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Proof of Life by Karen Campbell

Here be the review wot I wrote for the good peeps over at crimesquad.com -

Synopsis

“The girl in the foyer could not hear them, could not possibly have heard Anna, or know that she was there through two thick doors, but her pale neck flexed and her head came up, longer and higher as her profile turned , as her face took form to stare directly at the camera.

And Anna's life, her future, froze.”

Chief Inspector Anna Cameron is a woman with everything to lose. Her life is finally back on track, but the mistakes she made in the past are about to come back to haunt her.

When a body is discovered in a Glasgow canal, the death proves to have an unexpected link to something Anna wants desperately to forget. As Glasgow pulses with the threat of terrorist attack and growing civil discontent, she realises everything she holds dear is at risk.

What did I make of it?

Verisimilitude is a very big word – and this book, and all the work of Karen Campbell just sings of it. You want to really know how a police investigation is carried out? Look no further than Ms Campbell if it is this kind of detail that sends your boat into a spin.

As well as all that detail you’ll get as fine a stylist as you’ll read this side of a poetry collection. Pick a page, any page and you’ll find an arresting phrase (pun intended) or a sentence that makes you go "ahhh". 

And then there’s the actual investigation, the need to know that carries the reader forward, and again with 

this element of fiction Karen Campbell comes up trumps. Simply said, she offers everything this reviewer looks for in a novel.

In Proof of Life we have multiple points of view, each invested with care and attention, each crucial to the story and each moving it on with delicious reveals at just the right point. And on this occasion Campbell works the successful trope of the detective and her loved ones being at risk, because of something she did in her past, providing a full-circle link to the first book in the series.

There’s an element to the story that I’m dying to talk about, but that would spoil it for you – I may just have to accost a total stranger in the street and demand they listen to me. Suffice to say when I finished the book and set it to the side, I said one word out loud...

... WOW!

More Impressions from Harrogate Crime Festival 2011

Given that my debut novel BLOOD TEARS will be released next May (2012) I was especially interested in the author sessions at Harrogate Crime Writing Festival.  How would I answer that, was the thought that ran through my head several times a day.

One session homed in on the subject of violence against women in fiction. Why we read it and why writers write about it. In the past I’ve heard opponents of this argue there is misogyny at work here.  This is too facile an answer and doesn’t account for the fact that women write roughly the same amount of books as men, read 70% of fiction and make up 85% of the publishing industry. If women really thought this was a form of misogyny would they read/ write/ publish it? Don’t think so.

A prime facet of reader interest in thriller/ crime fiction is tension and my own theory is that this issue raises the stakes. If the subject is male I don’t care quite so much. Harsh but true. If the potential victim is female or a child then my anxiety levels are raised so much higher.

Val McDermid spoke eloquently about it and explained her view that women live with the threat of violence all of their lives. She said that women are warned from a young age to not walk alone in certain areas, to be aware of how they dress, or behave – and these warning have a strong impact – and one of the side effects of this is to enjoy the violence in novels. It’s a vicarious fear and thrill when on the page. A woman may not be able to feel safe walking home in the dark, but she can read about it in the safety of her bedroom.

In another session Tess Gerritson words chimed with my own opinion. She said that she polled her readers for their views on this subject. She was amazed by the response. Her readers told her they don’t want to read about male victims of violence because they simply didn’t care.

That same evening I had talked myself out at the bar. Thinking it was around 11pm, I checked someone’s watch to see that it was gone 2am. How the feck did that happen? I said my goodbyes (I know, I’m a wimp) and set off on the half mile walk to my hotel. This was around about the time I regretted wearing a brand new pair of shoes. Which is what you do, innit? Wear new shoes when you are going to be on your feet for a good chunk of eighteen hours a day for three days. I had a bruise on one heel and a blister on the other as I negotiated the narrow, poorly-lit, tree-lined streets.

Around the first corner and a young man was energetically emptying the contents of his stomach over a hedge while his girlfriend rubbed his back.  I gave them a wide berth, in my strange double limp while offering the woman a smile of sympathy. She shook her head slowly and mouthed the word “wanker”.

Did she mean me, I wondered as I turned the next corner into another quiet, dimly lit street that swung round in a slow stretch to the left.  Just ahead of me was a young woman, tight jeans, strappy top, clutching a handbag to her side.

The way she tightened her grip on her bag and held it tightly to her side reminded of Val McDermid’s comments earlier. A young woman was ahead of me in the dark, alone in a quiet side street. I stopped walking as if I’d walked into a wall. I was the guy. I was the potential threat to this girl. How could I re-assure her I only wanted to peel off my shoes and get into my bed?

I started to hum. Loudly. Music is cool right? I was making noise. I couldn’t possibly be planning to run up and attack her. I stopped. I sounded deranged. I began to walk again. In a tip-toe. Now she would be worrying I’d gone silent, so I walked with a heavy tread. Which really hurt my blister, so I slowed down. Heavy and slow, that was how to do it. Right?

At this point she crossed the road. Jeez, I was freaking her out.  Should I shout a hello? Would that be friendly and non-threatening? I picked up my pace and placed my feet on the ground, leading with the ball of my feet. 

