Stanley Trollip on African Beauty

Michael Sears and Stanley Trollip

Our guest post today comes from Stanley Trollip, who, along with Michael Sears, is half of the writing team of Michael Stanley. This weekend Michael Stanley won the Barry award for best paperback novel at Bouchercon for DEATH OF THE MANTIS, latest in the Detective Kubu series, set in Botswana.

Both are retired professors who have worked in academia and business. Mr. Trollip is an educational psychologist, specializing in the application of computers to teaching and learning, and a pilot. Mr. Sears is a mathematician, specializing in geological remote sensing. They were both born in South Africa.

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Over the past couple of years, I have gazed in awe at the beautiful and spectacular buildings that my fellow bloggers have written about on "Murder is Everywhere." I’ve been blown away by pictures of monasteries on hilltops and by soaring churches and their stained glass windows. When I travel I’m always amazed by the beauty of buildings that are thousands of years old – the Roman and Greek temples and amphitheatres, the pyramids and temples of Egypt, Angkor Wat, and so on. And I’ve wondered why there are no equally beautiful indigenous buildings in sub-Saharan Africa.

Certainly most sub-Saharan countries have beautiful buildings, but they are almost always European in design and function, as in some of those that Leighton Gage has shown in Brazil. But the ruins of ancient buildings in sub-Saharan Africa, although fascinating archeologically, are not as attractive as their similarly aged counterparts elsewhere.

Why is that?

Is it because gods or spirits were worshiped through dancing and singing rather than at a church or temple? That there were no archbishops or high priests? Is it because the great leaders of African tribes didn’t arrange for huge memorials to be built in their memory? Is it because power was diffused more into communities than centralized? Is it because day-to-day structures were made from wood and grass and not more enduring stone or brick?

I’ve no idea what the answer is.

So where is beauty to be found in Africa other than in its landscapes, people, and wildlife? It is found in its art, particularly in its three-dimensional art – its figures and its masks, usually carved from wood, but sometimes of stone, and occasionally molded from clay. Two-dimensional art is rare, other than the rock art of the Khoi-San peoples.

Although I admire the great European and Eastern sculptures, I have always had a greater emotional affinity to the art of Africa –despite my upbringing being very Eurocentric. The only European style I have a passion for is Cycladic art, particularly figures and faces.

Cycladic face

Cycladic face

Cycladic female figure

The inherent lack of realism in African masks (and African art in general) is generally attributed to the fact that most African cultures distinguish the essence of a subject from its looks; the former, rather than the latter, being the actual subject of artistic representation. This means that African art depicts what the artist feels about a subject rather than what the subject looks like. Consequently African art is about emotion rather than realism.

I have a decent collection of African masks and figures, some of which are, to Western eyes, very weird, particularly the spirit sculptures of the Makonde people of southern Tanzania or northern Mozambique. Yet they have always talked to me. It’s their message that I get.

Here are some examples of African art. Remember much of it is relatively recent (about 100 years is regarded as old). This is because most carvings are made from wood and are susceptible to rot, borer beetles, and decay. African art older than 100 years is rare.

Nok (Nigeria) - 1500 years old

Nok (Nigeria) - 2000 years old

Ife (Nigeria) terra cotta - 300 years old

Benin leopard pair (bronze) - 300 years old

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Bwa (Burkino Fasso)

Baule (Ivory Coast)

Makonde (Tanzania) spirit sculpture

Makonde (Tanzania) spirit sculpture

Benin (Nigeria)

Songye (Democratic Republic of the Congo - Kifwebe mask

Bambara (Mali)  Chiwara

Fang (Cameroon and Guinea) mask

Needless to say, I have collected African masks and figures for many years. Here are a couple of photos of my Minneapolis apartment. Very African.

Stan's Minneapolis Apartment

Stan's Minneapolis Apartment

Stan's Minneapolis Apartment

Stanley Trollip

I Remember Liz… Elizabeth Daniels Squire

Bouchercon Sunday is a fitting time to recall a shining star of the mystery world, a first-rate American writer, who won a prestigious Agatha Award and was inducted into the North Carolina Literary Hall of Fame.

