The Crimes Literary Supplement – Keeping pace with Bernie Gunther

Philip Kerr has just released his 9th Bernie Gunther mystery, A Man without Breath. Meanwhile, despite my best intentions (or more likely because of all the literary distractions that come my way thanks to this blog), I was trailing behind at #5. Checking the library catalogue I found that unabridged audios were available for titles 5-8. A couple of months ago I decided to start working my way through them.

For those who don’t know Bernie Gunther, he is a one time Berlin cop, forced into the SS during the Hitler years. When I last left him, he had somehow managed to get himself branded a war criminal and was on a boat fleeing to Argentina along with more infamous members of the Nazi hoi polloi. The thing about Bernie is that he is a basically good guy, resolutely and vehemently anti-Nazi, but with shades of moral ambiguity. I’m never quite sure whether I believe all his protestations of innocence, because in the present he shows a ruthless streak which can be disproportionate to current circumstance.

All he wants to do is outrun his past but, in A Quiet Flame, seeking sanctuary and an Argentinian passport in the age of Peron, it’s unlikely that people will let his sleeping dogs lie. So when a young German girl goes missing and another is found sadistically murdered, he is enlisted as a gumshoe by the Argentinian secret police. Simultaneously he is approached by the beautiful Anna and asked to find out what happened to her missing Jewish relatives. His motivation for taking on this case – one that will bring him into mortal danger because the Argentinian government just relish foreigners hunting for their disappeared: “It’s not that I love Jews,” he says, “it’s that I love anti-Semites just that little bit less.” (And he can’t say no to a pretty girl!)

The murder echoes an unsolved Berlin case from 1932 – something horrible and seedy which is matched by something just as bad in post-war Argentina. The past mingling with the present is a staple in the series. Its purpose as Bernie jumps out of the frying pan and into the fire, from Argentina (A Quiet Flame) to Cuba (If the Dead Rise Not) before being extradited back to Germany to face a potential war crime trial (Field Grey) is to show the amorality of political dictatorships, be they left or right wing. Forgive me for the misquote here but this is from memory of an audiobook “A rat, be it black, brown or white, is still a rat” muses Bernie at one point in Field Grey.

He might be talking about political dictatorships and even the Amis themselves (it’s their pretence of civilised behaviour that sticks in his throat) but during Field Grey serious questions begin to arise about Bernie’s moral rectitude. Given that most of the novel is the account of Bernie’s war, his not always innocent time on the Eastern front and his incarceration in a Russian PoW camp, it can’t really be called a thriller. But it is intriguing to discover how Bernie survived when so many others did not. Kerr takes some huge risks here: a) trying his readers’ patience, particularly if they had come to this expecting a thriller and b) risking Bernie’s reputation. There’s no way he can always be cast as a victim here. As for the final twist, it left me speechless and for the first time willing to cast an adverse judgment.

I need some time to digest this before moving onto #8 – not only to answer the question whether all is fair in love and cold war but because I was finding the cumulative effect of all this political corruption overwhelming. I also need a break to steel myself because if Bernie has been jumping from frying pan to fire up to now, something tells me that he’s just landed in an inferno.

A Quiet Flame  / If The Dead Rise Not  / Field Grey

Read Full Post »

Taking the TBR Double Dog Dare Literally

With only one week to go to the end of the TBR Double Dog Dare, I am pleased to say that I’m on track to complete 20 books that were sitting in my TBR mountain range as of 31.12.2012. I have diverted from the trail only once, and that was because I attended a literary event. It would have been rude not to have read the book first. However, I deem this year’s effort a success and once I have finished my current read, I am going to unpack those bright new shiny books and indulge myself.

Strategies that helped me succeed in 2013. Firstly, the mindmap – it has changed somewhat since first shown. I’ve now transferred it to digital format – using a newly discovered and affordable software package, MindHD. Once I’ve worked out how to export it to a blog displayable format, I shall share.

I also took inspiration from CB’s 5-star event badge.

Inspecting the TBR, I discovered a veritable kennel full of shaggy dog stories. Given that this was a double dog dare, I decided to read two of them.

Rebecca Hunt’s Mr Chartwell looks like a friendly and companionable chap on the 1st edition cover. He’d like you to think that and to inveigle his way into your affections in order to suck the lust for life out of you with the dark clouds of depression that he triggers. For Mr Chartwell is the black dog of depression that – er – dogged Churchill throughout his life. Churchill though was aware of his inherited weakness and with the help of his formidable wife, Clementine, managed to deny his adversary the victory. Lesser mortals, such as Churchill’s daughter, and Michael, husband of the fictitious Esther, succumb to his seductions and take their own lives.

