Funky Friday’s Free-For-All: How Do We Love Thee, Friday? Let Us Count The Ways …

It’s a Ken Bruen mini-mash-up, folks: there’s an interview over at Pulp Pusher, and a short story – Loaded, from the London Noir anthology – available at The Barcelona Review. Meanwhile, Detectives Beyond Borders is delighted Ken is on his way to Philadelphia to receive the David Goodis Award at Noir Con 2008 (scroll down), and there’s fierce excitement entirely, as they might say in Galway, about his upcoming appearance on Craig Ferguson’s The Late Late Show on July 9. Here’s hoping Ireland’s very own Charlie Bucket crashes through that glass ceiling, Wonkavator-style … In other news, they’re giving away free copies of I Predict A Riot by The Artist Formerly Known as Bateman over at Meet the Author … There’s a smashing interview with Hard Case Crime co-publisher Charles Ardai (right) at Murderati, conducted by Mike MacLean, that kicks off with, “Grifters and pimps. Pushers and killers. Dirty angels and righteous whores …” Sigh. Why can’t all interviews begin that way, eh? … If you’re around the Bath area in England on July 5, you could do worse than toddle along to the Jim Kelly reading at the Long Gallery at The Old Palace, organised by Topping Books … Maxine Clarke is kind enough to let us all know, via her blog Petrona, that she’s looking forward to Ingrid Black’s The Judas Heart and the paperback of Tana French’s In the Woods, due in November … which is nice. On to the world of movies, and the word around the Anton campfire is that there’s a rough draft of three hours just begging to be trimmed down to two hours or thereabouts, and the official trailer is on the way – we’ll have it about two seconds after YouTube, people … A humble thank you kindly, ma’am, to Rhian over at It’s A Crime, for bigging-up Crime Always Pays in no uncertain fashion – despite everything … Finally, what better way to ease into the weekend than via some classic noir? Erm, via a pint of Pimms and a snakebite chaser, say the CAP elves. Nonetheless, here’s Fred ‘n’ Babs in Double Innuendo, sorry, Indemnity, to wit: “I wonder if I know what you mean.” “I wonder if you wonder.” They really don’t write ’em like that any more. Enjoy the weekend folks, and y’all take care to come back now, y’hear?

Quirke II: The Quirkening

Brian McGilloway of the rather fine Borderlands fame was kind enough to tip us off that his PanMacmillan stablemate Benjamin Black – forthwith to be known on these pages as Benny Blanco (from the Bronx) – has the follow-up to Christine Falls arriving in November. The Silver Swan features the redoubtable pathologist Quirke investigating an apparent suicide against a backdrop of grey, drab 1950’s Dublin while trying to negotiate a relationship with the daughter he has always denied. Huzzah, say we – although, with apologies to Chekov, it sounds like the kind of thing that should feature a seagull rather than a swan in the title. Or could that be po/mo irony? Hmmm … only time, that notorious tittle-tattler and perennial doity rat, will tell.

“Ya Wanna Do It Here Or Down The Station, Punk?” # 124: Cora Harrison

Yep, it’s rubber-hose time, folks: a rapid-fire Q&A for those shifty-looking usual suspects ...
What crime novel would you most like to have written?
Ellis Peters’ Brother Cadfael’s Penance. I love all of the Brother Cadfael series, but this one is so beautifully written with a slightly mournful elegiac note that it is my favourite. What lends it extra poignancy is that I think Ellis Peters was probably dying of cancer when she wrote it.
Who do you read for guilty pleasures?
I’m not sure where the guilt comes – I’m retired and if I feel like reading, I read. I don’t watch much television, which mostly seems to be a lot of boring nonsense to me, and I have no pretensions to being an intellectual, so any book that captures my attention is a worthwhile read for me. My cottage is full of books so there is never a lack of material.
Most satisfying writing moment?
I’m not a wonderful writer, but I think the best thing I did was a final showdown between my detective, Mara, the Brehon, (judge), and the guilty person. I wrote a whole chapter without giving away the identity of the killer and I really enjoyed writing that.
The best Irish crime novel is …?
Probably Tana French’s In The Woods – rather disturbing for someone like me who likes her books to be cosy, but undoubtedly very powerfully written.
What Irish crime novel would make a great movie?
Would it be terrible to say that I think My Lady Judge would make a great movie? I think the Burren landscape is so unique and so little known, even to many people in Ireland, that I think it would make a wonderful film. If you have a look at www.coraharrison.com you will see what I mean about the landscape.
Worst / best thing about being a writer?
The worst thing is how long it takes for a book to get published. I write very quickly and am always ahead of publishers’ deadlines, so when it comes to editing time I’m quite bored with the book and just interested in the one that I am currently writing. The best thing about being a writer is that it gives you a unique opportunity of creating your own world and this, I think, is what I have done in My Lady Judge. I keep thinking how much I would have liked to have lived then and how beautiful and peaceful life was – despite the odd murder.
Why does John Banville use a pseudonym for writing crime?
I don’t know, but I would guess that it is part of turning himself into a different person so that he can write in a different style. I read once of a woman who wrote under two names, and she used to have two computers, each in a different room, and this helped her to have a distinctive voice for both series.
The three best words to describe your own writing are …?
History, mystery and romance.

Cora Harrison’s My Lady Judge is available in all good bookshops now

We All Have Skeletons In Our Closets, The Trick Being To Make Them Dance

To be honest, we’re not even sure that Jim Kelly is an Irish crime writer, but with a name like that he’d probably end up captaining the Irish football team under the grandparent ruling were he a ball-botherer. In saying that, the main reason he’s getting a plug is that Penguin UK sent us a couple of freebie books – without us having to ask! Oh, the glamour of it all … Anyhoo, The Skeleton Man (published in hardback on July 5) is the fifth in Kelly’s Philip Dryden series, in which Dryden, a journo, puts his investigative skills to good use whenever a murder crops up on his beat. Meanwhile, last year’s The Coldest Blood takes its paperback bow on the same day, and arrives bearing a “significant new talent” cover blurb courtesy of the Sunday Times. “This is another winner in what has become one of the best British crime series on the market. Kelly should be read as much for his Dickensian atmosphere … and his full-throttle characterizations as for his masterful plotting,” says Connie Fletcher at Booklist, via Amazon.com, where you’ll also find this – “The language Kelly uses is wonderful … The Coldest Blood reads like a very well done true crime story - the people are that real, the motives that true.” – and this – “The mystery is solidly complex ... Kelly’s writing imbues the unforgiving landscape and the cold itself with personality while Dryden’s wry outlook and innate compassion keep it all from being in the least depressing.” Which is nice …

Swedish Crime Fiction? Now There’s A Turnip For The Books

The rather fine Detectives Beyond Borders interweb yokeybus has a neat link to a fascinating piece on Swedish crime fiction in the Toronto Star, which runneth thusly:

The article also traces the current wave of Swedish crime writing to a traumatic national event: the 1986 assassination of Prime Minister Olof Palme, shot dead in Stockholm while walking home from a movie with his wife. Anyone who dismissed crime fiction as trifling might be interested in this passage about the Palme assassination:
“In a way, Sweden has never recovered,” says Swedish author and critic Marie Peterson. “Sweden changed, brutally, on almost every level, but this change was nowhere to be found in literature. No one explored it, analyzed it or wrote stories about it. Except the crime writers, starting with [Henning] Mankell.”

