That mighty heart lying still.

One of the arguments leveled against book reviewing bloggers is the tendency of some to let their own personal experiences play into their reviews, rendering any pretense of objectivity suspect. I can see the validity of such an argument, although I think it makes too much of an assumption that Internet commentary ought to be answerable to the same standards as traditional media--and that's an argument that I'm not about to wade into. Still, I wanted to make the point that my strong reaction Chris Faust's lovely Nocturnes wasn't due as much to the artistic quality of the photos (formidable, by any estimation), but to the sense of being reminded of images so closely associated with the landscapes that I grew up with.

Faust in a Saint Paul based photographer, and the majority of the images here are from Minnesota, Ontario and Wisconsin. He also ranges as far afield as Tennessee, Arizona and Oregon. But as the title implies, the common thread is panoramic night scenes, capturing the landscapes with classic photographic techniques. He uses no digital manipulation of the images, instead relying on very long exposures, careful composition, and considerable darkroom tweeking.

The results are extraordinarily startling. The surface of Lake Superior becomes a burnished mirror, the familiar Duluth breakwater errily suspended above its own reflection. Ice encased freighters moored for the winter have a monumental potency about them. One image of the Duluth docks looks more like a vista along the ancient Nile than the gritty Iron Range. Especially for me, the photos of downtown Minneapolis capture the sense of crackling energy frozen in one vital moment. It's not so much a piece of artwork as a sensation, captured and preserved.

The book includes an essay by former Walker Art Center curator Joan Rothfuss, and most photographs have brief commentaries included in an appendix. Published by the University of Minnesota Press, the images do have a little unevenness of quality in a few--not surprising for a collection of tritones. Presented with a minimum of commentary in the actual collection, the artwork speaks brilliantly for itself.

Pithy Verdict: Extraordinary art that capture more than just the image.

Frosty's been iced.

I'm a sucker for macabre twists, so it was just a matter of time before I picked up Snow Blind, P. J. Tracy's procedural set in the frigid expanses of rural Minnesota. The twist to this mystery lies in the method by which the killer(s) go about disposing of their victims. In suitable cold weather fashion, they encase their victims in snowmen, complete with carrot noses. Needless to say, I was intrigued.

The story has some fairly formulaic touches: the detectives are cranky veterans who are leary of venturing beyond their Minneapolis haunts and a rookie sheriff finds herself facing down dangerous criminals before she's even figured out how to get to her own headquarters. The pace is typical thriller, moving at a fast pace and zooming between character perspectives. But most of the story is told from the perspective of Detectives Magozzi and Rolseth of the MPD, and their newbie colleague in Dundas County, Iris Rikker. When a snowman appears in the rural northern county, Magozzi and Rolseth find that all clues seem to lead to the Bitterroot Corporation, a front for an abused women's shelter. While trying to unearth the motives behind the murders, Sheriff Rikker makes some unpleasant discoveries that suggest the mysteries behind the snowmen murders has a much longer history than anyone could have imagined. Snow Blind is a fast read (it took me two working days to blow through it), and it's not wanting for plot turns. Astute readers will probably figure out the ending, but Tracy (in reality a pseudonym for a mother-daughter writing team) wisely creates an ending worthy of the topics surrounding the mystery.

I did have one complaint about Snow Blind, however. This is a Monkeewrench novel, named after the computer security firm that Magozzi and Rolseth enlist to hack into websites for clues. I've never read any of the other Monkeewrench titles, which I didn't think would be an issue as the novels all seemed standalone. In retrospect, I probably should have started with the first title which might have given a little more background. Otherwise, I was rather lost on the first few sections in Snow Blind dealing with previously established characters. On the whole, Snow Blind, while mostly sticking to formula does that formula quite well, providing the excitement that whodunits should.

Short and (sometimes) sweet stories of the heartland.

If it were not for an article published in the Star Tribune last year, I would have had no inkling that a small film called Sweet Land had recently been filmed in the rural streatches of western Minnesota. And if not for seeing the movie, I would have missed Will Weaver's 1989 collection of stories, the title story "A Gravestone Made of Wheat," being the inspiration for the screenplay. I just love it when coincidences all lead to an author that I had almost forgotten, and find a satisfying read in the process.

