Author: Tana French

Reader: Stephen Hogan

Short Review: The fourth book in French’s excellent Dublin Murder Squad series, read by the talented Stephen Hogan. Previous books in the series include In the Woods and The Likeness. They can be read out of order without spoiling the series.

Long Review: Each book in French’s series follows a different detective. Mick “Scorcher” Kennedy is lead detective in this novel, and he’s as tortured as his predecessors. He appeared in the third book in the series as a supporting character and seemed like a complete ass. Here, we get more of a sense of who he is and why. French loves to incorporate intricate psychological matter into her books, and she reaches a new high this time around. The case Kennedy works is centered in Broken Harbor, a broken down vacation community turned failed exurban development near Dublin. Kennedy’s family used to vacation there, and it holds a number of painful memories for him. As the case progresses, Kennedy also ends up caring for his mentally-ill sister Dinah. As their family history emerges, the setting and circumstances of Kennedy’s case seem particularly poignant.

Kennedy is investigating the murders of most of the Spain family–only the mother survives, and she is comatose when Kennedy gets the case. He’s training a new detective, Ritchie, and dispenses as much cop wisdom as he can think of as they work. The case itself is baffling, the department is a mess, as ever, and it seems like French made all of the knots too fast to untie for a while. I’ll say no more about the plot. I loved the book and the others in the series: In the Woods and The Likeness.

Hogan is a particularly good reader. He does a great job with a variety of different Irish accents, slipping from working class north Dublin to broad country to posh and back again. His pacing and diction are excellent. I’ll seek out other books he narrates.

Wild Decembers

Available from Audible.com

Author: Edna O’Brien

Reader: Suzanne Bertish

Short Review: A beautiful book, poorly served by bad audio quality and frequent mispronunciations.

Long Review: I’m a huge fan of O’Brien’s work, so I was intrigued to find her fantastic novel on Audible’s site. I was warned of the poor audio quality by other reviewers, but I decided to trudge on and see how I reacted to O’Brien’s rich, poetic prose read aloud.

The audiobook was clearly dubbed from CD to a downloadable file. Some remnants of the CDs remain, such as a direction to change CDs. That I could easily ignore. The hiss, flattened tone, and slubs I can’t. I know enough from hanging out in recording studios to know that someone could have corrected most of the audio problems in this version.

Even more irksome are the repeated mispronunciations of Irish words. I know that Irish is a difficult language to read and pronounce. Oh, how I know. But that’s all the more reason that the reader and editor should have done their homework and made sure to get those words right. Cú Chulainn is as vital to Irish myth as is Odysseus to Greek, and his name just isn’t that hard to say correctly. I could say the same thing of dozens of other words butchered in this audiobook.

Apart from the mispronunciations, Bertish is actually a very good reader, but I found them disconcerting and distracting. I also wondered why an English actress was chose to read such an Irish book. None of the characters who she voices would have her posh accent or diction.

The novel itself is masterful. O’Brien is one of the most important contemporary Irish novelists. Her prose is dense and poetic and beautiful. This exquisite book is set in a small rural town in the West, and it follows the progress of star-crossed lovers and neighbors whose generations’ long feud rattles an entire community. It explores women’s rights and station in 1970s Ireland, changing mores, farming, property rights, legal vagaries, and a hundred other things. I will read it again and again, but I’ll stick to the voices in my own mind henceforth.

Author: John Connolly

Reader: Steven Crossley

Short Review: A decent book with a major flaw, read beautifully by Steven Crossley. Connolly’s book starts out as a promising depiction of the interior life of a bookish, depressed boy with apparently undiagnosed epilepsy and OCD. Unfortunately, it continues on into an all-too-familiar series of retellings of classic fairytales, several of which villanize women for no clear reason. I expected and hoped for more from the book itself. Thankfully, I truly enjoyed Crossley’s narration, and allowed it to carry me through a book that otherwise left me scratching my head and feeling disappointed and maligned.

Long Review: I’m a true mythology buff, so I’ve read many books that recast fairytales and myths in new lights. Some authors do a wonderful job with such work–Neil Gaiman, Angela Carter, Anne Sexton, Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill, and T.H. White all come to mind as masters. But many others can’t meet the task and end up producing novels that can’t match the wonder of the original tales or modernize them in interesting, contemporary ways. I think Connolly’s book falls in that later group.

