The Secret Place by Tana Frech (A Dublin Murder Squad mystery)

It's no secret that I love Tana French, both for her masterful plotting and eerie ability to adop different narrative voices and personas in her Dublin Murder Squad series.

Still, I must be honest and admit that although I did enjoy The Secret Place, it's not my favorite entry into the series, and I'm not entirely sure why.

The plot is intriguing enough. It's the resurrection of an unsolved cold case.  A popular boy was murdered on the grounds of a posh boarding school for girls (he's a student at the obligatory adjacent boys' boarding school). The case is brought to Detective Stephen Moran by Frank Mackey's daughter, Holly. Now a teenager and a student at the boarding school, she proffers Moran an anonymous postcard claiming to know who killed the boy. 

Painfully eager to get out of cold cases and into the Murder Squad, Moran brings the case to Detective Antoinette Conway, an island of ball-busting, angry feminist competence in a unit that's ostracized her. Neither detective can afford to fail, both for their professional sakes and because doing so will mean victory for the personal demons each respectively barely keeps at bay. 

All the ingredients of a great contemporary mystery are present: an intense, slow-build of procedural tension over the period of basically 24-hours (except the flashbacks, of course), enough unexpected or simply unresolved character developments to keep even veteran armchair sleuths like myself guessing and engaged, and a truly well-done job giving a lot of characters, of different ages, very distinct personalities and voices (this is harder to do than most people realize; in my opinion, it's an ability that elevates writer from merely "good" to "great"). For fans of the series, you get to see how Frank Mackey's daughter has grown up after the events of Faithful Place, which is neat. As always, however, you don't need to read the other books in the series to appreciate this one. 

And yet...

When I read Det. Conway was the protagonist of French's next entry into the series, I was glad because she is a wonderful character who I absolutely want to see more of (and so much the type of strong, takes-no-shit-from-anyone woman I wish my recovering people-pleaser self could be). But I also liked Det. Moran and felt Conway, by sheer force of personality, overshadowed him and the other characters, even though the novel is narrated from Conway's point of view. The strongest parts of the novel were in flashbacks of the Holley and her tight-knit circle of friends. 

Which is, of course, one of the main strengths of the novel, the way French captured the intensity and intimacy of friendships at that age. Initially, I was worried it would rehash the vibe in The Likeness, which explores the family you find in friends in college. But though equally formative and intense, that type of friendship is, of course, an entirely different thing. I should've known better than to doubt Tana French; these friends, too, have their own feel and rhythm. 

Overall, it's another successful installment in one of my favorite series. But it's not the best of the bunch, at least for me.  

The Dead Hour by Denise Mina (A Paddy Meehan mystery)

During one scene in Denise Mina’s The Dead Hour, the series protagonist Paddy Meehan struggles to climb a tall gate in order to inspect a property possibly involved in a murder. Paddy, an overweight, insecure but determined Scottish Daily News crime reporter, eventually scales the door, but not before gracelessly falling into the mud and tearing her stockings.

The stockings are more than just an aesthetic inconvenience; Paddy supports her parents and one sister on her meager reporter’s salary and every penny counts, so it's not simply a matter of buying a new pair. Not to mention that it’s terribly cold in Scotland and wool stockings help. Still, frustrated but undaunted, Paddy nevertheless makes her way to the house to snoop around.

It’s the kind of scene Denise Mina handles exceptionally well. Her deft touch allows the protagonist to be brave without being invulnerable, intelligent but still prone to making utterly human poor decisions, and to remain themselves even while trudging through days punctuated by the small indignities that accompany being broke and on a lower social tier. 

I’ve whined before about heroines who come dangerously close to becoming bland, boring Mary Sues. Of course this woman detective has studied that obscure dialect of a lesser-known language, and of course they have impeccable fashion sense and yes, they’re good at Math and have a perfect sense of direction and handle all social morasses with diplomacy and aplomb. Yawn (and eye roll if they're pretty, too). Happily, Paddy Meehan will never run the risk of being that boring.

