11. My Search for Patty Hearst by Steven Weed

I've always held an interest in the various phenomena that marked the end of the '60s, where the cultural movement got really dark. That whole period, sort of kicked off by Watergate, is just so fascinating, culturally and politically. The establishment was probably at its most retarded in the history of America, while the young radicals were also amazingly stupid. And right in the middle was Parker, kicking everyone's ass—oh no wait, I'm in the wrong review.

I picked up this book for a dollar because I thought it might be an interesting read. Steven Weed is the ur-cuckold, the rational, sensible young white professor whose pure heiress fiancée got kidnapped, brainwashed and eventually turned out by the ultimate revolutionary black cock. I admit to having a slightly prurient, almost mocking, interest in hearing his perspective. Surprisingly, the book far exceeded my expectations and turned out to be both a very thoughtful introspection on his psychology as well as a detailed and accurate history. I don't know if credit is to Steven Weed himself or his ghost writer Scott Swanson, but a real effort was made here to detail all the craziness that went down during the period between Patty's abduction and the shootout of most of the SLA 3 months later. It makes for a fascinating read.

I am not too aware of all the context surrounding the publication of this book, but it's clear that Weed was trying to defend his reputation. So it should be approached with some skepticism. The Hearsts ended up distancing themselves from him. He botched several media interviews. He published the book while Patty was still on the run and then added a bonus chapter after her trial, so it does look like an opportunity to cash in. That being said, he does an excellent job of portraying himself as a victim, but ultimately one who comes to terms with what happened, while not hiding over any of his flaws. You do feel sympathetic for him, but he doesn't milk it or seem to feel sorry for himself. You get the sense that he was more just blown away by what was going on. Imagine, your fiancée is brutally kidnapped from your house and you get the shit beaten out of you. You first think it's a simple hostage case after a break-in. Then you think it's for money because she is the heiress of a famous wealthy family. Then you get this communiqué from these freaky crimino-revolutionaries making these insane political demands. And then the final straw when she joins them and starts parroting their garbled revolutionary bullshit and claims you are a sexist, ageist pig. He was only 26 years old! I think it is a testimony to his basic stability that he didn't go completely bonkers. I'd be curious to hear another perspective, but I think another point in his favour also is that he seems to have completely disappeared from the limelight. The only thing I can find is that he is a real estate agent in the Bay Area.

But back to the book. One example of the detailed history that I hadn't expected was the recounting of the chaos that was the People In Need food drive. One of the SLA's demands was that the Hearst family donate $400 million worth of food to the poor. Instead, they donated $4 million and tried to create a system for buying, sorting and distributing to the food, hiring experienced administrators from Washington state and affiliating them with a wide range of local churches, political organizations, community groups, criminals and just everybody. Because the distant voice of DeFreeze in his political communiqués (sent via tape to the local media through a black church) was weirdly driving the whole thing, all these groups had a lot of power. Plus, it was the 60s in the Bay Area, which was just a total free-for-all when it came to these kinds of things. I mean you think PC thought can cripple getting things done today, you need to read this account. The first food drop turned into a total riot. By the end of the program, they did manage to get a lot of food out, but the waste, chaos and theft that went on in between is just a perfect demonstration of the vast gap between vague political ideals and actually getting something done. Steven Weed volunteered for four days during the last drive and you get a first-person eye view on it.

I know what I've written so far portrays the radical left as being profoundly naive and incompetent (or just criminal) and they were. But the undercurrent throughout the whole book is also the utter incompetence and disconnectedness of the establishment at the time. The FBI completely blew this case. They had absolutely nothing but bullshit and bluster. (Their rhetoric during this case sounds eerily similar to the garbage we get from Homeland Security about "terrorism" today, which should tell us something about how much they actually know.) Particularly hilarious is the part where they bring in an expert to interrogate Weed right after the kidnapping. He is an expert on "marijuana addiction" and asks if any of the attackers had a yellowish tinge, as that is a dead giveaway of said addiction. Straight out of a Freak Brothers comic. Patty's parents, especially her mother, were completely out to lunch. The cops, for the most part, seemed more concerned with harassing people and being dicks than actually investigating. The "establishment" just had absolutely no idea what they were dealing with on all levels.

I was a little kid in Oakland when all this was going down, completely oblivious. But my parents must have been following along, so I'm quite curious to hear their perspectives on the matter.

10. Eon by Greg Bear

I have a strange relationship with science fiction. Basically, it's awesome and I love it. But I am not quite enough of a true nerd to actually be able to fully jump into it and be the guy who in the theatre is furiously reading a 4-inch think paperback while waiting for Aliens to start (I saw this). I often approach science fiction novels with trepidation, with fear that they will be too long, have too much detail and visualisation that I won't be able to follow, that they will be part of some massive series that I'll have to follow to get the fully satisfying reading experience. One of my 50-books goals a few years back was to catch up on a bunch of sci-fi classics and I read quite a few, but since then, it's been few and far between, reading one when the mood really strikes me.

I've been interested in Greg Bear for a while. He has a reputation of being a "hard" science fiction writer. This vague distinction always adds a level of hesitation for me. But I saw a well-read paperback on the shelf at Chainon for a buck and just felt the urge. Not giving myself a chance to be intimidated (and to wash a bit of the PC-stench of The Suspect off my mind), I jumped right in.

Happily, it turned out to be a real page-turner and definitely worthy of its reputation as a sci-fi classic. I read the 500+ pages in a couple of days, staying up too late on school nights (be concerned, Mom!). It's the near-future, 2012, and a large asteroid has appeared, about the shape of a potato and 120 km long. Upon closer inspection, it has symmetrical bands along its length and other markings that appear to indicate the work of intelligence.

I also note that interestingly this is the third sci-fi classic that involves a vessel showing up in our solar system that turns out to be hollow and reveals great secrets, the other two being Rendezvous with Rama and Titan.

Eon was written in 1985 and Bear has pushed forward the cold war context to our present day. He also added in a limited nuclear exchange, called The Little Death.

The west has the advantage in space and NATO quickly claims control of the stone, as it is called (cleverly, the Russians call it the potato). The book's perspective comes mainly from a young theoretical physicist, Patricia Vasquez, as she is called up for reasons she doesn't know to participate in the exploration of the stone. The discoveries in the stone have been kept under tight wraps and all she knows are the rumours that it is hollow and that evidence of an intelligent civilization has been discovered. The first part of the book is her going there and slowly being introduced to what they have actually found. What they have found is pretty awesome and it's a big part of what keeps the pages turning. You want to find out more!

