D. E. Meredith's Devoured struck me as an incredibly interesting historical mystery when I started seeing reviews of it strewn about the blogosphere. I felt like everybody but me was reading this novel which features an early Victorian-era forensic detective and his assistant. That being the case, I ordered it up from the library to add to my "Everybody But Me" Book Bingo reading list.
The mystery begins with the death of Lady Katherine Bessingham--a bohemian and a free-thinker, who collects specimens and fossils and who subscribes to the rather dangerous new theories of evolution. Inspector Adams, the well-known hotshot detective from Scotland Yard, calls in Adolphus Hatton and his morgue assistant Albert Roumande--two early forensic practitioners--to examine the crime scene and perform the autopsy. Their investigations will take them from the sewing room work house where fine lady's garments are created by the extreme poor to the well-appointed rooms of the wealthy; from the shop of an out-of-the-way bookseller to the British Museum.
The story alternates between a narrative of current events in London and letters written while one of the main characters was on a specimen-collecting journey in Borneo. It becomes clear that the events which took place in Malaysia are firmly tied to the spate of murders that have thinned the ranks of Britain's scientific community. But are the radical views held by these botanists and specimen-collectors really the catalyst? Or is there a more basic motive driving this killer who seems able to stay one step ahead of the police and the forensic investigators?
This one is a bit of a mixed bag for me. It is quite obviously a well-researched novel. Lots of excellent detail about the period--particularly the conditions for the working poor. The letters detailing Ben Broderig's trip are quite interesting (if a bit heavy at times with descriptions of various collectors pouncing on specimens and rattling off the Latin names....). The premise is an interesting one...but a bit unevenly told. And I quite liked the motive behind the murders (well...most of the murders...but an explanation of what I mean by that would be a thundering spoiler). BUT I don't like the protagonists much. I particularly don't like Inspector Adams....for such a celebrated detective, he's awful slow on the uptake. It seems evident that he didn't rise in the force based on his skill and the second half of the novel would seem to bear this out. Hatton and Roumande could have been more interesting if their forensic detective work had been given more scope. It seemed to me that most of the time they were just brought along to show how non-effectual Adams really is without moving the investigation along nearly as much as they should. The denouement shows them in their best light--but more as men of action than as men of science.
All in all, a decent debut novel that is solid enough to make me interested in reading the next installment (The Devil's Ribbon). I hope that Meredith builds on the strengths of her debut and I hope to see Hatton and Roumande used more effectively in their chosen profession. Three stars.
Synopsis: Richard Papen arrived
at Hampden College in New England and was quickly seduced by an elite
group of five students, all Greek scholars, all worldly, self-assured,
and, at first glance, all highly unapproachable. As Richard is drawn
into their inner circle, he learns a terrifying secret that binds them
to one another...a secret about an incident in the woods in the dead of
night where an ancient rite was brought to brutal life...and led to a
gruesome death. And that was just the beginning...
I would have finished Donna Tartt's near-600 pager, The Secret History, much sooner if my dad's medical emergency hadn't eaten up most of my reading time last week. That's a round-about way of telling you that this is a pretty impressive page-turner for a book about a bunch of (mostly) upper-class privileged college kids who know Greek like the back of their hands and use their studies and knowledge to reenact an ancient Greek Bacchanalia. It's quite interesting to see scholarship-dependent Richard with all the insecurities of a West Coast middle to lower-middle class student try to fit in with the "cool kids."
The Bacchanalia is what leads to all their troubles....the "secret" of the Secret History--they push beyond the limits of morality in a way that most college students would never dream. And I find this story to be more of an intricate examination of how various personalities handle the pressures brought on by what the group has done than a regular whodunnit kind of mystery. Tartt handles the psychological reactions very well and it is very interesting to see who falls apart, who remains stoic, and what Richard makes of it all. The reader also has to wonder at the motivations behind the apparent easy acceptance of Richard into the highly secretive, exclusive Greek studies group.
Kudos to Tartt for making such an appalling story--I mean, really...what these college kids get up to and how they treat those who are their friends--into such an appealing and absorbing read. Four stars.
Quotes:
Does such a thing as 'the fatal flaw,' that showy dark crack running
down the middle of a life, exist outside literature? I used to think it
didn't. Now I think it does. And I think that mine is this: a morbid
longing for the picturesque at all costs.
I suppose the shock of recognition is one of the nastiest shocks of all.
For if the modern mind is whimsical and discursive, the classical mind
is narrow, unhesitating, relentless. It is not a quality of intelligence
that one encounters frequently these days. But though I can digress
with the best of them, I am nothing in my soul if not obsessive.
