Club Dead by Charlaine Harris

"You never told me all this before," I said, by way of explanation. "You all have divided America into kingdoms, is that right?"

Pam and Chow looked at Eric with some surprise, but he didn't regard them. "Yes," he said simply. "It has been so since vampires came to America. Of course, over the years the system's changed with the population. There were far fewer vampires in America for the first two hundred years, because the trip was so perilous. It was hard to work out the length of the voyage with the available blood supply." Which would have been the crew, of course. "And the Louisiana Purchase made a great difference."

Well, of course it would. I stifled another bout of giggles.

-Club Dead

Let's see, where did we leave off in the adventures of Sookie Stackhouse? She'd just survived a massacre in Dallas, and she was not psyched about Bill revealing his more animalistic, bloodthirsty side there. Also, some craziness went down with a maenad. Club Dead picks up only a few weeks later.* Bill is acting secretive and spending a lot of time on the computer (...), and Sookie is feeling a little put out. Then Bill leaves on a mysterious assignment...and disappears.

Bill is gone for pretty much the whole book, which worked out better than I might have expected when I started the series. I've grown a bit disenchanted with Bill.** Instead, we get the always awesome Eric, who comes to Bon Temps to lay out the situation with Sookie once he realizes Bill's disappearance is serious. This results in Sookie heading up to Jackson, Mississippi, where she plans to use her telepathic abilities to pick up leads on Bill's whereabouts. Sookie, accompanied by capable werewolf Alcide Herveaux*** heads to Club Dead, a local vampire/shapeshifter/werewolf haunt. Naturally, events unfold in a way that leave Sookie triumphant but in pretty rough shape. Again. Poor thing.

I found Club Dead a lot more enjoyable than Living Dead in Dallas. The plot was more engaging, even if Bill's computer project ended up being a bit of a McGuffin. I liked the new characters - particularly Alcide, but I was also intrigued by Russell Edgington, the king of Mississippi. I liked the ambiguity of the ending, which leaves me ready to read the next book.

Up next: I've made it a bit farther in Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, but I have to confess I'm finding it a bit of a slog. When I read a sentence like, "Kundera here would say 'dancing,' and actually he's a perfect example of a belletrist whose intermural honesty is both formally unimpeachable and wholly self-serving: a classic postmodern rhetorician," I feel like I'm being poked in the brain. Repeatedly. I'm not calling it quits (yet), but it's slow going.

So, to spell myself from DFW, I got The Lost City of Z by David Grann from the library. In case you've missed the press on this one, it's about a journalist's quest to uncover the fate of a long-lost team of Amazonian explorers and learn about the ancient city they set out to find. Only a few pages in and I'm already finding it pretty riveting.

*I actually wish Charlaine Harris would space out the books in time a bit more, as when you realize that prior events have happened so recently, you feel as though you should still be hearing more about their ramifications. This was better handled here than in Living Dead in Dallas, though.

**Particularly given some of the stuff he gets up to in Club Dead. Bill is getting pretty sketchy, you guys.

***Although it is never stated, you have to imagine that Sookie is loving that moniker, considering she laughed herself silly over the ordinariness of Bill's name.

Hamlet Follow-up

A disappointing review from the New York Times today. I totally agree that Jude Law's Hamlet was energetic, but I guess I did not see it as such a negative. To me, he seemed like someone who had lost interest in controlling his impulses. Someone filled with anger and disgust and accordingly starting to spin out of control. Although I have no doubt that the reviewer is much more knowledgeable about theater than I am, I confess I don't understand his feeling that "It is hard to understand the distress of Hamlet’s friends and family when he feigns madness, since the prince, in this case, appears to be as he always was: sarcastic, contemptuous, quick-witted and mad only in the sense of being really, really angry." Really? I didn't get that at all. While watching the play, I distinctly remember thinking that he must have been so different prior to his father's death/mother's remarriage. He seemed pretty far gone to me*. Again, though, at this point Jude Law is my definitive Hamlet, so perhaps I will gain more insight after seeing another actor's interpretation.

Also, what is up with the snide comments about the "Pradaesque" wardrobe? I liked the simplicity of the costumes and, as I mentioned in my previous post, the cool tones. Alas.

On a more positive note, here's a story from NPR with lots of video clips. Not a review proper, but right now I'm a bit Hamlet-obsessed, and I like to have something to balance the rain on my parade that is the Times review. Still curious to see what The New Yorker says.

