Sixkill, by Robert B Parker

IMG_0424 Ah Spenser! We have been too long apart!

This time he is corralled by his police captain buddy, Martin Quirk, to investigate a suspected rape-murder by a Hollywood actor, Jumbo Wilson. Quirk is worried that Jumbo is being unfairly railroaded for the killing, and constrained by police politics from investigating more properly he asks Spenser to have a look. In spite of the fact that Jumbo is an A-list arsehole, Quirk baulks at the thought to imprisoning an innocent man.

Okay! So the premise for this Spenser story is a mite implausible. But that is not why you pick up a Spenser novel. No: Spenser is one of that long tradition of gumshoes who owe more to La Morte d’Arthur than Serpico. He is an honourable man of violence fighting for justice in spite of the cost even though no one else particularly cares. And the ensuing events prompted by Spenser’s investigation provide a violently entertaining excursion through a nexus of Hollywood and criminal underworlds.

In this novel Hawk is off in Central Asia for no apparent reason (I presume his own series?) so Spenser picks up another side kick, Zebulon Sixkill of the title (“Call me Z!”), a young Cree at rock bottom in his life but looking to be better. The warmth of the ensuing friendship and their humorous philosophising are a particular pleasure: when warning about the risks associated with a confrontation with a notably homicidal gangster Spenser tells Sixkill “he may bring others.”

“So did Custer”.

Sixkill is another great chapter in the Spenser pantheon, one of the most addictive detective series I have ever come across.

Midnight’s Furies: The Deadly Legacy of India’s Partition, by Nisid Hajari

IMG_0420Famously the Indian sub-continent freed itself from British rule through a non-violent struggle led by Gandhi. However rather than this being a great triumph for passive resistance, the efforts by Congress, the Muslim League, and the Sikh leadership to carve up the spoils more than made up for it in terms of bloodshed: the Partition of India saw one of the most horrendous blood baths of the 20th Century, and the largest forced migration in human history. Sometimes these two things coincided with trains of refugees pulling into their destination stations dripping with the blood of the women, children and men passengers who had been hacked to death in ambushes.

In Midnight’s Furies, Nishid Hajari details how the political calculations, petty jealousies, posturings, misjudgements and misunderstandings of the sub-continent’s political leaderships, in particular Jinnah and Nehru, led to the sectarian carnage that engulfed the creation of the modern states of India and Pakistan.

Nehru

Nehru

Hajari provides a much less sympathetic portrait of Nehru than Alex Von Tunzelman’s fine account of the same period, Indian Summer. For Hajari, Nehru failed in his responsibility as a statesman of obtaining some sort of rapprochement with Jinnah and the Muslim League, and hence undermined his vision of a secular India for all Indians. Hajari also portrays Nehru, at least in the early days of his premiership, as a man in office but not in control. His dream of a secular India uniting Hindu, Muslim and Sikh under a common citizenship bloodily undermined by the extraordinary violence of the period, which his administration seemed powerless to prevent.

Doubtless some of this was spontaneous communal violence drawing on obscure but profound local animosities and feuds. But much of it was not. Each community produced paramilitary forces, many of them highly professional as a result of the large numbers of former soldiers in their midst. These set to the butchery of their neighbours with a relish and ruthlessness that would not have been out of place in the Bloodlands of Eastern Europe a few years earlier.

This killing was frequently facilitated by the failures of Indian and Pakistani police and military to properly intervene to uphold the law. Sometimes the police and army stood idly by. Sometimes they became active participants in the slaughter.

In this regard they were echoing the equivocal leaderships of the two states: Jinnah appears to have missed the logical contradiction of wanting a secular republic for Muslims only. In India Hindus and Sikhs seemed to take their lead less from Nehru and more from Sadar Patel, the States minister in the Indian Union government. Patel regarded the ethnic cleansing of the Muslim population as a good thing, purging the state of potential fifth columnists. He also regarded the neo-fascist RSSS with considerable warmth despite their butchery of tens of thousands ordinary Indians.

