Twiapos

Pearls cast before swine? Eh. Maybe more like pearls buried in the slime. And often from unexpected places. For example:

Have you ever read John Sandford? Yeah, he writes detective stories, not existential essays or epic dramas or dystopian comments on society. But look. His main protagonist, Lucas Davenport, has just made a comment to a young lady about the proclivities of a pedophile. To which the young lady replies “Oh.” And Sandford continues: She had heard of such things but believed them only in the way she believed in her own mortality: a faraway possibility not yet requiring examination.

Sandford, John. Rules of Prey (The Prey Series Book 1) (p. -17).

That’s top level stuff. I’ll add more as I run across them.

How about this one: “she was five-six or so, with a slightly injured smile and nicotine-stained fingers.” A “slightly injured smile”? Gotta love it.

Sandford, John. John Sandford Lucas Davenport Novels 1-5 (Penguin Classics) . Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

As you might guess, I really, really like John Sandford’s stuff. How about this for introducing us to a character?

RANDY WHITCOMB WAS A HUMAN STINKPOT, a red-haired cripple with a permanent cloud over his head; a gap-toothed, pock-faced, paraplegic crank freak, six weeks out of the Lino Lakes medium-security prison. He hurtled past the luggage carousels at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport, pumping the wheels of his cheap non-motorized state-bought wheelchair, his coarse red hair a wild halo around his head.

“Get out of the way, you little motherfucker,” he snarled at a blond child of three or four years. He zipped past the gawking mother and tired travelers and nearly across the elegant cordovan shoe tips of a tall bearded man.

“Out of the way, fuckhead,” and he was through the door, the anger streaming behind him like coal smoke from a power plant.

Sandford, John. Wicked Prey (The Prey Series Book 19) (p. 1). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.