Horse, by Geraldine Brooks.

 

            Pulitzer Prize-winning author Geraldine Brooks has excelled herself yet again with ‘Horse’, her novelised true story of America’s greatest racing stallion Lexington, illustrious sire of future generations of champions, and an essential and integral ancestor almost lost to history.  Were it not for the efforts of determined academics who were relentless in their detective work following up the clues leading from the forgotten equine skeleton labelled ‘horse’ in the attic of the Smithsonian, one of America’s finest museums, and researching the provenance of several obscure equine paintings found in unlikely places, Lexington would have remained unsung and unheralded still, and his marvellous genetic history lost, not to mention the turbulent historical significance of the times in which he lived and flourished, the 1850”s and 60’s.

            Ms Brook has reimagined that time with her usual skill:  from the time Lexington was foaled in Kentucky in 1850 he was personally cared for by Warfield’s Jarret, a young slave whose father was Doctor Warfield’s chief trainer, so essential that Dr. Warfield allowed him to buy his freedom and currently, Jarret’s father is saving to buy Jarret’s freedom, too.  The ugly face of slavery is not so evident on Warfield’s farm if one is a successful trainer of thoroughbreds and his son is following reliably in his father’s footsteps, but when the brilliant new colt is eventually sold, Jarret is sold along with him, and he and Lexington have some bitter experiences – and some great adventures, for Lexington proves his brilliance time and again:  both have such a bond that they are inseparable until one of them dies:  it is up to the modern researchers, Theo, a Nigerian Art Historian and Jess, an Australian scientist working at the Smithsonian, to join the clues and reconstruct the history, especially of the shattering impact of the Civil War and the emancipation of all those enslaved and Sold South.  Tragically for Theo and Jess, it is patently clear that racism is still alive, well and flourishing one hundred and fifty years later:  racism, overt or otherwise will never go away.

            Ms Brooks has written a fitting and loving tribute to equine beauty and genetic brilliance, and a bald and frightenly factual recitation of the tragedy of racism, inbred and otherwise.  FIVE STARS.

                   

 

 

The Running Grave, by Robert Galbraith.

         

 
         As  we all know, Robert Galbraith is a pseudonym for J.K. Rowling.  This is the seventh novel she has produced under this name featuring Cormoran Strike and Robin Ellacott who, thanks to various fearless exploits in previous books, run a very successful Private Detective Agency. 

                Galbraith’s series also has a romantic undertone in each book:  will Robin and Strike finally acknowledge the feelings they have for each other and stop messing about with other, lesser characters?

                Sadly, the answer is a resounding NO.  And it takes Galbraith nearly 1000 pages to do it!  You have to have strong wrists and lots of patience to navigate the progress of the labyrinthine plot and a photographic memory to keep track of the myriad characters required to flesh out the latest reason for which Strike and Robin have been hired:  a prominent businessman has engaged them to find out the whereabouts of his rebellious son Will, who has disappeared (willingly) into the clutches of the Universal Humanitarian Church, a relatively new quasi-religious group operating out of various U.K. cities.  It has the requisite charismatic leader, handsome Jonathan Wace, known as Papa J., and lots of adoring followers, all living in religious freedom and bliss on a big Norfolk Farm which presumably is self-supporting.  The members donate lots of money to various charities – and to Papa J., and the best way to find out just how above-board (and safe) everyone is, is for Robin to go Undercover as a prosperous new recruit.

            And what she finds chills her to the marrow, not to mention putting her in terrible physical danger:  all is obviously not well at the Farm, and God is nowhere to be seen.  Cruelty is everywhere.  She manages to escape with Strike’s help, but what about the other ‘recruits’?  Who’s going to save them?

            There are parts of this book that are heart-in-the-mouth exciting, and others that just amble and jog along, reintroducing characters that, because of the length of the story the reader has forgotten about and has to retrace plot steps, which is a shame.  Galbraith is too good a writer to indulge in so many superfluous characters, and too good to get lost in his/her own plot.  FOUR STARS.

 

Dirty Thirty, by Janet Evanovich.

 

      

    Fast food writing:  tasty but vitamin-free.  Fills the gap but no nutritional value.

            Janet Evanovich, the Queen of Fast-food writing, has now produced her 30^th novel starring Stephanie Plum, ‘Jersey girl, successful underachiever working for Vincent Plum (her cousin) Bail Bonds as a recovery agent, hunting down losers who’ve skipped out on their bond.’  The plots of each story vary very little, but what makes them compulsively readable are the reliability of the characters to charm and entertain the reader every time. Who could resist Lula, former Ho and more than generously proportioned bestie of Stephanie – she rides shotgun on various pick-ups of miscreants, always dressed in unforgettable combinations of outrageously undersized skirts, tops (?) and spike heels.  She also has a gun in her bag which she will use at the slightest opportunity, even though she is the lousiest shot in Trenton.

            And Stephanie’s grandma Mazur:  she likes to attend viewings at local funeral parlours;  in fact the last one she went to was a triumph of the undertaker’s art, the corpse being so healthy-looking that Grandma would swear that he was ready to rise up out of his casket and ask her to dinner!  Grandma has a gun too, she’s always packin’ and hoping that she will get an opportunity to fill someone fulla lead some day.  Stephanie’s mum, Grandma’s daughter, manages to keep the household together without having a nervous breakdown – for the most part;  when situations finally get too trigger-happy with various family members, she has been known to start knitting very long scarves and calling on the assistance of Jim Beam.

            And let us not forget Stephanie’s love interests – not just one but two, yes TWO hotter than hot males:  Joe Morelli, Trenton detective, and Ranger, ex-special forces member and owner of a very prosperous security firm.  They both vie in their different hot ways for Stephanie’s attention, each having different advantages in that Joe, like Stephanie was brought up in the neighbourhood – and he has Bob the dog, another singular character, especially when Stephanie has to dogsit him for two weeks.  Ranger is Cuban and makes every female heart skip a beat – even the reader’s, and Bob likes

him too – what treachery!  He’s supposed to be a one-man dog!

            Which all goes to show that I can rabbit on loftily about Fast-food writing as much as I like, but no-one does it better, or more entertainingly than Janet Evanovich:  roll on Book Thirty-one!  FOUR STARS.