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All art is unstable. It's meaning is not necessarily that implied by the author, There is no authorative active voice. There are only multiple readings. David Bowie, 1995

Saturday, April 12, 2014

...Wednesday is indeed waiting!

Waiting for Wednesday: A Frieda Klein Mystery (Frieda Klein) by Nicci French

A murdered woman, missing girls, a vengeful psychiatrist, lost young people, disillusioned cops. Packed to the rafters with bizarre coincidences that lead to difficult situations upon difficult situations. Throughout is the sub plot question: Who really is this person named Frieda? She's hard to grasp hold of, undeterred by obstacles, a juxtaposition of knowing and intuition, a shadow that flits in and out of the action, enfolding it, following it, a veritable warren of wisdom and chaos.
I love the title. I was up to where Detective Chief Inspector Malcolm Karlsson and Detective Constable Yvette Long went to interview the lover of the murdered woman when I really focused on the title. Yes, Wednesday I thought! We're all waiting for Wednesday, the happenings of Wednesday, the significance of Wednesday. Us readers, the detectives on the case, the lovers, the family, all of us, either were, or are, waiting in anticipation, in dread, in secret. All waiting!   
Then there's ex detective Jim Fearby looking for patterns. Patterns on the disappearance of young women. Marking his maps and patiently, slowly and steadily closing in on the epicentre of events. Meanwhile Sandy is sending desperate emails to Frieda. She's off his grid pursuing threads of what? Even she doesn't know. And the children and young people revolving around the situation, all are affected and are at various stages of loss and despair.
Frieda wanders through all this seemingly aimlessly, but put together her intuitive ability to follow threads, and the multi-layered circumstances of people's lives intertwining in a six degrees of separation fashion, and the storyline pulls you into the same off key rabbit hole of action that Frieda disappears into.
And throughout all this somewhere lurks the spectre of Dean Reeve, 'her stalker and her quarry', who is maybe not so dead.
As Frieda later reflects, there's 'so much wreckage, so much damage she had left trailing behind her.'
I am newly come to the person of Frieda but have enjoyed every tortured minute of her involvements and her unfolding story.

A NetGalley ARC

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