FIRST GREAT READS FOR JULY, 2014

Where the Rekohu Bone Sings, by Tina Makeriti

What a pleasure it was to read this story.  Ms Makeriti’s prose is rich and powerful;  it sings with utmost poignancy of the Moriori, a peaceful people hopelessly outnumbered, subjugated and slaughtered by a desperate, aggressive foe who came to their island, Rekohu in 1835, themselves pursued by enemy tribes bent on their destruction.  After the carnage had ceased, the dead were eaten, the ultimate insult to a race who refused to lift its weapons to fight.  Those who were considered fit enough to be slaves were taken back to mainland New Zealand, prisoners of their contemptuous Maori conquerors.

Iraia, born to his slave mother some years later, has never known anything other than captivity and even less of familial affection after his mother was drowned when he was very small;  instead he grows up like ‘a stray puppy, a skulking dog’ on the farm of his captors in conditions little better than the farm animals.  Everyone, from Tu the patriarch, his skylarking sons and Whaea Audrey, Tu’s God-fearing bad-tempered sister, ignore him when they are not using him for farm labour;  they call him ‘boy’, refusing to use his given name.  Regardless, it would never occur to Iraia to run away, to leave his miserable existence, for there is one constant:  his hopeless love for the daughter of the family, Mere.  Beautiful, headstrong, fearless Mere, whose childhood devotion to Iraia, her sometime minder, has blossomed into something different – and Mere, always full of plans, hatches another:  it is time to fly the coop with Iraia!  She knows that her family would never consent to her union with a lowly slave, so they will both have to seek a life somewhere where her family would never think to look – and they do, arriving in 1870’s Wellington with a little money Mere stole from her father’s purse and nothing else except excitement at their audacity and success at evading her vengeful father, and the brimming optimism of first love.

One hundred year later, Tui, a descendant of Mere and Iraia and married to a Pakeha European has just given birth to fraternal twins, a boy and a girl, Bigsy and Lula:  remarkably, Lula is red-haired and pale;  Bigsy has caramel skin and dark hair – who would ever think they are related, much less twins?  Their progress through their childhood and eventual maturing to adults is intriguing, especially as they both are forced to face their ancestry and their place in the world when their mother dies and their father decides that she should be taken home to be buried on her ancestral land:  it’s the right thing to do, even though she had been estranged from her family for years.  It’s the right thing, the only thing, to do.

And there, on the land where Mere and Iraia forged unbreakable bonds, Bigsy and Lula learn secrets that their mother kept hidden all her life;  secrets that the family admitted with shame more than a hundred years later;  revelations that will draw them both back to Rekohu, now known as the Chatham Islands to learn the origins of their bloodstained family history.

Sadly, I felt that the story was let down by Bigsy and Lula.  As modern representatives of their singular forebears they were less than convincing,  but  Ms Makeriti succeeds brilliantly with the family ancestors:  they leapt from the page and spoke to me of birth and death and love and war with such eloquence that I won’t forget them, or the peace-loving Moriori from which her inspiration sprang.  This is a wonderful story that those two-dimensional twins fail to spoil.  Highly recommended.

Prince of Fools, by Mark Lawrence

Jalan Kendeth is a prince of Red March, a southern kingdom blessed with bountiful harvests and buxom wenches.  He is young, handsome and blessed with boundless energy – but not for anything constructive.  He freely admits to being irresponsible, (he is hugely in debt to a sadistic moneylender) feckless, (no woman is safe from his doubtful charms) and famously disinterested in the affairs and business of ruling his country – which is fortunate;  he is tenth in line to his grandmother the Red Queen’s throne and as such would never be considered for the crown.  Also, he is considered the runt of the litter of his family of older brothers, for despite his fine height and good build he is ‘The Little One’.  They dwarf him, every one.

Well, who cares?  Not him:  he’s quite happy to remain one step ahead of the moneylender (and he’s a damn fine runner!), and to worry about consequences for any of his actions after he has acted – until he becomes involved with a huge Norseman, a captive of his grandmother who has been freed because he gave her vital information about a huge and frightening army preparing to attack from the frozen Northern wastes of the Bitter Ice.  Through a dreadful twist of fate – and a ghastly spell concocted by a witch (truly!) – they are bound together by the good and bad strands of the spell and compelled to journey North to try to stop the advance of the Dead King and his ghastly army of corpses.  Snorri ver Snagason, the Norseman, is happy to begin the journey:  his wife and children are captives in the North and he means to rescue them.  Jalan, needless to say, feels exactly the opposite.  Heading purposely towards certain death is not on his agenda, but such is the power of the spell that he has no choice and begins the journey with a quaking heart and loud protestations.

Regardless of his fears, he and Snorri travel inexorably northwards, most of the time with little food and no money, depending more than once on ‘the kindness of strangers’, until they reach Ancrath, home of Jorg, Prince of Thorns, who is back in favour – however temporarily -  with his father, King Olidan.  Jalan makes much of his princely status while he can, until Olidan’s Queen tries to bribe him to kill Jorg, but Jalan has no stomach for such a task, especially when he sees the Prince of Thorns and is a victim of his ‘thousand yard stare’.  No:  it’s time he and the Norseman resumed their journey – fast!

Once again, we are off on a marvellous adventure through Mark Lawrence’s great fantasy of Europe after The Big Bang, the Explosion of a Thousand Suns,  the setting of  his superb ‘Prince of Thorns’ trilogy.  (See review below)

Jalan Kendeth’s story runs parallel to the action in the first trilogy so he is bound to cross paths again with the deadly Honorous Jorg Ancrath;  it will be fascinating to see if his and Norri’s travails have given him an injection of the courage he honestly acknowledges he lacks, but by the end of Book One our expectations are not high – instead, what is certain is that Mark Lawrence has produced once again a fantasy of the highest order, with characters that readers truly care about, and more action than you can shake a stick at.  There are Unborn, Undead and Unnaturals littering every chapter, not to mention witches, bitches and seers by the score:  what more could a dedicated fantasy reader ask for, except top quality writing and plotting.  Mark Lawrence does it all.  Highly recommended.

