Six Degrees of Separation: From Tales of the City to The Sign of Four #6Degrees

Here’s how it works: on the first Saturday of every month, a book is chosen as a starting point by Kate at Books Are My Favourite and Best and linked to six other books to form a chain. Readers and bloggers are invited to join in by creating their own ‘chain’ leading from the selected book.

Kate says: Books can be linked in obvious ways – for example, books by the same authors, from the same era or genre, or books with similar themes or settings. Or, you may choose to link them in more personal or esoteric ways: books you read on the same holiday, books given to you by a particular friend, books that remind you of a particular time in your life, or books you read for an online challenge. Join in by posting your own six degrees chain on your blog and adding the link in the comments section of each month’s post.   You can also check out links to posts on Twitter using the hashtag #6Degrees.


This month’s starting book is Tales of the City by Armistead Maupin. Click on the title to read the book description on Goodreads or my review, as appropriate.

Tales of the City is not a book I’ve read, although I’ve heard a lot about it.  It follows the lives of a diverse group of colourful characters in 1970s San Francisco.    My literary brain made a connection to a book I read (and loved) last year – These Dividing Walls by debut novelist Fran Cooper.   OK, it’s set in Paris not San Francisco but it tells the stories of the occupants of an apartment block during one long, hot Parisian summer. ‘Within its walls, people talk and kiss, laugh and cry; some are glad to sit alone, while others wish they did not. A woman with silver-blonde hair opens her bookshop downstairs, an old man feeds the sparrows on his windowsill, and a young mother wills the morning to hold itself at bay. Though each of their walls touches someone else’s, the neighbours they pass in the courtyard remain strangers.’

In my review of These Dividing Walls, I remarked that I felt a bit like James Stewart’s character in Hitchcock’s Rear Window, eavesdropping on the residents of the neighbouring apartments.  Therefore, it was an easy hop to my next connection, namely the short story on which the film was based – Rear Window by Cornell Woolrich.  In Woolrich’s short story, Hal Jeffries, trapped in his apartment because of a broken leg, takes to watching his neighbours through his rear window, and becomes certain that one of those neighbours is a murderer.

Of course, Hitchcock made many famous films based on books and, being something of a John Buchan fanatic, I simply had to go for The Thirty-Nine Steps as my next connection.  Its hero, Richard Hannay, is drawn into the investigation of an assassination plot and towards the end of the book the action moves to a cliff-top house in the fictional seaside town of Bradgate.   Bradgate stands in for Broadstairs in Kent where Buchan was holidaying with his wife, Susan, and their family in August 1914 and where he started writing the book.  Buchan’s biographer, Janet Adam Smith, writes: ‘They took lodgings at St Ronan’s, Stone Road; not far away were Susan’s cousin Mrs Arthur Grenfell and her children, in a house with steps down to a private beach.’

Buchan was not the only author fond of Broadstairs.  Charles Dickens was a frequent visitor in the 1850s and 1860s staying at Fort House, a house above the harbour, later dubbed and still known locally as Bleak House.  It was while staying at Fort House that Dickens wrote David Copperfield.  However, I’m going to focus on the real life exploits of Charles Dickens rather than his fictional creations.   In Catherine Dickens: Outside the Magic Circle, Heera Datta tells the troubling story of Charles Dickens’ wife, Catherine, whom he separated from after twenty-two years of marriage and having ten children together when he became enamoured of a young actress.

Well, talk of magic circles makes me think of sleight of hand, clever tricks and spellbinding illusions.  There are plenty of those in Illusion by Stephanie Elmas, an engaging mix of atmospheric period detail, intricate mystery and sprinkling of magic set in 1870s London.

In my review of Illusion, I noted that the main character, Walter Balanchine, is like a young Sherlock Holmes with his acute powers of observation, mastery of disguise and gift for turning up at exactly the right moment.  So my last connection really has to be to Arthur Conan Doyle’s fictional detective.  To echo the theme of our starting point – ‘a diverse group of colourful characters’ – I’m going for The Sign of Four.   Not only does it feature exotic locations, a complex mystery and some amazing deductions by Holmes but it has a marvellous cast of characters, including the Sholto brothers, Jonathan Small and his singular accomplice.  It also features an always to be welcomed appearance by the Baker Street Irregulars.

