Mystery Musings

How much do you want to think?  Concentrate?

I read at the end of the day, usually for an hour or two.  Some days, my brain is worn out by then.  But once in a while, I still enjoy stories that challenge me, that make me think.

I recently finished WHEN GODS DIE, by C.S. Harris.  It’s a Regency mystery, and I really enjoyed it.  But the plot was so complicated, I had to concentrate to follow it and the characters involved. It’s not for the faint of heart…or tired of brain.  I have a special fondness for the Regency period, but politics played such a big part of the story, I felt like I needed a notebook to keep track of who sympathized with the Stuarts, who was loyal to the king, even though he was half-mad and his son, the Prince Regent, was a spoiled, self-indulgent leader who got booed in London.  And that was just a start.  BUT, it was all worth it.

The bad guys had no pricks of conscience when they killed.  They were mean and scary.  And in the middle of all the intrigue, Sebastian St. Cyr discovers he’s been deceived about his past.  Almost everyone knew the truth but him.  He was only a boy and didn’t understand what was really going on.

When he’s disillusioned even more, he joined the military and fought the French.  He returned home six years later, his intelligence and survival skills honed.  Many, and I mean MANY people try to kill him in this book.  And they all ended up dead.  The fight scenes were great.  I’m no specialist, but St. Cyr’s tactics felt believable to me.  When he walked into a room and people got out of his way, it made sense.  The man was intense and focused.  And smart.

His relationships were as complex as the plot.  He and his family had their differences.  And secrets.  His romance with Kat, an actress who won’t marry him because she loves him too much, had tender, endearing moments.

I recommend this book and will read the next one, even though I need a break first.  It’s not a fast read.  And there’s a lot of action.  Some nights I went to bed, and the story kept whirling in my head.  St. Cyr came alive for me.  So did London–the good and the bad of it.