Breaking Out of a Slump

I've had a terrible time finding good mysteries lately, to the point where I feel happy if I find a book I think is even just OK. But I finally read a couple in the past month that I felt a lot more than OK about.

William Shaw's The Kings of London (Mulholland Books, January 27, 2015) is the second in his police procedural series set in 1960s London. But this is only a little bit the Swinging London of the Beatles, Stones, long hair, granny glasses and Mary Quant minidresses. Mostly, it's the just-barely-out-of-postwar rationing, lousy food, racist and sexist London.

Cathal Breen is a Detective Sergeant with the Metropolitan Police, and the son of an Irish workingman. Breen looks and speaks like any other Londoner but, inevitably, the rest of the members of the force call him Paddy, and he will never be fully accepted as one of them. Another misfit is his sometime partner, WPC Helen Tozer. Tozer, one of the few women on the force who does anything other than traffic patrol and serving as a family liaison, has it even worse than Breen when it comes to taking guff from the other police officers––and firefighters and anybody on the street.

As The Kings of London begins, Breen's in a bit of a funk. His father, who had dementia for a long time and whom Breen had taken care of, has now died and this casts a pall over the upcoming Christmas season. He's even more glum knowing that Tozer is soon to leave the force to go back to run her family's farm after her father has become too ill to manage. As if this isn't enough, Breen is getting death threats at work and he has a new neighbor from hell up above his basement flat.

It's almost a welcome relief to Breen when he catches the gruesome case of a man's body found in a burned building with his skin and hands removed and the carcass drained of blood. Though this looks like a case of torture, Breen soon figures out what really happened. Now it's just a question of why and whodunnit. Those are tougher questions than usual, given the resistance Breen and Tozer receive from the victim's family and higher-ups in the Met.

If you've been looking for a good police procedural, check this one out, especially if the idea of a novel set in London in the 1960s appeals to you. I'll be looking forward to the third book in the Breen and Tozer series, A Book of Scars, which came out in the UK in June.

When I first started reading mysteries back in the 1970s, one of the first series I read was Peter Lovesey's Cribb and Thackeray books, about two police detectives in Victorian London. I've never been much of a fan for the Victorian period, but Lovesey knows how to write a cracking good story with plenty of wit and puzzle-solving interest.

Here it is, 45 years since his first crime novel, and Lovesey is still getting the job done. Since 1991, most of his books have been about Peter Diamond, a homicide Detective Inspector with the Bath, England police force. Usually, Diamond does his sleuthing with the able assistance of his team, the stalwart Keith Halliwell, plodding John Leaman and cheeky former crime journalist Ingeborg Smith––and the occasionally bedeviling by his boss, Georgina Dallymore. Dallymore couldn't detect her way out of a corner shop, but that doesn't prevent her from interfering. When she does, at least Diamond gets to go home to the comforts of his cat and his lady friend, Paloma.

Down Among the Dead Men (Soho Crime, July 7, 2015) is the 15th in the series, and it's a change of pace. To Diamond's dismay, Dallymore insists that he go off with her to West Sussex to help with an internal investigation. What; no team, no home, no cat, no Paloma? Just lots and lots of Dallymore? Diamond is horrified, but he keeps his feelings to himself.

Dallymore is frustratingly close-mouthed about the details of the case and Diamond doesn't find until they reach West Sussex that this is a complaint about a senior detective who succeeded in getting a conviction of a car thief for the murder of a man found in the trunk of a car he'd stolen, but then failed to pursue later evidence that her niece's fingerprints were found in the trunk.

Diamond is gobsmacked to learn that the officer in question is an old acquaintance, Henrietta ("Hen") Mallin. Diamond knows Hen as a supremely competent detective who's rough around the edges and has a raucously humorous approach to life and work––kind of the female version of Diamond. Georgina and Hen promise to be oil and water, so Diamond gives Hen the high sign that they should pretend not to know each other.

A second strand of the story involves a posh girls' school and the disappearance of their unpopular art teacher. When the investigation of Hen's case leads Diamond to inquire into Hen's interest in a series of missing persons cases in West Sussex, the two strands begin to look as if they might be intertwined.

I missed Diamond's working with his team, but his interplay with Dallymore was surprisingly satisfying. At times, Lovesey's depiction of Dallymore tends to the caricature-ish, but there are flashes of a real (though flawed) person in there and I had to admire the way Diamond cleverly plays on Dallymore's vanities to steer the investigation the way he wants.

The solution of the mystery was a little abrupt and not quite satisfying, but it was still a very enjoyable read and definitely helped me feel my good-book drought wasn't dire just yet.

