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Winner of the Nero Wolfe Award It is 1921 and Mary Russell??Sherlock Holmes's brilliant apprentice, now an Oxford graduate with a degree in theology??is on the verge of acquiring a sizable inheritance. Independent at last, with a passion for divinity and detective work, her most baffling mystery may now involve Holmes and the burgeoning of a deeper affection between herself and the retired detective. Russell's attentions turn to the New Temple of God and its leader, Margery Childe, a charismatic suffragette and a mystic, whose draw on the young theology scholar is irresistible. But when four bluestockings from the Temple turn up dead shortly after changing their wills, could sins of a capital nature be afoot? Holmes and Russell investigate, as their partnership takes a surprising turn in A Monstrous Regiment of Women by Laurie R. King… (more)
Greatly enjoyed the characters, found the mystery somewhat wanting, troubled by the ending as in other reviews. I'm sure as hell going to read the next one, but wondering if I'll end up recommending the first as a standalone. ( )
Enjoyed this book as well as the first in the series. I did think the final solution of the mystery was brushed over too lightly, I would have liked more details and explanation. Relationship progress interesting :) ( )
Another tasty tale of Holmes and Russell (or rather Russell and Holmes). This time Mary finds herself drawn into a community of women, and particularly enthralled by its charismatic leader. But her suspicious, detective's nature keeps her wary and aloof, and she ends up uncovering a nefarious plot within the organization, at no small personal cost. There are some harrowing scenes here, but also some excellent academic interludes that reminded me of some of my own pursuits, undertaken when I was Mary Russell's age (though I was nothing like the scholar she is). I'm not sure I'm happy with the turn Mary's relationship with Holmes takes at the end of this story, but I love Mary so I'll keep reading these books, and see how it plays out. ( )
The betrayal I felt at the end of this book regarding this romance angle was IMMENSE. The first book was a good time, well written and with a really refreshing view of Holmes from the perspective of a teen growing into a newly modern woman. Went into this book expecting a fun 1920s mystery romp with a dash of Sherlock thrown in, great, good fun, love it. This book is still well written, researched, and had a supernatural angle which though is a bit hard for Sherlock fans, is tied in kind of as the book references Doyle's occult phase. Then a bit of romance rears its head as the protagonist nurses a crush for her mentor/father figure. For Mary to have a crush on Sherlock, who is about 40 years her elder, fine. We've all had a crush on Sherlock at some point, it's very college-age-person-crushing-on-professor vibes. But to take a character as iconic as Sherlock and marry him off with a child who just turned 21 and who he essentially helped raise since she was in her mid-teens....YUCK GROSS WHYYYYYY. It caught me off guard, as in my mind I had firmly crossed off that possibility. The strength of the book imo was in the building of a family by 2 lonely people with similar traits and interests who are frequently misunderstood, plus adventures. So stupid to throw that away on a kiss that I think most people would find disgusting, and which really undermines the entire relationship. To add to the grossness, he says he's wanted to kiss her since he first saw her, to which she saucily replies, you mean when I was dressed like a boy (winky face) instead of what we were all screaming in our heads, which was, YOU MEAN WHEN SHE WAS 15 YOU PERVERT?!?! (angry face). It ruined the book for me, and brought me here with my rant. ( )
A Monstrous Regiment of Women continues Mary Russell's adventures as a worthy student of the famous detective Sherlock Holmes and as an ever more skilled sleuth in her own right. Looking for respite in London after a stupefying visit from relatives, Mary encounters a friend from Oxford. The young woman introduces Mary to her current enthusiasm, a strange and enigmatic woman named Margery Childe, who leads something called "The New Temple of God." It seems to be a charismatic sect involved in the post-World War I suffrage movement, with a feminist slant on Christianity. Mary is curious about the woman, and intrigued. Is the New Temple a front for something more sinister? When a series of murders claims members of the movement's wealthy young female volunteers and principal contributors, Mary, with Holmes in the background, begins to investigate. Things become more desperate than either of them expected as Mary's search plunges her into the worst danger she has yet faced. ( )
For who can deny that is repugnant to nature that the blind shall be appointed to lead and conduct such as do see, that the weak, the sick and the impotent shall nourish and keep the whole and the strong, and, finally, that the foolish, mad, and frenetic shall govern the discrete and give counsel to such as be sober of mind? And such be all women compared to man in bearing of authority.
