My Weblog

ON RECOMMENDING BOOKS

One of the things I enjoying doing on my website, and when I speak in public, is recommending books I’ve read that I think other people will enjoy. Sometimes readers express surprise at this practice of mine, and I don’t quite understand that. I believe they feel that if I’m saying, “Go read this book by Suzanne McLeod,” for example, I’m cutting off a sale I might have made.

But that’s not the way I see it. Do you? Is there anyone who buys just one book a year? Or anyone who goes to the library to check out one book? I don’t think so. When people enjoy the written word, they’re going to read/check out multiple books. Now, these might be all Regency romances, or zombie novels, or p.i. noir adventures, but there will always be more than a single volume!

I find in all the books I list that I enjoyed, there are definite degrees by which I can recommend them. Some books are pretty poor entrants in a series I’ve followed; but I figure if you’ve read the whole series, you’re not going to skip one because it’s less than stellar. You’re going to pick up that entry too, just to find out what’s happening to all the characters, and you’re going to hope that the next book bounces back to the series’ previous excellence. I’m generally good for two or three poor episodes before I give up on a writer.

And there are books that were just . . . so-so. They’re not bad, not enough for me to simply not mention at all. But they weren’t great, either. Good enough to finish, not good enough for me to put the writer on my Biggest Hits list. However, if I was engaged enough to read the whole book, I figure another reader will be, too, and I’ll give that book a mention.

The worst books (in my opinion, of course, because what else are we talking about, here?) are the books whose names are never in my Book & Blog column. Those are the books I didn’t even want to finish, the books that I thought were so poorly written, or so lacking in internal logic, or simply so boring, that I couldn’t picture myself saying to anyone, “Maybe you might want to pick this book up at the store.” Since I can’t see any point in giving a negative opinion, I don’t give one at all.

One writer I talked to recently had gotten the worst PW (Publishers Weekly) review I’d ever read. I’d thought his book was a good read, and I’d said so publicly. When I saw the PW review, I asked him if he’d run over the reviewer’s dog. He told me glumly that his sales had plummeted after the review came out. Such is the power of reviews, whether rightly or not . . .

Charlaine Harris

Travels with my digital camera

by Donna Andrews

The good news is that this blog is not about weather.  Not earthquakes, not hurricanes, and thank goodness not snow.  I was out of town for the earthquake; Irene only sideswiped us here in Reston; and let's not even think about winter yet.

A little earlier this month, I finished the first draft of  Some Like It Hawk--muted cheers, and before you ask, it's scheduled to be out in 2012. And then I took off for a short tip to New Jersey and New York.  It was partly business--Nikki Bonanni of the Killer Coffee Club had arranged for me to sign at the Barnes & Noble in Ithaca and a couple of other places in town. And partly social--I visited my friend Dina in New Jersey and Suzanne in Rochester, NY. And partly intended to give me some time to cool my draft so I'd come come back to it with renewed vigor and a little bit of perspective.

So I threw my stuff in Deerslayer (my 1999 Honda Civic, which did indeed carry me safely through a close encounter with an uninsured deer, now deceased), and made sure the stuff included my entire supply of rechargeable batteries for the digital camera. I've figured out that one of the best ways to give my writing brain the rest it needs to recharge is to do something completely nonverbal. Gardening works pretty well.  So does taking pictures.

I think Dina had some scenic vistas in mind for us to visit, but I ended up taking off a day late, thanks to the draft, and we decided to take it easy--we focused on eating, talking, and enjoying her cats. (Shadow, shown above right, was a hurricane Katrina refugee, but has settled in nicely in the frozen north.

The next morning I took off for Ithaca, where Nikki had promised me waterfalls.  We were planning to hit the four waterfalls that can be reached within less than half an hour's drive from the center of town. Several of them don't even require much hiking, although I think I did okay at the walking for a writer who has rather fallen off the exercise wagon while working on the book this summer.  A sudden torrential downpour prevented us from hitting the last of the four--I know, I said this wasn't going to be about weather.  It's not ALL about weather.  But the rest were splendid.

We also visited the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, where we probably saw fewer birds than we would have if we'd gotten up at the crack of dawn.  That's okay.  I prefer to show my support for those few birds who keep more civilized hours.  They're probably considered pariahs in the feathered community--all that "early bird catches the worm" stuff.  I can relate.  My photo portfolio contains a lot more sunsets than dawns.  In fact, I'm not sure it includes any dawns at all.

