from Mexico: Silver Bullets and The Acid Test, by Élmer Mendoza

Two novels from Mexican writer Élmer Mendoza are the topic of this post, and while they are both admittedly quite difficult to get through, hanging in there brings great rewards to the most patient readers.   First up is Silver Bullets, 

997816881446165
MacLehose Press, 2015
originally published 2008 as Balas de Plata,
translated by Mark Fried
222 pp
hardcover

which is set in Culiácan, the capital city of Sinaloa,  the "cradle of the biggest traffickers Mexico has ever known."   It is in this book that we first meet Detective Edgar "Lefty" Mendieta, who as the dustjacket blurb notes, 

"has been abandoned by the woman he loves, continues to be demoralized by the his city's (and his nation's) ubiquitous corruption, and is dire need of some psychotherapy."

Very briefly, Mendieta indeed has some psychological issues stemming mainly from childhood;  he's also snarky, sarcastic, likes old music (in chapter one he's listening to Herman's Hermits) that seems somehow appropriate to his situation at any given time,  and he studied  literature, which is often put to use via the sarcastic comments he makes now and then that sometimes had me chuckling.  He says about himself that

"I'm a drunk weighed down by memories, a poor idiot who fell in love with the wrong woman, and to fall in love is to dream, to imagine a future that rarely comes to pass." 

He lives alone in his brother's house in the Col Pop, where he is looked after by his housekeeper Trudis who has her own issues.  He's not someone particularly interested in justice, but he does have integrity;  long-term, deeply-rooted connections, familial and otherwise that are important to him as a person,  and this trait applies not just to people on his side of the law where it's often tough to tell who if anyone is actually in control.  He'll also work like a dog to get a case solved despite his superiors' (and others') ideas to the contrary and often crosses into the underworld to do so.

Silver Bullets revolves around a number of killings that have in common the use of silver bullets in the gun that does the killing. As the bodies start to pile up, Mendieta becomes frustrated trying to make connections between the victims, and he also wonders what motivates the killer to use such a bizarre method of doing away with his victims.  Aside from all of the vampire and werewolf jokes people make, it seems that the local hitmen have nothing to offer in the way of help  -- as one of them notes, it's not their style, since they mainly get  "requests" from the rich who want their "target cut to pieces, drawn and quartered, castrated..."

As Mendieta carries out the investigations, we the readers are taken on a journey through the world that is  Culiácan, through the lives of Mendieta's colleagues (especially his partner Zelda), corrupt cops, politicians, the reigning and not-so reigning narco families, hard-assed mercenaries, and regular citizens, many of whom are fed up "with all this violence," and realize that

"in this country justice is in the hands of criminals and as long as you people from the government whistle and look the other way that's how it's going to remain."

At the same time, no one can deny that along with the bad, drug money has brought a lot to the area in terms of the economy, and also that connections run deep here.

Moving on now to The Acid Test,

9781681442884

MacLehose Press, 2016

originally published as La Prueba del Acido, 2011

translated by Mark Fried

284 pp

paperback

in which Mendieta is caught up in a case that nearly sends him over the edge. As the story begins, the president of Mexico has just declared war on the narcos, which not only means that "badges are going to die," but also that the cartels will be gearing up to fight each other as well as the government to come out on top. But that's really the least of Mendieta's worries at the moment, since he caught the case of the murder of Mayra Cabral de Melo, a gorgeous Brazilian dancer/stripper with whom Mendieta had earlier spent some time.  Her murder is extremely personal to him and now he's devastated. As he says, while trying to "understand the abyss into which he had fallen,"

"What's wrong with me? I wasn't even in love with her, I didn't see her for more than a few days; neither did she make love any differently. But she was the one who brought me back from the brink."

Not only was she murdered, but she had also been mutilated, marring her perfect body in death. He wants to know who killed her and why,. and he will go to any lengths to find out, including tapping his connections in the criminal realm to gain information. As part of his investigation, Mendieta has to question not only criminal suspects, but politicians, high-level cops, Americans and others, and he is told that he needs to drop the case.  Around his search to find Mayra's killer,  the cartels go at it with each other and with the DEA, but even there, trust is only a matter of opinion.

As I said earlier, Mendoza's work is very difficult to read because of his writing style, for which "challenging" as a description is an understatement.  At the same time, because it was such tough going, I found myself having to read at snail's pace and it paid off. As it turns out, these books are not simply just two more books about drug cartels filled with lots of violence -- of those there are plenty, a dime a dozen these days.  Instead, they're much more about living and functioning in a place where drugs (and the resulting violence) aren't going away any time soon, since they  mean big money for the economy.   The books also shine a spotlight on the very human character of Mendieta, who kind of does his own thing less as a member of the police force than as an individual who wants answers and who knows how to find them. 

I genuinely loved these books once I figured out that I needed to move through them uber-slowly, and I seem to be swimming upstream from many readers who were stuck on style.  Yes, they're difficult, and yes, it's not easy getting through them, but in the long run, they are so worth it for readers up to a major challenge.

*****

One more thing -- the blurb on the front cover of Élmer Mendoza's  The Acid Test says that the author is "the godfather of narco-lit."  At the bottom of the cover, author Arturo Perez-Reverte writes that Mendoza is "One of the biggest names in Mexican literature ... A true novelist" without invoking the term "narco-lit." In fact, the term itself is causing no small bit of controversy.  Feel free to read more about this controversy 

here: in a short piece in PEN Atlas by author Juan Pablo Villalobos, 

here: in an article in the Latin American Review of Books  

and about "narcoliterature" in general here at The Conversation

crime fiction from Mexico

Dirty War, by Dominique Sylvain -- a definite yes.

9780857052162

MacLehose Press, 2015

originally published as Guerre Sale, 2011

290 pp
translated by Nick Caistor

paperback

Well, this just royally sucks. Not this book, which is quite good,  but the fact that the next book isn't out in translation until October of next year, according to the publisher's website.  I'm the world's most impatient person when it comes to series books -- I read so few of them any more that when I find one I like, I want to read more as soon as possible. And this series I really do enjoy, so waiting is going to be a pain.

