Library Limelights 209

Hilary Davidson. One Small Sacrifice. USA: Thomas & Mercer, 2019.

The baffling disappearance of Dr Emily Teare is treated as a very suspicious missing persons case by Detective Sheryn Sterling. In the recent past, Emily’s fiancé Alex Traynor had been involved in a woman’s “death by misadventure,” and Sterling has always believed him to be a murderer. She wonders if he’s done it again. Alex suffers from PTSD due to incidents during his photojournalism career in various war zones; self-medicating does not dispel his nightmares and crippled nerves. He and Emily had met in Syria when she worked for Doctors Without Borders. Despite a note from Emily that it was over between them, Alex is convinced she is in trouble, not voluntarily missing. Thus both cop and lover feel an urgency to locate her.

Cori Stanton was the suicidal woman ‒ a friend of Alex – who died in a fall from the roof of his apartment building. The two had been so stoned he doesn’t recall how it happened. Cori’s father also blames Alex for the death; Emily was the only one who trusted in Alex. And only Alex knows Emily’s secret, that her compassion for humanity has brought her close to losing everything important in her life. Alex has few friends — his childhood buddy Will lacks any empathy at all, and even the building superintendent Bobby doesn’t like him. Nor does Sterling’s wisecracking partner Rafael. Nonetheless, Alex struggles to keep his mind clear. Drugs feature heavily in this story, mostly for nefarious purposes. It’s different, it’s engaging.

One-liners:

▪ If neither CJ nor Yasmeen knew what was going on with Emily, that was a bad omen. (81)

▪ “The planes would come back and drop another bomb on the same site, so they could kill the rescue workers there.” (171)

▪ “Sandy, my old partner, thought Emily Teare was an angel, but I’m not so sure.” (253)

Multi-liners:

▪ “I like it when you’re human,” Rafael said. “It doesn’t happen that often.” (41)

▪ “This from the man who used to kick pizza boxes under his bed.” Will sniffed. “Did you come up here to critique my housekeeping?” (103)

▪ After Stanton and his lawyer departed, Rafael turned to face his partner, one eyebrow raised quizzically. “What just happened in here? I should’ve brought popcorn.” (233)

▪ “Don’t give me those horrified eyes, like you just saw a dead man. We’ve had conversations about what a waste of resources the war on drugs is.” (256)

Best advice:

CJ turned away and started walking again. “Look, I’m going to continue to represent you, but I strongly suggest you hire a criminal lawyer.” 

“Why?” 

“Because the NYPD is going to come at you with both barrels over this. I remember Detective Sterling from your last go-round with her. She wants to lock you up. I don’t think the why matters. She doesn’t give a damn about Emily. She’s fixated on you.” (82)

Self-medicating:

“Alex? Is that you?” Will peered closely at him, as if he suspected Alex of being a ghost. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I may have taken one too many Vicodin,” Will said. “Also, I may have mixed it with alcohol. At the moment I am a walking, talking chemistry experiment.” He was unshaven, and his dark wavy hair stood on end. He was wearing a suit—Will only ever wore suits―but it looked as if he’d slept in it, worked out in it, and, possibly showered in it. (102)

Witness to war:

“Why did you stay?” 

“I told myself it was to be a witness,” Alex said. “That was a good reason, a pure reason, to be there. To show the world the horrors going on. People wouldn’t believe how bad it was without evidence. But later, when I had a lot of time to think, I realized it was arrogance. I’d had so many close calls, but I always came out unscathed. I was famous for being this brave, intrepid war photographer, and I made a lot of money in the process.” 

“You got yourself shot,” Sterling pointed out. “If you had nine lives, you’re down at least one.” 

Alex didn’t laugh at that, but he smiled inwardly. The cop didn’t like him, but he admired her. Sterling’s toughness and grit and gallows humour reminded him of Maclean. Not your turn today, his friend had liked to say. It wasn’t flippancy, but a grim acknowledgment that one day your number would come up. Not many people got it, but he knew instinctively that Sterling would understand. (170)

Pillow talk:

“You’re telling me to ignore my instincts?” 