We also visited the Botanical Garden and spent quite a lot of time prowling about the herb garden. I planted quite a lot of herbs in the pots on my deck this year.  I have no idea why--it's not as if I'm an avid cook who takes frequent advantage of being able to walk outside and snip bits off this and that. Perhaps I just enjoyed the feeling that my deck jungle was potentially useful as well as beautiful.  And I do tend to go in as much for scented herbs as cooking ones.  Thanks to Cornell, I have a whole new list to try for next summer.

We also visited the Muenscher Poisonous Plants Garden maintained by Cornell's veterinary school, where I didn't immediately get any new ideas for (fictional) murders, but did figure out that one of the weeds that has been trying to take over my yard while I've been busy writing just might be something called Hairy Vetch. I think I like it even less now that I know what it's called. Must pull out a few stalks and take them down to master gardeners who visit the local garden store on Saturdays, to confirm my identification.

And I got to attend the Killer Coffee Club's annual picnic, held in Stewart Park on the shores of Lake Cayuga.  A lovely event, and one that placed us on the eastern shore of the lake just at sundown--which, as I mentioned is one of my favorite times of day to take pictures.  They even had a lot of weeping willows, one of my favorite trees to photograph.

A highlight of the visit was a tour of the Ithaca Police Department SWAT teams's new mobile command vehicle. Officer John Arsenault gave us a complete tour--and if you want a little taste of SWAT team humor, check out the little greeting across the top of the windshield.(Farber Speciality Vehicles, which build the unit, has more pictures on its website.) The unit will be used not only for SWAT team operations but also for any other operation that could use a mobile command center, such as rescue operations or disasters. I hope they don't have too many SWAT operations or disasters, but if they do, the Ithaca PD is ready.

Of course, I doubt if my small fictional town of Caerphilly would have much use for a mobile command vehicle.  Way too expensive, and just wouldn't get used enough.  But what if  . . . we'll work on that.

Then I moved on to Rochester, where my friend Suzanne lives with Julie, her black standard poodle, and Ttoo (aka Thomas), her cat.  Ttoo is very good at posing for his portrait, always seeking out backgrounds that show off his elegant coat to advantage. Julie, on the other hand . . . this is the best shot I got of her during my whole visit, and possibly the only one in which she was not in motion.

Suzanne took me to see the sights of Rochester, including Lake Ontario, Dentzel Carousel, and a boat ride on the Erie Canal. 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then there was Niagara Falls.  Pictures don't do it justice, but I'll try anyway.

 

There you have it.  My trip in pictures.  I came home the day of the earthquake.  I didn't hear about it until half an hour or so later--I think I was near Harrisburg, PA, when it happened, and I remember muttering to myself about what an awful, bumpy stretch of road I was on.  My apologies to the state of Pennsylvania on that one.  And no sooner did I get home than I was plunged into the frenzy of preparatios for Hurricane Irene. So it's been fun to sit down, organize my photos and choose a few of them to share.

And start thinking about the next trip.  Someplace equally photogenic.  Any suggestions, folks?

TOWEL ANIMALS ATTACK!

My husband and I recently went on a trip to Alaska, which is one of the few untamed and absolutely beautiful states in the USA. Though I could rhapsodize about Alaska for paragraphs, it’s actually another small observation I made during the trip that caught my interest.

Towel animals.

Part of our tour was by ship, and I’m sure all of you have heard how relaxing a cruise is. The pampering the guest receives from the staff is well-known, and it’s absolutely true that cruise ship personnel are polite, well trained, and very efficient. But here’s what boggled my mind. The Holland America staff, like the Carnival staff on my previous cruise experience, made towel animals every night.

If you haven’t observed these creatures, let me explain. Someone – some bizarre person – figures out how to make animal figures out of white hand towels. That person (for all I know, there’s a book) instructs all the room stewards in this art. You might get an octopus, or a hippo, or a donkey, with a couple of black dots stuck to represent the eyes. These creations are left on your bed every evening by (we are meant to suppose) happy elves who live to do this kind of . . . handicraft.

