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Dr Murray Watson, of the University of Glasgow's English department, is not as happy a man as he ought to be. He's arranged a sabbatical to research the life of Archie Lunan, the author of a slender and largely forgotten book of poems, dead thirty years ago in sailing accident that might have been suicide. The year off will get him away from the rather sticky atmosphere of his department, where he is having an affair with the wife of the department head, Fergus Baine. But he has become estranged from his brother Jack, an artist whom he blames for exploiting their father's final days in a care home, and the materials he has been able to amass for his Lunan biography are most unpromising. Furthermore, most of those who knew Archie are distinctly less than forthcoming. There is clearly a secret here, but Murray is beginning to wonder if he can ferret it out. He goes off to the Isle of Lismore, where Archie drowned and where Christie Graves, the woman with whom Archie was involved, still lives. Though she has refused him an interview, he hopes he can still persuade her to speak to him, for otherwise, what he has is next to nothing - a few tantalizing scraps, leads to an old acquaintance who has suddenly died, Archie's notes for a novel. Not enough to justify a sabbatical, especially in the face of the contempt his department head has for Archie. Lismore turns out to be a quagmire both literally and metaphorically. A dangerous one, threatening always to suck the unwary down into sinkholes from which they will not escape. It never stops raining and poor Murray winds up in a deserted bothy, trying desperately to stay warm, dry, and alive. Readers who get restive if a body hasn't shown up by chapter two will probably lack the patience to continue with this novel. They will be making a serious mistake. Much is frequently made about what is and what is not crime fiction, with those who disdain it assuming that any novel with more complex characters than a game of Clue "transcends the genre." Once again, Louise Welsh has demonstrated that crime fiction is sufficiently flexible, pliable, and elastic to allow for fully realized, interesting characters, brilliantly imagined settings, and themes worthy of serious thought, while still maintaining a foothold (however muddy in this case) in the genre. I can think of a number of other writers who pull off much the same feat and if they keep it up, as I hope they will, we may put this tired old argument to bed very soon. § Yvonne Klein is a writer, translator, and retired college English professor who lives in Montreal.
Reviewed by Yvonne Klein, May 2010
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Contact: Yvonne Klein (ymk@reviewingtheevidence.com)
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