High Tide: Trust Not What the Tide Brings by Hywel Pinto, a book review

Hywel Richard Pinto’s High Tide: Trust Not What The Tide Brings In emerges as a significant contribution to contemporary Indian English fiction, particularly in the domain of crime and mystery narratives. At its core, the novel is a layered exploration of Goa, not as the familiar tourist paradise of glossy advertisements, but as a landscape burdened by history, politics, and a subterranean world of crime. Pinto does not merely craft a murder mystery for readers to solve; he presents a study of how secrets, family legacies, political corruption, and international networks intersect in ways that both challenge and complicate the search for truth. In doing so, he positions his work within a broader literary and socio-political framework that invites critical attention.

Inspector Rojan Thimpu, who serves as the principal investigator, is the central axis around which the novel unfolds. His characterisation is significant because Pinto resists the conventional tendency to create a flawless or theatrically brilliant detective. Instead, Thimpu embodies the realism of an officer negotiating the dual challenges of professional duty and systemic impediments. His investigative trajectory is constantly tested by political interference, misleading evidence, and the involvement of individuals whose motives are far from transparent. Through Thimpu, Pinto raises questions about the nature of justice in environments where truth is perpetually compromised. This choice situates the novel in a recognisably Indian context, where the figure of the policeman often stands as both enforcer and victim of systemic corruption.

The plot itself is carefully constructed to move beyond the surface of a single crime. The death at the heart of the novel resists easy categorisation, compelling both Thimpu and the reader to consider multiple possibilities. Pinto introduces the idea of family secrets as a narrative device that links the present crime with a deeper, more historical set of tensions. This dimension ensures that the mystery resonates beyond the immediacy of police procedure. It becomes an examination of how the past continues to shape and, in many ways, haunt the present. The use of familial intrigue not only heightens the emotional intensity of the narrative but also demonstrates Pinto’s refusal to let crime fiction remain purely external or procedural. Instead, the novel explores how personal histories are always intertwined with broader social events.

A particularly notable feature of the novel is the presence of the undercover journalist. This character serves as both a narrative counterpoint and a moral anchor in a world where information is power. By weaving journalism into the story, Pinto engages with contemporary debates about media, accountability, and truth. The journalist’s precarious position highlights the vulnerability of individuals who seek to expose corruption and wrongdoing in political and criminal spheres. At the same time, this figure complicates the moral landscape by raising questions about the responsibilities and limits of reportage. Pinto thus succeeds in elevating his narrative from a mere detective story to an exploration of truth as a contested and often dangerous pursuit.

The political nexus that forms the backdrop of the novel is not simply an atmospheric detail but an essential structural element. Pinto underscores how crime in Goa, and by extension in India, cannot be understood in isolation from politics. Politicians and criminal operatives often operate in a mutually dependent relationship, ensuring that investigations are stalled, narratives are manipulated, and justice is thwarted. The struggles of Inspector Thimpu against these forces become emblematic of the larger challenges faced by law enforcement in the country. What makes this portrayal particularly compelling is its verisimilitude. Readers are likely to find echoes of real-world scandals and investigations in it, which render the fiction disturbingly plausible.

The introduction of the Sialkot operative subplot broadens the novel’s scope and prevents it from being contained within a purely local frame. With this element, Pinto acknowledges the transnational dimensions of crime and terror. Goa’s crime story is thus revealed to be not merely parochial but linked to wider networks of clandestine operations, international money flows, and covert agendas. This subplot underscores the globalised reality of contemporary crime fiction, reminding readers that no location is truly insulated from international currents of power. Pinto’s decision to incorporate this dimension testifies to his ambition as a storyteller who seeks to position his work within the global narrative of crime and political thrillers.

Equally important is the way Pinto employs Goa as more than a backdrop. Unlike much popular writing that romanticises the region, High Tide situates Goa as a contradictory space. Its beaches, streets, and houses are depicted with descriptive precision, yet the suggestion of menace and secrecy consistently undercuts these familiar markers. The physical environment of Goa becomes complicit in concealing truths. The tide itself, as invoked in the title, symbolises the shifting nature of reality in the narrative: it brings to the shore not only what is visible but also what has long been buried. By situating his mystery in Goa, Pinto participates in a larger project of deconstructing literary geographies, compelling readers to see familiar places through new and often unsettling perspectives.

The suspense of the novel is sustained through Pinto’s ability to withhold, reveal, and redirect attention with precision. Each revelation is carefully timed, and just as the reader begins to form conclusions, the introduction of new evidence or perspectives unsettles certainty. This narrative technique ensures that the novel avoids predictability. More importantly, it compels the reader to remain engaged with the work’s deeper thematic concerns, rather than treating it as a puzzle with a single solution. The twists and turns are thus not merely structural devices but vehicles for exploring questions of loyalty, morality, and truth.

From a stylistic perspective, Pinto demonstrates a clear command of language. His prose is economical without being sparse, descriptive without falling into indulgence. The narrative flow ensures that readers remain immersed, while his occasional lyricism in describing the landscape allows for moments of aesthetic reflection amidst the suspense. The balance between action, description, and dialogue reflects a mature craftsmanship that enhances the novel’s overall impact.

For the reader, the experience of High Tide is not confined to entertainment alone. It invites reflection on the nature of justice in a society where politics and crime often work in tandem to subvert accountability. It provokes thought on the fragile role of the media and the dangers faced by those who attempt to expose entrenched corruption. It also compels recognition of how the past, in the form of family secrets or historical grievances, continues to shape the present. This multidimensionality ensures that the novel can be read at different levels: as a compelling thriller, as a social commentary, and as a reflection on human vulnerability.

The novel also holds a significant place within the trajectory of Indian English crime fiction. While the genre has witnessed increasing contributions, many works either mimic Western tropes or remain superficial in their engagement with Indian realities. Pinto avoids these tendencies by crafting a narrative that is both recognisably Indian and globally relevant. His Goa is not exoticised for international consumption, nor is it reduced to a stereotype. It is instead presented as a living, contradictory, and layered space, reflective of the complexities of Indian modernity itself. By interweaving local detail with global networks, Pinto situates his narrative within the continuum of world crime fiction while retaining a distinctive Indian identity.

Ultimately, what lingers after the final page is not only the resolution of the mystery but the unsettling recognition of how precarious truth is in contemporary society. The tide, as the novel reminds us, cannot be trusted to bring clarity on its own. It carries with it what is hidden, uncomfortable, and deliberately obscured. In this way, Pinto’s novel is more than a crime story. It is a meditation on secrecy, power, and the human struggle to discern meaning in a world where appearances deceive and truth is relentlessly contested.

Hywel Richard Pinto’s High Tide: Trust Not What The Tide Brings In must therefore be seen as a novel that successfully bridges the demands of genre fiction and the aspirations of literary exploration. It is both a gripping page-turner and a thoughtful examination of society’s undercurrents. With its carefully crafted characters, its layered plot, and its thematic engagement with issues of power, corruption, and memory, it affirms Pinto’s stature as a writer capable of producing fiction that is both compelling and critically significant. Readers who seek crime fiction with depth will find in this novel an exemplary work that combines suspense with substance, leaving behind questions that resonate long after the story has concluded.

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Review by Ashutosh for Active Reader

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