by EQM
*** Joyce Carol Oates: A Fair Maiden, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt/Penzler, $22. Katya Spivak, 16-year-old New Jersey nanny, is befriended by elderly Bay Head Harbor resident Marcus Kidder, an artist and former children’s book writer. Alternately impressed by and suspicious of her new benefactor, Katya wonders exactly what he expects of her. As in the author’s The Tattooed Girl (2003), a subtle aura of menace hovers over every page. The reader knows something terrible will happen but not what form it is going to take.
*** John Grisham: Theodore Boone: Kid Lawyer, Dutton, $16.99. In the first of a series aimed at readers aged 8 to 12, Theo Boone, the 13-year-old son of husband-and-wife law partners in the small city of Strattenberg (state unspecified), has his own office and an unofficial law practice for schoolmates. When Peter Duffy goes on trial for the strangulation murder of his wife Myra, the prosecution has a believable but shaky circumstantial case, and Theo has knowledge of a witness who could help convict but can’t reveal it without breaking a confidence. Though the action is somewhat simplified (a present-day one-week murder trial?), the novel succeeds as education and entertainment for its target readership, and adults will enjoy it as well. Several loose ends are left dangling to be addressed in the inevitable sequels.
*** Michael Lister: The Body and the Blood, Five Star, $25.95. Florida prison chaplain and consulting detective John Jordan, a complex man of God who can be as violent as Mike Hammer (well, almost), investigates impossible murder in a locked and constantly observed cell. Meanwhile, he attempts reconciliation with his estranged wife even while yearning for his platonic girlfriend. The novel is solidly contemporary in its determination to pile more and more miseries on the hero but delightfully retro in its classical puzzle plotting, which will appeal to fans of John Dickson Carr, Edward D. Hoch, and other locked-room masters. Lister is one of the most individual and talented newer writers on the crime-fiction scene, with vivid style, ready wit, and a marriage of plot and theme.
*** Michael Lister: Thunder Beach, Tyrus, $25.95 hardcover, $14.95 trade paper. This is slightly lesser Lister but also recommended. During a biker rally in Panama City, Florida, journalist Merrick McKnight pursues his off-and-on romance with a strip-club performer while searching for an endangered girl from his regretted past. Despite extremely explicit language and noirish background and plot elements, Lister’s protagonists (McKnight as much as Jordan) have a strong spiritual core and a stubborn resistance to non-marital sex. Two mild caveats: The John D. MacDonald-style soap-box tangents, rightly deploring the decline of newspapers and the exploitation of young women, should be better integrated with the narrative. And what’s with the pretentious use of dashes rather than quotation marks to indicate dialogue?
*** April Lurie: The Less-Dead, Delacorte, $16.99. Austin, Texas, teenager Noah Nordstrom, trouble-prone and somewhat rebellious son of radio’s Bible Answer Guy, becomes involved in the search for a serial killer of gay youth. The author’s message, designed to encourage gay teens and raise the consciousness of their straight counterparts, doesn’t get in the way of an involving, expertly told mystery directed at readers 14 and up. It’s no fatal drawback that readers with sensitive whodunit radar—and mine was stronger in adolescence than it is today—may spot the murderer early in the going.
** Earlene Fowler: State Fair, Berkley, $24.95. The Mid-State Fair, actually the county fair of California’s fictitious San Celina, is beautifully captured with all its deep-fried, livestock-proud atmosphere in the 14th Benni Harper quilting mystery, set in the year 1997. A cattle drive through town streets to the fairgrounds is especially picturesque. Good writing, likeable characters, gentle humor, and an interesting background partially compensate for a thin and perfunctory mystery plot and what my cozy consultant calls the play-by-play narrative method, in which no move or activity, however mundane, goes undescribed. An outrageous press quote on the back jacket likens Fowler to Ellery Queen, Ross Macdonald, Sue Grafton, and Sara Paretsky, none of whom she resembles in the slightest.
Jim French Productions keeps the spirit of old-time radio drama alive with excellent original programming on CD. The first of two half-hour programs in War Comes to Harry Nile ($12.95) finds French’s flagship P.I. serving as air-raid warden on the night of the 1942 event known ironically as the Battle of Los Angeles; the second is a neatly clued case of sabotage in a defense plant.
