March was a bit of a mess for me personally, with travel and a family situation that required my attention. (The family situation is well on the way to a fully satisfactory resolution, so no worries.) I didn’t get to read as much as usual, but what I read was damned good.
Junkie Love, Joe Clifford. I’ll have more to say about this on Monday. For now, suffice to say I can’t remember any book having a greater effect on me. Now I understand what “gobsmacked” means.
Gun Street Girl, Adrian McKinty. A more detailed review than will fit here will be available in a week or so. McKinty is the Irish James Ellroy.
Hollywood Crows, Joseph Wambaugh. The master of scene reversal. There are laugh out loud funny scenes, but don’t laugh too hard: what’s happening may not be funny on the next page. His Hollywood series lacks the punch of earlier works, such as The New Centurions, The Blue Knight, and the classic The Onion Field, but no one’s better at weaving seemingly disparate stories tighter and tighter until everything else falls away and what’s left is engrossing. He’s the poster child for my argument that not every book needs to open with a body.