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Fiction, Reviews

‘Heavy Weather,’ by P. G. Wodehouse

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Sunshine pierced the haze that enveloped London. It came down Fleet Street, turned to the right, stopped at the premises of the Mammoth Publishing Company, and, entering through an upper window, beamed pleasantly upon Lord Tilbury, founder and proprietor of that vast factory of popular literature….

Considering what a pleasant rarity sunshine in London is, one might have expected the man behind the Mammoth to beam back. Instead, he merely pressed the buzzer. His secretary appeared. He pointed silently. The secretary drew the shade, and the sunshine, having called without an appointment, was excluded.

As you may recall, I’ve been following the adventures of P. G. Wodehouse’s character Monty Bodkin through the two novels in which he stars. I was then reminded that he actually shows up for the first time (as far as I’m aware) in the novel Heavy Weather, so I went back to that one. And it turns out HW is in fact a sequel to an earlier novel, Summer Lightning. So now I’ll have to read that one too (regretfully leaving Monty behind), caught like T.H. White’s Merlin in a reverse chronology.

This is one of Wodehouse’s more complex tales, so find a comfortable chair and pour yourself a cup of tea if you like.

Monty Bodkin, you’ll recall, tall, handsome, and rich, is in love with Gertrude Butterwick (who does not appear physically in this book; her character is still gestating). But she won’t agree to be married until she gets her father’s blessing. And her father has decreed that Monty won’t be given Gertrude’s hand unless he shows the enterprise to hold down a paying job for a full year.

He’s wangled a position at Lord Tilbury’s Mammoth Publishing, as assistant editor of Tiny Tots Magazine. In that capacity he commits the kind of blunder only a member of the Drones Club could make, and gets cashiered. However, he learns from a friend that Clarence (Threepwood), Lord Emsworth of Blandings Castle in Shropshire, needs a secretary. Monty is an old family friend, so he calls Lord Emsworth’s imperious sister Constance, who is happy to hire him on her brother’s behalf.

Meanwhile, the other main plot picks up from the previous novel – Ronnie Fish, Lord Emsworth’s nephew, wants to marry Sue Brown, a charming chorus girl. Lady Constance firmly opposed the match, but agreed to it in return for a concession from her other brother, Galahad Threepwood. Gally, who was a notorious rake and London clubman in the 1890s, has written his memoirs, which contain enough old skeletons belonging to eminent English families to wreck numerous political careers and destroy the Threepwood family socially. Gally has agreed to withdraw publication of the memoirs (which were contracted to Lord Tilbury’s Mammoth Publishing) in return for Constance agreeing to the match and allowing her wooly-headed brother Clarence to release Ronnie’s trust fund.

Clarence, however, is barely aware of all this drama. His concern is with his suspicions that their neighbor, a fellow-pig fancier, is planning to poison the Empress of Blandings, his own beloved prize sow. When Lord Tilbury, who is not a man to let a certain bestseller slip through his fingers, arrives at Blandings Castle to pressure Uncle Galahad, and Lord Emsworth mistakes him for a pig poisoner, complications ensue. Which are not decreased by the arrival of Ronnie Fish’s mother Julia, who doesn’t care a fig about Gally’s scandals, but definitely does not want her son marrying some chorus girl. And, oh yes, Lord Emsworth thinks Monty Bodkin is a pig poisoner too.

What Heavy Weather offers that sets it apart from most of Wodehouse’s peak work is a small strain of pathos. Pathos doesn’t happen much in this fictional world; the reader doesn’t want it. Tragedy might be mentioned in passing, but it’s not dwelt on. However, here for once we do have a tragic subplot. There’s a reason Uncle Galahad is so strongly in favor of Ronnie’s and Sue’s wedding. Once, in his youth, he was in love with Sue Brown’s mother, but the family quelched their hopes and packed Gally off to South Africa. In Heavy Weather we get a rare glimpse into the regrets of an old man’s heart. I don’t think it’s overdone – I identified strongly and was moved. But I don’t recall a similar theme in any of Wodehouse’s other mature stories.

As an extra treat, I embed below a dramatic production of Heavy Weather done for the BBC in 1995. It features no less than the great Peter O’Toole as Lord Emsworth. I wasn’t entirely happy with it – I thought O’Toole (doing what seems like an imitation of Dame Edith Evans) insufficiently sympathetic here. And Richard Johnson, who was a fine actor, overdid the mugging, I thought, in the role of Lord Tilbury. In my opinion it’s almost always wrong to mug with Wodehouse – his humor depends on more subtle effects. (Though, come to think of it, Hugh Laurie mugged quite a lot as Bertie Wooster and I didn’t mind that.)

