R.I.P., Nelson DeMille

I was sad to read of Nelson DeMille’s death. He was 81.

I think I first became aware of DeMille by reading another author: Vince Flynn.

In one of his Mitch Rapp novels, Flynn put into the mouth of one of his characters this sentiment: She was going to curl up with a Nelson DeMille novel, with his trademark wisecracking heroes.

That might have been high school. Then in college, I remember the joy of stumbling across Word of Honor in the University of Memphis library, roaming the stacks on the top floor where I’d often work. I was riveted. And it was such an organic experience, the discovery and taking a chance on a book simply because the description caught my eye. I consider that such a fond memory in my reading life.

I can’t remember exactly if that was before or after I’d found Plum Island and The Gold Coast, but it was those three books that made me a fan.

John Corey was the character whose books I never missed. They were the definition of page-turners to me. Whats more was Flynn’s character was right: They were funny, and laughter is a key memory I associate with reading him. Always struck me as a hard thing to do, make someone laugh from just words on a page, and I loved how he seemed to have a direct line to my funny bone.

I hadn’t read much of his latest stuff, until earlier this year I listened to The Cuban Affair, and I was delighted to find many of the same joys, right there waiting for me, as if to say, “Well, duh. Where have you been? Because I haven’t gone anywhere.”

Now that he has, I might have to go dig out some of my copies and revisit him again.