I like to watch British mystery series on television and I love British mysteries writers such as the classic Dorothy L. Sayers stories with Lord Peter, the Edwardian settings of Anne Perry, the old pubs and inns behind the Martha Grimes novels, the intensive psychology horror that seems ubiquitous in the work of the late Dick Francis, and, my personal favorite, the poetic and comedic stylings of the late Sir John Mortimer (one of the few knighted personages I’ve had the privilege of meeting and an incredibly delightful conversation partner when I only intended to express my admiration) of Rumpole fame. I believe Lovesey may eventually enter that tier for me, though this first offering I’ve read by him is more journeyman work than masterpiece.
Though published in the 1980s, Rough Cider is a snapshot of World War II England and post-war England. It begins in an academic setting and offers surprise revelation after surprise revelation. Indeed, part of my problem with the novel is the “Agatha Christie” revelation of the murderer at the conclusion (I’m really not sure the murder works with the timeline for this suspect.). Along the way, one is swept into the hardships of children during the war, the vagaries of human memory, the strange secrets kept in one’s family, and the feelings of the English toward those U.S. servicemen who were in one sense, saviors, and in another sense, invaders. I think the latter was what really struck me emotionally about the book, though my personal fear of losing my memory or discovering that my “memories” are so distorted as to be “dishonest” made this a difficult book for me at times.
Even though I’m not entirely happy with Rough Cider as a book, I think it is a lovely set-up for a film. The university professor protagonist thrust out of his comfortable life and forced to face his childhood memories by the abrupt appearance of the daughter of a serviceman he’d admired has a strange relationship with this daughter. At times, it is romantic; at times, cold and cruel. At times, it is harmonious; at times, antagonistic. It is almost a cypher for a marital relationship when both parties are commitment-averse and, at times, working at cross-purposes. This part of the novel is brilliant and would really work if cast with the right actors.
But the novel loses its force in the unraveling of the mystery as it offers too little information on some suspects and not enough on others. And, one wonders if some of the gruesome, sometimes horrifying details of events it recounts—both in the past and in the story’s present—are really helpful to the story. I have mixed feelings about the details of the “rape” and the violent demise of a valuable source. But, in a hypocritical vein, I rather liked discovering what alcoholic cider could do to a body (and the rather morbid pun from those who knew about a certain brand of cider). Overall, I think I’ve found an author to be revisiting on several occasions.