My copy of the paperback, as happens with books that stir my mind, is dog-eared and notated throughout.
The premise is a letter delivered upon the death of a woman where she tells an elderly man that he has a son—a son raised with a Christian fervor that excludes every other religion as inferior and requiring elimination.
The catch? The elderly man is Jewish.
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Isn’t it better to learn from the sad moments we stumbled through as teenagers and plunge fully forward, loving adulthood, than it is to wallow in what didn’t go perfectly forty years ago?
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How do you want to age? Sitting still or going full tilt at life? I want to go out like my favorite pair of Levi Jeans–worn just right and comfortable to the end.
What type of jean would you want to liken yourself to?
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Bosch is still working as a volunteer detective with the San Fernando Police Department, where they’re called to the double vicious murder of father and son pharmacists. Current case in place, Bosch is also dealing with the newly contested conviction of a cruel killer he put away thirty years ago. Step into the story and enjoy a speedy, twisted ride.
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When my parents would come to visit Seester and me during the summers I lived in Red Lodge, dad and I would always take a morning and drive to Cooke City for lunch. Up over the Beartooth Pass we’d go, stopping willy nilly for photo opps and simple moments of enjoying each other’s company. You’d have loved this picnic, Dad.
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