I use the word seduction deliberately because that is what Mr Chartwell sets out to do when he pays his first visit to Esther, close to the 2nd anniversary of her husband’s death. When he knocks on her door in search of lodgings he is, if you accept the conceit, ignore his threatening size and earthly smell, a traditional lodger.

Mr Chartwell’s black lips carved a cordial smile …. he extended a paw the size of a turnip. “Hello, I’ve come about the room.”

At first, he is a well-behaved dog but he in just 5 short days he invades and wrecks Esther’s physical space and seeks to do the same to her mind. He moves seamlessly from polite, witty and intelligent lodger (his literary frame of reference is tremendous), through personal space invader to all out psychological attack. It is a war although Black Pat, as Mr Chartwell prefers to be called, insists he and Esther are fighting on the same side.

Churchill’s story shows the conscious and determined efforts that must be undertaken to deny Black Pat. The two narratives eventually converge in a scene where Esther, a secretary at Westminster, is taking dictation from Churchill on the eve of his retirement. Black Pat is in the room and Churchill counsels Esther in the vein of we will fight them on the beaches without once referring to him. Simply masterful.

The dog in Kate Atkinson’s fourth and final Jackson Brodie novel is the abused not the abuser. Fortunately he is rescued by Brodie and serves as his companion throughout a case which begins fairly innocuously (Brodie is trying to find the origins of an adopted girl, now living in New Zealand) but soon becomes life-threatening. The dog has to return the life-saving favour to Brodie at one point. This Brodie/canine drama is reenacted in the human sphere when Tracy Waterhouse, ex-cop, spontaneously takes a young child, being dragged through a shopping centre, from her prostitute and foul-mouthed mother. Money exchanges hands, making Tracy’s adoption of the girl illegal and scuppering any plans Tracy had for a quiet retirement.

Brodie’s investigation leads to the 70′s and the police force to which Tracy belonged. Events then eerily echo the present: murdered prostitutes, illegal adoptions and the key to it all perhaps locked in the fading memory of a soap actress named Tilly. This thread, which for me was an utter irrelevance at the start, actually became the most satisfying. An inversion of expectations that is probably what the author wanted to achieve. Because Brodie in these pages is a grey soul, recuperating still from previous traumas and certainly not the centre or the cohesive force of this narrative. Atkinson said on completing this novel that she was done with him. At times it felt as though she had put him to one side while in the act of writing. Still, at least, she let him walk off into the sunset with a new four-legged friend. There’s plenty of comfort for the man that.

Mr Chartwell    / Started Early, Took My Dog  

Read Full Post »

The Crimes Literary Supplement: German Ladythrillers

I promise this is the last time I will mutter about the hard work associated with reading Les Miserables but by the time I got to the end of book three I was feeling murderous. So perusing the TBR the mood of Snow White Must Die hit the nail on the head.

What a wonderful surprise to find that the book is set in the Taunus region of Hesse, the state I called home for 8 years. Thankfully though I didn’t encounter the small town mentality that prevails in these pages.

Tobias Sartorius has just been released from prison after serving a sentence for the murder of his beautiful girlfriend, nicknamed Snow White and a childhood friend, Laura. While in jail, his parents split up but his father chooses to remain at his once buzzing, now ramshackle and unfrequented village pub and restaurant. Tobias courageously returns home and begins to a restoration project. He is not welcome, his presence stirring up unsavoury memories of the past. The Sartorius family are subjected to a number of vicious attacks which bring the police back to the village. Then another young girl, a outsider who has befriended Tobias, goes missing and it seems as if history is repeating itself ….

I enjoyed this read for many reasons: location, location, location. I booked a summer tour of Hesse as soon as I finished the book, obviously my memories are nowhere near as traumatic as those involved in the narrative. The puzzles involved in uncovering the identity of the real criminals were quite complex and I admired the control Neuhaus displayed keeping the knowledge of reader and police in synch. I did get an inkling just a few pages before the revelations but not sufficiently in advance to spoil the suspense.

I treated myself to the second German Ladythriller once I’d finished Les Mis. Charlotte Link’s The Other Child is set in Scarborough. I’ve been there too, though admittedly only for one day,and I didn’t see much. It was so foggy that I couldn’t see the castle and I was only 50 feet away! So I smiled wryly every time the fog was mentioned. Plus there was a lot of fog plotwise, which, just like the day I got lost in the area, began to clear in the vicinity of Robin Hood’s Bay. Uncanny.

I have to say that the details of British life in this German thriller were very acutely observed, whether that be in descriptions of life in wartime London, on a Yorkshire farm or contemporary life in a northern town. Tobler’s translation is seamless. In fact, I downloaded the German text as I was curious to see how these authentic northern accents had been rendered in German!

