ASK Musings

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Saturday

21

December 2024

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COMMENTS

A Love Letter to Cities

Written by , Posted in Adventures

If you asked, I wouldn’t describe myself as a romantic, hopeless or otherwise. I’m not a fan of grand gestures; I’m more a fan of someone who shows their love every day, in small ways, like doing the chore I hate the most, or remembering my favorite drink. However, when it comes to cities? Buildings older than the U.S. constitution? I find them endlessly romantic.

I grew up in a fairly generic suburban California area. We lived just about a mile from my elementary school but never walked; cars were just how you got around. It wasn’t that long ago that I realized how close we lived to the town center (maybe 25 minute walk), and am sad we didn’t spend more time getting around on foot. But even if we had, the area, while set against some lovely hills (at least in non-drought years), trafficked heavily in McMansions. Aesthetically, it was just not my thing.

I nearly went to college in New York City, but went with Seattle because I thought I’d get more of a college feel. I lived near campus, which was fairly suburban, but I enjoyed traveling downtown and taking in the the sights of Seattle. The buildings weren’t particularly old or storied, but it was a city, and my university campus was (mostly) gorgeous — the quad is still a place I visit when in town and in need of inspiration.

After college I moved to Los Angeles. HOO BOY. Talk about a city that isn’t really a city to me. I still went on walks, at times taking the bus up to the Getty museum to have some remove from it all, but everything felt sad to me. I had a car, and if I wanted to go to other parts of the sprawling metropolis, I needed the car. I remember going to a U2 concert after work one day. We left work at 5. The venue was 10 miles away. It took us 2.5 hours to get there. Ridiculous. I could have run there is less time.

Between the architecture and the need for a car, I wanted a change. I wanted to finally make the big move to the city that was always there, in the back of my mind. The one I’d only visited twice before, but fell in love with.

New York had been, for the first 22 years of my life, the end game. The ultimate goal. I wanted to be there. Not because I imagined a particularly bustling or glamorous life for myself, but because it was a proper city. Eight million people. A functioning (ish) transit system. And buildings that were older and taller than any I’d lived near before. I suppose I should be embarrassed to say that I became enamored of it because of Stacey in The Baby-Sitter’s Club, but screw that. I loved those books, and something about Stacey’s character and living in a city seemed so fascinating. I didn’t even really process that kids lived in big cities (ah, the sheltered suburban life). But I knew that I wanted to go there.

I can still picture the first time I took the subway by myself — the A C E up towards Central Park. I was doing it! I took my grad school reading and a towel and sprawled out in the grass in Sheep’s Meadow in September. I looked at the tall apartment buildings peeking over the trees on Park Avenue and Central Park West. I was here. I had, at 22, fulfilled what at that point in my life was my biggest dream. I was living in not just any city but, for me, THE city. The only one that mattered.

I started out living in the Village, in graduate student housing. The neighborhood was amazing, and like nothing I’d ever experienced. There was a kind of odd restaurant called Fuel Ray right on the corner, where we’d go for late night snacks (including amazing s’mores). There was a delicious burrito place — Harry’s, I think — that I frequented weekly if not more. I’d walk down to SoHo (literally a block from my apartment), and spend hours wandering around the different neighborhoods. I’d get lost (this was pre-smartphone) and have to consult my Not for Tourists guide to make sure I knew where I was. Every neighborhood was different, the architecture was amazing, and I could be around loads of people without having to talk to anyone.

I lived on the Upper East Side twice, which was a bit of a trip. Lots of rich people and super fancy brownstones. I had a doorman for the first (and only) time in my life. I didn’t take taxis often, relying instead on the subway and the bus. I went to Central Park as often as I could, not because I wanted to escape the city, but because it was such a part of the city, being able to see the buildings and hear the traffic while still totally enveloped in nature.

I lived in Brooklyn twice — once in a brownstone with a nightmare roommate (who owned the place), and once on my own in an extremely tiny studio apartment. I loved that I had gotten to a point where I could support myself in my own place in a gorgeous part of the city — Park Slope. I was a block from Prospect park, but a subway ride away from Manhattan. Again I would just go wandering, exploring. I’d spend Saturday afternoons window shopping, reading in the park, or going to a tiny old movie theatre (showing blockbusters – I’m not THAT interesting). I dated a few odd dudes, earned a graduate degree, and worked for a major private company and for the City. It was fantastic.