Quiet and fast that would be better, no?

I was drawing level with her now and gave myself a mental shake. I’d been in this situation plenty of times and I usually just minded my own business and forgot about the other person. So, I picked the pace up more, trying to disguise my limp which I’m sure made me look like I had taken a dump in my trousers.

As I kicked off my shoes in my hotel room a memory of a writers’ event at my local writers club popped into my head. A visiting CID detective informed us that statistically a young man is much, much more likely to be a victim of a violent crime (from other young men). So ladies, I would always be fully aware of safety concerns, but if there is a lone male behind you on a quiet street it is very possible he is going through the same pantomime I was.

Impressions from Harrogate Crime Writing Festival #2

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A week or so has now passed since my visit to the Harrogate Crime Writing Festival and several highlights have stuck in the old grey matter.

As you may, or may not know, the people who attend the event are a happy mix of readers, writers, reviewers, press, publishers and agents. And unlike most other literary events I’ve been to, everyone mingles. Authors aren’t ushered off to a private space and only allowed out to go on stage to speak – if they want to they can hide in the “green room” – but most of them hit the bar with the crowd.

So, you end up speaking to a real cross section of the book public. Which is great fun.

If someone I met was unknown to me I hit upon a strategy of asking them in what capacity they were attending. 

This was not without its problems. I came unstuck a couple of times when the “stranger” in front of me turned out to be a pretty famous author (eeeek). No names, no pack-drill. What happens in Harrogate stays in Harrogate, and all that shit.

Let’s call one of them Stephen. ‘Cos that’s his name. His other name is Leather and I’ve been reading and enjoying his thrillers for over 20 years. Anywho, I was sitting chatting with MATT HILTON (great writer, and a man who is so nice I wanted him to adopt me) and he introduced me to this guy. I totally missed the name because of the hum of chatter all around me. I nodded, pretending to hear. As you do. When you're a frickin' numpty. Stephen laughed and said, you’ve never heard of me, have you?

When Stephen’s attention was deflected by someone else, I asked Matt – who’s he? When he told me I was mortified. I apologised later and explained that not only was I aware of him but I’d read a lot of his stuff over the years. Happily, Stephen doesn’t take himself too seriously and we ended up going for lunch the next day – and he even sneaked off and paid the bill before I could. How nice is that?

What’s extra clever about him is his commercial acumen. Many writers shy away from the business end of the business, but he is very much aware of it and was in the forefront of the e-revolution. He could see that e-books were going to be the next big thing and he positioned himself at the tail end of last year to cash in on the Christmas rush. I’m not sure of his sales figures in total, but he told me that he’s currently selling around 400 books a day. How about them apples?

I also caught up with the man with the coolest name in crime fiction, and the biggest hair - Stav Sherez, the author of The Black Monastery. It’s not often that I get feedback from authors about the reviews I write for their books, but Stav sought me out to tell me how much he appreciated mine. He took time to say that out of all his reviews, mine was the one that really “got” the book. How cool is that? Go  HERE  for my review over on crimesquad.com. And then go buy the paperback. It is that good.

(LATE POST - I just received an email from Stav to say that The Black Monastery is now available on kindle for the knockdown price of .99p. Crazy good value. Go KINDLE if you have one and you have 99p to spare.)

There's more. But I need to go and lie down after all that memory work.

Laters!

Impressions from Harrogate Crime Writing Festival #1

Apologies go out to my three regular readers – like you care – about the bloggy silence from May Contain Nuts. It’s down to a mixture of sunshine, busy-ness and a serious case of getting my sloth on.

I’m also just back from the Harrogate Crime Writing Festival.  Did I have a good time? Hell, yeah!

Here’s an example of my good time. I arrived a good few hours before the first event of the weekend – which was the prize-giving for the Theakston Crime Novel of the Year award (Lee Child won) and a Lifetime Achievement Award was to be presented to P.D.James – and I got chatting to old friends at the bar over a glass (or two)of the old laughing juice. Anywho, time marched on and I was enjoying myself way too much and it kinda slipped my mind to go inside the conference hall. #hangsheadinshame

The next day I was up and about surprisingly early. All things considered. And ate heartily of the breakfast buffet.

There were some fascinating panels and speakers throughout the weekend. One that surprised me was Penned In, with a group of writers who had all spent time in prison. I wasn’t sure what to expect from this one as I don’t really like True Crime. There is a danger of sensationalising and glamourising criminals and I don’t like the idea of these people profiting from their crimes.

Their crimes ranged from perjury to murder and what interested me was the redemptive power of the written word for each of the men speaking. Each of them were changed by their experiences and their ability to place words on the page were a huge part in this growth.  Gave me lots of food for thought. If you can come away from an event and you’ve learned something, or gained an insight – you can’t ask for much more, can you?

Another panel I enjoyed included Denise Mina (I could listen to her talking all day long – intelligent and witty) and Craig Robertson, the author of Random and Snapshot.

Craig has a similar hairstyle to me (the billiard ball look), he is about the same height and has a Scottish accent so I wasn’t THAT surprised when three separate people approached me after the event to tell me I had spoken very well. How they thought I managed to change out of a grey suit into jeans and a t-shirt and grow a goatee in the space of 10 minutes is anybody’s guess.

