Tag Archives: British crime fiction

The Thief: Ruth Rendell

My copy of The Thief, which has rather large print, is a morality tale about a young woman named Polly, who learns, as a child, that theft can be a way of exacting revenge. When we first meet Polly, she is 8 years old. Following Polly’s refusal to listen to her aunt, Polly is pulled aside and smacked for her behaviour. This is all done in a rather odd pathological manner, with the aunt leading Polly away, promising to “show” Polly something. Without speaking a word, Auntie Pauline smacks Polly “hard, ten sharp blows across her bottom.” Polly doesn’t tell her mother but instead, in revenge, Polly steals one of her aunt’s library books. …

Freud would probably love that story: Polly’s aunt doesn’t tell Polly WHY she’s smacking her and the incident is never addressed. It’s tucked away neatly into Polly’s psyche and theft becomes a rewarding way of behaving whenever Polly is upset, humiliated or thwarted. It’s a covert way of getting her own back. A method of empowerment.

In adulthood, Polly doesn’t mend her ways … that is until she meets Alex:

She mostly told him the truth. It wasn’t hard to be truthful with him.

He is making me a better person, she said to herself.

Polly flies to New York to attend a wedding and is unfortunate enough to sit next to an obnoxious man called Trevor Lant. He’s a nightmare passenger and these days would be thrown off the plane (serve him right too). He makes a nuisance of himself and then hits on Polly. When she dismisses his advances, Trevor humiliates her, making her journey hell, but what’s even worse, he’s there on the plane for the return trip.

Faced with Trevor’s aggression, Polly strikes back and she reverts to her old behaviour. When the opportunity arises, she steals Trevor’s suitcase. …

Due to the short length of the story, events pile upon each other rapidly. This is not Rendell’s best work but should appeal to fans. Rendell is fascinated with the motivations for crimes, the dirty little secrets that spill out despite efforts to contain and control them. In The Thief, Polly finds it easier to revert to her old behaviours, and then once she is on that old, well-trodden path, she finds it impossible to find another way. In the past Polly has dealt with people by stealing (and lies), and all of these incidents have ended with Polly feeling a hollow triumph, but this time, she crosses paths with someone who makes her look like an amateur.

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Those People: Louise Candlish

“Was it any wonder he did what any other desperate person would do? Gather all the alcohol he could find in the house and drink every last drop of it.”

We’ve all had problems with neighbours at some point or another, so there are a lot of horror stories to share. Perhaps that’s what makes Louise Candlish’s novel Those People so readable. Once I picked this book up, it was hard to put it down.

Those people

The novel is set in a London suburb: Lowland Gardens. It’s just a short jog over to the horrors of the poverty stricken, crime-ridden Loughborough estate, so the people who live in Lowland Gardens, mainly young couples with children, are all too aware that crime lurks nearby. These houses have risen steeply in value over the last few years. People are proud to live there and everyone pulls together to keep up standards. Everyone that is … until Darren Booth and his wife Josie move in. …

While the cat’s away, the mouse was staging some sort of coup d’état.

Number 1 Lowlands Way, a semi-detached house, has stood empty for some time following the death of the owner. It’s of no small concern to the other residents of the street as the council recently tried a landgrab. Most of houses don’t have off street parking, and so parking space is an issue. Darren Booth moves into number 1 and immediately pisses everyone off.

The first clue that something was amiss that Friday evening was that the parking space outside his house was occupied by a filthy white Toyota so decrepit it was bordering on scrap. Certainly not the vehicle of anyone he knew on Lowland way.

First there are amateur repairs (which include sketchy scaffolding) taking place all hours of the day and night. Then there’s the heavy metal rock music played in the wee hours. Then if there wasn’t already too much to tolerate, Darren brings his used car business to the estate and starts flogging cars in the once posh neighbourhood.

All of this could almost be funny. There are several snobby people in the neighbourhood, and the snob squad is led by Naomi Morgan one of the estate’s Great Organisers. Naomi is one of those ultra efficient, brisk, perfect women whose word is Law. Several of the neighbours attempt remonstrating with Darren; his music for example has made it impossible for the baby on the other side of the semi-detached wall to sleep, and that’s when Darren’s nastiness surfaces. He drives the neighbours crazy and while the horrified neighbours band together to complain to various official/legal channels, there is basically nothing they can do but live with the situation as all legal channels move as fast as frozen molasses.

