mention the countless broken marriages, shattered friendships, and ruined careers these slanderous communiques also caused.
And it all started over a boy.
Thanks to the overwhelming number of men called up to fight in WWI and her brother’s professional influence, Angele Laval secured a job within Tulle’s prefecture (police department) as a typist under the supervision of Jean-Baptise Mouray.
Jean-Baptise Mouray
Now it’s unclear how long the two worked together before Mouray became the object of Angele’s obsessive affections and due to conflicting contemporary newspaper reports it’s also unclear if: A) Angele loved Mouray from afar. B) Mouray rebuffed Angele’s romantic overtures due to lack of attraction on his part. C) Mouray and Angele dated for a period before he threw her over. However, we do know by 1917, Angele had hatched a plan to draw Mouray into her web.
By sending him an anonymous note abusing her own character.
Troubled by the unsigned slander aimed at his subordinate, Mouray stewed over the ill-natured intelligence for three days before bringing it to Angele. Who, upon laying eyes on the missive, produced one of her own. Only her’s was “left” on her desk at the prefecture and cast aspersions on Mouray’s character instead (calling him a seducer and such). Fearful the crude letters could harm her reputation and his career they decided to keep the contents a secret and consigned them to crackling flames found within a stove in the prefecture’s accounting office.
Unfortunately, this shared secret did not spark the love affair Angele presumably hoped the notes would ignite. Even worse? In 1918 Mouray hired a new typist for their department, Marie-Antoinette Fioux, whom Mouray soon developed an interested and in 1919 began dating.
Rather than giving up on her dream of romance or in a fit of “If he won’t love me, he can’t love anyone else” or both — Angele Laval turned to her inkwell once again. Churning out several crude letters to Mouray’s sister, denouncing Marie-Antoinette’s character. When that failed to produce the desired result, Angele directed another anonymous note to Mouray — this time taunting him with the knowledge of a child he’d fathered with his mistress.
This did the trick.
Apparently, at some point along the way Marie-Antoinette inadvertently witnesses Mouray leaving his mistress’s home. As he’d taken great care to conceal both said mistress and his illegitimate child from everyone in the prefecture and (more importantly) his mother — Mouray concluded Marie-Antoinette must be the author of these scurrilous notes and broke thing off.
This breakup slowed, but didn’t stop, the flow of the poison pen letters being posted. Cunningly, whilst trying to drive a wedge between her rival and her love, Angele camouflaged the true object of her obsession by mailing malicious missives to a number of people within or closely connected to the prefecture of Tulle (including its head) over the course 1918 & 1919. Not to say these catty pieces of correspondence were harmless, far from it, but they’d remained focused on the prefecture itself. Until 1920, after convincing her beloved of her innocence, Mouray married Marie-Antoinette — and — invited Angele to his wedding reception.
Prompting Angele to well and truly lose her nut.
*(BTW: Using a smokescreen of like crimes to hide a black hat’s true target is a well established mystery trope. One Christie used with great effect seven years prior in The A.B.C. Murders. But I digress.)
It seems only fitting to round out the year with the most recent Louise Penny book, A World of Curiosities, for any number of reasons. All her books are amazing, of course, but this one ties up so many backstories that it could be the last one in the series, and you’d walk away feeling like it’s complete.
Mind you, I sincerely hope she’s going to continue! I’m not ready for this journey to be over, but if it is, this is a good stopping place.
In A World of Curiosities, we go all the way back to the first case that Inspector Gamache and Jean-Guy Beauvoir investigate together. We know Armand snags Jean-Guy from the evidence locker in a provincial town and that begins their long and complicated relationship, but we see the encounter in complete detail.
It’s astonishing that Gamache took the brash and outspoken young man on. I wanted to thump him myself.
But then Louise Penny goes on to incorporate a devastating actual mass shooting in Canada, AND she ties it into a famous work of art. And it works. Holy cats, does it work.
I’m not going to give you a quote from the novel itself, but I want to focus on something Ms. Penny said in the Acknowledgments.
“For A World of Curiosities, I could not tell you exactly where the idea began. Where the major theme of “forgiveness” emerged. I have the feeling that it wasn’t really until near the end when I realized how often, unconsciously, the characters struggled with it.
