What was it really like, living in England in the days leading up to World War II? Judging by Mark Chisnell’s novel The Fulcrum Files, it was a time of great confusion and self-delusion. I suspect that picture is accurate.

Ben Clayton, our hero, is an engineer for a British aircraft company, but has been assigned to work on preparing a racing yacht for the America’s Cup race (aeronautics and shipbuilding being sister enterprises). Ben was, as a teenager, one of Britain’s best prospects as a boxer, but he nearly killed another boy in a fight. Horrified, he gave up boxing and became a pacifist.

Pacifism is highly popular and respected in England in 1936. As author Chisnell deftly portrays the era, everybody’s got an ideology—pacifism or communism or Labour or Fascism or Aristocracy, and almost everybody has good intentions. The one thing almost everyone agrees on is that there will not be another war. Impossible. The people wouldn’t stand for another bloodbath like the Great War. Hitler has some legitimate grievances, so throw him a bone and everything will settle down.

But when Ben’s best friend is killed in an accident while fitting a new mast, and that friend is found to have been deeply in debt and involved with shady people, Ben sets out to clear his name. He learns things he’d rather not learn, and eventually has to make choices he’d rather not make. It does no good to avoid the war. The war will not avoid you.

I particularly liked the characters in The Fulcrum Files. They seemed authentic and complex, doing very different, even appalling, things out of a desire to do right. We tend today to see World War II (properly) in very black and white terms, but nobody knew those things in 1936, and Chisnell excels at psychological realism. There’s a love story for the ladies, and lots of boats for those who (like me) enjoy reading about the sea.

The Fulcrum Files does not rise to the heights of the thriller genre, but I enjoy a book that tells a smaller story well. Mild cautions for language, violence, and adult subject matter, but the book is suitable for teens and up.

Here’s a very good, very professional, very engaging first novel, a police procedural, from a promising writer. I enjoyed reading it, and wish the author well, but I won’t be following his work any further, for petty ideological reasons.

Tyler Dilts’s A King of Infinite Space tells the story of Danny Beckett, a Long Beach police detective. He and his partner, a Japanese-American woman who predictably has a black belt and can beat up any man, are called to a high school to view a crime scene where a pretty, popular teacher has been viciously murdered with a knife, her left hand taken as a trophy. The woman seems to have had no enemies, so suspicion immediately falls on a man she dated recently, although Danny doesn’t “like him” for the crime.

As the investigation goes on we learn about Danny’s personal demons (I love detectives with personal demons), and he and his partner dance around a growing sexual attraction, something that seems a poor idea from a professional point of view. The final reveal seemed a little predictable to me.

Although I liked the writing and was intrigued by the characters, Dilts managed to alienate me through frequent political comments. I’ll grant that Danny is supposed to be cynical and bitter, but his utter contempt for the military, for evangelical Christians, and for business sent what seemed to me a clear message about what the author thought of me, personally. So, regretfully, I won’t be stopping at his shop again.

Otherwise, a great cop story. Cautions for language, violence, and adult situations.

Here’s a book I got for free from the publisher, for reviewing purposes. They’ll probably be sorry they asked me. I didn’t hate it, but I find at the end that I don’t have a lot of good things to say about it, though I have several bad things.

Asgard Park, by Ronald Simonar, is a novel about Intelligent Design, but not the kind you’re thinking of. In the imagination of the author, there is some kind of intelligence guiding the universe and human life, but it’s not the God of the Bible. To the limited extent that it involves itself in human affairs, it does so through various Chosen Ones, born with special inherited genetic traits, and through the world-wide organization these Chosen Ones lead, the Midgard Group. Kind of like the Illuminati, but in a good way. The Norse god Heimdallr, the guardian of the gods who can hear grass grow, has had his most recent avatar up until now (now being 1991, the year when the novel is set) in a psychologist named Dr. Karl Leamus, who runs Asgard Park, an insane asylum in upstate New York. But Leamus is getting older, and the god has chosen a new vessel, a young Swedish neurologist named Birger Wallenberg who is, more or less, the hero of the book.

Dr. Wallenberg is not happy about having his brain inhabited by a heathen god (a sentiment with which I highly concur), and much of the story centers on his gradual acquiescence in the possession. It also involves an American spy and a beautiful Albanian widow who gets into big trouble with the corrupt government of her up-till-recently-Communist country. Most of the reader’s sympathy will center on her.

There’s also the rather nasty plot element of the widow’s friend, an underage prostitute with whom both the male heroes sleep (though Dr. Wallenberg, to be fair, does it unwittingly, thinking it’s someone else).

Aside from my objections to the theology of the story, and the creepy prostitute angle, I can also complain about the author’s style. Ronald Simonar is an Icelander, but he seems to have a pretty good grasp of English. Unfortunately, it’s not up to the challenge of writing a novel. He has trouble with his diction, confuses English and American slang, and sometimes doesn’t seem to know how to use a contraction. He also misses a big opportunity in his presentation of the whole back story of the Midgard Group and the business of Intelligent Design. It’s all just summarized as something Dr. Wallenberg reads about in a scholarly paper. A more dramatic reveal would have been possible, and would have improved the story.

So, although it could have been worse, I can’t really recommend Asgard Park.

But I was angry. For seven years, I had been angry. Ever since my daughter disappeared, anger was the only real emotion I carried with me and the only way that I got rid of it was through violence. I would hold it in for as long as possible, but when I found an outlet, I let it go. I’d been in more types of fights than I could count and I couldn’t recall losing one. I had yet to meet anyone who carried the kind of anger I did.

What a pleasure it is to discover a new writer who truly delivers the goods! It doesn’t happen very often. Barring unpleasant surprises when I check out his other work, I am for the moment an enthusiastic fan of Jeff Shelby, author of Thread of Hope.

Aside from writing a pretty good mystery, Shelby provides that rare pleasure, a new hero who’s entirely original, complex, human, and sympathetic.

Joe Tyler makes his living searching for lost children. In the seven years he’s been at it, he has never failed to find a child, except for one—his own daughter. She was snatched from his family’s front lawn just before Christmas, virtually under his and his wife’s noses.

The experience changed Joe forever. He left his wife, who still loves him. He left his career as a cop on Coronado Island, near San Diego, California. He looks for lost children, and has no other life. He has no relationships, and does not communicate with old friends. In many ways, he’s a jerk. He cares nothing for tact. He asks the questions that need to be asked, regardless of the feelings of the people he’s talking to. Because it’s not about human relations. It’s about finding the kids.

But when he gets a call telling him that his oldest and best friend back on Coronado has been attacked and left in a coma, and that before the attack the friend was accused of beating up a teenage girl, he sucks it up and goes home. Everything he sees and all the old acquaintances he meets open the wounds for him, but he owes this guy—and before long there’s a kid missing.

I loved this book. Every line was deeply felt. Joe Tyler is a compelling character, tragic and aggravating, yet sympathetic. The other characters are rounded too—many of them prove to be something other than they appear at first glance, always a good thing in a novel.

Highly recommended. Cautions for language and mature material.