8 of 8 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Wonderful Page-Turner, October 28, 2002
After the ten novels and eleven short stories of his Charlie Resnick police procedural series, poet and publisher Harvey leaves the familiar mean streets of Nottingham in his new crime novel, which splits its time between London and New York (with a side trip to Tuscany). The new setting doesn't mean a totally different style though, as Harvey includes NYC cops, builds plenty of jazz into the tale, and features a world-weary protagonist easily imaginable as a good friend of Charlie Resnick.
Sloane is a 60ish painter, just out of prison after a several year stretch for art forgery. He worked for a slimy art dealer, who he refused to drop the dime on. Now out, he works to rebuild his lonely life and wrecked studio, making friends with the local Malian café owner. He receives a letter from a lover from his youth-back when he was a bright young thing, and she ran with the big names in modern painting (Pollock, de Kooning, etc.). On her deathbed, the former flame (and one suspects his everlasting regret), reveals the existence of their daughter, stunning him.
Sloane ventures to New York to track her down, tasked with delivering her mother's last words. The woman is a jazz singer, under the thumb of a nasty semi-connected mobster type, who is also being investigated by a pair of homicide cops for the brutal murder of another woman. As Sloane searches for his daughter, he runs into old friends and a possible romance starts. The story builds its multiple strands steadily, only to erupt in a terrifying burst of nasty violence in the final chapters.
Unlike some crime writers who try to take on settings other than their native ones, Harvey exhibits total command of Manhattan past and present. His clean meditative prose unmasks the fears and desires of his characters and propels the deceptively simple story to its inexorable conclusion. Great stuff, can't wait for the next. BTW, this is a hundred times better than the last art/crime novel I read, David Ramus' vastly overhyped Thief of Light.
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7 of 7 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
The Entertaining Mr. Sloane....., November 17, 2002
I would like to add a "me, too!" to T. Ross's fine review of "In A True Light." Harvey's Resnick series is such a pleasure, I could not bear to read the last book. (wasn't the death of Morse bad enough for fans of understated and intelligent British crime novels?)
Harvey's has once again created a character who at once is extremely likeable and flawed, who after a life of underachieving is given the greatest of gifts, a second chance. In his journey, he finds justice and redemption...and the wisdom to appreciate it.
The themes of unfinished business, unsentimental journeys into the past, and the art worlds of today's London and yesterday's New York moves along to a rich and satisfying conclusion.
The author's gift for characterization and dialogue is dead on. In a few lines we know enough to to embrace wholeheartedly or loathe to death the people who populate his worlds. I don't know if Sloane will star a new Harvey franchise, but I wouldn't mind meeting him again in his midlife adventure.
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6 of 6 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A Gem, October 5, 2005
I've read all the Reznick novels and was wondering whether I'd be able to make the leap to Harvey's first stand-alone. What an idiot I was. Harvey has a poet's knack for the elegant, simple detail that never obtrudes but just nails the moment so clearly the reader is constantly engaged with what's on the page. And he does the almost impossible, conveying in words the palpable sense of both music and visual art so that the reader can hear and see what's being described. Others here have recounted the story so I won't repeat, except to say it was the characters I found compelling, portrayed in scenes that managed to be both spare and rich. I too have some quibbles about the ending but they are so minor as to be unworthy of mention. The book earned my undivided interest throughout. I looked forward each evening to my time with it--what more does one want from a novel?
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