I’m not entirely sure what I expected from The Murderer’s Ape (2014) by Jakob Wegelius, but it wasn’t a Gulliver’s Travels (1726)-esque multinational adventure written by an intelligent gorilla. And while the book that results is in no way a bad thing, it’s also not really a murder mystery in the vein of what I’m typically after in these Minor Felonies posts.

The intelligent gorilla of the title is Sally Jones (never Sally, just so you’re clear), who acts as engineer and sole crew member aboard the Hudson Queen alongside its captain, “The Chief”, Henry Koskela. The entirely natural form of this relationship — that a steam ship should be kept running by a gorilla — is achieved incredibly quickly, simply by Wegelius not ever really referencing that it might be unusual; indeed, the naïve charm of this conceit, aided by the deliberately simple language I can believe it was originally written in, expertly carried into English by Peter Graves, is the book’s chief asset. While reference to Sally Jones’s species is made from time to time, the lovely idea that she’s just as much a feeling, caring, and compassionate protagonist — albeit a mute one — is gorgeous to see, and deliberately brings you up short sometimes when you’re reminded she’s an ape:

Once upon a time I was in love with an orangutan called Baba. He deserted me, so I know what it’s like to be lovelorn.

Early on, Sally Jones and the Chief take on an obviously-dubious commission to collect some, ahem, tiles from a secluded location in unusual circumstances, for which they’re paid you-really-should-think-more-carefully-about-this money. When it turns out they’re not transporting tiles, and when the entire consignment is lost, the Chief will find himself in trouble with Alphonse Morro, the man who originally commissioned the job. A simple misunderstanding later, and Morro is presumed drowned and the Chief accused of being his murderer.

This all achieved, incidentally, by page 40. Of 588.

It’s those 588 pages that’s really the problem with this book, because there’s an excellent novel to be had in an intelligent gorilla moving through society in a historically-rendered Lisbon trying to free her friend from an accusation of murder. What this turns into instead is a series of vignettes against the background of the Chief’s conviction — no spoiler, the title gave that away — with Sally Jones encountering problems and then, usually within about 15 pages, those problems being resolved, only for something new to hove into view. And, yes, it’s a book for 9 year-olds, but it gets repetitive. Wegelius and Graves have done a wonderful job of making this accessible, but once I realised that the story was just going to be a series of short-arc encounters, small waves lapping on the beach of the Chief’s imprisonment, it began to pall. Quite quickly.

For example, on page 214 someone sabotages Sally Jones’s hammock on the boat she’s taking to India, she finds out who it is on page 219, and on page 244 they’re banished from the ship, never to return. And this just repeats for every escapade and problem, often resolving without her involvement or intervention or — say, in chapter 17 ‘The Werewolf on Rua Sao Tome’ — only by sheer accident of her presence. I tire slightly of precocious youthful protagonists who are always on hand to solve every problem with some magic elixir or sudden, last-minute insight, but at east they’re (mostly) taking an active role in their own stories (and, mostly, setting a good example for the imagined youthful reader encountering said story). Here, it’s just accident with occasional, very mild peril…and I think that’s a shame, despite the fact that it’s the only way you’re going to hold the attention and memory of such a young audience over nearly 600 pages.

Given the sheer volume of this, there’s no doubt that some of it is praiseworthy, however. For the brief span that Wegelius brings each companion into the narrative, the people are well-realised, often marked by lovely, off-kilter descriptions…

His teeth, yellow with snuff, seemed to be leaning against each other in an effort not to fall over.

…and, in certain cases, surprisingly more humanity than you might otherwise expect the villainous characters to possess. The sense of it mattering that these people are still people is strong here, and that’s a sort of lovely message to take away, to not resort to everyone being hissable and beyond salvation or justification in their actions. And the way Sally reacts so openly to the various unusual cultures and experiences she finds herself embroiled in is great, too, even if it does make her seem a little passive at times, with, again, some very easy and witty prose to make it all pass so favourably:

The celebrations after the concert lasted for seven days of unbroken eating and drinking. Once his noble guests had departed, the maharaja was forced to have three days of ayurvedic massage to relieve his flatulence.

If 200 pages shorter, this would, for me, be a more interesting read, but the 9-to-12 year old in your life will find much to fall in love with, helped along by some spry prose and an excellent, highly-readable translation. The litmus test for me when finishing a book is whether I’d pick up a sequel should one emerge — and there is in fact a follow-up novel, The False Rose (2021)…which I’m going to pass over, letting my knowledge of Sally Jones’s adventures end here. Safe sailing to all who encounter her, but I’ll be going ashore now.