I posted this review on Amazon and Goodreads:
I first saw the film Get Carter in the late Seventies and loved it. From the initial train journey back up north to the Newcastle pub with its old gadjies in caps and white mufflers, ‘Top Hat’ beer glasses and the final confrontation on a wind-swept north eastern beach, it all seemed so real to me, a ‘smoggie’ brought up near Middlesbrough’s docks. Michael Caine was about as geordie as Chas n’ Dave but no matter. I even sought out the original novel by Ted Lewis which was almost out of print. I found it in an obscure Liverpool book shop (book shops, remember them?) along with an equally dusty paperback copy of GBH. Get Carter, originally called Jack’s Return Home was set in Doncaster but the film was pretty much true to the book.
The film was a success, and stimulated interest in the book – lauded as creating the noir school of British crime writing – but interest seemed to drift away with only aficionados of the genre retaining any great interest in Ted Lewis. And then this cracker of a book comes along.
I immediately identified with Lewis, in particular, with his struggles at grammar school. The story of the martinet teacher who struck him across the face causing him to wet his pants in front of his school-mates resonates. I remember a teacher at my school who bullied kids via sarcasm rather than violence – he even looked like Heinrich Himmler. There were kind teachers too, of course, and Lewis was lucky enough to be taken under the wing of Henry Treece, a charismatic character who encouraged him in his writing.
Lewis’s story ends in tragedy. He drank himself to a harrowing early death at 42. And this is the central mystery of Lewis’s life. He was talented, good-looking, a success with the ladies, yet in effect he took his own life at an early age. A mystery to match any explored in his fiction.