THE DYING BREED: Not Quite Dead Yet

He may not have won the Edgar last week, but Squire Declan Hughes (right) is back-back-BACK! THE PRICE OF BLOOD / THE DYING BREED is up for a Macavity ‘Best Mystery’ Award, with the competition looking something like this:

TRIGGER CITY by Sean Chercover (Wm. Morrow)
WHERE MEMORIES LIE by Deborah Crombie (Wm. Morrow)
THE DYING BREED (UK)/ THE PRICE OF BLOOD (US) by Declan Hughes (John Murray/ Wm. Morrow)
THE DRAINING LAKE by Arnaldur Indridason (Minotaur)
CURSE OF THE SPELLMANS by Lisa Lutz (Simon & Schuster)
THE CRUELEST MONTH by Louise Penny (Minotaur)
THE FAULT TREE by Louise Ure (Minotaur)

  Correct me if I’m wrong (it’s a figure of speech, fact-fiends) but Squire Hughes is the only one on that list who was also nominated for an Edgar. Which augurs well for his chances when the envelope is opened at this year’s Bouchercon in Indiana, which takes place from October 15-18. It also augurs well for his being nominated for a host of other awards at said B’con, and doing a Tana French on it and sweeping the boards … with the added bonus that Squire Hughes is guaranteed to turn up and make a speech. Or two. And then sing, quite possibly ‘The Fields of Athenry’. And then make another speech.
  The point being, convention organiser-types, that it’s a good idea to have Squire Hughes nominated for awards. The man gives value for money … Oh, and have I mentioned yet how good ALL THE DEAD VOICES is? Suffice to say it’s his best yet … and if you don’t believe me, try this.

Messrs Connolly And Hughes Would Like To Announce …

Perennial messers John Connolly and Declan Hughes launch THE REAPERS and THE DYING BREED, respectively, at Dubray Books on Grafton Street in Dublin next Thursday, May 8th, and have been kind enough to extend an invitation to toddle along to anyone who happens to be in the general vicinity (possible consequences pictured, right). For no further information whatsoever, or at least not yet, you could always check out Dec Hughes’ interweb yokeybus, The Parting Glass; and for even less information, if that were possible, try John Connolly’s blog – albeit with the kicker that there’s a smashing piece on Ross Macdonald’s THE CHILL, which is the first book in JC’s on-line book club. The Grand Vizier has deigned to allow the elves and HR Pufnstuf the evening off to attend, although the flying monkeys are still grounded after the recent ‘unpleasantness’ with the belly-dancing dwarves in the Duke pub. Anyhoo, Critical Mick, sir? If you bring the picinick basket, I’ll bring the blanket and the Yogi Bear quips …

DEAD Man Tells New Tales

That blummin’ Declan Hughes (right), eh? Can’t sit still. No sooner is the ink dry on the latest in the Ed Loy series, THE DYING BREED, than the Irish Ross Macdonald is wibbling on about the fourth instalment, CITY OF THE DEAD, to Dana King over at New Mystery Reader, with the gist running thusly:

“CITY OF THE DEAD sees Loy take the case of a woman whose father was murdered fifteen years ago; her mother’s lover was convicted of the crime, but the conviction was found to be unsafe, and he was released. The dead man was a tax inspector, and at the time of his death, was preparing tax evasion investigations into three men: a major gangland figure, an IRA terrorist and a prominent businessman. The Guards refuse to re-open the case, insisting, despite the verdict of the appeal court, that the right man was found guilty. Now the IRA are on ceasefire, and the businessman is a friend to politicians, and the gangland figure has paid his debts and gone legit, Loy finds the investigation extremely complicated, and begins to suspect it is in no-one’s interest except the dead man’s family to uncover the truth.”

Aye, but will there be blood? Trundle on over to New Mystery Reader for the inside skinny as to why ‘Declan Hughes, John Connolly, Adrian McKinty, Declan Burke (koff), Ken Bruen and others’ are heralding ‘a golden age’ in Irish crime fiction …

The Best Things In Life Are Free … Books

Following on from the super soaraway success that was our competition for Declan Hughes’ latest, THE DYING BREED, a couple of weeks ago, the ever-lovely people at Hodder Headline Ireland have been in touch to suggest another – oh yes! – Declan Hughes competition. This time it’s to coincide with the paperback release of THE COLOUR OF BLOOD, and we have three copies to give away. First, the blurb elves:

Emily Howard is nineteen years old, slim and petite with a pale complexion and a red rose tattoo. She is also missing. She disappeared three days ago, and now her father has been sent photographs of her naked body. He is desperate to find her. So he calls Ed Loy, a private investigator who knows the dark streets of Dublin better than most; a man who will find Emily Howard within twenty-four hours. But locating Emily turns out to be only the beginning. Within hours, Emily's ex-boyfriend is found murdered, and Loy finds himself in a race against time to catch a killer – and to unearth the many dark secrets the Howard family have kept long buried.

