Books to the Ceiling

Eve McNabb has come home to the village of Crossley to bury her mother May. It is, of course, a sad occasion, but an additional element of mystery intrudes when a letter arrives addressed to May by a woman named Jean. Eve has no idea who Jean is, but it is apparent from the letter’s wording that the correspondent does not know of her mother’s passing. The missive also alludes to a relationship Jean claims to have with May that passes beyond the bounds of mere friendship. Who is this woman, and what kind of hold did she have over May McNabb?

As a child, Eve had been quite close to her mother. For the most part, it was just the two of them; her father Tom had left the family early on and emigrated to Australia. Not long after his abandonment, May had informed Eve that her father was dead. In her professional life, May McNabb had been a teacher and headmistress whose reputation for probity was unquestioned. But on this one subject, she had resolutely declined to provide any specifics. Now, saying her final goodbyes to May, Eve finds herself plagued with doubts and questions. What was the real nature of her father’s fate? An even more radical question suggests itself: Might he still be alive after all?

Eve little suspects that by dint of her inquiries, she is embarking on a journey that will comprise both joy and heartbreak. One thing is for certain: her life will never be the same.

For over two decades, ever since I first discovered the joys of crime fiction, I’ve been enjoying the works of Robert Barnard. Last fall, as part of our Smithsonian mystery tour, my husband and I had the pleasure of meeting this fine writer. Barnard is not only a much-honored author of mysteries; he is also an authority on the Bronte family. The talk he present to our group at the Bronte parsonage was fascinating.

[Robert Barnard addressing our group at the Bronte Parsonage]

[Robert Barnard receiving the Cartier Diamond Dagger Award in 2003]

Barnard has fielded several series in the course of his writing career. (He has also written a number of standalones like Last Post. See the entry in Stop! You’re Killing Me for the complete rundown.) An early title in the Perry Trethowan series, Death by Sheer Torture, is a riff on the country house mystery tradition, at which Barnard pokes exhuberant fun in the course of the novel.

Another of my favorites is The Corpse at the Haworth Tandoori, which features policeman Charlie Peace. Haworth is where the Bronte Parsonage is. As our tour bus was entering this jewel of a village last fall, we drove right by the Tandoori featured in the eponymous novel! (Oh, dear - will we ever have a chance once again to have this much fun in the beloved old country?…)

Last Post finds Robert Barnard in top form. Eve McNabb is an enormously appealing protagonist; you’ll find yourself rooting for her from start to finish. I know I did.

How could Jean Loftus and her husband Kenward have lived in Asshe House for decades and not have known about the body buried in the back garden? This is just one of the many questions that surface in the course of Elizabeth Ironside’s elegantly written and meticulously constructed puzzler, The Accomplice. All kinds of surprises lurk in this narrative, not the least of which concerns the true identity of the extravagantly named Evgenia Konstantinovna Chournoroukaya. This illustrious-sounding personage turns out to be none other than the aforementioned Jean Loftus!

As the novel opens, Jean/Evgenia is an elderly widow increasingly immobilized by severe arthritis. She can no longer move about Asshe House with ease and has thus decided to turn the stately home over to her stepson Marcus and his wife Naomi. It is the latter’s project of re-landscaping the back of the house that causes the bones, long buried beneath the roses, to be brought to light.

Evgenia’s back story is told in chapters interspersed throughout the present day narrative. It is equal parts fascinating and harrowing. She came of age at the worst possible time, in the worst possible place: Latvia during the Second World War. She suffered terrible losses before she was able to emigrate to England and start a new life.

Zita Daunsey is Evgenia’s friend and solicitor. She lives with her son Tom, who has cerebral palsy. Zita is also recently divorced from Oliver, who, it seems, couldn’t deal with Tom’s disability. She was thus put in the grotesque position of having to choose between her husband and her child. She chose Tom. It makes for a difficult home life, and there are times when she feels frustrated and resentful, but Zita loves her son fiercely. By all accounts she should loathe her ex-husband with an equal ferocity, but instead, she pines for him and misses him. Such are the vagaries of the human heart…

When Xenia, a student, comes from Russia to stay with Mark and Naomi, events in the novel take an unexpected turn. Xenia claims to be Evgenia’s distant relation, a contention which Evgenia herself rejects out of hand. But that doesn’t faze Xenia, who has a plan of her own devising which she doesn’t hesitate to put into action.

