WICKED WEDNESDAYS

Tastes in reading

Last night was book club night again. As usual, the friendship -- fueled by various food groups, including chocolate, and wine -- was the highlight of the evening. However, we did actually discuss books, too. Although neither one (we had missed last month's meeting due to bad weather & travel) was a mystery.

But that doesn't matter. The fact is that readers are the life-blood of writers and how re-assuring to a writer to hear readers disagreeing about books! Each reader comes from a different place, has different life experiences and interests. Therefore, of course...there won't always, if ever, be total agreement.

What makes this so great, in my opinion, is the acceptance that not everyone is going to like your book, your work of art, your manuscript which is saturated in blood and sweat. And that's okay. Because someone will.

But what's most important to writers is that you like your own work. I used to admit that I cringe when I'm out reading from my works. Those words on paper don't glisten as brilliantly as they did at first. But then, writers are their own most strident critics. Or it could be boredom. How many times do you want to re-read a book, anyway? No matter who pens it? Whatever. Deep down, I am pleased with what I've produced and I've thoroughly enjoyed the entire process. I enjoy spending time with my characters in their fictional town and yes, plotting murders.

And I truly hope that many readers will enjoy the read. But I don't expect that all will. Cosies just aren't everyone's cup of tea. Some don't like southern settings. Others may not like book clubs -- horrors! Or the writing style. Or the plot or dialogue...or any number of things.

So, Erika -- get over it and take heart in the fact that somewhere, a book club may one evening discuss your book. And I think that's one of the best things a book can promote -- discussion. And moments of pleasure.

Linda Wiken/Erika Chase
A Killer Read coming April, 2012
from Berkley Prime Crime
www.erikachase.com

LADIES' KILLING THURSDAYS

Where have all the critics gone?

I've been reading a lot of reviews of new mystery novels lately and they have been exceedingly complimentary, every one. I'm delighted because these happen to be very fine novels written by my good friends. But I have to admit that a small part of me would like to read a really nasty review once in a while. Cutting critiques are hard to find. Even the Times Literary Supplement and the New York Review of Books seem to steer clear of the really eviscerating remarks. These belong to a by-gone era and I have to say I miss them.

We were at the National Arts Centre last week and I was taken aback to read the following notes on the evening's performance of Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto in D major, Op 35.

"The Russian composer Tchaikovsky is surely not an ordinary talent, but rather an inflated one, with a genius-obsession without discrimination or taste. Such is also his long and pretentious Violin Concerto. For a while it moves soberly, musically and not without spirit. But soon vulgarity gains the upper hand and asserts itself to the end of the first movement. The violin is no longer played; it is pulled, torn, drubbed." And on and on it goes. It wasn't clear until the end of the notes that this was not a current review but rather one from the first performance of the piece in 1881. Once in on the joke, the NAC audience members could be seen turning to their neighbours to share the review and to laugh at how we'd all been briefly duped. I wondered, though, if they, like me, had a moment of missing the days when a review like this one was de rigueur.

Where are the modern-day Dorothy Parkers? Who today would ever dream of writing the following about a book, as did she, "This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force." Or "It is that word ‘hummy,’ my darlings, that marks the first place in The House at Pooh Corner at which Tonstant Weader Fwowed up.”

Even restaurant reviews have calmed down since Seymour Britchky's days writing for New York Magazine. Britchky said of one famous Manhattan eatery: "The wines are overpriced and anyway, the proper drink for the food here is Alka-Selzer."
And of Mamma Leone's, "So when you sit down, you are brought celery, olives, tomatoes, and a block of soap the size of half a loaf of Wonder bread, and you cut off a hunk and go to the washroom to wash before dinner, and a few old hands restrain you good-naturedly and say no, no, that's cheese, for to eat, no soap. And you say no, no, it's soap, I can tell from the taste. And they say oh no you can't, because it doesn't have any taste! And everyone has a good laugh."

I miss Dorothy and Seymour. Maybe I'll just have to tune into the Parliamentary Channel to get my daily dose of insults. Ack!


Sue Pike has published a couple of dozen stories and won several awards including an Arthur Ellis Award for Best Short Crime Story. Her latest, Where the Snow Lay Dinted appeared in the January issue of Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine. Sue and her husband and an opinionated Australian Shepherd named Cooper spend the winter months in Ottawa and the rest of the time at a mysterious cottage on the Rideau Lakes.