The first novel I read by Dominique Sylvain was her The Dark Angel, which I just LOVED. The characters are what made this book work well: the dynamic between retired Commissaire and the blonde American stripper (Lola and Ingrid, in that order) had me in stitches and in awe of just how refreshing these quirky characters are to read.  When I picked up this book, I assumed it was book number two in this series but it's not. According to a few places I looked at, Dirty War is actually book number five; it seems the intervening three series installments are as yet untranslated: La fille du Samouraï, (#2), Manta Corridor (#3) and L'absence de L'ogre (#4). As I've said many times, I really don't understand why we can't have books in translation in their publication order -- it would be nice not to have to backtrack each time, especially in a series that is based on characters like the ones in this series.  Like here, we have to kind of ignore that three books have fallen in a hole with all of the ongoing character development; even more maddening is the fact that in Dirty War, the two main characters are not at front and center of the story, although they're still just as odd and are still working around the police. 

This book is much, much more serious in tone than The Dark Angel. It takes on the form of a political thriller that focuses more on Sacha Duguin, the very gorgeous police inspector who is in charge of discovering who killed a young attorney named Florian Vidal.  The case draws Lola's attention when it turns out that the same method of murder was used five years earlier in the death of  Lola's former colleague, Toussaint Kidjo. Instinctively she knows that such a strange way of killing cannot be entirely random -- so along with Ingrid and a dog named Sigmund, Lola begins her own investigation. Without giving away anything important, it turns out that both murders have ties to Africa.  Vidal's death, however, also captures the attention of a "newly formed national intelligence agency" (according to the cover blurb), whose top guys are reluctant to share information with the Paris police department, resulting in a power struggle.    Sacha is appointed to solve the case, but what he uncovers leads to the titular and resulting "Dirty War" played out among the powers that be.  The stakes are high here for Sacha, in terms of his career, but they're even higher for the opposition trying to prevent the exposure of long-hidden secrets.   

Sylvain could go well beyond just crime fiction if she wanted to; her play on the old fable "Death in Samarkand" that appears both at the beginning and ending of this novel reveals just how very good of a writer she is.  She is also very, very good at constructing a story that turns out to be so meticulously plotted and so ingeniously twisted that it's nearly impossible to put the book aside.  With such an intense storyline, though, she sort of leaves Lola and Ingrid behind, which is so sad for me, but what few scenes they are in are just gold.  It's a shame really, but I see why they have to sort of stay more in the background than they did in the earlier novel.  

I normally am not a fan of thrillers, political or otherwise, but this one never gets down to that level of incredulity that so I see in so many of them; this one is rather intelligent and easy to follow without having to wade through a huge number of intersecting (and often ridiculous, in my opinion) plot lines. What I didn't care so much for was that at the end of this book, things got a bit rushed -- and a lot of the expository bits came out sounding like details of an author's outline.   Sadly, I can't provide an example since doing so, of course, would blow the show. However, I was beyond entertained here, in a great way, and I'm really looking forward to the next one, which seems to pick up where this one ends. I certainly hope so, because waiting 10 months to see where the cliffhanger ending goes is just going to be pure torture!  aarrrggghhh!!!!

Definitely recommended -- but do read The Dark Angel First. 

Gold, Frankincense and Dust, by Valerio Varesi

9781906694371
MacLehose Press, 2013
originally published as Oro, Incenso e Polvere, 2007
translated by Joseph Farrell

paperback (UK)

"Precariousness is the human condition."

Gold, Frankincense and Dust is the third book in the Commissario Soneri series after River of Shadows and The Dark Valley. River of Shadows was okay, and I loved The Dark Valley,  with its rich atmosphere and excellent characterizations, and I realized after reading that novel that Varesi was an author I'd watch in the future. So when I saw that this book had been published, I bought it and well, frankly, it wasn't all I'd hoped it would be. On one level, there's a really good mystery here and some well-outlined and important social issues; on another, though, it was overshadowed by way too much of Soneri's personal life to the point that it detracted my reading from the punch that the core mystery might have delivered without it.  Then again, it's a personal preference of mine to prefer edgy crime over a main character's inner angst, so it's one you absolutely have to read and decide about for yourself

Gold, Frankincense and Dust has a great opening -- Soneri is called to the scene of "one hell of a pile-up" on the autostrada, even though it's really a case for the flying squad. His expert knowledge of the Lower Po Valley is why he must go, especially because there's a heck of a fog that's settled in.  Once he arrives, there's chaos within a somewhat surreal atmosphere -- bulls are roaming around with a cow and a herd of a pigs, causing his partner, Juvara, to pose the question of whether or not they've landed in Animal Farm.  Disco music is blaring in the background at a fairground. Smoke is everywhere, adding to the fog's confusion.  As the police and firefighters arrive and start looking around, they discover a body which has been badly burned.  Soneri, despite opinions that the body must have been thrown from the car during the accident, believes that this was not the case -- that the body had been burned somewhere else and then brought to where it was found.  Through a stroke of good luck, there is a clue as to the body's identity, and it is identified as being that of a young Romanian girl named Nina Iliescu.  It doesn't take long for Soneri and his colleagues to realize that this is no ordinary woman, and that her life is filled to overflowing with secrets. Add to this  the old man who got on a bus with twenty euros and two photos and never made it to his destination alive -- and our Commissario has his hands full.  But keeping himself focused is tough for Soneri -- his personal situation with Angela has become a bit iffy, making him fearful that "loneliness lay in wait" if  she decides that he's not really the man she wants in her life. 

As in his other works, Varesi's finest talent lies in his ability to evoke atmosphere and maintain it throughout the novel.  The first scene in the fog sets the tone for the rest of the novel, as his investigations uncover a host of things that lay hidden, and not just in the life of the dead girl.   Being able to navigate in the mist in the Po Valley is one thing; trying to navigate his way through a murky personal life where he can't see the outcome is another.  He's also good at writing characters, and the mystery of the dead girl brings out people from many very different walks of life.  And then there's Soneri himself -- whom

"in every victim, ...  found the frustrations of all human affairs, and for this reason he always felt close to them."

In this book, one of the main themes running throughout the story is that of "precariousness," as revealed through Soneri's personal life and his interactions with those who live on the edge of poverty and on the margins of society.  Varesi carries this theme throughout the book and he does it well.  Unfortunately, considering everything this book has going for it, Soneri's constant worries about being a middle-aged man teetering on the brink of loneliness because of Angela's tendency to wiffle back and forth about her future  took away a lot of the fun of the crime solving.  By the time it got to the end, I really wanted this book to be over.  On a personal level, that's  tough for me to say, because I normally enjoy reading this author's work.