Although The Accomplice was written in 1996, it was not published here until ten years later. Despite being greatly admired by reviewers and readers alike, Elizabeth Ironside’s novels could not find a publisher here until Maggie Topkis of the famed Partners & Crime mystery bookstore in Greenwich Village decided to import them directly from the U.K. She hand sold Ironside’s Death in the Garden with so much success that she decided to take things a step further. Felony & Mayhem Press, founded by Ms. Topkis in 2005, specializes in reprinting titles of interest that are no longer in print, at least in this country and possibly in the U.K. as well.

Meanwhile, she had an interesting experience while tracking down the author of the two aforementioned works. “Elizabeth Ironside” turned out to be the pseudonym of Lady Catherine Manning, wife of the British ambassador to the U.S.!

[Lady Catherine and Sir David Manning]

Felony & Mayhem has a great list, but good luck trying to tease it out of a site that’s perpetually “under construction.” Titles are classified as British, Traditional, Historical, Hardboiled, Espionage, or Vintage. Topkis engages in a little ad hoc readers’ advisory on the back cover of each book. “Who’s Likely to Like This?” she asks rhetorically on the back off The Accomplice. The answer is, “Fans of Ruth Rendell, Minette Walters and Death in the Garden.” I agree, though for the record, I found Death in the Garden somewhat tedious in spots. For my money, The Accomplice is an altogether more compelling, tightly constructed work.

(A good way of getting a list of titles published by Felony & Mayhem is to do a search on Amazon for “Felony & Mayhem Mysteries.” )

One final word concerns the novel’s title. Ironside uses the word “accomplice” at several critical junctures in the narrative to describe the way in which an individual, by not acting on knowledge that he or she possesses, becomes an accomplice with regard to another’s malevolent actions. In other words, the author is referring to sins of omission, rather than commission. It’s a provocative concept, with crucial moral implcations for the characters in The Accomplice.

I’ve always assumed that the day of the wedding - any wedding - would be spent ironing out last minute snafus (not to mention wrinked shirts), rehearsing the wedding party, and trying to keep nerves in check. We did indeed have a rehearsal early that morning. It had to be early, you see, because the next scheduled event was a game of ultimate frisbee!

Yes, it was “the brides” versus “the grooms” in what Ben proclaimed, with complete accuracy and utter lack of hyperbole, to be The Greatest Sport Ever Invented By Man (and there’s even a book to prove it!)

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This is what Ben, Erica, and Company got up to on Friday June 20: ultimate in the morning; nuptials in the evening!

The girls (and boys) in their summer dresses

Nonstop action!

Ben, in a disposable suit (Where did he get that thing?) He literally cut pieces of it off as the game progressed!

Erica, in an old prom dress. She looked gorgeous, of course, despite trying to look scruffy.

Little Quinn had as much fun as the grownups!

The game over, traditional team pictures were duly taken.

Great fun was had by all, in the delicious, invigorating air of beautiful Jackson Hole.

It was obvious that we would have to follow up the incredible Ursine Encounter with an adventure at least equally exciting. So where else could we go except to Old Faithful?

Ergo, we followed the signs to the eponymous geothermal phenomenon, and the first thing we encountered was…a mass of vehicles. Hundreds of them: everything from compact cars to RV’s the size of hotels. There was lots of parking, but nothing close in, so we parked - somewhere; I’m not sure where! - and walked over to the site, where we encountered… a mass of people. Hundreds of them. From all over the U.S., all over the world, really. A Tower of Babel patiently awaiting the Eruption.

As it turned out, we had to wait about twenty minutes for the main attraction. Old Faithful would get up a goodly head of steam, only to subside a moment later. (Another first: being teased by a geyser!)

Meanwhile, it was amusing to listen to the conversations around us. Here’s one commentary that demonstrated an interesting attitude toward causality:

“Every time you hit the ‘record’ button, that thing calms down again. Next time, say you’re going to hit the button, but don’t actually do it.

Okay…

Of course, there were lots of children. This did my heart good. Let’s get those kids away from their video games and text messaging devices and into the open air - even if that air smells faintly sulphurous! Of course, on occasions like this one, children are invariably the source of lively and provocative questions. To wit:

“Mom, if you lie down on top of that thing, will your head burn up?”

