“Prose both scabrous and poetic.” – Publishers Weekly. “Proust meets Chandler over a pint of Guinness.” – Spectator. “A sheer pleasure.” – Tana French. “Among the most memorable books of the year, of any genre.” – Sunday Times. “A hardboiled delight.” – Guardian. “Imagine Donald Westlake and Richard Stark collaborating on a screwball noir.” – Kirkus Reviews. “A cross between Raymond Chandler and Flann O’Brien.” – John Banville. “The effortless cool of Elmore Leonard at his peak.” – Ray Banks. “A fine writer at the top of his game.” – Lee Child.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

In Which The Cosmos Clears Its Throat

I am reliably informed by those who know such things that the baseball season has - technically, and even officially - already begun. I am also informed that regular season play commences tomorrow, Wednesday April 4th, when baseball bats all over the US of A give voice to that musical ‘crack’ that is, according to political analyst George Will, “the sound the cosmos makes each spring when it clears its throat and says, ‘We made it through another winter.’”
  Having fallen for baseball in a shamefully wanton fashion last summer, I’ve been looking forward to the start of the season for quite some time now. I’ve also been anticipating it with a kind of creeping dread, given that I don’t have the time to scratch myself these days, let alone get sucked into watch three hours worth of baseball every night.
  But I will. Go Phillies, etc.
  Anyway, the timing is good for John Grisham’s CALICO JOE, a charming novel with shades of THE NATURAL, in which a rookie phenom called Joe Castle debuts for the Cubs in the 1973 season, only to come up against a mean-spirited Mets pitcher with a penchant for beanballs. Told by the son of said pitcher, and looking back on the events of ’73 from the perspective of today, it’s essentially a love letter to the game of baseball. And, like all the best love stories, and despite Grisham’s crowd-pleasing instincts at the finale, it is at its heart a tale of poisoned innocence and paradise lost.
  It’s also only 194 pages long. If you start reading it now, you’ll be finished in time for the first pitch …

2 comments:

Steven said...

Wait. Aren't you in Ireland? I suspect that's a terrible place to watch baseball games except through mlb.com.

The season started a few days ago as two teams played a series in Japan that counts towards all official records.

Go Phillies? Can't anybody be a Mets fan but me?

Kevin McCarthy said...

To this day, the best job I've ever had was security guard in Fenway Park. Starting off in the celeb box elevator--I was one of the smallest on the crew, most of the other guards being college (American) football players and Criminal Justice majors from Northeastern U; I escorted everyone from Mike Dukakis to Marky Mark (Walberg) and his reputedly Funky Bunch to their boxes--I worked my way up to first baseline and finally, bleachers, where all the good fights were. Rarely in life-- and I'm including when I first heard my novel was going to be published and seeing my kids for the first time...ok, some minor hyperbole--have I ever felt as cool as I did standing on the Bosox dugout at games' end in my khaki trousers and navy Bosox blazer, keeping the crowds back, letting the odd kid through for an autograph. I mean to write about it some day...Go Sox!