But then again, as I noted above, my preference leans toward edgy without much inner angst within the characters (unless it's noir, then bring it on) so my complaint about all the personal stuff interfering with the crime solving may not be something that bothers other readers.  It's a little involved for cozy readers,  and doesn't have the edge loved by readers of noir, so I'd place it within the police procedural bracket with an added middle-age crisis sideline.  And finally, although this book didn't really do it for me, I will be waiting somewhat impatiently for Varesi's next book to be published.

from France: The Dark Angel, by Dominique Sylvain

9780857052131
MacLehose Press, 2014
276 pp

originally published as Passage du Désir, 2004
translated by Nick Caistor

hardcover

Well, here's something new and different!  There's something to be said for a crime novel where one of the lead characters is a kind of crusty, overweight middle-aged woman who smokes and wears a hideous bathrobe when she's hanging out at home.  The Dark Angel is the introduction to a series (I think/hope) featuring retired Commissaire of the Paris police department Lola Jost and her very worldly, beautiful and American masseuse crime-solving partner. Ingrid Diesel.  While the mystery is pretty good, these two characters, most especially Lola, steal the show in this book.  If for no other reason, you should read this book on the basis of Lola's character alone.  Whenever she wasn't in the picture, I was eagerly awaiting her return.

Set in Paris, two roommates come home one day to discover the third girl dead. Not only has she been murdered, but her feet have been chopped off and someone has left behind a Bratz doll, the kind with the feet that come completely off the doll's body.  Any hope of forensic evidence is gone -- the vacuum cleaner, which may have contained evidence, is soaking in the bathtub. Police soon come to suspect that Maxime, the local ladies' man and restauranteur along the Passage du Désir, may have had something to do with the young woman's murder.  Enter our dynamic duo, Lola and Ingrid, who want more than anything to keep their good friend Maxime from going to jail -- so with the help of one of Lola's favorite policemen,  they do everything they can to prove his innocence. Not such an easy task: everyone, it seems, is hiding something, so getting to the truth behind the murder will be a definite challenge.

The Dark Angel is on the lighter side of crime -- not that murder's not serious, but the novel has a very uncomplicated feel to it compared to a lot of other, more intense translated crime fiction.   There are also more than a few moments of wry humor to be encountered -- especially through the character of Lola.  She steals the show in this novel -- something in her past led her to leave the force, but she is still totally on the ball when it comes to investigating.  Her policeman friend who helps the two women in their investigation is in awe of her talents and wishes she'd never retired, because she left him with an inept bumbler as a superior.  Ingrid, while full of surprises, is less big on the page, not as well rounded as Lola with her constant flow of caustic wit; however, it is perhaps the wide range of differences that allow  them to work so well together. Considering that they probably wouldn't have met otherwise, the way they take to each other makes for fun reading.   They even view Paris quite differently from each other -- understandable since Lola is French and Ingrid is viewing the city from an entirely different set of cultural lenses -- but in the long run, it's a plus because their different visions of what the streets have to offer filter through to the reader,  making the sense of place a little more 3-D than usual.

While Lola's character is off and running, I'm sure that Ingrid's character will develop more as the series proceeds; in this installment, I think the goal was just to get the two together as a sort of ad hoc investigating team.  Otherwise, the mystery itself is okay, complete with lots of red herrings and more than enough suspects to keep the reader guessing.  There are a few social issues brought out here and there is even a brief look at the plight of  Romanian children who were put into orphanages during the reign of Nicolae Ceaușescu  -- and people who think nothing of exploiting these kids. Nothing too heavy, but this topic plays a small role in the story. 

I love the combination of the two characters and their quirks; watching these two very different women working together was just plain fun.  And while I do prefer much edgier crime fiction, sometimes it's more than enough when it's all about the characters -- and that is definitely the case here. Very much recommended; a wonderful start to what I hope will be a great series. 

The Minotaur's Head, by Marek Krawjewski

9781906694944
MacLehose Press, 2012
originally published as Glowa minotaura, 2009
translated by Danusia Stok
289 pp



This is book the fourth book in the Eberhard Mock series to be translated to English, but hopefully more will follow soon. This is one of those series of novels that a reader must truly experience for him/herself -- it's a combination of historical and noir fiction with the added elements of  raw carnality and decadence lying under the "civilized" European veneer.  In short, it's just my kind of read. The other novels so far translated are always "something something ...Breslau"; this one has no mention of Breslau in the title because the bulk action has moved from there to Lwów, Poland, now Lviv in the Ukraine. This is one of the most sordid crimes so far in this series, and the true villain one of the ultimate worst Krajewski has come up with yet. 

Set between 1937 and 1939, the beginning of this novel circles back on its ending as the police in Lwów  come across the body of a savagely-murdered young boy and decide that the case should be handled by Commissioner Popielski.  But Popielski doesn't want to take the case; in fact, he adamantly refuses to do so.  When his cousin asks him why, he replies that  "It's to do with the case of the Minotaur." Popielski decides to tell her the entire story; she tells him to start "with that Silesian city and thick-set Silesian you call your friend," referring to none other than Abwehr Captain Eberhard Mock, now 54.

The whole ignominious business started with a monstrous crime assigned to Mock --someone has raped, strangled and eaten half the face of a young girl at the Warsaw Court Hotel.  In just a short amount of time, Mock discovers that that the murdered girl was brought to Breslau from Lwów.  After he phones the police there, Popielski reveals to his staff that the crime described by Mock "looks like the case of the Minotaur," a case that has remain unsolved for the last two years, when two girls met the same fate as the young woman in Breslau. The news that the Minotaur is back chills Popielski to the bone; already anxious about his teenaged daughter Rita and the gossip that puts her in seedy, lowlife establishments, hanging out with some "rough company,"  now he knows he'll have to watch her even more carefully -- the Minotaur is drawn exclusively to  virgins.  It also begins an alliance between Mock and Popielski in a case that will bring Popielski to the edge of his very sanity, as  "Like Theseus," he enters the labyrinth.

