Throwback Thursday’s Book Review: The Wreck of the Mary Deare by Hammond Innes

Throwback Thursday’s Book Review: The Wreck of the Mary Deare by Hammond Innes (published 1956)

I’ll read just about anything, so I’ll still plow through older books resolutely, even if they are a little more on the archaic side, unless they are so dated (*cough* sexist) that it’s hard to even read, much less finish.

*spoilers ahead*

To my surprise, The Wreck of the Mary Deare was a fantastic read. A little tropish characterization with at least one of the women in the story, but not anywhere close to as bad as my own bias led me to suspect. Probably better than some films and books we have even today.

In general, the author was fairly balanced with his depiction of women for the time in which the book was written. One of the directors of the shipping/trading company was a woman (if I’m remembering my history correctly, not so unusual), and she was called as an “important witness” to give expert testimony in the book’s pivotal court case. Of course, (or, even better!) she was not only knowledgeable and informed, but also devious and corrupt, and was an active agent in the company’s scheme to commit insurance fraud.

The book was just so well put together with its writing style that it holds its appeal even in 2021 (almost seventy years later). It’s exciting, suspenseful, and even spooky at times in its imagery and set-up to the climatic events of the book. It reads like a true-life adventure, but I didn’t realise until after I finished the book as to why–it had to have been based on the real-life events surrounding the Mary Celeste and her mysterious fate. (The Wreck of the Mary Deare was also made into a movie.)

My favourite line from the book? I’m glad you asked!

“He was a seaman. He was used to boats, not to the sea itself as an element in which to exist…”

And the ending is very…satisfactory!

1247535

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1247535.The_Wreck_Of_The_Mary_Deare

Symbolic Sunday and Rabbits, Rabbits Everywhere (in reviews)…

*book spoiler alert*

I finished reading Jessica McHugh’s Rabbits in the Garden last night. (https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/10504227-rabbits-in-the-garden)

The last thing I would want to do is spoil this book for other readers.

But I can’t not talk about at least a little fluffy bit of it.

Generally, I run from anything where animals are in agony. I still have this mental image of the poor kitten in one of…Poul Anderson’s?…book, I believe. I read it when I was somewhere between ten and twelve.

But I couldn’t not continue to read this book.

It’s Harry Potter for adult women.

Wonderfully, painfully, heartbreakingly thrilling horror.

It’s amazing.

After I finished Rabbits in the Garden, I wanted fall asleep with it cuddled in my arms. But I’m a book nerd, and I didn’t want the pages to get bent. So I didn’t. But I wish I had. Because I had a non-Rabbits-in-the-Garden-inspired nightmare.

It’s a horror book, but I found so much solace within the pages. Light-in-the-darkness, beacon-of-hope, life-put-right kind of solace. It’s a terrifying read, but so dang beautiful as well.

I took this book to heart, symbolically speaking.

I’ve been downsizing my books, but this one I won’t let go of for a while, if ever. Maybe I’ll even re-read it tonight, and fall asleep with it as my pillow as I bask in the aftermath glow of the book’s ending.

Check out Jessica McHugh’s blog here: https://mchughniverse.wordpress.com/.

The Myth of Humanity…

 

I dreamed last night that I owned a casino in South America and, to make things short, I was standing by a jungle river. This fellow that had been splashing around pulled a river dolphin into the shallows, where it (the dolphin) just floated about calmly. The guy got out of the river and, as he passed me, said “Keep an eye on it for me; I’m just going to my truck to get my tools. One blow to the head is all it takes, though, and I’ll have enough meat for me and my family all year.”

I stood there for a minute in the dream, watching the dolphin gently rest in the stagnant shallows at the river’s edge.

Then I acted.

I plunged into the river despite my fancy casino owner’s attire, and pushed the dolphin back into the river’s current. I stood there watching the dolphin swim downstream, and hoped it would be gone before the man came back. 

The man returned with his dolphin-killing club, and he angrily yelled to me from the bank, “Well, someone else downstream is just gonna capture it and kill it. So you didn’t save it at all.”

And I woke myself up out of the dream.

But for most of the morning (and even more than usual as of late) I’ve been musing on the reality of human nature.

And on the kind of human I really want to be, especially when aided by a perhaps typical mid-life transition experience.

Not that there’s any time for self-reflection and navel-gazing. The time to act is now (Actually, the time to act was many years ago…1960s? way before?), in regards to changing our attitudes to animals. To trees. To plants.

It’s time for humanity to be the one to make sacrifices. Dietary sacrifices, livespace sacrifices, personal-possessions sacrifices, mental and emotional sacrifices; to simply just let nature have center stage and top billing for once.

Because humanity in general hasn’t really been all that great in the past.

If you want to debate this, then I suggest you pick up the book I’m reading now: Sea of Slaughter by Farley Mowat. (https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/291180.Sea_of_Slaughter) Then, maybe, we’ll talk. Or join forces and act, instead.

