tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57793386271924924082024-03-18T22:55:35.729-04:00MY READER'S BLOCKMystery Lover...but overall a very eclectic reader. Will read everything from the classics to historical fiction. Biography to essays. Not into horror or much into YA. If you would like me to review a book, then please see my stated review policy BEFORE emailing me.
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Please do NOT contact me to ask that I promote your NON-book websites or products. Thank you.Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.comBlogger5899125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-16557950590547837222024-03-18T22:29:00.000-04:002024-03-18T22:29:37.577-04:00Q-Squared<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiiNvAF2ViI9g8KJsv9yVNervjC6F3Rhuu-Jnh54nfNeAlcvPXSiEBB_z03Ug0VZ3AK4skSXkHKap5BwIWQCG0TiyXg18IVvKrFtFhytgKfawKBq4zLS4wp8z5l-owxJWXnPrdLXhfoILPsJuBZvcGHVl9KKNhiDRkuy4KdgWGLO99p-dpdlQMVRphNpI/s2037/Q-Squared%20(mine).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2037" data-original-width="1240" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiiNvAF2ViI9g8KJsv9yVNervjC6F3Rhuu-Jnh54nfNeAlcvPXSiEBB_z03Ug0VZ3AK4skSXkHKap5BwIWQCG0TiyXg18IVvKrFtFhytgKfawKBq4zLS4wp8z5l-owxJWXnPrdLXhfoILPsJuBZvcGHVl9KKNhiDRkuy4KdgWGLO99p-dpdlQMVRphNpI/s320/Q-Squared%20(mine).jpg" width="195" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> <i>Q-Squared</i> (1995) by Peter David</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Take Q and make him even more annoying and arbitrary and you get....Trelane. The infamous Squire of Gothos with whom Captain Kirk had a run-in over a hundred years ago. Wound up he was just a kid Q who got loose from his parents and wanted to interact with humans for "fun and games." Well...a century has passed and Trelane hasn't grown up much. But now Captain Jean-Luc Picard and the <i>Enterprise</i> <i>D </i>crew must deal with a Trelane who has tapped into the universal power source and has delusions of godhood. He messes with the powers that keep all alternate mutliverses separate and with the plan this teen-aged Q filled with teen-age angst has for "life, the universe and everything" it seems more like devilhood. Because if Trelane has his way all possible alternate timelines will be gone--but only after the <i>Enterprise</i> crew (and everyone else in the universe) and their alternate selves fight it out to the death to see which one will remain. According to Q, Picard is the only one who can save the universe...and all of its alternates. But how can a mere mortal take on a god...or a devil?<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In his introduction, Peter David says that he generally writes two types of <i>Star Trek</i> novels. One is simply problem-oriented--the crew, whether Kirk & company or Next Gen, get involved in events with alien races or whatnot and they have to resolve it. The other takes a look at Trek as a whole and tries to stitch together threads from various iterations of the Trek universe to make a tapestry of sorts. This is the latter type of story. And, overall, I like it very much. I enjoyed the way he brought Trelane into the Q Continuum and made his interactions bridge the time period between Kirk and Picard. I'm also really interested in the multiverse (alternate timeline) trope in science fiction and enjoyed David's take on that concept. The one thing that kept this from a full four-star review was the chaos at the end--I realize that was the point of Trelane's little "experiment," but with all of the various Picards and Rikers and Crushers (both Beverly and Jack [!]), etc. running in and out of each other's timelines it was very difficult to keep everybody straight. And (slight SPOILER ahead)...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">even though we're meant to believe that we're back to the "real" universe (that is the one from the TV show) at the end. I'm still a little unsure. A great concept, pretty nicely realized. <span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★★</span><span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★</span> and 1/2.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line: <i>The child looked up at the adult eagerly, wonderingly in that way that children had.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">And which of these multiverses is the real one? (LaForge; p. 126)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last line: She turned back to ask him why he sounded so strange when he said that...but he was already gone.</span></p><p><br /></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-52904906469742544402024-03-16T18:10:00.000-04:002024-03-16T18:10:43.692-04:00Moonflower Murders<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq2IVPQXJSCmCxc447hv_0Mqvp4LrwKx4lXAzf3P2lHp7nB8f1EFDr9quXfp3DXvBQxAwXFowrh3OvI6djFofxti28aWTwG4Jrm4VlB4_LQUWR4bcr7hZHa9mWFtoPG4dDPFk4_b5YtGEmX7W_paW0bh_2x8wiSbmiNg3c0-s_PgWoKzvz8RVpygy0Xuw/s400/moonflower.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="264" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq2IVPQXJSCmCxc447hv_0Mqvp4LrwKx4lXAzf3P2lHp7nB8f1EFDr9quXfp3DXvBQxAwXFowrh3OvI6djFofxti28aWTwG4Jrm4VlB4_LQUWR4bcr7hZHa9mWFtoPG4dDPFk4_b5YtGEmX7W_paW0bh_2x8wiSbmiNg3c0-s_PgWoKzvz8RVpygy0Xuw/s320/moonflower.jpeg" width="211" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> <i>Moonflower Murders</i> (2020) by Anthony Horowitz</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">At the end of <i>Magpie Murders</i>, Susan Ryeland had retired from publishing and joined her partner Andreas in a venture to run a hotel on the island of Crete. The Polydorus has beautiful views and the weather is lovely and everything should be just marvelous. Except--it isn't. The help is not reliable. Deliveries are not reliable. And the tourists aren't filling the hotel the way they'd like. She and Andrus are so busy trying to make things work that they don't have the time for each other that they need. Susan is feeling restless.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">That's when the Trehernes show up at the Polydorus. And they've come specifically to see Susan. About eight years ago, there was a horrible murder at the hotel they (the Trehernes) own back in England. It occurred on the day of their daughter's wedding and the result was that Stefan Cordescru, one of the hotel's employees, was convicted of the murder. Alan Conway, one of her former authors, had later visited the hotel, talked with various people who were around on the day of the murder, and wrote a mystery which featured characters loosely based on them. The Trehernes daughter Cecily recently read the book, <i>Atticus Pund Takes the Case</i>, and called her parents to say that she was right all along, Stefan didn't kill Frank Parrish and the answer was staring at her from the book. Cecily disappeared that very afternoon.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Now the Trehernes want Susan to come to their hotel, talk with the people involved, and reread Conway's book--and tell them what Cecily found out and what has happened to their daughter. They believe that since she worked with Conway she'll know how he would have hidden the answers. And they'll pay her 10,000 pounds to do it. Susan & Andreas could definitely use the money. So, despite Andreas's misgivings (when she looked into Alan Conway's death in <i>Magpie Murders</i>, she found herself in danger...), Susan agrees. But when she begins investigating she finds everyone, including the Trehernes, would prefer not to answer her questions. Why would the Trehernes ask her to do the job if they weren't going to support her efforts? The further she digs, the more motives she finds for Parrish's murder, but she still can't see what Cecily saw "on the very first page." And when she does see it, there isn't much in the way of proof. So, how about a nice, gathering of the suspects, point the finger of suspicion this way and that....and after all the build up the villain will confess--just like in Alan Conway and Agatha Christie novels.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Horowitz provides another unique mystery-within-a-mystery--a technique he seems to like. In some ways this was better than <i>Magpie Murders</i>. I completely missed all of the clues hidden the Atticus Pund story, both those that pointed to Pund's murderer and those that pointed to the killer Susan was trying to spot for the Trehernes. So, Horowitz did an excellent job of distraction. But I did spot the "real-life" murderer even thought I attributed a completely different motive to them. I found it difficult to like or root for any of the characters this time. Even Susan and, while her editor's eye gave her an investigative edge--spotting discrepancies in witness's statements, for instance--the pacing of her investigation seemed slow, almost plodding. It's been a while since I read the first book, but it seemed to me that the Pund story and the "real-life" framing story meshed better. The mysteries are still pretty absorbing and well-done, just not quite as strong as <i>Magpie</i>.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The best part of the book is the homage Horowitz pays to Agatha Christie and other Golden Age mystery writers. The gathering of the suspects at the end is very appropriate and in keeping with the Golden Age feel. I do wish that the Conway story had actually played a much bigger role in Susan's wrap-up. <span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232; font-size: 13px;">★★</span><span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232; font-size: 13px;">★</span> and 1/2</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line: <i>The Polydorus is a charming family-run hotel, located a short walk away from the lively town of Agios Nikolaos, one hour from Heraklion. </i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last lines: "Then let's go." And that's exactly what we did.<br />*****************</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Deaths = 11 (one hit on head; five natural; one shot; two strangled; one stabbed; one hit by train)</span></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-43895386278229828932024-03-13T22:21:00.001-04:002024-03-13T22:22:26.768-04:00Mad About the Boy?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAPzmQ6x7tkqb_2KsyQHYd5NCQ0wfoCXsyuVVDtyG2NEi_PmsllFb7EeHmjNbyjtxq6d6uvdkR62AdYV0mZejjHyugxkDZa6T2Wa4hRie5kyXHKtlIZvGN0vnDR95iyXp-bdewCLXe6V7gWsRg-u-IMEPmZ5ckR0MUms8XuLgKgCBkRL8iBkCRKqKrXoY/s450/mad%20about%20the%20boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="286" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAPzmQ6x7tkqb_2KsyQHYd5NCQ0wfoCXsyuVVDtyG2NEi_PmsllFb7EeHmjNbyjtxq6d6uvdkR62AdYV0mZejjHyugxkDZa6T2Wa4hRie5kyXHKtlIZvGN0vnDR95iyXp-bdewCLXe6V7gWsRg-u-IMEPmZ5ckR0MUms8XuLgKgCBkRL8iBkCRKqKrXoY/s320/mad%20about%20the%20boy.jpg" width="203" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> <i>Mad About the Boy?</i> (2008) by Dolores Gordon-Smith</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The second in the Jack Haldean mystery series finds Jack in the middle of another murder "in the family." This time, his aunt and uncle are celebrating 25th anniversary with a gala ball and fireworks--provided by Lord Lyvenden--who switched from arms for the Great War to pyrotechnics to keep the funds rolling in. The occasion comes with some built-in tension. Isabelle (Jack's cousin) has been keeping his best friend Arthur on a string (Arthur is head over heels in love with her), but has recently become engaged to dashing Malcolm Smith-Fennimore (merchant banker, aviator, racing driver...that is to say, a ready-made hero). Arthur is miserable, on top of suffering from the effects of shell-shock. There is also trouble between Lord Lyvenden and his secretary, Tim Preston, whom he [Lyvenden] treats as a general gopher instead of a confidential secretary. And then there's the weird Russian bloke who shows up looking for Alfred Charnook, brother of Isabelle's mother and the black sheep of the family.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The party is completely ruined, however, when Preston is found dead--apparently from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Everything points to suicide. There's even a note beside the body that appears to support the theory. But Jack isn't convinced. And when Lord Lyvenden is stabbed to death and all evidence points to Arthur, Jack knows that something devilish is going on. Did someone have it in for both Lyvenden and his secretary? Could it have anything to do with the coded message Preston apparently saw by mistake? Is it a Russian plot? Or is it more complicated than that? And can Jack discover the true villain before Arthur is brought to trial and convicted?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Gordon-Smith evokes the spirit of Christie's thrillers in this one. It makes me think of The Secret of Chimneys and some of the Tommy & Tuppence adventures. There are Russian agents and secret meeting places and what seems like a code. There's Russian gold and Englishmen in tight places over money. There's even a little gun-running. Of course, the real question is what (if anything, this has to do with the murders). This is a grand adventure and lots of fun. I would love to rate it a bit higher--but this time the main culprit was fairly obvious even though their motive wasn't. Not quite as good as the debut of the series, but I am definitely eager to move on to Jack's next adventure. <span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #29303b;"><span class="_Tgc"><span id="freeText9655171283135710869"><span class="readable reviewText"><span id="freeTextreview1105380065"><span class="readable reviewText"><span id="freeTextreview418083839"><span id="freeText8729106022106136534"><span class="st"><span id="freeText13049736037806678368"><span id="freeText916128228711808791"><span id="freeTextContainer12843531565263787972"><span class="st"><span id="freeText6956984557415805668"><span style="color: #f1c232;">★★</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #29303b;"><span class="_Tgc"><span id="freeText9655171283135710869"><span class="readable reviewText"><span id="freeTextreview1105380065"><span class="readable reviewText"><span id="freeTextreview418083839"><span id="freeText8729106022106136534"><span class="st"><span id="freeText13049736037806678368"><span id="freeText916128228711808791"><span id="freeTextContainer12843531565263787972"><span class="st"><span id="freeText6956984557415805668"><span style="color: #f1c232;">★</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> and 1/2</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line: Arthur Stanton stubbed out his cigarette, peering anxiously through the haze of smoke at his reflection in the mirror.