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sheenaghpughWhy am I reviewing a novel from 2013? Maybe because it's a "genre" novel (historical detective) and I'm tired of people pigeonholing genre novels and not expecting them to raise the sort of questions you'd expect in a litfic novel, when in fact they crop up just as regularly.
For those who aren't already fans, Wishart's detective hero is an upper-class Roman layabout called Marcus Corvinus with not much time for his own class, and a talent for furkling about finding out the truth of things others want to hide. He also happens to talk like the Roman equivalent of a Raymond Chandler hero. He and his slightly anarchic household are the source of a lot of incidental humour in the books.
This one is set in the small town of Bovillae, where the local senate has asked Corvinus to look into the recent murder of the censor-elect, Caesius, an upstanding citizen with a squeaky-clean reputation who was found with his head beaten in near the back door of the local brothel (where the madame cheerfully admits he was a regular customer). The town dignitaries are fearfully embarrassed about this, but as Corvinus soon discovers, they have worse things to be embarrassed about. The town lawyer (Novius, whom we've met in a previous book) has a long and shady past: civic dignitaries Manlius and Canidius are up to their ears in a financial scam, even the local antique dealer does a good line in fakes and almost nobody is telling the truth about where they were, or with whom, on a certain evening…. Solid citizens often have things to hide.
But what of the victim: was he as solid as he seemed? Opinion is divided. Those who knew him as a politician and businessman give him a good name for probity. But his closest relatives, his brother and nephew, do not hide their contempt for him (though they do hide the reason). Granted, the brother is the town drunk and the nephew a ne'er-do-well. But might they, for once, be telling more truth than the solid citizens? And why does Anthus, the loyal major-domo who is never done singing his late master's praises, utter the rather equivocal encomium "He was a decent man, at heart"?
This line is in fact key – as is one from another minor character: "He wasn't a bad man, he did his best for the town". Previous Corvinus books, notably Food for the Fishes, have stressed the difference between what was legal in Rome, and what was socially acceptable. Divorce, for instance, was quite legal, as was killing a slave for no good reason, but neither would do you much good either socially or professionally. The same disconnect comes up here, but this time in relation to a different activity. Another thing I get tired of is the assumption that historical novels are somehow turned away from our own time, indifferent to "contemporary" problems which are the preserve of litfic. The secret Caesius was keeping could hardly be more relevant or "contemporary".
And the odd thing is that at a couple of points, I nearly guessed it; there are clues left, if you listen to them. But I persuaded myself it couldn't be so, because I couldn't equate it with the facts and opinions I was hearing. Now the reason it doesn’t square with certain alleged facts is simple: people are lying through their teeth (as again I might have guessed if I'd been a bit more alert). But the opinions are another matter. In the end, the book asks you to compartmentalise to a degree, to accept that a man might do X and still be, in other respects – even "at heart" – a decent man, not a total fraud whose good side was entirely fake. This may be harder for us to do than even for the Romans – I can't see anyone nowadays daring to make the remark that Anthus made. But it makes for a fascinating, thought-provoking read.
For those who aren't already fans, Wishart's detective hero is an upper-class Roman layabout called Marcus Corvinus with not much time for his own class, and a talent for furkling about finding out the truth of things others want to hide. He also happens to talk like the Roman equivalent of a Raymond Chandler hero. He and his slightly anarchic household are the source of a lot of incidental humour in the books.
This one is set in the small town of Bovillae, where the local senate has asked Corvinus to look into the recent murder of the censor-elect, Caesius, an upstanding citizen with a squeaky-clean reputation who was found with his head beaten in near the back door of the local brothel (where the madame cheerfully admits he was a regular customer). The town dignitaries are fearfully embarrassed about this, but as Corvinus soon discovers, they have worse things to be embarrassed about. The town lawyer (Novius, whom we've met in a previous book) has a long and shady past: civic dignitaries Manlius and Canidius are up to their ears in a financial scam, even the local antique dealer does a good line in fakes and almost nobody is telling the truth about where they were, or with whom, on a certain evening…. Solid citizens often have things to hide.
But what of the victim: was he as solid as he seemed? Opinion is divided. Those who knew him as a politician and businessman give him a good name for probity. But his closest relatives, his brother and nephew, do not hide their contempt for him (though they do hide the reason). Granted, the brother is the town drunk and the nephew a ne'er-do-well. But might they, for once, be telling more truth than the solid citizens? And why does Anthus, the loyal major-domo who is never done singing his late master's praises, utter the rather equivocal encomium "He was a decent man, at heart"?
This line is in fact key – as is one from another minor character: "He wasn't a bad man, he did his best for the town". Previous Corvinus books, notably Food for the Fishes, have stressed the difference between what was legal in Rome, and what was socially acceptable. Divorce, for instance, was quite legal, as was killing a slave for no good reason, but neither would do you much good either socially or professionally. The same disconnect comes up here, but this time in relation to a different activity. Another thing I get tired of is the assumption that historical novels are somehow turned away from our own time, indifferent to "contemporary" problems which are the preserve of litfic. The secret Caesius was keeping could hardly be more relevant or "contemporary".
And the odd thing is that at a couple of points, I nearly guessed it; there are clues left, if you listen to them. But I persuaded myself it couldn't be so, because I couldn't equate it with the facts and opinions I was hearing. Now the reason it doesn’t square with certain alleged facts is simple: people are lying through their teeth (as again I might have guessed if I'd been a bit more alert). But the opinions are another matter. In the end, the book asks you to compartmentalise to a degree, to accept that a man might do X and still be, in other respects – even "at heart" – a decent man, not a total fraud whose good side was entirely fake. This may be harder for us to do than even for the Romans – I can't see anyone nowadays daring to make the remark that Anthus made. But it makes for a fascinating, thought-provoking read.
