THE COMPANY OF STRANGERS - Book review

Robert Wilson’s spy novel The Company of Strangers was published in 2001. It spans the period 1940 to 1991, though over two-thirds of the book is set in the 1940s.

In 1940 Andrea Aspinall has survived German bombing in London which reinforces her hate of Germans. Her mother seems cold towards her so there is no love between them either. We then leap two years to the German invasion of Russia. Captain Karl Voss is disillusioned by the incompetence of Hitler who is unwilling to admit his forces face defeat against the cannon fodder of Russia. ‘It’s as if God’s lost control of the game and the children have taken over – naughty children’ (p328). Before he can be slaughtered, he is sent home to Berlin on compassionate leave in 1943. While there he is approached by a high-ranking officer; he is to be transferred to the German Legation in Lisbon. He is to become a spy – with the intention of shortening the war by clandestinely meeting with sympathetic British agents... 

In 1944 Andrea is recruited and trained as an agent for ‘the Company’ to work in Lisbon under the name of Anne Ashworth. Despite Portugal being neutral and one of England’s oldest allies, the country was not regarded as a safe haven. Under Salazar’s quasi-fascist regime, ‘Secret police – Gestapo trained – called the PVDE. The city’s infested with bufos – informers’ (p82). ‘... what she knew about the Portuguese – they understood tragedy, it was their territory’ (p413).

Voss is entangled in the secret machinations of Operation Valkyrie – the assassination attempt on Hitler – as well as his growing relationship with Andrea. There are shifting allegiances, it seems, and nobody can be trusted. That includes the bickering Americans, Hal and Mary Couples, Andrea’s host Wilshere and his demented wife Mafalda, the SIS agents Meredith, Sutherland, Rose and Wallis and the suspected turncoat Lazard. There is also the mystery of her predecessor, the American Judy Laverne who was either deported or died in a terrible motor accident. And behind the scenes Russian spymasters are lurking.

The febrile atmosphere in Lisbon is projected realistically and the action scenes, where blood is spilt, are dramatic and exciting. From time to time the suspense is high, too. And while the plot is convoluted it remains compulsive, and despite the narrative moving across many years the reader’s interest is held for the 560+ pages.

The book title crops up at least twice. Once when strangely she suddenly harbours a fear while flying, when God might ‘let them drop from the sky and she would die in the company of strangers, unknown and unloved’ (p417) and referred to again on p542.

When writing of the tragedy of Portugal, he could have been referring to the tragedy of the main characters. Sadly, I found the ending unsatisfactory – though in all probability truthful. This is only my opinion, after all. Indeed, Wilson is a good writer and has a gift for the telling phrase and metaphor, such as these samples:

‘She gave him a smile torn from a magazine’ (126). [Like this, better than giving him an insincere smile...].

‘blistered with rust’(p203) – a good description.!

‘He stirred his tea for a long time for a man who didn’t take sugar’ (p431). [conveys disguised mental turmoil, perhaps].

‘She listened again to the settling house and painted the desktop with her torch beam’ (p202). [better than his torch lit up the desktop].

‘Cardew shifted in his seat and looked as wary as a grouse on the Glorious Twelfth’ (p95).

‘Cardew stared intently at the windscreen as if the entrails of squashed insects might lead him somewhere’ (p97).

‘... fighting his way into unconsciousness, desperate  to stop living with whatever he had in his mind’ (p118).

‘The wind was stronger out here, blowing sand across the road, which corrugated to washboard, hammering at the suspension’ (p121). [good visuals!].

The blurb refers to this book as a thriller. While there are thrilling interludes, I feel it is too sedate to be a thriller. It’s a good novel, though.

Editorial comment – for the benefit of writers:

‘the incessant chatter in the room suddenly grated on Anne’s ears like a steel butcher’s saw ripping through bone’ (p160). [Probably should be a butcher’s steel saw, since he wouldn’t be a robot?]

