The Tzer Island book blog features book reviews written by TChris, the blog's founder.  I hope the blog will help readers discover good books and avoid bad books.  I am a reader, not a book publicist.  This blog does not exist to promote particular books, authors, or publishers.  I therefore do not participate in "virtual book tours" or conduct author interviews.  You will find no contests or giveaways here.

The blog's nonexclusive focus is on literary/mainstream fiction, thriller/crime/spy novels, and science fiction.  While the reviews cover books old and new, in and out of print, the blog does try to direct attention to books that have been recently published.  Reviews of new (or newly reprinted) books generally appear every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.  Reviews of older books appear on occasional Sundays.  Readers are invited and encouraged to comment.  See About Tzer Island for more information about this blog, its categorization of reviews, and its rating system.


Territory of Light by Yuko Tsushima

Published in Japan in 1993; published in translation by Farrar, Straus and Giroux on February 12, 2019

Territory of Light is a short novel set in the mid-1970s that covers one year in the life of a woman whose husband unexpectedly announces his separation from her life. The unnamed narrator has always considered herself a loser, and her husband’s decision to leave her alone with their daughter does nothing to improve her self-esteem. After an initial period of denial, confident of her husband’s return, she is jolted to reality by a poem that begins “Give up this idle pondering” and thinks about moving forward with her life. Yet many people tell her that women never get a better deal by divorcing, and that the quality of men she will meet will steadily decline. Society erects a barrier to the woman’s progress, and presumably to the progress of all divorcing women of that era in Japan.

Moving forward is hampered by the reality that the narrator isn’t much of a mother. She gives her daughter minimal attention. At least once, she leaves her kid home in bed while she goes out to get drunk. She drinks before sleeping in the hope that her daughter’s crying during the night won’t wake her up. She blames her daughter for problems of her own making. She is obviously suffering from depression and hasn’t figured out how to cope with it. It isn’t surprising that the daughter would like to live with her father, but he has a new woman and only wants to see his daughter for short periods, if at all, although he criticizes his wife’s parenting (with some justification, apart from his hypocrisy). Predictably, given her parenting, the kid has turned into a destructive brat.

The narrator spends a good bit of time (too much in my view) discussing her morbid dreams and the funerals she passes in her daily travels. All the death she witnesses or imagines or dreams about eventually causes an epiphany. Since that epiphany is probably the novel’s point, I won’t spoil it by revealing it. I will only say that, as revelations go, this one struck me as a strange way to look at life. Still, there is no right or wrong way to look at life, and other readers might find the epiphany to be inspirational.

The narrator has a good bit of anxiety about raising a child on her own, particularly when she hears stories of parenting gone wrong. She often has libidinous dreams and wonders why she never dreams of hugging her child. Stories like this make it possible for readers to understand the emotional impact of domestic drama in a culture that they haven’t experienced, but I often found myself cringing at the narrator’s self-pity rather than developing empathy for her struggle. A novel like this should make me understand the protagonist, but I became ever more perplexed by her behaviors and attitudes as the year in her life unfolded.

I suspect that this is a book that appeals to Japanese divorcing mothers. Perhaps it appeals to other readers because they empathize with Japanese divorcing mothers who dealt with cultural burdens that were in place fifty years ago. It might appeal to fans of bleakness, whether or not they are Japanese. Yuko Tsushima’s prose is often elegant without quite becoming pretentious, and the protagonist’s character is developed in detail, so the novel has literary value. I can’t recommend Territory of Light without reservations because the novel did little for me, but I can recommend it with reservations because I can understand why it might speak to other readers.



The Moroccan Girl by Charles Cumming

Published by St. Martin's Press on February 12, 2019

I always count on Charles Cumming to tell a good story. Like Kit Carradine, the protagonist in The Moroccan Girl, Cumming writes spy novels that occupy a space “between the kiss-kiss-bang-bang of Ludlum and the slow-burn chess game of le Carré.” The Moroccan Girl fits nicely in that niche.

The novel is set against the background of a social protest movement known as Resurrection. Unlike Occupy or Antifa, Resurrection takes direct action against specific individuals who exemplify greed and social injustice, sometimes by kidnapping or killing them. The group’s founders included a Russian named Ivan Simakov and his girlfriend, Lara Bartok, who was born in Hungary. By the time Simakov died in an explosion in Moscow, the movement had thousands of members.

Lara begins the novel by making a statement to the Secret Intelligence Service. Her statement is divided into five parts. Between each part, Cumming reveals the backstory.

By chance (or not), Kit Carradine meets Robert Mantis, who identifies himself as a British spy. Kit has been invited to attend a literary event in Marrakech. Mantis recruits him to pass some money to an asset in Casablanca and to look for a woman in Marrakech who has gone missing. It does not take Kit long to discern the woman’s identity. She is, of course, Lara Bartok.

