Review of Legion of the Damned by Sven Hassel (1953, Weidenfeld & Nicolson)

I first read the Legion of the Damned as a teenager, along with a number of others in the series. I remember it quite differently to the present reading, perhaps coloured by the other books. Legion was the first book and supposedly the most auto-biographical. Indeed, the main character is the author and it follows his experiences of the Second World War serving in the German army, predominately on the Russian front. Far from glorifying war, or trying to recast the German crusade in a positive light, Hassel details the brutality of war for those on the frontline, made bearable by the comradery of fellow soldiers, most of whom are destined to die, letters from home, and snatched love affairs. Indeed, it is an anti-war book, critiquing those in power and their lackeys, and the savagery of the regime and battle.

It starts with Hassel being convicted of desertion, his time in prison and labour camps before being transferred to a penal battalion deemed expendable. It then traces his traversal of Europe and various wartime activities until the near the end of the war. There are brief interludes of levity and humanity, but generally it is grim reading. There are also hints at involvement in the anti-Nazi movement, though these are sketched over. It’s not clear how much is fiction (which is how the book is sold), and how much is autobiographical; though it is clear that it is based on Hassel’s experiences. The telling is quite episodic with a weak narrative structure, some of the scenes are brief, and it does end quite abruptly, though it is trying to cover a number of years in a relatively brief book. Nonetheless, the tale does debunk the myth of the glory of war, giving a strong sense of the horror of a brutal regime and total war, and the weariness and emptiness of endless frontline service.

Review of The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje (1992, Bloomsbury)

Italy, 1945. Four people live in a dilapidated nunnery near to Florence as the war draws to a close: Hana, a young, exhausted Canadian nurse; a mysterious, anonymous, English man burned beyond recognition in a plane crash in the Sahara; Caravaggio, a thief/spy who was a friend of Hana’s father who has had his thumbs amputated by the retreating Nazis; and Kip, a Sikh sapper who specialises in bomb disposal whose brother is in jail for being an Indian nationalist. Each is damaged is someway, trying to come to terms with the devastation of the war, the loss of loved ones, and their place in the world. Cut-off from the world they form a set of simmering relationships as each probes the others’ lives. Caravaggio is particularly taken with the English patient’s identity, and Kip and Hana conduct a low-key love affair. Their isolated summer must come to an end at some point, but not before some truths are revealed. Ondaatje tells their story through a fractured narrative of short encounters, shot through with flashbacks to earlier periods. This episodic structure means the story moves forward in quite a stilted way, slowly gaining shape as the various pieces are revealed. There’s no strong narrative arc, and by no means is it a page turner. Rather it is about human nature, relationships, identity and the casualties of war, and creating an affective response aided by poetic prose and a strong sense of place. An interesting, thoughtful, meandering read.

Review of The Last Days of Jack Sparks by Jason Arnopp (2016, Orbit)

Jack Sparks is the literary equivalent of a shock-jock – a loud, vulgar, offensive sociopath; always scheming and lying, and who lacks care and empathy. What drives him is his ego and its massaging by his fans and followers on every form of social media channel. His latest venture is 'Jack Sparks on the Supernatural' a book in which he sets out to debunk religion, the afterlife and the paranormal. His journey starts with an exorcism in Italy, which he interrupts by laughing at what he sees as an absurd, staged act. What follows is a series of increasingly creepy happenings, including a strange, haunting video with no provenance that appears on his YouTube channel that then disappears. Jack is determined to discover who made the video in order to prove it’s a hoax, using it as a means to gather content for his book as he meets with a combat magician and a group of paranormal investigators. But the more he tries to disprove the supernatural, the more it seems like it might exist, and it all seems to be leading to his inevitable death.

The Last Days of Jack Sparks follows the slow descent of a loutish, egotistical author as he tries to disprove the supernatural in the face of increasing evidence to the contrary. The story is told through the book notes of Jack Sparks, collated and edited by his brother, who also intersperses the text with other evidence, such as letters and audio transcript. Sparks is somewhat of an unreliable narrator who is determined to both shock readers and favourably script his own portrayal. He travels from Italy to Hong Kong to Los Angeles, pursued by the consequences of an exorcism he disrupted and prevented. He creates antagonism and resentment, and in his wake leaves a trail of destruction. By mid-way through it’s clear where the story is heading, though there is still plenty of intrigue, twists and gore. While it’s billed as a dark comedy, the humour fell a little flat for me, in part because it is all rooted in the awfulness of Jack Sparks, a character with no redeeming features who is loathsome throughout. The story is well constructed and told, but I can’t say I enjoyed the characters or story very much.

