Winter's Best Reads

Nobody From Somewhere, Dietrich Kalteis. Elmore Leonard is dead, but there’s no need to feel a great void. Kalteis’s newest continues in the master’s tradition without being derivative, with the same kind of quick narrative and entertaining dialog.

 

Contrary Blues, John Billheimer. Not what I expected; this is better. Highly entertaining, plausible, and amusing story set in West Virginia coal country. Billheimer has a style that reads easy as warm milk, and the characters and situations are believable without being predictable.

 

Adventures in the Screen Trade, William Goldman. Anyone interested in screen writing needs to read this. Anyone interested in how movies get made needs to read this. Anyone interested in good stories well told needs to read this. Did I leave anyone out? A masterpiece by possibly the greatest screenwriter ever.

 

Hell and Gone, Sam Wiebe. The new Wakeland novel makes Dave witness to a horrifying crime. How much he’ll help the police (if at all), is the main mystery until things break in a manner that forces a decision. Wiebe’s writing makes it easy to forget you’re reading, as the story seems to direct itself straight into your brain.

 

The Hard Bounce, Todd Robinson. A re-read, but just as good as the first time. Boo and Junior are characters not to be forgotten. Why Robinson can get contracts in France and not the US is an indication of how fucked up US publishing is.

 

Ordo, Donald Westlake. Funny, melancholy, thought-provoking. The story of a naval NCO who learns his short-term wife of many years ago is now an international sex symbol and how the knowledge changes both of them. Or doesn’t. Westlake really could write anything.

 

Double Deuce, Robert B. Parker. Much of the book consists of Spenser and Hawk waiting around for something to happen as they’re tasked with providing security for a ghetto project. That’s okay, because there are few more enjoyable things in the canon that Spenser and Hawk passing time, and even fewer better than when they take action.

 

Bread, Ed McBain. Mid-70s 87^th Precinct tale. It may not seem like praise to say there isn’t a lot to distinguish Bread from a lot of other eight-seven stories, but that means it’s excellent. If McBain ever wrote a book that wasn’t worth making time for, I’ve yet to come across it.

 

D-Day, Stephen A. Ambrose. Detailed examination of the events, planning, and training that led up to the invasion of Normandy, followed by as good a description of June 6 as you’re going to find. Ambrose had a gift for describing both the forest and the trees in a manner that brings out the horrors, and which of them could, or could not, have been avoided. Not a light read, but important for anyone interested in the invasion, or World War II in general.

Fall's Best Reads

 Fall of 2021 was a good three months for my reading. The highlights:

 

The Killing Look, J.D. Rhoades. Rhoades’s first Western, and a winner right out of the chute. Combines the best elements of Western and modern thriller with a story and characters one can only hope is the prelude to a series. The Jack Keller books prove Rhoades has series chops, and it looks like he’s primed for another. (Not that Keller needs to go away, mind you.)

 

Band of Brothers, Stephen Ambrose. Decided to re-read this after The Beloved Spouse™ and I re-watched the HBO series. All the good things anyone has said about the book are true. Wonderfully, though practically, written, it humanizes everyone in Easy Company, both for better and for worse. Reads like butter, funny and wrenching by turns, a wonderful book.

 

Heroes Often Fail, Frank Zafiro. Book 2 of the River City series, and I’m definitely in for the duration. Parts of this book were hard for me to read, as it deals with child abuse; disclosing the nature of the abuse would be a major spoiler. It’s not graphic, but I have a low threshold for such things and glossed over some pages. Nothing is gratuitous, and the story as a whole is compelling, especially as it shows cops as imperfect, even when they’re heroes.

 

Blood of the Wicked, Leighton Gage. Gage first came to my attention when I was asked to review this book for the New Mystery Reader web site. This is the first of the Chief inspector Mario Silva series, following the cases of a member of the Brazilian federal police. A fascinating look into a country with its own set of laws, crimes, and customs, written by a master.

