The Human Scale, by Lawrence Wright.

 

 

            So.  On the human scale, who is worth more:  an Arab or a Jew?  An Arab who has farmed and nurtured his ancestral land for centuries in the same family, or recent Jewish migrants who want to buy the land and settle on it themselves – because God and their Zionist leaders told them they could. This is their Promised Land, and if those Arabs won’t give it up, then they’ll find other means of taking it, and all the worthless Palestinians can drown themselves in the sea. 

            And by the time that American-born Palestinian FBI Agent Tony Malik decides to attend a family wedding in Hebron and renew old ties and acquaintances as part of his convalescence (he was the only survivor of an attempt TO dismantle a bomb built by Hamas to blow up a Jordanian aircraft), he is in a pretty frail state, certainly not up to his usual professional expertise, which means he is entirely unprepared for the lack of action by police against the flagrant, everyday abuse that Palestinian Arabs endure – and their savage retaliations against such injustice (Palestinian boys are athletes of Olympian stature when it comes to throwing stones.)  And stealing!  He saw one wearing his hat when he had his rental car robbed;  the consequent pursuit ended up with him being arrested by the local cops and a very surly bunch they were, too.

            Tony’s visit has not started well, and he is appalled by the blatant criminality, the corruption that he sees on both sides of the spectrum;  it’s only after he proves his worth in exposing the worst of that corruption that he starts to gain some respect – until the local police chief is discovered cruelly murdered.   Bridegroom Jamal (nicknamed the Peacemaker) immediately goes on the run despite the fact that he is innocent: – he knows how justice works in Hebron:  it doesn’t work at all.

            Lawrence Wright has produced an extraordinary, exhaustive and brilliant story of hatred and enmity as old as civilisation itself; the conflict and animus will never end, especially when the I.D.F. carefully targets the apartment of a Gazan family who has given Jamal the Peacemaker shelter:  that fatal attack turns Peacemaker into Avenger, with predictable, awful results

            A reader of this fine book before me gave it a score of 10 out of 10. And how right they were.  Thank you Lawrence Wright, for showing us what everyone has ended up with for all their machinations:  a lifelong burden of grief.  SEVEN STARS.      

 

 

 

 

The Last Living Cannibal, by Airana Ngarewa.

 

          1940’s Aotearoa New Zealand and the Second World War is raging:  Taranaki Maori have not joined the fighting by choice – the cream of their manhood has been decimated over the last century by colonialism, bringing on the Land Wars and unjust imprisonment for some warriors like Koko, who had to endure shame and humiliation because he had fought to retain ownership of his tribal land;  now Koko is  in his 90’s and the fight has gone out of him as it rightly should.  Younger men than he should step up to continue the fight – until he learns from his beloved grandson Blackie that Koko is known at his grandson’s school as The Last Living Cannibal by the pakeha teachers.

            Then insult is added to injury when he hears that Blackie and his mates are threatened with the Strap, a leather strip used for sharpening razors and capable of inflicting nasty welts on young skin:  Okay, that’s the last straw:  time to show that high and mighty schoolteacher who has the most mana.  Koko will cut him down to size.  And does, from the back of an unpredictable horse who will sometimes allow people to ride him – and sometimes not;  fortunately he must have been in a generous mood to carry Koko to his triumphant meeting with the gobsmacked teacher:  the effect they created is unforgettable, the only problem being a fatal heart attack for Koko on his winning way home.  Koko has lost his last battle.

            BUT!  More trouble awaits:  Koko is laid out on the Marae in advance of his funeral;  his spirit is still watching to see who is going to visit to pay their respects.   He is attended by his feckless son, Blackie’s dad and Blackie himself, plus all the old Aunties without whom these useless men can’t seem to function, when unexpected strangers arrive who don’t seem to be particularly friendly.  They are Tainui, the Northern Tribe of Blackie’s mother, and everyone is shocked to see her arrive and demand to take Blackie with her back to her tribal home on the Waikato.  She left Blackie’s dad after he beat her in a drunken rage – now she wants her son under the law of Muru, a just repayment for former wrongs suffered:  she wants her son:  Taranaki Maori  have had him long enough!

