Naturally, all
three ongoing story elements carry over in various ways in Black
Notice. But the central plot line is unrelated--at
least initially.
On a pleasant late-autumn day, Scarpetta is called to investigate
a body found in the cargo bay of a ship at Richmond's Deep Water
Terminal. In signature Cornwell style, the body is at an isolated
site, past some railroad tracks behind a Philip Morris manufacturing
plant. It's a strong scene that draws on what might be Cornwell's
greatest talent as a writer: her ability to scout out intriguing
outdoor locations for her crime scenes and describe them in wonderful
detail. With a raw understatement that rings of Raymond Chandler
(or even Hemingway), she captures the loneliness--the abandonment,
even--that comes with a violent, secret death. The isolated,
even decrepit crime scene becomes, to use T.S. Eliot's fancy
term, the objective correlative for the god- and human-forsaken
in-between world lost souls must slip into when their deaths
are abrupt, violent and unstopped.
I looked around, taking in the entire scene at once. A light
breeze clinked heavy chains against cranes that had been offloading
steel beams from the Euroclip, three hatches at a time,
when all activity stopped. Forklifts and flatbed trucks had been
abandoned. Dockworkers and crew had nothing to do and kept their
eyes on us from the tarmac.
Some looked on from the bows of their ships and through the
windows of deckhouses. Heat rose from oil-stained asphalt scattered
with wooden frames, spacers and skids, and a CSX train clanked
and scraped through a crossing beyond the warehouses. The smell
of creosote was strong but could not mask the stench of rotting
human flesh that drifted like smoke on the air.
The body is in an advanced state of decay, and initially,
at least, it is unidentifiable, although it offers a tantalizing
clue: the dead man's clothing is covered with strands of thin,
wispy, pale hair that nobody can identify. The container in which
it was found had been sealed in Antwerp, Belgium, and shipped
unnoticed across the Atlantic--with the implication, of course,
that the death was distant in both time and place. The body--or
the Container Man, as he is soon nicknamed--is sitting upright,
with no visible signs of violence. But a message written in French
on an adjacent carton tells Scarpetta this isn't merely a stowaway
who dehydrated or suffocated before he made it to America. Translated
into English, it says, "Have a nice trip, werewolf."
After Scarpetta finds enough evidence during the usual, grimly
detailed autopsy to suggest the man didn't die a natural death
("Cause of death undetermined...Manner, homicide"),
Interpol is contacted, and the body is officially listed as being
the remains of a missing person. ("Black notice" is
the color code Interpol assigns to unidentified corpses.)
For a while, nothing happens. Then a convenience store clerk
in Richmond is brutally attacked and murdered (in addition to
being shot, she is beaten severely and the palms of her hands
and the soles of her feet bitten repeatedly), and Scarpetta finds
the same strange, pale hair on the clerk as she had found on
the Container Man. Whoever killed the Container Man and stuffed
him into a cargo container in Antwerp crossed the Atlantic with
his victim, it would seem--and now he's killing women in Scarpetta's
own town.
At this point,
hard-boiled readers of this review might well be tempted to stop
reading and run out to buy their own copy of Black Notice.
First, though, glance up two paragraphs and notice I said, "For
a while, nothing happens." Let me be clearer: from the
Container Man's autopsy to the death of the convenience store
clerk, Cornwell gives her readers one hundred pages of inter-departmental
political strife and a lot of the standard yelling matches Cornwell's
main characters can't seem to avoid. She's not especially good
at showing us nuances in her characters' emotions, and they consequently
tend to swing in extremes from anger to remorse like a drunk
driver lurching from one side of the road to the other.
The political squabbling isn't much more engaging. A new deputy
chief is throwing her weight around in the Richmond police department,
trying to get both Scarpetta and her cop buddy Pete Marino fired.
Of course, she happens to be beautiful and dangerously flirtatious,
and while she works a sirenlike spell on the men around her,
there's a strange sexual tension between Scarpetta and the deputy
chief.
Her eyes bored into places even I couldn't see, and she seemed
to wind her way through sacred parts of me and sense the meaning
of my many walls. She took in my face and my body and I wasn't
sure if she was comparing what I had to hers, or if she was assessing
something she might decide she wanted.
Unfortunately, despite Cornwell's best efforts to demonize
her ("Her eyes were dark holes, her teeth flashing like
steel blades in the glow of sodium lights"), the deputy
chief doesn't begin to provide the sort of tension and fear a
well-drawn villain might. Instead, she's the catalyst for a soap
opera subplot.
Of course, on
some level, nearly all of Cornwell's more recent books read like
soap operas. (Sometimes, as in Hornet's Nest--her first
non-Scarpetta mystery--they're virtually nothing but soap
opera.) If you read her series avidly, they make perfectly good
sense. To outsiders they must often sound like symphonies played
by the tone-deaf.
