4.5★
“’Good Lord!’ she said. Someone told me about a family that lived in a great rambling old mansion not far from here: an eccentric colonel and a family of girls running wild like a lot of red Indians. You’re not one of them, are you?’
She saw instantly by the look on my face that I was.
‘Oh, you poor child!’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ... I mean . . .’
‘It’s quite all right,’ I told her. ‘It’s far worse than that actually, but I don’t like to talk about it.’”
Young Flavia de Luce is a child-sleuth with a passion and a talent for chemistry. You wouldn’t want to cross her out in the woods, because she might decide to poison you. On the other hand, if by chance you were on the brink of succumbing to some poison, she could probably produce an antidote from whatever plants and substances she could find nearby.
This takes place in England in the 1950s. She’s ten-going-on-eleven, motherless and, yes, wild. Wild as in free as the wind and young enough that nobody suspects her of doing anything seriously wrong. She’s more likely to be considered a nuisance.
She has a fair knowledge of history, a strong sense of justice, and a delightful sense of humour. She’s quite wry for one so young.
“I have to admit, though, that Cynthia was a great organizer, but then, so were the men with whips who got the pyramids built.”
Flavia is in fairly constant battle with her two older sisters, Ophelia (Feely) and Daphne (Daffy).
“I’d show that bloody swine Feely a thing or two. I’d have her so tied up in knots they’d have to hire a sailor to undo her for the funeral.”
When Flavia meets up with a roving puppeteer and his assistant and discovers they are broke and their van needs repairs, she decides to help. It turns out Rupert Porsons is a much-loved television star, so she convinces them to put on a show locally to make some money to pay for van repairs.
The local vicar arranges for them to camp in the field of a local farm, so Flavia shows them the way. But the place seems deserted.
“In my experience, whenever you arrived at a farm, someone always came out of the barn to greet you, wiping his oily hands on a rag and calling to a woman with a basket of eggs to bake some scones and put the tea on. At the very least, there should have been a barking dog.”
No dog, but there is a tall tower with a dovecote on top. Flavia has heard a sound (she claims to have extraordinary hearing), so she investigates. Before she does, she tells us the sad tale of the small son of the farm having been found hanged some years ago, which sent his mother mad.
She identifies the keening as that of the bereft woman. As she climbs the rickety ladder, she can just see Mrs. Ingleby and hear her singing peculiar songs. Of course she investigates!
“But while I was still trying to calculate how quickly I could scramble back down the wooden frame and make a run for it, the woman spoke: ‘Come up, Flavia,’ she said. ‘Come up and join in my little requiem.’
Requiem? I thought. Do I really want to scramble up into a brick cell with a woman who is at best more than a little inebriated, and at worst a homicidal maniac?
I hauled myself up into the gloom.”
The plot sprawls across many characters and thickens wonderfully in unexpected ways. Flavia, meanwhile, is juggling her father, her sisters, her visiting aunt (who takes over), as well as the police when they become involved after a sudden, dramatic death.
I love the sense of place and the action. Flavia and Gladys, her trusty bike, fly around the countryside.
“Although there was a sliver of gold in the eastern sky, the sun was not yet up as I barreled along the road to Bishop’s Lacey. Gladys’s tires were humming that busy, waspish sound they make when she’s especially content. Low fog floated in the fields on either side of the ditches, and I pretended that I was the ghost of Cathy Earnshaw flying to Heathcliff (except for the bicycle) across the Yorkshire moors. Now and then, a skeletal hand would reach out of the bramble hedges to snatch at my red woolen sweater, but Gladys and I were too fast for them.”
It's a complex plot with wonderful characters.
“In her beige taffeta blouse, mahogany-colored skirt, and brown oxfords, she looked like nothing so much as an over-wound grandfather clock.”
Aunt Felicity fares better.
“Aunt Felicity. In spite of the heat, she was wearing a long, light-colored motoring coat and a great solar topee, which was tied under her chin with a broad blue ribbon. Various bits protruded from her person in all directions: hatpins, umbrella handles, rolled-up magazines, newspapers, shooting sticks, and so forth. She looked like a walking bird’s nest, or, rather, more like an ambulatory haystack.”
I just love Flavia (and Gladys) and her bold experiments. Great series. Perfectly suitable for kids, I’d say, though there’s nothing childish about the writing.