There are two murders to solve. Same modus operandi but one murderer or two?  As the investigation proceeds, the layers of the thoughtless and indifferent past are uncovered alongside the truly chilling fate of the eponymous other child. I could weep.

I did, however, see through the smoke and mirrors quite early on with regards to both  murders. However, a number of really absorbing psychological portraits more than made up for that.

Both Neuhaus and Link are superstars in Germany, having sold millions upon millions of copies between them. These are the first works to be translated into English and I’m delighted there are further translations to appear later this year. A second edition of German Ladythrillers is a dead cert.

Snow White Must Die (translated Steven T Murray) 
The Other Child (translated Stefan Tobler)

Read Full Post »

The Chessmen – Peter May

Peter May’s Lewis Trilogy influenced my reading more than anything else last year.  From the minute I finished the second title, my cravings for part three began. To distract myself I went on a reader’s island hop round the globe. Accumulated a goodly number of air miles too!

(2990) From the Isle of Lewis to the fictional island of Skios
(1557) From Skios to Venice
(490)To Sardinia
(5854) To Java
(4727) To New Zealand
(5600) New Zealand to Samoa
(7295) Then to an unspecified location in the Caribbean where I was shipwrecked for a while.
(8220) Rescued finally by January in Japan
(6806) To bring me back to the Isle of Lewis.

By my reckoning that’s 43,539 airmiles, just to end up back where I started. Was it worth it?

Well, there is the weather on the Isle of Lewis but the atmospheric landscape more than makes up for that.

The sight that greeted him was almost supernatural. The mountains of south-west Lewis rose up steeply all around, disappearing into the obscurity of low clouds. The valley below seemed wider than it had by the lightning of the night before. The giants shards of rock that littered its floor grew like spectres out of a mist that rolled up from the East, where a not yet visible sun cast an unnaturally red glow.

This leads us straight into the mystery of the disappearing loch.

 Then he turned back to the valley. But there was no loch. Just a big empty hole … A mile long, half a mile across, and fifty or sixty feet deep.

A bog burst – the thought of all that water simply sliding away to another destination terrifies me. The discovery of a small plane with corpse on the bed of the one-time loch chills me further particularly when I start to think about the moments the plane is going down. Moving swiftly on …

The grisly discovery is made by Fin Macleod and the confidante of his teenage years, wild man Whistler Macaskill. Assumptions are made about the identity of the body in the plane and this brings back many of Fin’s former friends for the funeral – including a past love. Many old tensions and rivalries bubble right back to the surface … with developments turning ever more sinister. Fortunately the Lewis Chessmen are on hand to help.

So far, so good but the underlying strength of May’s trilogy lies not in the murderous plots but in the complicated human transactions that form the stuff of life. Fin’s now living with his childhood sweetheart, Marsaili, but they cannot recreate what they had in the years before his selfishness wrecked their romance. Whistler is estranged from his rebellious teenage daughter (the most vivid character study of the piece). Cantankerous Donald, the Free Church minister, while not facing a legal trial, must answer to an ecclesiastical panel for his shooting of a gangster in The Lewis Man

The present is always haunted by the past and while atonement and redemption are hoped for, they are not always possible. Neither can consequences be avoided. It’s a question of whether the characters can – or even whether the author will let them – live with the outcomes. (Question to author – ARC p 378 How could you?)

Fin’s future on the island will be as coloured by these events as his present was coloured by the events of his teenage years. Only he’s now sadder and wiser and worse still, middle-aged. This is no trilogy with the hero walking off into a glorious sunset but he may, just may, be able to set some matters straight.

Read Full Post »

The Crimes Literary Supplement: Would you kill to win the Booker Prize?

Venue: County Halls, Stirling
Date: Saturday 15th September
Occasion: The inaugural Bloody Scotland Crime Writing Festival

From left to right:
In the red corner: Literary critics:  Stuart Kelly and Professor Willy Maley
Referee Chair: Nick Barley, Director of the Edinburgh Book Festival
In the blue corner: Crime Writers extraordinaire: Ian Rankin and Peter James

Nick Barley introduced the motion: Is it time a crime novel won the Booker? Before arguments began, he took a vote. In an auditorium packed with 300 crime-writing enthusiasts, only 3 hands (my own included) voted against the motion. The critics were onto a hiding to nothing.

