Crime Fiction in the Wilderness

Fresh from a revitalizing pint of the black stuff at the Crown bar in Belfast the Wyoming-based author, CJ Box, looks very comfortable as he sits by the window of the first floor lounge in the Europa hotel. He sets his Stetson to one side, crown down to protect the brim, and offers a firm handshake and easy smile. In a few hours, he’ll launch his latest novel, BACK OF BEYOND, at No Alibis bookstore on Botanic Avenue, but for now, he’s happy to discuss his latest release and the Joe Pickett series which is currently being published by Corvus at a rate of one a month.

BACK OF BEYOND, set in Yellowstone National Park, features an alcoholic detective by the name of Cody Hoyt and he’s the polar opposite of his series character, Joe Pickett. Box believes it’s easier to write the more traditional flawed hero in crime fiction than a family oriented man. For one thing, they have so much freedom in that they don’t have to go home at night to check in with the wife and kids. Cody Hoyt is ‘stripped down’ and unpredictable and so the reader will never really know how far he might go in a given situation. And Box has enjoyed immensely the opportunity to explore a dark side through this broken man.

Box himself could be a character from one of his wilderness thrillers. He’s a keen fisherman and has been on the kind of outfitting adventure featured in BACK OF BEYOND. And his experiences very much inform his writing style. One of his strengths lies in the way he can bring nature to life through prose. Does he go on hikes with a notebook in hand?

“No, just like it’s easier to write about the summer in winter it’s easier to write about the wilderness when you’re not in it.”

An interesting element to Cody Hoyt’s back story is that he’s a keen crime fiction reader and one of the writers he’s a fan of is Ken Bruen. This is a little Stetson-tip to Box’s friendship with the Galway writer. They met at Bouchercon, an American crime fiction convention, a few years back when Bruen introduced himself as a fan of the Joe Pickett series. Since then, they’ve sent each other their novels and share a mutual respect. In fact, CJ Box described Bruen’s novel, AMERICAN SKIN, as his ‘…biggest, boldest, most sweeping and heartfelt novel yet.’

When asked if any other Irish writers have captured his imagination he cites Adrian McKinty and in particular his Colorado-set novel HIDDEN RIVER.

‘I was kind of blown away by his dark Irish sensibility in sunny Colorado. It’s very well done.’

And like so many others he believes McKinty’s work should be much wider read. And in fact, there and then in the Europa lounge, he jots down a reminder on a napkin that he should download McKinty’s FIFTY GRAND when he gets back to his Kindle.

He may be a man of nature but he has not shied away from the new e-publishing phenomenon. The first of a series of short stories available in electronic format can now be downloaded. The information and links can be found on his website, as well as a full bibliography of his printed novels. It’s an impressive backlist and a reader could do much worse than get stuck in at the start of the Pickett series with the thrilling debut, OPEN SEASON.




A burned out cabin in the woods. A dead body. A dinner table set for two

Detective Cody Hoyt is called to the scene. A brilliant cop, Cody is also an alcoholic struggling with two months of sobriety. So it doesn’t help that the body in the cabin is his AA sponsor Hank Winters. It looks like suicide, but Cody is convinced it’s foul play.
So who was at Hank’s cabin? Data pulled from Hank’s fire-damaged hard drive leads Cody to a website running wilderness adventures deep into the most remote parts of Yellowstone National Park. Their big trip of year has just left – a two-week horseback journey into the wild. The very same trip that Cody’s estranged teenage son, Justin, has signed up for.

Cody has no choice but to trek deep into the wild himself. In America’s greatest wilderness, Cody is on his own, he’s out of time, he’s in too deep. He’s in the Back of Beyond!

CJ Box is the author of nine novels including the award-winning Joe Pickett series. He’s the winner of the Anthony Award, Prix Calibre 38 (France), the Macavity Award, the Gumshoe Award, the Barry Award, and an Edgar Award and L.A. Times Book Prize finalist. Box was named 2007 Writer of the Year by the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. His short stories have been featured in America’s Best Mystery Stories 2006 and limited-edition printings. The novels have been national bestsellers and have been translated into 13 languages.

A Wee Review - Once Were Cops by Ken Bruen

I’ve noted in a previous post that 2008 was a great year for Ken Bruen and his fans. The Max (co-written with Jason Starr), American Skin (UK and Ireland edition), Sanctuary (UK and Ireland edition) and Once Were Cops (US edition) were all released last year. Having just finished Once Were Cops I’m now three for four on reading and reviewing these titles. Sanctuary will have to wait until I’ve read the other Jack Taylor novels, but I will get there. More than likely this year.

So, Once Were Cops --

Violence, corruption and heartache?

What do you think?

Sparse?

Buddy, you betcha.

Poetry in prose?

More so than American Skin, even.

