Memorial Day weekend begins, but first the cicadas…

Can you hear the cicadas where you live? When I’m cycling down the bike path, or walking along the river, there is a persistent thrum almost like alien spaceships on The Twilight Zone episodes we watch every New Year’s Eve. These aren’t locusts, I’m told, the insects of the eighth plague from which Pharaoh begged Moses to be free. These are specific broods of cicadas, and that is about all I want to know about them.

When I went to the public library to pick up a few books I had on hold, the children’s section had free coloring sheets from the Illinois Extension of the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign. Always appeasing the child within, I picked up a few pages and happily spent the morning with it and my colored pencils.

But, there is a more serious aspect to this weekend. Memorial Day brings a somber mood to me. I grew up with the Vietnam War very up close. Our neighborhood suffered the loss of several young men, in what seems a cruel, and pointless war. (Aren’t they all?) Some of my dearest friends went to college so they would not be drafted. 

My father came home from the Korean War. My son escaped the war in Afghanistan when he was a Marine.  But, so many have not come home, have not escaped. I remember their sacrifice. This is not a weekend for only enjoying  picnics and parades. It is to remember that we are the country which is the land of the free, and the home of the brave, because of those who have fought to keep it that way. May we always remember.

Twenty Books of Summer. Or, Looking Forward To Fulfilling This Year’s Reading Events from the Blogging World.

 

One of the best things about blogging sporadically, as I have been doing, is coming back to the beloved events which continue on each year. I have spent the most joyous evening comprising my list for 20 Books of Summer, which happily include books for other challenges, as well as books promised to review for publishers, and books I’ve simply been longing to open.

For Paris in July 2024, I’ve chosen to read:

The Postcard by Anne Berest

The Paris Novel by Ruth Reichl

and

Paris to the Moon by Adam Gopnik, which is a reread for me.

For A Year With John Banville, I’ve chosen to read:

The Sea by John Banville

For Reading Orwell 2024, I’ve chosen to read:

1984 by George Orwell 

And for Moomin Week I’ve chosen to read:

Moominsummer Madness by Tove Jansson

And now we come to books I’ve promised to review for the publishers who sent them to me, including:

youthjuice by e.k. sathue

The Night of Baba Yaga by Akira Otani

Tasmania by Paolo Giordano

We’ll Prescribe You A Cat by Syou Ishida

The Lost Boy of Santa Chionia by Juliet Grames

Catalina by Karla Cornejo Villavicencio

The Backyard Bird Chronicles by Amy Tan

Women And Children First by Alina Grabowski

And for these books which have caught my eye and I’ve purchased on my own:

Her Side of The Story by Alba De Cespedes (because I loved Forbidden Notebook)

Long Island by Colm Toibin

The Hunter by Tana French 

I Am Homeless If This is Not My Home by Lorrie Moore

The New York Trilogy by Paul Auster, as I have never read it and was saddened to read of his death on May 7, 2024 at age 77.

If you’ve been counting, this is only 19 books. The 20th will be the book of Revelation, last book of the Bible, in preparation for Bible Study Fellowship International this Fall. We will be studying this book during the 2024-2025 year, for which I am so honored to lead a group of women. 

And so, as my grandfather would say after finishing a hearty meal, “That oughtta hold you!” Indeed, I think it shall. Except, how will I wait until June to begin?

Robert B. Parker and Spenser. Oh, that they still lived.

“Nothing makes a thriller look better than the International Booker Prize longlist this year.”

I found this thought, while flipping through my Hobonichi, written this March. While it may surprise you that I found the list of books chosen to contend for the International Booker Prize 2024 less than inspiring, it should not come as a surprise to learn of my passion for thrillers. Mysteries that are well written, that is. Mysteries like those written by Tana French, or Ken Follett, or most especially, Robert B. Parker.

I’d refer you to posts I’ve written about Robert B. Parker’s Spenser series, but they’re all deleted. So, I’ll have to tell you here, briefly, that Spenser is everything I love in a man.

He is brave and strong and courageous. He has integrity and compassion and excellence. He is witty and tender and tough all at the same time. Parker gives us a complete picture of this character, so real he seems born of flesh to me.

But, I also love that Parker speaks of things long gone, which I remember clearly. Like eating at a Hamburger Hamlet, or a kid turning on the television, and waiting for it to warm up before watching My Three Sons. I like being reminded of the styles in decades past, such as the horrible polyester suits with white leather belts, or mini skirts and jumpsuits. It’s such a wonderful, nostalgic gift to me.

I have read all of the Spenser books before, but this time, I am rereading them in order. Starting from the very first, The Godwulf Manuscript, (which, frankly, isn’t nearly as developed as the subsequent books in the series) and working my way to the very last Silent Night, which is the fortieth book.

Along the way we meet Hawk and Susan Silverman, Rachel Wallace and Paul Giacomin. Their relationships deepen and develop as we go along, and I am in my element, spending time as if with friends. As soon as I put down my iPad, I will pick up book number eight, A Savage Place. But, it will be hard to surpass what may be my favorite of all, which I have just finished: Early Autumn, in which Spenser assumes responsibility for a fifteen year old kid, rejected by his parents, to help him grow into a man of his own.