Book Reviews

Photo by Simon Wilkes on Unsplash

Anthology #19

The Silmarillion, by J.R.R. Tolkien

This is the origin story of the better known, and undoubtedly famous [especially subsequent to the excellent film dramatisations] The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, although they were filmed in reverse order. This book is very long, consisting of five separate sections, the longest of which is Quenta Silmarillion: the History of the Silmarils. These are jewels which are imbued with a metaphysical light, emanating from two sacred trees in ancient times. Earlier sections—Ainulindalë and Valaquenta—deal with the creation of Middle-Earth [which might be our own Earth; and the the name is actually used; but it is not specified, so not clear] by a supreme being, and the different orders of beings who inhabited it over a series of Ages. The final section: Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age deals with events which are described in much greater detail in the later narratives mentioned above, although the existence of the Hobbits is related with no suggestion of their origin and, strangely, Tolkien spoils the plot of those stories for those unfamiliar with them by describing the ending! The origin of Gandalf, Saruman, and Radagast is given, however: they were Istari, aka Wizards, messengers sent from the West, over the sea, to contest the power of Sauron. There is also a foreword, a preface to the second edition, both by Tolkien’s son Christopher, a letter by his father, maps, tables of genealogies of what I would refer to simplistically as Angels, and Elves, notes on pronunciation, index of names, and an appendix of elements in Quenya [Elvish] and Sindarin names. If you can stomach mythical tales involving gods & kings, plus the occasional dragon, you will love this, but I’m afraid I’m too much of an egalitarian for these to sit comfortably with me: at least I’ve read the whole lot now. The paperback I read was published in 2013 by HarperCollinsPublishers, London [George Allen & Unwin, 1977], ISBN 978-0-0075-2322–1.

The Appeal, by Janice Hallett

This is a very clever book, and I say book, not story, because the way the story is presented is integral to its progression. As is often the case, the title has a double meaning, and the narrative is presented in a very 21st century form, as a series of emails and text messages, with other, more traditional type documents inserted where appropriate. At the beginning, two law students in an unspecified location are given by their Chambers tutor, a QC & senior partner in a law firm, the exercise of assessing the validity of a legal appeal against a murder sentence passed on an unknown perpetrator, by trawling through all the presently available communications between various members of an amateur dramatics group in a town called Lockwood; possibly in Cornwall. Some of these are involved in a fundraising appeal for medical intervention for a little girl; the granddaughter of the so-called alpha family of the amdram society, hence the other meaning of the title. As the narrative progresses, additional tidbits of information are tantalisingly fed in, to make arriving at an answer frustratingly difficult for both the students and the reader! For me, this format makes the book very easy to read—possibly easier than traditional prose, in which one can get bogged down with detail, especially trying to remember all the significant characters: here, there is more than one character list which can be easily referred to at any time. I really enjoyed this book [the amdram content was also an attraction for me, with my own personal involvement], and I hope I can find the relatively new author’s next offering. The paperback I read was published in 2021 by VIPER, part of Serpent’s Tail, an imprint of Profile Books Ltd., London, ISBN 978-1-7881-6530-3.

Reality and Other Stories, by John Lanchester

I’m not really a fan of ‘horror’ stories, either in print, or visually, as I have mentioned previously, in a review of a book by a doyen of the genre, Stephen King: The Colorado Kid. This book is a collection of “deliciously chilling entertainments—stories haunted by all the uncanny technologies and absurd horrors of modern life.”, as the back cover hyperbolically tells us, although I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I found any of the short stories genuinely disturbing, or frightening. I was attracted by the synopsis of one of the stories: “The wrong kind of cold calls”, because I had had an odd experience recently, wherein a voicemail message on my mobile service from an advisedly ‘spam’ number, had been just one word, “Goodbye”! This gave rise to speculation about different fictional scenarios, but my writing faculties don’t extend to fiction, I am happy to acknowledge. This author writes articulately, and in a variety of voices to suit the story being told, but some of his other books also look interesting, if it should be possible to find them, including Capital, Whoops! Why Everyone Owes Everyone And No One Can Pay, and How To Speak Money, so I think it is very likely that this author has some interest, and possibly involvement in, social justice, especially where it concerns that most pernicious, but unavoidable aspect of modern life: money. This book should engage the reader for a few blameless hours. The paperback I read was published in 2021 [2020], by Faber & Faber, London, ISBN 978-0-5713-6301-8.

