“It’s a foregone conclusion that adults picking up The Golden Tresses of the Dead are sneakily opening up the book on their own, under the covers at night.”
Flavia de Luce is insatiably
curious about science, especially chemistry, and in her exquisitely
uncomfortable British home where half her family’s dead and the other half make
fun of her, no wonder she turns to detection instead. In this tenth in Allan
Bradley’s irresistible series, Flavia faces a new loss: Her sister Feely (for
Ophelia), who maybe sometimes likes her, gets married in a gorgeous ceremony
and is about to depart on a honeymoon trip.
Just as Flavia begins to realize what a loss this will be, distraction
erupts with Feely’s horrified discovery of a severed human finger in the
wedding cake.
It’s the best possible
distraction for Flavia, though. Once Feely leaves, Flavia digs into
investigating the finger’s origin—and of course the purpose of being in the
wedding cake—with the one person she can trust in her home: Dogger, long ago
rescued in wartime by Flavia’s father, and now Flavia’s own partner in discrete
investigations. Picture it: Arthur W. Dogger & Associates. Maybe being an
“associate” will keep Flavia from getting into more trouble with the local
constabulary.
In many other books featuring
adolescent protagonists, dead bodies would be something to avoid. The Golden Tresses of the Dead (the line
is from a Shakespeare sonnet) refers, of course, to those stinky, decomposing
corpses. For Flavia, they are a source of fascination, with their parts and
their processes. (She does have some dreadful moments when she sees them as
human, but not often.) With Dogger, she now has reason to visit cemeteries,
probe the processes of embalming and bleeding out, and test for various
poisons.
Bradley can’t keep Flavia
endlessly young, which is starting to strain the series a bit. Flavia suspects
her newly emotional self as having “glandular” issues; grapples with odd
feelings about the bodies and smiles of young men; and can’t get away with
excusing her adventures as “childish.”
On the other hand, her growing
knowledge of chemical reactions opens fresh insight for her in solving crimes:
Someone had put the ordeal beans of Calabar into Mrs. Prill’s coffee maker.
I couldn’t wait to tell Dogger.It was too late tonight. He needed his rest. And so, to think of it, did I.I switched off the lights and went back to my bedroom. I sat on the edge of my bed reviewing the events of a hectic day.But even before I reached the London Necropolis Railway, sleep fell on my head like a sackful of anvils, and I did not move until morning.
What wakes Flavia from this
impressive torpor is the loud and slightly malicious teasing of her unwanted
younger cousin, Undine. Although Flavia dislikes the loud-mouthed “little swine,”
Undine’s insistence on being heard awakens another “glandular” emotion in
Flavia: compassion for this child who’s competing for Flavia’s position in the
family, and in the investigation.
When Bradley sees Flavia
through to the closing of two cases at once, he leaves a door open to the next
book in the series—which, almost surely, will aim Undine and Flavia on a
collision course with the next murder.
Purchase the book ostensibly
for the “young person” in your life, if you like; it’s a foregone conclusion
that adults picking up The Golden Tresses
of the Dead are sneakily opening up the book on their own, under the covers
at night.
PS: Looking for more mystery reviews, from cozy to very dark? Browse the Kingdom Books mysteries review blog here.