To be in with a chance of winning a copy, just answer the all-important question:

Declan Hughes’ novels feature the private eye Ed Loy, but is the Ed short for:
(a) Edward;
(b) Mr Ed;
(c) Champion the Wonder Horse?

Answers to dbrodb(at)gmail.com, putting ‘Oi, didn’t yon Brian Moore have book called that?’ in the subject line, and including your address in the body text, before noon on Tuesday, April 1st. Et bon chance, mes amis …

Nobody Move, This Is A Review: THE DYING BREED by Declan Hughes

With his first two novels, THE WRONG KIND OF BLOOD and THE COLOUR OF BLOOD, Declan Hughes established his series protagonist, Ed Loy, as a private investigator very much in the mould of Ross Macdonald’s Lew Archer. The novels, set in a fictionalised Dublin, Ireland, are largely concerned with dysfunctional families, and how the sins of the father (and / or mother) are almost inevitably visited on their offspring. There is at times an almost Biblical quality to the way in which Hughes insists that the blood passed on is diseased by deeds which, if not exactly Evil with a capital E, are certainly the venal outworkings of an ambitiously grasping generation infected by the vast sums of newly available cash sloshing around courtesy of Ireland’s ‘Celtic Tiger’ economic boom.
  Hughes returns to this theme in his third novel, THE DYING BREED (aka THE PRICE OF BLOOD for its U.S. release, through William Morrow). Commissioned by a dying priest, Fr Vincent Tyrell, to find a former jockey who has gone missing, Loy has only a name to go on. But Fr Tyrell’s name is in itself evocative: the priest is the brother of the hugely successful racehorse trainer and breeder FX Tyrell. Soon Loy finds himself immersed in the murky underworld of Irish horse racing, with dead bodies piling up as he inches closer to the dark heart of a family that appears to have much in common with the Medicis and the Borgias.
  Hughes, a former playwright, is a veteran at establishing mood, pace and tone at an early stage, and the Christmas period during which the events swiftly unfold is as much a player in this story as any of its flesh-and-blood characters. He’s also very good at weaving together a number of diverse sub-plots, and here touches on a number of hot-topic issues of recent Irish history: corruption in Irish horseracing; neglect and abuse in Church-run industrial schools; the declining influence of the Church when juxtaposed with the inexorable rise of Mammon; the infiltration of all levels of Irish society by illegally amassed wealth. The style, which is of the tough, hardboiled variety, owes as much to Raymond Chandler as it does Ross Macdonald, with Hughes showcasing a deft hand at leavening the grim tone with flashes of mordant wit: “Neither had been a jockey; the plasterer sounded amused at the suggestion, the solicitor mysteriously outraged, as if I’d accused him of being a sex criminal, or a DJ.”
  The plotting, dense and complex, draws the reader further and further into a web so tangled that it becomes claustrophobic, and while the ambition is laudable, there is a sense that Hughes may well have bitten off more than he can comfortably chew. By the denouement, events have turned so complicated that Loy finds himself unable to be in at the death, and so must hear how the climactic finale occurred second-hand, courtesy of his excitable sidekick, Tommy. In saying that, there is also a palpable sense that Hughes has enough confidence in his ability to bend the rules of the first-person narration out of shape, and ironically comment on the limitations imposed by the genre, and in this he is in the vanguard of a number of Irish writers who are testing the limits of the conventional crime novel, among them Tana French, Ken Bruen, Benjamin Black, Brian McGilloway, Gene Kerrigan and John Connolly.
  In the end, all crime novels should be judged on how well they convey their insights into the environment that caused them to come into being, and on that reckoning Declan Hughes has confirmed the promise he has shown with his first two novels. THE DYING BREED is a complex, labyrinthine, gritty, coarse (and, yes, bloody) novel that exudes a brash confidence and an ambition that lies beyond its grasp – a description, it should be said, that could easily be applied to the nation that spawned the novel. It may not be the Great Irish Crime Novel some of us were hoping for, but as a snapshot of modern Ireland, it is a clearly focused picture of our faults and failings, and perhaps even our virtues too. – Declan Burke

