Category Archives: John Grisham

But Does Anybody Know My Name?*

Names are funny things. They’re one of the most important ways by which we identify ourselves. Imagine, for instance, not knowing your own name. And yet, we do sometimes use different names. For instance, if you’re a writer, perhaps you use a pen name for some of your work. Or, you may use your legal given name in some circumstances, but another name for others.

You might be surprised at the important role that names can play in crime fiction. But it makes sense if you think about it. Use of a different name can be a useful tool for hiding the identity of a murderer. And, there are many espionage novels and other thrillers where a character goes undercover using a different name. There are other times, too, when a sleuth or another character might not want to use her or his real name. If the author’s going to do that, it’s got to be done carefully. Otherwise, a change of name can be confusing for the reader. And it can be a bit too convenient, too. But there are times when playing with a character’s name can add to a story.

There are several Agatha Christie novels, for instance, where names are changed or switched. There’s even one in which a character’s real name turns out to give an important clue as to the killer in the story. And, in After the Funeral (AKA Funerals are Fatal) Hercule Poirot changes his name temporarily. Wealthy Richard Abernethie has died, and there’s a possibility that someone in his family might have killed him. So, to get a better sense of what the family members are like, Poirot spends the weekend at the family home, under the guise of possibly buying the property to use as a home for elderly war refugees. As fans can tell you, Poirot is convinced that his name is well-known. So, he goes under the name of M. Pontarlier – and affects a distinctly ‘un-English’ persona. He even pretends not to know much English. And that gives him the opportunity to observe much more than anyone thinks.

Poirot isn’t the only sleuth to go undercover and take a different name. For instance, in Angela Savage’s Behind the Night Bazaar, Bangkok PI Jayne Keeney learns that her good friend Didier ‘Didi’ de Montpasse has been killed by police. The official explanation is that the police had come to arrest Didi for the murder of his partner, Sanga ‘Nou.’ According to the report, Didi resisted arrest so violently that he had to be killed. But Keeney doesn’t believe this. What’s more, she doesn’t believe that her friend killed his partner. So, she decides to investigate. And to do this, she takes on the name Simone Whitfield. That’s the name she uses when she meets Australian Federal Police (AFP) agent Mark D’Angelo. He’s in Thailand as part of a special task force looking into the child sex trade. He and Keeney have very different ways of going about addressing that problem, and it’s interesting to see how she interacts with him in her ‘Simone’ persona.

In Nicholas Blake’s The Beast Must Die, we are introduced to mystery novelist Frank Cairnes. He writes under the name of Felix Lane, and that’s the name he uses when he decides to find out who killed his beloved son, Martin ‘Martie.’ The boy died in a hit-and-run incident, and Cairnes wants to find out who was driving. He believes that he may be too well-known under his own name, so he grows his beard out and ‘becomes’ Felix Lane. Then, he moves back to the town where he and Martie lived, and tracks down the man who he believes is responsible for Martie’s death. The only problem is, the most likely suspect, a man named George Rattery, has found Carines’ diary, and now knows his plan. He tells Cairnes that if anything happens to him, Cairnes will be the immediate suspect. Later that day, Rattery dies of what turns out to be poison. Cairnes contacts poet and private investigator Nigel Strangeways, and asks for his help. His claim is that he had planned to kill Rattery, but not with poison. And why would he carry out his first plan, and also make such an elaborate plan to poison the victim? Strangeways is inclined to believe him, and starts looking for other possibilities. And, in the end, he finds out who killed George Rattery.

It’s not uncommon in the sex industry for people to use ‘stage names.’ There are, in fact, a lot of good reasons for people who work in that industry not to use their own names. We see this, for instance, in Leigh Redhead’s Peepshow. In that novel, we meet private investigator Simone Kirsch, who also works at times as a stripper. When she is hired to investigate the murder of a table dancing club called the Red Room, she goes undercover there as a newly-hired dancer. She uses the name Vivien Leigh, and plenty of people think the mystique of the name suits her.

