Found the good.

Find the GoodFind the Good by Heather Lende

Heather asked me for a blurb for this book last May. I warned her that I almost never do blurbs because, well, I suck at them. She sent me the book and that evening I emailed her thusly:

Take your pick. Or chose none at all:

“A beguiling evocation of small-town life, and death.”

“The perfect book club book.”

“This goes right on the Christmas list for every member of my family.”

Picked it up at the post office this afternoon, came home, sat down, read it in one sitting. I want to move to Haines, and I want you to write my obituary, too.


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Sir Robert Carey returns for a seventh glorious outing

A Chorus of InnocentsA Chorus of Innocents by P.F. Chisholm

O frabjous day! Here we are on horseback again, galloping ventre a terre over the Debateable Lands between England and Scotland circa 1592. Yes, Sir Robert Carey returns for a seventh glorious outing, and I am delighted to report that this time we get to spend some quality time with Elizabeth Widdrington, Sir Robert’s love. The book begins on the Scottish side of the border with the murder of a minister and the rape of his wife, heavily pregnant with their first child. She finds her way to her friend, Elizabeth, in England, and Elizabeth, in spite of the inevitable repercussions from her abusive but for the moment conveniently absent husband, rides off to find the killers, if she can. In so doing she puts herself most grievously at risk from far too many people far too eager to make a buck off the kidnapping and murder of an English noblewoman on the wrong side of this very fraught and fluid border.

There is plenty of action here (Elizabeth herself kicks ass! Squee!), and as always the scene Chisholm sets is a veritable time travel portal you step through the instant you turn to the first page

It was surprising and the older one thought a little shocking that there were so many kirks, and not all of them burnt or in ruins like in the Low countries. Some old Catholic churches had been torn down and a new one put up, but more often they were just altered with the heads of the saints knocked off and the paintings whitewashed. Not every village had a kirk, by a long way, but a lot did.

Find me a better description of post-Reformation Scotland, do, but what I found most fascinating was Elizabeth’s inner dialogue over her situation. We get to see her first meeting with Sir Robert

Their eyes had met. Their bodies had known their business and kept a distance, but their eyes…

She is married to a man she doesn’t love who positively hates her and delights in showing her how much with his fists (and a nice reveal as to why). She is in love with Sir Robert (as who isn’t) and he loves her, too, but she is an honorable woman and she won’t cheat. She does have some revolutionary thoughts on women and society and religion that are wonderfully revealing of that time and place and even more revealing of her own intelligence. She is a worthy match for Sir Robert.

And of course there is that wonderful Chisholm voice, as in

She had liked Jamie Burn; he was a good man, perhaps a little hot tempered, perhaps a little intolerant, but he had started a school for the children of the village and his sermons were only an hour long.


“…There’s a street called Cheapside where they have shops with great plates and goblets and bowls of gold and siller in the windows and nought but a couple of bullyboys and some bars to keep them.”

”Where’s London exactly?” asked Bangtail, with the slitty eyed look of a Graham with a plan.


There was nothing wrong with killing somebody for money, of course, but killing one of your own surname for an outsider? That was disgraceful.

Sergeant Henry Dodd is back

And moreover the moon was behind more clouds making the night pitchblack, so Dodd sighed, brought the hobbies into the shelter so no one would ask why they were there and rolled himself up in his cloak across the door opening and hoped no one would wake him because burying people took time and was a lot of effort.

and meet Mr. Anricks, a tooth drawer and a pursuivant (aka spy) for Sir Robert Cecil, and Young Henry with his unfortunate spots, and all the boys in Minister Burn’s choir, especially little Jimmy Tait. The book finishes with a marvelous set piece of derring-do involving enough arms and ammunition for the siege of Stalingrad, and the last line will leave you with your heart in your mouth. Don’t worry, I won’t spoil, but oh! I can’t wait for Number 8.

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It’s like Darwin wrote steampunk.

The Voyage of the Basilisk (Memoir by Lady Trent, #3)The Voyage of the Basilisk by Marie Brennan

Even better than the first two in this series, and what a beautiful production–wonderful wrap-around cover art, deckle edges, a map, beautiful illustrations, the Dickensian chapter headings change at the top of the page to reflect the action below, and, good lord, blue ink. Lady Trent, excuse me, Dame Isabella I should say, never looked this good, certainly never on expedition.

