Photo credit: Shin.

Over at PJ Media, where all the cool kids hang out, Kathy Shaidle rattled a few nacelles the other day by posting a piece called “Five Reasons Star Wars Actually Sucks.” Although the article was primarily an attack (not entirely unfair, either) on Star Wars fandom, she painted with a wide enough brush to step on a lot of general science fiction fans' toes.

Successful, mature men do not play computer games, attend “cons,” and get excited about overrated science fiction movies from the 1970s.

Come on, all the conservative boys who’ve read this far:

Do you imagine Victor Davis Hanson is some kind of font of boring zombie lore?

Do you think Mark Steyn wastes his spare time playing World of Warcraft? (Trick question. Mark Steyn doesn’t have any spare time.)

No, these men have careers and families, here on planet earth.

So today Bryan Preston took up the gauntlet at The PJ Tatler, with a piece called “Why Star Wars and Sci-Fi Actually Don't Suck.”

But here’s a little known fact about Star Wars: More than just being a series of two very good films, a pair of decent films and a pair of bad films, it bequeathed a whole industry. I’m not talking about the parallel marketing of the toys, many of which I used to own and now wish I still did because they would be worth a pile of money. I’m talking about Photoshop, and the broader digital imaging industry.

But here's where it gets exciting and relevant and important. He goes on to say,

Now, if you hate sci-fi it follows that you’ll probably hate both of Lucas’ most successful franchises, but that doesn’t make them bad films and it doesn’t make sci-fi a bad genre. There’s a tendency around to try to force others to stop liking things that we don’t like. Well, I love sci-fi. When I’m not reading up on politics, I’m probably reading either legitimate history or sci-fi/fantasy. Good sci-fi, like good video games, gets your mind going. Lately I’ve been reading a lot of Jack McDevitt and Lars Walker. (Emphasis mine. lw) Both are fine writers with interesting minds who can create a universe and invest that universe with life. I don’t just read sci-fi/fantasy for the escape. I read it because, right now, it’s where the intellectual action is in fiction.

Thanks for the plug, Bryan.

Author Gabe Lyons talks about his son, age 11, who has Down's.

Cade’s life, and those like his, offers an alternative view of the good life.

These individuals alter career paths and require families to work together.
They invite each of us to engage, instead of simply walking by.
They love unconditionally, asking little in return beyond a simple acknowledgement.
They celebrate the little things in life, and displace the stress that bogs most of us down.
They seem to understand what true life is about, more than many of us.
They offer us the opportunity to truly value all people as created equal.

(via Andy Crouch)

Today we had our biennial (I think that's the right word. Once every two years. For some reason I find it impossible to get biennial and semiannual straight) CPR and AED training at work. You probably all know what CPR is. An AED is the defibrillating machine various institutions (including ours) keep available in case of emergency.

I was deeply embarrassed to realize I had only a vague recollection of the previous training. If somebody had dropped in front of me with a heart attack yesterday, I'd have been useless. Now I'm up to speed again (sort of) and the instructor told me where to look on YouTube for a refresher video.

Old dog. New tricks. It's a challenge.

The term “light bill” came to my mind today. Do you young folks know what a light bill is?

When I was a kid, my dad used to talk about paying the light bill. He meant the electric bill. Because back when rural electification came in, in the wake of World War II, that's what everybody called it. There was one main purpose for getting your house hooked up to the grid, and that was to run electric lights. No more oil lamps (I don't think they used gas in the country. That was a city luxury) with their smudge and bother and fire risk. Suddenly you could bid the fair day linger a while indoors, and read into the night.

Even then they did other things with electricity, of course. I believe they had a radio before they got electric power, but now they could feed it off an outlet, rather than buying batteries. I'm not sure what else they would have run off electricity in the early days. Ice boxes kept food cold, and clothes washing was still done by hand, at least at first. Dr. Heppelmeyer's Patent Miracle Nerve Panacea and Hair Growth Stimulator might have warranted a plug-in, at least until it turned the cat's hair white.

My great-grandfather, whose farm was across the road from ours, was one of the first farmers in the area to have electric light (he was a strict pietist, but loved technology and innovation. This was not uncommon), but he ran his off a battery of batteries, kept up in the attic. When I showed the Norwegian relatives that house at Christmas, one of them asked how they recharged the batteries, and I hadn't the faintest idea. Perhaps they had to refresh the acid periodically, or scrape off the lead plates. Probably it was something else.

