CAPTURE and DUST DEVILS by Roger Smith

I'm excited because February 20, marks New Pulp Press's release in PRINT, in the USA, for the first time of Roger Smith's novels, CAPTURE and DUST DEVILS. I highly recommend both of these books, or any book written by Roger Smith, really. I'm so happy that these books finally going to be available here in print format. Here are The Drowning Machine's previous reviews of both books:

DUST DEVILS

South African journalist Robert Dell, his wife and two children are all headed off on a holiday, when a black pickup truck runs them off the road. Dell's family is killed and he is framed for their murders.

If that sounds anything like a typical thriller, please, just hold the phone a sec. Because you haven't read anything like this book. No, you haven't. No, it's not like that book or that one or any of the thrillers you'll recall right offhand, and that's because Roger Smith isn't just any writer. In the span of just three books, his prose has gone from spare and evocative to darkly lyrical. His characterizations are masterful, his POV treatment is impeccable. And thematically, where once he was just pretty damned good, he now soars.

DUST DEVILS is a brilliant work, revolving around five major characters: Dell, a pacifist wrought by his grief and also by his sense of justice in a world that has none, into waging personal war on the men who killed his family; Inja, a corrupt, murderous cop and Zulu chief, a man dying of AIDS and looking to superstition instead of science for help, he will kill anyone who gets between him and his 16-year-old bride-to-be, Sunday, because he believes that sex with her will cure him. Sunday wants only not to have to marry Inja. She, as much as anyone, knows him for the cold killer he is. And then there is Disaster Zondi, an ex-cop as a result of having principles in a time and place where those things have no cash value. The author spins these characters and more through a space-time continuum where personal interactions go repeatedly nuclear. Oops, I said five characters, didn't I? South Africa is the fifth one. The varying cultures, the extremes of power and wealth matched again helplessness and poverty, places where AIDS harvests one out of three people thanks to neglect, superstition, and ignorance. Where news events don't begin to tell the depth of the stories.

Along the way, the reader gets a mini-education in the behind-the-scenes politics of South Africa as that country moved from apartheid to... whatever one calls it today, because freedom hardly seems the right word. Unless one is remembering the old song lyric from Me and Bobby McGee: "Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose."

Thematically, where other authors would simply push the characters examining their past sins toward a search for redemption or atonement, Smith takes his characters beyond and into a stark cultural landscape where the wages of sin don't include the possibility of redemption, and where careful preservation of innocence is futile because innocence was long ago the first victim of sin. Harshly violent, the book is a broken window onto the cultural indifference to massive suffering, but more pointedly -- and poignantly -- Smith highlights the effect of the neglect by those powerful enough to relieve such suffering, who make such suffering more intense and widespread through corruption and indifference. The story's end is a sorrowful angel, breathtakingly cinematic on one level, and on another so personal that the reader's heart bleeds. A brilliant work.


HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.

CAPTURE

Somewhere on the Internet recently I came across a discussion about what constituted or defined neo-noir. This book is my idea of what neo-noir is all about: the same sick, twisted, desperate, going-down-the-tubes characters found in original noir plus the faster pace and action usually found in thrillers. In this latest release, Smith somehow manages to conjure up a character, Vernon Saul, who is evil incarnate. What kind of man can sit back and watch a child drown, his inaction solely for the thought that he might find an angle to gain some kind of power over the grieving parents? And yet the reader cannot help but sympathize with the abused child that preceded the man Vernon became. There is a line delivered by William Peterson in the 1986 Michael Mann film, MANHUNTER, that perfectly sums up my feelings toward Vernon Saul:

My heart bleeds for him, as a child. Someone took a kid and manufactured a monster. At the same time, as an adult, he's irredeemable... As an adult, someone should blow the sick fuck out of his socks.

CAPTURE is bit more of a psychological character study than Smith's previous novels, but the tension ratchets up, chapter by chapter, to a shattering and satisfying denouement.  

RECOMMENDED.

Note: Okay, then. The publisher told me the print editions were due out the 20th, but apparently amazon has had both books available for the past week. Doesn't matter. Do yourself a favor and read a Roger Smith book.

COLD STORAGE, ALASKA by John Straley

Clive McCahon is a drug dealer fresh out of a Washington state prison after seven years, the last three of which he was in "protective segregation." Nobody was actively targeting Clive, but he'd reached a point where he was ready for a do-over. He wanted peace, law-abiding peace. No guns, no drugs, no retaliation. But on the way back to his hometown of Cold Storage, Alaska, Clive picks up two things: a big pile of money which might be his or might belong to his former business partner in the drug business, and an ugly, ill-mannered brute of a dog called Little Brother. Questions: What in the world can Clive do with all that money in a place as small and remote as Cold Storage? What happens when the business partner decides he needs the money more than Clive? Why is Clive hearing animals talk to him? And why is he listening to their advice? Waiting for Clive in Cold Storage is his older brother, Miles, the town's medic, war hero, and a pragmatic man who yet prays to his outboard motor.

Wherever you think John Straley's newest novel will go, trust me on this: it won't. But where it does go is never less than delightful, turning the crime genre's tropes inside out. Straley writes in prose that is closer to poetry - but never pretentious and not strictly lyrical poetry. Call it prose with a poetic resonance. Cold Storage is populated with characters at once memorable, affable, pathetic, real, and sometimes maddening. No doubt there are readers who will draw parallels to the populace of Northern Exposure, though that show held little appeal for me as the quirkiness of its residents seemed to me to be more affectation for the sake of audience than that of three-dimensional characters. Quirky the people of Straley's Cold Storage may occasionally be, but they are never less than real, with their struggles, their dreams, their failures and modest successes, and their binding sense of community that lightly overlays their fierce if sometimes false self-reliance.

The author overtly yet subtly (how does he do that?) works varying religious viewpoints into a cohesive but elusive blend that both humbles and amuses the reader. While the overriding quality of this book is a rare kind of Zen charm, Straley is far too good a writer not to ensure that depth of setting (think Shangri-la without the humbuggery), character, and plot are all present and in abundance.

COLD STORAGE, ALASKA is a gem of story, marvelously told, that repays the reader many times over for the reading. Only February, I know, but this book will certainly be on my year-end favorites list.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.

THE COLD COLD GROUND by Adrian McKinty

May, 1981. Northern Ireland. Bombs, assassinations, torture, hunger strikes, riots. Sectarian violence is the clean label the journalists slap over the ugly and complex brutality known gently and woefully as The Troubles. If you're present, you're involved. There's no escape short of emigration. And it's not as simple as Catholic vs. Protestant, or Irish vs. English, or police vs citizens. Because it's all of that and more. It's rich vs. poor, man vs. woman, gays vs. straights, expectations vs. reality, loyalty vs. betrayal. It's duality in everything, every person, every situation. And author Adrian McKinty captures it all, in a luxurious clarity of language and reasoning that are both intelligent and easily followed.

