‘Body & Soul’ – US Publication

9781681778730

Today’s the day. Well, yes, in the United States the main focus is on the mid-term elections. And it’s been welcome, inspiring even, to read of the number of candidates from diverse backgrounds who are standing – black, Native American, bisexual and transgender included. But it’s also the day that Pegasus Books, my US publishers, have chosen to launch the 4th and final Frank Elder novel, Body & Soul. The omens are good; early reviews have been more than kind. Nothing now for me to do, the odd squawk on social media aside … what will be, will be. But those reviews …

A story of deep emotional truth, with good people seeking to restore lost things and regretting their memories. There’s enough tension in this book to please any lover of a good detective story and quality writing that will satisfy general fiction fans.
– LIBRARY JOURNAL [starred review]

 

Harvey writes with great power about the disappointments and tragedies of living, and he always digs deep into the emotional recesses of his characters – all of which makes the devastating ending of this remarkable novel all the more powerful.
– BOOKLIST [starred review]

 

Fans of John Harvey’s books are already familiar with his signature sharp dialogue construction and subtle character development. This novel is not an exception. A good read from a master a crime storytelling.
– MYSTERY TRIBUNE

 

Well-rounded, sympathetic characters have always been a hallmark of Harvey’s work, and he’s at his best here.
– Marilyn Stasio, NEW YORK TIMES BOOK REVIEW

 

Darkly atmospheric, intense, heart wrenching …
– PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

http://www.pegasusbooks.com/books/body-soul-9781681778730-hardcover

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“Body & Soul” Booklist Review

Body & Soul will be published by Pegasus in the United States in November, and here is the first US review, by Bill Ott in Booklist – a starred review, no less …

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Retired Nottingham copper Frank Elder, appearing here in the fourth and final episode of the series, is in many ways an even more melancholic, depressive hero than Harvey’s Charlie Resnick, star of his own classic series, which concluded in 2014 with the appropriately titled Darkness, Darkness. Like Resnick, Elder constantly carries the weight of his past cases and the pain of lives lost, but whereas Resnick manages to find some solace in small things, like listening to jazz, Elder—isolated in distant Cornwall—only walks the headlands and, if anything, grows more withdrawn and bitter as he marches. When his estranged daughter, Katherine, reenters Elder’s life, he immediately realizes she is in trouble. A relationship with an artist has gone very bad, and, when Elder sees the way the painter depicted Katherine in a series of paintings, his pent-up anger bursts to the fore. Soon the painter is murdered, and first Frank and then Katherine are suspects. Trouble lurks on other fronts, too, as Elder, whose life has been defined by his failure to protect his loved ones, struggles to muster his strength for one more attempt to save those who need saving. Harvey writes with great power about the disappointments and tragedies of living, and he always digs deep into the emotional recesses of his characters—all of which makes the devastating ending of this remarkable novel all the more powerful.

— Bill Ott

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CrimeMag on “Body & Soul”

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Alf Mayer’s review of Body & Soul appeared online in the June 2018 edition of CrimeMag.
Anyone wishing to read it in the original German, can do so here, otherwise you must contend with my faltering, but, I hope, basically accurate translation …

Here goes …

Often you sit there and all you can think is: Masterly!

On April 19, William Heinemann published John Harvey’s novel Body & Soul, the fourth and last book featuring former police detective Frank Elder. It is a swan song – in several ways. Harvey confirmed on his blog that this would be his last book. “Jump of your own accord,” he said, “before being pushed.”

Harvey will be 80 on December 21st of this year – something to be clearly stated and celebrated. In March, he made public that he is being treated for aggressive prostate cancer, and does not want to hide the fact that he receiving chemotherapy. “It’s important,” he wrote to me, “that you’re not ashamed of that. We need a different way of dealing with illness in our society, that is my clear opinion.”

Before Elder there was his detective Charlie Resnick, whom Harvey followed through twelve novels, one of which, Darkness, Darkness [Unter Tage, 2017], he adapted for the stage in Nottingham – see my CrimeMag interview from 2016.

