Quick Review: False Scent, by Ngaio Marsh

Overall, I've found that I enjoy Ngaio Marsh's books, although from story to story the plot can be a little hit or miss at times. This one, for whatever reason, was a hit with me. And I say "for whatever reason" because I haven't really decided what works (for me) in a Marsh mystery and what doesn't. It just turns out that I like some books more than others.

I liked False Scent. The premise was simple and not terribly unique: aging actress, known for being excessively dramatic and occasionally jealous, has birthday party, gets into fight with friends and family at birthday party, is murdered at birthday party. On the more unique side of things, it appears that she's been sprayed with a commercial pest killer marketed to destroy bugs on plants. And ultimately, Inspector Alleyn (since he's the "leading detective" in this story) concludes that one of her perfume bottles has been filled with the stuff, in the event that she'll spray it on herself at some point. Rather gruesome. And more than a little clever.

Marsh's strengths lie in the crafting of interesting characters. I wouldn't say these characters are the roundest I've seen, by any means, but they're fun and true to form, even if they're occasionally too stereotypical. And Marsh is a plot-formula writer, so there's always some kind of romance in the story; this might get old, but if you can spot the potential love story early enough you'll be able to eliminate at least a couple of the suspects later on. (Let's just say the young lovers are seldom guilty of anything except of being excessively sentimental.) But it's still enjoyable to watch things unfold, and it's satisfying to see the expected conclusion arrive.

I recommend False Scent for fans of Marsh, although I wouldn't call it her finest standalone mystery, nor would I advise it as a first Marsh read. It's just a good in-the-middle sort of mystery that's good for a quiet day.

Year of publication: 1960
Number of pages: 254

Poems to Love, About Love: Before We're Donne...

Holy Sonnets, XV

Wilt thou love God as he thee? then digest,
My soul, this wholesome meditation,
How God the Spirit, by angels waited on
In heaven, doth make His temple in thy breast.
The Father having begot a Son most blest,
And still begetting—for he ne'er begun—
Hath deign'd to choose thee by adoption,
Co-heir to His glory, and Sabbath' endless rest.
And as a robb'd man, which by search doth find
His stolen stuff sold, must lose or buy it again,
The Sun of glory came down, and was slain,
Us whom He had made, and Satan stole, to unbind.
'Twas much, that man was made like God before,
But, that God should be made like man, much more.

Poems to Love, About Love: Emily Dickinson

Poem 480

"Why do I love" You, Sir?
Because—
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer—Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.

Because He knows—and
Do not You—
And We know not—
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so—

The Lightning—never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut—when He was by—
Because He knows it cannot speak—
And reasons not contained—
—Of Talk—
There be—preferred by Daintier Folk—

The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me—
Because He's Sunrise—and I see—
Therefore—Then—
I love Thee—

Poems to Love, About Love: Pablo Neruda

"Here I Love You"

Here I love you.
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.

The snow unfurls in dancing figures.
A silver gull slips down from the west.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.
Oh the black cross of a ship.
Alone.

Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.

Here I love you.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.

The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.

The moon turns its clockwork dream.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.

Poems to Love, About Love: Samuel Taylor Coleridge

"Desire"

Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame;
It is the reflex of our earthly frame,
That takes its meaning from the nobler part,
And but translates the language of the heart.

Poems to Love, About Love: John Keats

"Modern Love" (Fragment)

And what is love? It is a doll dress'd up
For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;
A thing of soft misnomers, so divine
That silly youth doth think to make itself
Divine by loving, nad so goes on
Yawning and doting a whole summer long,
Till Miss's comb is made a perfect tiara,
And common Wellingtons turn Romeo boots;
Then Cleopatra lives at number seven,
And Antony resides in Brunswick Square.
Fools! if some passions high have warm'd the world,
If Queens and Soldiers have play'd deep for hearts,
It is no reason why such agonies
Should be more common than the growth of weeds.
Fools! make me whole again that weighty pearl
The Queen of Egypt melted, and I'll say
That ye may love in spite of beaver hats.

