is alive and well! As an inveterate bookworm myself, I am grateful every day for the opportunity to tell stories of my own. Many, many thanks to those of you who have signed up for my newsletter, written reviews on Amazon and Goodreads, liked my Facebook page, or just reached out to say hello. I wouldn't be here without you!
If you love a book. . .pass it on!
public domain image courtesy wikimedia commons
Scout Finch utters these words at a turning point in To Kill a Mockingbird. It's a moment of recognition, understanding, and catharsis. After being disillusioned and saddened by the death of Tom Robinson, she and Jem are nearly victims of violence themselves. But the ghost she had feared as a little girl has turned into their savior and friend. When Boo appears at the Finch home, Scout sees him--literally and figuratively--for the first time.
Like the reclusive Boo Radley, Harper Lee fiercely guarded her privacy. She has said that the overwhelming response to Mockingbird "knocked her cold." She was a modest woman who thought she was telling a modest story, not one that would become ingrained in American culture--beloved, argued over, dissected, and taught for more than half a century.
I have taught To Kill a Mockingbird for 20 of the 25 years I spent in the classroom, and each time I found something new in the story. Like the gifts that Boo leaves in the old tree for Scout and Jem, Harper Lee has given us a story that symbolizes who she is. I feel her loss today as though she were a friend. As though I, in some way, knew her. But I realize it is only with her passing that we can know her. That we can finally say, "Hey, Nelle. Thank you for everything."
So often when friends and family read an author’s books—particularly one written in the first person—they make the assumption that the author and the narrator/main character are one and the same. When my mom read my first book, an unpublished romantic comedy, she learned that the main character’s dad had died, and that the young woman’s mother was dating a man who owned several car dealerships. As she was reading, she turned to my father with a satisfied air and said: “Hah! She’s killed you and given me a rich boyfriend.”
Um, no, Mom. That’s not how it works.
In interviews though, I am often asked how much of my own experience informs that of my main character, Victoria Rienzi. Like Victoria, I worked in Italian restaurants. I appreciate good food. I love the Jersey shore, listen to Bruce Springsteen and Frank Sinatra, and share her terror of boardwalk rides. But that’s about it. Here’s where my amateur sleuth and I part ways:
When I’m in the process of writing, however, in some ways, I become my narrator. I live inside her head, think her thoughts and feel her feelings. I get afraid when a suspect is on to her. I’m triumphant when she works out a piece of the mystery. And yes, I get a little vicarious thrill when those cute guys are fighting over me…I mean her.
But after I hit “save” and shut down that computer, the spell is broken. It’s something of a relief to go back to being Rosie, whose only puzzle to solve is the crossword and whose biggest mystery is that ever burning question: What am I going to make for dinner?
Last night on a visit with my sister and my best friend, we got our last taste of summer on the Seaside Heights boardwalk. Many of the stands were closed, but there were still people strolling and enjoying the last gasp of the season.
To me this shot captures the boardwalk perfectly, in all its honky-tonk glory. So as summer's heat gives way to autumn's chill, the boardwalk stands will close.
But there's always next summer, and that's the beauty of the Jersey Shore.
Those of us in the northeast--and in many other parts of the country, have been sweltering these last few days. If like me, you're having heat fatigue and can't eat one more meal from the grill, I hereby offer an easy solution: a lovely cold pasta dish featured in my current Italian Kitchen Mystery. And doesn't it look yum?
It's super easy and super tasty, a true make-and-go dish. Here's the recipe:
Cold Tomato Sauce with Arugula
This recipe makes more than enough “sauce” for a pound of pasta. It’s also good the next day as a cold pasta salad—add olives, cubed cheese, and chickpeas to add some variation.
--approximately 10 fresh plum tomatoes
--one 5 oz. package of fresh arugula or other hardy baby greens
--3/4-1 cup of olive oil
--1-2 cloves of garlic, depending on taste
--sea salt and freshly grated pepper to taste
1-Chop tomatoes, arugula, and garlic well; place in large bowl and mix thoroughly. At this stage, I season with two generous teaspoons of sea salt and several twists of the pepper grinder. Before serving, taste and adjust seasonings to preference.
2-Pour olive oil over the mixture. Let the mixture marinate for at least three hours, taking care to stir the mixture several times. The arugula will soften and sweeten in the oil and juices from the tomatoes. Here's how the marinate should look (and how gorgeous is that?):
3-Serve over hot pasta of your choice (I used the double twists known as gemelli) with a generous amount of grated Romano cheese.
