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Read Between the Lines Read Between the Lines by Rachel Lacey is $2.49! This is a contemporary f/f romance that has been mentioned on both Book Beat and Hide You Wallet. It was also an Amazon First Reads selection, so double check your ereader before buying! From award-winning author Rachel Lacey comes a playful romance about a Manhattan bookstore owner and a reclusive author who love to hate—and hate to love—each other. Books are Rosie Taft’s life. And ever since she took over her mother’s beloved Manhattan bookstore, they’ve become her home too. The only thing missing is her own real-life romance like the ones she loves to read about, and Rosie has an idea of who she might like to sweep her off her feet. She’s struck up a flirty online friendship with lesbian romance author Brie, and what could be more romantic than falling in love with her favorite author? Jane Breslin works hard to keep her professional and personal lives neatly separated. By day, she works for the family property development business. By night, she puts her steamier side on paper under her pen name: Brie. Jane hasn’t had much luck with her own love life, but her online connection with a loyal reader makes Jane wonder if she could be the one. When Rosie learns that her bookstore’s lease has been terminated by Jane’s company, romance moves to the back burner. Even though they’re at odds, there’s no denying the sparks that fly every time they’re together. When their online identities are revealed, will Jane be able to write her way to a happy ending, or is Rosie’s heart a closed book? Add to Goodreads To-Read List → You can find ordering info for this book here. Electric Idol Electric Idol by Katee Robert is $3.82 at Amazon and sadly $4.99 elsewhere! It’s book two in the Dark Olympus series and is a retelling of Psyche and Eros. Are you a fan of the series? Do you have a favorite? He was the most beautiful man in Olympus. And if I wasn’t careful, he was going to be my death. *A scorchingly hot modern retelling of Psyche and Eros that’s as sinful as it is sweet.* In the ultra-modern city of Olympus, there’s always a price to pay. Psyche Dimitriou knew she’d have to face Aphrodite’s jealous rage eventually, but she never expected her literal heart to be at stake…or for Aphrodite’s gorgeous son to be the one ordered to strike the killing blow. Eros has no problem shedding blood. Raised to be his mother’s knife in the dark, he’s been conditioned to accept that he’s more monster than man. But when it comes time to take out his latest target…he can’t do it. Confused by his reaction to Psyche’s unexpected kindness, he does the only thing he can think of to keep her safe: he binds her to him, body and soul. Psyche didn’t expect to find herself married to the glittering city’s most dangerous killer, but something about Eros wakens a fire inside her she’s never felt before. As lines blur and loyalties shift, Psyche realizes Eros might take her heart after all…and she’s not sure she can survive the loss. Add to Goodreads To-Read List → You can find ordering info for this book here. You Had Me at Hello You Had Me at Hello by Mhairi McFarlane is 99c! This is a “one that got away” story between two friends from college. Some readers loved the writing, which happened to give them a mega case of the feels, while others said it was pretty slow. What happens when the one that got away comes back? Find out in this sparkling debut from Mhairi McFarlane. ‘Think of the great duos of history. We’re just like them.’ ‘You mean like Kylie and Jason? Torvill and Dean? Sonny and Cher?’ ‘I think you’ve missed the point, Rachel.’ Rachel and Ben. Ben and Rachel. It was them against the world. Until it all fell apart. It’s been a decade since they last spoke, but when Rachel bumps into Ben one rainy day, the years melt away. They’d been partners in crime and the best of friends. But life has moved on: Ben is married. Rachel is not. Yet in that split second, Rachel feels the old friendship return. And along with it, the broken heart she’s never been able to mend. Hilarious, heartbreaking and everything in between, you’ll be hooked from their first ‘hello’. Add to Goodreads To-Read List → You can find ordering info for this book here. Undercover Bromance Undercover Bromance by Lyssa Kay Adams is $2.99! A lot of the Bitchery has enjoyed this series about heroes creating a romance book club. It also inspired an actual romance book club for men. Catherine gave this one a D and warns that this may not be the fluffy read you want right now. Braden Mack thinks reading romance novels makes him an expert in love, but he’ll soon discover that real life is better than fiction. Liv Papandreas has a dream job as a sous chef at Nashville’s hottest restaurant. Too bad the celebrity chef owner is less than charming behind kitchen doors. After she catches him harassing a young hostess, she confronts him and gets fired. Liv vows revenge, but she’ll need assistance to take on the powerful chef. Unfortunately, that means turning to Braden Mack. When Liv’s blackballed from the restaurant scene, the charismatic nightclub entrepreneur offers to help expose her ex-boss, but she is suspicious of his motives. He’ll need to call in reinforcements: the Bromance Book Club. Inspired by the romantic suspense novel they’re reading, the book club assists Liv in setting up a sting operation to take down the chef. But they’re just as eager to help Mack figure out the way to Liv’s heart… even though she’s determined to squelch the sparks between them before she gets burned. Add to Goodreads To-Read List → You can find ordering info for this book here. View the full article

All images © the Estate of David Wojnarowicz. Courtesy of Primary Information, the Estate of David Wojnarowicz, and P·P·O·W, New York. The following letters were sent by David Wojnarowicz to his Parisian lover Jean Pierre Delage in 1979, as part of a three-year transatlantic correspondence that ended in 1982. In them, the artist details his day-to-day life with the type of unbridled earnestness that comes with that age, providing a picture of a young man just beginning to find his voice in the world and of the love he has found in it. Although the two exchanged letters in equal measure, Delage’s have largely been lost, leaving us only with a glimpse into the internal world of Wojnarowicz during what turned out to be his formative years. Capturing a foundational moment for Wojnarowicz’s artistic and literary practice, the letters not only reveal his captivating personality but also index the development of the visual language that would go on to define him as one of the preeminent artists of his generation. Included with his writings are postcards, drawings, Xeroxes, photographs, collages, flyers, and other ephemera that showcase some of Wojnarowicz’s iconic images and work, as well as document the New York that formed the backdrop to his practice. —James Hoff, editor New York City June 14, 1979 Dear Jean Pierre, I was very happy to receive your letter last night. I was also nervous. I wondered if you were receiving my cards. Your letter was beautiful, don’t worry about your English—I understand the whole letter, it made me feel sad a bit when I read it. Yesterday I got the photos returned from the shop. As I looked through them, I felt very strange, the same “foggy atmosphere.” It’s difficult to look at the photos and think about Paris and especially you. I sent a few of them to you. When I have time to work in the darkroom and develop photographs, I will make some large ones to send to you. Or maybe I will give them to you when you arrive in August. The first week after I arrived here in New York, it was very difficult not to be able to touch you, to see you and talk. I have no desire to live with anyone but you. I don’t like much of the people here in the strong ways that I feel for you. Americans, or New Yorkers, have more freedom in a certain sense, but they seem to be afraid to explore their feelings. Every one of my friends has been good with me, they try to make me feel comfortable with living in New York. But I feel very strange and I miss you. I am glad you are coming to New York in August. Do not be afraid of New York. When I returned after nine months in France, New York shocked me. But now I see it differently. There is much energy. Many things happen on the streets. Everyone rushing around and much much noise and talk. It can be very exciting, and sometimes it can be very strange. But do not worry, when you arrive I will show you many things and also help you to find your way around the city. I have hope that you will be excited by the experience. It is very different from Europe, but it can be very interesting as an experience. I think I will be working very soon. I am waiting for a job working with a photographer—they should call me today and let me know. I feel confident about having an apartment (flat) by August. I will share a flat with Brian. (Brian says: “Hello,” he hopes you are well.) I will go to the embassy soon. I have been busy looking for work. I think you are correct. Maybe I should try to live as a student in Paris. We have some time to work on this before the end of August. I wait and wish I could see you tomorrow. Again, I hope you are well, I love you and hope everything is going well. Take good care of yourself. Have a good night. I hope June and July pass quickly. I’ll be very happy to see you. Be well. —love David New York City July 2, 1979 Dear Jean Pierre, Hello! I received your letter and the postcard of the Eiffel Tower—the postcard is similar to a photograph on an American/English edition of On The Road by Jack Kerouac— the letter was also very beautiful … it’s good to hear from you so much, so many times … I am glad to hear you are reading the biography of Jack Kerouac, it’s interesting to read that man’s life—more interesting are his books, one book that is better than Celest Clouchards [sic] is a book called: SUR LA ROUTE … […] Tonight after work I walked along the river again, I watched the sun fall through the skies over the cliffs of New Jersey in a huge red ball, the color of roses in Normandy in the autumn, the skies were filled with large clouds like strange airplanes drifting against the sides of tall buildings, I walked out onto a long pier where large ships years ago would dock and unload cargo in the day and the night … the water was a dark blue and rolling under the wind that blew in from the west, it was a beautiful sunset and I felt very strange in a good way, I thought of this past year and of you, I also think to when you arrive and I will have a chance to bring you around the city and show you all these things, the river, the village and the music clubs where many new wave bands play, musicians like DEVO and TALKING HEADS and BLONDIE—it will be very exciting and also very powerful, I don’t think you will have experiences like this anywhere else except maybe England … so much energy and good music and wild living goes on here, so don’t worry about being afraid of New York, it is quite safe to walk around and I think after a few days you will feel comfortable enough here, well, we will see, also this woman I know said to me that you and I can come up to her house near Woodstock, New York, and stay for a weekend, it is so pretty up there with long long rolling hills, forests and streams and rivers and good air … oh Jean Pierre, I think to you and can not wait long to hold you and talk with you and look you in the eyes and make love and be with you sleeping and after work, you must know what I mean … take care of yourself, be good and I love you —love David > New York City October 4/5, 1979 Dear Jean Pierre, I walked around the Chinatown today and took a few photographs in this tiny Chinese coffee shop. Beautiful place, I saw two tiny photos of saints in an envelope taped to the wall behind the coffee machines, so I photographed it. Now I’m waiting in the West Village for Brian to come down—we have not spent much time together in the last month so tonight we will go to the cinema. I wandered around the river for the afternoon—it felt very peaceful with the sound of wind and water, also there were interesting things to photograph. I took many photos of graffiti that strangers made on the walls—drawings of hermaphrodites, etc. It should be interesting to see what they look like when I develop them. My friend is going to give me equipment for photos when we move into the new place. The weather is warm today, beautiful day. I hope you are okay. Take care of yourself. —love David From Dear Jean Pierre, out from Primary Information this August. David Wojnarowicz (1954–1992) was born in Red Bank, New Jersey. Wojnarowicz channeled a vast accumulation of raw images, sounds, memories, and lived experiences into a powerful voice that was an undeniable presence in the New York City art scene of the seventies, eighties, and early nineties. His use of blunt semiotics and graphic illustrations exposed what he felt the mainstream repressed: poverty, abuse of power, blind nationalism, greed, homophobia, and the devastation of the AIDS epidemic. Wojnarowicz died of AIDS-related complications at the age of thirty-seven. You can read Hannah Gold’s essay on Wojnarowicz’s letters to Jean Pierre on the Daily here. View the full article

C+ Death in Soho by Emily Organ July 31, 2021 Historical: EuropeanMystery/Thriller This was an excellent airplane book. I found it on Kindle Unlimited in the airport, and read it on a two hour flight. It held my attention, but was light enough that I could read quickly and not feel like I was taxing my tired brain. There is a lot of dialogue and in just about any other circumstance that would make me very happy. I love dialogue. But the characters do a lot of As You Know Bob filling in of the story, telling each other things they already know, or tossing memories back and forth in a clumsy, artificial manner: Remember when we did this? Oh, yes, and then that happened! So as much as the mystery is very dialogue driven, most of that dialogue is plot development, not character development. Augusta has some secrets about what she did during the first world war, and clearly has connections and skills in surveillance, but readers don’t learn a lot about her in the first book. On one hand that makes sense: it’s the start of a series. On the other, the book as a whole felt superficial. The lack of character depth made me think of paper dolls against a detailed backdrop: limited in nuance amid an interesting setting. That said, I read this book very quickly and on an airplane where it held my attention enough that it was the activity I wanted to do instead of stitching and listening to a podcast I was in the middle of. I had intended to pod & stitch, but this ended up being a much more engaging option – which makes it difficult to evaluate overall. I can see the limitations, especially where the characters were flat vehicles for plot to arrive in the form of clumsy dialogue, but I was engaged nonetheless, surprised by the mystery, and remain curious about book two. This book isn’t a meal, but it is a very good snack. View the full article

It’s a holiday week here in the US, but I’m avoiding the heat, illegal fireworks and public intoxication and staying in the AC with Lady Pudding. For her part, Pudding doesn’t celebrate the Fourth of July as she’s an avowed monarchist… …although she believes she should be the queen. She’s not wrong though. We immediately establish that Brayden has not met an accessory that he doesn’t like. “I feel like you won the First Impression rose and just said fuck it,” says Jesse. Ed. note: Please seek first aid for that burn. Ouch. The first date goes to Aaron B. They immediately bond over both having military dads. The two of them take a red convertible to a spot near the Hollywood sign and toast champagne. Back at the McMansion some of the guys complain that Aaron B isn’t here for the right reasons (take a shot). Adrian feels that at 33 here’s more mature than most of the other guys. Pudding: I have things in my litterbox that are more mature than half these guys. Later Aaron B and Charity go to dinner (that they aren’t allowed to eat) at a theater. He says that in the past he was vulnerable to his partners and implies he was cheated on. He admits he goes to therapy, which Charity thinks should be normalized among men. Then there’s a pop-up concert and they slow dance. Why are there always country singers at the pop-up concerts? Aaron B gets the date rose. The next day everyone goes to Venice Beach for a group date. Jesse, wearing beach wear that consists of jeans and a plaid blazer, announces that the guys will be competing in the Fourth Annual Dodge Bowl. The winning team will go to the afterparty. The guys will be competing in neon speedos. click for me Xavier wins the game for the pink team despite a strong showing by Caleb B on the green team. During the afterparty, Brayden and Charity make out. “It’s like in the movie Avatar where they connect the braids,” he says. I…okay. Pudding: Guess we know what they were playing on his flight to LA. Click for Brayden and Charity... I guess Later Brayden complains about Adrian being named MVP of the game, but I tune a lot of it out because it feels incredibly childish. Adrian tells Charity that he has a daughter and it was hard for him to leave her for filming. Man, do you think there is a support group of “my parent left me for months to film The Bachelor/Bachelorette” out there? He tells Charity he feels like the McMansion is like a spring break house. She doesn’t love that. She addresses the group and says that if people are treating this like a vacation, they should leave. Then she gives the date rose to John. Adrian and Brayden look pissed. The next day Charity is still worried people aren’t there for the right reasons (take a shot). The next group date takes place in a park in downtown LA, and Gabby and Rachel from last season join Charity. Neither of them are with their last season picks, BTW, because THIS SHOW NEVER ACTUALLY WORKS. They ask the guys a bunch of questions about kissing. She likes Joey’s answers the best so then they two of the break the record for the longest kiss on the franchise (just over 3 minutes). It’s really awkward you guys. They actually kiss for four minutes and twenty-five seconds. Joey winds up also a getting a one-on-one for that night. Brayden feels “disrespected” by having to watch them kiss and debates packing his bags. click for me During their date, Joey says his parents divorced because his dad came out as gay, but that his parents are still close and were great co-parents. He gets the date rose. The next day Jesse announces that instead of a cocktail party, they’re going to have a barbeque. Brayden is wearing a velvet shirt and feather earrings, the tried and true apparel of a poolside barbeque. He asks to talk to Charity about the kissing date giving him doubt. The date he wasn’t on. Later Adrian says a lot of the guys are emotionally immature and says that Brayden called her “classless” after the kissing date. “My conversation today really did reflect what Brayden said, but it didn’t have the same verbiage,” she says. Ed. note: What? So then Jesse tells the dudes that Charity was upset by some of things she heard today and… THEY ARE GOING STRAIGHT TO ROSE. Straight to rose, people! Adrian admits what he told Charity and some of the other guys are frustrated. Then it’s time for The Dreaded Rose Ceremony. Adrian gets a rose, and so does Brayden. Can’t let the BS drama end so soon. Spencer, John Henry, Caleb A, Josh, and Kaleb K go home. That’s it. Are you watching? View the full article

