Goldfinch (2013) by Donna Tarrt

Review and photo by Goodreads

It begins with a boy. Theo Decker, a thirteen-year-old New Yorker, miraculously survives an accident that kills his mother. Abandoned by his father, Theo is taken in by the family of a wealthy friend. Bewildered by his strange new home on Park Avenue, disturbed by schoolmates who don't know how to talk to him, and tormented above all by his unbearable longing for his mother, he clings to one thing that reminds him of her: a small, mysteriously captivating painting that ultimately draws Theo into the underworld of art.

As an adult, Theo moves silkily between the drawing rooms of the rich and the dusty labyrinth of an antiques store where he works. He is alienated and in love-and at the center of a narrowing, ever more dangerous circle.

The Goldfinch is a novel of shocking narrative energy and power. It combines unforgettably vivid characters, mesmerizing language, and breathtaking suspense, while plumbing with a philosopher's calm the deepest mysteries of love, identity, and art. It is a beautiful, stay-up-all-night and tell-all-your-friends triumph, an old-fashioned story of loss and obsession, survival and self-invention, and the ruthless machinations of fate.  

Another review: By Marjorie Celona

The Globe and Mail, Oct. 18 2013

Why do we love the things we love? Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch could be classified in any number of ways: an orphan’s tale; an art-heist drama; a meditation on fate; or, more simply, as a love story between a boy and a sweet little painting of a yellow bird.

At over 700 pages, The Goldfinch is all of these things, some more satisfyingly executed than others. The sprawling narrative, which takes us from New York City to Las Vegas to Amsterdam, doesn’t cohere thematically until the final pages (a likely disaster in a less skilled writer’s hands), requiring a steady patience on the part of the reader. But we know from The Secret History and The Little Friend that Tartt is to be both trusted and revered, and so while The Goldfinch may frustrate at times, it is important, as with all things, to see its bigger picture, rather than to get lost in its more minor details.

Theo Decker is 13 when he and his mother wander into the Metropolitan Museum one fateful morning, only to have it explode. Covered in soot and surrounded by the carnage of blown-apart bodies and dangling wires, Theo (the lone survivor) finds himself the unlikely recipient of a dying man’s last words. The man, named Welty, charges Theo with delivering a signet ring to an address in the East Village, and, more importantly, implores the boy to save a certain painting from the smouldering gallery: Carl Fabritius’s trompe l’oeil masterpiece The Goldfinch.

What ensues stretches the limits of credulity: instead of returning the painting to somebody (anybody!), the boy smuggles it to Las Vegas, where his alcoholic, gambling father and fake-tanned evil stepmother live. In the throes of adolescence and grief, Theo becomes almost feral in this long Vegas interlude, sniffing glue and wandering through a landscape where “sand stood in the streets” with a Ukrainian misfit named Boris. This section’s strength is its portrayal of the incompetence of adults in dealing with children in crisis – the idiotic school counsellor, for example, who suggests Theo throw “ice cubes at a tree” – and its sensitivity to the abusive father/abused son dynamic. In one poignant scene, Theo reflects, “…inwardly I was almost drunk at the lift in his mood – the same flood of elation I’d felt as a small child when the silences broke, when his footsteps grew light again and you heard him laughing at something, humming in the shaving mirror.” The section’s weakness is as much its length as its episodic quality (this is where the reader’s patience may be tested the most) – the teenage boys do teenage things, and it goes on forever.

Finally, Theo is an adult, back in New York City and working for Welty’s brother, Hobie, an antiques restorer whose affection for the objects he repairs verges on heartbreaking. The furniture-restoration scenes – the writing as richly detailed as Flaubert’s – are some of the strongest in the novel, as they bring to life a tenderness between man and object that I’ve never seen so beautifully laid out on the page. “Hobie made me see the creaturely quality of good furniture,” Theo reflects, “…in the affectionate way he ran his hand along the dark, glowing flanks of his sideboards and lowboys, like pets.…To contemplate the lives of these dignified old highboys and secretaries – lives longer and gentler than human life – sank me into calm like a stone in deep water.”

