Summerwater by Sarah Moss

First published in Great Britain in 2020; published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux on January 12, 2021

Summerwater follows a day in the lives of people staying in log cabins at a holiday park on a loch in Scotland. It has been raining for days, a biblical rain that creates an apocalyptic dread. The worries that occupy characters approach the apocalyptic: global warming, Brexit, family discord. Forced to stay inside, family members judge each other. Peering out windows, they judge their neighbors.

Justine is up at dawn, running and thinking about her husband Steve, who complains that she’s obsessed with fitness. Later in the novel, Steve complains (mostly to himself) about the Bulgarians (or maybe they’re Romanians) who keep them awake at night with their parties and loud music. Steve also complains (only to himself) that Justine is on the couch watching porn on her company laptop, at the risk of getting fired and depriving the family of her income.

David is retired, visiting the holiday park with his wife Mary as they did when the kids were young. Taking Mary to a café, David drives too fast in the rain, perhaps in a deliberate attempt to frighten her. David seems to resent the success that his children achieved. He recalls with bitterness his daughter’s youthful lectures about “how everyone ought to behave,” unappreciative of all his generation has done to make life better for her generation (as if a new generation should be grateful that their parents did the things they ought to have done).

Josh and Milly are trying to have simultaneous orgasms because Josh read that their marriage will last longer if they master the technique. Milly thinks about another man to help her along because she’s cold in the cabin and would rather have a cup of tea. They’re planning to move, leaving all their friends behind. Milly sees the unceasing rain as a warning of bad times to come.

The only people who seem to be happy are the Bulgarians/ Romanians with their loud parties. Their daughter Violetta is less happy when she’s told to go back to her own country by Steve’s daughter Lola. Lola's brother Jack worries that the music will bother his mother, who is always tired, but there is something about the carefree manner of the Bulgarians that he finds intriguing.

One of the best chapters involves Alex, a disenchanted 16-year-old who takes his kayak onto the loch during the pouring rain. His parents seem unconcerned about the danger he will face.

Between the chapters that narrate the story are brief chapters that describe the atmosphere or setting. One imagines the impact of soundwaves from the Bulgarians’ music on fox cubs and anthills. The first such chapter reminds us of all the sounds we barely register, the sounds we only notice when they stop. Sarah Moss revisits the theme at the novel’s end, when a boy hears a sound he can never unhear.

Moss writes intense scenes that drip with tension. As Alex maneuvers his kayak across the loch, his hands are so cold he can’t free his grip from the paddle. As Violetta hangs over the loch on a rope, Lola throws stones at her rather than helping her swing back to shore. A little girl named Izzie gazes out her bedroom window at night, certain that something evil is creeping between the cabins. With so much foreshadowing of doom, it isn’t a surprise that the ending is not happy.

The story is powerful but gloomy. It risks becoming oppressive as each chapter generates a new sense of foreboding. Even without the risk of imminent harm that characters often face, the harm caused by the daily grind of life — judgments and nationalism and unkindness within families — is enough to wear the reader down. Some readers might dislike the social commentary.

Yet by the end, the novel suggests that gloom is not the only response to dreary days. Maybe dancing with the Bulgarians is the best approach to creating a community. Still, the ending matches the story’s apocalyptic tone; disaster awaits, dancing only forestalls the inevitable. Readers who want an upbeat novel should look elsewhere. Summerwater nevertheless captures that angst that so many people feel — that perhaps more people should feel — as the world continues its relentless march toward chaos.

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A Song for the Dark Times by Ian Rankin

Published by Little, Brown and Company on October 13, 2020

The venerable John Rebus has a pulmonary disease that impairs his ability to climb stairs, but he isn’t letting retirement or disability stop him from solving crimes. In A Song for the Dark Times, his daughter Samantha is under suspicion for murdering her ex-lover. Some of the drama comes from Samantha’s fear that Rebus, who was never the best of fathers, suspects she’s guilty but is trying to protect her anyway. That fear might be legitimate, but regardless of his motivation, Rebus encourages the police to keep an open mind rather than pinning the murder on the most obvious suspect.

