Phryne Fisher #22, THE LADY WITH THE GUN ASKS THE QUESTIONS

Whether you met her in one of the series on Public Television, or in one of the 21 earlier books by Kerry Greenwood, it's not surprising if you wish you ran into her more often. Australian sleuth Phryne Fisher is elegant, stylish, and a liberated woman of the 1920s. With her friends among the police and her ever-loyal assistant Dot, Miss Fisher exerts her lively curiosity and sharp wits to solve all sorts of murders and related crimes.

Book 22 in Kerry Greenwood's Miss Phryne Fisher series, THE LADY WITH THE GUN ASKS THE QUESTIONS, is a story collection crammed with delight. Only half of that pleasure involves the crimesolving -- the other half is the way Greenwood allows the stories to reveal her writing process and how she chooses her adventures. Her "Apologia" at the start of the collection offers:

As you will see, sometimes I try out some of the cast of a novel in a short story to see if they like me enough to stay for a whole book, there being a great difference between 3,000 and 85,000 words, and an author needs to pick her company if she has to give them house room for so long.

Greenwood follows this short introduction with a second, called "On Phryne Fisher," that reveals how she began the series. If you're already a fan of the books, some of this won't be new -- but it's still fascinating. For instance, "Because I wanted her to be a female wish-fulfillment figure, I wanted her to be like James Bond, with better clothes and fewer gadgets." Bingo! Greenwood adds, "She's a bold creature for the 1920s but not an impossible one. None of the things she does are out of the question for that brittle, revolutionary period." And then there's the author's insight on the balance that good historical fiction must convey: "Too much detail and the reader is bored. Too little and it fails to convince."

But of course, the whole point of this collection is to present the stories themselves. It's actually a republication of a 2007 group, with four brand new stories added, all set in 1929. The author admits she's done a light re-edit on the earlier stories to tidy up some loose ends -- and then explains more. "Hotel Splendide" is based on an urban myth first written down in the 1920s; "The Vanishing of Jock McHale's Hat" was written for a Christmas collection ("I wanted something light and frivolous, yet with dark undertones"). "Marrying the Bookie's Daughter" explores Phryne's personal independence (can you really expect her to accept a marriage proposal?). And in the midst of all this, of course, these are proper mystery stories, embedded with neat clues, clever puzzle twists, and Phryne's marvelous personal style: "You horrible little insect," she tells one criminal, adding, "I suppose it is educational to find out that you can't have everything that you want," as she offers to lock up the perpetrator with a snake, instead of turning him over to the police.

Summer's just about here — and this is a great addition to the reading pile for real relaxation and plenty of smiles. If you read a copy ASAP, you might even be ready to re-read it at the opposite end of the season. Think of how frugal you'll prove yourself to be! And by that point, you may even have decided which of Phryne Fisher's tea gowns would suit your own style. (Right?)

PS: Looking for more mystery reviews, from cozy to very dark? Browse the Kingdom Books mysteries review blog here.

Outrageously Fun Summer Reading: BURIED IN A GOOD BOOK, Tamara Berry

It's such a great feeling: plunging into a really good mystery that also makes me choke with laughter, then looking up the author for the first time and realizing: She's written other books that I can order up! There's going to be more fun in my summer of reading, thanks to discovering Tamara Berry.

BURIED IN A GOOD BOOK starts with a delightful premise: Tess Harrow, a bestselling thriller author, has inherited a rustic cabin in the woods, one in shabby enough shape that it could hide a few bodies, for an imagination like hers. But how Tess is going to make time for writing, when she's also brought along her (rightfully) bitter and resentful teen daughter, will demand true creativity. 

Fortunately for Tess, there's no time to worry about that -- within minutes of their arrival at the cabin, an explosion shakes the mother and daughter, followed by fish parts and (gulp) human body parts landing on their vacation shelter. 

Thanks to the setting in the big woods of the Northwest, Tamara Berry can toss in sightings of Bigfoot and an active logging culture. But the discovery that both the traveling librarian and the local sheriff have read all Tess's books -- and have ideas about whether or not an author belongs in their real crime scene -- turns the plot into a madcap escapade.

You know the author rule about pushing your character to cope with more threat, more danger? Berry pushes Tess to cope with the ridiculous yet real, as exotic animals trample the scene and Tess attempts to climb to the cabin roof in hopes of getting enough cell signal to demand investigation of the tangled but necessarily connected events:

There were times when having a brilliant, observant, hard-edged child was a source of inordinate pride for Tess. This was not one of those times.