This month we’ve travelled from lively San Francisco, to sweltering Paris, to a sleepy seaside report and the dark and dangerous streets of Victorian London.

Next month’s starting book is Atonement by Ian McEwan.

Book Extract: The Italian Couple by J. R. Rogers

When I was contacted recently by J. R. Rogers about reading and reviewing his historical fiction novel, The Italian Couple, I was immediately attracted by the unusual setting – Eritrea – and the period in which the book is set – just before the beginning of the Second World War.

Unfortunately, given the size of my author review pile, it’s going to be several months (let’s be honest, possibly quite a lot longer than that) before I can read it.  In the meantime, I’m delighted to bring you an extract from the book.

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The Italian CoupleAbout the Book

Colonel Francesco Ferrazza, a disciplined and inflexible Royal Italian Army officer with Italy’s Fascist Military Information Service, and his attractive British wife, Emilia, are posted to Asmara affectionately referred to as ‘Little Rome’ by Mussolini.

He is astonished when, in 1938, he is ordered by his Rome superior to set in motion an unusual but clandestine sabotage operation of the engineering marvel that is the Asmara-Massawa cableway that links Italian Eritrea to the sea.  Built by the Italians it is the longest aerial line of its kind in the world but it is of such strategic importance the army comes to realize they may have made a mistake in constructing it. They fear it could fall into the hands of neighbouring Ethiopia whom they defeated in a colonial war just two years ago.

Ferrazza sets out to find someone to carry out Operation Red Lion and meets Mario Caparrotti, an amateur race car driver and cableway mechanic who has unfettered access to the engine room. The colonel entices him with his wife and the reluctant Emilia unhappily plays her part by becoming Caparrotti’s lover.

Unexpectedly, Gyles Aiscroft, a Rome-based British freelance foreign correspondent, and an old family friend of Emilia’s parents arrives in Asmara.  Emilia finds herself drawn to him and confides her plight to him.

As the clock counts down the final hours, the colonel belatedly begins to grasp that in ‘Little Rome’ nothing is what it seems, no one can be trusted and, when serving Mussolini, failure will never be condoned.

Format: ebook (434 pp.)                    Publisher: n/a
Published: 11th April 2018                 Genre: Historical Fiction

Purchase Links*
Amazon.co.uk  ǀ  Amazon.com
*links provided for convenience, not as part of any affiliate programme

Find The Italian Couple on Goodreads


Extract: The Italian Couple by J. R. Rogers

(Gyles Aiscroft arrives in Asmara – first impressions)

“Now, tell me,” he said waving at the window. “We’re almost there. What do you think? Is it to your liking? Have a look. Go on. Tell me.”

They had arrived in town and the driver of the Fiat bus – its engine wheezing and the gears crashing – was beginning a wide slow turn onto the Viale Roma. The name of the street was on a metal nameplate affixed to the wall of a building on the corner. Viale Roma was an important street with dusty palms spaced at even intervals aligned on either side. They drove up one short block after another, the bus plodding through the congestion of anxious automobiles, the shouting drivers honking their horns. Facing either side of the street was a run of low, whitewashed ochre-colored buildings with common walls and walking past was a mélange of unhurried Italians wearing Western clothes and sunglasses crowding the sidewalks. The native people, who looked out of place, wore long, drab-looking ankle length attires while the women wrapped their heads and shoulders in shawls. Aiscroft noticed at one point how, as they drove past a prominent three-story building, the sidewalk was cast in shadows and how the pedestrians passing into the gloom reappeared shortly blinking into the bright African sun.

Many of the establishments – their Italian names painted in bright contrasting colors over the entrances – fronted outdoor cafes where patrons sat contentedly beneath tan umbrellas at little round tables sipping coffee from small white cups. Aiscroft decided it looked as if it all had been transplanted from somewhere in southern Italy. It seemed to him, in the orderly way in which it was all laid out, that it was some planner’s vision of how a small and proper Italian town should look. And the reminiscent architecture and mixture of European and indigenous peoples mingling in the street brought to mind Benghazi and Tripoli where a similar Italian presence had transformed those places as well.

