The Guest List by Lucy Foley: A review

On a remote island off the east coast of Ireland, a wedding is planned. It will unite a powerhouse digital magazine editor and a popular television star of a reality (but not really) survival series. The guest list for one of the most buzzed-about social events of the year brings together old friends, classmates, and family of the wedding couple. A professional wedding planner and her husband, a chef, are in charge of the event and it has been planned to perfection. But the plans could not have anticipated the long-buried guilty secrets and resentments that the guests will bring with them. Nor could it have anticipated that a storm would trap them all on the island. And then to put the icing on this wedding cake, a dead body turns up. And the death did not come from natural causes. Who could have wished the happy couple ill? And why?

A review that I read of this book - the one that convinced me that I had to read it - described it as a mashup of an Agatha Christie novel and a gossip tabloid. That sounded irresistible to me and it proved to be so. The book is essentially a "locked room mystery," recalling such Christie classics as The Murder of Roger Ackroyd and And Then There Were None, still two of my all-time favorite Christie reads. The Guest List is closer to And Then There Were None since they both transpire on islands where a group of people are temporarily stranded.

This particular island is a place haunted by a dark history. Add the fog and the treacherous peat bogs and you've got the perfect atmospheric location for a mystery. Moreover, as we get to know the backstories of various members of the wedding party and the wedding planner, we learn that the glittering facade often hides tragedy. Just as the sainted Agatha would, Lucy Foley provides all the clues we need throughout the narrative to solve the eventual murder that takes place. The clues hide there in plain sight. It really is a masterful bit of plot construction.

We get to know intimately the wedding planner, the bride, the groom, the bridesmaid (bride's half-sister), the best man (groom's best friend - or is he?), the "plus-one" wife of the bride's best friend, and various ushers, the groom's bro-gang from his school days. And as we get to know them, we get to dislike many of them. They really are wicked and sometimes truly nasty bits of work. The only ones who really come across sympathetically are the wedding planner, the bridesmaid, and the plus-one. And over the course of the wedding weekend, the tensions that had been sublimated by the group begin to rise to the surface and culminate is full-blown violence that finally results in the death of one of the party. Who? I won't tell. Why? Now, there is the puzzle for the reader.

That puzzle isn't fully revealed until the end of the book. Actually, the murder itself only takes place near the end. The tension for the reader of feeling certain that something bad is going to happen (and maybe having a preferred candidate for that "something bad") but not knowing what it is or when it might occur makes for a propulsive reading experience. Once I was engaged in the story, I found it really, really hard to put the book down. And when I was forced to, I was still going over the elements of the story in my mind and trying to figure out what would happen next.

This was the first book of Foley's that I've read. Color me suitably impressed. I'll be looking for other of her books to read.

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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