Library Limelights 191

Rumer Godden. The River. 1946. UK: Virago Press, 2015.

Reverting to eons ago, a second look at a book that informed my childhood brain and sensory growth. Rumer Godden's small classic opened an exotic world for me, the potential of travel, even if India as a desirable destination waxed and waned. Young Harriet is approaching teenage years, nourished by a loving family on the banks of the Ganges. Father is a jute mill manager. There's no end to Harry's fertile imagination which she verbalizes to her parents, older sister Bea, two younger siblings, their nanny, and anyone else who will listen. All her questions! She also writes poetry, encouraged only by Captain John, a lonely ex-soldier. Lush with atmospheric description, the riverbank and its traffic continue inexorably through life and death in the last colonial days. Based on the author's own childhood memories, The River is an intimate time capture.

One-liners:

▪ The middle finger of Harriet's right hand had a lump on the side of it; that was her writing lump; she had it because she wrote so much, because she was a writer. (14)

▪ Good for you, Mother, thought Harriet, refreshed to find how little of a fool her mother was. (118)

▪ "I don't think," she said, "that I can be ‒ quite an ordinary woman, Mother." (120)

Multi-liners:

▪ This was the season for snake-charmers. This was the time they came walking through the East Bengal towns and villages, black-skinned men with beards, dressed in dark orange clothes. (99)

Patient Bea:

In the heat they both had their hair tied up on top of their heads in topknots, but Bea wore a cerise ribbon; the effect of it on her topknot gave her a geisha look that was interesting and becoming. Her eyebrows, as she studied this Latin that it was decreed that they should learn, were like fine aloof question marks.

"Do you like Latin, Bea?"

"No, of course I don't, but if I have to learn it," said Bea, "it is better to learn it quickly." She glanced across at Harriet. "You are always trying to stop things happening, Harriet, and you can't."

But Harriet still thought, privately, that she could. (12)

Patient Captain John:

"What is an episode?"

"It really means an incident ... between two acts."

"I don't understand."

"Call it an incident, a happening. With each new happening, perhaps with each person we meet if they are important to us, we must either be born again, or die a little bit; big deaths and little ones, big and little births."

"I should think it would be better to go on being born, than to die all the time," said Harriet.

"If we can," said Captain John, "but it takes a bit of doing. It is called growing, Harriet, and it is often painful and difficult. On the whole, it is very much easier to die."

"But you didn't," said Harriet. (50)

Growing:

"What are the signs of getting old – like us?" asked Harriet.

"Lots of things I expect," answered Bea wearily. "Do you want to know now?"

"Yes."

"Growing up, of course—"

"Growing pains?" asked Harriet.

"I suppose so. Learning more. Being more with Mother and less with Nan; not liking playing so much, nor pretending; understanding things more and feeling them longer; wearing liberty bodices; and oh, yes," said Bea, "I remember when we came down from Darjeeling this year, finding everything had grown far more little than I expected. When I went away it all seemed so big. When I came back, it was little; and I suppose," said Bea slowly, "being friends with Captain John has made me old."

I am not so far behind all that, thought Harriet to herself. (111-2)

Alex Barclay. Blood Runs Cold. 2008. UK: HarperCollins, 2015.

It's winter in Colorado and a murdered woman was found on a ski trail; turns out she was Jean Transom, a federal agent. FBI tough cookie Ren Bryce is in charge of the multiple-agency case to find the killer; the queen of sarcasm, a defence developed for working with the boys in the office, Ren has a lot of Jean's cases to follow up on while collecting information in the local resort town. It becomes a nicely tricky plot, with a cadaver-sniffing dog, adoptions and identity issues, past and present criminal activity, and a more than charming, impossible to resist confidential informant, Billy. Jean apparently had a lot more in her life than her colleagues suspected. Digging deeper, Ren finds a slender connection to organized crime on a grand scale.

