17. Another book that shall not be named

This is a true-crime work by an author whose previous bestsellers I'd read and enjoyed (not Ann Rule). The premise seemed intriguing, but the book's organization is severely lacking--from the misleading title, cover copy, and back-cover blurb (over which the author may have had no control) to the text itself, which jumps around chronologically, leaves major gaps, and follows odd and confusing tangents.

Another gripe I have is the CSI-level dialogue, in which, for example, one police officer gives a colleague an explanation that's clearly for the readers' benefit. This occurs repeatedly, and even when it doesn't, the dialogue is awkward and stilted. Most true-crime books explain whether the author improvised dialogue or whether all quotations come from interviews and written sources; this book doesn't, but because it covers 80-year-old cases, I'm pretty sure the author didn't interview or find written records for all the reconstructed dialogue.

I forced myself through the entire 339 pages because I wanted to find out who the killer was (or killers were). The book's stories are intriguing, for various reasons, and the author certainly conducted thorough research and amassed numerous facts. BUT...this is a painful, tedious, difficult read. I'm planning to see if any other authors have handled the same case(s) in a more adept manner.

16. "Boundary Waters" by William Kent Krueger

I'm always on the hunt for good mysteries set in fascinating and/or unusual locales, and my introduction to William Kent Krueger's work via Boundary Waters didn't disappoint. Set in northern Minnesota near the Anishinaabe reservation, the novel features former sheriff and current burger man Cork O'Connor. As winter descends on the eponymous boundary waters, O'Connor guides a troubled Anishinaabe ex-convict, his 10-year-old son, a worried father, and abrasive federal agents into the wilderness. Their quarry is Shiloh, a country singer who's holed up in a remote cabin for months but whose life is now threatened. Fifteen years earlier, she witnessed her mother's murder, and recent therapy may have brought back her memories of the killer. The two men suspected of the crime converge on O'Connor's hometown, but their motives may be more complex than they appear.

This is Krueger's second novel, and it lacks the polish of a more seasoned writer. But he captures the feel of the land extremely well, portrays the native characters with empathy and respect, and weaves a suspenseful mystery that had me flipping backward to look for clues I'd missed. I'm definitely planning to read more of his books!

15. "Animalia" by Graeme Base

Okay, so I've fallen a wee tad behind, what with moving halfway across the country amid blizzards and all. I also didn't enter the last few books I read before I left, because I was too busy packing and working and stuff. So...on to catching up!

Graeme Base's Animalia is ostensibly a children's book, but with its lush, detailed illustrations, it's suited for readers--and viewers--of all ages. Base walks us though the alphabet with alliterative text and images crammed with objects starting with the various letters. And a small image of him, clad in "Waldo"-like attire, pops up like Goldbug in cameos throughout the book.

Recommend for all ages. I'd like to read and scrutinize more of Base's work!

14. "Stage Fright" by James Howe

This is an entry in another series by the author of Bunnicula. In Stage Fright, 13-year-old Sebastian Barth faces the mystery of who in the local summer-stock production is sending threatening notes to renowned actress Michaele Caraway.

The writing seemed awkward and cliched, the characters shallow. I didn't dislike the book, but it doesn't stand out as particularly good or unusual. I don't think I'll read others in this series, but I'm still looking forward to the rest of the Bunnicula sequels.

13. "Howliday Inn" by James Howe

Harold the dog and Chester the cat return in this sequel to Bunnicula. When their family goes on vacation, Harold and Chester find themselves boarding at Chateau Bow Wow, which Chester dubs Howliday Inn because of mysterious nocturnal howls and other creepy goings-on. After one of the other dogs disappears under suspicious circumstances, Chester concludes that a murderer is loose...and then Chester himself vanishes, leaving the hapless Harold to investigate as best he can.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book, but I have to confess that I flipped ahead to the end...about three times...to make sure all the animals survive.