 

The Thicket, Joe Lansdale. Another book only Joe Lansdale could have written. This story of a teenaged orphan and his kidnapped sister reads like an extremely violent Tom Sawyer story. The cast of characters that travel with Jack includes an erudite midget, a Black bounty hunter who has issues with drink (but not what you might expect), and a 600-pound hog. A delight from start to finish.

 

A Red Death, Walter Mosley. The second Easy Rawlins book. Not as solid as Devil in a Blue Dress, as the story tends to ramble. This one isn’t so much about the story as it is about how Blacks lived in Watts in the 50s (which is true of all Mosley’s books), but also how the Red Scare affected aspects of American lives we don’t ordinarily think of.

 

The Magdalen Martyrs, Ken Bruen. The Jack Taylor books are typically more about Jack than they are about whatever case he’s working on; this is no exception. That’s okay. Bruen combines prose that borders on poetry with a sparse, hard look at life’s underside, spices everything with humor, and leaves one with a reading experience like no one else.

 

The Drop, Dennis Lehane. Among my favorites and close to a perfect book. I read it when it first came out (a rarity for me), and skipped the bar the first night at a conference so I could finish it. Been a while, but it holds up very well. The book is adapted from Lehane’s screenplay for the movie, which is ass-backward from the typical sequence, but it works to perfection.

 

With a week to go, I’ve read 46 books tis year. A little below my average since I started keeping track, but all tings considered, I’m fairly well pleased.

 

Recent Favorite Reads

 My reading life has been good of late. Not all winners, one massive disappointment from a top-flight author, but a lot of good stuff I’m happy to recommend. (The disappointment is all on the publisher, who advertised a Robert Crais book as an “Elvis Cole and Joe Pike novel,” even though the only place either of their names appear is on the cover. The book was okay, but the bait and switch really put me off.)

 

Savage Night, Allan Guthrie. Guthrie takes a story I didn’t think I’d like, tells it in a manner that does not easily lend itself to the suspension of disbelief, and had me completely absorbed. There are multiple reveals, each well prepared, and the foreshadowing is so adept you don’t realize what he’s done until a couple of paragraphs before the reveal. Highest recommendation.

 

Imperial Valley, Johnny Shaw. Shaw is a master at combining suspense, violence, and humor. Imperial Valley is the third (and hopefully not final) Jimmy Veeder fiasco, and at least as good as its predecessors, which I also loved. Shaw is solidly on the list of authors I make sure don’t fall through the cracks.

 

The Killing of the Tinkers, Ken Bruen. No one can spend less time on the core story and engross you like Bruen in the Jack Taylor novels. I read a few at random; now I’m going through them in order. Wonderful writing, and Taylor is a fascinating character you root for despite his myriad of faults.

 

The Sins of the Fathers, Lawrence Block. Finding the proper entry point into a writer’s oeuvre is important. My first exposure to Block came through an anthology of Keller stories. I’m not a fan of hit man tales, so I never followed up. (I made a similar mistake by introducing myself to Ellroy with The Cold Six Thousand.) People wore me down on Block, so I tried a Bernie Rhodenbarr novel and enjoyed it a lot, which led me to tackle the Scudder books in order. I’ll be kicking myself for a while about leaving Block for so late in my reading life. This book rules.

 

The Cold Cold Ground, Adrian McKinty. (Re-read.) Book One of the six-volume Sean Duffy Trilogy. (McKinty’s a writer, not a mathematician.) Duffy is a Catholic cop working in a Belfast suburb during the worst of The Troubles, which is where and when McKinty grew up. Rarely have I read anything that placed me in a foreign place and time so compellingly. Reading it again was timely, because it reminded me (as if I needed it) we can’t let this country go too far down that road.

 

Which Lie Did I Tell?, William Goldman. Maybe the most entertaining book I have ever read. It’s a memoir of a Hollywood screenwriting legend (Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Marathon Man, and The Princess Bride, etc.) that also serves as a screenwriting class and cautionary tale of what to beware of in the business. Engrossing, enlightening, and laugh out loud funny, this second such book of Goldman’s is leading me back to the first, Adventures in the Screen Trade.