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last lines: "Try asking anyone else," he said with a grin. "I'll forbid the banns."<br />*********************</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Deaths = 8 (five shot; one stabbed; one fell from height; one froze to death)</span></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-27415970751521644982024-03-11T22:41:00.000-04:002024-03-11T22:41:08.824-04:00Dorothy & Jack: The Transforming Friendship of Dorothy L. Sayers & C. S. Lewis<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQzMxdAAmGsN02U6g_a4vLtNexHgmh0eSiohDCKbqJ_22Dp_wSHF2YHIJ-qVO2SsCzv8D6AqKkHj8F0ZFhPXzMVNkgjKQt-VepQckGuYHC2TX_xDV5MSbuNIwvE9BioGWOicsKkU-_DWP6185zz7I8NLxlUtIKM16Y6xm4RPThp12XHcdN_KEQLSJvV-E/s2556/Dorothy%20&%20Jack%20(mine).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2556" data-original-width="1657" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQzMxdAAmGsN02U6g_a4vLtNexHgmh0eSiohDCKbqJ_22Dp_wSHF2YHIJ-qVO2SsCzv8D6AqKkHj8F0ZFhPXzMVNkgjKQt-VepQckGuYHC2TX_xDV5MSbuNIwvE9BioGWOicsKkU-_DWP6185zz7I8NLxlUtIKM16Y6xm4RPThp12XHcdN_KEQLSJvV-E/s320/Dorothy%20&%20Jack%20(mine).jpg" width="207" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> <i>Dorothy & Jack: The Transforming Friendship of Dorothy L. Sayers & C. S. Lewis</i> by Gina Dalfonzo (2020)</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">What happens when we push past the surface and allow real, grounded, mutually challenging, and edifying friendships to develop? This is the question posed by Gina Dalfonzo in her biographical examination of the friendship between Christian thinkers and apologists Dorothy L. Sayers and C. S. Lewis. The friendship had its beginning in a fan letter that Sayers, then celebrated for her mystery fiction and less known for her Christian work, wrote Lewis the first of what became a fifteen-year correspondence. They met on various occasions, but the friendship grew primarily through the written word--letters exploring their mutually held views, debating their differences, critiquing each others work, bolstering one another on points of perceived weakness, and praising & encouraging strengths. </span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">"Over the years they had helped, educated, guided, teased, critiqued, chastised, defended, consoled, and laughed with each other."</span></i></p></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: arial;">What more could two friends ask for?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">One thing that I found frustrating about this book is that most of the letters which promised (in Dalfonzo's descriptions of them) to be very interesting were "apparently lost." She repeatedly employs references in letters--most often in Lewis's replies to Sayers (DLS appears to have kept nearly everything Lewis sent to her)--which indicate that a previous letter held some interesting or profound observations, but we don't get to see them. And, in fact, Dalfonzo quotes very little of the correspondence even though she quotes Lewis's admiration for Sayers' letter-writing abilities. Which reminds me that I really need to read the two collections of Sayers' letters that I have.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">On the plus side, it was very refreshing to read about this amazing intellectual friendship--to watch how each influenced the other over the years and gave to the other something that was missing in their other friendships. Having enjoyed Sayers' translation of Dante, I especially appreciated Lewis's commentary and critiques of that work. A very strong literary biography of the friendship between two of my favorite authors. <span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★★</span><span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★★</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line (Intro): They could not have been more alike.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last line: "He is down on the thing like a rat, he is God's terrier, and I wouldn't be without him for the world." (Sayers about Lewis)<br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-82242407355660894432024-03-07T12:15:00.000-05:002024-03-07T12:15:05.110-05:00Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine Sept 1965<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeTrHkB8H5CNKqsh4e_DGRyiB1MRwM2sQzOL9Uzv_L__7up-LexemOGsn6H9F8V1XggYkhr1KEhhJP8_drHvz2rX99fx5aFnRz6OY04abJOAU6M8bo2RlpMKolWkoiDaugeRda25cy84UsWbm10XZbK4HeUYfG97a8v7zO4-XcuWZqu5Hw3s-1E3pvCpU/s489/EQMM%20Sept%201965.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="489" data-original-width="352" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeTrHkB8H5CNKqsh4e_DGRyiB1MRwM2sQzOL9Uzv_L__7up-LexemOGsn6H9F8V1XggYkhr1KEhhJP8_drHvz2rX99fx5aFnRz6OY04abJOAU6M8bo2RlpMKolWkoiDaugeRda25cy84UsWbm10XZbK4HeUYfG97a8v7zO4-XcuWZqu5Hw3s-1E3pvCpU/s320/EQMM%20Sept%201965.png" width="230" /></a></div><p><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> <i>Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine</i> Sept 1965 by Ellery Queen, ed. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I have to say that I thought this collection one of the weakest of the EQMM's I've read so far. The best of the bunch are the Christie and the Queen...and I've read both of them before. "A Fine Winter Thirst" is good and pulls at the heart strings a bit with that ending. "The Mystery of the Fulton Documents" is a much better Dupin pastiche than the Goulart story's parody of hardboiled pulp (quite frankly it made no sense to me and I didn't find it funny at all). The Chandler story is a much rougher version of his novel The Big Sleep (which I read last year and enjoyed very much). I didn't get much out of "to Reach the Sea" or "Who Walks Behind" and the rest of the stories are okay. <span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★★</span> and 1/2<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"Blood Brothers" by Christianna Brand: The Birdswell identical twins are said to be devoted to each other. And so they are...until they both get involved with the same woman. Then murder and competing alibis put them in Inspector Cockrill's sights and it's every man for himself. [2 hit by car]</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"Unc Probes Pickle Plot" by John Jakes: A story chock full of slang that makes it a bit of a trudge to read through. And the big mystery--who switched a jar of about-to-be prize-winning pickles for a jar of beets at a town fair--is pretty ho-hum.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"The Mystery of the Fulton Documents" by Michael Harrison: An Auguste Dupin pastiche in which Dupin discovers how the top-secret weapon plans were smuggled out of a French official's safe.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"Bloehm's Wall" by George Emmett: Bloehm is slowly dying from a cancer eating away at him. He's always know that Emil will show up one day to settle old scores. But when Emil does things don't quite go as he anticipated. (one neck broken)</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"A Fine Winter Thirst" by George Emmett: A mute itinerant worker finally finds love--only to have it snatched away from him by a cruel barkeeper. (one poisoned; one stabbed)</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"All the Way Home" by Jaime Sandaval: Tommy has to listens to rumors about his dad and Miss Abby Hunter, the young teacher who taught school about a mile from their home. Tommy's dad had installed Miss Abby in the lighthouse near their property and Tommy's mom was none too pleased. Things come to a head one windy night when the lighthouse burns down and Tommy's Dad's boat is found adrift. (2 burned to death; one natural)</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"The 'Supernatural' Murder" by Agatha Christie: <span>Dr. Pender takes center stage next with a tale of a seemingly impossible murder cloaked with a bit of mysticism. The murder was committed on the night of a costume party near the grove of Astarte. The grove was on the estate of Sir Richard Haydon, a man who was rival of his cousin Eliot for the love of the beautiful Dianna Ashley. The grove contained a mysterious summer house which was rumored to have been a place where secret rites were held long ago. Diana decided to dress the part of Astarte--appearing in a mysterious glow in the summer house. The vision startled Sir Richard and he then stumbled to the ground. when the others reached him, he was dead from a knife wound...but there was no knife to be found. Miss Marple spots the answer. </span>[one stabbed]</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"The Needle's Eye" by Ellery Queen: A man suspects his new son-in-law and his father of having evil designs of one sort or another on either himself or his daughter (or both). He asks Ellery to investigate--and in the process Ellery solves a murder and the mystery of a pirate's hidden treasure. (one natural; one shot)</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"To Reach the Sea" by Monica Dickens: An odd little story about a woman having an affair and a wig with hair that grows--oh, and one drowning. In a river. Nowhere near the sea...as far as I can tell. [one drowned]</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"The Curtain" by Raymond Chandler: A rehearsal story for Chandler's The Big Sleep--all the bones are there--from the old General who wants to know what happened to his son-in-law to red herrings before Carmody (Marlowe's predecessor) figures out what really happened. The killer has changed--but not the motivating factor. [four shot]</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"The Peppermint Striped Goodbye" by Ron Goulart: Seems to be a mash-up parody of Chandler's "The Curtain" and a Ross MacDonald Lew Archer story. Rumor has it this is funny. Don't attribute that rumor to me...[two fell from height] <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL2yyICKFyj0Bls46J8bmCYtNikDkKMep1LXLmWj8CVKIhXlAwvbYuXgZI6_4KLx8BhlAR4j2xJjaKwloRcY-nxYotcdcVof-o9KPgNEFQ62n9JODZpeXusPre58EIV-eBLNFIGoDP7JJkhPXCrXRDx_5JthPgl-P-MlHk-8vZS4IsDf13tMr7BYtoVXY/s543/EQMM%20Sept%201965%20back.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="543" data-original-width="389" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL2yyICKFyj0Bls46J8bmCYtNikDkKMep1LXLmWj8CVKIhXlAwvbYuXgZI6_4KLx8BhlAR4j2xJjaKwloRcY-nxYotcdcVof-o9KPgNEFQ62n9JODZpeXusPre58EIV-eBLNFIGoDP7JJkhPXCrXRDx_5JthPgl-P-MlHk-8vZS4IsDf13tMr7BYtoVXY/s320/EQMM%20Sept%201965%20back.png" width="229" /></a><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"The Restorer of Balance" by Avram Davidson: In the matter of feeding tigers--who is the hunter and who the hunted? [one fed to tigers]<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"Who Walks Behind?" by Holly Roth: George feels compelled to help a man who claims to be a refugee...but he's not sure if it's safe. If perhaps there's someone following after...<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">First line (1st story): "And devoted I hear?...David and Jonathan?" he said.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Last line (Last story): George was not wrong to be suspicious, and she must learn to live with the understanding that he might some day be right in his ceaseless doubts.</span></span><br /></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-56121064022303282102024-03-05T19:25:00.002-05:002024-03-05T19:25:16.890-05:00The Silent Speaker<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfpkwgkzqIHxoAzLvgvn2l3ZLkWAYUlwSeO97wbERmAMUgYZZWE47Prxtd-O8u20rSKNDL2TwHwX0HQJxgB_1Ac_xtGmeL-Q6aSyfBSDoV1-WdSg2N9UaCl8ICX-bSwmdvbJf2hBFfBgRRhfDpZIaB7VdE2XmopXkf8oI-n9MoSGI8MvY_zFxZRB900V8/s586/silent%20speaker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="586" data-original-width="393" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfpkwgkzqIHxoAzLvgvn2l3ZLkWAYUlwSeO97wbERmAMUgYZZWE47Prxtd-O8u20rSKNDL2TwHwX0HQJxgB_1Ac_xtGmeL-Q6aSyfBSDoV1-WdSg2N9UaCl8ICX-bSwmdvbJf2hBFfBgRRhfDpZIaB7VdE2XmopXkf8oI-n9MoSGI8MvY_zFxZRB900V8/s320/silent%20speaker.jpg" width="215" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> <i>The Silent Speaker </i>(Oct 1946) by Rex Stout</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Cheney Boone, the Director of the Bureau of Price Regulation (hereafter BPR) is found beaten to death in his dressing room just before he's set to give a speech at a gathering of the National Industrial Association (NIA). The NIA is made up of a group of big business concerns and there isn't much love lost between the two agencies. Boone was repeatedly struck with a monkey wrench that was among his props for the speech. [Bev's first question: why on earth did the man have not one, but several monkey wrenches for his speech. This isn't really pertinent to the mystery...but inquiring minds want to know.] Given the antagonism which exists between the BPR and the NIA, the NIA has already been found guilty at the bar of public opinion. Public opinion doesn't really seem to care which NIA member did it--they're all guilty by association. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Nero Wolfe, who has been goaded into figuring out a way to get paid--so Archie, Fritz, Theodore, and all those orchids won't be homeless, puts Archie to work on a scheme that manipulates the NIA into practically begging him to investigate and snatch their chestnuts out of the fire. The key to the case winds up being a leather satchel containing speech recorder cylinders that Boone's confidential assistant Miss Phoebe Gunther seems to have misplaced. Phoebe is next on the killer's hit list. And when the satchel is found, there are only nine cylinders when there should be ten. Whatever was on that last cylinder must be hot stuff and Wolfe pulls out all the stops...including doing a turn as a mental case...to find it.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In the meantime, Cramer is pulled off the case because he's given Wolfe too much latitude (and gotten no results). And he's replaced with Inspector Ash who is a horse's rear-end. Wolfe contrives to pull his rabbits out of hats with Cramer present so he will get the glory and be reinstated. I love the ending where Cramer wants to say thank you (with the gift of an orchid) but doesn't want to be all mushy about it. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">For about half to two-thirds of the book, I felt like this was the same old, same old. Archie goads Wolfe into working. Wolfe defies the police. Wolfe is threatened with jail time. Wolfe, for apparently inexplicable reasons, chooses to keep Archie out of part of the investigation--hiring a detective agency to do a bunch of leg work; using Saul Panzer and not letting Archie listen in on Saul's reports. The story is saved by the ending. Wolfe's theatrics as a man suffering from a nervous breakdown and his interactions with Archie during that period as well as the ending proper where he reveals all (plus Cramer with orchid in hand) makes it all worthwhile. <span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★★</span><span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line: Seated in his giant's chair behind his desk in his office, leaning back with his eyes half closed, Nero Wolfe muttered at me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The hurdles I had to make, you might have thought Hattie Harding was the goddess of a temple and this was it, instead of merely the Assistant Director of Public relations for the NIA, but I finally made the last jump and was taken in to her. (p. 8)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last line: "If that was it, either primary or secondary, to hell with ethics."<br />*******************</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Deaths: two hit on head</span></p><br />Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-39083855162647410712024-03-05T14:38:00.000-05:002024-03-05T14:38:42.438-05:00Fun for Monday...on Tuesday (aka Book Procrastination)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqt9Ew-KO2wDs2mMCIbhK7h5V4-iMzn9rx6oTGiPBBC-3IZodFLW22h_6qN51V1a_mlyyQo3ktLXPFyUboRso8WNmxTfZcwdtg9IITqr31_6EGOzJz1EWcxvF-DHVLwdzNTbWrkU3leS3Tn5sSYxqF96z4ImqeV69b7NOOnouX0CJXNhyqXO4HWxP7-Qk/s600/fun-for-monday-banner-e1704024335501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="600" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqt9Ew-KO2wDs2mMCIbhK7h5V4-iMzn9rx6oTGiPBBC-3IZodFLW22h_6qN51V1a_mlyyQo3ktLXPFyUboRso8WNmxTfZcwdtg9IITqr31_6EGOzJz1EWcxvF-DHVLwdzNTbWrkU3leS3Tn5sSYxqF96z4ImqeV69b7NOOnouX0CJXNhyqXO4HWxP7-Qk/s320/fun-for-monday-banner-e1704024335501.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Not only do I not read books as quickly as I buy them...I run late on memes that talk about books that I don't read as quickly as I buy them.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I found this meme over at <a href="https://bookforager.wordpress.com/2024/03/04/fun-for-monday-the-ill-get-around-to-it-later-book-tag/">Bookforager</a> and decided that I just needed to do it as well. It was originally created by <a href="https://lieslbrunnerauthor.wordpress.com/2022/04/06/the-ill-get-around-to-it-later-blog-tag/">Liesl Brunner at Quote, Unquote</a> and the rules are as follows:
</span></span></p><ul><li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Link back to <a href="https://lieslbrunnerauthor.wordpress.com/?p=1809">the original post at Quote, Unquote</a> so the creator can read your answers</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Link back to the post of the person who tagged you and thank them – thank you Bookforager!</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">You may use the included graphic anywhere in your post, but you don’t have to (see source post for graphic)</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Fill all seven categories</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">You can either leave this tag open so anyone can do it or tag up to seven people [I'm leaving it open--if you see this post, then feel free to jump in!]</span></span></li></ul><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-family: arial;"> A Classic Book You Have Been Meaning to Read Forever But Haven't Yet</b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ts7CPn2le3QMhxAKBESXLIQLa4w7T9sYRYdPBnJXEEVBjEd8o7JnR2PGHjuRDouejeVDCqwHBYV4mNIG-neOmrK7beLW12neH4f6pmpOC2YiGqVqaiBSSosnYzT6W217OYho-it-eOYBHVQInMTlOVGXJwexvF42QZuWKNywRkKT9tB9uB5If57jhSY/s432/dead%20secret.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="269" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ts7CPn2le3QMhxAKBESXLIQLa4w7T9sYRYdPBnJXEEVBjEd8o7JnR2PGHjuRDouejeVDCqwHBYV4mNIG-neOmrK7beLW12neH4f6pmpOC2YiGqVqaiBSSosnYzT6W217OYho-it-eOYBHVQInMTlOVGXJwexvF42QZuWKNywRkKT9tB9uB5If57jhSY/s320/dead%20secret.jpg" width="199" /> </a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The secret has been safe on my TBR shelves since 2013. One of these days, I may get around to uncovering what exactly old Wilkie is keeping from us. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-family: arial;">A Book On Your Shelf That You Haven't Read Yet</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">[Just one? According to Goodreads, there are 2,490 of them...]</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7P8igI41FfDgLd-4sB8q9GyT6AQd1ymzoHR4HL9F4MjPGbb1QugiUPOp-WQ1IAc9a1_EbInOnK1St0I7hyyZeC6y8A3P8LfNptLoOceoAL7sWQPsMH4E04I0jyL8qCyxhyphenhyphenFgTSnJW7vPIFWUoPcs4pPgn43o3AqsEX0MQDRJBLdXhcAHUeGxwZnhugKk/s475/fringe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="311" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7P8igI41FfDgLd-4sB8q9GyT6AQd1ymzoHR4HL9F4MjPGbb1QugiUPOp-WQ1IAc9a1_EbInOnK1St0I7hyyZeC6y8A3P8LfNptLoOceoAL7sWQPsMH4E04I0jyL8qCyxhyphenhyphenFgTSnJW7vPIFWUoPcs4pPgn43o3AqsEX0MQDRJBLdXhcAHUeGxwZnhugKk/s320/fringe.jpg" width="210" /> </a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">For the books that I was a good girl and logged when I acquired them, it appears that Card's <i>The Folk of the Fringe</i> is one of those that have been languishing on the TBR mountain range for quite some time. <i>(1990? Really? I'm sorry Paula [my BFF who gave this to me...]. I meant to read it sooner. Really.)</i></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><strike>A Book</strike> <strike>Seven</strike> Eight Books That You Got Recently That You Haven't Read</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">[I upped the number from Bookforager's seven, so it would be even]</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdc39umPlw0mDE11pNoFPMqBkAvnds4RxALb7B8vqPWK0lfnkAieghuzmkYl2uFuaoAMUb1Ys17pAMKVSEaNW0JNdd_FOETpOdWqb1YBB20J4HrNKNRTp7ePU_67kWS_oXTHDgCdZhhua4fIJqzu8MN60nYpWb-eI4vewZUO-7IYJ3NFS7X5gEeFe1Ixc/s707/8%20books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="707" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdc39umPlw0mDE11pNoFPMqBkAvnds4RxALb7B8vqPWK0lfnkAieghuzmkYl2uFuaoAMUb1Ys17pAMKVSEaNW0JNdd_FOETpOdWqb1YBB20J4HrNKNRTp7ePU_67kWS_oXTHDgCdZhhua4fIJqzu8MN60nYpWb-eI4vewZUO-7IYJ3NFS7X5gEeFe1Ixc/s320/8%20books.jpg" width="320" /> </a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">As mentioned above, I accumulate books at a far greater rate than I am able to read them. Here are just eight of the most recent to join the Hankins Library. Bookforager talks about promising to be "good" and not buy anymore books. I know that to be an empty promise before even making it...so...I don't bother. These three Detective Book Club 3-in-1 volumes; <i>The Mystery of Nancy Drew</i>; <i>Blotto, Twinks & the Dead Dowager Duchess</i>; <i>Mycroft & Sherlock: The Empty Birdcage</i>; <i>Deadly Image</i>; and <i>The Country-House Burglar</i> have all been added within the last three weeks...<br /></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-family: arial;"> A Book You've Had Forever But Haven't Read</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9pGqWdHEORrlIYA4nIS7Zviu8ueTlbXEh8tNM3Qo2qJGBSSEcZts9x1yCEHKSfx_IfY9Izcvq0ikZGnGMoW29yUeOARvNADYewF2My_l6tXMTzSiEBOv2Vsvfv9v1TpkseZpuu_dRV3YPN3xVA_bwda0urq-wjE4m5stZqV8Ir0lrMkjYcXo4hGkkBq4/s475/stroganoff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9pGqWdHEORrlIYA4nIS7Zviu8ueTlbXEh8tNM3Qo2qJGBSSEcZts9x1yCEHKSfx_IfY9Izcvq0ikZGnGMoW29yUeOARvNADYewF2My_l6tXMTzSiEBOv2Vsvfv9v1TpkseZpuu_dRV3YPN3xVA_bwda0urq-wjE4m5stZqV8Ir0lrMkjYcXo4hGkkBq4/s475/stroganoff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8OzVE12jK2R3V6vA9HkND2-9ZyMItPOCBn5P7bbKqDVMqqQH0-dFzuAR47pVLbg3fVUIW8zrvYpNJ5YRvvpReO-tzLJc2ncSfSBfPznY-59CwfDTagrBXNReCsCab0ggBh4L77FzdPN4Vz4gsNi3qhWefjLcwpje1Fx_yMn3RY4WmNatH8kZJhWBcmMw/s475/relative.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="290" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8OzVE12jK2R3V6vA9HkND2-9ZyMItPOCBn5P7bbKqDVMqqQH0-dFzuAR47pVLbg3fVUIW8zrvYpNJ5YRvvpReO-tzLJc2ncSfSBfPznY-59CwfDTagrBXNReCsCab0ggBh4L77FzdPN4Vz4gsNi3qhWefjLcwpje1Fx_yMn3RY4WmNatH8kZJhWBcmMw/s320/relative.jpg" width="195" /></a> <br /></div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I don't know if 2006 counts as "forever," but Death Is Relative is a mystery that seems to have been hanging out at my house for the longest. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-family: arial;">A Book A Friend Recommended To You That You Haven't Read </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-6uIOoKm-9EdY8rTYHYtKUYQE5cghmkFPW2SvE1ZAWfiLITULvtpGQiQq2abgFQkbYSkCFLPuknfar387mn83J6_asfO8s1Qbed9lLBX0ks0oD2equvhD6PBkyi4G0M1k4JV_d4vZkaVflaWa46arvfLi6YkwmDeB4Z6gQ7dSCqwoRSIcwglBnZQRAZY/s459/deadly%20truth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="459" data-original-width="305" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-6uIOoKm-9EdY8rTYHYtKUYQE5cghmkFPW2SvE1ZAWfiLITULvtpGQiQq2abgFQkbYSkCFLPuknfar387mn83J6_asfO8s1Qbed9lLBX0ks0oD2equvhD6PBkyi4G0M1k4JV_d4vZkaVflaWa46arvfLi6YkwmDeB4Z6gQ7dSCqwoRSIcwglBnZQRAZY/s320/deadly%20truth.jpg" width="213" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">John @ <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</a> thought I'd like this one so much that he even sent me a copy back in 2013. I haven't read it yet, John. But it's on the (ever-growing) list...</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-family: arial;">A Book You're Procrastinating On</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">[Um...that would be all 2,490 of them...wouldn't it?]</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqpSdXuAVbC9Og-uQ1W6srOQhkhGkrsnvbmPI7ydqN6d8u_kfFiEKlTHPTB8Ef5iR7iNHX7PreonEuahsvWS_ITjb1MX_z2sQIhgHMqpCrxNycPURQ3Kewlaq4e1LWX5AfY0XEcn8RCemT7MyWiQ2D7npCs88ZCb3tqL6Zy4MPfVoyZD4wR1TlHuymeeE/s475/gables.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="278" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqpSdXuAVbC9Og-uQ1W6srOQhkhGkrsnvbmPI7ydqN6d8u_kfFiEKlTHPTB8Ef5iR7iNHX7PreonEuahsvWS_ITjb1MX_z2sQIhgHMqpCrxNycPURQ3Kewlaq4e1LWX5AfY0XEcn8RCemT7MyWiQ2D7npCs88ZCb3tqL6Zy4MPfVoyZD4wR1TlHuymeeE/s320/gables.jpg" width="187" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> <br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This is one of those books that I've always felt that, as an English major, I ought to read. But I'm not really an American Lit kind of girl. I much prefer British Literature. But maybe...just maybe I'll actually read the thing one of these days. <br /></span></span></div><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> So...how about you? What books have you been keeping on your TBR stack a little longer than intended? </span></span><br /></p><p></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-7331534524487232632024-03-04T22:42:00.001-05:002024-03-04T22:42:52.040-05:00Death of a Fool<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitMbIF4o3orcwGSQFTp_RdoU_84UDLYC9_viBCqHsEgdu8hIgO9yQXLubh0Vsnj-v7M3YP2FA6vG-_X-HcOMWaN3lW_kR92YUmCHuZlHVkIM2N81jMsx1uYNhI2DbEEFeanGA-hqeasnOdRt-3GVLsabO9FrnzFVdZehdPS4DlRqKcDQR7dL0_7Faqsl8/s500/death%20of%20a%20fool%20audio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="499" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitMbIF4o3orcwGSQFTp_RdoU_84UDLYC9_viBCqHsEgdu8hIgO9yQXLubh0Vsnj-v7M3YP2FA6vG-_X-HcOMWaN3lW_kR92YUmCHuZlHVkIM2N81jMsx1uYNhI2DbEEFeanGA-hqeasnOdRt-3GVLsabO9FrnzFVdZehdPS4DlRqKcDQR7dL0_7Faqsl8/w228-h229/death%20of%20a%20fool%20audio.jpg" width="228" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> <i>Death of a Fool</i> (<i>Off With His Head</i>; 1957) by Ngaio Marsh; read by Nadia May</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Marsh gives us a tricky little murder committed in the middle of "Sword Wednesday"--the village of South Maridan's celebration of the Winter Solstice. On the day of the dance all goes well until the Fool (the father figure in the "Dance of the Five Sons") is supposed to rise up from behind the rock where he has fallen after a mock beheading at the hands of his sons. When he doesn't get up on cue, the sons investigate only to find that William Anderson has actually been beheaded in truth. The local Superintendent and Sergeant of police were among those in the audience and everyone (including them) present--dancers and audience alike--are positive that no one came near the Guiser once he fell down, perfectly alive, behind the stone. So, how could he have been killed? Superintendent Carey and his Chief Constable have the good sense to realize that they need the help of the Yard...and the Yard has the good sense to send Inspector Roderick Alleyn to figure out the mystery of the impossible beheading. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This review is of the audio novel performance--for a full review, including a more detailed examination of the plot and background, please see my previous review: <a href="https://myreadersblock.blogspot.com/2019/07/death-of-fool.html">HERE</a>.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This was very entertaining to listen to. May does an excellent job with the various characters--especially when you consider that the vast majority are male. Her rendition of Marsh's prose makes the dance come alive (both the original, opening festival and the reconstruction of the event at the end). We also get a good feel for the relationships between Alleyn and his men and the interactions between the villagers. A terrific performance of a very strong Marsh mystery.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line: Over that part of England the winter solstice came down with a bitter antiphony of snow and frost.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last line: "She's been saying what a long time seems to next Sword Wednesday."<br />******************<br />Deaths = one beheaded</span></p><p><br /></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-16956150147027622052024-03-03T19:12:00.003-05:002024-03-03T19:12:26.657-05:00The Blue Geranium<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCROg6p_PYO-7G_QHF2sqFSynB-oGDlZeTRYGKGDqgZF9c5UFuQXfA6wluz6hGG4EUMuIjU0_108yVKGbNiUa8nG08oYMH85UFCgFB9TIXRK1iczcpK91KRWitPR-uD2bsueycZ_iQhXT8lAqpy00nesT81e9Eoyxip4y1AoG71qvsn9iuYAPaNm8MnFs/s1917/The%20Blue%20Geranium%20(Bart%20House%20mine).