| "He reads thy
personal venture"
Recent reads
I've always read too much. I've never read enough. "Too much"
based on the opinions of others; "not enough" based on my own.
I have a habit my husband does not emulate. He picks up a book and reads it.
I pick up a book, then another, then another... I'm really only content when I have
two or three books going at a time. As I write this, however, I have just finished
one book, and I only have one other started. Completely unacceptable.
When Steve and I married, we joined libraries. I brought my hundreds of books, he
his hundreds. Together we have a movable feast. Unfortunately, our tastes
overlap only marginally. Still, any book is better than no book.
My tastes are heavily weighted toward mysteries and classics. I do not read to
learn. I read to read. That I learn at the same time is joyous happenstance.
These current reads of mine will not necessarily be new books. In fact, they will
be new books very rarely. I do not, alas, have the money to spend on new books.
Some will be new to me, some will be familiar and dear (or not so dear). It
just depends how the mood strikes.
The Return of Tarzan—Edgar Rice Burroughs
Lonesome Road—Patricia Wentworth
Dying for Chocolate—Diane Mott Davidson
Tarzan—Edgar Rice Burroughs
The Night of Four Hundred Rabbits—Elizabeth
Peters
The Body in the Vestibule—Katherine Hall Page
Modern Manners—PJ O'Rourke
Histories—Herodotus
Bendigo Shafter—Louis L'Amour
Contagion—Robin Cook
The Scarlet Pimpernel—Baroness Emmuska Orczy
Wild Horses—Dick Francis
Sphinx—Robin Cook
The Third Sister—Julia Barrett
Longshot—Dick Francis
Bolt—Dick Francis
Sense and Sensibility—Jane Austen
Pride and Prejudice—Jane Austen
The Dirty Duck—Martha Grimes
The Anodyne Necklace—Martha Grimes
A Thin Dark Line—Tami Hoag
Brave New World—Aldous Huxley
Northanger Abbey—Jane Austen
The Old Fox Deceiv'd—Martha Grimes
The Five Bells and Bladebone—Martha Grimes
I am the Only Running Footman—Martha Grimes
Mansfield Park—Jane Austen
To Kill a Mockingbird—Harper Lee
Tarzan
Tarzan isn't necessarily a great book. It may not even be a good book.
But it is undeniably fascinating. Burroughs has a captivating style that
pulls you in and along. His ape-man is both unreal and empathetic. The
explicit racism is distressing, while the implicit sexism is mostly just amusing.
Burroughs's book is far better than any adaptation I've ever seen. Most of those
borrow only a title and the child raised by apes theme. Tarzan is not
necessarily deeper than those adaptations, but it is certainly more interesting.
The Night of Four Hundred Rabbits
Not the most entertaining of Peters's thrillers, but her breezy, energetic style carries
her through. Carol Farley lacks the charisma of another of Peters's
heroines—Vicky Bliss—but she has a wry tone that appeals to me. The
subject matter of Four Hundred Rabbits is the drug trade; in that, it is destined to bore
me. But Peters does not dwell on the morality, immorality, or amorality of those
involved, and that makes her prejudices tolerable.
The Body in the Vestibule
Page writes amusing, food-obsessed mysteries that are very quick reads. This one,
set in the French city of Lyon, made me long for fromage and baguettes,
and I don't even like French food. If the French were always as charming as they are
in this novel, they would probably never have garnered their snotty reputation. Only
briefly does Page touch on the realities of a French regime that limits its citizens to
certain names, but realism has never been important enough to me that I can quibble with
it now.
Modern Manners: An Etiquette Book for Rude People
O'Rourke is the funniest writer extant, in my opinion, and his Modern Manners is
certainly representative. It is crass; it is coarse; and it is almost bone-jarringly
funny. Like many comic works, it is better sipped than gulped.
Histories
This is my second meeting with the Father of Lies and he is still as
enjoyable as I remember. Many people focus on his inaccuracy, yet I find his
uncensored approach to history to be charming, and much more fascinating than any
"scientific" attempt. Herodotus does not try to make history plausible,
and therefore does not destroy the truth, which is often implausible, after all.
Bendigo Shafter
I first picked up a L'Amour book in the Houston Airport. I had
run out of reading material and was faced with a three hour flight back to Columbus.
That was nearly twenty years ago, and I've never regretted the choice.
L'Amour isn't a great writer, but he is a great storyteller. And that is
often more important.
Contagion
I wanted to give Cook another chance to win my affection, so I picked
up this book—the one that won Steve over. I didn't get past page 50. The
closest I've ever been to interest in medical thrillers was watching "The Andromeda
Strain." Contagion doesn't seem to be catching.
The Scarlet Pimpernel
'They seek him here, they seek him there..." by why is it that no one can capture the
charm of this book on film? I recently watched yet another adaptation, this time
from A&E, and found it worse than all those that came before. So I went back to
the book, yet again, seeking to discover what makes it impossible to film. There is
no answer. Baroness Orczy wrote one of the great tales in English, with drama,
adventure, and the best secret identity of them all. The writing is not the best,
but the story is impeccable; and director after director, screenwriter after screenwriter,
destroys it. I am thankful I read the book as a child; if I had seen the movies
first, I would never have bothered.
