If you happen to be in Aberdeen...

...then have a gander at the British Heart Foundation charity shop in Union Street. Not the specialised 'furniture and electrical' one. The run-of-the-mill auld-claes-books-and-Nana-Mouskouri-CDs one.

Huge selection of new and nearly-new crime fiction, proper litrachoor and thrillers for £2.00 a pop. I bought the following:

Tony Hillerman - a special friend

Drew Ratter writes:

There are 18 Leaphorn/Chee novels, written between 1970 and 2006. Hillerman wrote a lot of other books, including a delightful memoir, Seldom Disappointed, which covers, among other things, his experiences as a Marine during World War Two

After the war, he settled in New Mexico, working as a journalist, and then as a full time novelist and teacher. Every word he wrote demonstrated the most immense respect and affection for the Native American people of the region, principally the Navajo.

As I said, there are 18 books featuring Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee. It is not pitching it to strongly to say I love them. They qualify as one of the world's great roman-fleuve, so it is important to read them in order. At one point, when I was travelling a lot, I read them all, one after the other, and I was vexed when I finished.

Leaphorn is a sceptical voice, dubious of the value of some traditions, though recognising the impact that beliefs can have on flesh and blood. Chee, the younger man, is heavily involved in traditional ways of living and being. Both are absolutely believable, as are the multitude of others who appear, disappear, and reappear over the years.

The quality and depth of Hillerman's research into, and the immense lightly worn knowledge of, not just Navajo, but a wide range of traditional societies across the United States is likewise matchless.  

His commitment was appreciated by the Navajo people, who named him a special friend of the Dineh, the people. This delighted him, and he would refer to it as the greatest honour he ever received. 

It is that commitment which shines through all of Hillerman's work. A depth of feeling which must approach love, and which is by no means elegiac. He considers the Navajo as a very successful culture, with a rich future as well as a past. Interestingly, he put down as his major influence, Arthur Upfield, a pre-war Australian writer of detective fiction, whose hero was a half Aboriginal detective called Napoleon Bonaparte.  One to check out?

I may well do,  it for the mean time, once I get the better of my current book mountain, I expect I will go back to Leaphorn and Chee. That will be quite soon, I hope!

Just the 900 pages, then: Vikram Chandra's Sacred Games

Drew Ratter writes:

Most things about India are remarkable. Its history, vast and almost eternal, its size, its great number of peoples, cultures and religions, which have all lived together remarkably well, albeit with incidents. Some of them major.

Another remarkable feature is the fact that British people seem to be perfectly welcome there, which either means that the history is not as frightful as revisionists may suggest. Or the Indian people possess a lot more forbearance than, say, the British on the evidence of the current UK government and the depressing UKIP. Or God help us, the current Scottish 'Yes' campaign, which has some pretty stabby outriders!

Anyway. Something else pretty astounding out of India, which I came across a year or two ago. Is Sacred Games by Vikram Chandra. At 946 pages in paperback, it either had to be an epic masterpiece, or overwritten hellery. It isn't the latter.

Ganesh Gaitonde is a Don in the complex and labyrinthine world of Indian gangs. Inspector Sartaj Singh is a policeman who does not seem to have got as rich as his opportunities might have permitted. 

We follow in detail the rise of the first, and become aware that the second is held very slightly in contempt for not taking proper advantage of this opportunities.

There are a lot of really impressive ideas in this book. I particularly like the Indian words not having italics let alone translations. That would have been harder pre Google, mind you.

Likewise, Suleiman Isa, Gaitonde's Muslim rival in the Capo game, watches the Godfather trilogy endlessly. We, of course, know that Godfather 2 is the eternal masterpiece. This kind of judgement is not made in Sacred Games.

Really, its too big and awe-inspiring, this book, for me to do much more with in this telegraphic forum. And of course, it has been a world best seller, and has been put out in multiple translations.

There must, though, be some of you who have not read it. You will remedy that, if you have any commitment at all, and you have a huge treat waiting for you.

