Book reviews, writers I like

Stuart MacBride: Shatter The Bones Reviewed

2012-03-06T07:49:00.001-08:00

Modern television collides with Detective Sergeant Logan McRae's Aberdeen in the latest of the McRae books. Somebody has kidnapped Allison and Jenny MacGregor - mother and six year old daughter, singing duo and darling of British TV's latest talent show. Not only is the nation glued to the news but the kidnappers have started sending body parts through the post.

Unfortunately for the police, the kidnappers are proving quite expert in not giving away clues. The plods have to resort to a quite distasteful trawl through the Sex Offenders Register, giving MacBride licence for grim humour and low dialogue. Not the book's finest hour.

Rather more of the action is spent on the main plot than the usual McRae tale, though there are still several of the usual sidelines and chances to meet the more colourful (and sad) lowlives of Aberdeen. The author's eye and ear are sharp as ever here.

Interspersed with the police narrative are snippets from the experience and thoughts of six year old Jenny, increasingly acting as a window on the kidnappers as the action progresses.

Keeping the book current, the ransom is to be paid by the public, through online donations. Another weak point here - how could the money be safely extracted by the kidnappers?

So, a few cavils and this is certainly not going to win anyone's Book Of The Month award, including mine. If you came to it as your first experience of Stuart MacBride you'd wonder what the fuss was about. Good but not great - and that's what most of his fans will probably think. It may well be time to move the McRae franchise on - the promotion and change of force snatched from him in Flesh House perhaps.

Stuart MacBride: Dark Blood Review

2012-02-27T09:15:00.000-08:00

Detective Sergeant Logan McRae is stuck in rank and stuck in Aberdeen. His mood is further blackened when he's landed with a babysitting job - except the baby is a weasely pervert with a penchant for raping senile old men.

Richard Knox has served his time, found God and returned to his grandparents' house in Aberdeen. He's accompanied by a very large DI Danby from Northumbria, a DI who doesn't like giving out details and who doesn't like McRae's insubordinations.

Dark Blood is set against the rather unbridled developments around Aberdeen: Donald Trump's massive efforts being reflected in the more modest but no less tacky little boxes being erected by Malk The Knife, a renowned Edinburgh gangster. It zips around in the Aberdeen rain like an informer's face on a hotplate. There's counterfeit currency, knock-off DVDs, a missing informant and plenty of class A drugs. There's also Wee Hamish Mowat, local crime lord who has taken Logan to his bosom, via a string of tip offs about the competition. And Reuben, Wee Hamish's chief enforcer - he just likes hitting Logan.

Logan's already drinking too much and upsetting goth forensics partner Samantha. Inspector Steel is back, munching more bacon butties as she veers between the uncaring outrageous and trying to stop Logan moaning his way out of the Job. Incompetent Beattie is pestering Logan for a ride on his coat tails. DCI Finnie is losing patience. Enough, you'd think, but MacBride expertly throws in more.

Part of Knox's past is catching him up, albeit in an amateur way. More disturbing is a sinister trio rocketing north in a Range Rover. Danby's behaviour is partly accounted for by the sad and vicious end to the life of a friend and colleague. And finally he coughs - Knox is an accountant - more importantly, he's Malk The Knife's accountant. Now we know why decent prisoners trying to beat up a nonce got carved up for their troubles. We also find out that Malk is dying and Knox may be the key to millions in hidden loot. Knox is wanted by a lot of people, for vengeance or for profit.

If you've read any others in the Logan McRae series you'll know that the author excels at mixing a myriad of storylines, some connected, some not. The Aberdeen plods work their way through them, sometimes rightly - the one thing guaranteed is that Logan will have a hunch leaving him facing horrendous odds (nail guns, savage dogs, expert heavies). Dark Blood is no exception - a genuine page-turner with smiles and shudders playing tennis with the emotions. It's nasty, it's funny, it's hugely entertaining. It's also very vicious and not for lovers of Agatha Christie. Or Barratt houses.

Jo Nesbo: The Devil's Star Review

2012-02-08T16:50:00.000-08:00

Detective Harry Hole is after another serial killer in something of a change of style for Nesbo. Less of the explicit violence and gore, more psychological movings, more Hitchcock than Grand Guignol.

Someone is abducting young women from the daylit streets of Oslo. Bodies are found, characterised by a chopped-off finger and a blood red diamond secreted on the corpse. The case is given to Harry's arch rival, the man he suspects of being a smuggler and a murderer, Inspector Tom Waaler. The two are due a showdown ...

Estranged from his great love Rakel, booze-sodden, his only witness against Waaler recanting, Hole is a mess - even more so than usual. His resignation lies waiting on his Kommandant's desk. Even worse, he has been offered alternative employment by Tom Waaler. In the meantime anther woman is killed, another blood red diamond found on the body. The killer seems to have a pattern and Harry, with the unorthodox help of illegal pharmaceuticals, figures it out. They have a suspect, they have a schedule, they have timings - just set a trap and wait. Sure enough, the trap is sprung and they have their man.

At this point Waaler makes his demand to test Harry: if Harry wants a lucrative post-police position in the smuggling racket then he has to kill their suspect. Not too difficult a task in the rickety Oslo jail system, especially with other officers on the payroll. Waaler ups the stakes with threats against Rakel and her son.

Cometh the hour, cometh the perfect Hole solution: he kidnaps the killer! Hiding from his own colleagues, hiding from the smugglers' cadre, the suspect denies the killing and gives Harry enough evidence for him to reach out to a few trusted friends. Unfortunately Waaler is monitoring those friends and closing in on Harry's hideout. Waaler also chooses to strengthen his hand by abducting Rakel's young son.

So, we have a manhunt within a manhunt, a chase within a chase. Harry faces professional ruin and death, and he risks the death of the closest thing to a son he will ever know. Harry has killed, Waaler is a killer. The reckoning beckons ...

And that's a good point to leave things. There's an expertly crafted denouement, there's the real killer to find (and a nice touch on hiding a body). One of the best Nesbo's I've read to date, all the better for the toning down of the blood and body counts. If you like your crime novels tight and tense then you'll certainly enjoy this.

How do I love thee?

2012-01-28T02:56:00.000-08:00

With Valentine's Day approaching I thought I'd try a change of genre and review a love story. Not my usual field but surely, out of the thousands of books that I've read there must be a tale of a great love. Not perhaps in the crime genre, where relationships tend more to one night stands, hookers and divorce (not necessarily in that order).

My teen years were spent largely with sci fi and Lovecraft, even less promising. It wsn't until George Lucas arrived on the scene that sci fi discovered romance and I can't really imagine the great Cthulhu getting his end away with some slimy lesser great one.

Could cinema lend a hand? Most of us think immediately of Gone With The Wind - the tale of an arrogant Southern trollop and will she/won't she get her blackguard? Personally I'd have thrown Scarlett into Tara before I struck the match.

Something more modern? Pretty Woman? Possibly, if they'd made the film they first intended, not the glossy drug-free schmaltz that was released. And Julia Roberts leads us to Hugh Grant, a man of such limited acting talent that logs sitting in my fireplace have been known to shout out rude things at him. Back a few years to Streisand and Sherif? Funny Girl does have one line I like "If we hate the same people and you get your suit cleaned, it's a match." but that's not enough.

Do I hear "Romeo and Juliet" in the background? Please - double death without getting your end away equals stupidity, not love. "Romeo, I've told you a hundred times, I can't see you if you stand under the balcony."

