Tag: book-review

Ken Kirkby – Warrior Painter

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excerpt

Warriors Come in Many Shapes
“We all grow up with the weight of history on us.
Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as they
do in the spiraling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies.”
(Shirley Abbott, Writer)
~~
Ken Kirkby inherited genes from a thousand years of determined and
intelligent men and the clever women who worked beside them. In each
generation, the face of the world inhabited by his ancestors was left
improved. If he feels some pressure to leave his own imprint on his world,
he chooses to do so by inspiring others as he has been inspired; by restoring
what has been spoiled and by righting what is wrong. Justice is an important
word in his vocabulary.
His father, Ken Kirkby, Sr. turned his back on both a fortune and his
influential British steel family as a young man. He left his assured place
in Britain to make a successful life in Australia and eventually returned to
England with a reputation for a sound ability to turn failing companies into
profitable ventures. With World War II on the horizon, he was seconded by
Winston Churchill’s team to transform the venerable but struggling Rover
Motor Company into an efficient, profit-making war machine.
In 1938, he met and married Ken’s mother, Louise May Chesney. Her
father was a respected Spanish industrialist whose family traced their roots
back to Rurik of the Rus, a Dane whose history was recorded in written
form in 746 AD. Ken was born in 1940 and his sister three years later. The
Kirkby and Chesney families left recession strapped Britain for Spain in
1946 and the Kirkby family ultimately settled in the Portuguese village of
Parede, a coastal village south of Lisbon. Their neighbours were diplomats
or professional elite, but Ken’s father preferred to do his own gardening and
knew the children of all his employees by their first names.
Ken’s childhood was unorthodox by any measure. Their family home
on the Avenue of Princes welcomed many of the brightest minds of the
European world at the time, but he ran barefoot with the Gypsy kids, bartered
his drawings in the marketplace and escaped his mother’s restrictions

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562902

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CB8W4CG

Jazz with Ella

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“What do you mean by that?”
“Look, it doesn’t have your name on it.” She had the sensation of the floor moving away from her and decided to run for the door while her dignity was still intact.
Back in her cabin tears overwhelmed her. You give me hope. She missed Volodya more than ever. She sat on the bed and smoothed the crumpled paper, studying it, trying to understand what Chopyk had meant. True, it was not addressed to her but had been sent in care of Natasha Kuchkov as tour guide. A number followed—presumably that represented the bureaucratic Intourist agency’s official designation for the tour. If it had not been intended for her, then who? Did he really send it? Volodya was a very common name—and there was no last name. So how did Natasha know whom to check? And how did Natasha know the telegram was meant for her?
Her class that afternoon was conducted in a pall of discomfort. Most of the students had overheard the dispute in the dining room without knowing exactly what had transpired. She thought of having Paul lead the class instead of her but she couldn’t find him anywhere. The mood stayed with her through the formal dinner that evening, well into the hour of entertainment—several of the students had learned Russian poems or ditties and were amusing the Americans by reciting the translations—and it lasted on into the evening.
As she lay awake, she began to have doubts about her behaviour. Maybe Chopyk was only being a good guy, after all—meddlesome but showing genuine concern. Maybe Volodya was a dead loss. After some agonizing, she realized that Volodya must know Natasha. Of course. He must have known her when he had worked for Intourist. She had even said she was from Leningrad. They would have been colleagues. That would explain a lot. So maybe Natasha had known about Volodya and her all along. Could he have wanted Natasha to see the telegram—maybe to let her know that he was attempting to leave the country? Could it be that Natasha was helping? As Jennifer rolled on to her back in the cabin berth she felt the increased pressure from Volodya as if it were some live thing pressing on her chest. What a day! Even the strange comment from Hank in the hallway that morning. It all fit into the stew. She fervently hoped that sleep would give her some respite from her muddled thoughts.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562892

