Ron McVean, writing from a beach somewhere in tropical paradise, says this about my new mystery:
As always, Munger’s new book provides not only a riveting story but lessons in geography, history and culture. Laman’s River is his first book that weaves religious threads throughout the story focusing on the “mysteries” of the Mormon faith. It is very obvious that he has done a great deal of research regarding the Mormon faith and culture to be able to correctly present the Mormon scriptural references that allow the outsider insight into what drives the Mormon characters in the book. What would cause a person to sit and read for 10 hrs on the beach in Hawaii under partly cloudy skies with a soft breeze blowing and being mostly oblivious to the scantily clad young bodies passing by? A great book, not a good book, a great book. I thoroughly enjoyed The Legacy, was intrigued by Soumaliset but was entralled by Laman’s River. 5 stars out of 5.
Thanks, Ron. And the rest of you Munger readers out there? If you liked the book, don’t be shy about posting reviews at BN, Amazon, Goodreads, Google Books, iBooks, Smashwords, and any other appropriate site! Word of mouth is what will make this book take off.
Peace.
Mark
The following is a review Munger reader and editor of the New World Finn, Gerry Henkel, posted yesterday on Amazon:
I encourage readers who love intelligently written crime stories to buy Mark Munger’s latest book, Laman’s River. It is a crime novel which features a local county sheriff – Debra Slater – who could well become the fascinating star of a series of novels.
The book begins with the murder of a newspaper reporter in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area in northeastern Minnesota, and rapidly develops into a story about kidnapped young Native American girls and a polygamous Mormon sect. Even though Laman’s River is fiction, many of the elements in the book have occured in reality.
This book is not a “who-done-it” mystery – we know from the first pages who the murderer is. The story is about much more than the detectives and a murder – it is a dramatic, fast moving novel based in current events. Munger sheds light – through the use of fiction – on outrageous human behavior that he observes in his day job is a district court judge in northeastern Minnesota.
Sheriff Debra Slater is a fiction, but because he knows how to tell a story, Munger’s portrayal of her life, her work, and her personality make her seem very real. I fully expect that if I walk into the Cook County courthouse some day, I will meet her in the flesh. The author’s realistic depiction of Slater carries over to all the other characters in the book including The Tyler – a Mormon who murders; Herb Whitefeather – a Lakota FBI agent; Obadiah Nielsen – the Prophet of a Mormon sect; and a lying district court judge-Elizabeth Prichard.
Similarly, the character and setting of much of the novel – northeastern Minnesota – is described with color and vividness:
“It was a glorious September day. Autumn was prescient in the cool air, in the newly crisp leaves of the birches lining the asphalt parkway. The sky above the harbor, where the St. Louis River meets Lake Superior, was cloudless. Thousands of migratory hawks, eagles, owls, kestrels, and falcons soared high above the city, their wings set to take advantage of prevailing winds.”
Mark Munger is a first-rate storyteller. The first book I read by him was Suomalaiset, a novel about a subject of which I am very familiar: Finnish immigrants in the Great Lakes region. Munger did not disappoint me: Even though he had no roots in the Finnish community, he told the story of those Finns in a way that made them jump out of the history books and come alive. In Laman’s River, Munger is in his everyday element – crime and the judicial system. From his perspective as a judge, and with his excellent storytelling abilities, he writes a book that will keep your attention from the murder on the first page to the surprising conclusion at the end.
5 stars out of 5.
Gerry Henkel
Waiting for the Doors to Open
Saturday. I’m up at 5:00am and in the shower. By 5:45am, I’m on the road to the Bloomington Writers’ Festival. I’m nervous: I’m not only selling books at the festival; I’m also reading from Laman’s River for Bloomington cable access television and I’m a featured presenter at the conference. I’m about to embark on some serious multi-tasking and I don’t know if I’m up to it. I’m not behind the wheel of my 2008 Pacifica, my vehicle of choice. I’m driving Rene’s 2005 Toyota Matrix to take advantage of better gas mileage. It’s a down and back trip: I won’t be staying the night in the Cities. I can’t afford it.This writerly kick I am on has long ago eaten up the budget for motels. And there’s a George Clooney movie Rene’ wants me to watch with her tonight. What the hell is it about George Clooney anyway? I mean, is he really that sexy to women of a certain age? I just don’t get it.
Anyway, after eating a rubber egg, cheese, and sausage muffin purloined from the shelves of a gas station in Cloquet and downing two cups of strong coffee and a bottle of orange juice, I finally, just south of Forest Lake, drive out of the perpetual fog that has been squatting on northern Minnesota for the past week. Ever since winter decided to vamoose, the Northland has been socked in with rain and fog. It’s a pleasure to finally be able to see the highway in front of me as I drive out of the foggy envelope. Don’t mistake what I’m saying here: There is no sun to speak of. Only more gray. But gray with perspective instead of claustrophobic closeness. When I pull in to the parking lot of the Bloomington Theater and Arts Center, where the conference is being held, I’m a few minutes ahead of schedule. The doors are manned by a smallish man, a volunteer, who has us wait until nine before allowing the milling crowd of weary eyed would be John Grishoms and J.K. Rowlings inside.