Bruen was still able to make me burn with jealousy by delivering a killer line or two per page, but in this case, it was an even more impressive feat. There's not a whole lot of prose on those pages. The book’s typesetting is pretty idiosyncratic, (hanging line indents and white space between mostly single sentence paragraphs) but teamed up with Ken’s ability to deliver a knockout punch in three or four words, this worked to increase the urgency in the writing. Once Were Cops is a short book, but even so, for me to finish it in little over a day is something close to remarkable. I’m not exactly blessed with an excess of reading time these days. Thankfully, Bruen weaves his usual magic that keeps you reading, “Just one more paragraph, page or chapter!” It forced me to find the time.

Did he blow this reader away?

Sure, doesn’t he always? May as well have swung a hurling stick at me.

As with American Skin, Bruen uses both strict first person and shifting third person. The anti-hero, Michael O'Shea (AKA Shea), is the sole-focus of the intimate first person scenes, and through it, Bruen fully explores a blacker-than-night mind. A driven sociopath. A complete and utter... Well, Ken Bruen tells it better. Best you just read it and learn more about Shea from him.

Outside of Shea, we’ve a good cast of intriguing characters, but Kebar stands head and shoulders above them all, both physically and metaphorically. A big ol’ NYC psycho-cop, it’s inevitable that Shea, an Irish guard on an exchange programme with the NYPD, should be teamed up with him. What isn’t quite expected is how each of these cops relates to the other, and who gets what from whom. Cryptic? Yeah, sorry about that, but I want you to get what I got from this book without me interfering. So, I’m not even going to tell you about the short cameo at the start of the novel. It’s a good one, though.

In conclusion, Once Were Cops is so good that I’m itching to reread it already.

What more can I say?

A Wee Review - Eight Ball Boogie by Declan Burke - Tag Team Style

Mike Stone: Hiya, mate. I finished Declan Burke’s Eight Ball Boogie yesterday. Give it a day or two and the dust will have settled enough for me to do a write-up. Assuming you want one of course?

Gerard Brennan: Hey, man. Yeah, I could well use a review of Eight Ball Boogie. Thing is, I’ve only just read it myself. And I’m kind of in the mood to review it too. Not sure what to do. I like to get other opinions on CSNI when I can, but... hmmm, what say you?

MS: Well, I daresay you’re better qualified. I was going to prattle on about the banter – that for me was this novel’s signature. The story and characters were very good, but what raised the bar were the rapid one-liners and putdowns.

GB: Don’t know about my qualifications. I’m not much smarter than Burke’s protagonist, Harry Rigby. Wish I had his knack for one-liners though. As you say, they’re a defining feature of the novel. I didn’t do a formal count, but there has to be at least a couple of wisecracks on every page. I think Declan Burke mentioned in a recent blog that Rigby was one of the most autobiographical characters he’d ever written. Probably explains why he comes across as such a complete character. Wise mouth, cocky attitude, low self-esteem. If I ever meet Dec in person, I must give him a hug.

MS: Ah, you beat me to it. I was going to ask you if Dec’s anything like Harry Rigby. The dialogue – spoken and internal – just felt so natural. And there were sentences to die for. I’d give my eye-teeth to have written this one:

The shoes were Italian and suede because women look at your eyes first, shoes second, and I had eyes that made women take a long lingering look at my shoes.

You know when you asked visitors to CSNI to give you a page number and you’d recite a cracking piece of prose from Ken’s American Skin? I reckon you could do that with ­Eight Ball Boogie.

GB: And I reckon you’re right. Except as popular as that git Burke is on the blogosphere, I’d be inundated with comments if I did. I loved the book, but I’ve got a life, you know? It wasn’t just the cool dialogue that got me. The twisty-turny plot kept me guessing right up to the final pages. Okay, so that’s supposed to happen in crime fiction, and should be a given rather than a point of praise, but I think Burke is especially adept at this. It was equally apparent in The Big O and A Gonzo Noir.

MS: You anticipate me again. PI Harry Rigby’s poking into the goings on of crooked auctioneers, bent cops and politicians on the make was bound to be complex -- and for the most part Declan handled it well -- but were you able to keep with it? Because I got a bit lost towards the end. I got the gist of it . . . I think. The problem for me, in part, was that rapid-fire narrative we talked about earlier. When it came to Rigby unpicking the double dealings and backstabbings, I could have done with more elaboration.

GB: Hmmm. Good point. Personally, I didn’t feel short-changed when it came to figuring out who did what. I went away with a clear enough idea of all that went on. I do think that he resolved an awful lot in a very short space of time, which might have made the book a little ending-heavy. Is that what you mean?

MS: Yeah, it became too dense for me, or I’m too dense for the ending, one or the other. I was determined to give it a five star review up until then. As it stands, I’d probably chip a point off for making me feel thick. Any idea if there’s a sequel. I want to see more of Harry Rigby. And how does Eight Ball Boogie stack up against The Big O?