            Once again Airana Ngarewa has blessed us with unforgettable, exuberant characters – Blackie’s mates in particular, (and don’t forget that horse!)  – and lessons in history that pakeha would much rather forget but as always, he accentuates the positive and like Koko, we recognise that despite great tragedy and injustice optimists can still take heart in some parts of this troubled world.  SIX STARS.   

      

 

  

 

The Glass Man, by Anders De la Motte.  

 

 

 

          Scandie Noir is flourishing as a genre in the hugely capable hands of De la Motte and his excellent translator Alex Fleming.  This is the second book in a series with Leonore Asker, brilliant but flawed (aren’t they all?) police detective as the main protagonist, along with her long-time friend University professor Martin Hill, a tried and true companion on some truly life and death adventures and – if Leo were to be honest with herself, a future significant other, not least because they trust each other completely.   They will always come to the rescue of each other, if they can.

            In the meantime, Martin has been offered his dream job writing a book about the history of one of Sweden’s most successful international medical companies, founded and still administered by the original family, the Irvings:  could his luck be any better?  Of course not – he’s ecstatic, especially when the Irving estate and manor house will be at his disposal along with all (he hopes) its records.

            By unhappy contrast, Leo is still hidden and labouring away sight unseen in the depths of the Police basement in charge of various officers who have talents not really required by their colleagues, or hoping soon for retirement:  such is her punishment for being too good at her job – she made the Stockholm Hotshot who took over her position look silly more than once, with the result that when a body is discovered close to her father’s farm, she is not allowed any information connected to it.  It’s ‘none of her business’, even though her father – whom she loathes – becomes the main suspect.  While she knows her father is capable of anything, she is also sure that this murder is definitely NOT his Modus Operandi.  Something Stinks in the State  of Denmark.

            And life is not going as well as first thought for Martin:  he does not have the open and free access that he expected on the Irving Estate[J1] , in fact he seems to be watched by an awful lot of people – even by Drones when he walks outside, but the worst thing – the very WORST THING - -was being persued by a huge man-like creature through the gardens when he was returning to his accommodation.  He’s never been so scared in his life – Leo, where are you???

            From a very convoluted plot De la Motte unravels the Irving family’s real reason for their interest in Martin, revealing  a Trump-like narcissism in  their belief that he will marvel at their mastery of Cryogenics – or  become their next victim.  What some people will do to advance the cause of science – or live forever.  FIVE STARS

 

 

 

 

 

---

 [J1]

 

 

 

 

The Mind of a Murderer, by Michael Wood.

And it’s sequel, The Devil’s Code.

       

  

          I am enormously proud of myself.  I have finally started a book series off at # 1 – usually I discover after several pages that I have done my usual trick of starting after several books have already been written, then having to rely on the author being kind and filling in key information – well, this series is so obliging it even has the first chapter of the next story to refresh peoples’ minds and whet their appetite for more blood and gore - and this series is awash with it, for its main protagonist is a forensic psychologist who started off life as Olivia Button, a normal little child, content in the bosom of her loving family, until she came home from school one day to find her younger sister dead in her dying mother’s arms, blood pouring everywhere and urged by her fatally stabbed mum to ‘RUN!’

            Which she does – fleeing her father, of all people, who had decided that after killing several complete strangers, it was time to dispatch his family.  And he is nearly successful with Olivia, wounding her terribly before the police overpower him.  Fortunately she survives her injuries and is lovingly cared for  by her grandparents who provide as much love and normalcy as they can as she grows up, but you don’t have to be Einstein to know that she will always want to explore, study and understand why some people kill (especially serial killers), and what they actually enjoy about it.  From her own experience she knows that familial love means nothing;  the thrill of ending someone’s life is paramount so, on the positive side and after a name change, Olivia has made a substantial career out of travelling the world and studying the deeds and minds of serial killers;  she is such an authority that her advice is sought by Police authorities everywhere, especially in London where a killer has struck again:  how she eventually unmasks him is very well plotted and, in the best tradition of all superior crime novels one never knows who the baddy is until the last possible minute.