Are there parallels to be drawn with the Irish experience of another assassination, in this case the murder of investigative journalist Veronica Guerin in 1996 and the subsequent explosion in Irish crime fiction? There’s a significant paper to be written here, o ye students of Ireland.

The Embiggened O # 2,307: Damn The Trumpets, We’re Going To Need Flugelhorns

Crikey! Two reviews for our humble offering The Big O in the space of a week? We couldn’t be more spoiled were we face down in a pyramid of Ferrero Rocher at some ambassador’s knees-up. Fra Jones over at Verbal magazine (edited by Running Mates maestro Garbhan Downey, fact fiends) outdid himself with the blush-making prose, offering a lengthy appraisal of The Big O (pictured, Big P pretending he can read and Lil’ Eva loving the back-page blurbio). We’ve had to cut the review down for reasons of space and because Fra was mercilessly efficient at spotting the rather ropey parts of the book too, but as Homer would say, get to the good stuff, to wit:

‘Pulp Fiction with an Irish twist’
“With his debut, Eight Ball Boogie, Sligo man Burke was heralded as an invigorating force for Irish crime fiction. What distinguished his writing was the sharp, whip-crack dialogue and meticulous plotting. Both traits remain much in evidence with The Big O … With all his pieces in place, Burke proceeds to move and manipulate with all the precision of a chess grandmaster … Each has their own unique voice, the multiplicity of perspectives adding real texture to the story … [The] pace is maintained through intuitive, engaging dialogue. There is a sense of wit and liveliness to the speech that fosters a feeling of authenticity, Burke achieving the not insignificant feat of creating characters who speak as people really do, rather than as writers feel they ought … With its precision engineered plot, oodles of incident and moments of rampant hilarity, The Big O displays a particularly filmic sensibility, part film noir, part Pulp Fiction – but totally entertaining.”

Fra? The pints of Pimms are on us.

And More’s The Pithy

As befits an author coming from a theatrical background, Declan Hughes talks a good game. We particularly liked this exchange from a recent lengthy interview with Kevin Burton Smith in January Magazine, while yakking it up about Dec’s second novel, the Dublin-based The Colour of Blood:

Q: But Ireland’s always had its share of crime. What’s changed?
A: The scale. More people with more money equals more drugs, equals more money to be made in supplying them, equals more turf wars, etc. And second/third generation criminals, high on their own supply. Mental bastards.

Pithily true. Well said, sir.

A Rolling Stone Gathers No Moths

The momentum behind ex-boxer Nick Stone’s (right) King of Swords is becoming well-nigh irresistible, folks. Over at The Rap Sheet they report that Nick’s debut, Mr Clarinet, is making its debut bow in the States courtesy of William Morrow, and that it’s already been nominated for a Best First Novel by the International Thriller Writers crew (winners to be announced mid-July, during ThrillerFest in NY). Meanwhile, Penguin’s UK editor Beverly Cousins is throwing her entirely metaphorical weight behind King of Swords over at Shots Mag, to wit: “It is a masterpiece of crime fiction, rivalling some of the greats of the genre for my favourite thriller of all time.” Criminy! If you fancy catching up on the whys and wherefores of Mr Clarinet before King of Swords appears, Peter Wild interviews Nick over at Book Munch, while Pulp Pusher is threatening to publish a Nick Stone short story in the next issue of its ezine. Where does Nick get the time to shave that beautiful dome, eh?

Flick Lit # 43: The Getaway

In Jim Thompson’s novels, no one gets away. Not even, as in the case of Doc and Carol McCoy, when they manage to escape the forces of law and order and their double-crossed partners to fetch up rich and free in Mexico. “Before Kerouac,” wrote Steven King on Thompson’s legacy, “before Ginsberg, before Marlon Brando in The Wild One or Yossarian in Catch 22, this anonymous and little-read Oklahoma novelist captured the spirit of his age, and the spirit of the twentieth century’s latter half: emptiness, a feeling of loss in a land of plenty, of unease amid conformity, of alienation in what was meant, in the wake of World War II, to be a generation of brotherhood.” Thompson wrote 29 novels, including The Killer Inside Me, Nothing More Than Murder, The Nothing Man and The Rip Off. The fatalistic titles say it all: Thompson was the poet laureate of the long-term loser and the short-con grifter. In The Getaway, Thompson got inside the mind of the amoral psychotic, the charming killer who is as much a product of his society as he is a threat to its illusions of normality. It is the relationship between Doc and Carol, however, that lifts it into the realms of the contemporary classics. “They are terrifying,” wrote psychiatrist Tim Willocks. “As Doc and Carol find themselves pitching their reptilian self-interest – an interest, a commitment, so profound and unquestioned as to approach the force of a biological imperative – against each other, Jim Thompson unfolds one of the most perverse love affairs in fiction.” While the cast of characters ranged against Doc and Carol are lurid contortions of humanity, none are quite so vividly repulsive as the main protagonists. And so it seems quite appropriate that, when Doc and Carol finally make it to Mexico, it is to the living death of having their fortune milked away until they are left with nothing but their own mutually destructive mistrust. Sam Peckinpah was not a director renowned for restraint, as he displayed in the callous blood baths of (among others) The Wild Bunch and Cross of Iron. So it is curious that the director shied away from the more graphic episodes of Thompson’s novel when filming Walter Hill’s screenplay. Indeed, the tone of the 1972 version of The Getaway, starring Steve McQueen and Ali McGraw, is notable for its downbeat treatment of a quintessential Hollywood staple, the bungled heist. McQueen, never the most lively of actors, plays Doc with a stilted intensity, even when he’s threatening to break a kid’s arm, rabbit-punching a blonde floozy, or slapping around McGraw, then America’s sweetheart. McGraw, meanwhile, appears to be taking her cue from McQueen, and remains virtually comatose throughout (a deliberate attempt, perhaps, to quell rumour of their illicit off-screen affair). Indeed, Peckinpah renders the couple far more conventional than the pairing in Thompson’s novel. Given that the movie starred box office luminaries McQueen and McGraw, and was released in 1972, when the iconoclastic loner ruled Hollywood, it is unrealistic to expect them to suffer in the way the McCoys of Thompson’s novel did: while the traditional Peckinpah conflagration engulfs all the minor parties in a brutal shoot-out, Doc and Carol make good their escape in a patently false feel-good ending with the aid of a chirpy ex-con truck driver. Perhaps that was Peckinpah’s final irony. “The McCoys are natural born killers who do not waste time worrying about their haircuts and tattoos,” wrote Willocks. “They are far too busy charming those who will become their victims should the latter take a single – often innocently aware – step that might jeopardise their goal.” Had Thompson’s Doc and Carol been aided by a chirpy trucker in their bid for freedom, his impulsive generosity would have ensured that he too would have joined the long list of corpses that littered the McCoys’ eternal getaway to nowhere.– Michael McGowan

