Top Ten 2009

A few of the bookish blogs I've been reading have recently been posting lists of their favourite crime reads of 2009. Not being one to miss a bandwagon, I thought I'd jump on. But my list will detail the books I came across in 2009, they may well have been published before that date.

The eagle-eyed among you will spot the fact that I've numbered them all number 1. Why? It's like saying which of your children are your favourites, innit?

1. Philip Kerr...If the Dead Rise Not

1. R J Ellory...The Anniverary Man

1. John Connolly...The Lovers

1. Caro Ramsay...Singing to the Dead

1. Carol O'Connell...Bone By Bone

1. Tony Black...Gutted

1. James Lee Burke...Rain Gods

1. Deon Meyer...Blood Safari

1. Shav Sherez...The Black Monastery

1. George Pelecanos...Hard Revolution

1. Daniel Woodrell...Winter's Bone

1. Walter Mosely...Bad Boy Brawly Brown

1. Bill Kirton...The Darkness

oops, I've over run...and I've still to mention...och, there's too many to mention. How am I supposed to limit this fecking thing to 10? Whose idea was this anyway?

'Nuff said. Go buy one. Or two...

Laters,

M

Bully in the Market Place

My name is Michael Malone and I’m a bookaholic.

Therefore when I read a report in the New York Times (get me) about Amazon excluding the titles of e-books from MacMillan, one of America’s biggest publishers from its marketplace, I get the shudders.

As a keen reader I want choice. As a writer with aspirations I want a marketing platform. The sheer size and power of a supermarket like Amazon is a threat to all of that.

The book-buying world is changing on a daily basis. The real engine of variety in the publishing world – the indie bookshops – are dying off; the limited shelf-space of Tesco/ Asda is getting more and more powerful; the one decent book chain in the country, Waterstones is losing its direction. And Amazon is getting too big for it’s bully-boy boots.

Apart from this most recent flexing of their over-sized musculature they were also having a spat with Hachette in the summer of 2008. They demanded a bigger discount on Hachette’s titles, were refused and this led to Amazon removing its “Buy new” button from key Hachette front and backlist titles, and dropping books from promotional positions. Titles affected included those from the likes of Stephen King and James Patterson.

It’s the equivalent of going into a bookshop and asking for “Under the Dome” and being told to fuck off. Now I worked in a bookshop for a couple of years, and when people came in to buy books by Katie Price I was seriously tempted to give just that response, but I wouldn’t dare. You give the people want they want – no matter how terrible their taste might be.

You could argue – and Amazon has done just that – that the consumer will be the winner in such a battle. But here’s the nightmare scenario: Amazon become the biggest book retailer in the planet. They dictate terms with all of the publishers. They fine (and this has already happened) those who don’t deliver books on time – a difficult situation for the smaller publisher. Publishers can only make enough to cover their overheads if they publish titles with a massive and proven audience. The independent publishers go the same way as the independent bookshops. As for writers? The experimental, the new, the literary...anyone who comes under the category of being Less Than A Sure Thing is faced with the choice of publishing with an online and on-demand “publisher” or publishing limbo for the rest of their career. Which to be fair, between these two choices is surely one and the same thing.

Wonderful (can you TASTE the sarcasm) the consumer gets cheap books. They just all happen to be from the same dwindling group of writers and the odd ham-fisted attempt from the latest celebrity-author. Never mind the quality, folks feel the price.

As for choice... what choice?

The bloggy world is full of authors who are now removing the Amazon buy button from their sites, but ultimately the decision is yours. You, the consumer get to decide. Do you want choice and a continued strong reading experience or do you want the scenario outlined above? If you don’t the option is simple. Get off-line, walk into your nearest bookshop and buy a book. And NO, Tesco and Asda don’t count.

Books, glorious books...

This is me happy as a pig ‘n shit and like a pup with two tails. Some lovely publisher types have sent me some free copies to review for www.crimesquad.com.


Can anyone think of a plausible excuse so I can take some time off work to read all of these?

Lemme see who’s on the pile...

Robert Crais- The First Rule (4 March 2010). Frank Meyer walked away from the life as a merc ten years ago. Armed men break into his house and gun him and his entire family down. Big mistake. Frank’s friend was Joe Pike and he’s on the hunt for everyone involved. Nobody, I mean NOBODY kicks ass like Joe!

First line – “Frank Meyer closed his computer as the early winter darkness fell over his home in Westwood, California.”

Brian McGilloway – The Rising (2 April 2010) Ben Devlin (that rarity – a happily married fictional detective) is on the hunt for drug dealers and a neighbour’s missing child. Compromises he is forced to make on the job are badly affecting his family.

First line – “I should have kissed Debbie and the kids goodbye before I left the house.”

Tony Black – Loss (7 January 2010) Gus Drury is off the streets and back with his missus. AND off the bottle. Then his brother goes and gets killed. Bit of a bugger that.

First line – “Calls in the middle of the night rarely bring good news.”

Christopher G Moore – Paying Back Jack (oops, that was out in December 2009) I’ve not read any of this guy, but we have a detective called Calvino in Bangkok uncovering political intrigue and stuff. What’s not to like?

First line – “Calvino’s last sports jacket was ruined when Nicky “the Toad” Marras’s blood splattered over the lapel and down the pocket.”