In John Grisham’s The Chamber, Chicago lawyer Adam Hall travels to his firm’s Memphis office to help on the case of Sam Cayhall, who’s about to be executed for a bombing related to his Ku Klux Klan activities. We learn before long that Cayhall had been involved in Klan activity for a number of years, and that his son, Eddie, was disgusted at it all. When his father was convicted, Eddie Cayhall changed his name and moved to California. Later, he returned to the South (but not to Memphis) as Eddie Hall. He was the father of Adam Hall (who was actually born Alan Cayhall). So, as it turns out, Sam Cayhall is Adam Hall’s grandfather. That doesn’t make anything easier as Hall learns more about the bombing, and about his own family history. Along with trying to keep his grandfather from getting the death penalty, Hall also has to confront his own past, and it’s not going to be easy.

Names really are an important part of how we appear to the world. That’s why they can be so useful in a crime story. They can disguise or create an identity, and they can allow for interesting character development.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from the Kinks’ You Don’t Know My Name.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Angela Savage, John Grisham, Leigh Redhead, Nicholas Blake

The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down*

As this is posted, it’s 152 years since General Robert E. Lee of the Army of Northern Virginia surrendered to General Ulysses S. Grant, who was headquartered with the Army of the Potomac. As you’ll know, that was more or less the end of the U.S. Civil War (or, the War Between the States, depending on where you live).

Of course, that didn’t end the hostility and bad feeling between the former combatants. The war left deep and lasting scars all around, and even today, there are times when resentment flares up on both sides.

Certainly, there are important cultural differences between the northern and southern parts of the country. There are other regional differences, too. And it’s interesting to see how those differences, and that war, play roles, even in more modern crime fiction that doesn’t take place during the 19th Century.

For example, Rita Mae Brown’s Mary Minor ‘Harry’ Haristeen series takes place in the small town of Crozet, Virginia. As the series begins, Harry is the town’s postmistress. Since most of the residents have post office boxes, Harry gets to hear a lot of what’s going on in town. She’s also a member of one of the region’s oldest families, so she has an ‘in’ to all the ‘better’ events and social circles. Throughout the series, there’s a thread of people from the North as ‘other.’ At the very least, ‘Yankees’ are clearly from another culture and another way of life. They’re often to be looked on with suspicion, and families who happen to be from the North are only accepted after a long time.

In Deborah Johnson’s The Secret of Magic, which takes place just after World War II, we are introduced to Regina Robichard, an idealistic young New York attorney, who works for the Legal Defense Fund. One day, the Legal Defense Fund gets a letter from a reclusive author, M.P. Calhoun. It seems that a black veteran named Joe Howard Wilson was murdered, and Clahoun wants his death investigated. As it happens, Calhoun wrote one of Robichard’s best-loved books from childhood, so she already knows the name. That’s enough to interest her in going to Revere, Mississippi, where Calhoun lives, and where the murder takes place. For Robichard, it’s a completely different world, and she already has some preconceptions about it. But, as she investigates, she finds that things aren’t what they seem, and she’s forced to examine life in her own New York City. This is a legal novel, but it’s also an interesting look at the differences between North and South – both perceived and real.

Sarah R. Shaber’s Simon Shaw is quite familiar with the cultural differences that come when North meets South in the US. He’s a history professor at Kenan College, in North Carolina. He’s happy to live and work where he does, and he considers himself a southerner. But his mother was from New York, and he has quite a lot of family there, so he does visit. His perspective is impacted by both those experiences and his upbringing, so he really does interact, as you might say, with both cultures.

When we first meet P.J. Parrish’s Louis Kincaid in Dark of the Moon, he has returned from Detroit to his home town of Black Pool Mississippi. His mother is dying, and he’s agreed to look after her during her last illness. He’s been hired to work under Sheriff Sam Dodie as the county detective, and that’s problematic enough. Kincaid is bi-racial in a place where that’s enough to exclude him from most of the local life. But then, a hunter discovers the remains of a man who’s been dead thirty years, and some very dark secrets are about to come out. The closer Kincaid gets to the truth, the more danger he faces. In fact, his experiences in Black Pool are part of the reason that, in Dead of Winter, he accepts a job working with the Loon Lake, Michigan police. He thinks it’ll be a fresh start in a new place. But it’s not long before he finds that buried secrets are not the exclusive property of the South. Throughout this series, we see how Kincaid ideals with the very different cultures of North and South.

