I continue to work my way through books in the house with an eye toward reducing our inventory, selecting some for reading and discarding. With around 4000 to 5000 books in the house, we are making slow progress—but we are making some.

A while back I transferred some books slated for donation from shoe boxes to plastic bags (because the wife doesn’t like to discard shoe boxes). Then the pandemic hit and we haven’t been to a thrift store since. Hence the two bags of books still sit in our garage. On top of one was an Agatha Christie mystery. I thought maybe we could read that aloud together and we did so. When I returned it to the pending donation bag, I dug a little deeper and found three other Agatha Christie books. Having enjoyed the first, I rescued these (along with three other books) and formed a new reading pile for our evening reading.

This one was Murder In Retrospect. Originally copyrighted in 1941, my copy, a mass-market paperback, doesn’t have a printing date. It appears to be from the 1960s, just like the other one we read. MIR is a Hercule Poirot mystery. Poirot is hired by a woman who has just come of age and is planning on marrying. But, when she was five, her mother was convicted of killing her father by poisoning, was sentenced to prison, but died there within a year. She left a note for her daughter, proclaiming her innocence. Except by all reports, during the trial she made a very poor witness for herself, which was a significant factor in her being convicted. Now, before the daughter marries, she wants to know the truth and hires Poirot to investigate.

What ensues is Poirot interviewing the surviving parties, sixteen years after it happened, to discover the truth if it can be found. The woman’s father was a painter—and a philanderer. He was painting his latest fling, in their own house so to speak, or at least in the garden. Other parties are: the woman’s 15-year-old aunt, half-sister to her mother; the governess; two brothers who lived at an adjacent country property; and the woman who was being painted. Also to be interviewed are various police officers who worked the case.

The book was a fascinating, easy read of 239 pages that we read in eleven sittings. It was a real opportunity for the reader to try to figure out who did the murder. I decided right away that the accused/convicted didn’t do it, but couldn’t decide on who it was among the other six. I don’t want to give it away by saying too much, just in case one of my readers wants to read it. I was leaning toward one person, but then a late clue led me to conclude it was another. I felt pretty good about myself recognizing that clue (which I figured out about an hour after reading, just after I’d gone to bed). It was an important clue, not because it told you who the murderer was, but because it let you know who the accused thought the murderer was and thus governed her subsequent actions.

This was a good Christie mystery and I’m glad I read it. If I didn’t already have so many books in the house, I might have kept this. Alas, it goes back into the donation bag. Someday we will get to a thrift store once again and it will go on a shelf for someone else to read.

I have enjoyed all the John Steinbeck books that I’ve read. So when I found Cup Of Gold by John Steinbeck on a bookshelf in the house, I put it in a reading pile. Before too long it rose to the top. A little research showed it was published in 1929, though only 1537 copies sold. A second edition in 1936 by a different publisher sold even fewer. My particular volume is a Tower Books Edition, Second printing, April 1944. How this book came into my possession is a mystery to me. I don’t think I bought it, and it has a marker in it suggesting I’ve had it a long time. It must have been Mom’s, or possibly a book Dad picked up from a flea market.

The subtitle is A Life of Sir Henry Morgan, Buccaneer, with Occasional Reference to History. It’s almost a biography, almost a novel. Today we would classify it, I think, as creative non-fiction. Of, perhaps it would be shelved under historical fiction. Either way, I’m quite glad I had this, found it, and read it.

Pirates in the Caribbean are the rage now, aren’t they? Maybe not quite as much as a few years back, but they are in an almost mythical era, men who did incredible feats of daring. In America we tend to think of Englishmen who stole treasure ships from the Spaniards. Some worked with the blessing of the British crown and some freelanced. Henry Morgan was, according to Cup Of Gold, one of the latter.

He went to the Caribbean as a teenager, intent on becoming a buccaneer because of the stories he’d heard in his native Wales. He spent time as an indentured servant to pay for his passage, then entered his pirate life. After many successes, he led a raid on the city of Panama, a successful raid, and became a hero to the English.

I read this 269 page book in 18 sittings in July-August 2020, out in the sunroom, at cooler times during the summer days. Here’s what I wrote on little sheet I used as a bookmark and reading record: “What a good book! The death scene is wonderful. If I had not thousands of books to read in my few remaining years, I should like to read this again.”

Steinbeck does a great job (as we would expect, based on his other, later works) of weaving the story. He mixes historical facts with dialog. The dialog seems very faithful to the time. The mix of dialog and narrative is good. Steinbeck chose to focus on a few episodes in Morgan’s life, not try to give us every year and every event. Not surprisingly, the raid on Panama takes up a good chunk of the book.

I can see the excellence of Steinbeck’s writing even in this early book. I’m not a “literary criticism” person, so I’m not going to analyze is. I’ll just say it’s an excellent and easy read. If you like Steinbeck but didn’t know about this early work of his, by all means pick up a copy.

Is this a keeper? Alas, I think not. It’s not a collector edition as it’s a reprint after Steinbeck’s fame with other works. I’m at the point in life where I need to be getting rid of things, not saving them. That includes books. I can’t keep all the authors I like, and Steinbeck, alas, doesn’t make the cut. So, Cup Of Gold is going out to the garage today, to the sell/donate bookshelf out there, awaiting either a sale of a trip to the thrift store.

