“Thrice the Brinded Cat Hath Mew’d” by Alan Bradley

 

368 pages, Bantam, ISBN-13: 978-0345539977

Well, I got my wish: at the end of my review of As Chimney Sweepers Come to Dust (reviewed on July 30^th, 2025) I said that Flavia de Luce belonged back at Buckshaw and Bishop’s Lacey – and at the end of that book we find that our favorite preteen chemist/detective/hellion was made a Double ‘F’ – Failed to Flourish – by Miss Fawlthorne and sent back to England, accompanied by her chemistry teacher (and acquitted poisoner) Miss Bannerman. As noted in that book, Miss Fawlthorne made a habit of assigning punishments to her students that were anything but, so this supposed demotion of Flavia should be seen rather as a reward for her solving a murder and generally being a perfect addition to the Nide. Thus, sending Flavia home is in no way a diminishment of Flavia or us, the reader, as the girl is back where she belongs (as to whether or not this will stay we must wait and see; there are, after all, only two books remaining – so far).

And not much has changed, either: Ophelia and Daphne – and now, Undine – all still work Flavia’s last nerves, while Dogger and Mrs. Mullet are as supportive as ever. But Flavia’s father, Colonel Haviland de Luce, has pneumonia and is in hospital, his health and fate unknown. As for Buckshaw, in spite of the fact that Flavia has inherited it from her mother, its ultimate fate is still up in the air as His Majesty’s Board of Inland Revenue is insisting on its pound of flesh – a storyline that is simultaneously believable, seeing as the United Kingdom’s appetite for taxes is bottomless, and tiresome, as it has been with us in these books since the very first. I get that it is an all-too realistic path to trod upon, but that path is now worn down so much as to have become a trench. Really, Alan, I’d like to see this thing settled already and move on from there (one would have thought that the de Luces as members in good standing of the Nide would have by now).

Okay, enough of that. After Flavia returns home she is confronted by the corpse of Mr. Roger Sambridge, a local carpenter, found by her trussed upside-down on his bedroom door. Naturally, Flavia is delighted: “How could I tell Clarence [the reliable Bishop’s Lacey cabby] that finding another dead body was anything but dreadful? On the contrary: It was thrilling, it was exciting, it was exhilarating, it was invigorating; to say nothing of electrifying and above all, satisfying. How could I tell the dear man that murder made me feel so gloriously alive?” Her investigations soon uncover a forgotten romance and tragic death involving Sambridge that occurred some years before, which also includes one Oliver Inchbald, Bradley’s answer to A.A. Milne (the writer of Winnie the Pooh), whose stories and verses about the charming ways and thrilling adventures of his toddler son are read by children all over the world, Flavia included.

The investigation aside, I think that Bradley has two focuses in this book, one being the ending of Flavia’s atypical childhood (tragically, I might add), the other being how both Author and Reader copes with that fact (I suspect it is harder for him than us, which may explain the three-year dearth of Flavia books). One of the clues to this is the subplot of Oliver Inchbald and his son, Hilary, and their ultimate fates, a literary mystery that, once the Reader figures it out, will probably break your heart (it did mine). The heartbreak of this fictional child (a kind of combination of the real Christopher Robin Milne and a gentlemanly Boo Radley) and the ruthless condemnation of the father takes on a disturbing poignancy if seen as Bradley’s reflections on his relationship with Flavia. If so, I dearly hope that he’ll get over it quickly now and do justice the beauty, power, tragicomedy and vulnerability of a real girl entering the crucible of adolescence.

I feel that Flavia has been treading water for the last two books (especially when you consider that Bradley had originally planned a six-book cycle). If the series is to succeed and end on a high-note, than Flavia must be allowed to grow up, as all children do – and, as is true in literary characters as it is in real life, this is a bittersweet process for those adults who know and love them. In Thrice the Brinded Cat Hath Mew’d, Bradley still couldn’t quite bring himself to allow Flavia to do so and move on – perhaps she will in The Grave’s a Fine and Private Place, or even in The Golden Tresses of the Dead. When that happens I will be as proud and sad as any parent to see a beloved child grow and change, hopefully for the better. Perhaps in some future date we will see books on Flavia the Spy, chasing Soviet agents in short skirts and go-go boots on a Vespa while making poisons and bombs to thwart the baddies. You listening, Alan?

