Have You Ever Tried Ngaio Marsh?

 

 

  

 

PICTURE PERFECT (1980 U.K./1982 U.S.)

By Nagaio Marsh

Little, Brown and Company, 252 pages.

★★★

 

When I was a Fulbright scholar in New Zealand, I read as many Kiwi authors as I could. I still adore authors such as Elizabeth Catton, Michael Bennett, Kiri Hulme, and Witi Ihimaera. Other favorites are hard to get in North America–Maurice Gee, for example. A few we’re not to my taste, including Katherine Mansfield, arguably New Zealand’s most famous literary export. Until last week, I had never read Ngaio Marsh (1899?-1992), the only non-British “Queen of Crime.” That put her in the league as Agatha Christie, Margery Allingham, Dorothy Sayers, and Josephine Tay. When I was teaching and researching full-time, I saved mystery writers for retirement!

 

Photo Finish was a freebie and my first dip into Marsh’s oeuvre. I will read at least one more, as I previously dowloaded one for 99 cents! Her gentleman detective was Roderick Alleyn (her semi- Poirot) was the center of 32 of Marsh’s novels. Her assumed first name is pronounced NY-yo, a Māori name that means either “little tree bug,” or “light on the water.” She was not Māori, but in her day, it was not uncommon for whites to adopt a Māori name, a middle one in her case; her birth forename was Edith.

 

Ms. Marsh was an old-fashioned writer. For instance, instant photography has been around since Edward Land invented the Polaroid in 1948. They were well-known in New Zealand since 1965, and went viral in the 1970s. Instant snapshots factor heavily in Photo Finish, Marsh’s penultimate Alleyn novel. She had a huge vocabulary, though she used outdated terms and cultural references. Social class might have been at play. The novel is about opera and Alleyn and his artist wife Troy are clearly cut from upper- class cloth. Opera itself has long been a refined taste. Photo Finish often reads like a tragic opera set in a New Zealand luxury hotel in the middle of a lake on the South Island.

 

Prima donna Isabella Sommita is fashioned as the most-skilled soprano in the world. Like many divas, she is spoiled and temperamental–the very essence of a difficult star. She embarks on an Australasian tour in part to escape a furtive photographer calling himself “Strix.” He has snapped shots of Isabella in a state of undress, to “prove” that her amble blossom is artificially enhanced by falsies. She and her staff counter that those not-so-clear photographs have been doctored. Madame’s personal life has also horrified everyone around her: manager Ben Ruby; longtime friend Montague V. Reece; Master of Singing Signor Beppo Lattienzo; her manservant (archaic term!); personal secretary, Ned Hanley; her maid, Maria; and even superfan Dr. John Carmichael. She has had previous lovers, but young Rupert Bartholomew is another matter. He has become her protégé and it has gone to his head. He has written an opera for La Sammita with the naïve title, The Alien Corn. Those who have read the score recognize it as an embarrassing disaster, but Isabella has assembled guests to the island to debut a work she declares “genius.” One the eve of production, Rupert gets cold feet and recognizes that his is truly a horrible piece of work. Despite pleas, Isabella insists on forging ahead. It was bad!

 

There is a little reckoning on Isabella’s part for the simple reason that she lies dead in her dressing room, her bosom exposed, and a new photo above her heart secured by a stiletto. Who killed her? Alleyn is drafted to do the initial investigation because – in good operatic form – it was a dark and stormy night. The wind howled, the seas roiled, telephone lines were down, boat launches and the helicopter flights were unsafe, and the local police were stuck on the mainland. Though Alleyn is a high-ranking Scotland Yard figure, this is New Zealand and he wants to respect local customs. He does improvise by using Troy’s face powder to dust for fingerprints, but mainly he tries to keep everyone calm and conducts preliminary interviews. That said, in good Poirot fashion, his is an intuitive investigation that resolves with all the suspects gathered in the same room. That is, after sleepless nights, a search for Strix, a red herring discovery of a lens cap (for a Polaroid?), a search for keys, rumors of a Sicilian vendetta, and a gambit by Alleyn that could backfire.

 

Did I like the novel? If I’m honest, not so much. I found it more stodgy than old-fashioned charming. My view doesn’t mean others won’t conclude differently. It’s short enough to give it a try. You can always tell me I’m wrong but please, no stilettos!

 

Rob Weir

 

Children of the Wolf: A Superb and Dark Novel

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHILDREN OF THE WOLF (2026)

By Abby Geni

Ballantine Books, 320 pages.

★★★★★

 

Children of the Wolf is a strong candidate for my favorite novel of 2026, though I warn sensitive readers that parts of this imaginative work from Abby Geni are grisly. The “children” in question are Liv and Finn Thorvalsson, and the wolf their father Ulf. Their Norwegian names are important, though story begins in a survivalist-like compound in Iowa. Ulf claims to be a direct descendant of 11^th century Viking explorer Erik the Red, reputedly the first settler of Greenland. His father Thorvald was exiled from Norway for what was either cold-blooded murder or the somewhat lesser crime of manslaughter, hence Erik grew up in Iceland. He, in turn, fathered Leif Eriksson, who is possibly the first European to visit what is now known as the Western Hemisphere, a good 500 years before Christoper Columbus. This is disputed turf* on numerous levels, but not in Ulf’s mind.

