Flavia de Luce, an eleven-year-old with a near-genius mind, apparently has way too much time, and too much curiosity, for a child who is benignly neglected by her father and ignored, at best, by her disdainful and tormenting older sisters. When we first encounter her in The Weed That Strings the Hangman’s Bag, she is prostrate in the Bishop’s Lacey village churchyard, imagining her own funeral in all its glory, but is distracted by the sound of a crying woman.  The woman is Nialla, assistant to a nationally known puppeteer, Rupert Porson, and their van has broken down in the village.

While their van is being repaired, Rupert and Nialla find temporary quarters with a local family and Rupert agrees to put on a show of  “Jack and the Beanstalk” for the village.  Rupert claims to have never met the host family before but one of his puppets bears an uncanny resemblance to the family’s child who died in mysterious circumstances several years earlier.  Later, Rupert is killed in a questionable way and Flavia begins to wonder if the two deaths are connected.  Abandoning her current chemical experiments, including the dastardly poisoning of a box of chocolates intended for her sister, she and her trusty bicycle, Gladys, are off on the hunt.  (One of the funniest scenes in the book takes place when Flavia must retrieve the chocolates before the wrong person eats them.)

Canadian author Alan Bradley is a mystery in himself—how does a middle-aged man do so well at evoking the charm and ferocious brilliance of this young girl?  The first book won quite a few awards and this second entry in the series  is no slouch itself.  I only wish we didn’t have to wait so long for the next one, A Red Herring Without Mustard, due in March 2011.

Flavia de Luce is my favorite sleuth these days, hands down.  When I first met her last year in The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, I thought the author had created a wonderful character, one who could appeal to nearly all types of mystery readers, not to mention non-mystery readers who just like a really good story.  Throw in a large dash of humor and you’ve got a winner.  Best of all, Flavia is a terrific introduction to mysteries for the  younger reader and, as a bonus, they can learn a little about post-World War II England.  This one’s in my Top Five for 2010.

Much of my reading is by way of audio editions and I’ve become downright picky about the narrators.   This is the second of three I’ve listened to that’s read by Jayne Entwistle and I wish she had more.  In both of the Flavia books, Ms. Entwistle IS Flavia and I really can’t imagine any other voice for her .  An already wonderful book is made even more delightful by the right narrator and, in this case, Jayne Entwistle is it.

Reviewed by Lelia Taylor.

Flavia de Luce is an odd duck, there’s just no getting around that.  She’s odd in ways that speak to the insecure in most people: she contemplates her funeral, she believes that nobody cares for her, she is curious about things that others have no interest in (at least nobody she knows).  She’s mischievous, sly, intelligent, and sometimes malicious.  She’s
also young enough not to realize, at least sometimes, the long-term consequences of her actions.

In HANGMAN’S BAG, Flavia once again helps Inspector Hewitt.  He is less reluctant to listen to Flavia this time around.  Her perceptions are insightful, her grasp of nuance fine.  So when Rupert Porson, master puppeteer, is electrocuted, Hewitt believes Flavia when she tells him it was not an accident.

There are undercurrents in Bishop’s Lacey that Flavia is aware of but doesn’t comprehend all the ramifications of, at least not entirely.  It is obvious that Rupert has been in Bishop’s Lacey before; one of his puppets is the spitting image of a young boy who died several years before.  There must be some connection, but what?

Bradley has, once again, captured the essence of rural England right after WWII.  Flavia has an innocence that would be impossible today, and a precociousness that would express itself far differently in our world.  The family dynamics of the de Luce’s is enough to make one’s teeth itch.  All in all, a delightful read.  Book three in the series can’t come soon enough.

Reviewed by P.J. Coldren

A Country Affair

A Country Affair
Rebecca Shaw
Three Rivers Press, 2006
ISBN 1400098203
Trade Paperback

I’m an addict when it comes to the heartwarming sort of small town story, the kind that involves a large cast of characters living unremarkable lives but you can’t help wanting to know what’s going to happen next.  You know the kind of books I mean, Jan Karon’s Mitford, Ann B. Ross’s Miss Julia, Thomas Kinkade’s Cape Light, Jennifer Chiaverini’s Elm Creek Quilts.  The geographical setting doesn’t matter too much, although I prefer North America or the UK and, if animals are involved, I like it even more.  James Herriot is one of my favorite writers and I never tire of his Yorkshire Dales veterinarian stories so, when I came across this book, I settled down for what I was sure would be a comfortable read.  It didn’t quite  make it but it came close.

Kate Howard has just taken a job as a receptionist in a large veterinary practice in Barleybridge, a picture-postcard English village where life is generally charming.  Most of the novel revolves around the doings of the people, not so much about the animals, and I missed that.   I didn’t like all the characters but that’s okay as it would be a bit too sappy if everybody was likable.  Still,  one of the vets commits a fairly cowardly act and Kate herself is a tad too naive.  I reminded myself, though, that she’s just nineteen so she’s allowed to be a bit immature.

I didn’t dislike this book but I didn’t wholeheartedly like it either.  Rebecca Shaw is a bestselling author in England so I’ll be reading the next in the trilogy to see if Kate and everybody else in the village will grow on me.

Recommended with reservations.

Reviewed by Lelia Taylor