The murder victim is Keith Grant. He is the father of Samantha’s child and was her partner before she began a fling with Jess Hawkins, who is associated with a group that some describe as a New Age cult. Grant had been investigating the history of Camp 1033, one of several internment camps in Scotland that were used during World War II to house and abuse people born outside of the UK. Since Grant’s laptop was stolen (but not his wallet), Rebus wonders if the questions Grant asked about a long-ago death at the camp might be connected to his murder. Alternatively, he wonders if it might be connected to the cult or to the land that the cult and nearby camp occupy.

Meanwhile, Siobhan Clarke is trying to solve the murder of Salman bin Mahmoud. whose father “is worth squillions but thought to be under house arrest somewhere in Saudi Arabia.” Salman has been splashing his money around and emulating his hero, James Bond, in an effort to attract women. Salman’s involvement in a shady investment scheme might have something to do with his demise. The two murder investigations, as is usually true in thrillers with multiple killings, might be linked, but whether and how that could be true is for the reader to ponder.

A subplot involves ACC Jennifer Lyons, whose career with Police Scotland might be jeopardized by photographic evidence that her husband is cheating on her. The criminal who has those photos, Morris “Big Ger” Cafferty, contacts Malcolm Fox to act as an intermediary with Lyons regarding a proposition that might be regarded as blackmail.

Ian Rankin keeps the various plots in motion with his usual flair. He brings a number of supporting characters to the table, ranging from families of Germans who were held captive in Camp 1033 to a bar owner and locals who reside near the camp, from aristocrats doing business with Salman to police officers who butt heads with Rebus as he intrudes on their investigation. Rankin gives each character a unique and believable personality.

Rebus has always been portrayed as a character with a strong sense of justice — as he defines it — and an inability to play by the rules if the rules get in his way. The risk that Rebus will frame an innocent person to save his daughter lurks in the novel’s background, adding another spot of darkness to his blemished character.

The overlapping plots are complex but Rankin’s internal summaries keep the details fresh in the reader’s mind. While the solutions to the two murders are less than obvious, Rankin doesn’t strain credibility to produce surprising resolutions. Each plot thread is convincing, while the story as a whole is reasonably suspenseful. In short, A Song for the Dark Times delivers exactly the kind of murder mystery and strong characterizations that fans of Rankin’s twenty-something Rebus novels have come to expect.

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Bobby March Will Live Forever by Alan Parks

Published by Canongate Books on March 5, 2020

Most police detectives in Alan Parks’ Glasgow are members of the Masonic Lodge. They look out for each other, not for justice. They are “ignorant arseholes, chucking their weight about, lining their own pockets, bending the law whichever way it suited them.” In the third Harry McCoy novel, McCoy is thinking he no longer wants to be a part of it. That’s not surprising, given the number of times he is beaten and nearly killed.

While most of the Glasgow police are searching for a missing girl named Alice Kelly, McCoy is called to a hotel to deal with a suspicious death. The victim turns out to be Bobby March, dead of an overdose, the needle still in his arm. The evidence suggests he might have been murdered.

Bobby March was an immensely talented guitar player from Glasgow who impressed Keith Richards while auditioning for the Rolling Stones. He quickly became a has-been thanks to a heroin habit, although he still had a loyal following of Glaswegians.

McCoy isn’t looking for Alice because his former partner and current boss, Bernie Raeburn, is trying to force him out of his job. Raeburn eventually assigns McCoy to investigate unsolved burglaries while Raeburn hopes to get the glory of finding Alice’s abductor.

McCoy’s other task is to look for the chief inspector’s niece, Laura Murray, who ran away from home. That task brings McCoy into a family drama he’d rather avoid, although it also brings him into the Glasgow music scene, where he encounters his former girlfriend Angela, who currently works as a band manager and drug dealer. He also encounters his childhood friend, Stevie Cooper, who is now a heroin addict and a key player in the Glasgow underworld. Cooper is distressed to learn that someone is trying to blackmail him.