2012 Bloomington Writers' Festival
After the doors open, I pull my foldable two-wheeled dolly stacked with plastic bins and boxes into the building, register with another volunteer at the main table, and find my spot. I’m an old pro at setting up my books: Table cloth first, then the plastic placards holding images of each book and details about them, followed by neatly stacked copies of the books I have in print, finished off by two plastic business card holders full of my business cards. In less than twenty minutes, I’m ready to start selling. Of course, the public isn’t allowed in for another half hour, so I take full advantage of the down time and wander off to the room where I’ll be presenting my program. I spend a few minutes talking to a guy setting up the digital projector that I’ll be using in conjunction with my son Jack’s netbook. After talking to the guy, I’m confident that this experiment, which has me extremely nervous, will work out OK: I’m going to try to show aspiring historical novelists how I use the Internet to conduct research for my work. I’m doing it in real time, right there during my one hour lecture. Understand, I am not a tech nerd. I can adequately function in front of a keyboard for simple tasks like using the Internet, doing word processing, and the like. But I am not a computer guru. This is only my second attempt at using a computer during a lecture. The last time I tried it, it was a disaster. I am hoping history doesn’t, as some say, repeat itself.
Mark's Table at the Writers' Festival
There’s a slow but steady crowd at the conference. Many of the folks milling about are more interested in what you have to say as a presenter than what you’ve written as an author. I always sell enough books here to pay for gas but that’s usually about it. Today is no exception. Copies of my new mystery, Laman’s River, prove popular as do copies of Suomalaiset, my historical novel about Finns in NE Minnesota. I collect my complimentary box lunch and eat it at my table after doing my ten minute reading from the new book for cable access. The reading seemed to go well, with only a few minor stumbles as I tried to “set the mood” of the story so folks will want to buy the book. I even had a couple of fans in attendance.
Old friends from Moorhead, the Floms, surprise me, stopping by in the early afternoon with their daughter, Sarah, and her toddler son, Will. We catch up on our kids, I get to hold Will for a few snapshots, and then they’re gone. Another friend, John Helland stops by to chat as well. That’s one of the main benefits of these outings: Getting away from behind the keyboard and monitor and talking to folks who like and support your work. I keep checking my iPhone for the time. Eventually, I leave the table and pad off to the Rehearsal Hall where I am to give my lecture. The room is full, nearly thirty folks have paid money to hear me blather. Even though I teach college courses at UWS each semester, those courses are linked to my vocation as a judge. Today, I am speaking about my avocation, my hobby.
What gives me the right to talk to these folks? I’ve never won the Pulitzer. Hell, I’ve never even won a Northeast Minnesota Book Award, much less a Minnesota Book Award. Just who the hell do I think I am?
I feel a bit like a fraud as I stumble around the Internet while a roomful of strangers gawk at me. But I make it through the hour without a heart attack. I guess that’s something. I take a few questions and then return to my table to pack up my books and hit the road. A couple of the attendees from the class stop by to chat and buy books. They try to tell me that the hour was worthwhile. I listen, but my own take on my performance is less laudatory. Still, I smile and say “thank you” like Mom taught me.
Goose Creek Wayside Rest
Goose Creek
On the road, I eat a bad meal at the McDonald’s in Forest Lake. By the Goose Creek wayside rest, I need to hit the john. I pull off, do my business, and then, because the sun is finally out and the warm air finally feels like spring, I decide to check out the creek itself. I’m not disappointed. I stand in a tangle of gnarled oaks along the creek bank and look out at tired hay stubble waiting to awaken after a false winter. Invigorated, I get back into the Matrix and head north on I-35.
Sunset on Pike Lake
By the time I make Pike Lake, just outside Duluth, the sun is setting. The colors of the sky beg for me to stop and consider them. I park at the state owned boat launch on the lake. I watch the orange globe of the sun disappear behind the trees of Pike Lake’s western shoreline.I put the Matrix in gear, knowing that “The Descendents” and Mr. Clooney are waiting for me at home.
Sunday. Rene’ and I take separate cars to church. After an exhausting “there and back” trip to the Cities the day before, I am slated to have brunch at the Zinema2 theater complex in downtown Duluth. The director of a film I reviewed for the New World Finn newspaper (the film is Under the Red Star), Kelly Saxberg, her husband, Ron Harpelle, and a few other folks from Duluth’s Sister Cities program are gathering to talk about the film in advance of its Duluth debut. Brenda Denton, a local attorney, knowing my interest in all things Finnish, emailed me and invited me to brunch. So here I am, walking across Superior Street after spending an hour with God and family at Grace Lutheran Church, putting on my authorial hat once again.
