The Blurb (from Goodreads):
The great Dorothy L. Sayers is considered by many to be the premier detective novelist of the Golden Age, and her dashing sleuth, Lord Peter Wimsey, one of mystery fiction’s most enduring and endearing protagonists. Acclaimed author Ruth Rendell has expressed her admiration for Sayers’s work, praising her “great fertility of invention, ingenuity, and wonderful eye for detail.” The third Dorothy L. Sayers classic to feature mystery writer Harriet Vane, Gaudy Night is now back in print with an introduction by Elizabeth George, herself a crime fiction master. Gaudy Night takes Harriet and her paramour, Lord Peter, to Oxford University, Harriet’s alma mater, for a reunion, only to find themselves the targets of a nightmare of harassment and mysterious, murderous threats.
My Thoughts:
The tenth book in the Lord Peter Wimsey detective series by Dorothy L. Sayers has been called ‘a literary masterpiece’, perhaps because it is the longest, the slowest and the mostintrospective. It cannot rightly be called a murder mystery, as there is no murder. It is set in
an all-woman’s college in Oxford, where a malicious person is sending anonymous poison letters and destroying property. Harriet Vane, Lord Peter’s love interest, agrees to help the college because it is where she did her degree – the story that follows is as much about the
psychological makeup of a wide variety of characters as it is about the solving of the mystery.
Most fans of Dorothy L. Sayers agree that the books which include Harriet Vane are among her best. This may be because Harriet humanises Lord Peter, making him vulnerable and fallible. In some of the books, he is all glitter and glam – a wealthy aristocratic bachelor driving fast cars, buying rare first editions, drinking the very best wine, a virtuoso pianist, a fine athlete who can do a perfect swan dive and a backflip (no less). Harriet Vane is much more real. She is a detective novelist who struggles with her craft, a scandalous woman who was accused of poisoning her lover, an independent soul who wants to live life by her own terms. She first appeared in Book 5: Strong Poison where Lord Peter falls in love with her at first sight when he sees her standing in the dock accused of murder. She appears again in Book 7: Have His Carcase where she discovers a young man with his throat cut on a deserted beach and calls on Peter to help her find the culprit.
You must read those books before tackling Gaudy Night, the third book in which she appears, as the slowly unfurling romance between Harriet and Peter is the source of much of the pleasure of the book. The character of Harriet Vane also seems to give insight into the psyche of Dorothy Sayers herself – she was one of the first generation of women to receive an Oxford education, graduating BA with first-class honours in 1915 and as an MA in 1920, and she too had troublesome relationships in which she struggled to balance the expectations of society with her own desire to write.
This book is also interesting in the history of Golden Age crime, as it was one of the first to focus on the human psychology of the mystery, rather than just presenting a clever intellectual puzzle to unravel.
You might also like to read my review of Strong Poison by Dorothy L. Sayers:
https://kateforsyth.com.au/what-katie-read/book-review-strong-poison-by-dorothy-l-sayers
One of my all-time favourite children’s authors is Frances Hodgson Burnett, the author of ‘The Secret Garden’ and ‘A Little Princess’.
She was born on 24 November 1849, in Cheetham, near Manchester in the UK. Her father died when she was only three and after struggling along for some time, her poverty-stricken mother emigrated to the US when Frances was 16, settling in Tennessee. Frances began writing and publishing stories at the age of 19 to help earn money for her family.
She became friends with a lame boy called Swan Burnett who lived across the street and introduced him to all the books she most loved. Soon she was earning enough money from her writing to move her family into a bigger house and to travel to Europe. She returned to the US to marry her childhood sweetheart, Swan Burnett, and then they lived in Paris for a few years (lucky thing!) She had two sons, Lionel and Vivian.
Her first novel ‘That Lass o' Lowries’ was published in the UK and UK in 1877 and she went on to write several more novels for adults. After meeting Louis May Alcott, she decided to try her hand at writing for children and ‘Little Lord Fauntleroy’ was published in 1886 (people mock her for this book today, but it was hugely popular at the time and prompted a fashion for little boys to wear velvet suits with lace collars and long hair, which is how she liked to dress her own sons).
