Day check-in on the Iphigenia, a Boat & Bike home for thirty guests of diverse backgrounds on a one week excursion through Holland and Belgium. Personalities clash, conflicts arise.
Welcome to the October 3rd stop on the blog tour for The Palimpsest Murders by Reed Stirling with Goddess Fish Promotions. Be sure to follow the rest of the tour for spotlights, reviews, more guest posts, and a giveaway! More on that at the end of this post.
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Author Guest Post
Conflict, Characterization, and First Person Point of View
How to introduce thirty or so characters into a murder mystery and have readers deal realistically with who among them is likely to be the victim of a crime, in this case murder, and who among them is likely to be the perpetrator of the crime. This was a challenge I faced in developing the plot of The Palimpsest Murders.
Plausible characters with definite personal histories have to be introduced, not all at the same time, of course, but in a measured manner that will allow readers to follow the action, to know who is who and what motivates them to do or say what comes naturally to them, given the background that direct description provides for each. How is that description provided? Through objective reporting from an omniscient point of view or what? Here the writer has to determine what best suits narrative purposes.
First person point of view implies a narrator who is just as much an unknown character for the reader to come to grips with as the others. Providing that narrator with creditable personality, background, and motivation is essential in maintaining verisimilitude. However, the veracity of the narrator has to be evaluated as the story begins to unfold and as it becomes more complex in terms of disagreements that lead to conflict and, in this case, long-standing conflicts that lead to murder. Can the narrator’s descriptions be trusted? Is there bias? Prejudice? Favouritism? Lack of true understanding of other characters involved? Here the reader has to decide on the trustworthiness of the narrator.
In any event, the reader will get to know a specific character by what the narrator says about him or her, whether it be factually true or merely speculation or supposition. Decision time again. What other characters say about a specific character also comes into play. But are their voices true? Interior monologues can be used effectively to reveal character (from the inside, so to speak), but the only interior voice a reader will hear in The Palimpsest Murders is that of the narrator, Geoff Cantor. Actions speak louder than words is a cliché but in a fictional world what a character does is truly revealing and the reader can trust that any action taken is significant in pointing to the truth of the matter. Antagonists can be well-meaning in their contrariness or destructiveness. They can have malicious intent in their apparent goodness. The antagonist can be a force-field of repudiation or disdain. A troublesome memory. A need for revenge. Additionally, the astute reader will pick up on words and actions that portend either well or not so well for any character that has begun to dominate relevant scenes. Foreshadowing is a serviceable tool for mystery writers if not overused.
It is my hope that the following excerpt will illustrate some of the above mentioned points.
Commotion reigned in the lounge of the Iphigenia, a distraught Kat Steele holding centre stage. She tottered on the edge of a lounge chair surrounded by an ever-expanding group of guests concerned with, if not actually overwhelmed by, her emotional effusion. They resembled a Greek chorus full of tragic presentiment, curious about what was unfolding and yet holding back ironic observation — so Veridis insinuated as I stood with him by the entrance.
Crouched down awkwardly, Isla attempted to soothe Kat with murmurings of comfort while rubbing her shoulder — affectionately, maybe, but I wasn’t sure about that. Other family members formed an inner circle while the rest of us collected about the periphery where innuendo passed among us as fair comment. Joost Goossens was the last of the crew to put in an appearance. He shook his head repeatedly. Not present at this point, Kash and Hash, Beppie, and young Pieter. Neither was Conrad Steele present and that according to Olivia, sidling up to me and pulling my sleeve, was the reason for the display of amplified distress unfolding before us.
“Katina Steele, the drama queen, agitated beyond reason,” Melinda whispered in my other ear echoing Lucy’s epithet for Kat from earlier.
A very concerned Captain Vander Valk stood tall before the drama queen. Niels Visser stood tall as well but seemed less concerned when he lowered himself to say in a voice loud enough for all of us to hear, “My dear lady, the hour is not so late.”
“Oh, but it is,” Kat said, waving a finger. One could not miss the diamond light her hand gave off, incongruous somehow, given the situation, just like the cluster of rings on her other hand. She pulled away from Isla impatiently and rambled on about dangerous and seedy local attractions.
Then cutting to the chase with his typical directness, Visser asked, “Going off alone, is unusual for your husband?”