Prince of Thorns, by Mark Lawrence

You read it here first:  What an adventure!  Mark Lawrence’s debut novel has all the requisite ingredients for the ideal fantasy – a wronged and vengeful hero, warring kingdoms, ghosts, necromancers, murders most foul, and a complete lack of honour, except amongst thieves.

At the tender age of nine, Prince Honorous Jorg Ancrath was forced to witness the slaughter of his mother and younger brother William by Count Renar of the Highlands and his troops.  If he expected his father the king to avenge their dreadful murders, he is sorely disappointed;  instead, the king negotiates compensation in the shape of land and horses for his loss.  Seeds of hatred and revenge are sown in the fertile ground of Jorg’s grief and heartbreak:  he takes to the road and joins a band of mercenaries and outlaws, and because he no longer cares if he lives or dies, he becomes their leader through sheer recklessness and a bravado that is fearless and suicidal – oh, Jorg has problems, alright – he has already lived five lifetimes and he’s only fourteen!

Mark Lawrence has created a rip-roaring, no-holds-barred, heart-in-the-mouth pageturner in this first book, and in spite of the reader knowing they shouldn’t believe a word of it, they are totally sucked in, swept along with the clever plot and more action than a body should rightly have to endure – oh, it’s great stuff, and this is just the first book of a Trilogy.  ‘King of Thorns’ is next, and a fascinating question for the reader is to figure out exactly the timeline in which Mr Lawrence has set his stories:  a vastly altered central Europe might  be the setting, but who can be sure?  Everyone fights in armour with medieval weapons, but Jorg wears a wrist-watch!  (which doesn’t make an appearance till book two) – and he lets loose what seems suspiciously like a nuclear explosion halfway through book one.  I have come to the conclusion (I’m ashamed to say it took me a while) that Jorg’s story is set far into the future:  it’s possible that the world we knew has been destroyed for whatever terrible reason, and the regenerating human race hasn’t progressed beyond another Medieval Age in its attempts to survive.

Which all adds to this trilogy’s great appeal.  ‘ Prince of Thorns’ was a gripping read, but book two, ‘King of Thorns’ is even better.  Roll out book three!  Mark Lawrence isn’t just a good storyteller – he’s a great one.  Whatever I read next, this will be a hard act to follow.   

LAST GREAT READS FOR JUNE, 2014

Once we Were Brothers, by Ronald H. Balson

Elliot Rosenzweig is an immensely rich Chicago philanthropist.  He has given away millions to deserving causes of every religious denomination, refusing to limit his charity exclusively to Jewish organisations, despite the fact that he is a Jew and a survivor of Auschwitz. (And he has the tattoo to prove it.)  No, there are needy, deserving souls of every stripe and colour in the world and he will help as many as he can and such is his generosity that Chicago’s mayor dubs him ‘Chicago’s Treasure’.  Life, after such horrific wartime experiences, is good indeed.

Until an elderly stranger attacks him at the Opera, screaming that Elliot is Otto Piatek, an infamous Nazi known as the ‘Butcher of Zamosc’.

Elliot is shocked to the core by the accusations, and is determined to get to the bottom of them, for he feels that a man’s worth is measured by his reputation – and despite his denials and the display of his tattoo to try to placate his accuser, Elliot knows that some mud - even a little - will always stick.

So begins Mr Balson’s story, after one of the clunkiest starts ever;  in fact I thought the first chapter was so poorly written I nearly didn’t continue, thinking the obvious:  ‘Mr Balsom, for a writer you’d make a pretty good lawyer’.  Which is one of his occupations.

However!  Fairness prevailed – mainly because a previous reader had written in the remarks sheet on the book’s flyleaf:  ‘amazing story’.  Okay.  I’d go a little further.  And I am glad I did:  Mr Balson eventually hooked me in when Elliot’s elderly nemesis Ben Solomon begins to recount his story to a very reluctant listener, attorney Catherine Lockhart who is railroaded into meeting him by a very dear friend.  Ben isn’t just accusing Elliot of being a Nazi Butcher:  he wants to sue him for all the money and jewellery that Otto Piatek collected from his Jewish friends, under the guise of safely hiding it until they 'really needed' it.  Ben believes that stolen Jewish wealth was the basis of the huge fortune that Elliot has amassed: he must be brought to justice, and, captivated by his story and eventually convinced of the righteousness of his charges, Catherine agrees to represent Ben Solomon.

Ben’s wartime memories are gripping, starting in Zamosc, Poland in 1933.  Ben’s father was a factory owner and community leader with a reputation for assisting anyone in need – and that included a penniless Christian woodcutter who asked if he could leave his 12 year old son Otto with them for a while ‘until he got on his feet’.  Ben’s family take Otto into their home and treat him as their own and they could not have a friend more staunch and loyal than that abandoned child:  ‘yes, once we were brothers’.  Deceit and betrayal seemed unthinkable – until poor advice albeit well-meaning, starts the gradual metamorphosis of an honourable, loving boy into a heartless Nazi puppet.

Mr Balson is never going to set the literary world on fire, but he has (after that lamentable beginning) constructed most efficiently another story of the Holocaust that is unforgettable, reminding us yet again of the terrible, rebounding effects of those unspeakable acts that will influence generations of families yet to come – and the strength of his characters, particularly Ben, remind us again of the stubbornness and invincibility of goodness – as well as evil - within man.  There should be more Bens in the world!

Wolf, by Mo Hayder

This is Mo Hayder’s seventh novel featuring Detective Inspector Jack Caffrey, and as Ms Hayder’s countless fans of the Gruesome know, Caffrey is a burnt-out cynic for very different reasons than the usual awful rigours of the job:  when Jack was eight, his nine year old brother Ewan disappeared, kidnapped by a paedophile who was never prosecuted for the crime;  he managed to stay one step ahead of the law until his death, and throughout Ms Hayder’s seven stories with Caffrey as protagonist the reader is reluctantly inched forward with Jack as he keeps searching for answers regarding his brother, always within the parameters of the latest plot – which, true to form, is another blood-and-gutser.  

