Confessions of an Idiosyncratic Mind

The Plight of the Unidentified

The AP has an extended piece on the Doe Network, whose mission since its inception in 2001 is to highlight missing and unidentified persons and do their best to resolve such cases:

Today the Doe Network has volunteers and chapters in every state. Bank managers and waitresses, factory workers and farmers, computer technicians and grandmothers, all believing that with enough time and effort, modern technology can solve the mysteries of the missing dead.

Increasingly, they are succeeding.

The unnamed dead are everywhere -- buried in unmarked graves, tagged in county morgues, dumped in rivers and under bridges, interred in potter's fields and all manner of makeshift tombs. There are more than 40,000 unnamed bodies in the U.S., according to national law enforcement reports, and about 100,000 people formally listed as missing.

The premise of the Doe Network is simple. If the correct information -- dental records, DNA, police reports, photographs -- is properly entered into the right databases, many of the unidentified can be matched with the missing. Law enforcement agencies and medical examiners offices simply don't have the time or manpower. Using the Internet and other tools, volunteers can do the job.

40,000. That is a ridiculously large number that has no business being so high. The Doe Network does its part, and eventually the linking of both databases in the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System (NamUS) should as well, but still. Think about that number. Think long and hard.

The Weekend Update in Situ

NYTBR: First up, the new Grisham novel makes the cover - two months after its release date? David Orr returns with a look at Mary Jo Bang's recent poems; Pamela Paul investigates Mary Roach's investigation of sex; and Neil Genzlinger gets some snappy answers from Al Jaffee.

And of course, the already-much-linked-to essay about "literary dealbreakers" from Rachel Donadio, about which I think two things: one, how is this not a Sunday Styles refugee? And the further Jekyll-and-Hyde striation of Donadio's work, so good long ago in the Observer and now in Nextbook, makes me think the essay's title ought to have been "It's Not You, It's the Book Review."

Multi-Level BSP

At the Barnes & Noble Review, I kick off an occasional series on historical mysteries by starting at the beginning of time - or at least going as far back as ancient periods.

In a slightly more tongue-in-cheek vein, my mini-rant on the revamped editions of the first two SWEET VALLEY HIGH books appears at Vulture.

Finally, on Sunday afternoon I'll be among several dozen choristers taking part in a celebration of the 60th Anniversary of the State of Israel at Carnegie Hall. The rehearsal schedule has been understandably intensive but when this man's on the bill, any and all hard work is a no-brainer.

The Mystery Man of Eastlake

Three years ago I blogged about "Joseph Newton Chandler III", an elderly gentleman who shot himself in 2002 and left behind a slew of troubling questions when the name he lived under for close to 25 years turned out to be a sham.

Now the Cleveland Free Times makes "Joe" their cover story this week, and the portrait that emerges is of a man with serious idiosyncrasies and something very much to hide:

Joe Chandler was quite peculiar. He wore factory-style protective eyeglasses, even outside of work. He stood about 5-foot-8 and looked to be in his 60s, although Mike noticed that whenever someone asked how old he was, Joe always gave a different age. He had larger-than-average hands, with thick fingers. He smelled kind of funny, too, like he didn't bathe often. And he was always making little gadgets.

Joe built himself a white-noise machine that piped static through headphones which he wore at all times. He kept it turned up so loud, you could hear it if you were standing close to him. Joe also wired his TV so that it shut off during commercial breaks and clicked back on when the program started up again; he hated advertisements of all kinds. As a favor to another coworker named Mark Herendeen, Joe once rigged the Madison Fire Department's alarm system so that it turned on the lights in the sleeping area whenever it sounded.

Joe also had a habit of disappearing. Occasionally, he would call [his friend and eventual executor] Mike and explain that he wouldn't be coming to work for awhile. "They're getting close," Joe would say. Usually, he was only gone for a few days, though once he was gone for months.

"I should have suspected something," says Mike, thinking back. "But I didn't. I just thought he was a paranoid schizophrenic or something."

So who was "Joe," really? As much as I still like the idea of him being the Zodiac, it's a longshot possibility that still doesn't really lead to any conclusions. Odds are decent that he could have been the federal fugitive Stephen Campbell, though the "easily explained away" discrepancies (like a six-inch height differential) aren't necessarily so in my mind. It still troubles me that there was no way to extract DNA from any item "Joe" was known to handle, and that his cremated remains wouldn't reveal much even if they were exhumed. So unless someone knows something, the fictitious Mr. "Chandler" seems destined to remain a cipher.

Still more smatterings

Chetan Bhagat is India's bestselling novelist - a task he accomplishes in his spare time from investment banking.

Scott Timberg remains on the rediscovery beat, talking with American spymaster Charles McCarry.

The LAT's Tim Rutten has many good things to say about Joseph Wambaugh's new novel HOLLYWOOD CROWS.

