Brooklyn Motto

Brooklyn Motto by Alex R. Johnson (2024) A great setup for a smalltime private investigator novel—Nico Kelly does surveillance on people who are collecting money for disability claims, trying to catch then in particularly incriminating action that would prove their injury fraudulent—it’s bottom-of-the-barrel PI work. He’s a smart guy, though, I’m guessing late twenties, with a lot of potential—but he’s got to make a living. Also, it’s late Nineties New York City—which mean beepers rather than smartphones, bars and diners with a lot of personality, and no social media. And then a hilariously apt development early on—Nico’s boss tells him his SLR photos aren’t going to be good enough anymore—he’s going to need video. Also, his budget for renting a car a gone—so he’ll need a car. Naturally, Nico doesn’t own a car—and he sure doesn’t have a video camera! This works metaphorically, oddly, but also, in a practical sense—technology and transportation are a big part of all detective stories. Along with a cavalcade of eccentric, questionable, loveable, dangerous, and devious characters. Plenty here. Nico’s family history is complicated, to say the least, as are his friendships and relationships. And then, very quickly, a life-changing, chance situation arises—which leads to the intrigue, mystery, and suspense that continues to intensify up to the end. It’s a page-turner, to be sure. But there’s also plenty of time for nostalgia, for NYC of 25 years ago, which is tempered by harsh examination of corruption, greed, and racism—all in plain sight, of course, as you’re well-reminded. Suspense without anxiety—which is like a magic trick, story-wise—is pulled off here. Followed by a satisfying—while realistic, with plenty of cynicism—conclusion. The story is fast-paced, and funny, and despite some truly evil behavior, there’s plenty of warmth to go around. And there’s a set-up for a series—if that happens, I’ll read the next one.

6.25.25

Life

Life by Keith Richards and James Fox (2010) I knew about this Keith Richards autobiography, but I’d been kind of avoiding it—not so much afraid that it would be dull as, perhaps worried that Keith would lose his mystique. I wonder if he had similar concerns—maybe when younger—but that’s one of the nice things about getting older. Also, it’s really long—like 600 pages! I never finished reading any of those Rolling Stones “tell-alls”—but I do love the movie, Cocksucker Blues (1972). The most insight I’ve had into the man has come from movies—Godard’s Sympathy for the Devil (1968), and the Chuck Berry documentary, Hail! Hail! Rock’n’Roll (1987). And those just create more mystique. Keith Richards has always been one of my favorite musicians, so why not—I got the audiobook. It’s narrated by Johnny Depp (who sounds exactly like Johnny Depp) and someone named Joe Hurley, who sounds even more slurry and messed up than Keith, and parts by KR himself, which is great. If he’d read it all, himself, you could buy a copy and listen to it in the evening at bedtime, on a continuous loop, just for the comfort of his voice. The many tales he tells are hilarious, of course, also harrowing, upsetting, informative, entertaining—what you’d hope for—fulfilled. And there’s even a surprising (or, not surprising, for him, but surprising for a “rock star”) degree of humility. My favorite parts are where he talks about music—it might be “shop talk” to some—but great to hear that stuff from him. That’s the heart of the book—the most exciting and inspiring stuff, here, for me. I’m sure I’d like to pick up a printed copy and bookmark those sections and read then again. As far as the adventures, there are more of them than seems possible for one man, and many of them are a lot more outrageous than you could even imagine.

