A Terrible Book, But I Had to Keep Reading - The Girl in the Letter: A Home for Unwed Mothers; a Heartbreaking Secret by Emily Gunnis

 

Nuns who were infamously the face of the mother-and-baby homes, providing a service to Catholic families who wanted to turn a blind eye to what went on, whole communities relieved to wash their hands of it. It felt to Sam like an image from centuries past, not just one generation.

If they lied about what happened to her, maybe they lied about burying her. Or maybe she’s been hiding out at St Margaret’s all this time.’

Prologue Friday 13 February 1959 My darling Elvira, I do not know where to begin. You are just a little girl, and it is so hard to explain in words that you will understand why I am choosing to leave this life, and you, behind. You are my daughter, if not by blood then in my heart, and it breaks to know that what I am about to do will be adding to the mountain of hurt and pain you have had to endure in the eight long years of your short life. Ivy paused, trying to compose herself so that the pen in her hand would stop shaking enough for her to write. She looked around the large drying room where she had hidden herself. From the ceiling hung huge racks crammed with sheets and towels meticulously washed by the cracked and swollen hands of the pregnant girls in St Margaret’s laundry, now ready to go down to the ironing room and out to the oblivious waiting world. She looked back down to the crumpled piece of paper on the floor in front of her. Were it not for you, Elvira, I would have given up the fight to stay in this world much sooner. Ever since they took Rose away from me, I can find no joy in living. A mother cannot forget her baby any more than a baby can forget her mother. And I can tell you that if your mother were alive, she would be thinking of you every minute of every day. When you escape from this place – and you will, my darling – you must look for her. In the sunsets, and the flowers, and in anything that makes you smile that beautiful smile of yours. For she is in the very air you breathe, filling your lungs, giving your body what it needs to survive, to grow strong and to live life to the full. You were loved, Elvi, every minute of every day that you were growing inside your mother’s tummy. You must believe that, and take it with you. She tensed and stopped momentarily as footsteps clattered above her. She was aware that her breathing had quickened with her heart rate, and underneath her brown overalls she could feel a film of sweat forming all over her body. She knew she didn’t have long before Sister Angelica returned, slamming shut the only window in her day when she wasn’t being watched. She looked down at her scrawled letter, Elvira’s beautiful face flashing into her mind’s eye, and fought back the tears as she pictured her reading it, her dark brown eyes wide, her pale fingers trembling as she struggled to take the words in. By now, you will have in your hands the key I enclose with this letter. It is the key to the tunnels and your freedom. I will distract Sister Faith as best I can, but you don’t have long. As soon as the house alarm goes off, Sister Faith will leave the ironing room and you must go. Immediately. Unlock the door to the tunnel at the end of the room, go down the steps, turn right and out through the graveyard. Run to the outhouse and don’t look back. She underlined the words so hard that her pen pierced a hole in the paper. I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you face to face, but I feared you would be upset and would give us away. When I came to you last night, I thought they were letting me go home, but they are not, they have other plans for me, so I am using my wings to leave St Margaret’s another way, and this will be your chance to escape. You must hide until Sunday morning, the day after tomorrow, so try and take a blanket with you if you can. Stay out of sight. Ivy bit down hard on her lip until the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. The memory of breaking into Mother Carlin’s office at dawn was still raw, the anticipation of finding her baby’s file turning to shock as she discovered no trace of Rose’s whereabouts. Instead, the file contained six letters. One was to a local psychiatric unit, the word ‘Copy’ stamped in the corner, recommending she be admitted immediately; the other five had been written by Ivy herself, begging Alistair to come to St Margaret’s and fetch her and their baby. A rubber band was wrapped tightly around these letters, Return to sender written in Alistair’s scrawl across every one. She had walked over to the tiny window of the dark, hellish room where she had suffered so much pain and watched the sunrise, knowing it would be her last. Then she had slotted Alistair’s letters into an envelope from Mother Carlin’s desk, scribbled her mother’s address on it and hidden it in the post tray before creeping back up the stairs to her bed. Without any hope of freedom, or of finding Rose, I no longer have the strength to go on. But Elvira, you can. Your file told me that you have a twin sister named Kitty, who probably has no idea you exist, and that your family name is Cannon. They live in Preston, so they will attend church here every Sunday. Wait in the outhouse until you hear the bells and the villagers begin arriving for church, then hide in the graveyard until you see your twin. No doubt you will recognise her, although she will be dressed a little differently to you. Try and get her attention without anyone seeing. She will help you. Don’t be afraid to escape and live your life full of hope. Look for the good in everyone, Elvira, and be kind. I love you and I will be watching you and holding your hand for ever. Now run, my darling. RUN. Ivy XXX 