My daughter, who just graduated from high school, is a bit of a collector. A collector of things she no longer needs, uses, or wears. A collector of things that, in my mind, should be tossed, recycled, repurposed, and donated. But because she is not I, her bedroom, when left unchecked, takes on the beautiful properties of sedimentary rock, the layers of which reflect and mark certain eras, events, and phases of her life. During the great clean-out of June 2023, she came to show me a journal she had unearthed. “Look at this! It’s from 10th grade. These were my goals for 2021.” With her permission, I share it here: Academic: try my best 4.0 Physical: whiten teeth muscles for running fast double piercing style goals CONFIDENCE Mental: loving myself CONFIDENCE Relationships: keep my friends boyfriend I love that “whiten teeth” and “loving myself” exist on the same list. I love her use of caps for “CONFIDENCE.” But the item that stuck out to me most was the last: “boyfriend.” I imagine I had a similar list at some point, during my own pre-boyfriendozioc era. And when I started writing in 2001, I set for myself similarly naïve goals: Agent Sell book Get published This last week, the middle school where I teach deployed me to Chicago so I could attend the American Library Association conference. My mission? Gather new book titles, meet authors, swim in the voices and stories of underrepresented writers. I attended the award banquet for the winners of the Caldecott and Newbery Awards. I heard a keynote by Judy Blume. Amanda Gorman and Christian Robertson (the lovely illustrator of Gorman’s upcoming book of poetry), spoke at the conference’s closing event. I listened to what authors, teachers, and librarians are doing to thwart the plans of the few-but-screechy voices who believe keeping books off shelves keeps young people safe. I learned that Illinois recently became the first state to ban book bans. I listened to brave, often-marginalized writers share the experience of writing the stories of their hearts. I was reminded that books shepherd young people through the gauntlet of adolescence. I got to pose with foam cutouts of Narwhal and Jelly in order to get the most adorable Narwhal and Jelly tote bag. And, I got to meet my editor. Before the conference (and since June of 2022), I had only emailed with my editor. I had no idea what she looked like (she maintains a Sasquatchian presence on the internet), or whether she was warm or aloof, quiet or outspoken, tender or tough. I did know she was the most detailed, thoughtful, wise, ass-kicking editor I had ever not met. Her editorial letters and margin comments were breath-taking in their extensiveness. They were brutally honest, specific, humbling, and brilliant. They punched me in the gut and made me feel like a student who had disappointed the teacher. “She’s hates it!” I told my agent after my editor returned her second editorial letter. “I have let her down! She’s going to change her mind about me!” My agent, a fount of wisdom and class, as well as a former editor, reassured me that everything my editor was doing and saying was done in service to the book, that she loved the book, that there was no need for me to worry. I wasn’t so sure. I was nervous to meet my editor, to come face to face with her disappointment. But on day three of the conference, she and I found each other among the thousands of feisty, anti-book-ban-button-wearing, joy-filled librarians. We ordered spunky spinach salads from the cafeteria and found a quietish place to sit. After a bit of chit-chat, she looked at me. “Sarah,” she said, “this book still needs a lot of work.” She paused, patted my hand, and nodded, as if agreeing with herself. “A LOT of work.” “Yes,” I agreed. Because I like to agree with people when they are right. We talked shop for a bit. I told her about some novel research I had done the day before. We also shared bits of our lives–the joys and challenges of parenting adult children, the terror of attending, as introverts, a conference with 20,000 attendees. Our secret vices. I told her that she looked just like my beautiful, wonderful, life-changing elementary school librarian, Sally Cristofferson. I apologized that my edits weren’t farther along, that I was pokey and seemed to lack any understanding of how to craft a novel. “That’s okay!” she said. “You are still learning how to write!” Yes. OMG. I am still learning how to write. At the end of our sweet little lunch, she and I gave each other a warm hug, and after we parted ways, I marveled at just how fortunate I am to be in a partnership with someone who is a champion of my little book, someone who knows it is currently a terrific mess but sees its potential, someone who can shepherd both me and this manuscript through the gauntlet of publication. My writerly goals from 2001–Get an agent. Sell my book. Get a novel published–were as naïve and silly as my daughter’s 2021 line item of “boyfriend.” I wanted these things, but they were not necessarily what I needed. I should have written sell my book to someone who will tough-love every scene, every bit of dialogue, every bit of character motivation, so it is truly ready for the world. I should have written, find an editor who cares about these characters as much as I do. I should have written, sell this book to someone who will sort, organize, rearrange, donate, recycle, toss, refurbish, refinish, and reupholster this pigsty of a manuscript. In the fall of her junior year, my daughter did get a boyfriend. Like my daughter, he runs track and cross country. Like my daughter, he is funny, kind, gentle, sensitive, family-oriented. Unlike my daughter, he pops up from the dinner table to rinse the dishes then puts them in our dishwasher. He has the most fantastic hair. He loves our dog. I love his family. My daughter and I are both lucky. We wished for something so stupidly general, but we managed to find a relationship that is safe and healthy, with someone who likes us for who we are, and who, seeing our potential, challenges us to be better. We found what we actually needed, not what we thought we wanted. Finding the right shepherd–whether it is a critique partner, a writing group, an agent, an editor, a publisher–must be our goal. We deserve to be picky. We should not have to settle. And we should write the stories we need to write. We writers may be quirky, but we’re not weird. If there’s a story we need to write, there are probably many, many others who need to read it. Your turn! Will you share one of your more naïve goals and, perhaps, explain how that goal or wish has evolved? Or, feel free to share something that falls under the “I wish I had known …” umbrella. (And aren’t we all incredibly fortunate that, in 2006, Therese and Kathleen set this goal: “Build a kind, supportive, compassionate community of writers”? This is a much-needed community.) [url={url}]View the full article[/url]

In July 1902, a fully rigged English merchant ship, the Leicester Castle, arrived from Hong Kong at San Francisco, its iron hull heavy with wheat. After docking, its Scottish Captain Robert D. Peattie expected to lose much of his crew of 26 men as a matter of course; sailors typically scattered for the excitements of San Francisco once they were paid off, picking up a new ship when they again felt light in the pocket. Capt. Peattie needed to replace more than half his men before heading out again for the long route to Queensland, northeastern Australia. He paid a shipping master named John Savory, who rounded up fourteen candidates living at sailor boarding houses around the city. The ship’s registry recorded their range of origins: Ireland, Sweden, Finland, “Leghorn,” Germany, “Chili,” Isle of Man, “Liverpool,” as well as from the ‘U.S.A.’ When several Americans and a German named Christian Wolz (who signed on as ‘Wolf’) were brought on board, one of them, W.A. Hobbs, was told to surrender his Colt revolver to the Captain. Hobbs made no promises against sneaking ammunition aboard. Capt. Robert Peattie (SF Chronicle) 1905 The Leicester Castle returned to sea on July 27, 1902. In the opinion of its Captain, three new Americans appeared to have no experience with actual sailing, and they spent the first days vomiting and complaining about what was asked of them: The owner of the confiscated revolver, the “stoutly built and smooth shaven” W.A. Hobbs, 27, claimed to hail from Litchfield, Illinois and had been coached to falsely list experience on a previous vessel (the Crocodile) in order to rate the pay of an able seaman; Ernest Sears, 21, a runaway farm boy from McKey, Oregon, claimed to have worked the Grant; while James Turner, also 21, said he was from Ida Falls, Indiana and had sailed the Shenandoah. These men, though novices at sea, would end up united by their unhappiness aboard a makeshift raft. The Leicester Castle was 273 feet long and it was noticeable when a crewman avoided his assigned work. After two weeks, Captain Peattie had seen enough to privately disrate each of these three Americans to ordinary seaman, at lower pay. After the Chief Mate discovered Hobbs uselessly “pulling on some ropes,” he asked him “what kind of sailor” he was, according to able seaman Wolz, to which Hobbs answered that he would find out “God damned soon” what kind. Hobbs stayed in his cabin refusing to work from August 2nd to 21st, citing headaches and fever, even after the Captain brought him quinine lotion and determined there was nothing wrong with him. After the Australian first mate, Oyston, called him a “loafer” and a “blood sucker,” and ordered him to turn out, Hobbs answered, “If you knew who I was you wouldn’t come and pull me out of this bunk.” When Sears and another sailor on duty neglected to ring the watch bell, Oyston threw a bucket of water at them from the poop deck along with the bucket itself. Things would come to a head on the night of September 2nd 1902. ___________________________________ Nathan Ward’s new book, Son of the Old West, will be released by Atlantic Monthly Press in September, 2023. ___________________________________ The Leicester Castle had reached South Pacific waters on its route to Queensland, and some crew slept on deck to find breezes. “It was beautiful tropical weather,” remembered the Captain, “every sail was set and drawing.” Capt. Peattie was quietly reading in his room before bed when one of the Americans, the farm boy Ernest Sears, appeared in the doorway to report an accident around 10:30 that evening. As recorded in the ship’s log, “Sears asked the Master [Capt. Peattie] to turn out as a man had fallen from the foreyard and broken his leg.” Capt. Peattie was puzzled at the nighttime climbing that could have led to such a fall. But he moved into the cabin and lit a lamp to prepare his table for treating the injured man. When he asked Sears where was the sailor, he replied “Just outside.” Then, wrote the Captain: Suddenly W.A. Hobbs…stepped into the cabin by the starboard door with a revolver in his right hand and a club in his left and with only the words ‘Now then Captain’ fired striking the Master [Peattie] in the left breast, the Master attempted to close with him and struck him once, but was fired at again and struck on the head with the club which brought him to the deck, where other two shots were fired at him and his head was severely beaten by the club.” Peattie was shot four times before his second officer, J. B. Nixon, appeared at the port door in a singlet and white pants, drawn by the sounds of gunfire. Hobbs fired a shot to his heart, killing Nixon in the doorway with his own gun, which Hobbs had stolen from Nixon’s cabin, hoping to use it to retrieve his own Colt from the Captain. While the crew became gradually aware what had noisily happened, Capt. Peattie was treated by a crewman who had medical experience from the Boer War. Pitcairn Island, home of the Bounty mutineers, 1814. (J. Shillibeer/ State Lib. New South Wales) Able seaman Vincent Collins had shared the evening watch with Hobbs and Sears a few hours before the killing, and heard Hobbs ask second mate Nixon, “Are we going to call at Pitcairn Island?” Pitcairn was a remote rocky island in the South Pacific famously settled in 1790 by the original mutineers from the HMS Bounty, whose descendants were said to live there still over a century later. Even landlubbers like the three Americans would have learned from Boys’ Stories about the rebellion aboard the Bounty, its crew settling on Pitcairn after overthrowing Captain William Bligh. Hobbs may have pictured the island as a sanctuary where pirates might be forgiven and was disappointed in the mate’s answer that the winds would not quite allow them to “fetch it.” But not for the wind, Capt. Peattie had meant to come within five or six miles, where the islanders were known to row out and trade local fruits and vegetables with passing crews at anchor. Following the sounds of shooting, Collins encountered Hobbs as he ran downstairs, excited and out of breath (and having emptied Nixon’s gun). After he disappeared again, there was the sound of hammering from the foredeck. The other crew kept away, waiting to confront the Americans at sunrise, as the three men hurriedly built themselves a raft, stealing some provisions (as well as another sailor’s boots and an overcoat) and at least one bucket of water. The Leicester Castle was more than 300 miles off Pitcairn Island when they escaped. It was unclear whether hearing about the proximity of the island had suggested the violent plan, since Hobbs had been overheard asking if the ship would be “calling” there. According to Vincent Collins, Hobbs had once told him he had been a cowboy in Mexico, Turner said he had invalided out of the American army in the Philippines, and Sears had run away from home “to go to sea.” No one knew if any of it was true beyond the part about running away from home. Around 1:00 am they dropped their makeshift float over the port side, and the figures of three men were soon seen passing the stern; Wolz, who held the ship’s wheel, heard Hobbs saying, “Hurrah for the American flag.” Did he say anything else, Wolz would be asked, “Yes, sir. ‘All I am sorry for, I couldn’t kill every English cock-sucker aboard.’” Before vanishing, Hobbs shouted, “Take a drink at Juli’s,” referring to a Silver City mining camp saloon he and Wolz had discussed. As the Americans floated off into the dark, a dozen men went up to the poop deck with what guns they could gather on board, including Hobbs’ confiscated Colt from the Captain’s quarters. “The ship was still in the darkness,” recalled Vincent Collins. “…on hearing the voices we fired in the direction of the raft.” Lying wounded in his bunk, Capt. Peattie heard the guns on the deck. Over the coming days, the men were thought dead, given the flimsiness of their mastless raft among the large sharks and ocean swells. “It was generally supposed that the three men had been drowned,” recalled Capt. Peattie, “and I never thought they would live till morning when I heard what the raft was made of.” From a quick inventory of what was missing, their float was assumed to be about twelve feet long and four feet wide, its planks buoyed by three cork cylinders torn from the forward life boat. Peattie would note in the ship’s ‘Slop Chest Book,’ beneath an earlier record of plugs of tobacco purchased by Turner and Hobbs: ‘deserted at Sea 3 Sep.’ The men and their raft were not seen again after their escape, but a passing ship, the Howth, later spotted bonfires on Pitcairn, signaling the presence of castaways the islanders wanted removed, its captain believed. But the winds prevented the Howth from investigating more closely, as the winds also did not favor the Leicester Castle’s visiting Pitcairn to learn if the three had somehow reached it without a sail. At noon following the violent night, the body of 2nd officer Nixon was sewn inside his hammock along with an iron weight and “committed to the sea.” The wounded Capt. Peattie could not preside at the ceremony, but a week later was “healing quite nicely” without signs of blood poisoning and managed to hold on all the way to Queensland, by which time he could give a full account of the small uprising in which he nearly died. He would characterize the violence not as an act of classic mutiny (since the great majority had not rebelled), but more like piracy. The three Americans, who were barely sailors, had acted like “desperadoes of the worst class.” Newspapers would carry the story of the ‘cowboy mutineers.’ Capt. Peattie was recovered enough to command a new voyage aboard the Leicester Castle months after his near-death, accompanied by his two daughters. They left England for Vancouver in March 1903, and when the vessel put in there, the story of the “mutiny” by the Americans was revived in local newspapers. This drew the father of Ernest Sears to travel from his Oregon farm to meet the captain, and compare stories about his runaway son. After leaving Ontario, the Leicester Castle finally made a visit to Pitcairn Island, in the fall of 1903, a little over a year after the Americans’ disappearance. One of Capt. Peattie’s daughters traveling with him, Jean Oliphant Barlow, wrote a remembrance of their day-trip to Pitcairn, where the locals “sighted us from the heights of the island, and about a dozen of the men had rowed out to us laden with all manner of luscious fruits, to barter with us for any old clothes or anything in the eatable line which we could spare.” The men were dressed in cast-off naval uniforms, white trousers, and caps from their previous trades. The daughters talked their father into going ashore with him, a difficult landing because of high rocks and rolling surf. Pitcairn’s original “Bounty Bell,” was rung to herald the guests’ arrival. Jean Barlow admired the lonely island’s outbuildings (wood, thatched with leaves) and enjoyed the sweet scents of its flowers. The local women were barefoot, but wore “long, pinafore dresses falling from the neck right down to the ankle” and wanted to know how English ladies wore their hair. Capt. Peattie dined with Pitcairn’s schoolmaster, a London man who had married an islander, while the Captain’s daughters ate with a “Matron” descendant of one of the 1790 mutineers, “Miss Young,” who showed them the original Bible from the Bounty crew and signed a copy of her own history of the island. The visitors were served a variety of fruits, including tomatoes, which Miss Young had grown from cuttings given her by a passing ship’s crew. “She told us if they had only our British singing birds their island would be a Paradise,” Jean Barlow wrote. But Capt. Peattie would note something else lacking about the place: “I could learn nothing of Hobbs, Turner, or Sears.” As far as he was concerned, the story of his American highwaymen ended with their disappearance aboard their doomed, implausible raft, which had failed to reach the mutineers’ island. II. But two years after the shooting, in March 1904, one of the ship’s former crew, the German-born Christian Wolz, was traveling across Texas, looking a bit ragged but hoping to find new prospects in the West, when he claimed to have an astonishing encounter. Wolz had originally boarded with two of the Americans in San Francisco before shipping out on the Leicester Castle, and now saw a man he recognized as Turner at the depot in El Paso: “I went towards the depot,” he explained, “and I have met Turner and I said, ‘Hello,’ and he says ‘Hello.’ I says ‘How did you get here?’ ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘A schooner picked us up and brought us to San Francisco.’” Turner said he was headed for Idaho Falls, Wolz remembered, “That is all the talk I had with him.” But he also seemed to have told him that a man named Hobbs was living in Clifton, Arizona as a sheriff. When asked under oath why he ended the conversation with the mutineer, Wolz answered, “I didn’t feel like staying with him because he might have harmed me.” Months later, on Christmas day, Wolz boarded a train at Douglas, Arizona and met a middle-aged stranger named William Sparks. The two had begun discussing some shipping incident then in the news when Wolz offered his own dramatic sea tale, “I told him I was on the Leicester Castle, then he began to ask me questions about it.” He became animated when Wolz told about his running into Turner near El Paso. Sparks, it turned out, was an Arizona Ranger, and also knew about Sheriff Hobbs, but not his past. Indeed, Lee Hobbs was deputy sheriff of Graham County. The terrified Wolz had no desire ever to see the murderous Hobbs again, but word soon got out that a survivor of the Leicester Castle had turned up in Arizona. The Arizona Rangers held a grudge against Sheriff Hobbs, who had refused to hold some of their Mexican prisoners, releasing them during a recent flood; Sparks sent a cablegram to Scotland Yard, then he and his superior came to see Wolz, before arresting Hobbs in Clifton without explanation. “I first arrested him for turning those prisoners loose,” Sparks recalled on the stand. But once Hobbs was bundled into a stagecoach, he had seen a little more of his warrant. As his friends gathered near the stage window to ask the reason for his arrest, Hobbs deadpanned, “For murder on the high seas.” Hobbs was brought to a dining room in a boarding house, where it was arranged that Wolz might discreetly look him over beneath an electric light; he identified Sheriff Lee Hobbs as the mutineer by his features, chiefly “a little mole on his left cheek.” This was the W.A. Hobbs with whom he had sailed from San Francisco, the murderer from the Leicester Castle. When his accuser was pointed out to him, Hobbs thought he had a scruffy look like “a Hobo,” and noted the thin soles of his shoes. Lee Hobbs was held by the rangers for thirty days. An extradition trial followed the complaint brought by ‘His Britannic Majesty’s Consul-General’ Courtenay Walter Bennett, on behalf of the United Kingdom against “W.A. Hobbs, otherwise called and known as Lee Hobbs,” who “has been found and now is within the said Territory of Arizona.” Hobbs’s crimes included attempting to murder Capt. Peattie, “a human being in the peace of God and of His said Britannic Majesty.” The Consul-General endured a stagecoach adventure from San Francisco through the Arizona Territory to attend the trial in Phoenix, in April 1905. It was said to be the most dramatic event yet in that city, and attended by dozens of Hobbs’ cowboy friends who wore their guns to show support. Despite Wolz’s testimony that this was the same Hobbs he’d seen during the violent voyage of the Leicester Castle, several witnesses suggested alibis for the sheriff; local newspaper stories cited arrests made by Sheriff Lee Hobbs at the time of the mutiny, and the man who ran the San Francisco boarding house where W.A. Hobbs had stayed before joining the Leicester Castle said the deputy sheriff was not the man he had known. (He then accepted drinks from Hobbs’s cowboy friends the rest of the afternoon.) While the killer was recalled as “smooth shaven,” Sheriff Hobbs testified about the history of his mustache, which he claimed to have worn all through the dates in question. Likewise, when asked if he had a mole on his face, the clinching mark for Wolz’s identification, he denied it, as did the judge inspecting him from the bench. Capt. Peattie and Vincent Collins were summoned to a Bow Street police station in London, where they again gave their accounts of the deadly voyage. The Captain identified Hobbs’s revolver presented to him as the Colt he had held in his cabin and went over the ship’s log books to fact-check his memory, which seemed to need little refreshing about the violence. Collins also recalled the shootings and recited what little background he had gleaned about the Americans. Capt. Peattie still bore the bullets from his ordeal when he set out from England, headed for the trial in Arizona, where he was eager to make the long journey to identify the killer of his second mate. The Captain was expected to be the last, most important witness. “The Captain and two members of the [Leicester Castle] crew are now on their way to America,” announced the London Weekly Dispatch in late April 1905, “where they will be confronted by the Sheriff of Graham’s County.” But the Captain was still en route to New York, where he would begin the overland part of the trek to Phoenix, when the judge pronounced Hobbs innocent. Had Sheriff Hobbs not had the sort of job where he made arrests that were reported in the newspapers, he might have been extradited for trial in England. Lee Hobbs got on with his life following the ruling, but he also hired a lawyer from Tucson, who gathered together the trial transcripts and documentary evidence (some 700 pages) to prepare for a future damages suit against the British government. The materials were sent to the Territorial government at Phoenix to forward to the US State Department for Hobbs’s lawsuit. But this case was never brought before Hobbs died of consumption in 1914. It is not hard to see why this story sank into obscurity, once the Arizona Hobbs and murderer Hobbs were ruled not to be the same man. As mutiny tales go, it was minor, since only three of the crew went over the side, and the Judge’s later ruling in Phoenix deprived the high seas drama of its denoument. I spent several months trying to prove poor Sheriff Hobbs guilty, receiving research help from archivists in Arizona, Washington, and Liverpool to gather all the materials from the trial and the account by Capt. Peattie’s daughter of their visit to Pitcairn Island, where the escaped Americans were not found. Any movie of the episode would make Sheriff Hobbs guilty, for the sake of the story, but he wasn’t. The Judge was right, which makes it less likely that fellow mutineer James Turner survived in order for Wolz to blunder into him on an El Paso street. If Wolz was bribed or bullied by the Rangers into cooperation, Turner may have been added as a segue connecting one Hobbs to the other, against whom the Rangers already held a considerable grudge. In fact, rather than plucked from the ocean, the three Americans may have ended life just as Capt. Peattie imagined, even hoped, in his less charitable moments: not lasting long enough on their feeble raft to exhaust their inadequate supplies, they were quickly drowned by the waves and taken by the sharks. As he noted, none of them had been much of a sailor. View the full article

