In Twelve Trees, author J.D. Carpenter moves away from the well-received genre work of his Campbell Young mysteries and into a more mainstream form. The new novel explores one day in the life of opinionated ex-racetrack journalist, Priam Harvey. One year ago, Harvey lost his wife and job to alcoholism, and he now spends his days and nights drinking in a bar while obsessively betting on horses. He’s effectively given up on life. As he says of himself and his cronies, “we’ve stopped fighting. We’d sooner just look away. We’d sooner just order another drink.”

This state of apathy, though, turns out to be wishful thinking. Harvey becomes entangled in a random act of violence to which he has little choice but to react.

Clichéd? Maybe. However, it’s still engaging, as Carpenter does a nice job of keeping the narrative light and snappy, easily drawing the reader into Harvey’s world, with its cast of crazy barflies and down-and-outers. As a whole, and all debts to the likes of Chandler and Dick Francis aside, his portrait of one man’s struggle to square his disillusionment and addictions with his ethics is impressively done.

In a book where the principal activities include warming a barstool all day and poring over the racing form, it’s unsurprising that the story itself meanders and sways like the drunks it portrays. But its ending is smartly handled: Harvey has his chance to shine, to feel good about himself and the future, but ultimately he’s left facing the same dilemma – tossing the bottle or tossing life.