`Thou Torturest Me by R. M. Doyon Centers on Neighboring Amish Mixing With English in Deadly Ways!

"...His mind now wandered back to the brief encounter he had had with Hannah that afternoon. Why he had detoured past her farm today, he didn't know. What purpose did he had in mind? She had smiled nicely in his direction, and had welcomed his arrival, even as they both knew they were breaking church rules. Six days of the week were for family and work; only on the seventh could such activities take place. But his mind was beset with doubt. He didn't know what he wanted to do, though he was well aware that his duty was to choose a mate, to buy his own farm and...to breed...
"At night, by candlelight, he read books on design and construction that he borrowed secretly from the library in town. He could do better, he thought...
"Beyond the inferno and near the rocky point, a long, narrow dock held together by rusted iron stanchions extended into the lake. A pontoon boat, complete with a Bimini-styled top and laden down with at least another ten young people, was cruising towards the wharf. One of them jumped from the boat and was now fastening it to the dock. He recognized her; she was the girl in the back seat of that convertible earlier today...
"No pictures!" he hissed, his eyes darting between those of the young Cahill man and the guilty parties. "You're scaring my horses!" 
"Brad sensing the urgency of the situation, quickly took charge. He knew how the Amish had resisted any form of photography.
"Guys, put your goddamned cells away! he barked, his facial expression slowly transforming into a grin. "Or Troyer here will turn this friggin' wagon around we'll be shit out of luck for firewood by nine o'clock. 

Thou Torturest Me

By R. M. Doyon

Three fascinating words from Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice certainly was used to bring a captivating and compelling story to life for R. M. Doyon. He's wonderfully used a phrase, putting it in an entirely new and different setting and yet, making it the perfect title for this gripping yet heartbreaking story. Certainly I never expected what happened, yet I had tried to attach the phrase to each of the characters as they were introduced. In the end readers may conclude, as I did, that the writer has somehow conveyed that all  of us have at one time or another murmured, "You torture me." Maybe not in those words, but we all face so much in daily life that we don't understand--for which we seek some explanation, some promise it will become better... Doyon does not even name the individual who was attacked in his provocative Prologue. Readers watch as a young couple are making love on a hillside, watched by someone who has followed one of them. Once the boy has left, the girl is attacked and she is hit many times and pushed over the cliff... Then, Doyon ends it in such an eloquent way, so joyfully and we all know what has and will happen but he leaves it to our own minds to create--to end the torture... Brilliant!

"Overhead, a murder of crows--numbering more
that twenty--sat menacingly in the towering oaks,
squawking loudly with impatience as the wagon
approached their dinner, the remains of a blood-
spattered raccoon not far ahead. Moments later,
four large barking dogs greeted their arrival,
snarling and teasing his team. Be careful hounds,
he thought, Temper's in a foul mood and if allowed
his freedom you will be sorry. After nipping at the
horses' heels for a few yards, they wisely retreated.
Often, when he was alone, or when he toiled in the
fields as he had done today, he sometimes wondered
what another life would be like. Maybe go to college.
Learn architecture. Or maybe just venture further
east, towards the Adirondacks, especially as a
passenger--or better still, as the driver--of one of
those fancy, furious automobiles. But it was just
a dream. It wouldn't come true...
~~~

When a writer chooses to establish a family in which stories will be shared, it is a setting that is so enticing! Readers quickly feel as if they are visiting the family, enjoying daily life experiences--both good and bad... While Thou Torturest Me is a sequel to Upcountry, it certainly stands alone, but there are overlaps in some of the people, so here's the link to my review of the first book to help a little and maybe get you interested enough to get that first book to read as well. In fact, it's hard not to spend time talking about the family connections you'll find, but of course, that's not possible in this short article...

Especially, when many of the major characters are from a totally different family--their Amish neighbors!

Joshua Troyer is the main character who we meet as a neighbor of Hubie Schumacher. Josh had not only done work for Hubie, now near his 70s but had saved his life when he was thrown from his tractor, only to have it land on him. The young strong man who had daily worked the farm fields easily picked the tractor up sufficient to get him out!

Joshua had never taken time away from home and the farm work at the time usually granted to Amish young people. Never having rumspringa, Joshua was now at the age when he was expected to marry and start his own family. I wondered whether what happened would have had he gone out into the world and met more English teens. Now it seemed too late and yet he was inadvertently pulled into meeting...one special English girl...

He had noticed her when a car had stopped and Brad, her brother, had requested a load of wood be delivered for making bonfires. He had already been in a foul mood since Temper, his horse, was showing...his temper...

"Now edging closer to Temper, Joshua realized his active brain and sleepless nights had exacted a price. He had to corral this cagey-taunting animal--and now. Temper needed to know who was in charge. He reached down behind the buckboard's seat for a makeshift lasso that he had always kept aboard his wagon. Now was the time to bring this horse to justice.
"Slowly, he approached the colossal beast as it grazed quietly on the high grasses beside the paved road. Over the course of his five or six minutes of stolen freedom, a couple of cars had ventured by, moderating their speeds only slightly at the sight of the Belgian on the loose. Joshua surveyed the situation and decided he had one chance of roping Temper and returning him to the wagon. Better make it good, he thought.
"As Temper raised his head, Joshua pounced. Expertly, he threw the lasso around the Belgian's head, and pulled tightly on the rope. He worried that the big horse would revolt and pull him down the road or, worse, attempt a foray into the nearby thicket. He was in luck. Temper seemed to realize the jig was up and succumbed to the young farmer's orders to stay put.

~~~

Temper, however, had heard the vehicle and started to act up again, pulling violently. Joshua was forced to hit him to get his attention and the Cahills had reacted to the violence. He knew that the English confused discipline with cruelty. Still, he was sorry that others had witnessed the exchange.

Finally, he was able to finish the conversation and agree to bring wood to their cabin site...

And that's when it all started...Because before the night was over, Ria, the girl in the car, had come over to talk to Temper and Joshua and invited Joshua over to the campfire, where they introduced Josh to beer and they had drank and talked all evening...

It was during a different party that Joshua had sneaked out on Temper and had watched nearby until he saw Ria alone, where he invited her to take a walk...and more had happened...

