The Truth and Other Lies by Sascha Arango

Henry Hayden, hedonist and best selling author – make that best selling and adored author, the toast of every book signing - has a problem.  Just a sec, he has more than A problem.  He lives on an anthill of problems, bringing pleasure, but also spoiling his picnic.

Nevertheless, his wife loves him for all his faults.  He loves her, as he should since she’s the silent author of all his best sellers, and therefore directly responsible for the celebrity status he so richly enjoys.

They live in a home worthy of an architectural magazine article.  He drives an eye-catching compliment to Italian luxury.  He’s swamped by fanfare in restaurants and grocery stores.

Oh, there is one more thing:  His mistress is carrying his child.  Something must be done about that.  An endless steam of possibilities roam Henry’s self-centered world.   Not that he entertains objections about any of them.

Sascha Arango, in his very first novel, creates that most interesting of characters, an ambitious, multi-faceted rogue, with an uncanny sense of self-preservation.  Exposure lurks around every corner and in his struggle to survive, Henry has to peer around all of them.

You ask yourself:  What would I do?  But, that’s not a fair question.  For most of us, moral objections loom large, so let’s put it to Henry:  What should he do?  Confess all to a loving wife?  Convince his mistress to have the abortion she does not want?  For Henry, whichever choice he makes, self-protection and preservation of lifestyle are the beacons that guide his way.

Yes, it’s quirky, so you may well ask:  Why did I pick up this book?  I like to be entertained. More and more I’ve turned to European authors, especially if they are male and German.  The finely etched characters stand out.  (The Collini Case:  http://stroudallover.blogspot.de/2014/09/the-colllini-case.html)  But also, so many European plots avoid the expected flow of the wide-river stories, and instead follow the personal tributaries, and rivulets that trickle in unexpected directions and lead to unexpected results.  Another thing I like is the cohesiveness.  Everything leads toward the character and the plot.  No irrelevant angst and dithering to fill fifteen pages with useless verbiage.  In a word, leanness.  Europeans write their mysteries sparsely.  No distracting fat, and the prosaic knife cuts almost unexpectedly straight to the bone.

The Truth and Other Lies is one such mystery.  As you read, you’ll constantly ask:  What happens next?  Good luck.  Think the laugh-out-loud bits make this a comedic novel?  Good luck with that one, too.

You’re going to pick this novel up and become so involved, so quickly that anybody who interrupts you is going to be met with a barrage of verbal gunfire.  Oh, yeah, it’s that kind of book.

The Truth and Other Lies: a mystery that sets you on edge

I’ve had it with most American mystery novels, invariably centered on a detective who’s a recovering alcoholic, still in love with his ex-wife, and recently fired for his hard nose methods.  Of course, he’s too smart and effective for the Police Captain not to bring him back in to solve a hopeless case. To be precise, a deeply flawed, washed-up, anti-hero.

Ok.  I get it.  And I’m tired of it.

So, I turned to European mystery writers, many of them Germans, but some English writers as well.  Erudite.  Laugh-out-loud funny.  A twisting plot that makes your mind twist.  Forget the detective.  Let’s concentrate on a manipulative narcissist, who attracts women like moths to worsted wool.

Henry Hayden, hedonist, best selling author – make that adored author – the toast of every book signing, and commonly swooned over in the vegetable aisle, has a big problem.

His wife loves him, in spite of all his faults, which is a trait essential to a happy marriage.  He also loves her, which he should since she anonymously wrote every one of his best selling books and made him the man he is today.

They live in a home worthy of an article in a large, slick architectural magazine.  His chosen car is an eye-catching compliment to Italian luxury.

But, there is a hitch.  His mistress is carrying his child.  Something clearly must be done and endless possibilities roam in Henry’s self-centered world.  He entertains no objections to any of them.  Where, how, and will it work? are the utmost concerns.

Sascha Arango, in his first novel, creates that most interesting of characters, an ambitious, multi-faceted rogue, with an uncanny sense of self-preservation.

What would you do?  Confess to a loving wife?  Talk your mistress into an unwanted abortion?  Morals are certainly no impedance, but preservation of self and life style are writ large.

You can see why I’m drawn more and more to European authors, especially if they’re male and German.  Finely etched characters stand out, but also the plots avoid the expected flow of wide-river stories, and instead follow the tributaries and rivulets that trickle in unexpected directions, leading to unexpected endings.

 The Truth and Other Lies fills the bill.  Wanna guess what will happen next?  Good luck.  Think the laugh out loud situations make this a comic opera?  Good luck again.

Mysteries are supposed to keep you in suspense, with a dashing plot, and indelible characters that make you flip pages and yearn for the author’s next book.

I’ve only got a few words for Sascha Arango:  Write faster!  I can’t wait!

Misadventures in German

I sat alone in my favorite German bakery, sipping my coffee, typing on my iPad, watching the flow of the crowd.  Small shop.  Five or six folks is a multitude.  The shop clerks scurried.  Oven doors slammed.  Essence of bread floated through the air.