Ivy started as the lock to the drying room where she and Elvira had spent so many hours together clicked suddenly and Sister Angelica burst through the door. She glared at Ivy, her squinting grey eyes hidden behind wire-framed glasses that were propped up by her bulbous nose. Ivy hurriedly pushed herself up and stuffed the note into the pocket of her overalls. She looked down so as not to catch the nun’s eye. ‘Aren’t you finished yet?’ Sister Angelica snapped. ‘Yes, Sister,’ said Ivy. ‘Sister Faith said I could have some TCP.’ She buried her trembling hands in her pockets. ‘What for?’ She could feel Sister Angelica’s eyes burning into her. ‘Some of the children have bad mouth ulcers and it’s making it hard for them to eat.’ ‘Those children are of no concern to you,’ Sister Angelica replied angrily. ‘They are lucky to have a roof over their heads.’ Ivy pictured the rows of babies lying in their cots, staring into the distance, having long since given up crying. Sister Angelica continued. ‘Fetching TCP means I have to go all the way to the storeroom, and Mother Carlin’s dinner tray is due for collection. Do you not think I have enough to do?’ Ivy paused. ‘I just want to help them a little, Sister. Isn’t that best for everyone?’ Sister Angelica glared at her, the hairs protruding from the mole on her chin twitching slightly. ‘You will find that hard where you’re going.’ Ivy felt adrenaline flooding through her body as Sister Angelica turned to walk back out of the room, reaching for her keys to lock the door behind her. Lifting her shaking hands, she took a deep breath and lunged forward, grabbing the nun’s tunic and pulling it as hard as she could. Sister Angelica let out a gasp, losing her balance and falling to the ground with a thud. Ivy straddled her and put one hand over her mouth, wrestling with the keys on her belt until they finally came free. Then, as Sister Angelica opened her mouth to scream, she slapped her hard across the face, stunning her into silence. Panting heavily, with fear and adrenaline making her heart hurt, Ivy pulled herself up, ran through the door and slammed it shut. Her hands were shaking so violently, it was a struggle to find the right key, but she managed to fit it into the lock and turn it just as Sister Angelica rattled the handle, trying to force the door open. She stood for a moment, gasping deep breaths. Then she unhooked the large brass key Elvira needed to get into the tunnels and wrapped her note around it. She heaved open the iron door to the laundry chute and kissed the note before sending it down to Elvira, pressing the buzzer to let her know it was there. She pictured the little girl waiting patiently for the dry laundry as she did at the end of every day. A wave of emotion crashed over her and she felt her legs buckling. Leaning forward, she let out a cry. Sister Angelica began to scream and hammer on the door, and with one last look back down the corridor that led to the ironing room and Elvira, Ivy turned away, breaking into a run. She passed the heavy oak front door. She had the keys to it now, but it led only to a high brick wall topped with barbed wire that she had neither the strength nor the heart to climb over. Memories of her arrival all those months ago came flooding back. She could see herself ringing the heavy bell at the gate, her large stomach making it awkward to lug her suitcase behind Sister Mary Francis along the driveway, hesitating before she crossed the threshold to St Margaret’s for the first time. Hurrying up the creaking stairs two at a time, she turned as she reached the top and pictured herself screaming at the girl she once was, telling her to run away and never look back. As she crept along the landing, she could hear the murmur of voices coming towards her and broke into a run, heading for the door at the foot of the dormitory steps. The house was deathly quiet, as all the other girls were at dinner, eating in silence, any talk forbidden. Only the cries of the babies in the nursery echoed through the house. Soon, though, Mother Carlin would know she was gone, and the whole building would be alerted. She reached the door of the dormitory and ran between the rows of beds just as the piercing alarm bell began to ring. As she reached the window, Sister Faith appeared at the end of the room. Despite her fear, Ivy smiled to herself. If Sister Faith was with her, that meant she was not with Elvira. She could hear Mother Carlin shouting from the stairway. ‘Stop her, Sister, quickly!’ Ivy pulled herself up onto the ledge and, using Sister Angelica’s keys, opened the window. She pictured Elvira running through the tunnels and out into the freedom of the night. Then, just as Sister Faith reached her and grabbed for her overalls, she stretched out her arms and jumped.

About

Mother and Baby Homes first appeared in England in 1891 under the guidance of the Salvation Army in London. By 1968 there were a total of 172 known homes for unmarried mothers, the majority run by religious bodies. Premarital pregnancy was heavily stigmatized and provoked issues around sex, morality, religion and authority both parental and community...Continue Reading... Further Sources listened in Book...

As I said, this is a terrible book. But I had to keep reading. This book is based upon historical actual events, presented quite dramatically. It is compelling, therefore, and, if you have any concern about the overthrow of Roe quite recently, by the republican administration, you need to read this book... We cannot go back to the 18th century and earlier!!!

On the other hand, as a number of reviewers stated, at least on Amazon, I, too, found reading the book tedious. There was at least 3-4 names that were used interchangeably throughout the book regarding the same person and/or her relationships with others. This was initially based upon the young girl being forced to have a new name in the home, but Mary was rarely used as the new identity. The connections of characters was indeed difficult. And, as one person stated, a young man who was in love with the main character--"disappeared..." And that was after risking his life to save a child. It illustrates the true need for editing the story from the readers' viewpoint.

Readers indeed are pulled into a devastating story... It is important, primarily, to emphasize the "volume" of unwed mothers being sent to these homes... Of course, all of us have watched Law and Order SVU and discovered just how often boys will rape girls while telling them they love them...etc. etc. etc. In other words, sex has been around since the beginning of time...

no matter what story you use to illustrate the facts and the resulting devastation to the girl, but rarely the boy! Read Epstein case news, for instance!

There are some readers who comment on the "action" not starting until... Give me a break! This is not an action adventure story for guys to enjoy as they dream about doing the same to girls they meet, including the use of roofies... And, yet, that is the exact point that has the majority of women being so upset at this time when we see so much being done to remove all of women's protection in medical areas, including, but not limited to, pregnancy? Yet, rarely, seeing that the male rapist, incest actor, or any other manipulation by men, for whatever reason, including power control, are rarely prosecuted... Note: there is also an issue with drug testing being handled in the home's attic with very young victims... 

In this story, it was indeed a local sports star that had seduced the girl and then dropped her immediately after obtaining another conquest... However, this young girl wound up pregnant and given the home situation, she was sent to the prominent home for girls that was run by the local religious group which happened to be a Catholic Father and nuns... The parents were told it was for the best and for a given amount of money, they would handle all issues that was necessary to ensure no shame or notoriety came back on the rich families... Yeah, sounds familiar, doesn't it?

