Not two, but three reviews this time – say what you will, but nothing builds a thirst for crime novels like reading other crime novels!
I should address the fact that I have realized that is, in fact, the category that all these novels fall into (or into which they fall, as Hitchens would say). The Gold Dagger is awarded by the Crime Writers’ Association. My own particular world view meant that I slotted this neatly under “mystery” but of course there are plenty of spy thrillers and other things that fall under this umbrella, including one of this review’s subjects.
To work: we have Ian Rankin’s Black & Blue, Bill Beverly’s Dodgers, and Colin Dexter’s The Wench is Dead, winners in 1997, 2016, and 1989, respectively.
I’ll start with Dodgers. It breaks the mold in terms of books reviewed so far in that it is exclusively about a crime, told from the point of view of the criminal. East is a teenage boy in the L.A. drug trade, watching for police as his gang sells drugs in abandoned homes. Sent by his boss (who is also his uncle) on a cross-country journey to assassinate a judge, he grapples with his world and the people in it, including his ungovernable and violent younger brother.
It gripped me more than I expected, but I have to be upfront and say Dodgers is the kind of book I can appreciate without liking one bit. It’s too contemplative, too full of semiotics and unspoken messages, for much enjoyment. That being said, Beverly has very strong style indeed, and given how spare dialogue is, does immensely well conjuring up portraits of the few characters in the novel. The world East inhabits is clear to us but, like East’s own view, the motives and bigger picture are inscrutable at least, verging on completely unknowable at times. The plotting has some holes in it that are irksome, but hard to get upset about given this isn’t really a novel about plot, but one about characterizations and introspection. There’s no crime to solve, and indeed the murder of the judge, which pulls the characters through most – though critically not all – of the book, is clearly so unjustifiable that the frisson of tension around East and company’s ability to pull it off is unsatisfying. There’s not a lot of guilt in this book, just ugliness and truth, or perhaps ugliness in truth. I was happy to reach the end, whereupon I mentally congratulated Beverly on his writing style, but felt sure I would not be picking up a similar book of his ever again.
I had a very different feeling when I picked up Colin Dexter’s The Wench is Dead: one of cheating. I watched all the Morse episodes based on this series years ago, and more recently the prequel series “Endeavour”. I feel certain I must have watched the episode based on this novel but it was obscure enough to me I felt I could read the novel in good conscience, without considering myself biased. And indeed, nothing was familiar. The setup was also delightfully different, albeit academic to an extent that I suspect those unfamiliar with Morse would find it a difficult entry point to the series. Chief Inspector Morse (now eight novels into the series) is leveled by an ulcer, and while convalescing is given a book about a murder that took place in Oxford – Morse’s patch – around 1860. With the help of his trusty Sergeant Lewis and fellow patient’s daughter (who happen to work at the Bodleian Library and is also, surprise surprise, attractive, and more to the point attracted to Morse) he rustles up enough reference material to solve the murder in the present. Dexter manages to keep this “play within a play” of interest to us by offering access to the materials Morse reads, thereby indicating that the same clues are open to us as to Morse. Nothing is offscreen, and so this consultation of microfilm and century-old evidence is just a real as a gory murder scene witnessed from a first-person point of view. As is always the case with Morse (at least on TV!) the details are what matter and eventually unravel the whole thing, and it’s a clever enough ruse to get a nod from this reader. In the meantime, Morse’s usual attitudes towards beer, women, and details at in play. How three separate women could be attracted to this aging convalescent is an open question, but if Dexter’s desire is for us to suspend our belief for that part of the book rather than the crime, so be it. Each female character is also given enough of a voice that they feel like more that a disposable one-off romantic interest, but if this book passes the Bechdel test it is by the skin of its teeth rather than with flying colors. It was good to see Morse in writing after all these years of viewing – the book really is better than the show, and he comes off as more complex and less cold given the inner thoughts we now have access to – and I am not unhappy to know that one more Morse novel remains among Gold Dagger winners. I look forward to seeing the Chief Inspector again soon!
Ian Rankin is a name I have been distantly aware of for some time, but never really knew. The copy of Black & Blue I acquired has “As seen on TV” at the bottom, and while a number of shows were made based on Rankin’s work they are just old enough that I have no acquaintance with them. As such, this is my first acquaintance with Inspector John Rebus, who I believe has been in some two dozen novels at this point. Coincidentally, this is Rebus’ eighth outing, just as it was for Morse – a lucky number, perhaps? In any case, Inspector Rebus is an Edinburgh-based policeman of a type familiar to us: dogged, disrespectful of authority, and devoted to his victims to the point of not caring for himself, all with a heart of gold (or at least silver) lurking underneath. The template is familiar enough, but Rankin writes so convincingly – with the huge caveat that this is, of course, from an American’s perspective – that Rebus breaks the mold. Mostly, it is Scotland and its character (and characters) that do the heavy lifting. The accents, the drinking, the atmosphere, all are caught in a wild array of direct light and shadow as they stand in the background of this well-paced but quite chunky book. Lurking rivalries of Glasgow against Edinburgh, Highland vs. Lowland, are all a piece as Rebus races around trying to pick apart multiple threads that (surprise, surprise) come together in an unexpected way. Rankin’s plotting is solid, and falls short only on two counts for me. First: I was not aware until I reached the end of the book (and read its acknowledgments) that one of the serial killers Rebus is chasing (Bible John) is in fact real, and did terrorize Scotland in the late 1960s. It’s not that I object to using ‘true crime’ as the foundation for the novel, it’s more that so much of the detail is clearly matter of record as opposed the imagination of the author, which I have always thought is one of the main draws of the genre. However, there is enough fiction in the book that I would have let that go except for one other point: the brief breaks into Bible John’s point of view. They were well written, and provided just enough tension and mystery that they were additive to the book, but I think the book could have done just as well without them (albeit some plot points would have had to change). The Colombo approach – we know who did it and why, and watch as our protagonist figures it out – is wonderful, but I think it needs to be taken from the beginning rather than having glimpses offered throughout. Even so, Rankin’s cast of characters are a step above the usual and their relationships with one another hew more closely to reality than the needs of the story, something I particularly appreciated after having now read a number of books where it is clear the protagonists are the sun around with all other bodies orbit. More so than any other book I have read so far – including Whip Hand, which I judge as being more enjoyable on a stand-alone basis – Black & Blue makes me want to go back to the beginning and see what John Rebus has to offer.
On the the next ones!
Updated ranking:
- Dick Francis – Whip Hand
- Ian Rankin – Black & Blue
- Mick Herron – Dead Lions
- Colin Dexter – The Wench is Dead
- Patricia Cornwell – Cruel and Unusual
- Ruth Rendell – A Demon in My View
- Bill Beverly – Dodgers
- James McClure – Steam Pig
- Gene Kerrigan – The Rage
- Paula Gosling – Monkey Puzzle
- Peter Dickinson – Skin Deep (not recommended)
smq.world 