Many noir tales feature infidelity as the motive behind mayhem and murder. More than a few of my favorite novels, films and songs have been motivated by cheating partners whose adulterous lust leads to broken hearts, cracked heads, stolen money or dead bodies. A few of the cheating narratives I’ve admired over the years include the Billy Paul song “Me & Mrs. Jones,” the steamy flick Body Heat and James M. Cain’s masterful debut novel The Postman Always Rings Twice (1934). Cain’s hardboiled story was about a miserable woman named Cora Papadakis who has an affair with java gulping hobo Frank Chambers, who’d recent been thrown off a “hay truck.” Click to view slideshow. Minutes after meeting him, Cora’s husband Nick Papadakis hired Frank to work at the gas station outside their diner Twin Oaks Tavern. Nick was a cool guy from Greece who had relocated to rural California to make his fortune in the world. He loved wine, money and perhaps his wife, but Cora viewed him as the barrier that kept her from freedom. She soon recruits Frank, who was in lust with her at first sight, to help murder Nick. Cain’s text was as naughty as it was intriguing, and The Postman Always Rings Twice has been adapted several times on screen and stage. The 1946 noir starring Lana Turner and John Garfield has long been a respected landmark while the 1981 remake starring Jack Nicholson and Jessica Lange, directed by Bob Rafelson with a screenplay by David Mamet, was my least liked film of the decade. While in the first film Cora was an alluring earth angel (Lana Turner literally had a sanctified glow) who became a femme fatale, Jessica Lange’s portrayal was grittier, sweatier and hornier. In fact, the entire film was grimy. “They took a classic and turned it into pornographic trash,” Lana Turner told Phil Donahue in 1982. James M. Cain was an Annapolis, Maryland native who had worked several jobs before becoming a middle-aged novelist; he was forty-two when The Postman Always Rings Twice was published. Cain soon became the king of infidelity noir: two-timing spouses and the murders that followed. A former journalist and screenwriter, his writing style was raw, but poetic with a side of erotic fetishism thrown in. Cain would go on to write a few other infidelity masterworks including Double Indemnity (1936) and Mildred Pierce (1941), but it was Postman… that I read first. I bought the book after peeping in the window of the original Mysterious Bookshop on 56th Street in 1984. There was a special display window to commemorate the book’s 50th anniversary. Having seen the original film at the Thalia months before, I was ready to dive deep into Cain’s bleak world filled with various levels of betrayal. I devoured the paperback in a couple of subway rides between work in midtown and my Harlem home. While earlier that year I’d gone through a Hemingway/Fitzgerald phase, two writers who we’re taught from a young age represented the genuine American voice, I was more drawn to Cain’s brutal world. Though Cain wasn’t the first to write world-weary, cynical and lustful crime fiction, his refined style of viciousness inspired countless others. Years before he too became a novelist, journalist/ cultural critic Tom Wolfe wrote in his 1969 introduction to the collection Cain X 3, “Cain was one of those writers who first amazed me and delighted me when I was old enough to start looking around and seeing what was being done in American literature…I can see how complex Cain’s famous ‘fast-paced,’ ‘hard-boiled’ technique really is.” Back when I was a teenager, knowing the cheating ways of my father, having witnessed mom curse his name and my stepmother curse him out, I vowed to never inflict that kind of emotional pain on any woman I loved. In 1984, when I still had morals and was guided by what I was taught at Catholic school St. Catherine of Genoa, I thought I would never put myself in the same sort of compromising situation Frank Chambers found himself in with a married woman. Certainly, what kind of man can be so blinded by lust that he’d go against the seventh commandment and sleep with another man’s woman or cheat on his own? That self-righteousness lasted until the following year. Like many nice boys who grow-up to be messed-up men, I slipped and became a cheater. It’s funny how real life can turn into a noir novel (or film) real quick. Ironically, my first cheat happened across the street from the Mysterious Bookshop at a coffee shop called Miss Brooks, where I worked and had an affair with a married manager. The last occurred in the fall of 2000, sixty-six years after the first printing of Cain’s novel, when I had a summer fling with a woman named Elizabeth that began in August and ended badly one night in a SoHo restaurant after she was two hours late for dinner. Elizabeth owned and operated a movie website and I was a pop culture critic who wrote for cultural rags. Two months after we split, I ran into her at a screening for a biopic about Vincent Van Gogh, one of my favorite painters. Minutes before the film began Elizabeth was escorted down the aisle by a red jacket wearing usher. Stopping at the row where I was sitting, she glanced over and smiled. Taking a seat next to me, she blurted, “I didn’t plan this.” “It would’ve taken a lot to do that,” I replied. “Plus, I don’t mind seeing you.” “Well, that’s a relief. Have you missed me?” Just as she asked the question the house lights dimmed, the curtains opened and some of the other critics were shushing people before the projector started flickering. Starting at exactly 7 pm, the next two hours was a brilliant mediation on madness, art, brotherhood and sacrifice. The tragic brilliance of Van Gogh’s life and work made me weep. There were still tears in my eyes when the lights were turned on. Elizabeth glanced over, but remained quiet. Like the rest of the audience she was stunned silent by the masterwork we’d just experienced. We stood at the same time. Liz was about 5’5″, but in heels she could almost look me in the eye. “Are you going to the after-party?” she asked. “I hadn’t planned on it, but if you want to hangout for a while, I’m down.” “Plus the food and liquor is free,” she said laughing. “That’s my favorite price.” Outside yellow cabs lined the block. The Supper Club, the midtown venue where the party was being held, wasn’t far. We settled in the cab and I glanced over at Liz and felt a shiver. She looked beautiful, elegant and smart as the girls with glasses that I usually dated. “You look marvelous,” I said, quoting Billy Crystal mimicking Fernando Lamas on Saturday Night Live. Liz smiled. “Thank you. That’s kind of you.” I smiled. “You don’t have to be so formal Liz, loosen up.” We arrived at the club in 15-minutes. Three vodkas and Red Bulls later we were dancing wildly to “Come On Eileen.” At that point Red Bull was a relatively new drink in America, and neither Liz nor I realized the cocktail would make us both intoxicated and hyper. However, when the DJ played that MTV staple from twenty years before, we lost our minds. Hours later I was awoken by the morning sun beaming through a window and the soothing vocals of Bill Withers singing “Lovely Day.” Slowly opening my eyes, I discovered myself in an unfamiliar bedroom wearing only my underwear and a black t-shirt. Glancing around, I saw a picture of Liz on the dresser and slapped my forehead like the people in those old V8 juice commercials. Since we’d broken up Liz had moved to Jersey City, but how I’d gotten from the after-party to the 20th floor of a newly built residential skyscraper was a mystery that was soon replaced by the smell of eggs and bacon frying down the hall. Seconds later Liz walked into the room and smiled. She looked ravishing in the morning light. “Oh good,” she said. “I wanted to make sure you were awake. The food is almost ready and I brought you a cup of coffee.” She sat the flowered mug on the night table and kissed me on the forehead. A part of me wondered if I’d been drugged. “What happened last night?” “What do you mean? “I mean, how did I get here?” “You don’t remember? I called a car for us. We came here, and made love on the living room floor.” “Like animals?” I laughed. “Yes, like animals.” Liz laughed too. “Then we came into the bedroom, made love again and went to sleep.” Though I’d been drinking since I was a sneaky teenager bar hopping in Baltimore, I had never blacked out nor woke-up in another state. Oh well, things could’ve been worse I reasoned. After breakfast Liz insisted that I walk with her to the mall a few blocks away. On the way there we passed a few abandoned factories that would soon be converted into condos. A decade before, it was obviously someone’s dream to turn working-class Jersey City into a luxury branded outer borough to Manhattan, and by the early 2000s it was progressing at a steady pace. Afterwards we went to the promenade, sat on a new bench and talked. By the time we stood-up an hour later, Liz and I were a couple again. All was lovey dovey for a few weeks as we walked around looking like unmarried honeymooners. Everything was fine until Liz suddenly announced in November that she was going to Chicago to attend a business conference. “I’ll only be gone for a few days,” she promised. I had no reason not to believe her. She left the following day. A week passed and while we spoke on the phone every day, Liz was still in Chicago. Considering that it was her hometown I figured she was spending time with friends and family. However, one afternoon I received a call from our mutual friend Shawn, another Chicago transplant living in New York. After we caught up, he said, “I wanted to ask you…are you still dating Liz?” “Yeah, man. Why?” “Well, I don’t know if I should tell you this, but I saw Liz at a business conference and she was with her ex-boyfriend. Some New York City dude she dated a few years back. They were all hugged up, telling me they got back together. In my mind I’m thinking, ‘Does Mike know?’” “Mike didn’t know shit, but thanks for telling me.” After hanging-up, I flopped back on the couch and began humming TLC’s infidelity anthem “Creep.” I had heard from yet another friend about Liz’s cheating ways in the past, but I was still surprised that it happened to me. Though shocked, I wasn’t mad. A part of me thought it was kind of funny that, after making such a big deal about our break-up, she’d cheat on me so soon after we reconciled. Hours after learning of Liz’s betrayal I went out with my friend Anna Silverman, a publicist at a prominent rap/R&B record company. She brought her co-worker Terry, a pretty light-skinned woman who had the nerd appeal that I loved. We drank dirty martinis and after the third I asked, “Is it okay if I kiss you?” Terry smiled. “You’re fresh, but it’s all right.” I leaned forward and started with a peck on the lips before diving deeper. Although I didn’t count the minutes our tongues were entangled, I believe we set some kind of record. By the end of the night I had a new girlfriend. Three days later Liz finally returned to her apartment. We spoke a few times on the phone, but I never revealed that I knew of her reconnection with the old boyfriend. That night I met her in the city at a restaurant in Tribeca. We sat in a booth and ordered our meal. We chit chatted about this and that until Liz finally said, “Michael, I’ve started dating my old boyfriend again. I’m afraid we’re going to have to break-up.” “Really? Can’t you just cheat on him with me?” She looked as though she was considering it, but changed her mind. “No, I don’t think that’ll work.” “It’s alright. I’ve started dating someone else myself.” “Wait a minute,” Liz screamed in an indignantly stern voice. “You’ve been cheating on me?” “You cheated first.” “Yes, but you didn’t know that.” “Actually, I found out before you returned and started messing around with my new woman that night.” “You have a new girl? That was fast.” I assumed Liz felt cheated because I wasn’t mad or wounded. Perhaps she’d wanted me to scream or cry or stomp my feet like a crazy person. “Are you sure you weren’t dating her before I left for Chicago?” “You have a lot of nerve. You tell me you’re going away for a few days and that turned into weeks. Then I hear you’re back with what’s-his-name, but now you’re trying to turn this around on me. Give me a break.” Neither of us ordered dinner and after one more cocktail for the road we departed. There was a full moon hovering overhead as I watched her high heel walked towards the World Trade Centers to the trains to New Jersey that ran beneath the gleaming towers. Months later my telephone rang. I answered without looking at the caller ID and was surprised to hear Liz’s jovial voice. “I just wanted to tell you that my boyfriend proposed to me a few days ago. I’m getting married.” “That’s wonderful, but what makes you think that I care?” “Well, we’re going to see each other at that screening tonight at the Tribeca Grand and I didn’t want you acting weird when you saw my ring finger.” “Men don’t check out ring fingers. Really, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. You know, I’m a bit oblivious.” That night, before the screening, there was a cocktail reception. Liz and her husband to be strolled in looking sharp. She introduced me to the guy and I wondered if he knew our history. Seconds later she was waving her fingers in front of my face as though she was a hand model or a magician’s assistant. “Congratulations to both of you,” I said. He thanked me and then excused himself to go to the bar. Liz waved the diamond in front of my face a few more times until I growled, “Do it again and I’m going to cut off your hand.” “Damn you’re mean?” Liz chuckled. “But that was a good line. You can use that in your novel.” “You think so?” A few months passed before I spoke or saw Liz again. But, as luck would have it, I overheard her talking on her cell one evening at the Strand Bookstore and I was instantly excited. She tried to shatter my heart, but I still liked her. “Hey Liz.” Startled, she turned around quickly and dropped her book in the process. It was then that I noticed that her sparkling diamond was gone. “Where’s your ring?” Liz looked at her hand as though for the first time. “Oh, I broke up with him. He was cheating on me.” Without meaning to, I burst out laughing. “I’m glad you think it’s so damn funny.” “I’m sorry. It’s just ironic. I assume you returned the ring.” “No I didn’t return it, I lost it.” “Lost it?” “It slipped off my finger one morning in the sink and went down the drain.” “Sounds like someone put voodoo on you. Or maybe it was karma.” Liz grinned weakly. “Are you still with your new girl?” “Yeah, we’re still together, but that doesn’t mean that you and I can’t go out for a drink one of these days.” She smiled, I winked and we both knew what I meant. Still, while flirtations came easily, taking that gamble a third time was the last thing either of us wanted to chance. View the full article

