September 16, 1920: under a blue September sky, a quarter ton of explosives is detonated in a deadly attack on New York's Wall Street. Witnessing the blast are war veteran Stratham Younger, James Littlemore of the NYPD, and beautiful French radiochemist Colette Rousseau. A series of inexplicable attacks on Colette, a secret buried in her past, and a mysterious trail of evidence lead Younger, Littlemore and Rousseau on a thrilling journey - from Paris to Prague, from the Vienna home of Dr Sigmund Freud to Washington, DC, and ultimately to the hidden depths of our most savage instincts. As Younger and Littlemore's investigations come together, the two uncover the shocking truth about the bombing - a truth that threatens to shake their world to its foundations.
After trudging my way through a fair few less than stellar books recently, it's a great relief to be back in the hands of master storyteller, Jed Rubenfeld. This is a truly gripping thriller which successfully combines excellent and sometimes poetic writing with the thrills and spills of the storyline. I loved it. The two male characters, Younger and Littlemore, are simply excellent and spark off each other very well indeed. I cared about both of them very much. On the other hand, it took me a while to warm to Colette - perhaps because her actions in the beginning sometimes seem very strange and it's only much later on in the book that we realise what's actually driving her and what her real mission is. I'd also say that Rubenfeld isn't quite as spot-on with female characters as he is with male ones, but that's a minor quibble here.
Other aspects of this novel I really appreciated was the domestic relationship between Littlemore and his wife - there was one moment where I held my breath and dreaded the thought that Littlemore was going to be allowed to slip into a pointless cliche moment when he was working away from home for a while, but he acts true to himself (phew!) and the pointless cliche is dodged. Thank you, Mr Rubenfeld, and yes, I should have trusted you a little more - you've not let me down yet. There's also a lovely scene between Mr and Mrs Littlemore when he is faced with a terrible choice between money which would very much help his family, and his own personal honour. Kudos to Mrs Littlemore here for opting without any hesitation at all for the personal honour choice. This was a lovely marital scene which felt very real indeed.
Rübenfeld also plays teasingly with cliche when it comes to Colette's apparent relationship with the German officer she is trying to locate, but the scene when Younger pursues her out of love and discovers the real truth of the matter is excellently and breathtakingly done. It turned the whole book round on its head and I loved it. I always enjoy being so cleverly fooled by a writer - it's a real skill.
And, once again, as in Rubenfeld's earlier and also excellent novel, The Interpretation of Murder, we have the presence of Sigmund Freud who is trying to help Collette's brother Luc. Freud has some great and very witty scenes and I very much appreciated them. That said, I do wonder if the Freud factor is perhaps becoming something of a deus ex machina in this author's work, and for the next novel I could probably live without it.
Finally, there's also a great deal of political intrigue going on, which is very clever indeed - but I did tend to lose track every now and again - then again my particular focus as a reader is the relationships between the characters and so I wasn't greatly concerned about politics. I was more interested in the people here, who never let me down. My one other quibble is nothing to do with the book itself but its cover - I have to say I'm really rather bored with that back view of the man in a hat walking away into various scenes - it seems to be on all sorts of history and thriller books these days and I wish publishers would lay the pesky scene to rest once and for all!
Anyway, cover rant over. As I expected, the closing chapters of this book are very thrilling indeed, and the ending is deeply satisfying for all. I thoroughly recommend it.
5 stars. Literary thriller perfection.
Anne Brooke Books
The Gathandrian Fantasy Trilogy
Gay Reads UK
Showing posts with label war. Show all posts
Showing posts with label war. Show all posts
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Rhubarb and remembrance
Book News:
I'm very pleased to say that my poem, Meditation 21, appears in the Winter 2010 issue of Eat a Peach poetry journal today (scroll down to view), and of course can also be found amongst its friends in my poetry collection, Salt and Gold, which is now available at a discount at Lulu Books. Ideal Christmas present for your poetic and/or religious friends, naturally ... And speaking of wintry gifts, this time ideal for the darker and more sinister Christmas (and really what could be nicer?), don't forget that crime novel, Thorn in the Flesh, continues to be eligible for free delivery at Amazon and comes with some very nice reviews too.
On a very different note, Tommy's Blind Date was strutting its stuff at No 31 in the Amazon charts, though has now slipped somewhat. And I was also pleased to see my latest poetry collection, Sunday Haiku hanging on in there in the Amazon poetry charts. Returning briefly to Lulu Books, I'm happy to announce that all my books at Lulu now have very worthwhile discounts and some are even free, so definitely worth a browse!