Thus this third installment of the Paddy Meehan series which begins, appropriately enough, when Paddy inadvertently accepts a bribe at the scene of a domestic violence incident that becomes a brutal murder. In all fairness, the much-needed, blood-stained money is thrust into Paddy’s hands by the man who answers the door and before she can react the door is slammed in her face.

Paddy’s internal vacillations about whether to keep the money or turn it in to the police as evidence, and the consequences of that decision for her both personally and professionally, turn a compelling thriller and mystery into something more literary and rich.

A counternarrative of an addict, from a completely different point of view, adds an undercurrent of suspense that keeps the reader turning pages. Mina’s ability to completely change narrative voice, syntax, perspective and style are comparable to Tana French.

Although I’m not overly familiar with Scotland’s recession during the 1980s, the dreary ghosts of empty factories and the lingering wounds suffered by the workers' families are an ever-present, sinister whisper throughout the story. Yet the reader is never bludgeoned over the head with it, either.

But all that is signature Mina, of course. One is forced to confront the totally unvarnished and only loosely fictionalized realities of poverty, sex trafficking, mental health care, (or the lack thereof) and much more in all of Mina’s novels. (Brace yourself when reading her phenomenal and gripping Garnett Hill  trilogy.) But the reader is never being proselytized, either. Reality simply is what it is, and there’s little use complaining about it.

Don't let that deter you from giving Mina a shot, however, even if that sounds a bit dark. Her books have intelligent, complex characters and her heroines all have a wicked, laugh-out-loud sense of humor that helps lighten the shadows of the brutal, objective truths.

In short, The Dead Hour is a pretty enjoyable installment in the series, although I concede a character development cliff hanger at the end left me frustrated and annoyed. In keeping with my cardinal rule for this blog, I won’t give spoilers, but suffice it so say I was left thinking, “Oh great, not another one!”

As a final note, allow me to indulge in a personal aside. There is a line in this book in which a new editor from London replaces the bedraggled, grizzled old-school editor. That dismissal is soon followed by the exit of several of the other reporters of a very old generation from a time during which writing a story from a bar nearby while drinking was not only the norm but damn near expected.

The presses leave the building. The sales staff and editors all move into cubicles on the floor beneath, exiled from the comfortably broken-in newsroom with its scarred tables, clanging typewriters and assorted detritus.

The line observes that now the newspaper could just as well be selling insurance, and no one would be able to tell the difference.

It reminded me, sharply, of when the small press that was housed adjacent to my first paper, The Pahrump Valley Times, was shut down so the paper could be printed in Las Vegas, about 45 minutes away.

Before then, I would sometimes go into the press building and chat with the press guys or just watch the presses whir. More than anything I loved to breathe in the sharp, slightly acidic smell of ink and be wrapped in the thudding rumble of events being churned onto giant rolls of paper. It felt like being right inside the world’s heartbeat.

I often lingered in the press room of my last paper, The Casa Grande Dispatch, too, for the basically the same reason. Both papers had wonderfully broken-in newsroom where reporters filed stories alongside wavering stacks of the newspapers next to their desks and the editor (or in the Dispatch’s case, the publisher) had the only real office. I suppose, in a way, they were the transition between Paddy’s old-school newsroom and today’s slick, cubicle-mazed offices.

At any rate, though I don’t think I’d want a return to the boorish, chauvinist, functioning-alcoholic newsrooms of the past (we had them here in America, too), I deeply appreciated Mina’s nod to the death of a certain era. 

The Collaborator of Bethlehem by Matt Rees (The Palestinian Quartet)

[Warning: The introduction to the review of the book is rather long; I apologize for that but felt it necessary to ensure readers have the complete context from which I base this review. In an era of soundbites, pull quotes, memes and GIFs, I shall plant my lonely flag of exposition. It’s a luxury afforded to those of us who have maybe two people who read our blog.]

It's easy in today’s information-saturated age to believe one understands a place and its people, even never having been there (or spoken to anyone who has). It is so effortless, after all, to binge watch YouTube lectures and read an assortment of blogs, articles and – for the true cyber-anthropologists – all the comments below said videos or articles.

That said, it is equally easy to become so inundated with information, from so many conflicting sources, that one loses all hope of ever understanding other places, cultures and people.

Finally, there are those who moor against the unceasing tidal waves of information by sheltering within unshakable conviction.

