Sunday Sundries, 185

1. AOTW: Old Sol himself, who has betrayed us all spring. Yes, Mr. Eliot, April is the cruelest month--but Old Sol--hiding, hiding, hiding--has more than earned the award--not just this week, but for the entire spring. (Yes, the forecast is for Apollo to ride more openly in the next few days. We'll see ....)

2. Some bookie stuff ...

     - I finished Michael Connelly's latest this week (via Kindle), his newest Bosch adventure that I had somehow not even realized had been published. It was not until I saw my friend Chris reading it in the coffee shop that I felt that surge of ... regret? (Okay, jealousy?) So I promptly ordered it on my Kindle, read a bit every night until I finished it this week.

Two Kinds of Truth (released on Halloween, 2017) shows us Bosch, again, in his post-LA detective days; he's now a consultant for a nearby department; he focuses on unsolved cases (his office is in a jail cell!), and (surprise!) he solves them. There are a couple of things going on in this one:

• Someone has murdered a father and son who run a pharmacy (a drug ring suspected).
• A convicted murderer, who has spent years in prison, has figured out a way to blame Bosch for planting evidence years ago ... will he get out of prison?

For the former case, Bosch goes undercover, joining a group of druggies who, for some drugs (!), go around in a van and get Rx filled (Rx supplied by corrupt physicians, filled by corrupt pharmacists). Some dangerous stuff happens.

For the latter, he enlists the help of his half-brother, Mickey Haller (who has his own Connelly novels--e.g., The Lincoln Lawyer), a slick lawyer who has some, uh, relaxed ethical/moral principles that enable him to succeed in the courtroom. But will Haller rule this time?

Some excitin' stuff in this one--and some things that are supposed to be tense--but aren't because, well, Connelly ain't gonna kill off Harry Bosch ... not yet, anyway.

     - I've been reading my way through the works of Wilkie Collins, and last night, about a third of the way through his 1870 novel, Man and Wife, I came across this passage about books and readers. Read it--ask yourself: Does it still resonate today?

THE Library at Windygates [an estate] was the largest and the handsomest room in the house. The two grand divisions under which Literature is usually arranged in these days occupied the customary places in it. On the shelves which ran round the walls were the books which humanity in general respects—and does not read. On the tables distributed over the floor were the books which humanity in general reads—and does not respect. In the first class, the works of the wise ancients; and the Histories, Biographies, and Essays of writers of more modern times—otherwise the Solid Literature, which is universally respected, and occasionally read. In the second class, the Novels of our own day—otherwise the Light Literature, which is universally read, and occasionally respected. At Windygates, as elsewhere, we believed History to be high literature, because it assumed to be true to Authorities (of which we knew little)—and Fiction to be low literature, because it attempted to be true to Nature (of which we knew less). At Windygates as elsewhere, we were always more or less satisfied with ourselves, if we were publicly discovered consulting our History—and more or less ashamed of ourselves, if we were publicly discovered devouring our Fiction. An architectural peculiarity in the original arrangement of the library favored the development of this common and curious form of human stupidity. While a row of luxurious arm-chairs, in the main thoroughfare of the room, invited the reader of solid literature to reveal himself in the act of cultivating a virtue, a row of snug little curtained recesses, opening at intervals out of one of the walls, enabled the reader of light literature to conceal himself in the act of indulging a vice. For the rest, all the minor accessories of this spacious and tranquil place were as plentiful and as well chosen as the heart could desire. And solid literature and light literature, and great writers and small, were all bounteously illuminated alike by a fine broad flow of the light of heaven, pouring into the room through windows that opened to the floor. (p. 188 in Oxford World's Classics paperback)

3. I signed up--via Amazon--for Britbox, an app that gives us access to lots of shows from the U.K. I did so principally because they offer the latest season of Shetland, which we both enjoy a lot. Last night, started episode 1 of the latest season, and we're already into it!

4. The next month will feature a spate of medical appointments: family physician (general physical), dermatologist, dentist, optometrist, oncologist. I am so ... excited!

5. Last word: a word I liked this week from one of my online word-of-the-day providers:

     - from wordsmith.org

arctophile (ARK-tuh-fyl)

noun: Someone who is very fond of teddy bears or collects them.

From Greek arctos (bear) + -phile (lover). Earliest documented use: 1970.

USAGE: “I am a past president of the American Society of Teddy Bear Collectors and have contributed dozens of articles to Teddy Bear Review and other arctophile journals.”

Clifford Chase; Winkie; Grove Press; 2006.