Women's Fiction
![Alexander McCall Smith - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_alexander_mccall_smith.jpg)
A Song of Comfortable Chairs: No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency (23) (No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency Series)
In this latest installment in the beloved No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series, Grace Makutsi encounters a pair of quandaries that will require all of her and Mma Ramotswe's cleverness and generosity to resolve
"An escape from life's woes as well as a suggestion for how to make the whole deal more palatable-fragility, fruit cake, and all." -The Boston Globe
Grace Makutsi's husband, Phuti, is in a bind. An international firm is attempting to undercut his prices in the office furniture market. Phuti has always been concerned with quality and comfort, but this new firm seems interested only in profits. To make matters worse, they have a slick new advertising campaign that seems hard to beat. Nonetheless with Mma Ramotswe's help, Phtui comes up with a campaign that may just do the trick.
Meanwhile, Mma Makutsi is approached by an old friend who has a troubled son. Grace and Phuti agree to lend a hand, but the boy proves difficult to reach, and the situation is more than they can handle on their own. It will require not only all of their patience and dedication, but also the help of Mma Ramotswe and the formidable Mma Potokwani in order to help the child.
Faced with more than her fair share of domestic problems, Mma Makutsi deals with it all with her usual grace. That, along with the kindness, generosity, and good sense that the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency is known for, assure us that in the end, all these matters will be set right.
"An escape from life's woes as well as a suggestion for how to make the whole deal more palatable-fragility, fruit cake, and all." -The Boston Globe
Grace Makutsi's husband, Phuti, is in a bind. An international firm is attempting to undercut his prices in the office furniture market. Phuti has always been concerned with quality and comfort, but this new firm seems interested only in profits. To make matters worse, they have a slick new advertising campaign that seems hard to beat. Nonetheless with Mma Ramotswe's help, Phtui comes up with a campaign that may just do the trick.
Meanwhile, Mma Makutsi is approached by an old friend who has a troubled son. Grace and Phuti agree to lend a hand, but the boy proves difficult to reach, and the situation is more than they can handle on their own. It will require not only all of their patience and dedication, but also the help of Mma Ramotswe and the formidable Mma Potokwani in order to help the child.
Faced with more than her fair share of domestic problems, Mma Makutsi deals with it all with her usual grace. That, along with the kindness, generosity, and good sense that the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency is known for, assure us that in the end, all these matters will be set right.
Editorial Reviews
Praise for A Song of Comfortable Chairs and The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series
"What a treat to discover . . . Brims with good humor and compassion." -Entertainment Weekly
"Enthralling . . . [Mma Ramotswe] is someone readers can't help but love." -USA Today
"There is no end to the pleasure that may be extracted from these . . . books." -Janet Malcolm, The New York Review of Books
"An escape from life's woes as well as a suggestion for how to make the whole deal more palatable-fragility, fruit cake, and all." -The Boston Globe
"The books, like their author, have charm. You cannot overstate the power of this-it's the missing ingredient in contemporary fiction." -The Guardian
"Entrancing . . . A tapestry of extraordinary nuance and richness." -The Wall Street Journal
"McCall Smith choreographs an ingenious 'trickster tricked' plot here, centered on a swarm of cutthroat business people and one surly teenager. . . . Readers [will] delightedly immerse themselves in descriptions of the Botswana landscape; in Precious and Grace's conversations over mugs of red bush tea; and in the doings of the rest of the cast of comic characters. Another delight from the prolific McCall Smith."
-Booklist *starred*
"What a treat to discover . . . Brims with good humor and compassion." -Entertainment Weekly
"Enthralling . . . [Mma Ramotswe] is someone readers can't help but love." -USA Today
"There is no end to the pleasure that may be extracted from these . . . books." -Janet Malcolm, The New York Review of Books
"An escape from life's woes as well as a suggestion for how to make the whole deal more palatable-fragility, fruit cake, and all." -The Boston Globe
"The books, like their author, have charm. You cannot overstate the power of this-it's the missing ingredient in contemporary fiction." -The Guardian
"Entrancing . . . A tapestry of extraordinary nuance and richness." -The Wall Street Journal
"McCall Smith choreographs an ingenious 'trickster tricked' plot here, centered on a swarm of cutthroat business people and one surly teenager. . . . Readers [will] delightedly immerse themselves in descriptions of the Botswana landscape; in Precious and Grace's conversations over mugs of red bush tea; and in the doings of the rest of the cast of comic characters. Another delight from the prolific McCall Smith."
