A friend of mine has long been recommending Peter Robinson’s DCI Banks novels and for some inexplicable reason, I resisted reading them until I stumbled upon an episode of the TV series and thoroughly enjoyed it. After that, I picked up Aftermath and was unable to put it down. About halfway through, I became aware that this novel was in fact the prequel to the one episode of the TV series I’d watched and I knew who the murderer was. Such is the strength of the gruesome yet believable tale of sexual, physical and psychological abuse and its aftermath – how people cope differently with the horrors that life can throw at them and how they identify as either victims or survivors and what behaviors they adopt to cope – that knowing the killer didn’t detract from the tale at all. On the contrary, it added a particular frisson.
The novel opens with a dark and simply awful prologue. You just know as a reader that the understated cruelty and fear aroused in those brief pages is going to explode into the body of the tale… And it does. Skip ahead a decade and to a housing area known as The Hill. Two constables are called to attend a domestic dispute and arrive with reluctance, never expecting that opening the front door of the residence will unleash a rabid and terrible history and too many skeletons – quite literally. Told from the point of view of a female probationary copper, the scene moves quickly into full scale action and tragedy. I was left breathless and appalled. Cut to the investigation and DCI Banks, replete with his unravelling love life, appears to solve this case which is quickly linked to a rapist and suspected murderer dubbed The Chameleon who has been around for a number of years. Drawn into the shocking crimes that are uncovered are residents, friends, family, the media and even the policewoman who made the initial discovery – only instead of being hailed a hero, she is placed under investigation herself. From the outset, along with Banks and his team, you’re questioning who are the victims? Who are the perpetrators? And is it always so clear cut?
This is a violent tale and isn’t for the faint-hearted, but it’s also a fascinating portrayal of violence, sex and gender with sympathetic and monstrous portraits of specific individuals being drawn, offering contrasting and fascinating insights into the cycle of child, sexual and domestic abuse – victims, perpetrators and those who purport to help, support, report and even prevent it happening being offered and held up to close scrutiny. Robinson is brutal at times and gentle at others, but the story is harrowing and yet so well-written you’re drawn into it despite yourself.
I have subsequently watched a couple more episodes of the TV series and loved them, but it’s more of Robinson’s books that I am really looking forward to getting into.
For the last three Elizabeth George novels, at least, this Inspector, whom we know and love – the dedicated friend and partner of Sargeant Barbara Havers has absented himself. No, that’s not exactly right either – he’s there, but it’s as if someone else has possessed his body and mind and I want him back! The front cover announces his return – I’m afraid the evidence that this is the case is scarce.
For this novel elevates the plots and cunning of desperate men and women to a new level. We left the action in book three with King Stannis on the Wall, Sansa Stark disguised as Petyr Baelish’s bastard daughter, Samwell Tarly voyaging to distant lands on a mission from Lord Commander, Jon Snow, and Arya Stark now in the East, about to join a strange cult. Then there was the shocking death of Tywin Lannister and Tyrion’s role in that, and the consequences of Daeneyrs ruthless march across the East to contend with as well – and that’s before we consider what all the others characters such as the Greyjoys, those in Dorne and other places were up to.
s: the gorgeous specimen of manhood, the Beast-master, Langley, the Green Fairy Jim (watch out Kylie) and the wizard Gary as they set off to win a tournament and rescue the Reginas – Arrabella’s adopted parents. From references to The Princess Bride,Mr Ed, war heroes, fairy tales, Star Wars, Monty Python, never mind Queen, breakfast cereals and suspiciously named flora and fauna to saw-toothed bunnies, revolting toads/frogs and the magic faraway tree-nympho, this book is a roller-coaster ride of adventure and misadventure with metaphors and silly similes in abundance. But like the rollicking good tale that it is, at its heart is heart and though Arrabella is beautiful, strong and courageous, she is also young and sexually naive and her journey throughout different realms with her erstwhile companions, is also a personal quest to discover what and who is important to her and just who she wants to be….
Does My Kitchen Rule in “Foodie” World?
Feb 09, 2012
This is the unedited version of my column that appeared in the Courier Mail, 8th Februrary 2012 (I took the mistake out!).
