As I sit here in my cozy London flat, sipping a warm cup of Earl Grey, I can’t help but reflect on the captivating journey I’ve just completed through the pages of Elly Griffiths’ “The Crossing Places.” It’s a rainy Saturday afternoon, typical of our British summers, and the perfect backdrop for pondering this atmospheric mystery that’s left quite an impression on me.
I stumbled upon this book quite by chance, really. A colleague at The Observer, knowing my penchant for both archaeology and a good whodunit, thrust it into my hands with a knowing smile. “Garry,” she said, “this one’s right up your alley.” How right she was.
From the moment I cracked open the spine, I was transported to the windswept saltmarshes of Norfolk. Griffiths has a knack for painting a vivid picture of the landscape, and I found myself shivering along with Ruth Galloway as she trudged through the bleak, misty terrain. It’s a setting that becomes a character in its own right, brooding and secretive, much like the mystery at the heart of the story.
Speaking of Ruth, what a refreshing protagonist she is! As someone who’s spent years writing about the music industry, I’ve encountered my fair share of larger-than-life personalities. Ruth, however, is gloriously ordinary in the best possible way. She’s smart, independent, and unapologetically herself – a woman in her late 30s who’s content with her solitary lifestyle and her cats. I found myself nodding along in recognition more than once, thinking, “Yes, I know someone just like that.”
The plot itself is a slow burn, which I appreciate. Griffiths takes her time, allowing the tension to build gradually as Ruth becomes embroiled in the investigation of a missing girl. The blend of archaeology and modern police work is fascinating, and I found myself eagerly lapping up the details about Iron Age rituals and ancient burial practices. It’s clear Griffiths has done her homework, and as someone who values accuracy in writing, I applaud her for it.
One of the standout elements for me was the relationship between Ruth and DCI Harry Nelson. Their interactions crackle with tension and unspoken attraction, all while maintaining a professional demeanor. It’s a delicate balance, and Griffiths handles it with aplomb. There’s a particular scene where they’re examining bones together, and the subtext is so thick you could cut it with a trowel. It’s moments like these that elevate the book beyond a simple mystery.
That’s not to say the book is without its flaws. At times, the pacing can be a bit too languid, and I found myself wishing things would move along a bit faster. There are also a few plot points that strain credulity, but I’m willing to forgive these in light of the overall quality of the storytelling.
Griffiths’ writing style is clean and efficient, with moments of lyrical beauty when describing the landscape. She has a good ear for dialogue, and I particularly enjoyed the dry wit that peppers the conversations between characters. It’s very British in its understatement, which I find endearing.
As I turned the final page, I found myself contemplating the themes of isolation and connection that run through the book. Ruth’s solitary life on the edge of the marshes is both a refuge and a prison, and it made me think about my own tendency to retreat into my work. There’s a line where Ruth reflects on her chosen isolation: “Sometimes she fears that she has chosen this life because she is fundamentally unlovable.” It’s a raw, honest moment that stuck with me long after I’d finished reading.
Would I recommend “The Crossing Places” to others? Absolutely, and I already have. Just yesterday, I was chatting with a fellow music journalist at a gig, and I found myself enthusiastically describing the book’s merits. It’s the perfect read for anyone who enjoys their mysteries with a side of history and a strong sense of place.
In fact, I’m already looking forward to picking up the next book in the series. Griffiths has created a world and characters that I’m eager to revisit. It’s like discovering a new band with potential – you want to follow their career and see how they develop.
As the rain continues to patter against my window, I find myself grateful for the journey “The Crossing Places” has taken me on. It’s reminded me of the power of a well-crafted story to transport and transform. And isn’t that, after all, why we read in the first place?
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I hear the kettle calling. Time for another cuppa and perhaps to start planning a trip to Norfolk. After all, those saltmarshes won’t explore themselves, will they?