Life was not all sweet, however. Frances’s marriage was in trouble, and then her eldest son contracted tuberculosis. His death plunged her into depression, but she continued to write, publishing numerous books for adults with titles like ‘A Lady of Quality’ (1896) and ‘The Making of a Marchioness’ (1901). Her eventual divorce from her husband caused a scandal.
At this time she turned away from her traditional faith in the Church of England to embrace Spiritualism. She lived separately from her husband and became involved with a handsome younger man who had ambitions as an actor.
In 1905 she published ‘A Little Princess’, which I absolutely adored as a child and read many times. A few of my favourite quotes:
“Whatever comes," she said, "cannot alter one thing. If I am a princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside. It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in cloth of gold, but it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the time when no one knows it.”
“How it is that animals understand things I do not know, but it is certain that they do understand. Perhaps there is a language which is not made of words and everything in the world understands it. Perhaps there is a soul hidden in everything and it can always speak, without even making a sound, to another soul.”
“If nature has made you for a giver, your hands are born open, and so is your heart; and though there may be times when your hands are empty, your heart is always full, and you can give things out of that--warm things, kind things, sweet things--help and comfort and laughter--and sometimes gay, kind laughter is the best help of all.”
From 1898 to 1907, Frances lived in England at Great Maytham, an old country house which had been damaged by fire and let half in ruins. One day, aided by a robin, she found the old walled garden dating from 1721 sadly overgrown and neglected. She had the garden restored, planting hundreds of roses, set up a table and chair in the gazebo, and - dressed always in a white dress and large hat - wrote a number of books in her secret garden’s peace and tranquillity.
Her younger lover Stephen Townsend came to live with her there, scandalising the vicar, and so in February 1900 she married him. The marriage was very unhappy and Frances suffered depression and illness. Two years later, she divorced him.
Frances was inspired to write her most famous book ‘The Secret Garden’ by her own discovery of the forgotten garden at Great Maytham, though much of it was written at another grand country manor house, Buile Hill Park.
The book’s working title was ‘Mistress Mary’, referring to the English nursery rhyme Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary. It was first serialised in The American Magazine from autumn 1910, then published in the summer of 1911 by Frederick A. Stokes in New York, and by Heinemann in London. The 1911 edition was illustrated by M.B.Kork.
It is one of my own all-time favourite books. I have read it dozens of times. I think my own love of flower, plants and gardens (especially secret gardens) was inspired by this book. I particularly love the sense of joyousness in the book, and the feeling that magic and miracles can happen if you just believe hard enough. Some quotes:
“One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands out and throws one's head far back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one's heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun--which has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of years. One knows it then for a moment or so. And one knows it sometimes when one stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with the millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in someone's eyes.” ― Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
“I am sure there is Magic in everything, only we have not sense enough to get hold of it and make it do things for us” ― Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
The Blurb (from Goodreads):
Sophie needs to pay the rent and a story on the occult would sell around Hallowe'en time. The Lodge of the Seven Stars is good for research but Sophie's a sceptic and doesn't believe in any of the rituals. Until she meets The Wanderer who has a story to tell her.
My Thoughts:
As a special birthday treat to myself, I chose to re-read a favourite book every year. This year I chose Angel of Ruin by Kim Wilkins, one of my favourites of her books. It’s a dual timeline novel (one of my favourite genres), moving between the story of Sophie Black, a freelance journalist struggling to make a living in modern-day London, and the lives of the three daughters of John Milton, famous for ‘Paradise Lost’, a long poem about heaven and hell. The two timelines are both vivid and real, and skilfully woven together, unlike many novels with a similar narrative structure where one thread is much more engaging and readable than the other.
