Books

19 January 2016

The Widow by Fiona Barton, UK, 2016



This is probably one of the most suspenseful books I have read for quite some time.


At the very beginning of the book, we learn that Glen Taylor, accused of some kind of dreadful crime, has been killed: knocked down by a bus. It is his wife, Jean, who tells us this. She is not the grieving widow; in fact, she seems relieved, almost glad. She says: … I was glad he'd gone. No more of his nonsense.

The structure of the book - short chapters, each written from the viewpoint of the widow (Jean Taylor), the detective (Bob Sparkes) or the reporter (Kate Waters), spanning a timeline from 20062010 in no particular chronological order – keeps the reader glued to the page. Each new viewpoint, each new date adds another facet to the puzzle, another layer to the story.

Did he do it or was he innocent?

Photo of Fiona Barton from fionabartonauthor.com
 
The reader is kept in the dark. At times it seems as though the detective has got it right and that Glen Taylor is definitely guilty; at other times it is obvious that Glen is a decent human being unnecessarily hounded by both the police and the media. That the answer can remain hidden until the very end of the book is a result of Barton's writing and structuring skill.

Although the story is all about Glen, it actually revolves around Jean, the obedient, submissive wife, Sparkes, the dedicated, somewhat obsessive, detective, and Kate, the reporter. The media, mainly personified by Kate Waters, is painted as false, heartless and completely driven by sensationalism and 'the story', even though there are a couple of small slivers of light suggesting that Kate may also have a compassionate side. Many of us would happily place a equal sign between the media and a mob of hyenas, and it was, therefore, interesting that Fiona Barton – an ex-journalist – chose to portray her former workplace from such a truthful, if sometimes negative, angle.

I enjoyed the way the characters and the main events gather flesh and colour as the story proceeds. Bit by bit, we get to know Jean and her husband, Glen, and it becomes more and more difficult to know whether the police and the media have actually 'got it right': is Glen Taylor a heartless killer or is he actually a normal loving husband?

An easy read, this is a definite must for anyone who enjoys suspense.



05 January 2016

A Painted House by John Grisham, USA, 2000


When I first looked at the blurb on the back and read about the Cardinals trailing the Dodgers, I was not too optimistic as I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, a baseball fan; however, although baseball runs like a red thread through the book, it is completely incidental to the main theme.


The main theme concerns a family of cotton growers in Arkansas. Cotton growing means cotton picking, and for the picking extra hands are recruited from Mexico in the south; even the hill people sign on for a couple of months' picking. The mix is not without its tension; it is the tension that creates the story.

A Painted House is narrated by seven-year-old Luke. The blurb tells us that the novel is inspired by Grisham's own childhood in Arkansas, but to what extent Grisham's experiences actually parallel Luke's is difficult to say. Luke's innocence may be meant to act as a foil to the violence unfolding around him; however, seven-year-old Luke comes across as being much older and much more knowing than one would expect of a child growing up in the early 1950s. It is unbelievable that a child of that age (and that era) would have been sexually aroused by the sight of a seventeen-year-old girl, and it is equally unbelievable that that same child would have spent time mentally trying to erase the age difference in the hope of some kind of permanent relationship a little further down the track. This is an uncomfortable discord that impacts somewhat negatively on the novel as a whole. 
 
However, the book, like most of Grisham's books, is easy to read and does manage to retain the reader's interest. Apart from the story surrounding Luke and his family, the novel manages to paint a very believable picture of life in the cotton-growing south during the 1950s. Life is obviously unbelievably hard, and the one light point in the whole week is the cinema house on a Saturday afternoon – everything else is steeped in hard work where dreams can quickly become disappointments and where the weather is irrational and not on the side of the cotton farmers. Even service at the Baptist Chapel on Sunday mornings has an aura of 'hard work', especially for a seven-year-old boy. In the far background, the Korean War casts its own shadow over the community, also emphasizing the central theme that life is not easy.

Most people seem to accept their lot; perhaps they are so entrenched in the routines of planting, picking and disappointments that they are unable to envisage any other life. Others, like Luke's parents – his mother in particular – know that there is a better life, with better being completely relative.

The book contains humour, tension, suspense and sadness, and even though it is at times difficult to say where the line goes between reality and imagination most things in the book seem at least vaguely possible.

The photo of John Grisham is from www.washingtonpost.com