And then there’s Adam Hall, a Chicago lawyer whom we meet in John Grisham’s The Chamber. His firm sends him to its Memphis office when an older man named Sam Cayhall is convicted of a Ku Klux Klan murder, and sentenced to execution by the state of Mississippi. Hall is Cayhall’s grandson, so for him, this trip isn’t just for professional reasons. He isn’t experienced when it comes to murder cases, but he does everything he can to win a stay of execution for his grandfather. Hall’s legal strategies, and the question of the death penalty, are important plot threads in this book. But so is Hall’s story. In a way, he is caught between his family’s southern roots, and his own life in the north. And it’s interesting to see how the different cultures play out in the novel.

There are other stories, too, where we see how the end of the Civil War/War Between the States didn’t really put an end to the deep divides between North and South. Which ones come to your mind? You’re absolutely right, fans of Harper Lee’s Go Set a Watchman

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is the title of a song by Robbie Robertson. Listen to the version by The Band, and by Joan Baez, and see which you prefer. There’s a version by Johnny Cash, too.

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Filed under Deborah Johnson, Harper Lee, John Grisham, P.J. Parrish, Rita Mae Brown, Sarah R. Shaber

Pressure, Pushing Down on Me*

In the US, one of the last major hurdles for Ph.D. candidates is defending their dissertations. I understand it’s the same in many other places, too. If you have a Ph.D. yourself, or you’ve sat in on one of these events, then you know it’s a very intense experience. As this is posted, it’s my ‘dissertation anniversary,’ which has me thinking about the process. Candidates spend weeks or even months preparing their presentations of their material, as well as responses to possible questions they may get from members of their dissertation committees (and, at times, the audience). And, of course, those questions may be about any aspect of the dissertation, so the candidate needs to be thoroughly familiar with every bit of the material. It’s nerve-wracking, to say the least.

The thing about defending a dissertation is that it’s a bit difficult to describe, since it doesn’t have a lot of obvious parallels in other fields. But a look at crime fiction can help give a few insights.

Getting ready to defend a dissertation is a little like rehearsing for a performance. Just as actors must know their lines and musicians must know their pieces, Ph.D. candidates have to have their presentations well-prepared. We see the intensity of rehearsal in a lot of crime fiction. For instance, Christine Poulson’s Stage Fright sees her protagonist, Cassandra James, asked to adapt a Victorian novel, East Lynne, for a stage production. She’s Head of the English Department at St. Etheldreda’s College, Cambridge, and her specialty is Victorian literature. So, she’s the right choice for the job. All starts out well enough, and rehearsals begin. But then, Melissa Meadows, who is to take a leading role in the play, tells James that someone is stalking her. Then, she goes missing. This throws rehearsals into chaos, and, when she doesn’t return, leads to the investigation of a possible murder.

Fans of Ngaio Marsh, Simon Brett, and Deborah Nicholson, among others, will know that their novels also take the reader ‘backstage.’ In such novels, we see how many times material has to be prepared and how important timing is. We also see the suspense, nerves and tension that come out under so much pressure. It’s the same when one’s preparing to defend a dissertation.

Defending a dissertation isn’t really entertainment, though. Candidates need to be prepared to address challenges to everything about their work. They need to examine each aspect of their dissertations, from the topic, to the data collection, to the data analysis, and more. In that sense, preparing to defend a dissertation is a little like preparing for a trial. A good attorney prepares thoroughly for each trial. That includes working with witnesses and, possibly, the defendant. It also includes looking carefully at each aspect of the case, and addressing possible weaknesses. Attorneys know that any serious weaknesses in a case will be exploited by the other side. So, they do everything possible to prevent that. Admittedly, the Ph.D. candidate doesn’t risk prison. But it’s still quite a high-stakes process.

We see that sort of preparation in work by, for instance Scott Turow, John Grisham, Robert Rotenberg, and Paul Levine. The writing team of ‘Perri O’Shaughnessy’ also explore this sort of pre-trial work in their Nina Reilly novels.

Presenting one’s material before the dissertation committee, and fielding questions, isn’t exactly like a trial. The role of the dissertation committee is to support the candidate. After all, if the candidate doesn’t do well, this reflects on the committee, too – in particular on the candidate’s advisor/tutor, who generally chairs the committee.

In that way, defending a dissertation is a bit like a major sports competition. On the one hand, the player has to work very hard, and coaches can be difficult to satisfy. The Olympic Games, the World Series, the World Cup, and other such contests, all require discipline and focus. And coaches and trainers push and challenge players to get the most from them. At the same time, their role is to be allies and support systems.

