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Today, in “Gamache Goes Abroad,” we visit the Norwegian edition of The Cruelest Month. As you might remember from the Cultural Inspirations we did about this book, the title directly references the T.S. Eliot poem “The Wasteland.” In the book, Gamache reflects on the nature of the poet’s idea that April is the cruelest month. The American cover clearly represents April with its Easter egg imagery, but the one cracked Easter egg in the corner suggests something sinister as well. 

In contrast, the Norwegian publisher chose to focus on an image suggesting the inside of the Old Hadley House, where some villagers celebrated Easter with a séance in this book. While the American cover uses pastel colors commonly associated with spring, the Norwegian jacket is done entirely in a muted, dark, and mysterious color palette.

What do you think about the two different covers? 

Which cover better encapsulates your feelings about Louise’s third book?

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In this installment of “Gamache Goes Abroad”, we find our dear Inspector in Sweden, where our Scandavian publishing colleagues decided to call the book “Nådastöt”, which translates to “Death Blow”. 

One of the first things we noticed is the similarity in color palette between the two covers. Even before reading the plot description, it’s clear that this is a book that takes place in the cold Quebec winter. 

As for differences between the two covers, the US edition focuses on a landscape image (and major plot setting), whereas the Swedish edition depicts a snowy owl, which is said to symbolize sacrifice, family, clarity, and legacy — attributes which surely apply to the Three Pines canon. 

If the two books were side-by-side, which would you be more likely to pick up?

Beyond a frozen lake or a snowy owl, what other images represent winter in Three Pines to you?

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ALL THE DEVILS ARE HERE finds our dear Inspector in France so there’s no better place to kick off our “Gamache Goes Abroad” cover musings than en français! 

And, wow, the current U.S. cover treatment of Still Life couldn’t be any different from how our French colleagues handled the look of the book. While we opted for a subtle nod to the title — the art genre that dates back to the Egyptians — the French took a more severe route, depicting a key plot point (no spoilers, please!). It’s noteworthy that both covers feature framed imagery which could symbolize a window, or, entryway, into the series. 

What do you think?

Which cover do you gravitate towards?

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From Pg. 9:
Ruth made a noise that could have been a laugh. Or indigestion.
‘I’ll tell you what is funny. You crash and burn trying to do something different, while Armand destroys his career by agreeing to go back and do the same old thing.’

Louise’s Thoughts:
I so enjoy writing Ruth, though it takes a, perversely, delicate touch. She needs to be honest and cranky, often insulting, while not descending into caricature or outright nastiness. Here that ambivalence is illustrated, I hoped, through their inability to know if the noise is amusement or indigestion. Though, once again, she uncomfortably states what most are thinking.

From Pg. 42
“Consequences,” said Gamache. “We must always consider the consequences
of our actions. Or inaction.”

Louise’s Thoughts:
This is an ongoing theme within the books, and with Gamache. Considering the consequences, knowing the consequences, weighing the outcomes….and still deciding to act. It’s one thing to act on instinct, and there’s often rare courage in that – but Armand tries to impress on his people that there’s even more courage in looking without blinking at what their actions might mean. Good and bad. Intended and unintended. He goes on to say that, in his opinion, that’s part of their contract with the Quebec population. That those with a badge and a gun, will have the maturity to think before they act.

From Pg. 11
He left the woods late that afternoon, shattered.
And now he was back.
A better man? A bitter man?
They were about to find out.

Louise’s Thoughts:
The homicide team is about to see Armand Gamache, back at work as their Chief Inspector, for the first time since his suspension and demotion from Chief Superintendent. I loved writing this scene…of his return, and their reaction. And my reaction, to having him back as head of homicide. Where the whole Three Pines series began. Older. More bruised. Both him, and me. And you too, I suspect. Have the years, the events, the vicissitudes made him, us, bitter or better?

From Pg. 16
‘I see.’ Gamache lowered his voice, though all could still hear the words. ‘When I was Chief Superintendent I had a poster framed in my office. On it were the last words of a favorite poet, Seamus Heaney. Noli Timere. It’s Latin. Do you know what it means?’
He looked around the room.
‘Neither did I,’ he admitted, when no one spoke. ‘I had to look it up. It means, Be Not Afraid.’