I loved that city, but after seven years, it was time to move on. I’m not sure why — I’d probably live there again, actually, but I applied to grad school in London, another world-class city. And one much, much older than New York. I moved into grad student housing in a converted women’s boarding house. I didn’t (couldn’t) work, and treated school like a job as much as possible: class and study M-F; take weekends and Wednesday afternoons off to really experience the city.

I had started running a year prior, so used my training runs as an excuse to see more of the city on foot. I ran across Tower Bridge almost daily, marveling at the architecture. I ran along the Thames, weaving around tourists and office workers. I visited museums on my own, wandered streets and neighborhoods that were unfamiliar to me. This is what I wanted. It was New York, but bigger. Better? Unclear. But so much of London seemed to be working well – more transit, free museums, TONS of parks.

But it ended, and I returned to Seattle. I was sad, depressed even. No more underground to rapidly get me where I wanted to go — buses took an hour or more from the suburban house I was staying in. No more free museums. No buildings more than 200 years old. It was a hard adjustment. But it got better. After seven months in a poorly managed apartment, my partner and I moved into a place in the heart of Capitol Hill. We could walk everywhere – even to work. I felt more connected to the city. We even bought a townhome a mile away, just on the edge of the neighborhood but still a mere block from the grocery store.

And then … We moved to London. I didn’t think I’d ever be back, but the opportunity arose, and even though I was settled in Seattle, and loving the city, it felt right to come back. We first lived in a 200+ year old building, with two underground stations a 12-minute walk away, a bus stop in front of us. I didn’t have a full-time job for the first 11 months we were there, so I could explore. I walked miles every day, and eventually found a job I could walk to.

After six years, we made yet another move – this time buying a flat in a tenement in Glasgow. Our neighborhood is south of the city center, but right in the middle of glorious architecture (including our own building), loads of parks, and even a bit of a country in the form of a herd of highland cows within walking distance. This will be our home for years, if not forever, and I love that it is in a city but also in a highly walkable neighborhood.

– – –

I know I love the buildings and infrastructure, the ease to get around. But I think what I love most is walking. Sidewalks and paths that make it safer for me. A small grocery store two blocks away; a large one 20 minutes’ walk. A movie theatre and multiple shops nearby, and buses or the tube available to take me to another neighborhood with delightful architecture, unique shops, and restaurants.

For me, cities mean walkability and freedom, but I know that some cities don’t fit that description.

I remember the second time I visited Houston. The first time was for a conference and I stayed downtown. The second time was also for work, but it was a smaller affair — a two-day training at a government office. I didn’t rent a car because I booked a hotel that was maybe 1/2 mile from the office. It may as well have been a nation away. There were sidewalks, but I might have been the first person to use them. The front desk staff seemed surprised that I didn’t need to park there. And in the evening, after the training ended, I assumed I’d go for a walk and explore the area. Just across the road was a big shopping center, after all.

Or so the online maps said.

However, that ‘road’ was a giant highway, and the only way to the other side was to walk beyond the office (maybe a mile in total), then find a functioning crosswalk signal (I eventually gave up and just froggered my way across) to get to an underpass and to the other side. Took 45 minutes when a well-designed (for pedestrians) rout would have been maybe 15? 20?

And look, the hotel, office, and shopping center weren’t in the middle of nowhere. If sidewalks and crosswalks and overpasses were designed with the walker — or wheelchair user — in mind, more people could take advantage of the businesses without getting into their cars. With the set up as it was, to be safer, one would drive, which deprives people of some exercise and some time outside. It’s a shame.

My sister used to live in Tampa, in a little development on an eight lane arterial. In one direction I could find a neighborhood in which to safely go for a run. But crossing the highway was like blood sport — drivers turning right paid no attention to the crossing signal and would get pissed if they almost hit the pedestrian who dared be out in the wold sans auto.

Tampa is a city, and so is Houston, but those areas clearly wanted to be more like the suburbs, the ones that don’t even bother with sidewalks, because who is walking anywhere?

This is another reason why I love the densely populated areas of cities. Old cities are not as accessible for people with mobility aids, but they usually at least have cobblestones or pavements connecting everyone. You’re mean to see the world there slowly. The grocery store is nearby, as is the doctor, and school.