My first question was, “Why?” Who supposes that this will add to my vacationing experience? How did this custom begin? Does anyone really look forward to a cruise because of this nightly custom?

Maybe the room stewards really enjoy this exercise in transitory towel manipulation. I pretty much doubt that.

I just don’t get it. Cruise towel art will have to join the list of societal artifacts that just don’t make sense to me, along with fanfic and sagging pants.

Charlaine Harris

The Need for Speed

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN  Here's a warning. Let's say you and I are, oh, somewhere, and there's a car.   And one of us has to drive it. YOU DO IT. I have my talents, sure, and there are things I can do. But driving--is not really one of them. I'm exaggerating, a bit, because of course I drive, but after having gone through driver's ed in high school wearing one contact lens because I was too afraid to tell my parents I had lost the other, I fear the resulting lack of depth percention, um, negatively impacted my drivng skills.

One example of a discussion durng my driver's ed class:

 DRIVER'S ED TEACHER (Mr. Grosskopf, poor man): "Watch out for that car!"

HANK:  "What car?"

Anyway, it was doubly silly because I grew up in Indianapolis, the racing capital of the planet (Sorry Le Mans and Daytona) and to be a bad driver was just--ridiculous. Nevertheless. (I did take a stunt drinving course once, but that's another blog.)

But today we have a true hot shot driver, and a marvelous mystery author, who has put her skills together in her first (of many!) novels.  Does Tammy Kaehler have a--need for speed?  (And--do you? A lucky commenter will win Tammy's new DEAD MANS SWITCH!)

HANK: Auto racing? Really? Which came first--the passion or the publication?

TAMMY KAEHLER: The fascination came first, because I was exposed to racing through my job.

HANK: Wait--how? What job?

TAMMY: I was working as a freelance marketing writer for a mortgage company that started sponsoring a racing series. The marketing department needed someone to go along and do corporate marketing (aka hospitality) for the customers they planned to entertain at the races, and I signed up, thinking it would be interesting to learn something new.

 Little did I know!

About halfway through the season, I had the idea for a mystery set in that world, then my passion for the sport grew as I learned more and more, and finally—many years later, of course!—came publication. I went from zero to a hundred (pardon the pun) in terms of knowledge about racing, and I wanted to give others the insider's view of it that I found so interesting.

 HANK: What was your inspiration?

 TAMMY: My inspiration for writing a mystery was Dick Francis. I love his books, because you learn something while under the spell of a good story. In terms of racing, my inspiration was a group of female pace (or safety) car drivers who were all former racers. (One in particular, Pattie Mayer, became a friend and helps me tremendously with research.) This group of women not only have major on-track skills, but also have full and varied lives and talents. Watching and talking to them, I became fascinated with the idea of strong women competing in what's typically seen as—and in many ways is—a male-dominated sport.

HANK: How are women thought of in racing world? How do you deal with that in your book?

TAMMY: My perception is that how women are thought of varies. For the vast majority of drivers, team owners, crew, and fans, women are seen as being every bit as capable as men. But I've heard tales of drivers who don't think women belong on the track, and I don't believe all fans or participants are enlightened enough to think it doesn't matter if the driver is male or female. Women drivers get a lot of attention these days (and I'm talking about more than just Danica Patrick), and I'm sure that the fact of that attention sometimes breeds its own resentment.

 Kate is aware the sentiments are out there, but she doesn't have to deal with them overtly—at least in this first book in the series. Her philosophy is simply to put her head down, drive hard, and prove the doubters wrong ... and I'd say that's the philosophy adopted by most of the women racing today, as well.

HANK: Auto racing is so--dangerous.

TAMMY:  A an old racer explained once, "it's not the speed that's the problem, it's the stopping." There's plenty of danger in the sport, but there are also a lot of safety measures—everything from the head and neck restraint collar to track walls designed to absorb force in an impact. Honestly, I think racecar drivers, at least in the sportscar world I follow, might be better protected in a wreck from 150 m.p.h. than a professional cyclist might be in a wreck from 50 m.p.h. You're right, of course, it's still dangerous, and undoubtedly that's part of the appeal for participants and fans alike. They'd probably say that adds to the fun.

 HANK: Did you actually drive on a race course? Did you race? Are you a good driver? What do race drivers know that we don't know?