Who left a huge hole at her sudden death in 2001, while on a book promotion tour to Alaska.

An esteemed leader of the Southeastern Chapter of MWA, national SinC, and Carolina Crime Writers, Liz began her career as a book writer in 1960 with Fortune in Your Hand, a history of palmistry, with intriguing data on hands of celebrities such as Dali, Sandburg, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Helen Keller.

PW wrote: "Forceful and engrossing!"

Kill the Messenger was her debut crime novel, about a newspaper publisher killed by cyanide poisoning in his bourbon and the menace of corporate takeovers.

Then Peaches Dann hit the world of mystery with a bang! A Southern amateur detective with a memory problem - who dazzled readers for several books: Where There's a Will, Whose Death Is It Anyway?, Memory can Be Murder, Remember the Alibi, Who Killed What's Her Name? and Is There a Dead Man in the House?

Kirkus Reviews wrote: " A talent to watch!"

I knew her as Dizzy, before I knew Liz the famous author!

A warm, gifted person, devoted wife of Chick Squire, New York Times correspondent, and the mother of three children, Jonathan, Mark and Worth.

Though she ranks high in the pantheon of America's crime literature, Dizzy's pride was in her boys.

One summer, when a group of us were having fun on the beach at Nag's Head, on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, she announced — " I am the mother of THREE sons!"

Vibrant, witty, often self-effacing, Liz came from an illustrious literary family.

Josephus Daniels, her grandfather, founded the renowned Raleigh News and Observer, served as Secretary of the Navy and Ambassador to Mexico, and was a friend of Franklin Roosevelt.

Jonathan Daniels, her father, was a famous and prolific author, who also served as Press Secretary to Harry Truman.

A journalist in Beirut and Connecticut, Dizzy was also invloved in the family business in Raleigh.

She graduated from Ashley Hall in Charleston, South Carolina, where Barbara Bush was also a student, then from Vassar.

I remember Dizzy for many little things:

• Her zany earrings, her prized bargain clothes from Carolina outlets, her unique salads from her own garden.
• Her prim and proper front parlor in the house at Weaverville, next to the enormous and friendly kitchen, where we were all welcome from morning to night!
• Her genial hospitality, where friends brought their friends, whatever the occasion.
• Visits and walks by Connecticut lakes, Carolina beaches, Weaverville woods, shared birthdays in Manhattan, drinks on the lawn .
• Sharing the mystery galas, the Toronto Bouchercon, the Florida Sleuthfest, the Edgars receptions, the unique SinC celebration at St. Bart's Episopal Church in NYC, where she introduced me to a new writer in a blue silk dress named Annette Meyers, the MWA Symposia at Vanderbilt Hall at NYU.

One special memory - I wish I had a picture of this - took place one Thanksgiving Day. There were four of us, Dizzy, her roommate from days at Ashley Hall, Chick and I - sitting by a picture window in rural Connecticut. We looked out - and watched to our delight - a deer and her fawn, like two silent but majestic ballerinas, tiptoe daintily across the lawn, giving us a private performance!

We can only guess what memorable volumes remained in her brain, when she was taken, so suddenly, from all of us — her family, her friends, her colleagues, her fans.

As they said about John Kennedy… "Liz, we hardly knew ye."

Thelma Jacqueline Straw

The Craziest Thing You've Ever Done

In one of those charming articles on true love in the Sunday Style section of the New York Times I read of a dating couple playing a question game where each got to ask the other a question. The boy asked, "What's the craziest thing you've ever done?" The girl confessed that she had gone to Assisi and worked with a wedding planner to concoct her dream wedding, without ever having met the right man. The relationship blossomed and the two were married the following year, in Assisi. (It was an article on true love, after all.)

The piece got me thinking. Could I answer such a question? No. I don't do crazy things. I do ill-advised things, but seldom impulsively. When disaster strikes I tend to freeze like a mouse under the gaze of a snake. I'm paralyzed until I understand what's happening. Sometimes this takes years.

