The Books of August
There has been a whole lot of reading going on around here. I have a word to say about that, but first, a quote from Touch of Evil staring Charlton Heston, Janet Leigh, and Orson Welles: "A policeman's job is only easy in a police state."

I thought it was a great movie. Both Heston's and Welles' characters had some great lines. I may do a full review later. It's currently on Netflix. Marlene Dietrich, Zsa Zsa Gabor, and Dennis Weaver also have supporting roles.

Back to the Guns Books of August. Let's begin with Salammbo by Gustave Flaubert (of Madame Bovary fame) published in 1862--so it's not going to be found on the New Releases list.

General Thoughts: If it is possible for a story to be entirely obscured, covered like a coffin in the grave by great heaping scoops truckloads of descriptive detail, and yet still hold promise enough to keep me reading, this is the best example that I've found. I nearly gave up several times. Instead of abandoning the project, I resorted to skimming over the lengthy (screens upon screens) descriptions that were perhaps meant to convey the flavor and texture of the setting--and if that was the case, I found the dish extremely over-seasoned and too textured to enjoy. I had thought about trying to read it in French until I read some reviews that mentioned the extremely heavy descriptions; I decided that I could make better time in English.

The Story in a nutshell: Disgruntled mercenaries go postal on Carthage. Dude who is obsessed with the priestess Salammbo steals a holy veil from the inner sanctum of the temple. The barbarians besiege the city. The city finds a general who can deal with them. Lots of people die. Salammbo takes advantage of the dude who stole the veil to retake it. In the end, more people die.

Do I recommend it? No. The story holds lots of promise but never delivers. Your mileage may vary, but as for me and my house, I rate it: More trouble than it's worth.

Moving on to In The Hall of the Dragon King by Stephen R. Lawhead, the first book in the Dragon King Trilogy.

General Thoughts: I decided to read this book when I found complaints elsewhere about the author's Christian faith being too prominently displayed in the book. I thought the complaints likely overstated. Unfortunately, my suspicion proved other than correct. I was hoping for the same kind of treatment of faith as is found in Sanderson's Stormlight series--which is something that makes the story more interesting and appealing in my opinion. Lawhead handles the matter much less deftly than Sanderson. I believe this is one of his earliest books, being first published back in the 1980's. If so, perhaps he has learned to use a lighter touch while still making his point. The other reason I chose this book was because I found the whole trilogy for only $3.99--about the same price as one book.

Story in a nutshell: Boy takes a message to the queen and ends up in an adventure to rescue the king from an evil wizard and restore the king to his throne, while discovering the true faith along the way.

Do I recommend it? Maybe. I'll read the next book in the trilogy. This story also holds lots of promise. It didn't get bogged down in descriptive detail and moved along fairly quickly. It was evident to me that the story was more plot-driven that character driven. While some character development happens, there's not a lot of it; mostly the story moves through a series of points designed to get from the beginning to the end without devoting much time to anything not in this direct line. The story is simple; the characters never captured my interest sufficiently to make me love the book. I rate it: Heavy handed, but interesting enough to read on.

Next up is 1776 by David McCullough.

General Thoughts: It's all right. A friend lent me this book at the perfect time. (I'm writing a flintlock fantasy series set during the American Revolutionary War). I've read several books on the revolution over the years. This one is different in that it focuses only on the titular year (mostly). I really didn't find much that was both new to me and interesting.

Story in a nutshell: There's a revolution afoot! The rotten colonials have risen in rebellion and must be put in their proper place. Washington outlasts/outmaneuvers the British in Boston but gets trounced at New York. He comes back with an inning saving rally with victories at Princeton and Trenton.

Do I recommend it? Only if you haven't read much about the revolution. It's a good description of one year of the conflict, but I didn't see enough new information to make it worth getting. I preferred Leckie's Washington's War, and Page Smith's A New Age Now Begins (a multi-volume set). Both of these are older works, but are more satisfying. As for 1776, I rate it: Good for the novice, but redundant for the seasoned student.

