“Declan Burke is his own genre. The Lammisters dazzles, beguiles and transcends. Virtuoso from start to finish.” – Eoin McNamee “This bourbon-smooth riot of jazz-age excess, high satire and Wodehouse flamboyance is a pitch-perfect bullseye of comic brilliance.” – Irish Independent Books of the Year 2019 “This rapid-fire novel deserves a place on any bookshelf that grants asylum to PG Wodehouse, Flann O’Brien or Kyril Bonfiglioli.” – Eoin Colfer, Guardian Best Books of the Year 2019 “The funniest book of the year.” – Sunday Independent “Declan Burke is one funny bastard. The Lammisters ... conducts a forensic analysis on the anatomy of a story.” – Liz Nugent “Burke’s exuberant prose takes centre stage … He plays with language like a jazz soloist stretching the boundaries of musical theory.” – Totally Dublin “A mega-meta smorgasbord of inventive language ... linguistic verve not just on every page but every line.” – Irish Times “Above all, The Lammisters gives the impression of a writer enjoying himself. And so, dear reader, should you.” – Sunday Times “A triumph of absurdity, which burlesques the literary canon from Shakespeare, Pope and Austen to Flann O’Brien … The Lammisters is very clever indeed.” – The Guardian
Saturday, November 1, 2008
As God Is My Witness, I’ll Always Be Hungary Again
Just as intriguing is the news that there’s ‘very strong interest’ from a German publisher, even though I’ve never finished any drafts of anything in Germany, nor managed even so much as a smooch with a fraulein. Still, crime fiction seems to be coming strong in Germany in the last few years in particular – at least, we presume it’s still coming strong, even though we haven’t heard from our old friend Bernd Kochanowski in ages. Bernd? If you’re out there, buddy, just send a carrier pigeon …
Finally, it’s been confirmed that a Hungarian publisher will inflict THE BIG O on its nation’s denizens next year, which news is the kind to tickle my always flabber-prone gast. Yes, yes, I appreciate that such developments represent small potatoes to the more established scribes among you, but given that THE BIG O was originally a co-published book put together on a budget of three bent paper-clips and a snapped elastic band, the idea that it’ll see the light in Hungarian is simultaneously hilarious and poignant. Like, Hungary? You’re kidding, right? You’re not? Oh …
To celebrate, I’m going to run the new and improved ‘book trailer’ devised by Shay Bagnall, the entirely immodest new-and-improved elements being some blurbs that were kindly delivered by John Connolly, Reed Farrel Coleman and Booklist - plus a cute little ‘smoking gun’ add-on the Baggsman threw in for giggles. Hell, smoke ’em if you got ’em, right? Roll it there, Collette …
Friday, October 31, 2008
Roger And Me
Thursday, October 30, 2008
On The Essential Relevance Of Crime Fiction
“I believe that crime / mystery fiction can be a vehicle for presenting morality, ethics, good, evil, innocence, sacrifice, moreso than Literature with a capital L. I would like to know why you think crime / mystery fiction ‘is inarguably the most relevant and important fiction out there.’ Perhaps you could touch on it in a future post on Crime Always Pays. Your readers would be interested and it would stimulate interesting discussion.”Mack, bless his cotton socks, wildly overestimates (a) the number of CAP readers; (b) their ability to stimulate discussion, interesting or otherwise; and (c) the miniscule amount of reaction anything I might have to say might generate.
Happily, his email coincided with a piece I wrote for the Sunday Independent last weekend, which touched on the importance and / or relevance of crime fiction, and why I believe that if journalism is the first draft of history, crime fiction is its second.
Even though I don’t touch on this in the piece, I should probably add that crime fiction is the most important kind of fiction out there simply because it speaks to the greatest number of readers. If anyone doubts that, do the math.
Anyhoos, on with the show …
How Crime Novels Reveal Truths About Our Dark AgeFor the rest, clickety-click here …
ARGUABLY the most seductive, and perhaps even compelling, aspect of contemporary crime fiction is its relevance. As with the best journalism, the best crime writing speaks to us of where we are now and how we are coping with the indignities that assault our notions of civilisation. Rape, for example, has been with us in fiction since THE ILIAD, although Homer tended to celebrate his triumphalist male protagonists and gloss over how a woman might feel about being subjected to such gross violation.
It’s in the realms of modern crime fiction that you will find rape’s most authentic documentation …
Come As You Are. Or, Y’Know, As Bogie.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
God Bless You, Tim Maleeny
Now, I hadn’t met Tim Maleeny until about ten minutes before the panel started; in fact, I’d had no contact with him whatsoever. So it was a double whammy – one, that he’d heard of THE BIG O, and two, that he liked it enough to give it ye olde hup-ya in such august company.
I did what little I could to thank Tim by hosting him on Crime Always Pays last week, and I thought that that would be the end of that. But no! For now Tim has tonked the pill out of the ballpark, and very probably knocked the leather off of it in the process, by posting this on his interweb yokeybus:
“Declan Burke writes like Raymond Chandler on crystal meth. This character-driven mystery has the velocity of Lock, Stock, And Two Smoking Barrels or Snatch combined with the stylish prose and effortless dialogue of Elmore Leonard at his best.”There are many wonderful aspects to being a writer, not least of which is the validation you get when complete strangers tell you that they like what you do, especially when what you do is you at your most you, if that makes any sense. But there’s something special about getting the nod from a peer, a fellow scribe, an intangible extra that gives you a frisson that can make your day, week and month, particularly when he or she name-checks your two favourite writers in the process.
