Australian Women's Book Review: Online

Hecate's
Australian Women's Book Review

ISSN 1033-9434
Editor:  Barbara Brook
Contributing Assistant Editor:  Katie Hughes
Photomontage:  Set in Stone, Adele Flood

Volume 12, 2000

Down some mean Australian streets

Blood Guilt by Lindy Cameron, Harper Collins, 1999, pb., $15.30, 473 pp.
Cat Catcher by Caroline Shaw, Bantam Books, 1999, pb., $16.40, 379 pp.
Feeding the Demons by Gabrielle Lord, Hodder, 1999, pb., $18.58, 472 pp.

Reviewed by Katie Hughes

Crime fiction written by women has flourished over the last twenty years. There are now a number of sub-genres including novels featuring forensic pathologists by Patricia Cornwell and Kathy Reichs, feisty private investigators by Janet Evanovich, Sue Grafton, Sarah Paretsky and Karen Kijewski, sombre British crimes and investigations by Frances Fyfield, Barbara Vine, Elizabeth George, Ruth Rendell, Minette Walters and Val McDermid, and those based in US courtrooms by Linda Fairstein, Nancy Taylor Rosenberg and Kate Wilheim. These are just a few.

What they have in common is the characterisation of women who investigate crime as strong, single, often funny and determined. This is pivotal to the genre's attractions. Such characterisation is, of course, is in stark contrast to the other main genre developed by, and marketed to, women - romance fiction - which exhausts itself by performing the act of femininity over and over again. Crime fiction is arguably also very interested in femininity, but explores its vagaries in fascinating ways.

The backdrop for almost all this crime fiction is the shenanigans of men, whether that be plain old murderers, stalkers, rapists, men involved in organised crime, shonky corporate deals or corrupt political office. The female investigators who tackle them always win. They might have transitory affairs along the way, but they live, in the main, solitary lives and have animals (cats, dogs, even hamsters) as companions. They have difficult relationships with their mothers, and are detailed about food, clothes and what they look like.

There is no doubt that Britain and the US dominate the international market in crime fiction for women, and produce novels which cover all the genre's bases. Australia, however, is adding to the list. For the most part, it is private investigators roaming around the mean streets of Melbourne and Sydney who lead the field.

The plot of Blood Guilt by Lindy Cameron, set in Melbourne, revolves around the murder of a wealthy socialite (Celia) who has hired Kit O'Malley (the PI) to follow her dodgy husband. This she does from her decrepit office in Richmond (women PIs' offices are always decrepit). She has a good relationship with her cat and a terrible relationship with her mother - two other crime-fiction standards.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Celia's husband Geoffrey is up to no good at all with another woman and a crime syndicate specialising in drugs. Money is missing, Celia knows it and is found upside down in the family swimming pool. Oh dear!

Like many a private investigator, Kit O'Malley was once a police officer. This means she still has friends in the force willing to help her out. She also has Celia's daughter, Quinn, and their sexy lawyer, Alex, to assist in the journeys across Melbourne, spying on people and getting in and out of cars. There is a good deal of sexual tension and release in all this. In the end, of course, the three women manage to find the culprit - with some assistance from the police.

Lindy Cameron writes well. She uses the backdrop of Melbourne for some astute social comment and some really funny lines:

Two cars in front of her a Volvo made an unsignalled U-turn while its driver adjusted his passenger's breasts, confirming the joke – the truth of which Kit had never doubted – that the only difference between a porcupine and a Volvo was that the porcupine had the pricks on the outside.

The plot is engaging as it progresses and the characters are both believable and amusing - and sometimes even complex.

Caroline Shaw, in Cat Catcher, uses many of the same plot devices. Her detective Lenny Aaron makes her living largely from finding the cats of the rich. The tracking of a ragdoll cat brings her to the household where, again, someone wants to kill the rich socialite mother and mistakenly kills her future daughter-in-law instead. Lenny is hired to find the killer.

This time, there are a variety of suspects to choose from. Most of them are employed within the Brighton household and have curious histories and numerous motives. In addition, there have been death threats.

Like Kit O'Malley, Lenny Aaron inhabits an office in a rundown part of Melbourne (this time Footscray) and is moving amongst the rich and vulgar. She also has an awkward relationship with her mother and a preoccupation with cats - but she has made this her business. There are a number of amusing encounters with her clients as she hunts their treasures, finds them with consummate ease but keeps them for a few hours before delivering them so that it looks harder than it really is and she can feel better about collecting the cheque.

Although there is much travelling around Melbourne in cars, looking for cats amongst other things, the solution to the mystery lies, interestingly, somewhere else both in place and time. The uncovering of the past of the socially mobile Vivian Talbott who married an ancient patriarch for his money, and the repercussions of this for other family members are some of the more interesting features of Cat Catcher. More serious in tone, its heroine (who, like Lindy Cameron's Kit, was in the police force) has a number of quirky addictions and neuroses which make her worth reading about.

