By Paul Carrier
Portland, Maine, 1892. On the bicentennial of the 1692 Salem witch trials in Massachusetts, a prostitute is gruesomely murdered and mutilated in a ritualistic attack, raising the curtain on Kieran Shields’ gothic mystery The Truth of All Things.
Maggie Keene is found in a machine shop, her half-naked body laid out like a pentagram. She has been pinned to the ground with a pitchfork. A cross-like mark has been slashed on her chest. And her right hand is missing.
Deputy Marshal Archie Lean spots a message at the scene written in what later proves to be the language of the Abenaki Indians. It translates as “thy kingdom come” from the Lord’s Prayer. But Perceval Grey, a half-Abenaki criminalist and former Pinkerton agent who is called in, doubts that the killer is an Indian, as the search begins for a murderer who has killed before and may plan to kill again.
This brooding novel, with its occult overtones, has a fine Sherlockian feel. Grey’s precise speech, condescending attitude, keen intellect and analytical bent conjure up comparisons to Arthur Conan Doyle's creation.
“Everything that can be observed offers the opportunity to draw conclusions as to what must have occurred previously,” Grey tells Lean after Grey displays a particularly brilliant piece of deductive reasoning. But Grey needs, and accepts, the assistance of others. Lean’s instincts and street smarts, coupled with the research know-how of Portland historian Helen Prescott, buttress Grey's skills as the investigation progresses.
In a 2012 interview with mainecrimewriters.com, Shields said he initially envisioned telling the story “almost entirely from Lean’s point of view. As the book progressed, Grey forced his way forward to the point where I actually contemplated whether Lean was even necessary to the story. Of course he was necessary, as was Helen Prescott, who also insisted on injecting herself further into the book. In the end, I think they all settled into place nicely and it’s the interactions among them that I enjoyed writing the most.”
As time passes, the investigation suggests a link between the murder and the Salem witch trials, which were partially rooted in Maine.
Seventeenth-century Indian attacks against frontier settlements in Maine reinforced Puritan fears of the devil and his supposed Indian servants, especially because some Mainers who had escaped Indian attacks had relocated to Salem and environs before the hysteria broke out there. (Historian Mary Beth Norton examines these ties in her 2003 book, In the Devil’s Snare.) George Burroughs, a 17th-century minister and accused witch who spent time in both Maine and Massachusetts, figures prominently in the novel.
"I liked the trials as an historical back story because most people have some familiarity, or at least spooky associations, with Salem. But not many readers would have an in-depth knowledge of all the weird details and elements of those tragic events," Shields said in that interview with mainecrimewriters.com.
"I chose 1892 since my original plot outline was tied to the anniversary of the 1692 witch trials, so I looked at the bicentennial year," Shields said. "That period had a lot of appeal in terms of the gothic feel of the age, being a period when gruesome murders (e.g., Jack the Ripper, Lizzie Borden, and H.H. Holmes at the Chicago World’s Fair) were coming into the public consciousness . . . ."
A Portland native with an obvious interest in history, Shields presents the geography of that city in convincing detail, with a sharp eye for points of reference that will please readers familiar with Maine's largest city. One prominent landmark, in particular, plays a key role in Shields’ tale.
It’s a credit to the author’s skill that even when the case appears to have been solved, that denouement is exposed as a novelist’s ruse. The reader is in for more plot-twisting shocks as this complex story races toward a breathtaking, and very satisfying, resolution.
Maggie Keene is found in a machine shop, her half-naked body laid out like a pentagram. She has been pinned to the ground with a pitchfork. A cross-like mark has been slashed on her chest. And her right hand is missing.
Deputy Marshal Archie Lean spots a message at the scene written in what later proves to be the language of the Abenaki Indians. It translates as “thy kingdom come” from the Lord’s Prayer. But Perceval Grey, a half-Abenaki criminalist and former Pinkerton agent who is called in, doubts that the killer is an Indian, as the search begins for a murderer who has killed before and may plan to kill again.
This brooding novel, with its occult overtones, has a fine Sherlockian feel. Grey’s precise speech, condescending attitude, keen intellect and analytical bent conjure up comparisons to Arthur Conan Doyle's creation.
“Everything that can be observed offers the opportunity to draw conclusions as to what must have occurred previously,” Grey tells Lean after Grey displays a particularly brilliant piece of deductive reasoning. But Grey needs, and accepts, the assistance of others. Lean’s instincts and street smarts, coupled with the research know-how of Portland historian Helen Prescott, buttress Grey's skills as the investigation progresses.
In a 2012 interview with mainecrimewriters.com, Shields said he initially envisioned telling the story “almost entirely from Lean’s point of view. As the book progressed, Grey forced his way forward to the point where I actually contemplated whether Lean was even necessary to the story. Of course he was necessary, as was Helen Prescott, who also insisted on injecting herself further into the book. In the end, I think they all settled into place nicely and it’s the interactions among them that I enjoyed writing the most.”
As time passes, the investigation suggests a link between the murder and the Salem witch trials, which were partially rooted in Maine.
Seventeenth-century Indian attacks against frontier settlements in Maine reinforced Puritan fears of the devil and his supposed Indian servants, especially because some Mainers who had escaped Indian attacks had relocated to Salem and environs before the hysteria broke out there. (Historian Mary Beth Norton examines these ties in her 2003 book, In the Devil’s Snare.) George Burroughs, a 17th-century minister and accused witch who spent time in both Maine and Massachusetts, figures prominently in the novel.
"I liked the trials as an historical back story because most people have some familiarity, or at least spooky associations, with Salem. But not many readers would have an in-depth knowledge of all the weird details and elements of those tragic events," Shields said in that interview with mainecrimewriters.com.
"I chose 1892 since my original plot outline was tied to the anniversary of the 1692 witch trials, so I looked at the bicentennial year," Shields said. "That period had a lot of appeal in terms of the gothic feel of the age, being a period when gruesome murders (e.g., Jack the Ripper, Lizzie Borden, and H.H. Holmes at the Chicago World’s Fair) were coming into the public consciousness . . . ."
A Portland native with an obvious interest in history, Shields presents the geography of that city in convincing detail, with a sharp eye for points of reference that will please readers familiar with Maine's largest city. One prominent landmark, in particular, plays a key role in Shields’ tale.
It’s a credit to the author’s skill that even when the case appears to have been solved, that denouement is exposed as a novelist’s ruse. The reader is in for more plot-twisting shocks as this complex story races toward a breathtaking, and very satisfying, resolution.