‘I tried to join the WRENS...’ (p181). This should be either lower case Wrens or uppercase WRNS.

So many scriptwriters do this all the time: ‘... she saw Lazard and I together in the casino...’ (p269) – Should be ‘Lazard and me’. And ‘...Rocha had seen Voss and I together in Bairro Alto’ (p330).

I feel that metaphors are sometimes best jettisoned:

‘... a voice as clipped as a shod hoof on cobbles’ (p149).

‘He searched himself for words, like a man who’s put a ticket in too safe a place’ (p163).

‘He waited for a lifetime, which in normal currency was only twenty minutes’ (p320).

THE CURSE OF THE PHARAOHS - Book review

Elizabeth Peters’s 1981 novel The Curse of the Pharaohs is the second in her Amelia Peabody mysteries. At her death there were nineteen books in the series; a twentieth was completed in 2017 four years after her death. This is the fourth I’ve read (the others were 1-The Crocodile on the Sandbank, 3-The Mummy Case, and 6-The Last Camel Died at Noon); clearly you don’t have to read them in sequence, though you may miss some back-references by not doing so. They’re thoroughly enjoyable with two strong main characters, wryly comic in tone yet interlaced with oodles of fascinating archaeological detail.

This first-person story narrated by Amelia occurs in 1892. Dear reader, she has married Emerson, the professor she met in the first book. ‘Five years of marriage have taught me that even if one is unamused by the (presumed) wit of one’s spouse, one does not say so... Emerson is a remarkable person, considering that he is a man. Which is not saying a great deal’ (p2). They’re Egyptologists but stuck in a rut – family life and a young precocious son, Walter, known as Ramses taking up their time. However, their ennui is about to be relieved by the arrival of Lady Baskerville whose husband died under bizarre circumstances while on a dig in Egypt.

Before long they have deposited Ramses with relatives and head for Egypt and Lady Baskerville’s

Dig. Lady Baskerville: ‘There was no colour in her cheeks, but her mouth was a full rich scarlet. The effect of this was startling in the extreme; one could not help thinking of the damnably lovely lamias and vampires of legend’ (p26).

The married pair are constantly at loggerheads. ‘ "I never raise my voice," Emerson bellowed’ (p108). Though invariably they kiss and make up at the end of the argument (most of which Amelia wins). ‘My suggestion that I call my maid to help me out of my frock was not well received. Emerson offered his services. I pointed out that his method of removing a garment often rendered that garment unserviceable thereafter. This comment was greeted with a wordless snort of derision and a vigorous attack upon the hooks and eyes. After all, much as I commend frankness in such matters, there are areas in which an individual is entitled to privacy. I find myself forced to resort to a typographical euphemism’ (p38). In short, three asterisks (for a scene break).

There are plenty of suspects, of course. They meet up with Mr Milverton, a photographer who has an air of mystery about him; Karl von Bork, ‘I was not surprised to find him prompt at his meals; his contours indicated that a poor appetite was not one of his difficulties’ (p66); American Cyrus Vandergelt; the overbearing Madame Berengeria and her artist daughter Mary; and journalist O’Connell.

Despite superstition threatening the dig, our erstwhile characters go ahead: ‘... crystalline powder, clinging to the men’s perspiring bodies, gave them a singularly uncanny appearance; the pallid, leprous forms moving through the foggy gloom resembled nothing so much as reanimated mummies, preparing to menace the invaders of their sleep’ (p153).

Another murder and a poisoning add to the mystery. Throughout Amelia’s narrative we’re treated to suspense and amusement with a dash of tension and delightful colourful descriptions. ‘Alarm seized me. Emerson never speaks French unless he is up to something.  “You are up to something,” I said’ (p223).

I have several more unread books in the series about this indomitable Victorian sleuth piled on a shelf. Something to look forward to in due course.

