After the publication of Firewall in 1998, Henning Mankell considered the Kurt Wallander story to be complete. Fans, however, consistently asked him about what had happened to Wallander before his first appearance (Faceless Killers), and Mankell eventually felt that it was important to tell those stories as well. The result was Pyramiden, published in Swedish in 1999, and translated as The Pyramid into English by Laurie Thompson and Ebba Segerberg in 2008.
The Pyramid covers five shorter Wallander cases, spanning everything from his first investigation out of uniform through to the case he had just wrapped up when Faceless Killers began. In a charming touch, Mankell ends that fifth story - the novella The Pyramid - with the same fateful phone call which sends Wallander to a farmhouse where two people have been brutally murdered.
The second, third, and fourth stories (The Man with the Mask, The Man on the Beach, and The Death of the Photographer) are legitimately short stories, with The Pyramid and the appropriately-titled Wallander's First Case which bookend them being slightly longer. The Man with the Mask, indeed, is barely more than a brief sketch of an event which occurred when Wallander was in the process of moving from Malmö to Ystad, the smaller town with which he is so intimately associated.
A recurring thread in these stories is the tenuous relationship Wallander has with Mona, the woman who is his ex-wife by the time the series properly starts. His troubled relationships with his father and daughter, too, play key roles. The irascible man regular Mankell readers know and love is still painting his landscapes (sometimes with a grouse, other times without them), and on one occasion calls the police station and describes himself as "a distant relative, which infuriates Wallander. On the other hand, The Pyramid itself features a moment where Wallander - to say nothing of the reader - genuinely appreciates the depth of feeling the two men appear to have for each other.
We also see a much stronger connection between Wallander and his colleague Rydberg, whose death plays a role in the rest of the series. Many of the pieces of wisdom Wallander holds dear make their debuts in these stories, in fact.
Plot-wise, these stories tend to leave a bit to be desired. The Man on the Beach has a particularly clever plot, but the resolution feels rather staged, while The Death of the Photographer really deserves a much cleverer resolution than the two-dimensional solution provided. The title story has more of Mankell's expected twists and turns, and a resolution perhaps better-crafted than some of the novel-length excursions Mankell has given us over the years.
That said, the reader is unlikely to be reading these as detective stories, so much as for the insights into Wallander's character, and these are plentiful. Mankell, in a foreward, also makes the point that a lot of Wallander's stories focus on the crisis of the Swedish social-democratic state, and that particular concern is omnipresent here, which perhaps explains the "bad guy is bad" resolution so common to the series a bit better.
Not an essential inclusion in the Wallander series, but one which his more dedicated followers will want to read.
3.5 stars.
Sunday, 31 March 2019
Friday, 22 March 2019
Barbara Nadel - "Last Rights"
Barbara Nadel is one of the lesser-known lights of what might be termed "location crime", crime fiction set in exotic locations but not written by a local. Think of Donna Leon's Venice, rather than Jo Nesbø's Oslo, for example. Nadel's Çetin İkmen series, set in Istanbul, is often regarded as one of the better introductions to the Turkish metropolis.
Beginning in 2005, however, Nadel has also branched out to other settings. Last Rights, published in that year, is the beginning of her Francis Hancock series - crime fiction set in the East End of London during the Second World War. Squaring the circle somewhat, Nadel has also written a number of novels set in the modern East End, featuring an Englishman and a Turk as investigators.
Last Rights, as mentioned, takes place in a very specific place at a very specific time, London in 1940 as "Jerry" launches the nightly raids which would destroy large parts of the British capital and come to define the war experience for a generation or more of British people. By setting the Hancock series in the East End, Nadel has also given herself the challenge of getting the atmosphere just right - this was a London where Cockney accents still predominated, sectarianism was rife, and a very specific sort of slang was to be heard. Moreover, the novel is narrated in the first person by Hancock, so there's very little room for error.
The effect is quite authentic. We're not just in "music-hall Cockney" territory, although there's a reference to George Formby for those paying attention, and I'm sure some of the characters would happily whistle "My Ol' Man's a Dustman" given half a chance. Nadel even goes so far as to offer a partial glossary of some of the terms towards the end of the novel (although, bizarrely, the radio program ITMA is only given in its initials).
