Saturday, April 20, 2019

Saturday's Series Spotlight: Jack Addison vs. A Whole World of Hot Trouble by KA Merikan Part 3


This serial, first published on the K.A. Merikan PATREON, focuses on Jack Addison, a young venator aka monster hunter, who learns about compassion, love, and the flexibility of his sexuality during exploits all over the globe.

πŸ“’POSSIBLE SPOILERS:πŸ“’
Themes: pride, dreams, self-discovery, tolerance, fame, monster hunting, interspecies relations

Genre: M/M romantic erotica, horror-comedy
Erotic content: Scorching hot, explicit scenes

πŸ’₯WARNING: This story contains morally ambiguous characters and scenes of sex that might be considered taboo.πŸ’₯

Jack Addison vs. Merman Seduction #5
Summary:
“Mermaids had a bit of a reputation for accidentally drowning partners who got frisky with them in the open sea. As a gay man, Jack was immune to their charms.”

It turns out that by staying with Calix, Jack had bet on the wrong centaur. A year on, he is broke and heartbroken after his boyfriend left him for someone with a thicker wallet. Salvation comes in the form of a message from Roux, Jack’s rival and crush all in one. Jack is willing to do whatever it takes to prove he’s a changed man.

As the only non-human in their profession, the humanoid feline Roux not only hunts down creatures but also understands their unique needs. Can Jack help him save the beautiful merman Lauro from the claws and teeth of jealous mermaids? And can he resist the seductive merman in the process?

Jack Addison vs. Asexual Vampires #6
Summary:
“Are you planning to sleep with every type of creature you encounter?”

The popular monster hunter Jack Addison is on his way to Transylvania to participate in a vampire festival and meet up with the coven elders. But no matter how thrilled he is to see the elusive creatures of the night in the flesh, he is far more excited about traveling alongside his frenemy/crush Roux. When the pretty chat invited him on the trip, Jack had hoped that perhaps the skittish creature would finally yield to his charm, but Roux is even more irritable than usual.

There are plenty of vampires to go around at the festival, and Jack had never been close enough to an undead creature to consider his curiosity satisfied. But when Roux’s behavior changes from annoying to alarming, it will be up to Jack to help his friend, no matter how many pairs of glinting canines beckon him closer.

Jack Addison vs. Merman Seduction #5
When we last saw Jack Addison, he found himself becoming attached to Calix the centaur, well Calix is gone and moved on to the next being with a bigger wallet leaving Jack heart and pocket broken.  Just when needed as if fate was at work, Roux Chat-Bonnes comes to town needing Jack's help.  I loved watching Jack continue to evolve, he has gone from a sex-driven monster hunter out to prove he's worth the family name to a sex-driven monster hunter who wants the fame of his family name but he also values his growing friendship with Roux.  Sure Jack has a way to go before he finds his place in the world but he's getting there.

Once again Jack's adventures are a bit on the "out there" side and probably not for everyone but if you've made it this far in the series then you'll love Merman Seduction too.  If you're still questioning whether to give this series(serial really) a chance, all I'll say is that the borderline beastiality in this erotic fantasy serial isn't usually my sub-genre of choice but I love the writing of KA Merikan so I gave it a go and instantly fell in love with Jack, Roux, and the cast of creatures they come across.  The blend of humor, erotica, fantasy, mythology, and horror really works and is attention grabbing from beginning to end.

Jack Addison vs. Asexual Vampires #6
Something is up with Roux Chat-Bonnes but will he let Jack in or continue to push his adversary/friend away?  I don't know what I can say that I haven't already touched on with the other entries in Jack Addison vs. A Whole World of Hot Trouble, but I'll try.

Asexual Vampires is definitely worthy of the "out there" sub-genre we've come to expect from Jack Addison but it really is so much more.  The growing friendship between Jack and Roux is finally moving forward but whether Jack continues to put his foot in it to set it back is something you'll have to read for yourself. 

Again the blend of erotica, humor, horror, fantasy, and friendship is spot on.  This serial isn't for everyone but I highly recommend giving it a try because I fell in love with Jack, Roux, and the bed of growing creatures quickly even though its not my goto brand of "out there".  And if you think Jack Addison is all about the bedding of the creature world then think again because with each new entry you see a new facet of his personality emerging and that his heart has more than just sex in mind, don't get me wrong,  sex is still a driving force in Jack's world but we start to see its not the only factor.

