The Lady in the Lazaretto

This week marks the release of my second novel in the Lazaretto Trilogy: Lady in the Lazaretto.  If you missed out on the first book of the trilogy, you can read about it in my post A Preview of the Lazaretto.  The Lazaretto is a dark and disturbing world where travelers must endure a forty day quarantine before traveling from one planet to the next.  It is a passive quarantine.  Those travelers found to be carrying an infectious pathogen are not allowed to leave the Lazaretto.  The exile is a life sentence.

As he carves a new life on the quarantine moon first revealed in The Lazaretto, Gregor Lepov is hired to solve the perplexing disappearances of its citizens into a mysterious basement apartment. Detective Ed MacNally of Lazaretto Homicide is busy training his new partner, Menya Russell, with whom he is investigating the murder of a man whose body was recently uncovered after thirty years.

  Thieves, corpses, ladies and liars lure Lepov and MacNally into the Lazaretto’s disturbing past.  Has the killer that was active thirty years ago begun killing again?  And after Lepov is nearly killed by a woman who looks too much like Lilly Stewart, he must decide who he can really trust in a city that shuns faith and embraces fear.

The book is available in print and ebook editions.

Below is an excerpt from an opening scene of the book.

   Darkness had not yet settled over the Lazaretto as Lieutenant Ed MacNally and his young partner, Menya Russell, walked across the uneven surface of a West End landfill.  Shards of glass and broken sewer pipes mixed with decomposing soil to create an alien landscape that made walking both difficult and dangerous.  The sun, as much as could be seen through the overcast sky, was still out.  It would sink out of sight soon and already crews were assembling a large tripod topped with fiber optic lamps.  They were ancient, compared to the newer models MacNally’s partner had seen at the academy, but they would do the job.

   “Over here, detective.”  A haggard man in an ill-fitting suit waved MacNally toward a small ditch between two mounds of debris; the man’s skin as pockmarked and scarred as the ditch.

   MacNally found a semi-solid path that had been formed by a tracked vehicle and followed it into the ditch.  The soil there was dry and crumbly.  With all the recent rain, MacNally hadn’t thought that was possible.  Halfway down, MacNally realized it wasn’t dry soil.  It was plaster dust.  Each step he took crushed it into a trillion little dust particles that floated a few inches from the ground and never seemed to settle back down.

   Despite the freshly disturbed plaster dust, a body was visible in the deepest level of the ditch.  The fiber optic lamps cast a shimmer of light now, enough so the two detectives could see what all the fuss was about.  Midst the disjointed shapes of the broken soil and debris lay part of a body; the lower half of a human adult.  There was little left save for the bones and most of the synthetic clothes with which the body had been covered.  The legs were badly twisted; the feet buried in the soil.

   “It that all?”  MacNally asked the man with the scarred face.

   “We thought it was.  My operator stopped digging when he saw it.  We did some soft digging with hand shovels after he backed the rig out.  We almost gave up until we hit this.”

   MacNally’s eyes followed the man’s pointed finger.  A bundle of rags lay at the far end of the ditch, fifteen meters away.  MacNally made sure not to step on the lower half of the body and motioned for Russell to do the same as he traversed the ditch and stopped near the bundle of rags.

   “Looks like a match,” Russell said, no humor in his tone.

   The little dust cloud clung to the ground as if it were afraid to float away.  MacNally squatted down and fanned the plaster dust with big meaty hands to get a clearer view of the upper half of the body.  It was face down, its shoulders hunched forward, hands and arms strung out in front.  The rib cage, visible through the heavily torn shirt, was full of fresh soil.

   “I don’t guess it’s gonna help to take Visuals, huh?”  Russell held back a few steps and showed little interest in the skeleton.

   “Doesn’t matter,” MacNally shook his head.  “We run every Aspect.  Doesn’t matter that there isn’t much left.  There’s information here.  We just can’t see it yet.”

   “I didn’t mean that,” Russell mumbled.

   “What?”  MacNally turned with exasperation.  It didn’t take much for the young Arcobian to get on his nerves.  “If you’re gonna say something say it loud enough so I can hear ya.  I ain’t twenty years old anymore.”

   “I said I didn’t mean the Visuals wouldn’t pick up any data.  I meant we don’t have a reason to investigate.”  Russell did not raise his voice.

   “I still don’t hear him,” MacNally mumbled, though in fact he had.  He just hadn’t heard his partner make an attempt to speak louder.  “I say we investigate him and that’s good enough reason for you.  Okay?”

   Russell looked down at the rags with the same pinched expression he always wore when arguing with the Lieutenant, wrinkling his brow in a way that always made MacNally think the boy had swallowed a bug.

   “Okay,” he said.  “I’ll make sure the VTechs get a good set of shots.  And a full set of tests on the soil.  Do you want anything else?”

   “Maybe,” MacNally stood still for a few seconds, mesmerized by the remains of the man at his feet.  He felt around in his coat pockets until he found a pack of cigarettes and put one between his lips.  He put a silver lighter to it and his shadowed face was briefly lit.

   “You think he was buried here for a long time?”

   “I doubt it,” MacNally pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and used it to point.  “This soil looks fresh, it’s only been in it for a short time.  See how loose all this is?”

   “Well, that ain’t exactly soil,” the scarred man in the bad suit spoke up.  “This is debris from a building that was just torn down.  I figure the guy was inside the building—basement maybe.  When the rigs dug it up he was pulled out.  Something like that.”

   “Maybe he was just some guy who died before the building was erected,” Russell said, shrugging his shoulders.  “Maybe he died of natural causes and was buried and no one remembered he was there.”

   “Russell,” MacNally was almost patient in his reply, “I realize you had little warning before your transfer, but you could have bothered to learn something about this place.  The IHS is very particular about people here.  They keep a zero sum count of everyone here.  If you arrive, you either depart, you’re still here, or you die.  Besides, no one gets buried in the soil here.  There’s too much risk of contamination.  That’s why the burials are up on the high slope’s bedrock.”

