This is my review of The Chessmen (The Lewis Trilogy Book 3) by Peter May.

The chessmen of the title are a reference to the medieval pieces carved by Norsemen mainly from walrus ivory and discovered on Lewis in the C19.

Peter May continues the winning formula of his vivid portrayal of the Outer Hebrides, battered by the elements, suffused with continually changing light, the source of strange legends and a rich but little-known social history. How is it that we have heard of the Tay Bridge disaster in which about 60 people died, but not of the wreck of the Iolaire which caused the death of more than 200 men who survived World War 1 only to perish on the rocks of their native island of Lewis? And I was prepared to suspend my disbelief over the disappearance of a loch in the opening chapter, since I knew that May must have researched examples of this occurrence.

The final part of a trilogy which leaves enough scope for at least another in the series, sees ex-policeman Fin returned to Lewis to live with his long-suffering childhood sweetheart Marsaili. His job to oversee security for a local estate brings him into troubled contact with poacher Whistler, the best friend from his youth whom we never knew he had. Further drama is supplied by the discovery of the murdered corpse of the former local pop star who also dominated another part of Fin's early life of which we have not heard before. Herein lies the problem of a series which, rather than move forward with fresh adventures, is rooted in flashbacks to recall the past. Some unfamiliar characters and new plot lines seemed to override and confuse my perception of Fin's early life, presumably in order to support the latest book.

Despite this, and the implausibility of some key aspects of the denouement, which is a feature of most thrillers, May produces an imaginative story which becomes ever more gripping as he builds up to the dramatic and unpredictable twists of the final chapters. He is better than most popular thriller writers at creating flawed characters for which one can feel some empathy, although I wish his "romantic" passages were a bit less corny.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 5 Stars

This is my review of The Ways of the World: (The Wide World – James Maxted 1) by Robert Goddard.

This old-style escapist page-turner contains Goddard's trademarks of a serpentine plot and cast of mainly stereotyped characters with apparent "goodies" who can never quite be trusted and "baddies" who sometimes come unexpectedly to the rescue.

Perhaps because he is at heart a historian, his books seem to work best when set in the past, as here in the Paris of the 1919 Peace Conference where aristocratic pilot Max pursues the mystery of his diplomat father's sudden violent death. After surviving World War 1 against the odds, Max discovers a kind of addiction to risk-taking, which will carry him on to further adventures in the planned trilogy.

Having recently visited Paris, I appreciated Goddard's attention to detail in the geographical setting of every scene – as when Max and a colleague drive down to the Seine by the Trocadero to look across at the Eiffel Tower. He even checked the weather to know that the Paris spring for 1919 was exceptionally cold and snowy.

I was unconvinced by Max's relationship with the Moriaty-type arch villain in the background, but it is best not to expect every twist to be plausible. Also, his driven courting of death eventually makes Max a less appealing hero, but perhaps this gives the plot a little more depth.

Goddard has clearly taken a risk himself with his loyal readers by ending the book "to be continued" with so many loose strands for two future novels. After the rollercoaster of his plots one is always left feeling a little let down at the last page. In this case, he contrives to resolve enough mystery to satisfy the reader "for the time being" but dangle sufficient intrigue to encourage them to return for more. It's a moot point whether it would have been better to make the novel appear more "self-contained".

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

This is my review of May We Be Forgiven by A. M. Homes.

When Harry breaks a taboo by having sex with his sick brother's wife, he has to deal with the chain of consequences. The author pulls no punches in presenting them all, be they macabre or mundane, with the same deadpan delivery, which may account for the emotional coldness of the book which some reviewers have noted.

After the ghoulish hook of the almost casually shocking opening chapters, the book settles down into a meandering farce, a kind of black sitcom in which Harry drifts through the often callous and smutty world of a series of quirky incidents, some of his own making but others the result of fate, which could be spawned indefinitely. Depending on your sense of humour, these may be sufficient to entertain you, but I was troubled by the hollowness of it all. This novel may be intended as a biting satire on contemporary American society, plus the back-cover blurb speaks of the two brothers' search for absolution, but I looked in vain for the thought-provoking insights, pyrotechnic displays of brilliant writing, or clever plot twists which would have made this clearly worth reading.

Holmes has a vivid imagination coupled with a remarkable lack of inhibition and a sharp sense of comedy, but even with the small font size, the book reaches its surprisingly soft-centred ending perhaps 150 pages too late.

⭐⭐⭐ 3 Stars

This is my review of The Hamilton Case by Michelle de Kretser.

Although unlikeable in many respects and clearly an unreliable narrator, as in the portrayal of his charismatic rival Jaya, Stanley Alban Marriott Obeysekere, nicknamed "Sam", gripped me from the first page with his account of growing up in the early C20 as the grandson of a "mudaliyar" who had gained wealth and influence by assisting the British colonial administration of Ceylon. A successful lawyer with hopes of being the first "native" to be appointed as a judge by the British, Sam's decision to involve himself in "The Hamilton Case" has unforeseen consequences. In all this he remains wedded to his perception of the British way of life: "his veins have run with Bovril".

