LOUISE PENNY’S

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The People of Three Pines: Jean-Guy Beauvoir

At thirty-five years old, Jean Guy Beauvoir had been Gamache’s second in command for more than a decade. He wore cords and a wool sweater under his leather jacket. A scarf was rakishly and apparently randomly whisked around his neck. It was a look of studied nonchalance which suited his toned body but was easily contradicted by the cord-tight tension of his stance. Jean Guy Beauvoir was loosely wrapped but tightly wound. – Still Life

Jean Guy Beauvoir was constantly at war with himself, at odds over his need to wear clothes that showed off his slender, athletic build, and his need not to freeze his tight ass off. It was nearly impossible to be both attractive and warm in a Quebec winter. And Jean Guy Beauvoir sure didn’t want to look like a dork in a parka and stupid hat. – A Fatal Grace

Then the Chief Inspector had found him, taken him onto homicide and a few years later promoted him to inspector and his second in command. But Jean Guy Beauvoir never totally left the cage. Instead it had moved inside and in it he kept the worst of his rage, where it couldn’t cause damage. And beside that cage sat another, quieter cage. In it, curled up in a corner, was something that frightened him far more than his fury. Beauvoir lived in terror that one day the creature in there would escape. – The Cruelest Month

Inspector Jean Guy Beauvoir stepped out of the car and looked at the sky. Unremitting gray. It would rain for a while yet. He looked down at his shoes. Leather. His slacks designer. His shirt. Casual linen. Perfect. Fucking middle of nowhere murder. In the rain. And mud. He slapped his cheek. And bugs. Flattened to his palm were the remains of a mosquito and some blood. Fucking perfect. Agent Isabelle Lacoste opened an umbrella and offered him one. He declined. Bad enough to be here, he didn’t need to look like Mary Poppins. – A Rule Against Murder

Chief Inspector Armand Gamache got the call just as he and Reine-Marie finished clearing up after Sunday brunch. In the dining room of their apartment in Montreal’s Outremont quartier he could hear his second in command, Jean Guy Beauvoir, and his daughter Annie. They weren’t talking. They never talked. They argued. Especially when Jean Guy’s wife, Enid, wasn’t there as a buffer. – The Brutal Telling

Every hour of every day Jean-Guy Beauvoir searched for not just facts, but truth. He hadn’t appreciated, though, how terrifying it was being with someone who spoke it, all the time. – Bury Your Dead

Since his separation from Enid, Jean Guy had seemed distant. Aloof. He’d never been exactly exuberant but Beauvoir was quieter than ever these days, as though his walls had grown and thickened. And his narrow drawbridge had been raised. – A Trick of the Light

Jean-Guy Beauvoir loved his job. But now, for the first time, he looked into the kitchen, and saw Annie standing in the doorway. Watching him. And he realized, with surprise, that he now loved something more. – The Beautiful Mystery

Beauvoir liked lists. Gamache liked thoughts, ideas. Beauvoir liked to question, Gamache liked to listen. And yet there was a bond between the older man and the younger that seemed to reach through time. They held a natural, almost ancient, place in each other’s lives. Made all the more profound when Jean-Guy Beauvoir fell in love with Annie, the Chief’s daughter. – How the Light Gets In

Late into his thirties, with a broken body and a shattered spirit, Jean-Guy Beauvoir had been seduced by happiness. – The Long Way Home

Out on the green, Lacoste’s two children were fighting with Jean-Guy Beauvoir for the ball. The grown man appeared to be sincerely, and increasingly desperately, trying to control the play. Lacoste smiled. Even against kids, Inspector Beauvoir did not like to lose. – The Nature of the Beast

Inspector Jean-Guy Beauvoir knew that his mountain analogy with Gamache had been wrong. If you died on the side of a mountain, it was in the middle of a selfish, meaningless act. A feat of strength and ego, wrapped in bravado. – A Great Reckoning

He’d known Jean-Guy long before he’d become his son-in-law, having hired Agent Beauvoir away from a dead-end job guarding evidence. He’d taken a young man no one else wanted and made him an inspector in homicide, to everyone’s surprise. But it had seemed natural, to Gamache. He barely had to think about it. They were chief and agent. Patron and protégé. They were the head and the heart. Now father-in-law and son-in-law. Father and son. They had been thrown together, joined together, it seemed, for this lifetime, and many past. – Glass Houses

Beauvoir walked briskly to the subway and what he knew would be the final internal-affairs interview before all returned to normal. His head was down, and he concentrated on the sidewalk and the soft, light snow hiding the ice below. One misstep and bad things happened. A turned ankle. A wrist broken trying to break the fall. Or a fractured skull. It was always what you couldn’t see that hurt you. – Kingdom of the Blind

When Jean-Guy Beauvoir had arrived twenty minutes earlier, he’d gone directly to his office and closed the door. It wasn’t something he normally did. Normally his door was wide open. Normally he went straight to the conference room. Normally he was the only Chief Inspector of homicide there. But this was not a normal day. How the next half hour or so went would set the tone going forward. – A Better Man

