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Fiction, Reviews

‘Another Girl,’ by Peter Grainger

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I have, as I have frequently expressed, a great fondness for Peter Grainger’s DC Smith novels, police procedurals set in the fictional Kings Lake, Norfolk. Author Grainger has spun off another, not quite separate, series through retiring Detective Inspector Smith and continuing to follow his old squad, now dubbed the Murder Squad, under its new commander, a female inspector named Cara Freeman. I’ve generally ignored this “King’s Lake Mystery” series, but I figured I’d give it a chance with the recently released Another Girl.

Verdict: It’s not bad of its sort, but I just find these books hard to enjoy. On the other hand, they’re in the latest fashion – driven by female characters – so I’m probably in the minority.

One of the star detectives on the King’s Lake squad is Serena Butler, a young policewoman who started her career in a shaky way but has since demonstrated great talent and drive. In Another Girl she’s working undercover. Her assignment is simply to get into a private club where, it’s suspected, drug business is being done. She manages that, but then one of the proprietors offers her a job as a courier. That opportunity to get on the inside is too tempting to resist.

Meanwhile, the body of an Asian man is found smashed up on a highway. Though at first it looks like a hit and run case, the medical examiner finds indications that the man was beaten to death, then dumped. Clues lead to suspicions of human trafficking and drugs… and eventually this case will hook up with Serena’s, which will contribute to her finding herself in mortal danger and out of communication…

My big problem with this whole new fashion of female-driven police novels is that I am not – and I’m pretty sure I’ll never be – comfortable with putting women in harm’s way. Here we have Serena fighting for her life, while her male colleagues sit back at the office, worrying and vowing revenge if anything happens to her. The author even makes so bold, toward the end, as to raise the Awful Question – Is it possible that men and women are different?

Anyway, Another Girl was an okay read, well-written and compelling like all Peter Grainger’s books. But personally I think I’ll wait for another DC Smith book.

Fiction, Reading, Reviews

Saga reading report: ‘The Tale of the Story-wise Icelander,’ and ‘Ivar Ingamundarson’s Tale’

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12th Century bust of King Eystein I of Norway.

I have a couple more saga tales for you tonight, and then I expect I’ll be able to do some regular reviews again. I have finished at last the endless book I was reading (which will be reviewed elsewhere) and am back on my usual reading schedule. Except that I’m busy with a couple projects too. And that’s a nice problem to have, especially after this year of idleness and indigence.

Anyway, each of tonight’s two tales from The Complete Sagas of Icelanders is short, but they also offer points of interest.

The first tale is peculiar in that neither the Icelandic hero nor the king he served is mentioned by name. However, it’s not impossible to guess the latter.

“The Tale of the Story-wise Icelander” introduces us to an unnamed young Icelandic man who goes to Norway to serve an unidentified king. When the king asks him what he can offer in return for a place at his table, he says he knows many stories he can tell. Given the chance to “sing” for his supper, he proves to be as good a raconteur as advertised.

However, as Christmas approaches, the king notices that the young man’s spirits are low. The king guesses that he’s run out of stories. The young man admits that he has only one story left to tell, and he’s reluctant to repeat that one. It turns out it’s the story of the king’s own travels. The king says he’s particularly eager to hear this story. The young man may, he says, tell a part of it (serial-wise) every night during the Christmas season, and the king will help him to space the episodes out so they’ll last through the season.

When it’s all over, the young man is reluctant to hear what the king thought of it, but the king tells him he liked it very well. He asks where the young man heard it from, and the young man says he heard it from Halldor Snorrasson.

And that’s how we can figure out who the king is. Your average modern reader won’t know this, but you are fortunate to have me for your guide. For Halldor Snorrasson was a companion to King Harald Hardrada (who keeps turning up in these stories). Moreover, Halldor and Harald parted company under strained circumstances, Halldor not entirely sure Harald wasn’t planning to hang him.

So that’s the first story.

