At the center of Love in Amsterdam is a simple and familiar concept: an average man, most likely innocent, is accused of murder. Martin (no last name given, while the judicial bureaucrats appear only by surname) is collected by the police, brought to the station, and detained in connection with the death of Elsa de Charmoy, a former mistress who was found shot four times in her apartment. Martin claims not to have seen the woman for months, but he was sighted on her street on the evening of the killing, with no clear explanation of why he was there. At the station, he is interviewed by a talkative police inspector named Van der Valk, who eventually confides in the suspect that he is willing to presume the man's innocence if he will help him catch Elsa's killer... even if that person turns out to be Martin after all.
The story – rather slim compared with later Piet Van der Valk crime novels – and characters feel very much like products of their time. Published in 1962, Nicolas Freeling demonstrates in Love in Amsterdam that he is more intrigued with realism, psychology, and pathos than with constructing plots and planting clues that give the reader an artificial puzzle to solve. Readers will likely know right away which genre camp they fall into, but I have always had an affinity for both the 1930s-era classic detective mystery and the post-1950s gritty crime tale, provided that each is well-written and has elements to admire. The narrative's third-person focus here remains on Martin, the wronged man at the mercy of an often impersonal criminal justice system. Yet Freeling gives his protagonist an unexpected ally in Van der Valk, and it is clear that this relationship proves the compelling one that the author wants to explore.
Further, the character views and motivations are also of their time, and could understandably sour on a reader when tastes and social norms reflecting attitudes 60 years later are applied. Most problematic in this aspect is the persona of the victim, who comes to life in flashback as an attractive but manipulative man-eater, a woman who leaves her husband and children for Martin and then disposes of him in turn, taking pleasure in the power she wields. Inspector Van der Valk (here and in other stories) does not fail to appreciate the well-shaped leg or firm form of a secretary or housewife, and the detective's intelligent, anchored wife Arlette is not yet on the page in Amsterdam, only referenced, so Martin's clear-eyed and understanding girlfriend Sophia must provide the book with its check against casual chauvinism.
Inspector Van der Valk will quickly become a memorable, likeably unostentatious lead for the series, solidifying fully in the third book, 1963's Gun Before Butter. But in Amsterdam, we are still watching the brushstrokes being applied. In some early scenes, Van der Valk employs a coarseness or jocularity that might be a tactic to get his suspect to drop his guard, but comes off as against type to the introspective detective we know from future stories. The inspector's willingness to sympathize with the accused, however, as well as his penchant for carting Martin over to the crime scene and frankly discussing the case with him, are habits that will remain and expand. Van der Valk's quiet but mischievous contempt for the self-importance and bluster of bureaucratic figureheads within the Dutch justice system is also in place already; this little-cog-in-a-cumbersome-machine perspective is one of the most winning qualities of Freeling's novels.
When it is compared with the other books in the Van der Valk series, Love in Amsterdam suffers a bit. Future stories will filter their characters and crimes through the inspector's humanist point of view, but in this one we see the world from the suspect's perspective. The choice should make the narrative more immediate, with the stakes higher, but it doesn't quite do so. Nicolas Freeling provides Martin with such an equable personality – not very much seems to surprise or trouble him – that it's hard to feel one's own pulse rise in proxy to the situation; we are as distant and removed from the action as the nominal protagonist seems to be.
Further, the character views and motivations are also of their time, and could understandably sour on a reader when tastes and social norms reflecting attitudes 60 years later are applied. Most problematic in this aspect is the persona of the victim, who comes to life in flashback as an attractive but manipulative man-eater, a woman who leaves her husband and children for Martin and then disposes of him in turn, taking pleasure in the power she wields. Inspector Van der Valk (here and in other stories) does not fail to appreciate the well-shaped leg or firm form of a secretary or housewife, and the detective's intelligent, anchored wife Arlette is not yet on the page in Amsterdam, only referenced, so Martin's clear-eyed and understanding girlfriend Sophia must provide the book with its check against casual chauvinism.
Inspector Van der Valk will quickly become a memorable, likeably unostentatious lead for the series, solidifying fully in the third book, 1963's Gun Before Butter. But in Amsterdam, we are still watching the brushstrokes being applied. In some early scenes, Van der Valk employs a coarseness or jocularity that might be a tactic to get his suspect to drop his guard, but comes off as against type to the introspective detective we know from future stories. The inspector's willingness to sympathize with the accused, however, as well as his penchant for carting Martin over to the crime scene and frankly discussing the case with him, are habits that will remain and expand. Van der Valk's quiet but mischievous contempt for the self-importance and bluster of bureaucratic figureheads within the Dutch justice system is also in place already; this little-cog-in-a-cumbersome-machine perspective is one of the most winning qualities of Freeling's novels.
When it is compared with the other books in the Van der Valk series, Love in Amsterdam suffers a bit. Future stories will filter their characters and crimes through the inspector's humanist point of view, but in this one we see the world from the suspect's perspective. The choice should make the narrative more immediate, with the stakes higher, but it doesn't quite do so. Nicolas Freeling provides Martin with such an equable personality – not very much seems to surprise or trouble him – that it's hard to feel one's own pulse rise in proxy to the situation; we are as distant and removed from the action as the nominal protagonist seems to be.
The book was released in the U.S. the same year as Death in Amsterdam. The author also pivots to the past in the book's middle section, where we learn about Elsa de Charmoy's personality and her relationship with Martin, but momentum flatlines through this lengthy flashback until we are once more in the present. Freeling excels at creating snapshot moments of Dutch bureaucracy, and these are stylistic high points, from a blustery monologue delivered by a self-important commissioner to a psychologist's maddeningly wearying interview of Martin expressed through phrases and ellipses: "Were you angry… were you glad… did you realize… don't talk, keep your answers brief…" Finally, though, the climax arrives where the woman's killer is identified and hunted; the end scene feels strangely hurried and unsatisfying, almost as if it were just a curious addendum to the story. The approach can certainly be defended as a mirror of reality, I suppose: an investigation stalls until new evidence is found, and then everything happens at once.
With these criticisms stated, it probably sounds like the book has little to recommend it. That is not true. Taken on its own merits, Love in Amsterdam provides an unassuming, psychologically observant, and generally rewarding reading experience, and it serves to introduce Dutch detective Pieter Van der Valk to the world, which is ample cause for celebration and a reason to (re)visit his literary origins. It is also heartening to know that Nicolas Freeling – who, it is reported, began this book while in jail for theft of food as a hotel restaurant cook – would improve on the formula, expand his ambitions, and make Inspector Van der Valk the center of his stories.
Tracy over at Bitter Tea and Mystery reviewed Love (or, as published in the U.S., Death) in Amsterdam last year. I hope she and others continue to explore the Van der Valk series, as I look forward to reading each title again after nearly two decades since my initial visit.
Tracy over at Bitter Tea and Mystery reviewed Love (or, as published in the U.S., Death) in Amsterdam last year. I hope she and others continue to explore the Van der Valk series, as I look forward to reading each title again after nearly two decades since my initial visit.
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