A Golden Post about the Golden Age of Murder

PrintToday I’m excited to welcome Golden Age expert and talented crime writer Martin Edwards to Confessions of a Mystery Novelist…  Edwards knows far more than I ever could about Golden Age crime fiction and those who created it. You’ll learn more than you could imagine by visiting his blog, Do You Write Under Your Own Name? – a must for any crime fiction lover’s blog roll.  Edwards has just released his new book, The Golden Age of Murder, a unique look at the people who made the Golden Age what it was. Now, without further ado, here he is to talk about it. Writers, you’ll want to learn from his process. Crime fiction fans, you’ll be interested to know what went on ‘behind the scenes.': 

It’s kind of Margot to give me the chance to tell readers of Confessions of a Mystery Novelist about my latest book – it’s one that means a great deal to me. The title is The Golden Age of Murder, and although it isn’t a novel, I’ve used novelistic techniques, and undertaken quite a bit of detective work in writing it. In short, I set out to tell a story about detective novels and detective novelists from that extraordinary period in history, the years between the two world wars. It’s a story I found as fascinating as any fictional mystery, and when undertaking my researches I felt rather like a would-be Poirot, presented with endless clues, but also plenty of false trails and red herrings.

The first confession from this particular mystery novelist is that I’ve always had a passion for ingenious and imaginative whodunits. Agatha Christie was the first adult novelist whose work I read, at the tender age of nine, and the intense pleasure her twisty plots and surprise solutions gave me then is something I’ll never forget. As I read more widely, enjoying contemporary crime fiction as well as the classics, it dawned on me that even today’s most prominent cutting-edge authors owe a considerable debt to those who went before.

As well as thousands of detective novels, I’ve devoured countless books about the genre, but none of them offer an in-depth study of the men and women who wrote Golden Age fiction. I kept wondering – how did those writers interact with each other, and how did their membership of the legendary Detection Club, founded by the brilliant yet tormented Anthony Berkeley, inspire them? When I became the Detection Club’s archivist, I was struck not only by the paucity of the records, but also by how little was known about most of its early members. These people were the leading exponents of popular fiction in the Thirties, yet apart from Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers, and one or two others, most have been forgotten. So (at least until recently – the internet, digital publishing, and the diligent research of enthusiastic bloggers have been a boon) have their novels.

The idea came to me of a book that explored the Golden Age in general, and the Detection Club in particular. I felt I’d like to connect classic detective fiction to the society it came from, and the real life crimes which often influenced it – but this was a mammoth task. Nothing like it had been attempted previously, and I was far from confident that anyone would want to publish it. And how on earth to go about producing such a book? Nevertheless, before long, I became passionate about the project, and spent every spare minute working on it.

After I set up my blog, Do You Write Under Your Own Name? I found the blogging community very supportive. I was especially gratified by the interest shown in my posts on Forgotten Books. I found myself writing a book that developed some of themes hinted at in those posts, but before long the project took a new direction, as I decided to investigate the early years of the Detection Club’s existence. At first, this meant jettisoning a good deal of interesting material – but at a later stage, I managed to smuggle much of it back in, by way of end notes to chapters…

At one point, an expert in the field whom I’d told about the project suggested that we write the book together. I’ve done a lot of co-writing over the years, and enjoy it, but I felt that this book was too personal for the collaboration to work. But no writer is an island. I did want to take into account the views of others in forming some of my judgments, not least about how best to present all the material I’d accumulated. So I decided to consult a handful of people whom I trusted to be frank yet positive in their appraisal of the manuscript’s strengths and weaknesses. When I’d written about two-thirds of the draft, I shared it with three leading British novelists – all current members of the Detection Club. Ann Cleeves, Peter Lovesey, and Ruth Dudley Edwards each gave me invaluable help and encouragement. Energised, I pressed on.

When the book was at long last complete, I shared it with four genre experts. Two are American – Douglas Greene (biographer of John Dickson Carr, and founder of that splendid press, Crippen & Landru) and Tom Schantz (renowned bookseller, and owner of the Rue Morgue Press.) One is Irish – John Curran, who decoded Agatha Christie’s secret notebooks. And one is British – Tony Medawar, who is arguably the genre’s leading researcher. Again, they were constructive in their criticisms, and generous in their comments, and they saved me from many errors. So at a late stage did another American expert, Arthur Robinson, when he checked the proofs for me. I owe a great debt to all eight of my “advisers”, as well as many others who have supplied me with precious scraps of fresh information in my hunt for the truth about the Detection Club.

