33. The Watchman, by Robert Crais

While it’s interesting to see the Elvis Cole-Joe Pike relationship from the other side, I’m not sure how I feel about the notion of putting the focus on Pike. The Watchmen builds on Mr. Crais’s work in LA Requiem, where he began filling in the blanks about Joe Pike’s backstory. It seems to run contrary to the essence of the character. On the other hand, it works. The process of humanizing Pike notwithstanding, seeing the world through his sunglasses-covered eyes as he works to protect a young woman from threats that are not as simple as they at first seem makes for a good story, and reinforces the degree to which Pike is an equal partner and an effective counterbalance to Cole.

32. The Mysterious Affair at Styles (Haiku Review), by Agatha Christie

Strychnine all around
But who is the poisoner?
Hercule Poirot knows

31. The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse, by Robert Rankin

Robert Rankin’s style has quite a bit in commone with Terry Pratchett. That’s an assessment more charitable to Mr. Rankin than to Mr. Pratchett, but it’s a good basis for comparison, and it allows the use (possibly even the coining) of the adjective Pratchetty, to wit: Rankin’s style, which mixes style parody, clever wordplay and social satire, is distinctly Pratchetty.

Of course, Pratchetty also implies “not entirely Pratchett-like.” It may have something to do with a fairly ambitious attempt to blend noir style and nursery rhymes. Noir parodies are tricky enough to begin with; throw in the children’s stories on top, and you’re dealing with a lot of ingredients, not all of which harmonize all that well. The result is a story that feels too precious in the noir sections, and too mannered in its nursery rhyme aspects.

30. Green with Envy, by Shira Boss

This book examines the myth of American financial life, the lengths to which people go to keep up appearances, and the depths of trouble such efforts generate. Ms. Boss examines the assumptions people make about their neighbors based on outward appearance — the large homes, nice cars, fancy vacations — and the difficult realities — maxxed out credit cards, stress and mounting debt — that often lurk beneath the surface. She tracks this phenomenon through a variety of case studies, the most intersting of which explodes some of the myths and assumptions of life for Washington legislators. Aside from those of considerable personal means, the book shows that life in Washington — with elected officials sleeping in their offices for years on end because they can’t afford the rent, or living dormitory style with other legislators to save on expenses, to the burdens of fundraising — often belies the glamor and ease commonly associated with our political leaders.

The book also contains a passing comment that sheds a tremendous amount of light on the nature of public policy debate in the United States. Writing about bankruptcy, Ms. Boss notes, “As with anything, the system has to not work sometimes in order to work most of the time for the people who truly need it.” That is, we must tolerated the isolated worst case scenarios in order to ensure the best case is available when required. Unfortunately, that tends not to be the way we discuss these issues when it’s time to enact legislation. When we debate reform — bankruptcy, health care, welfare, lobbying, immigration, trade, what have you — the soundbites from that debate usually present the worst case scenario as the common case. The result, unsurprisingly, is a politics of fear which results in dire pronouncements and draconian prescriptions, often in place of honest debate. There are a host of reasons for this, of course, but among these is the power of mistaken assumptions.

Bart Modern had a little lamb…

..he grilled it on the grill
and on the side he had some naan
of which he et his fill

The Lovely Wife was out of town the other night. I used the opportunity to cook something I love that she doesn’t enjoy at all: lamb. You don’t encounter too many people who are neutral about lamb: either you love it, or you can’t stand it. In that regard, it’s like licorice (personally, I can’t get enough of the stuff), coconut (love it) or cilantro (leave it).

Since TLW is in the leave it column when it comes to lamb, I rarely have it, and almost never cook it at home. Still, grilled lamb is one of life’s simple pleasures, and given the opportunity — and the grill — I would have have been a fool to deny myself.

Bart Modern’s Lamb Chunks

1 # lamb chunks (cut from the leg), divided*

1 large Vidalia onion, sliced thin

1/3 cup olive oil

1 1/2 T that dip mix my friend Deb brought up from Texas last summer, that’s been sitting in the back of my cabinet for the past past year** (or if you don’t have a friend Deb, any combination of fresh and or dried herbs and spices and bulbs and suchlike that grabs your fancy will do. Oregano goes well with lamb, and you can never go too far wrong with smashed garlic, you know?)

Kosher salt

1) Take half the lamb chunks, stick them in a bag in the fridge and forget about them until it’s time to fire up the grill.

2) Make a paste with the olive oil and the dip mix. Toss the other half of the lamb chunks with half of this paste. Marinate 3-4 hours.

3) Toss the sliced onion in the other half portion of the spice paste. Marinate 3-4 hours.

4) Fire up the grill. Set to medium high heat.

5) Thread the unmarinated lamb on a skewer. Season with Kosher salt. Thread the marinated lamb on a second skewer. Place the skewers on the grill. Rotate skewers one quarter turn every five minutes or so, or until lamb is cooked to preferred degree of doneness.