The main character happens to be a reporter in the 1970s, who is looking for a story that will gain her an image as an important journalist. And she found that story right in her own home, although she didn't know it at the time... The events that occur to the girls by their caretakers, including a mother superior who dictated the rules: No talking, ongoing required hard work in laundries regardless of their advancement toward birth, physical punishment, and, of course, a constant reminder that they were sinners who had to attone in this manner to regain God's approval...  What happened to Christ's death on the Cross for our sins???

And, of course, the "action" that began to occur "late" in the book was that the reporter started adding people to research, and finding that most of them had already died in one way or another... Yes, they were being murdered... And, yes, there was a twist or two which, in relation to the overall story, had little impact on what the main thrust of the historical novel based upon facts, provides to readers. It is for the overall story that I rank this book a must-read for women... We MUST work to prevent the backward movement of women's lives!

The actions against girls of all ages is extremely graphic. This is not a novel to be enjoyed for content; it is an historical review of multi-generational results of rape, separation of child from parent, lies about what is happening, threats, fear, and lack of adequate food and health care during pregnancies. Only one fact I provided... In the 70s when the home was to be torn down, they discovered hundreds of children stuffed into the underground tunnels of the home, without any death information provided to any parents... or proper preparation for death of a child...

GABixlerReviews

Fragile Cord by Emma Salisbury - Book 1 of DS Coupland Series - Set in Salford/Manchester Area, United Kingdom

 She remembered a novel she’d read in her teens, Anna Karenina by Tolstoy. The opening line: Happy families are all alike, but an unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. The words had always struck her...

‘Don’t you see it’s my penance, Kevin,’ Joe had explained once, ‘for not doing anything to save the men that perished on my ship? For not being around to protect my Marie and Sophie?’ He’d dismissed the detective’s logical reasoning, that he’d been suffering from shock during the aircraft attack, that he’d not been in a fit state to help anyone. And again, when he’d been committed to hospital following his breakdown, the events that led to the hit and run had been beyond his control. ‘Doesn’t make it any easier to bear though, eh?’ he’d said simply. Coupland had merely shaken his head. He knew how slowly time passed for the grieving.

‘You know, I’m not convinced,’ Joe began evenly, once their breakfast plates had been cleared away and he’d wrapped up the left-over toast in his paper serviette for later, sliding it into the pocket of his hand-me-down jacket. Even on summer days he wore it, wouldn’t take it off his back. True meaning of the capsule wardrobe, he’d explained with a laugh, and Coupland knew in that moment that Joe would never return to a normal life, that he was intent on serving his penance. 

‘Just how reliable is the information you have regarding this woman’s state of mind?’ ‘Well, like I said,’ Coupland replied, ‘the reports we’ve had back don’t flag up any areas for concern.’ ‘Maybe not,’ Joe countered, ‘but I’m telling you, the clues will be there… This young mother was deeply troubled by something she felt she needed to protect her son from. Something big enough to justify her actions – to herself anyway. Something she felt unable to share with anyone else.’ He paused, his eyes shutting down as though he was looking inside himself for the answer. ‘Do you think she was mad?’ Coupland asked. Joe rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, shaking his head. ‘How the hell would I know?’ he reasoned. ‘I’m a walking talking Looney Toon, but I recognise the actions of a desperate person, someone afraid to unburden their fears in case they are judged. It’s a typically British trait, stiff upper lip and all that… Realising you suffer from a mental illness is terrifying,’ he said purposefully, ‘it’s not just a condition, it’s a definition. It becomes who you are, or at least who the outside world thinks you are. From then on in, every action or reaction you have is put down to your illness and there is nothing you can do about it.’ He paused; spread his calloused hands flat on the surface of the table. There was dirt under his fingernails and they were broken. Tell-tale nicotine stains on the index finger of his right hand. On his left hand, scratched and battered out of shape, was a wedding ring. ‘I tried so hard to stay well for my Marie. She was struggling to cope with the little one and me. I’m sure there were days when she thought her life would have been easier if I hadn’t been discharged, or better still, if I’d been killed on that ship. The burden of caring for me was tearing her apart.’ He paused. ‘The nightmares I had about the ship being hit and the burning bodies didn’t stop.’ He looked across the table at Coupland. ‘The nightmares have never stopped, Kevin, I just learned to stop talking about them…’ ‘Didn’t medication help?’ ‘I don’t want a life of numbness!’ Joe spat. ‘I want to grasp life by the thorns until my hands bleed – isn’t that what I deserve?’ He looked down at his wedding ring, traced the edges of it with the index finger on his right hand. His voice shook when he spoke next. ‘It’s a fragile cord that binds us to sanity, Kevin, and wouldn’t we do everything in our power to cling onto that?’ 