Thankfully, my long quest eventually had a happy ending. I was thrilled when Harper Collins – Agatha Christie’s publishers, no less! – bought the rights to publish The Golden Age of Murder in both the US and the UK. And I was ecstatic when that wonderful novelist Len Deighton read the book before publication, and said that it provides “a new way of looking at old favourites.” That was exactly what I hoped to do, when I started work on the book all those years ago, and such a response made all those years of writing and re-writing seem worthwhile. How others will react to the book, time will tell. But my hope is that it will, at least, convey my love of Golden Age fiction, and perhaps encourage readers who are unfamiliar with some wonderful books of the past to give them a try. Those who do will not, I’m sure, be disappointed.’

Thanks so much, Martin, for your insights! Folks, do check out The Golden Age of Murder


Filed under Martin Edwards

In The Spotlight: Attica Locke’s Black Water Rising

>In The Spotlight: Walter Mosley's A Red DeathHello, All,

Welcome to another edition of In The Spotlight. Some novels invite the reader to ask, ‘What would I do in the same situation?’ That sort of novel can engage the reader on a few levels, and can be the stuff of interesting conversation and reflection. That’s the sort of novel Attica Locke’s Black Water Rising is, so let’s turn the spotlight on that story today.

It’s 1981, and Jay Porter is a low-rent Houston-area lawyer with a not-exactly-stellar clientele. His goal is to get some good cases and move up, as the saying goes. One evening, he takes his pregnant wife Bernadine ‘Bernie’ out on a bayou cruise for her birthday. While they’re on the water, they hear a woman’s scream for help and the sound of gun blasts.

Porter’s first instinct is to try to help, while Bernie wants to leave it all alone and get out. They agree to go back to the boat landing and when they’re safe, call the police. But before they can do that, a young woman falls into the bayou not far from their boat. They rescue the woman, who refuses to say much about herself. She does consent to be taken to the local police station though, and then insists on being left there, saying she’ll be all right.

The next day, there’s news of a fatal shooting in the same area where the Porters found the young woman the night before. For several reasons, Porter doesn’t want to get involved in this case and tell the police what he knows. The most important reason is that he’s had some bad experiences with police in the past, especially during his college days, when he was involved in the Civil Rights and, briefly, the Black Power movement.

‘Free advice he gives to any prospective client who walks through the door: don’t volunteer anything to a cop that he didn’t ask for in the first place.’

And he’s always lived by that rule.

In the meantime, Porter’s father-in-law asks him for help. The Brotherhood of Longshoremen (BoL), a Black union, is asking for pay and other parity with the International Longshoreman’s Association (ILA), which is White. The unions are in the process of integrating, but it hasn’t happened yet. A group of ILA thugs have beat up a young man Darren Hayworth, who’s in the BoL, and unless those responsible are caught and punished, the entire group of longshoremen will be at a huge disadvantage during a strike they’re planning.  It’s no secret that Porter knows Mayor Cynthia Maddox, and the BoL want him to persuade her to use her influence to get justice for the young man who was attacked. For Porter, this will be difficult. He has a past with the mayor that’s painful for both of them. But he agrees to at least speak to her.

Against his better judgement, Porter finds himself being drawn into both the shooting case and the attack. As he learns more, he finds that this trail leads to the corrupt top of the corporate ladder, and that there are some very powerful people who wouldn’t think twice about killing him.

One of the elements in this novel is the issue of race. There are still scars from the Civil Rights movement, and Porter’s very much aware that he’s a Black man in what is still a White man’s world. He’s got clients of both races, and he’s working to move up the social ladder, but he’s keenly aware of the gulf between the races.

Race is also discussed as the two unions try to work together on the strike plans. One of the issues they face is whether race should figure into hiring and promoting. Should the longshoremen work proactively to ensure that Blacks are promoted to positions of authority? Is that fair to Whites who may have seniority? If it’s not fair, then what should the group do to meet the BoL’s demand for equality of pay and opportunity?

Race has also impacted Porter’s mindset in another way. We learn that he was a part of the late-1960s student unrest and Civil Rights movement, and also associated with Stokely Carmichael/Kwame Touré and the Black Power movement. But a betrayal got him an arrest, a felony record, and a deep sense of disillusionment. So it’s very logical that he hesitates to stick his neck out, as the saying goes, and let the police know what he saw on the night of the murder.