   “Maybe your IHS isn’t as all-knowing as you imagine.”

   “Speaking of IHS, they ought to be here pretty soon.  Go back to the car and wait for them.  Tell them we got to get Visuals.”  MacNally watched Russell climb the unstable embankment.

   “He could be right,” the scarred man offered without invitation.

   MacNally glared at him until the man grew uncomfortable and retreated to the other end of the ditch.

   Once alone, MacNally knelt beside the skeletal remains, examining the outstretched hands.  With a flashlight no bigger than a pencil, he illuminated the bones of the right hand.

   “You stupid sonofabitch,” MacNally stuck his cigarette between his lips.  “I should have known you never made it out of here alive.”

   He brushed away enough of the dust to free the middle finger of the right hand and completely reveal a silver ring with a Cross of Lorraine on its crest.  MacNally gingerly removed the ring and dropped it in his coat pocket.

   A new cloud of dust appeared at his feet as he kicked at the debris surrounding the boney fingers, erasing the signs of what he’d done.

   This was the worst kind of end to a day.  A new investigation was about to begin, and while Ed MacNally knew the body’s identity, he wasn’t about to reveal it to anyone.  He was, in fact, going to have to keep anyone from quickly identifying those bones.
   MacNally watched Russell stumble back through the landfill with two VTechs in tow.  It was about to be one helluva week.

Below you can find the new versions (yellow is the print, grey is the ebook version) as well as a link to the first book.  If you are interested in a signed print copy, watch for it at rocketfirebooks.com.  It will be up on the website by the end of this week.

  

My View of a Classic Novel and Our Not-So-Classic Modern Mindset

The Pioneers, by James Fenimore Cooper

Lately, I've been seeing much honor being given to a recently deceased author whose famous "10 Rules of Writing" stress the importance of fast, non-descriptive, skip-the-boring parts narrative.  It warms me to know this late author would have hated James Fenimore Cooper's The Pioneers, as would his adherents.  I realize there are fewer and fewer readers out there who have the capacity or desire to appreciate this type of slow, highly descriptive, thoughtful work of fiction.  Even Mark Twain railed against Cooper's lack of action, and roundabout way of speaking.  Personally, I revel in it.

It is fitting that this book tells the story of the (then) wilderness of New York as it was being invaded by the hand (and ax) of man.  Trees were being felled, clearings replaced tangled forests, and the heartless laws of men were replacing the common-sense laws of the forest.  Natty Bumppo, known as Leatherstocking, is at the far end of his 70 years of life.  His life of freedom and love of nature are in jeopardy.  The world he once knew is no more.  He is beset by such laws as hunting out of season as well as the greed of those who believe he is hiding a fortune in silver.  Modernity is not a friend to Bumppo.

The same is true for books such as these.  We're too busy to take the time to read slow books like The Pioneers.  Someone sold us a bill of goods, years ago, and said we needed to read books that can be finished in just a few days.  We need to hurry up and get to the next book.  Perhaps this was just a marketing scheme to get us to spend more at the bookstore.  I never understand why people don't think it is a bonus to get a book that sells for the same price as a quick-read throwaway pulp fiction which is three times the length and written in such a way that you must slow down and pay attention.  It certainly saves the reader money.  One need buy far fewer books when they are written in this manner.

Is this modern New York, which James
Fenimore Cooper would not recognize,
so busy and distracting that his books
can no longer be read?

But time, or the lack thereof, is not the real problem.  It is that little phrase "pay attention".  We're too distracted now to sit with a book in a silent room and concentrate on the text.  We hear music and television anywhere we go.  Stuck in the waiting room of the doctor's office?  You'll have to work hard to read a book that requires your attention, since there is music playing, and other patients surfing on their phones while telling their neighbor about the latest stupid video clip they watched.  Reading at home?  Nine times out of ten someone will have the massive flat-screen TV turned on, blaring noise from surround-sound speakers that shake the house.  How about reading on the train, or while waiting for your car's oil to be changed?  More flat-screen TVs tuned to mindless daytime talk-shows.

Even as I write this, my laptop has beeped, to let me know someone has posted something on Facebook that I might need to see.  Switch over!  See if it is a funny picture or a sad news item.  Maybe a friend posted a picture of their entree that just arrived on their table at the best restaurant in town.  (Which now make me wonder what I'm going to do for lunch...perhaps the local diner, or maybe just stay in and reheat some leftovers...hmmmm.)

So anyway, about this...what was I writing about?  Oh yes, "The Pioneers".  So modernity is no friend to these classic novels of yore.  (Yore?  Is that right?  Now I'm off track again, checking on Google to see if yore is the right word.  When I type yore, Google suggests that I meant yorehab which turns out to be a site dedicated to the obsession of playing Yoville, a game where people pretend to have a house and pretend to buy pretend items for that house.  Yorehab actually helps you find the very best pretend prices for your most wished-for pretend couches and lava-lamps and...oh, okay, I see that yore is the right word.  As defined by by Google, yore is "of long ago or former times (used in nostalgic or mock-nostalgic recollection".)  To put it plainly, people today have trouble reading books that were written a long time ago.

So if our modern lifestyle has made it impossible for you to read The Pioneers, you'll miss out on the following:

Illustration for the James Feminore Cooper novel The Pioneers,
 art by Felix Octavius Carr Darley.
 Published 1861, W. A. Townsend and Company in New York.

  The opening scene involves a shooting of a deer and an argument over who deserves the credit for the kill.  The argument is easily won by the revelation that one of the shooters could not have hit the deer because he hit one of the men in the argument, who dramatically reveals he is hit to win the argument.
  A courtroom drama that highlights the fact that men were already losing their personal freedoms in the late 1700's to the overreach of local government.
  A contest of shooting acumen in which a turkey is placed so that only his head is visible to the contestants.
  Fights, jail-breaks, forest fires, and emotional death scenes.
  A panther attack which ends in a noble warrior's bloody death.
  The chance to find out about Leatherstocking's companion, a character named "The Slut".
  A story filled with conservationist propaganda and a condemnation of the terrible genocide that the whites perpetrated on the Native American populations.
  A wonderful, warm, historical, and exciting look at the early lives of those who tamed the wilderness of New York State.

