Tag Archives: Books

14: Peril Over the Airport

Peril Over the Airport by Helen Wells

Peril Over the Airport is part of the Vicki Barr, Flight Stewardess series. I saw it at the library book sale (not a library book) and picked it because I read a lot of these juvenile series as a kid, but I don’t think I ever read any Vicki Barrs. I did like Cherry Ames, though, which was a very similar series (same authors) except Cherry was a nurse.

So, anyway, when you think about it, these books are a little odd, because they’re obviously aimed at a pretty young audience but the main characters are in their 20s (at least) and they have jobs. I mean, can you imagine trying to pitch something like that today? “I have this story about a 23-year-old Starbucks barista. The target audience is 7-9 year-olds.” Somehow, I don’t think that would fly.

Anyhow, in POtA, the setup is that Vicki wants to learn to fly. A pilot she works with recommends she learn to fly from this nice WWII vet who has just happened to set up a small airport in her hometown. So she cuts back on her work schedule and goes home for the summer to take flying lessons. She does work some during the story, but those bits are skipped over, except for one incident where she runs into a character pertinent to the plot. I assume there’s more coverage of her stewardessing in other books in the series.

POtA was published in 1953, and at first I just assumed that was when it was set. Although, it was a little odd that everyone kept referring to Bill Avery as a “boy,” when he had to be closer to 30 than 20 (if it was 1953, and he was a veteran, the youngest he could be was 26, and given his war backstory, probably older). But, his sister appears later in the story, as a war widow with a 5-year-old son, so I think it was actually supposed to be set earlier (I do not think they were implying that she got pregnant after becoming a widow). It was kind of weird, because Wells makes obvious references to WWII, yet when it comes to dates, she very deliberately leaves them out. I mean, that’s typical for this sort of book, but it seems a little silly when you have a major historical event playing a large role in the story.

Wells frequently refers to planes as “ships.” I guess this is an abbreviation of “airship”? Either that, or it was considered cool to call planes ships at the time; maybe military slang?

Given the intended audience, the plot and the mystery to be solved are very basic. Vicki takes most of the book to solve a “code note” the solution of which is obvious on first glance. And the resolution  of the mystery is exactly what you’d expect. But in addition to the ostensible plot and mystery, there is lots of information on flying, both as a hobby (here’s how it works! you can do it too!) and as a career for women (no, women can’t be commercial airline pilots—yet! and yes, it does indeed say that—but they can do almost any other kind of flying! and you can too!). Despite the overtly feminist message, or rather, probably because of it, Vicki is otherwise depicted as being a very traditional female, e.g. she wants to wear high heels even when they are impractical, she’s obsessed with tidying up disorganized Bill’s office, she’s squicked out by dirt.

She’s also described as being tiny, and although it could be though of as just another way of feminizing the character, I liked it here because Wells got it right. Vicki complains of not being taken seriously, of people assuming she’s younger than she is, of the practical difficulties of being little—like not being able to able to reach the pedals, having to sit on a cushion, stuff like that. That was perfect. As a kid who was always stymied by height requirements, I would’ve loved to read about a short adult female who was doing cool stuff like flying in spite of being little.

13: Cinnamon Kiss

Cinnamon Kiss by Walter Mosley

Previously on The Remainder Table: I Heart You, Walter Mosley.

And… that is why you blog, folks. Well, at least one of the reasons.

So anyway, since then I’ve wanting/meaning to read some Walter Mosley. Hoping his writing of fiction would live up to his writing about the writing of fiction. Because, as you know, sometimes it doesn’t. But this time… it did.

Cinnamon Kiss is the 10th Easy Rawlins mystery, so I jumped into the series in medias res. It was ok, though. Even though the book did not have a huge “as you know, Bob” info-dump on the first few pages (thank you), enough info was sprinkled throughout to sort out the supporting characters and pick up the gist of the existing relationships. I do imagine knowing the full background of the characters would add further dimensions to the story, however.

So anyway, I really enjoyed Cinnamon Kiss. Sometimes I almost forget how much I like mystery fic (so much mediocrity out there…). And then something like this reminds me. Oh, yeah… But the best part about it may be that fans of the series think CK isn’t Mosley’s best work. So yay! If the rest of the series is even better, awesome. I have something (or 10 more somethings) to look forward to.

In CK, Easy’s daughter is sick and he needs to raise some money quick to pay for her treatment. He’s so desperate he considers pulling off a heist with his friend Mouse, but reconsiders when he gets a call from another friend, Saul, about a job for a mysterious detective in San Francisco.