-Booklist *starred*
Readers Top Reviews
Debbie KoontzAnastas
This book would be better if it were twice as long. I have read all the No. 1 Ladies' Detective books, and still find them a delightful break from everyday concerns. Whenever I'm sad or sleepless, I read them again. The characters are priceless. Thank you, Alexander McCall Smith!
SR
I loved reading this book. As usual, the story and characters filled me with the calmness and comfort typical of this series. I only wish it were longer. Now will need to wait another year for the next installment in this beautiful series. Meanwhile, time to start again from book 1 and catch up with old friends.
Kathy Gallagher Herb
Sometimes I wish that these books were longer so I didn't have to come to the ending so soon. Love everything about this one. The excellent writing and the wonderful characters. So very heartwarming.
Shirley WillisKathy
A Song of Comfortable Chairs is a wise, witty and deeply satisfying parable of how to bend the trajectory of adversity toward rightness and justice. Alexander McCall unfailingly delivers a sense of and joy. I love his powerful little books and A Song of Comfortable Chairs delivers. Shirley Willis, Author Naked Teaching: A Love Story
AgibrisShirley Willi
Mma Ramotswe’s gentle way of solving problems with insight into human nature is a delight. I’ve enjoyed this 23rd entry into the world of The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency as much as all the previous ones in the series. It’s been a pleasure to visit these old friends again.
Short Excerpt Teaser
From Chapter One
The following day, Mma Ramotswe slept in rather longer than usual. The absence of the children meant that the house was unnaturally quiet, and she barely noticed Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni slipping out of bed. Nor did she hear him making his breakfast in the kitchen, or calling out, at the front door, "That's me off to work now, Mma. Don't forget to go to the office!" It was a well-worn joke between them: he would remind her to go to the office and she would respond by telling him that he should not forget to come home after work. On such small sayings and customs are marriages built-comfortable familiarity; and that, Mma Ramotswe always felt, made a better basis for a marriage than any amount of novelty.
She experienced a moment of panic when she eventually emerged from drowsiness and looked at the clock on her bedside table. It was already eight-thirty, a recklessly late hour for her, but then she remembered that the children were at their friends' houses and did not have to be got ready for school. The agency was going through a quiet spell-several major inquiries had recently been satisfactorily concluded-and she had no appointments that day. Mma Makutsi would open up the office and together they would tackle some of the administrative tasks that had been piling up and needed to be attended to. She knew that Mma Makutsi would be keen to do some filing and she herself would work on the bills for recently completed investigations. There would be time for several tea breaks, of course, and in this way they could expect to spend a pleasant and not unduly stressful day in the office. It was also possible that a new client might walk in off the street-one never knew when that would happen, and that was often the way in which some of their most interesting clients contacted them. Of course there were factors at work in the background, foremost of which was the word of mouth on which every business ultimately would succeed or fail.
She did not hurry. A leisurely breakfast of a fried egg, toast spread with honey, and a large cup of red bush tea was followed by a walk around her vegetable garden and a quick tidying-up of the living room. After that she was ready to prepare a sandwich for her lunch, have a final cup of tea, and then set off in her tiny white van for the short drive to the office. The traffic was light, as the morning rush was over, and she did not push her van beyond a stately fifteen miles an hour, a speed at which it seemed to be most comfortable and at which the fewest rattles and other worrying noises emerged from the engine compartment. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni would have replaced the van at the drop of a hat, but Mma Ramotswe was as loyal to machinery as she was to people, and steadfastly refused to countenance the purchase of a new vehicle. One day the white van would finally expire, but that day had not yet come, and until then it did what was asked of it patiently and with dignity.
Parking the van in its accustomed place under an acacia tree, Mma Ramotswe walked past the entrance to the garage. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni was busy performing open-heart surgery on a battered Land Rover, and did not see her, but Fanwell, his face streaked with grease, raised a spanner in salutation. Mma Ramotswe continued to the side of the garage, where a white-painted door constituted the entrance to the agency office.
Habit, more than anything else, made her knock. You did not have to knock on your own door, but she did, so deep was her engrained courtesy.
From within a voice invited her to enter.
"But Mma Ramotswe, it is just you!" exclaimed Mma Makutsi. "I thought it might be somebody important."
Mma Makutsi realised how unfortunate that sounded, and quickly apologised. "I mean, you are very important, Mma-it's just that I thought it might be a client."