Review of The Way Back to Florence by Glenn Haybittle (2017, Cheyne Walk)

Florence, 1937. At the studio of the self-declared Maestro, Isabella meets a young English man, Freddie, who shares her dream of becoming a great artist. Also amongst their group are Oskar, a German Jew, and Fosco who seems enamoured with fascism. Isabella and Freddie fall in love and marry, but the war soon separates them. While Isabella stays in the city, Freddie has returned to England and joined the RAF, flying harrowing bombing sorties over occupied Europe. Oskar, his wife, and daughter, Esme, are in Paris. When the round up of Jews takes place in 1942, Oskar and Esme manage to escape, heading south to Italy. In Florence, Isabella finds herself entangled with the local resistance, the brutal fascist authorities, and the German occupiers, unsure of who to trust, including her old enemy, Fosco. In turn, both Oskar and Freddie make their way back to the city, both via circuitous and dangerous routes.

The Way Back to Florence is a tale of love during war between an Italian woman and English man, and between a father and his young daughter. The characterisation is excellent, both in relation to the three lead characters, but also the supporting cast, with Haybittle creating a deep sense of affinity for Isabella, Freddie and Oskar and their plights. The tale is told as a multi-layered narrative, involving a number of entwined threads, and doesn’t pull any punches with respect to the harrowing experiences of the lead characters – being betrayed, flying over German cities at night, brutal interrogations, surviving concentration camps, being caught in the role of collaborator. Indeed, the tale is loaded with a deep sense of realism, tension and affect, so that just as the characters cycle through a gamut of emotions, so does the reader. And while the story is complex and involves a number of twists and turns, there is no sense of awkward plot devices. The result is a visceral, engaging, thoughtful and at times traumatic story of love, loyalties, compromises, and survival.

Review of Blood Curse by Maurizio de Giovanni (Europa Editions, 2013)

Naples, 1931, the city is teeming with life, most people living in poverty and trying to scrape by. In the working class district of Sanita an elderly woman has been beaten and kicked to death. Commissario Ricciardi and Brigadier Maione are called to the scene, knowing that the locals view them with suspicion and will provide minimal help in finding her killer. Searching her apartment and placing pressure on the building porter they discover that the old lady made a living as a fortune teller and money lender. Dozens of people, both poor and rich, have visited the apartment to receive prophecies or to take or pay back loans, leaving the detectives with many potential suspects, some of them with political connections. As well as trying to identify the murderer, Maione also tries to solve the mystery as to who has slashed a beautiful widow’s face.

Blood Curse is the second book in the Commissario Ricciardi series set in Naples in 1931. Ricciardi is very much a lone detective, shunned by his fellow cops due to his reserved manner and uncanny ability to solve difficult cases, with the exception of Brigadier Maione, who appreciates his boss’ talents and acts as a loyal partner. Ricciardi can see and hear the final seconds in the lives of victims of violent deaths. It helps provide initial clues, but is also a curse, providing emotional attachment to the case and isolating him from others. His affliction and relationship with Maione makes for an interesting and empathetic lead character. In this outing, Ricciardi and Maione investigate the death of an elderly fortune teller and money lender. Due to the woman’s activities there are lots of potential suspects, many of whom de Giovanni introduces to the reader through multiple individual threads. In addition, there is a second case, involving a knife attack on a beautiful woman. These multiple threads makes the narrative quite fragmented and somewhat confusing, especially near the beginning of the book. As the book progresses these various threads are interwoven and the narrative takes shape, the tale becoming increasingly compelling and entertaining, with a good sense of place and portrayal of social relations. The denouement, however, felt somewhat hollow and overly contrived. Nonetheless, an engaging story.

Review of The Detour by Andromeda Romano-Lax (Soho Press, 2012)

1938. Ernst Vogler is employed on the Sonderprojekte, collecting great art from around Europe for display in the Third Reich.  After the incarceration in Dachau of his mentor, a well-known art historian, Vogler is sent to Rome to accompany the famous classical Roman marble statue, The Discus Thrower, to the border where it will be handed over to the Gestapo.  The statue is the personal target of the Fuhrer and there is widespread unhappiness that it has been sold and is leaving Italy.  Vogler’s task should be a simple, three-day excursion, but things start to go wrong as soon as he arrives in the Italian capital.  When he does set out to the border he is accompanied by twin brothers.  Almost immediately, the trio leave the agreed route, giving their police escort the slip.  Despite Vogler’s protestations, the brothers seem intent on setting their own schedule, which includes visiting a girlfriend.  At first, Vogler tries to resist the detour, realising that it is putting them all at risk, but soon he is so far implicated that he gives himself up to the adventure hoping that as long as he ultimately delivers the statue in one piece that he’ll survive the inevitable fallout. 