 

Ulf fancies himself a latter-day Viking and raises his children according to his view of the Viking code, way of life, and religion. Though Vikings began to embrace Christianity in the 9^th century, Ulf meant the old Nordic gods living in Asgard and headed by Odin. If you ever studied Greek mythology and though the Olympian gods were horrible to humans, some of the Norse gods made them look like wimps. Ulf is a very big guy whose worldview made me think of the Klingons** in Star Trek. You can almost imagine Ulf channeling Worf in repeating the tagline, “Today is a good day to die.” Human warriors who died in brave combat could not live in Asgard, but some could dwell in Valhalla with both human and divine heroes. Liv and Finn love their father, but they also fear him. Let’s say that some of his punishments for straying from his standard of conduct are not found in any child-raising manual. Ulf is also the “wolf” because Norse gods were only partly immortal. They could temporarily die from one of Loki’s horrible pranks or Thor’s rage, but they usually got better. Yet, all Norse gods knew that they would all die for good when Fenrir, one of Loki’s sons, broke his bonds, swallowed Odin, and ushered in the end of all things (Ragnorak). Ulf believes in Ragnorak!

 

Things get weirder and more ominous for Liv and Finn–mute for reasons explained in the novel–when they notice that the number of graves in the compound surpasses the number of pets their father claims to have buried. They also notice that some men have disappeared in their area, mostly no-accounts but…. Ulf’s a Viking, after all, and “heroes” need blood sacrifices. Maybe too many in Ulf’s case, as he is sent to a high-security prison for mass murder.

Liv and Finn get a chance to live a semi-normal life by leaving Iowa, moving to Michigan, changing their last names, and setting up a bee-keeping business. Does one really overcome such an upbringing? You don’t, exactly. Finn copes through silence and gentleness. Liv yearns for a conventional(ish) life, but checks with the prison on a regular basis to make sure their father hasn’t escaped. Neither has any contact with Ulf, but Liv can’t shake the fear that he will somehow get loose. For the most part, Finn and Liv lean on each other. That is, until Liv unexpectantly falls in love with another woman, Penny Westerman, a social worker. It unfolds though each has reasons to be wary and doors they keep locked from each other. They have a passionate sexual life, but why does Penny insist that they retreat to their respective homes and never sleep over?

 

A bigger question: Why are their mysterious disappearances in town? That question triggers Liv’s darkest fear that Ulf has indeed escaped. Has a switch taken place? Figuratively speaking, is he on the prowl in some sort of deluded Fenrir alter ego fever? This, and an even deeper reason, draw Liv into making visits to Iowa to reestablish contact with her imprisoned father. Chances are good you won’t anticipate the reveal.

 

Children of the Wolf is a dark novel, but a well-written one that stays in character throughout. At times I felt a things-go-bump-in-the-night frisson without knowing why. If you were to consult AI about Children of the Wolf, it would say it is about wildlife, survival, and human connection. What a lame crock! It’s way more.

 

Rob Weir

 

Notes for the Curious:

* I use “disputed turf” to denote that none of those from the old textbook “Age of Discovery” discovered anything! Paleo-Indians had lived in the Western Hemisphere since at least 14,000 years ago and perhaps as long as 20,000 years. Norse explorers spoke of skraelings, who were likely ancestors of the Inuit. L’Anse aux Meadows in Newfoundland is said to have been the first Norse settlement in North America, but this widely debated, with the Baffin Islands and other sites upheld by some researchers.

 

** For what it’s worth, the original Star Trek Klingons were a Gene Rodenberry mashup of the Cold War Soviet Union filtered through the Mongols and Japanese Samurai. Klingon ultimately assumed a more Norse god-like demeanor.    

2026 August Music: Rebekka Bakken, Crow and Gazelle, Ike Reilly, Effie Zilch,

Andrew Duncan, Stephen Dayvid McKellar

 

 

Rebekka Bakken is a Norwegian singer with a voice that is reputed to stretch three octaves. Some have called her a jazz singer, but she gets miffed when she’s placed in a box. Her new album Nord explains why she’s resistant to labels. “Mitt Hjerte Alltid Vanker” (“My Heart Always Wanders”) features a frenzied percussive instrumentation topped by haunting, slower vocals that evoke something spooky and ancient. “So Ro” (“So Calm”) similarly suggests something from the mists of time. Especially as dressed up with clarinet, pounding drums, and a splash of didgeridoo. Bakken can also enchant in English, as you can hear in “My Choicest Hours” As you might surmise from these three songs, Bakken might get called a “jazz” singer because her music is simply so different that no one has a better label. To me, though, her powerful voice has been forged in the dramatic Scandinavian past that has spilled into the present. That’s Syrian vocalist Saleh Mahfoud adding Arabic passion in “My Choicest Hours.”

