When I was a teenager, my mother introduced me to the writings of Agatha Christie. I spent many happy hours with a paperback from my Great Aunt Stella's bookshelf, curled up on the daybed, transported to some other country - mostly England. Mom and I would discuss who we thought "done it" later on.
Mom was a keen fan of mysteries and gave me books by Dorothy Sayers, P.D. James, and so many others through the years. The last one she gave me before she died at the age of 97 was Donna Leon's Death at La Fenice.
Death. Well, of course, that's the foundation of the mystery. And yet, there is nothing more comforting than a genre that gives the illusion of permanence amidst the uncertainties of life. Whatever the outcome, there will be an answer.
In my twenties and thirties, I devoured mostly science fiction and it wasn't until my forties that I went back to reading mysteries. Though there are brilliant writers in science fiction, including Ursula LeGuin, Isaac Asimov, and the incomparable Frank Herbert, I still rank mystery writers as some of the finest authors in print.
I have many, many favorites now. One is Stuart MacBride, a Scottish author. Another is Arnaldur Indridason, who is Icelandic. And the moment Louise Penny releases a new book about her Canadian Inspector Gamache, I will even pay for it in hardback.
Most of the time, though, I either pick up a book from the public library or download an audiobook. My favorite narrator is Angus King, whose Scottish accent absolutely slays me. He is so good at imparting an author's humor. Sometimes I laugh out loud and I'm sure people wonder if I'm on the phone with someone.
What brought me to write this blog post today, though, was while reading a book by Peter Robinson, Not Dark Yet. I just found myself stirred by his incandescent writing. I had to put the book down and close my eyes.
This is the second time I've been stopped by his sheer mastery. Months ago, I laid aside Standing in the Shadows to copy a phrase that enchanted me. I don't think I am supposed to quote him here, as I respect copyright issues.
Anyway, I haven't touched my blog in months, but reading Robinson's prose inspired me. Maybe I will write a poem soon.
I hope you like the spooky picture that I took during a squall last summer. It would have been a perfect backdrop for one of Merry Folger's mysteries set in Nantucket.