Angel of Ruin is one of those books where it’s difficult to write a précis of the plot without spoiling it. I will do my best! The tale begins with Sophie, heartbroken and broke, trying to think up a good subject to write about so she can bring in some quick cash. Halloween’s coming up, so she thinks a piece on modern-day occult worshippers might sell. She inveigles her way into a small group who call themselves the Lodge, hiding her scepticism so she can watch some of their ceremonies. The only thing that piques her interest is the mention of an old woman who tried to tell her life story to one of the members. The group is afraid, and conduct various cleansing and protection rituals, warning Sophie that she must be careful not to go anywhere near the old woman. Sophie is intrigued. She decides to find out more.
The narrative then moves back in time to the seventeenth century where the blind poet Milton is labouring away on his great epic poem. His three daughters assist him, with varying degrees of love and respect. One day they summon an angel named Lazodeus, and their lives are changed forever. Gradually, step by step, they are drawn into desire, betrayal, black magic and murder, while London suffers through the coming of the plague and the Great Fire.
This book is such a beguiling mix of history, romance, and the supernatural – I loved it all over again.
Get your copy of Angel of Ruin hereYou might also like to read my review of Lighthouse Bay by Kimberley Freeman:
VINTAGE BOOK REVIEW: Lighthouse Bay by Kimberley Freeman
The Blurb (from Goodreads):
In an exciting timeslip tale, Claire finds an old trunk filled with her grandmother's treasures, including an old star-shaped brooch covered in sequins
Why does Claire's wealthy grandmother own such a cheap piece of jewelry? The mystery deepens when the brooch hurtles Claire back in time to 1932. Australia is in the grip of the Great Depression and people seek distraction from their problems through entertainment. There's the famous horse Phar Lap, cricket hero Don Bradman, and then there are circuses. Claire finds herself stranding in the camp of the Sterling Brothers Circus. Rescued by Princess Rosina, a beautiful trick rider, Claire is given a job in the camp kitchen. Life is hard, but she makes friends with Rosina and Jem, and a boy named Kit who comes to the circus night after night to watch Rosina perform. When Kit is kidnapped by a fanatical political group, it's up to Claire, Rosina, and Jem to save him. But Claire is starting to wonder just who Kit and Rosina really are. One is escaping poverty and the other is escaping wealth—can the two find happiness together?
My Thoughts:
Many of you may know that Belinda Murrell is my elder sister, and so I have to admit to a strong partiality to any book I read of hers. The Sequin Star is the latest in her very popular timeslip series for teenage girls. The action follows a modern-day Australian girl named Claire who finds herself thrown back in time to a Great Depression-era circus in 1932. She is rescued by a warm-hearted girl named Rosina who is riding on the back of an elephant. Claire has no way of getting back to her own time, and so begins to work in the circus. As well as Rosina and her pet monkey, Claire makes friends with two boys from very different backgrounds. Jem’s family is dirt-poor and living in a shanty town, while Kit has a chauffeur and lives in a mansion. Kit comes to the circus night after night to watch Rosina ride her beautiful dancing horses, not realising he is putting himself in danger. When Kit is kidnaped, Claire and her friends have to try and work out the mystery in order to save him. The Sequin Star is exactly the sort of book I would have loved to have read in my early teens (in fact, any time!), and it gives a really vivid look at life in Sydney in the early 1930s. Loved it!
You might also like to read my review of Pureheart by Cassandra Golds:
https://kateforsyth.com.au/what-katie-read/vintage-book-review-pureheart-by-cassandra-golds
The Blurb (from Goodreads):
When a disfigured corpse is discovered in a country parish, the local rector pleads with Lord Peter to take on what will become one of his most brilliant and complicated cases.
My Thoughts:
The Nine Tailors is the ninth book in the Lord Peter Wimsey series by British writer Dorothy L. Sayers, and was published in 1934. I have been reading my way through her oeuvre in order of publication, and was very glad to reach this one as it’s always been one of my favourites. It’s been interesting to witness both the growth of Dorothy Sayers as a novelist and the growth of her amateur-detective as a character. This is another intriguing mystery -something she does very well - but the vividness of the setting and the warmth and realism of the minor characters all lift The Nine Tailors above the ordinary.
