'Spiderweb for Two' by Elizabeth Enright

Summary: It's the fourth and final instalment of the Melendy Quartet. Left alone when Rush and Mona go away to boarding school, Randy and Oliver are lonely and bored until a mysterious letter brings the first of many clues to a mystery that takes all winter to solve.

MY THOUGHTS:

For years it seems Then There Were Five was meant to be the last book in the Melendy series. While the first three were all published between 1941 and 1944, this final novel didn't appear until 1954; ten years from the starting point with a seven year gap. That struck me as a red flag at the outset. (When Mary Norton did a similar thing with The Borrowers Avenged, it was a facepalm.) 

Then the story concept fueled my misgivings. While Mona, Rush, and Mark are all away at boarding school, Randy and Oliver are at loose ends with nothing to do but mope around Four-Story Mistake by themselves. One day they receive an anonymous letter that sparks an intriguing scavenger hunt to occupy them all season while the others are away. I hated the idea of the older siblings being written out of most of the action, but being a Melendy book, I read it anyway. 

It isn't half bad. The clever, poetic clues are a challenge for us readers as well as the two kids. The masterminds behind the challenge really intend for them to work hard for it, and it is great when we discover their identities. Not in the least surprising, given the extreme inside knowledge they evidently possess, but very satisfying. 

The whole boarding school thread is a bugbear of mine. What a shame to break up such a close-knit family who all love their home. When Randy and Oliver suggests homeschooling their own kids, I'm right on board with them. Still, having said that, I understand Father Melendy's reasoning in this instance. Given their ages and exceptional talents, it is inevitable that Mona, Rush, and Mark require far more specialized training in their fields than Carthage Public School is able to offer. 

Just the same, I can't help taking off a star for their absence anyway. Don't get me wrong, Randy and Oliver are both delightful. I love her endearing, whimsical nature and his self-contained nerdiness. But I feel we need more of the others to make any plot really shine. It lacks a certain spice without Mona's performative ways, and Rush's mischievous, spot-on sense of humor. Even though we never get to physically hear Rush's excellent piano playing through the pages, this final book is still a bar short of a symphony without him in it more. We need all four siblings as the corners of a whole package, the Melendy Quartet.

As a point of interest, I'm positive Randy is one of those rare, highly creative souls with synesthesia, that condition when one or more of the five senses crosses paths with awesome results. We're not told outright, but when she describes her perception of different days of the week as different colored, her unusual piquancy all through the series all makes sense. (She shares this attribute with The Story Girl, created by Lucy Maud Montgomery.)

Needless to say, my favorite chapters are the ones when they're all reunited, for Christmas and summer breaks from school. 

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Start with The Saturdays, then The Four-Story Mistake, followed by Then There Were Five.

(And for a treat when the Melendys grow up, click here.)

The weirdness of Life (A mid-year update)

Here's a pause in my usual book review content to bring a mid-year update. Although the first half of 2025 seems to have sped past on wings, it has been eventful in a few ways. Above you'll see an AI generated image of a Mother's Day photo with my three kids that looks very true to life. From left to right is Logan, myself, Blake, and Emma. Now for what's been happening.   

My Decision to Quit Masters

Having done very well in my Graduate Diploma, I was quite gung-ho at the start. I expected it to be another cool goal to tick off and add to the inventory of things I've done, that I never expected to. And I was convinced that my idea deserved it. Fan fiction is an unmined treasure trove and my recently finished 92000 word effort had broken a decade-long drought of writing no fiction. The restoration of my mojo made 2024 phenomenal for me. 

But the academic pressure instantly got ahold of me. I have plenty of cool insights about the awesomeness of fanfic zipping around in my head like the flying keys in Harry Potter. Yet I couldn't fool myself that I had a chance of catching hold of them all in the time frame required to create any sort of cohesive exegesis. To make the attempt would be to fall short of my vision and not do them justice. 

Secondly, I sensed that my story wouldn't bear the weight of what I was hoping to load it with. The academic expectations would be far too heavy, like trying to wrap a courtly robe around the shoulders of a lovely paper doll. My addition to the Little Women universe is pure fun. It is popular fiction, padding out tantalizing, 'What ifs'.  I was just daydreaming, getting carried away on the waves of possibilities, filling in gaps left by Louisa May Alcott. To turn it into a major project for a Master of Creative Writing would require the sort of serious thinking I was so happy to shake off during its conception. This isn't literary fiction, folk. Whatever I came up with would've felt like wearing somebody else's coat. 