Darkness, Darkness 1

 

Cover_Harvey_Unter Tage

Playhouse

But having set Elder aside, as he had thought for good, Harvey mentioned that he had a new idea for him which he wanted to develop in order to see what happened. And now that idea has become a farewell that has everything.

A hammer of a book!
Had John Harvey only written this one, we would remember him forever.
Jump before being pushed indeed!
Old and tattered but still full of juice.
Not a gram of fat too much.
Poetic and brutal.
An ending that freezes the blood.
Chords that reverberate for a long time. Like a masterly piece of jazz that will not be forgotten and which one knows on first encountering will always return.
Body & Soul.

John Harvey, like Elmore Leonard, began his career with Westerns. It’s been over 40 years now. He talked about it In his first column on CrimeMag. He was one of the “Piccadilly Cowboys”, with, amongst others, a series called Hart the Regulator, ten volumes published by Pan in paperback between 1980 and 1983. “In those days we wrote ‘em fast!” Hard, short, fast stuff. Pulp.

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But not only that. Not many crime writers, like him, have published three volumes of poetry. Not many people know and understand as much jazz and can write about it. [Recently here at CrimeMag: “Looking at Lester”] And not all of them have such slender-beautiful language. Pulp. Poetry. And jazz.

Ghosts

Whooosh, the brushes dabbed across the drum skin. Broiing, the deepest string on the double bass. And then the tenor saxophone. All this is Body & Soul. Harvey knows how to pluck strings, when to use which instrument. When and how the resonance chamber of his novel fills with strength-grief-pain-beauty-hardness-heart. Often you sit there and all you can think is: Masterly!

“Oh Frank, it’s just a song.”

Frank Elder is the dark side of Charlie Resnick. His somewhat short-tempered patience tears easily. After a police career in London, a demoralizing divorce and a fierce family tragedy, he has retreated to far-off Cornwall, where he occasionally helps the local police. When his alienated 23-year-old daughter Katherine comes to visit – “No questions, Daddy! Otherwise I’ll be gone,” – he has to control himself so as not to stare at the bandages on her wrists. Even more, not to ask. He goes to a pub with her, maybe there’s music there. What kind? Jazz, probably, he says. But you don’t even like jazz, says the daughter.

Frank Elder is not Charlie Resnick, sitting on a park bench at the end of Darkness, Darkness, pondering on Thelonious Monk and how well he can paint pictures on the piano. Instead, Harvey gives Elder a scene in which he walks away from a bar singer called Vicki, who has taken an interest in him, and who sings, as if just to him, the Billie Holiday version of the book’s title, Body & Soul.

My days have grown so lonely
For you I cry, for you dear only
Why haven’t you seen it
I’m all for you, body and soul …

I spend my days in longing 
I’m wondering why it’s me you’re wronging …

My life a hell you’re making
You know I’m yours for just the taking
I’d gladly surrender
Myself to you body and soul.

A piece about perseverance, about spurned love in defiance. Charlie Resnick would ponder whether the instrumental version by Coleman Hawkings of October 11th, 1939, or the later version by Ben Webster would be better. Elder leaves as Vicki sings the lyrics, goes down to the water, his hands and thoughts numb until Vicki comes and stands beside him. Here is the beautiful passage …

A blues next, then an up-tempo chase through, ‘What a Little Moonlight Can Do’, and then … 
 “This is a song I learned from a recording by Billie Holiday that she made way back in nineteen forty and which I first heard when I was eighteen or nineteen and I’ve been plucking up the courage to sing it ever since. So fingers crossed and here goes. ‘Body and Soul.’”
A few bars of sparse piano and the lyric … My days have grown so lonely … Nailing Elder from the first line, a threnody of helplessness, love and despair. Vicki’s voice by the final verse, the final chorus, beaten, defeated, little more than a whisper. Silence. And then the applause. Elder walked out in the night.
Walked towards the harbour, lights on the water.