The Detour recounts the tale of Ernst Vogler, a budding art historian who worked on the Third Reich’s Sonderprojekte, collecting great art for the Fuhrer before the Second World War.  It is told as recollection as Vogler arrives back in Italy in 1948 to track down the woman he fell in love with on his last visit, a decade previously.  On that trip, Vogler was sent to Rome to accompany the famous statue, The Discus Thrower, back to Germany.  He is accompanied on his journey to the border by twin brothers, Enzo and Cosimo, who are police officers and speak rudimentary German.  Fearing that the statue is at risk, the brothers lose their escort and take a detour, with Enzo becoming obsessed with seeing his girlfriend.  As the journey progresses a series of mishaps and tragedies befall the trio.  Rather than telling the tale as a straightforward adventure, Romano-Lax nicely blends in a smattering of politics, art and philosophy, as well as thread of romance.  The historical context and Vogler’s backstory is well constructed and there’s a strong sense of place as the trio head north through the back-roads of central Italy.  The result is a bittersweet tale of a sensitive and insecure young man coming of age in difficult circumstances and returning years later to see if he can find lost love.

Review of The Few by Nadia Dalbuono (Scribe, 2014)

Detective Leone Scamarcio is the black sheep of his mafia family having joined the Rome police force and become a detective.  Not long after another argument, his boss confronts Scamarcio not to repair bridges but to ask him to secretly investigate on behalf of the prime minister the death of a rent boy who was photographed frolicking with a senior politician.  So far the scandal has been kept out of the media, but it’s only a matter time before the story breaks.  At first the case is baffling, with two other young men perishing and a fellow cop left fighting for his life, but then Scamarcio is pointed towards the island of Elba, where a young American girl has been abducted from a beach, traumatising her parents.  The local cops are not happy at having Scarmarcio interfering with their investigation, especially since he quickly identifies flaws in their approach, but he gradually makes progress.  The problem is that all the leads point to an even greater political and criminal scandal.

Set in the city of Rome and the island of Elba, Nadia Dalbuono’s debut novel mixes police procedural with political thriller. The central character is Leone Scamarcio, a loner who is an outsider within the police force given his family’s mafia connections, who also has a mild anger management problem being unafraid to let his boss know exactly what he thinks of a poor decision or action.  The plot involves Scamarcio covertly investigating a sexual scandal involving a senior politician that has become a murder case.  The start of the story felt a little clunky, both in terms of its plotting and telling, but becomes more assured as it progresses, especially when the tale moves to Elba.  Here, there is more of a sense of place and better framing and contextualisation.  However, on return to Rome it becomes a little fanciful again and the twist in the resolution felt weak and unlikely.  Nevertheless, Scamarcio is an appealing character and the story rattles along, hooking the reader in, and there is plenty of intrigue and tension.  Overall, an entertaining read that shows promise as the start of a new series.   

Review of A Dark Song of Blood by Ben Pastor (Bitter Lemon Press, 2014; 2002 in Italian)

Rome in 1944 and the Allies are on the verge of starting their offensive to move up the leg of Italy.  Martin Bora is a major in Wehrmacht and an aide to General Westphal.  As well as undertaking his normal army duties, Bora is tasked with diplomatic relations with the Vatican, and investigating the murder of a German embassy secretary with the aid of Sandro Guidi, a local detective.  The job is made more difficult due to the interest of the local Gestapo and SS, and the desire of the local police chief to frame a political rival, and the actions of local partisans determined to disrupt operations and kill as many Germans as possible.  Bora has a doctorate in Catholic theology, is a battle hardened veteran of Poland and Russia, and is used to playing political games, but the byzantine tangle of lethal rivalries has even him floundering.  And whilst very different in nature, Bora and Guidi are driven by the desire to see justice administered before the city falls.

