The Brutal Telling by Louise Penny: A review

When reading a mystery series, I think it is a mistake to read the books out of sequence. But earlier this year my Mystery Book Club read Bury Your Dead, the sixth in Louise Penny's Armand Gamache series, and it was my introduction to this series. After finishing that book and loving it, I determined to read the series in order and I've been working my way through the books here at the end of the year.

Then I picked up The Brutal Telling, number five in the series, and made another mistake. I was reading the book on my Kindle and thought I had started number four. By the time I had realized my mistake, I was already involved in the story. Now, I have to circle back and read number four. Sigh.

But having read Bury Your Dead earlier proved really problematic for reading this book because the final solution to this book's mystery is revealed there. And so, I read this book knowing all along who the murderer was. I knew so much more than the investigators and I kept having this impulse to shout at them, "No, no, you're getting it all wrong!" Somewhat surprisingly though, I found that knowing the solution really did not interfere with my enjoyment of the writing.

So, here we are in Three Pines, Quebec once again and once again there's been a murder. A man's body with its head bashed in has been found in Olivier's Bistro, the favorite gathering place for the villagers. It soon becomes apparent, however, that the man was not killed there. No enough blood. Obviously the body had been moved, but why?

As Gamache and his investigative team, including its newest member, Paul Morin, dig into the mystery, they find themselves stumped. At first glance the dead man had looked like a tramp, but on closer examination, he had obviously cared for himself and had lived a healthy and clean life. There's no identification on the body and none of the villagers will admit to knowing who he was. With no identity, no motive, no murder weapon, and no murder site, the investigation seems hopeless.

Still, the team plows doggedly ahead, and finally they get a break when Jean Guy Beauvoir discovers evidence that the body had spent some time on the floor of the old Hadley house, which is no longer a grim and scary place but has been bought and renovated into a bright and beautiful spa by Marc and Dominique Gilbert. Even though the wreck of a house has been changed beyond recognition, it still seems to be a magnet for murder.

But no. It turns out that even though the body had rested there for a while, it was not murdered there. Still not enough blood. And still no identity for the corpse.

Then the team gets its second break when a cabin in the woods is found and on the floor of the cabin is a large bloodstain. The place where the man lived and died has been found and in that humble cabin is a fortune in art! And still the dead man has no identity.

The mystery only seems to deepen and Gamache travels across the country to the Queen Charlotte Islands searching for a link to the man's past that may offer the key to the puzzle. Meanwhile, art experts are inventorying the treasures found at the cabin and trying to find how they came to be there. It seems that the Homicide Division of the Surete du Quebec and its director Chief Inspector Gamache may finally be stymied. But don't bet against them.

Louise Penny continued her string of winners with this book. She's given us characters in Three Pines that we care about and it is difficult to see their lives torn apart by the events in this book. But then, I know what's coming because I have already read Bury Your Dead.

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...

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 ...

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. ...

The Nature of Things

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