Kit sees the invitation as the opportunity to follow in his father’s footsteps by doing real work as a spy and hopes that a successful mission might spark a secondary career as a clandestine asset for the SIS. He feels inspired by Maugham, Greene, and Forsyth, all of whom mixed the reality of espionage with their fictional creations. That’s a clever and credible premise, because what spy fiction fan doesn’t imagine being a spy?

Kit enjoys the intrigue of Casablanca until a series of encounters with people who might also be spies convince him that his amateurism has screwed up his mission. Kit’s ego and his desire for future assignments then overcome his good judgment. He decides to prove his value by ignoring instructions and continuing to search for Lara. Along the way, Kit meets a number of shady characters, any or all of whom might be spies working for America or Great Britain or Russia.

In the tradition of spy novels, the reader is asked to question whether each character is who or what the character purports to be. Some of the answers are surprising, as they should be in a spy novel, but the story is sufficiently plausible to be convincing.

I enjoyed the ideological clashes between people who have competing viewpoints: those who want to save the world from oppressors and those who believe that most people want to join the oppressors at the seat of power; those who view violence as a revolutionary tool and those who reject violence regardless of the ideology that provokes its use. I also appreciated the timeliness of The Moroccan Girl, although to avoid spoilers, I will leave it to the reader to discover the way in which Cumming has crafted a story that parallels current events.

Cumming builds suspense nicely and caps the plot with an action scene as the suspense reaches its climax. The pace is appropriate to a novel that falls between kiss-kiss-bang-bang and slow-burn chess game. The story is never dull but it takes time to establish interest in the characters and to create the kind of atmosphere that makes events in Casablanca and Marrakech seem real. In its plot, characterization, and atmosphere, The Moroccan Girl stands among Cumming’s best spy novels.



Beware of the Trains by Edmund Crispin

First published in 1953; republished by Bloomsbury Reader on January 29, 2019

Edmund Crispin was the pen name of Bruce Montgomery, a British mystery writer and musician who did most of his crime writing in the 1940s and 1950s. To give you a sense of his style, here’s a sentence from the story “The Evidence for the Crown”: “This latter circumstance looked like presenting a difficulty, in that Blanche Binney, throttled shortly after lunch one May day on her own sitting-room hearth-rug, was clearly yet another instance of that favourite species of English homicide, the crime passionnel: and there were so many males in Lampoud, married and unmarried, young and old, overt and secretive, who might have resented the catholicity of Blanche’s affections, that the field of suspects seemed at first to be formidably large.” You’ve gotta love mid-century British mysteries.

Somebody chopped off the hand of the lady of dubious repute, and a local constable solves the crime after Crispin steers the reader’s attention away from the culprit. “The Evidence for the Crown” comes near the end of the volume and is one of only two stories that do not feature Oxford Don Gervase Fen and/or Detective Inspector Humbleby.

The other is “Deadlock,” a story told in the first person by a fourteen-year-old boy who is having a midnight adventure when he walks through some blood. A man has been murdered, and in the end, only the boy knows the truth about the murderer’s identity. “Deadlock” is an atmospheric and surprisingly poignant story. It stands as my favorite in the collection.

Another of the volume’s best entries (“The Quick Brown Fox”) explains why criminals are easily captured if they rely on detective stories for inspiration, given the difficulty of pulling off the complex crimes imagined in mysteries. Professor Fen makes good on that theory when he easily solves a murder and an apparent blackmail scheme by spotting the flaw in the murderer’s plan.

Actually, Fen solves most crimes pretty easily. “Beware of the Trains” is like a locked room mystery with a train substituted for the locked room. Nine passengers were riding in groups of three; none of them threw the body from the train. So who did? Humbleby and Fen unravel the mystery.

“Humbleby Agonistes” begins with Humbleby telling Fen about his visit to an old chum who shot at him three times from point blank range and missed. The old chum isn’t bad with a pistol, and in fact had just shot a man in the head in self-defense. Why did the old chum miss? The obvious explanation doesn’t quite make sense to Humbleby, but it takes Fen only a minute to puzzle out the answer.

Fen helps Humbleby resolve another murder, this one involving a love triangle (or maybe a quadrangle) and a seemingly unshakable alibi in “Otherwhere.” The latter story is one of several in which Fen contemplates the relationship between justice and karma.

Fen recounts how he saw through a perfect murder alibi in “Lacrimae Rerum.” He witnesses the murder of a cryptographer in “Within the Gates” and helps the police uncover a corrupt officer. In “Abhorred Shears,” he explains how poison was delivered to a victim in front of several witnesses. His examination of “The Little Room” in a house he is thinking about renting for a charity leads him to suspect (and solve) a crime.

In “Express Delivery,” Fen figures out how a murder was committed (thus proving who committed it) in a case involving suspects who all hoped to inherit from the victim. Fen solves a fairly easy mystery by deducing a robber’s identity in “A Pot of Paint.” In “The Drowning of Edgar Foley,” Fen views a body in the morgue by happenstance and soon discovers who murdered the victim.