The story is set in the Fenland village of Fenchurch St. Paul on New Year's Eve. Lord Peter Wimsey is stranded there after his car runs into a ditch, and is invited to stay by the vicar. Peter then helps ring a nine-hour peal on the church bells after one of the ringers is struck down with influenza. Lady Thorpe, the wife of the local squire, dies the next morning. Their family has been impoverished for years after a valuable emerald necklace was stolen 20 years earlier. The family’s butler was blamed, tried, and convicted, along with his accomplice, but the necklace was never recovered.
When the squire dies the following Easter, his wife's grave is opened so he can be buried inside her. To everyone’s consternation, the corpse of an unknown man is found within. The vicar calls on Peter to investigate, which he does with his usual acuity and flair.
At the heart of the book is the art of campanology, or bell-ringing. I have always loved the sound of church bells, and I found the descriptions of the bells and their central role in the story absolutely fascinating. A lot of people don’t, I know, and so they skip the passages where Dorothy writes about campanology – but then they find the mystery baffling. My advice – read every word. You still won’t guess who the murderer is, but you will enjoy the sheer beauty and poetry of Dorothy’s writing and when the mystery is finally solved, it will make perfect sense. Here is a sample – be aware that all bells are female and all bells have names:
“The bells gave tongue: Gaude, Sabaoth, John, Jericho, Jubilee, Dimity, Batty Thomas and Tailor Paul, rioting and exulting high up in the dark tower, wide mouths rising and falling, brazen tongues clamouring, huge wheels turning to the dance of the leaping ropes. Tin tan din dan bim bam bom bo--tan tin din dan bam bim bo bom--tan dan tin bam din bo bim bom--every bell in her place striking tuneably, hunting up, hunting down, dodging, snapping, laying her blows behind, making her thirds and fourths, working down to lead the dance again. Out over the flat, white wastes of fen, over the spear-straight, steel-dark dykes and the wind-bent, groaning poplar trees, bursting from the snow-choked louvres of the belfry, whirled away southward and westward in gusty blasts of clamour to the sleeping counties went the music of the bells--little Gaude, silver Sabaoth, strong John and Jericho, glad Jubilee, sweet Dimity and old Batty Thomas, with great Tailor Paul bawling and striding like a giant in the midst of them. Up and down went the shadows of the ringers upon the walls, up and down went the scarlet sallies flickering roofwards and floorwards, and up and down, hunting in their courses, went the bells of Fenchurch St. Paul.”
You might also like to read Whose Body and Clouds of Witness by Dorothy L. Sayers:
https://kateforsyth.com.au/what-katie-read/book-review-whose-body-and-clouds-of-witness-by-dorothy-l-sayers
'Bastille Day' commemorates the famous Storming of the Bastille on 14 July 1789, a key turning point in the French Revolution. It is a day to celebrate freedom, democracy, and liberal ideas, usually by the eating of delicious French-inspired food & the drinking of much champagne.
The Bastille was a notorious fortress-prison in Paris where many people were confined without trial or hope of release, making it a symbol of the absolute power of the monarchy. At the time of the attack there were only seven prisoners in the prison, but the Bastille also held a large cache of ammunition and gunpowder which the Parisian mob needed in their struggle to overthrow the despotic feudal system.
Six weeks after the storming of the Bastille, the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen was proclaimed – one of the key foundations tones of rights many of us now take for granted.
My novel The Blue Rose is set during those tumultuous years in France.
Here is how I describe the storming of the Bastille:
It was difficult to rest. The sky was lit up with a reddish glare. Throngs of people ran through the streets, looting shops, stealing sacks of grain and wheels of cheese and bottles of wine, brandishing stolen muskets and pistols. The duke had ordered all the doors barricaded with furniture, and shots fired over the heads of anyone who tried to break in. At dawn, every bell in the city was rung with a great clangour. Guns boomed. Drums rumbled. The streets were full of the clatter of running feet.
