The Whisperer, by Donato Carrisi

9780349123448
Abacus/Little, Brown Book Group, 2011
originally published as Il Suggeritore, 2009
474 pp.
translated by Shaun Whiteside
(note: not available in the US until 2012)


Donato Carrisi is a new author for me, and I probably would never have heard of this book had it not been for Karen at Euro Crime, one of my very favorite blogs on the Internet. Last year, just prior to the announcement of the CWA International Dagger award (for which she was a judge!), Karen made a post about books that might possibly be eligible for the 2011 CWA International Dagger. I put that post on my iphone main screen, and eager to jump on that bandwagon, I started ordering the books as they were published.  That's how The Whisperer made its way into my crime fiction collection.    I don't see that the author has any other books published in English, but I read somewhere that The Whisperer is "Italy's Number One Bestselling Thriller Sensation."

The Whisperer starts out with an fascinating, although rather grotesque, mystery to be solved.  In an unnamed location that could be pretty much anywhere, renowned criminologist Dr. Goran Gavila has been summoned to examine a crime scene, which turns out to be "a circle of little graves."  What was found was horrifying: six severed arms, all belonging to different little girls, the oldest victim only thirteen. The arms were taken from the girls after they had disappeared, starting about twenty-five days earlier.    Despite the best efforts of the police and the public, no culprit has been taken into custody, nor are there any traces of the missing children. The problem is that only five girls had been reported missing, not six, meaning there's another missing girl out there somewhere in grave danger.  Gavila heads up a special team to investigate, bringing in an outsider named Mila Vasquez, a younger police officer who specializes in recovering missing children. The team has to call the killer something, and settles on "Albert," the name of a serial killler from an older case who cut off women's right feet. As the investigation progresses, the killer begins to leave some rather bizarre clues designed to lead the team to the bodies, one by one. There are a number of red herrings throughout the story, a bit of romance, tension among the investigative team members, alternating points of view within the narrative, and even a bit o' the supernatural -- in short something for every reader -- all tied together in this novel's 400+ pages.

But when all is said and done,  The Whisperer, although touted as a "literary thriller," fits neither description. It starts out well, the crime is compelling and the shifting perspectives keep things interesting, as do the dynamics among the investigating team. But all too soon things just get a bit unrealistic, especially with the insertion of the supernatural element into the plot.  It's almost as if the author thought that he had to throw in a combination of elements that might make a book  reach every possible audience, and it just did not play well for me.  He has all of these incredibly bright people investigating the crime, and yet he actually demeans his own characters by adding in the scenes that are simply unbelievable.  Somewhere along the line, the original chilling tone set by the discovery of the little girls' arms got lost, which is too bad, because if the author had continued down that road, slowly building on the suspense through the novel, it could have been really good.

This novel got an overall 3.81 star rating on Goodreads, and several reviewers loved it, one person relating it to the novels of Stieg Larsson. Hmmm. Well, perhaps I missed something, but let's just say, this isn't one of the best crime fiction novels I've ever read. It's definitely not a book that everyone's going to like -- especially (I would think) serious crime fiction junkies. It's much more mainstream than I had hoped, actually, something more along the lines of a summer beach read where you don't have to think too much.  That's not exactly what I look for in my crime reading -- I prefer more of a challenge than is offered by The Whisperer.

(read in May)

crime fiction from Italy

The Snack Thief, by Andrea Camilleri

9780142004739
Penguin Books, 2005
Originally published as Il ladro di merendine, 1996
translated by Stephen Sartarelli
298 pp.

As I work my way through this series, Andrea Camilleri is quickly becoming one of my favorite crime fiction authors, and Salvo Montalbano one of my favorite characters.  How can you not like him? He's  grumpy, cantankerous, and crabby and yet he has a compassionate side.  He lives for the best, most delectable food, and although flawed in many ways, he has an incredible handle on human nature. The Snack Thief is number three in this series, and I wasted absolutely no time after Terra-Cotta Dog to start this book. And after finishing this book, I opened up the next one, The Voice of the Violin. I have a feeling that when that one's over, it's going to be on to number five and on down the line until I've finished every book that's been published in this series.  That's how good these books really are and how much I like them.

