Everyone believes her father’s opinion to be just a folly of an old, deaf, excited man, but Wexford, as usual, is stubborn. A man must know his own daughter. And so, having failed to convince anyone (except his devoted Burden) in England, he goes to the USA to get to the bottom of the whole affair.

Soon after he is back, having brought more questions than answers with him, Natalie Arno (the true daughter or the false daughter of the famous musician) is found brutally murdered.

Wexford wouldn’t be Wexford if he didn’t solve the exciting puzzle. He did. As it often happens, the solution will amaze the reader who expected anything but not this throughout the book. Rendell’s skill of a plot-creator won’t betray her. But before we are given the solution we have to follow Wexford and other through a long chain of events, be indignant, be compassionate, be confused. It won’t be possible to put the book down – it never is with Rendell.

This is another of her early works and, therefore, more psychological than social. She still looks into her characters as persons and leaves social issues alone, but her gloomy and beautiful English is here. Well, perhaps, just a little bit less gloomy than usual. She even adds some slight humour, so the reader will smile more than once while reading scenes featuring Mr Haq or Mrs Sessamy. And as usual there is something totally psychologically wrong, with which I’ll never agree – no, never, ever will a woman deliberately cut her fingers in order to have “fun”. Even for a more important reason that wuuld take a lot of will – and a lot of training. I know that becaue I have tried. But for fun… sorry, this I cannot accept. Sorry if this is a little spoiler, but I just had to say it.

But, overall, the book is recommended to those who are aiming at reading all of Rendell (as I recently read all of Agatha Christie). It is a bit different Ruth Rendell – and so, it’s important to see her like this, a bit less gloomy, a bit more humourous – and yet, perhaps, slightly dull in some chapters. Oh yes, you’ll still finish the book – the enigma will make you – but afterwards, remembering the book, you might call it dull, so I won’t recommend it to those who are just starting to acquaint themselves with the creations of this author. If you are looking for the first Rendell’s book to start with, look elsewhere…

“Some Lie and Some Die” starts from a description of a festival at which eighty thousand teenagers gather to listen to their favourite music, offering Wexford yet another opportunity to show his tolerance while his friend and subordinate Mike Burden demonstrates his intolerance. Mike is not really a bad fellow – I’ve always found something healthy about his stubborn conservatism, which is, doubtless, what Wexford notices too and why he is so fond of Burden. Besides, Burden’s views often change throughout the book, unless he is proven right. In this case… but I don’t do spoilers, do I?

When the body of a girl is found brutally disfigured in a quarry near the field where the festival takes place, everyone assumes she is one of the music-lovers. But the doctor’s verdict is, she was not a teenager and she was dead before the festival started. So the festival ends, sad and shocked youths go home and Wexford gets to work to unravel the gruesome mystery.

The dead girl is soon indentified, despite being disfigured beyond recognition, but it’s not just as easy to identify the murderer. Who could have killed with so much hatred an innocent waitress, a girl who was, perhaps, a boaster and a name-dropper, but never did anyone any harm? Does the young people’s idol, the famous pop singer Zeno Vedast have anything to do with the brutal murder, or is the fact that he had been the victim’s classmate just a coincidence?

Wexford doesn’t know, but he will guess everything and come forward with the most amazing explanation, unbelievable, but true. The lyrics of Zeno Vedast’s greatest hit give him the most important clue.

Some people say the solution offered to us and the motive of the murder are simply not realistic, but we don’t know – life sometimes offers us experiences more unbelievable and unrealistic than the most far-fetched fiction. But the question her book asks is very real. “Who is responsible?” – that’s what the book is about. Is it always the same person whose hand struck the blow? Do we always feel and admit our responsibilities? Do we foresee the consequences of our well-meant actions? She leaves a big question mark.

Ruth Rendell always asks questions, which are not so easy to answer. In her later works she becomes political, addressing social issues as well as criminal issues. But “Some Lie and Some Die” was written in 1973, before she turned to being socially active: at that point she was more interested in persons. She made them different – some nice, some loathsome and some just ordinary, applying her usual total honesty to every character she painted. Just a few masterful strokes – and I feel that they can step from the pages of the book and into my room, so easy the author made it for me to visualise them.