Hancock himself is also worthy of some attention, as he's a very unusual character to feature as a protagonist. He's a devout Catholic and an undertaker - the son and grandson of an undertaker, in fact - who is known to many locals in his area as "The Morgue's Son". More unusually, he's half-Indian, as his father married a woman from Goa when living in India, and much is made throughout the novel of the different skin tones that Hancock and his siblings have. He also suffers from what we would term post-traumatic stress disorder, having served in "the first lot" (the First World War) and seen too many things to remain entirely sane as a result.
While the effects of the mental illness are only really shown as a stutter when the bombs are falling and a general dislike of being in confined spaces (such as bomb shelters), this is an interesting choice for a character. Hancock is clearly intended to be a reliable narrator, despite his difficulties, and Nadel occasionally has difficulty keeping that under control.
Hancock's investigation here begins when, during a raid, a man staggers towards him complaining that he'd been stabbed. Hancock dismisses this, since there's not much blood, and the man carries on. A day or two later, his body appears in Hancock's morgue, and he begins to wonder if there mightn't have been something in the story after all.
Investigations are hampered by the reluctance of the victim's family to look beyond the most obvious suspect, as well as a child who occasionally runs off without any warning. As Hancock digs further, however, he uncovers what appears to be a case of hereditary violence and family secrets.
Unfortunately for Nadel, very little of the plot makes sense. A lot of this is down to the relatively two-dimensional characters she creates - Hancock himself is engaging enough, but there isn't enough to delineate the other characters from each other. Too many of them seem to know things by pure coincidence for the plot to be remotely plausible.
Indeed, by the time the final scenes - which are clearly meant to be dramatic - begin, the effect is more of puzzlement. Characters have, by now, taken to appearing and disappearing for absolutely no reason other than to bring back new chunks of exposition. One character, indeed, explains what's been going on but appears to have had absolutely no motive to do what he did, which is a rather elementary error to make. The "incredibly evil villain" also appears to have had minimal motive.
I'm not sure precisely why these errors were made, but I suspect it's simply a case of trying to juggle too many balls at once. Nadel had already released some six İkmen novels by the time Hancock made his debut here, so we can hardly accuse her of making a rookie mistake. Perhaps hubris came into play?
An interesting character, sadly given a completely wooden plot in which to run.
One star.
Beginning in 2005, however, Nadel has also branched out to other settings. Last Rights, published in that year, is the beginning of her Francis Hancock series - crime fiction set in the East End of London during the Second World War. Squaring the circle somewhat, Nadel has also written a number of novels set in the modern East End, featuring an Englishman and a Turk as investigators.
Last Rights, as mentioned, takes place in a very specific place at a very specific time, London in 1940 as "Jerry" launches the nightly raids which would destroy large parts of the British capital and come to define the war experience for a generation or more of British people. By setting the Hancock series in the East End, Nadel has also given herself the challenge of getting the atmosphere just right - this was a London where Cockney accents still predominated, sectarianism was rife, and a very specific sort of slang was to be heard. Moreover, the novel is narrated in the first person by Hancock, so there's very little room for error.
The effect is quite authentic. We're not just in "music-hall Cockney" territory, although there's a reference to George Formby for those paying attention, and I'm sure some of the characters would happily whistle "My Ol' Man's a Dustman" given half a chance. Nadel even goes so far as to offer a partial glossary of some of the terms towards the end of the novel (although, bizarrely, the radio program ITMA is only given in its initials).
Hancock himself is also worthy of some attention, as he's a very unusual character to feature as a protagonist. He's a devout Catholic and an undertaker - the son and grandson of an undertaker, in fact - who is known to many locals in his area as "The Morgue's Son". More unusually, he's half-Indian, as his father married a woman from Goa when living in India, and much is made throughout the novel of the different skin tones that Hancock and his siblings have. He also suffers from what we would term post-traumatic stress disorder, having served in "the first lot" (the First World War) and seen too many things to remain entirely sane as a result.
While the effects of the mental illness are only really shown as a stutter when the bombs are falling and a general dislike of being in confined spaces (such as bomb shelters), this is an interesting choice for a character. Hancock is clearly intended to be a reliable narrator, despite his difficulties, and Nadel occasionally has difficulty keeping that under control.