Lockdown, by Peter May

It was inevitable that the recent [but, thankfully, receding into memory] Covid-19 pandemic, and associated lockdowns should either feature in, or inspire [if that is appropriate?] fiction output, and I have remarked upon it here already; Peter May, an author who seems to be able to convey an atmosphere of underlying tension in seemingly ordinary situations [which this is not, of course] has decided to posit an alternate reality in which the pandemic is caused by an infection which the world experienced nearly 20 years ago now, before Covid, but which did not take such drastic hold as portrayed here: H5N1, aka Bird Flu. The reasons for our lucky escape are not given in the foreword, but May does say that, in addition to telling us that this story had to be shelved at the time of completion because of lack of interest—ironic with hindsight, of course—“Bird flu, or H5N1, was being predicted by scientists at the time as the next likely flu pandemic…and …with a mortality rate of sixty per cent or higher—[it] was being forecast to exceed that [of Spanish Flu] by a wide margin”. The protagonist, Detective Inspector Jack MacNeil, on his final day working for the Metropolitan Police in London, is given the task of identifying a bagful of bones found on a building site, and what he finds is a lot more than the bare bones [sorry] of a story. Overall, the story is well written, and MacNeil is a character one can empathise with, but it is marred by a frankly ridiculously implausible plot premise near the end which, of course, I can’t reveal here. The ending isn’t specific, but the implication that it is terminal for one of the characters is obvious, which makes the foregoing in the story seem all rather pointless; although one object is achieved, however. The paperback I read was published in 2020 by riverrun, an imprint of Quercus Editions Ltd., London, ISBN 978-1-5294-1169-0.

Book Reviews

Photo by Simon Wilkes on Unsplash

Anthology #14

A Guide to Treehouse Living, by Elliot Reed

This clever & engaging book is unusual in that, rather than the diary form which is often used to notate events which happen over a specific time period, this is presented as an index, albeit as stated, not strictly alphabetical, but near enough. It presents the events in the life of a young teenage American boy and, whilst it isn’t specifically a coming-of-age story, he does learn a lot as the events unfold; in fact, because there is no introduction or prologue, we have no way of knowing how long after the events the index is written, but it feels like it could be some time, because some of the language & concepts therein have quite a mature feel to them. The boy, who doesn’t even know his real name until well into the book, decides upon the format of the index after finding them useful in books he reads to stave off boredom; he is given into the care of his uncle, who owns a mansion but likes to gamble, because his father went away and he can’t remember what happened to his mother. The most clever aspect of the book is how the events unfold more or less chronologically as one entry leads into the next. There is a whiff of Huckleberry Finn about the story, although I don’t think it is intended as a pastiche, but it didn’t take me long to sympathise with the lad and hope that his life would work out well for him. Probably a one-off story, but a later edition using the same artifice could work. An interesting slice of Americana. The paperback I read was published in 2020 by Melville House UK, London [2018, Tin House Books], ISBN 978-0-9115-4541-5.

The Winter Agent, by Gareth Rubin

This is the second novel by this author; the first being Liberation Square, which I have reviewed here previously. The first posited a fictional outcome to world war two, but this one sticks very closely to the facts about our espionage in that period as we know them; although, as he states in the final historical notes: “We will probably never know the truth…Some of the MI6 files will be opened in the 2040s…Perhaps they will contain a clue”. So this is the fictional account of an SOE agent’s work in occupied France, between February 1944 and D-Day, 6 June the same year, through which he worked with other local & infiltrated agents to prepare the way for a great invasion which was a precursor to defeating Germany the following year [given that this is a fact of true history]. Without wanting to spoil the dénouement, Rubin very cleverly conveys the permanent anxiety, and potential paranoia, associated with having to be constantly on the alert for discovery, which might or might not be a result of betrayal. Along the way, the agent, Marc Reece, a former Royal Navy officer, codename Maxime, has some very lucky [debatably, for me, too lucky] escapes, including after his situation has deteriorated significantly, but good luck shouldn’t be discounted, and Maxime was well trained back in Blighty before his essential mission, so that much is plausible. This is a well-told story, so I can recommend it. The paperback I read was published in 2020 by Penguin Books, [2020, Michael Joseph], ISBN 978-0-4059-3063–5.

The Frayed Atlantic Edge, by David Gange

This book is a real eye-opener; or perhaps more relevantly, a real mind-opener. In simple terms, it is the recounting, over the period of a year, of the author’s traversing by kayak of the Atlantic coastlines of, in compass bearing order, Scotland, Ireland, Wales and Cornwall. It goes without saying that he must, of necessity, be reasonably young, fit, intrepid and, depending on your viewpoint, fearless or foolhardy. What emerges is not just a travelogue; it is that, yes, in a very specific form; but it is also, given his academic speciality of historian, a social history of the narrow peripheral band of these islands which he passes and, he asserts, which has been overlooked and even, deliberately & deleteriously ignored or, worse, ravaged of both human & material resources in the name of progress, rationalised as standardisation, which is inevitably metropolitan in its conception. Given the latter, it is unsurprising that much of the text deals with esoteric concepts of artistic, aesthetic and emotional feelings, encapsulated in the work of artists, musicians, and thinkers, both ancient & modern, who experienced the might, majesty, and occasional devastation wrought by the ocean, as it interacts with these multifaceted coastlines. Gange is especially sympathetic to the until recently drastically reduced quota of non-English language users; thankfully, this shortfall has latterly been redressed, and the future for Scottish & Irish Gaelic, Welsh, and Cornish is looking brighter, along with their associated coastal cultures. I very much enjoyed this book. The paperback I read was published in 2020 [2019] by William Collins, London, ISBN 978-0-0082-2514-8.

