I gotta say, it feels damn good to be hanging out with Hap Collins and Leonard Pine again. Not to bore the holy fuck out of your ass right off the bat, but the Hap and Leonard books were a major part of my nerdy-ass formative years. Back in the mid-nineties when I was a gangly punk in middle school, I discovered Elmore Leonard and Carl Hiaasen from a local radio personality my dad listened to in the car. After plowing through all of their books, I was at a fucking loss as to where to look next. If you’ll recall, these were the dark days before the internet made finding shit that’s like other shit easy as fucking pie.

So one day I sifted through the entire Barnes & Noble “mystery” section looking at blurbs, the most common variation for the kind of shit I liked being something along the lines of “like a Tarantino film on drugs!” or something similarly lame (come to think of it, that’s still a pretty common one out there…). Such obsessive behavior is how I came to pick up a sweet paperback of Mucho Mojo from Mysterious Press (yes, even at that age I paid attention to publishers). So you’ll forgive the Nerd if a thick fucking veil of nostalgia hangs over this fucking review, because that shit can’t be helped. Hap and Leonard were fucking life-changing.

But now that the back-story is out of the fucking way, let’s talk turkey (does anybody say that shit outside of Bogart films?) about the current book in the series, Vanilla Ride. All the things that Hap and Leonard fans expect are on full fucking display – hilariously raunchy cussing, macho male-bonding, kick-ass action, and a gleefully high body count. In other words: more of the glorious fucking same.

This time around, the East Texas duo is approached by ex-cop buddy Marvin to do a quick job. Marvin’s granddaughter is shacking up with a sleazy drug dealer and his nasty entourage out in the sticks. Hap and Leonard take it upon themselves to kick the whole crew’s ass and rescue the cracked-out damsel to boot. Also to fucking boot: Hap flushes the dealer’s whole stash. Naturally, the boys higher up on the chain – the fucking Dixie Mafia – are none too pleased about that shit and promptly send some nasty motherfuckers after Hap and Leonard. But if you’ve read any other shit from this series, you’ll know it takes more than a bunch of A.B. pieces of shit with shotguns to take down Hap and Leonard.

Like I said earlier, all the shit that makes Hap and Leonard a fucking blast is splattered across every page. The great back-and-forth between Hap and Leonard, the disgusting metaphors that pepper the descriptions, the lovingly detailed violence, the snappy pacing – all that shit is rocking at somewhere around eleven throughout Vanilla Ride. But what makes this shit especially special (man, that’s some especially special-ly bad fucking writing), is that this time out Lansdale really explores and debunks “the code” of Hap and Leonard.

Fans will note that Hap is always second-guessing his own violent actions (while Leonard by and large could give a flying fuck). He’s consistently conflicted about whether or not he and Leonard are not so much modern day John Waynes as they are heartless killers, same as the men they’re always, you know, killing. But this time out Hap’s reflections on his own nature are fucking spectacularly dire, the point brought home with a exceptionally sad and ambiguous ending. It’s so bleak, it begs the question: could this be the penultimate Hap and Leonard novel?

What I’m saying, dear reader, is that not only do you get a hefty-ass fucking (not be confused with a hefty ass-fucking) serving of good ole’ boys beating up motherfuckers, but an extra side of noir desperation thrown in for good measure as well. And if even that retarded fucking food metaphor was too confusing for you, let me set your ass straight: Vanilla Ride kicks some mean motherfucking ass.

(For purchasing information please click on the cover image above)

The Hap & Leonard books are the buddy films of the crime fiction genre with everything good, bad and ugly that the form entails.

The surface of the un-PC banter of these characters will no doubt provoke a few upturned noses but below the surface the dynamics are much more complicated then that. Fans of the series will already know this but Hap is a white, heterosexual former 60′s activist and Leonard is a black, homosexual, Vietnam vet. So their deep bond to one another adds layers of depth to these characters and becomes it’s own commentary.

It’s also refreshing seeing an un-typified portrayal of a gay man. It’s easy to go the bitchy, swishy route for gay male characters and play then for laughs and Leonard is anything but.

While they may not be for everyone they are a lot of fun and Lansdale, as always, rips a hell of an entertaining yarn. This is the first Hap & Leonard in 8 years and coupled with Vintage’s re-release of the first 6 titles this is a great time to get acquainted with the boys.

Engelbrecht Again! by Rhys Hughes

Englebrecht Again! is one of the funniest, funnest, original and highly imaginative books that I’ve read in awhile. The exploits of the dwarf surrealist boxer are so downright whacky at times that you just shake your head and wonder how in the hell did Hughes come up with this scenario because he’s one of those writers that is popping with ideas. His throw away ideas would be other lesser writers centerpiece ideas.