This book was likely written for a younger generation. Some of the slang and references are meaningless to me or seem like filler that paint minor characters as one-dimensional ... plenty of this light touch. All the men are addicted to bantering insults, which Ren returns quid pro quo. At one point, her unapologetic appetites jeopardize her status in the case, temporarily sidelining her, but she hides her insecurities. Good thing she has a shrink on call; work hard, party hard. Barclay has a reputation in the hardboiled genre and it's somewhat appropriate. Putrescine is a dandy word, like cadaverine, related to bacterial breakdown and foul smell in a corpse.

A few examples of the many baffling or meaningless banter:

▪ (158) Ren walked up to him. "Hey, P. asterisk asterisk asterisk asterisk Magnet."

Colin looked up at her. "What?"

"I can't use bad language in front of Robbie." ... [Someone forgot to tell us what P. and Magnet refer to.]

▪ (236) He pulled open the door. She made fava bean and Chianti sounds. ... [Anyone heard a fava bean lately? Does Chianti have its very own sound?]

▪ (258) "But ... what did you do?"

"Behavior unbecoming of an agent. How about that?"

"OK. But ... I will find out."

"No. You won't."

"Just for shits and giggles."

"Jesus, this really is not funny." ... [No, it isn't. ???]

One-liners:

▪ Ren talked to neighbours from the neck up, distracting them from the hand she was shoving through their belly to wrench out their gut for inspection. (95)

▪ "Hey, at least you're having an emotion," said Vincent. (129)

▪ She liked to tag people in two adjectives or less, not all of the words traceable to an FBI handbook or an English dictionary. (149)

▪ She looked in the mirror and saw her hangover face: the skin, paler than her neck, mascara slightly smudged. (190)

Multi-liners:

▪ Later she lay in the dark, filled with hope for the morning. Hope that didn't last. Fear started to dissolve it, like the black, liquid edges of burning plastic. (247)

▪ "You are the closest to a man of any woman I've ever known. You've been thinking with your dick." (261)

▪ "No one has 'suddenly remembered' something?"

"In a town where Mind Erasers are the shot of choice ..." (297)

Driving to the scene:

"Do you want to tell me why I got a call from Paul Louderback asking me to make sure you head up this investigation?" Paul Louderback was Chief of the Violent Crime Section at Headquarters in DC.

"That's what happened?" said Ren. "Are you for real?"

But Gary was almost always for real and he shot her a look to remind her. "You sleeping with the guy?" he said.

"Jesus ‒ straight to missiles. No," said Ren and, more annoyed, "No."

Gary turned and hit her with his lie-detector stare. Ren hit back with open and honest eyes.

"Hey, the road," she said, pointing him ahead. (40)

After surprise FBI revelations:

"We were concerned for your safety and your sanity ..." said Monahan.

"Sanity is bullshit."

Gary could smile because no one was looking at him.

"I'm serious," said Ren. "People prize sanity because of how much they fear insanity. Sanity is like happiness; it comes, it goes, it feels good, it means one thing to me, something else to someone else, but, boy, do we all want it. So bad. It's what keeps people showing up in shrinks' offices every day all over the world. It's like paying a weekly subscription to the Sanity Club. And all that happens there is a lot of talk. Well, screw that. It's all wrapped up in negativity. And losing: lose your grip, lose the plot, lose perspective. Do I seem like a loser to you guys?"

"Calm down, Ren," said Gary. "Sit down."

"The fuck I will." (370)

Yrsa Sigurdardottir. The Silence of the Sea. 2011. UK: Hodder & Stoughton, 2014.

Genuinely spooky! A gorgeous private yacht wanders into its destination in Reykjavik harbour ‒ but silent and empty. Where is the crew of three and the family of four who sailed from Lisbon? Lawyer Thora Gudmundsdottir is hired by the parents of their missing son Egir, to investigate his presumed death for insurance purposes. Egir, wife Lara, and their little twin girls were aboard the yacht only by chance. Egir was a member of the resolution committee that had taken charge of the yacht's bankruptcy; he decided to be the last-minute replacement for a crew member who'd had an accident, taking his family along. Now his parents are struggling with grief and finances and complications about raising their youngest grandchild who'd stayed behind with them.