Oh yeah, the story. A delightful third outing, in which as usual naturalist Lady Trent’s obsession with dragons is yet again sidetracked by political events beyond her control, and this time featuring a sort of zeppelin. It’s like Darwin wrote steampunk. Fun.

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“…occasional women-only orgies (not that the men don’t benefit thereby).”

EuphoriaEuphoria by Lily King

Anthropologist Nell (pretty obviously based on the character of Margaret Mead) studies a tribe in New Guinea where the women have achieved a remarkable level of equality in the running of their lives and the tribe’s life and even in sex to the point of having occasional women-only orgies (not that the men don’t benefit thereby). Her husband Fen, also an anthropologist and burning with envy over Nell’s bestseller book written about a previous study, naturally poo-poo’s all of her findings and then conceives the excellent notion to steal an artifact from a neighboring and much more warlike tribe. This endangers his life, her life, the life of their visiting friend and fellow anthropologist Andrew, not to mention the lives of their entire host tribe.

But Nell stays. I know too many women like Nell, we all know too many women like Nell, who obstinately refuse to look directly at the mirror being held in front of them to see clearly the life they are living. Here, even Nell’s discovery of a primitive Guinean tribe which has achieved virtual gender equality isn’t enough to show her how much better, not to mention safer, their women’s lives are than her own. It is left to one of the tribal members to warn Andrew, “He [Fen] will break her. And he has already, and he will again, but goddammit! Why is she so willfully blind to the risk? Especially when an object lesson is staring her directly in the face? Is it because they’re brown and she’s white and they’re savages and she’s civilized and so ipso facto they cannot possibly have anything to teach her? Stupid, stupid, stupid. She draws no parallels, and her a scientist. Fen is a scientist, too, but ambition and jealousy and laziness and pretty much sheer assholery have equally blinded him to his own realities. Nell’s right when she says that Fen doesn’t want to study the Wokup, he wants to become one. If ever a guy deserved to be killed and eaten and have his head shrunk, Fen was him.

This book rang several different bells hard with me, domestic abuse, professional jealousy, primitive society versus civilized society, the subjective nature of the study of anthropology. Heisenberg was so right, anthropologists cannot help but change the living, breathing entities they choose to observe, because the only way to observe them is to interact with them, and that changes them.

It doesn’t help when you steal from them, either. A great book for a book club. Recommended.

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Words to time travel by.

The Time Traveler's Guide to Medieval England: A Handbook for Visitors to the Fourteenth CenturyThe Time Traveler’s Guide to Medieval England: A Handbook for Visitors to the Fourteenth Century by Ian Mortimer

A wealth of detail in this you-are-there look at life in medieval England. Just dipping in at random:

When you draw closer to the city walls you will see the great gatehouse…And then you notice the smell. Four hundred yards from the city gate, the muddy road you are folowing crosses a brook. As you look along the banks you see piles of refuse, broken crockery, animal bones, entrails, human feces, and rotting meat strewn in and around the bushes. In some places the muddy banks slide into thick quagmires whhere townsmen have hauled out their refuse and pitched it into the stream. In others, rich green grasses, reeds, and undergrowth spring from the highly fertilized earth. As you watch, two seminaked men lift another barrel of excrement from the back of a cart and empty it into the water. A small brown pig roots around in the garbage. It is not called Shitbrook for nothing.


Medieval society thinks of itself like this: there are three sections of society, or “estates,” created by God–those who fight [the aristocracy], those who pray [the clergy], and those work the land [the peasantry]…Between 1333 and 1346 it is systematically shredded by the English longbowmen, who, although ranked among “those who work,” show that they are a far more potent military force than the massed charging ranks of “those who fight.”


…women are blamed for all the physical, intellectual, and moral weaknesses of society.

and, delightfully

If you find yourself speaking English with the locals do not be surprised if their language gets a little rough around the edges. Just as fourteenth-century place names are direct descriptions of localities (for instance: “Shitbrook Street,” Pissing Alley”), so daily speech is equally straightforward and ribald…So if someone slaps you on the back in a hearty way and exclaims, “Your breeches and your very balls be blessed” do not take it amiss. It is a compliment.

Words to time travel by.

