Ruso rocks. Let’s hear it for those Romans.
In a lively sequel to English author Downie’s historical mystery Medicus (2007), its eponymous protagonist—Roman army physician Gaius Petreius Ruso—finds himself absorbed by dark deeds done in the northern wasteland of occupied Brittania.
It’s a bleak, forbidding land, where (comparatively) innocent villagers are terrorized by Rome’s finest (who tend to strut and make trouble when far from home) and avaricious warlords and their minions—memorialized in a storyteller’s violent account of a peaceful settlement menaced by a vicious Wolf. None of this fazes Ruso’s housekeeper and frequent bedmate Tilla, who hails from these parts, and knows how to handle misbehaving males. Downie creates a vividly detailed stage on which a puzzling mystery is enacted. A soldier is murdered, in a primitive manner that points fingers in several directions, exacerbates Ruso’s fraying relations with his generally uncooperative new colleagues and provokes him to conclude that the soldier’s death “was some sort of ritual killing, and he was being asked to help cover it up.” Prime suspects include local medicus Thessalus (“as mad as a bee in a bottle”), suspiciously officious prefect’s aide Metellus, womanizing basket maker Rianorix, a local brewer (Catavignus), who seems to run several businesses at once, and a vainglorious northerner (Trenus) responsible for the slaughter of Tilla’s family. Downie distributes the action throughout 91 brisk chapters, and heightens the narrative’s energy level by commenting sardonically on her characters’ (often very witty) conversational exchanges. The puzzle’s solution is immensely satisfying, and the story ends with Ruso and Tilla apparently prepared to part ways. But it isn’t set in marble, and we’re given reason to hope another sequel is in the works.
Ruso rocks. Let’s hear it for those Romans.Pub Date: March 1, 2008
ISBN: 978-1-59691-232-8
Page Count: 400
Publisher: Bloomsbury
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 2008
O'Brien proves to be the Oliver Stone of literature, reiterating the same Vietnam stories endlessly without adding any insight. Politician John Wade has just lost an election, and he and his wife, Kathy, have retired to a lakeside cabin to plan their future when she suddenly disappears. O'Brien manages to stretch out this simple premise by sticking in chapters consisting of quotes from various sources (both actual and fictional) that relate to John and Kathy. An unnamed author — an irritating device that recalls the better-handled but still imperfect "Tim O'Brien" narrator of The Things They Carried (1990) — also includes lengthy footnotes about his own experiences in Vietnam. While the sections covering John in the third person are dry, these first-person footnotes are unbearable. O'Brien uses a coy tone (it's as though he's constantly whispering "Ooooh, spooky!"), but there is no suspense: The reader is acquainted with Kathy for only a few pages before her disappearance, so it's impossible to work up any interest in her fate. The same could be said of John, even though he is the focus of the book. Flashbacks and quotes reveal that John was present at the infamous Thuan Yen massacre (for those too thick-headed to understand the connection to My Lai, O'Brien includes numerous real-life references). The symbolism here is beyond cloying. As a child John liked to perform magic tricks, and he was subsequently nicknamed "Sorcerer" by his fellow soldiers — he could make things disappear, get it? John has been troubled for some time. He used to spy on Kathy when they were in college, and his father's habit of calling the chubby boy "Jiggling John" apparently wounded him. All of this is awkwardly uncovered through a pretentious structure that cannot disguise the fact that there is no story here. Sinks like a stone.
Pub Date: Oct. 1, 1994
ISBN: 061870986X
Page Count: 320
Publisher: N/A
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 15, 1994
A mind-bending mystery, an insightful exploration of parent-child relationships, and a cautionary tale about bitterness and...
A young man seeking catharsis probes old wounds and unleashes fresh pain in this expertly crafted stand-alone from Edgar finalist Gaylin (If I Die Tonight, 2018, etc.).
Quentin Garrison is an accomplished true-crime podcaster, but it’s not until his troubled mother, Kate, fatally overdoses that he tackles the case that destroyed his family. In 1976, teenagers Gabriel LeRoy and April Cooper murdered 12 people in Southern California—Kate’s little sister included—before dying in a fire. Kate’s mother committed suicide, and her father withdrew, neglecting Kate, who in turn neglected Quentin. Quentin intends for Closure to examine the killings’ ripple effects, but after an interview with his estranged grandfather ends in a fight, he resolves to find a different angle. When a source alleges that April is alive and living in New York as Renee Bloom, Quentin is dubious, but efforts to debunk the claim only uncover more supporting evidence, so he flies east to investigate. Renee’s daughter, online film columnist Robin Diamond, is preoccupied with Twitter trolls and marital strife when Quentin calls to inquire about her mom’s connection to April Cooper. Robin initially dismisses Quentin but, upon reflection, realizes she knows nothing of Renee’s past. Before she can ask, a violent home invasion hospitalizes her parents and leaves Robin wondering whom she can trust. Artfully strewn red herrings and a kaleidoscopic narrative heighten tension while sowing seeds of distrust concerning the characters’ honesty and intentions. Letters from April to her future daughter written mid–crime spree punctuate chapters from Quentin's and Robin’s perspectives, humanizing her and Gabriel in contrast with sensationalized accounts from Hollywood and the media.
A mind-bending mystery, an insightful exploration of parent-child relationships, and a cautionary tale about bitterness and blame.Pub Date: July 2, 2019
ISBN: 978-0-06-284454-5
Page Count: 368
Publisher: Morrow/HarperCollins
Review Posted Online: April 13, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 1, 2019
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