The Coroner's Lunch by Colin Cotterill

The year is 1976, the place Laos and Dr Siri Paiboun is the only coroner in the country. He was looking forward to an easy retirement in Vientianne, after "reassembling broken soldiers and avoiding bombs" in the jungles of Laos and Vietnam for 35 years but the Lao People's Revolutionary Party have other ideas.

"We've decided to make you the Republic's chief police coroner" He looked into Siri's green eyes for a hint of pride, but only saw bewilderment. He might as well have told him he was to be the Republic's new balloon bender or unicyclist"
"I've never done an autopsy in my life"
"Ah. Its all the same. Putting them together; taking them apart"

He inherits a team of two, Nurse Dtui and mortuary assistant Mr Geung and settles into a routine, until Comrade Kham's wife dies unexpectedly. Cause of death is elusive, have her tablets been spiked with poison? Khan wants her cremated as soon as possible, and the body is taken out of the morgue. Dr Siri goes in search of answers and finds he is enjoying the investigation and the "cloak and daggery" of it all. But this is just the start, tortured Vietnamese bodies bob up to the surface in a lake, mysterious deaths occur in the provinces.

"Whats happening to this job? For nine months we plod along nicely: a couple of old ladies, the odd electric shock and a bicycle fatality. No murders, mysteries, or mayhem. Then, all of a sudden, the body business explodes like an atomic bomb."

Someone does not want any of these mysteries to be solved, reports disappear, investigations are hampered. But Siri Paiboun has another resource, he sees the dead in his dreams which encourages him to "show respect to cadavers, once he knew the former owners would be back", and maybe they will give hims some clues to find answers, but his main resource will be his scientific mind and resourcefulness.

The historical setting as the communist government overthrows the royal family and takes charge, the shortages of every type of equipment, the power struggles and beginnings of corruption, together with the uneasy relationships with Vietnam and the politics make this interesting but unfamiliar territory for a crime novel.

The book has a real sense of place and community in urban Vientianne and to a lesser extent the border territory of Kumsing, where Dr Siri will find more than he bargained for.

There is an interesting cast of characters and as this book is the first in a series I would hope that this element would be developed further. Dr Siri is a charismatic figure and we learn more about him throughout the book.

An entertaining book with dry wit which could be described as a cozy crime, apart from the body dissections, prophetic dreams and a hint of shamanism. I am certainly going to search out the next in the series 'Thirty-Three Teeth'.

Verdict: Rattling Yarn

Colin Cotterill lives in Thailand and his website contains both his writing and cartooning skills. Another interesting project he is involved with is the blog of the International Crime Authors , a collection of writers whose detectives ply their skills in Turkey, Thailand, Palestine and of course Laos.

ABC Wednesday - Quay

Oh does that look like a Q? Of course it does, especially if you are looking at it with ABC Wednesday eyes. And what luck it is also on a Quay. Tie your boat here after sailing on Coniston Water in the Lake District.

Bigger boats require
something more sturdier. The ferry tying up on the St Malo quay after a rather choppy, possible queasy, crossing of the English Channel, or La Manche (the sleeve) if you are looking at it from the French side.
Then there are the calmer waters (on this particular day), of Bantry Bay in the beautiful south east of Ireland. These fishing vessels are tied up on the Bantry quay. The area is famous for its blue mussels, filter feeders, living in intertidal areas and filtering 10-15 gallons of seawater a day. They in turn are eaten by the tourists dining in the Bantry restaurants, but I chose a cheese and onion flan for preference.
Possibly less sustainable fishing here. Fishing trawlers from many countries, as far as the eye can see, docked on the Ijmulden quay in the Netherlands.

Honfleur, Normandy, France

From working vessels to people enjoying their leisure. This is a scanned photo; I was trying to work out when I had taken it, (having found in an envelope of unrelated pictures) by looking at the clothes. Not too many clues apart from tight shorts. I've narrowed it down to the 20th century.

