10 New Favourites on the Mystery Shelves

There are few pleasures as unalloyed as finding a new author whose books you enjoy – and nothing more calculated to alloy said pleasures as finding that they have inconveniently died and stopped writing; or that there’s a run on their books at the library the week after you find that you like them.

Here, however, are a few (mostly living) mystery authors whose books I have been enjoying of late – when I can get them. In library shelf order, therefore:

Alan Bradley writes the Flavia de Luce novels, of which there are presently six, beginning with The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie. Flavia breaks the usual mould of literary detectives by being an eleven-year-old girl from a family of decayed gentility, who has a passion for chemistry – particularly in the area of poisons. She is precocious without being smarmy, and while her emotional reactions are sometimes hidden even from the reader (I know not why), an afternoon spent with Miss Flavia is generally an afternoon well spent.

Simon Brett has at least four series on the go, of which I have sampled three: the Charles Paris series, the Fethering series, and the Blotto and Twinks series. The Fethering ones are my favourites (featuring a retired civil servant and her considerably less uptight next-door-neighbour), although I also enjoy the theatrical milieu of the Charles Paris novels. I really wanted to like the Blotto and Twinks series, starring an upper-class idiot and his brilliant sister, but they fell a bit flat for me: I don’t much care for books that invite readers to mock their characters or their genre.

Song of the Flame 1930

Duffy Brown also has more than one series on the go, but the one I’ve been reading is the consignment shop series, set in Savannah, Georgia, featuring Reagan Summerside (who starts a second-hand clothes shop in her living room to make ends meet) and her feisty aunt Kiki. Everybody needs an aunt like Kiki, if only to keep life interesting!

Raymond Chandler wrote some of the most classic LA noir/hardboiled detective novels of all time. I wasn’t sure I was going to like his work, since he was so vehemently against the Golden Age mysteries that I love, but I found Philip Marlowe’s voice an enjoyable read. “I gobbled what they called the regular dinner, drank a brandy to sit on its chest and hold it down, and went out on to the main street.”

John McQuade Charlie Wild, Private Detective 1951

Carola Dunn has written 22 novels about the Hon. Daisy Dalrymple, an aristocratic writer who marries beneath her (a policeman, my dear!) and is continually getting dragged into other people’s problems, much to her husband’s annoyance. She’s a very relatable person, and it’s nice to have a detective who doesn’t have serious relationship problems, for a change.

Kathy Lynn Emerson writes the Face Down series, which are notable both for having a strong female lead character in Susanna, Lady Appleton (also with a strong analytical interest in poisons) and for being in tune with their Tudor setting. If there’s one thing I can’t stand in a novel, it’s modernity shoved into an ill-fitting historical guise – Emerson doesn’t fall into that trap.

Hans Holbein the Younger - Portrait of a Lady, perhaps Katherine Howard (Royal Collection)

Charles Finch has written seven novels about “gentleman sleuth” Charles Lenox, beginning with A Beautiful Blue Death. The settings are convincing, and I don’t figure out whodunnit (or even exactly what they dun) halfway through and spend the second half saying ‘I thought so’ – always a good sign.

Andrew M Greeley’s detective is a bishop in the Roman Catholic Church – something he knew a lot about as he was himself a priest from 1954 until his death two years ago. He sees both the good and the bad in the church (and outside of it) and Bishop Blackie Ryan has a self-deprecating wit that makes for a very good read. He specializes in locked room mysteries.

Bergoglio Kirchner 2

Georgette Heyer is best known for her Regency romances, but she also wrote traditional mysteries of the Golden Age ilk. They make for pleasant, light reading. I did guess whodunnit on the first page of one, but that might be due to my nasty suspicious mind. (Suspect everyone.)

Catriona McPherson writes the Dandy Gilver series – Dandy being an upper class woman who decides to set up as a private inquiry agent with a bachelor friend of hers. The books are set in the 1920s and provide a good mix of realism and romp, keeping in touch with current events as they do. Dandy makes very good company on a rainy afternoon.

