Books Acquired:
The Thirty-Nine Steps, John Buchan
Strange People, Frank Edwards
Bretherton, W.F. Morris
Men Like Gods, H.G. Wells

Books Offloaded:

Progress Made:
The Moronic Inferno, Martin Amis
Bretherton, W.F. Morris
David Bowie and the Search for Life, Death and God, Peter Ormerod

Books Finished:
Epitaph for a Spy, Eric Ambler
JOB: A Comedy of Justice, Robert A. Heinlein

For some reason I feel a sense of urgency this month. Maybe because people keen on bringing about the end of the world are currently in a position to actually do something about it; more on that subject later.

I finished Epitaph for a Spy within two hours of posting the last report, then got back to JOB. But I was reading with anger in my heart — knowing what I now knew about the main character, what had previously seemed a little precious was now infuriating. I still assumed that Heinlein had a Plan, that he would pull it all together, but man was he taking his sweet time getting there.

I was away from home, though, and pressed for reading material, so I stuck with it. Eventually he did get to the point, which was… Armageddon.

This was funny because Armageddon had just been in the news.

Without any clear message coming from the White House with regard to the purpose of the Iran war, U.S. military commanders have turned to Jesus, apparently telling American troops that the war is “biblically sanctioned.”

The U.S. joined Israel in striking Iran early Saturday morning. By Monday evening, the Military Religious Freedom Foundation, or MRFF, was “inundated” with complaints, receiving more than 110 grievances from U.S. military personnel stationed at dozens of sites across the Middle East, reported independent journalist Jonathan Larsen.

One such note included an anecdote from a noncommissioned officer, who reported that their commander had “urged us to tell our troops that this was ‘all part of God’s divine plan’ and he specifically referenced numerous citations out of the Book of Revelation referring to Armageddon and the imminent return of Jesus Christ.”

—The New Republic, 3/3/2026

JOB contains numerous reference to the “Last Trump” — meaning the final trumpet that heralds the beginning of the end — which is a bit on the nose, innit?

Do I really believe that we could be in the End Times? Probably not. But I do believe that if his popularity slips into the single digits, his attempts to rig the midterms fail, and TFG starts feeling cornered, he is capable of anything. He is for sure an après-moi-le-deluge kind of guy, and would much rather see the entire Earth burn up like a cinder than risk being thrown into the deep, dark dungeon where he belongs.1No less an authority than Jeffrey Epstein said, in a recently released email, “You guys need to understand that he is psychotic. And would not blink twice at encouraging an attack on us. So he can leap to the country’s defense. mindset… if I go down I’m taking everyone with [me].”

Anyway, I kept hoping that Heinlein would address what for me was the elephant in the room, which was that he had casually revealed earlier in the book that his protagonist was basically Goebbels. On pages 149-151 of JOB, he lists some of the projects he had been working on before being suddenly pulled out of his home universe. These include making contraception, gambling, and tobacco illegal; sending all black people to Alaska; and…

At least as difficult was the Jewish problem — was a humane solution possible? If not, then what? Should we grasp the nettle? This was debated only in camera.

I had a hard time embracing the book’s playful tone after that. It was a slog for awhile, then picked up speed toward the end, Heinlein only sort of redeems the “hero” (who goes by several different names). He does seem to learn that his value system is skewed, and that the universe is a lot more complicated than he thought. But there is no real what I’ll call — for lack of a better term — “come to Jesus” moment. In the final analysis it’s a love story that ends happily, and this seems more comedy than justice.

So I was left unsatisfied by JOB, which raised some worthwhile questions but didn’t quite earn its 439-page running length. In the meantime, at the end of Epitaph for a Spy Ambler had listed some favorite suspense writers and their books that had inspired him; this led directly to eBay and next thing I knew I was reading W.F. Morris’s WWI novel Bretherton. Check out this passage from Chapter 1:

Inside the chateau someone was playing a piano. The sound came out clearly; every note was distinct, played with a firm masculine touch, as though a man that loved music had sat down to amuse himself. And every moment I expected to hear a voice raised in song; but no voice came….

It was really rather startling, with the gunning still going on all around one, to be greeted by a tune on piano when one had expected a sudden burst of machine-gun fire. The air was “Just a song at twilight,” and in the middle of it I distinctly heard a round go off inside the chateau. The piano faltered but did not pause, and presently the tune changed to that ribald war-song, “Après la guerre finie.”

We had been standing against a stable wall on the far side of the courtyard, my servant and I, he with his rifle and fixed bayonet handy, and I with my service revolver loose in the holster, both of us motionless; but at the sound of that old familiar tune I woke up. To this day I do not know why I did it, but I told my servant to to stay where he was. It was wrong, of course; a company officer should never wander about alone under fire.

The tune changed to “Tipperary” as I dodged across the courtyard, and often as I have heard that hackneyed air, it seemed to sum up all that was best in the war as I heard it that sunny morning coming from a bombarded chateau with old Fritz sniping from the woods all around us. It occurred to me that one of my fellows had got into the house from the other side. Sergeant Pepper had the platoon over there, and this was just the absurd sort of thing he would do.

Hmmm… did Paul McCartney possibly read this book (published 1929) as a boy, then dredge up the name later without remembering where it came from? I don’t think it’s too far-fetched.

It ensues that the pianist — who is deceased by the time the narrator gets to him — is a dead ringer for a missing British officer, but dressed in a German general’s uniform. It’s an intriguing mystery that Morris keeps on a slow burn… so I’m gonna cap this off and get back to it.