 

The Devil at Your Door, Eric Beetner. The finale to the Lars and Shaine trilogy. I know I said I don’t like hit man stories. I meant it. That doesn’t apply to Beetner. He gets the ball rolling and I’m willing to go wherever he wants me. Lars and Shaine are complex and complementary characters you’ll come to care about. There’s also a laugh out loud scene that follows the Elmore Leonard Rule of humor as well as I’ve seen. (The ELRoH: The people saying or doing funny things should not know they are funny.) Why none of Beetner’s books are movies or streaming series escapes me. Lars and Shaine are perfect for someone like Liev Schreiber and Jennifer Lawrence circa Winter’s Bone. (Hailee Steinfeld? I’m too old to keep tabs on actresses that young. Pick someone.)

 

 

July's Books and Movies

This month’s best reads:

The New Centurions, Joseph Wambaugh. His first, and the book that deservedly put him on the map. A little dated in spots, but much of that is because it so heavily influenced so many books that came after it. Wambaugh’s writing style loosened up as he continued but the power of some of these scenes is shown by how well I remembered many of them as I got into them after not having read the book in well over forty years.

The Dain Curse, Dashiell Hammett. Probably the weakest of Hammett’s novels, mostly because the plot is so outrageous it makes L.A. Confidential and Murder on the Orient Express look like Dr. Seuss. This could be because it first appeared as a serial in Black Mask and Hammett may have written himself into a corner. The writing, though. Crisp, clean, not a word wasted and not a word misplaced. It’s a master class in how to tell a story even if the story is a bit much.

The movies I saw in July:

Cop Land (1997) A friend mentioned this on Facebook one day and I found myself at loose ends that night and figured what the hell. Incredible cast includes Sylvester Stallone (don’t laugh, he’s very good in this), Robert DeNiro, Harvey Keitel, Ray Liotta, Janeana Garafolo, Robert Patrick, Annabella Sciorro, Edie Falco, and Michael Rapaport. (Get over it, kids. I’m okay with Rapaport.) Stallone plays the sheriff in a small New Jersey town where the mob has set up corrupt cops with sweetheart deals and houses and who knows what all so the cops let the hoods run the precinct. It’s a classic story of the well-meaning but overmatched boob forced to take too much who settles things himself, but it’s well played and paced and filmed. Reminded me of a 70s movie, and you know how I feel about my 70s movies.

Appaloosa (2008) I don’t watch this one as much as LA Confidential, but as much as any Western. Ed Harris and Viggo Mortensen bring Robert B. Parker’s traveling lawmen Virgil Cole and Everett Hitch to life with Jeremy irons as a properly greasy “rancher” who has plans other than ranching. The only thing I don’t like about this film is that they expect us to believe a man like Virgil Cole would lose his head over Renee Zellweger, who’s as pinched-face and unpleasant as ever. Classic Western done in revisionist style and well worth watching more than once. Bonus points if you can spot Lance Henriksen without knowing in advance which part he has.

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) One of my small handful of comfort food movies. I wanted to relax and smile and this was exactly the ticket. I remember seeing this in the theater with my parents, thirteen years old, and feeling them both tighten up as Katherine Ross started taking off her clothes.

Major League (1989) Not as good a baseball movie as Bull Durham but still eminently watchable more than once. It still amazes me that the Cleveland Indians let them use the team name and logo.

Apollo 11 (2019) Wonderful documentary cut from NASA video and audio recorded during the moon flight, meticulously synched. NASA had cameras everywhere, including in stages of rockets. Crafted seamlessly into HD this is a loving and gripping travelogue of mankind’s greatest accomplishment, though when it was over my first thought was, “It’s all been downhill from here.”

Hombre (1967) One of the small handful of greatest Westerns ever, and deserving to be listed among the best films, period. Paul Newman plays John Russell, a white man kidnapped by the Apaches as a child who came to prefer living as an Apache. The supporting cast of Richard Boone, Frederic March, Martin Balsam, Diane Cilento, Barbara Rush, and Frank Silvero (who steals every scene he’s in) does a wonderful job with what might be Elmore Leonard’s best story and much of his best dialog. I’ve seen Hombre probably ten times now and if there’s a weakness I haven’t found it.

