Burke Does the Continent

Although a brand-new movie adaptation of James Lee Burke’s 1993 novel, In the Electric Mist with Confederate Dead--his sixth to feature Louisiana detective Dave Robicheaux--is headed straight to DVD/Blue Ray in the United States, Europe appears to have embraced this film more generously. As Reuters notes, “In the Electric Mist has its world premiere at the Berlin film festival on Saturday, where it is in the main competition.”

The news service adds that recent history along the America’s Gulf Coast forced changes on Burke’s original tale:

French director Bertrand Tavernier transports the action to more recent times, incorporating Hurricane Katrina into the narrative and including images of areas of New Orleans still devastated by the effects of the 2005 disaster. ...

“It seemed to me that it was completely dumb to come to Louisiana and to shoot the novel written at the beginning of the 1990s and not put in Katrina,” Tavernier told reporters after a press screening.

“Right from the beginning I knew that I was going to update the story,” the 67-year-old added.

John Goodman, who plays mobster Julie “Baby Feet” Balboni, said Katrina was something impossible to avoid.

“Katrina’s been a fact of life since August 29th three-and-a-half years and ago and it’s just something we live with now,” he said.

“It’s like a mountain that forced its way up out of the swamp. It’s just something that’s there and it will always be there for years and years. It’s just a way of life now.”

However, the bones of Burke’s plot remain in the movie:

[Robicheaux, played by Tommy Lee Jones] is haunted by his failings but has a moral sense that means he stops at nothing to catch the culprit.

In The Electric Mist, he senses that a series of brutal murders of young women may be linked to a crime he witnessed 40 years earlier, underlining a central theme--that you cannot escape from your past.

In the Electric Mist is due for DVD release in the States on March 3.

READ MORE: “Guess Who’s Not Coming to Dinner?,” by Geoffrey Macnab (The Guardian); “Photos from In the Electric Mist,” by Jeremy Lynch (Crimespree Cinema); “Unelectrifying Mist,” by Corey Wilde (The Drowning Machine).

The Book You Have to Read: “The Andromeda Strain,” by Michael Crichton

(Editor’s note: This is the 41st installment of our Friday blog series highlighting great but forgotten books. Today’s selection comes from New Yorker Anthony Rainone, a longtime contributor to January Magazine and The Rap Sheet. You can read his new short story in the Spring 2009 issue of Spinetingler Magazine.)

Michael Crichton passed away from cancer in November 2008, and his death prompted me to look on my bookshelves to see which of his novels I owned. There were several, but my eyes were immediately drawn to The Andromeda Strain. I first enjoyed that book two decades ago, and I believe it was the first science thriller I had ever read. According to some, Crichton was the earliest science thriller writer, and I think that’s accurate. He was a brilliant man, a brilliant writer. He wrote Andromeda when he was in his 20s and still in medical school. The book is solid, despite its author’s then tender years and limited writing experience. There are few authors of any age who could produce a book of such magnitude. The Andromeda Strain deserves to never be forgotten, not only because it fathered a subgenre, but because it is a top-notch thriller likely to remain relevant in a world forever intrigued and influenced by scientific advancement.

Andromeda was published originally in 1969, the same year Crichton graduated from Harvard Medical School and picked up an Edgar Award for Best Novel for A Case of Need, which he’d penned under the pseudonym “Jeffrey Hudson.” Its story begins with an ominous nighttime setting in Piedmont, Arizona, a small town where a U.S. Army satellite has crash-landed, and where nearly all the inhabitants have subsequently died. That satellite was part of the so-called Scoop Project, which had a duality of purpose.

Its avowed aim was the collection of any organism that might exist in “near space,” the upper atmosphere of the earth. Technically speaking, it was an Army project, but it was funded through the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, a supposedly civilian organization. ... In theory, JPL [Jet Propulsion Laboratory] was designing a satellite to enter the fringes of space and collect organisms and dust for study. This was considered a project of pure science--almost curiosity--and was thus accepted by all the scientists working on the study. ... In fact, the true aims were quite different. The true aims of Scoop were to find new life forms that might benefit the Fort Derrick program. In essence, it was a study to discover new biological weapons of war.

When Scoop VII--the latest launched satellite--suddenly enters an unstable orbit after only two days, it is forced down. The army’s attempts to retrieve that satellite only result in more deaths, and a summons is sent out for a specialized on-call squad of civilians. The Wildfire Alert team consists of Jeremy Stone, a bacteriologist; Peter Levitt, a clinical microbiologist and infectious disease expert; Charles Burton, a pathologist; and Mark Hall, a surgeon. These men are pulled from their respective homes and workplaces in dramatic fashion by armed military escort. They don’t initially understand the magnitude of the situation or what they will be asked to do--namely, to ensure the survival of the earth against a deadly alien organism.

There is a sophisticated blend of science and military prowess at play in Andromeda, which was written at a time when America flexed its power in both areas, including a manned space mission to the moon and the entrenched war in Vietnam. The central tenet of Andromeda--that is, the possibility of bringing alien microbes back to earth--was a recognized concern of NASA’s (and still is). This novel’s high technology, which includes identity scanners that read palm prints, probably seemed fantastic during the Nixon administration, though less so now. The sophisticated lab needed to examine the Scoop VII satellite was built far underground in Flatrock, Nevada. Each level is increasingly sterile, and the requirements become more stringent as the Wildfire Alert team members progress downward, finally reaching Level 5. Among those requirements: taking antibiotics and subjecting the scientists to an ultra flash of light that burns away the top layer of their skin. Equally compelling for 1960s readers was the frightening power of the U.S. military, first realized when the atomic bombs were dropped on Japan during World War II. In order to control and eliminate the contamination of Piedmont, a directive is issued to detonate an atomic weapon in the town.

