Scan barcode
cardica's review against another edition
4.0
Coming in 9th place for our 2022 recommendations on Death of the Reader, is RV Raman’s ‘A Dire Isle’, which must be said very slowly in an Australian accent to not sound like you’re reciting your vowels. RV Raman has been one of India’s best barely-kept secrets since his 2014 fiction debut ‘[b:Fraudster|22585967|Fraudster|R.V. Raman|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1403678286l/22585967._SY75_.jpg|42060729]’, one of a growing number of authors opening the door to their relatively young slice of our crime fiction world. The books this year on Death of the Reader have featured a lot of nostalgia for detective fiction, but no entry has imbued quite as much joy to that nostalgia as RV Raman does in his second Harith Athreya novel.
Following his previous adventure on a mountainous train-ride wherein homage oozes so profoundly you barely need to open the covers to smell it, the latest Harith Athreya novel opens with the modern detective rafting down a picturesque river with a friend, the friend’s daughter Moupriya, and a local river guide. The raft slows before a foggy forest island, and their guide recants the ominous legacy of bloodshed that has left Naaz Tapu, the titular isle, abandoned. A tale of a young couple, kept apart by the political animosity of their tribes, and the curse they uttered unto the lush river isle centuries ago. Harith Athreya is in the area after a series of valuable artefacts were stolen from archaeological digs in the region. Your detective ends up in this bizarre jazz-bar sort of scene to meet the lead staff of the dig, and our morally-grey antagonist-adjacent thug Madhav, and this is where our tale truly begins. The way Raman plants the game-pieces on his board has an almost ruthless, authentic efficiency that tells you so much about the relationships you’re about to explore. Raman sets the stage such that you know he knows exactly what he’s doing, so that all of his following narrative transgressions are deliberate, and delightful.
Shortly after meeting the leaders of the dig, Harith is brought to the dig itself to meet the rest of our cast. It’s here where those transgressions truly begin. As you meander your way through the idiosyncrasies of the archaeologists, there’s a shift in the language, as the self-restraint mechanisms holding your nostalgia back buckle. The seasoned murder mystery fan, especially, will catch the odd whiff of a familiar phrase, a line out of place. As the novel begins to go through it’s genre-mandated paces, you’re given a best-of show for the genre’s writing styles, and it is enjoyably disjointed. You can feel the smile on Raman’s face as he effortlessly flows between the stories that inspired him. It’s not clumsy, it’s not amateurish, it’s just fun, and isn’t that what it’s all about? A particular highlight is the arrival on the scene of our to-be locked room, as Harith spots the trap before it springs, and proceeds to walk right on by, because, you feel, he wouldn’t want to rob you or Raman of your thunder.
The murder, in that same locked room, finally takes you to Naaz Tapu, and Harith’s investigation into grave-robbing suddenly becomes about much more modern graves. Your guides become the young Moupriya, whom you met earlier, and the eeriest member of the dig, Nazreen. The interplay between these two vastly different women and their growing collaboration with Harith in getting to the bottom of a gruesome murder is a charming approach to the detective’s offsiders, reminiscent as much of YA crime fiction clubs as they are of Watsons and Hastings. The contrast between the warmth of Moupriya’s relationship with her family and Nazreen’s nonexistent life outside the dig are but one of the many examples of how Raman binds the atmosphere of this novel together. Contrast really is the key joy to Raman’s recreation of Bundelkhand. The region, in central Northern India, is divided in the novel between the haunting, wild tone he’s attempting to construct, and the lush descriptions of one of Raman’s favourite vacation destinations. The two portrayals are almost impossible to merge, and so the book just, doesn’t, and it’s magnificent. This stark separation goes so far beyond the setting as well. It’s reflected everywhere; between Moupriya and Nazreen, between the grim parts of the book and the whimsy of the murder mystery game, between the mysticism and the realism, between the technicalities of archaeological crime and the lockless doors of this novel’s locked room.