And I don’t say that as a criticism:  Ms Hayder is too good a writer to consign her to the ranks of formulaic hacks, but don’t ever start one of her novels and hope for hearts and flowers.  You read her books through your fingers, mouth a perfect ‘O’ of horror, and ‘Wolf’ is no exception.

Oliver Anchor-Ferrers, his wife Matilda and daughter Lucia have come to their Somerset holiday home ‘The Turrets’ for a little R & R.  Oliver has just undergone a major heart operation and they have decided to let London and his very successful business look after itself until he has regained his health and strength.

Oliver and Matilda both worry about Lucia. Fifteen years ago, a terrible crime was committed in the neighbourhood, a double murder of two teenagers, one the ex boyfriend of Lucia:  their intestines were gouged from their bellies and arranged in a heart shape above their hacked and beaten bodies and since that awful time Lucia has not ‘gotten on’ with her life;  every career path she has tried has failed through her lack of ability or loss of interest, and as time has passed she has become increasingly embittered with her circumstances – and her parents.  They fervently hope that this visit with them to the country house will ease her sore heart – why, she might even start to love them again!

Ah, in a perfect world …… the trouble being that in this world a nightmare is beginning:  on the very first day of their arrival Matilda goes out to work in her beloved garden – and discovers reeking intestines shaped like a heart.  They are too remote for cellphone coverage, having to drive to the main road for reception, and they discover that the landline is not working.  Neither are the alarms that would normally alert their monitoring service.  Their car keys seem to have been misplaced.  Surely, surely the police would have notified everyone in the area if the monster jailed for the murders fifteen years ago had been released – or (unthinkable) made an escape?

Ms Hayder’s plot thickens expertly and inexorably, until the last hope for the beleaguered family is the escape of their little dog, a note affixed to her collar giving their address and cry for assistance – tragically, by the time she is rescued all that is left of the note is two words:  ‘help us’. 

A series of fortuitous events introduces Jack Caffrey to the dog, especially the fact that the dog eventually excretes (with much labour) an engraved wedding ring and a gold neck chain.  Jack’s detecting skills are on high alert as he endeavours to discover the dog’s owners, and the cryptic symbols etched on the inside of the ring – it is not until much later that he starts to tie in gleaned information to the dreadful events of the past.

Ms Hayder ramps up the suspense to an almost unbearable degree.  The reader is taken on a mad trip over the rapids of a twisting and turning plot, with no respite until the last page.  And then, even when cast ashore in the shallows at the end of that wild ride, said reader (me) is faced with the worst kind of dilemma:  ‘What am I going to read now?  What could possibly top that?? ’

 Highly recommended.

  

       

MORE GREAT READS FOR JUNE, 2014

Midnight Crossroad, by Charlaine Harris

Charlaine Harris needs no introduction.  Author of the famed ‘True Blood’ series, she also has produced a number of minor heroines, i.e. Lily Bard, Aurora Teagarden and Harper Connelly, to name a few:  now, she is introducing us to a whole raft of new characters in Midnight Crossroad, and whilst most readers are regretting the end of Sookie Stackhouse’s adventures – especially as (in my opinion!) she ended up with the wrong man – I am not sure if the denizens of Midnight, Texas will prove as endearing and as deliciously creepy as those of Bon Temps, Louisiana.

Ms Harris initially makes a good fist of it:  we have Manfred Bernardo, internet Psychic, arriving in Midnight to rent a house from Bobo Wishart ( a handsome character from a previous series) who owns a Pawnshop.  Manfred could be a conman, but he does have ‘the vision’ inherited from his grandmother.  He is fascinated by the locals that he meets:  Fiji (I’m named that because my parents liked to travel) Kavanaugh, his neighbour across the street who is a genuine witch - she even has a talking cat as a familiar;  a gay couple, Joe and Chuy, who have an antique shop and nail salon  (why?  There are so few permanent residents in Midnight that Manfred is at a loss to understand why they are there);  Lemuel, the resident vampire – well, you couldn’t have a new set of stories without one – and various other characters that excite his curiosity.

All well and good, but Ms Harris seems to tire of her characters before she has even established them properly in the reader’s imagination – which is a shame:  at her best she is the mistress of the ‘Bonk and Bite’ genre;  therefore a lot more is expected of her (at least by me!) than is shown in this first story.

We have a lot of minor characters that will probably feature more in the coming books:  a rabid group of White Supremacists led by someone who should have been dispatched with in Book One;  a mysterious Reverend who preaches the word of the Lord – but only now and then:  in between times, he maintains and runs a pet cemetery.  (But what else is buried there?)

Yes, all the characters are here to whet our appetites for the books to come, but the attendant excitement is missing.  There is a murder to be solved by all, (including a flinty-eyed Sheriff who will probably have a romantic involvement with someone in the future) but when the villain is eventually unveiled, my response was ‘Oh yeah – So?’ 

I’m perfectly prepared to accept some blame – reader overload, etc – but I have to say that I did expect better from Ms Harris.  The reader should not have to take a slow stroll through her story.  That’s not what we are used to!

The inhabitants of Midnight, Texas will have to lift their game – and reveal more secrets – to get me through Book Two.

Hangman, by Stephan Talty

Detective Absalom Kearney returns to do battle with yet another serial killer in this disappointing sequel to ‘Black Irish’, (see 2013 review below)Mr Talty’s first introduction to Ms Kearney and the mean streets of Buffalo, New York.  This time the action centres at the opposite end of town, the monied suburbs, those leafy, manicured boulevards with the big stone mansions, supposedly inviolate from the nasty crimes inflicted upon lesser, poorer beings:  well, not any more.

A man who killed four teenage girls from the affluent Northern end of the city five years ago is on the loose again:  Marcus Flynn, imprisoned for his heinous crimes, has escaped from jail and has the whole state in a panic – will he strike again, and what action is the police force taking to protect its citizens?

The doughty Ms Kearney is designated the lead detective, and she is predictably clever, teasing out clues from the initial investigation with ease, not to mention dealing with that tired old chestnut, sexism in the PD:  oh, really?  But just in time, Mr Talty decides to show her human frailty. 

