Nineteen Seventy-Seven

Red Riding #2

by David Peace

David Peace’s acclaimed Red Riding Quartet continues with this exhilarating follow-up to Nineteen Seventy-Four. It’s summer in Leeds and the city is anxiously awaiting the Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth’s reign. Detective Bob Fraser and Jack Whitehead, a reporter at the Post, however, have other things on their minds – mainly the fact that someone is murdering prostitutes. The killer is quickly dubbed the “Yorkshire Ripper” and each man, on his own, works tirelessly to catch him.

But their investigations turn grisly as they each engage in affairs with the women they are supposedly protecting. As the summer progresses, the killings accelerate and it seems as if Fraser and Whitehead are the only men who suspect, or care, that there may be more than one killer at large.

Genres: Crime, Fiction, Mystery, Noir, Thriller, Historical Fiction, British Literature

341 pages, Paperback

First published August 24, 2000

About the author

David Peace was born in 1967 and grew up in Ossett, near Wakefield. He left Manchester Polytechnic in 1991, and went to Istanbul to teach English. In 1994 he took up a teaching post in Tokyo and now lives there with his family.

His formative years were shadowed by the activities of the Yorkshire Ripper, and this had a profound influence on him which led to a strong interest in crime. His quartet of Red Riding books grew from this obsession with the dark side of Yorkshire. These are powerful novels of crime and police corruption, using the Yorkshire Ripper as their basis and inspiration. They are entitled Nineteen Seventy-Four, (1999), Nineteen Seventy-Seven (2000), Nineteen Eighty (2001), and Nineteen Eighty-Three (2002), and have been translated into French, Italian, German and Japanese.

In 2003 David Peace was named by Granta magazine as one of twenty "Best Young British Novelists." His novel GB84, set during the 1984 miners' strike, was published in 2005.

from contemporarywriters.com

Reviews

[Baba · Rating 4 out of 5]

(apologies, previously placed the review of 1974 under this listing!)
Red Riding book 2: A bad cop in a world of worse cops, and a bad reporter in a world of worse reporters, both have dark liaisons with prostitutes that they seem to care about., amidst a desperate police force and media trying to continue with their selfish and reckless lifestyles during the darker reign of the Yorkshire Ripper. A dark blend of fact and reality, that like the first book in this series, is compellingly relentless!
[image error]
Things really only can get better. With very much the same themes and feels to the first book in this series, this sequel has one sensational addition, all the hard, dark, relentless and brutal acts of bad cops and bad reporters in a world of mostly bad people runs alongside a Yorkshire under attack by... the Yorkshire Ripper! The punchy terse prose feels a perfect fit to the shallowness of a 1970s subsumed by the wants and need of privileged, mostly White male individuals in relative positions of power, abusing that power to the fullest with zero regard not only to society, but to their own peers! A splendid piece of prime UK crime fiction, Four Star, 9 out of 12 read!

2025 read

[Roman Clodia · Rating 5 out of 5]

The bodies, the corpses, the alleys and the wasteland, the dirty men, the broken women.

Wow, this is stunning. Literally. It's like being bludgeoned over the head by a cascade of bloody and relentless grimness. BUT all this violence, this brutality, this hate and corruption, betrayal and greed and sometimes, yes, madness, is articulated in Peace's bold and sometimes idiosyncratic style. Surreal, filled with dreams and nightmares, voices from past and present, images which sicken and revolt, and yet get us closer to the heart of men on the verge of breakdowns than I've perhaps ever read.

The hypnotic prose, replete with repetition, with broken clauses, with stream-of-consciousness extracts, with a shocking lyricism at times is what makes this so brilliant. Anxiety is woven through the narrative and spills over into the reader. Peace is a poet of ultimate darkness. Seriously, this is a stunning piece of writing.

[Michelle · Rating 1 out of 5]

wow, one star, huh?

i managed to get to the end without skimming too much, so the fair part of me wants to give it two, but the only reason i didn't throw this across the room at several different places is because i love my ipad very much. if you're not deeply interested in:

repetitive day/dream sequences
rape
hitting people upside the head with ballpein hammers
casual racism
casual brutality to women not covered under the heading of "rape"
brutal racism
stream-of-consciousness internal monologue verbal diarrhea
repetitive day/dream sequences
hitting people upside the head with "blunt object"

then i suggest you avoid this particular book, being as how there's the above in full measure, repeatedly. i'm completely ok with an author dragging my mind through the muck, as long as there's a payoff at the end...and here, there are no quiet moments of beauty, no insinuations of human kindness to leaven this bleak, bloody, intestine-draped shabby hotel room. if it was possible to bleach my brain, i'd do so, as there are a few choice scenes that i really hope won't linger in my subconscious like i think they will.

the narrative switches perspective between a police detective and a journalist each investigating the yorkshire ripper murders that took place in 1977; both the cop and the newspaperman have their own shady dealings that muddy up the situation and make the ripper murders merely a background to their own messy lives. unusually, this one was the only book of peace's 4-volume set describing these crimes to be included in 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die, and it most definitely does not stand on its own without familiarity with the first one.

it helps to remember that the 1001 books list was compiled mostly to cover the development of the english-language novel, not necessarily the best books ever written. so sometimes in reading through these, you end up with some unusual or experimental writing, either the first or the best example of some literary technique. if this is the shiniest diamond of stream-of-consciousness depressingly gritty crime fiction, i'm soundly disinterested in pursuing other examples.

[Susan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Having found Red Riding Nineteen Seventy Four (Red Riding Quartet) totally gripping, I was keen to read the second in the Red Riding Quartet. Having finished it, I am somewhat at a loss of how to describe it. The second book, much like the first, is almost like a written nightmare - dark, shocking, savage, violent and vicious. The novel is narrated by two characters from the previous book - Sergeant Bob Fraser and veteran reporter Jack Whitehead.