The suspense is doubled by alternating chapters between Thora's quest and what had taken place on the yacht. Captain Thrainn and his two crew were experienced sailors. Then the police report a body or two floating ashore. Thora tracks down everyone she can find to learn about how the yacht operated and its history, also dealing with her recalcitrant secretary Bella. Karitas, wife of the former owner, and her assistant are unavailable for interviews. Besides the luggage of the missing family, closets on board are filled with Karitas' expensive clothing. And the passengers make some grisly discoveries. Both Thora and the police question whether they will ever learn what really happened, but we the readers are privy to many surprises that they are not. After what seemed like a blip in her prior novel (The Day is Dark), this is Icelandic noir at its finest!

In Thora's investigation:

▪ The presence of life rafts on board was the clearest indication that something extraordinary must have happened. (45)

▪ "I couldn't care less whether she's lying in a body bag in the morgue or on a sun-lounger somewhere in South America." (145)

▪ The policeman stopped chewing and regarded Thora levelly. "In other words, since we've found no trace of the dead woman, we may be dealing with not seven but eight missing people." (165)

▪ "I'm selling this house, Mum. It's not up for discussion. You'll just have to fend for yourself until everything's sorted out." (375)

In Egir's experience:

▪ "The woman with the necklace, Daddy. In the painting. She was wearing it in my dream." (88)

▪ "Could the radar be malfunctioning? Could there be ships out there that aren't showing up?" (122)

▪ Feeling slightly better, he resolved to get on with the job, but even as he moved, warning bells began to go off in the most primitive part of his brain. (193)

▪ Thrainn looked straight at Halli and Egir couldn't help admiring his seemingly indomitable spirit. He betrayed no sign of awkwardness or nerves when it came to informing one of his subordinates that he was out in the cold. (285)

▪ "I don't care. I just want to go home." She pushed his hand away. "Then we won't have to be brave any more." (378)

The beautiful portrait:

"Besides, beautiful people tend to be a bit odd; everyone treats them differently, so they never develop their inner sense." As he turned away from the painting he felt the woman's eyes boring into his back. "I'm not saying it applies to everyone and it's not based on any kind of scientific evidence, but I'm sure it's true. She lacks some quality."

Lara looked delighted. "You're a pretty good judge of character. From what I can gather she's a complete airhead. In interviews she comes across as really shallow and conceited."

Arna was reproachful. "You're always saying we're beautiful, Daddy. Does that make us bad?" (95)

Malfunctions:

Thora's first thought was that the yacht's communications system must be missing. Nothing about this case was quite as it ought to be.

"Either the radiotelephones broke down or gremlins got into them during the voyage. Or so we gather from what the captain wrote in the logbook. The satellite phone wasn't working either, though according to the captain's notes that was because they hadn't set up an account for the trip. We're in the process of examining both radios but we do know they were working when the yacht left port. At least, the captain ticked the box stating that they had been tested and were in working order. What hasn't yet emerged is whether they were sabotaged or it was simply coincidence that both broke down." (164)

Plumbing the depths:

Visibility in the depths was minimal. The beam of Egir's diving torch swung around wildly as he juggled it in his inexpert hands. The constant motion of the surrounding water seemed menacing, as if anything could happen. His one experience of sea diving had had nothing in common with this sense of infinite vastness; on that occasion he had felt fine and succeeded for the most part in forgetting the fragility of his existence. But now his heart was hammering in his chest and he had to focus on every breath he took, on remembering to inhale sufficient air through the mouthpiece and telling himself that everything would be fine as long as he kept his head. But he couldn't make himself relax. With every loud breath, impregnated with the taste of plastic, he grew increasingly panicky. (208)