Book Review: The Likeness

If you're in the mood for a meaty, engrossing read, I recommend Tana French's "The Likeness."

Cassie Maddox has transferred out of the murder squad after a particularly bad case and into something a little more humdrum - domestic violence - but isn't quite happy there, either.

She has no intentions of returning to murder squad, but an intriguing case has come up, and she's needed to go undercover.  The murder victim in this case is, no pun intended, a dead ringer for Cassie.  And, the murder victim is using the name of Lexie Maddox - a name and persona created for Cassie in a previous undercover job.  

Who is this mystery woman?

It's a question that may never be satisfactorially answered as Cassie inserts herself in the woman's life as a graduate student, with four housemates, living in the once-upon-a-time great manor home of the village of Glenskehy, Ireland. 

The situation Cassie finds herself in is equal parts dangerous (is one of her housemates guilty of murder?) as she attempts to navigate the undercurrents of each relationship within the house, and equal parts carthartic as she finds resolutions to her feelings about her previous "bad case" within the new relationships of this undercover job.

It's complicated, I know.  "I hate nostalgia, it's laziness with prettier accessories. . ." (54, French) narrates Cassie, and throughout this story there will be feelings of nostalgia and wistfulness, and little flashes of impending danger as the mystery of who Lexie Maddox is, and who killed her, comes to light.

French's story is set in modern-day Ireland, and is replete with an unforgettable cast of characters, each with his own detailed back-story.  Even if you didn't read French's first Cassie Maddox novel (In The Woods) her follow-up is easily a stand-alone book.  Cassie is a woman who seems as rootless as the murder victim and the housemates.  "No pasts" is the mantra of the house - no one is allowed to discuss their pasts, and bring up the painful details of their growing up years, but if you can't talk about it how can you resolve your feelings about the past and move forward in life?  There is a lot of psychological pain explored in the novel as well as the solving of the mystery, and the ride to the end is one filled with suspense.

Has Cassie found the family she's always longed to be part of in the form of the dead woman's unnaturally close housemates? Is the dead woman's resemblance to her a clue to Cassie's own family and her longing for a sibling?  "What I wanted was someone I belonged with, beyond any doubt or denial; someone where every glance was a guarantee, solid proof that we were stuck to each other for life,"(34, French) says Cassie of her childhood, spent with an aunt and uncle who take her in after the death of her parents.

Will Cassie be able to extricate herself from the ever-blurring lines between her undercover life as Lexie Madison, and her real life as Detective Cassie Maddox? Will she find redemption in this new case that will ease the angst she's still experiencing from the echoes of the "case gone bad"?  Will the murder of Lexie Madison be solved and brought to justice?

No spoilers here. You'll have to pick up a copy yourself and find out.  You won't be disappointed.

"For a second I was confused - Sam lied?- because I knew her from somewhere, I'd seen that face a million times before. Then I took a step forwards so I could get a proper look and the whole world went silent, frozen, darkness roaring in from the edges and only the girl's face blazing white at the center, because it was me. The tilt of the nose, the wide sweep of the eyebrows, every tiniest curve and angle clear as ice: it was me, blue-lipped and still, with shadows like dark bruises under my eyes. I couldn't feel my hands, my feet, couldn't feel myself breathing. For a second I thought I was floating, sliced off myself and wind currents carrying me away.

"Know her?" Frank asked, somewhere. "Any relation?"  (18, ,The Likeness, by Tana French)

The Likeness, by Tana French, 466 pages, Penguin Books, $15.00 paperback edition, 2008. New York Times Bestseller and chosen as a Best Novel of the Year by Salon.com, Christian Science Monitor, Publishers Weekly, Los Angeles Crime Fiction Favorite, Seattle Times Best Mystery, and New York Magazine Runner-up for Best Thriller of the Year

The REAL Home Improvement and Cooking Show, 2003 style

This ramble was originally posted on the Spanitz.com web page, in September 2003.  I figured with the recent topic of home improvement, it deserved another airing.  For more old rambles, visit the Spanitz site (bottom of the blog roll, to the left of this page) and check out "Northern Michigan Notes." 


