A Double Hit of Moe Prager

Walking the Perfect Square, 978-0-9792709-5-6 $13

And

Redemption Street 978-0-9792709-5-6 (dec’08), $13

By Reed Farrel Coleman, Busted Flush Press, ‘08

It’s been a few years since I read Reed Farrel Coleman’s third Moe Prager novel, The James Deans, but I remember being very impressed by the style and the complex nature of the plot that seemed unusually smart in an era of high concept thrillers whose complexities are often limited to plot twists over any attempt to deepen the narrative.

So I was excited to hear of Busted Flush Press’s plans to reprint the first two novels from the series, Walking the Perfect Square and Redemption Street, both of which are clearly the work of the same writer in the same series, but manage to feel like such different entities that they become more than an attempt to replay what the reader loved the first time round.

Walking the Perfect Square is a near perfect novel; a low key character piece, where ex-NYPD cop Moe Prager finds himself involved in the search for a missing college student. The more Prager digs into the boy’s life, the more he finds contradictions and anomalies that do not so much add to Prager’s impressions as detract from them; rather than building a picture, he winds up deconstructing one.

The dual narrative takes place between 1998 and 1979; a smart move whose pay off is not immediately evident. But like the best novels, its all about the denouement, and as you progress through the novel, you start to realise that the seemingly unrelated modern strand is intensely important, that its only with the passage of time that Moe can gain a true perspective on what he found while investigating Patrick’s life.

It’s a blinding read, and absorbing in a way that feels utterly unexpected. For the first two thirds of the novel, Moe seems to be walking in circles (not squares, per-se, he’ll leave that down to another character in the novel), talking to people, discovering next to zip. But there’s always this hint, this underlying sensation that something is hidden out there. That for all these conversations seem to amount to nothing, there’s more going on than Moe or we can even guess at. And while the slow burn approach could be an unwise choice in less skilled hands, we’re kept on board by Moe’s Chandlerian narration (he twists words and ideas in a way that easily evokes the debt all modern eyes owe to Marlowe) and the sheer conviction of the writing.

And there's a brilliant – near beautiful – pay-off. Barely a moment or a scene is wasted. Everything is wrapped up beautifully, although the end of the novel is hardly a case of the world being restored to order. An air of deep sadness runs through Moe’s narration, and even the twenty year gap between the investigation into Patrick and the secondary thread that runs to the late nineties fails to eliminate that touch of regret from Moe’s narration. And while there is a glimmer of hope – one that could become mawkish in the wrong hands – Coleman is a savvy enough writer to know that a glimmer is enough, that the despair and joy of life rarely balance out.

If there are problems with Walking The Perfect Square, perhaps it comes from overwriting; Coleman is a brilliant writer, but here and there the voice of this first Prager novel feels more like writing and less like natural storytelling. The narration can be dense and perhaps a little overwhelming, but does nothing to affect the overall power and beauty of the work.

But by the time Coleman brings Moe to Redemption Street, he’s got that voice down cold. Redemption Street is a far more accomplished novel, so it’s surprising to read Coleman joke in his newly written afterword that “it was the first book in history to go direct from the printer to the remainder bin”. Perhaps it was the shift of focus that surprised people. Perhaps the market wasn’t ready for a truly reflective eye; an investigative character who was every bit as fleshed out as those people whom he observed. Redemption Street feels more intensely personal – both for the author and the protagonist – than Walking the Perfect Square. Perhaps it’s the focus on Moe’s Jewish heritage – and the guilt that it brings both personally and in a far wider sense – which creates this sense. Perhaps it’s the note of longing for things long lost that plays through Moe’s search to discover what happened to that girl he crushed so deeply on in high school. Whatever it is, the energy of the writing and characterisation brings a sense of empathy to the reader that feels instantly fresh and genuine. While the Moe of Walking the Perfect Square feels almost an enigma – lost in his case, defined merely by his actions – in Redemption Street, we feel closer to him; we experience this case with him rather than through him.

By now, Moe is a more reluctant PI. He’s licensed, but he keeps his badge in a drawer. He’s looking at running a wine store. And it takes a reminder of his own past to make him think about doing anything close to the kind of work he’s licensed to do.

Threads run through from Walking the Perfect Square and seem to explode in this novel; hints dropped from the 1998 narrative are explored deeper here, and as such we feel closer to Moe; the character less distanced to us than in the first novel, where Moe was – despite his distinctive voice – more of a camera on events than an actual participatory subject.

The violence seems ramped up as well, with Moe undergoing torture both in a physical and mental fashion throughout the book. But these moments feel perfectly justified by the novel, which needs to put its protagonist through the ringer in order to achieve its goals. Would we be so attached to Moe if this investigation were a walk in the park? If he weren’t looking backwards as much as forwards?

Its rare to see a series character who develops so well over a series, and kudos to Busted Flush for allowing us to return to the roots of Moe Prager. Reading the series in sequence, we encounter a character who is allowed to grow and mature; whose world becomes clearer the more it is fractured – only when past and present collide do we ever truly understand the events that shape not only our protagonist, but those people who surround him.

Add to this a voice filled with genuine heart, that knows suffering and joy in sometimes unequal measures, and an author whose fiendishly clever plots unfold in such a low key fashion that its easy to be taken by surprise and you have one of the best modern crime series currently being written. It’s a delight to know that readers – like myself – who missed Moe the first time round will have a chance to catch up on these novels; to discover some of the best prose they’ll read in years, and a character whose evolution throughout a series feels so absolutely genuine, you’ll soon be thinking of him as an old friend.

Russel D McLean for crimescenescotland 30/07/08

PAYING FOR IT by Tony Black

Preface Books, July ’08, 9781848090705, £16.99

We’re living in a new age of noir for the UK. Derek Raymond, Ted Lewis and their ilk were ahead of their time; they would have fitted perfectly into the new underground that is,

Ken Bruen

Ray Banks

Allan Guthrie

Charlie Williams

and others who are redefining the British crime novel and pushing it beyond the self imposed limitations formed by Christie, Rendell and PD James (to name but a few).

The reason I mention the new British noir is simple: here comes an author who reinforces the new wave, who takes the ball and runs with it hell for leather. Tony Black’s voice is clearly influenced by the madcap poetry of Bruen – replete with pop culture references, fragmentation and a bizarre stream-of-consciousness approach that may trip the unwary – but he adds on top of that an undeniably Scots accent; a way of approaching the world that is unashamedly proud of its origins and yet hardly so parochial that no one else would want to read it.

We can probably trace the new wave of Scots noir back to Ian Rankin, who straddled the line between old and new wave: popular enough to be mainstream, dark enough to add a nuance of danger to some of his works. Like Rankin, Black has created a vision of Edinburgh that is at once evocative and entirely his own. While Rankin alluded to a dark underbelly, Black embraces it utterly, shows up the true social divide in Edinburgh with a few simple phrases and an underlying subtext that attempts to show this old setting in a new dark light.

Black’s Edinburgh is a city built on its own mistakes. A city trying desperately to change with the times while glossing over its own mistakes. All the coffee bars and trendy pubs in the world cannot change a dark and violent history, and this is especially true in a place like Edinburgh where traditional Alckie haunts such as the Grassmarket area are trying to haul themselves up into the new and trendy cosmopolitan age.