Review of Peter Lovesey's Cop to Corpse

Cop to Corpse: A Peter Diamond Investigation by Peter Lovesey

When Constable Harry Tasker is shot in the head and killed in the early morning hours, that makes the third uniformed police officer picked off by a mystery sniper in England in three months. This is the first one in Bath, though, and Chief Superintendent Peter Diamond is on the scene quickly. He's told, in no uncertain terms, that the investigation will be led by Chief Superintendent Jack Gull of the Serial Crimes Unit.

By not giving in to his natural inclination to tell Gull to get stuffed, Diamond ensures that he stays close to Gull's team's pursuit of the sniper and, separately, can pursue his own investigation of the murder victims, trying to discover whether there might be a personal connection between them. This idea goes against the grain of Gull's notion that the sniper is just a psycho who hates cops, so Diamond doesn't immediately share his thoughts with Gull. He has to bring in his own team to help explore his theory, though, and this causes considerable awkwardness. The team figures that any connection among the cases would mean that there is something fishy in the victims' lives, and they take it as an insult to cops that the boss would think for a moment to cast suspicion on the victims.

Diamond is determined to find answers, no matter what the consequences. He's not afraid to tweak the foul-mouthed macho man, Gull, to ask difficult questions of the widows of the slain policemen––including the late Harry Tasker's abrasive-as-sandpaper wife––or to risk his normally good relationship with his closest team members, stalwart Keith Halliwell, plodding John Leaman and the cheeky former crime journalist, Ingeborg Smith.

Diamond is afraid of some things though. He has a white-knuckled horror of high-speed drivers––like Gull––and he hates guns. When Gull outfits his team for a stakeout with Diamond along, Diamond refuses the offered firepower, saying that for him to pack heat would only jeopardize everyone in his vicinity. Being a man of a certain age and avoirdupois, he's also none too fond of foot chases, climbing, or nighttime forest stakeouts (with or without guns). He much prefers to use his brain and to reason things out with his team and his longtime girlfriend, Paloma. (Not to digress too much, but I always thought police officers were supposed to keep their cases confidential. Diamond blabs just about every detail to Paloma. Not that I object; I just wondered about the propriety of it.)

The Peter Diamond series is a classic, straight-ahead British police procedural. Lovesey takes his crime stories seriously, but always includes a leavening of humor and spares us the blood, gore and sickening descriptions of violence. In Cop to Corpse, he leads us on a complex, multi-layered investigation with plenty of twists and turns, and a few cleverly-laid red herrings. Even though I had strong suspicions about whodunnit, Diamond's efforts and the full story were so entertaining that it made no difference at all to my enjoyment.

I highly recommend this twelfth entry in the Peter Diamond series, which was published in 2012 by Soho Crime. Unlike some series, it's not necessary to read the books in order––though they're all well worth reading.

Note: Versions of this review may appear on Amazon and other reviewing sites under my usernames there.

Oh, To Be In England

This past Friday night, I was mesmerized by the spectacle of the Opening Ceremony for the 30th Olympic games. The entire event was awesome and incomparable, as it was a showcase for the history of the British people and their culture. The history of the modern Olympic games themselves is speckled with British involvement. The original Olympics had been banned in 393 by the Roman Emperor Theodosius, but Europeans of those dark and middle ages still loved their games. In Scotland, there were various tournaments, which later evolved into the Highland Games, while in England there was a brief period in which the Cotswold Olympick Games took place and the romantic appeal of replicating the ancient games gave rise to many small towns celebrating sporting festivals that included such fare as pig chasing and an "old woman’s race for a pound of tea."

In the last decade of the 19th century, while strides were being made to get the 1896 games going in Greece and as Baron de Coubertin began lobbying for a true Olympics revival, the ideal was for the participants to be rewarded only with medals and laurel wreaths. The idea of amateurism came into play. The original British definition of an amateur was someone who did not labor with his hands. In fact, it was only the upper classes who had the time for fun and games. Besides, could the "lower orders" be trusted to behave in a sportsmanlike manner? Thus, in 1896, it was primarily Harvardians, Elis and MITers who made up the American team. Britain chose to shun the games, but several members of the British Embassy in Greece chose to compete under the Union Jack.

Closer to home, the British working man was very interested in sporting events, especially boxing and six-day marathons known in some circles as a wobble. Many considered these races infernally barbarous, while others––like the promoter of the event––held the opinion that events such as these showcased endurance, persistence and the will to conquer that were the premier qualities of the time.

One of these marathons is the center of activity in Wobble to Death by Peter Lovesey. This event was taking place in the great Agricultural Hall in the late 1800s London.

