A Garden Writer's Novel Bears Fruit
It's 1850 in Lancashire, England. The orphaned Scilla Brown is hungry and alone after the death of Dora, a lowlife who took her from the Ormskirk Workhouse to be her accomplice in petty crime. The memory of one bite of stolen peach haunts Scilla: 'Oh, that bite. What dreams were made of.' She sneaks into the local earl's garden one evening in search of more, crashing to earth when the espaliered cherry tree she has scampered up to make her getaway breaks free from the wall.
Enter Mr. Layton, the head gardener, with a beastly scar on his face and 'a voice of rusty nails, sharp with anger.' He collars Scilla, mistaking her for a boy because of her trousers and short hair. To her shock, rather than hauling her off to the magistrate he puts her to work scrubbing plant pots. Bolton Hall, the earl's estate, requires many hands to maintain. Soon Scilla has a new life as Seth Brown, garden boy.
'Brownie' gets plenty of food, a warm place to sleep, and the joshing fellowship of the bothy, the lodge where the garden staff gathers. She works hard, eager to stay as long as she can. Self-worth begins to sprout through the hard soil of experience.
Mr. Layton lends her gardening books, teaches her how to care for seedlings, and demonstrates how to pack delicate grapes and pears away for the winter. 'Plants need limits,' he tells her. 'As do people.' Nobody has seen value in her before, and she can't quite believe it. The head gardener looks fearsome, but 'behind his hardened scar' he's 'wick, full of life, like the stone of the peach itself.'
So is Mrs. Nandi, his Indian housekeeper, who carries her own scars and sees through 'Brownie' before anyone else does. (Mrs. Nandi's presence, along with the cultivation of exotics in the earl's garden, hints at the colonialism that built estates like Bolton Hall.)
Every garden is a secret garden, revealing wonders, if you know how to look. Smith, an author of garden books and the former editor of Country Home magazine, writes with a hands-in-the-dirt affinity for the rhythms and needs of growing things. 'The Peach Thief' bursts with sensory details: the sun-warmed velvet of a ripe peach, rhubarb plants with 'stalks red as rubies must be,' 'the hum of life' in the 'tiny scrap of green' of a cauliflower seedling.
Not even a perfect peach will satisfy the hunger for affection that gnaws at Scilla. She falls under the spell of Phineas Blake, a gardener-in-training who could charm the stars out of the sky. His smile makes Scilla feel as if the sun has 'shone right on her,' as if she's been 'cold all her life, craving sun,' and hasn't known it.
For someone who's never been wanted by anyone, the attention proves irresistible — and dangerous. Phin takes her on midnight raids of 'the glass-houses,' the greenhouses where the earl's precious fruit grows out of season, warmed by hot-water pipes. It's a betrayal of Mr. Layton's trust, but when Scilla tries to resist, 'that empty place inside her' starts 'begging away, as starved as ever.'
Every Eden hides a snake, and Scilla feels like the serpent in this paradise. Mr. Layton will surely cast her out when he discovers she's a thief and a liar. Tension mounts when Emily, Scilla's protector at the workhouse, gets hired as a housemaid and recognizes her old friend in front of Phin.
What will Scilla have to do to keep him quiet? One step too far and her new life will collapse like the tree she climbed down that first night.
Meanwhile, the garden staff works feverishly to prepare for a visit from Prince Albert, Queen Victoria's husband, who wants to inspect Mr. Layton's innovations in the garden and glass-houses. (It's the year before the Great Exhibition of 1851 and progress is in the air.) It's thrilling and terrifying to watch as Scilla builds an ever more precarious trellis of lies, digging for the courage to stand up to Phin and own the truth, no matter what it might cost her.
Smith uses 19th-century Lancashire dialect to give historical grit and texture to the way Scilla, Phin and the other workers talk. A grumpy cook is a 'meddling fussock,' a cracked flowerpot goes 'all to flinders,' fine weather makes for 'a gradely day' and whenever Scilla feels like a baby or a coward, which is often, she kicks herself for being a 'gawby.' The language measures the distance between mid-19th-century England and the here and now, but Scilla's desire to fit in and be loved is timeless. People, like plants, only want to find a place they can thrive.