I won't reveal any more, suffice it to say that there are external conflicts from the jealous Soviets and internal conflicts from what they learn about the civilization that did the work. I guess it's called hard science because one of the things they find at the far end of the stone is a seemingly endless tunnel made of walls of anti-matter or something. The tunnel (called The Way) is a huge part of the book and some crazy spacey-physics stuff happens. I guess the whole thing is based on real physics or something, but it all seemed like pretty standard science fiction to me. It was really cool, but I'm not sure what is so "hard" about it. A scientist would probably understand the distinction, but my point is that for a simple-minded thrill-seeker like myself, the science was not a deterrant at all.

Also, though it sounds like an afterthought, the humans and their narratives are ultimately what keep the book moving through to the end and they are quite well done. How do people react when faced with such mind-blowing situations. There is also the theme of nuclear annhiliation, something that was much more in the cultural forefront when the book was written. It is still very meaningful and intense here.

Great book.

9. The Suspect by Michael Robotham

Well here is the first stinker of 2011. Well, that's a bit harsh. It's not a terrible book. The basic mystery is pretty cool and the guy is a competent writer. The problem is that this is basically the slightly upmarket version of a Jeffrey Deaver, a book that is demographically targetted rather than actually written. And the target? The guilty pussified middle-aged white male of the 21st century. Okay, I'm getting ahead of myself. Before I go off on a rant, I'll give you the basic premise.

Joseph O'Loughlin is a clinical psychologist in London who gets involved in a case involving a young girl found murdered and tortured in a very specific way. Because he works with prostitutes as a side philanthropic effort, the investigating detective comes to him, thinking the victim was a prostitute. It turns out that not only is she not a prostitute, but an ex-patient of the protagonist's. As he digs deeper, more and more is revealed until he himself starts to become the principal suspect. Okay, pretty standard non-detective gets in too deep and has to become detective-like, using his real world skills, to prove himself innocent. It's not bad as these kinds of stories go, with some good twists and turns, rich characters and good locales in and outside of London.

The problem is that to get to that story, you have to dig through pages and pages of whiny, self-indulgent, narcissistic chaff. First of all, the psychologist has early Parkinson's. Bummer. Dick Francis often had characters with a single handicap like this (the wife in the iron lung, the paralysed hand, etc.) and they gnawed at the main character. But they didn't become a major part of the narrative with the guy being a total douche, constantly obsessing over it, not telling his wife and child, nor the detective who is investigating the case, nor none of his colleagues so they all think he is being even more suspicious when his face gets all blank, serial-killer like, and his hands are trembling and he drops things at crucial moments. Even lamer than this though is that the guy also has a way hotter wife than he deserves (but of course she loves him unquestioningly), so he has to fret all the time about the other more alpha males wanting and possibly getting her sexually (his best friend, the plumber, the visiting cops). Oh yeah and his father is a super successful medical doctor and contemptuous of his son for choosing psychology and he has to fret about that every single time he sees his parents even though they are basically quite pleasant.

Look, I agree that we should try to be psychologically aware of ourselves. But there is a point where that just becomes preening self-indulgence and the character in this book goes way over the line. Dude, man the fuck up! You have a hot wife. Good for you. Own it. You are a grown man. Time to move past your parents' disappointment. I think this book was semi-deliberately written this way in an attempt to appeal to female readers. And I think the author is one of those misguided guys who thinks this kind of sensitive shit gets you laid. Lesson to my younger male readers: it doesn't.

But here is the real capper. Along with all this pussified hand-wringing, we also get a super-nasty, titillating gang rape, ripped almost directly from Leaving Las Vegas (in between rounds, they cheered for Man U). This comes in part of the narrative behind the protagonist's ex-prostitute ally, with whom he gets to have an affair (but it's okay because it was just once after he had learned he has Parkinson's and can't talk to his wife about it for fear of showing weakness or some such bullshit), and of course the sex they have is super angelic the first time but then he "takes her" the second round. And of course even though she has been a prostitute since she was 13 at the lowest levels of the game, she is still so hot that when they go out at restaurants everyone stares at her. It's the worst kind of adolescent masculine fantasy dressed up as some kind of profound psychological analysis.

Also, the psychology in the book is actually really simplistic. One of his patients is scared of crossing bridges and comes to his office with a life buoy. And guess what his treatment is? To talk with her about all the stable bridges in the world and going over the safety statistics with her until she is a bit calmer.

I have to admit to being a bit taken in by the packaging. It looked like it would be kind of tough and cold, with a very sparse cover and glowing reviews from (what I mistakenly assume to be more critical) British newspapers like The Sunday Times or the Telegraph. But really, looking closer, which I should have done, I see the majority of those quotes are from Australian papers and even The Australian Women's Weekly, which should have rung some alarms.

The protagonist in this book is the kind of character Patricia Highsmith would have made fun of. Thank god I didn't buy the other book by this guy that was right next to it and also tempting for a dollar.

If you are one of the hordes of pussified males that don't take responsibility for anything and can't fix a flat tire or drive in the snow and you feel terribly guilty about being a white male but still think it makes sense that a super-hot ex-hooker would ultimately sympathize with your sensitivity because you lecture to prostitutes about their safety and you want to revel in your feelings of inadequacy and doubt and impotent frustration towards your parents, then you'll probably love this book.

8. How Like an Angel by Margaret Millar

Will 2011 be the year of Margaret Millar? How Like an Angel did not rock my world like Beast in View, but I am still blown away by how talented a writer Millar is. This is much more of a straightforward mystery, albeit an engaging and interesting one. Joe Quinn is a gambler and laid-off casino P.I. who gets dropped off in the middle of the desert after a binge at the tables. He wanders onto the property of a strange religious commune and from there gets mixed up in a mystery that involves bank embezzlement, small town real estate and, of course, murder.

Quinn meets an old woman in the commune who helps him out. In return, she asks him to find out the fate of one Patrick O'Gorman, who lived in the small nearby town of Chilcote. She doesn't say why and when he finds out that not only is O'Gorman missing and presumed dead, but that his mysterious disappearance 5 years ago caused a scandal that the town still hasn't gotten over. Intrigued, he starts to dig deeper.

What's great about this book are the excellent locations, especially the little fringe California town of Chilcote that was once primarily agricultural and since dominated by oil money. You can understand why so many writers lived or wrote about Southern California in the 20th century. It was a dynamic place, but also so atmospheric. She really captures the feel of a too-hot desert town. The cult is also quite neat, a precursor to the communes of the 60s.

What didn't quite work for me was the romantic angle, where the protagonist seems to all of a sudden fall in love with O'Gorman's widow. I mean yes she seemed like an admirable woman, but the falling in love came out of nowhere. Maybe that's how it worked back when you couldn't have pre-marital sex, but it seemed forced to me.

Margaret Millar was an amazing person. She was Canadian but moved to the States after marrying her husband, Ross MacDonald. She did a ton of conservation work and wrote kick-ass novels. I wonder if anyone has written a good biography of her? It's funny because she was quite succesful, both commercially and critically, and yet her name has sort of faded while everyone still knows who Ross MacDonald is. Is that simply the male bias of publishing and the crime genre or simply a testament to the longevity of having a single recurring detective?