SophieTuckerInFurLookingAtCamera

The honourable mention goes to Ashley Weaver. I found her book Murder at the Brightwell, enjoyed it, and then found that she has so far published only the one (still, better than finding a favourite author has died). It’s the first of a series set in the 1930s and is in the style of the Golden Age (with only occasional lapses). It keeps you guessing all along, which is pretty good for a debut novel. I look forward to seeing her second novel once it comes out in October.

So there you have it: ten (and an extra) mystery authors in whose work I have recently revelled. Enjoy!

What Happened Next?

It occurred to me today that while I bring up a lot of subjects on this blog, I seldom revisit them. While I know what happened next, I don’t often share that with the rest of the world.
How has it been since I cut my hair short? Have I actually done any of the exercise I praised, fun or otherwise? Have all my screeds over the years on the subject of decluttering had any measurable effects in real life? Or was it all just talk?

Well…

1815 Isabey Portrait Katharina Pawlowna von Russland anagoria

My hair is still short, and definitely curly. On a good morning, there’s a vague resemblance to Helena Bonham Carter; on a bad morning, the resemblance is more to Edward Scissorhands – and a lot stronger. I’m planning to grow it out as winter approaches – partly for warmth and partly just to see what happens!

As for exercise, I mentioned that my exercise goals included buying a skipping rope, and learning to dance the galliard (aka the cinquepace). I have indeed bought a skipping rope, and have even skipped with it – mostly outside on the grass for the sake of my joints. It’s harder than it was when I was little, though I have not yet tried any fancy touches like the Inverse Toad.

Woodcut Galliard

When it comes to the galliard, however, I have met with less success. Apart from the useful information that one could dance the galliard to the tune of God Save the Queen (perhaps why the dance was so popular with Queen Elizabeth I, who danced six or seven of a morning by way of exercise), I have got nowhere. As wonderful as our local library is, it is singularly lacking in books on how to dance the dances of history. I shall have to keep looking. Next stop: the great wide web.

I have also acquired a new swimming-suit (of which more hereafter) and gone to a swimming-pool for the first time in a long time. (Years.) I happily paddled and splashed about, enjoying the absence of large waves trying to give me a forcible sinus rinse, and even essayed a few lengths, with variable success. Running your head into the wall while swimming on your back: not success.

0ld keyboards

On the same day as we went to the pool, we took a quantity of e-waste to the safe-disposal-of-electronic-waste people. I was very happy to see the back of it. As well as safely breaking down the parts of things no longer functional (recycling), they also fix things where possible (reuse) or turn them into other things (repurpose) – all very good for the planet, as well as those not able (or not willing) to buy their belongings new.

Since I last wrote about tidying, decluttering and purging, I have also gone through the bathroom cupboards like a dose of salts (pun intended – please forgive me) as well as the pantry cupboard and the shelves in the hallway.

I’m also sleeping better. I stopped worrying about it, and that seemed to help, although I’m inclined to give the recent sudden arrival of autumn a bit of credit too – no more waking up overheated. Now I sleep like a hibernating dormouse, although happily I don’t snore like one.

Glis glis (edible dormouse) in winter sleep

What have I missed? Is there anything I mentioned once and never got back to you about? Let me know in the comments!

Richard Of York Gave Battle In Vain

Lernsprachre

What’s your favourite colour? Or, to look at it another way, if you were to be represented by a colour, what would it be?

Myself, I am a sort of dark rusty reddish brown. Plain without being drab, warm without being fiery, simple without being boring. The colour of book-bindings, bloodstains and mahogany furniture – which, now I think about it, makes me sound like a murder in the library.

Well, there are worse places to die – providing, of course, that one does not bleed on the books.

And you? If you abominate the idea of a representative colour, the comment section is also open to discussions of the best places to die. (1,001 Places to Die Before You See?) We speak of birthplaces, why not deathplaces?