I think that this book actually has the possibility of wider appeal then it might be credited for. It’s like the time my kids convinced my aunt to watch the cartoon Chowder; she may have spent the first few minutes scratching her head and saying WTF!?! but by the end she was loving it.

Rhys Hughes is bloody brilliant and more then a little insane (in a good way) check him out you won’t be disappointed.

Fugue State by Brian Evenson

No one writes about characters in disassociative states better then Brian Evenson. Others try to and get half way but ultimately fail to put you in that characters shoes and feel all of the resulting conflictive emotions that the state brings such as confusion, dread, fear and others among them.

All of the characters in Fugue State are in some form of a disassociative state.

From a women trapped in a mime’s invisible box to woman who feels as if a childhood moment of play that unexpectedly combined fear and wonder altered her forever to a man whose brain synapses mis-fire and he loses the capacity to speak.

That all of these characters states find their origins or are grounded in every day normal activities makes the characters all the more identifiable and their slide all the more terrifying.

Brian Evenson continues to add to one of the strongest short story bodies of work out there.

    
I have no specific reason that draw me to this title particularly. Point blank, Ishiguro has to be on everyone’s must buy list anytime he puts product out, and if you haven’t read him before you need to pick up the full catalog. Because we’ve had and SF/F slant you’ll hear us mention his Never Let Me Go a lot (don’t sleep though, it was Time’s list of the 100 greatest English language books since the magazine formed in 1923) and because of the Hopkins starring movie The Remains of the Day – which still might be his best book – that gets noted a bit, but truly there is no waste of time with his name on it. When I look at a lot of the newer writers I enjoy now – the Chris Barzaks of the world and such – I’m fairly conscious of the fact that I’m enjoying writing that I can trace to Ishiguro in the terms of reading fiction that engages emotions, not the motions. Most authors (some very talented) put us in places and position and expect us to react. The Ishiguro’s know we will, understanding the difference between characters and character, between protagonists and people.

Nocturnes is an automatic choice on the Tomio Want List.

    
Synopsis:

In this sublime story cycle, Kazuo Ishiguro explores love, music and the passage of time. This quintet ranges from Italian piazzas to the Malvern Hills, a London flat to the ‘hush-hush floor’ of an exclusive Hollywood hotel. Along the way we meet young dreamers, café musicians and faded stars, all at some moment of reckoning.

Gentle, intimate and witty, Nocturnes is underscored by a haunting theme: the struggle to restoke life’s romance, even as relationships flounder and youthful hopes recede.

    
- Jay Tomio

_{Jan-ken-pon is the time traveling, force-walking, multiverse crossing column of Jay Tomio, owner of 1/3 of everything you see currently on screen, and the editor of Heliotrope. Some call him the Bodhisattva.}

Readers who miss the days of reading fairy tales should really enjoy this book.  Readers who still enjoy the retellings of fairy tales by authors such as Terri Windling, Ellen Datlow, and Angela Carter will enjoy this book even more.

Tender Morsels is a dark original fairy tale of a mistreated young woman who escapes the horrors of her life by escaping into a dream world.  There are similarities to the traditional tale, Donkeyskin,  but the story that Lanagan weaves becomes so much more than a simple cautionary tale.  This is a story that follows the grand, macabre traditions of the Grimm’s original fairy tales and none of the brutality is left to the imagination.

It is a well-written novel that doesn’t wallow in self-pity or allow anyone to get very comfortable in their surroundings for long.  Readers will recognize bits and pieces from other traditional fairy tales as characters make cameos into the story, but none of these visits are gratuitous. Instead, each one helps bring the story a little closer to its conclusion and forwards not only plot, but character development as well. 

There are very clear heroes and villains in the story, but there are also plenty of gray areas in the characters as well.  Even Liga, the main character, makes a few mistakes and has regrets at the end of the tale.  No one is an utterly spoiled brat or a complete saint, and that keeps the story very compelling.

The book was not always easy to read, not because of the prose, which was beautifully written, but because there are parts that are frankly quite disturbing, which makes them difficult to read.  If it were a movie, Tender Morsels would most certainly receive a good, solid R rating.  It was never a question of putting the book down, I only stopped reading because I had to do something else, and I was always anxious to get back to it.

I would certainly recommend this novel to fans of the above mentioned authors, but I would steer especially sensitive or younger readers to a different book.

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I remember reading Every Last Drop not that long ago and being unable to escape the feeling that the real Charlie Huston had been kidnapped and was being held by a guy in an abandoned warehouse somewhere. Well, I’m happy to report that, after reading Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death, it looks like Huston jumped that dumb son of a bitch and took his ass out. While the last Joe Pitt novel may have been a bit of a hiccup overall Huston just keeps getting better and stronger and Mystic Arts is a huge step in that direction.

