Talking to the Dead (Fiona Griffiths, Bk 1)
Author:
Genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense
Book Type: Paperback
Author:
Genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense
Book Type: Paperback
Well written, and very readable. And completely implausible, and ultimately very dubious morally.
I loved DC Fiona Griffiths' voice. In the first two-thirds of this novel, I admired Bingham's witty depiction of a troubled, but intelligent and deeply self-aware young woman, who is battling to maintain a facade of normality, and confronting her own demons with graveyard humor (the "graveyard" part becoming more and more apt, the more you learn about her ...) Loving the voice, and the character, allowed me to suspend my disbelief that a young woman -- however personable, however intelligent and however skilled at playing the part of fully "paid up citizen of Planet Normal" -- would have been accepted as a police officer, and that she would have survived the job for five minutes. That's ok: some of our best-beloved fictional detectives are the most crazy and the least plausible, and if we readers end their stories feeling that these weirdos are the only thing holding the darkness at bay, then that's ok, isn't it?
Until it isn't. In the final third of the novel, Griffiths' pathology takes over completely, and her actions take on a fantasy wish-fulfilment quality -- if only the police could act like that, the bad guys wouldn't stand a chance! What we need are a few more psychos, like our Young Fi, packing heat, ignoring orders, telling lies to her superiors ...
The authors whose reputations are based on detectives who are the Mayors of Crazytown, and who regularly Go Rogue in pursuit of justice, are clever enough to make it clear that freedom to ignore the rules comes at a price. Sherlock Homes must self-medicate with cocaine, the violin, and lashings of Mrs. Hudson's tea, just to cling by his fingertips to human society. Hercule Poirot is an obsessive-compulsive bundle of quirks ...
But we're supposed to believe that Fiona Griffiths can go postal on us, and walk away with her job, a boyfriend, supportive superiors and loving (if slightly mysterious) family ... I didn't believe it for a minute.
I loved DC Fiona Griffiths' voice. In the first two-thirds of this novel, I admired Bingham's witty depiction of a troubled, but intelligent and deeply self-aware young woman, who is battling to maintain a facade of normality, and confronting her own demons with graveyard humor (the "graveyard" part becoming more and more apt, the more you learn about her ...) Loving the voice, and the character, allowed me to suspend my disbelief that a young woman -- however personable, however intelligent and however skilled at playing the part of fully "paid up citizen of Planet Normal" -- would have been accepted as a police officer, and that she would have survived the job for five minutes. That's ok: some of our best-beloved fictional detectives are the most crazy and the least plausible, and if we readers end their stories feeling that these weirdos are the only thing holding the darkness at bay, then that's ok, isn't it?
Until it isn't. In the final third of the novel, Griffiths' pathology takes over completely, and her actions take on a fantasy wish-fulfilment quality -- if only the police could act like that, the bad guys wouldn't stand a chance! What we need are a few more psychos, like our Young Fi, packing heat, ignoring orders, telling lies to her superiors ...
The authors whose reputations are based on detectives who are the Mayors of Crazytown, and who regularly Go Rogue in pursuit of justice, are clever enough to make it clear that freedom to ignore the rules comes at a price. Sherlock Homes must self-medicate with cocaine, the violin, and lashings of Mrs. Hudson's tea, just to cling by his fingertips to human society. Hercule Poirot is an obsessive-compulsive bundle of quirks ...
But we're supposed to believe that Fiona Griffiths can go postal on us, and walk away with her job, a boyfriend, supportive superiors and loving (if slightly mysterious) family ... I didn't believe it for a minute.
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