            Book Two starts in a similar vein;  Olivia is required to go to Newcastle-on-Tyne to offer advice and suggestions to the authorities after a car was stopped on a stormy night by police;  when the car boot was opened, a body was revealed, cut into twelve pieces.  The driver will only say ‘no comment’, even as he is sentenced to life imprisonment.  A search of his house reveals documents which appear to be in code, but how to break it? 

And underlying all the mystery and worry that more remains will be found is Olivia’s father, still contacting her from prison whether she wants to hear from him or not (she doesn’t).  But he has other bodies – and murders – up his sleeve, and wants to brag about them whether she likes it or not! 

            Michael Wood has created a flawed, damaged but courageous protagonist in Olivia;  she makes mighty mistakes but great inroads, too, in outwitting her villains – and her nightmares.  FOUR STARS EACH.   

 

 

 

 

The Seventh Floor, by David McCloskey.

            

Typically, I have chanced upon #3 in David McCloskey’s series of Spy novels involving various colourful and driven members of the USA’s Central Intelligence Agency – why can’t I ever seem to start at #1!  He writes from experience, having worked for the CIA in another life – he knows how everything functions, especially the hierarchy on the seventh floor, Olympian home of Finn Armitage and Deborah Sweet, brand new leaders eager to make their mark on the organisation, which includes Artemis Proctor, a fearless – and tactless – leader of a subsection. The failure of an exercise against a Russian Source and the disappearance of handler Sam Joseph, captured and held by the Russians for three months until they swapped him for someone they needed more, provided Armitage and Sweet with the ammunition they need to boot her out of the only job she has ever really loved:  without her CIA job she is nothing:  ‘all your life you’re CIA.  Then you’re not.’

Working as an alligator wrangler at her cousin’s Florida theme park is no substitute, and the gators take exception to being rode twice a day;  they bite and will never be her pets.  Is this what her life will be like from now on?

Until Sam Joseph miraculously turns up bringing whiskey – and salvation in the form of explosive secret news that he hasn’t shared with anyone, including the various Psychologists and Medics he has seen since being released:  one of their number on the seventh floor has sold out and is providing the CIA’s most secret knowledge to the Russians.  A mole has been planted and that little critter is flourishing, absolutely bursting with information, and excellent at covering his tracks, having had so much training at doing just that at the CIA.

And how can a disgraced ex- section boss and an ex- undercover spy prisoner have any credibility with a leadership that wanted them gone anyway – no:  they will have to try to unravel and expose the traitor by themselves, the hard way, the dangerous, ‘they could kill-your-ass way.  Which is the only way.

David McCloskey’s superb prose takes no prisoners;  his character—building is second to none and, despite the demise of one of his main protagonists there are still enough great identities for the series to keep going, and going – and going!  Do you hear me, Mr McCloskey?!  SIX STARS. 

                   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Riveter, by Jack Wang.

 

            After his father’s untimely accidental death, young Canadian forestry  worker Josiah Chang decides to enlist in the Canadian Army;  it is 1942 and Josiah wants to prove himself as a  loyal  citizen, ready to fight for his country in the Second World War.  The ‘only’ problem that he can see is that even though he was born and raised in Canada and has never been to  China, he cannot fight for Canada because of the possibility that he would demand Canadian Citizenship – which would not be tolerated.