7. Les Sept Jours du talion by Patrick Senécal

[title translates to The Seven Days of Retaliation.]

Patrick Senécal is a very popular writer here in Quebec. Two of his earlier books (5150 rue des Ormes and Sur le Seuil) were made into movies (as was this one). I read Sur le Seuil, which was one of the first novels I read in french. It's the story of a psychologist investigating people who start suddenly going on killing sprees. It was quite gripping and I was particularly impressed with how extreme Senécal was willing to go with his plot (jusqu'ua bout!).

I was not interested in Les Sept Jours because I saw the trailer of the movie before even knowing about the book. And like so many trailers today, it gives away way too much. There really needs to be a law about that. And it looked like a harrowing, unpleasant subject matter and I closed my mind to it. Not that I'm against that stuff being in books and movies, but I just find it so difficult to watch or read about that I just avoid it. However, a friend of mine strongly recommended that I read the book, to the point of lending me his copy. It sat on my shelf haunting me, both because the subject matter looked rough and reading it in french makes it twice as hard for me.

The story is a simple one. A young girl is raped and murdered and the doctor father kidnaps the sex maniac responsible to get his revenge. He holes up in a cabin and tortures him for 7 days. You can see why I might have been reluctant to read this book. I'm definitely not a fan of torture porn. However, what that simple premise leaves out is the psychological depth of the book and the suspense. It's a real page-turner! Right from the first page, you are caught up in medias res with the doctor preparing to carry out his kidnapping. There is a lot of cool procedural stuff in flashback while he's waiting in the car outside the courthouse and you really want to find out what happens next.

Then when we do get to the cabin, the book is just as engrossing as you follow the police trying to find him, society's divided reaction to the doctor's actions, the affect on his wife and ultimately how the doctor himself starts to unravel. This is some dark, rich shit. It poses the question, what would you do in this situation and is it the right thing? It answers that question in a deep psychological way with a frisson of the supernatural. Very gripping and enjoyable read. What I like about Senécal, among other things, is that even his side characters are interesting. The team of cops, though playing a smaller role (except the main detective on the case) seem very real and kind of cool.

I also have to add that the things they guy does to his victim are pretty fucking harsh. I've seen some harshness in fiction (especially in the movies) and there are things that go on here that really had me quite freaked out. It's not only the excess or the twisted creativity, but also the way it is delivered to the reader and put into the psychological context.

It's also interesting to read this alongside Sur le Seuil. Sur le Seuil does it much more explicitly, but both suggest that there is a true evil in the world, but that it is something that is linked to our own psychology. We can access it and it can take us over, but we can also choose to fight against it. It is, however, a real thing out there (especially, it seems, in rural Quebec!) waiting for us to give it access.

Here is my question after reading this book. Why the fuck has it not been translated into english and properly marketed? Is this the fault of lame Toronto-centric publishing houses, trapped between their ignorance of the francophone market and their fear of anything "genre"? Is this the fault of navel-gazing Quebecers who can't imagine their written work would have any value in the rest of North America? Because this book seems highly marketable to me. It's a real page-turner and delivers the horror goods. There is a huge market in the States and anglo Canada for this kind of horror. Will somebody please sell it? Or if not, please explain why.

6. This Sweet Sickness by Patricia Highsmith

This Sweet Sickness doesn't rank amongst my favourite of her works and at some point I even found it a bit trying. But it does pick up by the second half and ultimately she delivers a succesful tale of a man driven mad by his obsession with a woman. She is such a master at writing about what is going on inside the head of a crazy person. It's not just the internal dialogue, but subtle little clues, like sudden surges of energy or erroneous perceptions (that the reader is aware of).

I did have one exciting moment that sadly turned out to be not so exciting. The basic story is that a scientist, David Kelsey, pines after the woman he left behind in his town (to make money to be able to marry her). She ends up going out with another guy and then marrying him and the "protagonist" can't let go, to the point that he has bought another house and spends every weekend there, preparing for her eventual arrival in that home. He sends letters to her and eventually harrases her enough that her husband comes out to confront him. They get in a scuffle and the husband falls and hits his head on the concrete porch stairs and dies.

Kelsey drives to the police station and pretends he doesn't know the guy. And here is where I flipped out. "He [David Kelsey] said that the man had arrived at his house in a belligerent mood, addressed him as Parker or something like that, and eventually pulled a gun."

It sure seemed like a potential Highsmith/Westlake connection. I was actually jumping up and down and shouting at my wife "I think Patricia Highsmith may have read Parker!" I was under the impression that This Sweet Sickness was written in 1970 and I went on a flurry of google searching, which then made me realize that the paperback I was reading was released in 1970, but the book was originally written in 1960, years before The Hunter came out. :(

It sure does sound like a reference to Parker, though doesn't it? I mean isn't he always attracting beligerrent dudes with guns coming looking for him?

My wife did offer one appeasement to my disappointment. Perhaps Westlake had read This Sweet Sickness and the name had stuck in his head? The name Parker comes up twice more in that section as he continues to lie to the cops. Highsmith and Westlake were contemporaries. Can anybody find evidence that one may have read the other on the web?

5. Crusade in Europe by Dwight D. Eisenhower

I'm having a hard time getting this post out. I'm a bit rusty! I've been busy with the new year, but it was also this 487 page tome that has been occupying my reading these last couple of weeks.

I don't know what spurred me on to my sudden Eisenhower kick a few months ago, but it led me to Crusade in Europe, which is his account of the allied forces involvement and victory in World War Two. He wrote it three years after the end of the war, so the events were still fresh in his mind (it also heavily cited and documented as well) and many of the politics that took centre stage during his presidency were only then beginning to gestate.

First of all, World War Two is mindblowing. For those of us who grew up with the last cultural remnants of that period (Time Life books, Hogan's Heroes, Sergeant Rock comics, old war movies on Saturday morning), it is sort of a basic part of our upbringing and you almost take it for granted. I did also benefit from a pretty thorough education about the Holocaust as a child, whose impact never really became trivialized in my own consciousness. I truly hope that the next generations are learning this history as well. All of us should try not to forget the incredible scale of the war. Pretty much the entire globe (certainly all the white people) were fighting. What this book brings home, though, is the sheer scale of the logistics and even more amazing is how it was succesfully managed by a relatively small command group (led by Eisenhower) reporting back to their governments, dealing with all the competing political and military interests. Eisenhower's main point is that it was crucial that one person be put in charge. An interesting thesis and one I do not have the space (nor the knowledge) to get into here.