Elizabeth Peters is the pen-name of Barbara Mertz (1927-2013) with a PhD in Egyptology. She also wrote as Barbara Michaels.

SYCAMORE GAP - Book review

LJ Ross’s second DCI Ryan novel Sycamore Gap was published in 2015, several years before two deranged dullards actually felled this famous tree. It is a sequel to her Holy Island bestseller.

It begins with a Prologue: in 2005 on 21 June, the Summer Solstice. The murder of a woman is committed alongside the Roman wall by an unknown man.

Then, ten years later on the same date a female skeleton is discovered buried in the Roman wall itself. Ryan and his team are brought in to investigate.

Ross has deservedly garnered a vast readership with her mix of gruesome murders, personable detectives and humour. ‘...she carried an enormous designer handbag that Mary Poppins would have been proud of’ (p14). There’s also believable police procedural detail and apt social commentary: ‘It was easy to talk about restorative justice and the value of rehabilitation when the damage and destruction had never hit too close to home’ (p149).

Finding the murderer is not easy – and there is a second one before long. The team – older, experienced Phillips and bright and brave MacKenzie with Ryan – work well together and there are moments of charm, friendship and compassion. Ryan is still plagued by the awful murder of his sister. There is a lingering threat from the far-from-moribund black magic Circle. And Ryan’s relationship with Anna hits a few speed-bums during the case. The final pages speed towards a suspenseful denouement.

Not surprisingly, while this murder case is wrapped up satisfactorily, there are sufficient hints of more future trauma aimed at Ryan and Anna, doubtless in book three, Heavenfield.

LJ Ross’s twenty-fourth DCI Ryan Berwick is due out in November.

Editorial comment - for the benefit of writers:

Ryan puts his hands in his jacket pockets (p11). We don’t see him removing them yet he ‘shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket’ again on p12.

Ryan refers to the discoverer of the skeleton as Colin (p13). Yet his name isn’t seen to be revealed to him before this.

‘I’m sure that’s it,’ he nodded (p204). That sentence should end with a full stop. He nodded – as separate sentence. Or it could have been written as ‘I’m sure that’s it,’ he said and nodded...

THE BORODINO SACRIFICE - Book review

Paul Phillips’s spy thriller The Borodino Sacrifice (published 2024) is the first book in the Chasing Mercury trilogy. 

I can see why Phillips dedicated it in memory of Peter O’Donnell, author of the Modesty Blaise thrillers: the novel is fast-paced and introduces us to two characters who end up facing dangers together – in a similar manner to Modesty and Willie Garvin.

I’m a sucker for word-play in titles, chapter headings etc. There are four parts. 1 – Between the Lines; 2 – Behind the Curtain; 3 – Beneath the Ashes; 4 – Upon the Mountains. So we have four different yet relevant prepositions.

We start with US sergeant Sam Bradley protecting a Brit spy, Jones, in the Moravian forest when a violent altercation occurs between a partisans. Inevitably there’s plenty of action at this time of Cessation of Hostilities at the close of World War II in Europe. Czechoslovakia is a mess, with national militias, partisans, communists and anti-communist guerrillas on the rampage... Bradley’s observant and memory-scarred. ‘... the Red Army mechanics had the  jeep repaired by midday. Bradley wished flesh and blood was as responsive’ (p155).

Jones wants Bradley to find one of his people who is missing: Ludmila Suková, codename ‘Mercury’. Usually called Mila. She is almost a force of nature. ‘... there was something else about her, something real and strangely potent’ (p241). Mila is a layered character, an enigma, somebody who never gives up, no matter what obstacles get in her way. Like many spies, she used a poem to encrypt her messages, reminiscent of Violette Szabo’s written for her by Leo Marks in 1941; Mila’s is by W.B. Yeats. Gradually, we learn of her backstory and it seems the past has come to define her. Mila is on a quest of her own.

