The Joy of Montalbano

Recently, I wanted to visit my literary safe space, just fancied that bit of escapism, y'know, as we all do from time to time. For me, this means Montalbano, Andrea Camilleri's food-loving, age-precipice-fearing inspector. I was willfully wallowing in the comfortable procedural plots, happy to revisit the old friends that Montalbano, his detective friends, his girlfriend, and incidental characters had become. It's far from the kind of 'trash' level that most people mean when they talk about 'trash TV', but, yeah, it comes across as a gritty soap opera almost (speaking of which - must remember to get some more of that gritty soap next time I'm shopping for ablutables).

I enjoyed the book this time, as usual (The Patience of the Spider, or, Il Pazienza del Ragno, the eighth novel of the series). Things don't follow a typical 'solve the crime in time, justice done by the book/letter of the law' kind of thing in the inspector's world, and it's the same that here, the sensitive detective discovers the truth of the matter (who the kidnappers are, in this case), but instead of bringing them to justice (having them tried and put in jail), he makes sure that 'justice' is done (a kind of greater good).

SPOILERS

I'm not really reviewing or criticising this book (for one, I think a review would best be suited for the series as a whole, looking at things a bit more zoomed out, but anyway, that may be a convo for when I've read them all), but I had a few things I wanted to note. The first was the way chapters are realised. I'd not noticed in the previous stories, but there seems to be a tendency for chapters to not do much, other than mark arbitrary progress. Or rather, a chapter ends 'like chapters should' (I mean, in the sense of most conventional literature), in that they end on a pivotal realisation, or in the immediate pre-math of a heavy scene/action, and as we see the page become blank, we think feverishly forward - what's going to happen? A 'cliffhanger', in other words. But the start of the next chapter usually has some whip about it. Perhaps it starts from a new angle, maybe a bit further forward in time (and in this case I'm speaking only about linear time. One could easily jump about temporally, spatially, consciously (i.e. from another character), etc etc), maybe just with an extra bit of scene-setting description, to keep that feeling of 'what's going to happen next?' on a rolling boil. In Montalbano, tho, I notice that the story just keeps going on exactly as it was, sometimes even with a direct response in dialogue to a question posed, for example, at the end of the preceding chapter. In short, the chapter break could just be a bookmark you've placed in at any point, on any page. So I feel the chapter break 'doesn't matter', because everything carries on with the same momentum and feeling as it did before. I'm not necessarily saying this is a bad thing. I suppose it suits the style of the procedural, you know, in that it's 'getting on with it', going forward. And I wouldn't be so arrogant (not on a Friday, anyway) as to suggest that it could be made better when Andrea Camilleri and Stephen Sartarelli are on the team, but yet, I just can't help feel they could have made it more contrived, more artful, and maybe let these moments breathe a little bit. I dunno...

Another thing I thought about this particular book was that it really let a couple of clangers of clues drop. The book, as usual, takes a while to really get going (again, not a negative, because Montalbano's style is usually about being a real sponge, letting these seemingly unconnected tributaries of facts flow into him until he is full of the truth), but I feel that it was about halfway through that we learn more about the guy who turns out to be kidnapper, who lets the inspector know that his property used to be a farm that made wine, and we know by his grand book collection that he is well-read, both of which come into the spotlight when, shortly after, we realise that the girl who has been taken is being held in a wine vat, and the kidnapper chooses very specific, apt words on their notes, indicating a certain level of education. When the reveal came, I was not just not surprised, but deflated somewhat. It's not just an entirely personal reaction, but a logical one, too; if I can work it out (if the clues are that obvious), then how did some of the other officers not see it? It seemed a bit of a poorly grounded contrivance that Montalbano would be the only one to notice it. But having said all this, the actual ending was enjoyable to a degree (bittersweet, like the first Aperol spritz of the evening in a warm, placid piazza), and we have to keep in mind that this Italian detective fiction is not like the Poirot or Marple-esque 'gather all the suspects into a room for tea, scones, and revelations. Place an officer on that door for the inevitable escape attempt by a rich dandy who'd struggle to run his way through a wet paper bag.' It's enough to say that there have been more satisfying conclusions (in the sense of the case itself, not the story) in other episodes.

I know these sound like nit-picks. I could go on about all the things I liked a lot, but ultimately these things are what I like about the series as a whole, hence why they'd be more suited to a dedicated 'retrospective' kind of post (in my mind, anyway. You, my dear, cherished audience, you may disagree. Please tell me if you do. Everyone's entitled to be wrong).

Time for me to go. Until next time, un abbraccio :) Arrivederci amici etc xox