Soon to be a major motion picture, this funny, surprising, and internationally bestselling mystery features a new breed of detectives you’ve got to read to baaaaa-lieve. The deluxe edition paperback will feature bonus content and hits shelves 20 years after its original release. Something is not right with George the shepherd. His sheep have gathered around him on a hill outside the cozy Irish village of Glennkill to assess the situation. George has cared for the sheep, reading them books every night, and now he lies pinned to the ground with a spade. His flock, far savvier about the workings of the human mind than your average sheep, set out to find George’s killer, led by Miss Maple, the smartest sheep in Glennkill (and possibly the world).; Her team of investigators includes Othello, the “bad-boy” of the group; Mopple the Whale, a merino who eats a lot and remembers everything; and Zora, a thoughtful, if gloomy, black-faced ewe--just to name a few. Together, the sheep engage in nightlong discussions about the crime and their speculations vary wildly. Determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, they embark on furtive missions into the village, where they encounter some likely suspects. There’s Ham, the terrifying butcher; Rebecca, the secretive village newcomer; Gabriel, the shady shepherd of a strange flock; and Father Will, a sinister priest. With wit and heart, this clever international bestseller is a mystery to chew on.

Autorentext

Leonie Swann; translated by Anthea Bell

Klappentext

Soon to be a major motion picture (The Sheep Detectives with Hugh Jackman and Emma Thompson), this funny and surprising mystery stars a new breed of detectives you’ve got to read to baaaaa-lieve.

This refreshed deluxe paperback features a foreword by internationally bestselling author A. J. Finn, discussion questions, and bonus materials.

Something is not right with George the shepherd. His sheep have gathered around him outside the cozy Irish village of Glennkill to assess the situation. George has cared for the sheep, reading them books every night, and now he lies pinned to the ground with a spade. His flock, far savvier about the workings of the human mind than your average sheep, sets out to find George’s killer, led by Miss Maple, the smartest sheep in Glennkill (and possibly the world).

Her team of investigators includes Othello, who was rescued from the Dublin Zoo; Mopple the Whale, who is always hungry and remembers everything; and Zora, an existential ewe—just to name a few. Together, the sheep discuss the crime late into the night, and their speculations vary wildly. Determined to unravel the mystery, they embark on furtive missions into the village, where they encounter a hoof-full of two-legged suspects. There’s Ham, the terrifying butcher who smells of death; Rebecca, the secretive village newcomer; and Father Will, a sinister priest the sheep call God.

With wit and heart, this clever international bestseller is a mystery to chew on—and savor.

Leseprobe
1
Othello Boldly Grazes Past

“He was healthy yesterday,” said Maude. Her ears twitched nervously.
     “That doesn’t mean anything,” pointed out Sir Ritchfield, the oldest ram in the flock. “He didn’t die of an illness. Spades are not an illness.”
     The shepherd was lying in the green Irish grass beside the hay barn, not far from the path through the fields. He didn’t move. A single crow had settled on his woolly Norwegian sweater and was studying his internal arrangements with professional interest. Beside the crow sat a very happy rabbit. Rather farther off, close to the edge of the cliff, the sheep were holding a meeting.
     They had kept calm that morning when they found their shepherd lying there so unusually cold and lifeless, and were extremely proud of it. In the first flush of alarm, naturally there had been a few frantic cries of, “Who’s going to bring us hay now?” and, “A wolf! There’s a wolf about!” But Miss Maple had been quick to quell any panic. She explained that here on the greenest, richest pasture in all Ireland only idiots would eat hay in midsummer anyway, and even the most sophisticated wolves didn’t drive spades through the bodies of their victims. For such a tool was undoubtedly sticking out of the shepherd’s insides, which were now wet with dew.
     Miss Maple was the cleverest sheep in all Glennkill. Some even claimed that she was the cleverest sheep in the world. But no one could prove it. There was in fact an annual Smartest Sheep in Glennkill contest, but Maple’s extraordinary intelligence showed in the very fact that she did not take part in such competitions. The winner, after being crowned with a wreath of shamrock (which it was then allowed to eat), spent several days touring the pubs of the neighbouring villages and was constantly expected to perform the trick that had erroneously won it the title, eyes streaming as it blinked through clouds of tobacco smoke, with the customers pouring Guinness down its throat until it couldn’t stand up properly. Furthermore, from then on the winning sheep’s shepherd held it responsible for each and every prank played out at pasture, since the cleverest animal was always going to be the prime suspect.
     George Glenn would never again hold any sheep responsible for anything. He lay impaled on the ground beside the path while his sheep wondered what to do next. They were standing on the cliffs between the watery-blue sky and the sky-blue sea, where they couldn’t smell the blood, and they did feel responsible.
     “He wasn’t a specially good shepherd,” said Heather, who was still not much more than a lamb and still bore George a grudge for docking her beautiful lamb’s tail at the end of last winter.
     “Exactly!” That was Cloud, the woolliest and most magnificent sheep ever seen. “He didn’t appreciate our work. Norwegian sheep do it better, he said! Norwegian sheep give more wool! He had sweaters made from foreign wool sent from Norway—it’s a disgrace! What other shepherd would insult his own flock like that?”
     There ensued a discussion of some length between Heather, Cloud and Mopple the Whale. Mopple the Whale insisted that you judged a shepherd’s merits by the quantity and quality of the fodder he provided, and in this respect there was nothing, nothing whatsoever, to be said against George Glenn. Finally they agreed that a good shepherd was one who never docked the lambs’ tails; didn’t keep a sheepdog; provided good fodder and plenty of it, particularly bread and sugar, but healthy things too like green stuff; concentrated feed and mangel-wurzels (for they were all very sensible sheep); and who clothed himself entirely in the products of his own flock, for instance an all-in-one suit made of spun sheep’s wool, which would look really good, almost as if he were a sheep himself. Of course it was obvious to them all that no such perfect being was to be found anywhere in the world, but it was a nice idea all the same. They sighed a little and were about to scatter, pleased to think that they had cleared up all outstanding questions.
     So far, however, Miss Maple had taken no part in the discussion. Now she said, “Don’t you want to know what he died of?”
     Sir Ritchfield looked at her in surprise. “He died of that spade. You wouldn’t have survived it either, a heavy iron thing like that driven…