Bookends the Maul and the Pear Tree

P.D. James is an esteemed mystery novelist whose 1980 book Innocent Blood became a mainstream best seller. Her fictions often center on guilty secrets and the way the past reverberates into the present. In The Maul and the Pear Tree, James applies her narrative and analytic talents to the actual: the Ratcliffe Highway murders that took place in early-l9th century London. Although the seven killings in two merchant households were widely publicized and later inspired Thomas De Quincey's essay "On Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts," James and her collaborator, Police Historian T.A. Critchley, found that few researchers had scrutinized contemporary accounts and public records. Their own examination unearthed appalling evidence of police ineptitude: "As the story developed it became clear that the system of 1811 had done no more than pronounce a confident, convenient and ghoulish judgment . . . while leaving the core of the Ratcliffe Highway murders wrapped in continuing mystery." The murders are commonly attributed to John Williams, a seaman who died by hanging while in police custody. James and Critchley make a compelling case for his innocence, finger a probable alternative villain and suggest that Williams' death in jail may also have been a murder. Vivid in atmosphere and detail, the book is in the best tradition of the historian as avenging angel.

HIGH JINX

by William F. Buckley Jr.

Doubleday; 261 pages; $16.95

Cold war buffs by now should be familiar with Blackford Oakes, William F. Buckley's tony spy hero of six previous novels. The cold is something he never had to come in out of. He knows that he works for the good guys. In his latest adventure, Blacky confronts the Evil Empire, circa 1954. Stalin is dead, Georgi Malenkov sits unsurely as party chief, and the ruthless Lavrenti Beria, head of the KGB, plots his own ascension. The monolith is in transition, and the U.S. and Britain launch a secret commando raid to overthrow the Soviet- dominated government of Albania. The assault fails because of traitors in high places.

This is a juicy subject for the nation's best-known conservative writer. With considerable relish and fluent wit, Buckley stirs a plot involving the treasonous activities of Britain's leading scientist and the Soviet-bred daughter of an American journalist. The amiable Oakes frequently gets lost in the flashbacks and Kremlinology, but that is to be expected. Buckley's bad guys always get more attention than his good guys.

ALL GOD'S CHILDREN NEED

TRAVELING SHOES

by Maya Angelou

Random House; 210 pages; $15.95

In the fifth volume of her utobiography, begun in 1970 with the poignant I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Poet Maya Angelou recalls a four-year stay in Ghana. Her 1960s reminiscence contains a gallery of indelible portraits and landscapes: a visit from Malcolm X; a march on the American embassy, coinciding with Martin Luther King Jr.'s march in Washington; a passing romance with a Malian. Between character sketches, the author meditates on the search for historical and spiritual roots. "I doubted if I, or any Black from the diaspora, could really return to Africa," Angelou confesses. "We wore skeletons of old despair like necklaces, heralding our arrival, and we were branded with cynicism." But shortly before she is to return to New York, she visits a small seaport in Eastern Ghana. There, a strange epiphany occurs. An old woman mistakes Angelou for someone she knew long, long ago. Abruptly, the elusive past rises up, as warm and palpable as the African earth.

BREAK IN

by Dick Francis

Putnam; 317 pages; $17.95

This is Francis' 25th book, and it ought to have been a big winner. The author, once a successful steeplechase jockey in Britain, returns to the setting of his best books: the country tracks strewn around England. Break In starts wonderfully, with a description of a tough race in which the hero, Kit Fielding, struggles aboard a truculent brute named North Face. The prose has speed, authenticity and striking confidence. The jockey, a dour and stubborn loner, is typical of Francis' heroes. But they have been overdrawn lately, and Fielding is a caricature. He churns North Face to victory, then when he learns that his sister and her trainer husband are being systematically ruined, steps in and clears all the bad guys' hurdles by himself. Given his firm but faultless manners, Fielding mixes easily with the sporting blue bloods on whom his business depends. In fact, he himself is a fantasy, a natural aristocrat, freed of the trappings of money and class. Francis needs to pump in some rude red blood.