“All my life I have been anchored here. I have known where I fitted. Wherever I went, people who didn't know me could always place me: because of where I lived, because I was someone's son, grandson, friend, then husband, and then father. Now it is all gone, and I am untethered, unplaceable. If I met myself in the supermarket, I wouldn't know who I was. I never imagined I could be so totally isolated. The farm is the only thing that defines me.”
Boxed is the second novel by Australian author, Richard Anderson. Dave Martin is basically numb. He’s just going through the motions of life, devoid of any enthusiasm. It’s no wonder. He has never really recovered from the loss of his beloved son in an accident, his wife has moved to the city, and his farm is a mess. He avoids all contact with friends and neighbours, exists on frozen meals and tries not to drink too much.
He’s waiting on a mail-order pump to arrive, so isn’t surprised at the box in his mailbox. The contents, though, are a shock: several tightly-packed bundles of $100 notes. Even as he’s deciding that, despite being addressed to him, it can’t be his, he is tucking the box away in a cupboard. Minutes later, his neighbour, Elaine, widow of noted ceramicist, Tito Slade, arrives on the trail of a missing parcel: a box of crockery.
Soon after she departs, another neighbour arrives, convinced Dave has his parcel. In the following days, more boxes arrive, containing not cash but even stranger contents, and another Dave Martin of similar address rings chasing a missing parcel. Dave finds that, for the first time in eighteen months, he is actually stimulated to do something. He needs to find out what the boxes are all about.
With these initial intriguing events, Anderson launches a plot that keeps even the most astute the reader guessing right up to the final pages. In the lead up to an exciting climax, he manages to include, as well as several red herrings, some very unusual pottery, several thugs, a desecrated grave, an eager cadet journalist, a ransacked house, a slightly crazy postal clerk, broken windows and anonymous cremains.
His protagonist is threatened, seduced, shot at, held captive, hit from behind, questioned by police and hospitalised. He also manages to save a life, win on the horses, shoot a couch, relocate his mystery boxes multiple times and completely surprise himself by shooting someone in the calf.
Despite his drinking and grief-fuelled depression, and the fact that he sometimes (more than sometimes?) thinks he’s going crazy, this narrator doesn’t come across as unreliable. He does make some choices that defy logic yet is insightful about what seems like his paranoia. More people care about Dave than he realises, even if his pride makes him initially reject their support and kindness.
Anderson’s expert knowledge of farming and country towns is apparent in every paragraph. His support characters are likeable and their dialogue is witty and authentic. Original, topical and blackly funny, this is rural crime fiction at its best.
This unbiased review is from a copy provided by Scribe Publishing Australia