“The test of any great novel should be its verisimilitude, and Kerrigan is the one Irish writer in recent years who has come closest to re-creating the underbelly of Irish society. There are no speeches here about the scourge of new money and development. There are no cranes and flash cars symbolising a world embracing greed heartily to its nouveau riche bosom. Instead he gives us a tight, grim microcosm; and a brutal, vivid, and unforgiving authenticity made all the more convincing because of his consistent effort to strive for realism. Kerrigan prefers to pare things down to the bone with writing that is disciplined and infused with real moral awareness and honesty. It’s also an unnerving read in which the realism takes on an extra resonance. When Mackendrick threatens to kill the members of someone’s family you can’t help but think about recent gangland murders. It further heightens the almost disgusting ordinariness of the people Kerrigan writes about. More than any other book of its kind in recent memory, this is a book that asks hard questions about how a supposedly civil society has facilitated the growth of a sub-culture which is allowed to play by its own rules. There has been a huge surge in the number of successful Irish thriller writers in the past few years; each in their own way has tried to address this question, but no one has addressed in it as brave, forceful, and articulate a manner as Kerrigan.”Nice stuff, squire. Very nice indeed. For the full review, clickety-click here …
“Declan Burke is his own genre. The Lammisters dazzles, beguiles and transcends. Virtuoso from start to finish.” – Eoin McNamee “This bourbon-smooth riot of jazz-age excess, high satire and Wodehouse flamboyance is a pitch-perfect bullseye of comic brilliance.” – Irish Independent Books of the Year 2019 “This rapid-fire novel deserves a place on any bookshelf that grants asylum to PG Wodehouse, Flann O’Brien or Kyril Bonfiglioli.” – Eoin Colfer, Guardian Best Books of the Year 2019 “The funniest book of the year.” – Sunday Independent “Declan Burke is one funny bastard. The Lammisters ... conducts a forensic analysis on the anatomy of a story.” – Liz Nugent “Burke’s exuberant prose takes centre stage … He plays with language like a jazz soloist stretching the boundaries of musical theory.” – Totally Dublin “A mega-meta smorgasbord of inventive language ... linguistic verve not just on every page but every line.” – Irish Times “Above all, The Lammisters gives the impression of a writer enjoying himself. And so, dear reader, should you.” – Sunday Times “A triumph of absurdity, which burlesques the literary canon from Shakespeare, Pope and Austen to Flann O’Brien … The Lammisters is very clever indeed.” – The Guardian
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Now That’s What I Call A Review # 2,034: DARK TIMES IN THE CITY By Gene Kerrigan
Friday, May 8, 2009
The Revolution: Will Be Downloadable, Apparently
Speaking of which, says he, segueing unsteadily into a kind-of related topic … Writing in The Times yesterday, Nicholas Clee had a very interesting piece about the impact of technology, and particularly digital technology, on the publishing industry, a sample of which runneth thusly:
“Practices that have been normal in the book industry for years are becoming unsustainable … This is where digital technology, such as the EBM [‘Espresso Machine’] and electronic devices, including the Sony Reader, comes in. Printing thousands of books that sit in warehouses or on booksellers’ shelves, only to be pulped, is unsustainable. But remember the long tail: there may be a demand, albeit “niche”, for these texts. It makes sense to create digital files that can be downloaded or printed according to demand.”It’s a long-ish piece, but well worth the time of any writer …
Speaking of which, says he, segueing unsteadily, etc., The Guardian this week also had a smashing piece on how the future is going to look for writers, suggesting that the impact of the interweb means the era of the ‘gifted amateur’ is about to return. To wit:
“A misleading idea has arisen, however, that writers generally can earn enough money to do nothing else. The idea is ignorant of history, of TS Eliot keeping himself comfortable on academic stipends and a publishing house directorship, of Angus Wilson superintending the reading room at the British Museum. It may be that we have it because authorship is now so visible, with the author turned into a small celebrity. But we can all be authors now and publish ourselves on the web. What you might call the moral and aesthetic case for writing - to think, imagine and describe and then communicate the result to an audience - can be satisfied online. It just doesn’t make any money. The age of the gifted amateur is surely about to return.”So – no change there for yours truly, although I might want to work a little on the ‘gifted’ side of things. Sigh, etc. Ah well, upward and onward …
Thursday, May 7, 2009
BLOOD RUNS COLD: Hot Stuff, Baby
Yes indeedio – showing a blatant disregard for the exit poll conducted right here on Crime Always Pays, in which Alex Barclay came fourth, the good folks at the IBA, and the wider voting public, gave the thumbs aloft to BLOOD RUNS COLD. Which suggests that the IBA vote was rigged (boo!) or that the Crime Always Pays readership doesn’t know its arse from its elbow (there’s a new one for you, Peter). Personally, I’m inclined to believe the latter …
Meanwhile, in other categories, Derek Landy scooped the Senior Children’s Award for PLAYING WITH FIRE, and Ronan O’Brien won the Best Newcomer Award for CONFESSIONS OF A FALLEN ANGEL. For the full list of winners, clickety-click here …
Anyhoos, the crime fic award couldn’t have gone to a nicer home. I’ve met Alex Barclay on a few occasions, and rather than the high maintenance diva I was expecting from her ultra-glam publicity shots, she’s actually a down to earth gal, and very funny to boot. And, of course, she’s a terrific writer. Nice one, Ms Barclay.
