E. S. Thomson: The Creation of Jem Flockhart

I’d always wanted to be a writer. I read a lot as a child, and wrote loads of stories at primary school – long rambling things, usually based on thefts and hauntings (“The Mystery Of The False Teeth” is an unpublished classic!) Then I went to secondary school and was shepherded towards maths and physics and other things I’m really bad at. I kept reading, but I read mostly 19th century novels – Wilkie Collins, Charles Dickens, RL Stevenson; later on some HG Wells, Graham Green, DH Lawrence… I spent a year reading nothing but Dylan Thomas. Anyway, as I was mostly reading stuff written by dead men, I never really got a sense that writing was something someone like me could do. Growing up in the 1970s and 1980s in a small town in the middle of the Lancashire sprout fields and coming from a non-graduating family, writing a novel and getting published seemed as likely as visiting Mars.

Then I went to Edinburgh University (my family are from Scotland), where I studied English then switched to history. I kept reading novels. I got a job at Waterstones after my undergraduate degree and eventually tried some contemporary fiction. At that point, I thought “I could do this!” for the first time. I got a PhD in the history of medicine, and found it all so fascinating that I decided to see whether I could put it into a novel. I got an agent on the back of 'A Proper Education for Girls' (2009), that first manuscript. I wrote another novel called 'Bleakly Hall' (2011) and got a publisher this time too! I started off writing more literary fiction, but when my publisher suggested I try crime, Jem Flockhart was created in 'Beloved Poison' (2016).

Crime fiction is often regarded as inferior to other sorts of fiction but recent authors like Robbie Morrison, Graeme Macrae Burnet and Alis Hawkins have shown that it can be beautifully written and deeply evocative of time and place, as well as having a compelling narrative and being intricately plotted. I love crime fiction – as a genre it offers a puzzle, and we all like to work out puzzles. It’s a safe space to read about awful things, which I think humans also find appealing – exciting and horrifying, but with a satisfying resolution and no actual threat to ourselves. And there are so many excellent writers too; readers have so many opportunities to find characters and locations and historical time periods that appeal to them – and if there’s a crime, then you can add excitement into the mix. What’s not to love about that?

I wrote my first two novels on the Number 23 bus going from Stockbridge to Morningside. Forty minutes every morning and then again in the evening as I went back home. I never write on the bus these days as I walk to work now. I started off writing longhand with a fountain pen in a hardbacked wire-spined A4 notebook, and I still write this way. I love the connection between the mind and the hand, and the pen and paper. It’s centuries old as an approach and that appeals to me. I have to use a fountain pen – I have four favourites. If I forget my pen, I can’t write. I’ve written nine novels like this. Every few days (if I can) I type up what I’ve written.

Now, writing is much, much harder. I no longer have an hour and a half on the bus – time to myself to be creative. My job is ten times busier than it used to be. I now have two sons, and although they are old enough to look after themselves, they are still at home. When writing the first four Jem Flockhart books I was a single mother with a full-time job. It was super-hard producing fiction, but I could do it when my sons were in bed (they went to bed at 7pm on the dot!). Now, my day job as university lecturer takes up so much more of my time and energy – plus I am older and more tired, my sons watch things on TV that tempt me to loll exhausted on the sofa and watch with them… These days I only get to write when I go an a writing retreat – I’ll blitz out 20,000 or 30,000 words in a frantic week long hand then type them up in between the blizzard of emails and classes when I get back. It’s quite stressful. But what else can I do? Carry on or give up are the only options. I choose to (try to) carry on.

Source.

[Review] Lucy Worsley: 'Agatha Christie'

Writer and historian Lucy Worsley (1973) has written 'Agatha Christie: A Very Elusive Woman', a passionate and very readable biography of Agatha Christie (1890-1976). Surely, there have been other biographies that covered the same subject and the question is if Lucy Worsley would be able to add something new to these.

Until Worsley's book appeared, Laura Thomson's 'Agatha Christie: A Mysterious Life' was considered to give the best insight into the life and times of Agatha Christie. Worsley certainly gives me the impression that she tried to get into the mind of the great writer. What drove Agatha Christie and what held her back?

"The psychological approach - that's the only thing nowadays," Colonel Easterbrook says in 'A Murder is Announced' and he was right, although he was portrayed by Agatha Christie as somewhat dim. Worsley uses Christie's books to get an insight into the mind of the author, because every writer puts something of herself into the text. You write, they say, what you know about.

Worsley had to cover Christie’s 1926 mysterious disappearance. No biography of Agatha Christie would be complete without it. What Worsley does do when discussing it is to build a convincing argument that Agatha Christie had temporarily lost her memory due to the huge emotional stress of the breakdown of her marriage and the discovery of her husband’s affair. She actually couldn’t remember what had happened to her. The psychological term for this sort of temporary memory loss is fugue (Latin: flight). Your brain tries to protect and heal itself by shutting down.

What emerged from this biography was that there existed several versions of Agatha Christie. The Christie the public knew was shy, introvert, and guarded. In private she liked (extended) family gatherings and to spend her money on houses and she amassed quite a few of those.

Worsley sprinkles interesting factoids thoughout the book and that makes the 'Agatha Christie: A Very Elusive Woman' so readable. It amazed me is that Lucy Worsley could find the time to gather all the information about Agatha Christie. Remember that Worsley is a historian, author, television presenter, and curator at Historic Royal Palaces.

Lucy Worsley wrote a well-researched biography and it is a fascinating read, looking at Christie in an almost tender, loving way.

[Review] E.S. Thomson: 'Under Ground'

Finally, I had the book in my hands: the seventh adventure of Jem Flockhart and Will Quartermain. In this installment, Flockhart and Quartermain are called to a house of ill-repute owned by the well-known Mrs Roseplucker. There, a client has been murdered. The face of the corpse has a look of mortal terror, and its throat has been slashed like a frenzied animal has been at work. Jobber, an employee of the house, is arrested by the police because 'if he isn't guilty of this crime, he will sure be guilty of another'. Keen to keep the establishment’s 'reputation' for discretion, Mrs Roseplucker asks the pair for help. It turns out that the victim is Edward Mortmain, the heir to the family fortune, which has largely been accumulated via rents from the dilapidated Prior's Rents.

Jobber is surely going to be found guilty of a crime he did not commit and our intrepid duo are therefore hurled into a race against time. Flockhart and Quartermain are also tasked with finding the murderer by Henry Mortmain*, the ailing, but perfectly sane patriarch of the family. Throughout the family history, a giant rat features heavily. It is reputed to always kill the heir. Remember, Edward Mortmain was the heir.

Meanwhile, Will has taken on a commission to investigate the crumbling sewer system below London. Unwittingly, he's on the trail of another notorious killer: cholera. London was a city overwhelmed by the human excrement of its ever-growing population in the squalor of overcrowded slums, such as Prior's Rents. Human waste piled up in courtyards and overflowed from cesspits into the gutters and waterways. The River Thames had become London's largest open sewer.

I have always known that Elaine Thomson could evoke the sensations of decay, stink, and other malodorous substances that covered Victorian London in the mid 1850s better than anyone else, but in this novel she has reached a new level, worthy of a Grand Mistress, in describing the fetid atmosphere that you had to endure if you lived in London.

Rats – I hate them now even more than I ever did before – feature both above and underground, and their effect was like Arthur Conan Doyle’s 'The Hound of the Baskerville'. Always lurking in the shade. Always menacing.

'Under Ground' is a masterpiece of gothic suspense, crime, slime, and grime. Publishers so often put the word 'unputdownable' on the cover of their books that it lost virtually all meaning. This one, however, is guaranteed to be unputdownable. I promise.

