Brisbane

Two novellas, connected by PI Jack Munro, COORPAROO BLUES and THE IRISH FANDANGO are an interesting historical hard-boiled combination of PI, mean streets, fallen women, drinking and the whole nine yards.

The first story, COORPAROO BLUES, introduces Jack, war veteran, ex-cop, nose for trouble, attractor of a simply staggering number of women, PI that you turn to when things are going to get nasty.

The second story, set a few months later, sees the US troop angle switched for political refugees and Communists around every corner, and a suicide that isn't.

So we're not exactly talking scenarios and a counter-hero of a type that we've not seen before. Albeit that Munro comes with a hefty dose of Australian colloquial language (so much so that they've included a glossary at the back of the book for those less used to the way that the common language can divide). He's also walking the seamier side of Brisbane at a period in history that not a lot of dark and noir current day fiction addresses. And it's done very well - the setting feels authentic, right down to the sense of heat and grime that comes with a Brisbane summer. We're also talking, mercifully a couple of intricate plots that were clever and well formed and resolved in two such short novellas.

The thing with this sort of crime fiction is always that there's a sense that attitudes of the time must be clear cut, all women are either whores or saints, all men gangsters or heroes. Even though Munro is a fair bit more nuanced than like hero's of the type, he is, a good bloke to have on your side in a tight spot and a man seemingly irresistible to any female within range. Definitely one for fans of noir, particularly as it's been a long time since Australia's mean streets have been explored in this way.

The initial idea for THE TOE TAG QUINTET came from author Matthew Condon's editor at The Courier Mail in Brisbane, who wanted a series of novella's in the newspaper over the Christmas / New Year period. Combine that idea with the chance meeting of an old mate, a now retired NSW senior policeman, with a story about walking past an old gangster and you get, with a lot of work in the middle, those five novella's now published in one volume.

Each story is a separate outing for the central protagonist, an unnamed former homicide detective, scouting for, and eventually moving into the Gold Coast retirement home of their dreams, whilst long suffering wife Peg's holds hearth and home together. Starting out in a caravan park whilst Peg's at home in NSW packing up and getting organised for the move, our hero's post-retirement adventures begin with that gangster chance encounter which leads to sinister notes under doors, and an increasing amount of argy-bargy. A pattern that, with adjustment of the details, continues through all five stories.

Each novella does follow a well-trodden path, with something providing any excuse for our hero to dodge the inevitable boredom and relevance deprivation of retirement. Whilst that's particularly obvious as a result of the sequential reading of the novella's, that doesn't mean it's a bad thing. I will admit that I did attempt mitigation by imposing a short delay between each short story, but it was hard not to just keep reading as each outing involved a growing number of bandages on the noggin, an increasingly eccentric cast of opponents, frequent and bizarre near death experiences, and a fair amount of extra bodily damage of varying types / severity. There's also the very nice touch of a bit of philosophising on a rickety old banana lounge, a lot of deep sighing on the part of the seemingly unflappable Peg and an obsession with Kombi's that certainly clears up any lingering doubt about the likelihood of long-term damage from that much noggin bashing.

Set on the Gold Coast and in Brisbane, our hero strides across his canvas in what seems like the perfect uniform for a displaced Southerner - garish Hawaiian shirts and bare, pale, slightly bandy hairy legs below shorts, above slightly scruffy runners, regardless of the venue. He's gloriously unaware of the environs in which he's moving, although the reader is allowed to feel a real connection with the surrounds (granted the beauty of the bell tower and its connections to the action might be lost on someone tied up awaiting that final bell toll..).

Needless to say, we are obviously talking funny. Laugh out loud, frequently hilarious, with a touch of a darker underbelly. Our hero is proud of his hard-nut capacity, his ability to stick with a problem, his beloved vintage Peugeot no matter how much smoke it belches at him. He's also fighting the good fight that will resound markedly with a lot of people of a certain age - "Do not go gentle into that good night" - go kicking, screaming and creating a huge ruckus. Buried within was a message about the way that retirement isn't a comfortable place for a lot of people, and the idea of looking back at a life, family, and relationships with others can be a sobering experience. The novellas might start out with the tidying up of a few gangsters, but they progress. In 'Murder on the Vine' he loses an old friend; in 'Murder, She Tweeted', a long lost contact, compatriot and priest; and finally in 'The Good Murder Guide' he is forced to confront the truth of the murder of his long-term mentor in the NSW Police. All of these experiences, wrapped up in the humour, and lunacy of the now, explore disconnection.

THE TOE TAG QUINTET worked as a comedy, as a selection of short stories and as sheer entertainment. What I didn't expect, probably unfairly, is how much of a thought provoker it's remained.
 

The HK Monaro wormed it's way into my heart in 1968. Bathurst, Bruce McPhee, Hardie-Ferodo, pole position and the race lap record at that time. A life-long love of those cars was started on the lino of the kitchen in South-West Victoria, shouting at a dodgy TV telecast, enthralled. Sure, my teenage years saw a shift in preference to the HG model, and I would always opt for the dark purple HG with the sidewinder stripes and, of course, the GTS 350, with the stiffened suspension and the power front disc brakes. Alas I suspect that passion is about the only thing that Tara Sharp and I would ever share. As far as STAGE FRIGHT was concerned, the Monaro had me at the very first book. The aura reading, the sense of humour and the madcap "antics" not so much.

STAGE FRIGHT fits right into that sub-genre of crime fiction that includes the Stephanie Plum books, and my particular favourite, the Grace Smith series. Whilst the best of that sub-genre can be hilarious and hugely entertaining, the worst is a tad too forced, often times a little overtly twee and predictable for my liking. They are undoubtedly books for readers who prefer their crime delivered with a hefty dose of dressing up. Chick lit with bodies and a bit of high camp fem-jep.

The Tara Sharp series is going to have it's fans, and if you happen to like the Plum books in particular, something that's got a similar feeling and tone set locally is a very good thing. You will have to have a tolerance for a lot of aura reading, and not mind the occasional bit of romantic tension and heavy-handed humour, but if that's you, then you really should give the local product a go.

STAGE FRIGHT is the third book in the Tara Sharp series. SHARP SHOOTER is the first, SHARP TURN the second.