A Halloweird Readalong

You are cordially invited ✨

To attend a readalong of British Library Publishing’s haunting collection Halloweird: Classic Stories from the Season of Samhain.

👻 Held by: Sabine and myself

⏳ Date: 1-31 October 2025

🗣️ Final discussion: Saturday 1 November 2025

📍 Location: Instagram group chat

🧡 #HalloweirdReadalong

📮 To RSVP: Contact Sabine (on Instagram @sabines.literary.world) or myself (on Instagram @carosbookcase or email me) to be added to the group chat.

The fine print…

This collection contains four poems and 16 short stories, ranging from three to 34 pages in length. We will be reading at a rate of one short piece per day, allowing two days for any of the longer stories. But don’t worry, we will keep things relaxed with everyone welcome to read at their own pace.

Ring in spooky season in style. Join us for a deep dive into the weird, the wonderful, the ghostly, and the ghastly of Halloween with Halloweird. 🎃

***If you got something out of this post, please consider subscribing to my blog. You can find the email sign up on the right hand side at the top of this page (on desktop version only), or click on the link here. You will receive a confirmation email in your inbox (or possibly your junk folder). Once you click to confirm your email address you will receive an email notification whenever a new blog post goes up. And, of course, you can unsubscribe at any time. Feel free to email me if you have any trouble subscribing, or if you just want to chat about books. I would love to hear from you! Whether you subscribe or not, I’m thankful you are here.***

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

Lucy Maud Montgomery's Prince Edward Island, Part 1: Finding My Way to Anne

Anne of Green Gables was one of my most precious books when I was a child. I read it and reread it, crying at that part. (If you know, you know. And if you don’t, I’m not saying a word.) It was given to me in a goodie bag at a slumber party with a box set that included Anne of Avonlea and Anne of the Island, books two and three in the Anne of Green Gables series. I went on to read the other books in the series too, and was very thankful that my parents agreed to buy them for me. For the most part, I used the libraries near us. With a library at my school and the public library within walking distance, I took advantage of reading for free. But I don’t remember finding any Lucy Maud Montgomery books in the library until I got to high school, where they had a lot of titles I had not seen before. There I found Akin to Anne, a collection of stories about orphans like Anne. Among the Shadows, ghost stories that I read in the school library, for fear that my mother wouldn’t approve. I also found the Emily of New Moon trilogy (Emily of New Moon, Emily Climbs, Emily’s Quest) on those shelves. I remember loving those books, and when I was in grade 10 the CBC aired a TV adaptation that I loved watching. Although, I was careful not to broadcast that I was watching Emily of New Moon to anyone at school, a family friendly show that had an early evening Sunday night time slot. Everyone else was watching the new shows Dawson’s Creek and Felicity, and maybe even Beverly Hills, 90210 at the time. Not that I wasn’t watching those shows, as well. But I always felt a little out of place in high school and just wanted to fit in, or at least fly under the radar and get through the day without incident.

Part of what made Maud’s books so special to little Caro, is that they were set in Canada. (And yes, I’ve decided to be on a first name basis with this writer, because we have known each other for over 30 years.) Before Maud, I had not come across a novel that was set in Canada. While Prince Edward Island was far enough away from where we lived to feel like a fantasy land, the descriptions of the island sounded a lot like my home. It was a landscape I knew, even if the roads were tinted red there and the landscape sprinkled in fairy dust. I could get lost in my imagination with Anne, and found somehow too. Anne made me feel less alone. She made me realise that I wasn’t the only one who lived an internal life. Who told stories. Who loved to read. And who dreamed. 

I loved to read before Maud’s books came into my life, but she was the first author whose books I actively sought out and would ask my parents to buy any time I came across a title I didn’t have. Happily, they often obliged. Although, they weren’t interested in getting me the Emily books after I let it slip that they had them at my school library. And I somehow still do not have this series in my collection. I must remedy that at some point, because I would like to reread them.

Besides Anne and Emily, the character I really connected with was Valancy from The Blue Castle. This book is geared towards a slightly older audience. It’s not quite a book for adults, but not a children’s book either. I think today it would be marketed for young adults, but that doesn’t seem quite right either. This book is about a young woman who does not fit in with her large family. She is 29 years old and well on her way to becoming the family spinster, and general dogsbody. She is unhappy with her life, until one day when she finds out from her doctor that she has heart condition and could die at any time. Finding out she is going to die is what helps Valancy really live for the first time in her life. She lights the place on fire, moves to the woods, has a famous artist ask to paint her, and falls in love. It’s a life affirming book with a lot of big, complicated emotions, and it is just so good. Set in Muskoka, an area of Ontario that I was familiar with from family camping trips, this was another book that I could find myself in. It was just too romantic for words and I have no idea how many times I reread this in my youth. My copy looks almost as tired as my childhood copy of Anne of Green Gables, so I would say, a lot!

Last September, I visited Prince Edward Island for the first time. I would say it was a childhood dream of mine to visit the Island, but that is not quite true. Prince Edward Island was a place I could escape to in my mind, not somewhere one travelled to by more traditional means. So finally being there in the flesh, this place that with the help of Maud, I had created in my mind, was a lot to process. I planned to write a number of blog posts and post content on Instagram at the time, but when I got there… I don’t know. I just wanted to enjoy it. To be there without distraction. When I came home I posted a few photos, on Instagram, but I just felt so overwhelmed by the experience that I felt like I needed time to process it. I had really been there, treading the same paths as Maud, seeing the same views, breathing the same air, and I just wanted to hold it close, for it to be all mine, a little longer.