“How often I’ve struggled with the need to forgive. To let go.“
This is the season for charity and delight and magic. And forgiveness. Louise Penny goes on to say, “I honestly don’t feel I can take full credit for the books. There is, finally, an element of magic, of inspiration that seems to come out of nowhere. I have my own theories about where it comes from. I wanted, at the end of this, the eighteenth novel, to make it clear that in writing the Gamache books there is more than meets the eye. And always has been.”
Happy, Merry, Jolly Wishes to you and yours, not just this holiday season but throughout 2024.
Thanks to Amber’s generous help, I’m starting the third version of my pulp blog. The first was through tumblr and they got very weird about “adult” images. While my stuff was not porn and was all from previously public sources (magazines, books, or movies), I guess it was all too lurid for their purposes. That version was started in 2013 as a way to bring more eyes to the shop’s work, and ceased in 2018 when they began reviewing and rejected some posts.
In 2019, refuges from tumblr started newtumbl. I started over with them, continuing to add the same sort of posts while updating previously posted images from tumblr. That lasted until June of 2023 when the folks running it vanished without warning, allowing no one to save, download, export their works. Thousands of posts lost. Should the chance arise, I will import all of that work to this new home.
laissez le bon temps rouler!
SUPPORT SMALL LOCAL BUSINESSES WITH YOUR HOLIDAY DOLLARS
60 years ago today, November 22, 1963, President John F. Kennedy was shot dead in Dallas. To mark the date, there has been an eruption in stories – some print, some video – about his murder. Some have benefited from time, as some people who witnessed part of the drama have decided to speak out finally, and some have benefited from declassified material. Some just recycle past material and add little, if anything, to the story. In no particular order:
lie (v.1): “speak falsely, tell an untruth for the purpose of misleading,” Middle English lien, from Old English legan, ligan, earlier leogan “deceive, belie, betray” (class II strong verb; past tense leag, past participle logen), from Proto-Germanic *leuganan (source also of Old Norse ljuga, Danish lyve, Old Frisian liaga, Old Saxon and Old High German liogan, German lügen, Gothic liugan), a word of uncertain etymology, with possible cognates in Old Church Slavonic lugati, Russian luigatĭ; not found in Latin, Greek, or Sanskrit. Emphatic lie through (one’s) teeth is from 1940s.
liar (n.): “one who knowingly utters falsehoods,” early 13th C., from Old English leogere “liar, false witness, hypocrite,” agent noun from Anglian legan, West Saxon leogan “be untruthful, lie”. “The form in -ar is probably in imitation of the refashioned forms such as scholar for scoler and pillar for piler” [Barnhart]. A different formation yielded Dutch leugenaar, Old High German luginari, German Lügner, Danish lögner.
warlock (n.): Old English wærloga “traitor, liar, enemy, devil,” from wær “faith, fidelity; a compact, agreement, covenant,” from Proto-Germanic *wera– (source also of Old High German wara “truth,” Old Norse varar “solemn promise, vow”), from PIE root *were-o-“true, trustworthy.” Second element is an agent noun related to leogan “to lie” (see lie (v.1); and compare Old English wordloga “deceiver, liar”).
Original primary sense seems to have been “oath-breaker;” given special application to the devil (c. 1000), but also used of giants and cannibals. Meaning “one in league with the devil” is recorded from c. 1300. Ending in -ck (1680s) and meaning “male equivalent of a witch” (1560s) are from Scottish.
mendacity (n.): “tendency or disposition to lie, habitual lying,” also “a falsehood, a lie,” 1640s, from French mendacité and directly from Late Latin mendacitas “falsehood, mendacity,” from Latin mendax “lying; a liar”
fib (n.): “a lie,” especially a little one, “a white lie,” 1610s, of uncertain origin, perhaps from fibble-fable “nonsense” (1580s), a reduplication of fable (n.).
truth (n.): Old English triewð (West Saxon), treowð (Mercian) “faith, faithfulness, fidelity, loyalty; veracity, quality of being true; pledge, covenant,” from Germanic abstract noun *treuwitho, from Proto-Germanic treuwaz “having or characterized by good faith,” from PIE *drew-o-, a suffixed form of the root *deru– “be firm, solid, steadfast.” With Germanic abstract noun suffix *-itho (see -th (2)).