6) Make a foil packet of the spice-marinated onions. Place the packet on the grill while the lamb cooks. Turn occasionally.
If the place where you get your lamb should happen, as mine did, to have lamb sausage as well, why not get a link or two and throw that on the grill along with the skewers?

Enjoy the lamb chunks (and the sliced sausages, should you be so fortunate) and onions with some grilled naan and a nice glass of red wine.

*Okay, there’s really no reason to divide the lamb. I was kinda working without a net with the marinade, and I wanted a lamb contingency plan in case the marinated lamb didn’t work out. Fortunately, my marinade fu is mighty, and both varieties ended up cooked to perfection. Still, it was nice to have a contrast between the spicy marinated lamb and the simplicity of the meat seasoned with nothing but the Kosher salt.

**What? You don’t know my friend Deb? That’s too bad. She’s good people, although I don’t get to see her that often since she and her family moved to Texas — oh gosh, has it really been alalmost two years now? Anyway, she brought us this Southwestern dip — lots of chile, and dried onion and garlic, and other tasties — that you’re supposed to mix with sour cream and use for chips and veggies, but we never got around to using it for its intended purpose, and there it sat until inspiration struck. Thanks, Deb.

29. The Greatest Story Ever Sold: The Decline and Fall of Truth from 9/11 to Katrina, by Frank Rich

Frank Rich provides a comprehensive account of the path to the Iraq war, and what he sees as the wheels coming off the wagon of George W. Bush’s presidency since the 2003 “Mission Accomplished” event.

For a book that echoes the Downing Street Memo assertion that the Bush administration “fixed” intelligence around a foregone conclusion, it must be noted that Mr. Rich similarly organizes and arranges facts — cherry picks his evidence, if you will — to strenghten his own narrative.

That’s the function of a work of opinion, of course: to make and defend a coherent, and supportable argument. And indeed, Mr. Rich presents facts that support his argument, supplementing the argument itself with an appendix that presents side by side timelines of, essentially, the facts as they were known to key administration decision makers, and the spin — often wildly at variance with known facts — those decision makers employed in their public statements.

I’m a fan of opinion. I love a good argument. I even appreciate a good (fact-based) argument that advocates a point of view diametrically opposed to my beliefs, ideas, and opinons. That said, there is a world of difference between an argument and an outright lie. A lie is not the opposite of a fact. The notion that balance exists when I assert a fact and someone else lies would be risible were it not so deadly serious.

In the book’s epilogue, Mr. Rich raises what I take as the central question of his enterprise: “Shouldn’t it have raised alarms that a war was being rushed out on an arbitrary and reckless timetable that was in sync with an American election campaign?” This question takes some of the onus for events of the past several years off the lies (or manipulation of truth), the spin, and the marketing, and puts it squarely on the shoulders of we the people. Lies only thrive, and liars only prosper, where there is someone to listen and believe the claims, and the veracity of the claimants.

The Prestige (2006)

There is a running sentiment in this film about duelling stage magicians to the effect that knowing the “trick” ruins the illusion. Having read the Christopher Priest novel from which director Christopher Nolan derived his film, I unfortunately knew the tricks and secrets of both magicians. As such, while I appreciated the showmanship that Nolan — and actors Christian Bale (as Alfred Borden, or “The Professor” to use his stage name) and Hugh Jackman (as Robert Angier, “The Great Danton”) — brought to the story, the essential element of suspense was denied me. Knowing the trick made me sensitive to camera angles and line readings designed to preserve illusions, distort facts, and otherwise distract the audience’s attention from the sleight of hand taking place on screen.

On the other hand, this is the sort of film some people like to see twice; once in order to be fooled, and then to see how they were fooled. My experience with the story just puts me slightly ahead of the curve.

And, having read the book, I quite appreciate the adaptation. Nolan wisely does away with the modern-day framing device that Priest employs in his novel, leaving the focus where it belongs: on the conflict between the two magicians, and the personal enmity that fuels their professional rivalry.

28. Death in Paradise, by Robert B. Parker

All right; I’m done. No, really, I mean it this time.

*^$@ library, makes it too easy to pick up these books. Nah; that’s not entirely fair. It’s my lack of willpower that makes me pick up the books; the library is merely an unwitting enabler of my lack of literary discrimination.

300 pages, and not much happens. Crime is discovered (in this instance a murder; Parker and his protagonist Jesse Stone sure are racking up quite the body count in their sleepy little New England town), and eventually solved. In between, there’s a lot of stakeout, a lot of navel gazing, and the continued perpetration of the absolutely annoying — and irritatingly rendered — relationship between Stone and his ex-wife. Indeed, this last even leads to Stone shooting another character during a hostage situation. The hostage taker’s marital dysfunction so closely mirrors Stone’s, and why bother gazing into the abyss when you can just put a .22 slug between the eyes of the abyss.

