Saturday, June 8, 2013

Review: "Venus in Copper," Lindsey Davis


By Paul Carrier

It's not easy being a detective in Imperial Rome, especially when you're a democracy-loving plebeian who is in love with a senator's daughter; at odds with the emperor's chief spy; and put upon by a meddlesome mother, several sisters and assorted brothers-in-law.

But such is the life of "informer" Marcus Didius Falco, a gumshoe (gumsandal?) whose clients run the gamut from the Emperor Vespasian to buxom former slaves and a thrice-widowed "professional bride" who owns a wisecracking parrot.

This third outing in Lindsey Davis' long-running Falco mystery series takes place in 71 A.D. It finds our tough-talking but bedraggled hero signing up with two nouveaux riches ex-slaves who don't want gold digger Severina Zotica to marry their husbands' business partner, the wealthy Hortensius Novus.

Zotica has outlived three husbands who died under suspicious circumstances, so the fear is that she will kill Novus after tying the knot and make off with all of his denarii. Falco's task is to find out how big a bribe it will take to get Zotica to back off.

But the case takes a surprising turn when Novus is killed before the wedding, seemingly eliminating Zotica as a suspect because, as yet unmarried, she cannot inherit his fortune. Later, the chef who prepared the dinner at which Novus was poisoned turns up dead as well.

Dismissed by his clients following Novus' death, Falco finds himself working for Zotica as he investigates whether Novus' partners and an unscrupulous real-estate baron are behind the murders.
 
Venus in Copper is carefully plotted. The chef's murder is solved easily enough, but several characters had motives for killing Novus and all of them tried to do him in. It only becomes clear late in the game which of them succeeded.

As intriguing as the plot is, though, it's the inimitable Marcus Didius himself who keeps us turning the pages. He narrates the novel, so the reader is privy to both his private thoughts and his public utterances, which are equally sardonic.

For example, Falco greets his mother warmly when she bails him out from a vermin-infested prison, but he's insincere. He tells us he's only playing the grateful son because "it would have been surly to wish myself back in the cell with the rat."

Warned early on that Zotica is dangerous, he muses that "things began to look intriguing" because "dangerous women always fascinated me." Gaul may make some contribution to "the civilized arts" one of these days, Falco concedes after meeting the soon-to-be-dead Gallic chef Veridovix, "but nobody is going to convince me that it will be mastery of cuisine." He may be a hell of a wise guy, but Falco obviously cannot predict the future.

Plagued by family tensions, sporadic poverty and his deepening romance with the spirited and high-born Helena Justina, Falco is especially amusing when his personal life holds center stage. The novel abounds with comic asides, as when the emperor's son Titus (himself a future emperor) and a cohort of Praetorian Guards show up unexpectedly for dinner at Falco's apartment.

Davis is far from the only author specializing in fiction set in Ancient Rome, but she's been at it longer than almost anyone else. The Silver Pigs, her first Falco novel, was published in 1989, before Colleen McCullough, John Maddox Roberts, Steven Saylor, Robert Harris and Ruth Downie joined in with works of their own. Shadows in Bronze followed The Silver Pigs and set the stage for Venus in Copper.