In Sean Duffy, a  young detective sergeant in the Royal Ulster Constabulary, McKinty has created a fascinating character: Duffy is Catholic, a rarity in the 1981 RUC (and perhaps still today for all I know), who buys a house in a Protestant district because that's the house he wants and can afford. Clearly the Protestants aren't going to be happy with him, but the IRA condemn Catholics in the RUC as traitors - in other words, it's open season on Catholic cops, from either side. One would think these facts alone would be enough to keep Duffy on his toes 24/7. But no, he occasionally forgets to check under his car for bombs. Duffy's a trifle laid back, yet he can also be described as an excitable boy, one who does not readily cope with frustration created by those who ought to know better.

When a murder case, and then a second one, land in Duffy's lap and those killings have nothing to do with The Troubles, but appear to be the work of a serial killer, our lad has to ask himself: If you want to be a serial killer in Belfast, why not join one of the paramilitary groups that encourage murder? That way, you get your killing done and get it approved as well, with lots of people willing to cover for you. Why make yourself stand out? And then a young woman, missing for months, is found dead, an apparent case of suicide, and what had been a complex case for Duffy now becomes positively labyrinthine. Before it's over, this case will reveal to Duffy his own dual nature, one that is just as complex as the world he inhabits.

All praise to McKinty for his depiction of Belfast in the throes of civil war:

There was trouble up in Belfast again. Potassium nitrate flares falling through the darkening sky. A Gazelle helicopter flying low over the lough water. Little kids walking past the police station showing each other the best technique for lobbing Molotov cocktails over the fence. Jesus, what a nightmare.

This was a city crucified under its own blitz.

This was a city poisoning its own wells, salting its own fields, digging its own grave...

Yet the author never sacrifices story, plot or pacing to accomplish the vivid creation of this historical setting. The story is a cracking good whodunnit, leavening the tragedy with wit and humor and fine characterization. Not to mention sticking very close to actual events. THE COLD COLD GROUND is the first in McKinty's trilogy about Sean Duffy and The Troubles. I'll be purchasing the second installment, I HEAR THE SIRENS IN THE STREET, very soon. Like today.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.

THE WAYS OF EVIL MEN by Leighton Gage

The Awana tribe in the rainforest of Brazil is dying: Only 41 Awana remain, and they know they are the last of their people. A matter of years only, and there will be no more Awana. But some person or persons felt the need to hurry things along. When Amati and his eight-year-old son return from a day of hunting, they find everyone in the village dead. No wounds, no signs of violence at all, but from the youngest child to the oldest citizen, all are dead. Poisoned, perhaps, but how? Amati is convinced that the white men from the nearest town are responsible. The local representative from the government for Indian affairs, Jade Calmon, demands that the deaths be investigated, but the local police chief says that what happens on the reservation is beyond the scope of his authority. The regional delegado de polícia is far too lazy to care what happens hundreds of miles away. But Jade is a tireless crusader, and she knows someone who knows someone who pulls Federal Inspector Mario Silva and his team into investigating. It isn't long before genocide mushrooms into another murder, a lynching, a kidnapping, a missing person, domestic abuse, betrayal, and still more murder. Silva and his team have their hands full just trying to get a racist, elitist, corrupt, and fearful populace to talk to them, never mind trying to exhume bodies and collect evidence (or even make phone calls) in the remote and deadly rainforest where even the most macho of men would never dare to be caught after dark.

The town of Azevedo will perhaps remind the reader of the Old West of the United States, where the nearest law enforcement was often too far away to be of any value, where white people repeatedly stole tribal lands and Native Americans were treated as either juvenile imbeciles or dangerous lunatics. The situations in this book may also bring to mind the premise of the film, Bad Day at Black Rock, in which a stranger in town encounters suspicion and the threat of violence, though no one in town will say why the town is so full of, well, evil. Luckily for Inspector Silva, he is not alone, as Spencer Tracy was in the film. Silva has his trusted team of detectives and medical examiner to help him; he also has the albatross of a very pretty, highly ambitious journalist figuratively draped around his neck. And the determination of that journalist provides an internal threat to the security of Silva's team that he could not have foreseen.

The Mario Silva series comes to a close with this seventh book and the sad, too soon, passing of author Leighton Gage last summer. And what a terrific and complex final story he has given us, condensing into highly readable form five centuries of continuous assaults on the indigenous people of Brazil, and the environmental disasters stemming from toxic mining and the continued decimation of the rainforest.  Gage neatly outlines the vast gulf between the lives of the haves and the have nots, not to mention the bigotry and corruption of both groups, all the while maintaining both an impending sense of danger and a sharp-witted camaraderie between the members of Silva's team. It is the humor, cynical though it may be, that prevents the reader from being crushed under the weight of the evil abounding in the small town of Azevedo. That humor, plus the humanity and unpredictability of Silva, a man whose work may be the law, but whose primary interest is justice, all make for wonderful reading.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.

THE WAYS OF EVIL MEN

• Series: Chief Inspector Mario Silva
• Hardcover: 304 pages
• Publisher: Soho Crime (January 21, 2014)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 1616952725
• ISBN-13: 978-1616952723

BLACK SKIES by Arnaldur Indridason

Inspector Erlandur, the main character in Arnaldur Indridason's Icelandic police series, has taken some time off. While he's away, one of his team, Sigurdur Óli, never the most dedicated of crimefighters, takes the spotlight.

Sigurdur Óli has a friend who shocks the detective by revealing his wife-swapping behavior, then asks Sigurdur Óli to talk to a husband-and-wife amateur team of blackmailers and get them to knock it off. But when Sigurdur Óli goes to talk to them, he finds the woman has been beaten nearly to death and her home trashed. And Sigurdur Óli nearly gets his own head bashed in before the assailant takes to his heels. In the ensuing investigation, Sigurdur Óli does not quite reveal all the facts - trying to protect his friend, of course - to his colleagues and refuses to recuse himself from the case. The reader can safely trust that his failure to do so will come back to bite him in the derrière. 

While trying to track down the assailant, a homeless man, Andres, makes Sigurdur Óli the object of some mysterious declarations and sends the policeman a soundless 12-second filmstrip that shows a naked and terrified young boy. Sigurdur Óli can never pin down the constantly-in-motion Andres long enough to get direct answers, but then, even if he could, Andres's mental condition and habitually drunken state are not likely to improve his coherence. While Sigurdur Óli wrestles with these puzzles, he must also grapple with mounting personal issues including the break up of his long-term relationship and the revelation that his father has prostate cancer.

