A little while ago I came across Katharine Schellman's Lily Adler Mystery series, and last week I listened to the second volume, Silence in the Library. When one of Lily's old family friends, recently remarried, is discovered dead in his home, no one appears to want to consider it anything but a regrettable accident… except for her, of course. In my opinion, this instalment was still better than the first. As in the previous book, the ever-present reminders of the social strictures and conventions of the time contribute to recreating the rigid atmosphere that permeated everyday life in Regency England. What excited me most about this novel was Lily's development, her gradual emergence from mourning and her standing up for the kind of existence she now wishes for herself even when confronted by her domineering, disapproving father. Indeed, the overarching theme focuses on the difficulties of familial relationships, into which the author introduces the added complications of difference and disability; I was rather pleasantly surprised at this, as such things rarely get a mention in historical fiction. Another lovely element was the return of previous characters Jack, young Jem, Constable Paige, and most especially the clever and ebullient Ophelia. Although I'd guessed the solution very early on, I still found it interesting to follow the investigation's meanderings, and I've already put a hold on the third instalment.
Unwanted correspondence is not a recent phenomenon, as Emily Cockayne demonstrates in Penning Poison: A History of Anonymous Letters. Limiting her scope to Britain between 1760 and 1939, she considers with great sensitivity the points of view of both sender and recipient. The book, divided into sections according to the writers' apparent motives (gossip; tip-offs; threats; obscenity; libels; detection), includes facsimiles of some of the missives quoted therein — so fascinating!
While it was unsurprising to learn that misogyny played an important role in the investigation, prosecution and reporting of anonymous letters (whence the stereotype of the poison pen as a sexually frustrated old maid), I was stunned at the quasi-godlike authority granted to so-called graphologists and other handwriting experts in many court cases.
Anonymity creates disinhibition — people feel free to write because they are less likely to be challenged about their words.
Although this still applies today, the author (I think very wisely) warns that although some parallels may be drawn with modern times, posting pseudonymously on social media shouldn't be conflated with anonymous letter writing.
Overall, this was an interesting, informative and diverting read.