And then Jean-Guy arrived. Agent Beauvoir. Found in some basement Sûreté servitude. Angry, arrogant. One insult away from being fired from the detachment and booted out of the service. Chief Inspector Gamache had recognized something in the young man. And had, to everyone’s astonishment, not least Agent Beauvoir’s, brought him into homicide. The most sought after, the most prestigious department in the Sûreté du Québec. Armand had become Jean-Guy’s mentor. And more. Jean-Guy had risen to become Armand’s second-in-command. And more. And Daniel had never forgiven either. – All the Devils Are Here

Jean-Guy’s dark hair had some gray now, and a few lines had appeared on his handsome face. His complexion was rosy after a day in the bright sun and gusty wind. Though he’d made it clear he preferred “rugged” to “rosy.” – The Madness of Crowds

While Gamache had become an explorer of human emotions, Jean-Guy Beauvoir was the hunter. They were a perfect, though unequal, team. Watching his father-in-law toss a slimy tennis ball to Henri the German shepherd, Jean-Guy was under no illusions who was the leader. He’d follow him anywhere. And had. – A World of Curiosities

Annie and Jean-Guy lived close to the Gamaches’ pied-à-terre in the Outremont quartier of Montréal. Though the young couple and their two children lived in the less swanky Mile End neighborhood. – The Grey Wolf

Though their relationship has changed and evolved over the years, Jean-Guy Beauvoir is both Armand Gamache’s second-in-command and son-in-law – and the “hunter” to Gamache’s “explorer”. Do you think these excerpts capture Jean-Guy’s character? What else would you add?
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The People of Three Pines: Ruth Zardo

As far as she knew, Ruth had always been like this. ‘Then why does everyone like her?’ Myrna had asked. Clara had laughed and shrugged, ‘You know there are days I ask myself the same thing. What a piece of work that woman can be. But she’s worth the effort, I think.’ – Still Life

‘You’re wrong there,’ said Ruth, following Myrna’s gaze. ‘This used to be my drug of choice. In my teens my drug of choice was acceptance, in my twenties it was approval, in my thirties it was love, in my forties it was Scotch. That lasted a while,’ she admitted. ‘Now all I really crave is a good bowel movement.’ – A Fatal Grace

There was Ruth on the village green, talking to someone. Only she was alone. There was nothing odd about that. It actually would have been strange had there been someone willing to listen to her. – The Cruelest Month

Peter listened as Clara talked again about Fortin visiting her studio this past spring and seeing the portrait of their friend Ruth Zardo, the old and withered poet. Embittered and embattled and brilliant. – A Rule Against Murder

Standing like a ramrod beside them and staring unblinking at the bistro was Ruth Zardo. And her duck, looking quite imperious. Ruth wore a sou’wester that glistened in the rain. Clara spoke to her, but was ignored. Ruth Zardo, Gamache knew, was a drunken, embittered old piece of work. Who also happened to be his favorite poet in the world. Clara spoke again and this time Ruth did respond. Even through the glass Gamache knew what she’d said. “Fuck off.” – The Brutal Telling

Ruth appeared at Beauvoir’s chair, a scowl on her deeply wrinkled face. Her cropped white hair lay flat on her head, looking like exposed skull. She was tall and stooped and walked with a cane. The only good news was that she wasn’t in her nightgown. – Bury Your Dead

He’d actually been looking forward to seeing Ruth again. He examined the tall, thin, elderly woman leaning on her cane. Ruth’s hair was white and thin and cut close to her head, so that it looked like her skull was exposed. Which seemed to Beauvoir about right. Nothing inside Ruth’s head was ever unexposed or unexpressed. It was her heart she kept hidden. – A Trick of the Light

HOW THE LIGHT GETS IN

It was supposed to be just the three of them, which was bad enough, but then Ruth Zardo and her duck had arrived and the evening went from bad to a fiasco. Rosa, the duck, had muttered what sounded like “Fuck, fuck, fuck” the whole night, while Ruth had spent the evening drinking, swearing, insulting and interrupting. – How the Light Gets In

Below them, Ruth Zardo limped from her run- down cottage, followed by Rosa, her duck. The elderly woman looked around, then glanced up the dirt road out of town. Up, up the dusty path, Gamache could see her old steel eyes travel. Until they met his. And locked on. – The Long Way Home

The long, low brick building across the Rivière Bella Bella from the village was the home of the Three Pines Volunteer Fire Brigade, of which Ruth Zardo was the chief, being familiar, everyone figured, with hellfire. – The Nature of the Beast

Ruth loved words and used them intentionally. Even the thoughtless words were used with thought. – A Great Reckoning

There was a growing resemblance between Ruth and Rosa. Both had scrawny necks. Their heads white. Their eyes beady. They waddled when they walked. They shared a vocabulary. If it wasn’t for Ruth’s cane they’d be almost indistinguishable. – Glass Houses

Ruth Zardo. A gifted poet. One of the most distinguished in the nation. But that gift had come wrapped in more than a dollop of crazy. The name Ruth Zardo was uttered with equal parts admiration and dread. Like conjuring a magical creature that was both creative and destructive. – Kingdom of the Blind

Myrna Landers heaved a sigh and shifted her considerable weight in her armchair. As much as she longed to contradict Ruth, she couldn’t. The fact was, their drunk and disorderly old neighbor in Three Pines was a brilliant poet. Though not much of a human being. – A Better Man

Ruth made a noise that could have been a laugh. Or indigestion. – A Better Man

Ruth Zardo, Stephen’s friend, was also their close friend and neighbor in their Québec village of Three Pines. An elderly poet, she was embittered, often drunk. Definitely nuts. And brilliant.

