BINGE READING

I enjoy reading – a lot – and have done so ever since I could work out words on my own. I have mentioned before that as a child, one of my favourite reading spots was within the branches of an enormous lemon tree in our garden. There has always been a book at hand to read in my life. One joins me in my travels; one accompanies me to any place I might end up waiting; and there was a time when I had one book downstairs and another next to my bed.

Teaching literature and film for so many years curtailed my reading-for-pleasure somewhat, even when I was teaching a novel or a play for the how manyeth time: there was always something new to explore. So it was that for many years I could really only delve into books during my holidays. Our Book Club was a lifeline during my working years: not only did it provide me with the company I needed, it introduced me to new authors and gave me a good reason to read at least two novels a month, aside from the ‘have to’ reads for work.

I have always read both fiction and non-fiction – a happy mix, although fiction is what I favour most. The latter often leads me down a non-fiction path though as I want to know more. Reading can provide a welcome escape from the pressure of reality: in the weeks leading up to, and just after, one of my children’s departure for Scotland I became hooked on the novels by Lee Child and read every one of them I could get hold of. The fast paced nature of the stories drew me in. I didn’t have to think about what was happening. All I had to do was follow the story – almost a book a day – until I was satiated and came up for air, accepted the reality of my loss for what it was and picked up the reins of life without my child being around.

There are times when it takes me an age to read a novel. So much depends on the content, the style of writing, and how much time I have to devote to reading. I tend to binge read in the evenings during times when all sorts of things are whirling about in my head that need to be stilled. This month it was the turn of crime novels. Well, before I got there, I read My Lies, Your Lies by Susan Lewis that was intriguing from the beginning to the end: imagine taking on the job as a ghost writer for a well-known author only to find yourself drawn right into the events in ways you could never imagined. Unbeknownst to me at the time, the theme of how well we really know people was to crop up in at least two other novels I would read later.

My new favourite author in this genre is Elly Griffiths. I found two of her novels in a charity shop and bought a third. I thoroughly enjoy Dr Ruth Galloway, the forensic archaeologist who assists DCI Harry Nelson with his enquiries, the relationship that develops between them and the mysteries of the Norfolk coast – even more so as shortly before I read her first novel, I had listened to a lecture given by an archaeologist at our local museum who has sometimes assisted the police. I particularly recall her saying “Dead bodies can be so beautiful” – she obviously treats them with great reverence.

When I looked at my pile, I found it odd to have read two novels with ‘disappeared’ in the title. Lisa Gardner’s Before She Disappeared is an intriguing look at the revival of cold cases when looked at from without the police investigations which have drawn blanks. Frankie claims that she too can make educated guesses as she sets about trying to find missing people – preferably alive.

The Girls who Disappeared by Claire Douglas has one guessing for a while about the disappearance of the three young girls from the scene of a car accident twenty years before and the inability of the driver of the vehicle to remember anything about them. The novel brings to the fore the notion of ‘do we really know the people we are close to’? As the story unfolds we uncover some of the lengths people go to forget … and realise this is not always possible – especially when an outsider begins asking awkward questions.

Don’t Let Go by Harlan Coben is also set in a small town with big secrets. It involves a teenage couple whom everyone in the town assumes had died in a suicide pact. The boy’s brother has a very different view and, once he has joined the police force, sets out to find the truth. It is shocking to learn how the past can be covered up by those in power and again underscores the question of how well we really know even the people we trust the most.

J.D. Robb has produced a string of … in Death novels and so Delusion in Death brought me back to the familiar characters of Eve Dallas and her husband Roarke. It was a quick read focusing on the effects of chemical warfare – not as far-fetched as this may sound – in ordinary pubs filled with very ordinary people. Power in the wrong hands is dangerous indeed.

It was Lynda La Plante who brought my crime binge to an end. Hidden Killers might have a good storyline which highlights the difficulty of women to be rightfully recognised in what is still a male dominated world, but her writing left much to be desired. It cured me and I have turned to reading another genre for now.