The second story is possibly my favorite saga fragment of them all. It’s a pure human interest story, featuring my favorite Norwegian king – who seems to have invented modern counseling techniques in the 12th Century. King Eystein I was the quieter brother of King Sigurd the Crusader, and left a reputation for kindness and Christian charity.

The story is called “Ivar Ingamundarson’s Tale.” Ivar was a member of King Eystein’s court, a poet and a friend to him. He had a brother who came to join him in Norway, but soon grew jealous of Ivar’s place at court and decided to go home. Ivar asked him to give his love to the girl he hoped to marry in Iceland, but the brother, out of jealousy, courted the girl himself and married her. When Ivar learned this, he was plunged into depression.

King Eystein, noticing this, asked Ivar what he could do to help. He made a number of suggestions – he could introduce him to some nice girls; he could give him property to manage; he could give him money to travel. Ivar isn’t interested in any of these things.

Now read this speech, from King Eystein’s mouth:

“It’s getting difficult for me now because I have tried everything I can think of. There’s only one thing left now and it’s not worth much compared to those which I’ve already offered, and yet one can never tell what’s best. So come and see me every day after the meal when I am not engaged in urgent business and I will chat with you. We’ll talk about this woman in every way you like and we can think of. I’ll make time for this, because it sometimes happens that people can cope more easily with their grief by talking about it. And I’ll also make sure that you never leave my presence without a gift.”

It probably won’t surprise you to learn that this plan worked, and after a time Ivar was his old self again.

Now I ask you – did you expect to find something like that in a 13th Century book?

Fiction, Reading, Reviews

Saga reading report: ‘Hreidar’s Tale’

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Saga illustration of King Magnus the Good.

More saga-licious awesomosity tonight, from The Complete Sagas of Icelanders. This entry is unquestionably a different kind of story – more of a “clever yokel” yarn than an epic of feud and vengeance.

Hreidar, our unlikely Icelandic hero, is (we are told) neither handsome nor intelligent. But he’s tall and strong, and a notably fast runner. He has a brother named Thord, who is good-looking and smart, but very short. They’ve inherited property from their father and are quite well to do – but Hreidar leaves the management of all that to his smarter brother.  He is, however, able to get his way when he wants it, simply because Thord lacks the strength to dominate him physically.

Hreidar decides he wants to accompany Thord on a merchant trip to Norway. He wants to meet Thord’s friend, King Haakon the Good, and to go somewhere where there are a lot of people around. Thord is dubious; he’s pretty sure Hreidar doesn’t know how to act in society – especially in a king’s court. But Hreidar asks him – essentially – “How you gonna stop me?” So Hreidar sails with Thord.

Once in Norway, Hreidar proceeds to act exactly as Thord has feared, but his disingenuous manner amuses Magnus, and he even manages to get himself invited to spend the winter in the king’s court. There he gradually acquires some polish, manages to kill one of the men who serve Magnus’ co-king, Harald Hardrada, and contrives (with the help of his remarkable speed as a runner) to get out of the country with his life and a nice profit.

According to Wikipedia, Hreidar’s Tale is considered by scholars one of the earliest written saga stories. My impression is that it may be based on true events, but probably got heavily embroidered over time. Full text (in a different translation) here.

Fiction, Reading, Reviews

Saga reading report: ‘The Tale of Brand the Generous’

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A Viking merchant. Painting by my friend Anders Kvaale Rue.

Tonight’s reading from The Complete Sagas of Icelanders is a short one, less than two pages long. It’s known as “The Tale of Brand the Generous.” This is a fairly neat little anecdote, so neat as to appear (to this reader) a little implausible.

We encounter here yet another Icelandic merchant who has traveled to Norway. He is known as Brand the Generous. He’s a friend to the skald Thjodolf, who repeatedly praises his generosity (a quality much prized in Norse culture) to King Harald (I assume this is Harald Hardrada).

Harald (who was, according to reports, pretty generous himself when it came to gifts, though stingy with food) gets sick of Thjodolf bragging about Brand all the time, and proposes a test.