Alison Gordon’s crime novels give readers a good look at what it’s like to play for a Major League baseball team. Readers see how important the actual games can be, and what the roles of coaches and trainers are. John Daniell’s The Fixer offers some similar insight into the world of rugby. And there’s Harlan Coben’s Myron Bolitar series, which takes the perspective of a sports agent. In all of these novels and series, we see how pivotal a game or series of games can be. That stress and tension is quite similar to what it’s like to defend a dissertation.

As I say, it’s a little difficult to describe getting ready to defend a dissertation. It’s a singular experience, and it challenges Ph.D. candidates to think about their work in ways they probably wouldn’t otherwise. But there is nothing quite like being informed you’ve passed, and having your committee address you as ‘Doctor.’ I often think it would actually be a solid context for a crime novel. There’s tension, intense preparation, possible ego clashes, and there’s no telling what the candidate might uncover in pursuit of that all-important data set. If you went through this process, I’d love to hear your experiences. I still remember mine, even after a number of years.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Queen and David Bowie’s Under Pressure.

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Filed under Alison Gordon, Christine Poulson, Deborah Nicholson, Harlan Coben, John Daniell, John Grisham, Ngaio Marsh, Paul Levine, Perri O'Shaughnessy, Robert Rotenberg, Scott Turow, Simon Brett

She Won’t Join Your Clubs, She Won’t Dance in Your Halls*

groupdynamicsAs I’ve said many times on this blog, well-written crime fiction shows us ourselves. And one of the things we see about ourselves is the way we behave in groups. Humans are social animals, so it’s natural for us to want to belong to a group. And, once in, we try to sort ourselves out. You can call it group dynamics, or group politics, if you will. Whatever you call it, it’s one way people try to impose order on their worlds.

Group dynamics can add much to a crime novel. There’s the tension as people establish the group order. There’s other tension as ‘outsiders’ try to become ‘insiders.’ There’s also the suspense as people try to either stay in the group, or leave it, or gain a particular position within it. There are too many examples in the genre for me to mention them all. Here are just a few.

Claudia Piñeiro’s Thursday Night Widows takes place mostly at the ultra-exclusive Cascade Heights Country Club, located about thirty miles from Buenos Aires. Only the very wealthy can afford to live there, and even they are carefully ‘vetted.’ The community is tightly-knit, and figuratively and literally separated from the outside world. It’s an insular group, and everyone knows the ‘right’ places to shop, the ‘right’ schools for their children, the ‘right’ people to befriend, and the ‘right’ causes to support. Everything changes when Argentina’s financial situation begins to deteriorate (the novel takes place at the end of the 1990s/beginning of 2000). At first, the residents of ‘the Heights’ seem impervious to the developing crisis, but that doesn’t last. The end result is a tragedy, and the residents now have to deal with what’s happened.

Megan Abbott’s Dare Me explores the world of teen social dynamics. Addy Hanlon and Beth Cassidy have been best friends for years. Now, they’re in their last year of high school, and they ‘own’ the school, Beth in particular. They’re both on the cheerleading squad, and getting ready to start their lives after they graduate. Then, the school hires a new cheerleading coach, Collette French. Right from the start, French changes the social order. She makes the cheerleading squad a sort of exclusive club, and Addy is welcomed as an ‘insider.’ Beth, however, is excluded, and becomes an outsider ‘looking in.’ Then, there’s a suicide (or was it?). Now this social group is turned upside down as everyone deals with what’s happened.

Qiu Xiaolong’s Chief Inspector Chen Cao series takes place in Shanghai in the late 1990s, a time of great change in China. There’s still an influence of Maoism, and of some older, even ancient, traditions. But there’s also a newly developing form of capitalism as China continues to work with capitalist nations. China’s bureaucracy is a system of cadres, or social levels. Those in extremely important positions are ‘high cadre’ people, and do not take kindly to any threat, real or imagined, to their status. For that reason, the police have to work very carefully whenever a crime might possibly involve such a person. As the series goes on, we see how these cadres sort themselves out and establish and keep order. The dynamics may change as one or another member’s fortune changes. But the cadre system itself is a well-established and deeply-ingrained social structure.

