A BRIEF POTPOURRI

by Melodie Johnson Howe

I hurt my shoulder doing yoga. It’s my right shoulder which affects my right arm and my right hand. This makes trying difficult. I mean typing. So this will be a quick rambling blog today.

First of all, does anybody know the name of the John Dickson Carr novel that had an automaton in it? It’s one of my favorites. Yes, I know I wrote a column about my love/hate relationship with the summing up at the end of mysteries. But this novel is on the love side of my ambivalence. And it’s driving me crazy that I can’t remember the name of it.

Regarding Steve’s column on reference books; I would like to add A Readers Guide to the Classic British Mystery by Susan Oleksiw. Another great book to have in your library is Film Noir: an Encyclopedic Reference to the American Style. It’s the third edition edited by Alain Silver and Elizabeth Ward. The editors have filled this book with wonderful photographs and they give a synopsis of each film. The plots are great fun to read. They also acknowledge the authors and the novels that many of the movies were adapted from. The editors give thoughtful sharp insights about Noir and films. It you’re a fan of Film Noir and the authors, screenwriters, actors, and directors that created the genre then you will want to have this book.

For all our readers out there I would like to offer up Doris Lessing’s Nobel Prize for Literature acceptance speech. It’s about readers of books and how important they are. It is also about the lost art of reading and the need to keep that desire for entering new worlds through the written word alive. She talks about Kenya and how the poor there crave books and knowledge. We could learn something from their fierce need to read. I don’t know the exact link but you can google Nobel Prize to read the complete speech.

A month ago I was in Vermont and I attended my friend’s book club. I was introduced as a mystery writer. The leader of the group said something like, “Oh, I never read mysteries.” Then she added quickly, “I can never figure them out.” She wasn’t letting me know how dumb she was; she was letting me know how trite I was. They were reading a Booker Prize novel. They all agreed that the book was beautifully written. But most of them felt untouched by the characters. Surprise. Surprise.

The joy of writing in this genre is creating characters that readers can care about even if they can’t figure out who done it.

Good-by, Ed Hoch. Another voice gone. We will miss you.