One last note: if you are wondering if this is a series/serial you need to read in order then I definitely say yes!  Sure each entry has Jack seeking a new creature but as I hinted at above, Jack is maturing and to fully appreciate that side of him as well as his adversarial bromance with Roux, A Whole World of Hot Trouble should be experienced in the order written.

RATING:


Jack Addison vs. Merman Seduction #5
Jack rolled out of bed sticky, slimy, and unsatisfied. Last night was supposed to have been his grand rebound. He’d sulked over his breakup with Calix for two weeks, and had decided that it wasn’t like him to get so hung up on relationships. So he’d put all his effort into finding the most outrageous creature in all of Venice, and ended up taking a slug-like creature with gorgeous blue eyes and a sticky mouth to his hotel room. The thing was a bit strange, and Jack couldn’t exactly work out its gender at first, but that didn’t matter. He was Jack Addison, and he needed to remind himself what it was like to freely roam the world.

But things had gone downhill as soon as he’d ended up alone with the creature. Instead of a night full of pleasure, he’d ended up listening to the slug-man’s life story, and comforting his lover-to-be over him being the only one of his kind in this realm. Jack had tried to be understanding but felt offended instead when Grall’ogg—or whatever the creature’s name was in his own language—had started complaining about humans treating him as a novelty.

He’d mentioned a stream of lovers who never wanted to stay for his lovely breakfast consisting of a variety of lettuce—which he supplemented for the humans with croutons—and who refused to treat him as anything more than a fleeting fancy. A serious issue, considering his kind lived for hundreds of years and bonded for life.

But despite his annoyance, Jack had tried to do the right thing, still hoping that his dick would eventually find its way into Grall’ogg’s sticky mouth-hole. But with each passing word, each deep inhale—Grall’ogg didn’t have a nose—he’d felt the chances for a positive resolution of this night dwindle.

In the end, Grall’ogg had a bit too much herb liquor and had fallen asleep after crying for half an hour. His heavy, pillow-like body had slumped on top of Jack, leaving him horny, upset and destined to ponder his breakup with Calix.

At first, all had been great with the centaur. Exciting. New. Jack had grown to see glorious creatures like Calix as much more than a sexual curiosity. But in the end, Calix had proved to be more human than Jack could have ever imagined. After sucking Jack dry of his money, he’d moved on to a rich centaur from Athens.

Jack had been warned about Calix being a gold-digger, but whenever he’d looked into Calix’s beautiful face, he just couldn’t make himself believe those rumors. But where he’d seen his partner as a noble, graceful creature, Calix must have taken him for a fool. It didn’t help Jack’s confidence that when they were breaking up, Calix had rubbed his face in the fact that a human could never rival a centaur in the size department.

So in a way, he and Grall’ogg were in the same boat. Only Jack was a handsome young man with a glamorous profession, whereas Grall’ogg was a giant, sticky slug who worked as a children’s entertainer and occasional grass mower.

Jack Addison vs. Asexual Vampires #6
“Tough night?” he asked, placing his pistol back into the holster.

The vampire choked, his face showing tension caused by the lingering pain, but there was true beauty hiding beyond the scowl. If Roux didn’t want Jack in the compartment, perhaps he should find a more eager companion for the remainder of the journey?

“Aren’t you going to chase them?” the vampire asked.

Jack smirked. “The train won’t stop until morning. Plenty of time to make the arrest once my partner wakes up.”

The vampire watched him with wariness. “You do know there are laws to protect us vampires, right? Hunting was outlawed years ago, during the Third European Night-Day Summit in Cracow.”

Jack frowned. “I am a lawman. Why do you think I’ve pulled out my gun on those three?”

The vamp’s shoulders slouched. “Oh. I could have handled them myself.” He cleared his throat and pushed back his long black hair. “Since I’m a vampire.”

Jack snorted. Something was off about this one, and he knew it, despite never having the pleasure of talking to a member of his kind before. “I’m sure. Maybe you’re just having a bad night. Jack Addison,” he introduced himself yet again, charming a smile out of the vampire with one of his own. “It’s both my job and pleasure to regulate interspecies relationships. If humans give you any trouble, you’ll know who to look for.”