The day starts out badly for Montalbano as the story begins, when he is awakened early in the morning by a call from Catarella at the Vigata station. A Tunisian man was killed when the trawler on which he was working was attacked by a Tunisian patrol boat. The trawler was in international waters, and since someone was killed, the government is forced to intervene.  And because the boat came into Vigata, the nearest port, the police there are supposed to provide a detailed report because of the possible international repercussions. Montalbano would prefer not to get involved, and is happy when Mimi Augello takes it on.  The Inspector has a more intriguing case to work on -- that of a businessman named Lapecora, who was found stabbed and dead in the elevator of his apartment building.  As he's investigating this crime, another report is called in about someone stealing pre-lunch snacks from school children.  As he focuses on Lapecora's death, more mysteries begin to reveal themselves, whetting Montalbano's appetite just as much as the promise of alalonga all'agrodolce prepared by his friend Calogero at a local restaurant. And while all of this is going on, Livia decides to come for a visit.

The Snack Thief is a wonderful read.  There are multiple layers of mystery at work in this novel, and as each one is revealed, the story becomes a bit more intriguing.  The characters once again take center stage -- not only are the usual players here, but there are new ones who play off of Montalbano, bringing out different sides of his character. There are many humorous moments,  in the police station, or when Montalbano's hunger makes him a bit grumpy, and especially in the way he deals with his growing (but unfounded) jealousy of Livia and Mimi Augello.  Stephen Sartarelli's translation is so well done that the book just flows -- there is not a line out of place, nor is there any point at which the narrative comes off even a bit awkwardly.  It's absolutely incredible how well the translation captures all the characters' eccentricities, especially those belonging to Montalbano.

I can definitely recommend this one with absolutely no reservations. It will definitely appeal to all readers of crime fiction, from those who read cozy novels on through noir fans.  I admire Camilleri's writing talent, and can't wait to get through the entire series.

crime fiction from Italy

The Terra-Cotta Dog, by Andrea Camilleri

9780142004722
Penguin Books
2005
originally published as Il Cane di terracotta, 1996
translated by Stephen Sartarelli
340 pp

The Terra-Cotta Dog is the second installment of Andrea Camilleri's most excellent series of Italian crime fiction novels featuring Inspector Salvo Montalbano. Currently, this series consists of thirteen books, beginning with The Shape of Water, set in Sicily.  These books fall on what I'd call the "lighter side" of crime fiction: the author's plots and the crimes are intriguing enough for even the most seasoned crime fiction reader, but at the same time, there is a constant thread of humor that runs throughout the series, mostly due to the author's most excellent characterizations.

The Terra-Cotta Dog begins with a phone call to Inspector Montalbano from one of his old friends. Now a well-known pimp, he has contacted Salvo to arrange a meeting between the inspector and a well-known local Mafioso known as Tano the Greek. As it turns out, Tano wants to arrange his own "capture," because, as he notes, it's time for him to step aside before the new generation of criminals leaves him "dead in a ditch."  Montalbano decides to go along with the ploy.  Their deal ultimately lands Montalbano smack in the middle of a series of odd crimes -- a bizarre supermarket robbery where the goods were found nearby at a gas station the very next day, a car accident that ends up in the death an aging die-hard fascist on his way to give Montalbano information, an unknown person dead in the trunk of a car, and  a weapons cache found in a cave.  And as if that's not enough, the inspector uncovers a strange tableau in a part of the cave which has long been sealed up: the intertwined bodies of a man & a woman, seemingly guarded by an old terra-cotta dog.  Also in the cave are a water jug and a bowl of coins.  The bodies are discovered to have been dead for about fifty years, and Montalbano is more than eager to figure out who they are, why they were sealed into the cave, and whether or not there is any significance to the artifacts left with the bodies.

The characters are what make this book -- especially Montalbano.  At one point he described himself as a "solitary hunter" who likes to "go hunting with others" but wants to be "the only one organizing the hunt." He loves good food and appreciates great cooking, and is looked after by a housekeeper who leaves him food every day except when his girlfriend Livia is there visiting from Genoa. In fact, it's probably not too far off the mark to say that Montalbano tackles his criminal cases like he tackles his food: each and every detail is experienced individually, until the payoff comes in the bigger picture.  In the course of a day, Montalbano also has to deal with a wide variety of personalities. He often drives his colleagues and subordinates crazy with his temperament, but the reverse is true as well.  In the office, for example, there's Catarella, who speaks in a weird mishmash called " 'talian," and gets things mixed up when he does his job of answering the station's telephone calls. Then there's second-in-command Mimi Augello, who pouts and wonders why Montalbano doesn't include him more often in his investigations. He also has to work with the eccentric Judge LoBianco, who has been working for years on a book called The Life and Deeds of Rinaldo and Antonio Lo Bianco, Masters of Law at the University of Girgenti at the time of King Martin the Younger (1402-1409), solely because the judge has decided that Rinaldo and Antonio were his ancestors. Montalbano is also well read, with a reading range from crime fiction to Shakespeare.  But above all, Montalbano is a detective who gets results, never letting up on a case until it's over.