There’s nothing quite like a cozy mystery novel for me. From the charming small-town settings to the quirky cast of characters, there’s just something about this sub-genre that always leaves me feeling warm and fuzzy inside. But you know what my absolute favorite thing about cozies is? The amateur sleuths. That’s right, forget about your typical hard-boiled detectives and seasoned police officers. In a cozy mystery, everyday people are the ones who take action to solve crimes in their hometowns. Whether it’s a talented baker, a curious librarian, or a spunky grandmother with a knack for trouble, these characters bring so much heart and personality to the stories they inhabit. They’re relatable, flawed, and always get to the bottom of a mystery. And as a writer, there’s nothing more satisfying than crafting a sleuth who’s just as determined as they are endearing. So if you’re looking for a mystery sub-genre that’s full of heart and personality, look no further than the cozy mystery. Remember, the most effective heroes in solving crimes can sometimes be the unlikeliest ones. A few years ago, social media was awash with phrases like Boss Lady, Girl Boss, and Lady Boss. These terms encouraged individuals, regardless of their profession, to strive for greatness. It made me reflect on the amateur sleuths in cozy mysteries. As someone who has been an avid reader of these mysteries for over twenty years, I realized that the protagonists in my favorite cozy mysteries were nothing short of Boss Sleuths. Of course, some may dismiss these amateur detectives as mere busybodies, but I see them in a different light. They are brave, intelligent, and resourceful individuals who take on the formidable task of solving a murder without the help of formal training or access to resources available to law enforcement. It’s these qualities that make them true Boss Sleuths in my eyes. Amateur sleuths are not just nosy parkers, they are fierce and determined women who will stop at nothing to uncover the truth and serve justice. They’re willing to put everything on the line, from their friendships and family relationships to their careers and social status, and even their own safety, in pursuit of finding justice. These women are not content to sit back and let an innocent person be falsely accused, nor will they let a victim go without justice simply because others don’t see their worth. They are passionate and relentless, with a deep sense of purpose that drives them forward. For these women, the search for truth and justice is not just a hobby, it’s a calling. When you’re writing a cozy mystery series, the first character you create, which is usually the amateur sleuth, is the backbone of your entire story. That’s why I’ve spent countless hours developing my amateur sleuths. I’m going to be living and breathing these characters for a long time to come. In fact, I’ve created three different sleuths over the years, each with their own unique quirks and traits. But here’s the thing: crafting a memorable and engaging amateur sleuth is easier said than done. That’s why I’m excited to share with you my top three tips for creating a sleuth that readers will love. These are the same tips I’ve used to create my beloved characters, and I know they’ll help you too. So buckle up, grab a notebook, and get ready to create your own cozy mystery sleuth. Tip # 1 – Suspect everyone To solve a murder case, it’s important to let go of any assumptions and consider all possible suspects, including those who appear innocent. It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it. After all, somebody is lying, and it’s your job to find out who. Tip # 2 – Learn when to say “yes” To really get close to your suspects, you need to learn when to say “yes” to any and all opportunities to hang out with them. Whether it’s a community event or just grabbing a coffee, getting to know your suspects can be key to getting them to let their guard down and reveal some juicy information. Tip # 3 – Question everyone’s motive Of course, not everyone is going to spill the beans willingly. That’s when you need to start questioning everyone’s motives. Everyone has secrets, and some of those secrets might just be motive enough for murder. It’s not always going to be easy, and some of those conversations might be downright uncomfortable, but if you want to solve the case, you need to be willing to go there. I hope these tips are helpful. Creating my own Boss Sleuth has been an incredible journey, one that’s allowed me to explore the depths of my imagination and create a character who’s truly a force to be reckoned with. Whether it’s my newest protagonist, Mallory Monroe, or any of the other amazing amateur sleuths out there, one quote always comes to mind: “Women are like tea bags – you never know how strong she is until she’s in hot water.” These words, often attributed to the legendary Eleanor Roosevelt, perfectly capture the spirit and tenacity of these amazing women. So go forth and let your imagination run wild. Create a character who’s truly unforgettable, and who will keep readers on the edge of their seats with every turn of the page. After all, with a little bit of determination and a whole lot of creativity, anything is possible. *** View the full article

Heather Levy is the author of Walking on Needles and a nonfiction series on human sexuality and BDSM, as well as the forthcoming Hurt for Me. She lives in Oklahoma, where her novels are set. In Hurt for Me, a survivor of abuse finds empowerment and financial independence in her career as a dungeon master, but her new life is threatened when one of her clients goes missing, just after telling her about a private party with no rules—and no safe words. In Hurt for Me, Heather Levy draws a stark difference between the consensual, safe practices of BDSM and the dangerous behaviors of those who would take advantage. When we were given the opportunity to interview Levy as part of revealing the cover of her new book, I decided to ask her craft advice for writing about kink responsibly. Molly Odintz: What is your advice for writing sex? Heather Levy: My biggest piece of advice for writing about sex is to go for it without fear of getting it wrong. When a sex scene is highly orchestrated on the page, it can read as inauthentic and robotic. Sex isn’t perfect, and that can be reflected in scenes while still maintaining the steam factor. I love seeing slight stumbles when two characters are having sex because it creates a sense of intimacy. I want to be in that space with the characters, in their heads as they’re experiencing each other and all the emotions—lust, trepidation, embarrassment, etc.—they may feel. MO: What were your considerations when it came to portraying the kink community? HL: Anytime I’m writing about kink, my one goal is to present it as authentically as possible. As a member of the kink community, I want to show BDSM and other aspects of kink as a normal part of people’s sexuality. In the case of Hurt for Me, my protagonist is a single mom and business owner. She worries about trying to be a good parent and keeping afloat in a struggling economy just like anyone else. Her love of kink is only one layer of her life, as it is with many within the kink community. Interview continues below cover image. MO: How has kink been treated by mainstream culture in the past? And how do you think that’s changed over the past decade or so? HL: I cringe every time I read a book or watch a show or film displaying kink as a character flaw. How many times do we see a sadist in a film or show as the “good guy”? Or a submissive person who’s also strong and kicks ass? Mainstream culture is still stuck on the Madonna-whore complex where the chaste characters get the gold, and the sexualized characters are kicked to the curb or murdered off. Think most crime TV shows. But I do believe we’re seeing improvement in how kink’s presented in mainstream culture. One show I loved is Netflix’s “How to Build a Sex Room.” It’s not only kink positive but informative for people who are new to those experiences. I sometimes long for the days of films like Belle de Jour, Bound, or Blue Velvet to help offset the Fifty Shades franchise, but there have been more recent kinky films like The Duke of Burgundy and even the fun Korean rom-com Love and Leashes that give me hope. MO: Who are the authors who’ve written about sex work best, do you think? HL: I absolutely adore Tiffany Reisz’s writing. Her Original Sinners series is sexy, funny, and portrays kink and sex workers in an authentic manner. You really get to know and root for her characters throughout the series, and—whew—is it steamy! I also love A.R. Torre’s work in The Girl in Nowhere she gives readers one of the most unconventional sex workers I’ve ever read who also happens to kick ass. There are some newer writers I’m also excited about, including Briana Una McGuckin, whose debut On Good Authority combines two of my favorite things: kink and the Victorian era. The build-up was so hot I thought the pages would burst into flames! MO: What’s your advice for balancing between character building and moving the plot along? “Kink is about voicing your desires without shame, and that alone can be empowering.” HL: To me, it’s important to give readers some breathing room during a major plot point. This is also a natural moment to allow characters to react and process what’s happening in the book before bouncing on to the next scene. Part of character building is throwing hurdles at the protagonist and seeing what they’ll decide do and how they’ll overcome them. It’s in that decision-making where the plot can progress while still building layers with the character. MO: Your novel talks a lot about women and agency—losing it, wrestling it back. What were you thinking about with control, and power, and women’s experiences, when you were writing the novel? HL: I thought a lot about what’s been going on in society within the last few years and how women’s bodily autonomy is being stripped away. More and more, women are having to find creative and effective ways to take back agency, whether it’s within their own intimate relationships, in the workplace, or getting involved in politics. Kink, when consensual, is such a powerful way for women to take control of their sexuality. It doesn’t matter if they lean submissive or dominant or somewhere in between. Kink is about voicing your desires without shame, and that alone can be empowering. MO: What’s a question you wish you got asked more? HL: Do you think AI will eventually kill publishing if it continues to go unchecked? My answer: yes. I do have a fear of being a new author and having my lifelong dreams crushed by AI-generated stories becoming bestsellers, which is a real thing happening today. Society needs writers, not computers, to reflect our experiences as humans. *** View the full article

By Linnea Gradin For many aspiring authors, finishing and publishing their first novel is their ultimate goal. Completing it promises an immense sense of accomplishment, but the road there is often long and arduous, so it’s easy to get stuck on the way. Add to that the pressure of putting everything you want to say into a single story, and the fear of the blank page can start to hinder your writing progress. It’s for this reason (and many others) that I’m a huge proponent of the short story. Below, I’ve outlined five ways this shorter format can help you beat procrastination and become a more effective writer — both in terms of skill and routine. 1. Building a consistent writing habit When it comes to writing, simply getting words down on paper on a regular basis is an invaluable skill in and of itself. The length of a short story feels more attainable, allowing you to actually get started. Frequent calls for submissions are another way in which short stories can help you create a consistent writing habit. With novels, it’s easy to push things indefinitely, especially as the sheer size of the undertaking looms large. With short stories, you’re facing a smaller task and you’ll often have monthly or quarterly submissions — such as WoW’s flash fiction and essay contests, or even weekly short story competitions like Reedsy Prompts — to stay on top of. When you have some places to submit to regularly, it becomes much easier to establish part-way goals and keep up with a consistent writing routine. 2. Exploring your creativity and experimenting The short story format also comes with the exciting possibility of exploring multiple avenues of interest. Unlike novels where you commit to a single idea over a longer period of time, each story you write can tackle something new, giving you the freedom to experiment with wilder ideas. If it doesn’t pay off, there’s always the next story. If you’re someone who’s driven by curiosity, this is a great way to build positive associations to the writing process. When you allow yourself to follow where your curiosity leads and tell all the different stories floating around in your mind, you get a chance to push your own limits. And as you experiment with genres — from literary fiction and fantasy to horror and romance — and play with the format, writing consistently becomes significantly easier. 3. Completing arcs and finishing projects There’s also a lot to be said for the feeling you get when you actually finish something. With short stories, you get to experience the dopamine release much more often. Of course, with novels, there’s the promise of delayed gratification to keep you going, but with shorter pieces, the finish line seems that much closer. Before you know it, you can’t wait for the next time you get to sit down and write just to experience the heady feeling of accomplishment again. 4. Honing your writing skills The creative process is subjective, and writing a short story isn’t necessarily easier than writing a novel just because it’s shorter. The challenge of the short story lies in the fact that you’re forced to tell a complete story within a limited word count. You can’t spend pages and pages on world building or character development, so every word needs to be chosen with purpose and care. Forcing yourself to kill your darlings until you’ve boiled your writing down to something sharp and (hopefully) insightful will inevitably make you a more intentional writer. 5. Overcoming perfectionism and fear of rejection Lastly, one of the wonderful things about short story writing is that there are so many ways to get your work published, whether in online magazines or print journals. Unlike the process for pitching your book, short stories can usually be submitted directly. Of course, with more frequent submissions you also stand a greater chance of facing rejection. But it’s a little bit like ripping the band-aid off. It always stings a little, but after a while you start to develop thicker skin and can even start to learn from it. You were rejected but the world didn’t end, and perhaps you even got a couple acceptances, building up your platform in case you end up querying literary agents down the line. With less pressure on yourself to deliver a perfect first draft, you’ll find that it becomes easier to write without worrying about any writing flaws. * As you get more writing miles under your belt, perhaps that longer piece will start to feel more approachable. Whichever format you choose, just remember to let curiosity lead the way and you’ll find yourself longing to get back into the writer’s chair. *** Linnea Gradin is a writer for Reedsy — a digital marketplace connecting authors with the industry’s best publishing professionals and providing answers and information on all things writing and publishing related, from how to find a ghostwriter to how to make an audiobook. (C) Copyright wow-womenonwriting.com Visit WOW! Women On Writing for lively interviews and how-tos. Check out WOW!'s Classroom and learn something new. Enter the Quarterly Writing Contests. Open Now![url={url}]View the full article[/url]

The transcript for Podcast 569. Romance in Libraries with Robin Bradford has been posted! This podcast transcript was handcrafted with meticulous skill by Garlic Knitter. Many thanks. ❤ Click here to subscribe to The Podcast → Apologies for the delay – I’ve been traveling! View the full article

