Novels No. 96

 

Loretta Rothschild. Finding Grace. USA: St. Martin’s Press, 2025.

(In-house grab) Honor and Chloe are the wife and little daughter of Tom Wharton; they are at the Ritz Hotel in Paris for their annual Christmas visit. Honor and Chloe are among the guests killed instantly by a suicide bomber. A shattered Tom has to arrange their transport to England for burial in the plot Honor had previously chosen, to the discomfort of Honor’s argumentative French mother, Colette. Yet Honor, from the grave, in a literary twist becomes our narrator. Her good friends Annie and Lauren do their best to be supportive of Tom. When he receives news that their surrogate mother is definitely pregnant, his thoughts of suicide are replaced with joyful expectation of fatherhood again. After Henry is born, through an admin error, Tom learns of the woman who donated the egg for Henry’s conception—the anonymity of such fertility participants is normally, fiercely protected. This donor was specially chosen by Honor from oral interviews as the candidate most resembling herself.

Obsessed with curiosity, Tom finds that the woman is a wine shop owner and would-be sommelier, Grace Stone. Tom is stunned when he first spots her; Grace is the image of Honor. Instant love. The feeling never fades as he fumbles his way into her acquaintance, and it becomes mutual. But the longer Tom keeps messing up opportunities to tell her that she was the egg donor—she’s bonded with Henry—the worse her reaction will be. Once she agrees to marry him, he fears that she might leave him if she discovers his withholding; yet he continues to dig himself deeper into an abyss. Of all the caring friends around him, astonished at Grace’s resemblance to Honor, only Annie knows the truth. The characters are drawn in the author’s engaging prose with sensitivity and wit. Honor as narrator/match-maker is a brilliant device.

Tom’s household, or family, may never evolve the way he dreams of it. Not a crime novel per se, Finding Grace nevertheless creates an irresistible contextual suspense. Rothschild’s first novel is a memorable landmark tale of loss, grief, trust, friendship.

Bits

▪ He was deathly pale, his face cadaverous, especially in comparison with my mother’s, which had always resembled a carved marshmallow, plump and held high by finely sliced cheekbones, all carefully preserved with French moisturizers and a vampire approach to sunlight. (35)

▪ Among all the parenting books peppered around the shop, there was no guide titled How to Buy a Pram for the Surrogate Baby of Your Slaughtered Wife. (45-6)

▪ Tom slid his hand towards Grace’s until the sides of their fingers met. She glanced down at their hands and didn’t pull hers away. (114)

▪ “It’s not fair to Henry. Or Grace. You have to tell her. Otherwise I can promise you one thing, this is all gonna end in shit.” (184)

▪ He wasn’t well-versed in dishonesty. He was learning on the job that once a lie erupts, you forever live in the psychological aftershock. (191)

▪ My mother’s sudden desire to visit a few times a year now that I was dead was still unfathomable, considering she’d barely come when I was alive. (208)

▪ “Wait, you didn’t know? I thought Tom would’ve told you. Oh shit. I always put my foot in it.” (216)

Callie Kazumi. Claire Darling. USA: Bantam Books, 2025.

Claire Arundale tells her story in the present and her diary entries reveal the happiness of the past year. Fresh from celebrating their first anniversary and wedding plans, she learns by chance in the most humiliating way that fiancé Noah has been lying to her about his employment. He avoids her calls about it, disappearing, but Claire only wants their life to return to “normal.” Thanks to social media, where he had blocked her, she finds him in a nightclub to confirm that he’s been living a double life, that he’s always had another woman (when was he planning to tell her?). Claire’s heartbreak rages through wild emotions for days. When anger finally takes over, supported by her friend Sukhi, Claire decides she will figure out why the deception and what this other woman – Lilah – knows. For someone with incredibly low self-esteem, this is a major mission in bravery for Claire.

Claire confronts Lilah in her expensive home where Noah apparently lives, but does not get answers. Next thing you know—skipping a spoiler—Claire is on trial for a serious crime. Her legal aid lawyer Grosvenor has a tough job to counteract the character being painted by prosecution witnesses: Claire has been a selfish, mean, violent-tempered bully from childhood on (the opposite of what we’ve seen, but in fact, a perfect description of her now-deceased, narcissistic, cruel mother). Of course, the trial proceedings are intended to ramp up suspense but by this time, the constant segues to childhood episodes with a vicious mother lose their initial impact and place Claire firmly in self-centred, if pathetic, mode.

It doesn’t exactly hang together; for one instance, noticeable liberties were taken in courtroom scenes. The basic plot has legs but a bit overkill on Mother and self-loathing.

Scraps

▪ I have this fear with most people I meet, this overwhelming sense that I’m unwanted and driving them away without meaning to. (12)

▪ “What ... what do you mean? He does work here, he comes here every day,” I say, trying to keep my voice even and calm. (19)

▪ My blood runs cold as I pause at a photograph of him with his arm wrapped around a lithe blonde with dimples. (45)

▪ I’m sick of being Claire, darling. Mother was always in control of everything, I was constantly tiptoeing around her unpredictable outbursts. (63)

▪ I am going to get my fiancé back. (63)

▪ Why would Noah even have entertained the thought of being with me when he’s had her all along? And why take it as far as proposing to me? (88)

Mother

▪ “To even think any man would be interested in you. You’re pathetic, an embarrassment. No one will ever find you desirable ... you’re repulsive.” (82)

▪ The other part of me was terrified about Mother’s neurotic meltdown, that she might feel pinching my thigh wasn’t enough to satisfy her fury. (94)

▪ “If you leave me, if you move out and abandon me, you will live to regret it.” (132)

Novels No. 95

 

Tess Gerritsen. The Summer Guests. USA: Thomas & Mercer, 2025.