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1917" data-original-width="1276" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCROg6p_PYO-7G_QHF2sqFSynB-oGDlZeTRYGKGDqgZF9c5UFuQXfA6wluz6hGG4EUMuIjU0_108yVKGbNiUa8nG08oYMH85UFCgFB9TIXRK1iczcpK91KRWitPR-uD2bsueycZ_iQhXT8lAqpy00nesT81e9Eoyxip4y1AoG71qvsn9iuYAPaNm8MnFs/s320/The%20Blue%20Geranium%20(Bart%20House%20mine).jpg" width="213" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> <i>The Blue Geranium</i> (1941) by Dolan Birkley (Dolores Hitchens)</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Janet Cooper, diving instructor at the Hotel Quillan discovers the wealthy Nina Arkwright hacked to death in one of the women's dressing rooms at poolside. She doesn't immediately raise the alarm because she's afraid that the police will hone in on her beloved Joel Markham as prime suspect--especially since he said that Mrs. Arkwright deserved killing not two days before she wound up dead. [I'm not clear on what good she thought a delay would do....] When the janitor goes into the women's rooms to clean up, he finds Nina as well as a cheap green hat that the woman would never have worn a collection of newspaper clippings about an aviator who was lost as sea making a publicity flight in Arkwright's interests, and a broken flowerpot with the blue geranium that it housed--but no weapon. The ax that the killer wielded has disappeared. Only two people were seen leaving the pool area during the crucial period and neither of them could have concealed an ax about their person.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Janet's fears are realized after all those who knew Nina have been interviewed and there are indications--in addition to Joel's incriminating exclamation--that Joel might be the guilty party. It seems that it was likely that Nina was going to kick the scientist off her payroll at a plant where he had made some terrific discoveries. Captain Loring immediately arrests Joel on suspicion of homicide. But Joel doesn't seem worried.</span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p><i><span style="font-family: arial;">"You'll want a lawyer, I suppose?" Loring said wryly. </span></i></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Joel shrugged. "Not right away. You wouldn't let me out anyhow. Take a day or two to find out you've made a mistake."</span></i></p></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Janet isn't as confident as Joel and spends the rest of the book playing amateur detective. She blindly goes off to meet mysterious telegram-senders, eavesdrops on conversations, and devises a plan to trap the killer--all without getting herself bumped off in the process. Quite a feat, considering that the killer has no problem killing a second hotel guest with the missing ax when she discovers the secret of the blue geranium. But there are other mysteries to solve before the killer can be pinpointed--why did Nina arrange to have a dinner party with all black decorations--as if for funeral baked meats? Why did she come home late the previous night looking like she'd been in a brawl--with a black eye and bruises? Why did she insist on wearing a cheap green hat which wasn't her style and didn't match what she was wearing? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This was a fun little mystery--not too difficult to spot the killer, though it took a bit more effort to figure out the exact motive. Janet did get a bit on my nerves towards the end--even after Joel was proved innocent (he was still cooling his heels in jail when the second murder occurred), she was going off on her own and keeping back information from the police. Captain Loring made it clear to her that he was on her side and she <i>still</i> didn't share things. She's fortunate that her meddling didn't get her into bigger trouble than it did. Pretty fairly clued. I didn't pick up on a crucial piece that would have helped with the motive. Very enjoyable. <span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #29303b;"> </span><span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★★</span><span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★</span> and 1/2</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line: Janet felt the wind freshen as she mounted the ladder to the diving platform, but she was warmer because the sun reached her here.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I see I'm going to have to warn you against meddling. Don't think I'm sore on my own account. Amateurs usually play right into the hands of the police, as you did tonight. What I'm thinking of is your own safety. Suppose that telegram had been sent by someone who decided it shouldn't be known at any cost? [Captain Loring; pp. 69-70]</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">If you're thinking of blackmailing this person you suspect of killing Nina, you'd better give up the idea. Murderers don't blackmail well, from what I've read. [Janet Cooper; p. 73]</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Only God understands a woman's mind, Miss Cooper. Begging your pardon for saying it. [Loring; p. 124]</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I'm beginning to think that the people in this thing wouldn't know the truth if they met it out walking. [Loring; p. 145]</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last line: It was then, and at last, that she knew the fearful part was over.<br />***********************</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Deaths = 4 (two hit with axe; one airplane accident; one fell from height)</span></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-84557405225416138512024-03-02T20:50:00.005-05:002024-03-02T20:54:08.894-05:00One by One They Disappeared<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3SREhqPkm2hlzpH9QDDEreUJZ8ZbOhiDv8oGED66BRc8Hy94lBqHdqc84lwzKN90h6XUew1nWrceaIQUfNxBQIVikgc6h85K1bLJy9IE1NeH2TRmbZGfPvjynVn7CDXS5NQ7aGkbdPGJo02_skjuCRjy4pgObEnss64Q0vKJrUZIRz1bVEBTahqAfp4/s1578/One%20by%20One%20They%20Disappeared%20(mine).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1578" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3SREhqPkm2hlzpH9QDDEreUJZ8ZbOhiDv8oGED66BRc8Hy94lBqHdqc84lwzKN90h6XUew1nWrceaIQUfNxBQIVikgc6h85K1bLJy9IE1NeH2TRmbZGfPvjynVn7CDXS5NQ7aGkbdPGJo02_skjuCRjy4pgObEnss64Q0vKJrUZIRz1bVEBTahqAfp4/s320/One%20by%20One%20They%20Disappeared%20(mine).jpg" width="208" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> <i>One by One They Disappeared</i> (1929) by Moray Dalton (Katherine Dalton Renoir)</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Inspector Collier goes to a hotel for dinner with friends a few days before taking off on a holiday to Rapallo in Italy. By chance, he strikes up a conversation with Elbert J. Pakenham, a New York millionaire who is also waiting for dinner companions. Pakenham is one of nine survivors of the <i>Coptic</i>, a vessel sunk during the first World War. Each year he hosts a dinner for his fellow survivors and gives them a small gift--a token of his appreciation for their taking such good care of an old man while they waited rescue. Last year, he made an even bigger gesture--telling them all that since his nephew died he has made them joint beneficiaries of his will. The inspector happens to see the first of the men to arrive, a blind man named Raymond and a Mr. Freyne.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The morning Collier is preparing to leave for Italy, he reads a story in the newspaper with the headline "FATAL ACCIDENT TO BLIND PIANO TUNER." that makes him change his plans. He recognizes the name of the blind man as that of the man on his way to the anniversary dinner with Pakenham. All of his alarm bells are going off and he decides to take a busman's holiday rather than a trip to Italy (though Italy will play its part in the drama to come). His unofficial investigation reveals that several of the <i>Coptic</i>'s survivors have met with fatal "accidents" in the past year and he begins to suspect that someone wants to make sure that the lion's share of Pakenham's estate will come to them. And when his bet friend, Inspector Trask, who has been assisting him with his investigation is nearly killed by an accident clearly intended for Collier, he's sure he's right.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Then Mr. Pakenham goes missing--on a trip of his own to Italy where he just might meet with one of those fatal accidents...will the wily old American and the British inspector be able to beat a clever killer at his own game?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">******Warning--a bit of a spoiler ahead. Read at your own risk.******</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This is the first of Dalton's Inspector Collier mysteries and as a first in series, it's pretty good. Collier is not your super detective. He makes lots of mistakes along the way and, honestly, Pakenham seems a bit quicker on the uptake in a few of the situations. But Collier is a likeable detective and one hopes that he will get better at the detecting game as the series goes along. The plot is (now) a well-worn one--a tontine-style will where the portions get bigger as the number of potential heirs decreases. But Dalton does well with it and creates some memorable moments along the way. The two things which would have made this better: a stronger detective and a less obvious suspect. The only thing I couldn't quite figure out was how the motive worked for the culprit. The connection isn't nearly as obvious and I don't see how the reader could have figured it out before being told at the end. All that said--an entertaining beginning in a book that was a quick read. I plan to read more by Dalton.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Curtis Evans provides a great introduction to this reprint edition which contains much background information on Dalton. He says: "Only now coming back into print, Moray Dalton (really Katherine Mary Dalton Renoir) resembles the Crime Queens in many ways, having a decided knack for narrative and characterization. Yet for me she is a bit less “posh” (there’s that word again) of a writer than Sayers, Allingham and Marsh and explores sexual and class dynamics in Thirties and Forties Britain in more original ways. See, for example, Death in the Cup and The Strange Case of Harriet Hall, which have some truly striking and refreshing situations. I think that Dalton, who seems to have lived life as something of a privileged outsider, may have been more of a forerunner of the modern crime novel than these other, more famous women, estimable as they are. Her primary sleuth, Hugh Collier, is an appealing young police detective." </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> <span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★★</span><span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★</span> and 1/2.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line: As Inspector Collier entered the hotel lounge he glanced in a mildly inquiring manner at the three men who were sitting together at one of the little tables on his left.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Men expected one to take their advice without question, and they did not like one to be nervous and full of fancies. (p. 17)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last line: And then, hurriedly, as if ashamed of his lapse, <i>God bless her!</i><br />*******************<br />Deaths = 9 (three natural; one enemy action; one fell from height; one hit by car; one blood poisoning; one suffocated; one stabbed)</span></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-46378623947645732132024-03-01T20:23:00.001-05:002024-03-01T20:23:10.317-05:00March Reading by the Numbers Reviews<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0BZBpW7669K3mgm1zhBOCqUzXnuohCZyoD3S_01iDHfKI7GzHRYWsC4xzPli0Y4tCOsuegON04GnBWfxWTYXjP7oa0GF8mHzWkAqyV8eVjkpIlMUE4ckB5ZYWbJZ9G0GUzbvcIpyHwwK5dSRtsc1N6S8icajRFgfED1-pi6hiykRwQXGe1W3FIdBJdc/s533/Reading%20by%20the%20Numbers%20Challenge.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="533" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0BZBpW7669K3mgm1zhBOCqUzXnuohCZyoD3S_01iDHfKI7GzHRYWsC4xzPli0Y4tCOsuegON04GnBWfxWTYXjP7oa0GF8mHzWkAqyV8eVjkpIlMUE4ckB5ZYWbJZ9G0GUzbvcIpyHwwK5dSRtsc1N6S8icajRFgfED1-pi6hiykRwQXGe1W3FIdBJdc/s320/Reading%20by%20the%20Numbers%20Challenge.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
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<!-- end InLinkz code -->Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-68715289369605993472024-02-29T19:07:00.001-05:002024-03-01T20:14:19.948-05:00The Moneypenny Diaries<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqfYlBsrDVhGQilkU_ISm1HrJbsSg-jpaCUqOoMXnddBRdXRFvs5tg4eMUV85wnuRkOYfFguQOV8-QXPxA2FIvayGXASA-Bpo0HfaOd6L-u495LADSkibUksn86DJVV-udFrw3RL_n4K6d1GBoZDyadkwn0sy0vGKW49qtk_3VKTONbD7iQNkzufxRfao/s475/moneypenny.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="317" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqfYlBsrDVhGQilkU_ISm1HrJbsSg-jpaCUqOoMXnddBRdXRFvs5tg4eMUV85wnuRkOYfFguQOV8-QXPxA2FIvayGXASA-Bpo0HfaOd6L-u495LADSkibUksn86DJVV-udFrw3RL_n4K6d1GBoZDyadkwn0sy0vGKW49qtk_3VKTONbD7iQNkzufxRfao/s320/moneypenny.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> <i>The Moneypenny Diaries</i> (2005) by Kate Westbrook</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Synopsis [from the book]: </span><i>Miss Moneypenny's experience with mystery stretches all the way back to her childhood in Africa, when her father inexplicably disappeared in action during World War II. Now, as a young woman in 1960s London, Miss Moneypenny unknowingly stumbles upon her father's trail. In a position like hers, there's no file she can't access, and no document she can't read. Yet Miss Moneypenny is forced to decide whether it's worth risking everything--her job, her safety, and even international security--for the possibility of finding her father alive.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><i>A life of espionage has personal as well as political ramifications. For Jane Moneypenny, the price is high. Romantic relationships with outsiders are necessarily built on lies, and she automatically questions the motives of every man she grows close to. For as her diary quickly reveals, Miss Moneypenny is involved in far more than office politics.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Guarding so many secrets and with no one to confide in, she finds herself breaking the first rule of espionage. Unbeknownst to anyone, she keeps a diary charting her innermost thoughts and state secrets.