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246

The Unquiet Land

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She used to stick up for Nora like an older brother. Fearless, she was. What a girl.”
Finn’s voice trailed away, but the wistful look remained. He was recalling scenes from long ago. “I was working on the boat one summer afternoon. Hot as an oven, I remember. Had been for several days. The children were playing on the harbour. Half a dozen of them. Boys and girls. They must have been ten or eleven years-old at the time. Clifford Hamilton was there. He was a bumptious young fellow even then. He started teasing Nora. I don’t know what he was saying because I was too far away. But you know Nora. Always sensitive, easily embarrassed. Whatever young Clifford said, Nora took it ill. It obviously upset her. That got Caitlin’s back up. Man alive, she lit into Clifford like a she-cat. Next we knew, Clifford was over the edge and into the water.” Finn chuckled. “It happened so quickly no one could do anything to prevent it. I saw it coming and I shouted, but I was too late. Even if they heard me, which I doubt. And Caitlin just stood up there on the lip of the harbour, hands on her hips, and continued shouting at poor Clifford who was swimming to the ladder to get out.”
“The tide was in then,” Padraig said.
“By good fortune it was.” Finn said. “Clifford would have been in one hell of a mess if it hadn’t been.”
Then the old man fixed his pale grey eyes on Padraig’s emaciated face for a few moments of silent but stringent admonition. “I hope you’ll leave Caitlin alone, Padraig. I hope you won’t try to force her to conform to your impossible Christian practices. Keep that nonsense for the saintly Nora. Caitlin’s different. She has pride in herself, and I want her to keep it. I want her to know that her accomplishments—and they are many—are her own, her very own. I would hate her to go through life thinking that she owed them to a non-existent god, that they were the hand-outs of divine charity. What pride can anyone derive from that? So leave Caitlin alone. Do you hear me?”
Padraig remained silent. He returned Finn’s unwavering gaze with a look of obdurate purpose. The two men sat in this dualistic pose for several seconds.
“So that’s how it is,” Finn said at last.
Still Padraig did not answer. He looked away from Finn with harrowing sadness and regret, his glance settling on the pale porcelain of the Victory of Samothrace.
“Damn you, Padraig,” Finn said with feeling but without raising his

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

Still Waters

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continuing negative press.”
Tyne smiled knowingly as she sat down. “Then I take it Dad hasn’t
changed his mind about a hospital in Emblem.”
“Not one iota. If anything, he’s more adamant than ever.”
“You … you said you saw Morley at a society meeting. Is he taking
an active part then?”
Millie chuckled. “Very active. He’s been elected chairman of the
promotions committee so he’s responsible for making us all get out
and put the idea across to the public.”
“Oh my ….”
“I shouldn’t say this but I’m sure that’s one of the reasons your dad
is digging in his heels about it.”
Tyne’s eyes widened. “Because of Morley?”
Millie shrugged. “He’s still afraid the two of you will get back together.
So, on that principle, he can’t abide Morley Cresswell. And
that is Jeff Milligan’s loss,” she added with conviction.
And mine, Tyne thought. If things had been different, Morley and
I would still be together, probably planning our wedding. Now wait,
Tyne, were you willing to give up your faith for him? Were you willing
to make sacrifices for him?
No, she thought, I’m afraid I was not. So it wasn’t all Dad’s fault
after all.
Millie put her cup on the coffee table and looked into her niece’s
face. “I hate to see you unhappy, darling.”
“But I’m not unhappy, Aunt Millie.”
“No? Well, I’m glad. I should probably have said that I hate to see
you still grieving over Morley. It seems a hard thing for you now, but
I’d like you to consider what Joseph told his brothers years after they
sold him into slavery in Egypt – ‘God meant it unto good.’ The Lord
has a plan for you too, Tyne honey. Just trust. And I’ll never stop
praying for you.”
With sobs suddenly choking her, Tyne scrambled to her feet and
fell into Aunt Millie’s comforting embrace.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763068

Jazz with Ella

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excerpt

VOLGA RIVER, JULY 17, 1974
“She’s madder than a hornet, and she’s calling for your blood,” teased Marty. He ducked out of Hank’s way. It was lunch time on the morning after Hank had found Lona’s mysterious black book. “I guess she tortured your waitress friend until she confessed.”
“I’ll go find her,” Hank muttered. “I don’t want Chopyk or Jennifer to find out. Don’t say anything, okay?”
He didn’t have far to look. They smacked into one another at the door to the dining room.
“You…creep,” Lona growled at Hank, her usual Cheshire cat smile missing. “Now, give me back my book!”
He couldn’t resist one last stand. “Uh…whatcha talking about?” She was about to raise her voice again, when he hustled her down the hall, one hand firmly on her back, until they were out of earshot of the passengers.
“Okay, so I took it. It was a stupid thing to do, but I wanted to know why you’re on this trip—and don’t give me that line about being a student.”
Lona drew herself up to her full height and bristled like an alley cat prepared to do battle. She thrust out her hand imperiously. “It’s none of your business, you thief. I want my book back right now!”
Hank knew when he was licked. “I just …heck, I’d still like to know. I’ll get it for you.” He walked her to his cabin, and she waited at the door, tapping her toe, until he placed the worn black book in her hand. “Come on, Lona. I just wanted to get to know you. Maybe we could still be friends.”
In fact, the book had been a big disappointment—besides a list of Russian names and addresses there were only a few other notes on icons