Whenever we visit a new country that is small, or a city that is really a town, I wonder — could I live here? We spent one Christmas on the Isle of Lewis, in the Hebrides, and it was stunning. Open air, loads of sheep, beaches, the works. I ran my best times there. But if we needed pasta, or tampons, we needed the car. There was a bus, and it came once or twice an hour, so with some planning it could work. And maybe with a cycle (something I’ve had for a few years now, and use to get further afield, to football training and choir rehearsals) it might work, but I do wonder if I would be truly happy in a place where I couldn’t walk everywhere I needed to go.

Friday

20

December 2024

0

COMMENTS

Nightmare Fuel

Written by , Posted in Politics

I wrote the below while I was still working in emergency management in the US, where I was responsible for planning the response to a mass fatality incident. Luckily I never had to respond to one, though I did work a mass casualty incident, and that was brutal.

It’s 2 in the afternoon on Tuesday. An emergency manager is in her cubicle, which has a gorgeous view of Elliott Bay. She hears police sirens, which is not unusual. Then she hears fire sirens, and looks out the window to see medic units racing down 4th avenue. She checks the 911 website to see where they’ve been dispatched. She messages her husband that she might be home late tonight, then goes into her boss’s office to let her know.

Or it’s 6 PM, and he’s at a movie theater, trying to not watch that weird series of commercials and non-preview previews they’ve been showing before the real previews for the past few years. You know, the one that usually includes an inside look at a new USA TV show, and maybe a recruitment ad for some branch of the military. He’s scrolling through his feed when he sees multiple tweets about the same thing.

Or maybe it’s 1:30 in the morning. She’s not on call, but she’s forgotten to turn off her work phone, and that ring tone, the one that she rarely hears, wakes her from a dream. One of her cats glares at her as she slides out of bed, performing the contortions pet owners know well so as not to disturb them. She stumbles across the hall to the guest room so she doesn’t wake her partner. Her boss is on the other line, apologizing for waking her.

In my nightmares (and other cities’ realities), the reason is always the same: there’s been a shooting. Maybe it’s an elementary school on a Wednesday afternoon. Maybe it’s a club on 80s night. Maybe it’s a concert, or a midnight showing of Amelie. It’s children trying to learn, or couples trying to unwind from a stressful week. It’s people picking up their luggage after a long flight. No one ever deserves it. And it nearly always involves a firearm.

If they’re lucky, some people survive. They’re taken to hospitals all over the city and beyond, depending on who has staff and space available, and how seriously the victims are injured. Multiple people may be transported in one ambulance. If the situation is dire, maybe police officers put people in squad cars to race them to the nearest emergency department.

If it’s the middle of the night, emergency managers have some time. Some families won’t notice their loved ones haven’t come home until morning. But some family members get woken up by alerts on their phones. If it’s the middle of the day – especially a weekday – journalists and cameras descend on the scene like ants at a picnic. Helicopters hover above, providing a constant, headache-inducing hum.

Family members turn on the TV, or check Twitter, and start to worry. They call or text their family member, the one who said she was going to that movie theater. No one picks up. These family members need a place to call, to try to get answers, so emergency managers set one up. Family members provide the name of their daughter, or roommate, or father, and the emergency managers see if they can match it to someone who was taken to an area hospital. If they can’t find that name on the list, they assume the worst.

Family and friends also gather at a nearby location – maybe a community center, or a church. They sit and wait, hoping to get a text or a call from their child or partner or best friend. They can’t believe this is happening to them. The are given updates as often as possible, preparing them for what happens next.

Slowly it becomes clear that their person is not going to be calling them. There is still be some hope; maybe their child is unconscious in the hospital and didn’t have any ID on her. Staff pass out questionnaires to gather some basic information on their missing loved one. Some people are pissed that they can’t just go from hospital room to hospital room looking for their partner. Others appreciate having something to keep them busy, something that makes them feel like they are actively searching for their family member.

The medical examiner arrives, but they can’t access the scene for a while. The police are doing an investigation, and that takes time. The family members continue to wait, with the minutes dragging on. Medical examiner staff go inside after they get the okay from the police, and carefully document everything they see at the scene to help with identification later one. They respectfully move each body into a pouch and transport them to the morgue.

Family members may think this is it; they’ll finally get an answer, because they will be able to identify their loved one. But what they don’t realize, and what staff are trying to communicate compassionately, is that people who die are not always easy to identify. It’s not like the movies; the medical examiner doesn’t call in the family, pull back a sheet, and say “is this your daughter?” Instead, medical examiner staff work furiously to examine the deceased, taking note of anything that could help with identification, because they know that families and friends are waiting. DNA takes much more time than TV shows would have you believe, and is a last resort. But fingerprints can help. As can tattoos.

