I can’t tell you why I loved Scott Von Doviak’s CHARLESGATE CONFIDENTIAL, only that I did, that, as I posted on Twitter, each page was a greased pan of pure reading pleasure. I’ve read largely laudatory reviews that expertly broke down what makes the novel work, and I agree with them, but somehow I was unable to form the sentences that spelled out CHARLESGATE CONFIDENTIAL’s success with the mechanics of plot, structure, character, pacing and prose style.
The story cuts between stories set in 1946, 1986 and 2014, each loosely connected to a series of killings connected to the theft of some priceless paintings from the Gardner Museum in Boston (the author cleverly appropriated the real-life 1990 incident into his 1946 story) and its lingering connection to the Charlesgate building, a residential structure with a fascinating, haunted boom-and-bust history.
While Von Doviak clearly loves Boston and loves history, he never gets bogged down in them to the point that he forgets to tell a story. And this is a story about character, and to the extent that I can articulate my good feelings about the novel, I can say that the characters are a fascinating blend of good and bad, bright and stupid, and brave and weak, and never feel contrived from a checklist of craft-guide characteristics. They have that real, blind-spotted, complicated-but-simple feel of lives that have been semi-comfortably slept in, that can only be created by a writer with a core confidence in what they’re doing, who have lived these people in their heads for so long that when they come out into the world, they’re walking and talking and strutting like kids ready to rule the playground.
Tommy Donnelly, the central character of the 1986 story, for example: he’s a clever, fun, hardworking student who stumbles on an interesting mystery. We root for him to put together the clues and get the loot and get the girl he lusts after. But he doesn’t really have what it takes to get to the finish line, and he freezes up in the face of true evil when its shadow falls across his beer glass. And I found I liked that better than a more conventional character arc. You will too, trust me.
More I will not say, because I cannot say, other than CHARLESGATE CONFIDENTIAL just plain works, and I felt constantly caught between my desire to race through it and my desire to savor it in little bites and save it up for days like a child’s dessert. Not a very critic thing to say, I know, but it’s honestly all I’ve got.