Poems to Love, About Love: John Donne

"Air and Angels"

Twice or thrice had I loved thee,
    Before I knew thy face or name;
    So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame
Angels affect us oft, and worshipp'd be.
    Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
Some lovely glorious nothing did I see.
    But since my soul, whose child love is,
Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,
    More subtle than the parent is
Love must not be, but take a body too;
    And therefore what thou wert, and who,
        I bid Love ask, and now
That it assume thy body, I allow,
And fix itself in thy lip, eye, and brow.

Whilst thus to ballast love I thought,
    And so more steadily to have gone,
    With wares which would sink admiration,
I saw I had love's pinnace overfraught;
    Thy every hair for love to work upon
Is much too much ; some fitter must be sought;
    For, nor in nothing, nor in things
Extreme, and scattering bright, can love inhere;
    Then as an angel face and wings
Of air, not pure as it, yet pure doth wear,
    So thy love may be my love's sphere;
        Just such disparity
As is 'twixt air's and angels' purity,
'Twixt women's love, and men's, will ever be.

Poems to Love, About Love: Anne Bradstreet

"A Letter to Her Husband"

My head, my heart, mine eyes, my life, nay more,
My joy, my magazine, of earthly store,
If two be one, as surely thou and I,
How stayest thou there, whilst I at Ipswich lie?
So many steps, head from the heart to sever,
If but a neck, soon should we be together.
I, like the Earth this season, mourn in black,
My Sun is gone so far in's zodiac,
Whom whilst I 'joyed, nor storms, nor frost I felt,
His warmth such fridged colds did cause to melt.
My chilled limbs now numbed lie forlorn;
Return; return, sweet Sol, from Capricorn;
In this dead time, alas, what can I more
Than view those fruits which through thy heart I bore?
Which sweet contentment yield me for a space,
True living pictures of their father's face.
O strange effect! now thou art southward gone,
I weary grow the tedious day so long;
But when thou northward to me shalt return,
I wish my Sun may never set, but burn
Within the Cancer of my glowing breast,
The welcome house of him my dearest guest.
Where ever, ever stay, and go not thence,
Till nature's sad decree shall call thee hence;
Flesh of thy flesh, bone of thy bone,
I here, thou there, yet both but one. 


Note: Since my husband and I can't be together for Valentine's Day, this is in honor of him.

Art Study: The Kite

The Kite

Artist: Gazbia Sirry (b. 1925)
Date: 1960
Medium: Oil on canvas

Details (courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art):

Gazbia Sirry is one of the many accomplished women artists who have made a mark in the Egyptian arts throughout the twentieth century. She stood out for her dedication to the individual freedom of the Arab woman through her fighting spirit. Sirry's ardent enthusiasm for innovation and her openness to international influences made her a vital contributor to the Contemporary Art Group in Cairo. A prolific painter, she has experimented with a range of styles. Her early works resembled illustrations inspired by children's coloring books. But she soon shifted to an Expressionist style in which her use of heavy impasto, quickly applied and violently scratched, explored a thematic revolving around the artist herself or groups of individuals and couples. Her figures seem to be struggling to emerge from the whirlpool of life, or have gathered together for sheer survival in an urban environment gone astray.

Enjoy, since this painting isn't currently on display. (Rather sad, if you ask me. The colors and the overall mood really caught my eye.)

Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art (also linked above)

Quick Review: Facing East, by Frederica Mathewes-Green

This will just be a quick review. A few weeks ago, I reviewed At the Corner of East and Now, which is more or less the follow-up to Facing East. I probably should have read the latter first, but I got my hands on the former before the latter. Not to be confusing or anything.

Anyhow, I finally read Facing East, and I'm glad I did. In it, Mathewes-Green shares with readers the early days of her family's journey to Orthodoxy. It's still, in many ways, very new for them in this book. They're learning about the differences, applying the changes to their lives, and making discoveries that delight them along the way. As in At the Corner of East and Now, they're also finding out what it means to be Orthodox in the real world, if such a thing exists. In other words, theology on the page is one thing; theology practiced in day-to-day life typically requires careful application and thoughtful decisions.

What I liked about Facing East is how new everything still felt for Mathewes-Green and her family. In the later book, there's a little more confidence -- never to be confused with arrogance, I'm happy to say -- about the practice of their faith. In Facing East, they're still in the process of falling in love with Orthodoxy. There's a bit less of the confidence that comes with time and a bit more of the freshness of discovery.