Finally, we have the also-rans. These books didn't keep my attention, or actually drove me away from reading them. Actually, I can only remember one at this point. It was The Pearl of Wisdom Saga Three Book Bundle. I got the bundle for free. I thought that was a good deal. The first book in the series had nearly 90 reviews, almost all of which were 4 or 5 stars. I saw two one-star reviews. I should have paid attention to those two reviews. The prose drove me away. My time is too valuable to spend on that kind of mess--rather it aspired to be a mess. It suffers from what I see in a lot of fantasy writing: It could have been written by a fairly talented 5th grader.

I might add that my current reading list includes Paul Feval's Le Loup Blanc, Richard P. Feynman's "Surely You're Joking Mr. Feynman!", and Requiem's Song by Daniel Arenson. The latter is part of a 6 book bundle that I got for $0.99. I'm enjoying all three of these.

 I was able to get the rest of the photos from the pack trip downloaded. Those which feature a blue sky and discernible clouds are from the hike into a lake (not actually into the lake, just next to, beside, adjacent to). These two photos are particularly picturesque--a tribute to the talented photographer. They are of the same terrain from different spots on the trail, and different magnification.

The two pictures below were taken from the same location (not the same location as the pictures of above). The first was taken of the setting sun without any magnification; the second one was magnified. The quality of all of these photos is entirely due to luck. Most of the time, I could not see the photo (on my phone) so I made my best guess and clicked.

The smoke which filled the skies after the first day because of the many fires in the region gave a slightly eerie quality to the photos--especially to the zoom of the setting sun.

I didn't take a fishing pole. I had two very good reasons for that decision. I didn't want to have to carry the extra weight of the pole and tackle, and I had plans to do something else instead of fishing. Also, I didn't want to eat fish.

While the other guys fished, I brought out my notebook and plotted out, start to finish, a flintlock fantasy novel for which I had already written the first thousand words. An unintended side effect of this plan was that a couple of the boys in the group took an interest in the story and wanted to hear my plot, etc. One of them had his own story on which he was working. I got to hear his entire story. The other boy had a keen interest in the weapons and characters of my story. He and I created a couple characters that he wanted to see in the story. He also had several ideas for a flintlock repeating rifle that he wanted his character to use (but which is not featured in the story for obvious reasons).

He even found a piece of wood that he used for this special weapon in his combat games with a couple of the other boys on the trip. This piece of wood became a constant source of humor/conflict. When the boy would place the "weapon" on the ground to take care of some other activity, like eating dinner. Whoever was stoking the fire would grab the closest pieces of wood at hand. Invariably, the "weapon" would be tossed on the fire. Someone would bring the matter to the boy's attention and he would snatch it from the flames. A forceful statement followed about how one should not throw another's "weapon" on the fire. A counter statement followed about the inadvisability of leaving one's "weapon," which closely resemble an old piece of wood, next to the fire. This only happened six or eight times

I, of course, made my own weapon. A deadly wooden beauty it was. If Michelangelo had worked in coniferous woods, he might have created something like this...

...if he had been completely devoid of talent and lacking even rudimentary carving skills. 

I had forgotten to pack a fork and spoon, I wasn't worried about the spoon, but I needed a fork. This beauty really was deadly. During the making of the tines, I used the small saw blade on my Swiss Army knife (from back when I served under the plus sign flag) to saw into the end of the grain. Occasionally, the blade would come completely past the top of the wood on the upstroke. If I didn't notice that little detail in a rather timely manner, the downstroke encountered not the stubbornly resistant grain of the wood, but the remarkably unresistant flesh of my hand. 

It was while I was placing a bandage on the flesh between my thumb and forefinger that I noticed the blood dripping from my wrist. I had thought that my watchband had caught the brunt of that particular errant stroke--it had not; it had only hidden the wound and delayed the discovery.

So the fork turned out to be a two bandage project (cf. Three Dog Night). The fork gave valiant service against a variety of opponents, including spaghetti, beef stew, and hash browns, coming out victorious on each occasion. More importantly, it didn't give me any slivers.