You’re sold a sense of urgency in Harith Athreya’s mission, history could be lost at any moment to the highest bidder, with suspicious players like the tough Madhav, or the spectre of the ‘Bronze Runners’ grave robber gang lurking around every corner. There is the sense that the post-colonial politics of historical artefact theft could have been an interesting additional subtext to the novel, but it’s just not what the novel is here to do. Despite overt urgency RV Raman imparts, Athreya’s conduct is methodical; visiting every relevant scene in-depth, casing and chasing suspects. There are both rewards and consequences in store for you and Harith in his decision to behave this way. Harith Athreya is a consummate professional in a way that many crime fiction protagonists would not dare to be for fear of boring their readers, and the way we draw excitement out of that portrayal is incredibly unique amidst the rising chaos of modern crime fiction. There are a couple of odd moments where tension is swept out from under the feet of the novel, but never without that wry omniscient smile from Raman as he welcomes you into another of his favourite mystery memories. It’s the same sort of feeling you get going to a haunted house you’ve been to before, if you’re leaning into the fun, there’s charm to exclaiming ‘ah spoOoOoOoOoky!’ at the bedsheet-ghost who missed his cue.
RV Raman’s ‘A Dire Isle’ is not many things, compared to many of its contemporaries, a curmudgeonly reader might say it ‘falls short’ in challenge, message, tension, or whatever your inner academic puts on your crime fiction rubric. To treat ‘A Dire Isle’ in this fashion would be a crime unto itself - this book is sincere, solid, and especially, fun. There are so many willfully committed fictional faux pas, if you are not grinning ear to ear from cover to cover, it would be absurd. It lands at 9th place on our 2022 recommendations, and is a proud inclusion at that. Thank you to RV Raman for joining us to talk about this novel and Fraudster, and for Agora books in their assistance at arranging that interview.
Following his previous adventure on a mountainous train-ride wherein homage oozes so profoundly you barely need to open the covers to smell it, the latest Harith Athreya novel opens with the modern detective rafting down a picturesque river with a friend, the friend’s daughter Moupriya, and a local river guide. The raft slows before a foggy forest island, and their guide recants the ominous legacy of bloodshed that has left Naaz Tapu, the titular isle, abandoned. A tale of a young couple, kept apart by the political animosity of their tribes, and the curse they uttered unto the lush river isle centuries ago. Harith Athreya is in the area after a series of valuable artefacts were stolen from archaeological digs in the region. Your detective ends up in this bizarre jazz-bar sort of scene to meet the lead staff of the dig, and our morally-grey antagonist-adjacent thug Madhav, and this is where our tale truly begins. The way Raman plants the game-pieces on his board has an almost ruthless, authentic efficiency that tells you so much about the relationships you’re about to explore. Raman sets the stage such that you know he knows exactly what he’s doing, so that all of his following narrative transgressions are deliberate, and delightful.
Shortly after meeting the leaders of the dig, Harith is brought to the dig itself to meet the rest of our cast. It’s here where those transgressions truly begin. As you meander your way through the idiosyncrasies of the archaeologists, there’s a shift in the language, as the self-restraint mechanisms holding your nostalgia back buckle. The seasoned murder mystery fan, especially, will catch the odd whiff of a familiar phrase, a line out of place. As the novel begins to go through it’s genre-mandated paces, you’re given a best-of show for the genre’s writing styles, and it is enjoyably disjointed. You can feel the smile on Raman’s face as he effortlessly flows between the stories that inspired him. It’s not clumsy, it’s not amateurish, it’s just fun, and isn’t that what it’s all about? A particular highlight is the arrival on the scene of our to-be locked room, as Harith spots the trap before it springs, and proceeds to walk right on by, because, you feel, he wouldn’t want to rob you or Raman of your thunder.
