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Introducing the story, Tamar addresses the issue of personal appearance, admitting that some readers have expressed an interest. "I do not doubt, however, that these enquiries are made purely as a matter of courtesy and to take them au pied de la lettre would be as grave a solecism as to answer a polite 'How do you do, Professor Tamar?' with a full account of the state of my digestion."
Happily the narrator's reticence does not extend to the team of four young London barristers whose personal, romantic and professional doings enliven Caudwell's stories. Julia, tax expert, is concerned for her Aunt Regina who has made a truly remarkable killing in stocks and is now expected to pay tax on money already spent. Meanwhile Selena's client, a retiring merchant banker, has discovered that one of the two men vying to succeed him is guilty of insider trading - but which one?
These two threads neatly tie into the death of a despised neighbor of Regina's, a psychic whose aviary includes a pet vulture and whose household includes a most unattractive and hapless niece. The other two young barristers, Cantrip and Ragwort, supply red herrings and clues as needed and Hilary pursues this trail of coincidence to come up with several elegant solutions, each one engagingly convincing until demolished.
Dryly hilarious, elegantly polished, Caudwell is the Jane Austen of mysteries and though her books are few, each can be read and reread for the sheer delight of the writing and the intricate, comic plots.
The fictional mechanism Caudwell uses to push her narrative forward still relies heavily upon a modified epistolary form. Though the narrative's letters are fascinating reading and are infused with the allure of reading someone else's personal correspondence, the reader must suspend belief as we know modern man would not sit still, even with the facility of word processing software via computer, long enough to write such fulsome, detailed and informative letters to each other about any topic, let alone suspicious deaths.
Nevertheless, The Sibyl continues the trademark wittiness of Caudwell's earlier three novels. Though her fictional landscape is littered with the requisite corpse or two, she manages to keep the reader guessing until the last chapter -- and not merely about whodunit.
What a pity there won't be more fiction from Sarah Caudwell.
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