Category Archives: Ernesto Mallo

The Account Of the Capture Wasn’t in the Papers*

An interesting post from Tim at Informal Inquiries has got me thinking about the different ways in which the media and the public react to a murder investigation. In some cases, there’s a great deal of hype and attention, sometimes to an almost frenzied level. In other cases, though, there’s very little attention paid to a case. Either it’s not seen as sensational enough, or some other major news story eclipses the case, or something else happens.

We see that distinction in a lot of crime fiction, too. And that means that the author has a lot of flexibility when it comes to the plot. Will the case by hyped for some reason? That can add plot threads and suspense. Will it go nearly unnoticed? That, too, can add different sorts of plot threads, and a tension of its own.

One of the most eagerly followed cases of the early 20th Century was the Crippen case. In 1910, Harvey Hawley Crippen was convicted and executed for the murder of his wife, Cora. The details of the murder, of Crippen’s flight from England with his lover, Ethel ‘Le Neve’ Neave, and his subsequent arrest, made headlines all over the world. On the one hand, people have murdered spouses for a very long time, and most of those cases don’t get into the papers, or at least not beyond a few lines. On the other, the Crippen case included lurid details. There was the love triangle, Crippen’s attempted escape, and more. All of this combined to catch the public’s attention. There’s an interesting look at this case in Martin Edwards’ Dancing For the Hangman. That’s a fictional account of the Crippen case, told from Crippen’s point of view. Among other things, it raises an interesting possible account of what really happened to Cora.

The real action in Agatha Christie’s The ABC Murders begins as Hercule Poirot receives a cryptic warning note that tells him to
 
‘Look out for Andover…’
 

Sure enough, on the day specified in the note, Alice Ascher is murdered in her small tobacconist/newsagent shop.  Not much attention at all is paid the crime. It is, after all, what looks like a case of a robbery gone wrong. Terrible, of course, but hardly worth media hype. Then, after another warning note is sent to Poirot, twenty-three-year-old Betty Barnard is strangled. Her body is discovered on a beach, and an ABC railway guide is found nearby. Now, there’s some interest, especially after it comes out that an ABC guide was also found near Mrs. Ascher’s body. Before long, and after another murder, the media begin to carry all the details of the case, and the public is enlisted to help catch the killer. It’s interesting to see how the case of Mrs. Ascher doesn’t get any attention at all until it’s linked to others.

Sue Younger’s Days Are Like Grass begins as pediatric surgeon Claire Bowerman returns to her native Auckland from London. With her are her partner, Yossi Shalev, and her fifteen-year-old daughter, Roimata ‘Roi.’ Claire’s reluctant to make the move, but it’s important to Yossi, so she goes along with it. And we soon find out why she’d rather have stayed in London. In 1970, seventeen-year-old Kathryn Phillips disappeared. There was a great deal of media attention to the case, as you can imagine. Some of the evidence pointed to Claire’s father, Patrick Bowerman. In fact, he was arrested and imprisoned in the matter. But there was never enough evidence to really make the case, so he wasn’t convicted. Still, plenty of people think he’s guilty. Claire doesn’t want this old case raked up again. That’s exactly what happens, though, when she gets involved in another case. A two-year-old patient of hers has a tumour that needs to be removed. But his parents refuse the surgery on religious grounds. The conflict between the hospital and the family thrusts Claire into the spotlight, and brings up the old case again.

In Ernesto Mallo’s Needle in a Haystack, we are introduced to Buenos Aires police detective Venancio ‘Perro’ Lescano. The novel takes place in the late 1970s, a very dangerous time in that place. The military government is in firm control, and anyone seen as dissenting or ‘making trouble’ is quickly imprisoned. Many simply disappear. Those murders don’t make the news or get a lot of public discussion. It’s too dangerous to bring the topic up. Even Lescano, who is a good cop, knows better than to go up against the army. So, one morning, when he’s called out to a scene where two bodies were found, he’s inclined to leave the matter alone. The bodies bear all the hallmarks of an army ‘hit.’ But then, he sees a third body. This one’s a little different, and Lescano looks into the matter further. The dead man turns out to be a moneylender named Elías Biterman, and his death doesn’t look like a typical army killing. The murder doesn’t get any attention; after all, who cares about ‘just a Jew?’ But Lescano persists, and finds that looking into this murder might cost him his life.

