Alice, a promising violinist and just a beautiful young woman, must be the most shocking of them all, since, when we meet with her for the first time, she is cold-bloodedly contemplating leaving her child – her two-month-old daughter – forever and running away from her kind and responsible husband, just so she could become a concert violinist one day. Soon she meets Tom, a talented flautist, for whom a road accident became the end of his career, not so much due to the damage to his body as due to his mental injury. The accident made Tom a difficult, easily annoyed person. He abandoned his college and started playing in the tube. Alice joins his band for a short while. Together with them, we can see a gay couple – Peter and Jay – and some other individuals who come and go.

The plot of the book revolves around the London’s tube and around the old house called Cambridge School or just “the School”. It’s no longer a school though, but just a house in extremely bad repair where the owner – Jarvis Stringer – lets rooms as an extremely cheap rate, just so he could afford travelling around the world examining metro systems, which are his one and only hobby, the only passion of his life. Considered slightly crazy by many, Jarvis is in fact one of the most normal persons in the book, and his hobby is quite harmless. Most of the time we just hear about him, since he is in the USSR, studying our metro systems – lucky man, in fact, since 1991 was the last year of the USSR’s existence, and if he had postponed his trip just a little, he might have had fifteen visas instead of one. But I digress. Jarvis is writing a book about the history of the London Undeground, and “King Solomon’s Carpet” is full of quotations from his book. I must admit I skipped most of them this time.

Among the people who occupy his large house we meet his distant cousin Tina and her two kids, Jasper and Bienvida. Tina is very promiscuous – and proudly so, to the great distress of her mother Cecilia, old enough to be her grandmother and struggling to reconcile her old, almost Victorian morals with the standards of the new world. Cecilia lives in her own house nearby. Her life-time friend Daphne – Peter’s mother – is equaly distressed with her son’s “silliness” – her name for his homosexuality. Peter suffers from AIDS, and by the end of the book his health deteriorates to such a condition that we know his days are numbered, though it is not explicitly stated.

Alice’s love for Tom doesn’t last long – she meets Axel. Axel all mystery, walking around the tube with an ugly, sinister man named Ivan, usually dressed up like a bear, embarrassing and even scaring some people who, like Cecilia, see no fun in it. We know Axel is up to something, but what it is we won’t know until the end of the book.

A lot of time is given to describing Jasper’s adventures. Tina’s nine-year-old son, usually neglected by his mother, truant and rebellious, travels a lot by the tube accompanied by a few other boys of the same age. Guilty of smoking, shop-lifting and endless fights in the train cars, these boys make enemies at every turn, but the worst of their entertainments is so-called “sledging” – riding on the top of the train. Jasper has done it many times and enjoyed it intensely – mainly, I think, the danger of it – until his friend falls from the roof of the car he is in when the train stops abruptly. When Jasper sees his friend fall and realises what it means, it changes him.

I don’t know why, but I can’t help liking them all – Alice, Tom, Tina, Jasper and even Axel, who is contemplating a really dreadful thing. He scares Jasper, pretends to be Jarvis’s friend in his absense to squat in his house, seduces Alice while pretending to be friends with Tom – and these all are steps towards his ultimate goal: revenge. It was his twin sister who died in the underground train from a heart failure when she entered it for the first time in her life, a spoilt child of a wealthy family. She did so to satisfy her curiosity and didn’t think of possible consequences, didn’t know what was awaiting her there during the rush hour. But her brother decided to blame the tube. “I am mad”, he said once about himself. I think he was right.

By the end of the book they all get punished, except, probably, Tina, who inherits a nice villa after her mother’s death. Now she can meet all her boyfriends in more comfortable environments and not worry about anything. She is even planning to let some rooms, like Jarvis does. She’ll be alright, this easy-going, untroubled pretty creature. Axel, Alice and Tom are much less lucky, though they all have nobody but themselves to blame.

My special admiration goes for Jed, the hawk-keeper whose chothes stink of stale meat repelling people from him and his room. When told by a vet that his hawk will never be able to fly again due to an infection disabling his wing, he at first decides to euthanise the bird – an obvious thing to do, under the circumstances – but then decides to keep the hawk alive, not for the sake of training it, but just for the sake of being together, of living under the same roof. By sparing the bird’s life, by being able to value it he won my undying respect.

Though Ruth Rendell is mainly known as a detective novel writer, this book is not a detective story at all. It’s a huge psychological study, deep and somewhat disturbing, when we can’t help wondering if normalcy still exists in our world. Why do people do such things to themselves and their lives? She doesn’t give us any answers to the question – just makes us think.

