Laith
I didn't fully appreciate this entry in the series as I read it, but I've come around to this book. Out of all the Factory novels, this is the only one that came across as half-baked and felt the most procedural. But it's also the book that truly introduces us to the Unnamed Detective, chocked full of deep glimpses into his past, his motivations bleeding into the narrative whenever there's a quiet moment. The brutality and grime are also present, the case revolving around 5 stapled shopping bags worth of butchery left for our investigator to discover.
Something I like about this series is how these books are written for the secondhand buyer. It doesn't matter which one you pick up because each story is self-contained, with a few references to the other books being there to help order the books chronologically. That said, this is a checkpoint within the continuity because of the focus on the detective's tragic past; we meet his murdered daughter and his institutionalized wife. The focus on the detective is really the star of the show here, in addition to his backstory, there's his persistent internal monologue concerning the case that nearly matched the obsession and insanity of the villains themselves.
Once your youth has raced away from you, you can see it better when you look back, closing your eyes at night; I still smell the warm summer chestnut leaves in the parks, the hot dust of the pavements on my beat, and the fumes of traffic halted at the top of Sloane Street or Hyde Park
What has hooked me for the entirety of the series has been the prose. It's just as brilliant here as it was in He Died With His Eyes Open; harrowing but hauntingly beautiful, and quintessentially British. That said, the difference here is in the depth of language the detective's commentary takes on. It is made clear that there's a brain behind his brutish demeanor. His rough and tumble manner drips philosophy at its edge, his own thoughts matching the lyrical brilliance we found in Staniland's memos and notes in Book 1.
I haven't outlined the premise of the book yet, and that's because I didn't like it. This is the series at its most procedural, and Raymond makes the mistake of identifying the killer nearly at the stories' outset. Our detective finds 5 shopping bags stapled shut and set out in a display, which he preternaturally deduces as professional work. The details of the crime inform of precision; the profile of the killer leads to only one man. The detective work is basically done right off of the rip, and what remains is a spy-thriller B plot about the motivations behind the killing; think microchips and Soviets. That high-level stuff doesn't belong in the series, and it's a shame because literally every other element of this book is superb.
It's not often that I can say this, but despite the bad premise, I really liked this book. While I wouldn't suggest skipping any of these books, I would highly recommend sticking with this one if you also find yourself disliking the plot development. It's just as charming as the first, a bizarre mix of literary achievement and coarse grime that I can't get enough of. All of these books are gems, this just happens to be the least lustrous.
I didn't fully appreciate this entry in the series as I read it, but I've come around to this book. Out of all the Factory novels, this is the only one that came across as half-baked and felt the most procedural. But it's also the book that truly introduces us to the Unnamed Detective, chocked full of deep glimpses into his past, his motivations bleeding into the narrative whenever there's a quiet moment. The brutality and grime are also present, the case revolving around 5 stapled shopping bags worth of butchery left for our investigator to discover.
Something I like about this series is how these books are written for the secondhand buyer. It doesn't matter which one you pick up because each story is self-contained, with a few references to the other books being there to help order the books chronologically. That said, this is a checkpoint within the continuity because of the focus on the detective's tragic past; we meet his murdered daughter and his institutionalized wife. The focus on the detective is really the star of the show here, in addition to his backstory, there's his persistent internal monologue concerning the case that nearly matched the obsession and insanity of the villains themselves.
Once your youth has raced away from you, you can see it better when you look back, closing your eyes at night; I still smell the warm summer chestnut leaves in the parks, the hot dust of the pavements on my beat, and the fumes of traffic halted at the top of Sloane Street or Hyde Park
What has hooked me for the entirety of the series has been the prose. It's just as brilliant here as it was in He Died With His Eyes Open; harrowing but hauntingly beautiful, and quintessentially British. That said, the difference here is in the depth of language the detective's commentary takes on. It is made clear that there's a brain behind his brutish demeanor. His rough and tumble manner drips philosophy at its edge, his own thoughts matching the lyrical brilliance we found in Staniland's memos and notes in Book 1.
I haven't outlined the premise of the book yet, and that's because I didn't like it. This is the series at its most procedural, and Raymond makes the mistake of identifying the killer nearly at the stories' outset. Our detective finds 5 shopping bags stapled shut and set out in a display, which he preternaturally deduces as professional work. The details of the crime inform of precision; the profile of the killer leads to only one man. The detective work is basically done right off of the rip, and what remains is a spy-thriller B plot about the motivations behind the killing; think microchips and Soviets. That high-level stuff doesn't belong in the series, and it's a shame because literally every other element of this book is superb.
It's not often that I can say this, but despite the bad premise, I really liked this book. While I wouldn't suggest skipping any of these books, I would highly recommend sticking with this one if you also find yourself disliking the plot development. It's just as charming as the first, a bizarre mix of literary achievement and coarse grime that I can't get enough of. All of these books are gems, this just happens to be the least lustrous.