It’s a struggle reflected in our protagonist, a newspaper reporter who cannot gloss over his own past no matter how hard he tries. A man with a moral compass that’s always being misled by his past, his upbringing, his innate violence. As flawed characters go, Gus Drury comes very close to a new noir stereotype in many ways – particularly his drinking – but is saved by a powerful and personal voice that cuts through the reader’s sympathy and demands a strange kind of empathy. It’s hard to say that Gus is likeable, but its fascinating to see the world through his eyes, to give full reign to the kind of cynicism that slowly pulls a man’s life apart. But there is a core to Gus that has not rotted, and there is where we find our hook into the dark world of Paying For It. Black understands that no character is all good or evil, that there exists merely shades of shadows and that a good man is one who occasionally tries to beat his worst instincts. Is there hope for a man like Gus? Undoubtedly, but it is something that is never assured, and that is what makes his journey so compelling for the reader: there are no moral guarantees here. No constants to be relied upon.

And while Black walks the line close to several noir clichés – the alcoholic lead, the evident corruption that runs through society – he does it all so convincingly, with such a strong voice that you cannot help but keep turning those pages.

Black’s debut novel is incredibly strong; an evocative, unsettling journey to the heart of darkness that is modern Scotland. It works as a psychological journey and as a thrilling descent into the criminal underworld. This is page-turning, addictive stuff from an author who looks set to garner a dedicated readership not only from fans of the UK noir movement, but from readers who will appreciate literate, witty and unsettling fiction told with a voice that demands – and deserves – your utmost attention.

Russel D McLean for crimescenescotland, 30/07/08

THE COLD SPOT by Tom Piccirilli

Bantam Press, 2008, $6.99, 9780553590845

Chase has been a getaway driver all his life. After the death of his parents, he’s been raised by his grandfather Jonah, brought up in a world of thieves and grifters and con artists. He’s a born driver, but maybe not a born criminal. After witnessing his grandfather’s dispatch of one of his own gang, Chase decides its time to get out.

He never counted on falling in love with a cop.

Building something close to a normal life.

And he really didn’t plan on having all of that taken away.

Tom Piccirilli was the man responsible for last year’s wonderful noir masterpiece, The Fever Kill, and here he turns back to the crime genre again with the incredible, The Cold Spot, a brilliantly paced revenge thriller with a genuinely human heart. When we think of getaway drivers, its easy to think of them being akin to a Parker character: cold, uninvolved and professional. Think what they tried to do with Jason Stratham’s character in the movie, The Transporter or, as a far better example, the character of Lennon in Duane Swierczynski’s The Wheel Man. And, sure, Piccirilli makes Chase an absolute professional, but here he fleshes out that archetype by giving him…

… a life.

The first half of the book, taken up as it is with Chase’s life could seem like so much unnecessary window dressing if it weren’t for the fact that Piccirilli knows how important it is to get us to understand his hero. Any good revenge drama relies on us being on the side of the revenger, understanding his psychology. It has to be more complex than some archetypal revenge fantasy a-la Deathwish if we to truly feel anything. And Piccirilli is a master at helping us to empathise with his cast. He’s been at this game a long time and even his most despicable creations seem to have been at least comprehensible to the reader. But Chase… he must be a good man at heart for this to work. We have to understand him beyond his role as Getaway Driver, and by seeing him leave the life, fall in love, build a normal existence… we are on his side. We know what he has worked for to have all of this. He has given up many things, adjusted his world view, made sacrifices and ultimately – despite his past – he deserves this quiet, peaceful, beautiful new life.

So when it is snatched away by a gang of criminals with itchy trigger fingers, we understand his rage and frustration and loss. We are right there with him. We can feel the sense of, why did this have to happen? Why wasn’t I there to stop this?

And we understand why Chase can only turn to one man for help in finding the cold spot, that place inside of him that will help take revenge like he was taking care of business. We understand why he turns to his grandfather Jonah, the man he took such great pains to leave behind in the first place.

The relationship between Chase and Jonah that takes up much of the second half of the book is a complex and unsettling double act. Jonah represents a dark side of Chase that he doesn’t want have to confront, but is something he must control and use if he is to heal those wounds inside of him. As Chase constantly walks the line between the life he wants and the life that Jonah offers, we find the central conflict of the book, and indeed of any good revenge drama: will the act of revenge change our character beyond recognition? Turn him into the very thing he is reacting against?

It’s a tension that Piccirilli exploits beautifully in the last third of the book without offering any overly easy answers or guarantees of salvation. Indeed anyone who’s read Piccirilli’s work before will know that he doesn’t offer guarantees in his stories. And that uncertainty is what keeps those pages turning.

Throw into the mix some larger themes that set the groundwork for further books in the series. As the story draws to a close, we find some answers about Chase’s life that change everything we thought we knew. We find hints of a darkness that could push him even further over the edge. This is the ideal of a series; resolve the major questions, but leave enough hanging that readers will want to follow you onto the next novel.

The Cold Spot is a gripping and powerful novel from an author who makes fans out of almost everyone who reads his work. The prose hums with a visceral energy that’ll keep you turning those pages. I finished it fast, thought about it for days afterwards. And really, there’s no better recommendation than simply: read this book. But be warned: once you hit that last page, you’ll be dying to read 2009’s The Coldest Mile.

WHAT BURNS WITHIN by Sandra Ruttan

Dorchester Books, 2008, 978-0843960747

When you think of Hardboiled, you probably don’t think of Vancouver. Canada never seems – to us outsiders at any rate – like a crimewave kind of country. But if there’s an author determined to buck the trend, its Sandra Ruttan. While her debut novel, Suspicious Circumstances was set in the US, Ruttan now moves the action north to her homeland, with gripping results. A missing child and a serial aronist would give give most cops nightmares. But for three Vancouver detectives, mere nightmares might seem a picnic compared to what they’ll be facing as they attempt to bring justice to the streets of their city.

What Burns Within marks the first of a sequence of novels set among the Vancouver police department, focussing specifically on three officers whose lives and cases are about to become seriously twisted. The focus is – befitting Ruttan’s strengths – on character and a great deal of effort has gone into ensuring the cast of What Burns Within live and breathe beyond the page. As is always the case, some people stick with you more than others. Here, its Detective Ashlyn Hart who seems to steal the show. Perhaps in part because she has some of the most difficult choices to make, but she emerges as the standout of the central trio of characters by evoking a genuine sense of empathy with the reader.

But while Ruttan is a natural for sketching tough and believable characters, she doesn’t allow her writing to rest on that alone. Anyone writing procedure has to ensure that the reader is convinced by the investigation, and its here that Ruttan’s smart approach shines. Subtle touches add authenticity to proceedings. Little things, such as the way she refuses to let her cop protagonists into a burned out building, something that some authors would be tempted to fudge for the sake of “poetic licence”. But Ruttan works hard to find unique ways to overcome these problems. One particular scene involving Lt Hart, a bucket lift and one heckuva scary drop emerges as particularly memorable.

The plot itself is often heartwrenching. Placing a child at the centre of a story is often a cheap way of tugging at the heartstrings, but Ruttan manages to mix in the emotional with the realistic, a ploy immediately brought into play with the opening scene that sees a girl losing her younger brother at a fairground. The scene plays with a kind of realistic childhood – not too cute, not too cynical – and there’s a feeling of deep unease by the end of the scene that is paid off in spades as the book progresses. Ruttan plays about with innocence and guilt in unexpected ways, and nuances even her young cast in such a way that the children are far more than mere ciphers or metaphors in the way many writers would use them.

