Thoughts on mysteries

I just started my detective fiction course for school and I thought that his assignment might help better expound upon some of the things I have been trying to convey through this blog for some time.

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There is something comforting about a murder mystery or at least certain murder mysteries for me. I am speaking particularly of the ones where one finds oneself in a small hamlet, with an over large cemetery. These are the ones where every time you meet a new character they are either a victim or a murderer. Stir in a lead character with some pluck and let the mayhem ensue. It is a little certainty in an uncertain world for me as a reader. I particularly like mysteries where the lead sleuth is an amateur. When I was a little girl, I wanted to be Jessica Fletcher when I grew up, and I am still drawn to that kind of mystery novel protagonist.

I didn’t cut my teeth on Sherlock Holmes like most people do. I always thought there was something pretentious about Sherlock Holmes that made me less interested in reading those stories. It wasn’t until the recent BBC production of Sherlock Holmes that I saw a version of him that I was drawn to, and having heard the portrayal is generally accurate to the novels, I have been excited to read the books. Doyle has been in my reading queue for a bit, so the fact that I get to read them for this class is an added bonus.

Anyway, my first real eye-opening introduction to mysteries came when I was about 10 with “Angie’s First Case” by Donald Sobol (of Encyclopedia Brown fame). It was the first chapter book I had really been engaged in, and the first time I was so enthralled by a book that I curled up and read it cover to cover on a Saturday afternoon. I loved the experience so much I have been afraid to re-read it for fear that it would no longer be what I imagined it to be. For this reason, I have lost most of the story line and couldn’t offer much comment.

My favorite mystery/thriller novel though is probably “Cranes of Ibycus” by Mary Craig. This was a book my mom picked up at a library book sale when I was a teenager which I promptly borrowed. It was so much more then I expected to be, and the story was so driving that I couldn’t put it down. A couple of years ago, my mom gave me the book when I asked if I could borrow it again. As much as I was afraid of the disappointed nostalgia, I fell in love with it all over again. I tend to prefer the type of mystery where an amateur gets caught up in a complex problem (murder or otherwise) they can’t solve, and the story becomes a journey through all of the clues and processes that lead them to a resolution. Many times, and “Cranes of Ibycus” is not an exception, the character grows through this experience and there is nothing more important to me in a story of any genre of fiction then character development.

This book is not a murder mystery per se and it certainly isn’t detective fiction. But it is does feel so thrilling while one is reading it. The characters are ones that you can care about which is actually a fairly important factor in a novel for me because it means that you start to care about the same things they do and one can get caught up in those near-death or near-awesome experiences. It is an out-dated and out-of-print book but one of the most enjoyable reads I have ever had.

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Actually writing this I found that there is another out-of-print book by Mary Craig and I purchased it on Amazon. I may have to wait until June to read it but I wanted to find some of that same reading experience again.

Murder Mysteries

My general love (bordering on obsession) of the murder mystery genre has often been mentioned here in this journal. Recently I have been watching Murder She Wrote on Netflix while I knit. It is good background noise to keep my brain busy and I can tune it out when I need to concentrate.

When I was a kid I loved this show. My dad and I were both night owls and there was often Murder She Wrote reruns on TV. I grew up wanting to be like Jessica Fletcher when I was older. In fact I think she is the reason I once harbored desires to be a writer. The show isn't nearly as brilliant as I remember but nostalgia does excellent things for the palate.

I also have been enjoying the Geraldine McEwan as Miss Marple. I don't really enjoy most versions of this but there is something sort of sassy and naughty but for the most part still respectable about her portrayal.

On the book front, I have been reading the Lady Julia Grey novels by Deanna Raybourn. I enjoyed the first two very much but I am less enthralled as I go through the series. I do have to say that this author knows how to write an opening page. I have some other general issues with her style and that may be what is making me loose interest. I will finish reading the current one and try her next before I make any decisions.

March/April Updates and Other Things

Sorry for the generally lame blog titles. Given that I am approaching once a month posts this seems a fitting theme for my titles. And as this is an update, things may ramble and jump around a bit as I try to touch on all the things I wanted to share.