Zebu, Albert Dock, Liverpool

The last quay so board the quarterdeck, raise our glasses and Splice the mainbrace

Quick for Quality Qs go to the ABC Wednesday meme hosted by Mrs Nesbitt.

Black Combe Walk

After a week of rain Sunday arrived with clear blue skies. We toddled out to take a walk to the top of Black Combe. The bracken is now all golden brown
and Moorgill Beck bubbled and gurgled in the lower reaches. A couple of raptors glided in the sky while nervous stonechats called 'tscak tscak'.
There were lots of wax-caps at our feet. I think these yellow ones are the Golden Wax-cap
and this is the Slimy Wax-cap. These particular fungi are an indicator of ancient grasslands and like moss and short grass. The sheep have been on these uplands for many centuries keeping the grass nice and short.
The trig point on the top had been newly painted a brilliant white. The Remembrance Day crosses had been placed at the bottom and a couple of poppies on the top in memory of those who no longer walk the Lakeland hills.

The breeze on the top was chilly but the sea below was still and the views were clear. The mountain ranges to the north, the Isle of Man and the Calf of Man to the west and Blackpool tower to the south. Looking towards the tower with binoculars The Man Who Knows said he could see the Big Dipper as well. Perhaps he could.

Path down from Black Combe foreground; In the sea - Barrow and end of Walney Island, top, with Hodbarrow Lagoon, lower left.

Returning on the lane down towards Whicham church here on this November day was a Foxglove. The hedge and all around was bare but this was budding and flowering. The Autumn days have been warm, almost spring like, so perhaps this mysterious flower had been enticed into life by the temperature.
Further along the lane the hedge's tops had been cut but a few branches were budding and also appearing, new leaves.

So perhaps the end of Thomas Hood's poem 'No' is not quite true for this month.

"...No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds
November"

ABC Wednesday - P

Portsmouth is our starting point and where this ship is heading for port. In the distance is the 170 metre Spinnaker which was constructed in 2005 and has three viewing platforms, including one with a glass floor. Its location is the Gunwharf Quays, the name of which is a clue to the fact that this has been a important naval base for centuries.

Here is the Ark Royal aircraft carrier in the early evening and here is the

ships crest. It is the fifth ship to have this name. The first was part of the fleet that was sent out to fight the Spanish Armada in 1588 as it headed for English shores. The weather in 1588 was stormy, as it has been here this week, there has been a great deal of precipitation over the weekend and some flooding (an Arc might have been useful). The lawn became a lake but by Monday morning it
had reduced to a puddle. The birds will not be short of water.
The definition of a puddle is small enough to step over or shallow enough to walk through,
but unless you are under ten, the walk through option is usually comes after squeeze round or jump on rocks.
The poor old pampas grass has taken a few beating so far this month, and has been very bedraggled. This piece stuck to my car rear window
but a good breeze dried it out. Every year it throws its fonds up in late summer
fresh, white and straight. Every year the wind and rain pummels it in the winter until only the small and strong survive. It produces a million seeds in a lifetime, probably trying to find its way back to South America.

Pop over to ABC Wednesday to peruse more possibilities of the letter P

Sloe Walk

Had a lovely walk in the Rusland Valley yesterday with the additional treat of coming across this blackthorn bush which was laded with sloes. It looks a very old bush as it is covered with moss and abundant grey lichen, which I think is the shrubby Ramalina farinacea. The lichen indicates good air quality round here and as it is near a place called Windy Hall this certainly indicates a lot of fresh air. I don't think last year was a good year for sloes as the ones we can across were poor specimens. This year they are plump. Plastic bag out and we gathered about a pound, which left loads left on the tree for anyone else with a desire to make Sloe Gin.