(Bate)Man With A Camera

Crikey! Someone’s gone and given The Artist Formerly Known As Bateman a camera and set him upon an unsuspecting populace, according to the latest update from his interweb page thingy:

“If you’re in and around my home town of Bangor over the next fortnight, beware – I’m on the loose with a camera, making a 40-minute documentary for BBC1 Northern Ireland. Never really done anything like this before, but am already enjoying it immensely - nearly everyone I’ve approached to take part has agreed, including the likes of Jimmy Nesbitt, Lord Trimble and Laine McGaw (who played Patricia in Divorcing Jack). I’ll be returning to my old schools, Ballyholme PS and Bangor Grammar and talking about the Spectator years, where I trained as a reporter, and we’ve already got a lot of footage we recorded at the Aspects Festival in the town in September. Should be on TV some time in the autumn.”

Rest easy, Maine-folk – that’s Bangor in Norn Iron. A narrow escape, eh?

“Ya Wanna Do It Here Or Down The Station, Punk?” # 198: Reed Farrel Coleman

Yep, it’s rubber-hose time, folks: a rapid-fire Q&A for those shifty-looking usual suspects ...
What crime novel would you most like to have written?
Wiseass answer: I’ve already written it, The James Deans. Won the Shamus, Barry, and Anthony Awards and was nominated for the Edgar, Macavity and Gumshoe. Wise answer: For a long time I would have said The Long Goodbye or Red Harvest, but lately I’ve come under the spell of Daniel Woodrell and think Winter’s Bone might be the choice.
What do you read for guilty pleasures?
Pop song lyrics. For years, I’ve been trying to figure out the irony of Cher’s Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves. If you read the lyrics carefully, you’ll note that the female narrator (singer) is complaining that she and her family are thought of as nothing but scum by the local townspeople, that they are perceived as nothing but crooked gamblers, alcoholics, prostitutes and con men. Then she proceeds to describe her family as nothing but crooked gamblers, alcoholics, prostitutes and con men. I’m like …Yeah!
Most satisfying moment as a writer?
I was sixteen and saw my name in print in the high school literary magazine. It was for a poem called Monopoly about unrequited love. What else would a sixteen year old boy write about, for fuck’s sake? That’s when I knew I had the bug.
The best Irish crime novel is…?
Ulysses. Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I’m partial to Ken Bruen here, so I’d go with either The Killing of the Tinkers or Rilke On Black.
What Irish crime novel would make a great movie?
Either of the above.
Worst/best thing about being a writer?
The worst is dealing with the small indignities to which writers are exposed to at every turn. The stuff that when added up makes you wonder why on earth you put up with it. The best is when you write that perfect sentence, phrase or paragraph. When you read it and know no one else alive who ever lived could have written that same phrase the same way or done it more effectively.
Why does John Banville use a pseudonym for writing crime?
Usually I feign ignorance. Here I claim it.
The three best words to describe your own writing are…?
Out of print. Sorry. Philosophical, hard-boiled, emotional.

Reed Farrel Coleman’s Soul Patch is the sequel to his multi-award winning The James Deans

Nobody Move, This Is A Review: Tenderwire by Claire Kilroy

Dublin writer Claire Kilroy has been drawing favourable comparisons with Patricia Highsmith for this, her second novel – a recommendation that isn’t undeserved in the slightest. The parallels between both authors’ styles are obvious: Tenderwire boasts an unreliable, emotionally unstable narrator – professional violinist Eva Tyne – a whirling dervish of irrational jealousy, grief and obsession whose composites all vie for prominence. Eva’s compulsive acquisition of what might be a stolen Stradivarius violin, bought from a bunch of vaguely menacing Chechens whose speciality is racketeering in priceless antique violins smuggled out of Europe, takes her on a frenetic, often addled journey through Manhattan, to Germany and eventually to Dublin. As with a Highsmith novel, expectations are overturned by the denouement and tensions are finely wrought between characters – and there are plenty of memorable ones, like Alexander, an illegal Chechen, who’s “a giant of a man and as blond as a child,” and Claude Martel, a seemingly disingenuous, overbearing luthier (violin maker and repair expert). Loss, ambition and the descent into warfare brought on by soured female friendships are recurring themes that Kilroy weaves into the novel with depth, precision and lyricism. – Claire Coughlan

