With the publication of Blinders [Seaweed Publishing] Ida Linehan Young once again ventures into uncharted territory. Last time out, she gave us Tilly Too Tall which was a step off the path from her familiar historical novels. Now she has jumped feet first into the densely populated pool of crime thrillers.
Before I scribble any remarks about the specifics of Blinders I’m choosing to ramble on, and sort of like the Walrus and the Carpenter in Lewis Carroll’s grand old poem, speak of other things …
…like soups, and literary tropes and Jam-Jams.
In a kitchen of a hundred thousand yummy, tummy-toasting soups, what makes one deliciously different from another?
Not the ingredients. They are all much the same — chopped turnips and carrots, peas or rice or chicken (or all three, it’s soup for frig sake), salt beef, and …
… another bit of salt beef if you wish, eh b’ys?
So, again I ask, what makes the difference?
The cook, of course.
The cook, who adds a secret ingredient (A spoonful of sugar is the secret, eh Granny?), or stirs the pot against the clock, or heats the stove to a personally preferred temperature, or … ah, you get my drift.
Shuff the soup to a back damper…
…and consider those murder story tropes, themes, ingredients. Unexplained dead bodies. A dedicated cop, or a sleuth who’s half an anti-hero. As the cliché goes, all the usual suspects, some more villainous than others. A slew of clues, some genre slight-of-hand and misdirection.
Again, you get my drift. Unless the muddle in my noggin appears on the page as tangled and confusing as a proverbial mare’s nest.
The author makes the difference.
In the case of Blinders, Ida Linehan Young — culinarian supreme — stirs the crime thriller soup in her own inimitable way.
(Do any of you have as much trouble pronouncing in·im·i·ta·ble as I do?)
What?
Yes, I’m still hoping to speak of Jam Jams the once.
Here comes an abrupt shift of gears…
Once upon a time, before I realized I hate (yes, strong word or not, hate) camping, my Honey and I spent a night in the wilderness to help test drive our brother-in-law’s brand-new hardtop tow-behind.
Guess where we set ‘er up?
Witless Bay Line, for frig sake. Little did we know — at least as Blinders goes — that we might have pitched our tent, so to speak, on the shores of a pond chockfull of moldering, murder victims, one of them with its hands tied to the steering wheel of a submerged car.
Blinders is the story of how those bodies ended up in the pond. Believe me, it’s a rich soup of a story.
Throughout the book, the author gives reader bits and pieces of the homicide puzzle — the turnip and carrot cubes, the cops and the killers, the slain and the suspects, the salt beef and rice. But it isn’t until readers reach the bottom of the boiler that they learn the startling particulars of the killings.
The whodunits (like who killed Jessica, for instance) will surprise you, kind of like chomping into a piece of lead shot if the soup you’re supping features bull birds.
Okay, the time has come to speak of Jam Jams.
On page 44, to add a smidgen of local colour, I suppose, Ida mentions a character’s fondness for Purity Jam Jams, a beloved store-bought Newfoundland cookie.
Here’s the thing that baffles me.
When they are being reared up, some Newfoundland off-spring turn up their noses at Jam Jams. Yet when they’ve grown and taken up housekeeping in a foreign province, they phone home and beg Mammy to ship them packages of Jam Jams, as if the cookies contain the baked-in essence of home.
Mr. Purity will want to knock my hat off for saying this, but…
… I’ve lived in a foreign province. However, I’ve never acquired a taste for Jam Jams. To speak colloquially, “B’ys, I finds them gummy.”
Ida, stay in the kitchen (!), keep on stirring the soup with your own special spurtle.
Thank you all for reading.