Michael Connelly - The Narrows (2004)
"Stay out of the narrows," the children of Los Angeles are told. Of Connelly's 14th novel, which takes its name from the L.A. flood drainage system, it is advice best taken -- if you are new to his work, that is. Because The Narrows is essentially both a coming together of all Connelly's work up to this point, and, I think, a renaissance. If you're a long-term reader, disregard it entirely. Dive in. Indeed, you probably already have.
The Poet is back in business; the serial killer escaped at the conclusion of Connelly's novel of the same name. The official word, though, was that he had been killed. But now he's surfaced again, and leads the FBI to a site in the barren Mojave desert where they begin to uncover fresh victims. The FBI brings in agent Rachel Walling, who worked the original case, as an advisor. Meanwhile, in L.A., an old acquaintance of Harry Bosch's dies. His widow comes to the retired homicide-detective-turned-PI and asks him to investigate, citing some very suspicious circumstances that suggest the death was anything but natural. Eventually, the two cases mesh together as Bosch comes to tackle possibly the most dangerous criminal he's ever faced.
The pre-publication buzz about this novel was remarkable -- helped along no doubt by the fact that no advanced copies were doled out, destined in the end for sites like eBay. The level of hype may be part of the reason why I'm a little disappointed. Hell, not very though, it's still a terrific book. Although while I was suspecting it might be Connelly's best, it's not quite.
As I've said, The Narrows is a melding of all his work to date. As a result, it is actually not quite as convincing, or real, as all the other Bosch novels unfailingly are. Connelly has always been excellent at stitching his work into real-life; other authors often try, but the result can seem perfunctory and vacuous. Here, though, while the copious references might absolutely delight some fans, I thought he went slightly over the top, referencing to such an extent that it sometimes becomes rather surreal, making this book neither of this world nor quite of the fictional one -- it seems to exist in an awkward limbo. Sometimes, the touches are magical, but here I think he's trying slightly too hard -- after all, the reader is all too aware of the true nature of Connelly's world, and the fact that these characters and events don't exist in reality, just their own internal one -- even if it's nice to think that, somewhere, they may do, and no matter how many times they chat about the movie Blood Work. (It was nice to see Ian Rankin, though, if only in pictorial rather than corporeal form!)
All that above, though, is just me being pedantic and silly. Because, when it comes right down to it, I did love this book. I didn't even mind too much that we don't spend a lot of time in L.A., Connelly's evocation of which is masterful and a great strength of his series. After a while, I didn't at all miss the exceptional passages about the city. Mainly because I didn't have time to, the plot moves at such fast pace (possibly, too much so). It's slick, engrossing, and interlocks just as excellently as it did in The Poet. I certainly would not be surprised if Connelly, and his characters, came back from this work even stronger than before. Considering that he's probably the best crime writer in America, that bodes incredibly well. He's also the most accomplished crime writer I know at keeping his series fresh, and once again there's a wealth of new directions he could go after this.
The Narrows is very well-written, very enjoyable, and very clever. It shows a crime-writer writing as crime-writers write best. The conclusion, incorporating the aforementioned narrows, is tense and, along with a nice twist, forms an excellent culmination to the book.
The last word, though, must go to Bosch. Almost stereotypically fascinating, he stands out because he is probably the least static protagonist in all crime fiction. Both his situation and his character are continually undergoing an evolution, and of course even more is to come now that he's discovered he's a parent:
"All I knew was that I didn't want to teach her anything. I felt tainted by the paths I had taken in my life and the things I knew. I had nothing from it I wanted her to have. I just wanted her to teach me."
Posted by Fiona Walker in Book Reviews | Permalink

