Flavia de Luce stikes again!
Top among them is the series’ whip-smart narrator, the 11-year-old hobby sleuth and compulsively curious Flavia de Luce. What she lacks in age, she makes up for with her wits and resourcefulness, and a savage passion for chemistry (especially poisons).
For those unfamiliar with the series, Flavia’s mind functions as a kind of neurological crossroads, where the likes of Madame Curie, Agatha Christie and MacGyver meet to unravel the crimes plaguing this remote 1950s English countryside.
While Bradley arms Flavia with an ancient, fully stocked chemistry lab – her Sanctum Sanctorum – his greatest gift to her (and to his readers) is her ability to think deeply. She proves a thoughtful observer, capable of giving pause to ideas not yet fully formed, and allowing them to percolate and collect until they are remarkably lucid.
She doesn’t rush herself. She thinks things through. She contemplates and assesses. And, like any good detective, she not only notices clues left behind but ones missing from the equation, too.
With three solved murders under her belt, Flavia is quickly gaining on the local inspector – her intellectual rival as well as her mentor (who, by the way, has yet to approve the arrangement). Upon running into him unexpectedly, she observes: “[Inspector Hewitt and I] stood staring at one another across the foyer like two wolves that have come from different directions upon a clearing full of sheep.”
With the inspector at her coattails, here is what gives rise to her next investigation: With bankruptcy looming, Flavia’s reclusive father decides to open up their Buckshaw estate to a London film crew. And this is not just any film crew, but a film crew working closely with famed star Phyllis Wyvern.
With Buckshaw serving as the setting for their next big picture, the crew descends. A rogue snowstorm maroons the team, half the local parish curious about the visit and, purportedly, the culprit – all within the confines of cold, rickety Buckshaw. Sure, Wyvern may be past her prime, but she still knows how to command her audience – even in death. The untimely demise of the self-absorbed screen siren – she is strangled with a length of film from one of her own movies – poses lots of questions and even more suspects.
With nobody going in or out, a classic whodunit ensues. Was it the electrician? The dresser? Or was it someone far less conspicuous? The story introduces us to new characters and reunites us with old favourites (Nialla, also known as Mother Goose from Bradley’s The Weed That Strings the Hangman’s Bag, returns in a big way).
The story also hints at Flavia’s looming sense of change. Bradley reminds readers what a little room and freedom to interpret the space afford a growing mind, especially one as curious as Flavia’s. Her insatiable thirst for knowledge is infectious. (“It makes you wonder, doesn’t it, who wrote the laws for the wind and the rain, the snow and the dew?”) Her faults are endearing.
As in the past three works, Bradley gives a thrilling ride. Out of a creaky old mansion, he conjures a vivid and vivacious story – and yes, raises a few old ghosts, too. But the storyline comes a close second to Bradley’s delightful use of language. He gives the impression he has as much fun crafting sentences as Flavia does mixing noxious compounds. His writing is clear and memorably playful. I Am Half-Sick of Shadows is a delicious, lighthearted holiday read best served by a crackling fireplace with warm eggnog – but please, hold the noxious compounds.
Excellent review by dragana kovacevic from Toronto Globe and Mail Dec 07,2011.