Bad Actors, by Mick Herron

Life goes on as what passes for normal at Slough House, including the occasional turnover of its unwilling denizens. River Cartwright is absent, and his currently empty desk has been requisitioned by a new occupant; merely because she prefers its position to the one assigned to her; Ashley Khan, like all of her predecessors, still harbours the romantic notion that her current discomfiture is only a temporary glitch in her career, and before very long, she will be back across the river under First Desk Diana Taverner’s notional roof. Most concerning, a personal adviser to the prime minister, the similarity of the former to Dominic Cummings which might be entirely coincidental, has started causing ructions, and is intent on bringing Herron’s version of MI5, Regent’s Park, under his control, thereby minimising, if not actually eliminating government oversight. Needless to say, Taverner is fighting this all the way. Meanwhile, an influential member of a Downing Street think tank has disappeared, and before long, the circumstances surrounding this become very murky: this murk doesn’t quickly become clearer when Jackson Lamb’s Slow Horses become involved. This story is full of almost up-to-the-minute political and espionage intrigue, and justifiably shows politicians and some civil servants displaying their worst attributes. It is accompanied by a short story focusing on Lamb, but that notwithstanding, its purpose is unclear, although a new SH story is due this autumn. The impression it leaves me with, unfortunately, is that it was rushed out to be included with this volume, because there are so many obvious typographical errors, and there is no addendum or postscript to clarify this: at 32 pages, it could have been the prologue to a new full length story: enjoyable nonetheless. The paperback I read was published in 2023 [2022], by Baskerville, [John Murray (Publishers)] London, ISBN 978-1-5293-7872-6.

Book Review

Photo by Hala Al-Asadi on Unsplash

Art of Death, by Laurence Anholt

This book, published in 2019 by Constable, London, ISBN 978-1-47212-999-4 [Paperback, 2020] is the first of what promises to be a series of books featuring a character called The Mindful Detective, which suggests that the stories are not going to be run-of-the-mill police procedurals. On the evidence of this first one, the series promises to feature an ‘odd couple’ detective pairing, which is by no means unknown, but the male detective in the pair is somewhat unusual in that, first & foremost, he is taking an extended period of leave, so he has to be subtly persuaded to join his colleague in this unusual murder case, but also that he has pursued a path of spiritual enlightenment to help his recovery from a distressing trauma. He is Detective Inspector Vincent Caine, and prior to his detachment from full time police responsibilities, he was already sufficiently different from the average detective to have acquired the sobriquet The Veggie Cop. His perplexed colleague is Detective Inspector Shantala [aka Shanti] Joyce, who is divorced, with an eight-year old son.

The story is set in Devon and, although that is not specifically my old stamping ground, it does roam about sufficiently from Cornwall in the west, via Somerset, to west Dorset in the east, for me to feel somewhat at home in the locations. Shanti has recently been transferred to Yeovil from London, after a humiliating failure in a recent case, so she is keen to repair her reputation by turning in a good result on her first murder case in her new ‘patch’. The murder of a “famously narcissistic performance artist”, whose public profile had slipped somewhat since her early controversies (and who might just bear a passing resemblance to Yoko Ono), is sufficiently perplexing to persuade Shanti to ask her subordinate Benno (Detective Sergeant Bennet) to recommend a suitable partner to assist her, hence DI Caine. The 43-year old artist, Kristal Havfruen, had been found immersed in a transparent tank of formaldehyde, when it was revealed at a public event in Devon; it was supposed to be a lifelike effigy of herself, something the artist made regularly, in the tank, but by the time it was realised that this was the real thing, it was, unfortunately, too late.

The banter from world-weary Shanti does seem slightly forced, as she initially tries to persuade Caine to relinquish the world of mindfulness & lack of urgency, and then keep him in a conventional police mindset to identify & apprehend the killer, but thankfully for me, it didn’t become irritating, so the contrast between the two different approaches worked quite well. There are also the beginnings of a “will they or won’t they” [i.e.: get together] scenario which will, undoubtedly, be developed in forthcoming stories. The author, Laurence Anholt has an interesting background, coming from a Dutch family with roots stretching back to Persia, and he also knows very well one of the locations in the book, Falmouth School of Art, having studied there, as well as the Royal Academy in London; also, his interests include meditation and walking on the Undercliff at Lyme Regis, another location in the story. The dénouement is not too much of a stretch, and it is certainly plausible, so this makes for a very pleasant and undemanding read: I will be quite happy to read any further adventures of The Mindful Detective and his gnomic utterances!