Reviewed by Jeanne
Life has returned to normal for Flavia de Luce, eleven year old chemist, would-be sleuth and resident of Bishop’s Lacey. After all, it’s probably too much to expect to find yet another stranger lying dead in one’s cucumber patch. Flavia is making the best of things by continuing her experiments and trying to find new ways to torment her older sisters, Daffy and Feely, who cheerfully return the favor. Things start to look up a bit when Rupert Porson, puppeteer extraordinaire, and his beautiful assistant Nialla turn up in the village and agree to do a performance at the church. They have very little choice in the matter: their van has broken down and they’re stuck until it’s repaired. Flavia soon has reason to suspect that Rupert is no stranger to Bishop’s Lacey: one of his puppets bears an uncanny resemblance to a child who died several years earlier under somewhat unusual circumstances.
When Rupert has a fatal encounter with large amounts of electricity, Flavia knows at once that it’s no accident. The police tend to agree, but they seem less than enthusiastic about having an underage detective doing her own investigations. That doesn’t deter Flavia in the slightest, of course, and she sets out to learn all she can about the tangled relationships and dark pasts of those involved.
I for one cheered the return of the indomitable Flavia de Luce whom we first met in The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie. Some people found Flavia too precocious and too smug, but I found her delightful. She has a sharp tongue and quick wit. (In regard to the vicar’s wife, Flavia says “I have to admit… that Cynthia was a great organizer, but then, so were the men with the whips who got the pyramids built.”)
She’s extremely well read, extremely bright and more than a bit stubborn, but she’s still a child. She understands a great deal but not quite as much as she thinks she does, especially where emotions are concerned. She’s read Madame Bovary, for instance, but doesn’t quite grasp some of the implications. She goes to her friend Dogger, an ex-soldier suffering from shell-shock who serves the family as chauffeur and general handyman, and inquires about a particular passage:
“What did Flaubert mean… when he said that Madame Bovary gave herself up to Rudolphe?”
“He meant,” Dogger said, “That they became the greatest of friends. The very greatest of friends.”
To which Flavia replies, “Ah! Just as I thought.”
The supporting cast is wonderful. The family plays a lesser role in this second book, though the scenes with visiting Aunt Felicity are not to be missed. Instead we have a fine cast of suspects with complex motivations and dark histories. Bradley seems to evoke England of the 1950s with ease.
You don’t need to have read the first book to enjoy this one; each stands alone. There’s a lot of humor but it’s thoughtful rather than slap-stick. I find Flavia delightful and I hope you will too.
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