The Angels Game – Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Barcelona in the early decades of the twentieth century is again the evocative setting for this, Zafon’s follow up to his excellent ‘Shadow of the Wind’.

The narrator is David Martin, and the early part of the book follows developments in his career, domestic arrangements and love life. He rises from cub reporter to star writer on the ‘Voice of Industry’ newspaper, then to contracted writer of ‘penny dreadful’ novels that are popular and lucrative but unfulfilling. However the cash earned enables him to lease a long abandoned tower house in the disreputable Ravel quarter of the city from which he draws his literary inspiration for dark deeds and criminal intent.

He was inexplicably drawn to the tower house and soon uncovers elements of its unhappy past. The presence of damp and decay is unhealthy and the atmosphere of tragedy and evil is only lifted by the periodic presence of Cristina Sagnier (a childhood friend he would like to be more) and Isabella Gispert (an aspiring teenage writer he takes on as an unpaid apprentice, who would like to be taken on as something more).

And there are the periodic intrusions from the mysterious, as yet unseen, Andreas Corelli who seemingly has an interest in David’s well-being (shades of Great Expectations here – David’s favourite book).

As the story progresses David’s life descends into turmoil: overworked by commissions and other self-imposed writing obligations; oppressed by the increasingly spooky history of the tower house; and racked by fractious relations with Cristina and Isabella. Amongst it all is the looming presence of Andreas Corelli, now materialised in physical form, which could tip him over the edge, or be his salvation.

The plot cannot be summarised; it has multiple threads that entangle enticingly, then bewilderingly, that drive the reader on through action (exciting), tension (dramatic), sex (tasteful), mystery (unfathomable), topography (fascinating), and metaphysics (deep but bemusing). People die horribly, David Martin escapes perilous cliff-hangers to tell the tale, but something or someone is always one step ahead of him.

And when he (and the reader) get to the end (of 500 pages) the reveal still leaves much to ponder.

Waiting for Sunrise – William Boyd

Lysander Rief is a young actor with a bright future in the profession. Of good stock (his late father was a thespian of note and his ex-actress mother is now remarried to a peer of the realm and installed in a country estate) he is engaged to his beautiful co-star Blanche. The one fly in the ointment is a sexual impediment that he needs to address.

 And in 1913 the best place to get that done is Vienna where Freud’s influence draws psychologists of note to the city.

His first appointment is fateful. Before he even leaves the waiting room he has encountered two people who will change his life forever. Alwyn Munro is from the British Embassy, a military type of unknown designation and rank; Hettie Bull is a sculptor, unstable, mercurial and attractive. When his involvement with Hettie goes awry it is to Munro that he turns for help – but that assistance puts him in debt to HMG, and to that unspecified branch to which Munro belongs.

Back in the UK, as war breaks out, Rief enlists but is soon plucked from the ranks by Munro for ‘special operations’ where his ingenuity and talent for disguise will be better utilised. The mission and its aftermath provide action and tension, and Rief soon concludes he can trust no-one as his new profession repeatedly bumps up against his increasingly complicated private life.

Boyd tells a great story, balancing an easy narrative style with period detail of pre-war Vienna and wartime London. There are many threads to the tale, and not all tie up neatly – just enough to satisfy without being too contrived.

Bring Up The Bodies – Hilary Mantel

This continuation of Wolf Hall covers the years 1535 to 1536, and where Wolf Hall charted the rise of Anne Boleyn, the follow up tracks her demise.

Having engineered and legitimised La Ana’s marriage to the king, Thomas Cromwell is now tasked with dismantling it as her appeal to Henry diminishes with each failure to produce a male heir. Instead Henry’s gaze alights on Jane Seymour, lady-in--waiting to the queen and her polar opposite, meek and mild instead of fiery and dominating.

Behind the personal whim of the king is the politics, and the downfall of the Boleyn family and the rise of the Seymours has repercussions at court; and behind the politics is Thomas Cromwell who needs to segue his position from supporting those on the wane to those on the up. For the first time in a while he sees potential personal pitfalls ahead.

As in Wolf Hall we get Cromwell’s eye view of events and share his thoughts and machinations; and he is not above using the unfolding drama to even a few scores of his own. Among the ‘bodies’ brought up (from the Tower of London for execution) are those who exulted in the fall of his (Cromwell’s) beloved former mentor, Cardinal Wolsey.

It is masterly writing, easily sustaining the momentum from Wolf Hall; it is also shorter than its predecessor and is blessed with clearer use of the ‘he’ and ‘his’ pronoun.

Only on finishing did I see that this volume is now described as book two of the trilogy – so bring on book three.

Gambling – Mike Atherton

Ex-England cricket captain Mike Atherton is in journalistic mode as he presents a compact well-written survey of gambling – its history, development and current trends.

He covers a lot of ground, giving first-hand accounts as he reports from a Las Vegas casino and the BBC national lottery draw; from Cheltenham’s national hunt race meeting and a bookie's in Paddington; from the European Masters poker tournament and the premises of GamCare, the gambling addiction helpline.

Despite the wide range the coverage is by no means superficial. The social history is rich in detail; the intricacies of betting and laying are clearly explained (apart from spread betting which remains a mystery); and the case studies of ‘professional’ gamblers are instructive. The psychology of the gambler is touched on but, probably wisely, no conclusions drawn.

It is a fascinating read and Atherton (who likes a flutter) while not being overly judgemental, does identify worrying trends in the current boom in gambling: corruption in sport fuelled by the vast sums bet; deregulation of the industry as tax revenues and globalisation outweigh the damaging effects on society; and the ubiquitous internet giving all too easy opportunities, 24/7, to gamble, lose, sink into debt and slide into addiction.

It is not by chance his final chapter chronicles a meeting of the Hammersmith branch of Gamblers Anonymous, where those gathered have to live ‘one day at a time’.