Louise’s Thoughts:
Not completely coincidentally, I have the same poster in my living room, where I see it everyday as I write. I’m looking at it now. Fear is such a thief. If I only did what I was comfortable with, there’d be no books, no marriage, fewer close relationships. Less travel, far fewer, or no, risks. And my life would shrink to nothing. Armand knows that the bravest person in any room is the one who can admit he’s scared sh**less. But does it anyway. Here he’s encouraging a young agent to speak his mind, even though he’s afraid.

From Pg. 48
She also happened to be the chief of the volunteer fire department. Not because she was a natural leader, but because most villagers would rather run into a burning building or a river in full flood than face Ruth Zardo’s sharp tongue.

Louise’s Thoughts:
Ha – I’ve used similar descriptions of Ruth, and once again I hoped to illustrate the contradiction that is Ruth…indeed, that is most of us. The elderly poet could stay home, ignoring whatever natural disaster has cropped up. Instead, she takes on a leadership role, whether her neighbors like it or not. Yet she’s strangely effective, partly because the very thing that makes her almost as terrifying as the catastrophe, makes her uniquely effective. Ruth Zardo never shies away from the truth. From a fight. In this book we see her doing just that, with some great success, and with some terrible result.

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From (acknowledgements)
Whale oil beef hooked

Louise’s Thoughts:
Haha! I wonder how many of you recognized this quote from an earlier book (Book 2 in the series, when we first meet Billy Williams), and can de-code what it/he is trying to say. My editor, Hope Dellon to whom the book is dedicated, especially liked this moment between Gamache and Billy, and that’s why I use it. It’s also a running joke between us…sending each other deeply inappropriate cards etc with the ‘f’ word. Poor Armand has struggled the entire series to understand the back-woods man, though no one else seems to have difficulty. A trick is to say this phrase quickly out loud. But perhaps not in polite company.

From Pg. 4
Gamache looked again at the once-strong house and smiled. Feeling a kinship toward it. Things sometimes fell apart unexpectedly. It was not necessarily a reflection of how much they were valued.

Louise’s Thoughts:
Armand is still suspended from the Surete. An organization he helped save. And rebuild. But he’s also a realist and understands the difference between taking things personally, and politics. Between the way the world is, and the way it should be. His career has, to all appearances, fallen apart. But that doesn’t diminish his loyalty to the Surete, or the rank-and-file loyalty to him.

From Pg. 12
Gamache noticed that Myrna’s attitude had changed slightly. No longer fearful, she looked at their host with what appeared to be pity. There were some creatures who naturally evoked that reaction. Not given armor, or a poison bite, or the ability to fly or even run, what they had was equally powerful. The ability to look so helpless, so pathetic, that they could not possibly be a threat. Some even adopted them. Protected them. Nurtured them. Took them in.

Louise’s Thoughts:
This quote ends with the words, And almost always regretted it.. There’s a saying that I believe Gamache (or was it Myrna) quotes in an earlier book. The tyranny of the weak. It’s an uncomfortable issue to explore. The use of guilt, of manipulation, of victimhood by some, to get what they want. What makes this so uncomfortable is knowing that many people do legitimately need help. A kind and supportive ear. A hand up. In fact, we all do at times. I certainly had a low point, and people reached down and saved me. But I was anxious to get on my feet. As are most people. But a select few are not. They’ve made manipulation an art. So that even sophisticated people like Myrna fall prey. As she’s in danger of doing here.

From Pg. 58
“‘They fuck you up, your mum and dad. / They may not mean to, but they do,’ ” Ruth quoted. “I know that poem,” said Benedict, and all eyes swung to him. “But that’s not the way it goes.” “Oh really?” said Ruth. “And you’re a poetry expert?” “No, not really. But I know that one,” he said. If not oblivious to sarcasm, at least impervious to it. A useful trait, thought Armand. “How do you think it goes?” asked Reine-Marie. “‘They tuck you up, your mum and dad,’ ” said the young man, reeling it off easily. “‘They read you Peter Rabbit, too.’”

Louise’s Thoughts:
I wish I could say I made up Benedict’s alternative This Be The Verse by Philip Larkin, but I actually heard it from Robert Bathurst, who voices the audio tapes. We were having lunch in London and comparing favourite poems. I said how much I liked This Be The Verse, and he reeled off the ‘flip side’, written by Adrian Mitchell. I tucked it away, and a year or so later realized this would be a good time to use it. Not only is is hilarious, it illustrates a theme through the books. One of choice. Of what we hear and what we choose to believe. And, of course, it was fun having the ‘poetry-off’ between wizened embittered Ruth and milk fed Benedict – who seemed too good to be true.

