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Anthology #36
Every Dead Thing, by John Connolly
As good as this thriller is, and it undoubtedly is, I needed a palate-cleanser after reading it, because it contains, right from the beginning with police reports about the death of Susan and Jennifer Parker, several graphic descriptions of bodily mutilations by a serial killer, who is later referred to as the Travelling Man [note British spelling: something which indicates that this is not an American writer, even though the characters are American]. In its review, I referred to the later book, The Dirty South, by this author as a prequel, which might not be strictly correct, because of events in this earlier story, which I can’t reveal, but Charlie Parker is here also, as in the previously reviewed book, predominantly in the USA’s southern states. He is searching for the killer of his wife & young daughter, which happened painfully recently, and the Travelling Man is a very likely contender, given the methods he, presumably, uses to despatch his victims. There seems to be a message which he is trying to convey in the way the victims are prepared for death, and posed in their final agonies, and a female academic, Rachel Wolfe, who “had a reputation as a fine criminal psychologist”, impresses Parker with her ability to make sense of the message; in the course of the story Parker becomes close to her, but also plunging him into guilt because he hasn’t stopped loving his dead wife and child, given how recent this ghastly event is. After the prologue, containing the aforementioned police reports, the book is effectively in two parts [although there are actually more than that]; so, when the reader thinks it is nearly concluded, it continues for some time afterwards; but that is sustainable, the way the narrative is structured. Not an easy read, but a very competent thriller. The paperback I read was published in 2010 [1999] by Hodder & Stoughton, London, ISBN 978-1-4447-0864–6.
Spy Hook, by Len Deighton
Although his name might not be so well known nowadays, Len Deighton deserves to be as equally well known and regarded as the other great British spy writer, John le Carré: the former is certainly equally, if not more prolific than the latter. This is the first story in the second trilogy of novels featuring the character Bernard Samson, “a tough, cynical and disrespectful MI6 intelligence officer”, according to Wikipedia. Bernard is somewhat in the doldrums, and slightly surprised that he is under no more than suspicion at work, after the recent defection of his wife, Fiona, to the Russians; he does, however, take solace in the company of his much younger girlfriend, Gloria, who also works at MI6, but is threatening to leave, because her employer won’t give her leave to take time out and study at Cambridge. During his travels, to both the USA and Berlin, Bernard begins harbouring suspicions that a large amount of money might have been misappropriated from MI6, but no matter how discreetly he goes about enquiring about it, to ascertain the truth, he realises that he is being anticipated, as a result of all the inherently clandestine connections in the security services, so it isn’t long before he realises that his life could be in real danger, unless he is extremely careful: if that is even possible. The atmosphere here is almost quaintly dated, given that it is written before the ubiquity of mobile ‘phones, and the proliferation of personal computers, but it is none the less engaging for that; it is a period piece, but well within living memory for many readers, and if you enjoy a well researched spy novel, you should enjoy this. The paperback I read was published in 1989 by Grafton Books, a division of the Collins Publishing Group, London [1988, Hutchinson Ltd.], ISBN 0-5860-6896-1.
Mr Cadmus, by Peter Ackroyd
This is a strange little story from Peter Ackroyd. One the one hand, it is a pretty straightforward tale of an adult, the eponymous and mysteriously foreign Mr Cadmus, who comes to live in a little Devon village in the 1980s, but with an ulterior motive which is belied by his urbane, and strangely attractive demeanour; on the other hand, it is a fable about the Mediterranean island of his wartime childhood, and the possibly metaphysical manifestation of the religion which is covertly practised there, and which possibly predates the more publicly displayed Christianity. In Little Camborne, Devon, Mr Cadmus rents a cottage between two middle aged ladies with, either conveniently or suspiciously, similar names; Miss Finch and Miss Swallow — a contrivance, no doubt — and who might remind older British readers of a comedy double act from the slightly more enlightened 1970s, by the name of Hinge and Bracket, but there isn’t much humour in the backgrounds of these “Dear Ladies”. By the end of the story, I was left rather confused: one direction of the story was clearer, but aside from that, I’m not sure what it is trying to say. At least, in its favour, it isn’t over-long, at 186 pages, and the author’s writing style here is unfussy [he is also a biographer, so it should be], even if the subject is slightly opaque, so I am happy to recommend it, notwithstanding my ultimate confusion! The paperback I read was published in 2021 [2020] by Canongate Books Ltd, Edinburgh, ISBN 978-1-7868-9897-5.
Let It Bleed, by Ian Rankin
In this story, which is relatively early in the series, but roughly in the middle of his career, Detective Inspector John Rebus is shocked when, after forcing the local police to follow, dangerously in one case, the car they are driving on a snowy night near Edinburgh, two teenagers appear to leap to their deaths from the Forth Road Bridge, right in front of him. This is connected to the disappearance of the Lord Provost’s daughter which, up until now, has been kept quiet, but that now seems to be in jeopardy. As a result of this chase, Rebus’s superior officer is badly injured, and his replacement, rather awkwardly, is a former lover, DI — now acting DCI — Gill Templer. Before any repercussions are felt though, Rebus has to deal with the bloody suicide of a small-time local criminal, in front of a District Councillor. The further Rebus looks into this, the more he gets the impression that his superiors, and the ‘powers that be’, don’t want him to find answers which could prove to be embarrassing, especially if they provide evidence of corruption in high places; of course, Rebus being Rebus, the more he is discouraged from investigating, including being told to take leave, “or else”, the more determined he is to join the dots and find answers. Inevitably, this doesn’t prove to be easy, but luckily, he has the cooperation & assistance of a couple of his erstwhile colleagues, including the redoubtable DS Siobhan Clarke, who supplies him with official files when needed. In this mix also is Rebus’s daughter, Samantha, aka Sammy, who still has a slightly distant relationship with her father, but an action she takes as part of her current work complicates matters for Rebus and his enquiries. All in all, another very readable story for Rebus aficionados, and I am curious as to how good, or otherwise, the latest [the third!] TV adaptation of these stories is going to be. The paperback I read was published in 1996 [1995] by Orion Books, an imprint of the Orion Publishing Group Ltd., London, ISBN 978-0-7528-8359-5.
Wilfred Books 