Killers of a Certain Age by Deanna Raybourn: A review

Four women in or nearing their sixties have worked since the 1970s as assassins for an international clandestine organization that is never actually named but which they refer to as "The Museum." They are now ready to retire and in celebration of that event, their employing organization has sent them on an all-expenses-paid cruise. When they discover that someone else from that organization is with them on the ship and is traveling clandestinely in disguise, they begin to suspect that the Museum has decided to retire them permanently. Have they really become expendable now that they are of "a certain age"? Now the four must use all their skills to ferret out anyone who is sent to dispose of them and to turn the tables on their would-be killers. That, in a nutshell, is the basis of the plot of Deanna Raybourn's book, Killers of a Certain Age.

The story is told mainly through the point of view of one of the women, named Billie, but we also get some flashbacks of the other women (Mary Alice, Helen, and Natalie) and how they each came to be recruited and become a part of this company of assassins. They are each quite extraordinary characters and quite likable despite their deadly profession.

Deanna Raybourn plots her story well and writes an engaging and entertaining tale with a lot of wit and humor. Even though this is a story of assassins, her focus is actually on the friendship of the women and their connections with each other. She also makes a point about the invisibility of older women. Who pays any attention to an old woman poking around a place, maybe even into areas where she has no business going? She's just an old lady after all; what possible harm can she do?

Well, if she's a trained killer - and maybe even if she isn't - old women can definitely be a force to be reckoned with. I appreciate that message that this book delivers with a dry wit, maybe because I am an old woman myself. Readers of a mature age will have no difficulty at all identifying with these characters and cheering them on as they set out to prove that they are still at the top of their game. Those readers will surely want them to prove their point for all of us at "a certain age."

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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