John Bushby

A writer’s workshop, like a carpenter’s, has a corner for scraps. Odds and ends, leftovers from previous projects, or rough models of possible future projects. John Bushby, the author of a dozen spy and war thrillers, shows us that corner in this collection.
The book is divided into five parts of uneven length. The first is a series of sketches from Bushby’s recent past, as he settled into one of those “active senior” communities flourishing like kudzu at the edge of the Atlanta metropolitan area. But the past is very much present as he settles: a violent thunderstorm wakens memories of combat in the skies over Vietnam, another ruminates on his lifelong love affair with cycling.
The second section collects the author’s blog entries. They, too, cover some of his war experiences, as well as those of his father. Bushby also muses on the life of a writer. In some of these, we look over his shoulder as he researches to get the period details right for his tales of Harry Braham, set in the fraught recess years between rounds of world war. This research into the days of rising fascism spills over into his concern that we may be in for a repeat performance.
The third section is a series of pieces in which Bushby adopts the persona of a grumpy old geezer in the company of an even grumpier one, Stan. I felt these pieces were less successful than those in other sections of the book. However, the fourth section, in which Bushby talks of growing up in suburban New Jersey, more than compensated. Part of my enjoyment stems, no doubt, from the fact that we were born the same year and grew up in the same town. When he describes his house and his room, my mind could vividly recall the settings. But one chapter stands out: an extended account of his first time aloft in a Piper cub. This was clearly a peak experience, and he recounts it so well that you don’t have to have been there to relive it with him.
The fifth section returns to his Georgia retirement home, focusing on his curmudgeonly observations of those who share the fairways at the golf course his house fronts on.
Friendship alone doesn’t impel me to repeat that the story of when Bushby first takes to the skies is excellent writing. I’m sure it will stay with me.… (mehr)

The White Raven is a fast-moving story of suspicion, betrayal, and self-sacrificing heroism set in the murky years when Hitler’s rise to power sundered the illusion that the First World War had truly been the war to end all wars. Though the latest in a series of novels the author has written with a flying ace turned spy as their protagonist, this is the first I’ve read. Perhaps that is the reason why this character, Harry Braham, feels not quite fleshed-out to me. Some of the other characters feel as if they’ve been borrowed from the stockroom of stereotypes as well—almost all of the women are lovely, buxom and willing—, while others are intriguingly portrayed, especially the hapless plotter Theurer and the White Raven herself, for whom the book is named. Typically for the spy-novel genre, every hotel, restaurant, make of automobile, even wristwatch is accurately noted, but the author also has a gift of evoking landscape and weather. Best of all are the passages that describe the thrill of flying; they have the feel of lived experience. As is the case with far too many self-published works, the manuscript could have used the careful attention of a sharp-eyed proofreader, but few of the errors interrupt the flow. An enjoyable light, weekend read. Recommended for fans of the spy genre.… (mehr)