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Throw Me to the Wolves
In the aftermath of Brexit, the body of a young woman is found by the river Thames, and a neighbor, a retired teacher from Chapleton College, is arrested. An eccentric loner—intellectual, shy, a fastidious dresser with expensive tastes—he is the perfect candidate for a media monstering.
In custody he is interviewed by two detectives: the circumspect Ander, and his workaday foil, Gary. Ander is particularly watchful now, because the man across the table is someone he knows—someone he hasn’t seen in nearly thirty years. Determined to salvage the truth as ex-pupils and colleagues line up against the accused, he must face a story from decades back, from his own time as a Chapleton student, at the peak of anti-Irish sentiment.
With the momentum of classic crime fiction, Throw Me to the Wolves follows two mysteries—one unfolding in the media-saturated present, and the other bubbling up from the abusive past of the 1980s English school system. Beautifully written and psychologically acute, it is a novel about memory and childhood, prescient and piercingly funny, as wise as it is tragic.
In custody he is interviewed by two detectives: the circumspect Ander, and his workaday foil, Gary. Ander is particularly watchful now, because the man across the table is someone he knows—someone he hasn’t seen in nearly thirty years. Determined to salvage the truth as ex-pupils and colleagues line up against the accused, he must face a story from decades back, from his own time as a Chapleton student, at the peak of anti-Irish sentiment.
With the momentum of classic crime fiction, Throw Me to the Wolves follows two mysteries—one unfolding in the media-saturated present, and the other bubbling up from the abusive past of the 1980s English school system. Beautifully written and psychologically acute, it is a novel about memory and childhood, prescient and piercingly funny, as wise as it is tragic.
336 pages, Hardcover
First published April 4, 2019
120 people are currently reading
2173 people want to read
About the author
Patrick McGuinness
53 books68 followersBorn in Tunisia in 1968 to a Belgian French-speaking mother and an English father of Irish descent, he grew up in Belgium and also lived for periods in Venezuela, Iran, Romania and the UK. He currently lives in Oxford and in Wales teaching French and Comparative Literature at St Anne's College, Oxford.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 121 reviews
January 11, 2022
This novel reminded me how inventive and accomplished Ali Smith's quartet of state of the nation novels are. Because Throw me to the Wolves too aspires to dramatise cutting social commentary. The prime targets for its ire are social media, the tabloid press and the old school network (and its sadistic perversions). The awfulness of all three is though hysterically exaggerated which means you find yourself coming to their defence. Defending the tabloid press is not how I want to spend my time. There's a subtext of nostalgia for the days of vinyl, acoustic guitars, men's leather shoes and stylish cars. One thing about Smith is her narrative voice transcends age. Here, on the other hand, it's very easy to age the author.
The plot felt forced and offkilter from the getgo. The characters, often talking heads, all played by the same person. (I know this is the true of all novels but you shouldn't be made to feel it.) A girl is murdered. She remains anonymous throughout the novel. Of no interest whatsoever to anyone, including the novelist. Her neighbour is arrested and eventually charged. Except we never really learn why as there isn't a shred of evidence against him. He's the former teacher of the narrator who is also a (thoroughly unconvincing) police officer on the case. You know the teacher is innocent. The author doesn't bother to put even a shadow of a doubt in the reader's mind. There are a couple of bizarre tenuously connected subplots, featuring flimsy caricatures of Ali Smith eccentrics, characters who reject social media. We're asked to believe social media isn't much less pernicious than the Gestapo. There's some good writing, but mostly it's wisecracking journalism dubbed over the novel's dramatic discharges. At bottom it's unbelievable. I don't mind unbelievable novels. Martin Amis made an admirable career of writing them. But the implausibility has to be a winking and smirking presence in the fabric which didn't feel like the case here.
The plot felt forced and offkilter from the getgo. The characters, often talking heads, all played by the same person. (I know this is the true of all novels but you shouldn't be made to feel it.) A girl is murdered. She remains anonymous throughout the novel. Of no interest whatsoever to anyone, including the novelist. Her neighbour is arrested and eventually charged. Except we never really learn why as there isn't a shred of evidence against him. He's the former teacher of the narrator who is also a (thoroughly unconvincing) police officer on the case. You know the teacher is innocent. The author doesn't bother to put even a shadow of a doubt in the reader's mind. There are a couple of bizarre tenuously connected subplots, featuring flimsy caricatures of Ali Smith eccentrics, characters who reject social media. We're asked to believe social media isn't much less pernicious than the Gestapo. There's some good writing, but mostly it's wisecracking journalism dubbed over the novel's dramatic discharges. At bottom it's unbelievable. I don't mind unbelievable novels. Martin Amis made an admirable career of writing them. But the implausibility has to be a winking and smirking presence in the fabric which didn't feel like the case here.
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November 10, 2021A very well-written police story featuring an unusual detective inspector and his colourful side-kick.
Here are some quotes for you to sample:
We walk but we don’t rush, because for now we’re caught between the moment when what happened happened and the moment it becomes a fact. I can feel all those events massing there, just on the other side of the discovery we’re about to make, and I want to spin this short walk out, hold it all off. It helps me think, I tell myself: you can’t live between tenses for long, make the most of it.
When we brought him in through the back of the station, the photographers were ready. Above all their shouting there was one, a voice in the scrum, clean and loud as a firecracker: ‘Get a shot of that book bag!’ I looked – yes – he had one of those free hessian book bags. ‘I love books!’ it declared, the love done as a big Valentine heart and the shop’s name and address – an arcade in the old town – happily blazoned across it. The bookshop had to close. They got bricks through their windows, shit through their letterbox. I ♥ Books, AKA ‘Monster’s secret book obsession’, as [the tabloid headline] had it.
Ander knows that look – he gets it every time he speaks English, though usually he doesn’t know which they’d prefer: the foreigner or the dimwit. It’s difficult to tell with the English. But in general, he thinks, they prefer you stupid. Especially if you really are foreign. He’s had many chances to choose between foreign and stupid and each time he’s chosen foreign. Sometimes, that’s exactly what makes him stupid. The stupid person is dealing in the same currency at least, they just have less of it than everyone else; the foreigner … well, the foreigner is always at the bureau de change, always getting skimmed at both ends of the transaction: he means more than he can say, and by the time it’s all been converted he’s said less than he meant.
Unmoored, he thought. Unmoored. Though he spent a lot of time unmoored before he learned the word unmoored. What order do the words come in, he keeps thinking: before or after the thing, the feeling? Does the feeling change suddenly because it has a name? Yes, he thinks, the name contains it, or gives it a border so it doesn’t spill and splash around into another feeling. Homesick, for instance: Heimwee. Home-ache in Dutch, Home-pain. Home-woe. It’s better than sick.
Here are some quotes for you to sample:
We walk but we don’t rush, because for now we’re caught between the moment when what happened happened and the moment it becomes a fact. I can feel all those events massing there, just on the other side of the discovery we’re about to make, and I want to spin this short walk out, hold it all off. It helps me think, I tell myself: you can’t live between tenses for long, make the most of it.
When we brought him in through the back of the station, the photographers were ready. Above all their shouting there was one, a voice in the scrum, clean and loud as a firecracker: ‘Get a shot of that book bag!’ I looked – yes – he had one of those free hessian book bags. ‘I love books!’ it declared, the love done as a big Valentine heart and the shop’s name and address – an arcade in the old town – happily blazoned across it. The bookshop had to close. They got bricks through their windows, shit through their letterbox. I ♥ Books, AKA ‘Monster’s secret book obsession’, as [the tabloid headline] had it.
Ander knows that look – he gets it every time he speaks English, though usually he doesn’t know which they’d prefer: the foreigner or the dimwit. It’s difficult to tell with the English. But in general, he thinks, they prefer you stupid. Especially if you really are foreign. He’s had many chances to choose between foreign and stupid and each time he’s chosen foreign. Sometimes, that’s exactly what makes him stupid. The stupid person is dealing in the same currency at least, they just have less of it than everyone else; the foreigner … well, the foreigner is always at the bureau de change, always getting skimmed at both ends of the transaction: he means more than he can say, and by the time it’s all been converted he’s said less than he meant.
