So, those people who have become SUPER productive and are using their enforced social distancing time to learn a new language or to invent a homemade atom splitter – not me! I’m keeping on keeping on.
Both the Dave and I are working full-time from different floors of the house, and the teen folk are enduring a lot of self-paced learning. (The whole “homeschooling” thing has been quite the challenge. As a herd of ADHDers, this fam needs more structure.) The single biggest change of pace has been for our wifi. It’s exhausted.
Thank God – and writers – for books! What a refuge. Also, streaming services. (Again, poor lil wifi.) Because the weeks and months are blending, these are the books I read in Maypril.
Angry Betty by Jamie Lee Scott. Cops bust drug house. There’s one young woman the young cop used to know. Is she still able to be saved, or is she just another “angry Betty?” It’s a pretty good read. Wants to be weightier and grittier than it is.
Mummified Meringues by Leighann Dobbs. Nothing weighty or gritty about this cosy. There’s a hidden mummy in a basement. There’s a baking contest. There’s a spunky bunch of elderly ladies ready to help the baker (wife of a cop, natch) catch the killer. It’s a formula I happen to enjoy.
Murders, Curlers, and Cream by Arlene McFarlane. Another charming cosy, except this time it’s a hairdresser armed with a curling iron leading the hijinks. I might call it a “guilty pleasure” except that would imply that I have guilt about this particular pleasure.
The Forest City Killer by Vanessa Brown. Having grown up in “the Forest City,” aka London, Ontario, I found this well-researched book particularly interesting. The authored looks at several unsolved murders from the sixties (before my time) and one from the 80s (during my childhood and from my neighbourhood). She draws connections, some admitted by her to be tenuous, to make the argument for links between several of the cases. It is absolutely fascinating. And sad, especially that – as she points out – this part of the city’s history is largely buried or forgotten. I really wish my dad was alive, so I could talk to him about this book. I think he would be really interested and likely would remember those cases from the sixties.
Harm None by Will North. Both this and the next Will North novel are from the same series. They focus on murders in remote areas of Cornwall, England and each has a slight supernatural element. Good reads, both. I am getting a little sensitive, I notice, about women (and men) in their 40s being described with adjectives like “aging,” “still pretty,” or “well-preserved.” Ugh.
Why Bother? by Jennifer Louden. A self-help book, though I hate to label it as something that paints such a clichéd kind of picture. But it is what it is, I guess. Written in a chatty, warm voice, it really does read like a boost from a trusted friend. I bought it mostly because I admire the hustle and style of Ms. Louden who I’ve been following via her email newsletters for a while. I really did enjoy the book, and think I’ll read it again when we’re not in the midst of a global pandemic. Kind of harshed my buzz.
Talking to Strangers by Malcolm Gladwell. Interesting and infuriating though not in equal measure, this is the latest offering by Elmira native Mr. Gladwell. He digs into human nature and how our very instincts that protect us can also mislead us badly when we encounter strangers and try to understand their behaviours. Some really interesting ideas, unpacked through real-life examples of where they’ve led people astray with sometimes devastating results (Sandra Bland; the victims of Jerry Sandusky; the victim of Brock Turner, etc.). However, there are some questions just begging to be asked – how is gender a factor? Why wouldn’t parents “default to the truth” of what their daughters say rather than the male accuser? – and he doesn’t go there. Left me wanting to discuss it with him further. Hey, Malcolm, next time you’re in the area, reach out. I’ll buy the bevvies.
Too Clever By Half by Will North. As above. Enjoyable.
My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite. I so enjoyed this novel. The protagonist, Korede, is the serious, plain, business-like head nurse of a hospital in Nigeria. Her beautiful, head-turning, fashion designer of a sister has killed several men, as she says, “in self defence.” Korede feels she has no other options than to help hide the bodies. That’s the set-up. You really need to read it.
On the Pod:
I’ve done so little driving these last weeks/months, my podcast listening has really taken a nosedive. I have listened to a couple episodes of the new-to-me, The Land of Desire. It’s a French history podcast, that in the words of its host, “is all about the good stuff in French history: the stories behind the objects you crave, the clothing you wear, the art you admire, the food you love, the wine you need.” I’m in!