After any number of agonizing hours that have extinguished whatever measure of hope they might have had, family members move to a longer-term location. It is being set up as soon as responders know that a lot of people have been killed. Staff call hotels and community centers to find space. They connect with behavioral health professionals, order food, bring in first aid volunteers, and assign staff to keep the families safe and away from the media who will try to get in, shove a microphone in their face, and ask how they feel.

Soon after, family members are interviewed by investigators who ask extremely personal questions about their loved ones so that they can (hopefully) be identified. Questions about scars, dentists, recent blood donations, wedding rings. Staff brief them on the status of the investigation, identification of loved ones, and anything else that is relevant. Staff do this every day, sometimes twice a day. They keep to a schedule, because routine is helpful. Some people will remember every moment; some will later say it was all a blur. Either way, it is brutal.

It’s traumatic. It is traumatic for the people doing the interviewing, for the people doing the identification, for the support staff doing the photocopying and filing. Most of all, it is traumatic for the family members, whose loved ones were just taken away because of an asshole with a gun.

Emergency managers ignore their personal phones, save for the occasional break where they text with a loved one. They don’t want bereaved family members to think they’re playing Candy Crush while they wait for confirmation that their family member is dead. Once staff members get a chance to go home, they look at articles about the shooting. They recognize some names from their family members’ desperate pleas to call center staff.

Someone finds an article about the shooter. He – it is almost always he – is alive, safely in jail. Or he shot himself at the scene. He is nearly always white, and he had a gun that he got legally, because second amendment or whatever. He claims to be angry about something – maybe a woman rejected him, or he doesn’t like the ‘type of people’ who frequent the club. Media talk about him in near reverent terms, as a ‘troubled boy’ who has ‘mental health issues.’ This is only because he is white.

Thoughts and prayers flood in, but no one who can take action does take action. It was clear when classrooms full of 6-year-olds were shot to death and nothing changed. Elected officials don’t care about protecting people from preventable gun violence. They ignore the real threat that these ‘lone wolf’ white men with access to guns pose to everyone.

Staff working to support these families are exhausted. One of them rolls over, plugs in their phone, sets their alarm for 5:30 so they can maybe fit in a quick workout to try to keep their mental health stable. Tomorrow they go back to work, and another person, in another part of the country, gets a phone call, or sees a tweet, or hears a bunch of sirens.

Now it is their turn.

Thursday

19

December 2024

0

COMMENTS

When a Game Becomes an Experience

Written by , Posted in Adventures, Reviews

Originally drafted in 2018.

I am not a gamer.

I am not a passionate person who loves all things video games. I’ve never played Legend of Zelda (I’m told there are many versions; I’m pretty sure I’ve seen exactly one minute of it outside of TV ads). I’ve never pre-ordered a game, then taken the day off work so I can devote hours to it before someone spoils it for me. I’ve never spent all weekend on the sofa, trying to solve every riddle in Batman.

Growing up I had a Nintendo, and would play Super Mario Brothers, and whatever track and field game came with the Power Pad, but by middle school it had been moved to the garage. In fact, other than a brief time in my early 20s (when my college boyfriend played Goldeneye so often that the high-pitched, key-changing theme music accompanying each Bond death is burned into my brain) I didn’t think about video games much until smart phones brought them to my fingertips. Now I play, but mostly as I’m waiting in line at a store or during commercial breaks on live TV.

I did, however, marry a gamer. My partner Austin loves video games so much that he went to college to learn how to make them, and is in his second decade of working in the industry. In the past dozen years I have unintentionally absorbed more video game knowledge than I thought could be possible for someone who mostly plays variations of match three (and four – what’s up Two Dots!). But even with this new frame of reference and exposure, I still hadn’t experienced a game as anything other than a way to kill some time.

Until The Witness.

In early 2016, Austin downloaded The Witness. He had been looking for a game we could play together, because even though games aren’t my main passion, I’m certainly open to playing them. I just didn’t want to have to run around shooting people (I tried Halo once and super did not enjoy it), nor did I want to have to follow some extensively detailed back-story to be able to make sense of the world I was in. From what Austin had heard, The Witness might just fit that bill.

