"A Sea of Troubles," by Donna Leon. I have reservations about almost every Leon book. Her interest in the actual crime sometimes seems minimal. The murder sometimes seems like a mere coat rack; Leon has it there, but she is more interested in various colorful "coats"--digressions about food, or about office politics--that she can hang on it.
That's true in "A Sea of Troubles," and, as is often the case, I can't quite follow all the thinly-sketched men who may be involved, or not involved, in the central conspiracy. But I enjoy Guido at the dinner table with his family, weathering interruptions, sometimes failing to model the behavior he wants to see from his own children. And I like the subtext: Leon, more than many writers, understands that the thing a character says is not quite the thing a character means. Over and over, you sense a murky layer underneath the thing you're actually reading about--and that murky layer is pretty consistently fascinating. Still, I do wish the crime bits were slightly more engaging.
"Iphigenia in Forest Hills," by Janet Malcolm. This is a non-fiction book I reread almost every year. It concerns a court case in Queens. A woman pretty clearly hired a contract killer to murder her estranged husband.
What's extraordinary is Janet Malcolm's attention to the act of storytelling. She knows when various players in the tragedy are choosing to overlook important facts. This is something that *always* happens. Malcolm tells the stories that various players offer, but then, quietly, she pokes holes in *every single story* ....A shadow-story begins to take shape: Malcolm forces us to empathize with the murderer, to find fault with a bizarrely-well-loved judge, and to reinterpret at least one crucial courtroom exchange that everyone else accepts "at face value." Whether or not you care very much about our legal system, you might want to find "Iphigenia" just to see the spectacle of an exceptional mind at work.
"Sleep No More," by PD James. Marilyn Stasio elevates PD James above basically all other writers because of her gifts for plotting. In other words, the bare-bones structure of her writing is consistently stunning. The swerves happen fast--and you end up going in directions you hadn't anticipated. Over and over again.
I like James for her use of dramatic irony. That's when we know something the character doesn't know. For example, a child comes upon a yo-yo and believes it's a treasured sentimental object from an ancestor (when, in fact, it's an important "token" from a brutal, shocking murder). Or: The protagonist in a story thinks he is a predator stalking a "victim," when in fact he himself is "the victim" (the titular "Victim" of the story). If we're reading carefully, we sense pretty quickly that the narrator is out of his league, and we wait and wait for him to discover that in fact he isn't the mastermind he believes himself to be.
That sensation is fun and pleasurable--and it also underlines James's understanding of the world's weirdness. We sometimes think we are in control--and we're very rarely correct. James reminds us of this. A nice, smart treat.
That's true in "A Sea of Troubles," and, as is often the case, I can't quite follow all the thinly-sketched men who may be involved, or not involved, in the central conspiracy. But I enjoy Guido at the dinner table with his family, weathering interruptions, sometimes failing to model the behavior he wants to see from his own children. And I like the subtext: Leon, more than many writers, understands that the thing a character says is not quite the thing a character means. Over and over, you sense a murky layer underneath the thing you're actually reading about--and that murky layer is pretty consistently fascinating. Still, I do wish the crime bits were slightly more engaging.
"Iphigenia in Forest Hills," by Janet Malcolm. This is a non-fiction book I reread almost every year. It concerns a court case in Queens. A woman pretty clearly hired a contract killer to murder her estranged husband.
What's extraordinary is Janet Malcolm's attention to the act of storytelling. She knows when various players in the tragedy are choosing to overlook important facts. This is something that *always* happens. Malcolm tells the stories that various players offer, but then, quietly, she pokes holes in *every single story* ....A shadow-story begins to take shape: Malcolm forces us to empathize with the murderer, to find fault with a bizarrely-well-loved judge, and to reinterpret at least one crucial courtroom exchange that everyone else accepts "at face value." Whether or not you care very much about our legal system, you might want to find "Iphigenia" just to see the spectacle of an exceptional mind at work.
"Sleep No More," by PD James. Marilyn Stasio elevates PD James above basically all other writers because of her gifts for plotting. In other words, the bare-bones structure of her writing is consistently stunning. The swerves happen fast--and you end up going in directions you hadn't anticipated. Over and over again.
I like James for her use of dramatic irony. That's when we know something the character doesn't know. For example, a child comes upon a yo-yo and believes it's a treasured sentimental object from an ancestor (when, in fact, it's an important "token" from a brutal, shocking murder). Or: The protagonist in a story thinks he is a predator stalking a "victim," when in fact he himself is "the victim" (the titular "Victim" of the story). If we're reading carefully, we sense pretty quickly that the narrator is out of his league, and we wait and wait for him to discover that in fact he isn't the mastermind he believes himself to be.
That sensation is fun and pleasurable--and it also underlines James's understanding of the world's weirdness. We sometimes think we are in control--and we're very rarely correct. James reminds us of this. A nice, smart treat.
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