The Wrong Side of Goodbye by Michael Connelly: A review

Harry Bosch can be a grade A jerk at times and he continues to solidify that reputation in The Wrong Side of Goodbye. In this instance, where he is working as a part-time reserve officer for the police force in the small town of San Fernando, his jerkitude is shown by his refusal to abide by the rules of the department by signing in and out. Apparently, he does it for no better reason than that he doesn't like the captain and wants to irritate him. Yeah, he's a jerk.

His saving grace is that he is also an excellent and dedicated detective. He is driven to solve major crimes, especially murders, and to bring justice to "his" victims. He identifies with those victims and will never rest until those who have hurt them are behind bars or dead. Being a detective is who he is. It is part of his DNA.

So, it was a bit of a hiccup in his life when he finally had to irrevocably leave the LAPD. He was forced to retire for the second time and this time there is no going back because he sued the city for wrongfully forcing that retirement and won a big settlement. All of his bridges there were burned and he had to find some other outlet for his lifelong crusade to solve crimes and stop their perpetrators.

He didn't need to work, because, with his settlement, he's basically set for life, but he hung out his shingle as a private investigator and then was given the opportunity to work in the volunteer position as a reserve officer for the understaffed department in San Fernando. That gave him the right to carry a badge again and Harry Bosch feels naked without a badge.

In this twenty-first entry in the Harry Bosch series, we get to see Harry working both sides of the street.

In the police department, he's helping with the investigation of a serial rapist case, called the "Screen Cutter" case because that's how the rapist gains entry to the houses of his victims.

As a private investigator, Harry has been called to the home of a frail, elderly billionaire who is not long for this world and wants the detective to find out whether he has a possible blood heir.

It seems that when the man was a teenager he had a brief affair with a younger teenage girl and, when she became pregnant, his father forced him to give her up. She was Latina and not acceptable to the family as the mother of his child. He lost contact with her and never knew if she actually had the child. Now, facing the Grim Reaper, he is conscience-stricken at his cowardice and wants to find out what happened to her and to his putative child and to financially provide for them.

The billionaire's case brings up some associations in Bosch's past to his experiences in the Vietnam War, and part of the plot turns on pictures taken by a corpsman in that war; a corpsman who may or may not have been the billionaire's son. Harry doggedly follows the trail to its end, uncovering the family history as he goes.

Meantime, he's also urgently working the Screen Cutter case and its resolution leads to him being asked to come on board the SFPD as a full-time paid detective! Maybe now he'll sign in and out as required. Nah, probably not. He's still a jerk.

Michael Connelly does his usual excellent job of plotting; in this instance keeping the two cases separately on their tracks to resolution. It really is a masterful job of writing and is one of my favorites in this long series.

My rating: 5 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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