Gothic Fiction: Bellman & Black, by Diane Setterfield

Years ago, offering career advice, my aunt Jean said you couldn’t go wrong providing food or funeral services, since we all need to eat and all have to die. Though I did not follow her words of wisdom, they came drifting back to me while reading Bellman & Black, Diane Setterfield’s second novel. This author is well known for her much praised The Thirteenth Tale, which I agree was spell binding, and many reviewers complain that this new book is nothing like the first. It is different for sure, but such an intricate and beautifully written novel deserves to be judged upon its own merits.

B&B chronicles the life of William Bellman, the disinherited  grandson of a wealthy English textile manufacturer. The novel opens with a vignette from his childhood, when, showing off for his buddies, Will thoughtlessly kills a rook with his slingshot. The boys examine the bird and are mesmerized by the subtle colors that shimmer within the blackness of its plumage, while the other rooks, generally so raucous, observe them in silence. A sense of guilt causes Will a troubled night. Because of this incident, however, he will grow up with a fine sense of color in all of its variations, and will serve him well when his uncle invites him to join the family business. Will rises to manager and then mill owner, marries and has several children, and life is good, until a series of deaths decimate his friends and destroy his family. Distraught and depressed, he decides to kill himself too, but is stopped by the presence of a mysterious stranger dressed entirely in black, who, in a very few words, inspires Will to start a new business, the production and sale of all things funeral related.

Bellman and Black, running only to 300 and some pages, is a great big chocolate trifle of a novel. Even the title has multiple layers of meaning. Even the rooks interject their own voices. The reader follows the wide parabola of Will’s life with a sense of helplessness, as the once sociable young man becomes an obsessive, ascetic workaholic, riddled with guilt and descending into a sort of living death. And while the trope of death is always present, the book is filled with metaphors that slip seamlessly and quietly into the narrative, most of them deriving, once you think about it, from that fateful introductory vignette. B&B’s ending, which some find tragic, is actually quite apt and beautiful, peaceful in its own way.

B&B owes allegiance to such authors as Dickens, Poe, and Charlotte Bronte, but it is definitely Ms. Setterfield’s own impressive creation. Read it thoughtfully, and you’ll never regard birds of the crow persuasion in the same light again.

Poem for the New Year: Time

by Justin Good, 2014

cgchester.com

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There once Was

Or rather still Is

And Forever will Be

A Moment Before

Time seemed To Be.

xx

Like the River which

Can’t be stepped in Twice

The Present can Hardly be said

To Come and Go

Or  Bear a Price.

xx

Everything that Seems

To Change and Leave

The Flow of this Dream

Has Already Returned

Gently Down the Stream.

xx

You know you Know this Already

That Time is a Learning Device

Disappearing at Dawn

When we finally Learn we’re still Here

Even after we’re Gone.

xx

Rediscovering Ourselves

As Timeless Beings of Light

The We inside of Me

The Moment Before

Time Seemed to Be.

Movies in History: Arsenic and Old Lace

Plot: Cary Grant portrays Mortimer Brewster, a famous arts critic who marries the girl next door on Halloween. He returns to the Brooklyn home he shares with his two maiden aunts to pack for his honeymoon (at Niagara Falls, of course), when he discovers a corpse in the window seat. Mortimer is shocked to learn that his sweet old aunts have been poisoning lonely old men with arsenic laced elderberry wine,  and burying them in the “Panama Canal” that Teddy has dug in the cellar. He spends the rest of the movie frenetically trying to have Teddy committed, in the hope that if the authorities should happen to learn about the bodies in the basement, they’ll blame it all on Teddy. Midway through,  long lost, psychopathic third brother Jonathan appears on the scene with his plastic surgeon and another corpse in tow.

Arsenic and Old Lace was released in 1944. It’s in black and white and  very much like the stage play that inspired it, but when viewed as a period piece, one of the “madcap comedies” of the time, it doesn’t come across as dated. Cary Grant bears the weight of the plot, and he’s brilliant. It’s a joy to watch him convey a full spectrum of emotion in a ten second sequence of facial expressions.  Raymond Massey plays the role of Jonathan, who becomes enraged whenever anyone mentions his resemblance to Boris Karloff, and Peter Lorre that of Dr. Einstein, who keeps promising to make him look like someone else. The aunts, some cops, Mortimer’s new wife, and the sanitarium director make frequent appearances to move the story along.