Throughout this series, Sigurdur Óli has never been a sympathetic character, and the same is true in this book. He is cold, cynical, callous, and profoundly snobbish. By book's end, the reader still may not like this character, but there will be dawning respect as his personal crises do cause Sigurdur Óli to spend some time in self-examination, and to find himself wanting -- and wanting to be better. In past books Sigurdur Óli has not been a hardworking detective, and his self-absorption and superior attitude have made him insensitive to nuances in witness statements. In BLACK SKIES, his sudden solitude makes him more willing to put in the hours: long, dull, thankless hours of legwork. His introspection awakens in him a new awareness that the people around him are people, not stereotypes. And his contact with the pitiful, broken Andres helps him toward a better understanding of why Sigurdur Óli is the way he is.

As bleak as this book is - and its title does it justice - as long as a character like Sigurdur Óli can begin finding greater humanity in himself, there is hope for us all.

RECOMMENDED but with the added caution that this book is at times so bleak that reading it in one sitting is not advised. Walk away a time or two, and maintain perspective.

PURGATORY by Ken Bruen

Oh, sure, I was prepared to like PURGATORY -- the book, not the concept -- from the outset. Ken Bruen? Jack Taylor? Wit and poetry and irreverence and, natch, violence? Just my cuppa.

But when Bruen introduces me to a quotation from Mark Twain, dissing Jane Austen? I went from pure reading pleasure straight on to literary paradise. No stops for purgatory -- the concept, not the book -- along the way.

Want to know what Twain said? Sure, you do. If you are as sickened as I am by the constant parade of cinematic pap for what amounts, IMHO, to little more than a collection of 19th-century soaps occasionally breathed on by the faintest breeze of humor, you want to know (if you don't already) what he said. And if you are one of the Army of Austenites, ready to take up teaspoonly cudgeons in her defense, you want to know, too, so that you might gird your loins for literary battle. So. What Twain said was:

'Any library is a good library that does not contain a volume by Jane Austen. Even if it contains no other book.'

You can't imagine my delight at reading that. Oh, Ken Bruen, how much I owe you for introducing me to that line! And knowing a bit about Twain, just enough really, it seemed likely that he had more than that to say about Austen's books. So I went looking and found, for the vindictive pleasure of we few, we happy few, we band of Anti-Austenites, this pair of nasty gems:

'I haven't any right to criticize books, and I don't do it except when I hate them. I often want to criticize Jane Austen, but her books madden me so that I can't conceal my frenzy from the reader; and therefore I have to stop every time I begin. Every time I read 'Pride and Prejudice' I want to dig her up and beat her over the skull with her own shin-bone.
                             -- Letter to Joseph Twichell, 13 September 1898 

'To me his prose is unreadable -- like Jane Austen's. No, there is a difference. I could read his prose on salary, but not Jane's. Jane is entirely impossible. It seems a great pity that they allowed her to die a natural death.
                             -- Letter to W. D. Howells, 18 January 1909

No, please, don't anyone send me any impassioned defenses of Ms. Austen's creations, or of any of the works that sprang (sprung? springed? spronged?) from them. It would be quite useless. Neither of us will persuade the other. Instead I will admit here and now to being a literary heathen. And I will continue to laugh every time I read one of Mr. Twain's remarks about her work. You may consign me, not to purgatory (the place, not -- you know), but directly to perdition if you like. I shall be happy to shake Mr. Twain's hand upon my arrival there.

Which locale, one muses, may be where Jack Taylor is heading. Anyone who has read much of the series probably thinks Jack has either already been to perdition or long been doomed to eventually end there. And yet, here in PURGATORY -- the book, not the other -- Jack seems to be managing his vices and character flaws better than he ever has; backsliding a bit now and again, but not only making a recovery, but wanting to make a recovery. Wanting to avoid the violence, the drugs, the booze, the cigarettes. Jack even manages not to immediately lay verbal waste to his arch-enemy, Father Malachy, when he discovers the ill-natured padre is reading FIFTY SHADES OF GREY. No doubt Jack is saving his barbs for his final downward spiral into perdition so that he has that one last feel-good moment before eternal damnation.

No, this isn't much of a review of Ken Bruen's fine book, is it? But what I said a few paragraphs back, about wit and poetry and irreverence and violence, that all holds true. This book is trademark Bruen in that, yes, his fans will find what they expect to find in a Jack Taylor book. And PURGATORY is also trademark Bruen in that his fans will find what they least expect to find as well. This is why Bruen is still the King of Crime Fiction in my universe.

RECOMMENDED.

THE PURITY OF VENGEANCE by Jussi Adler-Olsen

The fourth installment in the Department Q series finds police detective Carl Morck in the emotional throes stemming from new evidence in the case in which he lost one partner and another was left a quadraplegic. And his pangs may be more than emotional since much of the evidence damningly points at his involvement in the shootings.

And this is merely a subplot. The main plot has two branches, one of which grows from the cold case files Morck's team (comprised of the dangerous, mysterious, and oft hilarious Assad, and the multiple-personality plagued Rose) manages. Rose and Assad begin finding links between several missing-person cases: people who disappeared on the same day, people of differing occupations who came from different parts of Denmark but who all were in or were bound for Copenhagen when last seen, people who did not know each other but most of whom were known by an elderly, reclusive widow. The second branch of the plot involves a doctor, Curt Wad, whose medical ethics the reader will recognize as stemming almost directly from those of Josef Mengele. The less-than-good doctor is one of the founders and mainstays of the Purity Party, whose growing membership is chockful of right wingnuts, bigots, and extreme nationalists. Like the early Nazi party it so closely resembles, the Purity Party is secretive, elitist, and very, very dangerous.

The author does an admirable job of connecting the many disparate characters while sliding back and forth across more than four decades of story, though the backstory process goes on at some length and at the expense of the more sympathetic main characters. For such serious topics as eugenics, forced abortion and sterilization, rape, and murder, the story is fortunately leavened with a good deal of humor to offset the depressing banality of evil. That's good, yes, but the humor leans less on character and situation than in prior books, and more on basic bodily functions. An instance or two brings a smile to the reader, but after a time one begins to hope (in vain) for no further scatological revelations.

If this book has a serious flaw it is in the many villains the reader encounters. Dr. Wad is certainly a fine villain, and the primary example. He is cold, callous, intelligent while being obtuse, and horribly cunning. Yet the focus is continually pulled away to one of the many other villainous characters who, although evil enough in their own right, lack the mesmerizing quality of the inhuman doctor. I've long held that one single superb villain makes for a better story than a dozen such characters, and this book supports my argument.

Despite this, what makes the book an overall winner is the very nifty twist in the denouement, a Hitchcockian twist that this reader did not see coming, but should have as the author very fairly provided all the clues. And yet I have not felt so blindsided since the ending of the film, The Sixth Sense. The ending, plus the way the author made me feel that, no matter how populated the world is with evil, there is still hope; that as bad as things may be,  as wrong and unfair as the world can be, there is always, always hope - these things prompt me to RECOMMEND this book.

