Michael Jecks's Blog, page 24

Let me guess, you are perfect!!!

Let me guess, you are perfect!!!.

 

A heartfelt scream from a professional writer. Readers, please think before giving the bad review or single star ranking!

Poppies, Remembrance and Reflections.

I mentioned yesterday that my little boy was suffering over an essay he had to write. Well, he was grateful for me sitting down to help him (shortly after helping his big sister with her Compound Interest homeword) and, I’m glad to say that the end result of his labours was good. Mind you, I’m his dad, so I would think that.

However, it did get me thinking.

Some of the 2,650 graves at Arras.

I’ve always been interested in war and history. I well remember a friend of a friend at school who sneered at me because I thought most of the answers to life could be found in books. This is going back a while. In fact, all the way to the 1970s. There were no computers in homes in those days, no internet, and no emails. Yet this complete cretin believed that there was nothing useful to be gained by reading and learning about all the mistakes made by people in the past. I didn’t bother to extend my acquaintance with him.

From a very early age I remember being angry that the act of Remembrance was no longer held at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. To me, it seemed cruelly ironic that the fact that we in Britain could hold our act of Remembrance at all was entirely due to those being remembered. And yet it was considered too costly to perform that act on a weekday. Cheaper and therefore better to hold it on a Sunday.

When I was a youngster in the sixties and seventies, I would always try to find a quiet place at eleven o’clock where I could stand and consider those who died so young. Friends used to be quite scornful, but I didn’t care. I had begun to study history for my own satisfaction when I was nine or so and commuting to Elmhurst School in South Croydon. I used to read books on any subject, but the First World War was favourite. And when I’d completed Paschendaele and The Somme, I found a copy of Basil Liddell Hart’s history of the First World War. That led to his analysis of the Second World War, and many books on the desert campaigns, on Stalingrad and the Russian Front and other theatres. Then I grew more interested in the Colonial wars and the great generals such as Garnet Wolseley.

I am very glad to see that my little son, after reading up about the Great War and about the Poppy Appeal and all the good that the Haig Trust achieves, summarised his essay by saying that he was proud to wear a poppy out of respect for all the soldiers who died in those wars.

The Poitiers memorial

Now, I need to add a couple of riders. First, a serious note. When in France this summer, I managed to visit the battle site of Poitiers. Here I discovered a wonderful memorial. Poitiers, for those who don’t know it, was a terrible battle, with many thousands killed, but in the end it was the beginning of a disastrous period for France. The English won the battle and even captured the French King. Routiers, which basically means brigands and murderers, ravaged the land while the French king had a jolly time in England. Yes, I mean that. He did. Poitiers saw the slaughter of many of the members of the French nobility. And yet the memorial mentioned and honoured the dead of the French, Gascon and English armies. In death, all were equal, just as they were in the war cemeteries of the Somme or Tobruk.

And the second little tale?

Well, this is a little more humorous.

The field of blood poppies in the moat at the Tower of London

A few weeks ago my brothers took me and my father to London. We visited several sites, but finished with a look at the field of poppies at the Tower of London. It was a truly stunning, touching and remarkable display and capped a marvellous day for the Jecks brothers and père. But afterwards, we took a taxi to London Bridge station. There, as we struggled to remove our father’s wheelchair (he is quite old, you realise), the driver point blank refused to accept any money. Not any tip – any money at all. We were surprised, and enormously glad to accept this kind fellow’s generosity. However, on the train we did muse over the reason for his act.

My innocent brother, one up from me, suddenly hit upon the explanation. He pointed out that our father was wearing his tie (yes, Chalky, the REME one), and clearly the taxi driver had thought the old man must be a veteran, and was thanking him in his own way. Which was touching. It’s wonderful to think that the man was kind, respectful, perhaps grateful enough, to want to give our father a lift for free, and to let us all in for free too.

However, my brothers (I am the youngest, and therefore the most perspicacious, intelligent and good-looking as well as sharpest) were less pleased when I pointed out that the man could well have thought we were all veterans. They didn’t like the implication that they might look a little – well, ancient.