Author Crichton also mined his medical-science background to create a setting and tone that seemed wholly credible. In fact, many readers of the time wondered if Andromeda was a work of non-fiction. Its main characters were probably drawn from the types of men Crichton encountered in everyday life around a hospital, or in medical school labs and corridors. Jeremy Stone is the project leader, and together with Peter Levitt he goes into Piedmont to retrieve the downed satellite. The two men are wearing vacuum-sealed suits that prevent airborne or surface germs from penetrating. It is a sobering excursion. They don’t know if their suits will prove ineffective and let them die like the town’s inhabitants, because they don’t yet know what type of alien organism they are dealing with. There are bodies everywhere, and perhaps more surprisingly, there are two survivors: a 69-year-old man and a two-month-old baby. All of the deceased inhabitants either perished from immediate and massive blood clotting, or insanity resulting in suicide.

Stone and Leavitt are the laboratory guys; they are given the task of examining the satellite, finding the alien organism, and figuring out how to kill it. Crichton uses his biology background to instruct readers in the complexities of science. He presents us with computer simulations, chemical equations, and medical procedures of ever more curious variety. The argument could be made that The Andromeda Strain, with its examination of microbes, cells and anatomy, also gave birth to another genre--forensics-driven thrillers (are you listening, CSI fans?). The downside of all this is that the practicality of scientific method and the cool demeanor of the scientists involved lessens this story’s tempo at times. However, the young author picks up the pace at important moments.

Given Crichton’s medical background, it is not surprising that Dr. Mark Hall is the most dynamic character in the Wildfire Alert group. Sure, Stone and Levitt have their moments in the sun (alhough the pathologist, Burton, is only adequate and finally gets himself into significant trouble). At one point in the novel, Stone regrets not having a chemist in the group, rather than Hall. But Hall plays the most heroic role at the end of this novel. He is also the only unmarried man on the team, and that makes him especially significant. Employing the Odd Man Out theory, the army has devised a fail-safe mechanism in case the entire Wildfire lab becomes contaminated. In that worst-case scenario, the lab is to be sealed off and an atomic device automatically activated with a short, three-minute countdown. The Odd Man Out--namely, Hall--is the only one entrusted with a key to deactivate that explosive device. In their wisdom, military intelligence experts deduced that a married man might have second thoughts and stop the explosion, whereas a single man would have less to lose. While the logic is slippery, it does lead to classic thriller chills when the lab is suddenly contaminated near the end of The Andromeda Strain, and Hall has to race against the clock to shut it down (after Stone and Levitt deduce that an atomic explosion would only strengthen the alien organism).

Hall’s assignment is to treat the two surviving residents of Piedmont: elderly Peter Jackson and the baby, Jamie Ritter. He can’t figure out how they survived, when no one else did. Jackson tells Hall that he suffers from an ulcer and self-medicates the pain by drinking Sterno and taking aspirin; yet Hall is unable to make a connection between this misguided action and the baby’s endurance. He finally realizes that the acid levels in the body might be the key. Sterno and aspirin both make the human body highly acidic. A baby has a rapid metabolism that also increases acidity levels. Meanwhile, using electron microscopes and X-ray crystallography, Stone and Levitt make their own discoveries about the alien organism, which astounds them with its physicality and behavior.

Crichton did a significant amount of research for The Andromeda Strain, and there are cool thriller elements throughout: a fighter jet that partially disintegrates in air, security dogs with their voice boxes removed, and then Hall’s race against the clock to stop an atomic explosion. The tenet that Crichton puts forth in Andromeda, namely that life exists in wholly unique and strange forms in other galaxies, may prove to be prophetic one day. In the end, there’s poetic justice of sorts in this book, if only viewed through a scientific lens. The human body, it seems, is stronger than we think.

Blow Off the Dust, Enjoy the Read

Today’s criminally oriented crop of “forgotten books” is plentiful, indeed. Among the works being mentioned around the blogosphere: A Diplomatic Woman, by Huan Mee; Afternoon of a Loser, by Tom Pace; Payment Deferred, by C.S. Forester (yeah, the Horatio Hornblower guy); Slice of Hell, by Mike Roscoe; The Eighth Circle, by Stanley Ellin; Paranoia, by Joseph Finder; and High Profile, by Robert B. Parker. In addition, reviewer Norman Price (aka blogger Uriah Robinson) gives his thumbs-up to The Locked Room, by Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö, in organizer Patti Abbott’s blog. Look to Abbott’s page, too, for a full list of “forgotten books” being lauded today.