Robert E. Bailey, 1947-2013

The first check of my Facebook news feed today brought word of the passing of Robert Bailey, one of my favorite authors. I, and others, are deeply saddened by our loss. To Bob's wife, Linda, my deepest condolences. May the dear man rest in peace.

In memoriam, I am reposting an interview Bob granted this blog shortly after his initial diagnosis of glioblastoma in the summer of 2011.
                                                    -----------

Hatchets, Fish & Detonics: An Interview With Robert E. Bailey

Robert E. Bailey is the author of the PI Art Hardin series. When Bob writes about PIs, he knows of whence he speaks: he did the job for twenty years, before the profession turned into little more than computer record searches. A Vietnam-era draftee, he retired from the military as a reservist and a field-grade officer. Bob's also an award-winning combat pistol shot. Guess I'm glad I only have good things to say about his books! Which, by the way, were all recently released in ebook format. You'll find the links below. You'll also find my review of PRIVATE HEAT here.

It's been my pleasure to correspond casually, off and on, over the last few years with Bob. I also had the great pleasure of meeting him in 2007 at the annual Ann Arbor Book Festival. Not only was he charming and funny, like his books, but he took the time to tour the festival with me, answering candidly every question I asked.

 In August, 2011, Bob was diagnosed with glioblastoma, a form of malignant brain cancer.  He underwent surgery in late August and is on his third round of chemotherapy. He has some mild aphasia but continues to work on a new novel. And if you know what aphasia is, you know what a struggle that must be for anyone, but especially for a writer. Still, you might never guess it from his responses to some questions I recently put to him.

Q: Your first book (PRIVATE HEAT) reads like a seasoned writer at the top of his game. Great pacing, characterization, and story arc. Is it true you had to be shot in order to get you to write this book? And did you consciously emulate any other writer? If not, what crime writers (if any) would you claim as your influences and/or favorites? 

Bob: I was injured working on an undercover job in so stupid a manner that I am embarrassed to tell you! I had to move my van, and running down the sidewalk, I broke my knee and ankle stumbling over a wheelchair ramp. I wish there was a better story! (I survived the better stories.) I was in a wheelchair before I could get back on my feet, and that took about a year. Hence, the first novel.

Thank you for the wonderful compliments. For the first novel, I was writing an homage to all the old writers that I enjoyed, specifically, Mickey Spillane, Dashiell Hammett, and Raymond Chandler. I think Robert Parker deserves his own mention. My story was meant to thank them for all their great stories. Interestingly enough, PRIVATE HEAT was rejected twenty-three times by publishing houses, who said they had read it all before and we didn’t need another one.

Q: I've just finished rereading PRIVATE HEAT. There's a lot of humor and a good bit of action, yet there are many details that seem very authentic. Is it all fiction or did you draw on some real-life events? I'm thinking especially of the hatchet attack on PI Art Hardin by the woman he's been hired to protect. Anybody ever take a hatchet to you?

Bob: No one ever took a hatchet to me. I can remember certain folks armed with baseball bats, various lengths of pipe, and wooden beams, boards, and sign poles. Usually I didn’t allow angry people to get that close to me. Some mob types did shoot up my vehicle while I was in it.

Q: Say what?

Bob: I was pulling into a drive and a fellow put one 9mm in my windshield, one into my radiator, and one in my oil filter. Lucky for me a first bullet ricocheted off the window as I was driving upwards from the street.   The next two bullets were good but stayed in the engine.  Instead of stopping, I nailed the gas and the shooter departed in a pickup truck.  I chased him but I couldn't figure out why my car kept going slower and slower. While this happened thirty-five years ago, many of the men involved are still in the Detroit "business." We have made a peace of sorts.

Q: You have had an interesting, not to say exciting, career in government and private security. Would you care to fill in the details, and tell me which job was your favorite and why?

Bob: I liked undercover work, being close and working as one of the bad guys. (Maybe I liked that too much!) I usually got arrested with the criminals that I pretended to be. In court, they were usually surprised to find that I was a detective. I did surveillance in the Army and as a private detective. I worked as the director of security operations at Great Lakes Sugar and Warehousing. While I was there I also worked with World Investigations and Security Engineers, filling in on a part-time basis. When they tore down the Sugar Shack, I took a full time position for WISE as the supervisor of their western Michigan office in Grand Rapids. After I left WISE, I opened my own agency, and did film surveillance around the state for the government as a contractor as well as working for hire by private businesses. I really liked everything I did.

Q: Karen Smith, the young woman Art Hardin is hired to protect in PRIVATE HEAT, is a great character. She's a wonderfully funny mix: kind of street smart, kind of dumb, kind of cynical, kind of naive. A lot of heart to her. I was delighted when she reappeared in DEAD BANG (the third Art Hardin book). Where'd she come from?

Bob: Karen’s character reminded me of young ladies that I met in college and business. She is parts of many people that I knew. They could be very, very smart, but sometimes use their hearts instead of their heads.My next novel is close to being finished. It’s called Déjà Noir. It’s not about Art Hardin. It does involve a PI, together with cops and crooks. Each chapter is told in first person, from the point of view of a different character. Misty’s chapter will warm the hearts of Karen’s fans. This time you get to talk with the character personally.

Q:  Okay, other heroes carry Colts, Kimbers, Barettas, Smith & Wessons. Art Hardin is the only character I know about who carries a Detonics. I had never heard of the brand (even though Sonny Crockett carried one in a leg holster on MIAMI VICE). Why choose that firearm for him?

Bob: The Detonics Combat Master is small, and easier to conceal. And it’s still a .45. It’s a wonderful weapon for a pistolero, but not so good for the inexperienced shooter. I had one of the first Detonics they made. I always said it took two men and a small boy to lock and load.

Q: The last Art Hardin book, DEAD BANG, was published in December, 2006, so you've been out of the publishing world for several years now. Whatcha been up to? Your books are set in Michigan but I know that you moved south some time ago.

Bob: DEAD BANG ended up hidden in a drawer at the publisher, and my writing profession was stuck in there with it. They wouldn’t print DEAD BANG and would not take any more Art Hardin stories. The fact that I used Middle Eastern terrorists after 9-11 upset some people, who were afraid to print what I said in that book. My agent suggested that I write something else, but my wife, Linda, had died. I launched myself into rebuilding my house outside Grand Rapids — and sold Art’s house.

In 2006, my publisher was sold to Rowman & Littlefield, and DEAD BANG was taken out of the drawer. It was a little harder for me to get started writing again. I moved to Richmond [Virginia], and back among my writing friends, and started writing, but slowly. I worked for an armored car company, which took a lot of time. I married my second wife, Linda, too, in a bookstore! Linda and I have written a screenplay about an armored car robbery. Would love to see that one on the screen!