Bald men. We all look the same clearly.

(This is not me. This is Craig.)

The quiz on Saturday is always fiercely contested, but any team with me in it can consider itself seriously hampered. My contribution was nothing short of pathetic. The only answer I knew was Ian Rankin’s twitter name. But thanks to Russel D. Mclean, Chris Simmons and Cathi Unsworth and her partner, Mike we came in a respectable 5^th.

The last event of the festival had Mark Billingham on stage interviewing Dennis Lehane. I’ve read pretty much everything that Mr Lehane has written so I was keen to hear what he had to say. He was composed, polished and humourous and an absolute delight to listen to.

Then it was out to the lawn for a coffee and a chat with the other crimesquad guys before heading north and real life.

#sighs

An Interview with Tana French

To celebrate the release of Faithful Place, its talented author, Tana French has succumbed to the charms of Crimesquad.com and here is an interview I carried out on their behalf.

MM - Congrats on all the various awards that have come your way since you first became published. Are you aware of your audience or high expectations this may bring to subsequent books?

TF - Thank you very much :-). I don’t think I can afford to think about audience expectations. For one thing, it would take up too much time and focus – I’ve never read online reviews, for example, because if I start getting into them then I’ll never get the next book done! The book I’m currently writing always takes priority; the ones I’ve finished are the audience’s property now, not mine.

More importantly, though, I think focusing on audience expectations is pointless, because there’s no such thing as ‘the audience’. There are individual readers, with a huge variety of tastes. The thing one reader loves most about my books is probably the same thing that another reader hates. There’s no way I can write anything that will fit all of those tastes. All I can do is write the best book I can manage, and keep my fingers crossed.

MM - Faithful Place has universal themes (family, home and loyalty) displayed against the backdrop of a very small locale - was this juxtaposition a deliberate ploy on your part?

TF - I think a small, tight-knit place is often the best setting to explore big themes. That’s where the crucial questions become intensified, distilled. That’s also why I think murder mystery is one of the best genres in which to explore those big themes: the characters are quite literally dealing with life and death, they’re dealing with the most crucial questions of morality and humanity, so the stakes are raised sky-high and any other issue they’re dealing with becomes intensified by the context.

MM - Your bio reads that you spent much of your childhood travelling - has this impacted on your ability to have a “Faithful Place” of your own?

TF - I think my international-brat childhood played a big part in shaping Faithful Place. You’re always fascinated by what’s alien and inaccessible to you, and I’ve always been fascinated by people and places whose roots go deep – people who are part of a centuries-old, tight-knit community where every relationship is shaped by generations’ worth of interaction and knowledge. That’s not something I’ll ever have, and that’s the world where Faithful Place is set: the Liberties, an inner-city neighbourhood that’s one of Dublin’s oldest.

    At the same time, though, Dublin is the nearest thing I’ve got to a home. I’ve lived here since 1990; it’s the only city I know inside out, all the accents, all the short cuts, the sense of humour and the best pubs. In a lot of ways Faithful Place is a love song to Dublin, with all its flaws.

MM - Your bio also reads that you are an actress. How does this impact on your writings?

TF - I definitely write like an actor. Writing first-person, which is what I do, is a lot like acting: you’re seeing the whole story through one character’s eyes, through his or her preconceptions and illusions and biases, and trying to bring the audience into that character’s world. A lot of readers have told me that they end up feeling like the characters are real people, close friends whom they know inside-out; it’s the best compliment I can get.

MM - One of the many things that intrigued me about Faithful Place was how your main character, Frank had distanced himself from his family while being paradoxically highly loyal to them. This is of course the kind of inner tension that creates effective drama in a novel. Was this part of the plan, or did you discover this aspect of him through the journey of writing the book?

TF - Frank’s distanced himself from his family because he believes it’s their fault that his first love, Rosie Daly, dumped him. On the night when Frank and Rosie were meant to run away to London together, back when they were nineteen, Rosie never showed – and Frank figured it was because of his alcoholic father, nutcase mother, and generally dysfunctional family. Twenty-two years later, when the book begins, he hasn’t been home since. He thinks he’s completely cut himself off from Faithful Place, the street where he grew up.

But when Rosie’s suitcase is found in an abandoned house, it starts to look like she might not have dumped him at all. That reshapes Frank’s whole view of his past – and he’s forced to confront the fact that getting your family and your home out of your system may not be as simple as he wanted to believe. No matter how far you run, those things shape you, in one way or another. Frank’s spent years trying his best to convince himself that he’s got no ties to his family, but those ties are still absolutely real.

I had the basic premise – the suitcase forcing Frank to come home – before I started, but the rest developed along the way. I never have a real plan. I’m wildly jealous of writers who have the whole book outlined before they start the actual writing. I can’t work that way – I have to figure out who the characters are, by writing them, before I know what they’d do. So I usually start with a narrator and a very basic premise, and just dive in and hope to God there’s a book in there somewhere.

MM - In my view what gives extra interest to your books is your tactic of “almost” writing a serial while choosing a new character’s viewpoint for each outing – was that deliberate?

