No one had any comments to make on my entry on anonymous comments. This makes me chuckle. I have scared you silent . . . or, quite possibly, no one but my mother reads my blog.
Not quite true. My friend Sylvia, the Hollywood actress, wants to know from Tuesday’s blog how it is I can read mystery books and watch Miss Marple marathons when I have issues with deep sadness. She raises this concern after learning that I watched the Memorial Day Concert on PBS and used an entire box of Kleenex watching the Iraq veteran who came home with half a head. Wouldn’t a murder mystery be deeply sad?
Thank you for asking, Sylive. What an interesting question.
I don’t know. I just can. I can also watch 48 Hours Mystery which is true life crime. Now that’s deeply sad.
I saw during the President’s introduction of her that the new candidate for the Supreme Court got interested in law reading Nancy Drew mysteries. I read my first Nancy Drew when I was 13. It was the first in the series, The Secret of Old Clock. Nancy needed to find the last will and testament of a dead neighbor. Where could it be? No one knows where to look. Where should we start?
I don’t know. How about the old clock? It’s right there in your title, Nancy.
I was disgusted and moved on to Trixie Belden. From there I went to Agatha Christie, Diane Mott Davidson, Margaret Truman, Jill Churchill . . . and now Elizabeth George (the murder mystery writer not the Bible Study lady, although she is good too.) Elizabeth doesn’t pull any punches. There are no winners in her books, just dead bodies and unhappy, dysfunctional families with senseless pain running amuck through each and every book.
I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t wait for the next one.