* Mortmain ('dead hand') is also the perpetual, inalienable ownership of real estate by a corporation or legal institution.

[Review] Alexandra Benedict: 'Murder on the Christmas Express'

DI Rosalind (Roz) Parker, who’s just retired from the police force in London, is on her way to Fort William, Scotland, trying to be in time for the birth of her granddaughter.

But in the early hours of Christmas Eve, the sleeper train to the Highlands derails on its icy tracks. It also results in the end of any festive plans of its travellers. With the train stuck in snow in the middle of nowhere, a killer stalks its carriages. The first victim is, rather unsurprisingly, Meg Forth, a media influencer, who was traveling on the train with her boyfriend, Grant McVey. As there are just a few passengers (eighteen to be exact) on the train, the number of suspects is rather low. Still, who of them has a reason to kill?

The reviews are, well, somewhat mixed. What do I make of 'Murder on the Christmas Express'?

Alexandra Benedict is certainly trying to see if the mantle of the 'Queen of Crime' fits her too by (again) releasing a murder mystery in time for Christmas. 'Murder on the Christmas Express' does makes one try to compare it with its predecessor, 'Murder on the Orient Express', but don't bother. This one is quite different in structure.

Some reviewers lament the time it takes before the first murder occurs. They're right that it takes a while, but wrong that it is a problem. They fail to understand that not every murder mystery is created equal. What you get with 'Murder on the Christmas Express' is a masterclass in psychology.

The story tries to teach you that a very negative experience early in life, will forever keep festering. It makes a person unable to enjoy life. You may have regular flashbacks, are endlessly trying to avoid similar situations. In some, it may ultimately lead to suicide, and some eventually might murder to kill their inner demons or to spare others from the same fate.

Remember that Christmas was once a period of festivities and reflection during the winter solstice. It marked the symbolic death and rebirth of the Sun. That's certainly true for ex-detective Roz Parker.

Yes, maybe 'Murder on the Christmas Express' does not quite meet your expectations. It certainly touched a nerve with me.

Besides, a mystery cannot be a disappointment if you read sentences like 'The sun was beginning its evening descent, dipping into the space between mountains, a slice of orange in a martini glass.' The entire book is sprinkled with such poetic lines.

'Murder on the Christmas Express' is highly recommended. It also gives you an opportunity to spare a thought for the less fortunate among us.

[Review] Giles Milton: 'Paradise Lost: Smyrna 1922'

Smyrna (now called Izmir) was once one of the Ottoman Empire's great mercantile centres on the Mediterranean coast of Turkey. Even during the first world war, it was a place where Turks, Greeks, Jews, Armenians, Levantines, and Europeans could live in peace.

Where did it all start, you might ask. The antagonism between Turks and Greeks started probably in Antiquity, but a more modern viewpoint will argue that it all started when Turkey foolishly allied itself to Germany in the First World War. They lost the war and nearly lost their independence. As a result, Constantinople (now called Istanbul) was occupied in 1918 by British, French, Italian, and Greek forces. The humiliation and the implosion of the Turkish army eventually resulted in widespread guerilla warfare, led by Mustafa Kemal, later glorified as Atatürk.

The rebellion gradually morphed into a proper army, and it won a decisive victory over the Greeks in September 1921. Greek military fled to Smyrna until it overflowed with exhausted soldiers. Then all hell broke loose.

Turkish irregulars recaptured Smyrna in September 1922. Four days, later Smyrna was set on fire by the Turks, as many independent eyewitnesses claim. Turkish 'historians' tell their population that the fire was started by Greek 'saboteurs'. The result was that half a million of its inhabitants had fled to the quayside, where they were between a rock and a hard place: hemmed in between the flames and the guns of the Turks.

While Turkish irregulars moved among them, raping, maiming, and killing, Atatürk sat, like Nero once did, watching from a friend's villa in the hills. Children younger than 12 years of age were raped, breasts were cut off, Greeks were set on fire, houses were looted.

In the end, an estimated 150,000 mainly Greeks lost their lives, while the survivors were forced to flee into permanent exile. It was a proper genocide. One of many by the Turks. Maybe the Turks view all non-Turks as being illegal in their country. So, basically Turkey is collectively racist, although their 'historian' will deny that claim.

'Paradise Lost: Smyrna 1922' tells us about a nearly forgotten tale of the deprivation, carnage and literal holocaust that have been seared into Greek historical memory as the 'Great Catastrophe' (He Megali Katastrophe) - a term that denotes the genocide, expulsion, and erasure of the Greek people from their ancient homelands in Asia Minor.

'Paradise Lost: Smyrna 1922' is not for the faint-hearted, but should be read anyway. It's a powerful lesson to us all.

Buy Giles Milton: Paradise Lost here.

[Review] Alexandra Benedict: 'The Christmas Murder Game'

Many, many Christmasses ago, people would politely queue to obtain the latest mystery from Agatha Christie. A 'Christie for Christmas', early influencers realised, would instill a tradition into her readers: you would ideally buy yourself or your loved one a Christie for Christmas.

Sadly, Agatha Christie (1890-1976) isn't among us anymore, and the tradition has all but disappeared. But since 2021, Alexandra Benedict has single-handedly revived that tradition with 'The Christmas Murder Game'. She plans to enlighten our Christmasses every year with a new mystery.

'The Christmas Murder Game' tells us the story of Lily Armitage who - twenty-one Christmasses ago - found her mother dead in the maze in the grounds of Endgame House, the grand house that has been in her family for years. Traumatised, she never returned, but now she has to. Her aunt Liliana died, and she has planned a series of riddles with Endgame House as the ultimate prize. For Lily, the stakes are even higher, because Liliana promised her that answers could be won. Answers about questions she doesn't even dare to ask herself.

Twelve days of Christmas, twelve clues concealed in sonnets, and twelve hidden keys. As tensions run high between Lily and her estranged cousins, it becomes clear that someone is willing to kill for Endgame House. As the snow begins to fall and the house is cut off, it becomes clear that Lily is trapped with a killer.

What do I make of the book? Can it replace Agatha Christie's 'A Christie for Christmas'?

Well, Agatha Christie was shaped by the Victorian Age and thus wrote Victorianesque: sparse with words. Alexandra Benedict is different. She writes as if words wanted to bubble out of her and all her sentences are shaped like little poems. 'The Christmas Murder Game' is an absolute masterpiece.

I wouldn't be surprised if Lily Armitage is the alter ego of Alexandra Benedict as both have an inate love of puzzles and both are absolutely lovely.

Buy and read 'The Christmas Murder Game' and your Christmas (or any other day of the year) is saved.

Alexandra Benedict: 'Discovering I had ADHD and autism as an adult saved me'

For Alexandra Benedict (1977), her diagnosis of autism and ADHD as an adult helped her make sense of her life - and understand her place in the world. Now her love of puzzles, which she uses as a way to relax and focus her 'flyaway' brain have made it into her latest book 'Murder on the Christmas Express' (2022).

Alexandra Benedict lifted the lid on being diagnosed as an adult. In 2022, a new report showed that there was a huge rise of 787 per cent in autism diagnoses in England between 1998 and 2018, largely owing to an increase in recognition - with many women finally getting a diagnosis[1].

Like many people diagnosed later in life, Alexandra had been searching for answers for a while. Often people struggle, thanks to dismissive healthcare professionals, an overburdened NHS, and simplistic stereotypes, which means they didn't fit what officials thought people with autism and ADHD acted like.