Much of the plot concerns Raeburn’s effort to fit up a young man named Ronnie Elder for Alice’s murder. Suffice it to say that McCoy is less than pleased with Raeburn’s desire to get the glory of an arrest even if he doesn’t arrest the right person. As police in all countries have learned, it’s easier to beat a confession out of an innocent person than to find the guilty party. That plot thread ends with a violent confrontation between McCoy and Raeburn.

Along the way, Parks ties up the plot threads involving March’s death, Laura’s disappearance, and Cooper’s blackmail problem. The resolutions are refreshingly credible. The story is tightly woven despite its many threads. Parks gives ample attention to characterization and paints a vibrant picture of the Glasgow music scene. As is often true of crime novels from the UK, Parks doesn’t glorify the police. In fact, Parks makes it clear that Glasgow’s cops and criminals all come from the same roots and that they’re very much alike, despite the paths they’ve chosen. McCoy has faults of his own, but a lack of decency or compassion isn’t one of them. He’s a likable protagonist.

Parks balances mystery, suspense and action in a story has a little something for everyone — except, perhaps, for fans of quilting mysteries, for whom the novel is probably too dark. Bobby March Will Live Forever is the third McCoy novel but the first I’ve read. It makes me think that crime novel fans might want to start at the beginning and read all three.

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The Valley at the Centre of the World by Malachy Tallack

Published in Great Britain by Canongate Books in 2018; paperback edition published on April 7, 2020

Life in an isolated rural area, the choices people make to embrace or abandon such a life, and whether they have the power to make choices at all, are the animating themes of The Valley at the Center of the World. The novel explores the complexity of people who live simple lives, reminding the reader that no life is ever simple. A character in the novel, reflecting on how things are changing in the valley, thinks about how things have become complicated and how she wants them to be simple again, but the changes she sees involve people, not landscapes, and people are never simple.

Two primary characters, David and Sandy, are a study in contrast. David has the serenity of certainty. He is the only remaining resident who has a long history in the valley. He knows his place in the world and that place makes him happy. Unlike his wife Mary, who viewed home as the place from which she would escape when she became an adult, David has never wanted to leave the valley. Mary admires and depends upon the stability that her husband brings, but she can’t help wondering whether she might have lived a different life, one that was not so fixed by her husband’s contentment.

David’s greatest fear is that the valley’s few remaining residents will move away, as did their daughters, Kate and Emma. Kate, like David, figured out what made her happy. She moved away, but not far, dropped out of college, got married, had kids, and causes no worries. Emma, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to know what she wants.

In that respect, Emma is like Sandy. They met in Edinburgh but Emma wanted to come home to the valley, feeling “we’re tied to the islands by elastic.” Sandy didn’t feel the pull but he went with her, moving into the house next to David’s, a house that David and Mary owned, and lived there for three years. Then Emma decided she had to go away, leaving Sandy to wonder whether he wants to stay, whether he even has a choice. Unlike David, Sandy is not certain of anything. He doesn’t know whether tending sheep offers the promise of a satisfying life. An inevitable conflict between David, who wants to bind people to the valley, and Sandy, who doesn’t want David to control his life, is the initial source of the story’s dramatic power.

Other characters, the only other residents of the valley, add to the novel’s understated drama. Terry drinks too much, sometimes with Sandy, and feels sorry for himself, bringing everyone down with his bitterness. Alice, a mystery writer whose husband died, moves to the valley as a means of escaping into the past, to a place where she used to vacation with her husband. Alice is working on a book about the valley but she can’t quite decide what she wants to say, what she wants the book to be. She’s trying to understand Maggie, who lived a long life in the valley, but the letters Maggie wrote are all about work and weather. According to David, “wark and wadder”sums up her life. Perhaps thinking of her own life, Alice wonders whether that is enough.

Sandy’s confusion heightens when, after he moves into Maggie's old house, a young couple moves into the house he formerly occupied with Emma. His attraction to Jo, Ryan’s wife, is mutual and uncomfortable. He feels torn when Liz, his mother, suddenly reappears after a four-year absence from his life. He resents her presence as much as he craves it. Liz’s backstory explains why she found it impossible for her to stay with Sandy’s father or to be a proper mother to Sandy. She loves Sandy, “just not in the way that was required of her.”