Another element that I found gratifying and yet frustrating, was the social consciousness and general common sense Eisenhower displays in this book. It's gratifying because it is nice to be reminded that the general zeitgeist in America was once one of generosity and awareness of the rest of the world instead of the selfish consumerism and fear-based anger that dominates her thinking today (not that that stuff wasn't around back then, as it has always been a feature of U.S. history, but it was way less severe). For instance, Eisenhower was totally against censorship in the military. Only in a few instances did he hide information from the press. On the contrary, he let them in early on information on many major attacks with the understanding that they wouldn't publish the info until it couldn't harm the allies' effort (and which except in one single instance, that of the Germans surrendering, the press followed loyally). He also dedicated precious military resources to make sure that any reporters got driven and escorted to wherever they wanted to go on the battle lines.

I believed that the proper attitude of the commander toward represnentatives of the press was to regard them as quasi staff officers; to recognize their mission in the war and to assist them in carrying it out. Normally the only justifiable excuse for censorship is the necessity to withhold valuable infommation that the enemy could not otherwise obtain. during the war I personally violated this general rule by imposing temporary political censorship in North Africa and by withholding advance notice of the eventual command arrangements in Normandy. Though my reasons, on both occasions, seemed valid to me, I never failed to regret what later proved to be a mistake.

In Word War II the great body of the American and British press representatives comprised an intelligent, patriotic, and energetic group of individuals. They could, with complete safety and mutual advantage, be taken into the confidence of the commander. When this was done the press body itself became the best possible instrument for the disciplining of an individual who violated any confidence or code under which the group was operating. Throughout the campaigns in the Mediterranean and Europe, I found that correspondents habitually responded to candor, frankness, and understanding.

In the handling of the press, the American practice was to provide every facility that would permit an individual to go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. While this imposed upon us some additional administrative burdens, it paid off in big dividends because of the conviction in the minds of all that there was no attempt to conceal error and stupidity. These, when discovered, could be promptly aired and therefore did not grow in the the festering sores that would have resulted from any attempt at concealment. (page 300)

How mindblowing is that? I wonder what Cheney and the rest of Bush's administration thought of when they read that (assuming they actually knew any American history)? Even the basic idea of admitting fault, of admitting that there was error and stupidity at times seems lost to government and corporations and even individuals in America today.

Here's another amazing passage that really struck me:

Once the recruit of 1941 was inducted into the service the military leader had to shoulder almost exclusive responsibility for imparting such an understanding, but there was implied a glaring deficiency in our country's educational process. It seemed to me that constant stressing of the individual's rights and privileges of American citizenship had overshadowed the equally important truth that such individualism can be sustained only as long as the citizen accepts his full responsibility for the welfare of the nation that protects him in the exercise of these rights.

Every stupid teabagger and every entitled Liberal (and pretty much every Canadian as well for that matter) should read those words and think about them.

I could go and on about this book. I'll just say that it was a great read on many levels. It's a bit plain in style and at times gets a bit slow with a page or two on troops moving into position, but that never lasts more than a page or two. The story itself is astounding and followng it from the top is fascinating, enjoyable and educational. I would also recommend this book for anyone interested in leadership. Some great advice here on handling multiple allies, on maintaining morale in the people under you, in being direct, straight and respectful of your colleagues and subordinates. Overall, I found it inspiring and just kind of mind-blowing. You should read it.

4. Iceman 6 - Canadian Kill by Joseph Nazel

There was almost the whole Iceman series on display at S.W. Welch for the longest time. They are beautiful artifacts, but I always held off on buying them. Of them all, judging by the cover here, you can guess that Canadian Kill would be the one I really would want. We did a big sale of old books at the end of the year and I went a bit feverish with the $24 credit we had earned and I ended up picking this up.

The Iceman series was published by Holloway House, who are best known for being the first publishers of some classic ghetto literature, including Iceberg Slim and Donald Goines. If Canadian Kill is representative of the series (and from other blog reviews I've read, I suspect it is), then Iceman is definitely a lower order of quality, both literary and political. I honestly suspect that this book had only one draft. There are many typos, but also some weird continuity errors and the occasional wrong name used. The set-up is spectacular and fantastic, but this particular story was quite pedestrian. Basically, Iceman is a street tough made good who now owns an insanely fancy resort in Vegas and has a coterie of beautiful, ass-kicking women and a jive-talking sidekick named Christmas Tree. They live in a world of trouble and decide to take a vacation at a remote cabin in Northern Quebec.

Unfortunately, they arrive by plane at their cabin just as young Yvette is escaping on skies from the snowmobiling guards of the New Body of Man whose top secret hideout just happens to be around the corner from Iceman's new ski chalet. A trigger-happy guard shoots the plane and thus Iceman and his team of beautiful deadly-handed babes and Christmas Tree have to pit themselves against this organization, led by the megalomaniac The Manager, that was just poised to take over the world.

It's basically Shaft meets James Bond, with everything turned up to 11. I do have to appreciate how quickly the action got started. Guns come out quickly and there is a lot of it. There was a weird trope where practically every time somebody got shot, the wound and blood was described in detail for at least one and sometimes two sentences. And yet there is absolutely no sex in the book! It's all offstage, a weird coyness that I would not have expected from a Holloway House book.

Joseph Nazel himself was quite an interesting guy. He cranked out tons of books and was a major player in the African-American journalism scene in the 70's, 80's and 90's, being an editor at a bunch of magazines. I suspect he was a better writer than the Iceman series indicates, but was probably just cranking these out to make his mail. I'd like to read a real in-depth biography of the guy.

It's weird, there is very little info that I can find about the Holloway House. They don't even have an entry in Wikipedia. Very odd. These guys are a crucial part of American cultural and literary history.

3. Everyday Drinking by Kingsley Amis

I received this book as a pleasant surprise xmas gift from my wife. I had never heard of it before, but it's certainly a book that I should know about. Lucky Jim is high on the list of my all-time favourite books, though I have never read another book by Amis.

Everyday Drinking is a collection of three previously published books on drinking by Amis, two of which, Every Drinking (1973) and On Drink (1983) were collections of his regular columns for a newspaper (the Times?) and the third, How's your Glass (1984) which is a long and challenging alcohol trivia quiz.

This is enjoyable, informative and even inspiring stuff. The first book is an excellent practical primer for the beginner and expert alike on how to drink. It gives sane, realistic and specific advice on how one should stock a home bar, how to one up wine snobs and get the better of cheap hosts (and also how to be a cheap host), the best strategies for dealing with a hangover and what kind of diet a lifetime drinker should have. I have come to enjoy alcohol and drinking a great deal in my middle years, but anybody who appreciates expertise should realize what a perfect expert Kingsley Amis was to write such a treatise. He was a lifelong practiced drinker with an expert eye on the foibles of human interactions (which is a big part of the fun of drinking, as Amis himself makes quite clear) and a brilliant and productive writer. This is a satisfying read simply because you really feel like you are in the hands of a master. Also, compared to a lot of similar foodie books of today, he always keeps his advice on the ground. I can't tell you how many recipes I just have to skip because the ingredients are not for sale anywhere outside of their point of origin or New York or LA. Other than the specifically British items (especially the beers), pretty much everything Amis suggests for you to start a lifetime of drinking can be found in any liquor store.