*And isn't the idea that the madness is feigned, as the review suggests, pretty ambiguous? I thought one could lean either way: this page from the RSC gives some input on how various actors have interpreted it (note the distinction between the decision of this particular company - feigned madness - and the critiques of different Hamlets). My impression is that just because Hamlet has lucid moments and at times is playing up the madness, it doesn't mean he has it together. However, it's safe to say that I'm probably a bit out of my depth.

Adaptation: Jude Law in Hamlet

O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wanned,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing,
For Hecuba!
What's Hecuba to him, or he to her,
That he should weep for her? What would he do
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have?

-Hamlet, Act II scene 2

I am a lucky girl indeed. On Saturday I was fortunate enough to score a ticket to the latest Broadway production of Hamlet, starring Jude Law. Before I get down to the particulars of my impressions, a little background.

On Hamlet: I read Hamlet my junior year of high school, for fun (I think we've established that that's how I roll). I remember it quite specifically because I tried to base an essay on it before having finished reading. Needless to say, my interpretation was slightly...off. The only film adaptation I'm sure I've seen in its entirety is the Ethan Hawke one, though I've seen substantial parts of both the Kenneth Branagh and Mel Gibson versions. I also thoroughly enjoyed the Canadian tv show Slings & Arrows*, the first season of which revolves around a production of Hamlet. I'd never seen Hamlet, or indeed any other Shakespearean play, on stage prior to Saturday. It is my favorite of his plays.

On Jude Law: I discovered Jude Law about the same time I discovered Hamlet, to the best of my recollection. It may not surprise you that the same girl who was reading Hamlet for fun would also come away from Blockbuster having rented Wilde, a biopic of author and legendary wit Oscar Wilde. Jude Law costarred as Wilde's petulant young lover, Bosie. He made enough of an impression that I remembered him when renting Gattaca, in which he most ably broke my heart. By the time The Talented Mr. Ripley was released, my admiration of him was well known among my friends. My affections cooled as his tabloid image overtook his work, although I continued to see many of his films. Yes, I saw Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. In the theater. What of it?

To make a long story short, I am far from being unbiased.

I loved it.

Where to begin? At the beginning, perhaps, when, prior to the start proper of the play, Hamlet emerges for a moment, broods, and retreats back into the wings. I was already drawn in by the time the soldiers emerged and hunkered down to wait for the ghost. How can you resist a play with a ghost? I mean, really.

Ghost aside, it's really amazing how alive this play feels. It was written over 400 years ago, and has been adapted innumerable times. How many Hamlets have there been? I think in watching it, I was keenly aware of how many choices had been made, from direction to acting to scenery, costume, and lighting. Shakespeare gives one a lot of leeway, in terms of stage directions.

The lighting, to pick one of many options. Amazing. I mean, I'm going to be honest, lighting isn't usually the first thing I notice. I couldn't help but observe, though, the way the light streamed across the stage sometimes, like sunlight. Or how a cooler light made Hamlet look quite pale as he drew his last breaths in the final act. I also loved the wintry gray and blue palette of the wardrobe. And the set - wow. Majestic. The space was used in very inventive ways - particularly the one large door upstage, which could be opened to reveal greater depth - allowing, among other things, the beautiful, snowy (yes, snowy) "To be or not to be" soliloquy (You can see the snow in the photo above, in which Hamlet is trying to educate Ophelia on nunneries, and especially on the virtues of getting to them). I also thought the reversal of expectations during the closet scene (putting the eavesdropping Polonius downstage, thus having the audience share his view of Gertrude and Hamlet behind a gauzy curtain) was inspired.

Onto the actors! Aside from Jude (yes, we're on a first name basis), the cast is largely unknown to an American audience. However, cross-referencing my Playbill and IMDb, I discovered that I'd seen quite a few of them before on British tv: the cast features of alums of Doctor Who, Life on Mars, Ashes to Ashes, and even Lost in Austen (Gugu Mbatha-Raw, who plays Ophelia, was Amanda Price's roommate). I thought the cast was solid overall, with Ron Cook (Polonius) as a particular standout. Reading a few British reviews, I noticed there was some criticism that Claudius (Kevin R. McNally) was not menacing enough - and indeed I didn't find him particularly menacing, but I thought his choices were valid. I think I would need to see another adaptation to make a better assessment.

