Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Vicki Abelson's 30 Day Writing Challenge #7 - Secrets - Day 1

Photo Credit © 2012 – Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw. All Rights Reserved


Day 1 of Vicki's WC7 - Secrets...
*
I've got a secret... well, more than one actually… but don’t we all?
This secret though… this secret is one of the very last things I told Tina about my past and the only reason that I told her is because I had given my solemn promise that there would never be secrets between the two of us.  I didn’t want to tell her...  I didn’t want to reveal that side of me to her.  I didn’t want that secret to be the last straw… the straw that was one straw too many.  The one that would make Tina decide that it was all too much, that I was too damaged.  But a secret can also be a lie and I could not live with that lie between us.  It would have eaten away like a cancer, destroying every good thing that Tina had tried to do for me… for us.  So I told her.
I let someone die.  I held her in my arms and I did nothing.  I stroked her hair and waited for the pills she had taken to do their job.  I let someone die because she was in so much pain and so much torment and she begged me not to stop her.  I let someone die because her pain and her torment were even greater than mine and I knew that…
I don’t remember how many times I looked at my phone… at those three glowing digits on the screen waiting for me to hit Send… then back at her… as her breathing slowed and her face became only a blur through my own tears… until the grip of her hand on mine gradually relaxed and her chest rose one last time… then fell… and she was gone.
I tried to tell myself that if I stopped her… if I hit Send and she didn’t die this time… she would only try again… and again if necessary.  I tried to rationalize that it was better this way because she was at least with a friend… someone who understood her pain… someone who would not judge her.  I told myself that she was now at peace.
Three weeks later I boarded a plane with a belly full of booze and a bottle full of pills… ready to let go of that last thread that I had been hanging on to... giving up the fight… as she had… realizing that I too… had finally found ‘too much’.
~*~
Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw
7 September 2013
(Writing under a large mushroom, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest)

Thursday, August 8, 2013

BOOK REVIEW - NANCY KLANN-MOREN: THE CLOCK OF LIFE

The Clock Of LifeThe Clock Of Life by Nancy Klann-Moren
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

(Reviewer's note - I am a writer and freelance reviewer. I received no compensation or inducement to review this book. Thank you. vmls)

Nancy Klann-Moren’s The Clock of Life is a rich, wonderful story with a distinctive flavor and narrative, engaging characters, and written with a compassion for some of the darkest days in the history of America.

*

The Clock of Life is an excellent historical fiction, which takes place in the American South in the last quarter of the 20th century. Reminiscent of To Kill A Mockingbird in many respects, The Clock of Life is a “coming-of-age" story about a young boy growing up in a small town in Mississippi. It is a story of truth and freedom… of injustice and inequality.

Told in ‘first-person’, in a clear, compelling voice, Jason Lee, the son of deceased Vietnam War veteran JL Rainey recounts his growing up in Hadlee, Mississippi during a time of much unrest in America. The Vietnam War and the civil rights movement had a profound and lasting impact on much of the country and Jason Lee's 'world' bears much of the brunt of that… a world where racism and intolerance runs deep. Jason Lee learns a great deal about his father and the kind of man he really was through stories from others. It is from these stories that a yearning grows.

In his befriending of a black schoolmate, Jason Lee - through many trials -grows in both character and spirit, learning and appreciating the meaning and value of friendship, freedom and tolerance for others in a society that often takes freedom for granted and does not fully appreciate the sacrifices of those who went before… those who fought and died to secure and ensure freedom for all… and a society that too often turns a blind eye to tolerance and acceptance, unable or unwilling to stand up to injustice and inequality.

Jason Lee wants to be like his father.

Ghosts of the past and the realities of a society rife with injustice and inequality, Jason Lee faces many challenges – not least among them broken hearts and the loss of a very close friend - and while [growing up] he doesn't always make the right decisions, Jason Lee, like the rest of us - especially those who also grew up in that time - learns and grows from his mistakes. He learns that while the 'right thing' isn't always the easiest thing to do… it is the right thing to do.

Jason Lee is becoming the man his father would have been proud to call son.

