Nobody Move, This Is A Review: CHASIN’ THE WIND by Michael Haskins

For anyone who has visited Key West, or any Caribbean island, the first thing they notice is a phenomenon known as ‘island time’. Things travel at their own pace. If a beer takes 10 minutes to get to you, so be it. If you have to wait in line 15 minutes while the clerk and a shopper chat, life goes on. What visitors don’t realize is that ‘island time’ is just one outward sign of an entire lifestyle which is totally foreign to most Americans and Europeans. While non-islanders see it as rudeness and slothfulness, locals wonder what all the rush and demands are.
  Michael Haskins gives us a glimpse of ‘island time’ and island life in his debut novel, CHASIN’ THE WIND, which is set in and around Key West’s ‘Old Town’. With ‘Mad Mick’ Murphy, a freelance journalist, as our tour guide, we are exposed to the sultry lazy days and the laid-back bar hopping island nights that most of us secretly envy. One would almost expect Hemingway to walk through the door and start an argument at the bar.
  Mick, who has a supposedly violent past, has spent most of his career writing about Central and South American foreign affairs. He has made Key West his hermitage from the ghosts of his former life in California when he is suddenly confronted with violence and the need for revenge upon discovering the murder of one of his sailing buddies. Haskins takes us on a wild-wind journey of inept local police, mysterious agents from competing ‘agencies’, Cuban espionage and soulless murderers. The story rushes you along the surface so fast you think you are sailing on the Gulf Stream.
  The downside to this is that, because CHASIN’ THE WIND is a thriller, Haskins gives the novel the feeling of a New York minute. Mick Murphy is someone you want to get to know, someone you want to relate with; however, we are never really given the chance.
  The end of CHASIN’ THE WIND has sequel stamped all over it, and I really hope that that is true. Michael Haskins has the wonderful ability to evoke the sights and smells of the island out of thin air, and it doesn’t hurt that he has Mick drinking Jamesons like most of us drink water. Haskins just needs to give us the same feeling for his characters, and to let the ‘Mad Mick’ Murphy series find some island time, so we can get to know the characters, their interconnections, and the plots better. – Josh Schrank

And Now A Word From Our Sponsors

As some of you already know, Lily May Burke (right) was born on March 26th, just over nine weeks ago. As those of you with kids will already appreciate, Lily’s birth was the most profound event of my life by a distance that should really be measured in light years, but even before she was born I had come to realise that I would resent the time I spent writing for taking me away from the new baby.
  Because of that I made sure I finished the sequel to THE BIG O, which isn’t due until October, by mid-February. Once that was done I swore that I wouldn’t write again for six months after the baby was born. I lasted almost three weeks after Lily was born.
  I persuaded myself that redrafting doesn’t constitute real writing, even though it’s the part I enjoy the most, so I got out a story I wrote about five years ago and started messing around with it. The first section comes below.
  Why am I posting it on a blog? Well, because I can. And because I’m interested to see what kind of reaction this kind of post might generate, as well as the more specific kind of feedback that may or may not come via the comment box or email. Any and all bouquets, brickbats, thoughts and impressions welcome.
  The plan is to post a new section once a week. With a fair wind and enough interest, I should have the entire novel posted up on the blog within three months.
  Sitting comfortably? Then we’ll begin …

A GONZO NOIR / Declan Burke

I: Winter

‘You don’t remember me,’ he says.
  I allow that I don’t. But then I haven’t had my coffee yet, or even a smoke.
  This is in the back garden early on a Tuesday morning in late spring out on the decking overlooking the pond. The sun coming up, the day already warm.
  ‘It’s probably the eye-patch,’ he says. ‘I wasn’t blond then, either.’ He has a platinum blond crew-cut, Newman-blue eyes and a square jaw. I guess him to be mid-thirties. ‘And I was about three inches shorter.
  ‘A man needs some stature,’ he says.


I go inside and draw him a cup of coffee wondering what he’s doing in my back garden before I’ve even had my first cigarette. Back out on the decking I say, ‘I give up. Who are you?’
  ‘Karlsson,’ he says.
  ‘Should I know you?’ I say, blowing on my coffee. ‘Have we met?’
  ‘In a manner of speaking.’
  ‘I don’t follow.’
  ‘You remember Karlsson, right? The porter.’
  ‘The hospital porter?’
  ‘Him, yeah.’
  I reach for the smokes and get one lit. Sip some coffee and wait for a tic or flinch to give him away. He only stares.
  ‘Okay,’ I say, ‘I’ll play along. You’re Karlsson. So what can I do for you?’
  ‘You can start by telling me what happened.’
  ‘With you? Nothing.’ I explain that first drafts get written and printed out and then they go on the shelf for at least six months. No exceptions.
  ‘Fair go,’ he says. ‘But it’s been nearly five years now. I mean, I was 28 when you wrote that draft. And I know you didn’t stop writing. I saw that new one, The Big O, it arrived on the shelf about two years ago.’
  ‘Things just went in a different direction, man. No offence.’
  ‘I never thought you did it deliberately,’ he says. ‘But you should know, I’m stuck in limbo here.
  ‘Publish or be damned,’ he says.


Karlsson was a hospital porter who assisted old people who wanted to die. His girlfriend found out. Then the cops got involved because the girlfriend contacted them anonymously before confronting Karlsson, only the cops wound up more concerned about where the girlfriend, Cassie, had gone.
  ‘If you want the truth of it,’ I say, ‘I’m not really sure I ever intended that one to see the light of day. It was just a bunch of stuff I needed to write at the time, get out onto the page. These days I write comedy. It’s easier, for one. And more fun. Life is shitty enough for people without them spending their precious reading time on morbid stuff.’
  ‘Woah,’ he says. ‘Are you telling me you never even sent it away?’
  ‘I didn’t just bury it.’ I’m feeling faintly, ridiculously, defensive. ‘I gave it to my agent.’
  ‘And what did he say?’
  ‘He said he’d never read anything like it before. He reckoned he had to stop taking notes about halfway in and just read it through. I think the pervy stuff had him a bit freaked.’
  ‘That’s good, right?’
  ‘Not in today’s market. Freaking your agent isn’t cool anymore.’
  ‘And he never read it again?’
  ‘He was about to but I stopped him. I was showing him The Big O that day.’
  ‘And he liked that better.’
  ‘I think he’d have liked the Taiwan phonebook better.’


