Fall's Favorite Reads

 Headstone, Ken Bruen. Wasn’t sure if I liked it through the middle, as the torments Taylor has to go through can be a bit much. By the end I was all in. Of course, it’s Bruen, so the writing was excellent throughout and got me over the rough spots.

Writing the Private Eye Novel, Robert J. Randisi, editor. Essays from more than twenty heavyweights circa early 90s, this is still a wealth of information for anyone interested in writing private detective fiction. Lawrence Block, Loren Estleman, Ed Gorman, Sue Grafton, Parnell Hall, and a dozen others join Randisi in exploring every facet of writing a PI novel, which often applies to writing fiction in general. I bought this after Bob died, as I wanted something of his on my bookshelf and this seemed a logical choice. It turned out to be far more educational and inspirational than I expected.

Lines and Shadows, Joseph Wambaugh. Non-fiction examination of a special team of San Diego police tasked with keeping predators from robbing, raping, and killing people sneaking across the border in the late 1970s, and how things eventually got out of hand. Focuses on more than the police work to shine a light on a too often forgotten aspect of the immigration problem: these are human beings deserving of at least a minimum amount of consideration and safety. The salient takeaway for me is how Wambaugh describes the US-Mexico border as an imaginary line separating two economies. Highest recommendation.

Floodgate, Johnny Shaw. I do loves me some Johnny Shaw. This is a departure from the Jimmy Veeder fiascos and Big Maria, and I was a little dubious at first. Not that it wasn’t good, just not what I expected. I got over that when I saw how compelling the story was and Shaw’s natural irreverence took over. Reads a little like a mash-up of James Ellroy and Carl Hiaasen; Shane Black could make the movie.

The Big Book of the Continental Op, Dashiell Hammett; edited by Richard Layman and Julie M. Rivett. It’s 733 small print double-column pages of every Continental Op story ever published, and one that wasn’t. (“Three Dimes.”) Contains the serialized version of “The Cleansing of Poisonville,” which became Red Harvest, as well as the original stories that make up The Dain Curse. The Beloved Spouse™ gave this to me as a Christmas gift in 2022 and I read the stories as palate cleansers between novels. It’s wonderful to see how Hammett’s writing improved as time went on and the stories became more complex and refined. I particularly enjoyed reading the opening lines of “Fly Paper.” (It was a wandering daughter job.)

December's Best Reads

What can I say? The year went out with a bang and I haven’t even gotten to the Christmas gelt yet.

The Reversal, Michael Connelly. Mickey Haller and Harry Bosch working together. What’s not to like? Great story, expertly told. The only problem I have with Connelly is his journalism roots show in each book, as the writing rarely sings.

The Four Last Things, Timothy Hallinan. Reaching back to Hallinan’s original series featuring PI Simeon Grist. He could start writing these again and I’d pick right up on them. I think the whole series is now available for cheap on Kindle, which is how I scored the first three. Well worth the time.

Unloaded, Eric Beetner, editor. All anthologies—all of them—have the curse of unevenness. Combining different authors guarantees some stories aren’t as good as others. (I often fill this role.) Having acknowledged that, this is as well-conceived and well-rounded an anthology as I can remember—including some of the “Year’s Best” efforts—with no story containing a gun. Proceeds go to a gun control organization. Even if the motive was pure, unbridled avarice, this is a worthy collection that has earned all its accolades.

Dove Season, Johnny Shaw. I finally broke my Johnny Shaw cherry after falling in love with his work at Bouchercon Noirs at Bars. Not as wacky as his readings there, Dove Season is a remarkably diverse book that runs the gamut. The first half is borderline goofy in a Carl Hiaasen way, Jimmy Veeder tasked with finding a particular Mexican prostitute for his dying father. (The story of his first reconnaissance mission to Mexicali is worth the entire price of the book.) The story takes a couple of hard turns after that to remind me more of Lou Berney’s The Long and Faraway Gone in its ability to mix drama and comedy. Shaw’s in the rotation for sure now.

Fields Where They Lay, Timothy Hallinan. I try to spread my reading of a single author out more than this, but it’s a Christmas story, and it was Christmas week and it was on my shelf and so what I’m an adult and can read whatever the hell I want. The newest Junior Bender has Junior almost on the right side of the law—almost—working security for a disreputable, run-down mall at Christmastime. All the things you’ve come to expect from Junior, with a holiday twist.

Once Were Cops, Ken Bruen. Bruen’s one of the authors I have to be sure not to let fall through the cracks, as he’s so uniformly good it’s easy to take him for granted. This is no exception. Not a Jack Taylor story—though he makes a cameo appearance—this is the tale of a Galway cop who dreams of moving to New York and has his wish come true. That it comes true in no way implies the wish is altruistic, as Shea is as mean and sick a fuck as you’re likely to encounter. Bruen’s work is Irish through and through and gives a wee hint of what James Ellroy might have sounded like had he come of age across the sheugh.

