Product Description

Searching for truffles in a wood, a man and his dog unearth something less savoury - a human hand. The body, as Chief Inspector Wexford is informed later, has lain buried for ten years or so, wrapped in a purple cotton sheet. The post mortem cannot reveal the precise cause of death. The only clue is a crack in one of the dead man's ribs. Although it covers a relatively short period of time, the police computer stores a long list of missing persons. Men, women and children disappear at an alarming rate, something like 500 every day nationwide. So Wexford knows he is going to have a job on his hands to identify the corpse. And then, only about twenty yards away from the woodland burial site, in the cellar of a disused cottage, another body is found. The detection skills of Wexford, Burden and the other investigating officers of the Kingsmarkham Police Force are tested to the utmost to discover whether the murders are connected and to track down whoever is responsible.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #115007 in Books
• Published on: 2007-08-02
• Original language: English
• Binding: Hardcover
• 272 pages

Amazon.co.uk
The wait is over: here’s a new Wexford novel. And Not in the Flesh is one of the sharpest, most astringent outings for Ruth Rendell’s doughty copper in some time. Rendell's studies in dark psychology (which have at their centre characters who appear only in individual novels) are the most highly regarded among aficionados of her wok, but the unalloyed good feeling prompted by a fresh appearance for her long-term protagonist Inspector Wexford is something to be savoured, and we are once again in safe hands here.

A man taking his dog for a walk in a wooded area stumbles across a grim object -- a severed human hand. The body to which it belongs has been hidden from sight for years, as Wexford subsequently finds out. Of course, with the uncountable numbers of missing persons in police files, Wexford is well aware it will be an uphill struggle tracking down the identity of the body. Shortly after, in the basement of a disused cottage, another victim of violence is discovered, and Wexford and his reliable team find themselves attempting to discover connections between the murders.

Readers might wonder if the production of these utterly surefire Wexford books is an east task for Rendell (as opposed to the rigours of the grimmer psychological novels written under her own name, or the nom de plume Barbara Vine), but there's never a sense of the author on autopilot; this is professional, well-honed, engrossing stuff. --Barry Forshaw

Christopher Bray, New Statesman
`Rendell's genius with the whodunit form works to make everything doubly vital...She is one of the rare breed that makes you feel privileged to be around at the same time as they are'

From the Inside Flap
'Ruth Rendell's books are not only whodunits but whydunits, uncovering the motive roots of murder' Mail on Sunday

Searching for truffles in a wood, a man and his dog unearth something less savoury – a human hand.

The body, as Chief Inspector Wexford is informed later, has lain buried for ten years or so, wrapped in a purple cotton sheet. The post mortem can not reveal the precise cause of death. The only clue is a crack in one of the dead man's ribs.

Although it covers a relatively short period of time, the police computer stores a long list of missing persons. Men, women and children disappear at an alarming rate, something like 500 every day nationwide. So Wexford knows he is going to have a job on his hands to identify the corpse.

And then, only about twenty yards away from the woodland burial site, in the cellar of a disused cottage, another body is found.

The detection skills of Wexford, Burden and the other investigating officers of the Kingsmarkham Police Force are tested to the utmost to discover whether the murders are connected and to track down whoever is responsible.

Customer Reviews

An enjoyable if unexceptional outing for Inspector Wexford
Despite the fact that most of her admirers would doubtless choose one of her other guises (the non-Wexford Rendell books or the Barbara Vine novels) as representing her best work, the Inspector Wexford series remains Ruth Rendell's most popular output. There have certainly been some very good Wexford stories over the forty-odd years since his first appearance, but the conventions of writing a police procedural sometimes seem to stifle Ms Rendell's fervid imagination, which is given free reign in her other books. Obviously both the public and her publishers still want her to produce Wexford novels on a regular basis, but it seems as if her interest in her most famous creation has waned over the years, and in some of her recent Wexfords such as 'Babes In the Wood' it really felt she was writing out of duty and obligation rather than choice. However, the Chief Inspector's last case, 'End In Tears', was a marked improvement, and although 'Not In The Flesh' isn't its equal, I'd still rate it as one of the better Wexford novels of the past decade or so.

The central crime - the discovery of two bodies on a plot of land which have remained undiscovered for a decade - is intriguing, although perhaps the motive behind the crimes won't come as a shock; I had a rough idea of what lay behind the mystery long before the Chief Inspector himself did. Nevertheless, it manages to keep the reader engrossed until the end. As usual, there is a sub-plot which involves Wexford's family, and this time it concerns the horrifying practice of female circumcision. Ms Rendell handles the subject as thoughtfully and sensitively as long-time fans would expect, and the climax to this story strand is nail-biting. However, usually these side issues are cleverly woven in to the main plotline, and that just isn't the case here. As well-written and important as it is, it still feels tacked-on and completely at odds with the tone of the rest of the book.

My other problem with 'Not In The Flesh' is the tiresome carping about 'political correctness'. I really expected better of Ms. Rendell than this. The issue of over-zealous political correctness was covered by many other authors years ago when it might actually have been considered a newsworthy topic. These days the only people who use the phrase are lazy journalists who work for right-wing tabloids like the Mail and the Express - and even they are only pandering to their readers' prejudices. I have always admired Ruth Rendell's strong stand against all kinds of social injustice, and to find her wasting her words on a non-issue that only the most small-minded of Middle Englanders would consider worth mentioning is both disappointing and embarrassing.

Still, despite these misgivings, 'Not In The Flesh' remains a mostly enjoyable read and I'd still recommend it to anyone who liked previous Wexford novels. Nevertheless, I must confess to wondering whether it wouldn't be better for the Chief Inspector to finally hand in his warrant card for good, leaving his creator free to concentrate on her other, more interesting work.