Carlo Lucarelli's Carte Blanche: Close, but no cigarillo

Drew Ratter writes:

I started this hoping not to be disappointed. After all, the end of the war in Italy is an incredibly interesting period. Fascism lasted much longer in Italy than it did in Germany, though it ended sooner. Mussolini, of course, after the Italian surrender, was "rescued" by German paratroopers and Otto Skorzeny, and stunk up the place for a while longer, leading the Republic of Salo till the Allies finally got the place tidied up.

This coincided with serious partisan activity, Nazi atrocities, and all sorts of score-settling. And the same police force took on different personae throughout.

It is also a fairly little known and studied period, at least in this country. So wonderful terrain for a really excellent writer of the kind of WW2 shoulder-season fiction we like. 

Carlo Lucarelli was a new author to me, but well recommended. 

So far, I have read the first book in his De Luca trilogy,  Carte Blanche, and I think he is a good writer. That's important. Being a good hand at structure and narrative is essential, but it is kind of wasted if you deal in clunkers and cliches. Pity that 'Carte Blanche' is also the name of Jeffrey Deaver's modern take on the James Bond franchise.

Lucarelli's book is, as per the impression I have tried to give, a fair piece of work. Decently written, and well translated by Michael Reynolds. It is not, however, that for which I had hoped. There is not enough stuff in it.

This really is an utterly fascinating period, not for its great historical importance, because Italy never made any great historical contribution to World War 2, or its aftermath. It is in a way fascinating because of that, because of the dynamic of the invasion of Italy, and Von Kesselring's strategically brilliant defensive retreat, because of the activities of the partisans, because of the Italian Social Republic, because of the role of the Mafia.

All of that must be fodder for a series of works by a really remarkable writer, who can write, but can weave in period atmosphere and history through character. Lucarelli is not that writer, De Luca is almost the protagonist, and the De Luca trilogy is not that work. I may read the other two. Later.

Pierre Lemaitre's Alex: A panic attack on every page

If you've watched any Spiral you'll already have a grounding in the French legal system, and you'll know all about investigating magistrates and just how they can complicate a police procedural. You'll also be aware that the French appear to specialise in combinations of straight policier with grim and gory horror, mixed with mordant wit.

But that won't prepare you for Alex by Pierre Lemaitre.

It's been kind of touted as a French Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, but that's very unfair. It's vastly superior and satisfyingly shorter. It's properly written. And it has a plot so twisted and yet so inexorably logical that you can only sit back when it's finished, wrung out and totally, horribly impressed. Oh, and Frank Wynne, translator, has done a wonderful job, I think.

It is full of horror and violence. And there's an already infamous section involving rats. Nine of them. But the real briliance of the book is the way characters are drawn to ensnare your sympathies, only for that to be well and truly undermined. Perhaps.The rats sequence recalls both 1984 and Derek Raymond's jaw-droppingly disturbing I Was Dora Suarez. A book which caused its publisher's reader to vomit at his desk and an appalled Secker and Warburg to dump the author. The French, though, loved it.

The plot? A girl called Alex is kidnapped from a Parisian street, imprisoned and tortured. But why? The police, led by tiny (four foot eleven) and irascible detective Camille Verhoeven investigate. And frankly I don't want to say any more. Except that all is not necessarily as it seems. This is a great deal more than the sadistic kidnap/chase it might at first appear.

This is the first Lemaitre book to be translated into English, I think, and Maclehose promise 'more Verhoeven in spring 2014' at the end of the paperback edition. But when you go to www.pierrelemaitre.com as ordered, there's nothing but a rather tawdry piece of puffery for Alex (you're redirected to whoisalex.co.uk .  Oddly, Alex is the middle book in the Verhoeven trilogy, so it'll be interesting to see what emerges. I'm hoping it's the first volume, which may explain what the hell happened with Camille's wife Irene...

Wikipedia indicated William McIlvanney as an influence, and there are some similarities with Jean-Christophe Grange (referenced with tip-of-the-hat minor character names twice) although the lurid over-egging of plot you find in things like Flight of the Storks is exchanged here for something much, much better engineered. Excellent stuff.