I am now the proud owner of every Michael Connelly book yet published, including double copies of Trunk Music and Angels Flight (my personal fave).
For my next trick, I shall begin acquiring samples of the author’s hair and toenail clippings — y’know, to lend a more personal feel to the life-sized Harry Bosch meat sculpture residing in what was formerly ••••’s closet. (Showings by appointment only.)
2017 is going to be awesome!
My kid knew exactly what to get me for my birthday without even having to ask: The Borgias Season 3 and Nine Dragons (a book I’d been missing from the Harry Bosch series).
So the next time YOUR kid hands you some crappy fingerpainted necktie or a lopsided mug with all the functionality of a sieve, remember how MINE knows which of my obsessions keep me awake at night, and is capable of navigating his personal sla– er… I mean his grandmother… through the intricacies of online purchasing.
Cesare Borgia would be proud; he bought HIS daddy the papacy, whereas the younger, less politically-astute Juan made do with fingerpainting St. Fermin in the blood of a dead Moor. (Try wearing THAT with white and gold.)
After having spent the past week or so binge-reading Michael Connelly books, I would like to tip my invisible fedora to • ••••••••••• (wherever she may be) for first drawing me into the dark and lonely world of Detective Harry Boche almost 15 years ago.
The thing I love most about Boche is also his great tragedy: that despite his sharp mind and unwavering committment to truth and justice, his almost pathological refusal to turn this objectivity inward is what keeps him from realizing the signicance of his “lost light,” and why it continues to prevail throughout the series as such a powerful metaphor.