A moment later the driver pulled to the curb. They had arrived at the airline’s ticket office. He looked over his shoulder. “Biglietteria,” – ticket office, he called out turning off the noisy engine and as the bus shuddered to a silence everyone got to their feet, and formed a single impatient line between the rows of narrow bench seats.

Paola, Chef Modici’s short, attractive, and much younger wife, was animated at his return, and rushed to her husband as he stepped down from the bus. With a wide brim white hat, long thick dark hair splayed across her shoulders, and her face carefully made up, she wore a fetching black and white sleeveless dress and held her sunglasses down at her side. The chef kissed her hurriedly and unemotionally on the cheek, and gave her a quick embrace before pulling away.

In a throaty sensual voice that surprised Aiscroft, she asked. “How was your trip, darling? Were you unhappy without me?” Uncertain, she smiled. “I missed you.”

He laughed at her. “Of course I was unhappy,” he chortled – “miserable, in fact.”

“And Emilio? How’s he? You two got along? No arguments this time?”

“No but Emilio never changes. Still it’s good to see him, if only twice a year.”

“He’s your brother, you should.”

“Sometimes I wonder. I was thinking on the plane coming home. He can’t be bothered to visit us in Asmara,” he said in a huff. “So it’s me that has to take the time and spend the money and go up there and stay at that damn hotel if I want to see him. I can’t even stay with him because his wife’s always sick.”

“It was your decision, Gino. Don’t go again, if you don’t want to. Maybe he’ll come here next time.”

“I’ll wait forever,” he grumbled.

“He’ll always be your brother, darling,” she said reaching to stroke his arm. “No matter where he lives. Maybe next time call him instead of flying all that way.” She dropped her arm and turned to look unabashedly at Aiscroft. “Gino?” she asked. “Who is this gentleman with you?” She smiled at Aiscroft and gave him a look that was equal parts sympathy and interest. “He’s been standing there so patiently waiting for…”

“Ah, yes,” he said jerking around to Aiscroft. “My apologies.”

“Quite all right.”

“Paola,” he said to her, as if about to read a proclamation, “this is Mister Aiscroft, a reporter from Rome. He’s an Englishman. This is my wife, Paola,” he told Aiscroft nodding at her.

Paola slid her sunglasses on, bathed him in a wider smile, and limply extended her hand. “Welcome, Mister Aiscroft, so nice to meet you. I was wondering when Gino might tell me who you were.”

The sidewalk was becoming congested with luggage and passengers ready to board the bus to the airport, so they crossed the street. The avenue was clouded with exhaust, as they dodged the two lines of traffic and steered clear of the ever-present boys leading strings of indifferent camels and donkeys. Modici headed unerringly toward his gleaming maroon Lancia Augusta Berlina parked at the curb while mentioning to Paola they would be giving their guest a ride to his hotel.

“Where are you staying, Mister Aiscroft?” she asked looking at him closely as they stood alongside the car while Modici scrutinized the sheet metal for any signs of damage his wife might have caused in his absence.

“The Colonia,” called out Modici overhearing her question. Satisfied with his inspection he pulled open the passenger door for Paola. “Get in,” he said impatiently. “I have to go to the restaurant.”

“Lovely hotel,” Paola told Aiscroft before ducking into the car. “The best in Asmara. Did Gino tell you about it? You should be comfortable there,” she said.

“Yes, Paola, I told him. He’s already booked there,” said Modici slamming her door shut. “Now, my friend,” he said frowning at Aiscroft behind his sunglasses. “We should go. I have a busy day ahead of me.”


J R RogersAbout the Author

J.R.ROGERS writes historical thrillers. He is the author of seven books and also a collection of short stories. His stories have appeared in Steam Ticket, TrainWrite, The Legendary, TRC, The Copperfield Review, Outside In Literary and Travel Magazine, River & South Review and Driftwood Press.  His latest novel is The Italian Couple.

Besides writing his interests include art, culture, indie film, LGBTQIA, photography and world travel. He lives in southern California.

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