My husband and I have long been fans of Lindsey Davis’s Marcus Didius Falco mysteries. It was our friend Josh who got us addicted in the beginning. Even now, years later, we still fight over each new book as it comes out.
(Or not really: when you’re married long enough, you learn which of you is the faster reader and which is more likely to inadvertently give away spoilers. In our case, fortunately, those aren’t both the same person. Scott reads books first in a mad whirlwind dash, and I blurt out spoilers later, in my own time, when he no longer finds them spoiling.)
It was with manic glee, therefore, that I watched him reading Falco: the Official Companion these last few days. I hadn’t even realized this book was coming out, and a fan companion – though not as exciting as an actual novel – was surely something to relish.
Uncharacteristically, Scott kept reading bits of it out loud to me. They weren’t really spoilers, as such, but I couldn’t help feeling bemused by the whole thing. It seemed he was finding this book reminded him… of me.
I found this very encouraging, not just because Davis is hilarious, but because I think it underscored that I’m not the only crazy writer out there. Apparently we’re all just a little bit eccentric. That can only be good news, right?
So I finally started the book, and I already find myself grinning and needing desperately to quote it at you. She starts off with great advice, right in chapter one:
Never reveal that you write in a paint-stained velour leisure suit, with orthopaedic inserts in your thermal slippers.
I won’t, Lindsey. I won’t. But I may just giggle through this entire book.