David Thayer

Wellington Leg: It’s maddening. In order to select the best books of 2007 this reporter has until mid-November to choose the five for review in January Magazine. This means that 2007 runs from January through late September by publication date because to get them read, thought about and written about takes me six weeks, less if a book is assigned, but, come on, that’s only happened to me twice. Good books slip through the cracks, good writers don’t get talked about.

Theresa Schwegel and Megan Abbott come to mind. Neither of these writers are on my top five list this year although the reasons are different; Schwegel’s PERSON OF INTEREST arrived in a torrent of fifteen books one afternoon last week and Abbott’s QUEENPIN never arrived at all. Maybe Jeff Pierce or one the other Rap Sheet All Stars will pick me up here.  In this case both writers hardly need my help in launching their careers since the NY Times is covering their work. Theresa Schwegel won an Edgar and Megan Abbott will win one too.

There were a few noteworthy reviews from the weekend: Christopher Sorrentino reviewed TOKYO YEAR ZERO very well in the NYT. Sorrentino nailed both the substance of the story and the presentation. He had some things to say about mysteries in general in his opening paragraphs “while contemporary crime writers are capable of more than tossing on the dish known as “noir” too often the mystery today seems ossified.”

In my mind there is a huge difference between mystery and noir. These are not interchangeable terms: mystery is ossified more or less by design by the form and the need to create the puzzle-sleuth solution formula. Noir is wide open, character driven, owing less to Agatha than to Aristotle and his Poetics.

Sorrentino, to his credit, examines TOKYO YEAR ZERO as literature and treats the book accordingly.

Ed Champion and Ian Rankin? Like Hugo Chavez at a Mike Huckabee rally Ed visits the heartland of thriller writing using words like “agnomina” and “minatory” in hashing over an early Rankin manuscript now published in book form. Hilarious.

Wellington Leg: January Magazine will run its year end crime fiction feature wherein various contributing editors offer five mini reviews for the year end round up. Your reporter is among the contributors but the advantage of numbers is obvious in this case: more thoughts about more books broadens the horizon far beyond my limited view. Entire publishing programs escape my notice but I have a sense of what’s happening on on the crime writing front.

2007 came and went without much distinction from 2006; the pressure on the genre comes from within as the ranks expand to include novels from many other sub-genres. Like a mad stock boy marketing types want their releases on Aisle Nine: Crime. We’re turning into Whole Foods when crime fiction is suited to the unadorned aisles of Soviet Food Store Number Four where shoppers bring their desperation with them and ambiance is just the French word for cured concrete.

This gentrification process started long ago and it is not a terrible thing. There are now rules for the genre, so many rules that any sort of instant replay would consume hours. That’s okay if authors break those rules but it’s tough to misbehave and be rewarded.

Our genre is broader than ever but flatter too, more gently reassuring than mind expanding. The high point of 2007? David Peace’s TOKYO YEAR ZERO. The low? Chelsea Cain’s HEARTSICK, a novel that most resembles a sleek new product rolling off a spotless assembly line.

The truth is some percentage of books published in a given year are completely forgettable. Publishing cycles last far longer than twelve months, given the lead time required to produce a book. That’s why 2007 is submerged by trends that emerged a few years ago. If you remember the motion picture PLAN NINE FROM OUTER SPACE alien invaders tried to resurrect the dead in order to slaughter the living but forgot that zombies, whatever their good qualities, are really hard to govern. The newly dead consumed the newly arrived, the alien invaders themselves, whose commander resembled Rudy Giuliani in a Nehru jacket.

In analyzing crime fiction I have to ask: where have all the zombies gone?

Wellington Leg: Arthur Murray is Wellington Leg’s premier private investigator, a man so tough that when he orders a White Russian at his local no one dares laugh. Arthur has had a difficult time because of his name, you know, the ballroom dancing thing. Arthur enjoys dancing, but that’s a dirty little secret. This entry from his log book says “I didn’t come here to flamenco.”

It was gray that morning low fog on the windowsill of my office downtown. I had a three o’clock with a dentist but that was six hours away, six hours of bad coffee, bad posture, and pigeons rustling in the mist. I yelled to Connie when the office door opened and a chiarascurro, one of those little Mexican dogs, clicked on in. I saw its nose in my doorway and thought, “here comes sixty four ounces of trouble.”

The dog had an owner and she blew on in like a new breeze off the lake. “Arthur Murray?

I flinched. Here it comes. The dog, the legs, the hooded eyes: she wanted dance lessons.

“Who’ s asking?”

“Call me Babs. I’m here to cancel your dentist appointment.”

That’s when the dog barked. That’s when she pulled the cannon out of her designer handbag. That’s when I hit the deck. She blew a hole in the window and I noticed something under the desk. My palm pilot. I’ve been looking all over for that thing.

Next week MacMillan New Writing will publish David Isaak’s thriller SHOCK AND AWE in the UK. It’s a great read by a gifted writer, who, by the way, is an American. How did David Isaak wind up in the MNW publishing program? Well, they had the good sense to read his work and make an offer which is the basic transaction between author and publisher often overlooked in the all hype surrounding modern publishing.