The upshot was, I froze. Then time became an issue. With all of the above playing on my mind, I made a quick decision to withdraw from the course before the census date to avoid adding the fee to my already hefty student debt. There were three days left, so I went with my heart. I couldn't help feeling like a ding-a-ling, and that I'd let people down and lost face. It was an unfortunate way to begin 2025. I think I've learned something about myself but at quite a cost. (My kids actually called me a duffer to my face.)

The new development the same day

I popped into the Goodwood secondhand bookshop on the heels of making that shamefaced decision, to cheer myself up. I went straight to the adolescent fiction section. Vintage YA novels are pretty reliable pick-me-ups. There I took a chance on The Saturdays, by Elizabeth Enright, which I started reading on the train on the way home. That way I could distract myself from the sadness I'd just generated. 

To my surprise, the characters really took off in my head. I bought the rest of this series on kindle, and discovered a few comments here and there that its fanbase would really love to know what becomes of these siblings when they grow up. Some people even stated outright that this series deserves some quality fan fiction.  

So that's sparked off another of my passion projects. Now, along with my Alcott stuff, I've started writing fanfic about the Melendy quartet, a bunch of young brothers and sisters whose existence I wasn't even aware of when this year commenced! It's going to be pretty low profile, because all these comments were written in blog posts and reviews from many years ago. I doubt they're on many people's radars anymore. But there will be well threshed out stories available for the rare soul who discovers them in future and wonders whatever happened as they move into adulthood.  

I've found this is so much the way life is. One impressive looking door might close (even if you slam it shut yourself) and then a more modest, but very appealing crack might slip open, which you weren't even looking for.  

My volunteer work with Meals on Wheels

Here is another new facet of my life. I've joined this great organization as a volunteer. Twice a week, since January, I've been delivering lunches to folk in the community. I'd estimate that I've knocked on more doors in the last five months than I'd done for the previous ten years. And I'm enjoying it too. Something about hopping into a car laden with three course meals, seeing more of the local district (some behind closed doors), exchanging greetings and smiles with householders, and patting dogs and cats, makes these days good ones. I've been into both palatial seaside homes, and tiny holes in walls. Now that winter is setting in, I can also state that I've delivered in heatwaves and rainstorms.

I'm making the experiment to quit bookstagram, at for the time being, and then reassess my presence on that platform at the end of the year. You can read more about it here. 

Okay, back with my normal agenda next week in July. If you follow along with this blog, I hope you're well and flourishing.     

'Pennies for Hitler' by Jackie French

I'm including this book for the migration category of my 2025 Aussie Book Challenge. What a desperate and reactive migration story it turns out to be. I discovered this one in a local Little Free Book Library, long after I'd set my categories for this year's challenge. I'm loving and appreciating the serendipitous nature in which perfect books tend to gravitate into my hands. 

MY THOUGHTS:

The story begins in 1939 when young Georg's happy, sheltered life is abruptly shattered. Right before his eyes, his poetry-loving, academic father is killed at a graduation ceremony that becomes a frenzied riot. That same night, the ten-year-old is smuggled out of Germany in a suitcase to avoid being murdered for supposedly being the spawn of a Jewish menace, an accusation that takes him entirely by surprise.

Georg takes refuge for a while in London, but when bombs begin raining on the city, his Aunt Miriam sends him on an evacuation ship to Australia, where he's assigned to live with the Peaslake family of Bellagong, whose son, Alan, is fighting in the army. Australia, which Georg first regards as a 'strange, untidy country where every color looks slightly wrong' becomes his refuge and oasis. It contains total strangers who he grows to love with all his heart. 

What a terrific novel, cramming such a lot of introspection into the four or so years it spans. This traumatised kid surely needs counselling, but living in survival mode makes mental health care a luxury. Georg, now known to everyone as George, must be his own counsellor. 

First he deals with some pretty major cognitive dissonance. All the propaganda he'd ever taken on board at school had been the cruelest lie all along. Nothing quite like having to be sneaked across your country's border in carry luggage to destroy your illusions about your country's leader. Georg must adjust to a whole new culture and master a foreign language to save himself, right on the heels of the most traumatic blow of his life. Then in Australia, imposter syndrome is added to the mix. He has no way of knowing how his new caregivers might feel about unwittingly sheltering a German boy beneath their roof, so makes his own quiet conclusions. 

When circumstances take him off guard yet again, and he's about 14 at this stage, he finds out for sure. 

This book's finer details about living in the WW2 era adds great colour and authenticity to the story. (In Georg's London life, treasured paintings and exhibits were evacuated from museums, and an edict was given for household pets to be euthanized, as part of the war effort. In his rural Aussie life when the threat of Japanese invaders loomed, road signs and station names vanished so the enemy couldn't possibly figure out exactly where they were.) I appreciated the depth of research on Jackie French's part. 

