Lately I’ve been so immersed in True Crime: An American Anthology that I’ve neglected to write about the other reading I’ve been doing. So here goes:
The two nonfiction titles I’ve recently read are both works of historical true crime, a subgenre of which I’ve become increasingly enamored. Little Demon in the City of Light poses the question: To what degree was the petite, outwardly demure Gabrielle Bompard, responsible for the death of a wealthy widower who was more than happy to pay in order to enjoy her favors? This fascinating story of deception, manipulation, and murder takes place against the backdrop of Paris in the late 1880s, proving once again that at least for some folks, the époque was not quite so belle after all.
In contrast, most of us have few illusions as to what life was like in Depression era New York City. Deborah Blum brought that time to vivid, if gruesome life in The Poisoner’s Handbook. Now Harold Schechter, editor of the above mentioned anthology, weighs in with the story of Robert George Irwin – artist, madman, and heartless killer.
Now, on to crime fiction:
Martin Walker, Cynthia Harrod-Eagles, and Archer Mayor all write series of which I’m inordinately fond. Mayor and Harrod-Eagles in particular are among the few writers whose latest novels I always plan to read regardless of what the reviewers may say. (The reviews are usually good anyway.) I cherish the Bill Slider mysteries for Harrod-Eagles’s delightful sense of humor and unapologetic love of punning. As for the Joe Gunther novels, I am full of admiration for Mayor’s meticulous description of police procedure; also, I’m very caught up in the lives of his main characters. I always root for Joe, who’s taken some hard knocks in his personal life, and for Willie Kunkel, whose famously dour demeanor has mellowed nicely, if not completely, since he’s become a husband (to fellow officer Sammi Martens) and father to their baby girl.
The chief attraction of Martin Walker’s Bruno Chief of Police novels is the setting. Bruno Courrèges, an affable, conscientious fellow, is a one man police force in the tiny town of St. Denis, in the Périgord region of southwestern France. One look at pictures of this magical place and I wanted to pack my bags and take off.
Bruno is one lucky guy to live and work here, and he knows it.
Dark Waters is the second of Robin Blake’s novels set in Preston, Lancashire, in the eighteenth century. The protagonists are coroner Titus Cragg and his physician friend and colleague Luke Fidelis. These are wonderfully realized characters, alive in a time and place that Blake has rendered in vivid and meticulous detail. This is the only historical mystery series that I’m totally committed to, at the moment. (I’m already looking forward to the third in the series The Hidden Man, due out in March of next year.)
Now off to Scandinavia….
I got tired of being the only sentient being who hadn’t read anything by Norway’s Jo Nesbø, so I downloaded The Snowman and took the plunge. And – well, gosh! Sex, violence, and a story that hits the ground running and never lets up. I get what readers see in his crime fiction; it was a wild ride and fun, but I don’t know if I’ll be back for seconds.
As for Kjell Eriksson, I don’t understand why his work is not more widely known here. I’d read two previous novels by him, The Princess of Burundi and The Demon of Dakar. The latter I remember especially for its compassionate depiction of the immigrant experience.That same compassion is present in Black Lies, Red Blood. Set mainly in Uppsala Sweden, the book begins with an explicit description of a very intense love affair involving Ann Lindell, a commanding officer in the Violent Crime Division, and journalist Anders Brant. Your Faithful Blogger was in equal parts intrigued and disconcerted by this unexpected opener. But Ann has a rude shock coming: she thought she knew Anders, but in fact she does not – not at all. Suddenly he is gone. She does not know if she will ever see him again.
This novel is made up of equal parts eroticism, anguish, and almost unbearable tension. When, after a lengthy search, the body of a young murder victim is found by a search team in an open field near a wood, time seems to stop. Police, criminalists, the prosecutor – all those present are afflicted with an almost unbearable sadness. It is one of the most moving scenes I’ve ever encountered in crime fiction.
From the deep forest birdsong was heard. The wind was filtered between the tree trunks, made the branches of the sallow bounce, pleasantly turned a few leaves, brought with it aromas of summer.
Life, unnervingly and with a perverse insistence, goes on. But Ann Lindell has made a solemn vow to this victim; she will not desist until justice has been secured.
Black Lies, Red Blood works especially well as a procedural. The banter and varied exchanges among the members of Ann’s division is witty and real. I kept thinking that it reminded me of something – or someone. And then I realized: I was sensing the presence of Martin Beck and company, brought to such vivid life by the great creative team of Maj Sjowall and Per Wahloo. I can give a crime writer of any nationality no higher praise. By all means, read Kjell Eriksson!