“Speaking From Among the Bones”, by Alan Bradley

 

416 pages, Bantam Books, ISBN-13: 978-0385344043

In Speaking From Among the Bones, the 5^th installment of the Flavia de Luce mysteries, we find that Easter is approaching in Bishop’s Lacey, and St Tancred’s church is commemorating its 500^th anniversary by opening the tomb of the namesake patron saint. Flavia is eager to witness the exhumation for herself; however, on opening the tomb, the onlookers find not the moldering remains of St Tancred, but the recently dead church organist, Mr. Collicutt. Who wanted Mr. Collicutt dead? And why are some church officials so reluctant to proceed with the excavation? Once again, since Flavia is the one who found his body inside the tomb of St Tancred, she feels obliged to get to the bottom of the matter.

As usual, Speaking From Among the Bones begins and ends with Flavia de Luce. I mean, seriously, what a card; Bradley could write a dissertation on the dictionary and make it vivid, engaging and full of life – but only if he did so in Flavia’s voice. I’m sure I’m not the only one to wonder why she never goes to school; I can see why she has no friends her age, seeing as how, intellectually she would be head-and-shoulders above them all. But emotionally, she remains an 11-year-old girl; partially orphaned in a very dysfunctional and unloving family, her only confidante, Dogger, a shell-shocked, former prisoner of war who is, still, more than he seems. And yet, she lives, thrives and survives; perhaps these murders – and chemistry – are all that keeps her going?

I liked how this fifth book got the ball rolling rather quickly with the main murder plot, but there are a lot of other subplots from previous novels that are starting to come together here, as well: the de Luce family’s financial problems have finally come to a head, and Buckshaw is up for sale; there is a proper cliffhanger at the end, and the next book seems to be headed for a resolution of sorts. While, I suppose, it is not strictly necessary to read each and every one of the Flavia books in order, it certainly does help; seeing the changing family dynamic and the other issues involving the de Luce’s at last coming to some sort of resolution – for good or for ill – makes one realize just how emotionally invested one has become in their plight.

I have to say, however, that I miss Inspector Hewitt; oh, he makes oh-so-brief appearances towards the beginning and end of the book, but the banter between he and Flavia and his barely concealed respect/fatigue with our precocious protagonist are some of the things that I like about these books. And I really hope that Flavia can patch things up with both he and his wife, Antigone; this affection-starved young creature needs a surrogate father/mother in her life to guide her through life, seeing as her real mother is dead (I think) and her real father continues to isolate himself in his study with his stamps. And don’t get me started on Ophelia and Daphne; Flavia is not blameless in her relationship with her sisters, but she is more sinned-against than sinned.

Bradley has written into life a strange young girl who loves chemistry and poisons, who solves the most perplexing mysteries, who asks the most farfetched questions and who befuddles everyone in the world around her. And God love her for it. Sadly, just five more books to go…

“Solaris” by Stanisław Lem

 

203 pages, Arrow Books, ISBN-13: 978-0099063803

So, where in the hell does one begin with Solaris by Stanisław Lem? Well, in a nutshell, it is a deeply philosophical science fiction novel that follows a crew of scientists on a research satellite orbiting a planet-girdling, sentient ocean-like creature and their attempts to communicate with and understand this utterly alien intelligence. Seems simple enough but never forget, in Lem’s universe things are never this straightforward, for as he once lamented: “Behind every glorious façade there is always hidden something ugly”. Yikes. So, this is not light reading and rather unusual in Sci-Fi, seeing as such pessimism is rare in a genre that typically considers the future as the place where Everything’s Gonna Be Alright. Maybe this is why Lem provokes such mixed feelings among other Sci-Fi fans; I suppose this should come as no surprise, seeing as how critics of Sci-Fi often fault the medium for leaving deep psychological depths untouched.