Joseph Wambaugh – Hollywood Moon (21 January 2010) The man who brought us The Choirboys is back. I’ve not read any of his stuff for yonks and I’m REALLY looking forward to this one.

First line – “Hollywood Nate rents midgets,” the long-legged, sunbaked surfer cop whom the others called Flotsam said to his partner while 6-X-32 was passing Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, cruising east on Hollywood Boulevard at twilight.”

David Hosp – Among Thieves – we have Boston’s underworld, art theft, the IRA, a young boy, aged 9 who saw his entire family murdered who has now grown up and is going HULK on any fucker he can find (hey, I should write up some book blurbs...any publishers out there interested? Gimme a call. I can do cheap.)

First line – “Liam Kilbranish looked down at the lump of flesh curled in front of him on the cement floor.”



This is me racking my brain...excuses...excuses...excuses...

1) I’m staying in to do my hair.

2) My back is really, really hairy and it is annoying me.

3) My in-grown toenail turned sceptic after I tripped over that sausage.

4) The wee fella’s never had the chance to make a snow angel. We should do it before he becomes a teenager because then he’ll be deeply embarrassed by me lying in the snow.

5) Tesco.com can’t give me a delivery time, and I need to eat, right?

6) I have like, all this gunk coming out of my nose.

7) I drank some Dr Pepper and the worst really did happen. (I could go vague here – if I give specifics nobody will believe me.)

Which one do you think would work best? Can you come up with something better?

Laters,

M

Hit an' Miss

*Listening to BBC Radio 2 on the way home – eesh, I’m getting old. Shirley Bassey was being interviewed before her big concert. They were discussing the lyrics to Diamonds Are Forever and in particular the lines...

“Hold one up and then caress it,

Touch it, stroke it and undress it”

Dame Shirl avowed that she had no idea what these words might have meant other than sheer enjoyment of the hard, shiny rocks. Aye. Right. And I’ve got a nice row of shiny buttons the length of my spine.


*To the Italian guy at the gym tonight. Get over yourself, Dude. If I ever see him on the street I fully expect to see him pushing (at just the right angle and with the correct lighting) a full length mirror on wheels.




*I always find it interesting to learn how people find this blog. Remember the one from Italy who found me by searching for “Hairy Man Showing Nuts”? A new one that had me smiling recently was less suggestive. “Mike Malone and Bill Clinton. “ ???? Nothing will be admitted to unless in the presence of a lawyer. However, I swear, no sex act was committed. (But I’ll never clean my suit.)

 
*I’m taking issue with George Bernard Shaw. It’s not youth that’s wasted on the young. It’s Spongebob Squarepants!




*What have I been entertaining myself with these days I hear you ask? You didn’t. Tough, I’m gonna tell you anyway.

Movies... (my local Blockbuster had a deal on 5 movies for £10, for a week. Being a cheapskate I couldn’t resist the bargain – here’s a sample of what I watched)

“Doubt” with Meryl Streep. Being an ex-convent boy this movie had a certain resonance for me. A quick run-down of the story...Streep was the heid-nun. She couldnae stand the new priest. This was the sixties and the world was changing too fast for her. She became convinced he was interfering with one of the boys. She did everything she could do discredit him. Without spoiling the ending...I like movies that let you make up your own mind. Back to Streep...did she win an Oscar for this? Freakin’ awesome performance. Utterly hypnotic.

“Sugar” – a film from the guy who made “Half-Nelson”. It was about young guys from the Dominican Republic who played baseball in an island academy for the big US baseball clubs. An understated, engaging movie that avoided the usual Hollywood clichés. Gentle pace and humour, well-observed interactions...touching. Excellent.


“Seven Pounds” – Will Smith acting his socks off. Man, was he good in this. Did he get an Oscar nod for this performance? Anywho, if you don’t shed a tear at this you should sell your heart to the nearest hardware store with a sticker on it reading “Breezeblock”. (You don’t even need to bother with anaesthetic because you clearly can’t feel anything you soul-less MF)



Books...

Incendiary by Chris Cleave...if there are any newbie writers reading this who are still wondering about “voice” do yourself a biggie and read this. And anything else by this guy. The narrator of this one is a woman from London who is writing a letter to Osama bin Laden after her husband and son were killed in bomb attack on London. The voice is consistent, authentic, humourous and moving. What’s impressive is that he manages a new completely different and hypnotic “voice” for each book. Jealous much? This is one of those all too rare books coming under the heading of “Literature” that is accessible and where you really do give a fuck about the characters. You can’t help falling in love with this woman (if you don’t see above comment about the breezeblock) and she’ll inhabit your thoughts until you finish that last page.

Pic 'n mix

Things you don’t expect to hear from one of the ladies you work with #1

- Oops, I just pumped.

(For my buds across the ocean “pumped” is one of those delightfully inoffensive ways we Brits like to talk about things some people might feel are offensive. In this instance a “pump” is a fart.)



Confession #1. After I stated last week that I wait until Xmas eve before doing any shopping I bought two giant tins of chocolates (Cadbury’s Roses) and hid them in a kitchen cupboard.

Confession #2. I paid to have my sister clean the house today.



Lesson Learned #1. Nothing is ever well enough hidden when the Queen of Chaos is on the prowl.

