Pat Patterson dropped a rather nice review of The Elder King over at Goodreads:
Take Major Mythic Story; kick it HARD in the nose; and then…DANCE! (while you can)
On the off-chance that you HAVEN’T read Lars Walker until now, you are in for a treat. When “The Elder King” became available on March 14, I murmured “HOORAY!”The only reason I was that restrained is because of the overwhelming backlog of reviews I owe, of excellent books written by excellent writers. I really did NOT want to disrupt my queue! However, I downloaded the book, and then let my affection and Need to Read take over.
In a quiet English town, a young architect is shot to death in his office. Shortly after that, far away on the Lincolnshire coast, a man is found murdered on the beach. The police don’t know it yet, but the two crimes are linked. Meanwhile, a wealthy mother is concerned about possible threats to the lives of her adopted children – but the police don’t take her seriously. When the two children are kidnapped from their school, though, Detective Chief Inspector Craig Gillard is forced to investigate – having no idea that the kidnapping is tied to the murders. He will discover the common thread before long – Albanian origins. And he will see things that shock him to his core when he follows the trail to the wilds of Albania itself.
I discovered when I bought The Body On the Shore, second in a series, that I had bought the first book already. I must have set it aside for some reason. I persisted with this one, and was rewarded with a pretty good read. Though not a world-beater, in my view.
I have read other books by Nick Louth, and one thing I enjoyed about them was their occasional flouting of political correctness. I take it Louth has turned over a new leaf with this more recent series, as the social consciousness lessons are there (though I’ll admit they’re subtle). The excursion to Albania was calculated to shake any reader. I can’t say the events there were exaggerated, but I found the action a little unbelievable. That’s how thrillers tend to be, though. I really prefer mysteries, but the genres are blending these days.
The Body On the Shore is well-written, with an engaging hero. Recommended if you like this kind of thing. Cautions for language and mature situations, including one real shock.
Number 14 in the ongoing Dave Slater mystery series by P. F. Ford is The Invisible Man. Our two heroes, former police detectives Dave Slater and Norman Norman of Tinton, England, are contemplating the collapse of their private detective enterprise. Lack of clients is the problem. Then, just as they’re preparing to shut down, a woman comes to see them. Lizzie Becker says that her 14-year-old daughter Lily died in a car crash two years before. The police say the girl had stolen the car, but Lizzie won’t believe it. In any case, she has just received a text message from her daughter’s phone. The phone has not been seen since the accident. She knows her daughter is dead. But what kind of monster would send her a message like that, to open old wounds?
Dave and Norman take the case. An examination of the
accident site leads them to a strange homeless man, one who claims to be a war
veteran with PTSD, who claims to have seen the aftermath of the accident. Interrogation
of the girl’s other family members, and of the family that owned the stolen
car, leads them to questions of business fraud, adulteries, and possible child abuse.
There are dark secrets here, and deep hatreds, and a ruthless plan for
vengeance.
As I’ve said before, I don’t rate the Dave Slater series extremely
high as detective literature. The prose is less than masterful, and the
plotting (I think) somewhat weak. I like the characters of Dave and Norman
(that’s the main reason I keep coming back), but they seem to spend an awful
lot of time just chatting back and forth. And the ending of this story was…
kind of a letdown.
But it’s another book in a pleasant series, and it was enjoyable.
Minor cautions for fairly mild rough language and disturbing themes.
I clicked over to the Amazon listing for The Elder King today, and was delighted to see that I already have 6 reader reviews, all glowing.
Thanks to everyone who took the trouble write a review. It
does matter, and it is appreciated.
It occurs to me that I could appeal to madness of crowds, and ask for promotional tips.
What methods would you suggest for a writer with not too much money to draw attention to his work?
We all know, of course, that the better the advice, the less
likely I am to take it. Because really useful promotional techniques generally
involve a degree of chest-puffing, arm-waving, and horn-tooting that’s simply
beyond my capacity.
I’ve been going through Paul Gitsham’s DCI Warren Jones series, and frankly it’s getting harder to carry on. The books have always been a little dreary, but The Common Enemy is positively depressive.
In the fictional town of Middlesbury where Jones is Chief
Inspector, a “super-mosque” is scheduled to be built. There has been considerable
push-back from white supremacist groups. On a night when a far-right party had
scheduled a demonstration, police pulled protection away from an existing
mosque to keep the peace at the parade. Someone then set fire to the mosque,
and two people were left injured, close to death. On top of that, one of the
leaders of the racist party leading the march was found stabbed to death in an
alley.