Peter James opened the arguments quoting the founding objective of the Booker Prize. It was a quest to get the British public reading good novels and there are years when the judges forget this. He quoted a friend of his who wanted to kill the judges who voted for The Bone People, a book which was putting him off reading. James argued against the prejudices of Gilbert any-book-that-makes-me-want-to-turn-the pages-can’t-be-worth-reading Adair and insisted that many a classic novel would have originally be found on the crime shelves: Therese Raquin and Bleak House

Professor Willy Maley took the house by storm. Unfortunately he delivered his speech, in which there was punchline after punchline, so rapidly that I had no time to take copious notes. Besides which, I was laughing too much. Crime writers are being greedy, he said. They already have readers, mega sales, and money from their own prizes. They can’t have the literary Booker as well. He quoted James Kelman’s blistering attack against the genrification of fiction. He also claimed the superiority of the free form and subject matter of literary fiction. A literary novel may contain a crime. A crime novel has no choice.

Ian Rankin talked about crime novels transcending their genre. The problem, he said, is that as soon as a crime novel does this, it ceases to be a crime novel! Crime novels can be political novels, as in Scandinavia and France. They can also be literary, particularly if they have the word snow in the title: Snow falling on Cedars and Snowdrops being cases in point. There is mystery in all writing, he argued. It is, by its very nature, the art of withholding information.

Stuart Kelly defended the right of any prize to define its own criteria. The convention of the genre is a blunt instrument on which to measure crime fiction. Crime and Punishment is as fine a literary crime novel as there ever was and he based his own opposition to the motion on the basis that crime novels have already won the Booker: Something to answer for, Rites of Passage, The Blind Assassin, The True History of the Kelly Gang, Vernon God Little, and Wolf Hall.

Additional points brought out during audience questions:

Peter James: How ironic is it that the Booker Prize is funded by the literary estates of Agatha Christie, Ian Fleming and Dennis Wheatley? Greene’s Brighton Rock changed all the rules. Not only did the mind of the criminal suddenly become the plot but it was the first crime novel to attain the status of literary fiction. There are no rules in crime fiction now, he said. in fact, crime on the spine is purely a marketing tactic.

Stuart Kelly listed other crime novels that can easily be labelled literary: Asta’s Book and King Solomon’s Carpet, both by Barbara Vine; John Le Carre’s The Constant Gardener and Allan Massie’s novels set in Vichy France. He added that he would be delighted if Sophie Hannah won the Booker one day. Her novels are exceptional, he said.

As you can see this was a very civilised bout in which the opposing sides sometimes forgot which side they were on. Peter James, the most rigorous defender of the right of a crime novel to win the ultimate accolade, made the most outrageous statement of all. Despite all my arguments, he said let’s be quite clear. I’d rather have my gallbladder removed without anaesthetic than win the Booker Prize!

Let’s be quite clear, I thought, I’d perform that operation on you as payback for your snide opening comments about Keri Hulme’s wonderful novel. And so, when Nick Barley asked if any of the original 3 opposers of the motion wished to defend their position, my hand rose of its own accord and I crossed swords with Mr James, defended The Bone People, and uttered something about no matter how good a crime novel is, I have never awarded 5-stars to one.

Driving home I realised I was talking nonsense. I have and it was to China Mieville’s The City and The City. (Mr James, I herewith return your gallbladder.) Even so, I would not have been happy for it to win the Booker in 2009, not in the year of Wolf Hall.

Anyway back to the debate. The chairman asked for a second show of hands and there were now somewhere in the region of 20 hands raised opposing the motion. Meaning minds had shifted from the idea of a crime novel winning the Booker and the defenders of the literary faith had won the day!

Read Full Post »

The Crimes Literary Supplement: From Vichy France

Edinburgh International Book Festival 16.08.2012

Question to Allan Massie: How do you think you would have responded as a French man in occupied France during the early 1940′s?

Allan Massie: I would have been a tepid collaborator.

He stressed that the French believed that the war had been lost and that the only recourse was to make the best of it, particularly as they never thought that Britain would carry on fighting. Resistance to the Nazis only started in France when Hitler invaded Russia and was so long in coming because the Germans were instructed to behave correctly in France, which they did until about 1943-44.

Why the history lesson? Because Massie, a modern day Scottish polymath, author of some 30 books, both fiction and non-fiction, has turned his attention to historical crime writing. Vichy France has long fascinated him. In 1989 he published the Saltire Scottish Book of the Year A Question of Loyalties, which is also set there.

One of his objectives is to show that pleasant things happen even during a war. People try to live normal lives. It is remarkable, he said, that Kafka never mentioned World War I in his diaries. And so his characters, living in occupied Bordeaux, come to terms with the political situation. They raise families, enjoy good food and wine (when they can get it), fall in love, read excellent literature! In the first of the series Death In Bordeaux, the French surrender and the establishment of occupied sector is a matter of hope for Lannes and his wife, whose eldest son, is a prisoner of war in Germany. These new circumstances may mean his release.