It's also quite funny. His acerbic and misanthropic wit is as sharp as ever here. He has a chapter on how to host a party, all based around avoiding sharing any of your good or expensive booze with the guests, but doing it in such a way to make the wives think you are super generous and gallant and the "old stagers" (the husbands who really want to get drunk) think you are cheap with the ultimate goal of ensuring that they have a good fight on the way home from your party. One nasty technique is in response to the old stager who demands a gin and tonic at a party where only wine is being visibly served. You fill up the glass with a lot of ice and tonic and then pour a small amount of gin gently over the back of a spoon so it lays on top of the ice. The first sip will taste quite strong, thus fooling the guest long enough. Yes, the privations of the Blitz sit deep with the Brits!

The quiz at the end is really tough and quite fun too. If I had any space left in my memory banks, I'd probably try and commit a lot of it too memory. It just seems cool to know.

Interestingly enough, after I had finished the book last night, I was thinking that it would be neat to find the original copies of these books. I thought to myself, this is the kind of book Louis XIV would probably be able to lay his hands upon. And lo and behold this very morning, he has a post up about the original hardback of On Drink in all its 70s British glory. Such a coincidence calls for a drink!

2. The Blond Baboon by Janwillem van de Wetering

This is the third of the Grijpsta/de Gier/commisarius/Cardozo series that I have read and the most traditionally-plotted. It's a straightforward murder mystery, taking placed almost entirely in Amsterdam. Note how I include two more characters in the identification of the series. That's because the commisarius and junior detective Cardozo are featured as much as the two main detectives. Really, the detectives act as a team, with everyone participating, and really the series should be identified as "the Amsterdam municipal police murder squad series" instead of "the Grijpsta-de Gier series".

This time, a woman falls down her back stairs during a destructive gale. It looks like an accident and she was drinking, but there are too many weird minor other things going on for the team to simply let it go. Soon they are digging into a complex tale of the internal politics of a furniture business. As usual, the real pleasure of these books is the interplay between the detectives and their humanist approach to their work and the world. It's like putting on an old comfy sweater. I wonder if they made a TV show out of this? They should if they haven't.

1. The Mamur Zapt and the Return of the Carpet by Michael Pearce

Some blog somewhere recommended the books of Michael Pearce. I simply wrote down the two titles recommended and his name on the list I keep in my pocket. I have completely forgotten where the recommendation came from. I'd like to rectify that if I could, so if it happens to be any of the vast audience who reads this, throw me a comment.

The Mamur Zapt is the head of the British Secret Service in Egypt when it was under Britain's control in the early decades of the twentieth century. The Return of the Carpet is the first in a series of 16 books about the Welsh army captain, Gareth Cadwallader Owens, who fills this role of intrigue, politics and investigation in Cairo. I really don't know much else about the pedigree of these books, besides the brief bio in the back about the author, who grew up in Egypt and went back there to teach.

The Return of the Carpet refers to an annual ceremony where a holy piece of thread comes to Cairo from Mecca. The book starts out with a wealthy and powerful politician surviving an amateurish assassination attempt. We slowly learn about the complex politics (the fundamental basis of which is that Britain is ostensibly on there as an advisor to the government, but actually has the army and is basically in charge, but this is only the beginning; it really is complex) of the situation. Furthermore, the Mamur Zapt is supposed to be only responsible for intelligence and has no mandate to investigate. There are several other agencies with which me must negotiate, manipulate and politic to get things happening. If you like byzantine state politics and inter-departmental intrigue, this book does those things very well. It's great to see Owen make plays against obstinate army sub-commanders or Syrian consul generals as well as to watch him realize he has been manipulated.

What it also does well is describe the rich physical and social milieu that is 1920's Cairo. It was a crazy melting pot and Pearce really brings it home for the reader. This is a period and region I am not too familiar with but have always been drawn to (probably due to those early Tintins), so I will definitely continue along with this series as I find new volumes. The plot itself was a bit dry and not super-interesting to me at certain points along the way, but there is enough promise there that I have the feeling other stories will be more engaging.

2010 year-end wrap-up

Wow! What a great year! I liken my year to that of the San Antonio Spurs regular season in the National Basketball Association this year. They started the season publicly recognizing that their star power forward was slowing down and that they were going to take the season with a more relaxed approach. And yet about a third of the way through the season, they have the best record in the league. Similarly, after my second-half letdown last year, I decided [url=http://olmansfifty.blogspot.com/2010/01/2009-end-of-year-wrap-up.html]to take it easy with myself this year[/url] (as it says above "reading for pleasure in 2010") and make no reading commitments. And yet somehow I managed to catch fire and record my best reading year since I started counting.

One of the lessons I learned and applied is to avoid the spring time meltdown. In my poor-performing years, I often stopped reading in March and April, probably caught up in the excitement of springtime. So now I make an extra effort in those months to stay diligent, which in turn increases momentum for the summer months. This year, I had a two-week honeymoon to the Galapagos in February, with lots of time on a boat and in airports, which gave me a huge boost.

Another factor is that I cut way down on participating in the gaming world. I still play once every two weeks with my regular group here, but I just lost interest in staying up to date on the hobby and marketplace, arguing with people about history and theory of tabletop roleplaying games. That took up a lot of time much of which I spend reading now.

Once I saw that I had a good pace going, I started to get obsessed with the idea of making up for years where I didn't make the goal by trying to get to an average of 50. This obsession got me tracking and calculating, which in turn, increased my motivation. Finally, in the late summer, our "free" cable got cut off, which definitely got the pages turning.

As far as content, it was quite a varied year, though with an emphasis on crime fiction as usual. Aside from my continued re-reading of the Parker series (each of the three books of which I read this year were as fulfilling and probably more rewarding this time around—I can't wait to get my hands on "Memory" which everyone is talking about), I had four standout reads this year:

The Porkchoppers by Ross Thomas

The Red Right Hand by Joel Townsley Rogers

Barchester Towers by Anthony Trollope

The Engagement by Simenon

The Porkchoppers makes me particularly happy because not only was it a great book, but it's opened up an entire ouevre by a skilled author who talks my language. It is so nice to know that there is still more to discover out there!

The Red Right Hand is just totally fucked out. I'm usually not a fan of books where the author is messing with the reader, but this one is just so well done and so creepy that I couldn't shake it from my mind. Also, that it was written in 1945, and yet there is nothing today that exceeds it in terms of pure dark craziness I find strangely comforting (or the opposite, depending on your view of humanity).