From the outset, an unexpected wry or brutal observation hits home, as when we are told how Sam's grandfather met his death after gallantly leaping into a lake to save a young English girl who had fallen overboard. In "extreme distress at seeing her … a sweet girl on the threshold of womanhood, being manhandled by a native," a friend "in understandable terror, confusion and distress…brought her oar crashing down" on his skull. For this she was of course absolved of all blame.

On reaching Part 3, I seemed to have strayed into a different book which had lost the plot. The short chapters cease to be so alluring as they flit between characters: Sam's eccentric mother, his wife, son, several servants, etcetera. Substance gives way to form, in a style that begins to pall – too wordy and contrived, over-poetical. Sometimes the prose is beautiful and striking, but too often it appears self-indulgent padding.

The book would have been strengthened by more frequent, ongoing release of information, "true" or otherwise, about "The Hamilton Case", the personality of Sam's enigmatic sister Claudia and the nature of their relationship, to establish these aspects as key underlying threads.

De Kretser has been original and ambitious in seeking to work on several levels to produce: a "good yarn" reminiscent of Somerset Maugham; a whodunnit; an exploration of a complex family; an examination of the cultural effects of colonialism. This even extends to capturing Sam's "perfect mimicry" of the British in such a phrase as, "in cahoots with some ne'er-do-wells". As a colleague bitterly observes, "at some point quotation had become our native mode. There was no original." The author is also bold in experimenting with the structure and style of the novel. In all this, I am not sure she succeeds, but I admire her for the attempt.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

This is my review of The Burgess Boys by Elizabeth Strout.

Brothers Jim and Bob Burgess escape the provincial world of Shirley Falls, Maine for employment as New York lawyers. In contrast to the ambitious high-flyer Jim, Bob is "a nice guy" but portrayed as a bit of a failure (despite being a qualified lawyer), whose borderline alcoholism may have its roots in his early childhood, when he played a part in the tragic event that blighted his family. When the brothers' dysfunctional nephew commits a criminal act against the Somali immigrants who have begun to arouse the suspicious resentment of the conservative white community of Shirley Falls, Jim and Bob are forced to revisit the town, and old memories.

The strongest aspect for me is the core of the book, the portrayal of the complex relationship between the two brothers, and there are some wry, realistic dialogues. On the other hand, my enthusiasm was eroded from the outset by the to my mind unnecessary device of using a prologue to provide a narrator's advance summary of some of the key facts of the book (more than I have above), with the implication that the following chapters are her "story of the Burgess kids", possibly including a degree of speculation since, "Nobody ever knows anyone".

The story tends to lack dramatic tension, since opportunities to develop or explore situations are frequently missed. Yet plots are probably less important to Elizabeth Strout than people's thoughts and behaviour. Although it is probably meant to be a kind of "stream of consciousness", the many long, rambling sentences with banal word repetition grated on me. This may be a cultural thing – a British reader's criticism of a style that is accepted as the norm in modern American writing. Also, the continual switching between at least six points of view make the story often seem unfocused.

So, I swung between thinking this either "in the mould of Anne Tyler" or "soft-centred women's magazine material". My doubts were allayed in Book 4 which, with an increase in pace and improvement in the quality of the writing, brings the threads together for the unpredictable ending which proves satisfying for those who like to be left with a little room to imagine what they wish.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

This is my review of Northline by Willy Vlautin.

Allison has missed out on her education, has low self-esteem and uses alcohol as an escape. When she is drunk, bad things happen to her, although her tragedy is limited by her ability to get paid work easily and to display a surprising competence when sober. In her imaginary conversations with the actor Paul Newman which never fail to draw her out of the darkest despair, he is always the voice of her revived reason and commonsense.

At first, I was predisposed to dislike a book which I expected to be a lightweight reworking of the well-worn theme of losers and drifters with "their hearts in the right place". In fact, the simple prose conveys a vivid sense of the life of ordinary people trying to make a living in cities like Las Vegas or Reno. In their resilience and acts of unexpected kindness to each other, they arouse sympathy and respect. Even Allison's abusive lover Jimmy has redeeming features – his thirst for knowledge, even if it leads to bigoted opinions, or his desire to make a fresh start in a state like Montana beyond a "northline".

Vlautin's measured development of a succession of personalities and gradual release of details is quite skilful. A short work, you could call it an example of "less is more". I also like the way that, at the end of a carefully constructed book, Vlautin avoids sentimentality by leaving certain points unresolved, rather like life.

Although the inclusion of a CD of the author's music designed to reflect the feel of the book seems at first a little self-indulgent and gimmicky, it proves slow, rhythmic, rather melancholy. Quite pleasant to listen to, it lacks the darker, more violent moments of the story, and seems to cover less varied emotions than the book itself.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars