English Creek by Ivan Doig

Ivan Doig writes in a homespun style that solidly places this work in time and space. Jick McCaskill lives in Montana of the Great Depression that there began in 1919 when the end of the war dropped the bottom out of farm and cattle markets. His father’s Forest Services job remains un-Hoovered but its wages cut. Jick marks the progress of time by the cinches he lets out a notch at a time on the stirrups as he grows tall in the saddle at 14. Or his his brother Alec affecting a neck hanky to mark himself as a cowboy--is your Adams apple cold his father asks. It’s turns of phrase such as these that endear one to this story telling.

Life is no fairy tale and the people we love best are often the most difficult to fathom. One of the most prickly being the relationship between fathers and sons. The story is narrated by and told from the point of view of young Jick who turned 15 in September of 1939. From my point of view the best book I’ve read this year.

Sweet Thursday

This book is truly a continuation of Cannery Row beginning twenty years after its predecessor which should be read first. Things have changed of course. Characters have died, matured, moved on but the essential institutions remain the same. The biggest impact on the neighbourhood is the store’s new owner. If you liked Cannery Row you’ll enjoy its sequel. The making of these books is Steinbeck’s cast of characters. From the storekeeper Joseph and Mary to whom a game in which it is impossible to cheat is an inconceivable idea, to Doc who is honest in all things, to the town constable who knows all and whose very presence helps keep the peace.

Sweet Thursday of the title refers to a particular Thursday in the storyline when matters come to a positive convergence. However actions planned with incomplete knowledge of the facts can and do lead to unpredictable results.

Tripwire Lee Child

A detective thriller. The bad guys a confidence man preying on the relatives of men Missing in Action and a loan shark who disappeared in a helicopter crash in Vietnam and was determine to stay disappeared. Periods of tedium interspersed with extreme violence. Supplies a great deal of  military and security detail. Reads well.

The Prince and the Pilgrim

Alexander is the orphaned nephew of the King of Cornwall who murdered his father. Alice’s Mother died in childbirth and her warrior father goes on pilgrimages for the sake of a severe war wound. Hence the prince and the pilgrim. So how do the two meet up and how does the son avenge his father. This is a side-plot to the story of Arthur and Merlin but a decent read for all that.

Cannery Row

Don’t know how I’ve missed reading this book all these years. It appears to be a series of vignettes of the characters in this coastal fishing and canning village. So far it has covered the local general store, a flop house, a brothel, and a biological station. The protection racket that has a group of homeless men ‘renting’ space from the Chinese Store owner speaks to the nature of the neighbourhood. For a lad who grew up in the farming country of the Salinas Valley the author seems to know a great deal about aquatic life. And so the book is not about fishing or fish processing but a collection of characters who live and work around a particular street corner on Cannery Row. The spiritual home of the area is of course the Palace Flophouse where the only important matter before most of the group is where the next drink is coming from. Work is only the means of attaining it and to be shunned otherwise.

Helmet for My Pillow

Just as David Kenyon Webster’s unpublished work formed the basis for his father’s Band of Brothers this memoir is the backbone of Hugh Ambrose’s The Pacific. Both became the mini-series produced by Spielberg and Hanks. Both writers were newspapermen in civilian life. Without any prologue the book begins with a description of the dehumanizing process of basic training which seems common to all such memoirs. Leckie’s style is so engaging it almost makes basic sound like fun, it contains little of the rancour that often populates such tomes. His background as a reporter shows in a spare fact-based approach devoid of excessive editorial comment that still manages to get his point across. He writes about doing time in the brig as if it were a point of honour. His descriptions of jungle surveillance are terrifying in their simplicity. All in all a great read.

The Son

Meyer’s style is off-hand, sarcastic, even dismissive. The scene is set in Texas where early settlers risked Indian Raids and Mexican Armies because the land was free and the soil rich. That the aborigines resisted the immigrant incursion into their lands should be no mystery, the way in which White Settlers treated their Mexican Neighbours sadly reflects the fact that little has changed over the centuries. As always there seems to be one law for the rich and powerful, but little justice for ordinary men. In a land where it takes many acres to support a single critter ranches are the size of small European Countries and cattle graze range that took centuries to grow. Oil is king and cattle are a losing proposition. The cowboy is a dying breed as horses on the range are replaced by gasoline engines on city streets. The open range is patrolled by aircraft. Horses become showpieces and entertainment rather than working animals. When Middle East Wells start producing up to 100,000 barrels of oil/day to 500 from a Texas well even oil falls into eclipse.

