I, Richard [Paperback]

In her first story collection, eminent British author George (A Traitor to Memory) presents five nimbly written and gripping tales, each with a stunning conclusion. "Exposure" concerns declining sexual prowess, as gossipy architecture students speculate about Polly Simpson, who is suspiciously friendly with elderly men touring Abinger Manor, where one oldster dies mysteriously just as some historic silverware is stolen. In "The Surprise of His Life," high-powered CEO Douglas Armstrong, obsessively jealous and mistrustful of his young wife, learns too late that she's planning an astonishing final surprise for both him and the reader. Similarly, a young widow in "Remember I'll Always Love You" is horrified to discover the secret double life led by her late husband, purportedly a sales director for a biotech firm, but in reality something far more sinister. A melancholy tone pervades "Good Fences Aren't Always Enough," in which an elderly Russian refugee, Anfisa, scandalizes her socially conscious neighbors in fashionable East Wingate with her determination to live life her own way. In the title story, ambitious and murderous schoolteacher Malcolm Cousins is determined to perpetuate the reputation of his hero, Richard III, while also absconding with the wife and substantial legacy of a former school chum. A brooding, gloomy dust jacket suggests gothic themes, but the tales are thoroughly modern in setting and subject.
Copyright 2002 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

George, author of the deservedly popular Thomas Lynley/Barbara Havers mysteries, tries her hand at the short story form with this collection of five tales. Each story is introduced by George, who describes how she came to write it. "Exposure" is a condensed version of a Thomas Lynley mystery, while both "The Surprise of His Life" and the title story mix horror with humor to portray the desperate acts of men at mid-life, ending with a wittily vindictive twist that will appeal to fans of Ruth Rendell. "Good Fences Aren't Always Enough" probes a clash between a fiercely family-oriented young mother and her new neighbor, an aging, eccentric Russian immigrant. In "Remember I'll Always Love You," Charlie Lawton, a grieving young widow, sets out to find her deceased husband's estranged family and discovers a deadly secret. George, whose last novel, A Traitor to Memory, ran to nearly 800 pages, excels at writing in a more condensed way. Satisfying and memorable, this collection is highly recommended for most public libraries.
--Jane la Plante, Minot State Univ. Lib., ND
Copyright 2002 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

Best-selling novelist George's fourth collection of short crime stories shows her skill at delivering distilled shocks to the reader's nervous system. In five fairly long tales, George serves up psychological detection in one, Stephen King-like horror in another, a puzzle mystery, a history mystery, and one that gives an O. Henry twist to the O. J. Simpson case. As in her novels, George is in absolute command of the stomach-wrenching realization and the sudden, sickening turn of events. Only one story, "Exposure," falters. This is a reworking, with a new point of view and a new victim, of an old George story based on murder on an architectural tour of a stately home. George's tone is inexplicably acidic and mean-spirited toward all her characters in this one story, making the reader uneasy for all the wrong reasons. The introductions provided for each story are marvelous in themselves, offering insights into George's working methods and thought processes. Her introduction to "The Surprise of His Life," for example, examines both the possible motivation and time line in the O. J. Simpson case and her transformation of this material into an effectively creepy story. Jealousy, greed, obsession, rats, Richard III, and bioterror--what more could a crime collection have? Connie Fletcher
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

"In her first story collection, eminent British author George (A Traitor to Memory) presents five nimbly written and gripping tales, each with a stunning conclusion."—Publisher's Weekly

Hailed by The New York Times as “a master of the British mystery,” award-winning author Elizabeth George is one of our most distinguished writers, cherished by readers on both sides of the Atlantic. Her first collection of short stories is an extraordinary offering that deftly explores the dark side of everyday people—and the lengths to which they will go to get what they want most....

In these five tantalizing and original tales, George plumbs the depths of human nature—and human weakness—as only she can. From the chilling tale of a marriage built on an appalling set of lies that only death can reveal, to the final, title story about a penniless schoolteacher whose ambition turns murderous, I, Richard is filled with page-turning drama, danger, and unmatched suspense.

Whether the setting is urban or suburban, affluent or middle class, no one is safe from menace. Thanks to Inspector Thomas Lynley, a squabbling group of Anglophiles discovers a killer in its midst…But little help is on hand when a picture-perfect town is shattered by an eccentric new resident’s horrifying pet project.... And when a wealthy husband is haunted by suspicions about his much-younger wife, it becomes clear that a man’s imagination can be his own worst enemy...

Ironic, revealing, and undeniably entertaining, this imaginative collection proves once again why Elizabeth George is one of today’s best-loved authors. I, Richard belongs in the library of each and every mystery devotee.

