The Revenant – Michael Punke

After losing both his career and his fiancée (the back story revealed early) Hugh Glass finds himself in St Louis with no clear idea of his next move. He joins an expedition up the Missouri River in the employ of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company.

It is the 1820’s and west of the Mississippi is hotchpotch of dangers. The native American Indians are subdued but unreliable, some keen to trade, others keen to kill; the winter in the Rockies is severe; and the grizzly bears roam wild and free.

While out scouting Glass comes across a she bear with cubs. She goes for him and though he puts a shot in her chest it doesn’t halt the charging beast and Glass has his arm and back clawed and his leg badly bitten before the bullet takes effect and reduces the bear to a lifeless mass on top of him.

Found by the main group and inexpertly patched together Glass hangs on to life but he slows down progress, dangerous with the hostile Arikara tribe in the vicinity. Two volunteers agree to stay put, the expectation being to bury him when he finally expires; young Jim Bridger out of gratitude for Glass’s past kindnesses, the mercenary John Fitzgerald out of greed for the promised extra pay and with an eye to inheriting Glass’s rather fine rifle.

When Glass inconveniently fails to die he is abandoned, left with only his clothes and blanket; Fitzgerald making off with his rifle, powder and flint, and Bridger with his hunting knife. Glass still refuses to give up the ghost and instead begins to crawl.

What follows is a story of survival over the stacked odds of climate, starvation, wild beasts, and wilder Indians; and of revenge on the two miscreants not so much for the abandonment but for the theft of his only means of self-support. Hugh Glass will survive (the included map gives that away) so the real tension is in the pursuit of Bridger and Fitzgerald.

It is a well written yarn, based on elements of truth, which make it authentic in its setting and detail - a western with a difference and a pretty good read.

The Road to Reckoning – Robert Lautner

New York 1837, and twelve year old Thomas Walker’s father’s business, supplying spectacles, is not going well as the US economy sags. However John Walker gets wind of a new invention by one Samuel Colt – a factory produced (so cheap) hand gun with a revolving chamber that gives “five pistols in each hand” – and decides to take the job selling them.

But the market for such weaponry is in the wilder west – Illinois & Indiana – so equipped with an order book, a dozen samples, and a working wooden replica, father and son set off by wagon as travelling salesmen dealing in death and destruction.

At an early stop at a frontier town called Milton, the sales pitch to a storekeeper is interrupted by a drifter emerging from the bar, who ridicules the claims made (and the wooden toy) and forces father and son into a humiliating exit from the store and the town.

But there is no escape; as they camp that night their tormentor, and three henchmen, arrive to continue the discussion. John Walker again attempts to walk away but pays the price of a bullet in the back (no spoiler here – it is only page 30).

The men take the money and guns but leave Thomas with the wagon, horse, wooden gun and order book, which he gathers up and leaving his father’s corpse under a blanket returns to Milton.

His one aim is to get back home and to that end he latches on to ex-ranger Henry Stands who is heading that way. Reluctantly at first, Stands takes charge of him, and just as well as the murderous gang realise Thomas’s testimony could get them hanged, and so are in pursuit.

Adventures ensue with young Thomas also at danger from religious do-gooders and a reclusive mountain man who is rather too welcoming.

Related by the now mature Thomas looking back, the prose reflects a mid-western slow drawl that adds authenticity at some cost to fluency. But at just a couple of hundred pages that is no drawback to a very readable western.

A Burnable Book – Bruce Holsinger

London 1385, and at Moorfields outside the walls of the medieval city a young woman of quality is pursued, caught and brutalised, the attacker demanding “doovray leebro” after each beating. The book he seeks is not given up; the woman dies without revealing what she knows but not before calling out a cryptic couplet.

Nearby, hidden and paralysed with fear, another woman of lower rank (it is hard to get lower) listens to the words, intended she feels for her, as she clutches to her chest a cloth-wrapped parcel thrust at her by the fleeing gentlewoman moments earlier.

