I was never a lover of short stories. Until I finally read some. Now I find them appealing due to an ever decreasing attention span. I have read a variety of pieces, mostly crime fiction, and a couple of Carson McCullers, Wilkie Collins, and various themes and authors. Long ago I was in love with Dorothy Parker. I need to revisit her. I found myself returning to one thick volume, 100 Malicious Little Mysteries edited by the late Isaac Asimov, Martin H. Greenberg and Joseph G. Olander. Published in 1981, I have a hardcopy in its 15th printing. Which says a lot about everyone’s attention spans. The stories are written by many different people, most of whom I wasn’t aware of. I’m not a subscriber to Ellery Queen Magazine, or other short story publications. I suppose if I had been, I would be familiar with most of the authors. Naturally, Asimov, Bill Pronzini, and the godfather of crime short stories, Edward D. Hoch are well known. But such names as Henry Slesar, Elsin Ann Graffan, Judith Garner, were strangers to me, and I would guess, they haven’t published full length novels. I should google to research them, but I’d rather move on and relish in the retelling of some of the most malicious tales.
mystery
Hurricane Reading
So, as the weather gurus are shouting their dire predictions on TV, the local police are calling each home to warn of impending doom, and my mother is repeating every minute change in the forecast, my thoughts are on what the hell do I read if the power goes, and there’s no DVD’s of Mannix, or reruns of Perry Mason to watch? Would I be forced to have a conversation?? I think not. So, scurry around I will to unearth absorbing, fascinating titles, while winds threaten to down every tree, and rain causes leaves to clog the gutters. Sadly, we left the battery search until there are none in the county, so if I find something readable, I’ll be straining my eyes via candles, the old fashioned way.
The Butter Did It and A Incomparable Bookman
The Butter Did It. This is a running joke my friend Jamie McCoy will meet me with whenever he wants to point out my fallibility. Back when hypermodern collecting was all the rage, I would tout the newest first time author, depending on print run, etc. Not all new authors were great or even remained authors. Some faded quickly leaving behind a couple of signed books in someone’s hopeful collection of possible appreciating volumes. The Butter Did It melted away into oblivion and with it Jamie’s hope of resale at a profit. It became the symbol for Jamie and I, of the silliness in believing every new novel could or should be collected. If I now recommend some book I think was a fantastic read, or possible investment, he utters those cholesterol filled words and we both chuckle, me a bit ruefully. Recently, Jamie had some heart related issues, and I swore to my husband I was going to create a card with the cover of the book on it and declare, ‘Yep, that’s right, Jamie, The Butter Did It! ‘ I never fulfilled that task, much to my regret, lol.
My Ride With Gus–Best 100 Mysteries of All Time
My Ride With Gus Charles Carillo 1996–available
As soon as my eyes hit the first paragraph of My Ride With Gus, this second time around, I remembered why I loved it so much. Fast paced, hip–90s style–and seriously funny, the original premise of a hapless rather self centered successful architect accidentally killing an unwanted New Year’s Eve club pickup, slowly evolves into a warm, layered, surprising novel, rich in family dynamics and misconceptions that engage the reader long past the initial crime. As a New Yorker, even one who hasn’t lived in the city for a few years, the setting and authentic language of the novel is especially appealing.
New York Is Book Country No More
New York hasn’t been book country since the tragic day of 9/11, in my opinion. Because of the security risks, a tradition died. Every year the city would have a street fair full of books, authors, publishers, and people wandering up and down a particular part of Fifth Ave in late Sept. Although the fair did try to reestablish itself for a couple of years, after moving to The Village, and then Central Park, it lost much of its luster and girth and finally petered out.
Bookselling–A Solitary Job?
Working in a bookstore can be a solitary job. If alone, one can shelve books quietly, study the synopsis of a particular title without worrying about time constraints, enjoy just being surrounded by words. In two of my mystery bookstore jobs I was alone a great deal. My desk was upstairs within new hardcovers and collectible titles at one job. Enya’s soothing voice echoed around the room –over and over and over and over and, well you get the idea. If a customer did venture up the twisted staircase, they usually were known to me, and we would discuss what titles they had read, what they needed to read, and or collect, and then off they would go with whatever purchases they decided upon. I didn’t even have the responsibility of ringing them up. I did order hardcovers, set up signings, invoice customers, etc., etc., etc., and it kept me in perpetual motion. I answered the phone, took orders, blah blah. I was never without something to do. Which is a good thing, because I was also in a state of perpetual anxiety. At least when I first began the job. I’d just come from managing a bookstore where the owner had passed away, and wanted to do a exemplary job at my new manager’s position at a prestigious specialty bookstore. Normally worries would have passed within a reasonable time, but the extra added pressure of a popular former manager starting part-time exactly at the moment I took over the job, gave me pause to wonder–what’s up with that? And if I don’t perform up to expectations, will I be history and the former manager slide right in?
Deco Delights–A Look At Book and Ephemera Illustration
My favorite book cover artwork was rendered during what is loosely called the Art Deco period. That term is being used extravagantly these days, to incorporate years far beyond the
1930s which I always thought of as the cut off. Stylistically, Art Deco has been stretched like a rubber band–eventually it will snap, and nothing and everything in illustration will be labeled ‘Deco.’ I’m guilty of identifying much of my particular likes within vintage illustration as ‘Deco’–I can’t describe the style, but I know it when I see it–sort of like, I don’t know great art, but I know what I like, ha. The book cover art I especially am drawn to has bold lines and colors, a Clarice Cliff look, but on paper, not ceramics. I thought I’d share some of my favorite book covers, illustrations, and paper ephemera from this period.
Composition For Four Hands–Best 100 Mysteries of All Time
Composition for Four Hands—Hilda Lawrence–1947-OOP
“They wheeled her chair to the big bay window in her bedroom. She’d been fed and bathed. She’d had what they called her forty winks. They said it was such a beautiful afternoon and wasn’t she lucky to have such a nice window? Then they left her.”
This is the ominous beginning to a story that builds in suspense. Unusual, that it’s not told in the first person, considering the main character is completely paralyzed. I would have probably gone with Nora Manson telling the story from her personal point of view, of her terror in the unknown and the fact that she was being targeted by someone in her own home, someone wanted to kill her.