Have you ever just wanted to smack a book character and the author who created him? That’s how I’m feeling right now, though I will have to settle for shaking the librarian who recommended In the Woods by Tana French.
I had a free pass, too. I decided to join my neighborhood branch mystery book club to improve my understanding of the genre. Sarah gave me In the Woods to read for the next meeting. I put it aside because I was in the middle of three projects and had no time for reading or much of anything else. Friday, I decided enough was enough and it was time for a vacation. Not having time for a vacation, I figured a book by a new author would do as well. I looked at the calendar and discovered the book club had met on Tuesday. I would read the book anyway, as penance.
The two page preface put me off. Not because it was badly written. Because it was too well written–so effusive with descriptive hyperbole, the page swam before me, undulating passages that I lost my way in. By the time I got to the end of a sentence, I forgot what it was about. I almost put it down.
“No, I shall carry on. After all, I am used to reading James Patterson. I need to expand my horizons. The Washington Post loved it. I should discover why.”
The book is told through the voice of Rob Ryan, a self-admitted coward who believes his reputation as a detective is maintained by looking the part more than by any true merit. There is an annoying note of self-castigating self-absorption that runs through the book, marring the pleasure I wanted to take in French’s lyrical prose. Ryan’s sensitivity apparently applies only to himself. As the book progresses, he reveals himself to be a bonafied dirt-bag.
But Rob has a compelling back-story. As a child, he entered the woods to play with his two best friends. Many hours later, he is discovered, traumatized, with no memory of the day’s events. His friends never appear again. The jacket blurb promises “Ryan has the chance to uncover both the mystery of the case before him, and that of his own shadowy past.”
Even though NPR’s Morning Edition promised this book would bamboozle even the most astute reader, I knew who my money was on early in the game (I was right). But I soldiered on to the end, lured by the promise of his childhood mystery. The promise is ultimately unfulfilled.
Maybe Ryan grows in some way through his tribulations. Nope. In the end, “She informed me, matter-of-factly, that she was old enough to know the difference between intriguing and fucked up.” Once a loser, always a loser.
The mystery is complex and well-told, the villain is suitably heinous and the police procedure is convincing. It’s a shame she didn’t have a better story to tell about her protagonist (Ryan is such an unsympathetic character that I started wondering if he was based on an ex-boyfriend. Hint to French: Next time, kill him off in a prolonged and gory manner early in the book and get it out of your system).
Tana French is a good writer. Much of this book is worth reading. I was most engrossed by the memories Ryan recovers of the summer of 1984. Even so, tomorrow I’m going to find Sarah, and I’m going to ask her what the hell she was thinking.
In Corrie’s own words:
Tucker’s Tale
With cash in hand, I drove over two hours with the intention of making my dream a reality. I was bound and determined that I would own a yorkshire terrier. After weeks of searching, I found a listing online for yorkie pups within my price range. When I arrived, all of the puppies were cute, but I struggled to choose one. Something about the whole situation just felt off. However, I had invested too much time and effort to turn back empty handed. I choose the smallest male puppy there.
I took him home for a few days and all was well. He was a sweet little guy and cleaning up after him while potty training wasn’t much of a mission (that was a bonus). A few days passed and at the urging of a friend, I went over to their house for the night and brought my puppy, Russell, with me. The friend had a few other people over that I had not met previously. We all had a few drinks and enjoyed our night. The strangers were primarily women and they gawked over my little puppy. That night, I feel asleep on the couch with Russell snuggled up in my arms.
When I awoke the next morning, my puppy was gone and so were the strange girls. The front door to the country home was wide open. Not wanting to believe the worst, I awoke everyone in the house and we started a massive search. We trekked around for hours, calling his name, “Russell!” Finally, my mind led me to one conclusion. One of the girls had taken him. It broke my heart, but was still more comforting than the thought of my helpless little puppy running around in the woods alone.
In case I was wrong, I put up ads on Craigslist, posted flyers, and did all I could to find my lost puppy. My friend also called the girls to ask if they had seen the puppy. They replied that they had not. In my heart, I hoped it was a lie. Why, you may be wondering. Well, if they were willing to steal and lie to take my puppy, they must at least have wanted him fairly badly (and would hopefully provide him with a good home). To this day, I do not know if they were telling the truth or a lie.
