A long time ago I fell in love with Lawrence Sanders.
He was an author, now dead.
"The First Deadly Sin", written in 1973. I don't remember when I discovered the book, the author, but I am goddamn glad I did. Central character was a cop named Edward X. Delaney, based in NYC. The guy ate impressive sandwiches, artistic creations, he called them wet sandwiches. So messy he ate them standing over the sink.
Great character, great stories. There were four of these "sin" novels.
Then Sanders created the "commandment" series, beginning in 1979. "The Sixth Commandment" was the first, followed by the 7th, 8th and 10th, not in that order.
Then he moved on to the "McNally" series, beginning in 1992, featuring Archie McNally, a private investigator in Florida. A quirky, entertaining dude who solved crimes in his own bumbling way.
These books sustained me.
They were my go to books. I read voluminously. I try to challenge my brain (which ain't too hard to do). But I need joyfully entertaining books to return to that I can just relax to.
They provide for me such a comfort level. I knew with every Lawrence Sanders book that I would dig the story, dig the characters and lose myself in the reading.
It was much more than a release; it was peace, it was enjoyment, it was reliability. It was something I could go to whenever I wanted to and never be let down.
Reading those books caressed the very essence of my soul, breaking through the tough outer layer laid there by life and getting to the center of who I am.
Reading is sacred to me. One of my great joys is remembering that I got my son Keith into these novels. My sons represent ultimate sacredness to me, along with my incredible wife Carol. So knowing that Keith was enjoying Lawrence Sanders kicked sacredness up to a level most people will never experience.
Unbeknownst to me, there has been a void since I last read Mr. Sanders.
Lee Child has stepped in to fill the void. "Jack Reacher". I read the first book in the series and really dug it. I didn't realize how much I enjoyed it until now, as I am reading the second installment.
It hit me recently that I am experiencing the same level of joy and release and peace that I got through Lawrence Sanders.
Interesting characters, great stories. I fell into the second book in the same way I fell into every Sanders novel. I rest in the recliner, cup of coffee nearby and just exhale frustration and disappointment out as I breathe "Jack Reacher" and his exploits in.
Thank Christ.
I need this badly. Apparently my psyche has been pining away for a Lawrence Sanders substitute for a very long time. Not consciously seeking it out, but quietly lusting for it.
Subconsciously at first, then consciously, my brain, my body and my soul awakened and convinced me that this is it.
There are 18 of these books out there. I am on #2. I am reading them in the order in which they were released. Hopefully, as I plow through them, more will be added to the list.
That is a great deal of peace, a huge amount of quiet pleasure awaiting me.
Reading is sacred to me. It sustains me. All external things let me down. Even whiskey.
Reading never lets me down. Never.
Maybe because reading is really an internal thing. An ethereal thing of the mind and the soul.
Much like family, which is the only other thing in my life that sustains me and never lets me down.
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