We are back in the seventies and it is the time of the Yorkshire Ripper. Bob Fraser is assigned to the squad investigating the Ripper murders, sent to see whether an earlier murder could be tied in to the case. Clare Strachan was murdered, but a link is unearthed to the murders in 1974, causing old nightmares to return in this almost surreal rampage around the North of England. Driving through the dark landscape, mentions of the Moors Murderers make a dark story even harsher, alongside Jack's visions of murdered women in his room and Bob Fraser's obsession with a prostitute he fears being killed, but is unable to protect. Again we have police corruption, scenes of interrogations which turn into torture, fear and darkness. Having said that, I can't wait to read the next book Red Riding Nineteen Eighty: Red Riding Quartet; they are thoroughly unpleasant and utterly compelling.

[George · Rating 4 out of 5]

A dark, bleak, gripping, disturbing, unpleasant, violent, powerful, original crime fiction novel. A number of women are murdered in the period 1975 to 1977, around Chapeltown, Yorkshire, England. The book has two first person narrators, police officer, Bob Fraser and journalist, Jack Whitbread. It’s a story of flawed characters, corruption and immorality, where the majority of the characters either work for the police force, are journalists, or prostitutes. All women described in this book are treated appallingly.

A worthwhile read but be warned that it is not an enjoyable novel!

[Toby · Rating 4 out of 5]

Holy moly life in David Peace's Yorkshire just got a whole lot more miserable and after 1974 you might not have thought that possible. Two background characters from the previous book share first person narrative duties this time round as the real life events surrounding The Yorkshire Ripper affect the police force and journalists, complicating already complex double lives. It's a multi-faceted portrait of disintegrating minds and disintegrating society that merely touches on the wider scope of inherent police corruption and potentially a conspiracy of silence surrounding prominent men and horrible violent crimes. Once more the atmosphere is evil and loaded with vile acts, and once more Peace amazes with the slowly unravelling minds of his protagonists, the staccato phrases repeated multiple times mixing well with other passages seemingly without punctuation as the brain gets confused or focusses in on one powerful thought. The major difference between one protagonist in 1974 and two in 1977 is very noticeable and slightly offputting at first but the deeply conflicted psyches of both men make it a rewarding experience very quickly, that neither of them are good people is just an added bonus. Onwards to 1980!

[Eirini Proikaki · Rating 4 out of 5]

Εφιάλτης. Αυτό είναι το 1977 του David Peace. Ένας εφιάλτης που σε μαγνητίζει, γεμάτος σκληρές, αρρωστημένες εικόνες κι όμως για κάποιον λόγο συνεχίζεις να τον διαβάζεις. Το ιδιαίτερο στυλ του David Peace δεν σε αφήνει να το αφήσεις.
Μια ιστορία με τόση βία, γεμάτη τρέλα, όνειρα, παραισθήσεις, stream-of-consciousness, σε δυσκολεύει αλλά και σε προκαλεί.
Τρία χρόνια μετά τα γεγονότα του πρώτου βιβλίου της τετραλογίας συναντάμε δύο γνωστούς μας από το 1974. Αυτοί οι δύο αφηγούνται με έναν σχεδόν παραληρηματικό τρόπο τις έρευνες για τον "Αντεροβγάλτη" του Γιορκσάιρ, τους φόνους, τη διαφθορά, τα μυστικά που αποκαλύπτονται, την απόγνωση στην οποία οδηγούνται. Όλα είναι αρρωστημένα, βρώμικα, δεν υπάρχει καμία αχτίδα φωτός.
Αυτό το βιβλίο μου άρεσε λίγο περισσότερο από το πρώτο. Ίσως επειδή το διάβασα στα αγγλικά χωρίς τις οξείες, τις περισπωμένες και τα Χάου ντου γιου ντου της ελληνικής μετάφρασης.

[Jessica · Rating 3 out of 5]

I'll review the entire Red Riding Quartet, since the books really compose one large narrative.

David Peace takes us into one of the bleakest worlds I've encountered even in the most hard-boiled detective literature -- northern England from 1974-1983 (with some flashes back into an equally dismal late 60s) in which a child abductor and killer is running rampant, the Yorkshire Ripper is terrorizing the region, and the police force is hopelessly corrupt and in bed with some very bad businessmen. Squalid flats, cups of strong, cheap tea, abandoned warehouses, racist graffiti, and the encroachment of Thatcherism all add up to an atmosphere of inescapable despair. Throw in references to the Moors Murders, graphic, yet lyrical, depictions of mutilated bodies, last moments of terror, and horrific memories, and you have quite a depressing soup.

Peace effectively uses repetition in theme, action, and even wording to communicate the ways in which the lives of cops, victims, killers, perpetrators, and bystanders and inextricably linked, and how they are more alike one another than they'd like to believe. This also can get somewhat confusing, especially since Peace also plays with numerous characters with the same first names. The telling is somewhat elliptical, so even after reading the entire series, a reader may still have a more impressionistic than complete understanding of exactly who has done what to whom. Rather than reading as a whodunit or strict procedural, Red Riding is more appreciated as an atmospheric telling of the tale of a corrupt society and the people it chews up and spits out.

[Marcia · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is the second book in Peace' Red Riding Hood Quartet. It is just as grim and well-written as the first one. Although there are two narrators here, Jack Whitehead and Bobby Fraser, their voices are very similar (and like Nineteen Seventy-Four's Eddie Dunford), that I sometimes had trouble telling them apart. That was my only real problem with Peace's writing, however, as this book only seems to improve on the gory poetry of the first. The violence, corruption, and horror is almost mind numbing, and Peace's unique stream-of-consciousness ramblings, where the comma splices come like bullets and the obscenity pools like piles of blood, contributes to a sense of unreality, despite the realistic details of the setting. It's a nightmare that you can't wake up from, because if you put the book down, you will still be thinking about it, wondering what is truth and what is a dream. A brutal, beautifully styled noir, where there are no real answers (although I'm hoping we may get some by the end of the quartet), no heroes, and no rest for the wicked (the good don't exist). I will definitely be reading the rest of the series. It's like watching a train wreck, where you can't look away, and some perverted part of you doesn't want to.