Yvette failed to bring Viviane her coffee and pain au chocolat for breakfast. Tying a wrapper over her nightgown, she went down to the servants’ quarters. There seemed fewer than usual. Yvette and Henri were hunched over the newspapers, their faces white and frightened. They looked up as Viviane came in, and rose to bow and curtsey, but she thought she saw hostility in their faces. She wanted to tell them that she was a duchess against her will, that she did not believe she was born better than any of them, but thought miserably no-one would believe her.
‘Pardon, madame,’ Henri said. ‘We did not know you were awake. Go back to bed, and Yvette will bring you something to eat.’
But when it came, her coffee was cold and bitter, and the bread was stale.
Looking out into the street from behind her shutter, Viviane saw that many of those marching in the streets were now wearing a cockade of red and blue ribbons, the medieval colours of Paris. They were laughing and singing and dragging cannons. Women and children as well as men, many with nothing more than a rolling-pin or broomstick as a weapon.
Viviane quickly unfastened the blue ribbon from her favourite shoes and fashioned it into a rosette. She dressed herself in her oldest gown, borrowed some sabots from Yvette’s room, and slipped out into the streets, the rosette pinned to her cap.
Viviane had to know what was happening. She could not bear to be confined within the duke’s palace any longer.
She knew it was stupid. The streets were dangerous, unpredictable.
Yet it was more like a festival than a riot. People were dancing along, arm-in-arm, waving wine bottles and slurring the words to old marching songs:
Three young drummers were coming back from war.
Three young drummers were coming back from war.
And ri, and ran, rap-at-ap-lan,
Were coming back from war.
‘We’re off to the Bastille!’ a woman shouted to Viviane. ‘To get us some gunpowder.’
‘We’re going to join the National Guard,’ another said, laughing.
‘Drink!’ another cried, shoving a bottle in her face. ‘To the Third Estate!’
Viviane drank obediently, and almost choked on the roughness of the wine.
‘Why are the cockades now blue and red?’ Viviane dared to ask, instinctively mimicking the woman’s Parisian accent. ‘Yesterday they were green.’
The woman spat on the ground. ‘Green is the colour of the Comte d’Artois, the king’s brother and our enemy. It was he who persuaded the king to sack Monsieur Necker! He plots with the queen to grind us down into the dirt. No, we are free Parisians! Red and blue are our colours.’
‘Red for blood,’ a wild-eyed woman slurred, ‘and blue for freedom!’
‘To the Bastille!’ someone shouted.
The shout was taken up by a hundred voices. ‘To the Bastille!’
They began to sing again. Viviane sang with them. Soon the crowd marched into the forecourt before the Bastille. It stood dark and silent, its drawbridge raised, cannon pointing their dark muzzles towards the crowd. Viviane felt a sudden qualm. She had better return, she thought, before anyone realised she was gone.
But one of the women slung a heavy arm across her shoulders. ‘Down with the Bastille!’ she screamed, took a long swig of wine, then passed the bottle to Viviane.
Viviane drank deeply, laughing a little as the women all began to sing again. She felt alive, as she had not done for months. She was like a starling in a vast swirling murmuration, moving as if with a single mind, the moment sharpened by the presence of the silently hovering hawk.
It was well after noon, and the sun beat down from a cloudless sky. Carts filled with burning straw and dung were drawn up near the gatehouse, to hide the movements of the attackers. As the heat intensified, so did the anger of the crowd. ‘Give us the Bastille!’ they screamed.
Some men had climbed onto the roof of a nearby shop, then scrambled onto the gatehouse. They sawed away at the chains holding up the drawbridge. Suddenly the chains snapped. The drawbridge crashed down. People trapped beneath screamed in pain, but the crowd surged forward, over the bridge and into the fortress.
A sudden loud explosion of cannon fire. Then the rumble of muskets.
‘They dare shoot at us?’ one of the women cried. ‘We’re unarmed!’
Caught up in the rage of the moment, she ran forward, brandishing her rolling-pin.
For a while, all was chaos. Smoke rolled across the courtyard, making Viviane cough. Then a great roar resounded.
A white handkerchief waved from one of the tower windows.
