In Memoriam: Tony Hillerman

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He was as spare and elegant in his storytelling as a sunrise over the high desert of New Mexico where his roots ran deep.

The mystery writer Tony Hillerman died Sunday at 83 due to, well, there's a medical name, but I prefer to think of it as a rich and well-lived life that finally reached the last page.

Hillerman, honored by Mystery Writers of America as a Grand Master, transcended the mystery genre with his stories of Leaphorn and Chee and their Navajo environs.

He was, in the words of New Mexico Governor Bill Richardson this morning on the Imus Show, an accessible guy whom Richardson valued for his dedication to the state. And Imus noted that when he wanted to find an early Hillerman mystery, Imus was able to just pick up the phone and give him a call.

Listening to him weave his stories with his thoughts on the writing process at a writers' conference in Santa Fe some years back, I was struck by how in tandem his verbal and his written "voices" were.

His heroes were ordinary law enforcement, doing yeoman's work. Not razzle-dazzle pyrotechnic hot dogs. Just ordinary Joes who knew their value to their communities. There is honor in that.

Honors were many for Hillerman--military as well as literary for the old veteran. The New Mexico flag will fly at half-staff, said Richardson.

But the greatest honor would be if you would pick up a Hillerman mystery and immerse yourself in the stark beauty of his world. I'll bet your library or bookstore has a bunch of 'em just waiting for you.
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On the Road Again

Heading down the Interstate this morning, meeting up with writing friends for a long overdue reunion lunch. There’ll be much talk of life and juicy womanhood for we are all of a seasoned number of years and we know each other long and well.

There’ll be talk of writing too. I’ve been thinking about that quite a lot lately. The WGA writers’ strike matters for every writer, not just WGA writers. Matters for readers and viewers, too. We note who supports it. And who scabs.

Books matter. Despite the latest electronic reader, or maybe because of it, I can think of few better moments than settling deep in a cushy chair, tucked under a lap quilt this time of year, a cup of chai nearby, and the spaniels curled at my feet. In my hands, a book.

I remember missing the school bus as a kid because my nose was buried deep in a Nancy Drew suspense.

Books I read as a student resonate anew for me living through these years of the 21^st Century. The book that most profoundly affected me and stayed in my heart was To Kill a Mockingbird. If we thought we’d left those times behind, we have only to look at a headline like the story I read last night in the NYTimes: “With Regrets, New Orleans is Left Behind.” Then a Mockingbird. Now, a city. It’s a sin to kill a city.

The writer I grew up with and visited America through the eyes of was John Steinbeck. The first time I walked the sidewalks of Monterey, tears shimmered and shuddered down my cheeks. Cannery Row, Tortilla Flat, Of Mice and Men, Grapes of Wrath, The Pearl.

The pearls of value are not necklace strands, but the precious words of our youth, of our studies. Yet the times contextualize those words and lift them from the page to dance and haunt us. Just days ago, homeless man travels from Chicago and is found dead of hypothermia in a bus stop kiosk in Fargo. There was no room in the inns and shelters that night. The new shelter won’t be open until late January.

Orwell’s 1984, Huxley’s Brave New World, Margaret Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale. Would they hold up in the re-reading?

Life’s too busy these days to know, but I have faith they would...too well. Meanwhile, there’s new stories to read. There’s a highway to travel. And if time permits, a slight detour into Sauk Centre. Every kid who went to school in Minnesota knows of Sinclair Lewis. And there is homage to be paid at the corner of Main Street and Sinclair Lewis Avenue. A timeworn hotel with the whispers of ghosts and a strong cup of coffee for the weary traveler who needs to push on.

For he wrote presciently in 1935 It Can’t Happen Here. And now we know It Can Happen Here. And yesterday, Senator Chris Dodd led the way and showed It Can Be Stopped.

Citizen Activism: for writers

As a writer in many venues, I strongly support the WGA writers' effort to gain fair share for writers of new media revenues. Jane and the folks at firedoglake.com, along with other bloggers, have launched an easy way you can contact the producers of your favorite shows to express your support. You can, too, here.

Mr. Sunshine and I each picked out our TOP THREE faves and we've sent this quick note:

"Our middle class Middle America household considers your show one of our TOP THREE faves. We support the WGA writers' effort and hope you will, too.

"Please tell the AMPTP to bargain fairly and in good faith and support fair share for all new media for your writers.

"Thank you for this opportunity to tell you we appreciate your show and hope you'll invest wisely for long term creativity, rather than short term corporate plundering."

Whether you compose your own note, or use the talking points suggested, it's easy to do, an opportunity to be a citizen activist. Give it a go.

And we'll see you here tomorrow with fresh produce/food for thought from Prairie. Have an activist day!