THE DIARY OF LIES picks up with Shona Sandison, whose necessary walking cane (an injury sustained in The Golden Acre; more about it in The Hollow Tree) disguises her determination to get the scoop for her newspaper, no matter the risks. The promotional material for the book calls it a "paranoid political thriller." That would almost qualify it for nonfiction at this point, wouldn't it? Shona takes the situation seriously and angrily (a good definition of Shona herself), making it frustrating when her investigation takes her into what feels briefly like some adult-level fairy-tale crossover between Britain's "Green Man" and the mythic Robin Hood. Yet violence keeps erupting around her, and her narrow escapes are far from amusing.
When a sketchy woman armed with a shotgun opts to let Shona past the gateway to a hidden Internet guru, she's still stunned from her sudden morning tumble into blood and threat. "Her path had been disarranged. Now, she barely knew her way forward." Plus, she's a city worker — how can she handle a situation that's taking her away from paved roads and GPS and all? Her abrupt passage comes with instructions from a rough woman leading her further off road:
"Over the stile and through the trees," the woman said. "Keep going straight ahead ... you'll come to a large house. The manor. The curtains will be drawn. You'll find Robin in there."
"Robin?"
"Loxley. You'll be entering the back of the house. Wait at the curtained window — you'll hear the radio. Don't go in, love—he's armed. Wait to be let in."
Shona looked at the woman, calmly exhaling smoke. She was warning of deadly violence, yes she seemed serene.
"Okay. This way?" Shona pointed to the fence.
"I'm not repeating myself, sunshine."
What she discovers at the crumbling old mansion is a far cry from an upscale data farm, yet it offers access to the information she needs to make sense of the political corruption she's discovered.
Shona looked at the data loading, the entwined wires, the blinking lights. This was not the journalism she'd grown up with, in which she had made her way. This was about systems, codes, data and access. Arcane technologies. ... She felt uneasy. Aware of how afraid she might be.
It won't be easy to run, when the time comes. Not with her cane, and not without it. But bullets will soon fly.
One of the delights of this dark and well-twisted novel is the steady echo of Britain's older cultures beneath the action. There's no need to read the two preceding novels, but those who have will notice right away that the sense of ancient mythos and of a universe that's not automatically friendly is still throbbing in Miller's version of Edinburgh and its surroundings.
Watch for the threads that tie Shona, however reluctantly, to her uncertain allies. If she's going to both survive the threats and provide a top-notch and substantiated journalistic exposé, she'll need every connection she can summon.
Soho Press describes this new release as a good fit for "for fans of Ian Rankin, John le Carré, and Denise Mina." I'd extend the list to work by Paul Doiron, Lee Child, Ruth Rendell, Jaqueline Winspear, and Charles Todd. If "political paranoia" is getting to you, racing against it with Shona Sandison may bring a sense of relief and capability, as well as the satisfaction of a soundly constructed and resonant crime novel.
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