We arrived here on Monday and began the nine and one half mile hike through rugged country in the middle of the day--during the hottest week of the year. 

Part of the view from the first summit. The smoke from the nearby fires wasn't too bad that first day.

It was somewhere near here that we met two diminutive lads who mentioned something about being on their way to return a piece of jewelry that had been giving them problems.

I haven't succeeded yet in downloading the remaining pictures. The story of the death march and the successful plotting of a new book will wait until I can get the other photos--the much better ones-- included.
***

I did get back in time to attend a daughter's wedding. There are days that shine like the brightest stars in the firmament. Yesterday was one of those days. To see one's children gathered in an important place, doing the right things for the right reasons is a premium parental pay-day. I couldn't help but look upon them and say, "I guess we didn't totally mess up. We may have even done a thing or two correctly." Of course, the self-congratulations may be hollow. Probably, the material we had to work with had an innate resilience; the other influences, especially that of my wife, overcame most of my mistakes in the life lessons and personal responsibility department.

The wedding was a wonderful and simple affair followed by an excellent luncheon put together by the groom's family. Fantastic souls turned out to setup for the reception at our home in the evening.

The canvas of this daughter's life is painted in laughter. I'm sure that pattern will continue. Tears and sweat mark the canvas in vivid colors as well, but the dominant theme has been that of fun and good-spirits. She has matured much in the last two years. As she pushes away from the secure shores of youth to set out upon the windswept waters of adult responsibility, there is an air of expectation, an aspiration for life on a higher plane united with another heart. The waves will roll, the storms may rage, but their quiet confidence in each other and in the principles that have brought them together will guide them through the difficulties of life. Of course, it may not be the rolling thunder, banks of fog, or tumultuous waves that present the greatest difficulties. The doldrums of life where supports seem absent and progress stalls often try the soul as severely as any storm. Tenacious perseverance and steadfast determination in the face of the seemingly empty void, like the long, slow trudge across the desert expanse, may build more character and unity than does the fierce melee against the contrary elements. May they live long and prosper in love, laughter, and learning of each other and the many subtle secrets of success.

While the saga of the war machine will continue, I prefer not to discuss that epic adventure today. Progress on Justice Resurgent is happening; just one more bend and it will be the home stretch at break-neck speed. I could finish it this month, but I'm having difficulty focusing on it because another idea for a fantasy series has possessed me. It's something that I've had in my head for years, and have made notes about from time to time--and now is the time to do it. Because I'll be away from civilization, I won't be able to write this week on JR, but I will be able to do some more plotting, characterization, and setting notes for the fantasy series using that centuries-old word processing system known as paper and ink.

I'm learning that when it comes to writing and marketing, I've pretty much done it all wrong. I've written in three completely different genres. Apparently, I'm supposed to pick a genre and stick with it, build a following and reputation within that genre because, according to Amazon--unlike me--most readers do not jump genres; they read within a single genre. Amazon's algorithms don't understand how to market my works when I do that. So I'm leaning toward making the fantasy genre my genre for a series--the first books will be in the swashbuckling, flintlock or gunpowder fantasy genre, but the prequels I've got in my head also cover the pre-Columbian. Of course, I haven't forgotten the Finding Jack series, also in the fantasy genre, that I'll finish.

(Of course, if anyone has read any of my books and can't live without more books written by me in the western or humorous noir mystery genre, let me know).