</i><br />*********************<br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Billed as "the explosive, true, private diaries of Miss Jane Moneypenny, personal secretary to Secret Service Chief M and colleague and confidante of James Bond," this is pretty disappointing. There's not a whole lot of Bond--except for during the far more exciting last few chapters where he and Moneypenny share a spy adventure. Most of the time he's off getting drunk and drowning his sorrows over losing his beloved Tracy. I'm not blaming him for being upset, mind you, I just don't think it's fair to make it sound like you're going to get all the inside dope on Bond when he's so conspicuous in his absence. In fact, for an espionage-adjacent book, there's not a whole lot of action going on--again, until the very end. If the entire book had been that exciting..then it would have come closer to meeting my expectations.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This is meant to read like nonfiction--with Jane's niece supposedly going to all kinds of trouble to cross-reference and prove the validity of all these incidents. Which makes this read like a dry-as-dust historical account for about 90% of the book. It would be a heck of a lot more interesting if the story had just been told through Moneypenny's diaries and without all the footnotes and editorializing by Jane Moneypenny's niece. It has a great hook--with Moneypenny wanting to investigate what really happened to her father--but really poor execution. <span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★★</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">First line (Intro): The first entry I read was dated 6 July 1962, and began. "007 leaves for the Caribbean today."<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Last line: And if he doesn't, I'm going out to look for him too.<br />*******************<br />Deaths = 9 (one shot; one natural; three blown up; two suicide; one suffocated; one executed)<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><br /></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-27105340463392590932024-02-28T22:31:00.002-05:002024-02-28T22:31:21.067-05:00The Unicorn Murders (Spoilerific)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxaRSBKwAF7ONkLB0v6K16ulzFChfAKzUTz8uew0UuFJqwbCdQpmrxFB-L8IpZrgY3cx55rV49zBQj6jKaZmbKBQkpA2sBMBYpS9hK9q9N05yjDdB5Go6ymRFHZygx-wv5PEVoecRUQy5noWQosDNr5LxASPDI08CZN1zngY9FGSUkR9RSVzQZTOR1RzU/s1269/The%20Unicorn%20Murders%20(Dell%20%2316;%20mine).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1269" data-original-width="825" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxaRSBKwAF7ONkLB0v6K16ulzFChfAKzUTz8uew0UuFJqwbCdQpmrxFB-L8IpZrgY3cx55rV49zBQj6jKaZmbKBQkpA2sBMBYpS9hK9q9N05yjDdB5Go6ymRFHZygx-wv5PEVoecRUQy5noWQosDNr5LxASPDI08CZN1zngY9FGSUkR9RSVzQZTOR1RzU/s320/The%20Unicorn%20Murders%20(Dell%20%2316;%20mine).jpg" width="208" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> <i>The Unicorn Murders</i> (1935) by Carter Dickson [John Dickson Carr]</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I can't possibly talk about this one without letting several cats out of the bag, so I'm just going to warn you up front and not bother with coded comments. If you haven't read this particular mystery by Dickson/Carr, then, you should probably give my review a pass.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">***************************************************</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">So...I don't think I've ever read such a convoluted mystery by such a good detective novelist. Dickson/Carr likes to have tricky little, intricate little solutions to his seemingly impossible crimes. Those sometimes confuse me. But honestly...there are so many people pretending to be somebody else in this one that I couldn't keep up even if I had a scorecard. We start out with our narrator, Kenwood Blake, pretending to be the secret service agent that Evelyn Cheyne (also an agent) is supposed to hook up with in France so they can stick like glue to Sir George Ramsden who is transporting the "unicorn" some sort of top secret, extra-important something-or-other (we aren't told what until the very end) to England. Why on earth the man is going through France isn't really explained--but, whatever.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Apparently, a thieving bad guy by the name of Flamande (shades of G. K. Chesterton's Flambeau) has vowed to be on the same plane as Ramsden and plans to steal the unicorn. Flamande is super-great at disguise and nobody knows what he looks like, so it's going to be difficult to protect Ramsden and his unicorn. To counter Flamande, we have the super-spiffy French Chief Inspector of the Surete, Gaston Gasquet--who, coincidently is also a master of disguise and nobody knows what he looks like either. And he's vowed to be on the plane to catch Flamande. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">So...we have Blake pretending to be the secret service guy. We have the real secret service guy somewhere. We have another guy pretending to be the secret service guy and we have the secret service guy's brother (who looks enough like secret service guy to also pretend to be him if the fancy strikes--it does). We wind up with one these guys (no, I'm not going to completely spoil it and tell you which guy) dead in a French chateau on a island cut off from the main land by a raging river in storm. He was apparently killed in the middle of a stairwell in view of others (albeit by low lamplight) with the horn of a unicorn (you can't make this stuff up--well, you can if your name is Dickson/Carr). Luckily for our hero--whom one of the several guys who claim to Gasquet (don't ask how many--more than we need) accuses him of being Flamande, good ol' H.M. (Sir Henry Merrivale) is also on the spot and will be able to figure out who is who and which one killed who and how and when and where. And, yes, even if I told you all the names and exactly what happened (supposing I could...I'm not sure I can), I don't think you'd be any less confused. Yikes.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The best part of this whole thing is H.M. (and therefore all star points go to him), but, honestly, even he was a bit much. Definitely not my favorite Dickson/Carr novel. <span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★★</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line: Let me state the case to you, and ask yo what you would do under the circumstances.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last line: "La, sir, how you do go on!"<br />*******************<br />Deaths = two stabbed in head</span></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-38578547773021051422024-02-26T20:22:00.001-05:002024-02-28T22:29:53.679-05:00The Hollow/Murder After Hours<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQm19OpnYkTIleiM6pTUoDJC9z150YjpkHwkj2ueFz6n6b3Px0-CaVABAdRLbrs6wPdRT_gmuCeUnkAWORvvDIGgn5At8Zj-03GQL6gKCYj3Wjlc3n1OI_e_siqQYWMKzwaHo_xklnHgtLsHd3h5d5QD0HMYlDDgaDnxzwWXVwFcEWU6nl2IE3I38aOiU/s2285/The%20White%20Dress_The%20Silent%20Speaker_The%20Hollow%20(mine).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2285" data-original-width="2021" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQm19OpnYkTIleiM6pTUoDJC9z150YjpkHwkj2ueFz6n6b3Px0-CaVABAdRLbrs6wPdRT_gmuCeUnkAWORvvDIGgn5At8Zj-03GQL6gKCYj3Wjlc3n1OI_e_siqQYWMKzwaHo_xklnHgtLsHd3h5d5QD0HMYlDDgaDnxzwWXVwFcEWU6nl2IE3I38aOiU/w236-h267/The%20White%20Dress_The%20Silent%20Speaker_The%20Hollow%20(mine).jpg" width="236" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> <i>The Hollow/Murder After Hours</i> (1946) by Agatha Christie</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> Agatha Christie gives us a nice little country house murder. Lady Lucy Angkatell invites a group of friends and relatives that is sure to cause tension somewhere...and it mostly revolves around Dr. John Christow. Christow is a brilliant doctor with a terrific manner with patients and some innovative ideas about a cure for a deadly disease. But he's not really any good with personal relations. His wife Gerda worships him and is exactly what he thought he wanted yet he treats her poorly. Henrietta Savernake, a sculptor, is his mistress--because she's more vital and intelligent than Gerda, but he wants her to focus only on him (and not her art)...like Gerda does. Edward Angkatell has always loved Henrietta and hates Christow because Henrietta won't agree to marry him. Others at the house party include Midge Hardcastle, poor relation who must work for her living, who is in love with Edward; David Angkatell, a young intellectual, who feels like an outsider in the family and seems to hate everyone--including Christow. Thrown into the mix is Veronica Cray--Christow's first love who wanted him to give up his life's work as a doctor and come with her to America while she became a Hollywood star. He told her no. She's back in England and determined to get him back. She isn't pleased when he tells her no again.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">And then...after he spends a late night at Cray's nearby cottage and then is summoned back in the morning--where he tells her that there most definitely isn't anything doing...he's found dead by the swimming pool, shot to death. And his wife Gerda is standing over him with a gun in her hand. Just at that moment, Hercule Poirot (also staying in another nearby cottage and who has been invited to lunch) comes to the scene...a scene that he initially feels has been staged (as a little joke) for the "great detective" and, as the investigation unfolds, still feels staged, though he's not quite certain by whom and to what purpose. But once the little grey cells have the chance to ponder all of the clues--both real and red herrings--he is able to resolve the question.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I enjoyed this one more for the characters than for the mystery (I spotted what was going on quite early--long before Poirot makes any indication that he knows the culprit, even if he can't prove it yet). Not that the mystery isn't interesting--it is. Christie does some interesting things with the plot and clue placement. But anyone who thinks Christie only does cardboard cutouts and her characters have no depth should really take a look at this one. The standard characters are given motivations and emotional lives that really resonate on the page...and even Gudgeon, the butler who has few scenes, is more than just the wooden-faced, typical butler. But my favorite has to be Lady Angkatell. Probably because with her apparent non sequiturs that have a way of hitting the nail on the head every time she reminds me a great deal of the Dowager Duchess in Sayers' Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries. And I adore the Dowager. Lucy Angkatell is a bit more frightening than the Dowager--she definitely seems to know what she's about in putting together certain persons. But in general she does appear to want what's best for everyone (even if what she thinks is best isn't necessarily what <i>they</i> think is best). A very good mystery that I found most interesting and fun. <span id="freeTextContainer12843531565263787972" style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #29303b;"><span class="st"><span id="freeText6956984557415805668"><span style="color: #f1c232;">★★</span></span></span></span><span id="freeTextContainer12843531565263787972" style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #29303b;"><span class="st"><span id="freeText6956984557415805668"><span style="color: #f1c232;">★★</span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line: At 6:13 a.m. on a Friday morning Lucy Angkatell's big blue eyes opened upon another day, and as always, she was at once wide awake and began immediately to deal with the problems conjured up by her incredibly active mind.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Your mind, Lucy, goes so fast, that to keep pace with it your conversation takes the most amazing leaps. All the connecting links are left out. (Midge Hardcastle; p. 7)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">He's just down from Oxford--or perhaps Cambridge. Boys of that age are so difficult--especially when they are intellectual. David is very intellectual. One wishes that they could put off being intellectual until they were rather older. (Lucy Angkatell; p. 9)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Queer, thought Henrietta, how things can seep into you without your knowing it. (p. 22)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The truth of it was that he was completely illogical. He didn't know what he wanted. [about John Christow; p. 37)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">[about being an artist] You don't understand, John. I don't think I could ever make you understand. You don't know what it is to want something--to look at it day after day --that line of the neck--those muscles--the angle where the head goes forward--that heaviness round the jaw. I've been looking at them, wanting them--every time I saw Gerda. In the end I just had to have them. (Henrietta Savernake; pp. 39-40)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">If I were dead, the first thing you'd do, with the tears streaming down your face, would be to start modelling some damned mourning woman or some figure of grief (John Christow; p. 48)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">And suddenly one of those moments of intense happiness came to her--a sense of the loveliness of the world--of her own intense enjoyment of that world. (p. 55)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">When one has to spend every day of one's life in a damnable little box, being polite to rude women, calling them madam, pulling frocks over their heads, smiling and swallowing their damned cheek whatever they like to say to one--well, one does want to cuss! (Midge; p. 56)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Sculpture isn't a thing you set out to do and succeed in. It's a thing that gets at you, that nags at you--and haunts you--so that, sooner or later, you've got to make terms with it. (Henrietta; p. 60)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">You see what you're looking <i>at</i>, yes. You're--you're like a searchlight. a powerful beam turned onto the one spot where your interest is, and behind it and each side of it, darkness! (Henrietta; p. 72)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I can't stand just now, being reminded of happiness. Don't you understand? A time when one didn't know what was coming. When one said confidently, everything is going to be lovely! Some people are wise--they never expect to be happy. I did. (Henrietta; p. 122)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">...possibly she believes what is told her. I think if one has not a great deal of intelligence, it