“Strange Things Happen: A Life with The Police, Polo, and Pygmies” by Stewart Copeland

 

336 pages, It Books, ISBN-13: 978-0061791512

I liked The Police and their music, but I was never really a fan of either; that is, while I’d listen to their songs if they ever came on the radio or MTV – back when MTV played music videos – I never bought their albums or their merchandise or whatever. And while Gordon Matthew Thomas Sumner CBE – er, sorry: “Sting” – has all but sucked the oxygen out of everyone’s lungs as without question the most famous of the trio, there is also lead guitarist Andy Summers and drummer Stewart Copeland, the author of Strange Things Happen: A Life with The Police, Polo, and Pygmies. That subtitle should serve as fair warning to any die-hard The Police fan, for his time with the band gets short shrift; his many, many, other interests and obsessions occupy the vast majority of the book; so beware The Police fans. Beware.

Like, for instance, writing music for movies and TV, or composing a drum-centric opera or two (carefully side-stepping any mention that both were critical and commercial flops), fathering a brood of seven children with two wives, entering the prohibitively expensive world of polo (you need to own at least seven ponies just to qualify), his small collaborations with numerous bands, the weird low-budget fantasy film, The Rhythmatist, about traveling through Africa with a pretty girl referred to only as “a tall cool blonde”, and of course the titular pygmies, who are reduced from people to window dressing for Copeland’s brief, strange excursion into break-dancing (you read that correctly). So, Stewart is one happenin’ dude with a plethora of interests, and he wants YOU to know about each and every one of them, too.

Really now, Copeland’s life would be singularly colorful and memorable even if he wasn’t one of the founding members and rhythmic piledriver of one of the most powerful and successful musical acts of the post-punk New Wave movement; seriously, how many drummers wanted to emulate his uniquely aggressive yet subtle style that he stood alone in a room of the world’s most notable percussionists? Copeland is a musical genius, and I think that we all know that – HOWEVER, do we need to be told that over and over again by the author? A true genius is comfortable in his own skin and can let the facts speak for themselves, but Copeland feels the need to continuously point out how fantastic he is at music and percussion (yes), polo (um…I guess) and opera writing, staging and presenting (damned if I know).

It also doesn’t help that each chapter follows the same pattern, to wit: Stewart is confronted by an insurmountable problem; Stewart manfully takes on said insurmountable problem without a second thought; Stewart realizes that this insurmountable problem was even worse than expected; Stewart utilizes “System D” (a manner of responding to challenges that require one to have the ability to think quickly, to adapt and to improvise when getting a job done); Stewart pulls everyone together as a unit in order to rise above the odds and conquer this now very surmountable problem; Stewart smiles and exchanges knowing glances with the several personages involved over many expensive and foreign liqueurs; Stewart is pleased. The insurmountable problems may change but the implacable Stewart Copeland does not.

For all that, I can’t honestly say that I disliked Strange Things Happen. For all of his obvious need to tell us everything he did outside of The Police, I’m glad that he did, as Copeland’s mere decade membership in one of the world’s most popular and influential bands is but a small portion of his richly filled and atypical life, and his reflections make for terrifically entertaining reading. His dry wit and gimlet eye take apart anything and everything they land upon, not least himself (when he’s not subtly stroking his ego, that is; see above). There are hundreds of books out that musicians have “written”, but all do so with either a coauthor or are so juvenile in tone that they are virtually worthless. As original as Copeland is on his drums he is just as good pounding out terrific stories that entertain as they captivate. Sting who?