But don't worry.  No one will make you read this long, slow, dull, dusty tome.  You'll have plenty of time to read the latest spine-tingling-can't-put-it-down-page-turner so that you can quickly buy the next one.  Just keep in mind that The Pioneers was seen in the same light two hundred years ago, when the population had more time on their hands and their comprehension skills were obviously more highly developed.

My View of Moonraker (No, not that one!)

Moonraker, by Ian Fleming

To continue my study of the Ian Fleming Bond (see my review on Thunderball at Goodreads for an explanation of what I mean) I decided to give Moonraker a read.  It is, quite frankly, the worst movie of the series, and I thought I'd see if the book might turn out to be better.  (I'd had a hint of this from GoodReads friend Tracey (see her excellent review here.)  I was happy to discover it was much, much better.

Keeping with the Fleming characterization of Bond, we still see him as a bit more lucky than skilled.  However, we begin to see flashes of his too-good-to-be-true accomplishments.  (I won't spoil it for you, but the welding torch bit is, well, ahem...tough to swallow.  If I tried that in one of my books I think I'd be embarrassed to let someone read it.  But I digress.)  He seems less petty here than he did in Thunderball.  In keeping with the lengthy golf game in Goldfinger, Fleming shows Bond at another "sport", this time the not so glamorous game of "Bridge".  I know this was a popular game back then, and my parents played it all the time, and I even learned to play it with them for a time, but this does date this book a bit.

I enjoyed the mystery here.  It is one of those stories where you really don't know what is going on for most of the book.  We are as clueless as Bond.  We aren't given any early warning from Fleming as to what Hugo Drax is or what he is up to.  This keeps the book mysterious, but leaves too much of a far-fetched revelation scene (yep, Bond and the girl, tied up, listen to Drax tell his life story and his evil plot all in one sitting).  Drax never really reaches the menacing point as Auric Goldfinger did.  But he does fill the role of evil Bond villain pretty well, with the massive concrete lair, evil doctors, and jumpsuited men running about.

The girl in Moonraker is Gala Brand.  So far, she is one of the best female characters I've ever seen in a Bond movie or book.  She is intelligent, beautiful (of course), an agent (not a victim) and she has her own ideas (it is her idea that 'saves the day' for Bond and all of England), including what man she wants to be with.  Yes, Fleming gets her out of her clothes at some point, but it is in an action scene (not to be confused with a scene in which Bond is getting some action) and Fleming actually points out that there is nothing sensuous about it.  Like Felix Leiter, who is a no-show in this book, I wish Gala Brand could show up again in another Bond outing.

Bond drives a 1933 Bentley 4.5 litre, similar to the Bentley
shown here in Moonraker.

The story takes place in Great Britain, which is supposed to be a no-no for the 00 agents.  But that is dealt with plausibly, I suppose, and I'm glad Fleming chose this location.  For those of us who don't live in Britain, it too, can be an exotic location.  Especially the Britain of the 1950's.  We are treated to a fantastic car chase (Fleming excels here) and Bond and Brand are also forced to deal with some uncommon physical extremes.  And there are no tricks to getting through them.  Just grit your teeth and deal with it.  (And again, Brand holds her own--no shrinking violet is she.)

One little extra I enjoyed was the behind the scenes look at Bond's office.  His secretary, Ms. Ponsonby, is a nice touch, and Fleming gives her some dignity and gallantry in the short scenes she appears in.  Also, during this book, there are only three 00 agents.  (007, 008, and 0011)  M gets a bigger role here than I've seen before, too.

All of it added up to a wonderful Bond adventure, which begs the question: what happened to the collective mind of the Broccoli production when they tried to make this movie?  Christopher Wood wrote the screenplay for it, and frankly, I hope he regrets it.  With this novel as the source material, I can't imagine what he (or the producers) were thinking.  I still believe that Bond fans should get together and plead with United Artists to scrub this movie from our collective memories.  I love James Bond movies, Roger Moore was my favorite Bond growing up, but this movie is just impossible to watch.

Sneak Preview of "The Lady in the Lazaretto"

"The Lady in the Lazaretto" is the second book in the Lazaretto Trilogy.  Watch for more information on it during the month of August.  The book will be released at the end of the month.

Microsoft Remodeling Company

I have to share my good fortune in finding a wonderful, quality home remodeling company to help me upgrade my older home.  And first let me assure you that no one at the Microsoft Remodeling Company has paid me in any way to pass on this glowing review of their services.

Our house before the Upgrade.

First, a little background:  My home is about five years old.  I know, I know, you're wondering how in the world I can stand to live in such an outdated house.  But give me a little credit, I was trying to be a good steward of my money, not wanting to completely lose out on my investment in what was supposed to be a top-of-the-line home when I bought it way back then.  Yes, it's true that its incandescent lights, while providing a soft, golden glow that makes my whole family feel warm and fuzzy, are ruining this earth by their very existence and need to be destroyed and replaced with the harsh glare provided by earth-friendly light-emitting mechanical orbs.  And lest you accuse me of dodging my responsibilities as a future grandparent, the sheer number of deadly pitfalls lying in wait to maim and sicken defenseless little children who might run innocently through my house is staggering.  I assure you that these dangers have been rooted out and banished as far as humanely possible.  (And of course, we'll be sure to teach those little blessings that running in a house is a safety no-no.  They'll learn it is much safer to sit and read the latest Consumer Reports warnings than actually run around and have fun.)