When Ria was found, it quickly became a police issue and it was during services hosted at the Troyer farm, that Sheriff Boychuk had come to visit Josh. He had already seen him with Ria the first time, knowing he was drinking that night. But the questioning was now being seen by the entire Amish Community!

At the same time, Ria's brother Brad and her friend were convinced that it was Joshua who had hurt Ria... Soon vandalism started at the Troyer Farm! Hay fields that they had been working on and which were almost completed for the year were set on fire!

Then, amazingly, just as many novels share actions directly from today's headlines, Joshua's father was attacked in their barn one night and his hair and beard cut...!

Ringleader in Amish hair- and beard-cutting attacks sentenced to 15 years in prison

Samuel Mullet Sr. faces 15 years behind bars for planning attacks against fellow Amish who denounced his authoritarian leadership. The 16 other Amish men and women who were convicted last year were handed sentences ranging from one to seven years. Read more: http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/ohio-amish-cut-beards-foes-face-sentencing-article-1.1258799#ixzz2kT6mVfHp

What was interesting from the standpoint of the police trying to determine who was doing all of these things, was that many different people were involved. My intuition had pinpointed who had pushed Ria, but there was surprise after surprise as the Sheriff's office took each incident and followed the evidence.

I had not seen the newspaper announcement above; however, the author had told me there was quite a difference in the lives of today's Amish. One thing we do know is that, no matter what religion, there will always be those who proclaim that religion but who really have evil in their hearts... I'm hoping that in continuing this series, that we will have additional information about what took place "after" this novel ends... 

The English families that were involved as Joshua crossed the boundary lines were, thankfully, much more receptive to what had happened. And as they got together once more before heading their separate ways, it was good to spend time catching up on what had occurred after Upcountry ended, including, a house burning! You see, only that could eliminate what had been torturing one of the other characters from her past... 

"He began to strum his Gibson. Now, is it time for some music?" 

To a chorus of approvals from the family, Booker launched a few bars of a familiar ballad. Something about being 'caught between the longing for love and the struggle for the legal tender.' Abruptly his fingers stopped.

"As Jackson Browne would say, I'm just a 'happy idiot'."

"Happy, yes, Booker," Joanne corrected. "Idiot, no."

"Remember this?" he asked. "This was the song that Jane bought for a quarter on the jukebox in the bar that night. Never forgot it. She said, 'C'mon Mellancamp...let's dance!'

"Joanne beamed at the memory. 

"So, take a listen," he said, launching into the ballad from the beginning."

~~~

Insightful, timely and relevant to today, and complicated enough to be "real people"...LOL! I thoroughly enjoyed this one, I think, maybe just a little more than his first! Highly recommended...

GABixlerReviews

R. M. Doyon has been a journalist, speechwriter, public relations executive and author for more than three decades. His first novel, Upcountry, was published to rave reviews in October, 2010. He and his wife, Shelley, split their time between the shores of the St. Lawrence River and the California desert.

A Bucket Full of Lies by Full of Quick Wit, Zany Dialogue...and, of course, So Many Lies It's Hard to Solve the Murders!

http://fineartamerica.com
"You had better boot scoot out of here, Roosevelt," my Guardian Angel warned me trying to look like he really cared. "If you don't, you are going to get trapped right in the middle of a murder, a multiple kidnapping, a gun and heroin smuggling ring, and to top it off everyone you meet will only lie to you. And if that is not enough, you are going to get hurt, maybe even killed."

AKA Robert Swisher as Bob Roosevelt

"Please, I'm in Iowa, nobody knows me here," I said. Besides, I'm in a quandary." 
"What's new about that?" my Guardian Angel stated bluntly. "You're 62 years old and you have never found yourself or the love of your life - being in a quandary is all you know." 
"You're job is to help me not ridicule me," I said defensively, although he was telling the truth. Since I was twenty I have tried to discover who I really am and searched for the love of my life, neither of which has ever happened. "Does the truth hurt?" my Guardian Angel taunted like a Catholic who had pulled a fast one on a Buddhist. 
"I am the only person who can hear my Guardian Angel and when I talk to him it is only through my mind, which is a good thing, if not, people would think I talk to myself all the time. And, thank God, I am the only person who can see him. He is not a pleasing sight. My Guardian Angel is a 14th century monk with a shaved head. He is 5'2" tall and in his early 60' s and more than a little over weight – in fact he is as round as a basketball. His eyes are tiny brown slits that show he is not to be trusted. His eyebrows are so bushy birds could nest in them. He has a splotchy uneven black beard and his complexion is close to watery flour paste. He wears sandals with no socks and a knee length, stained, brown wool robe, which exposes mats of black curly hair on his bowed legs. To top it off he does not bathe saying vapors cause disease – people from the 14th century were not known for their intelligence. 

A Bucket Full of Lies:
 Bob Roosevelt Mystery Series

By Robert Swisher

I love multi-genre novels, do you? If you enjoy humor, you will want to give this tale a close look! First Warning: Every conversation you read will have at least three voices involved. You see, this Vietnam Vet had at least one close call back then and was assigned a permanent Guardian Angel... Seriously, now I know why they always say "those who live by the gun die by the gun." That is, unless God's looking out for you.  Maybe He knew that this soldier was honor-bound to keep fighting for good... Now he's a P.I. and his G.A. has certainly been earning his pay--that is, if he wasn't a dead monk, turned G.I. He admits openly that God didn't like him... Personally, I think he paired the two to help the monk more than the other way around...You'll see what I mean when you read it...

Second Warning. Don't believe a word you hear from anybody, and I do include the monk in this statement. Oh yes, he does speak up, but sometimes that bullet is already on its way... An early tip: this monk drank when he was alive and now spends all of his time eyeing up each and every female that is in the vicinity...a voyeur doesn't always catch the bad guy fast enough... So if you ever get a G.A. assigned to you, be on the alert since they may be, ah, working off some type of penance???

"Roosevelt, if you are from Mexico and not born rich,

 there is only one way you can ever get ahead, crime. 

The system is set up to keep you down. 

Unlike America, there is no middle class in Mexico.

 In Mexico there is only the have and the have-nots."

 "Big business and the government are trying

 their best to make it that way here also," I said.

 "America is very treacherous," Manuel agreed.

 "In Mexico, you know who are the crooks, 

but here, the people you least expect are the crooks,

 and crooks a lot of times are the good guys."

 "You've been here long enough to understand," I said. 

"I have been here long enough to miss my country,

 but I know there is no need for me to go back.

 I could not pick lettuce and tomatoes now and be

 satisfied. I have seen too much."

 I looked at Manuel's lizard boots and his gold bracelet.

 He saw me looking at them. "They are nice, no. 

In Mexico I would never be able to buy such things."

 I thought about all the Mexicans in the country

 slaving away picking crops and washing cars,

 mowing yards, doing jobs that most people will not do,

 and yet, they were making more money than they

 ever dreamed they could back in their own country - 

that is, when the people they work for pay them. 

