{"product_id":"three-bags-full-the-sheep-detectives-movie-tiein-edition-isbn-9781641299084","title":"Three Bags Full (The Sheep Detectives Movie Tie-in Edition)","description":"\u003cb\u003eNow a major motion picture (\u003ci\u003eThe Sheep Detectives \u003c\/i\u003estarring Hugh Jackman, Nicholas Galitzine, and Emma Thompson), this funny and surprising mystery stars a new breed of detectives you’ve got to read to baaaaa-lieve.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eThis movie tie-in edition features a foreword by internationally bestselling author A. J. Finn, discussion questions, and bonus materials.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSomething 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).\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer 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.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith wit and heart, this clever international bestseller is a mystery to chew on—and savor.\u003cb\u003e\u003cu\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eThree Bags Full\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/u\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An original and clever mystery, with a flock of endearingly woolly detectives. I may never eat lamb chops again.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Carl Hiaasen\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sheep make great detectives. I loved this book.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Robert B. Parker\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“One of my favorite reading experiences of years past was Leonie Swann’s debut, \u003ci\u003eThree Bags Full\u003c\/i\u003e . . . The writing sparkled with delight.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Sarah Weinman, \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Rich and complex . . . Swann dexterously handles 19 ovine characters who are as individual as my neighbors’ faces.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Unique and wise and fun to read!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Christian Science Monitor\u003c\/i\u003e (A Reader's Pick)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Refreshingly, joyously different.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSunday Telegraph\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Moments of High Comedy come thick and fast. . . . This entertaining, lighthearted mystery is told from a refreshingly novel perspective.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eDaily Mail\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A truly bucolic murder mystery . . . Safe to enjoy, even for those allergic to wool.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eAsheville Citizen Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This sheepy society—sometimes touchingly naïve, sometimes surprisingly astute—has an inexhaustible, quirky charm.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Salon\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Anthea Bell is one of our most distinguished translators . . . So when she elects to translate an unknown young German author, we might assume that there is something special about \u003ci\u003eThree Bags Full\u003c\/i\u003e . . . The plot unravels as satisfyingly as an old woolly cardigan . . . The sheep become a parable for humanity. The characters of the human herd are nicely balanced against those of the flock; the book has charm without whimsy, and is touching without being sentimental. It's rather as if Agatha Christie had re-written \u003ci\u003eThe Wind in the Willows\u003c\/i\u003e, and I ended by loving it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Independent\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Swann has written a surprisingly satisfying murder mystery that will appeal to PETA members and diehard crime novel fans.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePost and Courier\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“With sheep as detectives Swann solves one of the major problems in crime fiction, which is how to avoid the stereotypical jaded, cynical, alcoholic deadbeat gumshoe with relationship problems. Swann's sheep are as sober as judges and work out the crime from first principles . . . Genuinely odd and affecting, and without a doubt the best sheep detective novel you're going to read this year.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Guardian\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Leonie Swann writes lyrically about sheep and wisdom, throwing in a bit pf philosophy and a generous dollop of gentle humor . . . \u003ci\u003eThree Bags Full \u003c\/i\u003eis appealing and amusing, with moments of sadness and poignancy. . . Prepare to be utterly charmed.