Okay, so I was surprised to find that when I advertised for bids to remodel my home, Microsoft Remodeling Company was the lowest bid to come in.  Actually, there were only two bids, and the higher bid, from iAAA Apple Construction, was not only nearly twice the lower bid price, it also came with some rather strange stipulations.  No matter what redesign I wanted, I had to make my doors so short and narrow that none of my friends (and most of my family) would never be allowed to use my house.  The garage door would have been so bizarre that I would have had to buy an entirely new car made exclusively by iAAA Apple Construction's sister company iCar Manufacturing.  They also demanded that I use 170 instead of 110 in my outlets.  (This seemed very strange indeed, and I spoke with my local electric company who assured me that while it would work, and it would have more power, there were no electronic devices that I could ever plug into 170.)  Needless to say, I did not go with the bid from iAAA Apple Construction.

Microsoft Remodeling Company assured me that they could provide everything I would want in my remodel.  They did, however, inform me that they would have to make some slight alterations.  Since they were the only company I could hire, I decided that I would go along with their slight alterations.  I'll admit I was a bit shocked at what they considered slight, but my friends and family assured me that I would eventually get used to the changes, so I allowed them to proceed.

Our house after the Upgrade.

Of course I see why they called the changes slight: they did not change the number of bedrooms, they did not change the layout of the rooms.  And their minor readjustments were really rather interesting, if I am to be honest with you.  When they told me they wanted to relocate the refrigerator from the kitchen to my bathroom, I was struck with the boldness of such a move.  After all, who would have thought of such a thing?  It was certainly ground-breaking.  And when they rerouted all of my water lines, which had originally run inside the walls and floors, to run on the exterior of the ceilings, I admit I had my doubts.  But when they pointed out that not only would repairs be simpler this way, but I would feel a leak as soon as one started, I had to go with the flow, so to speak.  Other changes came fast and furious, so much so that I cannot name them all here.  I will, however, mention one or two more.  It took some getting use to the fact that my driveway, which was on the left side of my house, and connected my garage to the street, now runs along the back of my house, out of sight (which is certainly a better aesthetic choice) and connects my back door to my neighbor's compost heap.  The fact that they completely eliminated my wife's greenhouse to de-clutter the backyard, insisting that she can use an off-site rental storage service for her plants, bothered me a little.  But as I said, I think I'll get used to this over time.

I only have one small complaint about my business dealings with MRC.  Though I have asked them to stop, they often show up at the house, usually in the middle of the night, and make even more minor adjustments to my home.  Last week they moved all of my outlets four inches to the left.  The handle that is used to flush the downstairs commode has been removed, and now the handle on the master bath commode flushes both commodes simultaneously.  Just last weekend, they ordered us all of out the house, insisting that they had to install an upgrade that would require shutting down the entire house for an hour.  The gas was shut off (and this meant all of the pilot-lights had to be extinguished) the electricity was cut off, the phone/Internet/cable line was disconnected, and my two cats and one dog were sedated.  By the time everything was turned back on and we were allowed back in the house, I could not find one thing that had changed in the house save for the fact that my older cat was suddenly more sluggish and drooled like a man in a dentist's chair.  The hair has begun to grow back on his tail so I'm pretty sure that was not one of the updates they worked on.

But really, I can't complain.  My house is now modernized, and continues to be modernized on a weekly basis.  And since they were cheaper than that bunch of crooks at iAAA Apple Construction, I'm completely satisfied.  The changes just take a little getting used to.

One last thing.  I sent a letter to MRC to ask where they moved the pilot light to my water heater.  They responded by saying that while they couldn't answer my question, there is a local community group of customers who get together to discuss topics like this.  They felt quite confident that another customer would be able to help me figure it out.  Now that's what I call service.

A Look Back at Life, September 5, 1955

By now readers of Room With No View know that I love all things retro and I get a bit nostalgic from time to time.  You also know I have a stack of old magazines from my wife's uncle and I love to peek through them for advertisements that give us an idea of what was really going on during those years.  The articles are nice, sure, but advertisers have their fingers on the pulse of the readers far better than those writing the articles.

And so we dip yet again into the ad-world of Life magazine for September 5, 1955.  And remember, the things you'll learn here are completely true.  I don't make any of this up.  Honest!

We start with this eye catcher from the inside cover.  I have no idea who Forstmann is, but they make a snazzy business suit for glamorous women on the go!  However, that's not quite true.  The small print tells us that Forstmann is a woolen company.  They make the finest woolens in the world.  And this wool, "oriola" in cornflower blue, is a lovely, soft wool that can be found in stores near you.

You can also purchase this fabric by the yard.  It doesn't tell us which yard you can buy it by.  I suppose it should read "you can buy it by a yard near you."  Which always leads us to the question: how do they know where you are?

Forstmann Woolen Company was founded in Passaic, New Jersey in 1904.  They were in business until the 1990's, when they were eventually bought out by Victor Woolen Products after a financially troubled decade.  Does anyone out there remember this company?

Here's an ad that will make your mouth water.  Who didn't love these tasty metallic treats?  Here you get turkey and gravy, peas, carrots (or is that sweet potatos?) along with a surprise helping of stuffing.  Everything you want in a turkey dinner.  But wait!  There's more!  In this great magazine offer, Swanson is offering to reimburse you for a package of fruit pies.  That's right, go ahead and buy your family fruit pies to top off that dinner with a tasty dessert.  When Swanson sends you 35 cents, you'll be more than reimbursed.  You'll have your money back, your husband and kids will have already enjoyed their flaky, fruity treat, and you'll be happy knowing that you were able to feed them all from metal plates.  That's really cool.  After all, in 1955, everyone knew that the future was heading towards a society that would be based on metal, plastic, and synthetics.

I'm not so impressed that the 35 cents more than covers the cost of the pies.  I'm impressed that it was worth sending 35 cents through the mail back then.  Currently, that is 11 cents less than what one stamp costs today.  Enjoy your pie!