It’s rare that a writer can combine character and procedural effectively, but Ruttan manages to create an emotionally invested thriller that also feels grounded in real – if somewhat dramatic – policework. The attention to detail helps add weight to the fictional world Ruttan has created. And while there are certain near obligatory investigative scenes included, the details and the characters move them beyond standard set pieces. In fact, Ruttan offers a kind of unpredictability that is rare in standard procedurals. While heroes are often complex characters, it is rare that we think they might not solve the case or save the day. Here, Ruttan manages to manipulate her audience into a kind of uncertainty over how events might turn out, and in doing so creates an air of realism that solidifies the novel and its world.

It helps that Ruttan’s smooth style – far more confident here than in her debut – flows particularly well, creating the kind rhythm that grips the reader and keeps them flipping those pages. Pace and style count for a lot, and What Burns Within has both in spades.

Ruttan combines devilishly clever plots with genuinely empathic characters. What Burns Within is a taught, confidently told character-led thriller, with Ruttan’s natural style shining through. And when you turn that last page, you’ll be itching for more from not simply the author herself, but the intriguing cast… who are begging for further exploration, and are slated to return in the second novel, The Frailty of Flesh.

Russel D McLean for crimescenescotland.com, 29/05/08

A Double Dose of Stuart MacBride

Sawbones by Stuart MacBride, Barrington Stoke, £5.99, 978-1842995297, July 2008

Flesh House by Stuart MacBride, HarperCollins, £12,99, 978-0007244546, May 2008

As much as we love series characters here at Crime Scene Scotland, it’s always nice to see an author taking a break. Even one akin to a weekend getaway such as Stuart MacBride’s novella, Sawbones.

Like Allan Guthrie’s Kill Clock before it, Sawbones is a book written for “emerging readers”. This entails a set of guidelines about the language and style used in the book, but the story itself must be engaging to an adult audience.

And Macbride knows about writing for adults.

Moving from his usual stomping grounds of Aberdeen and out into the wilds of America, MacBride seems to be relishing the opportunity to truly let himself go. The sheer joy of throwing out the “McRae” rulebook is evident from the opening pages where we’re right in the head of a mafia thug about to kill a cop. But, see, he’s got his reasons. They’re out looking for the boss’s daughter. Who’s been abducted. By a serial killer.

Looking for nice guys in this novella?

They’re few and far between.

Which is what gives the book its appeal. While Stuart rarely makes his Grampian Police into perfect heroes, he has rarely been allowed to let himself go so completely as here. There is a core of – somewhat twisted – morality to the two goons out on the road, and the killer himself… well, you ain’t finding no sympathy here. Sure, he’s a little bit of the loony-tunes cliché, but as ever MacBride is having fun playing with archetypes and the killer is recognisably an archetype – with his bible bashing and woman-hating – but still very chilling indeed. But these are characters with the kind of screwed morality that makes them truly fascinating. And the protagonists are decidedly anti-heroes in the best possible sense of the word.

But it’s the pacing that works here, and with brevity being the soul of wit, MacBride’s lean and muscular novella doesn’t give the reader time to breathe. The pages turn fast and easy, and while the storytelling is relatively straightforward, MacBride never panders to his audience, creating a taut and terrifying tale that roars across the dusty highways of the US in a blood-soaked Winnebago.

And with his wanderlust somewhat satisfied, it means that MacBride can then return – with batteries recharged – to his familiar homeground of Aberdeen. Yes, we’re back with DS McRae and, yes, Grampian police are – despite the warnings from DI Steele – most definitely at home to Mr Fuck Up.

It’s the sheer energy of his work that makes MacBride’s homegrown procedurals shine. If were in any doubt before, then Broken Skin confirmed that the world of McRae and co is a hyper-realised one, where a grim and black humour permeates near every sentence.

And with Flesh House, the humour is grim indeed.

More than any ever MacBride novel before it, the violence here is fairly explicit. Its been enough to turn some early readers vegetarian, but MacBride manages the fairly neat trick of offsetting the violence with gallows humour while never cheapening the loss of life.

In MacBride’s world, almost a decade earlier, Aberdeen was plagued by a killer known simple as “The Flesher”. A man who ate human flesh, slaughtered people like farm animals. And was finally arrested by Grampian Police. But now he’s out on bail… and the killing’s started again.

There’s something very chilling about MacBride’s latest novel, and the tension is ratcheted up superbly with a number of subtle red herrings laid in place. But the crime itself is not what impresses itself upon the reader; rather it’s the movement of the characters in MacBride’s world. With Steele given her chance to shine in Broken Skin, this time we see a whole new side to sweetie-munching DI Insch, who manages to both repel and engage the reader within the space of a single sentence. Its hard to say much without giving the game away, but MacBride is savvy enough to throw life-changing events at his characters without pressing a red reset button at the end of the tale, something that happens all too often in series fiction.

If there’s anything wrong, its that Logan McRae himself gets short shrift, with some intriguing personal developments getting lip service, but barely making inroads to the plot. Of course, even in a book this size, some concessions must be made, but the relationship between McRae and Jackie Watson which had a dramatic shift at the end of Broken Skin seems to be pushed into the background when it seems like some very interesting developments may have taken place.

But, what’s important is that Flesh House moves fast and furious – surprisingly so for such a hefty novel – and is genuinely engrossing, replete with moments of gallows humour that relieve the intensity of some scenes. This is a novel that doesn’t let up from the word go, and its almost surprising that MacBride can retain that incredible pace through the novel. Perhaps because, even if he is working within the McRae rulebook, he’s still finding ways to try and subvert the traditions he’s writing in. There are shifts towards the horror genre as one character breaks down almost entirely, and MacBride shows that despite his occasional broad strokes – the early characterisation of Insch in books one and two is a fine example – he can do very a very convincing and unnerving psychological portrait of his cast, and he seems to be at his very best when he puts the characters right at the very limits of their endurance. Witness not just Insch here, but also a character who finds herself at the very heart (if you’ll pardon what could be construed as a pun) of The Flesher’s scheme.

MacBride has, in four books, established himself a writer with a style and voice that distinguish him from the herd. His books are procedurals in form, but he manages to give them an edge that pulls in those readers who would usually be reluctant to read novels given that label. It’s the Scots humour, the sheer ballsiness of his approach to the genre and the fact that he somehow gives these large novels a momentum that propels the reader through the twists and turns without once giving them pause for breath.

If you haven’t read MacBride, we say: go and read him. Today. But, if you’re unprepared for that Aberdeen weather, we might just recommend an umberella.

Small disclaimer: eagle eyed and cynical readers will notice Russel D McLean’s name appear briefly in Flesh House. This was a fact unknown to the reviewer before he started reading and while he is always immensely flattered by such things, it does not prevent him from approaching the novel with his usual steely intensity.

Russel D McLean for crimescenescotland.com, 29/05/08

The books we missed: 2007

As ever, 2007 was a year where we ended up playing Catch Up and missed out on some reviews we wished we’d got round to sooner. Here’s our selection of novels we wish we hadn’t missed reviewing in 2007:

When One Man Dies by Dave White, Three Rivers Press, 978-0307382788, $13.95

Jackson Donne is an ex cop, looking for the quiet life, spending time as a PI in New Jersey. He doesn’t expect to be there when a drinking buddy gets smashed in a hit and run, and he sure doesn’t expect the chaos that ensues when he decides to get involved.