The situation is a powder keg, and so inevitably things explode: Naomi and her much-over shadowed sister-in-law Tess created Play-out Sundays, so on Sundays the street is closed off and the children play outside. Everyone goes along with the plan and residents park on another street. But Darren Booth doesn’t comply with the established clan culture, and this leads to the first disaster.

I got to a certain point in the book, and then I realised that there was a lot more afoot. The plot begins with witness and neighbour statements which are taken by police after a horrendous accident takes place. There was still a good portion left of the book, and so I knew things were not as simple as they initially appeared.

Author Louise Candlish creates incredible tension between the characters. Events escalate rapidly and people find themselves in unexpected positions, trying to find solutions to an untenable situation. She also shows how Darren is a catalyst for other events that occur which cause the rot lurking beneath this posh neighborhood to emerge. Wives look to their husbands to ‘take care of things’ and then despise them when they can’t (legally). Naomi and Ralph have had the perfect life (which they like to flaunt through their constant suggestions for how others can improve their lives: “double glazing!!” ). Naomi’s domineering character emerges and she’s so used to getting her own way, that when she doesn’t, her rather off-putting nature becomes more apparent. And then there’s poor Sissy who is paying her mortgage by turning her home into a B&B (probably not the best idea..) and the B&B happens to right opposite Darren’s house… well there goes the neighbourhood.

At first opposition to Darren seems rooted in class, and class plays an enormous role in this tale. Darren doesn’t ‘fit’– he doesn’t ‘look’ as though he’s a homeowner, so Naomi’s (domestically trained) husband, Ralph, assumes that Darren is some cheapo worker employed by Number 1’s new owner. As the story develops though, it’s clear that while class may have sparked, and fueled divisions, Darren is a nasty person.

Reading the book made me think about how we so often just comply politely. Perhaps we don’t have enough skin in the game to thwart others or perhaps the stakes just aren’t worth it, but Darren senses he’s not welcome and then figuratively gives everyone the finger.

The plot wobbled a bit at the end, but for its genre, Those People is very well-done. While this may seem like a beach read, Those People tackles a lot of moral questions regarding our obligations to others. The neighbors, already subject to considerable marital/financial/social stress join together to band against Darren, but they are all self-interested at heart. Social media, and texts play a role as does surveillance–all ways for people to get themselves in trouble. It’s a good reminder that casual comments that may have no sinister meaning can quickly become incriminating under the right set of circumstances.

Review copy

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And Then Put Out The Light: E. C. R. Lorac (1949)

E.C.R. Lorac’s (Edith Caroline Rivett) very readable Golden Age mystery And Then Put Out The Light opens with massage therapist, Gillian chatting with one of her many clients, Mrs. Bentham. It’s one of those odd intimate and yet non-intimate encounters shared by clients and professionals in which personal information is frequently divulged. This is certainly true in this instance when Gillian and Mrs. Allison Bentham discuss the recent, sudden death of Mrs. Lilian Mayden, a malicious woman who was disliked by everyone in the North Midlands Abbey town of Paulborough (with the exception of her equally toxic housekeeper/ former nurse, Garstang), a snobby little town inhabited by “ecclesiastical aristocracy.

It seems odd that Mrs. Mayden, a “chronic hypochondriac” dropped dead of heart problems when she’d never shown a sign of having cardiac issues before.  But wait … Mrs. Mayden’s previous doctor (now retired) prescribed heart pills to his patient basically to shut her up, but her new doctor said they were unnecessary and stopped the treatment; now Mrs. Mayden is dead. On top of this controversy, Mrs. Mayden’s long-suffering, browbeaten, spineless husband Guy is embroiled with a local girl who is pregnant, and right before Lilian Mayden’s sudden death, Guy asked for a divorce.

Gillian turned and faced her. “Well, it was a horrible thing to think of saying, but a woman like Mrs. Mayden might have made the mildest of men feel murderous.”

“My dear, my dear, never say that again,” pleaded Mrs. Bentham, “and if you hear anybody else saying it, stop them! It’s so easy to say, but so hard to unsay it.”

