This series launched in 2002, and I’m still here for it. Recently I read both Double Eagle and Black Ice, and thoroughly enjoyed them both. These are books seven and eight in the series, so rather than risk spoiling the overarching storyline, here’s what keeps me coming back.

It’s not rocket science to state that the success of an ongoing and extended mystery series resides with the main character (from Walter Mosley to Louise Penny) whether on-screen or on-the-page (from Giles Blunt to Kate Atkinson).

But authors who practice that art vary their techniques substantially. And even mystery and suspense aficionados have their favourites.

When you reduce this figuring to simplest terms, here is the secret to my ongoing relationship with Thumps DreadfulWater on-the-page.

First—he knows cats. A study darted through my newsfeed last week about how, psychologically, the effects of someone having a cat/dog are similar to their having a spouse/partner.

There’s an argument to be made that Thumps’ relationship with Freeway is the glue that holds this eight-book-long series together (I’m not actually making that argument—Claire, and all the other characters are well-drawn and credible—but someone could). How he observes and shares space with cats is not only realistic but funny.

 > A focus on relationships is at the heart of it all.

Second—he watches his sugar.

We have different reasons for doing so, but ultimately these are better-life-later-death situations. And it’s not as though you can’t hang around someone who’s going to order the triple-layer something-or-other cake after you get together for lunch, of course you caaaaan. But over time, there’s a chance you’ll start to resent their capacity to eat it unfettered (or, else, they’ll miss the sensation of being able to share the yum).

Beyond the obvious, there’s also a gentleness to this series, but no oversweet sentimentality.

> Thumps makes a lot of good decisions, but faces challenges along the way too—revealing a degree of vulnerability that allows connection to grow.

Third—he loves doughnuts.

They’re one of my biggest temptations too and, as with Thumps, it’s the simple, old-fashioned dips and glazes and fritters that more quickly wear down my resolve. It’s comforting to have a weakness in common.

Keen readers will see a disconnect between my last reason and this one: I appreciate a good contradiction, and this doesn’t only come up with Thumps’ diabetes and donut-loving.

> King is one of those writers who holds two ideas in his mind simultaneously—and relentlessly—and it shows.

Towards the end of one of these volumes, someone asks if Thumps has noticed that they spend a lot of time standing in parking lots, and Thumps says: “Stars are nice.” Sometimes there’s a brief reference to epic poems about heaven, purgatory, and hell when navigating the halls of government—the Land Titles building (ahem). But in a by-the-by kind of way: I probably missed a few of them.

>   He can look directly into the light himself and, yet, leave you to decide whether to squint or look away.

Thomas King does illuminate the issues—if you want to look more closely, try The Inconvenient Indian or Sufferance instead—and Thumps is actually a photographer, with a bit of poet in him too, all of which accounts for this series’ broad appeal.

There are always a couple dozen books in my stack because I’m a moody reader. But these are the exception to that rule: I’m always in the mood for Thomas King’s storytelling. And, it’s Indigenous History Month in June, so now I’m in the mood to talk about Thumps too.