And a big thank you to Stephanie for her 5-star review at Goodreads of The Hit List - many thanks, Stephanie.
This week's meditations:
Meditation 460
A shadowy room,
the faint glitter of skin
and the subtle flow
of oil
bring a blessing
he will remember
when the celebrations
and plots begin.
Meditation 461
God is like
a man in a watchtower
waiting for your arrival;
he is like
a horseman galloping
to find you
in the fields of Naboth;
a messenger who refuses
to leave your side
once the words
are spoken; he is
an arrow through your heart.
Sunday haiku:
I search for my word
lurking at the edge, eerie
and dark: discontent.
Life News:
I must say that Tesco's rhubarb crumble cake, though bizarrely named and yes it doesn't look like much, is seriously scrummy with one's essential cup of tea - highly recommended. Rush out and buy some is what I say. Anyway, in between the rain (honestly, where does it all come from?...) I have managed to squeeze in a game of golf with Marian - not my best game, but my putting was pretty damn cool and on the first I actually chipped in from the green, hurrah. Who needs a putter? Just call me Smug. Marian did.
Saturday morning, Lynda came to shape up my hair which now looks lovely, though I say it myself and shouldn't - and this morning I've even managed to get it looking like some faint echo of how Lynda does it, though I'm unlikely to do that again, wash-and-go being my main aim in life. K is primed to say how lovely it looks as soon as Lynda leaves - much like Pavlov's Husband, if Pavlov had a husband. Which is a good thing as I think I can count on the fingers of half a hand the times in my life when anyone has actually noticed I've had a haircut - a sad fact of life that does make me a bit snippety as I try to make sure I do comment on everyone else's haircuts if I think they've been done. Positively of course! Despite what you think, my Bitch Quota is quite low really. Anyway, I must wear some kind of invisibility cloak over my head for the week after The Haircut, but I swear I don't know who puts it there. Ah well.
Yesterday, we were at the Cathedral listening to Guildford Choral Society (nice singing, Robin, Gavin & Liz - well done, all!) perform not one but two requiems. The Faure one and the Durufle one (sorry, no idea about how to get accents on either of those). A great performance, even though I'm not a huge fan of the requiem per se, and think that when you've encountered one you've probably encountered them all. Much like Madonna and Child paintings, really. And even K thinks two requiems might have been a requiem too far. The programme for next year looks more my style though, so I shall look forward to that.
This morning, K and I have of course attended the Remembrance Service at Shackleford. I particularly like their take on this as when we're all standing around the War Memorial in the village, the names of those from the village who died in the First World and Second World Wars are read out and people come and place crosses on with the appropriate name in the soil as they're being read. I do find that very moving and it brings it all home really. This time we also didn't get a sermon but instead one of our congregation told us the story of his father who'd been in the army and spent five years as a prisoner of war in Germany during the Second World War - fascinating stuff. As the senior officer in the camp, he'd been in charge of coordinating the escape plans, and also of getting essential information back to the UK government by means of a series of letters supposedly to the Tiptree Jam Factory (near where I grew up, coincidentally) and in code. He was rescued by the Americans at the end of the war, as he wasn't allowed to escape himself as he was too useful to the British government where he was. Which just goes to show another side of the war, and I was gripped by it. Great stuff.
Meanwhile, at home, the neighbour's chimney isn't quite finished yet, and has suffered something of a setback - the foolhardy builders rested one side of the scaffolding on the kitchen roof instead of on the ground (the fools! The fools!) and it's now caused damage to the roof and broken the glass in the window, dammit. Gisela and I were running around trying to contact said builders this weekend to get it sorted, but luckily they came round yesterday and the scaffolding is now resting on the ground. Where it should have been in the first place - this is a Victorian property after all! It's not made to support scaffolding ...
Finally, on a happier note, I'm thrilled to see the good news that those Somali pirates have finally let the Chandlers go - double hurrahs and thank God for it! They've certainly been on my mind for the past year and I'm glad they're free now. Great news for us all.
Anne Brooke
I'm very pleased to say that my poem, Meditation 21, appears in the Winter 2010 issue of Eat a Peach poetry journal today (scroll down to view), and of course can also be found amongst its friends in my poetry collection, Salt and Gold, which is now available at a discount at Lulu Books. Ideal Christmas present for your poetic and/or religious friends, naturally ... And speaking of wintry gifts, this time ideal for the darker and more sinister Christmas (and really what could be nicer?), don't forget that crime novel, Thorn in the Flesh, continues to be eligible for free delivery at Amazon and comes with some very nice reviews too.