There were also some well-informed spectators in the crowd. A mother busily supervising a large brood still found time to provide a lively commentary on the what and why of Old Faithful. She then asked me if I had ever before been to Yellowstone. I lowered my lashes demurely and replied, “No - this is my first geyser.”

And then, suddenly - at least, it seemed sudden:

[The average height of an eruption is 130 feet.]

So, was it faintly corny to be standing amid a mass of humanity gazing out at Old Faithful? Yes. Was it at the same time thrilling and exhilarating? Absolutely! This was something I had been hearing about since I was a kid - and seeing pictures of, and even reading parodies of. But standing there, at that moment, I felt downright patriotic: we really know how to put on a geothermal spectacular, right here in the U.S. of A.!

There’s an interesting article in today’s Washington Post about the current state of the publishing business. “Turning the Page on the Disposable Book” goes a long way towards explaining some of the more odious practices of today’s book publishers. As we bibliophiles have long thought, the bottom line orientation of these entities largely accounts for the spectacular mediocrity of much of their product. (And we won’t even get onto the subject of worthy tomes going out of print with lightning speed.) Surprisingly, though, author Jonathan Karp offers a cautiously hopeful prediction concerning the direction in which he thinks the business might be heading.

“Not My Fault,” an essay by Jacob Heilbrunn that appeared in the June 22 New York Times Book Review, makes a rather apt companion to Karp’s article. Heilbrunn quotes the following comments by historian Michael Beschloss:

“Forty years ago, publishers had a pretty high standard for who should write books…There were fewer books published. You had better possess some literary ability.”

Further comment from Yours Truly not being necessary, I’ll end here!

An eclectic and intriguing list of favorites, appearing on Medieval Mysteries, was recently brought to my attention. (One of the things I like about this site is that it highlights works of nonfiction as well as fiction and mystery.) This particular list was compiled by M.B. Gilbride, one of the site’s three reviewers. It was begun as a list of “all-time favourite medieval books,” but Gilbride ranges far afield here, regarding both genres and time periods.

“M.B. Gilbride” is a heavily cloaked pseudonym. Click here for is his/her list.

Two novels included in this enumeration have also given me great pleasure: Morality Play by Barry Unsworth and The Egyptian by Mika Waltari.

This is a good place for me to plug two favorite nonfiction titles about the Middle Ages. Eric Jager’s The Last Duel is a great example of nonfiction that reads like fiction; from the halfway point to the end I couldn’t put this book down. And then, of course, there’s the book that first sparked my interest in this time period: A Distant Mirror by Barbara Tuchman.

[Barbara Tuchman, 1912-1989]

Another annnotated list that I frequently consult is “Mysteries To Take to a Desert Island” by the late Grobius Shortling (aka Wyatt James). This list mixes the “usual suspects” with completely unfamiliar authors and titles - at least, they were unfamiliar to me.

The kickoff title is A Coffin for Demetrios by the great Eric Ambler. I had the good fortune to be reading this thirteen years ago in Paris, where the culminating action of the novel takes place.

[Eric Ambler, 1909-1998]

Our Yellowstone excursion began with a couple of surprises. First, as we drove north through the Tetons, it began to rain. Oh, grand, thought I, it probably rains about twice a year in these parts and of course, today…But wait! Shortly before we reached the Park’s South Entrance, the rain abated, then stopped altogether. A good omen, we concluded, though at the time we didn’t know just how good!

We had been inside the Park for about twenty minutes when we encountered a traffic jam. Numerous cars and camper vans were pulled over onto the verge. Not knowing the ways of genus touristus in this extraordinary place, we feared there had been accident. As we got closer, I was able to make out a large, dark shape moving beyond a stand of trees close to the road. About a minute later, I realized what I, along with dozens of other excited shutterbugs, was seeing:

A bear! No - a bear and two cubs. Let’s see - that makes three bears…yes..THREE GRIZZLY BEARS!! IN THE WILD!!

Well, that was it for Your Faithful Blogger. All discretion and caution were flung to the winds. My heart started to pound; my eyelids stung. As he maneuvered cautiously through the welter of vehicles, Ron said, “Sweetie, now I don’t know if it’s really a good idea to -.” Too late. I was out of the car, dashing into the woods, trusty little Nikon in hand, clicking, clicking:

Surely this was a Benevolent God’s way of saying, “Welcome to Yellowstone, Roberta. I told you it would knock your socks off!”

