Today, the weather wasn’t as nice as yesterday and we started our crime fiction fun fest in the rain. Marina Sofia and I attended a conference entitled “Madame Bovary, c’est moi”, according to the famous word by Flaubert. David Young (UK), Ron Rash (US) and Caryl Férey (France) were in this panel as writers of books featuring women as central characters. The journalist in charge of this discussion was Michel Abescat and he was well prepared. He had obviously read several books of each writer and had imagined a series of question around the theme. In my opinion, Caryl Férey and Ron Rash were the most fascinating of the three to describe their creative process.
Ron Rash explained that he started to write Saints at the River with a male narrator but ended up making of Maggie the narrator. He said that after 40 pages into the novel, the man’s voice wasn’t convincing and Maggie’s voice imposed itself. Landscapes play an important role in his books and he confided that he viewed them as feminine. This reminded me of the discussion we had about the quotes by Jim Thompson I published recently.
He also talked about how he writes. He doesn’t find himself interesting enough to be the clay of his novels. He’d rather write about less boring people and he aims at creating memorable characters. The characters are the central piece of his books, before the story. He sees himself as some sort of phone tower that would capture stories that are in the air and that would plug on the right frequency to catch the voices of the characters. His characters inhabit him and express themselves through his pen. He said he’s “feeling, thinking their thoughts” and that he tries to wipe himself away in order to give himself totally to a character. In the end, he writes to understand what it feels to be human, what it means to be in this world.
Caryl Férey is a genuine guy who has a great sense of humor, a lot of presence on stage. He’s the antithesis of PC, which I love. He explained that he now prefers to write scenes that involve women. He also wants to write about oppressed people and since women are often among them, he’s interested in creating strong female characters. He was a bit provocative and said that men are more cavemen and that introducing female characters in his books obliged him to write with more finesse. And since his heroines wouldn’t fall in love with douchebags, he had to draw more sensitive male characters too.
Caryl Férey also talked about his creation process. He travels a lot. People he met through his travels influence his characters. His description was a lot like listening film directors when they explain the choice of an actor or an actress for a role. They often say “As soon as he/she entered the room, I knew he/she was the incarnation of the character”. Férey agreed with Rash about being inhabited by his characters during the writing of the book. He becomes a medium to pour them onto the page. He went as far as saying that he once fell in love with one of his characters, “as stupid as it may sound”, he acknowledged.
About first person narratives vs third person narratives. Both said it is more powerful to write first person narratives. Férey says that he rarely does, he’d rather write third person narratives and alternate narrators. Each narrator has their own style which may be a problem for Férey as a writer. When several third-person narrators meet, whose voice shall take over and tell the scene?
He also said that as a writer, he’s never off the clock. Musicians might think in sounds, painters in colors, he thinks in words and stories.
Both Rash and Férey are fond of poetry and they say it influences their writing. Rash explained that the last editing of his book consists in him listening to the sound of his sentences and polishing their sound, their rhythm. He wants to add another layer to his writing to enhance the reader’s pleasure. Férey pointed out that since poetry is not expected in crime fiction, he likes adding some to the mix.
To be honest, David Young seemed a little off compared to the others. His answers were interesting but his creation process seemed less artistic and less interesting to me.
This was a very good conference and you can watch it on replay on the Quais du Polar website, if you’re interested.
After that, I decided to attend a literary concert about Marcus Malte’s novel, Les harmoniques. This consisted in Malte being on stage with a jazz singer and a guitarist/double bassist.
Sorry, the picture isn’t good but at least, it gives you an idea of the setting.. Marcus Malte is on the left.
Malte told excerpts of his novel and between these excerpts, the musicians played songs related to the book. Les harmoniques, which I haven’t read yet, is deeply linked to jazz music. There’s a playlist at the beginning of the book and part of this playlist was played on stage. What a treat, really. Malte was well-prepared. He almost knew his text by heart and his narration was perfectly in tune with his words, with the music. The music agreed with the words, the words agreed with the music. Being there was a chance, a gift these talented artists gave to the public. It was set in the amphitheater of the Opera, away from the crowd, in a soft atmosphere. Jazz and crime fiction have a long common history and this literary concert was a marvelous experience. I can’t tell you how lucky the public was to attend such a performance, and for free. You can listen to it in replay here. It seems to be a very atmospheric book and I can’t wait to read it.
