Sepulchre

February 11, 2008
Contrivance, cliché and expository overkill overwhelm bestseller Mosse’s tale concerning a rare tarot deck that helps link the lives of two women living eras apart. In 1891, Parisian teenager Léonie Vernier and her brother visit their young aunt at an estate in southern France. After finding a startling account of her late uncle’s pursuit of the occult, Léonie scours the property for the tarot cards and Visigoth tomb he describes, unaware that more tangible peril in the form of a murderous stalker is seeking to destroy her loved ones. Present-day biographer Meredith Martin is in France finishing a book and tracing her ancestry when she sees a reproduction of the same tarot, which bears her likeness. She investigates the connection when she, too, arrives at the estate, now a hotel in which a new battle between good and evil rages. Mosse (Labyrinth
) conveys so much unnecessary information through so many static scenes of talk, reading and interior monologue that the book’s momentum stalls for good soon after its striking opening. Mosse’s fans will hope for a return to form next time.

February 1, 2008
Mosse's latest novel about love and obsession smoothly alternates between historical viewpoints. First off is 1891 Paris, where young Léonie Vernier idolizes her older brother Anatole. Unbeknownst to her, Anatole hides many secrets, including his connection to the dangerously insane Victor Constant. Perhaps a sojourn to their widowed aunt's estate in the Pyrenees of southwest France will keep the Verniers safe. Meanwhile, in the present day, Meredith Martin visits France ostensibly to work on her biography of Debussy; her true agenda is to investigate her own ancestors. She quickly gets caught up in a mystery concerning the death of a local hotel owner. Toss in a mystical set of tarot cards, a haunted mausoleum, an old photograph, and the return of a key character from Mosse's best-selling "Labyrinth", and you have a charming, if slow-paced, tale. Mosse's careful descriptions of the French countryside, local cuisine, and her smatterings of French and Occitan phrases make this novel both an engaging travelog and a romantic mystery. Recommended for public libraries. [See Prepub Alert, "LJ" 12/07.]Laurel Bliss, San Diego State Univ. Lib.

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