The Calling

Every Wednesday night for the past couple of years, I have sat down with my dad and watched Criminal Minds, the crime procedural that follows a group of profilers hunting serial killers. And it seems like every single time, just before the opening titles when it reveals what strange new perversion the monster of the week is suffering from, my dad will heave a sigh. I kind of want to tell him if he doesn't want to watch it he doesn't have to. Maybe he's just getting old and watching people get hurt affects him more. Maybe he's actually starting to feel guilty about participating in a form of entertainment that sensationalizes violence and torture.

Or maybe he just thinks the shows fucking ridiculous, which it is. Every week comes up with a new tantalizing, completely absurd way for a person to kill others. Food for thought, people who kill people really aren't that creative. They don't need to turn people into giant marionettes, or lock families into Saw-like dollhouses complete with two-way mirrors. That's just us. We're the ones that want to see that shit.

Technically, The Calling is not anymore “dark” (a term that I've come to rather dislike when it comes to describing art) than your basic crime procedural. It doesn't dwell too much on the violence, even though there are some very graphic scenes. It doesn't get wrapped up in the killer's “signature.” It doesn't romanticize sociopathy, if anything it portrays it as clumsy and filthy. The Calling is based in character, in emotion. Neil Cross is a very firm believer in the idea that every character has their own story, their own universe. There are dozens of universes colliding in The Calling, and while some are living good happy lives, most are not. Most of them are either plagued with misfortune or breeding it. This is why John Luther starts to lose it, this is why he snaps.

The Calling ends where the pilot of the TV show begins, so if you've seen it, then you know where the story is going. One of the benefits of this is that Cross doesn't bother to make the villain too mysterious, which helps with the story's realism and grit. It doesn't change the overall effect of the action though, or even the mystery of the plot. In the show, we see the final moments between Luther and Henry Madsen completely out of context. We don't know what Madsen has done or why Luther has come to hate him so much. Here you find out, and the story leading up suits that final moment.

I found it fascinating how heavily the actors' performances in the show influenced Cross' portrayal of the characters in print. Idris Elba's big swaggering walk, the shaggy dog swaying of his head, the sharp twitchiness Saskia Reeves gives to Rose Teller, and then Ian Reed, played by Steven Mackintosh, some parts gentle and confidant, other parts squirmy rat. It colored the story in a way that's just not going to happen with other novels. It's a combination of beautiful performances on the part of the actors and a writer's ability to channel that.

There are other tie-ins to the show as well, which I'll put under a cut for those who haven't seen it yet and plan to. The events in the book have a hand in setting up Reed's betrayal, and it does it in a rather interesting way. I was almost heartbroken to realize that if Luther hadn't asked Reed to help him cover up the fact that he torched some scumbag's car, then Reed would most likely have not gotten involved in the shitstorm of a jewel heist that resulted in several deaths, including Zoe's and his own. But you also see Reed in a different light in The Calling. In the show, Reed is Luther's support, his wingman, the more even-tempered one to Luther's hothead. But here you see Reed more on the level with Luther. He does quite a bit of baring of his own teeth. He twists arms and the law almost as well as Luther does. Reed, as it turns out, was always a snake, and not only did Luther know it, he banked on it. Luther may not have pulled the trigger, but he enabled the behavior that resulted in Zoe's death, the same way Reed enabled his. It's a sobering revelation, one that makes Luther distinctive from other “dirty cops” (Luther isn't on the take, he's just fucked up and willing to go further than anyone could imagine to save lives, so maybe dirty isn't the word, more like on fire) who you find yourself rooting for despite yourself. You root for Luther, but you understand the penalty of his actions, on others and on himself. He's one part sensitive, another part frightening, and his darkness seeps into you.

From a literary perspective, I very much liked Cross' prose style, its utilitarian but with a few moments of beauty. He's got that stark but evocative quality that I'm thinking must be trendy now, either that or somehow I manage to find these book with this kind of voice, either way its a good thing. The pacing is delicious, the setting and story is vivid. I don't know what it's like for someone who hasn't seen the show to read this, how they'll feel about the characters, but I thought they were incredibly rich and detailed. Cross is very good at telling you all about someone with a few key points.

It is heavy though. It's not like most cop mysteries about good vanquishing evil, Cross seems intent on pulling you down to where Luther is mentally, and by the end he's at rock bottom. There were points where I started to feel anxiety about cracking the pages open. But I still thought it was an excellent experience and extremely well done novel.

And I'm friggin psyched about the new season.