Savannah Knoop, a.k.a. Leroy’s foil, on Larkin Street. Hair: black. The look: slightly upscale grunge.

Just read: that potboiler I promised myself, by way of a New Year’s resolution. The title: The Light of Day, by Graham Swift. Featuring: a woman who murders her husband after he ends his affair with a young Croation refugee, a private investigator who falls in love with the murderess, a lesbian daughter who comes to terms with Establishment dad over braised duck. Here, Swift (read an interview at Identity Theory) takes a break from his generally more literary oeuvre to tackle the crime/detective genre. Problem is, the writing isn’t as good as some of his other work (say, The Sweetshop Owner), but there’s very little mystery in The Light of Day to make up for what’s lacking in the literary department. The plot hinges on a murder, but the murder is never really described in detail, nor does the murderess ever explain why she stuck her husband with a kitchen knife. We’re led to believe it’s because she realized, after he gave up his affair with the young woman they’d taken in, that he’s still in love with the girl, that he will never really be alive without her, and it’s just too much for the wife to take. But it’s a hard sell–that a perfectly rational woman would commit such a violent, irrational act. Not that it can’t happen, but Swift never really convinces the reader (or this reader) that it could happen to this character. All in all, too much repetition, too little revelation.