“Lars Walker proves prescient,” says Grim of Grim's Hall.

I knew he was going to say that.

He shares a passage from Troll Valley that he enjoyed. I'm fond of that one myself.

You too can enjoy this clairvoyant e-book. Kindle here. Nook here.

Not all Norwegians are dull and conventional.

I'll admit I am, but clearly there are exceptions.

Take the case of Jarle Andhoy, who recently set off from New Zealand in his sailing yacht for a visit to Antarctica, in spite of a lack of the proper permits, and the presence of a repair man who was unfortunate enough to be on board when Jarle and his crew fled the harbor in order to avoid the authorities.

Mr Andhoy told the Norwegian public broadcasting service NRK that the presence on board of the unnamed New Zealander was not part of his plan, but was the result of "a hectic departure" from Auckland last week.

He said it was "a somewhat tricky situation" because the man did not have a passport or papers with him.

But Mr Andhoy insisted: "Everything is on schedule and the atmosphere is good on board.

"We are well prepared for what may befall us."

It's almost a fun story, except for the plight of the the repair man, who very likely had other plans, and the fact that three men died the last time Andhoy tried this.

But hey, what do I know? I'm dull and conventional.

Tip: Neatorama.

I respect Dr. Edward Welch from some of his earlier works (a good example, Running Scared: Fear, Worry & the God of Rest). Now, he has a book for teenagers and young adults in which he answers a few fundamental questions. What Do You Think of Me? Why Do I Care?: Answers to the Big Questions of Life leads a reader into the reasons he may pander to his crowd by asking:

1. Who is God?
2. Who am I?
3. Who are these other people?

Whatever answers we give to these questions point to what we worship, and that’s the heart of the matter.

Welch offers a gentle path to freedom to anyone wise enough to walk with him. He describes true and false worship as being those things that are worthy of our love and those that aren’t. “Love the approval, acceptance, or love of other people; they will be like a god to you and control your life,” he writes. “It is a basic principle: the more you are controlled by God, the less you are controlled by other people. The more you love God, the less you will love the acceptance or recognition of others. So grit your teeth and get to work! Just kidding.”

I look forward to giving my daughters this book to help guard them against the fear of men, which I still find threatening. It’s probably the main reason I don’t feel as if I’ve fully grown up yet.

Charles-Antoine Perrault shows us photos from another side of Paris, one Gene Kelly never danced in. "In the end, these projects are yet another utopian attempt by modern architects to find solutions to economic and social issues through design. Focusing exclusively on form, they failed to create a sense of place, producing environments that are all but vibrant."

I've been having a small problem with my beloved Kindle's battery. It's supposed to last about 3 weeks, if you keep the WiFi use down, but mine has been lasting about 2 weeks. So I called them a couple weeks ago, and they ran me through some procedures to re-set it. That didn't do the job, so I spoke to Customer Service on Sunday, and they told me they'd send me a new Kindle. I got it today.

I call that pretty good service. All I have to do now is pack the old Kindle up in the mailer box, and send it back to them for cannibalization.

It's still under warranty. If the warranty had run out, I'd have to pay a modest fee for the replacement, far less than buying a new one.

I remain a Kindle fan.

Everybody's talking about the Florida Primary today. I only remember one primary from my years of residence in Florida. I was still a Democrat back then, struggling with the increasingly obvious fact that my party hated both me and the horse I rode in on. I puzzled over who to support for president, and decided that the one who seemed most socially conservative was... Al Gore. Read the rest of this entry . . .

NPR has a good report on Susan Cain's new book, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking, noting that modern workplaces are often designed for extroverts. My office is a comfortable place for introverts, but I feel the pressure of the extroverts in the desire to collaborate on work that doesn't seem very collaborative to me. I appreciate what she says about leadership training, even though I'm not a leader and don't know what it will take to become one. Perhaps the problem is my definition of leadership.

Get Cain's book here: Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking

There are various ways for authors to handle the problem of aging in popular series characters. Some characters never age at all. Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin were unaffected by the passage of decades. John D. MacDonald, as I recall, allowed his hero Travis McGee to age about one year for every three in real time. This lent an illusion of realism, while extending McGee's effective life as an action hero as long as the author was likely to live. Perhaps the bravest course is to just let nature take its course.