You know I'm gonna try to find a great car ad to show you.  And although there were no car ads in this magazine (what was up with that?) I did find this wonderful Sky Chief layout.  And what a beauty it is!  Here you learn that Sky Chief  gasoline gives your car three types of power.  Count them, go ahead...1,2,3!

Of course the first one is Petrox.  You knew that, right?  I mean, this stuff is awesome.  It actually protects as it powers.  Essentially, since it cannot leave harmful deposits (that's right, it is some sort of law, it can leave no harmful deposits--go ahead, read it right there in the ad) it will make your engine last longer and you'll get more, money-saving miles from every gallon.  Petrox.  You gotta love this stuff.

After pouring 75 million dollars into an octane increasing project, Texaco wants you to know that this gas, which is now the highest octane Sky Chief gasoline ever available, will enable you to "enjoy a brand new power-feel every mile you drive!"  (The exclamation point is theirs, so don't think I am terribly impressed by their expensive project.)

And don't forget number 3:  This gasoline is 100% climate-controlled.  Seriously, I had no idea gas could be air-conditioned.  And the great thing is, that in all 48 states, you are assured top performance from Sky Chief which means...oh yeah, you wouldn't have guessed it...faster getaways!  (Now that exclamation point was added by yours truly, because I'm impressed that Texaco would be marketing their gasoline to bank robbers.  That's just unique, in my humble opinion.)

Now hear is an ad I can really get excited about.  RCA Victor wants us all to see that their 5 new Orthophonic "Victrola" phonographs bring you a new concept in High Fidelity performance.  Incredibly, the price spread here is from $129.95 all the way up to $1600.  That's a pretty big spread.  And really, it starts at a pretty steep price.  I mean, if you can buy a package of pies for 35 cents, shouldn't you be able to buy a stereo for about $60?  Well, I guess that's the price you pay for quality.  And RCA Victor is nothing if it is not quality.  Just consider the following:

The "Mark VI" table model has a 3-speed phonograph.  You get two choices for the finish--Mahogany or Light Oak.  And if you'd rather put your table model on the floor, you could add legs for it.  (An extra charge will be added for the optional legs.)

To add an FM-AM radio console, you'll have to move up two models to the "Mark III", which is gonna bite you for $325.  Ouch.  But then again, you get all that free music on the airwaves, along with great radio dramas, something we don't get anymore, unless you count the news.  I'd tell you all about the "Mark I" twin-console, which includes not just a radio but a tape recorder (I know, you must think I'm making up this magical technology) but why tell you about it?  Even if you could get back to 1955, there is no way you are gonna be able to afford $1600 for a Hi-Fi.  Who did you think you would be, Frank Sinatra?  Be serious.

Oh, here's one that is near and dear to my arteries...uh, I mean heart.  My grandma Alice used to keep Meadow Gold ice cream in her freezer, which was on the bottom of her refrigerator--remember those?  Meadow Gold ice cream was the best ice cream I've ever eaten.  I still believe that.  After all these years.  And it was simply vanilla that she kept there.  Not even this enticing Butter Brickle flavor you see in the ad.  What I don't recall is ever seeing a playful cartoon on the box.  The box always just bore the Meadow Gold standard, which was all we needed to know that yummy goodness was waiting inside the end flap.  (My kids don't know what I mean by "end flap", but you older folks like me know.  Are there any ice creams that still come in square boxes?)

So let's get to the good stuff...the fine print.  First off, we're promised that there is a wonderful candy surprise in the ice cream.  That's the butter brickle, of course.  But then we are given a recipe for making a delicious mocha topping.  What I found interesting here was that the instructions tells us to melt chocolate in our double boiler.  Anybody out there still have a double boiler?  To be honest, I'm not sure what a double boiler is.  Would this be something that is steam-powered?  It sounds terribly dangerous.    

And as an extra, you get a coupon to buy a doll.  That's right, the lovable Little Meadow Gold Girl, who has saucy pigtails.  (That would be mocha saucy pigtails, I'd guess.)  She's lightweight, soft and unbreakable.  I would bet you that if you put her in a double boiler, she would not be as unbreakable.  Sorry, it was just a thought.  Anyway, this great $12 value can be had for $3.50.  Sorry to all my friends outside of the United States, the coupon is only good in our fine country.  

Our extra ad today is one readers of this blog should recognize.  That's right, a second Veedol ad.  I'd been intrigued by Veedol, since I'd never heard of it until I found it in another issue.  I've been assured by my father that Veedol was indeed commonplace back in the day, though he does not remember it being particularly well liked.  For those of you who didn't know, Veedol comes from the Tide Water Associated Oil company.  If I didn't have to rush off to work, I'd tell you all about them.  Maybe another time.

A Summer's View of the French Quarter

The French Quarter, New Orleans.
A Jazz Band tries to cool things down in Jackson Square.

The French Quarter, New Orleans.  It is known for its Mardi Gras and Halloween celebrations.  Yet, for those of us who are fortunate enough to be able to visit it throughout the year, we know there is more to this very unique city than her festivals.  This week, I took a walk around the Vieux Carré and thought I would highlight a few of the sights you might see if you take a July vacation in the Big Easy.

Right away, when you get to Jackson Square, you're gonna find someone, or some group, playing jazz.  It won't always be Dixie Land jazz, but you can be sure it's cool, hot, sweet, and spicy.  You'll usually find them out in front of the Café du Monde, or between Jackson Square and the St. Louis Cathedral.  In the picture above, I found this group in front of the Cabildo.  That's Café Pontalba behind them, which is one of the best places to eat some gumbo, red beans and rice, fried alligator, and jambalaya.  (That last item is my favorite.)  If you look closely, you'll notice that not all of the bands have traditional instruments.  This one has an honest-to-goodness broom guitarist.  You've got to hear him to believe it.  He'll sweep you away.  He can really kick up some dust with that baby.

