Spenser Silenced: Robert B. Parker Dies

I mourn the passing of a personal hero.

As reported by NPR, Robert B. Parker, author of 37 crime novels starring private detective Spenser, passed away last week in his Cambridge, MA home on January 18. He was 77. His Spenser novels were the inspiration for the Spenser: For Hire television series and movies, starring the late Robert Urich. The TV movies were direct adaptations from Parker's novels.

I discovered the Spenser novels in my late 20's. I borrowed my first, Promised Land, from my local public library and was immediately entranced with the smart, wise-cracking toughguy detective with a heart of gold. I hurriedly read the series' previous books at the time in chronological order: The Godwulf Manuscript, God Save the Child and Mortal Stakes, devouring each in a matter of days. From that point on, I was hooked, buying each as soon as they were released.

Parker wrote other books: the Jesse Stone novels, the Sunny Randall series and Perchance to Dream, a sequel to Raymond Chandler's The Big Sleep, among others. His books were always lovingly devoted to his beloved wife Joan. Of his more than 50 books, I own 38 in hardcover and others in audio and paperback. I own a few in all three media. And while I found the TV series disappointing (despite my enamoration of Urich) I also own the collection of TV movies on DVD. I count two of his books among my most prized possessions: an old, book club edition of his first novel, the afore-mentioned Godwulf Manuscript that I picked up at Goodwill for a dollar and a signed first edition of his 1981 Spenser novel, A Savage Place that I bought at a local bookseller for a bit more.

I freely admit that Spenser was my favorite of his characters. His relationships with Hawk, Susan Silverman, Paul Giacomin and the many and varied dogs named Pearl, felt so real to me. After so many years of inviting them into my mind through the doorways of my eyes, their lives mattered.

Most importantly, I always closed a Parker novel feeling smarter than when I opened it. I envied his writing style with its believable dialogue and witty narrative. Parker created three dimensional minority characters and non-stereotypical gay characters long before it was fashionable to do so.

Rest in Peace, Robert B. Parker. Thank you for so many moments of delight over the last thirty years.

“Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas,
Ease after war, death after life does greatly please”
-Edmund Spenser, 1552-1599

What's with All the Glitter Anyway?

I've been dosed with glitter.

I started cleaning up my Christmas decorations, taking down Christmas cards and just generally starting to get my life back to pre-December "normal." This is a lengthy process, as it involves loading large containers into my Explorer, driving them to a storage unit and stacking them precariously. With the constant snow and bitter cold, I'm in no hurry to get it done. The wreath is off my front door, so as far as the outside world is concerned, I'm temporally accurate. If only they knew.

In the process of putting away the gifts I received and taking the cards off my coat closet door, I seem to have released a plague of glitter. Everywhere I look I see little glimmers of the shiny shrapnel. It is lodged in my carpet, on my sofa cushions, in my dog's fur, in my clothing; hell once in a while, I find a speck on my skin. I believe a portion of it has become airborne, has escaped the heater filter and is probably lodging itself in the lining of my lungs even as I respirate and type. If I come down with some exotic form of gliterthelioma, I'm gonna be pissed.

Everything I bought or was given this year seems to have been covered in glitter. Everything. I'm not even sure what it is. Oh sure, Wikipedia says it is, "an assortment of very small (roughly 1 mm²) pieces of paper, glass or plastic painted in metallic, neon and iridescent colors to reflect light in a sparkling spectrum." That sounds fairly benign, right?

Don't believe it. Here's my theory: remember all those nukes that went missing during the fall of the U.S.S.R.? I think they ended up in China, where they were ground into teeny, tiny bits of ever-so-slightly radioactive glitter that the Chinese use to "decorate" all the cheap holiday crap they sell us. It's a long-term, insidious plot to sterilize the rest of the world.

I showed 'em! I have no intention of breeding DESPITE the accursed glitter-plague!

(Blogger Note: This is a joke. I'm not a paranoid schizophrenic nor do I have anything against the Peoples Republic of China. Rush Limbaugh, please don't quote me.)

And now for something completely different: I keep hearing that the Economic Recovery is upon us and we should rejoice and start spending frivolously again. This week, two more of my friends lost their jobs. Hey, Economic Recovery! Ya wanna hustle it up a bit here?