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jenkepesh 's review for:
Broken Harbour
by Tana French
One of the great things about Tana French is that she believes in classic tragedy--that a hero should be admirable, but also that he should have flaws that ultimately prove to be his undoing. She often has her heroes voice this thought, in modern-speak, in detective-speak; it is these flaws that will prove the criminals' undoing. And those who are a bit wiser have figured out that their own flaws may prove their undoing, so they are on guard against them. But French knows that we are aware of only some of our flaws, and even those, we spin and minimize, while being utterly blind to others. Sometimes, we are unaware of them because they are too painful to contemplate. Other times, we simply haven't yet been in the circumstances that we will respond to in a maladaptive way. Perfectly self-actualized we may strive to be, but to stay that way, we would have to live under a cloche. And even there, life continues to change.
In Broken Harbour, narrated in the first person, Mike Kennedy, a middle-aged police detective has worked hard to own his mistakes, to recognize his own nature, to live by simple rules, to be humble enough that he can adjust to other people, to the circumstances of each case and to the chaos his mentally ill sister occasionally visits upon him and the rest of the family. His watchword is "control." Kennedy is pleasant with colleagues, even the unpleasant ones, but does not foster close relationships that would require vulnerability. He is always willing to support new detectives, to help them get a start but also to avoid becoming entwined in a partnership; even good partners bring--and cause-liabilities.
The case he and Richie Curran, the newest squad detecive, work on involves a murdered family; seemingly, an out-of-work father snapped. But those who knew the family are more inclined to describe them as perfect, deeply in love, capable of coping with setbacks, and a childhood friend has been on the scene in a suspicious way. Kennedy is ready with multiple tips and rules, ready to lead and teach, but he also finds that his new partner has natural gifts and a deep love of the job. As his acceptance grows of Curran, so too does his recognition that they work well together, playing off one another's strengths. He begins to imagine that they might be able to create a longer-term partnership. He even begins to imagine that he might open up to Curran, letting someone know of the strain he is under with his sister's self-destructive and deeply enmeshing personality.
No floodgates open. But this chink of light blinds Kennedy to a shadow...he knows his partner is doing his best to slow aspects of the investigation, to turn attention away from the obvious suspect, and he believes his partner is doing so to be careful, to keep an open mind, and a small part of him thinks that his partner, in his idealistic youth, in his admiration for his mentor, might be judging him, assuming he's too quick to close in on a suspect but not wanting to say so. Touching, so Kennedy doesn't shut him down. Touching, but also--maybe Curran is able to see something that Kennedy doesn't let himself see. So, Kennedy allows the unspoken things to remain unspoken. And thus, because of this particular case and this particular partner, his control, his humility, and his vulnerability become his tragic flaws. The case is solved--correctly. Justice is served--properly. But Kennedy sees that he can no longer be a detective.
In Broken Harbour, narrated in the first person, Mike Kennedy, a middle-aged police detective has worked hard to own his mistakes, to recognize his own nature, to live by simple rules, to be humble enough that he can adjust to other people, to the circumstances of each case and to the chaos his mentally ill sister occasionally visits upon him and the rest of the family. His watchword is "control." Kennedy is pleasant with colleagues, even the unpleasant ones, but does not foster close relationships that would require vulnerability. He is always willing to support new detectives, to help them get a start but also to avoid becoming entwined in a partnership; even good partners bring--and cause-liabilities.
The case he and Richie Curran, the newest squad detecive, work on involves a murdered family; seemingly, an out-of-work father snapped. But those who knew the family are more inclined to describe them as perfect, deeply in love, capable of coping with setbacks, and a childhood friend has been on the scene in a suspicious way. Kennedy is ready with multiple tips and rules, ready to lead and teach, but he also finds that his new partner has natural gifts and a deep love of the job. As his acceptance grows of Curran, so too does his recognition that they work well together, playing off one another's strengths. He begins to imagine that they might be able to create a longer-term partnership. He even begins to imagine that he might open up to Curran, letting someone know of the strain he is under with his sister's self-destructive and deeply enmeshing personality.
No floodgates open. But this chink of light blinds Kennedy to a shadow...he knows his partner is doing his best to slow aspects of the investigation, to turn attention away from the obvious suspect, and he believes his partner is doing so to be careful, to keep an open mind, and a small part of him thinks that his partner, in his idealistic youth, in his admiration for his mentor, might be judging him, assuming he's too quick to close in on a suspect but not wanting to say so. Touching, so Kennedy doesn't shut him down. Touching, but also--maybe Curran is able to see something that Kennedy doesn't let himself see. So, Kennedy allows the unspoken things to remain unspoken. And thus, because of this particular case and this particular partner, his control, his humility, and his vulnerability become his tragic flaws. The case is solved--correctly. Justice is served--properly. But Kennedy sees that he can no longer be a detective.