Last, but not least, the melancholy Dane himself. What a task an actor tackling Hamlet faces. I can't even imagine memorizing the lines, much less imbuing them with emotion - especially given the rigorous demands of this play. Jude Law does an amazing job. He's really quite dazzling. He provoked the audience to laughter many times - scuttling like a crab, to name one memorable example. I wouldn't have thought that I would laugh so many times during one of the great tragedies.

Then there are those other moments, when he is overcome with grief and flirting with self-slaughter, as he calls it in the first act. I chose the quotation from Act II, in which Hamlet is reflecting on the speech of one of the players, quite purposefully - Jude does that "broken voice" beautifully. His voice is often thick with emotion, perhaps at no point more notably than when the ghost appears in the closet scene (shortly after he has killed Polonius). There is a moment in which his mother, who cannot see the ghost, stands shoulder-to-shoulder with him. This vision of his parents reunited, one living and one dead, completely overwhelms Hamlet. It's really quite stunning.

An additional note: I swear that, during the "To be or not to be" speech, I couldn't hear the second "to be." I have to assume I misheard, although I thought I was listening quite keenly. None of the (British) reviews have mentioned a revision, and surely someone would make note of a revision like that (American reviews will be out later this week, I assume, as the play officially opens on the 6th). It made an impression, though, however erroneously formed on my part. There is a fantastic video that shows quite a few snippets of the play as well as interviews with Jude and director Michael Grandage. His phrasing in the "To be or not to be" there is totally different from how I recall it. (I heard "To be...or...not.") Bizarre, I know.

I'm not going to lie, I'd love to go again, and to hear that speech another time is just a small part of it. The applause when the curtain fell was thunderous and the ovation was immediate, so clearly I was not alone in my appreciation. On my way out, I heard a couple of women complain about the blocking - not in my wheelhouse at all, but if that's something you're aware of, I suppose there could be objections of some sort? It didn't mar my experience, to be sure. I am terribly curious to read the New York reviews. Amazingly, this is perhaps the most timely post I have ever written; to actually review something at the same time it is being professionally reviewed. I assume the professionals will have a slightly more balanced ratio of erudite criticism to gushing about Jude Law. I hope there's a little gushing, though. If the man hasn't earned a Tony nomination, then clearly I lack all capacity to evaluate theater. Which may be. Ha.

One last thought: David Tennant (of Doctor Who fame) also played Hamlet quite recently, in a production that featured Patrick Stewart as Claudius. Thankfully someone at the BBC had the presence of mind to film it, and it will be aired on PBS this coming spring. I think David Tennant is just as talented as Jude, but they are very different actors, and I'm keen to see his interpretation.

*I would be terribly remiss if my post did not contain a link to the first season's theme song, "Cheer Up, Hamlet."

Land of Lincoln by Andrew Ferguson

For a century or more, generations of Americans were taught to be like Lincoln - forbearing, kind, principled, resolute - but what we've really wanted is for Lincoln to be like us, and this has never been truer than the present day. Lincoln hasn't been forgotten, but he's shrunk. From the enormous figure of the past he's been reduced to a hobbyist's eccentricity, a charming obsession shared by a self-selected subculture, like quilting or Irish step dancing. He has been detached from the national patrimony, if we can be said to have a national patrimony any longer. He is no longer our common possession. That earlier Lincoln, that large Lincoln, seems to be slipping away, a misty figure, incapable of rousing a reaction from anyone but buffs.

Or that's what I had assumed, anyway. Then one wintry morning a while back I fetched the local paper from the front stoop and saw a headline: "Lincoln Statue Stirs Outrage in Richmond."

-Land of Lincoln

On an April evening 144 years ago, Abraham Lincoln was shot by John Wilkes Booth at Ford's Theatre. He had been enjoying a comedy called Our American Cousin. Booth, an accomplished actor who knew the play well, purposely timed his shot to a laugh line. The wound was not immediately fatal. As Booth jumped down to the stage (allegedly shouting Sic semper tyrannis - Thus always to tyrants) and made his escape, people gathered to tend to their fallen leader. He was eventually moved to the boardinghouse across the street, where the bed in which he lay was far too small for him, as most beds of that time would have been. The doctors in attendance knew there was no hope, but nevertheless continued to try to relieve his pain (particularly the swelling). Lincoln died the next morning.

