Book Review: Tough Cookie...or Don't Tell My Army Buddies, Sometimes I Like To Read Chick Books

ARGH! . . . As I've always said, I write these book reviews for me, not for you the reader. I like to know what I've read so I can either go back and read it again, continue or discontinue the series, or avoid the author completely. At the moment I'm struggling with the fact that I can remember reading a particularly compelling thriller about the Middle East, but apparently I didn't think enough about it to actually write it down here. Nevertheless, I'm also in a bit of a quandary about this latest book I've finished, Tough Cookie by Diane Mott Davidson.

I started reading Davidson's series on cooking and sleuthing and wasn't too disappointed. Now, the mild enthusiasm has waned. It might take quite a bit of convincing for me to read another. Although I find her characters shallow, her excessive use of modifying adverbs maddening and silly and her descriptions bordering on insipid and confusing, I will say that her mysteries, the actual story, the plot is fun to watch come together. It's as if she sprinkles all her characters in her book like fish food in an aquarium and they all dance and float around higgelty-piggelty then at the last instant they all come together. Sadly that's the only positive aspect I could find.

Some of the passages I highlighted, showing both good and bad:

First, the annoying adverbs.

"Without my business, an enterprise I'd lovingly built up for almost a decade, I entered a spiritual fog as thick as the gray autumnal mist snaking between the Colorado mountains."

“I’d lovingly built up?” Would have worked as well or better without “lovingly.”

“She expertly poured both the juice and the champagne into a clean crystal flute to make a mimosa.”

Expertly poured? What’s that really mean? Think about it a sec, how descriptive is that?

Tom’s makeshift version, composed of kettle-dipped water, cocoa, sugar, powered creamer and milk was actually quite luscious, like a hot chocolate gelato.

I have no idea what that above sentence means. Have you ever tried that recipe? I have. Less than luscious to say the least. And can someone tell me what hot chocolate gelato means?

There were a million more like the above throughout the book. Too many to mention. “She rolled the luscious chocolate in her mouth” or “The scrumptious aroma of beef” etc. It’s not as bad in this forum and when I just give a souciant of the whole, but it gets tiresome throughout the book.

One thing that Davidson does do well is relate food and cooking to every aspect of her writing, including scene and character descriptions. Two examples:

Describig a ski slope: “Most runs are set up like slant-sided wedding cakes. Long sloped section alternate with narrow flat areas.”

“Just before eight o’clock, a state patrolman knocked on our door. Into our kitchen Tom ushered a tall, corpulent man with black hair so short and think it looked like someone had ground pepper over his scalp.”

Another thing Davidson does poorly is dialogue. In many cases when I think an author is struggling with dialogue I can give a bit of leeway, but in this case, it’s just horrible. I don’t know anyone who speaks like this, do you?

She sighed. “Not to worry, my dear friend. How's the planning going?”

I’ve never said “dear friend” when speaking to anyone.

“That won’t stop the ski traffic, unfortunately,” he said mournfully. “A day for accidents. What a shame.” – “Yes, indeed.” I said.

This one is filled with problems. Try reading that out loud then imagine saying it to a friend. It doesn’t work at all. “What a shame?” “Yes, indeed?” It’s stilted and unrealistic at best.

I try to read critically now, and I have to say to a great degree I notice new aspects of many of the books I’ve read. One thing I’ve noticed is that authors love to describe mornings. I could start a whole series of posts like my “First Lines” and “Last Lines” threads whereby I just include morning descriptions. Davidson used an original one when she says of the morning:

"To the east the sky was edged with pewter."

Finally, one problem I have with Davidson . . . her characters never goes to the store. She begins the description of Goldy making lasagna and meatballs with:

“Serving meatballs and lasagna could jeopardize my upscale reputation, I reflected while removing ground beef, ricotta, Fontina, whipping cream, eggs and mozzarella from the walk-in.”