Blade Runner: Final Cut (????) I have no idea which version number this would be of Ridley Scott’s sci-fi noir masterpiece but he should have stopped messing with it at least one version sooner. It had been a while since I saw Blade Runner, was inspired to take another look on the passing of Rutger Hauer, and wasn’t as careful as I should have been when picking from the Amazon list of Blade Runners. At some point creative artists who release their work to the public should understand the public has a certain proprietary interest and limit how much they fuck with it. A bitter disappointment, the slower pacing allowing several holes in the story to stand out. Close to the most disappointing movie I’ve ever seen, though that crown remains solidly in the camp of Blade Runner 2049, a movie I’d encourage Denis Villeneuve to fuck with.

Rules of Engagement (2000) Solid military courtroom drama worthy of mention in the same breath as A Few Good Men. William Friedkin directs the usual outstanding performances from Tommy Lee Jones and Samuel L. Jackson as two best friends from the Vietnam War who reunite when Jackson faces court-martialed for ordering his Marines to open fire on a crowd of supposedly unarmed protesters outside the embassy in Yemen. Guy Pearce plays the prosecutor and Ben Kingsley the ambassador, with Bruce Greenwood his usual slimy self as the National Security Advisor. First rate all the way.

January's Best Reads

The New Year had a few disruptions to the reading schedule (trips to visit The Sole Heir in Connecticut and the Ancestral Units in Pennsylvania sandwiched around getting together with a half-million of our closest friends on the National Mall) but there was still time for some excellent reading.

Razor Girl, Carl Hiaasen. It’s authors like Hiaasen who keep me looking for better ways to track and plan my reading. It had been several years since I read him, and he never disappoints me. This time he’s in the Florida Keys with a defrocked police detective who’s now a health inspector, a woman who crashes cars for a debt collector, a mobster, a guy who relocates beaches, and the “talent” and “brains” behind a reality show that might remind you of Duck Dynasty. Inspired satirical mayhem ensues.

The Big Short, Michael Lewis. There’s an old story about a man who’s walking into town to play poker. “Don’t you know that game’s rigged?” says a friend. “Yep,” says the man, “but it’s the only game in town.” Michael Lewis has a gift for explaining not only how the markets are rigged (in this case the bond market), but how not even the people doing the rigging really understand what’s going on. Raymond Chandler once wrote that it was not funny that a man should be killed, but it was often funny that he be killed for so little, and Lewis brings that to his tales. The crash of 2008 was a tragedy—many people who never stood to gain from the boom lost everything while those responsible walked away with millions—yet Lewis finds a way to get you to shake your head at characters Elmore Leonard would have a hard time coming up with. 

Best Reads of 2016

I read 67 books in 2016; started and failed to finish nine more. Below are my ten favorites, though not necessarily released in 2016 (I think only two were). I’m not saying they were the best books. These are the ten that stuck in my mind as the best reading experiences. (Listed alphabetically by title.)

A Detailed Man, David Swinson. Often neglected in the well-deserved buzz that surrounds The Second Girl, A Detailed Man deserves attention on its own merits. The story of a burned-out cop as he decides how badly he wants to rebuild his career (or not) and the various vicissitudes of having no regular gig in a police department.

Flash Boys, Michael Lewis. The stock market may have been intended as a way to create fluid capital and bring buyers and sellers together, but the people making the big money have nothing to do with any of that. They think of it as a casino and Lewis’s book described how they filter the skim for themselves.

King Maybe, Timothy Hallinan. The first of two Junior Bender adventures this year continues the series in good form, in part by returning Junior more to his roots as a burglar who gets by more on his wits than on hardware.

LaBrava, Elmore Leonard. Among the few Leonard novels I hadn’t read, ad from his prime crime period. As good as I’d heard it would be. True, his characters and plots have a lot of similarities, but they’re similar in good ways and just different enough you don’t mind. Besides, no one reads Elmore Leonard for the plots.