I've noticed that just about everyone thinks that they can write fantasy. Most of the stuff I've found that I wasn't previously familiar with isn't very good (that's just my opinion; lots of people seem to like it). Most of it seems like it was written by a fairly talented fifth grader, or is crammed with profanity in an attempt to create "gritty realism"--or it may just be a substitute for talent (that's my opinion). Of the recent fantasy that I've read, I've enjoyed Brandon Sanderson's Stormlight Archive; James Alderdice's Brutal, and Ken Jorgensen's Kusunoki Chronicles. I can't say enough good things about the Kusunoki Chronicles. I previously reviewed the first book in the series, Pride of the Samurai. I've just finished the second book, Treachery of The Daimyo. Both are 5 star reads. Again, I'll say that there's something about Jorgensen's writing that resonates with me--and I don't think it's just because he writes above the fifth grade level. I may eventually post a review of the second book. I know there are at least 4 books in the series, and now I have to read the 3rd one. Back to my point, everyone seems to think that they can write fantasy, but few do it well; Jorgensen does it very well.

***

Have I seen any superhero movies? One might remember that I've been pretty clear in my overall distaste for that movie genre. However, there are 3 exceptions to my superhero disdain: The Shadow, The Incredibles, and The Ant-Man. I know there are many complaints about that first movie, but it is one of my favorites--and I have a few complaints about it as well--but a man redeemed from evil, sometimes on the brink of sanity who possesses the ability to cloud men's minds, AND WHO USES 2 POLISHED COLT M1911 AUTOMATICS IS ABSOLUTELY AWESOME (here's a link to information about the actual weapons used in the movie). I like a hero with a backup plan. He's fallible, and often lacks confidence--and the movie wasn't all special effects. I've already gushed about The Incredibles, so I won't repeat myself.

As for The Ant-Man, we saw Ant-Man and the Wasp earlier in the week. First, the story--meh. Didn't really care for it, especially the after-credits tie-in to rest of the Marvel pit of infamy. I did like the characters, especially the characters played by Paul Rudd, Evangeline Lilly, and Michael Pena. These three make the film worth watching. Those characters have substance. They're flawed and funny, and make you root for them. The superheroism is just a part of that substance, a very small part. These are characters who would be fun to follow even without the superhero issue--the superhero complication is just the catalyst that has brought them to our attention and that accentuates their idiosyncrasies. So...great characters, predictable story heavy on techno-dribble, but lots of fun.

The day dawned, as it is wont to do, with the rising of the sun. A clear blue sky overlooked the estate. The day promised heat, and lots of it. I didn't have time to admire the azure canvas over head; I couldn't do anything about the promised heat; it wasn't my concern: I had a date with Destiny, and I was hoping that she would be wearing a clinging pastel number with some lacy frills. I was kidding myself; this was no date--it was a showdown. I was going mano a mano with the Craftsman war machine. I planned to tear into it without mercy, to strip its power source from its corpse, crack open that box of mechanical brain-works, and perform some compliance surgery on that metal crate before reattaching and reanimating the creature to do my bidding.

With might, power, and high hopes, I confronted the beast. I didn't give it a chance to talk. I had it jacked up and on the stands before it could even say, "Jack Robinson." Come to think of it, I've never heard it utter that phrase; it's a particularly difficult iteration for most mowing machines. The videos that I had watched indicated that the engine could be removed in about one half an hour. It was held to the frame by four bolts. Of course some other wires and assorted connections like the fuel line, a mystery hose, and the throttle cables had to be detached as well, but the four bolts, and the pulley below the frame were the primary obstacles.

When I set the wrench to the first bolt to begin the struggle in earnest, the mower struck back.

The end of the wrench snapped off as soon as I applied pressure. Round 1 to the mower. It was comparable to Napoleon falling from his horse at start of the invasion of Russia--not a good omen.

The half-hour engine removal took me two hours and included a trip to town for a particular socket and an angled section. The two front bolts resisted, but they were overcome. The two back bolts were more difficult to persuade. So the mower effectively delayed, but I won that round. In my defense, I don't have the fancy rotary tools the video guys used to zip the bolts out in a flash (refer to broken wrench above for the quality of my resources).

It looked rather pathetic with the engine removed. Some people have noted difficulty in removing the pulley beneath the mower; once I removed the bolt holding it to the engine, it practically fell off--no pounding was necessary.

