Book Review: Cross Bones by Kathy Reichs

Cross Bones is a mix of adventure, science, and mystery that captivates one from the moment you begin reading. After receiving a skeleton photograph from a man named Kessler at the examination of the bones of one Avram Ferris, Temperance Brennan, the leading protagonist and a brilliant anthropologist, is thrown into a conspiracy that leads her from Montreal, Canada to Jerusalem, Israel. Is the picture she holds in her care a picture of the bones of Christ? And if not, then is the man entombed in a secret loculi it the 'Jesus Family Crypt'? If so, and the bones of this skeleton's siblings are revealed to the world, it would blow the top off of Christianity as we know it, and cause world wide panic and war.

Well written and undoubtedly well researched, Cross Bones is one of the most poignant pieces of literature I've ever read, It keeps you on your feet the entire stretch of the journey, and I'm eager to learn the outcome.

A Day in Kawasaki, From The View Of A 16-Year-Old Girl, Followed By A Man Who Loves Eyewear

Kawasaki, Japan. 11:34 am. January 15th.

It's bright. The sun is beating down on the city with great ebullience. Walking down the sidewalk in the busy streets is 16-year-old Hiara Takahashi. She's wearing all black and sporting a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Scene switches to one 29-year-old Toru Nagasawa who is pushing through the listless crowd in an attempt to remain in pursuit of the young female.

As Hiara stops to speak with a random passerby, Mr. Nagasawa ducks behind a corner, peeking out so as to not lose sight of the red-headed female and gaining odd looks from the passing pedestrians.

Hiara: "Well, I'm getting to be late for work. It was nice to see you again!"

She politely bows. Her speech is abstruse, as Japanese is her fourth language and she has not yet fully gotten all of the sounds "down pat" as the adage goes. Again, she begins walking through the noisy streets, this time with the indolent stride of someone with a paucity of enthusiasm for getting to where they are going.

Toru continues to stalk the girl.

Both enter the lower entrance of a parking deck that leads into a museum. A woman greets Hiara from the bottom of the stairs.

Woman: "You have got to stop being so dilatory, 'Ara! It's going to get you fired one of these days! *smiling*"

Hiara: "Oh, shut it. You know full well I won't fire myself. *laughs* And do you have to take the stairs? They're so arduous to climb and the exercise is sooooo soporific!"

Here she makes an overly-dramatic fainting motion. The woman rolls her eyes.

Woman: "Lazy."

The woman beings to ascend the stairs while Hiara heads towards the elevator, Toru slipping in beside her.

Hiara: "Oh, hello! Are you here to see the new exhibit?"

Toru stares for a moment before shaking his head silently.

Hiara: "Really? Then why are you here?"

At this point, Mr. Nagasawa frenetically launches himself at the young woman and begins to forcibly remove her glasses. After a short moment of shock, she throws a punch to the side of his head that was merely meant to enervate his grip, but ended up knocking him unconscious instead.

The elevator doors open and Hiara steps out, scowling.

Hiara: "Weirdo."

From The Overt Mind Of A Vaccum

'Me. Me. Pick me! ... Oh. Fine. Use the new Dirt Devil.'

I sighed as Kyle picked out one of the newer models yet again. Well... I whirred, to be exact. Out of his 165 vacuums, I was one of the oldest. In fact, I believe I was the third vacuum he ever acquired. My handle was worn, my fan was clogged... I was hackneyed in general. And I suppose that was a cogent reason for not selecting me. But, that didn't stop me from being disappointed.

When twelve-year-old Kyle Krichbaum was younger, you could nearly see our rapport. I, Harla D. Hoover, was his most trusted an favorite vacuum. Nearly every day I'd be taken out for a whirl. We were cohesive in our efforts to keep his house clean; spotless. And, at the end of every week, that young boy would open me up and clean each individual piece that made up my convoluted machinery and wiring. Recently, however, he's been neglecting me for the newer models.

Oh, how I loathe those fancy, overly-decorative things. They seduce him with their poignant and florid promises of swiveling handles and better suction. Why, if I was taken into a shop, I could do just as well, if not better than them! ...But alas. It is not so. As the adage goes: 'Trust takes time to build, and only seconds to break." And the first time I backfired and coughed out dust, I had broken Kyle's trust in me.

I suppose that event was didactic, though, as afterward I made sure to run through my mechanics when the others were asleep. It helped to ensure no such thing would happen again. But my work was in vain, as he hasn't approached me since, leaving me to cry effusively to myself and wallow in despair. This is how the rest of my days are to be spent: Watching and waiting as my beloved goes through his collection, eagerly awaiting the day I am picked again.