6.17.25

I Am Not Sidney Poitier

I Am Not Sidney Poitier by Percival Everett (2009) I wanted to read another Percival Everett book—thought I’d see what I could get an audio book version of—tried this and got caught up in it—immediately funny and entertaining and very strange. The narrator is really good (who I should make a point of crediting: Amir Abdullah) especially as the first-person protagonist with the unlikely name, Not Sidney Poitier—who is both wide-eyed and naive, but also very smart—a good combination for a reader to go along for the ride—named that by his eccentric mother who also invested early in Ted Turner’s companies—but dies young, leaving Not Sidney wealthy—and also raised partly by Turner. It’s evident early on that some situations (and dreams) in Not Sidney’s epic adventure are based on plots and stories from Sidney Poitier movies—some of which I’ve seen many times, but maybe not lately—and some not at all—so I considered waiting to read this until after I revisited some of those movies. But I was already caught up in the book. I certainly don’t think a work of art needs to be only one thing—so it works very well, for me, that the story deals with issues of racism, classism, wealth and poverty, the South, power struggles, you name it—while at the same time is one of the most hilarious books I’ve come across—and the humor is at once lowbrow, absurd, sophisticated, and pointed. One of my favorite parts, actually, is when Not Sidney goes to college and enrolls in a class called “The Philosophy of Nonsense” with a professor named “Percival Everett” whose lectures are ridiculous—he’s a great character—and is ultimately more than a minor part. I want to go back and read those parts, they’re so good—I guess I’ll have to get the book. But as an audio book, it’s worth a re-visit, as well, as I feel like I was only scratching the surface of some of the book’s themes and could understand more, and then be able to talk about it more in depth. Rigorous, but not a chore, because it’s quite entertaining.

6.12.25

Skippy Bedelle

Skippy Bedelle by Owen Johnson (1922) Subtitled: “His Sentimental Progress from the Urchin to the Complete Man of the World”—this is one of “Lawrenceville Stories” books about a boys’ boarding school set in the late 1800s. If the publication dates on Wikipedia are correct, it would seem that this book was published about ten years after the original four or five Lawrenceville books—so, I’m wondering if it’s a sequel to, or a revisiting of, or a reworking of those books. I’m wondering how it compares—so now I’ve got a project—to find and read those books! At any rate, I initially picked it up because I’d never heard of it, and it’s got a spectacular dust jacket—guys eating ice cream at the “jigger shop.” Since I’ve been seeking out campus novels, lately, I read it—found it challenging at first—it’s long for a kids’ book (40 chapters!) and it took me a while to get into the rhythm and sense of humor, but once I did, I was hooked, and I loved it. It’s the funniest book I’ve read in a while. The humor is very dry, particular, and perhaps of its time, but once you’re on to it, it’s endlessly charming and satisfying. There is a 3-part dramatic TV series from the Eighties you can watch on YouTube that is taken mostly from the previous books—Skippy and his roommate, Snorky, don’t figure in it—but many of the characters in the TV show are present in this book (Doc Macnooder, The Prodigious Hickey, The Triumphant Egghead, The Tennessee Shad, among others). So, that series serves as an excellent companion for this book. This volume follows the highly ambitious Skippy Bedelle through some distinct stages of his development—first his attempts to achieve fame and fortune (the ultimate goal: an introduction to Lillian Russell) through his ingenious inventions (bathtub heat regulator, mosquito-proof socks) that all go terribly wrong. Then his interests shift to romance, and we follow him through a string of relationship problems, each one more convoluted, tortured, and hilarious than the last. The book has a killer ending, too, which I wouldn’t even think of trying to summarize—you’ve got to work up to it, but I’m not kidding. I would recommend this book to anyone, and like I said, I’m planning on reading the others in the series.

5.29.25

These Precious Days

These Precious Days by Ann Patchett (2021) I don’t read many books of essays—not because I don’t like essays—but because I’m never going to get to a fraction of the fiction I want to read, in this lifetime—and generally, when I do read an essay, it’s something I’ve chosen by subject matter more than by author. But for some reason I began listening to the audio book of this one (read by the author) and before I knew it, I was caught up in one after another, regardless of subject matter, and for the duration—this was the thing I looked forward to each day. It’s a great book. I suppose Ann Patchett is just a really interesting person, besides being a good writer, so I kept wanting to know more about her—and these are very personal essays. I found I relate to her in many ways. The title is from “September Song”—one of my favorites—and it’s the title of the book’s centerpiece, about a friend dealing with cancer. I admit, I avoid cancer and illness stories, generally—partly as a denial of mortality—and partly because I feel like they are either too sentimental—or if they make a point of avoiding sentimentality, then they’re that. So I was kind of tricked into this one, for which I’m grateful, because I loved it. Maybe part of why it worked so well, for me, is because it’s more about the person than the disease—and a really unique, fascinating portrait. Anyway, sure I was devastated. And soon, then, the book was over, and I felt compelled to go out and buy a copy, just to own it. Book lovers may relate to that, that desire. Also, now I can, of course, pick it up and re-read an essay here and there—my favorites, like the one about her decision not to have children—a collection of reactions and comments she’s endured because of that choice (as a man, I had no idea). Stuff about writing, and publishing, and owning a bookstore—also big favorites. And I liked them all. This is a book I’ll return to—I might read it, next time, or listen to it again, or a combination. I’ve been known to read along with audiobooks, on occasion.

