Since April, 2003, I’ve been slowly working my way through
Ngaio Marsh’s Inspector Alleyn mysteries in chronological
order. The last one I read and reviewed, A Wreathe for Rivera,
was an accident; somehow I accidentally skipped over the present novel.
I go into this only because Final Curtain occupies a key place
in the sequence–Roderick Alleyn spends the years of World War II doing
anti-espionage work in New Zealand, and is parted from his wife, the
artist Agatha Troy, for the duration. This is the book in
which he returns from New Zealand, is reunited with Troy (as he calls
her), and takes up his police duties once again.

Consequently, the book is fraught with tension. Alleyn and Troy hadn’t
been married long when the war broke out, and haven’t seen each other in
over four years; both are concerned that whatever magic they had for each
other has evaporated. And no sooner is Alleyn home than he ends up
investigating a murder to which his wife is a prime witness; this is difficult for
him, as he first got to know her during an unpleasant murder investigation
(in Artists in Crime, and it caused such trouble between them
that since then he’s been trying to keep his home and work lives
compartmentalized. And now all of those mental barriers are necessarily
falling.

The quintessence of the English murder mystery is the country house
mystery, which, as Marsh seems to delight in avoiding cliche, is probably
why this is only her third novel in that sub-genre. And, typically, it’s
not just a country house mystery; Marsh brings in her beloved
theater by making it a country house mystery about actors.

Sir Henry Ancred is a famous Shakespearian actor, now nearing the end of
a long and productive and highly emotional life. He’s the patriarch of a
large dramatic family; not all are actually on the stage, but the only
one of his descendants who isn’t giving to making scenes and
over-dramatizing every little thing is in fact a theater producer. He
browbeats Troy, who is eagerly awaiting her husband’s return and not much
interested in working, into coming to his stately home, Ancreton, and
painting his portrait. Thus, Troy becomes our viewpoint character for the
first half of the book. While there she meets his unspeakable family and
the young starlet they fear he will marry, and
when he dies in bed after an overly rich dinner and a fit of rage she has a
niggling feeling that perhaps his death wasn’t entirely natural.

She and Alleyn discuss it, and are the verge of forgetting the whole
thing when the CID receives an anonymous letter claiming that Sir Henry’s
death was murder. Alleyn must find out whether it was murder, and
whodunnit, and reconcile his job with his married state.

All in all, not a bad outing.

This is too funny. And if you browse a bit, you can also see scenes from the Hamster Opera (I like Brunhilde, and also Falstaff), and from the Hamster Ballet.

“Strange women lying in ponds is no basis for a system of government!”

When did you last play a game of Checkers? I remember playing it a number of times with my older sister when I was small, but I don’t believe I ever made a regular thing of it. Some time in elementary school I moved on to Chess, and when I found I hadn’t the patience for it I discovered games like Backgammon and Othello. Somehow I never got back to Checkers.

But a couple of years ago, we were given a nice hardwood family game set. The lid has a Checker/Chess board on one side and a Backgammon board on the other, and the box contains all the pieces you need for Chess, Checkers, Backgammon, Dominoes, or various card games. My boys have been fascinated with it since we got it, and recently I’ve been playing Checkers with them.

James, my going-on-five-year-old, enjoys it most. He gets caught up in the moves he wants to make, and forgets to check whether my last move did anything nasty, but he’s got a pretty good grasp of the rules. I have to be careful and not win too often, or he gets discouraged.

It’s a surprisingly interesting game. One of the rules, which I had completely forgotten until we got back into it, is that if you are in a position to capture one of your opponent’s pieces, you have to capture it. You’ve got no choice. And that makes the game quite a bit richer than I’d realized when I was a boy–you can force your opponent to make moves he doesn’t want to make. It’s sneaky.

If you’re interested, you can find the rules here.

I’ve no books in my Ready to Review pile at the moment, and (after yesterday) no particular deep thoughts to share, and in fact it’s been quite a busy day. So instead of wasting your time, I’m going to settle down with some tunes and a nice Ngaio Marsh mystery. See you tomorrow!

