Often, a mystery will end with the protagonist speaking to a gathering of people – in a courtroom, for example – in which he or she reveals all, and shows how the evidence was right under our noses if we had just been clever enough to figure it out. (If one could sit and read the book straight through, instead of over a period of several days with long interruptions, that might be possible with this story.) But something tells me we’re not going to see that kind of wrap-up here. It would seem out of character for a book like this. Rather, things will come into focus suddenly with the occurrence of one event, or the killer, thinking he’s getting away with the crime, will gloatingly tell Maureen what she had missed all along.
Martin’s list of names apparently contains a major piece of
the puzzle, but it’s hard to see how at this point. ‘ “Those are the ones I remember,” he
said. “There’ll be some I’ve forgotten,
but those are the full-timers who were moved after the scandal.” She folded it up and slipped it into the
condom pocket of her jeans.’ Wait – condom pocket? Is that a reference to the little sewn in
pocket that some denim pants brands have just above the front pocket? All this time . . . Actually it has several traditional
uses: watches on chains, tickets,
change, gold nuggets for miners. But
according to one source, at the Levis factory itself they have indeed been
called condom pockets by some. I’m now
ready for “Jeopardy!”
When the police allow Maureen to move back into her
apartment, they inform her that she will have to clean up all her boyfriend’s
blood on her own. This, knowing her
psychiatric history and the fact that she has been suicidal at times in the
past. Pretty cold-blooded. Her brother offers to help her clean it up,
but, remembering that the police had made wreck of his place in their search
for evidence, she says, ‘ “You’ve got your own house to worry about. I think I’d rather do it alone anyway.” It might have been the void left by her
lapsed Catholicism but important events prompted her need for ritual. Certain things had to be done in certain ways
to mark the end of the cycle of events; like secular voodoo, it helped to
resolve matters, signifying and punctuating.’
Officers McEwan and McAskill agree to accompany
Maureen to the Equal Café, her local greasy spoon after helping her lug the
bloody living room carpet down the stairs.
‘ “I found a stain in the cupboard,” said Maureen, shaking her sore
hands. “Yeah?” puffed McAskill. “Yeah.”
He brushed off the front of his coat and rubbed his hands together. “What was it, Hugh?” “What was what?” “What was in the cupboard?” “I can’t tell you that, Maureen.” “Why?”
“We’ll need it to identify the killer.
If it leaks, it’s useless.” ‘ And at the Equal Café they order something
called the “all-day breakfast,”
consisting of: ‘a runny fried
egg, a potato scone, black pudding, Lorne sausage, mushrooms, fried tomato and
bacon.’ One wonders just what someone
might be doing “all-day” after a breakfast like that one . . .
February's book of the month:
“The 158-Pound Marriage,” by John Irving!
Amazon.com Review
The darker vision and sexual ambiguities of this erotic, ironic tale about a ménage a quatre in a New England university town foreshadow those of The World According to Garp; but this very trim and precise novel is a marked departure from the author's generally robust, boisterous style. Though Mr. Irving's cool eye spares none of his foursome, he writes with genuine compassion for the sexual tests and illusions they perpetrate on each other; but the sexual intrigue between them demonstrates how even the kind can be ungenerous, and even the well-intentioned, destructive.
Week 1: Chapters 1-3
(First post, 2-6-15)
Week 2: Chapters 4-5
Week 3: Chapters 6-7
Week 4: Chapters 8-10
Week 3: Chapters 6-7
Week 4: Chapters 8-10
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