Gray, Maine’s Confederate Stranger:
'via Blog this'
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Goodreads | Eric_W Welch (Forreston, IL)'s review of The Draining Lake
Goodreads | Eric_W Welch (Forreston, IL)'s review of The Draining Lake:
An earthquake near an Icelandic lake causes part of the lake to drain and a skeleton is discovered attached to some Soviet listening devices, presumably dating from the Cold War.. Detective Erlendur Sveinsson (The Jar City) has his own problems with a daughter constantly getting into trouble, a son who resents his aloofness, and his own periodic and obsessive search for a brother gone missing many years before in a snowstorm. He and his colleagues try to track down the identity of the dead man, but no one wants to revisit the Cold War times, especially one in which idealistic socialist Icelandic students succumbed to the blandishments of Soviet agents seeking to spy on a country that many called “an American aircraft carrier.”
The skeleton was found with an antiquated spy machine tied around it as a weight. Unlike most Icelandic murders, which were easier to solve, this one, appeared to have been carefully planned, skilfully executed, and had remained covered up for so many years. Icelandic murders were not generally committed in this way. They were more coincidental, clumsy and squalid, and the perpetrators almost without exception left a trail of clues.
Erlendur continues his attempts at reconciliation with his daughter Eva who has been in and out of drug rehab and hospitals. (She a recurring character in all three of the Erlendur novels I have read adding to his -- and the reader’s -- despair.) The images conjured up in my mind were all in black and white. No color anywhere.
Iceland, as portrayed in these novels, remains inhospitable to the reader, and discourses on the Icelandic diet don’t make me want to rush to O’Hare and grab the first IcelandicAir to Reykjavik.
'What monstrosity is that?' she asked, pointing to a boiled sheep's head on the table, still uneaten. 'A sheep's head, sawn in half and charred,' he said, and saw her wince. 'What sort of people do that?' she asked. 'Icelanders,' he said. 'Actually it's very good,' he added rather hesitantly. 'The tongue and the cheeks . . .' He stopped when he realised that it did not sound particularly appetising. 'So, you eat the eyes and lips too?' she asked, not trying to conceal her disgust. 'The lips? Yes, those too. And the eyes.'
The gloom of these novels was summed up nicely by the discovery of an older woman, seated in front of her television, a plate of salted meat and boiled turnips was on the table beside her. A knife and fork lay on the floor by the chair. A large lump of meat was lodged in her throat. She had not managed to get out of the deep armchair. Her face was dark blue. It turned out that she had no relatives who called on her. No one ever visited her. No one missed her.
'via Blog this'
An earthquake near an Icelandic lake causes part of the lake to drain and a skeleton is discovered attached to some Soviet listening devices, presumably dating from the Cold War.. Detective Erlendur Sveinsson (The Jar City) has his own problems with a daughter constantly getting into trouble, a son who resents his aloofness, and his own periodic and obsessive search for a brother gone missing many years before in a snowstorm. He and his colleagues try to track down the identity of the dead man, but no one wants to revisit the Cold War times, especially one in which idealistic socialist Icelandic students succumbed to the blandishments of Soviet agents seeking to spy on a country that many called “an American aircraft carrier.”
The skeleton was found with an antiquated spy machine tied around it as a weight. Unlike most Icelandic murders, which were easier to solve, this one, appeared to have been carefully planned, skilfully executed, and had remained covered up for so many years. Icelandic murders were not generally committed in this way. They were more coincidental, clumsy and squalid, and the perpetrators almost without exception left a trail of clues.
Erlendur continues his attempts at reconciliation with his daughter Eva who has been in and out of drug rehab and hospitals. (She a recurring character in all three of the Erlendur novels I have read adding to his -- and the reader’s -- despair.) The images conjured up in my mind were all in black and white. No color anywhere.
Iceland, as portrayed in these novels, remains inhospitable to the reader, and discourses on the Icelandic diet don’t make me want to rush to O’Hare and grab the first IcelandicAir to Reykjavik.
'What monstrosity is that?' she asked, pointing to a boiled sheep's head on the table, still uneaten. 'A sheep's head, sawn in half and charred,' he said, and saw her wince. 'What sort of people do that?' she asked. 'Icelanders,' he said. 'Actually it's very good,' he added rather hesitantly. 'The tongue and the cheeks . . .' He stopped when he realised that it did not sound particularly appetising. 'So, you eat the eyes and lips too?' she asked, not trying to conceal her disgust. 'The lips? Yes, those too. And the eyes.'
The gloom of these novels was summed up nicely by the discovery of an older woman, seated in front of her television, a plate of salted meat and boiled turnips was on the table beside her. A knife and fork lay on the floor by the chair. A large lump of meat was lodged in her throat. She had not managed to get out of the deep armchair. Her face was dark blue. It turned out that she had no relatives who called on her. No one ever visited her. No one missed her.
'via Blog this'
Monday, July 30, 2012
Stephanie Laurens
Stephanie Laurens:
Really interesting presentation on how the roles and relationships are changing in the publishing/writing/reading world.
'via Blog this'
Really interesting presentation on how the roles and relationships are changing in the publishing/writing/reading world.
'via Blog this'
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Goodreads | Eric_W Welch (Forreston, IL)'s review of 36 Yalta Boulevard
Goodreads | Eric_W Welch (Forreston, IL)'s review of 36 Yalta Boulevard:
Unfortunately, I am again reading/listening to a series out-of-order. Bridge of Sighs was first, followed by The Confession. They began in the 1940’s and by the time we reach 36 Yalta Boulevard (the fictitious address of the East European country’s --we never are quite sure which, but is typically Soviet Bloc-- spy service, the Ministry of State Security.)
