Showing posts with label Jim Thompson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jim Thompson. Show all posts

Friday

Review: HERE AND GONE by Haylen Beck

An award-winning author of crime thrillers set in Northern Ireland, Stuart Neville publishes his eighth novel, Here and Gone (Harvill Secker), under the open pseudonym of Haylen Beck. The story begins with Audra Kinney on the run from her abusive husband, Patrick; when Audra is pulled over for a routine traffic stop near the small town of Silver Water in Arizona, she is arrested on a trumped-up charge of marijuana possession and separated from her children, Sean and Louise. Held overnight until charges can be brought, the distressed Audra asks the arresting officer, Sheriff Whiteside, where her children are:
Whiteside held her gaze.
‘What children?’ he asked.
  It’s a variation on every parent’s worst nightmare, not least because the reader subsequently learns of an internet forum on the ‘dark web’, wherein a number of men are eagerly anticipating the arrival of ‘the goods’, ‘a pair in good condition’ who will provide the ‘entertainment’ for an evening’s depravity.
  With the reader aware that the clock is ticking, the scene is set for an adrenaline-fuelled tale of gritty heroism, as Audra – helpless in Sheriff Whiteside’s custody, suspected of murdering her children by the FBI, and already convicted by the court of public opinion – struggles to overcome impossible odds in a desperate bid to save her children.
  It’s a high-concept tale to rival Neville’s debut, The Twelve (2009), in which an ex-paramilitary, haunted by the ghosts of those he was ordered to murder, sets out to avenge their deaths. While Here and Gone is equally absorbing, the new nom-de-plume and the Arizona setting aren’t the only radical departures for Neville. In a sense, he has had to reconfigure his entire mindset vis-à-vis the crime genre, in the process illuminating the essential difference between the hardboiled crime novels originating in the US and the mystery novels of those – the recent Scandi noir phenomenon included – from this side of the pond. Where Sherlock Holmes, Miss Marple, Lord Peter Wimsey and most of the other amateur sleuths of the UK’s Golden Age of mystery writing were happy to collaborate when necessary with the local police force, Dashiell Hammett’s Continental Op and Raymond Chandler’s Phillip Marlowe frequently found themselves at odds with the establishment and at the rough end of a brutal justice meted out by corrupt police forces shoring up a rotten system, a state of affairs that reached its apotheosis in Jim Thompson’s first-person account of the deranged deputy sheriff Lou Ford in The Killer Inside Me.
  Hailing from a former colony, Irish crime writers get to have their cake and eat it too, presenting the police as agents of oppression and terror when it suits, but also culturally attuned to tapping into the classic British perception of PC Plod as the flat-footed but utterly dependable avatar for law, order and justice.
  It was in utilising the latter perception that the Belfast-based Stuart Neville established a considerable international reputation on the basis of a series of loosely linked police procedurals set in Northern Ireland, in which the protagonist, most recently DCI Serena Flanagan and previously DI Jack Lennon, were diligent professionals who – their personal demons notwithstanding – did their best to protect and serve the civilian population. In Haylen Beck’s Arizona-set Here and Gone, however, the police are not only mistrusted as the corrupt representatives of system of law and order heavily weighted towards the rich and privileged, but are to be feared for proactively seeking out the vulnerable in order to facilitate a monstrous appetite.
  The result is a novel that combines the propulsive narrative drive of Lee Child with Michael Connelly’s deceptively understated muscular prose, a thriller that also blends into its potent mix a strong flavour of both the domestic and rural noir sub-genres, the former as a consequence of Audra Kinney’s intensely emotional quest to be reunited with her children, the latter courtesy of Neville / Beck’s beautifully detailed descriptions of the remote and parched Arizona landscape. All told, Here and Gone is, even allowing for the inevitable hyperbole, not only a genuinely chilling and thrilling read, but a fascinating snapshot of Irish crime fiction’s ability to straddle the classic strands of US and British crime fiction. ~ Declan Burke

  This review was first published in the Irish Times.

“Ya Wanna Do It Here Or Down The Station, Punk?” Alan Walsh

Yep, it’s rubber-hose time, folks: a rapid-fire Q&A for those shifty-looking usual suspects ...

What crime novel would you most like to have written?
Definitely The Talented Mr. Ripley. I’m a huge Patricia Highsmith fan and there’s a cool, aloofness to her writing that I’ve often unsuccessfully tried to mimic. There’s so much to love about the book too, the destinations, the unlovable characters and easy, almost effortless way the plot meanders along. I love the power rivalries between her characters too and I think they show up best maybe in this book.

What fictional character would you most like to have been?
Part of me really wants to answer Nick Corey, from Pop. 1280 by Jim Thompson. But that would make me sound like a psychopath, wouldn’t it? Still, the element of charm Thompson gives these absolute maniacs is probably best represented in Nick, and he does get a laugh or two along the way.

Who do you read for guilty pleasures?
Umberto Eco. I keep rereading Foucault’s Pendulum. It’s like the DaVinci Code for anyone who’s actually interested in all that hoodoo, and I definitely am. I keep unearthing weird new facts each time I read it too.

Most satisfying writing moment?
You know, I think it’s when I realise I’ve gone wrong, where I’ve gone wrong and the cathartic effect of scrapping the whole chapter, letting it wash away and getting it right next time, wondering how you ever have been so dumb as to think that previous direction was the way to go.

If you could recommend one Irish crime novel, what would it be?
It would have to be the Book of Evidence. I read it when I was too young to properly appreciate just how good Banville is, but I’ve reread it since and it has the same effect each time.

What Irish crime novel would make a great movie?
I actually think the Book of Evidence could make a great movie. It would take a virtuoso performance from a lead actor though, and a steady director, gradually building tension.

Worst / best thing about being a writer?
The worst is definitely always wanting to write. All the time. You’re out on the peer with friends, enjoying an amazing afternoon of ice cream and laughter and there’s this voice, deep within, whispering about how good it would be to sit down in front of a blank page. The best part is when you get to sit down.

The pitch for your next book is …?
A young girl realises her past is a carefully constructed lie and her future has been already mapped out by the powers that be.

Who are you reading right now?
I’ve just finished Ways of Seeing by John Berger, which was a Christmas treat and next I feel like starting up a Graham Greene, or maybe Louise Phillips’ latest, which I still haven’t read.

God appears and says you can only write OR read. Which would it be?
Read. because I can always write the stories in my head. Then maybe tell them, rather than type. I hope that’s cheating.

The three best words to describe your own writing are …?
Unorthodox, unexpected, uncommon!

