September 17, 2013

Books of the Week:

  • The Buzzard Table, Margaret Maron
  • Chosen, Benedict Jacka
  • Murder of a Stacked Librarian, Denise Swanson

Variety is definitely the spice of my reading life. I visited with an old friend this week. Any time I read Margaret Maron, I hear her voice. We have known each other a long time, and I have an extravagant respect for her and her work. The Buzzard Table is one of her Judge Deborah Knott books. If you haven’t read any of these, this is your chance to indulge yourself in a 17-book series. And there’s another bonus in The Buzzard Table; Maron’s other series protagonist, Sigrid Harald, appear in this book with Deborah Knott. This would be a fine introduction to both characters at once, and you will want to read more. The Knott books are set in North Carolina, and the setting and the people of Colleton County are clear and present. Maron was elected Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of America, and it’s very easy to see why.

 

Benedict Jacka likes to take chances. His lead character, Alex Verus, a diviner in the magic community, is not a hero. In the past, Verus has done very bad things . . . but he is seeking to become a better man, if he is allowed to be. Unfortunately, in Chosen, his past reputation and associations just won’t let him go. First and foremost, Verus is a survivor, and he’ll do what it takes to stay on his feet. I really love this series (this is the fourth book), and the world Jacka has created is so rich and solid that it rings true.

 

I always enjoy Denise Swanson’s books, and Murder of a Stacked Librarian is a Very Special Book in the Scumble River series. Skye Dennison, Swanson’s school psychologist, actually makes it to the altar and has the wedding of her dreams — AFTER she and her fiancée, Chief Wally Boyd, solve a murder, of course! But there are ominous forebodings in place for the next book.

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Waiting has never been my best thing. Some people are great at saying, “There’s nothing I can do about it. So I’m not going to worry.” And I say, “More power to you, resolute ones!” But I’m not made that way. I fret and fume, and refigure the problem from every angle, until I find a solution or a way to be at peace with myself. It’s probably good that my husband can be absolutely patient (at least, on the surface), because I have a terrible time maintaining my cool.

 

At least I get a lot done while I’m waiting for the phone call, or the letter, or the email, or whatever method of tension-ending comes first. And at least, as I’ve gotten older I’ve gotten better at dealing with my impatience. Experience does teach you something, apparently.

 

Grocery stores have always been my black holes. I can come home with four or five stories about things that have happened to me on any one trip. Maybe this is because I work alone all day, so any interaction has more weight. But maybe all human conduct can be boiled down to the time you spend in a grocery store! Now that I am not in charge of young children any more, every now and then I find the time spent in a store with a child– whose screams can be heard on every aisle — is extraordinarily trying. Though I usually manage to put myself in the place of the beleaguered mother (and believe me, I’ve been there), there are occasions when I’ve thought, “Mom, if this kid wants to be out of this store so badly, please take him out!” Then I remind myself of the times I’ve been in the same situation, and how badly I wanted to complete the shopping I had to do.

 

And seniors in carts. I don’t know how it is where you live, but here, many older people get into the store electric carts and buzz down the aisles, having a very hard time reaching what they need. Generally, I think, “Someday I’ll be there, and I hope someone’s patient and nice to me.” But some days, one of those twitchy days, I simply get exasperated when there’s cart blockage in the aisles and I can’t get through. Those are the days when I practice deep breathing, and I tell myself repeatedly, “Someday I’ll be in one of those carts, someday I’ll be in one of those carts.”

 

It’s always a war of my better side vs. my toe-tapping side. Thanks to the excellent example of my wonderful mother and father, my better side always wins, but the conflict rages on . . .

 

And as a disclaimer, in this day of people-who-have-no-humor, I love many children and many elders.

 

I’m just impatient.

 

Charlaine Harris