The Lost Detective, Nathan Ward. Maybe the best book I’ve ever read about a writer.

The Long and Faraway Gone, Lou Berney. Deserves all the acclaim. A departure from Gutshot Straight and Whiplash River, though the elements that made both of them so good are here, as well as an added layer. I can’t wait to see what he comes up with next.

The Martian, Andy Weir. The biggest surprise read of the year. It’s been a long time since I read a book I enjoyed more.

Once Were Cops, Ken Bruen. Snuck in under the deadline to remind me how good Bruen is, even with awkward material.

Rain Dogs, Adrian McKinty. Book Five of the Troubles Trilogy shows why McKinty didn’t stop at three. He had a lot more for Sean Duffy to say and do.

World Gone By, Dennis Lehane. Sequel to Live By Night, and I liked it better.

Honorable Mention

The Hunter and Other Stories, Dashiell Hammett. A good cross-section of Hammett’s shorts.

To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee. Finally got around to reading this, thanks to David Swinson. I see why it’s such a big deal, though it probably would have moved me more had I read it in school.

L.A. Confidential, James Ellroy. A big, glorious mess of a book. If you’re into Ellroy’s writing for the sake of the writing, read it. If you have a mission to read the entire LA Quartet, read it. Otherwise, see the movie.

The Long Good-Bye / Bay City Blues, Raymond Chandler. One of the Big Three Chandler novels, and one of the best shorts.

One or the Other, John McFetridge. The Olympics came to Montreal in 1976, and Eddie Dougherty was there. Take a look at how the Olympics affects a major city from the ground up.

Rumrunners, Eric Beetner. No one writes books that lend themselves to movie treatments better than Beetner. Unlike many others, his are outstanding books, too. Picture Harry Dean Stanton as the tough as nails old man here.

Rough Trade, Todd Robinson. Boo and Junior are in over their heads again, and Robinson gets them out in a way only he can.

November's Best Reads

November hit the ground running and never let up. A great month. (For my reading, at least.)

Devils and Dust, J.D. Rhoades. Few can tie together an ending as well. The beginning is a departure from others in the Keller series, but Rhoades tightens the slack and reels you in from multiple points of view, letting the reader know exactly as much as is necessary to build the tension for the well-constructed finale.

Police at the Station and They Don’t Look Friendly, Adrian McKInty (pre-release). Volume 6 in the Sean Duffy series shows McKinty is far from running out of different angles from which to view the situation of a Catholic cop in Protestant Northern Ireland during the Troubles.

True Blue, David Milch and Det. Bill Clark. A dual memoir in some ways, as Milch details the first few seasons of NYPD Blue from his perspective, including bits of Clark’s career and telling how they were spun into episodes. A quick, entertaining, and educational read that shows several sides of Milch’s character. Oh, and David Caruso is apparently a real tool. This time Duffy investigates a drug dealer killed with a crossbow and comes up against potentially crossed allegiances between paramilitaries and the police. The ending is classic McKinty, surprising yet inevitable.

Rough Trade, Todd Robinson. Big Daddy Thug does it again with another Boo and Junior adventure. Robinson has a gift for combining humor, action, inappropriate language and behavior, and empathy. The story never lags, yet the pace is never out of control. There’s a lot of craft hidden under the entertainment here that most readers probably won’t notice. That’s fine. There’s entertainment enough for everyone here, with another level available for those who want it.

Rumrunners, Eric Beetner. I’ve yet to read one of Beetner’s books that didn’t end up playing as a movie in my head. This story of an outlaw family entering its third, and possibly fourth, generation coming to grips with changing times and adapting the family philosophy to those changes. There’s no honor among thieves but there is an outlaw code, which the McGraw family does its best to live up to.

KINDLE COUNTDOWN REMINDER

Still hoping to grab a Kindle copy of The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of for 99 cents? You snoozed, you lost. Worry not. TSTDAMO is available today and tomorrow for $1.99 before returning to its regularly exorbitant price of $2.99 on Saturday.

Next Week:  Shamus nominated The Man in the Window.