Someone once wrote and contributed a recipe to a cookbook about making a cake with twins in the house. It went something along the lines of getting out all the ingredients, and when the steps of the recipe were to be followed, then came trouble. Remove toy cars from the table. Go back to the recipe. Remove one twin from danger in the other room. Go back to the recipe. Remove other twin from the batter in the bowl. Return to the recipe. Answer the phone. Return to the recipe. Settle an argument between the kids. Return to the recipe. Well, you get the idea. It may have ended with "Get into the car, go to the bakery, and purchase a cake."

My husband and I, in the midst of channel surfing, often pause on the ubiquitous home improvement and cooking shows that are on The Learning Channel and Home and Garden channels. I guess we’re at that age where we are interested in home improvements and as far as cooking goes, perhaps my husband hopes pausing on Sarah’s Secrets or Emeril will spark an interest in cooking at my end.

I let him indulge that little fantasy.

We all know that the situations on the home improvement shows are, at best, contrived. Yes, the rooms and homes showcased often are in need of dire repair and remodeling. Not everyone is enthralled with the "coke-bottle bottom" amber-colored glass that separates the living room from the dining room, after all, very a la Brady Bunch. And much like the famed PBS series, "This Old House," we know that hovering in the background, behind the fashionably clad person we see on the show, the REAL crew members lurk. You know, the guys with perpetual plumber’s crack and receding hairlines. The ones who make all the remodeling work, who measure twice and cut once, and do the grunt work so when they get back from commercial break, everything is miraculously in place and looking fine.

What my husband and I want to know is "Where are the children?"

We’re in the process of doing some remodeling in the kitchen right now. All would be perfect, except we don’t have a team of fashionably dressed television home improvement people. We don’t even have a team of carefully concealed men with plumber’s crack. What we do have are the two of us, and…children.

Now, I want those remodeling shows to portray what it’s really like for the Average Joe to do home improvements with children in the house. We have only two, a five-year-old and an 18-month-old. But that’s enough, for a start.

I can picture it now. Daddy is in the kitchen with his rip saw. He gets started, all serious, with his eye protection and ear plugs in place. Tap tap tap. The saw stops, the ear plugs come out. "Daddy? What does the tooth fairy do with all the teeth she gets from under my pillow? And daddy, did you know that I got one whole dollar from the tooth fairy? Do you think everyone gets one whole dollar because really I’d be happy with just a couple of quarters. Can I watch a video right now?"

Or, let’s try this scenario. "Uh, HONEY! Can you come get the baby? He’s chewing on the power cord!"

Never, during the course of a home improvement show, will we hear Norm Abram (of "This Old House") bellowing, "GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE! ARE YOU TRYING TO ELECTROCUTE US ALL?" Why? Because his team of fashionably dressed men with plumber’s crack know better than to bring their kids to the scene of the home improvement. The rest of us aren’t so fortunate. Our kids are lock, stock, and barrel a part of our home show. While we do our best to keep them safe and out of harm’s way, that often removes one able-bodied adult from the set and thus keeps the completion of the project from its contrived, half-hour, television deadline.

My husband, who is by far the better chef in the house, repeats this line to himself often when he’s in the kitchen. "Emeril doesn’t have to cook with an 18-month old in the house."

He usually says this after repeated complaints are heard, in an urgent "UNNNNH!" tone of voice, for cookies or any other foodstuffs that can fill the bottomless pit of an 18-month-old’s stomach.

He usually says that after repeatedly closing cupboard doors and replacing the pans removed from therein.

As assistant to the chef, I am the chief bottle-washer and vegetable slicer and Child Remover. But if you’ve ever dealt with a child this age, you know they are as contrary as gum in hair. They aren’t coming out no matter what you do.