Maggie Bird and her ex-CIA companions invite comparison to the Thursday Murder Club series; I’d met them before in The Spy Coast (Novels No. 30)—that one impressed me, being mainly about Maggie. This one also features Jo Thibodeau, police chief of Purity, Maine, where the quartet retired under the radar. The four retired spooks – Maggie, Declan, Ingrid, and Ben – prefer relaxing at their personal book club after working their various hobbies, but can’t resist lending an experienced hand when things go badly for others. Suddenly fifteen-year-old Chloe Conover, whose family arrived early for the summer season at their palatial Maiden Pond “cottage,” vanishes. Abduction seems likely, with suspicion being cast on local residents. Chloe’s parents are not regular visitors to Maiden Pond; Ethan, a novelist, normally sees little of his birth family. His mother Elizabeth and brother Colin’s family are the usual summer inhabitants. Susan is uneasy with the Conovers—so emotionally distant, unlike Ethan.

The search includes dragging the Pond where Chloe had been swimming; no Chloe, but they did retrieve the skeleton of an unknown young woman. Our quartet briskly pitches in to help find Chloe and identify the mystery woman who died many years earlier. My sympathies to Jo, when their skills and resources tend to outshine her. Reuben Tarkin is one suspect in Chloe’s disappearance—he has a history of harassing the Conovers. Apart from the antipathy between permanent residents and summer people, and the family drama, a new twist goes sideways – well done! – although MKUltra, in my experience, is no longer quite the shocker it once was in spy fiction.

The author never fails to provide an immersive experience. Gerritsen is adept at keeping you guessing; comfort food for crime fans.

Clues

▪ “This is supposed to be a book group,” said Ingrid. “Even if we really come for the martinis.” (10)

▪ “The man’s insane, all right? And I assume you know what his father did. Those people he killed on Main Street.” (42)

▪ Could Colin really be that blind to all the ways he’d tormented his younger brother? (81)

▪ “Tell us how the blood got into your truck, Mr. Yount,” said Alfond. (119)

▪ “But she’s still too young to deal with the truth about who her father is. What he is.” (179)

▪ “How could you write about her, Ethan? Is everything in our lives just material for your novel?” (205)

▪ “Her records were deliberately wiped,” said Maggie. “That’s why Ingrid couldn’t find out what happened to Vivian Stillwater.” (245)

▪ “You told me she got hit by a car in New Hampshire. Died in a long-term facility,” said Jo. (258)

Harlan Coben. The Innocent. 2005. USA: Dutton, 2023.

(In-house grab) Our protagonist Matt Hunter is the college-age guy who accidentally killed another student in a drunken brawl and went to prison for four years on a manslaughter conviction. Some years later he is blissfully happy with wife Olivia, a computer systems sales director. They plan to move back to his New Jersey hometown where people will remember he’s an ex-con, although he tries to repress his sensitivity. Joyfully learning of her pregnancy, Olivia insists they invest in “camera phones” for instant communications. But Matt receives a weird video that could blow his whole world apart, on top of the anxiety that someone is stalking him. Not allowed to practice his law degree, he works as a paralegal at brother Bernie’s law firm.

So how does Kimmy in Nevada fit in? Kimmy—a weary mid-thirties stripper cum hooker. One day a young woman takes her by surprise, claiming to be the baby her best friend Candace gave up at birth. Candace, also a stripper, was murdered some years ago and the daughter, though never having known her, seeks revenge; no one was arrested but Kimmy knows all the rumours of the time. Loren Muse is an investigator for the Newark prosecutor’s office; working on the suspicious death of a Catholic nun leads her to Matt’s widowed sister-in-law Marsha. Lively dialogue spices up the suspense in numerous threads as more and more characters spin out convoluted connections.

Throw them all together and it’s a story only Harlan Coben could tell, forcing you to participate by anticipating. Does it hang together everywhere? Breathless is an adjective I’d seldom use, but it’s applicable to this tightly wound novel.

Some threads

▪ “He’s retired now. Max Darrow, I mean. He says they know who killed her, but they don’t know where he is.” (14)

▪ Whoever did this—and yeah, she was sure it was Clyde and Emma—could hurt her or kill her, but she wouldn’t back down. (16)

▪ “Sister Mary Rose never asked for glory. She had no ego. She just wanted to do what was right.” (37)

▪ Loren was thirty-four years old, a serial dater who, to quote her cigarette-toting mother, who was currently on the couch, “never closed the sale.” The cop thing worked like that. (58)

▪ The FBI. They were the ones who had shut her down. (147)

Matt

▪ “I know that I’ll never get past what happened,” Sonya McGrath said. “It’s simply not possible. But I thought ... I hoped maybe you could.” (101)

▪ “Hey.” It was a man whispering. “Guess what I’m doing to your wife right now?” (117)

▪ “I know it was you in the blond wig. I know it wasn’t a big joke. I even know about Charles Talley.” (129)

▪ Maybe his old chum Detective Lance Banner was right. Prison changes you. You go in one guy, even if you’re innocent, but you come out ... . (135)

▪ He didn’t know what was going on with Olivia, but one thing he knew for certain: it marked the end. The fairy tale was over. (164)

Novels No. 94

 

Liann Zhang. Julie Chan Is Dead. Canada: Simon & Schuster, 2025.