~~~

If you get the idea that I was thoroughly enjoying this in-head interaction between the two (after I got used to having a third person respond as well), you are right and I'm so happy that this is the first of a series...Do check it out ASAP so you don't get into a later book and wonder what's going on! By the way, it is a little irreverent so don't think this G.A. will be winning any pious medals... LOL...but he probably will be keeping The Big Guy shaking his head and, maybe, sometimes, stifling a chuckle...

I also might have enjoyed it a bit more than some of you because I found Roosevelt and I had a lot in common as he throws out opinions on politics, the government and other philosophical thoughts that crosses the minds of those that grew up pre- and during the 60s... 

Well, the G.A. had already warned Roosevelt of what was coming. Still when he accidentally met one of his old Hippie friends in a little chili place and went home with him, it never occurred to him that it would be Sam, that friend, who was killed...


"Heed my warning, Roosevelt," my Guardian Angel said with a truly worried look on his face. 
"Bob Roosevelt," echoed through the cafe once again. 
"A sinking feeling shot through my heart. I turned apprehensively to look at whoever knew me. Seeing Sam Wrench jolted me back to the 1960' s. 
"You’re a sight for sore eyes," Sam said, lumbering toward me like a polar bear with bad feet. 
"Murder and kidnapping, heroin and gun smuggling, bodily pain all over your body," my Guardian Angel recited while shaking his finger at me. 
"I hadn't seen Sam in over 45 years. "You haven't changed a bit," I lied, standing up - my Guardian Angel's words sending distress signals up and down my spine. Sam embraced me and pounded on my back like he was beating the dirt out of a rug. In truth, Sam hadn't changed that much. In the 60' s Sam looked like a long haired guard for a pro football team - only now the muscle has turned soft - his hair is short, though still coal black, and he doesn’t have a beard. Although Sam is a big man, back then he was one of the gentlest men I had ever known. 
"I'll get my own beer," Sam bellowed over to Greasy Ed. 
"Greasy Ed gave Sam a dirty look, which I guess meant, yes. Looking at Sam, I could picture him in the past with long black hair, an earring in one ear and a peace sign hanging around his bull-like neck. He was one of the few hippies in New Mexico the cowboys didn't try to knock the snot out of. They tried to knock me around a few times but found out it was a mistake. Sam poured me another beer and came back around the counter with two for himself. Without a comment we went to a table. Sam drained one beer without stopping, wiped the froth from his lip, and smiled distantly, like remembering a fond memory. "I sure miss the 60' s," he said. 
"I bet the 60' s don't miss you guys," my Guardian Angel smirked. 
"I had to smile, thinking back to New Mexico. "Those were the days," I said to Sam, trying to ignore the fact I really can't remember, except in fragments, what had really gone on during my hippie days in a commune in New Mexico. 
"Don't blame your memory loss on substance abuse," my Guardian Angel said. "One has to have intelligence to lose his memory." 
"It's too bad we all grew up and had to accept reality," Sam said. "The drugs made us lose credibility," I said. "They were a bad thing," Sam agreed. "I haven't messed with any since." 
"Me either, and I wish I never did," I said. Sam laughed and I laughed - the type of laugh used to cover up things that no longer should be mentioned or should be forgotten. Sam took another gulp of beer. 
"We were all dreamers," he said, his mood suddenly going dark. 
"You were all stupid," my Guardian Angel said like he had a college degree in human nature.

~~~

So instead of meeting with the wife and kids as planned, Roosevelt found himself meeting Lisa, who he knew had to be his second "trophy" wife and offered to help find out who killed Sam...

Boy, you talk about sending out mixed signals. This cool lady didn't seem at all upset to have lost her husband, except that she was now free to spend some time with Roosevelt, which G.A. was quite interested in seeing happen!

But Roosevelt was an honorable man (that's why I think the Big Guy set him up with this particular monk) and even though he agreed to stay there at the house and Lisa was offering quite often, he never once touched her...

Then, he met Sam's first wife and seemed to be getting the same vibes from her...

What had he gotten himself into? Then as he started asking questions about who might have killed Sam, Lisa admitted that Sam's kids had been kidnapped! While Sheila their mother told him they were at camp... But neither wanted to get the police involved...  G.A. once again had been correct as he was now trying to determine the whereabouts of the three children...

At the same time, no matter what, Roosevelt knew he had to play by some of the rules at least and contacted the detective in charge of Sam's murder to see if he would be willing to share information. Owens was not anxious to, but was at least willing to talk, as long as Roosevelt kept him involved... Owens had shared that they were looking at a man named Moralis who owned several businesses in town that were believed to be fronts for money-laundering, drugs and certainly prostitution...

In the meantime, Greasy Ed, the cook at the chili place, got a bullet in his head...

Roosevelt started looking around the big home Sam had bought when he married Lisa... Where was he getting the money?! Tennis Courts, swimming pools, all in the right neighborhood... so that his search ultimately led him to being near their neighbors house and seeing some weird things that raised questions... Like...why would empty horse stalls be locked...  Same with the Tennis Courts? 

And then he heard a voice he recognized talking to Manuel, who worked for the neighbors. A voice that surprised him to even be there...

Aside from Roosevelt getting shot at, beat up, imprisoned underground, wounded...and totally surprised by what was happening, it did finally work out, as we all knew it would and, of course, with Roosevelt being so curious, he made sure that every single mystery, every single lie, and a whole lot of details as to who shot who after he was hit, were all cleared up for us... Then he was satisfied he could get into a newly repaired and painted Matilda, gratefully paid for by somebody else and he and his Guardian Angel started singing...heading for some trout fishing...

"I started Matilda. "Somewhere on this road off life you'll find yourself and a person to love," my Guardian Angel said. "There are no guarantees," I said. 

"Keep rolling the dice, Roosevelt," he said. 

"Driving away from the rest area my Guardian Angel and I were humming an old Beatles song - something about yellow submarines. I felt good. I was alive. The bad guys had lost. I was going trout fishing in Colorado. This story has a happy ending. Many don't. Good had come out of a bucket full of lies.

