A Song for the Dark Times by Ian Rankin: A review

Inspector Rebus is long retired now from the Scottish police force. Suffering from COPD, he can no longer easily manage the stairs to his apartment and so he and his dog, Brillo, are moving into a ground floor apartment that has recently become available. Assisting him with the move is his longtime colleague and friend (and surrogate daughter) DI Siobhan Clarke.

In the midst of the move, his real daughter Samantha frantically calls her father to say that her partner, Keith, has been missing for a couple of days and she doesn't know what to do. She also admits to her father that she had been having an affair with a resident of a local commune and that Keith knew about it. Samantha, Keith, and their school-aged daughter live in a remote part of northern Scotland. Rebus, fearing the worst and knowing his daughter will be a suspect if something has happened to Keith, packs his bags, leaves Brillo in Siobhan's care, and prepares to head north.

Meanwhile, Siobhan has been assigned to the investigation of the murder of Salman bin Mahmoud, a wealthy 23-year-old Saudi whose family is out of favor with the government back in his home country. The murder has all the earmarks of a hate crime and Malcolm Fox, a detective from the state police investigation unit is sent to be a part of the investigation. Rebus' old nemesis Morris Gerald Cafferty also is interested in the case and in Fox.

Rebus was never much of a father but he was always a brilliant detective, and with a new "case" on his hands, he reverts to form and starts tracing Keith's movements and trying to discover what has happened to him. He reasons that, after all, this is the best way to help his daughter. He visits the local commune where his daughter's now former lover lives and encounters a local well-to-do landowner. He also visits a WWII camp that held captured German soldiers, as well as displaced persons. Keith had been fascinated by the history of that camp and it is there that Rebus discovers his murdered body.

As the investigations of the two murders - Keith's and the one in Edinburgh - progress, it slowly becomes apparent that there might be a connection between the two. The backstories begin to converge and one can see how they overlap. This is the kind of storytelling that Rankin has always excelled at and it is good to see that he hasn't lost a step in this his twenty-third John Rebus novel. As far as his creation is concerned, he may have lost a step or two physically. Rankin has always allowed him to age more or less naturally over the years and he now suffers the consequences of all that smoking he did over the years. But he hasn't lost any steps mentally. The years have only added to his wisdom and wiliness. No one outshines him when it comes to the art of being a detective.

Moreover, through it all, he's never lost his interest in music. It's always one of the things that sustains him through good times and bad. The title of this book is the title of a playlist that was created for him by Siobhan and that he listens to on his trip north. It's an eclectic collection with everything from rap to Leonard Cohen. I've followed the Rebus series over the years as I've aged along with the character and I've always appreciated his eclectic approach to music and to life. What a pleasure it was to spend time with him once again.

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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