An argument might be made on behalf of at least some of Cornwell's
non-investigation themes, though, on the grounds that her novels
should be more properly labeled traditional Gothic fantasies,
rather than simple modern mysteries. And like all Gothic novels,
her work functions within a rather narrow range of conventions
and formulas.
Like any good Gothic novelist, for example, Cornwell takes
as her main theme the melodramatic battle between absolute good
and absolute evil. And to ridicule her for Scarpetta's absurd
goodness--she's damn near the überfräulein,
really--is to ignore the vital role she (as the hero) plays in
the Gothic tradition. The same may be said of her villains--for
all the over-the-top howlers they let off, we have to recognize
the Gothic tradition to which they give obeisance. After all,
absolute evil wouldn't be known for its understatement,
would it?
Likewise, Scarpetta's niece Lucy plays a rather conventional
but important Gothic role throughout the series: she is the child
who is at risk of being subsumed into evil. Thus, her affair
with Carrie Grethen, the recurring villain's sidekick, differs
surprisingly little from Jonathan Harker's wife giving herself
up to Dracula in Bram Stoker's Gothic masterpiece. At heart,
the Gothic tradition is about the dangers inherent in the transition
from innocence to experience, from childhood to adulthood. And
in this sense, Lucy--as tiresome as her tirades may seem to some
readers--is central to the Gothic themes that run through the
Scarpetta series.
Still not convinced
that Cornwell is a stunningly well-paid Gothic novelist? Consider
the following passage from Black Notice:
I wandered around, feeling the damp cold of old stone and
air blowing off the river as I moved around in the darkness of
deep shadows and took interest in every detail, as if I were
he. He would have been fascinated by this place. It was the hall
of dishonor that displayed his trophies after his kills and reminded
him of his sovereign immunity. He could do whatever he wanted,
whenever he pleased and leave all the evidence in the world and
he wouldn't be touched.
With its rather stiff and formal "as if I were he"
phrasing and standard Gothic details--"damp cold,"
"old stone," "darkness," "deep shadows"--it
could have been written by Edgar Allen Poe or Ann Radcliffe or
Robert Louis Stevenson--or Victor Hugo, for that matter. And
the implication that the narrator is inside the beast's lair--or
at least believes she is--is a wonderful nineteenth century
Gothic device: it is the Innocent in danger of being consumed
by dark Experience. Indeed, Scarpetta's imagining that she herself
is seeing the dark world through the monster's eyes underlines
the 'doubling' theme that is so important in the Gothic tradition.
That the threat takes the form of unstoppable, violent, deviant
sexuality seems almost to...well, to drive the stake through
the vampire's heart, if we can switch Gothic monsters for a moment.
Despite our best good-hearted efforts, we are all fascinated
by the darker side of life. As much as it scares us, it attracts
us, although we may not want to admit it. After all, how else
could you explain the phenomenal success Cornwell's books have
enjoyed?
Cornwell, it would seem, is our Bram Stoker--or even our Victor
Hugo, producing big, emotionally charged potboilers. Indeed,
From Potter's Field even ended in the sewer tunnels under
New York, just as Les Miserables ended in the sewer tunnels
under Paris. And the same people who flocked to see Les Miserables
a few years ago have now bought enough copies of Black Notice
to send it to the top of the bestseller lists with shocking
speed. And they're going to enjoy it for many of the same reasons
they enjoyed Les Miserables. But it still doesn't completely
absolve her of the soap opera complaints, unfortunately.
Put simply, a lot of us love her mystery plots and tolerate
the Gothic themes--but we could do without the tirades.
So exactly how
much of Black Notice is soap opera and how much of it
is a traditional mystery? Without going into word-count comparisons,
let's just say the split is roughly three parts mystery, two
parts soap opera. And that's better than some of the earlier
novels (Hornet's Nest was more like one part mystery to
four parts soap opera.) It helps, of course, to have a plot that
doesn't tie in directly to the main characters' ongoing soap-opera
plot lines. But that the soap opera elements are there at all
is disappointing. At heart, Cornwell remains a strong, consistent
mystery writer when it comes to the mystery elements of her
novels. Unfortunately, she gives us something else to go
along with the good stuff.
While Black Notice is one of the better Scarpetta titles
of late, Cornwell would do her loyal readers a great favor if
she dropped the shouting matches and went back to what attracted
us in the first place: writing strong fantasies about the dark
world we all knew so well as children, when the lights went out
and the house grew quiet and something...over there, in that
corner...behind you...creaked...
There--did you hear it?
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