Dear TCL Readers:

I have returned to New York City after one of the strangest travel days of my life, leaving Mexico just before a “shelter in place” order and arriving deep into a blizzard (I did not know that “driving across the GWB in a snowstorm” was a bucket-list item, but that’s now been checked off!) I hate cold but I do love the city right now, with so much snow blanketing everything even as the streets are ruthlessly salted and cleaned.

But Mexico? Amazing. I spent a week in San Miguel de Allende teaching at the Writers Conference & Literary Festival and the response to my two workshops (one on archives, one on research methods) were overwhelming positive, most of all on me. Teaching is something I plan to do more of, and I’ll be working on refining these particular workshops and coming up with new ideas — particularly with respect to crime fiction — to take to other places.

The whole conference vibe was really wonderful, too. Great keynote speeches from Abraham Verghese and R.F. Kuang (I hope hers is published somewhere soon) and Q&As with Emily St. John Mandel, and at the very last minute, Margaret Atwood. Taking part in a publishing industry panel on day one. Reading from Without Consent with a group of Canadian writers, including Jess Gibson, whose debut short story collection The Good Eye, out in May, was such a joy to read. The careful attention and care of my hosts. Not to mention the food, the emphasis on good culture and art (La Aurora and the Toy Museum are not to be missed) and then hanging out in the main square at all hours, listening to dueling mariachi bands battling for attention.

I can’t wait to return to San Miguel, and also to Mexico City, which was impossible to see in its entirety in one quick visit but highlights included a morning visit to Teotihuacan, the pyramids located an hour or so outside the city; spending time in various independent bookstores; eating tacos and quesadillas at some great hole-in-the-wall places; listening to Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony performed by the Mexico Philharmonic and conducted by phenom Julia Cruz, not yet thirty and clearly someone on the rise; the Anthropology Museum (getting a guide last-minute was such a great call, because it’s overwhelming.)

I also spent one afternoon in Coyoacan, where Casa Azul — the Frida Kahlo Museum — was overrun with people and that hampered my enjoyment, though the side exhibition on her clothing, and particularly what she wore to contend with a life of disability, was quite moving. With some extra time to kill I realized that Leon Trotsky’s house was just an eight-minute walk away, and what a difference: far cheaper, fewer people, nowhere near as well-maintained and a lot weirder (what was up with the fake animals in the coops?)

But with a brand-new (and entertaining) book by Josh Ireland on Trotsky’s death out this week, the timing of my visit to both museums, whose subjects found themselves intertwined in a variety of ways, was strangely appropriate. Needless to say, the true nature of Trotsky and Kahlo’s relationship was not mentioned at either museum.

Now that I’m home, the call of procrastinated-upon deadlines is sounding loudly. Let me leave you all with this majestic photo of Cafebreria El Pendulo (the Polanco location; there are several) where I impulsively purchased a copy of the 1934 novel Harriet by Elizabeth Jenkins and what a great decision — a truly chilling portrait of the banality of evil, based on the real-life Penge Mystery of 1877. You don’t have Ruth Rendell’s psychological suspense novels (particularly as Barbara Vine) without this book, for starters.

Until next time, I remain,

The Crime Lady