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562892

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246

Water in the Wilderness

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Rachael’s voice rose, and in spite of an inner resolve to appear brave, she began to tremble.
Ronald stood up. “I’ll take you part way until I know you’re safe. An’ after I leave you, if you see someone you know, ask them for a ride to my folks’ place.” Going to Bobby he lifted him from the chair onto his feet. “Okay, Bob old man, get on my back again.”
Rachael knew she had no choice but to follow them. Once they had made it around the house and back onto the street, she hurried to catch up. “I’m scared, Ronnie, I don’t want to go back. Uncle Bill will beat me.”
She saw her cousin grit his teeth. “No, he won’t. You tell them you just wanted to see your dad because it’s Christmas. He wouldn’t dare beat you for that; my mom won’t let him.”
Rachael wanted to believe him, but she was not so sure. She remembered what her uncle would have done to her that other time if Ronnie hadn’t been there to protect her and take the beating for her. Then, too, there was Lyssa.
They walked on in silence. Rachael had felt warmer after being in the shelter of the shed, but now her face began to sting again from the biting wind. She buried it in the sweater still wrapped around her doll. “Oh, Shirley,” she murmured, “I can’t take you back where Lyssa can hurt you again.”
When they reached the main street of town, Ronald stopped and lowered Bobby to the ground. “Okay, I’ve gotta go before someone sees me. But you keep goin.’ It’s not far now; you know the way. And, like I said, if you see someone, ask for a ride.”
Rachael didn’t answer. He looked at her keenly. “Look, kid, promise me you’ll go back. You can’t go to the farm, it’s too far. My mom’ll take care of you. Now, promise me, Rachael.”
She lowered her eyes and gazed at her snow-covered boots, realizing that her feet were numb with cold. What choice did she have, anyway?
“Promise me.”
Rachael looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “I promise. But where will you go, Ronnie?”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/192676319X

Jazz With Ella

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excerpt

and pedal off. As soon as Tanya strolled in the other direction, Paul and Vera emerged from the bushes.
“We must go in and see.” Vera dragged him to the rickety building.
“We don’t need to,” he demurred.
“You think I am a spy, but it is good to have this information. It is good to know about our government officials. It can help us.”
“And I thought you would be a good communist,” said Paul.
She stopped in the path and stared at him. “But I am being a good communist. I am.”
She darted away into the boathouse and Paul followed to find her casting about widely at this love nest as if she would find something incriminating that she could take away.
★
The home of Fyodor Shukshin was set half a mile down a winding dirt path that branched off the main regional road. It was a dark, old, wooden house with some remnants of the original gingerbread still clinging to the eaves, though it had long needed paint and repair. At the gate stood a cement well covered with a sloping roof and this had been kept in trim condition. The front yard was a small patch of dirt with signs of thorough grazing by chickens now gone to roost. Although the light was waning, Paul could see that the surrounding fields were covered in growth: beet greens and carrot tops showed on one side, bright green potato plants on the other. They entered the house through a groaning, battered door and Vera greeted her father.
Vera’s sudden return to the farm even with a stranger in tow bothered Fyodor Shukshin not one bit. Apparently she was in the habit of dropping in at home at any opportunity in her work schedule.
“So it’s you,” he snorted. “Come from across the Volga.”
“Some day I’ll go much farther away than Toglyatti,” she said, smiling at her father fondly, then turning to Paul. “Meanwhile, I like to visit here.”
Her father returned the smile a bit cynically. “Of course, when you can get fresh vegetables here—and sell them for a profit—why wouldn’t you like to visit your old father?”
She grinned, searched through the cupboards and served pickles in a bowl accompanied by slices of heavy black bread. At first Vera’s father appeared delighted to meet the foreigner.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246

The Unquiet Land

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“He’s a kind, good-natured, generous big cratur,” she said. “He’s hard working and dependable and he’s straight as a die. He’d make a good husband. I’m sure of that.”
“And yet you hesitate,” said Padraig. “Is there someone else?”
“No one who’d have me,” Caitlin replied modestly. She smiled—ruefully, Padraig thought—and placed her free hand on his. “I’m glad you’ve come back to us, Padraig.”
“I doubt if everyone in the village will be saying that.” Foreboding flickered in the priest’s eyes. “Many, I am sure, are not too happy to have me, above all people, back among them as their priest.”
“Your task won’t be an easy one, Padraig, I’ll grant you that. But you have that streak of MacLir defiance in you that is our family’s greatest protection against malice.”
“And how is Finn MacLir these days?”
“As much of an old rogue as ever. He gets even worse with age, if that’s possible.”
“I am looking forward to seeing him again,” Padraig said, but with a tinge of apprehension in his voice. Slowly he released Caitlin’s hand. “And Mother Ross? How is she?”
“Hail and hearty. Same old Mother Ross.” Caitlin gazed intently at the pale face of the priest, at his long, thin body. Mother Ross always said that her greatest disappointment in life was failing to put an ounce of flesh on Padraig’s spindly rack of bones.
“And Nora?”
“Doting wife and mother. She and Flynn are very happy in their wee house. Little Dermot is the spitting image of his father. Curly reddish hair and all.”
“How old is Dermot now?”
“Two and a bit.”
Padraig paused, then pensively he said. “How time flies. And yet it seems like no time at all since I went away. Caitlin, I have been looking forward so much to seeing all of you again. Looking forward to coming home. Looking forward to being in the village again. I want to gaze at the hills and the sea, to walk the beach again at midnight. I have been so long away. I have missed you all so much. Missed you more than I can say. It is good to be home again, Caitlin. But it is not going to be easy.”
Padraig stood up. Then he leaned forward, kissed the woman on the forehead, and picking up the lamp, quietly left the room.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