First, he asks Thjodolf to go to Brand and demand his cloak on the king’s behalf. Thjodolf goes, and Brand gives up the cloak without a word.

Then the king sends him back to ask for Brand’s gold-inlaid axe. Brand once again surrenders the item, still saying nothing.

Finally, Harald sends Thjodolf back a third time (Thjodolf is sorry by now he brought the whole thing up) and asks for the shirt off Brand’s back. Brand removes the shirt and sends it with him, but rips one sleeve off first.

King Harald is pleased with this response. He says, “This man is both wise and high-minded. It is obvious to me why he tore off the sleeve. He thinks that I have only one arm that always takes and never gives….” Then he sends for Brand, whom he now showers with honors and fine gifts.

I suspect this is more of a fable than a true anecdote – or perhaps it just got polished in retelling. It serves as a practical lesson in etiquette for men in that culture, most especially for merchants, and I imagine that explains its popularity. (It’s found in three saga collections, according to the end note.)

Fiction, Reading, Reviews

Saga reading report: ‘The Tale of Audun From the West Fjords’

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The actual face of King Svein Estridsson of Denmark. Reconstruction by Danish scientists in 1911. Photo credit: Arne Kvitrud.

I’ll probably be reporting on several Icelandic saga tales for a few days now, while I finish reading the long book I’m working on – intended for review elsewhere, no less (!).

Tonight’s offering is one of the more charming tales in The Collected Sagas of Icelanders. I was already pretty familiar with it, as the late Magnus Magnusson included it in his long-ago cassette recording, Tales From Viking Times (no longer available). It’s called “The Tale of Audun From the West Fjords.” This story focuses on good manners and good luck, rather than martial prowess or (apparently) cunning, as a means to get ahead in the world.

Audun is a poor young Icelander who goes to work for a rich merchant in order to make his fortune. After some profitable dealings, he sails to Greenland, where he takes a flyer – he trades in everything he’s earned thus far for the ultimate prestige item – a polar bear. This he determines (for some unexplained reason) to transport as a gift to King Svein Estridsson of Denmark. That’s a big deal, as, at the time, a white bear carried about the same social cachet a Lear Jet does today (though a bear is probably less useful in day to day business).

We are not informed what security measures are required for carrying a live bear on a Viking knarr, but no doubt a muzzle was involved.

His ship puts in in Norway on the way, and Audun takes the bear with him to his rented lodgings (what else could he do?). King Harald Hardrada (cue ominous background music) gets word of the new guy in town with the expensive bear. He summons Audun to see him, and an interesting – indeed, classic – conversation follows.

King Harald first asks (just in case he’s dealing with a moron) whether Audun will give him the bear in return for the price he paid for it. Audun refuses.

Then Harald asks if he’ll sell it for twice what he paid. Again, Audun says no (politely, I have no doubt).

Finally, Harald asks Audun if he’ll make him a gift of the bear. Again, Audun turns him down, explaining that he’s made his mind up to take it to King Svein.

If you sense that this is, for Audun, the most dangerous moment in the story, you’ve learned something of Norse culture. This final bid is in fact the highest of them all. If Audun were to give Harald the bear as a pure gift, Harald would be obligated, under the rules of honor, to reciprocate with an equally generous reward. The reward would have to be as extravagant as a white bear was rare. (This was during the Medieval Warming Period, so no doubt contemporary Al Gores were warning of sea levels rising.)

Audun’s refusal is so audacious that interpreters disagree to this day as to what it signifies. Is Audun just too much the country bumpkin to understand that these kings, Harald and Svein, are mortal enemies, and that denying the bear to Harald in order to give it to Svein is likely to enrage Harald – well-known to be a merciless enemy? Or is he somehow counting on Harald’s sense of honor (a dangerous gamble, considering Harald’s ethics)? One is reminded of yesterday’s story of Thorleif the Earl’s Poet, where Thorleif refused Jarl Haakon in a similar situation and brought doom on himself.