I hope you have a peaceful, quiet and safe 11th November. I hope you will, like me, wear a poppy with pride, and with gratitude to all those who lost their lives, who were injured, or who participated and came home at last safely. I will honour them all at eleven o’clock. I hope you will too.

Clive, Alan, Keith and me with our father, Peter. Don’t they look old?

Tagged: 11/11/11, author, blogger, book writing, creative, Dartmoor, Devon, ebook, ebooks, Editing, edits, fiction, fiction writing, Haig Trust, hints and tips, historian, history, homework, Knight Templar, knights templar, library, medieval, medievalist, Michael Jecks, novelist, Poppy Appeal, publishing, Q&A, questions, questions and answers, Remembrance, Remembrance Day, respect, scribbler, stories, story, taxi, Templar series, Tower of London, work displacement, writer, writing

Editing

It’s sad, but very true, that most people hate editing. I do myself.

My son thinks that any form of writing is a scheme designed to torture little boys. He is bright, and his brain is perfectly capable of good work, but the simple fact is, he considers any form of writing to be a major interruption to his daily round of sports, playing and watching TV (or, when he thinks we won’t notice, videos on YouTube). This weekend for once I managed to get him to sit down and write his homework before he went out to play. He ensconced himself happily enough before my computer (this one) and researched his homework, which was all about the Poppy Appeal and First World War. He was genuinely interested. Then off he went to type up his work, and produced some good work. However, by then his mental stamina was reduced to the level that he could not continue. He was weary of such silly exercises, so he went up to his desk and before long I discerned the sounds of a boy who is no longer working. Balls bouncing, feet moving quickly and, still more obvious for my little brute, the high-speed whine of a boy simulating a car racing up and down his carpet.

On the Sunday he was supposed to read through, edit and finish things. But he’s a little boy. So, did he edit? Did he heck. He disappeared from the house at a little after nine, and returned finally (when hunted down and captured) at four thirty. Supper, with guests, prevented more work. So it wasn’t until this morning that I got a chance to run through the work with him.

It’s good. Yes, he found out a lot about the Poppy Appeal, and he was enthused about the subject – for the first few paragraphs. Then there was a scrappy final paragraph and a  sentence that was his “summary”.

Well, I don’t care much about summaries for primary school kids. I’ll let that pass. However, the final main paragraph did let things down a lot after the first few. And as soon as he read it, he saw it too. As well as the unnecessary apostrophe on “its”. Not a big one, but it was enough to make him angry with himself. He knew he should have seen that. So we agreed that we’ll look at it together this evening. He’s happy with that.

And why do I mention all this?

Because yesterday when I should have been at my desk doing MY edit, I was instead watching Remembrance Day on the TV, and then, because I was so moved by a retired paratrooper’s story of the attempt to capture Arnhem in Operation Market Garden, that I went and watched A Bridge Too Far.

At the end of the day, I’m no better than him, really. Damn.

For all the fact that my painting is an income-generator, and therefore a justified activity, mainly I am a writer, and my job is to sit here and write. So it’s rather sad that I can see in my own efforts the same desire to leave my desk and play with paints, or walk the dog, or go and practise setting up a tarp for a campsite, as my son!

So, today it’s back to the edit. Wish me luck – I’ll need it!

One small pile of paper to edit. Help!

Tagged: author, blogger, book writing, creative, Dartmoor, Devon, ebook, ebooks, Editing, edits, fiction, fiction writing, hints and tips, historian, history, homework, Knight Templar, knights templar, library, medieval, medievalist, Michael Jecks, novelist, publishing, Q&A, questions, questions and answers, scribbler, stories, story, Templar series, work displacement, writer, writing

Conway Stewart Pens – RIP

It is always very sad to hear of an old friend who has disappeared. On Friday I learned that one of my real old friends has been closed.

That lovely company, Conway Stewart, the specialist, luxury brand that made pens from precious metals, who supplied Rolls Royce and the Orient Express with exclusive pens, has folded. The machines are gone, and the company exists only as a trading mark.

I bought my first pen from them years ago. A gorgeous, black Churchill that evoked a bygone era with its solid lines and Edwardian styling.