There are some shining moments in the novel. I love David’s wondrous relationship to books, and how that connects him to his mother, arguably the only positive female character in the book. Her explanation of how real stories feel about the inconsequential stories in newspapers is lovely, and will stay with me. The end of the book is also very appealing to me. I love thinking of the adult David continuing to serve books and being a good man, once all is said and done. In general, I think Connolly is a good writer with a good sense of pace and language. I think his take on sibling rivalry is interesting, as is his vision of a child’s relationship to reality, fantasy, and death. While I was listening early on, I enjoyed the book and the narration equally. It was when I was thinking about the book between listenings that I became frustrated.

What truly disappoints me is the misogynist twist Connolly gives most of the tales used in his book. Every major female character other than David’s mother is criticized for her eating habits or weight, sexual choices, appearance, strength, weakness, hunger . . . it’s too much and too common in the book to ignore. Two persistent villains are male, yes, but we expect a werewolf and a Trickster to be villains. I won’t quibble about the child-eating witches who show up in the book as villains, since they were villains in the original forms of the tales. But was it really necessary for Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and all of the other women who show up in the book to be morphed into disgusting, senseless villains? Even Rose, David’s step-mother, is attacked for eating too much and having sex out of wedlock. What is that about? Could Connolly think of no way to retell or change those classic tales without turning all of the female central characters into monsters? Why could none of the kind characters in the book who help David in the other world be female? It really makes me wonder about the author’s views on women. Over and over again, the misogyny forced me out of the story. If Connolly needed to make so many women villains, he should have given more thought to why he needed to do so and addressed that in the book. As it is, the thread seems to reveal more about Connolly than it does about David, and it leaves me loath to bother with the rest of Connolly’s catalog.

As angry as Connolly’s misogyny makes me, I stuck with the book because Crossley’s reading is downright beautiful. I fell for him as a narrator with In The Woods. If anything, his work improves with this novel. His voice is clear and layered, his diction is great, and he voices the different characters distinctly without making too much fuss. I will absolutely seek out more books read by Crossley. I wish we’d set up our review system here at Books For Ears so we review books and readers separately: Crossley gets five stars, Connolly gets 2, max.

Author: Tana French

Reader: Heather O’Neill

Short Review: Tana French’s strong second novel read beautifully by Heather O’Neill. In this sequel to In the Woods, we follow Cassie Maddox in a strange undercover murder investigation. Cassie gets back on her feet and then gets knocked right back off balance imitating her deceased doppelganger while looking for a killer, a motive, a weapon, and a lot of answers.

Long Review: In a strange series of events, Detective Maddox is called in to the murder investigation of someone who has stolen the identity of Cassie’s undercover persona, Lexie Madison. Sliding into her double’s life, Cassie has to find the actual identity of her doppelganger and who killed the fake Lexie, all the while trying to pretend to be Lexie, keep her love-life and career afloat, and recover from Operation Vestal.

I won’t say more about the plot. I will say that Heather O’Neill, who I’m not otherwise familiar with, did a fantastic job as a reader. She has a good Dublin accent, does a decent job with a Northern Irish accent, and, thankfully, can sing. Singing matters in this book because one of the major characters sings in several scenes, and I’m very glad not to be subjected to something hard to listen to. O’Neill has real skill as a reader, and I look forward to listening to more audio books she narrates.

I liked In the Woods but felt like it had a couple of flaws. French’s second novel is much improved. I prefer Cassie to Rob, the protagonist of the first novel, so I’m glad the author changed focus for this novel. Cassie was a major character in the previous book, and I was forever wishing French would drop Rob and switch to Cassie in that novel, since Rob clearly wasn’t thinking straight through most of the story. Cassie is a more reliable narrator, and also generally a more attractive character. She’s the kind of detective I think I’d want on my side, were I ever unfortunate enough to need a detective on my side. She recognizes her mistakes as she makes them, tries to keep the victim in mind as well as the killer, and is just generally intriguing and bright. The rest of French’s characters are likable and interesting as well. In many mysteries, the plot trumps the characters and once you’ve figured out “who done it” it’s hard to maintain interest in a cast of cardboard cut-outs. Thankfully, I was still interested in the fate of these people long after I’d puzzled out where French was going in the mystery.

