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Author Biography |
Review |
Excerpt
Hardcover
Ballantine Books ISBN: 9780345485823 Whatever the season, a new novel by bestselling author Anne Perry is always a wonderful gift, but her holiday novels are particularly special treats, and A CHRISTMAS BEGINNING is a deeply felt story of passion and redemption. Superintendent Runcorn of Scotland Yard is spending Christmas on the wild and beautiful island of Anglesey off the north coast of Wales. On one of his solitary strolls, the lonely bachelor stumbles upon a lifeless body in the village churchyard. The unfortunate victim is quickly identified as Olivia Costain, the local vicar’s younger sister. In life, Olivia had been a free spirit, full of charm and grace. For Runcorn, she is a haunting reminder of Melisande Ewart, the one woman he’s never been able to forget. Everyone on Anglesey is quick to insist that only a stranger to the island could have committed the heinous crime. But the evidence proves otherwise, and the unpopular work of discovering who among Olivia’s friends and neighbors --- and numerous eligible suitors --- is a ruthless killer falls to Runcorn. A plebian outsider in the drawing rooms of the snobbish local gentry, Runcorn never dreams that the key that will unlock the secrets of Olivia’s life and death may also, miraculously, open the door to a new future for himself. 
Anne Perry is the bestselling author of four earlier holiday novels --- A CHRISTMAS JOURNEY, A CHRISTMAS VISITOR, A CHRISTMAS GUEST, and A CHRISTMAS SECRET --- as well as two acclaimed series set in Victorian England --- the William Monk novels and the Charlotte and Thomas Pitt novels --- and five World War I novels. Anne Perry lives in Scotland. Visit her website at AnnePerry.net.
Click here now to buy this book from Amazon.com. 
Anne Perry is a master of writing historical fiction and historical whodunits. She is the author of two series set in Victorian England and five World War I novels. But she has also written five short novels set at Christmastide, the latest being A CHRISTMAS BEGINNING.
Fans will not be disappointed. A CHRISTMAS BEGINNING stars a supporting character of the William Monk series, Superintendent Runcorn of the London Metropolitan Police. Besides being a first-rate mystery in the “cozy” genre, it is also a riveting psychological portrait of a man alone. Runcorn travels to the Isle of Anglesey off the north coast of Wales. This isolated island, Perry writes, “must be the loneliest place in Britain, all bare hills and bright water, and silent except for the moan of the wind in the grass.” This perfectly describes Runcorn’s life as well: “Runcorn had nowhere else in particular to be for Christmas, no family. He lived alone. He knew many people, but they were colleagues rather than friends.” In Victorian England, where class rules everything, Runcorn knows that he is simply a functionary of the ruling class. He has accepted his lot in life so far. After all, and most tellingly, “he was not a gentleman.” But at the age of 50, Runcorn is beginning to have doubts. So he goes on leave for several weeks and decides to go to Anglesey to “take long walks in the open, think deeply for a change.” But during one of these “empty days” a sort of ghost of Christmas past appears before him when he encounters an upper-class gentleman he had unpleasant dealings with during a homicide case in London. Runcorn immediately remembers the man’s younger sister, Melisande. He wonders if she is also on the island and thinks, “Did she still look the same? Was the curve of her hair as soft? The way she smiled and the sadness in her had continued to haunt him in the year since they’d last met.” Runcorn then sees the young woman in church, and she smiles at him. Perry writes, “He could feel it burn inside him.” But alas, they are of different classes. Melisande was a lady born and bred; a mere policeman had no reason even to speak to her socially. Fate intervenes when, during an early morning walk, Runcorn stumbles across the body of another beautiful young woman, Olivia, the younger unmarried sister of the vicar, in the graveyard. Olivia has been stabbed to death in the stomach. Murders never occur here; that crime is for the grimy underworld of Runcorn’s London. The closed, upper-class society of the island is thrown into a panic. The constable is out of his depth, so Runcorn is asked to help with the initial investigation. Runcorn learns that the dead girl was “difficult.” That means she was a free spirit, a dreamer, unwilling to marry the appropriate suitor of her class. This made her an economic burden on her brother, the vicar, who must provide for her. Before Runcorn gets very far into his inquiries, the Chief Constable of the County, Sir Alan Faraday, arrives on the island to take charge of the investigation. It turns out that Sir Alan is soon to be engaged to Melisande. This news throws Runcorn into an unexpected emotional tailspin. Writes Perry: “He had always been a practical man, the whole notion of dreams was new to him. He had reconciled himself to a solitary life, his friendships and his time were absorbed into his increasingly demanding work. Now he was torn apart by impossible dreams. How could he criticize Olivia for similar longings?” In his mind, Runcorn begins to link the murdered girl to Melisande. Is she in danger? Does Faraday really love her? Will he nurture her dreams and ease her sadness? He is tortured by the thought that as a policeman, “On his salary he could not keep a woman like Melisande for a month, let alone a lifetime. It was not only social class that divided them, or experience and beliefs --- it was money and all it could buy, the comforts that a woman of Melisande’s background accepted without even noticing them.” As he digs deeper into Olivia’s life and death, Runcorn knows that the secrets of sex and scandal he uncovers will make him even more despised by the upper class, who, in their homes, have portraits on the walls of their Cavalier ancestors dating back to the British Civil War. And what if what he unearths inadvertently hurts Melisande? Runcorn must still do his job and seek the truth, but now his life has been altered forever by a woman he barely knows. For the first time he has to follow his own personal truth. Perry writes, “Did it take the face of one woman to stir a man deeply enough to abandon comfort and follow impossible dreams into the cold infinity?” For what is Christmas but the most impossible dream of them all --- the dream of peace on earth and goodwill among men. Christmas is a time of light and hope in a world of infinite darkness and despair. Christmas is redemption. For Superintendent Runcorn, this Christmas will mark his new awakening. A CHRISTMAS BEGINNING is a beautiful little book by a great writer at the top of her game. Nobody writes about the waning days of Victorian England as well as Anne Perry. She chronicles the conflicts caused by class and wealth in the period before the birth of the modern world in the 20th century. In an age of fear and uncertainty and the uber-commercialization of Christmas, A CHRISTMAS BEGINNING reminds us that, in the final analysis, it is still all about love and hope. This is an uplifting story not just for the holiday season but for all seasons. --- Reviewed by Tom Callahan 
