THE LEWIS MAN BY PETER MAY

The Lewis Man by Peter May
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

”Gunn… couldn’t take his eyes off the face of the young man locked in the peat. Although there was a shrivelled aspect to this features, they would be recognisable to anyone who knew him. Only the soft, exposed tissue of the eyes had decomposed. ‘How long’s he been here?’

Murdo’s laugh was lost in the wind. ‘Who knows? Hundreds of years, maybe even thousands. You’ll need an expert to tell you that.’”



I remember when I first heard about Bog People. 2000 year old corpses were being pulled from the earth, perfectly preserved like the one above. The historical data gathering possibilities had my head swimming with the revelations that would hopefully be ascertained. When a body is found in the peat on the Hebrides of Scotland, the first thought is, here is another time capsule from the past. From the past indeed, but not two thousand years, not even a thousand years or a hundred years.

The Elvis tattoo on the man’s forearm precisely dates that the corpse became a ghost fifty some years ago. If this were an episode of the Twilight Zone or an Outlander traveling through standing stones or a Jules Verne Time Machine situation, maybe we would need to call in Mulder and Scully to investigate, but this is a straightforward, hide the body in the peat and hope no one finds it scenario.

Meanwhile, Fin Macleod has quit his job in Edinburgh and decides to move back to the island to repair his parent’s derelict croft and, at the same time, make amends for the way he treated his ex-girlfriend, Marsaili. He doesn’t, frankly, deserve her, but maybe he does, at this point, deserve some forgiveness. What we do as young men and women should have an expiration date as we prove ourselves to be better human beings. The weight of our past transgressions can never go away, but it can be made lighter.

In the first book, I had a hard time forgiving Fin. Marsaili’s love for him was so pure, so unconditional. For her, he was her soulmate from the very moment she laid eyes on him as a wee lass. He broke her heart, and in the process, he broke my heart, too. What a tribute to the writing of Peter May that he managed to put me in the book and experience Marsaili’s pain as my own.

When they test the DNA of the peat bog corpse, they discover that he has to be a close relation to Marsaili’s father. And it is truly a What the Hell moment. Her father is suffering from alzheimer's and dementia. He remembers the past better than the present, but even those memories are becoming fragmented. It is difficult for him to tell a coherent story as his mind drifts from decade to decade like a spinning wheel that occasionally stops only to start again.

He isn’t who he says he is.

Marsaili, already struggling with a series of drastic situations going wrong, now has to face the fact that she isn’t who she thought she was. With only her Dad’s uncertain memories, she and Fin have to go to Edinburgh and start the journey to discover who her father really is and what happened to the man in the bog. Revelations take them to other islands in the Hebrides with the hope they discover enough information to prove that he father was not the killer of the bog man.

At one point, Fin comments that the only time you notice the wind is when it stops. I live in Dodge City, Kansas, which is routinely considered the windiest place in the United States, so when he made that comment I knew exactly what he was talking about. The weather is a constant threat on the Hebrides.

”It was a filthy morning, the wind sweeping in explosive gusts across the point, bringing with it waves of fine wetting rain, and laying flat the new-growth spring grasses. But he didn’t mind. He had grown up with this. It was normal. He loved to feel the rain stinging his face. He loved, too, the way the sky would open up at unexpected moments to let the light through. Flashes of cold, blinding sunlight on the surface of the ocean, like pools of mercury. They could last minutes or seconds.”

You have to love it, or you start to hate it.

The island is dominated by a harsh, unforgiving, suffocating religion. Fin’s friend from his childhood, Donald Murray, put aside his wild ways and fully embraced this religion as he got older. Fin finds Murray and his beliefs too much to take. ”Faith is a crutch of the weak. You use it to paper over all the contradictions. And you fall back on it to provide easy answers to impossible questions.”

Maybe a bit harsher than what I would have said, but certainly Fin and I would find agreement on this subject.

Peter May ensnares the reader and soon has you walking down a road on Lewis Island, being blown sideways by the wind and hearing the ”tireless legions of riderless white horses crashing up against the stubborn stone of unyielding black cliffs.” The plot will wiggle into your brain and haunt your dreams until you give up and turn the light on to read a few more chapters. The smell of cut peat, the woodsmoke when it is finally dry enough to burn, and the howling wind that makes music with the eaves of your croft and whistles a tune through any hole found round your windows or doors will send shivers through you. You will be there wanting to leave, wanting to stay, but knowing you will return for book three.

