Sacred Games by Gary Corby: A review

I had looked forward to reading this book which I won in a Goodreads giveaway. It is the third in a mystery series set in ancient Greece and I had greatly enjoyed the first two entries in the series.

Then, only a few pages into the book, I read something that made me want to toss the tome across the room. Tell me, do you see anything wrong with this sentence?

"He'd seen Timo and I play together when we were children."

THIS IS AN EXAMPLE OF MY ABSOLUTE NUMBER ONE PET PEEVE IN WRITING! The use of the subjective pronoun, "I," as an object just sets my teeth on edge, like fingernails scraping on a blackboard. Unfortunately for the state of my psyche, it is becoming more and more common, even with writers who should know better.

Halfway through the book, there it was again.

"Men about us gave him room, and he slid in to join us, with Markos to his left and I to his right."

What writer in his right mind would write sentences that say "He'd seen I play..." or "...with I to his right..."? So what is it about that magic conjunction "and" that makes it okay to flout this basic rule of grammar?

Oh, well, I was reading an "advance uncopyedited edition" of the book. Maybe these errors will be fixed in the editing process.

("Don't count on it," says my copy editor spouse.)

Well, I didn't throw Corby's latest across the room, even though I was tempted. I kept reading and found he had told a pretty good story.

His tale takes place at the 80th Olympiad in 460 B.C.E. We again meet private investigator Nicolaos and his frequent employer Pericles. It seems that a murder has taken place. One of the competitors in the pankration, the deadly martial art of ancient Greece, a Spartan named Arakos, has been killed.

Suspicion immediately falls on another pankration competitor, Timodemus, an Athenian. There had been bad blood between the two and they had clashed in public during the Olympic procession. Timodemus is accused and locked up. Pericles wants him cleared so that he can compete in the pankration and, incidentally, so that a war between Athens and Sparta can be averted. He hires Nico for the job.

Now, it happens that Timodemus is Nico's best friend, and the Judges of the Games decide to appoint Nico and a Spartan, Markos, to investigate the murder and arrive at a conclusion. They have four days to find the truth, else Timodemus will be executed.

As usual in these books, Corby has managed to weave in a lot of information about ancient Greece and about the Olympic Games and I found this to be an interesting read from that standpoint. I was particularly interested in the status of women and the role that they played in this story and in the society of that time.

Timo has a partner - his fiancee`/wife Diotima - who is a priestess of Artemis and a very liberated woman for that time. She is also the brains of the partnership. We also get to meet the dowager Queen of Sparta, Gorgo, widow of Leonidas, the leader of the 300 Spartans of Thermopylae fame. It is very interesting how Corby works real historical Greeks into the fabric of his story. Nico's 12 year old brother, for example, is named Socrates!

Overall, this was another entertaining visit to ancient Greece. I would have enjoyed it more if I hadn't been seething with irritation over encountering my pet peeves in print.

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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