The Best Things In Life Are Free … Books

The third volume in Declan Hughes’ Ed Loy series, THE DYING BREED (aka THE PRICE OF BLOOD, which follows on from THE COLOUR OF BLOOD and THE WRONG KIND OF BLOOD), hits a bookshelf near you on April 3rd, and the ever-lovely people at William Morrow are offering to give away an advance copy to three Crime Always Pays readers (of which, happily, there are only three). Quoth the blurb elves:

Even the best private eye needs more than a name to find a missing person, but that’s all that Father Vincent Tyrrell, the brother of prominent racehorse trainer FX Tyrrell, will offer Loy when he comes to him for help. A dwindling bank account convinces Loy to delve into the deadly underworld of horse racing, but fortune soon smiles on him: while working another case, he discovers a phone number linked to FX on a badly beaten body left at an illegal dump. Loy’s been around long enough to know that there’s more to the Tyrrell family than meets the eye -- and then a third body appears. At Christmastime, on the eve of one of Ireland’s most anticipated racing events, the intrepid investigator bets his life on a long shot: finding answers in a shady network of trading and dealing, gambling and breeding.

To be in with a chance of winning a free copy of THE DYING BREED, just answer the following question:

Is Ed Loy:
(a) distressingly obsessed with blood;
(b) not in the slightest bit obsessed with blood, but it with he;
(c) Lew Archer with a perpetual hangover?

Answers to dbrodb(at)gmail.com, putting ‘One Declan is a coincidence but two is rather unfortunate’ in the subject line, and including your address in the body text, before noon on Tuesday, March 18. Et bon chance, mes amis …

Cry Havoc, And Let Slip The Dogs Of Theatre Criticism

It’s been a good week for the micro-niche world of Irish crime fiction blogging, folks – first up we had that crazy Gerard Brennan-shaped diamond launching Crime Scene NI, which the Grand Vizier plans to lull into a false sense of security before launching an all-out attack under cover of one of the weekend nights, when all but the nerdiest of geeks are safely tucked up in front of a cosy bar. But don’t tell Gerard, because there’s nothing the Grand Vizier hates more than a fair fight. Meanwhile, playwright, novelist and square-jawed bon viveur-shaped Renaissance man Declan Hughes (right) went and cracked a bottle of electronic champagne against the prow of his new interweb yokeybus, aka The Parting Glass, and delivered a broadside against those pesky theatre critics, just in case any of those scurvy knaves were thinking of lifting a leg in the direction of his latest opus, THE DYING BREED. Quoth Dec:

“[I]n the theatre, chances are the reviews may be very negative indeed, because a) playwrights don’t review each other’s work, and b) it’s harder to be nice about even a so-so play, largely because boredom in the theatre is more painful than boredom anywhere else. I can read a book I half enjoy, and am sort of bored with, and not resent it overmuch if on balance there’s enough to keep me amused. In the theatre, that kind of evening has the GIN light flashing in my brain within fifteen minutes; by the final curtain, I want to have the director and the playwright killed. So I understand how theatre critics can err on the side of vitriol. I don’t forgive them, mind - and there’s another difference: the theatre is a strictly us-and-them game. Not only do playwrights not review each other, the theatre critic is, and often prides himself on being, Not Of The Theatre, choosing to adopt the persona of the man in the street, and if sometimes it feels like the man in the street he’s channelling is someone whose girlfriend dumped him for you, that’s just tough (The other type of theatre critic – the intellectual who takes you to task for not writing the play she would have if only she wasn’t too busy and important, or for failing in your duty to tasks you never set yourself – is way worse, of course, but at least most of her readers roll their eyes after the first pretentious paragraph and move elsewhere). The only way to deal with bad reviews is not to take them personally – and that applies in spades to the occasional scorcher that actually is. We are the lampposts, they are the dogs.”

Yes indeed we are, although CAP Towers being more enamoured of cats than dogs, the Grand Vizier is a metaphorical tray of kitty litter and the critics, well, you catch our niff-neutralized drift. Anyhoo, why not scoot on over to The Parting Glass and leave Declan Hughes a comment welcoming him to the blogosphere. You might as well, seeing as you won’t be leaving one here. Sob.