Alan Walsh’s SOUR is published by Pillar. For more, clickety-click here

Thursday

Reviews: Irish Times crime fiction column, August 29th

“Life, unlike crime, was not something you could solve,” observes the retired Parisian police inspector Auguste Jovert in Mark Henshaw’s The Snow Kimono (Tinder Press, €22.50), the Australian author’s first novel since he published his debut, the award-winning Out of the Line of Fire, 26 years ago. Jovert is ruminating on his conversations with Tadashi Omura – a former Professor of Law at the Imperial University of Japan, and a devotee of himitsu-e puzzles – who opens the novel by spinning Jovert an engrossing yarn about Kumiko, the young girl he raised as his own daughter after his old friend, Katsuo, went to prison in disgrace (the theme of fathers and their strained relationships with daughters is a constant: Jovert, formerly a ‘specialist interrogator’ with the French Territorial Police in Algeria, has recently received a letter from a young woman in Algiers who claims to be his daughter). What transpires is a story that is almost the antithesis of the conventional detective novel, a subtly wrought meditation on human frailty in the framework of an extended confession, with Jovert playing the part of reluctant confessor to an elaborately woven and beautifully detailed declaration of guilt.
  Andrea Carter’s debut Death at Whitewater Church (Constable, €22.10) opens in the northeast corner of Donegal, where solicitor Ben O’Keefe lives a life that ‘was sort of a half-life’, filling in time as an observer and facilitator of the lives around her. While helping to survey the deconsecrated church at Whitewater near the village of Glendara, Ben discovers a human skeleton in the church’s crypt; when it emerges that the remains are recent, and likely those of Conor Devitt, who disappeared six years previously on the eve of his wedding, a murder investigation begins. The shadow of the Troubles hangs over the events of this contemporary-set novel, although the story itself takes its cue from the Golden Age of mystery fiction, with Ben O’Keefe – an amateur sleuth who is by her own admission far too nosy for her own good – something of a latter-day Miss Marple as she surreptitiously investigates the cat’s cradle of possible motives for Conor Devitt’s death. Ben O’Keefe is an engaging character, one reminiscent of Jane Casey’s Maeve Kerrigan in her exemplary public professionalism and private self-doubt, and Death at Whitewater Church is a charming debut that bodes well for Carter’s future.
  A Little More Free (ECW Press, €14.99) is Canadian author John McFetridge’s second novel to feature Montreal Constable Eddie Dougherty. Opening in 1972, as Montreal hosts the legendary ‘Summit Series’ of ice hockey matches between Canada and the USSR, the story finds Dougherty investigating the deaths of three men who burned to death in a nightclub fire, and also the robbery of millions of dollars worth of paintings from the Museum of Fine Arts. McFetridge’s previous novels (this is his sixth) have been compared with those of Elmore Leonard, but the Eddie Dougherty novels have more in common with the work of Michael Connelly: Dougherty is a smart, pragmatic but deep-thinking cop who winkles out the truth by virtue of dogged police-work. One of the most enjoyable aspects of the Dougherty novels is the way McFetridge opens a window onto Canada’s recent and turbulent past (both of the cases Dougherty investigates are historical events), with the title of A Little More Free alluding to the wider backdrop of Dougherty’s investigation, which leads him into the murky world of US Army deserters and those fleeing the Vietnam War-era draft.
  Julia Heaberlin’s third novel, Black-Eyed Susans (Penguin, €19.50), is a cleverly constructed tale that advances along parallel narratives. In 1995, in conversation with her psychiatrist as she prepares to testify in court, Texan teenager Tessie tries to remember the details of her miraculous escape from a serial killer who dumped her body into a pit containing the bones of some of his previous victims. Meanwhile, in the present day, the older Tessie, now calling herself Tessa, is convinced the killer has tracked her down, which means that Tessie’s testimony two decades previously sent the wrong man to death row. With Terrell Goodwin’s execution date looming, can Tessa finally unlock the dark secrets buried in her subconscious and save an innocent man’s life? A superb psychological thriller strewn with gothic motifs (Edgar Allen Poe, and particularly his story ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’, is regularly referenced), Black-Eyed Susans is a haunting account of Tessa’s painful journey towards understanding the unpalatable truth of her life-defining experience (“I am sane, and I am not, and I don’t want anyone to know.”), which also functions as an engrossing exploration of the morality of the death penalty.
  Jamie Kornegay’s debut novel Soil (Two Roads, €20.99) centres on environmental scientist Jay Mize, who has relocated his wife Sandy and young son Jacob to a corner of rural Mississippi in order to create a self-sustaining farm in anticipation of the climatic apocalypse Jay believes is imminent. Devastated when floods destroy his crops, and terrified of being accused of murder by the sociopathic Deputy Danny Shoals when the receding waters reveal a corpse on his land, the increasingly paranoid Jay decides to dispose of the body himself rather than alert the authorities. A slow-burning noir influenced by the Southern gothic tradition, Soil is a hugely impressive debut in which the central narrative of Jay’s psychological breakdown and his family’s destruction leads us into the darkest recesses of the South’s history (Jay’s ancestry is tainted by the worst kind of Jim Crow legacy). Kornegay is superb at evoking the minutiae of small-town America, and despite their different settings – Soil vividly depicts the sweltering Mississippi delta – this heart-breaking tragedy bears comparison with Scott Smith’s A Simple Plan and Jim Thompson’s The Killer Inside Me. ~ Declan Burke

  This column was first published in the Irish Times.

Friday

Local Heroes: Seamus Smyth

I was going to write a Local Heroes post about Seamus Smyth, author of the brilliant QUINN, akin to the piece I wrote about Philip Davison recently, but then I stumbled across this from Ken Bruen, from waaaaay back in 2007. Take it away, Ken:
“Life sucks, yadda-yadda, so what else is new? But sometimes it sucks on a level that you want to scream, “Ah for fucksakes!” Being a crime writer always means registering low on the literary barometer but being an Irish crime writer? Just shoot yourself – unless you’re plugged into the usual mafia circle of same tired old names.
  “Seamus Smyth wrote a blistering debut titled QUINN back in 1999 and what should have been a major lift-off to a glittering career came to zilch. If he were writing in the UK or USA, he’d be mega. QUINN is a kick-in-the-face wondrous blitz of a novel. No tip-toeing Mr Nice Guy here: this is a first-person narrative of a psycho who operates in the Dublin underworld, the kind of novel Paul Williams would, ahem, kill to have written.
  “The hero, Gerd Quinn, is straight from the tradition of Goodis through Thompson to the wry, sly humour of a Willeford. The writing is a dream, a style all Smyth’s own. He uses his anti-hero to pay homage to the noir genre and yet subvert it in a way only a true dark Irish craftsman could. It’s the kind of novel you read and think, ‘Just bloody mighty’, and immediately watch out for his next. But this is not just a great crime novel, it’s one hell of a novel, full stop. QUINN should be THE FRIENDS OF EDDIE COYLE for this decade, it’s that good and fresh and innovative.
  “Let’s remedy one case of criminal neglect and get Seamus Smyth up where he belongs, right at the top of the genre, and allow a rare and unique talent to do what he was born to do - write the provocative novels this country deserves. Gerd Quinn states, ‘There’s no malice in what I do …’, which makes it one of the most ironic opening lines of any novel in light of what’s coming down the Smyth pike. QUINN is not only vital, it’s damn essential.” ~ Ken Bruen
  For all the details on QUINN, clickety-click here

Thursday

Review: TAMPA by Alissa Nutting

Celeste Price, the narrator of Alissa Nutting’s debut novel Tampa (Faber & Faber, €14.99), is a high school English teacher in Florida. Married to a local police officer, Celeste is friendly, helpful and dedicated in her vocation. Respectability personified, she harbours a dark secret: Celeste has made it her life’s work to put herself in a position where she can prey sexually on 14-year-old boys. It’s a chilling tale in many respects, not least because Celeste suffers no crisis of conscience about her deviant behaviour and the effect it might have on the young men she targets, but it’s very difficult for the reader to dislike Celeste herself. Her first-person voice is charming, self-deprecating and witty, the amiable tone drawing the reluctantly complicit reader deeper and deeper into her immorality. There are echoes of Humbert Humbert and Tom Ripley to be heard here, and also Jim Thompson’s charming psychopath Lou Ford (Celeste’s husband is called Ford), but Nutting’s reinvention of the taboo-breaking femme fatale results in a self-determining female protagonist reminiscent of those created in recent years by Gillian Flynn and Megan Abbott. That said, Celeste Price is a unique creation and Tampa is a singular tale. It may well be the most challenging crime novel you’ll read all year. – Declan Burke

  This review was first published in the monthly crime fiction column in the Irish Times. Also reviewed were the latest offerings from Jo Nesbo, Nele Neuhaus and Joe Joyce.