I rushed to the Chapelle de la Trinité, grabbing a sandwich on my way to meet with Marina Sofia and attend a conference entitled Exiled, locked away, tortured but alive: when pens become one with the wind of freedom. The participants were Víctor del Árbol (Spain), Marc Fernandez (France/Spain), Zygmunt Miloszewski (Poland) and Qiu Xiaolong (Chine)
All write about oppression and the dark corners of their countries. Miloszewski decided to write a book about domestic violence against women. Qiu writes about China. Fernandez wrote a novel about the stolen children of the Franco regime, a similar story to what happened in Argentina. Del Árbol writes about the hidden wounds of the Spanish Civil war and the Franco years. Miloszewski declared that patriotism means loving the glorious pages of one’s country’s history and being ashamed of his dark pages. Nationalism forgets to be ashamed of the dark pages. Del Árbol wants to address the issues that have been swept under the carpet to give the defeated a voice. He says that the vanquished, here the Spanish Republicans, were ashamed to have lost and had to stay silent. They were forgotten. Qiu explained that in China in the 1980s, graduate students from university were given jobs that they had to accept, whether the job was their cup of tea or not. This is why his main character, Inspector Chen reluctantly became a police officer. People have their future stolen by dictatorships or as Imre Kertesz perfectly described it, they became Fateless. The discussion was interesting, never going into actively promoting one’s last book but genuinely building on their work to foster the debate.
This was my last conference of the day. I then went into the giant bookstore. I wanted to talk to Jacques Côté, whose book I’ve just finished. I was glad to have answers to some questions I had about his book. I had books signed by Ron Rash, Megan Abbott and Víctor del Árbol. I bought a bande dessinée for my husband and books to give to other readers. And went home, tired but happy.
First day at Quais du Polar was a success! After a lovely lunch where Marina Sofia discovered what a café gourmand is, we headed to the Palais de la Bourse where the big bookshop is settled. Todau, the Palais de la Bourse is actually the headquarters of the Chamber of Commerce of Lyon. The name Palais de la Bourse means literally The House of Stock Exchange. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that a place that used to be a stock exchange is now hosting a huge book fair and a celebration of culture.
We wandered around the different bookstores, chatting about the books on the display tables, seeing where the different writers would be for their signing. Nothing’s better than browsing through books with another book lover.
I had the opportunity to talk to Marcus Malte and gush about how much I loved Le garçon. I purchased Les harmoniques, one of his earlier crime fiction books. Blues music plays an important role in the book and tomorrow he gives a lecture/concert about this book. I hope I can get in.
We decided to attend a conference entitled “Women as victims, women as executioners: what do these female protagonists tell us?” The participants to the conversation were Harold Cobert (French), Dominique Sylvain (France), Jenny Rogneby (Sweden), Andrée A Michaud (Québec) and Clare Mackintosh (UK). Cobert is the author of La mésange et l’ogresse, a book that attempts to describe the Affaire Fourniret from his wife’s side. Fourniret was a serial killer of young virgins and she was his supplier, luring the girls into his trap. I don’t want to read a book about this monster, but it doesn’t mean it’s a bad one, of course. Jenny Rogneby and Clare Mackinstosh have both worked in the police before writing novels. I guess they know how to add plausible details into their novels. I’m not going to relate the whole conversation about women, their place in crime fiction as victims or how they are received by the public when they are the criminals.
Both Rogneby and Mackintosh said that they want to give a voice to female victims, to give them some substance to avoid objectification. They want to show them as the humainbeing they were before becoming a victim. And how to we deal with female characters who are vicious criminals? There was an interesting discussion about whether women are as violent as men. I agree with Cobert’s assertion that imagining that women cannot be as violent or mean as men is another sexist way of seeing women. From this point of view, women would be soft and nice by essence, so not built as men and not their equals. I think that this vision comes from a distorted vision ingrained in people from childhood. Clare Mackintosh surprised the audience by explaining that, in her experience in the police force who intervene during Friday night brawls, women get as physical as men. She witnessed a lot of spontaneous aggressions from women too. They just fight differently scratching with their nails, pulling hair or kicking around. Personally, I’ve never seen two women or two girls fight physically. Have you?
Then the journalist asked about their self-censorship when they write. All agreed that they didn’t like to describe violence too closely, that they’d rather suggest it and that they want to avoid useless gore details and voyeurism. That’s better for the readers, in my opinion.
