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Just My Luck By Adele Parks Mira Books, 384 pages, $22.99
This English thriller packs in murder, kidnapping and various assaults, not to mention countless double crosses among the central characters. But what drives the entire plot, what acts as the motivating factor for all the dirty deeds, is a national lottery and the winning thereof. A middle class family — mum, dad, two teenagers — bought the ticket that gets them a payout of $23 million (Canadian). Dad immediately treats himself to a yellow Ferrari and a pricey new wardrobe. But it’s not his conspicuous cupidity alone that signals lethal trouble ahead. A deeper, deadlier source of grief erupts when two other families, close friends of the winners, claim they’re in for a third each of the jackpot. Out of these circumstances, Adele Parks gives us a plot that includes brilliantly inventive clashes among ordinary people lusting for a taste of the big bucks.
Lucky By Marissa Stapley Simon & Schuster, 256 pages, $22
The young woman who usually identifies herself as “Lucky,” though she adopts multiple aliases in the course of the story, grew up in the scam business. It was her father’s profession and knocking about America, fleecing innocent and notso-innocent suckers along the way, Lucky trailed after dad, absorbing the tricks of the trade. To be fair to Lucky, she’s somewhat reluctant about her commitment to the life of crime. Then two turns in the plot shift the possibilities for Lucky’s future. One, the cops throw her father in the clink. And, two, Lucky buys a lottery ticket in Idaho that’s a winner, good for the astronomical sum of $390 million ($490 million Canadian). That still leaves one giant obstacle: with Lucky’s dubious identity credentials, she’s got dilemmas galore in getting at the cash. Make that two giant obstacles: as the narrative grows increasingly intricate, Lucky finds herself answering more to moral issues than to plain old con man concerns.
The Last Thing to Burn By Will Dean Atria, 256 pages, $36
We’ve read about women from third world countries who’ve been moved in shipping containers by evil profiteers to European and North American destinations. But what happens to the captive women in their new so-called lives? This harrowing novel tells the story of one Vietnamese woman who has been sold to a farmer in an isolated corner of England. When we meet her, she has suffered at this cruel and ignorant man’s mercy (which is in very limited supply) for seven years and is pregnant for the first time. The narrative picks up during the period when the woman at last figures out a workable escape plan, and all that follows, grippingly told as it is, often makes the reader turn away at the horror of it all.
The Girl Who Died By Ragnar Jonasson Minotaur, 320 pages, $37.99
No one creates crime novels that feel as chilled and isolating as those produced by Icelandic writers. And few among the country’s authors match Jonasson in conveying insular abandonment. In his latest venture into Iceland’s bleakest corners, a young Reykjavik woman named Una takes a teaching job in Skalar, the country’s tiniest and most remote village. Skalar has a population of a dozen; Una’s class consists of two little girls. Una wonders why the villagers keep her at a distance. She’s also alarmingly aware that an unsolved murder elsewhere in the country may have some bearing on events in Skalar. But looking to solve the various puzzles, Una arrives at answers that are as far off track as this excellent novel’s baffled readers can hope to manage.