Lisa Reardon is on my Best 100 Mysteries of All Time list for her first book Billy Dead. If I’d read The Mercy Killers before I finalized the list, she may have had two entries. The Mercy Killers is not an easy read, and yet, it compels and rivets the reader with little action other than the characters living their lives, as dysfunctional as they are. The toughness comes from the unrelenting negativity surrounding the crowd at McGurk’s Taproom in Ypsilanti, MI. The book starts with what feels like a forced addition–forced by an editor or publisher to encapsulate the plot before the story even begins, to give the reader a broad idea of what lies ahead–trouble. And war.
Books & Mags
Is it Difficult for a New Bookshop to Find Books?
The weather in North Carolina has turned a corner toward fall, which means that occasionally I can open the doors to my store and let some air in. I’ve been spending most of my days behind my new counter, organizing sorting, cleaning, pricing and studying. Even though there is a “Closed” sign visible, with the doors open, people poke their heads in, wondering what’s inside and when we open. I’ve been giving tours to anyone interested, and several people have arrived carrying books to sell.
I am starting to feel buried by books. I think I can squeeze 15,000 books onto my shelves, still leaving room for records and cds. But I think I have collected over 25,000 books since mid July. When I started, I wondered if I would be able to accumulate enough books to open in just two months; now I don’t know what to do with all my books. They are rising around my ears like an advancing flood. I rented my third storage unit this week, mostly to make enough room in the store to construct shelving. It may turn out that storage becomes a permanent expense.
The books I added this week are an astounding assortment. As I mentioned last time, there are 150 circus books. There are also many old railroading books, a collection of old tool catalogues, 50 books about mountains, a whole shelf from the 1950s about atomic energy, 20 volumes of My Book House – I could go on, but the fact is I don’t have the shelf space for such esoterica. Perhaps I will rotate special sections in and out of the store for a week at a time, keeping the rest in storage. It’s too early to say for sure; first I have to get shelves in place and then see what fits. Curiously, I am finding very few of the books I most like to read: Orwell, Waugh, Maugham, Greene – the mid-century Brits. Over time, maybe I’ll pass my odd tastes on to customers.
Is There a Bumper Sticker–I Brake For Books?
If not, there should be. On our road trips, we happen across books in all sorts of out of the way places-without planning to find a bookshop, or used bookstore. When we pass by a sign that declares–used books, we brake, as safely as possible, and turn right around if necessary. Sometimes we are horribly disappointed–the shop is closed. Little garage stores, or hole in the walls don’t have regular hours, and even if they do, our cruising along the road can be from 6 a.m. to midnight–we are oblivious to time. Once in leaving The Road Kill Cafe, on the way to The Pencil Sharpener Museum, we rounded a curve and there was a white outbuilding with a nice sign. We stopped, it looked deserted, but we tried the door
anyway. And we saw books–rows and rows of lovely printed things. A middle aged gentleman joined us, we chatted, and found some wonderful tomes to add to our collection, as well as for fun and reading. We were just in time, he would have closed and locked the door if we’d been any later. His place was more of a storage area, less of a shop, but weaving through white washed church filled roads in New England, a small tasteful sign designated that within this private home, there was also an antiquarian bookman. Sometimes private homes make me nervous, the feeling is too personal and I’m afraid not to buy something, for fear of offending the homeowner. That of course, is completely silly, but it’s my hang-up. My husband has no such trepidation, and sallies forth, eagerly assessing the shelves of neatly alphabetized titles within. We had a terrific time. Half the pleasure of road trips are meeting fascinating individuals along the way. Booksellers without exception, fall into that category.
The Book That Can’t Wait
by Jas Faulkner
Anyone with a tall “to be read” stack will get chills at the thought of “El Libro que No Puede Esperar” (translation: “The Book That Can’t Wait”). Eterna Cadencia, a publisher and bookseller in Argentina, has reportedly published a collection of stories by up and coming Latin American writers featuring a gimmick that garnered the imprint a lot of attention outside of its usual market. In the interest of creating a sense of urgency that these authors should be read, and read soon, a promotional video reports they have printed the books using an ink that begins to degrade as soon as the book is exposed to air and light. Break the seal and you have two months to read the book. The fading process starts immediately.