5.24.25

I’m Your Man: The Life of Leonard Cohen

I’m Your Man: The Life of Leonard Cohen by Sylvie Simmons (2012) I’ll admit, I started this book while Leonard Cohen was still alive, and I was quite enjoying it but got bogged down at some point—and I was sad when he died but didn’t jump right back into it. It’s a huge book—which seems funny to say when you compare a book to someone’s life—a book is tiny. But as a book—it’s so full and thorough—at least as far as I can tell— and well-written—it’s great. And she was in touch with L.C., throughout, it seems, and that really helps. But I’m a slow reader—and also, I wanted to take my time. I was halfway through, put it down for a while, then got the audiobook and started over. I was fascinated by every part of his life, but oddly, more and more as he got older. I guess I relate a lot more to the older Leonard Cohen—and he seemed way too young to die at the age of 82. Oddly, I have never been the biggest fan—I still haven’t gotten all the way through any of his books. I like all his music, but I only really love some songs, here and there. Well, like with every other recording artist, I go through phases of intense interest followed by cooling way down. I remember vividly when the I’m Your Man record came out—one of those that shocked me by its unexpected weirdness—and I went through a big phase then. I’ve always really liked reading about Leonard Cohen—and have always been inspired by him in a similar way as Hunter S. Thompson—but not because of drugs, or excess—but as models of how to live a life in a really off-kilter way—real oddballs, but also with an ease, and great sense of humor. I was especially fascinated by the part of his life where he was swindled out of his money and then had to start playing live again, partly out of necessity—which turned into something more—and it seemed like what he was supposed to be doing. Of course, I don’t believe in that—the “supposed to be”—but there’s something there. Anyway, this feels like one of those books I could read again—or just kind of always be reading—go back to from time to time for inspiration.

5.20.25

Meg and the Disappearing Diamonds

Meg and the Disappearing Diamonds by Holly Beth Walker (1967) Meg Duncan Series Book Number One—this is a short series (6 books) and they’re easy to find, so I thought I check one out. Also, relatively short and maybe for slightly younger readers (though kids should read what they want to!) and the most important thing, Meg has a Siamese cat named Thunder. Sure to be trouble! It’s another series about a kid whose mother is dead—I still haven’t found a good essay about why this was a trend—probably multiple reasons—one of which is that Nancy Drew’s mother is dead. Though, this mystery is more along the lines of Trixie Belden, younger kids, and Meg has a best friend, Kerry, who has a horse—but also an annoying little sister, Cissie, who reminded me of Trixie Belden’s annoying brat, little brother. Meg and Kerry are great, though, good friends, and Meg’s got an inspiring personality, very similar to Trixie. The mystery in this book is a bit weak, though, kind of stretched thin, and predictable. But that’s okay, there’s a couple of twists. Also, there is one truly weird character—I don’t want to give anything away—actually, I probably have, just by saying that. Anyway, this woman is a truly weird oddball—pretty much outside any kind of reality, or behavior a human being has—you could almost just stretch the story into sci-fi/fantasy/horror by eventually determining she’s a robot, or cyborg, or space alien, or witch. I’ll check out the next Meg book, sometime, which does have “witch” in the title!

