#Review - The Last Thing to Burn by Will Dean

The Last Thing to Burn
Will Dean
Hodder & Stoughton, 7 January 2021
Available as: HB, 256pp, e, audio
Source: Advance e-copy via NetGalley
ISBN: 9781529307054

I'm grateful to the publisher for an advance e-copy of The Last Thing to Burn via NetGalley.

Gosh.

This is a scorching, claustrophobic and intense thriller that you'll want to read from behind the sofa, if that makes sense. Its protagonist, a woman everyone calls "Jane" ('My name isn't Jane') is in a desperate situation, robbed of her identify, her family and (almost) all agency yet possessing a steely determination to survive - for her own sake, for her parents' and above all for her sister, who will suffer if Jane ('My name isn't Jane') despairs and finds a way to die.

Thanh Dao - her real name - is from Vietnam. She and her sister were trafficked to the UK in a shipping container with 17 others (16 survived). While her sister works off the cost of her passage in a Manchester nail bar, Thanh Dao has been sold on to a brutish farmer called Lenn. They live alone in his ramshackle cottage on a great flat expanse of land which Len works. Thanh Dao cooks and cleans, obeying all Lenn's wishes - what to cook on what day, exactly how brown a sausage should be fried, how to meet his needs in the bedroom. When Lenn is displeased, even over minor things, Thanh Dao is punished - one by one, her remaining possessions are burned (she has few things left, a handful of things - everything else in the book is Lenn's (his food, his bed, his willow logs in his Rayburn stove, his keys, his house, his land) or his (dead) mother's (the clothes Thanh Dao wears, the cloths she uses because he won't provide her with tampons). She's under perpetual threat that if she runs away or even if she kills herself, her sister Kim-Ly will suffer for it.

It is a cold, violent and suffocating life, the wide horizons and open fields a cruel lie as Thanh Dao, often in pain, lives from day to day, sustaining herself by reading her sister's letters and an old dog-eared copy of Of Mice and Men. Her suffering is so intense, so unrelieved that at times this book is almost painful to read. That's even before factoring in the reader's foresight - which Thanh Dao shares  - that worse is in store. She's never allowed to leave the farm, not to visit the shops, to see a doctor or to chat with a neighbour. Len has cameras around the house and reviews 'the tapes' every night (chatting about the state of the farm) before punishing any failings (Was Lenn's pie a little cold? Has Thanh Dao neglected to paint over the mould spores in his bathroom?) and unlocking his TV to watch Match of the Day or the snooker. Doors are never to be closed in his house - if Thanh Dao goes to use his bathroom at the back, she must leave the door open. On that flat farm, as Len often points out, he can see the house from anywhere. Thanh Dao can't walk out - he's seen to that - she can't call for help and, as I have said, she can't even die.

I honestly don't know when I read anything as dark as this. Often, I didn't want to know what happened next, how bad things could get. At the same time, I had to know, I had to be there with Thanh Dao as she sustains herself with memories of home, her parents, joyful meals (she offers to make Lenn proper home cooked meals, to grow vegetables, herbs and spices - but he just wants what his mother gave him: build in the bag cod, and white bread, from the Spar shop, sausages cooked right, pies). I had to be there as Thanh Dao keeps her courage, carrying out tiny acts of defiance. I had to be there as, driven to ever greater lengths of desperation - things happen that raise the stakes yet higher - Thanh Dao somehow holds onto her sense of self.

The lines are starkly drawn; Lenn is a brute and an oaf, but a clever brute and an oaf. We know early on some of what he's done, and that's bad enough, but there are hints of worse throughout the book and even late in the story, more revelations of just how bad he is. At times, Thanh Dao is surprised by what one might see as small kindnesses. At times, Lenn complacently boasts that 'It's all right, ain't it, this life... We're warm, under decent roof, full bellies, together, not all bad, is it?' Does he believe this - even as he knowingly inflicts pain? Is he parroting something he's been brought up with? Somewhere in that bleak landscape, that house of horror, there's an answer, a reason, for Lenn and the reader understand that: but he's such a monster that one draws back, at the end, from wanting to understand that darkest of mysteries.

Certainly, Thanh Dao isn't taken in by a man whose answer to her toothache is to fetch his pliers from the shed. She is a woman at full stretch, a woman whose energy, focus and resources are completely committed to one cause - survival - with nothing left over. Or so she thinks - as things get worse and worse, Thanh Dao does find space in her heart for more, in glorious scenes (From nothing more than two women willing it to happen: two women, strangers, friends, forcing their own warmth together to make a family of sorts out there')' that just had me gobsmacked at Dean's writing, his vision and his empathy.

Yes this is a dark book but it's also often uplifting, a study of courage and endurance and even love. I knew that Will Dean could write - his Tuva Moodyson crime novels are glorious - but The Last Thing to Burn is just revelatory. You want this book, you really do.

