Snow covered fir trees. Imagine them from above, from a sheer, vertical perspective. A ribbon of road leading straight and deep between these same fir trees, trunks wrapped in mist. Treetops hurtling by.
... and at the end of the road, a rather imposing and sinister building that turns out to be a special prison for the mentally insane criminals.
The reader coming to Saint-Martin-de-Comminges: Bear Country. might be excused if he appears lost in a rerun of the opening sequence from Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining . Meeting a bear is highly unlikely in this small town at the base of the Pyrenees * , but there are worse things waiting high up the icy valleys.
“Call the gendarmerie, quick! Tell them to get up here right away. There’s a dead body. The sickest thing you’ve ever seen!”
* Come to the Carpathians in my own country for bears and vampires!
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The author is pushing rather hard in the opening chapters to create this sense of impending doom and of a hostile environment. It’s easy to joke about The Shining meeting The Silence of the Lambs , especially since the second scene has young Swiss doctor Diane Berg knocking at the door of the sanatorium, the place where she will meet with the most notorious serial killer in Europe.
Personally, I kind of liked the lurid opening gambit and the transparent movie references. Part of the reason is the winter setting and the mountain background – things I’ve missed lately in my flat and dry home town. The other part of my interest is the chutzpah of the author: if you’re going to write a high-octane thriller, you should think big picture right from the start.
Everything here was out of proportion – the landscape, the passions, the crimes.
“Look ... you can’t imagine what it’s like up here, in the middle of winter, Commisaire. Have you had a look around you? When it gets dark, you feel like you’re alone on earth. It’s as if ... as if you were in the middle of nowhere ... on a desert island, yeah ... An island lost in the middle of an ocean of snow and ice,”
Commandant Martin Servaz from Toulouse is assigned to lead the investigation, rather reluctantly, since he resents having to deal with a dead animal instead of a regular human corpse. When the owner of the pure breed horse is the richest man in the region, the head of a powerful multinational corporation, all you can say to your boss is: Yes, Sir! Immediately, Sir!
Servaz should be more careful about what he wishes for: soon enough his hands will be full of new corpses (of the human sort), suspects, red herrings, political pressure and even personal danger.
“There are two questions that are an absolute priority. Where has the horse’s head got to? And why go to all the trouble of hanging the horse up at the top of a cable car line? It must mean something.”
The novel invites us to have a crash course in French police procedurals, significantly different from the more familiar American or British modus operandi. It is still not clear to me what the difference between a commandant and a commisaire is, but many agencies need to cooperate in the investigation, from judges to regional prosecutors, attorneys, gendarmes, crime units and traffic agents. All this without getting tangled into the parallel storyline of what goes on at the mental institution.
For the purpose of our shortened review, the key players in the team helping Servaz are Irene Ziegler, captain of the local gendarmes, Vincent Esperandieu and Samira Cheung from the Toulouse unit. Bernard Minier does a good job with all the secondary characters, but these three stood out for me. I wish I could say the same about the guy who leads the investigation, Martin Servaz, but I found him a little bland by comparison, even with the few personal touches about his phobias and his family problems that the author includes in his portrait.
As a young man he had tried riding. A bitter failure. Horses frightened him. As did speed, height or even major crowds.
There are several moments of black or situational humour, but the plot is quite grim in its extremely disturbing details of abuse and cruelty towards the innocents. The mystery is strongly anchored in the past lives of the people living in this small mountain valley. And some of them are ready to kill in order to keep these dark secrets locked in the past.
‘If there is one thing we do learn in this job,’ he said, ‘it is that people are rarely what they seem. And that everyone has something to hide.’
‘Everything that happens in this valley has its roots in the past. If you want to find out the truth, you must leave no stone unturned – and look carefully at what you find underneath.’
‘That noise’ she wrote, ‘I’ll never forget it. For ever, it will always mean the same thing: evil exists, and it has a sound.’
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One of the things I have come to expect from French authors of ‘polars’ is social engagement, and Bernard Minier is not one to shy away from thorny current affairs. He can rant with the best of them, and he can get quite fierce in declamations, but the commentaries are surprisingly pertinent to the actual investigation and to the personal lives of the team, whether they are discussing the influence of violent video games, their tastes in music (and I love to find a character listening to Sufjan Stevens), advertising, cuts in social programs or gender issues.
Those kids were being sold dreams and lies all day long. Sold, not given. Cynical salesmen had made adolescent frustration their stock in trade. Mediocrity, pornography, violence, lies, hatred, alcohol, drugs – everything was for sale in the flashy display windows of mass consumerism, and young people were a perfect target.
‘In the last twenty years each successive government has discreetly done away with over fifty thousand beds in psychiatry units and cut thousands of jobs. And yet on the outside, in the name of economic imperatives and the free market, the pressure on individuals has never been greater, there are more crazy, psychotic, paranoid, schizophrenic people wandering around than ever.’
Why were people so fascinated by violence? he wondered. The avalanche of shocking images on television, in the cinema and in books – was it a way to stave off fear? Most of these artists only knew violence indirectly, abstractly. They had no real experience of it.
The mental hospital comes with its own baggage of controversy, mostly about the treatments prescribed by the new director of the institution, a person more concerned with punishment and torture than with Hippocratic oaths. This is how Diane Berg discovers some new things about illegal drugs, ‘behavioural reconditioning’ or electroconvulsive therapy.
Saying more at this point will inevitably lead to spoilers, so I think I will stop here with the synopsis.
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As a police procedural, the novel was not entirely convincing. The investigators were following leads rather haphazardly in order not to arrive too early in the plot at the relevant information. Some clues were obvious red herrings, others were better disguised. As a photographer, I am reluctant to accept that you can magnify the scan of an old photo some two thousand times and still see something relevant in the heavily pixelated results. Similarly, it is rather improbable that a secret journal will rest for almost two decades hidden in plain sight, waiting for Martin Servaz to have a light bulb moment, or that a terrible secret that claims dozens of victims could be hidden in such a small community: ‘But not one of their victims ever spoke out!’
All of these minor gripes were swept away in the avalanche of a blockbuster finale that borrowed even more Hollywood action set pieces while keeping me glued to the page to find out how all the loose ends can be tied with a ribbon and sold to the audience.
Reluctantly, but deservedly, I must say: Well done! to this debut of a new series that I am considering investing more of my reading time in. I might even check out a copy of the TV adaptation on my upcoming trip to Paris.