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ARDEN …Between the covers

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This cleverly crafted novel has two timelines. In the first, we follow the fortunes of Alice Arden, nee Brigandine. She is married to Thomas Arden, a Kentish merchant, and we are in the fourth and fifth decades of the sixteenth century, in the dying days of the rule of Henry VIII, and the brief reign of his son, the boy King, Edward VI. A young Warwickshire man, Will Shakspere*, who works as a glove maker in his father’s business, is the second subject. We are in the same century, but in its final two decades. On the throne is the daughter of Ann Boleyn, Elizabeth.

*I have retained the spelling of the surname used in the novel, rather than the modern alternative.

Alice has been married off to Thomas Arden, an unscrupulous merchant who, for all his cut and thrust in the business world, has absolutely no interest in Alice as a sexual partner. Her dismay is compounded by the fact that, before her marriage, she had an intense physical relationship with a local tailor, Tom Mosby. Thomas and Alice have moved to the town of Faversham, where Thomas has been made Mayor. When Mosby turns up and seeks to renew his relationship with Alice, she is drawn into a maelstrom of desire and wrong decisions that will have fatal consequences.

The dissolution of the monasteries, in the later years of the reign of Henry VIII, might be viewed as an act of cultural vandalism today, but for the secular world at the time, it provided endless business opportunities. The monasteries had huge land holdings and when Henry’s Treasury put these acres up for sale, merchants and investors sensed an unmissable business opportunity. Inevitably, rivals clashed, and two such were Thomas Arden and Sir Anthony Aucher. It is no exaggeration to say that they were sworn enemies.

As this rivalry blew hotter and hotter, Arden and his wife had come to an astonishing domestic arrangement. Tom Mosby had reappeared, and had sought out his former lover, Alice. Arden was still dependent on the patronage of Sir Edward North, Alice’s stepfather. Arden reluctantly allowed Alice and Mosby to carry on their passionate affair, metaphorically under his nose, but literally under his roof.

Years on from the events in Faversham, Will Shakspere is increasingly frustrated with his lot. He and his wife Ann and their three children rely on Will’s wage from his father’s glove business. Will is not a great craftsman. Profits are made by making the maximum pairs of gloves from any given hide, and Will botches more often than he succeeds. In a desperate attempt to provide meat for his table and leather for his workshop, Will tries to poach a deer from Charlecote Park, but he is caught by Sir Thomas Lucy’s gamekeepers, and is forced to flee Stratford to avoid serious punishment. He scrapes out a living in London as a bit-part actor, trying his best to send money home to Anne and his children.

The book’s title resonates throughout its pages, but in different ways. It was the dense forest that covered much of what is now the West Midlands in Roman times. It was the family name of Shakspere’s mother. They had once been noble, but had fallen from favour long ago. And of, course, it became Alice’s married name when she and Thomas were wed.

Will eventually makes his mark as a playwright in London, but before works such as The Taming of the Shrew made him rich and famous, he dramatises the events in Faversham fifty years earlier. However, as it contains obvious references to families who are still rich and powerful, it is never performed properly.

Aeschylean tragedy, used by Shakspere in such works as Hamlet, Othello and Macbeth, is based on the idea of men and women brought down not because they were inherently evil, but because of poor decisions, ambition, vanity, and human traits like jealousy. Thomas Hardy’s Mayor of Casterbridge is one such and, like him, Thomas Arden comes to grief when he offends one too many local officials and merchants, and loses all his power and authority. Alice Arden, another tragic figure, makes the mistake of trusting her lover, Tom Mosby, and becomes sucked in to a plot to kill her husband. It goes disastrously wrong and, within hours of the deed, she is arrested, thrown into jail, tried and burnt at the stake, but not before she is subject to an astonishingly vile act of revenge by the local authorities. Decades later, Shakspere learns of this and, now a celebrated and wealthy man, is determined to place on record the last hours of Alice Arden’s life.

Arden is beautifully written, with meticulous historical research. Alice Arden is a truly tragic figure, certainly not a heroine, but a woman brought low by her own desires and poor choices. I have not read a book that brings Will Shakspere to life with such energy since Anthony Burgess’s 1964 novel Nothing Like the Sun. Arden is published by Ginger Cat and is available now.

