Library Limelights 161

Stuart M. Kaminsky. Bright Futures. USA: Tom Dougherty Associates, LLC, 2008.

Cruise reading ... a fortuitous find in the ship's library from prolific author Kaminsky (1934-2009) whom I'd only sampled once before. Welcome to the madhouse Sarasota world of Lew Fonesca, officially a process server, inadvertently a private investigator. Hired by Greg ‒ a hyper, gifted schoolboy ‒ to prove his friend did not commit murder, Lew gets involved with shootings, blackmailers, minor theatrical performers, a religious convert, a TV sales millionaire, fake identity, and the world's most laidback cop. Among others! His own life is haunted by the wife he lost; putting down roots in another place is a struggle for him, even among new friends. It's not only slyly humorous, it's a brilliant tangle of motivation and personalities. Sad to know Fonesca is no more, but there are five earlier books in the series.

One-liners:

"You've got a baseball cap on your head and you look like someone just shot your faithful dog." (17)

The hair was definitely thinner with each passing crime. (39)

Old men all sound alike, either like sick hummingbirds or gravel pits. (45)

He was a nervous look-away liar, his act semi-rehearsed, his voice low. (86)

Two-liners:

"Life goes on," Viviase said. "Even when we don't care." (48)

No one shot at me as I stepped out of the Waffle Shop. So far it was a good day. (70)

Cars and I are not friends. One of them killed my wife. (115)

Lewis Fonesca was prepared for anything except intruders, unbidden emotions, disarming surprises, life's horrors, and the pain and death of others. (224)

"She'll come back here. She always does when her funds get down to the level of the gross national product of Poland." (249)

Ed Lin. Ghost Month. USA: Soho Press, 2014.

A freebie from Bouchercon a few months ago, this is like a cultural, historical, and political tour of Taipei in Taiwan. I mean in depth! Chen Jing-nan's studies at UCLA were interrupted to find himself unwillingly back in Taipei, bound to his family heritage of operating a food stall in the Shinlin Night Market where he forces his normally reserved nature to become the outgoing salesman "Johnny." The murder of his fiancée Julia Huang in the city is a huge shock, especially since he thought she was still in New York. Equally scandalous and puzzling was a betel-nut stand being the murder scene. Narrated in first person, Jing-nan is obligated to investigate the senseless killing that police are ignoring.

Plus, it's ghost month in Taiwan when traditional beliefs and superstitions about spirits affect daily life. Julia is definitely a ghost here but Jing-nan is a non-believer. As he doggedly pursues some old schoolmates for clues, new friend Nancy wholeheartedly supports him. New love brings new hope to Jing-nan's depressive state in spite of his dangerous course against a deadly offshoot of the Black Sea gang. A great deal of information is interspersed about growing up in, and living in, disadvantaged circumstances in Taipei. The characters are richly defined, colourful and fascinating to our eyes. The heavy emphasis and detailed passages of Jing-nan's music preferences was far too much for my taste, though. A glossary of foreign phrases and personal or place-names extends the lessons.

One-liners:

The evening sees the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall lit in red, orange and yellow by the primordial gas cloud that passes for dusk in Taipei. (15)

Taiwanese boys punch and kick each other in the balls just for laughs. (38)

The last thing I had hit was a Japanese punching-bag game at the night market, which said I had the strength of two pensioners. (294)

Two-liners:

She looked sad. The world doesn't need another sad person. (117)

In fifteen minutes, the sun was out again and the air smelled of hot garbage. Or maybe it was stinky tofu. (195)

"Those are the faces they were born with. I feel bad for them." (260)

Grief:

The girls who work at betel-nut stalls are usually in tough circumstances. It pays well and doesn't require a college degree. You just have to be willing to wear next to nothing and to let the occasional big dipper conduct your breast exam. 

How many disgusting men with ugly, red-stained teeth drove up to the stand and tried to grab you when you handed them their betel-nut chew, Julia? Did you fight back? Is that why he shot you? (3)

Family pressure:

"Don't put Jing-nan in this position," Mr. Huang pleaded. 

"What position? Her father won't do anything, and Jing-nan is the closest thing to a husband Julia had!" 

Mr. Huang shook off the sting and said matter-of-factly, "Jing-nan hasn't even seen her in years." 

"Wake up! He never bought a ticket, but he got to ride the bus when they were still teenagers!" 

I was spurred to speak up. "Please, I want to help," I heard myself say. "I know two people who went to NYU with her. I can talk to them and see if they might know something." I wasn't really friends with either of them, then or now. (67-8)

Introspection:

I tried a new drink at Starbucks, and as I slurped it down, it hit me that I was falling in love with Nancy. How could I be? She used to sleep with a guy who was more than twice as old as she was, after all. Was she the kind of woman to get serious with? 

I looked into the sad suds at the bottom of my drink and felt sheepish. She was right to point out what a hypocrite I was for taking her to love hotels and yet pretending to stand on some higher moral ground.And what about Julia? The woman I had been planning to be with forever had worked three-quarters naked as a binlang zishi.What a chauvinist I had been. What a lout. Who the hell was I to pronounce that being a mistress was immoral? Who was I to judge that a betel-nut beauty didn't deserve respect? After all, I pimped food every night with a shit-eating grin. (254)

J.K. Rowling. The Casual Vacancy. USA: Back Bay Books/Little, Brown and Company, 2012.