Monday

On Putting The Big O Into Boon

Inspired by the inimitable Rashers Tierney (if you haven’t read STRUMPET CITY yet, I humbly advise you to do so), you find me this morning in panhandling mode. As the more eagle-eyed among you will know, I published the e-book of THE BIG O early last month as the latest stage in my bid for world domination, and so far it’s been going well. Only last week Eoin Colfer was kind enough to describe the book as something of a scuffle between Jim Thompson and Elmore Leonard in an alleyway – at least, I think he was being positive about it.
  Anyway, THE BIG O is available through Amazon at $4.99 / £4.99, which may or may not be your idea of a bargain. The point of this post, though, is not to sell you the book, but to beg a boon. There are three readers’ reviews of THE BIG O up on Amazon, all three of which arrived within a couple of days of publication. Which was (and remains) marvellous, but – at the risk of sounding ungrateful – it’s a sparse kind of marvellous.
  Essentially I’m here today to ask you, providing you have read THE BIG O, and have the time, and have no great ideological issue with Amazon and / or people asking for reviews, if you’d be kind enough to say a few words on its behalf.
  If you’d rather not, fair enough. I fully understand.
  If you’re happy to do so, the link is here, and I thank you kindly in advance.
  Normal service will be resumed tomorrow …

Sunday

O Fortuna: Eoin Colfer on THE BIG O

One of the less enjoyable aspects of publishing a new book – or releasing a previously published book in e-format, as is the case with THE BIG O – is asking for blurbs. Not least, of course, because you’re always conscious that you’re putting the writer you’re requesting a blurb from in a difficult position. There’s a decent chance they’ve never heard of you; or they’ve heard of you and think you’re a total plank; or they might like you personally, but not be a fan of your work; and that’s without factoring in that any well-known writer is (a) very busy with the business of being a well-known writer and (b) very probably fending off blurb requests on a daily basis.
  I’ve been very lucky when it comes to receiving blurbs, I have to say. The most recent example comes courtesy of Eoin Colfer, and runs like this:
“If Elmore Leonard met Jim Thompson down a dark alley at midnight they might emerge a week later with thick beards, bloodshot eyes and the manuscript for THE BIG O … raises the bar on its first page and keeps it there until the last word.” – Eoin Colfer
  As you can imagine, I am very pleased indeed with that.
  Okay, that’s the trumpet-blowing over with. Now the hard sell: THE BIG O is available for $4.99 / £4.99 at the links below, and if you have read the book, and feel moved to leave a review on those pages, I’d be very grateful indeed.
  Finally, a very happy St Patrick’s Day to you all. See you on the other side …
THE BIG O by Declan Burke (US)

THE BIG O by Declan Burke (UK)

Wednesday

“Ya Wanna Do It Here Or Down The Station, Punk?”: JJ DeCeglie

Yep, it’s rubber-hose time, folks: a rapid-fire Q&A for those shifty-looking usual suspects ...

What crime novel would you most like to have written?
THE GETAWAY by Jim Thompson (very tough to pick just one, I tell you!).

What fictional character would you most like to have been?
If I say Nick Corey from Thompson’s POP. 1280, does that make me a psycho? If so pretend I said Highsmith’s Tom Ripley.

Who do you read for guilty pleasures?
I try to avoid this situation.

Most satisfying writing moment?
When someone tells you that what you wrote hit them right in the balls.

The best Irish crime novel is …?
I’ll give you two that jawed me - THE GUARDS by Ken Bruen, and DEAD I WELL MAY BE by Adrian McKinty.

What Irish crime novel would make a great movie?
I think McKinty’s sleeper FALLING GLASS would adapt very, very well.

Worst / best thing about being a writer?
Constant rejection and misinterpretation. Flashes of praise and occasional absolute understanding.

The pitch for your next book is …?
A slow-burn psycho, a big bet gone wrong in Vegas, booze, madness and Mexico ... oh, and a beautiful young trophy wife that my boy stupidly falls ass over for (including all the mayhem, punishment and revenge that comes with it).

Who are you reading right now?
THE SHARK-INFESTED CUSTARD by Charles Willeford.

God appears and says you can only write OR read. Which would it be?
Uh ... suicide?

The three best words to describe your own writing are …?
Unremitting, thoughtful, fecund. (If you’re thinking ‘Boy, what an asshole’, know that I thought it first).

JJ Deceglie’s DRAWING DEAD is available as an e-book on Amazon.com.

Friday

The Very Best In Nasty Sex, Sorta

Pray silence for the Kindle-only publication of Allan Guthrie’s modern classic, TWO-WAY SPLIT, a debut novel which won the Theakston’s Old Peculier award in 2007. If you haven’t stumbled across Allan Guthrie before, this was Crime Always Pays’ take at the time:
“The holdall sat on the bed like an ugly brown bag of conscience.” Fans of classic crime writing will get a kick or five out of TWO-WAY SPLIT, and we’re talking classic: Allan Guthrie’s multi-character exploration of Edinburgh’s underbelly marries the spare, laconic prose of James M. Cain with the psychological grotesqueries of Jim Thompson at his most lurid … The result is a gut-knotting finale that unfurls with the inevitability of all great tragedy and the best nasty sex – it’ll leave you devastated, hollowed out, aching to cry and craving more. – Declan Burke
  For more in the same vein, clickety-click here
  And if you don’t believe me - I wouldn’t - then how about these two encomiums?
“Seek him out and buy his book.” - Ian Rankin
“Excellent.” - George Pelecanos
  So there you have it. TWO-WAY SPLIT for 99p on Amazon UK, or 99c on Amazon US. Buy it now, or Big Al will come around and bat his eyelashes at you … Or is it that if you do buy it, Big Al will come around and bat the eyelashes? I can’t remember. Doesn’t matter. Just buy it. You won’t regret it.

Saturday

Nobody Move, This Is A Review: THE BOOK OF LIES by Mary Horlock

If the novel has taught us anything it’s that killers come in all shapes and sizes, and that the unlikeliest murderers are often the most charming.
  Cathy Rozier is a Guernsey teenager, an overweight history geek befriended by the blond, vivacious Nicolette. The friendship is doomed. “It’s been a fortnight since they found her body,” Cathy announces on the very first page, which opens in December, 1985, “and for the most part I’m glad she’s gone. But I also can’t believe she’s dead, and I should do because I did it.”
  Mary Horlock’s clever conceit is to make Cathy both protagonist and antagonist, the killer upon whom we rely to excavate the truth behind Nicolette’s death. THE BOOK OF LIES is not a ‘whodunit’ but a ‘whydunit’, a first-person psychological exploration of the mind of a murderer.
  In this it has much in common with Jim Thompson’s classic noir ‘THE KILLER INSIDE ME, the first-person confessional of Lou Ford, a sociopathic killer who is an outwardly friendly small-town sheriff.
  Horlock, as Thompson did before her, makes powerful use of the local vernacular, employing an indigenous patois and an ostensibly languid style to lure the reader in to what appears to be an easygoing backwater. Once we’re under the skin of the place, however, Guernsey is quickly revealed as a festering hotbed of secrets, lies, betrayals and murders.
  Arguably the most important ‘character’ in the novel after Cathy, the apparently idyllic Guernsey is portrayed as a prison of sorts. Yet the island exerts an inexorable pull on its inhabitants. “Why is it we find this little rock so hard to leave?” asks Charles Rozier when dictating his life’s testimony to Emile Rozier, Cathy’s father.
  The answer to that question is ‘History’ (Cathy, whose narrative takes the form of her own testimony, has a habit of capitalizing the words that are most important to her; Horlock, meanwhile, read History and History of Art at Cambridge). As her account progresses, we realise that Cathy, the daughter of a historian, understands that an appreciation of history is a double-edged sword. Cathy thrives at school as a result of her excellence in the subject, and yet that success leads to her being bullied as a nerd and a teacher’s pet.
  On a deeper level, Cathy also appreciates that what we understand to be History is simply the Official Version of Events, one which doesn’t necessarily explain the truth of what actually happened.
  This applies to Cathy’s own version of the death of Nicolette, as recounted in Cathy’s journal, in which she implicitly admits that she is, by dint of being our only witness to the events described, an unreliable narrator.
  This in turn funnels into the parallel narrative of Horlock’s tale, in which Emile Rozier, via his brother Charles, gives his version of the events of the German occupation of Guernsey during WWII, in which Emile’s actions as a callow resistance fighter led to the death of his own father. Emile’s take on history gives rise in turn to other versions, as the historian Charles seeks to verify the truth, or otherwise, of Emile’s account.
  The result is a satisfyingly complex story which is entirely at ease as it shifts between the recent past and Cathy’s present and deftly excavates the layers of betrayal and treachery that have settled on Guernsey since the German occupation. The chief delight is Horlock’s winning way with language, as she creates in Cathy an irreverent stylist who delights in offbeat digressions and quirky phrasing, and whose status as a loner and observer gives her a disconcerting facility for unearthing rough diamonds from the dross of her day-to-day life.
  That said, the quirkiness can prove an irritation, particularly when it diverts attention from the intensity of a rapidly developing scenario. Late in the novel, with Cathy potentially in peril, Horlock can’t resist unnecessary insertions: “When we got to Saumarez Park I didn’t smell a rat (i.e. her). I didn’t want to look a gift horse (i.e. two-faced cow) in the mouth.”
  Meanwhile, Horlock’s account of the events immediately preceding Nicolette’s death feels surprisingly rushed and contrived, and lacks the poise that characterises the rest of the novel.
  Those caveats aside, THE BOOK OF LIES is an assured debut, and Horlock’s irreverent style marks the arrival of a distinctive new voice. - Declan Burke

  Mary Horlock’s THE BOOK OF LIES is published by Canongate.