Several weeks passed with no sign of my lost puppy. Since he had been the first dog I had gotten on my own, it drove me to completely question my responsibility level as a potential pet owner. One day, I decided to search online and came across a website with local shelter listings. I figured if I got a mutt then other people would be less inclined to steal him/her from me. The idea gave me a small spark of hope as I searched through the pages.
Then, one little, black puppy caught my attention. He had been given the temporary name of Trek. I called the shelter to ask some questions about him and the adoption process. The woman on the phone apologized and said he was already pending adoption. She insisted they had other great puppies needing homes, but I took it as a sign. Okay, it just isn’t meant to be.
Approximately two weeks later, I was driving around randomly as I sometimes do to relax. I realized I was close to the shelter. I thought to myself, “screw it, why not just look?” I walked down the aisles and saw several older dogs. I felt bad, but I really wanted a puppy. I wanted to raise him or her and teach them from the beginning. I wanted to know I could do it and be a good pet parent. I asked the receptionist if they no longer had puppies and she directed me to a separate part of the facility.
I walked past several pens containing numerous, adorable puppies, but none of them truly caught my attention. Then, as I approached the last pin, one stood out. He was a small black puppy with eyes that stared directly into mine. It was almost as though he was saying, “Me. Pick me.”
If you have never experienced this, there are no words to explain it. As a child, I have had many dogs I loved dearly, but none ever immediately connected with me like this. It was incredible. I turned around to look at the postings on the wall to identify this pup’s name. I searched and searched, but could not find it. Then, it dawned on me.
There, in the center of the wall, was a picture of a small black fur baby with the name Trek. The photo was cute, but he had his ears back in it and looked like a completely different puppy. I nearly broke out in tears of joy at the realization.
I walked to the front desk and asked to start the adoption process for Trek. The woman handed me a clipboard while typing away on her computer. “Oh dear, it looks like he is already pending adoption. He has already had his first shots, gotten neutered, and they have paid for him.” My heart sank. I wanted to start bawling my eyes out right there, but then she continued. “Actually, the family was supposed to pick him up last week. We’ve tried calling them several times, but they have not answered or returned our messages.”
I think she could see the tension on my face. I wanted that puppy more than words can express; there was something about him and he was the one. He was my intended to be my fur baby. “I’ll tell you what, go ahead and fill out the paperwork. If we can’t get a hold of them by Saturday, then I’ll call you and he’s yours.” She smiled brightly and I did the same before completing the paperwork.
Walking out, I felt my nerves screaming at me in every way. I wanted to embrace the elation, but I was scared. What if they did call? What if they came to get him first? I knew they had the right to do so. They had found him before me after all, but my heart hoped they would not.
Saturday morning rolled around and I checked my phone like a mad woman, every five seconds. I longed for the call that would say he was mine. Then, it came. “Miss Fischer, this is the ____ Animal Shelter, the previous adopters for Trek have not arrived. If you’d still like to adopt him, you may come get him.” I wanted to jump up from my desk for joy. I could not have been more excited!
Now, I will admit, it was not all fun and games. Like any other puppy, Trek who was renamed Tucker, had his rebellious streak. I lost more than one piece of furniture throughout the training process, but I wasn’t about to give up on him. I loved him from day one and decided I would do anything to provide him the best home possible. After months of training from me and with the help of those close to me, Tucker became an obedient, nearly perfect dog.
Today, Tucker is three years old and knows a multitude of tricks, including sit, shake, lay down, speak, talk (he growls in a way that sounds like “Uh huh”), wait, and can even balance treats on his nose. His favorite toys are balls and he obsesses over them. He will still obey the command to stay/wait even if the ball is thrown. He doesn’t go after it until I give him the release command. He also loves to snuggle under the blankets by my feet each night and that is where he loyally sleeps.
Though losing Russell was a major heartache, it could not even compare to the joy I have now owning Tucker. He is my dog, my best friend, and my child. He is my fur baby and I will continue to love every day I am blessed by his existence.