"Blockbuster" really suits this amazing work. Rowling has created a microcosmic cluster-world of humanity at its worst ... occasionally at its best. Altruistic volunteer Barry Fairbrother dies, leaving the town of Pagford with a vacancy on the municipal council to be contested. We are privy to the lives of half a dozen households, leading up to the election. We live in their homes, witness their innermost thoughts and deeds. It's no less than awesome, Rowling's gift for describing human nature. The bombastic, self-centred pride of Howard and Shirley Mollison; the petty greed of Simon Price and his abused son Andrew; the anxiety-ridden Colin Wall and his disaffected son Stuart (nicknamed Fats); the bitterness of the alienated Jawanda parent; the school bullying; the heartbreaking poverty and addiction surrounding young Krystal Weedon; the despairing efforts of social worker Kay Bawden; and all the many satellite relationships — so much dysfunction and hypocrisy, yet glimmers of hope.

Teenagers' real lives are largely unknown by their self-absorbed parents; some youngsters retaliate with internet postings that galvanize the community. Candidates for the vacant council seat work themselves up over local issues as the election draws near. Rowling's Pagford is a palpable, breathing, brawling village, each character (of dozens) perfectly delineated. So entwined we become in the spectrum of emotions, it's difficult to put the book down. It's a great rendering of a wide slice of modern life.

One-liners:

Andrew ate his Weetabix and burned with hatred. (13)

He would be a fairy godfather to the town, like his ancestors before him, showering grace and glamour over their cobbled streets. (55)

He was constitutionally prone to believing that others too lived with secrets that drove them half-demented. (354)

All she had left of her old life and her old certainties was attacking familiar targets. (474)

Two-liners:

Steadily he had grown to fill the space between the two women, as heavy at twelve as the father who had left them. Howard had come to associate a hearty appetite with manliness. (348)

"Bloody hell," said Gaia, upending the can and throwing it into a bin. "People round here are effing mental." (354)

Pagford lofty aspirations:

Volunteer work had opened a whole new, glorious world to Shirley. This was the dream that Julia Fawley had inadvertently handed her beside the grand piano: that of herself, standing with her hands clasped demurely in front of her, her laminated pass around her neck, while the Queen moved slowly down a line of beaming helpers. She saw herself dropping a perfect curtsy; the Queen's attention caught, she stopped to chat; she congratulated Shirley on generously giving her free time ... a flash and a photograph, and the newspapers next day ... "The Queen chats to hospital volunteer Mrs. Shirley Mollison ..." Sometimes, when Shirley really concentrated on this imaginary scene, an almost holy feeling came over her. (114)

Consoling the widow:

Gavin could not take his eyes off her. Anger and alcohol had restored color to her face. She was sitting upright, instead of cowed and hunched over, as she had been recently. 

"That's what killed him," she said clearly, and her voice echoed a little in the kitchen. "He gave everything to everybody. Except to me." 

Ever since Barry's funeral, Gavin had dwelled, with a sense of deep inadequacy, on the comparatively small gap that he was sure he would leave behind in his community, should he die. Looking at Mary, he wondered whether it would not be better to leave a huge hole in one person's heart. Had Barry not realized how lucky he was?The front door opened with a loud clatter, and he heard the sound of four children coming in, voices and footsteps and the thumping of shoes and bags. 

"Hi Gav," said eighteen-year-old Fergus, kissing his mother on top of her head. "Are you drinking, Mum?" 

"It's my fault," Gavin said. "Blame me." (272)

A showdown:

"Oh, this is interesting," said Simon, pacing up and down in front of Paul. "This is interesting." 

With a slap he sent Paul's exercise book flying out of his hands."Try and think, dipshit," he growled. "Try and fucking think. Did you tell anyone we've got a stolen computer?" 

"Not stolen," said Paul. "I never told anyone—I don't think I told anyone we had a new one, even." 

"I see," said Simon. "So the news got out by magic then, did it?"He was pointing at the computer monitor. 

"Someone's fucking talked!" he yelled, "because it's on the fucking Internet! And I'll be fucking lucky not—to—lose—my—job!" 

On each of the five last words he thumped Paul on the head with his fist. Paul cowered and ducked; black liquid trickled from his left nostril; he suffered nosebleeds several times a week. 

"And what about you?" Simon roared at his wife, who was still frozen beside the computer, her eyes wide behind her glasses, her hand clamped like a yashmak over her mouth. "Have you been fucking gossiping?" (282)

Another showdown:

"Are you ... involved with Krystal Weedon?" Colin asked. 

They faced each other, Colin taller by a few inches, but Fats holding all the power. 

"Involved?" Fats repeated. "What d'you mean, 'involved'?" 

"You know what I mean!" said Colin, his face growing red. 

"D'you mean, am I shagging her?" asked Fats. 

Tessa's little cry of "Stu!" was drowned by Colin shouting "How bloody dare you!" 

Fats merely looked at Colin, smirking. Everything about him was a taunt and a challenge. 

"Are you—" Colin was struggling to find the words, growing redder all the time, "— are you sleeping with Krystal Weedon?" 

"It wouldn't be a problem if I was, would it?" Fats asked, and he glanced at his mother as he said it. "You're all for Helping Krystal, aren't you?" 

"Helping—" 

"Aren't you trying to keep that addiction clinic open so you can help Krystal's family?" (358)