The Monday Review: Because No One Puts Baby In The Corner

You say po-tah-to, etc. “As Poe-esque a dog’s breakfast of a novel as one could imagine. A good part – if not quite three-fifths – is sheer fudge. That is to say, it is sensational, campy, and somewhat absurd genre trash … And yet, despite having a trash factor score that even Poe might have envied, this is an oddly compelling novel,” says Good Reports of Michael Collins’ The Secret Life of E. Robert Pendleton. But Cathy Staincliffe at Tangled Web leans towards po-tay-to: “A wicked parody of the campus novel and a great debunker of the study of literature and the hallowed halls of academia, this is also a satisfying and very funny whodunit.” Meanwhile, Bob the Wordless likes John Connolly’s latest: “If you like a little bit of horror with your noir, read any of his books. Dark, suspenseful, disturbing, lyrical, emotional. That’s all you need to know about his latest Charlie Parker book, The Unquiet.” Gene Kerrigan’s The Midnight Choir gets the hup-ya from Mostly Fiction: “Dark and sad in its vision of humanity, even with the bleak humour that is scattered throughout, this dramatic and tense novel questions the relationship between freedom and responsibility, between order and justice, and between principles and expediency,” says Mary Whipple. Over at the Irish Voice, they’ve been perusing Running Mates: “[Garbhan] Downey has a talent for writing vivid dialogue in the Irish vernacular that makes this outrageous caper work on its own terms,” says Cahir O’Doherty. We humbly concur … “It may sound odd to suggest that a murder novel could be ‘charming’ but this second book by a remarkable Irish author has a warm humanity about it that goes with the nature of the writer … The denouement is extraordinary, but little more can be said … except to hope that Andrew Nugent will continue to produce such splendid and memorable books,” says Tangled Web of Second Burial, while Mary Fister at Mystery Scene Magazine chips in with, “The book is funny, fast-moving, generous and touching, offering convincing evidence that evil respects no borders, but seeking justice can be a multicultural effort.” Very nice indeed … The Sunday Trib likes Brian McGilloway’s Borderlands: “Some great dialogue and a convincing portrait of small town claustrophobia,” say they … Tangled Web has a belated review of Ken Bruen’s Priest: “Bruen eloquently articulates an outsider’s view of his own country, and channels the anger of a nation betrayed by its church. There’s sharp, black, humour here too and moments of heartbreak. A dark and bitter read – perfect for those who like their crime noir.” No arguments here … Over at Euro Polar, Claire Gorrara casts the glad eye over Cormac Millar’s The Grounds: “Comedy and tragedy are kept in a delicate balance … it will be a pleasure to see where next Millar points the spotlight on Irish society,” while Euro Crime’s Maxine Clarke is flippily-floppily impressed by Paul Carson’s Betrayal: “A rattling good read if you are prepared to suspend belief. It is also a quick one: it will take only an hour or two. But don’t expect depth or reflection: what you’ll get is escapist, lightweight action that does not bear too much scrutiny.” Damned with faint praise? Try Literary Illusions on Benjamin Black’s opus: “Christine Falls is not your traditional thriller novel, though it does have plot twists that will surprise and perhaps even shock you. However, the most disturbing part of the book is the lack of empathy that is felt for Quirke … By the end, I felt a supreme sense of loathing for him, and I am sure I am not alone.” Crumbs! No such reservations for Declan Hughes’s debut, The Wrong Kind of Blood, at Detectives Beyond Borders: “The Hughes [series] looks as if it will be a convincing take on the private-eye noir, complete with a randy femme fatale, a missing relative, money, lawyers, and a wisecrack now and then … wryer and darker than the usual run of the species …” says Peter Rozovsky. Which is nice …

Cry Fowl, And Let Slip The Imps Of War

Chastised by Ann via the comment box last week on the basis that we haven’t been linking kiddie-crime supremo Eoin Colfer on Crime Always Pays, we had two choices: we could slink away to a corner with a pointy hat on, or we could plug Eoin’s latest, Artemis Fowl and the Lost Colony, and then make with the whole corner-‘n’-pointy-hat deal. So here goes: The Lost Colony is the fifth in the Fowl series, and finds Artemis battling the twin evils of homicidal imps and puberty. Naturally, it’s been garnering the usual raves, to wit: “The cinematic scope of the cycle of stories is only added to here with the high action, time-bending finale … I’m twenty years older than the target audience, but to me and the more expected reader, Artemis Fowl is rollicking entertainment,” says John Lloyd over at The Book Bag, while Kay Weisman of Booklist, via Amazon.com, is equally impressed: “As always, Colfer delivers not only continuous action but also witty wordplay and dialogue, understated humour, and plenty of magical technology and gadgetry. A must for kids who have enjoyed Artemis’ previous escapades.” Okay, that’s us away to the corner for the day. Damn pointy hat … it’s such a good fit.

The Embiggened O # 1,293: Time For Some Ambidextrous Trumpet-Blowing, Wethinks

‘Declan Burke’s compelling caper’ is how Peter Rozovsky headers his very generous hup-ya of our humble offering The Big O over at Detectives Beyond Borders, the gist of which runneth thusly:

“The pace of events in this kidnap caper may remind readers of Bust, that hilarious novel that [Ken] Bruen wrote with Jason Starr … [but] … there is something sweet and gently introspective about most of this novel … each character takes time for some humorous introspection, which makes the story a fast-moving caper built up of leisurely episodes … the deliciously complicated plotting, the wry dialogue and the sympathy Burke engenders for his cast of characters made this one of the most fun and purely pleasurable reads I’ve had in a while.”

Mr Detectives Beyond Borders, sir? You had us at ‘Declan’. Thank you kindly.

Funky Friday’s Free-For-All: Being A Cornucopia Of Interweb Stuff-‘N’-Such Humbly Offered For Your Delectation

A good friend of all things crime fictional, Ali Karim delivers his verdict on Ken Bruen (left) over at Shotsmag … incidentally, a little bird tells us that Sir Kenneth of the Tribes appears on LA’s answer to Leno and Letterman, Craig Ferguson, on July 6, only the third ever crime writer to do so. Fully deserved, reckon we … He may not have achieved Letterman status just yet, but Critical Mick was kind enough to interview inky-fingered urchin Declan Burke. Not only that, but he’s already nominating The Big O as one of his ‘Best of 2007’ reads – and it’s still only June! Oh, the glamour … The Denver Post gave John Connolly’s The Unquiet a major hup-ya last month by publishing the first chapter in its entirety – a marketeer’s wet dream, no less. Staying with Connolly, the Mystery Bookstore is hosting a transcript of their Connolly podcast interview … Manhunt 2 has just been awarded the dubious distinction of being the first video game to be banned in Ireland, censor John Kelleher and his trusty deputy Ger Connolly deciding it’s ‘gratuitously violent’. Erm, it’s a shoot-’em-up, chaps, what were you expecting? … The shortlist for the Theakston’s Old Perculier Crime Novel of the Year has arrived, and we heard it first from Sarah Weinman’s very fine blogging experience Confessions of an Idiosyncratic Mind. Three cheers, two stools and a resounding huzzah for Benjamin Black, whose Christine Falls is up for a Macavity, aka Best Mystery Novel, whether he likes it or not … Meanwhile, Tana French’s (below) In The Woods has been getting so many raves that she’s had to start her own interweb hosting thingagummy. It is, as our sainted aunt Mathilda used to say, a good complaint to have … Finally, some Angry Alien action to round off the week, in which the bunnies do a foul-mouthed three-minute version of Pulp Fiction. Reminds us of the time Woundwort went for the dog’s throat, bless his megalomaniac hide. And that’s it for another week, folks – have a very fine weekend and y’all come back hear now, y’hear?