“But, Mrs. Bentham, no one on earth could think that of Guy Mayden. He’s the kindest, easiest-going fellow, and he was an angel to her.”

“Yes. He was.” Mrs. Bentham gave a great sigh. “You weren’t born and brought up in Paulborough, my dear. I was. I know that under the very shadow of that great Abbey there is more envy, hatred, malice and all uncharitablenness than in any godless ramshackle township in the Middle West. Plant a seed of slander in this soil and it grows. You should know that. You said just now, ‘She tried to ruin me.’ In any other place than this she wouldn’t have had much chance of success, would she?” 

In Paulborough’s claustrophobic snobby society, which runs with Victorian morality (there’s frequent reference to Trollope, by the way), rumours spread like wildfire. Mrs. Mayden, who loved to spread gossip, and even kept records of her malicious scandalmongering behaviour, was loathed and feared by everyone. Yet her death, rather than bury all the tensions in the town, seems to stir things up. First everyone leaps to the obvious conclusion that somehow or another Guy managed to murder his wife (not that anyone blames him) but then other past gossip begins to surface.

“Do you know there wasn’t a place in the town I could buy a bottle of scotch without Lilian finding out and raising hell about it?” He took the glass from her and drank thirstily. “Of course, she was brought up as a rabid T.T.,” he went on. “Before the war I never bothered. We never had so much as a bottle of beer in the house.”

The police arrive on the scene after being informed by Miss Garstang that she believes Mrs. Mayden was murdered. Emma Garstang claimed to know who killed her employer and how. … Enter Chief Inspector Robert Macdonald.

At not quite 200 pages, this is a mystery that rips along, and E.C.R. Lorac’s writing style makes this a swift, pleasant read. Well structured dialogue and strong characterisation brings the inhabitants of Paulborough to life. I managed to guess the identity of the murderer and I suspect that most die-hard crime fans will do the same. Still this is an entertaining read that recreates post WWII Britain and its shifting socioeconomic and moral landscape.

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The Colour of Murder: Julian Symons (1957)

“What can you say about a marriage? You peel off the years, seven of them there had been, like the skin off an onion, and there’s nothing inside.”

John Wilkins is, at least on the surface, an ordinary sort of man. He isn’t a great achiever, and following the collapse of the family business (and the family fortunes), he takes a job with Palings, a large Oxford Street store. Eventually, he climbs the ladder and becomes assistant manager of the Complaints Department. His lacklustre, passionless marriage to May is stale. She’s a social climber who married John thinking he had more potential (and money) but now they are stuck in a rut. To the joyless May, some people are “worth cultivating,” and so the couple’s social life, organised by May, is built on “little dinner parties or bridge parties or television parties.”

And then one day, John meets Sheila, a librarian. …

The colour of murder

The book’s first section is mostly composed of a lengthy statement from John Wilkins to consulting psychiatrist, Dr. Max Andreadis (along with a couple of letters). John opens up to Dr. Andreadis, telling him things he’s told no one else. Following bouts of drinking, John has blackouts, and wakes up with no memory of his actions. Plus then there are hints of a troubled sex life:

I found out something else too, and this was about myself, I had always been I suppose what you might say an innocent young man. I had never thought much about girls, and as I’ve said I had not been successful with them, so that although I knew what to do, I was inexperienced. What you have never had you don’t miss, they say. I don’t know about that, but I do know that now I had May I wanted her. What was more, even in that first week I became aware that I wanted her in special ways and wanted her to do certain things, usual perhaps.

Oh dear.

John’s statement allows us to see into his mind. On one hand he seems like a very ordinary man, unsatisfied with life and marriage, but lacking the energy to do anything about it. At the same time there are troubling hints that he may be a little unbalanced. Yes, the blackouts, of course, but then there’s a stint from the army in his past along with the complaint that “people who hadn’t got a quarter of my intelligence and enthusiasm got one stripe and even two stripes up while I remained a trooper.” Does John have a realistic image of himself? On a couple of occasions, he’s “gone out for lunch, had a couple of drinks, and apparently not returned [to work] in the afternoon.” John seems more concerned that his boss doesn’t believe his story about blackouts than the fact that he’s boozing at lunch until he sinks into oblivion. This latter behaviour doesn’t seem to worry him at all!