Here is where you start:

You have no instructions, tutorial, or guide. You can move, you can see, and you can hear, but you don’t have a gender or race or age. You don’t have any weapons or tools, just a cursor that appears when you click in the right place. Your task is solving this puzzle, and then applying what you’ve learned to help solve the next one. And the next.

Solving this puzzle opens the door and drops you into a peaceful, sunny garden. The moment my eyes adjust to the sun (seriously, it feels like I’m outside), my breath catches in my throat. Reliving it now, as I’m writing, I can feel that moment, where both Austin and I gasp and say ‘whoa.’

This happens repeatedly over the three weeks that we play this game.

Every little area of this world is different and clever. The colors are stunning. The plants and water don’t look ‘real’ in the uncanny valley sort of way, they just remind me a bit of how plants and water look in a dream. Sand dunes, mountains, waterfalls, leaves – everything is gorgeous. The sounds feel natural; there are no moments where I must scramble for a remote to turn down the game. I am exhilarated but relaxed. Not once do we reach a new part of this world and feel let down.

Beyond the visual and aural beauty is the complex world of puzzles. Each new puzzle type starts out easy, so you can learn the rules of this world. Then the next one is a bit harder, making the rules clearer. I know that gamers will recognize this as a common convention to teach the player the rules of the world, but even Austin – again, a grizzled gamer – marvels at the elegance of this format. Some areas have puzzles that can be solved two ways, leading us in different directions depending on our solution.

The Witness provides Austin and me with the perfect opportunity to work on something together. Most of the time our interests diverge. We both like to read (not the best team activity), but at the time there were not many bands, TV shows, or films that we liked to experience together. And even though this is not a two-player game, we turn it into one. It is easy enough to share the experience of solving puzzles and exploring a new, stunning world. Austin’s years of gaming experience mean he takes the controller when we move from place to place, but we are equal partners, navigating together.

These puzzles create many moments of discovery that are a joy to share with each other. So many times, we are staring at the screen, having tried every combination we think exists, ready to give up. Suddenly one of us yells “oooh, gimme the controller” and solves the puzzle. Either the other one says OH RIGHT or, if we still don’t see it, asks the solver to explain what they did and why.

About 14 days in, we finish the game. We have spent the previous two weeks either racing home from work to eat dinner and settle in for a couple of hours of play, or ruing the plans we’d made previously that prevent us from nestling into this little world together, just us and occasional visits from our two cats. It has a sweet ending, and we are a bit sad. No, that’s not accurate. We are very sad. It was a tremendous experience, and now it is over.

And then, Austin comes home from work and says the two words I’ve been hoping for since we turned the PlayStation off:

“There’s more.”

The ‘more’ of which Austin speaks is a complex section of puzzles that knocks us back and pulls together things we’ve learned throughout the entire game. When we finally beat it, working together, it isn’t just exciting. It is invigorating. We squeal and laugh and scare the kittens with our shouting. It is pure joy, and we share it.

I hadn’t really thought of video games as something that could create such a communal, ecstatic experience. I know there are true multi-player games, and I’ve had some fun with things like Guitar Hero, but this was something else altogether. It felt meaningful without having some large overarching message. It was never violent, or cruel. It got me thinking, it challenged me, but it also made me extremely happy.

I know so many different types of games exist, and I can see that each of these types serve different purposes. I don’t want to elevate any particular one over the other, but I did want to let those out there who don’t fancy themselves as big into games, but who know and love someone who is, that this is available. This is a game you can play together if you like. Or, if you just want an extraordinarily special experience, you can play this on your own.

It’s been eight years since we finished this game. It’s stuck with both of us, and we both miss it. It’s wonderful to get to share the discovery of something new with the person you love most – sometimes it’s a delightful TV show, or a new city while on vacation. This time it was a video game, and I’ll remember it as vividly as any trip I’ve taken.

Monday

16

December 2024

0

COMMENTS

The Witness for the Prosecution by Agatha Christie

Written by , Posted in Reviews

4 Stars

Best for:
Those looking for a quick, satisfying read.

In a nutshell:
Leonard is accused of killing an elderly woman, Emily. He believes his wife will serve as his alibi. Will she?

Worth quoting:
“Everything has something to hide, something they would do anything to protect.”

Why I chose it:
I enjoyed “The Unexpected Guest,” and have been checking out what is available of Christie’s at my local library.