Oh Frank, Vicki says to him, as she stands beside him and looks for his hand, it’s just a song, it does not have to be true love, at our age. When he puts an arm around her waist, he does not have to look at her to know she is smiling. Shall we go in your car, she says, or mine?

On another occasion, these two life-worn adults talk about how movies, books, and songs tell us about our own broken hearts, how they teach us what we should feel – Ernest fucking Hemingway, as Elder calls him, and all the others who have shaped our ideas of love and pain. And how, in the end, we are alone.

And all the more painfully, we experience through Harvey’s art a young woman being sacrificed again: Frank Elder’s daughter, kidnapped and tortured and raped at sixteen, barely escaping from death, saved by the father, though ultimately that was of little help; now she is twenty three and strangely ambivalent; sometimes seeking help yet dismissing closeness; rugged, leaping, vulnerable. And most importantly: just mute.

“That’s my daughter, you sick fuck!”

From Chapter 5, Harvey changes the narrative more often. We no longer follow only the ex-cop Frank Elder, but also his daughter, and then an increasing number of police officers, men and women, as the narrative strands increase, setting the heart racing. At first, the adrenaline rushes are isolated and controlled until, in Harvey’s hands, this tremendously taut book leaps alive like a wild animal. It is a long time since I have felt my heart beating as strongly when reading as here.

Frank’s daughter, Katherine, has been having an affair with a painter twice her age for whom she has been modelling and this has opened up old psychic wounds, throwing her off balance. Frank Elder travels from Cornwall, five and a half hours by train to London, wanting to be closer to Katherine. He visits an exhibition by this painter, Anthony Winter, and recognizes his daughter. Painted on large format canvasses. Exposed. Spread. Tied up. Like a prisoner. In front of one of these pictures his nausea rises as he stares at a thread of blood running from the young woman’s vagina.

“That’s my daughter, you sick fuck!” He roars, knocking down the painter. A few days later he is under suspicion of murder, the artist having been killed in his own studio. A father who sees his daughter naked like that in a painting – of course, he gets angry, says Elder at his interrogation. “It was the paintings. His. Winter’s. There on display. ”

Then there are new developments. Surveillance cameras show a female figure near the studio; it could be Elder’s daughter, suspicion weighs heavily upon her. The conflicts are piling up. But just half way through the book, when everything is already violent enough, once again there’s a strong drum roll. Adam Keach, the 30-year-old convicted murderer, kidnapper and rapist who previously assualted Katherine, has escaped in an accident involving his transport between prisons. And immediately he is on a mission. He wants to take revenge on Elder, who put him in prison seven years before, and he wants to grab his daughter again. Finish what he did with her then.

“No last minute rescue this time, Frank …”

So the past returns with lightning and thunder. The emotional mutilations of that time overlap with acute lines of conflict; Kate’s rude relationship with the despotic and now dead painter is but one of the unequal power relations in the book. Harvey, however, does not paint everything black and white, he varies his themes within the orchestration of his novel. There are other readings of unequal and uneven relationships, be it the ex-girlfriend of the murdered painter who has returned from Cyprus, be it Elder’s relationship with his own ex-wife or with former colleagues. In many shades the shadows and wounds of the past push into the present, reflecting the psychological costs of crime and the smaller malignancies that one experiences in everyday life. “How do you cope with this, how can you forget what this girl has experienced?” – “You cannot do it.”

In many variants, it is always about how to deal with life. Father-daughter relationships are questioned, and also how parents and children move away from each other. As the epigraph of the book, from Grahams Greene’s Our Man in Havana,  states “The separating years approached them both, like a station down the line, all gain for and all loss for him “.

