Tag Archives: 1970s

“Life is really a One Way street, isn’t it?” (At Bertram’s Hotel, Agatha Christie)

11 Feb

completemissmarpleThe title of this post is a line by Miss Jane Marple, that unforgettable prototype of the intelligent, interested, principled, elderly lady sleuth.

Several months ago, the Complete Miss Marple Collection (digital version) was on sale at amazon for a truly ridiculous price–something like $5.99. Being a fan of Dame Christie, I snapped it up (yes, I have all of them in print, and have for at least forty years, but many are in Spanish, and all of them are falling apart at the seams, from age and use).

With one thing and another, I’ve been reading snippets here and there, until a few weeks ago. Feeling a bit sick, I finally fell into one of the stories.

Yay!….?

Well…

Not so much.

See, things that I barely noticed before, or that I was able to shrug off when I did notice, now bother me a great deal, making it difficult for me to fully enjoy these stories that, for so long, were among my favorite reading.

Allow me to explain.

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A Morbid Taste for Bones, by Ellis Peters

20 Jan

A Morbid Taste for BonesA few months ago, I don’t remember exactly how or where (though I am pretty sure it was during the many discussions of the puppies and the Hugos), it was brought to my attention that the author of the Brother Cadfael novels was, in fact, a woman.

On impulse, the next time I happened to visit the one remaining used bookstore within fifty miles, I bought over half a dozen of the Cadfael Chronicles, thinking it was about time I read at least one of the books that helped popularize historical mysteries.

Unfortunately, by then I was suffering form the most horrific reading slump known to woman, and so the books have been languishing in the many peaks and ridges of ye olde TBR Cordillera.

Until Saturday.

On Saturday, I grabbed the first title and didn’t let go until I was done.

So here it is, my first TBR Challenge review of 2016.¹

A Morbid Taste for Bones, by Ellis Peters

I am not exactly sure how I had managed to keep myself innocent of all things Brother Cadfael. I mean, I knew that there was a television series, apparently very good, but that was pretty much it.

Now, I’m kicking myself over and over–what. an. idiot! I’ve been, not reading these novels!

Here’s the blurb, from my battered paper copy:
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