We sit in silence while he digests that. The sun clears the Wicklow Hills to the south and the garden brightens up. Clematis buds starting to show, some pink apple blossom, snowdrops and daffodils nodding on the faint breeze. Now and again a quick flash of orange in the pond, the pair of golden carp, Jaws and Moby Dick. The little fountain pootling away to itself like a happy baby.
  The heartburn is bad this morning, a Jameson hangover heartburn. I go inside and take a slug of Gaviscon, get the fish food. ‘Listen,’ I say while I feed the carp, ‘that’s tough about the whole limbo thing. But right now I’m working on something else and I’m already half-an-hour into my writing time, so ––’
  ‘What happens me?’ he says. The cigarette he filched burns down between his fingers.
  ‘I’ve no idea.’
  ‘You can’t leave me stuck here.’
  ‘I hear you. But my problem is that these days I only get so much time to write. I’m married now, and we have a little baby. She’s called Lily.’
  He congratulates me, grudging it.
  ‘The point I’m making is, I can’t afford to spend any time on anything that isn’t at least potentially commercial. Or, to be perfectly frank, anything I don’t enjoy doing. That dark shit’s hard work. And if I don’t like reading back ––’
  ‘If it’s dark,’ he says, ‘whose fault is that?’
  ‘Mine, sure. But ––’
  ‘But schmut. If you made it dark you can make it funny. Just go back over it.’
  ‘Make euthanasia funny?’
  ‘Just listen to me a minute,’ he says. ‘Can you sit down and just listen? You owe me that much, at least.’
  He’s right. I put the tin of fish-food on the table and sit down, spark another smoke.
  ‘See,’ he says after a moment or two, ‘I’m just not that kind of guy. The Karlsson guy, I mean. I even changed my name when I dyed my hair. I’m called Billy now.’
  ‘Billy.’
  ‘I’m aiming to normalise things all round.’
  ‘Then the eye-patch is probably too much.’
  ‘That was just to get your attention.’ He peels off the patch. There’s an empty socket underneath. He pats the pockets of his zip-up sweater and comes up with a pair of tinted shades, slips them on.
  ‘What happened your eye?’
  ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Anyway, this Karlsson guy – I’m not him. Not anymore. And I don’t think I ever was. I mean, I liked Cassie. Liked her a lot. And even if I didn’t I wouldn’t just kill her to get off a euthanasia rap. I’d have done a flit. The old folks, they were one thing, they wanted to die and I was helping them out. But Cassie, no way.’
  ‘I never actually said you killed her.’
  ‘No, but you left it hanging.’
  ‘As far as I can remember,’ I say, ‘I gave you a happy ending. You got away with it, right? The cop investigating, he turned out insane, had all these theories about population control. A big fan of the Chinese, if memory serves.’
  ‘Even I didn’t believe that,’ he says. ‘That ending was a mess.’
  I allow that it was.
  ‘You can do better than that,’ he says.
  ‘Not with you I can’t.’
  ‘I’m not the problem, man. The story’s the problem.’
  ‘The story’s what it is,’ I say. ‘And it’s told now.’
  ‘I didn’t hear any fat ladies singing,’ he says.


I stub out the cigarette. ‘Listen, Karlsson, I have to ––’
  ‘Billy.’
  ‘Billy, yeah. Listen, Billy, I have to go. I need to be at work at ten-thirty and I only get two hours a day to write. So …’
  ‘The story was too freaky,’ he says. He’s holding up a hand to delay me. ‘Too out there but not big enough. Plus you had me down as a total dingbat. And these are things that can be changed.’
  ‘I really don’t know if they can.’
  ‘Tell me this,’ he says. ‘How long have you spent thinking about me in the last five years?’
  ‘I’ve thought about you, sure. And I wish ––’
  ‘I think I’ve got a way to make it bigger. Although you’d have to be more honest about me,’ he says. ‘If it was to work, I’d have to be more real. More me, y’know?’
  ‘Right now you’re sitting on the deck in my backyard smoking my cigarettes. I don’t know if I could handle you getting any more real.’
  ‘That’s because I’m Billy now. Karlsson never showed up here, did he?’
  ‘Funnily enough, he never did.’
  ‘Just as well,’ he says. ‘He’d probably have kidnapped little Lily and tortured her until you’d rewritten the story the way he wanted it.’
  ‘Y’know, I think Karlsson liked who he was. I don’t think he’d have had any issues with what happened to Cassie.’
  ‘Like that Ripley guy, right? A sociopath.’ He shrugs. ‘Who wants to live like that?’ He pierces me with the Newman-blue eyes. ‘You think I wouldn’t like a little Lily to play with?’
  ‘Do you?’
  ‘I don’t know. I’m not feeling it, if that’s what you’re asking. But they say men don’t become fathers until their baby is born.’
  ‘That was true for me, yeah.’
  He nods. ‘Look, all I’m asking for is one more go, see if I can’t make it out this time.’
  ‘Out of this limbo.’
  ‘Sure. Maybe if I was to get some kind of written permission from the old folks, so I’d have something to show Cassie when she found out about the euthanasia. That could help.’
  ‘It’d help you and Cassie, maybe. But it wouldn’t do much for the conflict in the story.’
  ‘That’s the other thing,’ he says. ‘I think you need a different kind of conflict. I mean, a hospital porter bumping off old people? You can get that stuff in the newspapers. Why would anyone want to read it in a book?’
  ‘I guess it’d depend on how interesting the killer is.’
  ‘Between you and me, you’re no Patricia Highsmith.’
 I allow that I’m not.
  ‘If you want my opinion,’ he says, ‘the conflicts that work best are between the reader and a character they like who’s doing stuff they wouldn’t generally tolerate. Your mistake was to make Karlsson a total wack-job. No one who wasn’t a complete fruit could like him.’
  ‘Okay, so we make you likeable. What then?’
  ‘We blow up the hospital.’

  © Declan Burke, 2008

Book Trailers – Yea Or Nay?

Two very handsome book trailers came our way this week, folks, the first courtesy of honorary Irish crime writer Tony Black, whose PAYING FOR IT hits a shelf near you on July 17. Roll it there, Collette …

Then we stumbled across a trailer for the American edition of Tana French’s IN THE WOODS, which is ever-so-suitably spooky. Collette? In your own time, ma’am …

What we’re wondering, though, especially since we’re thinking of generating a book trailer of our own to mark the US publication of our humble offering THE BIG O, is whether book trailers are doing what it says on their celluloid tins. Yes, they’re all zeitgeisty and whatnot in terms of viral marketing, but does anyone really watch them? Has any book trailer blown YOU away? We were very taken with John McFetridge’s trailer for EVERYBODY KNOWS THIS IS NOWHERE, certainly …

… but has anyone ever rushed out to buy a book on the basis of its trailer? Are book trailers delivering where it matters? Or are they the mini-cinematic equivalent of bookmarks? Talk to us, people …

“Ya Wanna Do It Here Or Down The Station, Punk?” # 2,019: Peter Clenott

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?
I don’t think anybody has been able to top Sherlock Holmes, as much as they may have tried. Holmes set the standard. He is a complex individual who has left enough of himself a mystery to allow generations after his demise to try to fill in the blanks.
What fictional character would you most like to have been?
I read mostly historical fiction so that the characters, typically, are not fictional but historical figures brought to life in works of fiction. For fictional characters, I would go with Holmes, or Jason Bourne from Robert Ludlum’s Bourne series. How about James Bond? He gets the women, wine, and all those fancy gimmicks.
Who do you read for guilty pleasures?
For guilty pleasures I don’t read so much as I look. Oh, wait, this is a public forum. Guilty pleasures? Eclectic stuff. Ludlum, Stephen King, Isaac Asimov. I enjoyed Colleen McCullough’s series on ancient Rome.
Most satisfying writing moment?
Of course it’s always satisfying to complete a novel that you’ve worked on for many months, researched, written, rewritten. Particularly once you have received feedback that says your work is good. Beyond that, the most satisfying moment I ever had, and this covers several decades of writing, was when the publisher from Kunati Books emailed me on Thursday morning August 8, 2007 and said he wanted to discuss a contract with me. Hard to beat that.
The best Irish crime novel is…?
Sorry, I don’t think I’ve read one.
What Irish crime novel would make a great movie?
There are a number of Boston Irish crime novels. South Boston is a well-known Irish enclave in the city and has produced such notorious hoodlums as Whitey Bulger, who is still on the lam after being tipped off by his FBI handler. Whitey’s brother was president of the state senate. Dennis Lehane has written several Southie-based thrillers that have been turned into movies including the highly received MYSTIC RIVER.
Worst/best thing about being a writer?
I enjoy creating plot and characters, disappearing into their world much as an actor would. For me, writing goes beyond mere entertainment. I also like to provoke. My themes have dealt with faith versus reason, war, politics. It is very satisfying to get strong responses from readers, particularly those you’re trying to generate. Worst thing? Rejection.
The pitch for your next book is …
THEY WERE CALLED TO DUTY : 64,000,000 men and women served their countries in the war to end all wars, World War 1. Today only 13 survive. Capt. Carthage Mulkern, a decorated veteran of the Iraqi war, is assigned the duty of interviewing the last survivors, ancient men whose stories of war and remembrance intertwine with her own as she hunts for her lover lost in the chaos of Iraq.
Who are you reading now?
I am reading a non-fiction book called CHIEF OF CONGO STATION by Larry Devlin who was with the CIA when the Congo gained its independence from Belgium in 1960. The research is for a novel I am currently writing called ALBERTVILLE.
God appears and says you can only write OR read? Which is it to be?
Reading is sheer pleasure. With writing you can communicate with the world and make change. Since the world clearly needs change, I like the idea that my writing might be able to promote discussion and debate and, therefore, positive change in the world. Then I can always read what I wrote.
The three best words to describe your writing are…?
Provocative, absorbing, enjoyable.

