No Shred of Evidence by Charles Todd: A review

I'm slowly overtaking Charles Todd's series featuring Inspector Ian Rutledge. This is the eighteenth in the series with one more to go, but I believe number 20 will be coming out this year. More reading to do.

After spending all this time with Rutledge through the past few years, I've come to the conclusion that he is a very nice man but maybe not a very good detective. He often seems more intent on not rocking the boat than with getting to the bottom of things, particularly when he is dealing with upper class women, as he often seems to do in these cases.

In this case, it is four young and beautiful upper class women in Cornwall who have been accused on the word of one man of attempted murder. When the victim later dies from his injuries, it becomes murder. I found the whole scenario of the so-called attempted murder and the witness's statement rather implausible. It was just one of my problems with the plot.

These four women decide on a sunny afternoon to take a rowboat out for a pleasure ride on the river. In the course of their trip, they come across a local man who is standing in his dinghy on the water and waving to get their attention. At first they think he is just flirting with them, but then two of the women notice that the boat appears to be sinking and he is trying to get them to help him. They row toward him and soon he is in the water and trying to get aboard their boat while two of the women try to pull him in and the other two balance and steady the boat. They are losing the battle and it looks like the man will drown when a man who saw what was happening from shore swims over and helps to pull the man in. Once the injured man is in the boat, the good Samaritan rounds on the women and demands, "Why were you trying to drown him?"

The local constabulary is called in and, based on the man's statement, the women are taken into custody. The rescued man is unconscious from a head injury and unable to tell what happened.

Because the women are "gently bred," they are not kept in the local jail but are under house arrest at the home of the magistrate, who just happens to be the father of one of the girls. Scotland Yard is called in, but the first inspector who is sent suffers a heart attack and dies before he has gotten very far into the investigation. At which point, Inspector Ian Rutledge is sent to take his place.

Rutledge proceeds as though walking on eggshells in interviewing the women and then in interviewing their accuser. It's obvious to the reader that something isn't right here, but Rutledge only pursues it in a very roundabout way, trying not to upset anyone. When the victim dies, his parents refuse to talk to the police and simply insist that the women be prosecuted, and Rutledge doesn't challenge their decision not to be interviewed. I know this is 1921 England and a whole different political and cultural landscape but...really?

Then, of course, other people start dying violently and the plot thickens.

I have really enjoyed reading these historical mysteries, not so much for the mystery aspect but for the insight they provide to the history of the period. In particular, they reveal - without making a point of it - the classism and sexism that seem to have been endemic to that time. And much of this seems to relate back to the unbelievable devastation caused by World War I in which England, as well as other European countries, lost a substantial percentage of their young male population. Moreover, many of the young men who managed to survive the war, like Ian Rutledge, were permanently damaged by the experience. It has been fascinating to read how Rutledge has dealt with his shell shock. Now, two years after the end of the war, he is stronger but still shackled and haunted by his memories and by his constant companion, the voice in his head of Hamish, the young soldier from his command that he executed in the field.

The far-reaching impact of the consequences of that war were changing the society and slowly eroding the edges of the classism and sexism that seemed an ingrained and impermeable part of the culture of the time. Over a hundred years later, we can look back on the sea change that has taken place in society, even though a hard remnant of those attitudes remain to vex us.

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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