Brano Sev is sent/led/tricked (we’re never quite sure which) into going to Austria where he is framed for a murder. Relegated to a factory job by his bosses, he is resurrected for another in his home town where he accidentally kills one of his handlers - or is he?. Always one to follow orders and assuming he is part of a grand plan, he’s soon up to his ears in a nebulous labyrinth of betrayal and deceit, unable to trust anyone, and he begins to question his superiors orders.
In one of the great ironies, Brano really believes in the system, even as it betrays and beats him, and despite his knowledge of its corruption. He retains a child-like faith that’s at once simplistic and complicated. It’s confusing at times, but that confusion reflects Brano’s own.
There are some really good novels out there in the spy genre examining the gray netherworld of human actions where the protagonists stumble their way through a maze that often seems to have no end, and writers like Le Carre, Seymour, Cruz Smith, Furst, and others have fertile ground to display the misty world of human frailty. Add Steinhauer to the list.
Ludlum fans will not be interested.
'via Blog this'
Unfortunately, I am again reading/listening to a series out-of-order. Bridge of Sighs was first, followed by The Confession. They began in the 1940’s and by the time we reach 36 Yalta Boulevard (the fictitious address of the East European country’s --we never are quite sure which, but is typically Soviet Bloc-- spy service, the Ministry of State Security.)
Brano Sev is sent/led/tricked (we’re never quite sure which) into going to Austria where he is framed for a murder. Relegated to a factory job by his bosses, he is resurrected for another in his home town where he accidentally kills one of his handlers - or is he?. Always one to follow orders and assuming he is part of a grand plan, he’s soon up to his ears in a nebulous labyrinth of betrayal and deceit, unable to trust anyone, and he begins to question his superiors orders.
In one of the great ironies, Brano really believes in the system, even as it betrays and beats him, and despite his knowledge of its corruption. He retains a child-like faith that’s at once simplistic and complicated. It’s confusing at times, but that confusion reflects Brano’s own.
There are some really good novels out there in the spy genre examining the gray netherworld of human actions where the protagonists stumble their way through a maze that often seems to have no end, and writers like Le Carre, Seymour, Cruz Smith, Furst, and others have fertile ground to display the misty world of human frailty. Add Steinhauer to the list.
Ludlum fans will not be interested.
'via Blog this'
Goodreads | Eric_W Welch (Forreston, IL)'s review of The Deputy
Goodreads | Eric_W Welch (Forreston, IL)'s review of The Deputy:
Part-time deputy Toby Sawyer is called to the scene of a shooting by the Chief. Designated to be responsible for keeping an eye on the Luke Jordan’s body until the ME arrives, he gets tired of waiting and decides to hop down the street in this backwater Oklahoma town and visit Molly, his extra-marital girlfriend for a quick poke. Problem is when he gets back the body is gone.
Told in the first person, Gischler does a great job of keeping the reader as clueless of events as is Toby. He also wonderfully portrays the quiet desperation of a small Oklahoma town. I hiked the three blocks to Molly’s house. Molly was about the only good thing in this town when I came back. I’d left with a guitar and six hundred bucks I’d saved up mowing lawns and pitching sod. Came back to bury my mother and got stuck. The town hadn’t grown one inch since I’d been away. Hell, we were so far out you couldn’t use cell phones. Satellites didn’t fly over. We might as well have been in another fucking dimension. I’m surprised they bothered putting us on the road maps.
Toby is just a part-time but soon discovers his tenacious side and before long finds himself taking on a gang of Mexican worker smugglers and discovering he has a sense of justice he never knew was in him. Abandoned by everyone, it’s only his infant son that provides the grounding he needs to pull it off. The result is mayhem.
I’ve read several of Gischler’s books and so far, with the exception of the vampire-related one, has never failed to disappoint. See my other reviews for more about the other and his other titles.
'via Blog this'
Part-time deputy Toby Sawyer is called to the scene of a shooting by the Chief. Designated to be responsible for keeping an eye on the Luke Jordan’s body until the ME arrives, he gets tired of waiting and decides to hop down the street in this backwater Oklahoma town and visit Molly, his extra-marital girlfriend for a quick poke. Problem is when he gets back the body is gone.
Told in the first person, Gischler does a great job of keeping the reader as clueless of events as is Toby. He also wonderfully portrays the quiet desperation of a small Oklahoma town. I hiked the three blocks to Molly’s house. Molly was about the only good thing in this town when I came back. I’d left with a guitar and six hundred bucks I’d saved up mowing lawns and pitching sod. Came back to bury my mother and got stuck. The town hadn’t grown one inch since I’d been away. Hell, we were so far out you couldn’t use cell phones. Satellites didn’t fly over. We might as well have been in another fucking dimension. I’m surprised they bothered putting us on the road maps.
Toby is just a part-time but soon discovers his tenacious side and before long finds himself taking on a gang of Mexican worker smugglers and discovering he has a sense of justice he never knew was in him. Abandoned by everyone, it’s only his infant son that provides the grounding he needs to pull it off. The result is mayhem.
I’ve read several of Gischler’s books and so far, with the exception of the vampire-related one, has never failed to disappoint. See my other reviews for more about the other and his other titles.
'via Blog this'
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)