Bradley’s quest takes him to Berlin where he witnesses the devastation as well as the amazing rubble-women clearing away the detritus of war. Where there are razed buildings there are bodies: ‘Summer heat – the dead were making themselves known’ (p76).

Phillips's power of description puts you in the scene: ‘Smoke caressed the cobwebbed roof-space. The derelict mill was poorly shuttered and dusty beams of late afternoon sun were slinking across the walls. (He) heard an insect trapped somewhere, and the ticking of a watch’ (p55). And: ‘The sinking sun had turned the windows of the terraced tenements to molten ingots’ (p216).

His action scenes are intense; you can almost hear the shell casings hit the ground. However, it is not all action. Sometimes there’s poignancy. One individual reflects: ‘His heart had been buoyed by the last blessing, the tenderness of a woman, even directed at a worm such as he – a traitor, a nothing, a black joke, a geography teacher in a land without place names or frontiers, on a continent with its populations upended, in a world where the maps were redundant’ (p58).

The story has depth and is well researched, brilliantly evoking this period of post-war confusion. The assassination attempt on Heydrich in 1942 is pertinent. Men from GRU, NKVD and Smersh are plotting and loyalties are tested in grey areas. Behind the scenes the future of Czechoslovakia is and its people is being determined...

At the end of the book the reader is quite breathless. Happily, as you will be aware from the first sentence, there are two more in the continuing saga of Bradley and Mila. (I suppose that constitutes being labelled as a ‘spoiler’ – both survive the tense travails of this book!)

Note:

Berlin's rubble-women are detailed in Volume 4 of my Collected Stories - 18 history tales, Codename Gaby.

WHERE TIME WINDS BLOW - Book review

Robert Holdstock’s Where Time Winds Blow was published in 1981 – and on the surface it appears he is still haunted by time-displacement which he wrote about in Earthwind (1977).  

We’re on an alien planet, Kamelios; the planet is quite like a chameleon; for example there are electric storms called fiersig – ‘the power-fields of change, twisted and distorted the stable mind just that little bit more, scarring the mind irreversibly in a way too insignificant to note at the time, but with mounting effect over the months and years’ (p27).

The archaeological team consists of the leader, Lena Tanoway, Leo Faulcon and Kris Dojaan. They can only venture outside Steel City when wearing protective masks. Steel City is unusual – ‘the city rise on its engines, and hover almost silently above the blackened crater that had been home for the last quarter year’ (p31).  [Interestingly, Philip Reeve’s Mortal Engines (2003) concerns mobile cities].

The archaeologists investigate a particular rift valley where time winds blow and a phantom human occasionally lurks: ‘he had been snatched by time and flung somewhere, somewhen, some place and time where he had screamed and not-quite-died... a prison where the walls were centuries, where time itself was his gaoler’ (49). The winds deposited ancient buildings, or futuristic edifices, and then frustratingly swept them all away. These ephemeral deposits draw scientists and fortune hunters – all of whom risk being caught in a time squall and sent to oblivion. ‘Faulcon watched as white towers winked out of existence, to be replaced by moving spiral shapes that radiated redly as they turned... an immense spider’s web of girders was torn from vision, flickering a moment as a time squall knocked it into Othertime and back, and then it was gone and a hideous shape stood there, the carved, gargoyle-decorated gateway of a primitive era...’ (p185).

In the mountains were other humans who had been altered ‘to accept the organic poisons of the world, to be able to see without their eyes melting away, to breathe without corroding the linings of their respiratory tracts’ (p99). The manchanged.

The actual phrase ‘where the time winds blow’ is used on p202.

Holdstock’s world-building is excellent. The characters interact and are conflicted. There’s hubris, cowardice, bravery and (perhaps too much) philosophising.

A rewarding science fiction excursion from a brilliant mind.

And interestingly the prolific Holdstock wrote The Night Hunter series of supernatural thrillers using the pen-name Robert Faulcon!

