Erskine Childers
The other week I was distractedly browsing a bookstore and picked up a pulp novel from the shelf where it had been sitting among a bunch of similar looking titles, all apparently by the same author.
It looked okay so I took it home, and got really into it. Victorian-era fop goes on uncomfortable yachting trip, a comedy of manners ensues, he learns about himself, and emerges a spy. Great stuff. Fantastic writing and perfect structure. The dialogue of maps and shifting sands is entrancing.
I went back to the bookstore for the rest of them, only to discover that those other novels didn't exist and the one I picked up wasn't on the shelf like I remembered, either. It was all differently shelved and tucked away, and I have to figure out how I got so confused. It seems the author, Erskine Childers, never wrote any other books. Maybe he would have if he hadn't been executed for gun-running.
I'm totally disappointed. I was increasingly drawn in to that novel, and as my enjoyment deepened I looked ever the more forward to reading all the other ones, but now there are no other ones.
It looked okay so I took it home, and got really into it. Victorian-era fop goes on uncomfortable yachting trip, a comedy of manners ensues, he learns about himself, and emerges a spy. Great stuff. Fantastic writing and perfect structure. The dialogue of maps and shifting sands is entrancing.
I went back to the bookstore for the rest of them, only to discover that those other novels didn't exist and the one I picked up wasn't on the shelf like I remembered, either. It was all differently shelved and tucked away, and I have to figure out how I got so confused. It seems the author, Erskine Childers, never wrote any other books. Maybe he would have if he hadn't been executed for gun-running.
I'm totally disappointed. I was increasingly drawn in to that novel, and as my enjoyment deepened I looked ever the more forward to reading all the other ones, but now there are no other ones.