"In her first story collection, eminent British author George (A Traitor to Memory) presents five nimbly written and gripping tales, each with a stunning conclusion."
--Publisher's Weekly

Praise for Elizabeth George:

“Elizabeth George reigns as queen of the mystery genre. The Lynley books constitute the smartest, most gratifyingly complex and impassioned mystery series now being published.”
--Entertainment Weekly

“A master of the English mystery.”
--The New York Times

“Ms. George can do it all, with style to spare.”
--The Wall Street Journal

“It’s tough to resist George’s storytelling, once hooked.”
--USA Today

“George is a master...she upholds the English tradition beautifully.”
--Chicago Tribune

“George explores her characters’ dreams and fears with a penetrating grace that makes reading her books a joy.”
--The Washington Post Book World

“A fascinating list of subjects...wrenching stories...George conveys them all with exceptional grace.”
--People



From the Hardcover edition.

Elizabeth George’s first novel, A Great Deliverance, was honored with the Anthony and Agatha Best First Novel Awards and received the Grand Prix de Littérature Policière. Her third novel, Well-Schooled in Murder, was awarded the prestigious German prize for suspense fiction, the MIMI. A Suitable Vengeance, For the Sake of Elena, Missing Joseph, Playing for the Ashes, In the Presence of the Enemy, Deception On His Mind, In Pursuit of the Proper Sinner, and A Traitor to Memory were international bestsellers. Elizabeth George divides her time between Huntington Beach, California, and London. Her novels are currently being dramatized by the BBC and will be aired on PBS.


From the Hardcover edition.

Exposure


When members of the history of british architecture class thought about the Abinger Manor Affair later on, each one of them would say that Sam Cleary had been the likeliest candidate for murder. Now, you might ask yourself why anyone would have wanted to kill a harmless American professor of botany who--on the surface at least--had done nothing more than come to Cambridge University with his wife to take part in a summer session at St. Stephen's College. But that's the crux of the matter, you see, the with his wife part of it. Old Sam--seventy if he was a day and a spiffy dresser with a bent for bow ties and tweeds even in the middle of the hottest summer England had seen in decades--tended to forget that his wedded Frances had come along for the experience as well. And when Sam forgot that Frances was there, his eyes started wandering in order to take a visual sampling of the other ladies. It appeared to be second nature to the fellow.

This visual sampling might have been something that Frances Cleary could have overlooked. Her husband, after all, couldn't be expected to walk around Cambridge with blinders on, and Cambridge in the summer brought out fine ladies like mayflies looking for barbecues. But when he took to spending long evenings in the college pub, entertaining their classmate Polly Simpson with tales of everything from his childhood spent on a farm in Vermont to his years in 'Nam where, according to Sam, he saved his entire platoon single-handedly . . . well, that was too much for Frances. Not only was Polly young enough to be Sam's granddaughter and then some, she was--if you'll pardon the expression--drop-dead gorgeous and blonde and curvy in a way that poor Frances hadn't been even in her glory years.

So when the night before the Day in Question saw Sam Cleary and Polly Simpson in the college pub laughing, talking, teasing each other as usual, giggling like kids--which at twenty-three Polly still was, as a matter of fact--and acting otherwise like individuals with Something Specific on Their Minds till two in the morning, Frances finally had words with her husband. And her husband wasn't the only one to hear them.

Noreen Tucker was the messenger delivering news of this delicate subject over breakfast the next day, having been awakened by the sound of Frances's accelerating displeasure at two twenty-three in the morning and having been kept awake by the sound of Frances's accelerating displeasure till exactly four thirty-seven. That was when a slamming door punctuated Sam's decision to listen no more to his wife's accusations of heartless insensitivity and insidious infidelity.

Under other circumstances, an unwilling eavesdropper might have kept her own counsel regarding this overheard marital contretemps. But Noreen Tucker was a woman who liked the spotlight. And since she had so far achieved precious little recognition in her thirty years as a romance writer, she took her bows where she could.

That's what she was doing on the morning of the Day in Question, as other members of the History of British Architecture class gathered to break bread together in the cavernous dining hall of St. Stephen's College. Dressed in Laura Ashley and a straw boater in the mistaken belief that projecting youthfulness equated to youthfulness, Noreen imparted the salient details of the Clearys' early-morning argument, and she leaned forward with a glance to the right and the left to underscore both the import and the confidential nature of the information she was sharing.

"I couldn't believe my ears," she told her fellow students in breathless summation. "Who looks milder mannered than Frances Cleary, I ask you, who? And to believe she even knew such language existed . . . ? Why, I was just slayed to hear it, truly. I was completely mortified. I didn't know whether I should knock on the wall to quiet her down or go for help. Although I can't imagine the porter would have wanted to get involved, even if I'd gone for him. And anyway, if I'd actually gotten involved in some way, there was always the chance that Ralph here might've been pushed into the middle of it, trying to defend me, you know. And I couldn't put him at risk, could I? Sam might've asked him to step outside, and Ralph here is in no condition to get into a brawl with anyone. Are you, sweetheart?"

Ralph here was more a blob in a safari jacket than an actual person, Noreen's shadow and constant companion. No one in the History of British Architecture class had managed to get more than ten words from the man in the eleven days they'd been in Cambridge, and there were those among the larger group of students taking other classes in St. Stephen's College who swore he was altogether mute.

