The Prop Master's Gambit

I wanted to love this—the premise is irresistible: theatre, sabotage, a hands-on protagonist—but it fell short for me. The world-building is lovely in fragments (I adored the walrus and the pastry-smelling bakery), yet the mystery itself is disappointingly predictable. The apprentice’s culpability feels telegraphed from early on, and the emotional reckonings resolve neatly without much tension. Scenes of rigging repair are evocative, but they sometimes slow the narrative to a crawl; the book reads more like a series of vignettes than a cohesive mystery with stakes. There are also a few loose threads that bothered me: the motive behind the sabotage is hinted at but never fully convincing, and some town characters exist largely as atmosphere rather than people with real arcs. If you’re after atmosphere and craft detail, you’ll find much to admire. If you want a tighter mystery with sharper surprises, this might frustrate.

This was quietly delightful. Short sentences that carry a lot of sensory detail—coffee that bangs like a poor drummer, ropes that sigh—make the Waverly Playhouse feel alive. Etta’s patience and competence anchor the story: you believe her when she says everything can be fixed. The mixture of small-town absurdities (puppet parade float, rubber chicken) with a serious central problem—the sabotage—creates a tone I’m still thinking about. Pacing is deliberate but never dull. I loved the moment Etta checks the list out of habit rather than necessity; it says so much about the woman. Charming, thoughtful, and nicely written.

Okay, I did not expect to get so emotionally invested in a toolbox. But here we are. Etta Solis is exactly the kind of lead I want—no flash, all backbone. The opening scene had me smelling turpentine and tea (Mrs. Carmichael’s ritual is perfection) and the tingly anxiety of a place that almost burned. The bit where Sir Percival the walrus keeps turning up in ridiculous places made me laugh out loud—especially when he was propped on the piano. Who names a papier-mâché walrus Sir Percival and why does that make the stakes feel softer? Because it does, in the best way. The author treats stagecraft like a language, and Etta is fluent. The repair sequences are satisfying in the way puzzle scenes are—calm, precise, rewarding. The training scenes with the apprentice felt real: messy apologies, clumsy hands, and a gradual building of trust. Lovely, quiet book. Recommended if you like mysteries that don’t shout.

As someone who enjoys mysteries that live in the details, The Prop Master's Gambit is a pleasure. The plot isn’t a high-octane whodunit; it’s a slow, meticulous unspooling of consequences and repair. The sabotage at the Waverly Playhouse serves as the axis, but the real momentum comes from Etta’s work—rebuilding rigging, checking pulleys, teaching an apprentice what responsibility looks like. Those workshop scenes are vivid: the toolbox with more dents than varnish, the hum of lanterns, the careful checking of carabiners. You can feel the weight of each decision. The story uses theatrical absurdity—the papier-mâché walrus, puppet parade float, rubber chicken—not for cheap laughs but to create texture and contrast. They lighten the mood while also reminding the reader of the troupe’s collective identity. I appreciated how restorative justice is woven into a mystery framework: the repair isn’t just physical but moral, with Etta stitching safety into routines and coaxing accountability out of shame. If there’s a quibble, it’s that some of the town characters could be a bit sharper; a couple of side arcs feel like sketches rather than fully finished props. Still, the central arc is so well-crafted that it carries the piece. Clean, thoughtful, and quietly moving.

I finished this in one sitting and felt like I’d walked out of the Waverly Playhouse with grease under my nails. Etta Solis is the kind of protagonist who stays with you: practical, quietly fierce, and stubborn in the best way. I loved the small domestic details—the tea Mrs. Carmichael leaves on the props table, the radiator that clatters like a percussionist—and how those everyday sounds become part of the story’s heartbeat. The scene where Etta palpates the ropes as if feeling for a pulse gave me actual chills; it’s such an intimate, tactile image of craft and care. The author balances mood and mystery beautifully. The absurd touches (Sir Percival the papier-mâché walrus showing up in the light booth! 😂) relieve tension without undercutting the stakes, and the pastry smell that wafts in from the bakery makes the town feel lived-in. The apprenticeship arc—Etta rebuilding the rigging and patiently training the kid who caused the sabotage—was my favorite part. It turns what could be mere procedural repair into restorative justice: public penance, yes, but also a promise of steadier nights. That final technical run, with lanterns humming and ropes sighing, felt like both an ending and a quiet hope. If you love theatre, craft, or character-driven mysteries, this one’s a real treat. The prose isn’t flashy, but it’s precise, like a well-tied knot. Highly recommended.