~~~

I tell you one thing, with all the lying going around, there was no way I could even begin to figure out what was really happening, although I had some good guesses... As to who killed Sam? I hadn't a clue...

Have fun with this one!

GABixlerReviews

Silent Echo--A Mystery Surrounded by Main Character Living With AIDS+ Amazingly Revelatory!

content.time.com

"I’m also thinking about last night. I don’t want to, but I do. Numi had broken the “bathroom rule” when he’d insisted that I take a bath with baking soda and Epsom salts— a combination he’d insisted would draw toxins out of my degenerating shell of a body and allow my skin to absorb the important minerals. I did not argue with Numi. I knew better. Anyway, he’d done his best to give me privacy— even holding up a towel so that I could undress with what dignity I had left. Turns out it wasn’t much. I nearly fell over and Numi caught my naked body before I hit the towel rack next to me. The impact surely would have done some serious damage. I didn’t thank him. I yelled at him for distracting me and ordered him out of the bathroom. He said nothing, merely nodding, and waited just on the other side of the door in case I should need him. I’m a dick sometimes. 
"The concoction worked, amazingly. After forty minutes of sitting in the stuff, the water turned a darkish, muddy gray. I felt like shit for chewing out Numi, and so, after I’d showered and had plenty of water to drink, I apologized to my friend. He said no problem, cowboy, and helped me into bed where he tucked me in. I was asleep before I could feel weird about being tucked in by another man. 
"I awake in the middle of the night to find Mary next to me. This doesn’t make sense. I went to bed alone. Surely, I am dreaming. But no… my reaching fingers are rewarded by something very real and warm. Numi must have let her in. My bedroom door is closed and I can hear Numi snoring lightly in the living room. 
"They are both here. Keeping vigil over me. I know this can’t be good. Yes, I am feeling weaker than ever. Yes, I should probably be in the hospital somewhere. Or a hospice. But Numi is my caregiver. And now, so is Mary. And I have made the decision to die at home. It’s my right. It’s anyone’s right.

~~~

Silent Echo

By J. R. Rains

No matter how many books I read, I am constantly amazed to pick up a book by somebody I've never read--and find he is a well-known author with many books out there being sold... But this book amazed me more for the content. I was privileged to work on three different books dealing with AIDS while working with Rainbow's End Publishing. All of them were wonderful, but this one blew me away with its intimacy, sensitivity, and revelation of living with AIDS. In this case, also compounded by cancer, which apparently was dormant and responded unfavorably to the virus...

This is definitely more than a mystery--or should I say this is less of a mystery than the story of a former "mucho" man who never thought he could contract AIDS. However, you can, and he did, contract it from having sex with a woman. I'm spotlighting statistics for the U.S., because I think many have "forgotten" about this dangerous virus in America, even though it remains a major issue across the continents...

Rains has done an outstanding job of bringing this reality to the forefront of America's eyes--to remind us. If you scoff at this threat while reading this book, you are, in my opinion a fool... One more issue I want to mention as foolish... when I searched for pictures, the only one that came up was the above...Please realize that there are many white people and people of other nationalities, other than African and African-Americans that contract this disease...Yet the reality in America is only presented graphically... Note that the graph states that many are unaware of their infection...!

But I'm just spotlighting what Rains has shared, dare I say, so eloquently, so compassionately. The main character was a private investigator, specializing in missing people before he became too ill to work...

"Numi sees this. Numi sees everything. He’s always watching me, studying me, monitoring me. In Numi’s eyes, Eddie is wasting my time and energy, neither of which I have in spades. Although Numi has okayed this meeting for reasons I still do not comprehend, Numi doesn’t like the way things are progressing. I know this, because I know Numi, too. As well as he knows me.
 “What do you need, Eddie?” asks Numi. Eddie looks at him, blinks, and realizes for the first time that when you talk to me, you also talk to Numi. Eddie looks back at me, and seems to size me up again. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking, but it can’t be good.
“Maybe this is a bad idea,” he says. 
“The man is on borrowed time,” says Numi, leaning forward. “Maybe we can waste a little more of it?” 
"Eddie is a smart guy and gets Numi’s drift: Get to the point or get the hell out of here. “Right, sorry. Shit. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need your help, Jimmy. Wait, that didn’t come out right. I mean, I should have been here anyway. I’m a shitty friend.” He is a shitty friend, but I don’t kick a man when he’s down. I look over at Numi, a very un-shitty friend. Numi is sitting back again, eyes half-closed, looking somewhere beyond the table and into eternity, for all I know. 
“It’s okay,” I say. My friend is acting strange. My friend is generally the picture of cool. Or, at least, that’s what he always projected in the past. Now, not so much. His eyes seem unhinged, moving around in his skull like a compass going apeshit. He’s having trouble focusing on any one thing. He runs his fingers through his greasy hair. I’ve never known Eddie to have greasy hair. The Eddie I remember cared a lot about his looks. Too much, perhaps. His knee is bouncing, too. I figure Eddie is either on something or something’s really wrong. He finally nods to himself, looks down. Then he closes his eyes, which is probably a good idea since he can’t seem to focus on anything longer than a nanosecond. 
"He takes in some air, holds it, and then says, “Olivia’s missing.”

~~~

John Lessor, Artist

Generations

Numilekunoluwa (which means, God Please Deprive My Sorrows), or Numi, is a main character, Nigerian, who is also an artist having his own gallery.  He  was such an intriguing character for me that I've chosen John Lessor, Nigerian Artist, to represent Numi... I can only describe Numi as one of the most loving men ever created by a writer and I truly hope that somewhere there is a Numi that truly would do what this character did--which was to give up his own life, work and act as a caretaker for such a white honky... LOL...

