An Expert in Murder – Nicola Upson

Crime novelist and playwright Josephine Tey is travelling from her Inverness home to London where her latest play “Richard of Bordeaux“ is nearing the end of its successful West End run. She meets on the train young Elspeth Simmons who is an admirer of the play and has tickets for a show; the two pass a pleasant journey, sharing a meal, and agreeing to meet again.

Though they alight together Elspeth realises she has left a bag on the train and goes off to retrieve it, promising to meet Josephine at the theatre the following night. It is an appointment she cannot keep; back on the train she meets with a grisly end.

Enter Archie Penrose, detective inspector, called in to investigate the murder, who finds the corpse not splayed in disarray but carefully arranged in a theatrical tableau clearly full of meaning. What is the meaning is unclear, but its theatrical nature fills him with concern not only for the victim but also for Josephine, for whom he thinks the attack may have been intended.

Archie’s protective instinct is clearly based on more than just professional regard for Josephine. They are old friends (their history emerges later) and Josephine is lodging with her friends, his cousins, the Motley sisters. They are theatre set designers and with most of the other characters also involved in the dramatic arts (actors, directors, producers, even stage managers) the scene is firmly set for the whodunit.

It is a well-crafted tale with a few red herrings to negotiate before a clever, unpredictable reveal. The setting gives an insight into the theatre world of the late 1930’s, both luvvy and seedy. The writing style is articulate without being wordy; with enough inconsequential detail to add authenticity and atmosphere without becoming overblown. The plot is as complicated as necessary for the genre, but can be followed with minimal turning back of pages. And don’t be misled by the gentile nature of the lead characters; there is violence, gore, action and tension.

This is (I think) the first of Upson’s “Josephine Tey” novels (Tey was a real author, in the mould of Agatha Christie and Dorothy L Sayers). It is the second I have read and enjoyed, though I did prefer “Two for Sorrow” [reviewed Nov 2013].

The Game of Our Lives – David Goldblatt

The game is football, association football to be clear, and the English game to be specific. In seven extended essays Goldblatt surveys the game as it stands in 2014, placing it in the context of its own history and more interestingly as a mirror reflecting wider social change.

Thus he argues how the moneyed Premiership has emerged inevitably from globalisation and deregulation; and describes how the consequent commercialisation of the match day experience as a packaged product has undermined but not yet destroyed the deep-seated tribal passions.

The third essay provides a whistle-stop tour of English clubs, region by region, concentrating on relationships between the clubs and their communities; too brief to be anything but an entertaining aide-memoire to those already familiar with their football, and in my view too superficial in dismissing owners, managers and players as mainly useless.

Later the ‘national’ concept of the English game is discussed relative to the other ‘home nations’ (contrast is drawn to other sports where it is the UK or Great Britain that represents national feeling); and the governance of the game gets a good pounding for its amateurishness and unpreparedness for the modern world.

Chapters on race and gender complete the book, setting out how attitudes within the game have both reacted to and shaped changing social norms. These may be the most interesting for general readers, or those more interested in sociology than football.

The mix of football and sociology works well, but the articulate Goldblatt’s prose makes no concessions to those who follow their sport in the Mail or the Mirror - this is more for Guardian readers out there. The points are well made, evidence is painstakingly referenced, and he clearly has mastery of his subject; but he mainly sets out the problems without offering suggested solutions.

An academic and though-provoking read for those with a sociological interest, delivering a comprehensive version of what its subtitle promises: “the making and meaning of English football”.

Life After Life – Kate Atkinson

Kate Atkinson loves playing with time. Most straightforwardly her Jackson Brodie books use teasing flashbacks to enhance the narrative, while her debut novel ‘Behind the Scenes at the Museum’ was full of inter-generational echoes. In Life After Life it gets more complicated.

Ursula Todd is born on 11 February 1910 but dies immediately as the doctor, held up by the snow, fails to arrive in time to deal with a tangled cord. Then Ursula Todd is born on 11 February 1910 and the doctor, held up by the snow, arrives just in time to deal successfully with a tangled cord and present a healthy baby to mother Sylvie.

Thus Ursula begins a lifetime (or several) in which she grows, succumbs to perils, regresses to 11 February 1910, grows again, survives perils, only to meet new ones. The perils are both personal – a beach, a high window, puberty, domestic violence – and epic – two world wars and their aftermath.

