Death of a Scholar starts with the death of a merchant, Matt's brother-in-law Oswald Stanmore. His death is followed by the deaths of several members of the Guild of St. Mary which Oswald started to assuage his conscience over his shady business deals. Matt and Brother Michael, his friend and the University's Senior Proctor, suspect that the deaths are related not only to each other but to the new college being rapidly built to train lawyers. The new Wynwick Hall - and every other college and hostel in Cambridge - has attracted more scholars than they can accommodate, adding to the always tense town-gown relations. Even in my distracted state, Matt's and Michael's detection held my attention. I didn't solve the puzzle, but Gregory left enough clues to support the murder's identity and transmitted them to the audience through the gentle, delusional, but surprisingly observant Clippesby.
Saturday, July 22, 2017
I just realized I skipped an installment in Susannah Gregory's Matthew Bartholomew series. I have it, but a month ago grabbed the wrong book. While you can read her books out of order, there are enough continuing characters that it helps to read consecutively. Maybe that's why I was confused by some of the interactions between Matt and Julitta Holm, the wife of the local surgeon. Or maybe it's because I was in the process of researching antibiotics for MDR resistant infections - I'm pretty sure that's why I had trouble keeping characters, deaths, and motives straight.
You can't go wrong with an Ig Nobel Laureate. Chemist Len Fisher achieved immortality with his study of how to properly dunk a biscuit in a cuppa, and in Scientific Discovery from the Brilliant to the Bizarre, he takes on several well-considered - but ultimately wrong - scientific discoveries. His first example, the soul-weighing Dr. Duncan MacDougall, appeared in Mary Roach's Spook. Fisher uses MacDougall's experiments to demonstrate the scientific method, and how you can do everything right but still be wrong. He follows that thread through Benjamin Franklin's lightning rod (helpful, but the best shape isn't the pointy rod Franklin created but one with a ball on the top), alchemy, and why pre-microscope ideas of reproduction made sense at the time. It's the perfect commute book - amusing, intelligent, and easily read in snatched moments.
An artist, his missing sister, a recently released criminal, and a cop's obsession with a shopgirl. That's what Ruth Rendell used to frame her third Inspector Wexford novel, Wolf to the Slaughter. Artist Rupert Margolis reported his sister Ann missing the same day that Wexford received a letter claiming that a woman named Ann had been murdered. Rupert is neither helpful nor worried (he reported Ann's disappearance by asking the police to find someone to clean his house), and Wexford looks down on the Margolis siblings (Rupert is too disconnected to reality and Ann gets a bit of slut-shaming). Still, he can't let a possible murder go uninvestigated, particularly since Monkey Matthews is out of jail. While I found the psychology (Rendell's trademark) a bit out of date, I appreciated her surprising but well-supported plot twists. The world she depicted is still a bit too foreign for me, but Wolf to the Slaughter was an extremely enjoyable novel.
In an online discussion a few years ago, someone mentioned that she liked starting a series around book 3 or 4 because the author had by then worked out some of the problems with the characters and set-up. I'm obsessive about reading series in order, and it's only because my mom was so enthusiastic about No Mark Upon Her that I was willing to enter Deborah Crombie's Duncan Kincaid and Gemma James series about a dozen books in. I loved the book, so of course I went back to the beginning.
I met James and Kincaid as newlyweds with a long-term relationship and three shared kids (one hers, one his, one in the process of being adopted by both - No Mark Upon Her takes place as James ends her parental leave and Kincaid starts his). It's odd to meet them as near-strangers, both divorced and Gemma's son the only child making even a cameo appearance. She's not even around for most of the novel, which is an interesting way to introduce a dual protagonist mystery.
It's also a nice twist to introduce police detectives into a "cozy" structure that Agatha Christie could have written. After several weeks of particularly hard work, Duncan drives to Yorkshire to spend a week in a time share loaned to him by a relative. We get the usual Christie treatment - large house, people from diverse walks of life thrown together, a hint of romance - and a mysterious death. Here it's the assistant manager of the resort, a young man whose life centered upon bon mots and stored information. Soon, there's another death, and the Christie-like assumption that one murder was committed to cover up another. That's true, but exactly which murder was the core is a real surprise, and one I didn't discover until about two pages before Duncan (with the aid of his DS and not-yet-girlfriend Gemma, working independently to provide the crucial information). I'm eager to see how quickly (or slowly) their relationship develops - and to read more of Crombie's well-plotted puzzles.
Sunday, July 9, 2017
James Hannam starts God's Philosophers by criticizing a list of historians, including James Burke who's one of my favorites. I'll forgive Hannam, though, because his book is so interesting and his premise so strong. We've been taught that the Medieval period was the Dark Ages, a time when scientific discovery stopped dead and people fell back on superstition. Obviously, that wasn't true, and Hannam shows how the discoveries of the Sixth through Fourteenth Centuries laid the groundwork for the scientific breakthroughs of the Renaissance. More importantly, he breaks the myth of the dogmatic, unreasoning, anti-science Church of the Medieval era. Members of religious orders were almost the only people who were literate or had any sort of education, and instead of relying to bling reputation of legends, they engaged in scientific experiments and rational thought. If not for the monks of the so-called Dark Ages, there would be no scientific revolution.
Antonia Fraser wrote Warrior Queens in the late 1980s, but I read it in the wake of Hillary Clinton's campaign and the months of (still continuing) "why Bernie would have won." The nightly news dovetailed neatly with Fraser's categorization of women leaders (some legendary, some fully supported by the historical record). Many gained power through family relationships and all had to balance their needed strength with the need to appear soft enough to be a "real woman." Women from Boudica (the real figure behind the legendary Boadicea) through Cleopatra, Zenobia, Elizabeth I, and Margaret Thatcher walked a fine line, balancing the softness expected of a woman and the strength expected of a leader. We have no margin of error as women - even when perfect, we're "trying too hard." I'd like to say Fraser's queens were inspiring, but in 2017, their stories were actually a bit depressing.