5.14.25

High Times, Hard Times

High Times, Hard Times by Anita O’Day and George Eells (1981) This is a great memoir, even if you’re not a fan of Anita O’Day, or even if you haven’t heard of her—of course, I can’t imagine someone reading this and not wanting to listen to her music—and liking it. I was a fan from way back—she’s a unique jazz singer. You can’t find her records (cheaply, like any jazz) but it’s easy to find her music online. It took me years to read this book, but that is no criticism—on the contrary, I was able to take time off and go back to it—no problem—and I looked forward to it. Of course, I’ve forgotten a lot now and could probably re-read it. Anita O’Day was a real character, eccentric both in artistry and lifestyle—really inspiring to me, and I’d think inspiring to musicians, and jazz enthusiasts, and women, in general. She had to deal with sexism from the beginning, of course, in the entertainment industry, and society—and as she had close personal and professional relationships with Black artists, she saw a lot of racism firsthand. As a longtime drug user, she also had to deal with law enforcement and the justice system. Her voice in this book is always full of determination, intelligence, and humor. I know that memoirs are always part fiction, part myth, part truth—and I’m not sure how the co-writer, Eells, contributed, but the book is very well structured, if relentless. Always entertaining—no matter how harrowing. Overdoses, death of friends, some particularly harrowing depictions of abortions, at a young age. She had several close important relationships, but you get the sense that she spent a lot of time alone (with a beloved dog)—and she was good at being alone. The best stuff of all, though, is her talking about music, her learning, and accomplishment, philosophies, and intimate takes on other great jazz musicians.

5.4.25

Lolita

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov (1955) I didn’t think I would re-read this book—maybe I still haven’t—I listened to the audiobook. I first read it in college for a class about film adaptations of literature—a really fun class that introduced me to a lot of books and movies. I don’t remember my reaction—I probably read it fast and didn’t get a lot of it—and probably still haven’t. I saw that the audiobook is read by Jeremy Irons, who is great at reading and turned it into quite a pleasurable, entertaining experience, despite the nauseating subject matter—the intimate observations, in memoir form, of a pedophile. It’s graphic enough to be stomach-turning while being continuously funny enough to laugh (out loud, if one is disposed) at times, and always be entertained—so the reader is constantly implicated and torn between reactions. I believe Jeremy Irons played Humbert in the later film version, which I didn’t see. (I didn’t like that director’s other films, and one Lolita film was enough for me, anyway.) I have seen Kubrick’s film version, which creates even more of a conflict for the viewer, because you can’t pretend it’s literature and you can’t ignore the story, yet the comedy is more overt (Peter Sellers is always out of control), and for me, I always identify with James Mason, no matter how unlikable the character he’s playing. My favorite part of the book is the whole extended middle section, where Humbert takes Dolores (Lolita) on the road, as if on the run from both the law, decency, his insanity and paranoia, time and mortality, and the other very different style pedophile, Clare Quilty. Besides the continuous movement, it’s also like a critical and detailed travelogue of Fifties United States, courtesy Humbert’s endless, sharp, cynical, sarcastic, and hilarious observations about the country and the time period. So, found myself nostalgic along with everything else—the guilty laughs, revolting disgust, and deep sadness.

4.29.25

Billy Whiskers – The Autobiography of a Goat

Billy Whiskers – The Autobiography of a Goat by Frances Trego Montgomery (1902) A very nice, old book—I can’t date it—I don’t think quite as old as the copyright—but still I’m guessing nearly a hundred years old—it was a Christmas present for someone—and read many times over the years—most recently by me! I’m hard on books, but it’s well put together—almost square—a lot of text, a real saga—and also full of excellent line-drawing illustrations—plus 8 to 10 spectacular, full-color, full-page plates on separate glossy pages. You could frame and hang each one of them. I’d never heard of Billy Whiskers, but apparently the series was quite popular—31 books in nearly 30 years—and this is the first one. It starts out with Billy Whiskers, a goat, being bought by a family, after which he chews up everything, eats anything in sight, and generally causes mischief. They sell him—and I’m thinking the whole book is going to be one chaotic goat misadventure after another. But it gets more intense as it goes along. Eventually Billy encounters Nanny, also a goat, they fall in love, are married, have sex—which isn’t graphic—it’s a family book!—but you know what’s going on. But they get separated, and Billy keeps having misadventures, including as a firefighter, and then he’s forced into the circus. He kind of likes the circus, or the performative aspects of it, until he’s treated very badly and kept in a too-small cage—it’s really harrowing! But Billy is always good at escaping—he’s clever, and he can be angry and vengeful. There’s a bit of violence in this book, and dogs don’t always fare so well. But, by the end, I loved Billy Whiskers! Am I going to read all the books in the series? Well, maybe one is enough. I’d kind of like to have a real goat as a pet—though he might eat my Billy Whiskers book!

