Author: Brian J. Noggle

So I got this book in a roundabout fashion: As part of the stocking stuffers for Christmas 2023, I bought the family Barnes and Noble gift cards, which I failed to stuff in their stockings in 2023 (they were full enough anyway), so I put them in the stockings for Christmas 2024 (where the stockings were less stuffed, so the deferred giving worked out better than it might have). My beautiful wife knew that this book was coming out this year (although the copyright date is 2024, it was not in book stores until February 2025). She read it right away–ah, gentle reader, I remember a time when I would buy a book by an author the day it came out and read it that night, but we are too far in the 21st century for me to do that much any more. After she read it, she put it into my office, and I put it in my unread stacks until after the 2025 Winter Reading Challenge. And, amazingly, I found it again shortly thereafter, so I picked it up.

This is an Elvis Cole / Joe Pike novel–it seems that Crais has abandoned writing other non-series books–and it’s definitely a throwback to late 20th century suspense writing. The style balances paragraphs of decription with dialog, which means good pacing with actual description in it and not just a script in a hardback. It’s almost 400 pages, but it doesn’t feel like it.

So, the plot: A young woman famous and rich from her online baking videos and growing media and baking empire contacts Elvis Cole to look for her father who disappeared ten years ago. He was declared dead after five years missing and a search by an investigation firm that Cole knows and respects. So he starts his investigation and discovers that someone in Rancha, the last place the father was seen, doesn’t want him investigating. Which leads to a brutal beatdown of Cole by multiple attackers (when he doesn’t give up) which allows multiple characters to say, “It looks like you got your ass kicked,” which was probably funnier to the author when he was writing the book than to me reading it.

The plot is a little convoluted–well, no more so than a Raymond Chandler book–and I don’t know that it hangs together seamlessly or without wrinkles–I thought a particular twist was coming which did not, and it ended up a little disappointing, but the execution and writing was refreshing enough that I’ll probably get the next Crais book for my wife right when it comes out, should another be forthcoming (it’s taking him several years to crank them out these days, so one of these will be the last, but hopefully not soon).

Which leads me to think maybe I should read all the Cole and then Cole/Pike books again. I’ve read Robert B. Parker’s early works several times, including some binge reads where I tore through all the works to a certain point in rapid succession, but that’s been twenty or twenty-five years–and I’m not especially inclined to do it again with the Spenser novels as they got longer and more hardback scripts having gained length but losing depth somewhere around that time. But Crais? I suspect I’d find they are pretty much quality throughout. But I have so many other books to read that I’m not eager to run through them again unless they accidentally end up on my to-read shelves again.

So: Recommended.

And I would be remiss if I did not mention that I own two copies of what might be Crais’s first published work–which is not The Monkey’s Raincoat. Which was expensive in paperback when we tried to find it twenty years ago.

This book is undated and looks to be self-published, probably something for the gift shop in Smirnoff’s theater in Branson. I could date it pretty closely by its topic matter: Several Enron jokes, but no mention of the September 11 attacks. I went to the Amazon listing for the book, and it says 2000, which is what I would have guessed. Closer to when I met him in 2012 than that meeting is to today, gentle reader, and meaning it’s been fifteen and a half years since I read America on Six Rubles a Day, and only eight months since I bought this signed copy in Clever last year. I just sort of presumed I had a lot of Yakov Smirnoff books on my shelves, but I guess there are not that many titles available. I just see a lot of them because they’re pretty common in these parts.

At any rate, it’s a collection of short topical bits about, well, life and living in this country and whatnot. Fairly basic humor stuff. A little biography worked in here and there, some of his story of coming to America and coming to Branson. A little about the philosophy that would lead him to becoming Doctor Smirnoff later and his philosophy of happiness and love.

So I guess I could have picked this book up for the Feels Good category of the 2025 Winter Reading Challenge, but I did not. But it was close to Hope Always Wins, so I picked it up shortly thereafter.

And I guess my shelves are not rife with Smirnoff, which is a shame. I’m old enough to remember his 80s schtick which gives him a head start in appreciation. I should really get down to one of his shows again before he does retire for good this time.

So for my first book after the 2025 Winter Reading Challenge (and finishing the volume of Dickens, I picked up another of the books about lofts which I bought last year in Sparta (home of the Trojans). This is the second of the three I bought that day that I’ve flipped through (Small Lofts being the first).

