The Nancy Drew books (in their earlier incarnations) were one of my early reading addictions -- at one point I owned most of them and devoured them eagerly. No matter that the characters were completely one dimensional and the plots predictable -- Nancy was a take-charge, redoubtable heroine who ran the show without having to rely on others. I adored the books -- even though I find them pretty much unreadable now.
Well.
Imagine Nancy Drew all grown up and a member of the British aristocracy. Imagine that she's dumped the faithful blue roadster for a jazzy, shining red Hispano-Suiza and she's ditched boring old Beth and George for a private secretary/maid and a gaggle of interesting accomplices. Hannah Gruen has been put out to pasture and a broad-minded and accomplished cook/butler couple are in charge of the somewhat rackety household which includes a series of distracting lovers and beautiful boys who have replaced stodgy old Ned.
Imagine that the setting is 1920s Australia. Imagine that Nancy has transmogrified into a glorious flapper, clad in the height of fashion (oh, the clothes she wears!) and as independent as a hog on ice. What you have is the PHRYNE FISHER BOOKS by Kerry Greenwood -- twenty plus gloriously entertaining confections.
I received the first four as a Christmas present and have been galloping through them much as I used to gallop through Nancy Drew. This isn't great or challenging writing but I found the books compulsively readable. Phryne is, like Nancy, pretty much one-dimensional and the plots are predictable - at least in these first four books -- there are many more in the series which I'll be reading soon. (There's a TV series as well but I haven't seen it--yet.) As I said, lots of fun!
Making my rounds yesterday of some favorite blogs, I was surprised to see a familiar face at Merisi's Vienna for Beginners. Hop over and take a look. She's in the first photo of Merisi's post and at the top of the metal gate in the second.
A very familiar face. I have what could be her sister hanging above the entry to our dining room.
Over fifty years ago, she was dusty and forlorn in the corner of a tiny antique/cabinet maker's shop in Tampa. (It had become time to 'do something' about my room as I made the transition from child to teen and my mother was attempting to guide me on the path of interior decoration.)
This wasn't a figurehead but it was as close as I was likely to get. I named her Magdalene (pronounced mawdlin) and she's been with me ever since.
The cabinet maker who sold her to me said that she was likely an apprentice piece -- something made by an apprentice woodworker in order to move up to the next rung on the way to becoming a master.
Quite probably faces of this sort were something of a standard in the decorative arts of a certain era. Still, it's fun to feel she has a sister in Vienna.
