In the Woods in bruges in the forest in termission.mp3 (3.4 MB)
by Tana French
Hodder Headline Ireland, 2007http://www.tanafrench.com
Wrapped with a Bow
Hurrah to Tana French for her Edgar Award nomination! In the Woods is currently up for Best Novel by an American Author.
Is this is a mystery itself, as Tana French was raised in places like Malawi and Italy and has lived in Dublin since 1990?
Um, no. She's a US ex-pat like Ingrid Black's character Saxon.
Webmaster Note: Critical Mick has a terrible personal story about Tana French's In the Woods....
I stood wondering what I would do if the huge stranger staggered up. My knees spasmed. If I moved I would trip over the pattern on the tile floor. I'd cut my face. I'd smack my head.
Seconds after I've dialled 999, the letterbox flap clacked. That's the Dublin equivalent of a bell. I flailed to the front door, opened it. Behind the flashing badge stood an imposing moustached man in a Brown Thomas suit. "Detective, Keatingstown Station. The Burglary in Process-?"
"He's in the kitchen- Good God, Detective, he's a massive bastard. I'd crept down stairs, sneaking out of bed to try a Laura Lippman. I mean a Mark Leslie. Writing my book reviews at 4 AM. This intruder was drinking the coffee I'd timered to perk. He had his face in my family fridge!"
My mouth was as far from control as my knees. I roared but words weren't capturing the surprise. The only thing as loud as my chest had been the outrage at seeing the signed first edition of Tana French's In the Woods under the intruder's elbow. He knew it'd be worth something. Being a literate invader- somehow this held him to higher standards. Now, minutes after the left hook and vengeances promised, I took my deep breath and counted to ten.
"I surprised a thief, Detective, while he was looting my kitchen. I tied his shoelaces together, and held him at bay with this."
The Detective glanced. "Would ye mind setting it aside?" I stopped waving the ten-inch kitchen knife before him. I led the way.
"Howyis Brickie."
"Ah! Detective Sergeant! How're ye keeping?"
So it's not just a euphemism when the newsreaders say a suspect was Well Known To The Gardai. I watched, learning.
"And when we had you in Monday afternoon for questioning, you're only after swearing this life was all behind you," the detective levelled a weary stare.
"Ach, Sergeant, ye known how short everyone gets in the months after Christmas. We're all in the same boat."
Never trusting an eye off the cornered monster, the Detective Sergeant motioned to me. "Have ye forgotten the Gardai advice that if you hear an intruder, stay upstairs and call it in? You just thank Jaysus there was no blood spilt with that carver, I'd have no choice but to run you in for attempted manslaughter. Just threatening him with it, you've committed assault with a deadly weapon."
I was in shock. I said nothing.
The authority wasn't through. "People are killed dead in these confrontations. Over what? DVD players that would have been binned in a few years anyway. Whole rest of lives, just gone."
"You're not happy that I disarmed a burglar and handed him to you wrapped with a bow?"
"Oh, we've a fair idea on our own, in the Gardai, who the active housebreakers are around this city. We keep the likes of Brickie on close watch, and lift 'em when they've the hot goods in their hands- not some daft Rambo homeowner's blood."
I felt like an idiot, one who had almost become a stone dead ex-idiot. The cop had been here within two minutes. They had had this known suspect under surveillance. Brickie- that's what the Detective had called him- folded huge hands meekly and sat shamefaced. The officer produced a pair of cuffs.
"I'm so sorry, Detective Sergeant- I hadn't known that's the way it happens in reality. I just watch TV, read a lot of Irish crime novels. Even ones as good as In the Woods by Tana French, books that speak authoritatively about what cops in this country do in the course of an investigation- I just can't believe-"
"Believe, Mick, this is as real as it gets." I hadn't felt a reprimand sting this way since primary school. "Climb yourself upstairs, now, and we'll forget about the knife. You might hear some noises, but you just stay up there with your eyes shut tight. I'll have uniforms come by in the morning for a statement. Jaysus! Challenging Brickie with a kitchen carver that size. Thank Jaysus it's the pair of yis who will be waking up tomorrow morning and getting on with your lives, instead of just one."
On the way through the front room, those violent noises beginning, I left the carving knife in the Bowmore Scotch Whiskey box. I hid Tana French under the bed where my wife and infant slept innocently on. From now in it would all be Erma Bombesques and Canadian werewolves for me. Full fat milk. The opposite of crime.
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An hour after silence, the letterflap clacked. The quaking from shots of Bowmore was worse than the adrenaline tremble they'd been called in to calm. When I finally got the door open, the petite twentysomething with the Garda flashlight and truncheon was apologetic. "Sorry, this estate's streets are like a maze. Are ye the one who called in a Burglary in Process?"
"Come on in, Guard, I'll give you that statement now. The Detective said later, I mean, I wasn't expecting you until the morning… But I'm up, all the same. Come in!"
"Sorry, what detective do you mean?"
"The one who had the suspect under surveillance. The one who arrested the housebreaker and took him away."
"There's no detective on duty until morning." She whistled. "But, Jaysus! Someone took something away, sure!"
The ground floor was cleared out. As there wasn't a stick of furniture left, Brickie and his mate had stabbed the carving knife inches deep into the mantle.
"Jaysus!" swore the real Guard. "You're lucky you didn't go downstairs!"
I screamed all my frustration into a furious series of drunken left hooks at the kitchen wall. The Guard jumped, startled, and lashed out my tooth with her nightstick.
may not actually be true
Everyone asks: What the hell does that have to do with Tana's French's Edgar-nominated debut, In the Woods?
Critical Mick says: Detectives who are not who they appear to be. Real procedure. Real crime, in all its everyday horror, not a string of entertaining, unlikely murders. Deception, an unlikely assailant. Tana French has put her name to a book worth stealing, and worth fighting over..
Check out Declan Burke's interview with Tana French on Crime Always Pays.
And a nice little YouTube inteview with Tana French on BookOpinion.
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