Barchester Towers met my hopes (and exceeded them in that it was much easier for me to read than I had thought) and has opened the door for me to read much more Trollope going forward.

The Engagement sealed the deal for me with Simenon's romans durs: if I find one used, I will pick it up. This is a masterpiece of noir, guilt, crime fiction but also of depicting a sense of place.

Another enjoyable element of 2010 was hooking up with some of the other book bloggers out there that are outside of my initial group of 50 booker friends (who are still plugging away, with a nice resurgence at the end of the year, despite the imposition of family values and multiple responsibilities getting in the way of reading). Louis XIV of Existential Ennui, Trent at The Violent World of Parker and The Book Glutton have created a little corner of nerdy obscurity and intelligent discourse that has brought me a lot of enjoyment this year. Thanks for that!

A special note to the book blog of my lovely wife, who has also had a record-breaking year and whose choice of books keeps me aware of segments of the market I like to know about and whose much more diligent and disciplined approach to her posts keeps me from being totally lazy with my own writing.

It's always hard to say what 2011 will bring. I am going to take it easy on myself, but I definitely want to hit 50 this year. The on-deck shelf has swelled over xmas break and there is a nice list of intriguing books and authors awaiting me. Reading is good! Happy New Year everyone! I wish you all a rocking and well-read 2011!

73. Beast in View by Margaret Millar

Still swinging! Got one last book in before the year ends.

As a general rule, I have very little interest in bookstores that only sell new books. I like them and lament there fate in the internet and big box age, but there is nothing to be discovered there for me, generally speaking. However, Dark Carnival in Berkeley, California, is an exception to this rule. It's a science fiction and fantasy bookstore that is overstocked to the point of books lining the floors under shelves. They do have a used section but it is limited to two shelves way in the back. However, they have such a wide stock of new books that there are many things to be discovered there. I don't know if it's because they keep stuff that is long out of print, or do orders with small publishing houses or perhaps distributors that still have old stock, but you can find new copies of books that are long out of print. For example, they have at least 5 different books by Margaret Millar, all new but quite old. The copy of Beast in View that I bought is a Caroll & Graf paperback released in 2000. I normally do not buy new books but Margaret Millar, despite her past popularity, has proven extremely hard to find in the used book stores that I have frequented, so I picked this one up as well as The Fiend (with the creepiest cover of a dude in a raincoat watching a girl on a swing).

Beast in View begins with an old maid, who isn't that old, living by herself in a hotel suite. She receives a very disturbing prank call from a female stranger who claims to know her and seems to know too much about her. This call disturbs the woman deeply and she calls the man who handled her late father's estate, the only person she really has any connection with at this point. The financial advisor is near retiring and at loose ends with the death of his own wife and so takes up the woman's case, though it is not really his line of work. The set-up is fairly straightforward but the execution that follows is not. Millar takes us into the lives of many different characters, connected only tangentially (at least at first) to the old maid and the prank caller. Many chapters starts out from the perspective of a new character, which almost becomes disorienting, except that a much larger and richer story of a completely dysfunctional family, twisted from their own emotional failings and the restrictive social pressures of late '50s white upper middle class America, comes slowly and intriguingly to the surface.

And what a dark story it is. The characters are so desperate, lost and damaged and Millar's portrayal so penetrating that it is almost painful to read at times, except that her language is so deliciously nasty and the intrigue so gripping that you keep turning the pages. This book reminded me a lot of Patricia Highsmith, that same kind of realistic and unflinching regard at other people's broken minds. I think that perhaps Millar has some sympathy for her characters, where Highsmith had none, but I think such a statement requires reading more of Millar's works, which I definitely will do. Beast in View is a great little novel with a tight, rewarding ending that caps off a dark, ugly journey into the despairing, twisted minds of the lost souls of Southern California's bourgeoisie. Strongly recommended.

72. The Fools in Town Are on our Side by Ross Thomas

Well I'm afraid I faltered on the home stretch. I really had the opportunity to hit 75 by the end of the year, having two days before xmas vacation where work should have been quiet and then a day of flying, but those two days turned out to be really busy wrapping up year-end stuff and the flight was a total clusterfuck (how is a toilet not working a "safety issue" Air 'fuck you customers' Canada?!) and I just couldn't concentrate. Then when I got to the family seat for xmas there was just too much fun family stuff. A bit disappointing to not meet Book Glutton's generous and fun challenge.

I do wish a merry xmas and happy holidays to you all!

And now on to my second Ross Thomas book. The Fools in Town Are on our Side is ultimately, the story of a recently fired spy who is hired to shake up a corrupt town in order that it can be cleaned up. But that storyline is actually one of three and only really gets going in the last quarter of the book. The other two threads are a picaresque origin tale of the protagonist and the story of how he lost his job. Each of the three storylines are engaging and enjoyable, but as a whole the book lacked a consistent rhythm. By the time I got to the corrupt town storyline, I felt the energy had flagged some.

The longer storyline of his origins is a lot of fun, remined me of Isabelle Allende. Though American, he moves to Shanghai as a young boy, where he is orphaned by errant Chinese bombers in the early stages of WWII. He luckily ends up in a brothel run by a French madam and learns many languages and street-smart skills as her assistant. After several adventures in a Japanese jail and on a prison transfer ship (where he and the guy who becomes his adopted father fleece the other prisoners with their gambling skills) he ends up stateside and in the military. There he is recruited by this top-secret spy agency. Other shit happens, including a brutal, life-changing incident that was the most shocking, intense moment of the book.

As a spy in China, he gets double-crossed and arrested in Macao. In order to save face and to get him out of prison, the government makes him the scapegoat. He gets a nice retirement package, but has nothing he can legimately put on his CV. So he quickly accepts a mysterious job offer from a quirky trio of an ex-sheriff, a beautiful ex-prostitute and a brilliant, flighty mastermind. They make up, in effect, a consulting firm who clean up dirty towns. In this case, it is a small Florida city of a few hundred thousand and the plan is to make the town so corrupt and out of control that the whole thing will have to be shut down. The people paying for this work are not so pure, but have been pushed out of power and want and older, quieter form of corruption than the existing one.

Ross Thomas definitely has a cynical eye and it is fantastic to see it turned on a small southern city. There is a passage that opens a chapter where he describes the physical and socio-economic geography of the town that is a masterpiece of worldbuilding. When the "consultants" start to put their plan into action, the reading is delicious. You get to meet a dripping-with-grease cast of corrupt politicians, cops, merchants, journalists, gamblers and actual criminals. It gets even better when the chaos of the town causes the big-time out-of-town gangsters to roll in, either to defend their fiefdom or to try and snatch it for themselves.

