It was a clear day, and if you looked down the street you could see all the way to the Ocean, but not as far as little Velma had gone

Crime fiction is such a pleasure, the psychology of this sometimes troubles me (but I know I can quit whenever I want to).

In writing about fiction over the past week on my regular blog, it is amazing to realize which authors slipped my mind, and joining this site has reminded me of many (Raymond Chandler, for example). This, in spite of the fact that most of what I've talked about is crime fiction. But I'm looking forward to finding out about even more books from the posts and sites here, or linked to from here.

I just finished The Woman Who Married a Bear by John Straley. It ended rather abruptly in some ways, but the sections leading up to the end were pretty original (not everyone ... oops, shouldn't give it away). The book was very good, and though sparse and spare relatively to many, it brought small town Alaskan murder to life.

The title above is the best paraphrase I can do of Chandler- I must have read that line 30 years ago. Or did I just hear it in the movie? Perhaps someone will know.

Hope to hear from you. Jim

© 2007 by the author

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