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THE SERPENT UNDER . . . Between the covers

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Leaving aside for a moment the question of whether or not this Sherlock Holmes pastiche is any good, I will tell you that in terms of design and printing, it is to be treasured. The cover is magnificent, and the illustrated capitals at the beginning of each chapter are a  delight – each a miniature masterpiece.

To the text. Holmes and Watson receive an urgent summons to Windsor Castle, where a lady-in- waiting to an elderly duchess has been found dead in her bath. Palace officials have  peremptorily declared the death as suicide, cleaned the area where the body was found, and moved her remains to another chamber. One glance at the corpse of Miss Jane Wandley is enough for Holmes to realise that she has been murdered. Not only is it impossible that the two slashes on her wrists to have been self administered, she is covered in fresh and unhealed tattoos, depicting an ancient symbol, the Ouroboros – a snake eating itself. 

We are reunited with one of the more improbable characters in this series, a young girl known as Heffie, who is an ex-officio member of the Baker Street Irregulars (a staple of the original stories), a gang of street urchins who use their anonymity to eavesdrop on conversations between ladies and gentlemen on London’s highways and byways. They were a brilliant invention by ACD, as they give Holmes eyes and ears in places where he would be too conspicuous to be effective. Heffie is roughly spoken, but highly intelligent and observant. There is just a hint of Pygmalion about this, as Heffie is anxious to speak ‘proper’ as Holmes, in his Henry Higgins mode, corrects her language and pronunciation.

Bonnie MacBride wastes no time in presenting us with a selection of dubious characters. Jane Wandley’s own father will not leave his Home Counties mansion to identify his daughter’s body sending, instead, his estate manager Peter Oliver, a handsome and charismatic university graduate. Jane Wandley’s fiancée, a vulgar and vain German of very minor royal descent, has a cast iron alibi for the probable murder timeline, but  is definitely a person of interest.

The key to the mystery lies in the elaborate and professionally executed tattoos on the dead woman. Someone is obviously sending an arcane message, but to whom? And what is the message? Holmes traces the tattoos to the work of a celebrated Japanese artist, much in demand in his home country where his top customers are Yakuza gangsters. However, he was in London at a Japanese cultural event, was kidnapped along with his little daughter and forced to work on Jane Wandley with a knife held to his daughter’s throat. She has been released, but of him there is no sign. Things become more complex when it is discovered that Jane Wandley’s younger brother is an artist who creates designs for an upmarket fabric company. His patterns all feature, guess what? Snakes.

Holmes tributes, pastiches, homages – call them what you will – are almost as old as the original stories. I can cope with most of them, provided they stay in period. Attempts to put him in modern dress, or make him Steampunk, or recast him in a comedy parody, are, for me, beneath contempt. Life shortens by the day, and so I don’t have statistics, but I make an educated guess that SH ‘reimaginings’ probably now outnumber the originals.

I have made this point before, but it is well worth repeating. With the exception of the four novella-length tales, A Study in Scarlet, The Valley of Fear, The Sign of Four and The Hound of the Baskervilles, all other Holmes stories were short and pithy, aimed at magazine readers. Modern novelists are, therefore faced with an inbuilt challenge, which is to keep their stories ticking over throughout 400 pages or so. Hence the need for having other story lines running parallel to the main one – in this case the mystery of who is attempting to damage and disrupt a fledgling women’s rights movement. I have a rather ‘left field” yardstick for these books. If I can imagine Holmes’s dialogue being delivered by Jeremy Brett, then all is well. In The Serpent Under, all is not just well, but flourishing. This is a clever re-imagining of our old friend, and very, very readable. Published by Collins Crime Club, it is available now.

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THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB . . . Between the covers

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Fergus Hume’s 1886 novel is rightly regarded as one of the building blocks of crime fiction.To put it into some kind of chronological context. Emile Gaboriau published Monsieur Lecoq in 1867, The Moonstone appeared in 1868, while A Study In Scarlet came out in 1887.

The story begins simply enough. It is the small hours of the morning in 1880s Melbourne. A cab driver sees two men, dressed in evening clothes. One appears to be very drunk. The sober man puts his drunken companion into the cab and walks away. The drunk is trying to explain to the cabbie that he needs to go to St Kilda, a suburb near the sea. Just then the sober man returns, and tells the driver to take them to St Kilda. About half way there, the sober man tells the cabbie to stop. He says that he will walk back into the city, but that his drunken friend will let the driver know where to drop him off. The cabbie continues for a while but, hearing nothing from the passenger, stops to check. The man is dead, a handkerchief soaked in chloroform across his face. The cabbie turns around and heads for the city police station.