Which is something you can’t say about Solaris, which is a mind-f**k of a book if ever there was one. The scientists attempting to connect with the alien intelligence on the planet find this creature taking their inner psychological aspects and bringing them forth into the world – made real, as it were, often in surprising and mostly disturbing ways; as a result, the exploration of this strange world and the creature inhabiting it takes on a disturbing, dreamlike quality, a haunting that the human visitors cannot escape, since it seems grounded in their own minds. Here we find another of Lem’s themes: the limitations of human intelligence and how it plays an important role in defining the drama and tension of the story. The naïve positivism (as seen by Lem) in so much Sci-Fi – especially Western Sci-Fi – is instead replaced by a realistic skepticism that challenges many of our most basic assumptions.

Lem had a rather contemptuous view of much of the Sci-Fi being written in his time, seeing as so many of the “Aliens” encountered weren’t really alien at all; that is, they were quite recognizable by humans (indeed, often resembling humans but for a few minor differences), communicated with humans in ways all could understand, understood humans (mostly) and their motivations, and so on and so forth. But the question Lem puts to us in Solaris is what would happen if humans encountered an alien lifeform – a truly alien lifeform – that was unrecognizable as a lifeform at all? That did not or could not communicate in ways we understood? Did not or could not understand human drives and motivations? That was beyond our understanding? That was…well, alien? If Solaris is anything to go by, the results of such a close encounter would be disastrous for the humans involved, seeing as our minds couldn’t handle such a meeting.

Since his death in 2006, Lem’s reputation as a writer of speculative Sci-Fi has improved (isn’t that always the case?) and his work has come in for a reappraisal. I am one such person, for when I first read Solaris I wanted nothing more than to set fire to the damn thing and then read other, better books. But as I have matured, I can better appreciate where he was coming from and what he was trying to say, so much so that I myself now have a vaguely contemptuous view of much Sci-Fi and their so-called aliens. So, by all means, read Solaris and try to grasp the Deep Thoughts that Lem was trying to explore, but be prepared to be alternately intrigued and frustrated by a writer writing on a plane most of us cannot reach.

“The Vicious Circle: Mystery and Crime Stories by Members of the Algonquin Round Table”, edited by Otto Penzler

 

304 pages, Pegasus Books, ISBN-13: 978-1933648675

The Vicious Circle: Mystery and Crime Stories by Members of the Algonquin Round Table was compiled by Otto Penzler, the German-born American editor of mystery fiction and proprietor of “The Mysterious Bookshop” in New York City. So, I guess one could do worse to find an editor of these short stories written by (let’s be honest) these long-forgotten American writers. These dozen stories by nine authors – Marc Connelly, Robert Benchley, S.J. Perelman, Ring Lardner, Alexander Woollcott, George S. Kaufman, Howard Dietz, Dorothy Parker and Edna Ferber – are here gathered as a kind of showcase as to their diversity of talent, for these writers were really known for other types of writing.

As to the subtitle (for any of you who didn’t know), The Algonquin Round Table was a group of New York City writers, critics, actors and wits who met for daily lunch at the Algonquin Hotel from 1919 until roughly 1929. “The Vicious Circle” (as they dubbed themselves) started meeting initially as part of a practical joke, while during these luncheons they engaged in wisecracks, wordplay and witticisms that, through the newspaper columns of Round Table members, were disseminated across the country. It may seem strange to us today that writers could be stars, but this was, or course, a different time – a more literate time; that they have been by-and-large forgotten can be read anyway you’d like.

I’ve said before about compilation works that the quality can vary from one story to the next, but I found this not to be true with this collection. While the terms “mystery” and “crime” in the subtitle might be stretching things a bit, this is still a great collection of light fiction that was really a joy to read and that took one back to the Roaring 20s. The style was that of the old pulp fiction magazines of the era, filled as it is with so many clever and acidic blurbs from a bygone age; yet upon reading it is easy become immersed in this world a century gone. The Vicious Circle is also, I might add, a reminder of the fleetingness of fame and the permanency of greatness, in this case, light literature from a time more concerned with the written word.