Seemingly, all the breath of her daily existence, it struck me oddly, had been in preparation for the deep gulp of air that accompanied her answer to Visser’s question.
“No!” she shouted, impatience and exasperation increasing.
“Not so, ja?”
“Well maybe. Yes, he’s done so before. In Amsterdam, what?”
Coherence in her response was sadly lacking and she knew it. Her eyes flicked here, there, everywhere. It was as though she had just become aware of an audience.
“And this night?” Visser continued. “You talk about local attractions.”
“Some place he wanted to visit. What he called the hundred windows.”
Virgil Troyes stepped forward then and said, “Conrad referred to it a couple of times as Villa Tinto and talked about the blocks of red-light windows one finds there.”
“Schippersstraat, ja?” Visser said. His words came across like an incantation, indecipherable but somehow meaningful.
“Ja, Schipperskwartier,” Vander Valk added.
“Conrad wanted Boyd Alexander to accompany him,” Kat broke out, her voice tremulous and rising, “to get educated, as he put it, to become a man. Finally. To be a man. Boyd Alexander refused his father’s request. You said no, didn’t you, Boyd?”
Boyd Alexander, standing next to Alexsis, bowed his head as Kat’s voice intensified, filled as it obviously was with angry accusation. One could not misinterpret Kat’s snide ruefulness, her focused blame.
“Pathetic, what?” she said, somewhat rhetorically, her implication being that the obvious villain of the piece was standing right there for all her audience to bear witness to. Sad to behold such a glaring specimen of male reticence. Kat struck me as being rather pathetic herself. Her plucked thin eyebrows seemed to possess a will of their own, arching and falling independent of each other.
If I remembered accurately, Kat had been overly upset, antagonistic actually, when Boyd Alexander, erroneously believed to be missing, arrived late to dinner. Boyd Alexander’s animosity towards his father had to be playing into her present histrionics. So, another over the top reaction to her loss of control, just like her angry accusations when an inebriated Alexsis returned to the Iphigenia much later than would have seemed appropriate for a single woman alone in a strange environment.
Since setting out on the Iphigenia, this was the first time I had a real close-up of the woman. She was definitely formidable, no doubt about that, imperious even, possessed of an elegant yet hardened beauty. Vanessa’s earlier estimation of Kat as a well-preserved, middle-aged vixen came to mind as I watched and listened to her, but any imagined resemblance to Sophia Loren was fading quickly. She was striking in her grandiose posing, seeming as though she’d slid well down the reverse side of an ancient Greek vase intent on focusing our interest on her and her misery, the one-time exemplar of easy command and sensuous self-indulgence. I was considering the possibility that Kat Steele was living up to the character she had invented for herself in view of the performance the role of forlorn wife and rejected mother presently required of her. We’d all noted the air of theatricality about her, Lucy in particular. As to what I actually observed of her face that night in the lounge as she entertained us with her anxious but less than sober self-absorption and resentment, whatever the detail, I could not avoid considering her likely dependence on Botox and all the meretricious beauty resulting from its application. Kat had brown eyes that appeared to be anything but lustrous on this occasion because of the smeared mascara shadowing them. Patches of darker pigment crested her high cheeks. The woman could boast having perfect teeth, the better to bite you with, I suppose, and an aquiline nose sloped perfectly for looking down its length at you. I was intrigued particularly with how she worked her lips, which were full and nicely shaped, and how she slid words into statements with iambic stops and starts designed to smite verbal opposition.
Veridis in muted tones said Kat’s well supported and abundantly exposed fleshy bosom served to distract more than not. I silently agreed. Had Penny been party to my observations and argued the décolletage of Kat’s evening wear was evidence of breast enhancement, I’d likely have agreed. She wore a fashionable silver perm, a bob of sorts, that might have been described as very peri, like her recalcitrant eye shadow, but I really couldn’t say that with any authority. When Melinda whispered that Kat looked a lot like Betty Boop, I thought the comment unwarranted and unjust. I shook my head in disagreement.
Stepping forward, Joost spoke a few words in Dutch directly to Visser. The meaning of what he said was lost on me until Visser, directing his attention to specific members of the Steele group starting with Kat, asked if Conrad had intended to visit the diamond district of Antwerp. Did anyone know if he made any purchases? Kat shook her head as did Alexsis, Boyd Alexander, and the others. Virgil said that Conrad had expressed some interest in buying diamonds, but he didn’t know for sure if he’d followed up on the idea.