She threw up her hands. "You win. I want to call the sheriff and see if he's checked on those toucans for me. This is getting ridiculous. It's been two days, and no one has said a word. I can't be the only one who's bothered by them." ...

Nothing she tried to do made any sense. No twist of the plot, no turn of the screw fit the complexities of the story—particularly now that it included flamingos. A daring escape from the zoo occurred to her only to be immediately cast aside ... Detective Gonzalez was on the hunt for a killer, not a PETA vigilante.

In addition to the wacky caper aspect and the smart conversations Tess gets into (when she can get someone besides her daughter to listen), BURIED IN A GOOD BOOK embraces another pleasure: When Tess takes risks, they're intentional and part of unraveling the crime(s) at hand -- not because of stupid mistakes. So this book is head and shoulders above many cozies. In fact, if it weren't for the itch of potential romance threaded through, the book would barely fit into the cozy category at all.

Let's see, if Donald Westlake set a book in the Northwest woods and made his protagonists into smart women, and then embedded his trademark capers and humor -- no, that might be taking the possibilities a bit far. 

Besides, I enjoy Tess Harrow so much as written:

"Now, you see here, young man," she said. The steely note in her voice remained. "I don't know how you're tangled up in this dead body business, or why you're stalking me outside a grocery store, but let's get one thing straight. You don't approach me when I'm with my daughter, understand? She's a minor, and if you say one thing that's even remotely threatenig in her earshot, I'll have the sheriff on your doorstep faster than you can say harassment. ... You might have a hundred alibis, but it still wouldn't matter to me."

Put this into the summer TBR stack. (Release date is May 24 from Poisoned Pen Press.) Be a super good friend to someone else and order or buy an extra copy while you're at it. Might as well share the laughter.

PS: Looking for more mystery reviews, from cozy to very dark? Browse the Kingdom Books mysteries review blog here.

New V.I. Warshawski Sleuthing from Sara Paretsky, OVERBOARD

 [Originally published at New York Journal of Books]

“One of Vic’s friends makes a comment near the end that sums up why this investigator finds her work worth the effort: Max comments, ‘If everyone sat at home watching Netflix, we’d never have any justice in this life.’”

No good deed goes unpunished. Detective V.I. (Vic, or Victoria) Warshawski may have only let her dogs out for a short run, but they take off by the waterfront and find a half-dead young woman lying among the rocks. Of course Vic calls for emergency services, and by the time the fragile teen is getting help at the hospital, the private investigator has got trouble with the police, the hospital, and, most importantly, someone from the Chicago underworld who thinks the immigrant teen was carrying a vital small item and must have slipped it to V.I. during the rescue. Not so—but is anyone going to believe Vic, or is her life going to be repeatedly in jeopardy at every move she makes?

Of course, her life is never simple enough to just have one crisis underway: She’s also trying to provide protection for some aging Jewish friends whose synagogue is under attack. Oddly, there’s a big-money real estate deal offered for the old building. Is the vandalism connected, as a form of pressure? As she gradually begins to also see parallels between the two ongoing crises, Vic also suspects someone on the police force is involved with the mob and its money.

That’s enough to concern her friends, especially after one particular officer with a reputation for torture and menace targets Vic maliciously, with both language and force.

Her trusted advisor Lotty puts it bluntly: “It’s shocking, and deplorable, that you and this young man were molested,” Lotty said. “But, Victoria, please be realistic. If the police really are covering up a major crime, you can get yourself seriously wounded physically, on top of the degradation of a strip search.” When Lotty asks Vic to back off, for the sake of the friends who love her, it seems important to do so.

Yet other forces are in action: The rescued teen vanishes from the hospital; when Vic tracks down the youth’s Hungarian grandmother, she finds collusion between a nursing home and the black-ops police officers. More assaults on the synagogue distress Vic’s elderly friends to almost the breaking point. She clearly can’t help being pulled back into this dangerous mess, can she?

One of the pleasures of reading Sara Paretsky’s Warshawski novels is that despite the threats and pressure, there’s relatively little gore spread around, so the focus can stay on the perpetrators and their motives. Even the bent police pressure on Vic amounts to little more than battering her (although, granted, much worse gets threatened). Series readers will recognize the steady build-up of Vic’s insistence on justice at any cost, a reliable characteristic of these books. New to V.I. Warshawski? Relax and enjoy the well-plotted story and don’t worry about earlier titles—Parestsky doesn’t embed anything that calls for reading the other books, and her highly professional narrative makes it easy to catch Warshawski’s motivations and maneuvers. The quirks of the Chicago waterfront add to the book’s drama, and to the factors stacked up against this lone detective. But don’t take the “lone” notion too seriously: Vic’s willingness to be a friend, with all her heart, gains an equal return, and she’s well supported.

