The Painted Queen

The Painted Queen by Elizabeth Peters
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

You probably know this already, but it’s worth stating again. When Elizabeth Peters died before completing The Painted Queen, her family asked author Joan Hess to finish it. Hess was not just a fan but her friend, and must have recognized that this would be a thankless task—yet she gave three years of her life to ensure its completion.
The result has divided Amelia Peabody fans, with a good proportion of them questioning Hess’s portrayal of Amelia’s character. One example that pops up quite regularly is her knowledge of hypnotism. Here’s the thing. As readers, we seem to have a proprietorial regard for characters. They are ours. We know them better than anyone. Woe betide any author—especially an interloper—who gets them wrong. I personally felt that the hypnotism was bang on character, and provided a spark of comedy that was lacking elsewhere. I also loved the contrivance of the five brothers out for revenge.
For me, the novel’s biggest flaw was its interminable planning sessions. The family in its various permutations sits around talking about what they intend to do next…rather than getting on and doing it. Much of the book is needlessly padded out this way, and the resulting dialogue feels forced and stilted. Regarding the plot, I’m still unsure to what purpose one of the archaeologists was being drugged, and the tension between Nefret and Ramses, which we’re teased with throughout (even at the very end), is never explained (or, if it is, it’s so brief that I missed it). These issues should have been ironed out in the editorial stages. Had they been, this would have been a much better book.
It’s easy to lose sight of the fact that this was a labour of love written primarily to bring her friend’s final novel to fruition, and I applaud her for doing so.

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The Order of Things

The Order of Things by Graham Hurley
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

First off, let me hold my hand up. I am not a fan of police procedurals. I read this book for the Crimes & Thrillers reading group I attend. That said, this book doesn’t always read like a police procedural.
A woman is found brutally murdered in the bedroom of a seaside cottage near Exmouth, owned by a climatology expert who subsequently disappears. D.S. Jimmy Suttle is charged with the investigation, which rapidly stalls until his ex-wife—an investigative journalist who has just had a best-selling book and is now in need of another—begins her own investigation into the victim.
For lovers of police procedurals there should be enough to hold your interest. Short, telegraphic sentences and plenty of talk about the MIR and the like, much of which went straight over my head.
When Hurley writes in detail about the characters, however, all that changes. He’s another writer entirely. He has a very elegant turn of phrase and a knack of making what they say seem real—no easy task when your characters are often experts in their sundry fields. It’s a pity then that I ended up liking none of them, the ex-wife least of all, though I did begin to wonder if she had a bipolar disorder that had gone undiagnosed. Nor was I ultimately convinced by anyone’s motives for their actions. Why did the scientist upsticks and vanish, for instance? Why then come back, and why obfuscate when he did? I suppose I may have missed something key here but, if I did, it was subtly insinuated.
Still it’s very hard to ignore writing this good. Let me quote a description of Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G Major as an example:

“The music was truly divine, the theme picked out on the piano, then gathered up by the soaring strings and warmed by an oboe and a flute. It surged on, music to fly by, music for seagulls, music with no respect for either gravity or pain.”

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The Night Visitor

The Night Visitor by Lucy Atkins
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Olivia is a telegenic academic historian desperate for an idea for her next commercial book. She happens upon a Victorian diary, a deathbed confession that one of the first woman doctors murdered her abusive husband. Vivian is the gatekeeper of said diary, who must be won over.

I’ve looked at other reviews on Goodreads, and people clearly enjoy this book. I did too—to a degree. Atkins summons up a great sense of menace. But I’m not a fan of creating suspense by talking at length about something which is yet to be explained, especially when there’s precious little reason to obfuscate the facts. For Olivia, it’s the “dreadful” thing that her husband has done. For Vivian, it’s the loss of of her dear friend “Bertie”.

Neither woman is especially likeable, and both appear to be liars. Vivian, delivered in the first-person present, lies by omission, if she’s lying at all. As she slides back and forth between the present and her constant reminiscing, the abrupt change of tense can be a little confusing. Olivia, by contrast, is delivered in the third-person perfect from Olivia’s POV. Rather than stating, “She lied,” or, “She couldn’t bear to tell her friend the truth,” Atkins resorts to having her do things she would undoubtedly lie about were she to be caught.

