W.B.’s Book Report: Daughter of the Morning Star

One of the first Netflix binges we fell into was Longmire, the A&E show that was one of the first series the streaming service rescued from cancellation. After three seasons on cable, the show starring Robert Taylor, Katee Sackhoff and Lou Diamond Phillips ran for three more seasons and is still highly recommended at our house.

One of the blessings of still doing the day-job thing and commuting for an hour in each direction at 68 is audiobooks. Once I saw “From the Longmire novels by Craig Johnson” in the TV credits, I had to find out more. I had three observations, four actually: The books are better than the very fine TV show, Katee Sackhoff is great but the “real” Vic Moretti is a black-haired pistol with a fouler mouth than even cable TV allows, I love Lou Diamond Phillips but the “real” Henry Standing Bear is twice his size, and I love Robert Taylor but the “real” voice of Walt Longmire is George Guidall.

I’ve been reacquainted with the gang this week because Johnson has just released his 17th Longmire novel, Daughter of the Morning Star. The mysteries here are that someone has been sending death threats to Jaya Long One Moon, star of the Lame Deer High School girls basketball team, what happened to Jaya’s older sister, who disappeared about a year ago, and whether the two mysteries are connected.

Guidall is an acknowledged superstar in the audiobook business, having narrated more than 1,700 books to date, and at 83 he is still going strong. Having George along to tell us the story is as comfortable as getting the usual at the Busy Bee Cafe.

Walt is a skeptic about Native American spirituality and legends, but he’ll have a hard time explaining what happens in this story if he tries to do it using only the reality of this world, but it won’t be the first time. He once was lost in a blizzard and probably would have died without the aid of a powerful Cheyenne friend who just happened to be recently deceased.

The book also has a “ripped from today’s headlines” angle as it references the shocking number of Native American women who have simply disappeared, or rather it’s a tragedy that ought to be headline news but tends to be overlooked, especially if there’s an attractive blonde gone missing.

If you’re a Longmire fan but didn’t know Johnson had a new book out, well, here it is! If you haven’t sampled the books yet, well, I envy you for all of the fun you have ahead of you. Me, I’m looking forward to getting in the car this morning to hear what happens next.

He was 71

I don’t know why this is the memory that sprang to mind when I started thinking about my older brother, Charlie.

Mom and Dad had bought a new refrigerator, so we had a big cardboard box to play with in the yard. It became a spaceship. Bruce and I were the intrepid space explorers, and Charlie was outer space: He moved the box and jostled it to simulate the journey.

Upon landing on another planet, it became quiet — almost … TOO quiet! We had made a little window flap, and I pulled it open to see Charlie with a bemused, affected look on his face.

“There’s some sort of creature out there,” I said, and took another look. Yep, there was the same funny look.

Charlie and I made fateful decisions at that point. I decided when I opened the flap a third time, I would lean forward as if pressing my face against the glass of the window. Charlie decided this would be the time the alien monster attacked, so he threw a fist at the opening window.

What I next remember is sitting on the floor of our makeshift box, holding my profusely bloody nose and laughing hysterically. I think Charlie was a little mortified but couldn’t help laughing with me. Mother was not amused, but the three boys always remembered that space mission.

I think the memory came to me because the “alien” look on Charlie’s face was actually a familiar one: his eyebrows arched, a playful smile, and a look in his eyes that suggested a shared joke — something devilish was in progress, and we were the only ones in on it. (I may have picked the selfie that I use as my website portrait because it reminds me of that look.)

Nineteen years ago, two weeks after the best times ever with my older brother including a memorable trip to a minor-league baseball game in Camden, New Jersey, and one week after I started my dream job editing the Door County Advocate in Wisconsin, word came that Charlie had had a debilitating stroke, and I rushed back. He was unconscious for many days, and I had said a final goodbye before coming home to the Badger State, but he woke up, although he never fully recovered.

Monday he needed to go to the hospital; Tuesday morning Connie called to say they’d told her he was fading fast. It was over a couple of hours later.

The world is a little more surreal today. I’d grown accustomed to Charlie being not quite the same guy, although he never stopped flashing that mischievous smile. I don’t know if I can grow accustomed to his being gone altogether.

I miss him.