Swamped

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and as the time approached for the bell to announce the end of trading,
he called Rebecca Horton and suggested they meet at Da Carlo’s,
to which she agreed.
When they met Rebecca in the lounge of the restaurant, Eteo
hugged her. Her body, firm and willing, excited him, and he remembered
when Rebecca had told him about travelling to Crete the summer
after her graduation and the great time she had had there with
the Cretan lover she had met there and would never forget. Eteo had
joked at the time that Cretan men knew how to make a woman happy
and since then they had developed a relationship, a strange one since
Rebecca was a married woman now, but her desire for a Cretan man
had remained in her mind and Eteo was the only Cretan man around.
at was their secret pact, and whenever the opportunity came along,
they enjoyed each other in the fullest of ways.
She was hot today, with an obvious fire burning in her eyes, a
flaming, dark red lipstick and a body that moved next to Eteo in an
outrightly sensual way. As they talked, he couldn’t take his mind away
from the desire to have her today. They sat close to each other and
ordered a drink, but business had to take priority.
“Talk to me” Rebecca said.
“I have a small group I can use to raise a couple of hundred thousand
dollars,” Eteo replied, “and I have a good property from George
Beaton. He assures me it will go through very easily.”
“So you want to put together a new shell company.”
“Yes, and I have the directors. You know my people.”
Rebecca frowned at this.
“You think I shouldn’t use my regulars?” Eteo asked her.
“Well, investors keep an eye on who’s in there, and they tend to
dislike the same people as directors, especially when they aren’t as
qualified. Remember the article that came out lately?”
Rebecca had a valid point. Eteo remembered the article very well.
It was by a well-known VSE critic, George Gains, and had appeared
prominently in the business section of the Vancouver Sun. Gains was
famous for reporting everything and anything he could learn about
the low-lives that run around law firms and brokerages hatching
shady deals.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WP3LMPX

The Circle

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and then when they retire, most often they collapse from the stress of the
years they spent at work and away from home, like Matthew. What have you
been doing all your life, sweet Emily? What have you been doing for Emily? You
said the other day that you would like to get into underwater photography. How
are you going to do that being married to a man who has no time for his wife, let
alone for what his wife likes to do?”
Emily looks at him, but is at a loss for words. She knows he’s right, although
she’s afraid to admit that even to herself. The world is a scary place without
money, she knows. She also knows Matthew and Emily hardly make it on his
salary.
“It’s scary to think of being out there without the means to survive, sweet
Talal,” she utters, as if to convince herself that that is the most important thing at
this time.
“Yes, I agree. But what will you do to survive is the question, my sweet Emily.
Do you sell out what counts for the security of having money? This is a call we all
have to make.”
“That’s right, my love, do you sell out what counts?” she asks, instead of
answering his question.
He smiles brightly at her as if trying to see into her very soul and says, “No, sweet
Emily, you never sell out, no matter what. Because if you do, how can you face
yourself in themirror and say you have been true to yourself; I have been true to my
integrity, I haven’t sold out. That is what counts in life and that’s the reason I would
never sell out.”
“Perhaps you are right. But it’s different for a man than for a woman.” She
points out.
“No, my love, there is no difference. It’s only a matter of personal belief, a
matter of effort, a matter of achievement, a matter of commitment, that’s all!”
She lays her head on his shoulder and says nothing more, as if listening to the
gap between two words or two breaths, or two of her heartbeats that sound like
the song of a woman in love with this Iraqi man with the sweet voice and the sad
eyes. He’s very pleased that he has made her aware of Matthew’s work, because
he knows that, later, all this will sink in and the result is going to be exactly what
he wants. Talal sits listening to the song of the wind through the small park
where they sit, a song that unfolds slowly and methodically like a majestic eagle
spreading its wings to the heights of the sky.
They begin walking once more, holding hands and observing nature all
around them. They see the bright colors of the trees and flowers, and the shining,
splashing water of the pond where the sun’s rays reflect like crystals. They come
to a smaller pond filled with ducks making all kinds of sounds

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186524