“Magpie Murders” by Anthony Horowitz

 

496 pages, Harper, ISBN-13: 978-0062645227

When I assigned Magpie Murders by Anthony Horowitz for my Mysteries & Munchies book club via the Fraser Public Library, I had no idea that an adaptation would begin broadcasting on PBS just a few months later. Whoops. Anyway. Anthony Horowitz is an English novelist and screenwriter who has written several novels and been behind many TV series, contributing scripts to ITV’s Agatha Christie’s Poirot and Midsomer Murders, as well as being the creator and writer of the ITV series Foyle’s War, Collision and Injustice, and the BBC series New Blood. So the guy has murder running through his veins and it shows in this book.

What we have with Magpie Murders is an embedded narrative in which Susan Ryeland, the editor of the mystery author Alan Conway – known for his well-received series of novels centering upon detective Atticus Pünd (and for being very difficult to work with) – reads his latest (and possibly, last) novel, but when she completes the manuscript she finds the last chapter is missing; shortly afterwards, she also hears that Alan Conway has died – possibly a suicide. In order to discover the whereabouts of the final chapter, Susan begins an investigation of her own and finds that the novel may have been based on true events, causing someone to murder Conway.

So then what we have here is a mystery within a mystery, in which the “real” Susan Ryeland shadows the “fictitious” Atticus Pünd as they each attempt to solve a corresponding mystery and bring the wicked to justice. The book is divided into two halves, the first following Atticus and the second Susan, as each goes about their detecting ways, allowing Horowitz to play with mystery conventions in ways that are often clever…but that sometimes come off as artifice, as if he were trying too hard. But those instances are few and more often than not the wink wink attitude of the book works, especially if you are a fan of the mystery genre.

Anyway, Book One is a more or less a traditional British mystery à la Agatha Christie, well executed with excellent depth of detail and interesting characters, supposedly written by a writer named Alan Conway. As a stand-alone mystery it functions admirably in the tradition of Hercule Poirot (indeed, Atticus Pünd could be called the German answer to the Belgian detective). Pünd is an estimable protagonist whose deductive reasoning is logical and easy to follow, and when he wraps his tale up at the end one is satisfied that the facts fit and that justice was done. If Horowitz hadn’t used this tale as the centerpiece of his send-up it would have been a fine story as is.

In Book Two Susan Ryeland seeks out the missing chapters of the manuscript she is supposed to be editing and ends up attempting to solve the possible murder of the author, Alan Conway. It turns out that there are many parallels between the author (Conway) and his protagonist (Pünd), to say nothing of the world he created and the world in which he lived. All of that is well handled and interesting, but Ryeland’s search for missing material layers red herring upon red herring, almost as if Horowitz was trying to stretch his tale out. But it is entertaining nonetheless, and the game the reader plays as he recognizes standard mystery tropes adds to the reading.

Magpie Murders, then, is a clever send-up of mysteries, their writers and even their readers, but it isn’t too clever. And as mysteries go, both tales are solid, logical and satisfying, making this book a mysterious two-fer for fans of whodunnits everywhere.

“Unquiet Spirits: A Sherlock Holmes Adventure”, by Bonnie MacBird

 

512 pages, Collins Crime Club, ISBN-13: 978-0008201081

Unquiet Spirits: A Sherlock Holmes Adventure is the second such mystery written by Bonnie MacBird, the first being Art in the Blood (reviewed on _). As in that first book, MacBird utilizes the same motif as Conan Doyle in saying that she did not, in fact, write this book but was given the manuscript – and several others besides – that were written by the very late Dr. John Watson. So in that regard, as in others, Unquiet Spirits follows the formula laid down by Sir Arthur, one of the ways in which MacBird keeps faith with the creator of Sherlock Holmes.

Unquiet Spirits revolves around the goings-on of a Scottish distillery that may or may not be haunted (see what she did there?). There is murder most foul – and graphic; like in Art in the Blood, MacBird does not shy away from blood and gore as Conan Doyle did – or, just as plausibly, had to do, seeing as he was writing in and for a much different era. And it would appear that MacBird has done her research in regards to her portrayals of the people (famous and no), the politics, the architecture and the joys and trials of the years covered in the Sherlock Holmes’ stories.