Though Ursula experiences discomforting feelings of déjà vu and premonitions of danger, it is only in later cycles that a more conscious realisation dawns and provides tempting opportunities to ‘put things right’.

In less assured hands the repetition could be wearing, but here nuanced variations and filling of gaps make for an enthralling account of Ursula’s life and times. The Todd family members and their relationships are wholly believable; the period pieces, particularly the London blitz, have authenticity; and even the surprise appearance of a dark figure from history does not seem out of place.

It is not a quick read at 600 pages, particularly as there is a temptation (to which I gave in) to read several of them more than once to check whether it is your memory or Atkinson that is playing tricks. Within those pages are comedy (Ursula has a dry wit), tragedy (people die, often more than once), and no little history – a veritable Shakespearean canon in the one brilliant volume.

Joyland – Stephen King

Devin Jones looks back on the summer of ’73 with mixed feelings. Twenty-one, two years into college in New Hampshire, with a steady (if unconsummated) relationship with girlfriend Wendy, he finds himself abandoned for the summer when she goes off to work at some dream job with a friend. On a whim he answers an advert for summer help at Joyland, a North Carolina coastal amusement ride park, successfully interviews and moves south for the season.

The location is idyllic (it’s a stroll along the beach from his seaside town digs to the park); the work is hard, particularly “wearing the fur” in a hundred degree heat as the park’s mascot “Howie the Happy Hound”, but fun - ensuring the visitors have an enjoyable day. He makes good friends with the other casuals, including Tom & Erin at his digs, but the regular ‘carnie’ folk are a mixed bunch, some suspicious, some supportive, some hostile and all unconventional.

He is soon intrigued by two mysteries. First the ‘Horror House’ dark ride is reputedly haunted by the ghost of a girl found murdered therein a couple of summers earlier, the crime still unsolved. Second, more personal, involves a disabled boy and a young woman whose opulent beach house he passes each morning and evening; the boy waves, the woman doesn’t. Their names, he later discovers, are Annie and Mike Ross, mother and son.

The narrative (it is Devin looking back) and the mysteries unfold over the long hot summer. Devin’s emotional highs and lows would be at home on the ‘Delirium Shaker’ – Joyland’s roller coaster – as dumped at long distance by Wendy he finds himself attracted to both digs-mate Erin and the distant Annie. At work his performances in the fur (and competence in first aid) make him a hero with the kids, but the harsh realities of Mike’s condition are a constant worry. Then Erin’s digging into the unsolved murder provides both danger and the opportunity to unmask the killer. As the southern end-of-summer heat builds to thunderstorms, so his summer of adventure builds to an exciting climax (or two).

Stephen King is of course a master of storytelling and I particularly like his shorter and less supernatural work such as this. Strong on character, plot, tension and atmosphere this is an exceedingly good read.

The Last Battle – Cornelius Ryan

The third book in Cornelius Ryan’s World War Two reportage trilogy (following on from the better known ‘The Longest Day’ telling the story of the D-day landings and ‘A Bridge Too Far’ which covered the ill-fated attempt to take Arnhem) takes for its subject the final days of the war in Europe, leading to the fall of Berlin.

As in the previous volumes, events unfold through the lives and experience of the survivors – named British, American, Russian and German soldiers, politicians and diplomats, and also the (mainly German) civilians caught in the crossfire. Ryan weaves their testimony, acquired through numerous interviews, with military and governmental records of the time to produce a coherent and compelling narrative.

The result is a riveting read. Although the outcome of the battle is history, how it unfolded, how the key strategic and political decisions were arrived at, and the effects of these on individuals, be they combatants or civilians, ensures interest is maintained to the bitter end.

Light is shed for example on why the Western Allies left Berlin to the Russians, what the fate was of ordinary Berliners once the defences were breached, and on Hitler’s mind set and actions during those last days in the bunker.

Troop manoeuvres and combat are covered, but the main thrust is not military tactics but the impact on individual men and women. Like any cross section, these individuals include heroes and cowards, saints and villains, as well as those who just kept their head down or took their own lives in despair.

A good book in its own right and a fitting final volume to the trilogy.