10-12. "Scary Stories" by Alvin Schwartz

Alvin Schwartz's collections Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, More Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, and Scary Stories 3: More Tales to Chill Your Bones fuse folklore, humor, urban legend, and campfire tales. The entries range from chilling to nonsensical to stupid to funny. Some of these tales don't translate well from oral to written transmission; Schwartz includes instructions about how to tell the stories most effectively, but this necessarily keeps readers from experiencing those stories in the way they were meant to be experienced. Still, these are fun collections, with stories that will be familiar to anyone who's attended a sleepover as well as some quirky ditties. Schwartz includes notes about sources at the end of each collection, for aspiring folklorists, and he also provides comprehensive bibliographies.


Stephan Gammell's spooky illustrations are a highlight of all three books. His gargoyle figures are especially grotesque, original, and creepy!

9. "Food for the Dead" by Michael E. Bell

Folklorist Michael E. Bell's Food for the Dead: On the Trail of New England's Vampires is, by turns, fascinating and tedious. Bell details his search, over more than 20 years, for stories of exhumations in 18th- and 19th-century New England, specifically Rhode Island and surrounding areas of Massachusetts and Connecticut. He traces a tradition in which families decimated by consumption (tuberculosis) would sometimes, in desperation, exhume bodies of their deceased relatives and burn the hearts in the hope of halting the disease's spread. In some cases, the ashes of the hearts were mixed with water and given to the consumptive patient. However, in most (maybe all) of the cases in which Bell succeeds in verifying facts and dates, this folk remedy failed.

Some of Bell's insights and research about the reasons for folk remedies and the development of urban legends are quite interesting, but there's also a fair amount of repetition. I found myself confused at times because so many of the stories and names seemed so similar, but that may also be a byproduct of my taking several weeks to finish this book.

I think Food for the Dead would hold more appeal for folklorists and medical historians than vampire aficionados.

8. "Death of a Red Heroine" by Qiu Xiaolong

Qiu Xiaolong's debut mystery takes place in 1990, a year after the Tiananmen Square events and at a time when China was transitioning to a free-market economy. Death of a Red Heroine highlights tensions between the old guard of the Party, those who lost opportunities during Mao's Cultural Revolution, and those poised to benefit from the changes in China.

Chief Inspector Chen Cao has risen rapidly through the ranks of the Shanghai police department due to political connections. Yet he's also a man of integrity, dedicated to serving his people and doing his job to the best of his ability. The son of a professor, Chen wanted to pursue a PhD in literature, but the Communist regime had other plans for him. Finding professional success in a career he didn't choose, he struggles to balance his ongoing love of literature--he writes poetry and translates mysteries into Chinese--with his responsibilities as a police officer and Party member.

His first major case as a chief inspector, however, may prove to be his last. Chen and his assistant, the initially prickly but good-hearted Yu, investigate the body of a naked woman found in a canal. When they learn the woman's identity, the case rapidly assumes an unwelcome political dimension: She was Guan Hongying, known nationally as an ideal worker. Yet no one, not her colleagues or her neighbors, seemed to have a personal connection with her; apparently the role of national model worker subsumed her whole identity. Chen and Yu persist in their investigation, but when they find a suspect, the case becomes even more political; they learn that the proper, reserved Guan was having a secret affair with the son of a high Party official.

This novel isn't a whodunit, because the only suspect emerges quite early. Instead, it's a sometimes labyrinthine procedural fraught with backstabbing, political agendas, behind-the-scenes maneuverings, and complex interplays of power. Qiu, a professor of Chinese literature in the United States, intersperses classical Chinese poetry and references throughout the novel, always with explanations that aren't condescending but that offer valuable context and background for Western readers not familiar with Chinese traditions. (I say this as a Western reader not familiar with Chinese traditions; I appreciated the many poetic references, as well as the insights into Chinese culture, aesthetics, and values.)

Death of a Red Heroine does have its flaws; it becomes quite bogged down toward the end. Notwithstanding this, however, I thoroughly enjoyed it, not only for the cultural aspects but because I found myself missing the characters after I finished--always the mark of an excellent book. I look forward to reading more about Chen and Yu in other entries in this series.

7. "One Arm" by Tennessee Williams

This screenplay, more original than All Gaul Is Divided, reflects Williams at his bitter, poignant best. In his preface, he explains, "I have conceived of the film as a dark poem whose theme is the prevalence of mutilations among us all, and their possible transcendence" (Stopped Rocking and Other Screenplays, 197).

