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The Lost Crown by Sarah Miller

19 Feb

The Lost Crown is one of the very first books that I bought for my brand spanking new Kindle but I’ve only just managed to read the whole thing despite starting it more than once and then putting it aside because it felt just too slow moving and peculiarly distant to capture my interest. I decided to give it another try though as we are planning to visit St Petersburg at some point this year and it’s re-awakened my interest in the doomed Romanov family. I’m glad I persevered but at the same time, it’s left me feeling a bit disappointed and I’m not sure why.

I HAD to read this though as I have been fascinated by the family of Nicholas II and Alexandra of Hesse for as long as I can remember and a novel told from the viewpoints of their four young daughters: Olga, Tatiana, Maria and Anastasia should be my exact cup of tea and it IS, it really is but the fact is that this is a story that is never going to end happily or at least shouldn’t, unless the author plays fast and loose with the facts and delivers up a cock and bull happy ending that would put Disney itself to shame.

That’s the thing with historical fiction based on real life people – you know how it is going to end and that usually makes for a pretty depressing read as, let’s face it, it’s the tragic sorts who generally end up attracting historical novelists like wasps around a picnic, isn’t it? Incidentally, my poor long suffering husband is always complaining about my nonchalant attitude towards ‘spoilers’ (he can’t abide them and will refuse to watch films or read books if he knows how they end) but I’ve been passionate about history for literally as long as I can remember so spoilers are kind of meaningless to me now.

However, all of that aside, although you know that The Lost Crown won’t end well for the Imperial family, it’s still a really nice read and it’s lovely to see events through the Grand Duchess’ own words as their situation becomes increasingly precarious and uncomfortable and their living space more claustrophobic. It’s horrible too, of course, but the sense of loyalty, love and affection that flows between them carries this book along and stops it being an endless parade of doom and gloom.

Each chapter is written from the viewpoint of a different sister and it’s not always easy to tell which one is ‘speaking’ although ultimately you do get a sense of the differences between them as there is Olga, the sensible eldest sister who has inherited her mother’s rather fatalistic melancholia; Tatiana, the pragmatic ‘governess’ and favourite of their mother, who is supposed to be the beauty of the family and deals with her nursing duties without flinching; Maria, who is the prettiest and sweetest natured and dreams of marrying a soldier and having a host of babies of her own to care for and the youngest, Anastasia, who is often spiteful and is renowned for her sharp tongue, hideous gurning and practical jokes.

Aleksei is my favourite from the family and we see him here through the eyes of his concerned sisters who flutter around him anxiously whenever he is ill. We also see Nicholas as the fond father he undoubtedly was and Alexandra as proud, anxiety ridden and troubled yet deeply loving. However, neither of them is ultimately able to protect their children from harm and their wider historical significance clearly isn’t the concern of this book so the major political events that swirl around them are barely touched upon or at least not explored in depth.

I’d definitely recommend this book to anyone who is fascinated with the Romanov family and their sad fate, but be prepared for a bit of a slow read at first and also a bit of irritation at occasional Americanisms and the bazillions of similes that litter the text. Okay, maybe you won’t mind it but it started to bug the hell out of me very very quickly.

I gave this three stars on Goodreads.

The Golden Prince – Rebecca Dean (book review Sunday)

19 Feb

‘Edward VIII became notorious for abandoning the throne for Mrs Simpson, but in the summer of 1911 he was a prince straight from the pages of a fairy-tale. Raised by the harsh disciplinarian King George V and his unfeeling Queen Mary, the prince longed for the warmth that had been deprived of him.

The high society Houghton girls’ lives however, were full of fun, both at their magnificent family seat Snowberry, and at the whirlwind of glamorous parties which punctuated their lives. When a moment of serendipity brings Edward and Lily Houghton together, the pressures of a stuffy court are replaced with the lightness that Edward has dreamt of.