My gorgeous blank Churchill and my lovely silver Drake

That pen was my personal celebration for selling a good number of books in one royalty period. A while later, after the ban on pistol shooting, I was given a small amount of money in compensation for all the guns that were confiscated. It was only a tiny fraction of the value of the guns and equipment, but I was very reluctant to throw it into the weekly shop. Instead I decided to buy another pen that would always remind me of my sport. I bought a Conway Stewart Drake, a solid silver, massive but utterly gorgeous fountain pen.

I loved these two pens so much, that I began to track down the company. No, I wasn’t a stalker, but one of the reasons why I chose to buy them in the first place was the fact that they were both not only English made, but actually manufactured in Devon. Their offices were in Plymouth. I visited, I spoke to the Managing Director, and persuaded him that instead of naming the pens after long-dead warriors (the Wellington, the Churchill, the Drake etc), he ought to work with living writers. We spoke for some time, and in the end I was able to persuade him to commission me to write a story. I would help design a pen, and then package it with a short story and ink of my choosing. It would become the Michael Jecks pen, and was to be the first of the Detection Collection.

The Michael Jecks Pen.

 

 

And so it came to pass. My lovely pen is still here on my desk. Most of the time I don’t use it or the other Conway Stewarts. Not because I dislike them, but purely because I now have a Visconti Homo Sapiens which has one magnificent attribute above all others: because it is fashioned from volcanic lava, it does not ever scratch! Whereas my lovely Conway Stewarts in their beautiful resins and the fabulous silver Drake can get marked rather easily. Thus I tend to use the Visconti when I’m out and about. But the Conway Stewarts are always here by my desk.

I adore them. But now my affection is tinged with a lot of sadness. They write so well, they feel so good in the hand, and above all, they look so good. It’s really terrible to think that they have gone for good.

 

Tagged: author, books, Conway Stewart, Detection Collection, fountain pens, luxury manufacturers, Michael Jecks, Michael Jecks Pen, novelist, pens, The Church House, writing

Tavistock Heritage Festival

Ian, Myfanwy and me at the Tavistock Heritage Festival

I’ve banged on often enough about literary festivals and the ridiculous scam that they so often tend to be.

As an author (I know, I’m repeating myself), I have to justify every festival or gathering I go to on its merits as a worthwhile marketing event or whether it’ll bring in more money than I have to spend to go to it. It’s not rocket science: I’m self-employed. I have to make things pay because if I don’t, I’ll lose my house.

Last time I was at Tavistock, with Myfanwy Cook – thanks to Chris Chapman for the photo

Now, some authors get huge advances and can afford to go to lots of festivals free of charge. That’s nice for them. Actually, though, almost all those who get the most money don’t pay. The famous names you see at the bigger literary events are paid by their publishers to go. There’s a fundamental illogicality there: if you are earning a small fortune, your smaller expenses will be covered by someone else, but if you’re earning very little, you will have to pay for yourself.

Some years ago I was asked to give a talk to a local Probus club. These are good little organisations who serve the interests of retired folk. They meet every so often to have a good lunch and chat about their old careers, before having an after-dinner speaker lull them into a mild doze for a half hour or so. I like Probus clubs. They tend to pay reasonable amounts. Not huge, but reasonable.

I asked the organiser what the fee would be, and he was deeply offended, pointing out that Probus was a charity. Which is fine. But I’m not. I have to earn a living. He was asking me to give up a day of my working life to meet with him and his colleagues, plus another (at least one other) to write a talk that would be entertaining and witty. For those two to three days of work and travel, he expected to pay nothing. To put that into perspective, almost all the Probus club members would be retired accountants, solicitors, or private school teachers. All would earn more from their pensions than I do as a professional writer (which is why I cannot afford a pension, sadly). I was not sympathetic.

Some literary festivals will be good to authors. Some will allow them free entry to the festival. Sadly the ones that used to cover the cost of travel and/or a hotel room for an evening are now few and far between. Still, some do so. The AsparaWriting Festival for aspiring authors does, for example, and pays a fee too. Some festivals are at last considering paying a share of profits to attending authors. This is all good. However, there are still too many festivals which expect authors to pay to attend and won’t cover any expenses. Which makes it enormously difficult for authors to attend.