One Arm centers on Ollie, a former boxer who became a male prostitute after losing his arm in a drunk-driving accident. To his surprise and disgust, he discovers that his "mutilation" makes him more attractive to certain clients, some of whom want him to humiliate them in various ways (including a practice that, thanks to Kim Kardashian, has entered the popular discourse. I wonder what Tennessee Williams would make of the Kardashians...but I digress). Ollie retains his basic humanity, helping those less fortunate than himself--sometimes with tragic consequences--and remaining uncorrupted by the milieu in which he travels, even as he's unable to escape that milieu.

I think this screenplay would be difficult to film effectively, but that may just be my opinion. William frames the action within a meta-narrative structure, even going so far as to have a narrator explain that the actor portraying Ollie is supposed to have only one arm, so audiences should imagine that the actor is missing his right arm. The stage directions dictate that Ollie always enters from and vanishes into a cloud of mist, as if he isn't quite real and/or is a mythic hero. However, I think both the self-consciousness of the narration and the contrivance of the mist detract from the stark force of the human encounters that give One Arm its poignancy and power.

6. "All Gaul Is Divided" by Tennessee Williams

I purchased Tennessee Williams' compilation Stopped Rocking and Other Screenplays last year, in order to read the screenplay for The Loss of a Teardrop Diamond before seeing the film. In that instance, I felt the screenplay had potential, depending on the filmmaker, to be either amazing or a total flop. It turned out to be extremely powerful, a movie that had me in tears early on and left me emotionally flattened, but in a good way. Well, mostly good. What felt like odd gaps in the text translated, onscreen, into poignant and laden silences that filled in the complex interconnections between characters.

Unfortunately, I don't think All Gaul Is Divided, the first screenplay in the book, has the same potential. It revisits the familiar Williams themes of brittle, beautiful, insane women; the vicious, conniving women who undermine them; and handsome but clueless or cavalier men. It does so with far less force and power than Williams' best-known plays. The introductory note says this screenplay is based on an eponymous play, which I haven't read; I'm curious as to whether that's more fully realized.

 All Gaul Is Divided takes place in St. Louis, a less lush setting than some of Williams' other work, set against a high school and a poor, china-cluttered apartment (shades of The Glass Menagerie in the latter). Part of what made Teardrop Diamond work, I think, were the sweeping, panoramic shots of the countryside and the Mississippi River levees. Even if a St. Louis high school offered the potential for those kinds of evocative images--which I doubt--I don't think Gaul holds the same promise.

5. "Memories of My Melancholy Whores" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

I'm not quite sure how to react to Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez--a man who, as he unabashedly recounts in his memoir Living to Tell the Tale, has plenty of his own encounters with whores from which to draw material.

The novel opens with the unnamed protagonist deciding to celebrate his ninetieth birthday with a virgin. He accordingly calls a madam he knows from his years of carousing--he tells us, in fact, that every sexual encounter he's had has entailed financial transactions--and asks her to find him a virgin. She obliges with a girl who's barely fourteen and who requires such strong sedation that by the time her amorous suitor arrives, the girl is sound asleep.

He decides not to awaken her and instead contemplates her sleeping form, recalling some of his past encounters and developing the seeds of what will grow into a rich and fulfilling fantasy life revolving around this girl. Enchanted by her unknown qualities, he spends night after night with her, paying to watch her sleep. He begins to teach her to read, purchases some things for her, and certainly saves her from a harsh baptism into the world of prostitution, but at the same time there's something inherently selfish about his love. He even gives her a name from his fantasies and refuses to learn her real name. He doesn't want to know her awake or to hear her speak; instead, he reads to her as she sleeps, analyzing every nuance of her breathing.

The narrator contributes a weekly column to a newspaper, despite periodic efforts to force his retirement. His writing, which he describes as mediocre, takes on passion and intensity as he spends more time loving, fantasizing, and experiencing both real and imagined loss. The columns grow in popularity, and readers flood the newspaper office with missives about love.

