This is my review of The Son by Philipp Meyer.

This saga covering five generations of the McCullough family portrays the creation of the state of Texas as an example of a central theme of history – survival of the fittest as a succession of invaders seize and exploit the land for themselves, often destroying the landscape in the process. In this case, "the dry rocky place it is today" was once a green land of deep black soil, trees, tall grass, "even the steepest hillsides overrun with wildflowers".

The viewpoint switches on a three chapter cycle: Colonel Eli McCullough, tough and vengeful, even psychopathic, made acquisitive by harsh experience, who survives capture by the Comanche Indians as a teenager to become head of a major cattle and oil dynasty; his granddaughter Jeanne Anne, a "chip off the old block" who carries on his work; his son Peter, sensitive and introspective, so dismissed as weak, his whole life blighted by the guilt of the family's casual massacre of an old Mexican family, rivals for land. Ironically Ulises Garcia, a descendant of both families, may prove a worthier inheritor of the Colonel's wealth than his pampered great-great-grandchildren who have lost their fighting spirit. Running three main threads in parallel may confuse the reader, and for me it detracted from the dramatic tension of some key events, but it helps to remind one continually of the connections between the characters, the causes and effects of their actions.

Although at times it may seem little more than a swashbuckling western or prequel to a Dallas-type soap, this is raised above the average by the depth of Meyer's research. Too often, chunks of this are planted in the middle of the drama, but some passages are fascinating, such as the detailed description of how Indians made ingenious use of every part of a buffalo, leaving only the heart within the rib-cage to show the gods they were not greedy, or the chilling account of exactly how a teenage white boy turned native would set about preserving his first scalp.

The well-knotted ending enhanced my opinion of the story after some lengthy periods of frustration in which I wished Meyer had worked a little harder on his dialogue and character development – inevitably thin at times with so many players, and that he had been more ruthless in leaving out some minor scenes to leave more space for "showing" rather than the "telling" which is often too dominant. These shortcomings, such as the corny Hollywood-style of communication adopted by Eli's Comanche companions around 1850, place this book closer to airport blockbuster than literary fiction. I'm sure it will sell very well, it is impressive but not in the same league as Cormac McCarthy with his mindblowing prose.

This will inspire many to revisit the history of the development of the west, but in the meantime a glossary of e.g. Mexican terms used and of some historical characters mentioned would have been useful.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

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