You were a moth
brushing against my cheek
in the dark
I killed you
not knowing you were only a moth,
with no sting.

She and Stephen had proven a good match and fast friends. And while often angry, she was no devil. Perhaps, he’d often thought, just the opposite. – All the Devils Are Here

“Drink?” he said, handing Clara one of the glasses of spiked punch.
“Merci.”
He gave the other to Reine-Marie.
“What about me?” demanded Ruth.
He looked at the vat of scotch the old poet was gripping. He recognized it. It was actually a flower vase. From their home. – The Madness of Crowds

So many summer evenings sitting on the dilapidated front porch of the ramshackle house, Ruth in her rocker, her cane across her lap. In another era it would have been a shotgun, thought Harriet. And she’d have had a corncob pipe. Rosa, the mad duck, would hop up and settle on Harriet’s lap. Exhausted after a day of terrorizing the villagers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” one of them muttered, though it wasn’t always clear which one. – A World of Curiosities

Ruth Zardo. The poet. The laureate. Who from her ramshackle home in this little lost village managed to see things others did not.

Now here’s a good one:
you’re lying on your deathbed.
You have one hour to live.
Who is it, exactly, you have needed
all these years to forgive?

She was one of Armand’s favorite poets, if not favorite people. Though he had to admit, she was close there too. – The Grey Wolf

The brilliant poet Ruth Zardo – and her pet duck, Rosa – are two fan-favorite characters in the world of Three Pines. Do these excerpts from Louise’s novels, describing Ruth and sampling her poetry, encapsulate this unforgettable character? Is there anything you’d add?
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The People of Three Pines: Gabri Dubeau + Olivier Brulé

Gabri arrived with Szechwan take-out. He’d heard rumors of the activity and wanted desperately to see for himself. He’d even rehearsed. The huge man, made even more enormous by his coat and scarves, swept into the room. Stopping dead in the center, and making sure he held his audience, he looked around and declared, ‘Either that wallpaper goes, or I do.’ – Still Life

There were Gabri Dubeau and his partner Olivier Brulé. Gabri large and soft and clearly going to pot and loving every mouthful of it. He was in his mid-thirties and had decided he’d had enough of being young and buff and gay. Well, not really enough of being gay. Beside him stood Olivier, handsome and slim and elegant. Blond to his partner’s dark, he was picking a distressing strand of hair from his silk turtleneck, clearly wishing he could stick it back in. – A Fatal Grace

Olivier was constantly surprised by Gabri. His unexpected depth and his profound silliness. Olivier shook his head and went back to bed, trusting that in the morning all the evil spirits and the croissants would be gone. Wasn’t that why he and Olivier had decided to move here? Partly to get away from the mountain of crap they’d created in their old lives, but mostly to live in a place where kindness trumped cleverness. – The Cruelest Month

“Félicitations,” smiled Olivier. Where Gabri was large, effusive, unkempt, Olivier was immaculate and restrained. Both in their mid-thirties, they’d moved to Three Pines to lead a less stressful life. – A Rule Against Murder

He leaned in to his partner, seeing the precious thinning hair lying across the pillow and across the face. The eyes closed, peaceful. Gabri smelled Olivier, musky, slightly sweaty. Soon they’d have a shower and they’d both smell like Ivory soap. – The Brutal Telling

That was how Gabri and his partner Olivier had found Three Pines. Not intending to. They had other, grander, plans for their lives but once they’d laid eyes on the village, with its fieldstone cottages, and clap-board homes, and United Empire Loyalist houses, its perennial beds of roses and delphiniums and sweet peas, its bakery, and general store, well, they’d never left. Instead of taking New York, or Boston or even Toronto by storm they’d settled into this backwater. And never wanted to leave. – Bury Your Dead

Olivier looked at his partner, with his cheery white and red heart-shaped apron. The one he’d begged Gabri not to buy for Valentine’s Day two years ago. Had begged him not to wear. Had been ashamed of, and prayed no one they knew from Montréal visited and saw Gabri in such a ridiculous outfit. But now Olivier loved it. Didn’t want him to change it. Didn’t want him to change anything. – A Trick of the Light

Olivier and Gabri were walking over from the B and B, and met them on the road.
“It’s a gay blizzard,” said Ruth. “I used to be as pure as the driven snow,” Gabri confided in Constance. “Then I drifted.” – How the Light Gets In