A warning for anyone who likes their stories neatly tied up: you are likely to be furious with the ending.

SPOILER ALERT: If, like me, you’re left wondering who was responsible for chopping off the daughter’s hair, I’ve seen one potential explanation. It was Vivian. This is based entirely on a phrase she uses about the night in question: “The whole episode is a little hazy…” p333. Vivian denies it, but since Atkins offers no other explanation, this is as close as it gets to an answer.

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Sirens

Sirens by Joseph Knox
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Full disclosure in the interests of fairness: I read this for my Crimes & Thrillers reading group, and I am not a fan of the Noir sub-genre.
We’re in present day Manchester. The name of the city is never once mentioned, but some of the locations are so specific, it can be nowhere else (see accompanying photo of Beetham Tower, a nightmarish skyscraper that provides one of the book’s main settings). Our hard-boiled, first-person narrator is Aiden Waits, a disgraced yet still active police constable in his late twenties. Aiden’s moral compass is both murky and complex. He’s happy to lie about the drugs he snorts, yet, like knights of old, he is the epitome of chivalry. (view spoiler)[For example, when he steals drugs from the evidence locker at the beginning of the book, while they may be for his personal use I am certain he does it so the woman his partner just framed will be allowed to walk free. (hide spoiler)] This gallant behaviour repeats itself with nearly every woman he comes into contact with. Aiden only wishes to save them, and thereby save himself.

As far as the writing style goes, there is some interesting and effective repetition of paragraphs that gives a nice sense of deja vu, though I personally could have done with a little less “the-city-at-night-is-a-sparkling-but-treacherous-mistress” type mise-en-scene. Then again, it is the mainstay of noir. Also the editor might have highlighted a couple of issues. There’s a character whom we are told speaks for the first time, when in fact he has already spoken on the previous page; the fight at the climax is described in only the sketchiest of terms, so it feels like a rather big let down.
Having said that, it’s not at all bad. Aiden is a great main character, and if I enjoyed this genre I’m sure I would devour the whole series. I can’t imagine Knox losing any sleep over my review. He’ll be too busy signing his option with ITV.


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Murder at the Brightwell

Murder at the Brightwell by Ashley Weaver
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

It’s the early 1930s, and upper-class occasional socialite Amory Ames, trapped in a failing marriage, agrees to help an old flame to dissuade his sister from wedding the wrong kind of man. Together they decamp to the Brightwell Hotel on the south coast of England, where the sister is holidaying with her fiancé and numerous friends, and where eventually one of the party will die.

This is Weaver’s first novel and the beginning of a series of mysteries featuring amateur sleuth Amory Ames. It is as much a romance as a whodunnit, and at times my attention waned when it roamed into the romantic. The sound-bite review which the publishers have chosen for the cover (“An elegant Christie-esque romp”) may help with sales, but it does the author no favours. While it may be set in the 1930s, neither the plot, nor the characters, nor the style of writing mirror Agatha Christie’s in any sense. By setting up expectations in the reader’s mind, comparisons are inevitable—and that seems remarkably unfair to the author, whose writing style is quieter and more reflective.

There is a great red herring which Weaver develops extremely well, which any Crimes & Thrillers enthusiast will recognize and enjoy from the start, though for my money I would have welcomed a few more motives scattered about amongst the suspects, and a sight more insight from our sleuth. But who knows? That may come with Book II.

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The Death of Mrs Westaway

The Death of Mrs. Westaway by Ruth Ware
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

A highly principled young woman in her late teens is left alone in the world when her mother is killed in a hit-and-run. Having been left destitute, she drops out of school and takes over her mother’s fortune-telling booth on a Brighton pier to make ends meet. Even so, she falls prey to a loan shark, who is now demanding repayment. And that’s where this book starts, with a letter from a solicitor informing her that her grandmother has died leaving a substantial estate. The trouble is, even though it’s addressed to her, they’ve clearly mistaken her for somebody else.