Thankfully, fiction allows an alternate avenue to information about cultures, places, nations and, naturally, conflict. If a work a good – and I don’t mean just entertaining, I mean a piece that truly masters a genre – then intertwined with dialogue and people spun from thin air are real, honest facts and truths about the character’s setting, societal norms and culture.[1]

Fiction allows us to learn and absorb information in a way that somewhat cushions against the modern instinct -- not misplaced --  to analyze the source and its motives. We already know that story is the motive and we trust the writer has done the due diligence to make it a story worth being told.

Perhaps that’s why I have found some of the best insights into the Israeli-Palestinian conflict in works of fiction such as Joe Sacco’s startling, disorienting and wonderful graphic novel Palestine.

To be sure, I’ve read plenty of nonfiction as well, from Jimmy Carter’s Palestine: Peace, Not Apartheid and Sandy Tolan’s The Lemon Tree, but often it was only when I read works of fiction, such as Almost Dead by Assaf Gavron, that any the information I received from nonfiction works metamorphosed into knowledge, or at least the closest thing I can claim to have of knowledge, given that I’ve never set foot anywhere in Israel.

I’m not going to share my opinions on that conflict; this isn’t a political blog and, in any case, in my view any review that allows political bias to influence an assessment of a work of fiction is not to be trusted.

I will, however, disclose that I have had a fascination and admiration for Middle Eastern culture since I was little girl, long before it became distilled down to media buzzwords and conflated with the Muslim religion.

Which is why I saved this book from a friend’s culling pile.

I forgot about it for years until, looking for a quick read prior to my first travel vacation in five years, I found it again on the wrong bookshelf, the one I reserve for “stand alone” mysteries. And I am so glad I did.

First, a reader should understand that the protagonist, Omar Yussef, is a Christian in modern-ish Bethleham (presumably, this around the mid-to-late 1990s), which has become increasingly hostile to Christians.

Yussef is old enough to recall his father’s friendships with Muslims and Jews, and even to have a few Muslim friends of his own, but cynical enough to recognize the Martyrs Brigade for the strong-arm gang of thugs it is, even as it shrouds itself in the Palestinian flag and resistance movement.

His faith is not the only thing that sets Omar Yussef apart, however. Also compelling is the way he internalized what his father told him when the family was forced from their home by Israeli soldiers. Unlike the other refugees, Omar’s father didn’t expect to return. Which isn’t to say the eviction didn’t touch the Yussef family; his mother was so spiritually traumatized and chronically homesick she never settles into Bethlehem and struggled with severe depression for the rest of her life.

But Omar is no martyr to be pitied; indeed he is human to a degree that one rarely finds in fiction protagonists. A recovering alcoholic who squandered much of his youth in the bottle, Omar Yussef has been essentially demoted from teaching history at a respectable school to United Nations Palestinian refugee camp girls’ school. Still, he retains a dignity and honesty in his teaching and takes true pride in helping to form students' minds. 

Omar’s thoughtful, if politically tone-deaf, refusal to allow his students to give into blind hatred and propaganda make him unsurprisingly unpopular with many of his students’ parents and his American boss. The mischievous sense of humor with which he handles this situation is one of several unexpected delights within the book. 

Omar’s drinking has taken a toll on his body, which is aging prematurely, a rather nice change from the typically vigorous, indestructible protagonists so many mystery novels have.

In addition to a complex, rather unlikely hero, Matt Rees also humanizes the ambivalence, weariness, frustration and even hope of everyday people attempting to live ordinary, everyday lives in the midst of a conflict with global repercussions.

Rees shows us families cowering from Israeli tracers and bulldozers that destroy roads in the middle of the night but he also shows, rather mercilessly, the degree to which even Palestinians are not united amongst themselves and their own culpability in perpetuating half of the endless cycle of hate.

The mystery at the heart of this novel, with its mix of foregone conclusions, hope, cynicism and the never ending capacity of our fellow humans to surprise and disappoint us, lives up to complex and absorbing backdrop.