4.22.25

I Have Some Questions for You

I Have Some Questions for You by Rebecca Makkai (2023) There was some crucial point, almost like a tipping point, I guess—and I wish I’d taken notes, written down right when it hit me, somewhere past the middle, so later on—anyway, it was the point where I really had the realization of how easy it would be to be blamed for a crime you didn’t commit. Of course, for non-white people, in the US, this realization might come faster, or always be present—but at this point in the book it hit me. Kind of a chilling moment. And that’s just part of what this book did, and is busy doing, but there’s much, much more to it. The setup is, this woman, Bodie, 40 or so, has a successful podcast, and goes back to the boarding school she attended as a teen, to teach a mini-course on podcasting—and one of her students chooses to investigate the circumstances of the murder of a young woman—one of Bodie’s acquaintances—back when she was in school. The man convicted of the crime, a Black man who’d worked there in the gym, might have possibly been wrongly convicted, and over time there has been a growing movement to try to prove his innocence. Bodie get drawn into that and starts having serious doubts about the outcome of the murder investigation, and she is also forced to examine her own complicity. She also reconnects with people from the past and is encouraged to reassess them. Also, in the meantime, her ex-husband is being accused of past misconduct—and she gets into trouble by association. There is a lot going on at once—part of it being just a good, old-fashioned, can’t-stop-reading mystery. There’s even room for romance and humor—quite an entertaining book, but all the fun doesn’t diminish the serious subject matter and the disturbing issues—all of it connected. Plenty of opportunity to think about racism and the justice system, problems with academia for women, violence towards women in general. Tons of characters that are somehow easy to keep track of. It's a long book—but lots of short chapters—and it really moves along.

4.15.25

Breakfast of Champions

Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut (1973) I re-read this as research because I’m working on a story set in 1974 and I wanted to refer to this book—one of the characters reads it—and also, maybe it would have something to tell me about that time, beyond what I remember. Kurt Vonnegut has always been inspiring, even more so when I was younger because his books break rules (inserting himself whenever he feels like it, and using crude drawings), and seem like they’re having fun (you want to assume he is, as well). The structure is inviting and the language accessible, and they both seem easy to understand… and impossible to understand fully. There’s an “or” title, which I always like—it’s: “or Goodbye Blue Monday”—and I’ve vowed to always title things that way—but seldom do. The story here is leading up to the meeting of the owner of a car dealership, in Ohio, Dwayne Hoover, and Kilgore Trout, a failed science fiction writer who first appeared in some previous books. I liked him here—we get some summaries of his books and stories—which all sound insane, yet whenever he interacts with anyone it’s the blandest, most inane exchange imaginable. Hoover is really pretty entertaining because he’s unpredictable (he’s losing his mind)—well, up to a point, of course—to the point where he’s just sad and scary. I’m not even going to begin to go into themes. I wish I could say this book is dated and nostalgic, but most of it seems to refer to our present world even more acutely than I imagine it did back then. Taken one way, it could be profoundly depressing. But you can choose to laugh; you have to.