Out of the mower and on the concrete, and then on the operating table. It was at this point that I began to congratulate myself on having completed the removal of the engine without the customary blood sacrifice to appease the gods of gasoline powered things. I began to think that I would complete the task sans such sacrificial exsanguination. 

"Hold on to your hemorrhage, Batman!" The mechanical ones demanded obeisance. My very next move resulted in the first incision of the operation. While attempting to loosen one of the bolts that held the oil pan to the engine, I ran the knuckle of my little finger across the head of another bolt. I noted that it hurt, but didn't realize that the bloodletting had begun until I saw the crimson drop upon the plate. My wife had a band-aid ready. Apparently, she remembered the process.

The operation proceeded without much else of note happening. The pictures below show the innards of the beast.

You might note that I had not drained the oil prior to beginning the surgery. For future reference, I recommend draining the oil first. I think that I managed to get oil on most of the exterior surface of the engine, as well as all over the work table and the floor. It spilled my blood; I spilled its blood. 

The camshaft is the larger wheel with all of the teeth. Below, one can see the old, damaged shaft on the right, and the new shaft on the left. 

One might notice that the mechanism on the left that sits against the center of the toothed wheel is missing from the shaft on the right. The missing piece (broken pieces), the ACR (something compression release mechanism), can be seen behind the two shafts. There is a close up of the pieces below.

 These were in the bottom of the pan. It is a fine testament to the quality of this product that this part fails so frequently--it ought to be a free part and repair. Some videos explain exactly how the part functions. Having watched those videos, I still don't pretend to understand it. Like Sgt. Oddball from Kelly's Heroes, "I only ride'em. I don't know what makes 'em work."

 One very important detail that I'm glad was noted in one of the videos was that the timing marks, the divot on the camshaft and the other shaft (crankshaft?), must be aligned in order to remove the camshaft; naturally, the new camshaft must also be so aligned for installation.

The most difficult part of the procedure was removing the old gasket. The rest wasn't too difficult. I made significantly better time in reattaching the engine to the carcass that I had in the removal.

Next time: What fruits do these labors bear?

The Craftsman war machine has terminated negotiations. The tips of the tall grass wave jubilantly in the wind, defiant, unyielding, uncut and spitting stinging imprecations with each windy ripple (which sounds like a drink: Windy Ripple, now in your favorite pastel colors with an aftertaste that resurrects memories of treated lumber and burnt hair). Civilization as we know it teeters at the edge of the precipice; the fate of humanity hangs in the balance. What has brought us to this terrible state? What is the cause of this our dismay, this forlorn future, this fantastical fate?

Word is that it is something called an ACR--it's broken. I don't know what the A stands for, but the C and R stand for compression release. Maybe the A is for awful, or ain't working. The internet, which is never wrong--Oh, I know--says that this is a common problem with the Briggs and Stratton 21 hp engine (and others of the B&S make with the overhead valve setup). The progression of part replacement/adjustment is battery, starter, valves, camshaft--with the latter being the only thing that ever needed to be replaced. Having already replaced the battery and starter, and adjusted the valves, I am unhappily awaiting the new camshaft upon which the ACR is found. It's supposed to arrive on Wednesday. Oh, what fun awaits.

I was able to terminate another successor in the line of Claude Roowener, Earl of Clay. I expect to have the lifeless body of the next heir-apparent tomorrow morning.

***

A friend lanced me with a bit of sunshine today. He told me that he started reading Smoke this week; he's half finished with it and is thoroughly enjoying the read. He really liked Justice in Season, but is even more taken by Smoke. It's always great to hear that someone genuinely enjoys reading something that I've written. Nice reviews posted to the sales site and Goodreads are also nice. My wife has started reading Smoke and professed her pleasure with it--but she kind of has to say nice things about it; I'm sure she's sincere, but she's still in the early chapters--she has plenty of time to lose interest or otherwise be disappointed in the book, but she won't.