Peter Clenott’s novel HUNTING THE KING is published by Kunati

“Another French Fancy, Vicar?”

The build-up to the eagerly awaited publication to Tana French’s sequel to IN THE WOODS, THE LIKENESS, continues apace, with Publishers Weekly conducting a small but perfectly formed interview with Tana, a sample of which runneth thusly:

Q: THE LIKENESS has elements of a locked room mystery, with all the characters, including the potential killer, living under the same roof. Was this a challenge?
A: “Absolutely. I love the conventions of the mystery genre, the fact that you start out with such tight parameters: somebody gets killed and somebody finds out whodunit. I like twisting and breaking these parameters. One of my twists is that the main characters like being in their “locked room,” they like being in their own world. So the question becomes, is the danger from outside or from inside?”

Erm, we give up. But is it possible that the danger is neither outside nor inside, but – gasp! – somewhere in between? That’s right, folks – it’s a new sub-sub-sub-genre, the Killer Door Mystery! Did we mention we’re giving these ideas away for free?

Nobody Move, This Is A Review: Gone Baby Gone

Called in by the family of a missing girl to augment the official police investigation, Patrick Kenzie (Casey Affleck) and Angie Gennaro (Michelle Monaghan) use their experience of growing up in the area of Boston where Angela McCready (Madeline O’Brien) went missing to winkle out some leads. Soon they’re working as equals with the detectives assigned to the case by Captain Jack Doyle (Morgan Freeman), but when one of those detectives is a self-confessed by-any-means-necessary rule-breaker like Detective Remy Bressant (Ed Harris), that’s not necessarily a cause for celebration. Drawn deeper and deeper into a web of drug-dealing, abduction and double-cross, at the heart of which lies the missing girl’s mother, Helene (Amy Ryan), Patrick and Angie find themselves compromised at every turn. Postponed on this side of the pond from its original release schedule last year as a result of the disappearance of Madeline McCann, Gone Baby Gone (based on the best-selling novel by Dennis Lehane) is a bleak and hard-hitting tale of moral corruption on the mean streets of Boston. Strong performances from an excellent cast give the story a gritty authenticity that is at times almost too real to bear, particularly in terms of the police department’s pessimistic outlook on the chances of finding young Angela. Casey Affleck, building on his superb turn in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, is the star of the show, although Harris – who looks eerily like Dennis Hopper – matches him with a chilling portrayal of slow-burning intensity. Ben Affleck, who also co-adapted the novel, directs with no little style in his debut at the helm, slicing out the fat and leaving us with a lean, taut tale. By the finale the character of Patrick Kenzie is a little too squeaky-clean to ring entirely true, but this is a compelling and disturbing movie nonetheless. **** - Declan Burke

This review first appeared in TV Now! magazine

Better Red Than Dead

Florida Keys.com hosts a rather nice piece on Key West writers, ‘Key West by the book’, during the course of which they profile the Florida wing of the Irish crime writers diaspora, Michael Haskins. Quoth Carol Shaughnessy:

Haskins’ crime thriller CHASIN’ THE WIND, starring journalist Liam Michael ‘Mad Mick’ Murphy, was published in March 2008 and has earned excellent reviews. It’s a spicy conch chowder flavoured with dashes of small-town politics, Cuban intrigue, neurotic federales and island attitude.
  “I created Mick Murphy on a jogging track to keep my mind off my sore legs and burning lungs,” said Haskins. “I gave him my final two vices – Irish whiskey and cigars –and I gave him red hair because I wanted him to be Irish, and nothing says Irish like red hair.”

Erm, Michael? Try red lemonade (right). Quoth the Wiki elves:

“Red lemonade is one of the most popular mixers used with spirits in Ireland, particularly whiskey, including Paddy, Jameson and Southern Comfort … Popular urban myths include: Red lemonade only exists in Ireland as the chemical used to make it red is banned elsewhere in the world. The contention of the myth is that the chemical in it is carcinogenic and banned in all other EU countries.”

So there you have it. Michael? Were Liam Murphy truly ‘mad’, he’d be drinking his Jameson with an allegedly carcinogenic chaser …

A Murder Of Crowleys?

It’s been a good year for Catherine O’Flynn, folks. Not only did she scoop the Costa Award for best debut novel, she also won the Waterstone’s Newcomer of the Year in the Nibbies. Now comes the news that … oh, let’s allow the Irish Film and Television Network wallahs to tell it, shall we?

BAFTA and IFTA winning Irish director John Crowley (Boy A, Intermission) is attached to direct the screen adaptation of Catherine O’Flynn’s award winning novel WHAT WAS LOST. WHAT WAS LOST is the debut novel for Catherine O’Flynn. Published in January 2007, the book was longlisted for the 2007 Man Booker Prize for Fiction and the Orange Prize for Fiction and won the prestigious First Novel prize at the Costa Book Awards in January 2008. The story centres upon the disappearance of a young girl in 1984 and the people who continue the search for her twenty years later. The Heyday Films / Film Four co-production is in the early stages of development with ‘Harry Potter’ producer David Heyman and co-producer Rosie Alison (The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas) behind optioning the project. A screenwriter is now being sought to adapt the story for the big screen.