Let me explain. I called her from work while she was sweating over the shambles I call home. The ensuing conversation went something like this.

-I’m going to be a wee bit late (I normally make her dinner when she is at my house doing the cleaning) the fridge is full, sis. Help yourself if you’re hungry.

-oh, I already ate some of those chocolate Roses.

-what the ones I had hidden in the back of the cupboard for Xmas presents?

-Oh. (long pause) Right. I only had half a dozen. You could run some tape round the tin lid and no-one would know.

-surely, you saw the tin and thought “present”? Who buys tins of sweets and hides them in a cupboard for anything other than a “present”? Why on earth did you think it would be ok to open the tin and eat some?

-Don’t be mad at me, I’ve been working like crazy. Your house is a tip, by the way.

-Compliments are always going to make me feel less annoyed, sis. Why don’t you try one on me?

(It’s Friday and I’m in a good mood because, well it’s Friday. Besides it’s like being angry with a puppy. A puppy with opposable thumbs that can open a large tin of chocolates)

-I did some ironing for you as well, she adds with a pleading tone.

- you are incredible, I laugh.

When I get home she’s wearing one of my t-shirts.

- I’m waiting for Boyfriend to pick me up and my top is all sweaty, she says.

- if your handbag was bigger, I say, you could just pop my feckin’ TV in there.



Later, I looked in the cupboard where the chocs were. There were still two tins in the place I last saw them. One on top of the other. The tin on the top was sealed. It then became apparent that when Sis finished eating the sweets, she’d put the open tin on the bottom, to disguise the fact she’d been munching on them. Wonder what made her come clean? I would have been none the wiser...until I went to play at Santa.

Now that the kettle’s on and the tin’s open...



Things you don’t expect to hear from one of the ladies you work with #2

- a graphic novel ? Is that like one with loads of sex and violence?





Friends who’ve read the Dan Drown latest, The Lost Symbol are all agreed on one thing. It’s shite. Their words, not mine. If this reaction is extrapolated throughout the world, I’m guessing his next work won’t be quite as successful. I’m hoping other writers will get his audience. I’m thinking Mr Drown will laugh his sorrows all the way to the bank, while singing nanananana.



Anybody out there read The Kindly Ones? It sits at the other end of the literatooore spectrum from Danny boy. It won plaudits and awards up the wazoo. And boy is it hard work. Pages upon pages of reportage...you know, the bits you skim over? Occasionally you come across a finely tuned paragraph where something actually happens. The narrator is a highly unsympathetic character caught up in Hitler’s Final Solution. Violence is constant and written in simple language that makes it all the more harrowing and affecting. How this violence changes in the perpetrators’ minds from traumatic/difficult to being sought after/ acceptable is worked very cleverly. This is interspersed with philosophy and debate. Again, hard work.

My thinking is that if this was cut from 900 pages to around 400 you would have an extraordinary piece of fiction here. What do I know?

Soapbox

A couple of events in the book world occurred last week. See, if I had my finger on the pulse I would have blogged about these already, I hear you say. In my defence, I can’t be arsed offering a defence. In any case you may already be aware of both of them. In which case why am I bothering to talk about them? Ok then, I’ll stop right now. But I’ve started, so I may as well finish, cos I’ve nothing else to talk about. A blogger’s biggest worry: What to Say Next.




I’m talking shite, as is my want, but now to be serious. Super Thursday kicked off on, yes you’ve guessed it, Thursday. This was the day when the UK publishing industry took a further knock to the collective noggin (following the Dan Brown Big Discount) and released 800 books on the one day, Thursday 1st October.

 
That is not a typo. There is not an extra “0” at the end of 80. The figure was 800 books. On the one day. This is me looking like an envelope waiting for an address. Blank. (anyone recognise that quote?) WTF guys? Apparently it’s all about getting into the right position for the Christmas shoppers. But what do I know about that? My favourite position as a Christmas shopper is with me on my backside, in a comfie chair with my fingers in my ears going, lalalalalalala. Think Gordon Brown dealing with the latest political stushie. Until the 24th of December that is, when the hot rush of panic sets in.




Given that we are a society with our heads up our collective arse, there is a veritable plethora, an unhealthy abundance, nay a skip’s worth of books released on Thursday that come under the heading of “Celebrity Memoir”. I can’t wait until this particular obsession fades and we can get back to admiring people who have a talent for something more challenging than being able to get noticed by a camera.

 
Anywho, there are bound to be some good books that fade without notice in this bunfight. Can you imagine, having slaved over a manuscript for a year or more and it gets released among this storm? How would you get noticed? If you come across a book that’s worth talking about let me know and we’ll use this modest forum to give them, well a forum. Every little helps, right?




The other thing wot happened is that it was Banned Books Week, which highlighted that there are a dangerous minority of fuckwits who are intent on telling the rest of us what to read. If I could remember how to do it I would position a link HERE for you to click on to take you to the website. But I’m unabashed and unapologetically rubbish at this stuff so you’ll just have to cut and paste this http://www.bannedbooksweek.org/info.html to get more info.



Sure this concerns the USA. For the moment. Stuff that happens over there, tends to make its way over here.




In this site you’ll come across a reasoned, intelligent and eloquent response to one such book fascist who was determined that a book that offended her sensibilities should be pulled off the shelf of her local library, thrown to the ground and goose-stepped all over.



