BOOK REVIEW: "The Long Fall (1st Leonid McGill Mystery)" by Walter Mosley

If there is one thing that Walter Mosley does well, it’s developing strong, flawed male characters that move the reader enough to give a damn about the outcome. From Easy Rawlins to Socrates Fortlow to the trigger-happy Mouse, each one occupies a space in the imagination that allows for the possibility that he just might exist. And that right there is the hook, that element of Mosley’s works that intrigues his audience and keeps it salivating. We either know someone who knows someone who used to tangle with an Easy-like figure, or we wish to the literary gods that our friends were that interesting. Or that resourceful. Or that true to life.


Leonid McGill is Mosley’s latest creation, a 50-something detective living in New York, whose past indiscretions have a way of reappearing whenever he commits to going straight. McGill used to handle his opponents in the ring, fighting well enough to command respect, but these days, all he seems to be doing is shadowboxing with his demons. He has a once-beautiful wife, Katrina, whom he doesn’t love or care much about, a woman with the cojones to birth two babies that share DNA with everyone but him. Her only reason for being around is a failed attempt to leave him for another man. His only reason for being around is to keep Twill, one of those other-man’s kids, from losing himself to his own demons. Theirs is an arrangement of, well, convenience, and the burden of that convenience leaves him emotionally twisting in the wind, all day, every day.


The McGill adventure starts off with the usual Mosley blast; a mysterious figure hires the detective to track down four guys who may or may not have been involved in a murder as teenagers. When the third one is found dead shortly after McGill contacts him, the private eye digs around to uproot the killer. What he finds en route to solving the case is classic Mosley: a litany of shady characters too outrageous to not be real; tainted cops only too happy to break their own laws; and double the violence found in a typical wild west flick.


The Long Fall has its shortcomings, primarily in that the main plotline lands kind of flat. The run-up itself is superb—action-packed and insanely suspenseful, and the subplots involve a pedophile taken down by a techno-savvy misanthrope and a mob-tied flunky searching for revenge. But the revelation at the end of who was pulling the strings of the four men’s deaths, and why they had to be manipulated, is a big disappointment; it’s way too far-fetched and beneath Mosley’s talent. Does that mean you should pass on this book? Not at all. Fall is still worth the time, and Leonid McGill is worthy of his boxing gloves.


--Dianha Simpson
imagineatrium.com

The Long Fall is released on March 24. Pre-order your copy today at your local independent bookstore.

Visit Indiebound.org to find your closest indy bookstore and keep your community thriving.

Acclaimed Fiction Writer Joe Hill Wants You to Love Your Indie

Joe Hill, the award winning suspense/fantasy writer of Heart-Shaped Box and the graphic novel Locke & Key is sponsoring a contest on his official Web site to encourage people to support their local, independent bookstores by purchasing items in March.

To enter, you simply need to make a purchase at any independent bookstore in the country some time in March, send a photo or scan of the saved receipt to Joe, and at the end of the month he'll have a random drawing for a SIGNED slipcase copy of Gunpowder, his rare, limited edition novella.

Imagine the possibilities for neighborhoods if every author were as thoughtful and concerned about sustaining local communities as Joe Hill is. Joe is officially our new favorite writer.

Check out Joe Hill's outstanding writing at joehillfiction.com

BOOK REVIEW: "The Miracles of Prato" by Laurie Albanese and Laura Morowitz

In 1456, Lucrezia Buti and her younger sister, Spinetta, arrived at the Church of Santa Margherita convent in Prato, Italy, somewhat reluctant to devote their lives to God. As was common practice during the Middle Ages, the two women were forced, like other unmarried or widowed women who lacked the support of a male relative, to find protection against the world’s evils among the nuns. Spinetta, who was used to being sheltered, adapted rather quickly, having accepted her cloistered fate with optimism. But Lucrezia, described as bearing a striking resemblance to the Madonna (if such a thing can be known), was resentful for having had her life decided for her. What she wanted was the fairytale life of the local merchant’s wife, Signora de’ Valenti: To fall in love with a successful man, to become his doting wife, and to fill their home with beautiful children. Ultimately, Lucrezia felt disconnected from the Order.


Enter Fra Filippo Lippi, a painter and an Augustinian monk who, like Lucrezia, took his vows out of necessity rather than in response to a spiritual calling. As chaplain of the convent, it seemed Filippo tended to his clerical duties more out of obligation to the Church and to his art patrons for bailing him out of his multiple transgressions. See, Fra Filippo was more man than monk, saddled with the very human desire to lay down with the fairer sex. Having earned a reputation for routinely giving in to this temptation, he found himself at their mercy.


Severely in debt and behind on several commissioned pieces, Fra Filippo asked for special permission to use the novitiate Lucrezia as the model for the Virgin Mary. The monk—or rather, the man—was taken with the young woman’s beauty, and visions of her flawless face took refuge deep in his heart. To Filippo, Lucrezia was the epitome of perfection, and immortalizing her beauty as the figure of the Virgin Mother was the highest compliment he could pay to his Creator. The request drew outrage from the convent—their fear being rendering Lucrezia vulnerable to the older monk’s proclivities—but the Sisters were powerless to refuse a favor for the Medici family, Filippo’s principal backer. The romance that ensued between them scandalized the Catholic Church and sullied both their reputations.


Their story comes to life in The Miracles of Prato, (Laurie Albanese and Laura Morowitz), which is wonderfully written in the voice of the time. Each chapter follows the Liturgical Calendar, giving the reader insight into the influence the Church had over parts of Europe, and the authors put forth an extraordinary effort to remain true to religious politics. The result is an unsettling—if not altogether surprising—foray into sexual and dogmatic inconsistencies. Celibacy and faith, while noble pursuits, were preached by the clergy, but not necessarily practiced with equal diligence.


An intriguing character throughout Miracles is Sister Pureza, an older nun whose hidden back story mirrors Lucrezia’s in many ways. To reveal now the similarities would be to do a disservice to the reader (the foreshadowing alone hints at the parallels in their lives), but suffice it to say Pureza’s actions are less heartless than well-intentioned. Her devotion is not unwavering—she spends an inordinate amount of time questioning her faith—and this colors her interactions with the Order. Her hope, we come to realize, is to save Lucrezia, the beautiful novice, from suffering at the hands of the Church’s powerful hypocrites.


The Miracles of Prato is a worthwhile read for those who enjoy historical fiction. The devotedly religious may not appreciate the authors’ celebration—for lack of a better word—of Lucrezia and Filippo’s scandalous, yet saccharine sweet, affair. Nor will they warm up to the “indiscretions” of the Catholic clergy. But Miracles is still an important story because it exposes the reader to the nuns’ bubble-like existence and the attacks on faith to which they were routinely subjected. Pick up the book and let me know what you think.


---Dianha Simpson
imagineatrium.com

Learn more about the authors and the book by clicking here.
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