Omar’s motives are messy and a bit selfish – one of his brightest former students has been falsely accused of being an Israeli collaborator and helping Shin Bet to assassinate a resistance leader (or terrorist, depending on your perspective) and Reese pulls no punches in its inevitably bloody conclusion – of the many things this novel is, wish fulfillment it is not. Omar sincerely wants justice but in his core is desperate that one of the best examples of his legacy is not senselessly wrongfully destroyed.

It all makes for surprisingly quick and thought-provoking reading. It is easy to see why Rees was an award-winning foreign correspondent for The Scotsman and Newsweek.

As readers, we can be thankful for that. As people who hope for peace, we can only sigh and accept the truth as it stands.

---

[1] In no way am I suggesting that reading fiction is an adequate substitution for educating oneself. That is an entirely different process and, by definition, would include credible sources such as newspapers of record, original source notes and transcripts, peer-reviewed academic journal articles and the like at the very least.

Broken Harbor by Tana French (A Dublin Murder Squad mystery)

Having already rhapsodized about Tana French's incredible ability to narrate in distinct voices and the literary quality of her novels, one wouldn't think there would be much left to say in terms of the fourth installment in the Dublin Murder Squad series.

And yet.

This installment continues French's leitmotif of forcing the detective, in this case Mick "Scorcher" Kennedy, to solve a brutal murder in a locale that is also the setting for a dark period of their past. And, once again, she pulls this off well, creating a totally plausible past and present for both the setting and the protagonist.

Kennedy, the unapologetic straight arrow that most people on the squad dislike for being that guy, the one who won't even bend the rules a little, is called to solve the deaths of a father and his two kids. The mother and her husband were brutally stabbed while their kids upstairs were suffocated in their bed. The mother survives, just barely.

The entire home, a shoddily built McMansion in the middle of an abandoned, half-built subdivision, has bizarre holes broken into the walls with baby monitor cameras pointed at them.

French's setting of perfect homes surrounded by the gutted, skeletal remains of a developer's dream-turned-nightmare gives the entire story an eerie, zombie-like feeling that permeates the entire novel.

Admittedly, I found the initial premise of this mystery particularly compelling, but that's not what made this the kind of read I stayed up far too late for with no regrets.

What struck me most about this installment was French's research into real police procedures. The meticulous details she includes gives the reader insight into how actual investigations work but ultimately serve as an unobtrusive way to flesh out Kennedy's character. There's paperwork, bureaucracy, coordination between forensic techs and loaner detectives, etc. Handled poorly, that could make for tedious reading. In French's hands, it's insight that adds another dimension to solving the case.

Interestingly enough, I didn't like Kennedy when I first saw him through Frank's eyes in Faithful Place, but here I found myself relating to him on multiple levels (I'm pretty sure there've been people who disliked me for being a rather straight arrow, too, but like Kennedy, my family history and past don't allow me to be any other way).

Kennedy's sister in this novel is severely mentally ill and I've read some reviews that criticize French's handling of this character because her mental illness is her solely defining trait. I disagree with this critique, largely because I've had people with untreated mental illness in my own life.  French's portrayal of what it is to live that experience may not be pretty or kind, but reality rarely is.  I found it to be a pretty spot-on portrayal. The fact is, when a person is that mentally ill and completely untreated -- and Kennedy's sister is -- quite frankly that does become the person's defining trait. Especially when their mental illness is what makes associating with that person or having them in your life so difficult. When it's a family member especially the mental illness can become a thing unto itself, absolutely subsuming the person and their relationships. As far as I'm concerned, French wrote this with a brutal honesty so raw I had to put down the book and take a break several times.

Perhaps at this point, I'm simply biased. I love Tana French's writing. As a writer, I appreciate the unseen research and technique that goes into crafting her stories and I find the settings, characters and plots compelling. Every time I sit down to review one of her books, I try to find something to critique. I simply don't, and that's just fine with me. Besides, I'm sure the two people in the world who actually read this blog don't mind, either.

Friends, Lovers, Chocolate by Alexander MacCall Smith (A Sunday Philosophy Club mystery)

The eponymous first book in Alexander McCall Smith's Sunday Philosophy Club series humbled me.

The second installment in the series, Friends, Lovers, Chocolate, expanded my musical horizons by introducing me to Many Waters Cannot Quench Love and John Ireland, for which I will be eternally grateful.