Fiction, Reviews

‘A Mersey Killing,’ by Brian L. Porter

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By the old, abandoned docks on the Mersey River in Liverpool, where first water and now sand has been receding for years, a skeleton is uncovered as A Mersey Killing by Brian L. Porter begins. There’s little to identify it other than a pair of expensive boots and a broken guitar pick, but the surrounding detritus indicates it comes from the mid-1960s.

Detective Sergeant Andy Ross and his female colleague “Izzy” Drake are assigned the case. It’s clearly a murder, as the skeleton shows gunshot wounds to the knees and a crushing blow to the head. But unless they can connect the skeleton to a name soon it will have to be dropped, because they need the resources for more pressing cases.

However, two middle-aged brothers come forward, asking whether the body might be that of their sister, missing since the ‘60s. They don’t know the skeleton has been identified as male. As Inspector Ross listens to their story (more patiently than I imagine would happen in real life in a busy police station), he realizes that another character in the story may just be their dead man. The story is told in two threads, one in the early 1960s, the other “today” (1999). The Sixties thread follows the story of Brendan Kane and the Comets, a rock ‘n roll group riding the wave of the Mersey Sound fad, hoping to achieve stardom like the Beatles. Although they achieve some local success, they never break out. But Brandon and Marie, the sister, a sort of unpaid roadie, fall in love. This is opposed by Marie’s father, a fanatical Irish Catholic who doesn’t want his daughter marrying any bloody Prod. Piece by piece (and with a lot of lucky breaks), the detectives put the true story together, leading to a poignant (if melodramatic and implausible) climax.

A Mersey Killing is another example of an amateurish work that shows some promise in terms of essential storytelling. I was interested to see how it all came out, so I stayed with it in spite of some pretty awful prose.

My main criticism of the writing is something I’ve been seeing a lot of in these days of self-publishing. The text needs cutting, badly. The author doesn’t know how to sharpen his prose, instead just piling words on, hoping one of them will stick. For instance:

Both the inspector and Sergeant Izzie Drake had found themselves being drawn inescapably into the past as they’d sat listening to Ronnie’s story. The man could certainly weave a good tale and had the knack of being able to communicate his thoughts in a way that gave the detectives a fascinating insight not only into the subject they were discussing but into another era, a period in recent history that only those who’d lived through it could perhaps fully appreciate. They were fascinated.

Everything in that passage could be deleted except for the first sentence, and we’d have all the author needs to convey without boring the reader.

Another problem I had with the book was the handling of religious issues. One of the characters is a religious bigot, and certainly not someone I admire. But the author (it seemed to me) wrote from the point of view – common in Europe – that religious faith itself is a kind of aberration that we’ve finally outgrown, thank Freud.

Yet another aspect of the story that troubled me – one you may not agree with me about – is what seemed to me a naïve admiration for the 1960s. The author sees it as a time of innocence and liberation, a wonderful time to live and love. I remember it as a time of drugs, escape from reason, and the first cracks of cultural disintegration.

Still, I finished the thing. You might like it better than I did.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Lucky Man,’ by Tony Dunbar

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The sixth volume in Tony Dunbar’s Tubby Dubonnet series is Lucky Man. As usual with this series, I felt a bit disoriented as I read, like a newcomer to a social group trying to keep up with people discussing personalities and events I’m not familiar with.

Anyway, in the last book, Tubby, a New Orleans lawyer, served as campaign chairman for Judge Hughes. Now Judge Hughes comes to him with a problem. He’s been subpoenaed by the new district attorney, a fanatical reformer. The DA is threatening to indict Hughes for a sexual indiscretion at work unless he fingers other judges for corruption. The trouble is, Hughes says, he doesn’t know about any serious corruption (a little hard to believe in New Orleans, this reader thought) and he doesn’t want to perjure himself (or for his wife to find out).

Meanwhile, Tubby is dealing with the presence in his house of his friend Raisin, temporarily between addresses. Raisin turns out to be a difficult roommate, and he’s going through relationship drama. Tubby himself is contemplating moving to the country, under the influence of a girlfriend who hates the city.