As with the other three books in this series -- Death in Breslau, The End of the World in Breslau, The Phantoms of Breslau -- the crimes are intriguing but even more so is the atmosphere, best voiced in the thoughts of Popielski's cousin Leokadia:

"She could not believe that aside from the world she knew so well -- bridge on Thursdays, at the home of Assistant Judge Stanczyk and his wife; her reading lessons in the mornings; ancient home routines; Holy Hours sung by Hanna; Juraszki ginger biscuits and Zalewski's cake shop -- there was another world of dark and hidden places full of sadists, lunatics and morally warped madmen given to brutal appetites, monsters who gnawed the cheeks of virgins..."

The contrast between the two worlds is where Krajewski absolutely shines and why these books are so worth reading.  The crimes in this novel are ghoulish and grotesque, but even so, Mock and Popielski seem to find time to satisfy their own lustful appetites along the way; beneath their respectful exteriors, they are much  like many of the seedier characters who populate this novel -- brutal, often boorish and uncouth --  albeit on the right side of the law.

Definitely not for everyone's tastes, The Minotaur's Head  and for that matter the previous three novels in the series will probably appeal to people who are seasoned noir readers -- these books offer noir in its darkest connotation, in spots leaning toward the grotesque and surreal.  People who read historical novels and are interested in this period may also like this one for its rich period detail, as would crime readers who are ready to step out of the norm and try something way above and out of  the ordinary. But do NOT make this your first foray into Krajewski's world -- start with Death in Breslau just to get a feel for Krajewski's writing style, his characters and above all the darkness they inhabit. 

Keep them coming, MacLehose! There are still two of Krajewski's Mock books left untranslated.  And kudos to the cover art genius, whose work sets the tone for what's inside. 

crime fiction from Poland

#3 read, International dagger eligible list

The First Fingerprint, by Xavier-Marie Bonnot

9781847245939
MacLehose, 2009 (UK)
originally published as La premiere empreinte, 2002
translated by Ian Monk
341 pp
trade paper ed.

Moving away from Italy and into France for a while, I've just started Xavier-Marie Bonnot's series featuring Police Commandant Michel de Palma, aka the Baron.  I'm still not sure why that's his nickname, but oh well.  The First Fingerprint is a police procedural with a serial-killer  plot line that draws on the study of prehistory to help guide the story, which takes some very odd turns before getting to the big reveal.  Filled with enough suspects and red herrings to make any mystery reader happy, it's a good start to the series -- intelligently written and interesting enough to make me want more of Bonnot.

Michel De Palma is approaching his 25th year on the force; he knows retirement is just around the corner, although he's not quite ready for that step yet.   He's a dedicated cop, not averse to bending the rules or slamming a suspect's head on a desk until blood is drawn, even though some of his younger colleagues protest loudly against his violent methods.  He is also known for getting in the faces of his superiors when he doesn't agree with their orders.  Yet even criminals he's dealt with in the past know that he's "straight and a very good policeman."  

A walker finds the body of prehistory lecturer Christine Autran floating in the ocean below Le Torpilleur off the Marseille coast.

Le Torpilleur

 She had been strangled, tossed into the sea, and her neck had been broken.  De Palma is put on the case, and recalls that some time earlier, another victim, Franck Luccioni, a "small-time thug,"  had been found in the same exact spot near an underground cave, a site of prehistoric activity, now underwater.  The previous death showed no signs of violence, and was found to be the result of a diving accident.   At first, he finds the coincidence odd, but when Luccioni's sister shows up with information about her brother, he begins to wonder if there might be some connection between the two cases.  That's a tough enough job, but when other murder victims turn up, the stakes get even higher for De Palma and his team.

If this is just the first novel in the series, I can't wait to get to the rest.  The First Fingerprint  has an enigmatic mystery at its core, and in Bonnot's hands, the murder investigation is anything but dull. It wanders into the academic world and the experts in the field of prehistory. Where some writers will fill space with lengthy exposition to explain a particular subject to their readers,  Bonnot's  characters offer sufficient explanations that don't become sloggy or overburdened with detail. The pacing is spot on, and the conflicts between law-enforcement agencies and case jurisdiction seems realistic.  The sense of place is very real as you move through the city streets or stop alongside the road with De Palma and look out at the sea, listening to the birds or the "tot-tot" of freighters.  There are also a number of social concerns expressed throughout the novel, and considering that this is the first book of this series, the characters are already on their way to being well developed, at least in the context of their professional lives.   Some readers might find De Palma to be a bit more unsympathetic than a cop or lead character should be, but his no-nonsense refusal to put up with crap helps make him who he is. I also find it refreshing, although I'm  wary when an officer of the law feels he has  to use excessive violence to get people to give him what he wants.   On the flip side, I had part of it figured out a quarter way through the book -- although kudos to the author for completely throwing me off with a curveball I didn't see coming.  Sometimes the story verges toward the melodramatic, but to be fair, that happens close to the ending, so it's excusable.

With plenty of suspects, several murders, a twisted and zig-zaggy line of reasoning and deduction to follow through to the end, there is more than enough in this novel to keep crime-fiction readers happy.  It's intelligently written, has interesting characters and the plot is  just odd enough to be different. I recommend, mainly to fans of translated crime fiction or to crime fiction readers who are looking for something well above average in their reading.

crime fiction from France

Holy City, by Guillermo Orsi

9780857050632
MacLehose Press, 2012 (UK)
originally published as Ciudad Santa, 2009
translated by Nick Caistor
302 pp
(trade paper ed.)

"There aren't any people in this city, Verónica. Only monsters."

Setting down my thoughts about this novel is not an easy task; it has a level of complexity that is not easy to translate into a standard summary or review.  Holy City is no ordinary novel of crime fiction -- it is a look not only into the darkness of  the Buenos Aires underworld but also its connections to corruption among  politicians, the legal and justice systems, and the police of the city, all  institutions that are supposed to function as protectors of the city's populace but which  have instead carved out their own little niches of power, money and influence. It also provides a glimpse into Argentinian attitudes toward their neighbors, into  remnants of Argentina's junta-ruled past and the problems with America's ongoing battle in the war on drugs.  This book just screams noir, with its dark, atmospheric undertones, and while it may be a bit confusing with its multiple subplots and characters, overall it is a great read, a bit challenging but one that is unforgettable. 

In a brief look at this complex book, the novel opens with the execution of the former right-hand man of Alberto Cozumel Banegas, dubbed "Councillor Pox." Banegas

 "rules with an iron fist his twenty blocks in the south of Matanza, an open sewer inhabited by the rejects of the system, zombies who steal and kill for food, ragged foot-soldiers in an army whose only discipline in the certainty that if they disobey orders they will starve to death."