Review:
I listened to this, and it was read by Christie’s grandson. Cool idea, but his delivery left something to be desired.

This short story quickly explores the ideas of who we believe and why, and as it has a fantastic final line that sums things and leaves the reader saying, essentially, ‘oh shit.’

Leonard Vole has befriended an older woman, Emily. We don’t quite understand why – but we do learn she is wealthy. However, Leonard is married. When he is charged with murdering Emily, his attorney Mayhew is interested in the truth, and determines that he needs to help Leonard because Leonard is not guilty. Leonard’s wife is his alibi, but when Mayhew goes to interview her, things take a turn.

This was a short, simple, and surprising story. I’d heard about it and was expecting more, but at the same time it was an interesting way to tell such a short story. It’s only in a couple of locations, there are not that many characters, and when it was over, I thought ‘oh! Well done!’

What’s next for this book:
I’d love to see the play.

Saturday

14

December 2024

0

COMMENTS

How to Clean Everything by Ann Russell

Written by , Posted in Reviews

Four Stars

Best for:
Anyone who has the ability to clean things.

In a nutshell:
Ann Russell, professional cleaner (and TikTok cleaning question answerer) shares a collection of her tips for keeping a clean home.

Worth quoting:
“10-20 minutes every night and 10 minutes before you leave in the morning should keep your space under control.”

“Try to pull furniture out to go under and behind, but don’t beat yourself up if you can’t – decent people don’t check for dust behind your sofa; ask any that do to leave in a hurry.”

Why I chose it:
I thoroughly enjoy Russell’s TikTok contributions, and her tips seem so sensible. Plus she’s do very dry.

Review:
Now, I am a tidy person but I am not always the cleanest person. There is very little ‘mess’ out in our flat, but until fairly recently, if you ran a finger over anything higher than eye level or lower than knee level you’d probably recoil. But in August we found our cats had acquired fleas (they are indoor cats, so we suspect a hitchhiker from our lovely cat sitter), which meant we had to vacuum every bit of floor, carpet, and soft furnishing every day for a week. That eventually switched to every other day, and now twice a week, but I’ve gotten used to a clean home but want to do better. Our flat is very old, and while it was redone probably 20 years ago, there are crevices, cracks, and neglected areas that the previous owners possibly never considered cleaning.

I picked up this book hoping for some quick, reasonable guidance, and that’s exactly what it offers. It is a very quick read, and I found myself underlining quite a lot, making notes of things to try. During my weekly house clean yesterday I tried out her method for dusting (using a fully squeezed out damp cloth) to see if that might pick up and keep more of the cat fur and dander that accumulates throughout the week. Because I do a deep clean of each room on a rotating weekly cycle in addition to the standard dusting and vacuuming (e.g., primary bedroom this week, kitchen next week), I’ll be able to try out some of her suggestions room by room, which is how the book is divided.

She starts off with chapters on products and equipment, which was handy for me, as Russell is from the UK, and some of the words used for things here differ from what I’m used to, so good to get a sense of what things actually are before I try to use them. She then talks about setting up a cleaning routine, before diving into room-by-room suggestions. She also includes a chapter full of tips for those who are renting, which I think is a really nice thing to include, because sometimes (let’s be real – usually) landlords don’t do the upkeep needed, which can result in things like mold and damp that tenants are left to clean up.

The book also includes a surprising amount of fairly dry humor, which one doesn’t necessarily expect from a cleaning book. And Russell is very clearly not judging anyone’s level of cleanliness, or the time they have to devote to cleaning. Overall, a very good purchase.

What’s next for this book:
Keep and refer back to regularly. Maybe only recommend if someone asks; otherwise it might sounds like I think they need to improve their cleaning skills.

Friday

13

December 2024

0

COMMENTS

The Unexpected Guest by Agatha Christie

Written by , Posted in Uncategorized

Four Stars

Best for:
Those looking for a quick read that challenges one to think about who the real culprit is.

In a nutshell:
Michael Starkwedder has run his car off the road and is looking for a phone to use. He finds a house, lets himself in, and sees a woman with a gun and a man dead.

Worth quoting:
N/A (I listened to this as an audio book)

Why I chose it:
I’ve enjoyed the films based on Christie’s writings, and so wanted to read one for myself.