 

 

Crow and Gazelle is the musical and life partnership of Mike McClure and Chrislyn Lawrence. They are about 180 degrees from Rebekka Bakken in that their arrangements are sparse and their vocals built upon close harmonies. Their new album Truth Be Told celebrates connections found, lost, and rebuilt. “The High Road” speculates that maybe life doesn’t move in a straight line, as good an explanation as any for how solid connections sometimes have to come around for a second act. A start, stop, go lick on guitar underscores that sentiment. “Sky is on Fire” is an ominous warning poem set to appropriate music, with vaguely Native American background textures. McClure and Lawrence like to mix poetry with music, but this one could be the soundtrack for the Apocalypse.  Luckily Crow and Gazelle bookend their album with the joyous “Down the Road.” You might wish to check out “Belly of theBeast” as well; as the PR material puts it, it’s where reflection gives way to confrontation.” A lot of folks are wondering where that tipping point is located. McClure expresses the sentiments that a “spiritual war” is gathering steam in which “love, not domination” will triumph. We can only hope that he’s right. Lawrence’s vocals set a gloomy picture of deep-seated divisions, the likes of which some activists think require a more confrontational approach.

 

 

The new LP Blind and Surrounded is something of an Ike Reilly family affair in that his son Shane is now part of the band. That said, Ike doesn’t go in for a lot of roses and rainbows. It’s more like hard luck, gravel-and-spit vocals, and gritty guitar. “Life and Death in East Moline” sounds a bit like an amped up John Prine offering without a wry smile. The lead guitar on “We Better Get Packed” cranks out danger in the form of getting out the door before whatever’s chasing you catches up. The song titles alone tell a story: “Bad Bad Man,” “Who’s Been Hurtin’,” “Gone For Forever….” Even the brighter tune of “New Bad News” has doubt in its DNA. But Ike’s best trick is putting pain and bad times in musical wrappers that make you want to rip up the dance floor before heading down the road.

 

  

San Francisco-based Effie Zilch is the duo of vocalist/guitarist Evanne Barcena and guitarist/producer Steve Wyreman.  As a producer, Wyreman has worked with heavyweights such as Mary J. Blige, Lauryn Hill, and Rihanna, but if you think they have big voices, wait until you hear Barcena. As long as it has a groove– blues, funk, gospel, Motown, rock–Barcenas can sing it, and with gusto. Higher Calling  is the duo’s fifth LP and if it doesn’t get you moving, schedule a hip replacement. “On the Loose” sees Barcenas belting, I’m going to change the game/I’m going to break the rules, and we believe her. She goes for a big gospel sound on the title track, sounding a bit like Mavis Staples, and for funk on “Lover Boy,” though you guess is as good as mine about what the giant duck in her video is trying to convey beyond the assertion, I get what I want. (PS: The name Effie Zilch doesn’t signify anything; it was an invention of journalist Herb Caen.)

 

Not the album cover of Mend

 Last year I was wasting time on the Internet. I ran across a young Scot named Andrew Duncan holding court in London’s Trafalgar Square with his acoustic guitar and in occasional duos and bands with other musicians. This May, I was in London and, lo and behold, there was Duncan still busking in Trafalgar Square. I picked up a copy of Andrew’s CD, Mend. It has eight tracks, so it’s something in between an EP and an LP. Duncan has an inviting voice that’s slightly on the sweet side of things, but he also casts youthful cool. Here he is in London laying down some grooves and loops to sing “Mend.” It takes serious power and more mental agility than I possess to create his one-man band effect. It’s the only complete song from the CD I can find online at present, but he also does amazing covers. Check out his take on “Use Somebody” (Kings of Leon) or with Atticus Blue singing Snow Patrol’s “Chasing Cars.” You’ll notice that the crowd is bigger when Duncan does covers (Adele, Bastille, Coldplay….) Consider that tons of singer songwriters began as buskers working for tips in all kinds of weather. (He and I chatted in the rain under an umbrella.) The lucky ones score a hit so those not paying attention can wonder, “Where did this guy come from?” The streets, my friends, the streets. If there’s any justice, Andrew Duncan will be one of those who break through. Nice guy. Good songs. Great with tech. Strong guitarist. Hard worker. That ought to mean something.

 

 

Steven Dayvid McKellar was born in South Africa and now lives in Los Angeles. He’s an artist in multiple senses of the word. In addition to be a big-voiced singer and a songwriter, he’s also a poet and a painter. His latest EP is Harbor, Volume 2.   “Me and the Trees” is a mix of gentleness and full-blast vocals. Don’t worry about decoding it; McKellar is taking stock of himself. “The Nag in Me” has an introspective late night jazz feel. “My Own Heart” is my personal favorite track. The dark piano and pain in McKellar’s voice accents the reoccurring question How can I have known? That encapsulates both his fears and his hopes. It has just enough ambiguity to make us uncertain that a happy ending will occur.

 

Coming Soon:  Jason Heath, Jordan Whitmore, Frank Viele, new releases from Grey DeLisle and Surrender Hill, and more. (Yeah, I know that sounds like those dumb TV commercials that promise “Up to 60 percent off and more.” (Up to and more being your definition of a basic contradiction!)

 

Rob Weir