The Lighthouse is vintage P.D. James; if you like her other novels, you’ll enjoy this one. The victim is a nasty old author who’s losing his touch. The murderer is the last person you’d expect to be it. The suspects are psychologically interesting and individualistic. Adam Dalgliesh, James’s Scotland Yard detective, is still struggling with his own inner demons and in The Lighthouse he encounters serious danger to his own person as he investigates murder on an isolated island far from the usual conveniences of the Yard and its myriad of technological and human assistants.

I love the Adam Dalgliesh mysteries, but I do wish that Inspector Dalgliesh and his love interest, Emma, would go ahead and tie the knot, for goodness sakes. They’re running out of time. Like Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane, they need to get over all these doubts and second thoughts and get on with it. Thank goodness, in The Lighthouse P.D. James moves them to the brink of matrimonial commitment.

All in all, The Lighthouse is about the setting, the victim, the suspects, and the detectives. The murderer is almost an afterthought. It’s a satisfying mystery with lots of well-developed and intriguing characters. In fact, as a good measure of the success of Ms. James’s characterizations, I’d like to know what happens to several of her characters after the story is over. Happily, some of them– Inspector Kate Miskin, Sergeant Francis Benton-Smith, Emma, and Adam Dalgliesh himself— are likely to reappear in P.D. James’s next novel. I do hope she’s working on the next novel.

P.D. James’s choices for “most riveting crime novels.”

This is my key ring. I’ve had this wooden cat for about ten or fifteen years. It’s been worn down (by me) and colored with markers (Z-baby). It’s been lost, but always found. Because it’s big. I lose things a lot, but I love my key ring because it doesn’t stay lost for long.

My dad made the wooden cat on the key ring especially for me, not because I’m a cat lover but just because he knew it would be big enough to keep me from losing my keys. (I think my mom has one just like it. Like mother, like daughter.) The cat also makes a nice handle with which to hold the key ring. If you want one of these, you’ll have to find someone to make it for you. I searched the internet a bit but didn’t find anything quite like it. Sorry, ladies, but at least it’s an idea looking for a woodcrafter.

For more Works-for-me-Wednesday ideas, both big and small, visit Shannon at Rocks in my Dryer.

My blog has a new address. Although the old one will still work, you may want to update your blogroll to https://www.semicolonblog.com. If you subscribe through bloglines, you will probably have to delete your subscription and resubscribe to the new feed. Sorry for the trouble, but I think it’s a better address, easier to remember.

Thanks for reading.

He may talk like a white boy, but because he’s not white and because he’s a well-known actor, he gets away with saying things that no “white boy” could ever mention without being called epithets that are better omitted from a family-friendly blog.

For instance, one of the chapters in this book is called “The Arrogance of Reparations.” Mr. Phillips exposes the essential silliness of plans to make twenty-first century Americans pay reparations for nineteenth century slavery: ” . . . there is nothing fair about converting the fruit of one man’s labor into the property of another man. Slavery does not cease to be repugnant because it is washed with indignation or good intentions. It is immoral whether committed with whips and chains or by forcing reparations from people who were never slave owners to people who were never slaves.”

Mr. Phillips is best known for his acting role as the husband of Lisa Bonet’s character, Denise, in the TV comedy The Cosbys. He also writes a weekly newspaper column, and many of the essays in his book seem to have been drawn from his newspaper writings. He’s one of those exceptions to the rule, two rules in fact; he’s a black Hollywood conservative. As if it weren’t enough to break those rules, he’s also a Christian. So you could read his book just for the novelty of it.

Mr. Phillips provides more than just novelty, however, as he writes on such topics as black pride, moral values and family values, rap music and soul, his baptism, and race and racism. The insights in this book, while not original, are certainly worth a few hours invested in the review of some time-tested truths. For example:

“When children are taught that values are without purpose, that morality is subject to opinion, and honor is a commodity to be bought and sold on a whim, it is no wonder they smirk and disrespect their elders.” p.33

“Charity is moral and worthy of praise because it is the voluntary choice to respond to those in need. When government makes that choice for us, it is not charity but despotism.” p.125

However, the most thought-provoking parts of Mr. Phillips’ book are those in which he discusses race and racial identity. Because, he is not a stereotypical black American, Joseph Phillips has faced misunderstanding and accusations of not being ‘black enough.” He has struggled to understand how much of his identity as a person depends on the color of his skin and how he can fit into American society as not just a man and an actor, but as a black man whose “race” is an inevitable part of what other people see when they see him, an inevitable part of the image he sees in the mirror. I think readers will find Mr. Phillips’ observations both challenging and enlightening as they read about his very individual quest in search of authenticity as a man, and particularly as a black American, in He Talk Like a White Boy.

Author Annette Simon very kindly sent me two picture books about a month ago, one that she wrote and designed and another that was written by her son Jack when he was five years old. The first book is called Mocking Birdies, and it’s about that annoying little game that all kids play at one time or another:
“Mom, he’s copying me! Make him quit!”
“Mom, he’s copying me! Make him quit!”

In fact, Z-baby and Bee Girl were playing this very game just last night. I pulled out Ms. Simon’s book and read it to them. Soon they were laughing at the redbird and the bluebird who were copying each other, and they had forgotten to purposely annoy one another. So there’s one use for this picture book.

However, I don’t mean to imply that the book is only useful as a distraction. It’s an easy-to-read book, a cute story, sort of poetic, and even has a moral and a not-so-scary villain. I say this as a compliment and a warning: this book might be the sort of book that you are required to read over and over again and again by insistent urchins who are diligently trying to avoid bedtime. If so, enjoy. If so, enjoy.

The second book that Ms. Simon graciously shared with me was told to Ms. Simon, mostly at bedtime, by her then five year old son, Jack, after the death of his little sister, Libby. It’s called “This Book Is For All Kids, But Especially My Sister Libby. Libby Died.” I might quibble with some of Jack’s theology (nothing I know in Scripture indicates that people turn into angels when they die), but his articulate expression of the questions that children ask when a family member dies is both eloquent and honest. Jack has some sad questions (How much do you miss us?) and some silly questions (wouldn’t it be funny if you had wings coming out of your eyeballs?) and some rather profound questions (now you know what God looks like?).
I read this one to Z-baby who is four years old, and to tell you the truth, she didn’t get it. But she’s really had very little experience with death, not even the death of a pet. However, I think when that experience comes, as it surely will, we’ll get out this book with the long title and read it together.

Mrs. Simon lives in Florida with her family, but she used to live in Austin so I consider her a displaced Texan. And books by Texas authors are the best, right?

Here are links to a few othe reviews of Ms. Simon’s books:
From Cynsations by Cynthia Leitich Smith.
From Jen Robinson’s Book Page.
From Camille at Book Moot.

I wrote one of these posts before when I thought my blog was fixed . . . but it wasn’t. Now I really think everything should be back to normal.

About two weeks ago, I started getting an error message on my blog, and my blog host disappeared. All my emails to the blog host company bounced, and they didn’t have a phone number to call. Computer Guru Son was out of town, and since he’s the one who does all the technical stuff for me, I had to wait for him to get back. He moved the blog to a new host, and finally now, like MacArthur, I have returned.

To all five of you who missed me, may the blogging relationship resume.