"For the benefit of those of you unable to read I shall repeat the rules. You may go as you please for six days and nights finishing next Saturday evening at half past ten o'clock..... Five hundred pounds and the belt to the winner, the Champion Pedestrian of the World. Good Luck to you all. Then go!... You poor bastards."

Agricultural Hall

In this situation, as in others in the world, there were two classes of competitors. On the inner one-eighth mile of the track moved the stars, while the lesser participants moved in an outer circle one seventh of a mile longer. In other words, the celebs were given a leg up.

But just a day into the running, one of the favored stars of the race, Charles Darrell, is dead. The cause of death is at first thought to be tetanus. The victim had suffered severe cramping and he had run barefoot for several laps because he had developed blisters on his feet. The Agricultural Hall had, of course, the detritus of many livestock shows still lingering and so the theory was plausible. Eventually it was determined that the actually cause of death was strychnine, which was in those days used as a stimulant at a low doses. Doping is nothing new. Somehow, Darrell had been fed a massive dose. Naturally, his trainer, Sam Monk, was eyed with suspicion––especially after he is soon found dead as well, a possible suicide.

Sergeant Cribb and his sidekick, Constable Thackeray, investigate the murder, going through the suspects from the athletes to the promoters, as the week wears on and the press accounts follow a well-accepted pattern. Initially the race is labeled as the "Islington Mix," then the "Herriott's Wobble" and, by the end of the week, the "Cruelty Show at the Agricultural Hall." You can almost smell the desperation and the leftover aroma of animals and fog. In the end, the simple motives for murder are usually the best: love, hate or money. You can pick and choose in this mystery. Lovesey's The Detective Wore Silk Drawers also takes place in the Victorian sporting arena, this time revolving around boxing.

It was Great Britain that came to the rescue of the Olympic Games, when in 1908 Mt. Vesuvius's temper forced the 1908 competition out of Rome. Again, in 1946, London was prevailed upon to host the Olympics despite the fact that the city had less than two years to prepare and the place was a shambles after the depredations of World War II. The British athletes still had barely enough to eat and all they received for a uniform was instructions, fabric and two pairs of "Y-front" underpants, which were considered a luxury. Maybe this was where the infamous "I see London, I see France" verse originated.

Other cultures have venerated footraces, and I am reminded of Dance Hall of the Dead written by Tony Hillerman. In this book, Lt. Joe Leaphorn of the Navajo police becomes involved in the case of the disappearance and death of a young boy. Ernesto, a young Zuñi, has been chosen to impersonate the Fire God in the incoming Zuñi sacred celebrations. He has been training so that he can run, dance and participate with great strength. Proud of the fact that he has been so honored, he couldn’t help tell his friend George about it, which was an improper thing to do, but he needed George's help in his workouts.

When Ernesto's body is found cruelly murdered, George takes off, trying to right the karma. But, as is often the case, one death follows another and Leaphorn knows he has to find George before anyone else does. Leaphorn believes that there is a reason for everything, that there is a synchronicity to nature. Every cause has its effect and every action its reaction. In all things there is a pattern, but in this situation Joe Leaphorn struggles to find it.

Native Americans have made their mark in the Olympic running events. A Hopi, Lewis Tewanima, won silver in the 10,000 meter, and the only American to ever take gold in this race is Billy Mills of the Oglala Lakota nation. A Penobscot, Andrew Sookalexis, was 12th in the 1912 marathon.

If you ever want to see a stirring movie, check out Running Brave: The Billy Mills Story.

Jim Thorpe

It has been 100 years since Jim Thorpe, a Sac and Fox Indian from Oklahoma, wowed the world with his epic performance in 1912 of 15 feats that won him Gold in the pentathlon and the decathlon and the title of the greatest athlete in the world. Even though he was stripped of his medals because he had earned some money playing in a summer baseball league, this same offense was overlooked when white athletes did the same thing. Later, in 1982, his medals were restored but not his records, which were not exceeded for decades.

Well, if you can see a few sports amidst all the interviews, commercials and general talkitis of the Olympic coverage, enjoy the next two weeks. If you miss anything you can make it up by reading books about similar events. Janet Rudolph's blog Mystery Fanfare has an excellent list of murder at the Olympics books.

Top Reads of 2011

There are certain subjects you know you shouldn't raise in company if you want to avoid unpleasantness. Politics, religion, how to raise children, just for starters. Among the Material Witnesses, one subject is guaranteed to prompt pained howls from Georgette Spelvin: best-books lists. For some reason, she just hates making lists of favorite authors and reads.