It’s almost a year later, and soon I will be on the Island again. We enjoyed our time so much that we are going back. This time we will be meeting my friend, Gina (@babsbelovedbooks) and her husband there, which is what I had dreamed of on our last trip. I wanted so much for all of my fellow fans of Maud to be there and experience this magical place too. I had a wonderful time visiting all of the Maud related haunts, but besides that, the Island is such a calming place. It’s a small place, so everything is fairly accessible, and there is a closeness that you can feel too, like nothing really bad could happen there. It sounds silly, and it might be because I had the holiday rose tinted sunnies on, but there is something undramatically beautiful about driving through that landscape of rolling hills. And when you turn off the paved road onto the country road, it really is red. So maybe it is the Island’s soil infusing the place with a rosy glow. 

In the lead up to my trip I’ll be going through my photos from last September. Each week, I’ll be taking you along to all the places I went, the views I saw, and I’ll be sure to let you know all of the places I got emotional, as well as a few things to do if you are travelling with a kindred spirit who is not yet a Maud fan. Hopefully, I will inspire you to take your own trip to this lovely gem of a place off the East Coast of Canada, Prince Edward Island.

***If you got something out of this post, please consider subscribing to my blog. You can find the email sign up on the right hand side at the top of this page (on desktop version only), or click on the link here. You will receive a confirmation email in your inbox (or possibly your junk folder). Once you click to confirm your email address you will receive an email notification whenever a new blog post goes up. And, of course, you can unsubscribe at any time. Feel free to email me if you have any trouble subscribing, or if you just want to chat about books. I would love to hear from you! Whether you subscribe or not, I’m thankful you are here.***

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

Ending with the photo that has been on desktop for the past year. It brings me joy every time I sit down to work. It may sound cheesy. I’m going to say it anyway. It’s a reminder to not just dream big. But to dream bigger. And then laugh when someone leaves a discarded takeaway coffee right in the middle of your dream (photo).  

Marcia Willett Wednesday: Happy Birthday Marcia!

Marcia Willett was born on 6 August 1945. Working as a ballet dancer and teacher earlier in her life, she was 50 years old when her first novel, Those Who Serve (1995), was published. Over her writing career she wrote 31 novels, and an additional four under the pseudonym Willa Marsh. Sadly, she died on 30 June 2022 at 76 years old. The novella, Christmas at the Keep (2022), and the short story collection, Christmas at the Keep and Other Stories (2024), were both published posthumously. 

Though she was born in Somerset, she spent her time as a writer living in Devon, capturing the West Country of the UK so beautifully. I dream of visiting the haunts of my favourite characters, and exploring the countryside that Willett has brought to life. A little car, sturdy shoes, sandwiches, a few biscuits, and the ever present flask of hot coffee are all essential features of a Marcia Willett day. Bonus points if you have a dog riding in the back seat, ready to hop out as soon as you’ve parked in a lay-by.

I found my way to Willett when I did an Internet search for writers similar to Rosamunde Pilcher. It was a few years ago, and I had just finished reading The Shell Seekers (1987), the last of her four long novels that I had left to read, and was feeling at a loss. The search turned up an article from a library website, that I am almost certain was in Australia, but I have since gone back to try to find the article and I have come up empty. That library had a list of authors that they claimed were similar to Rosamunde Pilcher. Well, I’ve had mixed success with that list as far as comparisons go, but through it I found Maeve Binchy, Elizabeth Buchan, Penelope Lively, and of course, Marcia Willett. My library had Second Time Around (1997) available, and after reading the first page in bed on 2 May 2022, I knew I was in good hands. Shortly after, I started the hashtag #MarciaWillettWednesday over on Instagram. It was with more excitement than sense, however, as I failed to consider how small my personal Marcia Willett collection was at the time. I am slowly growing my collection and I hope at some point I will be back to posting at least a monthly Marcia Willett post on Wednesdays.

I always hesitate to compare Marcia Willett with Rosamunde Pilcher, because I think they both have their own strengths and their writing is certainly not interchangeable. Pilcher’s earlier books are more straightforward romances and her last four long books are much stronger and more complex. In contrast, I have found Willett’s earlier books are some of her best. I’ve read 26 of her books so far, and a number of them I have already reread. Sometimes it’s because I have needed a Marcia fix and only had access to so many titles through my library or my own collection. Second Time Around I have read twice because I wanted to capture that first moment of discovering her writing again. When I went back for thirds it was to discover that my library had junked their copy. The cover was a little bent. Clearly, it had been checked out and loved. In a library that allows its patrons five book requests per month, something has got to give, and that means old paperbacks get tossed. Yes, tossed. If the book is not in pristine condition, it will not make it to their annual library sale. Such a waste! But one person’s book treasure is another person’s trash, I guess.