Bullet Points: The TGIF Edition

• How could I have failed to mention Robert Wilson’s fourth (and last?) Javier Falcón novel, The Ignorance of Blood, in my recent write-up about the books I’m most looking forward to reading during the first quarter of 2009? I’ve loved every one of British novelist Wilson’s previous three works featuring haunted Inspector Jefe Falcon (The Blind Man of Seville, The Silent and the Damned, and The Hidden Assassins, that last one released in the States as The Vanished Hands). And I fully expect to enjoy Wilson’s Ignorance, about which publisher HarperCollins UK writes:

The final psychological thriller featuring Javier Falcon, the tortured detective from ‘The Hidden Assassins’ and ‘The Blind Man of Seville.’ A sweltering Seville is recovering from the shock of a terrorist attack and Inspector Jefe Javier Falcón is struggling to fulfill his promise to its citizens: that he would find the real perpetrators of the outrage. The death of a gangster in a spectacular car crash offers vital evidence implicating the Russian mafia in his investigation, but pitches Falcón into the heart of a turf war over prostitution and drugs. Now the target of vicious hoods, Falcón finds those closest to him are also coming under intolerable pressure: his best friend, who’s spying for the Spanish government, reveals that he is being blackmailed by Islamist extremists, and Falcón’s own lover suffers a mother’s worst nightmare. In the face of such fanaticism and brutality, their options seem limited and Falcón realizes that only the most ruthless retaliation will work. But there is a terrible price to pay!

This book is due out in early March.

• Author and Rap Sheet contributor Mark Coggins alerts me to a nice long profile in today’s San Francisco Chronicle of Joe Gores, the private eye turned novelist who’s gaining fresh renown at age 77 for his new novel, Spade & Archer, a prequel to Dashiell Hammett’s famous 1929 novel, The Maltese Falcon. Read the piece here.

• More bad bookstore news: Cheesecake and Crime in Henderson, Nevada, will close at the end of this month.

• I hate it when U.S. publishers change the names of British books, because they think Americans can’t understand obscure references. Case in point: Laura Wilson’s wonderful Stratton’s War, released in the UK last year, is finally set to reach U.S. readers in July--as The Innocent Spy. I can imagine the conversation that went on between editors at Minotaur Books, the gist being that because this is the first novel in a series, nobody knows yet who the Stratton of the title is; therefore, since Americans aren’t patient enough to figure things out for themselves--we want everything spoonfed to us, right?--the name just had to be changed. I, for one, am tired of being underestimated by American publishers. Perhaps if they treated their readers as intelligent people, we’d become more intelligent people.

• Speaking of affronts to America’s intelligence, did you know that the soft drink Mountain Dew is no longer Mountain Dew?

• Beginning today, Encore TV has scheduled a 48-hour celebration of James Bond movies. Check out the schedule here.

• Mystery*File’s Steve Lewis has just discovered the 2001-2002 A&E cable-TV series A Nero Wolfe Mystery on DVD, and pronounces it “the finest TV series ever based on the works of an American mystery writer.” Lee Goldberg recalls writing for Nero Wolfe here.

• Just what the world needs: Robert Ludlum video games.

• J.D. Rhoades tries to figure out how the pulp authors of yore were able to write so ridiculously fast.

• And just for Mickey Spillane fans, Pulp Serenade’s Cullen Gallagher has scanned and posted the entirety of a July 1952 article from True: The Men’s Magazine. “Written shortly after the release of Kiss Me Deadly,” Gallagher explains, “the article examines the ‘Mike Hammer’ phenomenon that was sweeping the country and racking up millions in sales--10,395,716 at the time of the article. Also discussed are [Spillane’s] childhood in Elizabeth, NJ, and the East Flatbush neighborhood of Brooklyn, NY; his beginnings as a comic-book writer; and his gun collection and many other ‘manly’ habits (after all, this is True: The Man’s Magazine we are talking about).” Click here to read more.

The Best TV Crime Drama Openers, #10

Series Title: The Streets of San Francisco | Years: 1972-1977, ABC | Starring: Karl Malden, Michael Douglas, Richard Hatch |
Theme Music: Patrick Williams

“Ah, yes,” everyone says. “That was the one with Michael Douglas and the bridge, right?”

Michael Douglas, the bridge, and a lot else besides. Running to five seasons on ABC between 1972 and 1977, The Streets of San Francisco showcased actor Douglas (son of the legendary Kirk Douglas) in his first major TV or film role, plus the already well-established Karl Malden. A variety of big names also passed through the sets as guest stars--Leslie Nielsen, Robert Wagner, Patty Duke--along with a smattering of waiting-for-the-big-break performers, such as Larry Hagman, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Tom Bosley, and Stefanie Powers.

The producer, Quinn Martin, was known for bringing us Cannon, The Fugitive, Banyon, Barnaby Jones, The Untouchables, and so many other familiar shows. One of this series’ scriptwriters, James J. Sweeney, picked up an Edgar Award from the Mystery Writers of America for his Season 4 tale, “Requiem for Murder.” The inspiration for the series apparently came from the 1972 crime novel Poor, Poor Ophelia, by Carolyn Weston, whose books were selling well for British publisher Gollancz at the time.

The stories revolved around long-serving Lieutenant Mike Stone (Malden), who had been assigned to the Homicide Detail of the San Francisco Police Department’s Bureau of Inspectors (Detective Division), and his 20-something assistant inspector, Steve Keller (Douglas). It was a pretty conventional pairing; however, the two actors brought to it a depth and periodic poignancy that lifted this program out of its format. There was the inevitable mechanic of youthful Keller learning the difficult art of urban detective work, of course, but also a developing--and at times raspy--relationship between the veteran cop and his less time-worn colleague. Oddly, the predictable friction between instinct and empirical investigation was reversed: the older man tended to go by his “gut,” whereas the younger detective, with his college education, was occasionally the more methodical one.