A quick trawl through IMDB and Wikipedia - no, no and no. Elixabeth Taylor's bosom heaves into sight several times and passes by unmarked. Even Nicolas Cage - more people die in his attempts to find love than do when Stallone is freeing POWs.

No, forget novels, plays, films. The greatest theme of all has produced nothing to stir my blood. Apart from Emmanuelle Béart of course. Let us turn to poetry and relax. Back to the title of this post - is there a more evocative first line than "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways". It's backed by one of the great true love stories - the match between Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning.

A dash of cold water from John Donne (but who better to understand love than a randy cleric?):

I scarce believe my love to be so pure
As I had thought it was,
Because it doth endure
Vicissitude, and season, as the grass ;
Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore
My love was infinite, if spring make it more

Stay in that era with "To His Coy Mistress" by Andrew Marvell. Give Shakespeare another chance: "Love is not love / Which alters when it alteration finds."

A sad reflection indeed on novelists, playwrights and movie men when they can't match the efforts of poets dead hundreds of years.

Why was I musing on this? Because I've just republished a couple of posts for Valentine's Day on another site. Valentine's Day: a guide for men explains the path to your lady love's heart; Valentine's Day, a guide for women explains how to please the clod in your life.

Image of Elizabeth Barrett Browning public domain via Wikimedia Commons

Robert B. Parker: Night Passage Reviewed

2012-01-27T03:24:00.000-08:00

Night Passage is the first in the Jesse Stone series, seeing Stone move from Los Angeles to Paradise on the Massachusetts coast to take up a position as Chief to the small Paradise Police Department. A good opportunity for a respected LAPD homicide detective, except the alcoholic Stone has just been fired by the LAPD.

So, why should the moneyed society of Paradise hire a lush, a man who was drunk for the job interview? Yes, there's something rotten in that society and they'll be quite happy to see a bumbling idiot in charge of local law enforcement. Little do they know they're not getting an idiot and that the bumbling ended with that job interview.

Jesse's alcoholism and its main cause, his ex-wife Jenn, are strong themes in all of the Stone series. That might be an early warning sign for some of you - don't let it be. His personal actions, his relationships, are in marked contrast to his functioning as chief. His attitude to law enforcement and his conduct are the bedrock of his life - he blew it in LA, he's not going to do the same in his new life.

Equally, the tone in which the books are written is light - there's crisp dialogue, action without excessive adverbs, tight plotting. Maudlin the series isn't.

What is the plot? Banker and foremost citizen of Paradise leads militia known as The Watchmen, preparing for the day that the UN, Jews, Mexicans and anyone else with more than a slight suntan invades the USA. They have the constitutional right to bear arms and they're damn well going to - something that leads to an unfortunate outcome with certain Boston crooks. A steroid-abusing muscleman named JoJo is the interface between the honest citizenry and the career criminals. He soon falls foul of Jesse, bested physically and mentally by the strength that poeple didn't think Jesse had when they appointed him.

JoJo embarks on a slightly psychotic killing spree, partly for money and partly because he enjoys it. The ex Chief is murdered many miles away. Evidence for the latter points to a member of the Paradise PD - Jesse is left wondering who, if any, of the police he can trust.

Efforts to clean up after crimes inevitably allow the unravelling of ill-thought out schemes and finally the militia march on the police station, ready to kill Jesse. The line is drawn: who will stand on either side will determine who lives and who dies. The one thing that won't happen is that Jesse will compromise or surrender.

Given this is the first of a series. I'm sure most of you will guess the broad outcome. Robert Parker doesn't do huge surprises but he does do small ones with élan. And if you like his tyle, as I do, you'll find this very readable. If you don't you'd probably call it competent. As with the Spenser novels the violence is understated and you aren't forced to read bad sex scenes - another set of books for those who apprciate good writing aimed at adults.

If you get a white page on this blog ...

2012-01-16T04:31:00.000-08:00

My apologies to IE users who are seeing some white pages on Blogger blogs. Google has made significant upgrades to Blogger but didn't apparently test on Internet Explorer. I'm sure this was sloppiness rather than an attempt to push Chrome!

Google engineers have been informed and will fix the problem when they've finished playing Fussball. In the meantime, please view using Chrome or Firefox.

Give Queen new yacht for diamond jubilee, says Gove

2012-01-15T18:27:00.000-08:00

Her Blessed Majesty, richest woman in the world, should be given a £60 million yacht, says Michael Gove. "Jolly nice of him," I thought, "why?" For staying alive a long time and hence reaching a diamond jubilee. Not particularly difficult to do when the likeliest thing to kill you is apoplexy from Phil's latest gaffe but never mind. It's very generous of one of the rich Tories to give such a generous gift.

Oh, wait. The Nayshun should give her the yacht. "Thank 'ee ma'am, for sixty glorious years."

I'll return to Gove in a minute. For now, let's see if we can imagine what an 85 year old woman would do with a second yacht. Give the old one to Charles and have races up and down the Thames? Sail it single-handed across the bath tub? Blockade Harrods and take potshots at the owner? Fill it with pairs of corgis and horses and wait for a really good rainstorm? Can you imagine her on DJ-Day, pretending not to know what's in the big yacht-shaped parcel, unwrapping it and pretending to like it. "It's just what I wanted. You can never have too many yachts."

"Gawd bless her and all who'll sail in her." "Which won't be me, you stupid peasant, I'm 85. Nip of malt, box of chocolates and a night in with Coronation Street, that's what I want."

Let's think of some practicalities. Where does one buy a yacht, apart from Harrods and that's a no-no. One goes to a yacht builder, discusses plans, waits for the yacht to be built. The speed this government moves at it'll be Harry getting the yacht in five years. Better add a Jolly Roger and a Reichsmarine jack to the flag locker and call it the Graf Spee.

So, a smartarse idea that hasn't neen thought through. Which brings us back to Michael Gove. Ah, Gove. For those who don't know Gove, he's the Secretary of State for Education. Came from decent stock, degree in English, jumped on the Young Conservative bandwagon as it was his only chance of getting laid, did a bit of local journalism, became a leader writer for the Times. Advanced under Murdoch, became a politician, squirmed into Surrey Heath. Similar to David Cameron - no real job and little experience of the hoi palloi, now ruling the country. (Excuse me, ma'am.)

What has SOSFE Gove achieved? Well, he's cut the allowance which was instrumental in helping poor children stay on at school to achieve academic qualifications. (Gove got a scholarship to go to grammar school.) He's resurrecting a few idea which even the neocons in Texas have admitted were a gross failure. His flagship policy (slipped that one in neatly, didn't I) is "Academies". Anyone who can unserstand the process and follow the law can get extra money to start an academy if they don't like their local schools. Okay, the money that should now be repairing schools was cut by Gove's government and teachers and curiculum have been slagged off, by Gove's government. Here's some more money, from Gove's government.

Those of you with knowledge of education systems and Dickens will be muttering "Dotheboys Hall" about now and you wouldn't be far wrong. Take up of this munificence has been slow to date, because starting a school ins't actually that easy. One needs to research demand, acquire property, staff it, recruit pupils, become au fait with the laws that haven't been scrapped. There are only so many head teachers to go around and many in the public sector, even despite the demands os their positions, aren't interested. Thank god there's a rabid Daily Mail journalist who's started an academy. It would be a bit embarassing if even the educated right wing weren't on board. Oops, they're not.