Ian Mortimer and I outside the great doors to the church at Poitiers

For example, I am lucky to see 11 pennies from a sale on Amazon. The retailer expects and demands an 80% discount from publishers. Publishers pay based on net receipts, so my income is slashed by whatever the retailer demands as a discount. So, in order to travel to, say, Bristol, I have to cover the cost of the train trip (about £50) and the cost of the hotel board (perhaps £300 for a weekend) as well as the entry to the festival itself (which is never less than £100). So, for the pleasure of losing a weekend with my family, I’m expected to pay somewhere in the region of £450-£550, depending on the distance and the cost of the festival. At £0.11 per book sale, that just doesn’t work. There is not a festival in the land that would produce 4,000 sales. So it’s worse than uneconomic.

However, there are some people who don’t just appreciate the problems. There are some who go out of their way to be efficient.

On Friday 24th I gave a talk with my great friend Ian Mortimer. We were at the Tavistock Heritage Festival for three or four hours, talking to the people, giving a two-up conversation on stage, and hanging around afterwards to sign copies of our books with the delightful BookStop from Tavistock (yes, there still is one independent shop in Tavistock!). And not only were they welcoming, generous with their beers, and keen to provide accommodation, they also paid up on the following Tuesday.

Festivals like that help enormously. They help authors to keep the wolf from the door.

Thanks, Tavistock!

Tagged: after dinner talk, author, cash, Dartmoor, Devon, festival, heritage, history, medieval, Michael Jecks, money, novelist, pay, probus, reward, speaking, talking, talks, Tavistock, Tavistock Heritage Festival, Templar series, writer, writing

Books for Christmas!

Well, I hate to remind you, but it is coming close to that time of year again. Christmas.

Now, of course, I mean that it’s time to go out and make someone happy. Giving presents is a heart-warming thing. It produces a feeling of well-being, an atmosphere of happiness, a sense that all is right in the world.

No, not you: I’m talking about the author you’re buying from!

Because I am like many authors. I have books here to sell. If you’re in any doubt, I can put together some photos of all the books clogging my office.

I have a wide selection of books, both new and old, ready to find happy homes. They can go very well into parents’ houses or aunts’ and uncles’. Truth be told, they’d fit contentedly into a house like yours.

So, because it’s nearly Christmas, kill two birds with one stone. Buy some books from me to give to your friends and loved ones – or drop some unsubtle hints into the ears of your relations about what you’d like. Contact me via Michael.Jecks@gmail.com  and I’ll get right back to you.

Go on: you know it makes sense!

Tagged: book writing, books, Christmas, crime, crime writer, crime writing, Dartmoor, Devon, ebooks, fiction, historian, history, Knight Templar, knights templar, medieval, medievalist, Michael Jecks, novel, novelist, sales, story, Templar series, writer

Belfast with Medieval Murderers

Medieval Murderers with Sharon from Northern Ireland Library Service

Last week I was enormously lucky to be invited to Northern Ireland to talk to some library audiences.

I confess, I have never been to Northern Ireland before purely because the stories of bombings and shootings made it a less than attractive proposition. Still, I remember distinctly my brother telling me that he had met an American on a plane.

‘Where do you live?’ Keith asked.

‘I’m from Chicago, but I live in Belfast.’

Keith was shocked. ‘Belfast? What about the bombings, the terrorism …?’

The man looked at him pityingly. ‘The crime and murder rate’s a lot lower than Chicago.’

And that is the silly thing. Although, yes, Belfast and the North suffered from being much more violent than the rest of the United Kingdom, in fact it tended to be safer than most other countries. I have a suspicion that even at the height of the Troubles, Glasgow’s own murder rate may have been worse. It’s long been called the Murder Capital of Britain with good reason.

But none of that bothered me when I landed last week. I had the great good fortune to be travelling with Susanna Gregory and Karen Maitland, and Karen had a wealth of memories. Back in the 1980s she took advantage of a scheme whereby people could have their university degrees paid for. She worked for six years in Belfast, and spent a fair time working in the Falls Road.