  This review first appeared in the Sunday Business Post

Tuesday

“Ya Wanna Do It Here Or Down The Station, Punk?”: Jo Nesbo

Yep, it’s rubber-hose time, folks: a rapid-fire Q&A for those shifty-looking usual suspects ...

What crime novel would you most like to have written?
THE KILLER INSIDE ME, Jim Thompson

What fictional character would you most like to have been?
Dexter. Kidding. Or am I? ...

Who do you read for guilty pleasures?
I don’t. Other things, yes, but not reading.

Most satisfying writing moment?
When I wrote the lyrics for a song called ‘Rhumba with gun’.

The best Irish crime novel is …?
THE WHISPERERS by John Connolly.

What Irish crime novel would make a great movie?
THE WHISPERERS.

Worst / best thing about being a writer?
Not having a boss / No bad things.

The pitch for your next book is …?
“Harry Hole is back.” Hey, that was easy.

Who are you reading right now?
A Pink Floyd biography.

God appears and says you can only write OR read. Which would it be?
Oh, God. Write.

Jo Nesbo’s THE LEOPARD is published by Harvill Secker

Sunday

Stuck Behind The EIGHTBALL: An Interview With, Erm, Declan Burke

I filled in a Q&A for a specialist ebook blog about a month ago, when I was about to publish EIGHTBALL BOOGIE to Kindle, but the Q&A hasn’t appeared yet, so I’m just going to go ahead and run it up here instead. To wit:

What can you tell us about Eightball Boogie?

‘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 …

“The change in the Irish criminal landscape that followed the various ceasefires in Northern Ireland is still ongoing, and is something that fascinates me. I wanted to write a story about how gangs who were previously politically motivated - officially, at least - turned to more prosaic criminality once their political justifications for drug-running, bank-robbing, hijacking et al were removed. I also love Raymond Chandler’s Marlowe novels, and the black-and-white noir movies, and I wanted to write a story that played out as if it were a classic private eye story set in modern Ireland. In other words, the story is very much a contemporary one, but I wanted to pay homage to the books and movies I’ve always loved. It was a really fun thing to write, I have to say.”

How do you create and maintain dramatic tension?

“That’s a difficult question for me to answer, as is any question to do with the craft of writing - I’m an impulsive, instinctive writer, which often works to my detriment, as it often involves extensive re-writes. Basically, I suppose, I tend to try to push the characters to their extremes, without ever pushing them beyond the bounds of the story’s internal logic. In other words, I like to paint myself into corners and then challenge myself to get back out of those corners in a way that’s both interesting and plausible. That way, I’m keeping myself on my toes. If I don’t know what’s going to happen next, then it’s highly unlikely that the reader will either. And tension, ultimately, derives from not knowing what’s coming next.”

How do you develop and differentiate your characters?

“I guess characters tend to develop themselves, to a large extent. They always start off as a seed as a real person, or a combination of real people, although those people may be as different as someone you know as well as your wife, or someone you only once glimpsed turning a street corner. Very quickly, though, characters tend to become themselves and to fight for their own identity - trying to get a character to do something ‘out of character’ can be an exhausting and ultimately pointless exercise. I’m not trying to suggest that they ‘write’ themselves, because the writer is always in total control of what the story is and where it’s going; and, of course, the essence of a good story is when a character does encounter events or scenarios that cause him or her to behave in a way that they might never have considered before. But if you’ve established a character as a certain kind of person, and to the extent that the reader believes in that person and who they are, then having them behave in an antithetical way is akin to saying that they have blue eyes, and then later changing their eye colour to brown. I really don’t know what the answer to this is; as with virtually everything else to do with writing, in my experience at least, it’s all about the writer’s ‘feel’. It’s not really something that can be measured or explained in clear or exact terms, I think.

“As for differentiating characters, well, that’s a matter of observation. There are six billion people on the planet, and counting; every one of them is as unique as a fingerprint. It’s the easiest thing in the world to simply look around you on a daily basis and mentally note interesting physical features, or the way a woman wears a scarf, or how a man walks, and so forth. One tip I heard early on when I was trying to write characters that I found useful was to base your ‘good’, or empathic, characters on the personality traits of people you don’t like, and vice versa. It’s actually a surprisingly good way to give characters unexpected depth.”

Who do you imagine is your ideal reader?

“You. Anyone reading this right now. Anyone at all. I don’t have an ideal reader, not by any means. It might sound like bunkum, but I still get a massive thrill when someone mentions that they read my book. It’s even better when they say they liked it, of course, but people are generally nice wherever you go, and it’s rare that someone will tell you they read your book in order to then say it was garbage.

“I do have a guy - maybe this is what you mean by an ideal reader - who reads over my shoulder when I write, a former editor of mine when I was writing theatre reviews for the Sunday Times’ Culture section, the Irish edition of the Sunday Times. He was a pretty good editor, and tough with it - you really had to be on your toes, every week, or he’d pull you up on the slightest inconsistency, or misuse of language, or whatever it happened to be. So he’s the guy who metaphorically reads over my shoulder while I’m writing, a kind of avenging guardian angel ready to swoop down on anything that’s loose or clichéd or unnecessary. Sometimes that can be a pain - most times it is a pain - but my ideal is to get to a point where I can write a novel where even he would nod approvingly. So maybe he’s my ideal reader.”

What was your journey as a writer?

“Well, it’s still on-going. The convention is that you’re only as good as your last book; as far as I’m concerned, you’re only as good as your next book. It’s like Beckett said - “Fail. Fail again. Fail better.” I think if you’re a writer - or pretty much anything, really - and you think you’ve become as good as it’s possible to be, and that your journey is over, then it’s time to start thinking about a whole new journey, or a different way of making it.

“Going way back, though, I always loved to write - I was that geeky kid in English class who couldn’t wait for essay homework to be given out on a Friday afternoon, so I could go off and write a short story over the weekend. And I guess, without ever thinking about it then in concrete terms, that I always wanted to write a book. We had a class in school in Irish (gaeilge), which is officially Ireland’s first language, although relatively few people are fluent in it; anyway, the class is compulsory in Irish education. I used to spend my Irish classes writing spoof versions of Shakespeare plays blended with Monty Python stories, the plays being produced by the cast of the Muppet Show. No, seriously, etc. And then I’d get together with a few friends in front of a tape recorder, and we’d record an audio version of the play. A couple of years later, I was at college, and the first week we were there I was chatting to a guy about this; and the girl in the row in front, she was from the other side of the country, she turned around and said, “Did you write that? I heard that.” I couldn’t believe it; gobsmacked was the word. I have no idea of how the tape, or a version of it, got into her hands, but I still vividly remember the feeling that came with it. So maybe that was the first time I realised what it might be like to publish a real book.

