Historical crime fiction is sometimes little more than a modern adventure in fancy dress. Not so the novels of C J Sansom, whose magnificent books set in the reign of Henry VIII bring to life the sounds and smells of Tudor England. At the beginning of
Dark Fire (Macmillan £16.99), the second volume in the series, Sansom’s hunchback lawyer, Matthew Shardlake, is persuaded to defend a hopeless case, a young woman accused of murdering her cousin by throwing him down a well. Sansom does not shy away from the horrors of 16th-century life: bear-baiting, starving beggars and public executions. His client is flung into a filthy dungeon in Newgate prison and threatened with torture if she does not cooperate, but she refuses to speak even to Shardlake. The case unexpectedly brings him back into touch with his old mentor Thomas Cromwell, who is desperately trying to hold on to his position at court as his enemies, led by the Duke of Norfolk, plot his downfall. Cromwell wants Shardlake to pursue two men who claim to have discovered the secret of Greek fire, an ancient weapon of mass destruction, in the hope that it will restore him to the king’s favour. But the search brings disaster to almost everyone involved, and the day when Shardlake’s client will be tortured into a confession draws ever nearer. Dark Fire is a creation of real brilliance, one of those rare pieces of crime fiction that deserves to be hailed as a novel in its own right.
Another welcome return is Fred Vargas’s Commissaire Adamsberg. His latest adventure, Seeking Whom He May Devour (Harvill £11.99), translated by David Bellos, repeats some of the themes of an earlier Vargas novel, Have Mercy on Us All — principally a clever interplay between superstition and modern psychology. On this occasion, Vargas (the pseudonym of a French historian and archeologist) resurrects medieval tales about a werewolf when sheep start to be massacred in Provence. Soon, humans become victims of the creature as well and Adamsberg arrives from Paris to discover his lost love, Camille, at the heart of the investigation. Demonstrating the power of old myths over even rational people, and featuring a stunning denouement, the novel establishes Vargas as one of the most unusual voices in European crime fiction.
The Reunion (M Joseph £10) is a promising first novel by Sue Walker, a television journalist. Twenty-seven years ago, a group of disturbed teenagers were brought together in an experimental psychiatric unit in Scotland. When Innes Haldane unexpectedly hears a message from one of the group on her answering machine, she is too unsettled to respond straightaway. Then Innes reads about the woman’s mysterious death, and discovers that she is not the only former inmate to have died in bizarre circumstances. Walker’s novel has the tension and scene-switching pace of television drama, and uncovers a secret that calls to mind an adolescent version of The Lord of the Rings.
The Silver Face (Orion £10.99) is the second novel set in 1940s Hollywood by the American journalist Edward Leigh. John Ray Horn, the cowboy-actor whose career came to an abrupt end when he was sent to jail, reappears in this haunting novel, which begins with a chance encounter with a former leading lady. The meeting revives old feelings but it also threatens to expose what really happened at a Hollywood house party many years ago, a fictional scandal that has echoes of the real-life events that ended the career of the comic screen actor Fatty Arbuckle. The Silver Face confirms Leigh’s reputation as a significant talent.
Robert B Parker’s Melancholy Baby (J Murray £17.99) is the fourth novel to feature his female private eye Sunny Randall. Written with the same concision as his better-known Spenser novels, Melancholy Baby reveals an unexpected capacity on the part of this very masculine writer to switch gender. The plot centres on a young woman who believes her parents have lied about her origins, prompting a chain of events that lead to murder. It is not particularly complicated, but the writing and the characters are a delight.
Another familiar pleasure is the latest in Sue Grafton’s alphabet series of crime novels, R is for Ricochet (Macmillan £16.99), in which Kinsey Millhone is hired by an ailing tycoon to escort his daughter home from prison. When Millhone realises that the woman was imprisoned for fraud after taking the rap for her boss, she takes pity on her and is dragged into a plot to expose the real culprit. The series has been going on for so long that its strengths and limitations are well known, but Millhone is an engaging character whose adventures share many of the features of soap opera.
The Art of Murder (Abacus £10.99) by the Cuban writer José Carlos Somoza, translated by Nick Caistor, could hardly be more of a contrast. Set in the near future, this novel about a weird and morally dubious art movement is full of surprises, among them being the “paintings”, which are human beings who have been contracted to hold poses for hours at exhibitions or in private houses. Bruno von Tysch, the Dutch master who invented the genre, is about to stage his biggest, most scandalous show, but when “canvases” start being murdered, the detectives assigned to the case have to find the killer before the exhibition opens. This is a real oddity: chilly, clever and gripping by turns.
Finally, a journey into 1950s Britain, where post-war austerity is the order of the day and television is still a novelty. In Call the Dying by Andrew Taylor (Hodder £14.99), a woman journalist, herself something of a novelty, returns to a small West Country town to take over the editorship of a failing weekly newspaper. When a man who tunes television sets disappears, she is forced into a working relationship with her former lover, a married police inspector. Full of nostalgic detail, this is old-fashioned crime at its best — perfect for a cold winter night in front of a roaring fire.
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