Others of a pay grade higher then my own have declared this book a masterpiece. I’m not quite ready to go there yet though. While I do think that Mystic Arts is a great leap forward for Huston I don’t think it’s quite a masterpiece.

If you’ve read his crime novels then you know what to expect. The slacker hero, the humor that rides shotgun with violence but never approaching bleakness, and, in the new book more so then the others…a modicum of hope. It’s vulgar and violent but there is a certain likability level to the characters that keeps you on their side no matter what.

I love the exploration of crime scene cleaning culture, and the characters that get attracted by accident or design to this type of work. My understanding is that this may be the start of a series. I hope so because I’d love to see further exploration of this interesting sub-culture.

Web’s back story is a little like an Olympic power lifter going for the record, it’s a little shaky in the knees but ultimately manages to support the weight of the story.

The bottom line here is that this could be the book to take him to a new level.

Leather Maiden by Joe Lansdale

In many ways Leather Maiden is a conventional mystery, especially in the sense that a lot of familiar elements are here (small to mid sized town, scandal, murder, blackmail, psycho side kick, etc.) but at this point Lansdale has been at the game so long that he really knows
his shit and you are in safe hands. He has taken the things that you know and used them in a story that’s really good. It’s like the notes may be familiar but the song is still great. He’s written something like 30+ novels at this point so he really knows how to tell a hell of a story and he does.

The Lansdale style is on full display here, he’s almost like a really great storyteller you meet at the bar who tells you the greatest story ever told……as long as you keep plying him with drink.

As befitting our times, and something I expect to see more of, the protag is an Iraq war veteran. It’s a simple device that firmly grounds the story in the present and our times. His portrayal of Cason Statler is subtle and full, it’s nice to have a character with traits instead of being defined by them. For example, in the beginning of the book he is drunk. But then he decides to try and not drink anymore and it’s not turned into a big deal. He’s also carrying some baggage from the war that is never explicitly referenced, thus attaining a greater power. All of his characters are handled well and in the same manner.

One of the highlights (if that is the right word) is a torture scene that comes later in the book. His sidekick is an advocate of torture and he is not so sure. The scene unfolds in a non-judgmental, warts-and-all way that shows how horrible it can be but that it CAN also be effective. Sides aren’t taken and both characters can be seen as right and wrong. The reader has a complex reaction to a complex scene about a complex subject.

I also love the exploration of the relationship between the two brothers and their interactions with one another. This is yet another great book from the master storyteller Joe Lansdale.

(In writing this column I do have to idly speculate what a Joe Lansdale crime scene cleaner book would read like)

Last Days by Brian Evenson

One of the themes that plays out in Last Days, and in Evenson’s work when taken as a whole, is the effect of closed systems on the individual; The closed system is often religion and the individual is often unbalanced. When the pressures and permissions of religion are pushed to the front and the exposed cracks in the individual widen the results are always interesting and never what you expect.

There is a sense of otherness or wrongness that strongly pervades Last Days. We are to understand that Kline was an undercover police officer of some sorts but even that mooring point is shifted away from us by calling him an infiltrator instead. Everything is off.

Kline is an interesting character especially in the way that he is portrayed and the distance at what he is kept from us. When we first meet Kline it is soon after his previous case where he lopped off his own hand and in an act of self determination cauterized the wound. Though it’s never explicitly stated he is clearly suffering from some form of post traumatic stress syndrome. Like Web, in Huston’s Mystic Arts (above) Kline is in a state of shock and practically numb to everything around him and, for the duration of the book, the situations that he finds himself in. I say practically because there does seem to be some indication that he is aware of how far down he is but doesn’t recognize the way back up. It may even be this disorientation that kicks off the story; Kline is so spun around, yet aware of his state, that he accepts the first hand offered to him. It’s been suggested that Last Days is a Grand Guignol crime novel but I think that Kline’s dour personality works against this assertion and that Allan Guthrie’s Hard Man is much more akin to this comparison.

Often times crime fiction is billed and blurbed as being “dark” and too often it fails to live up; flinching first and crying uncle when the story gets tough. In this unique detective novel Brian Evenson is willing to hold the gaze of the abyss and the result is a novel that isn’t likley to be forgotten anytime soon.

Knockemstiff by Donald Ray Pollock

Though it’s not really presented as such I think that under a broad definition Knockemstiff can be considered crime fiction and would appeal to some of its fans. First, it could be said that crime
fiction is about those on the fringe of society; those with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Knockemstiff is filled with stories of low-bottom fringe dwellers with nothing. Not nothing to lose, literally nothing. Bill Hicks once assaulted a heckler with the following line “Your gene pool is so shallow that its like your daddy jerked off and your mama sat in it.” The characters of Knockemstiff are the result of that union.

