Those We Left Behind by Stuart Neville

Published by Soho Crime on September 22, 2015

Two brothers, Ciaran and Thomas Devine, were prosecuted for killing the foster father with whom they lived. Ciaran, the younger brother, was convicted of beating the man to death while Thomas was convicted of acting as an accessory. At the time, Ciaran said he was protecting Thomas from ongoing abuse. The dead man's son, Daniel, never believed his father abused Thomas and has always been convinced that Thomas was the actual murderer. When Ciaran and Thomas are released from juvenile detention years later, Daniel remains obsessed with exposing what he regards as the truth.

DCI Serena Flanagan participated in the investigation at the time Ciaran and Thomas were arrested. A bit of the story is told in flashbacks as Flanagan recalls her suspicion of Ciaran's innocence and her botched attempt to persuade him to tell the truth. Most of the story, however, follows the two boys after their release, including Flanagan's suspicion that one or both of them have committed another murder. Breaking the bond between the brothers may be the only way Flanagan can get at the truth, but can she do that without placing her own life at risk?

The other key character, Probation Officer Paula Cunningham, is charged with supervising Ciaran after his release. Her role in the story is less central than Flanagan's and her character development is scant compared to Flanagan's. Having first appeared in The Final Silence, Neville is establishing Flanagan with the typical stereotypes of fictional police detectives -- her home life is troubled because she puts her work ahead of her family -- but, unlike fictional cops who are always right when everyone else thinks they're wrong, Flanagan is capable of making bad judgments. That makes her a more believable police character than most.

The most interesting feature of the plot is the question of how far Flanagan will go to get the truth from Ciaran. Is it acceptable for a police officer to question a suspect, even informally, in a way that might cause the suspect to believe that the officer wants to be intimate with him? Police deceive suspects all the time by pretending to be their friend, but at what point is a line crossed when an officer exploits the romantic or sexual feelings of a vulnerable young suspect? The exploration of that question gives the novel its moral force.

After the truth about Thomas and Ciaran is revealed, the story loses its energy. The remaining 50 or 60 pages are standard thriller fare, although the ending is intense. I appreciated the attempt to humanize Ciaran but Thomas, clearly intended as a contrast, is a shallower and less interesting character. On the whole, Those We Left Behind is not as powerful as some of Stuart Neville's Belfast novels, but it is a solid police thriller.

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Green Hell by Ken Bruen

Published by Mysterious Press on July 7, 2015

I'm a fan of Ken Bruen's no-frills writing style, with its frequent references to pop culture, its creative use of foul language, and its striking visual arrangement of words on the page. Some pages consist of quotations from excellent crime novels and American television shows, broken into lines that reveal their poetry. Bruen takes on critics who complain that his books are for "people who don't read" by having a bartender opine, "How [censored] insulting is that to readers?"

Bruen knows that good writing can be found in movies and television shows and popular crime novels, not just in Nobel Prize winning fiction. Bruen's own crime fiction is a prime example. Descriptions of people and places are vivid, pointed, and mercifully short. Dialog is snappy. (My favorite snatch of dialog in Green Hell is this:

"I have a Kindle."
"And may God forgive you.")

The bartender suggests that the pop culture references "ground the story in stuff I know" but there's really no need for Bruen to defend himself. The quotations and lists are necessary amusements. They balance the pervasive darkness to which his characters are exposed, the unfairness that they were born to endure.

In Green Hell, an American named Boru Kennedy puts aside his dissertation on Beckett to write about Jack Taylor, the man who saved him from young thugs who were about to "kick the [censored] be-Jaysus out of this bollix." Taylor is well known to Bruen's fans as the former Guard who tries to steer his way through a crime-filled Galway that he typically perceives through an alcoholic and pill induced haze. Kennedy, fascinated with Taylor's combination of roguish charm and full throttle violence, decides to interview the people who know Taylor best, none of whom hold him in high regard. A former colleague who describes Taylor as "a spit in the Face" once thought that the light shone stronger in Taylor than the darkness. That person now thinks that Taylor has embraced the ugliness and brutality of life. Others are less kind.

Part I, which covers more than the first half of Green Hell, is Boru's take on Jack. In Part II ("Jack's Back"), Jack is again the narrative voice. But since the voice is always Bruen's, the change is one of perspective rather than style. Taylor's perspective is bleak. That the story takes place at Christmas only contributes to Taylor's grim mood. Part II also introduces a character who is even more messed up than is normal for the series. I suspect she will resurface in later installments.

Apart from its biographical content -- the latest installment in the story of Jack -- a plot occasionally surfaces, having to do with a woman Boru starts dating and an academic who physically abuses his female students. The plot takes a sharp turn and finally comes into focus in Part II. It soon becomes clear why the story's perspective has changed.

Green Hell didn't pick me up and throw me down a flight of stairs like some of Bruen's novels, although it delivered Bruen's characteristic knockout punch at the end. This is a worthy installment in Jack Taylor's life. The greatest joy in reading these novels lies in knowing (knock on wood) that my life will never be as bad as Jack's.

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Here Are the Young Men by Rob Doyle

Published in Ireland in 2014; published in the United States by Bloomsbury on June 16, 2015

A common theme of literary novels is that people are all the same in fundamental ways. The theme of Here Are the Young Men is that people are fundamentally different.