Mr Gorby, the police detective investigating the crime, soon has the case cracked. The dead man is Oliver Whyte. His companion in the cab was, apparently, Brian Fitzgerald. The men were rivals in love, the lady in question being Madge Frettlby, the daughter of a rich businessman. Fitzgerald appears to be the only possible suspect, and he is arrested.

Awaiting trial, Fitzgerald frustrates his expensive lawyer by stating yes, he did meet Whyte and put him in the cab, then walked away but, crucially, did not return. We then have perhaps the earliest use of what has become a tried and trusted crime fiction trope – that of the suspect who has a genuine alibi, but dare not reveal it because of the dishonour it would bring down on someone else. Perhaps we could call this The Gentleman’s Dilemma.

Fitzgerald claims that a woman delivered a written message to him at his club, after he had left Whyte with the cabbie. The message implored him to visit a dying woman in a gin den in an alley off Little Bourke Street. The messenger was one Sal Rawlins who has since disappeared, being last heard of traveling to Sydney with a Chinaman. After a hefty reward is offered Sal is found and testifies, thus establishing Fitzgerald’s alibi. But who was the dying woman, and why did she need to use her final moments to talk to Fitzgerald? Hume’s solution is both neat and daring.

The book is certainly ‘of its time’ in some ways. One of the conventions of the day was that words spoken by ‘the menials’ – working class or peasant characters – were heavily phoneticised, so that no missing final ‘g’ in words ending in ‘ing’ or any missing ‘h’ at the beginning of ‘he’, ‘has’ or ‘home’ goes unpunished.

Imagined as a screenplay, TMOAHC is magnificently melodramatic, with enough betrayal, dark secrets, swooning, hands clasped to fevered brows and tarnished virtue to set Victorian (in both senses of the word) pulses racing. It is cleverly done, however, and the true identity of the killer is only revealed in the last few pages. Hume, towards the end, devotes several pages to the theme that we mortals are little more than chess pieces being moved about the board for their own amusement by the ‘Immortals’ of Greek myth. Just five years later, in 1891, Thomas Hardy was to end Tess of the d’Urbervilles with the same bitter thoughts.

Hume was forced to self – publish the first edition of this novel, but sales gathered pace thereafter, and it has been endlessly reprinted. In his preface to this edition Hume reveals that prior to publication he made several changes, including the identity of the killer. He also tells us that he sold the rights to the novel to a group of speculators, no doubt for a tidy sum, but in doing so cut himself off from later profits. He regarded himself as, first and foremost, a New Zealander. His parents moved from England to New Zealand when he was very young, and it was there that he was educated and graduated as a barrister. He then moved to Australia for a few years, but eventually returned to England, where he died in 1932 at the age of 73. If you click the image below, it will take you to Project Gutenberg where you can download a free digital copy.

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THE DISAPPEARANCE . . . Between the covers

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At the heart of this excellent legal thriller is the conundrum of how it is that the legal team defending seriously evil people can do their job. The novel is set in Poland, but we  can look at notorious cases in the UK. Brady and Hindley, Shipman, Dennis Nilsen, Dale Cregan – each had lawyers and barristers fighting their corner in the courts, and trying their best to convince the jury that their clients were innocent. The fact is that the legal teams are taught not to believe or disbelieve what their clients are saying. They have one job, and one job only, and that is to use every skill at their disposal to present the available evidence to the court as persuasively as possible. It is not in their remit to search for ‘the truth’. That is real life, of course, but in crime novels, lawyers regularly break away from witness statements and points of law to go ‘into the field.

Joanna Chylka, senior member of a top Warsaw law firm, is called by an old acquaintance from younger days, Angelika Slezyngier. Joanna is solitary, abrasive, and abrupt. She has few friends, and Angelika is certainly not numbered among them. Angelina’s three year-old daughter has been abducted from the lakeside house, near the border with Latvia and Belorus, and the police have decided that Angelika and her businessman husband, Awit, are responsible.