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Chicago Tribune
a day ago
- Chicago Tribune
Review: A delicious weekend at Ravinia brings together music and fine dining
'A good program,' chief conductor Marin Alsop told a crowd in Ravinia's Tree Top Lounge, 'is like a meal.' She wasn't just reaching for a fanciful metaphor. Each year, Breaking Barriers, the festival-within-a-festival she devised around gender equity at Ravinia, spotlights a different profession. This year's focus on the culinary arts invited women chefs to devise dishes inspired by Alsop's Chicago Symphony programs. Alsop picked the music, while her co-curator, 'Food Network' star Molly Yeh, matchmade the pieces with specific chefs. At this ticketed, add-on event in the Tree Top Lounge, a Ravinia audience sampled the results. The chefs themselves assembled and handed out the hors d'oeuvres at a long table: 'Chopped' judge Maneet Chauhan, New York City baker Jacqueline Eng, Florida chef Mika Leon, and Monteverde and Pastificio chef/co-owner Sarah Grueneberg. For some of the chefs, thinking deeply about music is already second nature. Yeh is the daughter of CSO clarinetist John Bruce Yeh and a Juilliard-trained percussionist; she designed a bite and performed at Saturday's chamber concert. And Eng is also a percussionist with a Juilliard credential. (Those department dinner parties must have been elite.) Despite the crush of more than 250 attendees — about the most Tree Top can fit comfortably — the preconcert tasting went off smoothly. When the line got long, a quick-thinking Chauhan started offering her dish to those waiting, scoopable from a Fritos bag. I'm a pale excuse for a food critic. But after sampling the bites first, then attending the concert in the Pavilion, I found that the chefs' dishes uncannily forecasted the performance to come. Here's how this musical feast went on Friday: Accompanying Reena Esmail's 'Re|Member' By seeking an Indian spin on Midwestern comfort food, Chauhan set a challenge for herself. Any Frito pie, even a cheffed-up one, has to contend with the overwhelming saltiness of the chips themselves. Chauhan might not have been able to surmount that totally, but I can't imagine it being done much better. Her answer was to introduce several tastes: fruity pops of pomegranate seed and mango koochumbar, sweet-and-sour tamarind chutney and briny-creamy queso fresco. In a clever stroke, Chauhan made the vindaloo with ground lamb, rather than the usual hunks, to nod to the more traditional chili topping. Your aunt in Cedar Rapids would surely approve. The Midwest/Indian mashup was apropos for Esmail, who was born in Chicago. In her 'Re|Member,' premiered in 2021, an oboist prerecords their solo, to be shown on a video screen at the top of the piece. Later, the video returns, with the same oboist duetting with their past self live onstage. Of all the pandemic-era commissions out there, Esmail's 'Re|Member' stands out for its poignancy — and I loved that Chauhan, by riffing on a familiar, lovable dish, managed to nod to that nostalgia. So, I was extra disappointed that Ravinia opted to go a different direction for this performance. Instead of the video duet, CSO oboists Lora and Will Welter played a spatialized duet— Schaefer playing in the Pavilion aisle, Welter onstage. Even with its profundity curbed, this was a fine, stirring performance. That's a credit to guest conductor Alexandra Arrieche, a participant in Alsop's fellowship program for female conductors. Accompanying Tim Corpus's 'Great Lake Concerto,' Movement III When you think 'percussion,' you probably think big, bold, maybe a little aggro. It's no surprise Eng's perspective as a former percussionist led her to temper those stereotypes. Instead of going for the obvious associations, she focused on that other, unseen aspect of being a musician: long sessions in the practice room. As she explained in the introductory video played in the Pavilion, she selected rye for its resilience in many different climates. (That grain selection had the added benefit of a slightly sour edge, brightening the dish.) And the bean-and-vegetable it rested upon had the rich, layered flavor one can only achieve by stewing high-quality ingredients patiently for hours on end. Decadent, a little cheesy, and oh-so-umami, it was the most flavor-packed bite of the evening. With its focus on Lakes-region vegetables and grains, Eng also drew inspiration from the piece's title. Corpus, a Chicago-based composer, composed the work specifically for