Book Reviews

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Anthology #8

Over My Dead Body, by Jeffrey Archer

This is a workmanlike product from this well-known & prolific author, who has been a controversial figure in his time in the British political sphere; he has also published, very probably without a trace of shame or irony, three volumes of Prison Diaries, from his time languishing at his, no doubt, revered monarch’s ‘pleasure’. This is an undemanding read, but no less enjoyable for that; it is the fourth entry in the William Warwick series: another one, Next in Line, previewed here, should have been published last autumn [2022]. The story begins with an episode including a questionable death, which serves to introduce the plot, where Detective Chief Inspector William Warwick of the Metropolitan Police is sailing to New York for a week’s holiday with his wife, Beth, keeper of pictures at the Fitzmolean Museum. When he returns, he is put in charge of a cold-case squad: somewhat uninspiring perhaps, but he also has a mission: to prove that a devious art-loving criminal, Miles Faulkner, did not die in Switzerland, but is still alive. He is, indeed, still alive, and with a new identity, after plastic surgery, but he proves too clever for easy apprehension; he also has a very devious barrister supporting him. Warwick has a very clever ally though: Inspector Ross Hogan, ex-SAS and former undercover officer. The story is set in 1988, but we don’t ascertain that until well into the narrative. The paperback I read was published in 2022 [2021] by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd., London, ISBN 978-0-0084-7431-7.

On the Bright Side, by Hendrik Groen

The subtitle of this lovely, poignant book is The New Secret Diary of Hendrik Groen, and as the discerning reader might surmise, he is a Dutch gentleman, and a resident of a care home in north Amsterdam. At the time of writing, he was eighty-five years old and, in fact, this book is a sequel to his previous book of an identical nature: The Secret Diary of Hendrik Groen, 83¼ Years Old. Of course, here we are dependent upon the accuracy of the translation, by Hester Velmans, and her English is a mixture of mostly British spelling [excluding realize] with some American terms: chomp, stomp, airplane, and sputter. That notwithstanding, the diary entries, which include most, but not quite all days in 2015, cover a range of experiences & emotions, the latter of which most people who are advanced in years [albeit perhaps not quite as advanced as the author] will readily identify with; the most difficult being, in addition to the variety of degrees of acceptance of the inevitable by his friends & fellow care home inhabitants, coming to terms with the loss of a close friend. There is plenty of humour here; it isn’t just a repetitive list of days of tedium; a core of the still most mentally, if not realistically physically active occupants of the home form the Old-But-Not-Dead-Yet Club, to give their remaining days, if they can’t hope for years, some spice [I think the book’s rear cover slips into hyperbole, describing this as “octogenarian anarchy”], so they organise regular outings, including meals out at a variety of international cuisine restaurants. If this helps younger people understand the reality of life in old age, it is highly recommended. The paperback I read was published in 2018 by Penguin Books [2017, Meulenhoff, Netherlands],  ISBN 978-1-4059-3030-7.

A Funny Life, by Michael McIntyre

This book is the second volume of autobiography by a comedian most British people [he is hardly known in the USA] regard as ‘Marmite’ [ditto this concept in the USA]: they either love him or have no time for him. Not being most British people, I don’t conform to either assessment. His early life must have been covered in the earlier volume, entitled Life & Laughing, so here, after a rambling prologue, in which he describes the rationale behind the first volume, he begins with the birth of his first son, Lucas, and how, endearingly, he is devoted to his wife, Kitty. After that, he progresses pretty much chronologically through his career to [almost] date, and the embarrassing self-inflicted setbacks he has survived, as well as the successes which have made him a rich man. This career is largely the result of the endlessly enthusiastic support & promotion he received from his force-of-nature agent, Addison Cresswell, who died suddenly from a heart attack in 2013, tragically at Christmas. Since then, he has built on that support and helped to create some very successful TV programmes, as well as breaking records for live performances. My impression is that he is a genuinely funny man, but [self-confessed] very vulnerable & needy at times, as well as suffering from self-doubt; but many actors & performers share these attributes, of course. This is easy reading, and I wish him well. The paperback I read was published in 2022 [2021], by Pan Books [Macmillan], London, ISBN 978-1-5290-6369-1.

