Murder In The Central Committee by Manuel Vázquez Montalbán
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

Maybe I am too dense, or maybe I don’t understand English. But, this book just didn’t work out for me. Cause out of the 224 odd pages in this book I had already spent around 150 without getting a single clue to the investigation, I didn’t have any clue as to the life of the murder victim. And I also didn’t have any clue regarding the style of narration used.

And on top of everything, long paragraphs on Communism, and longer discussions of food. Make no mistake, I am a foodie, and I love to hate Communism, but I wouldn’t want an overdose of either two in a crime novel, where the crime, the clues, the detection and every other thing related to Crime writing does not takes a backseat but is entirely absent. A bad bad experience.

Or else the translator got it all wrong!!!


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Black Lies, Red Blood: A Mystery by Kjell Eriksson
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

Black Lies, Red Blood by Kjell Eriksson is the latest instalment in the series featuring Ann Lindell. Set is Sweden, the book starts with Lindell glowing in the light of new found love (according to her). But, no sooner had she really started feeling happy, than the “perfect man” Anders Brant, disappears from her life and apparently from Sweden without any hint as to his whereabouts or his motive. Before Lindell can figure what’s happening, a dead body with a bashed up head is found. Quickly identified as a homeless man, the police find a phone number in his pockets. And, giving credibility to the term “co-incidence” the number turns out to be Brant’s. Lindell is distressed and tries to solve another crime relating to the disappearance of a teenage girl, as she tries to find out “Where the hell, Brant is and what had he done to get his phone number in the pockets of a murdered man?”

Now, points to reckon while reading a book that has been written in a Scandinavian country.
1. Extremely brutal and twisted crime. Like one bullet used to kill three men standing haphazardly.
3. An equally twisted logic to solve and explain the crime.
4. Extremely bad translation (in most cases).
5. Extremely dark detectives.
a. They don’t know how to laugh.
b. Their lives are always down in the dumps.
c. They, always somehow in some way make the crime personal.
6. An African connection. (not frequent, but neither rare)
7. A book, despite all the above points, which is deliciously fast, and hugely entertaining to read.

Now, this particular book had none of the points mentioned from 1 to 6, except maybe the brooding detective and bad translation. Yet, it came out as a “WHY DID I PICK THIS BOOK” kind of book. The crime was pretty simple, the motive when explained to the reader was also simple, in fact it was so simple that wasting 320 pages on such a crime, and bringing it out with a name as mysterious and having no connection to the plot is a bit over the top. And the detection. This took all the cakes away. For 80% of the book everyone was speculating as to who can be the murderer, digging up names and taking with them, comparing fingerprints with no success. And then suddenly the murderer stars behaving oddly, he starts to show to the reader that he just might be the criminal, and in the penultimate chapter he is branded as the culprit. The police could have as well sat on their backs and waited for the 80% of the book to go by and wait for the man to reveal himself. This is not something I like in a detective novel. If this is a kind of thriller you are writing, I would rather read a case report. And coming to case report, the translation actually felt like that. Wooden and official.

Then what was this fuss about the book being an Ann Lindell mystery??? I mean the crime written on the blurb gets solved by everyone else but this lady. The only connection she had with the crime was that her supposed beau’s number was in the victim’s pocket, and that he did a vanishing trick. Lindell was busy trying to solve the missing kid case. And what did that case had to do with the main plot, except increase the number of pages?? And, even that case didnt get a proper ending. Or for that matter what did Anders Brant’s vacation in Brazil, his escapades with a Brazilian lady had to do with the main plot?? Except increasing the number of pages.

This book will remain as one, which had a thin plot fit for a short story, but which came out as a novel just because the author decided to stuff the whole plot with words and paras not remotely connected with the main plot. Or maybe this was that other kind of crime novel, the one with a “BROADER ISSUE” as it base. Whatever that might be!!


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Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter by Tom Franklin
My rating:0.5 of 5 stars

Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter by Tom Franklin, is set in the rural town of Chabot, Mississippi, where a local policeman Silas “32” Jones lives and his long estranged school friend Larry Ott, a garage owner. Though both of them were world apart Silas being a black, son of a single mother, Larry was the son of a white mill worker, their friendship blossomed until one day Larry Ott takes a girl to a date in a drive in movie, and the girl is never seen again. Larry carries the burden of being a suspect all his life, as Silas returns to the town as a policeman. Back in the current period another girl goes missing and everyone starts looking suspiciously at Larry again and Silas tries to solve the crime of both the disappearance to bring the guilty to justice.

There are books which can be described in one single word like UNPUTDOWNABLE, and then there are books like these which wins heaps of awards and yet can be described in another single word, “BORING”. Yes this book bored me to death. I just don’t get one point, is it too difficult for a writer to write a clean cut crime novel instead of wrapping it in an extra mould of pseudo literary paragraphs thereby (maybe)trying to prove that, “Look as a writer I dont only write crime fiction, but my books also have a lot of human element in it”.

When I start reading a crime novel, I search for a tight plot, some exciting clue searches and a nicely balanced finish. This book had none, instead had pages after pages of flash backs, comprising of developing relationships between the two protagonists. Though this may be helpful in bringing back the reader’s childhood memories of school, but it did nothing excepting turning a boring plot into something which never came close to resembling anything remotely Crime fiction.

Then at last the book ended, and I felt as if I just got a new lease of life. Because I might have died of boredom. This book won a heap of awards including CWA Golden Dagger, which though have given away some deserving winners, have also decided on conferring the honour on some equally bad crime novels like this one.

Dear author, please, the next time you write a book, decide first what you want to write. Will it be a literary fiction, or a crime fiction? Take a decision and stick to it, but please dont write a book, trying to ride both the boat at the same time.


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Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy by John le Carré
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

Can someone tell me why this book is considered to be a masterpiece of spy fiction??? I mean the reader gets "DROPPED" in the middle of nowhere called "A PLOT", with a protagonist who is too lazy or too laid back to care, along with me the reader, about whats going on. And by the end, when the mole gets pointed out, I dont know how or which points or clues pointed him out.

For me SPY FICTION = A FORM OF CRIME FICTION..

So, if these books don't have CRIME -> DETECTION -> CLUES SEARCH -> CATCHING THE MOLE, instead has confusing jargon, innumerable "spies" who have no link whatsoever to the plot, and a desperate attempt from the author to make spy fiction read like a booker winner, I call it PRETENTIOUS and tend to skip it, and make it a point of not reading the author's work again.

Give me a Bob Ludlum, or a Frederick Forsyth any day. Yes, unlike Le Carre their books might never be found in the hands of so-called serious readers, but atleast they live up to their name of spy thrillers. The books are thrilling.


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