I wouldn't have said that if the two men did not joke with each other about phobias about AIDS, homophobia, race, etc. Numi is a gay man. He may or may not be "In love" with Jim. He knows he's straight--so straight that he can't quite accept that here is a man who is generously helping him, a gay man who is touching him...

But anybody in the position of having AIDS and having been deserted by...almost everybody...soon realizes that help from a gay, even intimately, is necessary and needed... These times between the two men are heartbreaking, at least they were for me, as even now, I cry as Numi withstood the anger and abuse that Jim threw back at him for his help...

Jim and his mother have been estranged for over 10 years. They both blamed Jim for the death of his younger brother, murdered in the park one day...

Now, as Jim begins to investigate the disappearance of Olivia, who was also a good friend, who he'd always hoped to have been more, he cannot help but to remember his brother's murder. And, then, when they find Olivia's body, and she has several telling clues that seem to be similar to his brother's earlier murder, Jim becomes obsessed, thinking he could possibly find out who murdered his brother before he dies...

Jim had been given six months to live by his specialists; that had been eight months ago... Dead man walking--but only with Numi's help!

And then there's Mary... She is Jim's grief counselor until the day that Jim realizes that he's fallen in love with her and proceeds to lightly kiss her rather than allow their normal session to begin...

I tell you I was hooked from the first to last page. Sure, I had a pretty good idea how the criminal mystery would play out...

But the real mystery I watched was how these three and later his mother, fought together to keep Jim alive, one day at a time, until he knew who the murderer was...  and when he did, barely being able to walk, he got his gun out--it was so heavy for him now--and he went after that criminal! Alone...


OMG, check this out!


GABixlerReviews

J.R. Rain is an ex-private investigator who now writes full-time in the Pacific Northwest. He lives in a small house on a small island with his small dog, Sadie, who has more energy than Robin Williams. Please visit him at www.jrrain.com.

Mark Young's Experiences Creates Memorable Gang Thriller--Broken Allegiance!

Broken Allegiance:

 A Tom Kagan Novel

By Mark Young

Whether it is right out of today's news or fiction created as back stories, Mark Young knows what it's all about! His latest, Broken Allegiance, takes readers directly into the family life of members of gangs... Truthfully, it made me think about my personal opinion on the Death Penalty...

"The gunman reached down and ripped the tape
from the victim's mouth. "Any last words, Paco?"
All of them seemed to be Hispanic, the gunman's
voice heavily accented. "Before I..."
"The kneeling man stiffened, glaring up at this
captor towering above him. "You're making a big
mistake, Rascal. This is not sanctioned. Check
it out, bro."
"I'm not here to flap my gums about the green light
on your ass...bro. I'm giving you an opportunity to
say your last words. Maybe shoot up a little prayer
to the big guy in the sky."
"The other two men, standing next to the bound
victim, gave nervous chuckles as if they couldn't
decide whether to laugh at Rascal's joke or
keep still. They lapsed into silence.
"Here are some last words for you." Paco spit in
Rascal's face. "Nos vemos en el infierno!"
~~~

While the young couple worked their way to the old winery building, carrying their blanket, giggling and happy, they thought they would have alone time...

But there was also a car heading to the same vineyard--to carry out orders. Rascal had brought along a couple of his street gang to back him up, but they'd already captured and bound their victim. They were fools, following blindly the orders to kill Paco. Paco was all good and well respected...

Broken Allegiance - When the lust for power turns even family against each other, there is no pride or respect. Fear, anger and so much more enters and reigns...

It is hard for most of us to even consider, and never to imagine, what it would be like to be in a family where it was known that, ultimately, you would be called upon:

Blood In; Blood Out. There will be no choice for you. If you are to gain respect of your peers, but, seemingly, more importantly, your family--the large family as well--you will be required to murder somebody...

How does it ever reach the point where men are allowed to gain so much power that they can freely order others to kill on command...even from prison?

This is from the same article as is the video above. These are real members of the family as identified in the novel. For purposes of this review, I'm choosing from the second level of the hierarchy, first box, the one of the right...He's fairly high in the Family, but still reports to others higher... Let's pretend for this review, his name is... Ghost...

Ghost had ordered the hit from prison... There were many others there from the family, but he had acted on his own to order Paco's death. He had heard that Tom Kagan had been assigned as lead for the kill. Although Kagan would not know him, Ghost remembered him quite well... He looked forward to being able to mix it up with this guy again...

Pelican Bay State Prison, California

"A guard shoved a white envelope into a small, tomb-like cell. The envelope had been cut open before delivery... What has my little bird to say? The man, known as Ghost to other gang members, pored over the letter's words. My faithful Rascal, have you obeyed my orders?

"Ghost rubbed a hand over his shaved hear. The smoothness felt good and gave his enemies nothing to hand on to if anyone dared to attach...They can read all they want; they'll never break the code...

"This was the second letter he received from the outside this week. The first one came under the protection of legal mail--precluding guards from taking a peek inside--directly from his attorney. After a frantic investigation, the attorney reported that gang and VCI investigators were taking a look at Paco's murder. Looking at the attorney's findings--including the fact that a cop by the name of Tom Kagan was assigned to the case--Ghost grimly smiled to himself. What a small world?...Ghost sent a protected letter back ordering the attorney to hire in investigators to find out everything they could on Kagan, his family, his residence. Kagan didn't know that he and Ghost had indirectly crossed paths in the past. This cop might be trouble, and Ghost wanted a dossier on this guy just in case. Know your enemy!

"My order has been carried out. Paco is dead and Rascal has earned his bones..."

~~~

For the young Rascal, he could now demand respect from his own street gang, looking forward to perhaps some time in the future being accepted into the Nuestra Familia...

Totally unaware that the Ghost had already commanded another to kill him...

In fact, orders were being carried in an out quite often, one for another high leader, who had chosen to leave the Familia two years ago. Ghost had been concerned about Paco and Mikio for quite some time. Mikio had left the Family, but had not been terminated...Blooded out... These men knew secrets of the organization, one of which was very personal to Ghost...