Long scenes about furniture restoration, you say? Many of them. And why not? So much has been written about love between living beings that it is wonderfully surprising to find a novel more concerned with the love of things.

The plot takes a dramatic turn when Boris resurfaces in the novel, and the remaining pages are reminiscent of an art-heist action flick, complete with shootouts and people driving fancy cars through the dark streets of Amsterdam. It is a relief to find oneself at the end of this often over-the-top plot, and to finally, along with the now-ruminative narrator, question what has happened in the preceding pages. We have come to care not so much for the characters but deeply – so deeply – for the safety of this wonderful, magical painting of a stoic goldfinch. So many people die in this book; so much love remains unrequited – and yet the possibility that the painting might be lost forever is more harrowing than anything to do with mortal life or love.

For some of us, our greatest love affairs are with our possessions. Other humans may fail us – they may fail to see us; they may fail to stir us. Certain objects, however, seem as though they were made for us and for us alone. (Certain books seem as though they were written for us.) To capture the sense of an object and its power is a feat, truly. The Goldfinch, then, is a beautiful mediation on the agency of this special, immortal object and its power to inspire in a lost little boy a sense of interconnectedness with the world. “It is a glory and a privilege,” Theo tells us near the novel’s end,

Marjorie Celona’s first novel, Y, was nominated for the Scotiabank Giller Prize.

Brutal telling (2011) by Louise Penny

Review taken from excellent blog:  Literary Corner Café (http://literarycornercafe.blogspot.com)

Monday, July 11, 2011 - The Brutal Telling by Louise Penny

I love Louise Penny’s “Inspector Gamache” mysteries, and The Brutal Telling is one of the best in the series.

As readers of Penny’s series know, Chief Inspector Armand Gamache heads the homicide department of the Sûreté du Quebec. And, as readers of Penny also know, most of the time, Chief Inspector Gamache is investigating a murder in the seemingly idyllic (I’d love to live there) village of Three Pines, twenty miles south of Montreal.

The corpse that gets things rolling in The Brutal Telling belongs to a hermit who shows up dead on the beautiful pine floor of the bistro owned by longtime partners, Olivier and Gabri, who also run the B&B next door. When Gamache and his colleagues, Jean Guy Beauvoir and Isabelle Lacoste show up, they discover that no one seems to know the dead man’s name or even where he came from. He certainly wasn’t living in Three Pines. And, it isn’t long until a young local man, Agent Paul Morin asks the group if he can tag along and learn what Gamache and company already know:...to catch a killer they didn’t move forward. They moved back. Into the past. That was where the crime began, where the killer began. Some event, perhaps long forgotten by everyone else, had lodged inside the murderer. And he’d begun to fester.

What kills can’t be seen, the Chief had warned Beauvoir. That’s what makes it so dangerous. It’s not a gun or a knife or a fist. It’s not anything you can see coming. It’s an emotion. Rancid, spoiled. And waiting for a chance to strike.

It isn’t too long before Gamache discovers the hermit’s hut – a log structure hidden deep in the woods and containing more than one surprise. But what was the hermit’s name? How was he killed? And what was the motive? No one in Three Pines seems to know, or if they know, they aren’t talking.

Some of the above questions are eventually answered, while others remain mysteries, at least for most of the book. But this is the part of crime solving that Gamache loves the most:

...the possibility of turning left when he should have gone right. Of dismissing a lead, of giving up on a promising trail. Or not seeing one in his rush to a conclusion.

We know, almost from the beginning of the book, that some of the inhabitants of Three Pines are lying. Olivier, the man who owns the bistro in which the hermit’s body is found, is one. Olivier tells Gamache that he doesn’t know the dead man, but we know he does. Did he kill the man? Maybe. We’re unsure about every character Penny introduces. With each new introduction we have to ask ourselves the same question – could this person have killed the hermit – and invariably, the answer will be yes. Penny has woven red herrings all through her plot.

