Book Review: A Murder on the Mountain by Ellie Alexander

I don’t know it it’s just me (maybe it’s the books I’m picking up) but cosy crime seems to be trending these days towards the cosy and away from the crime. So it was with Ellie Alexander’s A Murder on the Mountain, and it’s fine, it really is, but…it’s just short on what I’m looking for in a crime novel. 

The book is set in Portland, Oregon, where wannabe investigative reporter Meg finds herself with a job at an extreme sports publication. Here, naturally, she is required to become involved in extreme sports at which (of course) she is inexperienced and so, expectedly, gets herself into a lot of scrapes. During one of these, as she is covering the filming of an extreme sports competition, she witnesses one of the competitors falling past her to his death as she clings to the side of a mountain. 

It wouldn’t be cosy crime of Meg didn’t immediately need to get to the bottom of it, despite being warned off by both the sheriff and a mysterious personage we assume to be the killer. So far, so mainstream. 

The trouble is, I found it all a bit…twee. It’s not just that Meg is improbably ditzy for a reporter, and keeps getting herself into situations which would have been avoided if she’d done as the Sheriff told her and stayed at home. It’s that the crime itself is incredibly sketchy. There are no witnesses to see how the victims came to fall and yet the Sheriff concludes that it’s homicide. We never find out why. Most of the investigation is Meg digging around to find out  the background of the contestants which, let’s face it, is something the police would be perfectly able to do for themselves — probably rather better and rather quicker. 

What we did get, instead of the crime, was a lot of froth. We had the detail on what Meg snd her friends wear, and eat, and detailed explanations of where they live. The secondary characters — friends, family, suspects — are stereotypes and without depth. Difficult mother, grandmother into crystals and alternative therapy, handsome boss vs male best friend, successful female best friend with smug boyfriend — the tropes are all there but there’s nothing to make them any more than one dimensional. That said, Meg herself, despite being on the irritating side, does at least have a complex backstory with which I was engaged, though not enough to read on beyond the end of this book to discover more.

I loved the setting, though, and was following the action with Google Maps open on my phone. The descriptions were great and really evoked the awe-inspiring setting of the Columbia Rover and its gorge, and I did like the touch of including information about all the locations at the end of the book. 

Overall, though the tone veered way too much towards the frothiness of a light romcom for my taste. Cosy or not, I’m looking for a little bit more of an edge than this in a crime novel, I’m afraid.

Book Review: The Forty Rules of Love by Elif Shafak

I’ll be up front. Prior to reading this book my experience of reading Elif Shafak (two books, There are Rivers in the Sky and The Island of Missing Trees) propelled her right up near the top of my list of favourite writers. On that basis alone I was looking forward to The Forty Rules of Love. And maybe partly because my expectations were so high, I was disappointed.

The book is a dual timeline, balancing a journey of self-discovery for Ella, a middle-class liberal Jewish housewife in the States, against the historical story of the relationship between the thirteenth century Turkish poet, Rumi, and the whirling Dervish, Shams of Tabriz. I’m always a bit sceptical of this format, though normally Shafak does it well. Too often I find that one strand outweighs the other and so it proved in this case. Ella’s storyline felt dull to me and a faint echo of the historical story, rather than offering any kind of enrichment of it. I was less interested in her boredom than with the richness of what felt to me like the main story.

This, then, is a matter of historical fact in which the renowned Rumi becomes obsessed with his spiritual teacher, alienating many people along the way and inspiring many others, until events reach a tragic conclusion. Both Rumi and Shams are still quoted today and the book takes the reader through Shams’ Forty Rules of Love, showing us events through a lot of different points of view, which I liked.

So far so good, but I did find that for much of the book I was sucked into dense paragraphs and pages of philosophical exposition. The minor characters, who by and large don’t get bogged down in this kind of detail, are much the most entertaining and engaging (even the baddies). Shams comes across as alternatively too good or too bad to be true (perhaps that’s deliberate) and Rumi, the leader, seems overwhelmed by him to the point of neglecting family and friends. 

I found the religious debate and discussions o overwhelming that they were almost suffocating; too much of it felt as if I was being lectured, rather than encouraged, about a better way to live my life. When I compare that with the sparkling storytelling and clever construction of, say There Are Rivers in the Sky, I have to admit I was disappointed, and it took me a lot longer to read than I had thought. 

