If you’ve never read Jackie Elliott’s Coffin Cove cozy mysteries you’re in for a salty treat. Each story in this, currently four-book series, builds off the last and draws us deeper into the endangered and fearsome lives of Coffin Cove’s venturesome journalist/sleuth, Andi Silvers, along with her friends and neighbours. Imagine Murder, She Wrote liberally sprinkled with the grit and ferocity of The Shipping News, then nuanced with the history and atmosphere of Vancouver Island small town smack.
Elliott doesn’t shy away from shining a spotlight on political, social, and economic issues common to small provincial towns—especially those whose livelihoods were based on the forestry and fishing industries. We find fishers vs. loggers vs. environmental greenies, as well as rampant sexism, racism, and homophobia. When the tide turns and raw materials are depleted, a town must adapt or die— a sentiment Mayor Jade Thompson wears etched across her forehead. Jade beat out one of the oldest boys in the club to spirit Coffin Cove—a small town near Nanaimo—into the 21st Century, despite almost dying herself. Now, she’s turning the fish plant into a trendy tourist attraction and organizing an Indigenous cultural centre on offshore Hope Island—both gestures that have the locals pointing pitchforks.
The Vile Narrows refers to a treacherous stretch of sea bordering Quadra Island that hid Ripple Rock, “an underwater mountain with two peaks which caused dangerous eddies from the strong tidal currents that ran through Seymour Narrows” in Discovery Passage. On April 5, 1958 the government blew it to bits. Also on that day, Randolph Weber rescued a young boy—an act that comes back to haunt him decades later when, at the age of one hundred, he’s murdered in his home on Quadra Island. Soon after, his son, archaeologist Gerald Weber is murdered in Coffin Cove. Seeing an obvious connection, Andi Silvers sends a young reporter to Quadra to parse out the story for the Gazette. Meanwhile, a psychopath from earlier in the series resurfaces in Coffin Cove and Andi’s father, himself a journalist, disappears. The RCMP are hard into it as Elliott piles body on body with the precision of the most intimate executioner. Her murders are brutal and visceral. Why shoot someone when you can bash in their skull with a cast iron pot or stab them gleefully multiple times with a homemade knife?
Elliott’s strength lies in her ability to twist fact and fiction, past and present, into a pretzel of a tale. I’ve just read all four murder mysteries—though not in order—and had no problem following along, although I drew visual mind maps to connect the characters like Elliott’s detectives do. Each chapter introduces a character with a full-on backstory that situates the reader in the midst of their life, their trauma, and their agenda. Elliott’s writing is fluid, sensory, and descriptive, and she has an excellent ear for dialogue. Moreover, you will learn things, like the difference between a purse seiner and a packer, and what it’s like to live aboard a boat in January.
Elliott writes with all the earthy charm of Anne Cleeves—perhaps the blood of the gritty English murder mystery writer runs through her veins. It’s where she began. Since marrying a Canadian West Coast fisherman in 2004, she’s become enamored with the charm of Vancouver Island’s harbour towns. Book two in this series, Hell’s Half Acre, was shortlisted for the Crime Writers of Canada 2022 Whodunit award for best traditional mystery. Take a chance on this rivetting cozy mystery series that won’t disappoint. The nautical lover in each of us will enjoy exploring Coffin Cove.
For most of us insomniacs the night is no gift. Even if we’ve done our best to follow a sleep-inducing routine, we may not fall asleep or stay asleep. Many of us sleep soundly until two or three a.m. only to awaken and lie tossing and turning until morning.
What psychotherapist Philip Carr-Gomm proposes in his latest book is a six-step program to cultivate better sleep. Based on the latest sleep science and tested through his sleep clinic, he offers understanding and relief. I’ve been following Philip since he was Chief of the Order of Bards, Ovates, and Druids, a position he held for thirty-two years (1988-2020). I participated in his sleep clinic a few years ago, so was pleased to see the outcome of his studies appear in the form of this book.
What Philip proposes is a shift in our attitude toward sleep. Those of us who suffer from insomnia know that lying in bed worrying about all the things we have to do tomorrow and how wretched we’re going to feel, is the absolute worst thing we can do. The shift is this: Think of the night as a magical time when “the conscious and unconscious minds, the ego and deep self can cooperate to give you the fullest possible experience of life” (20.)
