It’s rare that I write book reviews. I don’t read many either, mainly because I think the experience of reading a book is subjective and I don’t necessarily think someone else’s opinion will help me all that much.
But sometimes a book stands out from the crowd as being particularly good – or particularly bad – and spurs me to want to share my thoughts. I’m pleased to say that Anne Zouroudi’s latest offering, The Lady of Sorrows, is the former.
I’ve admitted before that I’m a fairly lazy reader and will more often than not choose an author I know and enjoy over one I may waste several hours on before I realise I just can’t get on with their work. But having won a copy of The Lady of Sorrows at CrimeFest – and having met and liked the author, who struck me as intelligent and good humoured – I couldn’t very well not give it a go. And this time I was rewarded.
Not, initially, by a thrilling plot. If you want Indiana Jones-esque thrills then this isn’t the book for you, and I suspect I can say the same for the rest of Anne’s back catalogue. Instead what I loved from the moment I began reading was her delicious writing style. The book is crafted like a gourmet meal that you want to savour, relishing each bite rather than wolfing it down and racing on to the next one.
Which is not to say there’s no plot at all. Far from it. The forgery of a revered religious icon, the murder of a local man, the near drowning of a child and a terrible family secret make this an intriguing story. But Anne doesn’t rush to tell it. You get the feeling that if along the way she lost one or two readers with short attention spans, she’d shrug and carry on.
I admit I had one or two moments of impatience near the beginning when I thought, “Where’s the body? I’m a busy person, let’s get on with it!” But I couldn’t abandon such beautifully crafted prose, descriptions so vivid that I could practically see the sun sparkling off the Mediterranean, feel sun warmed pebbles beneath my feet, taste the cold white wine and the bitter Greek coffee.
I continued to read, enjoying the words and sentenced and paragraphs for what they were, and soon found that the pace was not slow but gentle, relaxing me as if I were indeed vacationing on a small Greek island. And if there were any lingering doubts, the arrival of Anne’s detective banished them entirely. Hermes Diaktoros is a fantastic character, well described by one reviewer as “part Hercule Poirot, part deus ex machina”.
I found him a very reassuring character, and one I don’t doubt I would get on with very well if he were to wander into my office and invite me to discuss philosophy or the opera over a glass of wine on his boat. That is another of Anne’s skills, creating characters who are rounded and real, who you can actually imagine meeting and who you remember long after you finish the story.
To conclude, I would have to say that Anne is a writer’s writer. She makes me want to pick up a pen, to hone my craft. Her prose is a delight, her characters uncannily lifelike and although the pace tends towards slow, it picks up where it needs to, and leaves you feeling like you’ve been truly pampered.
I’m in no doubt of what I’ll be taking with me on my summer holiday this year.