Rebecca Cantrell’s A Trace of Smoke features Berlin crime reporter Hannah Vogel. The novel is set in 1931, during the last years of the Weimar Republic. The Nazis have already started to become powerful, and people know how dangerous it is to go up against them. Against this background, Vogel makes a shocking discovery one morning. She happens to be at the police station when she looks at the photographs displayed in the station’s Hall of the Unknown Dead. Among those ‘photos is one of her brother, Ernst. His death hasn’t been mentioned anywhere else; in fact, this is the first Vogel has heard of it. She wants to find out what happened to her brother, but in this place at this time, it’s very dangerous to call attention to oneself. So she’ll have to move very quietly. As she looks for the truth, we see how certain deaths get absolutely no media or public notice at all.

That’s the case with the death in Eva Dolan’s Long Way Home. The body of an unknown man is found in the ruins of a fire that broke out in a shed belonging to Paul and Gemma Barlow. When it’s established that the dead man might have been a foreigner, DI Dushan Zigic and DS Mel Ferreira, of the Peterborough Hate Crimes Unit are assigned to the case. There’s plenty of anti-immigrant sentiment in the area, so this could be a hate crime. As Zigic and Ferreira look into the matter, we see how little public and media attention is really paid to that death and to some other things that the sleuths uncover.

And that’s the way it is with some cases. They get very little media hype and public attention. Others, though, make headlines, sometimes for a long time. Thanks, Tim, for the inspiration.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Gerry Goffin and Carole King’s Smackwater Jack.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Ernesto Mallo, Eva Dolan, Rebecca Cantrell, Sue Younger

I Don’t Want the Job*

A popular image of the fictional police detective is of a dedicated professional who’s determined to solve the case and find the ‘bad guy.’ And a lot of fictional police officers are just that way. That perseverance and curiosity carry them through some very difficult cases.

But that’s not so for all fictional coppers. There are cases where the police detective is reluctant, or even unwilling, to investigate. A police detective might have any number of reasons for not wanting to look into a case, and we see several of them in crime fiction.

For example, in Isaac Asimov’s The Caves of Steel, we are introduced to New York police detective Elijah ‘Lije’ Baley. The futuristic world in which he lives is more or less divided between two groups of people. Spacers are the descendants of people who explored space and returned. Earthmen are the descendants of people who never left Earth. The two groups have very different outlooks on life, and different world views. There’s a great deal of conflict between Earthmen and Spacers, to the point where they live in different self-contained places. When a prominent Spacer scientist is shot, Baley is called into the office of his superior, Police Commissioner Julius Enderby. He’s asked to take on the investigation, as a way of demonstrating that Earthmen weren’t responsible for this murder. Baley isn’t interested at first. He’s even less interested when he hears he is to be paired with R. Daneel Olivaw, who is a positronic robot. If there’s anything Earthmen hate and fear more than Spacers, it’s robots. So, this is very difficult for Baley. But he isn’t given much choice. What’s more, he knows that the ‘perks’ he has come largely from his position as a homicide investigator. Losing that job would cause serious problems in his personal life. So, he reluctantly agrees to look into the matter, and begins to work with Olivaw. And they find out that this case is more complex than they thought.

Police officers are human, just as the rest of us are. Their jobs are stressful, and they want the occasional weekend or holiday away from work. The news that there’s a new case isn’t always welcome when one’s about to enjoy some time off, but that’s what happens to Inspector Richard Jury in Martha Grimes’ The Anodyne Necklace. Jury is packing to spend some time visiting his friend, Melrose Plant, at Long Piddlington. He gets a call from Detective Chief Superintendent (DCS) Racer that changes everything.  A human finger has been found in the village of Littlebourne, and there’s no-one else available to investigate. Jury’s none to happy about it, but he doesn’t have much choice. So, he goes to Littlebourne, and begins to look into the matter. It turns out that the finger belonged to Cora Binns, a secretary who worked for a temporary placement agency. She was in Littlebourne for a job interview, but never made it to that interview. Plant joins his friend, and the two work to find out what happened to Cora, and who would want to kill her.

Police departments have finite resources, and finite numbers of people. So, those who are in supervisory positions have to make choices about what the police investigate, and what they don’t investigate. And they’re not likely to want to look into a matter if it isn’t a genuine case for the police. That’s what happens with Inspector Tom Barnaby in Caroline Graham’s A Ghost in the Machine. Financial advisor Dennis Brinkman has died in what looks like a terrible accident. He collected ancient and medieval machines, and it sees as though a malfunction in one of them killed him. But Brinkman’s friend, Benny Frayle, doesn’t think so. She is convinced he was murdered and goes to the police to insist that they investigate. Barnaby hears her out, and in fact, looks over the file on the case. But he can’t see any way in which the original investigating police officer was negligent. So, he decides not to pursue the case. Then, there’s another murder which is connected to Brinkman’s death. Now, Barnaby has little choice but to re-open the initial investigation. And he’s a good cop, so he does want to find the guilty person. And, in the end, he and Sergeant Gavin Troy do just that.