*

The author brings a strong narrative style, a very definitive sense of place and a stunning eye for the idiosyncrasies of rural life in the American South to The Clock of Life. Page after page is rich with a flavor that rings true for anyone growing up in that same period and place. One of the greatest strengths of this story, I feel, is the dialogue, with its finely-balanced dialectal quality, which adds to the overall imagery through-out the story.

There is a realism and depth to the characters in The Clock of Life that is sadly lacking in a lot of the fiction on today's market. Historical fiction especially demands richness in character, place and plot. Nancy achieves all three with such seeming ease that one forgets that this is her very first novel.

A minor scene perhaps, but like countless other 'little' scenes throughout the novel, Jason Lee and Samson's first shared experience with moonshine really struck a chord with this reader; in that relatively short passage is a great deal of truth.

A constant thread through-out The Clock of Life is the civil rights movement and the Vietnam War… both times of bitter conflict in which many lost their moral compass, some never to regain it... and the inequality and injustice those events engendered, and the scars left behind.

The Clock of Life is a powerful and thought-provoking morality play, if I may use that phrase, which will have a lasting impact on the reader. I came away from this story with many of the same feelings I had after the first time I read To Kill A Mockingbird. Nancy has written a humbling and inspiring tale of the courage and the strength of the human spirit, a story that evokes in the reader a broad range of emotions and hopefully, a degree of compassion and understanding for our fellow citizens.

If there is one thing we can take away from this story, it is this….

It is one thing to know the difference between right and wrong; that’s something we all learned in the third grade. It is quite another thing to have the courage and conviction of one’s beliefs and to live one’s life for the betterment of mankind and to have empathy and compassion for the family of man. Freedom isn’t free and justice isn’t blind. We should not live our lives with the presumption that freedom doesn’t have a cost and that justice can be dispensed equally with eyes shut.

Nancy has earned numerous accolades – among them, her debut novel was a finalist in the 2013 Next Generation Indie Book Awards - for The Clock of Life, which should come as no surprise, and her novel has been adopted by the Los Medanos College’s English Department, to be taught in the school’s freshman writing classes.

The Clock of Life is a "must-read" and I recommend it without hesitation. Thank you, Nancy, for a thoroughly engaging story… one that will stay with the reader for a long, long time.


Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw
6 August 2013
(Writing under a large mushroom, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest)

View all my reviews

Saturday, June 29, 2013

BOOK REVIEW - NICOLE BAART: SLEEPING IN EDEN

Sleeping in Eden: A NovelSleeping in Eden: A Novel by Nicole Baart
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

~*~
(Reviewer’s note – I am an independent writer.  In addition to reviewing books that I myself have purchased, I am also a freelance reviewer for Howard Books, a division of Simon & Schuster.  My reviews are based solely on the merits of the book, and I receive no remuneration from the publisher or author, other than a copy of the book, in exchange for posting a review on my blogs, GoodReads and Amazon.  The following is my review of Nicole Baart’s SLEEPING IN EDEN; purchased on Amazon.  Thank you – vmls)

~~**~~
Sleeping in Eden is told in alternating chapters… present and past drawing nearer with each turn of the page of this story of life and of death… and all the paths between the two.

*

The discovery of a body just beneath the hard-pack floor of a disused barn - the scene of an apparent suicide Dr. Lucas Hudson has been called out on, to act as coroner on the case, is the beginning of the unraveling of a lie that has chained three families to a past not entirely of their choosing and has now brought a fourth family into a mystery almost a decade old.

*

Oh what a tangled web we weave.  When Lucas holds back what will later turn out to be a crucial piece of evidence, the ‘good doctor’ takes that first step into the web.  Why did he do it?  Leverage in a failing relationship?  A desperate attempt to plug the leak in his marriage before it sinks completely?  Will what started out for Lucas as a little lie, end up destroying him and what little chance left to his marriage?  Even as Lucas questions his own motives behind this fresh deceit, he is unable to understand his wife Jenna’s continued grieving over a loss years before; a loss Lucas seems unwilling or unable to understand or share.  The river of denial runs deep in some.

