I have finally read my first Dalziel and Pascoe books by Reginald Hill (I read and thoroughly enjoyed a Joe Sixsmith mystery last year). A Clubbable Woman (1970) is the first in the series and On Beulah Height (1998) is the seventeenth.
A Clubbable Woman is an excellent mystery but it does suffer slightly from its context. The victim Mary is one of the Rugby Club wives and the case is played out amongst the complexity of the club social scene. That, and the fact that the victim's head has been smashed in, provide the the pun of the title. And here is our contextual problem: "A Clubbable Woman" suggests this attractive, sociable victim somehow deserves her fate, that something about her person makes her "clubbable", that people will want to club her. There is an inherent sexism here that is a little unsettling to the modern reader, especially given Dalziel's much vaunted boorish Yorkshireness. If you can let this go on grounds of context then read it, it is a clever mystery and the beginnings of the Dalziel and Pascoe relationship are interesting to experience. And however bad Dalziel and the other rugby club members are, they're a lot more acceptable than that sexist old goat Morse whose literary birth was five years later and whose opinions on women did not move much with the times over a fourteen year period.
On Beulah Height, published 18 years later, shows us more the Dalziel and Pascoe we're familiar with from the TV series. Dalziel is still an irascible old thing but the inclusion of strong female characters including Novello and Pascoe's wife Ellie means that the whole tone of the book has moved on. I don't think Dexter ever managed this with Morse. Frankly the sociology of the book will not be on your mind as you read; it's too darn good for that.
The haunting premise: a remote village abandoned and flooded as a reservoir is needed at the same time as unsolved child abductions occur. Years later Dalziel relives his worst unsolved case as the waters recede under drought conditions and another child goes missing. The sensitively detailed parallel plot centres on the Pascoe family as their little girl lies fighting for her own life in hospital. Peter's feelings as he deals with the consequences of bereavement whilst facing the possibility of the the worst bereavement of his own show the complexity of the policeman's lot.
If I had a top ten crime fiction books then this would be one of the first on the list. The literary elements are excellent with first class characterisation within the terms of the genre, the use of landscape is moving, the clue laying is delicate and meticulous and there's a truly inspirational denouement. It is a fabulous book and I recommend it regardless of whether you liked the TV series or not.
The Arsenic Labyrinth by Martin Edwards is my first read from this author (who blogs wonderful crime reviews at Do You Write Under Your Own Name). It is one of Edward's Lake District Mysteries and like the Yorkshire Dales-set On Beulah Height uses the dramatic upland landscape beautifully as backdrop, as hiding place, as character definer and atmosphere evoker, as clue giver and clue taker, as thwarter of detectives and as revealer of crimes. With our female detective Hannah Scarlett who runs a cold case team, and a historian Daniel Kind escaping the academic rat race, we have the classic whodunit professional/amateur mix; it reminded me of both Margery Allingham's playful early novella The White Cottage Mystery (not a Campion tale) and Josephine Tey's wonderful The Franchise Affair. This is no pastiche however and our modern characters have modern problems which form the psychological backdrop to the story. The plot is delivered from several viewpoints, very successfully, and flick flacks across its literary landscape with narrative hairpins like Hardknott Pass. The working relationship between Hannah and Daniel is intriguing and acts as a good motivator for continuing with the books. All in all, very enjoyable and I shall be acquiring the rest of the series as soon as funds and space allow.
Last in my little crime spree is Borderlands by Brian McGilloway, the first in his Inspector Devlin Mysteries. Again, this was my first foray into the works of this author. Set on the Republic of Ireland side of the border this careful and considered tale takes us into the past. The story of young victim Angela and her family becomes a small part in a wider, complex pattern of deceit and corruption. The plot has the sense of being very carefully built, brick by and brick, and the revelation at the end is less of a surprise than it might have been but this is offset by the pace of the writing. The end when it comes is fast and exciting as though once we start to focus on the full picture it starts to spin out of our grasp as events out-pace the details. This is grittier than the other books covered here and might well appeal to Rankin fans. Devlin is from the school of hardknocks and indeed gets injured more than is plausible for anyone outside the armed forces. Less preposterous than the BBC's recent delightfully bonkers Luther but with a similar mix of personal angst and canny detecting set against a clock always ticking. I enjoyed this slightly less than the others but then I don't like Rankin's books either! Unlike Rankin's work I will be trying some more Brian McGilloway quite simply because Devlin is a more intriguing man than Rebus.
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