Charlie Resnick had jazz for such moments of nothingness and Harvey offers this kind of music to Frank Elder as well, but in this dark universe it is only of limited help. “No last minute rescue this time, Frank …”

You sit with this book and, as you read, marvel at how John Harvey, master and commander of language that moves between the dust-dry of the everyday and poetic oscillation, achieves his means. There are ultra-tough police interrogations and word battles, the agonizing silence between parents and children, the professional talk of police officers surveying their cases; there is the world of galleries, models and the genius of artists; and there is the sophisticated and soulful police novel – manhunt, thriller. There are discreet and hard sounds. There’s a lot of lacuna. Poetry. There are landscapes, city and provincial. There are many inspiring miniatures. Art galleries, art house cinemas, old colleagues, an investigator who is half of a lesbian  couple: all of these disciplined and economically set in an exciting style.

Glancing at her again, Hadley was struck by an image, a flicker of memory, one of those films from the sixties she and Rachel luxuriated in once in a while – or had before Hadley’s promotion to detective chief inspector cut their leisure time by half. Glistening black-and-white, 35-millimeter prints at the BFI Southbank or the recently refurbished Regent Street cinema, a cocktail in the bar beforehand, supper afterwards. Rachel, a film buff since her university days. Bergman, Bresson, Godard, Kieslowski and Kaurismaki. And Alice, Hadley thought, was almost a dead ringer for Jean Seberg in “À Bout de Souffle” : the wide eyes, the dark eyebrows and off-blonde elfin-cut hair. Alice wearing black as usual, black jumper, black trousers, black shoes. Glancing now at the GPS, two more turns before drawing up outside the Wilton estate.

… Then the two investigators are with Katherine and the tone of the book changes. As it does quite often. Again and again. Like a breathtaking concert with John Harvey as the conductor, guiding our responses.

F&B 1

The Body & Soul UK hardcover also features the first few chapters of Flesh & Blood, John Harvey’s first Frank Elder novel, which is now back in paperback. One will want to re-read everything immediately after finishing this.

Alf Mayer

John Harvey: Body & Soul. William Heinemann, London 2018. 304 pages, GBP 14.99.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Body & Soul” Reviewed

B & S Front

The fourth and final Frank Elder novel, Body & Soul, was published in hardcover by Wm. Heinemann in April. The Arrow paperback will follow in January, 2019. The majority of reviews have been positive, crowned, perhaps, by Marcel Berlins choosing it as his Book of the Month in The Times. This is part of what he had to say …

“The whodunnit plot is searingly effective in describing a bruised father-daughter relationship. The depth and conviction of emotion is also a hallmark of Harvey’s 12 novels featuring DI Charlie Resnick, a jazz-loving detective in Nottingham with a difficult love life. Elder and Resnick are both greats of British crime fiction.”

Read more here …

Laura Wilson: The Guardian

“Written in an economical style, this is an expertly plotted and moving final act for an old-school investigator of the best sort, from a true master of the genre.”

Read more here …

Mark Sanderson : Evening Standard

“Body & Soul is a clever thriller … that will leave you stunned and staring at the last page in disbelief. … It makes a brutal end to a brilliant career.”

John Cleal : Crime Review

“Harvey’s strength, apart from the superb reportage combined with a trademark sparse, but measured, lyricism and poignancy which make him a true master of his craft, is that his stories highlight the seediness of crime through superb characterisation and a complete lack of glamour.”

Read more here …

Geoffrey Wansell : Daily Mail

“This is wonderfully atmospheric crime writing – a tribute to Harvey’s exceptional talent.”

Read more here …

David Prestidge : Fully Booked

“Body & Soul takes an unflinching look at how love in itself is sometimes not enough – or possibly too much”

Read more here …

Michael Carlson : Irresistible Targets

“Harvey is very good at the small nuances of people’s everyday behaviour; alonside the tension of suspense comes the equally telling tension of their lives.”

