"Wet Grave" by Barbara Hambly -- A Book Review

Not usually a fan of historical novels, I hesitated somewhat when I picked up a copy of Wet Grave by Barbara Hambly, but as fate would have it, I did buy the book, and I am ever so grateful I did. The story takes place in 1830s New Orleans, and highlights a time in history when justice was an elusive luxury, especially if one was a freed colored citizen.

Benjamin January, the well educated son of a placeé – a former slave kept as a mistress by the man who bought and freed her – who is now a surgeon and musician, is summoned by his sister when an old drunk prostitute is found slashed to death in her own home. When January arrives on the scene, he recognizes the dead woman as Hesione LeGros, a once beautiful society mistress he had the opportunity to befriend many years before. Nobody but January seems to care about the old woman’s death, and he is encouraged by many to abandon the case once it becomes apparent authorities are not willing to become involved.

January, however, is haunted by his own need to discover the truth and, supported by Rose Vitrac, the woman he loves, he embarks on a journey of no return, in which the hunter becomes the hunted, and some questions are best left unanswered.

When murder strikes closer to home and leaves January heart-broken and angry, he and Rose are on the run, colored fugitives seeking sanctuary in the unforgiving depths of stormy bayous. Will they discover who murdered Old Hessie, or will they also fall prey in a game of cat and mouse?

Barbara Hambly has masterfully created a story one can get lost into, with a plot as thick and edgy as the sultry heat swallowing the Deep South in mid-summer. The historical references are well developed and even sprinkled with delightful encounters; among those, the meeting of January with Marie Laveau, the notorious queen of voodoo, as he seeks guidance on his quest.

The novel is extremely descriptive, and rich details are freely dispensed to allow the reader the luxury of being transported through time and space. Wet Grave is a great read for anyone passionate of historical fiction, for mystery lovers and for those interested in southern fiction with an edge into reality.

Help to the Gulf Region

Hey folks! I just wanted to alert everyone to the fact that $1 from each sale of Kindle copies of my books will be donated to the Gulf region.

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Help me spread the word...every little bit helps. :)

The Treadmill

When my mother mentioned buying a treadmill once, my father looked at her with a slightly surprised frown on his face. “That contraption won’t take you anywhere,” he said, “you walk and walk, and you never move from the point you started.” It was a joke, of course, but when I thought about those words later on in life, I realized they can be applied to more than exercise.

A treadmill is surely a great invention – one can walk in the comfort of one’s own home, sheltered from petty crime, elements, and even loneliness, as a TV is often nearby; one can also exercise without getting dressed, as a treadmill, thankfully, has no mirrors. Those are all great advantages, and it is understandable why many prefer walking on a rolling mat than on a sidewalk, but, like all things, even treadmills have downfalls.

Growing up in the city I walked everywhere, and it wasn’t long before I started noticing life exploding all around me as I did. While walking to school in the mornings, I always passed by a bakery owned by the father of one of my friends. I still remember the fragrant aroma of freshly baked focaccia, as it escaped the poorly sealed door like a genie freed from of a bottle. As I waited from my friend – she used to go help her parents at the bakery before school – I often stood outside the door, watching people walk in and out of the café directly across the street. For a few mornings, I had noticed a boy who always seemed to walk into the cafe staring down at his feet; after a few moments inside, he always came out holding a small white paper bag and never looked up. That morning he dropped his paper bag, and while normally I would have just remained frozen by the door, I had a sudden burst of courage, walked over, picked up the bag and handed it to him. He raised his eyes and smiled at me, and when he did, I noticed the skin on his neck was badly damaged from a bad burn. When he saw me looking at it, he quickly looked down, but I told him my name and asked for his. That morning marked the beginning of a good friendship that lasted many years and was a great source of support while growing up.

I still like to walk. Over the years, walking has allowed me to witness many situations I have learned something from, and has gifted me with opportunities to notice the unpretentious beauty of things and people around me. Many of those things would have gone completely unnoticed had I chosen to walk on a treadmill instead.

We often give up on exploring opportunities because we are afraid to detach from a false sense of security and comfort, at the cost of isolating and limiting ourselves. We contemplate the need of making changes in our world, but more times than not, we are not ready to let go of what’s holding us back. Even when we are unhappy of our current situation, we stick with it because it feels familiar, because we don’t want to stir the pot, because, ultimately, we are afraid of upsetting the order of things and getting lost in the shuffle. We have the power to change, and yet many of us continue walking on the treadmill, basking in the illusion that we ARE doing something while in fact we are not. In the end, we CAN turn off the switch, step off and walk outside into the real world; when we do, we will truly know we are getting somewhere.