Editorial comment:

‘Faulcon thought to himself that...’ (p212). Faulcon thought that... is all that is needed!

Mission: Falklands - Just Published!

Mission: Falklands is the fourth in the Tana Standish psychic spy thriller series. 

The Tana Standish missions are a mixture of fact and fiction but with ‘a nifty twist’, as one reviewer put it. The ‘smart, sexy female protagonist isn’t just a rare child survivor from Warsaw’s WWII ghetto. Nor is she merely a highly skilled covert operative, brought up by the British to be extremely effective against the KGB. Tana Standish has one more thing going for her: psychic talents. There’s nothing outlandish in the psi-spy’s capabilities – they’re neatly underplayed, a talent which isn’t understood or entirely controllable but which frequently tips the odds in her favour.’

Mission: Prague (Czechoslovakia, 1975).

Mission: Tehran (Iran, 1978).

Mission: Khyber (Afghanistan, 1979-1980).

Mission: Falklands (Argentina, the Falkland Islands, and South Georgia, 1982).

[All of the above are available on Amazon in paperback and e-book format]

It took thirty-four years for my original Tana Standish psychic spy novel The Ouija Message to grow and improve and eventually transmogrify into Mission: Prague. One of my first versions was rejected by Robert Hale with the comment that it was better than many books that were published but they ‘didn’t do fantasy’. (They accepted my first book sale in 2007, a western!). It came close a few times to being accepted but in retrospect I’m glad it didn’t get published earlier. The characters and the story required more depth, more time to evolve. Naturally, there has to be a willingness to suspend disbelief regarding psychic abilities! Then again, most fiction is fantasy anyway.

Prague garnered good reviews, such as ‘Interestingly, Morton sells it as a true story passed to him by an agent and published as fiction, a literary ploy often used by master thriller writer Jack Higgins. Let’s just say that it works better than Higgins.’ – Danny Collins, author of The Bloodiest Battles.

Each book begins with my first person narration. I receive a manuscript from a secret agent which recounts one of Tana’s missions. Here’s an excerpt of the Prologue from Mission: Falklands:

Beyond the headland the North Sea was grey and turbulent, white horses racing towards the shore. Leaden clouds swirled, harbingers of rain, threatening another bleak December day. I managed to find a parking space for my Dacia Sandero on the road opposite the Octagon Tower, built in 1720, in the Northumberland town of Seaton Sluice – known colloquially as ‘the Sluice’ – half-way between Whitley Bay and Blyth.

I walked the short distance past a dry-stone wall towards the King’s Arms, a large three-storey whitewashed sandstone pub. Almost everywhere you went in the north-east was steeped in history and this Grade II listed public house was no exception, built around 1764. Overlooking the small harbour and Seaton Burn with its smattering of small boats beached on mud, it had started out as an overseer’s house, and then became the King’s Arms Hotel and coach house. In the nineteenth century the coach house was used by HM Coastguard on the lookout for contraband smugglers.

On the left was a short bridge which crossed a manmade channel blasted out in the 1760s by Sir John Delaval and named ‘the cut’; the bridge linked the newly formed ‘Rocky Island’ to the mainland and is now adorned with love-padlocks.

Despite the slight chill in the air and the threat of rain, a handful of male and female regulars in shorts and T-shirts sat drinking at wooden tables outside in an area roped-off with beer-barrels: the usual tough north-easterners.

Keith Tyson, retired spy, stood waiting for me at the entrance porch, as punctual as ever. I was pleased to see under his arm he carried a familiar leather valise though it was now a little careworn – a bit like him.

The stories about her missions are told in multiple third person narrative, merging fact and fiction. Part of the inspiration for the series stems from my interest in history.