From Pg. 166
Entitlement was, she knew, a terrible thing. It chained the person to their victimhood. It gobbled up all the air around it. Until the person lived in a vacuum, where nothing good could flourish.

Louise’s Thoughts:
Entitlement, it seems to me, is the opposite of gratitude. It blinds and deafens, and feeds into what we discussed earlier. That sense of victimhood and unfairness. To seeing only what is missing and not what is there. What has been denied and not what has been given. It leads to resentments, which eat a person from the inside out. As you can see, I am no great fan of entitlement. Though I make a distinction between entitlement (which implies a sort of manifest destiny) and having earned something. Worked for it. And are therefore entitled to it. Might sound like a fine distinction, but in my view a crucial one.

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From Pg. 7
The Crown made “remote” sound disagreeable, as though the further one got from a major city, the less civilized life became. Which might be true, thought Gamache. But he’d seen the results of so-called civilization and he knew that as many beasts lived in cities as in forests.

Louise’s Thoughts:
This was exactly our experience when Michael and I moved out of Montreal and into the ‘hinterlands’ south of Montreal. Honestly, you’d think we had to check our brains at the city limits. Many of our friends predicted we wouldn’t last a year. Twenty years later I’m still happily in the country, with more friends, more culture, more of a rich social life than we ever experienced in the city. Not that Montreal doesn’t have magnificent art and music. It does. But what people in cities might not realize is the richness of life in the country. And that the city, for all it has to offer, can be pretty damn grim. I wanted, in this passage, to cheer for the countryside and those who choose to live there.

From Pg. 13
And then there was his manner. While around him people partied, this figure stood absolutely still. Soon people stopped speaking to him. Asking about his costume. Trying to work out who it was. Before long, people stopped approaching him. And a space opened up around the dark figure. It was as though he occupied his own world. His own universe. Where there was no Halloween party. No revelers. No laughter. No friendship. “What did you think?” “I thought it was Death,” said Armand Gamache.

Louise’s Thoughts:
Now, this section was tricky. To create dread, without slipping into melodrama. But it also, if you remember, had another challenge and that was temporal. The time shifting that happens in these passages, where Gamache is both in Three Pines six months earlier, and in the courtroom, in the present. And to do it seamlessly. I didn’t want to fall into the easy formula of having one chapter past, next in the present. I wanted it to feel like it does in real life….where we often have our minds in both places. Standing in the present but reliving the past. Without a border. Slipping back and forth. Took me many drafts to get it right, or as right as I could get it. So the first few lines are in Three Pines, six months past. And the final exchange in the courtroom, in the height and heat of the summer. The other thing I really wanted to do in Glass Houses, something that hadn’t been done in all the previous books, was see Gamache in court. What happens after the arrest? What’s he like on the stand, under fierce examination?

From Pg. 18
We all have, she knew, a place where we’re not only most comfortable, but most competent. Hers was her bookstore. Olivier’s was the bistro. Clara’s was her studio. Sarah’s, the bakery. And Anton’s was the kitchen. But sometimes that comfort was an illusion. Masquerading as protecting, while actually imprisoning.

Louise’s Thoughts:
Ahhhh – how often have I wondered that about my life. Did you ever see The Matrix? It’s a great question…would you choose to stay in a comfortable, stable, but artificial existence – or take the pill and wake up to a dreadful reality? How often do we trade freedom for safety? Not risking. Not pushing and challenging, because then we might fail. But…we might not.

From Pg. 60
She had always been his wife. He’d known that the first moment he’d seen her. He knew her, that first moment. Through the ages. Through the lifetimes. Every other relationship might change, flow, morph into another guise, but his relationship with Reine-­Marie was absolute and eternal. She was his wife. And he was her husband. Forever.

Louise’s Thoughts:
I must believe this, and do. With all my heart, though I don’t expect anyone else to. (Except Armand). That there are certain people we meet in our lives, in all our lifetimes. And while they might take different roles, it’s essentially the same people. But I wanted to illustrate here, especially for people unfamiliar with their relationship, the deep bond between Armand and Reine-Marie. The depth of love both are capable of.