A Dark Song of Blood is the third book in the Martin Bora series translated into English.  My reviews of the first two can be found here and here.  As with the earlier books, the strength of the story is the character of Bora and the moral ambiguities of the tale.  Bora has aristocratic roots, is a committed military man who has served in Spain, Poland, Russia and Italy, and is strong willed, intelligent, principled and brave.  Although he knows he serves a corrupt regime he has a strong sense of duty and loyalty, but he’s no apologist for the German army.  He also abhors the Gestapo and SS and their work and methods, and hates the treatment of the Jews and will actively intervene on their behalf.  At the same time, he’s quite happy to see partisans executed, but not the ratio of reprisals.  The story unfolds over the first six months of 1944 and mostly focuses on Bora’s interactions with the local police, the Gestapo and SS, and the Church, with the murder investigation forming one thread amongst a number, being very slowly edged forward and at times almost disappearing entirely.  At one level, this is fine, as there is plenty happening, but another it left the plot a little rudderless at times.  And whilst Pastor keeps a number of possible suspects in the frame,  I found the denouement a little unsatisfying.  Overall, an interesting story centred on a fascinating character.

Review of The Bellini Card by Jason Goodwin (Faber, 2009)

Istanbul, 1840, and there is a reshuffling of power as a new sultan succeeds the old.  The young sultan has heard a rumour that a portrait by Bellini of his ancestor, Mehmet the Conqueror, has resurfaced in Venice.  Yashim, a palace eunuch and detective, is asked to quietly investigate whether the painting exists and is for sale.  Not wanting to draw attention to sultan’s interest, Yashim sends his friend, Palewski, the Polish ambassador to Istanbul to Venice.  Given that Venice is in the control of Austrian authorities, and their recent conflict with Poland, Palewski adopts the disguise of a rich American seeking masterpieces to take back to the new world.  Venice is a shadow of its former glory, but its people still possess the guile and hospitality that made it a key Mediterranean trading port.  Palewski is soon moving in a world of old aristocratic families, dealers and cunning guides, seeking the fabled Bellini, but so is a killer who’s leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. 

The strengths of The Bellini Card are the sense of place, characterisation, and historical detail.  Goodwin places the reader in both Istanbul and Venice -- the landscape and architecture, the sights, sounds and smells, and the social strata and living conditions.  The descriptions are wonderfully evocative and come to life in one’s mind’s eye.  This is aided by a melting pot of nicely drawn characters -- a mix of fading aristocrats, bureaucrats, servants and criminals -- and their interactions conditioned by social standing.  This is all well framed with respect to byzantine politics and the long history of connections between the two cities.  The plot, however, is also somewhat byzantine.  It might have been because I was tired when reading, but as the story progressed I became increasingly lost as to logic driving the story and I reached the end without really understanding the denouement.  Maybe if I read it again it would become clear, but on first reading the complex weave and twists in the story never fully unravelled to reveal themselves.  The result was a tale I enjoyed for the rich portrait of people and places, but where the plot became evermore incidental.

A Private Venus by Giorgio Scerbanenco (1966, Italian; 2012, Hersilia Press)

Milan, 1966, and Dr. Duca Lamberti has recently been released from prison having served three years for assisted euthanasia.  Through his father’s old contacts in the police force he is hired by an industrialist to try and get his alcoholic son dry.  Lamberti knows that the only way the young man will remain sober is if he determines and solves the reason why he drinks.  Slowly he draws Davide out of his shell.  What he discovers is a misplaced sense of guilt and a terrible secret about the death of a young woman that can only be excised by ensnaring elements of an international network of criminals.  A task that Lamberti is quite happy to perform despite its inherent risks.

A Private Venus is considered the initiator novel of Italian noir and was the first book in a set of four featuring Dr Duca Lamberti, a medical practioner who has been struck off after serving time for assisting an old woman to die rather than suffer a painful decline.  In this first book, Lamberti is finding his feet after leaving prison.  He reluctantly takes on the job of trying to dry out the depressed son of a millionaire.  Rather than attempt to stop Davide drinking, Lamberti lets him continue, hoping that he’ll tell him the reason why he drinks whiskey like water.  The story that he eventually reveals - of a young woman who begs to be hidden, whom Davide leaves on the side of the road and is found dead shortly after, having supposedly slashing her own wrists - has enough intrigue and inconsistencies that Lamberti sets out to investigate with the help of Livia Ussaro, a feminist sociologist determined to improve the lives of women in Italian society, who has intimate knowledge of the city’s networks of vice.  The strength of the novel is it’s plotting and characterisation.  Whilst the story is quite slow at first, Scerbanenco carefully and evocatively sets the scene, moves the various pieces into position, and hooks the reader’s attention.  Like Sjowall and Wahloo, who published their first Beck novel in 1965, there is a strong degree of social realism in the writing, with no melodrama or unlikely plot twists.  This is aided by Lamberti’s world weariness, Davide’s despair and self-delusion, and Livia’s idealism and determination.  The result is an interesting and engaging read that has dark undertones with hints of light.

