The Minor Adjustment Beauty Salon

Review by New York Times Review

STOP! PUT THAT book down! You may think it's time to catch up with Jo Nesbo, the Norwegian crime novelist everyone's talking about, and you're right. But POLICE (Knopf, $25.95) is no place to start. This densely plotted story, translated by Don Bartlett, is one of Nesbo's darkest and most disturbing, the tale of a serial killer with a taste for the macabre who observes the anniversary of each of his murders by luring a police detective to a gruesome death at the scene of the very crime the officer failed to solve. The chills are palpable in this nerve-racking thriller, but key narrative elements and several characters are straight out of Nesbo's previous novel, "Phantom," which begs to be read first. The author's most confounding plot device, however, is keeping the reader in the dark about the fate of his hero, Harry Hole, the maverick Oslo detective who took a bullet in "Phantom" and may be dead... or in a coma... or recovering in the arms of his beloved ... or hovering in spirit above the heads of the select group of police officers who are conducting their own clandestine investigation into the cop killings. Removing Harry from the action is a bold move that pays off in incisive character studies of the ensemble players who have always languished in his shadow - secondary figures like Beate Lonn, the brilliant head of forensics, and Stale Aune, the mild-mannered psychologist who misses the adrenaline rush of helping hunt down Harry's monstrous criminals. Nesbo has always had a soft spot for his madmen and their grotesque methods of murder. Although he has yet to surpass the fiend he brought to life in "The Snowman," the child rapist and murderer who slithers through this story comes pretty close. It's more surprising to see the care this hard-boiled writer has taken with less flashy characters like Anton Mittet, a humble policeman who has been assigned to guard a comatose hospital patient we assume to be Harry. Mittet grows in stature throughout the story, but he's been a moody guy from the start. Looking around the brand-new hospital building, he fantasizes about the future patients who would someday die there. "It was already in the air," he tells himself, "invisible bodies with restless souls had already been admitted." AS HISTORICAL MYSTERIES go, Victorian England has its charms; but dirty, pestilential 18th-century France really promises a walk on the wild side. Jean-François Parot delivers on that pledge with gusto in THE CHÂTELET APPRENTICE (Gallic Books, paper, $15.95), the first of 10 novels being translated by Michael Glencross and featuring Nicolas Le Floch, a young police inspector who's a keen student of forensic science yet isn't above some down-and-dirty street fighting. This is an age, after all, when the police routinely apply torture during interrogations and depend on "a host of informers, spies and prostitutes" to keep one step ahead of the criminals. Nicolas's first case, an investigation into the disappearance of a high-ranking police official, ushers this one-time country boy into the presence of Louis XV at Versailles. Being French, Nicolas tends to brood on existential matters ("The young man wondered about the enigma of the human character") while turning to philosophers like Pascal for guidance. But his is no high-society tale: he takes us into the dank cells of the Bastille, the reeking morgue of the Basse-Geôle, the boisterous brothels and taverns and stewpots and all the other places we really want to see. FINDING HERSELF IN a society governed by "flux and rearrangement," Precious Ramotswe, the intrepid proprietor of the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency in Botswana, is determined to remain as steadfast as a constellation in the night sky. But Alexander McCall Smith's beloved sleuth comes to accept the inevitability of change in THE MINOR ADJUSTMENT BEAUTY SALON (Pantheon, $24.95) when her trusted "associate detective," Grace Makutsi, leaves the agency to have a baby. After being left to handle two cases on her own - verifying the identity of the heir to a farm and unmasking the person behind a hate campaign against the owner of a beauty salon - Mma Ramotswe realizes it's time to make some momentous concessions, even if her own philosophy on parenting goes no further than: "Give babies lots of love and keep them warm and don't let flies settle on their noses." AN ENGLISH village as pretty as Nether Monkslip needs a romantic local legend - and perhaps a tasteful murder - to entice readers who love a cozy mystery. G. M. Malliet arranges for both in PAGAN SPRING (Minotaur/Thomas Dunne, $24.99), which challenges the Rev. Max Tudor, the resident sleuth in this charming series, to identify a murderer among his parishioners and closest friends. Two cleverly designed set pieces, a meeting of the Writers' Square (the precious name chosen to avoid the clichéd Writers' Circle) and an elaborate dinner party, are a droll introduction to the villagers. Malliet is a gentle satirist, except when she's manhandling Thaddeus Bottle, an egocentric playwright and actor who heads everyone's list of potential murder candidates. Even Max gets a ribbing over his relationship with the woman who owns the New Age Goddesspell shop and practices an idiosyncratic brand of - wait for it - paganism.

Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [November 10, 2013]

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Review by Booklist Review

*Starred Review* The titles of many of the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency novels (this is the fourteenth) often have a wonderfully cheery tone. Think of The Full Cupboard of Life, for example, or Tea Time for the Traditionally Built. The latest title is brilliant in its hopefulness, implying, as it does, that a person may only be a mere tweak away from beauty. This hopeful attitude is exemplified by Mma Ramotswe, the owner and operator of Botswana's only detective agency, who resolutely tackles the problems people bring to her in her small, out-of-the-way office under an acacia tree. The clients' problems showcase the usual suspects of greed, envy, sloth all the vices that cause trouble for others. This time, the owner of the nearest town's new beauty salon receives a tiny thing, a feather from a ground hornbill bird. But this artifact is a traditional way of conveying hate. This is followed by a highly effective smear campaign. The other case Mma Ramotswe works on here concerns an heir to a great cattle farm who may actually be an imposter. Mma Ramotswe must track the truth alone because her assistant Mma Makutsi is absent (no plot spoiler here). As usual, these novels are only a bit about actual mysteries. They're leisurely, wonderfully crafted descriptions of life in the agency and at home, the beauties of Botswana, and the joys, big and small, of life. This latest is, especially, a tribute to enduring friendship.--Fletcher, Connie Copyright 2010 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency could be about to lose its #2 investigator in Smith's endearing 14th installment of the bestselling Botswana-set series (after 2012's The Limpopo Academy of Private Detection). One hardly needs the renowned deductive powers of agency head Mma Precious Ramotswe to notice the growing bulk beneath the increasingly voluminous garb of recently married second-in-command Mma Grace Makutsi. But the normally frighteningly efficient assistant stays mum as the pair try to establish whether the young "nephew" attempting to claim a dead man's estate is in fact an imposter. Meanwhile, Mma Ramotswe allows herself to be snookered into figuring out who's mounting a smear campaign against the titular beauty establishment. The two story lines work as serviceably as Mma Ramotswe's doughty white van to propel the story forward, but the book's appeal lies less in deduction than irrepressible characters, intriguing local lore, and bone-deep love of Africa. Agent: Robin Straus, Robin Straus Agency. (Nov.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Library Journal Review