Gabrielle Lord is considered one of Australia's best crime writers and novels like Whipping Boy and The Sharp End have seen her dealing with some appalling elements in Sydney's underworld in an interesting way. Feeding the Demons, however, is as much a family drama as it is a crime novel. She weaves together the story of two sisters whose father is about to leave jail for their mother's murder thirty years before, and a current series of rapes, murders and abductions in Sydney. Kit (a psychotherapist who channels energy, among other things) and Gemma (PI who was once a cop and who has a cat called “Taxi”) are both touched by both crimes but in different ways. Perhaps not surprisingly, however, it is Gemma who sets about solving them both. Again, like the other Kit and Lenny, she has friends in the force who help her out (one wonders if it mightn't be the other way around in real life given that it is a murder investigation …).

For the most part, this is an altogether more sombre novel. There are none of the fast one-liners nor hare-brained car-chasing escapades around the city, or even much surveillance of men. Its sobriety comes partly from the relationship between the two women who spend a lot of time reviewing the past, their relationships, and memories of their parents, and of each other. Running alongside this is the present day pursuit of the man – or men, as it turns out – who are hell-bent on murder.

Given the seriousness of it all, the plot does get a little creaky in its attempts to weave the two stories together. Both Kit and Gemma have first-hand experiences with the murderer – through coincidence. But the ending really does beggar belief. Lord seems anxious, despite the ghastliness of what has gone before, to leave the reader feeling resolved. And what a resolution it is! The lost Taxi returns home. An eagle with a broken wing, miraculously healed, learns to fly. Kit is almost killed by a demented patient, but is rescued by Gemma. Kit's heroin-addicted son (whom she hasn't seen for years) finds them as they sit by their mother's grave, declares that he is in rehab and says insightful things about their past. Kit and Gemma's father takes out a huge life-insurance policy then dies whilst rescuing Gemma from another potential murderer. If that were not enough for the final few pages, Gemma awakes as she is about to be murdered (again!). Twice in one day is a lot, but this time the attacker is a bikie associate of her shady undercover-cop semi-boyfriend who (guess what!) arrives in the nick of time and rescues her. Phew!

Despite this over-action-packed ending it is a well-written novel on the whole, and does manage to deliver some interesting psychological insights about memory, childhood and love.

Finally, it is good to see not only the numbers of crime novels by Australian women increasing, but also their depth and quality. You might feel a bit jaded by the cats, difficult mothers, and ex-colleagues in the police force who seem obligatory, but not, I would argue, by the wit and colour of the urban Australian landscape and the feisty women who keep those streets clean.

Katie Hughes teaches Gender Studies at Victoria University.

Hecate's Australian Women's Book Review

ISSN 1033-9434		Editor: Barbara Brook Contributing Assistant Editor: Katie Hughes *Photomontage: Set in Stone, Adele Flood*
Volume 12, 2000