"Stevenson, still squatting, said, "This was a cold-blooded execution, Tom. It looks like they forced him to kneel before they shot him. He must have known it was coming."
"Tom squinted at Sevenson. "Maybe there is hope for you yet, Sherlock."
"His friend opened his mouth as if to retort and then closed it. Something else appeared to catch his attention as he leaned over the body.
"Hey, I recognize those tats." Stevenson pointed to the side and back of the victim's neck. This bird, it's an image Norteno gangsters like to copy, slightly modified from the farm worker's huelga bird." He pointed to the side of the victim's neck. See the tatoo of a sombero with the knife through it?"
"Tom nodded. "Only an NF, a Nuestra Familia prison gang member, wears those tattoos. This guy must be connected. Tom stood. "So we have an execution of a prison gang member. Where do we go from here, gang expert?...
"Stevenson looked up. Actually, it's a war, rookie. A war between prison gangs like the Mexican Mafia--whose gang claim blue--and Nuestra Familia with its gang claiming red."
"Tom glanced down at the body. "But this guy's not showing any colors, which makes me think it is an internal conflict unless the Surenos already had him in their sights..."

~~~

Obviously, learning about Paco's murder put the entire Familia on alert--the kill had not been authorized! And Paco had been a very important outside man...

Tom Kagan and his partner Bill Stevenson are being run ragged trying to keep up with the kills and soon even more were working as a team... Obviously much of the book is dedicated to the actual criminal investigations and if you love that, this novel will place right up there in action and suspense.

The appalling results within that Familia were what amazed and almost mesmerized me... Nephews were ordered to kill uncles... Even the female family members were forced into action, setting up murders, including from within their immediate family! They had no choice, either they, too, followed instructions or they would be killed. Everybody knew they would sooner or later be killed.. Blood in...Blood out... And for the majority of many of their lives, they would sit in jail...

To step up the story in tension and suspense, soon the Ghost has escaped! First, he kills Kagan's partner... And the whole family is closeted... But Ghost is smart--very smart...

"His hands were not clean of the blood of others. They dripped with the killings of many, many people. He had even forgotten some of the names he'd given a thumbs-down to when the secret vote came around. Or the many votes he had self-initiated in the interest of building up his own power structure.
"Now his blood was required. Blood in, blood out.
"It would always end the same way.
..."He was a warrior who had somehow lost his way, lost his bearings, his honed ability to sense and elude danger. He saw this coming but refused to believe his people would take these steps against him. His people? What a laugh. He should be worth something to the organization, but to them he was now a useless piece of garbage to be case away as others scrambled over his grave, grabbing what he once possessed.
"To some in the NF, he was just a coldhearted killer who'd lost his edge, an old man who needed to be removed from the seat of power to make room for others. New blood coming in. Old blood being spilled...
"The allegiance of brothers had been broken. Maybe deep down inside each member, there never was a true allegiance to the brotherhood. Just an opportunity to grasp power... now prepare for the end..."

~~

I have to tell you, by the end of this book, learning how even the gang leaders are treated differently by prison staff--to help ensure inmates are kept calmer...

How police are routinely targeted...

And how those living gang life are constantly in fear???

It seems to me, the Code should be universal... Blood In... Anybody who murders to enter a gang is automatically set for the death penalty... Blooded Out...

Mark Young has created a memorable indepth look that goes far beyond what we see in movies or even in today's newspaper... Prison doesn't stop them from Murdering More People! Why don't we take care of business in the U.S.? This may be fiction--but it's based on FACT. Thank you Mark Young for telling us like it really is! A Must-Read in my opinion... Especially by cops, public officials...and...gang members who don't yet know any better...

GABixlerReviews

Mark Young is an Amazon bestselling author. 

Both his Travis Mays and Gerrit O'Rourke novels reached the top 100 list, and his debut novel, Revenge, hit #1 for bestselling mystery/suspense police procedurals. Mark worked as a police officer and sergeant with the Santa Rosa Police Department in California for twenty-six years after working as an award-winning journalist. He is a Vietnam combat veteran, honored to have served with Fox 2/5, 1st Marine Division, and later with Headquarters company. 

He worked on several law enforcement task force operations, including the presidential Organized Crime and Drug Enforcement Task Force targeting major drug traffickers, and the federal Organized Crime Task Force charged with identifying and prosecuting prison gang leaders. He lives in the Pacific Northwest with his family. Visit Mark Young at his web site at www.MarkYoungBooks.com

Alena by Rachel Pastan Not What I'd Recommend...

Works at 54th Venice Biennale,
 special edition for the 150 Anniversary
 of Italian Unification, 2011-2012

"...the highlight of Louise's life was the Venice Biennale, to which the museum did not send her but which they encouraged her to attend--on her own dime--no doubt in part because it was restful having her away from the office. I started working at the museum in October, and the following spring Louise announced that she had a treat for me. She invited me into her crepuscular office, thickly hung with frame exhibition posters from her shows, and pinned up invitations to openings, and dusty shawls, and a special rack where she kept several pairs of expensive shoes, and she announced that she was taking me with her to the Biennale.

The Crucifixion of Rimini

"You've been to Venice? No? To Italy? Heavens, and you an art history major! What a crime--never to have seen the Giottos.
""I felt such contradictory feelings--the thrill of the idea of Venice (Italy, travel, glamour, the Biennale) and the sting of her false sympathy that was really scorn. Dismay at all the time I would be forced to spend with Louise, dread of the obligation I would be put under, shame that I didn't have anything decent to wear. But mostly the thrill. I was twenty-five years old and I had never been on an airplane! I would have to get a passport. I would step into a gondola in the golden light and watch the fabled facades drift by. I would dazzle my eyes with the riches of Saint Mark's and stroll down narrow byways overhung with flowers where a handsome Italian with a cigarette would follow me with his smoldering eyes.
"And so I found myself, in the last week of June, in a small room adjoining Louise's large one in the Hotel da Silva in Venice--crowded, hot, smelly, bedazzling Venice, city of water and glass. We spent the first days of that trip in a whirlwind of parties and pavilions. Never having been to Venice--hever having been anywhere--I would have liked to spend a day in St. Mark's Basilica, to visit the Accademic and the Peggy Guggenheim Collection. But of course, we were here to see the Biennale, which along with the other exhibitions, programs, and special events that spring up in its shade every odd-
numbered year, spreads its tentacles out from the Giardini and hold the city tight in the grip of glitter and celebrity.
"Nothing could have prepared me for the way all of Venice was possessed by the passion for art, for the new, for the most outrageous. I had seen a lot of strange disturbing art in New York, of course, but in Venice the work seemed bigger and stranger: giant insectlike forms hulking in marble rooms, heavy canvases thickly smeared with what looked like bloody footprints, video projections showing image of glaciers cut with bodies crowded into hovels, crystalline constructions shattering the dazzling light, monoliths made of counterfeit money, collages of naked superheroes tumbling through space.
There  was no quiet art in sight--no understated painting, no delicate sculpture of spun thread, no place the eye could find rest. Or maybe it was partly the crowds, the echoing cries as people greeted each other, the constant jockeying and air kissing and insincere murmuring and sizing up...