 In the Woods

 Author: Tana French

 Reader: Steven Crossley

Short Review: This Edgar Award winning novel traces a murder in Ireland, following the detectives investigating the case and flashing back to an earlier, similar unsolved case. It is a good novel beautifully read by Crossley, but the novel itself annoys me in a few spots (which I won’t actually describe, because we try very hard to not throw spoilers about).

Long Review: This is French’s first novel, and it bodes well. Set in Dublin, the book follows detectives (Adam) Rob Ryan and Cassie Maddox as they investigate a puzzling murder case in the Dublin suburbs. A young girl is found dead on an archaeological site, and no motive or suspects present themselves. The case seems to echo one from Ryan’s childhood, though, and the connections between the two cases become obsessions for Ryan and Maddox.

I won’t say more about the plot of the book. I will say that Crossley is a very talented reader. The book is Rob’s first-person narrative, so Crossley plays Rob throughout. Though Rob is Irish, he was educated at a British boarding school, so has a posh English accent. Crossley has a wonderful voice and very good diction, but he doesn’t sound overly mannered or formal as he reads. Because the book is narrated by Rob, this is vital. First person narrators rarely sound like elocution professors, at least in my head. Also, Crossley generally does a good job with the Irish accents that crop up in the book, which makes a big difference to me.

Cassie really comes off as the protagonist, at least to me. She is at the center of French’s second book, The Likeness, and that alone makes me want to read it. Cassie is smart, funny, and strong, and really the sort of female character I wish would show up in every book and movie made from here on out.

The bits of the book that annoy me are part and parcel of the story, so I forgive the author. I think Ryan and Maddox are well-drawn characters. I just don’t always like Rob very much. Frankly, I want to throttle him. That’s really required by the book though, so I don’t hold it against French. I have read the book on paper as well as listened to the audiobook, and my reaction to the plot and to Ryan doesn’t really change from one format to the other.

 Short Review: A sweet, funny prequel to O’Carroll’s earlier trilogy about Agnes Brown, read with great energy, humor, and personality by the incomparable Donada Peters.

 Long Review: The Young Wan tells the story of Agnes Browne’s early life and her parents’ romance and marriage. Set in a 1940s working-class Dublin neighborhood, the book touches on the labor and Republican movements, the nascent women’s rights movement, the old Dublin markets, class warfare, Dublin’s flawed justice system, the power of the church, and a number of other weighty subjects without ever becoming heavy itself. The pain and difficulty of the most heartbreaking situations are alleviated throughout by humor and ingenuity, as Agnes Brown and her lifelong friend Marion find a solution for each problem.

It’s not a magnum opus, this book, but it’s fun and clever. Donada Peters’ narration is wonderful, producing an audiobook that is better than its paper forebear. This book is a great example of audiobook’s role in the development of storytelling: The narrator does what a great storyteller would, giving voice to several different characters, interpreting the novel as a great actor should, and giving her audience a peek into events (however imagined) they weren’t able to witness personally. I recommend the book, and I think you’d be best served by listening to it rather than reading it on paper.

 Translator: Seamus Heaney
 Reader: George Guidall

 Short Review: Heaney’s excellent translation read well, though not perfectly, by Guidall.

 Long Review: You know already whether or not you want to listed to Beowulf as an audiobook. There are those of us who perk right up at the thought of listening to epic poetry read aloud, and those who go out of their way to avoid such theatrics. I, obviously, am in the former camp. I can think of nothing better to listen to than epic poetry. Frankly. I think the existence of epic poetry is one of the only arguments proving our species is worth keeping around. Beowulf matters, and I make sure to read it every few years. I’ve read multiple translations, and listened to parts of it recited by a number of poets and translators and actors. I love the epic, and I think Heaney’s translation is masterful.

I was sad to find that Guidall’s narration fell so flat for me. Guidall is a well-respected audio book narrator, and I expected a bit more from him. His narration is clear enough and well-paced, and his diction is good. But the words don’t sizzle in his mouth, and they should. He doesn’t declaim as a bard would. I am, perhaps, very hard to please in this particular case, but I know I’d be happier if Derek Jacobi, Philip Pullman, or Campbell Scott had read it. Still and all, it’s not bad. It’s just not as great as it should be.

Long Review: I’m guessing a lot of readers aren’t familiar with either O’Faolain or Molloy, and that breaks my heart. Molloy is an accomplished Irish actress who established her career at the Abbey and Gate Theaters in Dublin, went on the the Royal Shakespeare Company, and then became one of the go-to actors for Brian Friel’s plays. Her voice, diction, accent, and performance are ideal for Kathleen, the speaker and protagonist.