Unmoored, he thought. Unmoored. Though he spent a lot of time unmoored before he learned the word unmoored. What order do the words come in, he keeps thinking: before or after the thing, the feeling? Does the feeling change suddenly because it has a name? Yes, he thinks, the name contains it, or gives it a border so it doesn’t spill and splash around into another feeling. Homesick, for instance: Heimwee. Home-ache in Dutch, Home-pain. Home-woe. It’s better than sick.
August 26, 2019
It's the sound of hatred looking for an object to fix itself to. Roving hate.
This is an uneven book for me: at times McGuinness nails a character ('Gary tries not to show it, but he is intelligent. He thinks being clever is effete and maybe 'a bit gay', at the very least metrosexual'), a social phenomenon ('it's not the machines that frighten me... it's the people becoming avatars on the end of them - no longer quite human, like some new kind of centaur breed: half flesh and half touchscreen') or a striking way of articulating a moment ('you catch him thinking, or moving his mind around in a grudging pastiche of thought') - at other times, the text becomes needlessly verbose, even repetitive, so that I wanted to nudge it impatiently to get on with it...
Superficially concerned with a police investigation into the murder of a young woman, really this is interested in two issues: the unmoored malice, cruelty, even hatred that may not be new but which has become overwhelmingly publicly visible via social media; and the question of bullying and abuse that permeates our culture. The book seems to want to connect the two but it's not easy to do this with any conviction and the rather simplistic tying together of misogyny, prejudice (anti-Irish in this case but obviously any demographic can be substituted), bullying, sexual abuse, the abuse of power, the herd mentality that turns on anyone deemed, for whatever reason, 'different', renders the book uncomfortably akin to a broad and grumpy diatribe rather than anything more focused and analytical.
The issues are important, of course, and there are some powerful scenes that take place in an elite English boarding school - but it's no big surprise when McGuiness's voice is heard via his narrator:
You take sexual shame and sexual frustration, you top it up with wealth, hierarchy, and mental and physical violence, and then serve it in a large glass called entitlement, and you get... well: you get what we have.
Very probably true - but original? Hardly. And it gets messy that at least one of the victims is wealthy, arguably entitled, and was complicit with the public school hierarchy (however different he is from the worst of the masters); and that at least one of the 'now' story perpetrators is prominently female...
So this is a bit of a mixed bag of a book for me: there are times when it takes its 'police procedural' identity seriously with a sudden dip into forensics ('frenzics' - haha!) and investigation towards the end; at other times, it's more interested in offering up an indictment of public school culture, or - again - a savage exposé of the media when it comes to sales and clicks over facts. The writing is sometimes smart, witty, penetrating; at other times overly wordy - and I could have done without the whole sections of Ander with his niece and Vera. Powerful in places, pedestrian in others - a messy book, overall, with some acute writing and important things to say.
May 6, 2021
I saw Throw Me to the Wolves (2020) by Patrick McGuinness in my local library, was intrigued by the cover, and took it out on a whim. What a serendipitous decision that proved to be. I was beguiled from start to finish.
Anyone familiar with the 2010 real life story of retired schoolteacher Christopher Jefferies, who was questioned by police as a suspect in the murder of Joanna Yeates, will recognise the inspiration for the main narrative strand. Christopher Jefferies was charged for the crime, and monstered by the tabloid press whilst the case was ongoing, all primarily based on his slightly eccentric appearance which led journalists and tabloid readers to assume that no one could look that odd and be innocent. Needless to say he was innocent and later won substantial damages for libel from The Sun, the Daily Mirror, the Daily Star, the Daily Express, the Daily Mail and the Daily Record.
It was only after I finished this book that I discovered that Patrick McGuinness was taught by Jefferies. This experience presumably informed another of the narrative strands which follows one of the two lead detectives, Ander, who recalls his time as a pupil at an exclusive boarding school. The young Ander is newly arrived from Belgium and with only limited English language skills and struggles to fit into an alien culture. Much of the novel is set firmly in the past. The school memories relate incidents of horrific institutional bullying, abuse, and shaming. It's appalling and slowly builds up to one particularly significant and grim classroom atrocity.
Ander - along with his amusingly acerbic colleague Gary - has to solve both the murder of a young woman and making sense of his past.
It's heady stuff and yet there is so much more to this book than just the two narrative strands I have already mentioned. The primarily theme is how the past intrudes on, perhaps even dominates, the present. This is further symbolised by an enormous fatberg in the sewers of the Medway town where the story takes place. One of his few friends, an old woman called Mrs Snow, believes her dead husband is still present. Ander's young niece is obsessed by recording everyday ambient sounds. Ander is frequently absent from the present, lost in his own history, mourning an intangible loss. There are ghosts at every turn, all played out against the backdrop of the tabloid witchhunt against an innocent man.
I was completely blown away by this novel. It succeeds on so many levels but is, fundamentally, a powerful and intense exploration of how childhood trauma shapes lives and how the past resides in us all. It's also, perhaps surprisingly, often quite amusing too with Gary's observations at the heart of the humour. My favourite book of 2021 so far. I find it hard to imagine it being displaced.
5/5
Throw Me to the Wolves won the £10,000 RSL Encore Award which is a new one on me. It is given annually to the best second novel of the year
https://rsliterature.org/award/encore...
Lotta love from the critics too....
Throw Me to the Wolves is, on the face of it, a made-for-TV procedural police drama… Scratch the surface, however, and all of Britain’s restless undercurrents are churning away… this is literary fiction as it should be: in stylish, surprising, lyrical sentences we are forced to confront the hidden power structures, public and private, that control our everyday lives. It’s reminiscent of Edward St Aubyn, not only in its pillorying of the elite, but the pleasure McGuinness takes in having his characters say clever things. It’s also a proper page-turner. -- Melissa Katsoulis ― The Times
This is a writer worth knowing… [McGuinness] combines elegant prose with caustic commentary on romance, education and crime… most people can write for a lifetime and not produce so perfect a sentence. -- Patrick Anderson ― Washington Post
Blisteringly effective, written with an almost hallucinogenic clarity… Throw Me to the Wolves is intensely powerful. -- Justine Jordon ― Guardian
An extraordinary writer of great compassion, McGuinness combines a mesmerising crime novel with a forensic look at the brutalising mechanisms of the British Public School system. Stunning. -- Denise Mina
An absorbing novel… on virtually every page, there are perfectly judged descriptions that reveal something about the world. ― Financial Times
Anyone familiar with the 2010 real life story of retired schoolteacher Christopher Jefferies, who was questioned by police as a suspect in the murder of Joanna Yeates, will recognise the inspiration for the main narrative strand. Christopher Jefferies was charged for the crime, and monstered by the tabloid press whilst the case was ongoing, all primarily based on his slightly eccentric appearance which led journalists and tabloid readers to assume that no one could look that odd and be innocent. Needless to say he was innocent and later won substantial damages for libel from The Sun, the Daily Mirror, the Daily Star, the Daily Express, the Daily Mail and the Daily Record.
It was only after I finished this book that I discovered that Patrick McGuinness was taught by Jefferies. This experience presumably informed another of the narrative strands which follows one of the two lead detectives, Ander, who recalls his time as a pupil at an exclusive boarding school. The young Ander is newly arrived from Belgium and with only limited English language skills and struggles to fit into an alien culture. Much of the novel is set firmly in the past. The school memories relate incidents of horrific institutional bullying, abuse, and shaming. It's appalling and slowly builds up to one particularly significant and grim classroom atrocity.
Ander - along with his amusingly acerbic colleague Gary - has to solve both the murder of a young woman and making sense of his past.
