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A review by kris_mccracken
White Dog: Jack Irish, Book Four by Peter Temple
5.0
Peter Temple's "White Dog" wraps up the Jack Irish series in fine style, earning every bit of its 5-star rating. It's not just a cracking crime novel but a fitting send-off for a character who's been through the wringer and come out the other side, scarred but somehow still standing. Temple's craftsmanship is on full display here, from his ear for dialogue and a knack for wrapping a thick layer of noir mystery in his books.
The novel is divided into two distinct halves. The first part gives us a sense of the familiar: Jack's inimitable blend of investigative work, restoring vintage furniture, and the odd side hustle that drags him into the fringes of Melbourne's underworld. It's like settling in with an old mate for a chinwag; you know the rhythm, the tone, the way Jack dodges life's more difficult questions. Temple brings this world to life with an almost deceptive ease, laying the groundwork for what's to come. The dialogue crackles with authenticity, sounding more like the banter you'd overhear down at the local than anything scripted, spot-on without slipping into caricature.
But just as you're lulled into a sense of comfort, the novel pivots. The second half shifts gears, and suddenly, it's as if Temple's thrown the plot into overdrive. Jack's life takes a dramatic turn, and the stakes go from simmering to boiling over. The pace ramps up, the danger's more immediate, and Jack's emotional landscape becomes darker and more nuanced. The story hurtles toward a final action scene that, for me, featured a specific moment that cheered me no end, a bit of rough justice that left me with a shit-eating grin.
Temple's depiction of Melbourne deserves a round of applause all on its own. He doesn't just write about the city; he captures its essence, painting it in shades of grey and drizzle. The gentrification that creeps into Jack's old stomping grounds adds an extra layer of melancholy as if even the city itself is changing under his feet. Yet Temple's not just nostalgic for a bygone era; there's a sharp awareness of how the landscape of politics and power is shifting. The novel reflects on these societal changes without banging on about it, making you ponder just how much has altered since the character first appeared.
To demonstrate his skill, I LOATHE horse racing, but Temple manages to make it genuinely engaging here. The racing subplot isn't just filler; it adds texture to the story, grounding Jack in a world that feels lived-in and real. These sideline stories are a big part of what gives the Jack Irish series its unique flavour, like the seasoning on a good steak. They're the kind of tangents that flesh out Jack's world and make it richer.
There's something satisfying about a crime novel that doesn't hand you all the answers on a silver platter. Temple makes you work for it, dropping clues and red herrings with equal measure, so you're never quite sure what's around the corner.
It's bittersweet to bid farewell to Jack Irish, but White Dog sees him out on a high. If you've followed Jack's journey from the beginning, you'll find yourself savouring these final chapters, even as you wish there were just a few more. And if you're new to the series, well, you're in for a treat.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
The novel is divided into two distinct halves. The first part gives us a sense of the familiar: Jack's inimitable blend of investigative work, restoring vintage furniture, and the odd side hustle that drags him into the fringes of Melbourne's underworld. It's like settling in with an old mate for a chinwag; you know the rhythm, the tone, the way Jack dodges life's more difficult questions. Temple brings this world to life with an almost deceptive ease, laying the groundwork for what's to come. The dialogue crackles with authenticity, sounding more like the banter you'd overhear down at the local than anything scripted, spot-on without slipping into caricature.
But just as you're lulled into a sense of comfort, the novel pivots. The second half shifts gears, and suddenly, it's as if Temple's thrown the plot into overdrive. Jack's life takes a dramatic turn, and the stakes go from simmering to boiling over. The pace ramps up, the danger's more immediate, and Jack's emotional landscape becomes darker and more nuanced. The story hurtles toward a final action scene that, for me, featured a specific moment that cheered me no end, a bit of rough justice that left me with a shit-eating grin.
Temple's depiction of Melbourne deserves a round of applause all on its own. He doesn't just write about the city; he captures its essence, painting it in shades of grey and drizzle. The gentrification that creeps into Jack's old stomping grounds adds an extra layer of melancholy as if even the city itself is changing under his feet. Yet Temple's not just nostalgic for a bygone era; there's a sharp awareness of how the landscape of politics and power is shifting. The novel reflects on these societal changes without banging on about it, making you ponder just how much has altered since the character first appeared.
To demonstrate his skill, I LOATHE horse racing, but Temple manages to make it genuinely engaging here. The racing subplot isn't just filler; it adds texture to the story, grounding Jack in a world that feels lived-in and real. These sideline stories are a big part of what gives the Jack Irish series its unique flavour, like the seasoning on a good steak. They're the kind of tangents that flesh out Jack's world and make it richer.
There's something satisfying about a crime novel that doesn't hand you all the answers on a silver platter. Temple makes you work for it, dropping clues and red herrings with equal measure, so you're never quite sure what's around the corner.
It's bittersweet to bid farewell to Jack Irish, but White Dog sees him out on a high. If you've followed Jack's journey from the beginning, you'll find yourself savouring these final chapters, even as you wish there were just a few more. And if you're new to the series, well, you're in for a treat.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