This is all great stuff, but it comes late and never addresses the major points of conflict in the other two storylines: the horrible incident that drove the hero to become a spy and his betrayal that got him fired. A very enjoyable read, but not the near-masterpiece that The Porkchoppers is. This knowledge justifies my hesitation in going hog-wild on the many other Ross Thomas books on sale at Welch's. I need to know him better as an author before I can necessarily buy all of his books.

71. A Fine Ending by Louis Rastelli

[Today's book review is a Special cross-posting today with my other blog, Briques du Neige, about life in Montreal, so go check it out if you want to hear me rant and rave about today's hipsters.]

I have a nice windfall of Ross Thomas books awaiting me on my on-deck shelf, but I didn't quite have the desire yet. I think I had read a few too many books of that genre and needed to take a little break. Happily, my wife had put out A Fine Ending on the outgoing pile which reminded me that since she had read and reviewed it and since I had accidently met the author himself, I also wanted to read it.

A Fine Ending is semi-fictional and semi-autobiographical. Rastelli was in the anglo-hipster Montreal scene of the 90s, back when it was a little more real and a little less self-conscious (and a lot poorer). His book is basically a chronicle of his life during that period: the places he lived, the people he knew and the things he did. There is a lot of musical shows and practices, finding of cool old stuff, moving and in and out of apartments, partying and caring (or failing to) of cats. This last subject is probably the only one where the book has any emotional resonance. The rest of it is strangely matter-of-fact and surface level. Louis seems to be strangely disconnected from it all in some ways. It's not just the writing style but his constant "friend-zone" relationship with women. He clearly is really connected and close with those people and a sensitive, aware guy. But somehow, you never really get to hear his own thoughts. He is so Canadian and passive that he seems to even have subsumed his entire personality for fear of being too aggressive. I wonder if part of it is that he knows a lot of the people still and can't really be totally open.


Today, Louis is a bit of an elder statesmen on the scene, maintaining cultural traditions and events for the new generation of wealthy, self-conscious hipsters. I can't say that A Fine Ending is a well-written book. There is some good stuff in it, some touching moments, but it's more like a tightly-edited and revised diary. It makes for some parts where you wonder why his is telling us exactly what he put in his backpack before going to watch fireworks on the mountain. However, it's not unpleasant to read at all and it has a good heart. If you live in Montreal and are curious about those storied days that influence the way we think about Montreal, you may well enjoy the book. Finally, it really is a pretty solid historical document, capturing a phenomenon that happens in cities all over North America and possibly the rest of the world, that fantastic period when a city truly becomes culturally alive on its own, without the influence of the governments or big corporations or self-aware hipsters for whom style trumps actual politics.

I'd also known that the book is beautifully designed. The full-bleed colour cover and the black & while illustrations inside perfectly capture the feel of the world Rastelli is describing.

70. The Japanese Corpse by Janwillem van de Wetering

Continuing on with the adventures of Dutch detectives de Gier and Grijstra and their commisaris. This time, they get involved in the culture and criminal world of Japan. The story starts with a half-Japanese, half-American hostess of a Japanese restaurant who is convinced that her disappeared Japanese boyfriend has been murderd by the Yakusa (sic-this is how it is spelled in the book). This leads our heroes into interactions with the small Japanese community in Amsterdam and then to Japan itself for a major operation involving the Dutch diplomatic corps, the CIA and the Japanese secret service to bust up an antique and drug-smuggling Yakusa ring.

I had mixed feelings about this book as well, although overall I quite enjoyed it and I think it tipped me over into keeping and eventually reading the other two books in the series I was given. This isn't a series I will go out of my way to read in its entirety, but it will always be on my list in case I stumble across one I haven't read for cheap and I am in want of good reading material.

On the positive side, the main characters really continued to grow on me. They are so civilized and thoughtful, but still kind of badass and tough. Their personal lives are well drawn. We fantasize about the freedom and sexual success of the younger, good-looking de Gier and we sympathize with the older one, trapped by a nagging wife and obnoxious children. Their commisarius is the perfect boss, guiding but flexible, with a vast hidden experience. There are some great action moments in this book as well, though the style in which they are delivered is as straightforward and deliberate as the rest of the book. Sometimes I almost think it was written in Dutch and translated rather artlessly, but I think that is van de Wetering's style. It's generally quite good, but for the action scenes, a little more energy might be fitting. Sometimes you don't even realize action has started!

Though this leads me to another cool thing. As a writer, de Wetering likes to surprise the reader from time to time. It's quite well done. At one point, Grijstra is reminiscing on an interrogation he just came from and you are led to believe that he learned nothing new until all of a sudden he drops it on you that the subject broke down and revealed some game-changing info. This happens again with a major event happening to one of the protagonists. It just comes out of the blue and is most distressing and ends up informing his behaviour for the rest of the book (and probably books to come). These "surprises" are very well staged and force you to pay attention in a good way.

The plot also is much more complex and engaging. Going to Japan is cool and for a book written in the 70s (back when Japan was mysterious and exotic instead of bug-nuts wacky as we know now today), the culture is treated with depth and respect. The flaw for me in the book is that the ending drew on a bit long. The protagonists and their relation to Japan had been spelled out and resolved, but there was still a lot of plot to get through, that felt to me lacking in energy somehow. All in all, though, a very enjoyable read and taking me one book closer to the Book Glutton challenge!

69. Muscle for the Wing by Daniel Woodrell

Well this was a pleasant little discovery, found once again at Chainon, my local thrift store. I was up trolling through their english paperback shelves like a cokehead pawing through a shag carpet and stumbled upon this book. It looked intriguing, though I had never heard of the author. Turned out to be a pretty good piece of "bayou noir" fiction (phrase stolen from this review over at The Edge).

The story takes place in St. Bruno somewhere in Cajun country, I guess around the time it was written (1995), though this part of the world is so backward and timeless it could have been anytime after WWII practically. The protagonist is a cop who came up in Frogtown, the rough section where most of the action takes place. But the story is about a small gang of ex-cons who have come into town to hit up the local corrupt power structure. Part of their motivation is that the place has been so under the control of the local crime boss, that everyone's vigilance is down. But they are also following the directives of Ronnie, a local who took a fall for that crime boss, whose swamp-sexy young wife is still in Frogtown. Ronnie and the ex-cons are all part of some minor white supremacist prison gang called The Wing.

The action is tough and efficient, but it's the characters and dialogue that really make this book a pleasure. Though poor and uneducated for the most part, these are people with a history and a rich culture and it shines through in the way they speak with each other and interact. The style reminded of a mix between Charles Willeford and Harry Crews. Though now that I went and did a bit of internet research, it appears that his books all take place in the Ozarks. I didn't know there were Cajuns in the Ozarks (or for that matter where the Ozarks even are beyond Deliverance). In any case, there is a lot of old french influence, both in the names of people, the language used and their criminal culture. There is a neat little aside that talks about a french soldier who was the knee-breaker for the governor in the 18th century who made his own little criminal colony downriver and whose antecedents are still more or less doing the same thing today.