[Estibaliz · Rating 3 out of 5]

Novela negra, negra de verdad. Asfixiante, incómoda, violenta... llena de corrupción, sangre... inquietante. No es una lectura fácil ni agradable, pero sin duda merece tomarse el tiempo y hacer un esfuerzo: al final, llega un punto en que uno realmente pierde el mundo que le rodea de vista, y se sumerge en esa Inglaterra convulsa de 1977, donde los polis están muy lejos de ser los buenos, pero uno no tiene siempre claro ni qué está pasando realmente, ni quiénes son los malos.

Buena novela, en definitiva... aunque, ya se sabe: no de mis favoritas.

[Trisha · Rating 1 out of 5]

Worst book I have ever read in my ENTIRE life. 170 pages in I realized there were two different narrators, both speaking in first person, with no clue as to when they were changing back and forth. Every sentence was F- this, F-that, gratuitous sex, gratuitous gore, was there even a plotline?? I can't recall because it was so freaking confusing! "Stream of consciousness" my foot, there was nothing special, cutting edge, or ground breaking about this novel. It was a complete waste of my literary time and it has no business being on any must-read list. If I could give 0 stars I would. 'Nuff said.

[Christine · Rating 3 out of 5]

This installment deals with the Yorkshire Ripper, but is really about how both the Ripper and men in the 70s viewed women.

[Sandra · Rating 4 out of 5]

1974
Una caduta all’inferno a centoventi all’ora.
I sogni sempre più malati, i pensieri ripetuti per interi paragrafi, quasi poetici, il cielo plumbeo come il ventre di una balena, uno Yorkshire grigio e marcio, con basse siepi brune e rinsecchite che dividono i campi piatti, bruni e rinsecchiti, con i loro solitari alberi bruni e rinsecchiti, la violenza sempre più efferata, altroché se rimangono in testa. Tutto ha un odore fortissimo di brutti ricordi.
Fuori i secondi. L’ho letto a centoventi all’ora. Poi l’ho riletto subito dopo più lentamente. Poi ho acquistato gli altri libri. Ma li leggo tra un po’, prima vorrei fare il pieno di speranza, la speranza che il mondo sia un posto migliore. Per dimenticare le ferite peggiori che sorridono dalle pareti. Perché tra i tanti pugni qualcuno mi è arrivato diritto in pancia.
1977
Avrei bisogno di una lobotomia per dimenticarmi questo romanzo. Il flusso di coscienza, due protagonisti che poco a poco si sovrappongono, le morti, il sangue, i divani rotti, le martellate e ancora le morti, il finale…. Mi rimane un senso di malessere diffuso, di shock. E non ho neanche capito tutto.
Faccio fatica a trovare una sola persona a cui consigliare la lettura di questo libro perché è uno dei romanzi più violenti, cattivi, disturbanti e senza speranza che io abbia mai letto, ma vorrei che lo leggessero in tanti perché, se resistete, è uno dei romanzi più disturbanti e meravigliosi che vi capiterà mai di leggere.

[Gavin Armour · Rating 5 out of 5]

1977 (NINETEEN SEVENTY-SEVEN; erschienen 2000, Dt. 2005) ist der zweite Band von David Peace´ Red-Riding-Quartett, jener Serie, die locker um die Morde des sogenannten ‚Yorkshire-Ripper‘ Peter William Sutcliffe angeordnet sind. Nominell Kriminalliteratur, bietet Peace ein nahezu apokalyptisch anmutendes Gesellschaftsbild Englands in den 70er und frühen 80er Jahren. Sein Sujet ist aber weder ein Serien-Killer-Roman, wie es sie mittlerweile in Legion gibt, noch ist dies ein Kriminalroman, der sich sonderlich mit der Ermittlungsarbeit der Polizei beschäftigt, obwohl diese gerade in diesem Band durchaus eine Rolle spielt, sondern es ist dem Autor eher darum zu tun, gezielt Einblicke in die Seelen der Verdammten zu bieten – verdammter Männer – und durch ihre Augen eine Gesellschaft zu analysieren, der alles Menschliche abhandengekommen zu sein scheint.

Yorkshire ist ein klassisch armer Landstrich im Norden Englands. Hier gab es früher viel Landwirtschaft, von der Industrialisierung jener Regionen zwischen Manchester und Liverpool blieb es zwar nicht gänzlich unberührt – Leeds, jene Stadt in der der Hauptteil der Handlung in Peace´ Romanen spielt, ist durchaus als Industriestadt zu betrachten – , blieb aber immer ärmlich und gesellschaftliche, sowie kulturelle Provinz. Und die Provinz gebiert Monster, könnte man meinen. Denn hier, im Norden, glaubt man sich weit weg von London und der Zentralregierung und meint, die Dinge nach eigenem Gusto regeln zu können. In solch einem Klima scheinen Korruption, Gewalt und Rechtlosigkeit wie selbstverständlich zu gedeihen. Und es scheint so, als nähmen die Bürger dieser Region diese Entwicklungen wie selbstverständlich hin. So bekommt der Leser schnell den Eindruck, daß die ungeheuerlichsten Entwicklungen, die er mehr erahnt, als sie zu verstehen, völlig natürlich sind.