Throughout the novel, Porter is faced with several decisions, and all of them invite the reader to ask, ‘What might I do?’ Should he report what he saw, given the very real possibility that he’ll be suspected of murder (he was on the scene that night)? Should he stay out of the whole thing and look after the safety of his wife and his unborn child? How far should he go in pursuing the case? Even if he does catch the real culprit, it may be a very Pyrrhic victory. Jay Porter is a complex person, and these are not easy decisions.

Although he is complicated, and has his share of ‘baggage from the past,’ Porter isn’t a stereotypical dysfunctional sleuth. He has a happy marriage and a bond with his wife’s family. He’s excited about being a father, too. And he does what he needs to do professionally. The novel doesn’t focus on courtroom procedure or legal precedent, but it’s clear that although he’s no longer idealistic about justice, Porter can handle himself as an attorney.

The other major characters in the novel have pasts and in several cases, something to hide. So part of the challenge for Porter is to determine which of them can be trusted. It’s a particular challenge for him, since he’s been betrayed before. The suspense in this story is built in part through Porter’s slow discovery of the roles some of the characters have played in the murder and the larger scandal behind it.

Several of those characters have also made choices that the reader is invited to ponder and question. To give just one example, Maddox faces a lot of pressure from business leaders and others to do whatever is needed to stop the impending strike; and she wants Porter’s help in doing so. Is it right for her to position herself against the strike, knowing that it may mean an unequal pay and hiring policy? What about the loss of business and reputation if Houston has to deal with a major strike? These are not easy choices, and Locke doesn’t pretend that they are.

The narrative moves between the 1981 murder and strike plans, in which the present tense is used, and Porter’s days in the student movements, in which the past tense is used. Readers who prefer one story told in one timeline will notice this. That said though, the story thread from Porter’s past explains a great deal about his relationships with some of the other characters in the novel. It also gives insight into his character.

The novel takes place in oil-rich southeast Texas in 1981, and the culture of that place and time are clearly depicted. I can say without spoiling the story that the issues that come up in this story make logical sense given that context.

Black Water Rising is the story of a small-time lawyer who’s drawn into a much bigger case than he could have imagined. It’s also a sociocultural perspective on a particular Texas community during the early 1980s. It’s also a look at disillusionment, the attempt to ‘get the fire back,’ and the very difficult set of decisions that come up when one does that. But what’s your view? Have you read Black Water Rising? If you have, what elements do you see in it?


Coming Up On In The Spotlighti

Monday 4 May/Tuesday 5 May – The Bat – Jo Nesbø

Monday 11 May/Tuesday 12 May – Dancing to ‘Almendra’ – Mayra Montero

Monday 18 May/Tuesday 19 May – The Devil’s Making – Seán Haldane


Filed under Attica Locke, Black Water Rising

It Seems That Ancient Adage Still Applies*

SayingsI’ll bet you’ve heard them all your life. You may even use them and live by them yourself. I’m talking about sayings and proverbs that are passed along in a culture. Whether they directly reflect a culture’s values and viewpoint or are more universal in nature, sayings, adages and proverbs are woven into the way we think and sometimes act. So it shouldn’t be surprising that there are a lot of sayings and proverbs written into crime fiction in one way or another.

Several of Agatha Christie’s stories include sayings. For example, in Murder in Mesopotamia, Hercule Poirot interrupts his travel in the Middle East to investigate the murder of Louise Leidner. She was the wife of noted archaeologist Eric Leidner, who’s been working with his dig team at a site a few hours from Baghdad. This story is told from the point of view of Amy Leatheran, a nurse who was hired as a sort of watchdog/companion for Mrs. Leidner. When she first meets Poirot, Nurse Leatheran is not exactly impressed, and her lack of faith in him is soon evident. Here’s what Poirot says about it:

‘‘You disapprove of me, ma soeur? Remember, the pudding proves itself only when you eat it.’
The proof of the pudding’s in the eating, I suppose he meant.
Well, that’s a true enough saying, but I couldn’t say I felt much confidence myself!’