GB: Ah, man. Great question, thanks. As you know, I’m a regular reader of Dec’s blog, Crime Always Pays. Not so long ago he mentioned Eight Ball Boogie and how the publisher (a now defunct imprint of Lilyput Press) passed on the opportunity to buy a second Harry Rigby novel from him. Publishers, eh? What do they know? So I know there is more to come from Harry Rigby, but when we’ll get to enjoy it is anybody’s guess. I’m hoping the recent success that The Big O has enjoyed will bring with it an opportunity for Dec to launch a whole series of Rigby novels, starting with a shiny new hardcover of Eight Ball Boogie, because (and this brings me on to the second part of your question) I think The Big O rocks, but Eight Ball Boogie has a bit of an edge on it.

Right, listen. Which one of us is going to write this review, then?

MS: Well, you could always stick the heading “A Wee Review” above this exchange. I daresay that McKinty fellah will have a dig and call us the Chuckle Brothers, but I can live with that.

To me!

GB: Sounds like a plan, you savvy devil.

To you!

A Wee Review - American Skin by Ken Bruen

Ken Bruen is the Galway man behind the Jack Taylor series and the Inspector Brant novels. He’s also written a fair clatter of standalones. American Skin is one of those. As well as being a dark and action-packed crime novel, this book takes a look at the longstanding fascination the Irish hold for America. Pop culture references abound, from Homer Simpson to Tony Soprano, and help sculpt the landscape of the setting.

Stephen Blake is on the run after a bank heist gone wrong in his native Ireland. He’s left behind his home, his life and his love, but sees this as a temporary situation. In time, he’ll make a life and home in America, with his lover Siobhan; just as soon as the swag from the heist is freshly laundered and he hooks up with his girl in Tucson. But, grief for his best friend, who died in the heist, acts as a catalyst to Blake’s spiralling loss of control. And the third crewmember from the robbery, psycho ex-IRA man Stapleton, is after more than his fair share of the loot. Add to the situation two American-grown loose cannons in the form of homicidal maniacs Dade and Sherry, and you’ve got a real stunner of a storyline on your hands.

Blake’s quest to don an ‘American Skin’ includes cultivating a new accent, outlook and image. At times it looks like he’s going to achieve his transformation, and on more than one occasion he makes some true-blue American blunders; one of them on a trip to Vegas – now that’s the American way. But at all the wrong moments, his Irish core shines through. His efforts make for a fascinating character journey. And already I’ve touched on the main strength of this book. Characterisation.

In this relatively short novel, we meet a large cast. And right down to the bittiest of bit-players, we find depth of character. The shifting perspective he employs in this book allows us a glimpse inside each main character’s mind. They all have a fully formed past that has contributed to their present states, and in the majority of cases, the present state is not a stable one. As the protagonist, Blake is the best of a bad bunch, but he’s certainly no angel. He has a shady past and a fatal propensity for poor decision making. In Hollywood, characters often forgo a ‘redemptive arc’. Blake’s journey is more of a damning zigzag.

And then there’s Bruen’s prose. He writes in a pared-down and straight-forward manner, and yet, he somehow manages to pack at least one killer line into every page. It’s the kind of writing that should make you want to howl from the rooftops, bark at the moon and speak in tongues. As a writer, I feel I should be blinded by envy, but the avid reader in me won’t allow it. American Skin is so much of a pleasure to read that the jealous writer in me is sedated and the awestruck reader elated.

God damn you and bless you, Ken Bruen.

Ken Bruen - DBB Style

Peter Rozovsky from Detectives Beyond Borders has an unconventional approach to reviewing the books he reads. Usually, he writes short passages while reading the book, discussing whatever aspect tickles his fancy. For instance, Garbhan Downey's Running Mates inspired discussions on the limitations of traditional media and Ian Sansom's Mr Dixon Disappears gave cause to a discussion on 'cosies' in the mystery genre.

So, I thought I'd take a webpage out of his cyber book. Just for the hooley, like. The book that inspired this? Ken Bruen's American Skin.

I finished reading it yesterday, but I'll not be reviewing it until I've completed my review of David Peace's 1974. But so many things in American Skin are playing on my mind. What stands out most, and the subject of this post, is Bruen's ability to include a killer line or couplet of prose in every. Single. PAGE!

Seriously, this man's experience and talent is evident on every page of American Skin. And to prove it, I'm inviting challenges:

In a comment, pick a number between 7 and 281. I'll skim over the page and post an example of a knock-out Ken Bruen line for each number.

Now, just one thing. If you happen to pick a page that ends a chapter and has one paragraph of prose, I reserve the right to skip to the next full page. Just to be fair.

I'll start the ball rolling with one of my favourite sentence, found on page 254 of the Brandon Books hardcover (which I won off Crime Always Pays -- Cheers, Dec!).

The American dream, me in my car, top down, Highway 66, times I so wanted to get right under the skin of the very soil and then the Irish in me would whisper,

"The Marlboro man died of cancer."

Now, pick your number!