One likes to think there's something in it, that old platitude amor
vincit omnia. But if I've learned one thing in my short sad life, it is
that that particular platitude is a lie. Love doesn't conquer
everything. And whoever thinks it does is a fool.
It is easy to see things in retrospect. But I was ignorant then of
everything but my own happiness, and I don’t know what else to say
except that life itself seemed very magical in those days: a web of
symbol, coincidence, premonition, omen. Everything, somehow, fit
together; some sly and benevolent Providence was revealing itself by
degrees and I felt myself trembling on the brink of a fabulous
discovery, as though any morning it was all going to come together–my
future, my past, the whole of my life–and I was going to sit up in bed
like a thunderbolt and say oh! oh! oh!
It's funny, but thinking back on it now, I realize that this particular
point in time, as I stood there blinking in the deserted hall, was the
one point at which I might have chosen to do something very much
different from what I actually did. But of course I didn't see this
crucial moment for what it actually was; I suppose we never do. Instead,
I only yawned, and shook myself from the momentary daze that had come
upon me, and went on my way down the stairs.
“But how,” said Charles, who was close to tears, “how can you possibly justify cold-blooded murder?’
Henry lit a cigarette. “I prefer to think of it,” he had said, “as redistribution of matter.”
Not quite what one expected, but once it happened one realized it couldn't be any other way.
Anything is grand if it's done on a large enough scale.
They understand not only evil, it seemed, but the extravagance of tricks with which evil presents itself as good.
And it made me feel better in some obscure way: imagining myself a hero, rushing fearlessly for the gun, instead of merely loitering in the bullet's path like the bystander which I so essentially am. (p. 544)
"Are you happy here?" I said at last.
He considered for a moment. "Not particularly," he said. "But you're not very happy where you are either." (p.559)
Finding Camlann by Sean Pidgin is an incredibly disappointing book. It caught my eye on the "New Books" shelf at the library and the bookflap synopsis reeled me in and convinced me that I needed to read it:
Despite the wealth of
scholarship that pretends to offer proof, archaeologist Donald Gladstone
knows there is no solid evidence that a real King Arthur ever existed.
Still, the great popular tales spun by medieval historian Geoffrey of
Monmouth, and embroidered by Chrétien de Troyes, Sir Thomas Malory, and
so many others, must have found their inspiration somewhere. A dramatic
archaeological find at Stonehenge and the rediscovery of an old Welsh
battle poem, buried among the manuscripts of the Bodleian Library, open
up enticing—and misleading—new possibilities.
When the beguiling Julia Llewellyn, a linguist working on the Oxford English Dictionary,
joins Donald on the trail of clues, their fervent enthusiasms, unusual
gifts, and unfulfilled yearnings prove a combustible mix. Their
impassioned search for truths buried deep in the past, amid the secret
places and half-forgotten legends of the British countryside, must
ultimately transform them—and all our understandings of the origins of
Arthur.
An intellectual and emotional journey of myriad pleasures, Finding Camlann
is at its heart a love story—not only of romantic love but also the
love between parents and grown children; the intense feelings of
professors and students; the love of language, place, and home; and the
thrill of scholarly research and detective work. Throughout, Sean
Pidgeon’s lyrical prose brings together history, myth, and dream,
sweeping the reader into the mysteries of the past and the pure delight
of storytelling.
What a great pity that it didn't quite live up to that. It actually is quite a mess. You've got Donald on his odd little Arthur quest driving everywhere and, apparently (from the text), noticing every little, itsy-bitsy detail of the geography around him along the way. You've got his rather dreary, maybe-it's-on; maybe-it's-off affair with Julia. You've got Julia's weird relationship with her husband and all her doubts and fears about whether he (her husband) or her father or both have been involved in this totally unrelated explosion in the past. You've got one half-crazy scholar and Donald's ex-wife who is bit batty on the subject of ancient Wales and a priestess cult. Mix well and add a stilted, present-tense narration...and watch how the story just sort of stumbles along from one of these topics to another. I didn't really notice any "fervent enthusiasms" or "combustible mix" (unless you count that explosion that didn't even happen during the story's present events). Even when told that Donald was getting excited about this discovery or that I didn't really believe that he was. And then when we get to the end.....well it just ends. There's no real closure to the story and we're left to imagine what happens next. In some books that's a good thing. But with no solid storyline in this one....not so much.
I may be over-rating it with two stars--but I thought the concept was interesting and I actually liked the characters. I just wish there had been a more coherent narration and more development of those characters.