And there was more to come, so much more…

The wedding of one’s only son - one’s only CHILD, for gosh sake! - followed by one’s first visit to Yellowstone - well, one is pretty much “of sense forlorn” at the moment. I’m now catching up on some much-needed sleep, and having wonderful dreams.

It was all quite fabulous. Details to follow. Meanwhile, feast your eyes…

The Grand Tetons

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The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, a sight that has enthralled Ron ever since he first saw it at age 13.

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Some of Yellowstone’s bizarre and wondrous geothermal features

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These guys just kept turning up by the side of the road. I think they were showing off! At any rate - long may they roam…

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But of course - first, came the Main Event, after which, the celebrating began:

Erica and Ben, post-ceremony, visiting with friends - and so relieved that everything went smoothly.

The festivities were greatly enriched by the presence of children. In particular, there were numerous babies. They seemed to be having as much fun as the grownups!

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Finally, some more stunning views:

These last three shots were taken from the balcony of our room at the Amanagani in Jackson.

I’ll be away from Books to the Ceiling for a while, for the best of all possible reasons: to see my son and his beautiful fiancee become husband and wife.

They are getting married in Wyoming; as they say their vows, they will have the stunning Grand Tetons as a backdrop.

I should be blogging again by the end of June. Meanwhile, enjoy the rest of the month - and keep reading!

What is so rare as a day in June? / Then, if ever, come perfect days…”

Last month I wrote about the book Into the Wild. We finally had a chance to see the film last night, and I feel like my heart got broken all over again.

I was angry at Chris McCandless almost the entire time I was listening to the audiobook. He seemed like an out-of-control narcissist with impossibly grand notions about his personal destiny. Only as his sad, pathetic end became imminent did my ire begin to subside. In the film, though, right from the beginning he comes across as a rather appealing person, a free spirit with a generous heart.

Generous, that is, except where is parents were concerned. It was as if cutting off all contact with them (as well as with his sister Carine, whom he professed to love) gave him the power to hurt them that he seemed to crave. But - in recompense for what injury, exactly? In the film, the McCandlesses are shown to have engaged in some knock- down- drag-out battles when Chris and Carine were young children. (This is something I don’t remember from the book.) In addition, during the summer between his high school graduation and his freshman year at Emory University, Chris found out that his father Walt had not been fully disengaged from his first wife when he began a family with Chris’s mother Billie. (She ultimately became Walt’s second wife when he finally obtained a divorce.)

“That meant we were bastards!”, or words to that effect, are uttered at that point by Carine in a voice-over narration that I found to be one of the films few weak features. As for the implication that this revelation caused Chris to reject his parents, I don’t buy it. I think he was looking to justify a rejection that was already happening; the story of the early infidelity was as good a reason as any, in his young mind, to heap contempt on the heads of two people whom he already viewed as hopelessly compromised by their bourgeous suburban existence.

And there’s one other thing. Walt McCandless was a brilliant, accomplished engineer. I think that Chris was afraid that if he chose to compete in any way with Walt, he might not measure up. As a father, Walt McCandless appears to have been somewhat judgmental and rather stern, possibly remote in his aspect - in other words, not in the mold of the touchy-feely, postfeminist Dad. ( I just re-read the last sentence and realized that I could be describing my own father. Perhaps because I was a daughter, and a somewhat sickly one at that, I managed to get enough caring from him to satisfy my needs. He and my mother were cruelly ravaged by old age, and I drew close to him at the end. It was an unexpected gift. )

Into the Wild depicts Chris McCandless’s slow, agonizing death with unsparing realism. It was hard to watch - I was riveted but at the same time wanted desperately to avert my eyes until it was finished. My husband and I both felt that Emile Hirsch, in the title role, was completely convincing.

In her review in Salon, Stephanie Zacharek informs us that Jon Krakauer ceded his book’s film rights to Chris McCandless’s parents. I believe that those rights are worth a great deal of money, and I admire Krakauer for that generous, gracious concession. Likewise, Sean Penn deserves praise for waiting patiently until Walt and Billie McCandless were ready for the story of their son’s brief life to be told on film. Penn has amply rewarded their trust with this meticulously crafted, gorgeously photographed work.

[Emile Hirsch as Christopher Johnson McCandless]