Silent Voices by Ann Cleeves: A review

Another excellent Vera Stanhope Mystery. This is the fourth in the series and they just keep getting better.

The overweight and out-of-shape Vera who likes her drink maybe just a little too much has recently had her annual physical and the "child doctor" told her she needed to make some lifestyle changes. That couldn't have been much of a surprise, but what kind of changes can Vera tolerate? She tried yoga but found that her mind wandered and she couldn't concentrate on the downward-facing-dog. She settled on swimming. It was something that she sort of enjoyed and she could fit it in before work every day. Or as often as she chose. She joined a local health club at an out-of-the-way hotel where she wouldn't run into any colleagues and committed to doing ten laps - well, more nearly eight - in their pool each day. Then, a few minutes in their steam room and a latte and she was good to go. But then one morning she found another woman seated in the steam room. When she looked more closely, she realized her companion was dead.

Natural causes? Of course not! A close look revealed a ligature mark on the neck. The woman was strangled. Vera has a murder to investigate. Who needs swimming laps? She is in her glory!

The victim was Jenny Lister, a middle-aged social worker who lived in nearby Barnard Bridge with her eighteen-year-old daughter Hannah. Digging into her background, searching for a motive for the murder, Vera and her team discover that Jenny had a connection to a notorious case involving a mother who drowned her son. She was the supervisor of the social worker who worked the case, Connie Masters. After the child's death, Connie was sacked and recently she had moved with her young daughter to a community near Barnard Bridge. Suspicion falls on her as one person who might have resented the victim, but Vera isn't buying it. And then the situation is complicated by another murder, this time of a young man who worked at the hotel. What did he know that led to his murder?

The story is told by a third-person narrator, primarily from Vera's perspective. We also are privy to Vera's unfiltered inner dialogue which is depicted in the book in italics (although her public dialogues have minimal filters as well). Occasionally, the narrator also gives us the perspective of Vera's sergeant, Joe Ashworth, and her DC, the very ambitious Holly Clarke. Another detective, Charlie, and the crime scene manager, Billy Cartwright, round out the Stanhope team. She is hard on them, but they recognize that, as Cartwright at one point expresses, she is the best detective they've ever met.

It is great fun to follow as this team fans out to gather the information that will eventually add up to a solution to the crime. Vera has a problem with delegation and so she works right alongside her team in gathering that information. In the end, it all comes together in the middle of a disastrous flood as Vera and Joe rush to try to prevent yet another murder. Good stuff and highly entertaining.

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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