Book reveiw: "Oscar Wilde and the Vatican Murders" by Gyles Brandreth

 

I was intrigued by the title of Brandreth’s book Oscar Wilde and the Vatican Murders, since it promised to depict a giant of literature as a detective.  In fact, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is the main character, with him as the narrator in first person, with Wilde as secondary.  However, as the story unfolds, it is Wilde who employs Sherlock Holmes’s techniques to solve a mystery and murders unfolding in the Vatican.  Although Doyle is the creator of Holmes, one of the world’s greatest detectives, he is relegated to playing Watson to Wilde’s Holmes. 

Doyle is depicted as clueless and Wilde is the observant one, who eventually solves the mystery.

During the heyday of Doyle, the author received volumes of fan mail, including many messages for Sherlock Holmes.  In Brandreth’s novel, Doyle receives several packages addressed to Holmes, which he opened weeks and months after receipt.  Doyle had been delinquent in responding to his mail, which moved slowly in the late nineteenth century.  Among the correspondence, Doyle found a mummified hand, a severed finger with a rose-gold ring, and a lock of hair.

Since the packages were sent from Rome, Oscar Wilde convinces Doyle that they must travel there to discover the source of the objects, the purpose in sending them, and solve the mystery of their origin.

To Wilde, money is no object and is more than willing to throw it around to conduct the investigation in luxury, with good food and drink. 

Brandreth employs Wilde’s flair and witticism throughout the novel.  But his treatment of Doyle is bland in comparison.  Doyle seems dull and without personality.  Of course, compared to Wilde, most everybody would be ordinary.  In this story, Doyle meets a charming young lady, “Irene Sadler” (an obvious reference to Irene Adler, who appears in A Scandal in Bohemia, and is the only person to outsmart Sherlock Holmes). It seems Doyle is smitten by Irene Sadler based on Wilde's observations, but there are no inner thoughts or acknowledgement of his feelings toward her. 

Weird.

If you’re an Oscar Wilde fan, you might enjoy this novel, but it really did not hold my interest and took me a while to finish it.

"Murdoch Mysteries" debuts 2008

Murdoch Mysteries aired its first television episode January 24, 2008.  It stars gorgeous actor Yannick Bisson as Detective William Murdoch and Helene Joy as Dr. Julia Ogden, the medical examiner and Murdoch's main love interest.

The series is set in the late 1890s in Toronto and Murdoch uses the latest forensic techniques such as fingerprinting to solve crimes.

It is now in its 13th season.

Book review - "Murder on the Eiffel Tower" by Claude Izner

I find it a little strange that I read two mysteries in a row that take place in Paris, albeit 250 years apart.  Murder at the Eiffel Tower by Claude Izner (published in 2009) occurs during the International Exposition in 1889 when the amazing structure was opened.

The main character is Victor Legris, a columnist and bookseller in Paris, who has joined thousands of people visiting the tower.  A woman dies of an apparent bee sting.  The incident doesn’t attract much attention until an anonymous letter sent to a local newspaper suggests she was murdered.  Soon more people die and Victor begins to suspect, well, everyone.

I enjoyed the book mainly for the description of late nineteenth century Paris and the International Exposition.  One thing that detracted from the enjoyability of the story is the numerous head-hops which confuse the reader, but nearly as bad as the previous book I tried to read.  Izner also builds his characters a bit better.

Readers of Agatha Christie might note a similarity between Murder on the Eiffel Tower and The ABC Murders by Christie.  I won’t go into detail here so you can figure it out for yourself. 

3 out of 5 croissants.

Book review - "Riding High" by Dale Chase

Dale Chase’s “Riding High” is an interesting love story set in Yuma, Arizona in 1889.  I enjoy historical fiction and I enjoyed this one but I’m amazed that it seems easier to hook up in late nineteenth century Arizona than in twentieth century Dallas.  I guess I was born 100 years too late.

