Review: Naked Once More by Elizabeth Peters

by Chriss Cornish published: August 23, 2010 No Comments

This Book Is About

She may be a bestselling author, but ex-librarian Jacqueline Kirby’s views on the publishing biz aren’t fit to print. In fact, she’s thinking of trading celebrity for serenity and a house far away from fiendish editors and demented fans when her agent whispers the only words that could ever make her stay: Naked in the Ice. Seven years ago, this fantasy blockbuster skyrocketed Katleen Darcy to instant fame before she disappeared under suspicious circumstances.

Now, the author’s heirs are looking for a writer to pen the sequel to Kathleen’s famous book. It’s an opportunity no novelist in her right mind would pass up, and there’s no doubting Jacqueline’s sanity. Until she starts digging through the missing woman’s papers – and her past. Until she gets mixed up with Kathleen’s enigmatic former lover. Until a series of nasty accidents convince her much too late that someone wants to bring Jacqueline’s story -and her life – to a premature end.

My Thoughts On This Book

Naked Once More is one of the mystery books I love; I re-read it and re-read it. The main character, Jacqueline, is so outrageous, independently herself, mischievous and witty. And she’s not a young woman, either (though hardly approaching her dotage).

The other characters are also realistic, the writing fun, and the setting well developed.

One of the things, besides Jacqueline Kirby, that make Naked such a fun read is that it’s a tongue-in-cheek poke at the publishing industry. Half of the primary characters are authors or literary agents, even though the bulk of the story takes place in a small mountain town.

And the end has a nice twist, as well.

An Excerpt From Chapter 2, And a Scene I Laugh At Every Time

… No one paid the unfortunate young woman the slightest heed, for framed in the doorway, panting with passion and bursting with outrage, stood a formidable figure.

Brunnhilde might have describe herself as “magnificent in her wrath.” She might, and had, also described herself as full-bosomed and golden-haired, lush and voluptuous. Jacqueline, who favored sparser prose, had once used the word “fat”. That word had fanned the smoldering feud into flames.

Brunnhilde was draped in one of the pseudo-archaic robes she favored, with lots of lacing and a suggestion of breastplates. There was a strong resemblance to her beloved Vikings, whom she described as brawny, rugged he-men in horned helmets. Vikings did not, in fact, wear horned helmets. Jacqueline’s mention of this fact, in a interview, had not improved relations.

The newcomer’s blazing eyes focused on Jacqueline, who was tastefully attired in a lime-green silk suit that turned her eyes to emerald and took at least ten pounds off her apparent weight. “You!” shrieked Brunnhilde, making amorphous Viking gestures.

Jacqueline scrutinized her closely. “Have you an appointment, Brunnhilde dear?”

Brunnhilde laughed maniacally. “You’re wasting your time, Kirby. Don’t bother sucking up to Stokes; you’ll never write that book. It is mine, all mine.”

“You have smears of mascara and lipstick all over your kirtle,” Jacqueline said solicitously. “Do let me offer you a tissue, darling. You should always use one instead of wiping your face on your sleeve. Full-figured people perspire heavily, you know.”

Brunnhilde’s fingers flexed, writhing like succulent white worms. Jacqueline’s eye narrowed. “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” she said.

Brunnhilde thought it over and decided she wouldn’t either. …