That's what Stephen Hunter is doing in his Bob Lee Swagger novels. Old Bob Lee, decorated Vietnam War Marine sniper, is getting long in the tooth. He's moving slow, and feeling his aches and pains (especially the ones from his multiple wounds) pretty badly.

So Hunter has apparently decided to take the series in a new direction. And I salute him for it. In Dead Zero he's produced an exciting and compelling action novel in which Bob Lee acts as the shrewd old detective, reader of human “landscape,” and spotter, but another, younger sniper has come on board to do the running and crawling and shooting. Read the rest of this entry . . .

All in all, a pretty good day.

I took half a vacation day, because I had to meet a service entity for my regularly scheduled furnace inspection. I also needed to pick up my snow blower, which, I had been informed, was now back in fighting trim.

I knew both these things would cost me money, but as it worked out, neither cost as much as I expected.

How often does that happen in this economy?

Also, two blog reviews of Troll Valley appeared.

The first was from Hunter Baker, author of The End of Secularism. He calls me “talented and wise,” so I'm pretty sure he got me mixed up with Walker Percy.

Also, a nice review from Betsy Lightfoot at This, That, and the Other Thing.

Thanks to both.

I think both reviews link to the Amazon page.

But I should remind you that, if you have a Nook, you can get it from Lulu at this address.

Have a good weekend.

In the shadows of the reflecting fire, her face was lovely, but she looked tired, and sad—or anyway melancholy, which is the wealthy's way of feeling sad.

I have a memory of the first time my parents ever mentioned the Lindbergh kidnapping. To them, it was almost like a tragedy in the family. Charles Lindbergh was not only a national hero, he was a Minnesota hero, a Swedish boy from Little Falls. My father, a frustrated aviator, idolized him.

Max Allan Collins' Stolen Away is a fictionalized account of the investigation, starring his private eye character Nathan Heller (I said I'd come back to this series, and I have). It's a long and convoluted book, because it was a long and convoluted investigation. Judging from the author's overview of source materials at the end, it appears one could do worse than come to this book first, if one were in the market for a comprehensive account of the whole thing (always taking fictional elements into consideration, of course).

The story starts in Chicago in 1932, when young Nathan Heller, a police detective, sights a suspicious woman carrying a baby through the LaSalle Street railroad station. Because police all over the country have been keeping their eyes out for the missing Lindbergh baby, he follows her, which leads to a gunfight and the recovery of the kidnapped baby—of a bootlegger. Read the rest of this entry . . .

Photo by Faucon

Honestly, I never meant to kill them all.

I'm talking about fish, of course.

If you're new to this blog, you may not know that I occasionally report on my fish keeping adventures. I don't own fish myself. But for reasons I won't bore you with, the library I manage has a fish tank, and I care for it.

There are challenges. For one thing, the local water is highly alkaline, resistant to any pH altering treatment, so a lot of fish just don't like it, and express their disapproval through dying.

But over the years I've found a couple of species that do well. One is the Harlequin Rasbora, and the other, discovered more recently, has been the Tiger Barb. Both varieties seemed to do fine with the water (does their orange coloring have anything to do with it? Probably not), and I do my part by keeping the aquarium clean and the fish food coming.

But on Tuesday morning I goofed up. One of the frustrations of keeping fish is measuring out fish food. The containers come with little sliding apertures, and you open them as far as you consider prudent, then pour. Sometimes you get a lot less than you expected, and you have to shake the container. Sometimes you get a lot more than you intended.

That was what happened Tuesday. I immediately grabbed the net and and tried to fish the food out. But apparently I didn't get enough.

Because the Tiger Barbs did what Tiger Barbs do (apparently the Rasboras are more prudent), and ate themselves to death. At the end of the day, I'd already flushed one Barb, and another was looking peaked.

This morning every single Tiger Barb was belly up. Every single one. Leaving the Rasboras (all of them) and the one other fish that was there when I came, which I've never actually identified, to survive.

I'll get some more Tiger Barbs. They seem to do pretty well, when I'm on my game.

I'm just working on what level of shame and guilt I should feel.

I mean, I sometimes went fishing when I was a kid, and killed fish on purpose.

The big news in the publishing world today is that our friend Hunter Baker, author of The End of Secularism, will be the author of one of the volumes in a forthcoming series from Crossway Books.

JACKSON, Tenn. – January 24, 2012– Union University President David S. Dockery has been named the editor of a new series of books designed for Christian students and others on college and university campuses.

