Publisher's Weekly Review
In Australian author Corby's superior fifth whodunit set in ancient Greece (after 2014's The Marathon Conspiracy), the city of Athens is preparing to host the Great Dionysia, "the largest and most important arts festival in the world." But the success of the event is in doubt after a series of accidents on the set of Sophocles's play Sisyphus. The cast members believe this is the work of a ghost. Pericles, the city's most powerful man, asks Nicolaos, his inquiry agent, to get rid of the ghost. Unfortunately, not long after Nico arranges for an exorcism ritual, one of the actors is murdered, suspended from the machine designed to hold the character of Thanatos, the god of death, in midair during the performance. Under pressure to find the killer quickly as the festival start date looms, Nico resorts to a clever and amusing ploy to buy more time. Corby again manages to effortlessly integrate laugh-out-loud humor into a fairly clued puzzle. Agent: Janet Reid, FinePrint Literary. (May) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
Booklist Review
*Starred Review* Crisis, a word that comes to us straight from the Greek, defines this historical theatrical mystery set in fifth-century-BCE Athens. The Great Dionysia, the annual festival honoring Dionysus, is about to begin. Central to the festival is the Theater of Dionysus, where plays are performed to please the reveling but moody god. Unfortunately, ghost sightings in the theater are freaking out everyone involved. If the plays are badly performed, who knows what punishments Dionysus might wreak on the city. The statesman Pericles once again calls upon young Nicolaos, his sleuth on hire, to expel the ghost from the theater (or convince the actors he's done so). Nicolaos quickly suspects that the acts of sabotage are being committed by a human, not a spirit. Then one of the actors is found hanging from the god machine during a rehearsal of Sophocles' Sisyphus. This fifth mystery in the series moves from shock to shock, each one amplified by the fact that every prank and accident is painted on the scenery wall onstage almost immediately afterward. Corby is adept at delineating ancient Greece without sounding professorial. Having Nicolaos as a first-person narrator helps; he's the ideal tour guide to the theater and the city around it. The characters are a mix of fictional and actual, with the latter including Pericles, Aeschylus, Sophocles, and the child Socrates, who drives everyone crazy with his questions. This works on every level.--Fletcher, Connie Copyright 2015 Booklist
Library Journal Review
Nicolaos, Athens's only professional investigator, is hired by Pericles to find out who is sabotaging the Theater of Dionysos during the Great Dionysia, the largest arts festival in the ancient world. Masks have been destroyed and people injured. The actors believe the ghost of the great actor Thespis is haunting the amphitheater, but as Nico and his wife, Diotima, high priestess of Athena, investigate, they suspect a more human culprit. Someone is trying to halt the production of Sisyphus, King of Corinth, a play written by Sophocles. And when an actor is killed, the stakes rise. VERDICT Peppered with fascinating details about theater history and the Hellenic origins of theatrical lore, Corby's sixth series outing (after The Marathon Conspiracy) will please fans of mysteries set in ancient Greece, especially those written by Anna Apostolou and Marilyn Todd. © Copyright 2015. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Scene 1 REHEARSAL FOR DEATH In my time as an investigator I had received many difficult assignments, problems that were usually dangerous, often deadly, and sometimes downright impossible. But no one before had ever asked me to arrest a ghost. "You can't be serious, Pericles," I said. "Of course I'm not," he replied. He sounded exasperated. "But unfortunately for both of us, the actors are completely serious." "What actors?" I asked. "The ghost is in the Theater of Dionysos," Pericles said. "The actors refuse to enter the theater until the ghost is gone." "Oh," I said, and then, after I'd thought about it, "Oh dear." The timing couldn't be worse, because the Great Dionysia was about to begin. The Dionysia was the largest and most important arts festival in the world. Thousands of people were flocking into Athens. They came from every corner of civilization: from the city states of Greece, from Egypt and Crete and Phoenicea and Sicily, from Ionia and Phrygia. All these people came to hear the choral performances and to see the plays: the comedies and the tragedies. Most of all they came for the tragedies. Every city has fine singers. Every city has comics who can make you laugh. But only Athens, the greatest city in all the world, has tragedy. "The producers have ordered the actors back to work," Pericles said. "The playwrights have begged them, even I have spoken to them, but the actors say