Andrew Wylie has swooped in and grabbed the right to represent Evelyn Waugh's estate from the jaws of PFD.

Leon Neyfakh looks at the so-called self-help memoir craze, spawned before and after the runaway success of EAT, PRAY, LOVE.

Tom Rob Smith talks up CHILD 44, his soap-writing past and upcoming projects for PinkNews.co.uk.

Christopher Rice is chatted up by the Windy City Times about his latest thriller BLIND FALL.

Heather O'Neill writes about the deadly sin of pride for the National Post.

January Magazine's Stephen Miller looks at international crime fiction offerings from Adrian Hyland and K.O. Dahl.

And finally, another clue unearthed in the ongoing, perhaps never-ending search for D.B. Cooper.

Smatterings

Michiko Kakutani generally likes Colin Harrison's THE FINDER but finds the plot rather preposterous. All I know is that the book entertained me immensely over the weekend.

Hillel Italie pores through the archives of Writer's Digest.

Brian Stelter catches up with R.L. Stine as a new generation of kids is about to be bombarded with new GOOSEBUMPS books.

The battle between Tom Clancy and former wife Wanda still rages on in court.

Will B&N buy Borders? Goldman Sachs seems to think it would be a good idea, even if there are many compelling reasons for why it wouldn't work.

Michael Orthofer digs into the Katie Price/Nibbie controversy.

John Emil List, the killer who put forensic sculptor Frank Bender (and America's Most Wanted) back on the map, has died. Steve Huff has more on the story.

Ed links to the early films of Jim Henson. "Time Piece" is one of the most brilliant things I have ever seen.

Can we stop with the David Paterson revelations, please? Does knowing he tried coke or pot or had some affairs years ago affect his ability or inability to pass the budget? Oh, silly media fixating on irrelevancy.

Jaime makes the case for LOVE AFFAIR as one of the most underrated movies of our time.

And finally, quantum physics, the Super Mario way.

On Arthur Lyons and Jacob Asch

J. Kingston Pierce has written the most amazing tribute to Arthur Lyons, author of several P.I. novels featuring Palm Springs-based detective Jacob Asch. Lyons, most recently a city councilman and founder of the annual Film Noir festival, died last week at the age of 62. Jiro Kimura broke the news. And now, like many others I suspect, I have a number of books to track down ASAP.

Sweethearts in Crime

PW's Edward Nawotka has a great writeup this week about David Thompson and McKenna Jordan, the dynamic duo at Murder by the Book who have big plans over the next year:

Talk about being married to your job: on September 6, when McKenna Jordan, 26, and David Thompson, 36, say “I do” at the Dryburgh Abbey in Scotland, they will cement a bond that already has them spending most days and nights together. Jordan and Thompson are manager and assistant manager, respectively, of mystery bookstore Murder by the Book in Houston, Tex., where they regularly cohost some 150 author events a year. And on January 1, 2009, they will take over as co-owners of the bookstore. “Technically,” says Thompson, “McKenna is the one buying the store, so I’ll be working for her.”

The store has been owned since its 1980 inception by Martha Farrington, who will retire at the end of 2008. She told Nawotka she’d been looking for someone on staff to buy the store for many years. “When McKenna came to the store, I saw that she was the right person,” says Farrington. “For her age, she can handle a lot. I’m not worried about them so much as I’m worried about the future of the book business. I just hope they are able to carry on in the same mode.”

Owning MBTB will also give Thompson a chance to devote further energies to his publishing imprint Busted Flush Press. All told it's pretty damn great news!

LA Times Festival of Books Lineup

The annual festival announced its full schedule late last week, and as always, the crime fiction track is substantive and looks to be very entertaining, indeed.

It'll be my first time at the LATFOB as I've been asked to moderate two panels: "Mystery, the Literary Detective" with Leslie Klinger, April Smith and Peter Robinson on April 26th at 11:30; and "Mystery: Starting a Series" with Sandi Ault, Christopher Reich and Susan Kandel on April 27 at 1:30.

The full mystery track appears after the jump.

The Weekend Update's Passion

NYTBR: This is pure conjecture on my part, but I can't help wondering if Colm Toibin's review of HUMAN SMOKE adorned the cover only at the last minute. Maybe because it's not as long as cover reviews have been of late. Or because the NYTBR, ca. 2008, wants to distance itself from the whiff of Wieseltier and focus more on what other editors notice. Whatever the case, I'm not complaining.

Otherwise, Polly Morrice reflects on 60 years of J.D. Salinger's published prose; Robert Kaplan seems to enjoy Alex Berenson's new spy thriller in spite of himself; and Marilyn Stasio reviews new crime novels by Anne Perry, Lisa Lutz, David Levien and Patrick McManus.

And from Friday's paper, I don't know, but you think Janet Maslin might be burning out just a bit on crime novels? Perhaps the repetition of "because the world of crime thrillers is finite" is a giveaway...