Joost spoke again. In Dutch. I got the impression judging by Visser’s reaction that the purchase of diamonds figured significantly in the developing drama. In response to Visser’s follow-up questions, Kat emphatically stated she did not believe buying diamonds was the reason for Conrad’s absence at this hour.
“Do you think all this kerfuffle has to do with diamonds then?” Olivia asked.
“Meaning, do I think Conrad Steele got rolled for them,” I responded as effectively as I could, mindful of how she was hearing impaired. “Can’t really say, Olivia.”
“Things will get sorted,” she assured me. “They usually do. Though I really don’t like her, I pity the poor woman, her not knowing.”
“Agreed,” I answered, turning my attention back to the poor woman who had from all indications dismissed the idea of diamonds figuring in her dilemma. She was now pondering the space immediately before her eyes in a blank sort of way, an indication, possibly, of fatigue, of inherent wariness. Then again it may have been she’d paused in order to recall accurately lines from some well-rehearsed script. She arose from her seat knocking Isla and then sat down again. She stared across at Boyd Alexander and then pointed her diamond mounted finger at Alexsis who all along appeared to be quite unfazed by her mother’s antics.
“And you’re no help at all, Alexsis,” Kat said, “in this hour of need.”
“You’re getting hysterical again, Mother,” Alexsis said. “You know very well what motivates Conrad on certain occasions.”
“We did not embark on this adventure so that you could announce to the world your discontent nor your dislocation, Alexsis. But to join in a family expedition amicably and not be so wilfully impudent, so disdainful of Conrad.”
“Disagreement does not automatically imply impudence, Mother dearest. Nor does disdain.”
“Parental direction should be less an affront to you personally than you’ve always made it out to be. Particularly where Conrad fits in. It’s all about family unity, what?”
“That wave broke on the rocks ages ago.”
I heard Mitchell Monk, who was in my immediate vicinity, say to Aimée, “That there, Babe, what’s going on now, is nothing but melodramatic. I don’t like the guy they’re all upset about, but he probably went to get some gratification unavailable from her.”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Aimée replied.
“As to the fancy bitch and her rings, maybe she says she’s devoted to family, but she seems more devoted to herself. We’ve heard enough.”
It was getting to the point where I, too, had heard enough, and so, apparently, had Veridis who was no longer holding up the doorpost behind me. Most of us in the spectator ring seemed to be in agreement with Monk, who took his exit, Aimée following. Lucy, however, stayed on. The situation had obviously evolved beyond concern regarding the return of Conrad Steele. Before heading down the stairs, I heard Visser assure Kat there was nothing to be worried about. As it turned out, he proved to be correct.
In the corridor before I managed to close my door, Olivia asked, “What’s that saying? The woman pretends too much, I think.”
“The lady doth protest too much, me thinks,” Vanessa said, punctuating the quote with a slight shaking of her head. She carried on past Melinda and Olivia towards her cabin. “Comes from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Fits the present context, so it does.”
“Kat and Conrad Steele are at odds with each other despite the spectacle we just watched in the lounge,” Melinda said in an argumentative voice. “I heard them disagreeing most vehemently about the daughters’ behaviour, especially that of Alexsis. And that of Boyd Alexander, of course. Adjacent rooms, yeah?”
Yeah.
About the Book
The Palimpsest Murders
by Reed Stirling
Published 18 August 2023
BWL Publishing Inc
Genre: Historical Mystery
Page Count: 312
Add it to your Goodreads TBR!
Day one: check-in on the Iphigenia, a Boat & Bike home for thirty guests of diverse backgrounds on a one week excursion through Holland and Belgium. Personalities clash, conflicts arise.
Day seven: a body is found in canal waters at the stern of the boat. On the final morning a second body is discovered.
Who among the cyclists and crew is hateful and motivated enough to kill? Twice. How are the two murders related? Why two coins for the ferryman? Is the phoenix jug, both admired and derided, merely symbolic? How does the death mask of Agamemnon lead to resolution?
Determining truth entails travelling from Amsterdam to Bruges to Paris to the ancient site of Mycenae in Greece where what’s past is shown to be prologue.