Ruth Rendell - Not in the Flesh
Searching for truffles in a local wood, a man and his dog unearth a human hand. That hand eventually turns into an entire skeleton when the police dig up the surrounding ground. An entire skeleton robed in a decaying purple sheet, a cracked rib the only sign that the body might have met a death by violence. Investigations reveal that the body has been interred since a trench was dug 11 years ago in order to prepare to build houses the planning permission for which was later denied. However, the identity of the corpse remains a complete mystery. Then, a second body is found in a nearby abandoned house, and that has been there for many years as well...

Not in the Flesh is something like Rendell's 56th book, her 21st Wexford story. So far, the reviews I have seen have not been kind to it. Some of their criticisms are valid: there's some sloppiness (for example, Wexford on one page putting his faith in hunches and the next condemning intuition), and in tying up one plot point in the final pages she leaves another more vital one (a motive for one of the murders, no less!) completely open), and some lazy plotting whereby character's lives are handily furnished with significant events which allow them to remember a specific day eleven years ago.

However, other criticisms aren't. The moaning about Wexford not aging (every review comes concomitant with a snide comment that Wexford should be ancient or his daughters over 60) seems childish, lazy reviewing picking on easy targets. Since when has real-time been a particular concern of much crime-fiction? Rendell has been penning these temporally static Wexford novels for over 40 years, in that time proving herself one of the all time great crime-writers, and that static-ness hasn't been an issue whatsoever or stopped her massive reputation at all. Crime fiction of this kind - that which harkens back to the "Golden Age", has never had its concern in passing time accurately, and everyone knows that. The detectives are there to pivot the plot around - it may be a bit mechanical but that is what a lot of that kind of crime fiction is. It's Rendell's great talent that it has never seemed mechanical in these Wexford novels. It is a little unfair to use as a criticism what is almost a staple, underlying rule of the form. It is hardly plausible to change the style of a series half-way through in any case. Some writers age their detectives now, in away that is very realistic, but these other kinds of detective fiction are not supposed to be a mirror of reality (a commentator, perhaps, but not a mirror). It's a mistake to fall into the trap of thinking that all fiction should be thus.

Instead, though, Wexford is allowed to be a kind of social comparison meter of late, contrasting the past with the contemporary. And this is one of several areas where these Wexford novels are still very effective, in the clash of past - in Wexford - and present - in the cases and people he deals with. Yes, he may seem outdated, but that's entirely the point: he couldn't be otherwise, and even though he doesn't age physically his views, as a person who witnessed the passage of previous decades, if only in fiction, are entirely realistic. This is a trap that this form creates, especially when the series goes on to be such a long one, but Rendell deals with it as well as it's possible to, I think. She credits Wexford with the views which a man of his character and age would, almost of necessity, have. And the fact that she's not a particularly judgemental writer of her characters views, she just presents them as they are, means that it's often very hard to work out where she herself stands, which may be where some of the criticism comes from (one reviewer attributed Wexford's views to Rendell, which, of this pilates-doing flash-disk-using author, I know to be ridiculous). My point, basically, is this: it would be more ridiculous if things were otherwise.

Indeed, sharp insights into society and people are still heavily on display here, and are one of the factors which make this book a very worthwhile read. Always a staple of the Rendell novel, they are on show here as much as ever, as she writes piercingly about her characters, their views, motivations, actions, and the world that shapes them. Another immense strength of this book is its subplot (about the problem of female circumcision in Somali immigrants), which Rendell writes about with passion, immediacy, and drive. However, Rendell seems so engaged with this, and writes so grippingly about it as a result, that the main plot seems almost in its shadow, in terms of the writing and in the author's interest in it. Certainly, it is the subplot which had the largest effect on me, and is the part I recall in most detail.

Rendell's job in these Wexford novels has always been to provide a satisfying mystery, with her own added extra being the startling observations about the world we live in, it is has never been her job for them to be wholly plausible or realistic in all their aspects (Wexford's aging; the book extracts it seems impossible could be finally long enough to provide a full-length-book, etc.) and there is no reason why they should start receiving criticism for that now. (Indeed, it is not the job of any detective fiction to provide a 100% accurate account of the world, and never has been. If some examples of it choose to, then fair enough.) Internally they make sense, and she provides a satisfying, well-structured mystery. Not in the Flesh, apart from a few minor hiccups, accomplishes this task with ease. It isn't her best, it isn't even as good as the last excellent Wexford, End in Tears, but it's still damn good.

A disappointment
I love Ruth Rendell's novels, and especially the Wexford ones. But this one is a real disappointment. It feels slapdash, put together hastily, with a sub-plot on female genital mutilation amongst Somali immigrants that has nothing to do with the crime and just feels like it's been stuck in there as an obligatory contemporary British íssue or something. There's no real feel for Wexford himself, the author appears to be tired of him. And there's a truly awful irritating politically correct constable called Hannah who just set my teeth on edge so much and that I could hardly believe in as a real flesh and blood person. Plus the black policeman Damon also seems like a cobbled-together character with little real life of his own, just there to provide a token black policeman. And the constant characterisation of Somali women as being so beautiful just got on my nerves, it seemed a kind of reverse prejudice in some ways.
To make matters worse, I guessed the motive and the criminal long before the book ended, it seemed pretty obvious to me. I read it to the end but only because of a lingering loyalty, and because the writing itself is smooth enough. But I was never in the action, and I did not at all engage with the characters. The whole thing felt forced, as if the author was fed up of the whole thing but was tossing it off because readers might expect it. A bad move!
I'd give it 2 and a half stars but not couldn't bring myself to give it 3.