Corrie’s Book
REM
Three young women are all confined by the same enchantment. It is an ever powerful, eternal demon that rests within their very hearts and minds. It is fear. The feeling consumes each one of them like a plague, influencing their every decision.
Renee, a thirteen year old girl, is the first to attempt freedom from this internal curse. She embraces the tinge of courage within her and allows her feet to drive her far away from her small town life of entrapment. Little does she know her journey against the unseen terror has only just begun.
The older, questionably less mature, Emily is blinded to her own imprisonment. Instead she allows guilt to cloud her mind while hiding under the cover of meaningless socialization. It is only when Emily finds herself in a strange land that she must finally confront her demons. Will she bow down to the nightmare before her? Or alas will she defeat the monster within?
Unlike the other two, Ms. Morrison has finally gotten her life in order, or so she believes. A professional, strict school teacher, she stands proud in all she has accomplished. Despite her success, terrors of a life long forgotten still torment her mind.
When all three women are forced to confront their inner horrors, their paths cross in an unimaginable way that will leave you breathless!
About Corrie
Corrie Fischer was born in Fort Oglethorpe, GA but only lived there the first three days of her life. The daughter of a military chaplain, her life of travels continued on for many years. She has lived in eight different states and over fifteen homes. When she was sixteen years old, Corrie started attending college. At the age of eighteen, she was accepted as a member of the Phi Theta Kappa Honor Society. In 2013, she graduated from Northwest Arkansas Community College. She currently resides in her Fayetteville, Arkansas home with her dog Tucker and a leopard gecko named Spike.
Corrie’s Website: http://www.corriefischer.com
Okay, everybody can act. I mean, this is Russell Crowe and Jennifer Connelly and Emma Watson and even Anthony Hopkins. Three Academy Awards out of the four top-billed actors isn’t bad, especially since Emma Watson is too young to really make her mark yet. So when things get all intense and angsty, they can twist up their faces pretty good and make you believe they’re crazy upset.
And we’ve got these great Hollywood production values (though my friends spotted a rubber sole on Russell Crowe–I mean Noah’s– boot. We won’t talk about that.) The special effects are pretty cool and go way beyond making a really big boat (exception: the reoccurring vision of the snake and the apple is pretty cheesy).
But there’s a lot of stuff on there that never came up in Sunday school. Like these prehistoric transformers made out of lava-encrusted, fallen angels called ‘watchers.’ Good thing they’re around. The whole movie would have been over before it started without them on the job, and you and I would not be here.
Then there’s these cool little rocks that you can make fire bombs out of. This guy says he’s King of the World and he has a thing that looks like a bazooka that shoots these rocks right out, and wow! Ka-BAM!
They use magic smoke to put all the animals asleep for about a year. You don’t have to feed them and there’s no manure to shovel. I’ve got to figure that one out for my dogs. It would be great if I could go on vacation without having to board them.
Did you know they saved a skin shed by the serpent in the Garden of Eden, and they like to perform rituals with the snakeskin and it glows? Or that Methuselah was alive when Noah needed some advice? I can’t figure out why Noah left Grandpa out in the rain like that. I mean, they had room. And Grandpa could pull some really wicked tricks out of his, well, he didn’t have a hat, but, you know.
Good thing they can act, because it gets pretty ugly when Noah decides that the evil God wishes to erase from the Earth, well he decides that evil resides in him and his family, and no one is exempt. I’m glad they didn’t have chainsaws back then.
Yes, there was a big boat full of animals and a flood. Past that point, it was a bunch of guys in Hollywood, sitting around a table saying, “How can we sex this thing up?” I had more WTF moments during this movie than I’ve had in, well, years, because, like, I don’t say WTF,” like, ever.
If the Bible isn’t exciting enough for you as it is, you should leave well enough alone.
Save this one for DVD. Then you can toss popcorn at the screen when it gets too silly. But skip the butter, it’s hell to get off.
Jasper – In Jill’s own words:
Jasper is a dogathlete, a remarkable houndie physical specimen. He swims, runs, jumps, and would probably ride a bike if his legs weren’t three inches long.
