Saturday, June 16, 2012

Donna Leon "Death at La Fenice"




The fact that I’ve enjoyed whatever Donna Leon title I’ve picked up probably means she was a prime contender for reread the series from the start status, but if I hadn’t chanced upon Death at La Fenice in the el cheapo bins at Townsville’s Target that prospect would probably be something for the distant future.

As it turns out, now that I’ve got, and have read, the first title, there have been orders for the next couple (currently substantially discounted to the point where there’s not that much difference between tracking them down at Fishpond and scouring the el cheapo bins for the little devils.

So, One down, Two and Three ordered, a couple more on the shelves, two already reviewed on the website, what’s the G.O. here?

Well, for a start, it has been a long time since I found a first title in a seres that’s as fully formed as Death at La Fenice. Usually you start reading a series and things gradually fall in place as the author comes to terms with the key characters and the setting, but here, most of the elements that run through the series are firmly in place.

Admittedly, some of the characters who become key players in later titles have yet to make an appearance, the key one being Signora Elettra, computer wizard and secretary of Commissario Brunetti’s boss, who wouldn’t have been able to work her magic when Death was written because 1992 (the year the book was published) was comfortably before the development of the World Wide Web she trawls so efficiently.

But, effectively, from the get go we’ve got Guido Brunetti, devoted family man whose in-laws come from one of Venice’s foremost aristocratic families. He’s not exactly thrilled about this. Despite the fact he’s been married for seventeen years he isn’t sure of how to address the father-in-law and isn’t comfortable in their presence.

His wife and children are, from the start, much the way they continue to be through twenty years and twenty-one titles.

Paola Brunetti, University lecturer in English literature, has most of the mannerisms that continue through the series in place from the start, though her reputation in the kitchen is still to come to the fore and the two teenage kids age a little over the series, but it’s not as if Brunetti’s about to become a grandfather any time soon.

Another key piece who falls into place almost fully formed is Brunetti’s superior, Vice-Questore Giuseppi Patta, the vain and almost insufferably pretentious man who’s not very bright. While he’ll suck up to the rich and influential he doesn’t seem to have bothered to dig around enough to learn Brunetti’s father-in-law has two doges on his mother’s side of the family or maybe he’s too busy associating himself with politicians and the like to be admitted to the patrician circles where the really influential Venetians are found.

In any case, news that world famous conductor Helmut Wellauer has been found dead at the end of the intermission between Acts Two and Three of Verdi’s La Traviata in La Fenice Opera House is certain to be greeted with alarm among Patta’s superiors so he’ll inevitably be throwing his weight around in the quest for a quick solution to a death that casts the city in a very bad light, isn’t he?

Brunetti, on the other hand, goes about his business systematically, using clever mental stratagems to avoid excessive angst prompted by Patta’s posturing and tackling the suspects diplomatically as he comes to realise that the key to the mystery lies somewhere in Wellauer’s personality and quite possibly in the long distant past.

From the moment the body is discovered there’s no doubt about how he died. There’s a smell of bitter almonds in the dressing room, to the extent that the doctor who’s called to the scene and Brunetti both know there was cyanide in the maestro’s coffee even though they’ve only read about that sort of thing in detective stories.

Backstage at the opera house isn’t what you might call the most security-conscious of environments (it’s supposed to be, but from remarks made by musicians, singers and stage hands during the investigation you know it isn’t) and there are a number of people nearby who could have delivered the deadly dose of caffeinated cyanide.

For a start, Wellauer was a noted homophobe, director Franco Santore is gay, and Wellauer has refused to honour an agreement to cast Santore's protege is a role that would possibly make his name.

There’s also the question of leading soprano Flavia Petrelli, whose lesbian liaison with independently wealthy American archeologist, Brett Lynch, Wellauer was reputedly threatening to expose, an act that would see the singer’s Spanish ex-husband gain custody of their two children.

There’s a much younger, suddenly wealthy widow, who would naturally attract suspicion, and allegations of pro-Nazi sympathies in Wellauer’s past, which may have something to do with things but it’s not a case where forensic evidence is going to throw any light on the matter.

The only fingerprints on Wellauer’s coffee cup are the maestro’s own, and given the number people who would have used the dressing room there’s not going to be much joy there so, in the end, the only way through to a solution is to piece things together from gossip, chance remarks and a bit of historical research.

The search for scuttlebutt takes Brunetti from the lofty heights of a party at Count and Countess Falier’s (his in-laws) palazzo through assorted dressing rooms, back stage areas, hotel rooms and apartments to the wretched circumstances of a destitute soprano living on the island of Guidecca, and along the way Brunetti uncovers lurid tales from Wellauer’s past and unearths fascinating stories about many of the suspects.

Suspicions start to become obvious from fairly early on in the piece. Wellauer’s second wife committed suicide when their daughter was twelve, and the current wife’s early teenage daughter from a previous marriage is away at boarding school, which strikes Brunetti as extremely suspicious when he notes the total absence of anything you’d associate with a teenage girl in the conductor’s Venice apartment.

After all, even if she was only on the premises intermittently, Brunetti is all too aware of the teenage female’s ability to leave things behind. He’s got one at home, hasn’t he?