Die Handlung dieses Bandes umfasst einige Tage im Mai und Juni 1977. Berichtet wird dem Leser diesmal aus der subjektiven Perspektive gleich zweier Protagonisten, die man bereits aus dem ersten Teil des Quartetts, 1974 (NINETEEN SEVENTY-FOUR/1999; Dt. 2000), kennt. Da ist zum einen der Polizist Robert ‚Bob‘ Fraser, für den die Entwicklung im Roman zum Martyrium wird, ein Mann, der selbst schon viel zu tief in Schuld und Verderbnis verstrickt ist, als daß es noch Rettung oder gar Erlösung für ihn geben könnte. Zum andern berichtet uns der Reporter Jack Whitehead von den Ereignissen. Er spielte schon im ersten Band – anders als Fraser – eine wesentliche Rolle, war er doch für den dort erzählenden „Gerichtsreporter für Nordengland“ Eddie Dunford eine Art Nemesis. Nun lernen wir Whitehead besser kennen und begreifen, daß sich hinter dem daueralkoholisierten Zyniker ein Mensch verbirgt, der ebenfalls ein gerüttelt´ Maß an Schuld mit sich trägt. In gewissem Sinne sind Fraser und Whitehead hier sogar Antipoden, denn wo der Reporter zur Feder greift und diese zur Waffe erklärt – allerdings eine stumpfe Waffe im Kontext dessen, was in diesen Büchern geschieht – ist Fraser, ursprünglich von der Gewalt seiner Kollegen gegenüber Schuldigen und Unschuldigen angewidert, zusehends bereit, selbst jedwede Art von Gewalt – physischer wie psychischer Natur – anzuwenden, um den Dingen auf den Grund zu gehen und zu schützen, was er für schützenswert hält.

Es gehört zu Peace´ schriftstellerischen Strategie, diesen Menschen eine Geschichte zu geben, die wir nie wirklich gänzlich verstehen oder begreifen können. In den drei Jahren, die seit dem ersten Band vergangen sind, ist einiges passiert, über manches ist Gras gewachsen und anderes wurde einfach umgedeutet. Fraser führt Ermittlungen in einer Serie von Überfällen auf Postbüros, denen Peace zwischenzeitlich aber die gleiche Aufmerksamkeit schenkt, wie den Ripper-Morden, wodurch der Leser verunsichert wird, wo der Schwerpunkt des Romans eigentlich liegt. Man darf davon ausgehen, daß genau dies so gewollt ist. Whitehead seinerseits verlor seine ehemalige Gattin in einem von einem ominösen Reverend durchgeführten Exorzismus´. Aus dem Massaker, daß der Reporter Eddie Dunford am Ende des ersten Teils aus Wut, Frustration, Verzweiflung und der Erkenntnis beging, daß einige im Norden machen, was sie wollen und nichts – keine polizeiliche Ermittlung, keine journalistische Recherche, nicht einmal die berechtigte Wut der Bürger – sie wird stoppen können, ist schließlich ein Bandenüberfall geworden, den aufzuklären eine Sondereinheit der Manchester Police unter der Leitung eines Peter Hunter die Aufgabe hatte. Fraser, im ersten Band nur mit einem Kurzauftritt, der dem Leser die Illusion vermitteln könnte, daß dieser junge Polizist vielleicht zu jenen gehört, die sich noch ein wenig Mitmenschlichkeit, etwas Gutes und Idealistisches bewahrt haben, hat selbst jedoch zu viel zu verbergen, hat zu viel Dreck am Stecken und ist zu tief mit jenen verbandelt, die Opfer des Rippers werden – Prostituierten – als daß er noch eine „objektive“ Sicht auf das Geschehen haben könnte. Wie Whitehead hat auch Fraser eine Menge persönliche Gründe, den Ripper zu finden, zugleich aber auch eine Menge Gründe, dafür zu sorgen, daß nicht alles ans Licht kommt, was der Ermittlung dienen könnte.

Korruption, Polizeigewalt und -willkür, emotionale Verstrickungen und alte Geheimnisse, führen diese beiden Männer auf den knapp 400 Seiten in ihr persönliches Purgatorium, in die Höllenkreise derer, die nicht mehr in der Lage sind, das Eigene vom Außen zu trennen und beginnen, Fehler – teils tödliche Fehler – zu begehen. Zugleich treten aber auch eine Menge Fakten zutage, werden Zusammenhänge zumindest erkennbar, die im ersten Teil noch konfus und undurchschaubar wirkten, so daß dem Leser immer deutlicher wird, wie weit verbreitet die Korruption ist, wie viele in den Behörden und den Ämtern, in der Polizei und der Wirtschaft daran gelegen ist, die Ripper-Morde zu nutzen, um eigene Vergehen, eigene Schuld, vor allem eigene Machenschaften zu kaschieren. Und zu kaschieren gibt es hier wahrlich eine Menge. Der Baulöwe Dawson, offenbar mit einigen leitenden Polizeibeamten um Bill Mullroy – der zugleich Frasers Schwiegervater ist – , Richard Angus, Maurice Jobson u.a. in nicht ganz legale Geschäfte verwickelt, gehört ebenso zu denen, denen die Ermittlungen in den Ripper-Morden gefährlich werden könnten, wie auch die genannten Polizisten selbst sowie einzelne Politiker und Stadtabgeordnete von Leeds. Und dann gibt es da den Stricher AF, einen jungen Mann, den jeder zu kennen scheint, der jeden zu kennen scheint, der viel weiß und nichts preisgibt und der dennoch eine Mission zu erfüllen scheint, die wir nicht durchschauen. Auch im ersten Band trat er schon auf und gab raunende Hinweise, die nirgendwo hinführten. Nur von Eddie Dunford, von dem wir wissen, was er getan hat, ist keine Rede mehr. Auch nicht von seinem Freund und Kollegen Barry Gannon, der Eddie im ersten Teil von Verschwörungen und Geheimgesellschaften erzählt hat und in einem Autounfall, an den niemand zu glauben scheint, umgekommen ist. Diese sind nicht einmal mehr Gespenster, sie sind vergessen, getilgt, und ihre Abwesenheit ist im engsten Sinne des Wortes un-heimlich.