'I was diagnosed earlier this year after a lifetime of feeling ‘wrong’, and now I’m learning to accept myself, and work with, rather than against, my strengths,' says Alexandra.

'I have a photographic memory and I can play memories from when I was three or four-years-old. It's brilliant when reliving great memories but extremely traumatic when reliving difficult ones. My therapist said that from the way I was processing the traumatic memories, it was very clear and vivid. Amongst other things, she thought I may be on the autistic spectrum.

'I had looked into it before, because people before have commented on my memory and my mannerisms could point to it. I did some online tests, but my empathy levels are very high, and I thought that may rule me out. 'My therapist told me it was a myth that autistic people cannot have empathy - sometimes it is the complete opposite and they over-empathise - and that clicked for me.

'I was considered a very shy, but hyper-intelligent student. I used to hide in the school toilets to avoid things. I fell into books and other worlds, that was my comfort when I was very small and it still is. I had films I'd watch again and again... anything other than life.

'So, it were very classic symptoms of autism in women because we are socialised so differently and not allowed to melt down. I've burnt out many times and I've been diagnosed with ME, which a-lot of women with autism and ADHD are diagnosed with. The body shuts down as it can't cope to live in a world not meant for you.'

Alexandra added: 'I'm obsessed with Agatha Christie and the golden age of crime. I go to them for my general life advice. 'I always want to address what is going on underneath things, in the guises of cosy crime. It's important to me that other people see them recognised.'

[1] Russell et al: Time trends in autism diagnosis over 20 years: a UK population-based cohort study in Journal of The Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry and Allied Disciplines - 2022

[Source]

A million to one chance

The writer and philosopher Terry Pratchett (1948-2015) wrote that 'Scientists have calculated that the chances of something so patently absurd actually existing are millions to one. But magicians have calculated that million-to-one chances crop up nine times out of ten.'[1].

At first glance, you think this quote is ludicrous and could not possibly be true.

But suppose one day a dinosaur would say to his friend (everybody needs a friend, right?) that there was a million to one chance that a massive meteorite would hit the earth and wipe out all dinosaurs. While the probability is indeed a million to one, the chances of a meteorite hitting the planet are actually one in two. That is because if it doesn't impact the earth today, it will probably do so tomorrow.

Another example is the massive earthquake that devastated the San Francisco area in 1906. The quake had an estimated magnitude of 7.9 and was the result of a rupture of the San Andreas Fault. Seismologists estimated that a major earthquake like that of 1906 would happen once every 100 years or so. In 2023, 'The Big One' seems long overdue.

Let us calculate the possibilities of a large earthquake happening in or around San Francisco. One would think that an earthquake that happens every 100 year would have a chance of happening once every (100 x 365 days =) 36,500 days. As it is actually already 17 years too late, the chances are now once every (117 x 365 days =) 42,705 days. That doesn't look like much, but the chances of a major earthquake that devastates San Francisco are actually one in two. That is because if it doesn't hit today, it will probably do so tomorrow.

And yet, The philosopher Didactylos has summed up an alternative hypothesis as 'Things just happen. What the hell.'[2].

[1] Terry Pratchett: Mort – 1987
[2] Terry Pratchett: Hogfather - 1996

HMS Ulysses vs. The Cruel Sea

When ‘The Cruel Sea’, written by Nicholas Montsarrat (1910-1979), was published in 1951 it was an immediate success. Remember, it was just a few years after the end of the WWII when that novel was published. But, contrary to the reactions of Montsarrats' novel, one of the first reviews of Alistair MacLean’s debut ‘HMS Ulysses’ (1955) described the book as “the worst insult to the Royal Navy ever published”. That certainly alerted people to the book and the novel soon topped the bestseller lists. In other reviews ‘HMS Ulysses’ and ‘The Cruel Sea’ were compared and most reviewers agreed that both novels were equally disturbing in their portraying of the horrors of the battle of the North Atlantic.

What did Alistair MacLean (1922-1987) write to deserve such a scalding review? Well, ‘HMS Ulysses’ is certainly not a glamorous story about heroism but a narrative about unrelenting stress, hardship, exhaustion and extreme weather conditions that took a heavy physical and psychological toll on the crew of HMS Ulysses.

These factors lead to a mutiny on the previous trip of HMS Ulysses and the admiralty, staffed by officers that always remain safely ashore, decided that ship and crew should be given the one last chance to redeem themselves. They were ordered to escort a Murmansk-bound convoy, and if necessary, to act as bait for the Tirpitz that was at the time holed up in a Norwegian fjord. In MacLean’s book the real enemy is not the the threat of the Germans, but the horrendous conditions in the Arctic.

‘The Cruel Sea’ by Nicholas Monsarrat is also a novel that does not portray the good and the bad as white and black, but both sides of the conflict are painted in shades of grey. The book, like ‘HMS Ulysses’, focuses on the crew of a woefully inadequate corvette the ‘Compass Rose’ on duty in the icy North Atlantic to protect convoys. Monsarrat’s tale also revolves around the hardship the crew must endure continuously simply in order to survive. But it also makes abundantly clear the tough decisions those in command of such a vessel must make while carrying out their duties.

So, which one is the better novel? The answer to that question is a strictly personal one and I would not want to cast doubt on the heroism of these brave sailors. I think these books have so much in common that they should be seen as a common testament to that intensely cruel period that so many already seem to have forgotten.

[Review] Rev. Alistair Maclean: ‘High Country’

Alistair Maclean (1922-1987) was the third son of Reverend Alistair MacLean. While Alistair MacLean became known for this fast-paced thrillers, his father was known for his fire and brimstone sermons. Just 47 of those sermons were collected in ‘High Country’ (1928).

[Rev. MacLean and his family (Alistair MacLean is far right)]

A review appeared in ‘The Living Church’ (November 30, 1952):
High Country is a delicate and delightful little book of sermons which tingles with a wholesome Scottish simplicity. The writer strives to imitate the method of our Lord, “who offers His jewels in artistic and delightful settings.” In the series of 47 sermons, dealing with the inner life, we find a beautiful gallery of pictures and a fresh selection of biographical anecdotes.

This book, extremely concrete, offers much to the person who may choose to use it as a manual for meditation. Since the sermons were first written for the author’s “congregation of simple folk”, they enunciate the fundamental truths of Christian inner experience, not in a speculative way, nor in a language about common understanding, but in a manner clear and at once appealing.

The seminarian and young priests learn much about a vigorous style of sermon-structure from this collection. Here is a great well of fresh illustrated material and a method of preaching which can hardly fail to enliven the pulpit.

Unfortunately, the book cannot be recommended for the use of lay-readers and their work for the church. Naturally, the writer cannot escape his Calvinistic attitudes and he makes many references to Scottish literature which will mean very little to Anglican congregations.

[Review] Sarah F. Derbew: 'Untangling Blackness in Greek Antiquity'

Let us sketch the scenery first before we start a proper review of this book.

Modern archaeology evolved in the late-19th century when amateurs like Heinrich Schliemann, Wilhelm Dörpfeld, Carl Blegen, and Arthur Evans, started excavating in Egypt and Greece. It was the age of colonialism and, although Greece is a mere 200 kilometers from Africa, these archaeologists could not believe that the first European civilization was influenced by Egypt. So, Greece must have developed in a sort of vacuum, because any African influence was deemed unthinkable. Yes, colonialism was racist.

Furthermore, during large swathes of time Egypt was a unified country, combining Upper Egypt and Lower Egypt. As Upper Egypt (or Nubia) was what is now Sudan (and parts of Somalia), is it logical that black skinned Egyptians were not an exception. And because Egypt and Greece were geographically close, Greeks would surely have met black Egyptians.