I see also that Woodrell is far from forgotten, as the film of his book Winter's Bone appears to be the new hotness on the "indie" cinema scene. Good for him, because if Muscle for the Wing is representative of the rest of his books, Woodrell is a good writer who doesn't pull his punches. Good stuff.

S.W. Welch, he's good. He's real good.

S.W. Welch Books is the quality local used bookstore in my Mile End neighbourhood (and I believe the only english language used bookstore east of St. Laurent in Montreal). I've come to appreciate it more and more, once I accepted that the days of cheap discoveries in used bookstores are basically over. On Friday, I quite enjoyed reading this nice blog article on the store and the man behind it. It reminded me that I hadn't been up there in a while and I wondered if he might have some Ross Thomas (since that was a name I had never looked for up there before).

My wife has started the domestic practice of stacking up our completed, non-keeper books on a little table under the window and when it gets to a certain height, taking them to Welch's to sell (and giving the rest away at Chainon). Well the pile was pretty high and she'd been wanting to go for a while, so I got us motivated on a grey, snow-covered saturday up to hipster St. Viateur street and Welch's.

Welch's pricing is pretty savvy. You won't find a book on the sci-fi or crime shelf for less than $4. But they do have a $1 rack that is usually outside the front door. And guess what I saw sitting on the top shelf of that rack:

Like what is this book even about, a dude with thick hair and some dogs who has a nice house on a beach and has sex with a 70s babe while his chinese manservant looks on? It's so bland! In many ways, the '70s were really, really lame.

Wow! Was I ever excited! Not only is it a Ross Thomas, but it's the one Ross Thomas I have specifically been looking for. It's the first in one of his series and is considered one of his classics. Louis XIV loved it (and take a look at the awesome cover of his copy) and he is not alone. Yes, the cover is absolutely heinous, just the worse kind of 70s generic bestseller design (though I actually kind of like the illustration on its own, if it wasn't so bland), which is probably why it was in the dollar shelf.

Because, as I should have guessed, the very recent Ross Thomas re-discovery movement did not slip by S.W. Welch's radar. He has a pretty sweet collection of Ross Thomas paperbacks on the Crime shelf. Of those, I only picked up this (for $4, but we had credit):

My apologies for the quality of this image, as this is actually kind of a cool design. I'll scan it when I actually read it and have a better image here.

Possibly one of the best crime novel titles ever. According to the woman who was working behind the counter, he had just put them out about a month and a half ago, saying "This guy is good and there will be a few people who will be looking for him." S.W. Welch know the game! We're I a Book Glutton, I might have just snagged them all right there, but a man's got to know his limitations.

Nevertheless, with all this excitement (and because we'd just got a $40 credit with our old books), , I went a little crazy and picked up two other neat finds. This great cover of a Patricia Highsmith I don't remember ever hearing about:



and this sweet Holloway House blaxploitation title which takes place in Canada title for $6 (I told you I was a bit over-stimulated):

Most Canadians are capable of riding a skidoo no-handed, standing up, shooting and holding a babe, but we also do it with a brew in one hand as well.

All in all, a very satisfying day at the bookstore. Now to read!

Edit: Here are the Ross Thomas's that were on the shelf. Many of them look to be from the same publisher and period, so I wonder if they didn't come from a single collection:

68. The Grid by Philip Kerr

Another nice little one dollar find at Chainon, the thrift store near my house. I never would have bought this book had I not gone to Amsterdam and seen two of the three of Philip Kerr's Berlin trilogy and had them strongly recommended to me by the knowledgeable bookseller. Sadly, it was books two and three and I didn't want to have them without the first. Now I really think I should have picked them up. They were the Fontana ones with really cool covers and now I'm not sure they are going to be easy to find at all. In any case, it put Philip Kerr's name on my list and pointed my eye to this otherwise bland bestseller cover.

Happily, the story is about a super-modern building in downtown L.A., whose central computer system malfunctions and starts killing everybody inside. It's basically Demon Seed II: The Office Tower. A great premise and made doubly entertaining because Kerr creates a super-hateful antagonist in the form of the egomaniacal architect (and his undeservingly promoted to designer vapid wife). They are everything that is wrong with fashion, success, business, the media, your boss and Ayn Rand all wrapped up in one package that you can't wait for the computer to just house.

Overall, this is a solid, entertaining and forward-moving book. It's no great work of art. In the beginning, the long cast of characters makes you feel like you are watching one of those classic '70s disaster movies and the depiction of the computer's motivations and perspectives is a bit simplistic and off. It's language is too inconsistent and rings false, bringing you out of the fiction (geek aside: Kerr has no real understanding of how computers work at their base, but that's not really a problem for the book). On the flip side, near the end, he takes the concept of the awakened system and pushes it to a pretty cool extreme, that I quite appreciated.

This would make a great movie, basically building as serial killer. So all in all, a fun read and shows that Kerr is competent. I look forward to reading his less lofty Berlin trilogy, which is about a detective in Nazi germany.

67. The Corpse on the Dike by Janwillem van de Wetering

A good friend of mine gave me this book along with three other van de Wetering mysteries. It was appreciated because I've been curious about this other and went to Amsterdam for the first time earlier this year (where these stories take place). However, he didn't realize the burden he was placing on me by adding 4 new books by the same author onto my on-deck shelf that I have been very aggressive about whittling down this year. I figured out their chronological order (of which the Corpse on the Dike was the earliest) and hoped either they would be super awesome or totally mediocre. In the former case, I would have three more books of this super awesome series waiting for me. In the latter case, I could just give the other three away.

Unfortunately, it was only pretty good. The main characters, two undercover police detectives—Gripjstra the hulking family man and De Gier, the athletic and weirdly single guy—and their commisariss, a shrewd police veteran suffering from severe rheumatism in the legs are compelling and entertaining. They have that civilized, respectful and educated belief that society should try to be generally benevolent that separates Europe from North America, but it doesn't weaken their fundamental cop nature. It makes for a nice balance. They also have some pretty funny riffing off of each other. It's just an odd, effective crew working for the man and they seem to be aware of it.

The locations and the other characters are pretty cool as well. I really loved Amsterdam and I enjoyed seeing it from an insider's perspective (although I believe van de Wetering was writing these books from outside of Amsterdam and they are originally written in english, for whatever that information is worth). It was a bit more rundown when this book takes place in the mid-70s. Among the many neat locations, a high-class brothel in a mansion, run by an accommodating pimp was particularly vivid.

However, the mystery itself was not all that interesting. It was more of a straight police procedural that was wrapped up a bit too easily and perfunctorily, without any real twists or complications. I sort of appreciated it the straightforwardness of it, but it just didn't really excite me. I'm definitely into the main characters, so I'll definitely read the second and then decide on what to do with the next two.