Wherever possible I have tried to write about places I’ve seen or visited, such as Gosport’s Fort Monkton, the Khyber Pass, Belize, Bahrein, the United States, the Falklands and South Georgia. Other places have required considerable research. In Mission: Tehran at a critical point there is an earthquake in Yazd; that actually happened on the date shown in the book. An episode in Mission: Falklands that involved two Soviets in Altun Ha is derived from my trek there. Another sequence describes a meal in the Pink House in Savannah, Georgia, which I’ve frequented. My memories of two days on South Georgia informed a section of the story too. And so on...

Tana has a few contacts in Argentina and several friends who suffer at the hands of the military regime. Tana is determined to help them. And of course betrayal lurks in the shadows... When she embarks on her rescue crusade she learns a devastating fact that changes everything and thrusts her towards the Falkland Islands and inhospitable South Georgia at the outset of the historic conflict...

Inevitably Argentina’s ‘disappeared’ and ‘death flights’ are relevant. As with all the books in the series, I’ve strived to inject realism even with the fantasy concept of psychics. As one reviewer has stated, ‘Such is the level of detail and ambition that Morton soon sweeps up the reader in the narrative and creates so convincing a canvas that we can easily accept the central conceit. Bouncing between different times and locations, he has created a book which feels big in scope, an adventure story with a supernaturally gifted protagonist that still feels absolutely real.’

TARGET ANTARCTICA - Book review

Hammond Innes followed up his novel Isvik (1991) with this sequel, Target Antarctica, in 1993.

As usual, it’s a first person narrative, by Falklands War hero Ed Cruse, having just ignominiously left the RAF. After some shilly-shallying he’s given a job to fly a stranded C-130 Hercules aircraft off an Antarctic iceberg. The reasons are not made clear until near the end of the book. There is a subplot involving one of the interested parties, the tragic if exotic La Belle, which provides a depth of character lacking in a number of the others. Indeed, it is her past that provides the only real fraught conflict.

Ed Cruse is likeable – as are all his first-person protagonists; though I suspect he could be a danger on the roads: he drinks and drives! He had two Bloody Marys and then had a coffee and a couple of large brandies and drove through London in his Jag... (pp138-139)!

I’ve read and enjoyed several books by Innes and found this showed his strengths in putting the reader in the story with believable descriptions. Yet, sadly, it lacked something and I felt the ending was rushed.

If this is your first introduction to Innes and you found it unsatisfactory, do try some of his earlier novels before forsaking his work; you will be rewarded.

THE BLACK ICE - Book review

Michael Connelly’s second Harry Bosch novel The Black Ice was published in 1993 and it fulfils the promise of his first, The Black Echo. Subsequent books do not feature ‘black’ in their titles...

There was a corpse in an LA motel room and it appeared to be a missing narc cop, Cal Moore. Bosch wasn’t invited but attended anyway. It appears to be a suicide – Moore is suspected of crossing over into the criminal fraternity. Detective Bosch isn’t so sure...

The writing is authoritative, putting the reader in the scene. ‘There had been a Streamline Moderne office building that looked like an ocean liner docked next to the motel. It had set sail a long time ago and another mini-mall was there now’ (p11).

Connelly has a way with description, too. ‘... he stood out like a garbage man at a wedding’ (p24). And: ‘The gloom in the squad room was thicker than cigarette smoke in a porno theatre’ (p44). And: ‘He saw the kind of man not many people approached unless they had to’ (p89). And: ‘It was a place to drink mean, as long as you had the green’ (p127).

The characters are distinctive, some good, some unpleasant, some bad. I particularly liked the part-Chinese Mexican Aguila: a very sympathetic fellow. Bosch’s humanity shines through, as does his stubbornness. Needless to say, he’s a great creation – testified by the number of books and a successful long-running TV series.

It seems that Moore had been looking into the movement of a drug called Black Ice from Mexico to LA when he died. Bosch’s investigations take him via the autopsy performed by his on-off bed-mate pathologist Teresa Corazón, through many dives frequented by drunks, to a town across the border, via a grisly bullfight. The more he digs, he’s sure something is being concealed. Corruption is part of it, as well.