Mr Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore – Robin Sloan

Clay Jannon, late web-master of the recently defunct NewBagel Company, is pounding the streets of San Francisco in search of new employment when he spots a sign in the window of a bookshop: “Help Wanted, Late Shift, Specific Requirements, Good Benefits”.

Inside it is dark, cavernous with shelving stacks disappearing into the gloom above and beyond. Behind the desk is an old man, thin, grey but with sparkling blue eyes, Mr Penumbra himself. The interview, conducted immediately, is short and unconventional and sees him installed on the night shift (10 till 2).

Purchasers are few and far between, and stocks for sale are limited to a few bookcases front of house; but there are a select band of ‘members’ who borrow volumes from the ‘waybacklist’ housed on those vertiginous shelves. Other than being punctual for his solo shift there are two other golden requirements: he must not read any of the books, and he must record all transactions in detail – including the customers’ physical appearance and state of mind.

All very strange, but it pays the rent on a flat-share, and with plenty of time on his hands overnight, he passes it working on a couple of techie projects: a computerised 3D model of the bookstore to enable ‘data visualisation’ and a small scale hyper-targeted advertising application to snare any potential customer passing by. The latter, completed first, lures in a young woman via her smartphone. She is unimpressed with the bookstore but clocks the 3D model on his laptop and takes a professional interest.

The relationship develops, both personally (she is cute) and professionally (she is a Google programmer) and when they apply cutting edge techniques and geeky networks to the mystery of the waybacklist and its users, things get interesting. A secret society is unearthed and powerful reactionary forces are unleashed.

But it is not too heavy or scary, more light and frothy. Clay’s friends, joined in the enterprise, are bright, witty young things showing a frighteningly comprehensive (real or fictional) knowledge of IT and a belief that all problems are solvable. The older generation pitch in with some OK - ‘old knowledge’ – wisdom, but this is a book that looks forward not back.

It is written for the young but can still be enjoyed by an oldie like me.

The Goldfinch – Donna Tartt

With the blurb including the phrase “a Dickensian dazzler” the expectation was for a nineteenth century setting in smoky London town, so it was a surprise to be pitched instead into twenty-first century New York.

The narrator is Theo Decker, thirteen as the story opens, and on his way with his mother (currently his only parent) to a school disciplinary meeting. They are early, it starts to rain, and they pop into the art gallery to shelter, taking the opportunity to have another peek at their favourite work – the Goldfinch, barely more than a miniature, painted by a Dutch master, and priceless. On the back of such a coincidental chain of circumstance, disaster strikes, leaving Theo bereft of his dear mother but in secret possession of the painting.

To whom will his care be entrusted? Initially it is the family of his geeky friend Andy Barbour, in their swish Park Avenue apartment, where he gets a taste of the high life and refined society. But it is temporary and when his absentee father turns up to claim him he is whisked off to Las Vegas where the paternal business of gambling is based. There, left to his own devices, he is befriended by the other loner on the school bus, Boris Pavlikovski, similarly neglected by his Russian/Ukrainian mining engineer father. The two boys largely fend for themselves; largely with alcohol and drugs.

His third “loco parentis” is Hobie, surviving partner of Hobart and Blackwell, dealers in and restorers of antique furniture, befriended due to Blackwell having perished in the same disaster that claimed Mrs Decker. Hobie’s workshop provides a retreat when the Barbours get too overwhelming and an escape when his Las Vegas life finally runs off the rails.

While Theo’s care is fragmented and chaotic, his care of the painting is meticulous and of course unknown; his ownership (and the circumstances of it) having an importance to him that far outweighs its monetary value.

Having survived a traumatic childhood and adolescence, stability beckons – as a respected partner in Hobie’s business and engaged to a Barbour girl – but someone is on his case, digging up his past and making waves.

Dealing with it makes the upheavals of his youth seem child’s play; he is soon embroiled with the big boys (including, for good or bad, his old friend Boris) who deal not in dodgy furniture but drugs, guns and, tellingly, stolen art.

So not that Dickensian, except Theo could easily be a modern day David Copperfield or Pip of Great Expectations, also orphans left to grow up in an unfamiliar world buffeted by adults who are kind, cruel and indifferent (some of them all three). These characters that surrounded Theo (more than mentioned above), and in some way define him, are well drawn and pleasingly complex.

It is as long as a Dickens novel at 850 pages, but the prose is easy on the eye, making each of them a pleasure to read.