Cadillac Jukebox (2006)

By James Lee Burke
Detective Dave Robicheaux is probably a cliché amongst crime heroes now – an alcholic (recovered, in this book), Vietnam vet, some anger management issues, a murdered wife, relationship troubles with his current wife, a big chip on his shoulder about the haves and have-nots…in a word, Robicheaux has Demons. But James Lee Burke does it all so well! Robicheaux should be treated as the archetypal troubled cop, with all others relegated to mere pale imitations. (That means you, McCallum).

Burke’s books are all set in and around New Orleans, Louisiana, and his descriptive powers are way beyond that of most crime writers. In fact, they make me want to go to Louisiana, despite it clearly being a hotbed for pimps, extortionists, murderers and alligators. Burke’s writing is beautiful – I wonder what he’ll write next, post Hurricane Katrina, with his beloved landscapes and cityscapes destroyed?

Anyway, the plot. A guy who was convicted of killing a black activist many years ago insists on his innocence, and for various reasons Robicheaux decides to investigate, which leads to all sorts of problems with some really very nasty people – see above, not including the alligators. Hmm, that doesn’t really tell you a lot, does it? Never mind, I think maybe it’s worth reading James Lee Burke for other reasons.

A minor quibble - maybe it was just the flawless Cajun slang that admittedly I was having some trouble following, but characters kept saying things like “Hey, you’re a bright guy, I know you connect on this” and I’m, like, “No! Spell it out for me!” but Robicheaux seems to be awfully good at putting two and two together, if you know what I mean...

Rating: 7.5 out of 10

A Clockwork Orange (2005)

By Anthony Burgess
I wanted to read this book because I decided it was high time I read the real thing and not rely only on the Mad Magazine version of the film by Stanley Kubrick. (Interesting fact: the film is based on the US edition of novel, which did not include the semi-redemptive last chapter). I imagine most people are familiar with the premise – Alex, a very violent teenager, undergoes treatment while in prison that makes him physically unable to commit violence in any way. In a word, this book is confronting – mostly for its straightforward descriptions of “ultraviolence”, including bashing and gang rape. It is not written in a voyeuristic manner, a la Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, just as it happens, from the point of view of one of the perpetrators, who clearly enjoys what he is doing. So, maybe two words: confronting, and disturbing.

It is also, though, a deeply interesting book, leaving the reader with a lot to think about at the end. The central question the novel presents (and I know this because I read it in the introductory essay afterwards) is this: is it better to choose to be wicked than to be forced to be good? I guess central to any code of conduct, religious or otherwise, when we really think about it, is the concept of choice. I remember someone once telling me that Brenda was the only really interesting character on Beverly Hills 90210 because you could see her deciding to be a good person from episode to episode, rather than automatically being one, like all the rest of them, although the assertion that the gang at the Peach Pit were “good” people may have come under fire from the book reviewer in the St James’s Gazette of 1890.

But that is another story…also interesting was Burgess’ depiction of society’s conflicting attitudes to violence: all agree that Alex’s acts of violence are reprehensible, but then embrace violence as part of his punishment. There is as much violence in prison, in this novel, than out of it, and not all of it is committed by fellow inmates – a bit like how in every cop show these days the cops threaten pretty young men into confessions by reminding them of the atrocities against their persons that they can expect in prison. Now, I’m not past a bit of the old “eye for an eye” myself, but I found this book (intentionally or not) quite a strong argument against vengeance. Mind you, all this does not solve the problem of how we should punish people who commit violent crimes, which is a topic too large for a humble book review, I suppose.

The last thing to say about this novel is that Burgess’ use of language is truly astounding – if a little hard to decipher at times. I wonder if Moloko the band took their name from Alex’s word for “milk”?

Read this novel when you’re feeling strong, but do read it.

Rating: 9 out of 10
For being a powerful and original piece of writing, but not really because the reading of it was enjoyable.

Portuguese Irregular Verbs (2004)

By Alexander McCall Smith
Another one by McCall Smith, but featuring another of his characters, Professor Dr von Igelfeld, a German philologist (word freak) whose seminal work is entitled “Portuguese Irregular Verbs”. This collection of stories describes some of Igelfeld’s adventures with his two closest colleagues, Professor Dr Detlev Amadeus Unterholzer (a quote for my friend Detlev: “…to be called Detlev was a misfortune…”), and Professor Dr Dr Florainus Prinzel, all who work at the Institute of Romance Philology.

I became quite fond of Professor Dr von Igelfeld and his slightly aquiline nose by the end of the book; Igelfeld is proud, arrogant and a snob, but also socially hapless and fond of walks through the countryside and pleasant views. He also realises his failings every so often (particular with respect to the hapless Unterholzer) and tries to make some amends.

I’m starting to think of McCall Smith as a modern Wodehouse – a writer of gentle, entertaining stories about eccentric characters with peculiar names, which occasionally provoke emotion, sometimes cause the reader to laugh (or at least smile), and that function as “an entertainment” (the author describes his book on the cover as “A Professor Dr von Igelfeld Entertainment”), rather than great literature. The world needs books like these, but I doubt they will end up on anyone’s Top 100 Books of All Time list – those seem to be reserved for heavier, worthier and more indigestible tomes.

A good holiday read – I’ll give Dr von Igelfeld another go.

Rating: 6.5 out of 10

The Passion (2004)

By Jeanette Winterson
After reading a few of Winterson’s books now (Sexing the Cherry, Oranges are not the only fruit, Art Objects, the Lighthousekeeper and this one) I profess to being a fan, particularly after her visit to the Adelaide Festival’s Writers’ Week. She said that week that she wasn’t into the whole self-help thing, but by golly if she wanted to start a cult she could do it by snapping her fingers, we were hanging on her every word.

OK so I had a revelation while reading this book; I think I’ve figured out that love is the great theme of all Winterson’s books. (Took me a while, didn’t it?). Love is what it’s all about for Winterson; I suspect of her of being a hopeless romantic at heart. Life seems more of an intellectual experience for writers like Vonnegut and Burroughs, which is not to imply that love and other human emotions play no part in their writing (nor that Winterson’s writing is not intellectual); they’re just more cynical about the whole thing.

I really enjoyed The Passion, a novel set during the time of Napoleon’s empire. The first section especially was compelling, about French peasant Henri who becomes a cook for Napoleon, and who essentially hero-worships the emperor. Partly it is the historical element that makes it fascinating, but Winterson is such a beautiful writer than any enjoyment of her books has to come from the language as well.

The other main character of the story is Villanelle, daughter of a Venetian boatman, an employee of the casino. She falls passionately in love with another woman, who is married. Henri and Villanelle meet when both are sent on Napoleon’s march through Russia, in the section called “The Zero Winter”. Both of their hearts are damaged; Henri’s as he realises Napoleon is not worth his idolatry; Villanelle’s because she literally doesn’t have one - her lover has stolen it. (An odd bit of magical realism thrown in which didn’t quite work for me). As she says, though, it is a blessing – the zero winter is no place for a heart.

You know, sometimes I wonder if war and pain and suffering are worthwhile after all because of the stories and art and film that it has caused people to create. It can’t possibly be – rather this probably indicates something a little unpleasant about humans; to quote Vonnegut in Bluebeard: “what Pollock did lacked that greatest of all crowd pleasers, which was human sacrifice”.

Rating: 9 out of 10