We're at the beach this week. I have two reading customs when going to the beach. First I bring a canvas bag of many of the books I have been wanting to get to all year and haven't found time for. Despite the idea of all that time to read at the beach, of course it doesn't work out that way and most return home unread but the thirty or forty books come every year anyway.
Second, I indulge in mysteries. Most my life, my preferred reading has been basically factual. History, Science, Exploration, Military, Maritime History, Poetry (OK that one is not non-ficiton per se). The exceptions have primarily been P.G. Wodehouse and in recent years, mysteries. P.G. Wodehouse I'll read anytime in the year. Mysteries are mostly a beach indulgence.
Georges Simenon's Maigret has been with me to the beach a number of times but never been read. I just finished Maigret Sets a Trap and found that I quite enjoyed the book. I especially enjoyed his evocation of Paris in the heat of late summer and Simenon's attention to the little observations that powerfully evoke the scene.
"Before long they sat down to dinner. It was a hot evening, but toward the end of the meal it started to rain, a light gentle rain, and its rustling sound outside the open windows formed an accompaniment to the rest of their talk."
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