John’s life begins to go out-of-control after meeting Sheila. He makes a complete idiot of himself on several occasions, but again, the interview reveals that John is not dealing with reality. Soon he’s fascinated by a murder case in which a man beat his wife to death, and then John hints at divorce to May. When she won’t take the hint, he asks his Uncle Dan the best way to murder someone. Hypothetically, of course.

The book’s second section concerns, yes, you’ve got it, a murder trial. But who has been murdered is The Big Question. As Martin Edwards points out in his lively introduction, The Colour of Murder is a “whowasdunnin.” As the plot, full of colourful characters, progresses in the book’s second section, we eliminate possible victims, and then the book concentrates on the court case. There’s a brassy prostitute, a mild-mannered, humble private investigator, a father who relishes the court case, surreptitiously smuggling custard cream biscuits into the courtroom, and a solicitor who picks his nose. Then finally, there’s John Wilkins, a man whose reflection seems from a shattered mirror. You can’t really tell what is there, how dangerous he is. ….

As noted in a recent read from Julian Symons, The Belting Inheritance, we’ve read this sort of plot before, but the delight emerges in how Symons tells his tale. Symons really is a first class storyteller

Review copy

 

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Helping with Inquiries: Celia Dale

“The slivers of ice which were her buried resentments against Leonard strangely hardening rather than melting in her astonishingly found new climate.”

I can’t remember where I first heard the name of author Celia Dale, or how I came across her books, but a recent dig through the TBR stacks led me to grab Helping With Inquiries, a novel from 1979. At first I thought I was reading a police procedural, but no, this is a deeply psychological character study–a tale of bitterness, isolation, control and motivation for murder.

helping with inquiries

Helping with Inquiries (and what a great innocuous title that is) begins with Leonard Henderson, a married man in his 60s, a creature of absolute rigid habit, an advertising manager at an old-fashioned dying company, arriving back home after a day’s work. Leonard and his wife, Enid live in a pleasant, semi-detached home in a quiet, middle-class neighbourhood. It’s a terrible shock, then, for Leonard to return home to Cherrywood Crescent and find his wife Enid, a woman that no one seems to really know or talk to, battered to death in the front room.

The Hendersons have lived next door to the their neighbours, the Thorpes for over 20 years, and although they share a “thin party-wall” the two couples only ever exchanged a nod or the few odd words. The Thorpes heard nothing, saw nothing, and are in a state of shock that something like this could have happened in their quiet street.

D.S Simpson and DI Hogarth, two very different men with two very different styles investigate the case. There’s a definite good-cop-bad cop game afoot with Simpson’s strong social skills and affability and the laconic Hogarth who prefers to ambush suspects and witnesses with rudeness. Whereas Simpson is “delighted” by human nature “as intriguing manifestations of the bizarre,” Hogarth is interested in motive only in as much as it furthers the investigation

This view of his profession gave him a majestic insensitivity which was often useful, outraging or stunning people into shows of emotion that under gentler handling they might have controlled. While they erupted or collapsed, a mind as shrewd if not as intelligent as any judge’s ticked away inside Hogarth’s balding head. If there were something to be noticed, assessed, slotted into place, Hogarth would do it.

As the police detectives poke around the Henderson home, they discover that while no one seems to really know Enid (she has no friends, no social life) she was a magpie, “her untidiness had been concealed, stuffed into drawers and cupboards.”  According to Leonard his wife was “a middle-aged woman, –a domesticated, simple, not very clever housewife,” and yet someone hated her enough to beat her to death. But is this a random crime? There’s an alley that runs along the back of the houses. Did some “maniac” wander into the home and murder Enid? 

As the novel unfolds, a couple of suspects emerge. Leonard is required to make a written statement, and Leonard’s short, succinct sentences are then juxtaposed with the history of Leonard’s miserable childhood, dominated by a cold, cruel and domineering woman while Leonard’s father cringed in the background. As Leonard’s statement later continues to explain how he met Enid, author Celia Dale cleverly reconstructs their courtship and married life. Enid is dead when the book opens, and yet her character is constructed in detail, so that just who she really was is clearly evident.