When making a Willett recommendation, I always tell people to start with her Chadwick Family Chronicles. The first three Looking Forward (1998), Holding On (1999), and Winning Through (2000) are evidence of Willett at her best. They follow the Chadwick family from the summer of 1957 through to the spring of 1998. Looking Forward begins when three children, Fliss, Mole, and Suzanna, arrive at Staverton Station in Devon. Their parents and elder brother have been killed in Mau Mau and the children have come to England to live with their grandmother at her home, The Keep. The books centre around this South Devon generational home of the Chadwicks, a family who made their money in china clay, and follows the lives of the family, their friends, and the people employed to help in the running of the home, who become more like family as the years go on and the older generation of servants are given refuge at The Keep.

One of the things I appreciate about these books and about Willett’s books generally is that faith is present in many of her characters’ lives. I think prayer and a belief is handled with a soft touch, and is no less effective for it. In the Chadwick series, Theo’s quiet faith influences every part of his life, perhaps especially in his relationship with his sister-in-law, Freddy, who has failed to find comfort in Theo’s spiritual counselling in the past. Now, he knows the best he can do for her is to love her.

He did the only thing that ever helped him to come to a difficult decision: he emptied his mind and prayed silently for help. It came swiftly. He saw clearly how the time might not only be too early but also and just as fatally—too late; that in continuing to wait for the right moment, this love they shared might disintegrate, go bad on them, even die. He knew a brief confident certainty but Freddy was already turning away. 

“I shall come,” [Theo] said—and she turned back to him, radiant with delight and surprise.

The books in this series each cover the four seasons, though not in the same year, and so we see life at The Keep over time in all its different phases. I love this festive scene from Looking Forward.

The old grey church was ablaze with candlelight and, when they came out, a cold white moon hung in a starry sky. Their breath smoked in the freezing air and the frost crunched beneath their feet.

As the car pulled into the courtyard, the front door opened and the light from the hall streamed down the steps and across the grass. Freddy stood waiting for them, tall and slim in her high-necked blouse and long velvet skirt, with a shawl about her shoulders.

‘The children are in bed at last, stockings hung up,' she said, 'waiting for Father Christmas. Fox has made up the fire and Ellen has just brewed some hot coffee. Come in and get warm. And a very Happy Christmas to us all.'

They stood for a moment, listening to the Christmas bells ringing out across the quiet countryside, smiling at one another, and then they all went inside and closed the door behind them.

I take particular pleasure in the way Willett describes the natural world. Dogs often feature in her books, and their humans take them for walks in the countryside. As a human who needs her daily walk even more than her dog appears to, I get great enjoyment out of walking vicariously through the West Country alongside Willett’s characters. 

I love this passage from Postcards from the Past (2013).

There are two moons tonight. The round white shining disc, brittle and sharp-edged as glass, stares down at its reflection lying on its back in the black water of the lake. Nothing stirs. No whisper of wind ruffles the surface. At the lake's edge the wild cherry tree leans like an elegant ghost, its delicate bare branches silver with ice, yearning towards the past warmth of summer days. Tall stands of dogwood, their bright wands of colour blotted into monochrome by the cold brilliant light, guard the northern shore of the lake and cast spiked shadows across the frosty grass.

This passage from Winning Through (2000) is a perfect example of one of Willett’s characters taking a walk with a readily available dog, and finding the answers to life’s questions while appreciating their surroundings.

Later that evening, as Fliss walked on the hill behind The Keep with Rex, Susanna’s question echoed in her head. “And do you still love him?’ Long shadows, indigo and purple, were stretching across the hill and two rooks flapped homeward with a steady, rhythmical beating of wings. The sun sank gently into an armada of curded, cushiony clouds, towering up from the west, and suddenly, as she watched, molten, brilliant, dazzling gold streamed along their fluffy, fluted edges, flooding and drenching them in colour. Fliss, who had seized Caroline’s padded jacket from the peg by the back door, slid her arms into the sleeves, and sighed with pleasure. She had watched the sunset from this hill on countless occasions but the endlessly changing pageant, season by season, year by year, never ceased to enthral her. This was her place, this ancient hill fortress where her ancestor had built The Keep from the granite of the old fort; this was where she belonged. 

While the Chadwick Family Chronicles is the only series among her books, many of her books contain reoccurring characters. So if you read one of the following titles I am about to recommend, and enjoy it enough to pick up another, you might consider reading her books in chronological order by publication date. If you tend to forget specific things like character names shortly after reading a book, then feel free to disregard this advice and carry on your merry way. Hattie’s Mill (1996) and The Children’s Hour (2003) both left a big impression on me. I would also recommend Thea’s Parrot (1995), The Courtyard (1995), The Dipper (1996), and A Week in Winter (2001). All of which, I think, are particularly strong. But as I say, I have not yet read all of her books. I have 11 of her 35 novels left to read. I anticipate there are more favourites just waiting to be discovered among them.

The more I learn about Marcia Willett, the more impressed I am by her. Not just as a writer, but as a person. She really was a lot like her most likeable characters, with quiet faith, a love of the outdoors, dogs, and people. A very inspiring person, indeed. Happy Birthday, dear Marcia.

Additional resources:

Marcia Willett’s website

A Companion to the Novels by Marcia Willett

This is a wonderful website created by Marcia’s husband, Rodney, with photos of their research trips, family trees of Marcia’s characters, and background on Marcia and her writing. Rodney’s death preceded Marcia’s, and so the website does not contain information on her books beyond 2015.

