Books

I had lunch today with nine well-educated and very smart women. Khaled Hosseini had just been to Fort Worth, and I think I was the only one in the room who did not hear his presentation, let alone read his two well-regarded books, The Kite Runner and the new A Thousand Splendid Suns. They talked about his youth (okay, we're all well into middle age), his prose, his perceptions, and whether or not they liked the first book better than the second. I sat silent, for I've read neither and didn't go to the program. My kids have raved about The Kite Runner and urged me to read it, but I know it has really hard, sad parts in it, and I avoid that in reading--never, for instance, read abot the Holacaust. It's already too real. One of the women today agreed with that point (not made by me!) and said, "Yes, but there's so much redemption." I don't know that I'm ready for the hardship that precedes redemption. I do know that reading that book I would know the truth of it, whereas reading the mysteries I do I know they're fiction--I don't have to feel someone else's real pain. And yet I can get lost in the story. Today someone said that these "Evening with" author programs, sponsored by the newspaper, were inspiring because the large crowds that attend show that people are interested in reading something with depth. "After all," someone else chimed in, "you can't read mysteries all the time." I wanted to ask why not, but I was intimidated. (Actuall I enjoyed the lunch a lot--just that subject intimidated me.)
But that made me think about mysteries. Some are indeed all plot and maybe a little character--Robert Parker comes to mind, even though I'm a fan of his. His books are mostly dialogue--fast, captivating, but no development. The characters never seem to grow or change--he found himself a great formula and stuck to it, with tremendous success. But tonight I'm reading a Martha Grimes novel in which Richard Jury, her detective, is working on a case that traces back to WWII, and he feels the inevitable pull of puzzling out his own feelings about the war and the loss of both of his parents during it, his mother in the bombing of London--and the mystery he's investigating involves deaths during that bombing. British fiction, I've decided, is often much more introspective than most American mysteries--and that moves them closer to the category of "hard" reading, those books that sharpen our minds. Yes, I'd mount a defense of good mysteries any time.
Going to that luncheon today was a minor--maybe even major--triumph. It was a surprise for the 60th b'day of a woman I've known a long time, not well, but with good feelings. We've had mostly professional dealings, but occasionally we share personal things, and I know she remembers my kids from their childhood. When invited, I said, "I don't think I can drive there." (On the North Side, out of my usual range.) The hostess countered with, "She'd be so thrilled if you'd come." I went back and forth--I was going, I wasn't going, I was waiting for a sign from the heavens. Then I began to worry about walking from the parking lot, because it's up a slight slope. Then the hostess reiterated how thrilled the guest of honor would be, and I bit the bullet and went. All my worry, of course, was for naught. I sailed up to the North Side with nary a problem, parked in an easy place, and took my walking stick, which I didn't need at all. And the honoree did seem delighted to see me--she said, "When we drove up, I said 'That looks like Judy Alter's car.'" It was! I need to learn now to let go of old fears and know that I can do these things. After I got back to home territory, I went clothes shopping (something I occasionally but not often do alone) and drove across an intersection that has scared me for years, because I once had a panic attack there. It's the third time in two days that I've driven across that intersection. I almost feel like a celebration is in order!
I'd feel more like celebrating if I'd hear from the agent I sent my mystery to. The instructions for submitting said, "Please allow ten weeks." It was ten weeks Monday, which maybe makes it ten weeks today since it was received. Yeah, I'm impatient. And not quite ready to start on the sequel if I don't have encouragement about the first book.