More than that, however, once again I found myself happily mentally noshing on the philosophical and ethical conundrums presented to Isabel throughout the book. Although Isabel certainly meddles, this time a a man with a heart transplant asks her for help when he begins to have visions of what he may believe may be his donor's murderer. Questions of cellular memory, the afterlife (and being open-minded enough to grant at least the possibility of an afterlife legitimacy), and even romance arise as Isabel finds herself drawn into her new friend's problem.

Meanwhile, Isabel is forced to confront her feelings for Jamie (at least to some degree) and even indulges her less philosophical and ethical side, deftly preventing from becoming a boring Mary Sue and nicely shading in some depth to her character.

Once again, McCall Smith has given us a Scottish cozy that I enjoyed like a delicious, but messy pastry. At the end, there were some crumbs left, and like so many of Life's philosophical questions, the answer wasn't neat and tidy. But the path to finding it was satisfying as ever. From her niece Kat's shop to a rural bookstore, McCall's talent for drawing a reader into an environment with wholly believable characters makes this another successful installment.

I am beginning to love these books for what they are. Often, I pause reading to Google a word (few books challenge my vocabulary, but both of these installments have), a song, even an instrument (in this case, the contrabasoon). I always learn something and, because the ethical questions presented are interesting (even when they're the "fake" ones Isabel reviews for The Journal of Applied Ethics), just getting to mull those over is a bit like being able to continue to read while doing something else like the dishes.

The books are also a welcome respite when I need a break from many of the darker authors I read such as Denise Mina, Charles Todd, Tana French or Alex Grecian. The are cozies, a sub-genre I admit with chagrin I likely would still be snobbishly dismissing were it not for this series.

I was planning to read these around Christmas time every year, since my husband gifted himself into that tradition, but I already have the third installment and highly doubt I'll be able to wait that long this time. 

Field of Blood by Denise Mina (A Paddy Meehan mystery)

Denise Mina, as I’ve mentioned in previous reviews of her work, certainly falls on the darker side of the spectrum in terms of setting, characters (even protagonists) and stories. The residents of Mina's Glasgow are often flawed in ways we can all recognize, if not relate to, and usually struggle to keep their head above water as they deal with circumstances of ethnicity, geography and, usually, class.

To read a Denise Mina novel is to see the world reflected in a brutally objective, but always compelling and artfully executed, mirror.

This would make for dreary reading were it not for her deadly wit, strangely reminiscent of Jane Austen in its often cynical social commentary.

In Field of Blood, the first installment of the Paddy Meehan series, Mina’s gift for showing how social mores and family ties ultimately control us all are in fine form, though there is less humor.

Paddy Meehan, A Glasgow native named after a real-life man wrongly convicted of murder and ultimately redeemed by the dogged work of an enterprising journalist, is a copyboy determined to become a journalist herself.

That backdrop alone – a Glasgow press room in early 1980s, when no women need apply and reporters openly drink on shift at the pub next door, long before print’s quick demise under the monolithic internet is even a speculative thought– makes for great reading in and of itself. Mina does not disappoint in who she populates the newsroom with either, as always maintaining wonderfully diverse voices for each characters (in a Mina novel, characters never sound the same, even when they're from the same neighborhood or SES). 

Still, readers of her Garnett Hill trilogy may feel, as I did, that there is something a bit rawer and less sophisticated in Mina’s writing in this book, and I wondered as I read this book if this wasn’t one of her earlier works.

Which isn't to say, in any way, one shouldn't read it. It is not to be missed. The brutal torture and murder of a toddler by two young boys is par for the course in terms of a dark subject matter. Moreover, this is one of the first book I have ever read where I was truly disturbed and unsettled within the first few pages, and I have read quite a bit of both true crime, crime reporting and fictional crime. But this murder lingered for reasons I won't say as it that would be a rather obnoxious spoiler.

For Paddy, the murder ultimately forces her to explore her ambition, her morals, her strengths and even her faith and family ties. The answers are sometimes messy, sometimes cruelly clear-cut, but all the more satisfying for that.  