It's heady stuff and yet there is so much more to this book than just the two narrative strands I have already mentioned. The primarily theme is how the past intrudes on, perhaps even dominates, the present. This is further symbolised by an enormous fatberg in the sewers of the Medway town where the story takes place. One of his few friends, an old woman called Mrs Snow, believes her dead husband is still present. Ander's young niece is obsessed by recording everyday ambient sounds. Ander is frequently absent from the present, lost in his own history, mourning an intangible loss. There are ghosts at every turn, all played out against the backdrop of the tabloid witchhunt against an innocent man.
I was completely blown away by this novel. It succeeds on so many levels but is, fundamentally, a powerful and intense exploration of how childhood trauma shapes lives and how the past resides in us all. It's also, perhaps surprisingly, often quite amusing too with Gary's observations at the heart of the humour. My favourite book of 2021 so far. I find it hard to imagine it being displaced.
5/5
Throw Me to the Wolves won the £10,000 RSL Encore Award which is a new one on me. It is given annually to the best second novel of the year
https://rsliterature.org/award/encore...
Lotta love from the critics too....
Throw Me to the Wolves is, on the face of it, a made-for-TV procedural police drama… Scratch the surface, however, and all of Britain’s restless undercurrents are churning away… this is literary fiction as it should be: in stylish, surprising, lyrical sentences we are forced to confront the hidden power structures, public and private, that control our everyday lives. It’s reminiscent of Edward St Aubyn, not only in its pillorying of the elite, but the pleasure McGuinness takes in having his characters say clever things. It’s also a proper page-turner. -- Melissa Katsoulis ― The Times
This is a writer worth knowing… [McGuinness] combines elegant prose with caustic commentary on romance, education and crime… most people can write for a lifetime and not produce so perfect a sentence. -- Patrick Anderson ― Washington Post
Blisteringly effective, written with an almost hallucinogenic clarity… Throw Me to the Wolves is intensely powerful. -- Justine Jordon ― Guardian
An extraordinary writer of great compassion, McGuinness combines a mesmerising crime novel with a forensic look at the brutalising mechanisms of the British Public School system. Stunning. -- Denise Mina
An absorbing novel… on virtually every page, there are perfectly judged descriptions that reveal something about the world. ― Financial Times
May 10, 2019
Is this the beginning of a beautiful relationship?
This is, in my view, one of the great fictional police pairings and what I hope will be the start of an ongoing partnership created by author Patrick McGuinness. The framework of the story is based loosely on the Christopher Jefferies case of December 2010 where a murder suspect, a retired public school teacher, was subjected to unprecedented vilification by the press merely for having an eccentric appearance.
Throw Me to the Wolves, though, is much more than this.
It is the narrator Ander’s account of coming to this country from Holland as a child, on a scholarship to a renowned public school in Kent. He can’t help but feel like an outsider and he befriends a boy called Danny, also bright, also something of a loner, also a scholarship pupil like himself. Bullying and abuse are endemic at the school and, with one exception, the teachers are a cruel bunch. But English master Michael Wolphram is an unusual and civilising presence, appreciative of the boys who show a promising interest in poetry and film. And it is his old teacher who Anders finds himself seated across from when this unconventional character is hauled into the police station as the prime suspect in a murder case.
Second-in-command, Gary, is Ander's hugely entertaining opposite: brought up on a council estate, basic education, street-smart and with such a witty, pithy turn of phrase that Ander cannot help but admire him. The partnership’s chemistry is thoroughly engaging. Patrick McGuinness’s prose is a joy to read: elegant, erudite, bordering on the poetic in places and though possibly a little overwritten initially, McGuinness soon reins it in. I didn’t know of his writing before and just stumbled over this book in a recent press round-up of crime fiction. That is far too narrow a genre listing to portray accurately the scope of this terrific novel in which the author offers up layers of depth and insight making for a richly rewarding read.
This is, in my view, one of the great fictional police pairings and what I hope will be the start of an ongoing partnership created by author Patrick McGuinness. The framework of the story is based loosely on the Christopher Jefferies case of December 2010 where a murder suspect, a retired public school teacher, was subjected to unprecedented vilification by the press merely for having an eccentric appearance.
Throw Me to the Wolves, though, is much more than this.
It is the narrator Ander’s account of coming to this country from Holland as a child, on a scholarship to a renowned public school in Kent. He can’t help but feel like an outsider and he befriends a boy called Danny, also bright, also something of a loner, also a scholarship pupil like himself. Bullying and abuse are endemic at the school and, with one exception, the teachers are a cruel bunch. But English master Michael Wolphram is an unusual and civilising presence, appreciative of the boys who show a promising interest in poetry and film. And it is his old teacher who Anders finds himself seated across from when this unconventional character is hauled into the police station as the prime suspect in a murder case.
Second-in-command, Gary, is Ander's hugely entertaining opposite: brought up on a council estate, basic education, street-smart and with such a witty, pithy turn of phrase that Ander cannot help but admire him. The partnership’s chemistry is thoroughly engaging. Patrick McGuinness’s prose is a joy to read: elegant, erudite, bordering on the poetic in places and though possibly a little overwritten initially, McGuinness soon reins it in. I didn’t know of his writing before and just stumbled over this book in a recent press round-up of crime fiction. That is far too narrow a genre listing to portray accurately the scope of this terrific novel in which the author offers up layers of depth and insight making for a richly rewarding read.
June 18, 2020
What glorious writing. I've never read Patrick McGuinness before (Thanks, Mary Lins.), but his writing is so exquisite, I wager he could write anything and it would be a joy to read.
Here, he's used his skill to write a crime story, but my guess is the originality, music, humor, and literary muscle* are his gifts no matter where he aims. You could almost point to any sentence as an example, but here's the bit that launched me to my computer to begin drafting my thoughts:
_____________
*By "literary muscle," I mean a combination of rhythm, vocabulary and observations that sparkle and surprise you with their originality, and technical prowess to build a story. In addition, he has a deep understanding of truth and how people work psychologically and weaves this, like breath, into the narrative/social commentary that builds just right, then coasts into a poignant conclusion.
I'm about to read an ARC of the new Jess Walter novel, another "muscular" writer, and I think Walter fans would have a similar ent1husiasm for Patrick McGuinness's work in this book.
Here, he's used his skill to write a crime story, but my guess is the originality, music, humor, and literary muscle* are his gifts no matter where he aims. You could almost point to any sentence as an example, but here's the bit that launched me to my computer to begin drafting my thoughts:
No one knew her, no, but her profile [on a dating site] had been viewed over a thousand times, cyber-fondled, screen-groped, eyed up and trackpack-fingered, put on lists and bookmarked and favourited. . . . Women have hundreds of visits to their profiles, men a handful. Sometimes none. The most recent looks at her profile were last night: 'Bruce from Middlesbrough' and "Medway Man'. There's a bloke describing himself as 'Husky, dusky and musky', which Gary says sounds like Snow White's three sex-offender dwarves.A sensational reading experience.
_____________
*By "literary muscle," I mean a combination of rhythm, vocabulary and observations that sparkle and surprise you with their originality, and technical prowess to build a story. In addition, he has a deep understanding of truth and how people work psychologically and weaves this, like breath, into the narrative/social commentary that builds just right, then coasts into a poignant conclusion.
I'm about to read an ARC of the new Jess Walter novel, another "muscular" writer, and I think Walter fans would have a similar ent1husiasm for Patrick McGuinness's work in this book.
May 7, 2020
It starts here: a murder of a young woman has been committed and in a rush to judgment, the police are ready to pin it on Michael Wolphram, a fastidious, refined and somewhat odd professor. Two detectives – Ander, his former boarding school student and his polar opposite Gary, a cynical working-class police veteran—are assigned to the case.
Common fodder—or so it seems. But if you are seeking a good “paint by the numbers” mystery read, you won’t find it here. Ander at one point muses, “We are solving something…but it isn’t the murder of Zalie Dyer.