Karen had been looking forward to her visit, although she was shocked to see no police officers (armed or not) at the airport. Then, driving out of the town, she expected to find roadblocks, but there were none. Even the sentry-watchtowers looming over the countryside were conspicuously absent. She found it all very perplexing and confusing.

I didn’t. I found the whole visit wonderful. The people were friendly, welcoming and couldn’t have been kinder to we three waifs. I have to say that the libraries were fabulous – Holywood was the more gorgeous library I’ve ever visited – and filled with dedicated, enthusiastic staff. I and the other Medieval Murderers were truly overwhelmed with their generosity.

Of course, things are changing. Already there are chilly winds blowing through the library services. They’ve been hit with a horrible budget cut that must hit staff and probably buildings. When finances are tight, libraries are an easy target, I suppose, for politicians without much imagination.

Doing the touristy thing with Jo and Sharon at Stormont

Our last day in Ireland was spent walking all around Belfast and seeing the sights with the delightful Jo, who gave up her entire afternoon for us. We were hugely grateful.

And last of all, we visited No Alibis, a fabulous little bookshop in the city, where you can buy anything. I proved that to myself because I was able to buy a copy of Laurence Block’s first Burglar story: Burglars Can’t Be Choosers. I’ve been trying to get that ever since having supper with Larry some fifteen years ago when he was passing through London!

What was shocking, though, was to hear that No Alibis is now the last independent bookshop in Northern Ireland. It is a terrible thing, to travel through the United Kingdom and see all the places where little bookshops once were.

In France, there was a similar experience. They had a book price-fixing policy. They stopped it so that books could be discounted, and swiftly saw that numbers of bookshops closed. So they brought back their price-guarantees and banned any discounting or even free postage.

The result?

Karen was at a French festival recently. There, buyers were walking out of shops with armfuls of books. The higher price does not deter purchases over there. If anything, it leads to buyer valuing their books more.

Here in England we probably could not bring back the Net Book Agreement for the simple reason that Amazon would make it unworkable. It is the problem with a vast corporation that can control all sales over the English speaking world.

But I look at what has been lost. In the past a small shop could afford to stock the most bizarre and eclectic collection of books to suit varying tastes, because they made just enough from the sales of the latest John Grisham, JK Rowling, or even Agatha Christie, to cover the cost of holding on their shelves the stranger titles that were not so much in demand.

With the end of the NBA, that protection disappeared. That meant little corner book shops have to compete with Amazon and supermarkets, who can sell the books at less than the corner shop can buy in the titles. In America this problem was fixed, to an extent, by ensuring that there was equity of discount. So if you have three stores, you must be offered the same discount as Waterstone’s or Barnes and Noble. In Britain that’s not the case. So while a local shop can get 40-50% discount, bigger chains will receive up to 80%, like Amazon.

Publishers have had to rationalise their lists. Now only the very top authors receive marketing and PR budgets. All the books that used to bring in their profits, the mid-listers, get no support. And the authors at the bottom – well, they don’t get new contracts. When I started, new authors were taken on because there was a view that they had potential. Now, if you aren’t selling, you’re out.

Which means that the number of books on the shelves will reduce. As fewer and fewer authors get contracts, so the books available must decline.

However, to counteract the gloom and doom, last week I learned of a new bookshop in Sidmouth: Winstone’s. Well, I’ll be going down there to check it out, as well as the existing Paragon Bookshop as soon as possible. Hopefully they’ll both thrive.

Belfast at night

Tagged: author, Belfast, blogger, book writing, books, creative, Dartmoor, Devon, fiction, fiction writing, hints and tips, historian, history, Knight Templar, knights templar, library, medieval, medievalist, Michael Jecks, Northern Ireland, novelist, publishing, Q&A, questions, questions and answers, scribbler, stories, story, Templar series, writer, writing

Starting and Ending

I’m in a bit of a fix just now. I have to write a synopsis for a new book. Not a problem: I’ve written many of them in the past, and this will not take too long. But it did bring me to consider how I tend to do such things.