Betrayal in The Cotswolds, by Rebecca Tope

I have read possibly a couple of earlier instalments in this Cotswold Mysteries series [there are plenty of them!], but I can only assume that I haven’t reviewed them because my overall impression was the same as it is after reading this one: the pace is slow, the jeopardy almost non-existent; so, engendering the same sort of feeling one might get, not having any particular aspiration to live there, from reading the many glossy magazine features about this somewhat ‘olde-world’ film-set region of the country—fine if one is rich, but rather vacuous at the same time. Thea Slocombe is a house-sitter, when she isn’t helping her second husband, Drew [she is also his second wife] with their ecologically friendly undertaking business. She is also an amateur sleuth, whom the local police seem happy to accommodate—even to encourage. When she witnesses a fatal hit-and-run incident right outside the house in which she has that day taken up residence, it launches her on another investigation. The house’s current occupant is away on business in Germany, but he is part of a large family, and his ownership of the house is disputed. The perpetrator is eventually unmasked, but the five days over which the action takes place seem like much longer. This is easy reading, so not unenjoyable, but her relationship with the police does seem somewhat implausible. The paperback I read was published in 2023 [2022] by Allison & Busby, London, ISBN 978-0-7490-2869-5.

Book Reviews

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Anthology #1

Dolphin Junction, by Mick Herron

It’s always a pleasure to find a book by this author, and this is a collection of his short stories, one of which features some of his Slow Horses characters; there are also two featuring his private investigators Zoë Boehm and her hapless, erstwhile husband, Joe Silvermann. Herron seems to have the knack of being able, cosynchronously, to write both contemporaneously and classically; although maybe by that I mean that his writing is cogent, a quality not always found in current fiction; and he is very clever in how he sets the reader up for a conclusion, only to often turn these assumptions on their head. There are eleven stories in this collection, and they are all of the right length, so each new one is anticipated with pleasure. This hardback was published in 2021 by John Murray (Publishers), London, ISBN 978-1-5293-7126-0; there is also a paperback, ISBN 978-1-5293-7127-7.

Our Man in New York, by Henry Hemming

This non-fiction book deserves to be read very widely: I say this as the author of a non-fiction biography, but the remit of this biography is arguably much wider than was mine, so I have every sympathy for this author with regard to the research he must have had to undertake. He is the grandson of a very good friend of the subject, William [Bill] Stephenson, but that notwithstanding, his documentary & anecdotal sources in his family were more limited than he would have liked; nevertheless, he has produced what I consider to be a very well-researched & important record of the British government’s efforts to influence American opinion enough, in 1940, when Britain was on its knees against the merciless onslaught of Hitler’s Germany, to persuade President Roosevelt to bring America into the war on the side of the Allies. Whether Stephenson’s background as a Canadian made a significant difference to his attitude & effect in this campaign is debatable, but suffice to say that, by the time Japan attacked America in December 1941, American opinion had revolved enough to make the country’s contribution a foregone conclusion. A must-read! The paperback I read was published in 2020 [2019] by Quercus editions Ltd., London, ISBN 978-1-7874-7484-0.

The Peppermint Tea Chronicles, by Alexander McCall Smith

I have already alluded to this series; the 44 Scotland Street stories, set in Edinburgh; in a review of another series, the Inspector Varg novels, by this author [no diaeresis over the first A of his name here, as I expected], and I was curious to read how different, or otherwise, this might be from the aforesaid Malmö-set Varg stories. This is trumpeted as “now the world’s longest-running serial novel”, and it is with no little regret that I have to say that this reads like it; that said, it is very pleasant reading, which does have some measure of closure for a couple of the characters, but otherwise, it is a gentle meander through the lives of the characters during a short length of time in “Auld Reekie”. One thing I did find slightly irritating is that, for all the writing is cogent, there is an ever-so-slightly supercilious air about the latin quotations which are used without translation: some I knew, and some I wasn’t 100% sure of. Nevertheless, as said, this is very pleasant, undemanding reading, so I will be very happy to find another instalment in the series, whenever it is in the timescale. The hardback I read was published in 2019 by Polygon, an imprint of Birlinn Ltd., Edinburgh, ISBN 978-1-8469-7483-0.