But a future monarch could not choose his own Queen, and even an enduring love might falter under the furious gaze of a King. Could the devotion of Edward and Lily triumph against him and the impending doom of World War I? Or would they bow to the inevitable and set in train events that could bring down the Crown, and change the course of history forever?’

As soon as I read the product description for The Golden Prince by Rebecca Dean on Amazon, I was hooked and absolutely HAD to read it. My personal preference is for novels set in the high society of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries but I have a bit of a soft spot for the early twentieth century too – the period of Downton Abbey, beautiful Grand Duchesses, the Titanic, Egyptian excavations and handsome princes – pretty much all of which are here for the reader to feast upon.

The Golden Prince opens with David, the seventeen year old Prince of Wales knocking Miss Rose Houghton, Oxford graduate and budding Suffragette from her bike while he is motoring from Dartmouth Naval College to Windsor Castle. Contrary to what one might suppose, he does not fall madly in love with Rose as she lies slightly winded in a ditch but with one of her trio of charming sisters and therein lies the focus of this rather gorgeous book.

The four delightful Houghton sisters are the heroines of this novel, taking the reader gently by the hand and leading them through the high society of pre WWI England where all is tea on the lawn, gentle motorings through quaint villages, excitement about the Coronation and a lot of interest in a very big and allegedly unsinkable ocean liner.

Rose, the eldest sister, is sensible, intelligent and keen to make a difference in a world that she perceives to be intrinsically unfair and unequal. Iris, the next sister is the Lady Edith of the family and has only marriage and babies on her mind – most specifically with the chinless Hugo, whose family own the neighbouring estate while the next sister, Marigold is a sultry redhead who regards her virginity as a terrible inconvenience to be shed as quickly as possible and has thrilling liaisons with MPs and Russian princes in between posing for shocking nude portraits and deciding that she wants to be a film star.

It is Lily, the youngest and most beautiful (naturally) of the sisters who is the heroine though and the one who captures the heart not just of the Prince of Wales but also pretty much every other man in a hundred mile radius. She is keen on Art and spends a lot of time making things out of clay and painting, while not realising the devastating effect that she has on all the menfolk.

I absolutely loved this book, although I did struggle a bit with some of the language used within it – did upper class girls in 1912 say ‘OK’ and refer to each other as ‘sexy’? They probably did, but as I said, I’m so used to books set earlier on that I was rather thrown by this. It’s also a bit odd to be reading books set in the era of motorcars, cameras, telegrams and telephones – when one writes books set before all of these modern excitements, it’s easy to forget just how much they move a plot along!

I really liked the central romance in The Golden Prince – although Lily and her sisters are entirely fictional, they feel real and I was completely swept away by the whole thing, even though I knew that, ultimately, it wasn’t going to end happily. Or did it? Everyone was paired off fairly neatly at the end in a way that reminded me irresistibly of Georgette Heyer’s novels and I think that, in this case at least, all’s well that ends well.

Although I adored the details of the Houghton girls’ lives, romances and problems, it was the brief glimpses into the lives of David and his family that I relished the most. It’s very rare to read a fictional version of George V, Queen Mary and their young family and I absolutely loved the scenes with them – in particular, of course, the brief and very sweetly touching scene with David and his youngest brother, John which inspired my recent blog post about him.

Ultimately, I would recommend The Golden Prince to pretty much everyone but especially those who are suffering Downton Abbey withdrawal…

Ps. The cover says that this is comparable to Philippa Gregory – I don’t personally see much resemblance between the two.

Murder at Mansfield Park

12 Feb

Aha, you thought I’d forgotten all about Sunday being Book Review Day, hadn’t you? Well, I hadn’t so THERE. There was supposed to be a review as usual last week but after some minor tussling, loss of sleep and soul searching, I decided to forgo it for a week.

The thing is that I accidentally read a book that I thoroughly detested and as a result found myself caught between my Reviewer Hat and my Writing Bonnet. Yes, I said ‘bonnet’. I actually really wanted to review the book and explain just what I thought was so weak and throughly annoying about it, I mean how can you trust my good reviews if I never have a bad word to say about anything? On the other hand, I keep hearing that it is really REALLY bad form for writers to give fellow writers bad reviews – for a start it might make you look embittered or jealous of their success.