In an elegiac and blistering exploration, Patrick McGuiness sets his aim on many timely issues: the legacy of childhood abuse enforced by partisan British educators in the time of “the Troubles”, damaging groupthink created by tabloid pursuits from unscrupulous tabloid “journalists”, the great class divide, the capriciousness of memory, and the difficult decisions to be a good person instead of succumbing to mob mentality.
It is also about self-acceptance when you are an outsider. Ander, also known as Alexander, has tried to reinvent himself but as Gary says, “Your Mr. Wolphram …he’s not exactly an ordinary guy but inside his life it all fits, each bit leads into the other. Like ours…Well, like mine.”
I could go on and on and marvel about this book: how it wraps wisdom, lyricism, and remarkable insights around a murder mystery and how it meticulously pegs human nature for what it is. It is just a fabulous read and one that will continue to stay with me.
Common fodder—or so it seems. But if you are seeking a good “paint by the numbers” mystery read, you won’t find it here. Ander at one point muses, “We are solving something…but it isn’t the murder of Zalie Dyer.
In an elegiac and blistering exploration, Patrick McGuiness sets his aim on many timely issues: the legacy of childhood abuse enforced by partisan British educators in the time of “the Troubles”, damaging groupthink created by tabloid pursuits from unscrupulous tabloid “journalists”, the great class divide, the capriciousness of memory, and the difficult decisions to be a good person instead of succumbing to mob mentality.
It is also about self-acceptance when you are an outsider. Ander, also known as Alexander, has tried to reinvent himself but as Gary says, “Your Mr. Wolphram …he’s not exactly an ordinary guy but inside his life it all fits, each bit leads into the other. Like ours…Well, like mine.”
I could go on and on and marvel about this book: how it wraps wisdom, lyricism, and remarkable insights around a murder mystery and how it meticulously pegs human nature for what it is. It is just a fabulous read and one that will continue to stay with me.
May 20, 2019
I thought that Throw Me To The Wolves was outstandingly good. It’s ostensibly a crime novel, in that it is centred around two police officers investigating the murder of a teenage girl in a Kent town, but it is really a profound book about childhood, class, school, difference and the way people respond to it, herd mentality and many other things.
The book is narrated by Ander, an Anglo-Dutch police officer who, with his partner Gary, investigates the murder in which an old teacher of his at a posh local school is the prime suspect. Ander is a quiet, thoughtful, reflective man and Gary has his own, differently expressed insights. There is a lot of reflection on all sorts of matters, all of it insightful, acutely observed and beautifully expressed. I think it is significant that we don’t learn the full names and ranks of the two officers (who are beautifully painted) until very late in the book, not because they form any kind of a “twist,” but because the book is about so much more than them.
As the case progresses, parallels with Christopher Jeffries in Bristol emerge (but are not overtly mentioned) and we get an exceptionally intelligent analysis of what are often just clichés in a crime novel: scurrilous press behaviour, exploitative people lying for attention, self-preservation or money, appalling behaviour on social media and so on. It is almost poetic at times and full of real insight and understanding. I highlighted dozens of pithy insights, witty thoughts and lovely passages. Here are a couple of brief ones to give you a flavour:
“He has a scholarship, so falls exactly into that zone - intellectually superior, socially inferior – that makes the English upper-middle-class uneasy.”
Or, of the murdered girl, “Her Twitter account is still there, and hundreds of people have already DM’d her to tell her how sorry they are that she’s dead.”
I found this an excellent, wholly involving read which is profound, thought-provoking and beautifully written. Very warmly recommended.
The book is narrated by Ander, an Anglo-Dutch police officer who, with his partner Gary, investigates the murder in which an old teacher of his at a posh local school is the prime suspect. Ander is a quiet, thoughtful, reflective man and Gary has his own, differently expressed insights. There is a lot of reflection on all sorts of matters, all of it insightful, acutely observed and beautifully expressed. I think it is significant that we don’t learn the full names and ranks of the two officers (who are beautifully painted) until very late in the book, not because they form any kind of a “twist,” but because the book is about so much more than them.
As the case progresses, parallels with Christopher Jeffries in Bristol emerge (but are not overtly mentioned) and we get an exceptionally intelligent analysis of what are often just clichés in a crime novel: scurrilous press behaviour, exploitative people lying for attention, self-preservation or money, appalling behaviour on social media and so on. It is almost poetic at times and full of real insight and understanding. I highlighted dozens of pithy insights, witty thoughts and lovely passages. Here are a couple of brief ones to give you a flavour:
“He has a scholarship, so falls exactly into that zone - intellectually superior, socially inferior – that makes the English upper-middle-class uneasy.”
Or, of the murdered girl, “Her Twitter account is still there, and hundreds of people have already DM’d her to tell her how sorry they are that she’s dead.”
I found this an excellent, wholly involving read which is profound, thought-provoking and beautifully written. Very warmly recommended.
May 22, 2020
“Throw Me to the Wolves”, by Patrick McGuinness, came to me highly recommended by a dear friend who knows what I like; as usual, she was right! I was immediately submerged in this novel which is a psychological thriller, an astute social commentary, a fascinating character study, a murder mystery, and so much more.
Ander and Gary, are two detectives investigating the murder of a young woman in Kent, England. A neighbor, a man described as “creepy”, is brought in for questioning. Although evidence is scarce, he is immediately vilified by the press. The tabloids ratchet up the sensationalism, slander his character and pay for lies about him. He is bullied, tried and convicted in the court of public opinion. Sound familiar? It this all alright if he’s guilty? Would that justify this rush to judgement? What if he’s innocent and his life and reputation can never be regained? These are fascinating and timely questions and I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough to find out how Ander and Gary were going to navigate the 24-hour news cycle and livestreaming while trying to solve a murder.
Interspersed (and related) to this plot-line, are Ander’s memories of his days as a student in an all-boys private school in the 1980s, where the students were routinely bullied and abused by the faculty and each other. Think a really horrible all-boys Hogwarts without the magic.
I’d like to note the character of Gary is worth the price of admission alone. McGuinness portrays him as such a perfect blend of contradictions, jerkiness, and heart, that I will miss him, and his hilarious, wrong-but-not-wrong, pronouncements and metaphors! If McGuinness wanted to continue with Ander and Gary as a series I’d be ALL IN.
Ander and Gary, are two detectives investigating the murder of a young woman in Kent, England. A neighbor, a man described as “creepy”, is brought in for questioning. Although evidence is scarce, he is immediately vilified by the press. The tabloids ratchet up the sensationalism, slander his character and pay for lies about him. He is bullied, tried and convicted in the court of public opinion. Sound familiar? It this all alright if he’s guilty? Would that justify this rush to judgement? What if he’s innocent and his life and reputation can never be regained? These are fascinating and timely questions and I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough to find out how Ander and Gary were going to navigate the 24-hour news cycle and livestreaming while trying to solve a murder.
Interspersed (and related) to this plot-line, are Ander’s memories of his days as a student in an all-boys private school in the 1980s, where the students were routinely bullied and abused by the faculty and each other. Think a really horrible all-boys Hogwarts without the magic.
I’d like to note the character of Gary is worth the price of admission alone. McGuinness portrays him as such a perfect blend of contradictions, jerkiness, and heart, that I will miss him, and his hilarious, wrong-but-not-wrong, pronouncements and metaphors! If McGuinness wanted to continue with Ander and Gary as a series I’d be ALL IN.
May 19, 2019
Drivel
"A bit of an internet surfer, are we?" Asked Gary
Mr. Wolphram doesn't hear the taunt, only the question it comes wrapped in. He thinks about it as if it were a genuine question, genuinely asked. Is he nonplussed by the surfing metaphor? Because he seems to consider it. Is this the first time he's heard it? Maybe. He seems less certain of himself today, frayed and uneasy.
Jesus. It goes on.
" I wouldn't describe myself in that way, no. More of a deep sea diver."
He says this a little proudly, glad to bat back the metaphor, to be back on the right side of words: on top of them, where he's used to being.
Dear God. All that to say two lines.
This is a murder mystery.