Marcia Willett’s complete bibliography*

Novels:

Those Who Serve (US title: First Friends) (1995)

Thea’s Parrot (US title: A Friend of the Family) (1995)

The Courtyard (1995), US paperback

The Dipper (1996)

Hattie’s Mill (1996)

Starting Over (1997)

Second Time Around (1997), US paperback

Looking Forward (Chadwick Family Chronicles 1) (1998)

Holding On (Chadwick Family Chronicles 2) (1999)

Winning Through (Chadwick Family Chronicles 3) (2000)

A Week in Winter (2001)

Forgotten Laughter (US title: A Summer in the Country) (2002)

The Children’s Hour (2003)

The Birdcage (2004)

The Golden Cup (2005)

Echoes of the Dance (2006)

Memories of the Storm (2007)

The Way We Were (2008)

The Prodigal Wife (Chadwick Family Chronicles 4) (2009)

The Summer House (2010)

The Christmas Angel (US title: Christmas in Cornwall) (2011)

The Sea Garden (2012)

Postcards from the Past (2013)

Indian Summer (2014), US hardback

Summer on the River (2015)

The Songbird (2016)

Seven Days in Summer (2017)

Homecomings (2018)

Reflections (2019)

The Garden House (2020)

Starry, Starry Night (2021), UK hardback

Collections/Novellas:

Christmas at the Keep (2022)

Christmas at the Keep and Other Stories (2024)

Writing as Willa Marsh

Novels:

Amy Wingate’s Journal (1996)

Facing the Music (1997)

Sisters Under the Skin (1998)

The Quick and the Dead (1999)

*All of the books I have not linked are out of print at the time of this post. In the cases where I have linked multiple editions, the most inexpensive copy available at Blackwell’s is the one that appears first.

***If you got something out of this post, please consider subscribing to my blog. You can find the email sign up on the right hand side at the top of this page (on desktop version only), or click on the link here. You will receive a confirmation email in your inbox (or possibly your junk folder). Once you click to confirm your email address you will receive an email notification whenever a new blog post goes up. And, of course, you can unsubscribe at any time. Feel free to email me if you have any trouble subscribing, or if you just want to chat about books. I would love to hear from you! Whether you subscribe or not, I’m thankful you are here.***

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

One last photo, because ideally you should have a cup of coffee in hand and a loyal dog by your side to fully enjoy one of Marcia Willett’s books.

The Mysterious Mr. Badman by W.F. Harvey

It’s not too late to squeeze in one last summer mystery. William Fryer Harvey’s 1934 novel, The Mysterious Mr. Badman, begins in a Yorkshire bookshop on a sultry afternoon in July.

While on holiday in Yorkshire, Athelstan Digby agrees to look after the bookshop of his hosts for the afternoon. The weather is stifling, so Mr. Digby doesn’t expect much traffic, but over the course of the afternoon a vicar, a chauffeur, and an out-of-towner ask for the same book, The Life and Death of Mr. Badman by John Bunyan.

Mr. Digby has never heard of the book, and there is no record of it in the bookshop catalogue, which is what he tells each prospective customer. When a copy happens to arrive in a bundle of secondhand books, he snaps up the lot double quick. But then the book gets pinched.

Mr. Digby and his nephew, Jim Pickering, are motivated to find out what makes this book so special. Soon they find themselves caught up in a crime more involved than a little antiquarian book theft, and much more deadly.

I was first attracted to this book because it was advertised as a “bibliomystery”. I must admit I was a bit disappointed on that front. I don’t believe I have ever read a book from this sub-genre, or at least not one that was calling itself a bibliomystery, so I may have had unfair expectations that the mystery be entirely wrapped up in books, which it is not. From Mr. Digby’s perspective, the impetus for the mystery is this book by John Bunyan that goes missing, but the book only plays a small role in the mystery as a whole. 

However, I was also very much attracted to reading a mystery set in Yorkshire, and in that regard this book came through. In fact, it is the setting more than the mystery that came out on top for me. I do love descriptions of nature, and books with a setting that is as necessary to the plot as any of the main characters.

At Kildale Mill he stopped to watch the peat-brown water swirling over the ruined weir, and then struck up on to the moor, choosing a patch that had been burned two years ago and which was now carpeted with green bilberry and bell heather. The walking was easy and he made good progress. It was extraordinarily peaceful. The only sound came from a lark, lost in the blue. There was no one in sight, no one, that is, except the young lady who stood silhouetted against the sky-line, apparently lost in admiration of the view. Then, as he looked, she turned and began to walk quickly towards him. It was Miss Conyers, a deeply agitated Miss Conyers, very different from the reserved, slightly cynical young lady he had met the preceding afternoon. (38)

For me, descriptions like this are better than a photograph or a painting, because I get to create images of the place in my mind as I read, like a film strip that alters, fills in, becomes clearer, as I go along. I’m still thinking of this setting with longing and wishing I was Mr. Digby, setting out in the morning with a map, a cocoa tin for any rare flowers I might find, which in the mean time has been filled with half a pound of raisins bought at the village shop (37). I’m not sure I would be as clearheaded as Mr. Digby about coming across a body on the moors, but I would like to think I would be as cool under pressure as he is throughout this book.