Bouchercon 2015: Day One

(Editor’s note: There are no photographs of the dignitaries mentioned in this and subsequent Bouchercon-related posts. Between Witness Protection and wanted posters, many of those described are leery of any attempt to distribute their likeness.)

The Raleigh Bouchercon is over. For me, it was the best of the half dozen I’ve attended. I know more people now, so the ice breaking issues that made my first couple awkward are past. I also bring The Beloved Spouse with me, and she’ll talk to an aardvark. A lot went on those four days, and I could only be one place at a time, so let’s get to my personal highlights.

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 8

Here’s how author speed dating works: authors are paired up and spend six minutes at each of 15 tables over the course of an hour and a half, talking to anywhere from one to six people at each table. (The numbers were lower than expected due to bad weather south of Raleigh, and, just possibly, people realizing it was eight o’clock in the goddamn morning.) Given the rate things moved, it was more like an author drive-by. Speed dating implies two-way communication. A drive-by is more unidirectional.

They paired me with Ed Aymar, which was good. (For me, at least.) I know and like Ed, so I was comfortable. He’s also drop-dead funny. He handed out goody bags to our readers that contained sunglasses (so you can look cool while you read his book), temporary tattoos (so you can look tough while you read his book), a mask (so you can do some of the crimes described in his book), and a paddle ball (so you can take a break). Also included, a pen that lit up and flashed, which he guaranteed to produce seizures inside of 30 seconds.

Was it worth it? It was fun, though exhausting. I did sell one book for sure because of it. On the other hand, a woman who was in my last group asked me for directions 15 minutes later and had no idea who I was. Probably too much drinking from the fire hose for everyone.

11:30 True Criminals / True Detectives

One researcher claims women read true crime to put themselves in the victim’s place in the hope of recognizing things to be aware of. Some apparently use things learned there to get out of bad situations.

Carla Norton gives rides to hitchhikers, along with copies of her book The Perfect Victim as a caution.

If a person “confesses” to a clergyman in a non-confessional setting—say a place where they could be overheard—that if not a privileged conversation.

1:00 Just the Facts: The Police Procedural

My favorite panel of the weekend, though my impartiality is questionable because I was on it. Jim Born did a great job of keeping things entertaining and moving, while panelists Colin Campbell, Stephanie Gayle, and Larry Kelter did yeomen’s work in carrying me. I’d learned to seek out Colin’s panels because he’s always fun, so it was a treat to get to sit next to him. Jim Born was a revelation. Funny, and someone it’s about impossible to feel uneasy around. (Unless maybe you’re a crook.) That’s not to take anything away from Stephanie and Larry, who were more than up to the challenge.

I was brought back to earth in the signing room, where alphabetical order put me next to Michael Koryta. I signed one book while he signed at least 50. The Beloved Spouse worked hard to photograph me from the opposite side of Michael’s line, so it looks like those people were there to see me. The she crossed over when things calmed down and took a few shots to make it appear I’m sitting there chatting with my close personal friend Michael Koryta. The good news from that arrangement was getting to talk with him a bit, and finding out he’s writing PI stories again.

2:30 Beyond Hammett, Chandler, Macdonald, and Spillane

This was a Peter Rozovsky panel. He’s the best moderator there is, so the organizers gave him a sow’s ear of a panel from which to make a silk purse: Jordan Foster, Laura Lippmann, Kevin Burton Smith, and Sarah Weinman. (Imagine what he could do with a worthy panel.) Each discussed a favorite author the general public may not be aware of.

Laura Lippmann’s description of Dare Me may have summed up why I am the only person who read the book and didn’t like it: these are things girls do that boys have no concept of. She also described Chandler as a “mean boy,” for how he talked behind people’s backs, and was overly critical of his closest competitors. (Much as I love Chandler’s writing, the more I learn about him as a person, the more I agree with her evaluation.)

Sarah Weinman explained how often writers fall off the radar because the heirs either can’t be found, or they can’t agree among themselves about how to handle the rights.

Neither The Beloved Spouse nor I had eaten all day, so we wandered off early and found Clyde Cooper’s on Wilmington Street, not three blocks from the hotel. Best fired chicken I can remember eating, and without question the best hush puppies. Well worth a trip if you’re in Raleigh and hungry.

After that it was off to Common 414 for Noir at the Bar. Eryk Pruitt put this one together, and he did himself proud. The venue was perfect, the crowd was as raucous as was necessary and no more, and the readings were dead on. The only people who didn’t have a good time were those who weren’t there. I hate to single anyone out—everyone was worthy—but, looking back several days, Eric Beetner, Jedidiah Ayres, and Johnny Shaw stood out among even this cast of luminaries.

After that it was off to the Marriott bar. Recollections are hazy, though one sticks out. Heartfelt thanks to the den mother of crime writers, Michelle Turlock Isler, for introducing me to Eric Campbell. I asked her if that was him, she said why, I said I’m supposed to find him and now I know what he looks like, and she grabbed my arm and drug me over to meet him right now.

(Come back Monday for more.)