How’s this for creepy: Julie Chan finds her estranged twin sister Chloe Van Huusen dead; the body has lain on her condo floor for some time. The identical twins, raised differently, were like strangers to each other—Chloe was a popular internet influencer, Julie is an impoverished supermarket clerk—Julie went there to confront Chloe about exploiting her in a video. In the shock and confusion with police and paramedics, an overwhelmed Julie is thought to be the condo owner and she dazedly grasps the opportunity to be her own twin. Zhang works it seamlessly as truly do-able. In the following days, “Chloe” melts into the influencer world with her personal assistant Fiona and an elite gaggle of peers called Belladonnas, named after Bella Marie, reigning queen of the cyberwaves. No one suspects Chloe’s not Chloe; any blanks or missteps are attributed to grief over sister Julie’s death.

Somehow I’ve landed in the rich and famous excess lifestyle again; not only that, it’s about two generations younger, complete with unfamiliar attitudes and vocabulary. The young women embrace self-promotion and offer each other unctuous support in stock phrases and buzz words. Sometimes Julie/Chloe feels guilty about her deception; most of the time she’s wallowing in the financial rewards of sponsorship ... promoting products in coy videos; building the fan base. A vacation week for the Belladonnas at Bella Marie’s incredibly luxurious island estate reinforces their usage of robot-like affirmations and the strength of group manifestation. To the point of revolting cultish rituals and a delusional higher power. Could the author possibly be more cynical than I am?

It’s satire for millennials. There’s no denying that Zhang is ingenious in how she skewers the dependence on “socials” and electronics. Julie/Chloe does have a humorous mouth on her, and there is some definite entertainment, but the repetitive, mindless saccharine of self-absorbed influencers is boring. Persistent as I was in sticking until the end, I can safely say that ultimately our heroine does not drink the Kool-Aid.

Bits

▪ I deserve it, don’t I? Chloe had everything while I suffered with nothing. Isn’t this karmic justice unfolding before me? (39)

▪ “I’m sorry, Chloe. That seriously sucks. Like, literally sucks so much. That’s actually, like, legit so sad.” (50)

▪ My twin died and I stole her life, which might be a felony, yet somehow, my biggest concern right now is how to fit into a dress. (61)

▪ I didn’t know how good it could feel to have a community of supportive fans at my fingertips. One tap and the world floods me with love. I feel like a god. (104-5)

▪ Ever since capitalizing on mental health struggles became a profitable thing to do, grief manifestos are a dime a dozen. (132)

▪ I’m itching for it—the fix of social media. Without it, I’m empty, a void. An iPad kid without her iPad. (175)

▪ “She died and you found her body. Super traumatic or whatever, rest in peace, yada yada.” (191)

▪ Is it possible that they’re drugging me with all those drinks? With the food? (245)

Peter May. The Critic. 2007. UK: Quercus, 2014.

(In-house find.) While teaching in France, Scottish forensics expert Enzo Macleod decides to investigate the bizarre murder of top American wine critic, Gil Petty. To the annoyance of gendarme David Roussel who had never found the killer. The victim’s body was discovered (displayed!) in the woods at Fabien Marre’s farm. Gaillac, the story’s general location, is the centre of a lesser-known wine region and it’s busy harvest time. Macleod makes no secret of his intent among the locals—winegrowers rep Laurent de Bonneval; his landlords Paulette and Pierric; leader of l’Ordre de la Dive Bouteille, Jean-Marc Josse; and so on. His internet-savvy student Nicole will assist in searching Petty’s computer files, among belongings being retrieved by Petty’s daughter Michelle.

An attempt to kill Macleod comes very soon, as he crosses a working wine field in the dark. It’s imperative to study Petty’s notes and wine ratings for Gaillac vineyards wherein a motive for murder may lie—Petty had the serious power to make or break a vineyard’s reputation and fortunes. Macleod is no hardboiled private eye but he’s often surrounded by women—seductive Michelle, on-and-off lover Charlotte, his daughter Sophie who arrives with boyfriend Bertrand, and Nicole. Oops, another body turns up, same location, same gruesome condition; the man was on Roussel’s list of missing persons. Analyzing traces of wine that preserved the bodies could help identify the killer—if he doesn’t nail McLeod first. Consuming large quantities of wine as well as his favourite whisky apparently sharpens Macleod’s science skills and helps him cope with domestic issues.

No real surprises here, with a lame (IMO) motivational reveal, but rich in atmosphere and action details. Bonus: All you ever wanted to know about the French wine industry. In addition, you have serious instructions for learning the steps of wine-tasting comme le sommelier. The prolific Peter May has written five Enzo McLeod books, among other mystery series and standalones.