The fact that I thoroughly enjoyed the film (giving it 4 out of 5 stars) likely helped garner the invite: I doubt Brenda would have asked me to come by so that Kelly and Ron (the co-producers of the movie) could throw hash browns at me across the table! ( I’ll post my review of the film in a day or so now that it’s been printed in NWF.) I sit down at the breakfast table next to Kelly and give her a copy of Suomalaiset with the hope that, one day, she’ll want to make a feature film out of Olli Kinkkonen’s story. I know, I know. It’s a pipe dream, a long shot, a one-in-a-million grasping at straws. But who knows? Stranger things happen in this world, right? We have a lively conversation about Kelly’s films, about the Finnish immigrant experience, and then, we head down to the theater. It’s apparent that the room assigned to the film is too small for the crowd: The event is moved to the larger of the complexes two movie theaters. And still, the larger space isn’t sufficient to hold all the folks who wander in. Ten minutes into the film and there are still people opening the doors, trying to find a seat. But it’s standing room only, a good sign for the movie’s long term impact and success. After the credits, as attendees ask the director questions about the film and her work, I dash out to the Pacifica to retrieve a copy of Laman’s River. One of the folks I had brunch with, Naomi Sundog Yaeger-Bischoff, the editor of the Budgeteer, is interested in my writing. I can’t pass up the chance to make another connection.
Better not pass up an opportunity for a review.
That’s thing about being a semi-famous novelist: You are always looking for an edge, some way of promoting your work so that folks will read what you have written. I retrieve the book, hand it to Naomi, and bid my new friends adieu. I still have a bathroom to paint and a garage to sweep before sitting down to dinner with Rene’ and Jack. And then, tomorrow, Monday morning, I’ll be up and ready to go to work. At my real job.
Peace.
Mark
CRP fan and reader Niel Niemi writes:
Mark:
Was traveling this past week in Southern Texas. I loaded your book, Laman’s River on my Kindle–Excellent–Thank you.
Thanks Niel. This is a good reminder that Laman’s River is available on Kindle and Nook for immediate download.
Mark
After work today, I was reading the lead article in my friend Gerry Henkel’s great little paper of Finnish and Finnish North American culture, New World Finn, and was intrigued by the the subject matter. The article was about Finnish composer Jean Sibelius’s short piece, “Tapiola” and I became so enthralled with the imagery invoked by the writer (Leon Chia) that I had to hear the music first hand. Well, what to do? YouTube of course! On the first search, I locked onto a real masterpiece: Neeme Jarvi conducting the Berlin Philharmonic. The visuals that accompany the symphony are outstanding. Do yourself a treat. Log on to:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4l7uq7LWF5Y and be ready to be amazed.
Thanks, Gerry and Leon for calling my attention to this fine piece of music.
Kiitos.
Marki Mungerin
2012 Bloomington Writers' Festival
I know most of my blog readers are Duluthians or at least, denizens of NE Minnesota. So the fact that I’ll be spending tomorrow at the Bloomington Theater and Arts Center (1800 Old Shakopee Rd, Bloomington, MN) will likely be of little value. Still, for those of you who might be from the Twin Cities, or find yourself, like a wayward moth migrating towards the great light of culture burning in the the Minneopolitan suburbs, I will be selling my books, including the new murder mystery, Laman’s River, from 9:30am-5:00pm at the Arts Center. I’ll also be leading a workshop, “The Bones Behind the Flesh: Researching a Novel in the Digital Age” from 2:30-3:30pm, and reading a snippet from Laman’s River as well at 12:10pm. It promises to be a fun-filled, though thoroughly exhausting day!
Stop in and see me!
Peace.
Well, don’t that take all? I had billed the music for the upcoming release of Laman’s River as “Paul Imholte and Friends”. I left the billing sort of generic because I knew Paul would be showing up toting his guitar but I wasn’t sure who else might be coming along with him.
Turns out that on May 10th, 2012, you folks are in for a real treat. Not only is accomplished singer-songwriter Paul Imholte going to be at the book launch: The other half of The Tarveys, Katie Oberg, will be joining Paul on stage at Teatro Zuccone.
Add to this duo’s great music the insightful intellect of Heidi Holtan (host of KAXE radio’s “RealGoodWords”) who’ll be asking a broken down lawyer-turned-novelist (namely me) about his craft, throw in a reading or two from the old guy, and you have the makings for a great evening of entertainment!
The best part? Other than buying your own drinks, forking over some small change for a copy of Laman’s River and a CD or two, the evening is on Cloquet River Press.
I hope to see all of you at Teatro Zuccone on May 10th. The fun begins at 7:00pm.