Coupland said nothing. It was as though the life-force that had propelled him to the café that morning had finally deserted him. His shoulders looked a good couple of inches lower than when he’d first sat down. Joe leaned back on his plastic chair, studying Coupland as though he were an exhibit in a zoo. ‘What’s wrong?’ he probed. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You’ve been on edge since we got here, like the past twenty minutes have been a warm up to something else, something bigger. I thought maybe you were building yourself up to it. Are Complaints on your back again?’ ‘No.’ ‘Then what? You’ve listened to me drone on enough about my problems in the past, if there’s something bothering you,’ Joe opened his arms expansively, ‘I’ve got all day.’ ‘Lynn’s got cancer.’ Even as he said the words aloud he didn’t quite believe them. His mouth filled with bile and his eyes felt as though a thousand needles were pressing into them. He swallowed down the sour tasting liquid, blinking his eyes several times in succession. ‘And all the time I was worried that she was upset with me over something I’d done.’ He slammed his fist down hard on the table, his action barely drawing a glance from the guy behind the counter. ‘I was too far up my own backside to realise something serious was troubling her. I took her moodiness to be her way of punishing me. I never gave a moment’s thought that she might be ill.’ When he’d drawn level with her the evening before at the hospital’s main entrance, she’d introduced him to a consultant whose name for the life of him he still couldn’t remember, all he could think of was bastard. She was leaving him for a colleague and for some reason that was beyond him she thought it was helpful that he met the man who would replace him in their bed. Strangely, Dr Bastard didn’t look very smug at bagging himself a stunner. In fact he looked pained, as though he’d rather be anywhere but here with his new girlfriend and her fat husband. They’d both looked at him then, as though he’d spoken aloud. ‘Kevin?’ Lynn whispered. She had that look in her eye when she wanted him to do something he was dead set against. ‘Nick has just asked if he can have a word, his consulting room is on the ground floor, just past the lifts.’ Good for him. ‘It’s more private there,’ Dr Bastard added. They turned in unison as though they’d been practising and walked back into the hospital leaving Coupland with little option but to follow. He remembered he’d left the car in a disabled parking spot and the wardens round here were like Nazis. He shrugged. Bring it on. The corridor was longer than Lynn had implied. Coupland found himself taking a left past the café and WH Smith then a right along a row of closed doors before slowing in a department signposted Oncology. Dr Bastard removed a bunch of keys from his pocket and unlocked his office, ushering Coupland and Lynn in ahead of him before asking them to take a seat on the two chairs in front of his desk. Funny how Lynn chose to sit beside Coupland rather than stand beside her new fella, Coupland observed, old habits die hard, he supposed. The consultant took his seat and began talking once more; only Coupland found himself having to concentrate really hard to keep up. ‘I’ve known Lynn for a number of years, worked with her back in the early days before we both moved into our specialisms…’ So what? Was he trying to justify their attraction for one another, rationalise it as something inevitable between good friends? Coupland glanced at Lynn suspiciously; she dropped her gaze but was leaning towards him to take hold of his hand. He knew at that moment that something was badly wrong, he just didn’t know what. He felt like he wanted to empty his bowels. Now it was Lynn’s turn to speak. ‘I wanted to be sure before I said anything, wanted to be done with the tests so I could tell you facts, not suspicions.’ Christ, you could tell she was a copper’s wife. ‘But even then I couldn’t bring myself to do it. You’d think being in the trade I’d know how to handle breaking bad news but that just isn’t true. For two nights on the run I’ve sat at my mum’s with a bottle of wine but by the time I got home I took one look at you and couldn’t bring myself to say the words.’ ‘What words?’ Coupland asked slowly, already fearing the worst. ‘Lynn has breast cancer,’ Dr Bastard told him, following it with a barrage of facts about survival rates and treatments, but all Coupland could hear was the sentence no one had spoken out loud yet. Lynn was going to die. When Coupland looked up Joe was standing beside him, his hand gripping his shoulder as though they were on the edge of a cliff and Joe was trying to prevent him from jumping. ‘I’m sorry,’ Joe said. 

Coupland’s throat was sore, as though he’d swallowed a bag of razor blades. He merely nodded, pushing himself to his feet so that the two men were standing eye to eye. ‘How the hell will I cope without her?’ ‘She’s not gone yet. You need to be strong. For Lynn, for Amy, but most importantly, for yourself.’ ‘What if I can’t cope?’ ‘You won’t have a choice,’ Joe answered.

~~~

I was happy to have started reading this series from book 1. It is a long series and I doubt if I can take the time to continue reading, but I can already say that I recommend this book and the series... It is both well written, but, more, has provided an excellent base upon which readers will be able to move forward, knowing what to expect. Detective Sergeant Coupland is the main character... He's an interestng character who is constantly struggling with the world as it exists--for him... He had worked himself up to his present position, Detective Sergeant, but he knew he would be stopped from moving upward from there--he'd gotten a bit rough with a suspect years ago and would never get promoted further. And, he's also concerned about his home life, but, most of it is his own imagination, while his wife is dealing with a serious health issue that she has not told him about yet. Probably not a good decision on her part, but communication seems always to be a problem, especially for those in law enforcement. Everybody knows Joe is an ex-soldier, as he still carries himself like one and maintains a keen intellect, but has decided he is to do penance for the rest of his life, for all those he was involved with, who didn't make it... Hopefully, this will change in the future, since Coupland has asked him to help work on his garden at home when he's able...

Salisbury presents an interesting twist as she presents a number of different cases, while at the same time, multiple officers, suspects, and affected individuals are carried forward on an ongoing basis with Coupland keeping on top of everything. We know he's a good and caring cop, especially when he becomes friends (trying to help him) with a veteran, Joe, with PTSD as well as suffering through the loss of his family. Coupland seems to be well respected by his staff, including a young female officer who is quite good and with whom he has become close. She does a lot of his detail work, sometimes begrudgingly, but nevertheless does it because she knows it's important.

Was this apathy because parents viewed their children as their personal property, to do with as they wished? Free to harm their own but woe betide a stranger try to? She shook her head, unable to accept that thought. It occurred to her that, for a nation of animal lovers, the collective treatment of our children came in a poor second.

As a psychological suspense novel that hones in on a tragic murder/suicide within a family. It's the type of case that has affected everybody, including the husband who is the only remaining family member. The reason for what occurred takes up most of the book as everybody "needs" to know why a pregnant mother with one son, would first, kill her son and then hang herself... The scope of the work of the police is unbelievable, as they examine even the rope used, bringing in an expert to learn what type of rope it is and why it normally wouldn't be used for this...

Readers are given almost the entire book to consider the "whys" that could have caused this horrendous action. My guess was fairly close, but the actual reason requires a move into personal history of the involved... 

At the same time, a knife killing has set the area into a state of fear, with a call that knives cannot be carried on the streets... Unfortunately, this includes two young girls who enjoyed the thrill of theft, and more...

It was not surprising that Coupland had begun to think about whether it was even worth working in law enforcement, when it never seemed to end--don't we all know that! Still, through fiction, we look toward police procedural novels and other types of stories that places the good guys fighting against the bad guys... Most of us can't...stop...hoping...

They had been too late. They were detectives, but they didn’t detect anything. They merely picked up the pieces, after the tragedy, time after time after time. Despite the fact that it kept him in work Coupland hated that bad things would always keep on happening. He’d once asked Joe, who had suffered enough hardship to last a lifetime, why this was so. It was the only time he recalled his friend stalling; it seemed for once he didn’t have an answer, yet it was surely something he’d thought about, a dark voice that counselled him in moments of doubt. They’d been sitting on a bench in Light Oaks Park, working their way through Joe’s roll-ups as they watched a group of small boys play football, the air thick with concentration. They’d trudged along a well-worn path over lawns displaying signs to keep off the grass. Joe’s face was covered in a sheen of sweat, but from exertion, not anxiety. It was hard to imagine he’d been up three nights in a row, unable to cope with the recurring nightmares of his last moments on ship, of the last time he’d seen Marie and Sophie. He’d blown smoke rings into the air, the corners of his eyes crinkling at a passing toddler who ambled John Wayne style beside her mother. The child slowed by the bench and pointed at the exhaled smoke, mesmerised by the cloudy patterns, her rosebud lips shaped into a perfect ‘O’. Joe pulled the edge of his mouth into a smile, turned to Coupland just as a cheer broke out and someone shouted Goal! Maybe bad things occur, he’d answered slowly, because it’s the only way we can recognise good when it happens.

