A Scandal in Brooklyn

A few years ago I read Lauren Wilkinson's novel American Spy, and loved it.  I've been waiting since then for something new from her, and now finally there is.  It's a short story, recently released as an Amazon original, called "A Scandal in Brooklyn".

As the title makes clear, we're in Sherlock Holmesian territory.  Except here Irene Adler is a contemporary Black woman in Brooklyn who is married to a tech billionaire.  Irene has Highly Superior Autobiographical Memory, a condition akin to photographic memory, and she uses it in Holmesian fashion when asked by a girlfriend of hers to look into what is going on with the friend's husband who has apparently volunteered for a weird and secretive experiment at a restricted virtual-reality compound, owned by Irene's husband, in Red Hook.

The narrator is a good friend of Irene's, a gay man named Tommy Diaz.  Once they all get inside the warehouse where the virtual reality experiment is taking place, the friend's husband winds up dead in a locked room. The cause of his demise? Anaphylaxis, and from, it seems, the sting of a virtual bee.

Though Irene and her husband are estranged, he sends her a text asking for her help in solving the crime.  A man who we see once only in hologram form, he believes the murder is the doing of competitors trying to damage his reputation.  Inside the compound as part of the experiment are a number of suspects, and Irene goes about questioning them, poking around.  Tommy helps her, in true sidekick fashion, and the clues lead to an elegant and logical solution.

The cast of characters is diverse, the writing sharp and fast.  "A Scandal in Brooklyn" makes for a diverting hour or so of reading, and I'd be happy to read more stories about these characters if Lauren Wilkinson writes them.  I'm glad she's back with something.

The Empty Nest Phase Begins

by
Scott D. Parker

I know we’re all here to talk about books and writing, but I experienced a momentous event this week: my son moved out of the house. My best recommendation on books this week is the publication of Jay Stringer’s two Marah Chase novels. I’ve already bought book 1, World War Zero.

On Wednesday, my twenty-year-old son moved out of our house and into his first apartment to continue his education in audio engineering. He’s an only child and this is the only house in which he’s lived, so I know it’s a big deal for him. But it’s also a big deal for my wife and I.

Because of Covid, he stayed home after high school and got all his basic courses out of the way, so my wife and I got two bonus years, a fact we cherished. We got two extra years many parents don’t get. They came at a terrible, pandemic-induced cost, but we three got them nonetheless.

As New Year’s Day 2022 dawned, we three knew this was going to be The Year. We had to find him a new school to attend and we did. Thankfully, it’s across Houston…you know, so an hour of driving. But it’s only an hour. We drove home after meeting with his professors with the certainty that this was where he wanted to go to school.

But he didn’t want to commute across town every day. So that left the obvious alternative.

We knew Move Out Day was coming for months, but it was on some ambiguous date. Then suddenly the date crystallized and we prepared: movers hired, boxes packed, and last moments here at the house with him as a resident. One of the things he and I did was a nightly walk where we’d talk about music or the future or moving out or anything.

Move Out Day arrived and most of the day was filled with work: staying out of the movers’ way, unpacking boxes, setting up his stuff in his new place, a trip to the grocery store, and the first meal in his apartment.

The busyness of work was therapeutic, but it was not without emotions. Little by little, his stuff was unpacked and arranged. I broke down boxes and carried them to the car. But there there were little moments that shocked the tears right out of my eyes, like when I opened his box of clothes and his smell permeated my nose. He caught me then, actually, when I didn’t respond to something he said. I just shrugged, smiled, and kept hanging up his clothes.

Then my wife and I had to leave, and nothing prepares you for that moment…or the moment you come home to your house and see and feel his absence. The next day, Thursday, was the first day of the new phase of our lives: waking, working, eating, and living in our house without our son with us.

I know this new normal will become easier, that we’ll smile at a memory of his time here and not tear up, but these first days are all about the waves of emotions that are triggered at the slightest stray thought or vacant chair.

As parents, we intellectually know our children are bound for adulthood, for moving out and making their own mark on the world just like we did. But when that moment comes, it knocks your breath away. It’s incredible how emotions work, how you can simultaneously have your heart swell with pride that he is moving on but also have that very same heart contain an empty space because of his absence that’ll never truly be filled again.

So I wanted to share this moment with everyone because it is the one all-consuming thing of this week. Besides, since I’ve been writing these columns for thirteen years, I feel like we’ve come to know each other.

I’ve started reading about how parents deal with the empty nest. I know there are some readers who have already dealt with this transition and new phase of life so I’d love to learn about those experiences.

Scenes from a Writer's Mind

Among the many films I thought of yesterday on hearing the news that David Warner died was the 1977 film Providence, directed by Alain Resnais.  I mention it here not only because I liked the film very much, but also because it's one of the best movies ever made about a writer and the creative workings of a writer's mind.

The writer is an aging and frequently drunk man named Clive (John Gielgud) who lives in a large and somewhat Gothic house in Providence, Rhode Island.  He is working on his new novel and a somewhat odd one it certainly is.  It involves a mercy killing, a trial, a dark forest, a macabre autopsy, and perhaps even a werewolf.  The characters in this story are based on Clive's family, specifically his illegitimate son Kevin (Warner), his son Claude (Dirk Bogarde), and Claude's wife (Ellen Burstyn).  Clearly, there is a lot of vitriol among these three and between each of the three individually and Clive.  Or is there?  How much of what we are seeing of these people/characters matches how they actually are and how much is Clive adding to and distorting their personalities to suit his creative needs?  Imagination, time, and memory all play a part in this complex weave, and the author Clive, as he creates, twists around, and recreates mental scenes involving these three people, has little but caustic commentary about them.  That commentary is quite funny, and much of what he composes in his mind is somewhat ridiculous...but, of course, isn't that how a writer's mind works when it is in that stage of free-flowing reverie?

In the second part of the film, which takes place the day after Clive's drunken imaginings, we see the actual family members he's been thinking of, and the view of them now is quite different.  But does what we see of them in this section, in the cold light of day, undo everything we learned about them before, when we saw them through Clive's mind?   

I didn't see Providence in the theaters when it opened, but I saw it maybe a year later in the late seventies when it was a staple, in regular rotation, on HBO.  And since then, from what I can tell, it has been difficult to find.  As of right now, it doesn't appear to be streaming anywhere, but there is a pretty good print of it you can watch on YouTube.  It's a film that got both acclaimed and lambasted by critics when it came out, which means nothing more than it's not to everyone's taste.  A couple of things are certain: it is not a film that is supposed to be naturalistic and the acting by all the principals reflects that.  That's especially true in the film's first part, but then again, isn't what we're seeing then how the people are behaving in the old drunken writer's imagination? 

Music by the great composer Miklos Rosza, a nod or two in its Gothic imagery to the specter of Providence himself, H.P. Lovecraft, and ultimately a moving look at a dying writer's fantasies and memories, his determination even as he fades to keep on making up stories.  It's just a superb movie, one that can keep revealing itself after one or two viewings, and it's a true writer's movie.  And in David Warner's career, it's yet another example of the actor's versatility and skill.