so yes, then, as the title implies (or gives one every indication, look you see), i have managed to complete reading another couple of books. not just one, then, since the last post on this subject (admittedly some time ago), but also not so many as three, or even five (5). just a further two, then. which would seem to be a point at which i am comfortable enough to publish musings, or comments.
as it happens, the slow - and i would not say lethargic, but also have little defence - pace at which i now find myself reading came up in conversation with a friend. why, exactly, has my rate, or ratio, of reading now slightly fallen so. the explanation would seem to be no more explicit nor obscene than it being, in my era of exile, i no longer find myself a builder of routine. once i had set times at which i would read, but that's all gone now. oh.
getting down, getting with it and moving on, then, a glimpse or stare (take as long a look as you would wish, your time is yours), a look at which ones (the two) i have most recently read. followed by an oh so brief, spoiler free overview of what i thought of each.
commencing, or starting with, on the left there (or your other left, if that is incorrect), Camino Winds by John Grisham is another venture into the world of sequels, or "expanded universes" as they seem to call such these days. these are words i have used many times to describe books before, but there is no avoiding this - all breezy, whimsical, light and rather enjoyable. meanwhile, The Thursday Murder Club off of the tall one out of Pointless was one i wished not to read, kind of vowed (if not pledged) not to read, ended up with it, read it and ultimately found it to be one of the most enjoyable novels i have had the unexpected pleasure of reading, at least in this modern era.
right, then, moving on (if you are interested) to a bit of a closer look at each, with some thoughts, observations, rantings, etc thrown in for good measure. due care and consideration shall be taken, if not exactly in equal amounts, yet for sensitive souls (for there are many who roam an "internet", always keen and surprisingly eager to get upset), a ** SPOILER WARNING ** here be in place.
yes, of course, provenance of my copy. a lack of sticker gives every suggestion it was Tesco, but i forget the fee (sum) paid. with thanks to their arbitrary, abstract costing now, not to mention frequent increases, hard to say. at the least it would have been £3.50, but could have been £4.50. perhaps, possibly, it was actually a mere £3 plus the cost of some newspaper, but maybe this does not matter.
plot? once again we (the readers) follow the adventures and exploits of the protagonist, who i think is called Bruce. yes, he does or would appear to be some sort of quasi alter ego for the author, but ultimately is that not what every protagonist from every novel is? going on what i recall of the first novel to feature him, yes, he still runs an improbably successful bookstore, he is still quite prolific with sexual relations, and still sits on a great deal of money off of a not strictly legal yet does not feel all that criminal book deal. his home place, this Camino Island(s), gets absolutely knacked off of a storm, leaving several dead. it turns out one (1) of the deceased was not a victim of the storm as such, but foul play. someone gone done a murder, it turns out.
this plot device, the "hide a stone in a pile of stones" notion of attempting to quietly get on with a murder in the midst of widespread death, is one i am partial to. many years, and what feels like several different lifestyles ago, when i held the foolish notion of being a writer i, too, gone done a novel with a similar premise. not a storm as such, but perhaps metaphorically yes. anyway, this is not meant to be of me, the failed writer, but Grisham, the highly successful writer.
one, such as i, would go ahead and call this novel a bit breezy and somewhat whimsical, for the improbability drive is full tilt whacked for suspension of disbelief. yes, true, fiction, but a general strength, for me at least, was or has always been the plausibility of his novels. this one kind of takes as a given that anyone, like for instance a book seller and a student, can have a really good fiddle with a murder scene and there be no repercussions.
worth reading? as it happens, yes. leaving aside the concerns mentioned above, this is quite the riveting, interesting, did someone do it, and if they did, who and why, sort of thriller. all at a very relaxed kind of pace. every page feels written for fun rather than contractual obligation, and when on song and of a mind to be in good form, few are seldom at such as Grisham is. presumably it would be wise to suggets reading Camino Island(s) before this, but in truth i barely recall it, and got on fine here.
provenance of my copy? well, that's how come i ended up reading it. one or two, true, had done that suggested oh, go on, read it thing, and there i was in Tesco, with some vouchers what they gave me off of that card thing they had, and couldn't find anything to spend it on, but they had shelf after shelf of this novel. so yeah, go on then, i went for it.
to the plot, then. quite broadly, the main focus would be a group of four (elderly, although this shall be obvious momentarily) people living in a kind of upmarket retirement home. for the most part, or mostly, they while away time by digging through old unsolved crimes, usually murders, on a thursday afternoon. hence, you guessed it, the title of the novel. it's an interesting enough way to keep the mind active, and then wouldn't you know, one murder happens to get done right within their community. off they set in giving the local constabulary assistance, whether they wish for it or not.
a confession would be that the first chunk of this novel - say, the opening (for where else is it one would start reading) 80 or so pages - were all that i feared. everything about the tall one out of Pointless projects the idea of a right boring b@st@rd, and here it was. it was all cliche, contrived and stereotype. but then, something which made me genuinely laugh hard (to do with the first meeting of club and the two coppers), for it was unexpected comic genius, and truly the remainder of the novel was quite the pleasure to read.
rather splendid, then. a celebrity (of sorts) novel which, true, requires a standard fictional suspension of disbelief, but is enjoyable (very much so) and does not dwell in the detached world of how celebrities appear to think, or assume, that "real world" they left behind long since operates in some way.
no, let me not add too much more. this novel, off of the tall one out of Pointless, decidedly lives up to the hype and is full worthy of the remarkable sales clocked. i suspect, or would like to think, that the latter has been achieved on the basis of "proper" reviews and the more important word of mouth celebrations. yes, true, there is probably a devout, acolyte cult following of Pointless and that other, horrendous game show what he does, but my suspicion is that this novel would have been a success no matter whose name featured on the cover.
quite the happy yet lament moment, then. two very worthwhile and enjoyable novels read, reminding me of my love of reading, tinged with guilt for no set routine to read more than i presently do. i could indeed make some form of pledge, or vow, to dedicate more time (on a fixed basis) to reading, but this would be yet another thing for me to break. scorpion and frog, etc.
my suspicion, as ever, is that all and sundry who would either wish or want to read either (or both) of these novels has long since done so. but, once more, many thanks for reading, and if all of this has somehow encouraged or inspired someone out there somewhere to read one of them, well, so much the better.
be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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