The Janus Stone by Elly Griffiths: A review

This is the second in Elly Griffiths' Ruth Galloway series and, just as with the first one, it was quite an enjoyable read for me. I find Ruth to be quite a relatable character (maybe it's her weight problems!) and archaeology and mythology have long been important interests of mine. At one time I harbored a desire to study archaeology and make that my career, but ultimately I opted for a more workaday branch of the humanities/social sciences. So Ruth's activities are subjects that I know a little about and about which I am always interested to read more - even in a fictional account.

Galloway is a forensic archaeologist who is extremely intelligent and good at her job but is personally awkward and vulnerable. In this sense, her vulnerability is increased by the fact that she is nearing forty and is pregnant and unmarried.

This case once again brings her into contact with DCI Harry Nelson who is brought in to investigate the mystery of some old bones, belonging to a child, that were found when a former children's home was being demolished to make way for some luxury housing units. The skeleton is missing its skull and the question is, is this a crime scene? When was the child buried and why buried here? Two children had disappeared from the home years earlier and had never been found. Could this skeleton be one of them?

We get to spend quite a bit of time with a local Druid named Cathbad who is a friend of Ruth's and seems to have a way of popping up everywhere. He involves himself in Nelson's investigation and he is aware that in fact Nelson, who is married and is father to two teenage daughters, is also the father of Ruth's unborn child.

A strength of this series and this particular book is its strong characterizations and also the description of the setting. I would describe the plot as character-driven but the setting is almost an additional character in and of itself. The Norfolk salt marshes where Ruth lives in an isolated home loom over everything and give the tale a very gothic feel. I look forward to reading more of this series and getting to know Ruth and her salt marshes even better.

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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