Of course, nasty things do happen and Lannes finds himself investigating a rather sordid murder which sees him having to pit himself against degenerate members of the French elite and influential Vichy apologists. Crime fiction fans will recognise familiar tropes and be delighted by the subtle reconfiguration: Lannes, although living with his wife, is estranged from her because of her distress at her son’s absence; his relationship with his superior, excellent at the start, begins to fracture over the issues of collaboration and compromise.

These vexed issues grow thorns in the second novel, Dark Summer In Bordeaux, as people sicken of “this war that is not being fought”. The characters begin to polarise in their opinions with Lannes’s sons taking opposing stances. One leaves to take up a position in Vichy France, the other to join de Gaulle’s fledgling resistance. Interestingly Massie said they were both admirable characters. They just have different ideas and ideals. That non-judgmental attitude carries over into the writing with the reader being able to understand the rationale of both. Poor Lannes is literally stuck in the middle, a man whose sympathies lie with his “musketeer” son yet a servant of the establishment, seeking to preserve his integrity in the face of extraordinary political pressures, which, one can only assume, are going to intensify as the Vichy years progress. You have to sympathise when he longs for a “an old-fashioned, pre-war murder” i.e one that he solve without political interference and admire him for his resolution to some of the occupiers’ demands.

There’s no denying it. The clouds are darkening in Dark Summer in Bordeaux. The thunderstorm approaches and while that may be bad news for Lannes (and I admit, knowing where this goes historically, I am beginning to worry on his behalf), the good news for me is that Massie’s original trilogy has now become a quartet. Cheekily he said he would write more, if he were approached with regard to a TV series. Thought I’d pass the message on as I wish someone would start talking to the man now!

Death In Bordeaux / Dark Summer in Bordeaux

Read Full Post »

EIBF 2012: William Brodrick and James Runcie (plus giveaway)

James Runcie and William Brodrick

Sometimes you go to an event expecting a good old chinwag about crime fiction and end up with something on a completely different level. That’s what happened when William Brodrick stood up to talk about his 4th novel, The Day of the Lie. Except he concentrated on the issues that preoccupy him, talking about the novel only in passing.

Brodrick’s major preooccupation, not out of keeping for an ex-Augustine monk, is that of good and evil and the choices that individuals make. Are people born evil? Is evil a wound or a choice? Can damaged people make undamaged choices? Can those who perpetrate evil ever be redeemed in this life? And indeed does any of that make any difference to the victim? The choice to do good is just as interesting, he said, as he proceeded to quote from James Runcie’s book. This, he said, sums up the nature of his own preoccupation.

“The problem of good. If we are all animals why are some of us good, kind, altruistic when we do not have to be? The capacity to behave morally is as interesting as the will to behave badly”.

“Ah, the question of the selfish good,” Ben intervened.

“But that is not always the case.” Sidney replied. “Some people are selfless. They are good without any expectation of reward. It is almost or perhaps it really is, natural to them.”

After thanking Broderick for this act of generosity, James Runcie spoke of his interest in the relationship between comedy and darkness and of religion and history. Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death, the first in a series of 6, intended to document the changes in society during the past 60 years, is set in 1953. It was the year that marked the end of rationing, the discovery of DNA and Sundays were not days for supermarket shopping or trips to the garden centre.

He agreed with Broderick that the advantage of having a clergyman detective is the moral framework that is automatically inherited. The change of emphasis from a whodunnit to a whydunnit.

During audience questions Broderick was challenged about his assumption that damaged people can make undamaged choices. The opposite assertion is a problem for a novelist, he said. I have to be able to show character development otherwise there is no story. Both authors were asked to name their literary influences. Brodrick read widely, starting with Chesterton’s Father Brown stories which he found disappointing. He couldn’t find anyone writing the books he wanted to read, so (like many others) he began to write them for himself. Runcie’s response went something like this: This will sound pretentious and absolute b******s, given that my stories are bubble and froth vignettes intended for television, but noone does guilt like Dostoevsky. So I’m sticking with him.

The big question: Are the books any good?

Brodrick’s The Day of the Lie starts in Poland in 1981, during a period of great moral choice. Brodrick said he soon realised that he couldn’t investigate 1981 without going back to the days of World War II … and he couldn’t do that justice either without going further back into the 19th century. This sounds like a complex historical thriller to me set within the moral framework that comes with investigating cleric, Father Anselm, a Gilbertine monk. The audio book has been duly reserved from the library.