How involved is Myrna, owner of Three Pines’ bookstore, and the woman who found the hermit’s body on the floor of the bistro? And why does the very eccentric Ruth, the woman who takes her pet duck, Rosa, everywhere keep leaving scraps of poetry for Inspector Beauvoir? Does Ruth know who killed the hermit? Is she leaving Beauvoir clues? Does the killer come from within the ranks of the isolated villagers, or could he or she be one of the strangers in town? What about the people renovating the sinister old “Hadley house?” The Czech immigrants? The strange man in the forest? One of those persons knew the hermit. We know that from the book’s opening pages. But, did that person kill the hermit as well? Penny keeps the reader on his or her toes as we guess and guess again.

The plot is a heady and complex blend of mystery, history, greed, art, and lies, yet even with all its complexity, its never overly complicated. It’s quite cleverly constructed, and though some reviewers compare Penny to Agatha Christie, with all due respect to Ms. Christie, and I do love her books, Penny’s books reach further than Christie’s. Penny’s books explore so much more than just the solving of a murder. The Brutal Telling, especially, explores the broader themes that give rise to a violent and desperate act like murder.

The characterization is rich and complex. For me, the people inhabiting Three Pines really came alive. They all have backstory and histories with one another, and it shows. Not one of them could be eliminated, not one of them functions as “just a plot device.” And I loved their quirkiness. Ruth doesn’t have a pet dog or cat, or even a bird. She has a pet duck. A pet duck that wears discarded baby clothes.

Even Three Pines functions as a character, as Clara well knows:

This solid little village that never changed but helped its inhabitants to change. She'd arrived straight from art college full of avant-garde ideas, wearing shades of gray and seeing the world in black and white. So sure of herself. But here, in the middle of nowhere, she'd discovered color. And nuance. She'd learned from the villagers, who'd been generous enough to lend her their souls to paint. Not as perfect human beings, but as flawed, struggling men and women. Filled with fear and uncertainty, and in at least one case martinis.

I’ve seen a few complaints regarding the subplot involving the artist, Clara and her husband, Peter. A few people thought Clara and Peter were introduced only to bring an art expert into the mix. Not so. And if it’s an art expert Penny needed, she had one built in in the character of Therese Brunel. Clara and Peter’s subplot, and Clara’s desire for the validation of having her works shown in a major gallery, have been a running subplot in all the “Gamache mysteries.” However, one doesn’t have to know this in order to read and enjoy The Brutal Telling. This book can stand on its own. It doesn’t require the reader to be familiar with the previous books in the series. And, if a reader reads The Brutal Telling first, that reader can go back to the previous four “Inspector Gamache” mysteries confident that the fifth gives no spoilers regarding the previous four.

As the plot of The Brutal Telling advances, Inspector Gamache becomes entwined in the international art and antiques trade, and he travels from Three Pines to Montreal to the Queen Charlotte Islands, an archipelago off the north coast of British Columbia. What he finds there, while necessary to this book’s resolution, will only cause Gamache, and the other inhabitants of Three Pines, much sorrow.

I know readers who put the “Inspector Gamache” mysteries into the classification of “cozies.” I would have to agree that that classification comes closest of all, though Gamache is certainly nothing like Christie’s Miss Marple, to me, the "Queen of the Cozies." (I adore Miss Marple, by the way.) Three Pines is quaint and charming no matter how many murders are committed there. There’s something dreamlike and mystical about the village, especially during the fall, and The Brutal Telling is set during the colorful southern Canadian autumn when everything is undergoing a transformation, not into something totally different, but into something more fully itself.

Though there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, I didn’t really like the book’s ending, and for me, it was a gloomy ending. I came away from the book feeling that some day Louise Penny is going to have more to say about this murder and the person who allegedly committed it.