We’d like to see Emeril’s show with a few children in the mix. "And NOW, to turn it up a notch—HEY! Get your finger out of that pan! We’re going to EAT that! Where was I?" Or perhaps, "Where is the T-fal pan? The $40.00 one? You know, the one we always do this Mexican omelet dish in? [Audible gasp] NO! You don’t SIT in the PAN! Get OUT of there!"

Then again, that would just ruin the fantasy of the whole thing. That fantasy of being able to complete one task without a little voice interrupting and saying, "Daddy? Do you think that Santa Claus knows who God’s parents are?" Or, not hearing over the deafening sounds of your power equipment the sound of your toddler’s voice shrilling loudly for cookies.

Parents don’t watch cooking and home improvement shows for ideas. They don’t fantasize about the money spent on the improvements or the cookery, they don’t fantasize about having all that help to complete a project or having someone slice the vegetables.

They fantasize about being able to make dinner or complete a home improvement project without pint-sized interruptions! This, I believe, is the number one reason parents tune in for cooking and home improvement television.

I can imagine what it would be like with children on the set of the show. Hey! You! Hike those pants up! Get those toys out of there! Get out of that cupboard! No, you CAN’T have a cookie right now! Assistant, baby needs a diaper change! Wait a minute—how did these marbles get here?

Someone needs to do a show like that, just to prove that cooking and home improvements can be accomplished at a frantic pace, with kids, and with a slender hold on sanity. We could nod knowingly at each other then, and say, "That’s how it really is."

We might have a little more respect for Emeril.







© Copyright 2000-2008 Spanitz Consulting, Inc. - All Rights Reserved

Home Improvements: Part One

Dominatrix equipment?

Symbolic ball and chain, used for marriage ceremony?

Torture device for displaying the removed gonads of monstrous creatures?

Other?

Nope.

Pictured here is the light fixture in my bathroom.

Don't blame me, it was here when we bought the house a few years ago.  We laughed at it then, and we're still laughing at it now, though admittedly a little less loudly.

Each globe hangs directly over a sink. We're lucky enough to have two sinks in our bathroom, one for "us adults," and one for "the kids," who like to decorate the sink and its fixtures with toothpaste and other assorted things I'd rather not attempt to name.  I find the lights are barely functional, and that pruning the eyebrow forest is near impossible.  I've given to completing that task with a hand-held mirror, near a window that lets in bright morning sunshine. 

I personally don't mind a bathroom that shows all the wrinkles, cracks, crevices, lines, blotches, gray hairs, etc. because don't we want to see those things and be able to artfully cover them with make-up, and so forth? I can't cover that which I cannot see.

And I cannot see much with the 1970s ball & chain motif hanging in the bathroom.

My spouse thinks that bathrooms should be bright enough to read in, but dim enough to hide all those things that I need to see in order to hide. 

This makes perfect sense to a woman, so don't ask for further explanation.  It's a female thing.

We did take the first steps in rectifying this lighting issue by heading to a couple of our local home improvement stores.  There are a variety of fixtures available, from track lighting to the more "traditional" vanity lighting and anything in-between. 

I'm lucky enough to be married to a guy who is a great do-it-yourselfer, with occasional help from other guys who have been there/done that 8 million times.  In fact, my spouse is such a good do-it-yourselfer that I often expect the impossible, according to him.

He'd rather not have to rewire the bathroom to accommodate separate lighting over each sink.

I'd rather that he did, though I'm not adverse to track lighting, which could be mounted where the original electrical box is located, in the ceiling.  With track lighting, you could aim the lighting wherever you want it, unlike with "fixed" fixtures.  Although I do wonder what's up with the track lighting that requires halogen lights.  What? I don't want my body's faults to be highlighted quite that much, thank you: I don't need the equivalent of a car's headlights hanging up in my bathroom, no matter how dainty the fixture may be.

I jokingly suggested a classy looking, silver chandelier.  My husband took this suggestion seriously, but worried it wouldn't shed enough light in the bathroom. 