The murder, in that same locked room, finally takes you to Naaz Tapu, and Harith’s investigation into grave-robbing suddenly becomes about much more modern graves. Your guides become the young Moupriya, whom you met earlier, and the eeriest member of the dig, Nazreen. The interplay between these two vastly different women and their growing collaboration with Harith in getting to the bottom of a gruesome murder is a charming approach to the detective’s offsiders, reminiscent as much of YA crime fiction clubs as they are of Watsons and Hastings. The contrast between the warmth of Moupriya’s relationship with her family and Nazreen’s nonexistent life outside the dig are but one of the many examples of how Raman binds the atmosphere of this novel together. Contrast really is the key joy to Raman’s recreation of Bundelkhand. The region, in central Northern India, is divided in the novel between the haunting, wild tone he’s attempting to construct, and the lush descriptions of one of Raman’s favourite vacation destinations. The two portrayals are almost impossible to merge, and so the book just, doesn’t, and it’s magnificent. This stark separation goes so far beyond the setting as well. It’s reflected everywhere; between Moupriya and Nazreen, between the grim parts of the book and the whimsy of the murder mystery game, between the mysticism and the realism, between the technicalities of archaeological crime and the lockless doors of this novel’s locked room.
You’re sold a sense of urgency in Harith Athreya’s mission, history could be lost at any moment to the highest bidder, with suspicious players like the tough Madhav, or the spectre of the ‘Bronze Runners’ grave robber gang lurking around every corner. There is the sense that the post-colonial politics of historical artefact theft could have been an interesting additional subtext to the novel, but it’s just not what the novel is here to do. Despite overt urgency RV Raman imparts, Athreya’s conduct is methodical; visiting every relevant scene in-depth, casing and chasing suspects. There are both rewards and consequences in store for you and Harith in his decision to behave this way. Harith Athreya is a consummate professional in a way that many crime fiction protagonists would not dare to be for fear of boring their readers, and the way we draw excitement out of that portrayal is incredibly unique amidst the rising chaos of modern crime fiction. There are a couple of odd moments where tension is swept out from under the feet of the novel, but never without that wry omniscient smile from Raman as he welcomes you into another of his favourite mystery memories. It’s the same sort of feeling you get going to a haunted house you’ve been to before, if you’re leaning into the fun, there’s charm to exclaiming ‘ah spoOoOoOoOoky!’ at the bedsheet-ghost who missed his cue.
RV Raman’s ‘A Dire Isle’ is not many things, compared to many of its contemporaries, a curmudgeonly reader might say it ‘falls short’ in challenge, message, tension, or whatever your inner academic puts on your crime fiction rubric. To treat ‘A Dire Isle’ in this fashion would be a crime unto itself - this book is sincere, solid, and especially, fun. There are so many willfully committed fictional faux pas, if you are not grinning ear to ear from cover to cover, it would be absurd. It lands at 9th place on our 2022 recommendations, and is a proud inclusion at that. Thank you to RV Raman for joining us to talk about this novel and Fraudster, and for Agora books in their assistance at arranging that interview.
emarcucci's review against another edition
adventurous
mysterious
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
4.0
tanyarastogi's review
4.0
Is Naaz Tapu haunted? The two centuries old legend of Naazneen, Vanraj, Bhola and Moti still stays strong with solid evidences.
Of course the murders followed shortly after the detective's arrival to Bundelkhand in classic whodunit style.
Have Bhola and his huge four pawed companion Moti returned to punish those who intend to violate the sanctity of the territory they protect i.e., the Naaz Tapu?
Loved both the story flow and the setting in historical Bundelkhand region of the state of Uttar Pradesh.
Of course the murders followed shortly after the detective's arrival to Bundelkhand in classic whodunit style.
Have Bhola and his huge four pawed companion Moti returned to punish those who intend to violate the sanctity of the territory they protect i.e., the Naaz Tapu?
Loved both the story flow and the setting in historical Bundelkhand region of the state of Uttar Pradesh.
felicitydisco's review against another edition
lighthearted
mysterious
medium-paced
4.25
A fun archaeology mystery!
More...