Patel

Patel

With such equivocal leadership at the heart of government it is unsurprising that so many police and troops turned a blind eye to the atrocities. To his credit, when able to do little else, Nehru time and again sought out and faced down Hindu murder squads, striving to personally halt the killing which so much of his own administration was acquiescing in. Order only finally began to be restored by the intervention of Nepalese Gurkha and Southern Indian troops, who were less given to the sectarian passions of the northerners. The assassination of Gandhi by a right wing Hindu also caused some pause to the likes of Patel and the rest of the nation who perhaps only then began to glimpse the lunacy that their sectarianism was bringing.

Hajari is particularly interested in the origins of Pakistan’s current disfunction and sponsorship of terrorism, something which he shows very well. However the book also casts significant light on the current disfunctionalities of the Indian state.

Shortly before the victory for Prime Minister Modi’s BJP in the Indian general election I spoke to an Indian friend about the anticipated result. He argued that there were three strands in the Indian independence movement: the Nehruist/Ambedkarist republican tradition which has been dominant for much of Indian history; a communist/socialist strand which has enjoyed power in some of the Indian states; and finally the Hindu Nationalist tradition which Modi was now bringing to power.

However from Hajari’s account this Hindu Nationalist tradition was a very dominant one in the first Indian government, constantly undermining the visions of Nehru and Ambedkar. The caste-based apartheid, the rapes and murders of girls and young women, the enslavement of vulnerable workers that disfigure contemporary India, the world’s largest democracy, may, at least in part, be seen to derive directly from the Hindu-nationalist vision that so bloodily asserted itself in 1947 and asserts itself still to the present day.

Gandhi and Jinnah in happier days

Gandhi and Jinnah in happier days

Midnight’s Furies is a beautifully written but harrowing account of the origins of India and Pakistan. It is an important book about the origins of a contemporary Cold War, about human beings’ inhumanity to other human beings, about how magnaminty and empathy are so vital to diplomacy, and how their absence can lead to carnage.

Dark Fire, by C J Sansom

In the course of an apparently hopeless effort to defend a young woman on a charge of murdering her cousin, the lawyer Matthew Shardlake receives some unexpected help from Thomas Cromwell, King Henry VIII’s chief minister: a 12 day postponement on the case to allow him time to marshal a proper defence. In return Cromwell, requires Shardlake to undertake an investigation on his behalf: to locate the formula and means of making Greek Fire, the legendary incendiary weapon of the Byzantine empire. This is rumoured to have been discovered in the library of a monastery that Cromwell’s philistine policies have had vandalised in the course of the Dissolutions.

C J Sansom, the author, is both a historian and a lawyer, as well as a novelist. So this book, the second in his series about Shardlake, is rich in detail both of the political and religious controversies and the legal practices of the time. Shardlake, and so presumably Sansom himself, considers Cromwell as the lesser of evils that could befall the English state, but doesn’t skip over the atrocities the man was capable of: Shardlake’s memory of how Cromwell had a Catholic priest slow-roasted to death is a particularly chilling passage in the book.

In spite of the careful attention to historical detail Shardlake is the very model of a modern Londoner: humane and rational, his best friend, Guy, a Catholic physician and apothecary of Moorish origin, his side kick, Barak, a secular Jew. As such he is a companionable guide to the mad slaughterhouse that was Henry VIII’s London, a place more like a European Saudi Arabia, or Islamic State (DAESH), than the place we are familiar with in the 21st Century.

The result is a gripping and unusual crime novel, as Shardlake and Barak grapple with the parallel mysteries of a child murder and Greek Fire. I look forward to the rest of the series.

The Sisters Brothers, by Patrick de Witt

imageIn Oregon City, in the era of the California gold rush, Charlie and Eli Sisters are professional killers, though to be fair Charlie would be an enthusiastic amateur even if he wasn’t paid.