It’s basically the same thing. New York and European lofts mostly done in white and minimalist style (I guess it’s right there in the title). Each “loft” section has photos, a couple paragraphs, and a floorplan (which is tiny–I put my beautiful wife’s hot librarian reading glasses on to look at them sometimes). But they’re really all of a piece, and I was very excited when I got a splash of wood on the walls or on the floor just for the cover of it. Many of them looked like hotel rooms, and not the nice ones–more like the dorm ones like the recent “concept” hotels. The lofts in this book were larger than in Small Lofts (which has “small” right in the title, so what did I expect?). Although I got the sense some were but pied-à-terre (hence the hotel look), some were actual residences–1990s television critic Joel Siegel’s loft is in here, so I assume it was his home in New York, but he probably had a country home elsewhere, too. They’re not short-term rentals–the book precedes AirBnB and the lot–but they’re pretty sterile looking. On the other hand, although most of them are described as diaphanous, not many of them have spaces described as liminal.

I’ve mentioned that this is definitely not my style. Perhaps the third of the books, Loft Style will match my preferred aesthetic.

At any rate, I’m looking at the book, written around the turn of the century, and I’m wondering what the owners of these fine downtownish domiciles would think about how their cities have evolved over the intervening two decades. You know, if you’re living in a loft downtown, you’re probably okay with how things have turned out or have been turning out. Maybe I would have been, too.

This volume includes two books I counted toward the 2025 Winter Reading Challenge—A Tale of Two Cities for the Set Somewhere You’d Like To Visit (a two-fer in two places, London and Paris, and a two-fer in it’s also a Classic or a Retelling) and A Christmas Carol which fit into the Classic or a Retelling (and, I guess, a two-fer since it’s set in London). I didn’t get to finish the book until after completing “The Chimes” after I completed the Winter Reading Challenge. So it counted as two books for the Winter Reading Challenge, but only one book in my annual tally. The rules are the rules, no matter how arbitrary.

Because I might go on a bit at length here, I’m going to tuck this book report under the fold.

Continue reading “Book Report: A Tale of Two Cities / A Christmas Carol / The Chimes by Charles Dickens” →

The 2025 Winter Reading Challenge had a category Feels Good, and like the Blends Two Genres, I was a little uncertain what to pick for it. A feel-good fiction story? I’ve already finished my collection of Executioner men’s adventure paperbacks. Maybe a self-help book? Perhaps this book, which I recently rediscovered in the stacks, whose author overcame a divorce after a long marriage and a bout with cancer? Should fit the bill, ainna? Let’s hope so.

And I know, gentle reader, you’re asking, “So you’re buying books just based on PWoC (pretty woman on cover) now, Brian J.?” The answer is no. Although I do have similar accumulation strategies for books and records (buy them at book sales, cheap), I don’t tend to select books that way. I bought this book because the author was signing them at ABC Books back in the day when I could afford to try to make all of the book signings up there. As such, I can say the author is pretty and vivacious, although as she is a radio personality and former school teacher, so she’s probably pretty used to being put together and in a public persona.

At any rate, this book is not really an autobiography, although it has some autobiographical elements as illustrations, but they’re not linear. It is, however, a self-help book about training yourself to be more hopeful through scriptural and Christian practice (both prayer and attending church/serving others). It is broken into fifteen “days” as a mechanism of highlighting practices to put into place, but in actual practice, you’ll probably work on one particular area for a while and then go onto another.

The “days”–foci, if you will, include things like “30 Minutes”, time dedicated to prayer each day, akin to meditation in other faith practices; “Write Your Own Story”, which is consciously focusing on the positive not only today, but in your past, which is akin to some things I’ve read recently about how remembering things rewires your brain and alters your memories; “Elimination”, which is about de-cluttering so you have time to focus on important things (and prayer); and so on. So there are a lot of practical practices as well which form as steps toward a more hopeful and prayerful life.

So: More Christian and scriptural than your Norman Vincent Peale or your Lloyd Douglas. More dense in the scripture and more heartfelt than Joyce Meyer that I’ve recently read. And it covers more ground than any of them in both practical and spiritual life.

So it reinforced some of the efforts I’ve been trying to make in my life (not decluttering, clearly), so I enjoyed the book. I am thinking about getting a copy for my beautiful wife, but not my mother-in-law (she’s already getting two of the books from the Winter Reading Challenge, but let’s not go overboard).