So, bugger the current system. Tack on an expensive new irrelevance. Pontificate, then suggest a new yacht for HM. Oh, and he's suggested that all schoolchildren should get a present to mark the Diamond Jubilee. Probably a picture of his smirking face approaching a royal backside with toungue eagerly extended.

I was going to add some juicy quotes from Gove but there aren't any. The man is grey and sad. Here's a few made-up facts about him instead.

1) Nobody is allowed to touch Michael Gove's todger unless wearing Marigold rubber gloves.

2) Michael was thrilled by Biggles stories when a child. He identified with Ginger.

3) Michael's favourite food is mince, neeps and tatties. He doesn't eat it in public though.

4) Michael tried to sell his soul to the devil when 22 years old. The devil farted in his general direction and told him he had the parts of a hamster.

5) Michael really, really, really wants to be Prime Minister. When he confessed this to Cameron, Cameron farted in his general direction and told him he had the parts of a hamster.

Go with the seasonal flow

2011-12-19T07:31:00.000-08:00

I love good writing, I love good music, I'm an agnostic. What better combination then to get me to blog about Christmas carols! Much as I'll go to a church if it's important enough to a friend (usually wedding or funeral) and I'll stand, sit and kneel with the crowd, so I'll sing carols.

Yes, I'll warble on about the Christ child, the saviour of the world, or about undersized donkeys and drummer boys, or even shepherds washing their socks by night. I'll even do it with pleasure if I'm in the right company, which doesn't necessarily mean a bunch who've consumed three gallons of egg nog. I don't know if the warm, fuzzy glow comes from a religous upbringing or if it's concussion where an old girl in Debenham's beat me to the ground for fear that I might be after the last pair of pink and gold slippers. (I wasn't, honestly.)

I have blogged on my fascination with words, their meanings and derivations (see Five favourite books for a desert island). I've blogged with pleasure and pain on common English errors for bloggers. I've contemplated campaigning for the death penalty for anyone who writes "your's". Now, in the same exploring spirit I spent some time looking at where various carols come from and how they've changed over the years.

I'm not alone in wondering about carols. Whilst researching best traditional Christmas carols I came across a veritable litany of the great and good of the music world. And Westlife. Elvis, David Bowie guesting on Bing Crosby's Xmas show (Little Drummer Boy, in case you were wondering, as a duet). Annie Lennox, dozens of squeaky little redneck christian moppets, James Taylor, and my favourite - Richie Blackmore - from Deep Purple to Blackmore's Night doing I Saw Three Ships.

Beware though, every plump nobody who's been on "I'm X-list, get me out of this jungle before I have to take my top off again" has released an album of Christmas songs. They all "interpret" - meaning warble occasionally because that's what real singers do, and none of them can reach the high notes on Gloria. (They try, dear god they try, but stepladders and helium wouldn't help most of them.)

So, if you're expecting a family singsong this year, visit best traditional Christmas carols - there's even a free e-book of lyrics so you have no excuse on verse 2 of O Come All Ye Faithful.

Intro pic by be_dazzled: Gaudi - Sagrada Familia stained glass windows Cards

Robert B. Parker: Hush Money

2011-12-12T14:54:00.000-08:00

Hush Money is the first Spenser novel I'm reviewing here, though it's not the first in the series. It's the quintessentual Parker book - well written, well paced, some complex ideas dealt with simply, some detection, some action, some Spenser/Hawk humour. If you like this, you'll like the rest of the set. If you don't like it, move on - perhaps to the Jesse Stone novels if you want to try more Parker, otherwise to another author.

Spenser, private eye is sat in his office when Hawk arrives with Robinson Nevins. Nevins is a pernicketty academic, three piece suit, bow tie, unmarried. His problem is that he was denied tenure - hardly a case for Spenser to bother with but, as a favour to Hawk, he agrees to take it on.

The Nevins plot thickens when it appears that he is being blamed for the suicide of a young black male - purportedly his ex-lover. The alleged ex was involved in outing prominent closeted gays, had a quarter of a million dollars in the bank and wasn't physically capable of opening the window that he plummeted from. In the meantime some waspishly-penned academics are giving Spenser the runaround - or so they think.

One freebie case not being enough, Spenser's partner (Susan) asks him to investigate the stalking of a friend of hers, KC Roth. KC is a trifle flaky and seems to regard men as fluff, with her being the vacuum cleaner. Spenser preserves his virtue on more than one occasion but only just. Stalker identified, roughly told to keep away - problem solved. Wrong: there's a sting in the tale and a second climax to come.

Back to Hawk - the cool, hard, merciless Hawk. One of the criticisms of the Spenser novels is that we learn very little about Spenser or Hawk - their past, how they formed their friendship. Of Hawk's less savoury activities we hear very little indeed. Here, though, we at least get a brief description of Hawk as a street thug, getting into boxing, being taken in by a good man (Nevins' father), being propositioned as a teen by one of the protagonists of this story.

Said protagonist appears to be a ringleader in preventing Nevins' tenure. Spenser and Hawk stir the pot by slightly illegal means: the response is baffling - Spenser's car is blown up. Not what one expects when dealing with a bunch of English professors. Further poking around leads to a white supremacist, even more anomalous, but he does have the sort of staff who could defenestrate an awkward young man and blow up a car.

So we're set up for a typical Spenser ending. I won't give the details but as you can surmise, might is not right and justice will prevail - amusingly so in Nevins' case.

All in all, a very satisfying read. One minor word of caution: going through it again for this review I was struck by the number of times the f word was used - it would be a shame to let it bother you as you'd miss an enjoyable read but you may want to be aware of it, especially if considering this for a gift.

The Rebekah Brooks Diary: Part 5

2011-12-03T03:02:00.000-08:00

Chipping Norton has a new hero, dear Diary! An aging man who seized a good franchise and became rich has said or done something outrageous and it wasn't even mentioned in Leveson. Oh Jeremy, you Jem. Outrage the little people and they're scurrying off to buy your Christmas DVD "Sniffing Petrol With The Lads".

Mind you, I thought he looked quite shamefaced when he said it - that's not the way Jeremy. The path to freedom is:

1) Nobody said it

2) It was a junior technician who said it

3) Nobody heard him say it

4) I'm too high up to know he and all his mates said it

5) I don't recall my second in command telling me what had been said

6) Someone high up but not me told them to say it

7) Get a selfless, eternally-devoted employee, a friend, a woman of sterling character, to resign even though she didn't say it, never knew it had been said and quite frankly doesn't give a toss anyway.

It's the po-faced holier-than-thous jumping on the Hang Clarkson bandwagon that annoy me. A made-up media fuss. Here in Chipping Sodem we know who we support. Mrs Bunn even had Clarkson Cupcakes as the daily special until some lawyers got in touch about image rights and royalties owing. I see her doors are closed now - must tell SamCam - one of her friends wants to open up a pot pourri shop - arts and crafts, that's what we want round here, not bread for the poor. Anyway, they all drive to Aldi, wherever and whatever that is,

And what's all the fuss about anyway? Jeremy said that strikers should be shot in front of their families. Well, the last time I looked we were a free country and he's entitled to his opinion and the chance to express it on live television while advertising "Same Old Stunts you're too thick to remember". One we won't be watching round at the Camerons' on Boxing Day, no matter how many publisher's freebies JC gives out as presents. Tight bugger (and I don't mean his jeans).

