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The Voice of the Violin
by Andrea Camilleri.
La voce del violino (1997)
translated by Stephen Sartarelli.
Picador, 2006.

The fourth title in Andrea Camilleri’s Inspector Montalbano (il Commissario Montalbano) series is as good as its predecessors in terms of wit, humour, story, characterisation and local colour.

Set at a time when mobile phones and computers were making an impact on everyday policing – in Sicily as much as anywhere else – the focus is nevertheless on patient sleuthing and careful profiling during the course of a murder investigation.

And because we observe everything entirely through the eyes of Salvo Montalbano of Vigàta the author plays fairly with us readers whilst simultaneously revealing the inspector’s strengths and foibles; in this way we know that he means well even if he bends the rules so that justice may eventually be done.

Endlessly endearing

Historical map of Sicily by Piri Reis oriented to show north at top

The Snack Thief by Andrea Camilleri.
Il ladro del merendine (1996)
translated by Stephen Sartarelli.
Picador, 2004 (2003).

Every time I pick up this or another Inspector Montalbano mystery I can’t help myself: I always hear the wonderful strains of Franco Piersanti’s tango, the signature tune to RAI’s popular TV series.

As a musician I love the quirky nature of this piece, the insistent dance rhythm, the melodic fragments promising but rarely delivering development, the dark chocolate of the double bass — Piersanti’s own instrument — counterpointing wind and upper string fragments.

In a way, the cornucopia offered by this short opening credits sequence matches both Montalbano’s dependable unpredictability and his self-evident delight in the range of Sicilian cuisine. And of course the various themes, short as they are, are the counterparts of the several distinctive plot lines that are woven together in this and every Montalbano novel.

More grit and wit

The Terracotta Dog by Andrea Camilleri,
translated by Stephen Sartarelli.
Picador, 2004 (1996).

It’s hard, having relatively recently come to the Montalbano books after seeing a few of the TV series, not to people the pages with images of screen actors, but while there are some double-take moments (Salvo with hair, Salvo smoking!) it’s refreshing to have confirmed that the films have remained true to the letter as well as the spirit of the novels.

The Terracotta Dog has many attractive ingredients. Overtly, the plot concerns a mafioso‘s willing entrapment by Commissario Montalbano. But things don’t turn out as expected, putting Montalbano’s life in danger.

Along with the Mafia thread, we have the discovery of dead bodies concealed in a hidden cave, a mystery which, though dateable to the closing stages of the Second World War, seems to have echoes of a pagan past usually confined to archaeology. We mustn’t forget Salvo’s long-running relationship with the long-suffering Livia (whom he seems to have great difficulty committing to), and his dealings with his police associates (particularly Catarella, who somehow combines imbecility with an endearing charm).

Grit and wit

The Shape of Water by Andrea Camilleri,
translated by Stephen Sartarelli.
Picador, 2005 (1994).

Truth is like water poured into a vase or a glass, a cup or a bucket: just as water takes its shape from its container, truth can be just as malleable, depending on one’s point of view.

Camilleri’s The Shape of Water presents just such a conundrum: a corpse is discovered and though it soon becomes clear the deceased died from natural causes all is not as it seems, with Commissario Montalbano suspecting foul play when circumstantial evidence suggests things don’t add up.