What went for his condition was hypoglycemia, which was the topic Noreen segued into once she was done dissecting the Cleary marriage and Sam's attraction to the ladies in general and Polly Simpson in particular. Ralph here, she informed her listeners, was an absolute martyr to the ailment. Low blood sugar was the curse of Ralph here's family, she explained, and he had the worst case of any of them. He'd even passed out once at the wheel of their car while on the freeway, don't you know. It was only through Noreen's quick thinking and even quicker acting that utter disaster was avoided.

"I grabbed the wheel so fast, you'd think I'd been trained as a rescue professional of some sort," Noreen revealed. "It's astonishing the level we can rise to when the worst happens, don't you agree?" As was her bent, she waited for no reply. Instead, she turned to her husband and said, "You've got your nuts and chews to take on the outing today, don't you, sweetie my own? We can't have you passing out cold in the middle of Abinger Manor, now can we?"

"Up 'n the room," Ralph said into his bowl of corn flakes.

"Just make sure you don't leave them there," his wife replied. "You know how you are."

"How you are is henpecked," was the description offered by Cleve Houghton as he joined their table. "Ralph needs exercise, not that junk you keep feeding him every time he turns around, Noreen."

"Speaking of junk," was Noreen's rejoinder with a meaningful look at the plate he carried, overloaded with eggs, sausage, grilled tomatoes, and mushrooms. "I wouldn't be so quick to cast stones, Cleve dear. Surely that can't be good for your arteries."

"I did eight miles along the backs this morning," he replied. "All the way to Grantchester with no heavy breathing, so my arteries are fine, thank you. The rest of you should try some running. Hell, it's the best exercise known to man." He tossed back his hair--thick and dark, it was, something a man of fifty could be proud of--and caught sight of Polly Simpson just entering the dining room. He amended his comments with, "The second best exercise," and smiled lazily and with hooded eyes in Polly's direction.

Noreen tittered. "Goodness, Cleve. Rein yourself in. I believe she's spoken for already. Or at least she's spoken about." Noreen used her own comment as introduction to the topic she'd covered before Cleve's appearance on the scene. But she added a few more thoughts this time round, most of them centering on Polly Simpson as a Natural Born Troublemaker and someone certainly fingered by Noreen on Day One to cause some sort of dissension in their midst. After all, when she wasn't sucking up to their instructor--the better to massage her final grade, no doubt--with exclamations over the beauties in every slide the tiresome woman foisted daily upon her students, she was cozying up to one man or another in a way that she probably thought of as friendly but anyone else with a grain of sense would have called outright provocative. "What's she actually up to, I ask you?" Noreen demanded of anyone who was continuing to listen at this point. "There they sit with their heads together night after night, she and Sam Cleary. And doing what? You can't tell me they're discussing flowers. They're laying their plans for afterwards. Together. You mark my words."

Whether the words were marked was something no one commented upon since Polly Simpson was fast upon her classmates, carrying a tray on which she'd placed a virtuously weight-conscious single banana and a cup of coffee. She wore her camera slung round her neck as usual, and when she set down her tray, she strode to the end of the table and focused her shutter on the group at their morning meal. On the afternoon of their first session in the History of British Architecture class, Polly had declared to them that she would be the seminar's official historian, and so far she'd been as good as her word. "Believe me, you'll want this as a souvenir," she announced each time she caught someone in her lens. "I promise. People always like my pictures when they see them."

"Jesus, Polly. Not now," Cleve groused as the girl made adjustments to her lens at the far end of the breakfast table, but he sounded good-natured about his complaint and no one missed the fact that he ran one hand back through his hair to give it just the sort of GQ tousle that promised to make him look thirty again.

"The whole class isn't present, Polly dear," Noreen said. "And surely you want everyone in the picture, don't you?"

Polly looked around, then smiled and said, "Well, here's Em and Howard showing up. We've got most of the crowd."

"But surely not the most important people," Noreen persisted as the other two students joined them. "Don't you want to wait for Sam and Frances?"

"Not everyone needs to be in every picture," Polly said, quite as if Noreen's question hadn't been fraught with enough undercurrents to drown a gorilla.

"All the same . . ." Noreen murmured, and she asked Emily Guy and Howard Breen--two San Franciscans who'...

The recent PBS "Mystery!" program featuring Inspector ThomasLynley created new interest in Elizabeth George's intriguingseries. Many listeners have enjoyed her audiobooks, both abridged andunabridged. This collection of George's stories is a real departure,and although performed in the capable voice of Derek Jacobi, anunsuccessful one. Several of the stories are set in the U.S., andCalifornia, land of the boogie board and macramé, is not Jacobi'shome turf. He's so out of context, that he unfavorably colors thebelievability of characters and narrative. In the title story, "I,Richard," and another that features Detective Lynley, Jacobi isexcellent, but the short story form does not seem to show off George'sstrengths. However, the afterword interview with the author is a plus.R.F.W. © AudioFile 2003, Portland, Maine-- Copyright © AudioFile, Portland, Maine --This text refers to the Audio Cassette edition.