Martin Bernal has written extensively about this in his magnum opus 'Black Athena' (1987, 1991, 2006). Derbew disqualifies him and his efforts in a single sentence because of 'his brief mentions of Ethiopia'. She also questions Cleopatra's skin colour, a curious American obsession because of 'the uncertainty about the precise identity of Cleopatra's paternal grandmother'.

In the first chapter of 'Untangling Blackness in Greek Antiquity', Derbew creates her own muddled explanation of terms. Think of 'black', 'Black', 'blackskinned', etc. She even positively mentions the already suspect critical race theory, also a way of muddled thinking that heralds from the US.

Then we are treated to another four chapters that are in reality just unrelated essays that do not untangle blackness in Greek antiquity. In these chapters, Derbew instills her own terminology, ideas, and preconceptions to some limited subjects. She finds racism in every corner of archaeology, history, literature, and ancient Greek plays. Derbew argues, for instance, that official descriptions of cups that show black and white faces are racist because the black faces are 'humourous' or 'laughing'. She does not see that the white faces on those cups aren't white but reddish or clay-cloured. Even the Nubian 25th dynasty, a line of pharaohs who reigned Ancient Egypt for nearly a century, from 744 to 656 BC, is treated with disdain, because they 'took advantage' of some internal strife. Well, internal problems are mostly the cause of invasions. Everywhere. You simply need to read Paul Kennedy's 'The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers' (1987) or Peter Frankopan's 'The Silk Roads: A New History of the World' (2015) to understand the concept.

Her problem (and her cultural blindness) is that in the Mediterranean, there is no distinct black and white division. The farther south you get, the darker ones skin tend to be. So, in Greece you are not white, but brown or 'olive skinned'. And everybody knows that olives can differ in colour from light brown to almost black.

So, Sarah Derbew has a bias about racism. In the US there might be a true distinction between black and white, but in the Mediterranean there is just a spectrum of skin colours. Nobody cares about your skin colour.

And the sad conclusion is that where Sarah Derbew sees racism everywhere in archaeology, history, musea, literature or even Greek plays, there just isn't. But when you see racism everywhere, maybe it's you who is the true racist.

E.S. Thomson's books subject of scientific papers

Since 2016, Elaine Thomson writes a series of mysteries featuring a apothecary in mid-Victorian London called Jem Flockhart. Jeremiah Jemima Flockhart is disfigured by a port-wine stain that covers her eyes and nose like a mask. Born biologically female, Jem is raised as male to fill the role of the twin brother, who died at birth along with the siblings’ mother.

The character of Jem Flockhart is obviously based on James Barry (1789-1865), who was born as Margaret Bulkley, a woman who disguised herself as a man to study medicine at Edinburgh University in the 1810s and later spent her life as a doctor in the army. She was only discovered to be a woman when she had died.

Both Barry and Flockhart were not cross-dressing (in a sexual sense) nor were they hermaphrodites (in a biological sense), but simply resourceful women who wanted to achieve their dream in a male dominated world, where women were not deemed psychologically fit to become doctors or apothecaries.

Elaine Thomson even honoured James Barry by using his father's name, Jeremiah, as the 'original' name of Jem Flockhart.

The novels of Elaine Thomson have recently been the subject of research in the field of heterotropic spaces[1][2]. Heterotropic spaces are a concept to describe certain cultural, institutional and discursive spaces that are somehow 'other': disturbing, intense, incompatible, contradictory or transforming. Heterotopias are worlds within worlds, mirroring and yet upsetting what is outside. Examples are ships, cemeteries, bars, brothels, prisons, gardens of antiquity, fairs, and many more.

As Jem Flockhart and his friend and partner William ('Will') Quartermain encounter and fight crime in the Victorian world, where filth, grime, and depravity were rife, it is quite understandable that they often find themselves in heterotropic spaces like hospitals, prisons, asylums, brothels, prostitutes’ rooms, physic gardens, ships, anatomy schools, museums, exhibitions, graveyards, slums, and even colonies.

Marie-Luise Kohlke tries desperately to formulate a conclusion for the heterotopic spaces in Elaine Thomson's world, but rather fails to find one. Indeed, heterotopic spaces are used by almost every writer of crime novels: from Agatha Christie to Alistair MacLean. All use the idea of heterotopic spaces to keep insiders in and outsiders out of their stories.

And that's the crux of many social studies: there are hardly any hard facts that can be molded into a comprehensive theory.

Whatever my misgivings about these two papers, you really should read all the books of E.S. Thomson, including those of Elaine di Rollo, her alter ego. All are reviewed on this weblog.

[1] Marie-Luise Kohlke: Heterotopic Proliferation in E. S. Thomson's Jem Flockhart Series in Humanities – 2022. See here.
[2] Marie-Luise Kohlke, Elizabeth Ho, Akira Suwa: Heterotopic and Neo-Victorian Affinities: Introducing the Special Issue on Neo-Victorian Heterotopias in Humanities - 2022. See here.

[Review] Mark Simmons: ‘Alistair MacLean’s War’

When you have grown up, like I have, in the now long forgotten age that managed to do without internet, social media, and mobile phones, you would often pass your spare time reading. Then, you would eagerly scour the thriller-section in your local bookshop, searching for the latest Alistair Maclean.

‘Master Storyteller’ informed the covers of the Fawcett paperbacks the unwary. In those days, that was quite unnecessary. Alistair Maclean was one of the greatest writers of fast-paced thrillers that ever lived, though he himself claimed that he disliked writing.

Alistair MacLean was born in 1922 and too young to enter the Second World war early on. In the end, MacLean’s did see a fair bit of action in the war. However, he never was in mortal danger as most of his protagonists were.

In the spring of 1941 MacLean left his native Scotland to start his naval training. In August 1943 he joined the anti-aircraft cruiser HMS Royalist. Launched in May 1943, it needed extensive sea trails, fitting and refitting because the vessel could enter active service on March 30th, 1944.

Yes, Alistair MacLean took part in one of the most dangerous missions a vessel could be ordered to do: a run through the dark and foreboding Arctic waters, protecting a convoy bound for Murmansk. But after just one such mission, the Royalist was ordered to the Mediterranean. There, from July to September 1944, the vessel took part in several operations, but the end of hostilities loomed. After some additional refitting in Alexandria, the Royalist was sent to the Far East. For Alistair MacLean the war finally ended in March 1946, when he was officially demobilized.

Yes, Alistair MacLean saw a lot of the world, and he proved a good listener. He stored interesting nodules of knowledge in his brain. These could later filter through and become part of his thrillers. The rest, as they say, is history.

As a shy and lonely man, he had but a few friends. In the end, he died in 1987 like he had lived: a small dusty man in a small dusty room.

But what to make of ‘Alistair MacLean’s War’ by Mark Simmons? As MacLean died in 1987, most of the people who knew him are long dead too. Simmons extensively quotes from Jack Webster’s ‘Alistair Maclean: A life’, but the interesting idea is to also use quotes from MacLean’s own thrillers. Also, Simmons uses the war itself as a sort of canvas for the story. Tied together, these threads give the reader a novel insight in what sort of man Alistair MacLean was, what he became, and how the Royal Navy shaped his thrillers.

‘Alistair MacLean’s War’ is a valuable tribute to the life of the man who produced some of the most memorable thrillers ever to be published.