Then there are all those damned flies... Fascinating insider knowledge – and a twist ending – make this a police procedural book with a difference.

Next Bosch: The Concrete Blonde.

Editorial comment:

We all make mistakes, me included. Anyway, here are a couple of rare occurrences: ‘He sipped it before speaking’ (p39) and then further down the same page, ‘She handed him a mug of coffee’. It should have read ‘She sipped...’

Bosch’s boss Pounds is talking about another cop, Porter. Then we get: ‘Porter looked exasperated’ (p50) – but it should be Pounds who is exasperated...

EXCURSION TO TINDARI - Book review

Andrea Camilleri’s fifth Montalbano novel Excursion to Tindari was published in 2000 (and published in English 2005).

Montalbano is investigating the murder of 22-year-old Sanfilippo and coincidentally the disappearance of two pensioners living in the same block of flats. The disappearance occurred during the excursion... Naturally, there are no coincidences! The plot, as ever, is convoluted but seems entirely logical and it would be a shame to relate more.

New readers should really start with the first Montalbano book. The rest, they know what to expect:

Long-suffering Fazio muses ‘Whenever the inspector chided him for no reason, it merely meant he needed to let off steam’ (p63). And, naturally, as usual, food and drink figure in the narrative. ‘The day Arturo decided to offer a few scraps of brioche free of charge would be the day the world witnessed a cataclysm to delight Nostradamus’ (p97). The unfortunate accident-prone Judge Tommaseo has yet another car crash – this time, in a ditch (p154). We’re presented with shifts in scene – many involving only telephone conversations – so that at times it’s like reading a radio script. Yet this method is ideal for the screenwriter and for turning the pages fast. There is limited description to put the reader in the scene, but the characters carry the story.

None of the Montalbano mysteries are cosy crime tales, despite the humour and occasional farce; they’re grim, fast-paced and even poignant. And addictive.

The cover – and spine illustrations - of these editions convey the story/plot; better, I feel, than the new covers.

Editorial comment:

‘said to himself’ (p103) – hurrah!

THE CHEROKEE TRAIL - Book review

Louis L’Amour’s novel The Cherokee Trail was published in 1982.

Mary Breydon, widow of retired major Marshall is taking on her late husband’s job of running a stagecoach station. With her daughter Peg she fled her home Harlequin Oaks in the South when it was pillaged and razed by guerrillas. Her father had taught her to ride, to shoot and to stand firm – ‘... “the strongest,” her father said, “is he who stands alone!’ (p95). 

She meets a Union cavalry officer Barry Owen – (not Gary from the 7^th Cavalry music!) Indeed, she meets all sorts of folk on the stagecoaches passing through: ‘Actors, prospectors, gamblers, miners, hunters, newspapermen, homemakers, and shady ladies, whiskey peddlers and weapons-salesmen, Indian agents, drummers from all over the world (p193).

She’s stubborn and brave and peremptorily dismisses the slovenly detestable Scant Luther, making an enemy of the man; there’s another even more formidable, a ruthless war criminal who actually killed her husband! She has to face Indians and gunmen – yet nothing will deter her from making her station the best on the Cherokee Trail.

She is helped by the mysterious Temple Boone, cantankerous Ridge Fenton, the orphan Wat and the Irish lass, Matty – all characters who add to a very enjoyable story.

Interestingly, this adage ‘The secret of victory is to attack, always attack’ (p72) is used in his other books. And why not?

Editorial comment:

‘... the Williamses’ (p138)

And ne-er-do well ‘called Williams’ (p64). Of all the names in the world, why duplicate for two different people?

THE VOICE OF THE VIOLIN - Book review

Andrea Camilleri’s fourth Montalbano novel The Voice of the Violin was published in 1997 (English version in 2003).