I have vaguely eluded to the fact that my work life has sort of sucked as of late. In general I like my job and my bosses. However, due to a series of unfortunate coincidences I have been doing the job of two people by myself since mid-December (though I am willing to argue almost 9 months but feel somewhat unkind in doing so). Anyway, while the over time has been awesome, the lack of personal time is making for a crabby and generally unhappy me. Projects have been accumulating around the house at an alarming rate and my ability to care about them has dropped progressively. I know this sounds angry and unpleasant and sort of defeatist but that is how I am feeling...defeated. It will improve I know and there is light at the end of this tunnel. It is just a slow process getting there.

To combat all of the general ickyness and malaise, I have been taking what spare time I can and pouring it into string. I finished the lovely leaves and fishies scarf. I am currently blocking it. I am very bad at blocking. There will be more pictures once it is blocked and the weather improves enough that I feel safe taking it outside.



I also started the Pretty as a Peacock shawl. I don't like lace in general. I just think it looks too fussy. Some of it can be beautiful but most of it just isn't my style. But this shawl is so indescribably beautiful. I know myself however and did not want to pay the expense of a project I would never finish. The deal was I had to finish the leaves/fishie scarf first before I was allowed to purchase the materials for and start the peacock shawl. Having accomplished the first task I decided I deserved the chance to play with the shawl. It is slow going and a bit more complex then I may be ready for but the silk I found is so perfect and the pattern is just lovely. I am excited. My goal is to have it done by halloween. wish me luck!



Above is my progress thus far. This was taken during one of my recent visits to Sow's Ear with two amazing ladies for a day full of tea and giggles and string and general awesomeness. The little sheep in the picture is Simon but there will be more about him during another post.


I have also been reading a great deal. Mostly just murder mysteries which I know some people consider fluff, but I have to say I don't really care. I grew up reading mysteries and have re-discovered my joy for them as an adult. And, I honestly feel that even though the writing is not always superb and the plot sometimes predictable, I have learned more from the time I have spent with mysteries then I ever did from the agonizingly painful process of the steady reading that comes from classical literature. Don't get me wrong, there is some truly brilliant classical literature out there (and really in any genre if you look hard enough), but so much of it is just depressing. My brain enjoys the plot dissection that comes with a good (or even a bad) murder mystery.

That said, I am not sure I liked the book "Virals" by Kathy Reichs. It was a foray into young adult fiction. The book was okay I guess. I think my disappointment is more that I come to expect something different from her then what this delivered. I sometimes wonder if I might have liked it better if she had used a different pen name.

I am still continuing my journey through young adult fiction. I did really enjoy the book "Revolution"...up to a point. At first I was uncertain where the author was taking me, and then as things developed I was really excited to take that journey with her. Things got a little weird towards the end though and I am not sure I was able to follow. I think I am interested enough in the authors style though to try some of her other novels.

Next up on my reading list: "The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake". Honestly, I picked up the book because of the title alone. I am not sure where the the book is going to go but I am intrigued.

I had a lovely conversation about the books I loved as a child with my workout buddy last night. I cannot begin to tell you how much I love talking about books with other people. We talked about shared favorites and why we love them. We talk about the fear of re-reading books we loved as a child in case we no longer enjoyed them. And we talked about that amazing feeling when the book still touches your heart.

One of my favorite authors, Neil Gaiman, recently posted a blog regarding his friendship with the late Diana Wynne Jones (another amazing writer). Mr. Gaiman is pretty amazing in his own right and to hear him talk about his respect/admiration for her gave me a little more faith in humanity. One of that parts of the post that has stayed with me was a quote of hers: "Children are much more careful readers than adults," she'd say. "You don't have to repeat everything for children. You do with adults, because they aren't paying full attention." I certainly agree. I am consistently frustrated when I read a series how each book has to beat the reader over the head with the back story found in prior books. I am also a little worried that perhaps my distance from childhood is why I could not follow some of the other authors I have been reading lately. I am becoming too much of an adult. I find this very sad.

Today was a day for getting things done though. I cleaned out my desk (which took some doing), cleaned all the winter mud from the front foyer, got a haircut (I was rather shaggy, got some laundry done, and did a little reading. I wanted to knit a row or two of my shawl though and hopefully I can catch up with some friends after that.