Afterthought Apologies

It occurs that I’ve never quite explained why you’ll rarely find a plot outline or summary in my book reviews, which are only sort-of reviews. My reasons are thus: To write about the plot in sequence is boring. And tedious. Additionally, you (or anyone) can find the plot on any of the bookseller’s sites, which is where you would go if you are interested in purchasing the book.

In turn, my comments about a book or play or movie or series tend to be haphazard or about such things as purpose or flow, sometimes issues. Things that seem to be such that make the piece at least work, if not enchant, or things that make for a fail. Besides, as in the opposite of the previous comments, this is writing that is fun and easy to toss about.

The things that I write about move me. Why would I otherwise write about them? A natural energy comes along with that. And with that energy, the impetus to write. Hence, fodder for a blog, which in turn is the very reason why we are here. That and of course to sell my book, The Fat Man. It’s on Amazon and on Barnes and Noble.


Spoiled—A Book Review

Meaning, the review is a total spoiler. You’ll not want to read this if you want to be spoiler-free, or otherwise uninformed.


Book purchased, my photo

So I read this. It’s OK, as stories go. However. The however relates to the prose, which is not much to write about so I won’t. It also relates to some plot flaws. At first I was willing to write about the plot thinking it was a go-along-with-it and I did, finishing the novel in the wee hours. But there are three serious flaws to my mind. The first is the bloody footprints throughout the house wherein the murder takes place. The hammerman has left a bloody mess behind, including his bloody tracks. The father of our protagonist and also a protagonist of sorts also trapeses through the house. His footprints would have been comingled of course, but there also should be some distinguishable ones. Worth a search at least, given that it’s his story. Yet none is undertaken.

A second flaw is that a birth certificate, given a birth by a married woman, should show the husband of the wife as the father of the child, should it not? I don’t believe you get to name anyone you choose. I think once marriage is the status, the default goes to the husband. Yes?

The third flaw is the rifle. How did the wife, Mrs. Patel, become an able shooter? Suddenly she has killed someone with a .22 bolt-action rifle. I’m not sure about this. And with all of the shots used to kill her husband, all of them on target. Isn’t a bolt action a single shot? Even if not, nothing in the novel takes us along. It’s an afternote. He’s murdered and it’s done by his wife. There you have it—a wrap. Ahhhhhmmmm, I don’t think so. It’s like the author-writer got tired and said, so there you have it.

And there we have it. A disappointment on the whole of it. Plus, it’s interesting that the puzzle our suicide leaves behind isn’t the answer to the mystery at all. That’s in the accidental find of the state-hall-of-records-address abbreviation found in the burned remains (burning done by Joey) in a wastebasket.

Oh, and the hammerman identity is easily deciphered partway through the story. It just takes a bit longer to determine why.

And More

So here we go again…

More wars against humanity as we pull out of Syria. It just doesn’t stop.

This following paragraph has been changed to blue font to indicate that it has been edited for clarity after being published.

And I lose hope in ourselves as the impeachment enquiry continues. That is, I get the politics of it. If we move against for impeachment itself in the congress, we may get it—likely would—but then lose via an impeachment vote in the senate. We need to have an outrageous list of high crimes and misdemeanors for the senate (republican controlled) to contribute to an actual impeachment by their votes and then a vote to find him guilty. move against him. (He of the orange “caused by the new light bulbs.”) This is why, I believe, republicans push with new outrageous comments to drive dems to move too soon.

Meanwhile, I Write

And Read

With this photo and posting I finally figure out why I can’t see certain photos on my iPhoto site and delete at same time from phone. Either for that matter. Just another Duh. Because I’m looking for an action(s) that only takes place when I plug in my camera to the MacBook. I also discover that I’ve got so many irrelevant photos stored and have no idea how that came to be. And the last time I deleted photos from a device I had to go back and restore as they were not just on that device, but also on the computer, and both deleted. Just another price for ignorance, or the lack of attention.