~~~

GABixlerReviews

Peter James' Tells Readers Upfront in Love You Dead...About his Black Widow...and Her Deadly Friends...

She has the touch of death...

An ugly duckling as a child, Jodie Bentley had two dreams in life--to be beautiful and rich. She's achieved the first, with a little help from a plastic surgeon, and now she's working hard on the second. Her philosophy on money is simple: you can either earn it or marry it. Marrying is easy, it's getting rid of the husband afterwards that's harder, that takes real skill. But hey, practice makes perfect... [from the cover]

My very sexy Rowley!
I agree, even though we've not
yet met I feel massively in touch
you, too, and just love how you
think. I really do! And I love
how you make me feel just by
reading your words! I plan to
be back...Each time I think of
you, I think of a beautiful
expression I once read, written
by an Indian poet. "The path
of love is narrow, and there is
not room for two people on it,
so you must become one."
That's how I feel about us."
!!!

Sure, readers get to know right away that we have a serial killer--a black widow--as our lead villain... Since this is a police procedural novel, however, poor Detective Superintendent Roy Grace hasn't a clue what she really is...until the death of several husbands had occurred.

But even knowing the villain, that does not in any way distract from the edgy, scary events that will occur... 
Because 
this lady has a rare arsenal of death to meet her needs...  sometimes used secretly, or maybe even accidentally... as thieves do what they do...

Love You Dead

By Peter James

All she wanted was a large castle in the hills, where it would be known she was rich, maybe even a recluse at that time... If she only could find the right man with sufficient funds to give her what she wanted.  Until then, she seduced, married, and then...eliminated them... Frankly I was surprised she wasn't caught earlier since the deaths of her fiances/husbands sometimes happened quickly! Like the elderly American financier, Walt, who had taken her on a trip during ski season... and went over the wrong side of the mountain...

She pointed to the right. "We go down here."

"Are you sure? Everyone else has gone that way." He pointed in the direction that the others who had been in the cable car with them had taken. "You want the hardcore black run down or a gentle blue? "Blue!" he said emphatically. "That crazy lot have all take the black." She glanced over her shoulder and could just make out the cable car leaving the station for its return journey. It would be around fifteen minutes before the next load of skiers arrived. Right now, they were alone. "Blue?" she said. "Are you sure? I'm sure you'd cope with the black." "Now in this visibility." "Then we go this way," she said. "I can't see any sign pointing this way, hon. There must be a signpost up here surely?" With one ski pole, she began to brush away the fresh powder snow from the ground beside her. After a moment, tracks were revealed beneath it, frozen into the cruddy, icy surface beneath. "See?" she said. He peered at them. They led straight ahead for a couple of yards before disappearing into the swirling white blizzard. Looking relieved, he smiled. "Clever girl! I'll follow you." "No, you go first in case you fall over--I can help you up. Just follow the tracks. Bend your knees and brace yourself because the first fifty yards or so are a bit steep, then it levels out. Just let yourself go!" She shot an anxious glance round her to make absolutely sure no one was watching. "Ok!" he said with a sudden burst of enthusiasm. "Here goes! Yeee-ha!" He launched himself forward on his poles, like a racer out of the gate, and whooped again. "Yee-ha!" Then his voice turned into a terrible scream. Just for one fleeting second before it was swallowed by the wind. Then silence. Jodie turned round, then pushing with her poles, headed off in the direction all the other skiers had taken, oblivious to the wind and the stinging snow on her cheeks.

~~~

I had read Peter James years ago before I started to review books, so I had never read any of his "dead" series starring Roy Grace. I chose Michael Caine, one of my favorite British actors to play Grace... What do you think?

"So where the hell are you, you bastard?"
Grace said aloud in frustration.
"Right here, O Master!"
He look up, startled, to see his mate DI Glenn Branson, a black, shaven-headed man-mountain, standing in front of him with a broad smile.
"You're not looking a happy bunny," Branson said.
"Yeah, you know why not? Because every time I start to feel happy bunny, I see Edward bloody Crisp's face grinning at me."
"Well, I've got some news for you."
"Tell me."
Branson reached over and placed an email printout on Grace's desk.
Grace read it, then looked up at his mate. "Shit."
~~~

There is obviously a back story of what has happened in the life of this main character, but right now he is settling in to a new home with Cleo, his new wife. He also was just released from ongoing physiotherapy from the 11 shotgun pellets removed from his right leg while he was chasing a serial killer. Actually he'd been lucky not to have lost his leg and was feeling great about getting back to the life that he considered...normal... Even if there were times when he considered whether to stay on his job... And even if the serial killer he'd been hunting was still out there... What  could be worse? How about his ex-wife, who has been long missing, being found???

