Sunday, July 28, 2019

18. Meaning to . . .

Speaking of Susan Sontag, as I sort of was in the entry for Day 17, years ago a boyfriend-ish-at-the-time and I espied Susan Sontag in a theater lobby. I was impressed and excited, and my beau-ish—who was smart, rarely on the same wavelength as I, and on this occasion uncharacteristically witty—said sotto voce, "Susan Sontag . . . I've been thinking about reading one of your books."

The comment is funny in itself but also encapsulates my life (or most everyone's lives?). Thinking about doing . . . .

The thinking about doing, or not being able to get started, includes the heroine of a mystery series I've been reading. Lane Winslow, former spy in World War II, leaves England for Western Canada in order to start a new life and to write. But in the books (I've gobble up the first and second in the series—which was recommended by a friend from dancing—and am on the third), the heroine is always thinking about writing, or has plenty of notebooks for her detective work because she hasn't used them for her own work. Of course, the author of the mystery series has been prolific (you can read Iona Wishaw's bio here) and has managed to complete a number of books, including this lovely series. The detective tales (new word to me: "cozy" for a detective tale) are from from Sontag but super delightful.

Covers of the first three books in the Lane Winslow series by Iona Wishaw (don't you love the way the heroine's name is similar to the author's?). A small design mystery: why is the height of each of the books different, getting progressively smaller book by book?

(for July 28, 2019)

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