About the photos, though. The On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous book by Ocean Vuong is just incredibly beautiful. It is impossible to read without a notebook nearby and so it is also taking a very long time to read. I believe I began at the beginning of October as it drags me along and into the mind of a culture and change from Vietnam to the U.S. It is a book of poetry written in prose form. The pain of belonging in a body and mind that do not fit into anything but joy and passion. He (the narrator and author?) struggles with emotions and life—from his mother to his lover and their lives in this world. The prose is short, compact, and powerful. A mere 242 pages, I wonder if I’ll ever finish this book, this story, this autobiography, this fiction of a novel.

The Weil Conjectures is much the same in the effects upon reader, though completely different in subject, or maybe not. As with all fine books, it is also a search for Truth. Karen Olsson writes of Simone Weil*—philosopher, social activist, and mystic—and her brother Andre’—mathematician—or mostly about their relationship, the effects upon one another and thusly upon Olsson. Of course as it is in such cases, it is more the effect of Andre’ upon Simone. This is another book of which I have attempted to keep the pages pristine, although I don’t know how long I will last before forgetting—so moved by a passage or the words that describe the coming together of a thought, as in “On Earth,” wherein that resolve was so quickly forgotten. And did I know that it was the Hindus who first used negative numbers? If I did, I had forgotten. (And I should have known because of Ramanujan & infinity.) More about imaginary numbers. Don’t we always think of Math and Science as being long secure and straight paths, moving along uncovering and describing themselves as they go? We hardly think of them as fraught with disbelief and arguments and ridicule as they make their way into our lives battered and worn from the battles.

It helps us to remember as we bemoan the absurdities of flat earthers and anti-climate changers, though they have been at it for way too long.

*Pronunciations: Simone—see-MAHN; Weil—vay

Climate Strike

We went to the climate-change strike on Friday the 20th. The kid and the granddog Sullivan came for the event, and Lizzy Fig went to the health spa for cats while we attended. The strike was just that, as advertised, and not at all a demonstration ala the 60-70s. Which was of course fine, their call, but quite different for me. The last time I was at a demonstration (when I got hit by a rock, but another story) we were marching across the U of Iowa campus shouting: Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today!

But today’s times are quite different, as we well know. There were quite a few speeches and only a very few chants, no marching. I was a wee bit disappointed in the format as it seemed to me that speeches about why something need be done were unnecessary. The crowd there already knew something should and must be done. Perhaps what might have been more powerful. That and more chants. Not only do I love chants, but crowds respond to chants, and a slogan is great for unification. It will come, I’m sure. At least the many gatherings across the world sent a message. Now for continued pressure and forward movements. It was at least inspiring to me with a remembrance that every little bit helps. And I’ve renewed my efforts to eliminate plastic from my life.

Town Square, downtown Cleveland

Angela in front, multi-red shirt and red pants, sunglasses

Meanwhile, at the health spa for cats, it wasn’t exactly a rapturous event.

Lizzy Fig—frozen in a corner, clutching her blanket
A photo of Lizzy Fig having fun. It’s blank because she didn’t have any.

Subsequent photos of Lizzy saying hi to me showed no movement. She was fine once I got her home, even in the car with me. She’s just too shy and timid for life out there.

Babes & Kids

I’m off this weekend to visit the kid. The plan is to go boating on Saturday, tomorrow, and then go target practicing on Sunday. Of course this will include the regulars: Sunday morning papers and coffee while sitting on the front porch, taking the dogs to the park to play and swim, and the regular chatting and meals and films. Ordinary regular stuff. Good stuff.

My only concern is leaving behind the new baby, the long haired lovely gray—possible Norweigen mountain cat. I haven’t chatted about her yet, but soon will. I swore no more cats after Squeek died, and I lasted about 9 months before the search began. A rescue cat of course. And here she is, a wee glimpse of Lizzy Fig to tide over until my return. And then the full story.

The reason for my concern is that she’s not yet been alone and she is a very timid cat. (She has yet to come out when someone else is in the apartment.) She is quite afraid of most everything when first introduced. I don’t want her to become distressed with neither the dog or I home with her. I can’t take her with me as my granddog is a pitbull who is quite adverse to cats.

And that’s the way things are, this lovely sunny day in Ohio.