Dave White may be a newcomer to the novel format, but he’s hardly a new voice to those who follow the genre closely. His short stories have been nominated for several awards and won at least one of them. So it’s a treat to see him move onto the novel form with this brisk, complex and entertaining debut.

White respects the traditions of the PI genre while simultaneously adding a modern thriller twist to proceedings. There’s an element of the old-school PI writers in White’s voice, a nod to those who have gone before. But White wisely tries not to overdo this and his voice owes as much (perhaps moreso) to writers like Michael Connelly and Jeffrey Deaver as it does to past masters such as Ross McDonald and Robert B Parker. It’s a mixture of the wise-ass and the everyman that helps keep the reader on Jackson’s side, creating a protagonist who could easily grow to become a fan-favourite.

Indeed, its character that sticks in mind here. Having explored Jackson Donne in previous short stories, White knows this character well enough to keep the reader involved and intrigued by his narration. And with Donne’s past life increasingly intruding on the present, his character evolves as the novel progresses. Donne looks like he could shape up to be an intriguingly complex protagonist over the course of a proposed series; indeed the second novel is due out in the next few months.

White manages to clearly and effectively delineate his twin point of view characters highlighting contrasts and similarities effectively. Of course, the narrative switch from first to third person – alternating as it does between Jackson and his possibly sociopathic ex-partner – is still occasionally jarring, despite the fact that both Jackson and his nemesis (who will, no doubt, continue to deteriorate as the series progresses) are equally intriguing characters. The flow in Jackson’s narration works better than the third person technique in the second narrative, perhaps because White is more accustomed to Jackson’s voice.

When One Man Dies is a damn fine read, a hell of a debut with a heart and soul that bodes very well indeed for future instalments in the series, and more importantly for White’s versatility as an author. It is a welcome addition to the reawakening (if it was ever asleep in the first place) PI genre (that’s two very promising series from ’07, now, beginning with Sean Chercover’s first Ray Dudgeon novel and continuing here) and a thriller that’s set to grab the attention of fans of Robert B Parker, Lawrence Block and Dennis Lehane.

Baby Sharks Beaumont Blues by Robert Fate, Capital Crime Press, 978-0977627622, $14.95

Robert Fate’s second entry in his Baby Shark series picks off where Baby Shark left off, with Kirsten Van Dijk settling firmly into her new role as a PI in 1950’s America. It’s a bold move setting a female protagonist in that era of America’s past, particularly one so young.

But it’s a move that this reviewer feels isn’t properly explored in either of the first two BabyShark novels, which is a shame because it would give the novels a new and different kind of edge. Robert Fate is a strong writer and his characterisation works well, but what is missing – and possibly required – from this series to push it over from good read to fantastic is a stronger sense of place and time.

James Ellroy wrote of noir being “history and politics” and its something this reviewer subscribes to strongly in the case of any historical novel. The weakness of the Baby Shark series that Fate has the opportunity to explore a hardboiled 1950’s setting through a female protagonist, but fails to properly use this in a dramatic sense. There is very little, aside from a few cultural references – the lack of modern technology and the gentlemanly courtship of local cop Lee – that truly marks the era throughout both Baby Shark and Baby Shark’s Beaumont Blues.

Which sounds like a big gripe, but Fate makes up for it all with an extremely strong narrative drive, a compelling voice and an intriguing set of characters placed at the forefront of the novel. Kirsten herself, being our point of view character, is a resiliently moral character who isn’t afraid to break a few heads. Again, slightly odd for a 1950’s setting, but with her need for revenge being set up in Baby Shark, by now you’re ready just to fly with it, to see her take on the bad guys. Like Kirsten’s PI mentor, Otis, there’s something pleasingly simple and old fashioned about the series with its strongly delineated characters, a definite moral core (although the good guys can walk in the shadows, there is no question of their ultimate goodness in a world which could rot them through) and a straight-ahead narrative that showcases Fate’s background in making movies. There is a very filmic sense of pacing, designed to keep you turning pages. And it works.

Ultimately, Baby Shark’s Beaumont Blues is a fast paced thriller with a kick-ass protagonist. I would hope that future instalments might explore the period in more detail, but for a damn fine read, Fate delivers the goods, with strong character work and a fast paced narrative perfectly befitting his heroine.

Heroes often Fail By Frank Zafiro Aisling Press, 978-1934677162

The second novel in Zafiro’s River City series focuses on a missing girl and the attempts by cops to find her. An ex cop himself, we’ve already noted that Zafiro has a good handle on investigative techniques and as he finds his feet with this second novel, his world of cops begins to feel more grounded and believable.

The case itself is intriguing enough, a way of holding together Zafiro’s otherwise disparate cast, although there is still a feeling that perhaps the pages are still a little overcrowded with cop characters vying for attention and sympathy and as such there are no standouts, which does to depersonalise the affair just a little. Although it is clear that characters like Detective Kopriva are itching to take centre stage. That is, if he’s around any more after the climactic – and, dramatically speaking, rather risky – events that spark the conclusion of Heroes Often Fail.

Its hard to explain the ending of Heroes often Fail without going into spoiler territory, and a large part of what makes the ending work is the fact that it is as surprising as it is inevitable. It is an everyday sense of tragedy that marks Zafiro’s background as an ex-cop; The Job is a struggle against odds that can often seem utterly

The missing girl scenario, being big and far-reaching in an emotional sense, is more important here to the reader – and therefore more compelling – than the stick up artist who plagued the cops during the first novel. There is less of a feeling of dissociation between various characters and their goals; everyone is united in what might be a hopeless cause – finding this girl alive. This lends the novel a greater weight, and helps marks out Kopriva as the character to watch. Zafiro uses him as an anchor for the frustration the police must feel in a case that demands emotional attachment and that distracts from an ordered, levelled form of investigation.

However, some of this emotional resonance feels as though it is being held back by the decision to play out the girl’s abduction – from her point of view – alongside the police investigation. Although some of these sequences are undeniably powerful – with implication rather than explication showing us the terrible nature of this crime – they ultimately water down the tension for the reader – we are aware of where the girl is and what is happening to her – and finally dilute the emotional pay off of the cop’s investigation when we are aware of what has happened long before they discover the truth.

We're still waiting for Zafiro's voice to start singing, to truly separate itself from other procedurals, but there is a great deal of promise and here we can see Zafiro stretching himself further as a writer, although there is a sense he is still holding back, focussing too much on writing rather than letting his voice sing out loud from the page. But his confidence and versatility is growing, and there are moments where the novel takes off, especially as the climax roars into view.

Heroes Often Fail rousingly trumps Under a Raging Moon; a solid, effective and occasionally affecting novel from a writer who knows not only the job, but the gruelling toll certain cases can take on the victims and those charged with upholding law and order.

On The Wrong Track by Steve Hockensmith, St Martin’s Minotaur, 978-0312372880, $12.95

Hockensmith strikes gold again with his second tale featuring the amiable (and often amazing) Amingleyer brothers, Big Red and Old Red, who fancy themselves as somewhat of a western Holmes and Watson. On The Wrong Track is a blistering adventure for the brothers who find themselves charged with protecting the trains that run across the old west and in the midst of a dangerous predicament when they tangle with bandits and, even worse, in what for me is one of the defining sequences of the novel, a deadly African snake.