Read more here …

Woody Haut ’s Blog

“Harvey’s characters are believable, his locales evocative, and his humanity crystal clear”

Read more here …

Aruna : The Literary Shed

“Harvey’s beautifully pared back writing, tight plot and careful characterisation raise Body and Soul above the bar of what’s merely good crime fiction … His prose seems effortless, the prevailing feeling of the book one of perfectly pitched melancholy, accented by a soundtrack of eclectic, carefully referenced music. Cornwall and London, the main settings for the book, feature prominently; the author’s evocation of rural and urban landscapes both detailed and true.”

Read more here …

 

Problems of the Prostate & Other News …

As some of you will already know, towards the end of last year I was diagnosed with prostate cancer, for which I’m currently having treatment at University College Hospital, London. The cancer is quite aggressive [9 out of a possible 10 on the Gleason Scale], but has still not managed to breach the capsule of the prostate itself. Because of the position of the tumour, surgery is not an option, so I’m following a proven course involving on-going hormone treatment and chemotherapy, both of which have begun, with radiotherapy to follow later in the year. The care I’ve been receiving is excellent and I’m feeling very positive about the eventual outcome.

These kinds of treatments are exhausting though, and there are times, during the chemotherapy especially, when your blood count is low and you’re particularly liable to infection. [Chemo kills the good cells along with the bad!] With this in mind, I’ve decided to set aside the plans that were in place to mark the publication of Body & Soul in April, and kick up a bit of a shindig when the paperback appears, most probably early next year.

The book itself, however, the fourth in the Frank Elder series, will duly be published by William Heinemann on April 19th, and the first in the series, Flesh & Blood, has just been re-released as a fine-looking Arrow paperback.

B & S Front

F&B 1

Elsewhere, and even as I write this, producer David Hunter and his team of actors are ensconced in a BBC Radio Drama studio, doing their best to make sense of my final two scripts for the Inspector Chen series for BBC Radio 4, Enigma of China & Shanghai Redemption. No transmission dates as yet, but, be assured, I will pass them on as soon as available.

Chen 1

Chen 2

And finally, just when I was thinking it would never happen, BBC Radio 4 Extra are repeating the mammoth undertaking that was mine and Shelley Silas’ dramatisation of Paul Scott’s magnificent Raj Quartet. Starring the likes of Anna Maxwell Martin, Lia Williams and Benedict Cumberbatch before he was, well, Benedict Cumberbatch, the programmes were originally broadcast in 2005 and have not been heard since. Each is broadcast three times a day and then available for a month or so on the BBC Radio iPlayer.

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If you want to find out more about prostate cancer, this is an excellent place to go.

Elder Begins …

Frank Elder first saw the light of day – in print, that is – in a short story called “Due North”, which was first published in Crime in the City, edited by Martin Edwards (The Do Not Press, London, 2002) It was reprinted in The Best British Mysteries, edited by Maxim Jakubowski (Allison & Busby, London, 2003) and collected in A Darker Shade of Blue, (William Heinemann, London, 2010). It’s currently available in an Arrow paperback.

Darker

This is how it starts …

Elder hated this: the after-midnight call, the neighbours penned back behind hastily unravelled tape, the video camera’s almost silent whir; the way, as if reproachful, the uniformed officers failed to meet his eye; and this especially, the bilious taste that fouled his mouth as he stared down at the bed, the way the hands of both children rested near the cover’s edge, as if at peace, their fingers loosely curled.

Of course, there is no peace. Certainly not for Elder, even though by the end of the story that’s what, in desperation and despair, he’s seeking, leaving his wife, Joanne; his eleven year old daughter, Katherine [“eleven going on twenty-four”]; leaving Nottingham and travelling about as far west in the country as it is possible to go, the Penwith peninsula, deep into Cornwall on the road to Land’s End.

There, brief and unsatisfactory visits back to visit his family aside, he stays until in her teens Katherine seeks him out herself and another sad chapter of their story begins.

