Barbara Clark

At its outset, Mister Memory has the intimate yet informal detailing of an adult fable or fairy tale. This makes sense, given that its author, Marcus Sedgwick, has published a number of YA books that include fantasy, myths and graphic novels.

Mister Memory introduces readers to Marcel Després, a handsome, naïve and uncommon young man whose extraordinary mind lands him in big trouble. For Marcel, every tiny action and word—the details of every moment in his life—is indelibly recorded in his mind. He’s literally unable to forget. For a long time he’s unaware that he possesses this unique trait—or burden. He simply thinks everyone’s mind works that way.

Unable to hold down a job in Paris of 1899, Marcel finally becomes a popular cabaret hit as “Mister Memory,” a moniker that may evoke for some the Hitchcockian character in The 39 Steps, a 1939 film full of dark, comic moments.

Sedgwick’s narrative soon turns into a clever, absorbing mystery after Marcel is arrested for killing his wife upon discovering her in bed with a lover. Instead of doing a stint in jail—the usual Parisian punishment for murdering an unfaithful wife—Marcel is whisked away to a mental hospital for the criminally insane, and the case is summarily closed like the slamming of a door.

Inspector Petit of the Paris prefecture realizes there is more to the story, at a level that involves the highest realms of law enforcement as well as the lowest echelons of Parisian society. A photograph of Marcel’s wife, also a cabaret performer, sets Petit on a dangerous path to discovery and action.

Mister Memory is an extraordinary trip into the deep recesses of mind and memory, brought to light little by little as Marcel’s physician comes to learn more about his patient’s inner world. Dr. Morel tells him, “You have taught me something. Through you I have come to see that there is no such thing as truth. That all we ever really know is perception.”

Petit, who struggles with memories of his own that he’d like to banish, belatedly comes to realize that “each memory is itself only a construction of infinitely small moments of time, each of which has no meaning in itself. It is only the story we make by linking such moments together, and the narrative that creates, that gives us any meaning.”

On the surface, Tracee de Hahn’s debut mystery mimics those Golden Age country house crime novels where the suspects gather in the drawing room facing each other across the tea table, with the curtains drawn against the night. Her book, however, is somehow both more and less than those old thrillers. It’s set in present-day Switzerland as a storm of epic proportions sweeps through the Lausanne region, blanketing the area of Château Vallotton with deadly ice, snow and wind.

Swiss Vendetta opens on a thrilling note—an icy blast, with a murder taking place right off the bat, before readers (or the victim) have time to bundle up against the weather. Just before the storm shuts down all outside access, rookie police officer Agnes Lüthi slips and slides onto the scene along with a couple of other officers, to contend with a château full of suspects.

Though officers and suspects are effectively trapped on the scene by the ice and snow, this particular château has tons of rooms, stairways and secret tunnels, so it’s not exactly a modest Agatha Christie country house. Agnes and her colleagues spread out to try and learn why Felicity Cowell, a bright young appraiser for a London auction house employed by the family to appraise an estate full of treasures, has met her death out in the storm, dressed in a diamond-embellished gown. The château bristles with suspects from the Vallotton family—the regal Marquise, her nephews Julien and Daniel, a peckish godson named Mulholland and a Great Dane named Winston. A young American, Nick Graves, who’s doing historical research at the estate, has a prior connection to the victim, upping the intrigue level. The family’s elderly neighbor, Monsieur Arsov, also figures large, with his dramatic World War II backstory.

Everyone’s full of polite obfuscations, but they give Agnes the run of the estate to pursue her inquiries, so this old/new crime novel ought to be a page-turner, with its marvelous backdrop of storm and menace. However, detective Lüthi’s insights are not always substantiated within the narrative, sometimes seeming to appear from offstage. Readers may struggle to develop sympathy for the author’s sometimes two-dimensional characters, who never quite spring to life.

Swiss Vendetta is full of side stories rich with promise. After a great beginning, a slow-going middle gives way to a finale that helps rescue some of the book’s dramatic potential.

