The Delightful Life of a Suicide Pilot by Colin Cotterill: A review

This is another series I have avidly followed over the years. Dr. Siri, the one-time state coroner, now retired, of Laos, has been a delightful companion through all the previous fourteen books of the series, but now the author and publisher tell us number fifteen will be the last. I'm thinking that is probably a good thing. This one seemed a bit stale and the plot is basically the same one that has served the author well throughout the series, but perhaps it is time to give it a rest.

It is 1981 and Laos is still struggling to make a go of its newly installed socialist government. That was the revolution that Siri and his best friend Civilai and his now-wife Madame Daeng had supported and fought for during all the years of the struggle. But their victory has been bittersweet. Corruption is rampant in the new government and it has not brought the succor and relief to the ordinary citizens of the country that the revolutionaries had once dreamed of.

Now, both Siri and the twentieth century are in their eighties. Although he did finally manage to retire from his position as coroner, he still visits the morgue regularly and maintains an interest in what goes on there. And he spends his days helping Madame Daeng in her noodle shop, where the best noodles in Vientiane are sold. But his friend Civilai is dead and he feels that loss keenly. He no longer has anyone to sit with him on his favorite log by the Mekong and eat lunch while sharing the latest gossip.

Regardless of his age and the aches and pains that go along with it, Siri's appetite for life and adventure remains high, so when he receives a strange bilingual diary, half in Japanese and half in Lao, he is intrigued and he is determined to discover who sent it to him and why.

He is at a disadvantage because he cannot read Japanese and doesn't have easy access to anyone who can translate, but he soldiers on reading the parts he can understand to Madame Daeng each night. Most mysteriously, there was a note attached to the diary that said, "Dr. Siri, we need your help most urgently." There is no name or return address. "We" remain anonymous.

It becomes apparent that the diary was written during World War II, evidently by a Japanese soldier stationed in Laos. Siri discovers that the author was a kamikaze pilot and that he was in charge of a salvage operation in the town of Thakhek. With the help of his friend police chief Phosy, he finagles a ride to Thakhek, along with Madame Daeng, to investigate further.

While he and Madame Daeng travel to Thakhek, Phosy and one of his officers go to Vang Vieng to search for another officer who had disappeared there when he was sent to interview a woman. Soon Phosy and both of his officers find themselves in a world of trouble and their prospects for extricating themselves do not look good.

Meanwhile, in Thakhek, Siri and Madame Daeng have uncovered more than they bargained for, including a likely hub for human trafficking. We know, of course, that in the end Siri will solve all the mysteries and bring justice to those deprived of it. The story of how he gets there is, as always, filled with humor and Cotterill's light touch. If only we had a humane Dr. Siri to solve all our puzzles and bring justice in real life.

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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