“I kept on writing through college, and managed to finish a novel a year or so after I finished college, and although it was complete rubbish, it did confirm for me that at the very least I had the stamina to write a story of novel length. A few years after that, I got the idea for Eightball Boogie. It started out as a short story homage to the classic scene in private eye novels, in which the client appears in the private eye’s office with a case; and I liked the character of Harry Rigby so much that I decided to keep going with it, just to see how he’d fare out. I finished the novel about eighteen months later, not really having any idea of what I was doing, and sent out some chapters to two Irish agents; about six months later I’d had a rejection from one, and had almost forgotten about the other. I really had no expectations of the story; it was just a fun thing to do. Anyway, the second agent liked the sample I’d sent, and asked to see the rest, and about a year after that, in 2003, Eightball Boogie was published.

“I’ve written six novels since, although only two have been published: The Big O in 2007, and Crime Always Pays in 2009. My latest novel will be published later this year; formerly known as The Baby Killers, it now revels in the working title Absolute Zero Cool. It’s about a hospital porter deranged by his singular brand of logic, who decides to blow up the hospital where he works. It’s a comedy, by the way. John Banville has described it as a cross between Raymond Chandler and Flann O’Brien, with which I am well pleased.”

What is your writing process?

“I have a full-time job as an arts journalist, and my wife and I have a baby girl, so I need to squeeze my writing time in around the margins of the day-to-day stuff. So my ‘process’ tends to be adaptable. When I am writing, though, by which I mean when I’m fully committed to a novel, then I write from about 5.30am to 7am, or 8am. I’m not a natural writer, at least not in the way that someone like Lawrence Durrell was, who could write 10,000 words at a sitting and then scrap the entire block the next day if he wasn’t happy with it, and write another 10,000. I tend to grind the words out very slowly, and it’s very much three steps forward, two steps back. I set myself a target of 500 words per day, and if I write 1,000 words, then that’s a very good day indeed. It takes a year or so to get a first draft together, and then I’ll let that sit for a few months, and go back to it with (hopefully) fresh eyes. After that, it’ll take as many drafts as it takes to get it right, or to the point where I think any more tinkering will be pointless or self-defeating.”

What authors most inspire you?

“Well, different writers inspire me for different reasons. When things aren’t going well, and I find myself bitching about all the pressures that are keeping me away from writing, I try to keep Jim Thompson in mind, and the times when he’d come home from the drudgery of his day job and lock himself in the bathroom with the typewriter on his knees, and start writing. Then there are writers like James Ellroy and Cormac McCarthy, who can tell a terrific story while manipulating language in a wonderfully inventive way. I love Lawrence Durrell for his facility with language, even though his novels aren’t particularly interesting plot-wise. John Connolly is a big inspiration, firstly as the first of a new breed of Irish crime writers to excel by the standards of the American crime novel, but also for his willingness to try different things, as with The Book of Lost Things, and his newer novels for young adults. But those names are just the tip of the iceberg - there are many, many writers I’d look to for inspiration, and each one for a different reason.”

What one book, written by someone else, do you wish you’d written yourself?

“I’m going to pick a few, if that’s okay. Peter Pan by JM Barrie is an exquisitely written fairytale, it’s probably my favourite story. The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler - when I read the first paragraph of that novel for the first time, I had the very weird sensation that I was coming home, which is something I’ve experienced only rarely with a novel. Another one was The Magus by John Fowles, a brilliant example of a literary thriller, with the added bonus of being set in the Greek islands - although the last quarter of it, to my mind, is superfluous (Kingsley Amis, on being asked shortly before he died if he would change anything about his life, thought for a moment and said, “Well, I wouldn’t read The Magus again.”). But, as with inspiring writers, there are dozens and dozens of books I’d love to have written - The Catcher in the Rye, Treasure Island, LA Confidential, When Eight Bells Toll by Alistair McLean, Adrian McKinty’s As Dead I Well May Be, Pronto by Elmore Leonard, The Double Tongue by William Golding … it’s a very, very long list.”

How have you marketed and promoted your work?

“As an arts journalist, I have some decent contacts in the Irish media, but when Eightball Boogie was published, the publisher pretty much told me to sit on my hands, that they would take care of the marketing and promotion themselves - apparently it was considered unseemly for an author to get his or her hands dirty that way. I’ll never make that mistake again. Eightball got some terrific reviews, and was short-listed for the Irish Books Awards that year, and yet the amount of promotion and marketing it received was minimal at best. Which was, as you can imagine, very frustrating.

“When it came to The Big O, I co-published the novel with Hag’s Head Press on a 50-50 costs-and-profits basis, and we had literally no budget for promotion. So I established the Crime Always Pays blog, in part to promote The Big O, in part to celebrate Irish crime writing, and went forth into the blogosphere to spread the word. That was, and continues to be, a very rewarding experience. The online crime writing community was very welcoming, very helpful, and it played no small part in The Big O being picked up by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt in the US on a two-book deal. Which was great in itself, but the bonus that I didn’t expect was that I’d meet so many like-minded people, and develop such strong friendships online. Of course, I’m very happy to receive mainstream (print) reviews too, and The Big O did very well in that respect; but the big advantage of promotion and / or marketing online is that it doesn’t feel like it’s promotion and marketing - it’s more of an on-going conversation, with an ever-expanding number of friends.

“When I published Crime Always Pays as an e-book, I couldn’t foresee at the time that it would coincide with a particularly busy period in my personal life, which meant that everything superfluous - writing, promotion, blogging, etc. - went by the wayside for a while. So I didn’t really have the time to invest in promoting Crime Always Pays, which is one of my few regrets about publishing it as an e-book.”

Why publish on Kindle?

“I suppose it would be quicker to give my reasons for not publishing on Kindle. I love print books, as most readers do, but what’s fundamental to me about books are the stories and the quality of writing. In other words, it’s the content rather than the delivery system that matters most, and at the same time, the e-book format incorporates a convenience and accessibility that the traditional book (and bookstore) doesn’t have. As well as that, I love the immediacy of e-publishing, and the freedom it affords an author to bypass the traditional publishing model, if he or she so chooses, and speak directly to the reader. It’s a brave new world in publishing at the moment, and the e-book format seems to me to be delivering what a whole new generation of readers require, and particularly a generation reared to be technology-friendly.

“But I think the potential inherent in e-books offers even more than that. My agent, Allan Guthrie, likens the impact of e-publishing to that of the introduction of paperback originals in the 1940s and '50s, particularly in terms of the horrified response from the conservative elements of the publishing industry, but I’d suggest that the long-term impact will be even more dramatic than that. I think, given the potential of the Kindle and various e-readers, and particularly in terms of the format and delivery system, a radical new way of storytelling is about to dawn, akin to the one that occurred when the oral tradition of storytelling developed into to classical theatre. In other words, I think the potential is there for a much more inclusive, immersive and interactive kind of storytelling. It’s very early days yet, of course, but e-books offer the opportunity to a writer to tell a story that incorporates sound and vision, digressions into other stories and information resources … It’ll get complicated, but I think storytelling is about to advance onto an entirely more complex plane.”

What advice would you give to a first-time author thinking of self-publishing on Kindle?

“Well, it’s very early days for me in terms of Kindle publishing, so I wouldn’t presume to offer advice to anyone. For what it’s worth, though, my experience is that self-publishing to Kindle isn’t the quick-fix route to publishing that some people might think it is. If you believe that, then your potential readers are going to see that very quickly, and will move past your books to read someone who takes the publishing process every bit as seriously as the traditional publishers do. In other words, the fundamentals are every bit as vital: a good story, well written; a professional approach to editing, formatting, sub-editing; particular attention given to your first contact with potential readers, i.e., the cover. I’d also suggest that, once the book is published, that the writer bear in mind that self-promotion and marketing are just as important as the book itself; even if it’s the best book ever written, it needs to be brought to the attention of potential readers, or otherwise it’ll just wither away. As for any other advice, well, I’m very much at the beginning of a steep learning curve, so I’d appreciate any and all advice any readers can give me.” - Declan Burke

EIGHTBALL BOOGIE: on Kindle UK, Kindle US, many other formats, and free as a hard copy paperback.