Aperitifs

▪ “Petty was missing for a year before his body turned up. Not only did you fail to find him, you didn’t even know he’d been murdered until his killer decided to put him on public display.” (14)

▪ “The autopsy report said he’d drowned in wine, then twelve months later turned up in a Gaillac vineyard pickled red and partially preserved.” (51)

▪ Roussel grinned. “The piece I read credited you with many things, Monsieur Macleod. Modesty wasn’t one of them.” (60)

▪ “He had more power to determine people’s tastes in wine, and the price of it, than any one man should ever have.” Enzo spoke with feeling. (83)

▪ “For someone who wasn’t speaking to him, you seem to know a lot about your father.” (96)

▪ “But there are those of us who produce the wine, and there are others who leech off it. Those who produce nothing but fancy words, impose their tastes and fill their pockets.” (113)

▪ “The thing is, Enzo, I’d say that you were dealing with someone suffering from a serious personality disorder. Which means it won’t be a simple matter to find reason in his motive.” (134)

▪ “Just as I’m harvesting the fruits of my labour, some foreigner playing amateur detective comes snooping around my vineyard, disrupting my vendange, threatening my livelihood.” (223)

Novels No. 93

 

Denise Mina. The Good Liar. USA: Mulholland Books/Little, Brown and Company, 2025.

Claudia O’Sheil is a crackerjack forensic scientist working for Sir Philip Ardmore’s company ForSci—a leading U.K. forensic service used by police, among others. Claudia’s claim to fame was the creation of the Blood Spatter Probability Scale (BSPS) that became the standard for crime scene investigators. Philip promotes her to Clinical Director of his company so he can move to chair the independent Forensic Ethics Committee. The two are presently attending an august peer function where she’s invited to speak about her successful contribution to a notorious murder case. But Claudia instead intends to drop a bomb with the truth about it; heads and reputations will roll, including her own. What the truth bomb is, is unknown to us even as partial hints are sprinkled liberally throughout recent events in Claudia’s life. Hints that can make you dizzy with the tantalizing questions they raise.

The Met police, under dubious direction by their head, Maura Langston, wavered about arresting young William Stewart for the savage murder of his father Jonathon (Jonty) and fiancée Francesca. Jonty was a friend of Philip, an aristocrat in a social circle of likeminded high-finance flyers. Available evidence may not be enough to convict William, whose inheritance has disappeared; his legal interests are undertaken pro bono by Charlie Taunton, old friend of Claudia and her solicitor husband James Atkins. It’s less than a year since James died in a mysterious accident and Claudia and her sons are still grieving. Some of the closely involved characters include Philip’s ex-wife Mary Dibden and her daughter Amelia; Claudia’s drug addicted sister Gina; Francesca’s mother Elena Emmanuel; and rival scientist Kirsty Parry. But why is Charlie searching James’ investigative files of international corporations? Had James kept dangerous secrets from Claudia?

Plot, style, and characterizations here are splendid, not to mention engaging the reader’s best instincts. Intricate subplots simmer within a network of corrupted privilege and power. Mina channels Claudia’s emotional conflicts that lean toward a potential exposé; which of her responsibilities will take priority? It’s the fourth book by Mina I’ve read this year. Such is my admiration.

Pieces

▪ Everyone that mattered in the world of contemporary forensic science was here: the court staff and lab managers, judges and lawyers, even secretarial and admin people. In amongst them were important strangers, journalists and others half recognisable from podcast thumbnails or by-line photos in annual reports of the companies they CEOd, all mini-celebs in this small world, bringing the glam, a garnish on the gathering. (63)

▪ Sensing he had lost the sympathy of his audience, William turned to the vicar, waved his sheet of paper and shouted in a cracked voice: “A bad man and a worse father.” (75)

▪ She recognised that speedy, stumbling speech pattern. Gina had taken something. (92)

▪ “But why would he think the boys weren’t safe? Was it the case he was working on?” (102)

▪ “Maura’s not one of them, that’s why she was given the job. The Met are in a crisis and she’s disposable.” (130)

▪ “William is not a likeable young man. He’s an entitled little shit actually.” (131)

▪ “Kirsty’s inclined to overreach, I think. She had an article knocked back by the Oxford Forensic Journal about the BSPS. The peer review feedback was brutal.” (152)

▪ Claudia felt her anger fizzing up from her feet to her chest. She was going to find out who did this. She’d burn the world down around her to find out. (158)

▪ “You bloody well blackballed me!” (159)

▪ “Your scale said he did it. He knew he was going to be found as guilty as fuck.” (195-6)

Joan O’Leary. A Killer Wedding. USA: William Morrow, 2025.

Family and friends gather for a wedding weekend when Dr Graham Ripton will marry Jane Murphy, meticulously arranged in Ireland’s Ballymoon Castle by a wedding planner (hmmm—entitled, overbearing rich people?). Prestigious Bespoke Weddings magazine is covering the splendid weekend events for its celeb-hungry readers, in the person of young Christine Russo (pandering, obsequious articles expected?). Meeting the groom’s extended family brings a load of unhappy or quarrelling eccentrics (uh-oh—can some tiresome stereotypes produce a credible mystery?). Plus, at least three generations are involved, descended from Gloria Beauregard, grand dame of Glo cosmetic empire. Gloria dominates her personal and business relations with an iron fist, no one ever daring to contradict her. Especially anyone she’s blackmailing.

When Gloria is messily murdered on the Friday morning, the individuals who know about it agree to suppress the news until after the wedding, justified as Gloria would not have wanted anything to spoil the occasion. So the lavish preparations, expensive decorating, tons of flowers, and extravagant food continue while background secrets start creeping out. The narrative rotates among different voices; perhaps only Christine the outsider is unnerved that a killer lurks among the guests. Gloria’s son Trey’s poor performance as Glo’s CEO incurred a lawsuit that threatens to unravel her lifetime’s work. So who was Gloria choosing for new company leadership? Trapped in the conspiracy, Christine frantically tries to keep track of old feuds, adulterous liaisons, criminal connections, and fake identities in order to protect herself.