As a counterpoint to the narrator's worship of his virginal muse is his relationship with the madam who procured her, a longtime acquaintance of his. Their interactions range from contentious to surprisingly tender, and the novel resolves itself with a surprising menage a trois (and not in a sexual sense).

There's also a cat, a rescued Angora given to him by coworkers at the newspaper for his ninetieth birthday. The cat's presence, sometimes too physical and pungent, sometimes fleeting and ghostly, reflects the progress of the narrator's love affair with his sleeping girl.

4. A book that shall not be named

I said I was counting books that I make a good-faith effort to read. In the case of this book that I shall not name, a good-faith effort constituted 12 painful pages before I decided that life's just too short. The dialogue was stilted and awful, the characters absurd (and not intentionally so). In addition, I thought this author would have done well to heed the oft-repeated writing advice, "If you aren't Mark Twain, don't write dialect." This is, however, an author who has made bestseller lists and a tidy fortune not heeding this advice. I'm only glad that I didn't add to the aforementioned fortune by spending my own hard-earned money on this book.

3. "The Grizzly Maze" by Nick Jans

So I'm already lagging behind on my book-a-day goal. But I did say I'd read two books some days, no books other days. Right now I'm packing for a move that's been pushed up, over the course of the last few weeks, from February to Thanksgiving. And when I'm not packing, so many things are going through my mind that concentrating on anything more complex than a 20-minute sitcom is difficult.

But I've managed to get through Nick Jans' very readable The Grizzly Maze. The book takes as its starting point the controversial life and death of Timothy Treadwell, a Malibu cocktail waiter (although that's an oversimplification, of course) who conceived a passionate love for brown/grizzly bears. He spent 13 summers living in their midst in Alaska's Katmai National Park, naming the bears, advocating for them (sometimes against foes in whose existence no one but him believed), breaking every bear-safety rule, inserting himself into their midst, trying to become a bear. And finally--as he himself seemed to almost hope--he was killed and mostly eaten by bears. Unfortunately, so was Amie Huguenard, his girlfriend/ female companion/ woman who loved him but seemed to have an ambiguous position in his life. Also unfortunately, the rescue team killed not only the bear eating their remains but a second bear who was overly curious or aggressive, and whom a bear guide later said was "a friendly little guy" and "just curious."

So this is the paradox of Treadwell's life and death: He loved bears, but helping them become habituated to humans probably did them no favors. In addition, his death at their claws and teeth resulted directly in the deaths of two bears.

Jans, a longtime Alaska resident, brings in his own experience--from visiting Treadwell's campsite days after the killings, to accounts of hunting and later photographing bears, to tales of the bears he and his neighbors encounter in suburban Juneau. He traces a short history of human-bear interactions, bear science and conservation efforts throughout the world, and recent grizzly attacks and fatalities.

The book is savage in places. I didn't like Jans very well after one of his hunt stories--although, to be fair, he admits that he loathes himself for his behavior in that saga, too. I'm ambivalent about Treadwell, who sounds like an amiable, well-meaning, sometimes clueless flake, who forged a deep connection with bears but whose legacy still seems ambiguous.

Inured by crime dramas, true-crime books and photos, and/or misanthropy, I wasn't especially disturbed by the deaths of Treadwell and Huguenard; but I felt nauseated by one account of a human killing a grizzly, and I had to skim over several other passages. This perhaps doesn't speak well of me.

Treadwell reminded me in some ways of Chris McCandless, the subject of Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild, and Jans himself mentions this comparison. Both McCandless and Treadwell were outsiders who came to Alaska seeking personal fulfillment or redemption, and both perished in part because of their own actions (and/or ignorance, hubris, disrespect for conditions--fill in the blank). And, says Jans, both were fairly reviled after their deaths, particularly for the attention they drew. Jans himself gives what seems to be a balanced portrayal of Treadwell, interviewing people who knew him well, his close friends, bear guides, park rangers, scientists, and others with an array of conflicting opinions of the man and his methods.

However, more than just being the story of a man who yearned for a life outside human civilization--and did what he could to realize his dream--I think The Grizzly Maze is a valuable jumping-off point for further reading and research about human-bear interactions. In fact, when I finish this blog entry, I'm going to hop onto my Amazon wish list, Jans' bibliography in hand, and make some additions.