It begins humorously with Salvo Montalbano realising it wasn’t going to be his day – besides attending a funeral (the wrong one), other set-backs pile up – not least his distant relationship with Livia. He also has to contend with the new commissioner, Benetti-Alderighi and the new forensics guy, Dr Arquá, both of whom reserve ‘their cordial antipathy’ for the inspector (p29).

Then it gets serious. By roundabout means Montalbano discovers a naked young woman suffocated in her bed. There is no shortage of suspects – her ageing husband, who is a distinguished doctor, a simple shy admirer who has gone missing, an antiques dealer from Bologna, the victim’s friend Anna. The key just might be a reclusive violinist!

‘Maestro Barber struck up the first notes. And before he’d been listening even five minutes, the inspector began to get a strange, disturbing feeling. It seemed to him as if the violin had become a voice, a woman’s voice that was begging to be heard and understood’ (p222).

Montalbano knows his faults. ‘In physics, at school, he’d always been between a D and a F. If he’d had a teacher like her [Anna] in his day, he might have become another Einstein’ (p67).

Acerbic, temperamental, Montalbano castigates his loyal men when things go wrong – but they take it all with a pinch of salt because he gets to the root of the mystery every time. The usual gang are here – Mimi Augello, long suffering; the hapless Catarella who undergoes a sort of transformation; and detective Fazio who he most relies on.

The story races along with rapid scene-shifts – often merely quick-fire telephone conversations. And of course there’s food as well as wit and poignancy, all of which you come to expect in a Montalbano book.

A PLACE CALLED FREEDOM - Book review

Ken Follett’s novel A Place Called Freedom was published in 1995 and is a fascinating dive into history. 

The prologue or whatever (it’s untitled) is a conceit that we could do without; it mentions an iron neck-collar worn by slaves: ‘This man is the property of Sir George Jamisson of Fife, AD 1767’.

The book is broken into three parts: Scotland, London, Virginia.

Mack McAsh is a young miner in Fife; a slave to the mine owner, Sir George. ‘Life was hard for miners, but it was harder for their wives’ (p116). Mack speaks up about the injustice he and his fellows endure and is brutally punished: ‘... you have to understand that they don’t feel pain as we do’ (p132).

Lizzie Hallim used to play with Mack when they were bairns, but now they are worlds apart. She is attractive, indeed. ‘I can get a husband whenever I like. The problem is finding one I can put up with for more than half an hour’ (p14). Her mother needs Lizzie to make a match that will save their property and land since her father has died leaving much debt. The obvious answer is Jay Jamisson, son of Sir George...

This is a time of unrest in the colonies, Boston boycotting all British import, and even giving up tea!  This problem may also affect the lucrative business of transporting and selling seven-year slaves – criminals sent from England to the New World: ‘130 or 140 convicts packed into the hold shoulder-to-shoulder like fish in a basket’ (p44).

Anxious to have his freedom, Mack escapes the mines and finds himself in London, where he falls foul of the law – thanks to the intervention of the Jamissons. He faces the Westminster magistrate, Sir John Fielding. ‘Fielding was blind, but that did not hinder him in his work’ (p249).

Follett has done his research – as he always does. There’s a passage concerning ‘the Blind Beak’ Fielding in The Fatal Shore: A History of the Transportation of Convicts to Australia 1787-1868) (published in 1986) by Robert Hughes. Fielding, half-brother of Henry, was ‘able to identify3,000 different malefactors by their voices alone’ (ibid p26). Due to the American War of Independence, no more convicts were sent to the Americas, so the prison hulks of Britain were overflowing; the government therefore had to resort to transporting felons to Australia instead of to Virginia.

However, this story occurs before the First Fleet to the antipodes, before 1776 in fact. Jay and George Jamisson are classic villains. The fate of Lizzie and Mack are inevitably entwined.

The 567 pages fly by to a satisfactory ending.

Editorial comment:

‘I think to myself’ (p3) – ‘I think’ is adequate!

‘he thought to himself’ (p214). Enough said...