The description sounded like it would be a perfect book to read while curled up under a blanket with a warm cup of tea, and that’s exactly what it delivered.
At the heart of the novel is Gabriel Ward, a diminutive, kindly man—brilliant, slightly agoraphobic, very particular in his habits, and entirely in love with the law. He delights in process, precision, and the intellectual pleasure of reasoning through a thorny issue by carefully considering counterarguments. As a professor, I empathize with the joy he finds in a life of the mind. As a bibliophile, I can easily envision his rooms, which are so crammed with books that he cannot even pace to think.
He lives where he works, in the Inner Temple area of London, one of the four Inns of Court, professional associations for barristers in England and Wales. The Inner Temple has been around since at least thirteen eighty-eight, and it’s clear that Gabriel, from his nineteen oh one vantage point, finds a sense of contentment and reassurance in its longstanding traditions even as he plays with the meaning of words and the letter of the law to make his arguments.
As the book opens, he is immersed in a particularly challenging and fascinating case involving the property rights of a wildly popular children’s book, Millie, the Temple Church Mouse. Unfortunately, he quite literally stumbles across the body of the Lord Chief Justice, and, despite his best efforts, is drafted into investigating the murder. What makes Gabriel such a compelling lead is watching him wrestle with his unexpected emotions. He’s not naive, exactly; he’s certainly encountered the seamier side of life through his cases. But it’s all been abstract. He has spent so much of his life sheltered inside the Inner Temple, and inside his head, that he is unsettled by the deeper encounters with others required by the investigation--and which spill over into his legal case. Still, he steels himself to venture outside of the Temple in pursuit of the truth, including hailing a cab and giving directions!, even as he acknowledges his limits (a train to Bournemouth is right out) and wisely enlists the help of a bright local constable.
Indeed, one of the book’s greatest strengths is an utterly adorable cast of characters: the repressive-but-fiery spinster sister of the victim; the elderly barrister who goes to surprising lengths to protect his cat; and several others whose type you’ll recognize but who never feel trite.
I laughed out loud several times, at least partly due to listening to the audiobook. The wit and humor of the characters’ wordplay shine through the excellent narration by Matthew Lloyd Davies, giving the story the feel of a classic radio play. // A Case of Mice and Murder is absolutely charming. It’s clever and cozy and filled with characters I can’t wait to spend more time with. I’m looking forward to reading the newly released second book in the series, A Case of Life and Limb. I have my tea and blanket ready.