*

Fifteen year-old Meg Painter doesn’t ‘play safe’ like most girls.  She isn’t afraid of scrapes, bruises and torn nails.  She also doesn’t ‘play it safe’ when it comes to boys, as is soon evidenced in how hard she falls for the new kid on the block, Dylan Reid.

Dylan is a bit of a mystery… a troubled boy, some instinctively sense and try to warn Meg about… a mystery with a past, who at times seems oblivious to Meg’s feelings, or perhaps he does but his young heart, already battle-scarred, isn’t ready to go back in to the fray just yet.

So, where does that leave Meg?  Meg finds out that, as the author so eloquently puts it, “… death by devotion is a slow, aching bleed.”

Jess Langbroek, the third side in this teenage love triangle, loves Meg with a intensity almost as fierce as Meg’s own independence.  Jess is the ‘safe choice’… every girl’s parent’s ‘dream’.

But…

Meg is torn.  Meg doesn’t want to play safe.  Meg doesn’t want what it seems everyone else wants for her.  Meg desperately wants to “step out of her perfect, pre-planned life” and make her own choices… live her own life.


The ‘echoes’ of Meg’s choices will one day haunt a man already haunted by ghosts of the past.

*

And that’s probably a good place to stop.  I don’t want to give too much away.

~*~

I love the structure of this story… it really could not have been written any other way.  Nicole has crafted an absorbing and spell-binding tale that fans of mystery and of contemporary fiction alike will ‘devour’, and then ask for more.

Suspenseful, fast-paced, impossible to put down… Nicole Baart’s latest novel, Sleeping in Eden, is all this and more.  Having already proven her gift of finely-crafted prose in previous novels, Sleeping in Eden more than satisfies readers’ expectations from this extremely talented author.  Nicole’s skill in setting a scene and creating mood with ‘pitch-perfect’ pacing and compelling narrative style will have readers talking about Sleeping in Eden for a very long time to come.

Nicole writes with passion and compassion, drawing on her own experiences and understanding of the unique nature of the family of man.  One of the most satisfying things about her novels is the characters she draws… real, vulnerable, redemptive… complicated and unpredictable at times... there is a dimensionality to the people in Nicole’s writing that has become a trademark and one of the reasons she consistently brings out best-seller caliber novels.  They are drawn in such a way that the reader can’t help but connect at some level.  There is a relatability… I think that’s the word I want to use… that pulls the reader into the story.

And un-stereotypical characters… let’s not forget that.  In Lucas Hudson, Nicole has written a truly rich character… a chimera of the two male stereotypes most often identified with.  Normally a safe, ethical and reliable man, a faithful and responsible man… the deepening mystery in the barn brings out in Lucas, the ‘bad boy’… questionable motives and ethics, setting aside his own accountability and becoming tangled up in sins of omission and unwelcome desires he can’t quite seem to vanquish.

*
Teen angst… unrequited love… a mystery that demands to be solved… coming of age… we’ve all read books before that had at least one of those elements as the main plot.  In Sleeping in Eden, Nicole takes these elements and weaves an indelibly sharp and poignant story of lives crossing time… innocence lost…love lost… and love found… of forgiveness and second chances… of seeing beyond one’s own self… of ‘waking up’.

Beautiful and bittersweet, Sleeping in Eden is at once a mystery… a love story… a cautionary tale of walking through life with eyes half-shut, unaware of the life around us, our impact on others and theirs on us.

It is a reminder that faith, fate, destiny, karma - whatever you want to call it - brings one back to the grace they had once lost and the true path of their journey.

~*~

I recommend Sleeping in Eden without reservation.  This may just be Nicole’s best yet; written with verve and authority, and a unique understanding of the human condition.  Beautiful prose, engaging characters and a plot that will keep you engaged to the very end… make Sleeping in Eden a ‘must-read’.



Thank you.

Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw
29 June 2013
(Writing under a large mushroom, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest)
veronicathepajamathief@hotmail.com



View all my reviews

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

VICKI ABELSON’S WRITING CHALLENGE 2 – WHAT SCARES YOU?: B HORROR


In Vicki Ableson's second 30 Day Writing Challenge, we are supposed to write about what scares us.  This is going to be an interesting 30 days.  Dr. Kay is back on speed-dial.
~*~
~*~
~*~
Day 6 of Vicki's WC2...
What scares me?
I love to scare myself with a nice horror flick… Psycho, Disturbia, The Hitcher, Nosferatu, Night of The Living Dead, Bram Stoker’s Dracula (okay, I only watch that one for Winona Ryder *wink*) and The Shining come to mind.  And, I confess a certain guilty pleasure in watching such schlock as Army of Darkness and Evil Dead (not the recent remake... that one sucks like a Dyson!) as well.
When it comes to horror, ‘high-brow’ and ‘low-brow’ don’t come into the mix.  I will watch, as my lovely and cinematically-sophisticated wife so eloquently puts it, “… sheer crap!  Really, Roni… that stuff will rot your brain!”
I do however, draw the line at Scream and it’s dozen or so ‘puke-quels’, I Know What You Did Last Summer and the completely forgettable I STILL Know What You Did Last Summer.  And all the other ‘teen-squealers’ of similar ilk.
Why?
Cheesy horror, with its bad acting and dreadful ‘special effects’ is one thing… I will watch that.  I recognize it for what it is… mindless, low-budget entertainment.  And if I have to sleep with a night light - who am I kidding, "if"? - and I am wrapped around my inamorata tighter than a hooker's mini-skirt... well, that is a price I am willing to pay.
What I can’t take though is blatant stupidity. Premise this…
Scene – upper middle-class home.  Six murders in the last two weeks and mummy and daddy leave little Tiffany (can you say ‘future porn-star' in the making?) all alone in that big old house while a murderer roams the countryside.  A storm brews outside.  The lights flicker.  Telephone rings.
“Hello?”
“I’m going to kill you, Sydney!”
“What? Who is this? Is that you, Phoebe?”
“I’m going to slice you up and eat your guts, Sydney… just like all those other sluts! I’m at the door, Sydney… let me in!”
At this point, Tiffany is having a total meltdown… the girl is freaked to the max. So scared, she just wet her panties.  So scared, she completely misses that the killer is calling her Sydney.  Oh, and did I mention, while all this is going on, poor little Tiffany is running around the house in only her bra and panty… something that looks like it came from Frederick’s of Hollywood, not the Junior Miss section at H & M.
But, I digress…
The doorbell rings.  What does poor little freaked out Tiffany/Sydney do?  She goes and hides behind the curtains over the sliding glass door that leads out to the patio, where… lo and behold… our crazed murderer makes his appearance… with a great big kitchen knife… with blood and sinew dripping from its razor-sharp blade.
Oh my, whatever shall Tiffany do?  Wait… there’s the phone again.
“He… hello…?”
Really, honey?  Why are you not calling 911?  Oh, because then the killer wouldn't be able to call back?
Gotcha!
“It’s me, Sydney.  I’m in the house... I'm gonna gut you, you bitch!!”
Tiffany screams… drops the phone... shreds a couple of nails trying to get the sliding glass door open… and runs right into the killer’s arms.
The killer, caught by surprise, falls to the ground, the wind knocked out of him.  Tiffany runs back in the house, leaving the slider open.
What the fu…?, you say?  Why, so the killer can chase Tiffany through the house for ten minutes before slicing her throat, where the spray of blood coats the walls of three rooms and the hall before Tiffany falls to the floor one last time.
Finally!
You know what?  The bitch deserved to die!  Stupidity such as that displayed by these over-sexed teens cannot be allowed to breed.  I mean, come on... give me a f....
Hmmm?  What?
Yes, I do seem to have gotten off point here.
What were we talking about?
Things that scare me, right?
That frickin’ little monkey with the cymbals in the toy store!  Is that supposed to be a grin stitched on his stuffed little face?  Looks more like he is ready to eat some tender little, dark-haired girl.
“Mama… I want to go now!”
Whoa… talk about a flashback!
Okay… all this writing has made me hungry.  I think I will walk over to River’s Edge Deli and get a roast beef sandwich… perfectly cooked… bright pink center… little pool of red on the plate… yum!
Oh!  Was that the phone?
I should probably get that…..
~finis~
Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw
15 April 2013
(Writing under a large mushroom, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest)