What strikes home most with Hockensmith’s work is the extremely powerful narrative voice. You can hear Old Red clear as a bell narrating in a downright friendly manner as he imparts on the often alarming matter of his brother’s deducifyin’ business. Yeah, it may be that Hockensmith fella’s name on the front, and he may have tidied up the narrative somewhat, but this is the work of Otto Aminglmeyer through and through.

So what with the voice and the sheer joyful nature of the enterprise, this is a book that can most definitely be described as a romp. But don’t be fooled by any of it because the real trick lies in the very tone of the tale. Sure, there are laughs to be had, but the reader is never laughing at the characters so much as the situations they find themselves in. The boys may get in some stupid situations, but they themselves are never actually stupid. Far from it, they come out of the affair with dignity intact and that’s what makes this series so darn intriguing and addictive, the fact that the characters are so deeply drawn in a series that could have been all about the surface elements and little else.

On The Wrong Track is one of the most original and enjoyable novels of 2007. It plays off a premise that could be one note, creating an unexpectedly rich and fascinating narrative from something that, in the wrong hands, could have quickly become a stale joke. Hockensmith is a talented editor for Otto Aminglmeyer’s fascinating tales of the Old West, and together they have created one of the most quirky, original, amusing, surprisingly human and – most importantly – damnably entertaining new crime series of the past few years.

Russel D McLean for crimescenescotland.com, 29/05/08

MAFIYA By Charlie Stella

Pegasus Books, $25, 978-1933648651

In tems of tone, Stella’s previous novels have been mostly described as darkly humorous, bearing particular comparison to the works of Elmore Leonard. The exception to this was Stella’s dark second outing, Jimmy Bench Press, a novel which attempted to probe the inherent darkness in Stella’s world more deeply than his other works.

Like Leonard, Stella refuses to allow himself to be pigeonholed and with his sixth novel, Mafiya, he abandons some of the lighter aspects from novels such as Cheapskates and Charlie Opera, doing so this time with a ferocity and complexity that not only takes the reader by surprise but also drags them willingly into the dark world Stella creates. Like, for example, Elmore Leonard’s novel, Killshot, the shift in tone from what the reader might expect is marked and surprisingly effective.

The banter with which Stella has made his name is not missing, but is pushed more into the background, creating a decidedly more sombre tone. Not that his ear for dialogue has gone – he’s still the best in the business – but he knows instinctively the kind of tone he’s shooting for and as such his characters are more introspective here, less prone to cracking wise than they were before. Not that the novel is entirely devoid of humour. His cast of prostitutes, Russian Mafioso and police detectives have a particularly grim sense of humour that serves as a release from the dark subject matter both for them and for us. And while his Russian dialogue at times threatens to teeter over into a kind of strange stereotyping (but thankfully stays the right side of believable, the comic relief never overtaking the character), it’s a testament that he makes these characters come so completely to life through their interaction and dialogue.

The plot itself is not for the squeamish, delving into the world of prostitution, snuff movies and various other nasty pieces of business. As ever Stella does not paint simple morality tales, but lets his characters tell their own tale without pushing his own agenda too hard.

In fact, it’s a testament to Stella’s artistry that he makes Agnes Lynn – an ex-hooker trying to turn her life around – into such a compelling and empathetic character. She’s not quite the “hooker with a heart of gold”, thank God, but she is intriguing and alluring. It’s not hard to see why her on-off lover is at once attracted and repelled by parts of her personality.

In fact, the novel does a very good job of making the darker aspects of Lynn’s life – specifically her involvement in the sex trade – less sensationalised than a lesser writer may have attempted. There is tragedy in her story, sure, but ultimately her motivations and her attitude to the world come from a very human place and are rarely melodramatically presented to the reader. She’s a grounded character, takes everything in her stride as best she can and this is what ultimately creates our empathy and connection with her. Her own “crimes” are simply very human mistakes, one which anyone could make given the right set of circumstances.

Agnes’s world is thrown into turmoil when one of her friends is used for a movie and then thrown into the ocean. The crime is graphic and disturbing, and yet Stella uses as much implication as he does explication, making the sequence more disturbing than out and out gruesome. Psychological rather than physical pain makes the scene ultimately unsettling to read and yet fully justified in light of the feelings it evokes.

Mafiya is a fast, dark and compelling novel from an author whose work, if there is any justice, will be being read years from now as one of the classic authors of modern crime fiction. It’s already been said that Stella deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as the greats of the genre, but as he proves his versatility and ability with this, his sixth novel, such statements become superfluous: Stella may just be the best crime writer you have yet to discover. His novels are imbued with an essential humanity, and an understanding that sometimes the world just throws us a curveball and all we can do is try our best to survive.

Like Agnes Lynn.

Russel McLean for Crime Scene Scotland, 05/04/08

Buy Mafiya: A Novel of Crime from Amazon.co.uk

THE CLEANER by Brett Battles

Preface Publishing, £6.99, ISBN 978-1848090071

Jonathan Quinn is a cleaner. The guy you never see. The guy who comes in, makes sure that you never know the truth. He’s not there when the action goes down. But he makes sure the action never happened. He’s cool. Confident. Always in control.

Until now.

Brett Battles’ debut novel is a superb example of thriller writing. And it surprises with a unique protagonist, something quite unusual in the genre. This isn’t the story of the master spy or the expert soldier, but the guy who cleans up after the work is done. The clandestine nature of Jonathan Quinn’s work makes for an instantly unusual premise even if you’re aware from the word go that this particular clean up is going to be anything but smooth.

But smooth is what Quinn likes. He’s a very buttoned up character. He’s procedure and method and control. As events spin inevitably into chaos, he is plucked up and out of his comfort zone, forced to make snap decisions and judgements. One suspects its precisely the kind of thrills his protégé signed on board for, but Quinn knows that thrills are short lived and that real danger is not something to be anticipated or savoured.

Quinn is a fascinating character in this way. Battles does an excellent job of keeping him all business and yet subtly revealing a more personal and human side to his character. More than a great deal of characters in the genre, Quinn feels flawed and human in a great many respects even if he tries to pretend that he isn’t.

Like Lee Child, Zoe Sharp and Simon Kernick, Brett Battles deals with fast prose, fast action and the kind of scenarios that wouldn’t feel out of place in the best action movies. His protagonist is morally dubious, but ultimately righteous, and his bad guys are truly bad. Of course, there are shades of grey thrown expertly into the mix, but while there is a depth to the characters here, the moral philosophising is kept to a minimum. Although Battles doesn’t shy away from the impact of violence, he rarely dwells on its nature or lingers too long on the long-term psychological impact. This is not a psycho-drama; it is pure action-adventure. A definite thriller. We are in no doubt as to who we are rooting for. And in the end, there’s a great satisfaction in seeing the good guys kick some ass.

Not that Battles makes things easy for his protagonists. There is, thank goodness, a genuine sense of danger here – one that escalates as the novel progresses. And although much of the plot becomes personal, Battles does his best to ensure it never becomes overly hokey or coincidental. A lot of this is down to solid character work and superior pacing. Very little here rings false and it’s a testament to Battles’ skill as a writer how fast the pages are turned.

As with, say, the Bond novels, much of the appeal of The Cleaner lies in its globe-trotting storyline. From the US to Vietnam to Belgium, Battles makes the most of his locations and gives the novel an epic sweep that feels incredibly filmic in its nature.

Indeed, it is clear that this is a novel based on the language of film. This is a blockbuster, no doubt about it. And it is to Battles’ credit that when the action does hot up, his smooth, clinically efficient prose is up to the challenge.