Just because this book isn’t as good as I expected doesn’t, of course, make it bad and I’m sure many other will people enjoy it. But for me, it’s not Shafak’s best. 

Book Review: The Keeper of Lost Art by Lelita Baldock

The Keeper of Lost Art is based on historical events in the Second World War in the southern Italian port city of Bari. Siena Innocente, a young woman on the run from wartime Rome, arrives at the home of noted artist Aurio di Bari in search of sanctuary. He’s away fighting in the war, but his family, led by his daughter Alessia, welcome Siena into their home. As war proceeds and its horrors unfold, we learn not just of Siena’s past but also the truth about the family in which she has been welcomed. 

I really loved the setting for this story. It’s an unusual twist on the usual wartime tale and I liked that. Lelita Baldock depicts both the beauties of Italy and the privations of war, and her descriptions of how the community came together (and, just occasionally, fractured) in its desperation to survive, are utterly absorbing. The historical detail, including the historical context of the struggle against fascism, was fascinating.

The story is told from three different points of view: Alessia, Siena and, in a jump back in time, Eva, a young woman studying art in Florence in 1921. I thought the story was very busy, perhaps overly so, and I did find myself wondering whether it all hung together quite as well as it might. Some of the turns in the plot were well-worn and came as no surprise, though I did find the twist at the very end extremely satisfactory.

To make something so complicated work (and with so many apparently unconnected characters somehow coming together at the end) while maintaining some sense of credibility is quite the challenge and to do that while keeping secrets from the reader is more complicated. I wasn’t sure it worked. With two characters changing their name in the course of the book I felt the author was trying too hard to have everything hinge on coincidence. (I guessed one of the changes and suspected  the other.) 

In another, less well written book, I might have found that more frustrating, but this is elegantly written and the characters are human, both likeable and believable. I thoroughly enjoyed this book.  

Thanks to Storm Publishing and Netgalley for an advance copy of this book in return for an honest review. 

Book Review: Für Elise by Mark Splitstone

This book attracted me because of its premise — a retelling of the Rip van Winkle tale, which is referred to a number of times in the text. Rather than falling asleep for twenty years, the protagonist (Hans) leaves Dresden and his teenage sweetheart (Elise) when he’s conscripted into the Wehrmacht during the Second World War. After thirteen years being held as a prisoner of war in the Soviet Union he returns to find that not only has the city changed beyond all measure, but the political situation and the whole culture he left has changed, too.

The book is in two parts and for me it took too long to get to the interesting part. Hans’s developing relationship with Elise didn’t hold my attention for that long and a lot of it felt irrelevant knowing what was to come. Once Hans returned and faced the demons of what had happened both to his city and to the people he loved, and had to come to terns with a new political situation that was hostile to him, the book became much more interesting and there was much more of a sene of purpose about it. It got better as it went on and the ending had a twist that I genuinely didn’t expect — so, hats off to the author for that! 

That said, the book isn’t without its issues. To my disappointment it lacked any real sense of place— something that’s crucial in a location-dependent book such as this. I don’t mean that it lacked detail, because it didn’t: the descriptions of the cityscape before and after Hans’s exile were, as far as I can tell, immaculate. The problem was in the telling. Party it’s because it’s an American book written in American English and had no nod to its central European setting. Even a small touch, such as the odd word in German (such as a character addressing their mother as mutti rather than mom) might have lifted it a little and made a difference. 

I hate to say it, but the main problem I have with this is that the writing was pedestrian at best and that made it pretty hard to read at times. The story, as I’ve said, is thrilling at points (certainly once it gets going) but I always felt I was very distant from it. Neither the characters nor the place (and I’ve recently been to Dresden and read a lot of eye-witness accounts of what happened there) felt real to me and even the graphic (and accurate) descriptions of the horrors of the firestorm failed to touch my emotions as they ought to. It was all telling and almost no showing and I’m sorry to say that in many places I found it dull. I thought the dialogue was clunky and I never really felt invested in the characters. I didn’t feel their fear or their pain; I was’t shocked or angry as I read. I just read, without emotion and that’s definitely not what I would look for in a story dealing with such traumatic events. 

I think that’s a pity because, as I say, this offered a great story and a really interesting premise. But I’m sorry: I just think it could have been delivered a whole lot better.

Thank to Netgalley and the author for a copy of this book in return for an honest review. 