they fear for their lives." He wiped the sweat from his brow as he spoke. Pericles had hailed me in the middle of the agora, which at this time of the morning was always crowded. He had called me by my name, so loudly that every man, woman, and child in the marketplace had turned to look. Then Pericles had lifted the skirt of his ankle length chiton and in full view of the people had run like a woman, leaping over jars of oil for sale and dodging around laden shoppers, all to speak with me. That alone told me how serious the situation was. Pericles prided himself on his statesman-like demeanor. It was part of the public image he courted as the most powerful man in Athens. It was easy to see why Pericles was worried. If the actors refused to rehearse, they would put on poor performances. We would look like idiots before the rest of the civilized world. Or worse, the actors wouldn't be able to perform at all. The festival was in honor of the god Dionysos, who in addition to wine and parties was also the god of the harvest. If we failed to honor the god as was his due, then there was no telling what might happen to the crops. The people might starve if Dionysos sent us a poor year. There was no doubt about it. The actors had to be induced to return to work. Pericles said, "What I want you to do, Nicolaos, is make a show of investigating this ghost. Do whatever it is you do when you investigate a crime. Then do something--anything--to make the actors think you've captured the ghost." "How do you get a ghost out of a theater?" I asked. "How in Hades should I know?" Pericles said. "That's your job." I couldn't recall placing a "Ghosts Expelled" sign outside my door. "Surely there must be someone who can do this better than me," I said. "You're the only agent in Athens, Nicolaos," Pericles said in persuasive tones. "The only one who'll investigate and then tell the people that the ghost is gone." Which was true. Though there were plenty of thugs for hire, and mercenaries looking for work, I was the only man in Athens who took commissions to solve serious problems. I pointed out this commission aspect to Pericles. "You may consider this a commission," Pericles said, through gritted teeth. He hated spending money. The promise of pay put another complexion on it. When Pericles had waylaid me I had been on my way to see to my wife's property. My wife, Diotima, owned a house on the other side of the city, one in a sad state of disrepair. Repairs cost money. Money I didn't have. I still didn't think I was the man for the job. Yet I reasoned it must be possible to remove a ghost, assuming such things even existed. Otherwise our public buildings would be full of them, considering how many centuries the city had stood. Expelling a ghost might prove difficult, but it certainly wasn't dangerous, deadly, or downright impossible. I made an easy decision. "Then I shall rid the theater of this ghost," I promised Pericles. Scene 2 THE PSYCHE OF THE GREAT DIONYSIA The case was urgent. I abandoned my plan to see to repairs and turned around. I had no idea about ghosts, but I knew someone who would. I went home to ask my wife. I found Diotima in our courtyard. She reclined on a couch, with a bowl of olives and a glass of watered wine by her side. My little brother, Socrates, stood before her, reciting his lessons. Socrates had been expelled from school the year before, for the crime of asking too many questions. Ever since then, Diotima had been his teacher. The arrangement had worked surprisingly well. I interrupted the lesson to deliver my news. "There's no such thing as ghosts," Diotima said the moment I finished speaking. She paused, before she added thoughtfully, "Of course, there might be a psyche haunting the theater." "Is there a difference, Diotima, between psyches and ghosts?" Socrates asked. He'd listened in, of course. I'd long ago given up any hope of keeping my fifteen-year-old brother out of my affairs. "There's a big difference, Socrates," Diotima said. "Everybody has a psyche . It's your spirit, the part of you that descends to Hades when you die. Ghosts on the other hand are evil spirits that have never been people. The religion of the Persians has evil spirits that they call daevas . I think the Egyptians have evil spirits too. But we Hellenes don't credit such things." "Then the actors might have seen a psyche?" Socrates said. Diotima frowned. "I hope not. If a body hasn't been given a proper burial then its psyche will linger on earth. It should never happen, but sometimes it does." She turned to me. "Nico, are there any dead bodies lying about the theater?" "I like to think someone would have mentioned it if there were," I said. "If there's a body, we'll have to deal with it, but there's another possibility." "What's that?" Diotima asked. "That the actors are imagining things." I helped Excerpted from Death Ex Machina by Gary Corby 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.