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Shelf Awareness\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A completely original, sparklingly inventive, cleverly written story . . . A quirky, humorous, lively, weird, surprisingly dark yet joyous tale that shows how a disparate set of sheepy personalities can work together for the greater good . . . Good fun and a fine first novel from a promising new writer.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e, Starred Review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\"\u003c\/b\u003e[A] refreshingly original detective story . . . The author's sheep's-eye view and the animals' literal translation of the strange words and deeds of the human species not only create laugh-out-loud humor but also allow the animals occasional flashes of accidental brilliance.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\"\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eJust when you thought you’d seen a detective in every guise imaginable, here comes one in sheep’s clothing . . . The sustained tone of straight-faced wonderment is magical.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Humorous, mythical, philosophical, endearing, and in a magical way, very believable.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—New York Journal of Books\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I normally do not like talking animal books. (At least not since I was five or six!) I have to make an exception for this one. It had me thinking, smiling and chuckling . . . This debut by German author Leonie Swann marks her as a writer to watch.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Kittling: Books\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eLeonie Swann\u003c\/b\u003e grew up near Munich and earned degrees in philosophy, communications, and psychology from Munich University and the Munich School of Philosophy. Her debut novel, \u003ci\u003eThree Bags Full\u003c\/i\u003e, has been translated into twenty-six languages and won the prestigious Glauser Prize for crime fiction in the debut category, as well as the PETA Award. She has now published six books, including the Agnes Sharp series, and lives and works in the English countryside near Cambridge.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eAnthea Bell\u003c\/b\u003e (1936–2018) was a translator from French and German. She translated many novels, including W. G. Sebald’s \u003ci\u003eAusterlitz\u003c\/i\u003e and Franz Kafka’s \u003ci\u003eThe Castle\u003c\/i\u003e, as well as novellas and stories by Stefan Zweig. She won the National Book Critics Circle Award in 2012.\u003cb\u003e1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e Othello Boldly Grazes Past\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “He was healthy yesterday,” said Maude. Her ears twitched nervously.\u003cbr\u003e      “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.”\u003cbr\u003e      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.\u003cbr\u003e      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.\u003cbr\u003e      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.\u003cbr\u003e      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.\u003cbr\u003e      “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.\u003cbr\u003e      “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?”\u003cbr\u003e      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.\u003cbr\u003e      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?”\u003cbr\u003e      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 right through you. No wonder he’s dead.” Ritchfield shuddered slightly.\u003cbr\u003e      “And where did the spade come from?”\u003cbr\u003e      “Someone stuck it in him.” As far as Sir Ritchfield was concerned, that was the end of the matter, but Othello, the only black sheep in the flock, suddenly began taking an interest in the problem.\u003cbr\u003e      “It can only have been a human who did it—or a very large monkey.” Othello had spent his youth in Dublin Zoo and never missed an opportunity to mention it.\u003cbr\u003e      “A human.” Maple nodded, satisfied. “I think we ought to find out what kind of human. We owe old George that. If a fierce dog took one of our lambs he always tried to find the culprit. Anyway, he was our shepherd. No one had a right to stick a spade in him. That’s wolfish behaviour. That’s murder.”\u003cbr\u003e      Now the sheep were feeling alarmed. The wind had changed, and the smell of fresh blood was drifting towards the sea.\u003cbr\u003e      “And when we’ve found the person who stuck the spade in,” said Heather nervously, “then what?”\u003cbr\u003e      “Justice!” bleated Othello. \u003cbr\u003e      “Justice!” bleated the other sheep. And so it was decided that George Glenn’s sheep themselves would solve the wicked murder of their only shepherd.\u003cbr\u003e First Miss Maple went over to examine the body. She did it reluctantly. In the summer sun of Ireland, George had already begun to smell bad enough to send a shudder down any sheep’s spine.