Summary: a surprising and compelling crime story to the backdrop of WW2 in the Pacific.

The gloriously lurid, pulp-fiction style cover of Five Decembers suggests it’s going to be one thing: American hard-boiled crime a la Mickey Spillane. There is an element of this: Detective Joe McGrady of the Honolulu Police gets a call to investigate a particularly sadistic double murder in November 1941.

McGrady, however, is something a bit different from your typical Shamus. An ex-Army officer, with a romantic streak, and a history of personal tragedy, who remains intellectually curious having taken the time to learn a bit of Mandarin and appreciate Asian culture in the course of his career. So, by the time we meet him sipping whiskey in a late night bar, it turns out he is markedly nicer than one might have expected on picking up this book. Indeed, most of the characters are a lot nicer than you might expect, generally treating each other with at least professional courtesy, if not genuine affection.

This is important as McGrady is among a small group of characters in the book whose fate the reader can actually care about as his protracted investigation, and personal travails, stretch across the wretched years of war.

The book takes more than one unexpected turn. Not the least of these is its echo of Slaughterhouse Five with a description of the murderous firebombing of Tokyo – something that one of its planners, future Defence Secretary Robert McNamara, even acknowledged was a war crime – and its chilling aftermath.

So, Five Decembers is a surprising novel: not only a fine procedural, but also a thoughtful rumination on the pity of war. It is all the more remarkable and satisfying as a result.