Demon Copperhead, by Barbara Kingsolver.

 

            Demon Copperhead is the nickname of narrator Damon Fields, child of a young man who died before Damon’s’ birth, and a girl who was too young for motherhood and entirely without family of any kind to support her.  Alcohol became her crutch.  He also has the misfortune to be born in Appalachia, ‘hill-billy’ country, one of the poorest, most exploited parts of the States bordering the Mason-Dixon Line, where Mining is the only work on offer and those offering it have complete power – over everyone.  In short, the Great American Dream is a nightmare for the ordinary folk Damon grows up with.

            But!  He is best friends with Maggot, his name for Matthew Peggot, who lives next door, and Maggot’s family has taken him to their hearts, which is just as well for, though she loves him, Damon’s mum cannot be relied on, especially when she goes on a bender;  then the boot is usually on the other foot:  Damon becomes, of necessity, a care-giver from a very early age.  Which is not to say that he’s any more deprived than any other of his schoolmates;  everyone puddles along, various parents in rehab of some kind, depending on their addictions – until twin tragedies occur:  opioids in the shape of oxycodone and fentanyl make their first appearances, and Damon’s mum meets her fate in the shape of Stoner, a fast guy with a motorcycle, a steady, well-paying job – and a loathing for Damon. 

            It is patently clear that this is not a marriage made in heaven.  In short order Damon is made an orphan and  abandoned to the inept local welfare system where he is subjected to the whims and vagaries of people who have applied to foster him, but only want the monthly allowance the State pays them to ‘look after’ him.  At the age of ten, he has become just a number, living in squalor and worked into the ground at one place, and barely fed in another.  This part of Damon’s narrative is purposely reminiscent of Dickens’s David Copperfield, for Ms Kingsolver wants it known that not a lot has changed between modern-day Appalachia and British Victorian times, just the anaesthesia that people use (including, eventually, Damon) to block out heart-ache, sadness and hunger for increasingly shorter periods.

            Ms Kingsolver was born, raised and lives in Appalachia, and there is no writer more uniquely and superbly qualified to write Damon’s powerful story, which is both a tribute to the country’s beauty and an elegy to its cruel mismanagement.  In God We Trust means nothing where Money is the only God.  Having said that, let us thank whatever deity gave us the pleasure of Ms Kingsolver’s singular literary voice:  how lucky we are to hear it.  SIX STARS.       

           

 

 

All the Broken Places, by John Boyne.

 

            This superb sequel to ‘The Boy in Striped Pyjamas’ examines the nature and essence of guilt:  how much one can feel, and how much one can block out and hide away so that one can carry on living in this sorry world.  Widowed Gretel Fernsby has become an expert over her long life at doing just that;  now in her 90s, she is highly proficient at guarding her terrible secrets, among the worst being that she was the 12 year old daughter of the notorious Kommandant of a concentration camp:  he was hanged for his heinous crimes after the Second World War, but Gretel and her mother escaped to France, there to hide until their disguises and false papers were exposed by furious and vengeful neighbours, with predictable results.

            Gretel’s life journey has veered down several blind alleys and wrong paths during her youth but, thanks to the love, kindness and stability of her marriage to Historian Edgar Fernsby, her awful secrets have slept like the dead for many years;  she is financially secure and lives in an apartment block in London’s Mayfair where property values rise daily;  she is within walking distance of theatres, Fortnum’s and Harrods, and her only son whom she loves but considers to be a bit of a no-hoper in his personal life (he has been married three times, gearing up for a fourth!) visits her regularly – to ask for money.

Life could be worse and has been, but all is serene at the moment, even regarding her younger friend and upstairs neighbour, who is succumbing to early onset dementia – until the downstairs flat is sold to a powerful film producer, his beautiful actress wife and their 9 year old son.  The age of Gretel’s brother when he died:  the brother whose name she cannot say:  the brother whose fate was her fault. HER fault.

