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Coach anyone how to three years since we last heard from NI Warshawski, and my amazing benefits, have things changed for our friend! Gone are the bloodstained jeans, bought and sold in for an kitchen apron and wedding ring: the former ball-breaker has switched domestic goddess... Of course , she actually is done no such thing: as Paretsky fans well know, such a life would be Warshawski's idea of hell. The Chicago, il private eye must be in her mid- if not late 40s, but her prickly feminism, idealism and fury at interpersonal injustice are tougher than in the past. Her abrupt way with words, too, has not deserted her: arguing with a business mogul, who differences her version of occasions with a weary "Be that as it may", she shoots back: "Be that as it is! "
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Fire Sale locates Warshawski back on common turf: the poverty-stricken Southern Side of Chicago, where she were raised among the steel mills that left a thick deposit of soot on the home windows of her shabby house - now derelict and surrounded by vacant lots, the legacy of the factories long since power down, their workforces made unnecessary by even cheaper work in China or Nicaragua. She has come back again reluctantly, having been asked to coach the high institution girls' basketball team. But when one of the girls' mothers asks her to look at some suspicious goings-on at the flag factory where she works - superglue in the locks, that kind of thing - Warshawski finds herself up against an enemy even more frightening than teenaged Latino girl-gang members (if such a thing can be imagined): it's the capabilities behind By-Smart, a massive American cut-price retailer that has the financial muscle to make or crack the whole neighbourhood.
Paretsky has been both criticised and praised in making her thrillers so overtly political, but she hasn't let either viewpoint influence her writing particularly. "Mysteries, like cops, are right up against the place where people's basest and basic needs meet with law and proper rights, " she wrote in the New York Occasions a few years back. "They are by explanation political. " Her previous book, Blacklist, was a reaction against post-9/11 monomanía, and paralleled the Patriot Act with the 1955s communist witch-hunt. Here the girl is taking on an equally huge target in the form of a corporation ruthlessly fixated on the bottom line.
By-Smart is run by a single well-upholstered family, the Bysens, who come complete with grunting patriarch, resentful son, gold-digging daughter-in-law and - to break the pattern - a bright-eyed grandson, Billy, who is keen to do right by the firm's underpaid, underinsured employees. The company is presumably modelled on a well-known US grocery store chain, and in taking on such a reviled target - the Cock Dastardly of our globalised age - Paretsky dangers underwhelming her audience of jaded liberals, who, after years of Michael Moore and Morgan Spurlock, may well not end up roused to anger by such an obvious bunch of bad guys.
Nevertheless Warshawski has plenty more to contend with than "Buffalo Bill" Bysen wonderful clan. She is twitching with jealousy over Marcena Love, a glamorous British journalist who is remaining with Warshawski's partner while she works on an item about "the unseen America" for the Guardian (if you find yourself flashing at this news that the girl comes with a Prada suit and bag, your surprise is nothing compared to mine as a Protector employee). Then there's young Billy's disappearance - and the basketball team, who keep Warshawski busy with the illegitimate babies, feuds and ailments. When a lady collapses on the the courtroom, Warshawski is forced to confront her shrieking mom, who turns out to be a face from the past, though much hardened from years of challenge.
Caught between the desperate rage of the South-Siders and the steely risks of the By-Smart moguls, Warshawski can only think longingly of a hot shower, an earlier night and a plate of the girl beloved corned beef hash. As usual, what she gets instead is very different: a shoulder punctured by a shard of hot metal, severe lacks and frostbitten fingers ("I studied them as We stumbled along. They were large purple sausages. It would be so nice to possess a fried sausage right now... ").
As you might expect in such a heavy book, the story movements in fits and begins: there are long paragraphs of discussion and even longer passages of action and peril, including one endless, dreamlike march that Paretsky skilfully keeps at boiling point for dozens of pages. But the details are so rich and the dialogue so snappy that the mystery whizzes by. Let's desire Warshawski keeps her go of the Martha Stewart noose for a long period to come.
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