Well, since Robert E. Howard’s Three-Bladed Doom had no sorcery in it–it was just a men’s adventure novel with guns and swords–I could not count it as the Fantasy category in the 2025 Winter Reading Challenge. But fortunately the Nogglestead stacks still teem with Conan titles, so I was able to pluck this volume. You know, I’m not sure where it came from: It’s not one of the titles from the 2021 trip to Berryville where I got several Conan titles, and I did a quick search on the blog for valorous and maddox to no avail. One of those single or small stack purchases that don’t get immortalized here or I have owned this book a long, long time (probably the former).

At any rate, in this book, Conan is hired by a sorceress to perform a small ritual in a cave sacred to the Cimmerians, the home of Crom. So Conan goes to his homeland and scuffles along the way. The book switches perspectives between a couple other magicians who are also hoping to perform the ceremony, including a couple of Vedyans who take a sea passage knowing the seamen plan to rob them and who hire enemies of the Cimmerians to guide them into the mystic mountains and another more ancient magician who hopes to ride along with the sorceress when she teleports into the Cave of Crom after Conan performs the ritual. Each hopes to become the greatest magic user who ever lived, or at least the greatest for the next 1000 years.

That oversimplifies things, but there’s a lot in the and scuffles along the way.

The book also has a lot of Cthulhu mythos-adjacent bits to it, so I presume the author was also informed by the works of Lovecraft and Derleth (and beyond), but probably not the collection The Cthulhu Stories of Robert E. Howard which was 35 years in the future from 1985.

The end is a bit quick but is probably not out of line with the ending of Conan the Destroyer (1984).

But, overall, a fairly good bit of sword-and-sorcery, aka low fantasy, and worthy of calling Fantasy for Winter Reading Challenge purposes.

A couple of things of note unrelated to the content of the book, though.

One, the book was read through at least once as someone turned down a number of the pages. And someone was also reading it using this as a bookmark:

It’s some card representation of an early Wolverine comic cover (early meaning low number, not a comic from the 1960s). I did a Google image search on it, and I didn’t see it as a card as part of a set. Who knows? It might be collectible, something thoughtlessly used as a bookmark thirty-five years ago.

Second, the pastor at our church mentioned in a sermon that he hadn’t known what a diadem was. He’d thought it was just another word for crown, but it’s not; it’s a jewel worn on the forehead either with a chain or some circlet holding it there or as the fastener of a turban. Many heads nodded in our pew, and my mother-in-law and wife learned the difference. I told them I knew what it was because I read a lot of fantasy, and people in fantasy novels often wear them.

So when I finished the Dickens I read for the Winter Reading Challenge, I texted my mother-in-law, a former English teacher, a photo of the book cover along with the comment “Finally, some LITERATURE!” And I had to send her the word diadem when I found it in the book:

So I had to send it as proof of my previous assertion.

The 2025 Winter Reading Challenge has a category labeled simply Dystopian, which left me a bit at a loss. I mean, what really marks that genre? Young Adult novels are rife with The Hunger Games and whatnot, but what distinguishes them? So I struggled a bit, figuring that everything was going to have to be a parable like 1984 or something….

But this book has this atop the front flap:

The future is a strange and dangerous place.

Chaz Kato can testify to that. He is a citizen of Xanadu, a near-future perfect society hosting the wealthiest men and women on Earth. Along with his fellow citizens on this artificial island, Kato bears the burden of a dark secret that the outside world would be shocked to hear.

Well, alrighty, then. This probably qualifies.

The book starts by following the perspective of Lenore Myles, an engineering student visiting Xanadu who meets Chaz Kato, a computer/brain interface scientist, and they woo and fall in love, but Kato gives Myles high-level access to the computer systems, and she stumbles across…. something. She disappears from Xanadu, is almost killed, and goes on the run with a former boyfriend who is involved in a terrorist organization. Focus shifts to Kato, who is not actually the illegitimate grandson of the genius Chaz Kato but is in fact the Chaz Kato, rejuvinated by the medical technology from Xanadu. He tries to find out what Myles might have discovered that led to her being framed as a spy, and he encounters Saturn who seems to be manipulating even the council which rules the planet, a council composed of leaders or figureheads for the major corporate concerns on Earth which is often at odds with national governments, and he discovers a plan certain to lead to world-wide unrest when it is revealed–and Saturn plans to reveal it at soon.

So, okay, I guess we can squeeze it into dystopian.