In her zeal to get the killer off the streets, Absalom is willing to do a deal with the devil, in this case a shadowy ‘network’ of corrupt ex-cops, happy to make things happen for which she would normally have to get warrants and subpoenas – but all that help comes at a price, presumably to be paid for in Book Three.

And there’s the rub:  I have not the remotest interest in reading any more Absalom adventures. 

Once again, sloppy writing takes over:  the serial killer’s long-suffering wife has more than one name (what, again??) and  hair-raising grammatical errors reign supreme -  much like Book One, but that story, for all its faults, had pace and atmosphere:  This opus has none.  The plot is pedestrian, with countless dead ends before Ms Kearney says ‘Bingo!’ and the characters are leaden and unconvincing, even when the supposedly action-packed denouement and shoot-out takes place:  it’s a crying shame, but I have to say that Mr Talty’s mojo, along with his grammar and style, has disappeared out the window. 

It may return in Book Three, but I won’t hold my breath.  I am sad that I cannot endorse either of these June reads, but I cannot tell a lie:  I didn’t enjoy these books.   

Black Irish, by Stephan Talty

It is hard to know where to start with this book:  should I list its virtues first (many), or its faults (enough to make me shout ‘AAAAARGH!)?

I’m a fine one to talk about correct grammar – but even so:  wouldn’t the most casual and uncritical of readers balk at the fact that one of the murder victims (for this is s novel about a serial killer) starts off being called Gerald, then Gregory, then George before he reverts to being good old Gerald again.  WHAAAT???   Are proof readers now extinct in Stephan Talty’s publishing house? 

As if that weren’t bad enough, a descriptive sentence was repeated verbatim IN THE SAME PARAGRAPH;  what a shameful lack of attention to the most ordinary detail  - I mean, this is why authors supposedly submit drafts before the finished product is finally unveiled.  In my opinion (and you know how perfect that is!) it lessened the impact and pace of Mr. Talty’s story:  having said that, he still winds up the tension of his plot in a very satisfying manner, and his characters – even though they have so many aliases – are credible and well-drawn, particularly the main protagonist, Detective Absalom Kearney.

She is the adopted daughter of a retired police detective, and has followed him into the Buffalo NY police force after a glittering Harvard education.  Her stern father is now suffering from the early onset of Alzheimer’s disease, and his condition is also a metaphor for the city of Buffalo – it has entered a decline, especially in its once-great steel industry, and people are leaving in their droves.  Typically, those who stay are those who cannot afford to move away, and more than once Abby asks herself why she has returned.  Looking after her father is a thankless task, for he has never been an affectionate man and his condition only exacerbates his aloofness.

Fortunately, Abby’s job with the Buffalo PD is very challenging and gives her many chances to show her brilliance – until a series of murders attributed to a particularly clever serial killer show enough evidence to incriminate her, the main investigator. 

Mr Talty ramps up the action very competently in all the right places and his depiction of  the societal foundering of a big city and its insular and tribal communities is evocative and well written;  what a shame his publishers didn’t attend to the groundwork.  It would have transformed this good suspense novel into a great one.           

FIRST GREAT READS FOR JUNE, 2014

The Son, by Jo Nesbo

It has taken some considerable time, but I have finally, FINALLY read a book by one of the most popular thriller writers (Nordic or otherwise) on the planet.  My only excuse is ‘too many books, too little time’, and I didn’t want to start his Detective Harry Hole series in the middle:  there are now too many of them to go way back to the beginning.  So.

Better late than never.  Mr Nesbo is an effortless storyteller;  he constructs his plot efficiently and in this stand-alone novel provides the reader with the satisfying knowledge that they don’t have a clue Who Done What until the very last chapter – which is indeed the  least we should expect from such a master craftsman.

Mr Nesbo’s characters are examples of human frailty,  i.e. Chief Inspector Simon Kefa, a superb Oslo detective until his gambling addiction ruined his life –but he is reborn through the love of his wife, who is gradually losing her sight.  There is no money for corrective surgery:  Simon has gambled it all away.  Will he be tempted to turn a blind eye to massive police corruption in return for cash for his wife’s operation?  What an irony, but at the start of the story he is staunch in his principles, being more interested in the prison breakout of Sonny Lofthus, the son of his late best friend, Ab Lofthus – Ab, who, about to be exposed for being on the take, committed suicide, and condemned his wife and son to ruin.

Sonny is a hopeless drug addict and has been in prison for twelve years, confessing to crimes he never committed in order to have a steady and plentiful supply of heroin – until the revelation of a shocking secret by a departing inmate.  He is driven to get clean and make his escape from the supposedly impregnable fortress that is Staten prison, causing huge embarrassment and humiliation to prison staff from the governor down.

Then the murders start:  each victim turns out to have a connection with Sonny’s father’s disgrace:  it is obvious that Ab’s suicide was faked.  He was murdered and Sonny is taking revenge.

Mr Nesbo marshals his large cast of characters with all the aplomb of a top tilm director.  They play their parts beautifully, and even the most peripheral extra is essential to the flow of the story.  His writing of addiction, be it gambling, women or drugs has an uncomfortable authenticity:  the reader is suitably horrified, thrilled not to inhabit such a savage world.  We are grateful to sit in our comfy chairs and read about it instead.  And it is a surprise to learn that we come to feel an affinity for the bad guy of this story:  Sonny Lofthus must surely be one of the most appealing anti-heroes in contemporary fiction .

Mr Nesbo deserves his mighty reputation and his huge fan base, and I am thrilled that I have finally sampled his great talent as a storyteller.  Highly recommended.

The Enchanted, by Rene Denfeld

I was horrified by this story, and found it almost impossible to finish – but I managed to stay the distance because Ms Denfeld has produced as her debut novel a story searing and brutal, yet with an entirely credible nobility of spirit in the very worst of her characters that leaves the reader, despite the horror, feeling uplifted and deeply moved by the enormity of her talent.

In a nameless American state that still has the death penalty, Death Row prisoners are kept in poor condition in the bowels of an old prison.  A river runs by its walls, and when the river floods their cells flood too, but fortunately for them this seldom occurs – most of the time the cells just weep moisture.  And what else should they expect?  They are there because they have committed heinous crimes for which they have received the ultimate penalty:  should they stay in a five star hotel until their appeals are exhausted and they are executed?  The conditions they endure are the result of their own evil actions. 