[Review] Paula Lennon: 'Murder in Montego Bay'

On the north coast of Jamaica lies Montego Bay. For tourists, it's paradise, for some inhabitants it resembles hell. Detective Preddy and his team are forced to accept the assistance of Detective Sean Harris, a red-haired and fair-skinned Scottish detective - yes, he is a caricature - who is seconded to Jamaica. Then, the scion – yes, Paula Lennon uses a lot of archaic words where simpler ones would have sufficed – of iced desserts empire Chinchillerz gets himself murdered.

A cloud hangs over Preddy, the result of a botched raid where several young men were killed by a hail of police bullets. Not only do they haunt his dreams, but his superiors lost faith in him. Early retirement looms for Preddy if he does not manage to find the killer quickly.

Working out of Pelican Walk police station, Preddy and his now expanded team must find the answers to the elusive Five Seven W's of policing: Who, What, When, Where, Why, With What, and (by) What Means.

So, what to make of it?

Some reviewers grumble about the use of Jamaican Patois, the local dialect, that is used throughout the Caribbean. It's not a problem, because it adds to the couleur locale of the story and I've seen it used to great effect before by Jacob Ross in 'The Bone Readers' and 'Black Rain Falling'.

Other things did bother me, though. That an overworked Preddy seems to be able to free himself for an entire morning every week to feed the poor via the charity kitchen is ludicrous. Lennon probably wanted to give Preddy a 'human face'.

And I cannot imagine why the Jamaican police would want to add a lowly Scottish detective to one of its squads. A feels like a gimmick that was copied from 'Death in Paradise'. If Jamaica would need assistance, I think that the American Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) would be their agency of choice. Jamaica is swamped with drugs and serves as a stepping stone for import into the US. Harris even gets to command the team and I wonder if that is even possible under Jamaican law.

The writing seems just that. Writing. I thought about it for quite some time and reached the conclusion that it misses 'soul'. The sentences do not 'dance'.

The moment Paula Lennon became aware of this review, she blocked me on social media. A bit immature, if you ask me.

Buy the book here.

[Review] Anne Glenconner: 'Murder on Mustique'

Mustique. Just let the word enter your brain, savour it, and you simply know: this little island in the Caribbean must have magical views, turquoise seas, lush trees, and purple-flowered bougainvilleas. A slight negative is that its very name via the French word moustique means 'mosquito'.

In 1958 the entire island was bought for £45,000 by Colin Tennant, the later 3rd Baron Glenconner. Mustique was eventually developed into an exclusive and very private retreat where the wealthy and nobility can escape to the privacy they sometimes crave for.

Anne Glenconner is the widow of Colin Tennant and she has written a spectacularly good mystery.

Someone is killing young heirs of great fortunes and no one knows why. Crime is almost unheard of on this little island and just a single policeman, Detective Sergeant Solomon Nile, is stationed on it. Lady Veronica Blake, a clear doublet of Anne Veronica Glenconner herself, takes the helm of the investigation as tropical storm Cristobal threatens to cut off the island completely from the outside world. A true Christie-esque mystery follows.

The storyline is perfectly crafted and Anne Glenconner writes in clear, crisp sentences. You quite understand that she knows the island very well and she's quite perceptive. Those little details other writers so often forget or don't know about are slipped into the story. Anne Glenconner is clearly proud of Mustique and what it stands for. You do feel that most of the suspects are drawn from the real rich and famous that live (or once lived) on Mustique.

As the number of murders increase, Lady Veronica, aka Lady Vee to her friends, is forced to suspect everyone of her inner circle. In the end, scenes worthy of a thriller by Alistair MacLean lead to the exposure of the killer.

Other reviewers grumble a bit about the privileged view Anne Glenconner has about the island, about the name-dropping, but they tend to forget that this was and still is the world she lives in. Every writer knows that you should write about the things you know best.

So, the verdict. Is it any good? Well, in my humble view, it's brilliant. It is a lightweight thriller with an airtight plot. Remembering that Anne Glenconner is born in 1932, one wonders why she didn't start writing mysteries much earlier.

Buy the book here.

[Review] Jacob Ross: 'Black Rain Falling'

I've read Jacob Ross' 'The Bone Readers' (review here) and was truly impressed. Could its sequel 'Black Rain Falling' equal or even surpass that feat?

[Buy the book here]

Our two protagonists are in trouble. Michael 'Digger' Digson has arrested a fellow-officer for driving (and killing someone) while under the influence of alcohol and that doesn't sit well with some of his colleagues. Miss Stanislaus shot and killed her own personal Nemesis and faces prosecution. Then murders start to accumulate quickly. Are all these events connected? Can Digger and Miss Stanislaus save their careers (and lives)?

Almost immediately I felt myself drawn into the story and the Caribbean. It was like standing in the central nave of the Notre-Dame de Paris looking at the circular rose window on a cloudy day. And then, quite suddenly, the sun breaks through the clouds and sparkles through the stained multi-coloured glass of the rose window. That sort of feeling.

Jacob Ross clearly has a deep love for his native Granada, a Caribbean island that features as Camaho in the story. Poverty is endemic. Poverty begets crime, crime begets greed, and greed begets murder. This sequence of events attracts evil, and evil begets fear. Both strands circle around each other forming an invisible double helix. This is life and living on an island with an inept police force, where only a few officers have the will and backbone to try to make a difference.

Suffice to say that 'Black Rain Falling' is a superbly written mystery. Every sentence is a small work of art. Together they create an image that Jacob Ross is a true poet and not 'just' a writer of thrillers.

Buy the book here.

[Recensie] Bram Enning: 'De oorlog van professor Bastiaans'

Professor Bastiaans (1917-1997) was jarenlang bekend door zijn behandeling van overlevenden van concentratiekampen. Hij gaf een naam aan hun problemen: het KZ-syndroom. Zo’n ernstig probleem had natuurlijk ook een unieke behandelmethode nodig en dat was zijn LSD-behandeling. Zowel het syndroom als de behandeling waren echter omstreden, zo blijkt uit het boek van historicus Bram Enning.

Bastiaans was opgeleid als psycho-analist en was dus een navolger van de bekende Sigmund Freud. Maar zelfs tijdens zijn opleiding was de psycho-analyse al vrijwel in onbruik geraakt omdat de resultaten van de behandeling maar heel matig bleken te zijn. Bastiaans ging zelfs nog een stapje verder: hij geloofde dat er jaren na de afloop van de oorlog nog lichamelijke problemen konden ontstaan die hun bron in die oorlog konden hebben. Dat konden hartaanvallen, hoge bloeddruk of diabetes zijn. Die theorie stond bekend als de psychosomatiek en het syndroom dat daarbij hoorde was het KZ-syndroom – KZ was de afkorting van Konzentrationslager ofwel concentratiekamp. Een speciaal syndroom dat volgens Bastiaans vaak slechts met het hallucinerende middel LSD behandeld kon worden.

Natuurlijk ontstond er direct al een probleem want hoe kon je bewijzen dat een hartaanval, die twintig jaar na de oorlog optrad, als oorzaak die oorlog had? Dat kon dus niet en daar lag dan ook de zwakte van de methode Bastiaans. Maar Bastiaans had belangrijke handlangers en dat waren zijn patiënten, die een deel van de oorlog in kampen hadden doorgebracht. Het punt was namelijk dat er na de oorlog een speciaal pensioen mogelijk was voor mensen die afgekeurd werden als gevolg van de doorstane ellende. En Bastiaans zorgde dat je probleem werd erkend als oorlogstrauma. Het gaf die verzetsstrijders ook de erkenning waar ze zo naar zochten. Je was voor je omgeving niet ‘fout’ geweest in de oorlog.

