Death Without Company by Craig Johnson: A review

The last book I read was Celeste Ng's Little Fires Everywhere. Then I opened this book and read the first sentence: "They used fire, back in the day." I had to chuckle. What a segue! Perhaps I had been fated to read this book next.

That first sentence is spoken by a gravedigger, attempting to dig a hole in the middle of a Wyoming winter. He's referring to the practice of building a huge bonfire on top of the spot where a grave was to be dug in hopes of thawing out the ground enough to dig.

The gravedigger has a lot of miscellany about the disposal of earthly remains that he happily shares with Sheriff Walt Longmire of Absaroka County as he digs and Walt stands by watching and freezing. In fact, it is a constant irritating stream of information, until finally, Walt can stand it no longer.

"Jules?"

"Yep?"

I turned and looked down at him. "Do you ever shut up?"

He tipped his battered cowboy hat back on his head and took the final swig, still smiling. "Nope."

Like Jules, all the characters in Craig Johnson's books are never at a loss for words. Not for them the strong, silent Westerner stereotype. And the dialogues between these characters are a pure delight to read, often laugh-out-loud funny.

This is the second book in the series. I read the first only a few weeks ago and couldn't wait to continue with the next one. I think I may be falling in love with Craig Johnson/Walt Longmire.

The action in this book is only a few weeks after the ending of the first one. (The grave that Jules is trying to dig is for one of the leftover bodies of that book.) The case begins with the death of an elderly woman at the Durant Home for Assisted Living. The death appears to be from natural causes, but the former sheriff of Absaroka County who is a resident at the home insists that it is murder and Walt decides to take a closer look.

An autopsy reveals that the old sheriff was right; the woman was poisoned.

The victim's name was Mari Baroja and she was Basque. Looking into her history in search of a possible motive for her killing gives Walt a view into Basque customs. He also learns of an appalling history of domestic abuse which the woman endured from her violent husband. But in the early 1950s, while the former sheriff now in the assisted living home was in office, that husband disappeared, leaving Mari with three children to raise.

And raise them she did, although the oldest, her son, was killed in Vietnam. Her twin daughters and the son's daughter survive her. Now, Walt finds that Mari's land has a methane drilling operation on it and the old woman in the Durant home was, in fact, a multi-millionaire. Reason enough perhaps for her descendants to wish to hasten her demise.

Of course, it's a lot more complicated than that, and soon the number of dead bodies is mounting and Mari's granddaughter is the victim of a vicious attack.

Never mind, Walt will sort it all out with the help of his friend Henry Standing Bear, his foul-mouthed deputy Vic Moretti, his brand new deputy Santiago Saizarbitoria, and assorted other friends and helpers.

One thing is for sure: Walt Longmire will never be "without company."

My rating: 4 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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