The man who's about to die is Zamorano, who allowed himself to be convinced by Ana Torrente, a former Miss Bolivia with "the face of a cherub floating on a cloud" to double cross his boss.   Ana, running scared, turns to lawyer Verónica Berutti for help and some protection; until Berutti can arrange it, she allows Ana to stay in her apartment. But Ana flees, taking along with her Verónica's old pistol.  In the meantime, the Queen of Storms, a cruise ship filled with very wealthy passengers, runs aground in the Río de la Plata estuary.  The passengers are taken off the ship and hoteliers are vying to put them up in their establishments.  On board is also a young man, Pacogoya, who has made himself useful by selling drugs to the foreigners (among other things).  Pacogoya meets his dealer who tells him he can only get him half, but gives him an address where he can get the rest.  When he arrives he finds a decapitated body, the first of many throughout this book.  Eventually Pacogoya is compelled into delivering up a list of names of the most wealthy passengers on the ship, who are eventually kidnapped and held for ransom.  One of those couples turns out be extremely important: a Colombian drugs-mafia boss and his girlfriend.  Veronica, friends with Pacogoya and still looking for Ana,  finds that her life is in danger and is assigned a bodyguard; she also seeks help from  Deputy Inspector Walter Carozza of the serious crime squad in the Federal Police.   As events progress, Carozza realizes that something huge is going on; that it's not enough to get the small fry behind the operation but to find out just who is running the show.   In a police effort  to retrieve the passengers he is teamed with Oso Berlusconi, a cop with a penchant for sadistic violence who got into the police partially to finance living the good life.   And as the action moves along, looming in the background is a growing number of dead bodies, all with no heads.

Holy City is really one of those books you must read yourself -- a mere description is  not enough, and to say more would really wreck it for anyone potentially interested.  It's probably one of this year's darker reads, but at the same time it's an eye opener.  The story is highly credible and clear cut, often moving in memories between past and present as a way of getting into the lives of the main characters. The best thing about this novel is that as you read it, you get a real sense that Orsi has the ability to get underneath the surface and into the reality of life on multiple levels -- that here's someone who really gets it and not only understands how things work but is also able to convey that reality  to his readers.  The atmosphere surrounding the stories within the novel is always dark and bleak; the neighborhoods of the city are realistically described so that you feel yourself there.  At the same time,  the book gets a bit confusing toward the end when all is revealed; although ultimately satisfying, you may have to go back and reread the last few pages before the story really gels.

Definitely a good book, but also not for everyone, Holy City will satisfy anyone's need for a good  jolt of  serious noir.  I'm attracted to the darkness of this book, but it's also a challenging read, not one to rush through.   Definitely not for cozy readers or for those who are into lighthearted and redeeming fare; all other serious crime junkies will probably like it. 

crime fiction from Argentina

The Dark Valley, by Valerio Varesi

9781906694333
MacLehose Press, 2012 (UK)
originally published as Le Ombre di Montelupo, 2005
translated by Joseph Farrell
246 pp
(hardcover ed.)


"Something ugly was unravelling, beneath the appearance of normality."

The Dark Valley is book number two in the Commissario Soneri mystery series and Varesi's  second book to be translated into English.  This book captured and held my interest throughout the story, not only because of the mystery and crime components, but because of Varesi's mastery of atmosphere and the way he captures a generation of people in a small village so perfectly. And kudos to whoever created the cover -- rarely does the outside of a book so perfectly capture the spirit of what's inside the novel.

Commissario Soneri has reached peak stress level due to certain changes at his work, and by November, his partner Angela convinces him that he must get away.  His choice is to return to the village of his childhood, a small place in the Appenines. While there he plans to  hike into the woods on the slopes of Montelupo and hunt for mushrooms , an activity that he and his father used to share when he was a boy. He also hopes for some "peace and stability" there, thinking back to times when he would be with his father, "gathering chestnuts, firewood or mushrooms" and "the perfect understanding achieved between them with glances or gestures." But the idyllic setting soon becomes a hotbed of activity after he arrives.   Someone has been putting up posters that say that a missing man has been located, a fact Soneri reports to Angela  during a phone call. Although the man, Paride Rodolfi is apparently back home safe and sound, no one has really seen him since his return.  Angela suggests that Soneri should investigate; he only wants to get up to the mountain woods and look for mushrooms.  But it isn't long before Paride's body is found in those woods after having been shot; shortly afterwards his father Pamiro  is found hanging from a noose, an apparent suicide, committed after he'd shot his dog.   Paride's death was no suicide -- so who killed him?

Although Soneri is there to find mushrooms, he can't help but to get involved.  As one character notes, "everything is linked to the pig-farming business, and even politicians come out smelling of pork and salame."  The same is true for the savings of many of the people who lived there:  Pamiro, the local pork manufacturer and leading source of employment for the most of the people in the area since the war,  has been scamming money from the locals for years. He had been promising them a better return on their investments than the bank could offer them.  But  before his death, Paride has been running the business, and the people fear that they will never see their money again, and for most people, it means a loss of their retirement funds.  It is  definitely a motive for murder, and the Carbinieri have a suspect:  a man called the Woodsman, a crack shot and  former childhood friend of Pamiro, who also invested money with him. The Woodman's wife died because he didn't have the needed money to get her help.  Soneri's not so sure; after all, there is a town filled with suspects, not to mention Paride's unhappy wife.

There is little to nothing on the negative side to say about this book.  Varesi is a master of atmosphere; from the village piazza to the swirling mists that rise on the mountain to envelop a solitary hiker, this book sets the reader firmly in the Appenine valley and mountain forests as winter is approaching.  The valley is a place where long-time resentments and secrets are buried, but really only just beneath the surface, still simmering in the minds and memories of the people who live there.   His character portraits rise above the usual -- especially in the old men of the village, for whom the valley has and always will be home and who lament their childrens' exodus to the city, as they wonder if their way of life is fast approaching an end.  Varesi also does a splendid job in capturing the personality of Soneri as a loner and introvert who just doesn't want to get involved, but who can't help himself when it comes to seeing justice done.  Soneri's personality emerges much more fully in this novel than it did in River of Shadows.   The book also has consistently good pacing, the plot is credible and the ending is appropriately revealed considering the rest of the story.