Yes, this is a crime book, but it’s brilliantly constructed with Dale showing just how much can be accomplished by a crime novel, and while bulky DI Hogarth may not care about motive, readers do. Dale creates a fascinating picture of domestic life and an inexorable case of murder.

Finally, Dale can write. There are some marvellous moments here–most I can’t include due to spoilers. At one point, Leonard lands a job, after the war, at Forbes’ for Furnishing.

Behind their majestic frontage decline and fall could be sensed. The Board was ageing, the holding company impatient for them to be gone; real estate was more real now than Forbes’ for Furnishing. There was no future there and Leonard knew it with a bitterness that burned deeply behind his cool facade. The Advertising Department consisted of no more than Leonard himself, whatever trainee youth was going through the store, and a typist. The advertisement copy was written by an outside agency and appeared mainly in appropriate local and provincial newspapers. It was, he knew sourly, a dead end job. But at least, he was, at last, Manager.

Enid’s happiness was tactlessly great. She brought a bottle of sparkling white wine with which to celebrate his first week, kissed him and pressed her face against his for a moment. ‘I’m so glad for you Lenny darling. It’s such a relief. I know how anxious you’ve been all these months. And being in an old-fashioned firm’s much nicer really, isn’t it. even if it’s not quite so important.’

In a way she was right. Shutting his mind to everything he might have preferred, he sank himself into the work, treating his tiny department as though it were the most important in the firm, himself its ruler. So the years settled in Cherrywood Crescent, muffling all sounds. 

The book is also a snapshot of its times with reference to Mrs Woodhouse, Women’s Lib and bottom-pinching considered normal behaviour at work.

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The Day of the Dead: Nicci French

The Day of the Dead is an ominous title for the final book in the Frieda Klein series from husband-and-wife writing team “Nicci French” (Nicci Gerrard and Sean French). For those playing catch-up, this is the eighth book in the series which follows London psychologist Frieda Klein. I’ll add here that in spite of the fact that this book includes many repeat characters, it can be read as a standalone, but if you want to get a bit more out of the story, I’d recommend that you read at least the first one in the series: Blue Monday.

the day of the dead

The Day of the Dead begins with a horrific incident in London which leaves many people wounded, but as the police begin to investigate what seems like an accident, the incident turns into something much more sinister. This murder case initially baffles police, but then another body surfaces, and another, and another…..

Meanwhile, Frieda Klein (who doesn’t appear until we’re really deep into the plot) is in hiding. In Blue Monday, she met serial killer, psychopath Dean Reeve, and although he was supposedly dead at the end of the book, Frieda has insisted to the police for years that Dean was still alive. And considering how her life has been turned into a theatre of blood and murder since meeting Dean, she may be onto something.

Dean Reeve is the ultimate predator, and over the course the series he’s played a cat-and-mouse game with Frieda, always close by, always circling. To some, Frieda’s claims about Dean Reeve are too fantastic to be believed, and she is regarded as an attention seeking nut, a woman “who has left a trail of havoc behind her,” but Frieda also has her defenders.

In The Day of the Dead, the police finally have to acknowledge that Dean Reeve is alive, and into his current string of showy murders stumbles a young confused criminology student named Lola who has become so interested in Frieda that she decides to write a dissertation “deconstructing” the psychologist. Lola seeks Frieda and manages to find her, but with Dean Reeve circling, Lola doesn’t want to leave Frieda’s side. Frieda is in hiding for a reason as she knows that those close to her are in danger from Dean. Frieda knows that Dean “is reaching the end. One way or another.” 

Although this book clocks in at just over 400 pages, it was a very quick, addictive read. The novel’s strongest point, IMO, is that Frieda, having dealt with Dean Reeve, never underestimates him. Psychopaths are underestimated by novices who cannot even begin to imagine how someone like Dean thinks. Most of us are lucky enough to live our lives without ever crossing the path of a psychopath, but if you’re unfortunate enough to ever tangle with a sicko and survive, you move forward into an unsettling life. The authors nailed this feeling.  As the novel builds to its inevitable crescendo, the pacing is excellent. While Frieda seems to have reached a zen-like plateau in her acceptance of this, her final duel with Dean, the character of limpet-like Lola is rather annoying. The authors pulled a bit of a switcheroo with the plot, and I might have been a bit annoyed about it had I not already guessed it. Still, if you are in the mood for a a crime novel that sucks you and and refuses to let go, then The Day of the Dead may fit the bill.