It was a climatic moment in history, seemingly more appropriate to Shakespearean drama than American politics (no accident, given Booth's career). And yet, along with the Civil War itself, it happened quite a long time ago. People generally seem to remember Lincoln fondly, which is undoubtedly tied to his martyrdom in death. Many people don't think of Lincoln at all, I would imagine. So it may come as a surprise that he has the ability to rile some up.

Andrew Ferguson discovered as much when he picked up the newspaper mentioned above, and later traveled to Richmond to talk to the people protesting the placement of a Lincoln statue in their city. People had placards ("Jefferson Davis Was Our President"). They sang "Dixie" - a song that Lincoln enjoyed very much, actually. No mention as to whether or not they knew that. Lincoln may have died well over 100 years ago, but the memory of his actions as president was still fresh to these protestors.

I could spend an entire review just on that first chapter of the book. Like Ferguson himself, I'm a bit of a Lincoln buff. I'm far from an expert, but he's someone I generally enjoy reading about*. I wrote the paragraph on Lincoln's death from memory (though I did have to double-check that it was Ford's Theatre and not Ford's Theater). In college, I took an entire class on the Civil War and it was hands-down my favorite class. A book on Lincoln in modern life is right up my alley, but I daresay it's an entertaining read for anyone who enjoys learning about different parts of American society.

Ferguson discovers that Lincoln means many things to many people. Even the buffs express their love differently - the collectors, the scholars, the impersonators (they call themselves presenters). He travels through the Midwest, visiting many sites that were meaningful in Lincoln's early life, and tries to understand Lincoln in how he is interpreted at each place. He tries to rediscover the Lincoln he loved as a boy, and who is more unknowable than ever.

Although I admire Lincoln greatly, I do feel in some way for the skeptics, who are chagrined at what they perceive as hero-worship of a man who was undoubtedly controversial while in office. I feel like it's common knowledge at this point that it's incredibly oversimplified to say that anyone was fighting for or against slavery exclusively during the Civil War. Perhaps I'm wrong, and everyone thinks that The Great Emancipator had just been looking for an opportunity to free the slaves. That every Union man was an abolitionist and every Confederate was a slave owner. I hope that we as a country know that things were not nearly so clear cut. Books like Ferguson's remind me of that famous quotation by William Faulkner: "The past is not dead. In fact, it's not even past."

Up next: I've started Brief Interviews with Hideous Men by David Foster Wallace, but as it's bit dense, I wouldn't be surprised if I took a break to read the 3rd Sookie Stackhouse book.

*Further reading:

Confederates in the Attic by Tony Horwitz. Similar to Ferguson's book, but broader in scope. Horwitz examines the way the Civil War is still being fought today, from Confederate flag controversies to reenactments. I loved this book when I read it a few years ago.

Manhunt by James Swanson. The definitive book that charts the immediate aftermath of the Lincoln assassination. I felt like it really pulled me into the period - like an old-time episode of 24.

The March by E.L. Doctorow. A beautifully imagined fictionalization of Sherman's march through Georgia.

March by Geraldine Brooks. Not to be confused with Doctorow's book, March tells the story of the patriarch from Louisa May Alcott's Little Women and what he endures before coming home to his family. It won the 2006 Pulitzer Prize.

Adaptation: Lost in Austen

Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice was published in 1813 and, almost 200 years later, readers are still invested in the story of Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy. Earlier this summer, I read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, a bloody but amusing spin on the classic story. Now the Brits bring us the miniseries Lost in Austen, in which a modern woman walks through a portal straight into Elizabeth Bennet's home of Longbourne.

The woman is Londoner Amanda Price (Jemima Rooper), who loves nothing more than curl up at the end of the day with her copy of Pride and Prejudice. She has a boyfriend...but he's no Darcy. Then, one day, she finds Elizabeth Bennet (Gemma Arterton) in her bathroom. As you do.

Elizabeth, intrepid gal that she is, has discovered the portal between her home and Amanda's (the story doesn't try to explain how this could be, so don't worry too much about it). Lizzie is curious to explore the modern world, so she manages to trick Amanda into switching places. Despite Amanda's love for Pride and Prejudice, she quickly realizes that Lizzie needs to return in order to meet Mr. Darcy. In the meantime, Amanda tries to muddle through the best she can, but the story as we know it derails quite early.

I am quite the fan of Pride and Prejudice, and even I was rolling my eyes a bit at the beginning of the miniseries. I was wondering if the show was going to be able to rise above the level of mediocre fan fiction. Then, something interesting started to happen. I realized that Amanda's presence in the story wasn't going to result in a simple substitution of her for Elizabeth. Instead, despite her best efforts, she manages to upset all of the novel's storylines, most notably the courtship of Bingley and Jane Bennet. The characters start doing things they are not supposed to do, to Amanda's increasing frustration.