Hancock's investigation here begins when, during a raid, a man staggers towards him complaining that he'd been stabbed. Hancock dismisses this, since there's not much blood, and the man carries on. A day or two later, his body appears in Hancock's morgue, and he begins to wonder if there mightn't have been something in the story after all.
Investigations are hampered by the reluctance of the victim's family to look beyond the most obvious suspect, as well as a child who occasionally runs off without any warning. As Hancock digs further, however, he uncovers what appears to be a case of hereditary violence and family secrets.
Unfortunately for Nadel, very little of the plot makes sense. A lot of this is down to the relatively two-dimensional characters she creates - Hancock himself is engaging enough, but there isn't enough to delineate the other characters from each other. Too many of them seem to know things by pure coincidence for the plot to be remotely plausible.
Indeed, by the time the final scenes - which are clearly meant to be dramatic - begin, the effect is more of puzzlement. Characters have, by now, taken to appearing and disappearing for absolutely no reason other than to bring back new chunks of exposition. One character, indeed, explains what's been going on but appears to have had absolutely no motive to do what he did, which is a rather elementary error to make. The "incredibly evil villain" also appears to have had minimal motive.
I'm not sure precisely why these errors were made, but I suspect it's simply a case of trying to juggle too many balls at once. Nadel had already released some six İkmen novels by the time Hancock made his debut here, so we can hardly accuse her of making a rookie mistake. Perhaps hubris came into play?
An interesting character, sadly given a completely wooden plot in which to run.
One star.
Wednesday, 13 March 2019
Anthony Horowitz - "The House of Silk"
When I reviewed Horowitz' Moriarty last year, I indicated at the time that it was worthwhile to revisit his earlier foray into the Sherlock Holmes universe, 2011's The House of Silk. Re-reading this, particularly in light of the more recent novel, is an interesting experience.
House of Silk is much more in the traditional Sherlock Holmes mode. Watson narrates the plot, constantly marvelling at his friend's intelligence and inserting his own purple prose at times, and Holmes moves effortlessly from high society to the Baker Street Irregulars and back, while chasing fiendish wrongdoing on the part of his client. Lestrade appears, as he always should, and manages to avoid stepping on too many toes.
The plot here is very much in the spirit of Conan Doyle, too. Holmes and Watson are approached by art dealer Edmund Carstairs, who has been disturbed by the appearance of a mysterious - and silent - figure outside his house and his art gallery. Carstairs suspects that this man is part of an American gang hell-bent on getting revenge for acts in the United States, hence his appointment with the denizens of 221B Baker Street. The appearance of the mysterious figure leads to robbery and - shortly thereafter - to murder. The game, as Holmes would doubtless say, is afoot.
Soon, though, things take a very different turn. As both Holmes and Watson remark, this is not the way in which the great detective's cases typically develop (although it is, of course, redolent of more contemporary crime fiction). The disappearance of one of the Irregulars prompts the two men to investigate further, and to uncover mentions of a mysterious organisation known as "The House of Silk". When further murders are uncovered, the situation clearly becomes more dangerous, and both Holmes and Watson are themselves put at risk.
The eventual resolution wraps up both mysteries quite neatly. While the plot includes considerably more action than Conan Doyle traditionally worked into his plots, Holmes' explanations of what had actually happened is a return to the vintage style again, although it does end on a more contemporary note of ambiguity.
But does it work?
I'm not convinced that it does. The problem with revisiting any beloved literary creation (Horowitz has also written some James Bond novels, for example) is that fans of the original will note any deviations from that original. As a confirmed Holmesian myself, there were more than a few moments which didn't quite ring true.
Most of these, interestingly, were Watson himself. He reports dialogue with more than a few anachronisms, and at least one Americanism on Holmes' part. Small points, of course, but they are nonetheless jarring. Horowitz himself is also guilty of some bizarre lapses of continuity - a victim is stabbed, until he's been "shot", and a character is both "Fitzsimmons" and "Fitzwilliams". While neither of these gets in the way of the plot, they're the sort of thing a well-known novelist ought to be able to avoid.
