I remember 1981 extremely well. I remember the bomb attacks in Belfast and trouble in the Estate. I remember getting a lift to school from a neighbour who was a captain in the British Army: he had to check under his car every morning for mercury tilt switch bombs and sometimes when it was raining or cold he would skip the check and my little brother and I would be in the back seat waiting for the first hill when the bomb might go off ...
The quote is not from the novel, but from the afterword, where the author talks about his own experiences in Carrickfergus, a suburb of Belfast that is his birthplace and that he made the residence of his RUC investigator Sean Duffy. I have chosen to start my review with it because I consider the quote more relevant than the personality [such as it is] of lead character Sean Duffy or the details of the police procedural into the gruesome double murder of a couple of homosexuals in Belfast in 1981.
The crime story is just a pretext, a device the author is using for writing a personal account of living in a Belfast city under martial law, a city ripped apart by sectarian violence and by the brutality of the occupation army. Adrian McKinty speaks from direct experience, and this is what gives the novel its street credibility, the only thing that kept me interested in the proceeds after I failed to be won over by the young detective Sean Duffy or by the investigative methods he used.
I was babbling and I f_cking knew it. And she was right: this wasn’t police work, this was intuition, guesswork. It was feeble.
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This was my first novel by McKinty, and it might not be the last because he definitely has talent and vision, but when your competition is Tana French, Peter May, William McIlvanney, Chris Brookmyre, Colin Bateman – he has a lot of catching up to do before I make him a priority on a very crowded Brit Crime shelf.
You could say I had some serious issues with the story outside of the historical, documentary angle. Most of them are because I felt no sympathy for Sean Duffy, who feels more like a composite of several personality traits that bear no relationship to a real person. It could be said that he is the product of the crazy times he is living in, and that a sane person would not willingly submit to the daily dose of horror Sean Duffy must go through. At a rational level, I can understand where he is coming from, but at an emotional level I considered him a fake / a construct right from the start.
That was the moment when I knew that I wanted to be some small part of ending this madness. It was either get out or do something. I chose the latter.
The police were keen to have me. A university graduate, a psychologist, and that most precious thing of all ... a Catholic.
All fine and dandy in theory, but in practice Mr. Duffy is neither truly depressed nor a practising Catholic. On the contrary, he seems to try very hard to check all the boxes for sins committed before the last page of the novel [drunkenness, fornication, gambling, drugs, bribery, anger]. These produce some entertaining scenes and several instances of gallows humour that relieved somewhat the darker shades of Belfast lifestyle in 1981.
As a detective, mr. Duffy is paying a lot of lip service to the American hard-boiled tradition – with a lot of heavy drinking on the job, propositioning every alluring female he encounters, pistol whipping suspects, lock-picking doors without a warrant and witty repartees with the tough gangsters. As a police procedural role model he fails rather spectacularly in his investigation where he prefers the Hammett / Chandler approach of trying to provoke the bad guys into making mistakes.
I will not comment on the actual investigation and about how two unrelated cases are finally brought together by intuition instead of hard evidence – suffice to say the solution is credible if not surprising, including some very late real action scenes that make for a livelier finale that returns the reader to the main subject of the novel : The Troubles in Northern Ireland with the civilian population caught in the crossfire between IRA, Protestant paramilitary squads and British Army.
I’m not sure what Adrian McKinty has planned for an encore, but I know he returned eventually to Belfast with another Sean Duffy novel. I might prefer to read one of his American novels instead.