Sense of “something that is true” is first recorded mid-14th C. Meaning “accuracy, correctness” is from 1560s. English and most other IE languages do not have a primary verb for “speak the truth,” as a contrast to lie (v.). Truth squad in U.S. political sense first attested in the 1952 U.S. presidential election campaign: “At midweek the Republican campaign was bolstered by an innovation—the “truth squad” …, a team of senators who trailed whistle-stopping Harry Truman to field what they denounced as his wild pitches.” [Life magazine, Oct. 13, 1952]
“Everybody likes a bit of gossip to some point, as long as it’s gossip with some point to it….” This quote by Gore Vidal suits Lilia Macapagal’s godmothers (The Calander Crew, aka April, Mae & June) to a ‘T’. They gather scandals, scuttlebutt, and stories from around the community — then distribute what they learn to the appropriate parties.
However, unlike Oscar Wilde, who penned — “There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.” Not everyone within Shady Palms appreciates being the butt of a whisper campaign, nor The Calander Crew’s brand of honesty.
So when someone starts spray painting “Mind Your Business” all over April, Mae & June’s new storefront (a laundromat) and sending them anonymous letters to the same effect…Well, some people within their sphere of influence relish the trio’s comeuppance. What’s worse, when April’s niece is found murdered in their laundromat not long after the vandalism begins, sympathy sadly runs short…Unless you’re part of Tita Rosie’s Kitchen crew! Despite her family and boyfriend’s requests to sit this mystery out, Lila set out to find justice for her godmother’s niece.
What I enjoy about Tita Rosie’s Kitchen Mysteries is the portrayal of family and with family comes food (especially when said family owns a diner, coffee shop, brewery, and winery between them). In this series, the food is woven flawlessly into the narrative, so it adds to rather than detracts from the mystery at hand.
And the mysteries Lila inevitably finds herself investigating make sense, as do her investigation methods. So I am never thrown from the narrative by what I read on the page…There’s a reason why Mia P. Manasala won an Agatha Award!
Murder and Mamon is a great book I enjoyed reading from beginning to end. Whilst at the cozy end of the mystery spectrum, I would recommend this book to anyone looking for a light, warm, funny, and engaging mystery to combat the stress of upcoming holiday events and/or the loss of sunlight during autumn days!
BTW: This is not the first book in the series. However, if you know this going in, starting with this book isn’t a problem, as Manasala doesn’t ruin the endings of her other books in this one!
A trip to the past
Last month, I went to my 49th high school reunion. It was a multi-class reunion, which is why it didn’t hit the 50th, but it was huge fun. I reconnected with people in person whom I’d already reconnected with on Facebook, and ran into some people I’d honestly forgotten about until they were hugging me.
It really was a trip down memory lane, especially when my hotel room had these accommodations.
Not the clock, of course, but couldn’t you imagine Marlowe getting a call on that phone?
It was summer, so I didn’t need to figure out the radiator, but between that and the phone, the mood was set.
Add to that a small, packed, books on their sides bookshop run by a British man named Michael. I suppose I should say “called Michael” to be authentic. And just across the street was a pub. It was a little slice of heaven, honestly.
So while I was visiting with Michael, I spotted a book that fit perfectly into the whole scheme of things, and I bought it and started reading it at the pub over my grilled cheese sandwich (three cheeses, bacon, and green chile, and I can’t believe I ate the whole thing, but there ya go), and I was set for a weekend of reminiscing.
It was this edition, the $0.35 Dell, that I picked up. How could I resist?
Carolyn Hart, in one of her Death on Demand series – which you absolutely must read, if you haven’t – described Mary Roberts Rinehart as the “had I but known” Golden Age author, and she nailed it. The whole book is strewn with Ominous Portents.
“For a good many months, however, I could not think about the Mitchell case, or the Mitchell house, or old Miss Juliet Mitchell lying there in her bed.”
Miss Adams is a nurse, and is called late one night by the police, Inspector Patton to be precise, to the bedside of Miss Juliet Mitchell, and octogenarian who has understandably collapsed upon finding her nephew, shot and dead in his room upstairs. Miss Juliet has a heart condition and will need monitoring, so Miss Adams is called in.
However, Inspector Patton has an ulterior motive. You see, Miss Adams, to whom he jokingly refers to as “Miss Pinkerton” has amazing observational skills and a quick mind. This is not the first time the Inspector has called upon Miss Adams to suss out what’s going on while tending to a patient. In this case, it’s a question of murder or suicide.
Then it gets complicated.
“When I saw him again it was too late. The second tragedy had happened.”