If you’ve ever worked for a law firm, you know that the attorneys in a firm often form a community. In a large firm, you may find senior partners, junior partners, associates, and contract lawyers. And that’s to say nothing of the legal assistants (such as clerks, paralegals, and legal secretaries) and support staff. Even smaller firms have some sense of community, and, therefore, of social structure. And, even in the most supportive and employee-friendly firms, people sort themselves out. A beginning associate who wants to become a partner needs to know how the firm’s structure works, and what the firm’s priorities are. Crime writers such as Robert Rotenberg, John Grisham and Scott Turow explore not just the particular legal cases at hand, but also the inner workings of law firms. And it’s interesting to see how the social structure at a firm can impact what lawyers do.

Police departments also have their own social structure, and anyone who works in one quickly learns what that structure is. There are many, many police procedural series, some of them outstanding, that depict the ways in which police social structure works. In healthy departments, cases are solved by teams of people who have supportive leadership. Fred Vargas’ Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg novels are like that. And so, arguably, are Helene Tursten’s Irene Huss novels, Katherine Howell’s Ella Marconi novels and Reginald Hill’s Dalziel/Pascoe novels. That’s not to say that the characters are all perfect, with no faults, quirks or weaknesses. Rather, we see how the groups in these novels sort themselves out, and how the people in them work out what their roles are.

Of course, there are plenty of police procedurals where we see a very unhealthy social dynamic. In those novels, ‘patch wars,’ infighting, and even sabotage happen. A few examples are Karin Slaughter’s Cop Town, Simon Lelic’s A Thousand Cuts (AKA Rupture), and Garry Disher’s Bitter Wash Road. There are many others.

And then there’s Liane Moriarty’s Big Little Lies. That novel’s focus is Piriwee Public School, on Piriwee Peninsula, near Sydney. The main characters are members of three families, all of whom have children in the school’s Kindergarten class. Shortly after the school year begins, there’s a bullying incident. Renata Klein, one of the most influential ‘school mums,’ accuses another child of bullying her daughter. That boy, Ziggy, is the son of a relative newcomer. Ziggy says he didn’t do any bullying, and his mother believes him. And it’s not long before there are two camps. Tension escalates for this and other reasons, until it boils over on Quiz Night, which was planned as a school fundraiser. Tragedy results, and each family is deeply affected by what happens. Throughout this novel, we see the social structure of ‘playground mums’ and some dads, too. The elite group here is called ‘the Blond Bobs’:
 

‘The Blond Bobs rule the school. If you want to be on the PTA, you have to have a blond bob…it’s like a bylaw.’
 

Part of the tension in the story comes from the way this social hierarchy plays out.

And that’s the thing about groups. Almost any time people get together, those dynamics come into play. And they can be very dangerous.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice’s Actress Hasn’t Learned the Lines.

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Filed under Claudia Piñeiro, Fred Vargas, Helene Tursten, John Grisham, Katherine Howell, Liane Moriarty, Megan Abbott, Qiu Xiaolong, Reginald Hill, Robert Rotenberg, Scott Turow

Interview, Who’s Interviewing Who?*

eyewitness-interviewsBeing mixed up in a major crime, especially murder, can be harrowing enough. For many people, it’s only made worse when members of the press want interviews and access. Lots of people have no desire to make their lives public, so they avoid contact with the press if they can.

But there are people who actually do enjoy talking to the press. They like their time in the limelight, and seem to gravitate to wherever the cameras and microphone are. I’m sure you know the kind; you’ve seen them on news shows (e.g. ‘I still can’t believe this happened. He lived across the street for ___ years, and I never suspected a thing….’).

They’re in crime fiction, too. For instance, in Agatha Christie’s One, Two, Buckle My Shoe, Hercule Poirot and Chief Inspector Japp investigate the death of Poirot’s dentist, Henry Morley. There seems no reason for him to have committed suicide; at the same time, though, there seems no real motive for murder. Japp and Poirot talk to the people who visited on the day he was killed. One of those witnesses is Mabelle Sainsbury Seale, a rather eccentric woman who’s involved in amateur theatrics as well as missionary work. At first, she’s not overly enthusiastic about Japp interviewing her. But then she begins to enjoy it, even saying:
 

‘and if, by chance, my name should be in the papers – as a witness at the inquest, I mean – you will be sure that it is spelled right?…And of course, if they did care to mention that that I appeared in As You Like it at the Oxford Repertory Theatre…’
 

