The Drowned, by John Banville review: 'his characters are rooted in life'
Why are John Banville’s Strafford and Quirke novels so good? Perhaps because the author is not a crime writer, but rather a novelist in whose books crime happens, writes Allan Massie
John Banville writes crime like nobody else. His Strafford and Quirke novels, set in the now long-vanished Ireland of the late 1950s or early 60s, are social as well as criminal studies, as much concerned with the private and family lives of his regular characters as the usually nasty murders with which they have to concern themselves. Quirke, the state pathologist. depressive and alcoholic, was widowed two novels ago. Still mourning his wife, he is presently lodging in his daughter Phoebe's flat.
Strafford, detective inspector, is an unusual member of the Gardai, being a Protestant (though not a churchgoer), a member of the old land-owning class, now in decline. Strafford is now forming an attachment with Phoebe; he and Quirke have always disliked each other, and Strafford is even a little afraid of Quirke.
That's the background. The story opens with a loner who has been fishing in the sea and comes upon a car abandoned in a field, the passenger door open. Then a man emerges from the rocky beach, saying his wife has been drowned. Readers of Banville's last novel, however, will have little doubt that things are not as he says they are.
The loner, Wymmes, who turns out to be a déclassé member of the old Ascendancy and also to have a history of molesting children, suggests they should telephone the Gardai from a house up the hill. It is occupied by a holidaying couple from Dublin. The atmosphere, seen through Wymmes's eyes, seems strange.
The investigation is slow. Strafford is an honest and sympathetic detective, but as much occupied with his private life as the case. Conversations, both private and dutiful, are halting, with more left unsaid than spoken. Strafford always seems shy of asking questions. You often wonder why he joined the police; so, indeed, does he. There's a scene with his estranged wife which is both sad and funny. She now wants a divorce but, divorce being illegal in Ireland, this would require him to go to England and to provide evidence of infidelity.
Why is Banville so good? One might begin by saying that he is not a crime writer, but rather a novelist in whose books crime happens. His characters are rooted in life. Murder isn't the work of the criminal fraternity, though members of that underworld may have a minor role, but the books are as far from criminal and police procedure as any story with murder at its heart can be. Indeed, there is very little of police procedure in Strafford's investigation, and not only because for much of the time he hasn't much clue of how to proceed.
Yet the charm of these books is that they offer a captivating picture of Dublin, Wexford and Irish society in the decades before anyone in the Republic imagined the country would be come a "Celtic Tiger". Life is is still slow, the mood autumnal, for Banville, born in 1945, is re-creating the country and society of his youth - indulging himself in this recreation. He has a sympathy, a tenderness for his characters, and evidently takes a deep, purring pleasure in recreating a now all-but vanished culture.
He writes beautifully too - something that is often a weakness in a novelist, but not here. And then Strafford is one of the most unexpected fictional policemen - unsure of himself, shy, not quick on the uptake, a decent man whom most he comes into contact with find tiresome. He may be a bit wet; certainly he is unsure of himself. In print however he is an engaging character.
There are slow passages in these novels that some would call self-indulgent. I love them, and reckon Banville has earned the right to present things as he sees them. I get more pleasure from the Strafford & Quirke books that from any other crime writer working today.
The Drowned, by John Banville, Faber, £18.99
Comments
Want to join the conversation? Please or to comment on this article.