My #1 disappointment with this book was its brevity. There is little plot development or character development; MacNeal flits from one locale to the next, offering only teasers. I hope she isn't heading down the path that so many authors are these days, cranking out shorter and shorter works, calling them "novellas" but which are, increasingly, short enough to be deemed short stories. This book is, in my opinion, just filler between Books #3 and #5, a huge disappointment after her last. I hope next time around MacNeal puts more time and effort into her writing.
We see a few familiar faces in Book 3, but just in passing. We're told repeatedly that Maggie suffers from nightmares of her time in Germany, mainly about shooting the German boy and the death of the young theologian turned freedom fighter. Maggie is plagued with Churchill's "black dog" of depression. (He was actually not the first person to use this metaphor, btw; Martin Luther did, some 400 years earlier.) Maggie's depression is understandable, and today she'd probably be diagnosed with PTSD. If she weren't affected in some way, I'd have thrown the book out the window in disbelief.
Frankly, I think Maggie's half-sister had a lot more to be depressed about, and showed more spirit and strength. Maggie was not the one living with a narcissistic, Nazi mother every day, living in a repressive society, and seeing death and suffering on a daily basis. I think she'd find Maggie's life a cakewalk in comparison. No, she has not had to shoot anyone (yet) as Maggie had, but she did something far more dangerous in my opinion: She sneaked onto a bus to see where it was taking the disabled children, and despite the horror of learning their fate, had the presence of mind to make it back without being caught, then persevere and get proof of the atrocity. But that was Book 2; back to Book 3.
Maggie has her independence, her own flat in London, a satisfying career, friends in high places, is beautiful (or so we're reminded repeatedly), and has not one, but two men in love with her. Her only flaw was being unathletic. But being the Ubermensch that she is (her mother's daughter?), our heroine overcomes her weakness and becomes a veritable Amazon, able to run up and down mountains. (Next she'll be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.)
If she is so smart, why don't we see more examples? There is the one odd discussion early in Chapter 1 of running vs. walking in the rain, but it feels so contrived that I can picture the author with a checklist, ticking off "obligatory example of Maggie's superior brain," in a hurry to get it out of the way so she doesn't have to think about it again for the rest of the book. It just makes Maggie look obnoxious.
Maggie admits to being stalked by the same "black dog" of depression as Churchill. But if she were so depressed, wouldn't you think that she would have sought help before this? Or that Frain, or her father--someone--would have gotten her help? She is ordered to take a holiday only when her friend Sarah happens to visit Edinburgh and has mysteriously contracted anthrax. Not even one day off the farm (figuratively speaking), the change of scenery restores our heroine to her former intrepid self, and voila--she charges in once again to save the day. How fortunate that Maggie just happens to be in town! But she is clearly not 100% herself, because she fails to connect the dots between the symptoms of anthrax and the dead sheep she discovered the week before. Having gone to such a prestigious college, Maggie should be no stranger to science, so why don't the sores on the dead sheep raise a red flag in her mind sooner?
The physical symptoms MacNeal ascribes to cutaneous anthrax aren't entirely correct, either. I thought that she was supposed to be so serious about her research? I was able to learn from a single Web search that cutaneous anthrax is the mildest form of anthrax, "seldom fatal with appropriate treatment." (Granted, "appropriate treatment" today means antibiotics, which were not widely available at the time.) But still: The primary symptom of cutaneous exposure is reportedly swollen lymph glands, yet none of the women exhibited this symptom. Don't you think at least one of the ballerinas, who perform with bared necks and shoulders, would have exhibited this symptom? Or that someone would have noticed the stricken girl's black sores _before_ she died? And speaking of the black sores... (grimace)
The other symptom of cutaneous anthrax is supposed to be "a raised, itchy bump resembling an insect bite" (not one of these women felt itchy?) "that quickly develops into a painless sore with a black center" (per the Mayo Clinic website). This doesn't sound like the hideous, Bubonic Plague-like sores MacNeal describes. Artistic license?
Maggie is close enough to observe the dead sheep not once, but twice, and the first time at close range. She has nary a scrape or sliver from scrambling across mountains of gorse on a daily basis, and magically eludes inhaling the deadly spores while downwind of the soldiers' windborn experiment. She blithely dumpster-dives in sheer stockings and pumps while her male colleague stands aside. Does she WANT to die? When she doesn't find the anthrax-containing bouquet in the trash, she just forgets about it, so we are supposed to as well, not giving the public's risk a 2nd thought. All I can say is, for such a smart chick, she can be incredibly stupid at times.
As far as plot device goes, yes, it's interesting that the Brits were developing biochemical weapons then, but that should have come as no surprise to someone as knowledgeable as Maggie. The horrors of mustard gas were widely known; thousands were killed and maimed 2 decades earlier in WW1.
MacNeal attempts to juggle 4 separate plotlines simultaneously and the result is a mediocre, unsatisfying mush. Interestingly, the more sympathetic characters are the individual Japanese: the reluctant admiral in Japan, Japan's weary ambassador in Washington, DC, and the young Japanese American in Scotland whose family in California was sent to an internment camp. So despite the book's brevity, MacNeal at least takes the time to give some of her characters more than comic book dimension. Her Churchill tells Maggie at one point that it would be wrong to confuse the Nazis with the German people in general. Amen to that.
Yet MacNeal's Clara Hess borders on farcical, even more over-the-top than before. It wasn't enough that she suddenly reappeared from the grave in Book 2 and just happened to be a top Nazi official. She was also an opera singer, looked like Garbo, was rich, married to a famous orchestra conductor, and even had a 2nd, implausibly normal daughter. The addition in Book 3 of a supposed split personality, the 11th hour revelation that she and Frain were lovers, and the fact that he helps her escape at the end are too much. This is the guy who keeps telling Clara's doctor that she is duping him, first with her supposed catatonic state then a split personality. The doc was pretty stupid, you must admit, to give a notorious war criminal something to use to kill herself--or him. But of course, men are ever known to fall for a beautiful woman, and Clara is that, despite her increasingly 2-tone haircolor. (Meow.)
For all of MacNeal's championing of women, why does she resort to stereotype and cast not just one, but two older women as villains? Not just Clara, but the over-the-hill wife as well, whose "dress gaps between buttons" (double-meow), who poisons her philandering husband's svelte young lover out of revenge. He gets off scot-free, of course, free to seek greener pastures, while the wife rots in prison. Men being men, they can't help themselves, right? Methinks the author protests not enough.
Well, maybe MacNeal doesn't let men completely off the hook. She points out that Maggie's former fiance was a cad to criticize Mags for moving on after his reported death. Churchill used Maggie, too. The author lists the numerous mistakes made by American leaders that led to the attack on Pearl Harbor: Hoover ignored vital intelligence out of prejudice; officials in DC had grown soft and lazy; military leaders fought petty turf battles with other branches and ignored warnings from their staff. Unlike leaders in England who'd learned to utilize all the talent and brainpower they could, male or female, American leaders still condescendingly called women "Honey" and ordered them to fetch coffee. The matter of the international dateline snafu piqued my interest and I wonder why MacNeal didn't include that in her notes at the end? Surely I'm not the only reader curious to know if that was true. It certainly has the ring of truth, but it would have been nice to have confirmation.
My favorite character has to be the cat "K" that utters "meh" instead of "meow." With a single syllable, he displays more personality than his owner. In the final analysis, "meh" pretty well sums up how I felt about this book, too.