Insert your own religious-themed punchline here, incorporating some or all of the phrases ‘WHAT WAS LOST now is found’, ‘the LOST shall be the first’, and ‘LOST soul redeemed’ …

The Monday Review

It’s Monday, they’re reviews, to wit: “The re-telling of Turnstile’s story and a detailed historical account of the mutiny are based on various resources, including original transcripts of what happened en route to the mutiny … With its effective combination of drama and history, this is a real page turner,” says Laura Wurzal at the Sunday Sun of John Boyne’s MUTINY ON THE BOUNTY. Daragh Reddin at The Metro (no link) is equally impressed: “A wonderfully ingenious and witty narrator – think Holden Caulfield crossed with Vernon God Little. MUTINY ON THE BOUNTY is also a feat of remarkable research, but Boyne wears his learning lightly and fashions an old-school picaresque yarn rich in memorable, full-bodied prose.” Nice … They’re coming in thick and fast now for John Connolly’s latest, THE REAPERS: “Connolly’s triumphant prose and unerring rendering of his tortured characters mesmerize and chill. He creates a world where everyone is corrupt, murderers go unpunished, but betrayals are always avenged. Yet another masterpiece from a proven talent, THE REAPERS will terrify and transfix,” says Marshal Zeringue at New Reads. Via Poisoned Fiction comes the Publishers Weekly verdict: “Series fans may initially be disappointed to see Parker on the sidelines, but Connolly’s rich prose and compelling plot more than compensate.” And at the same link you’ll find the Booklist hup-ya: “Connolly has crafted one of the most darkly intriguing books this reviewer has encountered in more than three decades of reading crime fiction ... To call this a page-turner is to damn it with faint praise. Veteran crime fans will want to savour every note-perfect word.” Meanwhile, over at the Irish Times (no link), Declan Hughes was very impressed indeed: “Last year’s THE UNQUIET held the disparate elements of Connolly’s fictional universe in a new balance while sacrificing none of the previous intensity: confident, stylish and moving, it was by some distance the best of the Parker series. That sense of greater harmony and assuredness carries through to THE REAPERS, a supernatural western set among an elite cadre of samurai-style contract killers and the most purely entertaining novel Connolly has written.” Lovely … Lindsay Jones at the Ilford Recorder likes Cora Harrison’s latest, to wit: “MICHAELMAS TRIBUTE is the second novel to feature 16th century Brehon (judge) and sleuth, Mara … Harrison uses her story to explain the early Irish legal system and to show us what life was like in rural Ireland while a young Henry VIII was on the throne in England … Mara is feisty, charming and a thoroughly likeable female lead.” Over at Crime Scene Norn Iron, Gerard Brennan gets his jollies from Adrian McKinty’s latest, THE BLOOMSDAY DEAD: “I’m impressed by McKinty’s skill at painting his surroundings vividly by showing rather than info-dumping … Forsythe’s love / hate relationship with Belfast is made all the more real, I suspect, by the fact that McKinty has not lost touch with his Northern Irish roots … And so this bastard child of Tony Soprano morality and James Joyce literacy ends the Michael Forsythe trilogy.” A belated big-up for Derek Landy’s SKULDUGGERY PLEASANT: “Full of page-turning adventure, scary magical duels, explosions, chases, mysterious puzzles, and plenty of suspenseful sneaking around; humorous dialogue keeps the story light. Intense-but-not-gory action will keep readers engaged and wanting more,” reckons Aarenex at his / her Live Journal … A couple now for Declan Hughes: “Although I enjoyed THE WRONG KIND OF BLOOD, THE COLOUR OF BLOOD is a much more confident piece of work. Hughes now seems to have a steady control of the genre and, although the bloodbath at the end of the novel, stretches credulity a little, this really kept me reading with its fast-paced narrative and gritty realism,” is the verdict at Profmike’s Weblog. Meanwhile, Peter Rozovsky has his three cents about THE DYING BREED in the Philly Inquirer: “Like others in Ireland’s current crop of brilliant crime writers, [Hughes] is skeptical about the country’s recent economic boom. More than most, however, he unfolds his dramas against a background of the earlier, pre-Celtic-Tiger, pre-easier-availability-of-guns Ireland. Ken Bruen writes about wrecked souls making their way through a country racked and wrecked by change. Hughes’ Ireland, though also contemporary, is more redolent of the ancient truths: church, intimate violence and, above all, family or, as his characters most often put it, blood.” Robert at Sci-Fi London likes DB Shan’s latest: “PROCESSION OF THE DEAD is a short, sharp read, well paced and always interesting enough to keep you turning the page. The fantasy elements arising from the Incan references […] are well realised and, refreshingly, retain their mystery until the very end.” A couple now for Tana French’s long-awaited sequel to IN THE WOODS, THE LIKENESS: “This one was even better than IN THE WOODS, I think. It was certainly creepier, with the whole doppleganger aspect … And it was so atmospheric, it felt dark and broody. I truly hope to see more of Cassie,” says the Dread Pirate at Ye Cap’n’s Logge Booke. Over at Answer Girl, the verdict is even more impressive: “Deeply emotional, harrowing and sad, THE LIKENESS begs comparison with Donna Tartt’s THE SECRET HISTORY and Kevin Wignall’s AMONG THE DEAD, but establishes French firmly as a serious writer doing lasting work.” Finally, a trio for Andrew Taylor’s BLEEDING HEART SQUARE: “Andrew Taylor is the modern master of a very Dickensian underworld: that of the seedy, the shifty, the down-at-heel who cling to shreds of social acceptability; people he regards with a sharply observant pity. This book cannot be confined within the genre of historical crime fiction. It is a rich novel with a serious political dimension, evoking scenes which, though chronologically recent, seem to belong to a vanished world … A sense of brooding evil pervades the complex plot, [which is] handled with great assurance,” says Jane Jakeman at The Independent. Over at The Guardian, Laura Wilson agrees: “In a depiction of lonely, unfulfilled lives worthy of Patrick Hamilton, Taylor fuels his story with quiet desperation - for love, work, money or simply booze - to create a moving, atmospheric and suspenseful tale of true pathos.” And Susanna Yager at The Sunday Telegraph concurs too: “BLEEDING HEART SQUARE, Andrew Taylor’s new thriller set in the 1930s, is a very cleverly constructed book, its deceptively gentle pace gradually drawing you into a story of quiet menace … The period atmosphere, as in all Taylor’s work, is flawless. He simply gets better and better.” Curses! Apparently yon Taylor is a handsome cove too. Is there no end to his torturing of our mediocre souls?

The Sunday Roast

It’s Sunday and it’s the proverbial rack of lamb, albeit of the cold and sweet variety. Yep, it’s our favourite ice cream bloggers, Sean and Kieran Murphy of Dingle, who are celebrating the publication of their tome THE BOOK OF SWEET THINGS through the Mercier Press. Apparently their recipe for brown bread ice cream is only da bomb … Back to more conventional crime fiction-related matters, and John McFetridge submits his DIRTY SWEET to Marshall Zeringue’s Page 69 test, to wit: “Page 69 is the end of a scene. Boris, the driver of the getaway car, is picking up his Uncle Khozha (the shooter he brought in) at a hotel to take him to the airport to get him on a plane back to New York. But Khozha has been spending time with the strippers from the club Boris owns and doesn’t want to go so fast. Now Khozha decides he’s going to have lunch with his old friend, Boris’s mother …” Hmmm, colour us intrigued … A quick jaunt now across the Atlantic to Gerard Brennan’s Crime Scene Norn Iron, where, amid a veritable cornucopia of crime fiction matters, Gerard features interviews with Ian Sansom and some chancing wastrel called Declan Burke … Staying with Norn Iron crime, and GALLOWS LANE scribe Brian McGilloway has one of those fancy-pants podcast malarkey yokes going over at the Pan Macmillan interweb thingy. And while we’re on the McGilloway-shaped subject, Detectives Beyond Borders has been perusing GALLOWS LANE … The Irish World hosts an interview with Paul Charles, he of THE DUST OF DEATH and the Camden Town-based Christy Kennedy series: ‘It was around this time that Detective Christy Kennedy was born, an Irishman who takes his name from two men – Christy Moore and JFK. “It created a very strong, honest-sounding name, I thought.”’ … A couple of snippets on Adrian McKinty – the London Review of Books is hosting a competition to see who can spot the most literary references in his new offering, THE BLOOMSDAY DEAD, while Serpent’s Tail give a heads up about the launch of said tome at No Alibis of Belfast on June 11 … Following on from last week’s win in the Bisto-sponsored Children’s Books Ireland Bisto-flavoured bunfight for THE LONDON EYE MYSTERY, Siobhan Dowd’s BOG CHILD has been longlisted for The Guardian’s 2008 children’s fiction prize … Finally, a quick reminder that Ken Bruen’s SANCTUARY, the latest Jack Taylor tayl – sorry, tale – is due on a shelf near you next week. For the skinniest of skinnies, jump on over here …

