This probing, disturbing novel introduces Monsieur Dampierre, a renowned academic and TV personality; a man who takes a special literature class for privileged eleven-year-olds. But all is not well when Henri Castang finds that two of his daughter’s schoolfriends show signs of child abuse. Castang finds himself and his family moving ever closer to the dirty and dangerous world of criminal vice.
Nicolas Freeling born Nicolas Davidson, (March 3, 1927 - July 20, 2003) was a British crime novelist, best known as the author of the Van der Valk series of detective novels which were adapted for transmission on the British ITV network by Thames Television during the 1970s.
Freeling was born in London, but travelled widely, and ended his life at his long-standing home at Grandfontaine to the west of Strasbourg. He had followed a variety of occupations, including the armed services and the catering profession. He began writing during a three-week prison sentence, after being convicted of stealing some food.[citation needed]
Freeling's The King of the Rainy Country received a 1967 Edgar Award, from the Mystery Writers of America, for Best Novel. He also won the Gold Dagger of the Crime Writers' Association, and France's Grand Prix de Littérature Policière.
Some good reading thanks to Freeling's unique and pungent style. Much of the writing has nothing to do with the plot. The main story finally gets rolling about three-quarters of the way through. That may be OK for anyone who likes the prose and the typical Freeling attitudes. And police officer Henri Castang and his wife are not without interest. This time, though, Castang's plot to catch or at least embarrass a prestigious individual suspected of interfering with teenage girls is so implausible as to be entirely unbelievable. So is an action sequence involving his wife Vera. The bigger problem is that the book's comments about girls and women, and most of the descriptions of poor or criminal treatment of them, made me queasy. There are passages like this, which could stand as perceptive but also could stand as condescending, or even accusatory: "Funny, vulnerable creatures, women. Silly at the wrong moment." Some of the events could also perhaps qualify as sadism. Then there's the question of whether Castang is really much different from his main quarry in the book, and if so, how. It's not clear whether Freeling wanted to raise that question. The point in the end is that I can't remember what I thought of this instalment of the Castang series after first reading it about 30 years ago but now it's headed for a second-hand bookstore. It's also another example of Freeling's occasional penchant for quoting obscure song lyrics by Jacques Brel, whose work he seems to have admired, possibly because Brel's writing could be just as off-centre (or more).
Although Nicolas Freeling's "Those In Peril" (1990), the twelfth novel in the Castang series, is a marked improvement over the previous entry, it does not reach anywhere near Mr. Freeling's usual stellar level. While the novel has its peaks, some of them quite high, it suffers from a major flaw, which I discuss after the synopsis. Maybe the author is beginning to feel a burnout caused by the series being too long? Maybe the Castang formula has worn out? Well, I will refrain from going on my trademark rant against "series literature".
Commissaire Castang, sacked as a result of politically embarrassing happenings described in "Not As Far As Velma", is "promoted" into a backwater job in Fraud Squad of the Fine-Arts Division of Police Judiciaire in Paris. The job allows Castang to travel widely: for instance, he dines in the Winter Palace in Saint Petersburg (then still called Leningrad), and spends a few days in New York, all at the taxpayers' expense. The criminal plot is pretty thin, which - of course - is fine; one does not read Freeling for the plot: an expensive stamp collection has been stolen and, more importantly, a classmate of Castang's daughter is sexually abused at school. The suspicions focus on Monsieur Dampierre, a television personality and a member of the Academie Française, who teaches advanced literature in an afterschool enrichment program.
So what's wrong - to me - with the novel? It is the way that Commissaire Castang plans to demonstrate the suspect's guilt. To clarify, I do not mean "morally wrong", let's not go into debating the moral issues of entrapment, etc. I find the whole design of the baiting scheme totally far-fetched and I do not believe any responsible person would choose to act like that (alas I am unable to explain this more clearly without spoiling the plot).
There are some very good parts in the novel - perhaps not the top-level Freeling but close - the New York trip episode is written with typical Freeling-esque panache. The ending is wonderfully cynical, ooops, I mean realistic. And there is a cute meta-prose reflection "For Auctor thus to address Lector in ponderous parenthesis is ridiculous, but the Who Did It convention encapsulating most crime fiction is no less so" (one of these sentences that I love so much). I would also love to quote a hilarious sentence about Alice and Lewis Carroll's wardrobe item, yet some readers might find it offensive.
The politics of being a member of the police force in France are complicated, and not very unique from the politics of any group of professional people in most countries of the world. Thus, I found Those in Peril to be the least least enjoyable book by Nicolas Freeling. I prefer his books of ordinary people in western European countries who for one reason or another are facing challenging circumstances and usually survive the cross cultural misunderstandings. Perhaps, it is the translation of this story to English that is difficult thus distracting from the story.
Inspector Henri Castang is transferred to Paris, and the Fraud Unit of the Fine Arts division, as a punishment. Aware of a man preying upon school girls, he organizes a trap.