Speaking of the Cabildo, here you can see that in July, the flowers are in bloom, including the bougainvillea, shrub roses, and especially those on the crape myrtles, which are a Louisiana specialty.

The Cabildo was built by the Spanish in the 1790's.  Aside from being the home to the Spanish government, it was also the site of the Louisiana Purchase transfer in 1803, once the New Orleans City Hall, the Louisiana State Supreme Court (which saw the landmark Plessy vs. Ferguson decision in 1896), and was used as a prison before it eventually became the Louisiana State Museum in 1908.

Not far from the Cabildo, which is on the right hand side of Saint Louis Cathedral, you'll find Orleans Street, which runs into the backyard of the cathedral, connecting Royal Street, the home of so many art galleries and antique shops, with Bourbon Street, the home of so many bars and strip clubs.

In July, the heat can be pretty rough.  While I was there, it was not bad in the shade.  As you'll notice, even the cigar shop Indian is wise enough to hang back in the shade on the banquette.  (The raised sidewalks in the French Quarter are called this because way back when, the small blocks were called islands, which led the French people in town to call the sidewalks banquettes, as in the banks along a shore.)

Speaking of the heat, if you need a place to get out of the sun, most of the hotels in the Quarter have these little passages that lead to their courtyards.  It is in these courtyards where you'll find respite from the midday sun where there is lots of shade, and more often than not, the cooling presence of a fountain.  

During my walk, it wasn't hot enough to seek out shelter.  Though I must admit those fountains looked terribly inviting.

In July, you'll get to see the splendor and variety of the houses in the Vieux Carré.  So many of the homes in this area are gaily painted to reflect the traditional decor associated with this French-influenced American neighborhood.  And many of them are kept in perfect condition, despite the damaging effects of the sub-tropical heat and the near constant high humidity.  There's also the effects of tropical storms and hurricanes to consider as well.  So with all of these elements attacking the wood, you'll find that there are many shutters and doors which have been mistreated.  However, I am always glad the residents don't repair every one of these at the same time.  They add such a wonderful flavor to the Quarter.  It would be a shame if every home there looked perfect.

My purpose for this day was to keep searching for shots to use for my calendars for 2014.  I am never sure which is better, the older, run-down look of the Quarter, or the fresher, painted, restored sections.  I really couldn't choose one over the other.  They're both inspiring in their own way.

But if you're looking for perfect, or at least something close to it, you'll find plenty of homes that will catch your eye.  Here, on Dumaine Street, just north of Dauphine Street, I was intrigued by the colorful display of paint along with the flags waving in the summer breeze.  How delightful it must be to live in such a colorful and cheerful home.

Not far from here I sat down to rest on a stoop and chatted with Louis, a photographer from New York, who was taking a break in the shade.  Though born and bred in New York City, he was down in New Orleans for the coming Fourth of July festivities.  We shared the shade and a little companionship before I moved on in search of more targets for my camera.

Because it was July, and many of the northern tourists did not realize it was actually a pleasant day (by local standards), many of them felt the best way to see the Quarter was to take a ride in the shade of a carriage awning.  You'll find plenty of carriages awaiting you on the south side of Jackson Square.  The drivers/guides will be more than happy to drive you around, dishing out as many legends and myths as you're willing to swallow.  The indefatigable mules, either a Jack or a Jenny, will pull you along, no matter the heat.  The clip-clop of their hooves is often the only sound you'll hear on the lesser traveled streets at noon.  Everyone else is inside a restaurant eating great food and having a few drinks.  (But easy on the drinks in the hot weather, okay?)

Now if you've seen enough of the Quarter, or you just plan to hit it later in the day, you can always grab a ride on the steamboat Natchez.  

Using steam engines built in 1925, the Natchez, one of only a few steamboats still plying the waters of the Mississippi today, will take you on a two hour trip along the river.  Leaving every day from the Toulouse Street wharf behind the Jax Brewery, the Natchez takes you down around the bend of the river past the Chalmette battleground.  Along the way you'll learn a little bit of history about the Mississippi and enjoy a cool breeze up on the top deck.

And when the cruise is over, you don't even have to walk back to your hotel.  The Toulouse Streetcar station is nearby, and so are a few guys willing to peddle you home in their pedicabs.  But if you can stand to walk just a little, I always suggest heading back to Jackson Square so you can grab a milkshake at Stanley.  Trust me on that one.  They're the best!

I'll leave you with a little tune from the Natchez, as played on their steam-powered calliope.  We filmed this as we were heading back to the car.  Look closely and you'll see the man standing at the organ.  Yes, they really do play it live.  It is not a computer programmed calliope, as I had once thought it was.

Use these links for 2014 calendars featuring my photography from New Orleans:

French Quarter Balconies Calendars by jreeser1

New Orleans' French Quarter Calendar by jreeser1

Also, you might enjoy this wrapped canvas photograph of Central Grocery.



View more gifts at Zazzle.

The World that Slid Downhill, a Sneak Pre-View

Cover art by Kathryn Reeser

The World that Slid Downhill is a novelette that I wrote a few years ago.  It is a little difficult to classify.  It has been called an adult fairy tale, post-modernist, metaphorical, even magical realism.  I'm not sure which of those is the most accurate.  What I do know is that it is a delightful, child-like story that takes a turn--a down-turn--into the surreal.

As the story begins, Harry is a child, with a normal, flat back yard.  He knows this to be true.  It is a fact in his life.  The yard is as "flat as a nickel."  As he grows to manhood and has children of his own, the yard begins to slope, ever so slightly.  As he matures into middle-age, the slope of his yard drops ever deeper.

There are eight chapters in this novelette, and in this pre-view, I'd like to offer a chapter from the middle of the story.  The story is already available at Amazon, for Kindle.  However, Saint James Infirmary Books will make it available for free the last weekend of June: the 28th, 29th, and the 30th.  If you'd rather spend the $1.99 for the eBook now, I wouldn't want to argue with you.  Special thanks to Kathryn Reeser for the fantastically re-imagined cover art.   

