New crime novels feature a locked-room mystery, a Scarborough stabbing and a Jan. 6 insurrectionist

Hamilton Spectator

09-06-2025

It's a weird time in American politics, which means it's a perfect time for
Florida novelist Carl Hiaasen
to plumb the satirical depths of corruption and malfeasance in his home state. His last novel, 2020's 'Squeeze Me,' suffered from a subplot that attempted to satirize the once-and-current occupant of the White House, a Falstaffian spray-tanned figure so outrageous as to be almost impervious to satire. For 'Fever Beach,' Hiaasen wisely steers clear of POTUS and his inept administration, preferring instead to focus on wanton corruption at a lower level.
'Fever Beach,' by Carl Hiaasen, Alfred A. Knopf, $34.99.
The new novel begins with a meet-cute on an airplane between Twilly Spree and Viva Morales. Twilly is a stock Hiaasen character: an independently wealthy Florida do-gooder who spends his time making life miserable for folks who litter, antagonize the local wildlife or otherwise cause environmental or social havoc. Viva's job is administering the foundation of a couple of rich right-wing octogenarians whose fundraising operates as a money-laundering front to finance the campaign of far-right (and profoundly stupid) congressman Clure Boyette, in hot water with his obstreperous father over a scandal involving an underage prostitute named Galaxy.
Add in Viva's landlord —
a Jan. 6 insurrectionist
named Dale Figgo who heads the Strokers for Freedom (a white nationalist militia whose name is a rebuke to the Proud Boys' insistence on refraining from masturbation) — and his cohort, the violent and reckless Jonas Onus, and you have all the ingredients for a classic Hiaasen caper.
Twenty years ago, German-born author Leonie Swann debuted one of the most delightful detective teams in genre history: a flock of sheep on the trail of the person responsible for killing their shepherd with a spade through the chest. After a two-decade absence, Miss Maple, Othello, Mopple the Whale, and the other woolly sleuths are back on the case, this time on behalf of their new herder, Rebecca, the daughter of the early book's victim.
'Big Bad Wool,' by Leonie Swann, Soho Crime, $38.95.
Rebecca, her intrusive Mum, and the sheep are overwintering in the lee of a French chateau where there are rumours of a marauding Garou — a werewolf — that is responsible for mutilating deer in the nearby woods. Among other strange occurrences, Rebecca's red clothing is found torn to pieces and some sheep go missing — and soon enough there's a dead human for the flock, in the uncomfortable company of a group of local goats, to deal with.
'Big Bad Wool' is a charming romp, whose pleasure comes largely from the ironic distance between the sheep's understanding of the world and that of the people who surround them. ('The humans in the stories did plenty of ridiculous things. Spring cleaning, revenge and diets.') Their enthusiasm and excitement results in prose that is a bit too reliant on exclamation points, and some of the more heavy-handed puns (like the sheep's insistence on 'woolpower') seem forced, but this is nevertheless a fun variation on the traditional country cosy.
Romance novelist Uzma Jalaluddin takes a turn into mystery with this new book about amateur sleuth Kausar Khan. A widow in her late 50s, Kausar returns to Toronto from North Bay to help her daughter, Sana, who has been accused of stabbing her landlord to death in her Scarborough mall boutique. The police — including Sana's old flame, Ilyas — are convinced Sana is the prime suspect, but Kausar is determined to prove her daughter innocent.
'Detective Aunty,' by Uzma Jalaluddin, HarperCollins, $25.99.
Her investigation involves a couple of competing developers, both of whom want to purchase the land on which the mall stands, along with members of the dead man's family and fellow shopkeepers. On the domestic front, Kausar finds herself concerned with Sana's deteriorating marriage to her husband, Hamza, and her teenage granddaughter's sullenness and mysterious nighttime disappearances.
Jalaluddin does a good job integrating the various elements of her plot, and the familial relationships are nicely calibrated. The momentum is impeded, however, by a preponderance of clichés ('Playing devil's advocate, Kausar asked …'; 'Kausar's blood ran cold') and a tendency to hold the reader's hand by defining every easily Googleable Urdu word or greeting too programmatically. More attention to the writing on the line level would have helped move this one along.
Yukito Ayatsuji's clever postmodern
locked-room mystery
was first published in Japanese in 2009; it appears for the first time in English translation, which is good news for genre fans.
'The Labyrinth House Murders,' by Yukito Ayatsuji, Pushkin Vertigo, $24.95.
Ayatsuji's narrative is framed by Shimada, a mystery aficionado, who is presented with a novelization about murders that took place at the home of famed mystery writer Miyagaki Yotaro, found dead by his own hand soon after the manuscript opens. Miyagaki has left a bizarre challenge for the writers gathered at his Byzantine Labyrinth House: each must write a story featuring a murder, and the victim must be the writer him- or herself. The winning author, as adjudicated by a group of critics also convened at Labyrinth House, will inherit Miyagaki's sizable fortune.
As the writers compete for the reward, bodies start falling in real life and Ayatsuji has a grand time playing metafictional games with his readers, challenging them to figure out who the culprit is in the context of a story that owes more than a small debt to
Agatha Christie's
'And Then There Were None.' But Ayatsuji does Christie one better; it is only once the afterword, which closes the framed narrative, has unfolded that the reader fully understands how cleverly the author has conceived his multi-layered fictional trap.