De ook al snel verouderde LSD-methode, waarmee Bastiaans de verdrongen herinneringen poogde op te halen had echter behoorlijke nadelen: door de hallucinaties konden er ook onware herinneringen worden opgewekt, maar voor Bastiaans was dat geen probleem. Jarenlang kon Bastiaans ongestoord zijn gang gaan. Kritiek op de methode was kritiek op Bastiaans en dan kwamen direct zijn patiënten in het geweer.

Want Bastiaans was een ijdele en opportunistische man, die er niet voor terugdeinsde om zijn patiënten in te zetten voor zijn eigen gewin. Hij was iemand die als eerste gebruik maakte van de media om zijn zin door te drijven bij de politiek. Achteraf gezien was het een schande dat hij zo lang ongestoord zijn gang kon gaan.

Pas toen vanuit Amerika de term 'Post Traumatische Stress Stoornis' (PTSS) kwam overwaaien, verloren de oud-verzetsstrijders hun unieke positie. Toen Bastiaans met pensioen ging was dat ook direct het einde van zijn speciale methode. Het boek is geen dolksteek in de rug, maar meer het zwaard waar Bastiaans zelf in is gesprongen. Een ontluisterend en zeer leesbaar boek.

Koop het boek hier.

[Review] Jacob Ross: 'The Bone Readers'

Forget 'Death in Paradise', the light-hearted television series (and books), created by Robert Thorogood, that paint an idyllic life on a friendly island in the Caribbean. Yes, in every episode a murder is committed, but the island of Guadeloupe (which doubles as Saint-Marie) remains the main attraction.

The reality is that the Caribbean is a bleak region. Poverty is endemic and the male population of the islands is mostly driven by despair (those who use drugs) or by greed (those who sell drugs).

[Buy the book here.]

Jacob Ross is a poet and writer who was born on the Caribbean island of Granada. Just a speck on the globe, but in 1979 a communist movement overthrew the government in a coup d'état. The country was in such disarray that the US decided that they needed to invade the island in 1983 to restore a semblance of law and order.

Jacob Ross has been a British citizen since the 1980s, but has never forgotten 'his' island. Ross' first publications were two collections of evocative short stories. 'The Bone Readers' is his first mystery. It features Michael “Digger” Digson who is barely out of school and, unable to afford the fees for university, he just passes the time loitering on the streets.

Digger is reluctantly recruited into a nascent section of the police force by DC Chilman, who is unscrupulously plucking a new, young but promising squad off the streets. Digger has two extraordinary skills that make him stand out: an ability to recognise voices, and the skill of reading human bones.

As a plain-clothes officer in this somewhat rogue police force, Digger has to investigate missing persons both present and past. DC Chilman is haunted by the disappearance of Nathan who left his mother’s house one day never to return. Digger himself is obsessed by his own mother’s unexplained disappearance, who was last seen during a demonstration against the rape of a woman, when he was a child.

Ross is able to vividly paint persons and surroundings. The dialogue is crisp and is mostly written in patois, the Caribbean island dialect. While it might seem daunting at first, it is actually quite easy to understand once you put some effort into it.

'The Bone Readers' is many things at once. It is a thriller (and a good one at that) but it is also a coming-of-age story, and a story of hope that good will (eventually) overcome bad. Running through the story is the stark observation that grief and loss can create a lasting hole in your heart.

In short: it is a brilliant story and I cannot recommend it enough.

Buy the book here.

[Review] Susanna Clarke: 'Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell'

In the end, it was just a hype.

After Joanne Rowling enamoured the world with her adventures about Harry Potter, the wizard and his wizarding world, everyone was waiting for someone who could write about the subject in 'a more literary way'.

[Buy the book here]

So, when Susanna Clarke was able to publish her version of the British world of wizards, she was hailed as a heroine herself because (as the Guardian claimed) she 'perfectly conveys all that can be brilliant about British literature and manages to be refreshingly different from either. Her novel feels unduly classical and nostalgic and yet timeless at the very same time and it has, at the heart of it, that thing which every truly great novel needs: a brilliant story'.

'Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell' imagines an 18th-Century England in which magic still exists, but as something people did once, long ago. All 'magicians' do is merely being 'theoretical magicians' because 'real magic' is considered vulgar. Mr Norrell wants to bring 'real magic' back to be respectable in English society.

While reading the rather expensive three-book luxury boxed set, I quickly started to get bored. There seemed to be no big encompassing story that culminated into a brilliant climax but the books seemed to just be a collection of short stories. There was never any feeling that the personality of Mr Norris grew or adapted itself to the changing circumstances.

Yes, for some reviewers the writing must have seemed literary, but only in the sense that it showed 'book learning' or 'bookcraft'. In reality, Susanna Clarke felt like a bit of a show-off.

In the end, I desperately longed for J.K. Rowling who is always able to put so much fun into each sentence she writes and manages to have a clear understanding of what people want to read.

Buy the book here.

Arthur Conan Doyle: Gelseminum as a Poison

Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-1930) studied medicine at the University of Edinburgh Medical School from 1876 to 1881. As part of his studies he, like so many others in that epoch, experimented with various potions on himself.

One such experiment even managed to get published in the austere Brititish Medical Journal. On September 20, 1879 the Journal published a letter entitled 'Gelseminum as a Poison' in which Doyle recounts his use of a tincture of gelseminum (now known as gelsemium) as a potential treatment of neuralgia, or neuropathic (nerve) pain[1].

The then 19-year-old Doyle was 'determined to ascertain how far one might go in taking the drug, and what the primary symptoms of an overdose might be'.

Doyle proceeded to prepare a tincture and recorded his observations like any good scientist should: he noted the dose and physiological effects, avoided tobacco, and dosed himself at the same time each day.

At low doses of 40 and 60 minums (2.4 to 3.6 milliliters) he observed no effects, but 20-minutes after ingesting 90 minums (5.4 milliliters) he experienced extreme 'giddiness'. At 120 minums (7.2 milliliters) the giddiness was abated, but several hours later he had vision problems. Any psychological symptoms were gone by 150 minums (9.0 milliliters), and all that remained were headaches and extreme diarrhea. Most would have stopped there, but not Doyle. He pushed on towards 200 minum (12.0 milliliters), at which the persistent and prostrating diarrhoea, a severe frontal headache, and a weak pulse forced him to abandon his experiments.

He concluded that healthy adults may take up to 90 minums, but that at doses of 90-120 the drug induces a sort of mild paralysis.

This letter 'Gelseminum as a Poison' was the first step in Arthur Conan Doyle's journey to become a famous writer.

The genus Gelsemium is contains three species of shrubs to straggling or twining climbers. Two species are native to North America, and one to China and Southeast Asia. All three species of this genus are poisonous. Reports of Gelsemium elegans poisoning are rare but not unheard of[2].

[1] Gibson, Green (Eds.): The Unknown Conan Doyle: Letters to the Press – 1986
[2] Zhou et al: Gelsemium elegans Poisoning: A Case with 8 Months of Follow-up and Review of the Literature in Frontiers of Neurology - 2017. See here.

[Review] E.S. Thomson: 'Nightshade'

Buy the book because it's bloody brilliant.

Well, I can imagine that the above review is a bit short for a reader who wants to know why 'Nightshade' should be bought. I agree, and what follows is the extended version of the review.

[Buy the book here]

'Nightshade' is already the fifth book of Elaine Thomson's that follows the intrepid Jem Flockhart (apothecary) and his/her* friend Will Quartermain (architect).

