I have never met Minette Walters, but I wish I could. It takes a ballsy writer to tell a story where the narrator openly - almost lewdly - intimates she has more knowledge than the reader. THE SHAPE OF SNAKES is a psychological thriller about the unjust cruelty a culture of racism can hide, but it is also an artful reinvention of the relationship between reader and narrator.
Decades ago, Mad Annie, a black woman suffering of Tourette's Syndrome, died on Graham Road. The death was ruled accidental. Never mind that the coroner was a unreliable drunk who towed the police line because he wasn't sober enough to do his job; never mind that the lead policeman on the scene was routinely racist; never mind that M. Ranelagh saw Mad Annie as she died, smelling of urine and making a wordless plea for help. In late 1970's London, the death of a black woman wasn't something the police wasted much time on, especially when the woman was repeatedly paralytic and prone to wandering the streets.
As the story unfolds, the dirty laundry of Graham Road is revealed. Adultery, prostitution, child negligence, rape, and animal abuse are all variously produced by M. Ranelagh, the narrator, at the exact moment when it would cause the most damage to the doer. In a book where every character ends up carrying two labels -their name and their misdeed - M. Ranelagh remains only "M." Unnamed, yes, but without misdeed? M's cold calculation in the marshaling of information to set people one against another, while actively quelling any pains her conscience gives at misleading, using, and outright duping others to her advantage makes vote me that, no, M. is not without misdeed. Her punishment is righteous and just, but I can't help but believe the brutality of being the lone (and cruelly, intentionally silenced) voice of the unheard, warped M. into something closer to the sort of monster commonly referred to as an 'avenging angel.' M. is, in her own way, as scary as any of the 'bad guys' in THE SHAPE OF SNAKES. That she does everything in the name of justice doesn't make her likable, and I'm not even sure it makes her "good." It does make her interesting, and M's voice carries THE SHAPE OF SNAKES beyond the borders of social commentary and into the realm of narrative philosophy. For as much as M. manipulates the flow of events in the narrative, she is also manipulating you, the reader. M. doesn't ever show you everything, though, and the bits that she keeps back are maddening and every bit as realistic as the ugliness of racism, adultery, or false friendship. THE SHAPE OF SNAKES isn't the sort of book one "likes" or "dislikes." It is the sort that leaves you in awe.
PS What this Texas girl calls "wasted," the Brits call "paralytic," a lovely gem of linguistic deviation that thrills me!