Admissions, by Henry Marsh

This name might not mean a thing to many people, but is you are a supporter of assisted dying, as I am, you might have seen his name as one of the high-profile supporters. He was a neurosurgeon [aka brain surgeon] before he retired, although he had not completely retired when he wrote this book; he was only working part-time though, and he also did stints in Ukraine [before the most recent Russian invasion] and Nepal, working with erstwhile colleagues. These foreign sojourns were partly altruistic, but it is fairly apparent from his personal musings that he has something of a restless nature; he has also seen, in his working career, which has encompassed many aspects of the medical profession, the despair which can overtake human beings who are suffering terminal illnesses, and the anguish which this can cause their loved ones, so this explains why he supports the concept of assisted dying. This has been decriminalised in many countries, and other countries are engaged in rational discussion about its advantages, but Britain doggedly refuses to countenance this humanitarian change, despite many well-informed & high-profile supporters: I can only hope that this resistance is dropped in the not-too-distant future. The paperback I read was published in 2018 [2017] by Weidenfeld & Nicolson, London, ISBN 978-1-4746-0387-4.

Book Review

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No Time Like The Future, by Michael J. Fox

I suppose it would be virtually inevitable that a memoir; of which there are now four; by this personality [I eschew the term celebrity] would include in its title a knowing reference to his most well known and, arguably, celebrated [whilst nevertheless still not condemning him to inclusion in that overused category mentioned above] trilogy of films; although, that said, only one of the others does; but I can happily accept that, for a variety of reasons, which don’t require explanation here. The front cover photograph; an unapologetically simple monochrome study of the man sitting sideways on an ordinary office-style chair; shows him looking straight down the camera lens with a weary, but at the same time, not completely worn-down expression on his face, which conveys, I think, what this volume wants to convey: that he is indisputably down, as a result of the health issues which have beset him over the course of his life hitherto, but by no means is he out.

In addition to the foregoing, the front cover photograph shows a deceptively youthful looking fifty-eight year old man, which is quite surprising, given his well documented tribulations. He was diagnosed with early-onset Parkinson’s Disease in 1991, at the cruelly early age of just twenty-nine, but rather than just giving up and accepting the inevitable; which it is, currently; he used his own resources, of money & influence, to set up a foundation, in his own name [categorically not as an ego-boosting vehicle] to raise global awareness about this scourge and help find a cure; he also engages in advocacy work. This book catalogues his most recent experience to the time of writing; and there is an epilogue, written in August 2020, which includes the arrival of the Covid pandemic, and the consequences ensuing therefrom, so it is almost, albeit not quite, how things stand today. This could be quite a traumatic read, in view of the impact this illness has had upon his life, but thankfully, his trademark wry humour shines from the text to avoid this.

In addition to the degeneration of his physical mobility; which has made something the majority of us take for granted: walking more than a few steps, inadvisable; and, what is understandably more concerning, even frightening, for him, his mental acuity, he also had to contend with a tumour on his spinal cord. He was faced with an awful decision: risk being permanently confined to a wheelchair and never walking again, or have an incredibly delicate operation which, if successful, would result in his being able to continue as he was—disabled, but still mobile, albeit carefully. His wife, Tracy, and his four children were a great source of solace & support in those desperate times, but it is also a measure of the resilience of the man that he decided the risk was worth taking, and the top surgeon in his field calmly & efficiently ensured a successful result; the post-operative delusions ensuing from the combination of the necessary medication were frightening both for him and his family but, thankfully, they were mercifully short-lived.

His recuperation was not entirely trouble-free, however: his determination to return to ambulant independence overrode any semblance of caution he should have exercised when he was back in his New York apartment, assuring his daughter that he would be able to get himself up unaided the following morning, before going off for a very welcome acting opportunity which had been especially made available for him. Predictably, he fell and badly broke his left arm, which meant he was out of action again for an extended period. There is a happy ending to that section of the story, thankfully: although that setback plunged him into a depression, it also acted as a wake-up call to be more realistic about his prospects, and eventually, he was able to do his acting job, which the producer, Spike Lee, had very honourably held open for him; he was also sanguine enough to know that his acting career is all but over, but that that is not the only thing which defines him. His life latterly has not been a triumph of hope over adversity, but there is always hope, where the possibility of a cure is concerned, and most definitely determination, so I found this a rewarding read which I can heartily recommend, and I hope you will too. The hardback version I read was published in 2020, by Headline Publishing Group [UK], ISBN 978-1-4722-7846-3.