[Besides working on the new novel, Déjà Noir] I do have a new Art Hardin short story out, The Small Matter of Ten Large. It is available on Nook and Kindle, for 99 cents. I also found the first Art Hardin story that I ever wrote, which I wrote sitting on a surveillance in 1979! I would love to see that in print. If I get a chance I will go back to the fourth Art Hardin novel, which I had started and been unable to finish when my wife died. It’s called A Tisket, A Casket.

Q:  I know that recently your health has been in jeopardy. Is that something you care to talk about? 

Bob: While I was working on Déjà Noir, my words began to disappear. Within ten days, they were gone. Linda took me to her doctor — I didn’t have one — and her doctor sent me to the emergency room. I had a malignant tumor right in the speech and language area of my brain. I had a five-and-a-half-hour craniotomy on August 17, 2011. To many peoples’ surprise, I woke up and could walk and talk.

Q: I, and I know your other fans, too, wish you all the best. I am amazed and heartened by your spirit. How has your writing been affected by all of that? And is it hard to recapture Art's voice after so much time has passed since we last saw him in print? 

Bob: Writing was a little harder. I had to learn to read and write words that everyone else understood. For instance, you need to use a “cup” to order coffee. I spent half an hour writing “cup” over and over, trying to fix that word back in my brain. Some of the harder words took longer. Most interesting is that all of those words are in my head, but just don’t want to come out. Sometimes the wrong word comes out, like, these days, “fish” for any type of meat. And I don’t even like fish! Right after radiation I couldn’t read or write at all, and had trouble speaking for about two months. My spelling is still not what it once was. A page and a half takes me about four hours to write now. That’s a page and a half of work, but ten pages of rewriting! The book I’m working on is not about Art, but I think it would be easier to recover Art’s voice than to do the characters I am now writing.

Q: Your wife is also a writer. Do you give each other advice and criticism? And do either of you take it? 

Bob: Linda and I are the first persons to read each other's work. This is not always a happy discussion. Sometimes I may disagree tonight, and the next morning change my mind. Linda says that she is always happy about my critique. Sometimes this is not the truth; sometimes we bang heads. (I can only bang on one side now.) There is no point of discussion if we didn’t have sincere disagreement. Only that moves the work forward.


Q: The industry has changed significantly since your last book. Will you shop Déjà Noir to a publisher or will you take it straight to ebook yourself?

Bob: Linda and I have discussed what was best to do. I don't know that I will have two years to march the novel to publisher — and it's a year to get it printed. It seems that the best plan would be to go direct to ebook. We are thinking about it — first thing I have to do is get it done.

Thank you, Bob. If humor is a sign of grace, you have it in abundance. For those interested in reading more about Bob and his work, his blog is The Trials of an Aphasic Writer. For those who want to read his Art Hardin series, PRIVATE HEAT, DYING EMBERS, DEAD BANG, and The Small Matter of Ten Large are all available in Kindle format at amazon and in Nook format at Barnes & Noble.

THE ESSAY by Robin Yocum

Your name is Hickam. That's synonymous with poor, ignorant, trouble, dirty, drunk, lazy, thieving, no-good, arsonist and jailbird. You live on the poorest road in the poorest county in the state. Girls either won't have anything to do with you or their fathers make sure you don't have anything to do with them. Your dad is an abusive drunk and one brother takes after him. Your other brother is doing nine years for burglary and arson. You think your mom is okay but you'll find out you don't know her as well as you think you do. You're a pretty good high school football player but that's all you've got going for you. You barely passed your junior English class. In fact you only got the D because the teacher believed you when you said you were committed to improving during your senior year. So when you win the school essay contest, it's pretty easy for even your best (and only) friend, Polio Baughman, to believe you cheated. Never mind the teachers, principal, other students and their parents, and the sponsor of the contest. They want to see you stripped of the award they are sure you didn't earn. Only you didn't cheat. It turns out you have a gift. But who's going to believe you? Who's going to believe IN you?

THE ESSAY, Robin Yocum's bootstrapping, 1970s coming-of-age tale about the obstacles faced by Jimmy Lee Hickam in his climb out of ignorance and poverty, rings true because the details are true: junkers on blocks in the front yard; slag heaps that smolder a sulfuric stench near homes; homes in disrepair; the father who would steal from his children; the mother who is so focused on dealing with the abuse she faces that she cannot properly care for her children or even take much interest in them; the community prejudice against the children of the truly poor that helps keep them 'in their place.' Yocum describes it all in vivid prose that lacks sentimentality and yet still manages to make the eyes water on occasion.

If Jimmy's rise to success -- and we're not talking about him becoming a millionaire tycoon; just getting a career rather than a job, that's all -- feels a tad predictable, it is no less welcome for all that. And the characterizations, not only of Jimmy but of his ex-con brother, Edgel, and his English teacher, Miss Singletary (my heroine as well as Jimmy's), more than make up for knowing that Jimmy will at last make good. Edgel is such a fine, well-rounded character that he really deserves to have a "bad boy makes good" story of his own. And the redoubtable Miss Singletary has a cat-o-nine-tails for a tongue, and readily wields it against those peers of hers who would happily let one more Hickam child slide into ignominy. She will remind every reader of at least one relentless, passionate educator in his/her life. (In my case, Miss Cora "Shotgun" Gibbs, principal at First Avenue Elementary in the late 1960's.)

In case you hadn't guessed by now, THE ESSAY is not strictly a crime novel, though crimes do occur in the story. The only real crime will be if you miss reading this poignant, funny and uplifting story. Here's an excerpt in which Jimmy describes his best friend:

Polio Baughman was my best friend, though it was a position he held by default.

I met Polio when we were both six years old and waiting for the bus to take us to school for the first day of first grade. The Baughmans had just moved to a small one-story shanty on Red Dog Road and I was surprised to see this new kid standing at the bus stop. He was a skinny, malnourished little guy who smelled like a musty basement. He had a crop of unruly blond hair, untied shoes, and a perpetual line of snot running from his nose to his mouth. His real name was Kirby, but as a young boy he was so thin and bony that the kids gave him the nickname of Polio, which, like so many unfortunate nicknames, stuck. By junior high, even the teachers called him Polio.

Polio and I were the only two doggers in the first-grade class at Zaleski Elementary School. Thus, we rode the bus together, sat beside each other in the slow reading group and, since the other kids had been forewarned to keep their distance from us doggers, pretended to be army commandos together during recess. Red Dog Road was segregated from the rest of Vinton County by prejudice, barren hills, and miles of bad country lanes. Consequently, Polio was my only friend. He spent countless hours at my house, coughing, swiping his snotty nose with his forearm, and looking for something to cram into his pocket.

Polio didn't have another friend in the world, yet he would steal from me at every opportunity. If there were a few pennies on my dresser when he got to the house, they would be gone when he left. Over the years I trudged over to Polio's house to retrieve money, toys, the pocketknife my grandfather Joachim had given me, and three arrowheads that I had found on the ridge behind our house. Twice, I had to grind his face in the dirt and threaten him with a beating if he didn't return stolen toys, but mostly he just gave them up.

