Murder on the Thames

The great British novelist PD James would have turned 100 in August. PDJ famously began her career in her forties; she wrote several enthralling novels about a tough, practical inspector, Adam Dalgliesh, and she dipped her toes in sci fi and in literary criticism, as well.

The standard thing to say about PDJ is that she wasn't "just" a genre writer; she "transcended" mystery conventions. Kingsley Amis said her work was like "a novel by Iris Murdoch." Anita Brookner tipped a hat to PDJ more than once.

I was raised on Agatha Christie plays, so discovering PDJ in my late teens was an important moment. PDJ is like Christie but better--realer, more intelligent. Val McDermid, in discussing PDJ's prose, singles out these sentences:

The Manor loomed up out of the darkness, a stark shape against a gray sky pierced with a few high stars. And then the moon moved from behind a cloud and the house was revealed: beauty, symmetry, and mystery bathed in white light.....

You can tell someone is having fun here. The Manor is like a monster, "looming up out of the darkness." Even the stars do a bit of violence: They "pierce the gray sky."

"The Guardian" recently asked readers to choose a favorite PDJ novel: "A Taste for Death" seemed to be the winner, but some votes went to "Original Sin" and "Devices and Desires," as well. (It's a tribute to PDJ that *so many* PDJ novels generated "reader love": "Innocent Blood" was a vote-winner. "The Black Tower," "Death in Holy Orders," "Shroud for a Nightingale," "The Lighthouse," "Cover Her Face" .....)

It's fun to read the "Guardian" piece and the many appended reader comments. I personally am expressing my gratitude to PDJ with a re-read of "Original Sin," which features death in a fictional faux-Venetian palace, somewhere on the banks of the Thames River. It's a nice choice for a series of cold fall days.....

https://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2020/aug/04/reading-group-which-pd-james-novel-should-we-read-this-month

Comments

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...

Liars and Saints

Search This Blog