Waiting For The Miracle To Come

Junkies and judges, eh? Pests, the lot of ’em … unless, of course, the ex-junkie in question is Shay Byrne, now a teacher in Germany and author of The Miracle of Fatima Mansions, ‘a brutally honest memoir by a former Dublin heroin addict … challenging preconceptions about the origins and development of Ireland’s drug culture,’ if the blurb elves over at Maverick House are to be believed. Once an addict and dealer, Byrne narrowly escaped death in an attack at Dublin’s Fatima Mansions, a place now synonymous with deprivation, decay and drug-blighted lives and the location for the epiphany that would change Byrne’s life. Launched last week by Mr Justice Paul Carney of the Irish High Court, The Miracle of Fatima Mansions offers a unique and compelling insight into the evolution of the Irish heroin scene. Or so we’re told, because Lennie 'Laughing Boy' Cohen isn’t the only one still waiting for his Miracle to come. Oi, Gert – what’s the story?

“Ya Wanna Do It Here Or Down The Station, Punk?” # 417: Arlene Hunt

Yep, it’s rubber-hose time, folks: a rapid-fire Q&A for those shifty-looking usual suspects ...
What crime novel would you most like to have written?
The Choirboys, by Joseph Wambaugh. I’ve read that book many a time and I still love it (his latest, Hollywood Station, is shaping up to be a right old feast too). The Choirboys contains the single most brilliant line up of characters I’ve ever clapped my beady eyes on. A rag-bag shower of LA cops, like Roscoe Rules, and Waddayamean Dean … Jesus, I’m laughing even thinking about it. But then I get all teary-eyed at the poignancy of the story too. Damn you, Wambaugh!
Who do you read for guilty pleasures?
James Herriot and all the vet books, they make me laugh out loud. In Barcelona I had to stop reading them on the metro because I would flail about in hysterics, making those Catalan doobies very nervous indeed.
Most satisfying writing moment?
When I’ve spent two days cursing, procrastinating, complaining and glowering at my computer screen about some plot problem or other, only for a cartoon light-bulb to go ‘ping’ over my head. I have been known to shout, “SHEWALLAH!” when that happens, frightening any number of useless animals.
The best Irish crime novel is …?
I don’t know, I don’t read a lot of Irish crime, except for John Connolly, so steeped in American noir that I am. However, I intend to rectify that. Ask me again in a few months.
What Irish crime novel would make a great movie?
Any of mine, hear that producer dudes! Try me, I'm not greedy. ANY OF MINE!
Worst / best thing about being a writer?
The best thing is working for yourself, answering to yourself and being able to stay in jeans all day long if you want to - and I do. The worst is the fear, the fear that no one will like what you’ve just invested the best part of a year in. I don’t mean critics either, I mean readers. I don’t know what I’m going to drink the day I get an email from a reader saying, “I didn't like your last book nearly as much as the others.” Rum and Coke probably, the non-diet kind. Oh, I’ll go wild.
Why does John Banville use a pseudonym for writing crime?
Who can say? Maybe he thought folk would ridicule him for trying a different genre. I’m inclined to forgive Banville a lot of things because I liked The Untouchable so much. Indeed, I went about talking just so, and saying things in a clipped faux Eton accent for weeks. But then he came out with The Sea and that made my brow go all funny and furrowed, so this sort of thing really means he’s chapping my hide a bit. And then he does those terrible highbrow reviews where I have to sit with a dictionary in one hand and a stiff drink in the other. It's just not on, you know.
The three best words to describe your own writing are …?
Speedy entertaining pap.

Arlene Hunt’s Missing Presumed Dead is out now

Yep, It’s Still Millar Time

Crikey! There was us thinking that the publication of Bloodstorm this coming December would be Sam Millar’s big news of the month. Silly us. Quoth Sam:

“I’ve just been informed that French publishing house Fayard has bought the French rights to The Darkness of Bones and The Redemption Factory. This comes on the heels of American publishing house Avalon Publishing Group purchasing the rights to The Redemption Factory. I have just acquired the rights to my best-selling memoir, On The Brinks (it’s a long story, but they are now back where they belong – with me! Funny how you slave over something for five years, only to be told it is no longer yours???), and I am very confident of seeing On The Brinks being purchased in America as well as by numerous publishers in Europe. Oh, and Brandon (my present publishers) will be marking their 25th year in publishing with a release of a collection of work by twenty-five of its crime writers, in Dublin in September, of which I am one. I’ll keep you informed of the exact date.”

Erm, please do. Righty-o, we’re off for a lie-down with the shades pulled down …

This Week We’re Reading … End Games and Julius Winsome

‘The last Aurelio Zen mystery’ proclaims the cover, dashing the hopes of those bereft Michael Dibdin fans who might have been hoping there was a draft or two stashed away in a desk drawer that might some day be posthumously published. But no – the very fine End Games, prophetically enough, is where Zen finally runs out of time. Ironically, given the way Zen has been ducking and diving and generally cheating Il Grimmo Reapero in recent times, this novel is a far more placid and meditative piece, and one which, in the final analysis, finds Zen fight his conscience to a grinding stalemate. Here’s hoping Dibdin achieved something similar before his far too early shuffle off this mortal coil. RIP, sir. Meanwhile, Gerard Donovan’s Julius Winsome, we’re more than pleased to report, lives up to all the hype, being a gripping first-person narrative of one of the most unusual and sympathetic murderers you’ll ever have the pleasure to meet. It’s difficult to avoid the Jim Thompson / Killer Inside of Me comparisons, so we won’t, but Donovan brings a tough poetry to his deranged hero, who goes – very quietly, but very deliberately – on the warpath when his beloved dog and only companion is cruelly shot to death in the remote woods of northern Maine. All in all, as fine a week’s reading as we can remember.