"Why do you steal like that?" I asked him once.

"'Cause you got stuff and I don't," he responded.

"But that doesn't make it right, Polio. You don't steal, especially from your friends. My brother Edgel's like that, always stealin', and he's in prison now."

Polio just shrugged.

Like most doggers, Polio was a survivor. He was the middle one of five kids, and even by the standards of Red Dog Road, they were poor. They had running water, but no indoor toilets. Polio did his business in a fetid outhouse that was the only thing on Red Dog Road that smelled worse than the dump, or he simply unhitched his pants and pissed in the yard. His father was a silent, grease-stained man who had chewing tobacco stains caked to the corners of his mouth and a growth on top of his forehead the size of a lemon. He worked in the junkyard outside of Zaleski. Every day, Polio's mother wore the same faded blue, sleeveless housecoat that revealed a mass of gray armpit hair.

I understood this and that is why I tolerated Polio's thievery. He was the only kid my age within miles and the only one whose parents didn't mind having a Hickam in their yard. My Grandpa Joachim had an old billy goat on his farm that would butt you the second you turned your back on him. You had to be careful and you couldn't take your eye off him. Dealing with Polio was no different from dealing with that old billy goat. If I was careless enough to leave something where Polio could get his hands on it, shame on me, because I knew he would steal it. It's just what he did.

THE ESSAY by Robin Yocum

• Hardcover: 256 pages
• Publisher: Arcade Publishing (October 9, 2012)
• ISBN-10: 1611457661
• ISBN-13: 978-1611457667
• Available for Kindle and Nook

Two holiday treats

Thumbs up for Todd Robinson's THE HARD BOUNCE. This first novel delivers the goods for those who like a multi-layered PI novel. The narrator, Boo Malone, is not a PI. He's partners with Junior McCullough in a blue-collar security business that specializes in providing bouncers and thick-necked security for concerts. But Boo can't resist the task of finding the missing daughter of a city big-wig when he had seen the girl just minutes before being asked to take the job. And the reward for finding the girl is more than money; there's the possibility that Boo could find his sister, lost to him since childhood. But the job takes the tender-hearted heavily tattooed (and just heavy) Boo and Junior into places they'd never been and never wanted to go: kiddie porn and snuff films and ultimately murder. The characters of Boo and Junior are fully-3D. They are unpretentious, very "guy," and their dialogue alone is worth the price of admission to this dark romp.

Author Robinson is well-known around the Internet for his production of Thuglit, which has been such a valuable springboard for so many writers. That makes it hard to say this, but necessary: Time to stop divvying your time, Mr. Robinson, and start focusing on more on your own novels. THE HARD BOUNCE is a grand beginning, but it is just the beginning.

Okay, we Reacher Creatures all had our little hissy fits when Tom Cruise bought the role of JACK REACHER. Cruise has managed to make himself so unpopular in so many ways and that hardly helped win any of us over. But what should not be forgotten (yes, I forgot it myself) in all the hoo-ha is that Cruise can act, and his acting chops are good enough here to make up for the lack of inches and brawn that define the written Reacher. Where the movie falls down is in casting the wooden-faced Rosamund Pike opposite Cruise. There is no chemistry between the two (try naming a film where Pike has had chemistry with anybody) so we can only thank the screenwriter for not forcing a sex scene on the viewers. Pike often sounds like she's rushing her dialogue to keep up with Reacher's snappy one-liners. Her most believable moment comes when she urges Reacher to "put on a shirt." That may be due to Cruise's body now showing its 50 years and the entire audience also urging him to "put on a shirt." And it's no surprise that Robert Duvall steals every scene he's in. The car-chase scene is to be admired for looking more like BULLITT than THE BOURNE LEGACY. The script strays some from the book, of course, but not too much. Cruise's Reacher isn't quite the Reacher of the books, of course, but he's not too far off. I think this film lays a solid basis for a Reacher film franchise.

The short and long of it.

Catching up on what happened to some of the Watery Grave stories from earlier this year: Benoit Lefievre's story, The Devil's Shinbone, was published online at Near to the Knuckle.  Family Secrets, by Eric Beetner, was published at Beat to a Pulp. Keith Rawson's story, Two Kilograms of Soul, appears in Shotgun Honey Presents: Both Barrels, available in print or digital editions. Thomas Pluck's excellent story, Train: A Denny the Dent Story, also appears in that anthology. If I've overlooked any of the WGI entries that have been published elsewhere, please let me know.

And regarding that last anthology, my own story, Hero, appears there also. While that news may not be sufficient to tempt you to purchase the book, the inclusion of original stories by the likes of Patti Abbott, Trey R. Barker, and Ray Banks, should be plenty of inducement. Go ahead. Click the link above to see purchasing info.

A couple of years back I read Marcus Sakey's short story collection, SCAR TISSUE. It's an impressive collection, and you can read my review of it right here. The author donated all of his royalties for that book during the month of September to The Team Julian Foundation, an organization that raises awareness of pediatric cancers and raises funds for the fight against these killers of children. I'm in favor of anything that improves the lot of our most helpless and innocent citizens. Marcus Sakey goes beyond a one-time donation though, and is now earmarking 50% of all royalties in perpetuity for this book to The Team Julian Foundation. For the price of a latte, $2.99, you can help in this battle. And of course, you can always donate directly to the foundation. And you get to read a collection of truly outstanding short stories.

THE ABSENT ONE is the second in Jussi Adler-Olsen's series about Department Q, the cold case squad in Copenhagen, made up of one Detective Superintendent, his janitor, and a newly assigned secretarial assistant. As with the first book, THE KEEPER OF LOST CAUSES, there is plenty of tension, twists, humor, and mystery. I haven't been this taken with a set of characters since Jen Forbus got me started reading Craig Johnson's novels. RECOMMENDED.

Daniel Woodrell works his literary magic in WOE TO LIVE ON, about a young man who is a part of a band of pro-Confederate "irregulars" or bushwhackers in the Missouri-Kansas area during the U.S. Civil War. There are plenty of hard times, callous men and boys, and reckless killing. The book is relentless in its portrayal of a world so volatile that beloved friends and family one day are dead enemies the next. Young Jake Roedel is stubbornly loyal but begins to question the constant, pointless killings. Although the book can be read as a coming of age tale, the theme of man's inhumanity to man has greater focus. And Woodrell's genius at painting his characters and settings in plain but somehow eloquent English is incomparable. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.