You can catch a sneak preview of The Tarveys live at:
http://www.tarveys.com/videos.html.
Peace.
Mark
Cloquet River at Dawn: Spring, 2012
Those new little gadgets are quite something, aren’t they? The picture posted above was taken three days ago with my new iPhone. I didn’t want a new fangled gadget for making telephone calls: My old Samsung flip phone was still working quite well, thank you. Simple to operate. No camera. No internet. Just a few buttons to push to call someone. Better still, there was only one button to push to pick up a call being made to me! Perfect for an old man. Not as cumbersome or gawky as the Jitterbug, but every bit as simple, I loved that old phone. Still, it’s hard to argue with your wife when she shows up in the kitchen with a brand new pair of matching iPhones: A red one for her, a blue one for me. Whether you love Apple and its founder, Steve Jobs or not, you’ve got to admit: The utter beauty of his creations, including the iPhone4 is hard to put down once you’re holding one of his devices.
This blog isn’t, however, about Steve Jobs or phones or technology: It’s about today’s post at http://rurallitrally.org/?page_id=563. This morning, the Rural Lit R.A.L.L.Y. is featuring an interview with me at its site about “sense of place”. Read the piece and, if you are curious about where I call home and the fictional history I’ve attached to where I live, click on the two essays on that site. I think you’ll enjoy what I’ve written.
Looking Down River on the Cloquet: Spring, 2012
Peace.
Mark
Mark – Just finished reading Laman’s River and have to tell you – what a page turner! I was impressed by the amount of research that went into it; the detail. The descriptions of place… were of great importance to me, but when I really settled into the story as a whole, it just carried me away. Looking forward to reading more of your work. Cynthia Anthony, Buffalo State College.
So, if you’re in the market for a good yarn to get you through the next three days (it’s supposed to rain like cats n’ dogs), why not order a copy of Laman’s River from this blog, your favorite brick and mortar bookstore, or an internet retailer (both Kindle and Nook versions also available).
Thanks, Cynthia, for letting me know you enjoyed the read. I hope others write in with their comments as well…
Peace.
Mark
the Bones of Plenty by Lois Phillips Hudson (1962, 1984. Borealis Books. ISBN 0-87351-175-1)
One of the benefits of being asked to participate in Buffalo State University’s Rural Lit R.A.L.L.Y. blog discussion of bygone novels depicting America’s agrarian past is that, from time to time, you stumble onto something you’ve never read, never heard of, by an author you never even knew existed. As part of my affiliation with the Rural Lit blog site, the administrator of the blog sent me a used copy of the Bones of Plenty to read in preparation for an upcoming discussion. Similar in texture and tone to Minnesota author Herbert Krause’s epic tales about northwestern Minnesota (Wind Without Rain and The Thresher), Bones follows the successes and considerable failures of the tale’s red-headed protagonist, George Armstrong Custer (not the ill-fated general but a ND grain farmer named for the Indian fighter) during the Great Depression. It’s all here: the farm auctions where men from the surrounding community show up and bid so low, the sheriff escorting the banker gives up and leaves without completing the sale; the Jewish lender who, because he lost his neighbors’ life savings in speculative investments, vanishes under the cover of darkness; sickness, disease, and death; tragic farm accidents and dust storms that blot the sun.
At times poetic, Hudson allows George (and some lesser characters) to get a bit preachy, ranting for or against the men of power who control the strings of the populace’s existence to the point of distraction from the characters themselves. That’s the only real drawback to the writing and it is but a minor flaw. For the most part, Hudson, who was a professor at a number of colleges (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lois_P._Hudson for details) hits the nail squarely on its prairie influenced head. The female protagonists in the story, including Lucy (the eldest of George and Rachel Custer’s two daughters); Rachel Custer (George’s long suffering wife); and her mother, Ruth; are all extremely complex personalities as drawn by this author. So too are the men: George has a temper and is prone to corporal punishment of Lucy in brutal and rash ways and routinely cuts his wife to the quick; but somewhere behind his deep seated mistrust of society and the system he is bound to (he’s a tenant farmer on someone else’s land), George Custer loves his daughters and Rachel, a college educated woman who gave up teaching school for a life of hardship she never envisioned.
In looking for novels by Hudson (she’s the sort of writer you want to hear more from), I was disappointed: The only other book available on Amazon.com by this author is Reapers of the Dust which appears to be a collection of essays about Hudson’s childhood in North Dakota. While such real-life snippets of turmoil and angst might be someone else’s “cup of tea”, I was hoping for more fiction from this forgotten chronicler of the prairie. Sadly, this appears to be the only novel Lois Hudson finished before her death in 2010.
And that, given the quality of the prose in Bones is all of our loss.
4 and 1/2 stars out of 5. Readily available on amazon.com.