It was almost as though the characters suddenly had free will. Now, bear with me here, because obviously I realize that they're just being imagined by another author. But because they began to make choices that I, who knows the story backwards and forwards, could not anticipate, it was as though they became more realistic. For example: for the first time in recent memory, I was angry with Darcy when he firmly guided Bingley away from his pursuit of Jane. Why? Because it seemed like he had a choice this time, and yet he still held fast to the same pigheaded idea. (By the way, fans who think that Bingley never held Darcy accountable for his prejudiced advice should watch the miniseries just for the opportunity to see that redressed.)

In case I haven't made it clear, I imagine that Lost in Austen will really only be enjoyable to confirmed Pride and Prejudice fans, and even they might find it a bit silly. However, it does let you see some of the characters in a new light, particularly Bingley and Wickham. Plus there's this:

I'm reminded of the old trope that a picture is worth a thousand words, and perhaps I only needed to post this image of Elliot Cowan* as Mr. Darcy. Incidentally, gentle reader, this serves a reminder that, if you should ever find yourself in the company of both Mr. Darcy and a pond, it is perfectly fine to suggest that it seems like a jolly good time for him to take a swim.

Darcy has become a bit of an iconic role, hasn't it? Interestingly, there are plans to make Lost in Austen into an American feature-length film, which would entail casting yet another Darcy. Quite a career boost for some lucky young actor. (Cowan is currently playing Stanley Kowalski opposite Rachel Weisz in a West End production of A Streetcar Named Desire. Talk about iconic.)

*I have to note that, although it may not be readily apparent in the pictures I've posted, Cowan bears an often uncanny resemblance to Heath Ledger. I actually found it distracting while watching.

My Life in France by Julia Child with Alex Prud'homme

In Pasadena, California, where I was raised, France did not have a good reputation. My tall and taciturn father, "Big John" McWilliams, liked to say that all Europeans, especially the French, were "dark" and "dirty," although he'd never actually been to Europe and didn't know any Frenchmen. I had met some French people, but they were a couple of cranky spinster schoolteachers. Despite years of "learning" French, by rote, I could neither speak nor understand a word of the language. Furthermore, thanks to articles in Vogue and Hollywood spectaculars, I suspected that France was a nation of icky-picky people where the women were all dainty, exquisitely coiffed, nasty little creatures, the men all Adolphe Menjou-like dandies who twirled their mustaches, pinched girls, and schemed against American rubes.

I was a six-foot-two-inch, thirty-six-year-old, rather loud and unserious Californian. The sight of France in my porthole was like a giant question mark.

-My Life in France

I love Julia Child. I didn't know this before reading My Life in France, but it turns out that it's absolutely true. I totally understand where Julie Powell was coming from (although now that I can compare Julie with Julia, it doesn't do Julie any favors).

I don't see how you could read this book and not love Julia. My Life in France commences with Julia moving to France with her husband, the artist and diplomat Paul Child. She falls in love with French cuisine immediately, but it takes some time for her to develop the idea of cooking herself. She enrolls in Le Cordon Bleu, and takes to it with what one quickly discovers is a characteristic zeal. This is Julia Child becoming Julia Child.

As Julia takes on cooking, she meets Simone "Simca" Beck and Louisette Bertholle, who are writing a cookbook on traditional French cuisine. Julia gets involved, and the book quickly becomes a new obsession. Cookery-bookery (as Julia refers to it) involves enormous amounts of time spent developing, testing, and writing up recipes, then conferring with her co-authors (mostly Simca, as time wore on). Although the book did not originate with her, over the years it becomes Julia's baby. She brings stacks of manuscript with her when Paul is transferred from France to Marseille, then again to Plittersdorf, Germany; Oslo; and finally back to the States. We follow her throughout this epic undertaking, sharing in her delight at a recipe perfected as well as her disappointment when her publisher does not want to produce the finished work.

When I think of Julia, words like "pluck" and "moxie" and, inevitably, joie de vivre come to mind. Although her life was privileged, it wasn't always easy - particularly in the way her husband was treated by the government (he was interrogated during the McCarthy era). She always made the most of it, though, and I loved reading about her journey.

