The snatch and grab method worked brilliantly once again. On our way out of the Little Library That Time and The Surrounding City Forgot on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, a day on which not one reader appeared and only one telephone called, we scooped up between setting the alarm and locking the door (one has ninety seconds to pull this off) John Connolly’s The Burning Soul and The Ranger by Ace Atkins. Once home and having fired up the fake coal grate, we plunged into The Ranger, not putting it down until we had finished without having offended Mrs. Wolfe- even at the dinner table- since she was totally absorbed in the earbook version of Kate Atkinson’s brilliant Started Early, Took My Dog. Atkins seems to have absorbed wisdom from Lee Child (who, by the way, cannot be trusted on blurbs since he cannot say no to another writer, no matter how incompetent), putting an immensely fit and resourceful but reluctant hero in the middle of home/small town corruption where he can kick immense amounts of ass. A great pleasure. We’re in the middle of the very dark, very creepy Connolly and enjoying it more as it goes along through Steven King geography, terrestrial and, in spots, psychological. We’ll report when we’ve finished.