Reine-Marie Gamache sat in her habitual seat. She hadn’t meant to make it a habit, it just happened. For the first few weeks after she and Armand had moved to Three Pines, they’d taken different seats at different tables. And each seat and table really was different. Not simply the location in the old bistro, but the style of furniture. All antiques, all for sale, with price tags hanging from them. Some were old Québec pine, some were overstuffed Edwardian armchairs and wing chairs. There was even a smattering of mid-century modern pieces. Sleek and teak and surprisingly comfortable. All collected by Olivier and tolerated by his partner, Gabri. As long as Olivier kept his finds in the bistro and left the running, and decorating, of the bed and breakfast to Gabri. – The Long Way Home

Gabri, large and voluble, walked across the bistro he owned with his partner, Olivier. – The Nature of the Beast

Olivier and his partner, Gabri, had turned an abandoned hardware store into the bistro many years ago, and in updating the electricity and plumbing, they’d opened the walls and found all sorts of things. Mummified squirrels, clothing. But mostly they’d found papers. Newspapers, magazines, advertisements, catalogues used as insulation as though words could keep winter at bay. – A Great Reckoning

Armand had, with Olivier’s help, borrowed Gabri’s signature bright pink fluffy slippers and a kimono. It was an easy, and extremely comfortable, costume. – Glass Houses

“There is only one chef,” Anton had confided in Myrna one day while buying vintage cookbooks at her shop. “But Olivier likes to make it sound like there’s a fleet of them.” Myrna laughed. Sounded like Olivier. Always trying to impress, even people who knew him too well for that. – Glass Houses

Lunch arrived. Clara and Myrna had both ordered the halibut, with mustard seeds, curry leaves, and grilled tomato. And for Gabri, his partner, Olivier, had made grouse with roasted figs and cauliflower puree. – Kingdom of the Blind

“Thought you could use some help,” said Olivier, above the roar of the water. “To look at a river?”
“Okay, some company.”
On seeing the expression on Armand’s face,
Olivier amended that. “Okay, it was time to do dishes.”
Armand laughed. Knowing that in fact Olivier had come out into the frigid night to offer help. In case. – A Better Man

Gabri had decided not to wear his frilly pink apron, the one he put on just to annoy Olivier, who still wanted to pass as straight. – The Madness of Crowds

Olivier took a few steps into the Old Train Station and Gabri followed. The men were very familiar with the large open space. It was home to their volunteer fire department. Both were members, and Ruth was the chief. Self-appointed, admittedly. But being essentially a dumpster fire herself, she was familiar with flames. – A World of Curiosities

It was comfortable and comforting. A relaxed marriage of the traditional and contemporary. Much like Olivier and Gabri themselves. – The Grey Wolf


Gabri and Olivier – the owners of the Bistro and the B&B – are partners, a study in contrasts who complement each other perfectly. Do these excerpts capture these two Three Pines residents? What traits or descriptions would you add?

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The People of Three Pines: Clara Morrow

Throughout Louise’s novels, Clara is depicted as a gifted, genuine artist, and a complex and evolving character. What characteristics come to mind when you think about Clara?

For many years Clara would remember how it felt standing there. Feeling again like the ugly little girl in the schoolyard. The unloved and unlovable child. – Still Life

‘They’re marvelous, Clara. They radiate.’ He turned to look at her in astonishment, as though meeting the woman for the first time. He’d known she was insightful, and courageous and compassionate. But he hadn’t appreciated that she was this gifted. – A Fatal Grace

Without asking for it she’d become the heart of their community. Small, middle-aged and getting a little plump, Clara was that rare combination: she was sensible and sensitive. – The Cruelest Month

Then she spotted Clara Morrow sitting on a rock jutting into the lake. Agent Lacoste stopped and watched. Clara Morrow’s hair was groomed under the sensible, floppy sun hat. Her shorts and shirt were neat, her face without smears or smudges or pastry. She was impeccable. – A Rule Against Murder

Clara. Short, plump, hair dark and wild, bread crust scattered into it like sparkles. Her eyes were blue and usually filled with humor. – The Brutal Telling

The distinguished artist with the head of graying hair and noble features could not possibly have chosen the woman with the beer in her boxing glove hands. And the pâté in her frizzy hair. And the studio full of sculptures made out of old tractor parts and paintings of cabbages with wings. No. Peter Morrow could not have chosen her. That would have been unnatural. And yet he had. And she had chosen him. – Bury Your Dead

Clara painted dear life. While the rest of the cynical art world was painting the worst, Clara painted the best. – A Trick of the Light

Clara Morrow was not someone who liked house work. What she liked was magic. Water into foam. Dirty dishes into clean. A blank canvas into a work of art. It wasn’t change she liked so much as metamorphosis. – How the Light Gets In

Clara still had paint in her wild hair, not the speckles that come from painting a wall or ceiling. These were streaks of ochre and cadmium yellow. And a fingerprint of burnt sienna on her neck, like a bruise. Clara Morrow painted portraits. And in the process, she often painted herself. – The Long Way Home

Clara was wearing sweats and held a paintbrush in her mouth, like a female FDR. Her hair stuck out at odd angles from running her hands through it. – The Nature of the Beast

