Review: "Venetian Vespers," John Banville

Set at the close of the 19th century, Venetian Vespers drops us into a wintry Venice seen through the jaundiced eyes of its narrator, English writer Evelyn Dolman. He arrives with his wife Laura—an American heiress, recently disinherited after a mysterious rupture with her father—to inhabit a cavernous palazzo on the Grand Canal, a wedding gift that now feels less like a blessing than a trap.

From the outset, Dolman loathes Venice: the cold, the smell, the sense of rot beneath the beauty. He cynically describes the city’s decaying foundations as “the soiled and drenched hems of the petticoats of a succession of dropsical old ladies.” To him, Venice is not a postcard. It’s sinister; the city seems to smirk at him.  The supporting cast deepens the unease: the coarse and unsettling Count Barbarigo, their landlord; the ambiguous maid Rosaria (servant? relative? accomplice? If so, to what?). Meanwhile, Dolman’s suspects that he may have been a consolation prize after Laura’s father blocked an unsuitable match.

Dolman quickly encounters Freddie FitzHerbert, a boarding-school acquaintance Dolman does not remember and immediately distrusts, and Freddie’s sister Francesca, whose allure proves far more destabilizing. When Laura vanishes and the FitzHerberts insinuate themselves into the palazzo, Dolman’s tenuous grasp on reality begins to fray. He knows he’s being sucked into a bizarre rabbit hole—and yet he doesn’t really try to save himself.

The story is dark and claustrophobic, with more than a trace of Poe in its atmosphere and moral ambiguity. Dolman is very much an anti-hero: vain, unreliable, passive, and complicit in his own undoing. And yet he is compelling precisely because of these flaws.

John Banville is a masterful writer, and his exquisite precision and sensuality are on full display here. Grim, yes—but deliciously so. I devoured it.

Review: "The Marigold Cottages Murder Collective," Jo Nichols

This is a fun, highly readable mystery set in a Santa Barbara bungalow court—and honestly, that alone had me hooked. Craftsman bungalows in a scenic city by the sea is appealing enough. But the city is also associated with Ross Macdonald’s Lew Archer investigations and Sue Grafton’s fictional city of Santa Teresa. They are two of my favorite mystery authors, so I know Santa Barbara is a perfect setting for intrigue.

The Marigold Cottages are owned by Mrs. B. (Golda Barkofsky, 82), a sharp-eyed fairy godmother who charges tenants what she believes they can afford and discreetly (mostly) watches over them. Though the residents live largely separate lives, everything changes when a dead body is discovered on the premises. Reluctantly, the tenants band together to solve the mystery.

Mrs. B. is a wonderful anchor for the story, surrounded by a delightfully motley crew. Ocean, a gay artist, grew up in the court and has returned to raise her two children there. Lily-Ann, a plus-size-model-worthy heiress, lives with OCD. Sophie, a struggling playwright wrestling with her own demons, chronicles the meetings of the newly formed “collective.” Nicholas is an enigma, Hamilton rarely leaves his house, and then there’s Anthony—fresh out of jail—who naturally becomes the prime suspect when murder strikes.

The novel is fun and funny, but it also has real heart. The characters are likable, though quirky and sometimes mildly annoying—which, in this case, makes them feel refreshingly real. The sense of community is warm and believable, and the mystery itself is well constructed. Best of all, there’s a genuinely fantastic twist at the end that rewards the reader’s investment.

A thoroughly enjoyable mystery with charm, wit, and substance—highly recommended.

Review: "Clammed Up," Barbara Ross

Julia Snowden has returned home to Busman's Harbor, Maine, with an amibitious goal: to save her family's clambake business. For generations, the Snowdens have ferried tourists to Morrow Island--property inherited by Julia's mother--where guests enjoy a classic Downeast feast of chowder, lobster, clams, and corn cooked over an outdoor fire. By the time blueberry grunt is served, visitors feel they've experienced quintessential coastal Maine.

Though still popular, the clambakes are struggling in an economic downturn. Julia believes the trouble began after her father’s death, when her brother-in-law Sonny took over the business. Armed with her New York City venture-capital experience, Julia returns home to refinance the bank loan and revitalize the operation, including the addition of a wedding venue on the island.

Those plans are abruptly derailed when a body is discovered hanging in the island’s old mansion. With Morrow Island now a crime scene, the future of the clambake business—and Julia’s family home—are suddenly in jeopardy. Is the closure temporary, or will the Snowdens’ treasured enterprise come to an end?

As if things weren’t complicated enough, Julia’s personal life becomes entangled in her return home. Her old friend Jamie, now a town police officer, may have a romantic interest in her, while Julia realizes she still harbors feelings for Chris, the crush she never quite left behind. These relationships add warmth and gentle tension without overwhelming the mystery.

Clammed Up, which is the first book in Ross’s “Maine Clambake Mysteries” series, is an excellent example of a well-crafted cozy mystery. The stakes are personal rather than grim, the pacing is steady, and the Maine setting (based on Boothbay Harbor) feels authentic and lovingly drawn. As a bonus, the novel includes recipes for some of the tempting dishes featured in the story, such as lobster mac and cheese and clam hash. A yummy experience all around!

Review: "The Impossible Fortune," Richard Osman

 

How wonderful to have the Thursday Murder Club back! Their latest adventure opens with what should be a straightforward, happy event: Joyce’s brilliant and accomplished daughter Joanna is getting married. Joyce is over the moon at the prospect of becoming a mother-in-law. Of course, she and Joanna spar over the planning—until they realize that they actually agree on how big the wedding should be. 

But it turns out that’s the least of their worries. At the reception, Nick, the groom’s best friend, calls club leader Elizabeth aside. He needs her help. A bomb has been attached to his car. His life is in danger.

Elizabeth is still recovering from the events of the previous books in the series. She knows she’s not at her fighting best. Yet she still can’t resist a challenge and wants to help Nick. But she finds no bomb on his car—and she can’t find him either.

The gang gets on the case and begins to unravel the threads of Nick’s life. He, with another friend, Holly, ran a “cold storage” unit for sensitive data—a top-secret underground facility in a remote area. The numbers for a Bitcoin account worth millions may be locked inside. A retired drug dealer with a penchant for violence and a down-on-his-luck lord are on the trail of the Bitcoin. Holly says she has no idea where Nick is, but does she? And Paul, Joanna’s new husband, seems to be hiding a few secrets of his own.

Elizabeth, Joyce, Ron, and Ibrahaim are aided by the wily perp Connie Johnson and her new protégé, Tia; Ron’s son and grandson; and of course, Bogdan, Chris, and Donna. Joyce’s journal entries continue to be a prime demonstration of hilarious passive-aggressive behavior. 

“In fact,” she writes, “all around the world there are long queues of people doing things that Joanna tells me nobody does anymore. Having honeymoons, drinking normal milk, watching television. I once told her that more people live the way I do than live the way she does, and she just pointed at my sandwich toaster and said, 'I don’t think so.'”

Joyce, however, takes a more active role in “The Impossible Fortune,” including taking Jasper, a lonely ex-spy, under her wing. Ron, meanwhile, is showing moments of fragility, but he rises magnificently when it counts.

I was puzzled by the ending and had to go back and read it a second time. Then it not only made sense logically, but emotionally.

The mystery in this latest installment of a spectacular series might be less than dazzling, but it doesn’t matter. 

Osman’s humor—ranging from dry, smirk-inducing asides to genuine laugh-out-loud moments—and his wonderful characters are what keep readers returning.

For many of us, I suspect the Thursday Murder Club is not so much about the puzzle, but about spending time in the company of old friends.