The Gravy Train Has Left The Station

Yet another example, as if it were needed, of the extent of our loss when Siobhan Dowd died came through on Thursday, when THE LONDON EYE MYSTERY was announced as The Bisto Book of the Year. Quoth John Spain at the Irish Independent:

“An acclaimed children’s writer who died from cancer last year has won the Bisto Book of the Year Award for her novel THE LONDON EYE MYSTERY. Siobhan Dowd’s husband, Geoff Morgan, attended an emotional ceremony in Dublin yesterday, where the award was accepted on her behalf by her publisher David Fickling. Her Book of the Year Award of €10,000 will be donated to the trust which she set up before she died to help disadvantaged children improve their reading skills.”

Lovely. And the verdict from the Children’s Books Ireland wallahs?

Enthralling at the level of story, this convincingly written narrative draws the reader in with its beautifully stylish and textured language, its clever and light use of symbolism, and its unpatronising humour so as to emphasize the importance of connecting with others in life. A traditionally structured novel, this is a sustained and fully realised thriller for young readers.

Anyone interested in contributing to the very worthy Siobhan Dowd Trust should jump over here. And remember, people – every book is a new window on the world …

The Best Things In Life Are Free … Books

EWS...BREAKING NEWS...BREAKING NEWS...BREAKING NEWS...BREAKING NEWS...

A Minister for Propaganda Elf writes: “Being something of a moron, and deaf in one ear, the Grand Vizier didn't realise that the copies of WHAT BURNS WITHIN offered below are SIGNED COPIES (woo-hoo!). We apologise for any inconvenience caused. Peace, out.”

The good folk at Dorchester Publishing have been kind enough to offer us three copies of Sandra Ruttan’s latest novel, WHAT BURNS WITHIN, to give away, so the least we can do is consult Mr & Mrs Publishers Weekly as to the quality therein, to wit:

Three Vancouver constables—son-of-a-sergeant Craig Nolan, bombshell in the boys’ club Ashlyn Hart, and stolidly antisocial cop Tain—are drawn together as the rapes, arsons and child abductions they’re working on respectively converge. The three, who have a beef over a prior case gone bad, must get over their personal differences and chase scant leads before another raped woman, burned building or missing girl turns up. Ruttan manages to keep the multiple leads and seconds on the same page admirably: she doesn’t drop too many clues in their laps or allow the tension to flag. The child abduction and sex crime aspects of the story are handled without exploitation or kid gloves; the straight proceduralism from Ruttan (SUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES) serves the story well through the rewarding climax. - Publishers Weekly

Hmmmm, nice. To be in with a chance of winning a free copy, just answer the following question:

Is what burns within WHAT BURNS WITHIN:
(a) deserted warehouses;
(b) a bonfire of the sanities;
(c) Sandra Ruttan’s searing desire to brand the white-hot truth onto every page?

Answers via the comment box please, leaving an email contact address (using (at) rather than @) by noon on Wednesday 28. Et bon chance, mes amis …

Nether Say Nether Again

Joseph O’Neill’s debut, NETHERLAND, has been attracting a lot of very positive comment, with one excitable reviewer suggesting that it’s already a Booker Prize contender. Naturally, being insatiable nosey-parkers, we had to take a gander, and we discovered that the blurb elves have been wibbling thusly:

In early 2006, Chuck Ramkissoon is found dead at the bottom of a New York canal. In London, a Dutch banker named Hans van den Broek hears the news, and remembers his unlikely friendship with Chuck and the off-kilter New York in which it flourished: the New York of 9/11, the power cut and the Iraq war. Those years were difficult for Hans - his English wife Rachel left with their son after the attack, as if that event revealed the cracks and silences in their marriage, and he spent two strange years in the Chelsea Hotel, passing stranger evenings with the eccentric residents. Lost in a country he’d regarded as his new home, Hans sought comfort in a most alien place - the thriving but almost invisible world of New York cricket, in which immigrants from Asia and the West Indies play a beautiful, mystifying game on the city’s most marginal parks. It was during these games that Hans befriended Chuck Ramkissoon, who dreamed of establishing the city’s first proper cricket field. Over the course of a summer, Hans grew to share Chuck’s dream and Chuck’s sense of American possibility - until he began to glimpse the darker meaning of his new friend’s activities and ambitions … NETHERLAND is a novel of belonging and not belonging, and the uneasy state in between. It is a novel of a marriage foundering and recuperating, and of the shallows and depths of male friendship. With it, Joseph O’Neill has taken the anxieties and uncertainties of our new century and fashioned a work of extraordinary beauty and brilliance.

Lovely. Not really Crime Always Pays material, thought we, but lovely nonetheless. But lo! Then we discovered Brian Lynch’s review in the Sunday Independent, the gist of which runs to-wittishly:

“We never discover the identity of the murderer – this is a whodunit without a who – but that is part of the purpose of the book: the political violence of our times, the personal unease that follows from it, but above all the constantly shifting and strange glamour of the world cannot be explained, only apprehended … Already, NETHERLAND has been compared to THE GREAT GATSBY by F. Scott Fitzgerald. The comparison is apt, but add in something of the ironic intellect of John Banville and a good dash of the coarse energy of the early Saul Bellow and you will get a better idea of how rich this book is.”

Hmmmm … the Bellow / Banville / Fitzgerald references suggest a literary tome, but the murderer / whodunit element suggests crime fiction. So which is it? Or – yipes! – could it be one of those increasingly popular crossover ‘lit crime’ bukes which thrive on employing crime fiction tropes, the likes of which have been popping up here, here, here and here? Only time, that notoriously prevaricating doity rat, will tell …

What Rough Justice Slouches Again Towards Bethlehem?

Yep, ’tis as inevitable as the Second Coming / the Rapture / the Anti-Christ (delete as applicable) – it’s the latest Jack Higgins novel, folks, aka ROUGH JUSTICE, which was released on April 1st, with the blurb elves wittering thusly:

The master of the game is back, with another pulse-pounding adventure featuring the unstoppable Sean Dillon. Whilst checking up on the volatile situation in Kosovo, the US President’s right-hand man Blake Johnson meets Major Harry Miller, a member of the British Cabinet. Miller is there doing his own checks for the British Prime Minister. When both men get involved with a group of Russian soldiers about to commit an atrocity, Miller puts and end to the scuffle with a bullet in the forehead of the ring-leader. But this action has dire consequences not only for Miller and Johnson but their associates too, including Britain’s Sean Dillon, all the way to the top of the British, Russian and United States governments. Death begets death, and revenge leads only to revenge, and before the chain reaction of events is over, many will be dead!

