A pacy read, wrapped up quickly and great description of a footy game at the end. ( )

Mac is a blacksmith in a small town outside Melbourne. In a past life he had been a detective, mostly drug crimes, but he has put all that behind him. When the novel opens, he learns that his good friend Ned has died, an apparent suicide. Certain things, not the least of which is the fact that no one who knew Ned believed he would have killed himself, raise Mac's suspicions and lead him to investigate. When he learns that Ned had a connection with a home for wayward girls, and that shortly after Ned's death another person connected with that home also commits suicide, we're off to the races.

This is a decent crime novel, and is very well-written, though at times I was a little confused by the complex plot. I would recommend the book, though I liked his more well-known (and Miles Franklin winner) The Broken Shore more. There were a couple of things I could have done without in the book. Mac plays recreational football/soccer, and there were long, play-by-play description of 2 (maybe 3?) of his weekend games. I guess they fleshed Mac out, but I found them extraneous. And about half way through the book Mac begins a love affair with the wife of a wealthy client that seemingly comes out of nowhere (even though he had been engaging in a flirtation with his female assistant throughout). But otherwise a good read.

3 stars

First line: "'Mac,' the voice said. 'Ned's dead.'"

Last line: 'C'mon Mac,' Flannery shouted. 'Got to sing the tam song. Got to learn it first.'" ( )

Liked this one almost as much as The Broken Shore. He's got parts of rural Victoria nailed; climatically, socially and in terms of its yearning for Melbourne. Great writer of naturalistic dialogue. ( )

Sex, humour, story, characters all up to scratch.

p. 103

’Pure animal, some vets,’ I said.
She smiled at me. ‘This one comes on like he’s got a Rottweiler stuffed down the front of his jeans.’
‘Probably a Jack Russell thinks it’s a Rottweiler.’
‘It’s not the size of the bit that counts.’
‘What counts?’
‘How long they gnaw at you’

’

p.124

Flannery was in one of the sheds working under the hood of a Holden ute by the light of a portable hand lamp. The vehicle was covered in stickers saying things like Toot to Root and Emergency Sex Vehicle and Bulk Sperm Carrier.
‘My cousin’s boy’s,’ he said. ‘Virgin vehicle. Never had a girl in it.’
‘I can see he’s waiting for someone special,’ I said.

p. 183

She gave me the thumbs up, hand cocked forward. Three things went through my mind. One, she’d come to watch me play without being asked. Two, she’d come with another man. Three, don’t be a stupid prick.

pp. 252-3

Leon’s a charming person,’ she said. His problem is chronic envy. Non-specific envy. His greatest fear is that he’s missing something, that there’s something he should be doing, that there’s something he doesn’t know about or hasn’t got that will make him happy or complete. If he saw a man leading a duck down the road on a piece of string and looking at peace, Leon would send someone out to buy a duck and give it a try for fifteen minutes. Then he’s say fuck this duck, why’s that woman on the bicycle look so pleased?’

( )

An Iron Rose was my first foray with Peter Temple

And it definitely won't be my last.

"When men in police uniforms came to execute me on the roadside, beside dark fields, it was a definite sign that my new life was over."

That was the promo sentence that drew me in.

When ex-Fed detective Mac Faraday's best friend Ned Lowey is found hanged, Mac - who has learned the hard way never to accept things at face value - isn't convinced he committed suicide, and starts asking questions. As Mac's search for answers pushes deeper into the past, it resurrects the terrifying spectre of what he calls his 'old life', forcing him to turn to long-discarded skills not only to discover why his best friend died, but also to save his own life.

Everything about the way Temple writes is typically Australian. His style is laid back, laconic, with a typically Australian sense of humour despite the book being a thriller.

There is very little superfluous writing in An Iron Rose. It moves along at a cracking pace, action from start to finish, yet Temple still manages not to skimp on character development, giving you an insight into the story's protagonist, how his past has shaped him and threatens him. But still there are no wasted words.

Who would have thought that a thriller that talks about gardening, blacksmithing and football would really draw a reader in? Yet everything had its time and place and simply added to the colour of the narrative.

This was a ripper of a ride and I can't wait to get my hands on more of Peter Temples work!

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