The story involves a homeless man living under a house, an escort service, and a man who dies from swallowing poker chips. It features that favorite fictional trope of our age, the hypocritical born-again Christian. Lucky Man was colorful and entertaining, but left no major impression on me.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Dirty Deals,’ by Alan Lee

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She twisted in her seat to reach her shopping bags, from which she produced a black Gucci purse. She twitched a check from it and laid it on my desk. The check was blank and hopeful, like the women’s eyes.

There’s a lot to like in Alan Lee’s Mackenzie August novels. Their relentless optimism is perhaps the best part – these are no noirs; when Mack or his buddy Manny Rodriguez, US marshal, start feeling down, they do something about it – and they’re more likely to work out than get drunk. There’s a lot of Robert B. Parker’s Spenser here, without the creeping wokeness that spoiled that great series for me.

I like some of the books better than others, but I think Dirty Deals may be my favorite in the series to date.

Mack is visited  in his office by a group of wealthy, middle-aged ladies from a Baptist Sunday School in Lynchburg (Kentucky? Tennessee? I was never sure). By some obscure reasoning, she believes she can score heavily against her hated rivals in the Presbyterian Sunday School by hiring Mack to find the fugitive convict Caleb James. Caleb was convicted of murdering a Lynchburg police officer and crippling another while under the influence of crystal meth. But he managed to escape from a high security prison and has dropped out of sight.

Mack takes the case, discovering a story that doesn’t make a lot of sense. Why was a cop killer only convicted of second degree murder? Why do the Lynchburg cops – even the retired one whom Caleb crippled – want the whole business forgotten? Why do the descriptions of the crime make so little logical sense? As is his wont, Mack will stray from the narrow confines of his job description, determined to figure out the real story and to see that true justice is done. Which will force a very difficult decision on him.

Dirty Deals was well plotted and moved right along. The mystery was engaging, and the solution involved a surprise I really didn’t see coming.

The best part, though, was a moment in a sub-plot when Mack’s wife Ronnie delivers an impassioned defense of marital fidelity that will have social conservatives standing up and cheering.

Great fun. Cautions for language. Recommended.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Criminal Lawyer,’ by Thomas Benigno

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I read and reviewed Thomas Benigno’s first Nick Mannino novel, The Good Lawyer, some time back. I liked it quite a lot, but I missed the sequel, The Criminal Lawyer. I’m making that up now.

In the first book, Nick gave up the practice of criminal law to please his wife, who hated it. But after they separated he went back to it, though he’s not doing it any more. He and she are still friendly (he hasn’t given up hopes for reconciliation), and he adores his two adult children, John and Charlotte. So he’s horrified when John’s fiancée is kidnapped, and taunting messages are sent by the kidnapper from her cell phone. The most puzzling thing is that this serial killer has been abducting prostitutes, which this girl is definitely not.

Nick has connections with organized crime. He’s not involved with their business, but he took the money when his mobster uncle left him his fortune. This means Nick has considerable resources to draw on in his effort to find this serial killer and rescue John’s fiancée. What he doesn’t expect is that it will lead him eventually to a violent, personal encounter with the monster – an encounter that could end his life – or transform it.

I have to admit I didn’t like The Criminal Lawyer as much as The Good Lawyer, though I did like it. The story was compelling, the plotting good, the characters interesting. I thought the prose was a little flaccid; it could have been tightened considerably. The author is also prone to misplaced and dangling modifiers. And the big scene where Nick unloads his deepest secrets to another person for the first time in his life seemed improbable and awkward to me. The epilogue was probably too long, but it provided satisfying closure.

On balance, a pretty good book.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Fool for a Client,’ by Alan Lee

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Number ten in the amusing Mackenzie August private eye series is Fool for a Client. Business is good for Mack, a private eye in Roanoke, Virginia. Better than he’d like, actually. His last case got written up in a national magazine and now he’s a celebrity sleuth, turning business away. His home life is also going well – he’s still living with his father along with his own wife (lawyer Ronnie) and their small son. Also his best friend, Manny Rodriguez the federal marshal, who likes to sleep on the floor.

Then two cops arrive to ask a few questions “just to eliminate you as a suspect.” Ronnie knows what that means and cautions Mack not to tell them anything. Turns out two men have been murdered, and Mack’s DNA has been found under their fingernails. Also, Mack’s DNA has been found in another woman’s bed. Mack hasn’t murdered anybody, and he hasn’t been having an affair. He has to assume he has an implacable enemy out there, one with considerable resources. He’ll have to find that person to clear himself.

Which will be tough after he’s arrested and put in jail. He’s got Ronnie for an attorney, but can she trust him now?