\u003cbr\u003e      She started by circling the shepherd at a respectful distance. The crow cawed and fluttered away on black wings. Maple ventured closer, inspected the spade, sniffed George’s clothes and face. Finally—as the rest of the flock, huddling together at a safe distance, held their breath—she even stuck her nose in the wound and rooted around. At least, that was what it looked like from where the others stood. She came back to them with blood on her muzzle.\u003cbr\u003e      “Well?” asked Mopple, unable to stand the suspense any longer. Mopple never could stand strain of any kind for long.\u003cbr\u003e      “He’s dead,” replied Miss Maple. She didn’t seem to want to say any more just now. Then she looked back at the path.\u003cbr\u003e      “We have to be prepared. Sooner or later humans are going to turn up here. We must watch what they do. And we’d better not all stand around in a crowd. It looks suspicious. We ought to act naturally.”\u003cbr\u003e      “But we are acting naturally,” objected Maude. “George is dead. Murdered. Should we be grazing right beside him where the grass is still sprinkled with his blood?”\u003cbr\u003e      “Yes, that’s exactly what we ought to be doing.” The black figure of Othello came between them. His nostrils contracted as he saw the horrified faces of the others. “Don’t worry, I’ll do it. I spent my youth near the carnivores’ enclosure. A little more blood won’t kill me.” \u003cbr\u003e      At that moment Heather thought what a particularly bold ram Othello was. She decided to graze near him more often in future—though not until George had been taken away and fresh summer rain had washed the meadow clean, of course.\u003cbr\u003e      Miss Maple decided who would keep watch where. Sir Ritchfield, whose eyesight was still good in spite of his advanced age, was stationed on the hill. You could see across the hedges to the paved road from there. Mopple the Whale had poor eyes but a good memory. He stood beside Ritchfield to remember everything the old ram saw. Heather and Cloud were to watch the path that ran through the meadow: Heather took up her post by the gate nearest to the village, Cloud stood where the path disappeared into a dip in the ground. Zora, a Blackface sheep who had a good head for heights, stationed herself on a narrow rocky ledge at the top of the cliff to keep watch on the beach below. Zora claimed to have a wild mountain sheep in her ancestry, and when you saw how confidently she moved above the abyss you could almost believe it.\u003cbr\u003e      Othello disappeared into the shadow of the dolmen, near the place where George lay pinned to the ground by the spade. Miss Maple did not keep watch herself. She stood by the water trough, trying to wash the traces of blood off her nose.\u003cbr\u003e      The rest of the sheep acted naturally.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A little later Tom O’Malley, no longer entirely sober, came along the footpath from Golagh to Glennkill to favour the local pub with his custom. The fresh air did him good: the green grass, the blue sky. Gulls pursued their prey, calling, wheeling in the air so fast that it made his head spin. George’s sheep were grazing peacefully. Picturesque. Like a travel brochure. One sheep had ventured particularly far out and was enthroned like a small white lion on the cliff itself. \u003cbr\u003e      “Hey there, little sheep,” said Tom, “don’t you take a tumble, now. It’d be a shame for a pretty thing like you to fall.”\u003cbr\u003e      The sheep looked at him with disdain, and he suddenly felt stupid. Stupid and drunk. But that was all a thing of the past now. He’d make something of himself. In the tourism line. That was it, the future of Glennkill lay in the tourist trade. He must go and talk it over with the boyos in the pub.\u003cbr\u003e      But first he wanted to take a closer look at the fine black ram. Four horns. Unusual, that. George’s sheep were something special.\u003cbr\u003e      However, the black ram wouldn’t let him close enough and easily avoided Tom’s hand without even moving much.\u003cbr\u003e      Then Tom saw the spade.\u003cbr\u003e      A good spade. He could do with a spade like that. He decided to consider it his spade in future. For now he’d hide it under the dolmen and come back to fetch it after dark. He didn’t much like the idea of going to the dolmen by night. People told tales about it. But he was a modern man, and this was an excellent spade. When he grasped the handle, his foot struck something soft.\u003cbr\u003e      It was a long time since Tom O’Malley had attracted such an attentive audience in the Mad Boar as he did that afternoon.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Soon afterwards, Heather saw a small group of humans running along the path from the village. She bleated: a short bleat, a long bleat, another short bleat, and Othello emerged rather reluctantly from under the dolmen.\u003cbr\u003e      The group was led by a very thin man whom the sheep didn’t know. They looked hard at him. The leader of the flock is always important.