When Things Go Bad (Saramago, The Live Of Things, 2012)

 Jose Saramago. The Lives of Things (2012) Saramago is a Nobel Prize winner. I have mixed feelings about the Nobel Prize for Literature. By its very nature it tends to reward translatable literature,  which usually means literature that’s heavy on theme and thesis and light on language and style.

Saramago wrote during the Salazar dictatorship in Portugal. His stories are fantasies; their ambiance and tone is claustrophobic, stifling. There’s a sense of a fate that can be neither evaded nor comprehended, only endured. The “things” are both actual objects that turn on their owners, and people that have become objects, lacking the autonomy that would make them free agents..

An oddly unengaging read for the most part. I don’t know if that’s the effect of translation. I suspect that in Portuguese there are allusions, puns, verbal effects etc that add nuance, scope, and satirical point, but which would be difficult to render in English. But another book that drew me in despite its flaws, which testifies to the power of theme. ***

Esther's Gift (Karon, 2002)

 Jan Karon. Esther’s Gift. (2002) A “gift book”, really a Christmas greeting card in hard covers. Esther has decided to forgo her annual gift of orange marmalade cakes. But when she muses about the recipients, she changes her mind.

Good for Jan Karon fans, a bit sticky-sweet for everybody else I think. Recipe included. **

Barrel Fever (Sedaris, 1994)

  David Sedaris.  Barrel Fever. (1994) A very mixed bag. In some of the stories, Sedaris comes across as the little boy that tries to shock his elders. But the elders are not shocked. Merely irritated by having a good story spoiled by affected naughtiness. Or if in a more kindly mood, perhaps amused that Sedaris feels that naughtiness is necessary to make his stories worth reading.

Many of the stories read like fictionalised memoirs. Staying true to background reality makes them involving in a personal way; Sedaris comes across as someone with a deep and charitable interest in his fellow human beings, but also with a sardonic awareness of their (our) self-delusions, and of the ways in which they (we) strive to keep our amour propre intact. That justifies the cover blurb describing him as “shrewd, wickedly funny...” despite its exaggeration.

His essays are better, I think. He is both outsider and insider, which adds flavour and spice to his observations about what are after all fairly ordinary slices of a fairly ordinary life. His ability to see what’s odd about the ordinary makes his writing both funny and valuable. It also reassures us that our own fairly ordinary lives are worth living after all. *** 

Fatal Remedies (Leon, 1999)

  Donna Leon. Fatal Remedies. (1999) Guido Brunetti’s wife Paola smashes the window of a travel agency said to sell sex-tours to more complaisant countries than Italy. Brunetti suppresses the report of the crime, but cannot of course escape its consequences. Oddly, the agency’s owner wants to compromise: if Paola apologises and pays for the window repairs, he will not press charges. A serious robbery takes Brunetti’s attention away from his wife’s legal problems. A witness to the robbery promises to give a deposition, but before he does so, his wife falls down the stairs in their apartment block. And so Brunetti embarks on another investigation of interlocking cases. The travel agency is a key element. Neither  Guido nor Paola fully achieve their goals, but they have tried. That's all they can do.

Leon shows us how the police proceed step by step to the solution, and how the their erratic work schedule and the revelations of human weaknesses and evil affect their personal lives. Politics and the endemic casual corruption  interfere with the investigation. Paola understands that their family is not insulated from these effects. But Paola and Guido consider each other as equals. It’s not a friction-free relationship, but it works.

I think Leon is one of the best crime-fiction writers of our time. ****

Kinsey And Me (Grafton, 2013)

Sue Grafton. Kinsey and Me. (2013) A re-read. I enjoyed the stories perhaps more this time, since I knew them well enough to suss the solution, and so could enjoy watching Grafton drop the clues and lead up to the final twist.

The second half of the book is tough reading. It’s  a series of short stories and sketches that amount to a (fictionalised) memoir of Grafton’s mother (“Vanessa”) and her relationship with her daughter (“Kit”). They inflicted pain on each other, unintentionally, but effectively. Each needed the love of the other, each tried and failed to do it well. Vanessa’s alcoholism barred the path to the easy companionship they both wanted. Grafton herself says she “learned the secrets of the human heart” from her mother. One secret is that we fear we do not deserve each other’s love. But love is not about deserving.

Recommended. ** to ****

Poetic Justice: R is For Ricochet (Grafton 2004)

Sue Grafton. R Is For Ricochet. (2004) Nord Lafferty, rich and used to getting his way, hires Kinsey to look after his daughter Reba when she’s paroled. At first, Reba is apparently willing to live a reformed life. She had been convicted of embezzlement. The money was never recovered, which makes her a target not only of the law, but of her old associates. It takes her a while to realise she’s been played, whereupon she engineers a suitable retribution. Miscellaneous mayhem and murder, betrayals, and deceptions that even Kinsey believes for a while, and assorted misinterpretations and shenanigans make for a well done puzzle and ultimately a kind of justice, albeit not legality. Reba is a criminal, and pays for her crimes, but she’s also Nemesis for the crooks that betrayed her. Grafton disapproves of crime, but disapproves of injustice even more.

Recommended. ****

The Ferguson Affair (MacDonald, 1960)

 Ross Macdonald. The Ferguson Affair (1960) Lawyer Bill Gunnarson believes his client Ella Barker is innocent. An unlikely P.I., he starts digging, and turns up the usual corruption, ancient secrets, double crossings, dysfunctional families, and impossible dreams that characterise MacDonald’s world. The McGuffin is a stolen diamond, which his client received as a gift. The police believe otherwise, and charge her with theft.  Murders ensue.

Published in 1960, but it reads like an early novel. There aren’t many of the edgy metaphors that make the Lew Archer novels such a pleasure to read. But MacDonald as always raises uncomfortable questions about the difference between legality and justice, and about the desperation of people trapped in situations where the only options are bad ones. The line between perpetrator and victim is sometimes blurred.

Still, I enjoyed the book. Gunnarson’s willingness to risk reputation and life in his quest for truth and justice makes him another knight in rusty armour. Recommended ***