onsdag 31 maj 2017

Hercule returns, but did he need to?

We're back to the theme of character-pinching. Sophie Hannah - an acclaimed crime writer in her own right - has to this date penned two new Hercule Poirot mysteries, with the approval of the Christie estate. I'm ashamed to admit I have no idea who the Christie estate are, but they needn't feel they've sold out: Hannah's crime stories are high-quality page turners and suitably whodunnity. I was left wondering, though, if the link to Agatha Christie and specifically Poirot was strictly necessary. One thing is clear: if these books - The Monogram Murders and Closed Casket - hadn't been marketed as Poirot mysteries, I probably wouldn't have read them. Hannah's other novels appear to belong to a scarier crime tradition - the psychological thriller - than Christie, and I would not have thought of looking for old-style whodunnits among her work.

Something of a psychological thriller feel does seep into these new Poirot novels, but not so much as to keep one awake at night. They're not quite classic Christie crimes, being more focused on making the crime or crimes themselves bewildering conundrums. In the first book, the detectives have to figure out how the murders could have been committed at all; in the second, the big poser is who would kill a dying man. I must admit I found the solution to the murders, with regard to motive especially, less satisfying than in Christie. Christie is often underestimated when it comes to characterisation: her characters have a believability which makes the reader swallow one surprising reveal after the other without feeling hoodwinked (there are exceptions: I do think the solution of Sparkling Cyanide was a cheat both psychologically and regarding how the murder was done). In Hannah's Poirot novels, the murder motives are a little strange and twisted. Christie's murderers have a moral blindness in common, and the motive is often something prosaic like downright greed, but the murders tend to make sense in their callous way: there's seldom anything weird about them. Though there are exceptions here as well. You can say that Hannah's mysteries have more in common with A Tragedy in Three Acts than, for instance, Five Little Pigs. However much or little they resemble Christie, they're certainly a good read.

What of Hercule, then? Hannah's treatment of the iconic Poirot is pleasingly subtle. The egg-shaped head, green eyes, little grey cells and French-isms are given an airing (yes, I know, Poirot is Belgian, but he speaks French) but take a back seat compared to his detective skills. As in Christie, when it comes to explaining the crime at the end, Poirot is suddenly capable of flawless English. His deductions are convincingly brilliant. But as his mannerisms don't play much of a part anyway, I was left wondering why these particular crimes had to be solved by this particular detective.

The question why Poirot is really needed is highlighted by the fact that the sidekick Hannah has invented for him - Scotland Yard Inspector Edward Catchpool - is both likeable and competent. Christie herself favoured the idea of a decicedly dense sidekick for her detective, based on her rather ungenerous interpretation of Watson in the Sherlock Holmes stories. Hence poor Hastings, who is never allowed to be right about anything. I prefer Hannah's approach here. It's easier to identify with a character who isn't supposed to be a complete dunce, and as the narrator of the novels Catchpool becomes the reader's point of reference. He is a little Eeyoreish - the fact that he is firmly in the closet, which is why a well-intentioned attempt on Poirot's part to fix him up with a girl falls flat, doesn't exactly help in that regard. But the hang-dogginess suits him, and you trust his psychological insight and common sense (for the most part, anyway).

Why, then, couldn't Catchpool solve these crimes singlehandedly? Why bring Poirot into the story at all? I would say that if Poirot adds anything, it's that little extra dose of brilliance. Catchpool is intelligent, but a bit of a plodder, maybe because he doesn't have the self-confidence to trust his grey matter the way Poirot does. Then, as I've mentioned, the presence of Poirot labels the mysteries as the kind of crime novels a Christie fan will like, and that is admittedly helpful. I like Hannah's understated Poirot, and if she writes any more Poirot-Catchpool mysteries I will certainly read them. If, in time, she lets Catchpool solve a crime all by himself, I'll read that novel too.                    

torsdag 18 maj 2017

A novel about a touching friendship. Oh, and some schoolgirls

Even though I cheated and read the novel in Swedish - a Swedish paperback was available for borrowing - I'm still a bit chuffed that I managed to make my way through all 500-plus pages of Tana French's The Secret Place in comparatively short time. It was, admittedly, not that difficult a read. The setting itself lends glamour - St Kilda's, a high-class Irish boarding school for girls.

As many Swedish book bloggers have testified, crime stories (or any stories, really) set in a school or university environment have a charm of their own which is hard to describe. (Swedish-speakers may want to check out this "If you liked The Secret History you'll love..." list, for instance.) Though some books in this genre are steeped in academe, others are decidedly not, and the school/university setting merely serves as a backdrop. Yet, it adds instant atmosphere. I'm slightly puzzled about my own fondness for academy yarns: yes, I can see the appeal of university, but school? It's not as if I'd ever want to go back to my own school days. A crucial aspect of these mostly-crime-novels, though, is that the school or university in question is always tradition-heavy and upmarket: not to put too fine a point on it, posh. So we get seemingly idyllic, leafy surroundings while being sternly told that these surroundings hide all kinds of sinister goings-on. It's a classic having-your-cake-and-eating-it scenario: while we are to draw the conclusion that we shouldn't judge an institution by its pretty façade, we wouldn't really want to do without the pretty façade in question in the story being told.

