Book Report: Bruno, Chief of Police

26. Martin Walker, Bruno, Chief of Police (2008) (12/8/19)

When I was in Périgueux this summer, and posted photos of that city and surrounding countryside on FB, a couple of people asked if I'd read the Bruno books. Why, no, I hadn't! And yes, of course I sought out the first in the series as soon as I returned.

It's a mystery, but also an exploration of society in la France profonde—particularly, of racism, against Algerians in this case—and of history, dipping back into the dark days of Vichy and the Resistance. The story ambles along serenely, beginning on May 8, the day on which France celebrates the end of WWII and the French people's freedom, and ending on June 18, the anniversary of De Gaulle's speech from London declaring that the French would fight on. In between, there is a murder, a blossoming love story, a lot of good food, some tennis, and ultimately, questionable justice. I enjoyed Bruno himself, his attitude toward the bureaucracy emanating from Paris and Brussels, his relationship with the people under his watch, his appreciation of the simple life.

I am amused—and impressed—to find an entire website devoted to Bruno, including an ongoing blog (ostensibly "by Bruno") about the Périgord region, a host of yummy-looking recipes, and even a Spotify playlist. Walker himself was once Moscow and U.S. bureau chief for Britain's The Guardian and has written over a dozen nonfiction books on subjects ranging from the cold war to perestroika and Gorbachev to the National Front (which figures in this book).

Part of Bruno's backstory was as a combat engineer, ending up in Bosnia, where he fell in love, only to lose her. Here's a description of an event from that time, to give a sample of Walker's writing style:

Bruno went back into his house, turned off the lights and, once in his bedroom, picked up the photo of a younger Bruno, beaming broadly at the camera, Katarina graceful and smiling beside him. That summer in Bosnia had been the only time they had together, a small chapter of happiness that he had known between the horror of the spring and the even deeper anguish of the winter that followed. His hand reached down to touch the scar at his waist from the sniper's bullet, a wound that had yet to be inflicted when the photo was taken. He felt again the sudden confusion of memories, of noise and flames, the world spinning as he fell, the glare of headlights and blood on the snow. It was a sequence he could never get straight in his mind, the events and images all jumbled. Only the soundtrack remained clear, a discordant symphony of helicopter blades in low rhythm against the counterpoint chatter of a machine gun, the slam of grenades, the squealing clatter of tank tracks and the shouting of men.

I will certainly be reading more Bruno books. He's a most amiable character, and of course: Périgord!