I would have a hard time making a bowl of Cheerios with milk with what I have in my refrigerator right now, yet this lady can whip up lasagna, meatballs, a curry dish, shrimp scampi, cookies galore, two casseroles, desserts, etc. and never once have to go to the store. Made me think it was lazy writing. Kinda irked me.

There were a couple of vocabulary words that struck me:

Ingenue - a naive girl or young woman; an actress playing such a role

Frisson - a brief moment of emotional excitement : shudder, thrill

And finally, I love onomatopoeia. This example, although less than lyrical is certainly perfectly descriptive.

“The doorbell bing-bonged into the depths of Arthur’s condo.”

I guess what bothers me about this series is that I feel that my own novel is better; not much better, but better. My second novel will be much better. I suppose I should feel invigorated that if this can find an audience, my own novels should as well. I really only read these books cause I like cooking and enjoy mysteries. At this point though I might forego the next Davidson book. I might have outgrown them.

Again Heavy on the Bond

I started the first lines posts because it's something that every writer has to deal with. Authors can be mellifluous like Pat Conroy or Technical like Tom Clancy, but they all have to deal with that first line. I'm finding that they all seem to like to describe the morning too. I thought about doing this string of posts when I read Tough Cookie and Diane Mott Davidson described the morning as pearl (?). Now, having read how Ian Fleming describes the morning in Diamonds are Forever, I feel compelled to take the task on.

In this snippet Bond is arriving in the US from an overnight flight from England. It's starts out with some pretty standard fare, but it's the last few words that grab the reader.

"He went forward to the washroom and shaved, and gargled away the taste of a night of pressurized air, and then he went back to his seat between the lines of crumpled, stirring passengers and had his usual moment of exhileration as the sun came up over the rim of the world and bathed the cabin in blood."

I May Be Onto Something

I may be onto something with this description of the morning thing. Then again, maybe Fleming just has a penchant for it. Second one from the same book, still pretty good.

In this one, James Bond is in Saratoga, New York with Felix Leitner. They are is going out early to watch the horses warm up.

“They leant against the rail, thinking about the early morning, and about breakfast, and the sun suddenly caught the trees half a mile away on the other side of the track and brushed the topmost branches with pale gold, and in minutes the last shadows had gone and it was day.”

Ian Fleming – Diamonds are Forever

I like the last phrase, “and in minutes the last shadows had gone and it was day.” Just like that. Boom. Day. A long run on sentence about pale gold light in tree branches, then daytime. Fun sentence.

The Death of Night

Whilst writing about the morning in one of my novels I realized how often I'd read the same or similar descriptions of mornings from my favorite authors. Writing about a new day beginning happens quite often once you look for it. I have a whole string of posts on this subject (here) and although I have not been as diligent in this as I have in my First Lines (here) or Last Lines (here) posts, I think I shall rededicate myself to the effort if only because of pearls like the one below.

"Morning drew on apace. The air become more sharp and piercing, as its first dull hue--the death of night, rather than the birth of day--glimmered faintly in the sky. The objects which had looked dim and terrible in the darkness, grew more and more defined, and gradually resolved into their familiar shapes. The rain came down, thick and fast, and pattered noisily among the leafless bushes. But, Oliver felt it not, as it beat against him; for he still lay stretched, helpless and unconscious, on his bed of clay."

Charles Dickens - Oliver Twist

I love the fact that he wrote "the death of night, rather than the birth of day."

One More On Nightmare

Lately, I know, I've been posting alot about Nightmare in Pink, a part of the Travis McGee series by John D. MacDonald. Does it warrant this much posting? Probably not. But, when reads so few novels these days thanks to homework, and work work, well then one posts alot about the things he enjoys. 

Regardless, the other day I wrote that there were some lines which I found particularly compelling and I wanted to share them with someone, so this audience will do.  

Another One for the Morning Label

Long time readers will know that often when reading novels I'll catalog and note when I see a description of a morning in a novel. Particularly if it's a good one (see here).

I found one in the novel I'm currently racing through . . . trying to finish before my next class starts. 