Sleep is not time wasted nor is the time we spend trying to sleep. Rather than suffer, we can transform it into a magical time using a set of tools and techniques. What occurs at night while your body is at rest is: healing, problem-solving, creativity, inspiration, and spiritual development. What Philip outlines in this book is a way to encourage and allow that shift in consciousness so the magic can happen.
His work is both scientific and spiritual. You will learn about your body but also about your mind and spirit. What does he suggest will lead to a generally good night’s sleep.
Spend time daily with Nature. Communing with trees, plants, and animals and spending time in the sun helps put our Circadian rhythms back on track.
Address your stress levels through daily practice: mindfulness meditation and visualization, yoga, tai chi, qi gong, sophrology, or yoga nidra. Philip has studied these practices and leads weekly meditations on “Tea with a Druid.”
Tend to your emotional life in whatever way works for you (counselling, journaling, dealing with your stuff, etc.)
Part 1 of the book is structured in six steps. Briefly:
Stop fighting and reframe the night. If you can’t sleep, then rest and meditate. This alone will induce a shift in consciousness. Something that I’ve researched myself is how meditation lowers the speed of our brainwaves from beta (jumpy, monkey mind) to alpha and theta (a blissfully creative state.) I use this technique to write novels.
Tune in to your personal sleep story, your patterns and nature, and your chronotype. Are you a lark or a night owl? When is your optimal bedtime?
Understand the body and how it’s affected by various substances. Here, Philip provides his opinions (based on facts) about what works, what might work, and what doesn’t work.
Create a sleep-inducing setting.
Experiment with techniques. He describes thirteen methods to either send you to sleep or into a creative mode.
Explore rituals and routines that work for you.
In Part 2, Philip answers most every question ever asked regarding sleep.
All in all, The Gift of the Night is a step forward in sleep consciousness. If you find one or two things that help you personally, it’s worth the cost. For me, it’s visualization and binaural beats; for you it may be hypnotherapy, EFT, or a daily yoga practice. Note that if you purchase the audio edition, Philip will read the book to you in his soothing British voice. For a sample, join him for “Tea with a Druid”—live-streamed every Monday at 8pm UK time (noon on the Pacific Northwest coast)—for a conversation and meditation lasting 20-30 minutes. You’ll be in the good company of hundreds of druids from around the world who meet together in the sacred grove. You can find recordings of over 250 of these programs on his YouTube channel. And you can read or listen to interviews here.
One more thing. This lullaby from the Highlands of Scotland is one of the most beautiful and relaxing pieces I’ve ever heard. You can listen to it here. It’s called “Healing Sleep.”
Over the holidays, I discovered this used book in our local bookstore and decided to read it. This is the kind of story one can call delightful. It was written by Edith Nesbit who wrote under the pen name E. Nesbit. Her biography says: “She was a mischievous, tomboyish child who grew into an unconventional adult. With her husband, Hubert Bland, she was one of the founder members of the socialist Fabian Society; their household became a centre of the socialist and literary circles of the time. The chaos of their Bohemian home . . . was regularly increased by the presence of their children and numerous friends, among whom were George Bernard Shaw and H.G. Wells.
Like Mrs. Barnstable, the mother of The Railway Children, Edith was a published writer, and a good one. This Puffin Classic (first published in 1906 and this edition republished in 1994) has several full pages of pen and ink sketches that are remarkable. The writing voice reminded me of C. S. Lewis and the children of the Pevensies. Since the Chronicles of Narnia weren’t published until the 1950s, I can’t help but wonder if Lewis read and liked Nesbit’s books. Perhaps some of the Railway Children adventures rubbed off on him.
The three children: Roberta (Bobbie) who turns twelve, Phyllis who seems to be around eight years old, and Peter who turns ten, have all sorts of adventures after their father mysteriously disappears and they have to move from London into the countryside. They are suddenly impoverished, so their mother spends long hours writing and selling stories in order to make ends meet. With all kinds of free time at Three Chimneys, their new cottage, the children make friends with the locals—particularly Perks the Porter and the Station Master. They also befriend a wealthy and wise old gentleman who regularly rides the train and helps them solve the mystery of their father.