Later, when the above mentioned Miss Conyers lends a hand in the investigation, she becomes Diana, not that Mr. Digby refers to her as such, but the reader gets to be on a first name basis with her. Diana has her own peaceful moment in nature.

Jim proposed that they should all drive on to Whitby, but Diana pleaded a headache. She would find a quiet corner in the Spa gardens, she said, and they could meet her, say, at six at the South Cliff tea-rooms.

She sat for an hour, listening to the music of the band, while from the crowded beach below came the cries of happy children. The bay was dotted with boats. A steam drifter was leaving the harbour, the smoke from her funnel hanging like a black streak across the weather-beaten roofs of the old town, backed by the grand silhouette of the castle and the castle rock, weather-beaten too, but still unconquered. (95)

I thought that last sentence was particularly pleasing, so I had to share it. I think the next bit in the book is interesting in terms of plotting and pacing. It is when the sun disappears behind a cloud and the air gets chilly, that Diana makes her way into town to get make some purchases for the house. There she spots a clue to the chauffeur they have been looking for without even trying. If only all mysteries came together so easily! There are plenty of aspects of this case that Mr. Digby properly investigates, but I did find this coincidence a bit too convenient for my liking. I love the scene setting, though, and how the author gives both his character and the reader a momentary break to catch our collective breath before carrying on with the investigation.

For the most part, I felt remarkably relaxed while reading this book, so I was a bit surprised to see the back cover copy describes it as “fast-paced”. It is slim, just over 200 pages including the introduction, and it does get more tense as it closes in on the climax, but looking back on it now a couple of weeks after finishing this book—I know, very tardy in my review writing—I recall finding the beginning intriguing, the nighttime intruder at the bookshop thrilling, the finding of a body on the moors very exciting, and then my interest dropped off for a while. The tension leading up to the climax was great, and I actually felt concerned about the fate of our main characters. That is, until I reminded myself it was going to turn out all right in the end. Probably.

I know I went on about the setting, saying it was better than the mystery, and I stick by that. However, the mystery in this one was not at all bad. It just is not at the same level as the best books in the British Library Crime Classics collection, in my opinion. Harvey did do a great job of creating characters I cared about, and putting them it tight spots that made me worried, and had me nearly convinced they were not going to get the baddie.

Whether you add The Mysterious Mr. Badman to your end of summer TBR or save it for next July, this is a great one for book lovers or anyone craving a holiday in Yorkshire. I suspect many of us fit into at least one of these two categories! 

I have my friend Gina (@babsbelovedbooks) to thank for this book. She absolutely spoiled me by sending me a few (NINE!) British Library Crime Classics. This happened a while ago, and I was so overwhelmed that I haven’t even been able to photograph them all together. If you have visited this blog before, you will know how much I love these books, and how excited I am to have a whole bunch of new ones to read. The only thing I can liken it to is having a whole cupboard full of candy just waiting to be enjoyed. Thank you, dear Gina, for the books, and more importantly, for you and your friendship! 

Gina and I live some distance apart, but we get together at least once a week virtually for our movie and crochet dates. Right now we are both making blankets using the same Flowers in the Snow pattern, but with different colours. You can see a glimpse of mine in the bottom right corner of the last two photos. When I’m not working on it I have the project sitting on my dining room table, so that I can readily admire it every time I walk by it on the way to the kitchen. The muted palate is making me so happy that I just had to share it alongside these beautiful books. I hope you don’t mind the indulgence. 

***If you got something out of this post, please consider subscribing to my blog. You can find the email sign up on the right hand side at the top of this page (on desktop version only), or click on the link here. You will receive a confirmation email in your inbox (or possibly your junk folder). Once you click to confirm your email address you will receive an email notification whenever a new blog post goes up. And, of course, you can unsubscribe at any time. Feel free to email me if you have any trouble subscribing, or if you just want to chat about books. I would love to hear from you! Whether you subscribe or not, I’m thankful you are here.***

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

Cat and Mouse by Christianna Brand

This review is a testament to the power of a positive review written by someone whose taste you trust. Before you think I am a massive narcissistic, allow me to explain.

I picked this book up a little over a month ago, and I was so excited. It feels like I reference Christianna Brand’s London Particular just about every time I review a British Library Crime Classic, but it is my favourite book in this collection. Needless to say, when I saw that British Library Publishing were coming out with another Christianna Brand title, I cheered. Expectations were high. Brand’s 1950 novel, Cat and Mouse opens with a dedication to Mary Lewis, one of Brand’s writer friends or perhaps an editor, I assumed. In a letter to this Mary Lewis, which is included at the start of this book, Brand refers to a passage in Northanger Abbey where Catherine Morland, Miss Tilney, and Henry Tilney are all discussing the melodramatic novels of the time. “I thought it would be fun to do a good, old-fashioned mystery melodrama, two tombstones and a lantern and all: and since you told me the true story which has formed the basis of my plot, I hereby dedicate its three duodecimo volumes with all my gratitude, to you.” The joke is, Mary Lewis was Brand’s real name. She has dedicated the book to herself, and clearly gotten quite the kick out of it. In Northanger Abbey, Henry says, “there must be a murder” and so says Brand. Her melodrama is full of the wit any reader of her work has come to expect, and a good dose of murder too.