HOW TO DRIVE A TANK AND OTHER EVERYDAY TIPS FOR THE MODERN GENTLEMAN by Frank Coles. Presumably non-fiction. Okay, 'fess up. Just the title alone makes you want to see what this one's about, right? Oddly enough, the title is pretty much a perfect description of the contents, although much of the contents have little to do with gentlemanly behavior. Imagine if the guys who do the "Top Gear" television program turned their attention to, oh, how to buy a gun in any city in the world within hours of your arrival. Or how to make things go boom. Or how to pick locks. Or how to hide a dead body (See, that doesn't seem gentlemanly, does it? Unless your name is Bond, James Bond.)  The book is laced with humor and easy on the gore while responsible enough to mention consequences. The author manages to also dispense some practical advice along the way, much of which is just as helpful to the modern lady as to her counterpart. Fun reading, this.

Reading-go-round

The game of catch-up is like the Energizer Bunny, it just goes on and on...

David King's DEATH IN THE CITY OF LIGHT is the meticulously researched story of Marcel Petiot, a serial killer who hid his crimes behind the more overt crimes of the Nazis who occupied Paris in the early 1940s. Petiot is a fascinating figure: a medical doctor, a politician, a con man (is that redundant?), and a highly organized killer. Unfortunately the construction of the book does not aid the story, and the pace lags. Still, once Petiot's trial begins, the pace picks up again for the trial is as mesmerizing as the killer, thanks to an inept prosecutor and the unusual method of French justice which incorporates civil and criminal cases into one trial. The book would benefit from diagrams of the house where the murders occurred and perhaps also a map of Paris with key locations noted. Recommended only for true crime fans or for those interested in conditions in Nazi-occupied Paris.

At least four members of my book club were raving about Rosamund Lupton's SISTER last month, and it seems certain to be included in next year's list of reading for the club. I decided to check it out ahead of time. SISTER is about Beatrice, a young professional, who leaves New York and heads to London when she learns her only sister is missing. But of course her sister is dead. The police think her sister committed suicide, so Beatrice makes it her mission to find the killer. If this sounds familiar, then you've probably already read Hilary Davidson's excellent THE DAMAGE DONE. I didn't come down on the side of the book club angels this time. The characters held no appeal for me and the book seemed tedious and overlong as a result. It didn't help that the revelation of the villain was anti-climactic; it was too easy to figure him out.

For fans of thrillers á la Marcus Sakey and Sean Doolittle, it would pay you to keep an eye out for Mark Rubenstein's MAD DOG HOUSE, set for release on Oct 23. This is the story of successful surgeon Roddy Dolan, who pulled himself out of juvenile delinquency and into the good life. So good that he has a little money to spare when a friend approaches him about investing in an upscale New York steak house. Too bad the friend never shed his own delinquency roots. Too bad every other customer at the restaurant looks like he's mobbed up. Too bad when the mob comes calling for a cool half-million that Roddy doesn't have. But Roddy's not going to be pulled back into the old life. Not even if it's takes all of his old "mad dog" ways to get out of this mess. Rubenstein's prose and construction are not quite as polished as that of Sakey and Doolittle, but the potential is there. What I particularly liked about the character of Roddy is that, unlike so many backed-in-a-corner heroes found in thrillers, he doesn't spend a lot of time moaning about "if only." No, he knows when he's in a corner and he knows what he had to do to survive. And he knows that, if he succeeds, he's still going to have to live with himself. He's prepared to pay the price, let the angst fall where it may.

In Lee Child's 17th outing with protagonist Jack Reacher, A WANTED MAN, Reacher hitches a ride with a trio looking to use him as cover in order to pass police road blocks. Reacher seems a bit more lighthearted than usual and that's a good thing. Because the humor helped me wade through the last fourth of an overly complex tale that managed to have a whopping hole appear in that plot just when things were going so well. Not my favorite adventure with Jack, but not my least favorite either. The best scenes are just Reacher being who he is: observant, calculating, and good-natured. I was at a reading point where this was exactly what I needed and wanted, so tip of the hat to Mr. Child for obliging.

What to say about Jussi Adler-Olsen's THE KEEPER OF LOST CAUSES? How about: Just read it. Oh, you want to know why? Wonderful characterization. A truly thrilling thriller. Dialogue that will make you smile. Yes, you will figure out ahead of the reveal why the baddies are doing what they are doing, but you will not stop caring about their victim or the two men, police detective Carl Mörck, and Syrian immigrant and janitor (yes, you read that right) Hafez el Assad, who are determined to solve the case of a politician who disappeared five years earlier. Mörck and Assad are a wonderful new detective team and I have no doubt I'll be seeing the author's name at the top of the bestseller lists in the near future. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.

A brieft hiatus from the longer hiatus...

An unexpectedly free hour today leaves me with time enough -- I hope -- to express myself regarding some recent reads. Then, I have no doubt, will come another long silence from this corner. I have some hope that next summer will bring more free time my way. Until then, this is all I got.

In 1929-30, a string of assaults, rapes, and murders occurred in Dusseldorf, Germany, that were attributed to Peter Kürten, a career criminal. Among the victims he eventually admitted to killing was 35-year-old Emma Gross, though he later retracted that confession. No evidence linked him to that crime, and he hadn't the knowledge of time, place, or body positioning that would have implicated him in the strangulation death of Emma Gross. Her killer was never caught. Novelist Damien Seaman weaves a fascinating tale of obsession - compulsion around these events in THE KILLING OF EMMA GROSS, providing a credible killer and motive for her murder while weaving in the atmosphere of a city in the grip of fear for months while police chased the Dusseldorf Ripper. Chalk up another dark winner for small e-press Blasted Heath.

The second entry in Ace Atkins' Quinn Colson series, THE LOST ONES, shows the author taking more of an ensemble approach to these books, instead of the popular but overused lone-hero approach. The character of Colson, a county sheriff, will forever have my heart because no matter what other problems crop up in his fictional county  -- gunrunning, drugs, political corruption, etc., -- they never outweigh a problem like child abuse. Colson is sympathetic and interesting, but so are his deputies and his friends and family. The author has all kinds of room in future books to further deepen and define both the good and the bad folks who inhabit Tibbehah County.

It's no secret that this blogger is a fan of Dave Zeltserman's work, and for good reason. Short stories, novellas, novels; noir, classic crime, horror, paranormal -- the guy can do it all. His most recent release, MONSTER, is an ambitious stretch for him, marrying his story to Mary Shelley's original FRANKENSTEIN, OR THE MODERN PROMETHEUS while yet flipping it a full 180 degrees. No surprise, Zeltserman succeeds in capturing the feel and mood of the classic while one-upping Shelley on the horror aspect. Victor Frankenstein is not a tortured man of genius whose aspiration to play God gets out of hand when he creates a thing of evil. Instead it is Frankenstein who is the evil one (along with a guest appearance by the Marquis de Sade), while the monster is an innocent, tortured by his continued existence and the loss of his one true love, brutally murdered by Frankenstein. Shelley's theme, men who would play at God, is countered by Zeltserman's take: men who would play at Satan. And in both stories, it is men who would simply be men who suffer the most at the hands of those who see themselves as superior. Fans of the original tale should enjoy this book immensely; readers new to the literary Frankenstein will enjoy the weaving in of vampires, wolves, severed heads that talk, paintings that come to life, and of course the monster himself. Teachers of Mary Shelley's classic would do well in future to assign MONSTER for contrast and comparison and downright fun.

