So, I brought two books with me to England for fun reading: Wuthering Heights and this book, Gallows View by Peter Robinson. Wuthering Heights didn’t do it for me and I finally tossed it aside in disgust while on a catamaran traveling between destinations. I couldn’t decide which was causing my headache and nausea: the rolling of the boat or the crazy nonsense of Emily Brontë’s characters. I didn’t enjoy Gallows View much more, but managed to finish it; it’s crappy, but at least readable crap.
Alan Banks is a former London police officer who settled in a small village in Yorkshire to enjoy a quieter, more relaxed life with his wife and two children. However, it’s soon apparent that he’s going to be busier than he wished. His village of Eastvale has three ongoing investigations: the murder of an elderly woman, a peeping tom, and a series of small burglaries. He suspects they may be connected, but needs more evidence. While leading these investigations, Banks also has to deal with local villagers’ complaints about the conduct of his officers and overcome his growing attraction to an attractive psychologist brought in to consult on the peeping tom case.
This book was published in 1987, so the 80s flashbacks are awesome. Banks listens to cassettes of opera on his Walkman. Tee hee. While reading, I kept thinking: a cell phone/computer/GPS would really be helpful to both the police and the bad guys. Also, later, when the police are trying to track the movements of a suspect and can’t find him, it’s weird because the UK is covered by CCTV now. Plus, you can be tracked through the usage of your Oyster card and maybe even via your train tickets. It was freaky being in 21st century York while reading a 20th century book situated in the same area. The only other aspect of the novel I enjoyed was my newly acquired familiarity with York. When a suspect takes a trip to York, Robinson describes his journey through town: “He walked along the wall, passed the railway station, then crossed the Ouse over Lendal Bridge by the ruins of St. Mary’s Abbey and the Yorkshire Museum…Just after opening time, he found a pub on Stonegate” (233). I read this, squealing with delight because I knew right where the character was and had visited those places (the museum is fascinating and the gardens are beautiful) and crossed the Lendal Bridge several times during my stay in York. One other passage in the book is delightful; Banks’s children are arguing about the age of a local castle and the boy says it’s “ancient” because it has dungeons and the stone is falling to ruin. His sister argues that it probably dates only from the twelfth century (because it’s built from stone), and everyone knows that’s not ancient at all. That’s so charming; an English child turning up her nose at castle that’s a few thousand years old—that’s not old to her! Whereas, as an American, I get excited seeing an 18th century chair that Benjamin Franklin may have sat on—that’s ancient history!
Aside from these moments, the novel is terrible. My edition (which I could not find on Goodreads) is a Harper paperback published in 2010. The font is HUGE. Like, 20 point or something. It doesn’t say that it’s a large print copy but damn, I could read this book from 50 paces. Considering it’s barely 300 pages with the huge font, maybe the publisher wanted to make the book look longer to justify the $15 price tag? Seeing how this is the first book in the series, and the “Inspector Banks” series appears to contain many books, I’m going to hope that Robinson improved as a writer. The writing itself is clumsy and mediocre, the various criminal investigations are somewhat interesting but turn predictable and kind of stupid, and the characters are cardboard thin. Banks himself not interesting, not really likeable, but not necessarily unlikeable. The author spends way too much time describing in painful detail the opera that Banks listens to and frankly, I don’t care. It doesn’t really add anything to the story or even help make Banks a solid character; he just comes across as a guy who really likes opera for no important reason. His conversations with Dr. Jenny Fuller, the psychology professor (she’s not even a psychologist), are off-putting. She’s described as very attractive (a right “bobby-dazzler” in Yorkshire lingo) and he focuses on baiting her (“women who don’t close their curtains when undressing are asking to be spied on”) and how attracted he is to her. They spend a lot of time in pubs drinking (both enjoy Theakston’s bitter while he smokes his Benson and Hedges Special Milds sparingly—thanks for all that excessive detail) and Banks thinks how much he looks forward to seeing her and how if he slept with her, it’d probably be just fine (with him? His wife?). There’s just something too macho about the whole book, a tone that irritated me. There’s a lot of talk about “feminists” and how irritating they are, how they cause troubles for no reason. The leader of these pesky feminists is described as being very fat, ugly, homely clothes and aggressive. In contrast, the other main female characters (apparently not feminists) are all very beautiful women (Sandra, Banks’s wife; Jenny the token smart career woman; Andrea the sexy married woman getting her sex thrills with a lower-class working man). The crimes in the novel mostly target women and have a sexual component to them. They are contrasted with possible romances between characters, sex scenes between two other minor characters, and this weird will they/won’t they between Banks and Jenny. Plus the “feminists are irritating” and overall macho humor of the novel. I feel as if I should be insulted, but I can’t be sure. Either way, the author cannot write female characters. Jenny, the only career woman in the novel, comes across as flighty, giggly, indecisive, idiotic and slightly hysterical. She’s not a real woman. She’s a bundle of quirks wrapped in attractive packaging (big tits? Check. Long legs with shapely ankles? Check. Red curly hair? Check. Luscious mouth? Check, check, check.). None of the women talk like women or behave like women—they are a male author’s interpretation of women and they all fail.
I cannot recommend this book. It’s not a pleasure to read, even for the escapist quality. The author bogs down the pace of the novel with excessive details that add nothing to the novel. He also adds scenes that have absolutely no repercussions later. He apparently has not heard of that good advice to writers: if there’s a gun on the wall, eventually it needs to be fired. Scenes take place in this novel for no damn reason and then they’re just dropped. Like…okay. Well, that was weird. I hope the books improve as the series continues because the investigation in this novel is not terribly awful. Not great, but it kept me turning pages with a decent level of interest for a while, even though I have no plans to read another Inspector Banks novel.