            Well, she’ll have to make the best of things and have as little to do with them as possible – which is easier said than done, especially when it becomes painfully clear that the little boy and his mother are being bullied and beaten by their husband and father, bringing back searing childhood memories for Gretel and a crisis of concience:  should she ignore what is plainly happening in the flat below, or report his cruelty thus ruining his reputation - and stirring up a rats’ nest which could lead all the way to her door and the terrible secrets behind it.

            Mr Boyne has created a marvellous protagonist in Gretel;  as broken as the places in which she once sought refuge, she still ennobles herself by a final selfless act which permits her, at last, to say her brother’s name.  SIX STARS.     

 

The Tilt, by Chris Hammer.

         

  

          Master exponent of Aussie Noir Chris Hammer has forsaken his usual protagonist Martin Scarsden, burnt-out Sydney journalist, for a couple of Scarsden’s police acquaintances who have been sent to a small town on the border of New South Wales and Victoria to investigate a cold case, the discovery of skeletal remains at the bottom of a dam recently blown up by activists unknown.  The police are involved because the skeleton’s skull has a bullet hole in it, clearly not an accident, and Detective Constable Nell Buchanan, originally a local girl whose adoptive family has lived in the area for four generations, is raring to solve the mystery, if only to prove to her parents, strongly disapproving of her career choice, that she has the skills to bring criminals to justice.

            The great Murray river courses through the Millewa/Barmah forest where the crime scene is;  it is a breathtaking natural wonder, home to flora and fauna found nowhere else in the country – and home too, to drop-outs, conspiracy theorists and small-time racketeers:  the wildlife involves more than the four-legged kind, once one knows where to look, and Nell and her boss Ivan Lucic are astonished at the variety of busy criminal activity in the area – and shocked again at the discovery of a second body as the dam, called The Regulator, gives up its secrets. 

            And what secrets they are!  Especially as Nell eventually discovers that the second body is her natural grandfather, coldly murdered because he was a reporter and was investigating lucrative rackets controlled by a man who was supposed to be everyone’s friend.  But the worst discovery for her is the fact that her own family – her mother and father, uncles, even her grandparents! – were all involved to a lesser or greater degree in the criminal ‘family  business’ (obviously why they disapproved of her choice of job!) but, most shocking of all in Nell’s eyes is that they kept up the veneer of respectability to such a degree that her retired dentist dad, her agoraphobic mother (hasn’t left the house in years!), and her newspaper editor uncle could have taken their secrets to the grave if those two bodies hadn’t been found. 

            The Regulator isn’t the only yielder of secrets:  the forest with all its secret waterways has much to hide as well, and Chris Hammer doesn’t let the mystery or the suspense flag for a minute.  His characters are all true-blue, Dinky-Dye Aussies without being caricatures and his colourful prose effortlessly evokes a provincial Australia that is changing all the time, as he proves in his World War Two flashbacks.  Aussie noir at its best.  FIVE STARS            

 

Fairy Tale, by Stephen King.

 

 

           Master of the macabre Stephen King‘s ‘Fairy Tale’ is yet another fitting tribute to his seemingly bottomless well of imagination, in which he weaves the fear and vulnerability of today’s world with the awful desperation and magic of another:  ‘Fairy Tale’ is an amalgam of everything that went bump in the night and scared us silly when we were little – leavened with rewards:  the promise of huge pots of goblin gold, and the hand in marriage of a fair princess – but only if we could complete certain tasks, usually involving giants and witches.

            It goes without saying that Mr King has stamped his own royal seal on this story, classic in its way:  his hero is Charlie Reade, 17 years old and an athletic, strapping (6ft 4”) high school student.  Charlie has had a rough few years – his mother died in a tragic accident when he was a child, and his much-loved father spent some years cosying up to the bottle.  Life was bleak until quite by accident (really?) Charlie one day hears a dog’s frantic howling coming from the Psycho House – so called because it looked exactly like Norman Bates’s creepy home in the movie – and when he investigated, found the reclusive owner, Mr Bowditch, lying on the back porch with a badly broken leg.  He’d been trying to climb a ladder and had fallen.  Charlie’s efforts to get him to hospital and later kindnesses (fixing his fence, looking after his old dog Radar while he was hospitalised, and running various errands – including biking to a nearby town to sell 4lbs of gold pellets (whaaaat!!) – to a shady jeweller) become the foundation of an unusual but firm friendship, finally culminating in a bizarre message from Mr Bowditch as he succumbs to a heart attack:  the locked wooden shed at the back of the property contains a staircase to a well.  It is the portal to another world, and if he decides to journey there, he may not return, because it contains unspeakable horrors  - and riches beyond imagining.  Risk and Reward.