The Terra-Cotta Dog is a very quick read despite its 300+ pages. The story appeals to my sense of humor, my need for captivating crimes, and my absolute delight when the pieces of the puzzle all come together in a coherent manner.  There is also a fully-developed sense of place in this novel -- the reader gets to know Sicily well in terms of landscape,  food, and local customs.  The translation is very well executed, so that you don't stop to wonder what you're missing if you haven't read the book in its original Italian version.  Finally, the book is intelligent, something I appreciate in good crime fiction novels.  The only negative thing I have to say about this one is that the solution to the bodies in the cave mystery was maybe a bit on the hokey side, but after reading the author's note, I see why Camilleri framed it this way. I can definitely recommend this book, especially to crime fiction readers who like lighter fare, and who prefer their crime reads less on the edgy, hardcore, or gritty side.

(read in May)

crime fiction from Italy

The Leopard, by Jo Nesbø

Harvill Secker, 2010
translated by Don Bartlett
originally published as Panserhjerte, 2009
619 pp.

It is just a crying shame that this novel is not going to be available in the U.S. right away, because really, American readers of Jo Nesbø are missing out on one of the very best books in the entire series. I couldn't even purchase a copy from Book Depository directly, so I had to take the roundabout alternative and purchase from BD through Amazon. It's a bit more expensive, but well worth it. Trust me, after finishing The Snowman, you are going to want to read this book as quickly as possible.

In fact, in this episode of the Harry Hole series, the story picks up shortly after the events of The Snowman, which (without giving too much away) took their physical and emotional toll on Harry, sending him as far away from Norway and the police department as possible to Hong Kong. There he lives in squalor, bets money he doesn't have on the horses and runs up serious debts that prevent him from leaving the country. He also discovers that opium lessens his pain and allows him to stay away from the booze. But events back in Norway soon require his presence, and Detective Kaja Solness has come to Hong Kong to collect him and bring him back to Oslo. Harry adamantly refuses, but then relents when it turns out that his father is seriously ill and in the hospital. When he returns, he discovers that there's another serial killer on the loose, a person who has killed two people in a most gruesome fashion and leaves behind no evidence. More murders occur, but he's facing an even tougher problem. His colleagues in the Crime Squad, are in a fight with the Kripos (Krimpolitisentralen) over control of murder investigations, a battle that involves not just the two rival groups, but the future careers of many of Harry's colleagues and even Harry himself. The Kripos have taken jurisdiction over this series of murders, and the investigation is in the hands of Bellman -- a politico who is all about power and control, as opposed to Harry, who wants to solve the case and bring the perpetrator to justice. While this situation complicates matters for the Crime Squad, it doesn't stop Harry from doing his own investigation. Harry gets unofficial assistance from some of his colleagues, as well as some clandestine help from an old friend to figure out what it is that connects the victims together. Once he figures this out, he believes, it will help him with the who and the why. But this is not going to be easy. It will take all that Harry has to give, which right now isn't that much, and will take him back and forth across the globe before his job is done.

The character of Harry Hole is quite possibly at his best in this novel, even though emotionally he's at his lowest point. He has become a very real person here, battling through his personal demons which makes him a bit reckless and often prone to acting without thinking. He warns others who want to work with him that it is his pattern to drag them down alongside himself, and he is not wrong. But despite all of his personal issues, Harry is the consummate detective, and will not let go of the case until it is finished, no matter what means he has to use to get the job done.

Nesbø has done an incredible job with The Leopard, and readers of crime fiction, especially those who have followed Nesbø's series from the beginning, will in no way be disappointed. He is able to pique the reader's interest at the very start of the novel with a most nasty crime and a bad guy who has absolutely no conscience, then ratchet up the tension level little by little until it is almost impossible to put the book down. His plotting is meticulous, but it is his attention to detail, the addition of the tension between the two police groups, and above all his portrayal of Harry Hole on a most human level that makes this story work and work well. There are also several references to Hole's other cases here and there throughout the story, bringing to mind all that this man has been through.