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Bats in the Belfry: E. C. R Lorac (1937)

E. C. R. Lorac’s Bats in the Belfry begins with a handful of people gathered together following the funeral of a young Australian. The topic of death holds sway, and then a young woman, Elizabeth, brings up “an intellectual exercise” set for discussion at her club:

If you were landed with a corpse on your hands, by what method could you dispose of it so as to avoid any liabilities?

A lively discussion ensues with various methods suggested, but oddly, actress Sybilla, the bored, unhappy wife of author Bruce Attleton has the best suggestion. In fact, her method seems to have been refined –almost as though she has given it some thought. Sybilla’s husband, Bruce, notes that one of the guests appears shocked by his wife’s calculated approach towards the disposal of  a body, but notes that his wife is “quite in the Borgia and Lady Macbeth tradition, when you thought Sybilla only played drawing-room comedy?” Discussing the best way to get rid of a body is hardly polite talk, but it’s a seemingly harmless discussion that has greater significance when a nasty blackmailer appears on the scene and Bruce vanishes …

Bats in the belfry

Bruce’s suitcase and passport are found in an artist’s studio in Notting Hill, and when a headless and handless corpse is found in the same location, it seems probable that Bruce is dead.

The novel’s main characters (and suspects) are introduced right away: Bruce Attleton and his wife Sybilla, friends Thomas Burroughs, Neil Rockingham, Robert Grenvile and Bruce’s ward Elizabeth. Bruce had more than his share of enemies (including his wife) and so most of the book is devoted to the police procedural with the intrepid Inspector Macdonald at the helm of the investigation and its convoluted solution.

Unfortunately I guessed the villain very early in the novel, so that took away a lot of enjoyment, but I enjoyed the portrayal of Sybilla and her “apparently lazy make-up” (as in character). The novel is also dated with one character who punctuates his sentences with the verbal tic,“what?” a mention of “over-sophisticated, man-hunting pseudo-intellectual females,” and reference to a “queer-looking dago with a pointed beard.” Still I enjoyed the atmosphere of 1930s London and the arty-crowd.

Review copy

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Death Makes a Prophet: John Bude (1947)

“If there are many roads that lead to perdition, then there are as many that lead to salvation.”

I’d read 5 John Bude novels before arriving at Death Makes a Prophet. There was an unhappy marriage and a dead husband down on the farm in the 1936 The Sussex Downs Murder.  Then I read the 1952 Death on the Riviera in which serial character Scotland Yard’s  Inspector Meredith is hot on the scent of a counterfeiting ring. Then came 1935’s The Cornish Coast Murder along with a vicar who reads too many crime novels. The Lake District Murder, published in 1935, is a grimmer novel, but then humour returned in The Cheltenham Square Murders (1937) which concerns a handful of residents in an upscale neighbourhood. There’s adultery, bankruptcy, nosy neighbours and what’s more someone is taking their archery club membership to extremes by shooting the dashing Captain Cotton (wife stealer) through the head with an arrow.

Even though Death Makes a Prophet is now my sixth John Bude novel, I was unprepared for the comedy here. The novel concerns a religious cult centered in the town of Welworth:

Death makes a prophet

Welworth is not an ordinary town. It is that rarefied, mushroom-like, highly individualistic conglomeration of bricks and mortar known as a Garden City. There is no house in Welworth over thirty years old. There are no slums, monuments, garden-fences, bill-boardings or public houses. There is a plethora of flowering shrubs, litter baskets, broad avenues, Arty-Crafty Shoppes, mock-Tudor,  mock-Georgian, mock-Italianate villas. There is, of course, a Health Food Store selling Brazil Nut Butter, cold spaghetti fritters, maté tea and a most comprehensive and staggering range of herbal pills and purgatives. Per head of the population, Welworth probably consumes more lettuce and raw carrot than any other  community in the country. A very high percentage of the Welworth élite are not only vegetarians, but non-smokers, non-drinkers and non-pretty-much-well-everything-that-makes-life-worth-living for the less high-minded citizens.