In “Reclaiming the Christian Intellectual Tradition: A Guide for Students,” published by Crossway, Dockery and other experts argue that vibrant, world-changing Christianity is not anti-intellectual but assumes a long tradition of vigorous Christian thinking and a commitment to the integration of faith and scholarship....

Four other books in the series will also be released in 2012, including “The Liberal Arts: A Student’s Guide,” by Gene C. Fant Jr., Union’s vice president for academic administration, in May, and “Political Thought: A Student’s Guide,” by Hunter Baker, associate dean of arts and sciences at Union, in July.

Good luck with the book, Hunter. It sounds like a much-needed contribution.

I feel the need to comment on a recent news story that hasn't gotten (I think) as much attention as it deserves.

As I grow older, a particular experience becomes more and more common (and no, I'm not talking about anything having to do with the bathroom). An announcement is made, in a rather low-key way, about some grand theory which was all the rage when I was younger, often one that was used, hammer-wise, to pound on Christians, given as “proof” that we are moral luddites motivated by pure hate. The news item now tells us that new research indicates that the wonderful, world-changing theory has, in fact, not borne the weight of either experience or further research. Take this story from The Washington Post:

For decades, the prevailing wisdom in education was that high self-esteem would lead to high achievement. The theory led to an avalanche of daily affirmations, awards ceremonies and attendance certificates — but few, if any, academic gains.

Now, an increasing number of teachers are weaning themselves from what some call empty praise. Drawing on psychology and brain research, these educators aim to articulate a more precise, and scientific, vocabulary for praise that will push children to work through mistakes and take on more challenging assignments....

You know, just once I'd like an apology from the people who called us names. But I don't expect that to happen. It might damage the apologizers' self-esteem, after all.

Author Sarah A. Hoyt was kind enough to let me guest post on her blog, According to Hoyt. You can read the piece here. Thanks, Sarah.

A friend forwarded this YouTube video to me. The idea is, “How would Shakespeare have told the story of the Three Little Pigs."



I don't love it, frankly, because I don't think the comedian uses the words as well as he might, and this is the kind of thing you've got to absolutely nail (at least for my taste).

But I got to wondering, how do they tell the story of the Three Little Pigs nowadays? Surely its traditional lesson—that you ought to take trouble to construct strong defenses, to protect yourself from enemies—is unacceptable in today's educational environment. I imagine the contemporary version would go something like this.

There were three little pigs whose mother sent them out to make their fortunes in the world. When they'd come to a new part of the forest, they decided to build themselves houses. The first little pig built his house out of straw. The second pig built his house out of sticks. But the third pig built his house out of bricks. Read the rest of this entry . . .

Terry Teachout writes about a composer whom Dana Gioia says: "one of the few living composers whom I would call great."

Says Mr. Lauridsen: "There are too many things out there that are away from goodness. We need to focus on those things that ennoble us, that enrich us." The musical language in which he embodies this simple belief is conservative in the best and most creative sense of the word. His sacred music is unabashedly, even fearlessly tonal, and his chiming harmonies serve as underpinning for gently swaying melodic lines that leave no doubt of his love for medieval plainchant. Nothing about his music is "experimental": It is direct, heartfelt and as sweetly austere as the luminous sound of church bells at night.

I'm a fan of Dean Koontz, so when I say that I wasn't entirely pleased with What the Night Knows, you must understand that I'm not saying it was a bad read, or that it bored me. It's a professionally constructed story, with appealing characters and gripping terror. But there were things that disappointed me about it.

As in so many Koontz stories, the action is sparked by a bigger-than-life villain. This one is Alton Turner Blackwood, a gigantic, deformed sexual sadist who has an extra advantage—he's dead. He can possess inanimate objects or people, and he uses them to commit horrific sex murders against entire families. He especially craves young, innocent females.

Years ago police detective John Calvino, then a teenaged boy, walked in on Blackwood just after he had murdered Calvino's family. Calvino shot him to death. But somehow Blackwood's evil spirit endures, and he is determined to recreate his last string of murders, on precisely the same timetable, finishing up with Calvino and his wife and three children. Read the rest of this entry . . .

