John D Macdonald

I was saddened to read of the death of John MacDonald. While it might seem, at first, foolish or trivial to say that the author of adventure-mystery novels touched my life, he surely did. I grew up, if the 30-to-50 passage is indeed the age of growing up, and grew older with Travis McGee, that knight-errant of the salvage business. His fictional journey from the somewhat callous but introspective young man in "The Deep Blue Goodby" to the aging hero rediscovering life's meaning through laughter and friends, the simplicity of a job well done and the revelation of an unknown daughter in "The Lonely Silver Rain" paralleled my own. John MacDonald's words remind me during the confusing times that life, at its best, is a simple thing.

Back in the 1960s, two hugely popular literary characters ruled the pages of more than 10 novels each. Though it was a famously transformative decade, both were old-school men's men who loved risk, adventure, liquor and attractive women. Both protagonists became touchstones of their eras. They differed in significant ways -- one was English, suave, favored bone-dry martinis, and worked for a large government organization.

John D. MacDonald, one of the most prolific and successful of action-adventure writers, died Sunday. He was 70. MacDonald, a longtime resident of Sarasota, Fla., died at St. Mary's Hospital in Milwaukee, Wis., of complications following heart bypass surgery, said Claire Ferraro, associate publisher at Ballantine, Del Rey and Fawcett books in New York. He had been hospitalized since September.

The Sanibel Island article ("Birdlands," May 2) was superbly written and illustrated. By coincidence, I had attended a family reunion in Ft. Myers, Fla., the previous February, and visited all places mentioned, beginning with sunrise on Sanibel Island. We went birding and shelling in utter contentment. John D. MacDonald once wrote that the only way to stop time is to experience joy. Your article recalled those moments. EVELYN C. WEBER Los Alamitos

Prodigiously talented and prolific, John D. MacDonald writes intelligentthrillers about the real world. This time it is the world of real estate, theclubs and yachts of crooked developers and corrupt public officials who turn wasteland into gold mines by manipulating zoning laws and building permits, or by soaking the government. Remember the recent news reports that NASA had sold a building for $300,000 and then leasedit back for a yearly rent of more than a million?

Back in the 1960s, two hugely popular literary characters ruled the pages of more than 10 novels each. Though it was a famously transformative decade, both were old-school men's men who loved risk, adventure, liquor and attractive women. Both protagonists became touchstones of their eras. They differed in significant ways -- one was English, suave, favored bone-dry martinis, and worked for a large government organization.

I enjoyed Don Campbell's review of John D. MacDonald's latest book (Book Review, April 28), but it left me a trifle confused. I thought I had read an article in the Los Angeles Times about three years ago that stated that John D. MacDonald was suffering from Alzheimer's disease and had just been confined to a sanitarium. Have I confused him with some other mystery writer? If it was MacDonald, was "The Lonely Silver Rain" an unfinished manuscript completed by someone else?

It would seem neither tidy, useful or equitable to assign the review of Manso's book about Mailer (Book Review, May 5) to a chap so tone-deaf that he cannot read books by Mailer. JOHN D. MacDONALD Sarasota, Fla.

The Sanibel Island article ("Birdlands," May 2) was superbly written and illustrated. By coincidence, I had attended a family reunion in Ft. Myers, Fla., the previous February, and visited all places mentioned, beginning with sunrise on Sanibel Island. We went birding and shelling in utter contentment. John D. MacDonald once wrote that the only way to stop time is to experience joy. Your article recalled those moments. EVELYN C. WEBER Los Alamitos

(Reviewer) John Rothchild's point, "You could almost make a case that Wall Street has been ignored in literature," is well taken and amusingly argued ("Rascal Money," Book Review, Jan. 7). Rothchild carefully limits himself to "important novels," so perhaps he may be forgiven for not mentioning the work of John D. Macdonald. To mention only one of many Macdonald books that turned on money issues, the Travis McGee mystery "Pale Gray for Guilt" explored a real estate syndication scam and a stock manipulation in the development of its plot.

(Reviewer) John Rothchild's point, "You could almost make a case that Wall Street has been ignored in literature," is well taken and amusingly argued ("Rascal Money," Book Review, Jan. 7). Rothchild carefully limits himself to "important novels," so perhaps he may be forgiven for not mentioning the work of John D. Macdonald. To mention only one of many Macdonald books that turned on money issues, the Travis McGee mystery "Pale Gray for Guilt" explored a real estate syndication scam and a stock manipulation in the development of its plot.

I was saddened to read of the death of John MacDonald. While it might seem, at first, foolish or trivial to say that the author of adventure-mystery novels touched my life, he surely did. I grew up, if the 30-to-50 passage is indeed the age of growing up, and grew older with Travis McGee, that knight-errant of the salvage business. His fictional journey from the somewhat callous but introspective young man in "The Deep Blue Goodby" to the aging hero rediscovering life's meaning through laughter and friends, the simplicity of a job well done and the revelation of an unknown daughter in "The Lonely Silver Rain" paralleled my own. John MacDonald's words remind me during the confusing times that life, at its best, is a simple thing.

John D. MacDonald, one of the most prolific and successful of action-adventure writers, died Sunday. He was 70. MacDonald, a longtime resident of Sarasota, Fla., died at St. Mary's Hospital in Milwaukee, Wis., of complications following heart bypass surgery, said Claire Ferraro, associate publisher at Ballantine, Del Rey and Fawcett books in New York. He had been hospitalized since September.

Prodigiously talented and prolific, John D. MacDonald writes intelligentthrillers about the real world. This time it is the world of real estate, theclubs and yachts of crooked developers and corrupt public officials who turn wasteland into gold mines by manipulating zoning laws and building permits, or by soaking the government. Remember the recent news reports that NASA had sold a building for $300,000 and then leasedit back for a yearly rent of more than a million?

It would seem neither tidy, useful or equitable to assign the review of Manso's book about Mailer (Book Review, May 5) to a chap so tone-deaf that he cannot read books by Mailer. JOHN D. MacDONALD Sarasota, Fla.

I enjoyed Don Campbell's review of John D. MacDonald's latest book (Book Review, April 28), but it left me a trifle confused. I thought I had read an article in the Los Angeles Times about three years ago that stated that John D. MacDonald was suffering from Alzheimer's disease and had just been confined to a sanitarium. Have I confused him with some other mystery writer? If it was MacDonald, was "The Lonely Silver Rain" an unfinished manuscript completed by someone else?