I'm running for President of the United States of America.
I need to begin with an admission: I had believed that you need to be born on U.S. soil to be eligible but I now know that's not true. If Ted Cruz is eligible, as a Cuban/Canadian/American, I realize that I am, too.
Also, if Ted Cruz is a viable candidate, I can be, too. I mean, seriously.
My qualifications:
As a prosecutor I have years of public service under my belt, and have accepted and executed the demands of this office with diligence and determination. Not executed literally, you understand, that's not my job.
As a former journalist I am up-to-date on current events and will be able to step into the White House and know what I'm talking about, be it the Russian invasion of Ukraine (and I know enough not to call it "the Ukraine"), climate change (and I know enough about science to accept this as fact), or the Keystone pipeline (ok, I don't know so much about that one).
As an author I wear tweed jackets and smoke a pipe occasionally. That is the perfect visual image of a President.
As an Englishman I will be able to take tea and play cricket with the English and Indian Prime Ministers. And continue to not take Australia seriously as a nation.
My political platforms:
Healthcare -- single payer system. I say make the Australians pay.
Gay marriage -- my wife would be most upset if I was in one. Kids would be kind of shocked, too. That said, I've noticed no detriment to my own vows or the fabric of society resulting from other people gay-marrying, so I'm all for it.
Military action overseas -- not really working out too well, so I say either (a) pull back the troops and reallocate money to make our own society more equal and just, or (b) invade a sleepy unprepared, and ultimately easy-to-conquer nation. May I suggest New Zealand? I know, you thought I was going to say Australia but that place is full of snakes, spiders, crocodiles, and wombats. And Australians. New Zealand is like the Canada of Australia, but warmer. And not as combative. An easy invasion followed by gentle walks in the sheep meadows. That's some foreign policy for you.
Climate change -- as a former ski instructor I'm a little miffed about this turn of events. And I hate the way sand gets in your sandwiches and crotch at the beach, so don't try and tell me that's a benefit. Consequently, I'm opposed to climate change. Plus, I feel bad for the penguins.
Taxes -- more. Locally and nationally. Although I'm in favor of alternatives like Uber. Oh, wait, you said "taxes" not "taxis." In that case, fewer taxes. And fewer tax dodgings (I'm looking at you, rich people; caveat: if I become rich, I will revisit this policy).
That's enough to get started on.
Oh, you're wondering which party I'm running with, Democrat or Republican. Answer: neither, which tells you that I have more self-respect and dignity than the vast majority of my opponents.
Vote for me?
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Monday, March 23, 2015
All books can matter. All of them.
A woman wrote to me recently, asking for a favor for her
dying father. She told me that he’s a fan of my books but is unlikely to be
around by the time the next one comes out, in June of this year. Her father,
Michael, is dying of liver cancer, and she hoped I might be able to get him an
early, pre-release copy of the book.
For those who don’t know, publishers do print advanced
review copies (ARCs), which are not fully edited but look pretty much like the
finished version. They are not usually handed out to readers, for obvious
reasons, but as you can imagine I was deeply touched by this request, and
immediately asked my publisher to send me an
ARC so I could sign it and send it to him. And a few days after mailing it
off, I received messages of thanks from Michael himself, his son, and two of his
daughters, just for doing this small thing. Oh and this photo.
(Michael, his daughter Sarah, and his grand-daughter Scout with an ARC of The Reluctant Matador.)
(Michael, his daughter Sarah, and his grand-daughter Scout with an ARC of The Reluctant Matador.)
What they didn’t know, couldn’t know, is that my own father
was taken by cancer not so long ago. He died just a few months before my first
book was published and so he never got to see it in print, hold it in his
hands. As result, I strongly disapprove of cancer, never more so than when it
separates parents from children and, in our shared circumstance, readers from
authors. This, then, was a small favor for me but a huge honor. And it set me
thinking about the way our books impact people in ways we can’t possibly know.
I write mystery novels, a series with an old-fashioned hero who operates in
London, Barcelona, and Paris. I don’t pretend to tackle important issues with
the books, I just try to tell a good tale and bring a few characters to life to
entertain my readers. And every week I hear from a reader or two, kind people
who take the time and trouble to write to me, either to say nice things or to
ask questions about the books. But I’ve never had a request like the one from
Michael Harmuth’s daughter.
You may know that there is forever a rumble in the world of
books, as authors and readers (but usually authors) take positions on the
relative merits of literary fiction versus genre fiction (which would include
crime, romance, sci-fi, horror, western, erotica, etc.). I don’t plan to rehash
those debates here—they aren’t hard to find elsewhere—but the basic argument is
that literary fiction tackles important ideas with beautiful and moving
language whereas genre fiction is more about what happens, about entertainment.
My own view is that there is no real distinction, just a
large palette of a thousand colors that includes all writers, styles, and
subjects. Within my own genre, crime fiction, we have Tana French, Jamie Mason,
Laura Lippman, and a host of others writing novels that are literary in tone
and style, and are still crime novels. They spatter blood over those literary
v. genre distinctions and stuff them into body bags. I recently saw, and
endorse, the opinion that Pride and
Prejudice is a romance and Lonesome
Dove is a western. That The Time
Traveler’s Wife is science fiction and Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is horror. And isn’t To Kill a Mockingbird a crime novel?
But here’s the thing. Even if someone more articulate is
able to make a case for a line between literary and genre fiction, the truth is
that I’m happy to have pitched my tent where it now sits, in the genre camp.
And I know with certainty that my novels have had the kind of impact on at
least one person that any artist or writer could hope for. A kind, funny,
decent man wants to read just one more of them before he makes his way on to
his next adventure.
And there’s one more thing I can, and will, do for my new
friend and his family. He has in his hands book five in the series, The Reluctant Matador, which is set in
Barcelona. Most of the novels are set in Paris, so I know Michael has enjoyed
his visits there with my characters. The next in the series will again be in
the City of Light—and Michael will be there, too. With his blessing, Michael
Harmuth will be a character in my next book, maybe plotting mischief or perhaps
providing clues to the good guys. Either way, the next novel in the series will
be as important to him and his family as the others because every time they
pick it up, Michael’s children will be able to read about, and picture, their
father on the streets of Paris, as alive in their minds as he is today, and
having a damn good time with a few of the literary characters who have meant
something to him.
As a writer, I don’t set out to change the world or impart
large truths. But I’m more aware now that our books, all of them, have the
power to bring a little light into the lives of strangers, to give them
something to look forward to, and maybe hold on to. And, in at least one
instance, a chance to live on in a way that may be different, but a way that
means something to him and to me.
(Michael has his own blog, where he’s talked about his
“journey with cancer.” He calls it “Incurableme,” which tells you a lot about his strength
and sense of humor).
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