However, Audun has caught Harald on one of his good days, and Harald lets him go, making him promise to come back on his way home and tell him how Svein responded to the gift.

Audun then proceeds to Denmark, where he’s received graciously by King Svein (who looks very good in this story), rewarded with gifts, and made part of his household. Then Svein subsidizes Audun on a pilgrimage to Rome, and in the end (I’m skipping stuff here – Wikipedia gives a synopsis) sends him home with a ship and other treasures. Audun keeps his promise to stop off and see Harald again, and Harald is once again a good sport. Audun goes home rich.

The Tale of Audun From the West Fjords is a delightful story, easy to like. It’s also very revealing about Viking Age values and mores.

My only complaint is the somewhat weak, literal translation used in this collection. Some very vivid dialogue is here rendered flat and bland.

Fiction, Reading, Reviews

Saga reading report: ‘The Tale of Thorleif, the Earl’s Poet.’

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Jarl Haakon, headed back to Norway from Denmark, jettisons a load of Christian priests who were forced on him. Illustration by Christian Krogh from Heimskringla.

Tonight, another report on one of the skalds’ sagas (technically a tale) from The Complete Sagas of Icelanders. “The Tale of Thorleif, the Earl’s Poet” is interesting primarily, I think, because of the picture it provides of its writers and editors. It’s taken from the 14th Century saga collection known as the Flatey Book (of which I’ve written here before). The tale may incorporate genuine old legendary material, but it’s been thoroughly massaged to conform to medieval Christian thinking.

The tale begins with a synopsis, in which the writer makes it extremely clear that (trigger warning!), although this story includes elements of heathen beliefs, magic, and cursing, the ultimate moral is going to be a good one – avoid that stuff or it’ll come back to bite you.

Our hero is Thorleif Asgeirsson, the son of a well-to-do Icelander, who shows early aptitude for poetry. After some preliminary adventures, he gets outlawed (learning magic while a fugitive) and manages to sail for Norway in a merchant ship his father buys for him and stocks with trading goods.

Thorleif arrives in Norway, where he meets the current ruler, Jarl Haakon (whom you may recall from The Year of the Warrior and Death’s Doors), at the wharf. Haakon offers to buy his cargo, but Thorleif prefers to offer his goods on the open market. His blunt refusal offends Haakon, who takes revenge by having his men burn Thorleif’s ship and steal all his goods. Thorleif then flees to King Svein Forkbeard in Denmark, and begins planning his magical revenge, which he achieves finally. However, the ultimate repercussions will bring disaster back on him.

The tale contains snippets of skaldic poetry, which probably indicates some basis in true events. However, the story as we have it is pretty fantastic. It contains, for instance, the old fairy tale motif of someone concealing a bag under his shirt (camouflaged by a false beard in this case), down which he shovels large quantities of food, amazing the spectators with his appetite. This motif is often capped in the fairy tales by the cutting open of the bag, mimicking disembowelment, allowing the hero to fake his own death – but nothing like that happens here.

Another point of interest is a mention of Thorgerd Altar-Bride (Holgabrud), who is identified as Jarl Haakon’s personal patron goddess. I’ve read of Thorgerd (who may be Freya under a different name) elsewhere, but I think this was the first time I’ve come across her in an actual saga story (Snorri never mentions her in Heimskringla). If this were the only source of information about her, I’d wonder if she wasn’t just an authorial invention – but I think she’s mentioned in at least one other place in Flatey Book. Just another indication of how much knowledge has been lost about Viking religion.

Final verdict: “The Tale of Thorleif, the Earl’s Poet” is not a well-told story. And it’s not very plausible as a historical source either. But it does offer some points for the curious to ponder.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Oceans and the Stars,’ by Mark Helprin

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“How many orchids are there in the Amazon? Trillions? They’re beautiful. No one ever sees them, but they’re there. Value is independent of recognition. It must be. If a tree falls in the forest, of course it makes a sound. What kind of idiot would think it wouldn’t? A sound is not defined by its being heard.”

