How would these guys handle Miz Eudora’s requests? (HBO Pictures)
I got the email from Sam and Tab shortly before the first of the month:
Can you come to Memphis? It’s a coven meeting and you’re invited!
Why yes, that is coded speech. Sam usually sends her invitations to coven gatherings via owl or white mice in a pumpkin. But seriously, the girls are secretive about their professional gatherings and for good reason. In the early days of the event, they were sometimes overrun by wannabe writers looking for that magic something that would get them published and readers seeking galleys before their favourite authors’ latest hit the shelves. The attendees are all booksellers except for the occasional guest from the book trade or an author or a book jacket artist or somesuch person who shares their insight and experience and usually brings some very sweet swag. In return they get a smallish honorarium and a long weekend at the B and B.
I no longer am a bookseller, but that didn’t stop me from selling The Deadly Percheron when it was rereleased some years back. I was in my friend’s store, The Black Orchid, and when customers came in without a definite direction in genre or author, I naturally tried to sway them to a favorite title. When another bookseller first tipped me to this title, I wasn’t convinced to read it. It sounded, well, bizarre, to put it mildly. After finally giving in, and after finishing it in record time, I started looking for a first edition to acquire–the benchmark of quality for me.
Jacob Blunt visits a psychiatrist, George Matthews, with a tale of woes about ‘leprechauns’ who are paying him to do odd things, such as, whistle at Carnegie Hall and give money away. The stories alone can’t convince Dr. Matthews his patient is certifiably insane but the hibiscus flower Blunt wears in his hair just might. That and the fact that since he met Blunt, Matthews has been experiencing his own brand of questionable events. When Blunt is suspected of murder, the psychiatrist steps in to help the man he has come to, if not believe, then at least suspect is being used by others for unknown purposes.
Mystery Writers of America have announced this years nominees for the fantastic Edgar A. Poe Award. I’m familiar with Lehane, Mosley, Atkins, and maybe a few more, but their recent books haven’t been read by me. There was a time, long long ago, when I had read everything nominated, and if I hadn’t, I would … Read more
This book is such a given, I thought I’d already wrote my little piece on it–but no! Anyone who hasn’t heard of the book must be living in a sad place. If you’ve not read it, only heard of it, you are living in a grey place. If you’ve only seen the film, and not read the book, your world is overcast. Only if you’ve read the book can you claim to be of the living, IMHO. Ok, naturally that’s going a bit far. The Maltese Falcon is so pleasurable a read, and yet so influential in style, character, genre, that it’s taken for granted. I’ve reread it a couple of times, something unheard of for me, and each time is as satisfying as the last.
A promo advertising a film about to be released called Hansel and Gretel, has me shaking my head and asking why now? Why all the fairy tale inspired, interpreted, twisted, films and TV now? They’ve been around for centuries and other than Disney, pretty much ignored. Besides Snow White, Disney has a tendency to lighten up its fairy tale fare. Not today’s offerings. Some seem to try to find the grisliest way to interpret what are quite violent stories to begin with. A few years ago a film was made about the Grimm brothers, and never made a sound as it sunk into the rental pool. Since that time, two TV shows, two new Snow White films, and now a Hansel and Gretel movie. None of them stick to the original sources.
I have an illustration that I slid off of an eBay auction about a billion years ago, when you could still do that. I loved it so much, I tried to make jewelry, print it, do various and sundry things, but as it goes, dpi is notoriously low on eBay and most of the world of eBay, because it doesn’t take much to render a picture pretty nice looking on your screen. A few other images were purloined that long ago day, but none of them did I remember to jot down title, author, illustrator, or publisher. I only remember I couldn’t afford the book with the super fairy tale picture, and that was that. Since then I’ve been sporadically perusing bookfinder, google, eBay, etsy, trying to locate the original source of the picture. The only clue I had were the artist’s initials and last name. F. S. Cooke. Not an individual I’d heard of, but then I have found through the years that there are far more golden age illustrators than just a few well publicized ones like Arthur Rackham, Edmund Dulac, the Robinson brothers, Jessie Wilcox Smith etc. Children’s book illustrators in the teens, twenties and thirties seem to be numerous–from pictures for school book primers, to endless renditions of Mother Goose, to magazine covers. A magazine cover of an odd thing called Etude, confirmed that a F. S. Cooke did exist, and had created an ingenious piece of artwork for a magazine devoted to high falutin’ music. A little row of houses in the shape of musical instruments in candy colors certainly catches the eye, and his Deco sensibility is exactly what I love. I realized then that I had a couple Etude magazines with front covers with his artwork. Inside the magazine there is nothing–well, nothing that I care about, I suppose music lovers would disagree, ha. So what else did this man, I assumed it was a man because it usually is, what else did he do?
It was one of those finds in the LitCrit section of McKay’s Books that looked like a good cold weather read.Playing Joan is an anthology of interviews with actress who have played the Shavian heroine over the years. The book looked like it was nearly new and had never been read. At $1.50, it was a deal. Then I noticed there was a name written on the title page.
Before I get into that, I need to make an admission. I’m one of those people who loves finding old things in books. By old things, I don’t mean the dessicated corpses of insects or antique Fritos. I’m talking about postcards, invoices, ticket stubs, newspaper clippings and class schedules. They give me a clue about who read this book before it fell into my hands. I’m also a fan of old library book discards. It makes my shelves feel well-traveled.
I was seated in a nice quiet dark movie theatre waiting for the main feature as the screen filled with cacophonous gunshots, car crashes, screeching people, horrible grotesque creatures, all trailers as they are called now–when I was a mere lassie, we called them coming attractions because, well, that’s what they are. The film may trail at the end of a reel, but the pictures themselves are of movies about to be released. Doesn’t matter, what did was what one of the trailers showcased-a new version of The Great Gatsby. I believe there have been two already–maybe more, one starring my mother’s matinee idol, Alan Ladd, the other starring my generation’s dreamboat, Robert Redford. Each film presents NY in their own way, the latter tries to show a bit grittier world. What I witnessed in the 3 minute promo was complete fantasy. Opulent, over the top, ritzy, decadent behavior with sets that cost more than any one at the time could have possibly afforded to build. With a computer generated city skyline, showgirls, debauchery, and a florid Leonardo Di Caprio as the iconic Gatsby, I recoiled in my seat as if slapped.