4.10.25

True Grit

True Grit by Charles Portis (1968) As much as I loved this book, it’s crazy that it’s not even my favorite book by Charles Portis (that would be Dog of the South) and also, I might add, I intend to read it still… as I listened to the audiobook—which I liked so much, I listened to it twice—without a lot of time in-between. I had the book kicking around for a while, and while I read three other Portis books, I had trouble finding enthusiasm for starting this one—only because there were two movies based on it and I’d seen each of them countless times—both good, and very different—as is the book. Everyone knows the story. (If you, for some reason, don’t, stop reading this now and consider yourself the luckiest person in the world—who gets to approach this book with an open mind! Probably read it first, then listen to the audio book, then watch each of the movies. Your evening’s planned out!) It’s interesting, because Rooster Cogburn is the star, the center of the story—but the real star, and real center of the story is 14-year-old Mattie Ross, and the book is from her point of view and in her voice. And I never ceased being surprised by her—how brash and funny she is. I read somewhere that the Coen Brothers were worried when casting her part—the entire movie hinged on that actor. Fortunately, it was well-cast, as was the earlier film version. As good as both of those actresses were, they’re eclipsed by Donna Tartt, reading the audiobook, as her voice and inflections I found perfect for the character—it’s possible she improves on it. There’s an essay of hers (likely in later editions of the book) which she reads at the end of the audiobook—well worth staying around for. It’s probably why I soon listened to the whole thing again. And also, still intend to read it.

4.3.25

The Gatehouse Mystery

The Gatehouse Mystery by Julie Campbell (1965) This is the third book in the Trixie Belden series. It all takes place back home, back in Sleepyside, where Trixie and Honey are neighbors, and T’s brothers are coming home from camp, and Jim is around—as well as T’s incredibly annoying pest of a little brother. They stumble on this mystery by finding a big old diamond—unlikely that it’s real, but it is. Trixie theorizes endlessly about how it got in the “Gatehouse”—but she’s ultimately correct. The funniest parts are Trixie in conflict with new hired help—an irresponsible and very suspicious new chauffeur for the Wheelers—with the very apt name, “Dick.” All great characters—the kids, Regan the groom, Miss Trask, and Tom Delanoy—who I personally relate to. I love Trixie, she’s fearless and pretty much a whirlwind, an agent of chaos, and constantly picked on. I also like Honey quite a bit—her emotional response to everything—they’re a great pair, and Jim’s not bad either. I wasn’t sure if I’d continue reading Trixie Belden, but now I’m hooked, more or less—we’ll see how the next book is. There are so many editions of these books, but they’re relatively easy to find and inexpensive—so you’d be wise to look at the different versions and try to get older ones—some have really fantastic covers, and some have amazing, unlikely, full-page illustrations lurking inside. I noticed some slight changes in the text—in different editions—too, but just some words and phrases. Some obsessives might want to explore that further.

3.26.25

The Shark-Infested Custard

The Shark-Infested Custard by Charles Willeford (1993) Looking for the next Willeford to read, I noticed that this one was considered “to depressing to publish” when it was written—so it didn’t come out until after he passed away. How could I resist checking out a book with that reputation and that great title? It’s about four friends, young men, Larry, Eddie, Don, and Hank—regular guys with jobs (one ex-cop working in security, one ex-military now airline pilot, two in sales, one divorced, or maybe more…). They’re all bachelors, living in a “singles-only” apartment complex called the Dade Towers, in Miami, where they sit by the pool, drink heavily, and date “stewardesses,” as they used to be called. So, it’s very close to my idea for an album of songs about people at an apartment complex—and I’ve got so say, it cured me of that misguided notion. I wouldn’t be able to write anything either this good or this grim. I almost put the book down immediately, just as soon as they all crossed over an irrevocable stupidity line. But like Miami Blues, Willeford will have a character do something unbelievably bizarre and foolish, only later to explain why they did it—and you buy it! The guys shouldn’t be criminals, really, but they get in plenty of trouble from bad choices, and then even worse choices. It should be too depressing, certainly—but it’s weirdly compelling—I couldn’t stop reading—I guess partly to see what trainwreck is next (you’re assured more is coming—I guess it’s just good writing). The stories are told from multiple points of view—really, totally different episodes—progressing in time with large gaps—but all the parts inform each other. And it’s also, if nothing else, very, very funny. I shall not give away the ending, but it’s very 1970s!

