Everyone in My Family Has Killed Someone by Benjamin Stevenson

 

Synopsis From The Dust Jacket:

Ernie Cunningham, crime fiction aficionado, is a reluctant guest at his family reunion. Family reunions aren't for everyone, of course. But Ern's part of a notorious crime family—and three years ago, he witnessed his brother kill a man and immediately turned him in to the police. Now Ern's brother is being released from prison and the family is gathering to welcome him home.

As if that weren't bad enough, the reunion is taking place at a remote mountain resort. The day before Ern's brother is set to arrive, a man's body is found frozen on the slopes. While most Cunninghams assume the man simply collapsed and died of hypothermia during the night, Ern's stepsister spots a strange detail—the man's airways are clogged with ash. He appears to have died by fire... in a pristine snowfield... without a single burn mark on him. 

The longer the body goes unidentified, the more overwhelmed the local policeman becomes, and the more Ern realizes it's up to him to find the murderer. Holmes, Christie, Chesterton: he's read then all. He knows what patterns to look for, what rules killers follow. And of course, he knows his own family. Every member of which, as he's told us from the start, has killed someone. 

I’ve sat here staring at my screen, willing the words for a perfect review of Everyone in My Family Has Killed Someone to appear—flowing effortlessly from my fingers. But the truth is, that perfect review isn’t in the cards for me. Instead, I’m left to write an imperfect one, feeling as though I’ll always owe both Ern and the author a heartfelt apology.

I don’t know why I can’t string together the just-right words to capture how much fun this book was. What I can say is that I adored spending time with Ern—getting to know his family, watching the way his mind works, and laughing at his sharp, dry humor. The entire story unfolds through his eyes, and as the bodies begin to pile up—six in total—his voice remains steady, witty, and endlessly engaging.

One thought has stuck with me as I’ve wrestled with what to say: Jessica Fletcher would have felt right at home in this story. It’s exactly the kind of mystery she could have sunk her teeth into—whether as the sleuth or as J.B. Fletcher, the author of such a twisted tale. And if you know me at all, you’ll know that’s the highest compliment I can give.

Favorite Fictional Character --- Florence Jean “Flo” Castleberry

 

I had a different character in mind for this week’s Favorite Fictional Character post, but he’ll have to wait. Today, I want to honor one of the most unforgettable TV characters of the mid-1970s and early 1980s. I'm honestly surprised I haven’t featured her before—she’s a true cultural icon. I'm also saddened to be writing about her now because her portrayer, Polly Holliday, has passed away at the age of 88.

Florence Jean “Flo” Castleberry was my favorite character on Alice. Flo was loud, sassy, and knew exactly who she was. She didn’t tolerate Mel’s sexist behavior and wasn’t afraid to call him out. She challenged his greed, stood up for what was right, and had a heart big enough to take Alice under her wing. She was the kind of mother figure many of us would have welcomed with open arms.

I can easily imagine myself walking into Mel’s Diner, sitting at a booth with a slightly dingy menu, and falling absolutely in love with this outspoken waitress who gave both sass and heart. I’d sit there for hours, listening to Flo, Alice, and even Vera talk about their lives, laughing at their banter and feeling like part of something special. I know I’d enjoy every moment Flo told Mel off with her signature “Kiss my grits!” or even a “When donkeys fly!” If I had the chance, I’d become a regular—despite Mel.

Flo wasn’t just a character—she was a force. And Polly Holliday brought her to life with such charisma, warmth, and grit that she remains unforgettable to this day.

R.I.P. Polly Holliday.

You’ll be missed.

Dragonwyck (1946)

 

Synopsis From Rotten Tomatoes:

For Miranda Wells (Gene Tierney), moving to New York to live in Dragonwyck Manor with her rich cousin Nicholas (Vincent Price), seems like a dream. However, the situation gradually becomes nightmarish. She observes Nicholas' troubled relationship with his tenant farmers, as well as with his daughter (Connie Marshall), to whom Miranda serves as governess. Her relationship with Nicholas intensifies after his wife dies, but his mental imbalance threatens any hope of happiness. 

Here’s a weird little contradiction that lives within the recesses of my brain—a contradiction I’m okay with: I’m not a huge fan of historical fiction when it comes to reading, but I absolutely love it when it comes to my viewing habits. I’m not sure if it’s because my brain processes the information differently, or if it’s some other "defect" that alters how I interact with the two mediums. Either way, while I may reluctantly delve into a historical fiction book, I’ll jump right into the story when it’s on my screen—especially if that story is gothic and dark.

If you know me even a little, you know that I’m a sucker for classic movies and almost any film that explores the darker side of life. When those two loves come together, it’s almost guaranteed that I’m going to fall in love from the moment the title sequence starts. Dragonwyck is perfect for me in that regard.