By the end of the novel, as you can imagine, Nurse Leatheran’s opinion of Poirot’s abilities has improved…

The title of one of Josephine Tey’s Inspector Grant novels, The Daughter of Time, comes from a saying attributed to Sir Francis Bacon: ‘Truth is the daughter of time, not of authority.’ And it’s a fitting title for a novel in which Inspector Grant looks into a very old case. He’s been laid up with a broken leg, and as he’s recuperating, he gets interested in a portrait of King Richard III.  As he reflects on the portrait, it occurs to him that the king may not have been the evil murderer that history made him out to be. If that’s true, then the famous case of the Princes in the Tower could have an entirely different explanation. With that possibility in mind, Grant sets out to learn the truth about the tower case.

A Basque proverb, ‘A life without friends means death without company,’ is woven into Craig Johnson’s Death Without Company. In that novel, Sheriff Walt Longmire investigates the poisoning murder of Mari Baroja, an elderly member of Wyoming’s Basque community. At first there doesn’t seem much motive for the murder, but soon enough, the trail leads to the network of relationships among some of the people in the area. Those relationships go a long way back, and it’s in an event fifty years old that Longmire finds the root of this modern-day murder. Without spoiling the story, I can say that the saying is a very appropriate choice of title for the novel.

Michael Robotham’s Lost begins with a German proverb: ‘Wealth lost, something lost; honor lost, much lost; courage lost, all lost.’ In this novel, DI Vincent Ruiz wakes up in a hospital with bullet wound in his leg. He has no memory of how he got there, nor how he came to be hurt. All he remembers is being pulled out of the Thames. He works with his friend, psychiatrist Joe O’Loughlin, to get answers. It turns out that Ruiz was working on the disappearance of seven-year-old Mickey Carlyle, who went missing three years earlier. It was always assumed that the child had been killed by Harold Wavell, who’s actually in prison for that crime. But Ruiz came to believe that Wavell might be innocent, and that Mickey may still be alive. He was following up on leads in this case when he was shot. With O’Loughlin’s help, Ruiz pieces together what he had already learned, and discovers the truth about the disappearance.

Yrsa Sigurðardóttir’s My Soul to Take begins, in prologue form, with a four-year-old child and the old prayer, ‘Now I lay me down to sleep…’ (I can’t say more about the prologue for fear of spoilers). This may not be, strictly speaking, an adage, but it’s been a part of, especially, Christian culture for a very long time. Sixty years after the events in the prologue, Reykjavík attorney Thóra Gudmundsdóttir takes on a new client Jónas Júlíusson, who owns an upmarket spa and resort. He wants to sue the former owners of the land where his spa is located, because, so he claims, the place is haunted and the former owners never informed him of that. Thóra doesn’t believe in ghosts, but she is interested in the fee. And the chance for a stay at a spa is just as welcome. So she travels to the spa to start working the case. She’s not been there long when there’s a murder, with her client as the most likely suspect. He asks Thóra to continue acting for him, and she agrees. It turns out that this recent murder has everything to do with the sixty-year-old events.

Sayings, proverbs and the like also come from other religious traditions. For instance, John Burdett’s Sonchai Jitpleecheep is a member of the Royal Thai Police. He is also an observant Buddhist. More than once in this series, Burdett weaves in a saying or adage from the Buddha. And of course, Buddhist teachings are at the core of the way Sonchai thinks and tries to act.

There’s another interesting use of sayings in Qiu Xiaolong’s Chief Inspector Chen series. These novels take place for the most part in post-Mao Shanghai, where Mao’s writings and sayings are still very much etched into the national consciousness. Interestingly enough, this society is also strongly impacted by much older proverbs and sayings. Since Chen is, among other things, a poet (as is his creator), he’s particularly observant of words and sayings. Their use in this series reflects much about the world views of the people Chen encounters.

And that’s the thing about adages, proverbs and sayings. We may not think about them very much, but they can reveal a great deal about a people’s way of looking at the world. Which sayings and proverbs have stayed the most with you?


A Programming Note…

I have a bit of a background in writing and words and language, so of course sayings in crime fiction interest me. But I’m by no means an expert in everything about the genre. So I’m going to call in a real expert to talk about Golden Age writers. As you know, I don’t do book reviews, and almost never do I do author promo. But Martin Edwards knows more about the Golden Age of crime fiction than I ever could, and I think you’ll find what he has to say very interesting. So I’m very pleased to announce that he’ll be right here on Tuesday. Do tune in!


*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Johnny Burke and Arthur Johnston’s The Moon Got in My Eyes.