As usual on a fine morning, the air and the view were exhilarating. The sun was no more than a promise on the far distant horizon and there was a beginning-of-the-world quality in the light. I watched the shadowy shapes of the horses ahead of me curving around the hill with white plumes streaming from their nostrils in the frosty air. As the glittering rim of the sun expanded into full light, the colors sprang out bright and clear, the browns of the jogging horses topped with the bright stripes of the lads’ ear-warming knitted caps and the jolly garments of October’s daughters.

Francis, Dick - For Kicks

Cowboy Sunrise

 For a long time I've been cataloging and grouping quotes from novels where the author writes about the morning or the sunrise. It's quite prevalent when you look for it (see here). I just ran into one in the book I'm currently reading (see here).

AT DAYBREAK I went down the street to Maggie’s. The horizon was lifting yellow into the sky, but in the west a few laggard stars remained stubbornly in place. My boots echoed on the boardwalk.

L'Amour, Louis - Milo Talon

Morning's in Novels

Even more than my "First Lines" string of posts (see HERE) and my "Last Lines" string (HERE), my favorite posts are those that focus on quotes about Mornings (HERE).

Take a look. It's like suddenly seeing "Orange and Blue" in movie posters. Once someone tells you to look for quotes about the morning in novels, you'll see them everywhere and in every book. Dawn's are described as "slow" and "lumbering." The morning sky is the color of pearl. It's stunning how often authors like to discuss mornings.

Louis L'Amour is no different.

In  Reilly's Luck, Louis L'Amour has the mention of the word "morning" thirty-three times in this little book. But the quote that stood out is:

The sun came gingerly over the mountains, and the sky and the ranch yard were pale yellow. Pete looked at the mountains for smoke, but saw none.

L'Amour, Louis - Reilly's Luck

Gingers and pale yellow. The sun moved "gingerly" and Pete looks for smoke on the mountains. Not a huge, interesting morning quote, but also not nothing.

Go take a look, you'll see it everywhere now.

Another Morning, this Time from Felix

I just finished Crossfire by Felix Francis and it wasn't too bad. Not as good as Dick Francis, but a solid try. 

All that being said, Felix is a typical writer in that he too falls for descriptions of the morning. Anyone who reads this blog should know by now that finding morning descriptions are a particular fondness of mine (see here). Felix provides his own offering below.

The sky was lightening in the east with a lovely display of blues, purples and reds. In spite of being completely at home in the dark, I had always loved the coming of the dawn, the start of a new day. 

The arrival of the sun, bringing light and warmth and driving away the cold and darkness of the night, was like a piece of daily magic, revered and worshipped by man and beast alike. How does it happen? And why? Let us just be thankful that it did. If the sun went out, we would all be in the poop, and no mistake. 

The rim of the fiery ball popped up over the horizon and flooded the hillside with an orange glow, banishing the gloom from beneath the bushes.

Francis, Dick; Francis, Felix - Crossfire

A little more than is common from what I find in other works, still just as prototypical. I'll probably keep reading Felix's stuff, even though I think "fiery ball" is a tad trite.

Another Two-Fer

A few weeks ago with The Fourth Deadly Sin I found a two-fer; two quotes about the morning in one or two paragraphs (see here). I ran into the same idiosyncrasy by twos again today with The Troop.

THE BOYS rose with the drowsy half-light of dawn. The moon hung in its western altar like the last melancholy guest at a dinner party, who was too lonely to leave.

Then a page later:

HOURS LATER, sunlight filtered through the sap-yellowed window, sparkling the dust motes that hung in the stagnant air.

Cutter, Nick - The Troop 

I still say that it's a phenomenon in literature that you can't find a novel where within there is not a description of the morning. So far I've cataloged quite a few without even really trying (see here). The Troop by Nick Cutter makes me think my theory is valid. There are so many descriptors on so many things (see tomorrow's post for more) that finding one on the morning was actually quite hard. It's there. It's always there. 

Shimmering Like a Butterfly's Wing

I love the morning series (here) . . . anyone who reads this site must know that by now. Heck, I'm even thinking about making a book that is nothing more than a compendium of morning quotes from novels.