The Anthony Rathe Chronicles ($12.95), three cases by Matthew Booth about a guilt-ridden former barrister, differs from most other British mysteries from the French stable: It’s less lighthearted and set in the present. Daniel McGachey’s The Voice in the Smoke (2 CDs, $16.95) includes both a full-length 75-minute version and a 48-minute broadcast version of the title case, in which Holmes and Watson encounter a troubled young medium, plus a comic bonus, “The Estonian Countess.”
Old radio lovers will also enjoy the multicast readings of the L. Ron Hubbard novellas Sea Fangs and Destiny’s Drums (Galaxy, $9.95 each).
Copyright © 2010 Jon L. Breen
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BLOG BYTES
Bill Crider
Sometimes I’m attracted to a blog just because of the name. For example, how can anybody resist one called Rhys’s Pieces (http://www.rhysbowen.blogspot.com)? It’s the work of Rhys Bowen, and if you’ve read her books, you know that there’s a lot of entertainment to be found in everything she writes. Her blog is no exception. I particularly enjoyed her comments about beginning a new Royal Spyness book and being in “terrified mode.” I know the feeling.
And how about a group named The Sirens of Suspense? What else could they name their blog except The Siren Song. Just go to their website (http://www.sirensofsuspense.com/Sirens_of_Suspense/Home.html) and click on The Siren Song link at the top of the page. The Sirens are R. K. Olson, Chantelle Aimée Osman, and Diana Manley. They’re all bibliophiles and they “weigh in on all things writing.” They’re also willing to consider your questions or ideas for a blog post. Lately they’ve written about beating writer’s block, animals in crime fiction, and how much sex is too much. If that last one got your attention, you might just want to go to the blog right now and find out the answer.
Now for a couple of Pennys. Or should that be Pennies? I like Louise Penny’s blog (http://louisepenny.blogspot.com) because she always begins her remarks with a weather report. Since Louise is in Canada and I’m in Texas, it’s fun to see the contrast. Of course, the tricky part is converting Centigrade to Fahrenheit, but I’m getting better at it. Don’t get the idea, however, that all she talks about is the weather. There’s a lot more to the blog than that. She talks about writing and revisions, about kids and cars, about lilacs and laundry. Everything is interesting because she is, after all, a fine writer, and she recently won an Agatha award for The Brutal Telling.
The other Penny is Penny Warner (http://blog.pennywarner.com), who writes a series about party planning, but her blog’s not about parties. Or not only that. If you’re planning a graduation party, she has a post about how to do it, but there are also posts about writing, among other things, and I’m not including her blog here just because she quotes the opening line from one of my novels in her post about how much she likes “beginnings.” There’s even a post about allergies. I hope for Penny’s sake, and for the sake of all other sufferers, that the allergy season is over by the time you read this.
Copyright © 2010 Bill Crider
Previous Article Fiction
Fiction
THE KILLING AT HOLYROODHOUSE
By Robert Barnard
In its starred review of Robert Barnard’s new novel A Stranger in the Family (Scribner, June 2010), Booklist raved: “Each new whodunit from this highly regarded British master is both ...
LOON LIFE
By Brendan DuBois
A writer who so impressed two other great EQMM contributors, Edward D. Hoch and Clark Howard, that each once named him among their favorite short story writers and possibly t
he best of his generation,...
INEVITABLE
By Jennifer Itell
Jennifer Itell earned an MFA from Emerson College in Boston before moving to Denver, where she teaches creative writing at the University of Denver and the Lighthouse Writers Workshop. Her short stories have appeared in a variety of publications, including Redbook, Story Quarterly, Cimarron Review,...
CHEMO BOY AND THE WAR KITTENS
By Brian Muir
The story “Chemo Boy and the War Kittens” has a special significance for award-winning film writer Brian Muir, for he has battled cancer himself, more than once. We’re happy to be able to report that his health is currently good, and that 2010 is also treating him well in other...