I liked River of Shadows, but not nearly as much as I enjoyed this second book of the series.  Varesi's forte is definitely setting and atmosphere and both books convey his talent in this area, but he's also managed to create a lead character in Soneri  that here more fully establishes him as a person.  Crime fiction readers who prefer a good mystery, intelligent writing and atmosphere in their reading will definitely like this one.  If you're looking for a thriller-type novel, this isn't it, move along.  I look forward to more of Varesi's books in translation -- after all, not all of the good crime fiction these days comes just from Scandinavia.

crime fiction from Italy

Paulus Hochgatterer x 2: The Sweetness of Life and The Mattress House

In both The Sweetness of Life and The Mattress House, crime takes a back seat to psychology; no surprise there if you consider that the author of both of these novels is a  child psychiatrist.  It should also come as no surprise that children feature heavily in these books, as does a shrink who specializes in pediatric psychology. While there are some pretty gruesome crimes in both novels, the author takes a roundabout way to their solutions while revealing  psychological portraits of not just victims or perpetrators, but of several denizens of the town of Furth am See, the fictional setting  in Austria in which the two main characters live and work.  Psychiatrist Raffael Horn is constantly questioning himself, as is Criminal Commissioner Ludwig Kovacs, while they both try to understand what makes people in the town do what they do.  While most novels of crime fiction afford the reader a glimpse here and there into the private lives of the good guys and often get into the psychology behind criminal actions, Hochgatterer does something different with these novels. Whereas most crime fiction stories focus on the crime and its solution, he starts out with a crime, starts the investigation rolling, and then intersperses both of these aspects throughout several chapters that center on the people involved directly, peripherally, and sometimes to throw you off the trail, not at all -- in the long run, it's really the reader's job to sort it all out.   This is not to say that the crimes he dreams up aren't heinous or that there's a lot of needless psychobabble between the covers of these books; what Hochgatter delivers is just a different variation of what most readers are used to in terms of crime fiction.  I'm not sure yet if this rather unorthodox  approach works for me or not as a crime reader, but it is different, and worth looking into as a reader in general.  It also makes me wonder if it isn't time to start looking at crime fiction in a new way.

******

9781847247711
MacLehose Press, 2012 (UK)
originally published as Die Süiße des Lebens, 2006
translated by Jamie Bulloch
248 pp
(trade paper ed)

The Sweetness of Life has one of the most eerie beginnings I've read in a long time. A little girl and her grandfather are in his home, playing Ludo (an American equivalent would be the game Sorry) while the snow falls outside in the night.  A knock comes on the door, the grandfather opens it, and steps outside. Thinking she'd play a trick on her grandfather when he came back, she takes two pieces off of their squares.  But the grandfather doesn't return, and the little girl goes outside to see what's going on. Eventually she makes her way to the barn, where she makes a horrifying discovery: the grandfather is laying dead in the snow, his head flattened and bloody.  She doesn't tell her parents what happened -- her father will find that out the next day. Still clutching the game pieces, she makes her way across the property to her home, and when it is time to go to bed, her mom tries to take them away. That's when the screaming began; since then she hasn't uttered a single word.

Enter Ludwig Kovacs and Raffael Horn; Horn to try to help the little girl recover from her trauma and Kovacs to figure out exactly what happened and who would do such a grotesque thing.  Horn is married to Irene and has two sons, the eldest of whom has moved out. Horn spends a great deal of time pondering his move to Furth am See, as well as his relationship with his family, but he is also quite preoccupied with his patients and their respective psychoses. He has a habit of thinking out loud, but he's a good psychiatrist and cares deeply about his job.  Kovacs is divorced, and has an arrangement with a woman named Marlene in a relationship based on sex; he works with a team of detectives who are all very sharp, but this crime has stymied them.  He needs Horn's help -- the little girl was the only witness, and she's not able to say a thing.

The story is told through various points of view including those of Horn and Kovacs, but there is also a priest who runs and who is never without an Ipod, even during church services, and a boy who dresses up like Darth Vader whose brother has just returned from prison. As the story progresses, their stories expand little by little in alternating chapters, and the reader gets to know bits of their life stories and how they are connected not only to each other, but to the town as well.  Along the way there are other interesting side stories that emerge, especially those of Horn's patients, and some of them are so unsettling that you may periodically have to put the book down and walk away.

In terms of crime, as I noted above, the author has definitely taken a new approach here. Solving the crime is actually less of a concern than revealing what lies beneath the psychological surface of this small town. Although the investigative set up is pretty standard and police procedures are described much like those in other works of crime fiction, as the story drifts from perspective to perspective, it takes a while for clues and other helpful elements to emerge.  Although the motive for the crime is ultimately intriguing, neither it nor the criminal emerge until the very last few pages and then the book is over. But at least the murderer had a motive; that is not always true in the case of others in this story who have committed terrible acts of violence, or even those who know what's going on and refuse to get involved and let these horrible things happen.

This approach may not be to everyone's liking, but it is worth giving a try.  If you are inclined to judge it solely in terms of other crime fiction novels you've read, you may be disappointed, but if you stop and really think about what you've just read and that Furth am See just might be representative of other towns in other countries, it will add another dimension to your reading experience.

****

9780857050298
MacLehose Press, 2012 (UK)
originally published as Der Matrazenhaus, 2010
translated by Jamie Bulloch
246 pp
(trade paper ed)

Once again Paulus Hochgatterer uses his unconventional storytelling methods in his latest novel centered around a most horrendous and appalling crime to pry loose the secrets in his fictional town of Furth am See. I thought the crime in The Sweetness of Life was bad; this one is so much worse that I wasn't sure if I'd be able to get through the book. This time he explores crimes committed against children, my least favorite topic in any kind of novel. One thing before I get into my review: on both book covers there is a very misleading statement, telling the reader that each book is a "Kovacs and Horn Investigation," but this is not actually true. While the police do go to Horn for help, it's not like the two ever team up with Kovacs handling the police end of things and Horn offering possible profiling advice or psychological insights. I realize that in some crime fiction this sort of partnership exists, but it is not the case here. So dispel yourself of that notion immediately.