The book starts out slowly describing the characters and Xanadu and then moves faster once the game is afoot, although perhaps a little too quickly and too far afield once the protagonists get away from Xanadu. As it was published in 2000, the height of the Internet bubble and the end of the twentieth century sensibilities, it projects fairly well a plausiblish future when read nearly three decades later. No problems with the Soviet Union continuing to rival the United States, for example, one of the things that immediately dates 1970s and early 1980s darker science fiction projected forward from that day’s problems.

A good enough book. One I confused with The Achilles Choice in my stacks because that one features runners on the cover.

The last Niven book I read, apparently, was Playgrounds of the Mind which I read in 2008 and whose review starts, “Wow, it’s been almost three years since I read N-Space, the collection to which this book is billed the sequel.” Wow, I guess almost 17 years have elapsed since then. Given I was a bit of a Niven fan back in the day, that seems a long time. But the stacks of Nogglestead are lovely, dark, and deep. Maybe I’ll have to read The Achilles Choice now if I should run across it again sometime soon so that almost two decades do not elapse again between my Nivenings. And now that the Winter Reading Challengs is almost over, so I can read whatever I want again.

I had already picked this book out as the Scares You category for the 2025 Winter Reading Challenge when I heard about Todd. But it did add a little umami to the conflict. I’ve lost much of my family to cancer, and often very young. So although I don’t have a parent left to lose as Mlle. de Beauvoir, I still fear losing a loved one or going through it myself. It’s not a horror book like many people might have selected, but it certainly fits the category.

This book is the first of Simone de Beauvoir’s that I’ve read even though Robert B. Parker really flacked for The Second Sex back in the early Spenser books. Maybe he only mentioned it once but I read the book a bunch. But it deals with the, what, maybe month from the time her mother went in for a relatively routine procedure in the middle 1960s to her mother’s death from cancer. Apparently, the doctors figured it was pretty bad to begin with, but nobody told the mother so that she would be in good spirits.

So the book is partly a description of those days, although Mlle. de Beauvoir was not the attentive daughter tending to her mother constantly–that was her sister–but Mlle. de Beauvoir came back from trips behind the Iron Curtain once or twice when travelling and when it looked like her mother took a turn, and she did visit frequently in Paris. She also delves into her mother’s life a bit, telling us her interpretation of her mother’s bourgeous life and projecting unhappiness on her where the mother would not have claimed it was so–apparently, the father was a Frenchman, and he might or might not have had a number of lovers. Mlle. de Beauvoir therefore casts judgment upon her mother and, well, not vows to not lead a middle class life, but affirms her decision to live the mid-century French existentialist writer lifestyle. David Brooks coined the term Bohemian bourgeoisie in Bobos in Paradise, but his diagnosis was probably forty years after the French invented it. And adding Bohemian to it makes it sound hipper than it really is. I would call it simply New Bou since the values and ethics that replaced the old middle-class morality and “inauthenticity” of some degree of stoicism in the public face really did not depend upon being cool and artsy. Merely in following the herd that the French Existentialist and probably just any “artist” who could afford to go to Europe in the early part of the 20th century could afford to espouse.

Where was I going? I don’t know. All I know is the book triggered a little dread in me as I remembered my own mother’s death lo those 16 years ago from cancer and did a little self-flagellation in wondering if I could have / should have done more (yes). So “Scares You”? Yes.

It reminded me a whole lot of Anna Quindlen’s One True Thing which I read, what, almost thirty years ago when it was fresh and I got it from the Quality Paperback Club in one of those instances where I bought four books for a buck back in the 1990s when I thought I should read more literary fiction. I even saw the film at some point. It definitely has the same vibe, a combination of losing her mother and judging her mother at the same time. I more recently read Love’s Legacy by Stephanie Dalla Rosa which was also about losing her mother to cancer, but written a bit at a remove has her mother has already passed, and her mother’s diary helped the author eventually overcome her pain and return to her faith. So it’s a completely different focus, but another daughter loses her mother to cancer book.

You know, I can’t think of a book by a man talking about losing his father to cancer. I’m not sure that our relationships and emotions and regrets are any less complicated. I suppose we’re just less likely to work through them verbally in the form of a book.

At any rate, one more book down on my quest for 15 in the first two months. Which will actually not be fifteen on my annual list as two come from a single volume. Which is what I have to remind myself as I near completion of one form and it does not align with the tally on another.