THE CHANGELINGS: A VERY GRIM FAIRYTALE (BUT FOR OUR TIMES)
By Carol Biederman
Carol Biederman is the author of a number of published short stories and of a volume of related tales entitled The Oldest Inhabitant (Trafford, 2006), in which the narrator, the first person buried in a California Gold Rush cemetery, uses his unique position to tell stories of the hardships of some...
A PRAYER ANSWERED
By David Dean
Real-life police chief David Dean has a new case for his fictional police chief Julian Hall. EQMM has been publishing Julian Hall stories for some twenty years, but Julian wasn’t always a police...
BEDSIDE MANNERS
By Martin Edwards
Martin Edwards wears several hats in the mystery field: He’s the editor of many anthologies, he’s a blogger, reviewer, and columnist, and he produces stories and novels, both series and nonseries, historical and contemporary. His 2009 novel Dancing for the Hangman is a fictional retake...
THE GODS FOR VENGEANCE CRY
By Richard Helms
A former forensic psychologist, academic counselor, and part-time college professor, Richard Helms has been nominated three times for the PWA’s Shamus Award (in 2003, 2004, and 2006). He told EQMM that he currently has nine novels in print, two out of print, four waiting to be published, and...
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Reviews Department of First Stories
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Fiction
THE KILLING AT HOLYROODHOUSE
By Robert Barnard
Art by Laurie Harden
In its starred review of Robert Barnard’s new novel A Stranger in the Family (Scribner, June 2010), Booklist raved: “Each new whodunit from this highly regarded British master is both predictable and innovative. Barnard is comfortably predictable in that his plotlines are always tightly composed, his characters are created ‘in the round’ and are not just types, and his writing style is precise. He is innovative because his novels always feature fresh situations for him to explore.”
“Oh-ho,” said the palace assistant who stood in the doorway of Holyroodhouse looking across the forecourt with its elaborate fountain to the guardhouse, where the tickets were inspected. “She’s here again.”
The woman assistant, standing at the foot of the Grand Staircase, came to the door to have a look.
“Oh dear,” she said. “Poor Gavin. Who’s she got with her this time?” The male assistant shook his head.
“Someone to embarrass Gavin with, that we can be sure of. Skip up to the dining room and warn him, will you? Tell him he really should consider bringing the director in on this, get him to deny her entrance. She makes for a horrendous atmosphere in the palace, and it gives visitors a terrible impression of the place.”
The woman nodded and dashed away. Meanwhile, and taking their time, the pair approached. The woman, probably in her early forties, had bronze dyed hair, a thick stucco of makeup, and a red skirt halfway up between her knee and groin. Her companion was shorter than she was, a roly-poly figure who was trying to follow her babble of talk while taking in the impressive turreted towers at either end of the facade.
“And when was it builded?” the assistant heard him ask.
“Gawd only knows,” said the woman. “A bit here and there, I should think. I do know Mary, Queen of Scots, lived in the left-hand tower, but that is about the sum total of my knowledge. You should have bought a guidebook if you’re interested.”
“Why are w—?” began the plump young man, clearly wanting to know why they had come if she had no interest in the place’s history. He wisely thought better of it.
“You should see the place when the queen comes here in June,” said the woman in full, rehearsed flood. “There’s inspections of troops, investitures, garden parties in the rain—”
“Pardon, Marge—what is investitures?”
“Like giving away titles and things,” said Marge. “‘Arise, Sir Gavin’—that sort of thing.”
“Does the queen always come here in June?”
“Always.”
“Why?”
“Buggered if I know. Probably hoping for a day without rain. Not that she gets it. It pours, always does. Mind you, the whole thing is arranged like clockwork, and things go ahead, rain or no rain. Brilliant, like a pantomime.”
“Have you been part of these festivities?”
“Not me. They’d never have given me a job—I'm too common. My accent isn’t Scottish, which is okay: It’s Cockney, which isn’t. It’s my ex who was involved—Gavin. Still is. It’s right up his street. Anything involving lots of niminy-piminy detail is Gavin’s sort of thing. He even screwed like he was a clockwork toy.”