“Vasyl Gorgonov. You say it’s a pleasure?”

Jack stepped closer, eager to test the waters with the vampire. Was his body cold? Would it take forever for Vasyl to get it up, or would it be the opposite if he could control his blood flow? “Of course. It is my job to ensure everyone’s safety. Especially a handsome vampire’s,” he said with a wink.

Vasyl swallowed, his eyes paler than a normal humans, with an odd, reddish sheen that Jack found exotic and attractive. “Are you heading for the Blood Moon Festival then?”


Saturday's Series Spotlight 
Part 1  /  Part 2


Author Bio:
K. A. Merikan is the pen name for Kat and Agnes Merikan, a team of writers, who are taken for sisters with surprising regularity. Kat’s the mean sergeant and survival specialist of the duo, never hesitating to kick Agnes’s ass when she’s slacking off. Her memory works like an easy-access catalogue, which allows her to keep up with both book details and social media. Also works as the emergency GPS. Agnes is the Merikan nitpicker, usually found busy with formatting and research. Her attention tends to be scattered, and despite pushing thirty, she needs to apply makeup to buy alcohol. Self-proclaimed queen of the roads.

They love the weird and wonderful, stepping out of the box, and bending stereotypes both in life and books. When you pick up a Merikan book, there’s one thing you can be sure of – it will be full of surprises.


EMAIL: kamerikan@gmail.com 



Jack Addison vs. Merman Seduction #5

Jack Addison vs. Asexual Vampires #6

Release Blitz: Living on a Dare by Grace Kilian Delaney

Title: Living on a Dare
Author: Grace Kilian Delaney
Series: Shore Thing #1
Genre: M/M Romance
Release Date: April 19, 2019
Cover Design: AngstyG

Summary:
Stuntman Draven O’Connor never turns down a dare—even if it means getting down on one knee to propose to his former college roommate and friend. The same man he’s been crushing on since the first day they met. The same man that has grown distant over the past year. And the same man who just agreed to be his fiancΓ©.

Julien Bouchard is tired of living a lie. He spent the past year exploring his sexuality in secret, enduring countless dates with women to appease his mother, and dodging his best friend, Draven, who knows everything there is to know about him, except the one thing that could change their friendship. Ready to face his friend, he meets him at a bar and is greeted by an unexpected marriage proposal. The dare isn’t surprising; it’s the scorching hot kiss that sends Julien’s head and heart in a tailspin—and gives him an idea for the perfect plan.

But perfect plans are never go according to plan, and news of their fake engagement spreads to their families as fast as a wildfire, forcing them to confront their true feelings about each other and hope they don’t get burned.


Author Bio:
Grace Kilian Delaney is a LGBT writer, musician, animal lover, and author of the sweet and sexy bisexual romance Living on a Dare: A Shore Thing Novel. She spends her free time performing kitchen concerts to an audience of her two cats and a dog and loves long beach runs. Her previous books include Seven Minutes (Dreamspinner Press) and Waking Oisin (NineStar Press).


FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE
EMAIL: GraceKilianDelaney@gmail.com







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Friday, April 19, 2019

πŸ“˜πŸŽ₯Friday's Film AdaptationπŸŽ₯πŸ“˜: The Benson Murder Case by SS Van Dine


Summary:
New York in the 1920s is the world’s most glamorous city, gleaming skyscrapers reaching for the heavens, and the hot notes of the jazz bands rising even higher. Drinking it like the finest French champagne is Philo Vance, an expert in art with the deepest pockets, the brainiest brains, and the most gloriously ludicrous pretentions in the history of crime fiction. When a scheming young stockbroker is murdered – in a delicious locked-room scenario based on a real case of the day – Vance steps in to solve the puzzle not merely because he is bored and seeking new entertainment, but because honor compels him to point out the myriad ways in which the police are getting it wrong. The cops of course are profoundly grateful, like all members of the lower orders when their mistakes are pointed out. Peter Wimsey would be appalled, but the reader will be delighted. Philo Vance (here in his first outing) is the sleuth you love to hate.


