Reading: Dogs, Fugitives, Kid Spies and Magpies

In this post I will be talking about LILY AND THE OCTOPUS by Steven Rowley, EAT THE DOCUMENT by Dana Spiotta, STORMBREAKER and MAGPIE MURDERS by Anthony Horowitz. But first, a word from a man who probably needs a sponsor: ME.

Real life is a bit too real for me since January.

Coincident with the illegitimate illegal installation of the psycho-narcissist as president, I was afflicted with what seemed to be a rash on my upper right arm. It has since spread over all of me from the chest down, will not abate, and after many, many trips to multiple doctors —

which, by the way, took six months because that AHCA insurance the gop seems to think need be gutted as it is too fabulous for we poor people to deserve, didn’t cover any of the doctors I needed to see, thanks to the ways in which the republican party had already fought to ruin it

— I am finally being seen by someone(s) who seem to give a damn and are determined to figure out what is the cause and treatment for this human red-spotted leopard defacing all over me; a process which, unfortunately, has required repeatedly having chunks of my skin removed and sent to labs, and from which there is still no answer although a few sort of not very pleasant possibilities.

In addition, the so-called real world is such a mess, so nearly incomprehensible to me in its almost complete-collapse into unkindness and cruel behavior, with whole swaths of gullible, terrified people enabling villainous, vile sociopaths to lead them, that I am more and more reading while less and less able to face the news of real life. So, I read four books in five days, and it was pretty damn marvelous to do so while petting and frolicking with the dogs I was sitting. Here we go.

Lily And The Octopus, Steven Rowley, original Hardcover June 2016, Paperback, 336pp, May 2017, Simon & Schuster

Perhaps reading a book about a love story between a gay man and his dying dog was not the optimum choice while pet-sitting a near ancient pup I love named Tess, who can just barely make it up and down steps any more. So, I cried when Lily died. But, I cry when I see someone eating alone in a restaurant. This was a quick read but a little too much for me in its dream and fantasy sequences which took a touching, personal story into an odd, not very clearly defined (or decided) off-ramp of fantasy-magic realism which lost me. Still, not sorry I read it.

Eat The Document, Dana Spiotta, Hardcover, 290pp, February 2006, Scribner

Mary Whittaker, a 1970s radical, goes underground after a protest action results in murder. She becomes Louise, and it is years later when she is widowed, raising her fifteen year old son alone, that her identity is revealed — in ways I won’t give away here. Her co-murderer and lover, Bobby, also goes underground, and each live lives of sorrowful solitude, unable to be completely who they were or who they have become, carrying the weight of their crimes and their passion and their lies, always a wall between them and the world and the people they try to love.

I have long meant to read this novel as Dana Spiotta has more than once been compared to Joan Didion. There was no Didion-esque resonance for me in this novel, although it was very well written, but somehow it left me feeling we hadn’t quite gotten to the heart of who anyone in the story was, other than the fifteen year old son, Jason, who was limned beautifully — albeit with a vocabulary and insight most 40 year olds don’t achieve.

Stormbreaker, Anthony Horowitz, Hardcover, 192pp, May 2001, Penguin Putnam

I venture occasionally into the Young Adult genre, and this is the first in a series of ten (I think) Alex Rider Adventures; which I picked up because author Anthony Horowitz has just released an adult mystery, Magpie Murders. which I had on hold at library and some reviews had mentioned the Rider series as fun and fast and literate. So, while I was waiting, I thought I’d try it.

Truth? I finished it and put the second in the series on hold at the library. Long/short: Alex Rider’s parents died when he was quite young, since which time he’s been raised by his uncle, Ian Rider, who, rather than the 9 to 5 businessman he pretended to be, was a very adept, near Bond-ian spy. Alex is recruited (cajoled, blackmailed) into service by the same organization his uncle worked for and infiltrates the same corrupt group that murdered him.

A little unbelievable? Yes. But, right now, good conquering evil, the nice guys with morals winning out over the evil, power-hungry sociopaths, and a near guaranteed happy ending — all wrapped up in a quick, not un-amusing afternoon of a read? SIGN ME UP.

Magpie Murders, Anthony Horowitz, Hardcover, 496pp, June 2017, Harper Collins Pubishers

I had just finished Volume One of Anthony Horowitz’s Young Adult, Alex Rider Adventure Series, when Magpie Murders came my way. Touted as an homage to Agatha Christie golden age mysteries with a parallel helping of contemporary crime novel, and following in the footsteps of the entertaining and clever Alex Rider series opener, this novel had a huge fountain pen and Rhodia notebook to fill.

I was not disappointed.

When I began reading the Christie-ish novel-within-a-novel I was a trifle worried as character after character was introduced and I feared I’d not be able to keep track of who they were — many is the mystery novel I’ve read (or started to read) in which the only real question is how am I supposed to tell these characters apart they’re so damn bland?! Not the case here. Well defined characters. Much wit. Intricate and detailed plotting. Fair clues everywhere in both the “classic” mystery and the “modern-day” crime riddle.

I could have enjoyed either of the sections of this book on their own; woven into one, interconnected, echoing, shadowing, and even — gently — mocking both genres, this was a delightful experience from start to finish and start to finish and finally, finish.

So, there we have it, four books in five days, not a dud among them. Has the bastard been marched out of the White House in handcuffs yet? No? Well, lucky for me I’ve got a large stack of to-be-reads and a library-hold list the envy of my — well, not the envy of anyone, but, I’m happy here, with my niece and nephew pups and my retreat from reality. Let me know when the entire gaggle of het-cis-white-men-bigots who are running the country have been run out on a rail.

Until then, here I am, going.

 

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