When the Music’s Over by Peter Robinson

I should say first of all that I am a prolific reader of crime fiction. Though, unlike many crime fans, I am not one of those who feel compelled to solve the mystery. For me it’s more about the relationship between the detective and their sidekick, the unfolding of the murder mystery and the denouement. Basically, I like to kick back in my armchair with a cup of tea and let someone else do all the leg work, (or should that be brain work?) while I peer over their shoulder and marvel at (hopefully) their detecting prowess.


This is the 23rd novel in Robinson’s Inspector Banks series and our eponymous detective has been promoted to Superintendent. Unlike the Rebus series and many others, I have read barely a handful of these crime tales with long gaps in between. For this one Robinson has treated the reader to two distinct investigations. One of these involves an historical abuse allegation by a woman who claims she was raped by a celebrity and his associate aged just 14. This follows in the vein of high profile sexual abuse cases such as Jimmy Savile and Rolf Harris. The other investigation looks into the death of a young girl who has been gang-raped and then beaten to death, though not necessarily by the same assailants.


Having finished the book, I remember why there have been such long gaps in between my reading stints. Robinson’s writing leaves me feeling somewhat unsatisfied, even disappointed, when I read that last word of his novels. Not a dissimilar feeling to looking forward to a tasty meal out in a restaurant recommended by a friend and discovering that the food has not lived up to expectations. That’s not to say that Robinson has not honed his craft and is not a highly proficient and respected author. He has sold multimillion copies worldwide and Mr Stephen King himself is, purportedly, a true fan, though I must disagree with Mr King; the Alan Banks novels are not the best series on the market. I can think of quite a few more that beat Banks hands down; Morse, Rebus and Dalgliesh for starters.




All the ingredients are there to make a fine story; well-paced plot, credible characters and dialogue and a decent enough denouement. Yet it still feels to me formulaic and predictable; not necessarily in terms of the plot, but as an overall literary piece. The sum does not transcend the parts. That indefinable magic is absent, at least for me. Though I am sure there are quite likely millions of Banks’ fans who may disagree. As a light holiday read by the pool this is perfect fodder. My review. A frustrated 6.5/10.


Thank you for reading my review. Your book buddy, Charles Whitmore.