Review of I Will Have Vengeance by Maurizio De Giovanni (Hersilia Press, 2012, translated by Anne Milano Appel)

Naples, March 1931, and Maestro Vezzi, one of the world’s greatest tenors and a favourite of Mussolini is found stabbed to death in his dressing room at the famous San Carlo Theatre.  There’s plenty of suspects, given that nobody who knows him has a good thing to say about him other than he’s a brilliant opera performer, but everyone seemingly has an alibi given they were either absent or taking part in a dress rehearsal.  Commissario Ricciardi is assigned the case and sets to work with his loyal colleague, Brigadier Maione.  Like Vezzi, Ricciardi is not well liked, being distant and direct, relentlessly pursuing cases as if he has a personal stake in the outcome.  Ricciardi’s affliction is that he can see death scenes and the final few moments of a victim’s life and associated sorrows, which then haunt his investigations.  With pressure rising from Rome, Ricciardi makes slow progress as he tries to find a clue that will crack open the case.

I Will Have Vengeance is a locked room mystery set in an opera house.  The story has a well realised sense of place, especially with respect to the San Carlo Theatre, and nice historical contextualisation, placing the reader in Naples in 1931 and its warren of streets, sights and sounds.  The plot is well constructed and has a couple of decent red herrings and blind alleys.  The story seemed to wobble a bit towards the end, but De Giovanni finds a plausible and fitting resolution.  The real strength of the book, however, is the characterisation.  There is a well penned set of supporting actors, but star of the book is undoubtedly the troubled and mournful Commissario Ricciardi, who’s haunted by the ghosts of the dead that surround him and conducts a love affair which involves no contact or words.  Whilst the story is generally well told, I did on occasion find myself skipping back pages or re-reading sentences to decipher meaning, which was a slight distraction.  Overall, an interesting and engaging historical mystery and I look forward to catching up with Commissario Ricciardi in the future.

Review of The Dance of the Seagull by Andrea Camilleri (Penguin, 2013; Italian 2009)

Inspector Montalbano is just about to head away for a few days holiday with Livia when he witnesses a seagull plummet from the sky, hitting the ground hard.  It staggers to its feet, does a strange dance then drops dead.  Disturbed by the bird’s demise he heads into work to sign some forms before departing on his break.  There he learns that his trusted right-hand man, Fazio, has disappeared having gone to the docks to investigate an allegation of drugs smuggling.  Forgetting his trip, Montalbano starts to hunt for Fazio, fearing the seagull was a portent sign.  As he follows the trail, he is soon drawn into a conspiracy of smuggling, blackmail and murder.
The Dance of the Seagull is the fifteenth book in the Montalbano series.  Whilst Montalbano is a reasonably serious character, the books are light-hearted and witty, as much as about Sicilian life and culture, especially its food, as about solving the crime.  The atmosphere and sense of place are nicely realised.  The characterisation is well observed and some of the dialogue exchanges are wonderful.  As were the internal dialogues between Montalbano 1 and 2, sitting on each of his shoulders.  The plot for the most part worked okay, though the resolution felt a little clunky, as if Camilleri wasn’t quite sure how it was going to end then somehow muddled through.  Moreover, as with the other books, time and space seemed a little elastic -- the investigation takes place at a leisurely pace and everywhere seemed to take a long time to get to and was far away, yet it is meant to be a local police force and Montalbano had an intimate knowledge of the local geography.  Overall, a fairly dark story told through witty and light storytelling. 

Review of Blood from a Stone by Donna Leon (William Heinemann, 2005)

A few days before Christmas an African street vendor is shot dead whilst selling bags in a square in Venice.  Commissario Brunetti is assigned to the case, but makes little initial headway given that the man’s fellow illegal immigrants have seemingly melted away into the Venetian underworld.  When both the ministries of internal and foreign affairs show an interest in the case, Brunetti is order to hand over the investigative material and warned to drop his investigation.  Intrigued and holding back evidence, he continues to probe, though he seemingly makes little progress.

Blood from a Stone is a curious kind of police procedural, as much about feints and duplicity as detection.  It is told in an understated way and drifts along without any urgency.  The plot is relatively thin -- Brunetti starts to investigate a murder but is then warned off, regardless he keeps surreptitiously picking away at it despite seemingly going nowhere -- but that hardly seems the point.  The tale is more about Venice, Italian food, Brunetti’s family life, the petty office politics of the police, and a social commentary on how immigrants are imagined and treated and the West interferes in African politics.  Leon does a nice job of creating a sense of place, time and social context, and letting the reader float along with the narrative as if on a gondola.  An entertaining, mild-mannered story.