Holmes occasionally, too, becomes a sort of "Holmes-by-numbers". The pipe is there, the violin is there, the seven-percent-solution is there, and Horowitz appears to believe that simply winding him up and pointing him in the general direction of the plot is worthwhile. It doesn't quite work that well.
My other problem, to be frank, is the subject matter. Watson spends rather too much time moralising about Victorian London, which he never does in the originals, and the second (and dominant) part of the plot is an attempt to bring Holmes into a more modern context. I don't want to give that part of the novel away, but the subject matter may be a bit confronting for some.
As another strange note, House of Silk provides yet another "origin story" for Holmes' arch-nemesis Moriarty - and one at odds with the events in the novel of the same name. Hardened Holmesians will know that the "Napoleon of Crime" has whatever origin Conan Doyle wanted him to have for the purposes of the story, but this is quite jarring as well.
While House of Silk has its moments, and there are several of these (a dialogue with Mycroft in which both brothers "out-deduce" each other is remarkable, but unexplained), the effect is less than it should be.
Three stars.
House of Silk is much more in the traditional Sherlock Holmes mode. Watson narrates the plot, constantly marvelling at his friend's intelligence and inserting his own purple prose at times, and Holmes moves effortlessly from high society to the Baker Street Irregulars and back, while chasing fiendish wrongdoing on the part of his client. Lestrade appears, as he always should, and manages to avoid stepping on too many toes.
The plot here is very much in the spirit of Conan Doyle, too. Holmes and Watson are approached by art dealer Edmund Carstairs, who has been disturbed by the appearance of a mysterious - and silent - figure outside his house and his art gallery. Carstairs suspects that this man is part of an American gang hell-bent on getting revenge for acts in the United States, hence his appointment with the denizens of 221B Baker Street. The appearance of the mysterious figure leads to robbery and - shortly thereafter - to murder. The game, as Holmes would doubtless say, is afoot.
Soon, though, things take a very different turn. As both Holmes and Watson remark, this is not the way in which the great detective's cases typically develop (although it is, of course, redolent of more contemporary crime fiction). The disappearance of one of the Irregulars prompts the two men to investigate further, and to uncover mentions of a mysterious organisation known as "The House of Silk". When further murders are uncovered, the situation clearly becomes more dangerous, and both Holmes and Watson are themselves put at risk.
The eventual resolution wraps up both mysteries quite neatly. While the plot includes considerably more action than Conan Doyle traditionally worked into his plots, Holmes' explanations of what had actually happened is a return to the vintage style again, although it does end on a more contemporary note of ambiguity.
But does it work?
I'm not convinced that it does. The problem with revisiting any beloved literary creation (Horowitz has also written some James Bond novels, for example) is that fans of the original will note any deviations from that original. As a confirmed Holmesian myself, there were more than a few moments which didn't quite ring true.
Most of these, interestingly, were Watson himself. He reports dialogue with more than a few anachronisms, and at least one Americanism on Holmes' part. Small points, of course, but they are nonetheless jarring. Horowitz himself is also guilty of some bizarre lapses of continuity - a victim is stabbed, until he's been "shot", and a character is both "Fitzsimmons" and "Fitzwilliams". While neither of these gets in the way of the plot, they're the sort of thing a well-known novelist ought to be able to avoid.
Holmes occasionally, too, becomes a sort of "Holmes-by-numbers". The pipe is there, the violin is there, the seven-percent-solution is there, and Horowitz appears to believe that simply winding him up and pointing him in the general direction of the plot is worthwhile. It doesn't quite work that well.
My other problem, to be frank, is the subject matter. Watson spends rather too much time moralising about Victorian London, which he never does in the originals, and the second (and dominant) part of the plot is an attempt to bring Holmes into a more modern context. I don't want to give that part of the novel away, but the subject matter may be a bit confronting for some.
As another strange note, House of Silk provides yet another "origin story" for Holmes' arch-nemesis Moriarty - and one at odds with the events in the novel of the same name. Hardened Holmesians will know that the "Napoleon of Crime" has whatever origin Conan Doyle wanted him to have for the purposes of the story, but this is quite jarring as well.
While House of Silk has its moments, and there are several of these (a dialogue with Mycroft in which both brothers "out-deduce" each other is remarkable, but unexplained), the effect is less than it should be.
Three stars.
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