Author O’Leary goes to town with tropes and excesses—designer brand names, opulent descriptions of everything, hidden passages in the castle, greed for money and power—so who is to say how seriously she plays farce. Still, the characters are little more than facades in a holey plot of many improbables. Yet one reads on, hoping Christine will solve it all, save a few lives, and get a job promotion.

Personae

▪ “Leave it to Gran to invite a reporter to a family dinner to put us all on edge.” Ben glowers at her. (32)

▪ Christine watches Clementine’s face contort in annoyance: not only is her son marrying a lowly, trust-fund-less schoolteacher, but to make matters worse, her mother’s loud and gauche. (32)

▪ Gloria has always been confident, funny, and whip-smart. Everything Jane is not. (60)

▪ “They make their problems disappear.” Lyle’s voice wobbles. “So don’t become a problem, okay? Become an asset.” (95)

▪ Trey always knew that he wasn’t cut out to inherit the Glo empire. Now everybody else knows it too. Including his own son, who also happens to be general counsel of Glo. (100)

▪ “I don’t want Gloria Beaufort’s money. I want to be Gloria Beaufort,” Raquel says crisply. (169)

▪ Both women turn and watch through the stained-glass window as Graham tackles Ben to the floor. Blood gushes from Ben’s nose. (215)

Atmosphere

▪ “That woman’s meaner than a wet panther. You being invited here this weekend means you are a pawn in her game.” (55)

▪ “We cannot be in the press. Especially for something like this. A murder? We’ll never recover. It would be the final nail in Gloria’s coffin ... ” (70)

▪ “ ... you need to know that the NDA you signed prior to coming here prevents you from speaking a word about what’s happened.” (75)

▪ Everyone is watching each other, making sure nobody breaks. It’s like the prisoners’ dilemma in real life: if one of them comes clean about what happened to Gloria, they’re all in trouble. (185)

Novels No. 92

 

Emma Donoghue. The Paris Express. Canada: Harper Perennial, 2025.

What an amazing project! Researching, recreating an 1895 day’s train ride from a Normandy resort town to Paris, with dozens of passengers aboard. Each crew member or agent is brought alive in the bustling, demanding business of transporting people from place to place, thanks to a glorious steam engine. No detail of that engine’s operation is too small for the imagination to overlook, from sweaty coal shovelling to signals recognition and the intricacies of controlled steam release. Likewise we visit the proud but nerve-wracking jobs performed by driver Guillaume, stoker Victor, and senior guard Léon. And so, too, Donoghue conjures the contemporary milieu of politics and general unrest. France has been lately plagued with anarchist and Communard protests over social inequalities and injustices.

We meet passengers as they crowd into First, Second, or Third Class carriages. Some stand out more than others, especially the young woman who plans to blow up the train. Mado thinks her homemade bomb will make the best protest yet, even though she herself and many innocents must die in the blast; several government legislators in nearby First Class are her real target. But perspicacious old Blonska sees Mado desperately clutching her suspicious lunch bucket—can anything at all stop her death plan? As the train speeds to Paris ‒ where the explosion will do the most damage ‒ who has our sympathies? Pregnant Cécile deep in labour; young Maurice panicking at missing his stop; Marcelle and Henry forming a new friendship; a mother caring for her dying daughter; the coffee seller burdened with heavy equipment; carefree students joking; Jules-Félix resting uneasily in his luxurious private car.

The tension is unbearable as the train enters Paris suburbs. No spoilers—but what follows is nothing short of sensational. With her characters talking up the main concerns of the day, and newfangled inventions, Donoghue has placed us right in their laps for a thrilling ride.

Peeks

▪ Bad enough to have been born female, but she refuses to dress the part. Stone-faced, Mado checks the set of her cravat, then her hat. (3-4)

▪ Railwaymen are figures of legend to Maurice, and engines are the dragons they command. (4)

▪ The Express has a crew of four, including the guards, but only the driver and the stoker count as rollers—royals among railwaymen. (13)

▪ Blonska might move with the frail, bobbing glide of a seahorse, but she’s a tough old boot. (18)

▪ Moving at a trot, Léon doubles back to Front Baggage, his base for the journey, and climbs in just in time to hear Le Goff’s final warning whistle. He mounts the short ladder to perch in the senior guard’s birdcage, a lantern-shaped lookout on the roof. (22)

▪ Jeanne may be suffering from something serious, a mysterious disorder revealed by a special test. What a thing to suggest to a stranger on a train! (96)

▪ “But we can’t delude ourselves into thinking that tearing down this society will make a better one.” (145)

▪ Now the girl’s guessed that Blonska knows, which makes the situation even more dangerous. (187)

Giles Blunt. Bad Juliet. Toronto: Dundurn Press, 2025.

How strange is this: two novels in a row that involve historical travel. It’s years since I’ve read anything by Blunt—loved his John Cardinal series, so this story was quite a change.