It began when Jasper he was a wee puppy. Walking along the shores of a reservoir he nearly yanked my arm off pulling me into the water where he immediately began paddling away.
Bassets aren’t supposed to be swimmers. That’s the province of labrador retrievers, right?
Well, guess who loves to swim? Don’t even get me started about how Jasper jumped out of the canoe in the middle of the lake and began swimming away like a doggie Michael Phelps. This basset never met a body of water he didn’t plunge into. One of my favorite bonding activities is to walk in the creek with Jasper splashing his way beside me.
And then there’s my theory that Jasper is part kangaroo.
He’s been know to leap onto the highest beds and scale the tallest boulders in the dog park so he can bark his head off at all the doggies at his feet. Those well-muscled back legs mean he can bunny hop through two-foot-high snow drifts with his Dumbo-like ears flowing behind him.
Since Jasper has come into my life I’ve lost five pounds trying to keep up with him as sprints across the field after squirrels, robins, and whatever imaginary critters his nose mandates that he chase at top speed.
Yeah, that’s my lazy basset hound!
Jill’s Book
Private investigator Jane Ronson suffers from oppositional defiant disorder–the uncontrollable urge to punch first and ask questions later. When a rabbi with a shady past offers a bag of cash to spy on a rival rabbi, Jane jumps at the chance. To succeed, Jane must infiltrate a black market kidney ring in Baltimore’s Orthodox Jewish community by impersonating one of its members. Between Russian gangsters and double crosses, Jane is No. 1 on everyone’s hit list. To get the bounty–and stay alive–Jane forms an alliance with a rabbi’s wife and confronts a dark family secret.
Excerpt from “Dog Spelled Backwards: An Unholy Mystery”
Jerome stood before me with his hands clasped together as if in prayer. He was swaddled from head to toe in a dark blue robe. On his head was a foot-tall white turban and his eyes were outlined in dark khol. Green sparkly loops dangled from his ears.
“Get your butt outta the car,” he mouthed through the glass. “I need you to give me the once over before our meeting with your Rabbi and his mobster rent boy.”
I stepped out of the car. “I told you to dress conservatively, not to wear a damn burqa! Didn’t you look at the pictures I emailed to you? You can’t go into a kosher restaurant looking like Cleopatra!”
Jerome put his hands on his hips. “This is the best I can do on short notice. It’s an abaya, not a burqa. I borrowed it from a Muslim friend. And another thing Miss Know-It-All, Orthodox Jewish women and Muslim women obey the same rules of modesty. So zip it.”
I held the restaurant door open as Jerome wiggled his hips and butt like a fashion model striding down a runway. I counted to ten and hoped for the best.
Author bio:
Jill Yesko is the author of the acclaimed crime fiction novels “Murder in the Dog Park” and “Dog Spelled Backwards: An Unholy Mystery.” Before becoming a writer, Jill was a cartographer, bicycle racer, and mate on a water taxi. Jill patrols Baltimore’s dog parks with Jasper, her red and white basset hound.
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“Dog Spelled Backwards: An Unholy Mystery”
Available in bookstores and on Amazon.com
murderinthedogpark.com
http://murderinthedogpark.blogspot.com
https://www.amazon.com/author/jillyesko
Twitter: @Jillyesko
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Playful and curious he was always around me. Outside he would playfully attack my backside after I bent over to pull a weed. Inside he wanted to be a part of everything. Sometimes he would curl up on the keyboard as I was trying to type.
One of the funniest things he did was lay on top of our refrigerator and swat at hair as people walked past. He would lie onto top of the kitchen cabinets and reach down, swatting an unsuspecting guest in the head. Then pop back up and hide before they had chance to discover him.
At night as we slept he would curl up with us and sleep sometimes with is head resting on my head. I heard it said that animals have no souls and are in capable of love. Whoever said that never knew Boots. I swear he loved us as much as we loved him.
Several years after that cool spring rain where his heart and mine became one we lost him. He was hit by a car. I buried him in the woods he so loved to prowl. Even now as I type this tears swell. I miss him as if I had lost a child, or best friend.
Lia Anderson Dog Park Mysteries by C.A. Newsome 