Back to Leveson; what's been happening there? Hugh Grant gave a good performance. If he could get a fraction of that emotion into his acting he'd still have a movie career. Some people I've never heard of cried on about their daughter's phone being hacked - I can't understand why a royal correspondent would want to hack a teenage girl's phone - she's never been bedded by either of the two Princes so she's nothing.

Charlie says I'm harsh and that the teenage girl was a celebrity of sorts. Two points, Charlie: don't read over my shoulder and remember who has the brains and the writing talent in this family, never mind the finger on the pulse that all great newswomen have.

Changing the subject, several small people have written to me (all in green ink, oddly, but good to see the old ways still respected) with kind wishes over my surrogate pregnancy. You'll all be glad to know that I'm quite well and managing the final months without great difficulty. The person who's carrying the child - daft phrase as it just floats in her stomach, as I told here when she muttered about her fee - seems okay. She'll have a hell of a job breaking the contract anyway, Rupert's lawyers did a great job there, and if she does run back to Poland or wherever she comes from, good luck in selling a redheaded child. More likely to be burned at the stake. I do wish I could remember her name though - all the details are on Charlie's laptop and the police, jobsworths all, won't let me have it back. Oh for the good old days when a pony would have seen them right.

Charlie's just mentioned Humpty Dumpty - bit early to have been at the whisky, dear. Oh, little Hammond, put back together by public sector workers. Rather proves Jeremy's point doesn't it - they're endangering TV presenters' lives when they strike.

A pony is Cockney slang for £25. Cheap at half the price. Or police.

At this point your author would normally advertise something relevant. As that would be a Clarkson product and I'd rather squash my own scrotum between two housebricks, space left blank deliberately!

Rebekah Brooks Diary:
   Part 1
   Part 2
   Part 3
   Part 4
   Part 5

Robert B. Parker

2011-11-30T08:18:00.000-08:00

There were two Robert B.Parkers. One was a hard-bitten war reporter and member of the OSS, the other a professor of English Literature at Boston University. The former produced a few noir thrillers, the latter produced an extensive body of work across several genres and it is the prof I'll talk about today.

Robert Parker was born in 1932 in Springfield,_Massachusetts. Apart from his first degree (Maine) and a spell in the army, serving in Korea, he spent most of his life in the state. His PhD does give a clue to how his life was to develop: his dissertation was titled "The Violent Hero, Wilderness Heritage and Urban Reality," and discussed the exploits of fictional private-eye heroes created by Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, and Ross Macdonald.

Parker's best known character is Spenser: hard-bitten working-class private eye with the soft heart. The Spenser novels contain a huge range of characters, recurring and one-offs. There's Hawk, the archetype of cool black non-stereotypes. There's Susan, Spenser's life long (with interruptions) partner, there's a vast range of nationalities, religions and sexual preferences (though very little sex). It is believed that Parker's sons' homosexuality tempered his writing to a degree - whatever the reason he shows a sympathy, straightforward and lacking in cloying sentimentality, that others would do well to mark.

Some of Spenser's personality is based on aspects of Edward Spenser's poetry, though that is irrelevant to enjoyment of the books. He has his code of morality: he will bend in a good cause but face huge odds on a matter of principle. Hawk is his darker side - there's oblique reference to various less noble activites and Hawk is readier to shoot - but he'll always back Spencer on moneyless crusades.

So, what is the writing like? Flowery and full of smug literary references? Nope, not at all. Parker's writing is surprisingly pared down, his dialogue crisp and often humourous - and far better than the white cop/black cop pairings that Hollywood has managed. The action flows at a good pace, the plotting is good and tight. You won't hit peaks of fear or depths of violent depravity - but you will get a very good read for the intelligent crime lover.

Apart from Spenser and a couple of one-offs, Parker also wrote a smaller series about Jesse Stone, alcoholic policeman with a troubled personal life, and a series about a female private eye named Sunny Randall (supposedly at the request of Helen Hunt). The Jesse Stone novels are well worth reading, the Sunny Randalls should be avoided like the plague: full of logical inconsistencies, clichés and appalling dialogue.

In what order should I read them?

The Spenser books can be read in any order. The Jesse Stones are best read in order of publication - back references are more extensive in this series and more integral to the plot.

Tim Willocks The Religion Review

2011-11-20T07:29:00.000-08:00

It's taken me a while to get round to reading this and I'm kicking myself - it's a cracker! Massively longer than his previous novels, completely different genre, Tim Willocks has produced a huge work - and I don't just mean the number of pages.

Set in 1565 AD, The Religion pits the Emperor of the Ottomans against the Christian Knights Of St John Of Jerusalem. Suleiman The Magnificent has conquered all that lies before him and has forced the Knights, known as The Religion, to their last stand, the island fortress of Malta. The battle-hardened forces of Islam, with their fanatical janissaries and cunning miners, descend on the greatest stronghold in the Christian world, soldiered by Maltese with nowhere to go and The Religion - warrior priests, nobles all, no less fanatical in their beliefs and determination to stand to the last.

Into this maelstrom come Captain Mattias Tannhauser and companions, Bors the giant, Carla the disgraced noblewoman and Ampara, the fey companion of Carla. Tannhauser saw his sister slaughtered and his mother raped by Islamic mercenaries when he was twelve. He was taken by the Moslems and raised as a janissary for a decade, now he's a freebooting merchant and sometime mercenary.

Part tricked, part forced, part seduced, Tannhauser reaches a war that he wants no part of, yet a war that he must fight and indeed a war that he revels in through love of the fight. All the time though he has in mind a secret, personal mission and a cunning escape from Malta.

So, part potboiler, part romance, part oh, just another Crusades novel, you may be thinking. No - not by a long chalk. Willocks combines excellent research and eye for detail with a love of slaughter and cruelty. If you've read his previous novels, you'll have seen him pit man against man or, in Green River Rising, man against system. Here he matches system with system, and he cunningly makes it harder to take sides than one would expect.

A Western, probably Christian (ish) reader might be expected to cheer on The Religion - but Willocks shows enough of their casual cruelty and ruthlessness, enough of the venality of the powerful, the vileness of the Inquisition, to make them less than likeable - and then reverses that with descriptions of honour, bravery, good deeds, an underlying motive proud and pure. Against them are the barbarian hordes - except of course that the Ottoman era was characterised by love of good food, the arts, advances in medicine and enormous freedoms for slaves, including freedom of worship.

Willocks' descriptions of siege and battles are notable for scholarship and brutality of detail. He doesn't fall into the Tom Clancy trap of lecturing but he deftly describes mining operations and siege towers, tactics and faults. As to brutality, here we don't see people falling over bloodless as a sword swipes them - this is Peckinpah, not a mad Mary Poppins. Limbs are hacked off, guts galore spilled, gore and grime, pus and pestilence have their rightful place.

Some have indeed criticised the book for the number of battle scenes: I disagree - each has its place in moving the main characters around the board, allowing credible developments in the minds of the protagonists.

So then, highly recommended for those with strong stomachs and a love of excellent writing. Unrelenting, powerful - grab it and read it.

Excellent interview with Tim Willocks talking extensively about The Religion.

