Margot Douaihy. Scorched Grace. Ebook download from TPL. Zando/Gillian Flynn Books, 2023.
Sister Holiday is fairly new to Sisters of the Sublime Blood in New Orleans; former bad girl Holiday Walsh was one of a wild girl-band in Brooklyn. Therein lies the major entertainment element of the story—it's a slight story, but character-driven. The youngish (compared to her cohort) nun found an empathetic soul in Sister Augustine, Mother Superior of the order, who recruited her to teach music to unruly children. Covered with tattoos, swearing a blue streak, the once-drug-addicted alcoholic has found peace in her fundamental calling. A sort of peace, if it weren't for ongoing spiteful barbs from Sister Honor and a rash of fierce arson fires aimed at their impoverished religious compound. Furthermore, Sister Holiday (oof, get the pun?), exercising her sleuthing skills, is convinced the perp is trying to frame her for the fires.
Two deaths related to the fires have thrown the entire diocese into panic; two altar boys were seriously injured. A curfew curtails the school and convent but their church sees a surge in attendance. The police investigation is getting nowhere. Sister Holiday makes friends with Riveaux, the fire investigator, who is likewise stymied. Our heroine suspects everyone we meet, in turn, including fellow teachers, Sister Honor, the two injured boys, the troubled teen Prince Dempsey, and even her good buddy Bernard the school janitor. Bernard is a delight, sharing smokes with her. Yet the often lyrical writing presents odd contrasts or contradictions that jar: Holiday's raunchy past and ‒ even then ‒ her genuine religious commitment; her angry secular language offset by calm, thoughtful prayer; chafing under a male-dominated culture but accepting her own absence of power.
Promising to be fresh and funny, the book delivers both but the novelty wears off, baring a slender plot that moves at molasses pace. Memories of Nina, Holiday's former lover, pop to the surface, to remind us this is queer literature. Which I didn't know was a category. Despite the uneven patches, the city of New Orleans is outstanding; it drips with relentless humidity and glows vibrant with colourful music. It remains to be seen if Douaihy can drive her concept into a series.
Words (I've been neglecting these!)
prosody - patterns of tone and stress in language
perseverating - repeating or prolonging a reaction after the initial stimulus is gone
Sister Holiday
▪ We're always there, us nuns, to witness, to hold space for miracles in the terror, in the boredom, in the gore of life. (7)
▪ Music was the connective tissue of New Orleans—there when you needed it, like prayer. Both prayer and music were holy, and they saved my sorry ass more times than I could count. (14)
▪ The bishop and his minions didn't give a shit about us nuns. (75)
▪ Even with energy vampires like Prince Dempsey in the mix, it never felt like a waste of time to teach music. (100)
▪ "Prince Dempsey, shut your white trash mouth before I shut it for you." (109)
▪ A holy instrument, me. God's mercenary in a scalding town where the air was as thick as the vise grip of a whiskey hangover. (116)
▪ But betrayal and guilt were well-worn paths in the junkyard of my brain. (144)
▪ I was juiced up from my cage match with Sister Honor. So on edge I snapped two guitar strings. (202)
▪ Her hatred of organized religion was palpable, and yet she worked at a Catholic school. Why? (282)
Others
▪ "Fire is a very specific science, a distinct, artful science," she said with the cigarette still in her mouth and something like wonder crackling in her voice. (43, Riveaux)
▪ "Stop being a bitch if you can manage it." (106, Dempsey to teacher)
▪ "If Jesus even existed. Listen to yourself, Hols, demagoguing Jesus. Christianity is a cult." (138, Nina)
▪ "It's hypoglycemia!" Sister Augustine's voice cracked. "Low blood sugar! Good Lord, stay with us." (265)
Emily Critchley. One Puzzling Afternoon. Ebook download from TPL. UK: Sourcebooks, 2023.
An old woman on the brink. The brink of what? Edie Green gets anxious about forgetting words and things. She marks a wall calendar each day; her son Daniel says it is a good reminder. She can tell he and his wife Suzanne worry that she is growing unreliable. Catching sight of her childhood friend Lucy sends Edie into memories of the past ‒ memories that confuse; incomplete memories. She determines that sixteen-year-old day Lucy did indeed vanish forever, despite numerous search parties. A forgotten secret haunts Edie. If she can work it out, and find out what happened to Lucy, then her family will understand that she is compos mentis and will stop treating her as a fragile child. She's forgotten the dementia test she took at the doctor's office ‒ and its results.
Edie's friendship with Lucy took place in 1951. As an awkward, introvert teenager, Edie is blissfully grateful for the attention from the school's popular beauty. We the readers are definitely privy to one secret: Lucy is having a clandestine affair with a teacher! Lucy's romance heads for poignant, far-reaching consequences that test the friendship. Edie's diary is the only place she can express her feelings and their secrets. Her home life is appalling: stepfather Reg is verbally, emotionally, abusive, always disparaging; mother Nancy exploits a slight gift of second sight by holding séances—she's clearly in thrall to Reg who wants nuisance Edie permanently out of the house. Events in the year 1951 build to a climax as Edie and Lucy conspire in a mutual solution; while nowadays, Daniel supervises the moving of family, including a defiant Edie, to distant Devon. The biggest secret begins to unravel.
Seldom have I come across an author so attuned to her subject. Adult Edie's moods and thoughts flow naturally, so realistically, from denial to confusion toward some peace. She could be someone you know. Scatterings of lighthearted, even funny, moments provide a balance. Highly recommended.
Edie Now
▪ The problem is, when you've got so much past behind you, it creeps into the present. (23)
▪ I kept your secret, Lucy, I tell her silently, as if she might be able to hear me. I've kept it for more than sixty years. I just wish I knew what it was. (29)
▪ Ever since I saw Lucy, I've been plagued by disturbing images and feelings, incomplete and incoherent flashes of memory. (71)
▪ "The chicken is fine. It's in the ..." I can't think of the word. "Cooking machine," I say quickly. (212)
▪ Once I find her, I'm sure Daniel will drop all this moving nonsense. (212)
▪ I know I forget things, make mistakes, but I'm not mad, I'm not ready for the scrap heap just yet. I've still got all my marbles, even if they're sometimes in the wrong order. (217)
▪ "Why on earth would I want to move to Devon? And why has no one told me about this?" (299)
▪ It's ridiculous to think I can go anywhere when Lucy is still missing. (301-2)
Edie Then
▪ "Oh, Edie wouldn't have noticed. She walks around with her eyes closed." (84)
▪ I turned out wrong; plain and frumpy, shy, uneasy in company. (85)
▪ It felt like we were Girl Guides going on an adventure together. (139)
▪ It doesn't sound much fun to me: waiting around for a man, being a part of his lies and deceit, being let down when he doesn't show. (184)
▪ "Get ideas above your station and you'll only be disappointed," Reg said to me ... (193)
▪ A dilemma, my father used to say, is nothing but two bad options. (230)
▪ "Hopefully some gullible chap will come and take you off our hands soon." He chuckles. (255)
No comments:
Post a Comment