The one criticism I have of this book has to do with Penny’s writing style. Instead of writing longer sentences, Penny tends to break a sentence up into phrases. Not every time, of course, but often enough so that it became very, very noticeable. At first, I didn’t mind, but it happened so often it began to drive me nuts. It was jarring. The writing was calling attention to itself, and it would have been so much better had it not done so. Here’s one example:

But nothing was more surprising than what awaited Chief Inspector Gamache. In the farthest corner of the room.

And:

While everyone else was gazing ahead, he was slumped down and staring back. To where they’d been.

And those aren’t even the worst offenders. Some of the many other instances caused the writing to be extremely choppy. Maybe those of us who are bothered by this are in the minority. I don’t know, but given the glowing reviews of this book, and all Penny’s other books, I’d say we are. You might feel this is a quibble, or you might be bothered even more than I was. I just wanted to make readers aware of this quirk in Penny’s writing style. Otherwise, Penny’s writing style is fine, just perfect for a murder mystery. While reading, I would be totally engrossed in the mystery until one of these awkward (to me) phrases would pull me out of the book.

In the end, though, The Brutal Telling is the kind of mystery that envelopes the reader, that leaves him wanting more, that makes him happy to open the pages of the book and get reacquainted with characters he considers “old friends.”

Even though I closed this book with sadness, I can’t wait until I have an opportunity to read Penny’s next book in the series. Louise Penny is one of the finest mystery authors writing today.

Note: If you think you recognize Ruth Zardo’s poetry, you probably do. The poetry Penny has used, with permission of the authors, belongs to Margaret Atwood, Ralph Hodgson, and Mike Freeman.

Flash (1996) by Jayne Anne Krentz



Thanks to Goodreads for photo and summary. Novel was not my taste.  Too much like a paperback romance.



Jayne Ann Krentz has delivered pure entertainment in twenty-three "New York Times" bestsellers, including her recent smash hit, "Sharp Edges." Now, her unique brand of electrifying suspense and head-over-heels romance lights up this sizzling thriller -- and sparks a curious chemistry between a self-made millionaire and a charmingly disorganized entrepreneur. They team up to corner a killer -- and find their unruly partnership has the power to set the night on fire....
Olivia Chantry may keep her desk in disarray, but she's a dynamo when it comes to business: her Seattle-based company, Light Fantastic, organizes dazzling events that create the flash her clients need to promote their products or their causes. Her marvelous success has almost made up for a marriage that ended in disaster and left her wedded to a career instead of a mate.
She certainly has enough on her well-sculpted shoulders when she inherits a portion -- 49 percent, to be precise -- of Glow, Inc., her uncle's high-tech lighting firm. But it's the interloper who bagged the other 51 percent with whom Olivia has butted heads: Jasper Sloan, a venture capitalist and dealmaker known as a man with all his ducks in a row, and his neat, orderly life under control.
From the start of their feisty business dealings, the so-called partners nearly crash and burn: they are suspicious of each other's motives. They disagree about management style. They argue about Glow's policy of employing members of the Chantry family, from Olivia's cousin Bolivar to her Aunt Zara, the ex-soap star. But the snap, crackle and pop of their sexual energy can not be denied. Now, their steamy joint venture is headed unmistakably in one direction: trouble.
As Olivia and Sloan soon discover, a blackmailer is hard at work inside Glow, Inc., uncovering secrets that they both had reason to hide -- and that may come back to haunt them. Suddenly their new relationship faces the acid test of truth...and a need for absolute trust. They might fight each other all the way, but when extortion turns to murder, a union of their minds -- and hearts -- might be their only chance to stay alive.
Sparkling with Jayne Ann Krentz's irresistible blend of sassy wit and sheer suspense, "Flash" explodes into passionate pyrotechnics as a beautifully mismatched pair finds the bottom line isn't making it in the marketplace -- it's the merger of hearts.  

The keepsake (2008) by Tess Gerritsen

Thank you Goodreads for photo and review.

