The Terracotta Dog by
Andrea Camilleri
pbk out June 04
(Picador)
at £6.99
No. 2 in Camilleri's refreshingly sardonic Sicilian series has the irascible Inspector
Salvo Montalbano summoned to a meeting with childhood friend Gegè Gullotta.
Gegè, local pimp to Montalbano's base town of Vigata (and the first of several
recurring characters from the first novel The Shape of Water) has a message from
Tano the Greek (don't ask), high up in the echelons of the people no-one "can say no
to" (read Mafia). Tano, it seems, is feeling the pressure from the younger generation of the Mob
("these kids don't ever look anyone in the eye") and wants to be arrested. Montalbano
obliges, thus at first neglecting "a shitty little robbery" at a local supermarket. But
Tano has further information, for which he is murdered, information that expands the
case to include the discovery of two entwined corpses accompanied by a bowl of
coins and a three foot long figure of a terracotta dog, the entire scene undisturbed for
decades. The discovery will lead Montalbano on a merry dance into Italy's fascist
past, assisted once again by the nubile Ingrid.
If you failed with The Shape of Water (some of the humour does not travel well,
and some references, in spite of translator Stephen Sarterelli's invaluable background
notes, may be lost on readers unfamiliar with the shifting realities of Italian/Sicilian
politics), do try again with this one. This is firstly an ingenious mystery solved with
not a little guile by Montalbano, laced with memorable characters and reflections,
often amusing, on Sicilian society. Not least we get to know quite a bit more about
Montalbano, not just the gourmandising but also his arms-length (this time)
relationship with the down-to-earth Livia and his taste in literature (since you ask,
Simenon, Durenmatt and, not entirely coincidentally, Manuel Vásquez Montalbán).
He is also revealed to enjoy the occasional conversation with his own erect penis - so
different from our own dear Inspector Banks or Morse!
A wry and often captivating Mediterranean alternative to the dour melancholy of
Mankell and his Scandinavian brethren.
The Terracotta Dog by
Andrea Camilleri