In addition to the main plot, there is an interesting sub-plot that won't give too much away...You see, our Black Widow's first husband collected all types of insects or snakes that were deadly. When he happened to die...she inherited them and now kept them in a secret compartment of her primary residence... Where a certain thief, or two decided to access her apartment through a back window... Somewhere along the line in his own escapades, the first received a snake bite...then a certain boa constrictor met the next guy... Whew! Obviously readers need to be prepared for one death after the other, some of them quite gruesome!

While this book was twelfth in the series, it completely stands alone. I thought the marriage/death sequence was much too close to be believable; however, the villain used different names with each of her potential husbands...and she moved fast to move out of the area if something fell threw, which one did...the family of a certain skier who had been led to fly off a  mountain soon questioned his supposed accident!

I liked the relationship between Grace and his partner and was happy to be reading the book where Sandy, his former wife, comes back into his life...for a while...

Multiple cases keep this from slowing down for the reader, as we watch activities happening all over the world with one case or the other. Grace seems unruffled by the professional side while having to deal with personal issues that would obviously take this mind away... 

Oh, yeah...there are villains I haven't even mentioned! This book is sure to keep you interested! Do check out this police procedural novel; that is, if you aren't afraid of running into a black widow or two...☺

GABixlerReviews

Peter James is an international best-selling British writer of crime fiction. He was born in Brighton, the son of Cornelia James, the former glovemaker to Queen Elizabeth II.

Final Destination This Tour - Elizabethan England with Tour Guide Carole P. Roman!

The year about 1578...Things were changing after the Middle Ages, and people were open to trying new things. It was considered a Renaissance or a time of rebirth of ideas and new points of view. The time period is referred to as the Elizabethan Age in history because it took place when Elizabeth I was the queen of England. A lot happened while she was the leader. England became a superpower. Queen Elizabeth sent out explorers to discover new lands and bring back discoveries. This made many people rich. A new class of people called merchants emerged. They had excess wealth, so they spent their extra money paying for artists to pain portraits or write poetry and literature. Playwrights like William Shakespeare flourished. It was called a golden age for art and literature.

~~~

Plays were organized by acting companies. The company belonged to shareholders who were responsible for everything but took most of the profit, leaving actors poor. They performed about six different plays per week. Your brother ran away to join an acting troupe that put on plays in the yard of the local inn. You paid a penny to see him and didn't even recognize him. He was the youngest member of the troupe and played a pretty girl. The actors didn't allow women in the troupe, so the youngest and newest members took the female parts.
~~~

If You Were Me and Lived In...

Elizabethan England

By Carole P. Roman

Illustrated by Paul Tabor

England, known for its long line of kings or queens normally have many of the children named after them. Girls might be called Elizabeth or Mary and boys might be called Henry or John. For a small country, this could get confusing, don't you think? LOL

While the beginning of the Elizabethan Era might have brought wealth and success. the family chosen to represent our new merchants was a family who owned a bakery. It would have taken free work by one of their ancestors to learn what was required and then a period of time working there before he had fully learned the trade. But it was his marriage of the baker's daughter that brought the bakery into the family, which then provided work for siblings from both families...

London was a busy place to live... The streets were narrow and made of cobblestones which were slippery and uneven. People three theur dirt, garbage, and waste out the window. There were no bathrooms in the houses. You could imagine what the trash smelled like when it rotted on the streets! Houses were crammed together; there was no lighting, so criminals and pickpockets roamed the streets. It was a dangerous place, and you never went out without one of your sisters...

Horses, coaches, fishmongers, tradesmen, and milkmaids filled the narrow streets. The city was a bustling collection of dirt, noise, people, and animals... 

Much research has been done to provide extensive information about the home life of tradesmen and many beautiful, detailed pictures representing that time provided by Illustrator Paula Tabor. Kudos to Tabor for her realistic work that even included a little boy with a tooth lost from his front teeth. And the addition of dogs and cats somehow made the busy life more acceptable and joyous. I was pleased to see that the life of the average boy and girl, though a hard life it may have been, as opposed to those who were part of the royal family... But there was also some times for fun such as the four-day event that took place at St. Bartholomew. There would be magic and puppet shows, jugglers and acrobats as well as vendors there selling their specialties. 

I was able to find a picture of one of the grand homes in the E-shape which was created in honor of Queen Elizabeth. I wanted to include it because I liked the story so much about Nan, who worked in that grand house! 