But there lies the tricky part. For some reason, I read that playful letter and got the impression that the book would be a joke. Not in a derogatory way. I expected Cat and Mouse to be poking fun of melodrama in the same way Stella Gibbons’ Cold Comfort Farm is a parody of the romanticised pastoral novels written by authors at the time, like Mary Webb. I’m not sure if anyone, other than myself, would have come to this screwy conclusion, but it is a screwy one. My advice is to read Cat and Mouse as you would any of her other novels, expecting Brand’s sharp wit and panache for plot-y plots and twists galore. My other advice is to get on board with the main character, Katinka Jones. I wasn’t on Katinka’s side when I read this book the first time. Yes, I read this book twice. When I reached the end the first time… Well, frankly, I was relieved the thing was over. I was annoyed with Katinka and it did have a clever ending, but it had not been funny. It had been frustrating. I felt like I had missed something, like I wasn’t smart enough to get it. You can imagine how much I enjoyed that feeling! I certainly had no plan to review it. The book was gifted from British Library, and while when a publisher sends a review copy, it is implied the reviewer is meant to review it. However, a negative review is hardly likely to help with sales. So it was not going to review it then. It was decided.

Then I read Sabine’s glowing review…

Sabine’s favourite British Library Crime Classic is the same as mine, London Particular. Do you want to know what Sabine’s second favourite BLCC is? The same as mine. The Wheel Spins by Ethel Lina White. From reading her reviews over the years, I know that if Sabine likes a book, I will too. If she loves a book, so will I. And she loved Cat and Mouse. So what could I do? I had to give it another shot. I had to read it again.

When I picked it up a second time less than a month after my first reading, I was a bit concerned I was jinxing myself by not leaving long enough between readings. But it felt like this book and I had unfinished business. I wanted to know where I stood with it. I just could not put it off.

And now, after the longest introduction to a review, in the history of introductions, here is my review of Christianna Brand’s Cat and Mouse. 

Katinka Jones, the Miss Friendly-wise agony aunt for Girls Together magazine, is on holiday in Wales in September. She visits her Great Uncle Joseph where he lives by the giant reservoir some miles outside of Swansea. This passage describing Katinka’s uncle reminded me of something out of Cold Comfort Farm, and is probably what solidified the idea that this book was going to be a parody when I read it the first time.

Nobody remained but Great Uncle Joseph, known in the Welsh idiom as Jo Jones the Waterworks, because of the proximity of his home to the giant reservoir— the nearest he’s been to water for a long time, thought Tinka, eyeing with disfavour his unattractive person. (Cat and Mouse 23)

Apparently, Katinka didn’t tone down the colour of her red lips and nails enough for Wales, and finds herself unwelcome in her uncle’s home, so she takes up residence in a “gloomy little hotel” in Swansea (23). At a loose end she decides to pay a visit to Amista, a young woman who is a longtime writer to Girls Together, asking for beauty tips and love advice. Hard to say you’ve ‘dropped in’ when you’ve travelled six miles by bus and boat and climbed up a mountainside to get to the person’s house. But Katinka does just that. Once there she introduces herself, leaving out the Girls Together bit, as it might sound a bit mad, and says she is calling on Mrs. Carlyon. The only problem is, everyone in the house, including Mr. Carlyon claims there is no such person. Not only that, there are only two servants and Carlyon living in the house. Even Mr. Chucky, the man she met in the village who offered to come with her to see Carlyon, who she thought was handsome when you really looked at him, says he has never seen the woman. “I didn’t even know Mr. Carlyon was married,” claims Mr. Chucky (41). 

Stumbling out of the house and into the “silver rain”, Katinka runs down the mountain hoping to catch a ride across the river with the woman who delivers the milk, Miss Evans the Milk as she is referred (41). Apparently high heels are not all weather or all terrain footwear, and she takes a tumble, twisting her ankle. Sitting on a rock, waiting for the pain to subside, Katinka collects herself. That’s when she remembers spotting one of Amista’s letters waiting to be mailed sitting on a table in the front hall when she came in. Now, the letter is gone. The mail taken by Miss Evans the Milk. And Carlyon, who comes after Katinka, is none too pleased to hear that she has injured herself, leaving him obliged to have her stay the night. 

But he would not smile, and she gave herself up to the struggle. Every touch of her foot upon the ground was agony.

She was worn out before they had reached the top of the path: sick with pain, almost sobbing with dejection and weariness. She had no idea what time it was, but the mist was closing in about the mountain, the fine, soft drizzle of rain made grey evening of September afternoon. The mountain rose up, impregnably stern, behind the fretted decoration of the silly peaked roofs of the house; and at sight of the servants standing in the little porch, like two dogs straining at the leash to come to their master for some news that they knew he carried, her heart failed her. I must go into the house again and into that horrible hall... (48)

The first time reading this I thought I was meant to be poking fun of Katinka with the author, but I wasn’t finding the situation, or Katinka, very funny. Actually, I was finding Katinka a bit frustrating. I mean, she kept oscillating between fear and infatuation, which got a bit dizzying after a time. The whole Amista doesn’t exist, but wait no, I just remembered this thing, so she must exist! And, suspecting Carlyon of everything imaginable one minute and being in love with him the next, was exhausting. Katinka is supposed to be “an old, old lady of very nearly thirty, grown tough and cynical in the service of her profession”, but what she appeared to be is a young girl in her teens, like our heroine from Northanger Abbey, 17-year-old Catherine Morland (17).