The young Bulgarian, who had been nicely brought up in Varna, looked a little shocked, but his companion did not notice and marched through the door that was held open for them.
“Hello, James, hello, Linda.” This was to the woman coming down the stairway. “Been to warn Gavin, have you? You know, it should be a pleasure to him, having the woman he once loved paying him a visit at his workplace, but the truth is he never looks pleased to see me. Sad, isn’t it? Oh, this is Simon, by the way. He’s Bulgarian and a history-vulture, so you can do your spiels on Scotland’s bloody history—I’m not swearing, just telling the truth—to your heart’s content. Simon is an ice-cream seller.”
“Simeon, I’m called Simeon. And in Bulgaria I am a teacher of English, but here I drive a van and sell ice cream,” said the young man sadly.
“Well, that’s progress for you—getting ahead in the world. And it still involves children, doesn’t it?” She turned to James. “He loves children. Beats me why he would. It’s not as though they’re nice to him. Just shout their orders, try to cheat him on the money, and abuse him for his accent. I always stood out against having children. Not that Gavin was all that keen. He was a teacher then. Puts you off kids, does teaching.”
She marched towards the Great Stair and mounted it fearlessly. Simeon puffed some way behind, called out, “Wait, Marge,” but was not listened to. Marge steamed into the dining room as if she had a coach party with her and could not fall behind in her schedule.
“Just a lot of old crocks,” she said disparagingly. “I’ve had too many old crocks in my life.”
“What do all these cutleries mean?” asked Simeon. “Why are they in that order and which cutlery is for what?”
“Search me,” said Marge. “Those bloody great banquets give me the willies. After ten or twelve courses they’re good for nothing—just bundles of lard, fit only for groping and farting. As long as you’re with me it’s pizza, hamburger, or chili con carne. Like Mae West said, it’s the life in my man that’s the important thing.”
At the far door there was a scuffling sound, and Marge’s face lit up.
“Hello! Are you there, Gavin? Still spying and peeping through keyholes, then? They should make a film about you. Get Daniel Craig to play you. He’s got what it takes, but I wouldn’t tell on you.”
She laughed a parakeet laugh and turned to go into the next room. It was quite large by Holyroodhouse standards, but Marge had to emphasize that she was not impressed.
“The throne room. You’d think it was the largest bog in the Western Hemisphere
, but it’s not. These two unimpressive chairs are, in fact, thrones. You can tell the Royals have never taken much trouble when it comes to their Scottish subjects, can’t you? Some moth-eaten black velvet, a bit of embroidery, a back that doesn’t come up to the shoulder blades and that’s what they call a throne.”
“It looks quite impressive to me,” said Simeon.
“Gawd ’elp me, I wouldn’t want to see your unimpressive. Believe you me, most of the rooms are no better than this. A bit mouldy, a bit dusty, a bit this-is-the-best-we-can-do. Some of the rooms are just dumping places for unwanted tapestries. You can’t imagine any real person actually living here. Are you listening, Gavin? That’s what most of the visitors say about your precious palace.”
The five or six other visitors in the throne room looked at each other, and made decisions on whether to hurry ahead or hold back. Marge, pleased with herself, turned towards Simeon.
“I bet you have better big houses in Bulgaria, don’t you?”
“We have a big royal palace in Sofia. It is made of wood. It is used as a picture gallery since we became a republic.”
“Didn’t know you’d ever been anything else.”
“I was named after our last king,” said Simeon proudly.
“Never heard of him. What became of him?”
“Well, he became prime minister for a time.”
“I don’t know if that’s going up in the world, or going down. RIGHT—WE’RE COMING ON, GAVIN. MAKE YOURSELF SCARCE.”
They walked on, through two medium-sized, sumptuous rooms. “See what I mean about tapestries, can’t you? Who’d want to look at crappy old embroideries like that all day? This was Charles the Second’s privy chamber—no, that doesn’t mean lavvy, either. Think of all the work a room like this involves for some poor girl. I don’t suppose the second Charles gave that a moment’s thought. People like that never do. They just think how generous they are to give the girl a regular job. Makes you puke, doesn’t it?”