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

VICKI ABELSON’S WRITING CHALLENGE 2 – WHAT SCARES YOU?: SECRETS


In Vicki Ableson's second 30 Day Writing Challenge, we are supposed to write about what scares us.  This is going to be an interesting 30 days.  Dr. Kay is back on speed-dial.
~*~




Day 5 of Vicki's WC2...

There are three kinds of secrets.

The kind you tell no one... the kind you tell only your closest friend... and the ones that you don't even know yourself that you carry.

While working on my memoir recently, I had a revelation... breakthrough... epiphany, whatever you want to call it.  That revelation didn't scare me so much - I think deep down inside, beyond where even my demons could dredge it up, I was aware of it, even if it was just an indistinct shadow on my consciousness - as did the realization that there might be more.  There might be, in all likelihood were, other secrets... hiding deep inside the recesses of my mind.  Little bombs, tucked away, waiting to go off... waiting for that 'trigger' to be pushed.

Secrets I don't even know I have.

When Tina and I first met, I told her everything... everything I knew... everything that had happened... everything that I remembered.  I held nothing back.  She got me warts and all... a 'battle-scarred' mind and body that was a 'minefield’ which took months to navigate around; to find safe places to touch.

But we both knew that there were holes in my memory... dark spaces that had refused to give up their secrets.  The revelation I recently had, and one like it several months ago, are those holes finally giving up their secrets. 

Are there more?  

When you look out in your backyard and see a single mole hole, chances are better than good that there is more than one mole, right?

We all have secrets that we are aware of.  The emotions attached to those secrets are no surprise.  But what about the secrets we aren't yet aware we are carrying?

Should we be afraid of those?  

Should those scare us?

If not, then why do they remain hidden from even ourselves?

~*~


Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw
14 April 2013
(Writing under a large mushroom, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest)

Monday, April 15, 2013

VICKI ABELSON’S WRITING CHALLENGE 2 – WHAT SCARES YOU?: I AM MY PARENTS’ CHILD


In Vicki Ableson's second 30 Day Writing Challenge, we are supposed to write about what scares us.  This is going to be an interesting 30 days.  Dr. Kay is back on speed-dial.
~*~
Day 3 of Vicki's WC2...
~*~
I'm definitely my mother's daughter... it's a little spooky sometimes, how much of her is in me.  She taught me so many things, she gave me so much... her courage and strength... strong sense of duty to the family of man... empathy, compassion... respect for self and others... so much....
Yes, I'm my mother's daughter.  I take a tremendous amount of pride in that.  It also scares me.
Why?
My mother died of breast cancer and while that doesn't mean I will, it does tip the scales the wrong way.  I've already had one scare.
It's one of the things I, like far too many other women, carry.  We can't put it down or set it aside like a handbag that has fallen out of fashion.
We pray for wisdom and we pray for strength.... that the other things we carry will keep us and guide us... and that love, not fear, will rule our lives.
Not everything we carry is a burden... such as hope.
"Hope is like the sun, which as we journey towards it, casts the shadow of our burden behind us." ~ Samuel Smiles
~~****~~
Day 4 of Vicki's WC2 -
~*~
Still on that "What scares you" thing, are we?  Hmmm...
When I was little girl... about 4, I think... there was big storm and wind one night.  A big coffee tree grew outside my bedroom and the wind pushed the branches against my window, making scratching sounds.  It scared me... I thought something was trying to get in.  Papa came to my room and calmed me.  He showed me what was making the noise... his voice, strong yet gentle, so reassuring... and we stood at the window, watching the wind and limbs moving.  And, I wasn't scared anymore.
After that, whenever I would hear that sound, I knew what it was... it no longer scared me.  Although, later when my best friend Talia and I started having sleep-overs, we would 'fire up' our imaginations and try to 'scare' each other.  Haha!
It's not always the 'unknown' that scares us... and it's not always the 'known'... I think it has more to do with context and how past experiences have coloured our lives...
My heart still gives a little lurch whenever I see a black Jeep and for just a few seconds... a little touch of fear... until I can see the driver's face and see that it isn't him.
I know it isn't him... I watched him die.  I know my fear is irrational... fear often is.
It's also what keeps us alive.
~*~
Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw
12 April 2013
(Writing under a large mushroom, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest)