3.18.25

The Pale King

The Pale King by David Foster Wallace (2011) I wasn’t expecting to like, or to be able to get through, or, I guess, even want to deal with The Pale King at all—knowing it’s an “unfinished” novel—I thought it would depress me. But I found it strangely heartening, and inspiring, even. Well, of course David Foster Wallace could make a compelling and interesting story about something as seemingly frightening as working at the IRS. That makes sense, because he makes things interesting because of his ridiculous focus and thoroughness and amount of detail he uncovers and reprocesses for us. It could be anything, and that includes the most depressing jobs or brutal situations—because of his particular style and over-the-top, compulsive examination of details. Since the book is so fragmented—it’s more like a collection of stories, in some ways—I’ve forgotten a lot, already. But this is a book I might actually go back to from time to time—just to get the feeling of the distinctive DFW approach to writing. One funny thing is, that so close after reading that David Lipsky book (Although of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself) I realized how much character stuff in The Pale King is based directly on DFW—well, naturally—but there’s a direct line, there. And so, while this is very obviously an unfinished work, and you have to feel kind of sad knowing how much better it would have gotten had he continued working on it—it’s not a sad book. And it’s very funny, actually—all the way through. And weirdly, for me, uplifting—but that might be more about the writing than the novel’s situations and the messes the characters make for themselves.

3.13.25

The Mystery of the Green Ghost

The Mystery of the Green Ghost by Robert Arthur (1965) Number 4 in the “Alfred Hitchcock and The Three Investigators” series. It’s pretty good, with an old mansion and undeniable ghost, a good, twisty, mystery, and the best part, some really tense episodes in some old mines and caves up in wine country—I like reading about kids crawling through tight spaces as much as I wouldn’t want to be there myself! It’s kind of an odd story—Jupiter is absent for much of the action—and must perform a lot of his deductions long distance. This series has a lot of fans, for good reason—it’s a pretty unique premise—and Jupe is an exceptional character. Maybe I always say this, but my favorite part of their world is The Jones Salvage Yard (where Jupiter lives with his Aunt and Uncle)—and their headquarters in the hidden, dilapidated camper, buried behind mounds of junk—with its various secret entrances. Similar to treehouse stories—I’m partial to hidden forts and secret headquarters—and the more these books leave the salvage yard and Rocky Beach for “exotic” locales, the less I’m enamored with them. Maybe what I need is a secret hideout, myself, or a treehouse—and I even had those things in childhood! I know one thing, if I ever had the good fortune to buy my own home, I sure as hell would put in a secret room! Maybe that’s where I’d keep all my kids’ books. Speaking of which, as a collectable object (not that I ever consider myself a collector), the older, hardcover editions of these books are the best. They’ve been reprinted many times in many formats. But even if you find a newer one, make sure to get a copy with the illustrations. The full-page, black-and-white drawings by Harry Kane are excellent, and add a lot to the whole enterprise.

3.4.25

Miami Blues

Miami Blues by Charles Willeford (1984) I couldn’t find my copy of The Burnt Orange Heresy (an increasing problem, lately, not being able to find books), and I missed the movie version—but I’ve also got a gaudy, paperback copy of this one, the first book of the Hoke Moseley series—also been meaning to get to (and I can’t remember if I saw the movie, way back). (Also, I found a nearly unwatchable version of Cockfighter, online, which I nearly watched.) I was thrown off, at first, by Willeford’s tone, but once I got used to it, I found this book irresistible. It's disturbing, but also very funny. Well, the very first line describes a character as “a blithe psychopath from California,” so you know you’re in for something. The three main characters are excellent portraits of people who might be considered losers, or reprehensible to some degree—a young, white, career criminal, a white middle-aged cop, and a way-to-young, white, woman, prostitute. The setting is a dated yet not nostalgic nightmare version of Miami. What did I find so compelling about this book? First, I recently wrote something (short segment) set in Miami, so I had the geography fresh in my mind—and I used to be fascinated with the town—though, more, the Keys, particularly “the final destination.” But as someone whose blood is too thick for even central Ohio, I picture living in Miami as hell—for me, anyway—but it’s fun to read about. Then, each of those three main characters are in their own way compelling. Despite their varying degrees of stupidity, racism, ignorance, cluelessness, and lack of morals, each one has their own odd kind of wisdom, survival skills, humor, code by which they live, and even weird charm. So that was interesting. I related to the aging cop, Hoke Moseley, perhaps too much. Also, he lives in a cheap residence hotel, called The Eldorado Hotel, and the descriptions of that place, the feeling of it, to me, was strangely inspiring—I could read whole books just about that place, alone.