Friday

My Top Ten Crime Novels: Declan Burke

It’s not a book I hear mentioned a lot these days, but Alistair MacLean’s WHEN EIGHT BELLS TOLL is one of my favourite crime thrillers, and one I tend to indulge myself with a re-read every couple of years. Yes, I know MacLean isn’t exactly hip anymore, but, well, hip schmip. It’s a very neat piece of Bond pastiche / parody / homage, with the added bonus - by Ian Fleming’s standards, at least - of being unusually realistic for a thriller, and the setting of the west coast of Scotland is hugely atmospheric, possibly because it’s always raining.
  I first read WHEN EIGHT BELLS TOLL in my mid-teens, and it was hugely influential on me. I particularly liked the deadpan stoicism and ever-so-slightly knowing first-person narration delivered by the ‘hero’, the put-upon but resourceful spook Calvert. When my first novel appeared, people were generous enough to favourably mention the blatant Chandleresque rip-off, and some even mentioned John D. MacDonald and Jim Thompson (the latter due to the epigraph I used, probably), but even moreso than Chandler, EIGHTBALL BOOGIE was heavily influenced by Colin Bateman’s DIVORCING JACK and Alistair MacLean’s WHEN EIGHT BELLS TOLL - hence the ‘EIGHT’ in EIGHTBALL BOOGIE. To wit:
WHEN EIGHT BELLS TOLL by Alistair MacLean
I’m not normally a fan of thrillers, but when I read this at a young age it seemed to me a low-fi James Bond novel, and all the more enjoyable for it. In fact, it’s Bond laced with Chandlerisms, set in a superbly drawn Scottish landscape of islands, crags, inlets and castles, and combines the page-turning quality of the high-concept thriller with a grittily realistic spy tale reminiscent of Le Carré.
  Anyway, the reason I mention WHEN EIGHT BELLS TOLL is that the good people at Book Aware asked me to contribute my Top Ten Crime Novels to their list, as flagged earlier this week by Ken Bruen’s Top Ten Crime Novels. For the full list of my own Top Ten, which includes James Ellroy, Adrian McKinty, John McFetridge, Jim Thompson, The Artist Formerly Known As Colin Bateman and Barry Gifford, clickety-click on Book Aware here
  Book Aware is hosting a series of such lists, with the aim of supporting Sightsavers, which has the vision of ‘a world where no one is blind from avoidable causes and where visually impaired people participate equally in society. Help Sightsavers help people enjoy the world of books too.’ Any writers wishing to help out Book Aware and Sightsavers by contributing their own Top Ten Favourite Novels should contact Neil at neil(at)galwayprint.ie.

Wednesday

Nobody Move, This Is A Review: DEXTER IS DELICIOUS by Jeff Lindsay

Jeff Lindsay is the bestselling author of five ‘Dexter’ novels: DARKLY DREAMING DEXTER (2004), DEARLY DEVOTED DEXTER (2005), DEXTER IN THE DARK (2007), DEXTER BY DESIGN (2009) and DEXTER IS DELICIOUS (2010). The novels are set in contemporary Florida.
  The first Dexter novel, DARKLY DREAMING DEXTER, wasn’t just a popular success, it was also nominated for a ‘Best First Novel’ Edgar. It was subsequently dropped from the category, however, when it was discovered that Jeff Lindsay had previously published novels under a different name.
  The character of Dexter is an intriguing one. He is a broadly sympathetic sociopath, and can be read as a linear descendant of both Patricia Highsmith’s Ripley and Robert Harris’s Hannibal Lecter.
  Where Dexter differs from these characters is in the way he harnesses his homicidal impulses in order to kill only those particularly vile criminals who are a threat to society. In effect, and while works a day job as a forensic technician for the Miami Police Department specialising in blood traces, his true calling is as a vigilante who believes himself to be reinforcing the thin blue line.
  Dexter was taught at an early age to control and channel his homicidal instincts by his father, Harry, who was himself a Miami cop. Dexter operates to a strictly observed ‘Code’ of ethics, according to which he only ever kills other killers.
  The novels are told in the first person. The tone is jaunty, with Dexter acutely aware of his failings, and also of how incongruous his nature is. The first-person narrative allows for plenty of asides to the reader, and lashings of morbidly black humour. The pace is swift, with short, snappy chapters maintaining the momentum.
  He is married to Rita, who has two young children (Astor and Cody) from a previous relationship. Rita is oblivious to Dexter’s true nature. Her children, however, share his dark secret and his instincts.
  The current novel, DEXTER IS DELICIOUS, offers a number of twists on the standard Dexter story. The story opens with the birth of Dexter’s child, Lily Anne, which has the effect of ‘humanising’ him to a degree that he previously considered impossible (Dexter frequently refers to himself as ‘inhuman’). The novel also introduces Dexter’s long-lost brother, Brian, who appears to have a malign interest in Cody and Astor.
  The narrative thrust of the story has Dexter helping his foster-sister, Detective Sgt Deborah Morgan, investigate a series of gruesome murders perpetrated by a group of Miami-based cannibals.
  Lindsay treads a very fine line in the Dexter novels. Readers respond well to the fact that Dexter privately cuts through a lot of red tape and the usual boring detail of police procedural work in order to render a very crude form of natural justice.
  By the same token, Dexter himself works for the Miami Police Department, and is publicly bound by a more conventional expression of law and order. It is also to his credit that, as the novels have progressed, Dexter has become more aware of his own failings.
  What is interesting about the Dexter novels is that they present the reader with a moral conundrum. The anti-heroes in the novels of Patricia Highsmith, Robert Harris and Jim Thompson, for example, are sympathetically drawn, but it’s always clear that they are not intended to be read as forces for good.
  Dexter, on the other hand, is a serial killer, yet Lindsay wants the reader to accept that Dexter is a positive character, and that the world is enhanced by his acting on his murderous impulses, regardless of how refined and sophisticated he has rendered those impulses. For all the jaunty humour and self-deprecating asides, this conceit never fully works for me.
  I also had issues with the extent to which Dexter, a crime scene technician, was free to accompany Detective Sgt Morgan as she sped around Miami investigating the case of the feasting cannibals. Dexter spends far more time out of his office than in it, with no superior asking questions about his absences, and while Lindsay makes great play of the adversarial relationship between Dexter and Morgan, and the extent to which she bullies him into going along with her whims (she detests her new partner, for example, and prefers Dexter’s company and insights), the frequency of such trips make the story increasingly implausible.
  That said, Lindsay is not aiming for gritty realism here. The Dexter novels (and the spin-off TV series) have far more in common with CSI Miami than The Wire, say. The novels are intended, you’d have to assume, as wish-fulfilment hokum, and for the most part they fulfil their remit.
  Dexter’s black humour begins to grate after a while, particularly in terms of his self-deprecating references to his weaknesses when compared with the stronger women in his life, and especially as we know that he is capable of tremendous savagery. Humour is a very personal thing, of course, but I did find that it detracted from the character rather than added to him.
  Much more interesting is Lindsay’s take on Dexter’s extended family, even if very few of the characters are linked to Dexter by flesh and blood. The latest arrival, Lily Anne, is the exception.
  His father, Harry, was an adoptive father; he has a foster-sister, Sgt Deborah Morgan; his ‘children’ previous to Lily Anne are Cody and Astor, Rita’s son and daughter from a previous relationship. His brother, Brian, turns up in the new novel, after a long period of estrangement.
  Other than Lily Anne, Brian is Dexter’s “only biological relative, as far as I knew, although considering the little I had uncovered about our round-heeled mother, anything was possible.”
  While this extended, complex family offers the promise of some insights into the nature of the contemporary fracturing of the traditional nuclear family unit, Lindsay does very little to develop it. His frequent declarations of love for his new baby sound heartfelt at first, although they do become rather banal through repetition.
  More significantly, perhaps, the construction of the novel - the swift pace, the short chapters, the jocular tone - are not conducive to Lindsay exploring any theme or subject in any great depth. This is as true of Dexter’s own psychological complexities as it is of his complicated family.
  All told, DEXTER IS DELICIOUS is a fun, breezy read that demands too little, given the seriousness of its subject matter, of the reader. For a more profound take on the mind of a psychopathic killer, read Patricia Highsmith or Jim Thompson instead. - Declan Burke

  Jeff Lindsay’s DEXTER IS DELICIOUS is published by Orion

Tuesday

Brother, Can You Spare A Dime-Store Dostoevsky?