Characters who grew up in the valley have their own way of speaking. When Alice asks David what kind of stories Maggie told, he replies: “Well, du kens, juist stories aboot fok. Aboot da valley. My parents, her parents, idder fok at used to bide around here.” Malachy Tallack provides a glossary of Scottish dialect, but it’s not really necessary. If you can hear the voices in your head, you’ll understand what they’re saying. Hearing those voices is one of the pleasures of reading the novel.

Much like the book Alice is writing, The Valley at the Centre of the World is as much about the place as the people who inhabit it. The valley sees little change. It is a place that will endure, as it always has, untroubled by urban bustle, until its few sheep farmers finally die or move away. Yet it is the depth of characterization that makes the novel special.

The novel is quiet but eventful. The story encourages readers to get inside the skin of each character, to wonder what will finally become of them. Mary might wonder about alternative lives, but she knows she is fundamentally happy with what she has. Terry is passive, “as though his whole movement through life had been guided by decisions were not his own,” and unlikely to change. Sandy and Alice have the strongest temptations to leave, but will they? “I’m no sure what I want, exactly,” Sandy tells Jo. “I used to ken, but now I don’t.” Alice’s family wants her to come home. She isn't sure she has any reason to stay, but the more she works on her book about the valley, the more it feels like home.

The valley never changes, but people do. Some people fear change, others see no need for it. Whether the characters will find ways to be content with their lives, by embracing or rejecting change, is the fascinating question that invites the reader to imagine how the characters' lives might turn out.

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The Art of Dying by Douglas Lindsay

Published digitally in the UK by Hodder & Stoughton/Mulholland Books on August 22, 2019

The Art of Dying is the third novel in a series set in Scotland, premised on the protagonist’s early retirement as a spy who now works as a homicide detective. Detective Inspector Westphall’s history as a man who has seen too much of the world’s ugliness positions him as a reliable noir character. He is haunted by people who have died, people he has hurt. His dreams may be portents of deaths to come.

Westphall begins the novel by investigating the beating death of a man at a football (soccer) game. The murder is witnessed by the victim’s stepson, who is clobbered while trying to intervene despite his belief that his stepdad is an asshole. The stepdad had challenged a racist comment that someone made about a member of the home team, making that unidentified fan the only initial suspect.

What appears to be a routine killing by a football hooligan turns into a complicated investigation when other suspects enter the picture. The victim was CEO of a rapidly expanding funeral business. He was despised by his sister but apparently loved by his wife. He regularly visited an infirm grandmother who squandered the family wealth on a painting. A Russian woman had an affair with him and then, acting on her father’s behalf, invested in his business. And so the list of suspects grows, even before a hedge fund guy who sits on the board of the victim’s business is disemboweled.

After another, and seemingly unrelated, disemboweled murder victim is found in a care home, Westphall has a mystery on his hands. The mystery compounds when another recent death in the care home is determined to have been caused by strangulation. And yes, this is the same care home where the grandmother who spent the family fortune on a gruesome painting of infanticide resides. She spends every day staring at the painting, oblivious to everything else in the world. The connection between art and death gives the novel its title.

Douglas Lindsay creates a strong noir atmosphere — rain and wind and the sea endlessly crashing against Scottish shores, a landscape that might drive anyone to commit murder. He also creates strong characters. The elderly residents of the care home have varying personalities. A blind man who plays chess against himself contributes a philosophical perspective that aids the investigation. The reason the grandmother stares at the painting without speaking a word, revealed only at the end, adds a poignant note to the story, as do the other seniors living isolated lives, surrounded by a beautiful landscape they never notice.

The mystery is resolved by one reveal after another until the final secret is uncovered. The story is built on intelligence rather than action. This is the kind of plot, complex but credible, that mystery lovers crave. Capping it off is Lindsay’s prose, graceful but not flashy, not a word out of place. Fans of British police procedurals (which are typically a good bit more interesting than their American counterparts) should seek out this series.

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