There are cases where police don’t want to investigate a case because doing so could get them into danger. There’s a thread of that in Ernesto Mallo’s Needle in a Haystack. Vanancio ‘Perro’ Lescano is a police detective in late-1970s Buenos Aires. It’s a very dangerous time, with the military government firmly in place, and any kind of (even perceived) dissent viciously punished. Everyone knows to keep quiet, don’t call attention to yourself, and so on. One morning, Lescano is alerted when a body is discovered near a river bank. Not far away are two other bodies, obviously of victims of an army ‘hit.’ Lescano knows to give those two deaths only a very cursory treatment, and not question them. But the third death looks just a little different. He doesn’t look for opportunities to run afoul of the higher authorities, but Lescano does try to be a good cop. He reluctantly starts to ask a few questions and finds out that this death isn’t what it seems like on the surface. The body belongs to a pawn shop owner/moneylender named Elías Biterman, and there are plenty of police who won’t bother to investigate the death of ‘just another Jew.’ But Lescano chooses not to give up. There are, of course, plenty of other novels where the police don’t want to investigate because the victim is, ‘Just another….’

There are, of course, a few police detectives who are lazy who see no point in exerting themselves if it’s not absolutely necessary. Why waste energy? Such a police officer is Inspector Alvarez, who ‘stars’ in Roderic Jeffries’ series. He lives and works on Majorca, and quite frankly, would rather relax, eat fine food, and have a nice drink than investigate. He gets drawn into cases when he sees no other option. When he does start asking questions, Alvarez finds the answers. But he’s not particularly eager to be the higher-ups’’ lackey, so to speak.

There are several reasons for which a police officer – even a good one – might not want to take a case. I’ve only touched on a few. Your turn.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Hawk Nelson’s The Job.

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Filed under Caroline Graham, Ernesto Mallo, Isaac Asimov, Martha Grimes, Roderic Jeffries

A Bomb or Two and Very Few Objected*

Very often, fictional sleuths have to move a bit carefully as they do their jobs. They may be investigating powerful and/or very dangerous people. Or (for police sleuths), they may have been told not to focus their energies on certain cases. There are other reasons, too, for which a sleuth might have to be very careful in investigating.

Sometimes, it’s the larger political situation that limits or even threatens what a sleuth can do. That context can add an interesting layer of suspense to a novel or series. In those situations, the sleuth has to go up against not just a group of suspects, but also political and other authorities that can be even more dangerous. One post isn’t enough space to list all of the novels and series that have this context; I know you’ll think of more examples than I could, anyway.

After the Nazis rose to power in the early 1930s, ordinary citizens soon learned that they had to be extremely careful about where they went, what they did, what they said, and so on. Anything that brought them to the notice of the authorities could potentially result in a death sentence or worse. Several authors have used this climate of fear as a background for their novels and series. For example, Philip Kerr’s Bernie Gunther series begins in 1936, when the Nazis are fully in power. Gunther is a former police officer who’s turned private investigator, and sometimes, the trails he follows lead to some high places. He often has to balance finding out the truth against staying alive.

The same is true of Rebecca Cantrell, whose Hannah Vogel series begins in 1931. Vogel is a crime reporter who’s well aware of how powerful and dangerous the Nazis are. In several of the novels in this series, she has to come up with very creative ways to avoid calling attention to herself. When she does find herself in Nazi crosshairs, she has to find ways to stay alive, and it’s not always easy. Even when something isn’t directly happening to Vogel, it’s clear that she’s living in the sort of fearful atmosphere in which no-one can be trusted.

There’s a similar atmosphere in William Ryan’s series featuring Moscow CID Captain Alexei Korolev. These novels take place just before the outbreak of World War II. Stalin is firmly in power, and the dreaded NKVD is, as the saying goes, everywhere. Citizens are encouraged to denounce anyone who says or does anything that could be conceived as disloyal to the Party or its leadership. So, people have learned, sometimes the hard way, not to trust anyone. Against this backdrop, Korolev is charged with solving crimes, which sometimes include murder. And sometimes, the crimes he investigates get very close to very highly-placed people. So, he and his assistant, Sergeant Nadezhda Slivka, have to be extremely careful as they do their work. It doesn’t help matters that Moscow’s criminal underworld is also dangerous, and sometimes takes an active interest in the crimes that Korolev and Slivka investigate.