Is there a problem in that Quinn falls very neatly into the range of characters who come under the shadow of the mighty Jack Reacher juggernaut? Although Quinn is a separate and distinct creation, there is a feeling that comparisons may be made either fairly or unfairly. For this reader’s money, Quinn seems a more interesting character than Reacher, one who may perhaps have the potential to undergo a multi-book arc and perhaps adjust his attitude, perceptions and lifestyle as the series progresses rather than essentially resetting after every book. Also, Quinn feels more human than a character like Reacher ever could. By giving the man obvious flaws, making him more ordinary – just a guy doing his job – Battles grants Quinn a kind of empathy that more superheroic characters struggle with. He has the potential to be much more than a simple archetype.

The Cleaner is a brilliantly paced, expertly realised thriller. And Battles – with pitch-perfect prose and a real feel for the pulse-pounding, globe-trotting thriller – is an author who doesn’t simply show promise, but feels like he’s going to be around for a long time to come.

Russel McLean for Crime Scene Scotland, 05/04/08

Buy The Cleaner from Amazon.co.uk

THE FEVER KILL By Tom Picirilli

Creeping Hemlock Press, 2007, 978-0976921745, $16.95,

Hands up, straight out of the box, let me admit I have more than a soft spot for Piccirilli’s work. In 2006, I first read Headstone City which was not only a perfectly formed chiller, but also an excellent story about organised crime. I went back to read A Choir of Ill Children, which is one of the most insane horror novels – and its real horror, horrors of the mind rather than simple ghoulish grotesquery (although there is plenty of grotesquery, albeit much of it oddly beautiful and touching compared to the terrors of the everyday; something that only Southern gothic seems to able to achieve).

The Fever Kill is probably the first “straight” crime novel from Piccirilli, a tale of an undercover cop who’s finally snapped. A man who must face up not only to the mistakes he’s made on the job, but the mistakes he’s made his whole life. And the mistakes his own father may have made.

It’s a doom laden tale, with a galloping sense of the inevitable; from the moment we meet Crease, we know that his tale can’t end well. He’s a man who’s seen and done things that would have killed anyone else long ago. And maybe that would have been a mercy.

In the best noir tradition, The Fever Kill has a nightmare intensity. Emotions are ramped, and guilt seeps through the soul of every character we encounter. Of course, it is Crease’s guilt that pervades the novel most, and is finally personified in the undeniably creepy form of Teddy. This is a theme that runs through Piccirilli’s work – the idea of the man haunted by something from his past that is personified either on some higher plane or in his own mind. In many of his other books we are uncertain whether these hauntings are real or not; in The Fever Kill, we can be fairly certain that is a purely sign of Crease’s gradual unravelling. This guilt is, of course, natural to noir, as is the eventual confrontation with both its root cause and its effects. It is in these confrontations – often bloody and terrifying – that The Fever Kill truly grabs the reader by the throat.

But what the novel covers most effectively – and perhaps unexpectedly – is the relationship between father and son; what we hope to pass on to our offspring versus what we really give them.

Crease’s own father seems a natural jumping on point for Piccirilli’s exploration of this relationship. After all this was a seemingly good man who was eventually implicated not only in corruption but in the death of a young girl. Did he kill her? Did he take the money intended for her ransom? Is it the guilt over this that eventually leads to his blood and vomit soaked death on a street of the town of Hangtree?

But it is not the father who carries this guilt throughout the years so much as it is Crease himself who does so on the old man’s behalf. This guilt for his father’s actions explains Crease’s need to leave his old town and try to establish another kind of identity far away; the kind of identity that brings him back full circle to face the truth about his father, and about himself.

Crease’s relationship with his own son – a bullying eight year old with a bubbling anger he could only have inherited from his father - mirrors something of this. Crease wants to pass only the best of humanity on to his son, but with his own guilt and the very nature of the life he leads (that of an undercover agent in an organised crime family) as well as the raging fever that burns inside him, it seems he’s doomed to failure. In this relationship – one conducted long distance, awkwardly and painfully – we truly understand the messed up nature of Crease’s existence.

In his introduction, Ken Bruen claims that Piccirilli can jump genres on the spin of a dime, writing like he’s been doing this kind of thing all his life. And he has, in one sense or another, been working towards this kind of tale. A pulp paperback for the modern world. A noir novel with bite, imbued with the raging fever of the title. It’s not just a simple tale of revenge, although you can read it that way if you want. Piccirilli is an author with style and smarts to spare, and he’s jumped easily from being one of this reviewer’s favourite horror writers to one of his favourite noir writers.

The Fever Kill is one hell of punch to the gut. A smart, literate and terrifying noir nightmare, it confirms Piccirilli as among one of the best modern genre writers; an author who takes chances with his theme, character and style to deliver intriguingly complex and thrilling novels that can be read on multiple levels.

Russel D McLean for crimescenescotland.com, 17/12/2007

Buy The Fever Kill from Amazon.com

Buy The Fever Kill from Amazon.co.uk

THE BLONDE By Duane Swierczynski (featuring the original novella, REDHEAD)

St Martin's Press, ISBN 978-0312374594, $13.95

Who is Duane Swierczynski? In a relatively short space of time he’s hopped from subgenre to subgenre, barely breaking a sweat. His debut, Secret Dead Men blurred several genre lines. His second novel, The Wheelman had a pace and style that recalled Richard Stark at his finest.

And, now, with The Blonde, Swierczynski changes tack again, giving us a techno-thriller with the bite and pacing of an honest-to-God action movie. It has the thrill and speed of Wheel Man with the genre-bending aspects of Secret Dead Men.

And it doesn’t waste time with pre-amble.

The opening scene of The Blonde sets the tone perfectly, with our hero being told by the attractive lady opposite that his drink has been poisoned. That if he wants the cure, he needs to do what his new companion says.

Of course he doesn’t believe her.

But soon enough he finds she wasn’t lying. And the poison isn’t the worst thing about his new friend…

Without giving too much away, there’s a near SF aspect to The Blonde that, upon reflection, seems almost ridiculous, but which is handled so skilfully you simply accept it as part of the world that Swierczynski creates. A lot of this is down to the pacing of the novel. The Blonde starts in high gear and just keeps going. The technobabble required to set up the MacgGuffin of the story is brief, convincingly straightforward and treated with respect. A lot of writers would spend time apologising or over-explaining the more apparently insane aspects of the story, but Swierczynski lays them out, says, just accept it.

And we do. Even the unlikely use of the word, “fook” that only Ken Bruen seems to ever be able to employ in prose without seeming foolish. In fact, if there are any niggles I had reading The Blonde, it was probably the Irish connection that seems a little superfluous, but doesn’t dampen the pace and mood.

There’s a joy to The Blonde that spills straight off the page. The reason we go so willingly with Swierczynski in his novels is because he’s having a ball with his stories, and this transfers directly to the reader. The best thriller writers don’t need complex plots or end-of-the-world stakes (even if The Blonde does have some extremely high stakes involved) to pull in the reader. They need pacing. Energy. They need the kind of crackling energy that can’t be faked.

The Blonde is a damned entertaining novel, reads at a hell of a speed and refuses to take itself too seriously, delighting in the kind of gloriously over the top action that leaves the reader grinning like a lunatic. And among all that, there’s an unexpected tenderness to some of the characters and their relationships that adds an extra dimension to this fast-paced thriller. Kowalski – a hitman with a past, and a served head in a gym-bag – is noteable for surprising the reader with extra dimensions and wrinkles to his character that a writer more concerned with theatrics may have ignored.

