A Cold Day in Paradise by Steve Hamilton: A review

Alex McKnight had been a police officer on the mean streets of Detroit. Fourteen years earlier the streets had proved especially mean for Alex and his partner. They had confronted a psycho in his home and the man had killed Alex's partner, Franklin, and had shot Alex three times. Doctors had removed two of the bullets, but the third bullet, lodged close to his heart, had proved impossible to remove. Alex has lived with that metal reminder in his body for all the years since.

The killer, a man named Maximilian Rose, was caught a year later and sent to prison where he has spent all the intervening years.

After the incident, Alex left the police department on a three-quarters disability pension and returned to his home town of Paradise on the Upper Peninsula, on the shores of Lake Superior. There he took over management of a number of hunters' cabins that had belonged to his now deceased father. He took care of the cabins and lived nearby in the woods in a tiny cabin of his own that he had helped his father build years earlier.

Alex made some friends in the community. One of them was a rich man named Edwin Fulton who had a compulsive gambling habit. Another very good "friend," at least for a while, was Edwin's wife Sylvia. Edwin never knew about their affair and often referred to Alex as his "best friend."

A local lawyer (the Fulton family lawyer) contacted Alex about becoming a private investigator and doing some work for him. After mulling it over, Alex agreed, and so that is how we come to have Alex McKnight, P.I.

One night Edwin calls Alex to come to a motel where he has discovered a dead body. The body turns out to be a local bookmaker to whom Edwin owed money. He had been shot and had his throat cut. There was blood everywhere which gave Alex a flashback to the scene when he and his partner were shot.

A few days later, another bookmaker is killed - another bookmaker to whom Edwin owed money. Do we sense a trend developing here?

Not long after that, Edwin falls off the wagon and goes gambling at local casinos. Alex is sent out to search for him. He doesn't find him but he and his lawyer-employer eventually find his car and a boat nearby on the lake that has blood on it. Meantime, a crazy letter is stuck to the door of Alex's cabin in the woods indicating that Edwin has been killed and that his body is at the bottom of the lake. It is signed "Rose." Hmmm...

Alex is convinced that Maximilian Rose is somehow behind the killings and the harassment that he is receiving; i.e., crazy letters stuck on his cabin door, red roses left at his doorstep and on the boat where Edwin's body was NOT found, and phone calls in the night. But Rose is still in state prison. Maybe Alex is the one who's crazy.

A Cold Day in Paradise was the first in this series by Steve Hamilton. He created a fairly likable character in Alex McKnight, but not necessarily the sharpest knife in the drawer. I figured out who was behind the mystery long before he did, although I admit that I got the motive wrong.

Hamilton's writing is very evocative. I've never been to the UP of Michigan, but after reading this book, I felt that I had been there. I think it must be a wildly beautiful place, but not necessarily a paradise.

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

Search This Blog