One Of These Kids Is Doing His Eoin Thing

He’s taken some stick for his fictionalised take on the death of the Princess of Wails, aka ‘Spencer’, but an unrepentant Eoin McNamee (right) is at Belfast’s premier crime fiction outlet No Alibis tomorrow night to celebrate the launch of 12:33: A Parisian Summer. We’ll be the reprobates up the front a-squealing and throwing our knickers and praying for one of those smouldering glances … Oh, and while we’re on the subject – 12:33 was among a whole mess of '10th anniversary of the death of Princess Di' books reviewed by The Observer last Sunday, although quite what the reviewer was trying to say still eludes us. Like ducks staring at thunder, we are, and that’s on a good day. Back to No Alibis – not only is Harlan Coben choppering in to Belfast’s finest crime blah-de-blah on July 19, he’ll be doing a Q&A at Queen’s Film Theatre after a screening of the rather fine French movie Tell No One (Ne Le Dis A Personne) based on his novel. Book early, book often, people …

Kilroy Iz ’Ere

And Claire Kilroy ain’t going away, if the reviews for Tenderwire are anything to go by. Quoth The Times: “The book’s appeal lies in this variety and in its humanity. Claire Kilroy’s writing is dramatic and lyrical by turns and the exotic features are just colourful background for a good and substantial yarn.” Over at Mostly Fiction, they largely concur: “This novel should gain some American fans for its Irish author. Its story is a good one, with some narrative twists along the way that deepen Eva’s character. While not brilliant, this novel manages to satisfy, and the reason is does is no mystery.” The readers over at Amazon UK are also on board, to wit: “If you like a well written literary thriller that keeps you turning the pages but also fulfils your need for some excellent writing, this is the perfect book,” while the folks at Amazon US are equally impressed: “This book was almost impossible to put down, very fast paced and exciting,” and “I loved this book – it is so tightly written, so well-paced, so interesting and exciting. I could barely put it down.” Which is nice …

Nobody Move, This Is A Review: Bishop’s Pawn by KT McCaffrey

If it’s linguistic pyrotechnics you’re after, you’d be advised to look elsewhere: KT McCaffrey writes in a quiet, measured and very effective fashion that reflects the way his main protagonist, journalist Emma Boylan, goes about her business. Set in Dublin, Bishop’s Pawn is a sequel-of-sorts to McCaffrey’s first novel, Revenge (1999). It opens with Emma discovering that the newspaper she works for is about to publish her obituary. Other newspapers follow suit, and – as corpses begin to pile up – it soon becomes apparent that the practical joke has sinister overtones. In Revenge, Emma was one of a number of eye-witnesses to the suicide of a woman whose life had been destroyed by an elaborate cover-up partly engineered by the Catholic Church. Now the woman’s daughter has come of age, and seems hell-bent on nothing less than divinely inspired retribution. The thrill of KT McCaffrey’s writing is the juxtaposition between that finely modulated downbeat style and the apocalyptic scenario it describes. Emma is an Everywoman who is not particularly tough or hardboiled, and whose domestic concerns run parallel to the CSI-style bodycount. The tension that builds relentlessly from the early stages is derived from Emma’s very ordinariness, which includes a penchant for logical thinking appropriate to an investigative journalist, and the outrageous machinations of the psychopathic murderess she finds herself pitted against. Certainly McCaffrey can do pithy humour (“There’s a breeze out there that’d freeze a pawnbroker’s balls.”), and his multiple-character narrative that drives with tragic inevitability towards an explosive finale has all the components of a blockbuster movie script. But once the dust has settled, the abiding and poignant memory is of McCaffrey’s skill in evoking the nuances of Emma’s plight as she finds herself at the heart of a maelstrom that threatens to destroy everything she once believed in. The ability to mine the extraordinary from the ordinary, as the Irish poet Patrick Kavanagh once put it, is not one that should be underestimated. Bishop’s Pawn is a superb addition to the canon of Irish crime fiction.- Declan Burke

This review was reproduced by the kind permission of Euro Crime

Flick Lit # 21: The Big Heat

An ex-US Army sergeant (he served from 1943 to 1946, and won the Soldier’s Medal for saving the crew of a bombed tanker) and former police reporter for the Philadelphia Bulletin, William P. McGivern’s public persona was that of a dutiful citizen who reinforced the status quo. When he turned to writing hard-boiled crime novels, however, the gamekeeper turned poacher’s stories concerned themselves with the activities of those who play in the cracks between law and order. He wrote mainly about ‘state crimes’, specifically police collusion in official corruption; the titles – Shield For Murder (1951), The Crooked Frame (1952), The Big Heat (1953), Rogue Cop (1954), Odds Against Tomorrow (1957), and Savage Streets (1959) – tell their own tale. McGivern’s protagonists were for the most part honest men suffocating in the poisoned atmosphere of state-sanctioned corruption, men driven to do the wrong thing for the right reasons. The theme fascinated McGivern, because “the frustration of our society forms a powerful thrust for people to take the law into their own hands and, while this is a tempting indulgence, I have tried to make it plain in my books that it never really works.” First serialised in the Saturday Evening Post, The Big Heat is perhaps the most hard-bitten, cynical example of how the ordinary individual will always be doomed to fail when confronted by money, power and murderous greed. “In William McGivern’s brilliant portrayal of suburban versus urban angst,” writes Woody Haut in Pulp Culture, “the mob blows apart Detective Bannion’s cosy middle-class home not long after (he) and soon-to-be-deceased wife discuss child development over gin and tonics.” A prototypical Dirty Harry, Bannion abandons his ‘official’ role as police detective and pursues the mobsters until he has gained revenge for the murder of his wife. In the process he loses his soul: “Something had ended this morning. Now he was starting over, not with hatred but with sadness.” While the words are wistful, Bannion is forced to acknowledge that he has become unfit to care for the child he set out to protect by any means necessary. A refugee from Nazi Germany, director Fritz Lang was also concerned with social consciousness, the impact of a brutal state on the isolated individual, and the links between police behaviour and organised crime. The Big Heat (1953) was the perfect vehicle. Although McGivern’s prose was bleakly sparse, Lang stripped the story back to its bare essentials, while Charles Lang’s chiaroscuro photography and off-kilter framing became a classic example of film noir’s German expressionism. The casting too was clever. Glenn Ford generally played run-of-the-mill good guys, and thus his transformation into seething killer was all the more dramatic. But the supporting players upstaged even Ford’s performance: Lee Marvin as the apparently deranged hoodlum, Gloria Grahame defining the roll of gangster’s moll. The violence is sadistic and unflinchingly brutal, although the film’s most celebrated scene, in which Marvin throws a pot of scalding coffee into Grahame’s face, happens off-screen, a trick that didn’t escape Quentin Tarantino’s notice. While the film was one of a number inspired by the 1950’s US Senate organised crime investigations – including Hoodlum Empire (1952), Captive City (1952) and The Phoenix City Story (1955) – The Big Heat is notable for the consummate care Lang brought to each and every frame; every scene is directed as if it will be his last. Thus, when the denouement arrives and Bannion wins out against the implacable forces of state injustice – aided by a motley crew of cripples, old army buddies and even the femme fatale, Grahame – the film transcends its crime and noir roots to provide an ending as moving as any in the canon of film.- Michael McGowan

Sleeping Dogs Lie: A Little Bit Of Bark, A Little Bit Of Bite

Here’s one Sleeping Dog that won’t lie doggo. Ontario-based Sylvester Young, born in England of Jamaican parents, wrote What Goes Around after one of his regular trips to Ireland.

