Review: The Architect

The Architect by Keith Ablow

My rating: 5 of 5 stars



West Crosse is an architect par excellence, a man of enormous creative vision and sensitivity to the needs of his wealthy clients. This is especially true of the homes he designs for families - anticipating both current and future needs. They are creations of light and space, temples to truth and beauty. Crosse is a man of high ideals.

But I wouldn't want him to design a house for me.

Crosse goes beyond planning perfect homes for his clients, you see. He also plans perfect lives for them. If a member of the family is an obstacle to the happiness and growth of the family, Crosse removes that person... and he finds one in each family he works for. An abusive husband, a wife who doesn't want children, a daughter with a drug problem - all of them must die for the good of the family.

Forensic psychiatrist Frank Clevenger is put on the case after the President of the United States begins receiving fan mail from the unsub who has been killing and surgically dissecting wealthy people across the country. Clevenger is beset by personal problems: his love life has taken a downturn, and his continuing problems with his adopted son Billy often steal the stage from the visionary killer on a mission from God. Fighting his alcoholism becomes harder and harder, and finally he begins prescribing Antabuse for himself to prevent falling into the pit for good.
In contrast, the families he meets during his investigation seem to be coming out of their own dark times. They seem calm, even happy... and even relieved at the death of their loved one, though they don't say so out loud. It makes investigating... interesting and nonrewarding at the same time.

I've read several books of Ablow's, and this one was an enormous pleasure to read. Crosse's sense of beauty and clean proportions take him out of the bounds of the 'average' serial killer, while Clevenger's personal life becomes a messy disaster. There are no simple solutions in our hero's world, and he's not going to get them in this novel. For Crosse, though, the mission is clear, and there is no hesitation in his actions. The consequences are horrible. If a movie were made of this book, Hollywood would have to alter the ending. The audience would not accept it.

A side note: the Skull and Bones group of Yale gets a lot of attention in this novel. Crosse belongs to it, and uses its connection to get contracts with the high and mighty. President Buckley (an excellent choice of names) is a member and, given the book's 2005 publication date, was probably meant to draw comparisons to George W. Bush. Ablow casts no aspersions on the Bonesmen, political or otherwise. Membership simply makes them more vulnerable to trusting The Architect and less likely to talk to investigators about other potential victims.



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The Case of the Melting Caretaker Brain

My brain is melting.

It's been roughly six weeks since my wife and I left our jobs and moved down here to help care for my father, and, little by little, my brain is melting away. It's not all due to the Florida heat, either.

I have fallen behind in posting my #wws and #ffs on Twitter. I plan to read books to my wife after my parents go to bed, but instead I collapse in front of the TV or harvest imaginary crops on Castleville. I sort out my dad's pills and handle his refills, but forget to take my own meds OR give my wife hers, either.

My life used to be highly structured. Weekdays: Get up, go to the office, have lunch, work again, go home, fart around on the Internet, watch TV, complain to my wife that I should be writing. Weekends: Sleep later unless at a con, run errands unless at a con, write, promote books, fart around...

There is very little structure here. We exist at the demands of my father's daily needs and, to a certain extent, my mother's as well. These change from day to day and week to week. Mom needs someone to haul the trash to the curb. Dad needs help transferring from the wheelchair to his recliner. Nurses and therapists must be shown in. Prescriptions must be refilled and picked up. Bess has proved to be an enormous asset, hauling the family to doctor's appointments and carrying tanks and wheelchairs in the back.

I take Mom out for walks to help her manage her diabetes. I take my wife out for walks to help her manage her cabin fever: as the expert on the oxygen equipment, she rarely gets to leave the house.

Writing? Every time I begin to string two thoughts together, someone here asks me to do something. For example, Dad just asked me if I could trim his nails. He has to be careful not to cut himself due to the Coumadin. I'll do it later.

If I remember.

Where the Hell Did I Go?

It's been a long damned time since my last post.... because a lot has happened since, and it hasn't been good.

My father, who has sarcoidosis and pulmonary hypertension, collapsed at the end of February. The EMTs were able to stabilize and transport him to the hospital, but he will need care for the rest of his life. My mother, who has arthritis of the spine and diabetes, was unable to do this on her own.

Instead of them going to assisted care (more likely a nursing home for my father's needs), Gwen Mayo and I quit our jobs and moved to Tarpon Springs, Florida. Yes, we had a mortgage. Yes, we had years of payments left on the car we purchased in October of last year. Yes, we owe money for other stuff. But move we did. It beat leaving my mother alone and destitute after my father passes (I hope the latter will be delayed with our assistance).