The other thing is that like actors and singers, writers can be a pretty superstitious lot too and a lot seem to believe in the apparently justified karmic retribution of Bad Reviews. Anyway, in the end I decided to just leave it and register my disappointment by giving the said book just one damning star on Goodreads.

Of course, I usually read two or three books a week, but the ironic thing about Bad Books is that they are so soul sucking, so deathly dull, so dreadful that reading them is like doing a breast crawl through two day old porridge. Reading becomes a chore rather than a delight and ultimately you find that you have spent three times as long reading the bloody thing as you did your most favourite book in all the world.

Anyway, let’s move on to the first of last week’s books, which was Murder at Mansfield Park by Lynn Shepherd. I wasn’t sure about this to be honest as I have read some really, REALLY ropey Austen pastiches. As with Sherlock Holmes, there is such a definite idiom and particularity to Austen’s books that you would think that assuming her mantle would be very easy indeed – however, again like Sherlock Holmes, it’s actually a lot more difficult to pull off than writers seem to imagine – either you don’t make enough effort or, worse, you go too far and it just turns into an awful turgid meretricious mess.

Happily, Lynn Shepherd manages to avoid all of this and I think that this is almost certainly the best Austen pastiche that I have read to date, mainly because Shepherd is relatively light handed about slipping in Austen references and knows when to stop and let her own delightful writing take over.

The premise of Murder at Mansfield Park is an interesting one as unlike most versions of Austen’s books, Shepherd has rearranged the characters, swapping the personalities of some, enhancing or lowering those of others and, most crucially, redistributing the wealth that was the crux of the original book. In this version, Fanny Price is an only child and a fabulously wealthy heiress, while her cousins, Maria and Julia, although well off, are rather less fortunate. In this book, it is Fanny, who is the pampered favourite of the dreaded Mrs Norris, while Julia (who is reminiscent of Marianne Dashwood) is the unfortunate recipient of her heavy hints and barbed comments.

I’ve always thoroughly detested Fanny Price. She really is just as Kingsley Amis described her: ‘a monster of complacency and pride who, under a cloak of cringing self-abasement, dominates and gives meaning to the novel.’ I think she is horrible and yet I feel really bad for thinking this as she’s such a meek little mouse and so hard done by but oh crikey, can you imagine her milquetoast Facebook updates? Or her passive aggressive Twitter feed?

Anyway, if you hated Fanny Price as a simpering poor relation, you’ll absolutely loathe her in her new guise as a pampered, spoiled heiress. Oh, she is marvellously awful in every way. I absolutely REVELLED in it.

As a fan of Mary Crawford, I was also very much delighted by her new role where she has been knocked down a few pegs down the social ladder but is a lot sweeter for it. I always thought that there was a lot more to Mary Crawford than Jane Austen revealed in Mansfield Park and in this book, her full intelligence, bravery and compassion are revealed to make her an extremely compelling and loveable heroine.

Naturally, all of this rejiggery means that new alliances are formed, new romances occur and at the end of the book, the pairings off so beloved by Miss Austen are completely transformed and, I believe, just as they should be.

I should make special mention of my favourite character, Mrs Norris who is even more deliciously spiteful and unpleasant here than she is in the original text. She’s utterly dreadful and also rather marvellous too.

Now, let’s not forget that this isn’t just a version of one of Austen’s most troubling books, it’s also a murder mystery. It isn’t too difficult to work out whodunnit but the scenery and characterisation are so entertaining that you really won’t care about that but just enjoy the journey. It can be a bit gruesome at times, but not excessively so and certainly not enough to jar with the rather cosy atmosphere of the book.

I definitely recommend this one and especially so to Austen fans like myself who wouldn’t ordinarily read a new modern version of her work.

