Hywel Richard Pinto’s High Tide: Trust Not What The Tide Brings In is a novel that draws its strength from the seamless convergence of crime, historical intrigue, political undercurrents, and human frailties against the ever-vivid backdrop of Goa. From the first page itself, the novel creates an atmosphere that feels both alluring and unsettling. Goa is often represented in popular imagination as a tourist haven, a place of beaches, music, and carefree abandon. Pinto, however, paints a much darker and layered portrait. Beneath the shimmering waves and the laid-back charm, an undercurrent of secrets, betrayals, and manipulations runs, a world where crime thrives and where political and personal ambitions collide. This carefully constructed environment sets the stage for a narrative that grips the reader with both suspense and a deep engagement with the questions of morality, loyalty, and human survival.

What impressed me the most was the character of Inspector Rojan Thimpu, someone whose presence immediately anchors the narrative. He is not the archetypal crime-fiction detective who breezes through cases with flair and perfection. Instead, he embodies the struggle of a man placed in an environment where every lead is complicated by personal histories, political connections, and covert players with stakes that go far beyond the immediate crime at hand. Thimpu emerges as an investigator determined to cut through the fog of lies and misleading evidence; yet, he is constantly tested, not just in his professional capacity, but also in his personal resilience. Pinto crafts him with a balance of pragmatism and vulnerability, which makes him stand out in a genre where police officers often risk turning into caricatures.

The mystery unfolds around a death that refuses to fit into neat categories. Was it murder, was it linked to past rivalries, or was it a cover-up for something much larger? Pinto makes sure the reader is kept guessing, introducing one possibility after another with careful timing. The presence of a family secret further complicates the case, adding emotional intensity to the narrative’s thriller-like pace. This secret is not just an embellishment but a core piece of the puzzle, one that links the contemporary crime to threads of history and memory, showing how the past refuses to stay buried in Goa’s sand and surf.

One of the striking aspects of the novel is Pinto’s inclusion of an undercover journalist. This character adds a layer of immediacy and moral questioning to the narrative. In a world dominated by politics and criminal influence, where does truth find its place? The journalist’s attempts to navigate secrecy, exposure, and personal safety make for some of the most engaging passages in the book. Through this character, Pinto explores the blurred line between uncovering the truth and exploiting it, between the need for transparency and the dangers of speaking out. The journalist’s involvement in the larger nexus of crime and politics elevates the plot from a localised murder mystery to a broader commentary on the structures of power that define contemporary India.

The political nexus that runs like a shadow through the novel is one of its most compelling features. Crime in Goa, as the book suggests, cannot be divorced from political patronage. The alliances between operatives, politicians, and underground networks keep the wheels of crime turning, and Pinto demonstrates how these forces can obstruct justice, compromise investigations, and manipulate narratives. Inspector Thimpu’s struggles thus become symbolic of a larger battle: the attempt to pursue truth in a landscape where politics works tirelessly to suppress it. Readers familiar with the realities of Indian governance and law enforcement will immediately recognise the plausibility of this depiction. It is not just about one crime, but about how structures themselves perpetuate criminality.

The narrative takes an even more intriguing turn with the introduction of the Sialkot operative subplot. This element broadens the scope of the novel beyond Goa, suggesting international connections, covert missions, and threats that link local crime to cross-border agendas. This thread enriches the story immensely, for it reminds the reader that crime and terrorism are often transnational phenomena, intricately woven into global politics and shadow economies. Pinto’s decision to insert this angle into what could otherwise have been a localised crime mystery lends the narrative both weight and credibility, situating it in a broader framework of contemporary threats.

What makes High Tide particularly effective is Pinto’s ability to intersperse all these complex layers with moments of personal drama and revelation. Family secrets play an enormous role, demonstrating how intimate histories and private wounds intersect with public narratives of crime. Characters are not mere vehicles for action, but are given motivations, doubts, and vulnerabilities that make them relatable and real. Readers see how the search for truth impacts not just society but individual relationships and legacies. A murder, after all, is never simply about the victim and the perpetrator; it ripples outward, touching lives in unexpected ways.

Pinto also deserves credit for his prose style. His writing is crisp yet evocative, striking a balance between description and action. He captures Goa vividly, not as the picturesque postcard destination but as a living, breathing, often contradictory place. The lanes, the houses with their layered histories, the beaches that conceal as much as they reveal—all are presented in prose that never slips into overindulgence yet succeeds in immersing the reader completely. The atmospheric detail heightens the suspense, for every description seems tinged with an awareness that something lurks beneath the surface.

As the story progresses, readers are continually confronted with unexpected twists. Just when the plot seems to be settling into one explanation, new evidence emerges, pulling the narrative in another direction. Pinto avoids predictability, ensuring that readers remain engaged not only with the question of who committed the crime but also with why and how it connects to wider networks. The layered revelations about the crime, the political nexus, and the role of the undercover journalist ensure that the conclusion is both surprising and satisfying. The final resolution ties the strands together without resorting to contrived theatrics, instead affirming the seriousness of the issues raised throughout the book.

Another strength of High Tide lies in its accessibility. While the novel is dense with intrigue, politics, and layered mysteries, it is written in a way that allows readers from diverse backgrounds to appreciate it. For the casual reader, it is a gripping page-turner filled with crime, suspense, and unexpected turns. For those inclined towards deeper reflection, it offers a study in how crime interacts with politics, how secrets shape human lives, and how individuals struggle to maintain integrity in compromised systems.

The book also makes a significant contribution to the genre of Indian crime fiction. Too often, Indian settings in crime novels are either exoticised or treated superficially. Pinto avoids both traps. His Goa is authentic, alive with its contradictions, and integral to the narrative rather than a mere backdrop. Moreover, his ability to weave together the intimate scale of family drama with the expansive scale of international operatives and political machinations demonstrates a commendable command of narrative scope.

For readers who enjoy crime fiction, High Tide will be a delight. For those who appreciate historical mysteries, the novel offers a wealth of insights through its exploration of past secrets and their entanglement with present-day crimes. Those with an interest in political thrillers will find much to engage them in the portrayal of the nexus between crime and power. Finally, readers who enjoy character-driven narratives will be satisfied with the depth given to figures like Inspector Rojan Thimpu and the undercover journalist. In this sense, the novel does not limit itself to one category but straddles several, offering a multi-dimensional reading experience.

Perhaps what lingers most after reading High Tide is the sense of how truth itself is contested in societies like ours. Pinto demonstrates that crime is never just about an act of violence or transgression but about the webs of power, history, and secrecy that surround it. The tide, to borrow from the novel’s title, is never trustworthy. It encompasses not just what is visible, but also what is hidden, what is uncomfortable, and what has been deliberately concealed. To read the novel is to come away with a sharpened awareness of how fragile justice is, and how resilient the forces that resist it can be.

In conclusion, Hywel Richard Pinto’s High Tide: Trust Not What The Tide Brings In is a remarkable addition to Indian English crime writing. It is immersive, intelligent, and thrilling, weaving together elements of crime, history, politics, and human drama with precision and narrative skill. Pinto refuses to offer readers a simplified narrative; instead, he delivers a story that compels reflection as much as it excites. With its memorable characters, its carefully wrought suspense, and its engagement with issues that extend beyond the fictional, the novel affirms itself as more than a crime thriller; it becomes a mirror to the realities of power, corruption, and truth in contemporary India. Readers who embark on this journey will find themselves carried not just by the tide of suspense but by the weight of questions that linger long after the last page is turned.

You can get a copy from Amazon India now – click here to buy the book.

Review by Manish for Indian Book Critics

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