Second, over the years in crime fiction there has been this notion of the city as main character and there have been some famous ones over the years: Pelacanos’ D.C.; Chandler’s L.A.; Lehane’s Boston; Sallis’ New Orleans; and many others. As these stories unfold and the lives of these characters interconnect the desolate nature of the town really comes through as the main character.

In discussing this book with someone else who had read it (and loved it), it became apparent that we did differ on one thing, how to classify it. Knockemstiff is presented as a short story collection and this person considered it as one. But I considered it to be more in the tradition of a fix-up/mosaic novel since the stories were connected. Even though a term may have originated in one genre doesn’t (or shouldn’t) mean that it is limited to that genre. I guess the way that I see it is that I’ve always felt that the mystery/crime genre was lacking in certain structure types, like mosaics, but also embedded story structures and some others, that would seem to lend themselves to the genre. So I just see it as a different kind of novel structure rather then not a novel at all.

The characters are presented, if not sympathetically, then at least objectively. You can’t really relate to them but they are interesting. There is a raw, almost primitive power that comes out of them. Pollack doesn’t demean or belittle his characters by categorizing their actions as black or white. They are just who they are, and sometimes even oddly comfortable in their own skin. Like the guy who slips off his wedding ring to hit on the convenience store clerk only to have her start making fun of the “retarded” girl who comes in sometimes realizing that it’s his wife she is talking about.

If there is a relationship between crime fiction and the horrific (especially the horror of small acts) then surely the town of Knockemstiff resides on the border. Like the moment of quiet horror when a father exhorts his young son to beat the shit out of another boy while in the restroom of a drive-in.

This is not a children’s story. Marketed as a companion piece to HDM, this short piece is rife with sophisticated themes and adult language, along with an elegant sarcasm that operates well from an adult perspective. No prior experience with the author’s famed series is necessary to enjoy this stand-alone tale of an accidental aeronaut and an outlaw talking bear. Readers familiar with the relationship between Lee Scoresby and Iorek Byrnison will be engaged by this explanation of their first adventure together, and those without such a background will be intrigued enough to read future developments surrounding the pair.
When Scoresby finds himself a stranger in a city on the verge of a hostile political and business takeover, he stumbles headfirst into conflict, with the armored bear at his side. Scoresby has a habit of chasing trouble, if one considers the snappy remarks of his rabbit daemon, Hester, who consistently harasses him in good humor. His concern with honor, which he denies – “I don’t think too much about honor” – seems the primary motivation for these conflicts. He finds himself drawn to others with this interest, including Miss Victoria Lund, a librarian and fellow boarder. When Lund surprises him by asking his advice about a difficult personal situation, he quickly deduces the heart of the matter.
“This is about honor, ain’t it.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Hard thing to get right.”
His consideration of the upset young lady is unexpectedly rewarded at the end of the story, as is his commitment to leave the townsfolk in a better position than he found them. He expects no return on this investment, but the appreciation of certain citizens leads to assistance in his safe escape.
The author clearly holds a distaste for big business and uses the story to promote this message, but his platform does not take center stage from the fast paced adventure and valuable friendship born within these pages. Neither do the charming engravings by John Lawrence, which echo his work in Lyra’s Oxford. What does detract is the unfortunate miscellanea from Scoresby’s volume on aerial navigation; a bill of lading as described in the story; instructions to ‘Peril of the Pole,’ a board game included in a pocket inside the back cover that is “too exciting for children under 5 years of age;” a leaf from a shipping world yearbook with a description of the town, Novy Odense; a newspaper article regarding the final events in the story; two letters from Lyra regarding her dissertation; and the certificate for her dissertation, which is a study of trade pattern development with an emphasis on independent cargo balloon carriage. These, like the intrusive materials in Lyra’s Oxford, are annoying. Readers of HDM will make the obvious connection between Lyra’s work and Scoresby’s activities, but like Lyra and the Birds, the story stands better on its own.
The audio adaptation proves a two hour and 17 minute mess of the author’s narration, which is often too fast, and various actors who unintentionally make a mockery of this sharp story. “Overdramatic” does not quite cover the lengths to which the accents and emotions are carried. Unlike Lyra’s Oxford, which employs several actors but remains primarily in the talented hands of Jo Wyatt, this version falls short of the written word.

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As a short story companion to the author’s His Dark Materials trilogy, this attractive volume offers a diverting look at Lyra two years after the events in The Amber Spyglass. The majority of the book is devoted to the telling of Lyra and the Birds, which outlines a dangerous situation in which Lyra must decide who she can trust. Her decisions are always vital, not only to her own safety but to that of others. Readers of the trilogy will recognize the responsibility Lyra carries on her adolescent shoulders as a standard of her young life, forced upon her and held with good intent but not always with the best judgment, as one might expect from a teenager. When a witch threatens a scholar in whom Lyra has developed an interest, she rushes to help, but her impetuousness blinds her to alternative possibilities and consequences.

