The Way of All Flesh

Ambrose Parry

Allen & Unwin

Otago Daily Times, November 10th 2018

There is something about the Victorian era, with its veneer of romantic elegance and scientific optimism overlaying a deep core of poverty, squalor, and violence that lends itself to the macabre. Writing under the pseudonym Ambrose Parry, Tartan noire author Chris Brookmyre and his wife, consultant anaesthetist Marisa Haetzman have tapped combining their expertise to produce a satisfyingly gothic glimpse into the dark heart of 1840’s Edinburg.

When he is apprenticed by one of the capital’s most highly regarded medical men, Dr James Simpson, Will Raven is certain that his prospects are made. Under the tutelage of the esteemed Professor of Midwifery, he will surely acquire the skills and contacts necessary to establish his own, independent practice among the city’s highest social circles (an ambition rendered all-the-more urgent by an outstanding debt for which his life is collateral). 

Unfortunately, the position is unpaid, and riches and fame may take a while to arrive, as he soon discovers. Dr Simpson is a man with a strong philanthropic streak whose patients include the poorest as well as the richest of the populace and, as the most junior member of the practice, Raven is expected to tend to the former rather than the latter. The good doctor is also an enthusiastic proponent of the newly discovered soporific, ether, and Raven is to act as guinea-pig for Simpson and his student, the haughty and ambitious James Matthews Duncan, in their attempts to find a better ‘sleepy syrup’.

Not that it is all bad; his mentor is a kind, if distractible employer, Raven’s position comes with room and board (a blessing given his impecunious circumstances), and he soon becomes a competent anaesthetist in addition to learning the basics of midwifery.  But he also subject to impetuous heroic impulses, and when a string of young maids and prostitutes are found dead with perforations of the uterus or contortions suggestive of strychnine poisoning, Raven concludes the fatalities are the result of illegal abortions. Furthermore, he suspects a friend who killed under similar circumstances was another of the abortionist’s victims and sets out, with the help of the Simpson’s maid, Sarah, to apprehend the killer. 

Although the term ‘genre fiction’ is frequently used as a derogative, there is nothing wrong with a bit of comfort reading, and the fact that a book may conform to certain standards does not mean that it can’t be a good story in its own right, this novel being is a case in point. Stereotypical as they may be, most of Parry’s characters achieve at least two dimensions, and Raven and Sarah are likeable and sympathetic narrators. Similarly, the identity of villain is – despite the odd red herring – obvious by halfway through the story, but the way in which justice is meted out at the end is refreshingly unexpected.

Well-paced and competently written, The Way of All Flesh meets all of the expectations of classic crime fiction, and the combination of murder, mystery, medical history, and feminist critique means there is something here for almost every reader. Not great literature maybe, but an entertaining piece of escapism nevertheless.