***

Here is the gratuitous Star Trek picture of the week:

It comes from a fb group devoted to TOS. The episode was "Elaan of Troyius" which was written and directed by John Meredyth Lucas. I consider it one of the finer episodes of the third season. Spoiler Alert: The green man with the bladed accessory protruding from his back actually survived the episode. The picture, which captures Elaan, Kirk, and the ambassador sporting the cutlery, is representative of the fine direction throughout the episode. This is one of the episodes that I like rather more as an adult than I did as a kid--when I didn't particularly notice creative camera angles and that sort of detail. When I saw the picture, I thought Kirk should be saying, "Is this a dagger I see before me?" --but of course, that line isn't from that episode. France Nuyen made a perfect spoiled barbarian brat of a princess. Jay Robinson (who played the spoiled Emperor Caligula early in his career) absolutely sells his role as the slightly effeminate Ambassador Petri who is completely out of his league in trying to deal with the strong-willed Elaan--which point the knife perfectly illustrates. It's a top tier episode in my opinion.

Did I mention that Smoke is available in paperback?

There is a story to tell about the Craftsman war machine. The vast expanse of herbage remains unmowed; the story, therefore, remains untold. Instead, I might discuss the discussion that I led today after the regular instructor called to ask if I would take his class. The text message came while I was laboring with the latest mechanical manifestation of the war machine's taciturnity. I agreed. I enjoyed preparing for the discussion. It concerned a great story, a story of love and loyalty, jealousy and pride, friendship and fidelity, treachery and terrible carnage--I styled it as what we would've got if William Shakespeare had written Star Wars; it was just that good--meaning the story, not my discussion of it. I did have a terrific time leading the discussion; I can only hope the participants found it worth their valuable time. 

That's not what I'm going to write about. I promised a review of Pride of the Samurai by Kenneth Jorgensen. Let me do it now. I see that I can also loan that ebook to someone. I would be happy to do that if I knew how; and who would like to read it.

But first, here's a picture of a local building--I'm going to work this into the second book in the Finding Jack series. There are elements in it that I think will fit well in the story.

I should preface my review of PoftS with a brief synopsis of my expertise on all things Japanese. I've known several people who spent some time in Japan. I can locate Japan on a map or globe. I once had a Japanese roommate--mostly what I can say about him is that he bought a lot of rice--he bought it by the bag, the 100 pound bag. The primary source of my expertise is James Clavell's Shogun; I saw the miniseries, and I read the book--so I got that going for me. So, as you can see, my qualifications and expertise concerning all things Japanese, and particularly feudal Japan, are beyond question. I even remember several a couple phrases in Japanese that I learned from watching Shogun. If that doesn't convince you, then wakarimasen as to what will.

Fiction featuring fantasy in feudal Japan has never been something that I've pursued for pleasurable reading--until now. PotS begins an epic fantasy: The Kusunoki Chronicles, of which there are 4 books (so far). I've only read this first one; I can't say what the others contain. PotS begins the adventure of twin brothers, Akashi and Kanto. Akashi learns that he has the power to work the tama, a magical power that seems to emanate from the Japanese homeland--some might think of it like "the force" from another popular series which has some roots in a similar culture. The use of the tama is forbidden; it's not forbidden in the sense that a sincere apology and some meaningful probation time are demanded; it's forbidden in a way that a stirring of the innards with a short sword, or a permanent separation of the skull from the shoulders is mandated--and that also goes for the people who knew about it and didn't tattle. 

Anyway, in addition to the usual discovery of the forbidden power and the sort of apprenticeship that goes along with it, the story tells of the Kunusoki family and some of the politics of the time. The characters are almost all interesting and constantly developing. The dark side of the force in this epic comes from the foreign invaders. These viking-like enemies have a great magical power; they seem to go through the armies of the homeland like a shotgun blast through a screen door. Akashi, and other shinobi (users of the tama) may be the only power that can resist the invaders.

As I said in a previous post, PotS is the best book of fiction that I've read so far this year. I give it five stars. I am now committed to reading the next book in the series. 

On a different topic, I am also pleased to say that I got to sign a couple paperback copies of Smoke this week--I hope to sign more in the near future.