Book Reviews by Elizabeth A. White

It takes a lot of guts to commandeer a well-known character from historical fiction and make him your own, but that’s exactly what author R.N. Morris did when he borrowed Porfiry Petrovich from Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. So, after three successful novels featuring the Russian Magistrate, what’s a guy to do when his editor suggests the unthinkable? Well, I’ll let Roger tell you that story…

It’s the kind of thing editors throw out glibly, as if they’re asking you to remove an unnecessary comma. “Oh, and one other thing… I think you should kill off Porfiry Petrovich.”

My own editor dropped this particular bombshell at the end of an otherwise unobjectionable meeting. He smiled mildly, though not quite apologetically. No big deal, this, evidently – at least as far as he was concerned. But the steadiness with which he looked me in the eye suggested there was no room for discussion on the point. Just as well I couldn’t speak then. Not only did I not know what to say, I couldn’t physically form words. How could I explain to him that there was only one thing more presumptuous than appropriating a character from a classic of world literature, and that was killing the character off? Quite simply, Porfiry Petrovich wasn’t mine to kill. Or so I felt.

But the power dynamics in a meeting between author and editor when the subject up for discussion is whether the next book in a series is going to be commissioned are not necessarily in the author’s favour. In the end, the speech that did come out of my mouth was “OK.” In retrospect, I can see how this might be taken for agreement. But hadn’t there been a questioning tone to the word? Wasn’t it really “Okaaaaaaaay?” dragged out sceptically, signalling in fact the semantic opposite of consent?

I went away and discussed it with my wife. “No. You can’t possibly do that. You mustn’t do that.”
“Well, I have to. He’s my editor. I have to do what my editor says.” The contract was signed. I deferred the decision and got to work on the book. But realised quite soon that I wouldn’t get very far unless I had resolved the issue, at least in my mind. I needed to know whether I was writing towards Porfiry’s death or not. (more…)

“Can you make anyone confess to anything?” – Captain Mizinchikov

Given his long and illustrious track record of solving even the most baffling of cases, said question is a fair one to be posed to Investigating Magistrate Porfiry Petrovich. Yet, A Razor Wrapped in Silk, the third outing for Fyodor Dostoevsky’s famous investigator under the skillful hand of author R.N. Morris, finds Porfiry Petrovich challenged with solving two seemingly unrelated cases and, for the first time, beginning to question his skills as an investigator.

The intrigue begins when Petrovich is approached with a request from a privileged young woman to investigate the disappearance of several children. Barely more than indentured servants working long hours in a factory under horrendous conditions, disposable in the eyes of society at large, their absence was noticed by the young woman when the children stopped showing up for lessons at her free school.

Petrovich agrees to look into the matter, but when another young woman from the world of the aristocracy is murdered shortly thereafter while attending a play the full resources of the police force are brought to bear on that case, and the missing children investigation falls by the wayside.

As his investigation of the society murder progresses Petrovich begins to see connections between it and the missing children, connections that bring Petrovich into conflict with both the disdainful aristocracy and the distrustful revolutionaries, and which ultimately set Petrovich on a collision course with the Tsar himself. (more…)