Would I recommend the book? To those who like Ruth Rendell’s works, doubtless I would. To those who haven’t yet read any it’s probably not the best book to start with, given the diversity of opinions about it among the readers and the general gloomy sound of the prose, typical for Rendell, but getting lighter in some of her other books. But for someone who loves and appreciates Rendell’s works, it will be like another gem in the collection – and one to remember.

Meanwhile, his daughter Sylvia, with whom he still tries in vain to build a good relationship, starts working to help women who have become victims of domestic violence.

Once again, Ruth Rendell has written a detective story that is much more a book about social problems than a detective story as such. In “Simisola” she talked about racism, secret slavery and unemployment; in “Harm Done” she addresses domestic violence, paedophilia, early pregnancy and the danger of citizens’ riots (which she portrays courageously as a drawback of the “freedom of speech” – freedom not restrained by any feeling of responsibility from the media people themselves).

She also touches on the problem of having insane people on the loose and the dangers they may present.

The book is written in 1999, and the events take place in the same year, or, perhaps, in 1998, but not much earlier. Wexford uses Word for Windows, mentions Taliban, and elsewhere in the book the Princess Diana Memorial Clinic is talked about. As we all know, Princess Diana died in 1997, and it takes some time to build a clinic. So it has to be 1999, but I can’t help noticing that Ruth Rendell has started to “freeze” the ages of Wexford himself and his family. His grandsons haven’t grown at all since “Simisola” (1994). In “Shake Hands Forever” (1975) Sylvia is already a mother of two, so in 1999 her youngest should already be at least 24 – but somehow in “Harm Done” her boys turn out to be younger than the sons of Stephen and Fay Devenish, who are 12 and 10.

Well, writers do this. I know that Ruth Rendell is still continuing her Wexford series, so she has no other way: nobody will keep a 80 year old Chief Inspector. For the sake of the quality of her books I’m only too happy to forgive her for this minor naughtiness.

Husbands beating up their wives need to expect no mercy from the author, as she has none for them, and no excuses. Stephen Devenish is a complete monstrosity: the reader can’t help rejoicing when he is found brutally murdered. Ruth Rendell sees to that. But there are other people whose attitude towards the problem can’t fail to cause indignation. There are a mother and a father to whom their own daughter comes to complain about horrible abuse she has to endure from her husband – and all they have to say is that she must be “provoking” him. The father adds that it’s okay to beat a wife with a stick, as long as the stick is not thicker than the husband’s thumb. Indeed! There is a pub owner who refuses to serve drinks to women who live in the refuge for battered wives. In his mind they are the bad lot, because they dared to leave their husbands; violent brutes who abuse and disfigure their wives are “decent fellows” according to him. No wonder Wexford feels disgusted in the presence of Mr Honeyman. And then there are neighbours of the refuge taking their petition from door to door to be signed, in order for it to be closed.

All this leaves a feeling of total hopelessness, but the book doesn’t depress – it encourages people to look at themselves and reconsider.

“Harm Done” is a very apt name for the book. I have known women who had been victims of domestic violence. I know that even after the brute disappers from their lives (via divorce or whatever it might be), the harm done by him lives on. The wounds on their bodies may heal with time, but their wounded souls never do. It may lead to various disorders – PTSD, for example – thus hampering their ability to communicate with other people, keep friendships and take part in social activities. Harm done to their children – witnesses to the abuse – never wears away either. Their lives are always affected; their own marriages might suffer from the painful memories of their childhoods.

I would like to believe that this brave and honest book written 10 years ago by a brave and honest lady has helped many unfortunate women out of the terrible situation in which they found themselves. I would like to believe that people like Mr Honeyman have significantly dwindled in number during the last decade. I know that people like Ruth Rendell make the world go round – make it a better place. I bow to her.

“Simisola” is a detective story, but also a social novel, addressing several issues at once: unemployment, racism, secret slavery, rape and poverty. Written in 1994, it also introduces the term “political correctness” – or just PC – obviously still quite new for the English in that year.

Unemployment – apparently, growing fast in the recession (how 2009 it sounds!) – affects Wexford’s family directly. His daughter Sylvia cannot find a job. Her husband Neil has lost his business. They have to encounter all the hardships that unemployment brings: they can’t afford to keep their house, can’t afford expensive food they are used to, and struggle to keep their car.

