5★
“At just about the halfway point, the road took a dip before rising again to a peak from which the Atlantic was distantly visible, venting its relentless anger on a crumbling coastline.”
Relentless anger, crumbling coastline, there seems little to recommend living at Ness, which is on the tip of the Isle of Lewis, the most northern island of Scotland’s Outer Hebrides. The tip of the tip of the north – cold, windswept, blustery.
DI Fin Macleod grew up in Ness in the 1960s and 1970s in a house that was neither black nor white but purple. His father was a resourceful scavenger who collected timber, netting, ropes and whatever the sea washed up. When he found a 45 gallon drum of purple paint, he painted every bit of the house purple. Other people live in white houses, while the ancient blackhouses still dot the landscape with stone walls, and collapsed or missing thatched roofs.
Fin left the island when he was 18 and is a detective in Edinburgh. Eighteen years later, he has been called to Ness to investigate a murder that seems identical to one he investigated earlier in Edinburgh. Same killer? Copycat? He’s the obvious choice to at least go have a look.
The investigation and current day are told in the third person, but intervening chapters are told in his childhood or teen-aged first person voice. He is not pleased to be home. He had been orphaned young, raised by an eccentric aunt, tutored by his best friend’s father to raise his chances of getting into a university and getting off the island, which is what he did.
He had not had a happy time of it. He can’t avoid his memories of school bullies, especially as the victim was the leader. He’d been back only once, to bury his aunt, but had avoided all contact since. Now he’s back.
“He felt like a ghost haunting his own past, walking the streets of his childhood. He half expected to see himself and Artair coming around the bend in the road at the church, heading on their bikes for the store at the foot of the hill to spend their Saturday pennies.”
He had a bad accident in his youth, and many of his memories are hazy. He’d like to leave it at that, but he’s in Ness now and has to interview everyone, including his best childhood pal.
Artair is still there, much changed. They meet for a beer, Artair already well on his way to drunk, reminds Fin that his father had tutored Fin, expecting more from him than a career with the police. As for Artair, he was stuck working with Lewis Offshore before it finally closed, and now they’re planning windfarms everywhere.
“Fin sat staring fixedly at the table.It was sad beyond words seeing his old childhood friend bitter like this. .. All those childhood dreams lost for ever, like tears in rain. They were not so different, really, he and Artair. In a way, looking at him now was like seeing a reflection of himself, and he did not much like what he saw.”
No wonder he didn’t want to go back and just feel miserable again. The investigation continues, but the authorities on the island aren’t pleased to have Edinburgh butting in, and Fin’s memories get worse all the time.
When he was a boy, he had been taken on the annual guga (gannet) harvest. A group of men take all their gear by trawler to An Sgeir, a steep, rocky island where thousands of gannets nest. Windswept, wet, slippery with guano from centuries of birds, the men form groups to catch the right-sized chicks, limiting the numbers so there will be a continued supply. They are counted, plucked, cleaned, salted, and completely prepared by the men on the island. This has been a custom for hundreds of years.
People love the taste. [In Australia (and presumably other places), we have muttonbirding, where chicks of shearwaters (known locally as muttonbirds) and petrels are harvested as they have been for thousands of years. The difference these days for both guga and muttonbirds is that hunting is licensed and limited to keep it sustainable.]
DI Fin Macleod is questioning Chris Adams, an anti-harvest activist, regarding his previous run-in and beating by the murder victim, who was the harvest cook (as well as Fin’s old school nemesis). Adams says he was at home at the time, enjoying a fish supper.
“‘You like fish, Mr Adams?’
Adams seemed surprised by the question. ‘I don’t eat meat.’
Fin got to his feet. ‘Have you any idea how long it takes a fish to die, starved of oxygen, literally suffocating, when a trawler hauls its nets on board?’ But he wasn’t waiting for an answer. ‘A damned sight longer than a guga in a noose.’”
Enough of the adult politics. The expedition is, quite simply, terrifying. The descriptions are chilling, in more ways than one, of the hours on the boat at sea, the treacherous waters, the deadly rocks, sharp edges, freezing waters, driving rain, and the smoky blackhouse where they all camped out of the weather and ate.
If it were less dangerous, it would be an adventure. As it is, it’s a deadly rite-of-passage, and young Fin has refused to go. Gigs is the leader who skippers the boat and organises the workers. He explains to Fin that the men are a team, reliant on each other, testing themselves to the limit, but they are all the richer for it.
“ ‘ And you’ll feel that connection that we all feel with every one of those men who’ve been out there before us, reaching back through the centuries, joining hands with our ancestors, sleeping in the places they have slept, building cairns by the cairns they have left.’
He took a long pause, sucking on his pipe, allowing the smoke to eddy around his lips and nostrils, rising into the stillness in blue wreaths around his head. ‘Whatever your blackest fear. Fin. Whatever your greatest weakness. These are things you must face up to. Things you must confront, or you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it.’
And so with a heart full of dread I went on the trip to An Sgeir that year, although I wish, today, with every fibre of my being that I had not.”
The murder seems almost an aside to much of the story, but the victim figures in so many memories and so many discoveries as Fin reconnects with people, that the mystery actually ties it all together. And it does so in a completely unexpected way.
There is a beautiful, bittersweet love story that begins in the first year of primary school and continues on and off and on and off through Fin’s life. There are sunny summer days, romps in haysheds, and years of teen-aged angst.
A magnificent book and a compelling story. To think I might never have read it if I hadn’t needed it for a reading challenge. What a loss that would have been. I will return to Lewis, but probably not immediately.