Such a great tale, taking the concept of an unsung hero to a whole new level, for Georg's extreme heroism must be a complete secret for his continued survival. Or so he thinks. It passed my 'tears test' with flying colours, and deserves full marks. 

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'After the Funeral' by Agatha Christie

I notice I haven't reviewed an Agatha Christie novel for a little while. Here is a good one to break the drought.  

MY THOUGHTS:

The scene is Enderby, a run-down Victorian manor house. 

Elderly Richard Abernethie has just died. He'd brought up his younger siblings and outlived all but two. In addition, there is now a bachelor nephew, George, and two nieces, Susan and Rosamund, along with their husbands. When the extended family returns after the funeral for afternoon tea, flaky Aunt Cora puts her foot in her mouth. She says, 'He was murdered, wasn't he? I thought from what he said...' 

Cora has a long history of social faux pas, but now she's done it once too often. The following day, she's discovered viciously murdered in bed. The killer struck her skull with a hatchet and tried to make it appear like a simple robbery. 

Although there were no suspicious circumstances surrounding Richard's death, loyal family lawyer, Mr Entwhistle, can't shake off an uneasy feeling. He'd hate to think bad of the family he's served for decades, but before long Cora's live-in companion, Miss Gilchrist, seems marked for murder too. It appears evident that one member of the Abernethie family is a rat, trying to dispose of anybody who might have the slightest inkling of whatever Richard said to his youngest sister. 

It is high time for Entwhistle to call his good friend, Hercule Poirot, out from retirement. If anyone can get to the bottom of the evil menace, surely he can. 

When Poirot investigates the backgrounds of everyone who was present after Richard's funeral, he regards each and every one of them as people who would never commit murder as a general rule, but might make an exception for a special case. (Of course any subsequent incidents are strictly necessary for cover-up.)

He says:

'Let us admit without more ado that the world is full of the young, or even the middle-aged, who wait patiently or impatiently for the death of someone whose decease will give them, if not affluence, then at least opportunity.' 

That applies to everyone. Doesn't it always?

It was a fun read. Several relatives drop humorous one-liners, especially when they're brought together again, ostensibly to select personal keepsakes from Richard's estate. The investigations cleverly paint a composite picture of Cora's character, after she's dead. And some of the other relatives are larger-than-life. George, the closet gambler, Rosamund, the air-headed actress, and Uncle Timothy, the tedious hypochondriac whose wife, Maude, lives to pamper him.

When Poirot gathers them all together in the drawing room to make the big reveal, I still didn't have a clue who to point the finger at, and I prefer it that way. It turns out the crook was willing to go to devious lengths to deflect suspicion. 

* A quick note on my edition's cover: we need to progress pretty far into the story before the significance of the nun becomes apparent. The younger generations' discussion of ladies of the cloth is very amusing once we get there. 

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'Then there were Five' by Elizabeth Enright

This is the third novel in Elizabeth Enright's Melendy Quartet, and I love this original cover design of all five young protagonists, along with the two dogs. Why shouldn't Isaac and John Doe get a look in. If you begin with my reviews of The Saturdays, followed by The Four-Story Mistake, then you'll be up to this one. 

MY THOUGHTS:  

What I find exceptional in this vintage series is Elizabeth Enright's seasonal continuity. This installment takes place in the summer that was highly anticipated during the spring of The Four-Story Mistake. Enright's nature writing, rather than comprising mere background detail, beautifully becomes the backbone of all the unfolding events in the plot. 

The main theme of this third novel is how the Melendys come to adopt a new adolescent brother named Mark, who is almost the same age as Rush. When they first meet him, Mark lives with his abusive cousin Oren, who mistreats him horribly. The manner in which circumstances release Mark from Oren's tyranny is very dramatic, but I won't spoil it.

We are at the point where some reviewers believe the Melendy Quartet departs from its simple charm, since the sordidness of real life breaks in too rudely for them. However, for me the whole point of this third novel is the contrast, and the fact that the Melendy milieu proves strong enough to withstand the dark side of life. By the end, Mark changes from a lonely, starving outcast who craves company to the happy member of a loving family. He's nourished by plenty of wholesome food, literature, music, gardening, and cheeky jokes. In short, all the things that make life good. 

In a world in which we're counselled to slow down and enjoy the small things, that's exactly what the Melendys do. We can't help taking on board their refreshing influence while we immerse ourselves in these stories. (Yep, even though Rush and Mark eavesdrop on some law-breakers at an illicit booze still - horror to some readers! Come on guys, this is a pretty tame story and that incident is great fun.) Those of us who need it even receive encouragement to drop our too-high housekeeping standards.