O’Faolain, an Irish journalist, rose to prominence by publishing her first memoir, Are You Somebody? She shocked the remaining traditionalists in Ireland with the book by openly speaking of her bisexuality, her sexual freedom, her break from the church, and so much else that so many people were expected to leave in the closet at home. Sadly, we won’t have the chance to hear much more from O’Faolain. She died this May of cancer, having published her two memoirs, the engrossing The Story of Chicago May, and this lovely novel.

The book is told in the voice of Caitlin de Burca/Kathleen Burke, an ex-pat Irish travel writer living in London; questioning her career and personal life; dealing with various griefs; researching an obscure bit of Irish history, and trying to use it as the basis for her first historical novel. Kathleen’s best friend dies, and she finds herself lonely, separated from family, and essentially anchorless. She decides to go home to Ireland and research a sensational upper-class divorce case that took place in the wake of the potato famine. During her research, she winds up befriending a bristly small-town librarian, an innkeeper and his family, and a married middle-aged ex-pat who becomes her lover.

As the novel progresses, O’Faolain includes excerpts from the book her protagonist is writing. Through these, and through Kathleen’s own thoughts and discussions of sexual mores, adultery, pregnancy, motherhood, and love, we get an interesting view of women’s sexuality in Ireland over more than a century. One of the things I found particularly touching about the book is that Kathleen is open about her own transgressions against friends, family members, and fidelity itself. She doesn’t make excuses for her behavior, but does look into its genesis. That is still a rare thing in literary fiction. We live in a world that still pillories sexually transgressive women, and Ireland is perhaps even more judgmental about women’s promiscuity than the US is, if that’s possible. O’Faolain’s plot breaks from that arc. Instead, Kathleen thinks about her relationship to men and transgression and chooses a path for herself.

I always favor authors who sketch flawed but lovable characters, and O’Faolain is certainly in that camp. Add to that her decision to write about Ireland, passion between middle-aged–and even elderly–characters, historical research, and about the state of Irish women’s rights over the last century and a half and you get a novel tailor made for, well, me. Thanks Nuala O’Faolain–you have given me yet another wonderful gift through your writing. I will cherish it. And I will miss you–you were a gem.

Author: Roddy Doyle

Reader: Ger Ryan

Short Review: A novel featuring the engaging lead character from Doyle’s The Woman Who Walked Into Doors gloriously read in the perfect Dublin accent by Ger Ryan.

Long Review: Paula Spencer is a recovering alcoholic, recovering longtime victim of domestic violence, widow, house-cleaner, and mother weighed down by a lot of grief. The story could be awash in bathos, but it’s not. It escapes the bathetic because Doyle knows how to write, and Ryan knows how to act, and Paula appears to be winning her own personal war.

I’ve been a fan of Doyle’s for years, in part because he is able to write women far better than a lot of male writers can. I don’t know if we’re really that hard to understand, or if a lot of men who write never take the trouble to learn how to do it. Returning to Paula as his protagonist for a second novel must have been difficult–these can’t have been light books to write. But I love seeing her return, and I particularly love listening to this book because it is so personal and succinct. I lived in Dublin for a while once upon a time, and a North Dublin accent is one of my favorite in the world, in part because it is so often paired with plain, sharp speech in my experience. As an audio book, Paula Spencer is great because the prose is spare yet engaging, the characters are limited, and the plot is easy to follow. All of that combines to allow Ryan to really act as she narrates, and she is an immensely talented actor.

I’m sure some people would be turned off by the weight of the story–addiction and abuse are hard subjects to deal with for so many of us. But I don’t think that should scare anyone off. Yes, Paula Spencer and her kids live a hard life. But it’s a life worth seeing, and hearing. This book displays Paula’s triumphs, however small.

Overall, what I love most about the book is that it is entirely free of hagiography and martyrdom. Doyle doesn’t canonize Paula. Paula doesn’t canonize Paula. And Paula’s kids certainly don’t canonize Paula. Everyone in the book is deeply flawed, but they’re not wallowing in their failings or denying them. They just live, however they can, and try to be as decent as they can. It’s a more accurate portrayal of addiction and abuse than I’ve seen in a long time, and I think that makes it much more worthwhile than most of the pop-psychology influenced stuff on those subjects I’ve read.