is wise to do that. (Lucy Angkatell; p. 134)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">What made Lady Angkatell dangerous, he thought, was the fact that hose intuitive, wild guesses of hers might often be right. With a careless (seemingly careless?) word she built up a picture--and if parts of the picture was right, wouldn't you, in spite of yourself, believe in the other half of the picture? (pp. 137-8)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">[on whether he is an "artist" as a detective] ...on the whole, I would say no. I have known crimes that were artistic--they were, you understand, supreme exercises of imagination--but the solving of them--no, it is not the creative power that is needed. What is required is a passion for the truth. (Poirot; pp. 152-3)</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64UOlXLrB0GRUr9PeifHThBGN4mezcCIuYf99NtF6PS8G25U9eow2EKPcCTmitejZ276MxEG1t7DMzM8KyZHFgF73R_Zw_wuG-ymL5o6-7B6yXxfErKiZLskBZpeBtvdMA0_p23h_iVUhIUsG39fv4-EYL8smNt00tPmhnLG5a-1OEoB8xET7R1cOfQQ/s1408/Murder%20After%20Hours%20(Dell%20%235922%20mine).jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1408" data-original-width="849" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64UOlXLrB0GRUr9PeifHThBGN4mezcCIuYf99NtF6PS8G25U9eow2EKPcCTmitejZ276MxEG1t7DMzM8KyZHFgF73R_Zw_wuG-ymL5o6-7B6yXxfErKiZLskBZpeBtvdMA0_p23h_iVUhIUsG39fv4-EYL8smNt00tPmhnLG5a-1OEoB8xET7R1cOfQQ/s320/Murder%20After%20Hours%20(Dell%20%235922%20mine).jpg" width="193" /></span></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>These foreigners</i>, thought Grange, <i>don't know how to make tea--you can't teach 'em</i>. But he did not mind much. He was in a condition of pessimism when one more thing that was unsatisfactory actually afforded him a kind of grim satisfaction. (pp. 218-9)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Yes, she thought, that was what despair was. A cold thing--a thing of infinite coldness and loneliness. (p. 237)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">You do not understand. To you it is unbearable that anyone should be hurt. But to some minds there is something more unbearable still--not to <i>know</i>. (Poirot; p. 250)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last line: She said under her breath, "John, forgive me--forgive me for what I can't help doing--"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">******************<br />Deaths = 2 (one shot; one poisoned)</span></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-64927379087209639632024-02-24T22:10:00.003-05:002024-02-24T22:10:56.651-05:00Death Takes a Bow<p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhux7nLx8Xdmr7Q6D4tIFL-8oczaiSQHigsqjGkWv_g8NZ3Th-IA9BleaocnDWsb7hNuo_VYmz8EYo6G0EnhKPv1mxrVHBnfg636HP1apaLjh6Z_ixqjGqVGcr051ICB0eyGtQqBCqOfKLEjdMQU_j83C8nXKzCJ8Sy9x56XkivioB5364fa7klUuDm_Hk/s1921/Death%20Takes%20a%20Bow%20Avon%20%23131%20(mine).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1921" data-original-width="1279" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhux7nLx8Xdmr7Q6D4tIFL-8oczaiSQHigsqjGkWv_g8NZ3Th-IA9BleaocnDWsb7hNuo_VYmz8EYo6G0EnhKPv1mxrVHBnfg636HP1apaLjh6Z_ixqjGqVGcr051ICB0eyGtQqBCqOfKLEjdMQU_j83C8nXKzCJ8Sy9x56XkivioB5364fa7klUuDm_Hk/s320/Death%20Takes%20a%20Bow%20Avon%20%23131%20(mine).jpg" width="213" /></a></i></div><i><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> Death Takes a Bow</span></i><span style="font-family: arial;"> (1943) by Frances & Richard Lockridge</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">This one opens with Jerry in a panic because he has to give a short speech introducing one his publishing company's latest stars, Victor Leeds Sproul. He's quite sure he's going to mess it up...even though, as Pam points out, he's quite a good speaker and he always does fine. Little does he know that his audience isn't going to care one way or the other. Not after Sproul declines to come to the lectern when introduced...or rather is incapable of coming to the lectern because he's dead. </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">Of course, since the man died while Jerry was introducing him, Pam naturally thinks that this murder is one of theirs. Oh sure, Lieutenant Weigand and Sergeant Mullins will come along and take charge officially, but they won't really get anywhere if she and Jerry don't give them a little help...and a few martinis here and there. And it soon becomes apparent that help might be appreciated because Sproul wasn't exactly a popular fellow--no matter what his book sales might indicate. He was good at stealing other fellows' wives, holding secrets over his "friends'" heads, gloating about his success to those less fortunate, and generally making himself unloved. But who hated him enough to slip him a deadly dose of morphine before his speech? That's what Weigand, Mullins, and the Norths will have to find out. Muddying the waters even more is the presence of a "little dark man" who Jerry sees slipping away from the stage and who may have taken a few vital clues with him.</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">Pam has her style cramped a bit by the arrival of her nieces. She thinks she's going to be meeting two little girls at the train, but instead she is saddled with two pre-teen/young teenagers (who look and act a bit older than their years) who seem to be magnets for eligible young servicemen. Keeping the girls occupied and away from the sailors and the marines prevents Pam from getting into as much trouble as usual (no tense moments with the killer holding her hostage this time around), but she does manage to spot the murderer based on one key phrase--just before Bill Weigand does. </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">This is another fun and light adventure with the Norths. The Lockridges are really very good with dialogue and it's very entertaining to "listen" to the interactions of Jerry and Pam (and her nieces...Pam's way of thinking/talking seems to run in the family ) as well as Weigand and Mullins. I can't say that the mysteries are ever very taxing to the seasoned crime fiction reader, but they are always interesting and entertaining snapshots of New York during the time period. A great escape read. <span id="freeTextContainer12843531565263787972"><span class="st"><span id="freeText6956984557415805668"><span style="color: #f1c232;">★★</span></span></span></span><span id="freeTextContainer12843531565263787972"><span class="st"><span id="freeText6956984557415805668"><span style="color: #f1c232;">★★</span></span></span></span><span id="freeTextContainer12843531565263787972"><span class="st"><span id="freeText6956984557415805668"><span style="color: #f1c232;"></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line: Mrs. North was consoling.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">...it never paid to take people as being altogether what they looked to be. Still, he added to himself, that's about the only thing we have to go on. (p. 20)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">"You examined him, Doctor?" the assistant medical examiner asked. Klingman nodded and moved a step nearer. The two physicians withdrew into the medical world, symbolically taking the body with them. They nodded over it. Klingman pointed at the eyes and Francis nodded. Francis flexed the dead fingers and Klingman nodded. The lay world waited. The physicians nodded again, now in evident agreement, and unexpectedly shook hands. Dr. Francis came over to Weigand and Mr. North, who waited anxiously.<br /> "Well," Dr. Francis said, "he's dead all right." (p. 44)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">[about Sproul's sensitivity to morphine] "Maybe somebody didn't know it, and gave him a dose of morphine figuring to put him to sleep. Maybe somebody didn't want to hear him give a speech." (Dr. Francis; p. 45) </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It was true, she thought...that when there were dull things to do, women were ordinarily chosen. If it came down to a choice between murder and nieces, men got the murder and women got the nieces. And you couldn't deny that murder was more interesting than nieces. (p. 52)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Realizing how interesting [murder] was, Pam North felt a little worried about herself. Probably, when you came down to it, it wasn't good for you to be so interested in murders. "Habit-forming," Pam thought. You started out able to take a murder or leave it alone--never dreaming of taking it, really. And one murder led to another, and it became--well, a sort of a game. And it should never be a game; not really a game. (p. 52)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Weigand told him that it was unfortunate. "Murder usually is," Weigand said. "Inconveniences a lot of people. Friends, relatives, business associates, the police. To say nothing of the corpse. You have something to tell me?" (p. 60)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">"That was the chief thing about Sproul, come to think of it," he said slowly. "He managed to make almost everybody he met feel, in the end, a little ridiculous. Even me--in the old days, of course. It was--a knack he had. And enjoyed. Yes--enjoyed it very much." (Y. Charles Burden; p. 66)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I am not feeling at all the way I should expect myself to feel. I ought to be stirred up and excited, because of Sproul's murder, and I am merely tired, and rather sleepy and--yes, relaxed....Which merely proved that a man's nerves were shamefully egocentric and that they didn't, really, care at all what happened to other people. (Jerry North's thoughts; p. 108)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">He realized that he was holding back; that he had been sure it was murder ever since things had gone bump in the night. But there are some things about lieutenants that inspectors should never learn. (p.122)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This didn't, Weigand thought, looking out the window at the streaming rain, look like being a quick one. There was a good deal, come down to it, to be said for the family murder, with suspects conveniently cooped together. Or, if you were to have murder, for any circumstances similarly constricting. (p.125)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Heinrich was a bona-fide enemy agent, like you read about. About Grade C, but genuine. The F.B.I. followed him about and snaffled off people he spoke to. Heinrich was being very useful, but not to the Reich. The F.B.I. was enjoying Heinrich very much. (p. 164)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">"They [marines] indicated that we were taking rather a risk, leaving nieces about. One of them was very serious. He said--well, he said: 'I don't know whether you know sir, but there are some men who wouldn't understand. Sailors, you know.'" (Jerry--who had been a sailor in the previous war; p.166)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">No motive was certain. They didn't have enough; it was not a simple, comfortable murder for money or safety or, so far as they could guess, hatred. But it might be any of these. (p. 169)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But if it were Newark,, now--there had been time enough to get to Newark by tube train and to meet the train which was bringing Mr. Demming. A murderer would have to move briskly, but murderers must expect to make some sacrifices. (p. 203)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">He, Weigand, had only to sit, and look at papers, and think. He found the prospect uninviting. Now, he decided, would be a fine time for a hunch. He made himself receptive to hunches. No hunch came. (p. 209)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">"How do you feel when you're not feeling well?" Mrs. North repeated. "Surely that's clear enough."<br />"It sounds all right," Bill Weigand admitted. "Words and everything; even a verb. But it doesn't mean anything. When I don't feel well I just don't feel well." (p. 220)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">"Men arrange their own murders," he said. "By being what they are, doing the things they do, meeting the people they meet." (Weigand; p. 230)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last lines: <span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Beth and Margie both looked radiant as they came in. They both had sailors.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"Those girls," Pam said, "are unfair to the army. They ought to be--they ought to be picketed."</span></span><br />*******************<br />Deaths = 2 (one poisoned; one smothered)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></div><p></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-30410530056180401272024-02-22T19:26:00.002-05:002024-02-22T19:26:49.925-05:00Man of Two Tribes<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4X3N00i6U_y7yzPx4YCQ_LRTIs6iO4EeZhzD-HCRkIMttZzVVJDgA9wxLhyphenhyphen1V2Xu8kJcJf6M13DlzvyGCfTgYoT-KxifgDpCPW5d990zeb4723DvgcGCpktRzPsZA2UUdRyH3akAvP2t2neHBYVR1hFeBZ0UZXZ0WW3P7KdCRI6EUQGId8XdCPnGSN-w/s2119/Man%20of%20Two%20Tribes%20(mine).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2119" data-original-width="1252" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4X3N00i6U_y7yzPx4YCQ_LRTIs6iO4EeZhzD-HCRkIMttZzVVJDgA9wxLhyphenhyphen1V2Xu8kJcJf6M13DlzvyGCfTgYoT-KxifgDpCPW5d990zeb4723DvgcGCpktRzPsZA2UUdRyH3akAvP2t2neHBYVR1hFeBZ0UZXZ0WW3P7KdCRI6EUQGId8XdCPnGSN-w/s320/Man%20of%20Two%20Tribes%20(mine).jpg" width="189" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> <i>Man of Two Tribes</i> (1956) by Arthur W. Upfield</span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I seem to be in the minority on this one, but I just think this is bonkers. The story starts out pretty straightforward: Myra Thomas, accused and acquitted of killing her husband, disappeared from the train carrying her and her mother to live in another part of Australia where perhaps the notoriety would not follow her. But Myra never arrived in Perth--somewhere between Adelaide and the final stop she vanished. As far as anyone could tell, she was wearing only her nightdress and a pair of slippers. And not a trace of her has been found after three weeks of searching by train employees along the line and police officials in the small towns in the great desert plain area. There are few places a woman could be and still be alive--and she is not in any of them.