I picked up Runcie’s Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death following the author’s sterling chairing of Hilary Mantel’s event. Its 392 pages consist of 6 chronological short stories in which the endearing young cleric Sidney James finds himself pulled, reluctantly, into a series of investigations of ever increasing complexity and moral dubiety. People are more willing to divulge their secrets to a cleric than to a police officer, as Sidney’s best mate and fellow beer imbiber, Inspector Keating, well knows. Sidney is more prone to analyse the whys and wherefores rather than the mechanics of a crime. Although he has a few blind spots with regards to his own behaviour – one has a feeling that without the inhibitions imposed by the dogcollar, our Sidney could be a bit of a lothario. Talking of dogs, when he is gifted a 4-legged friend for company, Sidney promptly names him Dickens. What’s not to love?

Bubble and froth, Runcie said, and it’s true, although amid the comedy and lightheartedness, there are some heinous crimes. Considering how busy I’ve been at the EIBF, I raced through these stories in about 4 days, loving every page and every minute I spent in Sidney’s company. Heartily recommended for cozy crime fans.

********

Can’t wait for the next installment of Flavia de Luce? There’s no need. Courtesy of Bloomsbury, I have two copies of Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death to giveaway. Copies to be sent to address in the United Kingdom and Republic of Ireland only. To enter, please leave a comment below. Winners to be chosen in some random fashion on Monday 3rd September.

Read Full Post »

The Crimes Literary Supplement: From Spain

I first came across Jason Webster on a soggy autumn day in Wigtown.  He was cooking paella on the beach, that had been specially imported to the town’s centre for the Wigtown Book Festival. And a mighty fine paella it was too.

This seems to have set a precedent because it now seems that I cannot read his crime novels without resorting to Spanish food and drink.  The first novel, Or the Bull Kills You,washed down (and colour-coordinated) perfectly with a lovely glass of Sangria.  This was a coincidental discovery.  I was in Tenerife.  Rule Number 1 : When in Spain, drink Spanish …..  Rule Number 2:  Read books set in Spain.

 

When I came home to a very wet UK – this summer has been even wetter than last autumn – I needed to extend the feeling of being abroad.  I discovered Tesco’s Finest Valencia Orange and Passionfruit Tarts and that Webster had just published the 2nd in the series: A Death in Valencia. Great timing and another perfect match!

 

(Perhaps the third novel could feature gazpacho?  Just to complete the 3-course dinner menu …. )

Webster’s crime novels are set in Valencia, the 3rd biggest city in Spain, a port with a constant flux of people coming in and out.  Lots of crime, particularly the drug-related variety.  The politicians are – and I’m quoting Webster from my notes here – very corrupt.    The undercurrents from Spain’s violent political past can still be felt.  It is possible to recognise political affiliations from the way people dress.  Spain remains deeply divided, he said.

Webster is well-qualified to comment.  He has lived for several years in Valencia and written some well-regarded Spanish histories.  He said he didn’t give it much thought when turning to crime novels. Had he realised what a crowded field it is, he might not have done so.  That would have been a loss.

The best crime novels document contemporary society.  Webster’s vivid depiction of the divisive and explosive issues occupying Spain today (bullfighting, abortion, urban redevelopment) and almost even-handed depiction of both sides of the arguments guarantee engaging and informative reads.  His characters, even the criminals, are 3-D flesh and blood.  If there’s any partiality shown, it’s because his detective is often affected on a deeply personal level.  And  I’ve taken to Chief Inspector Max Cámara in the same way as I took to Dibdin’s Zen.  Not that Cámara – whose name means observer – is as detached and cynical as Zen; well, not yet.  He’s young, there’s time for him to develop – one way or the other.  Not sure if Webster, was hinting at anything here, but when discussing bullfighting, he likened bullfighters to mythological monster-slayers.  The bulls, he said, are stubborn.  They keep going, despite all the suffering, until they die.  Like humans.  Like Max?  I do hope not,  although que será será.  Hopefully not before I’ve enjoyed at least another half-dozen outings with him.

Or The Bull Kills You  

A Death in Valencia 

Read Full Post »

The Crimes Literary Supplement: From The Outer Hebrides

This blog recently visited St Kilda, courtesy of Karin Altenburg’s Orange longlisted, Island of Wings. With Books 1 and 2 of Peter May’s The Lewis Trilogy, it is time to embark on a tour of Hebridean islands that remain inhabited.