Robert Polito’s SAVAGE ART is one of the best literary biographies I’ve ever read, although it’s fair to say that Jim Thompson (right) gave Polito plenty of material to work with. Below is a very brief overview of Thompson’s career, which was published last Friday in the Irish Times in advance of the release of Michael Winterbottom’s reboot of THE KILLER INSIDE ME. To wit:

Michael Winterbottom’s The Killer Inside Me had a torrid time at the Sundance and Berlin Film Festivals. Based on a novel by Jim Thompson, the film sharply divided critics, being booed for its portrayal of excessive violence against women and praised for its fidelity to its source material. In this much at least, the film is true to Jim Thompson form. Thompson has always divided people, and never more so than when creating his grotesque characters.
  Played by Casey Affleck in the movie, Sheriff Lou Ford is a split-personality psychotic. Amiable and soft-spoken in public, he is privately a monster. In the 1952 novel, Ford is the prototype for what would become the archetypal Thompson creation, being a nihilistic and violent loner with a perverse philosophy which is accessed in frightening detail via a first-person narrative. But Thompson wasn’t simply writing schlock-horror. His peer Geoffrey O’Brien dubbed him ‘the dime-store Dostoevsky’ for his fascination with the Russian author, while Stephen Frears, who directed The Grifters in 1990, claimed that Thompson’s work had uncanny parallels with Greek tragedy.
  Born in 1906 in Oklahoma into a well-to-do family which subsequently fell from grace, Thompson spent his formative years drifting through middle America taking on a variety of jobs that exposed him to the sordid underbelly of the American Dream. He finally settled in California, and in the 1940s published two literary novels that were critically well-received but sold little. A graduate of the lurid pulp magazines, Thompson turned his hand to the more lucrative crime fiction market when he published Nothing More Than Murder in 1949. Then, in 1952, The Killer Inside Me appeared.
  Hard-boiled crime writers such as Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler and James M. Cain had by then long since taken murder out of the drawing room, as Chandler said of Hammett, and dropped it in the alleyway, where it belonged. What Thompson achieved was to personalise the criminal mind to an unprecedented degree, not simply offering a first-person take on the kind of deranged mind that kills for fun, but exploring in the process the existential extremes to which an unhinged imagination can run. Lou Ford was the precursor to Patricia Highsmith’s Tom Ripley and Robert Harris’s Hannibal Lecter. If good crime writing offers an analysis of a nation’s mental health, Jim Thompson was crime fiction’s Sigmund Freud, contributing a fevered, overwrought and compelling account of the killer inside us all.
  The quality of Thompson’s output was uneven, which isn’t surprising given that he wrote in a furious outpouring. Between 1952 and 1954, for example, he penned four to five novels per year. Bedevilled by demons, not least of them a life-time’s alcoholism, his novels were often sloppily written. His best work, however - Savage Night, The Getaway, The Grifters, Pop. 1280 - are among the finest and most disturbing crime novels ever written.
  Hollywood picked up on Thompson’s skewed vision, with the author first working with Stanley Kubrick on the screenplay for The Killing (1956). Thompson got minimal credit from Kubrick, although that didn’t prevent him from writing the screenplay for Paths of Glory (1957), when Kubrick again denied Thompson his full credit. Disillusioned, Thompson eventually drifted into writing for TV, although by the late 1960s he was virtually destitute and unemployable as a result of his heavy drinking.
  Sam Peckinpah adapted Thompson’s The Getaway (1972) in a film starring Steve McQueen and Ali McGraw. The tale of a heist gone wrong, the movie is hailed as a classic example of minimalist crime cinema. Yet the film, and the 1994 remake starring Alec Baldwin and Kim Basinger, ended where Thompson’s novel started to get truly interesting, when the pair of mutually suspicious runaways fetch up in a surreal Mexican bolt-hole, doomed to watch their swag dwindle and suffer through Sartre’s version of hell in a microcosm.
  Thompson died in 1977 after a series of strokes, a few short years before he was discovered by French filmmakers. In 1979, Alain Corneau adapted A Hell of a Woman to make Série Noire, which was followed in 1981 by Bernard Tavernier’s Coup de Torchon, adapted from Pop. 1280. Thompson again found favour in Hollywood, with the pick of a slew of adaptations being Stephen Frears’ The Grifters (1990). The film starred John Cusack and Angelica Huston and garnered four Academy nominations.
  Michael Winterbottom’s The Killer Inside Me, which was first made by Burt Kennedy in 1976 and starred Stacy Keach as a lacklustre Lou Ford, might yet find Thompson the subject of a long overdue reappraisal. Be warned, however - you may require a strong stomach. And a pair of earplugs to drown out the boos might be advisable. - Declan Burke

Jim Thompson on Celluloid

The Killing (1956)
A seminal film noir about a racetrack heist doomed to failure, directed by Stanley Kubrick and starring Sterling Hayden and noir stalwart Elisha Cook Jnr. Clocking in at 85 minutes, there literally isn’t a wasted second.

The Getaway (1976)
Sam Peckinpah directed Steve McQueen and Ali McGraw in a doomed bank heist. McQueen rejected Thompson’s script as dialogue-heavy, and had the film rewritten to include a happy ending.

Série Noire (1979)
Franck Poupart plays a door-to-door salesman drawn into murder by a teenager prostituted by her aunt. The mood of bleak existential gloom degenerates into utter despair.

Coup de Torchon (1981)
Bernard Tavernier relocated Thompson’s small-town 1950’s America setting to a French African colony in 1938. Racism, simmering tension and psychotic impulses make for a modern classic.

The Grifters (1990)
John Cusack and Angelica Huston play a couple of con artists who just so happen to be incestuous lovers. The final scene is a bleakly harrowing as anything mainstream Hollywood has ever produced.

  Michael Winterbottom’s The Killer Inside Me is released on June 4.

  This feature first appeared in the Irish Times.

Thursday

Nobody Move, This Is A Review: The Killer Inside Me (18s)

Sheriff Lou Ford (Casey Affleck) is a soft-spoken, well-mannered Southern gentleman as he patrols his small Texas town, but Lou is not all that he seems. Ordered to run Joyce (Jessica Alba), a local prostitute, out of town, Lou batters the woman to death, then shoots dead the man infatuated with her - even though Lou himself was having an affair with Joyce.
  Based on a Jim Thompson novel, The Killer Inside Me is told through Lou’s eyes, and features a voiceover from Affleck that offers a chilling insight into the banal evil of a man who is a homicidal psychotic. Affleck’s understated performance is perfectly pitched, creating a sympathetic portrayal of a character who is utterly repulsive - the scene in which Affleck beats Alba to a pulp is harrowing, even by contemporary cinema’s standards. And yet the audience can perfectly understand why Lou’s sweetheart, Amy (Kate Hudson), might fall for him: he is tender, intelligent and well-educated.
  The director, Michael Winterbottom, recreates the small-town Americana of the 1950s with an unerring eye, giving the movie a dreamy quality that regularly flips over into nightmare whenever the switch flips in Lou’s head. A good cast provides excellent support, with Ned Beatty, Elias Koteas, Simon Baker, Bill Pullman and Brent Briscoe all paying the price, in one form or another, for attempting to thwart Lou’s plans.
  Be warned that this is not one for the faint-hearted, as the violence has a perversely intimate quality to it that makes it utterly shocking. That said, as a crime thriller and a forensically telling psychological exploration of psychosis, The Killer Inside Me is a viscerally engaging experience. **** - Declan Burke