“There weren’t many black people in Ireland back then,” says Sylvester, “and someone asked me if I was related to a black man who had been a member of the IRA in County Tipperary. I’m not sure if the story was true but it gave me an idea for a novel.”

So far, so good. Except the sequel, Sleeping Dogs Lie, in which fugitive from justice Robbie Walker and his ex-IRA friend Danny make their way to the States and get embroiled in a FBI plot, pushed all the wrong buttons in all the wrong places. Unable to get published in America, Young sent his m/s to Ireland. Cue chaos. According to the Sleeping Dogs Lie press release, the m/s was confiscated and his editor was arrested and questioned for three days.

“I was troubled by the news,” says Young, “but I can understand in the climate created since 9/11 how the references to the IRA, the FARC and a bomb plot on American soil within the manuscript would have aroused the police’s interest.”

Very magnanimous, sir. Two years after being confiscated, Sleeping Dogs Lie is finally published in September by those stoic souls at Raldon. If freebie reads are your thing, jump over here for the first chapter.

“Ya Wanna Do It Here Or Down The Station, Punk?” # 92: Pauline McLynn

Yep, it's rubber-hose time, folks: a rapid-fire Q&A for those shifty-looking usual suspects ...
What crime novel would you most like to have written?
ANY of the Dave Robicheaux series by James Lee Burke – the man is a genius. A Small Death In Lisbon by Robert Wilson is also a near perfect book.
Who do you read for guilty pleasures?
Crime novels and thrillers.
Most satisfying writing moment?
I get that every time a book comes out ... after the HORROR of what’s gone before ... it ain’t getting’ any easier, my friends ...
The best Irish crime novel is …?
There is NO WAY I am nominating one – I know too many of the crime guys 'n’ gals and, worse, they know where I live AND how to kill people in surprisingly new and awful ways.
What Irish crime novel would make a great movie?
This wouldn't really class as ‘Irish’ in as much as it’d be set in London but Ken Bruen’s Inspector Brant books would make great movies / TV. They are extremely violent, funny and the main man is such a total SHIT that you just can’t help but love him ...
Worst / best thing about being a writer?
Worst thing – writing. Best thing – writing.
Why does John Banville use a pseudonym for writing crime?
I think the literary world just wouldn’t be able to handle that. I think he knows, though, that crime is the forum where you can have it all and fair play to him for realising that. The best crime books not only entertain on their own terms but also say something about the human condition, it seems to me.
The three best words to describe your own writing are …?
Enjoyable, I hope.

Pauline McLynn’s latest novel, Bright Lights and Promises, is available now

Dusty Spring Fields

See, if Paul Charles' new novel The Dust Of Death had opened on the first day of spring, with a crucifixion in a field, then we’d have been able to use the ‘Dusty Spring Fields’ header we’ve been hoarding since last March. But the ornery sod has a crucified man being discovered in a Donegal church on the first day of summer, which scuppers that. Boo, etc. Anyhoo, the crucifixion sees Charles’ new detective, Inspector Starrett of the Serious Crimes Unit, enter stage left courtesy of Brandon Books. But will DI Christy Kennedy of Charles’ Camden Town novels give up the spotlight without a murmur? Questions, questions … The dust hasn’t even started to settle on Sweetwater, which was released in May and goes into paperback on July 19, but Brandon release The Dust Of Death on September 4. It’s a brave move from Charles, whose Christy Kennedy mysteries garner rave reviews as a matter of course, to wit: “With more twists than a turkey twizzler, lovers of crime fiction will gobble up this super sleuth novel” (News of the World); “A writer who treads in the classic footsteps of Morse and Maigret”(The Guardian); “If writers such as Mark Timlin and Ken Bruen could be said to be writing London noir, then Paul Charles might be said to be penning London Blanc” (The Irish Times). Will Inspector Starrett ascend to the firmament too? Only time, that notorious tittle-tattler, will tell …

The Monday Review: It’s Nice To Be Nice, Although It’d Be Nicer To Be In Nice

That stalwart friend of Irish crime writers, Myles McWeeney at the Indo, is back on the case again, this time trawling the mean streets of Arlene Hunt’s latest, Missing Presumed Dead: “A very enjoyable, neatly worked mystery, packed with deft characterisation. Read it on the beach but keep an eye on the kids.” … Over at The Book Bag, Jill Murphy likes Derek Landy’s Skulduggery Pleasant: “It’s pacy, it’s funny, it’s irreverent … a humorous badinage going on that’s reminiscent of Woody Allen and Diane Keaton or even Doctor Who … the plotting is a little bit loose. The villain isn’t really much more than a cardboard cut-out. But the humour, the high-spiritedness and the wonderful interaction between the two main characters more than make up for it.” Mmm, lovely … Not to be outdone, Julia Eccleshare at Love Reading 4 Kids is bigging up the other major current kiddie crime release, Siobhan Dowd’s The London Eye Mystery: “This may only be Siobhan Dowd’s second novel but it’s clear her talent as a superb storyteller is beyond question. Her first novel A Swift Pure Cry was short-listed for nearly all the major awards last year and although this second novel is very different it has that same page-turner feeling to it.” But stay! I hear you cry – what news of Alex Barclay’s The Caller? “Written with a depth of feeling for the characters that is sometimes lacking in the genre from her colleagues … a fast-paced and sometimes ugly serial killer novel. The characters are richly described with a sense of humour at times that makes you smile, and a touch of the cruel and sadistic where needed …” reckon the folks at Woyano … They’re still coming in thick and fast for John Connolly’s The Unquiet: “One of the finest reads of this or any year, from the man with the darkest imagination. I was enthralled and terrified at the same time, but it’s the wit Connolly employs that prevents this dark tale from becoming too malevolent,” says Ali Karim at Books ‘n’ Bytes, while The Observer is no less impressed: “The Unquiet is more contemplative and affecting than some of the earlier novels, but the violence, when it comes, is vicious. Hard to put down, harder to forget.” Just about gorgeous … Staying with The Observer, for The Artist Formerly Known as Colin Bateman’s latest: “Exuberant also describes I Predict a Riot, the latest diverting entertainment from ‘Bateman’ … what follows is sometimes brutal, often blackly humorous and always terrific.” Meanwhile, Neil Dowling at Totally Dublin is middling-to-fairly impressed with The Big O, from inky-fingered urchin Declan Burke: “The Big O is a fairly standard crime caper with some implausible turns in the plot. Burke’s great achievement, however, is to give a typical genre storyline some real flavour through his skilful use of dialogue and imagery.” Neil? The snakebites are on us … Finally, you know you’re in business when the Indo’s arts editor, Sophie Gorman, gives you the hup-ya: “With Julius, [Donovan] has created a man who exists beyond society and a story that magnetically absorbs you with every page turned … You know that you are having one of those special reading experiences when you find yourself rationing the final chapters, in an attempt to prolong the experience for as long as possible,” she says of Julius Winsome, while The Guardian reckons that, “History may judge it to be less than the perfect modern classic it aims to be, but it is a memorable tale, distinguished by masterful prose, an intriguingly peculiar sensibility, and something hard to define that many great works of art have: a kind of dignity. Such books are rarer than publishers’ hype encourages us to believe.” Publishers’ hype? Shurely shome mishtake ...

