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The Comforts of a Muddy Saturday (Isabel Dalhousie Series #5)
     

The Comforts of a Muddy Saturday (Isabel Dalhousie Series #5)

3.5 30
by Alexander McCall Smith
 

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ISABEL DALHOUSIE - Book 5

Nothing captures the charm of Edinburgh like the bestselling Isabel Dalhousie series of novels featuring the insatiably curious philosopher and woman detective.  Whether investigating a case or a problem of philosophy, the indefatigable Isabel Dalhousie, one of fiction’s most richly developed amateur detectives

Overview

ISABEL DALHOUSIE - Book 5

Nothing captures the charm of Edinburgh like the bestselling Isabel Dalhousie series of novels featuring the insatiably curious philosopher and woman detective.  Whether investigating a case or a problem of philosophy, the indefatigable Isabel Dalhousie, one of fiction’s most richly developed amateur detectives, is always ready to pursue the answers to all of life’s questions, large and small.

In the delectable fifth installment of the bestselling adventures of Isabel Dalhousie, our cherished inquisitive heroine returns to investigate a medical mystery.

A doctor's career has been ruined by allegations of medical fraud and Isabel cannot ignore what may be a miscarriage of justice. Besides, Isabel's insatiable interest is piqued and she finds herself asking questions. Would a respected doctor make such a grave mistake? If not, what explains the death of the patient? Clearly, an investigation is in order.

Meanwhile, there is her baby Charlie, who needs looking after; her niece Cat who needs someone to mind her deli; and a mysterious composer who has latched on to Jamie, making Isabel decidedly uncomfortable. Whatever the problem, whatever the case, we know we can count on Isabel's instincts to help her find the right solution.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
“[Isabel Dalhousie's] adventures are both delightfully entertaining and provocative.”—The Seattle Times "Offers tantalizing glimpses of Edinburgh's complex character and a nice, long look into the beautiful mind of a thinking woman."—The New York Times Book Review“Virtue and truth triumph. . . . If you enjoy discussing the big truths and thinking about thinking, you will enjoy The Comforts of a Muddy Saturday.”—The Providence Journal “One of the most irresistible sleuths in modern fiction.”—Tucson Citizen“Delightful.... McCall Smith's talent for dialog is matched only by his gift for characterization.”—Chicago Tribune“Utterly charming.... Alexander McCall Smith often celebrates the best of humanity—its compassion, its intuition, its empathy.”—The Capital Times (Madison, Wisconsin)“The exquisite writing and the kind charm of the characters are an oasis from 21st century life.”—The Birmingham Post“Enchanting.... Delicious mental comfort food.... The 'intimate' city of Edinburgh is an appealing character in its own right.”—Los Angeles Times“A witty, ruminative and wise examination of the things that comfort and sustain us.”—The Times-Picayune
At the Edinburgh dinner party, guests strain to listen as the conversation turns to the recent forced resignation of a prominent medical research director. Isabel Dalhousie becomes interested when she overhears a friend of the professor insist that his former colleague could not be involved with the pharmaceutical scandal that had led to his dismissal. Unable to ignore this sticky business, our intrepid philosopher-sleuth begins to investigate. Meanwhile, all is not quiet on the home front: Jamie's friendship with a winsome American composer is beginning to worry Isabel, and as the esteemed editor of The Review of Applied Ethics, she must confront a major ethical dilemma of her own. An exceptionally eventful episode of another unconventional series by the author of the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency.
Publishers Weekly

In narrating the fifth installment of this series, Davina Porter has so become the voice of the charmingly ethical Isabel Dalhousie that it is hard to imagine anyone else ever taking her place. The new novel gives Porter an opportunity to fill out Isabel's character; despite her best intentions, Isabel's voice occasionally rises with indignation or jealousy that is at odds with her belief system. A slightly venomous tone seeps into Isabel's voice as she contemplates an opportunity to humiliate her nemesis, Professor Dove. Toward the end of the novel, Porter performs a small tour de force in a ricocheting argument between Isabel and her niece. The two ping-pong their views without the slightest hesitation or slip on Porter's part. Porter's skillful performance will make listeners eager for the next installment. A Pantheon hardcover (Reviews, July 28). (Sept.)

Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
Kirkus Reviews
Even more than her first four adventures, Isabel Dalhousie's fifth is a record of complications that constantly challenge her ethical faculties while charmingly failing to disturb her tranquility. What happens when Professor Christopher Dove, who schemed unsuccessfully in The Careful Use of Compliments (2007) to replace Isabel as editor of the Review of Applied Ethics, sends her an article on the venerable Trolley Problem? After due thought, Isabel sends it out to two readers, just as she would a contribution by anyone else. What happens when her niece Cat takes a holiday in Sri Lanka with her current lover? Isabel manages Cat's delicatessen in her absence, of course. When Cat's assistant Eddie, a damaged boy, asks Isabel for money, she agrees to give it, come what may in the way of second thoughts. And when she suspects that American composer Nick Smart is interested in more than musical collaboration with Jamie, Cat's ex-lover and the father of Isabel's son Charlie, she cycles through one emotional reaction after another before the unsurprising resolution. In the thread most closely approximating an orthodox mystery, Stella Moncrieff pleads with Isabel to exonerate her husband, a physician in disgrace for allegedly altering information on the clinical trials of a new anti-MRSA drug and causing a man's death. Isabel is so perturbed that she wonders at one point if she's actually being threatened. Yet all ends quietly. Another insubstantial yet deeply rooted paean to Isabel's status as an "intermeddler" whose reasoning begins where other literary sleuths' ends.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780307387073
Publisher:
Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Publication date:
07/28/2009
Series:
Isabel Dalhousie Series , #5
Edition description:
Reprint
Pages:
272
Sales rank:
273,369
Product dimensions:
5.20(w) x 7.96(h) x 0.82(d)

Read an Excerpt

What made Isabel Dalhousie think about chance? It was one of those curious coincidences—an inconsequential one—as when we turn the corner and find ourselves face-to-face with the person we’ve just been thinking about. Or when we answer the telephone and hear at the other end the voice of the friend we had been about to call. These things make us believe either in telepathy—for which there is as little hard evidence as there is, alas, for the existence of Santa Claus—or in pure chance, which we flatter ourselves into thinking plays a small role in our lives. Yet chance, Isabel thought, determines much of what happens to us, from the original birth lottery onwards. We like to think that we plan what happens to us, but it is chance, surely, that lies behind so many of the great events of our lives—the meeting with the person with whom we are destined to spend the rest of our days, the receiving of a piece of advice which influences our choice of career, the spotting of a particular house for sale; all of these may be down to pure chance, and yet they govern how our lives work out and how happy—or unhappy—we are going to be.

It happened when she was walking with Jamie across the Meadows, the large, tree-lined park that divides South Edinburgh from the Old Town. Jamie was her . . . What was he? Her lover—her younger lover—her boyfriend; the father of her child. She was reluctant to use the word partner because it has associations of impermanence and business arrangements. Jamie was most definitely not a business arrangement; he was her north, her south, to quote Auden, whom she had recently decided she would quote less frequently. But even in the making of that resolution, she had found a line from Auden that seemed to express it all, and had given up on that ambition. And why, she asked herself, should one not quote those who saw the world more clearly than one did oneself?

Her north, her south; well, now they were walking north, on one of those prolonged Scottish summer evenings when it never really gets dark, and when one might forget just how far from south one really is. The fine weather had brought people out onto the grass; a group of young men, bare-chested in the unaccustomed warmth, were playing a game of football, discarded tee-shirts serving as the goal markers; a man was throwing a stick for a tireless border collie to fetch; a young couple lay stretched out, the girl’s head resting on the stomach of a bearded youth who was looking away, at something in the sky that only he could see. The air was heavy, and although it would soon be eight o’clock, there was still a good deal of sunlight about—soft, slanting sunlight, with the quality that goes with light that has been about for the whole day and is now comfortable, used.

The coincidence was that Jamie should suddenly broach the subject of what it must be like to feel thoroughly ashamed of oneself. Later on she asked herself why he had suddenly decided to talk about that. Had he seen something on the Meadows to trigger such a line of thought? Strange things were no doubt done in parks by shameless people, but hardly in the early evening, in full view of passersby, on an evening such as this. Had he seen some shameless piece of exhibitionism? She had read recently of a Catholic priest who went jogging in the nude, and explained that he did so on the grounds that he sweated profusely when he took exercise. Indeed, for such a person it might be more convenient not to be clad, but this was not Sparta, where athletes disported naked in the palaestra; this was Scotland, where it was simply too cold to do as in Sparta, no matter how classically minded one might be.