Filed under Agatha Christie, Craig Johnson, John Burdett, Josephine Tey, Martin Edwards, Michael Robotham, Qiu Xiaolong, Yrsa Sigurðardóttir

Watching the Tide Roll Away*

Bodies Washed UpSince most murderers don’t want to be caught, one of their concerns is how to get rid of the bodies of their victims, leaving as little evidence of what happened as possible. That’s where bodies of water can come in very handy. It can take quite a while for a body to wash up on shore, and sometimes the body ends up someplace quite far away from where it was dumped (fans of Agatha Christie’s Dead Man’s Folly, for instance, will know that that point is mentioned in that novel). What’s more, water washes away quite a lot of evidence, so it’s hard to connect a killer to the crime.

Perhaps that’s why there is so much crime fiction in which the body of at least one victim has washed up on a beach. There are many, many such novels; I’ll just mention a few. I know you’ll think of lots more.

Minette Walters’ The Breaker begins when brothers Paul and Daniel Spender decide to explore the area around Chapman’s Pool near the Dorset Coast. They’re on holiday there with their parents, and are eager for a morning excursion of their own. They discover the body of an unknown woman on the beach and give the alarm. The police, in the form of PC Nick Ingram, begin their investigation. It’s not very long before the victim is identified as Kate Sumner, whose toddler daughter Hannah has been found wandering around the nearby town of Poole. In this case, there are only three really viable suspects. One is the victim’s husband William. Another is a local teacher, Tony Bridges. There’s also Bridges’ roommate Stephen Harding. All three had reasons for wanting Kate dead and, because the body had been in the water, there’s very little evidence as to which one is responsible.

In Domingo Villar’s Death on a Galician Shore, Vigo police detective Leo Caldas and his assistant Rafael Estevez investigate the death of a fisherman, Justo Castelo. The body was discovered washed up on shore, and it’s assumed that Castelo committed suicide by drowning. But there are little pieces of evidence that suggest that he was murdered. Because the body was in the water and found washed up, though, there’s not very much that specifically suggests a particular suspect. So Caldas and Estevez look into the victim’s background to find out who might have wanted him dead. Little by little, they trace Castelo’s death to a tragic event from the past.

Jørn Lier Horst’s Chief Inspector Willing Wisting investigates a bizarre case of washed-up bodies in Dregs. The story begins with a left foot in a training shoe that washes up on the beach near the Norwegian town of Stavern. The police start investigating immediately, but they haven’t gotten very far when another foot is discovered. And then there’s another. Still, no bodies have washed up. This eerie case is of course picked up by the press and there’s fear that some mad serial killer might be on the loose. So Wisting and his team have to work quickly to find out who the victims were and how they are connected. In the end, they discover that this isn’t the work of a serial killer at all. Instead, the deaths are all connected to the area’s past.

Mark Douglas-Home’s The Sea Detective introduces readers to Edinburgh oceanographer and Ph.D. candidate Caladh ‘Cal’ McGill. He’s an expert in wave patterns, and is using his knowledge to try to find out what happened to his grandfather, who was reported lost at sea years earlier. He uses his contacts in the field to follow up on any promising leads, and has managed to identify likely spots where his grandfather might have either landed or been washed up. But there are missing pieces to this puzzle, so in one plot thread, McGill goes to Eilean Isagaich Mor, Great Fishing Island, where his grandparents lived, to try to get some answers. There he finds a much bigger mystery than a case of ‘man overboard.’ At the same time, something else has made him curious. The body of a young woman was discovered off the Argyll coast, and a friend of the victim’s wants McGill’s help in finding out what happened to the woman and who killed her. His knowledge of the way the sea moves proves very helpful in both cases.

There’s also Angela Savage’s The Dying Beach. Bangkok-based PI Jayne Keeney and her partner Rajiv Patel decide to take a getaway holiday at Krabi, on the Thai coast. During their visit, they are especially impressed with their tour guide Pla. So when they find out that she’s been found dead – washed up in a cove – they’re very upset about it. They agree to extend their stay a bit to see if they can find out what happened. The trouble is, though, that there’s not much evidence. The police report suggests that the victim committed suicide. But there are just enough inconsistencies that Keeney isn’t sure that’s what happened. It wouldn’t have been likely to be an accident either, since Pla was an expert swimmer. So Keeney and Patel look into the matter more deeply. In this case, one of the real difficulties is that the water has washed away any clear-cut evidence about who the killer is. It’s not even crystal-clear that this was murder. So the two sleuths have their work cut out for them, as the saying goes.