The story is narrated by one of the Death Row inmates.  He calls few (except the guards) by name, including himself, but he misses nothing – he sees clearly the burgeoning feelings between the lady and the fallen priest (outside the prison walls a death penalty investigator, currently working for one of the inmates, and a former catholic priest, trying to atone for a terrible sin he committed);  he sees the endless bribery and corruption between guards and prisoners in other parts of the prison;  and the detachment of the warden, who has his own problems.

The inmate regards the prison as an enchanted place:  bad magic abounds within its walls.  He was sent there when he was eighteen for doing a very bad thing.  A mute, he was very frightened initially of everything – until he found the library:  this was a place of good magic.  With a great deal of effort he taught himself to read, and was transported with every book over those prison walls and far away to wherever his imagination led him.  Until someone decided it was time to have some fun with him.  And they did.

So he was forced to do the very bad thing again, and this time he was sent to Death Row.

He has been there a long time now, and he watches from the shelter of his blanket as the lady visits York, a young man who has committed unspeakable crimes against women:  York has renounced all his appeals and says he welcomes his forthcoming death, but if the lady finds enough mitigating evidence to prove that he was of ‘unsound mind’ when he committed his crimes she can get his sentence commuted to life.  York doesn’t care:  he sneers at her efforts.  His mind is made up.  He wants to die.

But it is the lady’s job to keep trying, and her investigations eventually reveal the terrible truth, the ghastly history that turned a tender child into a killing machine.  Still, York doesn’t care:  it is time to go.

I have never been able to read with any objectivity stories of cruelty to animals and children, and Ms Denfeld lays it all on the line here:  she writes with stunning imagery of men’s myriad brutalities against those most vulnerable, and the reader knows that her fictitious characters are based on her true-life clients, for Ms Denfeld is herself a death penalty investigator.  She is writing about what she knows.

This is a wonderful book that deals with terrible themes.  It is not for the faint-hearted (like me!) but Ms Denfeld has crafted her real-life experiences into something very special indeed.  She is a great new voice in contemporary American fiction.  Highly recommended.

  

    

LAST GREAT READS FOR MAY, 2014

The Blind Man’s Garden, by Nadeem Aslam

October, 2001.  In New York the Twin Towers have fallen and a grieving and outraged America has declared War on Terror.  It is believed that Afghanistan is the hiding place of the mastermind behind this ultimate atrocity, Osama bin Laden and  El Qaeda: therefore it must be invaded and America’s enemies destroyed.

Nearby Pakistan is the West’s reluctant ally;  it is their duty to give assistance and safe passage to American troops, a fact not easily accepted by its population – many Pakistanis regard America’s invasion of Afghanistan as a deadly affront to that country’s sovereignty and, filled with patriotic zeal hundreds of young men flock across the border to fight with their Afghani brothers against the Western invader.

One such idealist is Jeo, a young medical student, a peace loving soul who doesn’t want to fight but to use his skills to heal.  He is the son of Rohan, a pious Muslim schoolteacher, a man crippled by grief and remorse since the death of his wife after the birth of Jeo.  Jeo keeps secret from his father his forthcoming journey to the fighting;  he has not told Naheed his wife of twelve months, either – but he does confide in his foster brother Mikal, and Mikal is so uneasy for his friend that he decides to go too.  Jeo needs a protector.

Sadly, Jeo needs not only a protector, but a miracle:  his naïveté costs him his life as he and Mikal are betrayed by the Taliban and Mikal is sold by a warlord to the Americans as a spy and subjected to terrible interrogations in their efforts to milk him of Al Qaeda secrets he does not possess.

Against terrible odds, Mikal returns home to Rohan and Naheed to find the family on the brink of more tragedy:  Rohan’s sight is disappearing, exacerbated by an act of great cruelty that he endured as atonement for a perceived sin he committed many years ago;  and Naheed, Jeo’s wife whom Mikal has loved from afar for years, is to be married off again by her mother now that she is a widow.

Stated so baldly, Mr Aslam’s superb narrative sounds like a journey through the Vale of Tears but his talent is such that the reader is wooed on every page by beautiful imagery;  honeyed and gorgeous prose to tell a brutal story of misunderstanding, bigotry and treachery – and on another level, the human kindness and piety imbued by a great religion onto its most humble adherents.

The horrors of war, too, are summed up thus:  ‘The opposite of war is not peace but civilisation, and civilisation is purchased with violence and cold-blooded murder.  With war.’

But Mr Aslam always returns the reader to the blind man’s garden;  that oasis of beauty and calm that Rohan started so many years ago when his marriage was new and future happiness seemed assured:  the garden lives on, a metaphor for hope, giving freely of its beautiful fruits and perfumes and offering succour to all those with aching and wounded hearts.

This is a beautiful book.  Highly recommended.

GREAT TEEN FICTION IN YOUR LIBRARY.

Cress, by Marissa Meyer

Book Three of the Lunar Chronicles is here, and this is the first time I have felt that Ms Meyer’s excellent futuristic version of our old fairy tales has missed the mark – not by much;  it’s just that in this book the current protagonist, Cress, is a bit of a wimp compared to Cinder and Scarlet (see earlier reviews below).  That is hardly surprising when one considers that Cress has been marooned on a satellite orbiting earth for eleven years, at the mercy of a wicked Lunar thaumaturge (evil witch) called Sybil who visits her periodically to collect intelligence info that Cress gathers (she is an excellent hacker) – and blood samples, also from Cress. (And what might they be for, we wonder.) 

Cress’s hair has grown into great ropes;  she has no contact with anyone other than horrid Sybil and amuses herself by hacking into all the drama shows and singing along to Grand Opera - as anyone would to alleviate the boredom:  it is clear that we have Rapunzel trapped in her satellite instead of a tower.  Who will come to rescue her?

