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Past Imperfect
Hunter's Dance
Witch Cradle
The Kingdom
| HUNTER'S DANCE
Autumn
in Michigan's Upper Peninsula means hunting season, and the fall of
1950 finds most everyone in St. Adele township hunting for
something—deer, grouse, uranium; love, redemption, escape; a story,
a husband, a murderer. When the son of summer residents at the
exclusive Shawanok Club is found dead after an uproarious dance at
the town hall, the sheriff is flummoxed, and everyone is appalled:
Bambi was found in the loft over the tool shed, bound, gagged, and
inexpertly scalped. Who better to search for the killer than St.
Adele's reluctant constable, John McIntire? The trail he must follow branches off like the
spokes of a wheel, in multiple directions, leading to multiple dead
ends. The only common link seems to be the boy's parents: a father
who is mysteriously unavailable, a mother, on a mission to see her
son's killer dead, who remains sequestered in her rented mansion,
baking cream pies and playing the piano. Her imported private eye
seems more interested in dallying with McIntire's exotic Aunt
Siobhan, who's just turned up on his doorstep some 25 years after
she ran off with a carnival worker as a teen. And Bambi's mentor on
a summer's search for uranium, a hot prospect in
REVIEWS PUBLISHERS’ WEEKLY *Starred
Review* The deliberate pace of Hills's sophomore effort,
set in heavily rural Upper Michigan in the 1950s (after 2002's Past
Imperfect), succeeds perfectly in capturing the complex
relationships between insiders and outsiders and the obligations of
family and friendship. An argument at a local dance between a rich
kid and an Indian youth is prelude to a bizarre murder that sucks
Constable John McIntire away from his pleasurable pastime of
translating Selma Lagerlof's The Story of Gosta Berling from Swedish
to English. By rights McIntire's role is secondary to that of the
state police and Sheriff Pete Koski. But McIntire, prodded by
conscience and curiosity, worries the investigation along like a
bloodhound. Like an art restorer who uncovers a masterpiece hidden
under a later, poorer painting, Hills lovingly clears away the grime
and accretions to reveal stunning portraits of the residents of St.
Adele, be they native, prodigal or temporary. Glimpses of individual
portraits tantalize: the wife desperate to save her heavy-drinking
husband; the bereaved mother compulsively baking; the private
investigator seemingly more intent on finding uranium than a killer;
the ancient recluse living rough and zealously guarding his privacy.
But only when the restoration is complete can the viewer (or reader)
appreciate the brilliance of the artist's vision. Hills's quiet
masterpiece, including its shocking ending, lingers in the mind's
eye long after the book is finished.
NEW
YORK TIMES When
this densely plotted whodunit opens in 1950, wartime jobs have dried
up and times are tough for fishermen, farmers, miners and loggers
who live in these parts. Being of hardy Scandinavian stock, people
in the close-knit
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