Back To The Future (Of Irish Crime Fiction)

UPDATE: On my way to bed late last night, after sticking it out to see Stephen Donnelly get elected by about 90 votes, EIGHTBALL BOOGIE was at #2,214 on the Amazon UK charts, and #9,998 on Amazon US. Which won’t exactly set the world alight, but I’m delighted, not least because the book has already garnered two readers’ reviews, neither of which I penned myself. And then, last thing, I got a message courtesy of Facebook, in which one Val McDermid announced that she’d bought EIGHTBALL, and was looking forward to it. All of which made for a very nice end to the day …

As the more eagle-eyed of CAP’s Three Regular Readers will be aware, EIGHTBALL BOOGIE has a brand spanking new cover, with which I am well pleased. The design celebrates the launch of the e-book of said tome, which Ken Bruen in his wisdom declared ‘the future of Irish crime fiction’. Meanwhile, the blurb elves have been wittering thusly:

‘Down in the Old Quarter, two times out of three you flip a double-headed coin, it comes down on its edge.
 ‘Last time, it doesn’t come down at all ...’

When the wife of a politician keeping the government in power is murdered, Sligo journalist Harry Rigby is one of the first on the scene. He very quickly discovers that he’s in out of his depth when it transpires that the woman’s murder is linked to an ex-paramilitary gang’s attempt to seize control of the burgeoning cocaine market in the Irish Northwest. Harry’s ongoing feud with his ex-partner Denise over their young son’s future doesn’t help matters; and then there’s Harry’s ex-con brother Gonzo, back on the streets and mean as a jilted shark …

  That Gonzo, eh? He’s a caution, and no mistake … Anyway, and much as I hate the necessary evil of self-promotion, it’s customary at such moments to blow whatever trumpets we have, so if you have an aversion to trumpets, I suggest you plug your ears. To wit:

Praise for EIGHTBALL BOOGIE:

“I have seen the future of Irish crime fiction and it’s called Declan Burke. Here is talent writ large - mesmerizing, literate, smart and gripping. If there is such an animal as the literary crime novel, then this is it. But as a compelling crime novel, it is so far ahead of anything being produced, that at last my hopes for crime fiction are renewed. I can’t wait to read his next novel.” - Ken Bruen, author of THE GUARDS

“Burke writes in a staccato prose that ideally suits his purpose, and his narrative booms along as attention grippingly as a Harley Davidson with the silencer missing. Downbeat but exhilarating.” - The Irish Times

“Harry Rigby resembles the gin-soaked love child of Rosalind Russell and William Powell ... a wild ride worth taking.” - Booklist

“A manic, edgy tone that owes much to Elmore Leonard … could be the start of something big.” - The Sunday Times

“One of the sharpest, wittiest books I’ve read for ages.” - The Sunday Independent

  One of the great things about e-books, of course, is that you don’t have to take the author’s or anyone else’s word for their quality (or otherwise) - you can just clickety-click on the book and download a sample chapter or five for free. EIGHTBALL can be found in a variety of e-versions:

EIGHTBALL BOOGIE via Kindle UK / Kindle US (€0.99c)
EIGHTBALL BOOGIE on many other formats (via Smashwords)

  And that’s the hard sell for today, folks, and I do appreciate your taking the time to read thus far. Oh, one more thing - the new cover for EIGHTBALL is the work of JT Lindroos, whom I highly recommend as a top-notch pro and all-round good guy. If you’re in the market for a book cover, I suggest you check out JT’s work first …
  Finally, over to you. Any and all comments on the cover are welcome, as are comments on EIGHTBALL itself; and any tips or advice about how to get in touch with e-friendly readers will be gratefully received. I thank you kindly in advance …

CRIME ALWAYS PAYS: That Kindle Cover In Full!

CRIME ALWAYS PAYS, as all three regular readers will probably have forgotten by now, is the sequel to THE BIG O, and is currently in the process of being uploaded to Kindle. When it finally gets there, it’ll be wearing the cover above …
  Yes, I know that a lot of people felt / feel it’s an Agatha Christie-type cosy cover, but there was something about the soft-furnishings-glimpsed-through-barred-window that appealed. Also, I like the colours – it whispers ‘Mediterranean’ to me, and very seductively too. Maybe it’s all the pillows. As to whether it sums up the story inside, or will hypnotise potential readers into buying it, I really don’t know. And care less, to be perfectly frank about it.
  Anyway, the man responsible for the design is JT Lindroos of The Outfit, and thank you kindly, sir. As for everyone else who took the time to comment, thanks a million for the feedback, I do appreciate it.
  Now all I have to do is format the blummin’ story properly, and we’re off and running.
  In the meantime, here’s how CRIME ALWAYS PAYS opens up, with a chapter that’s a whopping 279 words long …

Sleeps

It was bad enough Rossi raving how genius isn’t supposed to be perfect, it’s not that kind of gig, but then the vet started carping about Sleeps’ pride and joy, the .22, nickel-plated, pearl grip, enough to stop a man and put him down but not your actual lethal unless you were unlucky. And right now, empty.
  Sleeps waggled it in the vet’s general direction. ‘Less talk,’ he said, ‘more angel of mercy. How’s that ear coming?’
  Not good and not fast, Rossi ducking around like Sugar Ray in a bouncy castle. Still in shock, bofto on the wowee pills, with these delusions of grandeur, he was Tony Montana or maybe Tony Manero, Sleeps couldn’t say for sure.
  It didn’t help there was no actual ear. The wolf had tore it clean off, along with enough skin to top a sizeable tom-tom. Plus the vet was using catgut and what looked to Sleeps like a needle he’d last seen on the Discovery Channel stuck horizontal through a cannibal’s nose.
  In the end Sleeps stepped in and stuck his forefinger in the wound, stirred it around. Rossi screeched once, high-pitched, then keeled over.
  ‘I’ll be wanting,’ Sleeps said, wiping his finger on Rossi’s pants, ‘a bag of horse tranks. And whatever gun you use for putting down the animals.’
  The vet shook his head. ‘We don’t use those anymore, they’re not humane.’
  ‘Humane? You’re a vet, man.’
  ‘We treat them like children,’ the vet said, ‘not animals.’
  ‘Nice theory.’ Sleeps scratched the cattle-prod off his mental list, gestured at Rossi with the .22. ‘But what if they’re a little of both?’