Sunday, April 14, 2013

VICKI ABELSON’S WRITING CHALLENGE 2 – WHAT SCARES YOU?: LOSING MY FATHER


In Vicki Ableson's second 30 Day Writing Challenge, we are supposed to write about what scares us.  This is going to be an interesting 30 days.  I wonder if I need to put Dr. Kay back on speed-dial?
~*~
Write about what scares us?  What we are afraid of?  Well, that’s no fun.  How about we write about what makes us happy?  No?  Geez… I’d rather write about my sex life than what scares me.  Hey, I could do that!  Be a lot of CAPS and !!!!  I could write about this thing Tina that does… or maybe my first experience… with Amanda… out on the island?
No?  Gotta be what scares us, huh?  Well, all right then… *sighs*
So, what scares me?  Not a lot.  After the ordeal I went through and the aftermath… the aftershocks of which I feel to this day... the scars fade but never really go away… yeah, not a lot I am afraid of.  Afraid of drowning, but I keep swimming.  Not really afraid of spiders… the little fucks freak me out but I don’t really fear them.  Not afraid of dying… all part of the journey… no, I don’t fear my own mortality.
No, not really anything that does scare me…
“Nothing, Veronica? Really?”
Damn! I hate that voice!
Yeah, okay… okay… you want to know what scares me?
My father… the thought of losing him.  That scares the fuck out of me.  Most of the demons from my past are quiet now… as quiet as they are going to be… and I don’t lose a lot of sleep over them.  No, what wakes me in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, heart thudding in my chest, is the thought of losing my father… again.
I know… the rational part of me knows this… that children lose their parents.  That is just the order of things.  These mortal coils… these fragile cocoons that we occupy… are only good for so long.  They were designed for our time here in this plane of existence.
Time is a fire in which we all burn and eventually the heat of that fire burns through and we pass from this plane to the next.  Rationally, I know this... as a person gets older, their time passes and they draw closer to their end.  The people in our lives who are older will leave us one day.  We will mourn... we will miss them... we will continue our journey until one day, we too will leave loved ones behind.
Children outlive their parents.  It’s a rule and in the grand scale of things, there are few exceptions.
So, I know that one day Papa will be gone.  I have accepted that, at least as much as any child accepts that at some point in time, death is going to cross their path and take a loved one.
My father left my mother and me when I was ten.  It would be fifteen years before I saw him again.  Fifteen years... most of which was spent trying to accept that he was gone and that I would never see him again.  I got good at it.
And when I had finally given up all hope and my mother was now two years gone, my father came back into my life.
I don't think there was ever one single day, or even a single moment, when I hated my father for leaving.  Ten years old is too young to hate and by the time I was old enough to fully appreciate that emotion, the pain of his absence had faded.  I didn't hate him.  And, I had learned not to miss him.
Until he came back into my life.  Then I hated him.  The heat of my hate would have turned forests to ash.  But... the heat of my hate was too hot to sustain.
For the last three years, my father and I have worked on reconciliation.  We have, for the most part, put the past behind us.  And, we have a lot of time to make up for.
I can't lose him now... I can't!
But I know I will.
And that scares the fuck out of me.
So... that is what I will write about for the next 30 days.  The things that scare me.
And maybe at the end of those 30 days... I won't be as scared.
~*~
~*~
Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw
10 April 20132
(Writing under a large mushroom, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest)

Monday, May 28, 2012

BOOK REVIEW - RICHARD GODWIN: MR GLAMOUR

mr. glamourmr. glamour by Richard Godwin

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


BOOK REVIEW – RICHARD GODWIN – MR GLAMOUR
By Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw

~~**~~

Readers of Richard Godwin’s APOSTLE RISING who wondered how Richard could possibly follow up on that brilliant and macabre masterpiece need wonder no longer.  The question is answered resoundingly with Mr. Glamour, a tight, well-written psychological thriller written in Richard’s trademark noir / horror styling.