~~~

Alena

By Rachel Pastan

It's funny how different people can perceive the same novel so differently, don't you think? For some earlier readers, and perhaps even the author[?] it was felt this story was "homage" to Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca. Oh, there were a few comparable issues that readers may pick up, but, for me, the gothic atmosphere was nowhere to be seen... The romance just was not there, especially since the lead was gay and showed no interest in changing... Perhaps there was the obsessiveness between the two--the deceased female and the lead male. And certainly there was obsession on the part of the older female friend and co-worker, but the setting, the players and so much more is so contemporary that I saw nothing significant that you should plan on, if you enjoy gothic suspense... When a classic loved by many is chosen to emulate, it must be great in all ways... Just my opinion, of course....

At the same time, the story was interesting, if only for the many questions I had while reading...

It didn't matter to me that she, the narrator, was never named, as in Rebecca. Frankly, for the majority of the book, I would have forgotten her name even while talking to her; in fact, I wanted to slap her a couple of times to wake her up! Dare I say a wimp! Some people would call me a country girl from way back, but at 25, this lady had apparently done nothing except go to college and get a dead-end job with a woman who does not need help except for a gopher. In fact, when they arrived in Italy, that became even more so as she ran after her boss, getting things, etc... I wouldn't have been surprised if she had been a nun in college; she was so backward, it was, quite simply, unbelievable...

"My mouth was dry. She continued toward me
down the hall, growing larger, blocking out the
light, her starburst of keys jamgling on their
leather strap.
"Do you want to know what's behind there?"
She asked. She was so close that I could smell
her: the burnt chemical odor of her hair, and the
sweetness of incense, and the pungency of old
cigarette smoke and cloves.
"I shrugged. I didn't care what was behind the
door, not anymore. I wanted to get away from
her, but I knew I had to stay.
"Why don't I show you." Agnes drew nearer still.
Heat radiated from her body in the cool hall.
She was standing far too close to me. I took a
step back and she took one forward, and now I
was pressed up against the door. There was
nowhere to go. She chose a key from her dangling
bundle and shook the whole bunch at me until
my slow brain understood that she wanted me
to move aside.
~~~

When she gets there, she happens to catch the eye of a well-known small private museum owner, who is presently the brunt of constant gossip because his former curator has disappeared and assumed dead... murdered?

They meet because of her expertise and involvement in the art works when she has been able to escape from Louise and get into deep conversations. This time in their lives is quite enjoyable and perhaps is the best part of the book since their discussions were also informative...

When Louise becomes ill, however, she wants to go home and the girl, woman, assistant who is nameless (sigh) goes running  to Bernard Augustin. His museum is on Cape Cod and when confronted with "her" desire to remain in Italy, he impulsively suggests she stay with him and then come to become his curator...

Perfect!

Not!

Once they got there, Bernard left  for other activities. Although hired as the curator, age 25, she allowed the business manager to intimidate her, not providing her a key, not even providing what would be considered the first thing, which would be a tour of the entire facility.

In turn, instead of taking over as she should have, she tried to find out more about the past curator...

Really, it was just toooo much! Of Nothing... The last part of the book finally got into the details of it all and, if better presented, the book could have been finished in about half the size of the novel...

Disappointing to say the least because the conceptual under-story is sound. The main female character was a complete flop...

I am aware that my personal experience as an administrator and facilities manager formed my bias; however, nobody these days would hire somebody and retain her given her actions. She "allowed"
 everything to happen to her, which is just not the ways of contemporary women in today's world. Unfortunately, in allowing this to go on and on, the author prevented any potential suspense and atmosphere to develop simply due to lack of action by that character. The parts that she did finally do in relation to getting an exhibit started seemed hurried, unprofessional, and indeed, was done without any consultation with anybody...Duh... 

A shame really... 


GABixlerReviews

The Crane Wife by Patrick Ness -- Sometimes The Lady Flew Without Me....

www.flickriver.com

edinburghnapiernews.com

"The lady flies for a lifetime and more, landing when the growing earth calls to her, flying when it does not. Both are enjoyable, and enjoyment is, despite her tears, something she seems to have an aptitude for. She grants absolution wherever she lands, piercing hearts with her forgiveness, for of what do we ever ask forgiveness if not our offences against joy?

"The world enters its adolescence, the land stitching itself together into a recognizable whole, though not without its pains and eruptions. She does not avoid the volcanoes when they spew, recognizing in them the same anger as the water, of effort directed outward, into nothing...

"Not long, she tells the volcanoes. 'Not long before your reach will dig its long muscles into the earth, binding it tightly as a world. One arm clasping another clasping another, holding the burden of life on your collective shoulders. Not long."

~~~

The Crane Wife

By Patrick Ness

An original Japanese folk tale of the crane wife was the basis upon which Patrick Ness penned his latest novel, with added inspiration from the Decemberists, The Crane Wife 1 and 2, as well as the 

unique work of Sue Blackwell, although her work in no way correlates with what is described in the novel. While the front cover more nearly represents, and perhaps is, her work, the work described in the novel was with feathers and word cutouts...but there was also magic therein...

