Jesse, I remember you mentioning it before in this thread. But the one we saw was down at the very bottom of Manhattan, near the Staten Island Ferry, not in your neighborhood. Is it a chain?

Hmm...not a chain, and I have no idea what store you saw, all the way down there. Huh.

My roommate in college had an english class that was all pulp fiction - Hammett and the like. Nifty.

I took one of these, it was fun.

Oops. That's what I meant. You knew that, right?

Of course I did libkitty...I, myself, had to think a little while before remembering the right name.... (I'm bad with names)

ION. Right now I'm struggling through Songs In Ordinary Time by Mary McCarry Morris for my book club. I hate it. Not that I expect all the books I read to reflect real life, but seriously, how often is it that every person you meet (or read about) is a big fat loser? I am not feeling anything for any of the characters (other than pity and scorn, that is). Also, the style is totally over-the-top, and not really enjoyable, personally speaking, to read. I find myself constantly rolling my eyes. I know the Great Depression was... well... depressing, but why does the book have to be that way as well? Plus... 700 pages?!?!?!?! Yeah, 'nuff said.

End rant. (YHMV)

edited for punctuation and other minor details

Huh. I liked it...didn't love it to bits or anything, cause there was only the one murder...kidding. But sometimes in the summer, I'm not a very tough audience. But Alice Hoffman could tell a similar story and kick Ms. Morris butt up and down the street. "Reading Detective Fiction"- I am sad that I was literary and pretentious in college and spent semesters soaking in gin with John Cheever(Who admittedly was very talented) and I didn't find a course like that.

If I'm not mistaken I seem to remember Misha Tepper once taught a class on detective fiction?

I think you're right, Angus. I might need to actually get in on that action -- As a student, I get some deal on certain other classes.

I could see how Songs could be some people's cup of tea, erika. It's just not mine (clearly).

I took a detective fiction class in university. It was pretty cool. That's how I was introduced to the likes of Wilkie Collins and Laurie R. King. In related news, I have just started The Lavender Butterfly Murders by Sharon Duncan. I don't read too much of the genre ordinarily, but lately I've been in a slump and for whatever reason when I was at the library this afternoon every book that looked interesting was a mystery. I'm only a few pages in, but it's good. Anybody else read it?

I still thought it was too long. You're right about that.

Just back from Oregon, where I got to go to Powell's, all to briefly. Oh bliss! As a result, the TSAs destroyed my suitcase. It turns out you aren't supposed to pack books (ostensibly because they show up as dark blobs on X-ray, but really because books are evil) so not only did they open my suitcase and throw everything back in so that the books and other gifts got damaged, but they managed to bend the steel frame of my Samsonite.

OK, wasn't supposed to be a rant.

We were just talking about The Handmaid's Tale last night - my friend Ellen said that after she read it, she refused to check a box for Sex M/F on any form, since that was how they found you. But mostly we were talking about how a lot of the predictions have started coming to pass. Also, I'd just read Black House, the sequel to The Talisman by King and Straub and noticed that part of the "other" world was called Gilead, which was the world of The Handmaid's Tale.

Matt! My brother in love for The King in Yellow ! I'll have to check out A Rebours. But not that song; I've got Peter Wolf version somewhere, but not as effective. Although, since the Hungarians tend to have the highest suicide rate of any country, a few dozen in a year doesn't seem that odd.