But what makes this paperback edition special is the addition of an original short story, Redhead, which will only make sense (as the author urges in his introduction to the new story) if you’ve read The Blonde.

Redhead picks up threads left hanging in the original novel and runs with them, creating its own kind of frenzied energy and serving as a satisfying and often witty coda to the action in the original novel. To be honest, it’s easy to move onto this final story with skipping a beat. Insert your own fade out and fade in, and you have an extended epilogue that adds something to the original story, but takes nothing away.

You don’t have to read Readhead to get full satisfaction from The Blonde, but it’s a helluva story and adds a more satisfying kick to the package in the paperback edition, along with the kind of joy that’s more often associated with DVD extras to enhance film.

So my advice to you is that you spend time with the kickass Blonde and her righteous Redhead sister. These two girls, they’re gonna slay you…

Russel McLean for crimescenescotland, 11/12/07

Lady's Night

Featuring

SECOND SHOT By Zoe Sharp
Allison & Busby, £10.99, ISBN 978-0749080167

HELL OF A WOMAN Edited by Megan Abbot
Busted Flush Press, $18, ISBN 978-0976715733

DEADLY BELOVED By Max Allan Collins
Hard Case Crime, $6.99, ISBN 978-0843957785

Charlie Fox, the protagonist of Zoe Sharp’s popular series, is what a Scottish mother might call a “tough cookie”. But even this kick-ass heroine’s mortality may be in doubt as Sharp’s latest novel opens, finding Charlie shot and bleeding out in the bleak wilderness.

It’s a dramatic start for a series, and makes an immediate impact, even for a reader who’s never read this particular series before.

Like Lee Child, Barry Eisler and Brett Battles, Sharp is shooting for fast-paced heroics in her books. Her protagonist is tough and capable, but in contrast to Reacher or Rains, she seems believably vulnerable. Perhaps because her profession is more accessible than those of her male counterparts. Charlie Fox is a working bodyguard, and this status adds a touch of realism to her character that helps cement her world. She has to balance a real life with her more outlandish exploits, unlike the other characters whose status is often closer to archetypal than fully rounded individual.

The contrast Sharp draws between keeping Charlie professional and maintaining her humanity is evident in the tortured relationship she has with her boss. It is a small cliché, the romantic relationship with the boss, but is used here to illuminate Fox’s character and add some much needed tension to her professional outlook. Toeing the line between caring for someone and keeping them in line is tough, and Sharp piles the pressure perfectly, especially in one confrontational scene where Charlie is having doubts about accepting her latest assignment.

That’s not to say that Charlie is a hand-wringing heroine by any means. Unlike the more “chick lit” protagonists of certain current crime series, she is believably female without resorting to typically “girly” clichés. Her bloody-mindedness and dedication to her own professionalism are intense enough to both intrigue and unnerve the reader. Push this girl the wrong way, and you could end up in hospital or worse.

But a character like Charlie needs a plot to use her full potential. And Sharp provides a nicely twisting narrative that manages to use both the personal – there’s a great “family” theme running through the novel, especially the relationship between fathers and daughters – and the visceral to excellent effect.

Second Shot is, simply, a brilliantly executed (if you’ll pardon the pun) action thriller. More than that, its great to see a female protagonist who can kick ass equal to – if maybe better than – her male counterparts.

Charlie Fox, of course, also makes an brief (blink and you’ll miss her in the excellent Served Cold) appearance in Megan Abbot’s brilliant anthology, A Hell of a Woman (Busted Flush Press). This tightly themed collection of stories sets out to prove that female characters are more than the stereotypes they often get lumbered with in crime fiction.

While Val McDermid’s introduction focuses primarily on Chandler’s misconceptions of female characters and forgets to add that even today certain characters cheapen their characters – even those who serve as protagonists – to one-note chick-lit archetypes (equally as dull as the scheming femme-fatale) she sets the tone of the anthology nicely. These stories serve to show many facets of the female protagonist in crime fiction. From the ass kicking Charlie, to the less obviously proactive lead of Sara Gran’s brilliant The Token Booth Clerk, the anthology presents the reader with a variety of female characters who serve as the driving force behind the fiction.

Even those stories narrated from the male point of view (Ken Bruen’s Nora B springs instantly to mind) show the effect of women on those around them, and make even absent characters seem strong and… real.

The problem with many anthologies is that certain stories feel like they’re coasting. Usually, these stories come from the biggest names in the anthology. But here, everyone’s on form from the names you know down to the names you don’t. They’re all on board and running with the idea of femininity as a concept, an actuality, a myth… something to embrace and something to be terrified of. In fact, what makes this anthology stand out is the fact that the crime elements of the stories are incidental to the theme. This is a showcase of what crime fiction can do when it becomes about more than “solving mysteries” or “restoring order”. More often than not these stories are more about social commentary (Libby Fischer Hellman’s High Yellow) or psychology (Charlie Huston’ s Interrogation B) or what it means to be a woman in a desperate world (Lisa Resper France’s School Girl) than they are merely about “the crime”. But they use the trappings of crime fiction to push forward strong stories that support the basic themes.

Abott herself is a name I’ve been hearing about for a long time. On the strength of her assembling this anthology, it looks like I’m going to finally have to cave and pick up one of her own books. And based on the strength of stories here, I’ve got a whole new lot of authors I want to investigate further.

No question, this is one of the strongest anthologies I’ve read in a long time. In fact, the first I’ve digested in one sitting. But with the incredible array of writers and the sheer variety of stories involved, I can heartily recommend picking up A Hell of a Woman.

I’ve already mentioned the idea of men writing about female characters, which brings us neatly to Hard Case Crime’s newest release, Deadly Beloved, by Max Allan Collins. Collins, who seems to write at least ten books a year, is the kind of pulp writer you thought had disspeared decades earlier. He can turn his hand from original novels (the Nate Heller series) to tie-ins (he has written CSI tie-ins and Bones novels) to polishing off the final manuscripts by respected masters of pulp fiction (he was the one who guided Mickey Spillane’s final novel, Dead Street, to completion following the author’s death last year).

Deadly Beloved is based on Collins’ comic-book series, Ms Tree, which concerns itself with a female private eye. Once secretary to a respected investigator, she takes the business on when he is killed. She’s a tough, no nonsense kind of lady, who isn’t afraid to flaunt a gun or her own sexuality.

Collins himself admits in the afterword that Ms Tree is based very firmly in the old four colour comics tradition. Like Dick Tracy, but it’s the girl kicking ass. This is the kind of thing Collins does very well indeed.

Tree is missing the depth of emotion that runs through many of the shorts in Hell of A Woman and the natural empathy of Sharp’s Charlie Fox, but within the confines of her no-nonsense, high octane world she becomes compelling. Like the Tracy strips that were a direct influence on the novel, things seem a little tidy and perhaps even unbelievable, but there’s an energy to Collins’s writing and a love for the character and world he has created that shines through.