Your mother would tell you stories about her sister, Nan, who worked in a grand house in Bedfordshire in the country. The house was shaped like an "E" in honor of Queen Elizabeth. It had hundreds of rooms, filled with large fireplaces to keep it toasty and warm in the winter. The roof was decorated with an army of chimney pots that you could see for miles! The main salon had a gigantic hall filled with expensive tapestries from France and furniture from Italy...

~~~

There were two special points of interest to me personally... One that the way the baker's house was made, though in a different style, sounded like mine...half-timbered and white plaster, which, of course, is how my cabin was made...

The other point that I thought directly pertained to having a monarchy was that the religion you followed was whatever was "on the throne..." When Mary was queen, she didn't care for anybody's faith but her own; Elizabeth seemed more tolerant. While it was hard to be successful if you didn't follow the faith of your leader, it was important enough that some people stayed with their beliefs despite persecution. So your family became Protestant, but your cousins in the country stayed with the Church of Rome, Catholic.

This was thought-provoking for me since many came to America for religious freedom...Still, though, there is controversy about religion going on even today.  Does anybody know whether England is still following this method, I wondered...

Again, I want to point out that the quality of this series is certainly suitable for your home library and will be of interest to individuals of all ages, but is geared toward the older student. Included is a gallery of important people during the Elizabethan period, as well as an extensive Glossary. Highly recommended!

GABixlerReviews

Award-winning author Carole P. Roman started writing as a dare from one of her sons and combines her teaching past with her love of exploration and interest in the world around us. She has two highly successful series and is launching this new exciting series about civilizations throughout time. While she is still working in her family business, this has enabled her to share her sense of humor as well as love for history and culture with the audience she adores. Roman lives on Long Island with her husband and near her children.

Melissa by Jonathan Taylor - A Quite Extraordinary Novel!

Note: Jenny, a cancer victim, is standing in for Melissa - see book

The Spark Close Phenomenon

The real tragedy, of course, happened before the story begins - seconds before. At 2:35 p.m. on Wednesday 9th June 1999, in Number 4, Spark Close, Hanford, Stoke-on-Trent, Miss Melissa Comb, a seven-year-old girl, died of Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia in her own bed, surrounded by family and nurses.

What followed has been floridly described by Stoke-on-Trent's Poet Laureat as a 'musical efflorenscence of grief' for the dead girl. This 'musical efflorescence' has been raked over endlessly, by poets, journalists, priests, neurologists, psychologists and parapsychologists. Some have called the "Spark Close Phenomenon" a musical form of mass hysteria, others a kind of telepathic psychosis, others a millennial judgment on our modern way of life. If none agreed in their interpretations or conclusions, a general consensus has emerged about the actual events of that strange afternoon.

Moments after Melissa's family watched her die next door...a ringing, humming headache... Suddenly, or perhaps it was gradually, the air-raid siren noise stopped, and instead came this music - like what they play at the Cenotaph, you know. Kind of beautiful, slowish saddish, yet...stirring. Brought a tear or two to my eyes, I don't mind admitting...

There is an extant tape of the 999 call, recorded at precisely 2:39 p.m. in which Miss Adler is heard whimpering: "Make it stop, make it stop, please please make it stop, do something, it's here, Spark Close, it's in my head and everywhere, sschnell, makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop..."

~~~

Melissa

By Jonathan Taylor

According to the author, this book is based on true events...perhaps... There are other reportings of strange noises coming out of the sky around the world. However I didn't take the time to research further...Whether based upon true events or not, the story presented is quite extraordinary--even strange. Yet what happens following the phenomenon is not unique--sad, but true.

You see, a young girl, Melissa, died after a long, terrible fight against the cancer that had invaded her tiny 7-year-old body.

Nor, it seemed, was it a matter of worry that they found Leukaemic cells in Melissa's cerebro-spinal fluid. Admittedly, this was "unlucky" on Melissa's part, but the intrathecal injections and, later, cranial irradiation seemed to "do the trick," as one consultant put it...
Through the musical webs, past the linear accelerators, Melissa went straight into the second phase, delayed intensification therapy - hairless, a bit tottery on her feet, but surely getting there. "She will get her hair back, won't she?" asked Lizzie, to half a dozen passing doctors, always on their way to somewhere else, somewhere more urgent. "She had that lovely hair. I was so jealous--much better than my land stuff. I don't want the other children laughing at her. I'd hate that. ...She will get her hair back, won't she? Won't she?"
"All you worry about is her hair," complained Harry.
Lizzie looked at him with narrowed, incredulous eyes. "Of course, darling. Of course that's all I worry about. All I spend every sleepless hour of every single bloody night worrying about is her hair. All I never stop crying about, all I never stop shaking  with horrible terror about, all I ever want inside to scream and scream and scream about is her hair. That's all, nothing else. Nothing bloody else. After all, the doctors, nurses and everybody are always telling me not to worry about anything else..."

~~~

 Immediately after she died, neighbors heard strange noises coming from what seemed to be outside, coming from the sky. There were all types of descriptions--whether each heard something different or whether they used different words to try to describe it--there were no neighbors in the community who did not hear the noises and were compelled to go outside. That screeching noise evolved into some soothing music that nobody could identify... (I chose a relevant classical song given the rest of the book).

All of the neighbors said they felt a peace, good feelings when the music started--some even hugging each other, smiling and loving the people in the community, who were previously not close friends. Everybody at home that day had left their homes and joined others outside.  All except the Comb family, who heard nothing, and who stayed in their home, grieving, during the entire time period.

As with many individuals who are caught in some sort of celebrity, soon all types of spectators and news staff were crowding into the neighborhood. I'm not going to go into that except to say that it was very hard on the grieving family to have that kind of turmoil that not even the police could eliminate.

So it was natural that the grieving period of the family continued much longer than could normally be expected...perhaps... Readers do not really learn that from the book.

Those who came wanted, of course, to understand the phenomenon and learn what caused it. Me? I thought it was supernatural. You know, the heavens crying out over the pain of the child... Perhaps...but that's really not what the book is about...

The parents and a step-sister to Melissa are the survivors. What happens to them is really the story.... Initially, they could not help but be caught up in the search for an explanation. Finally, they were trying to identify the music...

...In this paradoxical context, my colleague and I came to the conclusion that the Combs - Harry and Serena - might somehow hold the key to the puzzle; that is, they might be able to help the residents (and, indeed ourselves) discover what exactly the music was which people had heard...Harry Comb, however, refused to help in this regard so I turned to his first daughter, Serena...
We subsequently played the Hutchinsons an LP...of the Enigma Variations. Given that the piece is all about friendship and community...Nevertheless, none of the variations seemed "quite right" to the Hutchinsons.
Finally, Serena Comb tentatively put forward a suggestion which we found rather compelling; that perhaps Spark Street's hallucinatory music was - and we quote - the "Enigma" in the Enigma. There's supposed to be some kind of hidden meaning or mystery or, well, tune which isn't said by the orchestra out loud, but which kind of hangs over the whole piece..."