It was a good table discussion. It was located in the Grand Salon of the Hôtel de Ville (the city hall), a magnificent place where you can imagine the high society of the Second Empire having balls.
After that, Marina Sofia and I went our separate ways. I went to an interview of Megan Abbott. I’ve never read her books but since she’s inspired by Raymond Chandler, James M Cain, Patricia Highsmith and James Ellroy, she can’t be bad. (Unless she can’t write, which I doubt). She’s a lovely lady, she answered the questions gracefully and explained a bit about her source of inspiration, her love for Noir films and novels. She told us a bit about her writing process, where the ideas come from, what she starts with…I’m interested in one of her earlier books, Queenpin and in her last one available in French, You Will Know Me. It’s about a young adolescent who’s a gymnastic prodigy. She said she wanted to explore what having a gifted athlete could do to a family, to a couple. She explained that she could relate a bit since her brother was a baseball player. It’s an intriguing idea, I wonder what she made of it.
After this session, I had the chance to talk to David Vann and Todd Robinson who were sitting next to each other. Both are friendly and I appreciated that they made the effort to say a few words in French. As always, writers seem happy to participate to Quais du Polar. They take time to chat with readers, they are relaxed and I think warmly welcome by their bookstore host. Todd Robinson explained that these kind of book fairs don’t exist in the US and that he enjoys them. (There are a lot of “salon du livre” in France. Lots of cities host one) If writers are happy, visitors will be happy too. There were already a lot of people at the Palais de la Bourse today, it will be really packed tomorrow.
Today I came back home with four books.
Let’s see what tomorrow brings!
That’s it, my three days at Quais du Polar are over. I had the pleasure to spend most of it with Marina Sofia and we had a great time wandering in the giant book store settled in the chamber of commerce and attenting conferences. I’m going to miss her next year.
There were 120 writers invited, around 50 panel debates, exhibits in museums, 10 independant bookstores, a treasure hunt in the city, a murder party and lots of other activities around crime fiction and police investigations. Sessions were at the chamber of commerce, in a nearby church, in the city hall, at the opera, at the theatre. Lots of places were involved to welcome the visitors. Here is a picture about Lyon turning into crime fiction city:
I went to visit the police academy in the outskirts of Lyon. This is where the commissaires are trained. After a presentation of the school and a moment in the in-house museum, members of the CSI team gave us a demonstration of how they gather clues on a crime scene. There was a mock appartment with a murder in the kitchen and we were above the appartment, on a footbridge that allowed us to see what was happening below. One police officer was performing the tasks of collecting clues and securing the crime scene while another was with us explaining what his colleague was doing. It was fascinating to see how they proceed on location, to hear about the precautions and the tools they use. It was a friendly visit and we had the opportunity to ask questions and chat with a future commissaire.
Part of the fun is to attend conferenced. I went to several sessions in different locations. The atmosphere was friendly with nice banter between the writers. One was about the place of femme fatale in crime fiction. Another one was the translation contest I wrote about.
I went to hear Jo Nesbø, Arnaldur Indridason, Oliver Norek, Sara Gran, Deon Meyer and Craig Johnson talk about their recurring characters. Each explained how they came with this character, how they stayed with them. Olivier Norek is a former police officer turner writer and he explained that his character and stories are based on his experience. Deon Meyer seemed impressed to be on stage with someone who had the actual experience of what he wrote about. We were in a chapel in the city centre, transformed into crime fiction conference room.
I heard three writers from Québec talk about French- Canadian crime fiction, their love for the French language and the difficulties they have to get published in France. Can you believe that French publishers ask them to wipe away the Quebec vibe from their style? I know they use different words and expressions in Québec and I sure don’t want a character from Québec to speak like a Parisian. I expect them to speak differently and that’s part of the charm.
Last but not least, I attended a panel debate with Olivier Truc, Colin Niel, Naïra Nahapétian, Parker Bilal and Caryl Férey who all write crime fiction in specific places. Truc’s hero is in Lapland, Niel’s capitaine is in French Guiana, Nahapétian writes books set in Iran, Parker Bilal intends to picture Egypt from 1998 to 2011 and Caryl Férey wrote books set in South Africa, New Zealand or Argentina. It was fascinating to hear how they gather relevant information for their books. For all, it’s a mix of personal experience and research. Caryl Férey joked about reading obscure thesis to gather knowledge and material about the country of his next book. We were in the Grand Salon at the city hall, where there is more gold on the walls and ceiling than in an Italian roccoco church.