The Secret Place goes easy on the academe: The Likeness, also by French, was closer to The Secret History formula than this tale of moderately study-motivated teenagers. Still, there are points in common between The Likeness and The Secret Place, especially the theme of a close-knit group of friends where a threat to or perceived betrayal of the friendship eventually triggers a murder. This time, it's four girls in their early teens who share an especially intense bond. A year after a teenage boy, who was rumoured to be interested in one of the girls, was killed on St Kilda's premises, another member of the gang - the self-possessed Holly - brings a photo she has found on the school notice board where the pupils are encouraged to unload their secrets to the police. The photo shows the murdered boy and bears the inscription "I know who killed him". There are two separate mysteries, then: who killed the boy, Chris Harper, and who put the photo on the notice board? Holly's set, as well as a rivalling gang of girls led by the school bitch, are in the frame.

Though the schoolgirls are well-described, I found myself, surprisingly, more caught up in another plot thread: that of the two coppers on the case. Holly makes contact with a policeman working in the Cold Cases unit with whom she's had dealings before when she was a child witness: the unapologetically social-climbing Stephen Moran. Stephen brings the new evidence to the inspector in charge of the Chris Harper case, Antoinette Conway (who is only ever called Conway), hoping this will be his way to get a foot in the door of the Murder Squad. Conway lets him work on the case as second-in-command on sufferance, on the clear understanding that one misstep will land him right back to Cold Cases. First, I wanted Stephen not to let Conway down so he could continue working on the case (as one of the teenage protagonists might phrase it: well, duh). Then I wanted him not to let her down, full stop. In spite of reluctance from both sides, a rapport grows between them - Stephen, who's dreamt of a classy, cultured male working partner who could help him forget his own social insecurities, is surprised at how well he gels with a chippy female inspector from a similar modest background. Stephen is the narrator of half of the story - the other half, describing what really happened the months leading up to Chris Harper's death, is sandwiched in in alternating chapters - and I found myself looking forward to the cop bits, and hoping that Stephen's ambition wouldn't lead him astray and tempt him to leave what is obviously his ideal work mate in the lurch. I suspect that we're not necessarily supposed to want the cops to uncover the murderer, seeing as the culprit is most likely a mere girl who was only fifteen at the time of the killing. Well, tough. I was all in favour of Stephen and Conway getting their chit; careers and a potentially beautiful friendship are at stake here.

It's not as if the schoolgirl part is uninteresting, and I for one was convinced by the girls' teenage mind set. If I ever brave another Tana French novel, however, it will probably be in hope of seeing more of the Conway-Moran duo.

torsdag 11 maj 2017

Eurovision: Ballads, ballads everywhere, and scarcely a tune to hum

Here we go, then. I confess I haven't really been able to fire up my usual interest in Eurovision - neither the Swedish heats nor the European competition - this time around. I hope that it's a passing thing and not a sign I'm getting too old to enjoy what used to be a sure-fire mood lifter for the winter and spring months, when there's usually precious little else happening on the TV front. Perhaps one reason for my comparative lack of interest is the songs themselves: there are few really bad ones, but on the other hand there are few that really make an impression. Swedish TV scrapped its traditional panel programme reviewing of the Eurovision songs this year, which meant I had to catch up on them on Youtube. I started out optimistically, but after about the tenth competent but unmemorable power ballad I began to feel bored. Call me old-fashioned, but a good pop tune in my view really should have a hummable chorus. I still know the tune of the chorus of "Rise Like a Phoenix", which goes to show there was more to Conchita than that beard.

Still, I've managed to find a few contenders I quite liked the sound of. Caveat one: some of these I have not heard live yet, and they may sound better on video. Caveat two: 42 songs are a lot: I may have missed some really obvious star number in the power ballad flood.

United Kingdom: Maybe it's because this was the first Eurovision song I heard (excepting the serviceable but bland Swedish one), maybe it's my britophilia, maybe it's the just-about-applicable-to-villain-situation message ("I'll never give up on you" - attagirl). Anyway, I believe this is my favourite among the ballads. I know it's too late to ease diplomatic relations by giving the UK points - unlike last year - and the bewildering half-rhymes would be more understandable from a country where English is not the first language. Nevertheless, this is a good tune. Let's cut the limeys some slack this year.

The Netherlands: Speaking of pep talks, here are three babes in the wood (enchanted?) singing a tremendously supportive song. If the girls manage to sing in harmony as well live as they do on video (update: they did) this should be worth listening to.

France: Gosh, it's a beautiful language, isn't it? I can forgive a little English in the chorus. Moreover, the video was shot in Paris, and made me dance around a bit. Much depends on how well the singer does live, but if she delivers, this is a sweet swinger of a song.

Cyprus: Finally, a hummable chorus! The song is written by a Swedish Eurovision pro, and it shows. The number may not be as polished as Russian Sergey's "You're the Only One" last year, which was in the same genre, but it will serve.

Switzerland and Estonia are two maybes: in Switzerland's case, though I did get tired of the number before the video was through, it was professionally done and sung, plus I was intrigued as to where Apollo - the name of the song - fitted into the whole thing. Ever since I got Apollo (Apollon?) as the Greek god I most resembled on a Facebook test, I've had a particular sympathy for the Olympos straight guy. Not everyone can be Hermes-like and mischievous. In Estonia's case, we get a duet - which makes for a nice change - a classic Eurovision sound and references, albeit somewhat confusing, to Romeo and Juliet. But again, the song outstays its welcome somewhat.

So there we are: not that bad, when you come to think of it. I have no idea who could win this year, and it may very well be none of the above. The boy from Australia (yes, they're back) is a real looker and sings well, but let's be honest: the song is a snooze. Then again, I didn't see last year's winner coming, either.