I took to this almost immediately. Ruth Ware’s prose is easy on the eye, and the book is very different from what I usually read, so it acted as a great palate cleanser. This is no cozy mystery; it’s a thriller—though truth be told it’s really a Gothic. With the ancient, rundown house set in some desolate part of Cornwall, the sprawling grounds infested with magpies, and the unwelcoming, equally-as-ancient housekeeper, it certainly has all the trappings.

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The Monogram Murders

The Monogram Murders by Sophie Hannah
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I came to this, the first in what I hope will be a very long series, after reading the second instalment, Closed Casket, which I loved. In this book the initial premise is satisfyingly intriguing: three bodies are found on separate floors of a luxury hotel, each in a locked room, each laid out ceremoniously on the floor, and each with an initialled cuff link inserted into their mouths.
Hannah has the ability to paint truly memorable characters with a few strokes of her pen, aided by a great ear for speech patterns—which, in this case, she even makes use of to provide Hercule with a clue.
Though I enjoyed the bulk of this book, the reveal felt overly complicated by a series of twists and turns which hinged on distinctions that were a little too subtle for my own straightforward tastes (and those of Inspector Catchpool’s, come to that). And although it’s entirely possible I might have missed their explanations, there seemed to be events (e.g., who Thomas Brignell, the painfully timid clerk, was seen with down in the gardens; the reason that necessitated the final murder) that weren’t explained (if anyone cares to enlighten me, I shall be eternally grateful). Even so, there’s much to entertain here and this is still a series to keep your eye on.
But that’s just my own humble opinion…what do you think? Do let me know!

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Death Comes to Lynchester Close

Death Comes to Lynchester Close by David Dickinson
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I’m about to shout. It’s an alert for a spoiler not of my making but—would you believe it?—of the publisher’s, and my aim is to prevent you from seeing it. WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T LOOK AT THE BACK COVER! Don’t even be tempted. There’s a really catchy hookline there (which I’m sure somebody is exceedingly proud of) that renders the first three-quarters of this investigation (and therefore the book) a tad redundant. Once I’d read it I couldn’t unread it, so with increasing impatience I spent an age ploughing through what would have otherwise proved an intriguing enough plot, waiting for the various investigators to twig what I’d already been told was going on. Way to kill off a reader’s interest! Why Little, Brown allowed this to happen is anyone’s guess.
So, hopefully if you take my advice, what do you get? A cozy mystery set in the imaginary English city of Lynchester a couple of years before the First World War. The presiding detective, who is summoned down from London, is Lord Francis Powerscourt, a peer of the realm. He has a wife, Lady Lucy, and a friend, Johnny Fitzgerald, to assist him—in addition to the fawning local police in the shape of Inspector Vaughn. Lord Francis and his crew don’t get much of a look in when it comes to descriptions. Though it’s the first book I’ve come across in this series I believe it’s actually the fourteenth, so perhaps we’re meant to know what they’re like by now. By contrast, all the other characters are succinctly and sometimes humorously drawn, each one distinctive and fairly rounded. I could imagine meeting them in the real world.
The writing style is unique. There’s hardly any scene-setting, and transitions between scenes can be as abrupt as a single sentence. It reminded me of the stage directions in a play. The bulk of the narrative is delivered as a series of two-person conversations, some of them lengthy, with very few of the component speeches receiving any attribution (such as “Powerscourt said” or “replied the Dean”). Yet I was seldom at a loss to know who was speaking and, once I got used to it, I found the style refreshingly different from the other cozies I’d recently been reading. There’s a wealth of history here too, but I suspect you’d need to know what you’re looking for in order to recognize it. It’s incorporated so well that it’s practically hidden.
But that’s just my own humble opinion…what do you think? Do let me know!