Review of Liar Moon by Ben Pastor (Bitter Lemon Press, 2012)

September 1943 and Wehrmacht Major Martin Bora wakes in an Italian hospital minus a hand, with the doctors fighting to save his leg, a victim of an attack by partisans.  The Italian government have recently switched sides, dividing the country into two, with the North still controlled by the Fascists.  As he starts to make his recovery he is asked to help the local police investigate two cases: the murder of a local Fascist hero, and an escaped mad man who has taken to killing people indiscriminately.  Reluctantly he agrees, forming an uneasy alliance with Inspector Sandro Guidi, aware that the case is politically charged and that he still has to perform his usual duties.  The murder seems a relatively open-and-shut case, the main suspect being the victim’s young widow, but neither Bora or Guidi are convinced of her guilt, though for different reasons.     

The real strength of Liar Moon is the character of Martin Bora and the moral ambiguities around his persona and actions.  He’s reserved yet direct, determined, ruthless, and principled, driven by a deep sense of conviction and his aristocratic family tradition.  He’s a soldier in an army of a corrupt and corrupting regime, trying to hold the line between murder and killing, on the one hand relentlessly hunting down partisans and on the other subverting the hunt for Jews.  And losing his hand and nearly losing his leg is not going to slow him down.  Moreover, he remains loyal and dutiful to his wife, despite their failed marriage.  My sense is that regardless of the storyline, he’d be an interesting character to spend some time with.  In Liar Moon, Pastor places him in an interesting historical terrain - Northern Italy just as Italy changes sides - and pairs him with an Italian police inspector to investigate the death of a local Fascist.  She creates a nice sense of place and history, and captures the awkward relations between Axis allies.  For the most part the plot worked well, but faltered at the resolution, which was contrived and came too much from left-field.  This was a shame as the story was coasting along very nicely up to that point.  Nevertheless, this was a thoughtful and enjoyable tale and if the other books in the Bora series are translated I’ll be reading them in due course.

Review of A Death in Tuscany by Michele Giuttari (Abacus, 2008, Italian 2005)

A young girl has been found by the side of the road, having apparently taken an overdose of heroin.  Given that no-one is searching for her, it is assumed that she is an illegal immigrant and junkie, a case that can be shelved and forgotten.  Chief Superintendent Michele Ferrara, head of the Florence Squadra Mobile, however, has other ideas.  Suspicious of the fact that a girl so young appears to be an addict he starts to investigate.  The post-mortem reveals that she’d had sex before dying and that she hadn’t been a junkie; it looks like someone pumped her full of drugs, raped her, and left her to die.  Just as the case starts to gain momentum he is warned to proceed carefully, then becomes sidetracked when his best friend disappears along with a woman after her husband is found dead in her home. Determined to help his friend, the prime suspect in the husband’s murder, he clashes with the local Carabinieri who put in an official complaint.  Handing the case of the young girl over to a colleague, Ferrara takes a holiday to conduct his own investigation into his friend’s disappearance. 

A Death in Tuscany is a competent police procedural set in Florence and its surrounds.  It’s author used to be head of the Florence police and he knows his procedural details, giving a good insight into how the Italian system works with its divisions between state police, carabinieri and prosecutor’s office.  Ferrara is a political astute cop, dedicated to the job, with a healthy disregard for his superiors and liked by his colleagues, and a happy home life.   The story is well paced and the characterisation is nicely observed, particularly some of Ferrara’s colleagues.  Although the story draws the reader into the investigation and Tuscany region, there are a number of elements that seem a little fanciful, especially the linking of the two main threads, the binding of various players and conspiracy elements that work to undermine its credibility somewhat.  Overall, a solid read that deals with some difficult issues. 

Review of Day After Day by Carlo Lucarelli (2000, translation 2005, Vintage)

Alex works for an internet provider, policing their chat rooms. It’s a pedestrian job and he spends most of his day mourning the departure of his girlfriend back to Denmark from Italy and fending off nervous reaction to his dog, a Staffordshire bull terrier that people confuse for a pit bull. Ispettore Grazia Negro and two colleagues are staking out a criminal who is murdered without them even being aware of it. The crime seemingly has few clues as to the killer’s identity. A short while later a man is assassinated in an airport lounge whilst being protected by a security detail, yet the killer seemed anonymous entering and leaving the scene. Ever alert, Negro spots a connection between the murders: the image of a pit bull. She starts to search for other deaths where a pit bull is linked to the case, even in the most tangential ways. At the same time Alex has started to take a keen interest in an internet chat room notionally concerned with pit bulls. Unwittingly he has found a key to the killer’s identity, but he’s also made himself a potential target. The question is whether Negro can apprehend ‘the pit bull’ before he strikes again.