Clara said she was painting herself, she didn’t mean it literally. Each afternoon Clara showed up with food in her hair and dabs of paint on her face. Today it was a shade of bright orange and marinara sauce. – A Great Reckoning

Normally Clara painted portraits. Extraordinary faces on canvas. Some brought smiles. Some made the viewer unaccountably melancholy, or uncomfortable, or cheerful. Some provoked strong feelings of nostalgia for no particular reason, except that Clara was a sort of alchemist, and could render emotions, even memories, into paint. Fossilized feelings were turned into oil, then returned, framed, to the person. – Glass Houses

But then she also knew Clara. Her friend’s brown hair stuck out from her head, as though she’d had a mild shock. She looked a little like a middle-aged Sputnik. Which would also explain her art. Clara Morrow’s paintings were otherworldly. And yet they were also achingly, profoundly human. – Kingdom of the Blind

Clara was wearing her usual jeans and a sweater. Success as an artist had not changed her fashion sense. Such as it was. Perhaps because recognition had come later in Clara’s life. In her late forties now, she’d been working in her studio for decades, creating works that went unnoticed. Her greatest success had been her Warrior Uterus series. She’d sold one. To herself. And given it to her mother-in-law. Thereby weaponizing her art. And her uterus. – A Better Man

“That is the expression, isn’t it? ‘Shit show’? I learned it from Ruth. She was describing Clara’s career as an artist.” – The Madness of Crowds

Clara Morrow was the real thing. A genuine artist. Not because she was a success—that came and went—but because she was bold and creative. And brave. Audacious. She tried new things, took chances, and evolved. – A World of Curiosities

Throughout Louise’s novels, Clara is depicted as a gifted, genuine artist, and a complex and evolving character. What characteristics come to mind when you think about Clara?
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The People of Three Pines: Myrna Landers

Like Myrna herself, her bouquets were huge, effusive and unexpected. – Still Life

In just over an hour Myrna had gone from a world of complaint to a world of contentment. That had been six years ago. Now she dispensed new and used books and well-worn advice to her friends. – A Fatal Grace

Myrna smiled. She looked like a massive Easter egg herself, black and oval and wrapped in a brilliant purple and red caftan. – The Cruelest Month

Myrna was as close as their village came to a doctor. She’d been a psychologist in Montreal before too many sad stories and too much good sense got the better of her, and she’d quit. – The Brutal Telling

Myrna read the London Sunday Times Travel Magazine, moaning occasionally over the éclair and over the descriptions of the spa getaways. – Bury Your Dead

Myrna’s voice was calm. Precise. A perfect witness, as Gamache had come to realize. Nothing superfluous. No interpretation. Just what had happened. – How the Light Gets In

The large black woman took the comfortable wing chair across from Reine- Marie and leaned back. She’d brought her own mug of tea from her bookstore next door, and now she ordered Bircher muesli and fresh- squeezed orange juice. – The Long Way Home

The heat shimmered off the buildings and bounced off concrete and drilled into the pavement, which gave off the scent of melting asphalt in the heavy, humid air. Myrna found it strangely calming. Her mother’s and grandmother’s comfort smells were cut grass and fresh baking and the subtle scent of line- dried sheets. For Myrna’s generation the smells that calmed were manufactured. Melting asphalt meant summer. VapoRub meant winter, and being cared for. There were Tang and gas fumes and long- gone photocopy ink. All comforted her, for reasons that beggared understanding, because they had nothing to do with understanding. After years in Three Pines, her comfort scents were evolving. She still loved the smell of VapoRub, but now she also appreciated the delicate scent of worms after a rain. – The Long Way Home

“When I stopped being a therapist I asked myself one question. What do I really want to do? Not for my friends, not for my family. Not for perfect strangers. But for me. Finally. It was my turn, my time.” – The Nature of the Beast

“I’m worried that the advice I gave to clients years ago, when I was a therapist, was wrong,” said Myrna. “I wake up in the middle of the night, afraid I’ve led someone astray. In the daylight I’m fine. Most of my fears come in the darkness.” – A Great Reckoning

Myrna was a retired psychologist from Montréal, who now ran the shop right next to the bistro, Myrna’s New and Used Bookstore. Clara had a theory that villagers manufactured problems, just to go sit with Myrna. – Glass Houses

He’d never met the woman who’d just arrived, but already he didn’t like her. She was large and black and a “she.” None of those things he found attractive. But worse still, Myrna Landers had arrived five minutes late, and instead of hurrying inside, spouting apologies, she was standing around chatting. As though he weren’t waiting for them. As though he hadn’t been clear about the time of the appointment. – Kingdom of the Blind

But Myrna rarely looked away from some awful truth. Preferring to know rather than to live in blissful, if dangerous ignorance. It was one of her worst qualities. – A Better Man

Before arriving in Three Pines, Myrna Landers had been a prominent psychologist in Montréal, specializing in especially difficult cases. Part of her work was in the SHU, the Special Handling Unit, reserved for the worst, the most troubled offenders. The insane. – The Madness of Crowds