Jonathan Gourlay stops reading books after being sucked into episodes of Star Trek: Voyager on his iPhone. It gets ugly. (via A Few More Pages)

Our friend Grim at the Grim's Hall blog has the honor of posting the first blog review of Troll Valley. And what he has to say about it is extremely intriguing:

There is a wider lesson to her example.  A family home is like a broader human community in that it has rules that establish a way of life, and under that way of life a community is possible.  We see in the early chapters how the traditions of Norwegian families at Yuletide sustained a broad community through hard work.  It is at that feast that the mother first uses her power to force a change in the rules, in her interest and against the interests of others.  It is by forcing continual alterations of the rules of life that she destroys the community within the house, so that finally no one can live with her at all.

Each of these rules is meant to represent moral progress, but each of them destroys the living community in which human kindness is possible.  

Grim sees the book as a drama of modern ideas of societal reform in conflict with the old traditions, and traditional relationships, that actually bind society together.

I find this fascinating, because I honestly didn't have that in mind when I wrote. I was thinking of politics vs. religion, not politics vs. tradition. But now that he mentions it, I can see that the lesson is there. What I did was try to represent factually the kind of changes that were going on in the first couple decades of the 20th Century, and the “lesson” grew kind of organically from the events.

This all pleases me immensely. I like being smarter than I intended.

Aaron Armstrong asks, "Why are we okay with allowing our kids to watch The Chronicles of Narnia, but not okay with The Princess and the Frog?" I have not seen The Princess and the Frog, but my little family did in the theater for a birthday party. My sweet wife said she was surprised at how evil the bad guy was, not like other Disney villains. As Aaron points out, Dr. Facilier isn't a funny, magically bad man. He uses tarot cards and voodoo and has demons as sidekicks. It's too close the real evil, meaning the occult, for a kids movie.

Of course, on the other hand, I can understand how secular writers would look at all magical stuff, regardless the labels, as fantasy and fair game.

Anthony Esolen has written one of the best articles I've read in a long time about culture in general, and art in particular, for Crisis Magazine. What Makes Norman Rockwell Possible?

And that sense of wonder, especially at what is but small or homely or unregarded, is everywhere to be found in Rockwell’s paintings. For the Christian world, properly understood, is the only real haven for man, because in it we learn not only that man is made in the image of God, but that God so loved the world that He gave us His only begotten Son, born of a virgin and laid in a manger. Every man we meet bears within himself the mysteries of Christmas, and Good Friday, and Easter, whether he is aware of it or not, and we find these mysteries most clearly manifest in the meek and the lowly.

On some level I believe that Norman Rockwell understood this. Some critics try to shore up his reputation by pointing to the “serious” political paintings he executed: the small black girl escorted to school in the midst of National Guardsmen, or the man standing up in a town meeting to exercise his freedom of speech. I don’t wish to deny the success of those works. I think they are very good. But Rockwell’s heart lay elsewhere.

Today is the day Wikipedia blacked itself out to protest the SOPA legislation. I am not taking a strong line on the subject, but I believe those who say it's a bad law, destructive of freedom (most of them seem to be, these days). On the other hand, I'm a copyright holder myself, and favor intellectual property rights in general. As I believe many people protesting SOPA are.

Somebody on Facebook linked to a Twitter discussion where people were panicking--"THEY SHUT WIKIPEDIA DOWN? HOW WILL WE LIVE?" "HOW CAN THE GOVERNMENT DO THAT?"

I suppose these people's problem is that Wikipedia is their only source of information about the world, and they couldn't check the news on Wikipedia.

Victor Davis Hanson writes on reading:

But you object that at least our current economy of expression cuts out wasted words and clauses, a sort of slimmed-down, electronic communication? Perhaps, but it also turns almost everything into instant bland hot cereal, as if we should gulp down oatmeal at every meal and survive well enough without the bother of salad, main course, and dessert. Each day our vocabulary shrinks, our thought patterns stagnate — if they are not renewed through fresh literature or intelligent conversation. Unfortunately these days, those who read are few and silent; those who don’t, numerous and heard. In this drought, Dante’s Inferno and William Prescott’s History of the Conquest of Mexico provide needed storms of new words, complex syntax, and fresh ideas.

(via Books, Inq.)

In response, D.G. Myers writes about reading fiction specifically, saying it makes a man full. Not his stomach, we're talking about making the man himself full. Get a snack if you're hungry. (via Dave Lull)

Because apparently it can't do anything else well. Today, Wikipedia and other sites and web personalities are closing their windows for a while in protest of The Stop Online Piracy Act (SOPA) and the Protect IP Act (PIPA), misguided efforts by our congressmen to hod taxpayers over a barrel. I'm sorry. That's what they are doing with federal spending and raising the U.S. debt ceiling. What they are going here is an effort to stop the scams and piracy we all enjoy online. Just the other day, I laughed myself into a seizure because my folks sent their savings to a Nigerian who needed to get out of a hotel bill he mistakenly run up while a working on his uncle's million-dollar estate. Now, they'll be living with us. Too funny.