TAMMY: I went to a three-day racing school, and drove racecars prepared for the school on a real racetrack (it was Road Atlanta, in Georgia, and I'll be writing about it in the second book in the series). It was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life, if I'm being honest! I'm not a squeal-your-tires type, and pushing myself out of my comfort zone to understand how far I was from the edge of performance limits was difficult, scary, and surprisingly, ultimately fun.

What racecar drivers know that we don't is how to find the edge of performance and adhesion a car is capable of, and then how to keep the car there. For hours. That's the job: stay on the edge, wringing every drop of possibility out of the car, without going over the line and wrecking. I'd say I'm a good driver on the road. Racing? I'm probably not a good race driver! But I understand what I should be doing better, that's for sure. 

HANK:  I'm from Indianapolis so I can't imagine a Memorial Day without watching 33 cars turning left for several hours. It's--exciting, tense, fascinating...what's it like behind the scenes?

TAMMY: Behind the scenes, it's all of those things, but there's also the fact that it's "the day job" for some of the people involved. That's not true for everyone: plenty of crew and drivers go racing part time in addition to whatever pays all or more of the bills. But for all participants, it's not exciting and glamorous every minute. Many minutes are routine. Many are hot and sweaty and hard and frustrating, or even painful. Yet everyone I've ever asked will admit that a race weekend is a pretty good "day at the office" to have. 

 HANK: Tell us about this book a bit!

 TAMMY: DEAD MAN'S SWITCH is about a young, female racecar driver, Kate Reilly, who pulls in to the racetrack (Lime Rock Park, in Connecticut) at the start of a race weekend. She's looking for a full-time ride or job with the series, but before anything else can happen, she literally bumps into a dead driver. Just a couple hours later, she takes his job, and becomes the focus of not only a murder investigation, but also gossip, speculation, and growing mistrust by her peers in the racing paddock.

She's got two days to prove herself—on- and off-track—in order to secure the permanent ride and keep her reputation unblemished.

  HANK: what surprised you, writing it? Is it a challenge to write about speed? 

TAMMY:  What surprised me was something about the process: I didn't know who the murderer was until I was three-quarters through the writing of it. I had three possibilities I was working with, but no clear plan. But the culprit became clear late in the game! 

 It is a bit of a challenge to write about speed, and interestingly—and I hope effectively—I find myself changing my tone during the racing portions of Kate's narrative. My sentences get shorter, choppier, and more active and demanding. It's how I figure Kate would deal with all the input coming her way in the racecar. 

HANK: Tammy, let me ask you..uh, Tammy? Oops. She's gone. Well, that woman is always going at  top speed! 

So, Femmes, are you good drivers? Like Tammy, do you have a need for speed? Or like me, a need to have someone else do the driving?

 And every commeter is entered to win a copy of  DEAD MAN'S SWITCH!

 About Tammy:  Before trying her hand at fiction, Tammy Kaehler established a career writing marketing materials, feature articles, executive speeches, and technical documentation. A fateful stint in corporate marketing introduced her to the racing world, which inspired the first Kate Reilly Racing Mystery. Tammy works as a technical writer in the Los Angeles area, where she lives with her husband and many cars.

Theme Parks vs. Amusement Parks

by Toni L.P. Kelner

 

My family and I recently took a trip to Orlando to spend time trudging around in the hot sun, standing in lines, and paying too much for food and drink. In other words, we went to the parks: Disney's Magic Kingdom, Epcot, and Hollywood Studios; and Universal's Islands of Adventure (mostly to see Harry Potter's Wizarding World). We had a terrific time in all the parks, but we saw a definite difference to the design of the parks. And it occurred to me that the two designs are pretty good analogs to two different kinds of mysteries. Some mysteries are theme parks and some are amusement parks.

To me, a theme park is a place where the rides, the restaurants, the shops, the overall decor all relates to the theme of the park, or the area of the park. Look at Tomorrowland and Adventureland in the Magic Kindgdom.

Even the trash cans in the two lands are different!

And while theme parks can have thrill rides--I'm still shivering over the Tower of Terror at Hollywood Studios--that's not the aim. The rides are great, but in some ways they are secondary to the goal of transporting you to a new world. (A whole new world, a thrilling place...  Yeah, I've been listening to a lot of Disney music.) Disney is particularly adept at this, but both the Wizarding World of Harry Potter and Suess Landing show that Universal gets the idea, too.