Wild Horses
The racing aspect of this book is less than in most of Francis;
perhaps that is why it is not quite as convincing. I liked the characters, and the
moviemaking is fascinating (I do not know how accurate). But there does not seem to
be the passion that characterizes most of Francis. The mystery is
complex—perhaps too complex. Even at the end I didn't fully understand what
motivated the characters. The ending, though, is certainly chilling enough.
Not the best Francis effort, but certainly above average.
Sphinx
Trapped in Cincinnati without a book! This fate worse than
death struck my husband recently. Fortunately, the hotel gift shop was still open,
and we knew we could find him something to read. He choose a Robin Cook book,
Contagion, perhaps partly because I told him of my sister's fondness for Cook—and her
extensive collection of his books. Steve enjoyed his book, and on our return home I
borrowed the rest of the Cook oeuvre from my sister. Based on both of their
recommendations, I delved in. Medical matters do not interest me; Egypt does.
So I chose a rather uncharacteristic book of Cook's—Sphinx. It is the tale of a
young Egyptologist (I hate that word) who travels to Egypt for the first time and gets
caught up in some shady dealings. She is naive, and rather stupid. She
witnesses a murder on her first day there, and waffles, unconvincingly, between blind
terror and gumption. None of the characters were realistic. And while that
isn't necessarily a bad thing, I found it irritating in this novel. Perhaps it is unfair
to judge Cook based on this book. It isn't the style that he's famous for, so I'll
probably give him another shot at some later date.
The Third Sister
Barrett makes a living writing sequels to Austen's books. This
is a sequel to Sense and Sensibility. Perhaps I didn't' t give it a fair
chance; she is, after all, mimicking on of my favorite authors. And Sense and
Sensibility is not my favorite of Austen. It is a serviceable attempt, but
without the vividness that Austen seems to capture. It is the letter of Austen,
without the spirit.
Longshot
Steve finally finished. So it was my turn. This is one of
Francis's best, with a good mystery, great characters, and a chilling denouement. If
Francis has a fault (which I find it difficult to imagine), it is that his characters are
too likable. But I do not look for realism; I look for entertainment. And
entertaining, he is.
Bolt
I am a compulsive Dick Francis reader. My husband needed a new
book, and I fished Longshot out of the box where it has lived for the past few
weeks. He was only a few pages into it before I was envious.
Whenever he put it down, I picked it up. Finally, I had to find a Francis of my
own. I chose Bolt. I had read this book before, and remembered feeling quite
sad at its end. This time, however, I was not struck by any sadness, a lack I
welcome. Francis is not necessarily a "good" writer, but he is an
invisible one. I read his novels without ever noticing how they are written.
To me, that's a very good sign.
Sense and Sensibility
In some ways, this is Austen's most frustrating book. I never
could warm to Marianne, though Elinor is a nice sympathetic character. I cannot
understand what Colonel Brandon is supposed to be seeing in Marianne. She just seems
a self-indulgent twit, to me.
Pride and Prejudice
Jane Austen delights me, and Elizabeth Bennet is her most delightful character. This
is the umpteenth rereading of this book, so I don't have any particular observations.
I just had to gush a little.
The Dirty Duck
Superintendent Jury's inability to meet paths, rather than cross them, with an appropriate
woman is both a blessing and a curse. The man deserves happiness, dammit. But
would Jury really be Jury if he weren't always falling for females at the most inopportune
times? This is a rather clever mystery wrapped around some nice arcane gossip.
Not the best of Grimes, but fortunately not the most heart-rending, either.
And the unsophisticated world of some ten years back, when a man walking about with a
computer was still unusual is good for a wry smile or two.
The Anodyne Necklace
The amazing thing about Martha Grimes is her ability to make me giggle and be terribly sad
at almost the same time. Richard Jury is complex and admirable. But my real
fondness is for Melrose Plant—eccentric, much abused Melrose, whose most often heard
line must be, "Oh, it's you." In this novel this obligatory line
is voiced by both mystery writer Polly Praed, and the Crayola-fixated Emily Louise Perk.
Miss Perk exemplifies Grimes's other specialty—child characters who fairly
leap off the page. I am an American reading an American author whose books are set
in England. Are they true to England? I have no idea. But they are true
enough to my sense of England to delight me.
A Thin Dark Line
Though I enjoy mysteries, I rarely read novels of this sort. Gruesome psychological
thrillers leave much to be desired. But Hoag spins a fascinating web in Bayou
country. I shivered, and shuddered, and kept turning pages... then had nightmares.
In all, it was probably a mistake to read it, but an enjoyable mistake, none the
less. One of the few bestsellers I've put my eyes to. Do people have better
taste than I credit them for?
Brave New World
"The Tempest" is my favorite drama and I read it many years before ever cracking
open Huxley's famous novel. The resonance of a world "that has such people in
it" made this novel more powerful than it otherwise might have been. An
interesting read, probably deserving of its fame. Are we headed toward such a world?
At times I believe it. But even if our goals were the same, I see no need to
tread the path of mindlessness that Huxley seems to find inevitable.
Northanger Abbey
I find I'm torn. I've long considered Emma to be my favorite Austen novel.
But this re-reading of Northanger Abbey reminds me of the simple, pure joy
of this uncluttered book. Austen's vibrant wit is at its best, as the young
Catherine sees ghouls and skulking shadows at every turn. If you've never read
Austen, this might be a good place to start.
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