For a series now with 14 entries, McCall Smith's Botswana-set books starring Mma Precious Ramotswe have maintained a remarkably high standard. Every novel adds new depth to its beloved characters while spinning plot twists that are sufficiently intriguing to make each book work on its own as a satisfying detective story. This latest (after The Limpopo Academy of Private Detection) explores the effect of motherhood on Precious's recently married associate, Mma Makutsi. The latter's maternity-leave causes the unfailingly sensitive Mma Ramotswe to redefine her professional relationship with her assistant. Meanwhile, the agency confronts troubling cases of a possibly false heir to a farm and a beauty salon targeted by a vicious rumor campaign. Despite the country's many admirable qualities, all is not well in Botswana. Lisette Lecat's narration is, as always, pitch perfect. -VERDICT Another excellent title from McCall Smith.-R. Kent Rasmussen, Thousand Oaks, CA (c) Copyright 2014. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Two and a half new cases for Precious Ramotswe, who presides over the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. The first case is both straightforward and tricky. Sheba Kutso, the lawyer Edgar Molapo hired to execute the will leaving much of his estate to his late brother's son, Liso, suspects that the young man calling himself Liso Molapo isn't her late client's nephew, even though he's supplied with all the proper identification. Mma Ramotswe can imagine several different scenarios that would explain the possible imposture, as well as some that would indicate that the claimant isn't an imposter at all, but it's hard to find evidence that supports any of them and excludes the others. In the second case, which asks who's spreading malicious rumors about Mma Soleti, the proprietor of the newly relocated Minor Adjustment Beauty Salon, identifying the culprit seems almost too easy, but this inquiry too turns out to have unexpected twists. What occupies Mma Ramotswe most deeply, however, is the absence of her secretary and associate detective, Grace Makutsi, who, only days after finally acknowledging her pregnancy, is delivered of a son whose arrival brings a most unwelcome extended visit from her husband Phuti Radiphuti's aunt. In the tale's most effective episode, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, getting the idea that he needs to work harder at being a good husband to Mma Ramotswe, signs up for the Modern Husband course at the University of Botswana, with gratifyingly predictable results. A little slower-moving and more diffuse than many of the 13 preceding volumes in this celebrated series (The Limpopo Academy of Private Detection, 2012, etc.), but it's no more than you'd expect from a heroine whose fleetness has never been as big a draw as her wisdom.]]]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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There had been no further debate on the issue, and Mma Ramotswe had learned to steer clear of certain topics--such as that one--that could be guaranteed to elicit an extreme response from her somewhat prickly assistant. Mma Makutsi had many merits, she came to realise, and these easily outweighed her occasional faults. And now, with Mma Makutsi on maternity leave and the office seeming strangely quiet as a result, there was something else that she came to realise: she missed her assistant in a way and to a degree that she had never anticipated. She missed her occasional outbursts; she missed her comments on what was in the newspapers; she even missed the way in which she would intervene in the conversation Mma Ramotswe was having with clients, dropping in observations from her position to the rear and making them stop and turn their heads to reply to somebody over their shoulder--not an easy thing to do. All of that she missed, just as she missed Mma Makutsi's knack of putting her teacup down on the desk in a manner that so completely revealed her thinking on the subject under discussion. There was nobody else she knew who could put a cup down on a desk to quite the same effect. It was, she decided, one of the many respects in which Mma Makutsi was--and here she could think of only one word to express it--irreplaceable. There simply could never be another Mma Makutsi. There could never be another woman from Bobonong, of all places, with flashing round glasses and ninety-seven per cent in the final examinations of the Botswana Secretarial College. There could never be another person who was even remotely capable of standing up to somebody like Mma Potokwane, or putting Charlie in his place when, with all the confidence and ignorance of the young male, he made some outrageous comment. If Mma Makutsi decided not to return from maternity leave then Mma Ramotswe thought that the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency would never be the same again, and might not be worth continuing with. She looked about her. She had worked as a detective for some years now, and in that time she had done her best for her clients. She liked to think that she had made a difference to the lives of at least some people and helped them to deal with problems that had become too burdensome for them to handle on their own. Now, however, surveying the shabby little office, she wondered whether she really had achieved very much. It was a rare moment of gloom, and it was at this point that she realised she was doing something that she very seldom did. She supported many people in their tears--for tears could so easily come to those who were recounting their troubles--but there were few occasions on which she herself cried. If you are there to staunch the tears of the world, then it does not cross your mind that you yourself may weep. But now she did, not copiously but discreetly and inconsequentially, and barely noticeably--except to Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, who chose that moment to come into the room, wiping the grease off his hands, ready with a remark about what he had just discovered under the latest unfortunate car. For a moment he stood quite still. Then, letting the lint fall from his hands, he swiftly crossed the room and put his arm about his wife's shoulder, lowering his head so that they were cheek to cheek and she could feel the stubble on his chin and the warmth of his breath. "My Precious, my Precious." She reached up and took his hand. There was still a smear on it--some vital fl uid of the injured car to which he had been attending--but she paid no attention to that. "I'm sorry," she said. "There is really no reason for me to cry. I am being silly." "You are not silly, Mma. You are never silly. What is it?" With her free hand she took the handkerchief from where it was tucked into the front of her dress. She blew her nose, and with some determination too. After all, the blowing of a nose can be the punctuation that brings such moments to an end. "I am much better now," she said. "I have been sitting and thinking when I should be working. And without Mma Makutsi to talk to, well, you know how hard it can be to sit with the problems of other people." He knew, or thought he knew. Yes, he knew how she felt. "Just like cars," he said. "You sit and look at a car and you think of all its problems, and it can get you down." "Yes, I'm sure it can." She smiled at him. "I'll be all right, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. Mma Makutsi will come back and everything will be the same again." He removed his hand from her shoulder and stood up. "I will make you tea," he said. She looked at him with fondness. For some reason, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni did not make very good tea. It was something to do with the quantities of tea he put in the pot, or with not allowing the water to boil properly, or with the way he poured it. For whatever reason, his tea was never quite of the standard achieved by her or by Mma Makutsi. So she thanked him and said that it would be good for her to do something instead of sitting at her desk and moping, and then she made the tea for herself and for her husband, and for Charlie and Fanwell too, and Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni took his cup back into the garage where he sipped at it thoughtfully while he decided what to do. Excerpted from The Minor Adjustment Beauty Salon by Alexander McCall Smith All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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