My favourite part of this letter by a very wise man called Jamie La Rue follows, along with an address if you want to read the full letter. Again the ability to cut and paste is required.

 
“Your third point, about the founders' vision of America, is something that has been a matter of keen interest to me most of my adult life. In fact, I even wrote a book about it, where I went back and read the founders' early writings about the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. What a fascinating time to be alive! What astonishing minds! Here's what I learned: our whole system of government was based on the idea that the purpose of the state was to preserve individual liberties, not to dictate them. The founders uniformly despised many practices in England that compromised matters of individual conscience by restricting freedom of speech. Freedom of speech – the right to talk, write, publish, discuss – was so important to the founders that it was the first amendment to the Constitution – and without it, the Constitution never would have been ratified.”




For the complete letter go here...

http://jaslarue.blogspot.com/2008/07/uncle-bobbys-wedding.html



Fantastic stuff. My only concern is that when someone has lost both their brain cells on such a viewpoint they will only dismiss such an articulate effort as the ramblings of a degenerate. So in a world where those who shout loudest get heard (and frighteningly that tends to be the closed-minded minority) it’s up to those of us with wit, intelligence and the ability to listen to the opinion of others to raise their voices.



Let me hear you, people!

Anyone know a good vet?

Anybody know a good vet? All day yesterday I had a gradual build up of pain in my shoulder that radiated down my arm and up my neck. By the time I got to bed I could barely move my head. Any position I could arrange myself in that was comfortable for my foot ...yes, you guessed it, was uncomfortable for my neck/ shoulder.

So here’s me today with my foot in an ice bath and a heat compress across my shoulder. S’not funny you at the back.

By the way, these heat compresses are amazing. It’s like a giant sanitary towel, shaped like the wingspan of a pigeon (without the head, tail... and the guano). You pull it from the packet and as it comes into contact with your skin these wee pads positioned inside it heat up. Clever, eh? And you can wear it for 12 hours.

An interesting side issue to this situation is that I’m also suffering from “walk-envy”. This is a very real phenomena, kinda in the same ball park as penis-envy or boob-envy, without the strange glances and padded underwear. How it works is this – people walk past my window all healthy and pain free and stride-y and I get pissed off. Oh, give it a rest, dude. It’s only been a fortnight.

So while I’m consumed with envy at people who can walk without pain I’ve got four books on the go. Does anyone else out there read like this? This is quite normal for me until one book in particular asserts itself on my mind and demands that I finish it first.

My foursome include Chris Ewan’s A Good Thief’s Guide to Paris, which I received courtesy of Scott Pack at Me And My Big Mouth (a must-read blog for book lovers). This book has a wonderfully intriguing premise where you have a novel where the main character is a novelist writing a book about stealing stuff, while he is actually stealing stuff. I don’t normally read caper novels as I prefer my books to be life or death, but I’m really enjoying what I’ve read so far.

Her Fearful Symmetry is Audrey Niffenegger’s next book following the HUGELY successful The Time Traveler’s Wife, which I loved. Early signs are good, however when I bought it at my local Waterstones the bookseller commented that they were having trouble selling it. It seems a good proportion of the locals who bought the first book didn’t really enjoy it. What, you mean they were swayed by all the attention it received. Noooo. I was disappointed. I want people to enjoy books that I love. Philistines.

Also adding to the clutter in my Being Read Pile is Robyn Young’s Brethren. This is a tale of knights going on a crusade and putting those pesky locals to the sword. Initial impressions are mixed. I’m struggling to identify with the characters, but I can see that all the elements are there and it should be worthwhile carrying on.

I’ve also started a review copy of James Ellroy’s soon to be released Blood’s A Rover. This is another book where I’m conflicted. It’s the third in a series and I’m probably hampered by the fact that I’ve not read the other two, although the blurb does say it can be read as a standalone. For those of you who are unaware of Ellroy, he’s the writer of L.A. Confidential and feted as one of crime writing’s modern greats. This is a doorstop of a book, with a large, bewildering cast and a style all of its own. James Ellroy can write a sentence of seven words and impart a degree of information that another lesser writer might manage in a seven line paragraph. Sometimes the staccato sentence style he adopts is a delight, sometimes it’s an irritation. However, this is definitely one that’s worth persevering with.

Sometimes you do have to work at your pleasures, no?

I have a cunning plan...

Try this on for a cunning plan...

You have a struggling business. Profits are down. People are spending their hard earned elsewhere. Then you find a new product. This product is not just popular, it will sell in the millions. Let me repeat that...it WILL sell in the millions. Name your price and people will tramp through your establishment all day, every day for weeks, perhaps months to get their hands on it.

This is your chance to make some money, right? Your chance to shore up some of the losses of the previous year and perhaps to give you a buffer for the next year or two. Suddenly, everything in the garden is not just rosy, but the roses have had their thorns clipped.

You buy in advance units and stock your shop from floor to ceiling and wait for the deluge. But wait...there is one more thing to do. Why don’t you take the recommended price and half it? You buy it from the wholesaler at a certain price and then you discount that and sell it on. Yes, you don’t make ANY money from it at all. What a most excellent idea. The business will last for ever with a plan like that.