A Swords From The Stone

The burning question, people: if a guy – Nick Stone, say – says he’s moving to Galway to live, is that a tenuous enough link to plug the Miami-set novel of a Londoner of Haitian background on an Irish crime fiction blog? Hmmm … state your case, sirrah, and a jury of your belly-dancing dwarf peers shall decide your fate. “My new novel, King of Swords, is out on August 2nd,” says Nick. “It’s a prequel to Mr Clarinet, set in Scarface-era Miami (1980-82). By the way, do you want a proof?” Erm, case closed. Especially if King of Swords is anywhere near as good as Mr Clarinet: “Gritty and unremittingly dark, replete with super-villains, Mr Clarinet pays homage to pulp fiction and film noir – more James Ellroy than Graham Greene,” said Tibor Fischer over at The Guardian. “But perhaps because of Stone’s Haitian roots, Mingus’ mishaps in Port-au-Prince have an immediacy and an authenticity that are absent from many thrillers.” Which is nice …

The Embiggened O # 235: Bring On The Dancing Trumpets

Crumbs! Not content with bigging up Eightball Boogie a few weeks ago, International Noir has gone and love-bombed our humble offering The Big O, to wit:

“Burke’s The Big O … moves out of classic pulp-noir territory into a kidnap caper with style and plotting more like Elmore Leonard (or maybe Donald Westlake) than Dashiell Hammett or Raymond Chandler … The result is a kaleidoscopic narrative that moves forward at a rapid pace – and the result is also quite funny, in the way that Leonard’s novels are frequently funny: expectations are overturned, characters move inexorably toward an unforeseen climax, and we glide past unbelievable coincidences without hesitation … The Big O is, ultimately, a crime farce of the first order (that is to say, it stands up very well to the Leonard comparison …) … the plotting seems casual, unplanned, with the random pattern of life – but looking back, the story is as tightly structured as a jigsaw puzzle … I highly recommend The Big O, and wish for the sake of its potential readership that it soon finds wider distribution – in the U.S., for example …”

Were we physiologically capable of having another blog’s baby, we’d be snuggling up under the duvet with International Noir right now. We loves ya, baby!

Nobody Move, This Is A Review: Dead I Well May Be by Adrian McKinty

Take Parker. Put him in a Cormac McCarthy novel and give him a sense of humour. Okay, now you have the basics of Michael Forsythe, a young Belfast lad knocking around the lower levels of an Irish mob in New York during the early ’90s. Cynical, smart, funny, ambitious and ruthless, Michael has what it takes to rise to the top, although it’s that kind of charisma that finds him taking liberties with the girlfriend of the boss and sent on a drug deal to Mexico, there to be double-crossed, framed and left for dead. Sketched out like that, Dead I Well May Be sounds like a throwback / homage to the B-movie noirs of the ’40s and ’50s, but what makes it one of the most invigorating novels of the last decade is Michael’s distinctive voice as he effortlessly blends poetry, Greek philosophy, quantum physics, social observation, pop music lyrics and a whole lot more in a deadpan delivery that is the narrative equivalent of a Lee Marvin stare. Beautifully detailed, grittily realistic and infused with an intoxicating sense of imminent apocalypse throughout, the first instalment in the ‘Dead’ trilogy (The Dead Yard and The Bloomsday Dead complete the triptych) is the kind of novel to restore your faith in the power of storytelling. Because McKinty doesn’t just tell a great story, which is a skill in itself; he’s a great storyteller, and that’s a rare gift. - Declan Burke

Funky Friday’s Free-For-All: Being An Occasional Interweb Bangers and Mash-Up

There was a time when Bloomsday took place on June 16 and was basically a pub crawl with fried kidneys on the side. No more! These days the organisers, bless their cotton socks, have extended Bloomsday so that it runs for the full week it actually takes to wade through Ulysses. Lateral thinking, chaps. The trio to your right are Anthony Cronin, John Ryan and Flann O’Brien, conniving over the schedule for ye firste evere Bloomsday pub crawle way back in 1954 (Paddy Kavanagh just out of picture, stealing pints). If you’re in Dublin tomorrow, beware you don’t get run down by a horde of stately, plump Buck Mulligans. Seriously, Grafton Street gets like Pamplona around tea-time … Still stately, no longer plump, Adrian McKinty of The Bloomsday Dead fame gets a nice big-up over at Page Turner, which runs a nifty Kirkus Review of Dead I Well May Be (“McKinty is a storyteller with the kind of style and panache that blur the line between genre and mainstream. Top-drawer.”) AND the opening chapter from the novel. Value for money, eh? Which reminds us: where the hell is the movie of DIWMB? Last we heard, Anonymous Content had picked it up, with Steve Gaghan on board to adapt and direct. Can anyone out there shed a little light? … The Dublin Writers’ Festival concludes this weekend, with Derek Landy of Skulduggery Pleasant fame yakking it up about his plans for world domination at The Ark, Temple Bar, at 3pm on Sunday. Book ahead, it’ll be a full house … Bad news for Charlie Parker fans: interviewed by The Sacramento Bee, John Connolly says, “I kind of have an idea of how it’s going to end. I don’t think I want to write 30 years of Charlie Parker.” Okay, but what’s the chances Parker returns as a supernatural PI some day? … Finally, Crime Always Pays regular George Zip sends us this two minute version of The Big Lebowski, courtesy of YouTube, in which the dialogue consists almost entirely of for unlawful carnal knowledge. To wit: “Dude, do you have to use so many cusswords?” “What the fuck are you talking about, man?” Or words to that effect. And that’s all for this week, folks – have a very fine weekend and y’all come here now, y’hear?