The passing of the Indian led inevitably to the passing of the cowboy way and the open range as the land became safe for a veritable flood of settlers who populated the land and civilized it forever. A land where a buckaroo slept under the stars by his fire with the howls of wolves in his ears was replaced by citified dandies who slept in subdivisions. Reading this book takes some attention to detail as it jumps from generation to generation in at least 5 time periods and family story arcs but it provides an excellent background history to modern day Texas.

The Wicked Day

As the book begins we have jumped back at least 10 years to the Orkney Islands and the small-holding where Mordred, Arthur’s illegitimate incestuous son is being raised in secret. As reward for their care the couple have the 10-year-old ripped from their home and they murdered that same night. The witch Queen Morgause had repaired to this remote Orkney stronghold after the death of her husband Lot--interesting symbolism there--with her three sons with number four still in her womb. Life in this palace is languid and unstructured but the restraints are definitely there. For Mordred integrating himself into this filial hierarchy is no mean feat. This tale is narrated by a third party.

Book 3 of the trilogy is the better of the lot but book 4 is by far the easiest read. About a quarter of the way through Book 4 the summons to Camelot which comes near the end of Book 3 catches up with the storyline here. Morgause’ sons remain intemperate and undisciplined to their doom. Mordred’s fate haunts both he and Arthur. If the results were not so deadly one could term these plot twists a comedy of errors.

The Last Enchantment Merlin "Trilogy"

As billed this continues to be the Merlin Trilogy told from the point of view of Merlin and most often in the first person. Arthurian Legend this may be but this series is about Merlin. Whether or not one believes in magic these books take its existence for granted. This is more fantasy than historical fiction or legend.

The Hollow Hills

Book two of the original trilogy follows directly upon the action in book one making it truly part 2 of a continuing storyline. Save that the setting is Wales and involves a character named Merlin Emrys and a King named Uther this historical romance bears little resemblance to any other Arthurian Legend I’ve ever read. The broad strokes are there but this series seems a prehistory as regards Arthur and attempts to elaborate on the particulars concerning Arthur’s conception and birth, a topic in the past shrouded in mystery in any book or movie I’ve encountered. It also attempts to explain the details of Merlin’s birth and childhood to a greater degree than I’ve seen before even in the recent 5-season TV Series Merlin.

As The Hollow Hills begins Merlin is wounded, exhausted, servantless, and ostracized. At least he gets to keep his head and the cave he has retired to in the past. The book ends with Arthur triumphantly declared king but even on the night of his triumph the seeds of his demise are planted by deceit.

The Crystal Cave

Historical Fiction can play loose with the facts even when the record is reasonably clear but in dealing with the stuff of myth such as Arthurian Legend, the scope for interpretation seems to be limitless. Many including the present writer prefer to treat on Merlin and his Druidic background. Merlin and even Uther seem to considered better fodder for fiction than the self-righteous Arthur and his idealistic utopian but ultimately flawed and failing Camelot.  Whether or not he possessed magical abilities the man was better educated than the majority of men of his age including his noble lords and mystical character is often assigned to that which is not understood. This author seems to see his prophesy as an epileptic aura.

The Alchemist

The shepherd boy at the centre of this tale is impossibly naive but possesses the flexibility of youth. The book is an easy read filled with liberal doses of New Age Philosophy.

Saints of the Shadow Bible

Book nineteen of the Rebus series of mysteries sees John back at work full time though now junior in rank to his former apprentice. Personally I retired permanently the first day I was entitled even though it was the middle of a pay period and caused the bean counters grief--I cried crocodile tears for them. In Canada the Bill of Rights makes it a crime to discriminate due to age so compulsory retirement is a no no unless incompetence can be shown. Rebus retired at the mandatory age of 60 but hired back on when that age was raised. Not much has changed in his life though in this book ancient skeletons long hidden in closets seem to be rattling their bones. Internal affairs are investigating a 30-year-old case. The storyline weaves the usual tangled web, the difference being that retired ex-cops are in the radar. Rebus obviously has no life outside work save for booze and his records. At home he plays vinyl. The Scottish vote for Devolution figures in the plot so the book is quite current.

Standing in Another Man's Grave

Ian Rankin, as popular crime fiction writers before him, failed to make Rebus’ retirement stick so he’s come out of retirement to work cold cases. As Rebus novels go this one is rather long. Rebus remains a chain-smoking alcoholic who prefers to work alone and keep his own counsel. In other words he doesn’t play well with others. The book is very readable being up to Rankin’s usual high standards. It is unrepentantly set in Scotland and uses Scottish place names, dialect, and customs along with the usual police jargon. This being Great Britain the head of police is the Chief Constable for example. Bacon and eggs is a fry-up. Many colloquialisms will leave readers on our side of the pond scratching our heads.