MNW began its program in 2006, representing at the time the end of civilization as we know it, a reversion to a world without literary agents; yes, these manuscripts arrive over the transom, are read and evaluated by publisher’s personnel. Almost two years later, there is little doubt that MNW has located some fine writers and published novels worth reading.

Like all published works David’s book has had a long strange trip on its way to book form, but that’s his story to tell. Zip over to Tomorrowville, the title of another great Isaak manuscript, for the backstory.

Wellington Leg: As the diplomatic row with the EU escalates, book reviewers at the Druidical & Literary are swamped with new arrivals. The Dowager Princess, a Pelacanos fan, authorized overtime after reversing the standings in the Steinbeck League by fiat. She thumbed her nose at French President Nicolas Sarkozy after reading an especially gruesome review in Le Soir: “One should visit Wellington Leg only if one is desperate for terrible food, dreadful local wine and abysmal service. The Hotel Faz is a campground and we are removing its one star rating forthwith.”

The Princess ordered Paris hotels downgraded to “underweight” while forbidding French imports retroactive to the Roger Vadim Era. The immediate fate of the Barbarella retrospective is not clear; no one at the Metroplex returned our phone calls. Our journalistic efforts thwarted we turn to crime fiction:

WHO IS CONRAD HIRST? by Kevin Wignall. PEOPLE DIE is one of the all time favorites around here and Simon & Schuster is bringing Kevin Wignall’s latest this fall.

I’d just finished Stuart MacBride’s DYING LIGHT when his latest, BLOODSHOT, arrived. This guy takes Aberdeen and turns it upside down: lots going on for DS Logan MacRae and the always spectacular DI Roberta Steele, his chain smoking boss.

Olen Steinhauer returns with VICTORY SQUARE. Steinhauer has captured the eastern bloc even thought it’s not the eastern bloc anymore with Soviet era crime novels in the unnamed satellite workers paradise.

Our friends at Pegasus have published a short story collection by Marsha Muller called SOMEWHERE IN THE CITY. Cool prose and deft storytelling abound.

I wanted to mention Charles Finch’s debut  A BEAUTIFUL BLUE DEATH. If you’re fond of 19th century British sleuths this is for you.

Remember, there’s free popcorn all day at City Hall. French spies broke the machine so we’re making the best of the situation. Also bring a major credit card and get a free building permit!

Wellington Leg: Ben Affleck is bringing Dennis Lehane’s GONE BABY GONE to the screen this summer. It’s an interesting choice from the five Kinsey-Gennaro novels that helped light the fire under crime fiction during the reign of William knight errant of Arkansas. GONE BABY GONE might be the book that bridged Lehane to MYSTIC RIVER given the sprawling ambition of the story, the lurid aspect of child abduction and prose Pat Conroy could love.

Complexity and Hollywood are strange bedfellows but the New England connection helps here. Life among the three deckers of Dorchester creates a literary tradition closer to Dickens than Chandler; Lehane understands the class warfare and honor tradition of the blue collar families: poor by birth, poor by fiat, proud of the survival skills honed in the struggle of daily life. I don’t know what the filmmakers plan to do with the story elements in GONE BABY GONE, but I salute them for tackling this one.

Lehane has always struck me as a student of the game, a writer who moved away from the laconic PI motif after A DRINK BEFORE THE WAR. GONE BABY GONE is not my favorite of the Kinsey-Gennaro novels because we’re chasing too many points of view. The Pat Conroy analogy holds for me, the progression from the simple THE GREAT SANTINI to the sprawling LORDS OF DISCIPLINE was not necessarily progress, but it wasn’t bad either.

I look forward to the film. Hollywood making a movie more complex than SPIDERMAN is like watching kids playing with matches but, hey, sometimes there’s fireworks.

Wellington Leg: Time for the crime fiction roundup brought to you by the Piltdown Exchange:  “next time you need money stand a few blocks away and it will trickle down to you.” You’ve probably forgotten the Laffer Curve but that’s okay. The velocity of money is a function of a great many factors slowing to a crawl in certain areas of human endeavor while speeding recklessly ahead in others. Hey, I’ve got the books to prove any theory:

A WELCOME GRAVE by Michael Koryta: Just when I thought the people at St. Martins-Minotaur had forgotten me they send this one, a good one, the second novel in the Lincoln Perry series. Everyone whose anyone in Wellington Leg reads Koryta even the Live Hog specialists and we know how fussy they are.

THE CRUEL STARS OF THE NIGHT  by Kjell Eriksson. Murder in Upsalla by the author of THE PRINCESS OF BURUNDI. Eriksson is often compared to Henning Menkell but he’s more lyrical and playful and explores every facet of his characters’ spectacular melancholy.

Also from Thomas Dunne Books: INVISIBLE ARMIES by Jon Evans. One of the better thrillers currently available in stores set in India and the old Portuguese possession of Goa.