Hurrah! Wanton slaughter, like, rools! Or – woah! – does it? What’s the last Jack Higgins novel YOU read, dear bibliophile? Answers on the back of a used €50 note to the usual address, folks. Or you could just leave a comment, we’re not fussed …

Comment Box Abuse: A Letter To ‘Melissa’

A Minister for Propaganda Elf writes: “Hi, ‘Melissa’. In case you’re wondering why your comment was deleted last night, it’s because the Grand Vizier has read his Homer and doesn’t really approve of sneaky Trojan Horse attempts, via comment box link inserts, to publicise novels on Crime Always Pays without prior approval. You’re not the first to try it, and you very probably won’t be the last, but the one thing you can be certain of is that underhand promotional tactics are (a) unwelcome and (b) unnecessary. Crime Always Pays, while celebrating for the most part Irish crime and mystery fiction, is open to all crime writers of all nationalities – i.e., if you wanted to promote your new novel, all you had to do was ask. There are any number of ways in which you could have been accommodated: the weekly Q&A, the ‘Mi Casa, Su Casa’ slot, a competition giveaway, or simply a précis of what your novel is about and why you think the world at large should be told about it. It’s easy-peasy, it’s polite and mannerly, and that way everyone’s a winner – as Peter Clenott, for example, discovered last week. We wish you the very best with your new novel, ‘Melissa’, and hope that it’s a huge success for you, although given our experience of the crime and mystery writing and reading community, and its mind-bogglingly generous response to our attempts to drum up some support for our humble offering THE BIG O, we suggest that in the long run a more honest and transparent approach to your promotional activities will prove more beneficial. Peace, out.”

“Ya Wanna Do It Here Or Down The Station, Punk?” # 2,087: Steve Martini

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 MALTESE FALCON.
What fictional character would you most like to have been?
Sam Spade.
Who do you read for guilty pleasures?
The crime novels of the ’30s and ’40s – anything by Dashiell Hammett or Raymond Chandler. And from the ’60s, John D. McDonald. I love the characterizations and the breezy entertaining quality of these works.
Most satisfying writing moment?
When COMPELLING EVIDENCE, my second novel, became the object of a bidding war between the Book of the Month Club and The Literary Guild. This served as the first confirmation that I had arrived as a writer.
The best Irish crime novel is …?
While I love Irish humour I am sorry to say that I don’t think I have ever read a genuine Irish crime novel unless THE GLASS KEY and RED HARVEST qualify. They were after all the basis for the film Miller’s Crossing, and if that ain’t fictional Irish crime, nothing is.
What Irish crime novel would make a great movie?
See above
Worst / best thing about being a writer?
The worse thing about being a writer is that you are never finished. The best thing for me is that I am most content it seems when I am writing. So figure that out.
The pitch for your next book is …?
It is likely to have a certain Latin flair as it will have scenes set in Central and South America, though the trial, as always in my Paul Madriani novels, will take place in Southern California. Who are you reading right now?
Joseph Ellis – AMERICAN SPHINX. Sorry to say I don’t read the genre in which I write in as that presents the dangerous spectre of having your voice mutate to that of another author.
God appears and says you can only write OR read. Which would it be?
I would have to go to Hell to see what the devil allows.
The three best words to describe your own writing are …?
Painful (as I am never finished polishing the prose), Therapeutic (as I have always found a certain quality of peace in pounding on a keyboard), and Never-ending (except, as Jefferson said, “by the all-healing grave”).

Steve Martini’s latest novel, SHADOW OF POWER, will be published on May 27 by William Morrow.

Nobody Move, This Is A Review: THE RESERVE by Russell Banks

The zeppelin, an iconic image of the 1930s, is a recurring image in Russell Banks’ THE RESERVE, which is set in the Adirondack Mountains in 1936. Jordan Groves is an artist and pilot who late one evening lands his water-plane on the lake near the luxury holiday retreat of the Cole family. There he meets Vanessa Cole, the femme fatale of the piece, an emotionally unhinged divorcée who, Siren-like, attempts to lure Groves away from his wife and children and on towards his own destruction. Vanessa and the zeppelin, which Groves encounters on one of his flights, are equally beguiling to the self-obsessed artist: both are beautifully designed symbols of freedom, both are to all intents and purposes empty. The same, unfortunately, can be said of THE RESERVE.
  Banks has written superb novels in the past, such as AFFLICTION and CLOUDSPLITTER, but where those novels had a real heft and depth, THE RESERVE is virtually weightless. Conceived as a noir thriller, and celebrated as such by no less a light than William Kennedy, it is no such thing. The writing has at times a poetic fulsomeness, particularly when Banks is describing the bucolic hinterland of the Adirondack semi-wilderness, but all too often it is flabby where it should be spare. Moreover, the great noir writers, such as James M. Cain, employed plots akin to Greek tragedy, and rendered them streamlined and focused by eschewing all but the essential details. While the hubris that eventually leads to Groves’ downfall is very much a staple of Greek tragedy, Banks unfolds his story with a melodramatic clumsiness more appropriate to a Mills and Boon romance.
  The characters too are less than believable. The author requires his readers to make a leap of faith early in the narrative but strives too hard to generate compelling characters in order that we will follow. The result is grotesque exaggerations that belong only in poorly conceived fiction. “He was probably a builder too,” Vanessa muses about Groves, “judging from his house and outbuildings, which seemed handmade to her … he cuts his own firewood to heat his house and studio. His arduous travels to distant, difficult lands – Greenland, Alaska, the Andes – were legendary. He was strong and lean and hardhanded …” The fictional Groves is a caricature of his contemporaries, Hemingway and Dos Passos, and while it is possible that Banks is subtly parodying the artistic machismo that pervaded the era, the reader is entitled to ask how relevant the exercise is now, particularly as the central issue is Groves’ flaws, not those of his peers.
  Writers should always think long and hard about making their central characters artists or sculptors or creative minds of any kind, as there is a very real danger the reader will presume there is at least an element of autobiography involved. If that is the case with THE RESERVE, then Russell Banks should be commended for having the courage to offer us such a repellent self-portrait in Jordan Groves. Whether or not the exercise justifies an entire novel is another matter; when it comes to noir, less is more. THE RESERVE might well have made for a satisfying short story, but as a novel it is a zeppelin – a good idea in its conception, but flimsy and unwieldy, and as prone to crash and burn when reality finally muscles in on the theory. – Declan Burke