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The Devil's Workshop

The Devil's Workshop by Alex Grecian
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Anyone dabbling in Ripper lore with the aim of identifying the killer must eventually deal with the ultimate question. Why did the killings stop? Did he die? Did he embark for South America to continue his career? Was Mary Jane Kelly his actual target and, having killed her, was killing no longer necessary? Here Alex Grecian ingeniously suggests that the Ripper was taken captive by a group hell bent on having the punishment fit the crime, a bit like Gilbert & Sullivan’s The Mikado’s Song but without the sense of humour. This is not a spoiler, I hasten to add; it’s where this book begins.
My Penguin edition tells me Grecian is acclaimed for his comic book series Proof (they probably meant graphic novel series, bless them), and as I made my way through the text I could practically see the images being inked up as I read. The underground network of tunnels branching off a sunken street; the blind, colourless fish slapping at the surface of an unlit lake; the deer cantering off into the distant gloom. I could almost discern which frames were to be rendered from a ground-level point of view.
Unsurprisingly Jack is a leading player, and Grecian does a great job in developing his character—showing us his madness and slowly revealing his moral code—to the point where we’re never quite sure how he’s going to react, no matter how well rounded the character might be. By contrast the police (including the heroes of the piece, DI Walter Day and his sergeant, Nevil Hammersmith) appear at best well-intentioned if entirely ineffectual, and at worst positively inept at their jobs.
The blood bath, when it comes, is definitely a blood bath. Some of the characters you’ve met are going to die. That said, strangely I found it an emotionally satisfying experience, which I suspect other readers will too. It’s nicely handled.
If you’re looking for a cozy thriller with a bit of detection and a wealth of historical detail, you won’t find it here. If you’re looking for a decent page-turner involving Jack the Ripper, you will.
But that’s just my own humble opinion…what do you think? Do let me know!

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A Poisonous Plot

A Poisonous Plot by Susanna Gregory
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

It’s 1358 in Cambridge, there’s a brisk black-market trade in an expensive white powder called sucura, the townsfolk are up in arms about the scholars (so nothing new there, then), and people are dying in their droves. I enjoyed dipping my toe into the first Susanna Gregory book I’ve read.
But that’s just my own humble opinion…what do you think? Do let me know!

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Uncle Silas

Uncle Silas by J. Sheridan Le Fanu
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

At its heart this is the story of young Maud Ruthyn, whose mother is dead and whose father, the wealthy scion of an ancient yet untitled family, seems utterly naïve and quite ill-prepared to raise his daughter properly—in fact he hardly ever speaks to her and keeps her in isolation from the world. When he learns that he has but a short time to live, he recklessly decides to give his estranged, impoverished, and socially-outcast wastrel of a brother, Silas, guardianship over Maud as a demonstration to society at large of his contempt for the allegations made against the man. Some years ago a gambler named Charke had been found at his home with his throat slit—and yet the room in which he was found was locked from the inside. Suicide? Murder? Who knows? (Duh!)

This is definitely a cut above your general penny dreadful, but to my mind it suffers fairly early on from a number of passages that felt poorly conceived and clumsily written. Victor Sage, the editor of the Penguin edition I read, felt these same passages to be laugh-out-loud funny; so what do I know? They involve “Madame” (Maud’s inebriated, pilfering tutor, who is foisted upon her by her own well-meaning father) doing a witchy dance in a cemetery. Personally I find her far more frightening (and realistic) when Maud is recounting the woman’s many mood swings and petty cruelties. Madame’s broken French accent is also problematic, as are the many regional accents that Le Fanu employs throughout. I managed to get most (though not all) of what was being said—indeed, occasionally it reads perfectly fluently—but it wasn’t much fun, and it slows down what would otherwise be a compulsive and riveting tale.

I think the great strength of this novel lies in its characters. There were times when I found myself not liking some of Maud’s more entitled attitudes; others when I felt positively sorry for Silas’s son, Dudley.