This installment of the series finds Horn busy with policy changes at his workplace, friction at home between himself and his rebellious son, spending time thinking about his wife Irene and the staff at the hospital.   In the meantime, Kovacs' sexual arrangement has gone a bit awry as he finds himself falling in love with Marlene; his daughter, whom he hasn't seen for quite a while is also coming to town, he's temporarily missing one of his best detectives, and he also spends quite of bit of time pondering his colleagues. In between all of the respective personal issues, Kovacs and his staff are working on some rather odd cases: a few children have turned up beaten and bruised somewhere between their homes and school and are refusing to talk, and the only thing they will say is that is was the Black Owl that did it; a death occurs on a scaffold and no one is certain whether or not it was an accident.  Meanwhile, Horn is busy with his patients both on the wards and in a therapy group, while dealing with their  family members as well.  He is also asked by the police to work with the children who suffered the beatings in an effort to get them to talk about their ordeals.  But what neither of them are aware of is a young girl living in a house where the most unspeakable things occur.

Once again the story is told via alternating perspectives, those of Horn, Kovacs, and  now a teacher (who has her own issues) who has become the love interest of the running priest with the Ipod from Sweetness of Life.  Added to these is the voice of a young girl named Fanni, who exists with an eye to escape and  making other preparations for when the time is right. She is there when a very small child is brought to the house, and the sad story of what is happening there is spread throughout the novel in bits & pieces.  As the novel progresses, it becomes clear that Hochgatterer's agenda this time is child abuse and violence toward children in any form.  While the beatings bring the two main characters to wonder whether or not they ever struck their children, adding  to their list of things to ruminate about, Kovacs'  missing detective is off working with a group working toward combating child pornography and child violence. 

There is a great deal of pondering going on in this novel, so much so in fact that at times it interrupts the narrative flow and the going can get boggy.  In all fairness, since Hochgatterer's focus is on what's beneath the surface, having his main characters do a bit of self-analysis and deepthink is definitely in line with what he does with the other characters; after all, this is part of his approach to writing.  The problem is that maybe there's a little too much reflection going on when other things are happening in the story, and especially in Horn's case, his personal reflections seem to detract from the kind of  intense attention he displayed with his patients in the first novel. They also go on and on when the rest of the story is waiting to be told; truth be told, it's a bit annoying. 

At the heart of this book you will find a very haunting story,  but around it Hochgatterer's examination of society and its secrets is also well constructed.  Again, it's not the usual linear point a to point b resolution that is expected in most crime fiction, but rather a look at what drives people, what secrets they're hiding, and how your next-door neighbor might be showing you one face while harboring an inner, more monstrous life you never would have imagined. Add to those ideas  the interconnectedness among these people and others within the framework of a town and you get an idea of what he's trying to accomplish.    This author is taking a great deal of risk in writing crime fiction this way, and other than a few minor little issues, I think he's succeeding. 

The style does take some getting used to, so I'd start with Sweetness of Life to get the feel for the author's writing and because there's always value in starting with the first book of any series. I liked it although I came away from it with feeling  a bit on edge, not due to the author's writing or any other fault, but because the core story was just so incredibly sad, and because I know that the reality behind it exists everywhere.  Just an FYI: there are enough graphic details in the story that put a picture into your head, so be warned. This book is NOT for the fainthearted, nor is it a light read at all.  I had to go do something fun after reading it just so I wasn't thinking about it all day and making myself depressed.

crime fiction from Austria

Ashes, by Sergios Gakas

9780857050168
MacLehose Press, 2011
translated by Anne-Marie Stanton-Ife
320 pp

Ashes is set in Greece, and is a story that focuses on a country falling apart, in part due to its often morally-bankrupt caretakers as well as other forces that have sent society spiraling down into a decline from which it may or may not recover.   As a social commentary, it's a winner, and as a novel of crime fiction, it's also pretty awesome.

As the novel opens two things are going on in Athens: preparations are underway for the Olympic Games, and a rather non-descript house burns down, taking with it the lives of a young woman and her three-year-old daughter. The fire also sends a former actress by the name of Sonia Varika to the hospital with severe burns.  Sonia once played Medea, but her career began to slide as she turned to alcohol, leading her to live a more quiet and lonely life away from the crowds and former acquaintances.  When the fire is deemed to have been the result of arson, Police Col. Chronis Halkidis asks to take charge of the case, even though he works in internal affairs.  His chief owes him a favor, and grants him permission to take on the investigation.  One of the first things he does is to contact the owner of the house, lawyer Simeon Piertzovanis, who, along with Halkidis, has a personal involvement with the actress.  Both of these men have self-destructive tendencies, and while both agonize through their respective feelings of guilt,  they turn to revenge against those responsible.   The case is just starting to get somewhere when Halkidis is informed  that the word from above is that the case is over, but as he tries to discover who's put the lid on his investigation,  things actually begin to heat up. 

Told through three distinct voices -- of Halkidis, Piertovanis, and Sonia (now laying in a coma in a hospital bed), Ashes is probably the first crime novel I've ever read where the entire story is analogous to the story of a society in crisis. Certainly many authors have used the vehicle of crime fiction to vent their displeasure with the existing social and political systems of their own respective countries, but Gakas has elevated this trend into a story that transcends individual nations, relevant almost anywhere.   As the country faces a downhill slide into ruin, the forces that have sent it that far are mirrored in the novel's characters and in the story of these deaths:  drugs and alcohol take their respective tolls; Halkidis finds himself  hamstringed  as politics and corruption triumph over justice and truth; even the church is not spared and has a  role in this story; money is king and those that have it will stop at nothing until they have more, while those who don't have it seek their share by doing whatever it takes to get paid.   Seriously, change the names and the place and this could be a novel about any other nation in the current global climate.

If you're thinking about reading this one, and you're not so much into the allegory of it all, the crime aspects of the novel are also done quite well.  Each step of the case reveals new connections in the crime, and the actual solving of the case takes Halkidis, Piertovanis and a couple of other characters into some rather humorous situations that allow the reader breathing space away from all of the intensity of the personal tragedies at work here.   At the same time, the reader's desire to know who did this horrible thing and why grows at each new revelation, as does the  atmosphere of suspense crafted by the author.   And while the ending is a bit depressing, it's totally appropriate to the overall story. Although one could argue (and hope, for that matter)  that maybe all will not be as it seems, considering  alternative connotations of the word ashes -- you know, phoenix rising and all that.