And of course, the festival was an opportunity to chat with writers, ask questions and get books signed. My TBR increased this weekend. Here are my new acquisitions:
I trust the publisher Gallmeister, they never disappoint: if they picked Jon Bassoff, then it’s a good book. Jacques Côté is from Québec, so I’m interested in discovering Montréal from a non-touristy angle. Sara Gran spoke so well about her character, Claire DeWitt, that I’m looking forward to meeting this unusual female PI. I wanted to read another volume of Craig Johnson’s series and he’s very friendly with readers and fellow writers.
I’m curious about Jax Miller’s book and she was also very open to discussion with readers. She seems to have created a kickass female character and I am intrigued. I picked a book by Naïra Nahapétian. She’s from the Armenian community in Iran but has lived in France since she was 10. Her books are set in Iran and I’m interested in discovering this country through her books. I knew I’d want to read the second volume of Niel’s series in French Guiana. Janis Otsiemi is from Gabon. Reading one of his books will be a way to read about his country. I tend to pick crime fiction books that have more texture than just the plot.
Have you read and / or reviewed one of these books? Links to your reviews are welcome.
The festival was great and the atmosphere very relaxed. Writers seem happy to be there, to participate to debates, to meet eager readers and see each other. Last year, 20 million of crime fiction books were sold in France, in a country of 67 million inhabitants. I think it’s quite impressive, especially for a country that has libraries in every town. It means that more than 20 million of crime fiction books were read, if you take into account libraries and people lending books to each other.
I don’t know the 2016 figures yet, of course. But last year, 70 000 people came to the festival and 30 000 books were sold in three days. We’ll see how it went this year but I bet it’s even more. I’ll end this enthusiastic billet with a big thank you to the organizers and volunteers of the festival, it was fascinating and well-organised. A real pleasure.
Well, now my literary weekend is over and it’s time to go back to my non-literary job & life. 🙂
1974 by David Peace (1999) Translated by Daniel Lemoine.
Edward Dunford is a rookie journalist, just hired as North of England Crime Correspondent at the Yorkshire Evening Post. The book starts on Friday 13 December 1974. Eddie’s father has just died and he’s attending a press conference at the Millgarth Police Station, Leeds. Little Clare Kemplay has been missing since the day before on her way back from school. Soon, her body is found in a nearby alley. Edward makes a connection between this murder and the murders of two other little girls. Jeanette Garland missing since 1969 in Castleford. Susan Ridyard missing since 1972 in Rochdale, in 1972.
Eddie starts digging. His colleague Barry Gannon is on a big case that he calls the Dawsongate. He’s investigating shady transactions in the construction business owned by John Dawson. He’s on the verge of getting the evidence he needs. He gets murdered on December 16th. Eddie inherits of his material.
Who is the link between the three murdered little girls? What was Barry about to reveal?
Ambitious Eddie will follow leads and from informative phone calls, to strange visits and police tips, he will start his journey to hell. Corruption is wherever you look. Among the police. Among the press. Among the powerful men of the territory. Eddie will be in the cross-fire between the three, trying to save his career and his life while attempting to discover the truth about these horrible acts.
Everything happens between December 13 and Christmas Eve. David Peace installs the nervous pace of his literary style from the first paragraphs:
‘All we ever get is Lord fucking Lucan and wingless bloody crows,’ smiled Gilman, like this was the best day of our lives:
Friday 13 December 1974.
Waiting for my fist Front Page, the Byline Boy at last: Edward Dunford, North of England Crime Correspondent; two days too fucking late.
I looked at my father’s watch.
9 a.m0 and no bugger had been to bed; straight from the Press Club, still stinking of ale, into this hell:
The Conference Room, Millgarth Police Station, Leeds.
The whole bloody pack sat waiting for the main attraction, pens poised and tapes paused; ht TV lights and cigarette smoke lighting up the windowless room like a Town Hall boxing ring on a Late Night Fight Night; the paper boys taking it out on the TV set, the radios static and playing it deaf:
‘They got sweet FA’
‘A quid says she’s dead if they got George on it.’
Khalil Aziz at the back, no sign of Jack.
I felt a nudge. It was Gilman again, Gilman from the Manchester Evening News and before.