Carina Nebula, the protagonist of Monkeystorm (the book I just finished), is, on the other hand, all impulse. She is so crazy that she had to break out of Trenton Psychiatric, and the craziest thing she ever did was whatever she just did two minutes before. It was interesting to write a character like that. I had to find her inside my stodgy self, where all of us find our characters, if we are writing honestly. But it took a long time. Carina could decide in a heartbeat to torch a building or cut herself on the hand, but I had to mull it over for days before I realized it was what she would do.

So what's the craziest thing you've ever done?

Kate Gallison

Win-an-Autographed-Book Contest

This is your opportunity to win an autographed copy of the absolutely delightful Edge of Ruin by Irene Fleming, also known as Kate Gallison, my friend and blogmate on this blog.  “Delightful,” is not just my word; it is also what Publisher’s Weekly called the book.  And you can have your own copy inscribed to you by Irene/Kate herself.  All you have to do is be the first to say the name of the city where this photo was taken:

My family and I have taken MANY joke photographs of statues over the years.  This is one of my daughter pretending to kiss a statue of a very famous man.  Over the  coming months, I will post other similar contests.  For now, tell me, either by commenting here, or by emailing me through my website www.annamariaalfieri.com. Where were we when I took this picture?

I Love Librarians

Our guest blogger today is Jane K. Cleland, hands down one of the warmest, most generous colleagues anywhere. Jane is the author of the IMBA bestselling and Agatha- and Anthony-nominated Josie Prescott Antiques Mystery series. Set on the rugged coast of New Hampshire, the books are often reviewed as an Antiques Roadshow for mystery fans.

The eighth in the series, Lethal Treasure, will be published in June 2013. The first in the series, Consigned to Death, was named by Library Journal as one of only 22 “core titles” recommended for librarians seeking to build a cozy mystery collection, alongside novels by Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers. Publishers Weekly said of The Josie Prescott Antiques Mysteries, "Ingenious ... engaging!"

Jane also hosts the TV interview program, The Writers Room, and is on the faculty of Lehman College, part of the City University of New York. She is a past president of the New York chapter of Mystery Writers of America and a fellow lover of libraries. You can visit Jane at www.janecleland.net.

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Seventy-five percent of my nieces are librarians. Isn’t that odd? Any family can have a librarian in it... heck... I bet some families have two... but all? Okay... we’re a small family... I only have four nieces... but still... three of them are librarians (and the fourth is a Ph.D. in social psychology, a highly analytical field). Lucky me. Librarians (and social psychologists) are a remarkable breed of people. They’re curious, knowledgeable, smart, and helpful. No wonder I love librarians. One of my nieces is a communications expert, researching ways and means of framing and disseminating her clients’ messages. Another is a cognitive expert, assisting scientists in researching issues surrounding thinking and assimilating information. My third niece is an elementary education expert, working with youngins to instill a love of reading and learning. The fourth is a researcher at a major university. I’m in awe of all four.

I come by my attitude of respect and appreciation honestly; my mother loved librarians, too. When I was a mere slip of a girl she taught me that if you wanted to know something you could always consult a librarian because they either know everything or they know where to find out everything.

When I was in sixth grade, I consulted a librarian as to whether Paul Revere’s horse was a mare. (I needed it as a rhyme in a poem, and being an honest girl, I couldn’t just say it was a mare if it was, in fact, a stallion. Note of interest: She found a contemporary reference stating that Paul Revere’s horse was a mare; I thought you’d want to know.) When I was in eighth grade, a librarian held me enraptured as she discussed the Great Molasses Flood of 1919. (Yes, you read that right. Twenty-one people died a gruesome death, asphyxiated by molasses.)

To this day, I love working with librarians as I work to introduce readers to my protagonist, antiques appraiser, Josie Prescott. As an author, I’m in the enviable position of getting to do just that—a lot. As many of you know, I tour extensively [http://www.janecleland.net/htm/appearances/schedule.htm ] as I work to introduce readers to Josie.

I love the buildings. I love the books. I love the reverence implicit in the hushed conversations. But mostly, I love the librarians.

The Kansas City Public Library

Jane Cleland

www.janecleland.net