If, like me, you’ve been following Commissaire Georges Dupin around
Brittany for the last decade, you already know the ritual: sun-drenched salt
air, endless cups of grand crème, buttery kouign-amann appearing at exactly the
right moment, and a murder that somehow ties into Celtic legends, oyster
farming, or (in this case) the eerie former abbey on the wild Côte des
Légendes. Book eleven, The
Secrets of the Abbey, delivers all the expected pleasures, and that, oddly enough, is part
of its slight letdown.
The set up is classic Bannalec. An unseasonably warm October finds Dupin grumbling good-naturedly while Second Inspector Kadeg — usually the butt of gentle jokes — suffers a personal tragedy. His aunt dies after a string of ominous “signs of death,” and when Kadeg visits her home in a deconsecrated abbey someone puts him in intensive care. Dupin races to the coast with the team, and soon the abbey’s shadowy corridors are spilling long-buried family secrets, whispered superstitions, and more than one motive for murder.
As always, Bannalec’s Brittany is practically a character in its own right. You’ll smell the sea, taste the crêpes, and come away with a short course in medieval Breton architecture and local death omens whether you meant to or not. Dupin himself remains irresistible: caffeine-powered, impatient with nonsense, secretly sentimental, and still capable of solving a case by sheer stubbornness and a well-timed pastry break.
The mystery is clever, the writing elegant (the translation by Sorcha McDonagh continues to be seamless), and the atmosphere thick enough to cut with one of Dupin’s beloved Opinel knives. Yet — and this is something I’ve never said about a Dupin book before — I found myself setting it down without reluctance. The pacing feels a touch leisurely, even for this deliberately unhurried series, and the central puzzle, while satisfying, lacks the irresistible pull of the best entries.
Longtime fans will still enjoy every page; it’s like revisiting a favorite café where the coffee is still excellent even if this particular blend isn’t the most memorable you’ve had. New readers could start here, but I’d gently nudge them toward Death in Brittany or The Granite Coast Murders for peak Dupin.
In short: another solid, scenic, croissant-scented investigation. Just not the one I’ll be pressing into friends’ hands with quite the same urgency as numbers 1-10.
(And yes, I still want Dupin’s life — minus the attempted murders, of course.) 3 1/2 stars
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I received an advanced digital copy from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
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