Himself by Jess Kidd

First published in Great Britain in 2016; published by Atria Books on March 14, 2017

I’m a sucker for novels by Irish writers who populate small Irish villages with eccentric residents. Himself is sort of a murder mystery, but Jess Kidd’s delightful prose and quirky characters, some of whom are dead, set it apart. The plot is engaging but almost beside the point.

The dead take particular note of Mahoney, who as a baby was saved from death by a forest that hid him from his murderous father. That was in Mulderrig, a place Mahoney doesn’t recall, but to which he returns 26 years later, prompted by a letter that was held by the orphanage that raised him, to be passed on to Mahoney after he was grown.

Mahoney’s mother was Orla Sweeney, a name that is still well known in Mulderrig. She might have been a witch, or perhaps was merely mistaken for one. Orla was unjustly regarded as wicked because she passed messages from the dead to the living, and the people of Mulderrig didn’t appreciate the news that the departed revealed. The reader meets Orla in flashbacks.

In the present, Mahoney meets a priest whose face can’t be trusted; a woman who produces plays for the church that the priest considers to be scandalous; a lecherous old man who has his sights set on a widow; the widow he chases, who is anxious for Mahoney to leave the village; a couple of women who are anxious for the handsome Mahoney to stay; a gossipy cat lady; the village police officer; and a variety of ghosts.

Mahoney (like many in the village) assumes that someone did away with his mother. The plot centers on the efforts of Mahoney, assisted by the play producer and opposed by nearly everyone else, as he tries to uncover the truth about Orla’s disappearance. Even a little dead girl warns him away from his quest.

Ireland is a land of folklore, a fact that Irish fiction often reflects. I always like the ghosts in Irish novels. Unlike American ghosts, they tend to be foul-mouthed, gossipy, and quite funny. There are plenty of ghosts in Himself, including a priest who haunts a commode, but most of them are silent. They confine themselves to shaking their heads or drawing their fingers across their throats when they want to communicate. Other supernatural elements include signs and portents for characters to interpret or misinterpret and quarrel about.

Like many modern Irish tales, Himself shines a light on the condition of Ireland, which a scholarly character describes as “a dying civilization, romantic Ireland, the ancient and untarnished imagination of the pure and noble peasant making sense of the harshness and beauty of their life and the landscape.” There is, as that description suggests, a serious undercurrent to Himself, enough to give the novel literary heft, but it doesn’t detract from the novel’s reliance of several forms of humor, including slapstick, farce, burlesque, satire, and parody. The humor is gentle rather than mordant, light rather than dark (despite some gruesome murders).

Himself isn’t really a murder mystery, given that the reader learns at least some of the truth long before Mahoney. But the village is good at keeping secrets from outsiders even as they gossip among themselves. Some things they would rather not to discuss at all, preferring to let the dead rest — which they aren’t about to do after Mahoney’s return stirs them to recall fragments of the lives they once had. While it’s not a mystery, Himself is a tale of good versus evil, of the few village residents who want to expose the truth versus those who have a motive to hide it. But most of all, regardless of its higher ambitions, this imaginative novel is tremendously entertaining.

RECOMMENDED

Setting Free the Kites by Alex George

Published by G.P. Putnam's Sons on February 21, 2017

Robert Carter lives in Maine. His father owns a small amusement park that assures Robert (and most Haverford teens) of a summer job. His brother Liam has a disease that will kill him before he leaves his teens, although Liam is more optimistic about his fate than his parents. His mother’s mental stability is questionable.

Robert is bullied every year by a bigger student named Hollis. During his first beating of the new school year, a new student named Nathan Tilly intervenes. Nathan is smaller than Hollis, but fearless, at least when it comes to bullies. He seems to have inherited that trait from his raucous father, who suffers an unfortunate death while flying a kite soon after Robert meets Nathan.

There are several dramatic moments early in Setting Free the Kites, but the drama is understated, which makes it all the more dramatic. On the other hand, too many middle chapters are devoted to Nathan’s unrequited longing for an older girl who is way out his league, and to Robert’s plan, sparked by a romance novel, to encourage Nathan to express his love. That section of the book includes a synopsis of the melodramatic romance novel that I could have lived without.

Later in the novel, additional dramatic scenes, while continuing to avoid melodrama, seem contrived. The novel builds toward metaphors of flight, but its metaphorical moments lack the power that Alex George must have intended, perhaps because the metaphor — or the final action taken in support of the metaphor — is too obvious.