CSO percussionist Vadim Karpinos and Lyric percussionist Ed Harrison; it was premiered by Roosevelt University's student orchestra last year. The third movement, marked 'Explosive,' throws us into a fast-paced repartee between Karpinos and Harrison from opposite sides of the stage — Karpinos on xylophone, Harrison on tom-toms. Corpus's writing is consistently inventive: It's never quite clear whether the soloists are teasing one another or casually trying to one-up each other, and you'll never hear a xylophone sound more mournful than it does at the middle of the movement. I's always a high endorsement, to both performer and composer, when people start hooting in the middle of a classical music piece like they're at a stadium show. Harrison's moment was his minute-long maraca solo (yes, really), and Karpinos' his stunt of tossing, then catching, a shekere 10 feet in the air during a cadenza. I'll be thinking about that performance for a long time—just like those beans. Accompanying George Gershwin's 'Cuban Overture' Of the four, León's dish was the most conventional, which is no slight. The texture of the ropa vieja was just right — not too soupy, but also not getting caught in your teeth for perpetuity, like some ropier ropas viejas. I could see a world in which the tostón weighs down the dish. Instead, it was just dense enough to support the generous mound of meat on top. I might have wanted some more acidity to brighten the dish. Then again, at this point in the meal, some unabashed heartiness was welcome. Without León's dish, I don't know that I would have left the Tree Top Lounge fully satiated. Alsop and the CSO's 'Cuban Overture' stuck to one's ribs, too. Maybe a little too much, actually — the overall spirit seemed transplanted from Gershwin's blustery, big-city tone poems, like 'American in Paris' or 'Rhapsody in Blue.' For a work that references son and rumba so deeply over its short duration, this overture didn't dance much as possible, I tried to isolate each dish's composite parts before taking them in together. The lamb vindaloo in the Frito pie. The cultured butter off Eng's rye toast. Even the tostón, alone, in León's creation. When I did the same for this 'pasta tale' — a chilled orzo, with a tomato saffron sauce pooling at its side — I admit, I was skeptical. Between the freshness of the lump crab and its vegetal crunch, the orzo had all the makings of a great summer pasta salad, if on the mild-mannered side. Meanwhile, the sauce was not at all what I expected, leading with the tomato's acidity. The saffron, for all its potency, arrives only on the back end of the bite, albeit mild enough to be overpowered by the taste of Ravinia's wooden utensils. I swapped to plastic before mixing it all together and digging in. Then: total magic. It's as though Grueneberg had carefully plotted a run-of-show for each bite. First, the salinity of the crab, now amplified. Then, that tomato zing, rounded off pleasantly to become more mere aroma than star. The fresh veggies complete the garden, but no longer dominate. And then: the saffron, asserting itself more bravely than before. If this ends up on Monteverde's menu, catch me there tomorrow, a Road-Runner puff of dust pluming behind. What kismet that the most nuanced dish got the most nuanced performance. If programs are like meals, 'Scheherazade' would be the equivalent of a weekly special at Chez Ravinia: Like Copland's Clarinet Concerto, appearing later in the weekend, Alsop conducted the work earlier in her Ravinia tenure, in 2022. But the flavor profile of this meeting between CSO, Alsop and associate concertmaster Stephanie Jeong — who, then and now, played the expansive solos representing Scheherazade — has only deepened in those three years. Conducting scoreless, as is her wont in big repertoire works, Alsop had a specific and inspiring vision for the piece: an end-to-end lyricism, episodes that elicited delicious contrasts, slowdowns that were just right. But don't mistake specificity for micromanagement. Just as exhilarating was the sheer freedom and creativity the CSO seized in their solos. Stephen Williamson's runs in the third movement slowed at their peak, like the suspended, heartstopping moment before a roller coaster's big drop. Keith Buncke's bassoon solo was punctuated by pauses, a sage carefully choosing his words. And Jeong — where to begin? It was really her Scheherazade, a masterclass in taking time and, when called for, freezing it altogether. I can't think of a better 'Scheherazade' I've heard live, anywhere, even including Grant Park's noble account last summer. If only we could come back for seconds. The Breaking Barriers Festival continues 5 p.m. Sunday with Felix Mendelssohn's Symphony No. 4, 'Italian,' and Chicago Symphony clarinetist Stephen Williamson playing Aaron Copland's Clarinet Concerto. Tickets $35–$95 Pavilion, $15 lawn. More information at
