A Fatal Grace Afterthought
I'd waited this book for a long time, maybe 20 weeks+. I am reserving the next book in the series, and my wait time is 22 weeks! And I can totally see why.
I feel this one is more fast paced compared the first one. The characters are even more flashed out. I find their quirkiness delightful. I was bugged down by the last book a little bit because of the Agent Nicole storyline. But this time, I felt there's less tension on the surface. And whatever conspiracy there was, it created enough intrigue rather than bugging down the flow. I was reading another review about the book, and I agreed that the author created a really good cast of people, who are likeable and yet depth as well.
It's kind funny that I already guessed who the murderer was, but towards the end, I was happy to be led to believe otherwise. Then I found I was right in the beginning. Sometimes I just lost myself in the stories. It is a great escapist book!
There're some poems quoted in the book, I found them quite interesting. And I read somewhere the author did not write her own poems but quoted from other sources, here're some that I found interesting(Bold meant author used this portion in the book):
“Who hurt you, once,
so far beyond repair
that you would meet each overture
with curling lip?
While we, who knew you well,
your friends, (the focus of your scorn)
could see your courage in the face of fear,
your wit, and thoughtfulness,
and will remember you
with something close to love.”
(This is a poem by Marylyn Plessner titled, "Lady Mink: A Sort of Requiem" and is from her book, Vapour Trails. Marylyn Plessner was a Canadian who lived in England for much of her life.)
You're sad because you're sad.
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.
Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
Take up dancing to forget.
Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and the ice-cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favorite child.
My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you're trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,
and the red flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside your head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.
(By Margaret Atwood, Sad Child)
Long dead, and buried in
another town,
my mother hasn't finished with me yet
When my death us do apart
Then shall forgiven and
forgiving meet again,
Or will it be, as always was,
too late?
(cannot find author, maybe it is by Louise? I find it haunting, especially the first 3 lines.)
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And,—when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening,—nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do.
(Shakepeare, Wolsey's Farewell, King Henry VIII)
The birds they sang
At the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don't dwell on what
Has passed away
Or what is yet to be.
Ah the wars they will
Be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
Bought and sold
And bought again
The dove is never free.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
We asked for signs
The signs were sent:
The birth betrayed
The marriage spent
Yeah the widowhood
Of every government
Signs for all to see.
I can run no more
With that lawless crowd
While the killers in high places
Say their prayers out loud.
But they've summoned, they've summoned up
A thundercloud
They're gonna hear from me.
Ring ring ring ring ring
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in
You can add up the parts
But you won't have the sum
You can strike up the march,
There is no drum
Every heart, every heart
To love will come
But like a refugee.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
That's how the light gets in.
That's how the light gets in.
(Song by Leonard Cohen, Anthem; I listened him singing, I also find it haunting and eerie. Kind pessimistic, or maybe realistic?)
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