Whatever it was that prompted Jamie, he suddenly remarked: “What would it be like not to be able to go out in case people recognised you? What if you had done something so . . . so appalling that you couldn’t face people?”

Isabel glanced at him. “You haven’t, have you?”

He smiled. “Not yet.”

She looked up at the skyline, at the conical towers of the old Infirmary, at the crouching lion of Arthur’s Seat in the distance, beyond a line of trees. “Some who have done dreadful things don’t feel it at all,” she said. “They have no sense of shame. And maybe that’s why they did it in the first place. They don’t care what others think of them.”

Jamie thought about this for a moment. “But there are plenty of others, aren’t there? People who have done something out of character. People who have a conscience and who yet suddenly have given in to passing temptation. Some dark urge. They must feel ashamed of themselves, don’t you think?”

Isabel agreed. “Yes, they must. And I feel so sorry for them.” It had always struck her as wrong that we should judge ourselves—or, more usually, others—by single acts, as if a single snapshot said anything about what a person had been like over the whole course of his life. It could say something, of course, but only if it was typical of how that person behaved; otherwise, no, all it said was that at that moment, in those particular circumstances, temptation won a local victory.

They walked on in silence. Then Isabel said, “And what about being made to feel ashamed of what you are? About being who you are.”

“But do people feel that?”

Isabel thought that they did. “Plenty of people feel ashamed of being poor,” she said. “They shouldn’t, but many do. Then some feel ashamed of being a different colour from those around them. Again, they shouldn’t. And others feel ashamed of not being beautiful, of having the wrong sort of chin. Of having the wrong number of chins. All of these things.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“Of course it is.” Jamie, she realised, could say that; the blessed do not care from what angle they are regarded, as Auden . . . She stopped herself, and thought instead of moral progress, of how much worse it had been only a few decades ago. Things had changed for the better: now people asserted their identities with pride; they would not be cowed into shame. Yet so many lives had been wasted, had been ruined, because of unnecessary shame.

She remembered a friend’s mother who had discovered, at the age of twelve, that she was illegitimate, that the father who had been said to have been killed in an accident was simply not there, a passing, regretted dalliance that had resulted in her birth. Today that meant very little, when vast cohorts of children sprang forth from maternity hospitals without fathers who had signed up to anything, but for that woman, Isabel had been told, the rest of her life, from twelve onwards, was to be spent in shame. And with that shame there came the fear that others would find out about her illegitimacy, would stumble upon her secret. Stolen lives, Isabel thought, lives from which the joy had been extracted; and yet we could not banish shame altogether—she herself had written that in one of her editorials in the Review of Applied Ethics, in a special issue on the emotions. Without shame, guilt became a toothless thing, a prosecutor with no penalties up his sleeve.

They were on their way to a dinner party, and had decided to walk rather than call a taxi, since the evening was so inviting. Their host lived in Ramsay Garden, a cluster of flats clinging to the edge of the Castle Rock like an impossible set constructed by some operatic visionary and then left for real people to move into. From the shared courtyard below, several cream-harled buildings, with tagged-on staircases and balconies, grew higgledy-piggledy skywards, their scale and style an odd mixture of Arts and Crafts and Scottish baronial. It was an expensive place to live, much sought-after for the views which the flats commanded over Princes Street and the Georgian New Town beyond.

She had told Jamie who their hosts were, but he had forgotten, and he asked her again as they climbed the winding stairway to the topmost flat. She found herself thinking: Like all men, he does not listen. Men switch off and let you talk, but all the time something else is going on in their minds.

“Fleurs-de-lis,” said Isabel, running her hand along the raised plaster motifs on the wall of the stairway. “Who are they? People I don’t know very well. And I think that I owe them, anyway. I was here for dinner three years ago, if I remember correctly. And I never invited them back. I meant to, but didn’t. You know how it is.”