David Peace führt den Leser in Band zwei seiner Reihe tief in die Abgründe von Schuld und Sünde. Und ganz bewußt sollte man diese religiös konnotierten Begriffe stehen lassen. Denn es sind wahrlich Taten und Begebenheiten, die nur noch mit Begriffen dieser Größenordnung zu fassen sind. Und was in Teil eins noch durch den Blick des Außenseiters wie ein Sündenpfuhl provinzieller Natur erschien, zwar verabscheuenswürdig und auch durchaus „böse“, wird nun, da zwei Protagonisten berichten, die mitten im Herzen der Finsternis agieren, zum Muster einer völlig verrotteten Gesellschaft. Dementsprechend ist es schon eher Wahnsinn, der hier um sich greift, der vor allem von Jack Whitehead Besitz ergreift, der trotz all seines Zynismus´ eben auch ein menschliches Wesen voller Gewissensbisse und Selbstvorwürfen ist, ein Mensch, der sich bemüht – aber eben auch nur bemüht – , die eigene Schuld anderen gegenüber dadurch abzutragen, indem er der Schuld anderer auf die Spur zu kommen sucht. Und wie es Eddie oder Barry Gannon erfahren mussten, wird auch Whitehead erfahren, daß man in diesem toxischen Gemisch aus Verschwörung, Mord, Prostitution, Pornographie, Geschäftsinteressen und reiner sadistischer Freude an der Qual anderer nicht allzu tief graben muß, um auf sich aufmerksam zu machen. Und den Preis der Neugier zu zahlen hat.

So reiht man sich ein in die Riege der Engel, der gefallenen Engel, der Verdammten. Das religiöse Moment ist deshalb so tragend, weil es auf ganz naive Weise der letzte Halt ist, einer Gesellschaft ebenso, wie des Individuums. Wir sind nie während der Morde an den Prostituierten anwesend, was dieses sinnlose Sterben umso einsamer und verlassener und auch sinnloser macht. Nicht einmal uns, das abstrakte Signifikat, wenn man so will, lässt der Autor dabei sein. Weder er, noch der Leser, kein Gott ist anwesend um das Leiden zumindest zur Kenntnis zu nehmen. Diese Frauen starben in existenzieller Einsamkeit, aus der sie auch die Sprache des Romans nicht mehr herausreißt. Dabei ist es die Verderbnis, die den Killer antrieb, die Sünde, die er in den Prostituierten zu erkennen glaubt, die ihn zu seinen Taten verleitete, wie er später angab, als er nicht mehr aufhören konnte zu reden. Die Verstümmelungen, die Schläge mit dem Hammer auf Köpfe, die Wunden, die Schnitte, der Dreck der Nebenstraßen, in dem die Toten liegen, die Brachgrundstücke und die Garagen, in denen diese Frauen ihr Ende fanden – das alles bleibt uns nicht verborgen. All das zerrt Peace ins grelle Licht der Aufmerksamkeit und der vermeintlichen Aufklärung. Diese Opfer aber liegen manchmal tagelang auf Industriebrachen und rotten vor sich hin, einige der Kinder, die im ersten Band verschwanden oder deren Verschwinden erwähnt wurde, sind nie wieder aufgetaucht. Auch sie sind die absolut Abwesenden. Die Mädchen „die nie mehr heimgekommen sind.“ Das ist wesentlich, auch wenn es in der Spät- oder Postmoderne so gar nicht angelegentlich wirkt, auf einen Gott zu rekurrieren. Nur – was bleibt uns in jenen Momenten, in denen wir nichts und niemanden mehr haben, auf den wir uns stützen könnten? Was bleibt einer Gesellschaft, der jede Sinnhaftigkeit abhandengekommen zu sein scheint? Die Hysterie des Skandals? Das Aufgeilen an den grausigen Details? Peace führt den Leser auch in diese Hinsicht auf Glatteis, spielt mit Lektüreerwartungen und unterläuft sie. Und hinter all dem lauert eine tiefe, tiefe Trauer, eine endlose, niemals mehr lösbare Trauer. Um uns?

Was stilistisch in den zwei noch folgenden Bänden immer virulenter wird, greift auch hier bereits: Peace beginnt, rhapsodisch zu werden, der Stil korrespondiert mit dem eben beschriebenen Wahnsinn im Angesicht dieser Gewalt, der Kälte und der Ignoranz gegenüber dem Leiden anderer, den auch die Protagonisten nur noch in den dichotomen Begriffen von „gut“ und „böse“ zu erfassen in der Lage sind. Die Sätze werden immer undurchdringlicher, auch wenn 1977 noch lange Erzählpassagen aufweist, die die Folgebände immer mehr aufgeben, zurückdrängen werden. Eingerückte Wiederholungen, die die Gedankengänge und Handlungen der Erzähler zerschneiden, unterbrechen und zerfleddern, fragmentierte Sätze, Dialogzeilen, die scheinbar ins Nichts führen, wieder Andeutungen, wieder offene Enden, wieder lose Fetzen. Immer garniert mit der durchaus realistischen Schilderung eines Landes am Abgrund, in sozialer Schieflage, voller Vergessener und Verlorener. Auftreten ein seltsamer Geistlicher, die uns aus Band eins bekannten Polizisten, die mindestens so viel Spaß an der Gewalt haben wie der nicht zu fassende Ripper, der aber damit beginnt, die Ermittler mit Briefen zu verhöhnen – Briefen an die lokale Presse, die aber auch von anderen stammen könnten, Trittbrettfahrern, Menschen, die Spaß am Spiel mit Wahrheit und Fiktion haben. Nur wie soll man ermitteln, wenn die Ermittler selbst heillos in einem Geflecht aus Wahrheit und Fiktion verstrickt sind? Das Serielle der Wiederholungen wird somit zu einem Kennzeichen der Serialität der Morde, deren Ergebnisse uns Peace eben – siehe oben – nicht erspart. Und zu alldem kommt der Zynismus der Polizei, die Häme, die Verachtung für Opfer und ihre Angehörige, die als lästig empfunden werden. Auch das: Routine. Das Leid der Zurückgebliebenen, der Schmerz der Eltern um ihre verschwundenen Kinder – Routine. Serialität.

Manchmal kann man die Stimmen von Bob Fraser und Jack Whitehead kaum mehr auseinanderhalten. Das mutet zunächst wie eine literarische Schwachstelle an, zeigt aber Methode. Wie in späteren Bänden auch, scheinen diese Männer durch ähnliche Träume und Wahrnehmungen miteinander verbunden zu sein und beide scheinen dem Irrationalen gegenüber offen. Von etwas Übernatürlichem zu sprechen, würde zu weit führen. Doch irrational ist hier Vieles und irrational sind irgendwann auch die Handlungen, die diese beiden Männer begehen. Bis sie – jeder für sich – in letzten, verzweifelten Taten nach Erlösung haschen. Erlösung, die es nicht geben kann, nie geben wird.