“This may be the most difficult and perhaps for some the last thing you will ever do. You’re doing it for others, for principle, for decency, and, in essence, out of love. Our actions and imperfections will always be with us. It’s impossible to kill a man, no matter how evil he may be, without a perpetual debit to one’s own conscience and a trespass against God. Anyone who tells you otherwise is blind to himself and the world. But we take on such a burden so that those at home need never bear it, nor even understand that for the sake of the innocent we protect, we accept the stain….”

Mark Helprin has released a new novel, and it hardly needs saying that it’s wonderful. I think The Oceans and the Stars may be one of my favorites from his pen.

Stephen Rensselaer was once a staff officer under the Secretary of the Navy, but he couldn’t resist telling the president what he really thought. So he was demoted and condemned to serve as commander of the innovative small ship whose design he defended to the commander in chief – the PC, a fast, nimble, heavily armed vessel intended for coastal service. When war breaks out with Iran (it was weird to read this in the wake of recent events in the real world), Stephen is assigned to the Athena, the only PC in existence, and dispatched with his crew to the Middle East.

This is awkward, because Stephen, in middle age, has just found Katy, the love of his life. But duty is in his blood, and he must go to war.

Under Stephen’s inspired command, the Athena punches well above its weight, even destroying a much larger ship. It takes a while for his crew to warm to him – they think him old, they don’t understand his jokes or his Shakespeare quotations, and sometimes his actions make no sense to them (as when he forbids porn aboard his ship). But when a group of Somali pirates hijack a French cruise ship off the horn of Africa, and begin executing prisoners at the rate of one per hour, Captain Rensselaer and the Athena meet their destiny. Because their orders are to stay out of it, but there’s a higher law – a law that may demand the highest price from a warrior.

I saw echoes of Conrad’s Heart of Darkness in The Oceans and the Stars, and also of Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago. No doubt there were other references I missed. The book engaged me entirely, keeping me up when I wanted to go to sleep. It bears comparison with Helprin’s excellent earlier anti-war novel, A Soldier of the Great War. But that book focused on the futility of war, where the finest souls and most heroic deeds were thrown away in a meaningless cause. In The Oceans and the Stars, the cause is not meaningless, but the souls and the deeds are unappreciated or even punished. Nevertheless, there is no question that right is right, and that moral choices matter in a Higher Court.

I loved it. I recommend it highly. Cautions for chilling descriptions of terrorist atrocities.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Detective,’ by Arthur Hailey

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I’m old enough to remember when the late Arthur Hailey was riding high on a string of bestsellers, some of which (like Airport) were made into big movies. I never read any of his books myself, though. When his final novel, Detective, became available cheap, I figured I’d give him a try.

Final judgment: By all accounts this is his weakest novel, but even so it leaves me with no desire whatever to read any more of them.

Malcolm Ainslie is a Miami police detective. He’s headed out of the station to start a much-needed family vacation one day, when he gets an urgent call. Elroy Doil, a convicted serial killer Malcolm helped to put away, is scheduled for execution that evening. He’s announced that he wants to make a confession, but he’ll only talk to Malcolm.

The timing is terrible, and it demands a long, fast drive up to the prison in Raiford. But Malcolm can’t resist going. When he and his partner arrive, they have just a half hour to talk to Doil, who admits he committed most of the vicious torture killings he was accused of. But he swears one of them wasn’t his work.

Before being led to execution, Doil begs Malcolm for absolution, knowing that Malcolm is an ex-Catholic priest. Malcolm no longer has any faith, but he says a few words to comfort him.

This sets Malcolm on a course of investigation to learn whether one of the killings was actually a copycat. The answer to that will be a shock to the city and the nation.

Okay, what was good about Detective? I guess I’d have to say it’s educational. This is a police procedural and a half. Hailey was famous for researching the bejeebers out of a profession and then describing all its facets in detail in a book. He does this here.

