Right there in the book blurb, printed in italics so you couldn’t miss it: There are no truly happy endings in Noir.
Did I heed the warning, did I even understand it? No.
If I had paid more attention to the author’s alert—”for mature readers who enjoy the darkness and moral ambiguity of noir stories.”
If I’d been less intrigued by the line—”Cole fell for the suave Leo Mancini the day they met, but is it ever really possible to trust a liar—especially when Mancini makes a murder suggestion sound like a marriage proposal?”
I would have missed not just a beautifully crafted story, but a visceral experience.
Yes, yes, and God, yes.
Leighton Greene spins you into a roller-coaster of a ride. Hurtles you through a tunnel of deceit and deception, lies and liars, and dumps you into an inescapable pit of despair. The ending stays with you, and the more you think about it, the worse it gets until you’re curled up under the covers, telling yourself that it’s only fiction.
The most well-written, absorbing, provocative book I’ve read in years? Yes.
Now that the vaccines are out and about, and we’re impatiently awaiting the end of pandemic restrictions, have you put any thought into a post-Covid world, and what that might look like?
I’ve wondered if masks might become a permanent part of my wardrobe, if the Western handshake will be replaced by the Eastern bow, if my poor neglected passport will ever escape the drawer its imprisoned in, but that’s as far as it went.
In the kitchen, baking cookies I had no business baking, I saw it—our post-Covid world.
You’ve seen it too, in all its HD clarity.
It’s been awhile since 2009 so you might not remember, but the movie ends with people stumbling out of their houses, blinking in the daylight most of them haven’t seen in years. Unshaven, unwashed, wrapped in bathrobes, they’re lost in a world they’re no longer familiar with.
Humans are fascinated by the rare, the strange, and the extreme. The tallest man, the oldest woman, the largest pumpkin. Add the suffix est and you can sell tickets.
Personally, and probably because I’m knee high to a grasshopper myself, I like small. Miniature shoes, tea cups, Disney’s Tinker Bell. Shrink anything down small enough and it’s adorable.
A German-Madagascan expedition team has discovered what they believe to be the smallest reptile on earth. The Brookesia Nana or nano-chameleon’s total length, from nose to tail, is just under 22 mm (0.87 “).
Here we are, living the sequel to a movie we never wanted to be in.
Social distancing, masks, quarantines, lockdowns, not to mention the parents battling with online learning, the people forced into unemployment, the gruesome ICU statistics, and the ever present threat of contracting this nasty little virus.
Yeah, fun times. Now, imagine this…
Imagine living through a pandemic, not once, but twice.
Born in 1911, in Lauder, Manitoba, Jemima Westcott was seven years old when the Spanish Flu struck in 1918. There was no social distancing back then, no vaccine, and the schools stayed open. Jemima remembers having to douse her handkerchief in eucalyptus oil which was thought to be both a preventative and a cure. 55,000 Canadians lost their lives to that plague, but Jemima’s family and their farming community escaped the worst of it.
A retired teacher, mother to five, and grandmother to fifteen, Jemima is once again waiting out a pandemic. To keep in touch with the family who can’t visit now, Jemima has learned to make video calls.
Just to keep it interesting, Covid-19 has come up with a few new variations. And here we are, hunkering down for another winter of lockdown, Zoom, and Netflix.
Into a sadly distanced holiday season, Netflix dropped a champagne glass bubbling over with cheer. Death to 2020, a British mockumentary from the creative minds behind Black Mirror, had me laughing out loud.
In a year that bounced from frightening to bizzare and back again, Charlie Brooker and Annabel Jones have managed to find the funny. Find it, dissect it, and serve it up on a platter—proving that laughter is the best medicine.
If you’re feeling a little lost and low, now that the gifts have been opened, the balls have dropped, and the fireworks are over, check out Death to 2020. It injects humour into a year that desperately needed it.