Dragonwyck begins in 1884, two years before the patroonship system was formally abolished in the United States. Nicholas Van Ryn is one of the last patroons left and is in need of a companion for his eight-year-old daughter, Katrine. He engages a distant cousin—granted reluctant permission from her parents—to travel to the Hudson Valley and take up the governess position. It’s a world that’s privileged and opulent, yet also on life support. A world quickly dying as the Anti-Rent movement rapidly dismantles a system that had been in place since the Dutch established New Amsterdam.

I won’t go into all the twists and turns that quickly envelop Miranda, but I’ll say this: it’s a delicious gothic tale of class, tradition, obsession, and murder. Gene Tierney, who can be a little hit-or-miss for me, is cast perfectly as Miranda. She gives a terrific performance, balancing naïve innocence with a desire for more out of life. As the movie progresses, we see her mature, and by the end, she carries a strength that’s delightful to see.

It’s Vincent Price as Nicholas Van Ryn who truly steals the show. I’m sure it goes without saying—but I’ll say it anyway—Vincent Price was a master of his craft. He can be aloof and tender at the same time, and he descends into madness like no other actor could. He is both subtle and over the top, depending on what the moment calls for. He is utterly perfect in this movie, and I cannot imagine another actor in the role.

As the weather starts to cool and the nights grow longer, I’m sure I’ll once again find myself visiting Dragonwyck Manor.

Strange Pictures by Uketsu

 

Synopsis From Flap:

A pregnant woman's sketches on a seemingly innocuous blog conceal a chilling warning. 

A child's picture of his home contains a dark secret message.

A sketch by a murder victim in his final moments leads an amateur sleuth down a rabbit hole that will reveal a horrifying reality. 

Strange Pictures is Uketsu's first book, which I didn’t know when I read Strange Houses. On the face of it, they aren’t connected in any way, so the reading order doesn’t matter. That said, had I read Strange Pictures first, I'm not totally sure I would have picked up the second book—which would have been a shame, since I really enjoyed Strange Houses.

I'm not saying I didn’t like Strange Pictures; I'm just not sure I liked it enough to continue with the author's writing style—a judgment I'm not completely sure would have been fair. That’s the dilemma with translated work. Some of what I may not be fully connecting with could be due to tonal and cultural markers that are hard to translate from one language to another, especially when the two languages don’t share a common linguistic origin, like Japanese and English. Because of that, I try my damndest to go into a translated work with an open mind and an understanding that I may be missing something.

That said, I loved how twisted and interconnected the overarching story becomes as its many tributaries come together. What seems at first to be three separate stories, taking place on overlapping timelines that aren’t clear from the beginning, becomes a singular tale of murders most foul. In that, I think the author ingeniously wove this tapestry of a story—pictures and all.

What didn’t work for me was how exposition-heavy the storytelling became. At times, it felt like the author was walking me through every connection, explaining how the pieces fit rather than letting me discover it for myself. I don’t mind a bit of guidance, but I don’t want to feel guided. I wish there had been a lighter touch. And that’s where my dilemma lies: how much of that heavy-handedness comes from the author, and how much might be a byproduct of translation?

If you like twisted little mysteries, Strange Pictures is absolutely worth picking up. However, if you're only willing to try one of his two current books, I'd recommend you pick up Strange Houses instead.

Favorite Fictional Character --- William "Buck" Rogers

 

I turned forty-nine this year, and if you're around my age, you'll understand what I'm about to say about our childhood.

Growing up, there weren't a lot of options for television viewing—especially if you didn't have cable, which I don't remember having until the fifth grade. So, you kinda watched whatever was on the few TV stations you got. And what was on wasn't necessarily new, especially during the daytime or late at night. A lot of what aired during those times were reruns—a concept that now feels almost antiquated in this age of streaming. That means I grew up watching a lot of shows that first aired before I was born—or, in the case of Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, a show that premiered when I was an adorable three years old.

I feel like I didn’t really watch the show until we were traveling with the carnival, sometime between fifth and eighth grade—but don’t quote me on that. I'd be willing to bet I’d seen it earlier, even if my first clear memory of watching it was in a short-term rental—just two weeks while we were in town for the fair in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I was eating a fried bologna sandwich, sitting on the floor, watching Buck and Hawk take shelter from a storm on a barren planet. It had to be a season two episode. I was enraptured.

There are characters you like for no other reason than you thought they were “cool” the moment you saw them. Captain Buck Rogers is one of those characters for me. From his swagger to the way he spoke, I wanted to be him. I wanted to fly around in space, saving the day from whatever bad situation Buck, Wilma, Hawk, and Twiki found themselves in. He was just—for lack of a better word—cool. I’ve watched the show as an adult, and while some aspects haven’t aged well, the young kid that still lives inside me thinks he's one of the coolest characters ever to grace a TV screen.

