Nineteen Seventy-Four, by David Peace

"The room was suddenly unbearably full of Radio 2."

This is book one of a four book series recommended by the W.G. Sebald blogger, a fellow book nerd whose favorite guilty pleasure — or, truly, just pleasure — is the same as mine: British/Scandinavian noir. That is, crime fiction set in the coldest and dampest parts of Europe.

But boy oh boy Nineteen Seventy-Four isn’t your mother’s crime fiction. This is noir on steroids. Easily the bloodiest, darkest, and most gruesome book I have read in the genre. It is relentless. The story is nearly hard to stomach at times, and it is told in this fantastic staccato prose that can feel like rabbit punches on your brain. It is The Wire meets early Coen Brothers meets Tarantino at his most gruesome meets James Ellroy. Yes, all of those things.

Occasionally it sinks back into regular old crime fiction, but then it comes roaring back and you remember you aren’t reading about a hard boiled detective with a heart of gold solving a decades old cold case, but a broken and drunk journalist trying to chase down a child murderer whilst getting the crapped kicked out of him at every turn — which lots of times he deserves mind you — and encountering some of the worst scum on the planet who are doing just awful — and I mean AWFUL — things to each other.

Near the end it starts to roll downhill into the absolute muck and despite it being equal parts revolting and claustrophobic, I could not for the life of me put it down. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

And it is deliciously atmospheric too. Rainy, dark, cold, windy, gray Leeds and the surrounding northwest England countryside in the week leading up to Christmas. A nice change from the austere environs of Iceland or Sweden that I usually encounter in northern European noir.

All in all, I enjoyed it. And I will probably continue to read the books in the series. It really ticked quite a few boxes for me: crime fiction, but brilliantly told with a unique style, with a story and a backdrop that sticks to your ribs. I can see why the Sebald blogger would be all in on the series. That said, I am not sure I would recommend it. Unless, of course, you are looking for something damp, grisly, and full of desperation. If so, then this is the book for you.

**

I will point out that this book does involve the murder of a child, which I alluded to above. I am not spoiling anything here. But I think it’s worth noting. I have a real tough time when the victim is a child these days, and you might too. If so, then definitely skip this one if you’re on the fence about it.

**

Next up: Paris in Ruins: Love, War, and the Birth of Impressionism, by Sebastian Smee. Yep, non-fiction. We’ll see how this goes.

Thanks for reading!

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A reminder that if you buy the books I review via the button at the bottom of each newsletter, I get a very small cut from the good folks at Bookshop.org (the Amazon for people who don’t like Amazon). I will note however that today’s book is a little hard to find, and very firmly on backorder.