Fans of Martin Cruz Smith’s Arkady Renko novels can tell you that they, too, take place against the background of Party power and in a climate of distrust and fear. As the series begins (in Gorky Park), Renko is a Moscow homicide detective. As he investigates, he often finds himself in conflict with high Party officials, corrupt bureaucrats, and sometimes criminal gangsters. And he discovers that that corruption doesn’t end when the Soviet Union breaks up.

From 1948 to 1991, South Africa’s official policy was apartheid. This set of laws had powerful impacts on every aspect of people’s lives. The rule governed where one lived and worked, whom one could marry, and where one’s children went to school. They also governed the sort of social relationships one had. And there were several government agencies whose task it was to enforce the laws, often brutally. People know that speaking out, being seen with someone from a different race, or otherwise questioning the system, could get you killed. Malla Nunn’s Emmanuel Cooper series takes place in this environment. Beginning in the early 1950s, it tells the story of Cooper, who is a Johannesburg-based Detective Sergeant (DS) with the police. As he looks into cases, Cooper frequently has to cross racial lines. That in itself is risky, especially since people are strongly encouraged to report any suspected anti-apartheid activity. And Cooper isn’t universally liked, especially when the trail leads to people in authority. So he has to be very careful whom he trusts.

That’s also true of Ernesto Mallo’s Venancio ‘Perro’ Lescano. He is a Buenos Aires-based police detective at a very dangerous time (the late 1970s) in the country’s history. The military government wields supreme power, and anyone seen as ‘trouble’ is quickly ‘disappeared.’ Often, such people are later found dead. Lescano knows that anyone might denounce him to the authorities, so he is very careful in his choices of confidants. That doesn’t entirely keep him out of trouble. But it keeps him alive.

And then there’s Qiu Xiaolong’s Chief Inspector Chen series. Chen Cao lives and works in late-1990s Shanghai. At that time, Chinese society is integrating a few elements of capitalism, and ‘pure’ Maoism isn’t as common as it was. But the government is still very much in control what people see, read, and so on. And it’s not wise to go against the wishes of those who are high on the Party’s ‘ladder.’ More than once in the series, Chen and his assistant, Yu Guangming, have to move very quietly and carefully as they look into cases. That’s especially true when what they find goes against the official government line.

It adds real challenge to a fictional sleuth’s investigation when it has to take place against a sociopolitical climate of fear and lack of trust. That element can add suspense and conflict to a novel or series. These are just a few examples. Your turn.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice’s The Lady’s Got Potential.

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Filed under Ernesto Mallo, Malla Nunn, Martin Cruz Smith, Philip Kerr, Qiu Xiaolong, Rebecca Cantrell, William Ryan

While the Millionaires Hide in Beekman Place*

Have you ever noticed those truly elegant, super-expensive homes? The kind that ‘the rest of us’ could never even imagine owning? The kind you see in magazines or television shows? Yeah, those homes. One of the interesting things about them is that they tend to be set apart. Sometimes they’re in gated, even guarded, communities. Sometimes the properties themselves are gated and/or guarded. Either way, just looking at the houses is a reminder that the very wealthy often live lives that are far removed from the rest of us. And very often (certainly not always!)  that’s by design.

When it’s handled well, that physical gulf between the very rich and other people can add some interesting tension to a novel. Little wonder it’s been a part of literature for a very long time (I’m thinking, for instance, of Émile Zola’s Germinal). And it’s woven into crime fiction, too.

For example, in Vicki Delany’s Winter of Secrets, we are introduced to the Wyatt-Yarmouth family. Drs. Jack and Patricia Wyatt-Yarmouth are both very wealthy, influential people. Their children, Jason and Wendy, have been raised with every privilege, too. It’s that sort of family. One Christmas, Jason and Wendy take a ski trip to the small British Columbia town of Trafalgar. With them, they bring four of their wealthy friends, and stay in a local B&B. On Christmas Eve, Jason and his friend, Ewan Williams, are in the group’s rented SUV when it skids on ice and plunges into the Upper Kootenay River. Constable Moonlight ‘Molly’ Smith goes to the scene and begins the investigation. Soon, though, she and her boss, Sergeant John Winters, discover that, while Jason was killed by the accident, Ewan had already been dead for some time before the incident. Now the investigation becomes a murder investigation. When they hear of their son’s death, the Wyatt-Yarmouth parents travel to Trafalgar. It’s immediately obvious that they are not accustomed to mixing with ‘regular folks.’ Their attitude causes no end of difficulty and conflict as Smith and Winters try to solve the mystery.