2.19.25

The Happy Hollisters at Snowflake Camp

The Happy Hollisters at Snowflake Camp by Jerry West (1954) I previously hadn’t read a Happy Hollisters—found this nice copy, and it’s a winter and snow themed one—my favorite. It’s a little too young for me, generally, and the Hollisters are too sickly-sweet, five kids and perfect parents—but it’s a good book for dogs (HH’s have a great dog, and then there are Huskies in Canada) and snow (their hometown cancels school ahead of Thanksgiving, and they travel by train to Canada to visit their Grandparents). They even have a cat, named White Nose, with kittens. That made me think, if I ever have a white cat, I’m going to name it “White Noise!” If I ever have kids, I’d try to take the Hollister approach—but maybe with a little more compassion. There is a bully, back at school, a kid with some obvious problems that the Hollisters so thoroughly dispatch, you feel bad for him. He needs more than a beating! There was one episode that struck me as particularly odd: at school, recess, a baseball game—they procure equipment, go through a complex system picking captains, then choosing teams, then that thing with a bat to see who bats first, finally the game, and eventually one team is ahead seven to six, then a kid hits a home run, ties it, and the bully is up to bat and… the bell rings, game over. And then it’s mentioned that—so concludes the FIFTEEN MINUTE RECESS! Is the writer insane? I know these were ghost writers—having a little fun with absurdity, maybe? Or just sloppy narrative? It occurs to me that the writer might be making an observation about how time is perceived so differently for children than adults—and for real understanding and good relationships with children, you have to try to relate to their perception of time. Maybe I’m just overthinking things here.

2.15.25

Blood Meridian

Blood Meridian, or, The Evening Redness in the West by Cormac McCarthy (1985) I’ll leave any kind of outline or summary to the internet—it’s right there—since this is a completely insane novel, and any kind of basic rundown just fails. I’m not really interested in where it sits—it’s certainly loved and respected. I’m more interested in what it made me think and how it made me feel. I didn’t imagine I’d get through it, but I did. What does that say about me? I have sometimes wondered if there’s a barely maintained side to me that is horrible and evil—but I’m able to avoid that by working hard at some kind of fragile sanity. But there’s no guarantee that any of us are going to avoid succumbing to despair, depravity, violence, and behaving in a way that’s commonly considered “evil.” I really like Cormac McCarthy’s writing—his style and approach—and a lot of people consider this his best novel, but also hardest to take. I tried reading The Road, but I couldn’t tolerate that—too depressing, or frightening? I found this book in equal parts sickening and exhilarating—I wonder if the horrific behavior of the people in the novel—violent, stupid, hateful—matter-of-factly illustrated—makes the beautiful parts more vivid? But doesn’t that amount to a cheap trick? I know I can’t tolerate many movies and TV series’ that are about the most horrible human behavior imaginable, so why could I get through this? Part of me is suspicious of it—but then much of the book is undeniable. I mean, the writing is both clear and beautiful—as well as convoluted, confusing, and mysterious—all at once. I realize that some of the appeal of this book is as a counterpoint to the false and insipid side of the mythology of the American West—all those movies and books that in their total phoniness are boring, at best, but certainly destructive, too. The mythology of this book strikes me as more truthful, but in its own way destructive. That’s just one argument. It would have been interesting to read this for a college class!

2.13.25