Since Myrna was a purveyor of books, and the young agent was addicted to them, this made the bookseller her pusher, though actually more like her priestess. – A World of Curiosities

THE GREY WOLF

And she’d tell him what it had been like to be Dr. Landers, a senior psychologist specializing in criminal behavior. Until one day she’d wandered too deep into a mind, into a cave, and gotten lost. She needed to find her way back to the sunshine. To a world where goodness existed. She’d quit her job, packed up her small car, and left the city, without a particular destination in mind. Just, away. Stopping in the unexpected village for a break, she went into the bistro, had a café and a croissant, discovered the shop next door was for rent, as was the loft above, and Myrna Landers never left. She had found her quiet place in the bright sunshine. And Dr. Landers became Myrna. – The Grey Wolf


Louise writes that villagers in Three Pines often seek out Myrna Landers, the former psychologist from Montreal who now runs Myrna’s New and Used Bookstore, to sit with her and seek her calming advice. Do you feel that these excerpts capture Myrna’s essence? What else would you add?

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The People of Three Pines: Reine-Marie Gamache

After thirty-two years of marriage he still couldn’t get enough of Reine-Marie. He knew if she ever accompanied him on a murder investigation she would do the appropriate thing. She always seemed to know the right thing to do. Never any drama, never confusion. He trusted her. – Still Life

Gamache resumed his seat and waited, watching Reine-Marie as she read, a few strands of her graying hair falling across her forehead. She was in her early fifties and lovelier than when they’d married. She wore little make-up, comfortable with the face she’d been given. Gamache could sit all day watching her. He sometimes picked her up at her job at the Bibliothèque nationale, intentionally arriving early so he could watch her going over historic documents, taking notes, head down and eyes serious. And then she’d look up and see him watching her and her face would break into a smile. – A Fatal Grace

Gamache had never questioned Reine-Marie’s judgment. It made for a very relaxing relationship. – The Cruelest Month

He watched her go, her step resolute, walking into a room filled with people whose lives were about to change forever. She could have sat quietly in the library and no one would have faulted her, but instead Reine-Marie Gamache chose to sit in a room soon to be overwhelmed with grief. Not many would make that choice. – A Rule Against Murder

Her hand was rough and calloused, like her husband’s, but her voice was cultured, full of warmth. It reminded him a little of Reine-Marie’s. – The Brutal Telling

Gamache gathered his thoughts, remembering his own wedding. Remembering looking out and seeing all their friends and Reine-Marie’s huge family. – Bury Your Dead

Watching Reine-Marie as they sat on the balcony, Gamache was once again struck by the certainty he’d married above himself. Not socially. Not academically. But he could never shake the suspicion he had gotten very, very lucky. – A Trick of the Light

He smiled and imagined his wife’s delight at a small batch of the chocolates. He also imagined her in their home. She wouldn’t be in bed yet. Annie had gone over for dinner, he knew. She had dinner with them every Saturday, since her separation from David. She’d have left by now and Reine-Marie would probably be sitting in the living room, by the fireplace, reading. Or in the television room at the back of their apartment, set up in Daniel’s old room. It now had a bookcase, a comfortable sofa strewn with newspapers and magazines, and the television. – The Beautiful Mystery

“La Bibliothèque nationale,” said Thérèse, recognizing the logo. “The national archives of Québec. Reine-Marie works there, doesn’t she?” – How the Light Gets In

Reine-Marie Gamache sat in her habitual seat. She hadn’t meant to make it a habit, it just happened. For the first few weeks after she and Armand had moved to Three Pines, they’d taken different seats at different tables. – The Long Way Home

But there was no storm, Reine-Marie reminded herself. They could, finally, stop being pillars and just be people. Armand and Reine-Marie. Two more villagers. That was all. That was enough. For her. – The Nature of the Beast

Reine-Marie herself had found her dream job, after leaving her post at the Bibliothèque et Archives nationales du Québec as one of the head librarians. She’d volunteered to sort years of donations to the regional historical society.

It was a post her former colleagues no doubt viewed as a significant step down. But Reine-Marie wasn’t interested in steps. She’d arrived at where she wanted to be. No more steps. She’d stopped. Reine-Marie had found a home in Three Pines. She’d found a home in Armand. And now she’d found her intellectual home, investigating the rich and disorganized collection of documents and furniture and clothing and oddities left to the region in wills.

