The Fatal Grace by Louise Penny: A review

This was the perfect time to read this book. The action takes place around Christmas in Three Pines, the idyllic village in the mountains of Quebec.

It is a village where everything seems postcard perfect. As the snow falls, it could certainly serve as the scene on the front of a holiday card. There's only one tiny flaw in this otherwise perfect scene: The murder rate here seems astronomical!

Part of the traditional Christmas celebration in Three Pines is the annual curling tournament that takes place on a nearby frozen lake. The whole village, including CC Poitiers and her mouse of a husband and her pathetic daughter, have turned out for the exhibition. Also present is CC's photographer (and lover) who has been hired to take pictures of her interacting with the locals for a project the would-be Martha Stewart clone is planning.

In the middle of the action, in the middle of the lake, in front of the whole village, CC is electrocuted. But no one will admit to having seen anything. And what about the photographer who was taking pictures? Did he photograph the murder? He turns over his pictures to be police, but some of them seem to be missing.

CC had not endeared herself to the village. She had managed to alienate them all, and no one can muster any particular grief at her passing. But at least her death gives them an opportunity to once again welcome their favorite policeman, Armand Gamache of the Sûreté du Quebec.

Gamache and his team settle into this village where he feels very much at home and they begin working the case. But there is more to this story than the macabre murder of one unloved woman. Gamache is obsessed with another murder, that of an old bag lady who was killed outside a department store in Quebec.

The old woman was strangled. There seems to be no motive, and yet as Gamache gathers information, he begins to find possible links between that victim and the one in Three Lakes. Are the two murders somehow connected?

Meanwhile, all is not well in the Sûreté. Gamache has made enemies and it seems that they - or at least one of them - seek a way to bring this well-respected and well-loved Chief Inspector down. As part of that plan, a mole has been planted in his homicide team, a traitor who is seeking information that will destroy him. Louise Penny has very cagily left the identity of that mole somewhat ambiguous, but at the end of the book, she leaves us readers very much concerned for the welfare and future of our very own favorite Chief Inspector.

This book won the 2007 Agatha Award for Best Novel. One can easily understand why. The plotting is impeccable. The characters are drawn with care and attention to detail.

As always, Gamache pursues his quarry with compassion mixed with steely resolve. He knows that the key to finding the murderer is to listen and to look, and, through his example, we begin to listen and to look more carefully, to watch for that nuance of phrase or expression that will give us entry to the hearts and minds - and secrets - of these people.

The secret of Gamache's success as a policeman is that he is a world-class observer. The tiniest details are absorbed and stored away and finally brought out to fit into the puzzle that, when completed, reveals all. It all makes for a delicious read.

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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