Avenue of Spies--A Tale of Horror and Courage

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This not a long or heavy book, only 228 pages, but the story contained within it is both long and heavy. Five years long or as the author puts it as the Nazis are packing up and leaving Paris, "more than 1500 days,". The heaviness comes from the almost suffocating sorrow while reading of the horrific conditions in a Paris filled with Gestapo, SS and other German troops overwhelming the streets, cafes, historic sites where they are seen and occupying the mansions of Avenue Foch, where much of what they were doing was unseen From the opening map of Wartime Europe 1944-1945, the might of the Third Reich is indelibly imprinted on one's mind. I studied that map for what seemed a half hour, not believing how much of Europe had actually come under the control of Hitler and his commanders. How, I wondered, could he have managed to overwhelm so much of a continent? How had a country so completely defeated in World War ! risen to such strength and power is such a short time? No wonder they considered themselves Supermen, I thought, with a bit of admiration but with sadness, too, that the kind of intelligence and ability this showed should have been channeled into such an undertaking--the extermination of an entire group of fellow human beings and a drive for world domination! The next page offered another picture to examine closely--the map of Nazi Paris, with an inset of the Avenue Foch, from which the author took his title. This, too, I studied with interest. Several years ago I had the pleasure of spending almost two weeks exploring Paris. I tried to remember the places I'd seen and see them again with an eye to their relative locations. Had I walked along the Avenue? I'd been to both the Bois and the Etoile, of course, but had I taken the Metro to them on different days? I could not remember. I wished I could go now after reading this book and try to see the places the book would describe as well as many other places I'd so loved on my first trip. And then I began reading. The opening chapters describe the departure of many Parisians knowing that the Nazis were drawing ever closer to their city. Their trepidation was palpable, especially among the Jewish population and those who sided with de Gaulle rather than the Vichy government that was already in place. There was ambivalence, too. Should one stay and attempt to resist or flee. For Dr Sumner Jackson there was the added sense of responsibility to his patients at the American Hospital. An American, Jackson could leave Europe altogether, taking his Swiss born wife, Toquette, and his son, Philip, their only child to the safety of his home in Maine. Not only did they make the decision to remain but Toquette also agreed to a request of a neighbor on Avenue Foch, Francis de Noyelle, to allow her home to serve as a drop for intelligence gathered by the resistance that could then be forwarded to the Allies. Sumner, whom she called Jack, had already been sneaking Allied servicemen and others out of France, so this was an extension of an already treacherously dangerous undertaking. Though behavior surely to result in torture and death if discovered anywhere in France it was particularly daring considering that the Jackson's resided on Avenue Foch, whose mansions had been completely taken over by the high command of the Nazi occupation! The Nazi occupation--it is described here from the first Panzer tanks to cross into France almost without any resistance. It seemed impossible to believe the march into a country was so easy. How could such a thing happen? But the answer was two-fold---Europe was not prepared for war and, once France realized they would be invaded they set up a line of defense but Hitler did not attack there--rather he marched in through Belgium, which no one saw coming. The take over of Paris was as easy as riding a motorbike into Place Vendome followed by the artillery guns that would be placed in Place d'Etoile and then the taking over of all the historical sites in the heart of the City. The most elegant hotels were taken over as headquarters and living spaces for the high command and as the day came to a close, June 14, the French Tricolor had been replaced by the garish red and black of the Third Reich. By halfway into the book I no longer wanted to return to Paris to see the locations of the horror. Again, I read with disbelief the events taking place behind the doors of the mansions by which the affluent Parisians who chose to collaborate passed as they carried on as though nothing had changed. People wearing Chanel and other designer clothes as their fellow Parisians froze in threadbare clothing during some of the harshest winters Europe had known, many without fuel to even be warm indoors. These same people dining at elegant restaurants or private dinner parties that included fine wine as others starved when food either became scarce or too expensive to buy. I'd just finished reading Les Parisiennes about how the women of Paris survived during the occupation but this book described conditions so much more clearly that even the modicum of understanding I'd had for some of those that collaborated totally fled. Once the Jackson's were arrested and the conditions under which they suffered was further described I had nothing but distain for any who chose to collaborate. By the end of the book, though as relieved and joyous at the liberation of France and its beautiful capital city, I was drained. There was gratitude that the destruction that Hitler ordered to take place did not occur, though the disregard for his orders may have been more motivated by ego than aesthetic appreciation for beauty and history. In the end, there was some injustice as some of the more brutal and sadistic and pathological were allowed to live and even have years of freedom and life once they had served prison time. Even these continued to have friends in high places, sickening as that was. I hated that they had any extension of life and normality after so many had been granted no life at all--children and young adults who hadn't even begun to grow. In addition to those reactions, an abiding admiration and respect for the Jacksons as well as the others who were imprisoned with them, resistance fighters, British intelligence ( Violette Szabo and her bravery are mentioned in both this and Les Parisennes), will remain. I only wish I knew more about Toquette's life in Paris--how did she spend her days? And Phillip--who were his friends? How did this young teenager manage to be a child before his incarceration? A comparatively short book but a strong, thought provoking book. It is highly notated--35 pages!--and has an extensive bibliography. Were others curious to read both Les Parisiennes and Avenue of Spies I suggest they read the later before the former. I received this book from Blogging for Books for this review."