Quartermain has been ill, but on the mend. Because he likes being in the physic garden, Flockhart decides to somewhat redesign the garden which was originally designed by her mother, Catherine Underhill. Soon they discover, buried beneath the plot of deadly nightshade, a man's skeleton with a smaller, child-like skeleton curled at its feet. The skeleton has a series of knife wounds to its ribs and arms. In addition, Flockhart and Quartermain find a collection of macabre objects in the grave.

This strange discovery awakes somebody or something because soon the murders begin. Each victim is found with its mouth stuffed with deadly nightshade. As they move closer to discovering the truth, Flockhart and Quartermain must enter a dark world of addiction, sex, and ultimately, madness.

'Nightshade' is constructed as two intertwined tales, one situated in 1818 and the other in 1858. Elaine Thomson skillfully weaves both into a beautifully coherent mystery. So atmospheric are the descriptions of London and its ever-present mists that your senses almost think that it must be real. We were already acquainted with the gory and grime of early Victorian London, but now we discover that Elaine Thomson has managed to add an additional layer of Gothic horror.

As I said: Buy the book because it's bloody brilliant.

Buy the book here.

* You should read the books for an explanation.

[Review] Anthony Horowitz: 'Moonflower Murders'

Like 'Magpie Murders', the story of 'Moonflower Murders' is a book-within-a-book. Thus, we read the story from two different perspectives. It seemed like an interesting idea in principle, but I wasn't convinced it really worked in 'Magpie Murders'.

Others, however, disagreed and wondered if Anthony Horowitz would be able to bottle lightning twice. As I wasn't struck by his lightning the first time around, I started with some trepidation in 'Moonflower Murders'.

[Buy the book here]

On page 14 we are told of the Trehernes, a family that owns a hotel in rural Surrey. One of their daughters, Cecily, briefly travels to London where she meets a handsome man. They fall in love, return to Surrey, and decide to marry. Obviously, the hotel is a perfect location for the ceremony. The night before the ceremony a stranger appears and books a room in the hotel. You guessed it correctly if you thought that the stranger was then brutally murdered in his room.

Please no, I thought. Don't let this be the most idiotic plot in the history of the writing of mysteries. Don't let me wade through two books, only to learn that [Redacted: spoiler] killed the guest. But then the newlywed wife disappears. Are both cases connected?

Other things bothered me too. The victim, Frank Parris, is a clear doublet of Alan Conway, the supposed author of 'Atticus Pünd Takes The Case' in 'Magpie Murders'. Both are unkind and selfish. Both were gay and even shared the same partner. And both managed to get themselves killed. It almost seems as if Anthony Horowitz has an unconscious urge to kill gay men in his books.

Again, Susan Ryeland, Alan Conway's former editor, gets involved. She is tasked to investigate the murder of Frank Parris and the disappearance of Cecily Treherne. Cecily told her parents that she read Alan Conway's 'Atticus Pünd Takes The Case' and found a new clue as to who the killer was. Reason enough for Anthony Horowitz to haul Susan Ryeland from Crete to investigate.

A conclusion? I wonder why almost all other reviews of 'Moonflower Murders' are ranging from the very positive to positively raving. It's a dull book, badly in need of an editor with a sharp pen (for it's much too long), and a truly disappointing plot.

'Moonflower Murders' is the last book written by Anthony Horowitz I will ever read. He let me down badly.

Buy the book here.

[Review] Anthony Horowitz: 'Magpie Murders'

Anthony Horowitz likes to experiment, or maybe he's just bored. His 'Magpie Murders' is not one book but two books for the price of one. A book within a book.

[Buy the book here]

Crime writer Alan Conway is not a very likeable man but has been a bestselling author for a number of years. His detective Atticus Pünd is clearly a derivative of Hercule Poirot, although Conway makes him an Austrian survivor of the Nazi concentration camps. Pünd, like Poirot, solves crimes in the sleepy English countryside of the 1950s.

Problems arise when his latest mystery appears to be missing the final chapters when he delivers it to his publishers. Then Alan Conway managed to get himself killed and his editor Susan Ryeland goes in search of the missing chapters and the truth of Conway's demise.

So, did it work? Did Anthony Horowitz, like a true magician, manage to pull off his trick?

That is a question that is difficult to answer, because how should you look at such a book? Should you look at the whole or should you take it apart and look at the two books separately.

Let's do both.

As a whole 'Magpie Murders' is a rather satisfying mystery. This whodunnit is set in the über-English village of Saxby-on-Avon, where the widely disliked Mary Blakiston has been found dead at the bottom of the stairs in Pye Hall, the grand house where she worked as a housekeeper. The story is a true homage to Agatha Christie (and is obviously much, much better than Sophie Hannah’s Poirot continuations). It is fairly well clued with a number of red herrings, although I already managed to detect the identity of the killer when I was at page 68 of the second book.

The actual manuscript of the 'Magpie Murders', supposedly written by Alan Conway, wasn't a joy to read. Anthony Horowitz tried to adapt his own style to show that the manuscript was written by another writer. That didn't go too well. The sentences are short, almost staccato, and the writing is devoid of any sense of humour. I can't imagine that Alan Conway's books would ever have sold as many as is mentioned.

Still, if you regard the 'Magpie Murders' as a pastiche and read it with a glass of wine, it's not too bad. Maybe this will be the effect of the wine but who cares.

Buy 'Magpie Murders' here.

[Review] Danielle DiMartino Booth: 'Fed Up'

John Maynard Keynes (1883-1946) became one of the most influential economists who built on (and greatly refined) earlier work on the causes of business cycles. Known as Keynesian economics, his insights are still adhered to by influential policymakers.

The American Federal Reserve of FED was formed in 1913 after a series of financial crises that led to the desire for central control of the monetary system in order to create some sort of cushion to avert or dampen future financial crises.

Keynes was shaped by the Great Depression in the 1930s. But, as anyone with a bit of a working brain can see, the world has changed since then. Computers and the internet have had an enormous effect on the way countries, corporations, banks, and people do business. Trillions of dollars are sloshing between continents at the mere click of 'Enter'.

So, you would expect that the governors of the FED would be steeped in modern economics, had previous experience in banking, or had led a corporation. That is sadly not the case, almost all governors are academics and they still adhere to the now largely archaic Keynesian economics.

Danielle DiMartino Booth had been an analyst on Wall Street, had had a brief stint at a regional Fed and became a preferred researcher to Richard Fisher, governor of the Dallas Fed. The book is a chronology of her experiences leading up to and during the financial crisis. What DiMartino Booth describes in 'Fed Up: An insiders take on why the Federal Reserve is bad for America' is best described as a collision of supertankers. Inept and out of touch with reality, governors of the FED continued to make decisions based on faulty premisses.

A succession of Keynesians, Alan Greenspan (1987-2006), Ben Bernanke (2006-2014), Janet Yellen (2014-2018), and Jerome Powell (2018-2023), tried to counter each and every crisis with the idea that the use of fiscal and monetary policies to mitigate the adverse effects of economic downturns. When those policies had little or no effect, panic set in and money was simply and magically created out of thin air. Zero Interest Rates resulted in asset bubbles penalized savers and insurance companies.

There never was an exit plan, never an idea on how to recoup that money, no grasp of what effect their policies would have on America's middle class. Yes, the rich became even richer, but millions of regular Americans faced financial ruin.

Has the Fed learned from its mistakes? No. Has the newly elected president Joe Biden learned from previous mistakes? No. He elected Janet Yellen as Secretary of the Treasury. 

An even better question is: Why has the US turned into a gerontocracy? We all know that men and women of advanced age often suffer from dementia and have ossified brains.