Hello, everyone! Welcome back to Wednesday Links! I’m getting over the flu, so that should give plenty of indication how my weekend went. I also got to see a little bit of my partner’s hometown and grabbed some delicious bagels from a local shop (toasted sesame with bacon scallion cream cheese). I love me a bagel, though the best I’ve had was in Montreal (St. Viateur – sesame with just butter). Any fellow bagel lovers in the audience? I’m definitely thankful for the long weekend and for the opportunities to laze around. … As a reminder, Tara from SBTB hosts a podcast with author Kris Bryant called Queerly Recommended. They just dropped one of their most important episodes yet on book banning and the targeting of LGBTQ+ books. You can listen here. … I’m obsessed with this cat club Instagram profile. The cats are beautiful and the cat show judges are hilarious. … Are you a forager or are interested in foraging in your area? Check out this cool map of urban harvesting locations. You can also learn more about urban harvesting and the site’s non-profit on their About page. … This Instagram page is really making me fight the urge to pick up yet another hobby. This person is redoing their entire library and turning their books into the Penguin clothbound classic aesthetic. I love seeing which images are used for the cover and what sorts of end papers will go in the books! … Don’t forget to share what cool or interesting things you’ve seen, read, or listened to this week! And if you have anything you think we’d like to post on a future Wednesday Links, send it my way! View the full article

Every Heart a Doorway Every Heart a Doorway by Seanan McGuire is $3.99! I love this series. The writing is so beautiful and I would happily send 300+ pages in the world McGuire has created. However, I will warn that these books have a haunting sadness to them or can be downright horrific. Eleanor West’s Home for Wayward Children No Solicitations No Visitors No Quests Children have always disappeared under the right conditions; slipping through the shadows under a bed or at the back of a wardrobe, tumbling down rabbit holes and into old wells, and emerging somewhere… else. But magical lands have little need for used-up miracle children. Nancy tumbled once, but now she’s back. The things she’s experienced… they change a person. The children under Miss West’s care understand all too well. And each of them is seeking a way back to their own fantasy world. But Nancy’s arrival marks a change at the Home. There’s a darkness just around each corner, and when tragedy strikes, it’s up to Nancy and her new-found schoolmates to get to the heart of the matter. No matter the cost. Add to Goodreads To-Read List → You can find ordering info for this book here. The Stardust Thief The Stardust Thief by Chelsea Abdullah is $2.99! This fantasy novel was mentioned in a previous Hide Your Wallet. I’ve also seen it recommend in the comments a few times, like our Rec League for Book Club Suggestions. Neither here nor there, but long ago… Loulie al-Nazari is the Midnight Merchant: a criminal who, with the help of her jinn bodyguard, hunts and sells illegal magic. When she saves the life of a cowardly prince, she draws the attention of his powerful father, the sultan, who blackmails her into finding an ancient lamp that has the power to revive the barren land. With no choice but to obey or be executed, Loulie journeys with the sultan’s oldest son to find the artifact. Aided by her bodyguard, who has secrets of his own, they must survive ghoul attacks, outwit a vengeful jinn queen, and confront a malicious killer from Loulie’s past. And, in a world where story is reality and illusion is truth, Loulie will discover that everything—her enemy, her magic, even her own past—is not what it seems. Add to Goodreads To-Read List → You can find ordering info for this book here. The Final Strife The Final Strife by Saara El-Arifi is $1.99! I mentioned this adult fantasy novel in a previous edition of Get Rec’d. I liked the “chosen one” narrative and the chosen one having some real issues. Triggers for addiction and graphic violence, but that is no means an exhaustive list, so please check on your preferred TBR cataloging site. In the first book of a visionary African- and Arabian-inspired fantasy trilogy, three women band together against a cruel empire that divides people by blood. Red is the blood of the elite, of magic, of control. Blue is the blood of the poor, of workers, of the resistance. Clear is the blood of the slaves, of the crushed, of the invisible. Sylah dreams of days growing up in the resistance, being told she would spark a revolution that would free the empire from the red-blooded ruling classes’ tyranny. That spark was extinguished the day she watched her family murdered before her eyes. Anoor has been told she’s nothing, no one, a disappointment, by the only person who matters: her mother, the most powerful ruler in the empire. But dust always rises in a storm. Hassa moves through the world unseen by upper classes, so she knows what it means to be invisible. But invisibility has its uses: It can hide the most dangerous of secrets, secrets that can reignite a revolution. As the empire begins a set of trials of combat and skill designed to find its new leaders, the stage is set for blood to flow, power to shift, and cities to burn. Add to Goodreads To-Read List → You can find ordering info for this book here. Silver Under Nightfall Silver Under Nightfall by Rin Chupeco is $1.99! This is a horror mystery, I’d say, with a queer, poly romantic subplot. I know that descriptor will perk someone’s ears right up! Full of court intrigue, queer romance, and terrifying monsters—this gothic epic fantasy will appeal to fans of Samantha Shannon’s The Priory of the Orange Tree and the adult animated series Castlevania. Remy Pendergast is many things: the only son of the Duke of Valenbonne (though his father might wish otherwise), an elite bounty hunter of rogue vampires, and an outcast among his fellow Reapers. His mother was the subject of gossip even before she eloped with a vampire, giving rise to the rumors that Remy is half-vampire himself. Though the kingdom of Aluria barely tolerates him, Remy’s father has been shaping him into a weapon to fight for the kingdom at any cost. When a terrifying new breed of vampire is sighted outside of the city, Remy prepares to investigate alone. But then he encounters the shockingly warmhearted vampire heiress Xiaodan Song and her infuriatingly arrogant fiancé, vampire lord Zidan Malekh, who may hold the key to defeating the creatures—though he knows associating with them won’t do his reputation any favors. When he’s offered a spot alongside them to find the truth about the mutating virus Rot that’s plaguing the kingdom, Remy faces a choice. It’s one he’s certain he’ll regret. But as the three face dangerous hardships during their journey, Remy develops fond and complicated feelings for the couple. He begins to question what he holds true about vampires, as well as the story behind his own family legacy. As the Rot continues to spread across the kingdom, Remy must decide where his loyalties lie: with his father and the kingdom he’s been trained all his life to defend or the vampires who might just be the death of him. Add to Goodreads To-Read List → You can find ordering info for this book here. View the full article

Carlos Adampol Galindo, Arena México por Carlos Adampol, licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons. Each time I return to Mexico I find myself marveling at how many elements of daily life there could, in some way, be described as Baroque: our sunsets, our cuisine, our pollution, our corruption. Century after century, the country has exhibited a great tendency towards exuberance, and a natural bent for the strange and the marvelous. There’s a constant play between veiling and unveiling (even in our newscasts, one senses indirect meaning in everything), as well as a fluidity of form, in which excess triumphs, every time, over restraint. Three hundred years of colonial rule produced an intense syncretism of indigenous and European cultures, a bold new aesthetic accompanied by many new paradoxes, and these can be glimpsed today in both lighter and darker manifestations, some playful and others barbaric. Mexican Baroque emerged from the conquest of the New World, from the long, fraught process of negotiation and subjugation that began to unfold once the Spaniards established their rule in 1521. The European monarchs wanted as much gold as their conquistadores could plunder, while their missionaries sought to convert the pagan savages to Catholicism. The Aztecs of course had their own gods, a monumental pantheon that included the fierce and formidable Quetzalcoatl and Huitzilopochtli, yet these ancient powers proved no match for colonial rapacity. There was one pivotal overlap between the two religions, however, a fortuitous convergence which helped ease the transition from the Aztec cosmology to the Catholic faith. And this was the “theater of death” present in both religions. Accustomed to their own culture of human sacrifice, the Indians identified with the Crucifixion and with other violent chapters in the new theology, and were thus gradually lured by its passions and taste for the macabre. In artistic portrayals of certain scenes from the New Testament, the blood and the drama were laid on thick. The Churrigueresque style brought over from Spain, a highly florid and heavily laden version of Rococo, found its most triumphant expression, one could argue, in Mexico. The church architects were Spanish, yet the artisans and laborers were Indigenous and mestizo, and they asserted their autonomy from the metropolis by adding local materials such as tezontle, a porous red volcanic stone, and local motifs, with quetzals and hummingbirds and faces with native features finding their way into the chiseled landscapes. In all their magnificence, the gilt altars and church facades also betrayed a horror of silence and empty space, every inch of wood, stucco, and stone teeming with detail, as if replicating the delirious splendor of the natural world beyond. Despite the number of masterly creations that resulted, Mexican Baroque mostly emerged from a clash of cultures, from antagonism rather than harmony, and this is largely what grants it its dynamic force. Its art rejected straight lines and predictable paths, reveling in a liberated geometry that mirrored the new unstable and multicaste society that had risen from the embers. The monolithic sculptures of the Aztecs and earlier pre-Hispanic civilizations—signs of a certain stability—were replaced by a more fluid and volatile art, one which favored movement over form, agility over monumentality. Like most art of the Baroque, it too thrived off a play of contrasts and opposites, and this was most poignantly articulated in the historical counterpoint between the Aztec emperor Moctezuma and the Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés, the dialectic between victor and vanquished spilling over into one between old gods and new, the awe of the conquistadores upon discovering this marvel of a land versus the increasing disenchantment of its natives, their gods toppled, their beliefs exploited. To a large extent, the soul of modern Mexico was born from this collision. *** One arena in present-day Mexico in which a conflict of archetypes can be witnessed literally is in the spectacle of lucha libre, or freestyle wrestling, another European import to which was added local color and verve. Different theories exist regarding its origins: some say an early variant was brought over in 1863 during the French intervention, or in 1910 by a Spanish boxing promoter; a more accepted notion is that the sport came to Mexico in the early twenties courtesy of two dueling Italian theatre troupes. Everything about the performance favors emotion over form. The movements are exaggerated, as are the wrestlers themselves, massive hulks of men in tights who wear capes like those of superheroes and shiny carnivalesque masks that hide their faces. There’s a certain splendor to them, but once the match begins, that splendor is undercut by an atmosphere of buffoonery. At rest, the wrestlers appear regal and imposing. In motion, the elegance is quickly undermined by their comical leaps and bounds. It is as if they start off by embodying the first period of Baroque in Mexico, in the late seventeenth century, characterized by solemn church facades, rich and refined, and then they go on to embody its second period, from the mid-eighteenth century, which was more opulent and chaotic, an architecture of Solomonic columns that twist, spiral, and writhe. The wrestlers’ masks often evoke their powers and persona: El Santo, Blue Demon, Fray Tormenta, Huracán Ramírez, Rey Mysterio. They are costumed heroes and villains engaged in a jocular battle between good and evil. The Baroque fondness for extremes is felt in every match, which is fought between a técnico—one who follows the rules and plays cleanly and gracefully—and a rudo: one who transgresses, breaking codes with relish. In this play of adversaries, there is no guarantee that good will win. In fact, the rudos are often expected to triumph, hinting at a cultural acceptance that righteousness, in Mexico at least, isn’t necessarily rewarded. In a sense, the showdown between Moctezuma and Cortés could similarly be envisioned as a battle between a técnico and a rudo; the Aztec emperor, honest and honorable and deferential to his guests, played by the rules, while the conquistador lied and cheated and, thanks in part to his deviousness, succeeded in bringing down an entire civilization. *** The wild gestures that fuel the lucha libre spectacle elicit a frantic emotional intensity. Audiences work themselves into a lather, subjecting the wrestlers to a loud repertoire of insults, mostly bawdy and vulgar, as if they were taking sides in some kind of moral contest rather than a sporting tournament. In Baroque art movement tends to be centrifugal, a restlessness away from the center, as opposed to the classical impulse of restraint. Although the wrestlers lunge at one another, they are constantly being cast outward, either by their opponent’s thrust or by the elastic ring, their main instrument for propulsion. Performers often take flying leaps outside the ring and land in the audience. Similar to what Caravaggio did in his paintings, these “suicides,” as the moves are called, break down the boundary, and remove the safety barrier, between viewer and spectacle; one can smell the sweat, feel the flesh, hear the grunts, almost grasp the energy, of the wrestler as he comes crashing into us. Even the geometry of the ring is defied, its quadrangle stretched and deformed again and again. The rapid shifting of planes—between floor and air, the ring and beyond—is forged by grand aerial maneuvers and gestures of torsion and contortion. Every effort is answered with a countereffort, every movement turned into its opposite, a great elasticity between up and down as each man tries to bring his opponent to the ground. In this endless curling and coiling, transcendence is, at least corporeally, denied. Something deeply Dionysian haunts the spectacle, chaotic and unpolished. And yet it is often marked by pathos—sometimes in the mere sight of a massive lump of a man unable to haul himself up or even more so when a wrestler is defeated and his mask removed. The moment his identity is revealed, his strength and his aura dissolve. *** A more recent and dismaying phenomenon of Baroque excess and hyperbole, wherein the human body again becomes the site of transformation and yet the spectacle of bloodshed is real, not staged, is within the violence wrought by the warring drug cartels. Since 2006, Mexico has been in the grip of a disastrous war on drugs, initiated by our then president Felipe Calderón. Over sixty thousand individuals have lost their lives as the cartels battle among themselves for territory while a weakened military and often corrupt police force try desperately to control them. Nearly every day the news offers reports of beheadings and dismemberment, of a violence and brutality so extreme that even the depiction of severed body parts in Goya’s Disasters of War seems restrained. It goes without saying that narco-violence is not an art, yet the graphic mise-en-scènes could similarly be read as allegories of great sociopolitical disintegration, and the headless bodies as metaphors for a country without any real leadership. Mexicans are accustomed to severed body parts; they have been an element in our landscape since pre-Hispanic times. Skulls, in particular, feature prominently in every one of our civilizations, the hollow eye sockets and bared teeth a presence from ancient eras through to the modern. Yet they have become so detached from their cadavers that they seem to exist entirely on their own, devoid of humanity. And it is one thing to see images in stone at the Museum of Anthropology and quite another to witness heads with their hair and flesh still on them, faces one could have glimpsed on the metro yesterday. The ancient skulls formed part of a metaphysics, whereas the decapitated heads of today signal chaos and collapse. In Uruapán, a city in my father’s northwestern state of Michoacán, masked men once stormed into a discotheque called Sol y Sombra (Sun and Shadow) and tossed five severed heads onto the dance floor. This incident, which took place over ten years ago, was one of the first outings of La Familia, a drug cartel composed of right-wing vigilantes who quickly established their bloody reign over the region. The photographic image of these decapitated heads, each with its trail of blood where it has rolled out from the black plastic bag, is hard to erase from memory. Their eyes are closed, their faces a shiny olive color; the gangrene of death has yet to set in. In their midst is a large scroll emblazoned with a warning for rival cartels, a handwritten message that ends with the words “Divine Justice.” Other cartels, like Los Zetas, the Gulf Cartel, and the Sinaloa Cartel, are similarly fond of leaving behind gruesome memento mori. Bodies, often headless, are dangled from bridges or left in segments by the side of the road. Here Baroque is taken to an extreme, deformed into excess and true monstrosity. The tremendous striving for effect, a desire to make the most startling impact on the senses, has mutated into an unabashed theatricality of the utmost violence. There are, these days, few signs of redemption. In a regrettable twist of the Baroque, its original vitality has been contorted, redirected towards death rather than life. One finds similar aesthetic criteria, a similar dynamism and instinct for theatricality, yet the early religious impulses have morphed into their opposite. And for some the only religion left, it seems, is death itself. Perhaps the most literal manifestation of contemporary Baroque—a true syncretism of Spanish Catholicism and pre-Hispanic beliefs—is to be found in the cult of Santa Muerte, or Holy Death, the patron saint of the Mexican underworld, who is a sanctified personification of death herself. Though her cult incorporates dozens of Catholic rituals, she remains vehemently unrecognized by the church. The millions who worship La Santa Muerte tend to belong to the more marginal or endangered strata of society: criminals, transvestites, drug dealers, prostitutes, taxi drivers, police officers. They are individuals who live by violence or are threatened by it, those who exist in a perpetual twilight and, professionally, mostly by night. And they come to her for protection. I first encountered La Santa Muerte at her main altar in Tepito, Mexico City’s shadowy sanctum of drugs and contraband. There she stood behind a glass pane, a tall skeleton in a long black wig, a jeweled crown, a sparkling gold dress, and a diaphanous cape. She was heavily adorned, an embodiment of Baroque’s dual pull towards death and sensuality, and I couldn’t help feeling like I was seeing a pre-Hispanic skull in Spanish robes. In one hand she held a globe of the world, in the other the scales of justice. Spread out at her feet was a semicircle of figurines, smaller versions of herself, and a flickering landscape of ephemeral offerings: candles, apples, flowers, incense, beer, bottles of tequila, lit cigarettes. I watched as the devotees queued up to press their hands against the pane and murmur their prayers, then quietly deposit a gift. *** When the Spaniards arrived in Mexico, Moctezuma, believing they were gods, had his emissaries bring Cortés tortillas smeared with human blood as an offering. The emperor himself was a sybaritic gourmet, presented with around three hundred dishes a day made from ingredients brought in from all over the country. Human sacrifice also formed part of the cuisine, and his priests would cook up the remains of sacrificial victims in squash flower soup. The most Baroque dish to emerge from the Conquest is mole poblano, a thick sauce like dark blood concocted from chocolate, almonds, spices, and three types of chili, originally put together by nuns in a convent in Puebla. In Mexico there’s a saying that the spicier a food—and the more it makes you cry—the tastier it is. True culinary enjoyment should be accompanied by a bit of agony, and so it is that to this day mole remains our most beloved dish, a reminder of the turbulent forces from which modern Mexico was born. This piece is adapted from Dialogue with a Somnambulist, out from Catapult this August. Chloe Aridjis is a Mexican American writer who grew up in the Netherlands and Mexico. Her debut novel, Book of Clouds, has been published in eight languages and won the Prix du Premier Roman Étranger in France. In 2014, Aridjis was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship. View the full article