The promotional video about the book that has gone viral (en Inglés, gracias a Dios!). Mainstream outlets such as Wired and Huffington Post have already reported the story as gospel.
Holy Crap! Another Book That Could Be On My List
This is the very reason it took me so long to create the Best 100 Mysteries of All Time list. I keep reading. If I keep reading, especially vintage crime fiction, I’m bound to hit a couple of ‘holy crap!’ books along the way. A ‘holy crap’ is one where at the end I yell, holy crap! More likely in language a bit more salty. I finished a ‘holy crap!’ book about one hour ago, and felt I needed to express my frustration at not being able to add, switch, change, or somehow acknowledge the book in that list.
But the very fact that so many books are that good, should make me happy. And it does, while reading. However, my thinking tank starts placing it before one book, or after another, knocking something off, but then I think, ‘no, that book was really fascinating, book B should go, and so on.’ And the list would never be finished. I had to end that kind of thinking, and set the list, without room for more reads down the line.
The Chill, Ross MacDonald, 1963 shouldn’t have been that good. I’ve read Kenneth Millar before. Millar as Ross MacDonald has been praised as the next thing to Hammett and Chandler in PI stories. But I’ve not found him that compelling. Good, not great. I think his wife, Margaret Millar is a far superior writer, who although acknowledged by the mystery community, hasn’t the place in history her husband enjoys. They both came from a little Canadian town, married and moved to Southern California, where most of their books are set. His is the straight forward detective tale, hers are more psychological and character driven. Her stories are haunting, and not easily forgotten. Or they can be funny as hell.
The Thin Man. Best 100 Mysteries of All Time
The Thin Man—Dashiell Hammett-1933-IP
Some may say, well, hell, this books is a given, of course it belongs on the list. But are they thinking of the written word, or the iconic film starring William Powell and Myrna Loy? Is there a huge difference between the two? I’d say, no, not a huge difference, but differences there are. It’s hard to look at title such as this one and imagine how a reader would see it sans the imitators and film adaptations. Hammett’s imagination brought forth the sparkling upper class couple whose life seems full of drink, parties, and more drink. Written from Nick Charles’ point of view, the sentences are crisp, quick and easy going. The plot starts out within the first paragraph as a young lady approaches Charles at a NY hotel bar, while he’s waiting for his rich wife Nora, to return from shopping. The ‘thin’ man of the title is not Nick Charles, as many have believed, but the victim, or one of them. The young lady’s father is missing, his secretary and lover is found dead, and Nick insists he’s not been a detective since his wife’s father died and all those millions needed looking after.
Shadow of a Lady. Best 100 Mysteries Of All Time
Shadow of a Lady—Holly Roth–1957-OOP
I admit I just finished reading this yesterday. Actually I started it the night before, and finished it the following morning. The story wasn’t earth shattering. It wasn’t heart pounding suspenseful. It was intriguing, disturbing, and overall, surprising. I can’t remember reading anything of Ms. Roth before this title. Her output was limited, but the books she wrote were well received. Interesting point–the plot of one of her novels involves a drowning death off a boat, which is how she ultimately died–with her body never recovered. Hmm. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
The 30,000
by Jas Faulkner
In those odd moments when there can be plenty to do and yet the mind wants to wander through Binkley’s anxiety closet, it is easy to come up with hypothetical catastrophes that put us through a Green Beret-level obstacle course. We see the thin veneer of civilisation stripped away as a mob mentality nudges thousands of people off the side of a cliff in a carb-fueled rage, all neatly battered, fried, and served on a biscuit with a side of fear and loathing of The Other.
Those of us who are caretakers of libraries, whether they’re large public archives of wisdom passed down through the centuries or linen closets that have been converted into repositories of books we have known and loved; we have all wondered what we would do if we only had a small, undisclosed time to save what we could. What would we grab first? Who could we trust to protect what we hold dear? As a bit of woolgathering, it’s scary but there is the comfort that, at least for now, the chances of seeing our libraries destroyed is fairly remote.