5 out of 5

Bloody Trondheim.  The guy writes so many books, it’s inevitable that some are misses, but I’m constantly amazed by how rarely that seems to happen, and whenever I dip into a new genre he’s explored, I’m flustered by how well he adapts, while maintaining an ear for dialogue and his approachable blend of the ridiculous and tragic…  But from the fantasy of Dungeon, to the wildly anarchic sci-fi of Infinity 8, to the non-sequitor experimentation of his Mickey Mouse riff, I sort of thought – accepting that I’ve dabbled in relatively few of his books – that I had a sense of Trondheim’s preferences for more outlandish or absurd premises, and had built up enough faith in his work that I’d be willing to buy something “blind,” just based on his name.

So when Maggy Garrison arrived, with Stéphane Oiry’s very grounded, European pencils depicting our very human looking main character in a very clearly realistic, gloomy-skied London, I wondered if I’d be reading the exception to my praises and appreciation of the writer.

But, nah, bloody Trondheim: he turns out to be an ace at low-stakes crime thrillers as well, writing the kind of dark, fractured, and ashamedly – because we can recognize ourselves in lead Maggy’s flaws – realistic modern pulp that I think Greg Rucka had been attempting with his Portland-based Stumptown.  But whereas that series struggled to makes its local problem-solving P.I.s cases compelling enough, Trondheim instantly latches on to a tone and setup that we want to keep reading, with Oiry perfectly capturing the pauses and rhythm and character personalities to have us fully immersed.

The book’s back cover description suggests that the titular Maggy will spend the three French tomes translated and compiled here turning her experience at a crappy job with a bad boss around into some kind of, y’know, proper and fulfilling adventure, which would be fine enough but sounds rather typical.  Instead, while Maggy’s boss – she’s taken up with a P.I. – does initially seem like a louse, and so she starts poking around in cases on her own, her motivations are far more humble and relatable than just seeking excitement (i.e. if she can just get pocket money for smokes, that’d be fine), and said boss steps into his own outside initial impressions.  The same happens for a small handful of supporting characters – criminals and cops – as Trondheim swerves us down a dark alley of decisions that are very uncommonly self-involved for a ‘hero’ character, yet endearing us to this questionably moraled lass.

It is, frankly, genius; I was constantly stung by thoughts of what I would do, or if I would want Maggy’s company in real life.  And those kind of reflective questions – the ones that are constantly buzzing in your brain while reading – are, to me, indicative of great literature.

Alas, this means making more room on my shelf for more Trondheim…