Rachel Howard has written a memoir about the search for her father’s murderer, called The Lost Night. The intro to the book is horrifying enough to either intrigue or turn you off, but William Grimes gives it quite a good review at the NY Times (“A Daughter Seeks Her Father’s Killer and Her Own Peace, Too” 3-Aug-2005).
“The Lost Night” is enthralling, a skillfully narrated story that begins as a tale of detection but quickly becomes something more. Sifting through her past, Ms. Howard, who writes on dance and books for The San Francisco Chronicle, opens a window onto the miseries that divorce visits upon children, and the extent to which drugs have woven their way into ordinary working-class lives.
She evokes, unsentimentally, the pleasures and funny rituals of middle-American life. Simply and movingly, she chronicles the passage from her childhood to adulthood, from uncomprehending fears, resentments and hatreds to understanding and forgiveness.
This caught my attention because of her blog (authors take note) and after reading Jane {a murder} recently the subject is still on my brain. I guess we don’t necessarily need fiction to get murder mysteries, sadly.
Ms. Howard’s blog is Footnotes. Buy the book: Amazon, Powells.
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