\u003cbr\u003e      Behind him came the butcher. The sheep held their breath. Even the scent of him was enough to make any sheep go weak at the knees. The butcher smelled of death. Of screams, pain and blood. Even the dogs were afraid of him. \u003cbr\u003e      The sheep hated the butcher. And they loved Gabriel, who came right behind him, a small man with a shaggy beard and a slouch hat, walking fast to keep up with the mountain of flesh just ahead. They knew why they hated the butcher. They didn’t know why they loved Gabriel, but he was irresistible. His dogs could do the most amazing tricks. He won the sheepdog trials in Gorey every year. It was said he could talk to the animals, but that wasn’t true. At least, the sheep didn’t understand it when Gabriel spoke Gaelic. But they felt touched, flattered and finally seduced into trotting trustfully up to him when he passed their meadow on his way along the path through the fields.\u003cbr\u003e      Now the humans had almost reached the corpse. The sheep forgot about looking natural for a moment and craned their necks to see. The thin man leading the humans stopped several lamb’s leaps away from George, as if rooted to the ground. His tall figure swayed for a moment like a branch in the wind, but his eyes were fixed, sharp as pins, on the spot where the spade stuck out of George’s guts.\u003cbr\u003e      Gabriel and the butcher stopped a little way from the body too. The butcher looked at the ground for a moment. Gabriel took his hands out of his trouser pockets. The thin man removed his cap.\u003cbr\u003e      Othello boldly grazed his way past them.\u003cbr\u003e      Then, puffing and panting, her face scarlet and her red hair all untidy, Lilly came along the path, too, and with her a cloud of artificial lilac perfume. When she saw George she uttered a small, sharp scream. The sheep looked at her calmly. Lilly sometimes came to their meadow in the evening and uttered those short, sharp screams at the least little thing. When she trod in a pile of sheep droppings. When her skirt caught on the hedge. When George said something she didn’t like. The sheep were used to it. George and Lilly often disappeared to spend a little time inside the shepherd’s caravan. Lilly’s peculiar little shrieks didn’t bother them anymore. \u003cbr\u003e      But then the wind suddenly carried a pitiful, long-drawn-out sound across the meadow. Mopple and Cloud lost their nerve and galloped up the hill, where they felt ashamed of themselves and tried to look natural again.\u003cbr\u003e      Lilly fell to her knees right beside the body, ignoring the grass, which was wet with last night’s rain. She was the person making this dreadful noise. Like a couple of confused insects, her hands wandered over the Norwegian sweater and George’s jacket and tugged at his collar.\u003cbr\u003e      The butcher was suddenly beside her, pulling her roughly back by her arm. The sheep held their breath. The butcher had moved as quickly as a cat. Now he said something. Lilly looked at him with tears in her eyes. She moved her lips, but not a sound was heard in the meadow. The butcher said something in reply. Then he took Lilly’s sleeve and drew her aside. The thin man immediately began talking to Gabriel.\u003cbr\u003e      Othello looked round for help. If the ram stayed close to Gabriel, he would miss whatever was going on between the butcher and Lilly—and vice versa. None of the sheep wanted to get close to the body or the butcher, which both smelled of death. They preferred to concentrate on the job of looking natural.\u003cbr\u003e      Miss Maple came trotting over from the water trough and took over observation of the butcher. There was still a suspicious red mark on her nose, but as she had been rolling in the mud she now just looked like a very dirty sheep.\u003cbr\u003e      “. . . ridiculous fuss,” the butcher was just saying to Lilly. “And never mind making a spectacle of yourself. You’ve got other worries now, sweetheart, believe you me.” He had taken her chin in his sausage-like fingers and raised her head slightly so that she had to look straight into his eyes. \u003cbr\u003e      “Why would anyone suspect me?” she asked, trying to get her head free. “George and I got along fine.”\u003cbr\u003e      The butcher still held her chin in a firm grip. “Got along fine. So you did. That’ll be enough for them. And who else got along fine with George? Wait for his Last Will and Testament, then we’ll see just how fine you two got along. I don’t suppose that cosmetics stuff earns you a fortune, and you won’t get rich sleeping around in this dump either. So you be nice to old Ham and you won’t need to worry about this mess anymore.”","brand":"Soho Crime","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48532214153445,"sku":"NP9781641299084","price":19.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781641299084.jpg?v=1773183090","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/three-bags-full-the-sheep-detectives-movie-tiein-edition-isbn-9781641299084","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}