Kevin at Collected Miscellany is asking, “What Kind of Book Person Are You?”

1) What is your favorite type of bookstore?
A. A large chain that is well lit, stuffed full of books, and has a café.
B. A dark, rather dusty, used bookstore full of mysterious and vaguely organized books.
C. A local independent bookstore that has books by local authors and coffee.

A. Although, frankly, I don’t care much about the café. And I don’t much care whether it’s a chain. Mostly it needs to be large, well lit, and stuffed full of books.

2) What would excite you more?
A. A brand new book by your favorite author.
B. Finding a classic you’ve been wanting to read.
C. Receiving a free book from a friend in the mail.

A, definitely.

3) What’s your favorite format?
A. Novel
B. Short story
C. Poetry

A, which should come as no surprise to long-time readers of this blog. I’d like to appreciate poetry, but except for light verse I seem to lack the gene.

4) Favorite format, part II.
A. Contemporary fiction.
B. Classic novels.
C. Genre (mystery, espionage, etc.)

C. Need you ask?

5) Favorite format, part III (none of the above) Fiction or non?
A. Almost entirely fiction.
B. Almost entirely non-fiction.
C. A mix of both.

C, though heavier on the fiction.

6) Does the design and condition of the book matter?
A. Yes, I love a well designed book and keep mine in mint condition.
B. No, the words are what matter.
C. Yes and no, I appreciate good design and treat my books with respect but I am not obsessive about it.

Somewhere between A and C. Which is to say that I am obsessive about it. Condition is more important than design, though; the point is that I want to be able to re-read it as many times as I like.

(Note from Jane: in our first years of marriage, while I was learning to put the toilet seat down, she was learning never, ever to crease the spine of a paperback book.)

7) On average how many books do you read a month?
A. I am lucky to read one.
B. I am dedicated. I read 4 or 5.
C. I am a fiend. I read 10 or more!

C, though I don’t feel especially fiendish. It was eleven last month,for what it’s worth. Not counting The Cat in the Hat and such like books read to the kids at bedtime; I’d be into the seventies if I included those.

8) Do you prefer to own or borrow?
A. There is a particular joy in owning a book. I have a large library.
B. Why spend money when you can read it for free? I use the public library.
C. Different tools for different job. I do both.

A. As I said above, I want to be able to re-read a book as many times as I like. That means that I need to be able to find it again, reliably. And that means, well….

9) Where do you get (the majority) your book news?
A. Newspapers.
B. Magazines.
C. TV
D. Blogs.

Hmmph. I don’t get book news, I am book news.

But seriously, I don’t get book news from any of these sources. I just go to the book store and look to see what’s new. Occasionally I’ll hit a favorite author’s website.

10) Are books a professional obsession?
A. Yes, I work in the field (writer, reviewer, publisher, teacher, etc.).
B. No, I do it for fun.
C. Kinda, I write the occasional review but have a regular job outside of books.

B. You mean they pay people to do this?

Somehow, the Gray Monk has managed to weave Terry Pratchett’s Nac Mac Feegle into an essay on political correctness, learning styles, and the value of learning by rote. He begins with some choice quotes from A Hat Full of Sky.

Some time ago someone left a rude comment to one of my posts, asking the
question (at rather more length) of how an apparently rational person like
me can believe in all this Christian nonsense. I was in a bad mood at
the time, and merely pointed out his comment as an example of how not to
win friends and influence people. Still, it seems to me that he deserves
a real answer, not just an ill-tempered grimace.

The short answer is that by the grace of God I cannot do other than
believe.

I don’t expect any non-believers in my audience to find this answer
terribly helpful, but nonetheless it’s true.

Here’s the long answer.

The first point is that (from an intellectual point of view) Christianity
isn’t nonsense, but rather a belief-system capable of being rationally
defended. Indeed, it was St. Thomas Aquinas’ view (so I am given to
understand) that the propositions of the Christian faith are susceptible
to rigorous logical proof–with the minor problem that the details are so
lengthy and intricate that few men or women will ever have the time (or
make the effort) to follow them. I mention to this say that this most
certainly isn’t the way I came to belief in Christ.