This update isn’t as giant a list as my last one, but it’s been a few months, and I discovered new gems I need to share with you all! So here’s another 21 books written by women that I highly recommend. I tried to group them loosely by topic or theme, starting with: Dark, followed by Epic, then Cosy, POC authors, Urban and a few amazing sequels to round it all off. Dark / Gritty Fantasy The Jaguar Path by Anna Stephens This is the long awaited sequel to The Stone Knife, and might be even better than the already great first book! Anna Stephens does not coddle her characters, no she lets them go through hell and more. However she doesn’t do it gratuitously, but rather to show how much people can adapt before they break, and ask the question – once you’re broken, can you come back? The trauma is very well handled, and changes the characters in all sorts of ways, some really unexpected. This Aztec inspired world is as fascinating as the characters, and it is an addictive read, albeit I recommend having comfort food at hand while reading. The Magpie Lord by KJ Charles I was rather surprised at just how much I loved this book. A rather steamy m/m romance? Since when is that something I like? Since I read KJ Charles apparently… I enjoyed seeing those very different personalities clashing and yet drawn to each other. The interactions and growing fondness, as well as the attraction felt smooth and believable. The plot also was addictive, with more than one mystery running through the story. I was collecting clues and wondering how various threads came together all the way through. A murder mystery, a lot of magic, well written characters, a promise of more world to explore, action and many secrets to uncover made this an addictive read! The Darkness Calling by Kaleigh McCann The “Darkness” in the title definitely is well deserved. This book gets rather brutal and graphic in a lot of places. Plenty of swearing as well. I would not put it in the grimdark variety, but definitely in the dark fantasy section. I loved seeing three siblings as central characters, as I always enjoy relationships that are not based in romance. The constant banter between them, complemented by absolute loyalty was a nice change of pace, and made up for some other characters that at times fell a bit flat for me. While it’s not a perfect read, I was still hooked by the two POVs being bitter enemies, and seeing how it just kept piling on between them. With just two ratings, this book definitely is a very hidden gem that deserves a few more eyes on it, despite some flaws! A Storm of Silver and Blood by Marion Blackwood My personal biggest pro? Like absolutely need more of? It’s a young female lead, with a male best friend, and there is ZERO romance. I’d like to give 5 stars even just for that, as there’s just way too few female lead books that don’t have the whining and pining. It’s quite dark and bloody at times, so definitely aimed at an adult audience, but the characters often behave quite like teens. The sheer stupidity was at times annoying, although there’s a good deal of humour in it, and the chuckling made up for most of it. However, old and supposedly wise elves who behaved like teens – just like the young female lead – did feel a bit anachronistic. There are some big twists – but I might just have read too much fantasy as none of them managed to surprise me in the least. However, the story was fast paced with enough action to keep me hooked anyway. If you’re looking for an easy high fantasy romp, this might be ideal! Tethered Spirits by TA Hernandez “Breathe, Kes. Just breathe.” But she couldn’t. Her racing heart threatened to explode, and her lungs were so tight she was sure she would suffocate. Ash filled her nose, her mouth, her throat. It burned her from the inside out, dry and coarse. It blew around her in the breeze, lit by tiny embers that threatened to catch her clothes and hair on fire. The beginning is a bit weird, starting right after a battle and just throwing you into a scene that lacks a real hook. But don’t give up too early! While the characters started out a bit bland, they did grow over the course of the story. I especially enjoyed budding friendships that had a realistic feel to it. There’s some traumatic events, and I felt the repercussions were handled quite well, so that is definitely a plus for me. There’s a nice mix of dark themes, but also some humour to make it feel rounded. The plot was intriguing, and I like a good mystery! Some bits went as expected, other things had twists I did not see coming. Blood of Vengeance by Angel Haze This was a grim and bloody take of a man caught in slavery, and forced to fight as a gladiator as well as in “the pits”. I quite liked the tone and voice of the main character and was eagerly following through all the horrendous things he went through, in the hope of maybe managing to get free some day. His capturer, torturer and biggest enemy is the prince, so a man with considerable power. I found that one was just too much a walking trope, which stopped me taking him as seriously as the story demanded. I enjoyed the other side characters a lot more. Most of this book is one bloody fight after another, and how to get through it all. There’s also some contemplating if it’s even worth it to fight so hard. And always that tiny glimmer of hope, that maybe, just maybe there might be an end to it. All in all a quick, entertaining and fast paced read fill of action and bravery. Epic Indies Gates of Hope by JE Hannaford I fell in love with the worldbuilding straight away. Hannaford brings her science background to bear in creating a world that is inventive, uncanny, and yet totally convincing. The worlds, their flora, fauna, and overall imaginativeness are a major strength of the book. I adored learning about the plants, herbs, and animals while accompanying the protagonists on some good old fashioned fantasy travelling. It all was so smooth and deeply immersive that I felt I had really walked into the pages and completely left the real world. The book balances moments of darkness with flashes of humour, as well as giving a good mix of action packed incidents and quieter, more reflective and insightful moments. That variation in pace and tone makes for a rich and textured reading experience Burn Red Skies by Kerstin Espinosa Rosero I found the characters really well developed. They each felt like fully fleshed individuals, and I never struggled to know who was on the page at any time. They are all rounded and have flaws as well as their own agenda! I liked how diverse the cast was in, both in personalities as well as in abilities. One of the main characters is mute for example, while another one is weak and soft. Others are ruthless powerful fighters or even a gang of loveable pirates. For me this mix worked really well and gave more depth to both the world and the story itself. Another strength of this book was the prose. It didn’t stand out in a kind of “drawing attention to itself” kind of way, but it did feel really smooth which made it easy to fully leave the real world, and step into this new world. It managed a good balance between evocative but unobtrusive. Hills of Heather and Bone by K.E. Andrews I started this, expecting not to get on with it, as the cover looked like a romance to me, which is not my cup of tea. This was one of the exact books I love SPFBO for – trying books you’d never have picked up, but get totally surprised by! There’s also really pretty interior sketches of plants, which I loved. The main character is a woman with arthritis, a lovely healer husband who’s smaller than her, a chicken with an attitude, oh and she’s also a boneweaver, so a necromancer in other words. Her chronic illness was well handled, and definitely added to the books strength! The relationship between Morana and Percy is already established, and there is no back and forth, no wining and pining, instead there’s a strong bond that nothing can break. I really enjoyed how they interacted and complemented each other. The story has a lot of action and adventure. They have to flee as boneweavers are hunted, and a group of Failinis find them in the small town they were hiding in, and burn down their home. Hills of Heather and Bone features serious topics like loss and grief, but it also has a lot of hope, and quite some humour. For me the mix of tragedy and trauma with some rather cosy village scenes, the puns and jokes and the adventure worked perfectly well. It felt neither shallow, not depressing. Not fluffy, but still an easy and fast read, which I adored! Breaker by Amy Campbell This definitely is more of a YA story, or a book for those looking for something easier to follow, and with less complexity. Even though it’s on the easy to read side, I was quickly drawn into the story, and enjoyed it all the way through to the end. Blaise and Jack feel very stereotypical at first, with a native young boy who had been bullied all his life, and the older gruff outlaw who makes his life even harder. Over the course of the story they do grow and show more of their hidden depths though! The characters are a major reason why I felt this is more on the YA / NA spectrum, as they all are pretty easy to categorise. Good or bad, loyal or treacherous, you’ll know pretty soon. However, that simplicity didn’t really make this less enjoyable for me, as they still all had their flaws. Westerns usually aren’t my cup of tea, and I was sceptical about the Pegasus who bind to a human partner, but overall it all worked out fine. Cosy Comfort Reads Miss Percy series by Quenby Olson I loved the older spinster main character, who always disappeared in the shadow of her sister, and just leads a quiet life. She doesn’t suddenly turn into a fearless heroine, but really just organically grows throughout the story, and finds new friends and new ways. Please give me more aging woman as main characters! I also really enjoyed the Austen-like setting paired with the adventure of suddenly finding yourself in the possession of a feisty baby dragon! There’s all you want from a plucky regency story. A squabbling family, scandalous rumours, banter, tasty baked goods, nice dresses, innocent attraction, and a villain to give the whole story some immediacy. Definitely on the slower and feel good side of books, Miss Percy hones in on the main character and her life, with only little glimpses beyond – and I loved every moment I got to spend with Mildred! Book two took quite a bit to catch me as much as the first did, but the second half had me racing through the pages. I can’t wait for a book 3! Half a Soul by Olivia Atwater What an utterly delightful read! It’s not purely cosy fantasy, as there’s quite a bit about how the poor people suffer in workhouses, and the Fae really aren’t friendly. However it’s still a comforting read, as the main characters care dearly for others, and I just adored the strong friendships and loyalties between them all. The romance is the cute but straight forward one, so no annoying whining and pining. Oh how I enjoyed characters who just simply say what they mean, without all the drama from misunderstanding stuff, or simply not talking about it at all. Olivia Atwater’s books are absolutely fantastic, charming and captivating. POC authors / Diverse Casts Wild Seed by Otavia E. Butler I really went in blind, which probably was a good thing. I don’t think I would have chosen a book about breeding people like livestock. I did get intrigued right away, and even though the male main character was really repelling, I was breezing through the story in no time. The writing was really easy to fall into and just keep reading until you accidentally look at the watch and realise you should have gone to bed ages ago. Which is interesting, as there isn’t really much happening throughout the book. It’s a really close look at the characters. Some sort of godlike man who can’t die, but instead takes over other bodies. A woman who can control her own body totally, down to the molecular structures, so from healing herself to even changing gender, colour or even species, she can do it. All he wants to do is breed strong humans, which in turn can power him, while all she wants to do is keep her descendants safe. Obviously those conflicting imperatives don’t go well together. I would never have thought I’d enjoy either the type of story, or the plot all about interbreeding, including incest, and a main character who I definitely despise. So absolute kudos to an author who can still keep me hooked all the way through. You can read this on varying levels of depth, from mostly slice of life, down to deeply philosophical. I would say I feel somewhere in the middle of these. Kingdom of Souls by Rena Barron Kingdom of Souls is situated somewhere between YA and adult. It’s quite bloody and grim for YA, but the prose, pace as well as the characters actions definitely had a younger flavour. For me this mix worked well, as the grit gave the story a bit of much needed depth, while the writing made it easy to just breeze through the story. The biggest plus for me was the world we get to visit! It’s African inspired which felt a nice change to so many euro-centric books. I found the tribes and the contrast between city life and more rural places fascinating. There’s plenty of magic, and more than one kind as well! I love seeing fantasy books who really drip magic and wonder all through the story. Another plus for me were the connections between family and friends. The main character’s relationship with her mother is really strained, and felt real down to the bones. There’s a group of friends who are all different, but still very close and loyal. I love seeing some non romance bonds that are strong and free of most drama. The actual romance is a neutral for me, it didn’t add much, but it also didn’t annoy me. All in all it was a fast and entertaining read, and definitely shows promise for future books! The Gilded Wolves by Roshani Chokshi * Fantasy heists * Diverse cast * Group of friends * Great banter * Plentiful action * Intriguing magic * Secret society * Mystery But some things just didn’t really work as well for me. The diverse cast for example was a plus, but the story setting in of an alternative historical France with magic didn’t always work smoothly. I have loved a lot of historical fantasies with just a dash of magic, but here it just didn’t fit together sufficiently seamlessly, and that pulled me out of the story. The world and setting was so different that going to the Eiffel tower actually felt anachronistic. The characters all have defining histories & traits. Like being Jewish, LGBT, neuro-divergent, not the right skin colour for the society they life in … which was a definite draw for me! Especially as they are so different but a really close knit and loyal group anyway. The repercussions and traumas that come with their diversities were well handled. However I felt we were missing some character growth over the course of the story. They start off strong, but somehow seem to end pretty much the same way they started. Urban Fantasy / Dystopia Clean Sweeo by Ilona Andrews I definitely could have done without being told just how incredibly “hot” the werewolf and the vampire are again and again. It kept me fearing that the story was imminently going to turn into a romance. Luckily (spoiler?!) it never actually did! Aside from that anxiety, I found this was a thoroughly entertaining and amusing read! Fantasy blended with SciFi to explain how a lot of the magic came to pass, while other aspects remained just ineffably mysterious and magical worked well for me. I really like the main character, and just how confident and strong she is. She doesn’t take crap from anyone, and is more than willing to stand her ground. She’s not overpowered, but also not weak, and I loved her retorts, both in dialogue and in inner thoughts. Definitely a woman I’d like to be friends with! The inn is just fabulous. I so want a magic inn that is almost sentient! It’s not only adorable and pretty cool, but it’s also something I have never read before, which is always a big plus! The mix of bloody murder and gore with humour and banter hit the exact right balance to keep me hooked from start to finish, so I devoured this one in just two days! A perfect light and easy read to break up the big epic tomes, and also ideal after one hell of a work week! The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches by Sangu Mandanna 5* for the cosy urban fantasy, but for my taste there was too much romance (and one sex scene). If you like a good romance, this might make it an even better book for you! Apart from that, I really loved most of the book! The found family, the older characters, the young witches who felt like actual kids. I appreciated the no-drama marriage of two elderly men just as much as the way everyone was accepted into their home for who and what they are. I had some good laughs when murder is suggested as a solution to problems, or when kids float around the room accidentally! The relationships between the different people felt real and three dimensional. I really enjoyed spending time with everyone and will miss them! Small Miracles by Olivia Atwater 20 stars and all my love. Small Miracles is funny, cosy, humorous, warm, inclusive and very entertaining. In short it is the utterly perfect book for me. It starts out very gently, and I wasn’t sure if it would fully click with me. Ha. But how it did! Those weird people grew on me imperceptibly, and before I knew it I loved them. The way they interacted, the found family vibes, the budding friendships and growing love just was amazing to read. The hilarious tone balanced it out, so it didn’t feel soppy, but fun. Gadriel, the fallen angel with the super sweet tooth, is just such a matter of fact character. She, or he spouts amazing things in the most factual tone, reminiscent of characters like Discworld’s Death. It’s easy and fun, but also hits on quite some deeper things. Be it loss, grief, or just being overwhelmed by everything. However it keeps the balance in between those, that makes it so much more than just fluff or a sob story. I also adore how the book plays with things like gender. Angels don’t just adhere to human genders on their own, but when on earth they pretend to be humans, but switch genders all the time on a whim. This again kept the story humorous and fun on one hand, on the other hand people just taking that in stride really made me well warm and fuzzy. I couldn’t get enough of this hot chocolate in book form. Library of the Unwritten by A.J. Hackwith This was one hell (sorry for the pun) of a lot of fun! A library in hell, full of unwritten stories. A human librarian, a muse, a naive demon and a hero escaped from his own book, on a quest for a missing book. What could possibly go wrong? Right – everything! I liked the mix of book nerdiness, adventures, traveling the realms, mystery humour, philosophical questions and banter. While at times the pacing felt a bit rough around the edges, overall this was a fantastic read that had me well entertained all the way through. I really got on with the characters well. This story was weird and unexpected while still making me feel right at home. I’ll definitely want more! Dawn of a Demon by Christine Schulz I’m always on the lookput for Urban Fantasy, that is low on romance, and even more so for one written by a woman. Dawn of a Demon finally scratched that itch! There is a bit of attraction, but it’s no more sigh inducing than Harry Dresden and his reaction to women. The main character is a half cat and half spider shifter, and theres quite some puns and banter in here. While I would have liked a little bit more depth every so often, I especially enjoyed the female friendship, which was devoid of any of the typical cattiness and drama hat so often drives these stories. The world was interesting, as there’s earth, and there’s also something like a praralel dimension. Intriguing ideas and concepts, but again, I’d have liked them a bit more front and center. At times it felt more like a steage set then a world to walk into. This is not a perfect read, but for a first in the series it is really promising, and I’m definitely looking forward to more! Firebreak by Nicole Kornher-Stace This was a nice blend between real life under horrible corporations, civil war and in game pieces. I really enjoyed how both were closely knit together and avatars online could also be found in the real world and vice versa. No, it’s not a new concept, and we’ve seen water shortages and war torn societies in similar books before, but this one felt smoother and more addictive than a lot of them. The main character is a bit different, not good at socialising or touch, which I found a joy to read, being on the autistic spectrum myself. This and more or less no on the page romance at all probably is why it resonated much better with me than so many other dystopias featuring “the prettiest girl and her two boys”. I liked how the power of public opinion and speaking out was shown here, but also the dangers of sticking your head out. The friendships and loyalties between characters were also an extra strong point for me. How you can use things like social media just as well as violence, against someone who has way more money and power than you, it’s probably the only way you have at all. And some series finales / sequels that are worth mentioning! Empire of Shadows by Alicia Wanstall-Burke I really enjoyed following the characters from almost naive teens to adults who have to make horrible but necessary decisions. The world isn’t safe, and you better grow up fast. The character arcs felt quite realistic. I especially liked how traumatic events actually had long term effects and consequences – so often in books horrendous stuff happens and then is shrugged off as if it was nothing. There’s an epilogue that I don’t know how I feel about, as I like the added mystery and twist, but it also feels a bit like an afterthought, than an “aha moment” seeded well through the story. However, I did love the main characters, and I definitely want more books that have loyalties, families, betrayal and friendship at their heart, and romance just as a small part of all the bigger picture and structures. I started to care a lot about all of these characters, and will be very sorry to not have them around any longer, though the open-ended nature of the ending definitely would allow for return appearances… Phoenix Rising by JA Andrews All the stars! What a conclusion for a brilliant series. Andrews had long since written her way into my favourite author list and Phoenix Rising is one more clear reason why. All these characters have grown so very much on me, I really cared for each and every one of them. They all feel so real and three dimensional, so you can even kind of understand the bad guys. This made the story all the more gripping and realistic. The balance between war, fights, death and destruction on the one hand, but also hope, friendships, family and loyalties on the other hand worked out well for me. It didn’t feel too easy or shallow, but also managed to avoid going into the nihilistic grimdark direction. All the major plot points get a satisfactory conclusion, while enough little bits and pieces are left to leave the world open and the characters room to grow. This trilogy is a glowing example of a more modern written epic fantasy, and I need MORE! The Bitter Twins by Jen Williams I adored the start of this, especially a new character we get to meet. It makes for really hard reading, but it was so well written and I felt the gut wrenching all the way though to my soul. We get more time with familiar characters, as well as meeting new people. Some mysteries are solved, while ever more are unearthed as well. The war is ever going on, but in this book we get to see more of the other side of the conflict as well. I found this deeper dive into the world building utterly fascinating and couldn’t get enough! Bits of the story went exactly where I thought they’d go, while others had wholly unexpected twists. Overall the balance of “I knew it!” and going “Wait, what?” worked perfectly for me. My only gripe with this fantastic book is some lengths and a few scenes that just didn’t grip me the way they were supposed to. Most of the way I was hooked body and soul though, so it still makes it onto my favourites list! The post Julia’s Favourite Women in SFF Update #4 appeared first on The Fantasy Hive. View the full article