In 1916 Paul Gascoyne is an aspiring poet with a master’s degree, and due to an uncharacteristic breach of manners, he was turfed from a plum university teaching job. Luckily, a friend helped and he’s quietly working as an English literature tutor for patients at renowned Saranac Lake tuberculosis treatment complex. He lives among recovering patients in a “cure cottage” run by the sardonic Mrs Pryce. One of them is the wistful, attractive Sarah Ballard—Paul learns her history as a Lusitania disaster survivor, having lost both her father Lionel Redmond and her brand new husband, Stephen Ballard. Encouraging Sarah to write memoir stories is an uphill struggle; verbally, she’s appealingly articulate, but initially balking at writing. Paul is thrilled at a chance meeting with playwright Jasper Keene. Jasper (himself recovered from TB) is a grandiose, volatile personality and their common literary interests provide a bond.

Jasper is ebullient about his courtship of Sarah, who responds in kind, and Paul seeks solace in Saranac’s abundant population of nurses. Then drama: Stephen Ballard’s father accuses Sarah of lying about her marriage to his son. Sarah admits her deception. Only Paul, whom she trusts, hears the real story. In fact the novel’s only real drive is in Sarah’s stories, as they are told to Paul. Without coming to terms with his feelings about her, Paul is becoming a tediously passive creature failing to find his poetry mojo. Nevertheless the trio enjoys a warm friendship. Until Sarah over-exerts at Jasper’s bidding and suffers near-fatal hemorrhaging. Will anyone now display some pro-activity?

The Lake Saranac complex is/was real, including the sanitarium that closed 1 Dec 1954—the date Paul allegedly publishes this novel. The book’s mystery element lies within Sarah’s character, or how it is perceived by others; I felt at least one clever insertion by the author went unresolved. But Blunt gives us an environment rich in resort town culture and clinical treatment details of the era, all coloured in lingering Victorian sensibilities.

Paul

▪ I focused the less-than-chivalrous part of my mind on how to disarm Nurse Troy so that she might consent to free me — and I assumed herself — from the tiresome burden of virginity. (65-6)

▪ In the weeks and months to come, I would sometimes wonder if, had I been man enough to put my arms around her, had I held her close and assured her that she would not have to face her predicament alone, things — her future and mine — might have turned out differently. (130)

▪ “You won’t lose me, Sarah. Honestly, there’s nothing you could tell me that would change my feelings for you.” (220)

▪ I had told Sarah that memoirs need not be strictly factual, and clearly she had decided to turn hers into pure fiction — and melodrama at that. (236)

Sarah 

▪ “The Lusitania is the last thing — the last thing in this sad, sorry world I want to write about.” (54)

▪ For now she could take short walks, but any physical exertion greater than this could cause the scar tissue to tear, provoking a hemorrhage that — if it didn’t kill her — could add months, or even years, to her recovery. (71)

▪ “I just — yes. I mean, you did tell me it was a memoir, not autobiography, not history. It was okay to make things up.” (119)

▪ “But if you love me, you’re just going to be unhappy. I’m with Jasper, and that isn’t ever going to change.” (217)

Bits

▪ “Patients do not discuss their illness at the table.” (34)

▪ “The poor girl is already in the sights of Mr. Jasper Keene, and I don’t know which of you is the more dangerous. Hearts get broken, Mr. Gascoyne, and I do not want to see it.” (102)

▪ “She makes beautiful sketches — portraits, landscapes — in pencil, in ink, pastel. I think she’d make an excellent instructor.” (147)

▪ “Is that why you wormed your way into my confidence? To close in on the woman I loved?” (174)

▪ “I’m hearing from several fronts that you should be summarily dismissed from your position, if not horse-whipped out of town.” (212)

Novels No. 91

 My poor local Branch of the TPL was locked down again for the third or fourth time, with no access to the holds we ordered. Not only does the branch suffer repeat issues with the building that houses it, it was long ago outgrown by neighbourhood density. We understand they have been looking for appropriate new space for some time. When they are able to re-open, it could mean half a dozen holds are waiting for me at the same time! Meanwhile, the in-house library does a yeoman job of producing decent substitutes. 

Kate Quinn. The Briar Club. USA: William Morrow/Harper Collins, 2024.

A fading old brownstone in Washington DC in 1950: owned and operated by grumpy, snoopy Mrs Nilsson, it’s a boarding house for women where Mrs N’s thirteen-year-old son Pete labours after school to her demands. When exuberant Grace March moves into attic room 4B, the strict atmosphere melts every Thursday because Mrs N leaves the house for her bridge game. Grace makes and shares food with all the inhabitants, at the same time opening Pete’s eyes to a world of more freedom. Musician Joe Reiss who plays nearby in the mafia-affiliated Amber Club, is rumoured to be Grace’s lover. Then there’s Nora in 4A who is ardently pursued and bewitched by Xavier, owner of the Amber Club—he ends up on trial for murder.

But with glimpses of the present, 1954, we know someone in the house has been murdered and police are interviewing all the residents. Over the preceding four years, Nora is not the only occupant playing with danger. Reka is an elderly Hungarian artist, planning to steal back the valuables looted from her by a duplicitous politician; Bea wants her place in men’s world of baseball, spurning her FBI suitor; Claire’s clandestine lover is married to a controlling, important public figure; Fliss is the epitome of serene motherhood with daughter Angela, awaiting her doctor husband’s return from military duty; Grace stays quiet about her background. Besides some stunning twists and the most amazing climax I’ve ever enjoyed, the reader is treated to a dozen of the inhabitants’ authentic recipes.