However, even without going to such lengths, I still claim that it is
rational to believe in Christ. Indeed, what’s the basis for claiming
that it’s irrational? There’s only one, and that’s materialistic
atheism–the claim, in short, that only the natural exists; any
belief in the supernatural is nothing more than superstition.

Abler writers than myself have disposed of this; I can recommend
C.S. Lewis,
especially Mere Christianity and Surprised by Joy (Lewis,
I may say, is the clearest thinker I’ve had the pleasure to read.), as
well as G.K.
Chesterton, particularly Orthodoxy and The Everlasting
Man.

And the point is this: the claim that the supernatural does not and
cannot exist is a statement of faith, not a scientific truth. It is,
in fact, the statement that nothing contrary to the Laws of Nature has
ever been manifest in the universe, from the beginning of time until
now. Can you see the flaw? The Laws of Nature are taken as a given,
as an immutable fact, when in fact our knowledge of them changes
with each advancement of science. As I say, it’s a statement of faith; and
interestingly, it’s a faith that affirms, a priori, that any
counter-examples can be discounted without investigation.

On the other hand, just because I accept that supernatural events might
in fact occur, and believe that they have occurred in the past, it
doesn’t necessarily follow that I’ve jettisoned my critical faculties
altogether, or that I’m a credulous fool who believes six impossible
things before breakfast. My worldview takes in things that the
scientistic (note–not scientific, but scientistic)
worldview does not, but I still don’t believe things without reason.

So what’s my reason? Why do I believe in Jesus Christ, the Son of God,
the crucified and resurrected and living messiah?

The answer is simple. I’ve met him. I no more need proofs that Jesus
exists than I need proofs that my wife Jane exists.

I grew up Roman Catholic, and so I was first introduced to Jesus at an
early age. But you know how it is when you’re little and you meet your
parent’s friends. No matter how often you see them, you never really
know them. And then, by the time I was a senior in High School, God had
begun to seem like a really bad idea–a nuisance, an inconvenience, a bad
excuse for living with everlasting guilt. I decided that I was, if not an
outright atheist, at least an agnostic. I didn’t want to know God. I
didn’t want there to be a God. I wanted there not to be a God.

Baldy put, my disbelief had nothing to do with any intellectual or
rational process, but only with a desire to avoid the consequences of
God’s existence. Which is rather pathetic, when you come to think about
it.

Anyway, the change came shortly after Christmas during my senior year of
high school. I attended a Christian rock concert–a friend, likewise agnostic,
had been invited by yet another friend, who was a Christian; the first
friend wanted company and invited me. I wasn’t especially interested, but
I was bored and it was something to do. And during the evening I was
asked, as part of the present company, to make a decision for or against
Christ.

Really, you can’t be too careful. Lack of faith has to be nurtured
lovingly, or the incalculable may happen.

For that’s when I heard the Lord speaking to me. I don’t mean that I
heard actual spoken words; it was very much in the stillness of my head.
And it didn’t really come in the form of words; it was more of an
impression. More, as Chesterton would say, of a Presence. But the
message came through clearly:

Will, you know perfectly well I’m here. Are you going to acknowledge me,
or are you going to live in denial for the rest of your life?

And the plain truth is that that still small voice was correct. Whatever I
might tell myself, and whatever the desires of my heart, I did know. And
I felt I was really being given a choice–if I elected to live in denial,
God would honor that decision. Or I could acknowledge him, and accept
the consequences.

I have no way of knowing what would have happened if I had chosen to
reject God that night. I expect that I would have persisted in my denial,
and I further expect that at best I’d have turned into a mordant,
sarcastic, bitter, sorry excuse for a human being. I’m sure that I’d
have come to hate Christianity with a passion; that, after all, would be
the human thing to do.

God be thanked, I didn’t go that way. Instead, I admitted to myself that
God exists, and that he is Lord–that is, that he has a claim on me.
That his opinion matters. And that was the first step. That was the
beginning of my knowledge of God. It was a small step–there was so much
I didn’t understand–but an essential one.