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">So, Bony arrives, ostensibly to take up the hunt, but also because an old trapper, who has recently died, left a diary indicating that there have been clandestine journeys by a helicopter during the desert nights. Upper officials are worried that spies are at work, so Bony is sent to look for Myra Thomas and to find out the truth behind the trapper's helicopter sightings. And then it just gets weird. When Bony arrives at the trapper's last camp, he discovers a silky white scarf fluttering above a deep sinkhole. The next thing he knows, a group of tribesmen have unceremoniously dumped him and all his gear (save a really good hunting rifle) down into the underground cavern where he finds himself stranded with Myra Thomas and several convicted (and recently released) killers. And there's a fresh corpse among them. So, now Bony has to figure out which murderer in a group of murderers has decided to kill again. Oh...and he also has to figure out how to get them all out of there (and is, of course, successful after the group has been working on this very thing for weeks...).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The best thing about this one is the descriptions of the desert area of Australia and Bony's interactions with the camels and Lucy, the dog, when he's following the traplines of the old trapper. I've always appreciated Upfield's way of describing the Australian landscape and Bony is such an interesting character that even his interactions with animals are amusing and well worth reading. The mystery could have been way better if it hadn't had such a bonkers set up. I just don't see how the snatching of all these murderers and suspected murderers could work so smoothly without any clues being left. If Bony hadn't seen that silk scarf (which, how the heck?), then they'd never have been found and he's one of the best trackers ever. <span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★★</span> and 1/2.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line: Senior Constable Easter was roused by the alarm clock at three-forty-five a.m.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last lines: "Fellow of the Released Murderers' Institute. I really earned that, Easter."<br />*******************<br />Deaths = 5 (one natural; one shot; one poisoned; one hit on head; one fell from height)</span></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-88220023511088175822024-02-21T22:17:00.001-05:002024-02-21T22:17:04.818-05:00A Fete Worse Than Death<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXBHrhQWLUPz2T45FOQH_FrSZpBxT8wrx7IkuKA_pe_9ANXBRYViodxP8Hqx3V7-h17c8P3CNW3MEqR4AwRNm5O7_BeBoDISU3j16AAJOUEAqvNmAqnnTwogoh2GgCqqP-svEJle8xGkjG6rV6n8wBvhd1nt4HEZjcbka0xEpkZMvhKSox0EyVdLD9p-Y/s2558/A%20Fete%20Worse%20Than%20Death%20(mine).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2558" data-original-width="1640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXBHrhQWLUPz2T45FOQH_FrSZpBxT8wrx7IkuKA_pe_9ANXBRYViodxP8Hqx3V7-h17c8P3CNW3MEqR4AwRNm5O7_BeBoDISU3j16AAJOUEAqvNmAqnnTwogoh2GgCqqP-svEJle8xGkjG6rV6n8wBvhd1nt4HEZjcbka0xEpkZMvhKSox0EyVdLD9p-Y/s320/A%20Fete%20Worse%20Than%20Death%20(mine).jpg" width="205" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> <i>A Fete Worse Than Death</i> (2007) by Dolores Gordon-Smith</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In 1922, Jack Haldean is staying with his aunt and uncle in Breedonbrook and attends the local fete. It's a lovely day filled with games (the coconut shy, darts and hoop-la) where he wins everything from coconuts to violently colored candies to a dolly with carrier, blanket, and pillow. He's also trying desperately to avoid a man who served under him in the RAF. Jeremy Boscombe is an annoying little tick who has always loved finding out people's weak spots and leaning on them hard. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Apparently he leaned too hard on the wrong person because he's later found shot to death in the fortune teller's tent. Haldean is a detective novelist who has also had a bit of real-life detective experience--solving a little matter of the "mess bill business" while still in the service and then helping Inspector Rackham of Scotland Yard with "the affair at Torrington Place" after the war. He offers to help Superintendent Ashley with this latest local case and they've barely begun to investigate when Reggie Morton (soon proved to be an unsavory friend of Boscombe's) is found in Boscombe's room at the local inn--also shot to death. They uncover signs of blackmail and indications that the motive for the murders may be linked to the battle of Augier Ridge. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The battle was the source of Victory Cross for Colonel Whitfield, local hero and hopeful suitor to Marguerite Vayle. Jack's uncle is one of Marguerite's trustees and, along with Hugh Lawrence the other trustee, must give approval for her marriage. The battle was also the source of treachery--someone had been spying for the Germans and betrayed the British troops when they discovered a tunnel under the ridge. The blame always fell on Major Tyburn who has been assumed dead. But now there are rumors that Tyburn is still alive. Did Boscombe (one of the few survivors of Augier Ridge) recognize him in the crowd that day and decide on a spot of blackmail? Or was he putting the black on someone else? There are several suspects to choose from and Haldean and Ashley will find their suspicions resting on various people before they discover the real culprit.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This is a lovely first mystery in a historical series that captures the spirit of the Golden Age of crime in every way possible--from the amateur sleuth who gives vibes of Lord Peter Wimsey to the village fete to a nice little circle of suspects, all wrapped up in a well-clued puzzle. Very entertaining with deftly sketched characters and a great setting. I'm definitely looking forward to the next in the series. <span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #29303b;"><span class="_Tgc"><span id="freeText9655171283135710869"><span class="readable reviewText"><span id="freeTextreview1105380065"><span class="readable reviewText"><span id="freeTextreview418083839"><span id="freeText8729106022106136534"><span class="st"><span id="freeText13049736037806678368"><span id="freeText916128228711808791"><span id="freeTextContainer12843531565263787972"><span class="st"><span id="freeText6956984557415805668"><span style="color: #f1c232;">★★</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #29303b;"><span class="_Tgc"><span id="freeText9655171283135710869"><span class="readable reviewText"><span id="freeTextreview1105380065"><span class="readable reviewText"><span id="freeTextreview418083839"><span id="freeText8729106022106136534"><span class="st"><span id="freeText13049736037806678368"><span id="freeText916128228711808791"><span id="freeTextContainer12843531565263787972"><span class="st"><span id="freeText6956984557415805668"><span style="color: #f1c232;">★★</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line: With a feeling of relief, Jack Haldean walked into the dim green interior of the beer tent.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last line: "But here's to the pilot."<br />******************<br />Deaths = 6 (three shot; three natural)</span><br /></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-89100944072420072162024-02-19T10:44:00.004-05:002024-02-19T19:07:14.303-05:00Ellery Queen's Anthology 1966 Mid-Year Edition<p><span style="font-family: arial;"><i></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7eB36bQ0h9kN6eHxGrelEosSIQleGWk3lG5cQc9MK-4dRIA3buLWgTG3W0SCC55umlC_WRo0UYNrPKdR1vp_V-bHzGZ-rQZvoSQYu28UnMuA_8cygJIQzHjlwtJ2-2DVKok5w2WE2OkIzwkRLzuzyxiJ7IPnNQYylyUJYXloDuOcPII4EVA0ttmBBY6Q/s2292/EQMM%201966%20Mid-Year%20Edition%20(mine).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2292" data-original-width="1621" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7eB36bQ0h9kN6eHxGrelEosSIQleGWk3lG5cQc9MK-4dRIA3buLWgTG3W0SCC55umlC_WRo0UYNrPKdR1vp_V-bHzGZ-rQZvoSQYu28UnMuA_8cygJIQzHjlwtJ2-2DVKok5w2WE2OkIzwkRLzuzyxiJ7IPnNQYylyUJYXloDuOcPII4EVA0ttmBBY6Q/s320/EQMM%201966%20Mid-Year%20Edition%20(mine).jpg" width="226" /></a></i></span></div><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><i><br /> <span>Ellery Queen's Anthology 1966 Mid-Year Edition </span></i><span>(1966; all stories pre-1960) by Ellery Queen, ed.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span>I'm still working my way through the Ellery Queen collections/magazines that I've picked up over the last several years. This is another great collection with familiar (to me) names such as Steinbeck, the Lockridges, Crispin, Starrett, and the like. I've read one novel by L.A.G. Strong (<i><a href="https://myreadersblock.blogspot.com/2016/07/all-fall-down-review.html">All Fall Down</a></i>) and have Kersh's Prelude to a Certain Midnight sitting on the TBR stacks. I appreciated Strong's novel much more than the short story included here. In fact, Strong and Kersh's stories share a common theme--they're about incidents that may or may not have happened exactly as related. My favorites in this anthology are those by Woolrich, the Lockridges, Walsh, Kantor, and Carr--but overall this is a very strong collection. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="_Tgc"><span id="freeText9655171283135710869"><span class="readable reviewText"><span id="freeTextreview1105380065"><span class="readable reviewText"><span id="freeTextreview418083839"><span id="freeText8729106022106136534"><span class="st"><span id="freeText13049736037806678368"><span id="freeText916128228711808791"><span id="freeTextContainer12843531565263787972"><span class="st"><span id="freeText6956984557415805668"><span style="color: #f1c232;">★★</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="_Tgc"><span id="freeText9655171283135710869"><span class="readable reviewText"><span id="freeTextreview1105380065"><span class="readable reviewText"><span id="freeTextreview418083839"><span id="freeText8729106022106136534"><span class="st"><span id="freeText13049736037806678368"><span id="freeText916128228711808791"><span id="freeTextContainer12843531565263787972"><span class="st"><span id="freeText6956984557415805668"><span style="color: #f1c232;">★★</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">"All at Once, No Alice" by Cornell Woolrich: Our narrator, Jimmy Cannon, fell head over heels in love with Alice Brown and his feelings were returned. So, after a very (VERY) short courtship, they elope--are married by a justice of the peace along the way and due to a shortage of hotel space in the town where they land for their honeymoon, have to sleep apart on their honeymoon. When Jimmy goes to collect his new bride the next morning, she's gone. And so is all trace that she ever existed. Only one man believes him...but will they find her in time?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">"How Mr. Hogan Robbed a Bank" by John Steinbeck: Mr. Hogan is just your average grocery store manager who comes up with a fool-proof plan to rob the bank next door to the grocery store.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">"Dead Boys Don't Remember" <span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">by Frances & Richard Lockridge: </span></span><span><span>Captain
Heimrich is called on to assist in the hunt for a kidnapped boy. He's
very much afraid that it's already too late--the boy is old enough to
remember details about his kidnappers and Heimrich knows that dead boys
can't remember details...</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span>"You Can't Love Two Women" by L. A. G. Strong: Maurice has been carrying on an affair and the strain of keeping secrets is getting to be just to much. If it goes on much longer he's going to lose his mind...so he dreams up a plan that will give him an alibi. [one stabbed]</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span>"The Clue of the Scattered Rubies" by Erle Stanley Gardner: Sidney Zoom is the only one who believes Eva Paine didn't kill her father-in-law for a fortune in rubies. But the evidence doesn't look good... [two shot]</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span>"I Killed John Harrigan" by Thomas Walsh: Walter believes he has pulled off the perfect murder--killing a well-known loan shark who was bleeding him dry. But his conscience won't let him see an innocent man executed... [one shot; one executed]</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span>"The Grave Grass Question" by MacKinlay Kantor: Dr. George Martindale's father and brother were killed when he was a young boy and he promised his mother he'd get the man (men) who did it. He just didn't know it would take almost 60 years to do it... [two hit on head]</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span>"Blind Man's Bluff" by Roy Vickers: When a blind man decides to murder the man in love with his wife, he thinks the police will be too blind to see how it was done. He doesn't realize that the one clue he himself can't see will give him away a few years later. [one natural; one hanged]</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span>"The Crime by the River" by Edmund Crispin: A servant girl in the house across the river from the Chief Constable is dead. The Superintendent thinks he know who did it. Much depends on how one of the men in the case got to the Chief Constable's house... [one strangled; one shot]</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span>"£5000 for a Confession" by L. J. Beeston: A journalist, a doctor, an actor-manager, and an amateur detective walk into The Yellow Club...and the amateur detective has a tale of burglary to tell. With an unexpected punch line.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span>"Karmesin & the Crown Jewels" by Gerald Kersh: Kamesin is offered seven million dollars to steal the crown jewels of England for King Tombala of South America...</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span>"This Was Willi's Day" by Aaron Marc Stein: Willi is a gigolo with big dreams and he makes slow plans to make those dreams come true. Then he meets a woman who puts those dreams on fast-forward. [one fell from height]</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span>"Blackmail" by Stephen McKenna: A man is unwise enough to tell a group of fellow passengers how he thinks a good blackmailer should operate. And then puts himself into the hands of his star pupil... [one natural]</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span>"Murder on St. Valentine's Day" by Mignon G. Eberhart: </span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Our
narrator, James Wickwire, is a senior vice president at the local bank.
He manages the estates of various widows who are clients of the bank.