Chapter 1
PHILO VANCE AT HOME
It happened that, on the morning of the momentous June the fourteenth when the discovery of the murdered body of Alvin H. Benson created a sensation which, to this day, has not entirely died away, I had breakfasted with Philo Vance in his apartment. It was not unusual for me to share Vance's luncheons and dinners, but to have breakfast with him was something of an occasion. He was a late riser, and it was his habit to remain incommunicado until his midday meal.

The reason for this early meeting was a matter of business--or, rather, of aesthetics. On the afternoon of the previous day Vance had attended a preview of Vollard's collection of CΓ©zanne watercolors at the Kessler Galleries and, having seen several pictures he particularly wanted, he had invited me to an early breakfast to give me instructions regarding their purchase.

A word concerning my relationship with Vance is necessary to clarify my role of narrator in this chronicle. The legal tradition is deeply imbedded in my family, and when my preparatory-school days were over, I was sent, almost as a matter of course, to Harvard to study law. It was there I met Vance, a reserved, cynical, and caustic freshman who was the bane of his professors and the fear of his fellow classmen. Why he should have chosen me, of all the students at the university, for his extrascholastic association, I have never been able to understand fully. My own liking for Vance was simply explained: he fascinated and interested me, and supplied me with a novel kind of intellectual diversion. In his liking for me, however, no such basis of appeal was present. I was (and am now) a commonplace fellow, possessed of a conservative and rather conventional mind. But, at least, my mentality was not rigid, and the ponderosity of the legal procedure did not impress me greatly--which is why, no doubt, I had little taste for my inherited profession--; and it is possible that these traits found certain affinities in Vance's unconscious mind. There is, to be sure, the less consoling explanation that I appealed to Vance as a kind of foil, or anchorage, and that he sensed in my nature a complementary antithesis to his own. But whatever the explanation, we were much together; and, as the years went by, that association ripened into an inseparable friendship.

Upon graduation I entered my father's law firm--Van Dine and Davis--and after five years of dull apprenticeship I was taken into the firm as the junior partner. At present I am the second Van Dine of Van Dine, Davis, and Van Dine, with offices at 120 Broadway. At about the time my name first appeared on the letterheads of the firm, Vance returned from Europe, where he had been living during my legal novitiate, and, an aunt of his having died and made him her principal beneficiary, I was called upon to discharge the technical obligations involved in putting him in possession of his inherited property.

This work was the beginning of a new and somewhat unusual relationship between us. Vance had a strong distaste for any kind of business transaction, and in time I became the custodian of all his monetary interests and his agent at large. I found that his affairs were various enough to occupy as much of my time as I cared to give to legal matters, and as Vance was able to indulge the luxury of having a personal legal factotum, so to speak, I permanently closed my desk at the office and devoted myself exclusively to his needs and whims.

If, up to the time when Vance summoned me to discuss the purchase of the CΓ©zannes, I had harbored any secret or repressed regrets for having deprived the firm of Van Dine, Davis, and Van Dine of my modest legal talents, they were permanently banished on that eventful morning; for, beginning with the notorious Benson murder, and extending over a period of nearly four years, it was my privilege to be a spectator of what I believe was the most amazing series of criminal cases that ever passed before the eyes of a young lawyer. Indeed, the grim dramas I witnessed during that period constitute one of the most astonishing secret documents in the police history of this country.

Of these dramas Vance was the central character. By an analytical and interpretative process which, as far as I know, has never before been applied to criminal activities, he succeeded in solving many of the important crimes on which both the police and the district attorney's office had hopelessly fallen down.

Due to my peculiar relations with Vance it happened that not only did I participate in all the cases with which he was connected but I was also present at most of the informal discussions concerning them which took place between him and the district attorney; and, being of methodical temperament, I kept a fairly complete record of them. In addition, I noted down (as accurately as memory permitted) Vance's unique psychological methods of determining guilt, as he explained them from time to time. It is fortunate that I performed this gratuitous labor of accumulation and transcription, for now that circumstances have unexpectedly rendered possible my making the cases public, I am able to present them in full detail and with all their various sidelights and succeeding steps--a task that would be impossible were it not for my numerous clippings and adversaria.