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The Armored Saint (The Sacred Throne #1) By: Myke Cole

The Armored Saint by Myke Cole
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Well, I walk into 2018 and get proven wrong, RIGHT out the gate. First of all, spoilers, I am a huge fan of Myke Cole. However, I didn't figure he could top my beloved Shadow Ops universe. I apologize Mr. Cole.

The Armored Saint knocks it out of the park, Myke's move in dark epic fantasy is a punch in the mouth and after he smiles at you and you ask for another. The only way to describe this book is terrific top to bottom. I want more, I want the next installment and I wanted it two days ago.

Get on it, Mr. Cole.

highest rating, 340495 out of 5 stars, (yes it's not even math, more of an abstract expression, geez)

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Stories of Life, Canada Style

Dear Life: Stories by Alice Munro
Reviewed by Jason Koivu
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This is Winesburg, Ohio for Canada.

I hesitated to use that analogy, because Ohioans and Midwesterners in general are so very Canadian it just seemed redundant. However, in Dear Life Alice Munro has written the same kind of truly reflective snippets of life that made Sherwood Anderson's work the well-respected, and frankly, forgettable novel it is.

Stories about everyday events and the less-than-dramatic moments of an average joe's average day do not enthrall me. I do, however, enjoy really well-crafted prose that "gets to the heart of the matter" and that's what we have here. Munro has presented us with a piece of work that flows with the ease of an ancient, flat river. Any turbulence is under the surface. You may not be swept away, but you will be transported comfortably and carefully to an inevitable conclusion.

I will not remember these stories. They tired me with their tedium. But I respect the hell of out the accomplishment that is Dear Life.

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A Detective Fiction Forerunner

Fer-de-Lance by Rex Stout
Reviewed by Jason Koivu
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I'm givin' this sucka three stars, seeee?! Ya wanna make somethin' of it, tough guy?...Yeah, that's what I thought.

Actually, Fre-de-Lance by Rex Stout is more cerebral than tough-guy as far as detective fiction goes. Oh sure, there's some strong-arm scenes and a line like "Don't try no funny stuff, ya got me pal-y?" wouldn't be out of place here. However, as many of those you find, you'll discover just as many classical allusions and erudite quotables.

This is in great part due to the eccentric genius Nero Wolfe, who owns and operates the detective agency. However, he is too corpulent and immobile to be the true hero of the story. That mantle rests upon the able shoulders of regular good guy Archie Goodwin, the man on the street, the guy who gets the job done. Archie narrates the story and his witty one-liners and occasional snark are a great joy to read.

One of the early ones in the detective genre, Fer-de-Lance leaves the reader guessing who killed who and why. Very solid red herrings and perplexing twists abound. This book will satiate the mystery lover.

This why only three stars? Well, as one of the longer books in the Wolfe series, Fer-de-Lance lumbers along at a slower pace than necessary, adding more pages than are probably needed to tell this tale. But hey, this was back when Stout was just starting out and you can hardly be surprised when a new writer goes long. Plus, this being one of the early detective stories, he didn't have down pat the bebop-beat timing and double-time swinging pace that hardboiled detective fiction would eventually be known for.

Definitely worth giving it a shot!

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Vampire Claus

Robert Winter
Self-Published
Reviewed by Nancy
4 out of 5 stars

Summary

’Twas the night before Christmas, but what’s stirring is a little more dangerous than a mouse.

Taviano is nearly two hundred years old and never wakes in the same place twice. Weary and jaded, the vampire still indulges in memories of childhood Christmases in Naples. He lingers in shadow, spying on mortals as they enjoy the holiday.

When Taviano spots a handsome young man in Boston loaded down with presents and about to be mugged, he can’t help but intervene. Soon he’s talking to joyous, naïve, strong-willed and funny Paul, a short-order cook who raised funds to buy Christmas presents for LGBTQ children. Before he knows what’s happened, Taviano is wrapped up in Paul’s arms and then in his scheme to get the presents delivered by Christmas morning.

A vampire turned into a Christmas elf… What could go wrong?

Vampire Claus is a 30,000-word standalone gay romance about a lonely vampire and a fearless mortal with no instinct for self-preservation. A heartwarming ending, no cliffhanger, and a young man who discovers he has a thing for fangs. Isn’t that what Christmas is all about?

My Review

Taviano was just 22 when he was turned into a vampire nearly 200 years ago. Having spent many years wandering, the lonely, nomadic vampire has decided to observe the city of Boston from the top of St. Stephen’s. The evening mass, the snowfall, and the Christmas trees seen through apartment windows, all make Taviano long for his childhood in Naples, Italy.

