Unexpectedly, Michael Robotham came speeding into full view in my rearview mirror.
The last I looked, no one was in my rear view, my “Murder Ink” column for today was in the can, and I was looking forward to a free Sunday doing what I like best: enjoying a shiny, crisp early spring day through my living room window while I read.
But last week, Mulholland Books unexpectedly sent Robotham’s March 11 release, Watching You, along with his 2012 Bleed for Me. I put the two books on my towering pile of books to consider recommending.
I have to confess I hadn’t read or even heard of Michael Robotham, and further confess I’m a sucker for hardback books. And while I’m baring my weaknesses, I should disclose I eschew novels with the name of the author in bigger type than the title of the book.
Yet, the new Robotham book pleased all my senses, and I had just that morning finished reading Denise Mina’s excellent new book, The Red Road. So, I picked his book up and over the next six days read 800 pages in both Watching You and Bleed for Me. I ate my meals reading Robotham, read at stoplights (I’m always reminded when the light turns green), at the bank drive-thru, on the toilet and as my dental hygienist cleaned my teeth (not easy, don’t try it).
Australian Michael Robotham is a gifted storyteller and a suburb writer, and Watching You is a sophisticated page burner with the gracefulness of an alabaster sculpture – there’s not an angle or element or feature not faithful to the whole. I’m embarrassed about not previously knowing his name, but I’m atoning for it by insisting you go right to Maria’s Bookshop, spring for the price of a cloth-bound book and enjoy the experience of reading a book in a civilized binding that you will want to own and read again.
Watching You is the story of a young mother of two whose husband disappeared a year ago without a trace and for no apparent reason. Marnie Logan is suspended in a limbo getting crueler every day. Law enforcement has long since stopped looking for Daniel; without a body, nobody can pronounce him dead, and life insurance and bank deposits are inaccessible. Rent on their London flat is months overdue, two young children preclude regular employment and Marnie has an adolescent history of split personality; so authorities think she’s nuts, and social services won’t help because of her bank balance, albeit untouchable. Fleshing out the picture of Marnie Logan, she turns to the one occupation women have as a last resort, with an unfortunate consequence: one of her customers, her first, is found dead.
This grim story becomes charming, and light slowly wedges through the clouds with the appearance of psychologist Professor Joe O’Loughlin and his good friend, retired detective Vincent Ruiz. Unraveling Marnie’s early troubles leads these two on a trail so circuitous and brilliantly contrived that those kind folks behind you at that stoplight will remind you, too, when it’s time to put the book down.
JeffMannix.com. Jeff Mannix is a local journalist and author.