Down some mean Australian streets Blood Guilt by Lindy Cameron, Harper Collins, 1999, pb., $15.30, 473 pp. Cat Catcher by Caroline Shaw, Bantam Books, 1999, pb., $16.40, 379 pp. Feeding the Demons by Gabrielle Lord, Hodder, 1999, pb., $18.58, 472 pp. Reviewed by Katie Hughes Crime fiction written by women has flourished over the last twenty years. There are now a number of sub-genres including novels featuring forensic pathologists by Patricia Cornwell and Kathy Reichs, feisty private investigators by Janet Evanovich, Sue Grafton, Sarah Paretsky and Karen Kijewski, sombre British crimes and investigations by Frances Fyfield, Barbara Vine, Elizabeth George, Ruth Rendell, Minette Walters and Val McDermid, and those based in US courtrooms by Linda Fairstein, Nancy Taylor Rosenberg and Kate Wilheim. These are just a few. What they have in common is the characterisation of women who investigate crime as strong, single, often funny and determined. This is pivotal to the genre's attractions. Such characterisation is, of course, is in stark contrast to the other main genre developed by, and marketed to, women - romance fiction - which exhausts itself by performing the act of femininity over and over again. Crime fiction is arguably also very interested in femininity, but explores its vagaries in fascinating ways. The backdrop for almost all this crime fiction is the shenanigans of men, whether that be plain old murderers, stalkers, rapists, men involved in organised crime, shonky corporate deals or corrupt political office. The female investigators who tackle them always win. They might have transitory affairs along the way, but they live, in the main, solitary lives and have animals (cats, dogs, even hamsters) as companions. They have difficult relationships with their mothers, and are detailed about food, clothes and what they look like. There is no doubt that Britain and the US dominate the international market in crime fiction for women, and produce novels which cover all the genre's bases. Australia, however, is adding to the list. For the most part, it is private investigators roaming around the mean streets of Melbourne and Sydney who lead the field. The plot of Blood Guilt by Lindy Cameron, set in Melbourne, revolves around the murder of a wealthy socialite (Celia) who has hired Kit O'Malley (the PI) to follow her dodgy husband. This she does from her decrepit office in Richmond (women PIs' offices are always decrepit). She has a good relationship with her cat and a terrible relationship with her mother - two other crime-fiction standards. Perhaps not surprisingly, Celia's husband Geoffrey is up to no good at all with another woman and a crime syndicate specialising in drugs. Money is missing, Celia knows it and is found upside down in the family swimming pool. Oh dear! Like many a private investigator, Kit O'Malley was once a police officer. This means she still has friends in the force willing to help her out. She also has Celia's daughter, Quinn, and their sexy lawyer, Alex, to assist in the journeys across Melbourne, spying on people and getting in and out of cars. There is a good deal of sexual tension and release in all this. In the end, of course, the three women manage to find the culprit - with some assistance from the police. Lindy Cameron writes well. She uses the backdrop of Melbourne for some astute social comment and some really funny lines: Two cars in front of her a Volvo made an unsignalled U-turn while its driver adjusted his passenger's breasts, confirming the joke – the truth of which Kit had never doubted – that the only difference between a porcupine and a Volvo was that the porcupine had the pricks on the outside. The plot is engaging as it progresses and the characters are both believable and amusing - and sometimes even complex. Caroline Shaw, in Cat Catcher, uses many of the same plot devices. Her detective Lenny Aaron makes her living largely from finding the cats of the rich. The tracking of a ragdoll cat brings her to the household where, again, someone wants to kill the rich socialite mother and mistakenly kills her future daughter-in-law instead. Lenny is hired to find the killer. This time, there are a variety of suspects to choose from. Most of them are employed within the Brighton household and have curious histories and numerous motives. In addition, there have been death threats. Like Kit O'Malley, Lenny Aaron inhabits an office in a rundown part of Melbourne (this time Footscray) and is moving amongst the rich and vulgar. She also has an awkward relationship with her mother and a preoccupation with cats - but she has made this her business. There are a number of amusing encounters with her clients as she hunts their treasures, finds them with consummate ease but keeps them for a few hours before delivering them so that it looks harder than it really is and she can feel better about collecting the cheque. Although there is much travelling around Melbourne in cars, looking for cats amongst other things, the solution to the mystery lies, interestingly, somewhere else both in place and time. The uncovering of the past of the socially mobile Vivian Talbott who married an ancient patriarch for his money, and the repercussions of this for other family members are some of the more interesting features of Cat Catcher. More serious in tone, its heroine (who, like Lindy Cameron's Kit, was in the police force) has a number of quirky addictions and neuroses which make her worth reading about. Gabrielle Lord is considered one of Australia's best crime writers and novels like Whipping Boy and The Sharp End have seen her dealing with some appalling elements in Sydney's underworld in an interesting way. Feeding the Demons, however, is as much a family drama as it is a crime novel. She weaves together the story of two sisters whose father is about to leave jail for their mother's murder thirty years before, and a current series of rapes, murders and abductions in Sydney. Kit (a psychotherapist who channels energy, among other things) and Gemma (PI who was once a cop and who has a cat called “Taxi”) are both touched by both crimes but in different ways. Perhaps not surprisingly, however, it is Gemma who sets about solving them both. Again, like the other Kit and Lenny, she has friends in the force who help her out (one wonders if it mightn't be the other way around in real life given that it is a murder investigation …). For the most part, this is an altogether more sombre novel. There are none of the fast one-liners nor hare-brained car-chasing escapades around the city, or even much surveillance of men. Its sobriety comes partly from the relationship between the two women who spend a lot of time reviewing the past, their relationships, and memories of their parents, and of each other. Running alongside this is the present day pursuit of the man – or men, as it turns out – who are hell-bent on murder. Given the seriousness of it all, the plot does get a little creaky in its attempts to weave the two stories together. Both Kit and Gemma have first-hand experiences with the murderer – through coincidence. But the ending really does beggar belief. Lord seems anxious, despite the ghastliness of what has gone before, to leave the reader feeling resolved. And what a resolution it is! The lost Taxi returns home. An eagle with a broken wing, miraculously healed, learns to fly. Kit is almost killed by a demented patient, but is rescued by Gemma. Kit's heroin-addicted son (whom she hasn't seen for years) finds them as they sit by their mother's grave, declares that he is in rehab and says insightful things about their past. Kit and Gemma's father takes out a huge life-insurance policy then dies whilst rescuing Gemma from another potential murderer. If that were not enough for the final few pages, Gemma awakes as she is about to be murdered (again!). Twice in one day is a lot, but this time the attacker is a bikie associate of her shady undercover-cop semi-boyfriend who (guess what!) arrives in the nick of time and rescues her. Phew! Despite this over-action-packed ending it is a well-written novel on the whole, and does manage to deliver some interesting psychological insights about memory, childhood and love. Finally, it is good to see not only the numbers of crime novels by Australian women increasing, but also their depth and quality. You might feel a bit jaded by the cats, difficult mothers, and ex-colleagues in the police force who seem obligatory, but not, I would argue, by the wit and colour of the urban Australian landscape and the feisty women who keep those streets clean. Katie Hughes teaches Gender Studies at Victoria University.