‘Sorry to hear about your old man, Eddie’
‘Yeah, thanks,’ I said, thinking news really did travel fucking fast.
‘When’s the funeral?’
I looked at my father’s watch again. ‘In about two hours.’
‘Jesus. Hadden still taking his pound of bloody flesh, then.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, knowing, funeral or no funeral, no way I’m letting Jack fucking Whitehead back on this one.
‘I’m sorry, like’
‘Yeah,’ I said.
It’s a long quote but it gives the atmosphere of the novel in a nutshell. The ingredients are there. Eddie mourning his father but in competition with the star journalist Jack Whitehead. The fake camaraderie between the journalists. The show delivered by the police. The interdependence between the police and the press. The demands of Hadden, Eddie’s boss.
The loose use of punctuation gives a staccato rhythm to the book and it will follow us for the whole ride. I have to admit: Thank God I had this one in translation. I was already fairly lost in French, I can’t even imagine what it would have been in English. It’s a first person narrative, so we’re with Eddie the whole time. It’s violent because the methods of the police are made of beating and torture. There’s an urgency to the story that keeps you breathless. We’re walking in the dark with Eddie, trying to weave the threads of information together to create the tapestry of events. Not easy before computer and cell phones times.
I know that Nineteen Seventy-Four is loosely based upon the real case of the Yorkshire Ripper. I’m French and was still in diapers in 1974. I know nothing about this case. Just like I knew nothing about the Lucan case when I read Aiding and Abetting by Muriel Spark. I did a bit of reading on Wikipedia. This serial killer murdered prostitutes, not little girls. Fiction is mixed with facts. Edward Dunford is from Osset, like David Peace. The investigation on the Yorkshire Ripper was done by Assistant Chief Constable George Oldfield who was highly criticized for his handling of the case. Here, George Oldfield is the name of the Chief Superintendent in charge of the investigation. I’m sure there are other parts of the novel that borrow to the real case. Does that bother me? Not really because it is not a novel about this case. It’s a novel about a similar serial killer and Peace probably used the information about the Yorkshire Ripper to give back the atmosphere of the time, the way the police worked and how the whole intelligentsia of West Yorkshire holds themselves together through shared secrets.
Nobody had interest in shaking the whole system and Eddie is a willing pawn. He’s not a likeable character either. Women are means for sex, however damaged they might be, he’s in this mainly for his own advancement and his competition with Jack Whitehead for the title of best crime journalist. He’s not a noble character fighting to right wrongs in a corrupt world. And yet he continues.
This is Noir, very very Noir fiction and Peace’s style makes it worth your time. Granted it’s not an asset for the Department of Tourism of West Yorskshire, even if it is set 40 years ago.
For another review, have a look at Max’s excellent post here.
The Outlaw by Georges Simenon (1941). Original French title: L’outlaw.
|C’était terrible ! Stan était trop intelligent. Il avait conscience d’être aussi intelligent, sinon plus, que n’importe qui. Il pensait à tout !
Il savait même qu’il allait faire une bêtise et pourtant il était incapable de ne pas la faire ! Comment expliquer cela ?
|It was terrible! Stan was too intelligent. He was aware of his being as intelligent as anyone else, if not more. He thought of everything.
He even knew that he was about to do something stupid and yet he was unable not to do it! How to explain this?
When The Outlaw opens, it’s night, it’s winter and Stan and his girlfriend Nouchi are walking around in Paris. They’re broke and cannot go back to their cheap hotel because they haven’t paid for the room and they know that the owner will be on the prowl, waiting for his payment or to throw them out.
Stan is Polish and Nouchi is Hungarian. They are both illegal migrants in the Paris of the 1930s. They’ve been together for a while and have come back to Europe after a few years in New York. We soon understand that they had to leave after Stan did something stupid.
The first chapters are poignant as Stan feels trapped in his penniless life. He lives in constant fear of the police. They walk around, looking for an open café to warm themselves a bit. They are desperate. They’re not allowed to work, they’ve already gotten all the money they could from friends. We follow Stan’s train of thoughts and he doesn’t see the end of the tunnel.
|Il marchait. Il pensait. Il pensait durement, méchamment. Ses narines se pinçaient et il serrait les poings. Il n’avait pas le droit de s’asseoir sur un banc, car il aurait attiré l’attention et la première idée de n’importe quel agent serait de lui demander ses papiers !||He walked. He was thinking. He was thinking harshly, meanly. His nose was pinched and his fists were clenched. He couldn’t sit on a bench because it would have drawn attention to him and the first idea any deputy would get was to has him for his papers.|
Nouchi and Stan need food and shelter. Exhaustion plays dirty tricks with Stan’s mind. He comes with the idea to bargain with the police: for 5000 francs, he will give them information about a gang of Polish criminals who operate from the same shabby hotel as the one they’re staying in. Instead, they want him to infiltrate the gang.