The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency of Gabarone, Botswana, takes on a new client in Precious and Grace. True to form, Alexander McCall Smith’s fine process of “getting there” wins out over shootouts and car chases any old day, and his asides—often important clues in traditional whodunits—are, well, just asides.

The series reads like a pleasantly low-key moral tale. It’s all pretty much down to the ruminations of Mma Ramotswe, No. 1’s founder and owner, who has commandeered the series through 17 leisurely installments. “Commandeered” is a bit strong, though. Mma Ramotswe (whose name is Precious, though you’ll seldom hear it) can teach us a lot about the ways of kindly souls and about the sort of real forgiveness that few of us can muster. She’s an acute observer of all around her, and like Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple, her rural country setting never keeps her from spotting the many foibles displayed by her fellows and making important connections about human nature that serve her well.

Sometimes her refusal to judge can get in Mma Ramotswe’s way, even when she tries to hold back the tongue of her business assistant and close friend, Mma Makutsi (whose name is Grace, though it’s not often bandied about). Mma Makutsi’s wayward opinions, however, can sometimes be effectively quelled by the frequent cups of tea dispensed in the No. 1 office. And since everything at the agency proceeds on Botswana time—that is to say, at a steady but hardly rapid pace—there’s ample time to smooth over the wrinkles of human disagreement.

When Susan, a young Canadian woman, appeals for the agency’s help in uncovering pieces of her long-forgotten early childhood in Botswana, Mma Makutsi is quick to jump to conclusions about her motives, while Mma Ramotswe holds back judgment to read between the lines, piecing the reasons together from the woman’s unhappy past. The search for Susan’s old home is nicely punctuated with evocative portraits of the many people in Mma Ramotswe’s rich life: her husband, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni; her sometime assistants, Charlie and Mr. Polopetsi (he of the high-flying but often-plummeting schemes); and of course the outspoken Grace herself.

Readers seeking hair-trigger action thrills will wish to steer clear of the Ladies’ Detective Agency, where, fortunately for the rest of us, the literary payoff is in an entirely different coinage.

So Say the Fallen is Stuart Neville’s seventh crime novel, and the third in his fine Belfast series to feature DCI Serena Flanagan. It’s an enthralling modern-day police procedural that allows readers ample opportunity to appreciate the author’s skill at creating characters of depth and staying power.

Successful businessman Henry Garrick, severely injured in a car accident, has apparently committed suicide six months after the event. Called in on what looks like an open-and-shut case, Flanagan senses that something isn’t right about the scene, and she begins looking closely at the widow’s grief—as well as the behavior of the Garrick’s rector, frequently on the scene in the role of comforter to the bereaved.

Starting with the seemingly obvious death by overdose, the author switches his magnifying lens to each character, viewing them from a variety of angles. Small cracks in their facades begin to appear, eventually opening a chasm of suspicion that Flanagan diligently pursues. As a woman apparently locked in anguish, Roberta Garrick eventually reveals her many facets, possessing stealth and craftiness that becomes more frightening as the story progresses. The detective also shadows the rector, who comes close to confiding in her as he reveals a rabbity, furtive desperation that’s heightened as he confronts the loss of his own religious faith.

Flanagan receives no support from her superiors, who want her to sign off on the tragedy and call it a suicide. But her scrutiny pays off as she picks up on small, odd anomalies of behavior, refusing to abandon her own theory that wife and rector are far more than a picture of innocence. A moving and all-too-believable side story provides a look into Flanagan’s personal life as she finds herself estranged from her husband and kids, who want more family commitment from her just when she’s deeply ensnared in the case.

This novel stands apart from many of today’s thrillers in which scattershot dialogue often adds little more than surface thrills to play-by-play action and wannabe screenplay scenes. Neville reveals an outsize talent for offering real and disturbing insights into his characters and for allowing readers an all-too-rare opportunity to penetrate beyond the shell of a story. This is one of those books that you won’t want to put down until you’ve read it cover to cover.