Jo Nesbo: The Leopard Review

2011-11-11T04:35:00.000-08:00

Another romping tale of bloody murder in Norway, another serial killer on the loose and Harry Hole is the man to catch him. Oslo police aren't sure how he's killing his female victims; Hole has to be brought back from the hideaway he ran to after a near nervous breakdown following his heroics in The Snowman.

Dragged reluctantly back from Hong Kong where he's added opium smoking to his longstanding alcoholism, Hole is rapidly involved in a police political struggle - does his department keep responsibility for such crimes or will the Kripos take it away for good? The lead Kripos, Bellman, doesn't like Hole and dosn't want anything to stand in the way of his career progression. Sadly for Bellman, neither he nor his men are any match for Harry as a detective and the Kripos become increasingly more devious and vicious towards a fellow cop - to the point where suspicion turns their way. Is a rogue policeman, even one of Bellman's thugs, involved?

As matters develop, and as bodies pile high, a connection is found by Hole - and a lead that looks like the killer has been found, only for hopes to be dashed. In the meantime there's a trip to darkest Africa to learn of a gruesome murder device, ski treks through night-masked snowscapes, near falls over precipices - and that's all without mentioning a love triangle and some nasty blackmail when Bellman finds Hole's opium stash.

Fimally we have Hole going back to Africa and to one of the bloodiest dénouements that Nesbo has managed to date. As a climax to a thriller this is expertly done and I could imagine Tarantino grabbing The Leopard for his next film. Unless the ghost of Sam Peckinpah wants to have a bash.

The action is absorbing, the pace is relentless. The Kripos dimension means Nesbo sends us down less false trails than usual - and the book is better for it. If you're looking for a thriller as a Christmas present for those who like intelligent writing with gross violence, this is the book to buy.

The Rebekah Brooks Diary Part 4

2011-11-09T02:53:00.000-08:00

Well, Dear Diary, I've been keeping schtumm as Rupert asked me to but now I really must speak out. One's private affairs are splashed all over the newspapers - well, the Guardian anyway so none of my friends will believe it, muckraking left-wing rag that it is. Jeremy wanted to sue it for libel but he'd have had to buy a new suit for the court case (Ginsters pies and petrol fumes go to the waistline, Jeremy) so he didn't bother.

Anyway, back to moi. I'm being pilloried for accepting money as a settlement for resigning as chief exec of NI. That's News International, not Northern Ireland. Note to self: it's a diary, not a Sun editorial, no need to epxlain everything. Well, people, get this: it's called capitalism and a fair day's pay for a fair day's work. I was chief exec through difficult times and put a lot into that job. Okay, my style wasn't as hands on as some might have liked (or insinuated, toadying little Parliamentary committee) which is I why I knew nothing of what that royal reporter was up to. I still don't know why he bothered - look what the Mail does - prints a pic every two days of Pippa's arse and calls it Royal News. If only we'd had a princess with a decent cleavage. Not that trollop Fergie of course, someone a bit less coarse for the Sun's demographic.

And my car! Well, it's not even my car, which the so-called journalists have missed. It's NI's car, and chauffeur. Do people expect me to get the Tube to my new office? "I'll see you at the Ivy at one". "Sorry I'm late, Tube on strike again." Ludicrous for a woman in my position. You wouldn't catch Boris on a Tube, at least not one that hadn't been fumigated before the press arrived. And the kids have threatened to strangle the cat if they see me wobbling around on a bike, even with a chauffeur-driven car around the corner with the boot open.

Letting things run away from me, much like James! I had a jolly good position and I resigned from it for the good of the company, after Pol Pot Belly said some rude things. Stuffed his cheeks with Heston's dumplings and mumbled about reason. "Make it two million reasons" I quipped. After all, I've lost that nice office I was borrowing, I've resigned 23 directorships and I've lost the chauffeur-driven car. Well, I haven't actually lost them, as I have a new office and the same driver but the trials and tribulations (note to self: is "trials" a bad word?) have caused me so much stress that I deserve these meagre compensations. It's not like I'll be signing on the dole like the NOTW people anyway.

I see the plods have started arresting Sun journalists. Charlie reckons it'll be "Sign this statement, please Sir." "Can I just do an X and leave a thumbprint." Chortle. I've forgiven him the crude jokes; he's been an absolute brick lately, and I mean "brick". Mind you, there was a distinct froideur the other night at the Camerons' place - just because Charlie asked if it was true that Liam Fox had accidentally made one of his ushers First Lord Of The Admiralty. I'm sure there was a snigger from the au pair - odd, given that she doesn't speak English. If I were SamCam I'd be checking that she isn't that fake sheik in another disguise.

Lovely bonfire the other night, even with two of Scotland Yard's finest watching that no papers went on the fire. The kids outdid previous records with their "Fiver for the Ed Milliband" outside Waitrose and he went up like Teflon Dave in the polls.

Not much else to say at the moment. I've allowed Charlie master bedroom privileges again and he's in the en-suite singing the Eton Boating Song. Good job the new car has comfortable seating!

Rebekah Brooks Diary:
   Part 1
   Part 2
   Part 3
   Part 4
   Part 5

Robert Crais: Voodoo River Review

2011-10-24T03:46:00.000-07:00

Robert Crais really hits his stride wirh Voodoo River, fifth in the Cole/Pike set. Elvis Cole is hired to do a routine job, investigate the birth of an adopted child. Delicacy is needed as the child is now a grown up and very popular TV actress, playing the pretty but wholesome wife of a wholesome blonde man and mother of four blonde kids - hammering that mid-Western demographic.

The only info actress Jodi Taylor has is a date and a place in Louisiana so Elvis flies off - to find an alien backwater land and a love at first sight - lawyer Lucy Chenier. The latter will prove problematic in future novels, the former presents more immediate problems. Under a pretext Cole asks around the bayous and soon starts crossing the tracks of another inquirer. When they meet it's not long before a couple of heavies pop up and we meet Milt Rossier, local gang leader, together with a very large snapping turtle (twelve inch wide mouth full of very sharp teeth).

Cole's enquiries lead him to the wife of the local sheriff - she's alike enough to be Jodi's sister, but she seems scared and her husband runs Cole off. And then the previous investigator gets murdered. Too many secrets and Elvis has to start unravelling them. There's a 36-year old murder, there's a set of stolen adoption papers and there's the sheriff, seemingly in league with the neighbourhood heavies. Searching for more information Elvis discovers that Rossier is importing people, illegal immigrants. His accomplices kill annoyances casually but Cole can't walk away. Unfortunately his plan is both dangerous and flawed and we head for a shootout with some very bad people.

So, how does this compare with the previous books in the series? It's more rounded, more twists and actual detection, and there's a lot more descriptive writing. Not that the previous books were "wham, bam, thank you" but Crais takes the time to savour the local atmosphere and the book is all the better for it.

Can I criticise it? Yes, on a minor level - there's the odd line repeated from a previous book (sloppy editing) and Crais invents a good baddie in the huge and lumbering René but doesn't make enough of him - I prefer my villains to do more villainous things before their demise. That's just cavilling though, this is a very good read.

Fox Holed

2011-10-14T11:38:00.000-07:00

Liam Fox has resigned from his post as defence secretary.

Here, in full, is his resignation letter to Prime Minister David Cameron, and Mr Cameron's response.

Dear David,

As you know, I have always placed a great deal of importance on accountability and responsibility in others. As I said in the House of Commons on Monday, I mistakenly abandoned any notion of a distinction between my personal interest and my government activities. The consequences of this have become clearer in recent days thanks to the weasels of the Guardian gutter press. I am very sorry they found out.