The Mack August books are light and fun. They’re marginally Christian too. Fool for a Client is another of the same. I enjoyed it.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Saga of Bjorn, Champion of the Hitardal People’

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I’m assuming very few of you are going to go out and buy The Complete Sagas of Icelanders, but I continue with my reading reports as I work my way through the volumes. I’m still on the poets’ sagas, and it occurred to me (and I should have remembered this) that most of the big ones are included in the Penguin volume, Sagas of Warrior-Poets. And the translations there are perfectly good.

My latest saga is the Saga of Bjorn, Champion of the Hitardal People. We have only an imperfect text for this one, since the first five chapters have been lost, as well as a page and a half out of the middle. The missing first chapters are fairly adequately supplied by text from a shorter version included in the Separate Saga of Saint Olaf by Snorri Sturlusson. About the second lacuna nothing can be done. But enough remains to provide an interesting tale. Scholars believe this to be one of the earlier sagas to be written down.

Bjorn Arngeirsson’s story begins in a way reminiscent of Laxdalasaga. Bjorn goes out into the world to make his fortune, but not before he and his father arrange his marriage to the lovely Oddny. The agreement is that he must come back to Iceland before five years have passed, or else the deal is canceled. Bjorn goes out and has adventures, including fighting a duel on behalf of King Valdemar (Vladimir) of Kiev, which earns him the tile of “Champion.” But he suffers a wound that prevents his returning home as soon as he’d like. Meanwhile his childhood enemy, another poet named Thord Kolbeinsson, travels back to Iceland and reports that Bjorn is dead. Thord then takes Oddny for his own wife.

Once Bjorn returns, a long succession of mutual offenses follow. Aside from personal hatred, one suspects an element of professional jealousy – the way the saga tells it, Bjorn is superior both as a man and as an artist, and Thord can’t forgive that. However, I imagine the story could be told just as well from the other point of view. Unlike the Saga of Hallfred, the last one I reviewed, Christianity seems to have little influence on this cycle of violence. People try to make peace, but these two men share an implacable hate.

There are interesting elements from the historian’s point of view. Bjorn, knowing that Thord has been at King (Saint) Olav’s court and will have slandered him, goes personally to set the record straight – showing considerable courage. (Olav acts just as I portray him in my novels, urging Bjorn to give up Viking raiding as an un-Christian activity.) There’s an interesting scene involving baths – the saga says that baths in tubs are “the only kind” that were available in Norway at the time. I assume the reference is to the custom of sauna bathing in Iceland (where thermal springs are plentiful). I’d always thought the Norwegians took steam baths too – but I’m not sure this saga can be trusted on historical details. The bath scene involves the wearing of garters by men, a subject of some contention among reenactors. It ends with Bjorn in possession of one of Saint Olaf’s own garters, which in time will become part of the bishop’s regalia in Iceland. Descriptions of shields in a battle scene are clearly anachronistic – the writer assumes a shield with arm straps and a point, which weren’t commonly in use at the time of these events.

Another interesting point comes up when the men are gathered at the Thing to work out a legal settlement between Bjorn and Thord. They actually go to the trouble of making up competing lists of all the lampoons each man has written about the other. When it’s found that Thord has written one fewer, he’s allowed to compose another on the spot so that they’ll balance.

A matter that’s mentioned, but rather underplayed in the saga, is the question of who is the actual father of Thord’s son Kolli. If I’m not mistaken, I I believe this is given more attention in Laxdala Saga (and in my novel West Oversea.)

The Saga of Bjorn, Champion of the Hitardal People is a flawed and somewhat artless story, but of considerable interest to the saga scholar.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Someone Savage,’ by Mike McCrary

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There’s a kind of story that I hate and love. The kind of story where an ordinary man (or woman, I suppose, but I avoid those books) finds him (or her-) self in the middle of a violent crime situation for which they’re entirely unsuited, and they have to find a way to survive and overcome. I over-identify with such stories, knowing I wouldn’t survive ten minutes, but I read on, fascinated.

Mike McCrary’s Someone Savage is exactly that kind of story. Nicholas Hooper is a well-known and successful author who’s recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer. His only family is his sister Allison, with whom he has an affectionate but contentious relationship. He also has several ex-wives, but he doesn’t talk to them and he’s never fathered a child. Never felt up to the responsibility.

Now he’s rented a huge luxury home in the Poconos for 15 months. Ostensibly he’s there to write his last book, but actually he’s come to die. He even brought a gun with one bullet, in case he wants to go out that way. Mainly, he anticipates drinking heavily.