Fortunately, too, the first case to draw Vance into its ramifications was that of Alvin Benson's murder. Not only did it prove one of the most famous of New York's causes célèbres, but it gave Vance an excellent opportunity of displaying his rare talents of deductive reasoning, and, by its nature and magnitude, aroused his interest in a branch of activity which heretofore had been alien to his temperamental promptings and habitual predilections.

The case intruded upon Vance's life suddenly and unexpectedly, although he himself had, by a casual request made to the district attorney over a month before, been the involuntary agent of this destruction of his normal routine. The thing, in fact, burst upon us before we had quite finished our breakfast on that mid-June morning, and put an end temporarily to all business connected with the purchase of the CΓ©zanne paintings. When, later in the day, I visited the Kessler Galleries, two of the watercolors that Vance had particularly desired had been sold; and I am convinced that, despite his success in the unraveling of the Benson murder mystery and his saving of at least one innocent person from arrest, he has never to this day felt entirely compensated for the loss of those two little sketches on which he had set his heart.

As I was ushered into the living room that morning by Currie, a rare old English servant who acted as Vance's butler, valet, majordomo and, on occasions, specialty cook, Vance was sitting in a large armchair, attired in a surah silk dressing gown and gray suede slippers, with Vollard's book on CΓ©zanne open across his knees.

"Forgive my not rising, Van." He greeted me casually. "I have the whole weight of the modern evolution in art resting on my legs. Furthermore, this plebeian early rising fatigues me, y'know."

He riffled the pages of the volume, pausing here and there at a reproduction.

"This chap Vollard," he remarked at length, "has been rather liberal with our art-fearing country. He has sent a really goodish collection of his CΓ©zannes here. I viewed 'em yesterday with the proper reverence and, I might add, unconcern, for Kessler was watching me; and I've marked the ones I want you to buy for me as soon as the gallery opens this morning."

He handed me a small catalog he had been using as a bookmark.

"A beastly assignment, I know," he added, with an indolent smile. "These delicate little smudges with all their blank paper will prob'ly be meaningless to your legal mind--they're so unlike a neatly typed brief, don't y' know. And you'll no doubt think some of 'em are hung upside-down--one of 'em is, in fact, and even Kessler doesn't know it. But don't fret, Van old dear. They're very beautiful and valuable little knickknacks, and rather inexpensive when one considers what they'll be bringing in a few years. Really an excellent investment for some money-loving soul, y' know--inf'nitely better than that Lawyer's Equity Stock over which you grew so eloquent at the time of my dear Aunt Agatha's death."

As a matter of fact, the same watercolors that Vance obtained for $250 and $300 were bringing three times as much four years later.

Vance's one passion (if a purely intellectual enthusiasm may be called a passion) was art--not art in its narrow, personal aspects, but in its broader, more universal significance. And art was not only his dominating interest but his chief diversion. He was something of an authority on Japanese and Chinese prints; he knew tapestries and ceramics; and once I heard him give an impromptu causerie to a few guests on Tanagra figurines, which, had it been transcribed, would have made a most delightful and instructive monograph.

Vance had sufficient means to indulge his instinct for collecting, and possessed a fine assortment of pictures and objets d'art. His collection was heterogeneous only in its superficial characteristics: every piece he owned embodied some principle of form or line that related it to all the others. One who knew art could feel the unity and consistency in all the items with which he surrounded himself, however widely separated they were in point of time or mΓ©tier or surface appeal. Vance, I have always felt, was one of those rare human beings, a collector with a definite philosophic point of view.

His apartment in East Thirty-eighth Street--actually the two top floors of an old mansion, beautifully remodeled and in part rebuilt to secure spacious rooms and lofty ceilings--was filled, but not crowded, with rare specimens of oriental and occidental, ancient and modern, art. His paintings ranged from the Italian primitives to CΓ©zanne and Matisse; and among his collection of original drawings were works as widely separated as those of Michelangelo and Picasso. Vance's Chinese prints constituted one of the finest private collections in this country. They included beautiful examples of the work of Ririomin, Rianchu, Jinkomin, Kakei, and Mokkei.