Cinder, Scarlet, Wolf and Thorne, that’s who, after she gives them vital information to prevent the capture of their spaceship in exchange for her rescue, but the mission goes wrong:  Scarlet is captured and sent to Luna by nasty Sybil;  Wolf is badly wounded trying to save Scarlet;  Cinder escapes with Wolf, but Thorne and Cress are trapped aboard the satellite as it crashes towards earth, programmed to burn up as soon as it enters our atmosphere.

All this should have been heart-in-the-mouth action, but the air went out of the plot’s sails as gently as the release of the satellite parachute, enabling everything (including the plot) to slow down sufficiently so that Cress and Thorne could make landfall – in the Sahara Desert. 

It takes several chapters for a head of steam to develop again, each character having a turn under the spotlight before a daring kidnap takes place:  the abduction of Commonwealth Emperor Kaito by Cinder on the eve of his wedding to wicked Lunar Queen Levana.  Cinder has recently discovered her own true identity, and the fact that she wasn’t always a lowly Cyborg has filled her with new purpose:  instead of waiting for Levana to mount her offensive to destroy the earth, Cinder will take the fight to Levana. 

It is time to start the revolution, and Cinder will be its kick ass leader, so put that in your pot and glamour it, Levana!

Now if Ms Meyer can only keep up the momentum (no mean feat) ‘Winter,’ book four and the last of The Lunar Chronicles, will be a fitting finale to 

a great series.  Highly recommended.

Scarlet, by Marissa Meyer.

It has been a while since I reviewed any teen or children’s fiction available in our library, but the librarians have recently given me some great titles that ably demonstrate the wealth of writing talent catering to young readers, ensuring by their excellent stories that the wonderful pastime of reading will continue into adult life.

Such a story is ‘Scarlet’, Ms Meyer’s sequel to ‘Cinder’, her fabulous futuristic version of ‘Cinderella’.  (Reviewed May, 2012, see below).  ‘Cinder’ was so good that this reader found it a real chore to have to wait for Book two – and I’m grinding my teeth to think that Book three won’t be released until next year:  couldn’t Ms Meyer speed things up a bit?

Anyway:

Cinder is in prison, after her capture at the Prince’s ball – instead of leaving a slipper behind, she leaves her Cyborg foot!  How’s that for a variation on the old tale?  A?  A?  Sadly, the loss of her foot means that she was an easy catch and is now disabled in her cell – until a secret visit from professor Erland, a research scientist:  he provides her with a new state-of-the-art hand and a top-of-the-range foot, enabling her to engineer (she’s a mechanic, remember) a daring escape from jail.  And guess who he is?  Yep, Ms Meyer’s version of Cinderella’s fairy Godmother. 

She also takes with her another prisoner, Thorne, because he has a stolen spaceship hidden in a warehouse, and on their travels they link up with Scarlet Benoit, who has been looking for her beloved grandmother, kidnapped by a gang of wolves.  Scarlet wears a red hoody, has a nasty temper and a reluctant attraction to a street fighter called – Wolf.  Now.  Who do you think she could be?  And guess what happens to poor old Grandma imprisoned by the wolf gang in the bowels of the Paris Opera House, derelict and in ruins since the Fourth World War? (the Opera House, not Grandma)  Nothing good, that’s for sure.

As before, Ms Meyer has her readers in an iron grip and doesn’t relinquish them until the very last page:  once again, the reader is screaming ‘but what happens NEXT!  And once again, we’ll just have to wait and see.  I’m sure all this suspense is hell on the digestion, but I’ll just have to tough it out.  This is a great series.

   

Cinder, by Marissa Meyer (Young adult reading)

Our Children’s librarian recommended this book to me and as she’s seldom wrong in her reading choices, I’m happy to give this the ravingest (ravingest??) endorsement possible:  WHAT A STORY! 

The tale of Cinderella – yep, Cinderella, her nasty stepmum and the two stepsisters – is transferred hundreds of years into the future.  Cinderella is now Cinder, living in New Beijing with a family who are, to say the least, most reluctant guardians.  She is a mechanic (truly!) and a Cyborg, to her shame, having been fitted out with a steel hand, leg and inbuilt computer screen after a terrible childhood accident.  Cyborgs are the future’s Untouchables, considered fit only to perform the most menial and degrading of tasks, but Cinder is such a good mechanic that a Royal prince visits her to have his tutor android repaired, and after that visit she and the reader are lost:  she to alien romantic impulses (she is not programmed for this!) and a reluctant involvement in a life and death experiment -  and the reader to being nailed to one spot until they have reached the last page.

To add insult to injury, the hapless reader finds that after a thrilling journey at a breakneck pace through more clever plot twists than a pretzel, there are three more books to come – and they haven’t been written yet!  To say I feel cheated is an understatement and the withdrawal symptoms are dire, but I also say with complete confidence that ‘Cinder’ will be the next big Blockbuster book/movie series:  you read it here first.  

MORE GREAT READS FOR MAY, 2014

Night Film, by Marisha Pessl

The remarks sheet on this library book had only one comment from a previous reader:  ‘weird’. 

And it is, in that the plot generates terrific momentum for a good two thirds of the story, then winds down to a conclusion that is hardly satisfying – at least for me.  The author’s intentions are clear (maybe!):  she has created her story as metaphor for the works of her shadowy and reclusive protagonist Stanislas Cordova, world famous film director, auteur and recluse, unseen since a 1977 Rolling Stone interview.  He specialises in the suspense and horror genre, maintaining that everyone should ‘travel to the edge of the end, for mortal fear is as crucial a thing to our lives as love.  It cuts to the core of our being and shows us what we are.  Will you step back and cover your eyes?  Or will you have the strength to walk to the precipice and look out?’

Needless to say, Mr Cordova has a cult following, strengthened by his secrecy and the fact that all his films are made on a huge Gothic estate he owns in upstate New York – he is the perfect subject for famed investigative reporter Scott McGrath to delve into after McGrath receives a mysterious phone call telling him that ‘Cordova does bad things to children’.  Unfortunately, his curiosity earns him a career-destroying lawsuit, the breakup of his marriage and a wish never to hear the director’s name again – until he reads of the death of Ashley Cordova, the director’s 24 year old daughter, a possible suicide.

