A Pulp Fiction Review by Pete

Photo Courtesy of Tattered Cover Book Store

Borderline

By Lawrence Block 

I love reading pulp fiction, especially when traveling. Things happen, usually right off the bat. Bad guys, often without hope for redemption, emerge from the shadows to do their worst. And average Joes of both sexes -- maybe looking for a little edgy excitement -- get in over their heads in a hurry. Borderline is one of the many novels and short stories I’ve read of late by Hard Case Crime, a publishing house that has brought back pulp fiction classics and the provocative covers that drew you into its sordid pages.

Borderline tells the story of four flawed characters and one sadistic serial killer along the hot and sweaty border towns of El Paso and Juarez. Tequila flows, gamblers gamble, and the sex is pretty steamy. This novel is not for the squeamish, however. The killer takes great pleasure in his slicing and dicing and the reader is spared no details. But if you are a fan of pulp fiction, or if you dare to take a peek, this Borderline had my blood pumping from the get-go to the end; it even had a few good bonus stories for you after the bloody finale. 

Finally, Miki writes a book review!

Reading Devil in the White City

a review by Miki Schulte

Image courtesy of Tattered Cover

Although I am often described as bubbly and always smiling, most people who know me well know that I am obsessed with forensics, serial killer stories, dark tales, and the macabre.  Well, I think I may have just the book that brings all of these not so secret obsessions together. 

The Devil in the White City was one of those books that I shelved and sold regularly, but never really got the motivation to pick up and read.  However, after reading The Alienist by Caleb Carr, I finally took the plunge.

In The Alienist, the main character is using research, newspapers, behaviors, and interviews from famous murder cases to try and catch one of the most elusive serial killers ever know to New York City.  Although The Alienist is fiction, the cases mentioned were real.  One of those cases was that of H.H. Holmes. 

Holmes, whose real last name was Mudgett, was a young man drawn to the busy bustling city of Chicago.  In the chaos of a city preparing for the World Fair, Holmes saw an opportunity, an opportunity to lure in victims and spit them out into a city unaware of his capabilities.  Because crime was so high and so many people were heading into Chicago to get a new start, Holmes was able to kill dozens of people without ever being detected.  He was also handsome and charming, so when suspicions arose among the families of the missing victims, he often put them at ease with a tale full of lies and a trail that led them to a dead end.

The story of Holmes explains the Devil part of the title, but the white city is also a huge part of the story.  This part of the title is referring to the section of Chicago that was built for the World’s Fair.  Although this part of the story is not full of murder and mayhem, it is jam packed with drama (and a body count).  Erik Larson is a historian, but he is also darn good story teller.  He shows the reader the struggles, the tragedies, and the miracles that went into creating one of the biggest events in American history.

Not only does he tell the story of the fair, but Larson introduces us to the men and women that somehow made the fair a success.  From the main architect to the inventor of the Ferris Wheel to the female architect on site, a wide range of stories are told.  So many names involved with the fair changed American history.  Not only that, but the number of lives lost working on the fair rivaled those who fell victim to the charms of H.H. Holmes. 

These two riveting stories somehow fit into this one book.  I don’t know how Erik Larson does it, but he does it fabulously.  As someone who drags their heels into reading non-fiction, I am still surprised how much I enjoyed the book and how fast I plowed through the pages.  This is a must read for any history lover, but it was also so well written, fiction lovers would enjoy it tool.

A review of a honeymoon

Reading Colette in Colette’s Room

By Pete Schulte
Photos by Miki Schulte

Miki and I had a literary-themed wedding replete with stacks of books as centerpieces, old typewriters as props, card catalogs, and other  touches of the written word in one form or another. We followed the blessed event with a literary-themed honeymoon to Portland, Oregon, and then later to the Sylvia Beach Hotel on the high cliff sands above the Pacific Ocean.

View of the Sylvia Beach Hotel from the water

The real Sylvia Beach was a famous American ex-patriot bookseller living in Paris during the WWI and WWII years. Her bookstore, Shakespeare and Company, first published James Joyce’s Ulysses, and was home away from home to such literary luminaries as Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, D.H. Lawrence, and many others.

Sylvia Beach Hotel through the fog

At the Sylvia Beach Hotel, each room is named and decorated after a famous writer. Miki would have loved to stay in the J.K. Rowling room, where Harry Potter’s dorm room appeared to contain every magical detail described in the book and put to film. That said, she probably would’ve been too excited to sleep. Instead, we stayed in the Colette room, which was decorated in the Parisian style of the Belle Epoque and included many photos of Colette and her various cats. Speaking of cats, they also live at hotel. You may not even notice though, as they seem to blend into the background of stacks of books and old furniture. Our problem, though it wasn’t much of a problem, was that neither Miki nor myself had ever read Colette. Luckily the room was filled with books by her or about her, and we were even able to purchase a couple of paperbacks at a nice little bookshop just down the street.