Since then, my friendship with God has had its share of ups and downs.
I’ve had bleak depressions, and upon occasion I’ve had “Jordan
moments”, times when Jesus was so present to me it was as though he were
sitting next to me. And now I know him…I won’t say “well”, but
certainly much better than I did on that long ago night. And no matter
how bleak my mood or enormous my doubts, there’s one thing I’ve always
been sure of. No matter how unlikely it seems at times, I know that God
is there. He told me so himself.

He’ll tell you the same, if you ask him.

Now this book is a genuine oddity–it’s a Jeeves novel without Bertie
Wooster. Nor is Bertie’s absence the only anomaly.

In general, Bertie Wooster and his man Jeeves live in a world on which
the passing years leave no mark. This novel, on the other hand, is firmly
set in a time after World War II in which, thanks to punitive taxation
and other social legislation, the stately country became a larger than
usual albatross about the neck of its owners–and in which, consequently,
the landed gentry have all had to seek employment. Sir Roderick
Carmoyle, for example, is a floorwalker at Harrige’s department store,
and our hero, Lord Rowcester (pronounced “Roaster”), has embarked on
a career as a Silver Ring bookie, taking bets on horses.

This might seem an odd occupation for one of England’s younger earls, but
it is easily explained. It seems that, thanks to the winds of change
blowing so strongly through England’s mighty oaks, Bertie has decided
that he must learn to fend for himself, just in case, you understand,
and so has taken himself off to a boarding school dedicated to teaching
upper-class drones how to darn socks and fry an egg. This has left
Jeeves at a loose end, and to fill in the time he has taken service with
Lord Rowcester. It was at his suggestion that Lord Rowcester has taken
up his new trade, having gone through the classified section of the
telephone book from A to R without finding anything for which he was
suited and then stumbling upon Silver Ring in the S’s.

Because Bertie’s absent, we don’t get his usual first person narration;
instead, the book is told in third-person. And if I’m not mistaken, that
makes this the only book in which we see Jeeves from a relatively
objective point of view, rather than filtered through another’s eyes.
Jeeves remains himself, of course; yet he seems a little freer with the
literary quotations, and perhaps a little more likely to take liberties
than when he’s with Bertie.

There’s one Jeeves and Wooster short story told from Jeeves’ point of
view, in which it becomes clear that Jeeves’ entire aim is to make sure
that Bertie never dispenses with him (or marries anyone who would force
Bertie to do so); for he’d have the dickens of a time trying to find
anyone so easily managed as Bertie. Jeeves comes off as rather
cold-blooded, really. And I think something of the same is going on
here. I don’t think that Jeeves is really working for Lord Rowcester,
however much he’s paid and however satisfactory his service is. I think
he’s just having fun seeing how much he can get away with.

Well, anyway, it’s a fun book; if perhaps not one of Wodehouse’ best,
it’s still much better than Much Obliged, Jeeves.

When I got home from work today and tried to download my e-mail, I couldn’t get through to the e-mail server. Well, I thought, that’s interesting.

I think I’ve figured out the problem.

The protocol used to access the Internet over DSL is something called “PPPoE”, or “PPP over Ethernet”, whatever that means. The DSL Modem we got from Earthlink has a “PPPoE” light on it; and it tries to do the PPPoE login and connection all by itself. On the other hand, our Airport Base Station also understands PPPoE, and when I configured things on Friday I ended up telling it to do the PPPoE login.

I think what happened today is that the Airport Base Station dropped the connection (why, I don’t know) and the DSL Modem picked it up. And since the Base Station was expecting to talk PPPoE to the Modem, and the Modem was expecting normal Internet traffic from the Base Station, nothing worked. At least, the PPPoE light was lit up on the DSL Modem when I checked, and when I told the Base Station just to use normal Ethernet to connect to the Internet everything started working again.

So I’ve left it that way for the timing being; we’ll see how things go.

This did not, in fact, take place at our house…but it could have.