Call him fatally curious after all the wrath Cordova has already visited upon him, but Ashley’s death excites Scott’s interest again in a way that nothing has since his disgrace:  he HAS to establish to his own satisfaction that her fall down a lift shaft in an abandoned building was an accident, suicide – or murder.

As his investigation progresses (aided by her ex boyfriend and a hat-check girl, one of the last people to see her alive) dark magic starts to surface:  it appears that Ashley has been marked by the devil and her death was owed to the Evil One for services rendered to her father.  Ms Pessl by this time has the reader by the throat – she can generate suspense and a lowering dread with the best of them, and as an added fillip the reproduction of notes and photographs from Scott’s comprehensive files bring the reader deep into the story.  As a literary device this is quite a novelty.  I have never been more intrigued by a plot after seeing various photos of Ashley and reading newspaper reports (mock-ups of the New York Times and TIME Magazine, no less!) of her prodigious musical gifts and the Police Report on her death:  it gives a great verisimilitude to the plot – until Scott’s investigations lead him into a maze of false starts, dead ends and trails that bring him inexorably back to the beginning.  He is a hamster on a wheel.

And so is the reader, snagged in an insoluble mystery of the fictional film director’s own making.  Each discovered revelation obscures something else, right up to the final page – where all should be explained, but isn’t.

We are forced to draw our own conclusions, as in a classic Cordova film.  The previous reader thought that Ms Pessl’s book was ‘weird’, and I can understand why:  I’ve never read anything like this before either, but I salute the writer’s many attempts to flummox and trick us, at the same  time wondering if it was really necessary – her overuse of italics, too, nearly drove me mad!

Neverthless, her powerful imagery and her creation of a protagonist in Stanislas Cordova who dominates in spite of his absence, every page of this book, must be commended.  But how many readers will last the distance?  I am sure Ms Pessl enjoyed writing this book.  I wish I could say I enjoyed reading it. 

Heartland, by Jenny Pattrick

Donny Mac is on his way home to Manawa, a tiny village at the foot of Mt. Ruapehu on the central plateau of the North Island of New Zealand.  He has just served a six-month sentence for grievous bodily harm, charges brought by the overprotective mother of an old ‘schoolmate’, someone who has taunted and bullied him since he was a child – but Donny Mac doesn’t care now:  he has completed an anger management course;  still has his job as a shelf-packer at Manawa’s New World supermarket;  a little home his late grandfather left him and a place in the local rugby team, possible future winners of the regional championship.  His life is on an even keel again and he is happy – childishly so, for Donny Mac is regarded as slow;  ‘ a few sandwiches short of a picnic’ and ‘not the sharpest knife in the drawer’, but he dearly loves Manawa and everyone in it  - except for all the townies, who turn up during the ski season on Ruapehu, having bought up all the old mill houses for use as their holiday accommodation.  No local likes the townies who disrupt their quiet way of life with speeding SUV’s and raucous parties, but they accept them as a necessary evil, for Manawa is dying.  The timber mills are closed, there are no jobs and all the young folk have left to look for work in the big cities, as has happened in countless other once-thriving communities.  At least the townies spend money when they come to ski on Ruapehu, enabling the village to stutter along for another year.

Yes, Donny Mac can’t wait to get home – until he finds that his house has been appropriated in his absence by Nightshade, the local slut, drunk most of the time, and hugely pregnant – ‘ and the baby’s yours, you ##@$!!’  Which in all fairness, is drawing a very long bow:  given her non-existent reputation, the hapless baby could belong to any one of the local youths, but after being rejected by them all, she has settled on poor slow Donny Mac as a last desperate resort.  She has been abandoned by everyone.  He is her only chance of support.

And support her he does, much against the wishes and counselling of his true friends, people who love him and worry about him and wish that his life could be better, and that is the crux of this charming story:  the fellowship of a tight-knit community;  their heartfelt affection for each other regardless of blood-ties, and their wildly desperate solutions to frightening problems.

Jenny Pattrick is a firm favourite with New Zealand readers.  Her ‘Denniston Rose’ trilogy is fast becoming a classic of popular fiction, similarly the beautiful ‘Landings’ and while there are a couple of her titles that I thought weren’t up to her very high standard she has hit her mark once again with ‘Heartland’.  It is a heartwarmer of a tale in the very best sense of the word, and the only complaint I can make is that I finished it too quickly – I didn’t want to leave Donny Mac, Vera, Bull and the Misses Macaneny, finely drawn characters that will stay with the reader long after the story is finished.  Highly recommended.                

GREAT READS FOR MAY, 2014

An officer and a Spy, by Robert Harris

France, January 1895:  convicted spy and traitor, army Captain Alfred Dreyfus is publicly humiliated before a crowd of thousands, there to watch him being stripped of his military insignia, sword broken and spirit crushed by the righteous condemnation of all French citizens.  Unfortunately the French army, who had hoped its popularity -  so diminished by their defeat and loss of Alsace/Lorraine in the Franco-Prussian war of 1870 -  would soar after the capture of this Jewish turncoat, is forced to witness an impassioned statement of innocence from the accused:  ‘Soldiers, they are degrading an innocent man …. Soldiers, they are dishonouring an innocent man …. Long live France …. Long live the army’.  Then he is marched along each of the four sides of the huge square, enduring the abuse and hatred of all,  before being taken to prison.  His public degradation is complete.

A reluctant witness to Dreyfus’s shame is Major Georges Picquart, there at the wish of the Minister of War, who, unable to attend the event by protocol, wants a full and frank account of proceedings.  Picquart makes such a good impression on the Minister that he is promoted to Colonel and given command of the Statistics Department, a euphemism for France’s intelligence operations.  He is delighted!  He is now the youngest colonel in the army and he applies himself to his new duties with all the zeal of the new broom – and therein lies his downfall:  he becomes too good at his job.

Georges starts innocently enough, reviewing the intelligence work of his ailing predecessor but his diligence gradually reveals alarming discrepancies in the evidence against Dreyfus, and the emergence of another army officer who appears to be in the pay of the German Embassy.