Book Review

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The Hollow Ones, by Guillermo del Toro & Chuck Hogan

When I saw the name of “the visionary director of The Shape of Water” [with which I was already familiar, but I suppose not every potential reader is] on the cover, in a prominent position at the top, my attention was drawn to it immediately; I wasn’t aware hitherto that he was also an author, although it is not uncommon for film directors to have authorial input to their films, but his bio at the back only mentions his very successful films*. However, I was prepared to take a risk with this book; I am guessing that Chuck Hogan [whose name suggests he should be a wrestler or stuntman] is the primary writer, given that he is [the usual publishing hyperbole notwithstanding] “a New York Times bestselling novelist”, with GdT supplying the fantasy element of this story. I am normally somewhat selective with my fantasy fiction, but the cover promises, courtesy of The Guardian, that this story is “Like a Jack Reacher crime thriller [of which I have read enough to know what to expect] … with a Van Helsing-style demon hunter”, so to reiterate, I thought it would be worth a risk.

Indeed it was, in my humble estimation anyway. It starts off, to set the scene, with a prelude, describing a mysterious cast iron Edwardian mailbox, situated in the financial district of Manhattan, New York; “a sliver of a property that officially stands as 13½ Stone Street.” Some history is given, and the prelude ends by saying that “Every letter that arrives at The Box is a letter of urgent need—a desperate call for help—and every single envelope carries the same name:

Hugo Blackwood, Esq.”

This name is “a tribute to one of our most admired authors and the originator of the “occult detective” subgenre, Algernon Blackwood”, and the tribute ends with a macabre observation “that grave robbing in New Jersey, for occult purposes, is not at all fiction or a thing of the past. It’s happening. Right now.” So far, so portentous.

The story then gets going in more conventional thriller mode, introducing two FBI agents, the female of whom is a relative newcomer, Odessa Hardwicke, whilst the other is the more experienced Walt Leppo. It was a normal working night, but very quickly, it morphed into X-Files territory, when the first of a series of ‘rampage’ killings occurred, which proves fatal for one of the agents. Two other time periods are included in parallel: 1962, when a black FBI agent named Earl Solomon is sent to the Mississippi Delta to investigate the lynching of a white man, for obviously political reasons; and England in 1582, when the young barrister, Hugo Blackwood, encounters “Queen Elizabeth’s court astrologer, spymaster, and scientist”, John Dee, and Edward Talbot, aka Edward Kelley, one of “various mystics who claimed to be in contact with higher realms”, in Mortlake [but not “Greater London”, as the book states, which is a ceremonial county not established until April 1, 1965!], a village that then was part of the county of Surrey. Both Solomon & Blackwood figure in the present-day action, but of the two, Blackwood is the more helpful, albeit initially grudgingly [and almost psychopathically dispassionately], because Solomon is recovering from a recent age-related stroke; Odessa is not immediately aware of Blackwood’s unusual condition, and understandably, it takes her a while to accommodate it.

Overall, this is a quite well structured narrative, and there is a conclusion of sorts when the culprit of the killings is neutralised, but an element of doubt must remain, because the subtitle at the beginning of the book is “The Blackwood Tapes, vol. 1”, which refers to the audio tapes Solomon made during the course of his career, and would suggest that a sequel is to be expected: this paperback version, ISBN 978-1-529100-96-9, was published in 2021 by Del Rey, London. A search using the ISBN doesn’t show any reference to a sequel, so I can only presume that it is either still in preparation, or the idea has been abandoned, pro tem.

*According to the list at the very front of the book, GdT has in fact written ten books on his own account, both fiction & non-fiction; he has also collaborated with Hogan on three other books; Hogan has written five, all fiction presumably; so they are a web-established and productive team.