Enjoy the preview!

The World that Slid Downhill

by Jason Phillip Reeser

an excerpt

Chapter Four

  On the day Marta turned sixteen, Harry and his wife threw her a great birthday party.  Everyone was invited: the Grandparent’s came up from Florida, other relatives came from many other states, Marta’s friends came from school, and all of their neighbors came as well.  Like Harry’s father loved to say, there were more people than you could shake a stick at.

  Cars filled the driveway.  Cars filled the front yard.  Cars filled the street.  The front of Harry’s house looked like a used car lot.

  Inside the house, party guests filled the living room, they filled the dining room, and they filled the kitchen too.  More guests were arriving all the time.  The house couldn’t hold them all.

  But Harry had been prepared for this.  He had cut the grass in the back yard the day before, and had borrowed twenty-three fold-up chairs from the church.  Each chair was now sitting in the back yard, set in little half circles so that party guests could sit together and chit-chat.

  “Grab a plate of food and find a seat outside!”  Harry had to yell to be heard in the crowded, noisy kitchen.  He had to shout it two more times before the guests paid attention.

  Uncle Leo, an old friend of Harry’s parents, who wasn’t really an uncle at all, was the first to take a full plate outside.  It was piled high with a big scoop of potato salad, a slippery looking Sloppy Joe, two deviled eggs, candied yams, and a large helping of Shipwreck salad.   He had to carry it with two hands.

  “Need some help?” Harry leaned out the door, watching as Uncle Leo stumbled a little on the last of the back steps.

  “No, no.  I’m fine,” Uncle Leo whispered in a raspy voice.  Even though he was eighty-six years old, Uncle Leo was fiercely independent.

  Harry kept an eye on the old man, just to make sure he really was fine.  Slowly, Uncle Leo tip-toed through the grass, heading toward the first group of chairs.  This took a long time, as he paused after every third step to regain his balance.

  Two more people headed out the back door.  They were friends of Marta’s, and Harry did not know their names.  He was never very good at remembering the names of his children’s friends.

  The young people, a boy and girl, hurried past Uncle Leo and picked out chairs, turning at the same time, and dropping down onto them.  They did this in unison, as if they had practiced together before the party.  Harry watched as both of the young people’s eyes widened with alarm.  Still in unison, they both began to look up.

  It took Harry a few moments to realize they were not lifting their heads, as if they wanted to look at the passing clouds.  They were, in fact, both being lifted up.  At least, the fronts of their chairs were lifting up.  The girl held tightly to her plate, trying not to spill her food.  The boy, aware that he was actually tipping backwards, threw out his arms to attempt to stop his backwards motion.  As he did this, he launched his plate like a discus thrower from the Olympics.  The thick paper plate flew surprisingly well, evenly spreading potato chips, pork-n-beans, and hot dogs in every direction.

  The kids toppled over, landing on their backs.  They were still in the chairs, although the chairs’ legs were now reaching out sideways in the same way an old grandmother reaches out for hugs.

  The girl, Harry still couldn’t think of her name, had held fast to her plate all the way to the ground.  From where he was standing, it looked as if most of the food had landed on her face and most of her hair.  The boy was laughing.  The girl was not.

  “You kids okay?” Harry hollered.  He hurried down the back steps and passed up Uncle Leo to help the two young people out of their upset chairs.

  “Oh, sure,” the boy answered.  “That was great!”

  The girl only glared at the boy, then turned her mashed-potato-smeared face and scowled at Harry.  She did not think there was anything great about falling over in a chair and catching your food with your head.

  “I can’t understand why these chairs tipped over.”  Harry set them back up and scratched his head.

  “Well,” the boy looked at the chairs and then looked at the yard behind them, “they’re sitting on a slope.  I guess we should have noticed that, and been more careful.  Or maybe we should turn them around.”

  Harry mumbled his agreement and he helped the boy turn all of the chairs around so that they were facing down the slope of the back yard.  The girl ran off to clean out her hair and wash her face.

  Uncle Leo had just about reached the chairs.  He was moving a little more quickly now, and Harry offered to hold his plate while he settled into a chair.

  “No, no.  I’m fine,” he whispered again.

  But instead of stopping at the chairs, Uncle Leo took three steps past them, paused, and took three steps more.  After each pause, he kept taking those three unsteady steps.

  “Where’s he going?” asked the boy.

  “I don’t know.”  Harry wanted to follow Uncle Leo but he heard his wife call to him from inside the house.  She said something about moving cars in the driveway.  Trying to ignore her, he watched Uncle Leo and could see that the old man was picking up speed.

  “She said you need to move her car.”  The boy was also watching Uncle Leo.  “It’s in the way of something or someone.”

  “Yeah, I heard her.”  Harry remembered the boy’s name.  “Justin, does it look to you like Uncle Leo is speeding up?”

  “Yep.”  Justin nodded.

  “Would you do me a favor and go stop him before he goes any further?  I don’t know where he’s going, but he shouldn’t go wandering off.”

  “He’s not going anywhere, sir.”  Justin giggled.  “But I think he can’t stop walking.  The gravity’s pulling him down hill.  But you go move that car, sir.  I’ll take care of the old man.”

  Harry had to admit that the boy was right.  The backyard sloped down so much that once Uncle Leo got going, it was too hard for him to stop.  He just kept heading downhill.  Somehow, Harry’s flat back yard had become the top of a real, be-careful-so-you-don’t-roll-down-it hill.

  Harry passed a worried eye over the retreating figure of Uncle Leo, and then went to the front of the house to move the car.  When he came back, Justin was coming back up the hill.  He was a little out of breath.

  “Where’s Uncle Leo?” Harry asked.

  “I couldn’t get him.  He slipped out of my reach, and just kept going.  I lost him in the trees at the bottom of the hill.  He had really picked up speed.”