"The Chinese," Vance once said to me, "are the truly great artists of the East. They were the men whose work expressed most intensely a broad philosophic spirit. By contrast the Japanese were superficial. It's a long step between the little more than decorative souci of a Hokusai and the profoundly thoughtful and conscious artistry of a Ririomin. Even when Chinese art degenerated under the Manchus, we find in it a deep philosophic quality--a spiritual sensibilitΓ©, so to speak. And in the modern copies of copies--what is called the bunjinga style--we still have pictures of profound meaning."

Vance's catholicity of taste in art was remarkable. His collection was as varied as that of a museum. It embraced a black-figured amphora by Amasis, a proto-Corinthian vase in the Aegean style, Koubatcha and Rhodian plates, Athenian pottery, a sixteenth-century Italian holywater stoup of rock crystal, pewter of the Tudor period (several pieces bearing the double-rose hallmark), a bronze plaque by Cellini, a triptych of Limoges enamel, a Spanish retable of an altarpiece by Vallfogona, several Etruscan bronzes, an Indian Greco Buddhist, a statuette of the Goddess Kuan Yin from the Ming Dynasty, a number of very fine Renaissance woodcuts, and several specimens of Byzantine, Carolingian, and early French ivory carvings.

His Egyptian treasures included a gold jug from Zakazik, a statuette of the Lady Nai (as lovely as the one in the Louvre), two beautifully carved steles of the First Theban Age, various small sculptures comprising rare representations of Hapi and Amset, and several Arrentine bowls carved with Kalathiskos dancers. On top of one of his embayed Jacobean bookcases in the library, where most of his modern paintings and drawings were hung, was a fascinating group of African sculpture--ceremonial masks and statuette fetishes from French Guinea, the Sudan, Nigeria, the Ivory Coast, and the Congo.

A definite purpose has animated me in speaking at such length about Vance's art instinct, for, in order to understand fully the melodramatic adventures which began for him on that June morning, one must have a general idea of the man's penchants and inner promptings. His interest in art was an important--one might almost say the dominant--factor in his personality. I have never met a man quite like him--a man so apparently diversified and yet so fundamentally consistent.

Vance was what many would call a dilettante. But the designation does him injustice. He was a man of unusual culture and brilliance. An aristocrat by birth and instinct, he held himself severely aloof from the common world of men. In his manner there was an indefinable contempt for inferiority of all kinds. The great majority of those with whom he came in contact regarded him as a snob. Yet there was in his condescension and disdain no trace of spuriousness. His snobbishness was intellectual as well as social. He detested stupidity even more, I believe, than he did vulgarity or bad taste. I have heard him on several occasions quote FouchΓ©'s famous line: C'est plus qu'un crime; c'est une faute. And he meant it literally.

Vance was frankly a cynic, but he was rarely bitter; his was a flippant, Juvenalian cynicism. Perhaps he may best be described as a bored and supercilious, but highly conscious and penetrating, spectator of life. He was keenly interested in all human reactions; but it was the interest of the scientist, not the humanitarian. Withal he was a man of rare personal charm. Even people who found it difficult to admire him found it equally difficult not to like him. His somewhat quixotic mannerisms and his slightly English accent and inflection--a heritage of his postgraduate days at Oxford--impressed those who did not know him well as affectations. But the truth is, there was very little of the poseur about him.

He was unusually good-looking, although his mouth was ascetic and cruel, like the mouths on some of the Medici portraits*; moreover, there was a slightly derisive hauteur in the lift of his eyebrows. Despite the aquiline severity of his lineaments, his face was highly sensitive. His forehead was full and sloping--it was the artist's, rather than the scholar's, brow. His cold gray eyes were widely spaced. His nose was straight and slender, and his chin narrow but prominent, with an unusually deep cleft. When I saw John Barrymore recently in Hamlet, I was somehow reminded of Vance; and once before, in a scene of Caesar and Cleopatra played by Forbes-Robertson, I received a similar impression.

I am thinking particularly of Bronzino's portraits of Pietro de' Medici and Cosimo de' Medici, in the National Gallery, and of Vasari's medallion portrait of Lorenzo de' Medici in the Vecchio Palazzo, Florence.

Once when Vance was suffering from sinusitis, he had an X-ray photograph of his head made; and the accompanying chart described him as a "marked dolichocephalic" and a "disharmonious Nordic." It also contained the following data:--cephalic index 75; nose, leptorhine, with an index of 48; facial angle, 85ΒΊ; vertical index, 72; upper facial index, 54; interpupilary width, 67; chin, masognathous, with an index of 103; sella turcica, abnormally large.

