The Kind Worth Killing by Peter Swanson - review

The Kind Worth Killing is a new crime novel written by Peter Swanson and published by Faber. It's also one of the most gripping thrillers I've read in a long time, thanks to a quite dizzying series of plot twists. I've not come across Swanson before, although his previous book, the intriguingly titled The Girl With a Clock for a Heart evidently did very well, but I'd be amazed if a film-maker didn't snap this one up. It's a story that would make an extremely suspenseful movie.

The opening is self-consciously reminiscent of Strangers on a Train. A rich man, Ted, meets a beautiful woman at an airport, and confides that he wants to kill his unfaithful wife. To his bewilderment, she starts to encourage him. The link to Patricia Highsmith is made explicit by the fact that the woman, Lily, is reading The Two Faces of January, and it turns out she's a crime fiction fan - Christie and Sayers are among her favourites. But what else is she? And what will Ted do about that wife of his?

One or two reviewers have complained that Swanson isn't as fine a writer, in terms of literary style, as Highsmith, and that's true. But then let's face it - few of us are. Swanson proceeds to make very different and imaginative use of the basic premise, while displaying a consistent ingenuity that wasn't really Highsmith's forte. In particular, he plays risky games with viewpoint. The way he plays one particular trick not once but two or three times is audacious in the extreme. Some people won't care for that device (to discuss it would be a spoiler) but I think he gets away with it. The key question is - which of the characters will get away with murder?

I think he could have made even more use of Lily's fondness for crime fiction in the second half of the book, while the very last twist reminded me rather of ironists like Anthony Berkeley.But above all, this is a fast-moving story that is compelling despite the fact that (as is not unusual in novels of psychological suspense) one struggles to identify with the main characters. I really enjoyed it from start to finish. And I bet that, had Hitchcock still been alive, he'd have loved it.  

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After I'm Gone by Laura Lippman

Baltimore is the setting for most of the work of Laura Lippman, who  is one of the United States' crime wriiting elite. When Bouchercon was held in Baltimore a few years ago, I spent a hugely enjoyable few days in the city, and managed to avoid the crime that is apparently endemic to some of its districts. It has in one or two respects a resemblance to Liverpool,and that was part of its appeal for me. Lippman's latest, After I'm Gone, published in the UK by Faber, is a very interesting book that fits in well with the posts about the craft about crime writing that I've included here over the past few weeks.

Laura Lippman's confidence and expertise as a writer is demonstrated vividly by the way she tackles two tricky structural challenges. Those challenges arise from the premise of her story. Back in 1976, Felix Brewer, a wealthy villain who was on the point of being sent to prison, vanished mysteriously and has never been seen since. He left behind a wife, Bambi, three daughters, and a mistress, Julie. Julie herself went missing subsequently - but her body was later discovered. Who killed her, and why? Roberto "Sandy" Sanchez, a veteran cop now contracted to work on cold cases, wants to find out.

The story veers around for over 300 pages, with constant shifts of viewpoint and chronology over a span in excess of forty years. Only an experienced and talented writer could manage to tell a story in this way without, at the very least, giving an impression of jerkiness and risking the loss of the reader's attention. But Laura Lippman provides something of a masterclass in story-telling technique. Beginning writers are often told to avoid flashbacks, and there is some sense in that advice, but when done well, they can be effective, and the period details and insights into Jewish family life struck me as convincing. And I'm pleased to say that, though the set-up was nicely constructed, I didn't guess whodunit yet found the explanation satisfying.

There is a very good interview with the author, conducted by Oline H. Cogdill in the latest issue of that excellent magazine Mystery Scene, in which Lippman emphasises her interest in examining women's lives. This she does very well in the book, and I was glad to be reminded of my own trip to Baltimore. But oddly enough, the scenes which I found most gripping were those featuring Sandy's cold case investigation. Not because it was a cold case storyline (though, of course, that was bound to appeal to me, given that cold cases are at the heart of the Lake District Mysteries) but rather because he is such an empathetic character. There's a strong hint near the end of the book that Lippman is setting things up to allow him to return in future, and that's good news, since she clearly enjoys writing about him just as much as she enjoyed writing from the viewpoint of Bambi, her daughters, and her doomed rival.

Points of View

So much in life depends on your point of view, and the same is true of writing fiction. There is a world of difference between a fast-paced first person single viewpoint thriller, for instance, and a book where third person viewpoints are forever shifting around. Choice of approach to viewpoint is an important decision for most novelists.

I’ve been reading a thriller which prompted reflections on viewpoint, because it does something I don’t think I’ve ever encountered before. I won’t give the title, or any details, because I don’t want to spoil the story, but the basic set-up is this. We begin with a first person account of dramatic events, which set up the mystery very effectively.

The viewpoint then shifts, and events are seen from the perspective of someone to whom the first protagonist turns for help. This shift from first person writing to third person is something I’ve never done, but it does seem to be becoming increasingly popular. In a nutshell, I guess the author is trying to combine dramatic tension (first person) with plot development (third person).

We then have a second third person viewpoint (a colleague of the second viewpoint character). Again, the author was clearly trying to get round a plot development challenge.

But then comes the great shock. The first person viewpoint character is murdered. The last we hear is that the villain is about to kill him – end of chapter. I wondered if there was to be a cunning twist, but no – his body is discovered, and that is the end of him

This left me feeling rather unsettled. How was the first person viewpoint character able to tell his story in this way?

I’m not sure I’ve explained this very well, but I’m trying not to give too much away. I’d be interested in how other readers and writers feel about viewpoint shifts of this kind.