Things I loved about this story:
The trains of course. Who doesn’t love the old fashioned “Harry Potter” trains winding their way through the English countryside.
The innocence of it all. The children were allowed to roam free and get into mischief, as I did as a kid. This was a time in which a man could kiss a young girl on the cheek in the spirit of friendship and gratitude and not be maligned for it.
The writing, so clear, detailed, and descriptive.
“There was a cake on the table covered with white sugar, with ‘Dear Bobbie’ on it in pink sweets, and there were buns and jam; but the nicest thing was that the big table was almost covered with flowers — wall-flowers were laid all round the tea-tray — there was a ring of forget-me-nots round each plate. The cake had a wreath of white lilac round it, and in the middle was something that looked like a pattern all done with single blooms of lilac or wallflower or laburnum” (73).
The strength of character in all whom we meet.
Frank discussions about the differences between boys and girls, and corrections made with regard to stereotypical statements. (The doctor is somewhat old fashioned.)
A film of this particular story was produced in 1970 and the trailer seems quite true to the book. Apparently, the children returned recently in another film: The Railway Children Return (2022). This one concerns a different group of children and is set in 1944, when the children are evacuated from Manchester to East Yorkshire because of the bombings.
Thank you, Miss Nesbit for bringing your stories to the world.
Please no. This might well be my favourite Dr. Ruth Galloway mystery. Book number fifteen in a succession that spans twenty years of the characters’ lives, also reads as if it may be the last. The way things land between Dr. Ruth and DCI Nelson both romantically and professionally, leads them on a new trajectory and Griffiths confirms, it is the last book “for now.” I can’t imagine what it’s like for her to say goodbye to these characters.
When the last remains of Emily Pickering, a young Cambridge archaeology student who disappeared in 2002, are discovered walled up in a café, Ruth is called in to investigate. She gets involved, though she’s busy at UNN, her own university, as the archaeology department for which she is the head is about to be closed down. Naturally DCI Nelson is involved as well as the charming DCI Clough, as it’s happened on his patch. Then our old friend, Cathbad, who nearly died in book fourteen and is suffering from long Covid disappears, leaving everyone devastated. The usual players are involved, along with Ruth’s new sister Zoe, and there’s even an unexpected and timely cameo by an old victim.
Ruth and Nelson struggle with the intricacies of their longtime relationship, given that it’s coming around to Father’s Day and he has two families: the first who seem to take precedence and the second, Ruth and their daughter Kate, who get Nelson time when he’s willing and able. I found myself wanting to bat them both upside the head a few times. Nelson can be thoughtless and Ruth indifferent. The combination leads to romantic stasis, which is why old David, her colleague at UNN archaeology thinks he has a shot.
I think what really draws me to this series besides the archaeological and mythological references are the small towns and cities in the north and east of England, some of which I’d like to visit because of Griffiths’s descriptions. Norfolk, where Ruth lives on the Saltmarsh and King’s Lynn which looks particularly charming, Lincoln and Durham; as well as Blackpool, a northwest coast town billed the UK’s favourite playground. Grimes Graves, a Neolithic flint mine is a creepy setting in this story. I’ll take a pass on climbing down one of those shafts, even though Griffiths’s made the decent herself.
One day, I’d like to begin at the beginning and reread the whole series in order. Why hasn’t this series been picked up for TV yet? Don’t you think it’s about time?
If you’re a fan of British cozy mystery author Elly Griffiths, you’ll know that she’s been writing one Ruth Galloway archaeological mystery each year for over a decade. This is book fourteen. When the pandemic hit, she had to make a decision. Do I set this story in the current reality or not? It’s a decision many authors faced and will continue to face as we move through history. As no-nonsense as Ruth, Griffiths decided to not only to set it during the pandemic but to make it a kind of homage to plagues and isolation. I admit that I found bits triggering at times as I followed the characters through the horror and hassle of the opening weeks of the plague in Britain, February 2020.