Dust and Shadow – Jack the Ripper v Sherlock Holmes

29 Jan

Haha, you thought I’d forget that Sunday is now Book Review Day but you were WRONG.

Thanks to the brilliant BBC series Sherlock and the Guy Ritchie films, there’s been a bit of a resurgence of interest in Sherlock Holmes lately and RIGHTLY SO because, let’s face it, Sherlock Holmes is brilliant and definitely the best Londoner, fictitious or otherwise, of all time.

I have read the original Conan Doyle stories several times since childhood and so have been feasting on more contemporary pastiches in recent weeks – namely Anthony Horowitz’s The House of Silk (which I won’t be reviewing here until Summer as I had to review it for somewhere else but suffice to say that I absolutely loved it) and Dust and Shadow by Lindsay Fay.

I wasn’t sure about reading Dust and Shadow to be honest as it is Yet Another Tussle between Sherlock and that other semi fictitious Victorian Londoner and dweller of gas lit foggy cobbled streets, Jack the Ripper which is fine if a bit done to death (Murder by Decree is the best in this genre) but I am writing my own take on the events of 1888 at the moment and have Rules about reading books set in the same period as the one I am writing about. I decided to ignore my misgivings though and give it a go, mainly because my own Ripper Book is absolutely NOT a whodunnit whereas Dust and Shadows plainly is.

Or is it?

The thing about Sherlock Holmes is that he speaks with such a marked, and easily sent up, idiom that you would think that writers would find it very easy to deliver a reasonable Holmes pastiche. Not so. The vast majority of attempts to replicate Sherlock Holmes are actually pretty ropey – either because they don’t try hard enough to capture the correct tone or, ironically, try far too hard. Horowitz manages it admirably in The House of Silk although at times I found his Holmes rather more reminiscent of the modern BBC version as played by Benedict Cumberbatch than the Conan Doyle original. Lindsay Fay’s attempt in Dust and Shadow isn’t quite so note perfect, but it is still pretty good.

I found the treatment of the Whitechapel murders interesting and suitably gruesome and the author had clearly done a lot of research. However, descriptions of the Whitechapel area itself didn’t always ring all that true to me but then if there is one place on earth (besides Revolutionary Paris) that I feel like I know intimately, it is 1888 Whitechapel so I think I’m probably quite hard to please in that respect!

There was the usual cast of Victorian miscreants, hapless street urchins, thugs and gin swilling tarts, which was great – my favourite character was the excellently feisty Miss Mary Ann Monk, who was a refreshing addition to the usual cast and brightened the book up no end whenever she made an appearance. I’d happily read a book just about her to be honest as I thought she made such a strong and intriguing character.

I’m usually pretty good at working out who the murderer is but I didn’t actually guess the Ripper’s identity until much the same time as Sherlock did, which was good as if there is one thing I hate, it is being a couple of steps ahead of Mr Holmes because, well, that’s just WRONG isn’t it? You’re supposed to have absolute faith in Sherlock Holmes’ sagacity and intellectual infallibility and that just isn’t possible if you’ve guessed the murderer four chapters before him.

In summary, this was a pretty good read if you’re in the market for a book about either Jack the Ripper or Sherlock Holmes or both and is perfect reading material for gloomy winter nights.

The Pleasures of Men – Kate Williams

22 Jan

‘Catherine Sorgeiul lives with her Uncle in a rambling house in London’s East End. She has few companions and little to occupy the days beyond her own colourful imagination.

But then a murderer strikes, ripping open the chests of young girls and stuffing hair into their mouths to resemble a beak, leading the press to christen him The Man of Crows. And as Catherine devours the news, she finds she can channel the voices of the dead, and comes to believe she will eventually channel The Man of Crows himself.