Fen shows a bit of a dark side when he explains how a murder involving a missing car was accomplished in “Black for a Funeral,” while Crispin converts a locked room mystery into a ghost story in “The Name on the Window.” In “The Golden Mean,” Fen saves the life of a friend and then, by using a piece of esoteric knowledge, prevents his murder.

The Fen stories are all fairly short. Their brevity leaves little room for character development, although the respective natures of Fen and Humbleby become apparent over time. Fen is astute but a bit arrogant, while Humbleby is an honest plodder. From the days of Holmes and Lestrade, those characteristics have served the characters in British mysteries well. But these stories are about the mysteries more than the characters, and while they vary in quality, the resolutions are generally clever. More importantly, Crispin's leisurely prose style sweeps the reader along, although fans of modern thrillers in which characters are only eloquent when describing their guns might not have the patience to enjoy Crispin’s style.



Jeeves and the King of Clubs by Ben Schott

Published by Little, Brown and Company on November 6, 2018

In his notes to Jeeves and the King of Clubs, Ben Schott describes P.G. Wodehouse as “the greatest humorist in the English language.” It would be difficult to argue with that characterization. Schott does justice to Wodehouse, capturing Bertie Wooster’s amiable ease, Jeeves’s droll wit, and Wodehouse’s playful style. Schott even ends the novel with an explanation of various words he used as a tribute to Wodehouse’s ability to enrich language by originating words or to use them in new ways.

Beleaguered Bertie Wooster is chastised by his new banker, loans money to Montague Montgomery to invest in a horrible play, wears Monty’s sandwich board while Monty delivers the cash, has a cautious encounter with Florence Craye, to whom he was engaged four times, and is warned to keep an eye on the allegedly seditious Roderick Spode, seventh Earl of Sidcup — all in just the first two chapters of Jeeves and the King of Clubs.

During the course of the silliness, Bertie plays matchmaker (between Monty and Florence) and spy (although the espionage, requiring a certain amount of thought, is naturally orchestrated by Jeeves), impersonates an Italian chef, conspires with his aunt, makes fun of British nationalist politicians, deftly evades the attentions of Florence, blackballs unpleasant applicants to his club (the Drones), and has his history, English, horse-betting, and sartorial choices corrected, repeatedly, by Jeeves.

The plot involves matrimony (a state that Bertie firmly opposes), a play for which Bertie must orchestrate a good review, and the unmasking of a spy, but as is typical of a Jeeves novel, most of the story follows Bertie as he sails through his leisurely life. The good-natured Bertie is one of the most likeable characters in fiction, but his ability to turn a phrase (actually Wodehouse’s ability, as channeled by Schott) sets him apart from the crowd.

The world can never have too many Jeeves novels, and if we can’t resurrect Wodehouse to continue writing them, Schott is a worthy substitute.



A Time to Scatter Stones by Lawrence Block

Published by Subterranean on January 31, 2019

Lawrence Block has concocted some interesting plots in his many decades as a writer of crime fiction, some of them in his popular Matthew Scudder series. A Time to Scatter Stones is a novella-length Scudder story that has more dialog than plot. The dialog is often entertaining, and it is to Block’s credit that he didn’t pad a story in which very little happens.

Scudder met Elaine when Scudder was married and still an NYPD detective. He met her again years later, when he was divorced and sober. They’ve been together for years, but when they first met, Elaine was a working girl. Scudder still goes to AA meetings but Elaine only recently joined a support group for former prostitutes called Tarts.

Elaine has a friend from Tarts named Ellen. Much of the novel consists of Elaine and Ellen discussing the kinky (or not) desires of Johns who engage the services of prostitutes. Scudder happily joins those conversations and even more happily fantasizes about doing a three-way with Elaine and Ellen. Elaine doesn’t mind the fantasy, so all is well and good.

Ah, but the plot? Well, a former client of Ellen’s won’t accept that she’s left the business. He wants to keep her on the payroll and is threatening to rape her if she won’t give him what he wants, including things were never on Ellen’s menu. Scudder tracks him down and teaches him some manners. That diversion takes little of Scudder’s time, allowing him to get back to what he enjoys, which (since he no longer drinks) seems to consist of talking about and having sex.

The story is littered with amusing musings and bad jokes and discussions of various combinations of sex partners who the two retired prostitutes have encountered. If you’re looking for a narrative version of Red Shoe Diaries with a beat-down thrown in, this is the novella for you. If you’re a fan of the Scudder series and wonder what Scudder is doing in his senior years, the novella will answer your question. If you’re looking for a thrilling crime story, you might want to look elsewhere. I enjoyed it as a voyeuristic and not particularly realistic look at the lives of prostitutes, but I wouldn’t recommend it as a crime story.


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