Their employer, known as the Commodore, instructs the brothers to head to San Francisco to kill a man called Hermann Kermit Warm, for unspecified infractions against the person of the Commodore.

The novel traces Charlie and Eli’s bloody odyssey in search of Warm, in the course of which they encounter a motley bunch of inhabitants of the Pacific North West. It is beautifully written and unsettling. But for the bloody violence this would be a novel of an amiable road trip.Eli, the narrator, gives the impression of wishing to be a decent man, but he is still ruthlessly violent when angry, or when he sees the logic of the situation demands it.

I am not sure there is a deeper message to the book, in spite of the entertaining philosophising that runs through the narrative. But it is still diverting ride through the old West.

The Last Battle, by Stephen Harding

imageOn 5 May 1945 arguably the last ground battle of World War 2 took place. It was a relatively small and very brief affair by the horrendous standards of that war, but it made up for that in terms of strangeness.

In the early hours of the morning of 5 May a force of Waffen SS attacked a castle in Austria, Schloss Itter, intent on massacring the prisoners there. The attack was resisted by a tiny ad hoc force of US tankers, Austrian resistants, anti-Nazi Wehrmacht and the prisoners themselves, who were a veritable who’s who of the French political and military elite, including Gamelin, Daladier, Reynaud, Weygand and the labour leaders Leon Jouhaux and Augusta Bruchelen.

It is the only known time in the war when Wehrmacht and Allied troops fought side by side.

imageimageThe Last Battle is a short but highly entertaining book, and very informative regarding the divisions and dissensions in French politics both before and after the fall of France. It is also a warm tribute to the American and German commanders during the battle, Jack Lee and Josef Gangl, both of whom could have ignored the threat to the prisoners in the castle but who instead risked their lives with the Austrian resistance to stop a blood bath.

The Red Coffin, by Sam Eastland

imageInspector Pekkala is an honest cop in Stalin’s secret police, the NKVD. So Stalin gives him the job of finding the truth behind the grisly death of the head of the Soviet programme to develop a new tank, the T34, or, as the test drivers have begun to call it, the Red Coffin.

The idea of the honest investigator in a corrupt world is not a new one: Raymond Chandler’s Phillip Marlowe was conceived of as a knight errant updated to his contemporary Los Angeles. More recently Phillip Kerr’s Bernie Gunther, JK Rowling’s Commoran Strike, and Martin Cruz Smith’s great creation Arkady Renko walk similar paths.

What makes Pekkala different is his milieu, that of Stalinist Russia, and Eastland clearly knows this subject well: One comic-dreadful moment is when Stalin sends for an officer he desperately needs only to discover he has already forgotten that he has had the man liquidated.

The resulting book is highly entertaining, but I am not sure wholly convincing. The notion that Stalin would keep a few honest men about is not completely beyond the bounds of credibility: Stalin tolerated Zhukov, for example, because he knew he needed his genius to fight the Nazis.

So the idea underpinning this book is that in the increasing paranoia and terror of Stalin’s purges Pekkala, formerly a special investigator for the Tsar, is kept about for the moments when Stalin needs the truth, not just scapegoats. I am not sure that the relationship between the two would develop to such an extent that anyone would ever feel comfortable about carrying out a practical joke on the psychotic tyrant though.

The resolution of the mystery is also a bit disappointing, arriving in an series of unforced confessions. However a confrontation with a tank on the Polish border at the climax does redeem the book somewhat.

Overall it’s an entertaining book, and the characters of Pekkala and his sidekick Kirov are engaging enough to want to return to the series.

The Narrow Road to the Deep North, by Richard Flanagan

Summary: “Because courage, survival, love – all these things didn’t live in one man. They lived in them all or they died and every man with them; they had come to believe that to abandon one man was to abandon themselves.”