The plots of Streets episodes were at times quite unusual--remember the one about the stolen snake venom?--and the San Francisco setting (the show was shot entirely on location in that Northern California city) was shown as by turns scenic and seedy (in the way that it was again in the Dirty Harry movies, which began to appear at the same time).

And, of course, there was the bridge. The title sequence has stuck in people’s minds, I think, because of the way it uses an almost subliminal motif which sets up the dynamic between the two main characters even before we meet them. A set of graphic bars opens diagonally across the screen, letting us into the space between the sloping cables that hold up the suspension span of the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge (aka Bay Bridge). Right away, we’re shown the motif of space and tension. As the following images slot into place--carried along by the staccato, metallic-edged jazz theme (composed by Pat Williams, who also created the themes for such series as The Mary Tyler Moore Show and The Magician)--we’re constantly being shown how things stand in relation to one another: a tanker slides past the Bay Bridge, those big old ’70s cars move past each other on the Golden Gate Bridge, towers stack up next to one another on the skyline, buildings face each other on opposing sides of the streets, cable cars cross paths. Amid this jagged assemblage, the image of a crab on the Fisherman’s Wharf sign looks ominously threatening, and the words “Have a Pleasant Trip” on the road sign are loaded with irony. It’s a subtle, almost insidious presentation of the dynamic played out in the stories: the way the two cops stand opposite each other, complementing each other but also with tension between them--like the tense cables of the suspension bridges themselves, or the power cables connecting some of the buildings.

When the “diagonal bars” open up again to show us broken-nosed Karl Malden in his archaic fedora hat (at least, I think that’s a fedora) and then Michael Douglas in his smooth college-boy jacket, this motif of “tense pairing” is crystallized: we see a brief shot of the two in mid-discussion before the familiar images of the city begin to pile up again--Coit Tower, the Ferry Building, Chinatown. When the “diagonal bars” show us the episode’s guest stars, those faces too seem to be opposing each other, caught in some confrontation which we want to know more about, just as we want to see what’s at the end of the tunnel unfolding behind them. Having established this motif, the images take us on a rapid-fire travelogue of San Francisco: statues, crowds, busy streets, streetcars of course, but also a gathering dusk until neon signs light up. Again, the illuminated words and images seem to stand in opposition to one another and to the darkness itself. Even in the final shot, there’s a tense partnership between the clock tower and the arch of the bridge in profile against the twilight.

The Streets of San Francisco went into decline after 1976, at least in terms of audience numbers. Michael Douglas left the show in favor of bigger-time Hollywood exposure (his production work on One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest had been rewarded with an Oscar for Best Film of 1975). His exit was explained away with a clunky decision that the Steve Keller character should leave the police to become a teacher. Douglas’ replacement, Richard Hatch (later to star in Battlestar Galactica), gave a workmanlike performance, but the odd dynamic between the two cops seemed to lose its energy. The series was canceled after the fifth season completed its run in June 1977.

There were reports last year that CBS-TV has started work on a pilot for a new series of The Streets of San Francisco. No doubt it will be a delight if it materializes, but I wouldn’t want to be the person who has to come up with a title sequence to rival the original. Have a pleasant trip, indeed.

EDITOR’S TRIVIA: In his 1994 reference work, Encyclopedia Mysteriosa: A Comprehensive Guide to the Art of Detection in Print, Film, Radio, and Television, author William L. DeAndrea had more to say about the adaptation of Carolyn Weston’s Poor, Poor Ophelia into the 1972 pilot for The Streets of San Francisco:

The novel was set in Santa Monica, and the characters were Sergeant Al Krug and Detective Casey Kellog. In the book, it is the younger detective who identifies with the falsely accused young executive; in the telefilm, it is the older cop. Weston wrote another Krug/Kellog novel, Susannah Screaming [1975], but it was never adapted for the series. Each episode did acknowledge her creation of the characters, however.

There was apparently a third Al Krug and Casey Kellog book, as well: Rouse the Demon (1976).

Goings and Comings

British author and raconteur Mike Ripley has posted his February “Getting Away with Murder” column in Shots. Among the mix of mentions this time are lamentations over the closing of London’s Murder One Bookstore (though its mail-order business survives), recommendations of Stanley Casson’s Murder by Burial (1938) and Jo Walton’s Farthing (2006), and a welcome to Julia Handford, who takes over as the Sunday Telegraph’s new crime-fiction critic, following the death in December of Susanna Yager.

Catch all of Ripley’s reflections on the genre here.

Calling a Spade a Gem

Only Joe Gores, the former private eye whose 16 fine novels include Hammett (1975), would have the guts to write Spade & Archer, the brand-new prequel to Dashiell Hammett’s famous 1929 novel, The Maltese Falcon--a feat akin to writing a new first volume of the Book of Genesis. And his story works, showing how the San Francisco private-eye firm came together and what Miles Archer was really like, and including many snazzy plot twists.

READ MORE: “Joe Gores on The Maltese Falcon,” by Nathan Cain (Independent Crime); “Even Death Can’t Keep Hammett Down,” by J. Kingston Pierce (Rap Sheet).