Review: The Secret Detective Agency by Helena Dixon

Oooh! A Second World War spy thriller-cum-murder mystery! Who could resist a book set in a period so rich with intrigue, especially when the setting is the Home Front, much cosier than anything in a more military setting? In this book (of course, no spoilers!) the focus is on the unlikely partnership between severe Londoner, Jane Treen, who is involved in co-ordinating a network of spies on the continent, and Devonshire country gentleman Arthur Cilento (a codebreaker and a young man physically unable to serve). When one of Jane’s spy network turns up, dead, on Arthur’s country estate, the pair are forced to work together to catch a killer and prevent more murders.

This book appealed to me for a reason other than the setting and genre — the author. I’ve read and enjoyed several of Helena Dixon’s Miss Underhay mysteries (and will eventually get round to the rest when my TBR permits) and so I reckoned I’d have a look and see how the author handled a different period. 

Well now. As I say, I enjoyed Miss Underhay very much but…whisper it…I think I like this fledgling series even more. It’s hard to judge on just one book, but I’ll definitely read on. All of the expected qualities in terms of writing, characterisation and setting are present. For me what made it different is that the context is much more serious — an existential crisis for the nation, rather than the often-frivolous 1930s) and so the stakes are higher. 

I became very invested not just in the success of Jane and Arthur’s investigations but in the relationship between the two very different main characters and the contrast between Jane’s stark London life (the descriptions of the aftermath of the Blitz are grimly fascinating) and Arthur’s much more cosseted country situation.

I look forward to reading more. 

Thanks to Netgalley and Bookouture for an advanced copy of this book in return for an honest review. 

Flight Without End by Joseph Roth

This book, for which I have kindly been sent a copy in return for an honest review (many thanks to Netgalley and Pushkin Press Classics), is a re-issue of a novel first published in 1927. It follows the story of Franz Tunda, an Austrian Jew who finds himself in Siberia after the end of the Great War and gradually works his way back to a society which believes him lost. 

Tunda’s travels (and his frequent sexual relationships) take him through revolutionary Russia, into Baku, back to Vienna, then to an unnamed university town on the Rhine and finally to Paris, where he at last encounters his long-lost fiancée. Readers used to a more modern novel might find the structure a little lacking and occasionally confusing (the narration switches between an abstract third person, Tunda’s diary, and a friend) but I didn’t find this off-putting.

I’ve always been fascinated by Europe between the wars, not just in terms of its political history, which can be complicated as well as dark, but with its society. This novel, written during the period, is overwhelmingly realistic and, though without the knowledge of the horrors was to come (like the author, the protagonist is Jewish). still contains hints at the darker forces that were stirring. As Tunda moved between spheres and adapts to them, always looking back with what feels like a curious detachment on the life he had, and the man he was, before, I was left with an overwhelming impression of the transience and brittleness of post-war European society.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I both enjoyed and feel enlightened by this bittersweet novel. 

 

Book Review: The English Wife by Anna Stuart

 

The English Wife tells the stories of two women during the Second World War. One of them, Clementine Churchill, was very much real and, as the wife of the Prime Minister Winston Churchill, unavoidably at the heart of what went on. The other, Jenny Miller, is an American broadcaster and is not real, though the authors’ note tells us that she was inspired by a real person (Janet Murrow, wife of the US broadcaster Ed Murrow). 

As far as my grasp of history tells me, it’s a faithful retelling of a critical and fascinating period in world history, and I really enjoyed seeing a well-known narrative told from a different point of view, showing us how Clementine’s sense of duty, sense of self-worth and love for her husband didn’t always overlap. 

I admit that I was particularly touched by the story and, as I read, it rang bells with me. My mother used to tell tell how, as a little girl living in South Wales during the War, she raised money for Clementine’s Aid For Russia fund, and received a letter from Mrs Churchill in response. 

I think there can often be problems in telling a true and widely-known story, and its always easier (I think) to tell them through the eyes of a fictional character, rather than a real one whose deeds are known, whose letters and diaries are public and so on, which means the truth can be a bit of a straitjacket for an author. Because of this, Jenny’s life story felt a little more real to me than Clementine’s and I would have liked to have read more about her and seen Anna Stuart’s imagination take wing. 

That said, Stuart’s talent and Clementine’s life story combined to make this less of a problem than I had feared. I thoroughly enjoyed it. 

Thanks to Bookouture and Netgalley for an advance copy of this book, which I read in return for an honest review.