WTF? Have you lost your mind?

Well, yes actually we have. The business plan I’m talking about concerns the UK book trade and the product mentioned is the new Dan Brown novel The Lost Whateveryoucallit, which as I write is quoted by Reuters as breaking first day sales records apart.

The same thing happened with Harry Potter. Guaranteed cash. Yet the booksellers fell over themselves to discount it. I had a friend in the trade who realised it was cheaper to buy it from Asda rather than from the wholesaler. Nuts.

And don’t get me started on the big supermarkets selling books. Okay do....they see huge bestsellers like Dan Brown as a “loss leader”. People just LOVE to pick up books like The Lost Thingummyjig for a fiver while they stack their trolley full of chicken breast, tin-foil and pot noodle, dontcha know.


Do you love books? Do you like to have a choice in the authors you buy? Do you like to see new authors coming through now and again? Do you enjoy browsing in that special atmosphere that only a bookshop can provide? If you have answered yes to these questions then you would probably rather tidy your pubic hair with a blowtorch than buy your books from Asda or Tesco.


But if you are one of those people who are ruled by their wallet, please think on it. Because if the public continue to use their supermarket for their literary thrills in greater numbers, we will be reduced to a world of a dozen A-list authors re-writing the same book over and over again for fear they will be dropped by their publisher and the only new authors to be published will be her or him off the telly with the big tits/ hundreds of lovers or some sorry guy/ gal who was battered by their father, ignored by their mother and shagged by the family pet.


I'm almost tempted to go buy the Dan Brown in Asda, but I have to go look out that blowtorch first. We're talking jungle foliage.

A clue as to why this is a significant day...

If the beer company made birthday cakes it would probably be the best birthday cake in the world...

The wee fella sang a lovely song to me this morning. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. You look like a monkey and you smell like one too.

And even those nice people at Quercus got in on the act. The other day I blogged about the Philip Kerr book that won the big prize and today I got home from work to find that his publishers had sent me a complimentary copy to review for crimesquad.com.

Laters,

M

Reading with Obama

See me and Barack Obama? Picture my right hand up with my index finger and middle finger crossed. We are that close. Not only does the name Obama have the same number of vowels as Malone – this is a known scientific method of checking the strength of friendships - but we have similar tastes in books. Proof positive!

According to one of our newspapers, Barry’s (I can call him that ‘cos we are close) summer reading list includes Richard Price’s Lush Life and George Pelecanos’ The Way Home. Both books were given rave reviews by yours truly on the pages of crimesquad.com. Two excellent writers. Two wonderful novels. And whisper it David Cameron...two crime novels. Oh the shock of it.

Regular readers of these pages will know that I blogged recently about the holiday reading that some of the British politicians admitted to and I can’t help be impressed that Barry is so confident in his intelligence that he doesn’t feel the need to pander to the snobs and critics who would have us all read political memoirs or university treatises while digging at the hot holiday sand with our toes.

FYI, Bar, I’ve just started reading Michael Connelly’s next book, Nine Dragons. Next time you and Michelle (more proof, if it’s ever needed – his wife has the feminised version of my name) take a break, pack that in your suitcase. Well worth a read. Here’s a thought. You can have my copy. You’ll be too busy running the free world to have time to shop on Amazon, so I’ll just stick it in the post. Hey. We can swap. You know my taste so well, what would you recommend?

I’ve just taken that too far, haven’t I? When should I have stopped?

Buy a book today!

The crime novels I read are all reviewed on www.crimesquad.com, but I thought I’d give a mention to some of the excellent books I’ve read recently that don’t come under their remit. Go buy one. Try a real bookshop, not Tesco or Asda. Don’t get me started on supermarkets selling books.

The Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson
- Young fella crashes his car. His car bursts into flames. He suffers badly. We’re talking hideous burns -oh – leaving him like a gargoyle (geddit?). Woman comes to visit him in hospital. She says she has visited him through the centuries each time he gets burned. She says they were once lovers in medieval Germany. He says WTF, lady? Fascinating, imaginative, compelling, loved it.

Assegai by Wilbur Smith
- Africa in the early 20th Century. Romance/ wild animals/ history/ wild animals/ some more romance. Typical Smith. A great read.

The Man In My Basement by Walter Mosely
- A guy whose life is going nowhere takes in a lodger. The lodger is willing to pay wads of cash to stay in the basement (where did they get that title?) under some VERY strange rules of his own devising. Now if I let you know that the house owner is black and the lodger is white, that gives the story a whole different dynamic, innit? Very clever, provocative... a story about power granted willingly but accepted with difficulty.

Scottsboro by Ellen Feldman
– shortlisted for the Orange Prize for Fiction – which made me think twice about buying it because I don’t hold with exclusive awards - don’t get me started. But I’m glad I ignored this compulsion. This is a true story set in Alabama, 1931. A posse of white men stop a freight train and arrest nine black youths for the fuck of it. Two girls alight from their carriage and are convinced to accuse the black boys of rape. They get caught up in the attention and oblige. The boys are convicted and given a date to be sent to the electric chair. America is divided and the subsequent court case became the kickstart to the civil right’s movement. Beautifully written and painful to read. An important book. Oh, and by the way there are times when people really suck.