Ten-year-old Kate is home, bored, doing school online. Nelson’s wife and young son are away looking after her mother. There are pandemic references: the evening clanging cheer to front-line workers, masking or not, grocery cues, empty shelves and the stocking of staples including toilet paper, lockdown laws, social distancing, two-metre walks out-of-doors, office staff on rotation and working from home, learning to Zoom, teaching from home, loved ones taken away to hospital and the grief of those quarantined and left behind who are not permitted to visit, references to plagues past, and the feeling of never being able to escape the fear and isolation it conjures.
Griffith’s strength is her ability to weave in these facts in a kind of matter-of-fact way, so they never overpower the mystery, which concerns healthy women who appear to be suddenly committing suicide. One woman is even found in her bedroom with the door locked from the outside.
Griffiths’ books are always gently packed with tidbits and meaningful symbols. The title signifies, not only the isolation of plagues in general, but how our “killer” operates, locking victims in total darkness. As is always the case, Nelson and Ruth end up tangled in dangerous climatic scenes of discovery.
Nelson, who’s living alone while his wife’s away, comes calling on Ruth until his grown daughter arrives home, needs her daddy, and he goes running off. That’s Nelson, protector of all and burly man of guilt. Ruth takes it all in her stride, even the discovery of her mother’s lifelong secret—a secret that will come to affect her present moment in a big way.
One thing that bothered me: I came away not understanding the killer’s motivation. He had the means and opportunity but the motive seemed lacking. Perhaps I missed something.
One thing I loved: the “Who’s Who” character pages at the end of the book. My favourite character is Cathbad and, true to form, the druid shaman embraces the pandemic by offering Zoom yoga classes every morning to his children and friends.
Don’t let the pandemic setting deter you. Just be aware that if you start fretting about going out in public, you’re likely triggered. We live in a different time now and this too shall pass.
Can you believe it? I found this book sitting on the very end of the free shelf at my local library this morning. I’d checked it out and returned it last week, which means, that I was the last person to read it. How do libraries decide what ends up in the slush pile? I don’t understand. I mean, this series is amazing. Blue’s story is the focus of book three–this book. I actually finished The Raven King, which is book four, and realized I’d forgotten to write anything about this book. So, it’s come back to me. You see how that works? It’s not that I don’t have anything to say about it; in fact, I was so tucked into the characters, I didn’t really realize what was happening plot-wise. Urban fantasy doesn’t really work like that. It’s more about characters and emotions. And these characters are some of the best characters you’ll ever meet. So, what do I remember about Blue Lily, Lily Blue?
-the illicit love between Blue and Gansey. Illicit only because Blue kind of had a hand-holding thing with Adam to begin with and, Gansey and Adam are best friends, and well, there’s a social rule being broken
-her funky home with her psychic mother and aunts
-something tasty evolving between Ronan and Adam
-a ton of angst occurring at Gansey’s political mansion in Washington, DC. This is not the best space for trailer-park-son-of-an-abusive-father Adam. Or maybe it is.
-the elusive Cabeswater . . . What the hell is it, anyway? And when they finally get there, will Gansey find his Immortal Welsh King? And why a Welsh King? Is this the orphaned child of a real mythological legend? Damn. I wish I’d thought of this.
-details of Gansey’s horrific hornet experience. Have you ever been bitten by vicious meat-eating hornets with giant stingers and long, wispy legs? I have. When I was seven or eight, I climbed into my father’s old black pick-up truck. We started rumbling down the road. The hornets had build a nest under the bench seat on my side. Before we hit Dixie and Finch, they flew up my pant legs. I went so ballistic, my father pulled over, dragged me out of the truck, and ripped off my pants. I was horrifically embarrassed—I mean, there I was standing on the side of the road in my white cotton undies in front of my father. Now, I think, how did he have the presence of mind to do that? I mean . . . child-eating hornets? Did he get stung?
-something horrible happening at 300 Fox Way which I will not divulge
-some nasty-pants villains developing, of course.
Do I recommend this series? Yes. In fact, it’s in my Amazon Wishlist. Just sayin’. There may come a day when I pass this hardcover on to a little library somewhere in the world. Oh Maggie, what have you done?
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