Reading a 44 Scotland Street novel, in this case THE ENIGMA OF GARLIC, is the next best thing to having Alexander McCall Smith stop by for a glass of sherry on an April afternoon. He arrives a few minutes before 4:00 with an armful of white daffodils, knotted with a blue cord, and we fuss for just a few minutes in the kitchen to find a delicate, cut glass vase. He centers the bouquet on the ornate walnut coffee table, sighs a bit as he sits down in one of our gray armchairs, and pours each of us a glass of fruity sherry.

The conversation starts with our health and a nod to the pressing news of the world, but we waste little time bemoaning the things outside our street. We then turn to the center of our chat: our friends. We have years’ worth of stories about friends, incidents and relationships, and he reminds me that our warm reminiscences are grounded in our love of the people of 44 Scotland Street and its environs, as well as our love for the familiarity and recognition of old events. Today, of course, there are additions to the stories.

"THE ENIGMA OF GARLIC reads as delightfully and richly as a conversation with Alexander McCall Smith himself. Since sadly that possibility seems slim, my recommendation is to enjoy the book and a glass of your best sherry on your own."

Big Lou and Fat Bob’s wedding was earlier this spring, and the rumors of Fat Bob’s infidelity began to circulate quietly but steadily, starting at the reception itself. How juicy. But how sad, as Big Lou had every right to marital happiness at long last, and having these suspicions whirl about her (unbeknownst to her, of course) was unsettling. Roger and Angus, stalwarts of the 44 Scotland Street clan, investigated the rumors. Without invitation or consideration, Sister Maria-Fiore dei Fiori di Montagna join them one afternoon at a café. The three observe Fat Bob and make assumptions about his marriage and his faithfulness.

Smith reminds me that Bruce Anderson was struck by lightning on Dundas Street. Yes, it had happened several days ago. He said Bruce met with Dr. Livingstone, a therapist who is writing a paper for a psychiatric journal on the psychological implications of being struck by lightning. Dr. Livingstone suggested that part of his job --- prior to his current interest in survivors of lightning strikes --- had been to advise patients that they cannot change deep-seated things in their lives, but rather they can change how they deal with them. That’s the transformation. Bruce listened. And a few days later he chose to enter a monastery in the north of Scotland, giving up his flat, car, computer, socks and shoes, and turning everything over to Borthy Borthwick, an old, rather hapless school friend.

“How was that working out?” Smith wondered aloud. It was a great opportunity for Borthy, it seems, and his fortunes improved almost immediately. More on Bruce later.

We also talk about the children of 44 Scotland Street who are growing ever more precocious and daring. Now seven, Bertie cannot break off the marriage plans that Olive (who is also seven) has settled upon him. Olive’s best friend, Pansy, is equally enamored of Ranald, Bertie’s best friend. The boys’ summer plans are now focused on avoiding the girls, steering clear of parent-chosen camps and emancipating themselves to Glasgow. Can it be done?

Smith then turns the conversation a bit inward; this is the time in our afternoon of sherry and friendship that I have come to expect. We both have a gentle bewilderment at the quandary of growing old. At 20, we thought we’d do it in our 30s; at 30, we thought we’d do it when we had the wisdom and insight of our 40s. But, of course, the 40s are a busy time in the lives of most, and the great projects are put off until the 50s --- and beyond --- into the vague lists of injury time. And then, at some stage, the whistle blows and it’s too late.

Smith stands up, and we walk to the front door, appreciating the warmth of the afternoon and the rich aroma of potatoes and garlic in the earthen cookware just inside on the kitchen stovetop. “We haven’t talked about the garlic fields cultivated by those monks in the north of Scotland, have we?” We paused and wondered about the properties of garlic. “That is the story I’ll tell you about Bruce when we see each other again.”

THE ENIGMA OF GARLIC reads as delightfully and richly as a conversation with Alexander McCall Smith himself. Since sadly that possibility seems slim, my recommendation is to enjoy the book and a glass of your best sherry on your own.