Music Macabre, by Sarah Rayne (Severn House)
This thriller, set
in parallel time lines in modern and Victorian-era London, weaves together the legend
of the serial killer, Jack the Ripper, and the music of Franz Liszt. In today’s
time, writer Phineas Fox is researching his next project, a scholarly work on
the life of Liszt, when he comes across a reference to “Liszten for the Killer,”
a song that the women of Whitechapel used as an alarm signal.
The Victorian story
line includes the notorious music hall dancer, Scaramel, and the poor girl,
Dairy, whom she befriends. As the Ripper’s attacks grow nearer, Daisy and her
younger brother barely escape his knives. Scaramel devises a scheme to use a
melody composed by Liszt’s, as distinctive as it is haunting, as a way to rapidly
spread word of his approach. Meanwhile, Phineas’s researches bring him to the
physical location of the older story’s events. Many of the same buildings are
still in existence, including the pub where Scaramel and her group met; in
gaining access to the documents stored in the basement, he encounters the new
owner, who has a secret family history and obsession of her own.
Music Macabre added something quite new and fresh for me to
the usual tales of Jack the Ripper. Initially my curiosity was piqued by the
use of Liszt’s music as a plot element. That in itself set the book apart (and
as an adult piano student, I have Opinions about Liszt’s compositions for a
pianist with relatively small hands). Both story lines drew me in, and as the
parallel tales progressed, echoing and crossing one another, the tension
rocketed up. The thriller elements were handled with seeming effortlessness,
allowing deeper nuances to emerge. Sympathetic characters, a burgeoning sense
of doom, and unexpected twists added to the reading enjoyment.
Now, where’s that
playlist?
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