TF - God, no, I’m nowhere near that organised. But when I started thinking about writing a second book, I realised that what I’m interested in writing about is the big turning point in a narrator’s life – the case that changes him or her, for good. And most of us only have a few of those huge crossroads in our lives. So I figured either I could keep dumping the same poor narrator into more and more immense life-changing situations, or I could go down the usual series route of following the main character through smaller ups and downs – which I love reading, but wasn’t particularly interested in writing – or I could switch narrator every time. So I’ve ended up writing a chain of linked books, which I like. It means I get to do something new each time, because each narrator’s voice and perspective is a bit different.

MM - You have an engaging lyrical style of writing. Happy accident or is this something you worked on? Could you also tell us about your writing influences?

TF - I just work on writing as well as I possibly can – I’ve never had a specific style in mind. I’ve always loved books where words become a rich, sensuous pleasure, though. I can still remember being about six and falling in love with words when my father read me The Wind in the Willows: ‘He had never seen a river before, that sleek, sinuous, full-bodied animal…’ I love Mary Renault’s rhythms, the purity of image in T.H. White’s Once and Future King, the perfect control and beauty of the language in National Velvet – I’ve got too many influences to name. I think maybe everything you read influences you. Even something really terrible can make you realise: Oh, OK, that’s why that didn’t work, I’ll keep that in mind.

MM- What’s next for you? (This question has the sub-text of asking if we will ever see Rob – from In The Woods – again?)

TF - I’ve just handed in my fourth book. It’s called Broken Harbour, and the narrator is Scorcher Kennedy, Frank’s old friend/rival from Faithful Place. He’s investigating the brutal murders of a young family in one of the half-abandoned ghost estates that litter Ireland – but did the danger come from outside the house or inside?  I’d love to come back to Rob from In the Woods someday – I loved writing him. Who knows…

My review of Faithful Place can be found HERE and copies of this excellent novel can be purchased in all the usual places.  Go on, what you waiting for? Buy a copy already.

Paranoid much?

I need to know how to kill someone without it becoming immediately apparent.

There, I’ve said it.

Eventually, suspicions will be raised and the police called to investigate. You can relax, people this is a plot device and not something more nefarious. But how do I find this kind of stuff out? You try an internet search with the words – killing methods.  Or, making enquiries at the local cop shop or library while using a sentence like the one I began this post with.

And don’t they keep an eye on these kinds of things? Isn’t there a team of eager beavers employed by M15/ FBI/ Mossad/ CIA/ News International  trawling search engines for just this kind of dangerous enquiry?

And what if I wanted to research terrorist stuff, or paedophilia?

They’d be knocking on my door quicker than you could say News of the World Phone Hackers. And I’d be in hand-cuffs and hauled off to the local council run underground bunker for a spot of water-boarding.

I’m remembering news headlines from a few years back (2003?)when Pete Townshend of The Who was brought before the beaks when his name was found on a list of people using their credit card details to download pornographic images of children. 

He was cleared but put on the child offenders’ registry for 5 years.

Townshend later explained he was sexually abused as a child and, in preparation of a possible autobiography, he was researching how easily child pornography can be accessed online, in order to argue that Internet service providers need to become more vigilant. “It must be time to do something more concrete to stop the proliferation of questionable pornography that seems so readily and openly facilitated by the Internet,” he later wrote about the experience.

He’s since been reviled across the globe but continues to protest his innocence. I’m content to go with the authorities on this one given that they presumably have all the facts, but my thought was - all that heartache in the name of research?

Incredibly naive, don’tcha think?

So good people, what research projects have you embarked on that has you looking over your shoulders?

Blue Valentine

I got the blues. Well, I had them and it lasted till the morning after I watched this excellent movie. Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling are outstanding in this heartfelt piece of filming. They each fully commit to their roles and completely convince you about the part they play in this story about the end of a relationship.

WARNING – don’t watch on a first/second date, unless you’re a dude and you’re trying to impress your new lady friend with your “sensitivity”. Nah, even then don’t do it. In fact couples should only watch it if they have a certain level of maturity.

The film moves back and forward –beautifully timed, linked and edited BTW – between the beginning of the end of the relationship and the actual beginning. The seeds are sown in the early parts of the movie – we see 

Dean is a good guy; kind and thoughtful with a good sense of humour. Cindy is the nurturing type, looking after her grandmother, accepting perfunctory sex from an earlier boyfriend (who makes her pregnant) and we also get to see the boorish behaviour of her father at home which perhaps explains why she accepts the asshole boyfriend.

Dean and Cindy meet. They fall in love and then the movie splices back to the deterioration of their marriage and your emotions get all in a tangle. Sure, the reason they got hitched was flawed, but they loved each other didn’t they? How could a couple with such potential end in this way?

Who’s to blame? No one. Both of them. You get to decide. (And I’m wondering what the gender divide is on this one.)

There are several scenes that time will show us rank amongst the most iconic moments in cinema history. A couple in particular spring immediately to mind. Dean and Cindy are in front of a shop. Dean is singing in a goofy, Elvis voice and Cindy is dancing to his tune in her best early level tap dance. This is a heart-warming moment, full of charm. If it doesn’t make you smile you need to crack open your ribs with those thingies you see on E.R and check if there’s a heart beating inside you.