The layout of this book is also a little different than the layout of At the Corner of East and Now. In the later book, Mathewes-Green uses the order of a service and balances this with life experiences. In Facing East, she uses the order of the liturgical year. So each chapter, and each section of each chapter, reflects a specific day in the church calendar. As a result, the flow is significantly more chronological, and it provides a great overview of what a year in the life of a relatively new Orthodox Christian might look like.

For those interested in learning more about Orthodoxy, this is a great read. Bear in mind that it's not a book of theology, even if it contains explanations about Orthodox beliefs. It's more of a personal look at conversion and what it means for an individual within the church. As always with Orthodoxy, it's not just about the individual but about the individual's place within the larger community of Christ's body.

And that's something my intensely solitary self needs to remember.

Year of publication: 2006
Number of pages: 272

Poetry Study: Anna Akhmatova

I finished my book of Akhmatova's poems the other day, and it feels a bit inappropriate to dismantle the poetry with analysis. Suffice it to say, what I read will stay with me for a while. This is the kind of poetry I enjoy reading, without feeling the need to take it apart and pick through the possible meanings contained within it. (In fact, the version I own has brief introductory material from Akhmatova herself for one of the poems; she essentially says she isn't going to offer the reader any interpretation: "I shall neither explain nor change anything. What is written is written.")

I'll honor that and just provide the last lines to the final poem in the book, Poem without a Hero (written between 1940 and 1962). It was intended to remember those who died in the Siege of Leningrad, as well as those who later perished in the labor camps of Siberia.

I don't know about you, but I think this can stand on its own without any further analysis or explanation:

And under my eyes unravelled
That road so many had travelled,
By which they led away my son.
And that road was long -- long -- long, amidst the
Solemn and crystal 
Stillness
Of Siberia's earth.
From all that to ash is rendered,
Filled with mortal dread yet
Knowing the calendar
Of vengeance, having wrung her
Hands, her dry eyes lowered, Russia
Walked before me towards the east.


From Anna Akhmatova: Selected Poems (trans. D.M. Thomas)

Year of publication: 2006
Number of pages: 147

Reading Update

I really have been reading lately. And I have several blog posts hanging out in my head.

But at the moment, my house is being torn up by movers, so the thought of sitting down and writing a blog post -- when any minute I might need to jump up and save some unsuspecting household item from being packed in the wrong box -- is just too much. (For the record, during our last move, the movers packed our car keys and house keys.)

I'll pick back up with blogging when I'm not so stressed out that I'm living on Bach's flower remedies.

Book Review: At the Corner of East and Now, by Frederica Mathewes-Green

This was the Half Price Books purchase that sent my best-laid plans for January into a tailspin. I had been looking at it on Amazon for a while but couldn't make up my mind to buy this one or another by the same author. Seeing it in the bookstore made the decision for me.

My first introduction to the author came through her website, which was, incidentally, linked through an article on a church website. What was meant to be a quick perusal quickly became a morning-long experience of reading through other articles on her site. (I quite honestly sat at my computer, on a morning in which I had any number of other things to do, and absorbed as much of the written material there as I could.) For one, Frederica Mathewes-Green is an exceptionally good writer, and I don't say (write?) that easily. Perhaps more importantly, though, her honesty and humility about her journey to conversion provide a degree of accessibility for those of us who are otherwise unfamiliar and frankly a little frightened -- even as we are increasingly drawn toward it -- of this "other world" of Christianity.

At the Corner of East and Now is Mathewes-Green's follow-up book to Facing East, her first book about her family's conversion to the Orthodox Church (and which I have yet to read). Some of the reviews on Amazon indicate that At the Corner of East and Now makes for a poor study of Orthodox theology, but I suspect that these individuals have failed to grasp the purpose of the book. It's not really about theology, so much at someone individual experience of embracing a new theology and seeing its effects in hers and her family's life. It's beautifully written, with the chapters alternating between the contents of the weekly services and snapshots of poignant moments outside church. The result is that Mathewes-Green quite literally keeps the reader "at the corner of East and now" by looking back and forth, so to speak: she provides a glimpse of ancient Christian tradition and then she turns the reader's head toward a more day-to-day practice of this tradition. It could, I suppose, feel a little disorienting, but I found it quite helpful. Just as the reader is getting caught up in something that feels almost intangible, a liturgy that crosses the boundaries of time and draws the worshiper into the mysteries of the faith, we are brought back to earth again with the reminder that we're still here with a job to do; and that job usually means interacting with very real, very human people through the expression of Christ's love.