Not an essay on the finer points of Brexit or Macbeth.
What's the name of the murder victim? That was one of the problems. Who was the murder victim.
Not a well written police procedural.
Give me a rhythm, an ebb and a flow over elegantly written, pretentious, poetic drivel any day.
3 stars because this just isn't my style of writing but others may enjoy it.
If you want a unique murder mystery try 'Newcomer' by Keigo Higashino
"A bit of an internet surfer, are we?" Asked Gary
Mr. Wolphram doesn't hear the taunt, only the question it comes wrapped in. He thinks about it as if it were a genuine question, genuinely asked. Is he nonplussed by the surfing metaphor? Because he seems to consider it. Is this the first time he's heard it? Maybe. He seems less certain of himself today, frayed and uneasy.
Jesus. It goes on.
" I wouldn't describe myself in that way, no. More of a deep sea diver."
He says this a little proudly, glad to bat back the metaphor, to be back on the right side of words: on top of them, where he's used to being.
Dear God. All that to say two lines.
This is a murder mystery.
Not an essay on the finer points of Brexit or Macbeth.
What's the name of the murder victim? That was one of the problems. Who was the murder victim.
Not a well written police procedural.
Give me a rhythm, an ebb and a flow over elegantly written, pretentious, poetic drivel any day.
3 stars because this just isn't my style of writing but others may enjoy it.
If you want a unique murder mystery try 'Newcomer' by Keigo Higashino
September 12, 2020
This novel combines two genres — murder mystery and bad old school days — in what is not really a genre novel at all. I don’t have a penchant for either genre, at least in fiction, but McGuinness’s writing, his narrator’s voice and wisdom, and an ethical approach to bullying and social pressure, made this novel for me. A wonderful discovery!
March 15, 2022
Wie andere Lehrer auch am Chapelton College, einer britischen Eliteschmiede für Jungen, war Mr McCloud unberechenbar. In der kleinen Hafenstadt am Ärmelkanal, in der später der Zugang zum Kanaltunnel gebaut werden wird, spielt die Brücke über den Fluss eine besondere Rolle. Um sich das Leben zu nehmen, bräuchte man nur über das Geländer zu grätschen; die Brücke scheint geradezu dazu aufzufordern. Das Buchcover zeigt deutlich erwachsene Schüler vor einem typischen Gemäuer. Gemeinsam mit Assoziationen von Schwimmunterricht im Freien bei einstelligen Temperaturen und brutalen Aufnahmeriten älterer Schüler erzeugt die Abbildung ein beklemmendes Gefühl. Über Generationen hinweg zwangen Briten, die als Schüler selbst gequält worden waren, ihre Söhne an diese Kaderschmieden. Gerüche nach schmutziger Unterwäsche und beschmierte Klotüren schienen hier Generationen zu überdauern. Die Jungen hatten es nicht anders erlebt, als dass Lehrer sich ein Opfer herauspickten, es vor der Klasse verhöhnten und damit der Meute der Gleichaltrigen zum Fraß vorwarfen. Wer herausgepickt wurde, weil er schmächtiger oder fremder wirkte als die Masse, zog seine Gegner an wie eine blutende Wunde einen Hai.
30 Jahre später ist im Ort der Mord an einer jungen Frau aufzuklären. Der bisher einzige Verdächtige wohnt in ihrer Nachbarschaft und sitzt in Untersuchungshaft. Er lebt allein und war vor seiner Pensionierung als Lehrer am Chapelton legendär in seiner Exzentrik. Mehr als eine vage Verbindung hat die Polizei bisher nicht zu bieten, vertraut aber darauf, dass die Presse - gegen Bezahlung - von Zeitzeugen schon irgendwelchen Schmutz über Mr Wolphram ausgraben wird. Beim Verhör sitzen dem Pensionär zwei gegensätzliche Ermittler gegenüber: Gary und sein älterer Kollege, der seinen Namen lange nicht preisgibt. Der Icherzähler hat Gary außer langjähriger Berufserfahrung einen Studienabschluss in Kriminologie und Psychologie voraus. In Garys Haut würde ich in dieser Situation ungern stecken. Der Erzähler, der mit geradezu poetischer Beschreibung grauenhafter Jugenderlebnisse herausragt, kann nicht lange verbergen, dass er Wolphram kennt - aus seiner Schulzeit am Chapelton. Seine nüchterne Art, stets nur das Allernötigste von sich preiszugeben, hat mich in die Geschichte gezogen und nicht wieder losgelassen.
Zwischen Gegenwart und Vergangenheit wechselnd, erzählt McGuiness mit wechselndem Focus auf eine kleine Schülergruppe, den Mordfall, pressegestützten Rufmord und pädophil geprägte Gewalt an einer britischen Privatschule. Diese abstoßende Struktur verknüpft er ausgerechnet mit dem Auftauchen eines gigantischen Fettbergs in der Londoner Kanalisation 2019 - als Symbol für den Schmutz, den die Polizei zu beseitigen hat. „Den Wölfen zum Fraß” lässt sich lesen als fesselnder Kriminalfall oder als Sozialstudie der britischen Oberschicht; mich haben jedoch die Figur des Ex-Schülers als Ermittler und sein herausragendes sprachliches Talent am stärksten beeindruckt.
30 Jahre später ist im Ort der Mord an einer jungen Frau aufzuklären. Der bisher einzige Verdächtige wohnt in ihrer Nachbarschaft und sitzt in Untersuchungshaft. Er lebt allein und war vor seiner Pensionierung als Lehrer am Chapelton legendär in seiner Exzentrik. Mehr als eine vage Verbindung hat die Polizei bisher nicht zu bieten, vertraut aber darauf, dass die Presse - gegen Bezahlung - von Zeitzeugen schon irgendwelchen Schmutz über Mr Wolphram ausgraben wird. Beim Verhör sitzen dem Pensionär zwei gegensätzliche Ermittler gegenüber: Gary und sein älterer Kollege, der seinen Namen lange nicht preisgibt. Der Icherzähler hat Gary außer langjähriger Berufserfahrung einen Studienabschluss in Kriminologie und Psychologie voraus. In Garys Haut würde ich in dieser Situation ungern stecken. Der Erzähler, der mit geradezu poetischer Beschreibung grauenhafter Jugenderlebnisse herausragt, kann nicht lange verbergen, dass er Wolphram kennt - aus seiner Schulzeit am Chapelton. Seine nüchterne Art, stets nur das Allernötigste von sich preiszugeben, hat mich in die Geschichte gezogen und nicht wieder losgelassen.
Zwischen Gegenwart und Vergangenheit wechselnd, erzählt McGuiness mit wechselndem Focus auf eine kleine Schülergruppe, den Mordfall, pressegestützten Rufmord und pädophil geprägte Gewalt an einer britischen Privatschule. Diese abstoßende Struktur verknüpft er ausgerechnet mit dem Auftauchen eines gigantischen Fettbergs in der Londoner Kanalisation 2019 - als Symbol für den Schmutz, den die Polizei zu beseitigen hat. „Den Wölfen zum Fraß” lässt sich lesen als fesselnder Kriminalfall oder als Sozialstudie der britischen Oberschicht; mich haben jedoch die Figur des Ex-Schülers als Ermittler und sein herausragendes sprachliches Talent am stärksten beeindruckt.
June 4, 2020
Britain today and thirty years ago. Flawlessly. How memory affects the present in ways unexpected. With so much good writing, a quote could be found on every page. Hope I haven't oversold this one, but if it's not on the Booker List, then I give up entirely on their choices.
June 27, 2019
I could not get into the story because of the author's writing style. I consider myself a rather experienced reader, but I was having trouble understanding what exactly was going on.