One of Vic’s friends makes a comment near the end that sums up why this investigator finds her work worth the effort, despite its risks and her often wounded body: Max comments, “If everyone sat at home watching Netflix, we’d never have any justice in this life.”

For Vic, that’s not going to be a problem.

PS: Looking for more mystery reviews, from cozy to very dark? Browse the Kingdom Books mysteries review blog here.

BAD ACTORS, Sardonic and Delightful Espionage from Mick Herron

[Originally published at New York Journal of Books]

 “Herron’s plot is packed with twists and delightfully sardonic conversations, and the book’s only major flaw is that at some point it ends, and one must resume normal life.”

It’s hard to miss the promotion on television and online for “Slow Horses,” as the earliest in Mick Herron’s Slough House spy novels jumps genre into an Apple TV+ show featuring Gary Oldman. But Bad Actors, eighth in the series, has no connection to performance, despite the title that might immediately pop a stage into the back of an American reader’s mind.

It turns out that the British term “bad actor” means a person who’s done things that are harmful, illegal, or immoral. Herron’s Slough House is a discard group for MI5 spies who’ve messed up and now get tedious assignments sorting through social media or phone books or worse. Every spy assigned there—dustbinned might be a good term to add—knows they’ve made a mess somewhere in their recent past, and they won’t be allowed back into the Park, the office of really performing agents, ever again.

Well, unless you count Ashley Khan. Quite young and still deluding herself that the infamous Diana Taverner will take her back into important operations, Ashley is also obsessed with the source of her demotion: Jackson Lamb, head of Slough House. On a recent assignment, Lamb caught her following one of his spies. They may be (they are) all failures, but still, they are his, and he doesn’t allow anyone to mess with them (much). So he’d broken Ashley’s arm and sent her back to Taverner, whose acid response was, “You broke her, you own her.” Back to Slough House she went.

Since Ashley is as paranoid as any other spy, and clueless as well, she’s baffled by the interactions around her in Slough House. While she obsesses on punishing Lamb, the team is actually in crisis mode. Cokehead Shirley Dander’s been send to a sanitarium to dry out; narcissist Roddy Ho is creating avatar girlfriends for himself as a distraction; River Cartwright, the most potentially sane of the Slough House discards, isn’t even around, presumed dead or permanently missing.

And like Ashley, most readers will rush a third of the way into the book, at least, before confirming that almost all the machinations taking place have Jackson Lamb behind them. One could certainly be excused for not looking at Lamb—between his predictably terrible farts, his smoking and spitting, and his disgustingly soiled clothing and office, he’s both camouflaged and repellent. But he’s also brilliant, and much sharper, it turns out, than Diana Taverner herself.

Thanks to adept storytelling, readers are aware before Lamb (or is that impossible?) that ex-spy Claude Whelan, a tool in use by Taverner, is muddying all possible waters with a notion of payback on Lamb, and he’s more effective than young Ashley:

Where did Whelan’s loyalties lie? Not with either side. Not with any bad actor, whether in the Service he’s led or the government he’d served. … It still rankled, his fall from grace, and why shouldn’t he take some matter of revenge? It wasn’t really him, he knew that. He was nobody’s idea of an avenging knight. But wasn’t it time for a change.

Soon dominoes are tumbling in various directions, only Lamb really knows their triggers, and as a savior of anyone or anything, Lamb’s even less likely than Claude Whelan. The fun (and poignant bonding) of Bad Actors lies in watching all the others, at Slough House and beyond, gradually realize that only Lamb’s irreverent demands and plans are likely to get them out of a mess that’s so absurd, so wracked with capers and collapses, then even Claude Whelan will say he can’t tear his eyes away.

Herron’s plot is packed with twists and delightfully sardonic conversations, and the book’s only major flaw is that at some point it ends, and one must resume normal life. But there may be a flavor of wicked humor remaining in what one does afterward—along with great satisfaction at what Lamb and the “Slow Horses” pull out of their grubby, out-of-fashion hats.

PS: Looking for more mystery reviews, from cozy to very dark? Browse the Kingdom Books mysteries review blog here.