The book definitely does deserve the Gold Dagger Award it got in 1991.

Little did she know about what was to begin. Bullying from a police officer, fears for the only (and adored) niece, a sinister book found in the victim’s home – then a sudden death of her assistant (was she the intended victim), a terrorist attack on a Power Plant threatening to turn her State into a radioactive desert, an unexpected flight to London and back – and finally, going in person into the midst of the terrorists’ den: such was the start of the new year for Dr. Scarpetta.

The book has its fair share of mystery, but it’s far more about action than about thorough and skilful brainwork. So, it’s not quite my type of a detective novel, but Iiked the book all the same. As a matter of fact, I read it about four or five years ago, but forgot all about it – not just the plot, but even the fact of having read it. So I’ve re-read it all over again to review it, and the forgotten episodes were slowly coming back as I proceeded through the pages.

The book reads very well: the author’s style is easy and even cheerful, despite the grim events she talks about. She uses an occasional obscenity, but I’m not the one cringe when I see those – after all, we live in the 21st century. I like the characters she’s drawn: Dr. Kay Scarpetta is just an amazing human being, at once a doctor, a diver and a lawyer, not afraid to show the strength of her character to anyone – not even afraid of death. Her friend Captain Marino is no less admirable, that huge person with something of a bear in him, a devoted friend and unexpectedly efficient at his job, though not as smart as Dr. Kay (she’s basically the Poirot of the company, though it’s hinted that her niece Lucy has a much higher IQ). Lucy is young and decidedly difficult… and lesbian. The book speaks a lot about being tolerant to alternative lifestyles – not a problem to me, but obviously a problem to many people Lucy encounters, her mother first and foremost, which, of course, makes her even more difficult. She has to be on the defensive most of the time – but not with her aunt who had rased her and understands her.

The book mentions a lot of technical details about computers, virtual reality equipment, ships, submarines and everything else… for instance, the author is not satisfied with saying “computer” – she has to be more specific and say a 486 computer. If I’m not much confused, 486 machines were already considered somewhat obsolete in 1996, even in Russia, though still in use. Apparently, nether Ted Eddings, the reporter, nor Dr. Kay’s morgue could afford to upgrade their hardware often.

Would I recommend the book? Yes, definitely, if you’d like something entertaining and solidly written, but not too profound. Will I read it again? I don’t know. I might. Or I might not.

Time will tell.

Hercule Poirot agrees to help with the investigation at the request of his friend Ariadne Oliver. She was at the ill-fated party – she was naturally shocked with the outcome. Poirot never fails – she knows it. She pays him a visit and asks for help.

Poirot is old – really old now, in 1969. He must be over a hundred – but he is just as shrewd as ever, with the same wonderful knowledge of human psychology. He starts making inquiries, as things become more interesting. Where did that East European au pair girl go? Was the old lady’s will a forgery? And who killed the young forger? Poirot won’t accept everyone’s version of events – he needs to be sure. Everyone’s opinion on what happened can be wrong.

I don’t know how he guessed the name of the murderer. When asked, he answered simply, “He fitted”. Strangely enough, this novel is one of the very few written by this author, in which I was able to guess the true answer before finishing the book. And I would have given the same explanation. He fitted indeed. She fitted too.

Poirot’s interference didn’t save a little boy, Joyce’s younger brother Leopold. Those who have killed once will do it again, and so Leopold dies. But he acts just in time to save another young life – that of a charming 12-year-old girl called Miranda, Joyce’s closest friend. Without him, she would have been dead also, for the criminals want to achieve their goals so badly, they’d stop at nothing. They’ve been murdering people for about three years to get what they want. As Poirot says elsewhere, murder is a habit.

This book is one of Agatha Christie’s late works, and is written more poetically than most of her other books, crisp and cheerful. She describes the beauty of the nearby garden with so much love as if it were the most important part of her story; she dwells on it. She also dwells on the beauty of its creator – Michael Garfield. Life has taught me to be wary of men with too much beauty in them.

There are parts of the book I like re-reading, but overall it’s not one of my favourites. I don’t like it when I can guess the murderer(s) too early, and the book seems a bit too moody, but it was still quite interesting meeting this “different” Agatha Christie. It was useful also as cultural education – I’ve learned a lot about what people do at Hallowe’en parties. And meeting Ariadne Oliver was fun.