Nevertheless, there was a second morning description in The Fourth Deadly Sin by Lawrence Sanders to go along with this one (here). In fact it was after I read this one that I realized that Sanders starts many of his chapters with descriptions of the morning. The man just loved mornings I guess.

The next morning Delaney felt equally optimistic as he and Monica set out with the Boones for Diane Ellerbee’s country home. “Looks like a splendid day,” Delaney gloated. And so it was. 

A blue sky shimmered like a butterfly’s wing. The sun was a hot plate and there, to the east, one could see a faint smudge of white moon. The sharp air bit like ether, and the whole world seemed scrubbed and polished.

Sanders, Lawrence - The Fourth Deadly Sin

Then a few pages later there was this one:

He lumbered over to Samuelson’s office at 79th Street and Madison Avenue. It was a harshly cold morning, the air still but the temperature in the teens. Delaney was thankful for his flannel muffler, vested suit, and balbriggan underwear. He thrust his gloved hands into his overcoat pockets, but he felt the cold in his feet, a numbing chill from the frozen pavement.

Sanders, Lawrence - The Fourth Deadly Sin

This second one occurs when the detective is on the way to confront the murderer. I like that he uses the morning as a springboard to give insight into the characters mood as well as his demeanor, and one other truly Sanderian aspect of characterization: the characters wardrobe.

Count me in the column of those who like it. He's got a way with words, why not lend that capability to descriptions of mornings.

In the upcoming book I predict Sanders may have a whole chapter to himself.

Two Fer in the First Pages

After yesterday's raveling (see here), I was surprised to find another quotable line for this blog in the first few pages of The Fourth Deadly Sin.

Whenever I think about quotes about the morning, I think of Roger's comment from a few July's ago (see here). When I posed the question, "I wonder why authors love to write about the morning so much." Roger wrote:

It's because mornings are so much more vital. After you've said, "the evening sun cast an ochre smear over the dying sky", or something like that; what more is there to say.

Still, it's no longer in doubt. Whether because it speaks of new beginnings or perhaps they say just as much about the night but I haven't started a series on it, author's love writing about the morning.

By Monday morning the sky had been rinsed; a casaba sun loomed; and pedestrians strode with opened coats flapping. A chill breeze nipped, but New York had the lift of early winter, with stores preparing for Christmas, and street vendors hawking hot pretzels and roasted chestnuts.

Sanders, Lawrence - The Fourth Deadly Sin

A "casablanca sun" is right up there with "a wine dark sea." And I particularly enjoy the fact that he references (not too obliquely) the November chain mail sky from the first line (see here).

Been Awhile

I know it has been awhile since I last posted a blog post, but I ran across something, in a trashy novel no less, and I thought, "Man, this would be a perfect post," so I decided to at least get it down for no other reason than I want to remember it. Additionally, it falls into one of my favorite series . . . my posts about authors' love for writing about the morning (see here).

I poured coffee and settled in for the long wait. A band of orange appeared on the horizon. A light blinked on in the apartment next to Spiro. Another light appeared a few apartments down. The charcoal sky turned azure. Ta daaa! It was morning.

Evanovich, Janet - Two for the Dough

It wasn't the best novel, but fun for a trashy novel and a short get-away from heavier fare (really even my heaviest fare is still quite light).

There It Is Again . . .

 . . . the ever-present description of "morning" (see all the other mentions here) This time I found it in Tucker by Louis L'Amour.

Twice during the endless night I woke up, once from the pain of my wound, another time from the cold. I felt sick and very tired, and when morning came at last, a gray, dull morning with slanting rain and lowering clouds , my mouth was dry, my head ached, and when I tried to stand I was weak and dizzy. But I knew I must move. If I stayed where I was, in the state I was in, I would surely die.

L'Amour, Louis - Tucker

Not half bad as far as all the morning descriptions go. I think one day soon I will compile them all into one large post so I can compare them.

