Books like Northern Spy

What I loved most about this book is true of all Louise Erdrich novels: she creates such warm, complicated, fully human characters that I delight in their presence and grieve when I have to leave them at the book’s end.

In this novel, history hit home in a devastating way when the U.S. government in the 1950s decided to solve its “Indian problem” by simply reclassifying Native people as no longer Indian—a kind of paper genocide that wiped out Indigenous people’s cultural identity and tribal rights, such as land rights.

Sadly, this is all historical fact; the fiction comes in when Erdrich re-imagined in riveting detail the (also true) story of how one small tribe in North Dakota fought back.

What I loved about this nonfiction book is that it tells the history of the frontier West, farming practices, and the Dust Bowl in the style of a narrative, with details of towns and people that make the history come alive. 

The book gave me a sense of the dire situation of small-time farmers, trying to eke out a living on barren land. Early frontier settlements were not regulated. Farmers were not aware of the importance of trees or the dangers of soil erosion. They were just trying to survive. 

Egan’s description of “Black Sunday” in 1935, a huge dust storm that swept across the United States, which buried whole towns and caused hundreds of deaths from dust pneumonia, is chilling. 

Any book in which a journalist and a librarian are the heroes gets a gold star from me. In this gripping novel, a Black journalist from Detroit who writes about the Black Lives Matter movement goes to Birmingham, Alabama, in 2019 on a personal and professional quest.

Her great-grandfather was, she believes, killed there by a white policeman 90 years ago, and she’s determined to find out the truth. She also thinks his story can illuminate what’s happening nationwide today. Based on this compelling premise, the novel is a mystery, a love story, a history, and an examination of racial justice rolled into one. I enjoyed the behind-the-scenes view of exactly how a journalist builds a story.

I love quiet novels that pack a punch, particularly when the writing is gorgeous and wise, as in this case. The book takes place in the real Las Vegas, where people live and work, and it pulls us deep into a community and its fault lines.

Four very different characters are drawn together as they are propelled into situations where the stakes are high yet intimately human. They must face the crucial issues of their time—war, poverty, sanctuary—and the most terrifying question: what kind of person am I?

This is the first book in the remarkably excellent series set in Ireland during The Troubles about a Catholic police officer, Sean Duffy, who lives in Belfast. I love the way McKinty writes this character; it’s funny and very Irish and such a pleasure to read.

The mystery in this first book involves a corpse with its hand cut off, and then another person’s hand thrown into a car with them. There’s also some Italian opera mixed in for atmosphere. It’s a juicy murder mystery that I couldn’t put down.

Michael Magee’s novel is a cracking exploration of life in contemporary Belfast. The examination of a young man’s quest to find some direction and economic stability whilst working in precarious employment had me hooked from the outset. His attempts to deal with the fall-out from a casual act of violence and his romantic/friendship dilemmas seemed to sum up well the struggles many faced in their early 20s, between university and their ‘future’ (alas, a distant memory for me now). 

So far, so rite of passage-y. But what I think makes the book an informative read on Northern Ireland and its conflict is the fact that the impact of that violent period is an ever-present but infrequently acknowledged factor in a book set 30 years after the violence (largely) ended. When it does appear in the novel, it is often unheralded, disruptive, and fleeting. This made me reflect on the extent… show more.

I was twenty-five and enraged at the self-pity and posturing dominating the Irish peace process. I was dying to write yet terrified of even attempting to say anything in print. And then, like a rogue rocket, Divorcing Jack arrived. A hilarious assault on Northern Irish sacred cows right at the bitter end of the bloody Troubles. A timely, wisecracking strike back at a place where being a self-important Muppet had become a job description. So… Dan Starkey, suspected of murdering a lover, stumbles through local fiefdoms to solve the crime himself. He was in places I knew, bars I drank in, saying things that needed to be said. Divorcing Jack started a train of thought that still runs in my mind, one that insists rules are for rulers, not writers. 

It is not widely known that, like Dublin, Derry and Belfast were policed by their own municipal forces. The Belfast Police was responsible for preserving peace and order in the parts of the city which paid their rates. It looked after lighting, paving, and scavenging. Following sectarian violence and alleged police partisanship peaking in the riots of 1864 and 1869, Derry and Belfast forces were deemed inadequate in the face of rising public distrust. In contrast to the Royal Irish Constabulary or the Dublin Metropolitan Police, which were headed by Commissioners, the Belfast police were under a single authority, the police board, until 1844, and a police committee thereafter – whose members, as Griffin aptly shows, gave ample reason for ongoing allegations of partisanship and corruption.

Ireland again, this time in the 80s, and right in the middle of the Troubles. Adrian McKinty’s cop, Sean Duffy, is an outsider, a Catholic in a Protestant police force. He’s irreverent, sarcastic, bitter, and a more than occasional drug user. In Police at the Station (6th in the series) Duffy investigates the murder of a small-time heroin dealer, who’s been shot by a crossbow. Meanwhile his posh girlfriend wants to move…the Sean Duffy novels are tough, funny, exciting, and extremely well done. Enjoy!

I was so moved when I read The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne that it inspired me to write my novel with my protagonist Laurence J Benbo as a male equivalent of Judith Hearne, an innocent exploited by an uncaring world. The quotidian details of Judith’s life are delineated brilliantly by Moore in all her wretchedness reminiscent of some of the characters in Joyce’s Dubliners which Moore would have read and which possibly influenced him. The dark surroundings of Judith’s life lead her into a fantasy world aided by her one necessary weakness—alcohol. But, as Moore points out, it doesn’t have to end tragically. There is a glimmer of hope with life going on, but nothing as before.