In the end, as the epilogue reveals, Setting Free the Kites is a coming-of-age novel. The epilogue is an information dump that updates Robert’s knowledge of the characters after his own defining moment, but in such an abbreviated fashion that the impact of the defining moment on Robert’s life is unclear. The lessons he learns — nobody is innocent, everyone shares blame — are good but a bit simplistic. Still, George’s prose is graceful and the characters are fully developed. Setting Free the Kites has some shortcomings, but every serious novelist seems compelled to write a coming-of-age novel, and this one is better than most.

RECOMMENDED

Vicious Circle by C.J. Box

Published by G.P. Putnam's Sons on March 21, 2017

Vicious Circle is the latest entry in a series that has grown tired. Readers who want to read what is essentially the same story over and over will enjoy it. Readers who hope to find something fresh in a stale series will probably be disappointed.

Dave Farkus calls Joe Pickett and leaves a message to tell him he overheard a conversation that Dallas Cates was having about Joe’s family. He doesn’t reveal the contents of the conversation and he disappears on a hunting trip before Joe can talk to him. Joe takes a break from hunting for a poaching ring to hunt for Farkus. It turns out that other people are also hunting for Farkus. They find him first.

Joe is worried because Dallas Cates had an unpleasant relationship with his daughter Alice. C.J. Box tells us that Dallas served two-to-four years in a penitentiary for a misdemeanor hunting violation, which isn’t possible, but this isn’t the first time Box has been mistaken about Wyoming law. Later, Joe is pleased that he obtained a “clean” statement from a woman in custody because she “didn’t ask for a lawyer,” but seems to be unaware that her statement can’t be used against her because he didn’t give her a Miranda warning. For a law enforcement officer, Joe knows shockingly little about the law.

Marcus Hand (clearly modeled after Wyoming lawyer Gerry Spence) returns in Vicious Circle, having married Joe’s mother-in-law, who also returns. Nate Romanowski is back, conveniently stumbling across the dead body of a woman who is tied into the Dallas Cates story. Nate ruminates about how he misses killing people who (in Nate’s judgment, as opposed to that of, for instance, a jury) deserve to be killed. He almost kills someone based on a three-second snatch of a conversation he overhears, which suggests that Nate’s judgment is questionable at best. Box occasionally assures the reader that Romanowski isn’t a “cold-blooded killer” but that’s exactly what he is.

Why Joe is so fond of this vigilante, who stands for all the lawlessness that Joe supposedly hates, is beyond me. At one point in the novel, Nate cuts off someone’s ears. Joe, who is such a model law enforcement officer that he once ticketed the governor for fishing without a license (as we are reminded in every novel), doesn’t arrest his friend Nate for this act of mayhem. At the end of the book, he even decides not to enforce one of the hunting laws he’s charged with enforcing. Good for him, but Joe’s situational law enforcement should be troubling to readers who admire his sanctimonious “by the book” attitude. Are readers not troubled by Joe’s hypocrisy?

I will say that Vicious Circle takes a more balanced view of the criminal justice system than some other books in the series (perhaps Box has been influenced by Gerry Spence?). The book acknowledges that too many police officers view criminal defense attorneys as the enemy and that too many cops plant evidence or engage in other misconduct to improve the state’s odds of convicting the people they perceive as bad guys. I’m glad Box made that point, but that's not enough to make the novel worth a reader's time.

The contrived plot is familiar and predictable. Joe’s family is threatened, again. Joe and Nate face peril, again. The story flows smoothly and makes for the unchallenging reading experience that Box fans seem to appreciate, but it never generates the kind of tension that a thriller should create. It’s actually kind of dull, as is Joe. It’s a shame Box hasn't done anything to breathe some life into this series.

NOT RECOMMENDED

Eveningland by Michael Knight

Published by Atlantic Monthly Press on March 7, 2017

Eveningland is an excellent collection of related stories, loosely linked by location (Mobile County, Alabama) and time frame. They are also linked by Michael Knight’s gentle humor, his keen power of observation, and his ability to encapsulate lives over the course of just a few pages. And nearly every story has a dog, cementing my belief that dogs always makes a story better.

“Water and Oil” tells the story of a teenage boy who spends his summer on his boat as a volunteer, looking for the remains of an oil spill. The boy takes an interest in an older teenage girl who treats him with the unthinking callousness that is common to attractive young females who reject younger boys. The story draws a nice parallel between life’s disappointments and oil spills, which eventually dissipate and leave the impression that all has returned to normal, when only time will reveal the hidden changes they cause.