“No, just treat your gut with suspicion. People talk about their instincts like they’re foolproof, but they’re not. Think of all the black folks who’ve died because somebody had a bad feeling about them.” 

“That’s not the same thing,” Sheryn objected. 

“It’s a close cousin,” Douglass said. “Instinct’s not a superpower. It’s made of experience and memory and belief. Prejudice is part of that. Believe me—I see it with my students all the time. In this case, I think the pain and hurt you feel about your father’s death have been transferred over.” (215)

Adnan Khan. There Has To Be a Knife. Canada: Arsenal Pulp Press, 2019.

Is this the same man whose journalism I’ve admired for some time in Macleans? The same man who reports from the Middle East with such insight and depth? The narrator here is Omar, an aimless young Toronto man whose girlfriend of ten years, Anna, just killed herself. They’d been separated for some time, as was their custom when they had a fight. Omar’s reactions and thoughts skitter in stages of grief; he becomes obsessed with, convinced that, she must have left an explanatory note for him. Finding it becomes his mission, reviewing memories of Anna even as he finds solace with the obliging Kali. Anna’s parents, who did have a suicide note from her, have no answer for him.

Personal greetings begin with “yo” and “dab” while the phone reigns overall as the requisite companion. Omar’s conversations with his good friend Matthew, his semi-criminal acquaintance Hussain, and others, are models of distracted circumlocution. On the other hand, how many sweaty sex scenes are too many? (thinking I’m possibly not exactly plugged into Generation Z). Petty theft is second nature for Omar who is still working out his values. Then the RCMP appear, trying him on as an informant. Khan deftly illuminates a wide swathe of youth in their sometimes fumbling or amusing, often earnest, daily orbit. No doubt about it, new aspects of Khan’s talent have emerged.

One-liners:

▪ Neither of us has ever done this, and I think of the movies we’ve seen and how that’s where we’re getting our lessons from. (11)

▪ Most people seem to think suicides go to hell, because it says so somewhere, but some leave a way out, warning against human judgment, reminding us of Allah’s mercy. (28-9)

▪ I need to be around people who only see me from the outside. (123)

▪ Is becoming an informer God’s way of tagging me in to life? (136)

▪ These six months after we broke up, I kept to myself, like a numb vulture somehow circling its own carcass. (138)

▪ Her snoring is gusts, more sporadic, but a full lungful in its strength, a real motor-revving type, a real scare-the-raccoons-away type. (163)

▪ I think you make life out of ideas, like you have an idea and then you make it into a thing. (184)

Multi-liners:

▪ I come downstairs and open the door. Two guys, one brown, one white, both thick shit, like made of wood; white dude maybe more lumpy, at least a gut that’s trying desperate to peek from in between his buttons. (73)

▪ There’s a note for me. There has to be. (138)

A friend:

Donny tells me about the restaurant he wants to open, that he thinks what rich Toronto people really like is shitty food made special: Gourmet grilled cheese. Lamb meat hamburgers with processed cheese, but you gotta have that nice bread and pickles. You gotta serve it on tiny plates. White, tight, tiny plates. (18)

Chatting with Kali:

Are you being healthy? 

Yo, are you a grief counsellor? 

What is this macho front? 

Oh, don’t start with me. 

Be nice. 

You don’t want to be a thing. I don’t want to— 

You can talk to me. 

Are we going to be a ... 

What? 

Nothing. 

I’m trying to have a normal friendship thing with you. 

I’m not. 

You want this to be what then? 

I don’t know. Why we doing this? Do you miss me? 

Excuse me? 

Do you? 

Yes. 

You do. Then? That means— 

I mean—I miss everyone. 

What does that mean. 

I love everyone, you know. I try to live like that. 

What? 

I don’t think it’s finite. Love. It grows. 

What? 

You only love a few people? 

Not ... why are we talking about love? 

Relax. 

Jeez. 