“Beethoven: A Life in Nine Pieces”, by Laura Tunbridge

 

‎ Yale University Press, 288 pages, ISBN-13: 978-0300254587

“Genius” is one of those overused words that loses its meaning as it is applied all-too often and all-too inaccurately so that, when one tries to use it where it is most needed, it is almost an exercise in futility. But Laura Tunbridge, Professor of Music at the University of Oxford, uses the word correctly and accurately in her biography of my dear Ludwig van in Beethoven: A Life in Nine Pieces. In a brisk 288 pages, she piles on the detail without ever becoming tedious, which makes us appreciate the misunderstood genius – that word again – better than many authors who use many more words and kill many more trees (looking at you, Alexander Wheelock Thayer, and you too, Maynard Solomon).

While I cringe even thinking about the word “revisionist”, Tunbridge does a wonderful job of reassessing and reevaluating what we think we know about the man – such as his curmudgeonly exterior, or his friendless existence, or his loveless life – all of which prove to be a less than an accurate portrait of the artist. Tunbridge accomplishes this task by showing Beethoven’s life through the prism of nine different compositions (plus the Ninth Symphony), each of which casts a different focus on a different aspect of Beethoven’s life, character and music. While discussing each piece in turn, it becomes obvious that Dear Old Ludwig van was not the curmudgeonly, friendless, loveless man we have been led to believe he was.

 

Septet in E-flat major for clarinet, horn, bassoon, violin, viola, cello, and double bass (Op. 20) was sketched out in 1799, completed and first performed in 1800 and published in 1802; it was one of Beethoven’s most successful and popular works and circulated in many editions and arrangements for different forces

Violin Sonata No. 9 in A major (Op. 47) is an 1803 sonata for piano and violin notable for its technical difficulty, unusual length (around 40 minutes) and emotional scope; it is commonly known as the “Kreutzer Sonata” after the violinist Rodolphe Kreutzer to whom it was ultimately dedicated (but who thoroughly disliked the piece and refused to play it)

Symphony No. 3 in E♭ major (Op. 55), known as the “Sinfonia Eroica”, or the Heroic Symphony, is a piece in four movements and one of Beethoven’s most celebrated works; the Eroica Symphony is a large-scale composition that marked the beginning of his innovative middle period

Fantasy for piano, vocal soloists, mixed chorus and orchestra (Op. 80), usually called the “Choral Fantasia”, was intended to serve as the concluding work for the benefit concert he put on for himself on December 22^nd, 1808; the performers consisted of vocal soloists, mixed chorus, an orchestra and Beethoven himself as piano soloist; the work is noted as a kind of forerunner to the later Ninth Symphony

An die Geliebte (WoO 140), the “Immortal Beloved” is the addressee of a love letter which Beethoven wrote between July 6-7 1812 in Teplitz. The entire (apparently unsent) letter is written on 10 small pages and was found amongst the composer’s papers following his death, after which it remained in the hands of Anton Schindler until his death where it was subsequently willed to his sister and sold by her in 1880 to the Berlin State Library, where it remains

Fidelio (Op. 72) is Beethoven’s only opera and premiered at Vienna’s Theater an der Wien on November 20^th, 1805; the libretto was originally prepared by Joseph Sonnleithner from the French of Jean-Nicolas Bouilly, while the following year Stephan von Breuning helped shorten the work from three acts to two; after further work on the libretto by Georg Friedrich Treitschke, a final version was performed at the Kärntnertortheater on May 23^rd,  1814 (by convention, both of the first two versions are referred to as “Leonore”)

Piano Sonata No. 29 in B♭ major (Op. 106), known as the “Große Sonate für das Hammerklavier” or more simply as the “Hammerklavier”, is a piano sonata that is widely viewed as one of the most important works of Beethoven’s third period and among the greatest piano sonatas of all time; completed in 1818, it is often considered to be his most technically challenging piano composition and one of the most demanding solo works in the classical piano repertoire, with the first documented public performance in 1836 by Franz Liszt in the Salle Erard in Paris

Missa solemnis in D major (Op. 123) is a Solemn Mass composed from 1819 to 1823 and was first performed on April 7^th, 1824, in Saint Petersburg, Russia, under the auspices of Beethoven’s patron Prince Nikolai Galitzin; an incomplete performance was given in Vienna on May 7^th, 1824, when the Kyrie, Credo and Agnus Dei were conducted by the composer; it is generally considered one of the composer’s supreme achievements and one of the most significant Mass settings of the common practice period

