Los Gatos Lit Fair

There’s a Literary Fair tomorrow in Los Gatos, on the Civic Center lawn from noon to three: it’s fair, it’s literary, it’s waiting for you to join in.Document

Go Libraries!  Go, Indie bookstores!


Throwback Thursday Twofer


Today’s Throwback Thursday post serves as proof that some authors do their research long in advance.  Long, long in advance, like this picture, taken in 1982, a good twenty years before this particular writer set pen to paper to write The Game.

And here, said author contemplating the possibilities of alternate universes, wherein she and her young family take over the responsibilities of a hotel in Agra, India…

Lauries's hotel


Mary Russell’s War, week three

On the centenary of the Great War, a journal has come to light of weekly entries from a very young Mary Russell. It begins, appropriately enough, on August 4, 1914, when Russell is living with her parents and brother in San Francisco. This is week three. (To read from the beginning, click here.)

SMS Nurnberg, Sunk by the British off the Falklands Islands, Dec 1914.

SMS Nurnberg, Sunk by the British off the Falklands Islands, Dec 1914.

18 August 1914

I was at the Greenfield house last night—the daughter, Florence, was more or less assigned me as a “friend” when we moved back to San Francisco two years ago, since our mothers share many interests and organisations, although I find more to talk about with Flo’s brother Frank—and found the family almost completely detached from the War. Mrs Greenfield seems more concerned at the potential disruption of their travel plans for next summer than any political turmoil or loss of life: she is quite convinced that fighting will be over by Christmas, but worries over damage to monuments and shortages of wine and fois gras. When I told her that in Father’s opinion, the War would be a long one, she merely gave one of her rather ear-splitting laughs and told me not to worry my pretty head. I left before I could say anything rude (which would invariably subject me to one of Mother’s lectures) and collected Frankie for a rather violent game of kick-the-can.

The Parents’ ongoing argument, I have determined, concerns the War. Mother wants to go home, to England. Father absolutely refuses to permit it. Or rather (I’ve located an attic corner with a thin section of plaster through which sound travels from Mother’s dressing room) he refuses to permit her to take Levi and me with her. And although the two of them have spent long periods separated by the Atlantic, with Mother and us on one side and Father coming and going from his business concerns in America, she has never been separated from Levi and me for more than a few days at a time. And as their overheard conversations have made clear, she does not intend to be now.

So it looks as if we are going to be stuck in neutral territory—America—until the War is over. (On one point they agree: this will not be a matter of weeks, despite Mrs Greenfield.) When I told all this to Levi (who although only nine, is nonetheless more intelligent than most of the adults I know) he very rightly pointed out that, as half-English citizens, we had a responsibility to serve the King in any way we could. And (as an article in the Chronicle described last week) if a woman on the train from Antwerp could discover a German spy on the point of releasing carrier pigeons hidden in a bag, surely we could do no less.

So two nights ago, when we heard four brief blasts of a ship’s horn, we both knew it had to be the German cruiser that has been lurking out at sea, waiting to fill its coal stores. A newspaper article five days ago reported that the Leipsic had wirelessed for permission to enter the harbour, and had also sent ashore two of its sailors for medical attention, so we knew it would slip in sooner or later, and we were ready. I met Levi at the front door, and we made it almost all the way down Gough Street before a patrol spotted the pale coat Levi had insisted on wearing, and took us home again. Mother was not happy. Father pretended to be angry, but I could see that he was also amused. It will be difficult to slip away for the next couple of days, to keep an eye on the Leipsic, although it is reported to be lying between Fort Mason and Alcatras Island, so I may be able to see it from the rooftop with Father’s field glasses, once Mother goes to her meeting this afternoon.

I am cross with Levi. I fear that my brother, bright though he may be, lacks the instincts of a criminal—or of a good detective.

(Which reminds me—The Strand has reached us, only a day or two late, and there is to be a new Sherlock Holmes story beginning next month! A serial novel that begins, “The Tragedy of Birlstone”…!  Oh, how is it possible to simultaneously loathe and adore a thing—a long story, but one that demands months of waiting?  It is petty of me, I know, but I do hope the magazine continues to cross the Atlantic without delay during the hostilities. At least during the period that The Valley of Fear is being published.)

As if to confirm the need for citizen spies, this morning’s Chronicle brought the War’s proximity into focus. I shall copy the article:


MONTEREY, August 17—Firing at sea was heard this evening by J. Lewis, superintendent of instruction at the Y.W.C.A. camp at Asilmar. It was in the direction of the heads, near Santa Cruz, northwest of here. A heavy fog has obscured the view.

Lewis says that the firing started at 7:20 and lasted until after 8 o’clock. It is believed the French cruiser Montelam, which left San Diego Saturday, has engaged with the German cruiser Nurnberg.

Several others at Asilmar, Pacific Grove and New Monterey have reported hearing heavy firing at sea.

I believe that the War will require service from us all before the end, even fourteen year-old girls.

How about a Throwback Thursday?

Going through some files the other day, I came across a few unexpected voices from the past—so I thought, hey kids, let’s have a couple of Throwback Thursdays here on Mutterings!  So, how about some old covers that didn’t quite make it into the real world?

I’ve talked before about the original proposed cover of Beekeeper–Beekeeper original

and you may remember the first hardback cover of A Grave Talent–Unknownbut before Bantam did their first paperback–


they tried this:GT scan

How would that cover work for you?

About Miss Russell’s War

Yes, Mary Russell’s War is officially a Thing.

Every week from now until, well, until I run dry, we will read an excerpt from Miss Russell’s childhood diary, gathered together under the title of “Mary Russell’s War”. This week, the Germans are battering at the gates of Liege, a part of the Schlieffen Plan (which Mary’s father explains to her) to push rapidly west across Europe, taking Paris and securing the western flank before their enemy to the east, Russia, could mobilize their forces. Only Belgium stood in the way.


Belgian lancers sounding the call to arms in the streets of Liege, from the excellent Great War Photo Archive: www.gwpda.org/photos

Any researcher can tell you how much life is to be found in contemporary records. For example, did you know that Coastal California literally heard the guns of that war? (see next week’s post!)

The Great War was a century ago, but it is also today, in every corner of Britain and the Continent. Each week into the foreseeable future, Mutterings will follow the War through the eyes of one young, far-away, and extraordinary girl.

Mary Russell’s War, here on Mutterings every Monday.