I’ve largely kept my reading to myself of late.
I did this because I wanted to make space in my life to read whatever caught my eye, including — specifically — dumb and crass books, as well as boring technical stuff and obvious novels I should have read, but hadn’t.
In short, the internet was getting to me. Reading suddenly felt like homework instead of entertainment. I was looking at my bookshelf thinking, What does this say about me? instead of, Isn’t it nice I’ve had all these interesting experiences.
So I took some time.
Now, after years in the wilderness, I’m strangely excited to talk about books again. Who’d have thought?
Anyway, this is what I’ve been reading lately…
Cotton Comes To Harlem by Chester Himes
I have no idea how it’s taken me so long to get to Chester Himes. I’ve had my copy of Cotton Comes To Harlem for over a decade, bringing it with me from house to house, unread. In my mind, I had this neatly slotted into noir, but I was wrong. The tenor here is absurdist hardboiled. It’s a raw book. Super raw. Grimy, violent, sexually perverse and foul-mouthed, following two black detectives (Grave Digger Jones and Coffin Ed) through 1960s Harlem as they track down the proceeds of a heist. The racism of the era is explored thoroughly, depicting a 360-degree racial enmity that borders on nihilism, but this is no issues book. The only lesson here is: all social organisation leads to corruption. And yet, powered by Himes’ precise fast narration, what could have been morose is ribald, fast and funny.
The Likeness by Tana French
Tana French’s debut In The Woods is a miracle book. A big commercial crime novel — beloved by many — that has an unresolved downbeat ending. I love it. Her follow-up, The Likeness, is equally beloved (eleven thousand 4-star reviews and counting), but I found it a little disappointing. The Secret History echoes — present in her debut — are right on the surface here, and smuggling them into this police procedural takes a full 100 pages to set up. In fact, that preamble is so long it had me wondering if this isn’t a drawer novel repurposed. That said, I’ll read her again. Absolutely. No matter my issues with The Likeness, it remains wildly ambitious and unusual, and I’ll take that over predictable any day.
Five Decembers by James Kestrel
One of the central tropes of noir is the spillover of wartime PTSD into polite postwar society. What makes James Kestrel’s Five Decembers so fascinating is that the war interrupts the narrative, rather than forms its shadowy backstory. Here, Detective Joe McGrady stalks a serial killer across the Pacific as history collapses around him. In a particularly deft middle act, McGrady witnesses alternate sides of the conflict (The Battle of Hong Kong, the bombing of Tokyo) and comes home utterly lost. What remains? The original investigation. This novel has been receiving a lot of praise and I’m happy to report that every scrap of it is well-earned. Essential.
That’s enough.
— IAIN
PS: I have no author news. But you can find me here and here.
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