Triffids Beard 2 - The Bearded Triffid

disappeared, never to return, and I was down to one bath towel and one facecloth, presumably because
there was only one of me. My hand towel had vanished, but it reappeared twenty four hours later and I
deduced that hand towels were allowed only on alternate days.
On Thursday evening I arrived back at the hotel to find that my room had been serviced with unusual
determination and viciousness -- not a scrap of bathroom equipment was to be seen. No towels, no
facecloths, no bathmat (of course) and no soap. The bathroom looked strangely naked. I phoned
reception and about half an hour later two bath towels and a hand towel arrived and I finally got to take
my evening shower. There being no soap, I washed from head to foot in shampoo. An hour later my
soap ration was delivered. Ah well.
John Dunning has hit upon a formula so obvious and yet so clever that a myriad of writers must now be
kicking themselves for not having thought of it first. It really is one of those obvious in retrospect things.
The hero of the novels is Cliff Janeway, a tough, book-loving homicide detective. In the first story,
Booked to Die, he is pursuing a psychopath called Jackie Newton who he is convinced has committed
several murders but who has always managed to evade conviction. Events reach such a crisis after the
murder of a vagrant and the brutal beating of Newton's girl friend that Janeway loses control and hands
out some summary justice of his own to Jackie Newton. While very satisfying in the short term, it is the
kiss of death for Janeway's job and he has to resign from the police force. However one advantage of
this mid-life change of career is that Janeway now has time to indulge in his great love and passion -- the
buying and selling and collecting of books. He opens a bookstore and soon the bookscouts are bringing
him books to sell. But they have information to sell as well -- the vagrant who died was a bookscout; he
made a precarious living searching for first editions in charity shops and market stalls. Janeway is still a
detective inside and he follows the trails that are opened up for him. The game is still afoot.
Dunning tells a traditional hard-boiled tale but throughout it he scatters fascinating snippets of booklovers
lore. Anybody with the least feeling for the beauty and attraction of books will love this story. For
a rabid bibliophile such as me it proved quite unputdownable.
The second novel, The Bookman's Wake continues the formula as before. Janeway is lured into acting
briefly as a bounty hunter. He travels to Seattle to bring back a fugitive wanted for assault, burglary and
the possible theft of a rare edition of Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven. The book is a first edition published
by a small press that is now defunct. The publishing house went out of business when its owner and his
brother died in a mysterious fire many years before. Books from this publisher are rare and much
sought after.
The fugitive turns out to be a young woman called Eleanor Rigby who is an enormously talented
bookscout. Janeway finds her intriguing, the more so when he learns of her family's connection with the
small press publisher of The Raven. There is more going on here than meets the eye. There are
publishing secrets so valuable that they are worth killing for.
Again the arcana of book collecting suffuse and illuminate the whole novel. We are also introduced to the
actual mechanics of book production, all the way from font design to the choice of paper, boards and
glue. God is in the details and the details are utterly enthralling. But Dunning does not lose touch with the
story he is telling and the mysteries and thrills lead inexorably to a most unexpected climax and
resolution.
Never before has a love of books been put to such good use.
My Fijian breakfast was outside in the Palm Court dining area close to the pool. A selection of fresh fruit
looked somewhat sad. The pineapple was obviously tinned and I didn't care much for the ants scurrying
around the display case. A ramrod straight and very dignified waiter enquired "Some toast for you my
friend?" He had a smiley face tattooed on his left arm. I had corn flakes, but they were stale.
The hotel restaurant provided dinner in the evening. The menu was limited but surprisingly well prepared
and presented. The ubiquitous kokoda was as good as any I have tasted and the vegetable samosas
were delicious (though the pickled green chillies provided as a condiment were skull shattering).