Racism is not too far away either – Dr Akande is a Nigerian, and Wexford undertakes a desperate fight with himself to remove all traces of prejudice from his own mind. So, whenever he communicates with his new doctor or just thinks about him, he obviously overdoes on PC. He controls his own speech and even thoughts, but a huge blunder in his actions reveals an unpleasant truth to him: he is still prejudiced. When a body of a black girl is found, Wexford naturally assumes her to be Melanie Akande and brings the grieving parents to identify their daughter without carrying out all the necessary routine – even without as much as looking at the photograph!

The sad discovery makes him reconsider his approach. Overdoing on PC is not the way. I must say, to me it’s obvious that it can only serve one purpose: to disguise the prejudices that live deep inside a person. People who are genuinely unprejudiced will just treat everyone – black or white – the same as a matter of course, just like Ngaio Marsh’s Roderick Alleyn and his wife Troy did. But Wexford is a good person. He really wants to overcome his rudimentary racism, so we know he will succeed. His colleague Inspector Burden is another story: he is seen overdoing on PC too, but in his case it’s simply a pose. He couldn’t care less, and it’s for the reader to decide whether to take him or to leave him.

Now Wexford has three cases to investigate: the disappearance of Melanie, the murder of her Adviser Annette Bystock and the murder – as well as origins – of the unknown girl whom he mistook for Melanie. Then the forth case is added to the already complicated enough chain of crimes: an attempted murder of Oni Johnson.

It soon becomes clear to him that Sojourner – that’s the nickname he gives to the unknown girl – must have been a secret slave, illegally brought to the UK and badly beaten and raped on a regular basis. I must admit that having finished the book I still don’t understand how exactly he arrived at the name of her master (and her murderer). He must have psychic abilities. The book is full of red herrings, and there’s no clue pointing at the right direction, until the end.

It’s longer than the two other books from the Wexford series I’ve already reviewed in this blog – I guess, going deep into social issues requires that. Poverty, theft, slums and scary unemployment levels resulting in the final unrest in the little town – the author describes it all with such mastery that leaves no questions as to why she keeps receiving all those awards – but when she gets to describing people (something she is usually very good at), I can’t help disagreeing with her on a few things. They just don’t ring true! The most glaring example is the lack of gratitude the Akandes show to Wexford when he (spoiler alert) brings Melanie home safe and sound. Well, Laurette Akande has never been too nice towards the Chief Inspector, whether he deserves that or not (too full of herself, that’s my impression), but Dr Akande himself is portrayed through the book as a warm, tolerant, mildly humourous gentleman, and the fact that he never says as much as “thank you” to Wexford is entirely unbelievable. What’s more, he apparently decides to carry a grudge.

C’mon, would any of us who have children believe that?

Sojourner’s destiny (her real name is Simisola) is just horrific – and everyone who has a heart is bound to be devastated by the knowledge that it’s not author’s imagination but terrible reality. Such things have actually happened – and continue to happen. I must say it took a lot of bravery from the author to write this book the way she did.

The book has everything to be a good detective story: an intricate riddle, an unexpected solution (very unexpected), a nice gallery of faces and characters: rich and poor, vivacious and shy, proud and insecure, extravagant and simple. There is a long and painstaking (but not boring) procedure of looking for clues, questioning people who knew the victim and unravelling an extremely complicated chain of facts and emotions from a single sample of expensive lipstick dropped by someone not far away from the place where the body was found. Fragments from Doon’s letters inserted here and there into the narrative add exquisiteness and reveal Ruth Rendell’s ability to write in a much more refined literary style than the one commonly used for detective stories. They are “special extras” making the experience of reading this excellent book even more pleasant – like quotations from Shakespeare might have done.

The characters, different as they are, all have something in common. Few of them are exactly attractive; most are outright displeasing. They might not be in real life – there is nothing particularly nasty about any of them, mainly just typical human weaknesses – and it all boils down to the fact that the author emphasises their faults and says next to nothing about their virtues. Still, none of them – not even the murderer – will wake up any disgust or contempt in the soul of the reader. Sympathy is what I felt for them all – but I wouldn’t want to befriend any of them, except, perhaps, the victim. Too bad Ruth Rendell consistently makes a point of murdering the nicest person in every book.

The final explanation left me mildly shocked – mostly because I knew it was a book written in 1964. But I’ll leave it at that, just so I don’t spoil my readers the pleasure of reading and trying to guess the name of the murderer.

I do recommend the book.