1977 ist gnadenlos und der vielleicht düsterste Teil des Quartetts. Peace geht weit, sehr weit, um seine Leser in den Wahnsinn mitzunehmen, der seine Protagonisten befällt. Diese sind Heimgesuchte. Vor allem Jack Whitehead. Die Gespenster einer nicht vergehenden Vergangenheit holen ihn wieder und wieder ein und er ahnt längst, daß diese in unmittelbarem Zusammenhang mit Verbrechen stehen könnten, fürchterlichen Verbrechen, die in den Jahren 1969, 1972 und 1974 an einigen Kindern begangen wurden und die auf unheimliche Art und Weise in Zusammenhang mit den Ripper-Morden zu stehen scheinen. Wir können das nicht alles verstehen, wir werden es nicht alles verstehen. Doch was wir verstehen, ist, daß wir es mit Menschen zu tun haben – egal, auf welcher Seite des Gesetzes -, die längst alle Hoffnung und allen Glauben haben fahren lassen. Und denen genau deshalb nur noch der Glaube bleibt. Peace schreibt seiner Reihe dieses verstörende religiöse Moment ein, weil dies hier die Hölle ist. Wenn man schon nicht an einen Gott glauben mag, dann wird man hier nicht umhinkommen, zumindest an den Teufel und seine Legionen zu glauben. Und dann spielt sich das Ganze in einer Umgebung ab, die die Apokalypse, das Jüngste Gericht, Armageddon bereits hinter sich zu haben scheint – und nicht auserwählt wurde, zu Gottes Rechter Platz zu nehmen. In diesem Yorkshire herrscht das Recht des Stärkeren und Schwache werden getötet, versklavt, gedemütigt und gefoltert. 666.

Purgatorium.

[Sarah · Rating 3 out of 5]

Long review short, I have no idea how this book ended, but for some reason I really enjoyed getting there. This is so twisted and weird, and I don't understand half of it, but again, I don't think I'm supposed to.

[Susan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Having found Nineteen Seventy Four totally gripping, I was keen to read the second in the Red Riding Quartet. Having finished it, I am somewhat at a loss of how to describe it. The second book, much like the first, is almost like a written nightmare - dark, shocking, savage, violent and vicious. The novel is narrated by two characters from the previous book - Sergeant Bob Fraser and veteran reporter Jack Whitehead.

We are back in the seventies and it is the time of the Yorkshire Ripper. Bob Fraser is assigned to the squad investigating the Ripper murders, sent to see whether an earlier murder could be tied in to the case. Clare Strachan was murdered, but a link is unearthed to the murders in 1974, causing old nightmares to return in this almost surreal rampage around the North of England. Driving through the dark landscape, mentions of the Moors Murderers make a dark story even harsher, alongside Jack's visions of murdered women in his room and Bob Fraser's obsession with a prostitute he fears being killed, but is unable to protect. Again we have police corruption, scenes of interrogations which turn into torture, fear and darkness. Having said that, I can't wait to read the next book Nineteen Eighty; they are thoroughly unpleasant and utterly compelling.

[Theo Austin-Evans · Rating 4 out of 5]

My characterisation of the Manichaean element in the first instalment certainly holds true for 1977, but here even the angels offer no redemption or solace. The abstraction and the muddying of the waters by Peace is dialled way the fuck up as hallucinations trickle and slide across the prose, signifiers haemorrhage, and blood congeals into a coagulated sludge on the carpet. The one moment of the briefest briefest levity can be found in a callous racist joke exchanged over a pint of bitter and a scotch near the very end of the book, a joke so horrific in the midst of all that was going on that I couldn’t help but laugh. For context, Ka Su Peng was a prostitute who was assaulted with a hammer and raped by the Yorkshire Ripper yet somehow survived, and the man asking the questions is deeply in love with her. Here’s the exchange:

“You know a Chinese lass, Ka Su Peng?”
“The one that got away”, he smiled.
“That’s the one.”
“Yeah. Why?”
“What do you know about her?”
“Popular. But you know what they say about a Chinky?”
“What?”
“An hour later and you could murder another.”

Sick shit.

[Becky · Rating 5 out of 5]

Boy, this book is grim. It's crude, gory and graphic. But it's brilliant. I zipped through the whole thing in three evenings. Now, I may be a little biased, as the Ripper's stomping grounds are very much my homeland. Not that any of the locations are in anyway romantic, but familiarity always breeds interest. Peace writes a little like Irvine Welsh, bleak humour masking the insecurities of the men who form his characters. The protagonists are dual - an old school investigative reporter with ties to law enforcement, and a beat cop trying to get one step ahead of the Ripper. They're both in love with a prostitute (the Ripper's main victims) and this extra dimension pressures their every move. It's over before you know it, and it's great.

[Chad Post · Rating 5 out of 5]

God damn I love these books. Dark, stylish, amazingly well written. After finishing this in the bar last night, I wanted to rush home and start 1980 . . .

[Michael Bohli · Rating 3 out of 5]

David Peace - oder genauer, seine Art Thriller zu schreiben - will sich mir einfach nicht komplett erschliessen. Auch bei "1977", dem zweiten Teil seiner Red-Riding-Saga, darf man wieder in die dreckigen Kleinstädte und schmutzigen Gassen eintreten, immer auf der atemlosen Suche nach einem brutalen und gnadenlosen Mörder. Erneut leitet und leidet Polizist Fraser durch das Buch, erneut gibt es Sex, Gewalt, Dreck, vulgäre Sprache und ultrakurze Sätze zu Hauf. Und genau dieser Schreibstil ohne schnörkel und ohne lange Beschreibungen machen die grösste Faszination von Peace aus.

