Nos encontramos en plena época victoriana. El príncipe Friedrich vive exiliado en Londres al renunciar al trono de Felzburgo, un pequeño reino situado entre los reinos germánicos, por su matrimonio con Gisela. Este muere finalmente víctima de una hemorragia interna causada por las lesiones provocadas por la caída de su caballo durante una cacería. La condesa Zorah Rostova defiende la idea de que no murió por ese motivo, sino envenenado por su propia esposa.oung teenager, but sickness and frequent moves had interrupted her formal education to the extent that she was finally forced to leave school altogether. With the encouragement of her supportive parents, she was able to fill in the gaps with voracious reading, and her lack of formal schooling has never held her back. Although Perry held down many jobsworking at various times as a retail clerk, stewardess, limousine dispatcher, and insurance underwriterthe only thing she ever seriously wanted to do in life was to write. (In her 20s, she started putting together the first draft of Tathea, a fantasy that would not see print until 1999.) At the suggestion of her stepfather, she began writing mysteries set in Victorian London; and in 1979, one of her manuscripts was accepted for publication. The book was The Cater Street Hangman, an ingenious crime novel that introduced a clever, extremely untidy police inspector named Thomas Pitt. In this way an intriguing mystery series was born…along with a successful writing career. In addition to the Thomas and Charlotte Pitt novels, Perry crafts darker, more layered Victorian mysteries around the character of London police detective William Monk, whose memory has been impaired by a coach accident. (Monk debuted in 1990s The Face of a Stranger.) She also writes historical novels set during the First World War (No Graves as Yet, Shoulder the Sky, etc.) and holiday-themed mysteries (A Christmas Journey, A Christmas Secret, etc), and her short stories have been included in several anthologies.
Good To Know
Some fun and fascinating outtakes from our interview with Anne Perry: The first time I made any money telling a story I was four and a half years oldgolden hair, blue eyes, a pink smocked dress, and neat little socks and shoes. I walked home from school (it was safe then) with my lunchtime sixpence unspent. A large boy, perhaps 12 or 13, stopped me. He was carrying a stick and threatened to hit me if I didnt give him my sixpence. I told him a long, sad story about how poor we wereno food at home, not even enough money for shoes! He gave me his half crownfive times sixpence! Its appalling! I didnt think of it as lying, just escaping with my sixpence. How on earth he could have believed me I have no idea. Perhaps that is the knack of a good storylet your imagination go wild, pile on the emotionsbelieve it yourself, evidence to the contrary be damned. I am not really proud of that particular example! I used to live next door to people who had a tame dove. They had rescued it when it broke its wing. The wing healed, but it never learned to fly again. I used to walk a mile or so around the village with the dove. Its little legs were only an inch or two long, so it got tired, then it would ride on my head. Naturally I talked to it. It was a very nice bird. I got some funny looks. Strangers even asked me if I knew there was a bird on my head! Who the heck did they think I was talking to? Of course I knew there was a bird on my head. Im not stupidjust a writer, and entitled to be a little different. Im also English, so that gives me a second excuse! On the other hand Im not totally scatty. I like maths, and I used to love quadratic equations. One of the most exciting things that happened to me was when someone explained non-Euclidean geometry to me, and I suddenly saw the infinite possibilities in lateral thinking! How could I have been so blind before? Here are some things I likeand one thing I dont: I love wild places, beech trees, bluebell woods, light on waterwhether the light is sunlight, moonlight, or lamplight; and whether the water is ocean, rain, snow, river, mist, or even a puddle. I love the setting sun in autumn over the cornstooks. I love to eat raspberries, pink grapefruit, crusty bread dipped in olive oil. I love gardens where you seem to walk from room to room, with rambling roses and vines climbing into the trees and sudden vistas when you turn corners. I love white swans and the wild geese flying overhead. I dislike rigidity, prejudice, ill-temper, and perhaps above all, self-righteousness. I love laughter, mercy, courage, hope. I think that probably makes me pretty much like most people. But that isnt bad.