Greetings loyal airmen.  I trust all of you are keeping safe and warm as we progress through the true heart of winter. What with the freakish weather conditions throughout the country, it's truly one season lots of us are going to remember for a long, long time.

Happily my favorite TV show, LOST, returns this coming week, Wed. 7th Feb, after a long hiatus and will run all sixteen brand new episodes through to its third season finale in May.  Now over the past month I've been re-watching season two on DVD and realized recently that I had something very unique in common with the character of Desmond, as played by actor Henry Ian Cusick, shown above.  

In one of his first appearances on the show, Desmond had a copy of a lesser known novel by Charles Dickens.  When asked if it was his favorite book, he replied he didn't know as he had yet to read.  Then he went on to explain the following.  Dickens was by far his favorite writer and in his life, he had managed to read everything the great author had written, save for this one book.  Now having purchased it, he realized that when he read it, there would never be another tale from his beloved writer….ever again.  And so Desmond refuses to read this book, and carries it with him wherever he goes in the hopes that, if the fates are kind, someday, when he believes his life almost at an end, then, and only then, he will read this book.   Thus making it the last book he ever reads.

If you are a lover of books like I am, then that quirky story has to appeal to you as well.   And over the Christmas holidays I inadvertently put myself in the same situation as poor Desmons.  You see, my all time favorite writer was mystery novelist, Ed McBain.   I discovered his series, the 87th Precinct, based on a fictional squad of big city detectives, back in my freshmen year of high school.  It was a period of my life when reading was opening up both the world and maturity to my ever curious mind.   McBain's books simply astounded me with their style and grace.  As I grew older and read lots and lots of writers, his skills became more and more evident to me, to the point of sincerely trying to emulate him whenever I write.  The man was a true master of his craft.   And last year, after completing his 55th 87th Precinct novel, he passed away.  It was a very sad day to mystery fans across the world.
                                 

While in Colorado, I found this last book and purchased it immediately.   I came home, set it on my To-Read stack (most of you know what this is) and didn't give it much thought.   Two days ago I finished reading a western by Max McCoy (see the link to my Pulp Fiction Review column above) and headed for the stack to see what I would be reading next.  And there was FIDDLERS, by Ed McBain.   I picked it up, held for a few minutes…and then put it back on the stack and walked away.

For the past day I've been grappling with the sad fact that once I read this book, there will never…ever…be another McBain thriller for me to enjoy.  And I remembered Desmond from LOST.  Oh, do I now know exactly what he was feeling.  Unlike Desmond, I don't have that much trust in the fates allowing me to simply “know” when my end will come.   And I would be the biggest fool in the world to hold off enjoying, for one last time, this great writer's work, only to get nailed by a tractor trailer truck somewhere down the road.  Having kicked the bucket with it unread. I am not going to let that happen.  Most likely before this very day is over, I'll have found the will to pick it up and start reading it.  But I am so going to cry when the end comes.

Take care, my friends.  Have a great week.
Ron – over and out.