The stories in A Gravestone Made of Wheat and Other Stories all have connections to the small farming communities of the Midwest, particularly Weaver's home state Minnesota. Weaver's sense of the pull the land has on the Midwestern psyche is pitch perfect in his writing, creating characters that react to their various situations in ways that ring true. In the title story, elderly Olaf's intention to bury his wife Inge on their farm despite the objections of the local sheriff echoes the quiet determination and dignity the young couple faced when postwar prejudices led to snub Inge because of her German birth. With "The Bread-Truck Driver," Weaver creates a humorous take on a delivery man intent on wooing the bored wives of northern Minnesota's lake country, and "The Cowman" gave me a chill when I read the depiction of a marriage breaking under the strain of farming responsibilities. A few stories left me cold: "Heart of the Fields" never captured my interest, "Blood Pressure" was simply strange and "The Undeclared Major" was unremarkable in style and plot.

But in addition to the title story, I was taken with the final story, "You Are What You Drive." Following the ownership of a particular black Buick, the story reveals the cyclical pull of the seasons, life and relationships in a small town. It was a good close to a collection of solid, if not revolutionary writing, but satisfying none the less. Weaver has also released another collection of stories including some from Gravestone and newer publications, which I'll probably pick up soon. And the film is definitely worth checking out, a sincere and beautifully filmed portrait of Minnesota in the 1920s. One good film, a good read and the prospect of another enjoyable collection: not bad for one newspaper article.

The Seedy Side of the Cities

Mention Minnesota to most Americans, and the concept of "Minnesota nice" often springs to mind, along with mosquitoes, languid evenings at The Lake and the 'aw-shucks' wholesomeness of A Prairie Home Companion. Editors Julie Schaper and Steven Horwitz do their best to dispel this notion of the North Star State with their collection Twin Cities Noir. Part of Akashic Books' series of noir anthologies centered on various locales, Twin Cities Noir features familiar metropolitan landmarks and occasional episodes from Minneapolis/St. Paul history, often with a tinge of Midwestern dry humor (or fatalism, if you're a Lutheran). So Schaper and Horwitz give us bodies bobbing in the Mississippi ("Bums" by William Kent Krueger), a snow emergency that turns explosive ("Noir Neige" by K. J. Erickson), the uneasy transition to American culture faced by Hmong immigrants (David Housewright's "Mai-Nu's Window") and the gangsters who found sanctuary in Depression-era St. Paul ("If You Harm Us" by Gary Bush), among others.

Authored by Minnesotans from varying publishing backgrounds, the collection is a bit uneven in quality and 'noirishness.' A few stories climaxed into bona fide cliffhangers, but others seemed strangely lackluster or predictable. Perhaps the limitations of the genre and form are partly to blame for this, but there's no harm in skipping over stories that don't appeal, as each entry stands on its own. Like other titles in the series, Twin Cities Noir will primarily draw those who call the Cities home; noir fans will appreciate a setting away from the usual noir scene, with shady characters that you wouldn't want to see walking the streets of Lake Wobegone.

Third time through...

I'm back in my native state, and for the occassion I thought I'd tackle a work by its most famous native author, F. Scott Fitzgerald. Well, actually the decision had more to do with the availablity of books while I was in the process of moving. For the week or so that I was in the nether world of being without official proof of residence I was also cut off from getting a library card, and thus had to rely on my own store of whatever's not currently boxed up. So, having already done the tenth-grade ritual of reading The Great Gatsby, I turned instead to Fitzgerald's 1934 novel, Tender Is The Night. In all honesty, I was a little skeptical that I would get through it, as I'd tried to complete it a few times in the seven or so years that it's been sitting on my shelf. Apparently all I needed to get through was to be jobless. Not the best way I'd like to get through some of the classics, but it worked in this case at least.

Written nine years after Gatsby, Tender Is The Night carries many of the same themes of the earlier book, but it seems much more of a personal book. The story centers on the decline of psychatrist Dick Diver, struggling to maintain his identity in the face of his wife Nicole's schizophrenia and wealth. That Fitzgerald's wife Zelda was undergoing treatment for the same illness at the time leads many to the conclusion that the novel is autobiographical. Whether or not this is the case, Tender Is The Night has a more personal feel than Gatsby. I can't say that I liked the later novel more than Gatsby--the earlier book had as much coolly beautiful prose with a little more plot--but Tender has a wistfulness that is lovely in its own way. Fitzgerald's writing is timeless, and for those who enjoy taking their time through well-developed characters and gorgeous prose will find it one of those classics that will reward the effort.