Vance was slightly under six feet, graceful, and giving the impression of sinewy strength and nervous endurance. He was an expert fencer and had been the captain of the university's fencing team. He was mildly fond of outdoor sports and had a knack of doing things well without any extensive practice. His golf handicap was only three; and one season he had played on our championship polo team against England. Nevertheless, he had a positive antipathy to walking and would not go a hundred yards on foot if there was any possible means of riding.

In his dress he was always fashionable--scrupulously correct to the smallest detail--yet unobtrusive. He spent considerable time at his clubs; his favorite was the Stuyvesant, because, as he explained to me, its membership was drawn largely from the political and commercial ranks, and he was never drawn into a discussion which required any mental effort. He went occasionally to the more modern operas and was a regular subscriber to the symphony concerts and chamber music recitals.

Incidentally, he was one of the most unerring poker players I have ever seen. I mention this fact not merely because it was unusual and significant that a man of Vance's type should have preferred so democratic a game to bridge or chess, for instance, but because his knowledge of the science of human psychology involved in poker had an intimate bearing on the chronicles I am about to set down.

Vance's knowledge of psychology was indeed uncanny. He was gifted with an instinctively accurate judgment of people, and his study and reading had coordinated and rationalized this gift to an amazing extent. He was well grounded in the academic principles of psychology, and all his courses at college had either centered about this subject or been subordinated to it. While I was confining myself to a restricted area of torts and contracts, constitutional and common law, equity, evidence, and pleading, Vance was reconnoitering the whole field of cultural endeavor. He had courses in the history of religions, the Greek classics, biology, civics, and political economy, philosophy, anthropology, literature, theoretical and experimental psychology, and ancient and modern languages. But it was, I think, his courses under MΓΌnsterberg and William James that interested him the most.

"Culture," Vance said to me shortly after I had met him, "is polyglot; and the knowledge of many tongues is essential to an understanding of the world's intellectual and aesthetic achievements. Especially are the Greek and Latin classics vitiated by translation." I quote the remark here because his omnivorous reading in languages other than English, coupled with his amazingly retentive memory, had a tendency to affect his own speech. And while it may appear to some that his speech was at times pedantic, I have tried, throughout these chronicles to quote him literally, in the hope of presenting a portrait of the man as he was.

Vance's mind was basically philosophical--that is, philosophical in the more general sense. Being singularly free from the conventional sentimentalities and current superstitions, he could look beneath the surface of human acts into actuating impulses and motives. Moreover, he was resolute both in his avoidance of any attitude that savored of credulousness and in his adherence to cold, logical exactness in his mental processes.

"Until we can approach all human problems," he once remarked, "with the clinical aloofness and cynical contempt of a doctor examining a guinea pig strapped to a board, we have little chance of getting at the truth."

Vance led an active, but by no means animated, social life--a concession to various family ties. But he was not a social animal--I cannot remember ever having met a man with so undeveloped a gregarious instinct--and when he went forth into the social world, it was generally under compulsion. In fact, one of his "duty" affairs had occupied him on the night before that memorable June breakfast; otherwise, we would have consulted about the CΓ©zannes the evening before; and Vance groused a good deal about it while Currie was serving our strawberries and eggsBΓ©nΓ©dictine. Later on I was to give profound thanks to the God of Coincidence that the blocks had been arranged in just that pattern; for had Vance been slumbering peacefully at nine o'clock when the district attorney called, I would probably have missed four of the most interesting and exciting years of my life; and many of New York's shrewdest and most desperate criminals might still be at large.

Vance and I had just settled back in our chairs for our second cup of coffee and a cigarette when Currie, answering an impetuous ringing of the front door bell, ushered the district attorney into the living room.

"By all that's holy!" he exclaimed, raising his hands in mock astonishment. "New York's leading flΓ’neur and art connoisseur is up and about!"

"And I am suffused with blushes at the disgrace of it," Vance replied.