Georges is not an advocate, nor even an admirer of Dreyfus who has by now been sent to Hell in the shape of Devil’s Island in the North Atlantic, there to suffer as the only prisoner unimaginable torment from the elements, lack of contact with his beloved family and complete silence from his guards – but despite possessing the same anti-semitic bias as his contemporaries Georges has his own code of honour:  something is badly amiss in his department and the wrong man has been suffered an appalling fate.

However, all efforts to alert his superiors to the dreadful miscarriage of justice fall on stony ground.  At first he is gently admonished to let ‘sleeping dogs lie’, but when he exposes the real spy he is threatened with the end of his army career – the worst of fates for Georges;  the army is his life, his love and the air that he breathes – until the air becomes foul.

Robert Harris’s novelised account of France’s Great Shame is narrated by Georges Picquart, a complex figure who rose to great heights in the Army and plummeted to huge depths in his efforts to expose the terrible injustice perpetrated on the wrong man, relentlessly exposing the army General Staff in their attempts to cover up their shoddy errors, ineptitude and anti-semitism.  Mr Harris’s fine writing and exhaustive, impeccable research brings every character to thrilling life and illustrates perfectly the prevailing French view of the time: ‘Hmph – a  Jew traitor – and a rich one:  what can you expect?  They’re all the same, loyal to no-one but themselves.’

Highly recommended.

The Gospel of Loki, by Joanne Harris

For lovers of fantasy, here is the ultimate:  a retelling of the old Norse legends of the Gods led by Odin the One-eyed, master of disguise and ruler of Asgard, glittering and all-powerful sky-kingdom, impregnable against attack from its many enemies – until Odin after a secret journey to the underworld, returns with Loki.

Loki, father of lies;  Loki, the mischief-maker;  Loki, uncontrollable essence of Wildfire;  Loki, plotter par excellence – you get the picture?  The introduction of Loki into Asgard was not a good idea!

Joanne Harris is known for a body of work that is completely different:  the smash hit novel and film ‘Chocolat’, its sequel ‘The Lollipop Shoes’ followed by ‘Peaches for Monsieur le Curé’ (see 2012 review below) and various other novels that have a great readership.  Now she tries her hand at recounting a story already told myriad times – with a 21^st century twist:  Loki is a good dude!  Just a little misunderstood is all, and any mischief that points to him (and there is SO much) is inclined to brushed off with ‘So shoot me.  I can’t help it.  It’s my nature.’  Which is absolutely right, but according to Ms Harris’s version – sorry, Loki’s;  he’s the narrator – Loki burns with resentment at the less than tepid welcome he receives from the established Gods of Asgard, who treat him like the upstart and outsider that he will always be, even after he demonstrates considerable intelligence and guile in getting them what they want.

They want what he can get them, but they don’t want him.

Loki has his own descriptions for the Gods he calls the Popular Crowd:

Thor, the Thunderer.  Likes hitting things.  Not a fan of Yours Truly.

Balder, god of peace.  Yeah, right. Known as Balder the Fair.  Handsome, sporty, popular.  Sound a little smug to you?  Yes, I thought so too.

Freyja, goddess of desire.  Vain, petty and manipulative.  Will sleep with practically anyone as long as jewellery is involved.

Frey, the Reaper.  Twin brother of the above.  Not a bad guy, but a fool for blondes.

Mani, the Moon.  Drives a cool car.

Sol, the Sun.  Drives a hot car.

And so on.

Yes, Loki has their number and in time decides to bring those ingrates to heel, to teach them a lesson as only he can.  Odin swore to be a brother to him when he lured him away from the underworld, but hasn’t fulfilled this vow to Loki’s satisfaction:  the twilight of the gods is nigh, and Loki, Bringer of Light – and Destruction – will be the instrument of Ragnarok:  oh, it’s going to be a Conflagration felt in every corner of the Nine Worlds and absolutely EVERYONE will be sorry they were’nt nicer to Loki, so there!

Ms Harris has given us a rollicking, amoral anti-hero in her version of Loki the Destroyer;  he is shameless, hedonistic, ruthless (so shoot me, it’s my nature), but never less than enormously entertaining:  he’s, like, totally FUN!

Highly recommended.

Peaches for Monsieur le Curé

This is the third of Joanne Harris’s novels about Vianne Rocher, that beautifully eccentric, fey and footloose weaver of magic and maker of superb confections.  We first met her in ‘Chocolat’, Ms. Harris’s 1999 runaway best-seller, where she opens a chocolaterie in French village Lansquenet-sous-Tannes, only to gain the hatred of the local priest, who convinced himself that she was a witch – and he wasn’t entirely wrong. She also finds love with Roux, a gypsy who travels the waterways of France before they both move on to Paris and another chocolaterie in ‘The Lollipop Shoes’.  In that story Vianne and her little family are threatened with great harm but survive to continue charming peoples’ palates and dreams with her wonderful chocolates – until she receives a message from the dead to bring her back to Lansquenet: the curé, father Reynaud, the enemy who drove her on from that village is now in sore need of help – hers.  Not that he would ask.

It has been eight years since Vianne left Lansquenet and much has changed.  New people have arrived to settle in the village:  Muslims.  At first, all was well:  Lansquenet is not intolerant and while not rolling out a brass band welcome to strangers is not shunning the new arrivals either.  Everyone rubs along well enough – until Monsieur le Curé objects to the creation of a minaret in an old water tower:  it breaks local noise regulations, he says, but really he finds it a personal offence to hear that foreign chanting in competition to his church bells.  The priest and the local Muslim leader are on a collision course.

More sinister events occur – the curé finds that his position as village priest is being eroded from within when dissatisfied parishioners feel that they need a ‘21^st century man of God’:  father Reynaud feels the winds of change and they are chilling.

Ms. Harris writes very well of bigotry and racism.  She does not shy away from examining the actions and reactions of one culture as it pits itself against another, and portrays only too clearly the evil that men can perpetrate in the name of religion.  Her countless fans will find this third ‘episode’ in Vianne Rocher’s travels as satisfying as the first two, but I have to say that a very pat and convenient fate for two of the major characters was a disappointment and less than worthy of a writer of Ms. Harris’s talents:  my first thought was that she had grown tired of her story and wanted to give it a quick and tidy ending.  So far I haven’t changed my mind.