New York Journal of Books
“The Resistance Man is a charming tale of French provincial life seen through the eyes of a likable and very human policeman.”
It’s not every day that a novel practically writes its own review, n’est-ce pas? But there it is, on page 287 near the end of Martin Walker’s The Resistance Man, a police procedural featuring Bruno Courrèges, chief of police in St. Denis, France.
Here’s the setting: At a pre-arranged meeting in a remote spot, Bruno at last comes face to face with the suspect in a mysterious homicide. Our hero, who (gasp!) had wanted to come unarmed to the meeting but was overruled by his boss, carries only a small pistol concealed in an ankle holster—which he promptly reveals (go figure) apologetically to the suspect who is armed to the teeth. All of this plays out as Bruno’s dog frolics at his feet.
Yes, you heard right: To help him make the pinch, Bruno has brought along his dog—not a police dog, mind you, but a cute little basset hound named Balzac who loves everybody, sinner or saint, rap sheet or no.
Tell me, says the suspect, who might be wondering if he has strayed into the wrong book, why did you bring the dog?
Bruno says simply, “Because I know you like animals.”
The suspect laughs and says (drum roll, please): “You’re a strange kind of cop.”
And there it is, out of the mouth of one of the book’s own characters, and a felon at that, the truth, the quintessential essence of this novel, itsraison d’etre, its appel en chef: Bruno Courrèges is indeed a strange kind of cop.
But Vive la difference! Who else but a Gallic sleuth would make so many romantic and gastronomic side trips in his hunt for a vicious killer—side trips (it has to be said) that will perhaps be more engaging to readers than the manhunt itself? That’s not to say that the case is not interesting. It is, sort of. Nor is it to say that Bruno is a womanizer. He’s not. But he does like women, god bless him—and they like him.
But what’s not to like? Bruno is single, employed, gentle and gentlemanly, loves the outdoors, sits a horse well, loves animals, appreciates—and prepares—good food, is congenial, polite, convivial, intelligent, thoughtful, and a loyal friend.
In comparison, the Mike Hammers and Travis McGees of Bruno’s trade are uncultured louts who need to get a life (and some couth). And even those other European authors working the mystery genre—the Joe Nesbos and Stieg Larssons, for instance—might lighten up a bit. Does every case have to be operatic in pitch, red in tooth and claw, with pedal-to-the-metal pacing?
From Martin Walker, the requisite answer would have to be, Non! A thousand times non! And many a reader will no doubt agree. The Resistance Man is a charming tale of French provincial life seen through the eyes of a likable and very human policeman. And to those making Bruno’s acquaintance for the first time: don’t be surprised if you come away from this book with a hankering to read another of the six or seven novels in this series—and maybe even planning a trip to France really soon.
“The Resistance Man is a charming tale of French provincial life seen through the eyes of a likable and very human policeman.”
It’s not every day that a novel practically writes its own review, n’est-ce pas? But there it is, on page 287 near the end of Martin Walker’s The Resistance Man, a police procedural featuring Bruno Courrèges, chief of police in St. Denis, France.
Here’s the setting: At a pre-arranged meeting in a remote spot, Bruno at last comes face to face with the suspect in a mysterious homicide. Our hero, who (gasp!) had wanted to come unarmed to the meeting but was overruled by his boss, carries only a small pistol concealed in an ankle holster—which he promptly reveals (go figure) apologetically to the suspect who is armed to the teeth. All of this plays out as Bruno’s dog frolics at his feet.
Yes, you heard right: To help him make the pinch, Bruno has brought along his dog—not a police dog, mind you, but a cute little basset hound named Balzac who loves everybody, sinner or saint, rap sheet or no.
Tell me, says the suspect, who might be wondering if he has strayed into the wrong book, why did you bring the dog?
Bruno says simply, “Because I know you like animals.”
The suspect laughs and says (drum roll, please): “You’re a strange kind of cop.”
And there it is, out of the mouth of one of the book’s own characters, and a felon at that, the truth, the quintessential essence of this novel, itsraison d’etre, its appel en chef: Bruno Courrèges is indeed a strange kind of cop.
But Vive la difference! Who else but a Gallic sleuth would make so many romantic and gastronomic side trips in his hunt for a vicious killer—side trips (it has to be said) that will perhaps be more engaging to readers than the manhunt itself? That’s not to say that the case is not interesting. It is, sort of. Nor is it to say that Bruno is a womanizer. He’s not. But he does like women, god bless him—and they like him.
But what’s not to like? Bruno is single, employed, gentle and gentlemanly, loves the outdoors, sits a horse well, loves animals, appreciates—and prepares—good food, is congenial, polite, convivial, intelligent, thoughtful, and a loyal friend.
In comparison, the Mike Hammers and Travis McGees of Bruno’s trade are uncultured louts who need to get a life (and some couth). And even those other European authors working the mystery genre—the Joe Nesbos and Stieg Larssons, for instance—might lighten up a bit. Does every case have to be operatic in pitch, red in tooth and claw, with pedal-to-the-metal pacing?