American readers, myself included, may need to brush up on the social unrest in Scotland during 1981 between Catholics and Protestants and a worker’s movement, but it is not essential to be versed in these things to understand or enjoy this book. Mina, as always, will show you, whether you’re ready or not.

Before ending this review, it's worth adding a side note. Another thing that struck me about this book is that Paddy is a woman who is overweight and, naturally, trying to lose weight. As a woman who has struggled with her weight for her entire life, I have never read a more true account of what it is like to have the all-pervasive, ever-present internal dialogue of what want has/did/didn’t/shouldn’t have/will/won’t eat, each and every day. I found it refreshing and startling, and, if I am honest, it actually forced me to acknowledge how much I have allowed my own weight to be tied to my self-worth, and not for the better.

As a writer, I’m amazed at Mina’s ability to do this as, judging from her photos, she has not struggled with her weight. But perhaps she has. At any rate, I admire her courage and, honestly, it made Paddy a much more realistic character in the end. At the very least, it speaks for Mina's technical skill in crafting and maintaining character. 

So, if you’re a fan of Denise Mina to begin with, you’ll enjoy this book, but perhaps not as much as some of her others. For a series beginning though, it is a great beginning. I’m so looking forward to getting to know Paddy more in the future.

The Likeness by Tana French (A Dublin Murder Squad mystery)

The novel is told from the point of view Cassie Maddox, Rob's partner and best friend from In the Woods, after the events of that book. However, it is not necessary to read the books in order as the Dublin Murder Squad books offer a kaleidoscopic view of the various detectives.

For some who read The Likeness, the third installment of Tana French's brilliant Dublin Murder Squad series, the premise is simply insurmountable. 

Briefly, Cassie is pulled back into being an undercover detective when a young woman -- her physical doppelganger -- is killed. The woman was part of a collegiate quartet who have all bought a house together and are fixing it up while completing their master's degrees in various humanities fields. The police tell the remaining trio that, miraculously, Cassie's doppelganger has survived being brutally stabbed and Cassie is inserted into the home.

Some readers just can't get past the idea that Cassie can look so much like the victim that she fools the friends. As for myself, I love Tana French's writing so much I'm willing to go wherever she wants to take me. And the suspension of disbelief is easier to acquiesce to than one might think, thanks to French's uncanny ability to write so completely from the point of view of her protagonist. 

If anything, the doppelganger aspect adds a depth to Cassie's character that makes this installment one of the most literary mysteries I've ever read. It also serves a crucial function in building the novel's suspense. This is because the friends have created an almost unhealthy proxy family together, but one that also offers safety and comfort to Cassie. Having been orphaned at a young age and raised by caring but distant relatives, Cassie has never known, but has always yearned for, this kind of closeness. French pulls the reader so completely into the group's insular world that as boundaries and ethics blur for Cassie, so do they for the reader. When the psychological danger of this emotionally brittle state becomes untenable, it is but one cymbal crashing in an entire percussive assault of suspense.

And, French is not unrealistic about the doppelganger's "return" to the house, either. French is not an amateur writer and it shows. Cassie has several excruciating moments of panic when she doesn't know certain things about the murder victim that no amount of police background could uncover. The other characters have similar moments of confusion and doubt. All of this only serves to add an undercurrent of suspense to the novel. 

Further,  the story -- or rather, stories -- The Likeness encompasses are so much more than the doppelganger aspect. The plot turns upon well-explored themes of complex friendships, human nature, youth, the impact one's immediate environment can have on them and family. 

The mystery itself is meticulously plotted and the build towards the resolution has the deliciously slow pacing of a Hitchcock film. A minor sub-plot that acts as a story-within-a-story interlude, equally compelling and seamlessly relevant to the investigation, is like an extra layer of delicious icing on an already decadent dessert.

As in the previous French novels, the voice of the protagonist is completely distinct from Rob's voice in In the Woods and Frank's in Faithful Place. Again, many writers can write a character effectively in the first person. What French does, however, is something entirely different. It is sometimes difficult to believe Faithful Place and The Likeness were penned by the same author, so incredibly distinct is each voice. 

To call French's books a mysteries is to give them short shrift; they are so character-driven, artfully written and meticulously plotted they read and feel like novels. 