Glancing at the major commercial networks prime-time offerings Monday through to Thursday you could be forgiven for thinking we’re a nation obsessed with food.
From 7pm nightly, viewers get to choose between My Kitchen Rules (MKR) on 7, the celebrity weight-loss show, Excess Baggage on 9, or The Biggest Loser (singles) on Ten. Whether we’re concerned about quality or quantity, we’ve a growi
ng appetite for cuisine-related TV.
According to the OzTAM figures, we’re more interested in cooking and eating than we are shedding weight with MKR out-rating the diet and exercise fly-on-the-wall programs by a wide margin.
While Excess Baggage and The Biggest Loser are not directly about food, they are about nutrition, diet and the fact that having an unhealthy relationship with the latter and non-existent understanding of the former lead contestants to a very public battle of the bulge.
MKR is all about gastronomy and providing, initially within the contestants’ home, a fine-dining experience. Yet, this reasonable aspiration was undermined from the outset this series when judge, Pete Evans, described Greek siblings, Steve and Helen’s first efforts as “home-cooked”, as if it were a pejorative.
If it’s not a great home-cooked meal prepared by laypeople they’ve craving, what is it exactly they’re after?
As Indian journalist Vanita Kohl-Khandekar asks, “does anyone watch food shows for the food anymore?”
Evolving from instructional step-by step shows last century that demonstrated in detail how to cook a dish, fronted by Gabriel Gate, Iain Hewitson, and Peter Russell-Clarke, cooking shows have transformed into culinary and cultural adventures or cut-throat battlegrounds known as “foodtainment”: the place where food porn meets competition.
It’s a type of “Hunger Games” replete with sacrificial victims who are burned by the experience or emerge, phoenix-like, to triumph.
Sourcing, preparing, cooking and serving food become metaphors for the transformation and inner growth or the lack of either in contestants, but also for the way shows are assembled. Participants are sourced, auditioned, chosen, filmed, edited, screened and devoured (by fans). Forget what’s served on the plate, it’s the side dishes of emotions, how the contestants look and interact, that’s the icing on the viewing cake.
In his book, Reality TV: The Work of Being Watched, cultural theorist Mark Anrejevic’s discusses how RTV turns social activities into professional ones. The act of cooking for others, the entire dining experience, is altered into a specialised competitive arena, stripping the warmth and meaning out of sharing food.
Encouraging fellow contestants (and viewers) to critique what they’re served, the joy of food and its function as a human social activity – as a necessity and as a bonding experience – is also elided.
The attention MKRs’ Adelaide contestant, Jennifer “princess” Evans, has received in the cyberverse with her negative comments about the other competitors’ efforts is a case in point. Running a close second to Jennifer in the unpopularity stakes is Victorian, podiatrist Thomas, whose foot-in-mouth invective sees him stand out for all the wrong reasons.
Contrary to turning the collective stomach, all this bile and snarkiness has done is turn, as Anooska Tucker-Evans notes in The Sunday Mail, “hating into ratings.”
Please sir, we want some more…
When villains emerge over the dining room table, in someone’s home, in what’s supposed to be a spirited atmosphere founded on goodwill, the kitchen mitts are off.
While there have been some objectionable comments in cyberspace about the contestants, especially Jennifer, viewers are mostly enjoying the bitter-sweet experience of watching participants cook, serve, score and be scorched.
This is partly because we know what’s on the menu when it comes to foodtainment. These types of show cater to an increasingly sophisticated audience with educated palates who relish being known as “foodies”.
Ask anyone and you’ll be told about their favourite restaurant, farmers’ market and chef. Cookbooks replace or stand by literature in bookshelves, and stylish kitchen utensils are displayed like works of art.
Instead of turning us into a nation of gastronomes with an appreciation for fine food and the effort that accompanies it, we’ve becom
e more selfish, mean-spirited and, frankly, a bit wanky around dining.
As if we’re also contestants on a food reality show, we evaluate with abandon and feel qualified and entitled to demand more – not of the paid dining experience alone, but even of our friends.
Still, we can choose whether we want to be a villain or a hero in the food-stakes and what we want on our menus.
I firmly believe what while haters may be raters in TV land, most of us want heart, not heat in our kitchens.
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