Wednesday

Hit And Myth

Just how timeless, exactly, are the themes of noir? That’s a question implicitly explored by Gerard Brennan and Mike Stone, co-editors of REQUIEMS FOR THE DEPARTED: IRISH CRIME, IRISH MYTHS, a collection of short crime stories which draws on Irish mythology for inspiration, and features Ken Bruen, Arlene Hunt, Adrian McKinty, Brian McGilloway, Garbhan Downey and Sam Millar, among others. The book gets an outing in the Arts pages of today’s Irish Times, with the intro kicking off thusly:
Star-crossed lovers on the lam. It could be Red and Mumsie in Geoffrey Homes’ BUILD MY GALLOWS HIGH; Doc and Carol in Jim Thompson’s THE GETAWAY , maybe Bowie and Keechie in Edward Anderson’s THIEVES LIKE US, or any number of classic noir tales.
  But Diarmuid and Grainne?
  REQUIEMS FOR THE DEPARTED: IRISH CRIME, IRISH MYTHS is a compilation of contemporary short crime stories based on Irish myths and legends.
  “There are many parallels between contemporary crime tales and Irish mythology,” says Gerard Brennan, who is co-editor of the collection, along with Mike Stone.
  “Consider one of the most powerful icons of crime fiction: the femme fatale. Seductive, irresistible and deadly . . . this description hangs well on the great queen and Irish war deity, Morrigan, who amongst her many adventures steals from the mighty Cúchulainn, offers him her love, and when spurned, engineers his death.”
  For the rest, clickety-click here

Sunday

Nobody Move, This Is A Review: TRUE CRIME: AN AMERICAN ANTHOLOGY, ed. Harold Schechter

This anthology is an important contribution to the understanding and chronicling of true crime reporting in the US by contemporaneous authors.
  It ranges from 1651 (the hanging of John Billington) to 2001 (the trial of the Menendez brothers for murdering their parents.
  Billington was on the first ship from England to the Plymouth Colony and was regarded by everyone on board as depraved and boorish, so no one was surprised when he killed a fellow Plymouth Brethern some years later over a trivial incident.
  The Menendez brothers shot their parents to death in the family home in Elm Drive, an affluent address in Beverly Hills, with fourteen twelve-gauge shotgun rounds that obliterated the parents’ heads and torsos.
  Other stories covered include Ed Gein (the basis for the movie Psycho), the Son of Sam, the Black Dahlia murder, the Turner-Stompanato (self-defence) killing and the Loeb and Leopold (Superman) case.
  The quality of the writing across the centuries and decades is very engaging and high calibre. The styles are varied and often attain high art. Some are straight narratives, some are social commentaries, some are psychological analysis, some are essays on guilt and evidence.
  The cases in the book run the gamut from the obscure to the high celebrity ones. The authors include well known crime writers like Herbert Ashbury, Theodore Dreiser, Jim Thompson, Jack Webb, Robert Bloch, Truman Capote, James Ellroy, Ann Rule and Dominick Dunne in addition to writers like Abraham Lincoln, Benjamin Franklin, Nathaniel Hawthorn, Mark Twain and Damon Runyon.
  The editor, Dr. Harold Schechter, a professor of American Literature and Culture, at Queen's College in New York, has written a masterful introduction which delineates the growth of true crime reportage, the seminal influence of IN COLD BLOOD, and the basis of true crime for authors of crime fiction such as Dashiell Hammett, Joyce Carol Oates and James Ellroy. Schechter is also the author of many books on true crime and crime fiction.
  One major bonus of this book is the introduction to each piece written by Schechter and the primary and secondary sources that he lists for stories.
  The only major deficit, for a book published in 2008, is the dearth of modern coverage. The newest writing dates from 2001.
  For crime writing later than 2001, the annual series, The Best American Crime Reporting, is essential. These volumes are a lucid and comprehensive documentation of the best in US true crime writing. (Best American Crime Reporting 2009 is due for publication Sep 15th 2009 – a review to follow on publication).
  TRUE CRIME: AN AMERICAN ANTHOLOGY, however, remains an essential volume in understanding the genesis and exposition of crime reporting as a legitimate specialization within journalism and creative non-fiction. – Seamus Scanlon

“Ya Wanna Do It Here Or Down The Station, Punk?”: Nate Flexer

Yep, it’s rubber-hose time, folks: a rapid-fire Q&A for those shifty-looking usual suspects ...

What crime novel would you most like to have written?
POP. 1280 by Jim Thompson. One of the more subversive books ever written. And a great philosophical discussion on whether pleasuring a pig would constitute rape.

What fictional character would you most like to have been?
Fred from Scooby Doo. I liked his orange ascot. Plus, the dude got more ass than a toilet seat. By the way, was I the only one who was more attracted to Velma than Daphne? Really? I was?

Who do you read for guilty pleasures?
I enjoy reading self-help books.

Most satisfying writing moment?

When my mother finished reading THE DISASSEMBLED MAN and asked if there was anything she could have done differently in raising me.

The best Irish crime novel is …?

THE BUTCHER BOY by Patrick McCabe. McCabe is a master at creating off-centre protagonists, and Francie Brady is the most off-centre of them all. I’m not easily disturbed, and that book frickin’ disturbed me.

What Irish crime novel would make a great movie?
PRIEST by Ken Bruen. THE BIG O by Declan Burke.

Worst / best thing about being a writer?
The best thing is the incredible amount of wealth that I’ve accumulated. I now use hundred-dollar bills to wipe my ass. The worst is the paparazzi. I can’t even go on a date with the local hooker without getting swarmed.

The pitch for your next book is …?

I’m working on a book tentatively titled CROWS IN THE STEEPLE. It’s a Wyoming Gothic. The protagonist is a fellow named Benton Faulk who is either a returning war hero or a delusional psychopath, depending who you believe. It’s a story the whole family will enjoy.

Who are you reading right now?

THE WIDOW by Georges Simenon. Can you say nihilism?

God appears and says you can only write OR read. Which would it be?
I would tell God that he should concern himself with something a little more important than my reading and writing habits. Like that pothole on Steele Street, for example. Well, nobody else in town is doing anything about it!

The three best words to describe your own writing are …?
Frightening, warped, repulsive. Oh, my writing? I thought you were asking about me.

Nate Flexer’s THE DISASSEMBLED MAN is available now.

Working-Class Literature: Or, Hurrah For Dickheads

‘Blade Runner’ is one of my favourite movies, regardless of which version I happen to be watching, but I’d never read the novel, DO ANDROIDS DREAM OF ELECTRIC SHEEP? For a variety of reasons, but mainly because I’d heard and read that Philip K. Dick was brilliant on ideas, but not such a great writer – this despite our favourite Dickhead’s testimony. Anyway, I started into ANDROIDS about a week ago, and was loving it until I had to put it down halfway through, to read a book for review. Dick isn’t the finest stylist ever to write prose, but on first reading he reminds me a lot of Jim Thompson – crude in places, for sure, but utterly compelling.
  Anyway, on the day I had to put away ANDROIDS I was browsing through a second-hand bookshop and came across I AM ALIVE AND YOU ARE DEAD: A JOURNEY INTO THE MIND OF PHILIP K. DICK by Emmanuel Carrère. It’s terrific stuff, and I’ve been dipping in and out all week. Dick wrote sci-fi, of course, but tinged with crime fic, and this little nugget in particular grabbed my attention. It’s from when Carrère is covering the early part of Dick’s career, circa 1955, with the McCarthyite anti-Communist purge in full spate and Dick’s then wife Kleo under scrutiny by two FBI agents who have come to visit:
No question about it: had he been one of the witch-hunters, Phil wouldn’t have bothered with fashionable East Coast intellectuals or Hollywood scriptwriters who wore their Communist sympathies on their sleeve; they were red herrings. He would have kept his eyes on the true manipulators of public opinion, the guys working down where it counted, turning out fodder for the masses, working-class literature that intellectuals affected to disdain.
  ‘Working-class literature’. Has a nice ring to it, don’tcha think?