From there starts a rather confusing hide-and-seek game. The police are using Stan’s information but are still surveilling him. They are also staking out the Polish gang. I never quite understood whether the police were already aware of this gang’s activities or if Stan put them on it. Stan hopes to leave that mess scot-free and with the money. But Stan isn’t as clever as he thinks and he’s driven by fear, a bad adviser. He’s a young thug who isn’t brave enough to be as violent as his thug persona would require to and he can’t help wanting to earn easy money.
It could have been a great book if the plot had been polished a bit. It feels like it’s been written in a hurry and not edited much. I was more interested in the setting, the Paris of that time and Stan’s status than in the actual story.
It sounds strange to consider Polish and Hungarian citizens as illegal migrants as Poland and Hungary are now part of the EU and we can live wherever we want in the Union. Stan’s current nationality reminds us of the political instability in Europe.
|Je suis né à Wilno. Donc, avant la guerre, j’étais russe. Après, nous avons été lithuaniens… Les Polonais sont venus mais, au fond, nous sommes toujours lithuaniens.||I was born in Wilno. So before the war, I was Russian. Then we became Lithuanian…The Poles came but deep down, we remained Lithuanian.|
All this in a life time. I can’t imagine what it was for them. (Of course, I picked up on this since Romain Gary was born in 1914 un Wilno.)
Simenon gives a chilling idea of what it was (is?) to be an illegal migrant. Stan and Spa from Spa Sleeps by Dinev would understand each other at some level although Spa isn’t willing to do become a criminal to get money.
That part was more appealing to me than the rest and Simenon set Stan’s state-of-mind really well and prepared the reader to understand what he did later. There’s no excuse for crimes but there are explanations on how criminals got there. More about this later this month with my billet about Crime by Ferdinand von Schirach.
This was #TBR20 number 16.
Hell on Church Street by Jake Hinkson. 2012. French title: L’enfer de Church Street. (translated by Sophie Aslanides)
I purchased Hell on Church Street at Quais du Polar as I was intrigued by the writer and it’s published by Gallmeister which is starting to be a way to pick American literature with eyes closed and without thinking. Remember what I wrote then: In the booklet advertising Quais du Polar, each author presents themselves with a short biography and mentions their favourite book, film and writer. Jake Hinkson said that he was raised by Christian fundamentalists in the mountains in Arkansas, that he used to snuggle banned crime fiction books in Bible camp. He added that if Jim Thompson had knocked up Flannery O’Connor in a sleazy motel in Ozark, he’d be their offspring.
The starting point of Hell on Church Street is original. We have a typical ex-con trying to lie low in a job but his temper gets the better of him. He needs to get away from town and decides to steal a car at a gas station. He chooses Geoffrey Webb’s car because all he sees is a fat man unable to fight back. It’s an easy theft. Fatal mistake.
Geoffrey Web has nothing to lose and he needs to unburden his conscience. While he drives with the man’s gun pointed at him, he locks hard to the left and makes his aggressor understand that he too has their lives between his hands. He starts bargaining: if he lets him drive them both to Little Rock, Arkansas and tell his story, he will give him the three thousand dollars he has in his wallet. The ex-con accepts the deal and Geoffrey Webb starts talking. He will relate a tale of sex, murder and criminality set in the community of the Higher Living Baptist Church in the southwest section of Little Rock.
Geoffrey is hired as the youth minister of the church and he’s a perfect psycho Tartuffe. He spouts on passages of the Bible like he means them while he actually recites them as a salesman delivers their pitch. He’s the kind of youth minister who blabbers chaste messages about love, Jesus and being good while keeping porn tapes for his evening fun and lusting after the pastor’s teenage daughter.
When Father Card, the pastor of this church hired Webb, he didn’t realize he was letting a wolf enter into the sheepfold. Geoffrey Webb is not only a nut job, he’s also a ticking bomb waiting to explode. And all it takes is a threat issued by the local sheriff and his pushing Webb to do something illegal to set everything in motion.