Rebus seems to drink a little less than in “Black & Blue”, but still a lot. He is getting older too, and his subordinates are hinting none too subtly that it’s time for him to retire. He no longer has a desk of his own, but his intuition is still as sharp as ever, and his sense of duty still here. It, of course, takes much more than a quarrel over a suspect to do anything to his friendship with Siobhan – before long we see them working together again. And succeeding.

In this book Ian Rankin raises a huge social problem – illegal immigrants and their miseries. The locals feel no welcome for them; the government puts them in prison-like temporary shelters while investigating their claims and treats them much like criminals; the real criminals prey on them and turn them into slaves. Rebus has to deal with everything, to dig into the whole unpleasant business – and though his heart seems hardened enough with years of a police officer’s job, and his favourite image is “Mr Angry”, his compassion for these unfortunate people is obvious. That’s what brings him together with Caro Quinn, an artist and a social activist devoting her life to defending the immigrants’ rights, but their friendship doesn’t last. Caro overdoes on everything and, like most people of her kind, never knows where to stop and where to draw the line. So, after a night or two spent in pleasant conversations they both go their separate ways.

Rankin is honest – just like his main character he calls a spade a spade. “Fleshmarket Close” was a bestseller in its time – most probably, due to some sobering discoveries people were making while reading it. I’ve certainly learned a few things.

The third murder follows, and though Adam Dalgliesh knows the name of the murderer, he can’t prove anything. This murderer is far more intelligent than the one guilty of the first two crimes and knows how to leave no evidence. Yet Dalgliesh is not the one to give up easily…

I must say I find P.D.James’s books a bit depressing, but, nevertheless, interesting. You might never want to re-read them (I did – but only to refresh my memory for the review), but they are worth being read at least once. The mystery will keep you thrilled, and, unless you are as clever as Dalgliesh himself, you’ll never guess the murderer’s name until you read the whole book. The characters are drawn with the precision of a true master – all different, and all having the right amount of Heaven and Hell in them – not even the victims portrayed as complete saints, or the murderers complete villains. They are just people, with everything that goes with it. And they are interesting, too – I’d like to meet some of them, and it’s a pity they aren’t real.

My absolute favourite is Adam Dalgliesh himself, a police officer and a poet – apparently, a genius in both fields. He sounds like a really decent person – a really honourable one. His knowledge of people is amazing; his understanding of duty even more so. He’s a perfect role model for a police officer, assuming perfection exists outside books.

Soon Perry Mason discovers that Fremont Sabin bought himself a parrot shortly before going to the cabin and substituted him for his pet parrot Casanova. He finds Casanova too – the old bird is cared for by a certain Miss Helen Monteith and continuously says, “Put down that gun, Helen. Don’t shoot. My God, you’ve shot me.” What’s more, apparently Fremont Sabin married Miss Monteith under an assumed name. Does is make him a bigamist? Or had he divorced Helen Watkins Sabin properly? Had he been married to her to begin with? And which Helen murdered him? They both might have had a motive, and a few facts discovered about Helen Watkins Sabin show beyond doubt that she is a crook. Is she also a murderer?

Perry Mason ends up defending Helen Monteith’s interests at the inquest, and with a few intelligent guesses turns the whole case around and brings it to the most unexpected end. I’ll say no more… the book is well worth reading – not for the sake of any deep psychology (there’s none), but for the sake of the neatly drawn plot and to enjoy the way a perfect mind works. Perry Mason has never lost a case, and no wonder, since he is so intelligent and never afraid to take risks. The police officers hate him – he makes them look like fools way too often – but in my opinion they should hate themselves for being such fools. But that wouldn’t be realistic to expect them to.

The book has a charming happy end, which in itself will bring you an immence satisfaction if you take your time to read the book. I like Erle Stanley Gardner’s books: they are sweet and entertaining if not deep. And very easy to read, so I’d also recommend them to every fellow foreign reader just starting to read English-language books in original.

Then we are moved to Jack Worthing’s country house and meet his charming young ward Cecily and her governess Miss Prism. One by one, Algernon, Jack, Gwendolen and her mother arrive at the scene. Algernon calls himself Ernest Worthing and as such proposes to Cecily. Later, Gwendolen and Cecily quarrel over the non-existent Ernest Worthing, only to find out later that they both have been deceived.

Later, when Jack’s origins become known to him (they had been a secret to him all his life), he makes the most shocking discovery about himself: all the lies he ever told were in fact literal truth! And his real name is Ernest, after all – but John too.

Three happy engagements follow, looking unforgivably decent among all the cynicism, hypocrisy and lies that have been so pleasant to encounter… Even the young ladies – so beautiful, so passionate and so truthful – have their morals somewhat inside out, which doesn’t make them any less charming and lovable.