Another scene demonstrates how far they have fallen. Dean rents a room in a motel. They need to spend more time together. We see them in the shower. Cindy gives Dean the cold shoulder. Later on she invites him to join her on the floor. We can see her self-loathing, her cringe from his touch and she eggs him on to violence, demanding punishment as an act of love. Dean refuses. He’s not that guy. He can’t and won’t hit her.

This is a brave movie filled with uncomfortable moments and heightened by award-winning performances (if they didn’t, they should have) from the 2 main leads. It avoids the well-trodden tropes of Hollywood – the man is not a violent addict/ drunk spending all hours at work, the woman is not a ball-busting harridan/ addict/ drunk/ reformed prostitute. We don’t get fed the usual three act format (you know, #1 -guy wins girl - #2 guy loses girl - #3 guy wins girl back) instead we are treated to a fly on the wall examination of a couple who have simply fallen out of love. Shit happens and there isn’t always a pat reason for it and that is perhaps the bravest thing of all for this moviemaker to demonstrate.

Definitely not a picker-uper – more for when you feel the need to reflect or to get the old grey matter working. Or when you want to watch two talented actors do what they do best.

book review - Denise Mina

There's a new load of reviews just been posted over at CRIMESQUAD and here's one wot I wrote about Denise Mina's latest - End of the Wasp Season.

What's it all about ...?

When notorious millionaire banker Lars Anderson hangs himself from the old oak tree in front of his Kent mansion his death attracts little sympathy. One less shark is little loss to a world nursing a financial hangover. But the legacy of a life time of self-serving is widespread, the carnage most acute among those he ought to be protecting: his family. He leaves behind two deeply damaged children and a broken wife.

Meanwhile, in a wealthy suburb of Glasgow, a young woman is found savagely murdered in her home. The genteel community is stunned by what appears a vicious, random attack. When DS Alex Morrow, heavily pregnant with twins, is called in to investigate, she soon discovers that behind the murder lurks a tangled web of lies. A web that will spiral through the local community, through Scotland and ultimately right back to a swinging rope hundreds of miles away.

What did I make of it ...?

This is the second book in which Denise Mina brings us the character of DS Morrow and for me is the one where she really gets into her groove with this individual. I use the word “individual” deliberately because Morrow is so well drawn she feels like a real person. Next time I’m up in Glasgow I fully expect to bump into her.

It’s in the depiction of her characters where Mina excels. A little slice of description, an action, some carefully crafted dialogue and they take flesh before your eyes. Adding heft to this is her ability to record the interaction between her characters: to demonstrate their finely nuanced behaviour.

End of the Wasp Season is ostensibly a police procedural, but Denise Mina’s talent takes it beyond any perceived limitations of that sub-genre into a multi-layered human drama. With a dollop of violence and generous helping of mystery to keep us crime addicts happy. As a reader you know pretty much from the off “who-dunnit” but that’s not the point of this excellent novel. This is people-watching on an intimate and at times uncomfortable level.

And it’s this ability to draw her characters that makes you care. Mina enlists your sympathy even for the suspected killer, despite the fact he’s spoiled rotten and given every advantage in life. Real life is never that straightforward. We life in a world of contrast, a rainbow of gray if you will, and few writers highlight that as well as Denise Mina does.

If you prefer a read chock full of red-herrings and the chance to deduce who the bad-guy is, this is not the book for you.  I can also understand if readers who are new to Denise Mina feel the pace lags in places.  For me, however, End of the Wasp Season is a vibrant, thought-provoking read and one that is an excellent addition to this talented author’s oeuvre.

Trash Talk

During an If You Can’t Beat Them Join Them moment, the May Contain Nuts team (that would be me) decided to offer you some celebrity gossip. For “gossip” read “any old shit”. For “celebrity” read “who are they again?” (I would provide photos to help with the old identification thing but I really can’t be arsed.)

Shocking news backstage from the U.K. X-Factor auditions. Gary Barlow aka Gazza, aka the used to be chubby one, aka the one who knows how to wring every last £ from a pop song ... has said that there is actually very little real talent out there. Britain gasps with shock and has a sit down with a wee cup of tea and some custard creams. Nonetheless, his “spokesperson”added, we will still manage to find a bunch of girls who can’t sing and bring them together and try to persuade the nation they are The Next Big Thing. They’ll also probably find a bolshy lass from a council estate, a yoof who’s working his way through an asbo and a novelty act with big hair and two left feet that Louie will offer a record deal (particularly if they are from the oul’ country).

Gwyneth Paltrow, actress, gleeful singer(ish) and fashion designer (of a sort) has dinner with business mogul Sir Philip Green. Apparently they talked about all kinds of stuff.  And ate and drank stuff. In the photos taken by a very helpful waiter – and sold to the tabloids for a week’s wage – Sir Philip is looking very tanned. Gwyneth not so much.