As much as this book is about Julia's love of food, and of Paul, it is about Julia's love of France. Although I am no cook*, I wholeheartedly identify with this love of France, which I've shared almost as long as I can remember. When I was in high school, I used to take most of the money I received at my birthday and Christmas and put it in a jar marked "Money for France." I spent it in college - not in France, alas (though I did go to Italy). I still haven't been to France, but reading this book was a lovely vicarious experience. I highly recommend it.

A note on the film Julia & Julia: In my review of the book Julie & Julia (which I linked to above), I recommended the film over Julie Powell's book. My Life in France provided the inspiration for the Julia sections of that movie, and although Meryl Streep is delightful as Julia, this book is the most essential of the three works.

Up next: Land of Lincoln by Andrew Ferguson, a study of the ways in which Lincoln is still part of our lives today. I love Lincoln, so I'm excited for this one.

*I do think reading books about food is inspiring me to experiment a bit more, though. This weekend I made an apple pie - it had plenty of butter in it, so I think Julia would have approved. This is the next thing I want to try:

YouTube - Julia Child Makes an Omelet.

The Blood-Dimmed Tide by Rennie Airth

"In the end we are faced with a mystery to which there is yet no solution. Indeed, if one were seeking proof of the existence of evil - and this is not a search I have ever undertaken, nor wish to believe in - then one need look no further than these monsters who by rights should not exist outside the realm of our nightmares."

-The Blood-Dimmed Tide

First off, I think I should note that The Blood-Dimmed Tide is a sequel, and I have not read its predecessor, The River of Darkness. I suppose this colors my perception of the book, especially in the development of its characters. That being said, I had no difficulty following the plot - there are numerous references to the previous case, but they are all pretty self-explanatory.

The Blood-Dimmed Tide is set in England, 1932. Ramifications from World War I are still apparent, and there is growing concern about the political situation in Germany. John Madden, a former inspector for the Scotland Yard, is living a quiet life in the countryside with his wife and two children. That life is disrupted, however, when a young girl goes missing. Madden can't help but follow his instincts and, despite his wife's fervent opposition, becomes involved in the ensuing investigation. Although he is never officially on the case - we follow police developments through Chief Inspector Angus Sinclair, a former colleague of Madden's - he can't help but feel a responsibility to see it through, despite the increasingly troubling evidence they are on the trail of a dangerous serial killer.

I love mysteries, I truly do. I am not a big fan of gore, however, and I would not in all likelihood pick out a book on my own that featured violence against children (this is one of a number of books my aunt lent me recently). This book is not gratuitous, but it is also not for the faint of heart - I basically had to put the content of the crime out of my head and focus on the investigation, because thinking about it too much would have made me queasy. I will say that I think the plot moved along at a respectable speed, and things were neither overly simplistic nor needlessly complicated. On the other hand, it never turned into a page-turner.

Madden, whom I realize sounds like the protagonist from my plot description, is not so central as one would assume. Clearly it is meant to be his story, and he is the hero who does a lot of the best detective work, but he's more peripheral than I would have liked. Because author Rennie Airth decided to have Madden as a retired detective (a result of a perilous situation in the first book, apparently), it could never truly be his investigation. That's where characters like Angus Sinclair come in. Unfortunately, Sinclair doesn't have much of a personality. He's only marginally distinctive from the other policemen mentioned, and the major difference between them seemed to be rank - Sinclair is in charge of the investigation, Bennett and Holly are his superiors, Billy Styles is younger and lower on the totem pole - other than that, there's little to speak of. Madden himself is an enigmatic figure, prone to scowling and not saying much. Apparently he was quite angst-ridden in the first book, as a survivor of WWI as well as a grieving widower, but his second marriage* seems to have largely put him on even keel. Nice for him, I suppose, but who wants well-adjusted detectives? Detectives with demons for me, please.

Another facet of the book I found interesting was how un-period it seems to be. Aside from the references to the rise of the Nazi party - the quotation above comes from Jewish psychologist visiting the Madden family from Austria - there is very little that signals you that this book is set when it is. Indeed, in the early pages, with references to motor traffic and a doctor off golfing, it would have been very easy to suppose that the book was relatively modern. Normally I feel like period books have more small touches that make them of the era - things that one assumes required a fair amount of research. To be fair to Airth, perhaps it was a deliberate choice to limit such references, to make the era seem more relevant and to draw parallels to contemporary society. I dig little nods to history, though, so I found the modernism somewhat disappointing

Up next: My Life in France by Julia Child, which I am finding delightful so far.