A novel rich in detail and innuendo, Mr. Glamour plunges the reader into the wickedness and debauchery of the ‘jet set’ and the psychoses of two worlds colliding – the watcher and the watched - where the lines between victim and instigator are not always sharply defined.  To paraphrase a song… ‘faith has been suffered and tears will be shed’.  And blood.

~~**~~

When a fisherman casts his line out in the water, he has to be patient… very patient sometimes… and wait for his prey to take the bait.

Writers have not such a luxury… they must reach out and grab the reader quickly… in those first few words… and sink the hook deep… keeping the reader on the line until the final line of that last chapter… until ‘~finis~’.   Otherwise, the reader loses interest and moves on to the next promising cover.

Richard Godwin knows this well, as evidenced in the opening lines of Mr. Glamour

“She has the eyes of a pit viper and the mouth of an angel.”

With that line, the ‘bait’ is taken and a few lines down, the hook is firmly set -

“Her flesh is so soft,
It will split like a peach skin,
You know the fine spray that shoots out from the fruit
On a hot summer’s day
As you run the paring knife along the contour…”


There are but a small handful of writers who can pen the warm, provocative image of a piece of ripe summer fruit… so tantalizing… and then with the deftness of a surgeon’s blade, make those words drip in silent horror, leaving one’s breath caught in the back of their throat… the scream never reaching suddenly dry lips.   As it does with another favorite author of mine… the night light burned brightly while I read Mr. Glamour.

Richard Godwin is among that handful of writers and Mr. Glamour is the ‘bait’ to catch even the most discriminating and demanding reader of noir horror fiction.

Richard’s unique blend of psychological horror and dark police procedural drama make for a taut, suspense-filled, often edge-of-the-seat, read.  Mr. Glamour is brilliantly paced, as a good mystery/thriller should be, and the sub-plots are woven seamlessly throughout… told in Richard’s wonderfully dark narrative style.

Richard challenges our perceptions of good and evil and shatters stereotypes.  In Mr. Glamour, he shows us that evil doesn’t live only in the hearts and minds of the criminal, where it is welcomed and brought to full fruition in an attempt to gain the power and control so craved… the lust for dominion over others.   Evil also hides behind the sub-conscious rationalizations of a broken mind and the lustful cravings of those pathetic ‘bags of bones’ for which too much is never enough and too far is a notion not to be considered.

Evil exists in the psychopath... a serial killer stalking London’s glamour set with an agenda so horrific that we struggle to comprehend the forces that drive a human being to such extremes, forgetting perhaps that in such a diseased mind, rationalizations and justifications take on different shades in the dark abyss of madness.   In the psychopath, madness isn’t a disease… it is the breath of life.

Speaking of breath… when the end is revealed… and the identity and purpose of the killer is known… now, that will take your breath away!  I still… weeks later… get a wonderful, slightly terrified shiver at the twist. Is the adjective ‘brilliant’ over-used?  Not in this case.  Richard has written a breathtaking novel that is truly brilliant… in plot and execution!

Evil abides in the subdued character of middle-aged housewife Gertrude Miller… a dark psychosis struggling against the distasteful reality of her existence… and through Richard’s beautiful telling; we are made witness to the progression of Gertrude’s madness.   Interwoven with the main plot, Gertrude’s life… and past… is revealed to us and it is impossible not to feel some empathy for her.  The physical pain and debasement she inflicts on herself in an effort to purge her self-imposed sins are not enough to save Gertrude though and she attempts to find a rightness and validation in what must follow… in what must be done to bring some measure of peace to a tortured soul.  Will vengeance at last quiet her demons?