The Other Hand by Chris Cleave
- this is about a young girl who escapes a terrible situation in her native Nigeria only to be caught up in a British detention centre. She escapes with tragic consequences. If you are not affected by this book then you should just carve out your heart with a butter knife ‘cos you clearly don’t need it. Nuff said.

City of Thieves by David Benioff
– during the siege of Leningrad a teenager called Lev is caught looting, which is pretty much understandable when you’ve had nothing to eat for days apart from grass and shoe leather. Except the army see looting as grounds for an on- the- spot execution. Lev, doesn’t get shot but is sent on a quest with another guy the soldiers don’t want to waste a bullet on - to find a dozen eggs. The army commander is about to marry off his daughter and his wife wants to bake a cake. Only it seems that all the hens in Leningrad are dead (along with the cats/ dogs/ horses) So, Lev has a mission if he wants to save his life. You could make the mistake of thinking the search for eggs trivialises the situation – au contraire – it highlights the have’s with the have nothing and on the verge of cannabalism. Loved it. Compelling, humourous and pacy story-telling.

Killing Johnny Fry by Walter Mosely
– a second for Mosely on this list. I love his stuff. The main character , Cordell is stuck in a rut. He is forced out of said rut when he comes home from work one night to find his girlfriend (ahem, how can I say this politely?) taking it up the ass from Johnny Fry. His reaction surprises him, to say the least. He ‘s thinking murder, but he can’t settle on the actual act because his libido is running riot. This man has got serious wood. Mosely does great dialogue and great characters and he does the sex stuff pretty well too. If this was a movie and filmed accurately it would be rated XXX. Suffice to say, one of your hands might be busy while you read this. SIDEBAR – this will undoubtedly shock some people who read about gruesome murders, decapitations, dismemberment etc etc without raising an eyebrow. Whassat all about? Blood and gore you can take by the bucket but an act of lust leaves you scandalised?

Nocturne in Chrome and Sunset Yellow by Tobias Hill.
This is a book of poetry rather than a novel. The blurb says it is a “book-length love song to the fabulousness and ragged beauty of Hill’s native London.” I say, surely the copy-writer could have come up with a better word than “fabulousness”. That aside, quality stuff on offer here.

Winter’s Bone by Daniel Woodrell.
Since her father left, Ree has been forced to look after her mother and her two brothers. She finds out her father has put their house up for bail – bastard – and that the house will be sold from under them if the shit, I mean her father doesn’t turn up in court. Ree needs to find her old man, and pretty fast. Ok – I’m going to wax lyrical for a mo. This guy can write up a storm. Every page is a delight. Deserves a HUGE audience. And in the blurb, Daniel has a kickass beard. Buy it. Or I’ll come and post dog-poo through your letterbox.

Bits 'n Bobs 'n Buffy

My Hollywood contacts (aye right) tell me that Kuzui Enterprises, who own the rights to Buffy The Vampire Slayer are considering a new movie...without Joss Whedon. Have they lost their fecking minds? Have they taken leave of their fecking senses? Have they been locked up in a bunker in North Korea for the last 3 fecking years? (Have the writers of Father Ted taken over this fecking blog?) It’s like Ben without Jerry, Jerry without Tom or Tom without Nicole – oh wait, that happened, but you can see where I was going with that one.
I have one word for the chumps at Kuzui Enterprises. Noooooooooooooo.
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This is not PC – and should come with the sub-heading Too Much Information - but I’m loving the billboard on Whitletts Road, Ayr. To ensure clarity... and fully establish my credentials as a dirty old man, the poster is filled by a pair of tanned, sumptuous breasts wearing a green M&S bra. Hope there aren’t any teenage boys living in the houses opposite. Having said that, with internet availability these days they’ll probably think it’s lame and way too tame. But for men of a certain age, whose only experience of female nudity when they were teenagers was the underwear section of Kays Catalogue, it's genius. Ahh, makes me come over all nostalgic. Not the kind of nostalgia M&S were aiming for methinks. Or then again maybe they were...
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What am I reading right now? “So Brave, Young and Handsome”. You could be forgiven for thinking that this is the authorial manifesto of one Michael Malone, but no, this is a novel by the excellent Leif Enger. He first came to my attention with the totally wonderful “Peace like a River” and when I saw this online I had to buy it. It’s set in the early 20th Century in a North America that is at last learning to deal with its more lawless citizens. Our hero is a writer of pulp fiction running dry of ideas after one big bestseller. Then he comes across an old man who wants to go find the only woman he ever loved. Her name was “Blue” and he was forced to leave her behind when the army were about to arrest him for a killing that happened during a train robbery in his youth. The romance of this man’s quest twinned with the romance of the dying Wild West convinces our hero to accompany him. The two men journey towards Mexico trying to trace Blue, but don’t realise that one Charles SIringo, a former Pinkerton detective is on their trail, determined to bring the only man who ever evaded him, to justice. This is a novel about forgiveness and acceptance with one man running away from his life and the other willing to do anything to face the consequences of his. Enger is an amazing writer, who writes with a truly original voice with a lyrical quality. Beautiful and heart-warming.
Do yourself a favour and read “Peace Like a River” as well. One of my favourite books of the last few years.
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A stick insect masquerading as a female of the hominid species ran straight from her aerobic class at the gym tonight, into Subway. She was last seen with a bag of cookies attached to her face as if it was a nose bag. S’no fair. Bet she does that every night and stays skinny. It was all I could do to stop myself from shouting out of the window – ye might be skinny now, hen, but I bet your arteries are like the insides of my furry slippers.