This red cloth bound package is graced with detailed engravings by John Lawrence but marred by extraneous material that is annoying rather than enhancing. A preface with instruction on connections between these materials falls into this category as well. The “things” to which it refers, including a map of Oxford, glued to a page about a third of the way through the story; a picture postcard from Oxford, with a note written by Mary (presumably Dr. Malone of HDM) to a former companion at the convent; a page on the history of Oxford; and a brochure for a cruise on the Imperial Orient Shipping Line in London, with the arrival in Smyrna on Monday, May 11 circled and marked “Café Antalya, Suleiman Square, 11 a.m.” clutter and interrupt the story.

This is one for HDM readers of all ages, but would not appeal to those unfamiliar with the preceding titles. Lyra’s past plays a critical role in her choices and reactions in Lyra and the Birds. There are many references made to incidents, characters, and relationships necessary to Lyra’s experience in this short story that would alienate readers who do not have this frame of reference.

The audio book, which runs short and sweet at 45 minutes, is primarily narrated by Jo Wyatt. Wyatt, who plays the excited teenage girl very convincingly in adaptations of Libba Bray’s A Great and Terrible Beauty and Meg Cabot’s Avalon High, follows her portrayal of Lyra in HDM with an appropriate range of expression, from eagerness to self-doubt, for the spontaneous and open girl readers have followed since 1995. The CD comes with a slightly smaller copy of the map that is included with the book, but it is tucked neatly out of the way and as such, not an issue.

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Detective Sonchai Jitpleecheep reflects the mysticism and apparent contradiction of Thailand that those of us of ‘Western’ origin just cannot understand. Yet he stands somewhat apart from Thai society as a half-caste who spent a significant time abroad while growing up. Firmly rooted in his Thai background and with his understanding of the Western world, Sonchai, son of a prostitute, devout Buddhist, and detective in one of the most corrupt police forces in the world, may be the only honest cop in the whole of Thailand – or at least what passes for an honest cop in that part of the world – and he’s the perfect guide through the dark, hot streets of Bangkok.

“Few crimes make us fear for the evolution of our species. I am watching one right now.”

A horrific snuff film has been sent to Detective Jitpleecheep and Sonchai knows the victim intimately. She worked in his mother’s brothel where he became deeply enthralled by her. Now happily married, he is tormented by the film and feels driven to bring the killer to a uniquely Thai form of justice without regard for his own safety. Sonchai teams up with his trans-gender partner and a soul-searching FBI agent as men of power are implicated in a growing chain of murders. Ghosts, mysticism, and even sorcery clash with the world of prostitution, pornography, and poverty with Sonchai realizing his own role in the middle of it all an elephant hair too late.

Like Bangkok 8 and Bangkok Tattoo before it, Bangkok Haunts drags us through the underbelly of Thai society, through brothels and poverty in a very foreign land. Living most of his adult life in East and Southeast Asia, Burdett shows his deep understanding of Thailand and presents a different point of view, showing the hypocrisy of the West and its ‘good intentions’ through the jaded eyes of Sonchai. The story is dictated from his unique point of view to a Western audience, offering a subtle criticism of the West and its impact on the East through a dark, witty humor that blatantly challenges our basic assumptions.

She stands up. “I need air.”

I think: in Bangkok? But I lead her through a couple of corridors then out into the public area where brown men and women not much more than half her size wait to tell a cop of their homely grievances. It’s not exactly a festive atmosphere, but it’s human. An American extravert, Kimberley doesn’t mind dabbing her red eyes with a tissue in front of an audience, who naturally assume I’ve just busted this female farang on some minor drugs charge – cannabis, perhaps. Like my own, her eyes naturally seek out any attractive young women sitting in the plastic seats. There are three, all of them prostitutes (no respectable Thai woman dresses like that). They resent the attention and glare back. I think Kimberley would like to hug them in gratitude that they’re still alive. I take her out into the street: not quite what the words “fresh air” normally invoke, but she fills her lungs anyway. “My god, Sonchai. The world. What monsters are we creating?”

Though it’s the third book featuring Detective Jitpleecheep, Bangkok Haunts stands on its own as a solid hard-boiled, noir crime novel without significantly spoiling the earlier books. However, a more rounded understanding of Bangkok, its sex industry, and some of the peripheral characters is gained from reading his earlier journeys – and they are journeys as much as anything.

