I heard the name of Victoria Woodhull in a specialized course, History of American Women, in college. My college years are considered pre-historic, and as such, you would have thought by now everyone would be not only aware of women who were movers and shakers in our past, but they’d be required study–or–like white males, just plain studied. No, of course not. 40 years more or less didn’t bring both sexes and various ethnic people into the discourse. History still belongs to those who write it and apparently those who write it are white males–or, and I have nothing to back this up except ignorance displayed by the younger among us, current history books and courses aren’t current in the sense of inclusion, but in edition number. When I was in grade and high school, the only women that had anything to do with our country’s beginnings consisted of one who mythically sewed a flag, and another who served water on the battlefield–oh, and one president’s wife saved some portraits when the White House burned. Betsy Ross’s house is nearby in Philly, and although the story is discredited time and again, the fantasy lives on. Molly Pitcher is immortalized in a touching way–one of the New Jersey Turnpike’s rest stops bears her name. And Dolly Madison churns out ice cream. That’s it, they are the sum total of women who existed with a contribution to our country’s emergence. And if you notice–their notoriety is contained within the domestic arena.
Diane Plumley
Arthur Rackham
When I first discovered golden age children’s illustration, Arthur Rackham reigned supreme. I was enamored with his fairies, elves, sprites in various forms–from Peter Pan, to English Fairy Tales, to Rip Van Winkle and The Wonder Book. Not able to afford first editions, even then, I settled for typical reprints. Not exactly the finest copies, at least they made more of his illustrations available to me than did the David Larkin outsize paperbacks showcasing the various artists. After a trip to London and a bunch of postcards later, I was so transfixed by his art, I decided to write a thesis for a theatre class in college. The thesis had three
parts. The first, a written analysis of his work and influence, second, makeup based up his characters, and third, a small production utilizing aspects from his artwork. I can’t for the life of me remember what the makeup consisted of, nor what the small production was all about–but I still have my paper–with grammatical errors, misspellings, and postcard examples of his work, still intact.
Get A Clue! Penny Warner’s Amazing Output of Writing
Accomplished Author Penny Warner has three juvenile mystery books in a new series under her belt, The Code Busters Club: The Haunted Lighthouse is the latest. Each book deals with codes, and breaking them. I am terrible at those types of things, but Ms. Warner creates such intrigue, even I believe I could untangle a word or two! I became acquainted with Penny Warner when as a mystery bookseller I came across her unique protagonist, Connor Westphal, a deaf reporter. The first book in the series won a Macavity Award. This multi talented lady also writes a party planning mystery series with lovely amateur detective Presley Parker. I love the first book’s title, How To Host a Killer Party. What warped mind sets a wedding on Alcatraz? Penny does! I don’t want to leave out Haunted Caves: A Troop 13 Mystery which won the coveted Agatha Award from Malice Domestic for Best Children/Young Adult Fiction in 2001, and to ice the cake, grabbed the other most desired fan award, The Anthony, bestowed at the Bouchercon convention the same year. It doesn’t end there–she’s written over 50 books, for both adults and children, and been translated into two many different languages to list. Her bestselling non fiction titles include: Healthy Snacks for Kids, Kids’ Party Games and Activities, Best Party Book, Games People Play, Kids’ Holiday Fun, Learn to Sign the Fun Way, Baby Play and Learn, Kids Pick-A-Party, and Kids’ Party Cookbook. And, for all of us fans, The Official Nancy Drew Handbook, which was also nominated for an Agatha. Whew! I’m exhausted just reading the titles, I can’t imagine having written them all, plus make TV appearances on various networks such as HGTV. To make me feel even lazier, she teaches Child Development at local college. And has done so for—20 years! That’s just too much talent for one person to possess.
A Little Too Embedded
When does getting close to your biographical subject become too close for the subject’s wife? Or husband, if that ever happens–you know–a 60 some year old female has her 30 some year old biographer fall for her? Yeah, right, you hear about it all the time–an older woman who has power is simply irresistible to the opposite sex, even if in her 6th decade. Writing a bio for the opposite sex shouldn’t lead TO sex–how often does this happen? Have there been other examples of two collaborators finding their time spent together turning into something other than reminiscences on a page? All In: The Education of General David Petraeus is a first for me–I’ve not encountered this concept before. Unless I’m woefully uninformed and it happens all the time. But here’s my question–what exactly did Paula Broadwell write? Because she didn’t do the book alone–another name is on the dust jacket–Vernon Loeb. Who is Vernon Loeb? I checked what other books he may have written, and seems as though he co-authored another bio–King’s Counsel with Jack O’Connell, O’Connell’s name in larger letters– about war and diplomacy in the Middle East. So–Vernon is the ghostwriter? A ghostwriter for the ghostwriter?–no, Petraeus isn’t pretending to have written his autobiography, Ms. Broadwell is pretending to have written his bio? Why was she chosen to write the book to begin with–especially if she needed someone else to dot the i’s and cross the t’s for her? After writing the above, I found a news story that contends Mr. Loeb had no clue anything was going on between subject and pseudo biographer. at the time.