String Quartet No. 13 in B♭ major (Op. 130) was completed in its final form in November 1826; the number traditionally assigned to it is based on the order of its publication, for it is actually Beethoven’s 14^th quartet in order of composition and was premiered in its original form in March 1826 by the Schuppanzigh Quartet and dedicated to Nikolai Galitzin on its publication in 1827

 

Beethoven remains one of history’s most complex and fascinating artists, a composer who would brook no compromise when it came to fulfilling his creative vision, no matter whom may have been doing the criticizing (after all, “There are and there will be thousands of princes. There is only one Beethoven”). After all of the books I have read on Ludwig van, Tunbridge helpfully reminds us all that the man was, after all, human with many sides – for instance, he was sharp as a knife with music publishers all over Europe: with the Missa solemnis, for example, Beethoven managed to sell the score to multiple publishers while simultaneously flogging handwritten copies to heads of state and prominent artists.

On a more sober note, Tunbridge spares us none of the grimy details revolving around Beethoven’s seizure of his nephew Karl from his own mother, all the while composing one of the greatest and most challenging pieces of music ever made, the Hammerklavier. Or the political atmosphere surrounding the development of his one and only opera, Fidelio, and of course the wretchedness of his love life and the ongoing mystery behind the identity of “The Immortal Beloved”. The year 2020, the 250^th anniversary of Beethoven’s birth, should have seen a global celebration of his life and music but, because of the advent of The Virus of Uncertain Origin, it didn’t happen; maybe a mention in a newspaper or online forum, but the event came and went with nary a whimper.

But at least we have fresh insights via the written word and Tunbridge’s realization that brevity is indeed the soul of wit: by selecting a broad biographical playlist of some of Beethoven’s best (and least) recognizable works as hooks to successive chapters that elaborate a single aspect of the composer’s life and persona. And it works. We see how these pieces of music were influenced by events in the composer’s life at the time and how they informed his work and writing style, and we are left as mesmerized as we began by the breadth of vision, the depth of talent and he sheer tenacity to keep on keeping on in the face of adversity and setbacks that would have leveled a lesser man.

“Mr. Hockey: My Story”, by Gordie Howe, forward by Bobby Orr

256 pages, G.P. Putnam’s Sons, ISBN-13: 978-0399172915

Gordie Howe was the greatest hockey player ever. Ever, do you hear? Don’t believe me? Well, according to the blurb on the back cover, no less a personage than Wayne Gretzky thinks so, too. So there. When reading Mr. Hockey: My Story, one hears the voice of a modest man who just happened to have an extraordinary skill in playing Canada’s national game. And it’s a soft-spoken voice, at that. While Gordie – I call him Gordie – talks about his goals and assists and penalty minutes and all of the other stats he racked up over 25 years of playing hockey, one gets the impression while reading his book that he did so merely because he was expected to (with each record set down he is quick to mention when (if) the record in question was broken and by whom…Gretzky. It’s always Gretzky).

Gordie’s life is revealed over 200+ pages, briskly and without fuss. His birth in Floral, Saskatchewan, growing up during the Great Depression, learning to skate and play hockey as all good Canadian lads should, playing in the juniors and making it at last to the big leagues where he would stay for a quarter of a century, into his retirement and his return to hockey to play with his sons for the Houston Aeros and then the Hartford Whalers before definitively hanging up his skates for good. Most of the book deals with his career on the ice and about the business of hockey when the NHL had only six teams and both the game and the business was vastly different than it is today. Howe’s stories paint a good picture of what those times were like, but he is careful not to criticize either the game at that time or today’s players.

