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Has anyone started to read "Still Life"?
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Laurel
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Jan 14, 2010 07:01AM

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I'm sorry to report, I have not started the book yet :-( feel free to share any favorite passages, insights or whatever just mark them *SPOILER ALERT* if needed.

I agree with Laurel. I am half way through the story but don't feel as if I really know anyone.

This was gonna be the next book I started but I just found out it's due at the library already and there are 2 holds on Still Life so I can't renew it. This must be a popular book & it has gotten good reviews. It looks like I'll be reading it in February or possibly March - I'll catch up with all of you then :-)



I'll use another post for the Oscar Wilde quote. That has troubled me.



"Conscience and cowardice are really the same things..."
I still don’t think I understand this. And what I’ve been thinking, I’m not sure I can articulate and make sense. I’m choosing to take the quote in the context it was said in “Still Life.” The Three Pines “in crowd” was discussing Jane’s murder, in particular (if I recall correctly) the possibility that the murderer could have been Matthew Croft. It’s about one’s “moral compass” (Did Myrna say that or Clara?). If you hit and killed someone with a rock, what would you do? If something or someone you value is threatened, can you convince yourself that killing is justified? (I think there’s a clue in this discussion.) Does conscience inform one’s moral judgment before an action or does it stop one from taking action? Does one’s conscience sometimes provoke someone to espouse something s/he doesn’t really believe in?
I guess I have to read “The Portrait of Dorian Gray.” Sorry for the rambling. As you can see, I still don't get it! LOL!

Go to Bookbrowse.com and look under reader reviews for Alice I Have Been and look for the review titled "Mystery Solved" by Christine of CA


I asked a coworker the other day and here's her take:
"In the context of the story it is part of the philosophy of the man who helps move Dorian Gray into corruption and cruelty. The portrait that shows the eternally young and impossibly beautiful Dorian's true nature shows him as hideous, cruel-faced, diseased. I suppose the purpose of a healthy conscience is to keep us from harming ourselves and others, and more profoundly to cultivate the self-discipline that will promote the growth of the spirit. I can see that at times people who are afraid can use the excuse of "conscience" to avoid risk. However I also think that conscience followed often leads people into rather than away from risk."

I believe they more eloquently said what I was trying to express. In loving language, I truly enjoy reading an efficient and effective passage like your coworker's. However - I can see where this discussion could take many turns and still hold true to our main purpose of discussing Still Life - as I've grown older, I more and more believe in accepting responsibility for our actions; thus, is your coworker saying if an adult chooses to allow their conscience to cause them to take actions which lead them toward risk they are also using it as any "excuse"? Just curious. . . As to rather or not I "have it", I'm going to have to at least finish Still Life to know how I feel about the passage and probably Dorian Gray, also. All of this to say, Louise Penny has the talent to make us think and, in my opinion, that's one of the most important qualities of a good author. Now to bed to read before I fall asleep!

I did not mean for the 1) "conscience misused as excuse" to be connected to 2) "conscience leading to courage and risk." I admire the latter and don't much like the former. I only meant that occasionally someone whose real motive for holding back is fear will lie to her/himself and others by using, "I don't believe in it, or it is not important" as an excuse. Possible example: "Nice" but frightened people in Nazi Germany pretended not to see what was happening, or did not oppose what was happening, out of fear, and would use good-sounding excuses to justify themselves. I certainly understand their fear; the Nazi''s were no joke as opponents. True conscience followed through does not always lead to possible death, thank God, but it often requires or inspires some degree of courage.

Now, back to Still Life - as I read further, Clara's reference to Wilde's perception of conscience makes me admire Penny's authorship. She inserted it - I think - at exactly the right time in the story and gave the line to the best character to have spoken it.

I finished this today. And I have to admit that this book gave me more food for thought than I get from most of the mysteries I read. I was off work today so I was able to spend most of it finishing this book.
I think it was a good debut story. I see that there are at least four other books in the series so she may have planned how much she was going to tell us about the characters in the first book. But I had no problem with what she told us.
As the book unfolds we gradually learn more and more about each of them.
I'm trying not to say too much for those who haven't finished it yet. But once I got to a certain point I had trouble putting it down.
And that poor recruit Nichol - I'm not sure whether I want her to get off the stage, quit being a foil or to just grow up.
Anyway, I would read more books by Penny.