“Smash and Grab” is an amusing story about a teenage girl who overpowers a burglar and spends the evening telling him about her teenage woes.

“Our Lady of the Roses” is about an art teacher at a Catholic school who has a crisis after she is told that her art lessons should have a more religious theme. The young woman may need a miracle to pull together the threads of her disordered life.

“Jubilee” is the snapshot of a marriage that has endured without fuss or drama. It’s kind of sweet to imagine that such marriages exist, even if the spouses are settled in their ways and don’t really listen to each other.

In “Grand Old Party,” a man with a shotgun confronts his cheating wife and her lover. The story has an absurdist appeal. Does love make people crazy, or is it crazy to fall in love?

“The King of Dauphin Island” tells of a wealthy man who buys every property on an island that is eroding away to nothingness. The man’s wife has died and the island might be a symbol of how he sees the rest of his life. But the daughters he loves think he’s gone off the deep end, and the man must decide how to remake himself. This is a touching story of grief and dignity and the importance of allowing the people we love to be themselves. The ending is beautifully ironic. This story is a gem.

“Landfall” is another story of a family in crisis as disasters come in bunches. A hurricane that receives a mention in “The King of Dauphin Island” takes center stage in “Landfall.” The story follows siblings who need to deal with the hurricane as well as their mother’s fall and her resulting brain injury. Flashbacks put the family in perspective, while sharp characterization is the story’s strength. The story captures: “The impossibility of living up to the past. The burden of trying. A last chance to measure up.”

RECOMMENDED

The Blue-Eyed Shan by Stephen Becker

First published in 1982; published digitally by Open Road Media on January 12, 2016

The Blue-Eyed Shan is the last and most pessimistic novel in Stephen Becker's Far East Trilogy, and for that reason it is probably the most realistic. It embodies the “anything that can go wrong, will” philosophy, telling a story in which neither good intentions nor bad intentions have any bearing on the outcome, which seems fated and beyond the control of all earthy intentions.

Greenwood is a Harvard-educated American who has yellow hair and blue eyes, but he speaks Shan and has a daughter in Pawlu. Greenwood was trained as an anthropologist, chasing old bones in Burma, where he happily lived as a Shan before the war. Learning that the Japanese had invaded Burma and attacked America, Greenwood decided to join the American army and fight for his homeland. And that he did, sort of, without leaving Burma.

Greenwood’s army tale is told as a backstory. As a reader would expect of Stephen Becker, it is an amusing backstory that establishes Greenwood’s character, warts and all. In the present, as the novel starts, Greenwood is back in Burma at the request of Yang, the Chinese general he befriended during the war.

Meanwhile, about a hundred soldiers in the Chinese army, the remnants of a much larger force, are on their way to Pawlu, under the command of General Yang. One of the soldiers, Colonel Olevskoy, is Russian. He would prefer to be going to Hanoi, where people speak French and drink decent wine, but Yang has a plan and a couple of mysterious chests. What sort of treasure might they contain?

The Shan in Pawlu are guided by the Sawbwa, who is disappointed that they must kill so many bandits to protect their village.On the other hand, he doesn’t so much mind killing the Wild Wa, because they would gladly kill the Shan if they had the numbers to do it. The Sawbwa would like the Shan to follow the teachings of Buddha, but he has an obligation to keep his people safe. He delegates that task to Naung, the First Rifle, who sees killing bandits as a way to maintain Pawlu’s supply of ammunition — while adding whatever weapons the bandits might be carrying to their stockpile.

The plot eventually brings together Greenwood, General Yang, Colonel Olevskoy, the Shan of Pawlu, and the Wild Wu. It is something of a nightmare for everyone. The ending is a true surprise, but not one that will appeal to fans of the happily ever after.

The anthropologist in Greenwood can’t resist discussing the cultural differences of various tribes. He searches for wisdom and imparts some of it to the reader, to the extent that differing values tell us what is common about the human condition. There are other bits of wisdom laced throughout the novel, and the characters are finely drawn, but the story isn’t as substantial (or as fun) as the first two novels in the trilogy. It’s certainly worth reading for the sense it creates of postwar Burma and for Becker’s remarkable prose, but it doesn’t quite stand up to The Chinese Bandit or The Last Mandarin.

RECOMMENDED