I really liked Ashes; sadly had it not been on Euro Crime's CWA International Dagger eligibility list, I probably would never have read it.   What a tragedy that would have been! This book probably won't be to everyone's taste in crime fiction, but if you like a social commentary in your crime, this one will be definitely right up your alley. It's also extremely intelligently written, and could easily be appropriate for more  "literary"-minded  fiction devotees as well as for crime fiction readers.

crime fiction from Greece

The End of the World in Breslau, by Marek Krajewski

9781906694722

MacLehose/Quercus

2010

original Polish title: Koniec świata w Breslau, 2003

translated by Danusia Stok

Eberhard Mock is back in yet another adventure, this one involving a series of bizarre murders whose victims seem to have no connection to one another, yet which the police know have been done by the same person. 

It's 1960, and Eberhard Mock is in New York City, dying of lung cancer. His old friend Herbert Anwaldt (who first appeared in Krajewski's Death in Breslau) comes to see him and Mock has a "confession" he needs to get off of his chest before he departs this earthly life.  Flash back in time to 1927, to Breslau (which at the time was part of Weimar Germany). A shoemaker who has rented space in a building notices a disgusting smell, which his brother-in-law suggests might be a rotten egg behind one of the walls -- a sort of joke played by masons when they felt they were not paid properly.  The shoemaker begins to knock down the wall and a body of a musician is discovered. The only clue is a page from a calendar with the date of September 12 of that year, written in blood. More bodies follow -- a follower of Hitler (who in 1927 had just made his rousing "Nuremberg Rally" speech), a Communist, a locksmith, and an historian -- each left with the calendar date of the victim's death left behind. Mock is charged with solving these crimes, and to do this, he must find what links all of these disparate victims -- a seemingly monumental task. However, he's got several things on his mind to keep him distracted from his duty, none the least of which involve his nephew and his young, beautiful and unhappy wife Sophie, as well as his own inner demons which have the power to destroy him both personally and professionally.

Once again, Krajewski takes his readers on a descent into the seamy side of Breslau's underworld,a place of hedonistic and lascivious delights designed for the higher-ups in society which would tempt even the most incorruptible of saints; where money will buy some of the most depraved pleasures the city's more adventurous entrepreneurs have to offer. Krajewski is the master of atmosphere, and creates an almost claustrophic aura that lingers throughout the novel, so much so that when you read the last page, you want to take a breath of clean air.  This installment of the Eberhard Mock series gets more into the psyche of the Criminal Councillor than the first book in the series, and rather than go forward in time as is the case of most crime fiction series, this one ratchets back a few years before the action of Death in Breslau.   Krajewski is also a most excellent writer -- my favorite scene that showcases his talent is one in which Mock has had to answer the queries of a private police investigator who is searching for the now-missing Sophie, and as Mock is working a crime scene, his answers to that questionnaire are juxtaposed with discoveries made at the site of this most appalling murder. The characterizations are excellent yet not stereotypical or predictable.  The period detail is plentiful without being bogged down (as is the case with many period pieces) in minutia, and the pacing is perfectly executed.

Highly recommended, but probably not for everyone. There is nothing even remotely cutesy or nice about this story. It is pure seedy, steamy and hard core noir that does not let up and which gets you in its unrelenting grip, keeping you there until the last page is turned. It's claustrophobic and edgy -- in short, my kind of crime fiction. I hope Krajewski keeps writing -- I love these books. And whoever designs these covers should be given some kind of award!

fiction from Poland

Death in Breslau, by Marek Krajewski

9781847245182
MacLehose Press/Quercus
2008
original Polish Title: Śmierć w Breslau, 2006
translated by Danusia Stok
247 pages

First in a series of four novels,  Death in Breslau might just possibly be my favorite crime fiction novel so far this year. I hadn't even finished this book and bought the next two,  The End of the World in Breslau and The Phantoms of Breslau. If the cover doesn't grab you, the story will.

The story begins in 1950 in a Dresden psychiatric hospital, where the director is being pressed by a Stasi  official who wants to question the patient named Herbert Anwaldt. Herbert Anwaldt's identity and the reason he is a patient are questions the author answers as the book moves back and forward in time, beginning in 1933 in Breslau (now Wrocław).  The main character of this novel (and the four that follow) is Counsellor Eberhard Mock, who in 1933 was the Deputy Head of the Criminal Department of the Police Praesidium. That year, Hermann Göring had taken over the posts of Minister of Internal Affairs and Chief of the Prussian police.  The Nazis had become very active in the Police Praesidium, and an entire wing of the building had been taken over by the Gestapo.  

Mock is summoned to a side track of the main railway station, where he finds the bodies of Marietta von der Malten and her governess in a saloon car, savagely raped and murdered.  Clues left behind include some dead scorpions, some live ones, and some cryptic writing in blood on the wall of the train car.  Mock knows the dead girl and  her father, the Baron, a fellow Mason and someone to whom he owes a great deal. His investigation leads him to Friedländer, a Jewish importer specializing in strange "vermin," which makes the Nazi anti-Jewish propagandists very happy.  It also solves some of Mock's political problems, and the arrest leads to Mock's promotion as Criminal Director.  But it's not the end of the story -- after Friedländer "commits suicide", the Baron receives a package containing some clothing that had belonged to his daughter and realizes that the real killer is still out there somewhere.  Herbert Anwaldt, an alcoholic policeman from Berlin, is summoned to work with Mock to secretly discover the identity of the real murderer. 

This book is as dark as dark gets. Spies are everywhere, Mock has enemies that would like to bring him down, the Gestapo is a force to be reckoned with. The sinister atmosphere does not let up for a moment. The characters are well developed, especially Mock, who although married, spends his Friday evenings at a brothel playing chess with two lovely women (one under the table, one at the table) who know that "every successful move was assigned a specific erotic configuration." He is quite adept at playing the game with the Nazis, and becomes a master of the art of self protection, both physically and politically. There are many other characters who indulge in hedonistic delights, and there are the Nazis, and nearly everyone seems to have secrets that they'll do anything to keep hidden. And if ever a book captured a place and a time, it's this one. 


Death in Breslau is stunning, a novel you won't forget any time soon after reading.  While it's great fun, it's also claustrophobic sometimes as you sink deeper and deeper into the world of the dark and sybaritic side of Breslau and its inhabitants. It's also an excellent look at the politics and changing Europe of the 1930s.  I absolutely loved this book and very highly recommend it to readers who want something truly edgy and way off the beaten path in their crime fiction. 

fiction from Poland