This review was first published in the Sunday Business Post

Nobody Move, This Is A Review: Indiana Jones and the Temple of the Crystal Skull

It’s 1957, the Cold War is freezing over, but an aging Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) is still capable of cracking his whip at those damn Russkies, led by the ice-cool Irina Spalko (Cate Blanchett), when they arrive in Nevada at a Roswell-style complex to steal what appears to be the body of an alien life-form. A terrific opening sequence ensues, with a tongue-in-cheek finale courtesy of an exploding A-bomb, and then the movie settles down to its real quest, that of Indy’s search for a mythical crystal skull which will lead him and his sidekick, the Brando-lite rebel Mutt Williams (Shia LaBeouf), to the equally mythical El Dorado deep in the Amazon’s impenetrable jungles. Every cent of the reputed $200 million budget is up on the screen, and for the most part this is a rollicking homage to the often shambolic B-movie matinee adventures of the ’30s and ’40s. It’s not supposed to be taken seriously (the ‘CCCP’ emblazoned on the back of Spalko’s jumpsuit is a wink in the direction of cartoonish style), but even so there’s a lack of rigorousness about the storytelling that is disappointing. The adrenaline-charged pursuit through the Amazon jungle is a case in point. Yes, it’s a terrifically entertaining and even hilarious set-piece as Indy, Spalko, Mutt, Marion (Karen Allen), Mac (Ray Winstone), Ox (John Hurt) and a veritable battalion of (uniformed!) Russian soldiers jump back and forth between trucks, jeeps and amphibious vehicles, using a variety of weapons to thrash one another senseless as the convoy careers through the jungle – but wait a minute, wasn’t that jungle supposed to be ‘impenetrable’? Where did the parallel roads come from? Are they the work of the aliens who arrived on earth 7,000 years ago to kick-start human civilisation as we know it, or was it just George Lucas and Steven Spielberg not really caring about simple things like continuity? Much as we’d like to believe it’s the former, it’s very probably the latter – The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is a series of great set-pieces, one segueing into the other, but there’s no cohesion to what happens, and how, or why. In a nutshell, there’s no story to give us a reason as to why we should care if Indy and his crew succeed in their quest. The finale, which trades very heavily on Close Encounters of the Third Kind, is visually impressive but emotionally sterile – there’s a perfunctory feel to it that suggests the makers simply couldn’t wait to get it all over with so they could begin a whole new franchise with Shia LaBeouf wielding the whip. *** - Declan Burke

“Ya Wanna Do It Here Or Down The Station, Punk?” # 2,023: Jim Michael Hansen

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?
HONG KONG LAWS, because that’s the one I’m working on now, and I wish it was done so I could see how it ends.
What fictional character would you most like to have been?
There’s a scene in Body Double where a guy snatches Gloria Revelle’s purse on the beach and she ends up chasing him. Behind them, in the distance a hundred yards away, there’s a guy walking on the beach. I always wished I could have been him, and cast in his role, because I know I could have done it better.
Who do you read for guilty pleasures?
For guilty pleasures I don’t generally read. I mostly just look at the pictures.
Most satisfying writing moment?
The most satisfying moment was finishing my very first manuscript. I got so excited that I threw it to the ceiling in celebration—and immediately wished I had numbered the pages.
The best Irish crime novel is …?
Being a sheltered U.S. guy, I don’t know any Irish crime novels. So, with your permission, I’m going to change the word “Irish” to “French.” … Hmm … Wait a minute, that didn’t do any good, I don’t know any French novels either.
What Irish crime novel would make a great movie?
I don’t know. Which one has the most bedroom scenes?
Worst / best thing about being a writer?
The best thing about being a writer is getting all those wonderful, grateful letters from Eskimos who absolutely love my books. Apparently they burn longer than most and give off a great deal of heat. The worst thing about being a writer is starting with all those alphabetically arranged words in the dictionary, figuring out which ones I want to use, and then trying to put them together in the right order. It’s like solving a four dimensional Rubik’s cube.
The pitch for your next book is …?
The pitch for my next book (IMMORTAL LAWS, 9/15/08) is a marketing stroke of genius that no one in the publishing industry has ever thought of. It goes like this: “If you buy my book, I’ll paint your house.” We expect to sell a thousand copies or more the very first hour! Who are you reading right now?
Right now I’m reading the words, “What are you reading right now?” Otherwise I’d have no idea how to respond. Now I’m starting to read the next question. Excuse me, while I scroll down.
God appears and says you can only write OR read. Which would it be?
Being a lawyer, I did a little research to see if God really had the right to make an either / or demand. It turns out there’s an old dusty statute that says God always has to give at least three choices. I confronted him about this and after a bit of an argument, he eventually relented and gave me a third choice: “You can only write OR read OR have sex.” My response was pretty quick: “I’ll take that third one.”
The three best words to describe your own writing are …?
“My own writing.”

Jim Michael Hansen’s BANGKOK LAWS was published in paperback in March

The Monday Review

It’s Monday, they’re reviews, to wit: “A clear disciple of Elmore Leonard, McFetridge (DIRTY SWEET) has almost every character talk and think like Chili Palmer, not a bad thing for a fun read,” says Publishers Weekly of EVERYBODY KNOWS THIS IS NOWHERE. A certain Ken Bruen, via John McFetridge’s blog, agrees: “EVERYBODY KNOWS THIS IS NOWHERE is just one hell of a read, takes off like a bullet and never lets up, like a wondrous mix of Elmore Leonard and McBain but with a dazzling Canadian slant that is as fresh as it is darkly hilarious.” Which is nice … “Declan Hughes has captured the spirit of Ireland in his series featuring the private detective Ed Loy … Hughes is especially good at dialogue. The story is less persuasive than in the earlier books and ends in high drama, but he is a very fine writer,” says Susanna Yager at The Sunday Telegraph of THE DYING BREED. Back to Ken Bruen for a mo: “Taylor’s a far cry from an affable character. In the hands of a weaker writer than Bruen, he’d probably be detestable and utterly unreadable. But Bruen does it with seeming ease. His is one of the freshest, most distinct voices in crime fiction today … Holding it all together is Bruen’s skill and fierce vision, and of course Taylor, a black hole of a hero if there ever was one,” reckons Kevin Burton Smith at The Rap Sheet (scroll down) about PRIEST. Over at Euro Crime, Norman Price is raving about CROSS: “Ken Bruen has written yet another brilliant book with his protagonist Jack Taylor able to speak for all those people who have been left behind by the complications of modern society … If you haven’t read Ken Bruen yet you are missing some the finest crime fiction being written today. It is not gentle like the Irish rain but harsh like Ireland’s history.” Martin Edwards likes Brian McGilloway’s first offering: “I’ve finished Brian McGilloway’s debut novel, BORDERLANDS, and I enjoyed it. After a steady beginning, the pace develops and there is plenty of action, coupled with a plot of increasing complexity that has its roots (like so many of the best murder plots) buried in the past … All in all, then, a very assured debut.” A couple now for John Connolly’s latest: “THE REAPERS fairly crackles with menace; the portrayal of serious-minded individuals utterly intent on completing their dark objectives is masterly. The author has adapted and blended elements of both the neo-noir and gothic tradition to produce a stylish piece, from which a darkly laconic sense of humour protrudes like a razorblade from an apple. In Connolly’s world, sentimentality gets abducted from outside a porno cinema and mercilessly pistol-whipped in a dank basement. THE REAPERS is all the better for it,” says Fachtna Kelly at the Sunday Business Post. Over at The Book Bag, Iain Wear agrees: “What I found was a highly enjoyable book that aside from a couple of minor points, proved to be a quick and easy read. It’s simply written, but the nature of the genre and of the characters involved here demands that and this helps keep the pace of the story high and stopped my interest in events from waning at any stage … I would certainly recommend THE REAPERS and, to judge from what events Connolly hinted at from his earlier books, the author in general.” But stay! What news of Benny Blanco? “This sequel to CHRISTINE FALLS is as atmospheric and dark, dark, dark a story as its predecessor … pulls you in with complicated characters, all machinating in gloomy 1950’s Dublin, and manages to be a crackling story as well as a bitter study of chances lost, and contentment squandered,” says Sohaila at McNally Robinson of THE SILVER SWAN. Meanwhile, Sarah Weinman is impressed with Benny’s forthcoming opus, THE LEMUR: “Anyone who thinks John Banville lacks a sense of humour clearly did not read his serial for the New York Times magazine, available in novella-ish format in July. The story has all the basic crime ingredients - blackmail, adultery, murder, betrayal, that sort of thing - but it is so, so clear how much fun Banville had writing this pseudonymous exercise, loading up sentences filled with bizarre but well-placed metaphors and gently (or not so gently!) lampooning his characters as he moves them around his narrative chess board.” Yet more big-ups for Tana French’s Edgar-winning IN THE WOODS: “This is a very fine book. The characters and relationships are fully drawn, the suspense of the police work is terrifically exciting, and the writing is lovely to read … This is not just an excellent police thriller; it’s an excellent novel, even for people who think they don’t like police thrillers. Recommended without reservation,” says Keith at In Which Our Hero. Justine at Fresh Library concurs: “One of the most gripping, well-written books I’ve ever read … Tana French does an amazing job in creating the characters and the dark, gloomy atmosphere of the woods … I highly recommend this book!” Over to Newsvine, where Adam Colclough is impressed by Ingrid Black’s latest: “THE JUDAS HEART is a truly superior thriller with an original setting and a plot that keeps the reader guessing until the last moment. Black’s view of the consequences of jealousy is, as events reveal, truly Shakespearean … Amidst the massed ranks of books about serial killers and the people who hunt them the work of Ingrid Black stands out as being the real deal.” Finally, a trio for John Boyne’s new offering: “Boyne’s novel can stand comparison with [William Golding’s RITES OF PASSAGE]. Written with a total command of naval expertise, without ever spilling over into pedantry, MUTINY ON THE BOUNTY is story-telling at its most accomplished … There is also a happier ending for Turnstile than ever seemed possible. This he richly deserves for having told his extraordinary tale with such wit and verve,” says Nicholas Tucker at The Independent. Mary Warnock in the Sunday Independent likes it too: “Boyne is a spellbinding story-teller with a real feel for the period. As he so successfully did with CONGRESS OF ROUGH RIDERS and THIEF OF TIME, he wonderfully evokes a particular atmosphere and has a lively historical imagination. Most of all, he tells a cracking good tale and, in this case, honour has been finally satisfied to boot.” And some wastrel called Declan Burke at Crime Always Pays offers his two cents: “Comparisons to Joseph Conrad and William Golding’s RITES OF PASSAGE trilogy are not outrageous, and Boyne has clearly paid attention to TREASURE ISLAND. Throw in the exotic setting of Otaheite, the mutiny, and one of nautical history’s most impressive feats of endurance, and MUTINY ON THE BOUNTY is well-nigh irresistible.” Hurrah! Can we use that ‘Boyne’s Own Adventure’ line yet again to finish off? No? Ah, boo …