Bob Hoskins Would Be Proud

As I mentioned before, I had a fine lunch recently with author Richard Montanari at Soho House in London. What I forgot to say in that post was that, since I was traveling by train, I allowed myself to quaff a bit more wine during the meal than I would normally have done. Which made me even more loquacious than normal. Well, it seems that Liz Thomson of Bookbrunch had her notebook out during the lunch, and she later wrote about one of the escapades Roger Jon “R.J.” Ellory and yours truly had while we were visiting Baltimore last fall for Bouchercon. In her words:

Montanari had not set foot in London for more than 30 years, having last been here on a student exchange to the LSE. “I can’t remember if I did any work,” he said, though he recalled going to lots of gigs, not least by the Groundhogs, whom most people round the table were too young to remember. On this trip, his publisher Kate Elton and publicist Emma Finnigan kept him too busy to go gigging--the closest he came was a stop outside the celebrated 100 Club in Oxford Street. But let no one say he didn’t see the sights--Welwyn Garden City to meet the Tesco crew and Leeds to see Asda.

Still, it will all be worth it--his combined sales are fast approaching the million mark, so, with a little push and a fair wind, Play Dead and the new one, The Devil’s Garden, due in August, will push him through the barrier.

Meanwhile, Karim revealed that a life in crime books gives you an attitude: in Baltimore for the Bouchercon crimefest, he and a friend wandered off-piste after a few beers too many and found themselves on the wrong side of the tracks in the murder capital of America. No sooner had they realised their mistake when some tough-looking dudes rounded a corner ... and fled in the face of what they thought was trouble.

The full story of how Ellory and I survived our encounter in one of Baltimore’s more dodgy districts is contained in Part II of a report I wrote for my personal blog, Existentialist Man:

Particularly pleasant were the St. Martin’s cocktail party, Meet the Brits, and Lee Child’s annual Jack Reacher bash in an Irish bar called Lucy’s. This was a real buzzing event, but in a rather ropey area of town, that caused an issue when Roger and I made our way back to the hotel through ‘The Hood’.

It was a rather frightening experience, but thanks to [our] reading so many thrillers, and both knowing lines from the classic London gangster movie--The Long Good Friday--Roger and I put on our grimmest Jack Reacher whiplash smiles and spoke loudly in tough faux London gangster accents. That was enough for the hooded Baltimore men to part the pavement and cross the road to allow us through.

Without sounding jingoistic, as tough as American gangsters are; there’s nothing scarier than a British baddie to really put the fear of God into an American baddie. Reading a lot of thrillers and crime fiction can have its upsides. However, I must warn you, that snarling in a loud cockney accent on the streets of Baltimore is not really recommended unless you are prepared to imitate lines from ... The Long Good Friday. So I whispered the plan to Roger, and then nudged him as the thugs approached, to get him into character and into cockney ...

Ali - “Notice anything unusual? Different Nobbers, or the usual Wifflers?”

Roger - “It was a good night. Nothing unusual.”

Ali - “Nothing unusual, he says! Eric’s been blown to smithereens, Colin’s been carved up, and I’ve got a bomb in my bloody casino, and you say nothing unusual?”

Roger - “When was this, then?”

Ali - “When was this then? When was this then? Is that all you can say, you fucking Nobber! I’m glad I found out in time just what a partnership with a wanker like you would’ve been. A sleeping partner’s one thing, but you’re in a fucking coma! No wonder you got an energy crisis your side of the water--‘The Mafia, I shit ’em!’ The world’s full of Wifflers!”

The Baltimore hoods just moved away crossing the street, while Roger did his best to keep a straight face as I trembled with fear (but the hoods assumed it was with anger). ...

When we got back to the hotel, intact but shaking, Roger and I drank hits of Scotch on the rocks to reduce the leg trembles.

Remember, don’t try these tactics at home.

We’re Getting There

When I began posting about top-quality American TV crime drama openers last summer, I didn’t expect that it would take so long to get through the list. My other writing commitments, though, slowed down the process. It’s only fortunate that a few other Rap Sheet contributors stepped in to help along the way. But there are still 10 more entries to be completed and published over the coming months.

We’ll start running down the final 10 choices later today. In the meantime, for those of you who haven’t been keeping up (yeah, you know who you are), here’s your chance to refresh your memory on the original 15 installments in this series:

• 25. Police Woman (1974-1978)
• 24. Honey West (1965-1966)
• 23. Matt Helm (1975-1976)
• 22. Veronica Mars (2004-2007)
• 21. The Equalizer (1985-1989)
• 20. Mannix (1967-1975)
• 19. Dexter (2006-Present)
• 18. Cagney & Lacey (1982-1988)
• 17. Ironside (1967-1975)
• 16. Chuck (2007-Present)
• 15. Magnum, P.I. (1980-1988)
• 14. The Avengers (1961-1969)
• 13. Hill Street Blues (1981-1987)
• 12. Baretta (1975-1978)
• 11. Ellery Queen (1975-1976)

As if your computer didn’t already present you with enough distractions from the business day ...

Meeting Montanari

(Editor’s note: This is the final installment of a two-part report from British correspondent Ali Karim. Part I can be read here.)

Ali Karim waits for Richard Montanari to sign all of his books.

So, after bidding a final farewell to Maxim Jakubowski at London’s Murder One bookstore, I walked over to the ritzy private club Soho House, to which I’d been invited for lunch by Emma Finnigan, Random House UK’s publicity director. The occasion was a celebration of the arrival in Britain of best-selling thriller writer Richard Montanari, whose latest work, Play Dead (U.S. title: Badlands), has just been released in paperback. Finnigan had arranged for me to interview Montanari for The Rap Sheet via telephone last year, with him speaking from his home in Cleveland, Ohio. At the time, Montanari had indicated that he was planning to visit England in 2009, and said he’d like to meet me, knowing that I’ve been an avid fan of his work for the last decade.