However, on my second reading I didn’t notice any of this. It’s not just that I glossed over these aspects of Katinka’s character. I did not notice them. Once I decided to take the novel seriously, I was on Katinka’s side and I could see why she was torn between her attraction for this man and her suspicion of him. Part of her wants to forget all about Amista. If she can do that, then there is no mystery. If there is no mystery, Carlyon becomes a sad, handsome man, who keeps giving her signs that he is as interested in her as she is with him. But there’s the other side of that. If she cannot prove Amista’s existence, then Carlyon will continue to believe that Katinka is a journalist, who has butted into his home with an unbelievable story. 

Along with Northanger Abbey, this novel has a dash of Jane Eyre. Katinka even references Charlotte Brontë’s novel. The descriptions of the landscape in Cat and Mouse reminded me of a very different book, Forest Silver by E.M. Ward. Perhaps, I only made the connection between these two, because I have not read many books set in Wales, but when Katinka runs out into the “silver rain”, I immediately thought of my beloved Forest Silver. Brand and Ward are clearly writing about the same landscape and the use of the word silver is uncommon enough in descriptions of nature that I suspect silver light must be a characteristic of the place, or perhaps the grey from the mountains reflects off other surfaces, giving them a silvery cast. I had to include a favourite quotation of mine from Forest Silver.

From the narrow road they looked down through tree branches to the lake, that lay rippled and silver bright behind the dark trunks. Almost at the top of the hill they turned off by a little path that led to a gap in the roadside wall. Through the gap they could see into the solemn wood of Bainriggs, now colourless and vague but so sodden with the day's rain that, except in the black tree shadows, everything was changed to silver. The moonlit rocks, the wet sponge of moss upon the ground, leaves, lit spaces of the beech trunks and the stems of birches, always silver but now brighter than in any noontide, all these shone and glittered with a light so wan and yet so brilliant that it seemed like the phosphorescence of a world long dead. (Forest Silver 10)

Katinka does not romanticise the landscape in the way Richard Blunt does in Forest Silver, but I got the sense that she would be inclined to, if she was not so consumed with the mystery of Amista.

She wandered over to the window and, parting the curtains, leaned her forehead against the chilly glass, staring out across the opposite mountain. But the rainbow was gone. Nothing to be seen but the shaft of thin sunshine across the hump of the hill, the sullen, silver river in the valley and, at a turn of the mountain path, the two tiny specks creeping upward towards the house. (Cat and Mouse 79)

There’s that word silver, again. I don’t know what it means. I don’t even know what the landscape in Wales actually looks like, because I have not been. But I felt like these two authors were writing about the same place, a place I would recognise if I saw it, and so much of my traveling happens on the page. When I visited London for the first time, it felt like home. It felt like a place I knew, could find my way around, and a place I had created an image of in my mind with the help of countless authors. Likewise, Wales is being written on my mind, and in my heart through Ward, and now Brand. If anyone has any recommendations for books set in Wales that can help me continue to fill in the details of the landscape, I would love to hear them. 

In the meantime, I’ll be reading Northanger Abbey, which I picked up on a whim after finishing this one. (Full disclosure, I'm reading an ebook of this. But I have linked one of the many gorgeous editions I would buy if I had the means.) It appears two readings of Cat and Mouse in a month only whetted my appetite for melodrama. I never would have guessed it.

Give this fun and witty, but dark, indeed, very dark, rollercoaster of a novel a try. Believe in Katinka Jones, as she ferrets out the truth about Amista, even if she must first stumble upon every untruth as she trods the uphill path to get to the precipice of this inventive novel. 

I have to close this post by thanking Sabine for her wonderful review of Cat and Mouse. She says more, by saying less, than I ever could. 

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of Cat and Mouse for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

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Fear Stalks the Village by Ethel Lina White

Ethel Lina White’s The Wheel Spins is one of my favourite British Library Crime Classics, second only to London Particular by Christianna Brand. I was very excited to get my hands on another of her books. Don’t let the autumnal colours of its cover mislead you, White’s 1932 novel, Fear Stalks the Village, is set at the beginning of summer in an idyllic English village. But like The Wheel Spins, White manages to wreak havoc amongst the peace and tranquility. This one is dripping with atmosphere and it is just so well executed. 

The village was beautiful. It was enfolded in a hollow of the Downs, and wrapped up snugly— first, in a floral shawl of gardens, and then, in a great green shawl of fields. Lilies and lavender grew in abundance. Bees clustered over sweet-scented herbs with the hum of a myriad spinning-wheels. (13)

The village sounds aesthetically pleasing, but what of its residents?

[T]here was no poverty or unemployment in the village. The ladies had not to grapple with a servant problem, which oiled the wheels of hospitality. If family feuds existed, they were not advertised, and private lives were shielded by drawn blinds. Consequently, the social tone was fragrant as rosemary, and scandal nearly as rare as a unicorn. (13)

With no railway station, and a London bus that does not stop in the village, but outside it, it is not surprising the place gets few visitors. The birthrate is stagnant and apparently no one dies there, either. No one leaves, and no one comes. It is an extremely close knit community. Which is why when the villagers get inundated with a slew of poison pen letters, it is so very unnerving. The thought that it must be one of their own sending the letters turns neighbour against neighbour. Trust is broken. No longer is the village a place of hospitality and friendliness. Because how can you feel safe inviting your neighbours into your home when you can’t be sure a traitor isn't among them?