The play presents us with yet another side of Oscar Wilde’s multi-dimentional talent: his humour. Quite wicked – and totally perfect: not a word out of place – and at the same time he makes it quite easy to see what kind of message he is trying to convey. Just how many people surely felt indignant after recognising themselves in the characters of the play? We can only guess – and yet I’m sure they couldn’t help laughing at the same time.

Actually, both Jack and Algernon are a milder version of Sir Henry in “The Picture of Dorian Gray” – but they are harmless. I’m sure they’ll be perfect (and probably a bit dull) husbands to Gwendolen and Cecily respectively, once they grow just a little older. Amazing how Oscar Wilde could always highlight the most unpleasant about the very same society to which he himself belonged – and make it look either tragic or funny, depending on how he felt about it.

Re-reading this play was a nice bit of morning fun – it was, perhaps, one of the last mornings I was able to dedicate to this innocent entertainment, now that I’m about to get extremely busy. I have to warn my readers that from now on my new reviews will appear on this blog far less often, but I promise to keep this project going, no matter what. It’s been too much of a pleasure to abandon it just like this.

With the fourth crime everything seems to go wrong – and they catch the obvious murderer. The case is as clear as could be – so why isn’t Poirot satisfied?

He’ll eventually explain it all – of course he will. Once again we’ll be left dumbfounded by the genius of the author: who’d have thought it was like this! Oooooh, the way she turns it all around…

I read this book many years ago, when I just started reading in English. I picked it up from a library. Many years have passed, and now I visit the same library again, and there’s the same book standing on the shelf. Why not re-read it, I thought today…

Funny how the passage of time changes the way we perceive things… especially books. Last time I was so indignant with Poirot for the way he treated Thora Grey. There was, I thought, no ground at all for his innuendo! Now I’m reading it again – not a girl of 25 anymore, but an experienced, married woman of 38 – and I see it all so clearly. Of course he did have grounds! They are all here, staring me in the face…

But that’s not the most important thing to say about this book, of course – just the episode. What I have to say, if you are a fan of Agatha Christie’s books but haven’t read this partucilar one yet, you definitely should. It’s a masterpiece – a gem. You’ll be thrilled – and what’s more, you’ll discover a different Agatha Christie (yes, again – isn’t she different in any book she ever wrote?)

if, on the other hand, you’ve never read any of her books yet, “The ABC Murders” could be a good one to start with, if not a very typical one. I recommend it to you in any case – unless, of course, you hate detective stories. The way Poirot arrives at the identity of the murderer – the way he sets up his trap to get a confession out of him – it’s all pure genius and pure pleasure for any fan of the genre.

That’s to be decided later; for now, she is committed to the care of Sergeant Cribb and the two Constables. They have promised solemnly to keep her safe.

Unlike in “A Case of Spirits” we meet a few pleasant enough characters in this book. Harriet herself is rather a dear, at once brave and brainy. Her way of describing people – by means of comparing them to gulfs and islands, explained by her passion for geography – was enough to endear her to Sergeant Cribb, I think, for he is unusually (for him) sweet to her througout the rest of the book. Constable Hardy is an admirable fellow too, even though Harriet fails to appreciate him at first. But we also get our fair share of pretty disgusting types as the book proceeds. But Peter Lovesey approaches the disgusting with humour, which, of course, makes it all quite agreeable.

It’s a very easy to read book, written in a light-hearted, cheerful manner. That’s the way Peter Lovesey writes, I’m starting to realise – quite unlike the gloomy, rough style of other modern English writers, like Ruth Rendell or Ian Rankin. These books are sure to cheer the reader up. If you like being cheered up rather than persuaded that life is not really worth it, this book is for you.

The characters are quite well drawn – though most of them are quite grotesque, and the author seems to amuse himself even further by highlighting their vices, a Cockney cabman being just as repulsive as a highly positioned doctor, his family and carefully chosen guests. I couldn’t name anyone in this book – apart from Cribb and Thackeray – deserving as much as sympathy, let alone admiration, but the author’s mild humour and great eye for detail makes them all look rather funny and the whole show quite agreeable. I’ve laughed more than once on my way towards the last scene – the explanation (the part of any detective story that I love best!) It was clever of Cribb to solve the mystery like this, and to recognise the significance of every apparently unimportant fact involved in the case.

Peter Lovesey definitely has his own, unmistakable style – not only in terms of the language, but also in the way he sets up the mystery and the investigation. I’m looking forward to reading his other book. His cynicism has a refreshing effect on me.