The Doppelganger’s All Here

The ever-fragrant Sarah Weinman reports that The Bookseller hosts an in-depth profile on Tana French as she revs up for the publication of THE LIKENESS, her much anticipated sequel to IN THE WOODS, a flavour of which runneth thusly:

French is self-deprecating when it comes to her skills as a writer. “I don’t know what I’m doing when I start a book,” she says. “It starts off looking like this horrific explosion in a dictionary. I have a premise and a narrator. I can’t have a plot summary, because I don’t know the characters well enough at that point to know what they would or wouldn’t do.”
  French believes her acting was great training: “It is a very natural progression, from creating a character and a world for an audience to creating one for a reader—it made sense to me.”
  […]
  Writing crime was a natural choice. “I love the shape of mystery,” she explains. “It’s so tight, and yet there’s so much you can do with it. You can play with the parameters, turn things inside out, and I really enjoy that.”

Crime fiction – it’s literary Twister, innit? For another in-depth profile on Tana, this one courtesy of the ever-radiant Claire Coughlan, hop-skip-and-jump over here. Or, y’know, don’t. We’ll still love you anyway …

Gonzo Noir: Weird On Top And Wild At Heart?

A certain Neil was kind enough to leave a comment on Friday’s post about Barry Gifford’s WILD AT HEART, in which he described said novel as ‘Gonzo noir’. Our interest was piqued, not least because ‘Gonzo Noir’ was – and is – a potential title the Grand Vizier had earmarked for a work-in-progress he has Cheeky ‘Chico’ Morientes (right) currently sweating away over down in the CAP’s deepest dungeon. Being something of a sub-literate moron, of course, the Grand Viz hadn’t realised that ‘Gonzo noir’ is the name of a sub-sub-genre of the crime writing school, and that he was – and remains – in great danger of making a pas of the faux variety.
  So what is this strange beast ‘Gonzo noir’? Dispatching Chief Google Elf post-haste, we came up with the following references:

“The plot is pure gonzo noir, faking rights and taking lefts, jumping back and slapping the reader in the face. It’s certainly a breathless read. The violence is often shocking, vicious and, especially towards the end of the book, defiantly turned up to eleven. It might smack of sadism were it not for the fact that Williams writes with genuine finesse and a streak of black humour a mile wide,” says Crime Culture of Charlie Williams’ DEADFOLK.

“A booze-soaked tribute to those great gonzo noir writers of days gone by,” was Anthony Neil Smith’s verdict on Craig McDonald’s HEAD GAMES.

Over at Confessions of An Idiosyncratic Mind, Anthony Neil Smith gives the skinny on his own novel, PSYCHOSOMATIC: “As far as the plot, well, it’s certainly one of those ‘gonzo noir’ types, full of vivid violence and nastiness.”

Meanwhile, an interview over at Mooky Chick beginneth thusly: “Author of THE CONTORTIONIST HANDBOOK and the upcoming DERMAPHORIA, Craig Clevenger writes gonzo noir about identity and emotional freefall in a way you probably haven’t seen before.”

Then there’s James R. Winter over at January Magazine, reviewing Marc Lecard’s debut novel: “VINNIE’S HEAD, by debut novelist Marc Lecard, brings gonzo noir to Long Island ... VINNIE’S HEAD is a lesson in the absurd. Lecard spins an unbelievable plot and laces it with cartoonish violence and bizarre players. Yet he does so with tongue firmly planted in cheek ... Critics mention Carl Hiassen when talking about this book. Kinky Friedman also came to mind as I read it.”

  So there we have it: black humour; narrative fake-outs; slapping the reader in the face; shocking, vivid and / or cartoonish violence; bizarre players; identity and emotional freefall.
  So far, so good, at least for the Grand Viz’s work-in-progress. But what of the crucial ‘gonzo’ element itself, that which is derived from the Great Gonzo himself, the sadly missed Hunter S. Thompson (right), and which – presumably, at least – involves the author inserting him or herself into the text, Kinky-style? Quoth the Wikipedia research boffins:

Gonzo journalism is a style of journalism which is written subjectively, often including the reporter as part of the story via a first person narrative. The style tends to blend factual and fictional elements to emphasize an underlying message and engage the reader. The word Gonzo was first used in 1970 to describe an article by Hunter S. Thompson, who later popularized the style. The term has since been applied to other subjective artistic endeavours …
The term “Gonzo” in connection to Hunter S. Thompson (right) was first used by Boston Globe magazine editor Bill Cardoso in 1970 when he described Hunter S. Thompson’s The Kentucky Derby Is Decadent and Depraved, which was written for the June 1970 Scanlan’s Monthly, as “pure Gonzo journalism”. Cardoso claimed that “gonzo” was South Boston Irish slang describing the last man standing after an all night drinking marathon. Cardoso also claimed that it was a corruption of the French Canadian word “gonzeaux”, which means “shining path”, although this is disputed. In Italian, Gonzo is a common word for a gullible person, a “sucker” …

  Anyone else have any contribution to make? If any of you beautiful people out there can shed any light on the truth of ‘Gonzo noir’, we’d love to hear from you …