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Journalism of Courage
When it comes to love, Commandant Camille Verhoeven has terrible luck. In Irène, the first of the Verhoeven trilogy, the dimunitive detective is on the hunt for a most ruthless killer — a man who stages an inhuman tableau of torture and every indignity imaginable. The French policeman chases him across countries but the killer’s final act is too close to home, and Verhoeven’s wife, Irène, pays the price.
Verhoeven sinks into a dark abyss, his depression sees him spend some days in an institution. By the time he’s back on his feet again, he must locate Alex, a missing woman who can’t be found, but won’t be defeated by her captors either. Lemaitre writes one of the most gripping detective stories of the decade; Alex was the first of the books to be translated into English and catapulted the Frenchman to global fame. Irène and Alex are not for the faint-hearted or weak of stomach: misogyny and depravity result in raped and mutilated women; the brutality is reminiscent of horror films such as Saw and Hostel.
Now that the final instalment of the trilogy has been published, it is essential to acknowledge Frank Wynn’s excellent translation of the series. It is quite remarkable how he has transported the very French aesthetic of the books into the English-speaking world, with humour and without missing a beat. But, despite his best efforts, Camille is a trifle disappointing. Even though it begins in true Lemaitre style, head first into the action with the armed heist and Anna’s unfortunate injuries, the pace of the detective novel doesn’t quite find its groove. It is the slowest and therefore, the weakest of the trilogy; in terms of the discovery of clues, there is barely anything for Verhoeven to go with, and robs Camille of its chance to be a furious page-turner. Even the original team has dwindled by half: the meticulous yet miserly Armand was lost to cancer, Maleval was dismissed in Irène itself; only Louis remains, a sophisticated man in a nasty line of work.
And unlike Irène and Alex, Anna does not particularly rouse our sympathy, which is a shame since Verhoeven is br
eaking every single rule in the book to keep her from further harm. His descent into a fearful hysteria, his frantic attempts to avoid the mindless death of another woman he loves, caution and calculations thrown to the wind — this is where Camille shines. Lemaitre’s detective has always been a man of his word, deeply distrustful of a world he views at a certain height — 4’11, and not an inch more — and equipped with a sensitivity that allows him to look into a killer’s mind and sometimes, see himself. In Camille, Lemaitre’s clumsy tying up of old threads and old threats gives us a glimpse into Verhoeven we’ve not seen before, but takes away from the thrill of the chase and the denouement.
Camille
Author: Pierre Lemaitre (Translated by Frank Wynn)
Publisher: Quercus
Pages: 320
Price: 399
