One of my favorite authors, Robert B. Parker, recently passed away at the age of 77. (This article from Spectator magazine provides a view on Parker's literary roots and his legacy.) It's hard to explain how I felt about Parker's work. When I first started reading his books, I remember getting to the end of one of them and thinking, "What? This is it? This is how it ends?" I wanted the story to be tied up in a nice, neat package. Now that I'm older, I realize that life is seldom a nice, neat package. It's chaotic. It's messy. It's unfinished. And I appreciate Parker's books so much more for that.
Parker's most famous character is Spenser, a Boston detective who lives by his own code. He's a tough guy who is well-read, a good cook and a wise-cracking sense of humor. I'm sad that there will never be another Spenser novel. I always enjoyed reading the next chapter in his life. But I think I'm also glad that there's not a novel that neatly wraps up the story.
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