*Incidentally, Madden's wife, Helen, is a doctor. Although I'm no expert on the era of the book, I have to feel this would be unusual in 1932. No one ever mentions it, though. Perhaps it was discussed sufficiently in the first book?

The Burnt Orange Heresy by Charles Willeford

I closed the book, pushed it to one side, and then reached for Volume III. My fingers trembled - a little - as I lit a cigarette. I knew why I had lingered so long over the preschool child piece, even though I hated to admit it to myself. For a long time (I said to myself that I was only waiting to finish my cigarette first), I was physically unable to open the book to my article on Jacques Debierue. Every evil thing Dorian Gray did appeared on the face of his closeted portrait, but in my case, I wonder sometimes if there is a movie projector in a closet somewhere whirring away, showing the events of those two days of my life over and over. Evil, like everything else, should keep pace with the times, and I'm not a turn-of-the-century dilettante like Dorian Gray. I'm a professional, and as contemporary as the glaring Florida sun outside my window.

-The Burnt Orange Heresy

That excerpt is from the third page of The Burnt Orange Heresy, and it's what I'd call a heck of an opening. Three pages in, and we already know that narrator James Figueras has done something very bad indeed. As to the particulars - well, Charles Willeford knows how to keep those under wraps for a good long while.

In fact, as the novel wore on, I forgot that Figueras had made that Dorian Gray comparison. He's cold and ambitious, certainly; an art critic who's hungry for prestige. He takes an opportunity to make what could be a career-making connection with a legendarily reclusive artist - of course, it comes with a catch. And that catch leads him down, down, down...

I hate to say too much about this one. Naturally, if you're not wild about noir or suspense, it's not going to be the book for you. But for anyone who might be interested, I think the less said, the better. And it's not even so much that it's a mystery - not in the usual whodunit? way. It's more of a window into the mind of a criminal - perhaps more comparable to the aforementioned Picture of Dorian Gray, as well as psychological portraits of guilt like Crime and Punishment and The Secret History. Much slighter, I must say - my copy is only 140 pages.

I did want to mention, however, that in addition to crafting a nifty bit of suspense, Willeford is also an artist himself - it shows. I'm an avid museum-goer (and former Art History student), so I appreciated that Figueras rang true in that regard. I also enjoyed that, after launching into a particularly lengthy critical reflection, Figueras eventually noticed that his listener had fallen asleep. Not everyone loves Dada, it seems.

Up next: I finished The Burnt Orange Heresy a couple of days ago, so I'm actually quite close to wrapping up The Blood-Dimmed Tide, another mystery. (Lovely title, I know. It's actually Yeats, as it turns out. Who knew?)

North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell

"One more word. You look as if you thought it tainted you to be loved by me. You cannot avoid it. Nay, I if I would, cannot cleanse you from it. But I would not, if I could. I have never loved any woman before: my life has been too busy, my thoughts too much absorbed with other things. Now I love, and will love. But do not be afraid of too much expression on my part."

-North and South

I hope it does not spoil things to reveal that the preceding passage comes at the end of a botched proposal of marriage. If you're not familiar with the story of North and South*, I'm not sure how to better describe it except Pride and Prejudice (with its own famous trainwreck of a proposal) by way of Dickens. Now, Gaskell's prose is not as lively as Austen's, nor as rich as that of Dickens. (I don't want to oversell it.) But the comparison is inevitable: North and South could just as easily be entitled Pride and Prejudice: Industrial Edition.

Margaret Hale is representing the South. She's from the countryside, and unexpectedly finds herself relocating to the factory town of Milton after her father, a curate, suffers a crisis of faith. Milton is smoky, loud, and populated with a very different sort of people than Margaret is used to (and not just because of their delightful accents). Then she meets Mr. Thornton.

Mr. Thornton (representing the North, in case that was unclear) is the wealthy and well-respected proprietor of a local cotton factory. He and Margaret clash early and often. Margaret, still narrow-minded in her views of trade, does not consider him to be a gentleman. And Mr. Thornton thinks her far too (wait for it) proud. But, interestingly, the bulk of their argument revolves around labor issues. Okay, maybe that doesn't sound interesting. But the fact that their issues revolve around a matter of substance is what puts North and South apart from so many of the common "opposites attract" stories.

