Skip to main content

The Cat Who Blew the Whistle by Lilian Jackson Braun: A review


Koko and Yum Yum, the mystery-solving Siamese (well, Koko is anyway) are featured in this 18th in The Cat Who... series. There have been many other entries in the series since then and it has many devoted fans. I don't really count myself among them, although I have read a few of the books over the years. This book, however, was the August selection of my local Mystery Book Club and so I applied myself to reading it.

It was a quick read, very light in tone, nothing to tax the brain. Jim Qwilleran, caretaker of the Siamese and a local newspaper columnist, also the richest man in his part of the world as we are reminded several times, is on the case of the missing millionaire, the thoroughly unlikable Floyd Trevelyan. Trevelyan was a financier who has disappeared at a time when millions of investors' dollars have also disappeared from his credit union. The two disappearances seem strangely linked.

We learn that Trevelyan was a bully who was a tyrant to his family. He was a womanizer who left his disabled wife at home and refused to get her the expensive medical care that might have cured her disease. He had two children, a son and a daughter, neither of whom had any cause to love him.

Trevelyan's passion was trains. He had recently bought and restored a historic steam locomotive which he was hoping to make an attraction in Moose County. Plus, he had an elaborate model train set-up in the basement of his house.

At the same time that Trevelyan and the millions disappeared, his secretary (or was she his assistant or...?) disappeared also. People draw their logical conclusions, but Qwilleran is not so sure. More importantly, Koko knows better, and he leaves clues all over the converted barn he shares with Yum Yum and Qwilleran trying to lead his dense human to the truth.

Anyone who has ever spent any time with Siamese, or with any cats for that matter, can appreciate the nuances of personality that Braun gives her furry protagonists. If only she could give some of her human characters a few nuances, but they are placid, predictable, and mostly downright boring. And the place names! Sawdust City. Pickax. There's a town called Brrr? Really? And the name of the local newspaper that Qwilleran works for is called the Moose County Something. They didn't want to use another newspaper's name and they couldn't think of anything new so they just called it the... Yeah. These cutesy kinds of touches just set my teeth on edge.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...
19 comments
Read more

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters!  Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...
6 comments
Read more

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...
24 comments
Read more