Aber in all dieser Hast, in all dieser Brutalität ging mir oft die Übersicht verloren. Zu viele Figuren, zu schnelle Handlungsweise und irgendwie zu wenig Substanz. "1977" ist zwar fesselnd und erschütternd, wirkt aber auch wie ein Mittelteil ohne grosse Aussage. Und ist es eigentlich ja auch, trotzdem werde ich mit die folgenden Teile bestimmt einmal zu Gemüte führen. Bis dahin allerdings auch alles aus diesem Buch wieder vergessen haben.

[FrankH · Rating 1 out of 5]

Club Read

Like four-hour root-canal therapy reading this 341-page riff on sexual violence and police corruption. Since serial murders of prostitutes has become something of a crime fiction sub-genre, I didn't give much thought initially to how Peace might extrapolate upon the real-world events of the Yorkshire murders as a basis for his story. Would it be a police procedural, hard-boiled crime fiction, 'true crime', a study in criminal psychology or something horrific like Silence of the Lambs? Nineteen Seventy Seven wants to be all of these things and yet in the end it wore me out achieving none of them-- too much bodily fluid, too many loose ends and vague allusions, a confounding, overheated narrative technique, a story that seems to want to build and go somewhere but ultimately does not. Wore me OUT! After reading, I just wanted to take a long, hot shower and go to bed. By Googleing reviews of other books in the Red Riding quartet, it becomes clear that some references and plot elements in Nineteen Seventy Seven can only be fully understood by reading the companion texts. Is there any background on Eddie, the reporter from Nineteen Seventy Four, also cited briefly in this book? Don't recall it. More importantly, who is Carol and why is Jack obsessing on her? Then there's Reverend Laws, the 'lynched East End Jew (?)' and angel for Turkish restaurant owners, but why does he appear, at the end of the story, giving Jack a haircut, ready to drive a screwdriver into Jack's skull? Well, it seems in Nineteen Eighty we learn that Carol is Jack's ex-wife, killed in 1975 by her deranged husband, Michael Williams, when he drove a nail through her skull; in 1977 Laws want to do something similar with Jack, at Jack's request, possibly as an exorcism of evil, homocidal(?) 'demons'. Is it fair to the reader to fragment story and character development this way? Maybe, maybe not, but I was never quite sure about what I was reading. Club members can help me out here. In the final chapters, we find Jack discovering a dead female body in Ka Su Peng's apartment bathtub? Is it Ka Su or another Carol hallucination? Is the incinerated black man from Chapter 22 the innocent Steve Barton from Chapter 5? What's the point of this passage? Fraser's fight with Rudkin at the end seemingly reveals that Bobby is actually Rudkin's son and there's the suggestion that Rudkin has used Fraser's involvement with the whore Janice as a ploy to gain custody of Bobby. It's a huge plot development that seems to come out of nowhere. Have I got that right? What is the import of the missing Clare Strachan file, the altered blood type on the report, Craven's back issues of Spunk, the list of its 'models' matching the Ripper's victims? We know the cops are utterly corrupt, victimizing the 'scrubbers', but where is all this leading? Surely, not to the Yorkshire Ripper or to any unmentioned cash laundering, which might at the least provide a missing motive for all this mayhem. I'm clueless in the land of semen, mutilated bodies and 'rape sweat'. As to style, I get that Peace wants to convey the story obliquely, using fiery, graphic, imagery and a loose stream of consciousness technique. But one man's idea of subtle poetry is another's misdirection. In Chapter 10, Jack ruminates on 'dark panting streets, the leering terrace backs, surrounded by silent stones...foot upon brick, brick upon head, these are the houses that Jack built.' What houses? The houses of the Dead? And, in Chapter 3, in a section narrated by Fraser, we get this italicized passage, clearly from Clare Strachan at the time of her death: 'I slipped onto my knees and he's come out of me..now he's angry punching me casually..taking a big bite out of my left tit....I'll never see my daughers again...'. Not only does this break the flow of Fraser's voice, but word to Peace: Dead people don't have streams of consciousness (except in Lovely Bones). There is no stream and no consciousness. They're dead.

[Leah · Rating 5 out of 5]

A curious through-passage of a book, where nothing really begins and nothing really ends, but everything gets worse and darker and less comfortable, if that were possible.

Two viewpoints here, Jack Whitehead, reeling from the death of his ex-wife by a lunatic inspired by a priest and drunk on the double life he's built for himself, investigative journalist but friend of the police, man after the truth but half in their pockets; and Bob Fraser, company man, copper, boss's son-in-law, ignorant of the machinations of his colleagues and utterly caught up in the misery of marriage and sex and fatherhood, of falling in love with a prostitute, of trying to love two women and failing both.

All set against the background of the Yorkshire Ripper's busiest year, 1977. Four murders over the Jubilee summer. The mess of vice, porn, prostitution, murder, sex, and summer mingle together into a suffocating piece where both men tell stories in first person and trying to figure out which miserable bastard's head you're in spins you around until you're convinced everyone's the same, they're all unhappy, they're all turning their heads, they've all got a finger in the pie, and the convenient excuse of a mass murderer on the loose gives them all a wonderful opportunity to tie up some unpleasant loose ends.

Peace's immersive interludes at the head of each chapter, the Ripper's voice mingling with that of his victims and the official language of police reports and newspaper headlines, are difficult to read but worth the effort, long unending strings of stream-of-consciousness ramble that unsettle and disgust, yet draw you in to the world just that much deeper.

Unsettling is the word of this one, a bridge between something awful and something worse.

[Benito Jr. · Rating 3 out of 5]

Deeply unpleasant but ultimately satisfying read. I can’t imagine that folks would go straight to Nineteen Seventy-Seven without reading Nineteen Seventy-Four first, so prospective readers would already be familiar with Peace prose:

The clipped, staccato rhythms.

Hypnotic in their repetition.

In their repetition.

The refusal to connect the narrative dots for the reader.

Words spat out like bullets from a machine gun etc.

Unpleasant: the torrents of profanity, the racism and misogyny, not to mention explicit violence, are relentless and punishing and not for the squeamish.