But the murders continue to panic the city and Catherine gradually realizes she is snared in a deadly trap, where nothing is as it first appears.
And lurking behind the lies Catherine has been told are secrets more deadly and devastating than anything her imagination can conjure …‘

The Victorians were really keen on microcosm paintings, panoramic views of their society crammed full of faces, stories and activity like so many over dressed ants all busying themselves at the same time. William Powell Frith’s amazing sprawling The Derby Day and The Railway Station are perfect examples of this particularly Victorian genre, where the viewer is invited to greedily observe everything, their eyes scanning the myriad of different faces, pausing here and there to ponder what their story is.

In recent years, the ‘Victoriana’ novel has gained popularity and almost become a genre in its own right. Like the microcosm paintings of Frith, there are rules to this genre, certain period set pieces that must be included, descriptions and observations of a more contemporary nature that must be made and they are invariably populated by a vast cast of characters, mostly incidental but who must be described in great and lurid detail.

The Pleasures of Men by Kate Williams is one such book. I was very much looking forward to reading it, anticipating something akin to Michel Faber’s brilliant The Crimson Petal and the White. Now, The Pleasures of Men is very similar to The Crimson Petal but only in so far as most other ‘Victoriana’ novels are – there’s the usual description of dirt, decay and damp. The wails of unfortunate babies follow the characters wherever they venture. People drink gin like it’s about to run out. There’s an awful lot of prostitutes.

There are other similarities – like Faber’s Sugar, Catherine, the heroine of The Pleasures of Men is damaged by her past and keen on feverishly writing down fantasies that involve violence, death, murder and destruction. Fascinated by a serial killer, known as The Man of Crows, she writes lurid accounts of his murders and eventually decides to venture out into the city at night to walk in his footsteps, believing herself ‘protected’ by the evil that she has always been told dwells inside her.

This was a complex and often deeply unpleasant book. I’ve seen complaints that it is over written and I’d be inclined to agree with that assessment but I believe that it is intentionally so. The writing is full blown, lavish, feverish and often over wrought, creating a really horrible, almost suffocatingly intense atmosphere of heat, dust and dirt as observed by a sexually obsessed, disturbed Victorian teenager who has spent time in a lunatic asylum.

The narrowness of a young Victorian girl’s life is well described here – not just that of Catherine with her peculiar circumstances but those of her over dressed acquaintances, who sexually torment their maids and fantasise about serial killers while slyly keeping watch for suitable young men.

At times though, the plot, which when you think about it isn’t really all that complicated (you’ll be disappointed when you discover the identity of the Man of Crows) veers not so much into confusion as into vague slapdashness, almost as if the writer herself lost interest about a hundred pages before the end (which was a bit of a damp squib all things considered) and decided that she didn’t care who the Man of Crows was or who he murdered any more. I can’t blame her for that – I didn’t really care either.

Would I recommend this book? Well, yes and no. If you are in the mood for a dip into the revolting iniquity of London’s east end in the 1840s and have a thing for Victorian asylums and the deranged meanderings of cooped up young girls as well as splendid Victorian set pieces like visits to pie shops, trips to gin dens and a splendidly disastrous visit to the vaudeville theatre then you’ll almost certainly love this. Otherwise you’ll probably start to feel a bit queasy and long for something a bit less histrionic.

Personally, although I did, I think, rather enjoy myself while reading it (and also feel slightly alarmed as I have written about similar themes in my own Victorian effort), I went off and had a long bath when I’d finished reading and splashed the water about a bit while muttering ‘A MILLION POUND ADVANCE? A. MILLION. POUNDS?’ over and over again until I felt like booking myself in for a nice restorative stay at Catherine’s lunatic asylum, the lovely sounding Lavenderfields.

Having said that, I fully expect this to be made into a film at some point in the near future…

Ps. Where is the woman’s right hand in the cover photograph? Haha, now that I have made you look, you will never be able to UNSEE.

Snakes and Bastards – I love you, Agatha Raisin

22 Jan

I have decided that from now on SUNDAY is BOOK REVIEW DAY here on my blog. I give it a week before I forget this resolution but let’s just roll with it while I am still all pumped up with enthusiasm, shall we?

Several people over the years have noted that my continued insistence upon using the word ‘shall’ is a bit odd, not to mention antiquated. Is it? Is it REALLY? No, of course not.