Quinn’s special strength is in lively female friendships and interactions; her research of the post-war, Cold War period is meticulous, as we expect of her. The paranoid effects of McCarthyism, rampant racism, and misogyny in halls of power surround the women even as they break rules and speak up. A killer of an ending.

Random tidbits

▪ “You really think the Russkies won’t invade? The Commies have been making preparations for years.” (25)

▪ “I said at least I wasn’t preaching the sacredness of life while shoving miscarriage tea down my daughter’s throat.” (99)

▪ Wasn’t being old hard enough without having to dredge up a saintly smile when Claire was a bitch and Fliss was annoying and Bea droned about the Red Sox? (124)

▪ “What would you say if I had killed someone?” Reka blurted, half horrified and half fascinated. (154)?

▪ How Grace never got caught was beyond her—two years at Briarwood House and she whisked men in and out past Mrs. Nilsson’s curfew like a sorceress. (167)

▪ She could just sit and know that her baby was all right, that the Briar Club women had closed around Angela in that blessedly breezy, automatic way they always did, passing her from one set of fresh arms to another while Fliss’s arms got a little bloody rest.(176)

▪ Harland was still holding her off her feet as Mickey Mantle took his home run lap and an entire stadium went insane. (243)

▪ “I am in love with a career criminal, and it’s been over for ages but I don’t seem able to entirely get past it,” she said, and hiccuped. (291)

▪ “No, what’s completely mad is staying with that man until he kills you,” Claire cried. “You have to get away.” (316-7)

▪ “She told me I should find someone else to keep my bed warm, too; she wouldn’t mind a bit!” (329)

Emily St. John Mandel. Last Night in Montreal. 2009. USA: Vintage Books, 2015.

Before Mandel produced her bestseller Station Eleven, came this slim novel about leaving. As in not staying. Eli loves Lilia madly, but his fear that she will leave him comes true. Abducted from her Quebec home by her father at the age of seven, her upbringing consisted of car travel across the United States from town to town to avoid police, a few weeks or months in each place, haphazard home-schooling by dad. Knowing they were hunted, Lilia left anguished notes in hotel room Bibles to say leave us alone. This transient lifestyle is imprinted to continue even after her dad settles down; she moves from place to place working menial jobs, sharing casual relationships, voraciously reading in several languages. Suitably, Eli is a linguist, perpetually reworking his thesis about dead languages.

Montreal detective Christopher Graydon, whose daughter Michaela is the same age, is captivated by reported traces and sightings of the girl, dedicating himself to finding her. In time, a postcard from Michaela draws Eli to Montreal, renewing his hope of finding Lilia. Time and chronology are fluid with author Mandel, including her singular aura of surrealism. Teenaged Michaela had been left to fend for herself as her father’s compulsion kept him on the road, following signs of the fugitives. But she’s familiar with his notes of his journey. Eli and Michaela reach an impasse whereby neither is willing to trade secret information; reference to a cryptic accident is a mystery within a mystery. Does each have the answer the other needs? My patience was stretched a little thin waiting endlessly with Eli, night after night, to escort Michaela home from her grimy nightclub job.

Some of the surprise events made me wonder if the characters are all intentionally borderline mental. They have a lot to say about obsession, detachment, language articulation, and the nature of fight and flight. Unsettling, and unsettled.

Scraps

▪ “Try to imagine what it’s like,” she said. “I don’t know how to stay.” (33)

▪ “It’s a city with a probably doomed language. The Québécois are speaking French with an accent so ancient and frankly bizarre that French people from France can’t understand it.” (53)

▪ Stop looking for me. I’m not missing; I do not want to be found. I wish to remain vanishing. Lilia (54)

▪ Lilia said, floundering now, repeating herself, “I’m not arriving anywhere, I’m only leaving somewhere else.” (78)

▪ The time before she left her mother’s house was all closed doors and blind corners; her memories began the night her father appeared on the lawn below her window. (96)

▪ “Keep travelling,” her brother whispered. “You have to stay away, even if you’re in trouble, no matter where you are ...” (102)

▪ “The ironic thing is, I know everything about her life except the one thing that I really want to know. I even know the things she doesn’t.” (139)

▪ He had been travelling alone for thousands of miles, and the only thing he was at all certain of at that moment was that he didn’t want to catch them anymore. (175)

▪ “You’ve been chasing her since we were both eleven years old,” said Michaela relentlessly. She felt giddy and dangerous, slightly drunk, and she couldn’t stop talking although she knew she should. (186)

Novels No. 90

 

Ashley Winstead. This Book Will Bury Me. USA: HarperCollins Publishers Ltd., 2025.

Jane Sharp seems to be an ordinary college student who, following the shock of her father’s death, finds solace and purpose in contributing to true crime forums. Unusually, the author places an introductory note to caution readers who might be sensitive because of their own experiences. And Jane begins her story by saying this ‒ hers ‒ is the only true story, unlike sensationalist, false media coverage of her exploits. Upon contributing insights to one forum network, it’s not long before Jane is invited to join four seasoned “armchair detectives”—Citizen, Mistress, Lightly, Goku (their online user names)—as a team. Although living in different places, they get to know each other well; competing forums recognize them as stars. They share insights with police investigators who, in turn, respect them enough to sometimes trade information.