I enjoy looking back over the year and thinking about the books I've read and how they stacked up. I keep a notebook of the books I've read, but all I do is write down the author and title. If I really liked it, I put an asterisk next to it. One of my book club friends has a card file and has a comment card in it for every book she's read for the last 30 years or so. I'm not that organized, but I wish I did have a record of every book I'd ever read, except for the part where people would look at me like I was some kind of compulsive nutcase.

But back to the subject at hand. This is the time of year when the newspapers, magazines and websites tell us what were the best books published in the past year. I always look at those lists and consider myself lucky if I've read 20% of them. It makes me feel like a cultural deadbeat, but that somehow doesn't ever seem to result in my rushing out to get the books they rate the highest.

I'm going to list my top reads of this year, more or less in order, and ask our readers to do the same in comments. They don't have to be 2011 publications; just books you read this year and particularly enjoyed. I think I can guarantee nobody will feel like a cultural deadbeat after reading my list.

Top Mystery Reads

Louise Penny: A Trick of the Light (Maybe not quite as good as Bury Your Dead, but still terrific. Of course, the Armand Gamache series is my weakness.)

Kate Atkinson: Started Early, Took My Dog (This entry in the Jackson Brodie series picks up shortly after the Masterpiece Mystery! dramatization left off. Atkinson is one of the best writers out there.)

Cyril Hare: An English Murder (A classic British country house murder mystery, but with incisive commentary on British attitudes about class, ethnicity and religion.)

Fred Vargas: An Uncertain Place (Yet another quirky title in the Inspector Adamsberg series.)

Jill Paton-Walsh: The Attenbury Emeralds (A continuation of Dorothy L. Sayers's Lord Peter Wimsey series.)

Peter Lovesey: Stagestruck (This book about murder in a theater in Bath is part of the Peter Diamond series.)

G. M. Malliet: Wicked Autumn (This is the first in a new series featuring a former MI-5 agent who is now an English country vicar.)

Robert Barnard: A Stranger in the Family (There's nobody like Barnard. This is his 28th standalone mystery and he's already published another one this year. Not to mention his three series and his four books written as Bernard Bastable.)

Alan Bradley: I Am Half Sick of Shadows (Flavia de Luce at Christmastime.)

Top Non-Mystery Fiction Reads

Anthony Powell: A Dance to the Music of Time (Four big volumes telling the story of British society and the empire from the 1930s to the 1970s.  I was mesmerized by it and didn't know what to do with myself for weeks after I finished it.)

Muriel Spark: A Far Cry From Kensington (One of the most mordantly witty books ever.)

Adam Johnson: The Orphan Master's Son (An tour-de-force about contemporary life in North Korea.)

Jane Gardam: Old Filth (Funny, sad, touching tale of the life of Sir Edward Feathers. Like A Dance to the Music of Time, it's as much about the British Empire as it is about the characters' lives.)

Stephen King: 11/22/63 (On one level, a time-travel book about trying to prevent the JFK assassination. On a deeper level, about connectedness.)

Chad Harbach: The Art of Fielding (A coming-of-age story about baseball and much more.)

Fannie Flagg: I Still Dream About You (Fannie Flagg is one of my guilty pleasures and this book was just as satisfying as the rest.)

D. E. Stevenson: Miss Buncle's Book (A real find.  Set in England in the 1950s and about a spinster who decides to write a book to make some much-needed money. She can only write what she knows, so she writes a thinly-disguised book about the people in the village. Complications ensue. This title has been issued by Persephone Books, which reprints neglected classics of 20th-century authors, usually women.)

Top Nonfiction Reads

Erik Larson: In the Garden of Beasts (Novelistic story of a college professor made ambassador to Germany in the 1930s Nazi era, and his adult daughter who accompanied him to Berlin, along with his wife and adult son.)

Siddhartha Mukherjee: The Emperor of All Maladies (A compellingly readable biography of cancer.)

Laura Hillenbrand: Unbroken (Astonishing story of Louis Zamperini, who went from juvenile delinquent to Olympic runner, to POW of the Japanese in World War II.)

Richard J. Evans: The Coming of the Third Reich (You'd think there isn't any more that can be said on the subject, but Evans proves that wrong.)

Nella Last's War (Just before the outbreak of World War II, Britain established the Mass Observation Project, in which ordinary people were asked to write diaries and answer questionnaires about their views on contemporary events.  Nella Last, an ordinary housewife in a seacoast town, wrote a diary that is full of everyday detail, but also reveals her deepest feelings about married life, her children, the war, her country, her neighbors, the role of women and more.)

Now it's your turn . . .