For Reine-Marie Gamache, each day felt like Christmas, as she sorted through the boxes and boxes. And boxes. – A Great Reckoning

Clara was helping Reine-Marie with what was becoming the endless task of sorting the so-called archives of the historical society. They were actually boxes, and boxes, and boxes, of photographs, documents, clothing. Collected over a hundred years or more, from attics and basements. Retrieved from yard sales and church basements. So Reine-Marie had volunteered to sort through it. It was a crapshoot of crap. But she loved it. Reine-Marie’s career had been as a senior librarian and archivist with the Bibliothèque et Archives nationales du Québec and, like her husband, she had a passion for history. Québec history in particular. – Glass Houses

Armand laughed. That had been decades ago, when they were first courting. Her family had since warmed to him, once they saw how much she loved him and, more important to them, how much he loved Reine-Marie. – Kingdom of the Blind

Reine-Marie laughed. Easily recognizing the lines from the Anne of Green Gables books she, her daughter, and now her granddaughters loved so much. – A Better Man

Armand and Reine-Marie had two grown children now. Daniel and Annie. Three grandchildren. The imminent arrival of Annie’s second child was what had brought them to Paris. – All the Devils Are Here

She wore a light blue cashmere sweater and a camel knee-length skirt. Tailored. Simple, classic. Something, Gamache thought, that his wife, Reine-Marie, would wear. – The Madness of Crowds

Having risen to chief archivist in Québec, Reine-Marie had recently decided to retire and take on consulting work. This was a commission from a local family to go through their mother’s things. The matriarch had recently died, leaving them far less wealth than expected, a rambling old house, and boxes and boxes of clothes, papers, knickknacks, and a completely unexpected collection of monkey dolls, monkey postcards, stuffed, painted, and illustrated monkeys. All in boxes in the attic. Though by far the largest collection of monkeys were hand-drawn on all sorts of documents. It was a puzzle, and one Reine-Marie hoped to solve. – The Madness of Crowds

“Come on, come on.” Reine-Marie’s voice was soft, coaxing. It was the tone she used for Fred when she needed the old dog to try to climb back up the basement stairs. – A World of Curiosities

Gamache was growing weary of this. It had been a long, stressful day. He wanted answers and he wanted to go home. To Reine-Marie. He imagined her in the kitchen in Three Pines, preparing dinner. A mug of strong tea on the counter. The dogs, and Gracie, underfoot. –The Grey Wolf

The curtains at the window billowed softly, like a breath, as fresh air wafted in from the village green. It brought with it the scent of grass, and the sound of children playing, and the soft murmur of bees bumbling in the intertwined honeysuckle and sweet pea growing up the trellis. How nice it was, how peaceful, thought Reine-Marie, to live in a place where bumbling was a virtue. Even a necessity. And where lives were intertwined. –The Grey Wolf

Louise consistently describes Reine-Marie as intelligent, intuitive, and deeply respected by her husband, Armand Gamache. Do you think these quotes truly capture Reine-Marie’s essence? What else comes to mind when you think of Reine-Marie?
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The People of Three Pines: Armand Gamache

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Ben had been expecting a francophone, perhaps even a unilingual French detective, so he’d spent a few minutes practicing his French, and how to describe his movements. Now this immaculate man with the trimmed moustache, the deep-brown eyes looking at him over the rim of his halfmoon glasses, the three-piece suit (could that possibly be a Burberry coat?), the tweed cap with graying, groomed hair underneath, was extending his large hand as though this was a slightly formal business occasion and speaking English with a British accent. – Still Life

He was in gray flannels, a shirt and a tie, which he always wore to the office, and an elegant cashmere cardigan, an acknowledgment that he was on holiday, after all. Though he was only in his early fifties there was an old world charm about Gamache, a courtesy and manner that spoke of a time past…His body spoke of meals enjoyed and a life of long walks rather than contact sports. – A Fatal Grace

Gamache had aged in those pictures over the years, the hair receding and graying, the face expanding a bit. A trim moustache showed up and lines not corresponding to creases in the paper had begun to appear. – The Cruelest Month

But what was most striking were his eyes. Deep, warm brown. He carried calm with him as other men wore cologne. – A Rule Against Murder

They’d notice the mustache, trimmed and graying. His dark hair was also graying around the ears, where it curled up slightly. On a rainy day like this the Chief wore a cap, which he took off indoors, and when he did the young officers saw the balding head. And if that wasn’t enough they’d notice this man’s eyes. Everyone did. They were deep brown, thoughtful, intelligent and something else. Something that distinguished the famous head of homicide for the Sûreté du Québec from every other senior officer. His eyes were kind. It was both his strength, Beauvoir knew, and his weakness. – The Brutal Telling

Watching Armand Gamache he noticed again the jagged scar on his left temple and the trim beard he’d grown. So that people would stop staring. So that people would not recognize the most recognizable police officer in Québec. – Bury Your Dead

Armand Gamache wasn’t heavy, but solidly built. If a stranger visited this home he might think Monsieur Gamache a quiet academic, a professor of history or literature perhaps at the Université de Montréal. But that too would be a mistake. – A Trick of the Light

If Beauvoir was a hunter, then Armand Gamache was an explorer. When others stopped, Gamache stepped ahead. Looking into cracks and crevices and caves. Where dark things lived. – The Beautiful Mystery

Beside her, Chief Inspector Gamache inhaled sharply, then exhaled and fidgeted. She remembered that he was afraid of heights. Lacoste noticed his hands were balled into fists, which he was tightening, then releasing. Tightening. Releasing. – How the Light Gets In

All his professional life Chief Inspector Gamache had asked questions and hunted answers. And not just answers, but facts. But, much more elusive and dangerous than facts, what he really looked for were feelings. Because they would lead him to the truth. – The Long Way Home