This book is definitely focused on Orthodox Christianity, but I think it's one that can be enjoyed by those not  so much interested in the Orthodox Church as in Christianity in general. In particular, Protestants might object to specific theological elements, but they won't miss the recognizable faith behind her words. (I don't have a Catholic background, so I hesitate to project the Catholic impression. I don't think Catholics would be offended by anything in here, however.) And Mathewes-Green doesn't claim to know it all; instead, she makes it clear that this is where her Christian journey has brought her, and this is where she has found peace. It's not about arrogance; it's about learning, pressing on, loving and serving Christ.

Year of publication: 1999
Number of pages: 279

Book Review: A Man Lay Dead, by Ngaoi Marsh

The best-laid plans...

I have a perfectly good reason (ahem, excuse) for why I'm deviating from the reading plan. You see, this is what happened: I had every intention of reading other things at the beginning of January. But then I read this on the plane trip back over the holidays. And then I went to Half Price Books on New Year's Day and found something else I'd like to read. In fact, the other book was from an author whose works had been tempting me on Amazon, but I just couldn't make the decision to spend the money. And here was the very book I wanted, at a fraction of the price. And how could I not sit down and start reading it right away, when I'd been waiting for so long...?

Well, that's the next review. As for this book, I actually forgot entirely about having read it. But it was pretty good, as far as Marsh mysteries go, so I'll include a review. This is one of the stories that I read after having already seen the film version some time back. There were, not surprisingly, a number of alterations between book and film, but I didn't find any of them to be egregious. For one, the character of Agatha Troy makes an appearance in the film (neatly taking the place of another character whose absence really isn't noticed); since the filmmakers seemed interested in exploring the developing romance between Troy and Alleyn in all of the films they made, this isn't surprising. And I was almost disappointed that she wasn't in the book. Additionally, one of the characters in the film version is German, instead of the Russian character in the book. Not sure why this happened, but there were some complications of the Russian character in the book that might have been a bit too much for the filmmakers to work logically into the movie. I appreciate that.

So what happens here, to leave a man lying dead? Well, all the characters (far too many to name, if you want my opinion) are invited to a weekend house party, and the host plans the events around a murder game: names are drawn; someone is designated the murderer and must "kill" another guest; the mystery must be solved before everyone leaves at the end of the weekend. Apparently, it's only fun if someone doesn't actually die. But someone does. And it's quite cleverly done. The lights go out in the evening -- which is the pre-determined signal for the murderer to make his move -- and the guests wait for the murder to happen. The gong sounds -- another designated signal -- and everyone emerges to see who the victim is. Of course, they don't expect a real murder, but sure enough there's a body, stabbed with an antique dagger, at the foot of the stairs.

The host is a man of some substance, so Alleyn is called in to bring a measure of discretion to the case. And really, it's all just too much. People show up for a weekend of murder, and they get exactly what they want, even if it isn't truly what they want. Alleyn sorts through the individuals and their alibis, and true to form he has to solve the mystery by using a little sleight of hand. I should point out that if I hadn't seen the film version I might have been a little confused by how Alleyn handles this. (Marsh, for all her good qualities, is a terrible writer of direction and spatial explanations.) But the murderer remains the same in both versions, and the motive is also the same.

The one real gripe about this is hardly worth mentioning, but since this is my blog I'll mention it. As befitted the fashion of the day, Marsh describes any non-English characters with all of the expected (negative) stereotypes. That is to say, the Russian characters all prove to be unreliable and leering with menace. Because, ya know, all Russians are that way. And even when the Russians are exonerated, they're still somehow untrustworthy. Because, ya know, they're not English. *Sigh* This is par for the course in novels of the day, in which many writers reduced the complexities of non-English cultures to a few silly stereotypes. (Naturally, this wasn't limited to Russians.) To Marsh's credit, she manages to utilize these stereotypes as red herrings in the story, but not to her credit she still manages to give the impression that she believes the stereotypes are largely true. Oh, well. I guess we can't rewrite the errors of the past, as long as we can learn from them.

