The Finisher by Peter Lovesey - review

The Finisher is not merely the 19th novel in Peter Lovesey's highly successful series about Bath cop Peter Diamond. Its appearance marks the 50th anniversary of the publication of Peter's award-winning debut novel Wobble to Death. And very cleverly, Peter has returned to a key theme from that first novel and given it a fresh spin. The 'wobble' was a Victorian race, and The Finisher deals with present day half-marathon running. It's a great way to celebrate a literary career of sustained achievement.

The storyline is constructed with such cunning that I don't want to say too much about it, for fear of giving too much away. I was hooked right from the first two sentences: "The city of Bath isn't all about Roman plumbing and Georgian architecture. It offers unrivalled facilities for getting rid of unwanted corpses."

We're promptly introduced to a ruthless killer known as the Finisher (and "finishing" is a concept used astutely throughout the story) but then events move forward in quite a discursive way, as Lovesey constantly teases us with different possibilities about what might happen next. Not just who is the killer, but who might be killed. I have a particular, if inexplicable, enthusiasm for crime novels with underground scenes, and there is plenty in this book to satisfy that taste - there's even a "tunnel of death". There's much else to enjoy, including a good deal of humour, with a lovely, sly P.G. Wodehouse joke.

This is a story firmly set in the present day (or at least the immediate pre-pandemic present day!) but Peter Lovesey's storytelling skills, and certainly his gift for constructing a fair play puzzle, match those of the finest exponents of Golden Age fiction. As a bonus, there is a delightful map in the classic tradition. Even though I've followed Peter's career closely since my student days, I found the afterword, "Running into Writing", informative and enlightening. I won't pretend that I share Peter's enthusiasm for running, any more than I shared Dick Francis's devotion to horse racing. The gift of both men is an ability to write about their passions in a way that attracts even sceptics like me.

I often think of Peter in connection with two writers born in the same year, Reginald Hill and Robert Barnard. Three delightful men, three outstanding crime novelists (and equally accomplished writers of short stories and non-fiction). Three superb entertainers, in short. Now, alas, there aren't any new novels by Reg or Bob to look forward to, so there is all the more reason to appreciate the consistent excellence of Peter Lovesey's work. He is more than entitled to rest on his laurels after such a career but I find it thrilling that he continues to write so inventively and with such panache. Long may he continue to do so.

Settling the Score by Peter Gibbs

Settling the Score by Peter Gibbs, a paperback original published by Methuen, is a debut novel, although from the pen of an experienced screenwriter. There are special reasons why, for me, it was a wonderfully satisfying read, and although I had a perhaps unique interest in the book, I can recommend it very strongly. There is a 'whodunit' element in the plot, and one or two minor crimes are committed, but it's not a murder mystery, or indeed anything like any book I've ever reviewed on this blog. But let me first explain why I was so glad to have the chance to read it.

When I was growing up, I was not only a keen cricket fan, but one of the few who supported Derbyshire, a team widely regarded as perennial strugglers. I dreamed of opening the batting for them, but the brutal truth was that I was never a good enough cricketer to have any chance of that. But their opening batsman came from Cheshire, as I did, and had studied at Oxford University, which impressed me greatly. From occasional articles that he contributed to club brochures, I deduced that he enjoyed writing comedy, as I did at the time. He seemed to me to have a perfect life. And then, despite the fact that he was a very good player, he gave it all up at the young age of 28. I was baffled, since I hadn't yet learned that no life is perfect. His name was Peter Gibbs.

Some years later, he began writing for TV. One series, about a lawyer called Kinsey, was especially good. He also became the lead scriptwriter for Heartbeat, and so got to know Peter Walker, who first introduced me to the northern chapter of the Crime Writers' Association, and on whose books Heartbeat was based. I would guess that he's always harboured an ambition to publish a novel and now, in his 60s, he's achieved it.  And his background is... a Derbyshire cricket match in the late 60s, a period when I could claim to have an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of the players' records. But, of course, no knowledge of what went on behind the scenes.

This book lifts the lid in quite a fascinating way on the lives of youngish men, living and working together seven days a week for a large part of the year. It's received numerous positive reviews already, and I suspect that people will increasingly say that he's a much better writer than he was a cricketer; but that would be a bit unfair, since P.J.K. Gibbs, as one journalist who wasn't a fan always called him, was in fact a very good batsman to watch.

The story involves the conflict between two brothers, team rivalries spiced by illicit affairs, and a great many wittily described scenes. I found it laugh-out-loud funny, but there are also moments of poignancy, not least in one sub-plot that echoes a real life scandal in which a Derbyshire cricketer of the sixties was victimised by the establishment. There is a lot about cricket in Settling the Score, but I hope that even those who have no interest in the game will be tempted to give this book a try. It's the best novel about cricket I've ever read, even better than Pro, by Bruce Hamilton (brother of Patrick, whose crime novels I've mentioned before on this blog.) I'd go further, and say that, much as I admire the Dick Francis books, now carried on by Felix Francis, Peter Gibbs' debut is the most enjoyable sport-based novel I've ever read.

Dick Francis R.I.P.

I was very sorry to learn today of the death of Dick Francis. Among his many accomplishments was the ability to make novels with a horse racing background appealing to people who, like me, had no interest whatsoever in that particular sport. He managed it with a combination of pacy, no-nonsense writing and careful attention to the detail of his backgrounds. There was always an authentic tang about a Dick Francis novel, and this attracted the approval of reviewers and commentators on crime fiction, as well as the devotion of the countless readers who turned his books into best-sellers. Because, as a jockey, he knew what it was to experience pain, when his heroes got hurt, they felt it. But in the end they triumphed nonetheless.

After previously sampling one or two of his early novels in a casual way, I finally became hooked on Dick Francis in the1980s. Titles such as Banker (a special favourite of mine), Reflex, Proof, Twice Shy and Hot Money were first class examples of the action thriller. His stories often benefited from providing an interesting insight into a world other than horse racing (the title of Banker speaks for itself; Reflex was about photography, and so on.) Of his later books, I particularly enjoyed Come to Grief, which marked the return of his occasional protagonist Sid Halley, and which was rather darker in tone than the typical Francis novel.

His wife Mary, who died some years ago, evidently contributed to the books’ merits; in recent years his son Felix has been acknowledged as a co-author. The Francis brand was impressive; many other sportsmen and women have written thrillers, trying to emulate his success. But none of them, I think it’s safe to say, have quite equalled his achievements.

Quite apart from his novels, Dick Francis also wrote a number of twisty short stories, and when I was putting together an anthology to celebrate the Golden Jubilee of the Crime Writers’ Association, Mysterious Pleasures, he was generous enough to contribute to the book. His story, ‘The Gift’, is a very good one.

The sustained excellence of his writing career was marked by various honours, notably the CWA Diamond Dagger. There was a lack of pretension about Francis’s writing that, I gather from those who knew him well, was matched by a very likeable personality. Some time ago, I had the chance to meet him in person at long last, but reluctantly had to forego it because of other commitments. I did entertain the hope that, as a member of the Detection Club, one day I might have the chance to chat with him over dinner. Sadly, it wasn’t to be, but like so many others, I appreciated his ability to intrigue and entertain and mourn his passing.