July's Best Reads

July was a bit of an odd reading month, with half of it taken up by a vacation that didn’t lend itself much to reading. Having said that, what reading time I had was well spent.

World Gone By, Dennis Lehane. No one combines as many key elements of good writing and storytelling as Lehane. He’s the best when he’s on his game, writing with style and grace without overtly making you so aware of it you’re distracted from the story, which is always good. I wasn’t a huge fan of Live By Night—at least not by the standards I set for Lehane’s work after such gems as The Given Day and The Drop—but World Gone By more than makes up for it. Enough so that I wonder if I should give Live By Night another chance.

King Maybe, Timothy Hallinan. As good as Hallinan’s Poke Rafferty series is—and that series is damned good---the Junior Bender saga might have eclipsed it. Hallinan is able to take a caper Donald Westlake would have been proud to involve John Dortmunder in and wraps it in a story of psychological control of another person that rises to a pathological level. Those who enjoy the break-ins that launched the series will have more than enough to entertain them, and those who fell under the spell of the more personal elements that turned up in Herbie’s Game and The Fame Thief will get plenty of that. In short, there’s something for everyone here, and, as always with Hallinan, seamlessly delivered.

Crime Scene, Connie Fletcher. The queen of oral police histories. Her books never get stale, no matter how often I read them.

400 Things Cops Know, Adam Plantinga. Another re-read (I’m researching the next Penns River book) that has already earned a place next to Fletcher on my shelf and in my esteem.

March Reads: The Martian

The Martian, Andy Weir. Sheer coincidence this worked its way to the top of my TBR pile a few days after The Beloved Spouse™ and I watched the movie. Wasn’t even my book. She picked it up for something to read on a long flight a few months ago. I figured I’d at least start it to humor her—science fiction not often to my taste—and stayed up till well after 1:00 AM two nights in a row to finish it.

For those unfamiliar, The Martian is the story of an astronaut who is injured and thought dead during the third manned mission to Mars. The crew has to abandon him or risk death from the same storm that allegedly killed him. The rest of the book is about how he stays alive while NASA figures out how to get him back.

This is as close to the perfect blend of thriller, plot, character, and good writing as you’re likely to find. Weir hits my geek point—I was 13 when Armstrong and Aldrin walked on the moon; a three-foot-high model of a Saturn V rocket sat in my room—so all the NASA stuff struck a chord. Writing most of the book as a series of log entries kept the detail from overwhelming the reader. The well-crafted and diverse cast (not just ethnically; personality-wise) is led by Mark Watney, who could have been written for Matt Damon. Sure, I’d just seen the movie and Damon was in my head. Still. It was perfect.

Of course, Weir didn’t write the book for Matt Damon. The greatest mystery of The Martian isn’t anything about the story of what NASA and Watney do to try to save him; it’s why indie publishing proponents haven’t been screaming about the success of this book at rocket-launch volume. Weir is a programmer—a bit of a prodigy, hired by a national laboratory at the age of 15—and, so he thought, a failed writer. He’s also a self-described space nerd who wrote The Martian as a serial on his blog. That’s right: he wrote it as a fucking serial on his fucking blog. Friends liked it so much he self-published it as a $0.99 Kindle book where it sold like hell, bringing him print book and movie deals.

Never has anything risen from more humble beginnings more deservedly. It doesn’t matter if you like thrillers, science fiction, or, hell, even science. You’ll enjoy The Martian. You might even learn something. 

Best Books Read in 2015

I read a lot of good stuff in 2015 and see no reason to pick an arbitrary number as a cut-off point. Suffice to say something about these books made them stand apart from more than forty other books I finished, and the nine I didn’t even bother to get to the end of. (Books listed in the order read.)

                                        

Where Good Ideas Come From, and How We Got to Now, Steven Johnson. Two books and he’s in the rotation forever. Complex principles of everyday life explained in a matter of fact and entertaining way any layman of reasonable intelligence can understand. I can’t recommend these books highly enough.

The Poisoner's Handbook, Deborah Blum. Examines the origins of forensic medicine in the United States. The basis of an outstanding PBS show, and as good as I’d hoped.