So Welworth is a town that attracts those who wish to live a certain lifestyle. These days we might say it’s a hippie community, or a crystal-waving town.  While there are 57 (!) religions in Welworth, the most “queer, somewhat exotic sect” is the Children of Osiris. Founded by Eustace K. Mildmann, the sect is also known as the Cult of Coo–or the religion of Coosim.

Clearly Bude is having great fun here with his subject. The timid Mildmann, a former bookseller, is Coo’s prophet and a sincere believer while the “financial prop, the true director of policy” is the wealthy, bombastic, insufferable Mrs. Alicia Hagge-Smith.

When the novel opens, Mrs Hagge-Smith claims to have had a vision of holding an “al fresco Convention”–a “gathering” of all of Children of Osiris (who will be housed in tents) at her country estate, Old Cowdene. Mildmann is horrified but the crafty, slimy Pen Penpeti, the so-called prophet-in-waiting, who claims to be a reincarnation of a “priest in the temple of Amen-Ra” is on the sidelines, flattering and stroking Mrs Hagge-Smith’s bloated ego. There’s a rift within the sect, and with money, power and influence in the offing, there will be murder….

A ferment was at work; small hostilities were growing, vague jealousies were gaining strength; little intrigues swelling into obsessions. And far off, no more than a dark speck beyond a horizon, wasn’t there a nebulous hint of approaching tragedy in the air?

Death Makes a Prophet is the funniest book I’ve read so far from the British Library Crime Classics. Bude very wisely mixes his characters, so we get sincere believers of Coo mixed with the opportunistic (Penpeti) and those who just need a paycheck (Mrs. Hagge-Smith’s secretary). Plus then there are those innocent bystanders such as Mildmann’s adult son, Terence who is given sixpence a week pocket money and is forced by his father to wear “rational clothing.” Terence dreams of steak and kidney pudding, sneaks out for secret meat binges, and falls in love. Great fun.

Review copy.

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Sunday Silence: Nicci French

“After all, you’re a psychiatrist. You’re an expert in people’s dark sides.” 

Sunday Silence is the seventh novel in the Nicci French (husband and wife writing team Nicci Gerrard and Sean French ) Frieda Klein series. If you haven’t at least read some of the series, then you don’t want to start with this book. In fact you need to go back to the beginning, to Blue Monday, the first Frieda Klein novel, which introduces the complicated world of our London-based psychotherapist Frieda Klein, and also her arch-nemesis, Dean Reeve.

Sunday Silence

Sunday Silence opens with Frieda’s world becoming (once again) the object of public scrutiny. A body is discovered under the floorboards of her London home, and since Frieda’s house/office has become a crime scene, she finds she must relocate, at least temporarily, to her friend, Reuben’s house.

The prickly Chief Inspector Petra Burge is in charge of the investigation, but the crime pulls Detective Chief Inspector Karlsson, who’s out on leave due to a broken leg, and Constable Yvette Long back into the game. Other returning series characters include: builder Josef (who discovered the body during renovations) and Frieda’s troubled niece, Chloe. It’s always satisfying to reconnect with series characters and see how their lives have progressed. In Reuben’s case, he’s suffering from cancer.

The body is identified as ex-policeman Bruce Stringer who was hired by Frieda to find Dean Reeve, so of course, the finger points towards Dean Reeve as the murderer. Dean Reeve was thought to have committed suicide years earlier, but Frieda has always insisted that he’s still alive. This murder seems to prove that she’s right.

Frieda is as complicated as ever, and as usual, she never reacts as she is expected to react. As the case gains national attention and reporters circle, there’s one scene that takes place during a press conference. She’s been groomed as to how she should behave.

Frieda opened her eyes. “There are psychiatrists who are interested in violence and evil but I’m not one of them. I’m a therapist and I deal with ordinary unhappiness. I don’t have any big theory about Dean Reeve. At a certain point in his life, I just got in the way.”