Let’s move on.

My love for Agatha Raisin began quite by accident. In that I liked the look of one of the covers and had also simultaneously come to the dismaying discovery that I am a bit too keen on what are dismissively known as ‘cosy mysteries’. You know the sort of thing – Rosemary and Thyme is a prime example of this genre as is, possibly, Murder She Wrote, although that can get a bit hectic at times, can’t it?

Unfortunately, being an INNOVATOR, I rather stupidly opted to read the most recent Agatha Raisin book first, scorning the notion that as it is a series and presumably in some chronological order, I ought to begin at the BEGINNING.

I regret this perfidy now, of course, but the damage has been done and I would urge you, dearest and in some cases not so dear, reader to BEGIN AT THE BEGINNING if you intend to read the Agatha Raisin series. It’s not a hardship, really – the first book is about her leaving her pressured job in London, taking early retirement and moving to the Cotswolds where in an attempt to ingratiate herself with the locals she decides to cheat in the local Quiche Making Competition. When someone is murdered with her quiche, it swiftly becomes clear that being suspected of murder by the villagers is far more preferable to them knowing that she cheated with *gasp* SHOP BOUGHT QUICHE…

I just typed ‘quiche’ so often that it has somehow managed to lose all meaning.

In my last post I absolutely URGED you all to add me on Goodreads and if you had done so you will have seen that over the course of the month between the 11th of December 2011 and the 12th of January 2012, I read FIFTEEN Agatha Raisin books.

I think it is fair to say that I rather enjoy them. I didn’t at first though. No. I was flummoxed by Agatha herself with her brusque manner, jealousies, vanity and bitchiness. What, I found myself wondering, are ‘bear eyes’ and how old is she meant to be, exactly? I came to love her though. She’s just so HORRIBLE and yet so sweet at the same time with her non existant social skills, embarrassment about her lack of cultural education and reliance on microwaved ready meals.

If you’re anything like me, which I sincerely hope you aren’t, then you will absolutely ADORE books with horrible characters in. The only reason I struggle through Jane Austen’s paen to the miserable existence of the dependent female, Mansfield Park, is for the sheer JOY of Mrs Norris. Likewise, Mrs Elton in Emma. Anyway, if you ARE like me then you will love the Agatha Raisin series as with only a few exceptions (the vicar’s lovely wife and the adorable Bill Wong), EVERYONE in these books is downright unpleasant. EVERYONE. It’s just glorious.

The most unpleasant of all to my mind are the men in Agatha’s life, who manifest like the most dreary and hideous game of Snog/Marry/Avoid ever. Seriously, her taste in men is DREADFUL. You find yourself wanting to reach through the page and soundly slap her while shouting ‘DON’T DO IT, AGATHA! THE GUY IS A PRIZE PLUM AND I SHOULD KNOW.’

You won’t find yourself taxed by the crimes being solved in these murder mysteries, but that doesn’t matter as what is on offer here is instead a smorgasboard of the divine Agatha and a bunch of really unrelentingly awful people. It seems to me like a collision between Midsomer Murders and Mapp and Lucia with surreal tinges of Joanna Trollope thrown in for good measure, which is just my sort of thing.

Anyway, if that sounds like your sort of thing too then I’d definitely recommend giving these a try. Personally I can’t wait for the next one to come out this September…

Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows review

16 Dec

As you may or may not know, the original Guy Ritchie Sherlock Holmes film is one of my all time favourite movies so I had both high expectations of the sequel I’d been looking forward to for almost two years and also a crushing fear that it would be horribly disappointing.

Suffice to say that I was absolutely NOT disappointed. In fact, I believe the sequel, A Game of Shadows has just joined the original on my list of favourite films, which may or may not be saying something when you consider this hallowed list also includes such GEMS as Dog Soldiers, Marie Antoinette, Danton, From Hell, La Reine Margot and Sex and the City: The Movie. Yes. I bow my head in shame.