So does London investigator Catherine Berlin, whom we meet in Annie Hauxwell’s In Her Blood. She’s been working on a case involving illegal moneylending rackets run by Archie Doyle, and has gotten some useful leads from an informant who calls herself ‘Juliet Bravo.’ When ‘Juliet’s’ body is pulled out of Limehouse Basin, Berlin feels responsible for the woman’s murder. So she decides to find out who killed her. She’s up against several obstacles though. For one thing, the victim never gave her real identity. So finding out who she was will be difficult. And, since the body was in the Basin, there’s little evidence as to what really happened to her. For another, Berlin is suspended for unprofessional conduct relating the case, so she doesn’t have easy access to the reports and other details she needs. Also, she is a registered heroin addict whose legal supplier has just been killed. In a very short time, she’ll be going through withdrawal and be unable to function. So she has to work quickly to find ‘Juliet’s’ killer.

As you can see (but you already know this anyway, I’m sure), it makes sense that there are so many crime novels where the murder victim is somehow dumped into water and left to wash up. I’ve only touched on a few novels that feature this plot point (I know, I know, fans of Sjöwall and Wahlöö’s Roseanna). Which ones have stayed with you?


*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Otis Redding and Steve Cropper’s (Sittin’ on) the Dock of the Bay.


Filed under Agatha Christie, Angela Savage, Annie Hauxwell, Domingo Villar, Jørn Lier Horst, Maj Sjöwall, Mark Douglas-Home, Minette Walters, Per Wahlöö

Lest We Forget…

awm-roll-honour5Today (or tomorrow, depending on when you read this) is Anzac Day. I’m neither Australian nor a New Zealander, but I stand with friends from those countries on this day. Among many reasons for that, I think it’s important to take some time to reflect on the real costs of war. And there are tremendous costs that have nothing to do with money.

One of those costs is the lives and potential contributions of so many, many young people. Behind each tick mark in a tally of those killed is someone who could have been… who knows what? We’ll never know now. Along with that are the other personal costs (children left without parents, parents left without children, partners left alone, and families and groups of friends now incomplete).

Even for those who physically survive war, there’s an awful price to pay. All it takes is a quick look at crime fiction to remind ourselves of that. For example, Chris Womersley’s Bereft is, among other things, a stark look at the cost of World War I. When Quinn Walker returns to the small town of Flint, New South Wales just after the Great War, he brings with him the scars left by the war. And he finds that those left behind have suffered deeply, too.

Steve Sailah’s A Fatal Tide also offers a glimpse of what World War I was really like. It was dirty, bloody, and devastating on so many levels. In one plot thread of this mystery, Thomas Clare learns the stark and truly ugly difference between ‘home front’ concepts of war and the brutal reality of it.

Anne Perry’s historical World War I series also shows that difference between what many people had imagined would happen (a few short battles, relatively casualty-free as these things go) and what did happen (a long, drawn-out, incredibly costly and extremely bloody war). And although Shayne Parkinson’s Daisy’s War isn’t, strictly speaking, a crime novel, it too depicts the fear as the Great War came closer, and the potential costs of that war.

Geoffrey McGeachin’s Charlie Berlin novels give a vivid picture of what it was like for those who came back from World War II. Many veterans were able to heal physically, but were left with deep and permanent psychological scars. Books such as these show that a war isn’t something you stop doing and then leave behind as if nothing had happened. Even when they do get on with life, those involved in war are changed and marked by that experience; they can’t help it.

There are of course many other novels that focus on war and its aftermath. The point of this post isn’t to list them all. Each one of them, though, reminds us of the consequences of getting into a war: many thousands of young people who will never have a chance to be what they might have been, and many thousands more who have to go on without them. And that’s to say nothing of the economic costs of war (also covered in many, many novels).

So today I’m taking some time to remember those many proud Australians and New Zealanders who never came home. I am grateful for their sacrifices and those of their families, as they have helped to protect me. I also mourn their loss. I hope someday we will learn from this loss to think very carefully about the true, human cost of war.


Ps. The ‘photo is of the Australian War Memorial in Canberra. Each of those names represents s a life lost. Let us not forget them…


Filed under Anne Perry, Chris Wormersley, Geoffrey McGeachin, Shayne Parkinson, Steve Sailah