On the downside, The Leopard is incredibly long, and I found some of it a bit confusing at times, especially regarding one of the subplots of the novel. It moves slowly in several parts to the point where you think you might be trying to crawl through jello. And yes, there are some very over-the-top moments that Nesbø seems to enjoy throwing into each one of his novels that make the action a little hard to swallow sometimes. However, it is probably my favorite of the series, and although it took some time to read, it was well worth every second. I started this on an airplane, and as much as I hate flying, I forgot where I was for the entire 5 hours because I was so caught up in the story. Do not make The Leopard your introduction to the Harry Hole series -- if nothing else, at least read The Snowman, so you will have an understanding of Harry's mindset going into this one, which is in many ways the continuation of the latter. Better yet, start with The Redbreast and read your way through one of the best crime fiction series currently available.

 crime fiction from Norway

The Snowman, by Jo Nesbø

 978009520276
Vintage Books, 2010
originally published as Snømannen, 2007
translated by Don Bartlett
550 pp.


The Snowman is Nesbø's fifth book to be translated into English, and once again features Harry Hole, a detective working for Oslo's crime squad.  If you want to know more about Harry Hole, the official Jo Nesbo website features Hole's CV, as well as a link to all of the books in the series.  The Snowman is a novel of Scandinavian crime fiction, and my cover has a little sticker on it that says  "The Next Stieg Larsson," but don't believe it. The two are completely different in terms of their writing styles and subjects. Plus, as I've been known to ask before, who exactly made Stieg Larsson the be all and end all of Scandinavian crime fiction? In my humble opinion, Nesbø is the better writer.

The novel begins in 1980, with a young mother having an afternoon fling at her lover's home. Then flash forward and it's 2004, and a young Jonas Becker wakes up to find that there's no one in the house.  His father had gone off to give a lecture in Bergen a day earlier; his mom Birte was there when he went to bed, but now he can't find her anywhere.  Deciding to go to the neighbor's house, he notices that the snowman that had been built in his yard (not by anyone in his family) is now wearing the scarf he'd given his mother for Christmas.  Hole gets the case, and immediately links it in his mind to an earlier case, still unsolved, where a housewife had gone missing  after dropping off her children at a nursery.  Then Harry reveals that he had received an anonymous letter two months earlier that said:

Soon the first snow will come. And then he will appear again. The snowman. And when the snow has gone, he will have taken someone else. What you should ask yourself is this: 'Who made the snowman? who makes snowmen? who gave birth to the Murri? For the snowman doesn't know.'

The mention of the Murri, at least in Harry's mind, makes him believe that a serial killer is at work, because the letter makes reference to a serial killer that Hole had once killed in Australia.  His colleagues aren't so convinced, because Norway's never had a serial killer, but when another woman turns up missing and another snowman is left behind, it begins to look like Harry was right.  The problem is that Hole and the squad have to come up with some link between the missing women that puts them into the killer's sights.  The investigation takes on several twists and turns and adds several suspects, until Harry has to finally take a step back from the feeling he's getting that someone is trying to manipulate him in terms of the case, that he is "part of someone's plan."  At the same time, Harry's got his hands full -- his apartment is going through mold and fungus abatement and his personal life is in its usual angst-ridden condition.  His professional life is right on the edge as his bosses are watching him because of his alcoholism.  Rakel is getting ready to be married.  And there's a new member of the crime squad, Katrine Bratt, who seems to be a perfect match for Harry until she starts unloading some of the unseen baggage she brought along with her.

The Snowman is definitely one of the biggest nail biters in the Harry Hole series.  Not only does the plot have some great twists, but Nesbo spends a great deal of time building up the suspense and getting into the heads of his characters, trying to discover what makes them tick. That may be my favorite part of this series -- Nesbo is great at characterizations throughout all of his novels.  There are a few gruesome scenes in the story, but nothing that seasoned crime fiction veterans haven't seen before.   It is most definitely an edgy and suspenseful book, one I couldn't put down once I started. I have to confess that I found  the ending of the novel to be a bit over the top, but on the other hand, it did  fit well with the rest of the story.  I also must say that I figured out the "who"  before the cops did, but that's okay. The fun is in the getting there, and it was a very wild ride.