We were fortunate to receive assistance, in the form of both cash and labor, from our coworkers and friends. My stepdaughter has taken over the house so the grandsons will have a place to live when they're ready for college (that day is approaching faster than I thought possible). Dad is out of the hospital and appears to be on the mend, albeit at reduced capability.

I hope to get some type of income soon. It will need to be part-time, at least during this stage of my father's recovery. Will I ever write again? Composing this blog, I hope, is a positive step.

Right now, all my brain wants to do is scream. Even after being here for three weeks.

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My interview with Edin Road on BlogTalkRadio

Paranormal Comedy author Sarah Glenn 02/28 by EdinRoad | Blog Talk Radio

Please tune in to hear an excerpt from my novel and some interview questions. You'll know my voice immediately: I sound like I'm twelve.

I thought it was interesting that Jesse thought that a lesbian vampire was one of the things that makes All This and Family, Too unique: to me, that's a 'normal' trait. There are more lesbians in the world than astronomy professors, and there are probably more lesbians than vampires (although one can never be sure, can one?).

Next Tuesday: Edin Road Radio

A week from today, I will be the featured guest on Edin Road Radio. Jesse Coffey's show puts the spotlight on authors and their work. While part of the program is an interview, the majority of it is simple the author reading their work. I'm trying to decide now what I want to read: portions of All This and Family, Too, or one of my short stories?

If you'd like to hear a sample of the show, check out this recent interview with Bertena Varney.

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Review: Movie by Parnell Hall

Movie by Parnell Hall

My rating: 3 of 5 stars



Detective Stanley Hastings finally has his chance to hit The Big Time as a screenwriter. Sidney Garfellow, a documentary director people have actually heard of, has hired him to write the screenplay for his first 'regular' movie. Stanley dreams of leaving his less-than-rewarding career as an investigator for a personal injury lawyer for the Silver Screen. What stands in the way of this? Well, Sidney Garfellow, who keeps changing his mind about what he wants, forcing Stanley to rewrite and rewrite again. Then there's the film's star, who ignores Stanley's golden prose in favor of more 'natural' lines he's written himself. Oh, and there's people getting killed on the set. Just a little problem there...

Hall draws heavily on his own experiences when writing Stanley Hastings: he has worked on the stage, in films, and, at one time, as a detective himself. He writes hilarious songs, often about the foibles of being an author. It is no surprise that he has some experience with screenwriting himself: he wrote the screenplay for C.H.U.D. At least Stanley gets to write a movie with "four hot babes" in it.

I've read several of the Hastings novels, and I always enjoy the verbal humor in them. This novel is no exception. Stanley gives us his unvarnished and aggrieved opinions of the director, the actor, and Murty the sound man. He exchanges marvelous barbs with his boss, who visits the set, and Sergeant McAuliff, a series regular who is hired as a consultant. After the deaths begin, Detective Clark is brought in to investigate. Stanley doesn't like Clark: in a previous novel, Stanley was his prime suspect. The cops are smart, especially Clark, who is far from the closed-minded nabob mystery authors so often employ. The plot is good, and there's enough twists to keep the reader guessing.

The drawback: in some scenes, Stanley and the police detectives spend a lot of time talking about who was where at what times. I tend to speedbump over those sections, but you might want to take the time to read it: the solution just might be hiding in there.



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Every Word

When my wife graduated from college, my parents and I bought her a Kindle. Most of the items on it are hers, but I installed a copy of 'Every Word' on it because I love word games. The game is similar to Scrabble: you're given a group of letters and you form words from them to earn points. Unlike Scrabble, there is at least one word that will use all the letters you've been given, and that word is necessary to advance to the next level.

At lunch today, I discovered that the most obvious word I could form wasn't one approved by the system.

Me: This thing won't take "whipass".
Wife: That's because it should be "whoopass".
Me: I thought maybe they were looking for a Northern spelling.
Wife: "Whoopass" is the only form of the verb. There is no 'whip'.
Me: That's not a verb form, that's a noun. The noun should derive from a present tense form of "whipass". The game won't take "asswhip" either, and it really should.
Wife: There's "asswhippin'".
Me: Exactly! That's the gerund form, which implies that the verb "asswhip" should exist.
Wife: Maybe someone should design a Southern version of the game. You'd have more luck with it.

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