Moments later, a gate swung open. A man, his face contorted with rage, rushed forward and slashed with his sword at the guard opening the gate. The guard’s hand was chopped off. Blood sprayed out. With a howl, the hand was impaled on a pike and paraded high, still holding the heavy iron key.
Cold rushed over her. Viviane swayed. People hurried past. Pushing and shoving. Shouting and screaming. She groped her way free. Her stomach roiled. She reached a wall, leant against it, retched. When her stomach was empty, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stumbled away.
Viviane remembered her father’s rapier, hissing down. David’s cry of pain. His maimed hand, running with blood. His severed finger, still encircled with gold.
Somehow she got herself back to the duke’s townhouse.
She had left the garden door unfastened. She crept through and locked it behind her, standing with her back pressed against it, her breast heaving. It was hard to catch a breath.
The mood of the crowd had changed so quickly. One moment Viviane had been singing with the other women, the next guns were firing and swords slashing.
No-one had noticed she was gone. Viviane made it safely to her room. She rang for hot water. When at last it came, she washed herself free of the smoke and the grime and splatters of blood. She dressed herself in her nightgown and crawled into bed.
But it was impossible to sleep.
Outside, the mob paraded the streets of Paris, the severed heads of the city mayor and the governor of the Bastille hoisted high on pikes.
The Blurb (from Goodreads):
This is the story of a bear-hearted girl . . .
Sometimes, when a person dies, their spirit goes looking for somewhere to hide.
Some people have space within them, perfect for hiding.
Twelve-year-old Makepeace has learned to defend herself from the ghosts which try to possess her in the night, desperate for refuge, but one day a dreadful event causes her to drop her guard.
And now there's a spirit inside her.
The spirit is wild, brutish and strong, and it may be her only defence when she is sent to live with her father's rich and powerful ancestors. There is talk of civil war, and they need people like her to protect their dark and terrible family secret.
But as she plans her escape and heads out into a country torn apart by war, Makepeace must decide which is worse: possession – or death.
My Thoughts:
Frances Hardinge is now officially my favourite writer for young adults. Her novel The Lie Tree was one of my best reads of 2016, and now she has enchanted me anew with A Skinful of Shadows which is just as dark, magical, intelligent and surprising.
Set during the English Civil War, one of my favourite historical periods, A Skinful of Shadows tells the story of Makepeace, a twelve-year old girl growing up in a Puritan community. Her mother locks her in a crypt on moonless nights, so that she can learn to fight ghosts. Makepeace begs her not to, but her mother is relentless. So Makepeace tries to break free. Her impetuous action leads to tragedy, and Makepeace finds herself a prisoner of the very people her mother had been trying to protect her from.
And Makepeace carries a dark and terrible secret inside her. She is possessed by the ghost of a bear.
A spellbinding and compelling tale of necromancers and cavaliers, hungry spirits and treasonous spies, A Skinful of Shadows thrums with magic, danger and intrigue. Makepeace is a wonderful heroine – clever, resourceful, compassionate and brave. And Bear, the wild fierce and unpredictable force within her, will just about break your heart. I am now eagerly hunting down Frances Hardinge’s other books!
The Blurb (from Goodreads):
Over the last decade, we have become better at knowing what brings us contentment, well-being and joy. We know, for example, that there are a few core truths to science of happiness. We know that being kind and altruistic makes us happy, that turning off devices, talking to people, forging relationships, living with meaning and delving into the concerns of others offer our best chance at achieving happiness. But how do we retain happiness? It often slips out of our hands as quickly as we find it. So, when we are exposed to, or learn, good things, how do we continue to burn with them?
And more than that, when our world goes dark, when we're overwhelmed by illness or heartbreak, loss or pain, how do we survive, stay alive or even bloom? In the muck and grit of a daily existence full of disappointments and a disturbing lack of control over many of the things that matter most - finite relationships, fragile health, fraying economies, a planet in peril - how do we find, nurture and carry our own inner, living light - a light to ward off the darkness?