Harry Potter's desk

the amazing detail in the Verne room

Harry Potter's chamber

Jules Verne inspired doorway

If you time it right at Sylvia Beach, the staff lets you look into the various rooms before guests check in. This was great fun as you’re able to see the Dr. Suess room, the Mark Twain, the Virginia Woolf, the F. Scott Fitzgerald, the Amy Tan, the Alice Walker, the Ernest Hemingway, the Ken Kesey, and several others including Tolkien, Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde and Jane Austen. Aside from the Jules Verne room, my favorite, I thought the Colette room was least second best and perhaps most appropriate for a honeymoon. We all have our happy places in life and this will certainly be one of mine. Who can resist the cool Pacific wind blowing through lace curtains, or the thick marine layer creating a dramatic foggy evening, or falling asleep to the sounds of ocean waves crashing upon the shore again and again and again…I think Colette herself should have been there, and perhaps in spirit she was.

Colette room/honeymoon suite

I neglected to mention that the Sylvia Beach Hotel has no televisions in their rooms, though there is definitely no shortage of reading material. They have a library that overlooks the ocean that is just perfect for the book you’ve been meaning to read. And if you’re ever in the area, I strongly suggest you sign up for their nightly dinner events. I wrote the word ‘events’ and I meant it. I had duck one night and lamb the next and perhaps four other courses done to perfection. They seat you at large tables and you meet fascinating people from all walks of life. And for shy people (like myself) conversation is easy. You just say, “Which room are you in? We’re in Colette.” These are dinners you remember. I can’t express how strongly I recommend this. I’m not a foody either, which leads me to…

breakfast at the Zeus Cafe

If you’re ever in Portland, please avoid ordering something called ‘Ninja Wings.’ Here I’m on a honeymoon vacation, and of all the items to order in such a wonderful city I had to have the ‘Ninja Wings.’ Like actual Ninjas, these wings were sightless, soundless, and unfortunately tasteless. But in Portland we did have excellent meals at an Italian place called ‘Café Mingo’ and another at ‘Café Zeus,’ where the Ham Benedict was one of the best breakfasts I’ve ever had.

stacks of books at Powell's

Miki and I are both in the bookselling business (I’m with the Tattered Cover and while she’s with History Press), so while in Portland we had to visit Powell’s Bookstore. I’m a former newsstand person and was a little disappointed with their newsstand, or lack thereof. But on the book side Powell’s is quite impressive. We spent so much time (you lose of track of time really) just browsing along endless shelves of books. I think one of the best things about bookstores is browsing with a friend or significant other, and finding yourself saying ‘I loved this book, have you read it? No, but I’ve been meaning to. Have you read this one? It’s so good.’ Technology is wonderful, but I challenge technology to come up with something better than everyday, common book banter.

In conclusion, I loved Portland, I loved the Oregon coast, and I even have a special place in my heart for Ninja Wings. I mean why were they called Ninja Wings in the first place? What was the chef thinking? Am I marked for death for ordering such a thing? What a honeymoon! I hope we make it back there some day.

Cheers!!

Myths of Love: A Review by Pete Schulte

                                     Myths of Love:

Image courtesy of Tattered Cover Book Store

Echoes of Ancient Mythology in the Modern Romantic Language

By Ruth K. Westheimer & Jerome E. Singerman

It’s helpful to me as a writer and a painter to read mythology or read about mythology every once in a while. After all, these ancient stories and artists’ interpretation of these stories are still relevant to our popular culture today. One need only to read the plot lines of the mythical Pyramus and Thisbe to realize, ‘Hey, this is Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet or Tony and Maria from West Side Story.

Myths of Love evolved from conversations between two people who enjoy interpreting art and discussing its cultural relevance. If, like me, you find it difficult to keep track of which is a Greek myth or a Roman myth and who did what to who, then this is the book for you. The chapters consist of just easy, interesting conversations about topics such as Hermaphroditus, who may be the first transgender literary character, to Narcissus, who tragically fell in love with his own reflection. It’s fascinating to me just how many famous artists painted the character Danae being ravished by Zeus’s shower of gold. Titian painted her several times as did the great female Renaissance painter Artemisia Gentileschi; even Gustave Klimt painted the scene as recently as 1907. Though sometimes written on bark, fruit, or whatever else they could find, myths have certainly stood the test of time. Every story to this very day seems to borrow of bit of their magic.

Apollo and Daphne by Pete Schulte.  Can you spot Daphne?

 

In Case You Missed It...The New Murakami Comes Out Tomorrow!

Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage (a novel by Haruki Murakami)

I confess I wasn't able to finish Murakami's prior novel '1Q84,' dropping off somewhere beyond the halfway point. But that was one giant book, and I am happy to report that the only thing giant about his latest novel 'Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage' is the title, which is explained in full early on in the story. In contrast to '1Q84,' Murakami's new novel is much shorter in length (Thank God), and much simpler in plot. I would also add that it's one of the most joyful reading experiences I've had in quite some time. Murakami has already won himself quite a few awards, but I think this novel pushes him ever closer to Nobel territory.

