I’m in that “having written” state again, lolling about and feeling like I have gotten something accomplished. Of course, it is a temporary respite as the weekly deadline continues for another thirteen weeks or so, but for a few moments, there is the lull.
The current light reading is Lars Kepler’s The Hypnotist, the latest Swedish import. Written by a pair of literary authors, I’m quite taken how much this isn’t a crime novel, while still adhering to most of the tropes. It’s not that they don’t know how to write a crime novel, the pair comes at it with such an intensity that makes everything vividly raw and fresh. In all the best crime fiction, the crime itself is somewhat beside the point and what keeps the readers entranced is the lives of those who are impacted by the crime, but these two have brought a great deal of emotional intensity to the proceedings. Everyone is falling apart, and it’s heartbreaking to watch how these little cracks in people’s relationships are ruptured into huge fissures.
I’ve also recently finished Will Thomas’ Some Danger Involved, the first of the Cyrus Barker and Thomas Llewelyn books. Victorian-era enquiry agent novels, with more than a dash of the sort of flair that a student of the Western Martial Arts will find enjoyable. Barker is enigmatic without being an ass about it; Llewelyn is a much more interesting straight man than Dr. Watson ever was; and Thomas’ love of the era is readily apparent. There’s a half-dozen more in the series on my shelf, and I’m looking forward to digging in to them.
And why is that the Internet at this Starbucks is flakey ONLY in this chair by the window? I will never understand this. Nor will I learn, apparently.