I wanted to empathize with Nichol, but she got on my nerves. I don't think I knew enough of her past to make me understand how she came to be that way. When I finished "Still Life," I thought that Ben and Agent Nichol had something in common: Neither took responsibility for their actions.

I wanted to empathize with Nichol, but she got on my nerves. I don't think I knew enough of her past to make me understand how she came to..."
I know what you mean.
She seemed to be fairly intelligent but I couldn't believe it when she started looking for the "problem."
Maybe it was her upbringing.
Of course, they were in converse situations. She never heard the truth from her family and he never told it.
I thought a big hint about him was given early on when he was talking to Gamache about how the English were so put upon.


I think both conscience and cowardice are complex concepts, and not always easy to differentiate, but I don't believe that they are the same thing. Your comments have lead me to thinking about how "conscience" is developed: having worked with families and children for many years, I have seen children who grow up in the most horrendous circumstances who still have an ability to empathize with others, and act out of that concern. I have also seen children who have been given everything, and who have no regard for others at all. The development of a "conscience" usually starts with the ability to trust, and then grows into empathy, with teaching of right and wrong, moral judgment, possibly religious training. Doing the right thing, following our conscience, can be because we want to do what we believe is right, even if it involves taking risks, and I think we do at times act out of that belief in “right and wrong”; sometimes we just know that we “won't be able to live with ourselves” otherwise, and that can require great courage. But even that “fear of getting caught” can be complex: beyond fear of punishment, we care what others think of us, and don't want to lose their high regard, or our reputation, or to disappoint, or to hurt someone else. So even the fear of getting caught can lead us to concern for others, and to evaluate what will cause the greater harm. I do certainly agree with Laurel's co-worker, sometimes we do look away, convince ourselves we are doing the right thing, because the alternative is too frightening; when it comes to those world events when the human race has messed up so horribly, and with our gift of “hind sight”, we hope we would act differently if in those same circumstances, and is it always my hope that history teaches us lessons about the mistakes of the past so that we will not repeat them.
And back to “Still Life”, the boys who threw the manure are a good example of some children who have a conscience and still act in a way they know is wrong, and maybe one or more who have little or no conscience at all. In many cases, I guess it is very fortunate that “fear of getting caught” can still be a deterrent, and can substitute for having a well-developed conscience.

As I am re-reading this, I like the way the author reveals the characters. I do like Gamache, I like his devotion to his wife, his ability to be in charge while emphasizing teamwork and asking for the input of others; and I like the time he takes to sit by himself and try to think and observe. I liked his firmness and directness with Nichol, but wondered if he couldn't find ways to help her understand her role a little better.
I also like Nichol, at least in the first few chapters, I like her ambition and determination to be successful in a field that is dominated by men. I would like to take her aside and tell her to relax, that she doesn't have to act like she knows everything, she is there to learn. I could partly understand her bristling when she is asked to take notes, and her fear that she is being treated like a secretary. But then she just seems to become more and more defensive, and to have such a chip on her shoulder, that I just don't know if she is going to make it in this profession.
I especially enjoyed the conversation between Gamache and Myrna in her bookshop, when they are discussing how differently people deal with loss, with change, with solving, or not solving, their problems. I hope to hear more about and from Myrna.

I don't know if anyone, other than her family making a clean breast of things, can help Nichol. I think she is just going to have to learn things the hard way. And if she can't lose that chip on her shoulder, she is sunk. She has good ideas but when Gamache tells her what to do, like he would any rookie, she acts as though he is treating her like a child. And then she doesn't do it.
I did enjoy this book and ran right out and picked up three other books of hers. Haven't started them yet, thoguh.


I like the way Penny depicts the friendship and caring between Gamache and Beauvoir. I had to look up Matthew 10:36, since it was mentioned again; not a very cheerful verse, but I imagine in law enforcement (as all too often in social work) it is often the case that “a man's enemies will be members of his own household”.
Also in this chapter I found interesting Gamache's thoughts about churches: they “were either great cavernous tributes not so much to God as to the wealth and privilege of the community, or they were austere, cold tributes to the ecstasy of refusal”. This makes me wonder about Louise Penny's religious beliefs and back ground. And then there were Gamache's prayers for Yolande during the funeral, that she might someday actually be able to feel emotions, not just pretend to them. Gamache seem more and more a very reflective, objective, and caring man, I like him.
All in all, there was a lot packed in to this ninth chapter.