The other threads of the novel aren't quite as engaging. Margaret begins to form a tentative friendship with a sickly former-factory girl, whose constant refrain about her imminent journey to Holy Jerusalem is wearying, although not necessarily inaccurate. Margaret also deals with her surprisingly needy parents and with the case of her wayward brother, who has been accused of mutiny. The latter storyline is broached with perhaps one of the most ham-fisted instances of exposition I've ever read, to wit:

"Poor Frederick," thought she, sighing. "Oh! if Frederick had but been a clergyman, instead of going into the navy, and being lost to us all! I wish I knew all about it. I never understood it from Aunt Shaw; I only knew he could not come back to England because of that terrible affair."

So yes, it's a bit dated in terms of phrasing and language. For some reason I only very rarely get that impression from Dickens, although he and Gaskell were contemporaries. (According to my edition of the book, Dickens thought North and South was "[an] admirable story...full of character and power.") Of course, Dickens is rather short on grand romance.

In my previous post, I alluded to the fact that Mr. Thornton is possibly more swoonworthy than the much more famous Mr. Darcy. Naturally, it's a matter of taste. I think Mr. Thornton's biggest asset is that he's a self-made man. He's very capable, and he's eager to better himself (he takes classics lessons with Mr. Hale). Not that Darcy isn't accomplished...but what does he do all day? In addition, we as readers actually spend more time with Mr. Thornton, and get a better sense of his feelings. Some people are a bit leery of angst (and after Twilight, I well understood that feeling), but really, how can you argue with passages like this:

[Mr. Thorton] turned round to his mother; his face was very gray and grim. "Yes, mother. I do believe he is her lover." When he had spoken, he turned round again; he writhed himself about, like one in bodily pain. He leant his face against his hand.

Ah, jealousy (he's mistaken, of course). I don't remember Darcy writhing around, feeling the pain of his love. That's pretty intense.

Mr. Thornton is somewhat different in the miniseries, which stars Daniela Denby-Ashe and Richard Armitage. I'm not planning on doing a separate post on it, as I haven't seen it recently enough - I actually watched it before I read the book the first time. I did rewatch the first episode, though, and was struck with how, uh, violent** Mr. Thornton is in the miniseries. It's a bit of a leap from the book's Thornton, who prides himself in keeping his emotions in check (writhing aside). Other than that, I would say that in most regards the miniseries is more enjoyable than the book. The ending is changed substantially for the better, and some of the gloom of the book (people die off fairly regularly) is toned down.

Up next: I'm going to try The Burnt Orange Heresy by Charles Willeford, which is favorite of my dad's.

*Like many classics, North and South has an utterly dull cover in pretty much every edition. Thus I substituted another miniseries picture, which I find more aesthetically pleasing.

**Perhaps I shouldn't find the violent turn of the miniseries surprising. After all, very shortly thereafter Mr. Thorton grew out his hair, traveled back in time, and happily spent his days as the evil henchman of the Sheriff of Nottingham.

I Want To Read: When Will There Be Good News?

This is Kate Atkinson. She is awesome.

Well, I don't know her per se, so perhaps I should qualify that her writing is awesome. Her most recent book, When Will There Be Good News?, was released last year. The only reason that it's not already in my hot little hands is because I am trying to preserve some modicum of fiscal responsibility. (It's not in American paperback until January 2010).

When Will There Be Good News? is Atkinson's latest mystery featuring the Scottish detective Jackson Brodie. I picked up the first, Case Histories, based on strong reviews and the intriguing title. (Atkinson has a way with titles: I like Behind the Scenes at the Museum and Emotionally Weird).

It was a good pick. Great, really. The thing with Atkinson is that she infuses well-crafted mysteries with language that is associated with literature, as opposed to (heaven forbid) genre fiction. It's not uncommon to find a mystery writer who can navigate a tricky plot but who doesn't rise above mediocrity on a sentence by sentence basis. And of course there are many, often more well-respected writers who can write beautiful stories in which very little seems to actually happen. Atkinson fuses the best of the two. Her stories are ambitious, complicated, sometimes messy, but absolutely enjoyable.

It's the reason I haven't just checked the book out from the library. I'm convinced that once I've read it, I'll want to hold on to it. It's nice to have that level of trust in an author. It doesn't always work out of course (see: The Wordy Shipmates by Sarah Vowell). Also, of course, I don't feel that I can go to the library when I have a pile of unread books sitting in my apartment. Oh, the troubles of a reader.