If anyone believed in second chances, it was the man who sat before her. She’d been his friend and his unofficial therapist. She’d heard his deepest secrets, and she’d heard his most profound beliefs, and his greatest fears. But now she wondered if she’d really heard them all. And she wondered what demons might be nesting deep inside this man, who specialized in murder. – The Nature of the Beast

But now he was judge and jury. The first and final word. And Armand Gamache realized, without great surprise, that it was a role he was comfortable with. Even liked. The power, yes. He was honest enough to admit that. But mostly he appreciated that he was now in a position not simply to react to the present, but to actually shape the future. – A Great Reckoning

Chief Superintendent Gamache spent his days immersed in the vile, the profane, the tragic, the terrifying. And then he went home. To Three Pines. To sanctuary. To sit by the fire in the bistro with friends, or in the privacy of his living room with Reine-Marie. Henri and funny little Gracie at their feet. Safe and sound. – Glass Houses

Armand Gamache was not by nature timid, but he was a cautious man. How else could he have survived in the top echelons of the Sûreté du Québec? Though it was far from certain that he had survived. He relied on, and trusted, both his rational mind and his instincts. – Kingdom of the Blind

Isabelle Lacoste, and every veteran officer in that room, knew that the decisions Chief Superintendent Gamache had made were audacious. Daring. Unconventional. And, unlike what the tweets claimed, hugely effective. – A Better Man

As a senior officer in the Sûreté du Québec, and Jean-Guy’s boss for many years, Gamache was used to reading faces. Less a hunter than an explorer, Armand Gamache delved into what people thought, but mostly how they felt. Because that was where actions were conceived. Noble acts. And acts of the greatest cruelty. – All the Devils Are Here

Gamache was well schooled in picking up when someone was hiding something. – The Madness of Crowds

Once there, Gamache stopped, turned, and after regarding the young man for a moment, he finally spoke. His voice was deep, calm. Quiet. But it held more force than any screaming the agent had heard his entire life. And he’d heard a lot. – A World of Curiosities

Which was why, to balance the details of an autopsy, he sought the bumble of bees and racket of crickets. To offset a report from one of his agents into a murder, he listened to the wind through the forest, and smelled the musky scent of autumn leaves. They were his balm. His calm. It was why home and family and a peaceful Sunday in a garden meant so much. To him. – The Grey Wolf


Do the quotes above truly capture the essence of Armand Gamache? His deep, kind eyes, his quiet yet powerful presence, his blend of intellect and intuition – these are just glimpses into a complex character. Does Gamache have any other traits that resonate with you that aren’t reflected here?

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The Wisdom of Armand Gamache: A Fatal Grace

Wisdom Fatal GraceIn A Fatal Grace, it’s winter in Three Pines. The villagers are preparing for a traditional country Christmas, and someone is preparing for murder. If it’s been awhile since you’ve read the second book in the series, we invite you to refresh your memory of the novel with our Re-Read lead by the late Hope Dellon. You can also learn more about the real-life inspirations behind the settings and cultural references in the book, try a recipe the characters enjoy in A Fatal Grace, and explore more of all things A Fatal Grace here at GamacheSeries.com. 

“I often think we should have tattooed on the back of whatever hand we use to shoot or write, ‘I might be wrong.’” What quote would you have tattooed on the back of your hand? Let us know in the comments!

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THE WISDOM OF ARMAND GAMACHE : A WORLD OF CURIOSITIES

Wisdom A World of Curiosities

In A World of Curiosities, it’s spring and Three Pines is reemerging after the harsh winter. But not everything buried should come alive again. Not everything lying dormant should reemerge. But something has. 

Times change. You had to roll with it. But it was impossible to roll without getting bruised. What are some of the changes you’ve experienced throughout your life that you’ve had to learn to roll with? This could be the transition from landlines to cell phones, from renting movies at Blockbuster to streaming them right on your TV, etc.! Let us know in the comments.

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THE WISDOM OF ARMAND GAMACHE : THE GREY WOLF

Wisdom The Grey Wolf Link to the following video One evening, as they sat by a fire on the shore over there, the Cree elder told the Abbot something that had happened to him when he was a child. His grandfather, the Chief at the time, told the boy that he had two wolves at war inside him, tearing at his insides. One of them, a grey wolf, wanted the old man to be strong and compassionate. Wise and courageous enough to be forgiving. The other, a black wolf, wanted him to be vengeful. To forget no wrong. To forgive no slight. To attack first. To be cruel and cunning and brutal to friends and enemies alike. To spare no one. Hearing this from his grandfather terrified the child. He ran away. It took a few days before he dared approach the old man again. When he did, he asked his grandfather, ‘Which wolf will win, the grey or the black?’ His grandfather said, ‘The one that I feed.’ We all have them, inside. Best to acknowledge that. Only then can we choose which one we feed. Order your copy of The Grey Wolf which pubs next week to figure out how this applies to the novel! Please feel free to leave your predictions below, but please no spoilers once you’ve read.
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