Review:
Laura’s husband Richard is dead. He’s a wheelchair user, and has been shot through the head. When Michael comes through the window, he sees Laura holding the gun. After some conversation, he decides he’s going to help make sure that she doesn’t go down for this crime. Michael learns that Richard is not really a nice person, and suggests after getting some details of his life that they set up someone who may have been wronged by Richard in the past.

The police initially seem to buy this story, but interview the other members of the house – Richard’s mother, his valet, his nurse, and his half brother, who is developmentally delayed (and unfortunately referred to using the r-slur once.)

I thought I saw the various twists coming, and I sort of did, but there was more in store. I was initially quite annoyed with the ending as it seemed a bit too … convenient? Unimaginative? But I should have known to hold on for more.

What’s next for this book:
I know this is a play originally, and I think it would be an interesting one to see performed live.

Monday

9

December 2024

0

COMMENTS

Night Watching by Tracy Sierra

Written by , Posted in Reviews

Five Stars

Best for:
Those who want a page turner that has an underlying message about society.

In a nutshell:
Our protagonist isn’t given a name – in fact, no one, I realised only as I started writing this review, has a proper name. Everyone is identified by their relation or role – mother, father, daughter, son. She wakes up in the night to see a man standing in her hallway, and has to make a decision about how to keep her children safe.

Worth quoting:
“Men and their eyes, always thinking they were so subtle.”

“The star on the cover posed with hands on hips and a forward slouch, quote superimposed over the photo reading, ‘I always want things dangerous.’ How safe the world had to have felt to say such a thing. She couldn’t remember it ever feeling that way.”

“Easier to believe a woman’s lying than that bad things happened on your watch. Easier to believe the simplest thing is always correct. And it’s simple to say a woman is crazy.”

Why I chose it:
It was part of a book subscription from Rare Birds – a bookstore in Edinburgh that only stocks books written by women.

Review:
Ah, what a book. I read nearly half on the first night, stayed up too late on the second night, and had to finish it during my lunch hour today.

It’s so hard to write a quality review of this without spoilers, but I will try.

The book takes place mostly over the night in question. The protagonist wakes up to see a man in her house. Her husband isn’t there – we eventually find out why – and she has to think through what to do to keep her children safe. The home is huge, and very old, and labyrinthine, which is an asset to those who know its layout.

She eventually finds a place to hide, but that’s only part of the problem. What if he finds her and the children?

While most of the book focuses on the current predicament, we are taken to different points in the protagonist’s life where men have harmed her or let her down. Her father-in-law, her own father, her husband, strangers. It’s not just the intruder who has frightened her and made her feel powerless; it is many men she has encountered.

Again, avoiding spoilers, but I will say that the emotions I felt while reading this were all over the place, but ultimately I was so glad I read it.

What’s next for this book:
Keep, maybe lend to others.

Friday

29

November 2024

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COMMENTS

Midnight in Chernobyl by Adam Higginbotham

Written by , Posted in Reviews

4 Stars

Best for:
Folks who are interested in how man-made disasters come about, and how governments and individual people respond to them.

In a nutshell:
During a test of the cooling system, one of the reactors at the Chernobyl plant in Pripyat, Ukraine, USSR, explodes, leading to some immediate deaths, some short-term deaths, many longer-term deaths, and the complete abandonment of an entire city.

Worth quoting:
“We have to be seen to be doing something.”

Why I chose it:
I watched the recent miniseries and given my previous work in emergency management found it an interesting topic.

Review:
This book was fascinating. Because I’d watched the miniseries, I did have a sense of the broad outlines and beats of the event, but for crying out loud. It’s amazing how mistakes multiply, and how unwilling some people are to admit that something serious is happening.

I have very vague memories of this happening. I was six, and I recall my mother talking about fears about purchasing milk, because of radiation from the particles that were caught in the wind and distributed over the earth.

As I mentioned above, I chose this and listened to it partially from the perspective of a human who just cannot imagine who scary that must have been for everyone, and partially from the perspective of someone who used to think about how to respond to public health emergencies.

So much went wrong, partially because of just people not believing how bad it could be, and partially due to lack of preparation.

The book does a great job of keeping the topic engaging, telling the story from multiple perspectives. Higginbotham shares stories about the people in the reactor, the first responders, the people in the town, the government, from before the reactor was even built, until after trials seeking to determine and apportion blame for the disaster.