An older man walked in and sat at the table next to mine.  Only three tables in the place.  I’d spoken to him on occasion, so I murmured a quick “Morgen,” and went back to typing.

He smiled and forced a conversation.  “Blah, blah, Berlin, black, blah, blah.”  Clearly he expected an answer. 

I didn’t disappoint.  “What?”

“In Berlin,” he said in German.  “The President.  Black blah, blah, blah.”

“President Obama?”

“Nein, nein, nein!”  His irritation showed he knew he was talking to a fool. “California,” he blurted.

I only knew two Presidents from California.  “Reagan?”

“NEIN!”  It appeared he was about to crap his pants and fling a healthy handful my way.

“Nixon?”

“NEIN!!!”  A handful wasn’t going to do the job.  He was going to have to scamper out to the car and retrieve his shotgun.

“The GOVENOR!  CALIFORNIA!”  Curious onlookers started taking bets.

“Jerry Brown?”  An ambulance was called in case this guy didn’t make it.

“CALIFORNIA!  GOVENOR!  BLACK blah!”

“Schwarzenegger?”

Relief flooded the crowd.  My conversationalist mopped his brow.

“In Berlin,” he said, his face beginning to fade from red back to winter white.

“Film,” he said, staying in German, trying his best to keep it on my imbecilic level. “Lots of money.”

I agree.

“German is hard,” someone muttered.  Small comfort.  Some of the women had tears in their eyes.  Tears of pity for the demented foreigner who could only speak in single syllables and barely knew about the greatest German ever.  Except he’s from Austria.  And he isn’t the President.

Über die Landschaft – the German Countryside

Gettin' out and about

Any German Bakery will be a delicious experience...

See what I mean?

You may even find a flea market or two (Flohmarkt)

In every village there is a church worth seeing.

Flowers must be required by law...they're everywhere

Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing sissy about camping out in the big cities of Europe, savoring the delights of a five star hotel and going to all the eateries, museums, and festivals that Fodor and Michelin point out.  I do it all the time.  After all, I’m married.

But, for a treat that will forever loom large in your travel memories, grab your car and your camera and scoot through the countryside.  Wander through the villages.  Stop at that little bakery that caught your eye. Try out that little restaurant with a dozen cars parked outside.  Hey, the Germans are friendly and welcoming.

Along your drive, marvel at the broad expanses of fields and forests in shades of green you’ve never imagined.

You’re not going to get lost with a GPS, or a map.  The signs are in German, but we use the same alphabet and you’ll figure out where you are.

Some of the villages have only one restaurant, which certainly isn’t mentioned in the travel guides.  In good weather, you’re sure to see a wurst (sausage) stand (Imbiss).  Grab some coffee or a beer, park the car and wander the narrow streets that have witnessed many, many lifetimes of history.

Ah, but the faint of heart murmur, “What if I don’t know the language???”   You’ve got a forefinger and a smile. What more do ya need?   You might even get lucky and find an older, or a younger person in the mood to practice English.

Why do I pick the opposite ends of the age spectrum?  Germans from ages 50 on up learned survival English at the end of the war.  Simple reason, the economy lay ragged and broken.  The new American bases offered jobs.  But, you had to speak English.

For the young, it’s a different situation.  English TV and music permeates the media.  Depending on where you live, you may have to search for German music on the radio.  Then there are the schools.  German kids take six years of English.  The rub is, their teachers are no better than ours and how many of us felt comfortable after a few years of high school French, or Spanish, or German?  But, German kids are approachable.  Usually you’ll get a smile and either an answer, or a shrug.  A common answer is:  “I only speak a little, “ meaning the kid just read Moby Dick in English and can sing along with the American Country Countdown.

Don’t mean to jump into a German lesson, but here are a few basics:

Hello is ‘Hallo,’ pronounced ‘Hallow.’

Goodbye is ‘Tchus’ and if you can’t manage that, just use the Italian, ‘Ciao,’ pronounced chow.  Damn near universal these days.

What is that?  ‘Was ist das?’  pronounced  ‘Vas isT das?’

Where is….?    ‘Wo ist…..” then add an English word that’s the same as German:  Bank, Restaurant, Hotel. 

Please is ‘Bitte,’ pronounced like bitter if you grew up in Boston.

Thanks is ‘Danke,’ pronounced ‘Danka.’

Ok, now you’re armed for a leisurely sweep through the rolling hills, the tiny villages, the broad expanses of a green countryside that almost defies description.  You’ll stride fearlessly into tiny cafes and restaurants and feast on sensational dishes, accompanied by fabulous wines.  Best of all, the prices will be pretty much what you’d expect in America.

Get off the beaten path.  Leave the big cities behind and follow your instincts.  Germany is a wonderful, beautiful country.  Don’t miss it!

Prost!