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Excerpt
She was definitely formidable, imperious even, possessed of an elegant yet hardened beauty. Vanessa’s earlier estimation of Kat as a well-preserved, middle-aged vixen came to mind as I watched and listened to her, but any imagined resemblance to Sophia Loren was fading quickly. She was striking in her grandiose posing, seeming as though she’d slid down the reverse side of an ancient Greek vase intent on focusing our interest on her and her misery, the one-time exemplar of easy command and sensuous self-indulgence. I was considering the possibility that Kat Steele was living up to the character she had invented for herself in view of the performance the role of forlorn wife and rejected mother presently required of her. We’d all noted the air of theatricality about her. As to what I actually observed of her face that night in the lounge as she entertained us with her anxious but less than sober self-absorption and resentment, I could not avoid considering her likely dependence on Botox and all the meretricious beauty resulting from its application. Kat had brown eyes that appeared to be anything but lustrous on this occasion because of the smeared mascara shadowing them. Patches of darker pigment crested her high cheeks. The woman could boast having perfect teeth, the better to bite you with, and an aquiline nose sloped perfectly for looking down its length at you. I was intrigued particularly with how she worked her lips and how she slid words into statements with iambic stops and starts designed to smite verbal opposition.
About the Author
Reed Stirling lives in Cowichan Bay, BC, and writes when not painting landscapes, travelling, or taking coffee at The Drumroaster, a local café where physics and metaphysics clash daily. Before retiring and taking up writing novels, he taught English Literature. Several talented students of his have gone on to become successful award-winning writers.
He and his wife built a log home in the hills of southern Vancouver Island, and survived totally off the grid for twenty-five years during which time the rooms in that house filled up with books, thousands of student essays were graded, and innumerable cords of firewood were split.
Literary output:
Shades Of Persephone, published in 2019, is a literary mystery set in Greece.
Lighting The Lamp, a fictional memoir, was published in March 2020.
Set in Montreal, Séjour Saint-Louis (2021), dramatizes family conflicts.
The Palimpsest Murders, a European travel mystery, is forthcoming.
Shorter work has appeared over the years in a variety of publications including Dis(s)ent, Danforth Review, Fickle Muses, Fieldstone Review, and Humanist Perspectives.
Intrigue is of primary interest, with romantic entanglement an integral part of the action. Greek mythology plays a significant role in underpinning plots. Allusions to art, literature, philosophy, and religion serve a similar function. Reed sits down to write every day and tries to leave the desk having achieved at least a workable page. Frequently what comes of his effort amounts to no more than a serviceable paragraph, a single sentence, or a metaphor that might work in a context yet to be imagined.
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Giveaway Alert!
Reed Stirling will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
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Thank you for hosting today.
Who influenced you to be a writer!
Who influenced me to be a writer? A great question. The short answer is reading great works by great writers, James Joyce, for example, John Fowles and Virginia Woolf. The writer who motivated me the most was Joyce Carol Oates; she directed me in my MA thesis; I so wanted to be like her.
Thank you for sharing your guest post, bio and the book details, I have enjoyed reading about you and your work and I am looking forward to reading The Palimpsest Murders.
The Palimpsest Murders is a departure from previous novels I’ve had published in terms of genre, although uncovering truth has been the motivating factor for my earlier protagonists, Steven Spire, for example, in Shades of Persephone. Thank you for your interest in my work and do enjoy reading The Palimpsest Murders.
I am sure that I will, thank you
What is a piece of advice you could offer to an aspiring author?
Advice for an aspiring author? Write every day. Record observations faithfully because moments of inspiration are fleeting, so get it down in words immediately. Accept criticism with dignity but be true to yourself.
Many thanks to Westveil Publishing for having me as a guest today. Reed Stirling.
How many hours a day do you write?
How many hours a day do I write? That depends on what stage in the composition of the story I’m at. In planning a sequence of events, i.e., working out the plot, or in developing a character, I would spend maybe three hours at the keyboard. This I call creating files from which I will draw salient info when the real writing begins. When the real writing begins, I can spend up to six hours a day at it, usually beginning with my first coffee. Re-writing and editing, which I enjoy immensely, would require about five hours a day. Thanks for your interest, Tracie.
The blurb sounds really interesting.
Thanks for your comment, Sherry. Blurbs are developed to evoke interest in a book, in my case, a novel. Blurbs are suggestive; they hint at what the story is about without giving too much away. A good blurb can be like a poem, intricate in its formation, revealing in its intimations.