From Pg. 143
“Conscience,” said the Chief Superintendent, looking at her and seeing her smile just a little. “Or maybe cowardice. Some think they’re the same thing. That the only thing that stops us from doing something awful is the fear of getting caught. What would we do, after all, if we were guaranteed not to get caught? If we knew there’d be no consequences. Or if we didn’t care. If we believed the act was justified. If we believed, as Gandhi did, that there’s a higher court than a court of justice.”

Louise’s Thoughts:
This thought originally came to me from Oscar Wilde (not personally, I wasn’t channeling him). He once famously said that conscience and cowardice are the same thing. But then Armand here takes it that next step, and connects it to Gandhi. That’s the uncomfortable ambivalence at the heart of this novel. Gamache is warning that Gandhi, famous for standing up, non-violently, to power, might actually be unleashing here all sorts of darkness. Granting moral immunity to people who can say, with all sincerity, that they were simply following their conscience. If it’s legitimate for my beliefs, why not for yours? When is it all right to break the law?

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From Pg. 26
Professor Leduc moved his left arm, so that his wrist felt the butt of the handgun through his jacket. As he did that, he lifted his right hand and shook Gamache’s. Holding the man’s hand and his eyes. Both of which were steady, and displayed neither anger nor challenge. It was, Leduc realized, far more threatening than any overt show of force could ever be.

Louise’s Thoughts:
I really liked taking Gamache out of his regular job and placing him in the Academy. Who better to clean it up than someone who is by nature a teacher? I was lucky to have a few teachers, and professors, as I bumbled my way through school, who were thoughtful and patient. Who saw the big picture, the whole person. I also had some bullies, and that was equally instructive.

From Pg. 53
The poetry book had joined the others hidden under there. Books in Latin and Greek. Poetry books and philosophy books. She’d taught herself the dead languages, and memorized poetry. Among the filth. Shutting out the sounds of sex, the mutterings and shouts and screams of other boarders. The flushing toilets and obscenities and stench. All erased by poetry.

Louise’s Thoughts:
We all, I think, have something we cling to when times get tough. Prayers. Songs. Mantras. For me it’s a combination of prayer and poetry. Both calming. Centering. I wanted to write Amelia as a soul who’d lost her bearings, but not her way. She’s still looking for the path. The way “home”. The books she loves, the works she loves, are a sort of compass. I also wanted her to be an autodidact. Someone who clings to beauty, who doesn’t give in to the despair all around her. And yet is cynical, self-destructive, angry, bitter. But who, when a hand is stretched out, takes it. Now this is a person to be reckoned with. As Gamache recognizes.

From Pg. 31
Gamache had laughed. “I wish it was a mountain. At least they’re majestic. Conquering them brings some sense of triumph. The Sûreté Academy is more like a great big hole filled with merde. And I’ve fallen into it.”
“Fallen, patron? As I remember it, you jumped.”

Louise’s Thoughts:
Ha…it was so fun writing Gamache in the Academy. Seeing him in academae. Surrounded by students. Not all of them well-adjusted. And needing to have a firm grip on the professors. Gamache thinks he knows what, as Beauvoir put it, he’s jumped into. But he actually has no idea. I’d like to say I knew exactly what he would do, how he’d handle it, when he found out. But the fact is, I didn’t. What I knew was the man’s character, but I wanted to just see…. by this point in the series, while I know the characters (actually I think of them as people, not characters), well, I can still be surprised. I wanted to see what would happen when the full horror of what he’d gotten himself into began to dawn on him. And when it did, what he would do about it. Merde does not begin to describe the tragedy that was the Surete breeding ground.

From Pg. 161
The village had lulled him, however briefly, into forgetting that terrible things happened. He wondered if it was a gift, to forget however briefly, or a curse.

Louise’s Thoughts:
Three Pines will always be a refuge, for Gamache. For all the villagers. Not from pain, as long as we’re human that is inevitable. And few are more human than Gamache. But it’s a refuge from despair. Because as bad as things get, the villagers know they’re not alone. That’s the key, isn’t it? Having a place of peace. A quiet place in the bright sunshine. However briefly. Before it’s back to the trenches of life. But they take Three Pines with them in their hearts. As do I. As do you.

