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By Andrew P. Napolitano
Independent voices from the The Washington Times Communities
Topic - Quirke
In the rain and the darkness and the remembered misery of a Catholic childhood in Ireland in the 1950s, that is where Quirke belongs. He is as quirky as anyone could want.
There are very few writers who can write elegantly about murder, but there is no question that Benjamin Black is one of them.
It is rare that murder most foul is overwhelmed by literary grace, yet that is true of Benjamin Black's latest mystery. Even violent death can assume a lyrical tone when it is the work of an author for whom mysteries seem to have become a hobby since he claimed a major literary award under another name.
He adds dryly, "How quick priests had been, after the English went, to seize the best of what they had left behind."
Quirke has an ambiguous relationship with his daughter as he does with most women, recognizing his capacity to say the wrong thing at the wrong time to most of them.