A vague miasma of misery

Jackson was surprised that more women hadn't simply killed their husbands. Maybe they had, maybe women were better at covering up murder than people knew.

What a joy to spend a recent sunny, snowbound day ensconced in my chair with a coffee and my cat, devouring Death at the Sign of the Rook, by Kate Atkinson. Coincidence abounds ("A coincidence is just an explanation waiting to happen"). From "the maw of oblivion" and through "a vague miasma of misery," there is warmth and kindness, and also snow.

Jackson Brodie continues to age, but then, so do I. Thankfully, he has a chorus (jury) of women in his head to keep him in check.

Set in modern day, Atkinson pays homage to Agatha Christie and the detective novels of that era and ilk (fittingly, I spend the evening watching The Seven Dials, which is charming and light while alluding to larger things than our small lives).

You went to bed one night, in a happy daze because you had waltzed all night with eligible young men, and you woke up the next day and found yourself living on a bleak planet inhabited by alien creatures.

The novel's central mystery involves a stolen work of art. Art is not something Brodie knows a lot about, but he won't turn away from a bit of research if it means catching his crook, or at least uncovering the truth.

Brodie's reading leads him to the story of Jerry and Rita Alter, who stole a de Kooning and hung it on the back of their bedroom door. Admirable, no? Crazy. Through Brodie, I learn about Montreal's own 1972 Skylight Caper.

I love me a good art heist as much as the next person. A couple years ago I read Michael Finkel's The Art Thief: A True Story of Love, Crime, and a Dangerous Obsession; for months afterwards I would "case" every museum and gallery I walked into, checking for cameras, exits, sightlines, security guard routines. (I want to steal the art, get away with it, and have it.) Who steals art, anyway? How do you unload a stolen Rembrandt? Who buys it? (I recall reading Trevanian when I was 16, an assassin gazing upon his treasured canvasses in his private quarters.) I recently watched The Mastermind, a unique art heist film that provides a dismal reality check (and an extraordinary soundtrack). I'm thinking I may be better suited to a career in art forgery.