I don’t want to tell too much about the plot. I always try harder than usual to avoid spoilers in crime fiction billets. You’ll have to discover the rest by yourself.
I was warned that Jake Hinkon’s books were known to be violent. Well, Hell on Church Street is violent but not more than Drive by James Sallis or The Killer Inside Me by Jim Thompson. Hinkson respects the codes of the genre. The originality of his novel is the setting and the relentless vitriolic remarks he makes about the Higher Living Baptist Church. He portrays a hypocrite being accepted in the community as long as he says the right things and apparently behaves with propriety. He destroys the illusion that with people, what you see is what you get –if anyone still nurtured that illusion. He shows power games within the community leaders and how people who think they are holier than the Pope –well, not exactly since they wouldn’t want to be associated with the Pope or any papist—are actually very common people with any many flaws as anyone.
I had a good time reading Hell on Church Street. Hinkon’s style is punchy and even if it wasn’t always comfortable to be in Webb’s head, it was a hell of a journey.
Le tri sélectif des ordures et autres cons by Sébastien Gendron. 2014. Not available in English
|Chaque jour a son lendemain et à force de vivre, on devient tous le connard de quelqu’un.||Each day has its tomorrow and simply by being alive, we all become someone else’s jerk.|
Let’s start with a little bit of French. In French, le tri selectif des ordures refers to the sorting of waste in order to recycle it. But an ordure is also a scumbag. And a con is an asshole. So basically, le tri sélectif des ordures et autres cons means the sorting of scumbags and other assholes. Now that you’ve been enlightened about the title, the book.
Imagine you’re a democratic hitman and you want to bring your useful services to the masses. After all, rich people are not the only ones to have someone in their life that they’d love to get rid of. That’s the idea. So Dick Lapelouse, hitman extraordinaire, decides to start a business in Bordeaux. See the content of his flyer:
|GENS DU PEUPLE, RELEVEZ-VOUS, CAR VOICI POUR VOUS SERVIR LA TREPANATION A 56€ TTC, L’ACCIDENT DE VOITURE A 79,99€ (VEHICULE NON FOURNI), L’ENTERREMENT EN MILIEU FORESTIER A 100€ TOUT ROND (HORS FRAIS DE DEPLACEMENT ET DE TEINTURERIE) ET LE FORFAIT MENACE + GRANDE PEUR + ASSASSINAT DANS RUE DEGAGEE, POUR 250€ SEULEMENT.||WAKE UP GOOD PEOPLE BECAUSE HERE IS TO SERVE YOU TREPANS FOR 56€ ALL TAXES INCLUDES, CARS ACCIDENT FOR 79,99€ (CAR NOT INCLUDED), BURIAL IN A FOREST FOR 100€ (TRAVEL AND DRY CLEANING EXPENSES NOT INCLUDED) AND THE PACKAGE THREAT + BIG FEAR + MURDER IN A CLEAR STREET FOR 250€ ONLY|
He goes to a banker to get a loan, settles down in an office near a psychiatrist, builds the IKEA catalogue of the various ways to kill someone, including options, advertises his services in the local newspapers and waits for clients to come. Things roll well for a while until he gets a job that cannot be performed according to plan. He is threatened by his client, his office is trashed. Who is after him?
Le tri sélectif des ordures et autres cons plays with the code of Noir and is a highly humorous book. No one should take this seriously; it’s a parody. That kind of novel is a risky business, it canhttps://bookaroundthecorner.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=5423&action=edit&message=10 be very good or terrible. Here, I think Gendron won his bet. He’s obviously knowledgeable in the Noir department, his imagination runs wild and he manages to create a crazy and yet plausible story. I laughed a lot, reading this story about the Easy Jet of contract killers and the impact of his business on the market of murders is irresistible.
Gendron’s style is better than you’d expect and it reads easily with dialogues that remind me of Michel Audiard.
|– Les vrais salopards ont des gueules d’ange et c’est ça leur principal talent.- Vous trouvez que j’ai une gueule d’ange ?- Non, je vous ai dit, vous avez une gueule de tueur à gages.||– Genuine bastards have an angel face and that’s their main talent.– You think I have an angel face?– No, I told you so, you have the face of a hitman.|
It’s a light read, you need to be in the right mood to enjoy his off-the-wall sense of humour but it’s worth the ride. Provided you can read in French.