Then there’s a soft knock at the door, and he opens it to see two small children, undernourished and filthy. The boy says nothing; the girl just says, “Help.” He lets them in and tries to figure out what to do with them. As a start, he gives them bottled water and Cheetos, and sets them in front of a TV with Sponge Bob Squarepants on.

He calls Allison, who urges him to call the police. But the childrens’ responses make him hesitate. They don’t trust any adult, and are clearly traumatized. When he finally persuades them to go to town with him for a good breakfast, they catch sight of a local cop and panic. That moment is pivotal, and much danger will rise from it.

I identified intensely with Nick Hooper, and agonized through the story, which I pretty much read in one sitting. It grabbed me and held tight to the end. It wasn’t all that plausible (I’m pretty sure I’d have just called the police in [which would have been fatal in this situation] if I were in Nick’s shoes), but that’s fairly standard for stories like this. Someone Savage would make an excellent movie.

I recommend this book highly.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Dead Stop,’ by Alan Lee

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When I’ve read too many dark, gritty mysteries it’s always nice to pick up a Mackenzie August book by Alan Lee. They’re strong on tough, fairly clever dialogue, and it’s nice to follow a detective with a positive attitude and faith in God. So we have come to a Dead Stop, book nine in the series.

Roanoke, Virginia PI Mack August is married to Veronica, a beautiful lawyer. She surprises him by making him the gift of a trip on a luxury private train, Chicago to San Francisco. Mack has always wanted to take such a journey, in the spirit of the old Golden Age mysteries, and jokingly remarks that he hopes they’re attacked by bandits. That won’t happen, but what does happen will be about as bad. Fortunately, their friend Manny Rodriguez, a US Marshal, comes along too – though he’s disappointed to be stood up by his girlfriend.

Their quarters on the train are luxurious, the views are majestic, and the service is excellent. The main irritant is that some of the other passengers are annoying – especially a Republican couple and a Democrat couple who can’t stop sniping at each other. There also seems to be a fair amount of sexual hijinks going on.

Then one of the conductors disappears. And one by one, other members of the train’s crew vanish as well, to be found in the snow with bullet holes in their heads. Manny declares “marshal law” and they try to keep the other passengers calm (and away from each others’ throats) while doing their best to identify the murderer in their midst.

Dead Stop is a story with a message, and it’s not exactly subtle. Mack and Manny constantly try to remind their fellow passengers that they’re all on the same train and need each other, while those passengers are consumed with mutual hatreds – political, social, racial and international. The conservatives and liberals are about equally caricatured, so I don’t think anyone should take offense.

There’s a civility lesson I’m not sure I entirely agree with in the final solution to the crime. But all in all, the book was pleasant enough, and more positive than not in its (relatively heavy-handed) teaching moments.

As usual, author Lee could use a better proofreader. A particularly odd word error is when he tells us someone is wearing a “toboggan” on his head. Is there a piece of headwear known as a toboggan? Did he mean “toque?” Another mystery, this one unsolved.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Community,’ by Finn Eccleston

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Author Finn Eccleston contacted us through blog comments and asked if I’d like to review his first novel, The Community. I accepted a free review copy and discovered a book worth reading by a promising writer.

Jay Stevens lives in a small, somewhat primitive community whose reason for existence seems obscure. It’s located in an oasis of green surrounded by sand. Jay enjoys the status of being a supervisor. He makes sure all the members of the Community are following the numerous rules laid down for them by the ruling Council. There used to be a lot of building going on in the Community, but their meager forest land is mostly logged over now and projects have stalled.

Recently Jay has been troubled by flashbacks – moments of narcolepsy when he experiences what feels like memories, but they’re not memories of this life. They’re memories of life in a city, where he was a drug dealer and a killer.

When he accidentally discovers an electronic barrier surrounding the Community, and blunders onto the other side, he will begin a journey of discovery that will only lead to greater mysteries and an existential threat to his friends and himself.

The Community is clearly a book by a young writer. The prose could use a lot of polishing – there are many word mistakes – “paramount” where “tantamount” is wanted, “after affect” in place of “after-effect.” There are misspellings and plain awkward verbiage, like “Our paces were both quickened.” And sometimes the descriptions of places and events are hard to follow.

On the other hand, the characters are good, the plot moves right along, and there are occasional sly literary allusions that tell me the author reads and is interested in his craft. I think he shows great promise. The Community is the first book in a series, and I think each installment is likely to improve on the last.

Cautions for rough language and adult themes.