Rarely do I read books a second time, especially fiction, but I have enjoyed my second reading of “Still Life” more than the first; the comments and observations of others in the “group read” enhanced my reading experience.
I did finally get totally fed up with Nichol; she not only was so arrogant in her belief that she had solved this case, she lied on repeated occasions to cover up that she was not doing her job.
I liked the way the author tied together certain elements introduced in the book; the comments about “conscience and cowardice” were repeated and tied in to the story. The conversation between Gamache and Myrna in the bookstore, about people who resist change and growth, who are so stuck that they wait for someone or something to come along and save them, was repeated near the end of the book, as Gamache observed various people in the village and evaluated their potential role in Jane's death. Then as Jane's paintings are revealed and studied, it is found that she depicted Ben as frozen in stone, looking always toward the past, someone leading a Still Life.
The verse Matthew 10:36 is echoed in the quote from Auden: “Evil...shares our bed and eats at our own table”.
And then there is “The blind...”


I have the Still Life book again.... hoping the library also gets me the audiobook on CD to help :-) Hope to get started on this soon!
Funny how we ended up with two discussion threads for Still Life :-) I'll probably be commenting in both. I'm finally reading the book.

Where do I begin? I have finished Still Life. Simply put, I liked it. I am impressed with the January posts regarding conscience and cowardice. Its a pretty well covered discussion but I wanted to add to Laurel's coworker comments that said the purpose of a conscience was to keep us from harming ourselves and others but more importantly, for self-discipline and to promote the growth of spirit. This so fits with who the murderer was and the reason for him killing his mother. Ben definitely lacked in the conscience department. As a mother, Jane wanted her son to grow up, she changed her will and rather than make any moves in that direction, he killed her. This makes a good case for this definition of conscience.
It is impossible to be a passive reader while reading a Louise Penny novel. She drops clues throughout the novel to let you know what's happened and whodunit. On page 24, Jane quotes from Auden on how "evil is unspectacular and always human, and shares our bed and eats at our own table". I lost count of how many times she mentions Matthew 10:36...."and a man's foes shall be they of his own household". All roads led to Ben but I missed it.
I've rambled enough. I have more to add but enough for tonight. It's late.
Christine wrote: "It is impossible to be a passive reader while reading a Louise Penny novel."
no kidding :-) I had to keep re-reading different parts - glad I finally finished.
no kidding :-) I had to keep re-reading different parts - glad I finally finished.
My favorite passage from Still Life (found in chapter 6):
Normally death came at night, taking a person in their sleep, stopping their heart or tickling them awake, leading them to the bathroom with a splitting headache before pouncing and flooding their brain with blood. It waits in alleys and metro stops. After the sun goes down plugs are pulled by white-clad guardians and death is invited into an antiseptic room.
But in the country death comes, uninvited, during the day. It takes fishermen in their longboats. It grabs children by the ankles as they swim. In winter it calls them down a slope too steep for their budding skills, and crosses their skies at the tips. It waits along the shore where snow met ice not long ago but now, unseen by sparkling eyes, a little water touches the shore, and the skater makes a circle slightly larger than intended. Death stands in the woods with a bow and arrow at dawn and dusk. And it tugs cars off the road in broad daylight, the tires spinning furiously on ice or snow, or bright autumn leaves.
Normally death came at night, taking a person in their sleep, stopping their heart or tickling them awake, leading them to the bathroom with a splitting headache before pouncing and flooding their brain with blood. It waits in alleys and metro stops. After the sun goes down plugs are pulled by white-clad guardians and death is invited into an antiseptic room.
But in the country death comes, uninvited, during the day. It takes fishermen in their longboats. It grabs children by the ankles as they swim. In winter it calls them down a slope too steep for their budding skills, and crosses their skies at the tips. It waits along the shore where snow met ice not long ago but now, unseen by sparkling eyes, a little water touches the shore, and the skater makes a circle slightly larger than intended. Death stands in the woods with a bow and arrow at dawn and dusk. And it tugs cars off the road in broad daylight, the tires spinning furiously on ice or snow, or bright autumn leaves.