On a very different note, Tommy's Blind Date was strutting its stuff at No 31 in the Amazon charts, though has now slipped somewhat. And I was also pleased to see my latest poetry collection, Sunday Haiku hanging on in there in the Amazon poetry charts. Returning briefly to Lulu Books, I'm happy to announce that all my books at Lulu now have very worthwhile discounts and some are even free, so definitely worth a browse!
And a big thank you to Stephanie for her 5-star review at Goodreads of The Hit List - many thanks, Stephanie.
This week's meditations:
Meditation 460
A shadowy room,
the faint glitter of skin
and the subtle flow
of oil
bring a blessing
he will remember
when the celebrations
and plots begin.
Meditation 461
God is like
a man in a watchtower
waiting for your arrival;
he is like
a horseman galloping
to find you
in the fields of Naboth;
a messenger who refuses
to leave your side
once the words
are spoken; he is
an arrow through your heart.
Sunday haiku:
I search for my word
lurking at the edge, eerie
and dark: discontent.
Life News:
I must say that Tesco's rhubarb crumble cake, though bizarrely named and yes it doesn't look like much, is seriously scrummy with one's essential cup of tea - highly recommended. Rush out and buy some is what I say. Anyway, in between the rain (honestly, where does it all come from?...) I have managed to squeeze in a game of golf with Marian - not my best game, but my putting was pretty damn cool and on the first I actually chipped in from the green, hurrah. Who needs a putter? Just call me Smug. Marian did.
Saturday morning, Lynda came to shape up my hair which now looks lovely, though I say it myself and shouldn't - and this morning I've even managed to get it looking like some faint echo of how Lynda does it, though I'm unlikely to do that again, wash-and-go being my main aim in life. K is primed to say how lovely it looks as soon as Lynda leaves - much like Pavlov's Husband, if Pavlov had a husband. Which is a good thing as I think I can count on the fingers of half a hand the times in my life when anyone has actually noticed I've had a haircut - a sad fact of life that does make me a bit snippety as I try to make sure I do comment on everyone else's haircuts if I think they've been done. Positively of course! Despite what you think, my Bitch Quota is quite low really. Anyway, I must wear some kind of invisibility cloak over my head for the week after The Haircut, but I swear I don't know who puts it there. Ah well.
Yesterday, we were at the Cathedral listening to Guildford Choral Society (nice singing, Robin, Gavin & Liz - well done, all!) perform not one but two requiems. The Faure one and the Durufle one (sorry, no idea about how to get accents on either of those). A great performance, even though I'm not a huge fan of the requiem per se, and think that when you've encountered one you've probably encountered them all. Much like Madonna and Child paintings, really. And even K thinks two requiems might have been a requiem too far. The programme for next year looks more my style though, so I shall look forward to that.
This morning, K and I have of course attended the Remembrance Service at Shackleford. I particularly like their take on this as when we're all standing around the War Memorial in the village, the names of those from the village who died in the First World and Second World Wars are read out and people come and place crosses on with the appropriate name in the soil as they're being read. I do find that very moving and it brings it all home really. This time we also didn't get a sermon but instead one of our congregation told us the story of his father who'd been in the army and spent five years as a prisoner of war in Germany during the Second World War - fascinating stuff. As the senior officer in the camp, he'd been in charge of coordinating the escape plans, and also of getting essential information back to the UK government by means of a series of letters supposedly to the Tiptree Jam Factory (near where I grew up, coincidentally) and in code. He was rescued by the Americans at the end of the war, as he wasn't allowed to escape himself as he was too useful to the British government where he was. Which just goes to show another side of the war, and I was gripped by it. Great stuff.
Meanwhile, at home, the neighbour's chimney isn't quite finished yet, and has suffered something of a setback - the foolhardy builders rested one side of the scaffolding on the kitchen roof instead of on the ground (the fools! The fools!) and it's now caused damage to the roof and broken the glass in the window, dammit. Gisela and I were running around trying to contact said builders this weekend to get it sorted, but luckily they came round yesterday and the scaffolding is now resting on the ground. Where it should have been in the first place - this is a Victorian property after all! It's not made to support scaffolding ...
Finally, on a happier note, I'm thrilled to see the good news that those Somali pirates have finally let the Chandlers go - double hurrahs and thank God for it! They've certainly been on my mind for the past year and I'm glad they're free now. Great news for us all.
Anne Brooke
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