Joanne Harris (OBE, FRSL) is the internationally celebrated and award-winning author of 23 novels, plus novellas, short stories, scripts and articles. Her 1999 novel CHOCOLAT was adapted for the screen with Juliette Binochche and Johnny Depp, and was nominated for 5 Oscars. She is a passionate supporter of authors’ rights, and is currently Chair of the Society of Authors. She also plays with the Storytime Band, who perform a live music/theatre/storytelling show based on Joanne’s fantasy writing. Website: joanne-harris.co.uk Twitter: @joannechocolat Welcome back to the Hive, Joanne! Your latest novel Broken Light has been described as an exploration of how women can feel invisible as they grow older, and what then happens when they take back control. What else can readers expect from Broken Light? It’s a kind of riff on the theme of women’s rage, inspired by Stephen King’s Carrie. Basically, imagine Carrie White had lived a normal, unremarkable life, and developed her paranormal powers at menopause, instead of puberty… Tell us more about your protagonist, Bernie Moon… Bernie Moon is 49, unhappily married to her high school sweetheart, and living in London’s East Finchley. Having given up her studies to give birth to her son, she has sacrificed her dreams to the men in her life – her husband Martin, who is still nursing a crush on a one-night stand from thirty years ago; her son Dante, whose affection seems mostly directed towards his grandmother. Her life is mostly spent online, watching the lives of others who seem to be doing Life so much better than she is, or working part-time in her local indie bookshop. And she is starting to experience frightening menopausal symptoms, which her (male) doctor seems not to think are anything she should worry about… When Bernie begins to go through the menopause, it awakens a latent gift inside her. What was your springboard towards exploring the menopause as a catalyst for female power? There are so many stories out there about teenage anger, talented girls, and the trope of the Chosen One. In those stories, older women (if they appear at all) are usually either antagonists, or the mother of the main character. I wanted to write something about a woman who has never seen herself as special, whom no-one has chosen, and whose rage has been suppressed for years – until it finally erupts. I wrote this book against the background of #MeToo, #BlackLivesMatter, the Covid pandemic, and the murder of Sarah Everard. I think perhaps it shows. Broken Light also delves quite deeply into violence against women, incel groups, and the role social media plays in these online hate wars. It’s a seemingly unavoidable issue currently, so what made you want to explore it in your writing? I’ve been using social media in my writing for years, either as a background to plot (BLUEEYEDBOY), or as a delivery mechanism for stories (HONEYCOMB). Social media is where many of us show who we are without the usual filters, where we interact with like-minded souls, or in the case of those of bad faith, where we attack others without fear of real-world consequences. It’s a fascinating, volatile medium, which reflects the world at its worst – and at its best. Like it or not, it’s part of the world, and to avoid it in fiction has become almost impossible. Just for fun, how would you pitch Broken Light as a 1-star review? Sheesh, BROKEN LIGHT. So much blood. And not just regular blood, like man-blood, but woman-blood. Menstrual blood. No-one wants to read about that. And why are the women so angry? And the men! Woah! So much hate for the men. Did you know #NotAllMen are rapists? Also, I’m pretty sure I’m in this book, and I don’t appreciate the implication that I’m a loser who needs to roofie a girl in order to get laid. Also, the spine was creased. And those stains were there before I read it. Okay? Perfect Joanne, thank you! Can you tell us anything about any upcoming projects? Or can you tell us a few teasers for your sequel if there will be one? My new novel (title as yet to be announced) is coming from Gollancz next year, and it’s a love story, set in present-day London, against the background of two warring tribes of the Fae. Think Romeo and Juliet, with fairies, and a lot more swearing. Who are the most significant women in SFF who have shaped and influenced your work? Angela Carter; Shirley Jackson; Joanna Russ; Mary Shelley. Who is a great woman in SFF who we should be reading? Any hidden gems? If you’re not already, you should all be reading Becky Chambers, Charlie Jane Anders and Shelley Parker-Chan. Finally, what is the one thing you hope readers take away from Broken Light? Being an older woman is to feel invisible much of the time. I hope I can make you look. Thank you so much for joining us for Women in SFF! Broken Light is available now, you can pick up your copy on Bookshop.org The post Interview with Joanne Harris (BROKEN LIGHT) appeared first on The Fantasy Hive. View the full article

Are you a people watcher? Silly question. This is a blog site for fiction writers. As people pass by, you undoubtedly imagine who they are. What they’re up to. The story that will follow. That’s how your mind works. Am I wrong? Probably not. Now, everyone forms impressions of passersby. For most people that’s where it stops. Teen shoplifter. Mom in a hurry. Off duty cop. Lost deliveryman. Are those first impressions accurate? Perhaps, perhaps not. What’s important is that an impression is formed quickly. Science shows that first impressions are made within seven seconds, sometimes in as little as one tenth of a second. It doesn’t take long at all for us to decide what we might expect from a stranger. The same is true for the opening lines of a novel. Very quickly, readers form an impression of the tale ahead. They rapidly know what to expect. They have a solid expectation of the experience that they are about to undergo. So, lacking an actual person walking past, what is the basis of for the reader’s first impression? What triggers its formulation? There’s only one thing that can do that: the words on the page. There is of course the jacket or cover. Plus, the flap copy or back cover copy. Not to mention the novel’s category, shelving, blurbs, and so on. Packaging has gotten the consumer as far as opening the volume, but then the consumer begins to read and that’s where the rubber—as it were—hits the road. Have you ever read a few lines of a novel and put it straight back onto the bookstore shelf? It’s not your thing. But wait…how do you know? You could be wrong. Nevertheless, there are certain words on that opening page that send signals that light you up, turn you off or, if nothing else, cause you to judge a tale’s nature and relative appeal. Certain words tell you what to expect. Those words are what I call a novel’s promise words. Promise Words and Their Signals What are the promise words in your WIP’s opening? To understand what they are and how they work, let’s take a look at some key words from the opening lines of some published fiction. Here’s a list of promise words from one opening: Grief…solitary…islands…graves…alone…avoid…waving from a distance…hurrying away…ghosts exist…the ghost of myself… What kind of novel do you think that is going to be? A rom-com? Hardly. A ghost story? A sad story? A memory piece? What kind of protagonist will we meet? The life of the party? Um, no. The words suggest it will be a main character who is grieving, solitary, alone. Do you agree? The impression that you’ve already formed sets your expectations for the novel. You know what kind of experience you’re in for. It’s either an experience that you want for your weekend reading or one that you’re going to return to the bookstore shelf. All on the basis of a few words. Here’s a second set of promise words: Shaker Heights…summer…children…burned the house down…gossip…sensational…fire engines…lunatic…something off…hopeless cause… Well, now. What kind of tale is this going to be? A quest fantasy? Probably not. A suburban story? A tragedy? Involving madness, fire and fate? If that’s your guess then you could be right—but are you? Actually, you don’t know. You’re judging on the basis of just a few words. You have only an impression, and that’s my point. Here’s a third set of promise words: Carriage…Bookseller’s Row…spell…mystic signs…elegant buildings…clean streets…anywhere but here…bargaining season…no hope…a grimoire! Pretty obvious. A fantasy but not Medieval. More likely a Gaslamp Fantasy. About what kind of protagonist? A witch or magician? Sure. But a protagonist you’re going to like? Well, if you like tales with carriages, booksellers and spells in it then probably so. Also, notice the promise words elegant and clean. They don’t suggest either a dark tale or a dark protagonist, do they? No, I didn’t think so. Let’s try one more: Doorbell…writing…important scene…shelter from the rain…standing face to face…electric charge…make a wish…longing…happily ever after… Let’s see, a horror novel? Undoubtedly not. You probably don’t need to guess hard to know in which section of the bookstore you are standing. Is the tone and feel of the tale in your hands romantic? Light? Fun? You could be right; you could be wrong. However, really, you already know don’t you? What matters in each case is that the writer has set down promise words and from those you have not only conjured an impression but rendered a judgment, and possibly agreed (or not) to a contract with the author. Buy this book and this is what you’re going to get. Stick with me and this is the experience that I will deliver to you. Are you in? All on the basis of a few promise words. Not to Keep You in Suspense… The first list of promise words is from Greg Iles’s Mississippi Blood (2017), the third of his Natchez Burning trilogy, concerning the (now) mayor of Natchez, Penn Cage, who has a family in peril, a father on trial, and a dark history with a violent splinter group of the KKK called the Double Eagles. Here’s the full opening: Grief is the most solitary emotion; it makes islands of us all. I’ve spent a lot of time visiting graves over the past few weeks. Sometimes with Annie, but mostly alone. The people who see me there give me a wide berth. I’m not sure why. For thirty miles around, almost everyone knows me, Penn Cage, the mayor of Natchez, Mississippi. When they avoid me—waving from a distance, if at all, then hurrying on their way—I sometimes wonder if I have taken on the mantle of death. Jewel Washington, the county coroner and a true friend, pulled me aside in City Hall last week and told me I look like living proof that ghosts exist. Maybe they do. Since Caitlin died, I have felt nothing more than the ghost of myself. Perhaps that’s why I spend so much time visiting graves. I deliberately left two promise words off of my list above. Did you notice them? They are true friend. That adds something positive and hopeful. It’s a contrast to the hoary words mantle of death. Put all the promise words together and you have a Southern tale of suspense and blood, but also of hope and redemption. (And the novel is one hell of a read, if you haven’t read it already.) The second promise words are from the opening of Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere (2017), a tale of suburban tragedy, secrets and a clash of worlds, privileged and not. Here’s the opening: Everyone in Shaker Heights was talking about it that summer: how Isabelle, the last of the Richardson children, had finally gone around the bend and burned the house down. All spring the gossip had been about little Mirabelle McCullough—or, depending on which side you were on, May Ling Chow—and now, at last, there was something new and sensational to discuss. A little after noon on that Saturday in May, the shoppers pushing their grocery carts in Heinen’s heard the fire engines wail to life and careen away, toward the duck pond. By a quarter after twelve there were four of them parked in a haphazard red line along Parkland Drive, where all six bedrooms of the Richardson house were ablaze, and everyone within half a mile could see the smoke rising over the trees like a dense black thundercloud. Later, people would say that the signs had been there all along: that Izzy was a little lunatic, that there had always been something off about the Richardson family, that as soon as they heard the sirens that morning they knew something terrible had happened. By then, of course, Izzy would be long gone, leaving no one to defend her, and people could—and did—say whatever they liked. At the moment the first trucks arrived, though, and for quite a while afterward, no one knew what was happening. Neighbors clustered as close to the makeshift barrier—a police cruiser, parked crosswise a few hundred yards away—as they could and watched the firefighters unreel their hoses with the grim faces of men who recognized a hopeless cause. A hopeless cause. In other words, what we are promised is a tragedy. In a classic tragedy something terrible happens but there is a sense that nothing could prevent it. Things might have played out differently but cannot because of a human flaw or fate. Ng’s tells us what to expect—indeed, the story also starts with the fire that we now know is going to be the story’s outcome—and she puts in place the promise words that prepare us. The third list comes from C.L. Polk’s Midnight Bargain (2020), a Regency Fantasy following Witchmark and Stormsong, which concerns a young woman whose secret magic practice runs against her imperative to marry well—thus the “Bargaining Season”—and thereby save her family from ruin. When she loses a grimoire that can make her a mage, the cost for getting it back is unexpected: She must kiss the brother of her enemy and the resulting entanglement pushes her deeper into her dilemma. Here’s the full opening: The Carriage drew closer to Bookseller’s Row, and Beatrice Clayborn drew in a hopeful breath before she cast her spell. Head high, spine straight, she hid her hands in her pockets and curled her fingers into mystic signs as the fiacre jostled over green cobblestones. She had been in Bendleton three days, and while its elegant buildings and clean streets were the prettiest trap anyone could step into, Beatrice would have given anything to be somewhere else—anywhere but here, at the beginning of bargaining season. She breathed out the seeking tendrils of her spell, touching each of the shop fronts. If a miracle rushed over her skin and prickled at her ears— But there was nothing. Not a glimmer; not even an itch. They passed the Rook’s Tower Books, P.T. Williams and Sons, and the celebrated House of Verdeu, which filled a full third of a block with all its volumes. Beatrice let out a sigh. No miracle. No freedom. No hope. But when they rounded the corner from Bookseller’s Row to a narrow gray lane with no name, Beatrice’s spell bloomed in response. There. A grimoire! Notice the words no hope…which are followed immediately by actual hope! Polk plays with her promise words, letting us know that this will be a tale of Regency pleasures and wizardly peril. We’re in for a magical roller coaster ride, which her novel adroitly delivers. The final promise words are from Elize Bryant’s Happily Ever Afters a…you guessed it…YA romance in which a sixteen-year-old of color, Tessa Johnson, writes romance stories which feature heroines who look like her. When she is accepted into a writing program, though, she freezes, the cure for which is suggested by her best friend: have a real romance. Naturally, her real-life romance doesn’t go exactly like a romance novel should. Here’s the opening: The doorbell rings, and I ignore it. I’m right in the middle of writing an important scene. Tallulah and Thomas have found shelter from the rain, thanks to a conveniently located abandoned cabin, and they’re standing face-to-face, so close that there’s an electric charge between the tips of their noses. And when he reaches up to pluck an eyelash off her cheek and tells her to make a wish, it’s clear from the urgency of her sigh and the longing in her dark brown eyes that the only thing she’s wishing for is him. It’s one of those swoony declaration-of-love moments, like something you see in those ancient movies they always play Sundays on TNT. But instead of that pale girl with the red hair, my protagonist has brown skin and a fro, and she’s about to get happily ever after. Except she’s not, because the Doorbell Ringer is still at it. Are you having fun? Of course, but that is not only because of the teen romance writer writing out her dreams, but because of the words which her author portrays that. I mean, shelter from the rain? Make a wish? Happily ever after…those words on page one? You can’t miss the novel’s intention and you can just imagine its complications. What Promise Words Promise You might be wondering why promise words matter. Isn’t it the tone and opening situation, as a whole, that reels us in? I would agree except that I read so many manuscript openings that don’t use words with deliberation. The plot grinds into gear but the story’s spell on us is weak. The magic is missing. Peril. Tragedy. Enchantment. Delight. Most of the openings I’ve cited could have been written plainly. Just the plot, ma’am. But they’re not written that way. The words are carefully, or at least intuitively, chosen to create a specific effect: promise. I’m going to tell you a story. It’s about death. Or life. You will feel fear. Or hope. Or both. Promise words aren’t a hook, a story question, narrative voice, not exactly, nor any other thing that might be present on a first page. Promise words are an invocation. They fix our minds and hearts for a story, the specific story that will follow. They create in us expectation. We’re living the story already. It’s writing itself in our imaginations. The story, even now, is becoming ours. So, have a look at your opening. What are your promise words…and what are they promising us? The more intentional they are, the more we are likely to say, yes, we’re in. Tell us the promise words in your opening lines! Let’s see what we feel and expect from your tale… [url={url}]View the full article[/url]

