Lady in the Lake by Laura Lippman

I haven't read many mysteries recently--at some point they all began to seem the same. But I was blown away by Lippman's recent standalone. 

Set in Baltimore of 1966, it's a period piece with lots to say about the racial and sexual politics of the time. Maddie, looking for a way out of a boring marriage, follows a hunch and leads the police to the body of a missing child. 

Energized by this, she seeks a job on the afternoon newspaper, begins to look into  into the murder of the young girl, and then  turns her attention to an unsolved crime, hoping for a scoop that will establish her as a real reporter. The newspaper culture of the time is cleverly portrayed, as are the city of Baltimore and its people.

If that's all there was to the story,  Lady in the Lake would be just another predictable amateur sleuth novel and I would probably not be writing this. Lippman's exceptional prose and her use of a wide cast of fully realized characters to tell the story sets it apart. That and some amazing twists and turns, as well as as the reality of the consequences of Maddie's sleuthing.

Highly recommended -- but don't take my word for it--read what Stephen King said HERE.

Where Did These Come From?

Scrolling through my photo archives I came upon this series of pictures from March '09.

Color me baffled. They appear to be photographs of a sketchbook -- but whether I photographed the actual pages or downloaded these from the internet, I haven't a clue.

 Are these from my boys' role-playing games? Jeff Holt, one of Ethan's friends, used to do beautifully detailed stuff like this.

Or something more exotic? There are names on some of the drawings/maps but nothing rings a bell for me. Kaluga River, Taliss Inn, Kyer Road, Fort Blue Snake . . . 

Anyone? Anyone?

I love the detail.

And the use of perspective.

I'm going to have to zoom in and take a closer look. But perhaps someone seeing these will have an answer . .

Where In (Or Out Of) the World?

As Commander Gordon guided the little craft between the Scylla of the polar vortices and the Charybdis of the equatorial winds, we were dazzled by our first view of the landing site . . .

From the module's tiny window we saw strange shapes in the methane ice that covered the surface . . .

Canals? Surely this was the work of intelligent beings! 

As we descended to the surface, a brilliant light flashed in the middle of the main canal . . . a welcome? Or a warning?

Time would tell. . .

This is where my mind goes when I'm sitting in the car looking at the melting frost in the corner of the windshield . . .

Order Out of Chaos -- Gardens and Mysteries

I spent the morning in the garden -- hoeing weeds and suckering and tying up tomatoes.  The rest of our yard is badly overgrown with shrubs in need of pruning and rampant with wild grape vines but in the vegetable garden order reigns -- for the moment, at least.

One of the accepted conventions of mystery novels is that readers like them because  the protagonist -- whether police detective, private investigator, or amateur sleuth -- is presented with the chaos of an unsolved crime out of which -- in the course of the novel -- order is restored by nabbing the culprit.

Conventional wisdom say that the writer of mysteries must make sure that Good conquers Evil and that all loose ends are neatly tied up.  Some exception is made for ongoing series -- the main plot line may be resolved but there can be some questions left for the next installment.

Kind of like those weeds  -- hoe them down today but give it a week and there they are again. The battle to bring order out of chaos is never-ending.

Something New

After my recent failure to send a holiday album of pictures to all recipients of my newsletter, The Goodweather Reports (too many, too large pictures-- some servers choked on them), I'm experimenting with this blog which seems to promise to let me add pictures at will. We'll see.

The picture above (taken from my bedroom window) is sunrise at the winter solstice. The sun has gone as far to the south as it can and now will begin its journey north, bringing with it longer days.

"Growing up in Florida and in the suburbs, she had never realized how the sun paced back and forth during the year, like a restless dog on a tether. During the winter it rose far to the southeast and skulked along the ridgeline, disappearing in mid-afternoon." ( from Signs in the Blood, the first Elizabeth Goodweather novel.