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The Heaven Tree Trilogy

You will know Ellis Peters for her Brother Cadfael series, all twenty of which occupy a permanent place on my bookshelf, too. They are comfort reads, books I reach for at random to curl up with in front of a fire in the wood stove on a dark winter night.

But. Under her real name, Edith Pargeter, she wrote three novels published in omnibus format called The Heaven Tree Trilogy, which she considered the best novels she ever wrote. So do I.

The Heaven Tree Trilogy is set on the Welsh border a century before the Brother Cadfael novels, during the tumultuous reign of King John. In Volume One, The Heaven Tree, we meet Harry Talvace, an aristocrat-turned-stonemason who rebels against his father and flees to France to save his friend, Adam, where they met the mysterious Lord of Parfois. Volume Two, The Green Branch, jumps ahead to the story of Harry’s son, across the border in the court of Llewelyn, Prince of North Wales, and in Volume Three, The Scarlet Seed, young Harry’s story concludes in a civil war and the siege of Parfois, with big surprises and a thoroughly satisfying resolution.

The Heaven Tree Trilogy is a marvel of an historical novel with great characters, a riveting plot and that vivid, matchless setting, the border between Wales and England that Pargeter wrote about better than anyone else.

How do I know that Pargeter considered The Heaven Tree Trilogy her best work? Because after I read it, I wrote her to accuse her of having stock in Kleenex (just you wait, after you read it at my instigation you’ll be accusing me of the same thing).

Amazingly, she wrote back, a short note with the loveliest little twinkle in it.



Dear Ms. Stabenow,

I’m sorry to have caused you so much expense in tissues, and yet I take it as a compliment. I still regard the trilogy as the best thing I have done, and prefer it to all the other books, and I’m glad when readers feel the same.

With all best wishes,

Edith Pargeter

She died four months later. I will be forever glad I dared to write to her to tell her how much I loved her books.

After her death Jack Adrian wrote that

Her Cadfael books will be recognised by genre historians as pioneering works. Perhaps she pulled her punches when it came to describing the real muck and blood and stench of the Middle Ages…and perhaps too, latterly, her emphasis on the goodness of her characters was overdone. Even so, she redefined the form by avoiding irony in her work…and concentrating on the alien quality of the past…while at the same time pointing up the essential continuity of the human condition. And she always wrote, whatever the genre, with absolute conviction.

She sure did. (You can read the full obituary here.)

Her card is tucked inside the pages of my copy of The Heaven Tree Trilogy, so I can moon over it every time I reread the book. I like to think that someday, after I head off to that Great Library in the Sky, my heirs will release all my comfort reads into the wild and another reader will stumble across that card, and be as charmed as I was upon reading it.

But I think Edith Pargeter would like the idea that I was still encouraging people to read her favorite of all her novels even more.

You will be relieved to know that I didn’t send you on yet another wild goose chase for an out of print book, because there are a ton of copies available for as little as $4 on Believe me, it’s a book worthy of any extra effort to acquire.

Definitely a book that will keep you out of the woods.

Wisp of a Thing: A Novel of the TufaWisp of a Thing: A Novel of the Tufa by Alex Bledsoe

I enjoyed this outing into the present-day world of the Appalachian Fae. Singer-songwriter Rob travels to Needsville (love the name), Tennessee, looking for a song that will sing away his grief at the loss of his girlfriend. Guy that told him about the song was wearing sequins but they were backstage at the Opry at the time, so never mind. In Needsville he finds what he needs and then some, at considerable personal risk.

Strong sense of place and some solid characters, starting with Rob, who has unexpected depths, and the part-Fae, part not population of Cloud County. There is Doyle the mechanic and his Fae-lovestruck wife, Berklee. There is the truly icky Rockhouse Hicks and his wounded daughter/slash/lover Curnen (more ick, Bledsoe’s really pulling out all the stops on putting a new twist on that old marrying-their-sister back country trope). Especially there is Bliss Overbay, the I have to say pretty laissez-faire guardian of this motley crew, as in she’s ready to kill Rob before the night winds tell her not to (just roll with it). Some good lines, too, like

The building’s interior seemed bigger inside than it had appeared outside, like a hillbilly TARDIS.


“Germs and Jesus, that’s all I ever hear about,” the boy said in a voice too weary for his age. “Germs and Jesus. And you know something? You can’t see neither one of them.”

Definitely a book that will keep you out of the woods. At least these woods. Worth reading.

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