For more information about The Last Thing to Burn, see the publisher's website here.

Review - Deadly Game by Matt Johnson

Deadly Game (Robert Finlay No 2)
Matt Johnson
Orenda Books, 15 March 2017
PB, 352pp, e-book

I'm grateful to Orenda books for a review copy.

First, full disclosure. I reviewed Johnson's first book, Wicked Game, on a blogtour last year and my review is quoted inside this one (Yay! Fame! Fortune! Prizes...) I also attended the launch of that book at which the author spoke very movingly of his experiences in the Met Police and the PTSD which was part of his reason for writing these books.

I'm also reviewing this on 22 Match 2017, the day of a terrorist attack in Westminster close to where I work, and I spent this afternoon watching the incredibly brave and professional police managing the situation.

So I may seem a teensy bit biased about this book, which I enjoyed greatly, but I'll try not to be.

In fact, it's actually quite a hard book to write about. Johnson's writing isn't perfect but it has something, a distinctive voice, a blend of the matter of fact and the down right incredible, which makes it compulsively readable.

I'll say a little bit more about both these aspects in a moment. First, in case you haven't read Wicked Game, the setup.

Inspector Robert Finlay is a bit of a misfit. Ex SAS, then Royal Protection, he had just moved into uniformed policing - with a lot to learn - when he got caught up in a terrorist campaign that seemed to target him and a group of his ex-Regiment comrades. Johnson pursued this thrillery concept with zest, having Finlay dust off a cache of weapons and mix it with the bad guys, including, at one stage, taking pot shots at SO19, the Met's armed response specialists. (Bit awkward in the canteen afterwards, obviously).

Things got straightened out and blame for the killings laid at the door of Monoghan, an MI5 maverick. In Deadly Game, the Met are trying to find a role for an Inspector who's now shunned by his uniform colleagues as a bullet magnet but isn't qualified to be a detective. In the end he's attached to a human trafficking taskforce. (Johnson refers throughout to the trafficked women as 'slaves' which is either a bit quaintly old-fashioned or plain non-PC: take your pick. See also references to a WPC, a top firearms officer, as a 'girl').

At the same time, he has business remaining with MI5 over the Monaghan debacle, and his liaison there also tries to use him to get a line on an ex SAS man who's just published his memoirs. Involvement in that inevitably leads Finlay into deep trouble, in a fast paced adventure blending conspiracy theories, a 'state of the world' sub-plot reminiscent of a Richard Hannay story, and an expose of the human trafficking racket.

It's all unbearably tense, with what I'm coming to see as Johnson's characteristic blend of deeply credible detail (weapons, procedures, tactics, inter-Service relationships, personalities) with some frankly fantastic twists of fate, actions, and events. If one wanted to criticise, the latter might be a sufficient excuse, although I think that would be unfair as they don't in any way hamper enjoyment of the story. I'll only give one example - because I don't want to spoil the story - which is when a key fact becomes known because, at just the right moment, one of the trafficked women escapes and is picked up by the police.

If you want every last detail of your books believable, things like this - and there are more - may be a problem for you. Yet I find myself not particularly bothered about these things. Why? Is it because I'm biased (see above)?

I don't think so. I think the reason is rather different and goes to the heart of the appeal of Johnson's writing.

First, I've learned to be wary of saying 'X is just not believable'. It seems to be a fact in today's world that the unbelievable happens more often than you would think, and that a writer striving simply for believability might actually have to tone down the real world rather to write something convincing - and where's the fun in that?

Secondly, Johnson is, simply, a born storyteller. He does it all with such verve, switching between Finlay's first person narration and as much third-person following other points of view as is needed to paint the background -  but without ever getting bogged down. In so doing we are introduced to facts Finlay doesn't know (and never learns), characters he hardly meets (but who populate the pages of the book like figures in a soap opera, suggesting there's a whole world out there beyond what we're told) and events that took place long before. It all creates such a convincing impression of depths, of a teeming community of spies, police and crooks, that you can - well I could - forgive the odd apparently far fetched plot feature.

Finally - Johnson has been there. He won't, obviously, talk about stuff he shouldn't, but perhaps we can take on trust that, yes, the unlikely does happen, cases are moved on by strokes of luck, and both criminals and spooks do indulge in baroque extremes of behaviour from time to time (I'm looking at you, MI6 man Howard Green...)

So, to sum up: this isn't a slick book, it has a raw quality such that the unlikely events described actually seem to make the story more credible. Again I go back to John Buchan and his 'shockers'. They weren't elevated literary writing perhaps but they were - and are - cracking good stories, still readable after a hundred years or more. For sheer readability and entertainment I'd see Johnson in that tradition. But unlike Buchan, at the same time, he's exploring Finlay's slow recovery from PTSD - not at all a quick or easy theme, but a journey I'm looking forward to him continuing in future books.

To sum up even more: READ THIS BOOK!