A re-read of THE MONKEY'S RAINCOAT for my book club was a welcome look back at the beginning of The World's Greatest Detective, Elvis Cole, and The World's Most Badass Sidekick, Joe Pike. In this award-winning debut novel, a wisecracking Elvis looks for a missing husband and finds himself up to his Hawaiian shirt in shady characters, drugs, and murder. Joe Pike fans should re-read this book once in a while just to remind yourselves how close the world came to losing Pike forever. I went to book club armed with deep analysis and counter-arguments and a Colt Python, but none of it was necessary to convince anyone to read further in the series. I really must learn to trust author Robert Crais to sell his own books. He does a far better job of that than I do. And with less violence, too.

PLACES, PLEASE! BECOMING A JERSEY BOY by Daniel Robert Sullivan. What, you say, YOU reading a non-fiction, non-crime-related title? Lud, what has the world come to? But you fans of the Broadway musical, JERSEY BOYS, you know why I read this book, right? See, fans of the show often see it multiple times (check); and if you see different productions you see different actors in the roles (check). And when you see different actors in the same role, you pick favorites (check!). Daniel Robert Sullivan is my favorite actor in the role of Tommy DeVito, the founder of the rock group, The Four Seasons. It's a role that requires not only sharp talent in the singing, dancing, and acting areas of theatre, but also exquisite timing if the role is to carry the weight that it ought. Sullivan delivered, and in spades. His book is a simple retelling of the extremely complicated process -- two years -- it took to audition and win a place in the Toronto cast. This book is really aimed at aspiring stage actors, but the details regarding the hard work and sacrifice that go into achieving and living one's goals will be lost on no one.

I never thought that a book about scheming, manipulative high school cheerleaders could be so intense, but this story, DARE ME, about the friendship between narrator Addy Hanlon and her best friend, and captain of the team, Beth Cassidy, is anything but juvenile. Author Megan Abbott reveals raw passion in the simplest of actions: turning off a cell phone, watching one person whisper to another. One can read the story superficially as a whodunnit, but for this reader the story is all about friendship; and not about the nice, courageous things one will do for a friend but rather the terrible, vicious things one will do to hold on to a friend who is drifting away. This is the first book I've read that has shown the too-close -- dangerously close -- relationship that sometimes develops between teacher and students. Having experienced that first-hand lo, these many years ago when I was a high school sophomore, the partying and gossiping and not-so-casual betrayals of Addy Hanlon's world rang all too true. The insular, animal world of these upper-middle-class girls is revealed in the way they microscopically examine each other for signs of weakness. At book's end you should be asking yourself whether you have ever been as passionate for one single person as these girls are. And then ask whether you are lying to yourself. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED for outstanding characterization, prose, tension, and theme.

Ah, me. I'm still not caught up but my hour has expired. Back to doing what I must, instead of what I'd rather.

Quick bytes

CAPTURE, by Roger Smith. Somewhere on the Internet recently I came across a discussion about what constituted or defined neo-noir. This book is my idea of what neo-noir is all about: the same sick, twisted, desperate, going-down-the-tubes characters found in original noir plus the faster pace and action usually found in thrillers. In this latest release, Smith somehow manages to conjure up a character, Vernon Saul, who is evil incarnate. What kind of man can sit back and watch a child drown, his inaction solely for the thought that he might find an angle to gain some kind of power over the grieving parents? And yet the reader cannot help but sympathize with the abused child that preceded the man Vernon became. There is a line delivered by William Peterson in the 1986 Michael Mann film, MANHUNTER, that perfectly sums up my feelings toward Vernon Saul:

My heart bleeds for him, as a child. Someone took a kid and manufactured a monster. At the same time, as an adult, he's irredeemable... As an adult, someone should blow the sick fuck out of his socks.

CAPTURE is bit more of a psychological character study than Smith's previous novels, but the tension ratchets up, chapter by chapter, to a shattering and satisfying denouement. RECOMMENDED.

THE KINGS OF COOL, by Don Winslow. If this book is your introduction to Don Winslow's work, you're starting in the wrong place. Back up a book and read SAVAGES first. Yes, THE KINGS OF COOL is a prequel so you ought to be able to start there, right? Um, no. This origin story of Ben, O, and Chon is best viewed through the wrong end of the telescope, so to speak. The plot premise is similar to SAVAGES: Interlopers want to cut in on our trio's marijuana business. Winslow determinedly takes the story in a different direction than SAVAGES though, finding new ways to delicately gut the souls of his characters. Not quite as fresh nor as savagely (see what I did there?) sharp as its predecessor, THE KINGS OF COOL still delivers on its title. RECOMMENDED.

A LAND MORE KIND THAN HOME, by Wiley Cash. The author uses first-person accounts from three characters: a county sheriff, an elderly woman, and an eight-year-old boy, to turn a simple tale of being in the wrong place at the wrong time into a Greek tragedy. With a genuine sense of place and fully rounded characters, the reader is pulled into a small town where too much faith in a fundamentalist, snake-handling preacher leads to heartbreak for one family. The prose is graceful, the story powerful and unforgettable. Here's a link to the first chapter. Read it and tell me what you think. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.

MISS PYM DISPOSES, by Josephine Tey. If this is the first Tey you read after enjoying her wonderful DAUGHTER OF TIME, you're in for a shock. It only takes three words to sum up this tale of wrongdoing at an all-girls' school: Tedious and obvious. On the other hand, if you think SPELLBOUND is Alfred Hitchcock's greatest movie, you may very well enjoy this book.

THE GIRL IN THE CELLAR, a 1961 release by Patricia Wentworth, has an unforgettable opening chapter that will delight any fan of modern day thrillers: A young woman regains consciousness, but with amnesia, in a dark cellar with the corpse of another woman. After that terrific tease the pace drops to a crawl. The plot creaks through the tropes of Golden Age mysteries, though it is too slight overall to say it lumbers. Strictly for those who want their fictional murders kept offstage and no chance of an increase in the heart rate.

NICEVILLE by Carsten Stroud. I loved the first 50 pages of this book. I might have loved the rest of it if I enjoyed paranormal, gothic, oogie-boogie goings on, but I generally don't. If you do, jump on this one, but be ready to juggle numerous plot lines and characters that eventually intertwine. Give the author his due: he isn't just cranking out the same-old-same-old here, he's trying something a bit new in form and construction. It's a fine balancing act that, for me, was only partially successful. This one starts out with a boy gone missing. Instantly gone missing. As in, here he is and in the next millisecond, he has vanished. And it's on video, not tampered with. From there, the mysteries and oddities become abundant.