From Pg. 40
Yes, a snowman, however jolly, must have worry in his heart. As did the work of art. Or map. Or whatever it was they’d found in the wall.
Love and worry. They went hand in hand. Fellow travelers.

Louise’s Thoughts:
I don’t know about you, but I worry about the people I love. All the time. It’s not front and centre, more like a hum in the background. Spiking now and then, and never completely off. The wages of love. The cost of caring. The map in the wall aches with that. With love and worry. The cheerful snowman on the map, who nevertheless knows the sun will come out. Spring will arrive. What Gabri and Olivier found in the wall of the bistro was a map home. So that whoever had it would know, there was a way back. To a place where they were safe. And where they could forget, however briefly, the horrors of the outside world.

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From Pg. 8
The homes formed a circle, and in its center was the village green. And in the center of that were the pine trees that soared over the community. Three great spires that inspired the name. Three Pines. These were no ordinary trees. Planted centuries ago, they were a code. A signal to the war- weary.

Louise’s Thoughts:
It’s funny how we pick up ideas, isn’t it? I sat beside an elderly stranger at a social, in a church basement, and she told me the story of the three pines. She had them planted in front of her house. Had been there for more than a hundred years. And that they were a signal to those loyal to the British crown, flooding across the boarded during the War of Independence, that they were safe in Canada. I heard that story years before starting to write, and always loved the symbolism of it. The kindness of the act, the awareness of how weary and confused and frightened those immigrants must’ve been. And then, the unimaginable power of knowing they were safe. Unbeknownst to me, in the church basement over dinner with a stranger, the seeds not just of the village, but the themes of Three Pines were planted.

From Pg. 10
She passed this small mystery every day on her walks with Armand. They walked past the old school house, where Armand had almost been killed. They walked through the woods, where Armand had killed. Each of them very aware of the events. Every day they turned around and returned to the quiet village and the bench above it. And the words carved into it by some unknown hand — Surprised by Joy

Louise’s Thoughts:
The recurring theme of unexpected gifts. Of the kindness and grace of strangers. That someone would know the significance of that phrase not just for Armand, but for the whole village. How very healing it is. It comes, as you might know, from the title of a CS Lewis book. And was Michael’s favourite saying. A recurring theme in our lives together, and beyond. Surprised by Joy. Who’d have thought there could be so much joy? And so many surprises.

From Pg. 39
“There is a balm in Gilead,” she read from the back, “to make the wounded whole—”
“There’s power enough in Heaven / To cure a sin-sick soul.” Armand Gamache finished the phrase. “It’s from an old spiritual.”
Clara stared at the back cover. “Do you believe it, Armand?”
“Yes.” He took the book from her and grasped it so tightly in one hand she half expected words to squeeze out.
“Then what are you struggling with?” When he didn’t answer, she had her answer.

Louise’s Thoughts:
Love, love, love that spiritual. Hope. Healing. And for Armand, at this point in his life, so wounded deep down, there is comfort. THE LONG WAY HOME is one of my personal favourite books, perhaps because it’s very quiet. Inverted even, like the cover. We travel deeper and deeper, into the search for Peter, into Quebec, and into Armand’s pain. But always, always, with awareness, that there is a balm, that can make the wounded whole. I’m often asked about the book Armand is reading and if it’s a real book. It is not. Just something I made up.

From Pg. 74
Myrna found it strangely calming. Her mother’s and grandmother’s comfort smells were cut grass and fresh baking and the subtle scent of line- dried sheets. For Myrna’s generation the smells that calmed were manufactured. Melting asphalt meant summer. VapoRub meant winter, and being cared for. There were Tang and gas fumes and long- gone photocopy ink.

Louise’s Thoughts:
I love writing about scents, and often try to put in references in each book. So powerful, so evocative. The past is immediately made present, with certain aromas. And with that magic come strong feelings. How impressed we are, without even realizing it, until years later we’re walking along a street and catch a scent, and are immediately transported. The Three Pines books are about mysteries, not all of them crimes.

From Pg. 43
Gamache grinned. Each time they used dial-up in Three Pines— the only way to connect since no other signal reached this hidden village— the Chief would remind Jean-Guy that once even dial-up had seemed a miracle. Not a nuisance.