To the police, the case has all the elements of a locked room mystery. Awit says he set the alarm, covering most of the windows and doors, but not the skylights, at 7.00 pm, when (they say) Nikola was safely in bed. No alarms were triggered, and there is no sign of a break-in, but the little girl is gone. An elderly man, Antoni Ekiel, who lives near the Slezingier house. tells Joanna that he saw Awit walking away with Nikola on the night of her disappearance.

When Joanna and her trainee, a young man called Kordian Orynsk, arrive at the scene, they are confronted with a complete lack of evidence. The house has an extensive alarm system covering all the doors and windows, and it seems a physical impossibility for the toddler to have been taken away through one of the skylights.

Kordian is younger and has fewer battle honours than his senior partner. He is inclined to believe what Angelika and Awit are saying, but Joanna keeps insisting that what he believes is irrelevant. Their job is to convince the court that the Slezyngiers are not involved in their daughter’s disappearance.

Mróz gives us few clues about Joanna’s age or appearance. We are left to assume that she is perhaps in her late 30s, and still very attractive, as she turns heads whenever she and Kordian go into a bar or a restaurant. Her treatment of Kordian is little short of cruel. She is sarcastic, constantly critical of his opinions and judgments, and scathing about his lifestyle choices. She is firmly in the red meat camp, while Kordian is edging towards vegetables or – if he wants to indulge – ethically sourced fish.

The case comes to court, and Angelika makes a statement which turns the case on its head, compels her to employ a different legal team, and puts Awit in the line of fire. When Joanna is involved in a serious road accident, and barely escapes with her life, Kordian has to follow his instincts while Joanna is in intensive care fighting for her life.

In the end, the initial instincts of Joanna and Kordian prove to be wide of the mark, as the fate of Nikola Slezyngier is revealed. The court scenes are intense, and the Polish landscape is a memorable background to this tense and nervy thriller. Disappearance was translated by Joanna Saunders, published by Zaffre Books,  and is available now.

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DEAD SWEET . . . Between the covers

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A well-connected Reykjavik civil servant and former politician fails to turn up to his 50th birthday party. The body of Óttar Karlsson is later found on an isolated beach. He had been beaten, and has died of his wounds. Police detective Sigurdís Höllódottir is part of the investigative team. She has just returned to duty after being reprimanded for over-enthusiastically restraining a young man who was beating up his girlfriend. Sigurdís’s intolerance of such behaviour is rooted in her own traumatic childhood, where her father was a serial abuser. After he served a prison term for a serious assault on her younger brother, Einar he disappeared. The family hope he is gone for good but Einar receives a message on Facebook. It seems that his father is working on a farm in Denmark, and is using the name Daniel Christensen but, much worse, he is determined to return to Iceland.

There is another strand concerning the reappearance of Sigurdís’s father. The violent evening where he nearly killed Einar was the culmination of years of abuse melted out to his wife. He was a serving police officer and his colleagues, including Sigurgeirsson, knew perfectly well what was going on – and they did nothing. Now, however, Sigurgeirsson is determined to redeem himself by monitoring the man very closely, if and when he returns to Reykjavik.

The search for Karlsson’s killer opens up the proverbial can of worms, as it becomes obvious that the dead man had many secrets, not the least of which is his time in America as a young man, and his involvement with a mysterious cult and its charismatic leader.

To say the denouemont is unexpected would be an understatement. The author cleverly leads us away from the truth page by page and red herring by red herring. Neither Sigurdís  or her boss Garđar Sigurgeirsson really come near the truth until Sigurdís makes a trip to Minnesota, on the pretext of taking a week’s leave, and hears the real history of Óttar’s time in America.

Sigurdís’s primal fear of her father’s reappearance starts off as side issue, but the consequences of his return to Iceland are explained in the final two pages, and strongly hint that there may be a sequel. Dead Sweet is an excellent debut novel by Katrín Júlíusdóttir who is a former politician herself, having held the position of Minister of Finance and Economic Affairs of Iceland. This experience undoubtedly adds authenticity to the pacy narrative. Dead Sweet is translated by Quentin Bates, published by Orenda books and is available now.