Commiserations to the nominees who didn’t make it onto the podium, being Arlene Hunt (UNDERTOW), Brian McGilloway (GALLOWS LANE), and Tana French (THE LIKENESS). Still, it’s always nice to be nominated, folks. And, like the Olympics, it’s the taking part that counts. Or is it the taking drugs that counts? I never can remember when it comes to the Olympics …
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
A GONZO NOIR: Shine On, You Crazy Diamond
It’s always a strange time when a book goes off to the meat market. My experience of writing the books is that they generally kick off in a euphoric mood, convinced as you are that it’s the best thing you’ve ever written, and possibly the most interesting combination of words every committed to paper, parchment or papyrus. Roughly halfway in, there’s a point where you sit back and wonder whether it’s actually the most contemptible piece of effluent ever concocted, but by then you’ve invested too much time to flush it, and so you soldier on. By the time it’s finished, the relief is such that it gives you a second wind for a redraft, and off you go again, to ever diminishing returns.
Anyway, at some point it has to go off to the publishers. Naturally, this is the moment when you’re seized with panic, because it’s so stupid / clichéd / useless that the unfortunate person who has to read it may well decide it’s actually worth their while taking out a hit on your life, on the off-chance they might have to read another one of your books, which you were cunning enough to submit under a pseudonym …
Oddly enough, I feel okay about A GONZO NOIR. Odder still, I feel okay about it even though I’ve sent it out to nine or ten people, terrific writers all, asking for a blurb. ‘Isn’t that a bit previous?’ says you. ‘Aren’t you supposed to wait until you know the book is being published before you start tarting yourself out for blurbs?’ Well, yes, it is – but I thought it might be an interesting experiment to compare the reactions from the writers with the reactions from the publishers. I also thought it might be interesting to blog about the result, on an ongoing basis, just for the hell of it.
One of the reasons it might be interesting is that A GONZO NOIR is radically different to the kinds of stories I’ve had published before (a private eye novel; a crime caper), and I’ve said as much to the potential blurbees, and given them the get-out clause of backing out of their generous offer to read the m/s if it’s not their kind of thing.
So, while I’d be hopeful of getting some positive feedback, there’s a good chance I’ll be getting some negative vibes too – and not just from the publishers. Anyway, it could be fun to blog about, especially on those quiet days when Declan Hughes hasn’t been nominated for another award.
I don’t think it’d be fair to mention the potential blurbees’ names, by the way, because, well, because it somehow feels like it’d be bad manners. But I’ll blog about their reactions, and name names, when the results start coming in. I should say in advance that I know some of them personally, and that I’d made no secret of the fact that I think they’re terrific writers – but then, I only know them because they’re terrific writers, so maybe that’s a moot point. Anyway, we’ll address the log-rolling issue if and when it comes up.
Incidentally, if you’re reading this and you happen to be one of the generous souls who blurbed THE BIG O, and you’re wondering why I’m not asking you again, it’s because you’ve already done more than enough to aid my bid for world domination, and I don’t want to become a pest.
I have a good feeling, folks. While I was printing out the m/s on Monday afternoon, to get it copied and bound for sending out to the potential blurbees, I got an email, from someone who shall remain anonymous for now, but who was nearly finished reading AGN, which featured the words ‘brilliant, brilliant stuff’. A coincidence, certainly, but a very timely one.
Anyway, once it was all printed out, I started reading it. And I’m about two-thirds through at this point, and still enjoying it. Which is very odd. I don’t think it’s ‘brilliant brilliant stuff’, or anything like, but I’m glad I wrote it, and no matter what happens with it viz-a-viz publishing, I’m as proud of it as I am of THE BIG O or EIGHTBALL BOOGIE. A small thing, as the man says, but mine own …
Oh, a small thing – I’m thinking of changing the title to BAD FOR GOOD. It’s ripped off from an excellently cheesy Jim Steinman number, and I think it sums up a lot of what I find attractive about crime fiction, and it certainly makes sense to me in terms of the main character. Anyway, BAD FOR GOOD – yay or nay?