Ruso and Tilla Look for the TaxCollector and The Tax Money!!

Caveat Emptor: A Novel of the Roman Empire by Ruth Downie
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Gaius Petreius Ruso and Tilla, newly married, return to Britannia after a visit to his family in Gaul. They have their wedding gifts all packed but, having left the Roman legions to travel to Gaul, Ruso finds himself in Londinium without a job. His fellow Medicus, Valens, has been unable to find a Medicus position for Ruso but has found him a job as an investigator for the local procurator. Ruso is not terribly happy since he is NOT an investigator and feels wholly inadequate to do the job.

It would seem that a very pregnant lady has appeared at the procurator's office to report her lover, the local tax collector, missing. Ruso is sent to a neighboring town to locate the man who, with his brother, has disappeared while on the way to Londinium with the tax monies collected in Verulamium.
Of course, the chief concern of the politician's is the location of the taxes but when the tax collector's murdered body without any evidence of the the money is found, the plot, as they say, thickens.

Seems that even in ancient times crime and vice in all its forms existed as often as today.: infidelity,illegitimacy, jealousy, thievery, murder, oh, yes, and counterfeiting all existed. And then, as today, corruption at high and low levels was intertwined. All of which, along with various " barbarian" and Roman factions muddying the situation, make Ruso's life miserable. As if those things were not enough, various attempts on the lives of various characters, insolent servants and Tilla's headstrong disobedience of Ruso's instructions in an effort to held, threaten to drive him mad.

But as usual, all of the various dead end threads eventually get woven into a more or less satisfying solution. The plot is well developed and complex enough that the reader is just as confused and frustrated as the hero. The characters are realistically complex and at times, just as Ruso, the reader sometimes trusts and at other times distrusts the same person. All of this makes the puzzle very intriguing and keeps the reader turning the page to see what happens next.

At the end, also, as a result of Tilla's loyalty to her Britannic fellows and Ruso's loyalty to Rome, as her desire to stay in Britain and his growing desire to return to Gaul, as his need to find a position as a Medicus increases with little opportunity in Londinium, the couple finds themselves at a crucial point in their relationship. Tilla wonders if they should part and Ruso find himself another wife. After four adventures with them and having watched their partnership grow and flourish, it is a decision that is as difficult for the reader to ponder as it is for them.

Where will the road lead in the next book? I'm anxious to know.

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Hiro, Father Mateo and the Murder of the Ninja's Daughter

The Ninja's Daughter by Susan Spann
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Another murder in Kyoto for Hiro and Father Mateo to solve. A young girl strangled to death on the riverside, a young merchant's apprentice arriving at their door in the early morning hours sure that he has killed her in a drunken stupor and asking their help.

Susan Spann continues to bring medieval Japan to life, populating it with men and women of every rank and profession. Here we are introduced to a company of actors and so we learn of the tradition of noh theatre and those who perform it. Another aspect of Japanese custom and behavior as the setting in which the Jesuit priest and his samurai body guard investigate this complicated murder.

At the same time we learn of the history of Japanese government--for the shogun who has ruled for many years has died and in the vacuum left behind several samurai compete for the role. It would appear war is imminent, indeed, one samurai has seized control of Kyoto in the Spring and now, in the Fall of 1565, it may be that another will march on the city in an attempt to wrest if from him. There is much police activity and control of the movements of the inhabitants and, in time, the danger to Hiro and Father Mateo is so great they and their housekeeper and the Portuguese arms dealer who reside with them must flee the city. But, first, a murder must be solved, in great secrecy since the presiding magistrate has forbidden an investigation.

All of the characters come to life in the story but the most interesting thing, if one has read the first three books, is the development of Hiro, Fr. Mateo as characters and their relationship through time is so real. Initially, the Portuguese priest is so unaware of the formal etiquette of Japanese interaction that he often embarrasses Hiro, his samurai body guard, by bluntly asking questions or opening discussions that are off limits. He does not recognize or chooses to ignore the relative positions of commoners and samurai. But, by this time, in the fourth book, he has learned much more and Hiro and he have developed an uncanny ability to use his position as a foreigner to their advantage while investigating murders. In addition, they have become more relaxed and intimate in what has become a true friendship--to the point where the Jesuit shares a secret he has shared with no one in over 20 years.