As I've written, the plot is simple. Five high school friends (three boys, two girls) form an exclusive, intimate friendship, though without sexual attraction (or so the narrator perceives). The group is inseparable until Colorless Tsukuru leaves town to attend a university in Tokyo where he studies the building of train stations. Everything is okay during his visits home at first, but come spring a trip home results in the altering of his life forever. Tsukuru returns to his home town and finds that the other four will not talk to him, will not see him, and have entirely banished him for apparently no reason. He falls into a horrible depression, loses weight, and begs for his heart to just stop beating. But it doesn't.

Flash forward 16 years later and Tsukuru is building train stations and has a new person in his life. But his girlfriend, Sara, notices that his banishment from the group all those years ago is still nagging at his present, holding him back somehow. Sara pushes him to find each member of his former group to pinpoint just what the hell happened. This is the story of 'Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage,' a pilgrimage more mental than physical, and yet still takes him from Tokyo all the way to Finland of all places. As Tsukuru finds out, the truth can hurt, badly, but as the saying goes, it'll also set you free.

Here's the Rub...A new short story

It’s Just a Service I Provide

By Pete Schulte

For as long as he could remember, Les Archer had always gone door to door. He’d shoveled snow in winter, mowed lawns in summer, had early morning newspaper routes, sold Fuller brushes, vacuum cleaners, encyclopedias, and magazine subscriptions. He been chased by angry dogs, chased by even angrier husbands, and been unceremoniously removed from properties by security guards. And now what? Les was a tried and true door to door man, but now there was less to go door to door about. Les was dejected. Had he nothing left to offer in this world? He took a good look in the mirror and used his old trick to regain his confidence. “Les is more,” he said to himself. “Les is more, Les is more, Les is more, LES IS MORE!” Composure restored, he headed back onto the street, back to what he knew best, back to door to door.

The first door he hit nobody was home, or pretended they weren’t home. The second door was dark and spooky so he passed on this one. The third was promising. A cottage home with a picket fence and a nice pelt of green grass. Les tipped up his fedora and knocked upon the door. Eventually a man answered. He was tall and wore glasses. His sweater was light gray. “Hello,” the man said. “What can I do for you?”

“No, sir. It’s what I can do for you. My name is Les Archer,” he said, extending his hand to the tall man in the gray sweater. “And I would like to provide you a service.”

“A service, huh. And what kind of service would that be?”

“But sir, first I would like to ask if there’s a lady of the house present?”

“Sally’s home. She certainly is.”

“That’s wonderful, sir,” said Les. “You see, in my experience, there are services some husbands extend to their wives enthusiastically, some do so grudgingly, while some do so not at all.”

“And what kind of services are you referring to, Mr. Archer?”

“Why I’m referring to the ancient practice of the foot rub. And you know, this is nothing sexual. Heavens no. This is merely therapeutic, just a service I provide. Are you a husband who provides such an undertaking, or would you rather out source to a professional?”

“Well, normally I’m a husband who regularly engages in this activity, but of late I did bang my thumb on the copy machine at work. So providing such a service myself who put me in a great deal of pain.”

“I am so sorry to hear of your injury,” said Les, “but I am pleased that my timing appears to be exact.”

“It’s like you knew,” said the man.

“Indeed it is.”

The tall man in the gray sweater called out to his wife, who was apparently upstairs. “Oh Sally, there’s a stranger at the door. He’d like to rub your feet.”

“Rub my feet?” answered Sally. “Say, I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“No, Sally,” said the tall man. “It’s nothing untoward. It’s a foot massage, something therapeutic, a professional service he would provide.”

“A foot rub, huh? That doesn’t sound so bad. What’s he charge? I don’t want to be a chump.”

“Ten dollars a foot,” Les called up to her. “No more, no less. Everyday low prices are what I gladly offer.”

“Ten dollars a foot?” said Sally. “That’s a bargain where I come from. Send him on up, Mel. With those prices, I’ll have both feet done for sure.”

“Swell,” said Les, bounding up the stairs.

Les talked to Sally as he rubbed her feet with lotion. He told her which pressure points on the heel aided digestion, which stimulated the mind, and which, right along the arch, had a direct connection to the…

“Ohhhhhhhhh,” Sally moaned. “You really hit the spot that time. You do that again and I’m going to be singing opera.”

Twenty minutes later Sally called down to her husband. “Honey, guess what? Mr. Archer is offering fifty percent off a bikini wax for today only. Fifty percent off? Can you beat that?”

“Fifty percent off?” said Mel. “Hot dog!”

Les Archer was back in business, big time. Les is more, baby. Les is more!

The end.