French is a writer who clearly does her research and puts as much, if not more, work into her writing as art. And it shows, every time. 

That there happens to be a mystery being solved seems less like a focal point of French's books than a concurrent theme. If there is ever room for commercial genre fiction to acknowledge the "literary mystery" openly, the Dublin Murder Squad series will be a great example of it. 

The Sunday Philosophy Club (A Sunday Philosophy Club Mystery) by Alexander McCall Smith

I received Alexander McCall Smith’s The Sunday Philosophy Club as a Christmas gift from the hubby and have to admit I was pretty worried.

As anyone who reads this blog knows, I’m a bit of a snob when it comes to mysteries. I like my mysteries to be literary, character driven and cerebral.  The majority of series I read don't have a lot of action, per se, and are generally penned by English and Irish authors.

So when I mercilessly tore the meticulously folded and taped Christmas wrapping from the brand-new, sharp-cornered hardcover copy of this book (is there anything better than a brand-new hardcover?) I felt no small bit of trepidation when I read the author's name.

The only thing I knew about McCall Smith as an author was that he also wrote the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series. That wasn't a good thing because, I'm forced to admit, I'd assumed that entire series was grocery store beach reading aimed at the stay-at-home-mom and Oprah book club set. Yes, I admit with deep shame, I made this assumption without ever even have read any of them. I'm not proud of my cover-judging here, but I must be honest about it. If any book could teach me not to do that ever again, it was this one.

I am both pleased and relieved to report I was dreadfully, embarrassingly wrong about McCall Smith as an author and the book. The book was, I admit with some chagrin, also far smarter than I ever would of thought, sprinkled with references from avante garde composers to even modern philosophers.

The Sunday Philosophy Club was an absolutely delightful read. Its protagonist, Isabel Dalhousie, is a wealthy Scottish woman who edits an academic philosophy review. Dalhousie is independent and enjoys her life unapologetically, which is a refreshing change from most female protagonists, with the possible exception of Maisie Dobbs. Isabel enjoys doing her morning crossword puzzles, her relationship with her niece and mulling over the philosophical and ethical quandaries presented by everyday life. And, naturally, sticking her nose where it doesn't belong, which is how she becomes embroiled in a mystery.

In this case, Isabel attends a concert after which a young man falls to his death from the gods of the auditorium. As the man falls (is pushed?) head down towards the lower seats, Isabel ever so briefly catches a glimpse of his face. Isabel is haunted by the experience and though she almost successfully pushes it from her mind, she ultimately decides (through pretty sound philosophical reasoning) that she has a moral obligation to discover what really happened.

In addition to creating a refreshingly different protagonist, McCall's writing is clean and pleasant. His narrative style evokes the British cozy genre, or in this case, a Scottish cozy. The dialogue is very well done and flows naturally, adding to the depth of the characters instead of simply moving the plot along.

The mystery itself was intriguing, though not gripping. It acts more as a fulcrum for the characters and setting, but personally I was fine with that. Since it’s a character driven book in the best of ways, there isn’t a ton of action in this book and a lot of introspection.

Finally, there is a very high-brow, sharp wit peppered throughout the book that caused me to give an unexpected guffaw on more than one occasion. I enjoyed learning about Scotland and the idea of approaching life from a primarily philosophical perspective. Even the ending was philosophical, a feat for which I give a mental hat tip to McCall Smith.

The snob in me considers this a “guilty pleasure” read, but the I-just-love-to-read part of me (you know, the other 99.8 percent) can’t wait to get the next installment.

So if you’re looking for a what-happens-next read, this isn’t for you. But if you like people and are fascinated by the quietly eccentric among them, hurry to the bookstore or library now. You’re going to want to meet Isabel. 

Full Dark House by Christopher Fowler (A Peculiar Crimes Unit mystery)

Christopher Fowler is the literary equivalent of a genius mad scientist.

Never has the first installment of a historical mystery series bowled me over so completely. Reading Full Dark House, the first installment in Fowler's Peculiar Crimes Unit series,was a little like falling in love by being hit over the head and then hugged.

Where, or perhaps, how to begin...? 