From Martin Walker, the requisite answer would have to be, Non! A thousand times non! And many a reader will no doubt agree. The Resistance Man is a charming tale of French provincial life seen through the eyes of a likable and very human policeman. And to those making Bruno’s acquaintance for the first time: don’t be surprised if you come away from this book with a hankering to read another of the six or seven novels in this series—and maybe even planning a trip to France really soon.
The Toronto Star
In photographs, the late French novelist Andre Malraux looked like a million bucks. Always in a dark suit or, in the evenings, a tuxedo, he satisfied everybody’s idea of a French deep thinker. Jackie Kennedy threw parties for him at the White House. He wrote Man’s Fate and served as his country’s Minister of Cultural Affairs. He lived well without doing work that brought in large sums. So how did Malraux finance his excellent life?
The answer turns up as a small reference point for a tantalizing subplot in Martin Walker’s latest novel featuring Bruno Courreges, chief of police in a gorgeous Dordogne town. Investigating two cases — one murder, one fraud — Bruno gets steered to a real-life crime that took place on his own turf decades earlier in July 1944.
With the war going against them, France’s German occupiers shipped a vast quantity of French francs — about $400 million worth in today’s terms — out of France by train. The route led through Dordogne where French resistance fighters pulled off the biggest train robbery in history. It’s not known where all the heisted money ended up, but it is certain that several resistance leaders emerged from the war as suddenly wealthy men. Malraux was one of the lucky guys.
The Resistance Man is as appealing as the other books in Walker’s series. Bruno — horseback rider, gardener, master cook, wine expert — makes a winning character. And his sleuthing is loaded with original touches. But in this book, it is real history, with its own rascally element, that gives the novel its unique piece of fascination.
In photographs, the late French novelist Andre Malraux looked like a million bucks. Always in a dark suit or, in the evenings, a tuxedo, he satisfied everybody’s idea of a French deep thinker. Jackie Kennedy threw parties for him at the White House. He wrote Man’s Fate and served as his country’s Minister of Cultural Affairs. He lived well without doing work that brought in large sums. So how did Malraux finance his excellent life?
The answer turns up as a small reference point for a tantalizing subplot in Martin Walker’s latest novel featuring Bruno Courreges, chief of police in a gorgeous Dordogne town. Investigating two cases — one murder, one fraud — Bruno gets steered to a real-life crime that took place on his own turf decades earlier in July 1944.
With the war going against them, France’s German occupiers shipped a vast quantity of French francs — about $400 million worth in today’s terms — out of France by train. The route led through Dordogne where French resistance fighters pulled off the biggest train robbery in history. It’s not known where all the heisted money ended up, but it is certain that several resistance leaders emerged from the war as suddenly wealthy men. Malraux was one of the lucky guys.
The Resistance Man is as appealing as the other books in Walker’s series. Bruno — horseback rider, gardener, master cook, wine expert — makes a winning character. And his sleuthing is loaded with original touches. But in this book, it is real history, with its own rascally element, that gives the novel its unique piece of fascination.
Publishers' Weekly
In Walker's endearing sixth novel featuring St. Denis police chief Bruno Courrèges (after 2013's The Devil's Cave), Bruno, who prides himself on knowing just about everything transpiring in his picturesque patch of Périgord, is stunned when the latest in a string of burglaries reveals that a retired British spymaster, Jack Crimson, has been residing right under his nose. But Bruno has barely enough time to process this—or the pending return to St. Denis of his former flame, ambitious Police Nationale capitaine Isabelle, to oversee the politically sensitive Crimson probe—because of the brutal murder of a vacationing British antiques dealer. Despite distractions that include the region's always-tantalizing gastronomy, Bruno soon starts to make serious investigative headway, demonstrating convincingly that there's nothing smalltown about his understanding of human nature. Existing fans and newcomers alike will savor Walker's ability to smoothly fold suspense into his Périgordian soufflé.
In Walker's endearing sixth novel featuring St. Denis police chief Bruno Courrèges (after 2013's The Devil's Cave), Bruno, who prides himself on knowing just about everything transpiring in his picturesque patch of Périgord, is stunned when the latest in a string of burglaries reveals that a retired British spymaster, Jack Crimson, has been residing right under his nose. But Bruno has barely enough time to process this—or the pending return to St. Denis of his former flame, ambitious Police Nationale capitaine Isabelle, to oversee the politically sensitive Crimson probe—because of the brutal murder of a vacationing British antiques dealer. Despite distractions that include the region's always-tantalizing gastronomy, Bruno soon starts to make serious investigative headway, demonstrating convincingly that there's nothing smalltown about his understanding of human nature. Existing fans and newcomers alike will savor Walker's ability to smoothly fold suspense into his Périgordian soufflé.