I enjoyed Bangkok Haunts very much, but not quite as much as Bangkok 8 and Bangkok Tattoo. It lacks the punch in the gut of the culture shock and wry humor of Bangkok 8 and brilliance of the post-September 11th world revealed in Bangkok Tattoo, yet still captures feeling of ‘getting it right’ that Burdett creates in his vision and understanding of Bangkok. I highly recommend entering the world of Detective Sonchai Jitpleecheep and the dark Bangkok night – while Bangkok Haunts isn’t as strong previous entries, it’s not a book to pass by.

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Cast of Shadows begins with every parent’s worst nightmare, when Davis Moore’s teenage daughter is brutally raped and murdered by an unknown assailant. It gets worse. For Davis Moore is a fertility doctor, dealing with cutting-edge genetic reproductive techniques. It’s a controversial and dangerous occupation: Moore has already been the object of a fanatic’s assassination attempt. But for a father driven half-mad by grief, his work presents one startling and dangerous opportunity–the chance to secretly clone his daughter’s killer and look into his face.

“The first morning after would be the worst of all, when he would wake having forgotten, and then, in the daylight, remember that his only child was dead.”

Cast of Shadows takes a small handful of issues, cloning and stem cell research chief among them, and crafts a tale that that launches from a simple premise and becomes a multifaceted discussion that is at times moral, scientific and religious. The premise and its exploration prove to be an effective evaluation of these difficult issues without any real political or religious bias.

The story is told over 20+ years, during which we get to watch these characters grow, change and age. Every character is complexly rendered producing very real, very sympathetic people.

“In spite of his dedication to work, he had raised the kind of young woman a teenaged Davis Moore would have admired, would have befriended, would have pursued with all his energy and charm. More important, he had the raised the kind of young woman who would have seen through teenaged Davis Moore’s unflappable, swaggering bullshit.”

Cast of Shadows is divided into two parts. The first part will cover a little over a decade and focuses on Dr. Moore’s twin obsessions of finding his daughters killer and keeping up with Justin’s growth and progress. Justin’s face will very slowly start to come into focus as he grows into the man who killed Moore’s daughter. By the end of this first part nothing will be the same and everyone’s lives will be affected.

The second part of Cast of Shadows covers a three-year period of time and will focus primarily on the teenage Justin. Over the last few years or so a computer game called Shadow World has become hugely popular and successful. It is an identical fully functioning copy of our world in which you create a character to interact with the virtual environs. In Justin’s world there is a serial killer on the loose. Justin has become increasingly obsessed with the much-publicized case and is using his Shadow World character to investigate the murders.

Very early on we are introduced to Mickey the Gerund: A fundamentalist Christian who staunchly opposes cloning technology and believes it to be an affront to God. He begins a crusade against doctors who perform the procedures and those who advocate the technology. It is a testament to Guilfoile’s writing that Mickey never devolves into a reductive character. It would be far easier to let Mickey become a cartoonish fool on which to pile all perception and stereotypes of fundamentalist Christians. Instead he becomes a carefully nuanced character steeped in righteousness and dripping with menace. Mickey the Gerund may not get the most page time in Cast of Shadows but all of his appearances are memorable. This is his book as much as Dr. Moore’s or Justin’s. His character is worth the price of admission alone.

All of the characters and all of their interactions with one another are multi-dimensional and carefully crafted. They are memorable and they are real and their actions will weigh heavy on their souls and ours.

There are two discernable plot lines snaking their way through the book. As you draw closer to the end one of them is mostly guessable but its ultimate effect isn’t lost. The second however is shocking in its revelation and is possessed of its own quiet power and intensity. In near silence a secret will be shared. In John Woo’s The Killer one of the main characters is chasing a criminal on a packed subway and suddenly they are face-to-face. Woo inserts a moment of silence into this loud scene. When the cock of a gun breaks the silence it startles and shocks the viewer. The end of Cast of Shadows will very quietly startle and shock the reader.

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What is Red Cat about?

With a troubled past, and a job that attracts too much attention from the law, March has always been the black sheep of his staid merchant-banking family. Which makes the identity of his latest client all the more surprising: his smug older brother David.
David is desperate and deeply scared, and with good reason: a woman he met on the Internet, and then for several torrid sexual encounters, is stalking him. David knows her only as Wren, but she seems to know everything about him—and she’s threatening to tell all to his wife and to his colleagues. His marriage, his career, and his reputation at stake, David wants John to find the woman and warn her off. Reeling from these revelations, John begins the search for Wren, and what he finds both alarms and fascinates him. Part actress, part playwright, part performance-artist and noir pornographer, Wren is a powerfully compelling mystery—though no more so, John discovers, than his own brother.