'Gradually the house regained its normal expression: a look of reasonable order and unprosperous but homely comfort.' 

The WW2 era with its restrictions continues in the background. Father acquires a government job so secret that he can't even allow himself to think about it too loudly. But holding down the home front is his brilliant brood. Mona indulges her new passion for becoming a kitchen goddess, Rush still finds inspiration to compose a stunning sonata even while racing about the district spying on crooks, and Oliver quietly conducts his own private life where butterflies and moths loom large. Observing and appreciating the others with all the energy of her gentle, affectionate heart is the lovely Randy, who can certainly never be accused of taking anything good for granted. 

When Cuffy gets called away for a fortnight to help a convalescing cousin she wonders how they'll ever manage without her. Well may she ask, and the answer to that question comprises a good portion of this book. 

Once again, you must start with The Saturdays, then The Four-Story Mistake, and then you're up to this one, followed by Spiderweb for Two, the very last book in this series.

(And for a treat when the Melendys grow up, click here.)

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟   

'Barnaby Rudge' by Charles Dickens

Summary: Set against the backdrop of the Gordon Riots of 1780, Barnaby Rudge is a story of mystery and suspense which begins with an unsolved double murder and goes on to involve conspiracy, blackmail, abduction and retribution. Through the course of the novel fathers and sons become opposed, apprenctices plot against their masters and anti-Catholic mobs rampage through the streets. And, as London erupts into riot, Barnaby Rudge struggles to escape the curse of his own past. With its dramatic descriptions of public violence and private horror, its strange secrets and ghostly doublings, Barnaby Rudge is a powerful, disturbing blend of historical realism and Gothic melodrama.

MY THOUGHTS: 

Whew, this was a difficult slog indeed. During the story's natural break, just before the action leaps forward five years, I found myself stalled for such a long time. I hadn't enjoyed any of these characters enough to pick up the book again, with the possible exception of Grip the raven. So I had to crank myself started again. It would've been a definite DNF except for my quest to read through all of Dickens major novels, which I'm so close to finishing.  

We have two deplorable fathers. John Willet, the manager of the Maypole Inn, treats his son, Joe, like a menial. And John Chester is a villainous gentleman who aims to destroy his son, Edward's, romance for his own personal gain. There is also Gabriel Varden the locksmith, not a bad dad but an oblivious one who really doesn't notice what's going on beneath his own roof. His odious young apprentice, Simon Tappertit, the ringleader of a secret union of disgruntled apprentices, has the hots for Gabriel's daughter, Dolly. 

The females are no improvement on the males. Dolly Varden is busy playing hard-to-get, sending mixed messages to young Joe Willet. She's one of those aggravating flirts who never realizes what she's lost until her silly games blow up in her face. I do love it that ever since Dickens wrote this novel, Dolly Varden's name has been bestowed on party cakes, dresses, and even marine life such as trout and crabs. So many people who have used the name in these contexts probably don't realize that it comes from this mischievous little coquette and her colorful clothing. 

Dolly's mother is one of Dickens' most annoying characters ever, taking sulks and histrionics to a whole new level. If her husband remarks, 'It's a fine day, my love,' she'll burst into tears and demand his ulterior motive in saying so. That high-maintenance Mrs Varden wasn't remotely comical to me and I wondered how I could bear a whole book with her carrying on all through it.

Dickens aimed to capture his readers' attention with a couple of mysteries at the outset. The first occurred about 22 years before the start of the book, when a gentleman named Reuben Haredale was murdered in his bed while trying to ring his bell for help. The murderer is still at large, and Haredale's orphaned daughter, Emma (the star-crossed lover of young Edward Chester) is straight out of Dickens' usual good-girl mold, who can't do a thing wrong.

The second mystery surrounds Mrs Rudge, the widow of Haredale's steward. Her son, Barnaby, who was born prematurely on that eventful night, is an intellectually handicapped man-boy (boy-man?) whose simple nature makes him the happiest person in the whole novel. He has a pet raven named Grip, who seems more canny than his master in many ways. Barnaby is unaware that his mother is being stalked by an anonymous, despicable desperado who is using Barnaby's wellbeing as some form of blackmail over her. Naturally Mary Rudge knows perfectly well who their antagonist is, but Dickens counts on the reader not guessing until the big reveal.  