There are a plethora of touching moments when he talks about his personal life, especially his wife of 56 years, Colleen. Included in the book are letters they wrote to each other, both when they were courting and when he was away at training camp or on the road. There are also letters written by his sons included in the book and they helped the reader picture the man off the ice, a man who comes across as your prototypical American Dad circa the Glorious 50s (his daughters, I have to say, get rather short shrift; I guess they should have learned to play hockey?). For all that, Mr. Hockey doesn’t really reveal any great new details about the man, nor does it stray away from the tried-and-true format for sports biographies; he respects everyone, loves his life and has no regrets. Perhaps that’s all true, but…really, there’s little meat on these bones.

Mr. Hockey: My Story is not a bad book by any stretch, and it is good that we have Howe’s thoughts put down on paper for all time. The man himself was very plain-spoken and humble, oftentimes not giving himself enough credit for his accomplishments. While this isn’t necessarily a bad trait to have personally (though it cost him a fortune during his playing days due to lack of negotiating skills), to hear him explain it, he doesn’t come across as the Superman that other people make him out to be (the last chapter of the book, written by his family, explains things about him that contributed to his longevity and success). As for his popularity in the Motor City, that is easy enough to explain in Mr. Hockey’s own words: “If Detroit fans consider you to be one of their own, they’ll stick with you through thick and thin”.

“Sinkable: Obsession, the Deep Sea, and the Shipwreck of the Titanic”, by Daniel Stone

 

336 pages, Dutton, ISBN-13: 978-0593329375

Daniel Stone says in the Introduction to Sinkable: Obsession, the Deep Sea, and the Shipwreck of the Titanic that his book is “not…‘another book about the Titanic’. This is a look at our oceans and the junk we’ve left in them. It is a yarn about the oddballs and misfits who devote their lives to wayward ships. And it is a deep dive into the waters of our planet and what lurks, in every sense, just below the surface”. Except that his publisher, Dutton, didn’t read that bit, for Sinkable is unquestionably marketed as “another book about the Titanic”, although to be fair to Stone it is, just as he says, much more than that (but the HMS Titanic – and all of those who obsess about her – takes a staring role, make no mistake).

I have read a few books on the Titanic in my time, starting with A Night to Remember, Walter Lord’s account of the sinking, as well as books by Robert Ballard and his rediscovery of The Most Famous Shipwreck. But Stone is true to his introductory word as he has written a well-researched and written account of nautical history, the law of the sea, what the sea can and has done to man, what draws people to the sea and what lies below, interspersed with a plethora of characters straight out of a novel. Through it all HMS Titanic remains, if not in the spotlight, then at least waiting off stage for its solo, for while Stone’s book covers a lot of topics, the hook that draws your average reader in is the Ship of Dreams, as it has done for over a century.

The biggest flaw in the book is that Stone spends, in my estimation, an inordinate amount of time on various schemes to resurface and refloat the Titanic, all of which he (and we) knows to be pipedreams considering the condition of the wreck. Or the shine he takes to one Douglas Woolley, a deluded man who convinced himself and others that he owns the Titanic and has spent his life trying to convince others to raise and restore “his” ship. According to Stone, “[y]ou can label his life as a case study in naiveté, fantasy, fiction, and delusion. Or you could simply call him a dreamer, the kind we need more of” – OR, you can recognize a crank when you see one and give him the widest berth you can and get along in life.

But if you can get through all of the passages involving Woolley and his impossible quest, the other topics Sinkable covers – other than the ever-present Titanic, that is – include not only those mentioned above, but also marine salvage, underwater exploration, archaeology, the composition of the ocean, the effects of depth, pressure and salinity on wrecks and people, the recovery of other wrecks – including the SS Great Britain, the Soviet submarine K-129 and even the Space Shuttle Challenger – the law of the salvage and finds, the state of technology related to mapping and exploiting the oceans’ floors…and obsession with all or some of the same. A wide-ranging and in-depth look at the depths Man will go to in exploring the depths.