I'm thinking we should just opt for candles, and I'll give up ever being able to see all of my body's flaws.  Lights with a downward facing shade are often remniscent of cheap, 1960s movie spaceships, much like the dining room light in our first house. Can you say, "The Jetsons"? (see above photo for that gorgeous dining room fixture)

It did coordinate nicely with the entryway lights, though (see right).

Now, isn't that truly hideous?  It was a wonderful day, indeed, when those outdated, cigarette-smoke stained, paper-shaded objects hit the road in favor of brighter, updated lighting.

Some day soon, we'll solve the wiring/bathroom lighting problem. We might end up with track lighting, if we can find a suitable style, or we might end up with a re-wired bathroom and lights over each sink.  I suspect that once the project begins, as is inevitable, one thing will lead to another and much of the bathroom will require renovating.  I'll keep you posted, either way. 

February Flurries

If you can't tell by the nonsensical title, this is another post with topics that in no way relate to each other. 

So - here you go, O faithful readers.

• Why are people compelled to complain about their spouses/significant others? A little ribbing can be fun, as long as the other person has a sense of humor and the comments aren't vicious.  One person was recently overheard to remark, "Well, if you were married to my spouse, you'd make it a point to have a zillion things to do away from home, too."  Uh. Ok - I'm really not sure if you're joking.  Sure, there are things that annoy us about the people we live cheek to jowl with, but it should be worth the effort to not share those things with everyone under the sun.  I've only met one couple who has been successful with this, and I really admire that I've never heard either one say an unkind thing about the other in the presence of other people.
• I really don't mind when it snows, despite my complaints about the cold and the shoveling.  Shoveling is good exercise, as long as it isn't twelve inches of the heavy, wet stuff.  It does frustrate me when the neighborhood isn't plowed out that same day, though.  Yes, yes, yes . . . the main roads and the fire department routes/hospital areas/etc. are priorities.  I have a suspicion though, that our road crew mucky-mucks are thinking since they've had to make cuts (like everyone else) and they don't always get millages passed that they won't kick in for overtime or plow any more than necessary.  So imagine my surprise when the day after a snowstorm, our street was plowed by 2:30 p.m.  Last year, we were lucky to see a snowplow three days after a storm.  Last year, someone took pity on our street and used their own pick-up truck snowplow to take a swipe down the middle of the road.  Hooray, and thank you, Good Samaratin.
• P.S. Road crews, we really do appreciate you.  It's just that all of us think we should be at the top of that priority list, after the main roads, etc. are taken care of.
• It was refreshing, too, to see a cluster of neighborhood boys out playing in the snow after our big storm this week.  It brought back memories of when I was a kid, and we had snow days.  "GO OUTSIDE," my mother would say after endless rounds of "I'm bored," or bickering, amongst us kids. Bundled up, we'd head down to the neighbor kids' house, and whether we were outside for 15 minutes or 2 hours, it was time well spent.  Snow forts, snowball fights, sled rides, snow angels, snowmen. Shoveling, too, when we were older.  Refreshed and slightly worn out, we'd head back indoors for hot chocolate and to toss the snowpants in the dryer for the next bout of outdoor play.  Today, though, it seems that kids are too fragile (*snort) for outdoor play at any time of year, and it really was nice to see that some parents still believe in tossing the kids outdoors for (gasp) FRESH AIR.
• I think, to a large degree, we are responsible for our own happiness.  Sure - having more money, or owning your own home, or having a decent, loving relationship can definitely contribute to one's personal happiness.  Regardless, I do believe that this theory does not mean that everyone can just say what they want, carte blanche, and run roughshod over other people's feelings simply because, "Well, I'M not responsible for EVERYONE ELSE'S happiness."  No, you aren't responsible for everyone else's happiness - but you certainly can be held responsible for other's UNhappiness by thoughtless comments and actions.  Nobody's perfect, and we all say and do things at times that we come to regret, later. If you find yourself in that situation, try to make it right and apologize.  You might be surprised how much that can contribute to your own happiness.
• It's a blanket statement, but I think that men are sick and tired of Valentine's day.  Sweetest day, and any "day" in-between that seems to require gift-giving.  My husband observed the other night, as every channel was airing commercials for jewelry store purchases for the Valentine in your life, "It seems like every six weeks there's a holiday of some sort that I'm supposed to go shopping for."  He started to tick off the number of birthdays so far this year. I told him birthdays didn't count, but he could count anything else he wanted.  Many people feel that Sweetest Day, Father & Mother's Day, Grandparent's Day, and Valentine's Day are nothing more than "greeting card holidays" sponsored by the greeting card, jeweler, and florist industry.  I hate to say "bah humbug," but I hope our parents haven't missed the showering of greeting cards on grandparents day the last several years.
• What is it with the cost of kitchen utensils these days? I choose not to purchase things like soup ladles, cheese graters and can openers, etc. at dollar stores, but lately I'm tempted to change my mind.  I'm in need of a decent whisk - and I'm finding them starting at $12.00 at my local Meijer.  What's up with that?  Spoons and spatulas are just as bad, and I cringe at the thought of ever purchasing a much-desired flour-sifter.  I might have to take out a personal loan, for pete's sake.  And, why on earth did I have to go to the baby department to find a bottle brush? Doesn't Meijer, or manufacturers of such items, think that people without children ever wish to clean a bottle (or thermos) and have need of a bottle brush? The one I ended up with is a lovely apple green color, but is far too big around to fit in the thermos that needs scrubbing.  Where is a regular-sized bottle brush? I don't even think this model would fit in a regular-sized baby bottle (think the "traditional" bottle size).  Kitchen gadgets of the normal ilk shouldn't cost an arm and a leg.  Why on earth does a kitchen spatula have to cost $8.00?  I just want something to flip pancakes that won't scratch my teflon pans or be rusty after a few trips through the dishwasher.  I'd just like a whisk to replace the old, skanky one that gave up the ghost a few weeks ago.  Is it too much to ask?  Apparently. 