Congress has some bills up to deal with this touchy bit of humor, but Paul Rosenzweig of The Heritage Foundation says that while they are asking the right questions, their answers "would make the Internet generally less secure for everyone." As he describes the proposed legislation, Congress would be censoring select parts of the Internet and undermine any future freedom of speech arguments which could arise while making real Internet security efforts more difficult to implement.

When men are weary they fall into anarchy; but while they are gay and vigorous they invariably make rules. This, which is true of all the churches and republics of history, is also true of the most trivial parlour game or the most unsophisticated meadow romp.

We are never free until some institution frees us; and liberty cannot exist till it is declared by authority….

This may be the most delightful of all G. K. Chesterton’s fictional romps. Many love The Man Who Was Thursday, but Manalive is perhaps the distillation of the author’s philosophy of life; a comedy that makes his most serious point.

The central character of Manalive is Innocent Smith, a huge but oddly graceful gentleman who leaps into a suburban London garden one day, chasing his hat in the wind. He is not at all irritated by having his hat blown away; he declares to the people present that hat chasing is one of his favorite sports. He then proceeds to shoot a physician’s hat off with a pistol, an action which sparks the story’s odd action.

Soon three young men have proposed to three young women, and had their proposals accepted. Then authorities come to take Innocent Smith away. He is, according to information received, an attempted murderer, a burglar, and a bigamist, believed to be dangerously insane. Through one of those odd plot contrivances that could only happen in a Chesterton story, a hearing on his sanity is held in that very house. Evidence against Smith is heard, and explanations given.

Without giving away the details, the whole point is that Smith is a man who has discovered how wonderful life is, and is determined to make himself forever aware of the wonder of living through finding new ways rediscover its beauty. He seems insane because he’s eminently sane. He looks like a murderer because he imparts life wherever he goes. He is a walking paradox, Chesterton’s perfect brain-child.

If you’re looking for realistic fiction, this is not the book for you. Chesterton, as is his wont, stretches probability as wide as Innocent Smith’s waistcoat. He plays with ideas, plays with his characters, and plays with the reader. He is endearing and maddening—just like his main character.

Recommended without reservation.

Stephen Lawhead has never been a conventional Christian author, or even a conventional fantasy author. He writes by his own rules. Sometimes I like what he does, sometimes not so much. But all in all I was pleased with his novel The Skin Map, and look forward to the continuation of the series.

The main character is a generally unremarkable young man, Kit Livingston, who lives in contemporary London. One day he gets lost and wanders into an alley, where he meets a man who claims to be his great-grandfather, Cosimo Livingston. Cosimo claims that there are invisible paths and portals (“ley lines”) throughout the world, by which knowledgeable travelers may travel through time, space, and dimension.

Kit tries to explain to his girlfriend Wilhelmina why he missed their date. To prove his story to her, he takes her back to that alley and successfully makes a jump to the historical past—17th Century London. But he gets separated from Wilhelmina, who finds herself (we learn later) in Bohemia at about the same time. (One of the pleasures of this book is the Wilhelmina subplot, in which an unhappy 21st Century feminist finds personal fulfillment as a businesswoman in 17th Century Prague.)

Kit finds Cosimo, who agrees it’s important to try to locate Wilhelmina and send her home. But to do that they need a map. There is only one map of the ley lines, the “Skin Map,” a piece of parchment made from the tattooed skin of the first explorer to chart the space-and-time-byways. (He had the map made on his own torso so that he could never lose it.) That map has been cut into several pieces, and the single piece Cosimo and his friend Sir Henry Fayth possessed has been stolen. Before long they learn they have more serious problems than the disappearance of Wilhelmina. A very dangerous and resourceful enemy is doing his best to assemble the Skin Map for his own megalomaniac purposes, and he will stint at no crime to get what he wants.

I found The Skin Map a very engaging fantasy entertainment, suitable for teens and older. Good values are taught, and Christianity is presented in a serious, positive light. I think Stephen Lawhead was wise to move away from medieval fantasy, at least for a while. He seems to have grown uncomfortable with the kind of sword-and-armor violence that such stories demand, and this idiosyncratic adventure gives him scope for other kinds of action. Recommended.