Lavender House by Lev AC Rosen

 

Synopsis From The Dust Jacket:

Lavender House, 1952: the family seat of recently deceased matriarch Irene Lamontaine, head of the Lamontaine soap empire. This estate offers a unique freedom, where none of the residents or staff hide who they are. But to keep their secret, they've needed to keep others out. And now they're worried about keeping a murderer in. 

Irene's widow hires Evander Mills to uncover the truth behind her mysterious death. Andy, recently fired from the San Francisco police department after being caught in a raid on a gay bar, is happy to accept - his calendar is wide open. And his secret is the kind of secret the Lamontaines understand. 

Andy had never imagined a world like Lavender House. He's seduced by the safety and freedom found behind its gates, where a queer family lives honestly and openly. But that honesty doesn't extend to everything, and he quickly finds himself a pawn in a family game of old money, subterfuge, and jealousy - and Irene's death is only the beginning. 

The gates of Lavender House can't lock out the real world forever, and running a soap empire can be a dirty business. 

When I was in high school—in the early 1990s, for anyone interested—I would go to the public library in Skiatook, OK, and search for every single book I could find that featured a gay male character. At the time, I was desperate to read anything about who I might become as a gay man. I needed to know what my life could look like. You have to remember, we weren't on TV, and most movies with gay characters portrayed stereotypes of the worst kind. That’s not to say books were perfect in that regard. A lot of what I read was filled with self-hate and unhappy endings—and this was coming from gay authors. For the record, most classic gay lit is depressing. I'm glad I read those books, but for the most part, they aren’t ones I’d ever want to revisit.

The exceptions were the mystery books. In them, I found characters who were comfortable in their own skin and relatively well-adjusted. In Joseph Hansen’s Dave Brandstetter, Michael Nava’s Henry Rios, Richard Stevenson’s Donald Strachey, and the more "cozy" sleuths created by Mark Richard Zubro, I found characters who made me realize my future wasn’t all doom and gloom—a future where I could be happy.

The first time I dove into the world of Andy Mills, I knew I’d found another character who would have affected me the exact same way. But unlike the others, Andy is navigating a world where being gay could get you fired, committed to an asylum, or killed without anyone caring. He’s a character who has hit rock bottom and is struggling to recover—so when he finds Lavender House, he grabs on with both hands.

At Lavender House, he finds a group of people who can truly be themselves behind the gates of the estate, even if they play roles for the general public. Lavender House is a sanctuary, but like all insulated havens, a festering evil has started to blossom within its walls. Andy's job is to find and root out who planted the evil that ended in bloodshed.

I love an author who can craft a well-balanced mystery alongside characters that feel real and grounded. Andy has to be one of the most authentic characters I’ve come across in any genre. I absolutely adore this series, and it’s one I hope never ends. I want Andy to continue growing into his own skin and within the gay community. I want him to find happiness and fulfillment in life. I want to watch him fall in love and grow old. In the meantime, I’ll gladly read every twisty mystery he finds himself entangled in.

Favorite Fictional Character --- Patrick Jane

 

I'm nothing if not predictable. When it comes to TV shows, with a few exceptions, I stick to two broad genres: the supernatural and the mysterious. I can sit here and name dozens of TV shows—and even more characters—that I've fallen in love with over the years, getting lost in their stories as they play out on the silver screen.

Over the years, I've featured some heavyweight television sleuths like Jessica Fletcher, Perry Mason, and Thomas Magnum. All three are characters who helped shape my young mind as I was developing my interest in mysteries. As an adult, I've continued to devour mystery shows like the last of my Halloween candy.

Today, I'm going to (re)introduce you to Patrick Jane, the ex-psychic con man from The Mentalist. When we're first introduced to Patrick, his wife and daughter had been killed by a ruthless serial killer, and he's now using his skills while working with the CBI—the California Bureau of Investigation. He's a deeply damaged man who feels that his arrogance is the reason why his family was brutally murdered. 

Through the seasons, he learns to forgive himself and to put the blame where it belongs—on Red John. He never quite loses his obsession with vengeance, but he softens—though I'm not sure that's the right word. It's more like he becomes less rigidly fragile. He reaches a point where he no longer seems like he's going to break.

I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that I’d match his observational skills against those of Sherlock Holmes—or even Sherlock Hemlock—any damn day of the week. If it weren't for the way Patrick has learned to manipulate his marks, I might have called such a challenge a tie. Instead, I’d have to give the edge to him. I think he's one of the smartest characters ever created, but more than that, he's one of the most compelx characters to ever grave a TV screen, and I absolutely adore every second spent with him.