This week’s rural reading is from Normandy, Fred Vargas’ The Ghost Riders of Ordebec. It’s set in the summer, and Commissaire Adamsberg has been summoned from Paris to allay the fears of a woman whose daughter Lina has seen the local version of the Wild Hunt, the Ghost Riders or Furious Army, who travel along a set route, picking up evildoers on their path, and condemning them to ride for eternity. Lina and her three brothers are regarded by the other villagers as “special”, and their unhappy history is slowly revealed. Lina saw in her vision four people seized by the Furious Army, the first one a man named Herbier, who is found dead shortly after Lina’s revelations.
Adamsberg has to contend with the local cop, a man rather too keen on his own Napoleonic antecedents, and the local countess, who takes him under her wing. He has also had to bring along his son, an injured pigeon, and a key witness in a corruption case. His usual team are mostly left behind in Paris, where they continue to act as an eccentric and mildy dysfunctional family, worrying about the cat that sleeps on the photocopier and generally not doing things by the book.
Vargas has a fantastic eye for character, and can sketch an entire person in two or three well-chosen sentences. I enjoyed the parallels between the odd family in Ordebec and Adamsberg’s usual team, showing why Adamsberg was uniquely qualified to gain people’s confidence in this case. Vargas paints her characters with tolerance and affection, and I could cheerfully spend a great deal more time with them.
An abandoned barn, in a remote rural location in Norway. When the young police officer William Wisting is asked to accompany a friend interested in vintage cars, he has little idea that this will lead him to a case that he can only solve thirty years later. The barn contains a car with two bullet holes, and the driver was never found.
The story is told from two viewpoints: that of the present-day Wisting, a detective nearing the end of his career, and that of the young man, his wife with twin babies, and the conflict between needing the overtime and needing to be with his family. The past and present turn out to be strongly linked, and Wisting ends solving cases from both time-frames.
When It Grows Dark by Jorn Lier Horst may be several books into the series but also serves as an introduction to Wisting’s career as a detective. It is short, at 160 pages, but perfectly constructed, an exquisite miniature masterclass in plotting. (Full Wayne’e World “we are not worthy” bowing – it’s that good. On a scale of one to ten, definitely an eleven.) Pretty much everyone who’s due a Christmas present from me this year can guess what they’re getting.
An early start to the Christmas reading, with Margaret Mayhew’s Bitter Poison, the fifth in her series featuring The Colonel and the fictional village of Frog End. The Frog End Players are preparing their annual pantomime, but this year have chosen to stage a version of The Snow Queen instead. Marjorie Cuthbertson has decided that a new arrival in the village, a former model, would be ideal, and does everything she can to persuade Joan to take on the role. She has roped much of the village in to help, even persuading the Colonel to construct a sleigh, so when a member of the cast is murdered, he has a ringside seat.
Mayhew has a disarming lightness of touch, and I enjoyed this a great deal, but ultimately it came up short -quite literally, at 148 pages, with no sub-plots and the villain quickly revealed. It needed more plotting and detecting, but as a cheerful guide to village life (and the Frog End KGB) it passes the time in pleasant fashion.
To the Faroes this week, a remote group of islands in the North Atlantic, for Chris Ould’s The Killing Bay. The title is a reference to the regular whale hunts, that involve boats driving whales into a bay where the local inhabitants then kill them. After one such hunt, one of a group of international protesters is found dead. One of the last people to see her alive was Jan Reyna, a British policeman of Faroese extraction, who has returned for the funeral of his father.
Jan teams up with the local police, including Hjalti Hentze, and it quickly becomes apparent that this is not a straightforward murder, but that there are a number of vested interests, not least within the police force itself.
This is an atmospheric look at a little-known area of the world, and the difficulties of policing a series of islands linked by ferry, plane and tunnel. Everything takes time, and all the characters seem isolated. Oulds is also a screenwriter, so the story is well-structured, despite an initially complex series of shifting scenes. It is the second of an intended trilogy, and I will be looking out for the next instalment.
In fiction devoted to rural crime, the community is a source of strength, either for or against the main character, and in Jane Harper’s The Dry, the Australian outback community of Kiewarra is very much against Aaron Falk. For the Melbourne-based detective, this comes as no surprise, but the reason why his family had to leave is only revealed gradually. Aaron has returned for the funeral of his old schoolfriend Luke, who died alongside his wife and child. Luke’s parents do not believe it was suicide, and ask Aaron to help convince the local policeman, Raco, to continue with the investigation
This is a strong and confident narrative, and feels like a mid-series novel rather than a debut. The pacing is skilful, the characters have an emotional hinterland, and the devastating effects of a multi-year drought add to the tension of a community under severe stress. (I particularly liked the touch of a local schoolchild’s drawing being of a cow with wings, “My Cow Who is Now in Heaven”.) Highly recommended.
This was an opportune moment to read it, as Harper has just won the CWA Gold Dagger. I was also reading it over the first night of hard frost this winter, and today’s it’s been raining hard. The Dry has reminded me that a small wet island has its advantages.
Devon, this week, for A Cursed Inheritance and Kate Ellis’s DI Wesley Peterson is investigating the death of a crime writer, who has been re-examining a family massacre that took place twenty years ago at Potwoolstan Hall. The writer, Patrick Evans, is found dead in the grounds of the Hall, and as Peterson begins his investigation, it seems that everyone has something to hide, and that more than one guest at the Hall, now run as a New Age healing centre, has not been entirely truthful about their identity.
DI Peterson’s wife, Pam, resentful of the amount of time her husband is spending on his work, is exchanging emails with an archaeologist friend of theirs, Neil, who is in the States, at one of the first 17th-century settlements there, and one of the settlers came from Potwoolstan Hall. A trail of letters from the early settlers gives clues to a much earlier mystery, but how is this connected to the present murders?
There’s a lot of plot in this, if not two books’ worth, and I was left wondering if the American element was a completely separate book that hadn’t quite panned out. The tangle of relationships in the main story becomes ultimately confusing and once the murderer was revealed, the other plot elements were done and dusted in a couple of pages. One two many secret aliases, but otherwise a gripping read.
This week’s country reading has taken me to the Wyre Forest, in the Midlands, the Worcestershire borders, at a time of major flooding. In Green and Pleasant Land, the sixth outing for Judith Cutler’s former DCS Fran Harman, and her husband Mark, also a former high-up detective, the two have been called in to re-examine a cold case by an Assistant Chief Constable who is suspended/ forcibly retired before they even start the job. Twenty years ago, the wife of a well-known footballer disappeared in the forest, in the snow, leaving behind a dead baby still in his car seat. Fran and Mark have to negotiate some tricky internal politics surrounding the investigation, but no one seems to want this case solved.
This is a recognisable public sector, with austerity meaning that most of the former team have scattered to the four winds, laid off in various tranches of redundancy or encouraged to retire early, and there are no resources to investigate former cases, but equally little will to help anyone else trying to do so. The implications of police corruption are spelled out, including the petty nastiness that can be turned on those meant to be on the same side. The PCC (Police and Crime Commissioner) in particular is best described as “a piece of work”. For all that the novel is part of the “cozy” genre, it deals with some uncomfortable themes, quite apart from the disappearance of the footballer’s wife. A pleasant winter’s evening read, but preferably not when there’s a flood warning out.