David Thayer

Wellington Leg: As many of you realize by now this blog is now sponsored by the One Hundred Years War a mini-series that has the Leg by the proverbial throat and won’t let go.  Due to a dreadful supply chain blunder Wellington Leg has no television sets, so the mini-series must be acted live. Thus the constant references to alternate side of the street parking: Wellington Leg is a stage, its long suffering residents mere bit players.

Not only do I review books for this blog, I play the role of the High Constable, the Dauphin’s military adviser. Imagine my exhaustion with these real time duties, although the new Spellchecker is certainly a boon, even if it does not recognize itself as a word. Without further ado here is the crime fiction roundup for this Mondayesque Tuesday:

WHO IS CONRAD HIRST? I submitted my review of Kevin Wignall’s latest novel to January Magazine, so I won’t spoil things by talking about it here. Wicked big twist makes for tough sledding when reviewing without spoiler.

POWER PLAY by Joseph Finder.  Well-paced thriller and he talks about the K&R business, something your reporter actually knows a bit about. He does it well but it felt like research here and there.

BLOODSHOT by Stuart MacBride: Like Wignall before him, MacBride is on his way to the Wellington Leg Hall of Fame. We’d invite these guys to the Leg but cannot find a card table. They’re probably with the TVs.

THE CHICAGO WAY by Michael Harvey: this is good, really good, PI genre stuff of the first order. You’d think Chicago has been covered by Sean Chercover, Marcus Sakey, Barbara D’Amato, and Sarah Paretsky, but this is fresh, well written, and the story works.

Knopf should publish more crime fiction. They’ve got Peter Spiegelman and now Michael Harvey, but who else? I don’t know: do you?

Wellington Leg: the same week that a naked man was arrested after doing the hula during a beer heist, scientists have discovered an enormous empty spot in the universe, free of matter, anti-matter, dark materials and Burma Shave ads. Shocking as these developments are I have to say they pale in comparison to the vertiginous mountain of books staring your reporter right in the kisser. Perhaps to fill the void or make good on Pluto’s downgrade from plant to icy rock, I may share some thoughts in regard to the burgeoning crime fiction titles around here: but, first,

Why the hula? I wonder about that. You live in St, Louis, you’re naked, and you need beer. Sure I can see that. It’s hot, you’re thirsty, and the proverbial convenience store is on the radar. You and your pal concoct a plan to distract the clerk….

It seems to me that the hula is a complex choice here. Every movement has a meaning. You’re in a convenience store and your accomplice is lurking near the freezer. Maybe the clerk is wondering why you’re not wearing clothes, but on the other hand, this is not a high wage job, so wondering about customers is optional.

Would the clerk recognize the hula? I’m not sure that I would. Is recognition of the dance being performed crucial to the success of the beer heist? Would the plan fail if the perp went into a little Saturday Night fever disco revival, index finger pointing heavenward, toward Pluto?

I don’t know. When you’re naked in St. Louis the week before Labor Day, maybe the hula works. There’s beer in the freezer and one bored clerk is all that stands in your way. Hula down.