From his position atop the rough stone wall, Elder tracked the progress of the bus as it trailed around the road’s high curve, the rough-hewn moor above, the fertile bottom land below. Today the sky was shade on shade of blue, and palest where it curved to meet the sea, the horizon a havering trick of light on which the outline of a large boat, a tanker, seemed to have been stuck like an illustration from a child’s book. Elder knew there would be lobster boats, two or three, checking their catch close in against the cliff and out of sight from where he stood.

He watched as the bus stopped and Katherine got down, standing for a moment till the bus had pulled away, a solitary figure by the road’s edge and, at that distance, barely recognisable to the naked eye. Even so, he knew it was her; the turn of her head, the way she stood.

With a quick movement, Katherine hoisted her rucksack on to one shoulder, hitched it into position and crossed the road towards the top of the lane that would bring her, eventually, down to the cottage where Elder lived.

Dropping from the wall, he hurried across the field.

That’s from chapter two of Flesh & Blood, originally published by William Heinemann in 2004, and just reissued by Arrow Books in a paperback version designed to match the new and fourth Elder novel, Body & Soul, which has a similar beginning; only Katherine is now in her early twenties and sorely troubled, seeking something – solace? answers? – from her father that he finds it close to impossible to provide.

Flesh & Blood is published today, March 1st, and this month is available as a Kindle Monthly Deal at 99p. https://www.amazon.co.uk/Flesh-Blood-Frank-John-Harvey-ebook/dp/B004ZLS2WS/ref=sr_1_359?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1519892042&sr=1-359

Body & Soul is published by William Heinemann on April 19th.

F&B 1

B & S Front

 

 

 

Yes, I know what I said …

… no more novels after the last, Darkness, Darkness, the final book in the Resnick series that was published in 2014, and certainly nothing more involving retired police detective Frank Elder, who last saw the light of day way back in 2006 in Darkness and Light [bit of a theme going on there] but it seems as if Frank’s retirement is pretty much as water tight as mine, and I’m truly delighted to be able to say the manuscript of a new Elder novel, the fourth, has been delivered and happily accepted, the deal has been done and William Heinemann will publish the new Elder novel, Body & Soul, in April, 2018.

Scan

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Reading Week …

… well, more Reading Fortnight, to be accurate. It was intended to have much the same function as I guess it does during university terms: a chance to take a breather, stand back from ongoing work and take stock – and actually read a book or two.

I’d reached somewhere around the 40,000 word mark in the manuscript I’m working on, a first draft of the new Frank Elder novel, Body & Soul, and needed some space in which to step away from what I’d done and consider what was to come. A chance also for a few trusted others – my agent, my partner and our daughter – to read through the existing pages and tell me what they think. Plus point out some basic errors, such as the  incorrect spelling of ‘vicious’. My other trusted and much-respected reader is, of course, my publisher, but her opinion is SO important, I have to get things in better shape before passing them before her well-honed eagle eye.

So, given the time, what was I going to read? A visit to Nottingham’s Bromley House Library provided me with Sarah Baume’s A Line Made By Walking and Eimar McBride’s The Lesser Bohemians; Waterstones’ hip Tottenham Court Road branch was the source of Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders, Speedboat by Renata Adler and Lee Child’s Night School.

All of which I read [well, almost all] and some of which can be dealt with quite swiftly. Although I’d found the Joycean language of McBride’s first novel, the prize-winning A Girl Is A Half-formed Thing, difficult, its intensity lived with me in a positive yet disturbing way; by the time I’d reached page 77 of The Lesser Bohemians, however, I realised that I was finding the detailed accounts of her young drama student protagonist’s drinking, smoking and sex life of less interest than my recognition of the many north London street names that were frequently mentioned. Time to stop and move on.

I chose Saunder’s Lincoln in the Bardo, his first novel, because I’d enjoyed – and admired – many of his short stories so much. The first few pages of the novel are pretty good, too. After which it becomes simply irritating, any attempt at narrative flow being cast aside in favour of a succession of brief extracts from the presumably fictional works of memoirists and biographers, so that, in reading, you find yourself stepping awkwardly down page after page as if participating in some half-arsed attempt to show there is no such thing in fiction as one true point of view. Really? I never would have realised. Back to the short stories, George.