Arriving at the club, I was pleased to discover that joining Montanari, Finnigan, and me for lunch were critic Barry Forshaw, Liz Thomson of the book industry news site Bookbrunch, three senior managers from Borders UK, and a trio of Finnigan’s Random House colleagues. As we all walked to our table, I remarked to the Borders team how impressed I was by their having secured a visit from U.S. best-sellers Dennis Lehane and Tess Gerritsen to their company’s flagship store in Charing Cross Road in mid-February. They shared my excitement, as they were fans as well of Lehane, who hasn’t made a public visit to the UK since the millennium, when he was promoting his last Patrick Kenzie/Angie Gennaro novel, Prayers for Rain.

I shook Richard Montanari’s hand as the author came over, explaining to him what a treat it was for me to meet him in person at long last. Forshaw remarked to the author that he had only just discovered his work, having been clued in thanks to my Rap Sheet interview. What followed was a bit of mutual complimenting, as Forshaw remarked on my frequent contributions not only to The Rap Sheet, but also to Shots and Existentialist Man. I, in turn, told Montanari a little about Forshaw’s labors, including his well-reviewed new book, British Crime Writing: An Encyclopedia.

Once seated, we formally welcomed Montanari back to England. Although he’s a huge Anglophile, it had been many years since he was last in London. He told me previously that spiritually, the British capital has always been his home:

My first visit to London was in 1968, when it was inarguably the center of all things important to a teenage boy--music, fashion, art, and English girls. I remember standing on a corner in Carnaby Street while someone played “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” over and over again. I couldn’t get enough of it. Did I mention English girls? I knew I had to come back. Three years later I did. I lived all over [London]--Maida Vale, Battersea Park, South Ken, Chelsea--bedsits, all, mind you. I worked at a number of odd jobs, none of which brought me any closer to my dream (that being to become the next Bryan Ferry--I’ve always fancied myself a bit of a boulevardier). After a few years I packed up and came home.

But my attraction to all things British began much earlier. When I was 12 I used to take the bus downtown to the one newsstand in Cleveland that sold Melody Maker (at some allowance-devouring price), and I would sit on the street corner with my friends and read it cover to cover. For at least a decade, British blues and rock was all I listened to--The Groundhogs, Chicken Shack, Ten Years After, Savoy Brown, Rory Gallagher, [Peter Green’s] Fleetwood Mac, John Mayall. It was a glorious time. I was, and still am, a closet Brit.

As we chatted, waiting for our meals to arrive, it became clear that Montanari is extremely well-read, witty, and knowledgeable about modern life. He was also quite modest about his own authorial talents. He blushed when I proposed a toast to his success, recognizing the fact that each time a new book of his is published in the UK, it shoots into the top-10 list of hardcover sales. Apart from Montanari’s skill at fiction-writing, he also has a quite well-developed sense of humor. Considering how dark his work can be, one would expect this creator of Philadelphia police detectives Kevin Byrne and Jessica Balzano to be more melancholic. Nothing could be farther from the truth. In fact, this luncheon was a delight.

I asked Montanari why Badlands had been retitled Play Dead for British book-buyers, only to have him shrug his shoulders. “That’s a question for Random House UK,” he said, “but let me tell you why it’s embarrassing for me. I get a lot of e-mail via my Web site and yesterday I got a mail from a reader that went something like this: ‘Mr. Montanari, let me just say that I really loved your last book, Badlands; in fact, I just ordered the new one, Play Dead, as I can’t wait to read it.’ Oh boy, I cringe, thinking about him getting the same book, but with a different cover.”

With the arrival of our starter dishes, conversation turned to Montanari’s skill at writing some of the most disturbing serial-killer novels in recent memory. The author was interested to know which of his books were our favorites. He plainly hoped we’d all say “Your last one,” which most of us at the table did; however, Montanari smiled when I told him that I preferred The Violet Hour (1988). It seems Montanari also has a soft spot for that very disturbing book, the plot of which his publisher describes this way:

A popular priest lies dead of a heroin overdose in an inner-city flop house, following an apparent tryst with a high-priced call girl. Nicholas Stella knew the man, and he knows saleable news when he finds it.

But there is something waiting for the struggling freelance journalist on the dead cleric’s e-mail that suggests that this is not just another sordid case of fatal human frailty. A clue, a warning, a threat in the words of a great poet cries out that this was no accident.

And it’s beckoning Nick Stella into the dark, twisted and terrifying mind of a psychopath.

In an affluent Ohio suburb a world away, Amelia Saintsbury’s computer screen carries the same cryptic message. Someone is watching her ... and waiting. A nightmare stands just outside her door, ready to devour everything and everyone she cares about--her life, her home, her innocent little girl--uniting Amelia and an unorthodox city reporter in a desperate hunt for a killer.

Another thing I learned as we tucked into our midday repast: Montanari’s back catalogue of books is set to be re-released soon in Britain, in association with the debut this summer of his next novel, a standalone called The Devil’s Garden (not to be confused with Ace Atkins’ historical thriller of the same name, due out in April).

I had a chance to ask him about that reintroduction of his work, as well as some other subjects, during a brief postprandial interview.

Ali Karim: Richard--good seeing you in London again. How long has it been since you were last here?

Richard Montanari: Well, I guess it’s been over 30 years.

AK: So I guess you must see some big changes.