The mystery only deepens when Miss Sainsbury-Seale herself goes missing…

John Grisham’s A Time to Kill shows another reason people might be happy to talk to the press: it can be career-enhancing. In that novel, Carl Lee Hailey and his family are devastated when his ten-year-old daughter, Tonya, is brutally raped and left for dead. The police quickly catch the two men responsible: Billy Ray Cobb and James Louis ‘Pete’ Willard. Hailey is concerned that these men will get away with their crime, and that’s not out of the question. The Haileys are black; Cobb and Willard are white. And this is small-town Clanton, Mississippi. Added to that is his rage over what happened to his daughter, and his sense of helplessness. So, he arranges to get a gun, ambushes Cobb and Willard, and shoots them. There is no choice but to arrest Hailey, although there is a great deal of sympathy for him. He asks local attorney Jake Brigance to defend him, and Brigance agrees. It’s not going to be an easy case, though. For one thing, a black man has shot two white men. For another, there’s the very real issue of taking the law into one’s own hands. As you can imagine, the media soon get hold of the story, and both Brigance and his counterpart for the prosecution get plenty of requests for interviews. Interestingly, each accuses the other of using the media (and the case) to get the kind of national attention that can catapult a lawyer to the top.

Alison Gordon’s Kate Henry novels offer a very interesting perspective on interviews. Henry is a sports reporter for the Toronto Planet. So, she spends quite a lot of time with baseball players, their coaches and managers, and other sports figures. In The Dead Pull Hitter, she’s drawn into a case of two murders of members of the Toronto Titans. Not only does she feel their loss personally, but she also senses an exclusive story. So, she starts asking questions. And in the end, she and Staff Sergeant Lloyd ‘Andy’ Munro find out the truth behind the murders. One of the threads that runs through this novel is the relationship between the baseball players and the press. Here’s what Henry says about one of them:
 

‘The television guys love him, because he’s always glad to see them. It might have something to do with the money they slip him for interviews, but I think it’s also a matter of control. They only want thirty second clips and feed him soft questions.’
 

Professional athletes know that giving interviews is an important part of what they do; And the more willing they are to talk to the press, the better their public perception. But even these veterans of the interview have a harder time talking to the press when it’s about murder. And Henry has her work cut out for her, as the saying goes, to get the story.

Wendy James’ The Mistake introduces readers to Jodie Evans Garrow. She seems to have the perfect life: she’s well-off, she’s the mother of two healthy children, and she has a successful husband. Everything changes when the past catches up with her. It comes out that, years ago, Jodie gave birth to another child. She’s never told anyone about this birth, not even her husband. Soon, people start to ask questions, first privately, and then very publicly. Where is the child? If she’s alive, what’s become of her? If she’s not, did Jodie have something to do with it? The media make much of the story, and plenty of people have their say and give interviews. One of them is Jodie’s mother, who’s only too happy to heap criticism on her daughter. She writes a public letter that’s harshly judgmental of Jodie, and then goes on television, too, to be interviewed. She’s doing it as much for the money as she is for anything else. But that doesn’t make her very public rejection of her daughter any easier to take.

Paddy Richardson’s Cross Fingers features Wellington television journalist Rebecca Thorne. In one plot thread of the novel, it’s the 30th anniversary of the (South Africa) Springboks’ rugby tour of New Zealand (it’s often called The Tour). This happened in 1981, while apartheid was still very much in force in South Africa. Many people thought that the tour shouldn’t take place because of that policy, and there were plenty of protests. The police wanted to keep order. Rugby fans simply wanted to see some good rugby matches. It all ended up in some very ugly scenes, and those who were there still remember it clearly. Thorne knows it was important, but she also knows that it’s already been covered. Then she finds a story hidden in the larger story. Two dancers dressed as lambs came to some of the games, entertained the crowd, danced, and so on. Then they stopped coming. Later, it was discovered that one was killed. As Thorne looks into what happened that day, she uncovers a lot about the protests, the police and the onlookers. She conducts interviews with several people on both sides, and those interviews are woven into the narrative.

Not everyone’s reluctant to talk to the press. Sometimes people are looking for what Andy Warhol is said to have called their 15 minutes of fame. Others want money or something else. And it’s interesting to see how they behave when the cameras are on.
 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Carly Simon and Don Was’ Interview.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Alison Gordon, John Grisham, Paddy Richardson, Wendy James