Commisario Guido Brunetti is good company. He isn't tortured like Harry Hole, of Jo Nesbo's Devil's Star, and he isn't a fixer and political favor trader like Aurelio Zen.
He has his moments of cynicism and even despair over governmental corruption and the gap between law enforcement and justice.
But he's defined by his relationships - with his wife, Paola, a member of the aristocracy, an English professor and an expert on Henry James, and with his Inspector, his closest professional colleague, Vianello.
In this novel, Venice is choked by August heat and humidity. Vianello comes to him with a personal problem; his aunt is giving large sums of money to an astrologer. This conversation leads both of them to ruminate on the changing roles of men in their families.
Someone else comes to him with some evidence of judicial corruption. Both investigations proceed slowly, until, on his way to a vacation in the mountains where it's blissfully cool, Brunetti receives a phone call informing him that the principal in the second case has been murdered. Brunetti catches a train back to Venice and the investigation kicks into high gear.
This investigation really turns on the personal quirks and passions of a three families living in a luxury apartment building, which it turns out, has ties to someone of great influence.
After reading Dibdin's Zen novels this mystery seems domestic and genteel; I enjoyed this novel but found myself missing the edge in the Zen books.
On the other hand, Jo Nesbo's Devil's Star and the Zen books included moments of what I would call "grotesquerie" which I don't enjoy and didn't miss at all. I wouldn't say that they interfered with my enjoyment of the Zen books, but in the case of Devil's Star, that was the memory that comes to mind immediately whenever I think of that book.
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