From Macbeth, by William Shakespeare:
1 WITCH. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.
2 WITCH. Thrice and once, the hedge-pig whin'd.
3 WITCH. Harpier cries:—'tis time! 'tis time!
1 WITCH. Round about the caldron go;
In the poison'd entrails throw.—
Toad, that under cold stone,
Days and nights has thirty-one;
Swelter'd venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot!
ALL. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
2 WITCH. Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,—
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
ALL. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
There is definitely double trouble in this latest of Alan Bradley’s books, and Flavia de Luce’s confidence that her banishment to Canada has matured her into a sophisticated young woman is challenged by double toil. Her father has fallen ill and no-one has been allowed to see him. The vicar’s wife sends Flavia on a simple errand to request help from an old master wood-carver, and Flavia finds him dead – in a most horrific way.
Worried about her father, Flavia throws herself into the mystery – murder? Accident? Who is behind the curtain? Who knows more than they are telling the Inspector or her? Sulphur smells, a witches threats, and a cat who shows up where it doesn’t belong - and just which human belongs to the cat? The mysteries continue to unfold, even bringing forward previous mysteries that were supposedly resolved.
As always, this book is peppered with literary references, and also some fine and startling new ways of thinking about things. For example:
“Playing the clown is not an easy task. Clowns, I have come to believe, are placed upon the earth solely to fill the needs of others, while running perilously close to ‘Empty’ themselves.”
“I could already see that conversation with this woman was doomed to lurch along in a series of freezes and thaws, like all of the earth’s Ice Ages advancing and receding and advancing again in speeded-up motion, as in a comedy from the days of the silent cinema.”
“. . . my sister was the kind of person who is sometimes described as ‘monosyllabic’. (Why, incidentally, does a word meaning ‘a single syllable’ require a five-syllable word to describe it? The world, as Mr. Partridge remarked in a recent talk on the wireless, is surely going to hell in a linguistic handbasket.)”
This series is so much fun to read – for the mysteries and watching Flavia’s mind at work when she is relaxed and in her childlike mode, completely open to anything. It is not heavy reading, but a delightful and refreshing change from more hard-boiled thrillers or deep drama, historical or current.
Flavia reflects,
“My sister Daffy, for instance, can prattle on about flyleaves, colophons, and first editions not only until the cows come home, but until they have put on their nightcaps, gone to bed, switched off the lights, and begun snoring in their cowsheds.”
I can definitely relate – maybe not the colophons so much, but I’m definitely “barmy about books”, as Flavia put it a bit earlier in the paragraph, and to read and then share a sentence like that is one of the reasons why.