Most of them cause him anxiety--but not Clarissa--she had always kept
her head when it came to money matters. Could balance a bank book with
the best of them and never fell for wild cat schemes. That is until the
day a young assistant cashier brought him a check for $20,000 written in
lipstick on a dainty, lace, heart-shaped handkerchief from Clarissa to
an unknown handsome young man. He thinks Clarissa has finally fallen for
a slick line...but he didn't expect it to lead to murder. [one shot]</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"A Piece of String" by Clarence Budington Kelland: Things look black for old man Asbury's grandson when the man is found dead and the only way into his room was through Ransome Asbury's room. But Asbury's old friend Scattergood Baines finds the answer to the puzzle in a piece of string and a broken ice pick. [one hit on head]</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">"The Tragedy of Papa Ponsard" by Vincent Starrett: <span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Papa
Ponsard is a book store owner who dreads parting with his books and yet
he knows he must sell some or be ruined--for he owes 300 francs in back
rent and fears every day that Monsieur Gebhart will show up and kick
him out of his shop. But few customers enter his store these days. So he
starts cataloguing his books so he can try to draw in customers through
the mail. Then an innocent change (on the part of his daughter's
suitor) in a book's price results in an unexpected twist of fate--both
wonderful and tragic.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"Taboo" by Geoffrey Household: Our narrator, a psychologist, tells the story of a visit to the village of Zweibergen in the Carpathian mountains. Local men began vanishing without a trace and the villagers began to whisper of creatures in the night. He and another visitor decide to keep watch and trap the killer--whether man or beast--with lasting effects for both of them. [two shot]</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"The Silver Curtain" by John Dickson Carr: </span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Jerry
Winton is having terrible luck at the gaming tables. Then a man comes
along and offers him ten thousand francs to just go to a doctor's house
and pick up some pills. Sounds like an easy way to earn some much-needed
cash. But then that same fellow winds up dead with a knife in his back
outside the doctor's establishment...and there's no one around but
Jerry. And he didn't do it. Fortunately, Colonel March of Scotland Yard
is on hand to explain what happened and who really did it. [one stabbed]</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">"Bride in Danger" by Ellery Queen: </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Ellery has been invited as an eligible bachelor (the bride's mother is hoping to do a little <i>more</i>
matchmaking) to a wedding in Wrightsville. He finds himself serving as a
repository for various secrets and almost winds up attending a funeral
for the bride instead of a reception for the happy couple. His eye for
the right word helps him identify the person with murderous intentions
toward Dr. Farnham's intended.</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">"The Girl Who Lived Dangerously" by Hugh Pentecost: A man who runs rigged carnival games finds himself caught up in a much more deadly game when his helper is killed--apparently over a poker game gone wrong. [two shot; one hit on head]</span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">First line (1st story): It was over so quickly I almost thought something had been left out, but I guess he'd been doing it long enough to know his business.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Last line (last story): "Let's get out of here, Jeff," he said.<br /></span></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-73212626126922519632024-02-18T16:09:00.000-05:002024-02-18T16:09:17.446-05:00When Blood Lies (audionovel)<p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4pf4tkVntRl6jgFYq9lzcahkMT0H8ZgBtX-7PtHPnYGKFfBnUM9Aj7RgziVxNOAu1PaIgZpUfo0GawAj-i-0BtF1p2-fRndGdXva3HrfcCRucKb7NZF6-xVx-uzS_H1op7mlrb5cInTZ4ItjJRAagb3sWEYIakXgynetu9RFnt1dC18JtO4s3V-ymyU/s224/When%20Blood%20Lies.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="224" data-original-width="224" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4pf4tkVntRl6jgFYq9lzcahkMT0H8ZgBtX-7PtHPnYGKFfBnUM9Aj7RgziVxNOAu1PaIgZpUfo0GawAj-i-0BtF1p2-fRndGdXva3HrfcCRucKb7NZF6-xVx-uzS_H1op7mlrb5cInTZ4ItjJRAagb3sWEYIakXgynetu9RFnt1dC18JtO4s3V-ymyU/s1600/When%20Blood%20Lies.webp" width="224" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> When Blood Lies (2022) by C. S. Harris (Candice Proctor); read by Jenny Sterlin</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This review is devoted to the audio version. For a more detailed review of the book itself, please see my previous review: <a href="https://myreadersblock.blogspot.com/2022/05/when-blood-lies-spoilers.html">HERE</a>.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">As I'm impatiently waiting for the next Sebastian St. Cyr novel to be published (What Cannot Be Said, April 2024), I have been revisiting the previous books to remind myself of Lord Devlin's over-arching story. This time completely through audio novels. Up till now, Sebastian's story has been told by Davina Porter, who was outstanding--able to give voice to a variety of characters with differing accents and dialects. Her depiction of Sebastian and Hero has become firmly ingrained in my mind. Jenny Sterlin had very big shoes to fill. It's possible that if this were the first book in the series that I listened to as an audio novel that I would have been more impressed by her performance. It's perfectly adequate. But I don't think she has the range for male voices that Porter did. I found less distinction between the men and it was more difficult to remember who was speaking without key phrases like "Sebastian said" or "questioned the Earl of Hendon."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">However, it was still a delight to listen to the further adventures of Sebastian and his lady as they are in France, hoping to finally get in touch with Sebastian's mother. Fate, of course, has an entirely different program in mind and they wind up investigating Sophia's murder. A murder with ties to the possible re-emergence of Napoleon on the world's stage. Harris manages to pull in all sorts of historical detail without overloading the reader and this remains one of my all-time favorite historical mystery series. <span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★★</span><span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★</span><span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★</span> for the audio version--the novel itself is a five-star winner.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line: <i>One more day</i>, he thought, <i>one more day, perhaps two, and then....</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last line: Long live the Emperor.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">***************</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Deaths = 13 (one drowned; one natural; five stabbed; one broken neck; two hit on head; two shot; one strangled)</span></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-28591978631742086282024-02-17T09:36:00.002-05:002024-02-17T10:17:30.658-05:00The Blood-Dimmed Tide <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZS24QwaOnx9uTwiKOryjd0xpQ_-RHIHSIR889xTkFN3yg1OgFWPIr1BYe_MAQp5rBMdUXQh2U-WAaGVbUT4tTr0PjDfldBJTzIoI_YMLxQXnkeuOsgT1-WF0jcyXkN_ld_CwchdFFXZ7F2NxlfO0qk55zw6oNtkwqm0DL-47aPVy79JnzQ6pLLi-sSf4/s2333/The%20Blood-Dimmed%20Tide%20(mine).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2333" data-original-width="1537" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZS24QwaOnx9uTwiKOryjd0xpQ_-RHIHSIR889xTkFN3yg1OgFWPIr1BYe_MAQp5rBMdUXQh2U-WAaGVbUT4tTr0PjDfldBJTzIoI_YMLxQXnkeuOsgT1-WF0jcyXkN_ld_CwchdFFXZ7F2NxlfO0qk55zw6oNtkwqm0DL-47aPVy79JnzQ6pLLi-sSf4/s320/The%20Blood-Dimmed%20Tide%20(mine).jpg" width="211" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: arial;"><i>The Blood--Dimmed Tide</i> (2004) by Rennie Airth</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">1932, Britain. Since the dreadful deaths in <i>The River of Darkness</i>, the first of the John Madden books, Madden has retired from the force to become a country farmer--both out of inclination and because his wife was upset at his injuries at the end of the last case. But just as an old hunting dog will stir at the bugle's call, the former police inspector can't resist lending a hand when a young girl goes missing from a village near his home. And when he is the one to discover the battered body he just can't stay away from the investigation. Fortunately, his old team don't mind the help--in fact, they'll take all the help they can get when their one trail goes cold and evidence is found that this isn't the culprit's first killing. And when they find a gap in similar killings in Britain, they wonder if killer took his talents to the continent for a few years. Soon they are working with the German police and the Secret Service to track a murderer who doesn't mind where he kills as long as he can get away with it...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Airth likes his mysteries steeped in psychology--whether it's a damaged soldier from WWI or a psychopathic killer of young girls. Good, solid analysis of the culprit's character--and analysis entirely appropriate to the story's time period. Airth also gives us good, solid police work...tracking down clues, interviewing witnesses, and the rest of the daily procedures that lead to solving a case. And all without boring the reader with detail or slowing the pace. I really enjoyed the introduction of the German police officer Probst and wish we could have seen more of him. Given that the books are heading into WWII territory, I'm doubtful that we'll see him again (unless--since he has expressed his feelings on the Nazis--he decides to leave Germany for England) and that is a shame.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It is a testament to Airth's abilities as a mystery author that I'm ranking this so high. I have great difficulty with stories about children in danger and a serial killer targeting young girls was definitely a hard topic for me. But the writing is terrific and I was very invested in the characters--not just Madden and his wife, but all of them...down to Sam Watkins and his dog Sally and the tramps who helped Madden discover some of the vital clues. <span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★★</span><span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★★</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line: Only chance brought the Maddens to Brookham that day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last line: And on the dark night that was coming.<br />******************<br />Deaths = 10 (four strangled; four natural; one burned to death; one suicide)</span><br /></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-57359615046134961022024-02-14T19:32:00.005-05:002024-02-14T19:32:58.683-05:00The Cat Who Saved Books<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWVeOfGQ8hFCUhznsQ4fkmKjIMYFGNPTbTNkSNsO9bYgpm83g9072NCunGV3Z804YkLVQNRqqWq4VV9t31G_sLYe053oT_mm6AQBCTsTpQMieSdM5CNWFqlCjpWsYZ9IWIk9sjMQMMGb8AtZ5nzgxgbPX2sDOubmlJZT0B7KXD9yRY4TPy7aZb6Bjt54k/s400/Cat%20who%20saved%20books.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="265" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWVeOfGQ8hFCUhznsQ4fkmKjIMYFGNPTbTNkSNsO9bYgpm83g9072NCunGV3Z804YkLVQNRqqWq4VV9t31G_sLYe053oT_mm6AQBCTsTpQMieSdM5CNWFqlCjpWsYZ9IWIk9sjMQMMGb8AtZ5nzgxgbPX2sDOubmlJZT0B7KXD9yRY4TPy7aZb6Bjt54k/s320/Cat%20who%20saved%20books.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> <i>The Cat Who Saved Books</i> (2017) by Sosuke Natsukawa; translated by Heal Kawai</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Rintaro Natsuki has grown up in his grandfather's bookshop, Natsuki Books. When his parents died, Natsuki came to live with his grandfather. An introverted boy who has never felt like he fit in with his classmates, he has enjoyed the comfort and seclusion he found among the books. He is devastated when his grandfather dies. He has inherited the bookstore, but he is going to have to sell it and move in with his aunt. He stops going to high school and then he starts having visitors.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Two of his fellow students stop to visit and let him know they're concerned about him--especially the class president, a girl he never would have believed thought about him at all. And then...the talking tabby cat shows up. Tiger, the cat, needs Rintaro's help in a quest. There are those who are destroying books and not using them the way they are meant to be used and Tiger wants the boy to help him free the books. There's the man who owns thousands of books, but keeps them locked up and on display. And the professor trying to develop a new way to speed-read who thinks chopping books up into digestible "sound-bites" is the answer. And the publisher who produces books that he thinks will sell rather than those that are really worth reading. And one final quest with stakes even higher. His new friend Sayo has been taken and won't be released unless he defeats one final twisted soul in the realm of books.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This book is a fantasy and a parable and a coming of age story. Through his adventures, Rintaro learns the true power of books; that they are more than escapes from the world. They hold power. The power to understand others--people like us who are experiencing what we experience but in their own ways and people who may not look or seem like us. They allow us to visit worlds and peoples we might never know were it not for the power of stories.</span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Books are filled with human thoughts and feelings. People suffering, people who are sad or happy, laughing with joy. By reading their words and their stories, by experiencing them together, we learn about the hears and minds of other people besides ourselves, Thanks to books, it's possible to learn not only about the people around us every day, but people living in totally different worlds.</span></i></p></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Rintaro also learns much about himself. He learns that he has gifts that he never realized and that he can stand on his own two feet now that his Grandfather is gone. He learns that he can make friends and work with others (even a talking cat!). He learns about the power within himself as well as within books. <span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★★</span><span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★★</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line: First things first, Grandpa's gone.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last line: A gentle breeze brushed the doorbell, and it gave a cheerful ring.</span><br /></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5779338627192492408.post-22722478394362748772024-02-13T21:09:00.003-05:002024-02-13T21:09:13.745-05:00Gently Down the Stream<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifWC0cdsAoaVlm9aMQv-PsjCHsmzlOC1li8OjEufxw5WjjLwNZ8HQ_Lk5RFXRJGTPyBZM-xY_EclXvXDgunTGx4whkkc7gkEwEi9mPhcQeFxHzZlGFTehdHJa5VmZdp4Qfm0x3Zv0EtIbgSxrZiVqejVWBZayoPcyRdtR-BaCS5ss5E7L20QHBSmm7nrw/s1408/Gently%20Down%20the%20Stream%20(mine).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1408" data-original-width="876" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifWC0cdsAoaVlm9aMQv-PsjCHsmzlOC1li8OjEufxw5WjjLwNZ8HQ_Lk5RFXRJGTPyBZM-xY_EclXvXDgunTGx4whkkc7gkEwEi9mPhcQeFxHzZlGFTehdHJa5VmZdp4Qfm0x3Zv0EtIbgSxrZiVqejVWBZayoPcyRdtR-BaCS5ss5E7L20QHBSmm7nrw/s320/Gently%20Down%20the%20Stream%20(mine).jpg" width="199" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> <i>Gently Down the Stream</i> (1957) by Alan Hunter</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Sometimes the folks who rented boats from Sloley's Yard returned the water crafts late. Sometimes they returned them in worse shape than they took them out. But this is the first time one of the yachts didn't come back and is found burned out and the remains of the man who rented it onboard. It might have been an accident...there was a whole can full of petrol on board. Except James Lammas didn't die from the fire or smoke inhalation...he was shot through the head with .22 pistol. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Chief Inspector George Gently is brought in to help the local police force out. But the deeper into the case he gets, the less it makes sense. Of course it doesn't help that no one is telling the truth--not his wife, not his son, not his daughter...and none of the other witnesses who pop up along the way. And what has happened to Lammas's secretary and his chauffeur. Did they set the older man up and run off together? Just when Gently thinks he knows the answers, the case shifts and it looks like Mrs. Lammas and their son might be responsible. Then he finds a bit of gold paper and half of a set of dentures and everything becomes clear....</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">As I've mentioned in reviews of other Gently titles, for some reason that I can't quite pin down I keep coming back to these novels by Alan Hunter. I keep him on my TBF list (To Be Found) and pick the novels up whenever I see them. It must be Gently himself--I do like George Gently--and Hunter's way with characterization, because I can't say that any of the books I've read previously were knock-out mysteries. This one is better than most; the plot is really quite nifty--even if I did figure it out quite some time before Gently. Actually, I think that may be one of the reasons I liked it so much. In most of the novels I've reviewed here before, I'd felt that the clues weren't quite fairly given and that I didn't have a chance to solve it before (or at the same time) as our detective. The clues are definitely there this time and I was bright enough to latch onto them. Go me! One quibble that still remains is the dialogue style. In every book so far, there are many instances where I feel that I am overhearing a coded conversation; that there is much being left unsaid that Gently apparently understood and if I only had the code book I would understand the apparent non sequiturs too. That's somewhat annoying. Added to that this time is the river folks' dialect (which is pretty tough to work through) and it doesn't help that Gently starts talking that way too when he's questioning some of them. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Despite my quibbles, this is a nicely plotted mystery and I enjoyed it more than any I've reviewed previously on the blog. <span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★★</span><span style="background-color: #fff3db; color: #f1c232;">★</span> and 1/2.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">First line: There was something wrong at Sloley's Yard.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last line: "It's a mistake, my being a bachelor."<br />*****************</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Deaths = 3 ( two shot; one natural)</span><br /></p>Bev Hankinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01127476456755776574noreply@blogger.com0