I have also repeatedly said that the national interest must always appear to come before personal interest. I am now hoist on my own petard. I have therefore decided, with great sadness, to resign from my post as secretary of state for defence - a position which I have been immensely proud and honoured to have held and from which I expect a few nice directorships to come. Soon.

I am particularly proud to have overseen the long overdue reforms to the Ministry of Defence and to our armed forces, which will shape them to meet the challenges of the future and keep this country safe as long as such challenges come from the Isle Of Man.

I am proud also to have played a part in helping to liberate the people of Libya through my relationships with the elite there, though their goose is cooked now, and I regret that I will not see through to its conclusion Britain's role in Afghanistan, where so much progress has been made, some of it by the British forces I am making redundant.

Above all, I am honoured and humbled to have worked with the superb men and women in our armed forces. Their bravery, dedication and professionalism are second to none. Except mine.

I appreciate all the support you have given me until you got fed up of the headlines - and will continue to support the vital work of this government, above all in using the enormous budget deficit we inherited as an excuse for just about anything.

I look forward to continuing to represent my constituents in North Somerset; they're all so right wing they'd vote for a leprous badger if it wore a blue rosette so no worries there.

Yours ever,

Liam

ps Adam says "Hi."

Dear Liam,

Thank you for your letter.

I understand your reasons for deciding to resign as defence secretary, seeing as they've been Guardian headlines for a week, although I am very sorry you were found out.

We have worked closely for these last six years and you have been a key member of my team throughout that time, though of course I knew absolutely nothing about any of the things you've allegedly been up to.

You have done a superb job in the 17 months since the election, and as shadow defence secretary before that. I'm not sure of the details but I bet it was jolly good anyway.

You have, between your many overseas trips, overseen fundamental changes in the Ministry of Defence and in our armed forces, which will ensure that they are fully equipped to meet the challenges of the Isle Of Man.

On Libya, you played a key role in the campaign to stop people being massacred by the Gaddafi regime and instead win their freedom. [Check this bit please, Secretary. DC]

You can be proud of the difference you have made in your time in office, and in helping our party to return to government. Your ability to attract money from US neocons has been most useful.

I appreciate your commitment to the work of this government, particularly highlighting our line on tackling the deficit, and the relationship between Britain's economic strength and our national security according to the Daily Mail.

You and Jesme [Check name please, Secretary. DC] have always been good friends, and I have truly valued your support over the years. I will continue to do so in the future.

Yours ever,

David

ps will it be two or three of you for Boxing Day lunch?

pps Amanda says hello

And a section from the Guardian describing how one venture capitalist gave money, purely altruistically, to one of Adam Werrity's transport funds:

'Jon Moulton, a venture capitalist who has been listed as making several donations to Pargav, issued a statement following Fox's resignation claiming that Fox had lobbied him for money on Pargav's behalf.

"Before the last election, I had made several on-the-record donations to support Dr Fox following a request to do so from a Conservative party fundraiser.

"After the election, I was asked by Dr Fox to provide funds to a non-profit group called Pargav involved in security policy analysis and research and, after obtaining written assurances as to its activities, I provided personal funding to Pargav.

"Neither I, nor any of my associates, have sought or received a benefit of any form from Pargav. I have not received an account of Pargav's activities, nor have I been involved at all with Pargav, since funding. I will not be doing this again," he said.
'

Erm, so why did you give the money? Who else do you give money to, without seeking or receiving benefit of any kind? Are all venture capitalists so generous?

Robert Crais: Free Fall Review

2011-10-12T13:39:00.000-07:00

Beautiful but innocent Jennifer Sheridan appeals to the Cole Detective Agency for help. She believes that her beautiful and nearly as innocent boyfriend is having an affair. Mark is a policeman, recently become a member of an elite unit - an awkward person to investigate, especially when you consider Cole's partner's murky past on the force.

Cole begins tugging at strings: there's the death while being arrested of a young black man in a pawn shop, there's a few mentions of a Crip-affiliated gang led by Akeem D'Muere, there's the small matter of the whole of Thurman's REACT team following Cole around instead of arresting criminals. Fortunately Joe Pike is on hand with a pump-action to help keep the peace. So is the team dirty? No evidence comes to hand immediately. Something has happened though, to change Thurman's behaviour and to keep his partner drunk and mean, let alone to bring bad bluffs and quiet threats from the team leader.

As ever, follow the money. Through a nifty bit of subterfuge Cole gets access to some lawyer's papers - the aforementioned pawn shop is owned by the leader of the aforementioned gang. Not only that but it had an expensive internal security system, including cameras. No mention of those in the reports of the death at the shop. As the chase heats up, the murdered man's brother comes up with a street contact with some info - the REACT team is in league with the gang and is wiping out their competition. Not only that, there's a raid about to go down - come along and watch. Joe Pike has a bad feeling and Joe is right - it's a setup. Cole and the brother are nabbed by the gang, the brother is shot with Cole's gun and the police called - to find a large stash of dope in Cole's car. Cole and Pike are arrested; not good for private investigators.

The plot continues at a merry pace: Cole and Pike, plus an ex-Marine they've found along the way, versus a bunch of crooked cops and a gang that kills casually and uncaringly. Evidence is found, evidence is lost, as we head for a climactic shootout at a crack house. Believable? Yes, Crais builds his action well and sequences events and consequences to produce a well-paced and very readable thriller. Add in a sensitive addressing of black issues (warriors must fight on the side of right) and you have a book well worth reading.

Robert Crais Lullaby Town Review

2011-09-26T12:47:00.000-07:00

The third Elvis Cole/Joe Pike novel sees Crais moving into Hollywood. Peter Alan Nelsen is the third best (ie most profitable) director in the world. What Peter wants, Peter gets. Peter actually wants a good slap but more of that anon.

While a struggling wannabee, Nelsen married Karen and fathered a son. His nascent creative genius couldn't cope with a family so he walked out on wife and child. Ten years on he's decided he wants to be a father: Cole is hired to trace the mother. Very soon he's in a small town watching a young woman, pillar of the community, manager of the town bank. It's certainly Karen, but when confronted she denies it.

Explainable enough - she was hurt, she's built a life and never contacted her ex despite the massive publicity he's had. Less explainable when Cole is jumped by three low-rent thugs outside his hotel. Sucker punched, he gets an amateurish beating and a question - where does a pillar of a small community find three thugs with New York accents? Intrigued, he stays in town and follows Karen, eventually to a very suspicious meeting with a swarthy man in a black Lincoln. Track the number plate to a meat-packing warehouse, recognise one of the three thugs and carry out a little retribution and interrogation - Cole has stepped into something involving the De Luca family - a major mafia outfit.

Can Cole and Pike help Karen prserve her sanity as her ex hits town in Hollywoood Hypermode? Can they help Karen preserve her life and liberty as Charlie De Luca (definite anger management issues) hits town in Mafia murdering mode? Can they keep themselves alive against car loads of goons?

The answers complete a very good novel by Crais as he throws in small and large episodes. Fast paced, enough conflicting interests to maintain a cracking dynamic, well drawn characters - a recommended read.

Would you like fries with your cancer?

2011-09-22T02:12:00.000-07:00

I should be inured to the horrors issuing from the callous Conservatives by now but no, they've managed to surpass themselves. Verily, as they claim to be Christian, Jesus must have said, "Take up thy bed and work."