The journey begins as the name of the trilogy suggests, on Lewis, the island to which Edinburgh-based detective Fin Macleod is returning after a 20 year absence to investigate the grisly murder of Angel McCritchie.  Fin is brought in as the modus operandi matches that of an earlier murder in Edinburgh. He has mixed feelings about this. First it is a welcome respite – a change of scenery from his marriage which is falling apart after his son’s death in an unsolved hit and run accident. There is also irony in the fact that he is investigating the death of a man he despises, the childhood bully who made everyone’s life a misery. Thirdly, he is returning to face the consequences of a love triangle that actually began on his first day at school ……

Sula Sgeir from the Southwest via Google

Once on the island Fin is understandably assailed with memories from his childhood, adolescence and “escape” when he left the island to attend university; memories which, it has to be said, don’t always reflect on him kindly. They also vividly depict the cruelties of childhood, the harsh realities of island life and important elements of its culture. Central to the plot is the annual (and environmentally controversial) guga hunt on the remote island of Sula Sgeir (An Sgeir in the novel), and the two set-pieces on that island, one in the past, and one in the present are magnificent.  (As indeed are these pictures of the guga hunt .)The stories of Fin’s past, his present day entanglements and the murder investigation are woven around each other until they blend seemlessly into the climactic finale on An Sgeir. Only one minor fault for me – I didn’t entirely buy into the motivation of the killer. (Q: Would someone really wait that long?).  But that is a minor quibble.  The Blackhouse is an atmospheric and engaging read. An unusual crime novel with a final sentence that left a lump in my throat.

Traditional Hebridean Blackhouse, Arnol, Isle of Lewis by splibl on Flickr

The Lewis Man picks up Fin’s life, where The Blackhouse left it.  Following his divorce, he resigns from the Edinburgh constabulary and returns to the Isle of Lewis to restore his dead parent’s now dilapidated house.  It’s never quite certain whether he and Marsaili will reignite their love affair, but it’s clear that Fin’s future  is bound up with her and her son, Fionnlagh.  When The Lewis Man, a corpse discovered in the peat bog, is found to  have been buried there for just over 50 years and to be related to Marsaili’s father (thanks to the DNA sampling that took place during The Blackhouse investigation), Fin finds himself rushing to solve the mystery before the police arrive to arrest his former sweetheart’s father as prime suspect.  Fin can’t simply ask Tordod MacDonald for an explanation.  The old man has just been admitted to a care home suffering from dementia.

Once again May employs dual narratives.  The contemporary investigation runs parallel to the first person narrative of the old man, struggling to deal with his change of circumstance and the loss of his short-term memory while memories from long ago emerge with astonishing clarity.  The pacing is tricky but masterful as May ensures Fin makes no progress beyond what MacDonald’s memories have already revealed.    The engaging and sometimes shocking nature of the old man’s memory,  however, means this has no adverse effect on the page-turning quality of the novel at all.

Prince Charlie’s Beach, Eriskay by aclc1 on Flickr

May has set out to chronicle a way of life before it is lost forever and so the geography of the islands and their culture are as critical to the development of the second novel as they are in the first.  Fin journeys this time from north to south,  down from Ness on the Isle of Lewis, through the Isle of Harris, Benbecula, North and South Uist and onto the Island of Eriskay.  The novel incorporates short but vivid descriptions of the ever-changing landscape and light - much of the latter precipitated by Atlantic storms and frequent horizontal rain, in which men without their waterproofs transform into drowned rats in seconds. (This is a realistic, not a romanticised portrait.)  On Eriskay Tormod MacDonald’s real identity begins to emerge with sight of the silver sands of Prince Charlie’s Beach and the  identification of the pattern of the blanket in which the dead man was wrapped.  With that though comes real danger as past meets present in explosive fashion.

(As an aside I was delighted with the centre-stage moment of my favourite character, the irascible Reverend Donald Murray.)

Though I can’t help but worry about the aftermath.  How will the already fragile Marsaili cope? Will Donald find the forgiveness he seeks?  How long do I have to wait for the publication of the final episode in this trilogy, The Chessmen?  How on earth will I endure the wait?

The Blackhouse    / The Lewis Man 

Read Full Post »

The Crimes Literary Supplement: Spring 2012

It’s been a while since I went on the rampage had a crime reading binge but this one, fuelled by full-on stress, is approaching epic proportions.

Books 1 and 2:  Debut Novels

I’ve been meaning to read The Medieval Murderers for a while now.  So I took advantage of The Book People’s offer and bought a set of 6 for £9.99.  Settled down to the first and …. abandoned it on page 38. The Tainted Relicjust seemed to be an episodic litany of  fatal mishaps, seemingly triggered by the possession of a cursed medieval relic.  Very disappointing.  Now I know this series has many fans and if you are, perhaps you can give me a reason to try again.  Did I abandon it too soon?  Does the series improve as it goes on?