My Thoughts:
I read and enjoyed Julia Baird’s mammoth biography of Queen Victoria, which I thought beautifully written and impeccably researched, but I was drawn to buy this book because of its title: Phosphorescence: On Awe, Wonder & Things That Sustain You When the World Goes Dark. (Oh, and because of the cover. It’s gorgeous!)
I am a seeker of awe and wonder. I spend my life pursuing moments of peak experience, searching for joys both small and immense, trying to live a life filled with meaning and purpose. I am draw to wild places and moments of enchantment. And I’ve always been fascinated by living sources of lights – glow-worms and fireflies and radiant jellyfish. I fill my fiction with them.
I also love books that weave together science, history, poetry, and personal memoir. I have similar books on bees, and roses, and apples, and birds, and mountains, and colours. So I was always going to love this book.
Essentially, it’s a collection of essays, many of which have been published in earlier forms before. As is to be expected, some are better than others.
I particularly loved the opening chapters, about swimming in the ocean, the need to immerse ourselves in nature, and searching for silence; and the final chapter, in which she quotes my favourite poet, Mary Oliver, and writes about her own rapturous encounter with phosphorescence, swimming in the dark off Manly Beach in Sydney:
“The sea was black and the sky was black and I felt a little nervous: sharks feed in the dark. But just a few metres out from the shore, the sparkles appeared. I was transfixed. My fingers threw out fistfuls of sequins with every stroke. A galaxy of stars flew past my goggles. It was as though I was flying through space, like the opening scenes of the Star Wars movies, gliding rapidly through a universe only I could see.”
But every essay was interesting, perceptive, well-written and full of warmth. And, drawn together in this way, they case light on the very human dilemma of longing for happiness, for meaning, for purpose, for connection. I thought this book was beautiful and wise and brave, and it’s one I will be dipping into again and again.
You might also like to read my review of Anaesthesia by Kate Cole Adams:
https://kateforsyth.com.au/what-katie-read/book-review-anaesthesia-the-gift-of-oblivion-and-the-mystery-of-consciousness-by-kate-cole-adams
The Blurb (from Goodreads):
Police corruption, an investigation that ends in tragedy and the mystery of a little girl's silence - three unconnected things that will prove to be linked by one small town.
While Detective Cormac Reilly faces enemies at work and trouble in his personal life, Garda Peter Fisher is relocated out of Galway with the threat of prosecution hanging over his head. But even that is not as terrible as having to work for his overbearing father, the local copper for the pretty seaside town of Roundstone.
For some, like Anna and her young daughter Tilly, Roundstone is a refuge from trauma. But even this village on the edge of the sea isn't far enough to escape from the shadows of evil men.
My Thoughts:
I can’t recommend this series of contemporary crime novels highly enough! If you are looking for cleverly plotted, superbly paced and character-driven police procedurals, you must check out Dervla McTiernan. Her first two books, The Ruin and The Scholar, introduced her hero DI Cormac Reilly, who works for the Irish Garda in Galway, in twisty, surprising and very atmospheric mysteries. In The Good Turn, the third in the series, other characters step to the front but the multiple points-of-view are so adroitly handled that there is no lessening of tension.
The book starts with a mute child and a mother who flees the city to try and save her from whatever has terrified her into silence. Then we have, in fairly quick succession, another child being kidnapped, and the shooting of the main suspect by a young police constable, Peter Fisher. He finds himself in disgrace, and sent back to his home village, a small place where his estranged father is the town cop. He’s put to work to tie up a few loose threads in a violent double murder, only to begin to suspect that the murderer is still at large and very close to home.
From this point on, the story gains momentum until I was honestly unable to put the book down – I was so worried for the main characters and so afraid of what might happen. And the ending was so brilliantly well done. This type of high-level crime writing is just addictive, and so I am now of course desperate for the next book in the series – I just hope Dervla is writing fast!
You might also like to read my review of Where The Dead Go by Sarah Bailey:
https://kateforsyth.com.au/what-katie-read/book-review-where-the-dead-go-by-sarah-bailey