It was evident, however, that the district attorney was not in a jovial mood. His face suddenly sobered. "Vance, a serious thing has brought me here. I'm in a great hurry and merely dropped by to keep my promise. . . . The fact is, Alvin Benson has been murdered."

Vance lifted his eyebrows languidly. "Really, now," he drawled. "How messy! But he no doubt deserved it. In any event, that's no reason why you should repine. Take a chair and have a cup of Currie's incomp'rable coffee." And before the other could protest, he rose and pushed a bell-button.

Markham hesitated a second or two.

"Oh, well. A couple of minutes won't make any difference. But only a gulp." And he sank into a chair facing us.


A ruthless, crooked stockbroker is murdered at his luxurious country estate, and detective Philo Vance just happens to be there; he decides to find out who killed him.

Release Date: April 13, 1930
Release Time: 65 minutes

Cast:
William Powell as Philo Vance
William "Stage" Boyd as Harry Gray
Eugene Pallette as Sgt. Ernest Heath
Paul Lukas as Adolph Mohler
Natalie Moorhead as Fanny Del Roy
Richard Tucker as Anthony Benson
May Beatty as Mrs. Paula Banning
E.H. Calvert as Dist. Atty. John F.X. Markham
Mischa Auer as Albert Brecker
Guy Oliver as Captain Hagedorn







Author Bio:
S. S. Van Dine is the pseudonym used by American art critic Willard Huntington Wright (October 15, 1888 – April 11, 1939) when he wrote detective novels. Wright was an important figure in avant-garde cultural circles in pre-World War I New York, and under the pseudonym (which he originally used to conceal his identity) he created the once immensely popular fictional detective Philo Vance, a sleuth and aesthete who first appeared in books in the 1920s, then in movies and on the radio.


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Series
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Film
πŸ‘€Amazon US/UK is a Philo Vance CollectionπŸ‘€
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Series Recap Tour: Holeshot by Lynn Michaels

Series: Holeshot #1-2.5
Author: Lynn Michaels
Genre: M/M Romance
Release Dates: Holeshot - August 12, 2015
Holeshot 2 - March 31, 2017
Holeshot Christmas - December 1, 2017

Holeshot #1
Summary:
In the world of Supercross, taking the holeshot means one racer leaps ahead of the crowd and into first, leaving the rest of the pack behind. If Supercross racer Davey McAllister knows anything, it's how to take the holeshot. When the hot rising star mechanic, Tyler Whitmore, shows up in his bed, Davey does just that. But, dating a competitor's mechanic threatens to blow his ride if anyone finds out. With the fear of losing his sponsors, he has to keep his love life completely under cover, but Davey is in deep and wants to tell the world how much he loves Tyler.

Tyler Whitmore wants to be out of the closet, but dating the competition is a death sentence for his career. Overprotective of Davey's reputation and his own dreams, Tyler refuses to commit to his lover and is afraid of falling hard. Will they ever be able to find their way through the Premiere racing league pitfalls and acknowledge their love?

Holeshot 2 #2
Summary:
In the world of Supercross, taking the holeshot means one racer leaps ahead of the crowd and into first, leaving the rest of the pack behind. Supercross racer, Tate Jordan, wants to take his holeshot on and off the track, but no one else seems to cooperate. His love life is in turmoil and his sponsors don’t expect him to win. Will Tate find someone new to love and a team that believes in him?

Pilot Mahan is a bodyguard and a street fighter looking to build a future, but his plans get derailed when a Supercross racer catches his eye. Can he make a go at a life with Tate Jordan, on the road?

Bryce Nickel is new to Supercross and adulthood. He’s young and fun, but super serious about what he wants. And what he wants is to win races and Tate Jordan. Will he be able to take his holeshot or will the big Apex bodyguard get in the way? Or perhaps, the three can make a compromise?

Holeshot Christmas #2.5
Summary:
Christmas isn’t all race tracks and dirt bikes for Davey and Tyler, especially when they don’t see things about each other in quite the same way.


























Author Bio:
Lynn Michaels lives and writes in Tampa, Florida where the sun is hot and the Sangria is cold. Lynn is the newest addition to Rubicon Fiction, and she loves reading and writing about hot men in love. She writes paranormal and contemporary MM Romance.


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Holeshot #1

Holeshot 2 #2

Holeshot Christmas #2.5




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