The conclusion must be that the book is a chronicle of chronic ineptitude and tunnel vision.

'Fed Up: An insiders take on why the Federal Reserve is bad for America' is a book everybody should read as a depressing warning from the past and a harrowing vision of the future. Because, as the US is in effect ruled by a gerontocracy, all thinking is ossified and nothing will change.

Buy the book here.

Alternative etymology: Tintagel

Tintagel is an early medieval settlement, fortress, and natural harbour on the extreme western edge of the known world. Tintagel is often seen as a remote outpost of the Roman Empire, with a role in the important international trade in Cornish tin.

That view is wrong, because Tintagel was once at the very heart of several sea lanes that connected it to the centre of the Roman Empire and beyond. Recent archaeological excavations found countless fragments of amphoras that had contained wine and olive oil.

But what does the name 'Tintagel' mean? The accepted etymology is that it derives from Cornish British, where din means 'fort' and tagell 'neck', 'throat' but in the sense of 'constriction'. Thus the name would mean 'fort on the peninsula' or 'fortress by the neck (of the land)'.

But there's a problem with this etymology, because the Cornish language of the 13th century would have lacked the soft 'g' ('i/j' in its earliest forms).

I was wondering if the etymology of Tintagel could possibly be Punic/Phoenician. As Caitlin Green has written, some place-names in Great Britain might have a Punic origin.

Could the origin of the name Tintagel be related to ‘Y TNT, meaning the ‘Isle (of) Tanit’, the chief goddess of the ancient Phoenician mercantile power of Carthage?

This wouldn't be the first location to be named in honour of the goddess Tanit, because a second Isle of Thanet lies at the most easterly point of Kent, England. While in the past it was separated from the mainland by the 600-metre-wide Wantsum Channel, these days it is no longer an island. Like, that of Tintagel, the etymology of this island is also doubtful and often disputed.

So, we have two places named 'Isle of Tanit', each at the extreme edges of the British Isles, Tintagel in the east and the Isle of Thanet in the west.

Because the treacherous Channel Islands would surely appear on Phoenician maps, Caitlin Green also proposes a logical etymology for Sark and finds the Proto-Semitic root *śrq, ‘redden', 'rise (as of the sun)' or 'east’.  Compare that to Modern Arabic šarq, ‘east’, which would give good sense as Sark is the easternmost island of the Guernsey group of islands. Coast hugging vessels would need to cross the perilous English Channel after sighting Sark. Then an easterly course would lead them to Tintagel.

I imagine that Phoenician captains would mark these points on their maps, rutters or experience as they were the start and the end of their perilous voyage to and from Tintagel.

[Review] Miranda Carter: 'The Devil's Feast'

The year is 1842 and in Londen the gentlemen-only Reform Club has recently opened. Its kitchen is ruled by the flamboyant French chef de cuisine Alexis Soyer (1810-1858), whose spotless kitchen is a marvel of Victorian modernity. It has faucets with instant hot water and gas ranges with adjustable flames. Soyer's eponymous Lamb Cutlets Reform are still on the Reform Club's menu. But then, during one of Soyer’s lavish private dinners, a guest is poisoned. Hoping to avoid a scandal Capt. William Avery, the Watson to Jeremiah Blake’s Sherlock Holmes, is tasked with the investigation.

[Buy the book here]

The problem is that Blake is unavoidably 'detained' and unable to partake in the investigation himself. So, Avery is on his own and soon he's awash in suspects. Quickly we understand that he's intellectually not up to his task and he stumbles through the mystery, often totally unsure what to do next.

What do we make of this? We understand that a lot of research has been put into the story. We learn how Victorians - and certainly Soyes - were at the forefront of technology and we are shown which exquisite, yet sometimes too showy delicacies were created to impress the guests of the austere club.

Yet the story often lacks impetus and it drags on and on towards the inevitable last page. It just feels as if Miranda Carter was physically or mentally too tired to write a compelling storyline. If you had hoped to read a mystery that was engrossing, you might be somewhat disappointed, but Miranda Carter's beautiful writing always seem to flow effortlessly from her pen (or fingertips). That fact never fails to impress.

Buy the book here.

[Review] Anthony Horowitz: 'The Word is Murder'

The elderly Diana Cowper entered a funeral parlour to arrange her own burial. Everything was planned down to the last detail. A wise decision at her age, one can argue, but the story takes a more sinister turn when she's brutally murdered. Just six hours later.

Hawthorne, a disgraced and disgruntled ex-police detective and now an investigating consultant, is tasked to look into the case, but he sees an additional opportunity. Why not have the investigation chronicled by a famous author and earn some extra money? An author who Hawthorne has been advising on procedure for one the author’s TV shows. His name was Anthony Horowitz.

Anthony Horowitz is known for writing the scripts for (some episodes of) Poirot and (all episodes of) Foyle's War. Younger readers might recognize the name because he also writes the immensely popular Alex Rider series.

So, Anthony Horowitz, writes a thriller with himself in the role of Watson to Sherlock Holmes (or – more fittingly - Sam Stewart to Christopher Foyle). The story is set after the supposed end of Foyle’s War, thus before the Cold War episodes. Throughout the story Horowitz gives us an insight in his busy writing schedule, juggling time and means to write all the books his readers are expecting from him.

The mystery of 'The Word is Murder' is fairly well constructed. Still, a part where Horowitz writes about meeting producer Steven Spielberg and director Peter Jackson does feel like padding and gives the entire book an unnecessary show of being somewhat like a vanity project. Besides, in some parts the writing seems to lack a bit of natural flow, possibly the result of too many rewrites or - equally possible – because Horowitz was still in the process of transitioning from a young adult writer to a writer for the adult market.

The overall conclusion was that 'The Word is Murder' is a solid first try, but I will hesitate to read the second installment, 'The Sentence is Death'.

Buy 'The Word is Murder' here.

[Review] Kate Griffin: 'Kitty Peck and the Music Hall Murders'

Sometimes the journey is more interesting than the destination. Well, that might be true for Kate Griffin's 'Kitty Peck and the Music Hall Murders'.

One fateful day, the story goes, when Griffin commuted home, she collected a copy of a magazine. It mentioned a crime fiction competition, which requested entrants to submit 6,000 words of crime fiction featuring a female protagonist. She read it, shoved the magazine away and forgot about it. Later that year, Griffin found the magazine again, started to write, entered the competition, and won. Then she had to write the entire book in a few short months.

[Buy the book here]

Set in 1880, dancing girls are going missing from 'Paradise', the abode of Lady Ginger. Kitty Peck, a 17 (or 18) year old seamstress, is tasked by Lady Ginger to discover what happened to these missing girls. A monster seems to hide in the shadows.

'Kitty Peck and the Music Hall Murders' is set in a music hall in Victorian London. Kate Griffin might have won a competition, but her book faces stiff competition from more established writers, such as E.S. Thomson and her protagonist and apothecary Jem Flockhart.

I'm not sure 'Kitty Peck and the Music Hall Murders' is good enough. More than 60 pages into the story and there's an almost total absence of crime, thrills, and chills. It gets somewhat better from then on, but the story doesn't rise to the occasion. The story has neither depth nor atmosphere, while the writing itself is rather bland. I was starting to wonder if the book should be called a young adult thriller or perhaps a thriller that was written by a young adult.

What was obvious, however, that Kate Griffin knows about the history of Britain in Victorian times. She does write about the grime, depravity, and the poverty of those trying times, but  what's missing from the pages is a sense of crime.

Crime fiction without crime is just fiction.

Buy the book here.