First, the writing: the narrative flips back and forth between London during World War II when the two protagonists, Arthur Bryant and John May, are in their early twenties and modern-day London, when the two men are comfortably settling in to their old age.

As a narrative device, the juxtaposition between the men at the different points in their lives, and London herself, help give the story a quick pace that clicks along well.

The friends have seven decades of work partnership and friendship behind them and although this is only the first installment of an entire series the depth of and intimacy of their lifetime together are portrayed convincingly. Not since Holmes and Watson has a deep, sincere and affectionate friendship between two men been better portrayed. Bryant and May have been the constant in each other's lives, through marriages, divorce, children, grandchildren, the introduction of technology in their work and a myriad of small and large markers of the passing of time. 

Second, Fowler has found an entirely new way to interweave research into his narrative. As the existence of my blog indicates, I read a lot of historical mysteries set in London during and after World Wars I and II. So I was surprised at how much I learned from this book about how the war impacted the daily lives of people living in London. There are countless mundane, but fascinating, details woven in the parts of the story that take place during the Blitz, such as the forced intimacy of sleeping in the subway tunnels with strangers.

Third, the dual mysteries are both well plotted, though I did figure the solution out long before the end of the book. That did not, however, keep me from wanting to continue reading.

Arthur Bryant is eccentric and open-minded to the occult, paranormal activity and the afterlife which make him a very refreshing detective. He could grow tedious in his scatterbrained-ness (he is undoubtedly a sponge for information, but doesn't organize it in his mind), and that's where John May helps to balance him out. 

The backdrop of the London theater scene in the midst of the blitz was fascinating and Fowler's experience as a horror writer shines through with each body that turns up.

Finally, how many series begin with the death of a main protagonist? 

Faithful Place by Tana French (A Dublin Murder Squad mystery)

 When it comes to a mystery narrated in first person, voice can make or break the story, regardless of how enthralling the plot points.

Tana French's mystery Faithful Place, part of the Dublin Murder Squad series, is a testament to how a well-crafted narrator's voice elevates a good mystery into a memorable, engrossing read.

A vivid, distinct voice, with a realistic syntax, can transport the reader right next to the narrator wherever he or she takes us, whether it's in a raucous bar or sitting quietly in a darkened room, listening only to the protagonist's thoughts.

French does this effortlessly.

Within the first several pages, I found myself half in love with Frank Mackey, the Dublin Undercover detective who pulled himself out of  Faithful Place, a street in a neighborhood whose residents perpetually teeter precariously near poverty. Where Mackey grew up.

There, Mackey grew up with in a mercilessly dysfunctional family, surrounded by a brood of siblings all trapped in the cruel grip of an alcoholic parent and unstable -- but certainly Catholic, mind you -- mother.

Mackey escaped by attempting to leave with his girl...and when she didn't show, became a cop. Coming from Faithful Place, this is a betrayal of sorts not easily forgiven and never, ever forgotten.

French conveys this without ever overtly stating it, just one of many examples of how she uses Mackey's distinct narrative tone to communicate unspoken context.

Another example is the way the reader learns of Mackey's upbringing, told out of chronological order through well-crafted flashbacks. These scenes create sharp, lingering pictures of a complex childhood that fall into place like shards of a broken mirror.

Yet for all that, French still peppers the story with sharp wit and warm, comforting scenes of a father caring for his daughter.

The story, like the people within in it, is not simply one thing. None of the characters or ancillary story lines are simple. Mackey and his siblings' childhood may not have been idyllic, but there are moments, though few, of love and family fidelity. His neighborhood is not the sterile suburbia he attempted to live in with his ex-wife, but it has a code and social moorings of its own.

Finally, the personal nature of the mystery -- the body uncovered in the basement of an abandoned house that Makey and the other kids on the street used as an ad-hoc hideaway is the body of the girl he was going to elope with -- adds a welcome element of personal investment and frustration to the story that elevates the building tension.

As I said, I haven't read any of the other books in this series and have avoided looking them up for fear of spoilers, but I am eagerly looking forward to doing so. But the novel more than stands on its own and shouldn't be passed over, even by those who are not interested in picking up another series.