And that’s about all I have to say positive about the book (though I did finish it). First of all, Hailey was a dull stylist. There’s not a spark of wit or lyricism in the whole manuscript. There were moments of excitement, but that was pure plotting, without the benefit of prose effects.

The fulsome, overstuffed quality extends to character descriptions. Whenever a character of any importance is introduced, we get treated to a few paragraphs of info dump about them. We learn, all in one gulp, about their childhoods, their careers, and what traumas made them what they are. This is an industrial, interchangeable-parts approach to storytelling – and it’s boring.

The big thing that annoyed me was that the book was preachy – from the negative side. The author has satisfied himself that all religion is bunk – though important, for some reason. But all sensible people have rejected organized religion. He wants you to understand that. The one priest in the book who actually believes the Faith is – of course – a strident caricature.

Also, the self-conscious political liberalism of the narrative is kind of amusing, considering what’s happened in the decades since the book was published in the 1990s. We’re treated to a sort of old Disney fantasy of an egalitarian society where racial integration is succeeding beautifully, and everybody coexists happily. Little did Hailey expect that this model would not satisfy the Left, who’d soon be calling for the whole cultural edifice to be incinerated.

Detective was not a very good book.

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A flattering review of ‘King of Rogaland’

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“Dangerosa Jones” at the Regular Rules on Substack has posted a highly flattering review of King of Rogaland:

This combination of history and myth produces a ripping yarn. There is no other way to put it. Father Ailill and Erling are by no means perfect. They are holy warriors only in the most flawed and human of ways — this makes them interesting, multi-dimensional, and armed, a compelling combination. I do not like the popular form taken by current fantasy novels, most of the time, as I find the characters shallow and the conflicts contrived. These books are the exception that proves the rule.

Read it all here.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Ice in the Blood,’ by Kevin Wignall

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She sighed and said, “He’s quite sweet, actually, beneath all the company bluff and bluster. I kept thinking of Graham Greene the whole time I was with him.”

Jay didn’t get the reference.

“I don’t follow.”

“I mean, I think he’ll end up dead, sooner than later.”

I think of Graham Greene myself, actually, whenever I read a Kevin Wignall novel. The difference is that I find Greene wholly opaque to my comprehension, while I quite enjoy Wignall. On the other hand, Greene has a moral center (though I may differ with his judgments), while I’m never sure what Wignall wants me to think about his characters.

Jay Lewis, hero of Ice in the Blood, is a former CIA agent, now working freelance private security. Currently he’s living on the French Riviera, heading up security for Vitali Petrov, a Belorussian general who’s planning a coup in his home country. He has the support of the US and Britain. However, Jay is in fact a double agent, working for an undisclosed employer to thwart the coup.

Jay’s seen and done most everything, but he’s not prepared for the sudden appearance of a former girlfriend who has brought along a ten-year-old boy whom she says is Jay’s son (Jay never knew he existed). She’s a peaceful person, a career relief worker. She doesn’t know how to handle a boy like this Owen, who is obviously Jay’s son to anyone who looks at them both, and possesses what seems like an innate talent for intrigue and violence.

The woman disappears before Jay can figure out a way to put her off, leaving Owen in his care. Well, he’ll have to find someone to look after him, but that will take a few days to arrange. In the meantime, he lets the boy tag along with him. Owen clearly hungers for a male role model, and Jay quickly warms to him, even finding him useful as camouflage and as a source of information. Especially when Owen makes friends with Petrov’s son. A plan begins to gel in Jay’s mind – but it will involve putting Owen at some degree of risk.

But what if Owen wants to be just like his dad?

In a story like this, one expects the hero to learn heartwarming lessons about love and responsibility as parenthood changes him inwardly. And that does happen to some extent. But it’s a lot more complex than that, and in the end I wasn’t sure what to make of the story’s resolution.

But it was a good story, well-told, vivid, and exciting. I enjoyed it, but I’m not sure it didn’t corrupt me a little.