As with the Nate Heller series, and Collins recent polishing of one of Mickey Spillane’s final books, he seems extremely comfortable – as a writer – in a truly pulp world. For all the modernity of its attitude towards a female protagonist, Deadly Beloved remains cheerfully old fashioned in its ass-kicking approach to crime solving, its choice of antagonist and even in the way the story itself is structured. Take out the modern aspects of Tree’s investigations, and we could be back in the good old days of pulp. Collins puts forward the idea in his afterward that Ms Tree came out of the idea of spitballing around the concept that Mike Hammer’s devoted secretary might have taken on the agency following his death.

You think it’s a coincidence that her late, lamented shamus husband was called Michael?

So, yeah, Deadly Beloved is unashamed, ass-kicking, old fashioned fun. And as for Ms Tree herself, well, she’s something of a fantasy in many ways. But that doesn’t change the fact she’s one hell of a dame in her own right…

Russel D McLean for Crime Scene Scotland, 12 November 2007

Buy SECOND SHOT (Charlie Fox Series) from Amazon.co.uk
Buy Second Shot: A Charlie Fox Thriller (Charlie Fox Mysteries) from Amazon.com

Buy A Hell of a Woman: An Anthology of Female Noir from amazon.co.uk
Buy A Hell of a Woman: An Anthology of Female Noir from amazon.com

Buy Deadly Beloved (Hard Case Crime) from amazon.co.uk
Buy Deadly Beloved (Hard Case Crime) from amazon.com

OLD SCHOOLS OF HARD KNOCKS

THE BLUE CHEER By Ed Lynskey

Point Blank Press, 2007, ISBN: 9780809556670, $12.95

DEAD STREET By Mickey Spillane

Hard Case Crime, Oct. 30 2007, ISBN 0843957778

And

DAMN NEAR DEAD Edited by Duane Swierczynski

Busted Flush Press, 2006, ISBN 0976715759, $18

Lynskey’s second novel featuring PI Frank Johnson starts with a quite literal bang as the investigators quiet country home is attacked by a stinger rocket. Frank may be looking for the good life, but it seems that the bad just follows him around.

And from bad it gets worse. The rocket is only the start of Frank’s troubles, and soon he finds himself caught up in the affairs of a local hate group known as the Blue Cheer. A group that may have a stronger local support than Frank could begin to guess at.

There’s something endearing about Johnson that we’ve mentioned before; how he seems a kind of strange anachronism at times: an old school PI – replete with a hardass dry-wit and a distinctly Chandleresque dialect – who’s been thrown into the modern world quite unwillingly. Although Lynskey has calmed this down somewhat since The Dirt Brown Derby, that old school charm hangs around the narrative, keeping Frank a compelling character and adding a kind of odd interest that .

Its an approach that works, and decidedly more than it did in Lynskey’s first novel. Part of this seems to be the more active role that Johnson has in this tale. He’s not just a PI for hire, he’s taking his case personally. He’s more willing to push himself for not only the common good, but that of the people around him. His relationships with the townfolks and his closest neighbour (whose past is more than a little murky) make Johnson more than just another hardboiled PI, adding a more human dimension beyond the tough clichés. Lynskey is bringing the old-school hardboiled books bang up to date in an exciting, compelling fashion, and more than that is continuing to evolve as a writer with each new book.

So its interesting to move from a writer homaging pulp influences at the start of his career, comparatively speaking, to a writer whose final crime novel (if not necessarily his last novel overall) has recently been released by Hard Case Crime, a brand whose very existence is predicated on the appeal of the old pulp novel lines.

If you want the real deal old-school hardboiled, you don’t need to look much further than Mickey Spillane. Love his works or loathe them – and he always provokes a reaction, even now – Spillane followed his own particular code when it came to walking those mean streets.

His characters were often tougher than Chandler’s or even Hammet’s, unapologetically violent and hard-headed in their attitudes. They were imperfect people, populating streets where the shadows often provided the most light. In his final crime novel, Dead Street, Spillane takes his mean streets and makes them even darker with the spin of old age. In this novel, the protagonists are battling their age as much as each other.

It shows most in the way the tale is spun. As with Lynskey’s novel, Spillane works in a recognisable modern setting but uses an old fashioned hard boiled voice to breathe life into it. There is talk of terrorism, nuclear weaponry and even the occasional cellphone, but the characters seem ill at ease to use these terms. Put it down to their age. These are the old ass kicking heroes who refused to lay down and die. Who are still walking the streets, even if the streets have changed over the years, become alien to the men who knew them so well. Unlike Lynskey, this is not an homage to the golden age of pulp, so much as a product. Spillane knows his voice, knows his audience, and his voice rings through with a period authenticity that both alienates his character from the modern world and cements his place in it.

It’s a fantastically hardboiled premise that Spillane employs – an old cop finds out the woman he loved is still alive. A woman he thought dead for decades, who once seemed his only reason to find joy in the world. And for all the life that her re-appearance brings back to him (even if she no longer remembers him, even if she’s become someone else) it draws him closer to the end of his own as well. Spillane doesn’t write about anything so simple as love here. It becomes about rebirth, about rediscovery. This old washed out cop rediscovers his younger self. As the book goes on, the prose becomes more obliquely pulp.

Your enjoyment probably varies depending on your opinion of Spillane and his particular approach. If you like his work, you’ll get a kick out of Dead Street. If you never got it, you won’t be converted. But it’s a read that does exactly what it sets out to do, and that’s Spillane’s signature. Its probably worth noting that the manuscript was prepared for release by Max Allan Collins, a productive crime writer who owes Spillane a massive debt of influence for his own series, and who manages to sensitively insert his work into the manuscript so that most people should have a hard time knowing where the editing work was done. Just the way it should be.

Ultimately, Spillane’s final novel is a twisting tale told with his typically snarling attitude. Like its character, it feels a little awkward in the modern world, but that only adds to its charm, making it a nod back to those days and a tip of the hat forward to a new way of writing the old pulps.

It’s the idea of an old man in a new world that formed the central theme of Duane Swierczynski’s anthology, Damn Near Dead, a book I’ve been dipping in and out of (the way you do with the best anthologies) since its release last year, but now seems the ideal time to mention it, tying in as it does with the old and new guard theme of this multi-book review.

“Geezer Noir” is the term coined, and it seems that Swierczynski managed to pip Spillane to the post in this regard. The novel deals with hardboiled characters – thugs, killers and criminals – in their silver years. In worlds that have changed and become alien to them. Like the protagonist of Dead Street, they still have this need to behave like they’re young, to maintain their own power and anger.

There is a breadth of style and content here, and its fascinating to observe the ways in which writers of various ages (the youngest author here, Dave White, is 28 while the oldest, John Harvey is… well, he has a few years on Dave White at least) approach the subject of growing old in a hardboiled world. There’s regret, recrimination and, in Simon Kernick’s snappy and clever Funeral for a Friend even a kind of rebirth. There’s deathly serious approaches to the subject, and there’s the more… unusual stylistic flourishes (Stuart MacBride gets to have some fun with Daphne McAndrews and the Smackhead Junkies, even daring to fly in the hardboiled face of the anthology and throw in a cookie recipe), which serve to highlight the many facets of the talent Swierczynski has assembled. From big names like Mark Billingham and John Harvey to up and comers like Dave White, Sarah Weinman and Ray Banks. Some of the authors have only published short stories. Some have huge backlists. Others are only now debuting. But all of them bring a unique voice to the twilight world of geezer noir making Damn Near Dead a fine introduction to a crew of writers who represent the old and new guard and whose insights into old age present it as anything but the expected dotage society might expect.

Russel McLean for Crime Scene Scotland, 15/09/07

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