Then there are amusement parks, filled with things to do but not necessarily transporting you anywhere. My particular favorite is Canobie Lake Park in Salem, NH. They do sort of divide the park up into "lands" but there's no real theme because it's not really their aim. Don't get me wrong, the decorations have plenty of charm and the place is meticulously maintained, and it is lots of fun.

They've also been adding new state-of-the-art thrill rides like crazy over the past few years, because the rides are a big part of their appeal. Okay, they don't appeal to me that much--I'm more of a carousel person--but lots of people love those things. 

So other than using a theme park or an amusement park as a setting (which I did in "Haunted Dave's Haunted Amusement Park"), what do parks have to do with mysteries? Here's my theory.

Some mysteries try to create a new world, a theme as it were. So in the theme park category I put historical mysteries, fantasy/mystery crossovers (including the Harry Potter books), mysteries with exotic settings, and mysteries so thoroughly set in a real place that they could not possibly happen elsewhere. 

Other mysteries are all about the thrill or the "ride," but not where it takes place. In the amusement park category, I put thrillers (duh!), mysteries set in archetypal small towns or cities, and any mystery where the puzzle is paramount. 

Bear in mind that neither category is exclusive--Disney is all about the theme, but they have plenty of thrills. I did mention Tower of Terror, didn't I? And Canobie has one or two particularly nicely themed areas. So there are historical thrillers and themed puzzle novels. Still, you can usually tell which kind of park an author was designing.

I should probably point out here that I love amusement parks and theme parks, and both kinds of mysteries, too. But what about you? When you pick out a book, do you prefer an amusement park or a theme park? Where do you want to spend your reading vacation?

 

PS - Any tax people out there? Do you suppose writing this blog about the parks means I can write off the trip? Or am I still mentally in Fantasyland?

Fat Chance

By Elaine Viets

It’s August already, but you still can’t escape those weight loss ads promising a "bikini body." I’m not about to bare my bod in a bikini, but I wouldn’t mind losing a little weight. It's not easy. Scales don’t seem to be accurate any more.

You’ve noticed that, too, haven’t you? The darn things say you’ve put on weight when you’ve been on a strict diet. Except for that quart of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. And you ate that standing up, so the fat would slide right off.

Scales are delicate instruments. To get the reading you want, you need to adjust them. Follow my tips and you’ll shed your pounds faster than any weight loss program.

Take it off, take it all off: Socks and underwear add unnecessary pounds when you weigh yourself. If you must keep that towel modestly around your middle, remember that terrycloth is very absorbent. Your towel has soaked up a lot of shower water. Subtract five pounds.

Golden opportunity: You’re still loaded with excess weight. Gold is a heavy element. Take off those gold earrings, that necklace and your wedding ring. That’s at least three pounds. Some people remove the wedding ring permanently and get rid of at least a hundred pounds of ugly fat.

Through the looking glass: Take off your glasses unless you need them to read the scale. In that case, weight watching is a heavy duty. Subtract another pound.

Sink your teeth into weight loss: You can’t remove the fillings in your teeth. Remember how the dentist pounded them in? Subtract those pounds.

Lighter than air: I bet you hold your breath when you step onto the scale. Exhale and take the weight off. Air isn’t all that light.

Harried: Cut your hair. You’d be surprised what a weight you have on your mind. A trim will shave off several ounces. If you have very long hair, cut it short and you’ll be at least a pound lighter.

Give blood. The Red Cross says you lose about 1.2 pounds every time you give blood. They also said the weight loss is temporary, but doing good makes you feel lighter, doesn’t it?

Make your children part of the fitness process: Teach your child to lie on the floor and push up on one corner of the scale. This exercise will increase the kid’s hand-eye coordination and corrects the unfortunate slope in the bathroom floor that throws off your scale.

This exercise works best with young children. The older ones talk.

Remember, muscle weighs more than fat: You will discover you build the most muscle after carbo-loading foods made with natural ingredients, such as pizza and beer.

Must be all those 12-ounce curls.

             *****

Are you near Allentown, Pa.?