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PAST REDEMPTION . . . Between the covers

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The new Aector McAvoy novel by David Mark begins with a bloodbath. A man is being literally ripped to pieces with the savagery torturers used to flay saints in medieval times. Just as it seems the victim is done for, someone comes to his rescue, in the shape of a small but fierce woman. We soon learn that the tortured man is Decland Parfitt who would, after he made an almost miraculous recovery, be jailed for child sexual abuse. His rescuer? Aector McAvoy’s long time boss, the formidable Chief Detective Superintendent Trish Pharaoh.

The story actually begins with a man driving in the pouring rain along a remote minor road in East Yorkshire. The driver, a man named Joe, is getting an ear-bashing from his ex-wife – who is on speaker phone – over the way he has let their daughter down. Distracted by her tirade and with the windscreen misting up, he feels a large bang, and knows he has hit something. When he gets out of the car he sees what appears to be a large black bag lying in the road. Rapidly calculating that there will be no cameras nearby, he gets back in the car and drives off. The bag is later found to contain a body – that of John Dennic, jailed for a savage assault on a police officer, and an acquaintance of Parfitt in prison. Dennic had been on day release when he went missing.

Parfitt was an arch-deceiver. He brought fun and laughter to countless youngsters across the region as a children’s entertainer. Dressed rather like Lofty in It Ain’t Half Hot Mum, he was everyone’s favourite uncle, with his jokes, his performing animals and his sunny disposition. He was a single man, but that rang no alarm bells with the local authorities when he applied to be a foster parent to two damaged sisters. Incredibly, his request was granted. One of the girls, Gaynor, suffered such abuse at his hands, that she later committed suicide. Younger sister Ruby, however, adored her foster dad and swore on oath that Gaynor was in a state of drug induced delusion.

Trish Pharaoh has two major problems to deal with and, by definition, they become McAvoy’s too. It seems that the prison authorities are determined to release Parfitt from prison, and Pharaoh needs to stop this. Second, she needs to disturb Ruby’s deep conviction that her foster father is a decent man who was wrongly convicted. Pharaoh is also convinced that Parfitt was also responsible for the abduction and murder of at least two girls, whose bodies have never been found.

The cast of villains in many of David Mark’s novels resemble the creations of the great Dutch painter Hieronymus Bosch. Bosch was obsessed with the darker side of humanity, and if you take a magnifying glass to his paintings, you can see tormented individuals, scurrying this way and that in the hellish landscape in which the painter has placed them. Bosch painted a figurative mouth of Hell, a gaping maw into which humans are sucked. Mark’s villains, such as Parfitt and Dennic are consumed by a metaphorical hell created from their own misdeeds. This is dark stuff, and not for the cosy crime community. Past Redemption is, however a fierce and gripping tale of evil deeds committed against the grey and dreary background of a city once vibrant with the noise and smells of its fishing industry, but now reduced to a backwater trying to celebrate what it once was.

The novel plays out with dramatic revelations of people who have pretended to be one thing, but were something else entirely. It is no coincidence that the man who nearly killed Parfitt, and may have killed Dennic has the nickname Virgil. David Mark himself plays Dante’s Virgil, as he leads us through Purgatory and Hell, contrasting his monstrous villains with McAvoy who, although, a physical giant, is gentle, endearingly clumsy, but fiercely brave. Past Redemption is a magnificent reminder that the English Noir genre, pioneered by Ted Lewis and Derek Raymond, is alive and kicking. The novel is published by Severn House and will be available on 3rd December.

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A KILLING IN NOVEMBER . . . Between the covers

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Somehow, I missed this first time round, but reviewed books two and three in this excellent series but Simon Mason. In Ryan Wilkins and Ray Wilkins we met one a rather unusual cop partnership. Ryan is something of a chav, scruffily dressed and with a huge chip on his shoulder. He is, however, very astute. Equally clever, but much more an establishment man, despite his ethnic origin, is black officer Ray. He is a family man, suave and well spoken, and clearly destined for higher things. Their beat is Oxford.

The contrast between the Oxford educated Ray and Ryan, graduate of a seedy South Oxford caravan site (trailer park for American readers) couldn’t be greater. Simon Mason chooses a superb location for their first professional engagement. Barnabus College is where a young woman has been found strangled in the rooms of the college Provost. Ray is all diplomacy and respect, while Ryan, much the more observant, needles the well-to-do members of the college by refusing to grovel at the altar of their social and academic status. It is eventually confirmed that the dead is Syrian, from a wealth family, but due to the political situation, has been forced to earn a living as a porn model. Working as a domestic servant in the college is Ameena Najib, also from Syria, but from a very different background. She is a devout and militant Muslim, and when she is found dead, also strangled, the mystery deepens.