And a final (two) words for the middle-aged man at the gym tonight wearing a too short t-shirt and a pair of budgie-smugglers, sorry, lycra cycling shorts. Gonnae no.

Pear Ice Cream

Years ago when I was in the south of France on a camping holiday, I went to a cafe in the town of Cavalaire. Apropos of nothing but a chance to name drop, my caravan was next door to a very young Patsy Kensit and her pals. I reckon that’s where she got her taste for Scots men, but that’s a whole other blog.

One of the things I noticed while I was en vacances was that the fruit was bigger, more colourful and much tastier than anything we got at home. The pears in particular were amazing. And as I am often heard to say, you cannae beat a nice juicy pear. This particular cafe in Cavalaire specialised in ice cream. My pals chose while I studied the menu. One of the English girls in our company asked for a crepe. Stunned silence. She was too nice to be using that kind of language (too nice by far, if you catch my drift). With her southern accent it sounded like she was asking for a crap.

Eventually I chose pear ice cream and a few minutes later a very large glass container arrived holding a light green, glassy concoction that had me slathering like David Cameron over Labour’s latest fuckup (get over it, Davie-boy. You’ll never get the job). The pear ice cream came with a jug of water. Pourquoi l’eau, I asked in my best French. The waiter stared at me as if I’d asked for a crap. I was brilliant at asking for “trois coca” or “trois orangina”. I also had no small talent for asking for “du sel” for “les pommes frites”. Not so good at anything else. The waiter’s expression went through some changes before he considered that I just was one of those dumb Britishers who didn’t bother to learn god’s own language. Eventually pity won over scorn and he explained that the water should be used to refresh the mouth, because the flavour was so rich.

Aye right, I thought. Bring it on. There was a serious amount of ice cream here and I attacked it with gusto. I almost hesitate to use the metaphor – like the beautician faced with Susan Boyle’s eyebrows. The spoon from glass to mouth was a blur. Each spoonful was distilled, melting heaven. Ice cream as art. Then disaster. I noticed that my taste buds were becoming less responsive. The flavours were fading and I was less than a third of the way through. My gob was indeed in need of a rest.

I had a sip of water. My tongue was refreshed and - aaaaaaaah -once again able to cope with one of man’s best attempts at working with nature’s bounty. The next few spoonfuls were glassy green nectar. Chilled ambrosia. Then it was time for another sip of water before once again I lost the ability to fully appreciate the flavour.

This is a long-winded (but fascinating nonetheless as I’m sure you will agree) follow up to my blog on the reading marathon I embarked on at the weekend. If perfection is dished up to you as a constant, your ability to fully take in the achievement becomes tempered. Excellence becomes mundane and I’m too young at just over 21 to be jaded. Who’s that laughing in the corner? In essence it is time for a break from the reading. Besides, I don’t think ‘I haven’t finished my book yet,’ is an acceptable reason to pull a sicky. Nor would the boss believe I had a weekend break in Cancun and as a consequence required bed rest and the gentle ministrations of a student nurse.

...give me a moment to think that one through...

In any case, I’m half-way through Carlos Ruiz Zafon’s The Angel’s Game and my mind needs a wee rest from Barcelona and the machinations of Carlos’ quirky, wonderful characters. This is one of those occasions, just like the pear ice cream when quality should be taken in delicious spoonfuls, not in a binge.

As for Patsy and her pals...je suis un gentilhomme. And as everyone knows they don’t tell tales. Unless of course, suitable motivation is provided.

The last book to make me cry...

When a book wins a literary prize it tends to put me off reading it. Being granted the title of “literature” by the so-called experts is not in my experience a guarantee of a good read. Ever since mankind stumbled blinking from the cave and squatted round the first fire a good story has been one of the ways we have sought entertainment. Let me repeat those words...a good story. List the elements of a good story and one of them you will find is plot and in their quest to concentrate on having the character lead the books the exponents of modern “literature” view the presence of plot as welcome as an untended backpack in an airport concourse.

There are books I’ve tried to read in this category where the prose adorns the page like a beautiful piece of lace; the minutae of the characters’ lives laid bare with all the precision of an X-ray...and yet... and yet... I couldn’t give a toss whether or not they found the family secret, the girl or indeed, their sanity. And bottom line - if your reader doesn’t care about your characters then you’ve lost.

This is long introduction to a prizewinner – the Pulitzer no less, that had quite the opposite effect on me. I absolutely loved The Road by Cormac McCarthy from the first word to the last. This book has had the Hollywood treatment and is about to appear at your local cinema, do yourself a favour and read the book first.