Miss Pinkerton is an excellent example of Golden Age writing, and is an exquisite snapshot of the attitudes and morals of the time. It’s also an excellent mystery, and as Miss Adams digs into the complex relationships of the people both inside and outside the house, she herself is in more danger than she knows.
“It may sound funny now to say that when the Inspector came up I was packing my bag to go, and that I had put on my hat, although I still wore a uniform. It was not funny then. That impulse to get out was nothing but a premonition; I know that now.”
That hotel room was the perfect place to dive into Miss Pinkerton’s mystery, and Mary Roberts Rinehart was a great companion.
A book I got when it came out in hardcover has been waiting to be read. It’s now out in trade paper. T.J. English‘s Dangerous Rhythms: Jazz and the Underworld. It’s hits two of my favorite things – crime and jazz. I knew nearly all he had to say about Kansas City but there were still new facets to the entire, lurid story. His original viewpoint is how the progression of jazz from it’s New Orleans roots to the clubs of NYC follows the growth of Organized Crime as it spreads from the Black Hand to the heartless Syndicate of Lansky and Luciano. He covers New Orleans and KC, but also Chicago, Detroit, NYC and Vegas. Armstrong, Hines, Cole, Basie, Ellington, Parker – all the greats populate the clubs. I knew quite a lot about that, too, but had never matched those two, American institutions. Ken Burns has done a series on jazz. About time he did one on La Cosa Nostra. That’d be a fascinating series. I’m not sure who wrote this line in a review but it’s perfect: “…deeply fascinating slice of American history in all its sordid glory.”
I’ve enjoyed Stephen Hunter’s books since Evan Maxwell recommended the first Bob Lee Swagger novel, Point of Impact, in the very early 1990s. [It was filmed as Sniper, in a so-so adaptation.] A famed Marine sniper, Swagger becomes involved in all sorts of intrigue as the series unfolds. They’re full of the minutiae of weaponry, info I skip by so it doesn’t slow down the read. And they are great fun. If you like the logic and nothing-can-stop-him sense of Jack Reacher, try Swagger.
In the latest book, Targeted, Swagger is the focus of a Congressional hearing in order to score points on the dangers of guns and militarized police. As readers, we’re sure Swagger has put no one in danger, other than his ultimate target, but the elected officials accuse him of recklessly. using unregulated ammunition – which he did – in order to make larger points. But then the entire circus is crashed (literally) by a bus full of escaping Chechen criminals and everything goes off track. You can go into it knowing, of course, that Swagger will help save the day and change minds.
While there has always been a light veneer of conservatism to the books, Hunter now comes out with a full-throated condemnation of the Left and the media. It was certainly unnecessary to make his points about the hypocrisy of elected officials of one party and reporters. Anyone paying attention to DC these days knows neither party enjoys a glowing halo of rectitude. The story was dragged down by it, and felt as if the story was a platform for his political and social views instead of just being a crackerjack Swagger story with a little commentary laced through. Which was too bad.
I think it was 1998, when he was in town to sign Time to Hunt. I was included by our sales rep for a dinner with Hunter. He explained how he had an idea for a book that would take the Swagger line back to the Revolutionary War. There was a historic British office who was known for his upgrades to that era’s musketry, and Hunter was going to turn this figure into a Swagger. It was an ingenious idea but nothing of it came – until Targeted. He figured out how to do it and it’s nifty.
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If, like me, you were a fan of the Netflix series “Mindhunter” and would like to see it have at least a third season, here’s an on-line petition to push for one. David Fincher was the producer. He says there will be no more. But maybe the petition will encourage him, or someone else, to get on it!
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I have to admit that I stopped reading GM Ford when we began publishing with Thomas and Mercer – it’s an Amazon imprint. But I ran across a used copy of Threshold, released in 2015, and snagged it. No money to enrich SPECTRE, but no money to Jerry’s estate either. It’s an interesting mix of an albino woman who has this strange ability to bring people out of comas, her work getting women (and their children, in this case) away from abusive men, the corrupt politician they’re fleeing, and a detective back on active duty after his life collapsed. Sounds complicated, yes, but Jerry deftly weaves it all together with memorable characters and life-like situations that are constantly surprising. Obviously, the major publishers he’d been with were idiotic to let him go! There are four Leo Waterman novels written after this stand-alone. I’ll have to haunt used bookshops to find those.