A bit of background. Prime Minister David (call me Dave) Cameron, Chancellor George (the one who didn't go to Eton) Osborne and little Nicky Clegg (the one nobody cares about) want to cut the amount spent on Disability Benefit. This is money that goes to people who are unable to work through sickness or disability. There are two ways to do this:

1) Throw the undeserving off the scheme. One such undeserving person is the mentally handicapped man who took a day to travel a few miles to an assessment office - he was scared to ask anyone as he has profound communication issues so he walked round and round the town until he saw the sign outside the office. He arrived panicking and exhausted, to be told "well, you found us, you're capable of work, benefits stopped." Doctors associated with the company making millions by such sympathetic handling are being investigated to see if they're breaching the Hippocratic Oath.

2) Time-limit benefits. Cut them drastically after a year. Yes, you bleeding heart liberals (small l) will probably point out that anyone who's too sick to work will probably be even iller in a year and not capable of much work anyway. Tough. This government has an agenda and a few MS patients starving are irrelevant.

Now all of this isn't yet law. The UK has a defined procedure for laws to be passed, involving transitions between the House Of Commons and the House Of Lords and debate in each House. The Lords, once called "the Conservatives in retirement", are not only rediscovering their conscience, they're up in arms about Call Me Dave's latest blunder - a letter that's just been sent out to terminally ill people telling them their benefits will probably be cut in the near future. That's upset the Lords because the Bill to do this hasn't even reached them yet. Parliamentary processes - tough.

The Department for Work and Pensions (DWP), which is sending the letters, has compounded the error with a statement that's almost laughable for its callousness. A spokesman said: "It will depend on the individual's capacity to work. Everyone will be assessed on an individual basis and if the decision is that they are able to start the journey back to work there will be a time limit.

"Speaking of terminal illness is clearly emotive and if they are on their deathbed they will clearly not be going back to work, but if someone is not in that position they may be able to lead a normal life which could involve work. The process of working may even be helpful in giving them a sense of being useful and prolonging their lives."

So there, all you miserable sick people, lying at home using up drugs and oxygen and medical help and carers and home nurses (guess which of these are also being cut and charges made) - you can put a sense of purpose back into your lives by retraining for work and getting a job in a call centre. Oh frabjous day, the morphine doesn't cut the pain any more but at least I can look forward to my night shift in MacDonald's.

The spokesman added, "We must ensure that the benefit system has to be fair to taxpayers as well as disabled people." Unbelievably crass! Guess what, DWP spokesman - many of these terminally ill leeches and mentally handicapped nonentities have contributed hugely to the taxation system. Many of them have paid National Insurance for decades.

Many of them are even people.

Are there problems with the system? Yes, and ironically many of them started under a previous Conservative government (though Labour was happily complicit) - cut the unemployment figures by moving long-term claimants onto sickness benefits. That works nicely when the economy is booming. Come hard times and a Chancellor who can't spell "double dip recession" and the drain on the nation's finances is clear - and it's those long-term work-shy chavs - the sort who riot and steal trainers and televisions - who should be dragged off their arses and forced into jobs. And the heckler in the corner shouting "What jobs?" can shut up as well. Okay, we have to clobber sixty year old stomach cancer patients at the same time but they probably don't vote - not for much longer anyway.

David Cameron thinks that society is broken - not yet Dave, but you're getting there.

They haven't stopped: see Cancer patients to face welfare tests during chemotherapy. If I made these stories up as a grim parody I'd be accused of over-exaggeration.

Robert Crais: Stalking The Angel, Reviewed

2011-09-15T13:19:00.000-07:00

Second in the Cole/Pike series, Robert Crais moves into darker territory on this one. Bradley Warren, rich businessman, has lost a loaned work of art, a 13th Century Japanese manuscript called the Hagakure. Elvis Cole's agency has been recommended to Warren, though Cole's flippancy fails to appeal to the pompous millionaire.

Failing to elicit any clues from the Warren mansion, nothing forthcoming from a drunken trollop of a trophy wife and a dumpy, morose teenage daughter, Cole starts looking for dealers of stolen Japanese art. Yakuza soon rear their ugly head, including Eddie, a karate tournament champion. Then threats are made against Warren's family.

Despite advice, Warren decides to go ahead with a large public appearance in a hotel. Teenage daughter Mimi disappears, presumed kidnapped by Yakuza. Cole starts digging deeper and it appears that young Mimi has her own secrets, including a relationship with Eddie the karate expert. Has she faked her own kidnapping after helping Eddie steal the Hagakure? Is there something darker lurking at the heart of the Warren household?

There's a set-piece battle, there's an epic fight, Eddie versus Cole and Joe Pike, there's a tragic sting in the tale ...

Darker, less levity then The Monkey's Raincoat, this is another very good book by Crais - a cracking pace and some believable action. If you're in the intelligent adult bracket you'll enjoy this one.

Rosemary and time

2011-09-10T18:09:00.000-07:00

"What will it be?" they ask. "There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Perhaps he's about to witter on about healing all wounds, or wounding all heels." If I give you a farther clue and ask you to bare with me you'll probably get it - common English errors - a catalogue of them I've recently put together.

Before we go any further I will say that the Queen's English isn't mine, not on a blog anyway. Blog English is more relaxed, sentence construction is a little looser, you can get away with dangling participles and boobs of that ilk. You might want to avoid words like boobs though, unless you think your audience will take it the way it's meant. I once, on a teacher training course, asked a class of thirteen year old girls if anyone had a rubber. Not a mistake I'll ever make again!

Along with that looseness though is a need not to make silly mistakes. Confusing your its with it's and your theres and theirs really does make you look sloppy. Everybody has access to spellcheckers and grammar checkers (why is the latter two words and the former one?) - the immediacy of blog publishing should be tempered with basic checking.

Correctness becomes even more important with the degree of need or desire to be taken seriously, to be treated as an authority on your subject. This blog aims mainly to persuade you that my opinion of others' writing is correct. What chance of success would I have if I made basic error after basic error? None - you'd be off and reading a different blog after half a post. Similarly, if yours is a business blog you have even less room for manoeuver (yes, I checked that last word carefully). I've seen sites representing web designers that are littered with wrong words and grammatical errors - would you want your site to be put together by that sort of company?

So then, from observation and a lifetime cringing at what some people do to the English language, I've compiled a handy reference guide, including notes on English versus US usage:

Common English Errors ››

Depending on demand I'm thinking of adding sections on such exciting topics as use of the comma. I may even talk about dangling participles one day - nah, probably not. Nip on over and leave a comment - especially if you think there's something I should have covered. Facebook Like it, Tweet it, print it on t-shirts: the world needs a few less common mistakes.

Robert Crais: The Monkey's Raincoat Review

2011-09-10T03:57:00.000-07:00

"She went back into the kitchen. When she didn't come out for a while I went to see. She was standing with one hand on the counter and one hand atop her head. Her glasses were off and her chest was heaving and there was a puddle of tears on the tile counter by the glasses. Streamers of mucus ran down from her nose. All of that, but you couldn't hear her."

Ellen Lang has a problem: husband Mort has disappeared. Years of marriage to a "take charge kind of guy" have left her unable to balance a chequebook and she'll soon have much worse to cope with.