Months pass, and the furor over the crime dies down, and then attacks begin on people in Frieda’s life. … Frieda, a character full of contradictions, must curse the day she ran into Dean Reeve. And while she says she ‘just got in his way,’ we can’t help but feel that there’s a bit more afoot. It’s a terrible thing to become a psychopath’s object of interest, and the more he understands about his victim, then the more vulnerable that person becomes. Will this page-turner (one of the best of the ones I’ve read in this series) bring a close to the near-invisible cat-and-mouse relationship that’s existed between Frieda and Dean?

Regular readers of this blog know that I have a fondness for books about therapists, so I enjoyed this one.

I always thought it was a mistake for Frieda to live AND work in the same place. Just saying…

There’s an eighth book in the series: Day of the Dead scheduled for July 2018 in the US

Cleo also read and enjoyed the book. (UK title: Sunday Morning Coming Down)

Review copy

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Filed under Fiction, French Nicci

Just What Kind of Mother Are You?: Paula Daly

So I’m back for my third Paula Daly novel. I thoroughly enjoyed The Mistake I Made for its bold voice, but The Trophy Child didn’t quite get my attention in the same way.  Just What Kind of  Mother Are You? has been lingering in one of my TBR stacks and for some reason, it was the sort of book I needed to read over the New Year.

Just what kind of mother are you

The book is set in the Lake District–a place where the real estate values make affordable housing difficult, but it’s also an area that attracts the well-to-do.

Gone are the days of the cheap and cheerful B&Bs, the fifteen-quid-a-nighters, including a full cooked breakfast. That doesn’t exist any more. The Lakes have a different clientele now. The walkers, hikers and outdoorsy types still frequent, but the place caters more for the country-retreat brigade. They want marble-tiled bathrooms as big as Joanne’s house. They want Michelin-starred restaurants. They want midnight cruises with pink champagne.

Lisa Kallisto is a working mother-of-three, a woman who runs a local animal rescue (more of that later). The novel opens with a scene depicting her harried life, so it’s easy to understand how some things just slip out of her grasp. Her daughter Sally had arranged a sleepover with friend, Lucinda, but then Sally cancelled at the last minute. Lisa failed to follow through on communication, so when Lucinda is reported missing the next day, some of the blame falls on Lisa’s shoulders.

Scenes of Lisa’s chaotic household are contrasted with a dinner party that took place months earlier at the home of Lucinda’s family: Guy and Kate Riverty. There’s a huge class divide which is embarrassingly clear from the time Guy opens the door and glances at Lisa and husband Joe’s clothes. And Kate’s bitchy sister, Alexa makes sure that the class difference is rubbed into Lisa’s nose.

But let’s get back to Lucinda’s disappearance. This is the second teenage girl to go missing (the first was taken and then later dumped still alive), and even as DS Joanne Aspinall searches for Lucinda, a third girl goes missing….

This is a pageturner. Part of the narrative is told by Lisa in the first person, and then sections concern Joanne (a very compelling police character) and the investigation. Small sections are told by the perv, and these brief sections included a bit more info than I wanted to know.

Anyway…

Lisa’s voice is compelling and drives the action forward. Some of that action occurs at the animal shelter, and also there’s a scene when Lisa makes a house call to rescue cats from a hoarder. I don’t know how Paula Daly gathered the information to create these scenes, but in my unpleasant experience, Paula Daly nailed the commodification of animals perfectly.  But the story is primarily  about the kidnap and rape of teenage girls who are being hunted by a predator who lives somewhere in the Lake District and moves freely, using his charm and looks to prey on the naive. There’s a subtext about appearances and how a good front can cover so much unhappiness:

It’s a strange thing to see these people’s lives displayed in this way, a hidden insight into the real workings of the family, but I suppose that’s what happens after a catastrophic event such as a child going missing. Or an overdose. The layers of respectability and properness are removed and, in an attempt to get to the truth, the family is stripped bare. Left exposed for all to see.

The ending was wrapped up a little too quickly, but I did not guess the outcome of the story. While I thought Joe’s reaction to something he’s told by Alexa (no spoilers here) was a little unbelievable, overall if you are looking for an absorbing crime read full of nasty people, then this is for you.

Cleo’s review

TBR challenge

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Filed under Daly Paula, Fiction