Looking past the occasionally head-scratching silliness of stereotypes, this was a pretty enjoyable read. It was, as I've mentioned a couple of times, already familiar to me through a film, but that didn't reduce its fun in book form. I wouldn't say this is my favorite Marsh book, but it was certainly worth the time and made for  a nice read on the plane.

Year of publication: 1934
Number of pages: 214

Reading 2012: January Plan

I've decided to go with a monthly installment plan for reading. This will give me some sense of direction while still offering me a measure of flexibility in my reading choices. (It also creates a measure of accountability, something I know full well that I need.)

Obviously, I'm not going to post my monthly plan for the whole year, but I think I will provide an idea of what I want to in the next month. For the upcoming, and rapidly approaching, New Year, I've made a plan for both January and February.

January:

• The Ascent of Money, by Niall Ferguson. I tried to read this before but couldn't get into it. I'm giving it another try.
• False Scent, by Ngaio Marsh. I picked this one up a while back, and it looks interesting.
• Ballet's Magic Kingdom, by Akim Volynsky. Another book from the fall. Fingers crossed for this time around.
• Poetry of Anna Akhmatova. I have a copy of this slim volume sitting on my shelf, and I'd like to read through it.

February:

• The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe. February is shaping up to be a busy month, so I just want one book to focus on reading. I'm trying to figure out some sort of weekly update as I proceed through it.

So that's how things look now. Happy reading days ahead! :)

Reading 2011 Wrap-Up: Favorite Books

It's been an interesting year. One year ago, I had just moved to a new city. A couple of months from now, I will very likely be moving to a new country. Life is never dull.

That's a very good thing, by the way.

For my 2011 wrap-up post, I'm going to focus on my favorite books of the year, by month. (I'm only allowing myself to pick one per month, with one exception; otherwise, most of the books I read this year would end up on the list.)

January:
The Highly Sensitive Person, by Elaine Aron. This book completely changed the way I understand my personality and helped me to find the balance I so desperately need in my life.

February:
In Siberia, by Colin Thubron. This is an incredibly beautiful book. It completely changed the way I look at this fascinating part of the world.

March:
Clutch of Constables, by Ngaio Marsh. Apparently, I didn't read much in March. Well, that's a little embarrassing. Of the books that I did read, this one was my favorite.

April:
The Bronze Horseman, by Paullina Simons. Okay, it's really poorly written, but it's a fascinating story. And it sat with me for weeks. And it drove me to do historical research on a time/place that I had previously ignored. That has to count for something, doesn't it?

May:
The Daughter of Time, by Josephine Tey. I couldn't put it down. And it ignited my interest in Tey. Both good things.

June:
The Rest Is Noise, by Alex Ross, and A Mountain of Crumbs, by Elena Gorokhova. With these kinds of riches, it's hard to pick just one.

July:
Written in Blood, by Caroline Graham. Loved it. So much better than the Midsomer Murders episode, and that was already pretty good.

August:
Scales of Justice, by Ngaio Marsh. I really didn't like either Marsh book that I read during August, but if I had to pick one this would be it.

September:
A Mind to Murder, by P.D. James. There would be something seriously wrong, if a P.D. James book wasn't my favorite for the month in which it was read.

October:
To Love and Be Wise, by Josephine Tey. This one edged out The Singing Sands just by a little, largely because the story was so clever.

November:
To Join the Lost, by Seth Steinzor. Exquisite poetry.

December:
Brat Farrar, by Josephine Tey. Not her best, by any means. But the story stuck with me for a while.

My favorite book of the year falls more under the heading of "book that has influenced me the most this year." And that is definitely Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy, by Fr. Andrew Stephen Damick. But no more needs to be said about that here.

I decline to count up the number of books I've read this year, only because I (a) don't want to remind myself about how much more I could have read and (b) don't want to turn my reading into some sort of personal challenge to complete the most books. Overall, I'd count this as a good year. I could have read more, but what I did read had good effect.

By the way, I've posted my reading intentions for the New Year here.