  I highly suggest that readers who have not yet had the pleasure of reading Nesbø's series start with The Redbreast (not the first in the series, but the first to be translated into English) and move on from there in order.  Although The Snowman could be read as a standalone, it's much better read as part of the series, especially because of the ongoing development of the characters. If you don't end up with a "wow" going through your mind as you read through it, let's just say I'll be very surprised.

Red April, by Santiago Roncagliolo

9780375425448
Pantheon Books
2009
Originally published as Abril Rojo, 2006
translated by Edith Grossman

"This place is doomed to be bathed in blood and fire forever"

Red April is a mix of political thriller, whodunit and a commentary on the misuse of power in a nation teeming with corruption.  It is a novel steeped in violence and death, often gruesome in detail, and takes place largely  in the city of Ayacucho, Peru. The year is 2000,  when the official line is that "terrorism was eradicated and contines to be eradicated at the present time, " referring to the ongoing series of wars between the military and the Sendero Luminoso, or Shining Path.  Like many other works of translated crime fiction, there's more than just a mystery at the heart of this book -- most notably, there's the question of an uncertain future for Peru and its people.

Félix Chacaltana Saldívar (Chalcatana) the main character of this novel, had requested and received a transfer to Ayacucho (which means "Place of the dead")  from Lima in his role as a prosecutor.  For most people, this would have been a step backward, or perhaps a demotion, but for Chacaltana, it's a return to his boyhood home. Leaving behind a bad marriage, he jumps into his work with gusto. Punctilious and pedantic by nature, he knows every law, is familiar with every procedure and spends his days writing reports. Normally, the prosecutor's office took care of cases of "drunken fights or domestic abuse, at the most some rape," but a  case comes up in which a man is found dead in a most horrendous manner and lands on Chacaltana's desk.  After some investigation of the case, the prosecutor makes what might be a connection to terrorist activity, but the military government wants him to keep quiet and tell no one, because despite Chacaltan's protests,  "nobody wants to hear about terrorists in Ayacucho":

Look Chacaltana, I'll be totally frank with you, and I hope this is the last time we talk about this subject. The police are controlled by the Ministry of the Interior, and the interior minister is a military man.  Doesn't that tell you something?....Our duty is to shut up and do what we're told. Is it so difficult to get that into your head? Listen, I have no interest in helping you because I don't feel like it. But even if I did want to help you, I couldn't. So don't get me involved in this because you'll fuck up my promotion. Please, I'm begging you! I have a family! I want to go back to Lima! ... Why don't you write a report and close the case once and for all? ...this is an emergency zone. A large part of the department is still classified as a red zone. Laws are legally suspended.

Not only are elections just around the corner, and there are promotions at stake, but Ayacucho is in the midst of Holy Week, which means tourists and massive celebrations.  But Chacaltana isn't to be mollified, and when a second murder is discovered, he is sent to the countryside to monitor the upcoming elections, obviously to get him out of the way.  And even though on his return he finds himself with no work to do "not even an indictment, not even a memorandum," he remains dedicated to solving the case.  The problem is that as the celebrations get into full swing, so does the killer, and eventually Chacaltana finds himself caught up in a situation where he doesn't know who to believe or who to trust.

 Red April is not a tame crime thriller that you can read, put away and forget.  The author paints his scenes with often graphic violence, and at times the reality of the situation is read as though the reader is caught up in a surreal vision.  For example, the description of Yawarmayo, the rural area to where Chacaltana is sent as an election supervisor, is as disturbing as the descriptions of the mutilated bodies.  When he arrives in the countryside, he is greeted by the sight of dead dogs that have been strung up on streetlights wearing signs that say "This is how traitors die."  Explosions in the dead of night are commonplace, along with "howls from the hills." And the reaction of the townspeople? When Chacaltana asks if this is normal, he's told "No. They're pretty calm today." In fact, the entire atmosphere of this book is rather terrifying, all the more so because of the reality beneath the fiction.

The author's depiction of the situation in Peru is bleak:

Ayacucho is a strange place. The Wari culture was here, and then the Chancas, who never let themselves be conquered by the Incas. And then the indigenous rebellions, because Ayacucho was the midway point between Cuzco, the Inca capital, and Lima, the capital of the Spaniards. And independence in Quinua. And Sendero. This place is doomed to be bathed in blood and fire forever....Why? I have no idea. It doesn't matter.

The author has done a most excellent job of transmitting the realities of this most frightening political situation to his readers, most of whom will never be caught up in this sort of horror.