"There was no solution then. It was too cold. He
was too cold. The arrow obviously too thick and
strong. It might as well have been made of iron.
The crane was going to die. This reed made of
stars was going to die right here, in his sad little
back garden.
"A tidal wave of failure washed over him. Was
there another way? Was there any other way at
all? He turned back to the door to his kitchen,
still open, letting out every bit of meagre warmth
from the house. Could he carry the crane back
inside? Could he lift it and get it there without
hurting it further?
"The crane, for its part, seemed to have already
given up on him, to have already judged him, as
so many others had, as a pleasant enough man,
but lacking that certain something, that extra
little ingredient to be truly worth investing in.
It was a mistake women often seemed to make.
He had more female friends, including his ex-
wife, than any straight man he knew. The trouble
was they'd all started out as lovers, before
realizing he was too amiable to take quite
seriously..."
~~~

I say that sometimes the story flew without me, because the fantasy, the story line will never, I don't think, be truly interpreted from what the author intended. It is complicated, intense, and moves, really, from one story to another. One almost an unworldly fantasy; the other attempting to fantasize within the world... Both about love, I was told, but I could not always see nor relate to that other world.

A world where a crane and a volcano share a life--a love/hate relationship that can never be, but also seems not to be able to be terminated... Perhaps it is a tale of the earth itself? Still, in my fantasy unworlds, I would probably have an ocean loving a volcano rather than a bird...LOL...

The crane was born of a cloud... add that to your contemplation of this part of the story... if it works for you, leave me a comment as to your thoughts... I couldn't fully interpret the need or reason for this alternative story...

Now the worldly story is quite imaginative and intriguing. The crane, it seems, was hurt by an arrow, and arrives in the garden of a man, George, who runs a print shop. George awakes one night to hear something, a kind of keening... Finally, he goes outside and sees the bird, but she is no longer making a noise. Still he thinks that it was the bird and moves to help her... He breaks the arrow, pulls it free, and with little delay, the crane attempts to use her wings and flies off... But not never to be seen again...

Quite soon a woman came into his shop; her name was
Kumiko...

And, that day, everything changed...

George is divorced with a daughter who is also divorced. Amanda has a son, J.P. who is obviously the center of their world and loved tremendously. J.P.'s father lives in France, so they don't see him frequently, but he, too, works to keep in touch...

It is a life without color, with joy coming only from the young child. There is a past, perhaps not totally of bitterness, but not one that can lend joyful memories to bring out when needed.

The alternate story, of the crane representing forgiveness and the volcano representing the heat of anger is basically an easy correlation, So, when Kumiko comes into their lives--a shapeshifter, you know, LOL--it is easy to follow her magical touch of forgiveness.

But forgiveness can only fulfill some part of a human... There is the search for, the seeking of love, the love of two individuals for each other. From the past, we can surmise that George will easily give his heart to Kumiko,.. But can Kumiko love in return?

There is one amazing scene that still disturbs me, when George breaks into see Kumiko pulling feathers from her body, it bleeding in response... which is similar to the original story, and she flies away, ending the tale. You see, here, she had brought miniatures to his shop to frame in some way, and when she saw a book cutting made by George, she immediately saw the potential merge of the two works--and they became quite famous and wealthy... But did this represent her love for George? Was she leaving her former world behind, thus using her own feathers? I ponder this, even now, after the book has ended...

For me, an individual who looks to the words to tell me the "total" story, I wanted more, even as symbolically, the story ended... I wanted words, her words...but never received them... or I want to believe she's out there...

still flying...

GABixlerReviews

http://www.polarimagazine.com

As a child
I was born on an army base called Fort Belvoir, near Alexandria, Virginia, in the United States. My father was a drill sergeant in the US Army, but much nicer than that makes him seem. I only stayed at Fort Belvoir for the first four months of my life and have never even been back to the East Coast of America. We moved to Hawaii, where I lived until I was almost six. I went to kindergarten there, and we used to have field trips down to Waikiki Beach. I once picked up a living sea urchin and got about a hundred needle pricks in the palm of my hand. I made up stories all the time as a kid, though I was usually too embarrassed to show them to anybody.
As an adult
I've only ever really wanted to be a writer. I studied English Literature at the University of Southern California, and when I graduated, I got a job as a corporate writer at a cable company in Los Angeles, writing manuals and speeches and once even an advertisement for the Gilroy, California Garlic Festival. I got my first story published in Genre magazine in 1997 and was working on my first novel, The Crash of Hennington, when I moved to London in 1999. I've lived here ever since. I taught Creative Writing at Oxford University for three years, usually to students older than I was.
As an artist
So far, I've published two books for adults, a novel called The Crash of Hennington and a short story collection called Topics About Which I Know Nothing, a title which seemed funny at the time but less so 10,000 mentions later... Here's a helpful hint if you want to be a writer: When I'm working on a first draft, all I write is 1000 words a day, which isn't that much (I started out with 300, then moved up to 500, now I can do 1000 easy). And if I write my 1000 words, I'm done for the day, even if it only took an hour (it usually takes more, of course, but not always). Novels are anywhere from 60,000 words on up, so it's possible that just sixty days later you might have a whole first draft. The Knife of Never Letting Go is 112,900 words and took about seven months to get a good first draft. Lots of rewrites followed. That's the fun part, where the book really starts to come together just exactly how you see it, the part where you feel like a real writer.
Things you didn't know about Patrick Ness
1. I have a tattoo of a rhinoceros.
2. I have run two marathons.
3. I am a certified scuba diver.
4. I wrote a radio comedy about vampires.
5. I have never been to New York City but...
6. I have been to Sydney, Auckland and Tokyo.
7. I was accepted into film school but turned it down to study writing.
8. I was a goth as a teenager (well, as much of a goth as you could be in Tacoma, Washington and still have to go to church every Sunday).
9. I am no longer a goth.
10. Under no circumstances will I eat onions.
*******
Patrick Ness is the author of the Chaos Walking trilogy. The Knife of Never Letting Go, Book One of the trilogy, won the Guardian Children's Fiction Prize and the Booktrust Teenage Prize. The Ask and The Answer, the second book in the trilogy won the Costa Children's Book Award 2009. The third book, Monsters of Men, is released in September 2010.
He has also written a novel (The Crash of Hennington) and a short story collection (Topics About Which I Know Nothing) for adults, has taught Creative Writing at Oxford University, and is a literary critic for the Guardian. Born in Virginia, he lives in London.