Heavens, you must be thinking, you must have enjoyed something?

Well, yes. And I didn’t think I was going to like A Line Made By Walking at all [even though I do like very much the piece of land art by Richard Long from which the title is taken] and had, in fact, borrowed it so that my partner could read it. I mean, the story, told in the first person, of a former history of art student who retreats to her late grandmother’s country cottage because she’s finding urban life too difficult – and then takes pictures of dead animals which are reproduced here and there in the text – Come on!

Reader, I loved it! Well, okay, liked it a great deal. Without having the same off-the-wall, up-yours humour, it kept reminding me of Claire Louise-Bennett’s Pond, which, as anyone familiar with this blog will know, was my favourite novel of the past twelve months or so. Another book about a young woman who chooses solitude and writes about it. That aside, I’m hard-pressed to say why I enjoyed A Line Made By Walking as much as I did. It’s something to do with the clarity of the prose, the direct description of experience; something to do with the slow unveiling of her feelings; a great deal, I imagine, to do with the fact that inside me there beats the slow but strong desire to follow in Baume’s protagonist’s footsteps and hie myself off to an otherwise empty cottage in the middle of nowhere [the Penwith Peninsula and the North York Moors come to mind] and do nothing much more than tramp around and generally indulge myself in a greater degree of self-absorbed thought than is usually the case. [isn’t that why writers become writers anyway?]

As if to prove I don’t only respond well to books that are clearly written, relatively straightforward and non-experimental, I also very much enjoyed Renata Adler’s Speedboat. [Not to mention, in the past, and more than once – or twice – the novels of Virginia Woolf, clear, direct and, in their day, experimental.]

Like the later Pitch Dark, Speedboat comes close to not being a novel at all [or, at least, a novel as E. M. Forster or Walter Allen would have understood it]. Ostensibly following the jagged progress of a journalist across the United States, it does so by way of a series of not always clearly connected observations and anecdotes that ricochet off one another. A mode of writing that might seem to be in danger of falling into the same trap which swallowed up Saunders in his stilted peregrinations around Lincoln. But the writing is too sharp for that, the observations too brilliant, too funny, too savage.

In his Afterword, Guy Trebay refers to the French art critic Nicolas Bourriaud, who said that the dominant cultural figure of our time is the deejay (DJ?), an suggestion Adler apparently responded to positively. “It is easy to miss the point,” Trebay says.”that Speedboat got there well before e-mails or Facebook or Twitter. … Speedboat is a book without suspense or anything like a distinct plot, a novel whose protagonist is one whose telephone conversations often sound like dialogue from Beckett … a book in which time and tense are unstable, event is compressed, morality subject to constant revision … ”

Adler herself said ” “I wanted to write the kind of book I like to read – which is narrative, thrillers, with plots, suspense, and dialogue, with characters and things going on, things which you wish to happen and things you do not. I found I didn’t seem to be doing that. I thought, ‘Well, now what do I do?'”

What she did, it seems to me, was to create a style more or less all her own, and, in Speedboat and Pitch Dark, two distinctive books that repay re-reading.

What she might have liked to have written, if her remarks are to be taken at face value, could well be something like the Jack Reacher novels of Lee Childs, of which Night School is the most recent and the twenty first. “I know I say this every year … ” Karin Slaughter is quoted on the cover … “But. Best. Reacher. Ever.” Her caps, not mine, and sadly, far from true.

I’ve read almost all the Reacher books and enjoyed them a great deal; you know what you’re going to get and what you get is pretty damn good. [For interest’s sake and since you’re bound to ask, my personal favourite is The Hard Way.] But Night School just doesn’t do it for me. Set mostly in Berlin in the mid-1990s, there’s a sub-LeCarre espionage plot that doesn’t quite convince and too many conflicting layers of US secret service and security from the West Wing on down than are usefully necessary. I appreciate the need Childs must feel to find new territories and different situations for his hero, but this takes Jack Reacher too far out of his comfort zone and somehow it doesn’t really work. Which won’t stop me reading number twenty two, the first chapters of which are conveniently packaged in the back of the paperback edition of Night School, and show Reacher back on more familiar ground.