Mort, talent agent, has been playing away from home with a busty blonde starlet. He's also managed to get involved in the theft of some high grade coke from a very bad man, a cultured ex-bullfighter with Mafia connections. El senor wants his drugs back and expects Elvis Cole, the PI called in to find Mort, to retrieve the stash. To help things along he kidnaps the Langs' young son - Mort getting shot in the process. Cole and his enigmatic partner Joe Pike have to sort out the mess and avoid getting killed themselves.

Cole and Pike have some heavy military experience, enough to survive one battle with the bullfighter's forces, but the showdown is another matter - there's another battle and some well-done one-on-one scenes here (I use the word "scenes" as Robert Crais's television writing does guide the structure of this book - but it works well). Mrs Lang is drawn into the climax - difficult to make her role believeable but again Crais achieves it.

There's a neat side plot in the misdoings of the busty starlet and her wannabe thug boyfriend and a few good villains - always my favourite charactes - the bullfighter himself and his main thug, a very large Eskimo (this was written in 1980 - before Inuit became popular).

In summary: a very good first novel - Crais resists the urge to throw the kitchen sink in and has a clear idea of what he wants his characters to do. Quality stuff and boding well for future entries in the series.

Nice discount on a five book collection:

Robert Crais

2011-09-09T14:18:00.000-07:00

Robert Crais is one of a group of US authors who've had a good grounding in the greats of detective fiction and forged a more literary path while preserving much of the good of the genre. He cites Chandler as a major influence and there are indeed echoes of the master, albeit updated to a flashier West Coast.

Crais spent years as a television scriptwriter, working mainly on shows like Hill Street Blues, Cagney & Lacey, and Miami Vice. That experience is hugely evident in his novels - the crime, to state the obvious, the buddies. More than that, it's obvious in the style; fast and episodic with a climactic finish. Don't expect flights of lyricism (though Crais does produce moments) but do expect well crafted books with a fine sense of pacing.

One other facet, perhaps from the Cagney and Lacey days, Robert Crais writes some very good female characters. He allows them room and space in his stories and the books are often much the better for it. They may not outshine the male heroes but they're more than eye candy and cleavage.

So, the guts of the novels. Crais's major output is what is usually called "the Elvis Cole stories". They should be called "the Elvis Cole and Joe Pike stories" but that's a bit clumsy. Cole and Pike own a detective agency. Cole is the public face, the man at ease in social situations. Pike is the silent warrior. Cole sees shades of grey and agonises over consequences, Pike has an iron moral code and obeys it without fear or questioning.

As the set of novels progresses we learn more about each of the two protagonists: hints from early works are fleshed out gradually - finally we get books which concentrate on each in turn and flesh out the past, with all its control over the present. There's madness in one back story and physical abuse in the other; both are handled extremely well in some of Crais's best writing.

There are, at the time of writing, four other standalone novels (though characters do cross over sometimes). They occupy related territories but work well of themselves.

Would you like them? Would they shock you? As far as sex and violence go, the former is alluded to rather than pasted across the pages and the latter is, though sometimes extreme, justified and well handled. Add a marked lack of swearing (the TV influence again) and while my mother wouldn't read these, I, my sister and the vicar certainly would.

The author's own site: RobertCrais.com

Crais mentions as favourite amongst his television writings the mini series Cross Of Fire. This is an historical account of a Grand Dragon of the Ku Klux Klan - words that might sound strange these days but think of it as a tale of crime and violence in the name of racism and the lust for political power. The series has been edited to a four hour DVD - I can highly recommend this:

Desert Island Books

2011-09-07T05:00:00.000-07:00

A while ago I was challenged to write a blog on another platform - the five books I'd take to a desert island. In the time allocated I wrote My Five Favourite Books and I was quite pleased with the result. Throw in Scrabble and a literate Fred the crab and I'd be set for, well, days.

This is in my mind at the moment as I have to get rid of some books. The piles of books have piles of books on top of them. The dining table no longer serves its allotted role in life and meals are a bit less civilised. I don't remember buying many books lately. I've been given some (six Jo Nesbo, thank you Marian) and I've passed on a load to a friend - so where are the buggers coming from?

Is a sneaky Stuart MacBride tanking up on lager and Scotch and risking advances to The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo? Are their unholy offspring shoving books out of shelves and hiding, some sniggering, others deathly quiet, waiting their moment to leap out and kneecap a Hell's Angel?

Am I just prevaricating?

Picking five books for the desert island was a challenge - picking fifty to send to a new home is a bit like giving your pet cat away. You agonise for days, you make sure it's going to a lover of cats, you tearfully take it to its new life - and off it bounds without a backward glance. Two-acre garden with a stream - my back yard was good enough for fighting and copulation at night in the past, you ungrateful little bugger!

So, what's going? Will I ever read Le Carré again? Those two grant-aided first efforts from Northern Irish authors? (Sorry lads, close but no cigar. Actually, not so close.) The Dick Francis I keep for guests? Does anyone like the forelock-tugging, formulaic Francis now that the Queen Mother is dead? How about the secret shame of my shelves - a Julie Birchill - 5p from a charity shop and you feel dirty looking at the cover, never mind reading the mannered prose, and I do mean "prose".

That's a dozen, just about, and all are on shelves. That'll make room for the new John Connolly and a couple of Zolas that I found recently - translations, my French is nowhere near the task of reading the originals. Yes, this is going to be a success. Hang on while I knock the crumbs of my lunch out of the keyboard, then I'll look for a couple more to give away. Thomas Perry and Christopher Brookmyre, say your prayers.

I'll give long odds against anyone guessing the five favourite books for the desert island - nip over and see if you agree.

Ross Thomas The Fools In Town Are On Our Side

2011-08-24T10:29:00.000-07:00

Fools is one of Thomas's most savage novels. Bleak and violent, with little of the customary humour as leavening, it is perhaps his most powerful. It tells the tale of Lucifer Dye through three stages of his life. The latest stage is an ambitious plan to disrupt the power élite of a corrupt city with a view to gaining political control and the story is told with flashbacks to earlier days.

As with many of Thomas's heroes a spell in a foul prison (cf Missionary Stew) marks a change in the life of Dye, bringing to an end the second stage of his life as a spy for the clandestine Section 2 (smaller and nastier than the CIA). This frees him up for a proposition from Victor Orcutt, legal genius and mannered fop - a few months of double-dealing in Swankerton, where the only officials not on the take are those being blackmailed for various horrible crimes.

So begins a masterly tale of double and triple crosses, backstabbing and just sheer glorious mayhem. Thomas brings in a cast of Swankerton villains that rivals anything comparable for vileness and cupidity, then escalates the action to fire Mafiosi amd other major players into the mix. The violence mounts to a point that would have Tarantino humping a chair leg - the question becomes will Dye and associates escape with their lives, let alone their souls.

Rewinding, I mentioned three stages of Dye's life: the first is his childhood. Taken to Singapore by a widowed and quite mad father, orphaned and adopted by Tante Katherine, Russian brothel keeper, captured by the invading Japanese army, all by the age of eight. This is JG Ballard on PCP, it's also some of the best writing that Thomas has done - pain wrapped in ludicrousness to the nth degree.

Overall - this book isn't for my mother and also not for those who like a less brutal work. Get past that and you'll read an excellently crafted and beautifully written novel. You'll also notice that I've not mentioned what some would regard as major events in Dye's life - true, you have some shocks in store.