Red Bones by Ann Cleeves: A review

I enjoyed reading the second book in the Shetland series, White Nights, so much that I decided to head straight on into the third. So on to Red Bones. And these follow the first book in the series, Raven Black. I do believe I'm sensing a theme here.

This one features Jimmy Perez's colleague Sandy Wilson a bit more prominently. The action takes place on Whalsay Island where Sandy's family lives. His grandmother, Jemima (Mima) Wilson, is a bit of a recluse but she had agreed to allow an archaeological team to dig on her land. She had bonded with one of the young archaeologists digging there, a woman named Hattie. The team had made some interesting discoveries, including human bones, among them part of a skull.

Sandy was supposed to visit his grandmother one night but when he went there she was not in her house. He went looking for her and discovered her body near the digs. She had been shot. He calls his boss, Perez, to report the death. Perez is not on the island and must get a ferry there.

Arriving on Whalsay and looking at the scene, Perez learns that a neighbor, one of Sandy's friends, had been out hunting rabbits with a shotgun the night before, using a light (which is illegal) to mesmerize the animals so that they could be shot. Mima had been shot with a shotgun. It is initially assumed that she was shot by accident. What possible reason could anyone have to kill her? Once again, Perez does not accept the easy assumption. There are some things about the incident that just don't add up for him.

The archaeological team, especially Hattie, are very distressed at Mima's death. Hattie's distress, in particular, seems a bit out of proportion. Later, she calls Perez and tells him she needs to speak with him urgently because she has information related to the death. By this time, Perez had left the island and asked her if she could tell him over the phone, but she insisted that she needed to speak in person. He agreed to return to the island but it would be the next day before he could get there. By the time he arrives, she's dead. Her body was found, also by Sandy, in one of the trenches of the dig.

So, two deaths somehow related to an archaeological dig, plus a third death if we count the bones discovered at the site. It turns out some of the "red bones" are not ancient.

Once again Cleeves has constructed a knotty conundrum to tease us and once again I didn't have a clue as to its solution. (Actually, there were clues; I just couldn't see them.) As usual, one of the strengths of the narrative is its description of the scene which evokes a sparse and misty landscape and the emptiness of the sea around it. I think I could become addicted to this series.

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: 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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