It’s not the plot. It’s not the characters. It’s not the style. I’m at a loss, but obviously there is something about this series of novels that keeps me coming back. Maybe it’s one of those definition of insanity things.

Haiku Review: The Sopranos — “Made in America”

Pass the onion rings
An ending, but not The End
Don’t stop believin’

27. Captain Alatriste, by Arturo Perez-Reverte

Swashbuckling! Intrigue! Mildly tedious poetry! What’s not to like?

Daleks: Invasion Earth 2150 A.D. (1966)

Where Doctor Who and the Daleks offered an interesting cinematic variation on the BBC television series theme, this sequel trades in the minor charms of the original for absurdity, illogic, and an extreme lack of imagination.

Indeed, Daleks: Invasion Earth 2150 A.D. is not so much a sequel as a “let’s pretend the previous film never happened.” Aside from Doctor Who (there are no “The Doctor”s here; it’s a small distinction, but one that sets Peter Cushing’s character light years apart from his BBC analogue) familiarity with the Daleks and their home world, the story is entirely divorced from what came before. The film swaps out several of the supporting characters, replacing graddaughter Barbara and bumbling comic relief Ian for the interchangably inconsequential granddaughter Louise, and the slightly more dynamic Tom.

As for the Daleks, they are far less menacing than in Doctor Who and the Daleks (a film in which they weren’t especially menacing to begin with, largely because they are relegated secondary menace status. They spend most of the film rolling around their various command centers and control rooms, issuing orders to their robotized human slaves. Ooooh; scary: cybernetic middle management killing machines.

Let’s face facts; at its heart, Doctor Who is children’s entertainment. Thing is, though, there is a world of difference between being for children (which implies authenticity and respect for intelligence, even amid the most fantastic trappings), and being childish. This is a difference with which Daleks: Invasion Earth 2150 A.D. demonstrates little understanding.

26. Trouble in Paradise, by Robert B. Parker

In retrospect, I probably should have savored Night Passage a bit longer before heading up for a second helping of Jesse Stone. The character remains interesting in this second outing, but some of Parker’s few trick pony tendencies start showing through now that the novelty is wearing off. The troubled relationship between Stone and his ex-but not out of the picture-wife is decidedly familiar, and hearkens back to romantic entaglements — and the underlying conflict between love and control — Parker has explored in the past.

The third person narration remains a strong hedge against familiarity breeding contempt, especially as the story weaves back and forth between Stone and the criminal planning to commit an involved robbery in Paradise, the town where Stone serves as chief of police.

Had this been more of a cat and mouse caper, the story would have been stronger. Instead, it was a character study in which the action served a secondary purpose, and where the outcome was never in doubt.

25. Night Passage, by Robert B. Parker

I’ve long been a fan of Parker’s Spenser series. I’ll not however that I have noticed a certain…repetitiousness in his books over the past decade or so. In that time, Spenser’s adventures have taken on a phoning it in quality that makes them increasingly less enjoyable. I still read each new Spenser eventually, but I no longer approach new installments with the same enthusiasm I used to have.

I know; it’s the way of most of the things we enjoy, isn’t it? Stick with them long enough and familiarity breeds contempt. More than that, familiarity breeds the conviction we’re somehow getting cheated, that things used to be better in the good old days, and that, somehow, the creator has breached some sacred trust with his audience, has broken faith with those to whom he somehow owes a measure of fidelity.

Let’s be clear; Robert B. Parker doesn’t owe me a damn thing. I don’t feel betrayed, but I do feel that as far as Spenser is concerned, the man has been coasting for at least a decade.

I suppose that’s one of the reasons I resisted checking out Parker’s Jesse Stone series for the past decade. If I was getting increasingly tired of Spenser, why would I want to invest any energy or attention in the adventures of Spenser lite?

Turns out I was both absolutely correct, and slightly mistaken about Parker, Stone, and Night Passage. Stone is, essentially, a younger, trimmer, less encumbered version of Spenser. This is helpful, because Spenser’s been at his game for over 30 years now, which not only makes the character eligible for Social Security, but makes his position as the toughest — or at least the most single-minded — man in Boston increasingly hard to swallow. Stone trades in Spenser’s Boston for a seemingly peaceful coastal Massachusets town, taking over the Chief of Police job as a way of picking up the pieces of a failed marriage and career in Los Angeles.

Along the way, many of the traditional Parker tropes spring up: troubled relationships that aren’t allowed to end, a hero who drinks too much (situationally, to be sure) but who overcomes that demon when there’s work to be done, class conflict, people who don’t understand the difference between acting tough, and being tough.

It’s familiar, but it works. Stone and Spenser are kindred spirits, to be sure, but they aren’t the same guy. Parker’s decision to tell Stone’s story in the third person, instead of using the same first person narration he’s used for Spenser all these years helps to put some distance between the characters, and allows Stone to stand on his own. Perhaps 30 books down the line, Stone might start to grate, but in the short run, he’s compelling enough to work as something more than a cheap rehash of a more established character.