  It was sad, Harry thought, that Marta’s birthday would be remembered for the day they lost Uncle Leo.  But things like this just happened.  Uncle Leo had led a long, good life, and no one had ever expected him to be around forever.  The older members of the family were always doing something like this.  You could never count on them to stick around.

  But Harry had never expected to lose Uncle Leo down the hill in the back yard.  How could he have?  It had never been a hill when Harry was a child.  But there was no denying it was a hill now.  And it was certainly possible that things like this could happen from here on out.

Use the link below to buy the eBook.  Kindle eBooks can be read on your PC, Smart Phone, iPads, Blackberries, laptops, and of course any Kindle device.  And remember, The World that Slid Downhill will be free on June 28th, 29th and the 30th.  So you can wait for your free copy or show your support for writers by paying a few dollars for a great novelette.  And if you haven't tried one of my other books, be sure to check one or two of them out this summer.  

My View of Edward Rutherfurd's Paris: The Novel

Paris: The Novel, by Edward Rutherfurd, is an 805 page historical epic that takes a great deal of time and attention to read.  It is not the length of the book that demands so much.  It is the structure of the book that sets the bar so high.

For those readers unfamiliar with Edward Rutherfurd and his epic novels, I will note a little bit about what makes a Rutherfurd novel unique.  Like a James Michener novel, these books are centered on one geographic location.  However, whereas Michener takes a larger view of a place like Spain (Iberia) or South Africa (The Covenant), Rutherfurd takes a smaller bit of real estate, such as England's New Forest region (The Forest) and England's Salisbury plain (Sarum).  Lately, he has been tackling individual cities: New York, London, and Dublin.  Like Michener, Rutherfurd follows a handful of families across many generations through the ebb and flow of real historical events.  All of this is true of Paris: The Novel.

Unlike some of his earlier works, Rutherfurd has chosen to take his stories out of chronological order, skipping back and forth from various time frames.  I felt this was done as a way to increase the suspense over some of the story lines.  I did not mind this, and even felt it might have been a benefit to the book.  It kept the story fresh, and I was happy not to be forced to read the older history before being allowed a peek at the era of the Belle Époque.  I've seen some complaints in other reviews regarding this jumbled ordering of the stories.  I did not mind at all.

I won't get into particulars as far as the families and their story lines are concerned.  Suffice to say, there are a number of families, representing various strata of society: aristocrats, laborers, professionals, and thieves.  Watching the families grow and evolve is part of the charm of an epic like this.  Discovering secrets and their long-reaching consequences is another.  It is a nice reminder to us that what we do today can have extreme consequences on our descendants, both good and bad.  One can also see how some family traits can finally be broken by the younger generations.

Atop Montmartre, the site of much of the action
in Rutherfurd's Paris: The Novel (photo
from RoomWithNoView)

The star of the book, of course, is that grand lady, Paris.  The City of Light.  No matter the subject matter of the time period, whether it be the uprising of the Paris Commune, or the French Revolution, or the golden age of the Sun King, or even the building of the Eiffel Tower, Rutherfurd keeps our eyes focused solely on that most magical of cities.  The reader is taken to the heights of Montmartre, to the bridges over the Seine, and into many famous landmarks that are stacked like chord wood within the boundaries of the city.  He also takes many opportunities to inform us about the history and culture of the city.  Most tour guides tell small stories to back up their recitation of the facts.  Rutherfurd takes the opposite approach, using his characters to back up his story by reciting many facts and anecdotes.  A few times this becomes tedious, seemingly too unreal and staged.  If I had not been such a fan of Paris, I would have found it a bit boring.  However, I love Paris, and I enjoyed all the little tour-guide moments.  No matter that I already knew much of what he was talking about beforehand.

At this point, you would have to guess that I loved the book.  That I couldn't put it down.  It was right up my alley.  It was everything I would want in a book.  And for the most part, you would have guessed right.  Except...

I was initially disappointed with the story lines.  I understand that a book of this size requires a slow approach, and that the author can take his time to build the atmosphere and complex story.  However, it was readily apparent that the book lacked a bit of that Paris pizzazz.  This is a city known for its party atmosphere.  It is exciting.  There is so much that can go on there.  Yet the stories were very low-keyed.  I enjoyed them, I had simply expected something more compelling to read.  A good deal of it turned into a soap opera, just detailing who was sleeping with whom, and who was mad at whom.  I admit that I grew dismayed near the middle of the book.  It seemed as if if Edward Rutherfurd had blown it.  He had the most beautiful and exciting city in the world to play with.  Shouldn't he have come up with something to match its energy and glamour?

Author Edward Rutherfurd

In fact, dialing down the story a notch,  the author allowed himself to build solid characters and situations so that when they all ran together near the last one hundred and fifty pages it finished with a bang.  The last time period he covers is that of the German occupation.  And this is where all the background story pays off.  We see how people with such rich family backgrounds reacted to the pressure-cooker that was Nazi-occupied Paris.  From that point on, the story no longer looked back.  It moved along like an old-fashioned noir thriller.  I was surprised at this turn and greatly enjoyed the change of pace.

Books like this do a great job of reminding us of the history that clings to a geographic location.  It also reminds us of the way sins cling to historical timelines, and how easily our mistakes can effect many generations.  But what it does most for me is reminding me that we are not alone in the place we call home.  So many others have come before us, and so many will come after us.  We have an appointed time while we are here to make a contribution to the small slice of the world in which we live.  When it is over, there is so much more that will continue to happen.  We are often too arrogant a people to understand this.

While I would recommend reading Paris: The Novel, I am well aware that it is not for everyone.  The story is long, and builds slowly.  However, if you commit to the time necessary to read it, you'll find the book ends quite satisfactorily.  You'll have learned much about Paris and the French people.  You also might find that you're curious about New York and London.  I haven't read those yet, but I am adding them to my list.