 New York Times bestselling author Tess Gerritsen knows how to expertly dissect a brilliantly suspenseful story, all the while keeping fascinated readers riveted to her side. By turns darkly enthralling and relentlessly surprising, The Keepsake showcases an author at the peak of her storytelling powers.

For untold years, the perfectly preserved mummy had lain forgotten in the dusty basement of Boston’s Crispin Museum. Now its sudden rediscovery by museum staff is both a major coup and an attention-grabbing mystery. Dubbed “Madam X,” the mummy–to all appearances, an ancient Egyptian artifact– seems a ghoulish godsend for the financially struggling institution. But medical examiner Maura Isles soon discovers a macabre message hidden within the corpse–horrifying proof that this “centuries-old” relic is instead a modern-day murder victim.

To Maura and Boston homicide detective Jane Rizzoli, the forensic evidence is unmistakable, its implications terrifying. And when the grisly remains of yet another woman are found in the hidden recesses of the museum, it becomes chillingly clear that a maniac is at large–and is now taunting them.
Archaeologist Josephine Pulcillo’s blood runs cold when the killer’s cryptic missives are discovered, and her darkest dread becomes real when the carefully preserved corpse of yet a third victim is left in her car like a gruesome offering–or perhaps a ghastly promise of what’s to come.

The twisted killer’s familiarity with post-mortem rituals suggests to Maura and Jane that he may have scientific expertise in common with Josephine. Only Josephine knows that her stalker shares a knowledge even more personally terrifying: details of a dark secret she had thought forever buried.

Now Maura must summon her own dusty knowledge of ancient death traditions to unravel his twisted endgame. And when Josephine vanishes, Maura and Jane have precious little time to derail the Archaeology Killer before he adds another chilling piece to his monstrous collection



Sharp objects (2006) by Gillian Flynn

Quite macabre. The plot was very unbelievable.


http://www.femalegazereview.com/post/45358133000/sharp-objects-by-gillian-Flynn



The beautiful mystery: A Chief Inspector Gamache Novel by Louise Penny

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The brilliant new novel in the New York Times best-selling series by Louise Penny, one of the most acclaimed crime writers of our time

No outsiders are ever admitted to the monastery of Saint-Gilbert-Entre-les-Loups, hidden deep in the wilderness of Quebec, where two dozen cloistered monks live in peace and prayer. They grow vegetables, they tend chickens, they make chocolate. And they sing. Ironically, for a community that has taken a vow of silence, the monks have become world-famous for their glorious voices, raised in ancient chants whose effect on both singer and listener is so profound it is known as “the beautiful mystery.”

But when the renowned choir director is murdered, the lock on the monastery’s massive wooden door is drawn back to admit Chief Inspector Armand Gamache and Jean-Guy Beauvoir of the Sûreté du Québec. There they discover disquiet beneath the silence, discord in the apparent harmony. One of the brothers, in this life of prayer and contemplation, has been contemplating murder. As the peace of the monastery crumbles, Gamache is forced to confront some of his own demons, as well as those roaming the remote corridors. Before finding the killer, before restoring peace, the Chief must first consider the divine, the human, and the cracks in between.  

Thanks to Goodreads for photo and review.

the pull of the moon (2010) by Elizabeth Berg

Thanks to Goodreads for photo and review.

Dear Martin, I'm sorry the note I left you was so abrupt. I just wanted you to know I was safe...I won't be back for a while. I'm on a trip. I needed all of a sudden to go, without saying where, because I don't know where. I know this is not like me. I know that. But please believe me, I am safe and I am not crazy. I felt as though if I didn't do this I wouldn't be safe and I would be crazy...And can you believe this? I love you. - Nan.

Sometimes you have to leave your life behind for a while to see it and really live freshly again. In this luminous, exquisitely written novel, a woman follows the pull of the moon to find her way home. Sometimes humorous, sometimes heartbreaking, always honest, "The Pull of the Moon" is a novel about the journey of one woman - and about the issues of the heart that transforms the lives of all women.