It’s why, I suppose, I like books in the crime/thriller/horror genre. Because it’s literature that’s often stripped of a rose-coloured view of humanity. There’s minimal illusion there. Human nature is revealed for what it often is–dark, twisted, sadistic, and cruel. It’s unapologetic, most times. (I’ve seen this cruelty firsthand in my years as an animal rescue volunteer and wildlife rehabber.)

Human nature such as in the book I just finished.

It’s One by One by Yawatta Hosby. (https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18096817-one-by-one) A spooky, unrelentingly dark, twisted-mind story that takes you to a lakeside cabin deep in the backwoods of Virginia. Because what better place for humanity’s inner, and outer, demons to emerge than in a tragedy-ridden log cabin?

And, as for me, as one of too-many humans on this crowded planet, I hope to get better in the New Year.

Downsize my books.

Peel away society’s layers to get to the core of my true self.

Continue to transition to a vegan diet (Thanks for the inspiration, motivation, and recipes, Veganuary! Veganuary | Home | The Go Vegan 31 Day Challenge).

Read more, and watch less. And streamline my social media time.

Get a book published.

Find a place in the world where I can live in more direct connection, and in harmony, with nature.

And, in trying to come to terms with my own fallible human nature, I turned to the Satanic Temple, of which I am now a member. The Satanic Temple – Official website

What scary life changes do you have planned for the New Year, and the so-termed by some Age of Aquarius?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Six Degrees of…Neighbours!

A festive winter season to all!

If there’s magic of the season floating about, I hope it finds you!

And me…to be honest.

If I were to make a holiday wish, it would be to live surrounded by nature, with a whole lot trees and flowers and animals and plants and insects for neighbours. And lots and lots of unkempt ‘weeds’ and brambles and thickets.

That was one of the hard things I found about the place where I lived before. When I first moved to New Mexico, I expected it to be the wild and untouched vista you see on TV. It’s the desert, I assumed in my naivety, who landscapes the desert? I thought it was going to be a much-welcomed vacation from leaf blowers and weed whackers and the suburban mania for perfect lawns/landscaping that was characteristic of Florida.

New Mexico wasn’t my ideal locale, but the spot that I lived was quiet and peaceful and there was even a creek close enough to make things a little green to ameliorate the brown upon brown upon brown landscape. And a beautiful meadow full of flowers and lovely waving grasses and even deer. It was like right out of Bambi. But, sadly, it didn’t last long. Soon the meadow fell to the weekly weed whackers and not only was the peace ruined by the drone of leaf blowers but there were pesticides being sprayed to the extent that, one day, a worker in a white hazmat suit with a hose attached to a truck was dousing everything in sight. 

Ugh. 

(Yes, there’s a point to this story. And not just me characteristically kvetching on Christmas Eve. Keep reading!)

And don’t get me started on the snooping around and the internet sabotage and lots of other weirdness going on.

So, when I begun Good Neighbors* by Sarah Langan, I didn’t have any idea what I was getting myself into. That I was going to be immersed in a chilling thriller that was uncomfortably and yet wonderfully-spooky close to home.

Of course, Sarah Langan’s Maple Street suburban community takes things to a horrifying extreme after an equally terrifying and tragic event, but the seeds were there. Tiny little mowed-to-an-inch-of-their-lives seedlings, but still, I would swear the mentality was the same. Or that my creative writer’s imagination decided it was going to believe as I clung to the pages of Langan’s book late at night. (I think this was the week I had a couple of nightmares, mind you.)

As a result, this was one of the creepiest books I’ve read in a while. I was both haunted by never-happened memories of suburbanites coming for me in full lethal force and it made me even more nervous about my move to a perfectly manicured residential complex.**

On top of that, I related so much to the Wilde family in the book, as one misfit to another.

A misfit dreaming of a place where I feel I belong. Where I fit. Where I’m safe and sound and have my happily ever after. Not just me, but for the wildling animals and trees and plants and insects and all other non-human life forms. Because they belonged here first.

That’s my magical winter season wish.

(*I believe I received this book from a Goodreads giveaway, but with all the craziness of the out-of-state move for internet and cell phone service and jobs, I lost track, unfortunately.)

(**The oddest part of all of this, is that within this landscaped, water-hungry, pesticide-reliant area I relocated to, I have not heard ONE leaf blower since I moved in. Or weed whacker, or lawnmower, or even apocalyptic-looking people in white hazmat suits spraying clouds of pesticides over every square inch of the compound. How’s that for irony?)

Oh, here’s the book link for Good Neighbors. Read it, even if you live in suburbia. It’s so good. (Especially if you need a break from all the “goodwill towards men”.) https://bookshop.org/books/good-neighbors-9781982144364/9781982144364

Now I’m going to go keep watch for any creepy, hostile neighbours. (Though I think the recent spate of earthquakes were a little more terrifying than obsessive suburbanites.) Let me know what you think about the book, if you read it!

And for more tragic ‘fun’ in the suburbs, you could always follow up your read with Penelope Spheeris’ Suburbia: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0086589/.