Ernesto Mallo’s Needle in a Haystack takes place in late 1970s Buenos Aires. It’s a very dangerous time to be in the city, what with the military in firm control of the government. Anyone who is even suspected of disagreeing with the government, or of ‘causing trouble’ is likely to be killed, or worse. No-one is really trustworthy, and even a whisper of dissidence could easily be passed along. Against this backdrop, police detective Venancio ‘Perro’ Lescano investigates the murder of Elías Biterman, a successful pawnbroker and moneylender. The death looks at first like a standard army ‘hit,’ so it’s obvious that those in authority want the case left alone. But that’s not the kind of detective Lescano is. So, he begins to ask a few questions. The trail leads to some very high places, too, as people from even the highest socioeconomic levels made use of Biterman’s services. And one of the important elements in this novel is the divide between the very rich and everyone else. The wealthy separate themselves, and do everything they can to jealously guard their privilege. And the desire to penetrate that ‘wall’ factors into the story.

Claudia Piñeiro’s Thursday Night Widows also takes place in the Buenos Aires area (about 30 miles away), this time, at the end of the 1990s. Most of the action takes place in an ultra-exclusive residential community called Cascade Heights Country Club. Only the very wealthiest people can afford to live there, and even they are carefully ‘vetted’ before being allowed to purchase a home in ‘the Heights.’ Every effort is made to keep these very rich people from having to interact with ‘regular people,’ too. There’s a wall, a guard, and a procedure for showing identification before being allowed on the property. Disputes aren’t handled by the regular police, either, but by a special Commission set up by the residents. Many of those who live in the Heights feel a real sense of security living in a community that’s removed from the rest of the area. That ‘safety net’ is torn, though, when the financial problems of the late 1990s/early 2000s find their way into the Heights. Little by little the security is eroded, until tragedy strikes.

Kalpana Swaminatham’s Greenlight is the sixth in her series featuring retired Mumbai police detective Lalli. In it, a series of ugly child abductions and murders has struck a local slum called Kandewadi. At first, the incidents don’t get very much press or police attention. But finally, there’s enough pressure on the police to step up the investigation, and Inspector Savio is assigned to the case, He consults regularly with Lalli, so she, too, gets involved in the case. Throughout the novel, there’s a strong sense of the gulf between the very rich and everyone else. The rich separate themselves, and it’s clear that they want to stay far removed from, especially, the poor. And there’s a lot of resentment about that fact that plays a role in the story.

There are, of course, other series where we see the way the wealthy live quite far removed from everyone else. For instance, there’s Brian Stoddart’s Superintendent Christian ‘Chris’ Le Fanu series, which takes place in Madras (today’s Chennai) in the 1920s, in the last years of the British Raj. India is still in the hands of the wealthy and titled English, and they want to retain control. Most of the English in India live in separate communities. The really wealthy ones belong to exclusive clubs, where only the ‘right’ people belong. In other ways, too, many of the wealthy English choose to remain at a distance from any of the ‘regular’ people.

And there’s Sulari Gentill’s Rowland ‘Rowly’ Sinclair series. Those novels take place in the early 1930s, mostly in New South Wales. At the time, the Great Depression has taken firm hold, and many people are desperate. There is a small group, including the Sinclair family, who have money, power and privilege. And many want to keep it that way. So, the very wealthy separate themselves, and work to keep that physical divide between themselves and ‘everyone else.’ Rowly himself isn’t nearly so conservative, and has friends from different socioeconomic strata, much to the dismay of his older brother and head of the family, Wilfred.  

And Wilfred’s not alone. There are plenty of fictional wealthy people and communities that try to stay as far removed as possible from the rest of us. That can add some interesting tension to a novel.

Ps. Oh, the ‘photo? That’s a ‘photo of Billy Joel’s Florida home. Yes, I took several shots of it during a recent trip. What?! 😉

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Billy Joel’s Close to the Borderline.