            So!  Josiah does the next-best thing:  he finds a job as a riveter at Vancouver’s shipyards where shipbuilding is proceeding apace to make up for the many cargo ships being sunk by the Germans.  ‘Every Rivet A Bullet’ and, because he is strong, fit and healthy Josiah does well in his new position – except for those of his workmates who don’t believe that Chinamen know what they’re doing.  He proves them wrong many times but it still takes a long time to fit in, especially after he meets and with almost indecent haste, falls in love with Poppy, a girl named after Flanders Fields where her father was wounded in the First World War – she loves being a rebel and upsetting her staid, conventional parents but quickly finds that her feelings for Josiah become much more than just a casual liaison:  this is the real thing.

            Jack Wang leads us expertly through this love affair that was so unexpected and thrilling for both – and so forbidden, especially when Poppy’s father visits Josiah to inform him that if they decide to get married, Poppy will lose her Canadian Citizenship.  What’s a man to do against such Draconian policy?  Well, he’ll show them:  if he travels to Toronto he may have a chance to join up with the Canadian Parachute Battalion and this time, luck (?) is on his side:  with his fellow paratroopers he jumps into Normandy on D-Day 1944:  at last he will be able to prove his worth as a Canadian, a citizen and a man.

            Jack Wang’s battle scenes are thrilling, written with such verve that one would swear that he was with Josiah every step of the way, not to mention the friendships forged in valour and heartbreak, and the civilians – friends and enemies alike, who were all too human – and humane.  Yes, Josiah survives and returns home to a hero’s welcome, but nothing has changed; those laws are still the same:  Chinese are Aliens.  This is a beautiful story.  SIX STARS.    

                              

 

 

 

 

Don’t Forget Me, Little Bessie, by James Lee Burke.

 

   

       James Lee Burke is very proud of this book.  He’s an old man now, but doesn’t care a bit, for his memories are of a Texas and real-life characters that dominated the landscape of his youth, and age (he is 89) cannot dim his wonderful artistry with words.  Burke has written several series, including those featuring fearless Texas Ranger Hackberry Holland;  now he would like to introduce us to Bessie Holland, Hackberry’s 14 year-old daughter when this story begins.  It is also the start of the 1914-1918 War, so world-wide trouble is brewing, even though America’s President has kept them out of it so far.

            Such lofty worries are beyond Bessie’s experience or interest at the moment;  after her mother’s death her father Hackberry has hit the booze and owes money everywhere:  she is faced with problems she is too young and ill-equipped to handle – BUT!  She refuses to be daunted by the fact that her father is a drunk, her brother will run away from home, leaving her entirely alone, but not before White-trash Jubal Fowler wrecks one of his eyes with a slingshot.  No, her attempts to  gain an education at the tiny local school have been ruined because the gifted teacher whom she adores has been sacked ‘for lewd behaviour with another woman’.

            Bessie is outraged – women’s rights are non-existent anyway;  they are no more than servants in every capacity.  Well, she’ll follow her brother Cody’s example and leave home too:  she’ll follow him to New York and the Lower East Side (whatever that may be);  anything would be better than her current location.  She thinks.

            True to form, she finds that her good looks generate plenty of attention, even from a ‘gentleman’ by the name of Anthony Vale who, after courting her perfectly (he seems to have lots of money) rapes her most cruelly, then makes sure she loses her employment.  He likes playing with people, but he has reckoned without good Baptist Bessie’s outrage at her treatment, or her father Hackberry’s thirst for revenge.  Anthony Vale’s days are numbered.

            Father and daughter return to Texas and find that their 200 acres have lots of oil waiting to be pumped from the ground – which presents its own problems for a good Baptist and a Texas Ranger who has given up the Demon Drink;  the tension never lifts and the Baddies never stop coming, from corrupt sheriffs and old enemies like Mexican Joe, a sadist who cuts up people because ‘he feels like it’.  And he feels like getting rid of Bessie by the nastiest of means;  she’s in his way.

            Fortunately for us, Bessie narrates the story so she’s still there at the end of this brilliant, almost unbearably suspenseful chronicle of a young State in an old country.  James Lee Burke can be justifiably proud of his work, which teems with unforgettable and authentic characters.  He just better live forever!  SIX STARS.