Chris Brookmyre - The Cut

 

Rating: 3/5

 

Review: 

Not one of Brookmyre's best 

Hmm. I like Chris Brookmyre’s later Jack Parlabane books very much, but don’t get on at all with the Ambrose Parry books. The Cut lies somewhere in between – quite a decent if overblown plot but with some significant flaws. (There are some mild spoilers for the early chapters in what follows, but no more than is given away in the publishers’ blurb.)

The story revolves around two characters: Jerry, a young student who is interested in horror movies including the “video nasties” of the 80s, and Millicent who was a brilliant make-up effects artist who worked on them. Millicent, now in her 70s has recently finished a long sentence for a murder during a film shoot of which she has no recollection, when Jerry comes to share the house in which she lives. Between them, they begin to suspect that Millie was framed and a twisty plot emerges in which sordid goings-on emerge, involving government ministers, rich media tycoons, mafia gangsters and so on – plus the inevitable Lost Tape.

It’s quite well done - Brookmyre is a good storyteller (although I found the cutting between timeframes and the slow, slightly confusing emerging real story slightly irritating) and it’s well written so I did want to know what happened. However, there is a lot of trading of movie references which began to smack of authorial showing off, Millicent’s remarkable character transformation (along with quite a lot of the psychology) didn’t really ring true to me, there is some pretty clunky modern-day “realisation” about the exploitation of young women back in the 80s, there are quite a few outrageous coincidences and so on. All this detracted from my enjoyment and made it more like one of the run-of-the-mill thrillers which appear by the ton each year.

Overall, I’d say that it’s not bad, but it’s not great; it’s a decent brain-off read, especially if you’re a big movie fan.

(My thanks to Little, Brown for an ARC via NetGalley.)

Ryan Gattis - The System

 

Rating: 2/5

Review:

Not for me

I’ve had two good goes at The System now, but I’m afraid I can’t get on with it and have bailed out.

I’m not sure quite why I’m struggling with it; I liked All Involved and this is in a similar style with closely related content and its examination of the US justice machine is important and timely. This time, though, I found the multiple points of view too fragmented to form a coherent narrative and some of the characters, like the bigoted, self-regarding, manipulative parole officer, rather overblown and verging on caricature.

Others have enjoyed this and I can see that it has merit, but it just didn’t engage me in the end and I won’t be going back to it.

(My thanks to Picador for an ARC via NetGalley.)

Shalom Auslander - Mother For Dinner

 

Rating:4/5

 

Review: 

Witty, penetrating and grotesque

Mother For Dinner is an excoriating satire on the contemporary obsession with identity. It has a good deal of Shalom Auslander’s customary brilliance and wit, but has its flaws, too.

As in the brilliant Hope: A Tragedy, Auslander uses an outrageous premise to illustrate what he sees as the dangers of relying for one’s identity on a sense of both current and historic oppression and injustice. Here, he creates a Cannibal-American community living covertly in the USA having come from the Old Country (no-one remembers precisely where) several generations ago. A myth about their establishment in the USA is created, embellished and nurtured – by no-one more so than Mudd, monstrous matriarch of a Can-Am family and a parody of every over-zealous orthodoxy, who “loved her people, so much so that, as a matter of pride, she despised all others.” Seventh is one of her sons who has broken free but is drawn back as the family gathers for Mudd’s death – after which, by tradition, they are expected to eat her.

It’s a clever, grotesque device which enables Auslander to throw Orthodoxy dependent on ancient stories and tradition (of all kinds) into sharp and unforgiving focus. This passage is a good example: “...nobody remembers exactly what Remembrance Day was established to remember. Something happened— of that there can be no question— and whatever it was, it was bad. It was tragic. It was the most tragic thing that ever happened, otherwise why would they remember it, even if they didn’t? All that is known for certain is that somewhere (no one can remember where), on some particular day (no one can remember which), something terrible happened to their blessed ancestors (no one can remember what), and it is important that they never forget it, whatever it was and whenever it happened, and that they curse the names of those who perpetrated whatever it was that was perpetrated, whoever they were, and whatever they did.”

He also takes well-aimed swipes at some publishing trends exploiting ideas of identity and other targets. The message, that identity is important but becomes damaging if it is insular and wholly inward- and backward-looking, is very important and he can be very, very funny about it. However, toward the end the grotesquerie got just a bit much for me and rather obscured what Auslander was trying to say.

Mother For Dinner is often brilliant and hilarious and makes good, important points. You do need to be prepared for some pretty gross scenes, but I’d say it’s well worth it. Perhaps not the absolute gem that Hope: A Tragedy is, but still very recommendable.