Time Magazine
2 days ago
- Time Magazine
The Complex Ending of Indian Thriller 'Mandala Murders'
Mandala Murders, a gripping Indian crime thriller series on Netflix, follows detective Rea Thomas as she investigates a series of ritualistic murders in the fictional remote town of Charandaspur. Over eight episodes, the show unravels a chilling mystery involving a secret cult called the Aayastis, who are attempting to create a god-like being named Yast by assembling human body parts according to an ancient ritual. The series blends crime investigation, supernatural lore, and political intrigue, revealing how deep-rooted beliefs and family legacies can drive people to horrific acts. Throughout the season, viewers are drawn into a complex web of betrayal, faith, and moral ambiguity. The story contrasts the personal journeys of Rea and Ananya Bhardwaj, two women connected by their grandmothers' opposing roles in the cult's dark history. The finale ties together these threads, offering answers but leaving enough open to hint that the saga is far from over. What is Yast and why does the cult want to create it? At the heart of Mandala Murders is the myth of Yast, a man-made god envisioned by the Aayastis cult. Yast is a being constructed by piecing together what they see as the ideal human body parts from various victims, inspired by the concept of the Vitruvian Man and ancient Indian spirituality. The cult believes that through this unnatural creation, they can usher in a new divine era—one in which Yast will reign supreme, transforming the world and cleansing it of those deemed unworthy. This god is not just a spiritual ideal but a symbol of ultimate power and control. The cult's ambition to resurrect Yast reflects a dangerous blend of fanaticism and pseudo-science, where ancient rituals meet modern technology. However, the price of this resurrection is horrifying: the ritual requires numerous human sacrifices, with each victim selected for specific body parts that will complete the divine vessel. This blend of science, mysticism, and brutality drives the narrative and raises questions about the cost of blind devotion. The ritualistic murders and the mandala pattern The murders committed by the Aayastis are not random but carefully orchestrated rituals. Each victim is chosen for a particular body part—such as a limb, face, or other distinctive attribute—that fits into the cult's grand design of Yast's body. The killings follow the geometry of a mandala, an intricate spiritual symbol representing cosmic order and balance. This pattern connects the crime scenes and serves as a symbolic map for the cult's progress toward creating Yast. This methodical approach to murder highlights the cult's cold precision and the extent of their fanaticism. The mandala pattern is a dark twist on spiritual symbolism. While mandalas are typically associated with harmony and enlightenment, here they become the blueprint for ritual slaughter. The series uses this contrast to underscore the warped ideology behind the Ayastis' mission, showing how religious symbolism can be twisted to justify horror. Ananya and the legacy of Rukmini Devi Ananya Bhardwaj, a prominent political figure in Charandaspur, is revealed as a key antagonist who is determined to continue the cult's work. She is the granddaughter of Rukmini Devi, the original founder of the Ayasthis' project in the 1950s. Rukmini's vision combined radical science and ancient spiritual beliefs to begin the dangerous experiment of bringing Yast to life. Ananya, driven by loyalty to her grandmother's legacy and her own political ambitions, reboots this project with ruthless determination. Ananya's actions show a chilling disregard for human life. She orchestrates murders, manipulates people around her, and shows no remorse for the carnage left in her wake. Her personal flaws and toxic relationships further complicate her character—she is politically powerful but deeply flawed, willing to betray family and friends to complete the Yast project. Rea Thomas and the legacy of Nandini Opposing Ananya is Rea Thomas, a dedicated and morally grounded detective from the Crime