July 12, 2019
I was a little anxious at the beginning of the book, knowing that it was based on a real case. It would be a mistake to read it as a whodunnit or a thriller because it's neither of those things - it's an exploration of people's behaviour when faced with a critical situation and a man who appears "different" from the norm. In parts it's quite harrowing, and I admit that, at the beginning, I found it hard going because of the richness of the prose - I'm more used to reading fast-paced crime novels. But before I got halfway I found I couldn't put it down. It does require attentive reading, so if you're not looking for literature, it's not for you. But I think it's an exceptionally good book, and well worth persevering.
May 22, 2019
Quite readable but ultimately unconvincing. After the murder of a young woman suspicion falls on a retired single private school teacher. One of the investigating detectives, who narrates, is an ex-pupil of his. I’m usually game for suspended disbelief, but there are several parts of the story which ask too much.
June 25, 2019
An older man in his 60s is brought in for questioning by the police after his pretty young neighbour goes missing and is then found murdered. One of the detectives recognises him as a former teacher and begins to recall his childhood experiences. Meanwhile, the accused is being tried by the press and social media. This was a sort of literary crime fiction, shining a light on modern society and the mob that often appears on social media that can destroy a person even when found innocent. Quite thought-provoking.
March 16, 2022
Als man eine Frauenleiche findet, scheint der Täter offenkundig: der etwas exzentrische Einzelgänger Michael Wolphram, der das Opfer auch kannte und gar nicht verhehlt, gelegentlich mit der attraktiven jungen Frau gesprochen zu haben. Vor seiner Pensionierung war er Lehrer am Chapleton College, das auch Alexander, einer der beiden Polizisten, die den Fall untersuchen, besuchte. Er hat gänzlich andere Erinnerungen an den Mann als das Bild, das die Presse schnell von ihm zeichnet. Sein Kollege Gary will eigentlich nur noch die notwendigen Beweise sichern und den Fall abschließen. Was zunächst offenkundig scheint, wirft jedoch schnell einige Fragen auf.
Patrick McGuiness erzählt zwar oberflächlich in "Den Wölfen zum Fraß" einen klassischen Krimi, darunter liegt jedoch eine scharfsinnige Analyse der Gesellschaft, die auf unterschiedenen Ebenen von Vorurteilen und klaren Grenzen zwischen den Schichten und Bevölkerungsgruppen geprägt ist. Die Frage nach dem Mörder rückt immer wieder hinter diese zurück und eröffnet so Raum für weitaus größere und interessante Aspekte.
Die beiden Polizisten sind perfekt austarierte Partner, die trotz ihrer Verschiedenheit, oder vielleicht auch gerade wegen dieser, hervorragend zusammenarbeiten und sich ergänzen. Alexander der gebildete, studierte, der mit klarem Kopf sachorientiert vorgeht; Gary repräsentiert mit seinem Dialekt eher die Arbeiterklasse, zu der er naturgemäß bei Befragungen auch besser einen Draht aufbauen kann.
Durch die Rückblicke in eine längst vergangene Schulzeit eröffnet Alexander nicht nur ein differenzierteres Bild des Verdächtigen, sondern zeigt auch wie eng die realen und geistigen Mauern des britischen Internatslebens sein können und wie schwierig es für Außenseiter ist, dort Fuß zu fassen. Mehr noch allerdings exponiert er die Presse, die blutsaugend hinter dem Fall her ist. Die Geschichte basiert auf jener von Christopher Jeffries, der 2010 wegen des vermeintlichen Mordes an Joanna Yeates durch die Boulevardblätter bereits verurteilt wurde, bevor überhaupt die Polizeiarbeit abgeschlossen war.
Kein Roman, der mich von der ersten Seite gepackt hätte, sondern einer, der zunehmend sein Potenzial zeigt, dessen pointierte Sprache ihre Bedeutung erst langsam enthüllt und dann erst erkennen lässt, um was für einen großartigen, bis ins Detail ausgefeilten Roman es sich handelt.
Patrick McGuiness erzählt zwar oberflächlich in "Den Wölfen zum Fraß" einen klassischen Krimi, darunter liegt jedoch eine scharfsinnige Analyse der Gesellschaft, die auf unterschiedenen Ebenen von Vorurteilen und klaren Grenzen zwischen den Schichten und Bevölkerungsgruppen geprägt ist. Die Frage nach dem Mörder rückt immer wieder hinter diese zurück und eröffnet so Raum für weitaus größere und interessante Aspekte.
Die beiden Polizisten sind perfekt austarierte Partner, die trotz ihrer Verschiedenheit, oder vielleicht auch gerade wegen dieser, hervorragend zusammenarbeiten und sich ergänzen. Alexander der gebildete, studierte, der mit klarem Kopf sachorientiert vorgeht; Gary repräsentiert mit seinem Dialekt eher die Arbeiterklasse, zu der er naturgemäß bei Befragungen auch besser einen Draht aufbauen kann.
Durch die Rückblicke in eine längst vergangene Schulzeit eröffnet Alexander nicht nur ein differenzierteres Bild des Verdächtigen, sondern zeigt auch wie eng die realen und geistigen Mauern des britischen Internatslebens sein können und wie schwierig es für Außenseiter ist, dort Fuß zu fassen. Mehr noch allerdings exponiert er die Presse, die blutsaugend hinter dem Fall her ist. Die Geschichte basiert auf jener von Christopher Jeffries, der 2010 wegen des vermeintlichen Mordes an Joanna Yeates durch die Boulevardblätter bereits verurteilt wurde, bevor überhaupt die Polizeiarbeit abgeschlossen war.
Kein Roman, der mich von der ersten Seite gepackt hätte, sondern einer, der zunehmend sein Potenzial zeigt, dessen pointierte Sprache ihre Bedeutung erst langsam enthüllt und dann erst erkennen lässt, um was für einen großartigen, bis ins Detail ausgefeilten Roman es sich handelt.
June 7, 2020
Un título mucho más acertado habría sido "Mátame camión", porque de verdad que se me ha hecho muy difícil y cuesta arriba terminarlo. en más de una ocasión he estado a punto de tirar la toalla.
Desde luego no sé qué quería contar el autor... y tengo serias dudas de que él mismo lo supiera.
Desde luego, resulta una obra completamente fallida como novela policiaca. De hecho, resulta completamente fallida como novela, y punto.
Mal estructurada, sin ningún ritmo, pedante a más no poder, aburrida, sin ninguna definición o mínimo desarrollo de los personajes... Se trata más de un compendio de filosofadas de McGuinness, que de una novela en sí.
Porque, eso sí, el autor sabe de todo y tiene una opinión formada sobre todo, y te la mete con calzador, te interese o no.
Con el pretexto de un supuesto caso policial (que ni perfila, ni desarrolla y al que dedica unas 30 páginas de las 327 que tiene la novela), se dedica a hacer "flashbacks" de los años que unos de los policías pasó en un colegio privado inglés, del que ahora uno de los profesores es el principal sospechoso.
Eso, que de por sí, ya hace un flaco favor a una novela que se supone que es policial, donde el ritmo, y los tiempos son fundamentales para mantener la intriga, se ve aún más lastrado porque dentro de esos "recuerdos", hay digresiones sobre digresiones sobre digresiones: desde el uso de los pronombres cuando nos referimos a un cadáver, pasando por el significado de las palabras, el concepto "retro" vs "viejo", las redes sociales, o el colocar flores en los sitios donde la gente ha fallecido, por poner solo unos ejemplos.
Que conste que las digresiones en las novelas no me molestan: siempre que estén bien encajadas, y me den algo de margen para que yo pueda reflexionar sobre ellas y formarme mi propia opinión, y siempre que tengan la extensión adecuada para volver a retomar la trama. No es el caso. Y además aquí lo que hay son digresiones, ligeramente interrumpidas por algo lejanamente parecido a una trama.
El caso policiaco que sirve de pretexto para que el autor se ponga a darnos clases magistrales sin habérselo solicitado es claramente el caso real del homicidio de Joanna Yeates en Bristol, en las Navidades de 2010, que conmocionó a la opinión pública. Vamos, es que ni se ha molestado en cambiarlo un poco: solo ha trasladado el escenario y ha cambiado los nombres de los implicados.