The normal approach with my crime books was always to find a crime – looking it up in the Coroner’s Rolls or in the court records usually – and then develop that murder into a full-blown story. Generally my story would start with the death, and then I’d begin the investigation by moving on from that point. However, in order to make the story more readable and convincing, I would usually bring in a lot about the character’s past, and usually begin with a look at the victim’s life. I always liked to show that the victim was not just a minor character. The dead person has to have a believable life, or what would be the point of investigating his or her death?

However, with the current series it is much harder to pick a simple start point. There are so many potential beginnings with a war story. Do I pick up from the end of the book immediately before this? Or explain what had happened in the interim and jump straight into the campaign?

The best advice always when there’s any confusion, whether writing a business report, an essay or a novel, is always to start at the beginning. Tweaks and new ideas can be incorporated later. So, when writing a synopsis, I tend to always begin at the beginning and write the straight-line story: it begins here at A and runs on to B. Then I have a section of subplots that I want to incorporate, and finally a description of all the leading characters who’ll be included in the story.

Breaking down the story in this manner makes it easier for me to understand where I want the story to lead, but it also makes it easier for an editor to see what my overall concept is, and how it can be improved, hopefully.

The main thing is, keep the synopsis as broad-brush as possible. Where there could be a significant change in the tempo of the story, or where the story may bring out some real emotional fireworks, by all means put them in, but for the most part, a synopsis is a very short summary. The real work comes later.

Incidentally, last Friday I had the enormous pleasure of visiting the New Zealand High Commission building, and then going on to the Tower of London to see the fabulous display of poppies. It was heart-warming to see how much effort was going into creating this stunning showpiece, and to know that even a hundred years on the sacrifice of so many is still remembered.

It was especially enjoyable because I was there with my three brothers and father. Alan, the oldest, is heading back to New Zealand today, but it was great to get together with the others. It’s rare that we get a chance to meet up.

Right. So, on with the synopsis!

Tagged: author, blogger, book writing, creative, Dartmoor, Devon, fiction, fiction writing, hints and tips, historian, history, Knight Templar, knights templar, library, medieval, medievalist, Michael Jecks, novelist, publishing, Q&A, questions, questions and answers, scribbler, stories, story, Templar series, writer, writing

THE LATE SCHOLAR by Jill Paton Walsh

ISBN 978 1 444 76087 3

Paperback £8.99

I have always been a huge fan of the classic crime stories. When I was very young I devoured Sherlock Holmes, whose only failing was, so far as I could see, that he didn’t have more adventures. While I have read some continuation stories by other writers, none appeared to me to be convincing, sadly.

After Holmes, I progressed to Agatha Christie. These were a source of great delight because of the careful plotting. However her stories never fired me as much as those of Conan-Doyle. With Holmes there was perfect plotting and a fabulous character who pulled the reader in. Each new victim or criminal was compelling and convincing, whereas Christie’s characters were vapid by comparison. Yes, her middle-class folks had motives and opportunities, but no souls. I think this is partly why so many actors want to play her characters on film and TV. They have empty vessels which they can imbue with life.

For me, Dorothy Sayers’ books were more like Conan-Doyle’s. Her characters were realistic, believable, full of life and with plots that were exquisite. Simple stories gained hugely from the main character of Peter Wimsey and his wife, and the various suspects were all depicted with a delicate touch. From vagrants to shell-shocked ex-soldiers to artistic ladies, all are recognisable and believable.

Which is why I picked up THE LATE SCHOLAR with some trepidation.

I shouldn’t have been concerned. Jill Paton Walsh falls into this period with ease. Her style is remarkably similar to the later period of Dorothy L Sayers, and she gives (I imagine) an accurate feel for the period.

The story seems very simple at first. Lord Peter (who is now Duke of Denver) is contacted by St Severin’s College in Oxford. Unbeknown to him, his title confers upon him responsibility as Visitor to St Severin’s, and thus he is the ultimate adjudicator in any little disputes.

