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lgpiper

Reading Slothfully

I was told in elementary school that I only could read at half the speed for success in college. Oh well, one benefit of slow reading is you get to live with the characters a longer period of time. I read in a vain attempt to better understand people. At my other homes, I'm known as a spouse, pop, guy in the choir, physical chemist, computer/web dilettante and child-care provider. In theory, I'm a published author, if you consider stuff like Quenching Cross Sections for Electronic Energy Transfer Reactions Between Metastable Argon Atoms and Noble Gases and Small Molecules to count as publications. I've strewn dozens of such fascinating things to the winds.

Currently reading

A Good Death
Christopher R. Cox
The Black Cargo
John P. Marquand
A Highland Christmas
M.C. Beaton
Tales from Moominvalley
Tove Jansson, Thomas Warburton
Moominland Midwinter
Tove Jansson, Thomas Warburton
On The Beach (Vintage Classics)
Nevil Shute Norway
The Maltese Falcon
Dashiell Hammett
Obscure Destinies
Willa Cather
A Start in Life (The Michael Cullen Novels)
Alan Sillitoe
Mobilizing Web Sites: Strategies for Mobile Web Implementation
Kristofer Layon

Red-Headed Sinners

Red-Headed Sinners - Jonathan Craig I found this to be decent enough pulp fiction. Quality literature this is not. Even the publishers agree that it is not quality literature: it came out in 1962 and is already in the public domain. Generally, to be in the public domain, a book needs to be something like 40 years older than this. Whatever, I found it to be an interesting enough read.

It's about a policeman who pulled a nutty whilst interrogating a hot, red-headed suspect, and almost choked her to death. As a result, he gets kicked off the force. He vows to find the jewel thief, whose whereabouts the red head was shielding, so as to get back into the good graces of the force, and, thereby, be reinstated into the only job he's ever wanted. Over the course of his investigations strangles several more hot, red heads. Along the way, we have flash backs to his youth and find therein the seeds of his madness. It doesn't help his recurrent bouts of madness that he drinks a lot, an unimaginable lot, seemingly endless glasses of double whisky shots.

This is a guy's book, perhaps the male equivalent of harlequin romances. The attitudes toward women and toward sex in general would make any sensible feminist want to choke the first handy man they find. I wouldn't blame them. It's surely a reflection of our benighted past. It's also interesting how they have to dance around the sex issues implicitly, given that writing about explicit sex was still a no-no back in the day. I'm not sure that's a bad thing. It seems quaint but veils to some extent the mindless, and not really necessary, crudity people feel compelled to inject into today's literature.