Investigation Bureau. Unbeknownst to her at first, Rea is linked to the cult's past through her grandmother Nandini, who was once part of the original Aayastis but ultimately rejected their cause. Nandini's turning point came when she realized the catastrophic consequences of bringing Yast into the world and sabotaged the original plan by destroying a critical part of the ritual. Rea's journey is one of discovery and redemption. As she uncovers her grandmother's story and the cult's history, she becomes determined to stop Ananya and the Aayastis from completing their apocalyptic mission. Her struggle represents the theme of legacy as a choice—while Ananya embraces the cult's darkness, Rea fights to bring justice and protect her community, even at great personal cost. Vikram's role as the final sacrifice Vikram Singh, a local police officer and Rea's close ally, becomes the cult's ultimate target. His body is believed to be the last piece necessary to complete Yast's perfect human form. The cult's plan culminates in harvesting Vikram's blood and body parts, tying him directly to the mythological ritual and making his survival crucial to stopping the catastrophe. Vikram's involvement raises the stakes emotionally and narratively, especially when it's revealed that he also has a mysterious connection to the cult, through his mother Vasudha's role in past events. The threat to Vikram personalizes the fight between Rea and Ananya, turning it into a race to save not only a life but the future of Charandaspur and possibly the world. The failed resurrection and the fall of Ananya The final episode builds to a tense confrontation deep within the underground chambers where the cult prepares to complete Yast's resurrection. Ananya and her followers are ready to perform the final ritual, with Yast's grotesque, incomplete form suspended in a tank. As the blood sacrifice of Vikram is about to be carried out, Rea arrives to stop the ceremony. Rea's intervention is violent and decisive. She stabs Ananya just as the latter attempts to kill Vikram. This moment disrupts the ritual, preventing Yast's full resurrection. The scene is both a climax and a turning point, symbolizing the struggle between the destructive legacy of the past and the hope for justice. However, despite the victory, the lingering presence of the cult members suggests that the threat is far from over. What the ending implies for the future Though the immediate danger is halted, the series ends on a note of uncertainty. The final scenes hint that some cult members remain free, and the ideology behind Yast has not been fully eradicated. The shadow of the Ayastis still looms over Charandaspur, leaving the door open for future conflicts. This ambiguous ending invites viewers to reflect on the cyclical nature of fanaticism and the challenges of uprooting deeply entrenched beliefs. The unresolved threads suggest that the story could continue in a second season, exploring how the battle between darkness and justice evolves in a world where faith and power collide.
Eater
2 days ago
- Eater
The Best Dishes Eater Chicago Editors Ate This Week: July 25
The editors at Eater Chicago dine out several times a week, if not per day, which means we're always encountering standout dishes that deserve time in the limelight. Here's the very best of everything the team has eaten this week. Rasam from Thalaiva's Indian Kitchen and Bar in Park Ridge Rasam from Thalaiva's Indian Kitchen and Bar. Ashok Selvam/Eater Chicago Chicago is coming off a streak of consecutive 90-degree days. So why am I telling you to travel to the Northern Suburbs and try some soup? Because South Indian food is just so haute right now. As common with other international cuisines, Americans are realizing that first to market doesn't always tell the full story and that there's more to Indian food than butter chicken (though butter chicken allegedly is making a little bit of a come back). Americans loved tiki, so might as well give them some tropical vibes off the Malabar Coast in Southern India. Particularly Keralan cuisine, where beef and pork often shine, has seized the spotlight and Chicago is seeing more and more restaurants. Having South Indian blood, I've been skeptical about what dishes are getting attention, and I've seen some restaurants flounder despite being hailed as the next big thing. In Park Ridge, Thalaiva's Indian Kitchen and Bar soars with an ideal mix of fun items — like fish fries and an array of Indian coffees — as well as the stuff I grew up eating