She smiled at herself for using the excuse You know how it is. It was such a convenient, all-purpose excuse that one could tag it on to just about anything. And what did it say? That one was human, and that one should be forgiven on those grounds? Or that the sheer weight of circumstances sometimes made it difficult to live up to what one expected of oneself? It was such a flexible excuse, and one might use it for the trivial or the not so trivial. Napoleon, for instance, might say, Yes, I did invade Russia; I’m so sorry, but you know how it is.

Jamie ended her reverie. “They’ve forgiven you,” he said. “Or they weren’t counting.”

“Do you have to invite people back?” Isabel asked. “Is it wrong to accept an invitation if you know that you won’t reciprocate?”

Jamie ran his finger across the fleurs-de-lis. “But you haven’t told me who they are.”

“I was at school with her,” said Isabel. “She was very quiet. People laughed at her a bit—you know how children are. She had an unfortunate nickname.”

“Which was?”

Isabel shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jamie, I shouldn’t tell you.” That was how nicknames were perpetuated; how her friend, Sloppy Duncan, was still Sloppy Duncan thirty years after the name was first minted.

Meet the Author

Alexander McCall Smith is the author of the huge international phenomenon The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series, the Isabel Dalhousie series, the Portuguese Irregular Verbs series, and the 44 Scotland Street series. He is professor emeritus of medical law at the University of Edinburgh in Scotland, and has served on many national and international bodies concerned with bioethics. He was born in what is now known as Zimbabwe and taught law at the University of Botswana. He lives in Scotland.

Brief Biography

Hometown:
Edinburgh, Scotland
Date of Birth:
August 24, 1948
Place of Birth:
Zimbabwe
Website:
http://www.randomhouse.com/features/mccallsmith/index.html

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The Comforts of a Muddy Saturday (Isabel Dalhousie Series #5) 3.5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 28 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Having read and loved all of Alexander McCall Smith's No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency novels, I was fully prepared to be equally enthralled by the Isabel Dalhousie series. This book was the first of Smith's books I had read other than the aforesaid novels, and I was so disappointed. I found this book - well, boring, and as dull as any gloomy Edinburgh day can be. The good news is that I have been relieved of the need to read the rest of the series.
AuntyPatty More than 1 year ago
The main character (Ms. Isabel Dalhousie) in this series is a level headed woman who is ruled by her heart too, which is a attractive mix. She is not perfect, she gets angry with peers who try to take advantage of her professionally and has secret thoughts of revenge; she works but is family established rich but still mindful of the economics of others and has not forgotten about them. She has made past bad mistake with men and has been divorced, but not turned bitter. She cares enough about people to get involved in their problems when asked and is smart enough to figure things out. She still has a whimsical imagination when it comes to Mr. Fox in her garden. Oh, yeah and she is mature and in love with her younger lover and has his child....so she is "au current" too. Living a live with parts we women wish we could have pieces of at times, and probably do, if we open our hearts. I enjoy this series so much I look forward to each book that comes out. The philosophy too has stirred up in me my past interests too. And the characters have morals and manners of how to treat others, which is most refreshing. Please let Ms. Dalhousie live forever! Thank you for this series, Mr. McCall-Smith.
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I'm growing weary of Isabel's continuous worrying about whether or not she will be able to "keep" Jamie because he is younger than she is. On the one hand,Isabel is portrayed as independent, intelligent, a business owner, etc., yet she is deeply insecure about losing her younger lover? Give me a break. I'm also tired of Smith's consistent representation of men as unfaithful husbands. Where does he get this? As a wife, mother of sons, father's daughter and brothers' sister, I find this offensive. I have read several of Smith's Isabel books because I love the setting. I just do not think I can tolerate Smith's sexist writing any longer.
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X_in_SF More than 1 year ago
I really love this series - all the books are really well written and I love learning about Scotland and have grown really fond of the characters.
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crazy4hawaii More than 1 year ago
This book is in the same vein as the others of the series. Not dramatic or thrilling. Just good writing about fairly every day characters that you grow to care about. If you like the Mitford series by Jan Karon, you'll probably like these books too. I love Alexander McCall Smith because his characters are every day decent people, his writing is superb, and his observations of everyday life are right on!
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