Carl Hiaasen - Native Tongue

 

Rating: 4/5

 

Review:

Enjoyable but not brilliant 

Native Tongue is an enjoyable read, but perhaps not the best of the Carl Hiaasen books I have read.

The underlying theme is familiar: a slightly unwitting protagonist becomes involved in trying to prevent the destruction of more of Florida’s natural land and wildlife by a selection of sleazy developers, charlatans, corrupt politicians, violent enforcers and so on. This time the main threat is from a sort of seedy, dishonest sub-Disneyland theme park and the plot plays out rather as you’d expect, but with some very amusing moments – not least from a gun-totin’ older woman for whom the word “feisty” is wholly inadequate.

Hiaasen’s books are always good value. This may not be one of the wittiest or most engrossing, but it’s very enjoyable and I can recommend it.

Alan Bradley - The Sweetness At The Bottom Of The Pie

 

Rating:  4/5

 

Review:

Entertaining stuff 

 

I enjoyed The Sweetness At The Bottom Of The Pie. It took a while to get going, but I found it well written, entertaining and enjoyable.

Set in England in 1950 and narrated by 11-year-pld Flavia de Luce, this is a sort of Golden Age mystery with some wit and quirkiness thrown in. Flavia herself is precocious, chemistry-obsessed and rather mischievous, and I liked her voice very much. Alan Bradley, despite being Canadian, catches the background and language of the period very well, with just one or two insignificant lapses, like “bangs” to mean a fringe – definitely NOT in 1950s England! Flavia is an engaging character and, once it really starts to move, the plot is interesting and reasonably plausible, as a sinister visitor turns up dead in the cucumber patch, Flavia’s father is accused of murder and as she investigates, some historical philatelic skulduggery emerges.

Don’t look for gritty realism here, but it’s a very entertaining read, with some rather interesting snippets of arcane information thrown in. I’ll be reading more of this series and I can recommend this one.

Mick Herron - Slough House

 

Rating: 5/5

 

Review:

Another cracker from Mick Herron 

 

Probably all that really need be said about Slough House is that it’s well up to the standard of the rest of this brilliant series. It is difficult to elaborate more without any spoilers, but…

Slough House has everything one expects from Mick Herron: a complex but comprehensible plot involving the usual political chicanery involving Diana Taverner and Peter Judd (who, disclaimers about resemblance to real people living or dead notwithstanding, is a brilliant parody of the current Prime Minister). There is genuine threat from foreign agents, too, with some very exciting passages and sometimes wholly unexpected developments. The occupants of Slough House are their customary brilliant character studies with Roddy Ho’s wonderful self-delusion and Shirley Dander’s impatient, drug-fuelled rage especially prominent this time – and, of course, Jackson Lamb is on magnificently sharp, repellent form.

In short, this is another cracker from Mick Herron. It’s gripping, involving, very funny in places and has a very shrewd take on contemporary events. Very warmly recommended indeed. (And how long until the next one…?)

(My thanks to John Murray for an ARC vis NetGalley.)

Andrew O'Hagan - Mayflies

 

Rating: 5/5

 

Review:

Outstandingly good  

I thought Mayflies was outstandingly good. It is involving, exceptionally well written, touching, amusing and profound.

It’s a book of two halves. The first, set in 1986, is the story of a group of teenagers from Southern Scotland and their friendship, as they first plan and then actually go to a weekend of gigs in Manchester, the centre of the pop musical world at the time. Narrated by Jimmy, it is primarily concerned with his friendship with Tully which is brilliantly evoked, but also with the way in which a group of young men bond and interact. Although my teenage musical heyday was a little before this, I found the sense of its excitement and the relationships within the group incredibly well painted and extremely evocative. I loved the way Andrew O’Hagan writes about it; it is readable, engrossing and has some wonderfully evocative passages – including the final sentence of this part of the narrative where they go for an illicit swim after an inspiring weekend: “The water was cold, but it soon warms up when the boys are made of sunshine.”

Thirty years later, we have the story of the dying of one of the characters. Again, it is superbly done; O’Hagan catches many of the poignancies which anyone who has been close to a dying loved one will recognise, but never strays into sentimentality. The dilemmas and difficulties of loyalty are there, too, as are both the comfort and sadness of long friendship coming to an end. It’s a masterpiece of perception, honesty and the acceptance of the almost impossible choices facing both the dying and those who are close to them. Again, O’Hagan catches so much in some brilliant passages and sentences – and the section where there is a reunion of friends is quite exceptional, I think, including things like one of the original group who has drifted away onto a different path: “No one could accuse him of living in the past. He wiped the past off his new shoes and called it success.”

I don’t often rave quite so unreservedly over a book, but this is one of the best things I have read for a long time. Very, very warmly recommended.

(My thanks for Faber and Faber for an ARC via NetGalley.)