Inspector Jones and his team (and superiors) have to walk on
eggshells as they try to untangle a snakes’ nest of hatred, fear, prejudice,
and paranoia. If they can’t find who set the fire, minorities will accuse them
of covering up for bigots. If they can’t solve the murder, far-right extremists
will make the man a martyr.
It all leads to a shocking climax.
The book was well-written, but it had few rewards for me. I
felt I’d fought my way through a lot of tension and unpleasantness, only to get
a punch in the gut at the end.
On top of that, although author Gitsham did a pretty good
job treating all his characters – including the slimy racists – as human beings
with individual stories, and indeed in spreading some of the guilt around, I
noticed that one group came off as utterly innocent and entirely made up of
victims. That was the Muslims. You can’t blame the author, I suppose. You’re
pretty much not allowed to allow for any sin within Islam, in modern
publishing.
He’d later learn that it was for show, that Ingrid had the same fears and insecurities that plague all of us, that part of the human condition is that all decent people think they are phonies and don’t belong at some point or another.
The same but different. That’s what Harlan Coben’s novels tend to be. All based on themes of the strength of love, and the danger of secrets. But each one very much its own story. That goes also for his new novel, Run Away, which I liked very much.
Simon Greene is a successful financial advisor. He becomes a YouTube sensation briefly, when he attacks a homeless man in New York’s Central Park. What all the people who liked and shared his video, commenting on how evil he was, didn’t know, was that he was trying to help his drug addict daughter, to save her from the homeless man, who had gotten her hooked in the first place.
The daughter gets away. But then Simon and his wife Ingrid
get a tip about someone who might be able to help them find her. They end up in
a New York crack house, and shots are fired…
And Simon must go on alone to follow faint leads into a
convoluted tangle of bizarre criminal conspiracies. Gradually he learns that
his daughter’s plight is only peripheral to a much larger crime, and he will be
placed on a lengthening list of people marked for murder, due to no fault of
their own.
I found Run Away pretty amazing. Not only does Coben trace the familiar ground of family love and loss, and parental sacrifice, but he also creates a pair of unforgettable villains – remorseless killers who happen to be deeply in love, and very sympathetic in their scenes together. That kind of ambivalence shakes me more than distilled evil ever could. And the final revelation of the story was a genuine shocker, one to keep you awake pondering.
I thought the climax of Run Away a little far-fetched, but overall I consider it one of Coben’s best. Highly recommended. As usual with Coben, the profanity is minimal.
As I’ve been working my way through Paul Gitsham’s DCI Warren Jones series, I’ve commented that Inspector Jones distinguishes himself from other series detectives in (seemingly) having no particular skeletons in his closet. No old traumas, or addictions, or PTSD, which seem to be obligatory for the genre.
How wrong I was. Plenty of skeletons are revealed in Silent As the Grave, in which all Jones’ chickens seem to come home to roost at once.
An elderly man is found stabbed to death in a park. The
crime seems unremarkable, except for the unusual dearth of clues, or a possible
motive. The man had been a simple gardener, without known enemies.
Then Jones is approached by a man he does not know, but
knows about. The man was his own predecessor in his present job – a cop gone
bad, disgraced and facing trial. He says the gardener was murdered at the orders
of a crime lord recently released from prison, now out for revenge. There will
be more murders, he says. He’ll help Jones solve the case, in return for help
in clearing himself.
Jones scoffs. The man is obviously trying to manipulate him,
for his own benefit. Then the man plays his trump card – Jones’s father was
innocent, he says, and he can help him prove it.
This is world-shattering. Jones’s father, we learn, was a policeman who committed suicide – Jones himself, a teenager at the time, found the body. His father was discovered to have been corrupt, and apparently killed himself out of shame.
Could that have been a mistake? Jones has spent most of his
life hating his own father. Has he been doing him an injustice? Or is his
informant just playing him cynically, for his own advantage?
Finding the answer will bring Jones himself, as well has his
family, into mortal danger before a complex mystery is finally unraveled. The
climax of the story is unexpected and shocking.
This one was somewhat more intense than I expected. The story
still moves a little slowly, as with all the books in the series, but all in
all it was pretty satisfying. Minimal cautions for language and mature subject
matter.
The voluntary nature of the Scandinavian conversion – in Denmark and Sweden at least – seems to have led to communities feeling that they did not need to significantly alter their artistic communication or abandon their traditional culture in order to be good Christians.
C. S. Lewis writes somewhere that one of the best methods of evangelism would be for Christians, not to produce more “Christian” work, but to simply do better work as Christians. From my perspective as an amateur historian, I would say that Martyn and Hannah Whittock (father and daughter) have produced superior historical work in producing The Vikings: From Odin to Christ, published by Lion Books, a Christian publisher.
