‘Towards the end,
back when he still lived at home, his father, well along in years (fifty-plus
when he was born), would spend afternoons stalking about the front yard,
staring at what was left of the city’s curb, at remnants of paint on the side
of the house, at abandoned birds' nests and tree trunks. He had always believed
the old man to be thinking. About how his life had gone, maybe, or the meaning
of it all. Slowly he came to understand that the old man wasn’t thinking at
all, he was searching - looking aimlessly about, with a dull but persistent hope,
for something he’d never had.’
The
Killer Is Dying (US).
The cops are dying. Everyone is dying. That’s something we all have to come to
terms with at some point in our lives.
It took me an age to read this one even though it’s not a
long book. I started it just before the Olympic Games which, when they began,
quickly absorbed much of my attention and spare time. It wasn’t just my
preoccupation with sport that slowed my reading, however. That’s also down to
the fact that there isn’t a clear and driving narrative to the story and also
because each chapter is dense and powerful and requires a good deal of
focus.
The killer is on a job that goes unexpectedly wrong. As we
get to know him, we loop back through his life to find his history is colourful
and interesting and that he also has a wonderfully philosophical view of the
world. He’s also a very particular kind of hit man and an extremely successful
one. Hits are set up on the dark web and are advertised as doll sales. They’re
carried out clinically and yet with a form of compassion at the same time.
He’s been chased down by a couple of cops who are also
surrounded by death. It’s their business. They’ve seen a lot and each case has
had an impact of sorts. The cop we get to know well is Sayles. What’s
interesting in this novel is the sense I had that the differences between
hunter and prey are minimal. They’re human and therefore share setbacks and
suffering on a regular basis. What they have in common is bigger than what they
do.
The third strand comes in the form of a youngster who is
forced to bring himself up when his parents leave. He makes his living selling interesting items and passes the time by surfing obscure corners of the
internet and by reading stories to old folk experiencing their final months
down at the local care home. He also happens to be confused by a procession of
dreams which come from the killer’s consciousness.
As these parts converge and are woven together, they become
so tight that it becomes difficult to distinguish one from another. They share
a consciousness or a way of being of sorts. They’re all reflective and tied to
their memories as well as being able to see wonder in small things around them.
In the end, I was won over by the author. I can’t really
explain why I liked it so much, but can tell you that I loved being in the
company of these characters as their lives unfolded before me. It was
refreshing to be taken on meandering journeys, random tangents and through regular
lists of simple things. There’s just enough in the police investigation to keep
the pace moving in a forwards direction. Each page has something outstanding to
appreciate whether that’s a nailed phrase, a moment of poetry, a meditation, a
philosophical musing or just a swift kick out at complacency.
The
Killer Is Dying is light yet meaty. Mundane yet exciting. Beautiful yet
horrifying. Oh how I love a contradiction.
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