61 Hours by Lee Child: A review

Continuing with my Summer of Reading Mysteries, I picked up a Jack Reacher novel. As one who is dedicated to reading series books in order, I thought I was doing that, reading the fourth book in the series. Turns out this is actually the fourteenth book. Oops!

Oh, well. It didn't really seem to matter. The plot of this one did not depend on having read previous books. In fact, Lee Child managed to reprise information about Reacher's past and why he's on the road as a part of the plot, so no harm, no foul.

Reacher has paid the driver of a tour bus, out of Seattle, to come aboard with a church group of elderly citizens who have unaccountably decided to visit South Dakota in the dead of winter. That fact alone may be the most far-fetched part of this plot.

Before they can reach their destination, their bus swerves to miss a car in a fierce blizzard outside the little town of Bolton, and leaves the road, ending up in a ditch. There is no other traffic and no help in sight. In below zero temperatures and facing the possibility of freezing to death, they are able to get through to the police department in Bolton, but the police there are preoccupied with a murder that has just occurred.

One car with the deputy chief is sent to assess the situation. He takes the most severely injured back to town and sends a Department of Corrections bus for the others.

In Bolton, there is no room at any inn, so the citizens agree to take the elderly passengers and the bus driver in, while the deputy chief takes Reacher to his house for the night.

It turns out that Bolton is home to a prison and also to an old and mysterious government installation where a group of bikers have set up camp and apparently have a meth lab going. The police have recently arrested the head of the bikers group and a local retired teacher has agreed to be a witness against him - if they can keep her alive long enough. It seems that a diminutive Mexican drug lord who goes by the name Plato is sending a cold-blooded assassin to see that she never makes it to court.

Jack Reacher, of course, becomes involved in all of this and becomes a volunteer to help guard the woman who is to testify. At the same time, he calls on sources from the Army to try to find out more about the mysterious federal installation and ends up helping the Army find a fugitive. This part of the plot was truly beyond belief. Reacher made a few too many incredibly lucky guesses about the location of the fugitive.

Child manages to provide a little insight into Reacher's history through his introspective conversations with the witness he is guarding and with the Army major back in Virginia, the one who assists him and whom he assists in finding her fugitive. But he doesn't provide answers to the burning questions of why Reacher travels with no possessions, not even a toothbrush.

Really? Why aren't his teeth falling out by now? Why does he insist on throwing away his old possessions and buying new ones every few days? It all seems very wasteful and a bit sociopathic but a useful plot device, I suppose.

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

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

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