Then I'm looking forward to seeing you this Wednesday. I'm the annual summer celebrity for the Parkland Community Library. My talk and signing is at 7 PM, Wednesday, August. 17 at the Parkland High School. It's free. Call Maryellen Kanarr, adult services librarian, for information and (free) reservations at  610-398-1361 ext. 13.

Sex and the summer

A few months ago, I was ordering a drink, and a friend of mine said something along the lines of, “I'm surprised to see you drinking that.  I thought you had better taste.” 

I looked down at the pale- pink vodka in my martini glass, and wondered if this was a comment about my lack of imagination.  We were in a very nice bar, but none of the house specialties appealed, and for me, ordering a cosmopolitan in a place like that is like ordering the most simple of dishes in a fancy restaurant:  if they can nail the basics, you know they can do everything well. 

While I was puzzling over whether he thought I should have been ordering something trendier, like a sake-based cocktail, or something bourbon-y and resurrected by Mad Men, or, he said “You're an intelligent woman.  I can't believe you are a fan of Sex and the City.”  

And about then, Dear Reader, my head exploded.

I didn't quite know where to start addressing that statement.  It never would have occurred to me to identify food or drink as solidarity for a TV program.  I wouldn't assume someone eating spaghetti or or drinking chianti was indicating her adoration of The Sopranos.  As a huge fan of Douglas Adams, I did spend too much time in college trying to figure out how to make a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, but fortunately, never managed.   

But that wasn't really what he was talking about.  “Um, you didn't like the show?”

He didn't.  He thought the characters were improbable, and moreover, disapproved of their behavior.  “And no woman I know talks about sex that much.”

I took a deep breath, and tried to keep specific; I could have gone on all day about the number of shows that feature men with improbable sex lives.  And those are just in the subplots, when sex isn't even in the title. 

“There was always more than sex,” I said.  “I liked that they dealt with issues I've had to deal with, about gender roles and modern life.  I liked that the characters, while they had definite roles in the dialogues, weren't just one thing; they were complicated.  I liked that they had different opinions about stuff, even when they agreed.  I enjoyed a show where the women were portrayed in roles in addition to motherhood.  I liked the shoes.  A lot. 

“Besides,” I said, taking a sip.  “You'd be surprised what women talk about when there are no men around.”

Sure, I had problems with the show.  I hated Carrie's posture when she worked at her computer.  Some of the episodes were more boring than others simply because of the amount of sex and the "drama."  Sometimes the fashion failed, big time.  I thought the movies that came after were awful. 

I've been watching the reruns lately to see if it still holds up to my memory.  It does.  It wasn't perfect, but it was solid, and it is nice to see a show about women—friends—talking about things important to them in a smart, thoughtful way. 

But sometimes a Cosmo is just a Cosmo.

Got a strong opinion about SatC?  Loved it?  Hated it?  Let me know what you think; I'll pick a comment at random (hello, polyhedral dice!) and the lucky winner will get a copy of The Wild Side:  Urban Fantasy with an Erotic Edge, featuring R-rated stories (including a Fangborn adventure by me and a story by Femme Toni).

The Stories Inside Stories

from Mary Saums

 

How do you decide which book to read next? When I'm buying, sometimes the cover grabs me, sometimes it's the back cover synopsis. Other times, I go in the bookstore because a favorite author has a new one out and there's no rest until a copy is safe in my house and wedged into an already-stuffed bookcase.

This brings on the big question, which one do I choose from amongst the teeming, spilling masses? For a long time, this was fairly easy because I'd switch between different categories. Serious to humorous, big-city setting to small town, police procedural to lone PI. Variety is good and there's certainly plenty of subcategories in crime novels alone.

Lately though, I've noticed a change. More and more, I'm drawn to books with strong historical elements. I like the half-contemporary and half-historical as well as the totally historical ones.

Several weeks ago, I wrote about a new favorite, Mr.Timothy by Louis Bayard here on the Femmes blog. It's 100% historical and magnificent. His latest, which I just finished, is The School of Night.

 

This one is a half and half. In current time, Henry Cavendish, a disgraced scholar, becomes executor of an old friend's estate. At the friend's funeral, Henry is approached by a stranger who claims an important document from the 1600s was stolen from him by the deceased. Bayard alternates between the cat-and-mouse hunt for a treasure referred to in the document, and the events in 17th century England that preceded its creation. Both storylines are beautifully done.

