Any Human Face [Kindle Edition]

I used to live in Italy, and I'm always a bit wary when non-Italians attempt to dig beneath the surface of this extraordinarily complex and paradoxical country. Charles Lambert, however, as a long-term resident, brings to bear a deep knowledge of his adopted country in this novel, and he creates a Rome which is a very long way from any touristic superficialities but which is also spookily recognisable. The threatening noir atmosphere is totally convincing; Lambert creates a sustained tension which kept me reading for the story, as in any good thriller - which this certainly is. However, I realised after a while that Lambert has another focus of attention which most thrillers don't bother with much - he's also profoundly interested in the relationships between people: from the semi-mercenary but affectionate attitude of Alex towards Bruno, the first victim in the novel, to the domestic accomodations of Martin, an English journalist, and his Eastern European wife, to the growing attraction and then love of Andrew, the hapless protagonist of the novel, for Sandro, who offers him an escape from what seemed to be an entrenched loneliness. The relationships in the novel are exquisitely observed; Lambert has an uncanny eye for telling details which effortlessly dramatise the emotional interactions between his characters. For me, these two driving forces in the novel - the perplexities of a mystery to be solved, and a masterful examination of how people relate to each other - made for an enthralling experience as a reader. Lambert writes with powerful intelligence and sensitivity; this is a brilliant novel.

After enjoying Charles Lambert's Little Monsters so much, I was looking forward to his latest novel, Any Human Face, and I was not disappointed. Set in Rome, this novel is a fast-paced and dark tale of murky deeds in high and low places, recounted from multiple perspectives over a span of nearly three decades. What Hitchcock would call the McGuffin (and there is something Hitchcockian about this) in the tale, is a set of photos, entrusted by an investigative journalist to his gay lover on the night of his (the journalist's) brutal and apparently homophobic murder. The photos come into the possession of Andrew Caruso, half Scottish, half Italian, whose shambolic existence centres around the secondhand bookshop he runs. Soon, he is involved in a frightening chain of events that may have something to do with the journalist's murder, a quarter of a century earlier.
Lambert handles a complex narrative with great authority, moving in cinematic style from the near present day (2008) to 1982, to 1985 and back, each time focalising his narrative through the perspective of one of his characters. One of the many things I like about Lambert's work is that he doesn't give the reader an easy ride. There is not here, or in Little Monsters, a character with whom we can readily empathise - all of them have their frailties and vulnerabilities. They are all too human in their failings, and Lambert's unflinching and unsentimental portrayal of their interlocking lives is a fascinating exercise in close observation. Paradoxically, because Lambert is so good at unfolding the delicate nuances of individual behaviour, the reader soon becomes involved in this seedy world of clandestine affairs and shabby deals, and does indeed care about the fate of the protagonists. Indeed, I found that this was one of those books that demanded to be read through as quickly as possible, so immersed did I become in this world.
There are dark hints throughout at institutionalised corruption, whether of the church or the state, but the focus throughout remains on the human story, and how we are all connected, in ways we can't begin to comprehend. I was struck by one passage on this theme, where Alex, the journalist's lover, reflects on the transient world he is part of:

"All these nameless friendships that entangled the city in a taut invisible web. A secretive web, because no one knew anything about it, or everyone pretended to know nothing about it. A web that stretched across hotels and galleries and studio flats in the richest parts of the city, from the Vatican to the senate to the station, of favours and small, sweet acts of generosity and asked-for, insisted-on violence. And then it went wrong and someone died, and the web closed to hide the rift so quickly no one would know it had ever been torn. Webs heal themselves."

This novel is, in concept, an excellent, disturbing, stylish thriller, but one with aspirations beyond the working out of a criminal act. It uses most of the thriller conventions, but goes well beyond them, to offer a story which deals with universal themes, particularly of man's inhumanity to man, and the dark heart of loneliness at the centre of many lives. Don't forget his previous book, Little Monsters

This is such a good book. The kind you start with curiosity and then can't put down.
As a woman I thought that gay male characters would leave me without a favorite character, but it wasn't the case. Instead it was great insight. I found that I was thinking about the characters during the day and looking forward to getting back to them.
Beautifully written, with lots of insight, it creates a darker side of Rome, where all is never as it seems. Great read for summer.