But when a body surfaces in the East River, March suddenly finds he’s no longer searching for a stalker. Now he’s hunting a killer—and following a trail that leads ever closer to David’s door…

What are others saying about Red Cat?

S.J. Rozan, author of In This Rain wrote:

“”If Peter Spiegelman’s story of sibling entanglements and an internet hook-up gone bad didn’t yank me right in which it did and if his characters weren’t vivid and his dialogue pitch-perfect—which they are—I’d still read him for his chisel-sharp prose. In Red Cat Spiegelman reaches a new peak. Don’t miss it.”"

Christopher Reich, author of The Patriots Club wrote:

“”Red Cat is the best mystery I’ve read in a long time. Taut, gritty, and beautifully written, the story moves along at a relentless clip. But Spiegelman’s greatest talent—and what sets him far above his contemporaries—can be found in his evocation of character. John March is one of the great fictional PI’s of the past decade. Conflicted, sympathetic, and brilliantly brought to life. I thoroughly enjoyed this book and it is my pleasure to heartily recommend it.”"

Joseph Finder, author of Killer Instinct wrote:

“”Peter Spiegelman is one of the finest PI writers around, and Red Cat is his edgiest and most accomplished work yet. The plot unfolds at breakneck speed, the twists are startling, the climax wrenching, and the writing is flat-out beautiful. But beyond these considerable pleasures, Spiegelman has crafted a nuanced and satisfying novel about siblings, marriages, and self-created prisons. It’s a story that stays with you, and if you haven’t discovered Spiegelman and PI John March yet, you’re missing something great.”"

Don Winslow, author of The Winter of Frankie Machine wrote:

“”Red Cat is totally seductive—smart, sharp, with an undercurrent of tension that runs like a subterranean stream beneath the city.”"

Ken Bruen, author of The Killing of the Tinkers wrote:

“In Red Cat, Spiegelman has created the ultimate femme fatale. Wren is one of the most alluring, lethal, fascinating women to come along in over a decade. The novel is also a heart-wrenching study of family dysfunction with all its twisted love, buried simmering resentment and misplaced loyalty. This novel literally seethes. The third outing of John March moves Spiegelman into the top bracket of mystery’s elite, the rare number who are indeed a must read.”

Kirkus Reviews wrote:

“…call[s] to mind the work of Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett. Gritty atmosphere and clever plotting enhance a fine addition to the noir tradition.”

Publishers Weekly wrote:

“[Spiegelman] continues to be one of today’s best practitioners of neo-noir.”

Booklist wrote:

“…Spiegelman stakes a strong claim to Lawrence Block’s Matt Scudder turf.”

Library Journal wrote:

“…believably complex and full of shocking twists. Highly recommended.”

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Open to all FBS Members.

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John March is the black sheep of a powerful banking family. One of his brothers comes to him seeking his help. He had an affair with a woman who is now making trouble for him, stalking him and is threatening to out the affair. He wants John to find out who she is and make her stop. His brother only knows her by her screen name, Wren. As John delves deeper into Wrens life he uncovers an entire world of noir pornography that is strangely compelling and horrifying sometimes both at the same time. When a body turns up in the river that may be Wrens suddenly the entire case is flipped upside down as now John is trying to find the killer to protect his brother.

One of the things that I like the most about March is that he is a thoroughly updated version of the PI. He’s more likely to use the internet, Google and public records searches then asking around town and occasionally roughing people up for information. As an ex-cop he’s more likely to work on the fringes of the law then be firmly entrenched outside of it like his more traditional “lone-wolf” counter parts. In fact he spends a goodly portion of the book trying to get his brother seek the aid of an attorney and to turn himself into the police. He also eschews some of the other typical PI traits. He is not a tough guy; in fact he gets beat up quite a few times throughout the book. He is not an alcoholic, in name or practice. He actually is quite healthy and an avid runner.

Interestingly Spiegleman takes what can only described as a morally ambiguous stance on marital infidelity. Simply put, its OK for March, a widower, to have a relationship with a married woman, Claire, but it’s not Ok for his brother, who is married, to have a sexual relationship with someone other then his wife. There seems to be an alarming justification for some forms of infidelity but not others.

None of this would be an issue if the 6 relationship characters that were central to the infidelity sub-plot were presented in a manner which afforded them an opportunity to act as tools for Spiegelman to dissect the complex issue of marital infidelity, or at least present it’s many faces. But in terms of their relationships to one another they are painted with an almost garish simplicity so that they become only walking extremes and the whole idea of infidelity, which is central to the story, becomes muddled.

