The Coldest Case by Martin Walker: A review

In this latest entry in the Bruno, Chief of Police, series, the Dordogne region is suffering through a terrible drought. That gave the story a particular currency for me since we also are suffering through an intense drought. Amazingly though, the drought does not seem to have affected Bruno's garden which is just as prolific as ever. Unfortunately, I do not find that to be the case in my garden.

When Bruno isn't policing, his favorite thing to do is to cook gourmet meals for all his friends, using the produce from his garden. He finds plenty of occasions to do that during his investigation of The Coldest Case.

The case in question has simmered along for thirty years and it is an obsession with Bruno's boss, JJ. It involves an unsolved murder of someone whose skull was found in the woods years ago. There has been no identity found for the skull and there seems little hope of ever finding out what happened. Then Bruno happens to attend an exhibit on the facial reconstruction of skulls and he wonders if that might be a way to finally identify the unknown murder victim and perhaps get the investigation off of square one. A skilled technician named Virginie is brought in to accomplish the task.

Virginie gets to work on getting the job done, but in the midst of her work, she becomes a victim herself when a very bad policeman attempts to rape her. That will not happen, of course, as long as Bruno is on the job.

Life ambles along in Saint-Denis. Bruno interacts with his friends. The big news of the moment is that his dog, Balzac, has sired a litter of puppies and everyone in town wants one. Bruno's investigation of the old murder leads him to a reclusive vintner named Henri Bazaine who may have a connection to the Stasi, the former East German police agency. But Henri Bazaine was declared dead thirty years before! What goes on here?

This is a very gentle series as murder mystery series go. Bruno spends most of his "policing" career doing things like helping children cross the street, visiting farmers and shopkeepers, coaching rugby and tennis, and just generally making himself useful to the townspeople. All of these activities do help to keep him well informed about what is happening in St. Denis and, after all, that is an important part of being a policeman anywhere and especially in rural Dordogne where everybody knows everybody and all activities seem to be interrelated. This one was another solid entry in the series.

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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