Louise’s Thoughts:
Now, this is something I’ve changed slightly, as technology has improved. It seemed unreasonable that Three Pines would not have better coverage. Though for many years, much longer than the rest of the world it seemed, Michael and I could only connect using dial-up. We lived in the middle of nowhere, in blessed countryside. The sounds of nature only interrupted by the screech of the connection being made. And our swearing. Until, like Gamache with Beauvoir, we had to remind each other that this was still pretty amazing.

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From Pg. 30
“Partly, but I run a bookstore,” said Myrna, looking at the row upon row of books, lining the walls and creating corridors in the open space. “So many of them were banned and burned. That one,” she pointed to the Fahrenheit 451 Clara still had in her hands. “To Kill a Mockingbird. The Adventures of Huck Finn. Even The Diary of Anne Frank. All banned by people who believed they were in the right. Could we be wrong?”
“You’re not banning it,” said Clara. “He’s allowed to write and you’re allowed to pull your support.”

Louise’s Thoughts:
Ongoing questions, uncomfortable questions I struggle with but always seem to clear to others, of where the line is. What is taking a strong stand, and what is violating the rights of others? People I disagree with. People whose opinions I vehemently disagree with and even believe might be dangerous? When is it ok to cross the line between vocally disagreeing, and censoring? Mark Twain once said, “Your right to swing your fist ends where my face begins”. This seems like a reasonable and clear definition of the limit of rights. But – we all have different sensitivities. Where something might hurt me, it might not hurt someone else. My “face” perhaps should not be the deciding factor. (Clearly here, I’m not talking about physical abuse, where a fist in the face is not debatable.)

From Pg. 34
If anyone believed in second chances, it was the man who sat before her. She’d been his friend and his unofficial therapist. She’d heard his deepest secrets, and she’d heard his most profound beliefs, and his greatest fears. But now she wondered if she’d really heard them all. And she wondered what demons might be nesting deep inside this man, who specialized in murder.

Louise’s Thoughts:
I love writing the scenes between Armand and Myrna. Their conversations about the human condition, about what drives people to do what they do. Their mutual respect, and complete trust.

From Pg. 53
This isn’t our parents’ generation, Armand. Now people have many chapters to their lives. When I stopped being a therapist I asked myself one question. What do I really want to do? Not for my friends, not for my family. Not for perfect strangers. But for me. Finally. It was my turn, my time.

Louise’s Thoughts:
Now this is a question that, on the surface, should be easy for a person in late middle-age to answer. What do I really want? What gives me pleasure. And yet, I’ve found it’s surprisingly difficult to answer. We’re just so imbued with the expectations of others. Of parents, of teachers, of neighbours, of the broader society. The start of this realization came shortly after I met Michael. We were at the Montreal Symphony, using his season tickets. As we left he turned to me and said, “I don’t think I like going to the symphony.” He went on to say that he’d sat there and realized his parents had taken him, then his first wife had taken him, and he’d never asked the question….what does he want? He was 61 years old at the time, and I was astonished. Then I began questioning my choices, as an adult, and realized how much of it was driven by what others told me I should be doing. What do you want? Hmmmm.

From Pg. 136
But suspicion was inevitable and often turned out to be true. People were almost always killed by someone they knew, and knew well, which compounded the tragedy and was probably why, Gamache thought, so many murder victims did not look frightened. They looked surprised.

Louise’s Thoughts:
One of the challenges of writing the books and, as it turns out, the great pleasures, is getting inside Gamache’s head. Seeing what he sees. Feeling what he feels, or imagining it anyway. What has been his experience? Trying to imagine years and years of investigating murders, investigating people.

From Pg. 168
Clara knew that grief took a terrible toll. It was paid at every birthday, every holiday, each Christmas. It was paid when glimpsing the familiar handwriting, or a hat, or a balled-up sock. Or hearing a creak that could have been, should have been, a footstep. Grief took its toll each morning, each evening, every noon hour as those who were left behind struggled forward.

Louise’s Thoughts:
I wrote this passage, this book, as Michael slipped further and further into dementia. As horrific as that was, there was also some comfort in knowing this pain brought us closer to others. That far from being alone, we were among the majority of people, who’d lost ones they loved. And lived in grief. I was, and am, so lucky on so many levels, including being able to turn that grief into a book. Rather than just writing from the head, I can write from the very core.