In the background to this murder investigation is civil unrest in the Oxford district of Blackbird Leys. A child has died after being hit by a police car, and protests are violent and bloody. The Leys is a real place, and is a superb example of urban planners concocting idyllic rural names for dire housing estates. I was at Teacher Training College nearby and, trust me, if it was announced the Leys was where you were sent for Teaching Practice, you were not happy.

Simon Mason lets us know, in one of the most scary scenes in the book, why Ryan is so disturbed. Ryan’s wife Michelle died of a drug overdose, leaving him to bring up their little son, also called Ryan. When Ryan senior fails to collect the lad from nursery, the staff phoned one of the contact numbers – that of the little boy’s grandparents. Bad call. They are a disaster. Grandma is, literally, bruised and battered by her feral husband, and when Ryan and Ray break into the shabby caravan on the grim site in South Oxford to rescue the child, all hell breaks loose.

Ryan’s propensity for violence, his unwillingness to ‘play the game’, and his chaotic personal life make it inevitable that he is dismissed from the force. However, his sharp insight into what makes people tick combined with his intuition, enable him to solve the mystery. Ray, despite his initial horror at Ryan’s manner and attitude, keeps the phone line open with his former colleague, and the Barnabus killer is brought to justice.

This is a wonderful read, and I finished it in just a few sessions. My only quibble is that Ryan Wilkins is such an outrageously out-of-kilter character, dressed in his trackies, trainers and baseball cap (back to front, naturally) that it is hard to imagine him making senior rank in the modern police force, which is notorious for signing up to all the latest DEI fads, and renowned for its many acts that seem woker than woke. Simon Mason has created a brilliant – and unique – member of the Cri-Fi Detective Inspector union, and any crime enthusiast who doesn’t enjoy this needs to collect their hat and make for the nearest exit. A Killing In November is published by Riverrun, and is available now.

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VICTIM . . . Between the covers

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Former Oslo police officer Alexander Blix is trying to put his life back together after serving a spell in prison for killing the man who murdered his daughter Iselin. There was eventually a retrial, and he was acquitted and released. He is doing nothing in particular, while he waits for the full compensation package to come through from the government. He knows he can no longer work as a policeman, but then his world is turned upside down. Back in the day, his most significant failed investigation was the disappearance of Elisabeth Eie, a young mother. The whereabouts of her body, if indeed she was killed – and the identity of the person who abducted her –  remain a mystery. Then, out of the blue, he is contacted by a man who claims to be Elisabeth’s killer. Almost simultaneously, a party of school children out on a forest nature walk discover a body. It is that of Elisabeth.

Blix has few friends, but one is investigative journalist Emma Ramm, with whom he has co-operated on previous cases. She, too, is no longer working, but living on the proceeds of a true crime book she wrote. She is approached by a young woman called Carmen who asks for her help. Carmen’s stepfather, Oliver Krogh is in police custody, suspected of the murder of a young woman – Maria Normann – who worked in his fishing and hunting store, which was destroyed in a mysterious blaze. The only sign of Maria, however, was traces of her blood on the door of one of Krogh’s gun cabinets. Carmen is convinced that Krogh, the only father she has ever known, is incapable of murder.

Blix’s relationship with his former colleagues is, at best fraught, and he is kept at arm’s length as the disappearance of Elisabeth Eie becomes a murder case. The killer seems to be fixated with Blix, however, and has invaded his personal space. here are many brilliant moments in this novel, but one stands out. In order to keep himself vaguely sane, Blix makes fishing flies. It is a process that requires delicacy of touch and a great deal of patience. One particular fly has been very testing, and he has left it unfinished while summoning up the mental energy to have another go.

“He stepped aside and moved over to the bench. A cold shiver ran through him. The fly was finished.

It is obvious that Blix has a stalker, and one who has the keys to his apartment.

The past weighs heavy on Blix. His mother had Munchausen’s Syndrome by Proxy, and kept him constantly unwell by lacing his food with debilitating drugs. After she died of cancer he walked away from his neglectful father and went to live with his grandparents. His father is still alive, but in the later stages of dementia in a nursing home. Eventually, we learn who Blix’s stalker is, and that he had a similarly traumatic upbringing.