With his human life now over, Taviano skulks around in the dark, taking nourishment from the dregs of society. Over the years, Taviano has learned that he doesn’t have to kill his victims in order to satisfy the bloodbeast that lives within him. Though he still believes he’s a monster, his human feelings and memories remain intact.

It takes a near mugging and an encounter with a bright, compassionate young man named Paul to help Taviano recover his humanity, use his powers to help the less fortunate, and discover he is not the monster he’s always believed himself to be.

I loved the warmth, the strong connection and the steamy love scenes between Paul and Taviano. I enjoyed the glimpses of Taviano’s past and the fact that Taviano’s bloodbeast has his own underlying motives.

As much as I loved Paul’s kind spirit, his excessive use of slang drove me nuts.

This tender and funny romance is full of surprises and Christmas joy, with just enough danger and tension to keep it from feeling like a Hallmark movie.

I thoroughly enjoyed it and would definitely read another story with these two as long as Paul learns some proper English!

HOWARDS END BY E. M. FORSTER

Howards End by E.M. Forster
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

***New mini-series begins showing on Starz in the U.S. April 2018.***

”Discussion keeps a house alive. It cannot stand by bricks and mortar alone.”



I’ve fallen in love with the Schlegel sisters twice now in separate decades. I plan to keep falling in love with them for many decades to come. They are vibrant defenders of knowledge, of books, of art, of travel, of feeling life in the heart, lungs, kidneys, liver, and spleen on a daily basis. Margaret and Helen have a brother, Tibby, poor lad, who is plenty bright while at Oxford, but in the family Schlegel home, he is struggling to keep up with the thoughts expressed that keep expanding past him.

Compared to most people, they are rich. Compared to most rich people, they are poor. Their ancestors left them with enough capital to insure that they don’t have to work for the rest of their lives, can travel a bit, can go to the theatre, and can buy books as they need them. They are very attuned to their privileged position and are frequently tempted to reduce their capital by helping those in need. How much money do they really need or, for that matter, really deserve to have?

Improbably, the Schlegel sisters become friends with the Wilcoxes, a capitalistic family who have a different idea of money. Is there ever enough? Helen forms a temporary attachment to the younger Wilcox which throws each family into a tizzy as to the suitability of the match. Margaret begins a friendship with the wife, Ruth, that proves so strong that it throws a few wrinkles into the plot regarding Ruth’s family and the inheritance of Howards End.

Ruth passes away suddenly. ”How easily she slipped out of life?” Her insignificance in life becomes even more pronounced in her death.

E. M. Forster based Howards End on his childhood home, The Rooks Nest, which had been owned by a family named Howard and referred to as the Howard house. Thus, the name Howards End is a not too subtle reference to that family home. I have to believe that it might have represented a lifetime longing he had for those childhood years he spent in that home. In the novel, Howards End goes beyond being an estate and becomes almost a character, a Shangri-La that I began to pine for from the very beginning of the novel. The Sisters have only brief contact with Howards End through the early part of the novel, and my trepidation grows as the plot progresses. Will they ever have a chance to consider the house a home?


Rooks Nest

The Schlegel’s befriend the Basts, who are certainly in much reduced circumstances compared to their own. By mere chance they are discussing the Basts situation with Henry Wilcox, who promptly puts doubt into their mind about the future validity of the company Leonard is working for. This sets off a chain of events that cause a series of ripples that change the course of several lives. There certainly is a word of caution in meddling in others’ affairs. Sometimes we can think we are helping, only to cause even more problems.

Improbably, Margaret and Henry Wilcox form a friendship that becomes romantic. The eldest Wilcox son, Charles, is not happy about the attachment. He and Margaret are so far apart in their views of how the world works or should work that they have difficulty communicating well enough to reach a point of mutual respect. ”They had nothing in common but the English language, and tried by its help to express what neither of them understood.”

Margaret’s odd relationship with Henry causes a rift between the sisters that is, frankly, painful to experience. Forster makes sure that I, as a reader, at this point can no longer be objective. The relationship between these siblings is a precious thing and to think of it torn asunder is impossible to accept. They know so well how to entertain each other, to finish each other’s thoughts, and share a general agreement on most things that other people who bump around in the orbit of their reality feel like intruders.

So the marriage between Margaret and Henry is unsettling to Helen and me for numerous reasons, but this statement might sum up how we feel pretty well: ”How wide the gulf between Henry as he was and Henry as Helen thought he ought to be.” There is probably someone we could feel is good enough for Margaret, but not just Margaret but Helen and this reader as well (see how invested I am?); for whomever either girl would marry would have to slip seamlessly into the state of euphoria that already exists in the Schlegel household.