Tim? Much obliged, squire. Your reward will come in heaven. Or when GREASING THE PINATA hits # 1 on the NY Times best-seller list. Either way, it’s only a matter of time.
The Neville Will Find Work For Idle Hands To Do, Part II
“GHOSTS OF BELFAST is not only one of the finest thriller debuts of the last ten years, but is also one of the best Irish novels, in any genre, of recent times. It grips from the first page to the last, and heralds the arrival of a major new voice in Irish writing. I don’t know how Stuart Neville is going to improve upon such an exceptional first novel, but I can’t wait to find out …”Mmmmm, nice. For an excerpt, clickety-click on this little yokeybus right here. It’s a hell of a start …
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
His Horse Was Fast As Polished Steel
A SONG FOR KEN
Reading Ken Bruen’s AMERICAN SKIN set me off on the song lyric trail again ... in a roundabout sort of way. Bear with me. You see, Ken and I go back some ways. In 2001, a review for my third book THE BODY ROCK appeared in the Evening Herald, and because it took up half a page and was a particularly good critique, I noted the reviewer’s name: Ken Bruen. I’d never heard of Ken at the time but then I got hold of THE GUARDS and we made contact. We have, over the intervening years, developed a mutual respect for each other's writing. Ken dedicated THE VIXEN to me and worked my name into the text of THE DRAMATIST, while I brought THE GUARDS into the narrative in my last offering, THE CAT TRAP.
Fast forward to AMERICAN SKIN. Dade is, without doubt, the No.1 bad dude in Bruen’s hierarchy of baddies. Early in Dade’s career, while imprisoned, his cell mate knocks out his teeth, saying, “Don’t need ’em for blow jobs.” Six months later, Dade settles the score by extracting the guy’s eyes with a spoon. Could only have come from the pen of Bruen.
At one point in the story, Dade, with one eye on the Mexican border, conjures up a line from Pancho and Lefty – ‘All the Federales say ...’ – but can’t remember what comes next. Well, that got me thinking. I unearthed Willie and Merle’s definitive version of the Townes Van Zandt classic and thought I might share the lyrics with y’all.PANCHO AND LEFTY
Living on the road my friend
Was gonna keep you free and clean
Now you wear your skin like iron
Your breath’s as hard as kerosene
You weren’t your mama’s only boy
But her favourite one it seems
She began to cry when you said goodbye
And sank into your dreams
Pancho was a bandit boys
His horse was fast as polished steel
Wore his gun outside his pants
For all the honest world to feel
Pancho met his match you know
On the deserts down in Mexico
Nobody heard his dying words
That’s the way it goes
All the federales say
They could have had him any day
They only let him hang around
Out of kindness I suppose
Lefty he can’t sing the blues
All night long like he used to
The dust that Pancho bit down south
Ended up in Lefty’s mouth
The day they laid poor Pancho low
Lefty split for Ohio
Where he got the bread to go
There ain’t nobody knows
All the federales say
They could have had him any day
They only let him slip away
Out of kindness I suppose
The poets tell how Pancho fell
Lefty’s livin’ in a cheap hotel
The desert’s quiet and Cleveland’s cold
So the story ends we’re told
Pancho needs your prayers it’s true,
But save a few for Lefty too
He just did what he had to do
Now he’s growing old
A few grey federales say
They could have had him any day
They only let him go so wrong
Out of kindness I suppose
Yep, It’s The Latest ‘Dear Genre’ Letter
The editors at Forbes magazine know a thing or two about great wealth, if only from reporting on it. The magazine, which bills itself as “the Capitalist Tool”, recently compiled its annual “World’s Best Paid Authors” list. Those making the most dough between June 2007 and June 2008 – via book sales, advances and movie deals – were:Funnily enough, I’ve only read two of the authors on that list, and one was so bad I had to stop reading after my brain shrivelled up and made a desperate dive for freedom through my left ear. The Big Question: Who’s the worst writer on that list? Over to you, people …• J.K. Rowling, $300 million
• James Patterson, $50 million
• Stephen King, $45 million
• Tom Clancy, $35 million
• Danielle Steel, $30 million
• John Grisham and Dean Koontz, tied at $25 million
• Ken Follett, $20 million
• Janet Evanovich, $17 million
• Nicholas Sparks, $16 million
Monday, October 27, 2008
The Embiggened O # 4,034: Never Mind The Quality, Feel The Bandwidth
Meanwhile, a mate of mine called Shay Bagnall laments not being born in Italy, where – apparently – he would have been called the rather more romantic Giacomo di Bagnalli. We call him Baggs. Anyhoos, said Baggsman was the one responsible for lashing together the vid below for THE BIG O, a very generous gesture with which I’m very well pleased. Incidentally, remember that name – El Baggalero is currently putting the finishing touches to his crime fic magnum opus, and should be going looking for an agent / publisher any day now. You have been warned … Roll it there, Collette.
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