Buon Appetito!
I was a college student when I was first introduced to Ross Poldark, as played by the wonderful Robin Ellis, and in the days long before DVR or even VHS tapes, I made sure I was in front of that television every Sunday night to watch Masterpiece Theatre's romantic saga set in Cornwall. When the first series ended, I plunged into the books by Winston Graham (all 12 of them!) and read them in order, following the loves and losses of Ross, Demelza and their children.
When I heard there was to be a new Poldark airing on Masterpiece, I was ambivalent--part of me was thrilled at the idea of visiting with those characters again, but another part of me wondered if anyone could live up to Robin Ellis and Angharad Rees as the main characters. I'm happy to report that I am enthralled with the new series. Its visuals are stunning, the score is lovely, and the acting is fine. And okay, Aidan Turner is mighty easy on the eyes:
Watching this series had made me miss the original though, and given me an even stronger hankering for a long overdue visit to Cornwall. . .
Even at my front door, where some enterprising robin has decided to build her nest at the top of my (fake) forsythia wreath:
My niece Eva stood on tip-toe with her phone to snap this lovely pic. (That blue could only occur in nature. Or perhaps on a bag from Tiffany.)
Hoping that moms and mom-figures everywhere are having a perfect day today!
With Easter comes a much-needed break (both from day and writer jobs) and the luxury of time to read for pleasure. Right now I'm 3/4 of the way through The Death of Lucy Kyte, by Nicola Upson, the latest in her series featuring Golden Age mystery writer Josephine Tey as her sleuth.
In this entry, Josephine inherits a mysterious cottage from a godmother she never knew. But the place has a checkered past, figuring prominently in a 19th century murder. There's also a secret diary, distrustful villagers, and a "ghost" who may turn out to be a flesh-and-blood murderer. It's spookily atmospheric (I actually had trouble sleeping last night) and a traditional mystery in the very best sense. Savoring these last few pages!
NEXT UP:
Can't wait to dig into this one--it's a prequel to the Ian Rutledge series, in which we get to meet Rutledge before he has to cope with the crippling effects of World War I. It will be fun to have a glimpse of his world in those last peaceful days. (But if I know the Todds, there will be shadows looming. . .)
I have spent much of my day today shopping for and preparing my family's recipe for Sunday Sauce, more properly a meat ragu that simmers for several hours, filling the house with a smell so familiar I can conjure it from memory.
What some families (but not ours!) call "gravy" is a dish with as many variations as there are people with vowels on the ends of their names. But what's common to all of us who make it is continuing a tradition that began with our grandmothers and great-grandmothers. My version usually contains meatballs, some form of pork, and either beef or a specialty meat like sausage or brasciole.
When I was young, Sunday meant the unmistakable scents of onion and garlic cooking as the base of my mom's sauce. When my boys were little, a big batch of sauce was an economy: once those containers were filled, they provided at least a dozen dinners for our family of five. And despite how fussy young children can be, my kids never turned up their noses at a meatball.
I make Sunday sauce infrequently these days, but spring break is upon us, and I'll soon have three young men to feed. So I took out the big stock pot, mixed up the meatballs, chopped the onion and garlic, and set it all to simmering on this chilly, rainy Sunday. In another hour or so, the flavors will be blended and the meat will be tender. When the kids arrive, they'll take one sniff and know they're home.
I saw first saw Moonstruck when it released 25 years ago and just adored it. While I am a sucker for romantic comedies of any type, what a joy it was to watch a film about Italians that did not involve guns, back room deals, or kisses of death planted on unsuspecting lips. (Unless you count Nicolas Cage catching Cher completely off-guard with that first smooch.)
I watched it again recently on Netflix, and to my utter and complete satisfaction, it still held up for me. I love that Cher's character, Loretta Castorini, is an older heroine. She's had one love in her life and approaches her engagement pragmatically instead of romantically. She's unprepared for the passion that Cage's character, Ronnie, inspires at their first meeting, but gets swept up in it anyway, throwing her usual caution right out Ronnie's bedroom window.
Aside from the warm jolts of recognition this movie provides me--the family table, the dutiful Italian daughter, and the humor that informs every scene--I like what it has to say about love. In a departure from most rom-coms, which follow a storybook formula, this movie tells it like it is. In Ronnie's words:
"Love don't make things nice - it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren't here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and die."
É vero, no? Here's to getting moonstruck, at least once in life, in all its messy and imperfect glory.