Mma Ramotswe laughed. "I know what you mean, Mma. Don't worry. Sometimes things come out the wrong way."
She made her way towards her desk, but before she reached it, she noticed that something was different. It caught her eye from the side-a small name-plate, of engraved brass, mounted upon a wooden base, reading Mma Grace Makutsi. It was not a large sign, but at the same time it was not exactly small, and it was positioned on the side of Mma Makutsi's desk so that it could be seen by anybody entering the room.
"My goodness!" exclaimed Mma Ramotswe. "What is that, Mma?"
At first Mma Makutsi affected not to know what Mma Ramotswe was talking about. "What is what, Mma?" she asked.
"That," replied Mma Ramotswe, pointing at the name-pla...
The following day, Mma Ramotswe slept in rather longer than usual. The absence of the children meant that the house was unnaturally quiet, and she barely noticed Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni slipping out of bed. Nor did she hear him making his breakfast in the kitchen, or calling out, at the front door, "That's me off to work now, Mma. Don't forget to go to the office!" It was a well-worn joke between them: he would remind her to go to the office and she would respond by telling him that he should not forget to come home after work. On such small sayings and customs are marriages built-comfortable familiarity; and that, Mma Ramotswe always felt, made a better basis for a marriage than any amount of novelty.
She experienced a moment of panic when she eventually emerged from drowsiness and looked at the clock on her bedside table. It was already eight-thirty, a recklessly late hour for her, but then she remembered that the children were at their friends' houses and did not have to be got ready for school. The agency was going through a quiet spell-several major inquiries had recently been satisfactorily concluded-and she had no appointments that day. Mma Makutsi would open up the office and together they would tackle some of the administrative tasks that had been piling up and needed to be attended to. She knew that Mma Makutsi would be keen to do some filing and she herself would work on the bills for recently completed investigations. There would be time for several tea breaks, of course, and in this way they could expect to spend a pleasant and not unduly stressful day in the office. It was also possible that a new client might walk in off the street-one never knew when that would happen, and that was often the way in which some of their most interesting clients contacted them. Of course there were factors at work in the background, foremost of which was the word of mouth on which every business ultimately would succeed or fail.
She did not hurry. A leisurely breakfast of a fried egg, toast spread with honey, and a large cup of red bush tea was followed by a walk around her vegetable garden and a quick tidying-up of the living room. After that she was ready to prepare a sandwich for her lunch, have a final cup of tea, and then set off in her tiny white van for the short drive to the office. The traffic was light, as the morning rush was over, and she did not push her van beyond a stately fifteen miles an hour, a speed at which it seemed to be most comfortable and at which the fewest rattles and other worrying noises emerged from the engine compartment. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni would have replaced the van at the drop of a hat, but Mma Ramotswe was as loyal to machinery as she was to people, and steadfastly refused to countenance the purchase of a new vehicle. One day the white van would finally expire, but that day had not yet come, and until then it did what was asked of it patiently and with dignity.
Parking the van in its accustomed place under an acacia tree, Mma Ramotswe walked past the entrance to the garage. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni was busy performing open-heart surgery on a battered Land Rover, and did not see her, but Fanwell, his face streaked with grease, raised a spanner in salutation. Mma Ramotswe continued to the side of the garage, where a white-painted door constituted the entrance to the agency office.
Habit, more than anything else, made her knock. You did not have to knock on your own door, but she did, so deep was her engrained courtesy.
From within a voice invited her to enter.
"But Mma Ramotswe, it is just you!" exclaimed Mma Makutsi. "I thought it might be somebody important."
Mma Makutsi realised how unfortunate that sounded, and quickly apologised. "I mean, you are very important, Mma-it's just that I thought it might be a client."
Mma Ramotswe laughed. "I know what you mean, Mma. Don't worry. Sometimes things come out the wrong way."
She made her way towards her desk, but before she reached it, she noticed that something was different. It caught her eye from the side-a small name-plate, of engraved brass, mounted upon a wooden base, reading Mma Grace Makutsi. It was not a large sign, but at the same time it was not exactly small, and it was positioned on the side of Mma Makutsi's desk so that it could be seen by anybody entering the room.
"My goodness!" exclaimed Mma Ramotswe. "What is that, Mma?"
At first Mma Makutsi affected not to know what Mma Ramotswe was talking about. "What is what, Mma?" she asked.
"That," replied Mma Ramotswe, pointing at the name-pla...