So this was the Isle of Anglesey. Runcorn stood on the rugged headland and stared across the narrow water of the Menai Strait towards the mountains of Snowdonia and mainland Wales, and he wondered why on earth he had chosen to come here, alone in December. The air was hard, ice-edged, and laden with the salt of the sea. Runcorn was a Londoner, used to the rattle of hansom cabs on the cobbles, the gas lamps gleaming in the afternoon dusk. Every day he was surrounded by the sing-song voices of costermongers, the cries of news vendors, drivers of every kind of vehicle—broughams to drays—and the air carried the smell of smoke and manure. This isolated island must be the loneliest place in Britain, all bare hills and hard, bright water, and silence except for the moan of the wind in the grass. The black skeleton of the Menai Bridge had a certain grace, but it was a cold elegance, not the low, familiar arches across the Thames. The few lights flickering on in the town of Beaumaris behind him indicated nothing like the vast city he was used to, teeming with the passions, the sorrow, and the dreams of millions. Of course the reason he was here was simple. Runcorn had nowhere else in particular to be for Christmas, no family. He lived alone. He knew many people, but they were colleagues rather than friends. He had earned his promotions until he was now, at fifty, a senior superintendent in the Metropolitan Police, separated by office from those he had once worked beside. But he was not a gentleman, like those of his own rank. He had not the polish, the confidence, the ease of speech and grace of movement that comes with not having to care what people thought of you. He smiled to himself as the wind stung his face. Monk, his colleague many years ago, one of his few friends, had not been born a gentleman either, but somehow he had always managed to seem like one. That used to hurt, but it did not anymore. He knew that Monk was human too, and vulnerable. He could make mistakes. And perhaps Runcorn himself was wiser. The last case in which they had worked together had been difficult and in the end ugly. Now Runcorn was tired of the city and he was due several weeks of leave. Why not take it somewhere as different as possible? He would refresh his mind away from the familiar and predictable, take long walks in the open, think deeply for a change. The sun was sinking in the southwest, shedding brilliant, burning light over the water. The land was dark as the color faded and the headlands jutted purple and black out of the sea. Only the uplands, ribbed pale like crumpled velvet, still caught the last rays of light. How long was winter twilight here? Would he soon find himself lost, unable to see the way back to his lodgings? It was bitterly cold already. His feet were numb from standing. Turning, he started to walk towards the east and the darkening sky. What was there to think about? He was good at his job, patient, possibly a little pedestrian. He never had flashes of brilliant intuition, but he got where he needed to. He had succeeded far more than any of the other young men who had started when he had. In fact, his own success had surprised him. But was he happy? That was a stupid question, as if happiness were something you could own and have for always. He was happy at times, as for example when a case was closed and he knew he had done it well, found a difficult truth and left no doubts to haunt him afterwards, no savage and half-answered questions. He was happy when he sat down by the fire at the end of a long day, took the weight off his feet, and ate something really good, like a thick-crusted ham-and-egg pie, or hot sausages with mashed potatoes. He liked good music, even classical music sometimes, although he would not admit it, in case people thought he was putting on airs. And he liked dogs. A good dog always made him smile. Was that enough? He could only just see the road at his feet now. He thought about the huge bridge behind him, spanning the whole surge and power of the sea. What about the man who built that? Had he been happy? He had certainly created something to marvel at, and changed the lives of people far into the future. Runcorn had untangled a few problems, but had he ever built anything, or did he always use other people’s bridges? Where did he go, anyway? No more than home to bed. Tonight it was to be an unfamiliar lodging house. It was comfortable. He would sleep well, he usually did. Certainly it was warm enough, and Mrs. Owen was an agreeable woman, generous in nature. The next morning was sharp and cold, but a pale sun struggled over the horizon, milky soft through a fine veil of cloud, which Mrs. Owen assured him would burn off soon. The frost was only a dusting of white here and there, enough to make the hollows stand out on the long, uneven lawn stretching down to the big yew tree. Runcorn ate a hearty breakfast, talked with Mrs. Owen for a little while because it was only civil to appear interested as she told him about some of the local places and customs. Afterwards he set out to walk again. This time he headed uphill, climbing steadily until nearly midday when he turned and gazed out at a cloudless sky, and a sea shimmering unbroken into the distance. He stood there for some time, lost in the enormity of it, then gradually descended. He was on the outskirts of Beaumaris again when he turned a corner in the road and came face-to-face with a tall, slender man of unusual elegance, even in his heavy, winter coat and hat. He was in his mid-thirties, handsome, clean-shaven. They both stopped, staring at each other. The man blinked, uncertain except recognizing Runcorn’s face as familiar. Excerpted from A Christmas Beginning by Anne Perry Copyright © 2007 by Anne Perry. Excerpted by permission of Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Click here now to buy this book from Amazon.com. |
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