Dorrigo Evans doesn’t have a particularly high opinion of himself. He is an inveterate womaniser, a distant father, a disloyal husband, an excessive drinker, and a sometimes reckless surgeon. Yet, because of his time as a commanding officer of enslaved Australian prisoners of war on the Burma death railway, he is regarded as a national hero. This he regards as somewhat fraudulent, echoing the pretenses of leadership that he displayed in the camps. Dorrigo knows what he is: an officer who failed his men by allowing himself to become complicit in the war crimes of their Japanese captors.

The Narrow Road to the Deep North won the Booker prize in 2014 and trails behind it a mountain-load of praise. It deserves every accolade: it is an extraordinary meditation on war, death, heroism, trauma, love and loss. It is also one of the most difficult books I have ever read.

The centrepiece of the book is an extended account of a single day in the POW camp, echoing Solzhenitsyn’s novel of the gulag, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. I found this particularly gruelling, the pages suffused with dread for the atrocities that the author has already informed us will occur. Through this section we meet the doomed, struggling to maintain their dignity and decency in the face of the implacable brutality of Japanese militarism. Perhaps not all readers will find this such a difficult section but it took me weeks to read, unable to handle more than a few pages a day.image

I am particularly relieved that I stuck with this. The discomfort of reading about the death railway is as nothing to what those, including the author’s father, suffered on it.

And the novel is ultimately one of profound insight and devastating power: it made me cry more than once. It affirms a theme of Ian McEwan’s Atonement, that war obliterates not only life but love itself, and is unflinching in showing the reader that atrocities are committed by people as human as we are: Dorrigo’s captors go to their graves believing themselves good and patriotic people, more concerned with how they felt about killing than for the actual murders they inflicted on helpless prisoners.

But there are also more redemptive and hopeful notes. In contrast to his captors Dorrigo survives the war thinking himself a bad man, a failure and accomplice to war crimes, thinking that is a product, no doubt, of post-traumatic stress. But Flanagan shows us how, even at our most flawed, human beings may be better than we ever dare to imagine ourselves. Indeed, it may even be our flaws, sometimes, that compel us to heroism.

The Narrow Road to the Deep North is a masterpiece.

How to Speak Money: what the money people say – and what they really mean, by John Lanchester

 

 Sun Tzu, in the Art of War, argued that war was the most important issue in statecraft, because upon it rested the life and death of nations. But, John Lanchester suggests, economics, and economic policy, which affects the lives of every human being alive and those to come, must be a close second. In spite of this, economics is a remarkably inaccessible subject to most of the people who it so profoundly affects, its language so rarified as to be next to impossible for them to intellectually engage with.

Lanchester blames this on “reversification”, the complex and counter-intuitive nature of financial language. For example a “bailout” of the banks is pumping money into them; “credit” is actually debt; and so forth. So, Lanchester sets about reversing this reversification by providing a lexicon of some of the key economic and financial terms that are current in the contemporary political discourse.

Lanchester is an elegant and witty writer and this must rate amongst the most entertaining books on finance ever written.  Here, for example, is part of his explanation of “Nationalisation”: “[it] had entirely gone out of favour in most of the developed world until governments found they had to nationalise banks in order to save the financial system in 2008.” Or on “Student loans”: “A leading candidate for the next big thing to blow up the US, and perhaps the global, economy.” 

The importance of understanding the language of money is stressed in the book’s afterword. Here Lanchester outlines some of the challenges and dilemmas posed to social cohesion by the neo-liberal economics of much of the English speaking world. For example a neo-liberal approach appears to be the fastest way to create wealth at the expense of increasingly vast inequality. 

Amongst those who speak money and set financial policy in much of the world there is a consensus that this Thatcherite approach is the best model to follow and the growing inequality is the price that must be paid. That a recent study argued that inequality is a principle cause of the collapse of civilisations means that this should be a matter of considerably greater public and political discourse. It is not in significant part because the language of money excludes so many for entering the conversation. 