Emma finds out how and why Maria Normann died, and there is a dramatic face-off between Brix and his tormentor. Co-authors Thomas Enger and Jørn Lier Horst have captured the ambience of a bleakly autumnal Oslo, and have written a dramatic and atmospheric thriller, with two investigators who are perfect foils for each other. The novel is translated by Megan Turney, published by Orenda Books and is available now.

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THE BURNING STONES . . . Between the covers

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Anni Korpinen is sales director at a firm called Steam Devils. They make stoves for saunas and are based in the little Finnish town of Phutijärvi. She is 53 years old, and married to a waster called Santeri. He is obsessed with historic F1 motor racing, and spends most of his time replaying classic races via scratched VHS tapes. He also buys and sells F1 memorabilia, such as socks reputedly worn by Mika Haakinen. Sadly, he never turns a profit.

When the new CEO of Steam Devils, Ilmo Räty, is found burned to a cinder in his own sauna, the hunt is on for his killer. When the firm’s founder, Erkki Russula, calls a meeting and states that he sees Anni as the obvious successor to Räty, she becomes the person with most to gain from his death. Key personnel at Steam Devils include:
Susanna Luoto – Finance Manager
Mirka Paarmajarvi – Logistics Manager
Jarkko Mutikallio – CEO’s PA
Porkka – Technical Director
Kaarlo – Senior Advisor

Of course, the sauna is completely central to Finnish culture, and part of the accoutrements are little squares of towel cloth which separate the bum cheeks from the wooden bench, and are essential both for hygiene and preventing the skin from becoming stuck to the wood. They are known, at least in English, as ‘bumlets’. When one of the bumlets from Anni’s home sauna, conveniently embroidered with her name, is found in the vicinity of Ilmo Räty’s sauna, she knows she is in big trouble. Reijo Kiimalainen is the community’s senior policeman, and he harbours a grudge against the Korpinen family. Many years ago, both he and Anni’s late father had both been stalking the same elk, the largest in the local forest. The hunting season started at 6.00 am, and at precisely one minute past, Anni’s father shot the beast. Ever since then, Kiimalainen has been convinced that skulduggery had taken place.

Once Anni realises that she is prime suspect in the Rati murder case, she does what all wrongly accused prime suspects do (at least in crime novels) – she turns detective. Although she realises that she is not Sherlock Holmes, but a stove retailer, she is intelligent and resourceful. Her investigations take her to an abandon resort with a sauna the size of a sports stadium, and here she witnesses another sauna related death. This time the victim – the engineer Porkka – is stabbed in the head with the sharpened metal handle of a ladle used to sprinkle water on the hot stones which are an integral part of Finnish saunas.

Anni’s task is made more complicating by the strange behaviour of Kahavuori, a holiday complex owner, to whom Anni had been hoping to sell 64 sauna stoves. When he hears of the death of Raty, he refuses to close the deal. Instead, he adopts what seems to be a very unhealthy obsession with finding the killer. The problem is that Kahavuori is an ardent fan of True Crime documentaries, and he has a vivid imagination. When Anni catches him snooping in her sauna, she clouts him with a lump of wood. When he recovers consciousness, he outlines his theory, and Anni wonders if the crack on the head hasn’t further addled his brain

There is a genuinely touching backstory behind the hunt for the murderer. They are both in their fifties now, but three decades earlier, Anni and policeman Janne were engaged and in love. It was Anni who handed back the ring, but now, as Janne reveals that Anni’s husband Santeri is not the clueless bungler she thinks he is, events take an unexpected turn.

On the cover of the book is a quote from The Times: “Tuomainen is the funniest writer in Europe.” He may well be, but humour is a complex business and takes many forms. I don’t think you will be belly laughing as you read The Burning Stones, and I do wonder how well humour in one language survives translation into another, but I did enjoy the sheer freakery-geekery of Santeria and his idiotic obsession with old motor races. Is he mad? Probably not in a medical sense, but I did wonder why Anni married him in the first place. That aside, The Burning Stones is a beautifully written and engaging murder mystery. It is translated by David Hackston, published by Orenda Books and available now. You can find out more about Antti Tuomainen on social media – he is @antti_tuomainen on X, and on Facebook facebook.com/AnttiTuomainen

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