As I finish reading one book and look through the thousands of books in the house to choose the next one(s) to read, of late I’ve been looking for books I not only want to read but that I can discard (through sale, donation, or trashing) when I’m done. A couple of months ago I found one of those in Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None. I wouldn’t have known where this book came from or how I obtained it had I not found in it a Christmas gift tag with my handwriting. I gave it to my sister some years ago, probably when we were teenagers. This particular printing was November 1964. It is a student copy, which suggests I bought it during my sister’s high school years.

I admit to this being my first Christie book to read. I’ve see a number of movies made from her books, but had until this never picked one up to read. That is now rectified, and the enjoyment I found from this volume guarantees I will read more of her writing.

Originally published in Christie’s native Great Britain in 1939 with a different title, a very vile title (that I won’t enter here) by today’s standards, it has sometimes been published in the USA with the title Ten Little Indians. Like Christie’s main writing, it’s a murder mystery. In this case, however, you don’t know if the murders are really murders, until the denouement.

Ten people are lured to an island off the southern coast of England named Indian Island. Ownership of the island is in question and the ten, as they are making their way there, have lots of questions about who owns it now. They are invited by a person they don’t know: U.N. Owen. Seven men and three women arrive on the island within a day or two of each other. Eight are guests, two are servants. All expect their host, Owen, to arrive soon. As they head towards the island, we get some backstory on several of them. For others, backstory comes out as the novel progresses.

In each guestroom is a poem, framed and hanging on the wall, titled “Ten Little Indians”. It’s a childhood diddy at least some of the guests recognize. On the table in the dining room are ten Indian figurines. The ten people meet for their first evening meal. After it the butler, following written instructions from Owen, who he’s never meant, puts on a phonograph record. It turns out to be a surprise, someone speaking (not music), who indicts each of the ten with a death they have caused in the past, saying that they would have to pay for it.

How each character pays for it comes out chapter by chapter. The first happens that night, as one of the guests dies of poisoning. Murder? Or suicide? The remaining nine speculate. An elderly judge who is a guest takes charge and “holds court,” trying to work the problem logically and find out what evidence they have. The guests all become suspicious of each other. Meanwhile, one of the Indian figurines disappears.

By the time Christie wrote this, standards for detective novels had changed in, say, the forty years since Doyle had given us Sherlock Holmes. Then, the means of solving the case wasn’t given in the writing. Since then, by Christie’s time it was expected. So in the novel should be the means for the reader to solve it, if you read closely.

I was close. As the ten, one by one, meet their untimely end, I came to the conclusion that one of the dead wasn’t dead but was really alive, but was only thought to be dead by the other guests/servants. I had a candidate, but it turned out I was wrong. I suspect, however, that if I read it over again, slowly, I would see that the right clues were there from the start. That’s probably impossible to do, given that I’ve read the Epilogue that explained it all. Re-reading it would be an interesting exercise.

I never will do it, though. The story and plot were good, the writing was good, it was an easy read, and I highly recommend it. But I have too many books in the house, too many I want to read, and thus have to be very picky about the ones I will re-read. No, this one will go to the get-rid-of pile as soon as I post this. Very glad I read it—actually I should say “we” read it, as my wife and I read it aloud together, the 183 pages plus some of the 32 page reader’s supplement in ten sittings—but it’s goodbye, ten little Indians. I hope another reader someday acquires you and derives the same pleasure from you that I did.

I know many of you have long ago read Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Our son said he read it every year for a number of years. Well, both my wife and I had somehow not read it.

In early May the movie came on TV and we watched it. This was the 2005 version with Keira Knightly, Matthew Macfadyen, and Donald Sutherland. We found the story difficult to follow. Part of this was the English accents; part the overlapping talking by multiple characters in rapid-fire succession; part the sometimes low volume of the voices, such as when the Bennet girls were talking at balls. So, after watching the movie, we decided to read the book aloud in the evenings. We read from an older copy that has been in my family many years. Charles Westcott (“Uncle” Charlie), a good friend of my great-grand uncle David Sexton, gave it to my mother in 1934, according to the inscription. I don’t know if it originally had a dust jacket, but it doesn’t have one now.

I’m glad we read it.  Reading aloud is slower than reading silently. It took us twenty sittings over a month and a half to complete it. While the language is somewhat archaic, it is a classic that everyone should read. It has become a cultural icon. While I had heard of the title for years without thinking much about it, my attention was first drawn to it by the mentions in the movie You’ve Got Mail. Of course, I didn’t really understand what the Hanks and Ryan characters said about it. Next time I see that movie, I should understand it better.

I don’t think there’s much point in my digging deeply into this classic, analyze the writing, or critique the plot and character development. Pride and Prejudice is much loved by millions. It has stood the test of time, and will be read and loved for at least another century. I hope to read it again sometime in the future. And to see the movie again. We watched it a second time right after reading the book. We were able to follow the plot, but I would really like to understand more of the dialog. Darn those British accents. Darn those silly little girls who all talk at once in hushed giggles. I fear I’ll never be able to understand it all.

This particular book is a keeper. It’s not exactly a collectable, as it’s a little too new, and it looks to have been somewhat of a mass-market hardback. But, it’s in excellent condition. To misquote Harry Potter, the binding is not fragile. It goes back on the shelf, this time next to Sense and Sensibility for easier future findability. I need to re-read that one some day.