~~~

While that investigation was going on, there were unsettling happenings in the Comb's household. Mr. Comb had felt that some of Melissa's favorite music should be played during her funeral... Finally he decided he should be the one... A little past history is important at this time. Mr. Comb had been called a musical child prodigy when he was very young, but when he arrived in his teens and his skills were not expanding, he was no longer called a genius. His interest in practicing fell as he grew older and soon all he did was listen to his daughter play for he and Melissa... On the day of the funeral, after not even opening the piano and playing over the selections after not having played for many years, he was struck "dumb" and unable to move his hands beyond the beginning notes nor to speak...

Thereafter he kept the piano locked and refused to have Serena play... He also quit his job and sat in front of the television, sometimes even when it was not turned on.

Serena was having her own grieving problems. She and Melissa had spent hours together, especially with Melissa listening to her playing the piano. Now being cut off from the piano intensified her loss and memories of Melissa. Especially when she received a note about Melissa's death.

Seri, my dear older sis, I loved you.

Seri, my dear older sis, I am gone.

Seri, my dear older sis, it is your fault.

An interesting side plot was Serena's time in school and with her best friend, together with Serena's crush on the Physics teacher... which leads readers into a Physics lesson on entrophy. Later Serena brings the possible relationship of music to the laws of thermodynamics...

"Okay, I'll try and explain what I mean," said Serena. Mr. Jenkins started to wonder who was the teacher, who the student. Serena continued: "There are lots of examples I can think of to explain. I mean, there're all those musical collapses in Mayler's Ninth Symphony..."

"Musical what?"

"Collapses. Like, the music builds up to these hute great climaxes, then it kind of falls to pieces - and the tunes and the instruments all sound like they're drifing away from each other, and the energy's draining away to nothing, and it feels really...cold. Do you know what I mean?"

...Anyway, there's this other symphony by Shostakovich - the last one, the Fifteenth reckon, is kind of a music picture of entrophy, if you see what I mean...This one, I reckon, is kind of a musical picture of entropy, if you see what I mean... In the second movement, the music ends up really, like, I don't know the word, 'sparse,' I s'pose, and kinda broken. And in the last movement, the music crescendos to this huge climax, and then collapses - I s'pose a physicist might say, 'diffuses' - amd gradually, everything seems to drift away, till all you've got left is this long-held string chord, going on and on...kind of chilling, like everything, all emotions, even the music itself, have diffused and become this one, uniform sound. It's amazing, and it's dead like what you said about heat death and entropy in the lesson..."

~~~

There is a depth of intellectual stimulation you do not normally find in fiction. Let me assure you, however, that the author has expertly incorporated both principles from physics together with music appreciation in a totally understandable and exciting fashion. It did not, however, explain the phenomena of the music that suddenly came out of the sky in Spark Close. It remained a mystery, but one unsolved that didn't bother me.  

From this reader's perspective, it is amazing to say, that the phenomena was secondary to the drama that erupted because of it. There is much to ponder and consider over and over as a result of reading the book. Do humans need something startling to happen to us in order to find the person we really are? Or, like those who came and stared at the places, the homes, where the phenomena occurred, are we willing to sit on the sidelines and watch to see what happens? A perplexing, thought-providing book that, I think, won't be for everybody. Classical music, in particular, plays a significant role in the novel. On the other hand, if you'd like to learn more about classical, this is an exciting way to do it by merging the words with the music itself...which I did with many of the pieces...

If this review sounds the least bit intriguing, I urge you to check this quite extraordinary novel out!  I was enthralled with the unique circumstances and characters! Highly recommended...


GABixlerReviews

You can contact me using the form below or by emailing me at crystalclearjt@hotmail.co.uk or, alternatively, by writing to me c/o School of English, University of Leicester, LE1 7RH, UK

I am author of the novels Entertaining Strangers (Salt, 2012) and Melissa (Salt, 2015), and the memoir Take Me Home: Parkinson’s, My Father, Myself (Granta Books, 2007). My poetry collection is Musicolepsy (Shoestring Press, 2013); my short story collection is Kontakte and Other Stories (Roman Books, 2013 and 2014).

Entertaining Strangers was shortlisted for the East Midlands Book Award 2013, and longlisted for Not the Booker Prize 2013, run by The Guardian. Kontakte and Other Stories was shortlisted for the Saboteur Best Short Story Collection Award 2014, and longlisted for the Edge Hill Prize 2014 and Frank O’Connor International Short Story Award 2014.

I am editor of the anthology of short stories Overheard: Stories to Read Aloud (Salt, November 2012), winner of the Saboteur Award 2013 for Best Fiction Anthology.

I am also Lecturer in Creative Writing at the University of Leicester in the U.K., and co-director of arts organisation and small publisher Crystal Clear Creators. In this latter role, I am general editor of Hearing Voices Magazine, and the Crystal Pamphletsseries.