Though the book disappears into London’s seedier quarter its rumoured existence, loss and contents preoccupy the rich and powerful in King Richard II’s court – nobles, lawyers and the clergy all want to get their hands on it. Why? – It is a book of prophecies that foretell the death of thirteen kings of England starting with William the Conqueror. Twelve are already deceased (in the mode foretold) leaving Richard as the thirteenth, alive for now but not for long according to the book.

So is it a prophecy or a plot; and if a plot would not such forewarning foil it? However in the paranoid world of fourteenth century politics there is what the nineteenth century would term a catch 22: to admit to knowledge of the plot is proof of involvement and so treasonable. So although everyone but the king knows of the book no-one dare tell him.

It falls to John Gower, poet, dealer in confidential information, and general fixer to track down and recover the toxic volume, helped or hindered by his friend (and better poet) the renowned Geoffrey Chaucer. But the Moorfields murderer is also on the trail and as the book passes from hand to hand mayhem and violence follow.

Holsinger populates his novel with a mixture of historic and fictional characters and furnishes it with authentic-seeming details of medieval city life – from high court politics to the sex trade in the stews. His use of (possibly fictitious) vernacular, liberally in the latter context, cleverly obviates the need to use the more familiar (and offensive to some) nouns and verbs.

The novel rattles along for 450 pages alternating between Gower’s first person narrative and third person accounts covering the other characters’ movements. In addition to history and murder a subtler theme of deception is woven into the work giving it a flavour of a John le Carre thriller. The ending has a twist or two and ties up all loose ends satisfactorily.

It is a good enough book not to burn, particularly if historical fiction is your thing.

The Big Short – Michael Lewis

Michael Lewis worked briefly, incompetently (in his view), yet successfully, trading stocks and bonds for a Wall Street broker in the early 1980’s. He left and wrote an exposure of the folly he found there in his book “Liar’s Poker”, fully expecting the unsustainable industry he had been a part of to crash sooner rather than later.

Unfortunately for us all it took a full two decades of even more ballooning business in “financial derivatives” before the bubble burst. In The Big Short he describes that crash of 2008 from the viewpoint of those few traders who not only foresaw the collapse but decided that money, big money, could be made from it.

The how is complicated, but Lewis builds up the reader’s knowledge logically, explaining the nature of “sub-prime” home loans (those not 100% backed by the property value but predicated on the lender’s ability to pay at least the interest or to repay the loan from the later sale of the house on an assumed rising market). The industry then went on to package those dubious base products into mortgage bonds and sold them on to largely unsuspecting investors who relied on “triple A” ratings awarded by agencies such as Standard & Poor’s or Moody’s who either did not know or did not care about the inherent fragility of the underlying loans. In another spiral of self-deception those mortgage bonds were subsequently lumped together into vast “collateralised debt obligations” (CDOs) and sold on yet again.

That this became a sort of pyramid selling (or in US terminology - a Ponzi scheme) became apparent to a few perceptive but maverick dealers who decided they could profit from “shorting” the market. Shorting involves finding a way to profit from the fall in value of a stock or any financial product (the reverse of the normal investment process of picking stocks whose value will rise). In the case of financial derivatives such as the CDOs, the method was a “credit default swap”, effectively insuring against the fall in value of the product. For a relatively small annual premium there was the potential for huge gains, particularly as the US economy stalled, home owners lost jobs and property prices fell.

And a key element of this was that you could insure products you didn’t even own - it was betting pure and simple.

Lewis, in his attractive breezy style, concentrates as much on the personalities of those maverick dealers involved in this “Big Short” as the technicalities, which makes it an entertaining as well as informative read. Their stories, as outsiders betting against the received wisdom (or foolishness) of a seemingly rich and all-powerful business, has a David and Goliath quality. They emerge not as villains who caused the crash, but clear-sighted individuals whose initial warnings were ignored and who decided if the financial world was going to hell in a handcart they would at least make a bob or two out of the wreckage.

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.