As in real life, this familiarity has developed over time and was not immediate. Both have learned more about each other's cultures and religions gradually and the reader is along for the ride. Even Ana, the housekeeper, is more like family rather than a competitor for Mateo's attention or, indeed, for the position of his protector. This is most strongly shown at the end of the book--when they are fleeing Kyoto there was no mention of Gato, the adorable cat. I could not believe Spann forgot to include her in the escape and my heart was broken--but then, Hiro, many miles away, also realizes he's forgotten her. He, too, develops a lump in his throat at the thought. Ah, but Ana, she is wise and caring and oh, well, off they go to Hiro's home of Igo, where, I hope, the story will resume in the next book.

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Persona non Grata--Thank Goodness You're Home, Brother!

Persona Non Grata by Ruth Downie
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

In this third installment, Gaius Petreius Ruso has returned home to the South of France from Britannica having received a short " Come home! " message from his brother. He and Tilla take the long journey only to find that his brother not only did not send the message but also is quite annoyed that Ruso has appeared more or less unannounced.
As usual, Gaius finds himself trying to control Tilla and, in this case, finds himself beset by several other women--his stepmother, who will not accept that the family is debt-ridden and has no spare money for her many home improvements; his two younger sisters, primarily 16 year old, Marcia, who demands her dowry and who is in love with a gladiator!; his ex-wife Claudia, whose present husband visits Gaius in order to work out the debt owed him and who proceeds to drop dead, apparently poisoned, in the study without witnesses. Each of these women are distinctively portrayed both physically and emotionally, with several humorous situations breaking up the really serious mystery of the neighbor's death. Add to this, Cass, his sister-in-law, Galla the nursemaid, Lucius, his brother and five toddling nieces and nephews and one can easily see why Gaius frequently searches out the peace and quiet of an empty bathouse, with the doors securely bolted.

There are various Roman neighbors, workmen, slave, murderers and, oh, yes, the lovely widow next door. Tilla finds herself surrounded by family and acquaintances who aren't quite sure where she fits in the scheme of things and worries about the fetching neighbor and ex-wife. She is also overwhelmed by the treatment of foreigners by the Romans, either as slaves or as players in the deadly games in the local amphitheatre. Add to these oddities she is also taken my the nursemaid to a meeting of the followers of Christos and finds their beliefs and practices quite puzzling.

The family dynamics are amusing as well as realistic--two teenage girls and an unmarried uncle trying to set them up for marriage!! The solving of two murders, the description of the masses cheering the death of gladiators at the attack by wild animals, the birth of a new religion and the telling of the story matter of factly as a Roman and simultaneously through the eyes of the so called barbarian, Tilla, are all threads that keep the reader involved and interested until the very last clasp of Tilla's and Ruso's hands as it appears they are preparing for a lifetime commitment

At the end, Persona non Grata and his barbarian woman have saved the day.

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Our Own Ocean GetAway in Winter

