By Bartholomew Gill
Trinity professor and Joycean pupil Kevin Coyle was once one among Dublin's such a lot colourful -- and arguable -- characters, until eventually a person stabbed him during the middle on Bloomsday, the once a year citywide party honoring Ireland's such a lot loved literary gentle. The poetic irony isn't really misplaced on leader Superintendent Peter McGarr: one of many most excellent specialists at the works of James Joyce used to be slain at the so-called "Murderers' floor" made recognized within the author's magnum opus Ulysses. however the connection doesn't finish there. And the deeper the intrepid McGarr digs, the extra startling truths he uncovers a couple of victim's darkish, licentious background, an inventory of suspects as immense and sundry because the characters in an excellent novel ... and a intent for homicide which may conceal as simply within the pages of a vintage ebook as within the twisted passions of a human middle.
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Extra info for The Death of A Joyce Scholar
Or had the older ones already been sent down to the aunt in Clare? He scanned her rounded but powerful-looking shoulders. The ambulance and the forensic vans had arrived, each switching off its horn as it entered the laneway. ” Her head went back slightly, and did color now come to her face? It did, he judged. Her eyes strayed to the bed and she shook her head once, but with a resignation that was both judgment and curse—on suspicion or on the police or on McGarr himself. “Good, bad, or indifferent, he was my husband.
Holderness. Holderness. Haven’t I heard or read his name someplace before? ” Noreen hunched her shoulders and smiled slightly, knowing she had browned him off. “Well, if you’re not the sempiternal Dub’, I don’t know who is. From”—she flicked out a hand, and her eyes scanned his face—“how you look, act, even walk—for Jesus’ sake—to who you are and how you”—she now fell to laughing—“think and act. Even what you do—Murder Squad, and good at it—is Dublin. Have you ever listened to yourself? We must get a tape recorder.
From the fridge she drew a can of lager and from the freezing compartment a frosted pint glass, both of which she placed before him. ” McGarr stared down at the glass, which he had not seen before. Or, rather, which he had been seeing most of his life but never before in his house. It was a standard twenty-ounce draft glass and had probably been nicked from a pub. ” she demanded. ” McGarr asked. “D’ya know Catty? Brilliant young woman and”—Noreen’s eyes narrowed and she looked at him closely before continuing—“it seems that the book-launching party in the Shelbourne will go on Monday as planned.