Well, that's about all the miscellany I can come up with for one evening.  Enjoy your February wherever you are, and rest assured that groundhogs aside, spring will show itself one day soon.

I may deserve a break today, but it won't be with the McDonald's menu item

On a different note, am I the only one in the world who thinks that the new McDonald's snack wrap

resembles dog turds resting on a bed of lettuce? The commercial shows what is supposed to be succulent bits of beef tumbling through the air to land on a cozy bed of lettuce and cheese and what-not, inside a soft taco shell.

Upon first viewing of this commercial, I felt mildly repulsed and subsequent viewings have not improved the queasiness. However, I am compelled to keep watching in order to try and see just what is so attractive about smallish bits of ground round dreamily drifting through space.


No one in their right minds eats small bits of fried burger, unless it's in the shape of a meatball. This new snack wrap is just a little "off," in my opinion. It's like eating a hamburger, shaped like a hotdog, on a hotdog bun, simply because you forgot to buy the burger buns. You just can't do it - there's something psychologically disturbing about it.



To each his own, I suppose. I can't help but wonder if this new snack wrap will soon go the way of the McDLT.

Movie Mayhem

What else to do on a cold Saturday evening than accompany two pre-teen girls to the movies?  I was game.  If the snack of the day involves movie popcorn, I'm there with no complaints.

I didn't even care that the flick of choice was Avatar, previews of which I'd seen on t.v. and thought, "Meh. Great special effects, but I bet there's no story line."

That statement couldn't be farther from the truth. 

Suffice it to say that Avatar, even had it not been in 3-D, kept me on the edge of my seat (and dodging missiles) and enthralled for the entire length that it played.

But, I'm not going to give a glorious review of the film.  This review is about the audience. 