The only big quibble I have is that Higginbotham takes a few opportunities to hit out at communism, suggesting pretty heavily that this is why the disaster happened. I’ve got to say, a whole lot of horrible disasters happen regularly in capitalist nations, and I don’t think a capitalist nation would have handled this any better just by virtue of its economic system.

What’s next for this book:
I’d recommend it to anyone with similar interests.

Sunday

24

November 2024

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COMMENTS

I am a Hitman by Anonymous

Written by , Posted in Reviews

2 Stars

Best for:
I can’t really recommend this book. It’s fine, but not something I’d recommend even to those who have a curiosity about such things.

In a nutshell:
The author claims he worked as a hit man, and details how he came into that world, and how he eventually got out.

Worth quoting:
Nothing.

Why I chose it:
Wanted an audio book to read while running and as someone who finds details and specifics fascinating, I was interested in HOW contract killing actually worked.

Review:
The hitman had a weird childhood with an unforgiving father. He also, if we are to believe him, left his baby sister alone and she died, leading to his mother taking her own life. He then traveled to his mother’s homeland of Brazil (which is I’m assuming a stand-in for another country since the author claims all the details have been changed) to meet his grandfather, and some of his relatives. Then mentioned a handsy priest who his grandfather had killed. Then he returned home, went to fancy boarding school, and joined the French Foreign Legion.

Is that were everyone who eventually claims to have been a spy / mercenary / hit man does their training?

The hitman serves with a guy he calls H, and H maybe sets the hitman up to kill a child in Lebanon while also killing someone else? I don’t quite get this part. But the hitman eventually feels indebted to H, and they go into business together. H gets the contracts, the hitman does the killing.

H details his jobs, while also sharing the toll this takes on his marriage (his wife suspects an affair, not a secret vocation). It’s all very clinical, which is fine – I wasn’t looking for salacious, because ew. But it’s very nonchalant. Only a couple of times does it seem like the hitman has any real concerns about the work he’s doing, or even about really getting caught. But most frustrating – and maybe this is where I’d prefer to have read H’s book – I still don’t get from this exactly how all of this comes about. How the people know to approach H, how the money is laundered, how anyone trusts that anyone will do the job and not just go to the cops.

Also, given the author is still alive, they would have had to change like all of the details of the jobs to avoid being caught, so this book is essentially a work of fiction.

As I said, not one I’d recommend, and not one I’m thrilled to have read.

What’s next for this book:
Write the review, return the book, forget I read it.

Monday

18

November 2024

0

COMMENTS

The Lost Apothecary by Sarah Penner

Written by , Posted in Reviews

4 Stars

Best for:
Those who enjoy a bit of mystery, a bit of revenge, and some history.

In a nutshell:
Two parallel stories: In the late 1700s, Nella runs a secret apothecary in London to assist women who need freeing from abusive men. In the current day, Caroline has come to London to celebrate her 10th anniversary, only just before leaving the US for the trip, she found out her husband had been having an affair.

Worth quoting:
N/A – Audio book

Why I chose it:
Given the outcomes of the election in the US last week, and the world’s general turn backwards in terms of women’s rights and respect, I felt this book was a good reminder of women will do when they don’t have other options to be safe. Also I just got my library card here and this is my first borrowed audio book!

Review:
This book has some of my favorite things – multiple perspectives, stories that interact but take place in different time.

Nella runs an apothecary, taken over from her mother. She runs a special service from a hidden room, where she assists women who need freeing from abusive men, One day, a 12-year-old named Eliza comes on behalf of the woman she works for.

Meanwhile, Caroline ends up mudlarking while in London trying to sort out what to do next about her marriage. She finds a vial with a tiny bear etched on it, and decides to research where it came from.

Without giving away any major plot points, I appreciate how the author weaves in ideas of loss, of childhood and ignorance, of how life can get away from us and our dreams and goals. A large, looming aspect is how people will take back power when power is either taken from them or withheld. I also appreciate how each of the two women and the girl were written – we get point of view chapters from all of them, and especially for Nella and Eliza, we see how different events might be understood differently depending on the life experiences one has.

I would definitely read more by this author. The only real issue I had was with the audiobook performance choice. Caroline is from the US, but the person who read her chapters read them with an English accent. When the character was talking to others, the actor used a US accent, but that was rare. As someone from the US, it was odd to hear an English accent for someone from the US, and was at times confusing as her not being English was somewhat relevant to the plot.

What’s next for this book:
Return it to the library, recommend to a friend,