What else? It’s long; in common with the majority of novels of the time, it is in fact three books. Virtually all the female characters’ first names begin with the letter M (Maud, Monica, Mary, Milly, Meg, Madame); that said, there is a Sarah who pops up later—but even then her middle name happens to be Mathilda. The five shillings Maud pays out for her fortune to be told is today’s equivalent of £50; the pound for the lucky talisman and the pound that she presses into Tom Brice’s hand to deliver a letter, a cool £200 a piece. If you do choose to read this book, try not to think of Cousin Monica as being the elderly woman she is initially presented as; I almost choked when I discovered that she’s only 49! And as intriguing as the locked-room mystery (and its eventual explanation) may be, you will be left wondering why it was required. Best not to dwell on it; just enjoy it for what it is.

But that’s just my own humble opinion…what do you think? Do let me know!

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Catilina's Riddle

Catilina's Riddle by Steven Saylor
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I am a huge fan of Steven Saylor, and would argue that he writes beautiful prose, creates brilliant characters and gripping plots, and manages to paint Rome in the time of Cicero so it comes to life before your eyes without his ever labouring over the history. Unfortunately none of that applies to this book.
Many stories (hero sagas in particular) begin with a “call to action”—the hero refuses to answer the call and then Fate (or the gods) must intervene to force his or her hand. Gordianus, the narrator, spends the first seventh of this novel resisting the call—so much of it, in fact, that I began get annoyed with him and, worse, to dislike him for his dithering. At over 700 pages, it’s certainly long a book, not least because it is bulked out by interminable, endlessly repetitive speeches by Cicero (and, to a lesser extent, Catalina)—not a good move, even if they are based on the historical record. Much of the political background (and, towards the end, even some of the action) is delivered via conversations overheard by Gordianus as he moves through the streets of Rome—not snatches, mind you, but lengthy, 10-minute dialogues between strangers—typically “a farmer” and “a merchant” who conveniently represent opposing points of view. One early example of this has an unnamed orator discussing Otho’s law and Rullan land reform with a heckler in the Forum. That one ran for a whole ten pages. It’s a device that tried my patience and quickly wore thin, and I ended up willing Gordianus to move on so that Meto could get his augury read. This was the important bit, after all. If we’re meant to care about Meto, then that was what we were interested in.
So is there anything good about this book? Well, it’s great to meet all the old characters again, though of all of them only Rufus and maybe Marcus Mummius manage to shine above the barrage of all that history. The others seem mired in it. Not that the history is all bad; though it’s a little forced, I’ve never seen anyone else try to explain how the various public offices (e.g. praetor, consul, etc.) worked, or why people would ever wish to run for them, given that they do so at their own—often crippling—expense. It was interesting to compare the election in which Meto votes with the ill-judged snap election called by Theresa May, which just so happened to take place at the same ttime I was reading that section. Gordianus’s relationship with his come-of-age son—as well as notions of what actually constitutes family—are delicately and masterfully explored. It should have driven the book. Unfortunately history is allowed to get in the way.
My final gripe probably seems trivial and petty by comparison; it’s not. At the beginning of Part Two, Gordianus is sharing a wineskin with his eldest son, Eco. On page 115, it lies “flattened and empty” on the grass between them; by page 119, they’re passing it back and forth again, presumably guzzling down its contents. It’s details like this that can destroy the reader’s mental image of a scene in a heartbeat.
One for the staunchest fans only and determined completists, I fear. Do yourself a favour and read “Arms of Nemesis” instead. It’s the one I requested. It’s just a pity it wasn’t available.
But that’s just my own humble opinion…what do you think? Do let me know!

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Death Comes as the End

Death Comes as the End by Agatha Christie
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

“She was not a servant…She had a wig on her head and she wore jewels—a servant does not wear jewels.”
“Jewels?” demanded Imhotep. “What jewels?”
The boy replied eagerly and confidently as though at last he had overcome his fear and was quite sure of what he was saying.
“Three strings of beads with gold lions hanging from them in front…”
Esa’s stick clattered to the floor. Imhotep uttered a stifled cry.

It’s Ancient Egypt, the end of the First Intermediate Period and beginning of the Middle Kingdom, when the Egyptian capital transfers to present-day Karnak—the city that, under the later Greeks, will eventually become known as Thebes. When ageing ka-priest Imhotep returns from the north with a beautiful young concubine, his extended family are none too pleased. After she dies in an apparent accident, is it her revengeful spirit that returns to bump the family off one by one?

