Novels No. 130

 

Elle Cosimano. Finlay Donovan Is Killing It. USA: Minotaur Books, 2021.

Finlay Donovan is one frantic woman. She’s dealing with two boisterous toddlers, a custody battle with her vindictive ex Steven, lack of income, and a way-past-deadline novel she’s supposed to be writing. She’s overheard and misinterpreted in a lunch conversation with her agent that prompts stranger Patricia Micklin to offer her $50,000 to kill her husband Harry. Shocked, but curious, Finn free-falls into a weird world of crime, dogged by Murphy’s Law, and no apparent way out. Harry dies, but not at Finn’s hand, and she’s in trouble unless she can find who really did it. Her former nanny, Veronica, becomes her partner for avoiding murder and police. She can’t confide in sister Georgia who is a cop. So Finn worries about every other illegal thing they’re doing, afraid of landing in jail and losing her children.

Narrated by Finn, the story is like a combination of insanity and logic. Trying to make sense of her newly crazed life, she writes it down. As luck goes, she sends off some chapters to stop her agent’s harassing calls—and both agent and publisher rave that it’s going to be a bestseller. Detective Nick Anthony suspects Steven’s girlfriend Theresa for a murder, but that might lead to Finn. Or to Theresa’s friend Amy. Somehow Finn is gaining a commendable reputation in certain circles, and a Mafia wife wants a hit job too. Veronica is liking the notion of big money coming in.

Finn’s frazzled nerves were rattling my nerve endings throughout this frenzied tale. But the built-in humour makes this clever, sly twister a real dilly.

Bits

▪ Then I pretended to stumble, flinging the contents of my glass and drenching the back of her suit in tomato juice. (52)

▪ His speech had slowed, the edges smearing together into a drunken slur. He blinked, his eyelids growing heavy. (55)

▪ I’d been out at a bar in a wig and a stolen dress, drinking the money my husband had given me for gas. (66)

▪ “We are not adding grand larceny of farm equipment to our growing list of felonies.” (91)

▪ My agent and editor lived in New York. Still, I prayed like hell I had remembered to change all the names before sending it out. (162)

▪ “How the hell am I supposed to kill an enforcer for the mob?” (198)

▪ “You are my only option,” she said, her forehead beginning to glisten. “My husband knows everyone else in your line of work.” (204)

Frances Crawford. A Bad, Bad Place. Canada: HarperCollins Publishers, 2026.

Here’s the bad old Glasgow of 1979. Twelve-year-old Janey Rizzo lives with her Nana, Maggie Devine, the rest of their family having died in a gas explosion. Near an overgrown old railway line, Janey – actually, her dog Sid Vicious – discovers the mutilated body of beautiful Samantha, the only daughter of Billy Watson, a man who works for top gangster Duncan Edgar aka The Eggman. Both the police and Billy want to know if Janey saw the murderer, but Janey is traumatized. She’s terrified of what she can’t remember about the incident but tries to keep her fears to herself. Unlike most, Janey and Maggie sympathize with Billy’s private grief. Janey meets Lulu, a minion of Billy’s, who harbours secrets about Samantha along with her friend Heather. Then the cop called Val insists on revisiting the crime scene, where they learn that Janey had spent a scary hour in a tunnel not far from the body.

First-person narration is shared in turn by Janey and Maggie in Glaswegian vernacular, and it’s compelling, even charming, despite the sombre story. Obsessed with learning about Samantha, Janey navigates her way through an adult world, bampots and bawbags among them. Maggie overhears something bad but must keep her mouth shut; Janey could be the next victim if her memory returns. Suspicion of violent intentions lingers everywhere—on their neighbour Gibby, Skinny Jimmy, Taxi Alex, Samantha’s friends, besides the obvious crime gangs. Some twists are a shock when the reader has become so invested.

This is a debut novel of amazing human depth in the most natural flow of daily doings. Note that Glaswegians also have a fundamental sense of humour. Author Crawford adds a Glossary for those of us unfamiliar with the unique language :-)

Janey

▪ I found a corpse all ripped apart and I did something that was definitely wrong, and I can’t remember a big chunk of what happened next, and I have nightmares and pish the bed, and I’m scared to go out in case the killer gets me. (31)

▪ They want me to go to Mr. Watson’s house and find the Polaroid photos. (160)

▪ Thing is, nobody in the world knows about the word on Samantha’s face. Nobody but me and the person who wrote it. (198)

▪ “Ask her,” Jamesie points at me, “she saw the deid woman. They did her with this hatchet.” (276)

Maggie

▪ And it’s no just the drunks, I get them all, even at Mass, desperate to tell me what they’ve heard about Samantha or about her father. (27)

▪ I know Janey said she likes Lulu but once she knows what he did, she’ll be glad to see him locked up. (189)

▪ Old age doesn’t come alone, as my mother used to say, and it’s bringing the whole flaming gang for me. (141)

▪ “I’m sorry to disappoint you. Sorry that I’m no dealing heroin lollipops, or, or running a brothel staffed by nuns or any of that. I never have been, Maggie.” (175)