I've had Without Consent by Frances Fyfield on my book shelf for years. It was recommended to me but I can't remember where. It could have been in the Mystery Reader's Journal or possibly Foreward Magazine. All I can remember is I thought, "oh, this sounds good", and I promptly ordered two books by the author and then put them on the shelf for someday. The someday arrived.Without Consent is about rape. Rape, the definition, rape as seen from many angles and many perspectives. I don't think you could read this without thinking about your own feelings on the subject. The bulk of the story is told by Helen West, Crown Prosecutor. Helen is a complicated woman and Fyfield has done a great job revealing enough of what makes her tick to keep us interested and wanting more. Her role as prosecutor is frustrating to say the least. She must decide what cases have a chance and leave others behind. "The best level of success in a rape case was the victim being believed; and then believed to the extent that there was no room for the jury to be distracted by sympathy for the accused". Powerful statement. Supporting cast includes Helen's lover, a senior police officer, Detective Sergeant Ryan, of The Rape Unit, accused of rape, himself. In addition there are a myriad of other sorry victims and those their counterpart of possible suspects of the crime. I was not surprised at the outcome but did like how Fyfield got there. Psychological, dreary, the continued examination of what rape is, make this a provoking read. What's truly splendid about Without Consent is how each chapter begins with a piece of the law about rape. "It is an offence (British spelling) for a man to rape a woman." Consent becomes a a key to the whole.Helen West is featured in other Fyfield novels. Without Consent stands well enough on its own and I didn't feel lost not having read any others. I've also discovered that a few of the stories have been made into movies and I'm definitely going to watch these.
At the U. library I found a number of Fyfield's books from the 1990s published in America in attractive hardbound editions. So I reckon I owe the editorial ladies who do lunch an apology; they apparently gave Frances Fyfield an audience here and not enough of us Yanks appreciated them. Too bad; she is the best.But I didn't find this story featuring Helen West terribly compelling and her policeman boyfriend a bit crude. The villain, however, is kinky as all get out, but we really need a lot more information and back story and personal details. I liked Golddigger and The Nature of the Beast much better.