            What to do?  Well.  Easy- Peasy!  Except that gold doesn’t hold the usual attraction for Charlie – he has fallen for Radar, Best Dog in the World, and there may be a way to make her young again:  if that’s a possibility, then tarry not!  And they don’t, entering a world controlled by magic, but still peopled by those whose lust for power is very similar to Charlie’s own messed-up modern existence.

            There are juicily documented monsters galore, and enough pace, tension and excitement after the ambling scene-setting to make anyone burn the midnight oil.  Stephen King is STILL the king!  SIX STARS.       

 

The Bullet that Missed, by Richard Osman.

           

Game-show host Richard Osman has, with his third novel about a gang of retirement-village sleuths, cemented his reputation as the new master of the comic Crime novel:  his Thursday Murder Club series is rightly lauded as perfect entertainment, while glossing over none of the sadness and isolation that affect so many of the elderly – and the vulnerability, physical and emotional, that they are forced to deal with in their everyday lives, as shown so powerfully in Book Two, ‘The Man Who Died Twice’.

In Book Three, the gang is still meeting every Thursday, and have decided that their latest cold case investigation should centre upon the murder ten years before of Bethany Waites, an ambitious and talented young TV journalist whose car was found at the bottom of a Dover cliff.  Her blood and clothes were found in the car, but her body has never been found.  There was no doubt of her murder, as she was investigating a huge VAT fraud at the time, but the police investigation revealed practically nothing – just the sort of mystery that former spy Elizabeth, retired nurse Joyce (whose new rescue dog Alan loves them ALL with tongue-licking abandon), retired psychiatrist Ibrahim, and former firebrand unionist Ron delight in sinking their teeth into.

There’s just a tiny complication, though:  Elizabeth has just received a text from an unknown number instructing her to kill Viktor, an old friend from her spying days, a retired (naturally!) KGB officer, who now lives in great style and wealth in London as a money-launderer:  if Viktor is not disposed of in two weeks, Joyce will die.

Naturally, Joyce is blissfully unaware that she may have only a fortnight to live, and when she and Elizabeth take the train to the Big Smoke, she is enjoying herself tremendously – until she meets Viktor in his palatial Penthouse and Elizabeth suddenly points a big gun at him:  even her threat never to speak to her best friend EVER again does not persuade Elizabeth to lower her weapon.  What had been a lovely day out (it wasn’t even raining!) has turned into the worst time of Joyce’s life.

Once again, we are all willingly sitting in the palm of Mr Osman’s hand:  his plotting is water-tight and his supporting characters are, as always, people like thee and me, and wholly delightful (as thee and me are)!  And because life isn’t always a laugh a minute – even though it should be – we must make the journey with Elizabeth as she witnesses her beloved husband’s inexorable decline into dementia.  With this great series, Mr Osman has shown that he is a true voice of Those of a Certain Age – the Elderly.  And he does it with great style and wit.  Well done!  FIVE STARS.   

 

Fight Night, by Miriam Toews.

 

            9 year-old Swiv (an abbreviation never explained) lives with her actress mother in Toronto.  Swiv’s Grandma has recently come to live with them too, which is handy because Swiv has recently been expelled from school for being recalcitrant, incorrigible and impossible in the classroom.  Fair enough.  The break will do everyone good – you know:  clear the air, calm the waters (for her teachers), that kind of thing, the only disadvantage being that Grandma has a severe heart condition (Swiv is the custodian of Grandma’s myriad medications:  she knows to the minute what should be taken when), and Swiv’s mum is rehearsing for a stage play, even though she is hugely pregnant.  Life and its problems has become ‘very complex’ to say the least and, as part of a grandmotherly stab at home-schooling, Swiv has been instructed to write a daily letter to her absent dad.  According to mum and Grandma, he is off fighting as a guerrilla for some obscure foreign cause, so he must be kept up to date with news from home.

