Telling Tales by Ann Cleeves: A review

Telling Tales is the second Vera Stanhope mystery by Ann Cleeves and it is every bit as wonderful as the first. Once again we are introduced to strong and believable characters and the indomitable investigator who is able to ferret out their deepest, darkest, most closely held secrets in the pursuit of her quarry.

In this instance, Inspector Stanhope is sent to Yorkshire to re-investigate a case that went badly awry. Ten years before, a fifteen-year-old girl, Abigail Mantel, had been strangled and her body left in a ditch there. The local police led by Inspector Caroline Fletcher had quickly settled on Abigail's father's lover, Jeanie Long, as the likely murderer. After all, Jeanie and Abigail had had a fractious relationship after Jeanie moved into the household and Abigail had only recently convinced her father, Keith, to toss Jeanie out. Moreover, Jeanie had been unable to provide a witness to prove that she had gone to London as she claimed on the day of the murder. She was charged, tried, and convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment.

Jeanie never stopped asserting her innocence and she refused to accept responsibility for the death and feign regret and remorse which might have allowed her to be sent to a prison that allowed more freedom or possibly even allowed parole. Finally, despondent over the prospect of spending the rest of her life in prison, she had committed suicide.

And then a witness came forward who was able to corroborate her alibi for the day of the murder. The witness had been out of the country and unaware of the murder.

Enter Vera Stanhope, tasked with reviewing the case and determining if there were missteps and a rush to judgment in the initial investigation.

Stanhope focuses her attention on Emma Winter who had been Abigail's best friend in the months before her murder. Emma and her family had only recently moved to the village of Elvet and, as an outsider, she had been befriended by Abigail. She had loved going to the rich home of Emma and her widowed father, so very different from her own strict religious household. Emma was on her way to that house when she discovered Abigail's body in the ditch. Later, she and her younger brother, Christopher, had watched from Christopher's bedroom window as the police swarmed the scene of the crime and as Abigail's body was removed.

Now, Emma is married to James and has a baby son. She is the very picture of a contented young wife and mother, but in fact, she fantasizes about her neighbor, a potter, as he works in his shed at night.

All of the residents of this quiet little corner of East Yorkshire seem to have guilty secrets, but are they the kind of secrets that might have led to murder all those years ago? Is the murderer still in the area or is he - or she - long gone?

Then, Christopher Winter, who has come to visit, ends up dead. He's been murdered and his body left in a ditch by the driveway to Keith Mantel's home where it is discovered by his mother, Mary.

Because the memories of the first murder, as well as the suicide of Jeanie Long, have recently been stirred up by Vera's re-investigation, it seems likely that this latest murder is connected, but how? Trust middle-aged, overweight, shambling, blotchy-skinned Vera Stanhope in her shapeless dresses and open-toed sandals to find the answer to that question. And what a joy it is to watch her do it and to witness the final denouement where she explains it all. All the red herrings are tossed back into the sea and we are left with the flounder that tried to hide itself in the sand.

Brilliant!

My rating: 5 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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