The only problem with this book is that it isn’t Penny’s last book, which was simply tremendous.
It reminds me of the time I was enthralled by one of my other favourite authors, Tom Robbins, and his JITTERBUG PERFUME, which is still one of the best books I’ve ever read. I eagerly awaited his next book (which turned out to be SKINNY LEGS AND ALL) and felt disappointed, simply because while it was a good book, it wasn’t as great as his masterpiece.
What I don’t like about Penny’s latest is that is so much less organic than her previous books, which seem to have grown out of the characters. This latest takes a plot Penny is obviously invested in (she reported on it before she became a full-time writer), but this book starts with the plot, which she seems to have worked out before writing it, and the characters are plugged into those plots points instead of the other way around, not doing what they’d do naturally.
In my mind, it doesn’t work as well. The book is good, but it’s not “Gamache-good.”
On how formal education, learning, improving oneself, doesn’t always make things better…
[looking at some paintings hanging in a restaurant after having previously looked at some much superior painting by a master in a gallery]
“If he hadn’t looked into the windows of the Galerie Gagnon, Jean-Guy might have thought these [restaurant paintings] were quite good. But he had looked. And now he knew the difference. Part of him regretted that. He might now like better things, but he also liked fewer.”
Penny on feeling jealousy for what other people have, of feeling hatred towards people in your life and the devastating effect this has on yourself instead of the intended target(s). In this case, it refers both to Inspector Gamache’s feelings for his parents (who died when he was young), and successful but staid artist Peter Morrow who can’t accept that his artist wife accomplishments and talents have outstripped his own.
“It’s like drinking acid,” said Myrna, “and expecting the other person to die.”