The heart of the village is sick and everything that has made this place special is at stake. Despite the idyllic appearance of the village, everyone in it has a secret they would rather keep hidden. And when the shame of having your darkest secrets revealed becomes too much, people are bound to get desperate. With one person dead under mysterious circumstances, the body count is only going to increase as the tension is ratcheted up and up, until it reaches the breaking point.

Everyone from the “queen of the village”, Miss Decima Asprey, the to the local gentry, the Scudamores, to the Rector are sucked into the drama. When things get too unbearable to go on, the Rector gives a thundering sermon, denouncing the secret enemy, but seeing the sermon has had no effect—besides an increase in donations—he goes to visit the Squire. 

The two men consider consulting with local police, essentially Sergeant James. But as the poisoned pen writer may very well be a woman, as the Squire says, “Probably is. The place is stiff with them” and both the Rector and the Squire do not like the idea of a woman getting arrested, the Rector makes an alternative suggestion.

“I have a friend, Ignatius Brown, one of the idle rich. He rather fancies himself as Sherlock Holmes. He’s not so clever as he thinks he is, but he’s keen, and he should be more than a match for anyone here. Shall I ask him down?”

“No,” said the Squire. “We don’t want any amateurs. I’ll instruct James.” As he spoke, he caught his wife’s eye. Her lips were pursed and she first nodded violently and then shook her head vehemently.

The Squire knew, from experience, how to interpret these conflicting signals, for, suddenly he changed his mind. (127)

Even in this serious moment, we see White’s wonderful sense of humour.

When the Rector had gone, the Squire turned to his wife. Although he usually bullied her, there were times when he followed her advice; for, if the Squire had no positive virtues, he had some rather good faults. (128)

The village is full of interesting characters. There is Joan Brook, who is a companion to Lady D’Arcy, and lives about a mile outside the village with her. We meet Joan at the very start of the book as she entertains her friend, a novelist visiting from London, with a walk through the village. As they take a leisurely stroll through the village, the friend comes up with salacious stories about each of the villagers that are directly contradictory to the people that Joan knows them to be. For example, “the highly respectable married couple […] are not really married to each other, but living in sin”, the Rector throws “bottle-and-pyjama parties with some very hot ladies from town”, the doctor is poisoning his wife, and the tea-totalling local novelist, Miss Julia Corner, is a secret drinker (18, 19, 21). 

I think White is a great writer. She draws complex characters, creates a tightly woven plot that centres around a compelling mystery, and takes “a perfect spot” and turns it into a prison (13). All of this she manages, while writing genre fiction that is also literary. For example, one would take for granted that the title Fear Stalks the Village is figurative, instead White turns fear into a physical presence that lurks in the shadows, that enters gardens, and rooms, when least expected. I found it to be an unexpected technique, but effective. After all, fear is a visceral reaction felt in the body, why not give imbue it with life by giving the bodily presence it already has?

[P]oor Miss Corner unconsciously applied the match which blew up her party.

[…]

“Well, Decima, anything fresh about your anonymous letter?”

Miss Asprey raised her heavy ivory lids.

“No,” she replied. “It is best forgotten.”

“No idea as to who wrote it?” went on Miss Corner, unabashed.

“No.”

Miss Corner suddenly exploded into a fit of laughter. “Perhaps I could make a guess,” she said.

As though her words were a signal, the dark blotch, huddled in a corner of the garden, quivered into hideous life and mingled with the other guests.

With the entry of Fear, Miss Corner’s party was practically killed, for its spirit had soured and died. The continual hum of conversation was now broken by sudden awkward pauses. Immaculate men and elegant ladies stood in the usual little clusters, but each one gave the impression of whispering to his friend, while he tried to overhear his neighbour. For the same thought was in every mind.

‘There is someone here who has slandered a good woman. I may be the next victim.’ (79-80)

Miss Corner, the local novelist, may have “applied the match”, but Fear, “the unbidden outsider” had “slunk outside the gate, awaiting its opportunity to steal inside” (79, 71). I think this image of a “dark blotch” which “quivered into hideous life and mingled with the other guests” is so visceral. There is more than one traitor amongst these people, and the invisible one may be even more dangerous. After all, they can close their doors to their neighbours, but Fear is able to slip in unnoticed.

If you have visited this blog before, you know I love reading mysteries. But I really struggle with how much to share in my reviews. I don’t want to say too much, and I definitely do not want to spoil anything for anyone who has not yet read the book. But I also really want to dish! Especially when it’s a book I really appreciated, by an author that deserves all the praise she can get. Just know that I want to tell you everything about this book. I want to discuss it in depth. But I won’t. It wouldn’t be fair to you, the person who, I hope, is going to be inspired to go out and get your hands on a copy of this book.

After reading, and now reviewing this book, I feel I need to reassess my list of favourite British Library Crime Classics. This one may not have knocked London Particular out of first place, but I fear it will knock another title out of my top five.

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of Fear Stalks the Village for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

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