I found it to be an engrossing read that I couldn't put down.  Even though it was difficult to read at times because of its gruesome depictions and its dark and often claustrophobic atmosphere, it's a story that needed telling.  Definitely recommended, but not for readers of light crime.

The Black Minutes, by Martín Solares

9780802170682
Black Cat (Grove/Atlantic), 2010
433 pp
translated by Aura Estrada and John Pluecker

The setting of this novel is Mexico, in the city of Paracuán, a fictional port town,where "everything good disappears right when it's about to arrive."  It is a town where graft, corruption, and violence are an every day reality, where justice is just another word rather than a true concept.   While the police there are busy investigating crimes, the politicians ensure that if the drug cartels are involved, the police direct their attention elsewhere, often leading to the arrest and sentencing of otherwise innocent people.  Journalists who question the system are about as welcome as the plague. 

It is one such journalist who is at the heart of this mystery.  Bernardo Blanco died during an investigation into a case of multiple homicides that had occurred twenty years earlier.  At that time, a number of young girls were killed by a man known only at the time as "The Jackal." The crimes were particularly gruesome, and Blanco, it seems, was on to the true identity of the man and was researching and writing a book.  When he is found murdered, the police chief puts Agent Ramón "Macetón" Cabrera on the case, "the only subordinate, who, in his opinion, could still be trusted." The chief's choice of lead investigators doesn't sit well with another police detective, Agent Chávez, and throughout the story, Cabrera finds himself in a precarious position both physically and politically for good reason: in Paracuán, between the power of the local drug cartel, the politicians in its pockets, the powerful business interests and the criminals whose crimes are often ignored, an honest cop is a rarity.  His questioning begins to produce some interesting leads, but just when he feels he's starting to get somewhere, he's pulled off the case.  It isn't long before Cabrera finds himself in a hospital after his car is deliberately rammed by a pickup -- it seems someone else doesn't want Cabrera on the case either.   As the novel progresses, Solares takes his readers back to the 20-year old Jackal case and its investigation by Detective Vicente Rangel, a former bar musician turned cop.  The story runs along two parallel courses, and eventually both plotlines are united. 

Yet while the book is definitely a novel of crime fiction on the noir side of a police procedural, it also takes several surreal turns.  There are several areas where Solares introduces what is in the minds of the characters via their subconscious, the only orderly respite they have from all of the disorder of the society in which they exist. For example, Rangel brings in a known criminologist, Dr. Quiroz Cuarón, called "The Mexican Sherlock Holmes" by Time Magazine. Cuarón is this close to solving the case, but is plagued by a strange man in black before he can give Rangel his answer.  He also carries antidotes to known poisons in his first aid kit, which comes in handy when he suspects a conspiracy against him. Then there's the story of the author B. Traven (most known for his The Treasure of the Sierra Madre), one of the most famous visitors to Paracuán, who describes in detail how he came to be there, straight out of his novel The Death Ship. And if that's not enough, there are constant references to UFOs and the UFO craze.  But the writing is not random -- at the novel's heart is a look at a corrupt system that Solares seems to pin not only on the influence of the drug cartels, but on the presidency of Luis Echeverria -- a leader well known for his link to the cartels, for corruption and graft, and especially for the brutality of his special forces.  The book truly is, as Junot Diaz notes in his little blurb, "Latin American fiction at its pulpy phantasmagorical finest," but in an outstanding sort of serious way.

Frankly, it's tough to believe that this is Solares' first novel, because it is so intense and so captivatingly well written.  The Black Minutes is a mix of crime fiction and literature; simultaneously, it's an indictment of the corruption and the lack of the chance for real justice in a country where the police seem to be powerless due to several factors, most notably politics and the power of the drug cartels. It also predicts an uncertain future for the lives of Mexican citizens and for the country in general.  The novel is dark, edgy and downright unputdownable, and if you're a reader of crime fiction who doesn't mind the occasional trip into the human psyche or into politics, I highly recommend it. If you don't read crime fiction for the writing but rather the crime, you might still like it... there are enough suspects, a desire to get to the truth of it all, and the why behind the crimes, all classic elements of mystery and crime writing. Personally speaking, however, the crime aspect began to take on more of a secondary role as I got to the end  of the book, and  I came to see it more as a vehicle through which Solares could examine this most distressing situation that currently exists in his country.  

fiction from Mexico