RED CAT by Peter Spiegelman. Do yourself a favor and read all of Spiegelman’s books.

DEAD MAN’S CURVE by Arthur Laffer. Okay, I’m kidding, but Arthur wasn’t kidding: it trickles down, dude. Like the way a bowling ball disappears and then it comes back! Way cool.

Wellington Leg: Today begins a series called Writers We Don’t Know. In the vast crime fiction spectrum your reporter doesn’t know the work of many fine writers. Luckily the research staff of the Druidical & Literary, though imaginary, work cheap and require little in the way of sustenance other than the occasional shout out. I tip my hat to you, especially Walter, our Heinrich Boell specialist.

I don’t know Peter Spiegleman. We shook hands at Left Coast Crime but in terms in journalist integrity I think we’re okay. Let’s borrow from Peter’s website in an effort to get to know his work: I’m reading BLACK MAPS, not his latest work, but quality wise this up there, my friends, bleak, subtle, well written with a Wall Street setting.

In fact, Peter edited WALL STREET NOIR a collection released in May from Akashic Books. You get Jim Fusilli, Megan Abbott, Reed Farrell Coleman, Jason Starr, Twist Phelan and more in this collection. Most of the traders on the Piltdown Exchange are reading this book when Live Hog trading permits.

BLACK MAPS won the Shamus Award. Peter’s most recent novel RED CAT was released by Knopf in February. I know what you’re thinking: Knopf? Mystery-thriller? It certainly implies high quality writing.

High quality in most products is a plus ( genuine Colgate toothpaste comes to mind.) Remember the Yugo? Quite a battle cry but I bring this up because in the commercial publishing world high quality writing is often seen as a barrier to success. And high quality writing that actually tells a story? Well, this can fall into the void between literary doodlings about dead hydrangeas ( must everything die?) and the more familiar thriller about librarians being chased by spectral descendants of Vlad the Impaler.

I’ll continue my Peter Speigelman coverage as the cup of knowledge slowly fills displacing the sodden molecules of ignorance. TTFN.

Wellington Leg: With the Live Hog Pit closed this holiday weekend your reporter turns attention to what Legians are reading. Here is a sampling of crime fiction titles from across Wellington Leg, Henley Hornbrook, and Carthago Nova. Ed Note: everyone in Goth is at COSTCO.

RAVEN BLACK by Ann Cleeves. The author won the Duncan Lawrie Golden Dagger in 2006. The novel is set in the Shetland Islands where many of this blog’s readers reside.

TROPIC OF NIGHT by Michael Gruber. I know this came out in 2003 but this novel is my choice for the Rap Sheet’s overlooked book. First of the Jimmy Paz trilogy.

THE BIG BOOM by Domenic Stansbury. Another older book that placed second in my Rap Sheet sweepstakes. Feels dated and the title is awful, but this novel pins San Francisco to the wall and smacks you silly.

AN ACCIDENTAL AMERICAN by Alex Carr. This is a bestseller in Wellington Leg, an unusual thriller about an unusual woman caught in the aftermath of Lebanon’s civil war.

SAFE AND SOUND by JD Rhoades. Not yet released, but floated ashore in an arc. Very well written, set in the Carolinas where many of the readers of this blog vacation. Features bounty hunter Jack Keller.

Hopefully on Monday I’ll have a few more titles for those of you who do not reside in the Shetland Islands or vacation in the Carolinas.

The existential crisis continues! A story about a woman attempting to rob a bank from the rear of a hired limousine only serves to accerbate an already difficult climate that has greatly affected plot devices in crime fiction. I know what you’re thinking: this probably happened in Florida or New Jersey if not Belarus. Let’s deconstruct the scenario.

It was a hired limo. The driver didn’t know she was robbing a bank. The fact of the matter is her take amounted to nothing. She might’ve been better off using the ATM. Fantasy authors might linger on the machine: The ATM and the Limo begin a conversation about the woman in the back seat. Maybe they do a background check.

The Note: Ever since Woody Allen tried to rob a bank by presenting a note in TAKE THE MONEY AND RUN the flaws of this approach have been obvious. Should the note be typed or handwritten? Proof read for errors? By whom?

Writers of international intrigue are well aware that Diplomatic Notes are passed from country to country when the teacher isn’t looking. Thus the United States might drop a note to Scotland: what r u doing after school?

If you’re comfortable writing notes in a moving car, you might try a foreign language note to baffle the teller. That way if the heist heads south for any reason ( your limo driver gets impatient, starts blowing the horn) you may have plausible deniability. Achtung! is always good since the teller may have seen Hogan’s Heroes in syndication.

Hiring the limo requires a certain amount of tradecraft. If you use your real name to rent the car, the cops will have a handy short cut to your door. Try wearing a Prom Dress for several weeks prior to signing the rental agreement. It’s an alibi. If you’re a middle-aged man you may want to have an explanation prepared for those nosey detectives. Write it down and hand them a note from your doctor. “Antoine must wear a prom dress so he won’t go to the track and blow all his money.” Dr. Strangelove.