Por tanto, si uno conoce el caso, el misterio es "menos mil", porque sabe todo lo que sucedió, quién lo hizo y quién no lo hizo.
Pero es que, incluso si uno no sabe nada del caso, es que el misterio también es "menos mil", porque no se habla del caso, ni se plantea misterio alguno... vamos, es que prácticamente casi ni se investiga en toda la "¿novela?".
Si a eso añadimos que todas las eternas páginas de recuerdos del protagonista de sus días en el colegio (que sirven de denuncia del sistema educativo inglés en los años 80) NO TIENEN ABSOLUTAMENTE NADA QUE VER CON EL CASO y que están ahí puestas "because patatas" y que además mete también con calzador a una sobrina peculiar que graba sonidos y a una anciana que siente la presencia de su marido muerto (y que tampoco tienen nada que ver con el caso)... pues en serio, no podía gustarme.
Si encima las lecciones del autor son en plan "sentando cátedra, L'Oreal porque yo lo valgo", y encima el tono tiene tufillo de pedantería... pues es que ni dos estrellas puedo ponerle.
No la recomiendo en absoluto.
Desde luego no sé qué quería contar el autor... y tengo serias dudas de que él mismo lo supiera.
Desde luego, resulta una obra completamente fallida como novela policiaca. De hecho, resulta completamente fallida como novela, y punto.
Mal estructurada, sin ningún ritmo, pedante a más no poder, aburrida, sin ninguna definición o mínimo desarrollo de los personajes... Se trata más de un compendio de filosofadas de McGuinness, que de una novela en sí.
Porque, eso sí, el autor sabe de todo y tiene una opinión formada sobre todo, y te la mete con calzador, te interese o no.
Con el pretexto de un supuesto caso policial (que ni perfila, ni desarrolla y al que dedica unas 30 páginas de las 327 que tiene la novela), se dedica a hacer "flashbacks" de los años que unos de los policías pasó en un colegio privado inglés, del que ahora uno de los profesores es el principal sospechoso.
Eso, que de por sí, ya hace un flaco favor a una novela que se supone que es policial, donde el ritmo, y los tiempos son fundamentales para mantener la intriga, se ve aún más lastrado porque dentro de esos "recuerdos", hay digresiones sobre digresiones sobre digresiones: desde el uso de los pronombres cuando nos referimos a un cadáver, pasando por el significado de las palabras, el concepto "retro" vs "viejo", las redes sociales, o el colocar flores en los sitios donde la gente ha fallecido, por poner solo unos ejemplos.
Que conste que las digresiones en las novelas no me molestan: siempre que estén bien encajadas, y me den algo de margen para que yo pueda reflexionar sobre ellas y formarme mi propia opinión, y siempre que tengan la extensión adecuada para volver a retomar la trama. No es el caso. Y además aquí lo que hay son digresiones, ligeramente interrumpidas por algo lejanamente parecido a una trama.
El caso policiaco que sirve de pretexto para que el autor se ponga a darnos clases magistrales sin habérselo solicitado es claramente el caso real del homicidio de Joanna Yeates en Bristol, en las Navidades de 2010, que conmocionó a la opinión pública. Vamos, es que ni se ha molestado en cambiarlo un poco: solo ha trasladado el escenario y ha cambiado los nombres de los implicados.
Por tanto, si uno conoce el caso, el misterio es "menos mil", porque sabe todo lo que sucedió, quién lo hizo y quién no lo hizo.
Pero es que, incluso si uno no sabe nada del caso, es que el misterio también es "menos mil", porque no se habla del caso, ni se plantea misterio alguno... vamos, es que prácticamente casi ni se investiga en toda la "¿novela?".
Si a eso añadimos que todas las eternas páginas de recuerdos del protagonista de sus días en el colegio (que sirven de denuncia del sistema educativo inglés en los años 80) NO TIENEN ABSOLUTAMENTE NADA QUE VER CON EL CASO y que están ahí puestas "because patatas" y que además mete también con calzador a una sobrina peculiar que graba sonidos y a una anciana que siente la presencia de su marido muerto (y que tampoco tienen nada que ver con el caso)... pues en serio, no podía gustarme.
Si encima las lecciones del autor son en plan "sentando cátedra, L'Oreal porque yo lo valgo", y encima el tono tiene tufillo de pedantería... pues es que ni dos estrellas puedo ponerle.
No la recomiendo en absoluto.
May 14, 2025
Es ist einer dieser Kriminalfälle, wie die Boulevardpresse ihn liebt: eine junge Frau verschwindet, nach längerer Suche wird ihre Leiche in einen Müllsack verschnürt gefunden und die Polizei befragt einen Verdächtigen, der nur zu gut ins Bild passt. Es handelt sich um Michael Wolphram, einen pensionierten Lehrer und Nachbarn der Ermordeten. Wolphram kleidet sich auffällig elegant, lebt ziemlich zurückgezogen und scheint sich mehr für Musik und Literatur zu interessieren als für Menschen. Alles sehr suspekt, so die öffentliche Meinung, er muss es ganz einfach gewesen sein. Und er war lange Jahre Lehrer an einem traditionellen Jungeninternat, das schreit bei so einem seltsamen Typen doch förmlich nach einer pädophilen Vergangenheit, oder etwa nicht?
Selbst die ermittelnden Polizeibeamten können sich dieser Gedankengänge nicht erwehren, es wäre ja schließlich nicht das erste Mal, dass es solche Zusammenhänge gibt. Der zunächst namenlos bleibende Erzähler ist einer von ihnen und hat ganz andere Assoziationen mit dem älteren Herrn, denn er kennt Mr. Wolphram aus seiner eigenen Schulzeit in Chapelton College, wo der Lehrer einer der wenigen war, die sich nicht den uralten Ansichten zu Tradition, Disziplin und Bestrafung anschließen mochten und in der Lage waren, den Unterricht tatsächlich interessant zu gestalten.
Ich habe das Buch absichtlich nicht bei den Krimis einsortiert. Zwar stehen ein Mordfall und die entsprechenden Ermittlungen im Vordergrund der Handlung und die zentrale Frage des Buches ist, ob Wolphram wirklich hinterhältiger Mörder von Zalie Dyer oder nur ein harmloser Exzentriker ist, der aufgrund von Indizien in den Fokus gerät - aber alleine schon vom Erzählstil her ist das Buch kein handelsüblicher Krimi. Actionszenen gibt es kaum, dafür folgen wir häufig den Gedankengängen des Erzählers über "Gott und die Welt". Leser:innen, die gerne schnelle Schnitte und rasches Vorankommen der Handlung mögen, werden sich vermutlich langweilen mit dem Buch. Mir hat es gut gefallen, wenn der Erzähler gedanklich mal für ein paar Absätze in eine ganz andere Richtung abbiegt und über alle möglichen Phänomene des Lebens sinniert. Sein etwas profaner gestrickter Kollege nennt ihn nicht umsonst gerne "Prof".
In Rückblenden erfahren wir nach und nach einiges über die Zustände in Chapelton Hall, als der Erzähler dort noch selbst zur Schule ging. Das muss in den 80er Jahren gewesen sein, klingt aber eher wie aus den 50ern mit ekelhaften körperlichen Züchtigungsmethoden und mindestens genauso widerlichem Psychoterror mancher Lehrer, die ihre disziplinarische Überlegenheit gegenüber ihren Schützlingen gnadenlos ausnutzen.
Die Auflösung des Mordfalls ging mir dann fast ein bisschen zu schnell und einfach, aber ansonsten habe ich dieses ungewöhnliche Buch sehr gerne gelesen, das so viel auf einmal ist: Kriminalroman, Anklage gegen ein überkommenes Schulsystem, psychologische Studie und nicht zuletzt eine deutliche Abrechnung mit der Klatschpresse und ihren unmoralischen Methoden.