Anyway, back to my Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows review. There were a few shocks in this film that I absolutely do not want to ruin for anyone planning to see it, so I will try and make this review as spoiler free as possible so I don’t annoy you all. The overall mood was somewhat darker (the latter half of the film is VERY DARK INDEED) than the original but at the same time there were a lot more laugh out loud funny moments to compensate such as some of Sherlock’s disguises and Watson’s EPIC stag night and wedding.

The friend that I went to see it with (hello Stevy!) commented afterwards that it was a bit James Bond in places and I have to agree – there was a big extended set piece before the first credits followed by one action sequence after another, leading up to a really amazing conclusion. This wasn’t just brawling and fisticuffs though – there was also some of the intricate problem solving that Holmes and his fans love so much. There was also chess. And a bit of torture. And some woe. It’s much MUCH better than James Bond though.

As well as extra comedic moments, there was also more of the dazzling special effects and camera trickery that made the first film so much fun to watch. A later pursuit scene in a forest was particularly amazing as they slowed down the explosions and flying bullets. Oh, explosions – this film had a LOT of things being blown up, which was rather satisfying to watch. If you like that sort of thing. Which I absolutely do.

The acting was superb, as always. Stephen Fry’s turn as Mycroft Holmes was particularly good – I especially liked his first exchange with Sherlock where they try to outdo each others powers of observation and deduction. I also enjoyed Jared Harris’ devilish Moriarty, even if he was essentially playing the exact same character as he did in the BBC’s adaptation of The Shadow in the North, which was a bit discombobulating.

I really liked Noomi Rapace’s ballsy Gypsy heroine (I loved her dress sense too) as well. I don’t think I’ve seen her in anything else but apparently she’s outstandingly good in The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo as well.

I have to admit that I was a bit dubious when I first heard about Robert Downey Jnr’s casting in the original. Well, I was mostly torn between my love for him and slight feeling of indignation that he was to play such a quintessentially English hero. However, I’m sorry, but I think he makes a perfect Holmes and if anything he is even better in the sequel where his vulnerabilities are even more apparent. I’m not such a fan of Jude Law but have to say that he makes a perfect foil to Downey Jnr’s Holmes – the pair, with their old married couple bickering and obvious deep affection for each other, are a JOY to watch.

Overall, this was an excellent and entertaining film that proved to be more than a match for its predecessor. Fingers crossed that they will make a third! DEAR GUY RITCHIE, PLEASE MAKE A THIRD ONE!

Eleven out of ten. I’ll be going to see it again as soon as I can!

**Edited to add that apparently there is almost definitely going to be a third Sherlock Holmes film. Hurray!

When the Devil Drives – Caro Peacock

14 Dec

When intrepid lady detective Liberty Lane is approached by a two very different clients – a diffident young man from the Essex countryside with a missing fiancée that he doesn’t seem to know very much about and a cultured music loving gentleman who is keen to protect a beautiful but mysterious foreign countess from creating a scandal, she has no idea that what actually lies before her is a tangled web of murder, kidnapping, royal iniquity and state secrets.

I was hooked and held enthralled from the very first page by Caro Peacock’s lushly imagined, vivid and highly detailed depiction of London’s dark and dangerous streets in the early years of ‘Little Vicky’s’ long reign. As is so often the case with really good historical fiction, the setting was the star of the show and Liberty proved an excellent guide to the fascinating underbelly of the Victorian capital, where it seems that everyone and everything has a price.

The feisty, straight talking Liberty herself makes an excellent and immensely likeable heroine who is equally at home riding amongst the upper echelons of society in Hyde Park or wandering around the dark and dangerous streets of the docks.

The story itself was well realised and a lot of fun with a dash of romance, plenty of twists and turns and more than one genuine edge of seat moment as Liberty’s investigation progressed. If you are looking for a devious and deeply engrossing mystery set in Victorian London then this definitely won’t disappoint.

(Originally reviewed for the Historical Novel Society).

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