The Literate Kitty

When it comes to books, I rarely do “charming” or “cute”; that sort of unrelenting cheer (and overly-pat endings) just isn’t my style. Give me something with a little bite, a sharp edge, every single time. Still, I’m willing to make the occasional exception, and Rhys Bowen’s “Molly Murphy” mystery series has been one of those. With a feisty protagonist--an independent young Irish immigrant who takes up the unlikely job of sleuthing so that she can put food on her table and a roof over her head, and an irresistible setting--New York City, circa the early 1900s, this has been a fun little series with much to recommend it. All of that may be about to change, though, on the heels of Bowen’s tenth entry in Molly's ongoing saga, Bless the Bride ... * ~ * ~ *~ * It’s 1903, and our intrepid redheaded detective is on the verge of getting married (hence the dreadfully saccharine title, which if not part of the series would have sent me running away as fast as possible) to her NYPD sweetie, f...

As I sit sniffling at my computer, reading countless articles and blog entries about this, the tenth anniversary of the day that will forever be known simply by its date-- “9/11” --it hits me anew how much this changed not just our world, but all of us . In that one horrific day, the last vestiges of our innocence literally went up in flames, leaving only indescribable sorrow, bitterness, and an increased awareness of evil in the remaining ashes. ★ ~ ★ ~ ★ Ten years ago saw me far removed (in body) from the shocking events which would take place that day. I was nearing the end of a seasonal job in a midwestern state, preparing to pick up stake and move again in just a few weeks’ time. I’d been to Washington D.C. on a couple occasions (once for business and once for pleasure), but hadn’t yet ventured to New York. I barely knew anyone there at the time, either--one relative, a few business acquaintances. Still, having seen numerous TV shows and movies, as well as having read so many boo...

A nearly-packed plane en route to Atlanta, departing several hours late from Denver, takes to the skies in the wee hours of a cloudy night with a passenger list ranging from the merely-inconvenienced and tired to the openly-disgruntled and testy.  It will soon turn into a flight like none of them has ever experienced.. . nor even dreamt of in a nightmare, for that matter. The switch from the rocking evening shift to the easy-listening, night-owls-only one is currently in progress at KMRT, a tiny radio station in small-town Jesman’s Bend, Colorado.  Those loneliest hours of the night before dawn are about to become a whole lot lonelier.   A handsome--albeit somehow “off”--young man, gloating over the fact that his identity as the city’s infamous killer, the “Mummy-Man”, is still unknown, gains entry into the home of his latest, soon-to-be-very-unlucky victim.  Unbeknownst to the killer, he will shortly be getting more--and less--than that for which he bargained. A mid...

It’s always something , when it comes to life in Faerie... and for a knight who’s only recently added “Countess” to her growing list of names and titles, truer words were never spoken. Sir October Daye is still getting used to all the changes that have taken place since she unravelled the nefarious plot against her liege, Duke Sylvester Torquill of Shadowed Hills, and his wife, Luna. Their daughter--the insane, angry, and unhappy Rayseline--has fled to parts unknown. Sylvester has seemingly aged overnight, and Luna now wears a mantle of sadness instead of her former kitsune disguise. Things have altered for Toby, as well. After being hit with deadly elfshot during the last skirmish, she underwent some major (magical) resuscitation efforts--courtesy of her freaky-powerful (but rarely-seen) mother, Amandine--which left her... well, rather different than she was before... and she’s still trying to come to grips with what all of that means.   Not everything’s doom, gloom, and thirty-...

When an intriguingly delectable-sounding blend of mystery, sly humor, Vegas glitz, and cats ( yes, CATS, people! ) landed on my doorstep, it seemed like a no-brainer. There was, however, one small hitch: the book in question--Carole Nelson Douglas’ Cat in a Vegas Gold Vendetta --was actually the twenty-third in a long-running series... of which I’d read nary a one. (In fact, I possessed not even the vaguest general knowledge about it; no handy clues had ever seen fit to make their way into my subconscious via some sort of bookstore osmosis, sadly.) I would be a tabula rasa, trying to get caught up on all the important whos and whats in a hurry... and having nearly two dozen books’ worth of elapsed history to contend with was, frankly, more than a little daunting. Still, that “ But this is right down my alley! ” refrain kept playing in the back of my mind, so I decided there was nothing to lose... but potentially, a fun, new-to-me series to find.  ~^.,^~   ~^.,.^~   ~^....