But satisfying: it's nonetheless a hell of a page-turning read. Peace packs tension in between the lines, even in the most ordinary sequences (like in the many scenes of copious drinking). The reader's patience for the damaged and obsessive protagonists is arguably tested by their tendency towards melodramatic torment -- there's an awful lot of drunken tears and suicidal self-pity, even more than characters in a James Ellroy novel -- but the book on the whole is well worth the effort. Just don't be surprised if you want to start viewing cute puppy videos on YouTube after reading the book just to shake the bleakness and grime off.

[Corey · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a rough ride down a dark road. Brutal, bleak, unflinching, it's based on the Yorkshire Ripper killings. It's also powerful, beautifully written and moves like tigers on vaseline.

[Johnny · Rating 4 out of 5]

While not as stand-alone as the previous book in the series, 1974, this second book in the Red Riding Quartet moves the series forward and deepens the intrigue and corruption within the world.

Weaving real events with fictional characters is a real challenge, and Peace handles it deftly, making you question where fact and fiction blur together.

Stronger characterization, an idiosyncratic staccato writing style, and consistently entertaining humorlessness (I know that sounds like an insult, but the intensity and bleakness is so over the top that you want to wrap yourself in it) make for one of the more original writers in crime fiction today.

[Alan · Rating 2 out of 5]

2006 notebook: a run of disappointing books: David Peace's 1977 disappointing; Palahniuk's Diary about disappearing bathrooms a disappointment. Sophisticated Boom Boom, a growing-up-in- Eniskillen-in-the-punk-era a disappointment.

[Michael · Rating 5 out of 5]

I recently watched the stunning 3-part movie series "Red Riding" twice because it was so powerful and complex. I found things I had completely missed in the first viewing. It was based on David Peace's book series so I picked them up to see if there was more to be had. Sure enough, the book enhanced the movie's understanding even further.
So far I've read 1974 and 1977. 1977 is the basis for the second part of the Red Riding movie trilogy set in the north of England around the Leeds/Bradford area. It is a brutal and grisly story of perversion, brutality, and corruption among police there which suppress the truth about what is really behind a series of brutal murders of Prostitutes whiche attributed to the Yorkshire Ripper. Jack Whitehead a crime Reporter and Detective Bob Fraser who were minor characters in the first book, 1974 are both involved in affairs with prostitutes as well as the crime investigation. They are two tormented men who stumble unto a sadistic connection between the murders and members of the Yorkshire police.
Peace's writing is fascinatingly raw and grisly. This book (or movie)is not for the faint of heart. He paints a grim picture of life in the north of England as the plot weaves back and forth while the murders continue to mount and Whitehead and Faser come up against what is really happening.
The movie Red Riding Part 2-1977, was loosely based upon the book but diverged significantly in detail, plot and characters enough along the way to make both worth reading/watching and serve to enhance one another since the story is so complex. They are both superb works of crime noir which can be enjoyed on their own or combined as I did.

[Jenbebookish · Rating 1 out of 5]

Yes I hated it, that's why I only gave it one star. And comparatively, because some amazing books can still only get 5 stars I'm tempted to give this book NONE. No stars! But I will give the book some credit where credit is due and the originality is by far the book's only credible aspect.


The book's stream of consciousness narrative goes absolutely over my head. It gets in the way of the story, makes it difficult to get thru. At least for me. I was surprised, I expected more from this book. I would have been entertained by the storyline... Had the stream of consciousness not gotten in the way. It's absolutely, annoying! I wouldnt suggest this to anyone!

[Mar · Rating 3 out of 5]

Al principio es más caótico, no te sitúas y pierdes mucho de la trama.
A medida que avanzas se va aclarando más.
Me ha gustado menos que el primero y también me ha parecido más violento si cabe.
De todas maneras estos libros tienen algo que me enganchan así que iré por el siguiente

[Peter G · Rating 4 out of 5]

Jack Whitehead, a heck of a reporter when he’s not up to his eyeballs in booze and haunted by hallucinatory regrets from the past, trails along in the wake of a man violently assaulting women in West Yorkshire and tries to bring a sense of narrative and order to what seems like a symptom of a society gone sick. Meanwhile, Bob Fraser, a senior police officer, is stripped of all illusions of his own moral character when he embarks on an obsessive affair with a Chapeltown prostitute and has uncomfortable truths about who he really is revealed to himself in the process.

The second of David Peace’s Red Riding novels demonstrates a deepening and expansion of the incendiary style of his debut. It’s built on a torrent of short staccato sentences that blend dialogue and action into a single mad spew of sensual experience. I’d say it’s not necessarily a weaker novel than its predecessor, but it doesn’t quite have either the same sense of purpose to its plotting. It feels like it fulfils the function of many second novels in a series, that of providing what Whitehead would likely call background, and, while setting up pieces and establishing the necessary conditions for more established storylines can be entertaining in itself, it does run the risk of feeling a bit unnecessary.

Still, what this book does do so well is begin to explore the social origins of a phenomenon as seemingly unpredictable as the Yorkshire Ripper. The central notion of the novel seems to be an exploration of a police force too compromised to deal with actual criminal acts; whether this is due to the self-imposed blinkers of casual misogyny, racism, bigotry, or whether it is indeed the result of direct police involvement in the wider assemblage of petty criminal enterprise. Peace, unlike many less accomplished crime writers, has more than a superficial sense of the role of place and broader ideology in individual instantiations of violence. The imaginary sense of order the police project simply can’t survive the intrusion of crime that is all too real to be rationalised away.

This doesn’t exactly make for happy reading or pleasant outcomes for anyone involved. There’s none of the even partial, and misguided, catharsis that Eddie Dunford from 1974 achieved at the end of that novel. Essentially, everyone important in this novel ends up dead - either spiritually or in body or both. The Ripper still roams. And the threat of a second, seemingly police-sanctioned killer, using with cold pragmatism the cover of the Ripper’s chaos to clear up a few loose ends of their own has emerged as somehow as an even more blasphemous threat.