Then came the Delphine, Idaho, murder case: three young women students slashed to death in their sorority house. The crime scene was contaminated even before the small town police arrived to bungle the case from the start. No one seemed close to solving it; an ex-boyfriend and other potential suspects were cleared. As media interest grew to explosive proportions, our Five were regarded as heroes or villains, depending on where their fingers pointed. But whoa! Three more victims are murdered the same way, same town; the FBI takes charge with Agent Hale treating the Five as bonafide consultants. They rent a house in Delphine, where crowds of excited amateur s and a voracious press mob are swarming. A tiny forensic clue intensifies the hunt, building to wild heights. Jane didn’t ask to be co-opted as a heroic figurehead—or expect the herd to turn, critics savaging her.

The hive mind at work is intensely fascinating for crime fiction fans; the culture itself generally serves some public interest, but where do ethics enter? Innocent people could be mistakenly targeted. Did Jane cross a line? The author adds thoughtful sidelights to a very complex tale. If ever a novel was hard to put down, this is it.

Jane’s take, about forum and media initial notions:

Mistress, the knitting grandma murder-solver. Lightly, the jilted ex-cop on his own mission for justice. Goku, the tech genius using his power for good. Citizen, the handsome hero, helping people in and out of uniform. And as for me? Trust me, I was just as surprised as anyone when they painted me as a savant. (92)

Thoughts

▪ I have nothing to hide. If I did, I wouldn’t offer you any of this, wouldn’t rip out my own heart describing my father’s death or how I faltered under the weight of it. (55)

▪ It was my first taste of the phenomenon sleuths call “victim attachment,” what others call a parasocial relationship with the dead. (63)

▪ To the average sleuth, frats were cesspools of toxic masculinity that existed solely to perpetuate old-money power systems, as well as white supremacy and rape culture. (124)

▪ I liked to think of the five of us as rogue scientists. It reminds me that even though we were operating outside the bounds of the establishment, there were still rules. We needed to stay dispassionate and logical. (126)

▪ “The true crime community is a menace,” Chief Reingold insisted, his face now tomato red. “They’re keeping my officers from carrying out justice. They’re condemning people to punishment before a fair trial.” (156)

▪ “Do you hear yourself? Stop working the case for a single second. You threw me to the wolves.” (337)

▪ Deep down, I wanted Citizen to want me, knock on my door for another kiss. (339)

▪ This was exactly what I wanted—proof that my friend was innocent, that the last twenty-four hours of mounting dread could be wiped away. So why did I feel so reluctant? (384)

Clare Leslie Hall. Broken Country. USA: Simon & Schuster, 2025.

Beth Kennedy is farm wife Mrs Frank Johnson, secure in their mutual love, but still painfully recovering from the death of their nine-year-old son Bobby—his cause of death not told us. Small-hold farming is hard work, but Beth, Frank, and his ebullient brother Jimmy can imagine no better life. Into their lives comes an awkward figure from the past: Gabriel Wolfe, now a highly successful fiction writer, returns to his old estate home in the neighbourhood. Years ago, Beth and Gabriel had had a tender but passionate affair that seemed destined forever. Again, we are not told why or how it failed, but Gabriel’s upper-crust mother made known her biting disdain of the country girl. Gabriel has a young son now, Leo, who takes to Beth like a kitten to cream; her obsessive grief over Bobby finds an outlet.

As the story of Beth’s younger self becomes clearer, so does the present—Frank is uncomfortable that she spends so much time with Leo because Gabriel is obviously nearby. How long can Beth deny the yearning she has? Is it possible to love two men wholeheartedly and simultaneously? How aware is she of creating extended collateral damage? Unanswered questions drive the tension toward the biggest mystery: who is the person currently on trial for murdering an unidentified man? Meanwhile, Jimmy marries his vivacious sweetheart Nina to everyone’s satisfaction. But Beth is not the only family member harbouring some guilt as the courtroom trial progresses. I could not agree with the verdict in the way the case was presented.

Well-structured to make the most of suspense, Beth’s story paces evenly, beautifully. With so many dramatic turns, we suspect it can’t end well. In fact, it smacks of Shakespearean tragedy.

Before

▪ We smile, perhaps both thinking the same thing: two would-be writers, two dreamers, two lonely teenagers waiting for their lives to begin. (20)

▪ We lie together, heartbeats fading, wrapped up so tightly in each other’s arms I cannot see his face when Gabriel says, “By the way, I love you. I think I did from the first moment I saw you.” (50)

▪ “It’s starting to feel like we share a brain,” Gabriel says. “How will we integrate ourselves back into the real world?” (58)

▪ “You should go,” he says, and still he doesn’t look at me. “You’re right. This is finished.” (103)

▪ Not Eleanor, who never bothered to hide her distrust of Gabriel on the basis of his being “ ... let’s face it, a bit of an entitled prat.” (197)

After

▪ He’s a boy who misses his mother and I’ve managed to make it worse by showing him how much I miss my son. (133)

▪ Frank can’t often bear it because he’s so steeped in guilt he manages to carry on only by acting as if Bobby never existed. (133)

▪ It’s like Bobby is a ghost everyone has forgotten. And I miss him. I miss him so much. (135)

▪ Frank, who has been attuned to my every mood, who hears the words I don’t say just as much as the ones I do. (197)

▪ And then we’re kissing and it doesn’t even feel wrong, kissing one man, and then another. They are different things. (190)