As with all of Lucarelli’s other translated novels (all reviewed on this blog), Day After Day is a relatively short book (in this case 225 pages in a small, pocket format). And as with the other books it is engagingly written with some very nice observational touches (I particularly liked those about silences and motorway driving) and it seems slightly underdeveloped. Lucarelli writes very tightly, with little in the way of subplots or misdirection or dead-ends. The style is all tell and little show. The result is a fairly linear plot which hurtles towards its inevitable conclusion. Yet his prose, quality of storytelling and the character of Ispettore Negro makes the reader want more. As with all his books then, I’m conflicted in rating Day After Day. On the one level, it’s a great read, a literary piece of crime fiction, on another level it is too straightforward and underdeveloped. Overall, a tightly written, entertaining read which could have benefitted with a little fleshing out.

Review of Via Delle Oche by Carlo Lucarelli, translated by Michael Reynolds, Europa Editions (2008, in Italian in 1990)

Via Delle Oche is the third part of Lucarelli’s Commissario De Luca trilogy. The three books cover the period 1945 to 1948 in post-war Italy (the other books being Carte Blanche and The Damned Season) and follow the De Luca’s attempts to survive as a policeman in the transition from a fascist regime to a fledgling democracy. A few days before the crucial election that will decide whether Italy turns to social democracy or communism, De Luca has been demoted to Sub Commissario and reassigned to the vice squad in Bologna. On his first day he is dragged away from the station by Pugliese, a former colleague, to a supposed suicide in a brothel on the via della Oche. The death has been ruled as a suicide, but it’s clear to De Luca that there’s been foul play. As he starts to investigate he is repeatedly warned off, but despite his own vulnerability he continues to put his nose where it’s not desired. Soon other deaths occur and the evidence points to a cover-up between politicians and members of the police, and De Luca realises he might have pushed too far.

As with the previous two books, Via Delle Oche is a short book (133 pages), but unlike the previous two, I didn’t feel the story was so under-developed, although it could have benefited from some fleshing out in places. De Luca is a complex, conflicted character and the story captures the atmosphere, politics and corruption of a country in turmoil. I am particularly taken with Lucarelli’s storytelling which focuses on what the characters say and do, with little thick description or the use of metaphors or similes. Rather than being dull and lifeless, Lucarelli’s prose is rich and the story races along. I’m not sure if Lucarelli has plans for any other De Luca novels, but I’d certainly welcome them and I’ll be checking out his other translated fiction. The production values on the books is excellent and I love the covers. A fine piece of writing and a satisfying end to the trilogy.

Review of The Shape of Water by Andrea Camilleri, translated by Stephen Sartarelli, published by Picador (2003, in Italian in 1994)

Silvio Luparello, a well connected Sicilian politician, is found dead in his car by two garbage collectors at the Pasture, a narrow strip of brush land between an abandoned chemical plant and a beach, a liminal space of prostitution and drugs. It seems as if Luparello has died in flagrante, but Inspector Salvo Montalbano is not so sure. Tantalisingly out of reach, something is not quite right and despite the pressure of his boss, the local judge and a bishop to close the case he keeps returning to the source of his unease – why would Luparello, known for his discretion, risk everything by visiting the Pasture? And who was in the car with him at the time he died? Slowly, but surely, he starts to form water into shapes, but which one is the truth?

I had a little friend, a peasant boy, who was a little younger than me. I was about ten. One day I saw that my friend had put a bowl, a cup, a teapot and a square milk carton on the edge of a well, had filled them all with water, and was looking at them attentively.

‘ “What are you doing?” I asked him. And he answered me with a question in turn.

‘ “What shape is water?”

‘ “Water doesn’t have a shape!” I said, laughing. “It takes the shape you give it.”’

Camilleri’s writing seems breezy and effortless, sucking the reader into the seedy underbelly of Sicilian high society and the easy going and urbane world of Inspector Montalbano, and I zipped through The Shape of Water in a few hours. Camilleri keeps the pace fairly brisk by minimising the description of scenes and characters to their essences. His characterization and sense of place suffers little however. Often quite humorous, the story is well plotted and from the mid-point on it starts to twist and loop, cleverly tying up different strands and proving Montalbano was right to have doubts. I found The Shape of Water to be a more satisfying read than August Heat (my review here) although the latter book had a more rounded list of supporting police characters.

