Hunting Shadows by Charles Todd: A review

I've been working my way through this historical mystery series for a few years now and the trip has mostly been enjoyable. But the previous book, Proof of Guilt, which I read last summer, was a big disappointment to me and nearly put me off. I haven't felt the desire to get back to the series since until a few days ago. Looking for my next book to read I came across Charles Todd's name and decided, why not?

I'm glad I decided to give him another chance because this one was a winner.

It is 1920 and memories of the First World War are still fresh. Many of the veterans of that war bear wounds, both physical and mental, that are yet to heal. Among the sufferers of psychological wounds is Inspector Ian Rutledge of Scotland Yard. He does his best to keep his PTSD, or shell shock as it was then called, hidden.

Rutledge is sent to Cambridgeshire, the Fen Country, to investigate two murders. The first was a former soldier who was shot while attending a society wedding at Ely Cathedral in Cambridgeshire. He was shot with a rifle by someone who was well concealed. The shooter was never seen by the wedding guests.

Then another man, a country lawyer, is murdered in the same fashion. This time though the apparent shooter was seen by an elderly woman, but her description of what she saw does not seem credible.

There does not appear to be any connection between the two men and the local police constables are stumped. Rutledge arrives on the scene to help and methodically goes through all the information that the constables have gathered. He re-interviews many of the witnesses and begins to form a theory of the crimes. It seems apparent to him that the shooter must have been a sniper in the recent Great War.

In the midst of his investigation, another man, a local farmer, is shot, but this man suffers only a flesh wound to his cheek and he lives. This confuses the investigation further. What possible connection could there be to tie the three men together? Is it possible that the latest shooting was only meant as a misdirection to put Rutledge off the scent?

This plot was very well-drawn and crisp. Although there were clues along the way that might have pointed to the reasons for the killings, I was confused right along with Inspector Rutledge and did not guess the real source of the evil until the clever inspector figured it out with his methodical and pragmatic police work and reasoning.

The story was rich in atmospheric details. The reader could feel herself enveloped in the claustrophobic pea soup of a fog that covered the Fens on occasion. The secondary characters were fleshed out and seemed integral to the story.

At the center of it all was Rutledge, a commanding and empathetic figure, whose vulnerable humanity is perhaps his greatest appeal, as, in order to do his job, he must constantly struggle against the darkness that threatens to overwhelm him. He is full of compassion even for the guilty, but he never loses sight of his duty, and he is always able to make clear-eyed observations and to see people as they really are.

Yes, I'm glad I decided to give the series another chance.

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

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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