Praise for
“Elegant.… Tallis has come up with a particularly ingenious method of murder.… His novels show the modern world coming into existence in one of Europe's great cities, and are all the more poignant for the knowledge that the first world war will soon cast its shadow over his deeply human characters.”
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(London)
“[Tallis's] handling of the psychoanalysis and criminal pathology are fan tastic… a romping tale.”
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Praise for
“A murder mystery of great intelligence… a fascinating portrait of one of the most vibrant yet sinister cities of fin-de-siecle Europe.”
(London)
“Tallis uses his knowledge of medicine, music, psychology and history to create an endlessly fascinating portrait of 1902 Vienna.”
(starred review)
“Brilliant.… Tallis can ratchet up the suspense.”
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“Gripping…. The clever plotting and quality writing elevate this above most other historicals.”
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(starred review)
“Excellent.… Tallis handles his themes adroitly.”
(London)
“Exhilarating…expertly crafted.… The layers of Viennese society are peeled away as delicately as the layers of each mouth-watering Viennese pastry that the portly Rheinhardt makes it his business to devour.”
(London)
Praise for
“[An] elegant historical mystery… stylishly presented and intelligently resolved.”
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is] a winner for its smart and fin-de-siecle portrait of the seat of the Austro-Hungarian empire, and for introducing Max Liebermann, a young physician who is feverish with the possibilities of the new science of psychoanalysis.”
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“Frank Tallis knows what he's writing about in this excellent mystery.… His writing and feel for the period are top class.”
(London)
“An engrossing portrait of a legendary period as well as a brain teaser of startling perplexity… In Tallis’ sure hands, the story evolves with grace and excitement.… A perfect combination of the hysterical past and the cooler —but probably more dangerous—present.”
“Holmes meets Freud in this enjoyable… whodunit.”
(London)
Also by Frank Tallis
1
THE BAROQUE BALLROOM was filled with flowers. Beneath three radiant chandeliers more than a hundred couples were rotating in near-perfect synchrony. The men were dressed in black tails, pique shirts, and white gloves, the women in gowns of tulle and crepe de chine. On a raised platform a small orchestra was playing Strauss's
Liebermann felt Amelia Lyd gate s right hand tighten with anxiety in his left. A vertical line appeared on her forehead as she struggled to follow his lead.
“I do apologize, Dr. Liebermann. I am such a poor dancer.”
She was wearing a skirted decollete gown of green velvet, and her flaming red hair was tied up in silver ribbons. The pale unblemished planes of her shoulders reminded the young doctor of polished Italian marble.
“Not at all,” said Liebermann. “You are doing very well for a novice. Might I suggest, however, that you listen more carefully to the music. The beat.”
The Englishwoman returned a puzzled expression. “The beat,” she repeated.
“Yes, can you not”—Liebermann paused, and made an effort to conceal his disbelief—
Liebermann s right hand pressed gently against Amelia's back, emphasizing the first accented beat in each bar. However, his guidance had no noticeable effect on her performance.
“Very well, then,” said Liebermann. “Perhaps you will find the following useful: the