MacBird again captures the flavor of the original tales and there are some clever twists along the way. Her Holmes seems a bit more prickly and obnoxious than more traditional portrayals, rather more in keeping with Jeremy Brett’s take on Sherlock, if I may be so bold. Those who don’t imbibe spirituous beverages might become bored with all the details of the whisky distilling business, but it’s not too distracting. And no-doubt purists may find fault in some of what she does, but considering Conan Doyle’s not writing any new novels, these stories can fill the void nicely.

And I have to confess that, though I may be an outlier, I like Vidocq – not the character per se, but rather the raconteur who, while quite annoying and very French, is also a catalyst for the plot and good for some one-liners. My biggest problem is probably Mycroft; not MacBird’s take on the character but the character himself, whom I always thought was rather too convenient. No wonder Holmes gets as much done as he does, what with a brother who is, according to Conan Doyle, the British Government and thus can pull just the right strings when called upon.

So Unquiet Spirits is flawed but who cares; I’m just glad that someone, somewhere is still churning out Sherlock Holmes stories that come closer than not to capturing the voice of the maker.

“And Then There Were None”, by Agatha Christie

 

300 pages, Harper Mystery, ISBN-13: 978-0062073488

I first read Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None back in junior high when it was still called Ten Little Indians (which is still an improvement over the British title Ten Little N******; I kid you not). The book is the world’s best-selling mystery with over 100 million copies sold, also making it the sixth best-selling title in any language, reference works included. Once completing it, you will no doubt understand why this is so.

Without spoiling the book too much, it begins when eight strangers arrive on a small, isolated island off the Devon coast, each having received an unexpected personal invitation to the same; they are met by the butler and cook/housekeeper who explain that their hosts, the mysterious and unseen Ulick Norman Owen and Una Nancy Owen (take note of those names) have not yet arrived, though they have left instructions for their care.

From there, people begin to drop off one-by-one, one after the other until…there were none. The plot is structured around the ten lines of the children’s counting rhyme Ten Little Soldier Boys, with each of the ten victims (the eight guests plus the two caretakers) being killed in a manner which reflects one of the lines of the rhyme (also killed, off the island, is the island’s recent owner). Which children’s rhyme would that be? Here you go:

 

Ten little Soldier Boys went out to dine; One choked his little self and then there were nine

Nine little Soldier Boys sat up very late; One overslept himself and then there were eight

Eight little Soldier Boys travelling in Devon; One said he’d stay there and then there were seven

Seven little Soldier Boys chopping up sticks; One chopped himself in halves and then there were six

Six little Soldier Boys playing with a hive; A bumblebee stung one and then there were five

Five little Soldier Boys going in for law; One got in Chancery and then there were four

Four little Soldier Boys going out to sea; A red herring swallowed one and then there were three

Three little Soldier Boys walking in the zoo; A big bear hugged one and then there were two

Two little Soldier Boys sitting in the sun; One got frizzled up and then there was one

One little Soldier Boy left all alone; He went out and hanged himself and then there were none

This is a stand-alone work without any of Christie’s usual characters, which is one of the reasons why I selected it for the Fraser Public Library’s Mysteries & Munchies book club. As the sales numbers would indicate, the reason for its lasting popularity is because it has to be one of the best mysteries ever written. Each character is distinct and well-developed, their deaths are gruesome and, if one is to be perfectly honest, well-deserved, and the ultimate perpetrator is shocking.

While my childhood-level of detective work left much to be desired, I remember being both enthralled and shocked by the level of carnage being perpetrated on this small island and how the killer was able to get away with it all. And no wonder: who else but Christie could have dreamt-up such a baffling, complex, seemingly-unbelievable mystery that makes perfect sense once the killer is revealed and their methods and motives explained? Nobody.

And Then There Were None is a brilliant whodunnit that richly deserves its laurels as one of the best mysteries ever written, one that will stay with you long after you close the covers – oh, and if you must, the BBC One miniseries which aired in December 2015 was excellent, while the 1945 film is pure caca.