Flanders Sky

Henri Castang #13

by Nicolas Freeling

For Inspector Castang, life in the cosmopolitan setting of Brussels proves more than either he or Vera bargained for. When his boss is arrested for murder and a child abuser becomes a crime statistic, Castang realizes that crime is universal--and his skills as an investigator are as revelevant in the corridors of power as in the back alleys of Paris.

220 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1992

About the author

Nicolas Freeling born Nicolas Davidson, (March 3, 1927 - July 20, 2003) was a British crime novelist, best known as the author of the Van der Valk series of detective novels which were adapted for transmission on the British ITV network by Thames Television during the 1970s.

Freeling was born in London, but travelled widely, and ended his life at his long-standing home at Grandfontaine to the west of Strasbourg. He had followed a variety of occupations, including the armed services and the catering profession. He began writing during a three-week prison sentence, after being convicted of stealing some food.[citation needed]

Freeling's The King of the Rainy Country received a 1967 Edgar Award, from the Mystery Writers of America, for Best Novel. He also won the Gold Dagger of the Crime Writers' Association, and France's Grand Prix de Littérature Policière.

From Wikipedia

Series:
* Van Der Valk
* Henri Castang

Reviews

[Lukasz Pruski · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Flanders Sky" was first published in the United Kingdom under a different title - "The Pretty How Town", one of the best book titles ever. I guess the American publishers were afraid that the "grammatically incorrect" title will result in decreased sales; after all what can one expect from an author who cannot even follow the most basic rules of syntax? While "Flanders Sky" is a beautiful and appropriate title, I much prefer the original, which comes from e.e. cummings' poem "anyone lived in a pretty how town" (I quote the first stanza of that stunning poem at the end of the review).

Not that the story is important in the novel - readers who are mainly interested in the plot may be disappointed - but here is the basic premise: Henri Castang, a high-ranking Commissaire in the French police, becomes a high-level functionary of the European Community in Brussels. The second sentence of the novel is "I had been given to understand, and very clearly, thanks, that I was both promoted and sacked, simultaneously". His erudite boss, Harold Claverhouse, the head of EC's Judicial Services, is arrested for murder and Castang becomes actively involved in the investigation and in the subsequent trial. Claverhouse's case becomes entangled with a domestic child abuse inquest, which involves Castang and his wife who do volunteer social work for an organization that helps runaway children

As usual, I find it a pleasure to read Mr. Freeling's quirky, stream-of-consciousness narrative. He muses about workings of the European Community, ridiculous attempts of intelligence services of various countries to spy on each other, and bureaucratic excesses and pitfalls. He also writes about politics and European history; the action takes place not long after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the "velvet revolution" in Prague. We read about Irish, French, and Flemish poetry, a Verdi's opera, and are offered a revealing look into the judicial procedure in Belgium, so very different from one in the United States. I have read the trial fragments three times, each time to find something new and brilliant. The book is deeply immersed in European history and culture, and it might be less appealing for a reader who does not have some personal connection with Europe.

While most of narration is from Castang's point of view, several chapters are told by Vera, Castang's Slovak-born wife, who defected to France while competing as a gymnast. These chapters are close to literary masterpieces - the unrestrained and seemingly disjointed stream of consciousness adds depth and power. The story of Vera's first visit to her native country is moving - maybe just for me, though; I had similar feelings when visiting my native country for the first time about a quarter of the century ago.

I love Nicolas Freeling's books. I share his bitter, cynical outlook on life (I am now exactly the same age, 64, as he was when writing this book) and I share his unabashed Europeanness. I just wish I had a tiny little bit of his literary talent. If I worked eight hours a day, day after day, for twenty years, I would not be able to produce even one page of such remarkable prose.

Four stars

Here's the beginning of e.e. cumming's poem:

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn’t he danced his did.

[Sara · Rating 3 out of 5]

Liked it against my will, about halfway through.
The beginning is dominated by the "extravagant personality" of the British civil servant who later admits killing his wife. Lots of sentences without subjects, what. Kind of man who talks that way. Compulsively witty and allusive. Tiring, this sort of thing. Wearing on the brain, trying to the patience. Bleah. Know the sort of thing I mean?
And yet Freeling pulls it out at the end, the trial scene is most interesting, in spite of detailed reflections on the physical appearance of the women who are prosecutor, judge, defense attorney. Don't have that right, of course -- in the Belgian system all the terms are different. Can't be bothered to go back and check. Rather like Harold who can't be bothered to defend himself either...
No, I'm being quite unfair, he has an excellent reason for 'fessing up, and it is probably the most genuine part of the book.
Not sure if I will do more Castang or not.

[Mark Lisac · Rating 3 out of 5]

Starts out stronger than its immediate predecessor (Those in Peril) but gradually descends into the same flaws: some highly improbable events, and frequent prurience. Some of the latter episodes could be frank observation of reality; too many of them bring to mind a sad middle-aged man chortling over photographs and fantasies involving female bodies. However, the appealing thing about Freeling's work is his independent way of writing. For this one, he experimented with a construction consisting of an alternating series of first-hand reports by Henri Castang and his wife Vera. You have to put up with distractions, including: some oddly built sentences; a tendency for nearly every character to speak in the same sometimes cryptic manner; the presence of irrelevant material (in this one, Vera's trip to her Czechoslovak homeland); and, scads of obscure literary and other references. But you're never subject to the suspicion that the book has been assembled by an editorial committee guided by what's been selling recently. Nor, as of 2023, by a suspicion of work done by an artificial intelligence app. No AI could be this obscure and this off-centre. That's a plus. Still suspect I liked it better on first reading nearly 30 years ago.

[Tuck · Rating 2 out of 5]

freeling's written a million of these mysteries featuring paris cop detective henri castang. in this one castang gets 'reassigned" to bruxelles to work at EU (still community when this was written in 1992) for being a rebel on paris popo, so the move is a demotion, but then he lands right smack dab in the middle of murder and rape. interesting that author tries for being a bit literary and international, but books need an editor in the worst way and perhaps longer periods between title release to give author more time do re-writes.
interesting though in their own way for pulp mystery

From page 86, a bit of ex. of freeling writing style. Tedious for some, interesting I guess for others:

“For the Procureur du Roi is a big wheel in the administration of justice. There are several sorts, as with Commissaires, ranging from bemedalled Generals to Substitutes thin and pale as stalks of celery, and I got a pretty grand one, judging by some mellow paneling and a fine Empire desk with lots of bronze acanthus leaves for me to trip over. Paul-Albert de Conick was fiftyish with a handsome deer-hound head, the shape showing several generations of aristo breeding and emphasized by brush-cut grey hair. A long pointed nose, long shaved jaw. Delicate hands fiddle with a Dunhill cigarette despising it even if the adverts do say it is the Best. With a courteous manner and a quiet voice he came straight to his subject.”