The World of Raymond Chandler, Barry Day (Editor). Chandler in his own words, using excerpts from novels, stories, and personal correspondence. My respect for his work is undiminished, though my regard for the man took a hit.

Courier, Terry Irving. Every so often I read a thriller and it doesn’t disappoint me. This one did way better than that, hitting all the tropes but not in the expected ways.

400 Things Cops Know, Adam Plantinga. Anyone who writes crime needs to own a copy of this. Right up there with Connie Fletcher’s work, which is the highest praise I can give.

The Maltese Falcon, Dashiell Hammett. I re-read it every so often to remind myself it deserves all the praise it has received. Every time I like it better.

Junkie Love, Joe Clifford. No excuses, no glossing over, and no breast beating. Life as a junkie laid bare in a way anyone who’s paying attention should be able to empathize with. We all have habits we shouldn’t; count yourself lucky if your habit doesn’t have you.

Gun Street Girl, Adrian McKinty. Book Four of the Sean Duffy Troubles series maintains the level established by the first three. McKinty is the Irish James Ellroy.

Hollywood Crows, Joseph Wambaugh. Wambaugh is a genius as weaving what seem to be light anecdotes into a dark plot, and of scene reversal. Be careful when you laugh; it may not be funny by the next page.

The Big Nowhere, James Ellroy. Genius.

Give the Boys a Great Big Hand, Ed McBain. The ending wasn't quite as good as the rest of the book, but it has all the little things to love about McBain. Carella’s and Meyer’s interview of the housewife is a classic.

Bank Shot, Donald Westlake. Dortmunder’s crew steals a bank. Not robs. Steals. Laugh out loud funny. Westlake was a true treasure

The Writers Guide to Weapons, Ben Sobieck. Sobieck writes excellent fiction, but this may be the book that earns him a lasting reputation. Another book no crime writer should be without.

The Bill James Guide to Managers, Bill James. Out of print but available in some libraries and used bookstores. James brings all his skill to bear on how the job of baseball manager has evolved from the primordial ooze of the profession up through the 1990s.

Knuckleball, Tom Pitts. A San Francisco cop is killed against the backdrop of a Giants-Dodgers series. Pitts resolves the case in the context of everything else that is going on at the time. As nifty a novella as one is likely to read, worthy of Ray Banks’s efforts.

Dig Two Graves, Eric Beetner. No one can read Beetner’s books as fast as he writes them, but it’s worth a try. A revenge tale with a couple of twists and a deeper look into character than most.

Belfast Noir, Adrian McKinty and Stuart Neville (Editors). Anthologies always have the curse of unevenness, though this one’s lows are still at least average and the highs and as good as you’ll find anywhere.

The Dog of the South, Charles Portis. Thanks to Jeff Bridges, Matt Damon, and the Coen Brothers for getting me to read True Grit. None of Portis’s books walk down any paths explored by the others, and no author is more fun to read.

Hombre, Elmore Leonard. Maybe his best novel. The movie does it justice, but read the book, anyway.

I Used to be in Radio, Larry Matthews. Moves from laugh out loud funny to a slow-motion train wreck. Beware of what can happen when someone in the government decides to grind you up.

Every Contact Leaves a Trace, Connie Fletcher. You want to know how law enforcement thinks, read her. It’s a safe bet that any time I re-read one of her books it will show up on this list.

The Hot Countries, Timothy Hallinan. Somehow manages to keep two entirely different series running without either showing a drop-off in quality or originality. Here Hallinan demonstrates an oft-neglected strength of a series (in this case Poke Rafferty’s Bangkok adventures), spinning off a story that more fully utilizes minor characters from previous installments.

Last of the Independents, Sam Wiebe. As good a first novel as you’re going to read. Most tenth novels aren’t this good.

The Second Girl, David Swinson. Doesn’t come out until April, but believe this if you’ve ever believed anything written in this blog: you’re going to want one.

The Choirboys, Joseph Wambaugh. Everything I said about Hollywood Crows, squared. Genius.