The CrimeReads editors select the month’s best novels in crime fiction, mystery, and thrillers. * Colson Whitehead, Crook Manifesto (Doubleday) Pulitzer Prize winner Whitehead continues his journey through the history of modern New York City, this time taking on the 1970s, as the cast of characters from Harlem Shuffle get swept up in political action, civil unrest, corrupt policing, the rise of Blaxploitation culture, and more. It’s a rich backdrop for Whitehead’s powerful human dramas, and he paints a vivid portrait of people moving between the straight and the crooked world, just trying to get by. –DM Ayesha Manazir Siddiqi, The Centre (Gillian Flynn Books) What would you do to be part of the most elite language academy ever established? And what would you be willing to keep secret? The Centre follows a struggling translator who learns of a place where people can go to become completely fluent in a new language in mere days of effort. She is determined to reap the rewards, but shocked when she begins to find out the dark secrets underpinning the secretive institution. A vicious and entertaining speculative satire of late-stage capitalism. –MO John Milas, The Militia House (Henry Holt) In this military horror novel, a rare but hopefully growing subgenre, American soldiers stationed near the ruins of an old Soviet outpost in Afghanistan find themselves in the midst of strange happenings, unexplained disappearances, and disturbing visitors. Milas is a wordsmith, and this novel is as haunting as it is impressive. –MO Jessica Ward, The St. Ambrose School for Girls (Gallery) In Jessica Ward’s 90s-set novel, a girl arrives at boarding school ready to stand out in her all-black wardrobe, but hoping to keep her mental health history private. When the queen bee of the school begins to mercilessly pick on her, things escalate quickly, and when a body is found, Ward’s narrator finds herself unable to trust anyone, including herself. Ward treats the subject of bipolar disorder with respect while still crafting a complex psychological thriller. –MO Dwyer Murphy, The Stolen Coast (Viking) If the lovers at the heart of Casablanca had met about 30 years later, and had a kid, and then that kid and his dad started a business, then the story might have gone something like Dwyer Murphy’s upcoming New England beach thriller, The Stolen Coast. Murphy’s lawyer hero and his retired spy dad have an unusual business helping people on the run, using the legions of homes left abandoned outside of the summer season. When an ex-girlfriend shows up with a plan for a diamond heist, the risks of an already-dangerous job go through the roof, but the rewards may just be big enough to be worth it. –MO Liz Nugent, Strange Sally Diamond (Gallery/Scout) Sally Diamond has led a quiet life for decades, with her own peculiar habits, without bother. Then her father dies, she burns the corpse in the incinerator, and she becomes an object of much curiosity indeed. Liz Nugent finds much empathy for her strange heroine, whose heartbreaking backstory slowly comes to the fore, interspersed with Sally’s journey from isolation to beloved community member. There’s the usual trademark Liz Nugent disturbing content, but with a heart-felt dose of humanity to balance things out. –MO Laura Lippman, Prom Mom (William Morrow) I promise you—I swear to you—that Prom Mom means something very different than what you’re thinking! I’m not going to spoil it. I’m just going to say that Laura Lippman’s incredibly layered and tense COVID-era thriller tells multiple stories about its main characters, a man and a woman whose pasts are linked by tragedy and tawdry gossip, and whose current lives are connected by something more powerful: the desire for a second chance. –OR Laura Sims, How Can I Help You (Putnam) Laura Sims’ latest is a Highsmithian cat-and-mouse thriller featuring two librarians: Margo is hiding something, and Patricia is obsessed with discovering her secrets. A suspicious death of a patron becomes the catalyst for curiosity and a looming, explosive confrontation in this uneasy thriller. Sims’ work harkens back to the complex personality studies of mid-century psychological fiction, and pays homage to middle-aged womanhood—serial killers age too, after all.–MO Kelly J. Ford, The Hunt (Thomas & Mercer) An Easter egg hunt in Presley, Arkansas is the unlikely springboard for a serial killer’s diabolical plot in Kelly J. Ford’s newest standout thriller. Ford takes all that small-town rumor and agitation and burns it down to its purest form, where every incident is loaded with significance and the race to untangle truth from supposition becomes almost impossible. Ford pulls off the high-wire act with coolness and style to spare. –DM James Lee Burke, Flags on the Bayou (Atlantic Monthly Press) James Lee Burke trains his formidable talents on a sweeping epic of post Civil War bayou country, and the result is every bit as complex and searching as you would expect. The story involves women on the run, men fleeing their demons, and a country in tatters. The rest is well worth the read to find out. Burke is contemporary crime fiction’s reigning poet, and his work remains absolutely electric. –DM View the full article

The most powerful piece of true crime–related art I’d seen in years was tucked away in a difficult-to-access corner of a downtown New York City museum. This was not what I expected at the spring 2022 New Museum retrospective for the artist Faith Ringgold, a formidable educator and activist best known for showstopper quilts that present visceral juxtapositions of major facets of Black American history. The quilts were, justifiably, worth the museum visit. But my attention, at the time and since, kept returning to that corner, near a stairwell connecting the museum’s third and fourth floors, where the Atlanta Children and the paired Save Our Children in Atlanta and The Screaming Woman sculptures had been secreted away. Atlanta Children, on the right, was structured as a chess board, but these were no typical pieces. Each depicted a Black child in distress or pain, or dead. On the left was a female sculpture (the aforementioned Screaming Woman) clad in a green dress, a button adorning her right lapel, holding a poster Ringgold had created listing the names of twenty-eight boys, girls, and young men. “This is a commemoration to all those wantonly slain in the dawning of life,” Ringgold wrote. “Make it impossible for the sins of hate and indifference to persist in America. Stop child murders!” These words and images resonated as viscerally with me in 2022 as they must have with every person who has viewed them since their creation in 1981. Ringgold was making art out of the Atlanta child murders, one of the most confounding serial crimes in American memory, a story that resists the usual constraints of true crime storytelling—and yet inspired one of the foundational texts of this ongoing true crime moment, whose title and trajectory are in turn the inspiration for this anthology. — Black boys and girls were disappearing and turning up murdered in and around Atlanta. Between 1979 and 1981, as answers proved frustratingly elusive in tandem with the rising body count, parents of the murdered children demanded justice, because it was becoming all too clear there would be none. The subsequent killings of two men, Nathaniel Cater and Jimmy Ray Payne, both in their twenties, led to the arrest of twenty-three-year-old Wayne Williams, tied to their deaths by considerable circumstantial physical evidence. But even though police immediately named Williams as the prime suspect in the child murders—murders which appeared to stop with his conviction for the killings of Cater and Payne in 1982—he was never officially charged with those crimes. Larger issues grew more prominent in the intervening decades: Why hadn’t Atlanta police taken the child murders more seriously, and earlier? How had systemic inequalities, from asymmetrical economic status to homelessness and, above all, racism, influenced the trajectory, and the mistakes, of the investigation? More than forty years later, after countless treatments in books, podcasts, documentaries, and scripted television series, the Atlanta child murders remain a cipher among criminal cases. The lingering lack of total resolution highlights how deeply the system failed the murder victims and their families. This is not, however, because of what remains unknown: it is because of what is known, is evident in plain sight, and still denied wholesale. No wonder the celebrated writer James Baldwin felt called to explore the Atlanta child murders, first in a long essay for Playboy, and then in The Evidence of Things Not Seen, published in 1985, two years before his death. Baldwin was two decades removed from the height of his celebrity, when The Fire Next Time (1963) had made him the philosopher-king of the civil rights movement, whose work was supposed to bring order out of mounting chaos, and who was unfairly expected to alleviate white guilt and offer them hope as a salve. But by the early 1980s, America had soured on Baldwin. Readers viewed his later novels and nonfiction as downers, as speaking truths that were no longer fashionable, no longer palatable, no longer a conduit for idealism. As Hilton Als wrote in 1998, “Baldwin’s fastidious thought process and his baroque sentences suddenly seemed hopelessly outdated, at once self-aggrandizing and ingratiating.” Backlashes against progress, and the rise of Reaganite Republican politics, prevailed. Baldwin still spoke in his own tongue, still called out the essential disparities. But younger generations found greater literary kinship with the works of Toni Morrison, Alice Walker, and Toni Cade Bambara. Searching for different truths blinded people to what was right in front of them: that Baldwin still had the fire, still was nowhere close to the end of the line. This change in attitude about Baldwin may explain why the initial critical response to The Evidence of Things Not Seen was one of widespread bafflement. Baldwin had no interest in adhering to a typical true crime narrative, or even traditional narratives at all. His lambasting of the Atlanta Police Department and of the city’s governmental bodies was a song on repeated refrain, but most people just wanted to turn the music off. His reporting was introspective: while he did visit crime scenes and bore witness to the loved ones left behind, Baldwin ultimately concluded that he could not impose himself upon the parents of the murdered children after they had already suffered such grievous and continuing losses. What baffled people then makes far more sense now in a society loosed from anything resembling order and of a consensus reality. The Evidence of Things Not Seen has rightly grown in stature over time, reconsidered as a forerunner for other important works that showed how crime is woven into the fabric of society, how the legal system is built to fail millions of the marginalized, and how prioritizing collective voices can supersede traditional narratives about perpetrators. As Baldwin wrote in the book’s preface, the Atlanta child murders ultimately created a campaign of sustained terror, and because the totality of that emotion is so great, “terror cannot be remembered. One blots it out.” It is not the terror of death, but rather “the terror of being destroyed.” That palpable sense of fear permeates every interaction Baldwin has as he grapples, once more, with “having once been a Black child in a white country.” It is not the evidence of what is unseen, but rather what society still refuses to see. When Lady Justice is willfully blind, how damaging are the costs and how irreparable is the harm? As both Faith Ringgold and James Baldwin knew too well, crime has always been a catalyst for greater pain, and no part of the pursuit of justice could alleviate it. — The past few years have borne perpetual witness to seismic changes that continue to rock the globe: the COVID-19 pandemic; protests against racial injustice, and then a vicious backlash; right-wing extremism and the cancer that is white supremacy; increasingly oscillating temperatures thanks to climate change; the obliteration of reproductive and LGBTQ+ rights; and the distortion of reality put in sharp focus by the insurrection at the Capitol on January 6, 2021. Most of these major events were shocking, but surprises they were not. They were evidence of what was visible to anyone bothering to pay attention. Denial, however, is a more potent aphrodisiac than looking reality squarely in the eye. It is far easier to cast the perpetrator of a mass shooting, for example, as a lone wolf in the throes of mental derangement rather than a cog in the spinning wheel of more cohesive and reprehensible ideologies firmly rooted in bigotry and conspiracy theory. True crime cannot be divorced from society because crime is a permanent reflection and culmination of what ails society. And while collective interest in true crime has only grown since the first season of Serial in 2014, so too has it morphed into something larger and more troubling, reflecting the acceleration of what we cannot look away from. Evidence of Things Seen—of course the title is an homage to Baldwin, the Jeremiah of the latter half of the twentieth century—is divided into three parts. “What We Reckon With” examines events of the past few years, as well as the precipitating factors that catalyzed those events. Racial injustices past and present are examined by Pulitzer Prize winner Wesley Lowery in his searching portrait of a 1980s-era lynching, and by Samantha Schuyler, chronicling the brief life and murder of Black Lives Matter activist Toyin Salau. Canadian writer Brandi Morin delves into the plight of missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls, specifically in California but universally applicable to North America, while Justine van der Leun investigates the continuing failure to treat as victims rather than perpetrators those who endure intimate partner violence and kill their abusers. White-collar crime, and the federal government’s steadfast refusal to punish those who engage in it, gets the full treatment by Michael Hobbes, and Atlanta merits the cruel spotlight once more through May Jeong’s powerful account of the city’s 2021 spa shootings, its effect on Asian communities, and the larger history of exclusion and xenophobia. “The True Crime Stories We Tell” gives space to critical examinations of the genre and those who helped shape it. Amanda Knox takes back her own narrative and voice in unforgettable fashion, while Diana Moskovitz and Lara Bazelon convey the importance, complications, and damage done by the work of Miami police reporter and author Edna Buchanan, and Baltimore journalist and television showrunner David Simon. The ever-growing interdependence between true crime and those who consume it, and what happens when amateur participation becomes something more sinister, gets a full airing by RF Jurjevics. The final section, “Shards of Justice,” offers some paths forward, both for our deeply fissured legal system and for the true crime genre itself. Amelia Schonbek examines a case of restorative justice with unbounded empathy, while Keri Blakinger, one of the finest criminal justice reporters working today, gives an inside look at death row prisoners finding solace and comfort in a radio station that’s specifically targeted to them. Sophie Haigney’s moving letter to the child of a victim of gun violence, whose death she witnessed, refracts and upends expectations, while Mallika Rao finds greater meaning, even hope, in an unfathomable murder story. All fourteen of these pieces, as well as Rabia Chaudry’s incisive introduction, reflect true crime’s shift from providing answers to asking more questions. As a whole, this anthology is a testament to the discomfort we live in, and must continue to reckon with, in order to hold the true crime genre to higher ethical standards and goals. It is our duty to take the evidence of what we see, tell the truth, and strive for better. ___________________________________ From Evidence of Things Seen by Sarah Weinman. Copyright © 2023 by Sarah Weinman. Excerpted by permission of Ecco, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers View the full article