Summer reading

James Lee Burke: No longer a secret from the best-seller list, Burke features Dave Robichaux, a detective in New Iberia parish, outside New Orleans. A recovering alcoholic and Vietnam vet, Robichaux seeks to protect his rural enclave from the corruption and commercialism of the Big Easy. Burke, a writing instructor at Wichita State, grew up in New Orleans and describes its texture, diversity, and sleaziness with intensity and love. Detective Robichaux tries to keep himself and his family altogether, but given his violent, alcoholic background and his need to protect his wife, Bootsie, and adopted daughter, that's hard. Robichaux often teams with Cletus Purcel, a free spirit for whom violence comes naturally, to fight the good fight.

Burke's best include A Morning for Flamingos (Avon,1990) and Burning Angel (Hyperion, 1995). He can overwrite, so avoid In the Electric Mist with Confederate Dead (Avon, 1993), unless you really get hooked on him.

Two other authors come to mind. Marcia Mueller: Her heroine, Sharon McCone, begins her career investigating for the All Souls' Legal Collective in San Francisco. McCone, a single woman trying to make it in a man's world, works to do good for her clients in the face of the need to generate legal fees. Begin with Trophies and Dead Things (The Mystery Press, 1990).

Stephen Greenleaf: Greenleaf is in limited print these days but worth the search. Reminiscent of Sam Spade, Greenleaf's John Tanner series captures a kind of cynicism that is inextricably linked with the urge to do good. Tanner, a rugged loner, charts his course through the counterculture as well as the big-time commercialism of the Bay Area. Greenleaf's best include Book Case (William Morrow & Co., 1991) and Death Bed (The Dial Press, 1980). All of these conflicted heroes lead unusual and sometimes tortured lives, which often force them to take violent action to protect their clients and sense of honor. Society at large rarely proves to be much help. In short, the perfect frame of mind for a day at the beach.

Margaret Steinfels

Margaret O'Brien Steinfels is the editor of Commonweal.

When I was young, I detested the novels of Henry James and Willa Cather--too much of nothing going on. The busy heroes and heroines of Charles Dickens and Jane Austen were far more appealing and readable; they did not dally in landscapes either psychic or scenic. Eventually I learned to read and even admire James, but never Cather.

A few summers ago, I spent some time in Taos, New Mexico, one of Cather's landscapes. Back home, I tried Death Comes for the Archbishop yet again. In contrast to my teen-age disdain for what seemed a desiccated travelogue, I found the story deeply moving and oddly inspiring. Over this Southwest amber landscape of scrub and cactus, of red-gold hills and dark plateaus, the light and air played like some great antiphonal chant. I could see it. I could see the archbishop, Jean Marie Latour; the fawn-colored mules, Contento and Angelica; Latour's ceaseless effort to bring the church to life. I could see the intense blue sky broken by a steady telegraphic flow of clouds; see the glowing light of dawn and dusk; and see the air so clear it seemed glowing too. I could even see Kit Carson's house, today a museum maintained by his Masonic order!