Selbst die ermittelnden Polizeibeamten können sich dieser Gedankengänge nicht erwehren, es wäre ja schließlich nicht das erste Mal, dass es solche Zusammenhänge gibt. Der zunächst namenlos bleibende Erzähler ist einer von ihnen und hat ganz andere Assoziationen mit dem älteren Herrn, denn er kennt Mr. Wolphram aus seiner eigenen Schulzeit in Chapelton College, wo der Lehrer einer der wenigen war, die sich nicht den uralten Ansichten zu Tradition, Disziplin und Bestrafung anschließen mochten und in der Lage waren, den Unterricht tatsächlich interessant zu gestalten.
Ich habe das Buch absichtlich nicht bei den Krimis einsortiert. Zwar stehen ein Mordfall und die entsprechenden Ermittlungen im Vordergrund der Handlung und die zentrale Frage des Buches ist, ob Wolphram wirklich hinterhältiger Mörder von Zalie Dyer oder nur ein harmloser Exzentriker ist, der aufgrund von Indizien in den Fokus gerät - aber alleine schon vom Erzählstil her ist das Buch kein handelsüblicher Krimi. Actionszenen gibt es kaum, dafür folgen wir häufig den Gedankengängen des Erzählers über "Gott und die Welt". Leser:innen, die gerne schnelle Schnitte und rasches Vorankommen der Handlung mögen, werden sich vermutlich langweilen mit dem Buch. Mir hat es gut gefallen, wenn der Erzähler gedanklich mal für ein paar Absätze in eine ganz andere Richtung abbiegt und über alle möglichen Phänomene des Lebens sinniert. Sein etwas profaner gestrickter Kollege nennt ihn nicht umsonst gerne "Prof".
In Rückblenden erfahren wir nach und nach einiges über die Zustände in Chapelton Hall, als der Erzähler dort noch selbst zur Schule ging. Das muss in den 80er Jahren gewesen sein, klingt aber eher wie aus den 50ern mit ekelhaften körperlichen Züchtigungsmethoden und mindestens genauso widerlichem Psychoterror mancher Lehrer, die ihre disziplinarische Überlegenheit gegenüber ihren Schützlingen gnadenlos ausnutzen.
Die Auflösung des Mordfalls ging mir dann fast ein bisschen zu schnell und einfach, aber ansonsten habe ich dieses ungewöhnliche Buch sehr gerne gelesen, das so viel auf einmal ist: Kriminalroman, Anklage gegen ein überkommenes Schulsystem, psychologische Studie und nicht zuletzt eine deutliche Abrechnung mit der Klatschpresse und ihren unmoralischen Methoden.
April 9, 2024
read this for Engels taal & tekst, deel 2
February 7, 2022
Wow! This book is so well crafted, so dense with crime in the now, and memories of past events. And both the now and the past pivot around the suspect. A real page turner written with precision.
Read
July 3, 2019DNF at 33%. The writing is very good, a lot of images and observations about memory and nostalgia I enjoyed, and well-drawn characters. But every other page brings another long monologue about The Way We Live Today, and as someone Who Also Lives Today, I found it tiring and not particularly novel nor illuminating. I'm sure it's a worthwhile read, just not for me right now.
July 16, 2019
I kept putting the book down, unable to get into it. But once I did - man, this book was great!
June 9, 2019
Patrick McGuinness' Throw Me to the Wolves transcends genre descriptions like Graeme Burnet’s His Bloody Project. On the surface it’s about mistaken identity, a murder, and an intrepid duo of detectives.
But no. It is so much more. The rather uninteresting protagonist Ander has a back story that is as deep and convoluted as his observations on modern media, which are scathing. How McGuinness creates such a character and controls him throughout is a true marvel. He discard he plot to go where ever he wishes and do so successfully.
Weaving a story that purposefully takes us away from the action while enhancing the plot line, we are drawn into the scummy world of shock TV and newspaper reporting. We try a case by bytes. The angry mob awaits to savage their vicious and unrestrained vile upon whatever lies undiscovered.
Along with the art, there is also content in the novel. We are constantly being reminded of the nature of the past and where it fits into the now, no matter if we are doing something like recording the sound of the fog or trying to understand how someone so innocent can be so vilified by a public who howls for new victims hourly. Meursaultian wish becomes reality.
But no. It is so much more. The rather uninteresting protagonist Ander has a back story that is as deep and convoluted as his observations on modern media, which are scathing. How McGuinness creates such a character and controls him throughout is a true marvel. He discard he plot to go where ever he wishes and do so successfully.
Weaving a story that purposefully takes us away from the action while enhancing the plot line, we are drawn into the scummy world of shock TV and newspaper reporting. We try a case by bytes. The angry mob awaits to savage their vicious and unrestrained vile upon whatever lies undiscovered.
Along with the art, there is also content in the novel. We are constantly being reminded of the nature of the past and where it fits into the now, no matter if we are doing something like recording the sound of the fog or trying to understand how someone so innocent can be so vilified by a public who howls for new victims hourly. Meursaultian wish becomes reality.
June 4, 2019
I've finally learned that the best crime fiction transcends the genre. There's a murder in "Throw Me to the Wolves," but the real villain is the vigilante culture which cyber-lynches an accused criminal before the "save" button is hit on the first website update. And before you roll your eyes at Mr. McGuiness' Luddism, you should familiarize yourself with his thesis that technology has merely democratized the sadism which was once the province of the ruling class, inflicted with impunity at elite schools and other such institutions. Not sure if the author devised such a sordid, simple murder (girl found strangled, neighbor accused) because a more absorbing mystery would distract from his themes. But if you're looking for thrills and twists, you'll have to make do with the writing, which is masterful, with inspired little insights and observations tucked into sentences like "I wonder if there's a lynching emoji." There probably is, but it doesn't distract from the power of that aphorism.
September 5, 2019
Boy am I glad that I picked up this book on a whim at the library, and even gladder that I did not put it down for good after I passed out from a combination of boredom and exhaustion when I first started reading it.
I know, I know, I said I wasn't going to pick up randos at the library any more, but?
I. Can't. Help. My. Self.
I also am well-aware that the opening paragraph of this reaction doesn't seem like a ringing endorsement, but I promise it is. I wish I could give the book 3.5 stars. It is truly intellectual/thoughty/contemplative/however you wish to term that sort of thing, especially in terms of how it examines the modern media monetizes murder.
Once you get to about page 60 the story picks up pace and the approach makes more sense. The main reason I can't give it 4 stars is because of the serious "ick" factor of pedophilia. (Although the author deserves 5 stars for clearly delineating how it came to be more or less a societal sub-structure. Ugh.)
So. Tough stuff throughout, but still an excellent British police procedural with very intriguing characters. If Mr McGuiness choose to go the series route, I'll be reading the next in.
I know, I know, I said I wasn't going to pick up randos at the library any more, but?
I. Can't. Help. My. Self.
I also am well-aware that the opening paragraph of this reaction doesn't seem like a ringing endorsement, but I promise it is. I wish I could give the book 3.5 stars. It is truly intellectual/thoughty/contemplative/however you wish to term that sort of thing, especially in terms of how it examines the modern media monetizes murder.
Once you get to about page 60 the story picks up pace and the approach makes more sense. The main reason I can't give it 4 stars is because of the serious "ick" factor of pedophilia. (Although the author deserves 5 stars for clearly delineating how it came to be more or less a societal sub-structure. Ugh.)
So. Tough stuff throughout, but still an excellent British police procedural with very intriguing characters. If Mr McGuiness choose to go the series route, I'll be reading the next in.
February 24, 2019
At first I wasn't sure about this book. Parts of it were long, and a little boring in small bits. Really happy I stuck it through though because as the book carried on I did enjoy it and was engrossed. It has some surprises that I didn't see coming and really made you think about how you would react if you were falsely accused of a crime. Could you maintain your composure through hatred? Could you return to your life as you know it? How do you forgive those who have lied and spread rumors about you? After reading this book I would like to read others from this author. I won this book in a goodreads giveaway, thank you!
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