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Filed under Brian Stoddart, Claudia Piñeiro, Ernesto Mallo, Kalpana Swaminathan, Sulari Gentill, Vicki Delany

As I Recall, It Ended Much Too Soon*

If your TBR is anything like mine, you do not need to add to it. There are always so many fine novels coming out that it’s impossible to ever read them all. And then there are those excellent novels from past years that sit on the ‘I really will read this’ list for too long.

That said, though, there are some series that I, for one, wish would be continued. I understand all about the vagaries of publishing and the demands of authors personal lives. There’s also the matter of what the author would like to do. But still, here are just a few authors I hope will/wish could add to their series.

One is Adrian Hyland. His novels Diamond Dove (Moonlight Downs) and Gunshot Road feature Aboriginal Community Police Officer (ACPO) Emily Tempest. She’s half-Aborigine, half-white, and was brought up in the small Moonlight Downs community. After an absence of several years, she returns, and immediately gets involved in murder cases. The books have met with a great deal of critical acclaim (Hyland won the Ned Kelly Award for Best First Fiction for Diamond Dove), and they’ve been very highly regarded among readers. And yet, there hasn’t been a third Emily Tempest novel. At least, there hasn’t to my knowledge (so someone, please put me right if I’m wrong about that). I would love to know what happens next in Emily Tempest’s life, and I hope there’ll be another in this series.

Ernesto Mallo has written, as far as I know, two novels featuring Buenos Aires police detective Venancio ‘Perro’ Lescano. The stories take place in the late 1970s – a very dangerous time to be in Argentina. The military is in firm control of the government, and has no compunctions about getting rid of anyone who would appear to disagree with their hard-right agenda. Against this backdrop, Lescano tries to simply be a good police detective and do his job well. But that often puts him up against some very dangerous forces. So far, Needle in a Haystack and Sweet Money are the only two Lescano novels. I truly hope that there’ll be more.

Hilary Mantel has gotten a great deal of praise for her two novels, Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies. In fact, Mantel won the Man Booker prize for Wolf Hall. These stories detail the early life, rise, and fall of Thomas Cromwell, who was at one time a close confidant of King Henry VIII. As you’ll know, he fell from grace and was executed in 1540. The novels give the reader an ‘inside look’ at court intrigue, Cromwell’s personal life, and the atmosphere of the times. The third novel in this planned trilogy, The Mirror and the Light, is, from what I understand, in progress. I’ve not seen a publication date for it, yet, although I did read that it may be 2019 before we see this release. Mantel has contended with health issues, among other things, but still, I do hope The Mirror and the Light is published sooner rather than later. It’s been a wait…

In Domingo Villar’s Water Blue Eyes, we are introduced to Vigo police detective Inspector Leo Caldas. Along with his police duties, he also hosts a regular radio show called Patrolling the Waves. It’s an attempt to connect the police with citizens, and allows people to call in and ‘talk with a cop’ about their concerns and questions. Caldas features in Death on a Galician Shore as well. But, to my knowledge, there hasn’t been a third Leo Caldas novel. I understand that Cruces de Piedra (Stone Crosses) was to have been published a few years ago, but I haven’t seen it available (at least in the US). I’d love to know if it’s available elsewhere. And I look forward to reading the next Leo Caldas novel if there is one.

Nelson Brunanski is the author of, among other things, three novels featuring John ‘Bart’ Bartowski, who owns a fishing lodge in the northern part of Saskatchewan. He and his wife, Rosie, live further south in the province, in a small town called Crooked Lake. In Crooked Lake, Frost Bite, and Burnt Out, Bart gets involved in investigating mysteries, even though he’s reluctant to do so. These novels have a strong sense of small-town Saskatchewan, and are also character studies. I would like to read more about Bart and his friends and family.

There are, sadly, some series that didn’t continue because their authors passed away. That’s the case with, for instance, Scott Young’s series featuring RCMP police detective ‘Matteesie’ Kitologitak. Both Murder in a Cold Climate and The Shaman’s Knife offer interesting looks at life in Canada’s Far North. They also are police procedurals that show how the RCMP operates, especially in rural areas. I wish there had been more novels in this series.

Authors may choose not to continue a series. Or, publishers may decline to support the continuation of a series. There may be other reasons, too, for which a series might not continue, or for which there might be a delay in a series. But for readers, it can be difficult to wait for that next novel. Even with people’s TBRs as they are. These are just a few of my ideas. Which series would you like to see continue?

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from the Four Seasons’ December 1963 (Oh What a Night).

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Filed under Adrian Hyland, Domingo Villar, Ernesto Mallo, Hilary Mantel, Nelson Brunanski, Scott Young