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Review of Carte Blanche by Carlo Lucarelli, translated by Michael Reynolds, Europa Editions (2006, in Italian in 1990)

April 1945 in Northern Italy and Commissario De Luca has transferred from the Brigata Ettore Muti – the political police - to the civil police force, insisting that he is nothing more than a police man, not a puppet of the fascist regime. His first day in his new job and he’s assigned to the murder of Rehinard, an Italian citizen, member of the Fascist Republican Party with political connections to Il Duce and Count Tedesco (the Minister for Foreign Affairs) and a serial womaniser. As the allies advance northwards and the partisans gain in confidence and take pot shots at the fascist forces, De Luca becomes unwillingly embroiled in a political fight between members of a dying regime, picking his way through the minefield whilst determined to solve Rehinard’s murder.

‘What do you think the Chief will say?’
‘What will the Chief say?’ Pugiese repeated with a wry smile.
‘What I’m about to tell you now.’ De Luca pulled his badge out from inside his trench coat and opened it before a militiaman who was heading towards them with a menacing look. ‘Out of my fucking way, son,’ he said. ‘This here is none of your business. Just forget it.’

Carte Blanche is a novella, less than 100 pages long. The narrative is driven along by what the characters say and do, with little thick description of looks or thoughts or back story. However, the characterization does not suffer from such a writing style and De Luca and his colleagues are brought to life in an economical fashion that lets the story rip along. The book might be short, but the story is complex, full and rounded, and my immediate response on finishing was, ‘I need the next book - now!’ On reflection, I’m trying to decide if that’s partially a response to the book being so thin; that I wanted Lucarelli to flesh out Carte Blanche into a full novel – and I certainly think there was scope to do that. I’m not sure - I really enjoyed this book, and it does work as a novella, but I can’t help wondering if the other two parts of the trilogy are simply the last two parts of the same story split into two further books (they are only another 290 pages between them) , or feeling that there was an opportunity lost to produce a real masterpiece. Nevertheless a fine piece of work and I’ve already ordered the other two parts of the trilogy.

Uriah Robinson at Crime Scraps recommended the book to me - thanks. His review is here.
Also reviewed by Eurocrime.

Review of August Heat by Andrea Camilleri, translated by Stephen Sartarelli, published by Picador (2009, in Italian in 2006)

I ordered a copy of August Heat after reading a Glenn Harper’s review posted on his International Noir blog and it was with some envy that I read about the Sicilian sun while the rain poured down outside in North West Ireland!

In the scorching heat of an August summer, Inspector Salvo Montalbano arranges for his girlfriend’s friends to stay in a villa that overlooks a secluded beach and the cooling, blue waters of the Mediterranean. When the friend’s young son – ‘a master at breaking the conjones of all creation’ – disappears, Montalbano’s hopes for a quiet summer are dashed. It transpires that what seemed like an idyllic villa has a dark past and a hidden secret and Montalbano is soon investigating the murder of a beautiful young girl and the death of an Arab labourer, jousting with the head of forensics, the prosecutor, the commissioner, and a mafia and politically connected owner of a construction company. When his girlfriend and her friends head back to the mainland, the inspector finds himself falling for the victim’s identical twin sister, a young siren more than thirty years his junior. And all the while the blazing sun makes life hot and uncomfortable.

He locked the door to his room, stripped down to his underpants, threw the papers that were on the armchair on to the floor, pulled this up next to the mini-fan, which he turned in such a way that it blew onto his chest, then sat down, hoping to survive.

It is difficult not to like an inspector that strips to his underwear or swimming trunks at every available opportunity! Easy going, sly, witty, sometimes lethargic, and happy to bend the law for the greater good, Montalbano is the urbane cop with loyal underlings and boorish or priggish equals and superiors. Written with warmth and humour, August Heat slips down easily like a fine wine. It was a great antidote to the rain lashing down outside and certainly made me pine for a bit of sun. Camilleri’s dialogue sparkles in places, his characterizations are sharp, and he manages to keep the story light and frothy and rolling along, especially in the first half of the book. Stephen Sartarelli has done an excellent job of translation, even managing to capture accents and dialect. This might have been a four star review except for the ending. The plotting is well paced, but then speeds up at the end to just stop at the closing climax leaving a couple of loose ends, which I won’t detail to avoid spoilers. After some nice work getting there it did feel like a bit of a let down. Regardless of the ending, I enjoyed August Heat and I’ll keep an eye out for others from earlier in the series many of which I’m told do deserve a four star rating.


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