I'm currently contacting bloggers, offering free e-copies of Troll Valley for review. If you are writing an established blog (no newbies or once-a-year bloggers allowed), contact me through this blog to ask for yours.

Update: To make the process easier, the handiest way to request a review copy is to e-mail me at lars (AT) larswalker (dot) com, and let me know what reader format you prefer. Thanks. lw

Her eyes were wide set, clear as a newborn's, and a pale shade of blue that bordered on slate gray. I suddenly wanted to find paint that shade and redo my whole house with it.

Full disclosure: I got my e-book of Dark Blonde free from the author, David H. Fears. I reviewed his first Mike Angel novel, Dark Quarry, a while back, and he e-,mailed me to ask when I was going to review the next one, Dark Lake. I replied, frankly, that I didn't like that book as well, and I thought the level of graphic sex (it's about human sex trafficking) was probably a little high for the readers of this blog. He then sent me a copy of Dark Blonde and asked me to try that one, and indeed I like it better (though I'm omitting the cover art from this review. It's not pornographic, but it's a little racy for the room).

Private eye Mike Angel, as you may recall from my previous review, is a New York detective relocated to Chicago. He has a partner, a retired New York cop named Rick Anthony, and a secretary named Molly, who is also his girlfriend. In Dark Blonde, he is hired by Julia Gateswood, former beauty queen and now wife of a promising senatorial candidate, to look for her sister, who has disappeared. It doesn't take long to find the sister, or rather her body, which is discovered decapitated in the Gateswoods' summer house. Julia wants Mike to stay on the case, and he is ready to do just about anything for the gorgeous Julia. Instead of the police interfering, Chicago police reformer O. W. Wilson (a real historical character) particularly asks Mike to get involved and help out. It all comes down to old family secrets and contemporary corruption in the end.

Although David H. Fears's writing plainly hearkens back to the pulp authors of old, like Raymond Chandler and Mickey Spillane (especially Spillane), and is done very well in my opinion, Mike Angel distinguishes himself in a couple of ways. One is that Fears has boldly embraced the obvious fact that private eye stories are fantasy stories, and has added some plain fantasy elements—Mike's dead father gives him psychic warnings when he's in danger (oddly, Mike generally ignores them), and also warns him wordlessly through a tingling in a facial scar.

There's a further element of fantasy too, I think. I've written before that private eye stories are a form of male wish-fulfillment. Pulp detectives tend to live lives that ordinary males envy. Mike is enviable—in a way that stretches credibility—in his sex life. It's not just that beautiful women constantly throw themselves at him. That pretty much goes with the genre. But Mike also has a gorgeous and sweet girlfriend who doesn't mind that he strays, as long as he keeps it a secret from her. This relationship adds a level of depth to Mike's character that a lot of pulp detectives lack (a very good thing). On the other hand, I find it pretty hard to believe in—especially in the early 1960s, before the sexual revolution.

But if you can buy that, there's lots to like in Dark Blonde for the hard-boiled fan. Cautions for language, violence, and graphic sexual situations.

You won a free e-copy of Troll Valley by suggesting the subtitle we used on the cover. Please contact me by e-mail to get your file.

Earning money from the Kindle Owners’ Lending Library

In other news, I have joined Lars in becoming a Kindle Fire owner. It's nice, though I haven't used it a lot yet. I need to install wi-fi at home. I see there are a number of classic books on Kindle for free. I pulled down Thoughts on Art and Life, some Jonathan Edwards' sermons, and several Wodehouse novels. Does anyone have any recommendations?

As promised, for you Kindle owners, Troll Valley is now available in that sacred format at Amazon.com.

As a side note, I e-mailed Andrew Klavan himself today, offering him a review copy, and he actually wrote back and said he'd like one. (Apparently I won his favor with my favorable review of Agnes Mallory.)

So you might say it's a good day.

And now you know what to do with that Amazon gift card you got for Christmas!

I'm going to try to do a splashier announcement when the Kindle version is available too, but for now Troll Valley is available for your Nook (plus a couple odd formats for phones and things, as I understand it) from Lulu.

I'm a Kindle guy myself, and strongly object to this discrimination in favor of Nook owners. I shall send myself a stiff letter of protest without delay.