The Grass is Singing

I suppose it’s my own fault for not starting one book and sticking with it. This books starts with a rambling report of a murder on the veld then jumps to the story of a young lady and her rise to independence as an office worker. Until it dawned on me I was reading about the murder victim I was wondering, was I reading the same book. So, the book begins at the end and then backtracks to show us how we got there. Many of the books I’ve read lately jump from the present to the recent past, and then to the distant past passing back and forth in a stream of consciousness that often leaves the casual reader guessing where he is and when. Forgive me for wishing for a book that finds a starting point and works its way to a conclusion in consecutive order.

A successful office manager who enjoys social life and culture marries a failed farmer who is the butt of his neighbour’s jokes. Never having had to manage black workers she fails to grasp the relationship between she as employer and her native houseboys. Her parsimonious nature makes her a mean-spirited employer and her houseboys sullen stand-offish employees. She cannot keep a houseboy more than a month at a time. Her two-room home with attached kitchen has corrugated steel roof, white-washed walls, and animal-skin-covered hand-poured brick floors and lacks a ceiling. Located in a natural bowl it bakes hot and dusty in the dry veld. The husband whom she married after only meeting him twice cannot provide her with the luxuries to which she’s been accustomed and she proves to be a frigid sexual partner. The scene is set for dissatisfaction and unhappiness.

This is a couple headed for tragedy. The husband is wedded to his land and will do whatever is necessary to protect his farm. A successful year would give him the opportunity to make improvements to his home and the land. The wife dreams only of making good so they can get off the land she has come to despise. The fact that she is a better manager than her husband is no consolation but her relations with their black workers in the field and at home go only from bad to worse. The adjoining landowner is cynically awaiting his neighbour’s inevitable failure so he can use his land to pasture his cattle. Since the entire plot is given away in the initial chapter these can hardly be termed spoilers. The book is about the tragic descent of this couple into madness. It also documents a dark time in British Colonial History in the land then called Rhodesia.

Black laborers work only when their white boss is present to direct them and see that they are on the job. Otherwise they remain in their compound and get drunk on local brew. When the husband gets ill the farm is neglected. His wife has become so detached she allowed her chickens to die of lack of food and water. Mary’s failure to properly handle her black workers constitutes a threat to the order of things. It was considered dangerous to give ‘the Blacks’ ideas, that Blacks were in any sense equal to whites.

Farmer Boy

Being Wilder’s story of the childhood of her husband. Two things strike me in reading the opening chapters. The idea of the husky older farmboys beating up on the city-soft schoolmaster. And a renewed appreciation for the time-saving modern conveniences we take for granted today. For example, to have clothing one first raised the sheep and sheared them in spring after washing the wool on their backs. The wool was dyed  with locally obtained mordants after being carded into skeins which were then spun into yarn. The yarn was woven on a loom into cloth. A pattern of the appropriate style and size was laid on the cloth and it was cut and finally sewn into the appropriate clothing. Imagine a mother’s consternation at the speed at which a growing boy outgrew her hard work. Mittens, socks, scarves, sweaters, and such were hand knitted by lamplight in front of winter fires. Even hard-hewn lumbermen knit and darned their own socks. This was done by lamplight with no radio or TV to act as diversion. My grandmothers would have so laboured. This family is obviously extremely successful with resources probably not the norm, for example, in Laura Ingalls’ household.

No qualms here about child labour. If there is important work to be done on the farm there is no question about a child of nine staying home from school to work in the fields. So it was in my own Father’s day. Children were expected to earn their keep by doing chores morning and evening. Sunday might be a day of rest but the animals still had to be fed, cleaned out, and the cows milked twice a day every day without fail. And twenty-first century children accustomed to today’s permissive norms take note, a child was expected to be seen and not heard at all times including the dinner table, even fidgeting was forbidden. And discipline was iron.

The book is written from the point of view of the youngest child in a family of six. He chafes at being told he’s too young as do most babies of the family but he also idealizes his older brother and father and his boasts that theirs is the best anywhere get rather tiresome. This is not a Hardy Boys Adventure but as an artifact of its time it is priceless. In Canadian Literature Susannah Moodie and Catherine Parr Traill covered much the same territory but as spoiled upper class immigrants they did so in a most disparaging manner.

The Yellow Birds

“We hardly noticed a change when September came. But I know now that everything that will ever matter in my life began then.”

