“Burke shows again that he’s not just a comic genius, but also a fine dramatic writer and storyteller.” – Booklist. “Prose both scabrous and poetic.” – Publishers Weekly. “Proust meets Chandler over a pint of Guinness.” – Spectator. “Among the most memorable books of the year, of any genre.” – Sunday Times. “A hardboiled delight.” – Guardian. “Imagine Donald Westlake and Richard Stark collaborating on a screwball noir.” – Kirkus Reviews. “A cross between Raymond Chandler and Flann O’Brien.” – John Banville.

Tuesday, January 1, 2008

Hair Ye, Hair Ye …

That blummin’ John Connolly, eh? Never happy. Moan this, grouse that, whinge the other. He’s at it again over at his interweb blog thingy, now that his editors have come back with their verdicts on THE REAPERS, which isn’t even due until May 15. To wit:
“Waiting to hear what they think of a manuscript does nothing to contribute to a stress-free lifestyle on my part. As I’ve said before, I have a nagging fear that I’m a bit of a fraud, and that the latest novel will be the one that at last exposes my fraudulence and ineptitude to my editors. That fear is compounded when a book deviates in any way from what has gone before, as THE REAPERS does. It’s not quite an ‘entertainment’, to borrow Graham Greene’s description of his less tortured novels, but it is lighter than, say, THE UNQUIET. As soon as it went out to the editors, and my agent, I think I began tensing for the blow to come.
  As it happens, though, no blows have landed. Both of my editors – and my beloved agent – seem very happy with the manuscript, and have sent it straight into production. That doesn’t mean the book is already rolling off the presses, but it has gone to copy editors, and when the copy-edited manuscripts are returned to me they will have my editors’ comments included. There will be problems to be addressed, questions to be answered, but I won’t have to tear the book apart, and tear my hair out in the process.”
Hurrah! Because if there’s one thing perfect in this tragically imperfect world we inhabit, it’s John Connolly’s coiff. Oi, editor-types – leave THE REAPERS alone, okay? Because the last thing the world needs is John Connolly yammering on about hair-loss. Peace, out.

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