One of the brown/grizzly bears in Seattle's Woodland Park Zoo. Photo copyright Monique Bos, 2010.

2. "Boneshaker" by Cherie Priest

I always enjoy reading books by local authors and/or books set in the place where I live. So I was intrigued enough to pick up Boneshaker by Cherie Priest a few months ago, especially because I've found a surprising lack of books set in Seattle. (I keep thinking there's a wealth of them and I just haven't found them yet, so please, feel free to recommend local titles and authors.) My copy, purchased at Third Place Books in Lake Forest Park, is autographed in green ink. I like autographs, but the green ink is particularly cool.

Before I continue, I should confess that I'm perpetually perplexed by the concept of steampunk. Having read this book, I clearly recognize that it's steampunk, but I still don't think I could articulate any kind of cohesive or coherent definition if you dangled me off an airship above the Blight-ridden city of Seattle. But I'm getting ahead of myself....

Boneshaker is set in an alternate version of Seattle, in an alternate history in which the American Civil War lasts for more than 15 years, airships transport military squadrons and goods throughout the country, and an inventor named Leviticus Blue has created a monster in the form of a machine. His Boneshaker decimated Seattle and released a deadly gas known as the Blight, which transforms the people who breathe it into shambling, shuffling zombies. Fifteen years later, a high wall surrounds downtown Seattle to contain the Blight and the deadly "rotters." Blue's widow, Briar, and son, Zeke, live in the Outskirts, the area beyond the walls, where refugees fled during the chaos just after Boneshaker's only journey. When Zeke decides to seek information about his father, he finds a way into the walled city. His mother, tormented by guilt as well as love, resolves to follow and rescue him. Their separate journeys will bring them into contact with air pirates, a one-armed barmaid, a native princess, a conniving inventor trying to set himself up as Blue, a brilliant Chinese boy, legions of rotters, and a few unlikely heroes.


I had some trouble getting into the book, but the action picks up before page 100 and continues at a fast pace. Boneshaker is an entertaining, light read that would, I imagine, particularly appeal to sci-fi fans familiar with Seattle landmarks.

November themes

I said I would do themes for some months, and I have a couple in mind for November:

• Leftover "Halloween" books that I meant to read in October and didn't
• Pilgrims, Puritans, and (because Puritans inevitably make me think of the Salem witch trials) witchcraft 

These aren't the only books I plan to read in November and, if past years are any indication (because I do this themey thing often), I won't get through all my leftover Halloween/ New England settlers/ witchcraft books this month. But at least I have goals...which is what this whole project is about, after all.

1. "The Graveyard Book" by Neil Gaiman

I know plenty of people who think Neil Gaiman is amazing, but I'm a bit more ambivalent. Half the time I think he's amazing, and half the time I feel like he's overrated. I did not, for example, find Coraline deliciously creepy, as many others did. So I had mixed feelings about reading The Graveyard Book, but I decided to give it a try anyway. I'm glad I did: It turned out to be satisfying, quirky, thought-provoking, and, yes, deliciously creepy.

Our hero is young Nobody Owens, known as Bod, who crawls into a graveyard one night as the rest of his family is being murdered in their beds. (The killer carelessly left the front door open, allowing the toddler to escape.) Adopted by ghosts and raised under the guardianship of the graveyard's resident vampire, Bod grows up protected from the man who killed his family. Various residents of the graveyard teach him history, reading, writing, and other academic subjects, as well as more esoteric skills such as Fading, Haunting, and Dreamwalking. Bod is a typical boy, but his coming-of-age adventures include being captured by ghouls, finding ancient treasure buried in a hillside, and befriending the ghost of a witch. Finally, Bod must leave the graveyard to confront the evil that left him orphaned.

I do wish Gaiman had fleshed out his villains a bit more, but they're original and entertaining. Bod is a likable, noble, and sympathetic hero, and the denizens of the graveyard make for a diverse, often funny, very human cast. And of course, although I knew what was going to happen at the end, I still cried a little. But that's me.

The Graveyard Book was my Halloween read, a young adult book that offers plenty of appeal to so-called grownups as well. Heartily recommend!