Book review: A Man Lies Dreaming by Lavie Tidhar

 Wow.

As Tidhar's novel opens it seems to be an alternative history. We are in London in November 1939, but Europe is not at war. In this timeline, the Communist part took power in Germany in the early 1930s leading to disruption and many refugees fleeing to Britain, where Oswald Mosley's British Union of Fascists appears on course to win the election fuelled by anti-immigrant, -communist and -Jewish rhetoric.

One of these refugees is a man calling himself Wolf, who is working as a low-rent private eye. He hates the whores who work in the alleys near his office/apartment, he hates the kindly old Jewish baker who rents him the room, he is constantly bitter about The Fall, as the collapse of Germany is referred to and, especially, about how close he himself came to power. In best noir style, events are instigated by the arrival of a beautiful (Jewish) heiress at Wolf's office.

The tale switches between Wolf's journal - where we get his observations and thoughts, often distasteful, sometimes humanising as he remembers the past events that shaped him - as well as the observations of someone who refers to himself as the Watcher, clearly a disturbed individual even before he takes action, some third person narration - and the reveal that the story of Wolf is being told inside the head of Shomer, a Jewish pulp fiction author as he endures the horrors of Auschwitz.

Tidhar masterfully weaves a fine noir detective story, made powerful by the frame and characters. The description of Wolf losing his temper and shouting and spitting in rage would be enough to tell us who he is, even were we not given other clues. In his investigations, he looks up his former associates - notably Goebbels and Hess, both having "sold out" - but we also see Ilse Koch, Klaus Barbie and Josef Kramer. Along with Mosley we meet his wife Diana and her sister, Unity, both fervent Nazis. Wolf bumps into Leni Riefenstahl, now an up-and-coming Hollywood actress (this giving us one of several surprisingly funny scenes, where Leni tells him she is filming a sequel to The Great Gatsby where Gatsby (played by Humphrey Bogart) had become a gun runner before retiring to run a bar in Tangier where she, playing Daisy Buchanan, finds him, before the scene ends with Leni, tearfully, saying "We'll always have Nuremberg, won't we, Wolf?")

Shomer, in his mind, puts Wolf through many humiliations and degradations but is unable to avoid giving his character humanity, for all the seething bigotry that drives Wolf's hatred and violence.

I don't tend to read fiction about the Holocaust; I know the details, I've read and seen much non-fiction, as well as the great Primo Levi and don't feel the need to descend into that place again, but in embedding the story in this way Lavie Tidhar casts light on those events, and on the experience the refugee and the foreigner and the other, as well as the perpetrators. (To be clear, I am not feeling in the slightest forgiving of or sympathetic to Hitler, or the others, but the character of Wolf in this novel goes through a journey that might just allow a measure of redemption). The rise of Mosley and the crowds that welcome him with anti-Semitic chants also draws a parallel with the return of the far right in our own time - although it was published in 2014, I couldn't help but see echoes of the events of Charlottesville in 2017 and those "very fine people on both sides".

A Man Lies Dreaming is a stunning novel that has left me shaken and moved, and will stay with me for a very long time indeed.

Book Review: Darkness, Take My Hand by Dennis Lehane

For me, Dennis Lehane is one of the top-tier thriller writers. This second instalment in his Kenzie & Gennaro series builds slowly, relying entirely on character and mood - built from the first-person observations of Boston PI Patrick Kenzie as he describes the crazily changeable weather of a Massachusetts autumn, violence in the news, and hints at the events of the past season that have left him untethered.



This prologue sets a dark, foreboding mood, before the story starts in classic detective story style with a friend calling to recommend a prospective client, and setting up the meeting, all set against the easy back and forth banter between Kenzie and his partner in investigation and friend since childhood, Angie Gennaro. Although we are a hundred pages in before the first crime occurs, the book is never less than gripping as Lehane builds the characters, their world and relationships and history. The investigation lead the pair into situations smouldering with the threats of sudden and fatal violence. Once the first body turns up, the author begins the steadily crank the already building tension, and this doesn't let up for the rest of the book.




