The Murderer's Ape

Jakob Wegelius, Peter Graves (translator)

Sure, Portugal is a country rich with reading options — classics, travelogues, mysteries, historical fiction — written by poets and storytellers who have been quietly shaping world literature for centuries. You would be right to read any of that. But we’re here to make the case for a heart-touching adventure tale… narrated by an ape.

To be clear, Sally Jones is not just any ape. She’s an intelligent, emotionally perceptive gorilla who also happens to be an outstanding mechanic. She doesn’t speak, but she writes — and uses a typewriter to keep a journal of sorts. A 1908 Underwood No. 5, if you’re into that kind of detail. Sally is the only language-using animal in the book; the rest of the world around her is… normal. There are no other magical elements. It’s just this one beautiful suspension of disbelief.

The story begins in 1915 Lisbon. Sally works a cargo boat called The Hudson Queen alongside her best friend, ‘the Chief,’ aka Henry Koskela. They’re scrappy and freewheeling, sailing from port to port, picking up odd jobs, living a life of adventure.

Then, one dark Lisbon night, everything changes.

Sally is thrust, alone, into the big wide world — unable to speak — forced to navigate human society alone to solve a mystery and save the Chief from the gallows.

Her journey takes her from the back alleys of Lisbon to the palaces of India. The settings are vivid, lovingly drawn, and full of texture — but it’s the characters that shine. Everyone Sally meets has their own story arc. There’s a soulful Fado singer with a mysterious past. A fussy accordion repairman who’s sneakily endearing. A cemetery caretaker who’s afraid of ghosts.

The book is also charmingly illustrated by the author, featuring detailed portraits of every character and dozens of whimsical black-and-white drawings liven the pages.

The storytelling is gentle but gripping, full of cliffhangers and small heartbreaks. It’s an old-fashioned adventure story in the best sense, filled with steamships, secret letters, and shifting alliances. It also gives equal airtime to themes like friendship, injustice, and the question of where — and with whom — you truly belong.

Most evenings we went to O Pelicano, an inn used by many seamen when they are in Lisbon. It’s on Rua do Salvador, a dark and narrow lane rarely reached by the rays of the sun. The owner was called Senhor Baptista. He used to be a cook on the ships of the Transbrazil line and he always offered his guests a glass of aguardiente before they ate. Aguardiente is a sort of brandy, so I usually took a glass of milk instead.

I have many good memories of our evenings in O Pelicano, but I have a bad one too. Because it was in O Pelicano that we first met Alphonse Morro. — Jakob Wegelius

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