In spite of its macabre theme, this is very much a comedy, with lines that hold up quite well some seventy years after they were uttered. Great fun, full of laughs, and vintage in the best sense of the word.

It’s a Mystery: Three Strikes and You’re Dead, by Michael A. Draper

Three Strikes and You're Dead;
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Someone is killing baseball superstars. There’s another players strike underway, and the self proclaimed Vindicator wants to teach a lesson to the greedy, overpaid sob’s who are ruining the sport, players and owners alike. Randy Larkin, insurance agent, is basking in the satisfaction of having successfully taken down a cop killer, when news about the baseball murders breaks and grabs his attention. Now Randy starts to think about becoming a real PI, and is itching to tackle this case.

Once you accept the premise that the FBI would actually accept assistance from rank amateurs, Three Strikes and You’re Dead takes on momentum. Working under the supervision of a licensed PI mentor, Randy, his brother Graham, and soon-to-be girlfriend Rosanne soon find themselves hot on the trail. The narration alternates between their efforts and those of the Vindicator and the terrorist who controls him. The feature that most grabbed my attention was the use that the novice investigators made of social media, especially Facebook, by setting up a discussion page about the crime and asking speculative questions of the participants. The plot moves along briskly and reaches its culmination in Grand Central Station.

The author, an online friend and fellow Connecticut resident, provided me with a copy to read and review objectively. I’m glad I did. The decency and unpretentious attitude of Randy Larkin makes him a refreshingly appealing character, and, since this is his second outing in a Mike Draper production, I hope there’s a series in the works.

View all my reviews

Monday Morning Poem: The Pumpkin

excerpt from The Pumpkin, by John  Greenleaf Whittier

Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West,
From North and from South comes the pilgrim and guest;
When the gray-haired New Englander sees round his board
The old broken links of affection restored;
When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more,
And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before;
What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye,
What calls back the past, like the rich Pumpkin pie?

It’s a Mystery: A Death in the Small Hours, by Charles Finch

In this sixth entry in the Charles Lenox series, many changes have occurred in his life. For one thing, Charles is now a member of the House of Commons, and finds himself flooded with the demands of his new position. Perhaps more importantly, he and wife Lady Jane are now the parents of Sophie, with whom Charles is charmingly besotted. When chosen to give the opening speech to the Parliament, he decides that this great honor deserves his full attention, and to escape the distractions of London, he takes his family to visit his uncle, who lives in the countryside. But the quiet village of Plumbley will soon besiege Charles with distractions of a different sort, of the type that lead to murder.

Death in the Small Hours is a very mannerly novel, rich with the conventions of upper class Victorian society. The mystery itself is tightly constructed and multi -layered, and Charles is delighted to have the chance to flex his investigative muscles once more.There are plenty of suspects, but little hard evidence, and it isn’t until his uncle is kidnapped that the various threads start to come together in a surprising fashion.

Charles himself is somewhat prissy, in a Poirot-ish sort of way, and Lady Jane is a model Victorian wife and mother. All of the characters, in fact, could have been invented by Agatha Christy herself, such typically English types are they. As a result, the story comes across more as drawing room performance than sharp edged suspense.

Monday Morning Poem: Autumn Song

by Katherine Mansfield

Now’s the time when children’s noses
All become as red as roses
And the colour of their faces
Makes me think of orchard places
Where the juicy apples grow,
And tomatoes in a row.

And to-day the hardened sinner
Never could be late for dinner,
But will jump up to the table
Just as soon as he is able,
Ask for three times hot roast mutton–
Oh! the shocking little glutton.

Come then, find your ball and racket,
Pop into your winter jacket,
With the lovely bear-skin lining.
While the sun is brightly shining,
Let us run and play together
And just love the autumn weather.