RM: Not really. Places like Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, Parliament Square--well, these type of places don’t really change, and they are pretty much as I remember them [from] when I lived here. I’m using a car, so I’m not really doing a walking tour this time. But I will be stopping around Carnaby Street tomorrow, which was my old haunt back in the 1960s.

AK: Since Random House UK launched Rosary Girls in 2005, the first in your Jessica Balzano and Kevin Byrne series, your work has dominated the best-seller lists worldwide. How do you explain the popularity of that Philadelphia crime series in Britain?

RM: It’s hard to say. I have always been a big fan of British crime fiction, including the many British TV crime series. In fact, prior to writing what would be the start of the series with Rosary Girls, I went back and watched a slug of British TV crime dramas, such as Cracker, Prime Suspect, and especially Val McDermid’s excellent Wire in the Blood. There is something about British crime fiction, something that I term “dark sensibility.” It’s this dark sensibility, both in novel form as well as TV versions of British crime fiction, that I find so captivating. So, as those British TV crime shows are so very popular, ... maybe there’s a link in there somewhere.

AK: In our last chat, you mentioned that you enjoy Michael Marshall’s fiction. Can you tell us why his work appeals to you?

RM: I first discovered Marshall’s work with The Straw Men, and then followed his subsequent work, such as The Intruders. Marshall’s work is so interesting, because when you start one of his books, you think it is about one thing, an overarching story which takes the shape of a crime novel, a conflict; but in reality there is something much bigger at work there, and it is much more frightening. I just think he is a terrific writer who makes you question things.

AK: Tell us about the re-release of your early novels.

RM: I am very excited about seeing The Violet Hour this year, and Kiss of Evil will be out either late this year or early next year. Then I hope to see Deviant Way--my debut novel--come out as well. Seeing all these books back in print in the UK is simply thrilling.

AK: You’re a huge seller in the crime-fiction genre, very popular with readers. But I have never seen you at any of the American conventions, not at Bouchercon or ThrillerFest. Have you any plans to go to Bouchercon this year in Indianapolis?

RM: Yes, you’re right: I’ve not attended any of these events. But Indianapolis is not far from home for me, so I may consider it. E-mail me some details and we’ll see.

After getting Montanari to sign my entire collection of UK and U.S. editions of his work, I shook hands with the author, and then he was whisked back by cab to Random House headquarters to resume his busy British tour schedule.

I, meanwhile, boarded a train for home. During that excursion, I re-read sections of The Violent Hour, feeling transported by that means back to the 1990s, when Richard Montanari was still a mostly unknown writer in the UK and the now-shuttered Murder One bookstore was just one of several specialty booksellers in London. Looking around my seat, I noticed that I was the only person on the train with his nose in a book; my fellow passengers were punching buttons and reading from their phones, hooked up to iPods or similar PDA devices, reading newspapers (mostly of the sort I wouldn’t wipe my bottom with, their writing being of the lowest common denominator), or napping at the end oftheir soul-destroying workdays. I felt old, but I had to smile inwardly. Escape was what I craved, and I could accomplish that by returning to Montanari’s fictional world. Where would I be without books?

Say It With Bullets

• January Magazine editor and Rap Sheet contributor Linda L. Richards, whose new historical mystery, Death Was in the Picture, was released last month, returns this week as a guest writer at Minotaur Books’ Moments in Crime blog.

• In anticipation of the release of his ninth Ben Cooper and Diane Fry mystery, The Kill Call (due out from HarperCollins UK in April), British novelist Stephen Booth has launched his own blog.

• The second edition of the Webzine Crooked, featuring work by Clair Dickson, Patricia Abbott, Keith Rawson, and others, is now available. There’s also a new story to be read in Beat the Pulp: “Pajama Party,” by Stephen D. Rogers. And the January/February 2009 edition of ThugLit has finally been posted. Irish blogger Gerard Brennan is one of the contributors (with a short story called “Hard Rock”), along with Tyler Midkiff (“The Secret Dies with Denny”), C.G. Bauer (“You’re a Moron”), and several others.

• Another reason to go on living: Among the titles on publisher Crippen & Landru’s list of forthcoming books is The Columbo Stories, by William Link. Link, you will recall, was the co-creator (with Richard Levinson) of such classic TV crime dramas as Columbo, Mannix, and Ellery Queen. That he has this collection due out of “14 new stories” about LAPD Lieutenant Columbo is something worth looking forward to, indeed. No word yet on when the book will be available for purchase, however.

• British writer Sophie Hannah talks about her latest novel, The Other Half Lives, with Crime Squad. You’ll find the interview here.

• Appropriate to the fact that February is Black History Month, National Public Radio’s Tony Cox talks with Paula Woods, Gar Anthony Haywood, and Gary Phillips about how African-American writers make the crime-fiction genre their own. Listen here.

• The Australian crime-fiction blog It’s Criminal plays host to the latest three-ring, all-star Carnival of the Criminal Minds. Among other things, its writer, Helen Lloyd, directs our attention toward new blogs by Reg Keeland (Stieg Larsson’s translator) and V.I. Warshawski creator Sara Paretsky; Peter Rozovsky’s interview with Mehmet Mural Somer, author of The Kiss Murders, at Detectives Beyond Borders; and AustCrime’s summary of early Australian crime-fiction writers. The Carnival moves in the middle of this month to series organizer Barbara Fister’s own blog.

