The Secrets of Strangers by Charity Norman
Allen & Unwin
Pp. 334
Published in 2020, this fast-paced action novel about five strangers
held captive by a gunman in a London café instantly recalls the Lindt Café siege
in December 2014, when a lone gunman held hostage ten customers and eight
employees of a chocolate café in Martin Place, Sydney, Australia. There have doubtless
been many events such as this in London, but the novel doesn’t feel as though
it is set in that city at all – there are no landmarks or sense of place, the
people are caricatures rather than characters, and there is a reference to playing
soccer, betraying the fact that the author has lived in New Zealand for the
past twenty years.
The novel is written in the present tense and structured in short
chapters with different third-person-omniscient perspectives to make it feel
immediate and resemble a TV drama or a play. Neil is an erstwhile teacher, now homeless
due to a gambling addiction, Abi is a defence lawyer, Mutesi is a Carer at an
aged care facility, Sam is the gunman who has shot Robert, the café owner, and Eliza
is the police negotiator.
The most interesting and believable of these characters is Eliza, who is
co-ordinating between the gunman on the phone and those directing the police
operation on the ground. Tension abounds when they want to enter the building
although she cautions against it. Her communication with Sam must be rational
and calm as she tries to establish a rapport and get to the crux of the matter.
Everyone has the capacity for both good and evil and Sam is plagued by
memories of a two-faced puppet, an obvious metaphor for his relationship with
his manipulative step-father. The owner of the café, Robert, whom everyone
thought was a good guy, is actually a snake and uses coercive control on his
partners. He’s a narcissist and a sociopath, and few people can see through him
as he gaslights women (including Sam’s mother) and convinces them they have
gaping holes in their memory and forget whole conversations.
In a very conventional outlook, we are guided to believe that children
are the future and the reason for living. Mutesi is only afraid for her
grandson; Abi is undergoing IVF in a desperate attempt to conceive which has
taken over her life and that of her partner, as if she is nothing without
offspring.
The
situation is extremely unrealistic, with sympathetic cups of tea; coherent
stories told and a neat tying-up of ends. In a cosy conclusion it provides a satisfying
story (no innocent bystanders are shot) and we are almost directed (the words
is used advisedly) to feel sympathy for Sam because of the incidents in his past.
Although it is dangerous to assign labels if one is not a clinical psychiatrist,
it may be that Sam is on the spectrum and possibly lives with ADHD. He has
suicidal thoughts and ideation, and is taking Ritalin to help focus his
attention. And yet he shot someone, held up others at gunpoint, and clearly has
terrifying anger issues.
We are told, “People survive. Human beings go on. They
have a capacity for love and a capacity for evil, but they go on.” It doesn’t
ring true that contemporary Londoners would be that equable or forgiving, and
the novel can’t decide between being a gritty police procedural and a charming endorsement
of humanity.