The young men to which the title refers have been raised in the suburbs of Dublin. They are friends. They share common experiences, anxieties, and cynicism -- a feeling of emptiness, exiles in their own country -- yet despite their commonalities, they make individual choices that set them apart from each other. They also evolve during a pivotal summer in their young lives, setting paths for themselves that inevitably strain the bond that has held them together.

Joseph Kearney, a nihilist who is obsessed by sex and violence, spends much of his time wanking, fantasizing about mass murder, and thinking up bloody video games (including "Orgasm of Hate") that, if they existed, would -- sadly enough -- likely sell by the millions. Kearney's fantasies become progressively more revolting as the novel progresses, as do his actions.

Richard Tooley ("Rez") is engulfed in numbness. He want to eradicate from his life those feelings that are "expected" or "programmed," leaving only those that are genuine. Rez is a philosopher of despair, the one emotion he regards as honest. He believes his mind is a virus that is killing him with unstoppable thoughts, producing a darkness of the soul.

In many respects, Kearney and Rez are mirror images. Kearney sees all the darkness in the world and embraces it. Rez sees all the darkness and is horrified by his inability to turn away from it.

The third significant character, and probably the most well-adjusted (although that is meager praise given his choice of friends), is Matthew Connelly. Matthew holds out hope of college acceptance as an alternative to work, which he detests, but having devoted his young life to alcohol and drugs, he worries about his performance on his Leaving Certificate examination. He spends the summer drifting, getting high and drunk as he frets about his friends, his lover, and his future while awaiting the test results.

All three men are friends of Jen, the only character with a definite plan to attend college. Jen also feels deadened by the dullness of Dublin and plans to travel first, but she believes "there's more to life than only hate and rage." Unfortunately, her attempt to connect with Matthew is filled with obstacles.

All of the characters regard Dublin as drab and joyless. Despite being drunk or high most of the time -- the only way they seem capable of responding to the challenges of life -- they voice some fascinating thoughts. The thoughts reflect confusion and existential angst as the characters try to find the point of a universe built on entropy, but they also reflect a time and place in which nothing seems original or meaningful. Rez, for instance, loves The Clash, but he believes their music originated in a time when it was possible for music to express something new. Rez equates current music to the life he is living: derivative, stale, repeating what others have already done.

Here Are the Young Men is neither an easy nor a fun read. A couple of dark events near the summer's end add drama to a story that is otherwise focused on drugs, alcohol, sex, and disintegration. The ending comes as a shock but it is oddly gratifying and true to the story that precedes it.

Few readers would want to know the protagonists. No rational person would want to live their lives. For that reason, many readers will find Here Are the Young Men unappealing. The novel is nevertheless compelling in its brutally honest view of alienated young men who are struggling to make sense of life in an environment they regard as irrelevant and hopeless.

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Nora Webster by Colm Tóibín

Published by Scribner on October 7, 2014

Nora Webster is coping with the recent death of her husband. She has two boys at home, a daughter at school, and decisions to make. After neighbors and friends stop calling, after things settle down, she has to work out a new way to live. Should she sell the summer cottage? Return to work? Dye her hair? Move to Dublin? With the death of her spouse, Nora feels trapped. She does not want to surrender her quiet life, the satisfaction of having daylight hours to herself and comfortable evenings with her husband, but she has no choice.

Nora Webster's story is that of a worried widow. She worries about money, about whether she is raising her children properly, about riots in Derry, about attempts to unionize her workplace, about her politically active daughter in a troubled country. She worries about the stammer her son acquired after his father died and about his silences. She worries about what people think of her. The reader cannot help but worry about Nora and her shattered life. At the same time, Nora is not painted as a perfect person. Her pride interferes with her good sense. She hides from people instead of seeking their help. Her attempts to communicate meaningfully are faltering if she makes any attempt at all. These traits contribute to the difficulties she must try to overcome.

Colm Tóibín emphasizes the judgment that surrounds Nora, the eager condemnation that meets every decision she makes. Nora lives in a town of traditions that are enforced by gossip. A widow's decision to remove the gray from her hair is scandalous. Her aunt blames Nora for leaving her children with the aunt while their father was dying. Nora is afraid of being ridiculed if she sings in public, of being criticized if she spends too much money on a dress or a stereo.

In some ways, Nora's stammering son Donal is the most interesting character. He is obsessed with photography but he takes pictures that are deliberately unfocused, often nearly blank. He photographs the television screen as the news shows rioting in Belfast, but he refuses to take pictures of the people in his life.

Tóibín builds the novel's background from the things that divide people -- social class, religion, politics, geography -- and the resentments they inspire. As always, Tóibín writes with great subtlety. Characters use language that is pregnant with meanings that are either implied or unintended. The simple issues are often the most confounding. Should Nora loan her daughter money? Should she insist that her sullen son join the rest of the family at the beach? Tóibín illustrates the difficulty of making even the most mundane decisions when the spouse who shared that responsibility is no longer present.

The possibility -- indeed, the inevitability -- of change is the novel's theme. As Nora drifts, she rediscovers an interest from her past that transforms her, that takes her to a place she could not occupy with her husband. She gains strength in small increments and in unexpected ways. The reader roots for Nora to become a more determined person, less willing to be defined by the expectations of others, and to overcome her fears and weaknesses. (To learn what progress she makes, if any, you'll just need to read the book.)

In some novels, Tóibín writes about extraordinary people. In Nora Webster, he manages to find the extraordinary in an ordinary life. The clarifying light that Tóibín shines on the small details of Nora's life distinguishes Nora Webster from an ordinary novel.

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