Evil lurks beneath the thin veneer of respectability of law and order as well.  Richard’s keen insight into the human condition has created two flawed characters… DCI Jackson Flare and DI Mandy Steele.   Unspoken, both seek approval from the other, yet neither is willing to share anymore of them-selves than absolutely necessary.  There is a dichotomy at work here that is interesting to observe.

Richard understands all too well that good doesn’t always triumph over evil… not on its own at any rate… and it is the very flaws, both physical and psychological, of Steele and Flare that will ultimately bring a killer – or is it killers? – before the seats of justice.

The back-story of the main characters is critical to a good story, but there is a skill to doing it… not enough and the reader is left with questions that nag and distract from the story itself… or too much and the story gets lost in the character.   Richard writes his character’s back-stories with a perfect balance … woven in all the right places in the story.   The difference between telling a story and telling it well is all in the little details.   Richard’s characters may not be well-balanced, in a psychological sense I hasten to add, but they are balanced well in the narrative.   Layers and depth are important in the development of a character; something Richard does extremely well.

I’m going to say something here that some will not agree with, but a book review isn’t just reciting the plot points of the story; it is also about interpretation and effect on the reader.  A few dry, dusty words won’t make one rush down to the bookstore or log on to Amazon with that little rectangle of plastic ‘twixt clenched fingers.

Rape is about power and control… domination.  Battling with the demons of both her present and past self while trying to work the cases with Flare, there is a scene in which Mandy is forced into the unthinkable act of raping herself in an attempt to regain that power and control before she is completely lost.  This is a particularly revelatory scene, both for the reader and the character.   I realize that some will read those passages and have a different interpretation, but this is what resonated with me… this is what I think is being told.  It goes deeper than just the domination of her partner… that alone does not give Steele all that she needs.   The duality of sadism and masochism makes Detective Inspector Mandy Steele a very interesting character in this little ‘fête de l'horreur et l'obsession’.

Frustration grows for the police and public alike as it becomes increasingly apparent that there is more than one killer at work in the streets of London and its suburbs.  The police struggle to find connections between the victims, racing against the clock to stop the madness before another grisly murder is committed.   Grisly might be too mild a word for the atrocities that are wrought on innocent yet not so innocent flesh.  Trophies are taken and marks are left… the ‘trademarks’ of a truly sick, twisted mind… the mind of one of the most diabolical characters Richard has created.

Evil always leaves scars and those scars sometimes breed new evil… which leaves fresh scars and those… and so the cycle goes… evil is perpetuated.

People often do bad things as an act of vengeance or rebellion against those who wrought the scars.   The human mind has an amazing capacity for evil and those caught up in evil will use it to justify their own weaknesses and flaws.

Scars is a ‘sub theme’, if you will, behind Mr. Glamour…. beyond the mirrors and reflections of sex and excess.   Mr. Glamour is more than just a novel about a serial killer loose in the streets of London, mutilating the ‘glamour set’ and confounding the police authorities at every turn.  What is the motive in that?   Why does a person do something so egregious and horrific?  What drives them?

Mr. Glamour is about people with scars… physical scars that can drive one to inflict what was wrought on them onto others… the need for revenge.   Psychological scars that push a person to acts they would not normally contemplate were it not for the mental deficit present, exacerbated by events beyond their control… that they cannot control… thus leading them to acts of their own in an attempt to regain some semblance of control.  Emotional scars so deep-seated that they have split the psyche of the individual and the two parts become locked in conflict until the stronger half of the duality emerges and dominates the whole, following its new imperative.  And then there are those who have had devastating physical and emotional scars rendered upon them… creating a vicious, murderous psychosis.   A madman isn’t born… he is made.

If that rather blank-eyed stare in the eyes of your neighbour as she sorts through the cutlery bin at the department store sounds warning bells in your head… it would probably be best to decline any invitation for afternoon tea.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Richard… Thank you very much for a thoroughly engrossing and entertaining story.  Mr. Glamour is guaranteed to stay with the reader long after that last page is turned.

And if my hand shakes a little the next time I slip into my favorite La Perla or Samantha Chang or Maison Close… well, I guess we all know who I have to thank for that, don’t we?



Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw
Cannon Beach, Oregon
28 May 2012




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