Just finished reading A Week in Winter by Maeve Binchy and was reminded of all the trips we made to the Maine coast when we were teaching. Every February and April vacation and summer break we would pack our suitcase the night before the last day of school. At the final bell, we'd go down the road to the elementary school, pick up our daughter and head right out for Old Orchard Beach. These were the perfect times to go--no one else or at least very few others were on that long stretch of sand. Our daughter would immediately run into the ocean--it did not matter that it was winter. She would splash around and it would be almost impossible to get her into the room where I'd put her into a warm shower and then cuddle with her under the covers to get her warm. It was hopeless to try to instill in her that fact that at those times of year it was actually dangerous to get so cold. As she got older she stayed in less time and get warm faster on her own but, still, she dashed in upon arrival. We all spent endless hours together or alone walking the beach, collecting sand dollars, primarily, although after a storm at sea and high waves I found a large fresh, though dead scallop, still in its pair of shells. I brought that back to share with my biology students and then cleaned it and kept the shell. As I write this I see it in the pantry window, as beautiful as ever. The best shell I have EVER found on an ocean beach on either coast or north or south. On the window above the kitchen sink is the miniature bell jar salt shaker filled with ocean polished shards of glass--no red, though I've searched forever. An old fashioned sugar shaker has small delicate spiral shells and bivalves bleached white from sandblasting waves and sun. And hanging on the wall is the tide clock with oyster shells that keeps me informed about when the beach is wider than the boardwalks at some tourist meccas or almost too narrow to walk without getting your feet wet. I remember the year in February when it was so cold I was amazed to see the foam at my toes was actually slushy --by the time I got back to tell my family the air had warmed enough that it was gone. They didn't believe me and I've never seen slushy salt water foam again. Usually there was little snow near the beach but one year it was blown up toward the wooden bridge so deeply that I sank to my thighs and had an almost impossible task to get out of it. I remember getting a bit panicky at the thought of not being found until I'd succumbed to hypothermia--lol We had a favorite restaurant--it is still there but has gone through several owners after the originals divorced and went their separate ways. It is not the same and, though probably just fine, in our minds it is not as good. I always had escargot, daughter had Caesar salad, garlic bread and Boston Cream Pie, though she eventually graduated to chicken wings but never outgrew BCP and hubby had broiled haddock. Such creatures of habit! Eventually, we retired and started to travel cross country, daughter grew up and went to college in Montana--which I never understood, since she is part sea mammal--so our annual rhythms changed and our visits to Maine became fewer and far more apart. We all became involved in exploring new places and thought Maine will always be there and we'd get back. We have gone back for long weekends but never the three of us together. She has gone with friends, I've gone with my sister, hubby and I have gone alone. It is just as wonderful just different. There have been no winter visits in a long time--we go to the Southwest now, she flies off to visit friends in various places on school vacation--she's followed in our footsteps and teaches now, too. This fall, though, I've asked to spend a week back at the beach for my 74th birthday. It falls on a Sunday so hubby and I will go up on the Wednesday before, daughter will come for the weekend, and we will return home the following Thursday morning. Not sure where we'll eat, but I think I'll find a place with escargot. The Cheese Iron has become a favorite sandwich place to get stuff to eat on the porch overlooking the ocean. There will be lots of beach walks and maybe I'll find another beautiful specimen to put on the window. For sure, I will come home refreshed and renewed with the rush of the ocean thrumming in these Irish blood vessels once more. I cannot wait

A Week in Winter on the West Coast of Ireland! I'd Like to Go.

A Week in Winter by Maeve Binchy
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I've never read anything by Binchy before though I always meant to do so. This past winter a friend passed this book on to me with the comment that it was just a nice, warm simple story and that is what it is.
Set on the west coast of Ireland it tells of a woman from Stoneybridge who'd grown up there, ran off with a young American, got left behind by him after a short time, made her way in New York City until returning to Stoneybridge in her middle age. Having covered up her life by presenting herself as a widow she purchases and restores a Victorian home perched on cliffs overlooking the Atlantic. With help from various friends and family members she refurbishes the place, retaining its Victorian aura and opens a tourist home.
This is the story of the first batch of guests for her first winter week of rental. Each of the characters is given his or her own chapter and, as we get to know them, we also become acquainted with the village, its inhabitants and the beautiful Irish Atlantic coast. The arrangement allows for easy reading since each chapter is a story in itself and so the book is easily laid down for a time without a need for immediate continuity. Yet, by the same token, the arrangement keeps the reader interested enough to want to know each of the guests who gather round the dining table at night for dinner as a community. Chickie, the owner, oversees the changes that occur in the lives of each guest--everyone of whom needs and greatly benefits from this one week away from the reality of their everyday lives.
At the end, it seems as though they each may have made life changing decisions that may or may not improve reality but at least sends them back renewed, refreshed and more comfortably alive than before their arrival at Stone Cottage in Stoneybridge, Ireland. There is a sense that each has learned a bit more about themselves, about life and what they want from it. The stories might even encourage the reader to find their own Stone Cottage with its walking trails at which to seek a break from lives that may be too hectic to really evaluate or appreciate.
At the very least, a fictional visit to Stoneybridge on a rainy summer day, drives the clouds and damp away until the sun returns.

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The Last Enchantments Is No Match For Charles Lennox

The Last Enchantments by Charles Finch
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

Have only gotten as far as Chapter 3 and just cannot continue. Finch is an excellent writer and his way with words in the Lennox series completely drawers me in. In this book, however, his prose, plot and characters leave me totally cold. The protagonist is well into his twenties, has graduated from college and has been working on the Kerry presidential campaign. Having lost, he is at loose ends as to what to do with himself. Through family connections it would seem he has gained a place for grad studies at Oxford. He's been living with Alison, another Kerry worker, and she continues on in the political arena, quite busily as it turns out, while he goes off for a year to England.
Within days, he has managed to get totally blitzed and in on his way to the second infidelity to his supposed designated wife--apparently they have all the required pedigree and training to be a perfect match.
Their stultifying sense of entitlement, lack of direction though pushing thirty and their snobbery is just too much for me. I shall wait for the next Lennox book and move on to other books rather than waste any more time on this one. So disappointing and so disappointed in a sophomoric essay that I sincerely hope is more farce than reality.

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