Jonathan Dunsky’s superb series about private investigator Adam Lapid (great name!) induces in the reader a ‘ravenous hunger’ similar to that which occasionally attacks our hero, with ours being of a literary variety. At least that’s been my experience, devouring all four books in quick succession and now wondering how I’m going to hang on till the next. This is thrilling, character-driven fiction with a memorable, psychologically complex, anti-hero: Auschwitz survivor, ex-cop, seeker of vengeance, upholder of justice, chain smoker, caffeine addict, chess player and tough guy who closes his window at night so the neighbours don’t hear his nightmare-induced screams.
The rest of the cast too, primary and secondary characters, leap from the pages with the vividness of those in a Dickens novel. Greta, owner of the eponymous café in Allenby Street which is second home and makeshift office for Adam, is a true and loyal friend, a rock to which our troubled hero clings; like figures in a Hopper painting, the two can be glimpsed through the lighted window late at night, sitting head to head at a table in the rear. And of course no PI noir novel worth its salt is without at least one femme fatale. In Sima Vaaknin, Dunsky treats us to a stunner who adds a double capital F to the term. Sima’s seductive beauty, mysterious allure, troubled past and unfathomable soul draw Adam like a moth to a flame. ‘She was the ultimate temptation, a woman no man should be able to resist.’ Though their relationship remains ambiguous, unpredictable and full of unresolved tension, it is only in her arms that Adam can forget for a moment the ghosts of his dead wife and daughters.
As riveting and as real as the characters is the setting, Tel Aviv in the late nineteen-forties. In spite of political uncertainty, hardships, and food rationing, optimism is in the air in this vibrant young country. We push through the teeming density of the city in the baking heat, hearing the cacophony of car horns, the cries of watermelon vendors, the clip-clop of horses and carts, the blare of radios and gramophones through open windows, the ‘cocktail of languages and dialects and accents’ of its inhabitants. The humid air is saturated with smells, landladies frying onions, street vendors selling sausages, housewives baking rugelach, the plat du jour of a myriad of cafés and the briny smell of the sea, never far away. Interwoven with these descriptions are snippets of history, giving fascinating and important context without the author having to resort to long expository passages.
I could ramble on for much longer– the compelling, passionate writing, the fascinating minutiae of Adam’s old-fashioned sleuthing, the depiction of the Tel Aviv underworld, the spot-on dialogue, the fast-moving, often violent, action scenes, even the interesting facts the author gives us at the end about how the books were written–but I’ll simply stop and say ‘Enough! Start reading and discover the pleasure for yourselves.’