There is a simplicity with which they are portrayed that makes it hard to get a handle on the characters. In terms of the infidelity they are in the same boat, committing the same act with varying degrees of success. But because of the way that they are presented to us throughout the telling some are judged yet some are absolved and others are just non-existent

To illustrate the simple extremes that some of these characters are painted I couldn’t help but notice that March and Claire are presented in a far more positive light because they are fostering a relationship but the other characters in the book who are also having an affair have the perception of being sexually deviant. March’s brother, who is having an affair, is presented in such a way as to make him completely unlikable, even as his world starts crashing around him. Yet the most likeable character in the story is Claire, who is sweet and interesting, So we are set up from the start to view this as a black/white issue when it is actually a far more complex issue. If you’re going to bring it up then you may as well explore it fully.

There are two main female characters that are a part of this story, Claire and Wren. They are, I think, two sides of the same coin. According to all of the publication material Wren is cast as the “interesting” character. She is the one that we are supposed to be intrigued by and want to know more about. But I couldn’t help but notice in my own reading experience that I was far more interested in Claire and wanted to know more about her.

I must say though that I thoroughly enjoyed this book and now crave to know more about the other John March books. The best recommendation that I can give is to say that upon completion of Red Cat I went out and picked up a copy of Black Maps, the first March book and look forward to reading it.

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Lyra is a young orphan girl, raised by the masters of Jordan College at Oxford, knowing little of the outside world and caring for little beyond her carefree existence playing with the other children.

The story opens with Lyra’s curiosity leading her to eavesdrop on a secret meeting between the mysterious Lord Asriel (Lyra’s uncle) and a number of scholars at the college. After foiling an attempt to poison Lord Asriel and overhearing the subsequent discussion of a mysterious substance referred to as “Dust”, a disturbing series of events begins to unfold.

Tales of the “Gobblers” snatching up children become more than just rumors when Lyra’s friend Roger disappears without a trace and Lyra herself is forced to leave her home, with only her daemon Pantalaimon and a curious device said to reveal the truth. With all signs pointing to the frozen North, Lyra must uncover the mystery of Dust and what has happened to the missing children.

While the His Dark Materials trilogy is billed as and clearly written for a young adult audience, this shouldn’t dissuade older readers. I went into The Golden Compass uncertain of what to expect, and I was actually pleasantly surprised. Granted, the writing is a bit simplistic and lacks some depth, as might be expected, but Pullman doesn’t write in a “cutesy” (for lack of a better expression) way. The underlying story is certainly interesting and more “mature” than I had expected.

With all said and done, I enjoyed The Golden Compass and I’m looking forward to reading the followup, The Subtle Knife.

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Ever since Eragon grew in popularity, Christopher Paolini has been claimed as a young marvel, an adventurous boy writing about a boy and an adventure, and doing so in such a way that has never been done before. I’m not quite sure what kind of medications those that proclaimed these words were taking, but I’m sure the doses were high and heavy.

Eldest is book number two in the Inheritance Trilogy. It’s big, it’s red, and it’s overzealous. It’s a lengthy amount of writing—consisting of some decent prose at times—but for the most part the subplots and main storyline are all just filler to a surprise ending a-la-Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

The main plot is as follows; Eragon deals with political issues with the Varden after the death of Ajihad during an Urgal swarm. The Twins and his Murtagh are missing—thought to be dead—and Eragon is sent to the land of the Elves to finish his training as a Dragon Rider. The second main plot follows Roran, Eragon’s cousin, and his journey to help his village escape from the evil hands of Galbatorix. Both lines follow a path that eventually comes to a head at the end of the book.

Paolini must have it hard; after being proclaimed as some writing prodigy—which he is not—he must now live up to the title as much as Eragon has to live up to Dragon Rider. Every scene, every color, and every action is described, described, and described. I found Paolini using some of the strangest words just to come off sounding professional or clever. To me, it didn’t work. To others, maybe it did or maybe they just skim paragraphs and head straight for the dialogue. While the talking was certainly better than anything George Lucas could write, it still wasn’t great. I believe the word “aye” was used over a hundred times.

I’m not even going to go into the love element of the book. Gee, an Elf and a young human boy can’t seem to fall in love quite easily? Never heard of that idea before.

One thing that I did appreciate from Eldest was that the violence level was taken up a notch. In Eragon, people fought and stabbed and slay villians, but never to the extent that it happens in Eldest. Little boys mutilate soldiers’ bodies in revenge, Roran takes enemies out with a hammer, and the final battle at the Burning Plains is just a fest of action. If they make this into a movie—since they are with Eragon—I doubt it would be anything less than PG-13.

The book is a long read. It reminded me a lot of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince in that the whole purpose of the book really was the last few chapters. Everything else up to then was nonessential. If you’re interested how it ends, look online for a spoiler and save the time from reading.

I’ll still wait around for book number three—rumored to be called Empire—but if it is anything like Eldest was, I’ll be doing a lot of skimming.

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