Each of the characters is well defined as a particular “type” (e.g. knowledgeable old grandmother, elder son’s nagging wife, middle son who’s a bit of a gambler), and yet with few exceptions they are all quite sketchily painted, even by Ms Christie’s economical standards. Too sketchily perhaps for us to engage with them fully? I’m a great fan of Ms Christie, but even on re-reading this remains one my least favourite of her works. Still pleased I had a reason to read it again, though, for I don’t think my copy will last another outing!
But that’s just my own humble opinion…what do you think? Do let me know!

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Sidney Chambers and the Problem of Evil

Sidney Chambers and the Problem of Evil by James Runcie
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Maybe it’s because I read this on the heels of another of his books; maybe it’s because short stories (which these are) don’t allow for intricate plots (or in this case clues); maybe it’s because the opening tale was the least satisfactory of the four, which set a tone for the book that the author then never quite managed to shake. Whatever the case, I found it very tough going.
Sidney’s likeable enough, as are most of his companions, but in this book his friend Inspector Keating seems especially badly drawn. At one point he’s meant to be having an affair—though we scarcely see any proof of it; the next minute it’s over and his wife, although she’s keeping him on a short leash, has forgiven him. And quite why he’s so anxious to whisk Sidney off to France in one of the cases (Female, Nude) is anyone’s guess.
It’s a pity, because Runcie is really quite brilliant in his descriptions of people. Here’s what he does with one minor character: “Daisy Playfair spoke in a husky voice that sounded like a sore throat, and with her tongue forward in the mouth, as if she was about to offer an all-too-alluring kiss. Her lipstick was glossily pink, her skin was tanned and her cleavage was pleasingly visible. Sidney tried not to stare and composed himself by looking down to the floor and concentrating on her white slingbacks; only to discover that Daisy also possessed the most erotic feet he had ever seen.”
But that’s just my own humble opinion…what do you think? Do let me know!

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Sidney Chambers and the Perils of the Night

Sidney Chambers and the Perils of the Night by James Runcie
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Short stories featuring a priest turned detective in 1950s/1960s Cambridge…communist spies, bigamist bridegrooms, and poisoned lemonade at the cricket match. It’s a little lightweight admittedly, but it doesn’t really get much cosier—or gentler—than this.

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Game of Mirrors

Game of Mirrors by Andrea Camilleri
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I read a couple of Inspector Montalbano mysteries many years ago and quite enjoyed them. Game of Mirrors proved to be no exception. I love how Camilleri conjures up Sicilian life with just a few carefully chosen words, most of them describing—no, detailing—food. It occurred to me whilst reading this that a translator’s job cannot be an easy one. There’s a lot of verbal humour here that would probably be lost in a straightforward rendering of the text, and I think Stephen Sartarelli, who translated the book into English, has done Camilleri proud (Catarella’s speeches and Prosecutor Tommaseo’s singing the whole scale are two fine examples).
But that’s just my own humble opinion…what do you think? Do let me know! Read for the Crime & Thrillers reading group that I attend at Canada Water Library, and for my 2016 Goodreads reading challenge.


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The Cornish Coast Murder

The Cornish Coast Murder by John Bude
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Reverend Dodd, the local vicar, and his dinner guest, the local doctor, find their Monday night ritual of divvying up crime thrillers from the local lending library interrupted by a phone call announcing a murder. Their neighbour, Julius Tregarthan (no, not local Squire in this case—though he is a Justice of the Peace) has been shot to death.
Originally published in 1935, the text for the most part could be mistaken as being modern. In his introduction to this edition, Martin Edwards suggests that Bude “pays more attention to characterisation and setting than many of his contemporaries”, and I think this goes some way to explaining why the novel has the feel of a likeable, modern-day Cosy, albeit one set in the 1930s.
The weird thing is, I’m almost positive that I held this book in my hands when I was a young child (old enough to be able to read the text, but too young to make a lot of sense of it). I got a strong feeling of déjà vu with the opening sentence, and a much stronger one when I saw the title of the twentieth chapter: The Little Greystoke Tailor. Clearly I used to flip through books. I still do sometimes.
I think the British Library is on to a winner, republishing these forgotten gems from the Golden Age of Crime Writing.
But that’s just my own humble opinion…what do you think? Do let me know! Read for the Crime & Thrillers reading group that I attend at Canada Water Library, and also for my 2016 Goodreads reading challenge.