So when three inciting rebel leaders, who aim to abolish Catholicism, set foot into this tinder box of reactive characters, everything is all set to blow. We have young men who decide they must head off to be soldiers at all costs, older men who buy into the religious and political fervor, and women who watch it all happen. They all become sucked up into the true historical event which became known as the Gordon Riots. There are a few neat twists, but I didn't like any of the characters (save Grip) enough to care.

Reading over what I've just written, I admit it all somehow sounds like an okay story. But honestly, I'd give this one a miss, unless you're a Dickens completist. As always, his waffling prose and daunting walls of description require awesome, lovable characters to make plowing through them worth our while. So often he's delivered for me, yet this story has nobody I could invest my interest into wholeheartedly. So sadly, Barnaby Rudge, the novel if not the character, gets the thumbs down from me.

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Note: I'm now only one book short of finishing my quest. Bring on the infamous Old Curiosity Shop! 

Why I'm Quitting Bookstagram

Oh boy, I think I've finally done with that platform. When I first started my Bookstagram account on New Year's Day 2017, I had sky high hopes of how great it would be. At first it seemed to live up to every single one of them. All the kindred spirits and fellow bookworms seemed to be hanging out over there. Even when I began getting tired with the time consuming nature of producing posts, the pros for staying on seemed to outweigh the cons for such a long time. About two years ago I wrote this blog post about the Drawbacks and Benefits of Bookstagram. Perhaps at that stage I was trying to convince myself to hang in there. 

But I've been wearing myself out, even though I definitely don't post a fraction as often as many other Bookstagrammers do. Are they way more dedicated than I am, or do they simply have more stamina? 

Recently I came across Deep Work, a book by Cal Newport that includes a valuable metric to determine whether we should stick with any social media platform that gives us a headache. Here is my paraphrase of his advice. Just because the platform under scrutiny has an undeniable benefit or two doesn't mean we should automatically embrace it in the herd-like manner humans so often display. If we take time to consider our presence on the platform dispassionately, we may discover a column of negatives stacked up heavily on the opposite side. Yet this towering edifice tends to remain in the dark because our attention is focused like a laser on the few meager benefits. Suddenly, under the illuminating beam of this new light, the sacrifice of jumping off the platform may be well worth making.

My driving motivations come down to two.

1) My initial reason for setting up my flag there in the first place. Having a broader social media presence means that more potential readers will discover me, which is every writer's dream.  

2) I've made several online friends on that platform who are fun to engage with.

Hmm, I think the problems really do outweigh these benefits, excellent as they are. 

Firstly, perhaps our reach is not as extensive as we think. I know I'm not the only person who has noticed the weird inverse phenomenon that as your number of followers increases, your engagement of likes and comments seems to slough off. Some people have suggested that it's all to do with the Instagram algorithms. I've come across theories that Instagram promotes new accounts until the account holder gets hooked, then pulls back. I don't know about that. What my husband suggests makes more sense. He thinks that if friends from afar keep adding new friends, then older ones must inevitably slip off their radar, like beads off a string. It's nothing personal, just that the passage of time takes its toll and we all tend to have our time in the sun before friends move on. 

The tug-of-war nature is getting me down. We expect the best of two opposite worlds from one single platform, but the clash is unreasonable in anyone's books. We want firm, solid, lasting friendships, sometimes with people from way across the globe. Yet we also long to build up followings of 1000s. 

As for my second point, when I put on my Bookstagram persona, I'm not as good a friend as I want to be anyway. I'm not comfortable with the person I become when I'm scrolling Booksta. Over there, because I feel stretched thin, I'm a shallow skimmer of friends' posts which deserve far deeper reads. Then I find loads of misplaced guilt on my shoulders, because I never aimed to be the sort of friend who skim reads excellent content. But if I want to keep up with everyone's posts that I follow, it's inevitable that I can't give each one the focused attention it deserves. There isn't enough time in the day. In the half hour I put aside, I would have time for only five or six. And when it comes to making Booksta posts of my own, I get a bit grumpy, grudgingly taking time to condense salient points from blog posts I've already written. If our time for focused attention resembles a well, then too often I feel like I'm sucking mud over there. And that makes me anxious. 

I have no plans to stop blogging here. So if you follow these posts, then rest assured. 

I've spent eight years on Bookstagram. It's not been a flash in the pan. I've had to time to think this through. I'll just pop over occasionally to touch base with the updates of others but not to update myself. I'll try doing without, maybe until the end of the year, and then report back again. Or perhaps the very occasional update without any pretence of scheduling. Hopefully I'll even use the time I would have normally spent doing Bookstagram for more deep reading, engaging with others' blogs and leaving comments there. And I'll be able to get more fiction writing and well-reflected blog posts written. 

We'll see.