“It” by Stephen King

 

1138 pages, Viking, ISBN-13: 978-0670813025

If I’m not mistaken, Stephen King’s It was the second of his books that I read, but I can’t really remember. So anyway, the novel is about seven kids living in Derry, Maine, who call themselves The Losers: William Denbrough, Benjamin Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Richard Tozier, Edward Kaspbrak, Michael Hanlon and Stanley Uris. They encounter a creature – that would be the eponymous “It” of the title – that exploits the fears of its victims by disguising itself while hunting its prey, one of its favorite such disguises being that of Pennywise the Dancing Clown, whom The Losers know It as. The novel is told through narratives alternating between the 1960s and 1980s in the third-person omniscient mode. It is perhaps the first of King’s novels that dealt with themes that eventually became his staples: the power of memory, childhood trauma and its recurrent echoes in adulthood; the malevolence lurking beneath the idyllic façade of the American small town; and overcoming evil through mutual trust and sacrifice. So then It is more than just a horror novel; there’s some deep stuff going on here.

Like the fact that It is essentially a coming-of-age story, suffused with nostalgia with some horror elements intertwined. This really comes through in King’s attention to detail as Derry, Maine comes to life in all of its glory – and agony. I guess this should come as no surprise considering that this haunted place appears in so many of King’s stories, so he has had plenty of time to populate the place with living, breathing people and fill it with history (Derry is really Bangor, by the way). But it is the characters that one reads novels for, and King’s have three dimensions for whom you truly hope and fear for (and mourn the one who doesn’t make it. ‘Nuff said). Watching these kids go up against an entity that has existed…for a while fully illustrated the magical essence of childhood innocence, coupled with kids’ surprisingly accurate assessment of human nature. Their hopes and fears are fully brought to life by It, but they persevere and power though, seeing as how full of life and hope they are. I have to say I found the kids’ story arcs much more satisfying than their arcs as adults.

The structure is unusual but rewarding, as the two tales of The Losers as kids and adults progress in unison, going back and forth between the two. And it was another book that I couldn’t wait to get back to and couldn’t put down when I started reading again. As stated above, It is a horror book but with so many more elements involved with it, and that is what makes it so interesting. The pull of nostalgia, the magic of childhood, the thrill of discovery, the uncovering of mysteries, the revelation of myths, the drive to overcome…all these things are present in It, and it is for those reasons that this story is so popular and so successful, even if one hates gore or is frightened of clowns. At times it is almost spellbinding, Proustian even, in its remembrance of the joys of childhood and full of popular 1950s cultural details – music, television, slang, movies – that give a certain weightiness not normally present in horror books. And, as a horror book it is very good. What better antagonist than one that may look and act like what each person fears the most? And what place is scarier than places you think are safe and secure?

And now, for the White Elephant: the preteen gang bang of an 11-year-old girl. Gratuitous sex in a Stephen King book is not unknown, but when the boy Losers all have sex with Bev in the sewers so that she can, somehow, discover the way out…I mean, Holy Shit. In addition to being sick and pervy it was also completely unnecessary to the story arc. I really have no idea why this was in the book at all. To garner attention or controversy? To hopefully sell more copies? After several years King finally addressed the issue thus:

 

I wasn’t really thinking of the sexual aspect of it. The book dealt with childhood and adulthood – 1958 and Grown Ups. The grown ups don’t remember their childhood. None of us remember what we did as children – we think we do, but we don’t remember it as it really happened. Intuitively, the Losers knew they had to be together again. The sexual act connected childhood and adulthood. It’s another version of the glass tunnel that connects the children’s library and the adult library. Times have changed since I wrote that scene and there is now more sensitivity to those issues.

 

Years later he added, “I’d just add that it’s fascinating to me that there has been so much comment about that single sex scene and so little about the multiple child murders. That must mean something, but I’m not sure what”. How’s this, Steve: the multiple child murders were horrible and what people expected in a horror novel; they were not celebrated nor made to seem normal, while the child sex-scene was written in a positive light. That’s the difference. And I don’t recall kiddie-sex as being an uncontroversial issue in the 80s, either.

Okay, enough. It is a great story, full of horror, yes, but so much more, besides. It’s a long book, too, one to be read over several weeks if not months, but that’s okay; just think of it like a long visit with an old friend who reminisces with you about old songs, TV shows, movies and the delight of childhood adventure – and who occasionally commits a blood-curdling atrocity.