It’s weird for a guy like me, a promoter of the historical value
of the Icelandic sagas, to say, but there’s good reason to believe that the
story of the conversion of the Vikings, as presented in the sagas, may be misleading.
The Whittocks point out – and somehow I’d missed this – that there is little
report of violence in the conversions of Denmark and Sweden. Only in Norway,
where saga writers had political motivation to glamorize Olaf Haraldsson as
Norway’s national hero and saint, do we have stories of torture and threats of
death.
It may be true that Olaf was a bloody-handed tyrant (I believe
that). But his work may not have been as influential in the conversion as the
sagas suggest. There’s good reason to think that the earlier Christian king,
Haakon the Good, who gets short shrift in the sagas, may have been a far more
effective missionary than history remembers.
This harmonizes with things I’ve been saying in my lectures
for some time. Now, having read the Whittocks’ book, I have more ammunition for
those arguments.
I’m also delighted that the Whittocks have very clearly read Bishop Fridtjof Birkeli’s untranslated book, Tolf Vintrer Hadde Kristendommen Vært i Norge (which Anders Winroth, for all his expertise, overlooks entirely in his book on the conversion of Scandinavia). I’m delighted that Birkeli’s important ideas, largely unknown to English readers till now, are being conveyed through this book.
The Vikings: From Odin to Christ covers a lot more than the conversion of Norway, of course. We start with a historical overview, then examine each Scandinavian country in turn, followed by various regions that the Vikings colonized. I have a couple minor quibbles – at one point they suggest St. Olaf’s opposition was motivated by heathenry, but they correct that later on.
I haven’t found a history book a page-turner in a long time. The Vikings: From Odin to Christ kept me turning the pages. I recommend it highly.
A sort of a cross between Ed McBain’s 87th Precinct novels and “Midsommer Murders.” That’s how I’d explain Paul Gitsham’s DCI Warren Jones novels.
In No Smoke Without Fire, young women start disappearing in the English town of Middlesbury. When their bodies are found, they have been raped and strangled. The crime scenes are remarkable for their lack of forensic evidence. This monster has studied police forensic procedures, and knows what to do. More young women will die until Jones and his team can get into his strange, twisted mind and put a stop to him.
I’m enjoying these books, but I have to admit I also find them slow for long stretches. I think that’s because author Gitsham does a good job describing the tedious, day to day routine of police work. He saves the fireworks (except for somewhat harrowing descriptions of the abductions) for the obligatory showdown at the end.
I thought this was a new series for me, but I find I reviewed one of the books some time back, before rediscovering it.
These are intelligent, enjoyable books, if occasionally slow. Christianity, again, is generally treated with respect. Only a few cautions for language.
I was in a mood for a change of pace from intense crime thrillers, and thought I’d look for a good, old-fashioned police procedural. I found it in The Last Straw, Paul Gitsham’s first in a series starring Detective Chief Inspector Warren Jones of the (fictional) Middlesbury police force, in England.
Professor Alan Tunbridge of the (also fictional) University of Middle England’s biology department was a genius and, by all accounts, a pretty vile man. He abused his colleagues, exploited and sabotaged his student assistants, and pursued any pretty young woman who came his way.
Nevertheless, he didn’t deserve to have this throat cut.
Which is what happened, in his office, on a day when the laboratory building
was nearly empty.
A suspect is quickly identified. A figure on the building’s closed circuit TV is readily identifiable as a former student of Tunbridge’s, an Italian man with good reason to hate him. When bloodstained clothing is found on the man’s property, it follows naturally he must be arrested and charged.
But DCI Warren Jones, newly promoted and transferred in to
Middlesbury, is a stickler for “dotting the Is and crossing the Ts,” as he
repeatedly says. And he and his subordinates begin to have doubts about the evidence.
Looking more closely, they begin to uncover a ruthless conspiracy, one which
will not stint at committing further murders to keep its secrets — and even cops are not safe.
To be honest, I found The Last Straw a little dull at first. I’ve grown accustomed to angst-ridden detectives, bedeviled by alcoholism, PTSD, bad marriages and ingrown guilt. DCI Jones is another kind of policeman altogether. He’s healthy, well organized, and generally cheerful. And when personal conflicts appear on his team, he handles them in a manner that’s an example to us all. I do worry about his marriage though – his wife is remarkably patient, but the pressure is heavy.
The book grew on me. It didn’t hurt that a couple of the characters identified as Christians and church-goers. I recommend The Last Straw for a more leisurely read than common in the genre, with only a mild caution for language.
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