Review of Dark Star by Alan Furst (Phoenix, 1991)

A Polish Jew bought up in early twentieth century Russia, Pravda foreign correspondent André Szara is a born survivor.  But as Stalin conducts his purges and Europe teeters on the edge of war, staying alive requires both wits and luck.  As the Czech’s try to hold back Germany’s demands Szara is drawn into the clutches of the NKVD and a deadly rivalry between factions.  Set up as the deputy director of spy rings in Paris and Berlin, Szara criss-crosses Europe using his role as a journalist as cover.  But what he and his agents discover is as dangerous as the agency running them.  Szara thus resorts to a tricky game of piggy-in-the-middle, playing the various foes against each other while trying to find a way out of their various predicaments.  And in the meantime, Europe becomes ever more dangerous for Jews and edges towards war. 

Dark Star is the second book in Alan Furst’s Night Soldier’s series set in 1930s and 40s Europe.  Like the first in the series, the tale is an epic adventure traversing several countries including Belgium, Germany, Czechoslovakia, France, Poland and Russia, tracking the fortunes of André Szara, a foreign correspondent for Pravda and reluctant Russian spymaster, over a four year period.  Like the geography and time frame, the scope of the story is similarly expansive revolving around a conspiracy within the NKVD related to Stalin and his purges and German/Soviet relations pre-war.  Szara unwittingly stumbles into the middle of a secretive and deadly game of cat-and-mouse and is thrust into its centre.  Despite its expansiveness, Furst keeps a tight grip on the storytelling setting out a complex and layered plot in 400 pages.  It’s a remarkable feat given the richness in the descriptions of people, politics, situations and places and the well-developed characterisation.  Szara, in particular, and his various interactions and reflexive thoughts is nicely penned.  The plot does become a little convoluted and seemingly fanciful at times – Szara is certainly blessed with a lot of luck – but it is also compelling and very well contextualised with respect to the events and manoeuvring of the time.  The result is a gripping tale of espionage and a man living on the edge.

Review of Strange Loyalties by William McIlvanney (1991, Canongate)

After the death of his younger brother, Scott, Laidlaw decides to take a week’s break from the Glasgow police force to do a little private investigating.  Scott’s death seems like a straightforward misadventure, stepping drunkenly in front of an unsuspecting motorist.  However, Laidlaw is puzzled as to why his brother would have been so careless.  He therefore sets about trying to piece together a life that he barely knows despite being kin, though nobody else shares his desire to rake over the past.  Moreover, his new obsession is threatening his present relationship.  Nonetheless, Laidlaw has set off on a path of discovery and he’s determined to uncover the truth regardless of consequence.

Strange Loyalties is the third book in the excellent Laidlaw trilogy (you can find my reviews of the first two books here and here).  Whereas the first two are written in the third person, for this more personal outing McIlvanney swaps to a first person perspective, providing a richer perspective on the complexities and inner reflections of Laidlaw, a man driven by the need to find the truth and deliver justice, but burdened with an in-built self-destructive streak.  What separates McIlvanney’s crime fiction from most is, I think, its literary sensibilities.  While the stories are very much of the crime genre and are dark and gritty tales, they are crafted with prose and are rich in philosophical reflection.  Indeed, the central question at the heart of the tales is ‘what does this all mean?’ rather than simply ‘who did this?’  And so it is with Strange Loyalties, with Laidlaw trying to come to terms with the untimely death of his brother, picking away at questions that no-one wants answered except him.  While the telling is a little stilted at first, it soon finds its groove.  And while it is not the most cheery of tales it is compelling and haunting with Laidlaw seeking a truth that he knows he does not want to know.

Review of All the Lonely People by Martin Edwards (1991, Arcturus Classic Crime)

Harry Devlin is a duty solicitor in central Liverpool.  Since his wife, Liz, left him he leads a solitary life, his time revolving around work and representing petty criminals during interviews and in court.  It’s definitely not the glamorous side of legal work and nor does it pay handsomely.  Arriving home late at night he finds his former wife waiting in his apartment.  Always the life and soul of a party, she’d left him for a well connected criminal.  Harry has never stopped loving her and when she asks if she can stay for a few days whilst she sorts out her personal life he agrees against his better judgement.  Within twenty four hours she is dead, stabbed to death in an alley.  Rather than leave the case to the police, Harry decides he’s going to catch his ex-wife’s killer.  He starts to follow up on leads, but it’s clear that neither the police nor the perpetrator are happy with his crusade.  Regardless, he persists with his investigation, whilst at the same time fending off the advances of his lonely neighbour.

All the Lonely People was Martin Edwards debut novel and the first book in an eight part series featuring world weary but tenacious solicitor, Harry Devlin.  The story has the feel of a classical who-dunnit, with Devlin taking on the role of a put-upon, down at heel PI, and the tale focusing on the characters, their relationships, and the investigation, but with little gore or unrealistic or heightened tension.  Edwards does a nice job of contextualising Harry’s life as a duty solicitor, evoking Liverpool at the end of the 1980s, and capturing the lives of the poorest strata of society and their social relations.  The characterisation is nicely observed, as is the interplay between the characters.  For the most part the story works well, but the puzzle seemed a bit too weak and the killer well signposted, in part because the misdirection was a little too obvious.  Nonetheless, I found it an entertaining read and hope to spend some more time in Harry’s company in the future.

Review of Homicide by David Simon (1991, Canongate)

From January 1st until December 31st 1998 David Simon took a year’s sabbatical from his job as a journalist with the Baltimore Sun and hung out in the Homicide unit of the Baltimore Police.  He went to work every day, just like the detectives, he visited the crime scenes, accompanied them on searches and stakeouts, eavesdropped on interrogations, sat in on criminal trials, and drank with them in bars until the early hours, all the while keeping his eyes and ears open and taking copious notes.  The result is a Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets, a detailed 650 page, small print, book that tells the story of that year - a year in which there were 236 murders in the city of Baltimore.  Simon uses real names, he details the often fraught relationships between officers, documents the sometimes convoluted and vicious office politics, exposes the tremendous pressures that the cops are under from their bosses, the media, politicians and public, and reveals the sordid and dangerous lives of victims, perpetrators and those caught up in investigations.  It’s a warts and all expose that shows the cops in both a good and negative light.  It’s a brilliant piece of ethnographic research and an excellent read.  Although organised by time, rather than simply write the book as a detailed diary, Simon used particular cases and officers to explore in detail various aspects of the job, crimes and judicial service, and moreover he mixes up the writing style and perspective to keep the narrative fresh.  At times it reads like a novel, one that tries to capture the full complexity of police departments and cases.  And even though it involves a large cast, it is easy to follow the dozens of threads and personalities.  Which suggests that there’s scope for crime fiction that manages to be more realistic in its scope, cast, politics and drama.  The book also provided a launch pad for Simon’s move into television, most recently as the writer and executive producer of The Wire.  A fascinating, disturbing and excellent read.