A father and son (we never learn their names) are alone in a post-apocalyptic world. They want to get to the sea, towards (possibly) survivable winters. “Then they set out along the blacktop in the gunmetal light, shuffling through the ash, each the other’s world entire.” Ash falls like snow. The father is coughing blood, which forces him and his son, "in their rags like mendicant friars sent forth to find their keep", on to the treacherous road southward. They push their salvage in a shopping cart, fitted with a motorcycle mirror to keep watch on the road behind. Society has crumbled. There is no economy; no goods for barter. No food. Bands of cannibals patrol the road. The father has a pistol, with two bullets only: his wife, the boy's mother, has already committed suicide. If caught by others they will obviously rape his son, then slaughter and eat them both. He plans to shoot his son - though he questions his ability to do so - if they are caught.
The relationship between the father and son is central to the novel and acts as the engine to drive the story along in counterpoint to the scenes of utter desolation that surrounds them. As the boy and the father interact we live moments of beauty, despair and hope. I was so caught up in the text it felt as if I was observing real people on a quest towards safety. From time to time my worry became so great that I had to put the book down and go do something else.

Terrifying. Heartrending. Haunting.

And at the end I sobbed like a teenage girl at a David Cassidy concert.

Go on spill...what was the last book that made you cry?

Banned Books and Bad Faith

You know what irritates me even more than grit in my eye? People who try and tell me what I should and shouldn’t read.
Among the numerous books that The American Library Association (ALA) want banned include Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner, Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials and And Tango Makes Three, a picture book about penguins.

The Kite Runner which is an emotionally charged and beautifully written tale of a 12-year-old Afghan and his betrayal of his best friend - includes a scene where a boy is raped. This particular scene led to the removal of the book from some American library shelves. Other libraries replaced it with versions where the offending scenes had been torn out. What failed to reach the ALA’s attention (whose main ethos is – get this – a campaign for intellectual freedom) is that the Kite Runner is an important book; I would argue a necessary book that highlights the horrors that were forced upon ordinary Afghans by the Taliban. Mmm, I wonder...are there any comparisons one can make between these two organisations? I know I shouldn’t compare a murderous regime that had taken its country back to the dark ages, with a group of librarians, but they are both coming from the same seed of an idea. The ALA has chosen a different method of proving how right they believe they are. So far...

For a detailed picture of life in the west where fundamentalism has run riot why not try the wonderful and critically acclaimed novel by Gillian Philip - a new friend of this blog - called Bad Faith. I’m guessing that Ms Philip is hoping the ALA take a dislike to her books.

For the third year running the book that most offended these “guardians” of our morals was Justin Richardson and Peter Parnell's, And Tango Makes Three, a children's picture book about two male penguins who bring up an orphaned chick. This book was based on a news article the authors came across about a zookeeper who noticed two of his penguins trying to hatch a stone. The book offended the quest for intellectual freedom by being – in their withered opinion - pro-gay and anti-family. I haven’t read the book so I can’t comment on the veracity of this claim, but I really don’t care to. The authors felt it was a worthwhile story to tell and readers have agreed with them in their droves. That’s good enough for me.

As a writer my take on this is very different. Free speech and all that. Also, I hope and pray that future publications of mine are banned. When it comes to book sales nothing is more enticing than the public disapproval of a puffed-up, self important group like this. Controversy gets the attention of the media and as any free-thinking American might say; readers eat this shit up, man.

Immediately upon publication of my next book I will be sending it by registered post to the American Library Association. While hoping fervently that they hate it. It will be an emotionally-charged and beautifully written tale about a boy who is betrayed by his best friend and then raped by the big boys - and who just happens to have been brought up by a pair of same-sex penguins.

Crimesquad.com

I want to take this opporchancity to highlight a must read website for fans of mystery/ thriller books. If you are ever at a loss for an idea of what book to buy next then visit the site at http://www.crimesquad.com/.

By way of a taster, I've added here a review "wot I wrote" for the site, for the excellent book shown here (one of my favourite reads for last year) which is now available in paperback.

A Simple Act of Violence by R J Ellory

Synopsis
It’s modern day Washington, murder capital of the USA and serial killers are passé. However, when the Ribbon Killer slays a fourth woman and his actions are detailed in the media, it is decided that he can no longer be ignored, particularly given that in this city of politicians, the mid-term elections are looming.

Detective Robert Miller is tasked with finding the killer before more women are murdered. As experienced as he is, he had never come across a case quite like this. He can find no trace of the most recent victim in the system. Then they find her social security number, but it is linked with a different name. The name of a mountain range in Nicaragua. Miller tracks down the earlier victims and finds out that none of them officially exist either. Clues mysteriously appear and Miller can’t help but feel that he is being led by the nose. He also can’t help but feel he is being watched every step of the way. What is the significance of Nicaragua? Who is watching and just who is setting up the trail of clues?

The more Miller uncovers, the more complicated and unsolvable the case of the Ribbon Killer appears.


Review
This is a book with everything that a fan of modern mystery fiction could hope for; a labyrinthine plot, unbearable tension, controversy and a social conscience. R J Ellory has come up with a meaty book where he takes a serial killer novel and shapes it into a barbed comment on American foreign policy and a criticism of the God complex of the CIA. That he does this while never dipping on the entertainment value is a compliment to this writer’s consummate skill.

Talking of skill, Ellory’s is never more evident than when he is turning his charged and hugely effective prose onto his bad guys, in this case his sacred monster, Jon Robey. There is one scene where Ellory is writing from Robey’s perspective that almost had me in tears. I’m saying nothing more. You need to read the book.

For many readers R J Ellory might have just arrived with A Quiet Belief in Angels, this book proves that he is here to stay.