Roy Shuster has just been released from serving a five-year prison sentence for murder.  Within minutes of getting his freedom, he hooks up with Abram, a big furry man with a heart of gold.  After a night of love-making, Abram helps Roy get back on his feet, helping him get a horse, clothes and money.  Instead of staying with a man who has shown he cares for him, Roy sets out for Tombstone.

Along the way, he is robbed of his horse and left on foot, but is soon rescued by Clay Bowman, who gives him a ride into Tombstone.  Roy hooks up with the second guy since his release two days prior.

I’m not familiar with life in the late 1880’s but I didn’t know people had a selection of restaurants to choose from when eating out. The anachronisms weren’t a distraction but Roy’s ease in finding sex seemed almost uncanny.  Perhaps it was easier in an area and time when women weren’t as abundant as men were for a booty call.

The Winchester House - San Jose, California

For Fuzzy's birthday, we traveled to San Jose, California to drive down the coast to Los Angeles to spend New Year's Eve with friends.  Our first stop was the mysterious Winchester House in San Jose.  In the late 19th century, Sarah Winchester, who married into the Winchester family, lost her husband and young daughter both suddenly, tragically and within a relatively short amount of time.  She consulted a psychic who told her that her family had been taken by the spirits of people killed by Winchester weapons.  She was advised to move west and build a house but never finish it.  This would confuse those spirits and save her from the same fate. 

She had carpenters and workers around the clock working on the house for 38 years until her death in 1922, with some very interesting aspects: doors that open to walls, a stairway that leads to the ceiling, etc. No pictures were allowed in the house but I could take all I wanted outside.

The tank house.

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The fruit drying shed - The evaporator could dry 1 1/2 tons of prunes every 30 hours, very modern for its day.

Hebe and Demeter. 

Some of the hedges were shaped to resemble the decorations on the gables of the house. 

The famous Serpent Fountain.

One of the most fascinating aspects of the house:  The Door to Nowhere - a second story door that opens to the outside.  Watch that first step, mac!  It's a lulu!

Sarah Winchester had many Tiffany stained-glass windows.

The chimney in this spot fell during the 1906 earthquake that destroyed San Francisco.  Sarah thought it was those spirits of vengeance telling her she was spending too much money on the front of the house.  She had her carpenters board up the front and start working elsewhere.  The chimney was never replaced.

The house was originally 3 miles west of San Jose but the city has closed in around the house.

The gardeners' shed.



Curse of the Pharaohs by Elizabeth Peters

After reading the first two Amelia Peabody novels almost back-to-back, I noticed some similarities between them. Since those parallels involve the solutions to the mysteries, I won’t divulge their secrets. However what imagination Ms. Peters may lack in motives, she certainly has no deficiency in describing late nineteenth century Egypt.

The Curse of the Pharaohs takes place several years after the events of Crocodile on the Sandbank. Amelia is happily married to her gruff but adoring husband Radcliffe Emerson and they are proud parents of precocious five year-old Walter, nicknamed Ramses.

The novel opens in dreary old England with Amelia and Emerson longing for the hot dry climes of Egypt. Although Amelia considers herself the utmost of proper Victorian Englishwomen, her hilariously disastrous attempt at hosting a tea party proves otherwise.

She and Emerson have been devouring the latest news of an archaeologist who died after the discovery of a tomb in Egypt, supposedly due to a pharaoh’s curse. His assistant disappears shortly afterwards.

Naturally, Amelia and Radcliffe are thrilled when the archaeologist’s widow implores them to continue her husband’s work. Soon they are back in Luxor and confronting more obstacles and roadblocks than the tons of rubble blocking the entrance to the tomb.

Another aspect the second novels shares with the first is the Scooby-Doo type presence of a spooky specter. In Crocodile, a mummy prowled the excavation site. In Curse, it’s a mysterious lady in white. However, Amelia, armed with her ever-ready, lethal parasol and her woman’s intuition, uncover the real source of the strange deaths which have nothing to do with a curse. She also can’t resist playing match-maker a second time, mentoring another emotionally fragile young woman deal with multiple suitors.