Black Alibi–Best 100 Mysteries of All Time
Black Alibi— Cornell Woolrich–1942–used
The Leopard Man played on Turner Classic Movies yesterday. It’s a must see, again, film. Atmospheric, and in some parts, downright suspenseful and terrifying, it cannot hold a reader’s breath, the way the original source does, Black Alibi. I’ve proclaimed it before, Cornell Woolrich in all his various nom de plumes is my favorite writer, period. Not just favorite crime writer, but writer, of fiction. Yes, that means I like his work more than Dickens, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Poe, Collins, Steinbeck etc., ad nauseum. Is he a finer writer? By most standards, probably not. To mine, yes. Because he delivers life at its most frightening, vulnerable, frantic. Hysteria is never far from breaking out in little pustules–here and there–in one of his novels. Fear is attempted to be kept at bay, yet finds its insidious way back into a character’s life, sometimes as an expected guest, others as a stranger wreaking disaster. Black Alibi is a series of horrific events in separate stories, all part of the larger novel. It begins with U.S. citizens, Jerry Manning, and Kiki Walker finding small success in the South American city of Ciudad Real. Kiki is a headliner entertainer at a local club, and Jerry, her manager. He thinks up a wild idea for publicity, accent on wild. He convinces Kiki to lead a black jaguar into the club for shock and awe, which in turn shocks the jaguar to escape into the night in the city. Each subsequent chapter follows a young woman as she is stalked as prey by what appears to be the missing jaguar. And it’s within these stories Woolrich’s best work is revealed.
When Shipping Costs, Cost a Sale
I hate paying for shipping. For anything. Psychologically, the seller would be better off charging the shipping within the price, and give ‘free’ shipping, rather than add it on–for me, anyway. I’ve desired a certain Oxalis plant for years. The only online store that sells the bulbs charges so much shipping, I won’t buy them. For three teeny rhizomes, I’m to shell out 10 bucks? Really? So, I deprive myself of that gorgeous plant.
Recently, I finally had to give into my desire for a certain book–well, the illustrations within the book. I’ve never heard of it before–a friend on flickr had scanned plates from it, and it’s weird and quirky enough for me to lust after the book. Problem–I can’t afford the prices being asked for this title. Even though under 100 bucks, that’s still to rich for me at the moment. I knew there was a copy for around 45 dollars out there, and was still listed every time I checked. I finally broke down and decided I had to have it, even though in rather poor condition, and not a first. Another crappy thing–the book is in the UK–not unusual as it was published there. And, I’m guessing, never published in the US. I expect to pay more shipping, logically that would have to be the case. When I checked the shipping price, it seemed very reasonable–I think it was 6 or 7 dollars, as opposed to US regular shipping costs–around 4 or 5. So, I’m excited. I took the plunge, ordered the book, now to wait for it’s arrival and to drool over the contents–all 16 crazy plates, plus black and whites I’ve never seen. And because the illustrations are so intriguing–I’m going to do the unthinkable–read the book too.
The Short and Shorter Of It Part 3
You may be under the illusion that 3 of these articles are revealing every word, pause, comma, dash to the reader. Not so. Remember, there are 100 Malicious Little Mysteries within, and I’m highlighting only a handful. It’s unusual for me to enjoy that many short stories within one large volume and because of that–I am forced to share. Don’t blame me, it’s the demand of the universe.
Maxine O’Callaghan provided the biggest surprise in An Insignificant Crime. The story is thin, on the surface. A store owner in the late 1900s is ready to call the authorities finally, and have the well known customer arrested for her habitual shoplifting. His employee son-in-law keeps at him to drop the idea. Narrated by the employee, he points out that the customer isn’t stealing for money, or in malice, it’s something she apparently has no control of. The son-in-law lays on the line that the customer’s father has a lot of influence in the community, and that the father would not tolerate the humiliation his daughter’s arrest would bring. His argument concludes asking the storekeeper why he doesn’t simply charge the customer’s father’s account, like all the other times?. But his father-in-law is obstinate. The clerk thinks:
“The old fool can’t see beyond the end of his thin quivering nose. He would sacrifice the business and our future, his daughter’s and mine, and feel smugly sanctimonious. And for what? An insignificant little crime that would hurt nobody.”
The Rube At The Carnival of Politics
It’s not enough that 24 hour news stations have little armies of a single point of view, there are talking heads that ‘write’ full of sound and fury, signifying nothing and are paid to do so. These so called political pundits make it their life’s work to polarize as many US citizens as possible. Are they really zealots for a cause? Does Ann Coulter, Russ Limbaugh, Keith Obermann, Bill O’Reilly believe their scorching opinions disguised as facts? Or have they hit upon a way to aggrandize themselves, inflate their already bursting egos, and revel in what they believe is power? It seems as though every month a new title on either political side is released blasting one individual or party for the demise of the democracy we as Americans believe have ‘inalienable rights’ to. And, people pay money to buy them. In droves. I understand that the amount of books sold of one egomaniac only represents a small portion of the entire population–but apparently those portions control the rest of us–or so these pundits like us to believe. And I do believe. I do believe that there is a segment of every country on earth, whose common sense and ability to stand on their own principals and ideals and not be swayed by the loudest most outrageous of talkers, exists.