The military establishment has little care for the kind of men it puts through its meat grinder. Some are men of action who learn to do by doing and seek results with little thought for the implications of their deeds; others need to conceive of an activity before they can put it in motion and examine the motivations and the consequences of their actions. This is not a judgment call involving rights and wrongs, just a statement of fact. The present author is obviously one of the latter. The extremis of war has moved sensitive, thinking individuals to write poetry and prose about their war experiences for centuries. The elegiac prose this writer uses is in obscene contrast to the experiences he describes. America may have the largest, mightiest military machine the world has ever seen but its young men are paying a terrible price for that ascendancy.

Every person has to find his/her own means of dealing with Post Dramatic Stress. Some become addicted to the hyper-sensitivity of the environment and re-up finding themselves dead inside and unfeeling without it. Some go into denial and their demons manifest in often violent unpredictable ways. And some find release by writing about it as a means of working through their nightmarish inner tensions as a growing mountain of books will attest. That a war experience should provide the defining moment of a person’s life....?

A yellow bird
witha yellow bill
sat up upon
my windowsill
i lured him in
with a piece of bread
and then i smashed
his yellow head

I believe this version has been cleaned up for public consumption.

The sensation of combat is described as that feeling you get when you know you’re about to be in a car accident but you haven’t hit yet, only it lasts for hours and days at a time. Returning home is quite another matter. Dreaming of lost buddies. Waking and reaching for your weapon that isn’t there. Hyper vigilance, always scoping your surroundings looking for ambush and assessing where to find cover. Startling at every little noise.

The lassitude and depression settles in. How do you define insanity in a world insane? This is not a book for the squeamish and will not leave you feeling better for having read it as the author retires to his isolated cabin in the Blue Ridge at age 34.

The Smoke Jumper

Of interest because I’ve read at least two other books about smoke jumpers and in the wake of the deaths of the  elite squad of 19 in Arizona in 2013. Nicholas Evans is a British writer famous for The Horse Whisperer. Not as husky as the American Nicholas Sparks who churns out similar tomes. It’s a relief to read a romance novel that doesn’t have the picture of a scantily clad male model splattered across its cover and to have to read about how narrow his hips and waist or how broad his shoulders. These typical idealized male images are about as realistic as the proportions of a Barbie Doll. Male authors tend to have a more realistic approach to the male physique and tend on average to spend less time writing detailed descriptions. Not that anyone is going to mistake this for great literature, just a decent mindless summer’s read.

It takes 560 pages for the star-crossed lovers at the centre of this tale to attain sexual congress even though his donated seed had previously fathered her only child. If you possess a similar fortitude then this should be a worthwhile read. The story is about the journey, not the happily ever after and for once it’s a relief not to read page upon page of bedroom gymnastics. Fire-fighting is only a small segment of the entire tale.

The Bridges of Madison County

Never a good idea to read the book after you’ve seen the movie, they’re too different media and script writers alter books to bring the story to the big screen. This is a work of fiction, no photographer named Robert Kincaid ever worked for National Geographic. Why did the author feel the story’s fundamental conceit need be predicated on a falsehood? The bridges and the countryside are very real, I’ve seen them personally. The home used in the movie was deliberately burned as was the bridge where the two met. Movies show, books tell so here we follow Kincaid on his drive from Bellingham, Washington and learn about the man who shows up at an Iowa farmhouse.

The problem with having seen the movie version means it’s almost impossible to think of these characters without picturing Eastwood/Streep. Due to product placement we don’t get to see a Levis label tightly clinging to a male butt on screen. The book contains extras that didn’t make it to screen including the text of Kincaid’s letter to Francesca. As I’ve said it’s hard to think of the characters without picturing the movie version. Interesting that the author gave him his name Robert. This was an eternal love affair that couldn’t be.

Not a great read but one for the romantic in most of us.

The Clearing, Dan Newman

I may sound like a broken record but I wish writers edited their texts or had someone who knows what they’re doing do so. This story jumps from the narrator’s past as a child on the Caribbean Island of St Lucia to his adult self’s recent past in the US to the present in which he has returned to his ghosts on the Island. The story begins with 3 boys looking at the body of a fourth lying by a body of water. It jumps to the death of the narrator’s own son and then has him return to the island to rehash ghosts of the past. The story jumps in nightmare fashion from the past to the present seeming to grudgingly give up its details. The story draws on the influence of rich island families, local voodoo, and superstition. The author keeps the reader in the dark as to the exact details of the murder at the centre of this story until the very end.