Summer's Best Reads

It’s been a busy summer, what with The Sole Heir finishing her Masters, then helping her

move to Connecticut for medical school, and going back to see her receive her first white coat and stethoscope. I also switched up on my reading habits, and did some truly recreational reading. Not that reading is ever other than recreational for me, but I took the time to read a lot of baseball analysis as a combination of relaxation and palate cleansing. With Labor Day hard upon us, I stand ready to get back into writing and taking a more workmanlike approach to my literary pursuits. (Every time I use my name and “literary” in the same sentence, Cormac McCarthy throws up in his mouth a little and has no idea why.) Here’s what I’ve been up to that’s worth passing along.

Give the Boys a Great Big Hand, Ed McBain. I’m in the tank for McBain as much as ever, so anything of his is likely to make my recommended list. This one is fairly early in the 87^th Precinct series (1960), but many of the things that made him wear so well are evident, not least including working a little set piece humor into the investigation. Everything kicks off when a patrol officer notices a box left behind at a bus stop and finds a human hand inside. From there, everyone gets involved.

Bank Shot, Donald Westlake. Dortmunder steals a bank. Not just robs; steals. The real bank is undergoing renovation, so business is conducted out of a trailer that’s up on blocks, and Andy Kelp’s nephew, Victor, has the great idea to drive it away, then take the money at their leisure. Dortmunder isn’t crazy about the idea, and he’s even less enchanted with Victor, who is 1.) a putz, and 2.) a former FBI agent. Dortmunder is unaware Victor plans to write a book about the theft. As usual,everything imaginable goes wrong, and a few things only Westlake could have imagined. Great fun.

The Writers Guide to Weapons, Ben Sobieck. Much delayed by the publisher, and worth the wait. I wrote about this in detail right after I read it. Any writer—crime or otherwise—who needs to use weapons in a story should be familiar with everything in this book.

The Bill James Guide To Baseball Managers: From 1870 to Today, Bill James. Now a consultant for the Boston Red Sox, James coined the phrase sabermetrics for the study and analysis of baseball statistics. Others may have better mathematical chops, but no one combines analysis, insight, and a gift for writing like James does. Here he breaks down the evolution of the job of baseball manager from its origins through 1997. No seam head should skip this book.

Knuckleball, Tom Pitts. Artfully weaving a series of baseball games between the Giants and Dodgers into the investigation of the killing of a San Francisco cop and the effects on his partner and a family caught up in it, Pitts sets up a plot twist made all the more effective by its slow reveal. It’s less of a “I never saw that coming” than it is a “Oh, my God, he’s not going to…” and all the more effective because of it. Pitts handles the novella form effortlessly, making another argument for e-books as providing the perfect platform for a renaissance of the form.

Dig Two Graves, Eric Beetner. No one—with the possible exception of Dennis Lehane—that make me think “what a great movie this would make” more than Beetner. This is a classic revenge tale, with layers of variations. Recently paroled Val wants his vengeance on former partner Ernesto for more than ratting him out. In the tradition of the best noir stories, Val’s first bad decision leads him into a series of bad options from which no good choices are available until he meets a worst case scenario ending. Don’t think Walter Neff’s worst case; this is more of a Vic Mackey ending.

Belfast Noir, edited by Adrian McKinty and Stuart Neville. As free from anthology disease as any I can remember reading. (Anthology Disease – Some of the stories don’t measure up to the general standard.) A wide variety of styles by a wide variety or writers. Among the best of the Akashic noir series.

The Dog of the South, Charles Portis. Portis is a national treasure. His books have the quiet, left-handed zaniness of Wes Anderson’s best movies, with a cast of screwballs not found elsewhere. Best known for True Grit, Portis cares little for period or setting. Anything and everything is fair game. In The Dog of the South he tells the story of a man hunting his wife and the man she’s run off with to Texas. Or Mexico. Actually, it’s what was then (1979) called British Honduras. The narrator is as reliable as a somewhat delusional nitwit can be. Everything is deadpan, not a joke in the book, and more pages than not have a laugh out loud sequence.