LT author and French Revolution buff Alleyn's second novel and first mystery is a perfect example of how historical fiction can illuminate history in the most satisfying and intriguing light; simple textbook history doesn't and can't come close to the concerns and needs of the actual people of 1796 Paris, and this book does that job very, very well.

I could end this review here, adding only "read it yourself if you don't believe me," but I want to offer some specifics.

The upheaval of the Revolution was as inevitable as anything in all of history could be. When intolerable abuse is heaped upon enough people for a long enough time, they find a way to make it stop. While there were Royalists in France, like there were Tories in the American Revolution, they lost...so the history is that of the winners.

But what about the average citizen and citizeness? (These were the titles that replaced Monsieur et Madame in those years.) What did life hold for them? Alleyn explores this subject in her novel, and what life held was...well, what it always holds: Love, hate, fear, passion, joy, rejection, redemption (though that last is rare). So Alleyn delves into our human comedy to show us that, mutatis mutandis, Revolutionary Paris's people were just like us, only colder and hungrier.

The story of Aristide Ravel, police spy, and Henri Sanson, executioner, is one of destinies that criss-cross in unpleasant places. Surprisingly, they find themselves friends...okay, friendly acquaintances at first. As a result of the movements of the plot, their most dramatic meeting will cause the friendship to blossom or die; another book will tell that tale. But theirs is the central relationship in this book. It's an odd thing to say, I suppose, but it's true; they each have one half of a very important story in their possession, neither knowing this until the author clangs them into each other so hard that the reader's teeth rattle.

While Sanson is central to the story, he's offstage most of the time. This device worked well enough, though I was a bit overprepared for his eventual appearances by the time they happened.

The principal quality of this book for me was its rhythm. I felt I was there, living by the truly alien Revolutionary calendar of thirty-day months and ten-day weeks. I found myself thinking "isn't it just about decadi, shouldn't stuff be closed?" (That was the Revolutionary Sunday-day-of-rest equivalent.) I wondered where the manservant was more than once while immersed in Aristide's life...he's too poor to have one. (I relate.) I felt myself jolting along in the fiacre with Aristide and his boss (actually just the frost-heaved Long Island roads) to the Hotel de Ville (my village's city hall is nothing like so grand, but it's next to the liberry so the association stuck).

If you are bored by history, try reading this book. It will allow you to experience history more directly than even a conventional historical novel could, since there are such ordinary human stakes in the crime committed and its solution. If you're a mystery fan, the puzzle should keep you going. IIf you're just an old sourpuss, give it a miss. But I hope you aren't, and hope you'll have a great time walking around Paris with Aristide and his crew. ( )

The first in a series about Aristide Ravel, an "investigator" for the police- not an inspector, not exactly a spy although there are plenty of people who call him that. As a historical novel, it's a good read, tightly paced and yet ful of detail. As a mystery, it has some flaws in the sense that there are a couple of "revelations," one involving a child and one involving a woman who commits murders while dressed like a man, which are clear to the reader long before Ravel or the police understand, even though we are working from the same facts. Regarding the one that involves the child, I actually thought Ravel and the police already knew and just weren't talking about it directly until it got to the scene when they did realize the truth. However, it is interesting reading the exact hows and whys: I just can't give full marks to a mystery where the detective misses things that have been staring the audience in the face all along.

A couple of nit-picky things. I know the author can't be blamed for the blurb on the flap, but did the person who did write that copy have to include events that happen more than halfway into the book?

Also: It's possible that the cover blurb was wrong in suggesting that he was going to fall for Rosalie, because I certainly never saw it in the actual book: Ravel isn't a first-person narrator, but it's pretty clearly his head that the third-person narrator is in, and I didn't really pick up anything sexual or romantic in the fascination he has with her. He tries to prove Rosalie's innocence once it looks like she may have committed the double murder at the center of the plot, but he tries to prove everybody's innocence once they've been charged. He doesn't feel jealous of her lover once he reappears, just awkward at being the third wheel. In fact, he comes across as if he may be gay, in spite of a passing mention of a night he spent with his landlady once. The most passionate friendship he ever seems to have had was with a man who was guillotined in 1793. Observations of male beauty equal, and probably outnumber, observations of the female variety. If this were intentional, it would be intruiging, but I have the distinct feeling that it isn't. This vibe is considerably less in the second book, A Treasury of Regrets. One hopes that this is a sign that the author's voice is improving and that when the third book appears, it will be even better. ( )