Harbour Street by Ann Cleeves: A review

I'm finishing up my reading year of 2019 by visiting some of the series that I've been following. This was the year that I started reading the Ann Cleeves Vera Stanhope Mysteries and I've now reached the sixth in the series, published in 2014.

The quality of the writing, plotting, and character development continue to be exceptional for a mystery series. Each book is different and does not follow any particular formula. I am always surprised by the identity of the perpetrator and that was true with Harbour Street, as well. That's true even though I watched and enjoyed the BBC series based on the books.

The action in this book takes place around Christmastime and begins with Vera's sergeant, Joe Ashworth, and his young daughter, Jessie, traveling on the Metro after a trip into town. The train is extremely crowded and loud with holiday shoppers and revelers. When the train is stopped due to bad weather ahead and all the passengers exit to be picked up by buses, Jessie notices that one woman has not left her seat and appears to be asleep. She goes back on the train to wake her and that's how they discover she's dead. She had been stabbed. Joe had not seen anything.

The elegant older woman who had been killed had lived in the town of Mardle in a house on Harbour Street. Vera and Joe and their team investigate and soon discover that the woman had a colorful history that somewhat belied her current appearance. Just days later, a second woman is murdered, and the two victims had known each other and were connected through their association with a women's shelter. Surely the two murders are related, but how? That is what Vera and the team must discover.

As usual, we are privy to Vera's thoughts as she sorts through the clues and what is known about the victims and those associated with them on Harbour Street. Her thoughts also make the associations between the victims' lives and her own solitary and often lonely existence. She is middle-aged, overweight, with an unlovely face, and few social graces. She has no family except her investigative team. Joe is the person closest to her. He is like a surrogate son. He understands her and admires her as the best detective he's ever met and he makes allowances for her failings. It's a prickly relationship but it works for them and for the reader.

Cleeves is an excellent writer who is able to portray some of the most wretched characters who inhabit these stories with empathy and grace. Moreover, her depictions of the Northumberland countryside and the way of life there are vivid and they ring true. Finishing up the book, I feel as though I've been there and I look forward to further visits in the coming year.

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: 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. ...

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 ...

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