--JOHN KNOX (1505-1572)
The First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women (published in 1558 against Mary Tudor; later applied to Mary Stuart. Regiment is used in the sense of régime.)
Dedication
for Zoe το φωζ των ανθρωπων
First words
I sat back in my chair, jabbed the cap onto my pen, threw it into the drawer, and abandoned myself to the flood of satisfaction, relief and anticipation that was let loose by that simple action.
Quotations
In a minute, she jumped up again and began a prowl around the perimeter of the room, and so strong was the image of cat that I should not have been greatly surprised had she leapt up on the sideboard and threaded her way between the bottles.
At that moment, something entered the room, a thing compounded of the memory of our argument atop the hansom, of the intimacy of the hour and the place, of my thin and clinging blouse and his long legs stretched out towards the fire and of my growing sense of womanliness.
My red herring had performed its function, but I knew that this particular old hound would not be misled for long before backtracking to the main scent.
Then I sat and listened as a very different silence lowered itself onto the room. The walls closed in, and the quiet was loud, and I was far from sleep.
I had met Sherlock Holmes at a time when adolescence and the devastating circumstances of my orphaning had left me with an exterior toughness and an interior that was malleable to the personality of anyone willing to listen to me and take me seriously. Had Holmes been a cat burglar or forger, no doubt I should have come into adulthood learning to walk parapets at night or concocting arcane inks.
It had the brutal effect of making me feel a trivialiser, as if I had confidently set out to analyse a minute section of a wall and stepped back from my completed work, only to find myself in the Sistine Chapel.
Monday a ragged-coated philanthropist, Friday too poor for a taxi, and Sunday on the edge of being a multimillionaire (in dollars, perhaps, if the market was strong and the exchange rate very good).
"Very well," I began. "No doubt you've already guessed that I really haven't the foggiest what to do with you two. I'm twenty-one, I've just inherited a packet, and I decided to find out what might be done with it. It's no good pretending I'm used to a formal household; I've never had a ladies' maid, a chauffeur, or a butler, so I'm sure to step on your toes a dozen times a day, answering the telephone, picking up the mail, fixing myself a meal—everything I'm not s'posed to do. I'll drive you potty. If you're willing to put up with me, I'm willing to give it a try. What do you say?" None of that was absolutely true, but it fit the image and laid a basis for my future behavior, which was to do whatever I damn well pleased, and not to be ruled by my servants.
The fog had closed in. Such a mild monosyllable, fog, for London's own particular brand of purgatory, this greasy, burning, indescribably thick yellow miasma that seared the nose and fouled the lungs, rotted clothing and blackened buildings, caused hundreds of deaths by mishaps and brought the proud capital of an empire stumbling literally to its knees.
Opiates leave one with a profound disinclination to do much of anything.
One feels so very satisfied with life, the only improvement is actual slumber.
I straightened my shoulders and stepped into the light, then walked out of my cellar prison and up the bright stairs, feeling like the mermaid granted feet.
For the first time in days I was anchored again to the progress of the sun through the heavens.
I looked back as we went down the drive, and I saw a big, ugly, down-at-its-heels stone country house, like a hundred others. Nothing whatsoever to distinguish it, except the knowledge that I had left the remnants of my youth in one of its deserted cellars.
Last words
And yes, Holmes and I married too, and although it may not have been a union of conventional bliss, it was never dull.
Winner of the Nero Wolfe Award It is 1921 and Mary Russell??Sherlock Holmes's brilliant apprentice, now an Oxford graduate with a degree in theology??is on the verge of acquiring a sizable inheritance. Independent at last, with a passion for divinity and detective work, her most baffling mystery may now involve Holmes and the burgeoning of a deeper affection between herself and the retired detective. Russell's attentions turn to the New Temple of God and its leader, Margery Childe, a charismatic suffragette and a mystic, whose draw on the young theology scholar is irresistible. But when four bluestockings from the Temple turn up dead shortly after changing their wills, could sins of a capital nature be afoot? Holmes and Russell investigate, as their partnership takes a surprising turn in A Monstrous Regiment of Women by Laurie R. King
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