If you’re anything like me, you’ve probably spent way too much time scrolling through "best of" mystery lists only to find the same tropes recycled over and over. You know the ones. The grizzled, alcoholic detective who hates his ex-wife. The high-speed car chases. The somehow-flawless forensics that solve a crime in forty minutes. The Long Call by Ann Cleeves isn't that. It’s better. Honestly, it’s the kind of book that makes you realize how loud and crowded most crime fiction has become by being exceptionally, almost stubbornly, quiet.
When it dropped in 2019, people were skeptical. Could Cleeves really move on from Vera Stanhope and Jimmy Perez? Those are massive shoes to fill. But she did. She introduced us to Matthew Venn, and North Devon has never felt so atmospheric—or so dangerous.
What Most People Miss About Matthew Venn
Let’s talk about Matthew. He isn’t your typical lead. He’s precise. He’s methodical. He’s also a man who was excommunicated from a strict religious community called the Barum Brethren. That’s not just a "fun fact" about his past; it’s the literal engine of the story.
When we meet him in The Long Call, he’s standing outside his father’s funeral. He’s not allowed inside. Imagine that. The sheer weight of that rejection sets the tone for the entire investigation. A body is found on the beach—a man with a bird tattoo—and suddenly Matthew has to dive back into the world he was kicked out of. It’s awkward. It’s painful. It’s incredibly human.
Most crime novels focus on the "who." Cleeves focuses on the "why" and the "where." North Devon isn't just a backdrop here; it’s a character. You can almost feel the dampness of the Taw and Torridge estuary. It’s a place of sharp contrasts—the beautiful, shimmering water and the bleak, mud-caked banks. This duality perfectly mirrors Matthew’s own life. He’s caught between the rigidness of his upbringing and the freedom of his new life with his husband, Jonathan.
The Mystery at the Heart of the Estuary
The plot kicks off when a body is discovered near Crow Point. The victim has a small albatross tattoo on his neck. It’s a striking image. But here’s the thing: the victim isn't some high-profile tycoon or a career criminal. He’s a nobody. Or so it seems.
Venn and his team—Jen Rafferty and Ross May—have to peel back layers of social services, community centers, and religious dogma. It’s slow-burn storytelling. If you’re looking for Michael Bay-style explosions, you’re in the wrong place. But if you want a masterclass in tension? You’re home.
Jen Rafferty is a standout. She’s a single mom who fled an abusive marriage in London. She’s the fire to Matthew’s ice. Their dynamic works because it’s messy. Ross May, on the other hand, is the kind of guy you love to hate—ambitious, slightly arrogant, and always looking for the shortcut. Watching Matthew manage these personalities while dealing with his own mother’s coldness is genuinely fascinating.
Breaking Down the Brethren
The Barum Brethren are central to The Long Call. Cleeves doesn't paint them as cartoonish villains. That would be too easy. Instead, she shows the community as a group of people who truly believe they are doing the right thing, even when that "right thing" is incredibly damaging.
The Woodyard is the local community hub that Jonathan runs. It becomes a focal point for the investigation. There’s a beautiful irony in the fact that the man Matthew loves is leading a center that provides the kind of unconditional support the Brethren denied him. This isn't just "detective work." It’s a study of trauma.
Cleeves uses the concept of the "long call"—the cry of the herring gull—to symbolize a yearning for home. But what do you do when "home" doesn't want you? That’s the question Matthew has to answer while trying to figure out who stabbed a stranger on a beach.
Why This Book Ranks So High for Mystery Lovers
It’s about the "fair play" mystery. Cleeves gives you the clues. She doesn't pull a rabbit out of a hat in the last five pages. When the reveal happens, it feels inevitable. You’ll probably kick yourself for missing it.
The pacing is deliberate. It builds. You get these short, punchy chapters that shift perspective, giving you just enough of a glimpse into the suspects' lives to make you doubt everyone. It’s a "domestic noir" in the truest sense. The stakes aren't the end of the world; they’re the end of a family or the collapse of a community. To the people involved, that's even bigger.
Dealing With the TV Adaptation
A lot of people found the book through the ITV series starring Ben Aldridge. It’s a solid show, but the book has more room to breathe. The inner monologue of Matthew Venn is where the real gold is. In the book, you feel his anxiety. You feel his need for order—the way he keeps his house spotless as a defense mechanism against the chaos of his emotions.
On screen, you see a quiet man. In the pages of The Long Call, you see a man who is screaming internally.
Actionable Insights for Your Next Read
If you’re planning on diving into this series (the Two Rivers series), here’s how to get the most out of it:
- Read it during the autumn. There’s something about the atmospheric chill in Cleeves’ writing that pairs perfectly with a grey, rainy day.
- Pay attention to the side characters. Cleeves often hides the most important clues in the casual observations of "unimportant" people like Lucy, a young woman with Down syndrome who plays a pivotal role in the narrative.
- Don't rush. This isn't a "beach read" in the sense of being light and fluffy. It’s a book to savor. Look at how Cleeves describes the tides. It’s poetic, honestly.
- Compare it to her other work. If you’ve read Shetland, notice how Matthew is the polar opposite of Jimmy Perez. Perez is all intuition and emotion; Venn is all logic and restraint.
The Long Call is a reminder that the best mysteries aren't about the crime itself, but about the ripples the crime sends through a small town. It’s about the secrets we keep to protect ourselves and the ones we keep to hurt others.
To truly appreciate the nuances of the story, pay close attention to the interactions between Matthew and his mother, Dorothy. Their relationship—or lack thereof—is the silent heartbeat of the novel. It explains why Matthew is the way he is and why this specific case haunts him so deeply. Once you finish, move straight into the second book, The Heron's Cry, to see how the team evolves. The character growth is some of the best in modern crime fiction.
Next Steps for Readers:
- Check your local library or bookstore for the Two Rivers series starter.
- Watch the ITV adaptation after finishing the book to compare how the atmosphere of North Devon was translated to the screen.
- Explore the geography of the Taw and Torridge estuary online; seeing the real-life locations Cleeves describes adds a significant layer of immersion to the reading experience.