            And that is the heart and soul of this lovely story – Swiv’s daily version of life and love with the two most important women in her life – mum, who is on a short fuse a lot of the time – not good in Swiv’s opinion for Gord, the mysterious occupant of mum’s womb – Swiv is really looking forward to being a sister – and Grandma, unfailingly optimistic despite her many health problems.  It has to be said that daily life with Grandma is never dull, from watching their favourite basketball team on TV to meeting up with Grandma’s old friends (and they really are old!), to deciding to take a trip to Fresno, California, ‘The Raisin Capital of the World!’ to visit Lou and Ken, two of Grandma’s many nephews, whom Swiv is shocked to find are a couple of old Hippies with long hair.  Lou prefers to walk everywhere – it clears his head – and Ken has  a girlfriend called Jude who likes oil massages with Ken,  an incomprehensible reason for using oil in Swiv’s opinion;  regardless, they are both thrilled to see their beloved aunt and make their visitors hugely welcome – until a visit to Grandma’s friends for lunch at a local rest home takes a very serious turn, and their time in the Raisin Capital of the World is cut short because Grandma decided that she could still do a high kick for her friends – with predictably disastrous results.

            Swiv’s letters to her dad (and we find out the real reason for his absence) become a marvellous chronicle of familial love, secrets laid bare, and a hymn of praise for humour, resilience and resistance in the face of adversity:  Swiv is unforgettable and it’s a shame she is confined to just one book.  SIX STARS.      

              

 

Peninsula, by Sharron Came.

 

 

           This mighty collection of short stories is Ms Came’s first book – and that’s hard to imagine because her writing is relaxed, polished and assured, as if she had been a published author all her working life.  She has set her stories and their characters in the small fictional town of Hereford, north of Auckland;  it is a farming community, recently gaining popularity because of its proximity to the Big Smoke as a weekend bolt-hole for rich city-dwellers, and the locals that haven’t sold parts of their farms for development are chuffed because of the extra business flowing through the district.  Times certainly are a-changing!

            And not always for the best:  along with the Big Smoke Folk come all their faults, particularly alcohol consumption and methamphetamine use, an illicit market that soon has its own local suppliers and dealers.  The farmers who haven’t sold up and sold out watch their world disappearing in front of their eyes, powerless to stop the rot.

            The Carlton family is a case in point:  Jim Carlton has been farming the area all his working life;  now his son Jack is doing the heavy work and cheekily trying to make the big decisions without consulting him – so what if he drops off to sleep in the hayshed sometimes – he’s still there to do his share of the milking and if anything needs fixing he’s right there.  Jack never was any good with mechanical things.  Jim’s wife Di hasn’t been too chipper lately, though:  her ticker’s been playing up, she needs an operation.  Still, Jack’s not ready or experienced enough to take over the show yet (even though he has his own family and house down the road):  nah, Jim won’t be able to retire for a while yet.  It’s a shame his other two kids, Jack’s twin sister Rachel and second son Willy aren’t interested in the farm – Rachel has a high-powered legal career but only visits when she wants to go running, and Willy has worked very hard at being the family Black Sheep:  he is a recovering P addict.  It’s enough to make ya wonder what bloody life’s all about, doesn’t it?  Jim certainly doesn’t have a clue.

            Ms Came guides us expertly through the experiences of her great short story cast of protagonists; we see through their eyes the sad and inevitable effects of ageing, the irrevocable changes wrought on their beautiful environment by ‘progress’ and greed as opposed to need;  and the ever-hovering threat of climate change, all here in this wonderful microcosm of Kiwi country life.  SIX STARS.