at home in Chicago. I feel 'homestyle' is kind of dismissive, but the rasam served hit all the right notes; it's a healing vegetarian elixir full of tamarind and tomatoes that helped power me through a number of bitter Chicago winters. We ate it with a little basmati rice mixed in. At Thaliva's, they'll bring out a small gravy boat, a ladle, and cups. You might opt to slurp it down with a spoon or sip it slow with a utensil. Remember: South India is no monolith. We like both dosa AND idily, thank you. We just love our carbs which brings me to a realization: How can you tell if an Indian restaurant is good? Just keep an ear out for the sweet sound of a glucose monitor alarm. That's our people's tell, and I heard a chorus of them at Thalaiva's. — Ashok Selvam, lead editor, Eater Midwest Shrimp lumpia from Cebu in Lincoln Square Shrimp lumpia from Cebu. Ashok Selvam/Eater Chicago There is such thing as bad lumpia. It can be soggy. The wrapper to filling ratio can go awry. The fillingcould be rancid, even when fried to a golden crisp. I write this as a reminder not to take quality lumpia for granted. Along Lincoln Avenue, Cebu has found a niche as an all-day restaurant with Filipino American flavors. The mid-afternoon menu is great on weekends for families, and the pork lumpia might be the best in the city. These aren't the bite-sized lumpia you might prefer. They're a little longer and meant to be savored. For dinner, Cebu amps its lumpia up with shrimp. As a big fan of the pork version, I was skeptical: If it ain't broke, don't fix it. But after a single bite, my tastebuds were singing a different tune. Shrimp was a simple yet decadent upgrade. I don't know if there's such thing as a perfect lumpia, but Cebu's nighttime offering has me wondering if we're getting close. — A.S. Neapolitan pizza from Coda di Volpe in Lakeview Coda di Volpe specializes in Neapolitan pizzas. Sandy Noto/Coda di Volpe Chicagoans seemingly love to debate pizza just about as much as they enjoy eating it. Deep-dish versus tavern-style is an eternal battle that will never be decided, but they're not the only pies deserving of your attention. Detroit-style squares have exploded in popularity in recent years, and there are also plenty of quality options for New York slices (no judgement) and traditional Italian pizzas. This past week, I visited Southport Corridor favorite Coda di Volpe to try some of its Neapolitan offerings. The restaurant is one of few in the city that's VPN-certified, a designation given to pizzerias by the American affiliate of the Naples-based Associazione Verace Pizza Napoletana. This means the pies are made under certain parameters with approved equipment, which in theory should produce more consistent and superior results. Of course, it's still possible to have a bad Neapolitan pizza while adhering to these guidelines, and vice versa, so the certification isn't the be-all and end-all. It's been several years since I'd been to Coda di Volpe, but the three pies I sampled that night — margherita, mortadella and pistachio, sausage and soppressata — all hit the mark. The blistered, chewy crust surrounds a soft and gooey center, making it the perfect base for a smattering of toppings. The mortadella and pistachio pie stood out in particular — the savory pork, buffalo mozzarella, and nutty pistachio pesto all complementing each together harmoniously. It was worth braving the congestion around the neighborhood that coincides with a Cubs home game. — Jeffy Mai, associate editor, Eater Midwest Taiwanese beef noodle soup from Minyoli in Andersonville Minyoli is a Taiwanese restaurant offering noodle soups, popcorn chicken, and more. It's been a hot week in Chicago, so naturally I was in the mood for… noodle soup. Taiwanese restaurant Minyoli opened in Andersonville last year, giving the North Side a much-welcome spot to enjoy the East Asian country's specialties. While the chilled sesame noodles might've been more appropriate given the weather during my visit, I decided to go with what the kitchen is best known for, and also Taiwan's national dish — niu rou mian, or beef noodle soup. A bowl of eight-hour bone broth arrives teeming with bouncy, homemade noodles, pickled mustard greens, and tender beef (with the option of adding tendon as well) that's braised with black bean and spicy broad bean sauces. I added a little more heat with some chile oil, which really made the dish sing. Temps be damned, you should order this complex and wholly satisfying noodle soup year-round. — J.M.