Finally, since I’ve mentioned packaging, let me point to the New York Review Books editions of the two Adler novels, both featuring details from Helen Frankenthaler paintings. Beautiful, just beautiful.

S'boat

P Dark

New Beginnings …

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“Now it is necessary to get to the grindstone again.”
Ernest Hemingway, 1938

“So there is this pressure now, on every sentence, not just to say what it has to say, but to justify its claim upon our time.”
Renata Adler : Pitch Dark

Two quotations which were very much in mind at the end a week in which I began writing a new book for the first time since I set out on the road to Darkness, Darkness back in 2013. Not another Charlie Resnick, of course, but what, if things go as planned, will be the fourth of the Frank Elder series, tentatively titled Body & Soul. Where Frank is concerned, it’s been a while. The third, and last up until now, Darkness & Light, was written in 2005, published in 2006; Ash & Bone was published in 2005 and Flesh & Blood, which I began writing in London and finished in New Zealand, was published in 2004.

Up until recently, my standard answer to the question, would there be another Frank Elder book, has always been no, no way: the central element in the books, for me, had been the changing relationship between Elder and his daughter, Katherine, and by the end of Darkness & Light that seemed to have settled to some kind of conclusion, a compromise, at least. A trilogy, over and done. But nothing comes from nothing and, a little over a year ago, the germ of an idea struck me. Not exactly an idea, an image: one which suggested a retread of the scene at the beginning of chapter two of Flesh & Blood, in which Elder meets Katherine after she has travelled down to Cornwall to visit.

As I say, nothing comes from nothing. That image wouldn’t let me go. What was she doing there? How long has it been since, father and daughter, they have seen one another? Why has she come?

I have a notebook in front of me now [Yes, all right, I’ve fallen for all the hype and it’s a Moleskine] which has Body & Soul in ink on the wrap-around cover and on the first page, the title again, with, underneath it, towards the bottom of the page, Dec. 2015. On succeeding pages are the notes and ideas that occurred to me in the ensuing months, some just a few words long, some longer and numbered into what could be a sequence; others, more elaborate and connected by arrows, the beginnings of a structure; then there are lists of the possible names of characters; things I need to find out, people it would be useful to talk to, what I need to talk to them about. I had briskly re-read the other novels in the series a couple of weeks before starting, making brief notes and marking passages I thought I might need to refer to. The next step was to process all of this into a different form. Armed with a white board and coloured markers I made as close as I ever get to an outline, not linear, but circular, beginning by placing the central event around which the action will be focussed at the centre and arranging the principal characters and actions around it.

My other preparation has been to go through my usual palate cleansing exercise of reading Hemingway – the first section of A Farewell to Arms and a selection of the short stories – the Nick Adams stories and some of those set in Europe, “A Simple Enquiry” for instance, and “Che Ti Duce La Patria”. Why? See the Adler quote above.

At some point, the reading has to stop  …

Monday, January 30th, 2017. Somewhere around 9.00/9.30am, having been at my desk since 8.00, hovering uncertainly over the crucial first sentence, the first line, I settled on this …

The house was at the edge of the village, the last in a row of stubby stone-built cottages backing onto fields leading down to the sea.

Not much, perhaps, but it felt right, it was a start …

After that, things moved along with, for me near the beginning of a book, almost worrying speed. Just short of 700 words on the first day, close to 1,000 on the second and third, and then 1, 300 or so on the fourth. I don’t know how that compares to other people, but for me, these days especially, it’s pretty good going. But now it’s another Monday, and the beginning of chapter 4.

She had first seen him …

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