Despite the numerous repeats, I thought Curse of the Pharaohs was a great follow-up to the first. Amelia’s marriage to Emerson is as strong and stable as ever, even with two of the strongest personalities in England. The story brings ancient Egypt to life although set in the nineteenth century.

I hope the third novel breaks away from the cookie-cutter recipe of the first and second.

Crocodile on the Sandbank by Elizabeth Peters

It’s impossible to not like Amelia Peabody, the main character in Elizabeth Peters’ series. She is the quintessential prim, proper, Victorian-era Englishwoman, always taking charge, making sure the world behaves. That isn’t easy when the world is infested by men, who are boorish, rude and say the most inappropriate things at the most inopportune times.

Despite the omnipresent oppression of the English gentlewoman by the male population, Miss Peabody is well-established at thirty-two, thanks to a large inheritance from her late father, but she has no husband, no suitors and doesn’t want either.

Resigning herself to spinsterhood, Amelia decides to spend the winter in Egypt instead of England’s dreary climate. With barely a foot on the African continent, she rescues a young woman with a sad story. Amelia takes the girl under her wing and up the Nile. This is how Crocodile on the Sandbank, the first in the series begins.

Before leaving Cairo, Amelia and Evelyn meet a pair of archaeological brothers. The youngest, Walter Emerson, is well-mannered, well-spoken and instantly besotted by Evelyn. His older brother, Radcliffe, has an entirely opposite demeanor. He is abrasive, arrogant and condescending to everyone.

Amelia is all too pleased to leave their presence and Cairo with her new ward, but several days into their journey, they encounter the brothers again. Despite the irascible Radcliffe, Amelia is fascinated by the discoveries he’s made at his excavation. But it also seems they have angered the spirit of the long-dead king whose tomb has been uncovered. A mummy begins haunting their camp at night, terrorizing the workers and nearby villagers who fear the old king’s wrath. Amelia and Radcliffe are quite certain there is nothing supernatural going on so what is the purpose of trying to scare them? Who is masquerading as the mummy that is quite athletic and able to elude all attempts to capture him?

As far as cozy mysteries go, this one is as cozy as they get. No gory killings or other extreme acts of violence. The ending, somewhat expected, kept this from being a glorified Scooby-Doo mystery. The jokes are a lot better in Peters’ writing.

Elizabeth Peters pens a great narrative telling her story in first person from Amelia’s point of view. Her writing is witty, charming and a pleasure to read. Crocodile on the Sandbank whets the readers’ appetite for the start of a wonderful journey.

The Last Camel Died at Noon by Elizabeth Peters

Years ago I read a mystery by Elizabeth Peters so I’ve been introduced to Amelia Peabody Emerson and company. Although I can’t remember which one it was, I apparently enjoyed it enough to purchase more of her books.

The flap of The Last Camel Died at Noon made it sound like it would be an intriguing mystery. And it was, but it took a long detour into Neverland. I wondered if I was reading a late-nineteenth century mystery set in England or a tame cross-over with Indiana Jones and Dan Brown. No offense to Ms. Peters. She writes much better than Brown although her stories are a bit cozier.

While the Emersons are entertaining at their palatial estate in London one rainy night, they get several uninvited guests. Arriving at one’s house unannounced is a serious no-no in Victorian England etiquette rules. First, a young man collapses in their parlor and a short time later his overbearing grandfather bursts in.

The older man implores the Emersons to search for his son and daughter-in-law who disappeared into the sands of Egypt fourteen years earlier. Against all odds, Viscount Blacktower has received a coded message that he claims proves his son is still alive.