Finally, in a strange week of oddities, there’s this – or these, I should say. As all three regular readers may remember, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt last year declined to publish CRIME ALWAYS PAYS, the sequel to THE BIG O. Boo, etc. Now this and this have popped up, which suggests that (a) my Jedi mind-trick is coming on a treat; (b) there’s a Declan Burke out there about to usurp my thunder; (c) I’ve stepped through some kind of rip in the space-time fabric and come out as a Declan Burke who’s getting published; (d) someone’s screwing with me. If anyone can enlighten me, I’d love to hear about it … especially if it’s another Declan Burke.
Knowing my luck, he’ll be the unholy offspring of Declan Hughes and James Lee Burke, and I’ll forever be known as ‘the other Declan Burke, y’know, the guy with the blog …’.
Until then, I leave you with the immortal words of Jim Steinman. “If there’s something I want / Then it’s something I need / I wasn’t built for comfort / I was built for speed / And I know that I’m gonna be like this forever / I’m never gonna be what I should / And you think that I’ll be bad for just a little while / But I know that I’ll be bad for good / (whooo-hoo-hooooooo) / I know that I’ll be bad for good …”
Roll it there, Collette …
Lord Mountbatten Revisited
It was only years later that I found out who Lord Mountbatten was, and what he’d done, and what he represented. According to the IRA, the guy was an imperialist swine and a war criminal, and it probably didn’t help his cause that he was a favourite of Queen Elizabeth. By that stage, of course, the Mullaghmore bomb was the very epitome of war, in which old folks and young kids tend to suffer and die at the hands of able-bodied men.
Anyhoos, that’s all by way of a long-winded preamble to the news that Timothy Knatchbull will be publishing his memoirs this coming August, with the blurb elves wibbling thusly:
On the August bank holiday Monday in 1979, 14-year-old Timothy Knatchbull went out on a holiday boat trip in Co Sligo. The IRA bomb that exploded in the boat killed his grandfather Lord Mountbatten, his grandmother Lady Brabourne, his identical twin brother Nicholas and a local teenager Paul Maxwell. In telling this story for the first time, Knatchbull is not only revisiting the terrible events he and his family lived through but also writing an intensely personal book of human triumph over tragedy. Taking place in Ireland at the height of the Troubles, FROM A CLEAR BLUE SKY gives a compelling insight into that period of Irish history. Although it is unflinching in its detail, this is a book about reconciliation that asks searching questions about why human beings inflict misery on others, and suggests how we can learn to forgive, to heal and to move on. FROM A CLEAR BLUE SKY will be published by Hutchinson to coincide with the 30th anniversary of the atrocity on 27th August.
Monday, May 4, 2009
THE DYING BREED: Not Quite Dead Yet
TRIGGER CITY by Sean Chercover (Wm. Morrow)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.
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)
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.
Irish Crime Writers: Yankee Doodling Dandies?
Intriguingly, Michael makes the point in the vid below that 90% of Irish crime readers, if they realise a book is set in Ireland, aren’t interested, and that most of the books he stocks in Murder Ink are by U.S. writers. John Connolly, of course, sets his novels exclusively in the States, while the aforementioned BLOOD RUNS COLD is set in Colorado, as is Adrian McKinty’s latest offering, FIFTY GRAND, while Ken Bruen’s recent novels – AMERICAN SKIN, ONCE WERE COPS, BUST and THE MAX, and the forthcoming collaboration with Reed Farrel Coleman, TOWER – are set in the U.S. too.
Of course, the majority of Irish crime writers (declaration of interest: your humble host included) tend to take the American hard-boiled novel for their stylistic cues, with the transmogrification of Irish society over the last decade making the transplant an all-too-believable one. But it’s a brave move to take on the Americans on their own turf, and kudos to all concerned. It’d be a huge pity, though, if Irish readers were to ignore the likes of Gene Kerrigan, Declan Hughes, Arlene Hunt, Tana French, Brian McGilloway, Colin Bateman, Stuart Neville, Alan Glynn (who set his debut novel in New York, incidentally), Garbhan Downey, et al, simply because their very fine novels were set in Ireland, and especially if it’s because of some kind of inferiority complex. And even if it was, the very fact that Connolly, Hughes, French and Bruen are hugely popular Stateside should tip them off that Irish scribes writing about Irish crimes are just as valid as American authors on American crimes, particular as Connolly and Bruen are bending over backwards to big up their compatriots.
Hopefully the Ireland AM Crime Fiction Award will alert Irish readers to the quality of indigenous crime writing. Meanwhile, Professor Ian Ross and Michael Gallagher pronounce on Brian McGilloway and Alex Barclay here. Roll it there, Collette …