But just now the dispute is not so small. Half the fellows want to sell an ancient document of Boethius, which is unremarkable but which is rumoured to have been used by King Alfred. However, there is no proof that the King ever handled this and added the glosses which medievalists so revere. However, near to Oxford itself is a large tract of land, which has been offered very cheaply to the college. With this land, the college could expand, but also they could build housing for profit that would help rescue the fellows from an approaching calamity. They have no cash.

Strong feelings have erupted around this. Half the fellows want to sell the Boethius and use the money to buy the land, while the remainder believe that to sell that document would destroy any reputation for academic rigour the college ever held.

With the vote finely balanced, the Warden holds the casting vote. But he has disappeared. And fellows arguing on both sides have died. It seems certain that the fellows have been murdered. And then comes the biggest shock: the fellows are dying in ways that bear an uncanny resemblance to the deaths depicted in Harriet Vane’s detective stories.

 

It’s a good read. I enjoyed it. And yet … it has to work on so many levels.

So, first of all, the big question: was I able to forget that this book was not written by Dorothy L Sayers? No. Every so often I’d think I could hear the distant tone of Ian Carmichael’s voice in the Duke’s voice, but then something would distract me and I’d remember this was written by another author. However, this was not fair. This is a book bringing to life a period considerably after the Lord Peter I know. He has changed, as has Harriet, and the period is different too. They should have changed, and I think Jill Paton Walsh has done a marvellous job of taking them forward.

If you like the stories of the golden age of detective fiction, you should like this, I think. It’s convoluted , but satisfying. Yes, if you’re a died-in-the-wool Sayers fan you will find little glitches that may jar, but I think that the journey itself makes it worthwhile.

So, on balance, this one’s a good read and recommended.

Tagged: author, crime fiction, crime story, Dorothy L Sayers, Duke of Denver, golden age, Lord Peter Wimsey, Michael Jecks, novel, review, writer

THE BEAST IN THE JUNGLE – Louis Bayard

ISBN 978 1 84854 234 1 Published by John Murray

This is a very difficult book to review. It is filled with suspense like a strong psychological thriller, but it’s also rather historical in feel, and is a crime story in many ways, too.

The basic plot is simple enough: in 1914 the former US President, Theodore Roosevelt was in South America. Always seeking adventure, he persuaded his youngest son to join him on an expedition down an unmapped river through the jungle, joining a party led by the famous Brazilian explorer Rondon. On their journey they must endure many hardships, from starvation to disease as well as the constant threat of death by drowning or being killed shooting rapids. It is a strenuous, difficult journey with no guarantee of how far they must travel.

Hearing animals, Roosevelt and his son, the alarmingly named “Kermit”, leave their camp one night armed with their rifles. They try to shoot the animal so that they can help feed the party, but become lost, and are then attacked and captured by an Indian tribe, the Cinta Largo. Here they learn of a monster in the area, a beast that is killing their people. They recognise in Kermit and his father two hunters who can destroy this beast. Achieve that, they say, and the two Americans can leave and return to their party.

Thus begins their hideous journey.

Now, I am not a connoisseur of horror books and wouldn’t recommend this if it were one of that genre. There are some pretty bloodthirsty scenes, it’s true, but the main thing for me about this book is not the detail of the story but the wonderful writing. Louis Bayard is a superb writer. I began this book while walking the dog (not the most auspicious beginning for a book, but I’ve found it the best way to get into a book for first reading). It gripped me from the first page – perhaps because the very beginning is set in later years while Kermit lives in Alaska, a state I love – and I didn’t feel able to put the book down until I’d consumed the whole story.

There are aspects that a more ungenerous reader could quibble at. Put it like this, a rigorous scientist would find some aspects hard to swallow. However, put those reservations aside, folks. This is a brilliant book, with a story put down with great gusto. It gives the feel of a bygone age, and tells a story of real adventure in a terrifying, claustrophobic location.

I really enjoyed it – try it yourself!

Tagged: amazon, Brazil, historical, Louis Bayard, Michael Jecks, novel, review, Roosevelt, science-fiction, THE BEAST IN THE JUNGLE, writer, writing