Harry Windsor, just in case you is not totally up to date, he is like, 2^nd in line to the, like, king-hat thingy. Oops, MCN is forgetting Charles. Anywho, Harry Ginger, son of Princess Di (there, our circulation figs go through da roof) is dating a (get this) underwear model. Ooooh. Granny Liz says – we are not amused. One needs to sow one’s oats, but puhleeze not with a gel who takes her clothes orf in public. Florence Double Barrel Name, aforementioned underwear model, has links to the aristocracy, which is nice, but all things considered that won’t get her an invite to Braemar for drinkies of a winter’s evening.

In other news, Katie Price wants implants in her bum. A “source” close to the celeb says she’s worried that if her giant tits spontaneously deflate she’ll be left with a figure like a boy. Peter Andre is totally considering botox (try a paper bag mate), Cheryl Cole has gone blonde and is retiring from showbiz (wait, no she isn’t. Oh yes she is. Oh no she isn’t.) And in a piece of news in which we get to celebrate our inner bitch when we really should be leaving this troubled celeb alone, reports say that Amy Winehouse managed to get through an entire song. She’s hoping she can bring the bathroom mirror and hairbrush on stage with her for the next gig.

And finally there are a whole host of celebrity birthdays today but due to a lack of verification (don’t these people make this shit up?) we’re not going to publish them. We wouldn’t want to be accused of inaccuracy.

Right, I'm off to have my tongue surgically removed from the inside of my cheek.

Until next time ...

#amreading - Beautiful, Naked and Dead by Josh Stallings

Moses McGuire is depressed, hard drinking, ex-con, and ex-military, and he’s on the edge of suicide. When he gets an urgent phone call from the one woman in the world he considers his only true friend, Kelly, a waitress at Club Xtasy in East L.A., the "titty bar" where Moses works as a doorman, Mo puts all thoughts of doing himself in on the back burner.

Kelly is in some kind of trouble and needs Mo's help. But Mo, being as damaged as he is, and trying hard to overcompensate by playing pseudo daddy-hero to the women at the strip club he sees as lost little girls, bungles the one time that his heroism really matters. Instead of running straight to Kelly when he realizes she's not at the club, he stalls, has a few drinks and allows one of the other dancers to give him a quickie lap dance.

By the time he gets there, he finds that he’s too late. She’s been brutally tortured before being murdered. Moses manages to pull his self together and decides to track down the scumbags responsible for killing her. He sells his motorcycle, buys an old Crown Victoria, and a goes on a road trip - a no holds barred, take no prisoners, kill em' all, rampage.

Did I like it?

Lemme give you a hell yeah! Loved it. This excellent stuff, right out of the top drawer. It’s hard to believe that Josh Stallings hasn’t been picked up by one of the major publishers. He writes like a dream, his action is tense and unpredictable and his characters utterly convincing.

This is visceral stuff, not for the faint of heart and an indication of the talent that the mainstream publishing houses are losing out on while digital grows in strength.

Fans of noir fiction take note. Josh Stallings is one to watch out for and he deserves a huge audience. Get yourself onto to his site and buy a copy of his book. Like, NOW. £2.83 for a kindle copy is ridiculously cheap. What you waiting for? Get over there already.

Josh Stallings is your average ex-criminal, ex-taxi driver, ex-club bouncer, film making, script writing, award winning trailer editing, punk.   Over his time in Hollywood he wrote and edited the feature film “The Ice Runner,” a Russian/American co-production. “Kinda Cute for a White-Boy” an independent feature he directed and co-wrote with novelist Tad Williams, won best picture at the Savanah International Film Festival. He also wrote “Ground Zero Texas,” a best selling Sony video game with Edward Neumeier (writer of RoboCop).   His first novel BEAUTIFUL, NAKED & DEAD is garnering great notice from readers and reviewers alike.   OUT THERE BAD (Moses #2) will be published early summer.  He is currently working on the third Moses McGuire novel.  He lives in Los Angeles with his wife Erika, his bullmastiff Nelson, Lucy the lab pit mix and Riddle the cat.

You can read more about Josh Stallings at his website HERE!!!

Things the wee fella says ...

It’s that time – time for the pearls of wisdom that drop from the mouth of my 13 year old son like, well, pearls.

Conversation #1

The wee fella said – after I gave him a good morning hug as he approached the breakfast table (well, THE table. I don’t have a table for like, every meal) – Daaad, your breath stinks – pause – and your teeth are yellow.

Me – that was harsh.

The wee fella grins – it’s called tough love – grins even wider and finishes with – Bitch!

Conversation #2

It’s my latest health kick (for the record I’m 24 pounds lighter since Easter. Go me!) and I give myself one day per week off the healthy stuff and eat absolutely anything I want. On this occasion I had a pizza – grand pan, meat feast – from a well known pizza chain. I’d mention them by name but I want some freebies first. (You know who you are. See my agent. Please.) Washed down with lashings of cola. From another well known company. Same rules apply, Company Beginning with P.

I was munching into said pizza and fancied a wee top up to my cola. The cola was in the kitchen. I couldn’t be arsed going for it. I never ask the wee fella to be my gopher as I used to hate it when I was a kid. Besides, in the few occasions I have made such a request he moans like I’ve asked him to do a shift up a chimney. However, I had my sloth on and thought I would give it a go.