Let’s relax. (92-3)

Good friend:

The wind is savage and my fingers hurt trying to get this Boston cream into my mouth. There’s a guy at the Spadina and College streetcar stop with his dick out, pissing! He’s drunk from last night, I guess. For the first time in a month, I can step back and appreciate Matthew, that he’s been there for me, but it comes with a vehement anger. I can only appreciate him now because I know that he’s spacing out from me. I miss him. I miss the warmth he brings into a room and his steady presence. (198)

Alafair Burke. The Wife. USA: HarperCollins Publishers, 2018.

Jason Powell is a celebrated hotshot economics prof and author/investor suddenly accused of sexual misconduct by Rachel, an intern in his company office. Shortly thereafter, an allegation of rape follows from his business colleague, Kerry Lynch. Burke takes us through the painful details of the victims’ accusations, a police investigation, the legal positions and wrangling, plus emotional fallout among the accused and his family. Jason’s wife Angie stands by her man all the way to a grand jury hearing, while he staunchly claims innocence to both charges. Yet he does admit to a months-long affair with Kerry. The resulting media avalanche damages the family’s personal and business relationships, including that with their son Spencer.

Sounds like a classic #MeToo scenario, right? But there’s more. Angie’s own secrets complicate the distinction between truth and lies. Jason’s fierce defence lawyer Olivia could likely deconstruct the women’s claims well enough to dismiss the charges. Police detective Corrine Duncan, convinced of Jason’s guilt, is determined to find evidence supporting the two victims. Then Kerry disappears. Jason is charged with murder. Well-fashioned psychological thriller

Trial fascinating, ramifications

One-liners:

▪ How long could Jason’s “scandal” make the rounds before someone started to wonder why his wife kept such a low profile? (54)

▪ I have no interest in socializing with grown adults who always seem to launch a first conversation with “And where did you go to school, Angela?” (55)

▪ “You don’t get to lie to your wife and then complain that I was smart enough to figure it out.” (107)

Two-liners:

▪ “I like how you own your whiteness, King. It suits you.” (93)

▪ “I’ll change my name again. He never even adopted me. You might be married to him but I’m not.” (133)

▪ The DNA on the woman’s clothing matched Jason’s. Of course it did. He had admitted to sleeping with her only days before the swab was taken. (155)

▪ All I wanted was to be Angela Powell, wife and mother, with my rules and routines and rituals. Good and boring. (158)

Corrine:

You’re not supposed to say that victims never tell the complete truth, because it sounds as if you’re calling them liars. They’re not liars. They’re protecting themselves. They’re preparing not to be believed. They’re anticipating all the ways that others will attack them, and are building a protective shield. (31)

Angie & Jason:

“What the hell is going on, Jason? Rachel’s claiming you assaulted her? You told me it was an offhand comment.” 

“It’s complicated, okay? I didn’t think it would come to this—“ 

When he mentioned it at dinner right after it happened, he’d sounded amused by it. Now it was complicated. (56)

Growing up:

Angela had broken down in tears, apologizing for her mistake, but then tried to explain what drew her to people like that—summer people. She said that for nine months a year, she looked around and saw nothing to be hopeful about. Everyone she knew worked all day, every day, and nothing ever changed. But once the season started, people showed up who had more than jobs. They had careers and plans and traveled the world—a world she wanted to be part of. She said that people like the BMW driver “made her feel special.” (146-7)

Angie:

We both thought we had our secret, and we’d go on. But now the dangers of an “unspoken understanding” were clear. There had been no understanding at all. We had no meeting of the minds. (191)

Corrine & the prosecutor:

“It bothers me that Powell knew so much about Kerry’s relationship with her boss. It makes me think he’s telling the truth about the affair.” 

You do know a woman can be raped by someone she’s had consensual sex with before, don’t you?” 

“You don’t need to fem-splain sex offences to me.” 

“Please don’t try to make that a word.” 

“Look, I get it: I’ve prosecuted plenty of date rapes. Marital cases, too. But Kerry’s denying any kind of relationship with Powell. It comes down to her credibility.” (210)