Amelia and her husband emphatically refuse to go on a rescue mission, especially one with such sketchy details and the possibility of success is remote. They proceed to Egypt, following their own agenda, excavating a site of little archaeological significance. The grandson Reggie appears out of the blue with an entourage in tow. The Emersons are still unmoved but when Reggie is kidnapped by desert wild men while attempting to search for his uncle on his own, they feel they have no other recourse but to go in hopes of rescuing him.

After a brush with death by dehydration, the Emersons are taken to a secret oasis, hidden away, where an entire monarchy thrives with its court and castes. Amelia and her family are treated like royalty but soon find themselves caught in the middle of a civil war between brothers fighting for the throne.

At times the mystery takes a back seat to Peters’ knowledge of ancient Egyptian customs and rituals as she displays for half the novel while the Emersons are embroiled in drama, intrigue and schemes in this hidden nation. There never was an absence of suspense but oftentimes, I wondered where the story was going. When we learn the solution to the mystery, it’s almost a moot point. It’s also wrapped up a little quickly, as in one page.

Despite no page-turning excitement, The Last Camel Died at Noon is a good story, as pleasurable than any other mystery out there.

Mr. Timothy by Louis Bayard

In an interview with author Louis Bayard, he said he didn’t set out to write a sequel to A Christmas Carol, and although Mr. Timothy takes place fifteen years after the events in Dickens’ classic novel and contain two of its most memorable corporeal characters, it most definitely is not a sequel.

Tiny Tim is now Mr. Timothy and his crippled leg has nearly been healed, leaving him with only a slight limp. He’s not the sweet innocent boy, spouting ‘God bless us, everyone’, endearing himself to all. His parents have passed away and his surviving siblings scattered across England.

Timothy has immersed himself in the seedy underbelly of London, teaching the madam of a brothel to read Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe. As part of their arrangement, he rooms at the bordello.

Timothy seems determined to distance himself from his beneficent Uncle N, aka Ebenezer Scrooge. The crabby old miser remains changed after his encounter with the spirits. He dotes on his ‘nephew’ Tim. He spared no expense in finding the best doctors and medical care money could buy in treating Tim’s bum leg.

But Scrooge’s change of heart had a negative effect on the Crachitt family. He hired a second clerk to help Bob. Mr. Crachitt had more time on his hands and drifted away from his family.

Timothy’s siblings didn’t begrudge him the attention shown him by Scrooge but it did manage to set him apart from him. The final result is Timothy is only in contact with his brother Pete and his wife Annie.

Mr. Timothy is a trip through the sexual deviancy in Victorian England, a stark contrast of the prudish era in which the novel is set. It could probably be considered a prequel to Jack the Ripper, since Bayard’s novel shows us the dark and violent side of London. We see the buildings covered in soot from hundreds of chimneys belching smoke. We smell the Thames at low tide where the receding water reveals refuse Londoners have tossed away. We feel the bitter cold, sleet and fog that permeate thin blankets, threadbare clothing and worn shoes. No Mary Poppins or Eliza Doolittle here.

In these filthy streets, Timothy finds the bodies of two young girls. He soon encounters a third who is very much alive. He pursues her, wanting to keep her safe from the diverse people – a rich gentleman, a female ‘proprietor’ of a safe haven for orphans – eager to grab her and ‘save’ her.

Bayard’s tale gets even seedier as Tim uncovers a child prostitution ring catering to London’s elite. Why should the dukes and lords of the city degrade themselves with the common whores when they can have a younger, prettier and more importantly, pure and innocent.

Sexual perversion is a recurring theme throughout the novel and not just the mystery and Tim’s abode. He is accused of being a homosexual as his manhood is questioned more than once. And he is assaulted by his accuser.

The harshness of Mr. Timothy packs as much of a punch as A Christmas Carol, but more shocking than scary. It’s a grown up version of the Dicken’s tale. Bayard doesn’t give us a happy closing line from Tim Crachitt and he leaves a huge question unanswered.

Slow to start, Mr. Timothy draws you into the shadows and you may not want to leave.