The temperature this week can only be described a balmy, a wonderfully warm autumn. (This time last year it had snowed). The air was still and the breeze crackled the dry leaves on the trees as we walk through the woods. The birds sang and the sparse late flowers felt as though they were wishing us goodbye for the year.
A profusion of Scarlet Hood (Hygrophorus coccineus) greeted us as we walked through the fields towards the end of the walk. These fungi like to grow in grass and the cap fades to yellow as it ages. You can just see the yellow edges on these ones.
What of the sloes we picked. Today I bought a bottle of gin, pricked the juicy sloes, put them in the gin and added the sugar. Now I turn the bottle every day and wait. I knew someone who used to put the bottle under her bed and the last thing she did before she went to bed was turn it. One way of remembering to keep turning the bottle.

ABC Wednesday - O is for Overcast

The first photograph is the sunniest its going to get on today's post. Imagine how overexcited I was when I seeing the compass points laid out in a garden. If only I had remembered last week for the N, guess I will wait until the next round for that. O is for west, or, as it is from my French holiday, ouest.

I live on the west coast of England where the Atlantic sometimes likes to bring us rain laden clouds which makes it rather overcast at times.

A beach is not just for summer it is for life. One of my favourite local beaches is Silecroft, here it is on a March day. It is quite a length and a mixture of shingle, rock and sand so you can enjoy a good walk whatever the weather. The people in the distance are doing just that. If beachcombing is your thing then sometimes there are sometimes interesting, and occasionally useful, finds after a stormy period of weather.
Some of the larger stones as the tide retreats, this is the stonier end. I have a picture of the sand dunes but the day was far too sunny. Now that's not something I have said before.

Another overcast day but this is on the south east coast of England in Kent. The yachts don't look they are in any danger of being taken out, protected against the weather with their little coats. The shingle is a lovely colour. This is Whitstable which is famous for
its oysters and oyster restaurants, the remains of their shells are everywhere. The ultimate beach recycling. I'll end with a poem, by the late Gavin Ewart, which may resonate more with those living or having holidayed, in countries and regions with unpredictable summers.

"Celestial Double Haiku of the Rising Sun" by Gavin Ewart

What makes our summer
so bloody annoying (air
travellers know well)

is that up above
those blasted clouds the sun is
shining hot as hell!










Jump Over to ABC Wednesday for more meanings of the Letter O

Strangers by Taichi Yamada

Hideo Harada is recently divorced, never sees his son, and his TV script writing partner is avoiding him. He is retreating from the world and living in a building that although located in a busy part of Tokyo, is almost deserted, apart from the other inhabitant, a mysterious young woman.

Buying his own birthday present on his 48^th birthday (after his writing partner breaks the news that he wants to marry Harada’s ex wife) he convinces himself he has a new independence, and with little else to do decides to travel on the Ginza subway to visit Asukusa, the part of Tokyo where he grew up. His last childhood memory of the area was the blood stained pavement where his parents were killed in a hit and run accident.

Visiting the area temple and then wandering down various streets eventually leads to visiting the Variety Hall where he meets a man, who looks exactly like his father, and is invited back to this familiar faced strangers home where there is a woman waiting who resembles his dead mother.

We are not sure at the beginning of the novel if Harada’s parents’ appearance is just wish fulfilment, ghosts or he is having a mental breakdown. The couple look the same, are at the same age as at their deaths but live with modern possessions. Harada finds emotions to be troublesome so always tries to separate himself from them. Losing his parents at the age of 12 and then his grandfather not long after has given him certain emotional scars.

The first chapters of the book are very slow but as Harada returns to visit his parents the story gathers pace; his emotions vary between terror and yearning when taking the train to Asukusa to visit the couple. He forms an attachment with Kei, the young woman in his apartment building, but she has her own secret.

I would classify this book as a novella and rather like a MR James short ghost story when everyday events, only seem slightly strange at first, gain momentum and turn into something more chilling. Can the dead harm the living? Maybe like the eel meals that are consumed ,the truth is more slippery than that. Enjoyable as a quick read.

(Participating in Dolce Bellezza's Japanese Literature Challenge 3)