This first body seems separate to the pair's investigation but, of course, it is no spoiler to say that everything is connected, or ( if you've read the cover blurb, or the signs in the writing ) that this is a serial killer book. And, fair warning, steer clear if you don't like graphic violence. I'd forgotten how disturbing Lehane can get in his writing, but the most uncomfortable scenes are not those of actual violence but those where some of the worst characters in the book talk. One conversation in particular, with Kevin Hurlihy - a contemporary of the leads who is now a mob enforcer - still stains my thoughts.




Kenzie seems to surround himself with damaged, dangerous people - as well as Kevin, the mobsters, and the killers he investigates, there is Bubba, another childhood friend of himself and Gennaro who is a "good guy" only inasmuch as he deeply loves them both and will do anythings for them - however, Kenzie points out that the two are literally the only things in the universe he cares about and anything, or any body, else is utterly disposable.




The serial killer story has shades of The Silence of the Lambs ( and, Darkness was published in 1996, probably a deliberate nod to it ), but a huge difference with many other serial killer books is not only a complete refusal to lionise the killers - they are not geniuses, they are not extraordinary, they are not even inhuman ( they are, as he point out, very human even though they are the worst of us; they are Auschwitz and Belsen and Bosnia ) - they are, to quote Michael Marshall at the end of a page-long rant on this very subject "just fucking monsters that destroy" - but Lehane is a master at showing the effects: the utter devastation of loss and violence and cruelty visited upon the innocent without logic or reason or cause. The effects of just moving in that world, with Patrick Kenzie as the prime example.




Darkness, Take My Hand is not a flawless book; there are some moments when hints are dropped a little heavily, others where equally weighty red herrings proffered, and a couple of character moments that raise eyebrows but this can easily be forgiven in this superbly written, completely gripping, and hugely effective and affecting thriller.




I'll definitely be continuing with the series however, as I think I may have said after reading A Drink Before the War, I feel I will have to walk around in the sunlight for some time before I feel strong enough to re-enter the Boston of Patrick Kenzie and Angela Gennaro.

Book review: A Murder of Quality by John le Carre: Smiley goes Sherlock

This is an odd entry in the works of le Carre, chronicling the later life of George Smiley. Following the events of Call for the Dead Smiley, no longer with the service, is living a quiet life in London. He is contacted by an old colleague about the a letter she has received from the wife of one of the masters at a venerable Public School (that is, a very old, expensive and exclusive private school) in Dorset, in which she states the fear that her husband is intending to kill her. Smiley calls another master there, the brother of one of his late friends, to find that this woman has indeed been murdered, so travels down to hand the letter over to local detectives and becomes embroiled in the investigation.



So, this is George Smiley as a free agent, outside the Circus. It seems that le Carre may have been toying with setting his character up as a detective - more Father Brown than Sherlock Holmes, although there is something Holmesian in the way the plot unfolds, with Smiley's vast, if ponderous, intellect processing all the details and building a picture nobody else can see. There is also something of Agatha Christie about the layers of upper-class English manners and class distinctions, in this book those stratifications are precisely the point rather than being, as with Christie, simply the medium on which the puzzle of the plot is hung.



It is clear from early on that this is a blistering attack on the British class system and the snobbish, restrictive forms, rules and structures that protect those at the top - something the author confirms in both the original afterword and a new one, added to this edition in 2010.



In this, le Carre also acknowledges the book's shortcomings as a thriller (although, by modern terms, I would not class it as a thriller at all, but a mystery) and this is indeed true, perhaps largely as it comes between his excellent debut and The Spy Who Came In from the Cold, which may be the finest spy thriller ever written. The novel is very old-fashioned, some of the supporting cast are fairly flat sketches, and some of the attitudes - especially those toward women - are very much of their time (although that balanced against some very progressive notions) but he already shows his eye for detail and ability to infuse a scene with colour and meaning (even if most of colours are the shades of grey of post-war Britain) and, despite the flaws, this gripped me enough to read in three sittings.



Now, I am very much looking forward re-reading The Spy Who Came In from the Cold.