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The Girl on the Train

The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I had no idea how I’d get on with this book. It was given to us for the Crime & Thrillers book group I attend; it is not one I would normally pick up. That said, I was pleasantly surprised to find that it managed to keep my attention. I’d worked out who the murderer was by some point in the middle, and from then on it was a pleasure to see how Hawkins went about revealing clues as to their identity. She does it quite masterfully in fact.
Much has been made on Goodreads of what a mess the main characters are. It’s true, many of them are unpleasant, but I found myself feeling sorry for the central character, Rachel. Hawkins makes much of the London commuter belt setting, which she portrays to perfection, so quite how the novel will translate into film once it’s been relocated to New York remains to be seen.
But that’s just my own humble opinion…what do you think? Do let me know! Read for the Crime & Thrillers reading group that I attend at Canada Water Library, and also for my 2016 Goodreads reading challenge.


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Mystery in White

Mystery in White by J. Jefferson Farjeon
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This was originally published in 1937. It was republished in 2014 by—somewhat surprisingly—the British Library. It’s subtitled “A Christmas Crime Story”, and it does exactly what it says on the tin.
One Christmas Eve, a group of passengers disembark from a snow-bound train and chance upon a deserted country house, where—mysteriously—the fires are lit, the kettle is boiling, and tea has been laid out for them. But where is their host?
The characters are nicely delineated. There’s old Mr Maltby, member of the Royal Psychical Society; Lydia and David, two bright young things who happen to be brother and sister; the showgirl Jessie, with the power of psychometry (divining insights from objects simply by touching them); young Mr Thomson-without-a-p, a clerk who daydreams of saving damsels in distress from the wreckage of airplanes—go psychoanalyse that! There’s a pompous bore, who soon gets the wind knocked out of his sails, and a cockney ne’er-do-well, the least convincingly drawn of all the characters—surprisingly so, since Farjeon himself is descended from an impoverished Jewish family from Whitechapel.
There’s a murder or two, and it falls to the ultra-logical, perspicacious Mr Maltby to unravel the affair. Every time he opens his mouth, I hear and see the actor Alastair Simm at his most cadaverous and dyspeptic.



Some of the “witty”, “sparkling” banter feels decidedly shaky, and there’s some unnecessary and confusing business involving Maltby claiming to find a dead body in one of the rooms when he hasn’t—but what else do you expect from a book of this vintage? A good-natured if extremely lightweight novel from the brother of Eleanor Farjeon, the poet who gave us the words to “Morning Has Broken”.
Read for the Crime & Thrillers reading group that I attend at Canada Water Library, and also for my 2015 Goodreads reading challenge.
But that’s just my own humble opinion…what do you think? Do let me know!

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The Glass Room

The Glass Room by Ann Cleeves
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Here the murder occurs on a week-long crime writers’ course at a writers’ retreat in the Newcastle countryside. It’s interesting in that it touches on the obsessive nature and self-importance of fiction writing, as well as some of its processes (plus the truly destructive nature of literary criticism). I felt disappointed, however, that I never really got to see the inner workings of D. I. Stanthope’s mind, the way I did, say, for Nina Backworth, one of the tutors on the course. As a consequence, I found it hard to relate to her. A book for those who are already fans, I suspect.
I’m truly ashamed to admit that when I first posted this review, I got the name of Cleeves’s detective wrong. It’s now corrected, but I apologize profusely!
But that’s just my own humble opinion…what do you think? Do let me know! Read for the Crime & Thrillers reading group that I attend at Canada Water Library, and also for my 2015 Goodreads reading challenge. View all my reviews