I fared better with Karen Maitland’s first novel, A Company of Liars, a reworking of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, in which a motley crew of 9, thrown together by circumstance,  attempt to outrun the plague as it cuts its swathe through Britain.  The plague, however, turns out to be the least of their worries!  There is greater danger in their duplicitous backstories and the journey turns out to be more perilous than they ever could have imagined.  This was a fabulous audio book read – the structure of stories within stories absolutely ideal for listening to.  It was also very informative about medieval culture and beliefs, though the history lesson never felt lke one.   The story built slowly, tensions mounted imperceptibly as secrets were uncovered and the body count grew.   And just when everything had been resolved, a final twist with an open ending which left me very, very anxious ….

Karen Maitland has since become one of the Medieval Murderers and so I might, just might give the book she collaborated upon a whirl …

Books 3 and 4:  Second Helpings

I read Paulus Hochgatterer’s very unsweet  but brilliant The Sweetness of Life a couple of years ago.  The Mattress House is the second in his series of Kovacs and Horn investigations although that suggests a traditional detective novel, which this isn’t.   It’s not even a traditional crime narrative as it’s told in episodes (though frustratingly not all of which are entirely relevant).  A man falls from some scaffolding (did he fall or was he pushed?) and a number of children who are beaten by a mysterious black owl. Kovacs, the detective investigates the former death while Horn, the psychiatrist, attempts to get the children to speak of their experiences.  Interwoven is a third, very dark strand, involving child sex-trafficking  This story is told quite obliquely from the viewpoint of the girls involved.  While there are searing moments of clarity, this style of narration is a good choice - sometimes graphic detail is neither necessary or welcome. But there are strange choices elsewhere.  The plot strands do not intersect – neither in fact do Kovacs and Horn – they’re not colleagues – and hence the reason why the subtitle “A Kovacs and Horn Investigation” is a misnomer.  Unless applied to the underlying theme: the alienation between adult and child, sometimes even parent and child – an alienation that even extends into the families of the two “investigators”.  It’s a point well made and supported by the episodic and oblique narrative technique although the side-effect of that was the alienation of this reader.

There is nothing oblique about  Peter Guttridge’s The Last King of Brighton which chronicles the making (in the 1960s)  and the breaking (in contemporary times) of the last gangland boss of the British seaside  town.  Nastiness is what typifies such existence and there’s plenty of it in these pages.  While there is a case for verisimilitude, there is a line that I feel was crossed in the set piece of the prologue.  So I’m issuing a health warning: do not read the prologue  unless you have a very strong stomach and wish to know the –  shall we say – intricacies of Vlad the Impaler’s favoured modus operandi.  I know it’s there to set up the atmosphere of terror for what is to follow – the barbarians really are at the gates -  but it’s not really essential to the story line.  That said, there are some enjoyable touches in the midst of  the mayhem.  Before he decides to follow in his father’s footsteps, the young John Hathaway is a member of a band and as he gigs his way around Brighton, a soundtrack of the 60′s (and my childhood) was laid down.  The novel also offers interesting theses on the identity of the great train robber that got away and the sorry state of Brighton’s West Pier, pictured on the dust jacket in its heyday.  It doesn’t, however, clear up the mystery of the Milldean Massacre, the botched police operation that opened Book 1 of the Brighton Trilogy, Guttridge has promised to do that in Book 3, which is due at the end of May.  I will read it - to finish what I started –  but, because of that prologue, I’m unsure whether I’m waiting with baited breath or not.

Book 5  – The Third in a Series

Time to flee then from the crossfire of gangland Brighton into the relative innocence of 1950′s Bishop’s Lacey and the further adventures of child super detective Flavia De Luce.   A Red Herring without Mustard sees Flavia – now 11 –  investigating the brutal attack of an elderly gypsy woman, a snatched baby,  and uncovering a fine line in forged antiques, all the while dealing with the cruelties of her elder sisters, the vagaries of fleeting friendships and the realities of her widower father’s impending bankruptcy.   Flavia is quite simply intrepid and comic with it.

When I come to write my autobiography, I must remember to record the fact that a chicken-wire fence can be scaled by a girl in bare feet, but only by one who is willing to suffer the tortures of the damned to satisfy her curiosity.

Flavia just goes for it worrying about the consequences - frequently a ruined dress - afterwards.  This is cozy murder mystery of the coziest and most delightful sort.  Book 4 is already available and in the TBR – but I’m saving it for whenever an antidote to real life or other crime novels becomes necessary.

Ratings: The Tainted Relic (DNF) / Company of Liars (3/5) / The Mattress House (2.5/5) / The Last King of Brighton (3/5) / A Red Herring Without Mustard (3/5)

Read Full Post »