3.5 stars
Given that The Confession opens with a man walking into the home of disgraced banker, Harry McNamara, beating him to a pulp in front of his wife, Julie, and subsequently handing himself into the nearest garda station this stand-alone psychological thriller is firmly intended as a “whydunnit”, concerned with the motives of the killer rather than any need to establish their identity. With McNamara having done much to exacerbate Ireland’s economic boom and mass investment as the head of HM Capital, the collapse and bailout of the company at the expense of taxpayers has left him a man with plenty of enemies. Having successfully passed the buck onto his right hand man and escaped prosecution for his part in the fraudulent dealings he remains a marked man so when JP Carney confesses to having killed him, his claim that he had no idea of the man’s identity doesn’t ring true for tenacious DS Alice Moody. As thirty-two-year-old JP Carney claims that something made him snap and his actions were not premeditated his solicitor is quick to lodge a defence of a temporary psychotic episode making him thereby unfit to stand trial. Whilst DS Moody’s superiors and the Director of Public Prosecution might be happy to accept JP’s story at face value and chalk up a quick resolution to a case which runs the risk of attracting far too much public and media interest, Moody is more pragmatic.
When Station Sergeant Dean Gallagher assigns the case to senior DS Alice Moody, a “walking sequoia” of a woman with a prolific clear up ratio her gut instinct is one of scepticism, with Carney’s almost preternatural aura of calm and suspicions that Julie McNamara might have more than an idea who Carney is than she is willing to let on. In common with a younger DI Vera Stanhope, Alice is a cumbersome and shrewd woman who is more than a match for her male counterparts, trumping their wise cracks with plenty of her own verbal and making a spirited investigator. I was concerned that the banter and Alice’s unintentional comedy moments would reduce the police involvement to inanity, but this is prevented by Alice’s part in the competing narratives being of significantly less focus as the novel progresses. This was somewhat disappointing as I felt that Alice was a character ripe for development with enough hints towards her hidden vulnerabilities to be expanded upon, however in terms of directing the investigation her role is superfluous and in the end she merely seems to represent an objective observer to the admissions that follow.
The Confession unfolds through the use of a multiple narrative structure, Alice being seen in the third-person present tense and JP and Julie both in the first-person but with a mixture of past and current events relayed. With both Julie and JP gradually recounting their own histories and inevitably coming to explore how a working class lad from East London with a tragic upbringing has collided with the idyllic lifestyle of a Teflon coated Harry McNamara, DS Alice Moody stands outside of the unfolding reminisces and her limited role is more as a bridge to adjoin the two stories. The three narratives are all easily distinguishable and have a markedly different ‘feel’, all the more impressive for a story that converges upon common ground.
There is more than a hint of the confessional about Julie’s disclosures which follow her path from a vibrant young girl hailing from a rural Irish village with little to offer an ambitious student who dreams of becoming a teacher. Departing for imposing Trinity College in Dublin, she first encounters Harry McManus at the college ball and is overwhelmed by the attentions of a confident and suave professional man of twenty-seven. Wedded at twenty-four and soon losing her independence, Julie only recognises the signs of a toxic union long after the horse has bolted and her story never attempts to excuse her actions and escape blame, but rather to justify some of her responses. Whilst she might not be a particularly likeable character this does not prevent her narrative strand being engaging and absorbing, in marked contrast to that of JP Carney’s which begins with a wretched childhood and trudge through his early years and although this should be emotive, for me it was a lacklustre tale which failed to offer much in the way of clues as to how the lives of JP, Julie and Harry McManus collided until well after half way through. Although pitiable, JP’s narrative is mundane whereas perhaps if Jo Spain had picked up his story further on through his lifetime and skipped some of the early onerous details it might have proved more riveting.
Whilst a compelling read throughout I never found The Confession actively gripping, and much of my interest was more out of curiosity to see the line that author, Jo Spain would take and never one of fervent urgency. In a novel of very few surprises my dismay was that much of what arose was eminently predictable, with the majority of readers being overly familiar with the financial crash of 2008, which Ireland was not alone in experiencing and was was mirrored to a greater or lesser degree worldwide. Whilst the early 1990s growth that characterised the Celtic tiger economy may have been marked by unprecedented highs not of the scale seen in England the basic facts are not mired in doubt and any reader who loosely followed the news will be well aware of the events, making much of Jo Spain’s early detail irrelevant. In this sense I found much of the first half of The Confession was a case of “teaching grandma to suck eggs” - and an over-familiarity with the events risking the reader tuning out.
My overriding frustration is that it is patently obvious from the get-go that there is a connection between JP Carney and Harry McNamara, thereby making Spain’s needless belabouring of the point during a first half with few clues immediately forthcoming feel hideously tiresome. Likewise, the skeletons in the closet of the McNamara’s marriage of seedy affairs, drug taking, dodgy dealings and debauched living are easily guessable with many of the shocks conceivable from simply reading the premise. Anyone who has read a handful of psychological thrillers will be conversant with how the question of what goes on behind closed doors has been covered to exhaustion and will be unsurprised by the revelations.
In short. The Confession is an intriguing and engaging read which is as much a lesson in the recent economic history of Ireland as to that of the toxic marriage of two addictive individuals, bound together by a twisted sense of loyalty and their co-dependency. In contrast to so many psychological thrillers The Confession thankfully remains in largely realistic territory, however there isn’t a great sense of impetus or dynamism to the story and along with JP’s wretched past and a conclusion which is difficult to swallow (because it appears so contrary to the character’s actions throughout the novel), I doubt it will leave a lasting impression on me.