Two mysteries against a backdrop of rampage and riot

These two novels are worlds apart in terms of style and genre, but both involve mysterious deaths set against real-life moments of rampage and riot in England during recent hot summers. In the first, a lone gunman on the rampage in 2010 Cumbria is integral to the story. In the second, the 2011 London riots provide the perfect backdrop for a domestic noir thriller.

All the Places I’ve Ever Lived by David Gaffney

In the hot summer of 1976, fifteen-year-old Barry’s torso, legs and arms suddenly erupt with peculiar lesions which he perceives as metallic discs. On the same day, local schoolgirl Philomena May is savagely attacked and left for dead, while Barry’s mother fears his father might be having an affair with his colleague at the Co-op. If that isn’t enough to contend with, Barry’s musical tastes are morphing from folk to punk under the influence of Samantha Fry, with whom he hopes to form a band. Life gets progressively stranger until he’s travelling forwards in time courtesy of his best friend Finny’s motorbike and the spectre of Philomena May. But why are they continually drawn to a morose taxi-driver with money troubles and, when he runs amok with a gun in a fictionalisation of a real incident in which twelve people were killed and eleven injured, is there anything they can do to reduce the carnage?
 
It wasn’t the prospect of time travel that drew me to this novel, but the setting in West Cumbria close to where I grew up. But even if I hadn’t relished the opportunity to revisit familiar places, I think I’d have enjoyed this quirky and tender coming-of-age story with a supernatural bent, although the thought of Barry’s lesions did turn my stomach. With writing of such quality, it wasn’t difficult to suspend disbelief and, despite the twist that left me wondering, I was rooting for Barry all the way. Thanks to Urbane Publications for my review copy.

Give Me the Child by Mel McGrath

Cat only learns of her husband’s infidelity when a social worker and a police constable turn up in the middle of the night with his eleven-year-old daughter, Ruby. The couple already have a daughter of that age, Freya, so Cat is particularly upset that Tom betrayed her while she was pregnant and, although she would have loved to have another child, has persuaded her not to take the risk of a repeat of the psychosis she suffered at the time. But the child’s needs must come first. Ruby’s mother has just died of carbon monoxide poisoning from a faulty boiler, so Cat agrees to take her in.
 
But Cat finds Ruby a strange child. She’s sly, deceitful and doesn’t seem to be grieving the death of her mother. An expert on severely disturbed children (callous and unemotional personality disorder was a new one on me), Cat wants Ruby to have therapy, which her husband strongly resists. Besides, everyone else seems to find Ruby charming; Freya, although a few months older, is much less streetwise and in awe of her. With her history of mental health problems, could it be that Cat is paranoid?
 
Although I was sceptical about some aspects of both the set up (the vagueness of Cat’s professional identity until she is named as a forensic psychiatrist towards the end; whether social services would place a bereaved child with a family she purports not to know, even if it includes her biological father) and the genre’s requirement for increasing calamity, I found this a chilling story of gaslighting and the stigma that endures following a mental health crisis. As with The Stolen Child, the potential risk to her own daughter significantly ups the stakes in a convincing manner. The backdrop of the London riots further increases the jeopardy. Thanks to HarperCollins for my review copy.

Meanwhile, the Carrot Ranch has received a mysterious visitor, leaving the lead buckaroo to wonder whether Nanjo Castille is a spammer or an offbeat entrant to the recent flash fiction competitions. Ever one to make a refreshing drink from sour fruit, Charli challenges us to compose a 99-word story about this character’s identity. I’ve drawn inspiration from All the Places I’ve Ever Lived.

Nanjo Castille: All the places

You didn’t see me, as you set off for the fells from your tents and your smart hotels. You didn’t see me, from your government palaces, as you closed the steelworks and pits. You didn’t hear me when you moved the call centres to India where graduates paid a pittance had better English accents than mine. You didn’t smell, from your barn conversions by the lakeside, the stench of slime and shit and sorrow.

See me now, friends, brothers, strangers! See the blood, the bone, the bullet holes. Hear the sirens. Smell the fear. Remember my name: Nanjo Castille.
 

On the subject of identity, I’m pleased to announce that my short story collection, provisionally entitled Becoming Someone is scheduled for publication by Inspired Quill in November 2018. Expect more on this in the weeks and months to come!