You may notice that this post is going out a week later than usual (you also may not). This is mostly the result of a lurgy followed by a very full work week then a trip to see my family in Dorset where I got very distracted by very good rosé, and then a Monday wedding. In other words, this writer had a bit too much fun after working a bit too hard and so a few days of being a gremlin was much in order.
Do you ever get that way?
Today’s pairing is a little different as a result though.
I’ve been deep diving into a genre-niche the past ten days - so whilst I’m going to focus on Death of a Bookseller and pair it with a rather delicious Rioja - I’m also going to chat fictional true crime, because it seems like there’s more and more of it every day. And when I say ‘fictional true crime’ or ‘FTC’, I don’t mean novelisations of real crimes (a la The Suspicions of Mr Whicher by Kate Summerscale), but the novels that don the cloak and hat of true crime but tell a fictional story.
For clarity, I enjoy a true crime podcast as much as the next person - I’ve listened to Redhanded and The Murdaugh Murders and - one for anyone who enjoyed Yellowface - the literarily-inclined Missing Pages. I’ve also enjoyed shows from Blackbird, Baby Reindeer, and Unbelievable through to documentaries like The Program or the recent one on Ashley Madison. I typically avoid the grisly details and prefer more investigative approaches, but I’m not going to pretend there’s anything more worthy about what I enjoy compared to anyone else. It’s still intrigue at the question of what makes a monster.
Death of a Bookseller by Alice Slater does try to wrestle with the worthiness of true crime. It attempts to explore the tension between the genre’s popularity and the ethics of its making. This is done through the dual perspectives of true-crime-fanatic, Roach, and everyone’s-favourite-bookseller, Laura. Laura understands the intrigue - she retells true crime stories in the form of poetry - but she’s also very closely tied to a murder and struggles with the attention this brings. Roach prefers the more lurid, the gruesome, the detail of horror. She wishes she was closer to the action.
There are times where this dynamic is sinister - the stuff of horror film prologues. There are times where it’s funny too, as these oppositional protagonists interact. But most of the time it falls into pretty clear lines of what’s acceptable and what’s weird, what’s a justifiable story and what’s exploitation. Roach is truly vile - she’s the kind of narrator that feels repulsive. Laura is somewhere between The Cool Girl and a Manic Pixie Bookseller - the problem is it often feels like the author wants us to love her without giving us a reason to do so beyond her ability to do a peppy window display. It all reaches for something complex and insightful - but ultimately feels a tad simplistic.
I think my challenge was that Roach was so clearly meant to be awful and Laura so clearly meant to be lovely-but-flawed. It ends up feeling judgemental, flip-flopping between true crime as a modern grotesquery and as an understandable human fascination. It also implies that the only worthy interests are those held by people with owned experience - and I don’t think that’s really the point of the novel.
When I compare it to other FTC stories like Rebecca Makkai’s I Have Some Questions For You (which pairs perfectly with a chilled glass of Aix), I find Slater’s setup somewhat underwhelming. Makkai still plays in the true crime genre, this time setting up her story with an experienced podcast-stroke-journalist with an irresistibly personal mystery. It sets up a sophisticated, introspective narrative that not only dives deep into the intrigue of true crime but also critically examines the ethical boundaries and emotional toll on those closest to a story and those who investigate them.
Makkai’s protagonist, Bodie Kane, is compelling and multifaceted. She’s not always a good person and her humour is sharper than Jared Leto’s cheekbones. She’s also much more self-aware, exploring the ramifications of a crime within a small, school community and knowingly wondering at her own complicity. Wry as it may be, there’s so much care and nuance. It reminded me of a comment that Cariad Lloyd made on The Grief Cast, that when it comes to grief there are ripples - there’s the person who died and the people closest to them in the centre, but whole communities will experience loss in different ways. By offering that sensitivity, Makkai’s able to weave through themes of memory and gender, and still question the role of true crime investigations. Is it to find out the truth? Or simply to tell a story about what happened and who it happened to?
Notably, both Makkai and Slater punctuate their stories with the format that’s made true crime inextricable from the zeitgeist - podcasts. They speak to the creation of podcasts, the way people come to it, the influence that certain people have over it, the questions we should raise about investigations, obsessions, ethics, and art. It’s a departure from the confessional novels like The Enchanted by Rene Denfeld, which tells the story of a death row inmate and pairs with a jammy red Zinfandel, or His Bloody Project by Graeme Macrae Burnet, a Scottish ‘documentary-style’ novel that explores themes of social injustice through the confessions of a triple murderer and which pairs well with a full-bodied Châteauneuf-du-Pape. These donned the body language of historical documents, diaries. Now we’re really getting into a genre within a genre, a meta true crime universe.
I’d recommend both of these books for different reasons. Makkai’s is perhaps the more nuanced but Slater’s was so unbelievably readable. Where Makkai’s feels sassy and oh so stylish, Slater’s subtly acidic approach makes it a page-turner and if you enjoy feeling repulsed by your heroines, it’s one for you.
Saying that, for anyone who wants a deep dive into the ethics of true crime or its role in popular culture, I don’t think we’re quite there yet. I look forward to reading more though and am open to recommendations too.
The Pairing: El Coto Rioja Crianza, Spain
This is one of my go-to wines, mostly because it’s available as a half bottle (demie), which is perfect when shared between dinner on a Thursday night. It’s delicious, good value for money, and just a great bottle of wine. I thought it made a good pairing for a number of reasons - the fact that it’s super juicy in the finish like the best crime novels are, the complexity that suits the conversation around true crime, it’s got some proper spicy notes to account for our lead characters, but ultimately it’s a drinking wine. You don’t need to try too hard to enjoy it.
The Wine: El Coto de Rioja is a fairly well-known winery in the Rioja region of Spain, known for producing high-quality, affordable wines. Established in 1970, El Coto has apparently grown to become one of the leading wineries and has a focus on producing wines that reflect the traditional style of the region. The Rioja Crianza is a key part of their portfolio, made from the Tempranillo grape, which is the dominant varietal in the Rioja region. Having done a little digging, these grapes are sourced mainly from Rioja Alavesa, Rioja Alta, and Rioja Baja - which basically means the grapes are grown from all different regions of Rioja and bring different characteristics to the wine thanks to their soils, climate, and altitude. It’s what gives the wine that lovely complexity that makes it a perfect pairing for Death of a Bookseller.
Tasting notes: A deep ruby red, this wine is punch full of ripe red berries on the nose. You’ll also get cherry, and plum, complemented by subtle notes of vanilla, cedar, and spices from the oak aging process. Once you get to drinking (which is definitely the point of this wine) it’s a classic medium-bodied Rioja with smooth, velvety tannins. Flavours of juicy red fruit, particularly cherry and raspberry, are prominent. These are balanced by hints of spice, such as cinnamon and clove, and a touch of earthiness. The oak aging adds layers of complexity with vanilla and toasted notes. The finish is long and satisfying, with the fruit and spice notes lingering on the palate. All that juiciness makes it very approachable and enjoyable on its own, but it pairs perfectly with lamb and grilled red meats too.
Where can I buy it: I buy mine from Bayley and Sage when I’m feeling a little fancy (£11.95) but you can also find it online, including on Amazon (which I won’t link but the point is that you can definitely find this one places).