The mystery was solid, although the final resolution was a little less than satisfying. And oh, sure, Easy’s a little too popular with the ladies. But it’s detective fic, so it’s already a bit o’ a fantasy to begin with, so I think that’s ok. The story’s setting and atmosphere were vivid and the characters intriguing, but I think Mosley’s real strength is dialogue. The dialect switches (depending on whom a character was speaking to) seemed absolutely effortless. I wonder if he teaches. He could totally give a lesson on dialogue how-to.

Also I do love that Easy is short for Ezekiel. Of course I do.

Some Reviews:

In bits between the pages

When you read a book, it is a story within the story. The French call this mise-en-abîm: the condition of being between two mirrors with an abyss of yous staring back.

You turn the page of the fictional story while an hour of your own passes. The characters breathe, laugh and cry, and so do you. When you finish their tale, you close the book and set it aside, dreaming of their ever-after, while stepping out into yours. But you don’t leave the story as you found it. No, it’s forever changed. The evidence is there: a chocolate smudge, a tea stain, beach sand, dandelion spores, a stray hair, a note, a name, a message. The story has been splintered into a duplicate image, a reflection of you in bits between the pages.

Sarah McCoy

Book, I’m going to read you.

Once upon a time, I would not even consider quitting a book mid-read.  Reading a book was not unlike a monogamous human relationship in that sense; it involved conscious commitment, and fidelity: Book, I’m going to read you.

Over the years, this has changed.  Recently it struck me that the list of books I’ve started and not finished has grown quite formidable.  I ask myself what this “means,” if it reflects some kind of moral devolution.  It’s interesting how there does seem to be a kind of morality of reading, and people express their reading values quite passionately.

Sonya Chung

My Books

Wired wonders if we need a paperback sized/priced ereader to really heat up the competition. People, I don’t care. I just want to own my books. It could fold out into a fort with a sleeping bag or be the size of a gnat and serve cocaine-flavoured ice cream—makes no difference to me if I have to live with locks keeping me from doing whatever I want with my books. So I’ll keep buying them in paper, instead of renting pixels, until then.

George Murray

Visual Terrain

And something else I don’t like about e-book readers is that they re-paginate the book. For me, my books in my library are my memory, and it *works* as my memory for geographical reasons. I know roughly where the book is; I remember roughly where within the book the sought-after info is; I remember what the visual terrain on the page looked like, and where on the page relative to that terrain the info sat. When print shuffles itself so readily that the info loses its “geography”. We are left with searching the document at command line, and my suspicion is that’s not the right way to harness our memory mechanisms.

Mark Changizi

Definition of “writing”

[L]anguage and the books they compose may die, but storytelling never will. Like song and dance, stories are eternal to how we humans communicate and express ourselves. People will always write because they will always have something to say. Or teach. Or discover. For a long time, this has been accomplished with bound books, with paper and ink. And for a long time, it will continue to be.

Forget e-books—they are a question of format, not content. These devices, similar to online literary journals like this one, are simply the first primordial steps in a specialization that will change how the written word tells stories for future generations.

In the same way that the modern art movement called into question what it meant to call something “art,” this will be an era that both challenges our static definition of “writing” and redefines the relationship between “writer” and “reader.” It will change who publishes, how they publish, and what form they publish in.

Michael Rudin

Beauty and Cheapness

Penguin’s graphic design played a large part in the company’s success. Unlike other publishers, whose covers emphasized the title and author of the book, Penguin emphasized the brand. The covers contained simple, clean fonts, color-coding (orange for fiction, dark blue for biography) and that cute, recognizable bird. The look helped gain headlines. The Sunday Referee declared “the production is magnificent” and novelist J. B. Priestley raved about the “perfect marvels of beauty and cheapness.”

Anne Trubek

The edges of the work

[T]here is a great deal of personal narrative on the Web – some of which carries over to the print world as memoirs, some of which doesn’t. I think the online work is marginally more interesting: because there it’s unclear where the edges of the work are. The reader can pull at it; writing can stretch across time and space. Granted, most of isn’t very interesting. But it does seem like we are moving into a celebrity culture, where readers tend to follow personalities rather than their writing. Maybe ten years ago Momus said that “in the future, everyone will be famous for fifteen people,” and I think the way the web works now does tend to encourage that.

Dan Visel