While the reader is pretty sure which way things are heading, there’s a neat twist at the end that leaves Brunetti with a difficult moral issue a the end. While he knows what happened it’s not the sort of case where you’d want to be revealing too much of what went on behind the scenes of the victim’s life.

And that, I think, is what makes this first title in an extensive series so remarkable. Donna Leon has managed to deliver what was originally a one-off joke prompted by a friend’s suggestion that she try writing a crime novel and put in place elements that are good enough to keep her, and the reader, going through twenty titles without adding too much to the original mix.

Of course, when you’ve got a setting like Venice, an eye for detail, and an intimate knowledge of sensibilities in La Serenissima, you’ve probably got a walk up start, but Brunetti’s an engaging character, the interactions with his family down to the surreptitious support for an anti-capitalist son who gloats over winning at Monopoly work, and his dealings with his loathsome boss reflect a degree of pragmatism in a character who’d be, one suspects, an idealist by inclination.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Alafair Burke "Long Gone"





After half a dozen titles in the crime fiction police procedural side of things Alafair Burke’s seventh novel shifts to the other side of the investigatory fence. Portland, Oregon prosecutor Samantha Kincaid and NYPD Detective Ellie Hatcher are handed cases and given the task of figuring out who was responsible for the killing but in Long Gone art gallery manager Alice Humphrey is presented with a corpse and an empty gallery and has to prove she wasn’t responsible.

That’s hardly an unusual basis for a pot line when you’re talking thrillers. There are plenty of similar efforts involving an honest, Officer, it wasn’t me narrative, and the key ingredient, as far as I can see, is to make the suspect’s situation and protestations of innocence believable while keeping the reader turning the pages to find out which of the seemingly innocent characters surrounding the protagonist was the one whodunnit.

That, in turn, requires a believable and slowly unfolding back story, and Alafair Burke seems to have that department pretty well nailed.

Alice Humphreys is the daughter of acclaimed movie director Frank Humphreys and Oscar nominated actress Rose Sampson, was a child actress and now wants to make her way on her own merits rather than sponging on the parental prominence. Having been laid off by the Metropolitan Museum of Art, she’s desperate for work when an offer to manage a new art gallery in the trendy Meatpacking District lands at her feet.

Now, you might think these things are too good to be true, and if that’s the way it looks it probably is, but Burke neatly works her way around that point, making Alice the sort of person who stumbles across things rather than going out actively looking. She landed her Manhattan apartment, for example, from an overheard conversation. Some readers might find this side of things far fetched, but given her background you might anticipate that things tend to fall into place rather often.

That child actress gig more than likely came about because one of her parents’ Hollywood peers suddenly ‘realised’ Alice was just perfect for this part they were having the devil of a time filling.  Nothing to do with an ambitious stage mother. Of course not...

So Alice is at an art show when Drew Campbell, snappily dressed corporate wheeler dealer offers her a gig managing a new gallery that’s going to start by displaying the work of the not excessively talented lover of the eccentric and predictably well-heeledand anonymous owner.

Once that show’s out of the way Alice is free to go her own way and set about making a name for herself as a savvy gallery operator without exploiting the family connections. Fair enough?

Well, it would be, if the exhibition didn’t turn out to comprise nude photos of questionable artistic value that attract the attention of a fundamentalist pastor who pickets the building, raises suspicions about the age of the subjects portrayed and the question of possible child pornography. Things are getting rather desperate when Alice contacts Campbell, needing to get in contact with the mysterious owner and arranges to meet Campbell at the gallery the following morning to sort things out.

She duly arrives to find the place stripped bare, Campbell dead on the floor, and a string of circumstantial evidence that makes her the prime suspect for his murder.

By this point Burke has already thrown in another two intersecting plot lines involving the disappearance of New Jersey teenager Becca Stevenson who has, it turns out, been keeping secrets from her (single) mother and FBI agent Hank Beckman, who’s obsessively stalking the man he believes to be responsible for his sister's death.

These other two plot lines are, of course, connected to Alice’s story in some way, and it’s the finding out how that keeps the reader turning the pages.

The first question, as far as Alice’s innocence is concerned, comes down to finding out who this Drew Campbell really was since there’s nothing concrete to tie the corpse to the assumed identity. The mobile phone number Alice has been calling links to a disposable phone, the artist whose work she displayed doesn't seem to exist and there’s no way of tracking down the anonymous benefactor who’s been financing the gallery.

And, predictably, the missing teenager’s fingerprints turn up on the premises at the gallery.

As far as the NYPD are concerned, there’s no question about who’s guilty, and as the rest of the story unfolds Alice unravels the details, uncovering carefully staged deceptions, discovering secrets her family would rather forget and learning that those around her aren’t necessarily quite who they appear to be.

Those issues result is an interesting, lively-paced read with some contemporary issues (social media playing a significant part in the plot line) getting an airing. I think I’ve read all of Ms Burke’s previous efforts (even if they’re not reviewed hereabouts) and Long Gone is right up there with the rest of them, to the point where I’ll have the eyes peeled for the return of Ellie Hatcher in the forthcoming Never Tell (due out in August).