Me – could you fill up my glass, son? (I point helpfully to the cola bottle visible through the kitchen door.

TWF – (grunts, stands up) S’pose.

Me – after he has poured a paltry two fingers worth – thanks.

TWF – Why didn’t you get it for yourself?

Me – I wanted to see if you would do something for me.

TWF – I do something for you every day, Dad. (BIG grin) I give you a reason to live.

The Last Meal

I was walking along the wooded path with Bob. He was tracking the scent of something or other in the long grass. Clearly it was something that couldn’t decide where it wanted to go as he was moving back and forward with no discernable pattern.  My mind was drifting in a similar pattern. As it has a wont to do. Often on these occasions it drifts to writerly things – a description, a plot device or even a metaphor. On this occasion it was the later that sprang into my mind and I instantly dismissed it ‘cos it was rubbish. I can’t remember it exactly, but it was something along the lines of  - like a dog attacking it’s last meal.

I mean, how the feck would a dog know it was its last meal? Sheesh. I gave the old sub-conscious a ticking off. What was I supposed to do with a crap phrase like that?

Then my mind tracked on to the subject of last meals. Convicts on death row get them, if the novels I’ve read are to be believed.  So, would a con “attack” his last meal? Would he/she even enjoy his/ her last meal? What would I want for my last supper? Fillet steak, chunky chips and a mars bar on the side? Foie gras? (I’d be beyond being p.c. after all) Amuse bouche? One thing’s for sure I’d want to taste every one of the desserts on the menu and wash that down with LOTS of chocolate. Until I was sick.

But would I? Would I be able to eat anything? Wouldn’t the thought of my impending execution put just a bit of a dampener on my appetite?

(If you ever see me out walking the dog and I’m wearing that distant – and yet intelligent expression, you’ll know that my mind has taken me down some very strange paths indeed.)

What about you dear reader? The end is nigh via an injection of toxins. Would you have an attack of the munchies and what would you have? Or would you only be fit for gnawing at your toenails?

It's a Bob Blog

Now that I’ve been a dog-owner for nearly a year now (10 months actually  –eeesh, tempus fairly fugits, innit) I thought it was time to offer the wisdom I have accumulated to my three regular readers in case any of them are thinking of getting a mutt.

# thing 1 – big dogs take a lot of walking.

#thing 2 – big dogs take a lot of feeding.

#thing 3 – big dogs that take a lot of feeding fill poop sacs with alarmingly large poops. Think, enough to fill 

one of Jordan’s bra cups.

#thing 4 – if you take only one poop sac on your walk, said dog will do two poops – you take two sacs, he will do three. His ability to poop then grows at an exponential rate depending on the number of sacs on your possession.

#thing 5 – the poop that exceeds your ability to scoop will be done in the most public place possible.

#thing 6 – you will adopt an interval training routine which will involve you running at exactly this point. You will stop as soon as you are out of view. You will catch your breath. Eventually.

#thing 7 – the dog will always poop at the furthest point from a bin leaving you the pleasure of carrying the “article” for the longest time possible. You will swear he is smiling as he watches you carry it.

#thing 8 – you will catch walkers who are non-dog owners (What the feck is that all about? Walking when you don’t have to?) staring at your full poop sac with a long look of mild disgust.

#thing 9 – you will catch this look and give the bag a bigger swing while saying, with a huge smile, ‘You should smell his farts.’

#thing 10 – when buying jackets you don’t need to check yourself in the mirror because you no longer care what they look like. You live in Scotland so your priority is now wind and rain proofing. And enough pockets to carry a sufficiency of poop sacs.

#thing 11 – your jacket should also be dog-drool resistant. That stuff stains and gets EVERYWHERE.

#thing 12 – dogs really do reflect their owners. A friendly dog is always with a friendly, chatty owner. A crabbit, unsocial dog is always with an arse.

#thing 13 - boy dogs will always wait until you have visitors before licking their boy-bits. You will try to ignore this but the loud slurping noise makes it difficult.

#thing 14 – your teenage son will count the resultant erections (the dog’s, silly) and announce to all and sundry the number for each day.

So go forth, people and give a dog a good home. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Here's a mixed bag ...

I haven’t been chatty much on this here blog of late. Sorry. My three regulars may be starting to worry about now so I thought I should stop by and say hi.

Hi.

Books as usual are on my mind, so here’s a glimpse of what’s on the top of my To Be Read pile ...

Horns by Joe Hill

Ignatius Perrish spent the night drunk and doing terrible things. He woke up the next morning with one hell of a hangover, a raging headache . . . and a pair of horns growing from his temples. Once, Ig lived the life of the blessed: born into privilege, the second son of a renowned American musician, and the younger brother of a rising late-night TV star, Ig had security and wealth and a place in his community. Ig had it all, and more - he had the love of Merrin Williams, a love founded on shared daydreams, mutual daring, and unlikely midsummer magic. Then beautiful, vivacious Merrin was gone - raped and murdered, under inexplicable circumstances - with Ig the only suspect. He was never tried for the crime, but in the court of public opinion, Ig was and always would be guilty. Now Ig is possessed with a terrible new power - with just a touch he can see peoples' darkest desires - to go with his terrible new look, and he means to use it to find the man who killed Merrin and destroyed his life. Being good and praying for the best got him nowhere. It's time for a little revenge; it's time the devil had his due.

