What Time the Sexton's Spade Doth Rust (Flavia de Luce #11). Alan Bradley. 2024. 298 pages. [Source: Review copy] [adult mystery; series book] [4 stars]
First sentence: The greatest minds in the world are often cranky when they first awaken in the morning, and mine is no exception. If I am to ascend above the ordinary, I require solitude the way a balloon needs helium.
Premise/plot: What Time the Sexton's Spade Doth Rust is the eleventh book in this historical mystery series. The tenth novel in the series was published in 2019. Flavia de Luce, our heroine, has come of age solving mysteries all the time--ALL the time. Her upbringing is unusual to say the least. The household has shrunk--in some ways--and grown. Though Flavia doesn't see the addition of Undine as a plus. (Though she is down one "annoying" older sister through marriage). Both Undine and Flavia are "strange" "unusual" in their own ways.
There is a mystery to be solved...but the greatest mystery to be solved does not involve the oh-so-obvious dead body.
My thoughts: To say that I was absolutely SHOCKED by the twist(s) in this one would be an understatement. I'm not just saying that. I didn't see the reveal coming...at all. And it's the kind of reveal that takes processing and more processing and even more processing. So much so that the actual case of the murder mystery almost seemed inconsequential. There were a few intense scenes for sure. I definitely found it compelling.
The writing is still incredible. It isn't so much the plot itself but the narrative technique itself. I was reminded again why I love(d) the series so much.
The big reveal has left me a little unsettled. I don't know how to best process this and incorporate it with my thoughts on the whole series.
Quotes:
"Why do you insist on following me everywhere?" I asked. "Cause I'm your crocodile," she hissed, snapping her jaws and making a ghastly clicking noise with her throat. "Tick-tock. Tick-tock."
It's always embarrassing when someone steps over that invisible line and into your private life. Even though they mean well, the line has been broken, and can never again be the impenetrable defense that it once was. I thanked her for her concern but didn't tell her that I wasn't being eaten by loneliness. It was lack of love, and that's no sin either.
"The making of a pot of tea is a blessing," Father once told me in a rare moment of revealing his thoughts. "A blessing upon both the one who prepares it and those who drink it. A small sacrament to be sure, but it must never be done frivolously or unthinkingly."
"They will never be forgotten, Mrs. Skinnett," I said. "They are legends." "I know they are, dear. You don't have to tell me." I looked into her faded blue eyes and recoiled almost physically. I had to brace myself. Their depths were indescribable: beyond compare. In her eyes were other worlds and other times. The past was still alive in her! I could see it! In those pale blue irises were births, deaths, and loves; successes and failures; tragedies and comedies and, yes, hates. I had never seen anything like it, and in a way, I hoped I never would again.
Feelings are beyond words; beyond action; beyond reason. They are the only true and constant indicators we ever have in this cruel life.
© 2024 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews
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