Here's where the best part comes in. The portraits Bayard draws of his characters reveal so much more than what is required of them, plot-wise. Through them, truths or stories arise from within the main story. These aren't cobbled in to make an obvious point. They simply are the heart of both the story and of history.  

This is not a book about women's rights or how religious oppression in Elizabethan times formed the way we think today. Bayard doesn't do any of that kind of preaching, far from it. Rather his characters live through their own times, and they survive the worst those times threw at them, with dignity intact.

I don't know if this is true with all historicals or not. What do you think? Maybe reading about an earlier time, eras we already know something about, has more oomph as a story. Or maybe because we know just staying alive, day by day, was so much harder in the past. 

Can you recommend a historical, or a half and half, in any genre, that was special to you? Here are a few favorites of mine: Ellis Peters' Brother Cadfael, Rhys Bowen's Her Royal Spyness books, Alan Gordon's Jester books, Laurie King's Mary Russell, Will Thomas' Cyrus Barker ... and those are all series. I know there are tons of good standalones out there that I need to hear about.

 

 

Summertime Blues

by Kris Neri

When I was a kid, I remember a science teacher telling us that the Earth would gradually keep moving closer to the sun until it eventually burned up.

Are we there yet?

I must confess that summer is my least favorite of all the seasons, with fall and spring being my favorites. I have a sometimes-contentious relationship with the sun, both too much and too little of it.

In my early adult years I lived in San Francisco. There is a reason why San Francisco is called “America’s   Favorite City.” It is absolutely beautiful, sometimes breathtakingly so. But the picturesque fog and I didn’t always live in joyous harmony. Day after day of gray skies dampened my mood, and the constantly changing barometric pressure gave me terrible sinus headaches. Summers there also aren’t like summers in most places. I remember the tourists, in their shorts and T-shirts, freezing in San Francisco’s cool, frequently foggy and windy summer weather, looking for sweaters to buy in department stores. On many summer days there, sweaters—and sometimes even coats— make a smarter dress choice than T-shirts.

I discovered when I moved to Southern California that I’m a natural sun person. Too many days of not soaking in those rays makes me gloomy. But even still, at this point in the summer, like many of us, I often grow heat-weary. When I happened to be feeling particularly grouchy about the summer weather, I used to say when I lived in Southern California that I lived in the part of town where we made heat for hell.

Then I moved to Arizona, and I discovered what it really takes to make heat for hell. Though I live well  north of it, where we just make heat for Purgatory, the last time I had a speaking gig in Phoenix in late June, the temperature reached 117 degrees. Really? Sure, it’s a dry heat, but so is an oven, and I don’t climb into mine. Even if Phoenix temps have gone down to a saner 100-107+ or – now, tell me that’s not a sign that my science teacher’s prediction was true, and the burning up process is well under way. At times this summer, record temperatures have been recorded over large parts of the country. If where you live hasn't started burning up, I suspect it soon will.

But there is a phenomenon here in the Southwest that I’ve come to enjoy, and which has made me fonder of the hot, late summertime. That is the monsoon rainstorms that strike many days here, simply because of their sense-stirring might. Huge gray clouds build up to the heavens, while the air turns a distinctly yellow-green color and smells strongly of ions. When the storm hits, the raindrops can easily exceed an inch to an inch and-a-half in diameter and the swirling winds are fierce. Within moments, the temperature can drop 30 to 40 degrees, and even after the storm moves on, the temperatures rarely rise as high, so it provides a break from the heat.

What’s odd is that the storms are so localized. Recently, we drove up to a high peak outside of town with a 360-degree view. No less than four localized storms in different directions draped the ground with wide sheaths of misty gray walking rain, while off to the west, the sun shone brightly through a stretch of far thinner cloud cover. Awesome!

Sometimes these storms are quite destructive — a section of my own roof had to be repaired after one,  as did quite a number of roofs in my neighborhood, and I sure don’t welcome that. But short of their creating havoc, it can be quite wonderful to watch them build.

There might not be any cure for the summertime blues, but sometimes there’s a respite. To my great surprise, since I’m not too keen on gray skies, I have come to embrace these wild, raging storms.

What do you like — or dislike — about your summer weather?