To borrow the cliché – the apple didn’t fall far from the tree – a quick scan of this in the bookshop and Joe Hill promises a talent every bit as formidable as his old man. (If you don’t know who I’m referring to, find a pic of Joe and then guess.) Horns offers an intriguing premise worked by someone with one of the most interesting “voices” in fiction. I loved his earlier book “Heart-shaped Box” and I’m REALLY looking forward to reading this.

Now for a horn of a different hue ... (did you like my attempt at a link? Did ya? Did Ya?)

Matterhorn by Karl Marlantes

The blurb ...

Young marine lieutenant, Waino Mellas, and his comrades in Bravo Company 

have been dropped into the mountain jungle of Vietnam, combatants in an increasingly desperate war. Standing in their way are the North Vietnamese, the monsoon rain and mud, leeches and tigers, and disease and malnutrition. 

As racial tension and competing ambition build, the group threatens to crack at any moment. When the company is surrounded and outnumbered by a massive enemy regiment, the Marines are thrust into the raw and all-consuming terror of combat. The experience will change them forever.

First sentence ...  “Mellas stood beneath the grey monsoon clouds on the narrow strip of cleared ground between the edge of the jungle and relative safety of the perimeter wire.”

Down these Green Streets: Irish Crime Writing in the 21^st Century – edited by Declan Burke charts the evolution of the Irish crime novel since of the inception of the Irish state through a series of essays, interviews, personal testimonies and short stories. This collection offers a unique insight into the phenomenon of Irish crime writing, which Fintan O’Toole describes as “arguably the nearest thing we have to a realist literature adequate to capturing the nature of contemporary society”.

The editor, Declan Burke has gathered together some of the most fascinating voices in modern literature – they all just happen to be Irish. Included are John Connolly, Tana French, Alan Glynn, Declan Hughes, Arlene Hunt, Ken Bruen and more.

Fascinating just about covers it. Can’t wait to read more.

No More Mulberries by Mary Smith

This is a bit of a departure for me but as I know the writer and I’ve heard her talking about the book AND she was on the telly this week I got me a copy.

The blurb?

Miriam loves life as a health worker in Afghanistan but her marriage to her Afghan husband, Dr Iqbal is heading towards crisis.

Ignoring his anger at her attending a teaching camp as a translator without him, she travels into a remote region hoping time apart will help her understand where their problems lie.

As she undertakes a journey into her past, to confront the devastating loss of her first husband, Miriam realises how her own actions has damaged her relationship with Iqbal.

Set in the rugged grandeur of the Hindu Kush foothills, No More Mulberries is about love, commitment and divided loyalties.

I’ve only had a quick glance so far but I’m already impressed with the quality of the prose, the complexity of the characters and the sense of place offered in the first chapter. And Mary’s a lovely wummin (and she was on the telly) so go buy a copy already!

It's fresh review time over at Crimesquad.com ...

Yup, peeps, it's that time of the month again. Eeeesh, where does the time go when you're reading all these books?

Here's the review I did for the excellent Tony Black's Truth Lies Bleeding - with some (coughs) minor changes. I must have been half asleep when I sent the original off to CRIMESQUAD. (And those minor errors are gonna bug me for a lifetime - and no I'm not going to point them out to you.)

Anywho, on with the review - 

The blurb reads like this ...

Teenagers find the mutilated body of a young girl in a dumpster in an Edinburgh alleyway. The police are stumped at all the questions this raises. Who was she? Where has she come from? More importantly, who killed her and why?

Inspector Rob Breannan, recently back from psychiatric leave is still shocked by the senseless shooting of his brother. The case of the girl in the dumpster looks like the best way for him to get back into work and on track with his career.

As luck would have it events don’t quite go to plan. Brennan has enemies within the force, a habit of getting into trouble and what he discovers about the murdered girl blows the case – and his life – wide open.

What did I think?

As a fan of Tony Black’s Gus Drury series I was desperately keen to see what he would make of the police procedural and I am happy to report I am delighted with the outcome.

Reading the blurb and I could see a couple of tripwires. The loner cop and worryingly misogynist murders of young girls are ten a penny in modern crime fiction, but I needn’t have worried because Black hurdled these with ease.  Yes, Brennan is your archetypal loner but he is so well drawn and sympathetic that this never becomes a problem. And the issue of the murdered and mutilated girl never feels exploitative. This matter is treated with sensitivity and compassion, both for the recently deceased and for the bereaved family.

Another area where Tony Black excels is in his depictions of those living on the edge of the law. There is no soft edge to these people. Every flaw is stripped of shadow and every bad deed gets punished.

The city of Edinburgh receives the same treatment, as Brennan and crew journey through its ancient and new streets, in among a world of tourists, in search of uncomfortable truths.

Truth Lies Bleeding is fast, sharp and brilliantly plotted. It’s only just turned spring but if I read a better example of the police procedural this year I will be amazed.






There's more - much more - crime and thriller goodness over at CRIMESQUAD. Get yourself over there for a look-see right now.