Lanchester himself expresses profound concern about the potential effects of inequality at the conclusion of the book. “When people say: ‘It can’t go on like this”, what usually happens is that it does go on like that, more extendedly and more painfully than anyone could possibly imagine; it happens in relationships, in jobs, in entire countries. It goes way past the point of bearability. And then things suddenly and abruptly change. I think that is where we are today.”

In providing a guide by which ordinary citizens can more readily engage in the politics of economics Lanchester has written an important book. Let’s hope enough people read it before the life and death of our current civilisation is decided by an elite who are too drunk on champagne and coked up to ever feel the effects of injustice or see the signs of crisis. 

The Silkworm, by Robert Galbraith (JK Rowling)

IMG_0259The Silkworm is the second in “Galbraith’s” Cormoran Strike series, following the investigations of the disabled ex-military police investigator as he establishes his private detective practice in central London.

In this book Strike is approached by the wife of an author who has gone missing. Having become somewhat jaded by his caseload of shadowing cheating spouses and corrupt city folk the challenge of a missing person case piques Strike’s interest. So, despite limited prospect of payment, he takes the case.

The milieu of literary London is clearly one that Rowling knows well and much of the plot of the book hinges on an unpublished roman-a-clef by the missing author who has decided to settle a few personal scores by taking swipes at those who have done him wrong over the years. One wonders if Rowling herself has included a few zingers at folk she has taken umbrage with in the past. Whether she has or not, as with her Harry Potter series, she doesn’t let anything get in the way a satisfyingly twisty plot with healthy dashes of humour and an elegant resolution.

It was good news when JK Rowling mentioned the other week that she has seven novels planned for the series. I look forward to seeing how it, and the relationship between Strike and his sidekick Robin develops. Strike, shopworn, world weary, grumpy and wry, is already threatening to become London’s answer to Moscow’s Arkady Renko, or Berlin’s Bernie Gunther

Antony and Cleopatra, by Adrian Goldsworthy

IMG_0239If, before reading Goldsworthy’s magisterial biography, the Caesar of my imagination was essentially Shakespeare’s construct, Antony and Cleopatra for me have always had the faces of Sid James and Amanda Barrie.

However, not that it will surprise anyone, Goldsworthy’s joint biography of the two does rather show that they were not nearly as nice as Carry On would have us believe.

Despite remaining something of a shadowy figure with apparently little of her own direct correspondence remaining, Cleopatra is by far the more impressive of the two. She parlayed, initially, little more than her intelligence and beauty into securing the throne of Egypt for herself by seducing in succession the two most powerful men in the world. Having secured her position she acted with considerable ruthlessness killing her rivals, including her own siblings. Subsequently she poured the resources and treasure of Egypt into the military schemes and political careers of her lovers as a means to secure her own position.

Goldsworthy argues that, in spite of the legends of Cleopatra’s sexual voraciousness, she probably only had two lovers in her life, Caesar and Antony. He presents evidence that there was genuine love from both sides in these relationships in spite of the political calculations that each of the three would also have been considering.

Unfortunately for Cleopatra, Antony was an inferior model of Roman to Caesar. Antony was a talented subordinate but he was a poor general given to heavy drinking, and in later life, particularly following his military reversals in Parthia, depression. His power came to him in considerable part through luck in the turbulent aftermath of Caesar’s assassination. Cleopatra’s grip on power was only as secure as Antony’s and in the end he was no match for Octavian, who, in spite of his apparent lack of physical courage, as he got older began to display a political genius that echoed his uncle’s military variety.

IMG_0238Goldsworthy’s book is a consistently interesting account of the lives of these two, in particular in the chaotic aftermath of Caesar’s assassination and the beginning of Octavian/Augustus’ reign as the first emperor. There is no mention of baths in asses’ milk but, nevertheless, it does entertain albeit in a very different way from Sid and Amanda’s gloriously silly portrayal of the relationship.