I read 15 books in January.  Which is, by any measure, a respectable number of books.  Except my Januarys are always a book buster month, because school holidays Down Under are in December and January, so I generally don't have to work, which means I can loll about alone with my books.  I read 33 books in January 2018 and 35 books in January 2017.

 

2019 was not blessed with this decadence; I started work again right after the New Year, while the schools were empty, trying to get ahead of a number of massive networking projects that all came together at the same time.  And the iPads.  OMG, the iPads.

 

Unfortunately, I didn't get ahead of any of them, really, and work got steadily busier as the month progressed, with me working almost 44 hours more than I was contracted to in the last 2 weeks.  This has sent my narcolepsy spiralling out of control, which means if I'm not moving, I'm sleeping.  I'm pretty sure there were a couple of times when I was moving and sleeping.

 

I'm sharing this little whinge-fest with you all not because I'm doing a (back of hand against forehead) woe is me!; I'm not - my life is very good, all things considered, and this hellish period will pass.  As I told a teacher who said to me with a look akin to pity that she hoped my day would get better: "well, it will end."  This will end too.  

 

But I am super disappointed with my reading this month.  The craziness/narcolepsy has left me too tired to read more than a page or two, and the constant fatigue has left my feelings too close to the surface to be safely allowed to socialise.  So not only is my reading down, but so too is my participation here, as a blogger, buddy reader, group moderator and librarian (::shudder:: don't ask me about the librarian queue - I'm afraid to look at it).  I was really looking forward to the Pymalong and I just couldn't keep up - words I have never once said about reading in. my. life.   In the grand scheme of things, it's nothing; no big deal.  But, it sort of is, to the part of my psyche that defines my sense of self as a reader first, and pretty much everything else second.

 

So, I'm not a happy camper; this, too, will pass.  Of the 15 books I did read, the best were all non-fiction.  Some reference-types, some books about books, and a collection of science experiments to do with kids at home.  

 

Moving along, My TBR Project is going well.  For every two books I read, I can buy a new one the next month.  For January I started with a book budget of 19 books (based on the average # of books I read per month last year).  

 

January
	Debit	Credit
Beginning Balance		19
Books Bought	14
Books Read		15 / 2 = 7.5*
Ending Balance		13

* I round up to nearest integer.

 

 

Onward, February!

What an interesting read, a novel written as imaginary documentary on a near future doctor’s career, following his path from childhood through medical school and training to eventual mixed fortunes as a robotically enhanced family practitioner. There is a depth of humanistic sentimental content, however it is future technology, not human behaviour that drives this book. The author is a retired medic who speculates the future of his profession. Gustafson brings a huge amount of personal experience of medicine and its politics to this fascinating story. His real knowledge gives real bite, a profound credibility and layered plausibility. His future ‘expectation’ is so well constructed that it is difficult at times to keep touch with the fact that we are reading of a future and not a ‘true’ life history. All the medical politics, economic constraints and technologies are already seen today in their infancy, such that very little of the science fiction seems implausible, fantastical, in 2018.

The writing is straight forward and accurate, while the plot is simple in design and yet rich with interesting detail. One might even say the book is predictable, but no less enjoyable for that. This fiction is written with almost a scientific efficiency, like a well written industrial report, with just enough of a veneer of character story to give a richness, a feeling of personal buy-in, of voyeuristic enjoyment, to the reading. I recommend this book to all who wonder about the future of medicine, and where it is taking both our medical practitioners and us all as hopeful patients. This is a fiction brim full of interest, with a backstory centred around the fears and ambitions of one particular doctor and his future long-suffering, wife; one particular doctor who may even now be considering a medical career. Gustafson has the skill to write speculation that reads as a medical future that is already established hard fact. Does this doctor actual exist, one who might possibly retire in say 2068?

AMAZON LINK

When Literati Books opened in Ann Arbor Michigan, the owner put an old typewriter out in the stacks, with a sheet of paper in it, curious about what might happen.  In his wildest dreams, he imagined a sort of never ending story, where each patron would pick up where the last one left off; a true community built novel. Pragmatically, he figured he'd end up with a lot of nonsense or jokes about bodily functions.

 

What he got was something totally different and totally special.  People wrote some silly stuff, but they also wrote poems, posed philosophical questions, proposed, broke up, and otherwise bared their souls.  After several years of collecting the daily contributions, Gustafson was convinced to collect his favourites into what became this book.

 

Notes from a Public Typewriter is short, I think I read the whole thing in about an hour.  It's almost purely a collection of what Gustafson considered the best, the funniest, the most touching.  There are photos of the shop and patrons throughout, and every few pages, Gustafson writes a short essay-type piece to introduce context to some of the inclusions.

 

The 5 stars is because this book, for all its simplicity, moved me.  By the end, it was hard to stay dry-eyed, to be honest.  I'm sure Gustafson has collected a LOT of dreck over the years, but the simple lines he included here were honest, heart-felt, and sometimes raw.  

 

I don't go looking for books that reveal what goes on beneath the surface, so I'm really no judge, but this one worked for me.  What is on the face of it an anonymous, ever changing, mass of humanity going in and out the doors of one shop, is revealed in this short volume to be instead the very definition of a community.

Much easier to ask me which books disappointed me the most (stinkers by favorite authors or series that seem to be "stuck").  I'm more likely to just DNF a book I'm not enjoying than to be emotionally involved enough to "hate."

 

But Mother Goose rhymes are ones that I've grown to really loathe.  What things to push innocently on children.  "A Ring Around The Rosie" about bubonic plague pustules and victim mass cremation charnel house ashes ... "Mary, Mary, Quite contrary how does your garden grow?" and all that bloody history ... Humpty Dumpty, ...

 

Vile, gross, violent, morbid stuff.  

Missing in Mexico is described as a tourism suspense novel and that’s certainly a sub-genre that’s new to me; however, Gustafson’s writing and clear knowledge of his setting, local customs and the language does make it easy to slip into the novel and feel perfectly at ease with the locations of the book.

Stan Walkorski is a jaded but excellent PI: he’s clearly seen too much of the world and its troubles and this has made him a little weary and cynical but conversely has also served to make him excellent at his job. When a young woman disappears in a Mexican airport, Stan has very little to go on, save some patchy information from her parents and best friend. Heading over to Los Cabos is the only way he can get to the heart of the matter.

My knowledge of Spanish, Latin-American or otherwise is basic to say the least but I did enjoy the chapter headers, which consisted of a word, translated and then used in the context of a sentence. For example:

comer (cō·mĕr’) – to eat. Quiero comer tacos. I want to eat tacos.

This was a quirky but enjoyable take on the theme of using quotations or chapter headings, which again highlighted Gustafson’s knowledge and the authenticity of the information used in the novel.

The story gives you the impression that Stan is following a well travelled path that he’s encountered many times before, though it never gets any easier. Although Stan gives very little away about himself, his actions often betray his true feelings and it’s clear that at heart he is a good man who just wants to see right done in the world. Unfortunately, you also get the impression that in his line of work it’s more likely to see flying pigs. Stan displays a heartwarming touch of vulnerability throughout the novel that makes him even more appealing as a central character.

If you’d have asked me previously if I thought a travel writer, turned novelist could produce a convincing ‘tourism suspense’ I’d have probably looked at you in confusion and then assumed you were joking but actually this works well. The old adage “write what you know” comes in to play here and Missing in Mexico is a good combination of intriguing story, likeable protagonist and a convincing, well written setting, based on fact and experience. An excellent debut.

Note: Review copy (PDF) received as part of a Partners in Crime tour