Red Riding Nineteen Seventy Four

January 3, 2000
With this racy exploration of child murder, perversion and corruption in 1970s Yorkshire, Peace makes an explosive debut in contemporary crime fiction. Edward Dunford is a newspaper reporter investigating a little girl's disappearance; when the child turns up dead, with swan's wings sewed to her back, Dunford is haunted by the brutal image. Connecting this crime with several similar savageries, he searches for the serial killer and keeps uncovering other surprises: the sexual proclivities of local political figures, the questionable ethics of reporters and the gypsy-bashing tendencies of local policemen. Dunford himself is eventually fingered for the murder, and he's interrogated and tortured into making a confession. Raunch is at a premium in this book, with crude language peppering the dialogue and no taboo left undisturbed. Dunford has rough sex with both a co-worker (who becomes pregnant) and with the mother of a murdered girl. Throughout his sexual liaisons, Dunford mentally replays the grisly images and remains emotionally detached from his sexual partners. The plot darkens as more evil emerges, like an endless series of slaps to the face. The narrative reaches a truly nihilistic conclusion that few readers will see coming. Peace's style is punchy and tough, replete with one-sentence paragraphs, partial sentences and a plenitude of f-words (by now a clich of literary and cinematic working-class English dialect). The dialogue is monosyllabic, abrupt,, and the plot churns with narrative adrenaline. One almost wishes Peace would slow down to reflect every now and then. But the book's head-on nakedness is original and overwhelming, an unflinching portrait of the dysfunctional family of humankind.