Detective Mick “Scorcher” Kennedy of the Dublin Murder Squad, p. 91

We had been looking for the thing they had done wrong. Now we were looking for the thing that they could never have guessed they were doing wrong.

Broken Harbour, by Tana French

 

BROKEN HARBOUR, p. 41

Money: the only thing that kills more people than love.

— Detective Mick Kennedy of the Dublin Murder Squad

Tana French Quote of the Day: BROKEN HARBOUR, p. 25 (Spoiler-Free)

Self is just loving this book! Looks like she found herself a new favorite mystery writer.

The book begins with a heinous crime in one of those Dublin suburbs they call “ghost villages” — These were built fast in the Irish boom, but went bust with unsold homes only a few years later.

The Dublin Murder Squad is on it.

Detective Mick Kennedy to his rookie partner:

But keep in mind, right now we know bugger-all about these people. They kept their house in good nick, at least occasionally, and they got killed. I’m telling you the second one means a lot more than the first. Anyone can hoover. Not everyone gets murdered.

That last bit is going to be self’s favorite quote for a loooong time.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

 

Best Female Crime/Mystery/Thriller

Self is reading her first Tana French, Broken Harbour.

She’s pretty stoked, as she’s been hearing so many good things about Tana French, for years now.

The last mystery self read was almost a year and a half ago, Paula Hawkins’ The Girl on the Train (which she liked very much; Emily Blunt and Luke Evans were in the movie adaptation, sorry she missed seeing it)

Other favorite women mystery writers:

  • Morag Joss (for Half-Broken Things)
  • Karin Fossum
  • Ruth Rendell
  • Sarah Waters

Over on goodreads, there’s a list of “Best Female/Crime/Mystery/Thriller Writers.”

On this list, Broken Harbour is # 21.

The Girl on the Train is # 42.

Holy Cow, Fingersmith is #50 (No way. There’s just no way)

The list doesn’t even include Fossum or Rendell (As Septa Mordor on Game of Thrones would say: Shame! Shame! Shame!)

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

 

 

 

Sentence of the Day: Tana French

  • If you put your energy into thinking how much the fall would hurt, you’re already halfway down.

— p. 1, Broken Harbor, Tana French

Ian McEwan (Or His MC) Scoffs at Speculative Fiction

from Saturday, p. 66:

What were these authors of reputation doing — grown men and women of the twentieth century — growing supernatural powers to their characters? He never made it all the way through a single one of those irksome confections. And written for adults, not children. In more than one, heroes and heroines were born with or sprouted wings — a symbol, in Daisy’s term, of their liminality; naturally, learning to fly became a metaphor for bold aspiration.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

#amreading #amwritingfantasy: Inspired by Ian McEwan’s SATURDAY

The first time self read Saturday, by Ian McEwan, was in 2009. She only knows for sure because she did a Search on this blog. And up it popped, complete with spoilers.

But, since she believes she has more time to appreciate reading while she’s in Ireland, she’s going to give Saturday another go.

Amazing how ‘interior’ it is. Also amazing: that it’s about a surgeon. And she just got through reading Do No Harm, by neurosurgeon Henry Marsh. She swears, that’s just coincidence.

What Saturday‘s already succeeded in doing, even though self is only a few pages in: it’s gotten her to add a few more lines to the story she began three days ago, after arriving at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre in Annaghmakerrig. Working title: Transporter 2118

“As a matter of fact . . . ” I thought, but why mince words when she could read minds.

Tu-an Ju rose from the bed.

Oh. I didn’t realize she was that tall.

Looks like the transporter might have a problem.

lol

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

 

DO NO HARM: p. 171

Self just joined a Doctors Book Club. So she can participate in the book club discussion on Do No Harm. She even sent a link to her nephew, William. The one who got married in September. The one who works at Columbia-Presbyterian.

Henry Marsh is doing his round of the spinal theatres. In one theatre, he asks the operating: “Why such a large incision? And why are you using the big bone rongeurs?”

Marsh goes over to the operating table.

“I’ll have a look.”

He picks up “a pair of forceps and” looks into the wound. “A long shiny white thread, the thickness of a piece of string — four or five inches long — came up out of the wound . . . ”

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ!”

SELF (Flapping her hands about): OH NO The student’s just cut someone’s spinal cord.

Marsh: The “registrar had completely misunderstood the anatomy and opened the spine at the outer end rather than the inner edge of the spinal canal and hence had immediately encountered a nerve root, which, even more incomprehensibly, he had then severed.”

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

DO NO HARM, p. 139

“That’s a dead brain,” one of my colleagues explained to the juniors. “Brain looks like ground glass.”

The above is not even the most gruesome passages on p. 139, dear blog readers.

Stay tuned.

The Red Book: DO NO HARM, p. 72

Dr. Henry Marsh visits the Bessarabian Market, Ukraine:

Igor was later to tell me that the Bessarabian Market was still functioning only because it had become something of a tourist attraction. He suddenly became quite excited and pointed at one of the fish stalls.

“Very rare!” he said, pointing at three long, smoked eels in a glass cabinet. He bought one of them and gave it to me as a present. It smelt rather awful.

“Very unusual!” he said proudly. “They are in Red Book!”

“What’s the Red Book?” I asked.

“Book of animals soon dead. None left. You are lucky to have one,” he said happily.

“But Igor, this could be the last Ukrainian eel!” I said, looking at the long and once beautiful creature, who had been swimming, glittering, in some remote Ukrainian river and was now smoked and dead and wrapped in a Giorgio Armani plastic bag.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

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