Saturday is still a big movie-going night in our community of about 30,000 people.  Unlike matinees, which tend to play only for fewer than twelve people, the evening shows are packed.  Avatar was no exception.  The girls and I arrived exactly fifteen minutes before show time, and spent exactly that much time in line for tickets and popcorn.  We missed the previews of other films, and entered the darkened theatre just in time for all the mannerly reminders like "turn off your cell phone."

We were somewhat dismayed that there didn't appear to be any seats that were readily available, unless you wanted to crawl over half an aisle of people and claim the lone seat in the middle of a section.

Each apparently empty seat we spied ended up being full of coats and shopping bags.

Finally, I spied two seats that were together, one of which held coats.  I was able to get the attention of the man sitting near the coats, and asked if the seat was taken.  Others around him tapped him on the shoulder to direct him to me, and he graciously moved the coats so my daughter and her friend could sit down.  On the other side of them were a young boy and his grandmother, so I figured my girls would be safe for the duration of the film.

Now, to find a seat for me. 

A helpful patron pointed to a seat in front of my girls and said, "There's a seat, here."  The woman sitting next to the seat looked at me, then looked down at the seat which contained a pile of coats, which were not visible to the helpful patron, and muttered, "Not REALLY."

OH KAY THEN.

I ended up in the back, next to a grandpa and his grandson, and this was fine because my girls were in view of me during the show, and plus I wasn't embarrassing them by sitting right with them.

See, they're at that age where having a mom hang out is potentially embarrassing and stems the free-flow of conversation.

I couldn't help but wonder though: O Movie Patrons! Where art thine manners?  Left, rolling in the muck of the hogpen, mayhap?

Yeah. Definitely.

• If the theatre is not crowded, by all means toss your bulky items into a seat nearby and enjoy the show with hands unencumbered by anything but popcorn and a beverage.
• But, if you notice the theatre is rapidly filling up, then keep your items, bulky or not, to yourself so that other patrons who paid the same ticket price you did may have a seat and be spared the . . . embarrassment? inconvenience? necessity? . . . of having to ask, "Is this seat taken?"

Sure, other patrons might respond, but I'm only gonna do this if you show up well ahead of time because any fool knows that for a Saturday night show - you gotta get there at least 30 minutes beforehand so you get a seat, and you inability to plan ahead isn't my problem.

Point taken.

However, there is such a thing called courtesy, which obviously is not so common anymore amongst the masses.

Common courtesy would suggest, if you see someone searching for a place to sit down, that you remove your belongings from available seating.

I was far from being the only patron having this difficulty, too, but I was relieved to see that people were not resorting to sitting on the steps of the theatre in order to watch the show.  It was tempting to find an usher, though they tend to have absolutely no authority when it comes to shushing patrons or any other such duties.

I felt like I was back in 7th grade again, as that movie-goer looked me up and down, perhaps to assess the amount I spent on my clothing, perhaps checking to see if I wore make-up, or had a grody hairstyle (every day is a bad hair day), all assessable in the dark with her far-superior ex-ray vision, just so she could mutter dismissively, "Not REALLY," and turn back to her tub of popcorn.

Anyone who has children reading this and who objects to strong language may want to send the children out of the room and out of view of the computer screen.

Well, screw you, you bitch of over-inflated self-importance.  I might be lacking manners by even responding to your rudeness and calling you all manner of nasty and offensive names, but at least my mama raised me better than to leave anybody, regardless of age, race, color or creed, standing in the aisle of a movie theatre simply because I couldn't be bothered to remove my belongings from an empty seat.

So, you over-indulged white trash bimbo, you can take your pile of 3-piece Valentine corsets from Spencer's Gifts that you'll never be able to cram your self-righteous ass into anyway and stick it all where the sun doesn't shine.

Okay, tirade over.  Children may now re-enter the room.

For the cost of a mere  twenty-five cents, a locker can be had for storage.  The lockers happen to be in the mall, and conveniently adjacent to the movie theatre - perhaps a few yards less than a football field's length away.  Of course, I wouldn't expect a selfish cretin to understand that there are other options available beyond rudeness.  Silly me.