September is going to be Richard Osman month from now on. A new book of his is published around this time each year – he has two series on the go – and although the first Thursday Murder Club film came out in the cinema in August, we’re all watching it on Netflix now. His world domination plan seems unstoppable – and after reading his delightful new novel, I’d say that’s no bad thing.
In case you’ve been off-grid for five years, this is the story so far. Osman, a well-known TV presenter, decided to write an amusing crime story based (loosely) on the entirely law-abiding retirement village where his mum lives. The Thursday Murder Club became a phenomenon, selling millions and breaking records, and the subsequent books in the series have each been more and more successful, and no-one doubts for a moment that The Impossible Fortune will be the same.
And despite how unpromising celebrity novels often seem, the books deserve all their success – they are marvellous. Osman’s new series, We Solve Murders, is looking good too, but, honestly, it is great to be back at Cooper’s Chase in Kent where Elizabeth (ex-spy), Ibrahim (psychiatrist), Ron (trade union bulldog) and Joyce (your ideal mum and former nurse) meet to solve crimes.
Unlike some wildly successful writers, Osman has neither started phoning it in, nor written a massive insufficiently edited brick of a book (not naming any names).
This one starts with Joyce’s daughter Joanna getting married. The best man Nick is in trouble and disappears – but not before asking Elizabeth for help. Elizabeth is still mourning her husband Stephen, but will slowly learn to live with her grief during the book, as she gets a good problem to attack.
The whole crew is on board, of course, and they investigate like mad, doing their usual thing of visiting and questioning and having dinners. The problem has to do with Cryptocurrency, and a string of digits, and hidden storage way below ground. There is ecstasy-dealer Ravey Davey, whose chill leftover-from-Ibiza vibe is undercut by a terrifyingly casual attitude to guns and violence.
A second strand deals with Ron’s family – his son Jason and daughter Suzie are in trouble. This means grandson Kendrick – a strangely un-annoying genius child – comes to stay in the retirement village.
Enough characters for you, much?
Because, of course, we also still have Chris and Donna from the police force, and the wonderful Bogdan – resourceful Polish renaissance man. But it’s always clear who is who, and who is speaking: the voices are distinctive and varied.
Everyone goes out and about on expeditions, Joyce and Elizbeth are always a particular pleasure to follow – Joyce’s first-person sections are the best bits of the books (the OAP Bridget Jones as I like to call her). It is becoming increasingly apparent that Ibrahim is very good at questions involving psychology, his old field of work, but strangely useless at everything else.
Looked at one way, the Bitcoin is just a modern version of any old McGuffin (as Alfred Hitchcock called it – the item that fictional goodies and baddies are all looking for) but Osman has done his research. All the strands work perfectly together, with increasing tension and jeopardy. The two halves of a missing code number are hidden exceptionally well in very different ways, providing an excellent climax, and still some surprises.
The moral framework stands firm from book to book: loneliness is bad, and friends and family are what everyone needs. Revenge – even surprisingly fierce revenge – is acceptable. Joyce’s kindness and humanity are worth more even than others’ cleverness, though she is also clever in her own way. Don’t underestimate her.
There are plenty of jokes and very funny and witty lines. Let’s analyse this segment, where a young woman is asked where she got cocaine from:
“‘Some guy from the 24-hour garage with one arm,’ says Tia.
‘Ah, Dan Hatfield,’ says Connie. She remembers when Dan Hatfield had two arms. The money he’d wasted on tattoos on that other arm.”
Explaining what’s funny is always thankless, but in these few lines we have: the true rhythms of normal speech, not booktalk; a good joke in the wasted tattoos; and enjoyable details that aren’t truly necessary to the plot, but have had attention lavished on them. Richard Osman is a proper writer.
Even his fans don’t claim that this is great literature – it won’t be up for the Booker Prize – and many of the events here are extremely unlikely. The plot is still intriguing and satisfying, though – and, anyhow, where his books shine is in their picture of family life.
We are often told that great British, Irish and American novelists, prizewinners all, are the go-to artists for depictions of real life. My contention would be that if you really want to find out how families and friends react and interact and talk, then go to Richard Osman, Liane Moriarty and Marian Keyes. The prizewinners don’t make you wince with recognition at a silly argument or a difficult family meal: the literature-lite writers surely do.
The relationship between Joyce and Joanna in Osman’s books is as wise and touching and yet funny as anything being written today, and that has been true through all five books.
In the runup to the publication of this novel, I wrote about “cosy crime” books, provoking discussion online about how you would define the category and which books could be so described. We all know cosy isn’t really the right word. But “cosy crime” is identifiable: Osman perhaps is New Cosy, or Modern Cosy? We need new terms.
The new Thursday Murder Club film is very watchable and has great actors, but is very much a certain kind of British film, and as so often in adaptations, the edges are smoothed and some of the jokes and subtleties are missing, other points hammered home plonkingly. It makes you realise how nuanced and clever Osman is in his writing.
So yes, an unstoppable freight train will bring Osman’s books and films to our doors, and riches to his door. But, as I said at the start, this is only a good thing. How could entertaining and comforting people in difficult times be anything but?