Henry is not that person. ”He misliked the word ‘interesting’, connoting it with wasted energy and even with morbidity.”

It is becoming impossible to think that Howards End will remain nothing more than a shimmering presence in another reality.


E. M. Forster, portrait by Roger Fry.

The Schlegel sisters are really the best friends any reader could hope for. We would be so enriched by the opportunity to know them and practically giddy to be able to call them friends. It is unnerving that something so strong, like this relationship between sisters, can be so fragile. I haven’t discussed the fascinating nuances of plot that will add further weight to the interactions between the Schlegels, the Wilcoxes, and the Basts, for I want everyone to read this book and marvel at the words and thoughts that Forster tosses in the air for you to catch. I want you all to be as haunted as I have been, to the point that you, too, will have to go back to the place you first met these characters, these ghostly beings, and read and read again turning these phantoms into tangible beings you can almost touch.

”Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its highest. Live in fragments no longer.”

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Dragon Bones and Tombstones

Dragon Bones and Tombstones by Craig Halloran
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Nath and Brenwar continue their search for dragons to rescue. After walking into a trap, the duo are forced to retrieve an object of power that a Necromancer was somehow unable to retrieve.

Dragon Bones and Tombstones really felt kiddy to me. I realize the series is intended for a young audience, but the first book was enjoyable enough. I was physically pained by lines such as this, "I bet you think I'll thank you, don't you, Nath Dragon? The truth is, I'd consider it if I weren't so evil and you weren't so good." That just doesn't work for me.

Nath and Brenwar are a goofy pair. I can imagine the target audience of kids to tweens would enjoy their banter. I on the other hand was wondering what I saw in the first book that encouraged me to read this one. It kind of feels like when you meet someone at a dark club and you've been drinking. In that instant the person seems quite attractive to you, but when you manage to see them in the daylight you wonder how drunk you were and how dark that club was.

Dragon Bones and Tombstones is intended for a young audience and I won't make the mistake of continuing the series.


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This is not Fame "A from what I re-memoir" by: Doug Stanhope

This Is Not Fame: A "From What I Re-Memoir" by Doug Stanhope
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Today's world is one of apologies, of hurt feelings, and constant, overbearing political correctness. Stanhope is none of these. Crude, the definition of self destructive, pretty much a stumbling mess of a human being. This is Not Fame is a collection of lewd tales that lead you to wonder, "How is this guy still living?"

That being said, few people can tell a story like Doug Stanhope. A drunken swirl of chaos, debauchery, and all around UN politically correct as you possibly can get, buried in the dirt...is a true gem of a collection of stories.

When the world ends, Stanhope will be glowing in the dark in his kingdom of ash, lighting his smokes off a radioactive cockroach, he will have a great story to tell...eventhough he probably won't remember it.

If you like your humor dark and dirty, this is for you.

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Christie's Little Pigs

Five Little Pigs by Agatha Christie
Reviewed by Jason Koivu
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Another fun whodunnit!

This time around Hercule Poirot is tasked with digging up a 16 year old murder cold case. Everyone is satisfied with the previous resolution, except for one person. And that person asks Poirot to look into it. Of course, once he gets those little grey cells working, he finds something amiss.

In play form, this quicky still manages a modicum of depth within the story and characters, not a trait mysteries are always well-known for! And the plot is just as slippery as many of Christie's novels. The woman-scorned premise is a trifle basic, but only so much as the characters themselves falsely believe. It actually has a nice twist to it.

I could do without the usual and ad nauseam admission-by-the-perp ending. It's a laughable tool of expedience, which I should be thankful for (because nobody really wants to read a boring trial with an inevitable ending, do they?) and yet it never ceases to inadvertently assume me.

A very strong 3.5 stars!

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A Short Review of Chandler Short Stories

Red Wind: A Collection of Short Stories by Raymond Chandler
Reviewed by Jason Koivu
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

A dame loses her pearls. Said dame saves a detective. Said detective tries to recover those pearls for her.

Then a little dude ends up dead. A slightly odd couple from West LA gets roped in. An investigating copper gets duped and then gets sore about it. And that's not all! I mean, geez louise, there's a lot going on for such a short story.

Red Wind is a fast talkin', fast movin' street-level crime thriller from Raymond Chandler that only comes up short due to it being so dang short. Seriously, this story could use a few more pages to breathe a bit more.


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