Another Morning . . . Another Blog Post

I was wondering what I was going to write about today, there's a great post (here) at The Kill Zone, a great one on why writer's need editors (here) also at The Kill Zone, then there is a terrific infographic (here) that I found on the Corner.

Then I read this:

I came out into a nothing morning , the sky as colorless as a slate pavement, the air unmoving and damp. It was bloody hot , and a nice, refreshing cloudburst would have been a blessing. But that leaden sky offered no shadows and no hope. All in all, a grayish scene— enough to depress the most chipper of do-gooders and make one ponder the value of crawling out of bed on such a blah day.

Sanders, Lawrence - McNally's Secret 

Not so much a line about the morning, as I've been cataloging (here), but more of a passage. A good one too.

It's a Tautology

I'm telling you it's just something that authors love. They love to write about the morning in their works (see here). Here are two that I've spotted so far in Kristi's.

First this one:

The morning dawned with its usual luminescent brightness. Jess slept beside me,

Then this one:

The night blended into a dark and rainy morning.

Jones, Kristi - Valkyrie's Kiss

Not a bad thing mind you, just a feature of "professional" writing. I'm glad to see that based on the evidence, Kristi is now firmly "coach class" (here).

A Color of Snot Morning?

I looked toward the light coming through the window. It was the color of snot; I knew the sun wasn’t shining. I wasn’t hung over. I mean my head didn’t ache, my stomach didn’t bubble. But I felt disoriented. And I had all these problems. It seemed easier to stay exactly where I was, under warm blankets, and forget about “taking arms against a sea of troubles.” Hamlet’s soliloquy. Hamlet should have spent a week in Coburn, N.Y. He’d have found a use for that bare bodkin.

Sanders, Lawrence- The Sixth Commandment

Never fails, . . . . there's going to be a description of "the morning" in every book.

American Pickers

One show that my "roommate" (aka my wife) can't get enough of is a show called American Pickers that follows to antiquers as they travel through the US looking for wares for their stores. If this show is on, then my roomie can usually be found watching it. I tag along usually, but sadly I also usually fall asleep.

That being said, the two main characters meet up with people who have outrageous "collections." I place collections in quotes, cause a less polite writer might have written, "junk." Here are these older folks who have spent their lives just collecting and collecting and storing and storing. Then along comes American Pickers and they dig around and see if there's any gems among their treasures.

The other day my wife asked me what I might end up collecting. Books? I'm not sure but I think this was said tongue in cheek. She has been the main reason I've had to downsize my book collection. Both cause she gave me a kindle but also because she has been the primary motivator of my taking my books to the resell shop.

One thing I will say I collect is quotes about the morning. See my collection by following this link (here). I dare anyone to find another blogger who logs quotes about the morning in their blog. I'm in BABY!

To that end I offer this one that I found simple, direct, and pert darn good.

The sun was pouring into my living room. The day had started without me.

Evanovich, Janet - Notorious Nineteen

It's quick, effective, blends perfectly with the surrounding prose and plot. Might be among the best of the collection. And it's from such an unexpected source.

This might be one of those gems that years from now someone will pick up and say, "I'll give you a nickle for it."

Two for One

Savvy readers of this blog know that I run a series on the importance of first lines and last lines. It was due to these series that I started to recognize the need for a series on passages about mornings. It seemed as though every author loved to say things about the morning. Today we have a first line (one that should probably be in the "good first line" subcategory) combined with line that should also be in the series on the morning.

There was a thin robin’s-egg-blue dawn coming up over Tel Aviv when the intelligence analyst finished typing his report.

Forsyth, Frederick - The Odessa File

Perhaps not the most exciting first line, but it does make me anxious to see what else the author has to offer.

Another Morning, This Time with Tea

This is yet another quick description of the morning. It comes with another venerable English favorite; tea.

The familiar blue lamp of a police station appeared in the morning twilight. The policeman said: You have a nice cup of tea and you'll feel better."

Follett, Ken - Night Over Water

I wonder if there is at least one reference to "morning" in every novel I read.