• Over a Crimespree Cinema, Jon Jordan is asking readers to nominate the “classic police or private-eye-related show ... you think needs to be released on DVD.” My picks? City of Angels, The Outsider, Banyon, Private Eye, Petrocelli, and the Joseph Wambaugh anthology series Police Story. Make your own choices known here.

• The Tainted Archive features a fine interview with Megan Abbott, in which the author gives us the lowdown on her next noirish work, Bury Me Deep, due out in July from Simon & Schuster. “It’s loosely based on a famous real-life 1930s tabloid case known as the Winnie Ruth Judd Trunk Murders. This lovely young woman is left by her husband in Phoenix, Arizona, at the height of the Great Depression. Very naïve, very lonely, she falls in with these two pretty wild party girls in town. There’s a man involved, a charmer and one of the town’s big players. And things quickly turn very, very dark. I wanted to mix what might be kind of a classic Edith Wharton-style dilemma--a lonely woman slipping from propriety to decadence--with a pulp plot and style. Sort of knock those two sensibilities together and what happened.”

• The Aussie graphic designer behind Permission to Kill, a blog devoted to “the best spy films from around the globe,” has kicked off a new series of posts, highlighting notable theme music from spy flicks. My favorite so far comes from Our Man Flint.

• Funny stuff, indeed: Declan Burke’s 39 steps to getting published as an Irish author.

• For The Wall Street Journal, historian and author Arthur Herman (How the Scots Invented the Modern World, Gandhi and Churchill: The Epic Rivalry That Destroyed an Empire and Forged Our Age) chooses his five favorite books about Scotland Yard.

• Finally, author and onetime Vienna resident J. Sydney Jones submits his new historical mystery, The Empty Mirror (set in Vienna, Austria, in 1898 with a cast that includes painter Gustav Klimt and criminologist Hanns Gross), to Marshal Zeringue’s acclaimed Page 69 Test. Click here to read the results. By the way, a note at Jones’ Web site teases fans of The Empty Mirror with a synopsis of its sequel: “Requiem in Vienna, the second installment in the Viennese Mysteries series, will appear in 2010. [Lawyer Karl] Werthen and Gross are faced with their most challenging case yet, attempting to prevent a brutal murder from occurring. The likely victim? Gustav Mahler, composer and director of Vienna’s Court Opera.”

What If “Star Trek” Merged with “The A-Team”?

Another version imagines the unlikely convergence of Star Trek and The Love Boat. Equally hilarious!

(Hat tip to Johnny LaRue’s Crane Shot.)

Finder Has “Vanished”

Among my favorite writers is Joseph Finder, who is certainly in the top echelon of today’s thriller novelists. He composes what can be termed “high concept” stories, including Paranoia (2004), one of the all-time-great techno-thrillers. His subsequent works--Company Man (2005; UK title: No Hiding Place), Killer Instinct (2006), and Power Play (2007)--were equally remarkable.

The last time Finder was in London, he talked with me about those novels over lunch, and he even had an amusing anecdote about meeting Oscar-winning actor Morgan Freeman to share. I saw him subsequently at 2008’s Harrogate Crime Writing Festival, during which he made a fan of my son, Alex. He also told me then that he was working hard on a new series, which he’d sold to Headline Publishing here in Britain. Since then, I’ve been wondering when I might lay my hands on those new books. So it was with delight that I received this e-mail note as a member of Finder’s mailing list:

A month or so ago, I told someone I couldn’t do something because I was on a deadline. That person was offended, and snapped that they didn’t know how I could be on deadline, since they hadn’t seen any news of a book coming out in the next couple of months.

It is true that writers tend to use “I’m on deadline” as a handy, all-purpose excuse. It’s also true, however, that putting a book out takes much longer than you might think, even after an author turns in the manuscript.

As you saw, I turned in the manuscript of VANISHED in September; my editor had notes, and sent it back to me for revisions. I turned those in before the end of the year, and have just finished going over the many corrections suggested by my excellent copy editor, who fixes my punctuation, corrects my spelling and brings it to my attention when I use the same phrase three times in two pages. And catches most, if not all, of my dumb little glitches. Sometime this month, I’ll see proposed cover art for VANISHED, and if all goes well, the first bound galleys (advance reading copies) will be available in March--or April, at the latest.

Once I know exactly when to expect the advance copies, I’ll announce a contest to give a few copies away. I’m also working on a really cool tie-in to promote the book--I’m not saying anything more right now, but it’s a completely new medium for me, and I hope you’ll be as excited about it as I am.

Look for an announcement of this Vanished contest at Finder’s Web site. Meanwhile, pick up this author’s Paranoia or one of his other books, and see if you agree that he’s one of the best thriller novelists going.

Another Pair of Hotties

The list of strong contenders for best crime books of 2009 continues to grow. Here are two more:

Life Sentences, by Laura Lippman (Morrow). Two years ago, Lippman took a break from her popular Tess Monaghan private eye series in order to write What the Dead Know--a standalone that hit the best-seller lists like a guided missile. Now she takes aim again with this story about a child’s mysterious death, a young woman’s romantic obsession, and a father’s long-hidden secret. This latest work from Lippman (whose serial novel in The New York Times Magazine just ended its run) is due out in mid-March.

American Rust, by Philipp Meyer (Spiegel & Grau). Everyone from George Pelecanos and Pete Dexter to Patricia Cornwell has been standing up on their hind legs and shouting the praises of this debut mystery novel, which is set in a beautiful but economically devastated Pennsylvania steel town. Names such as Steinbeck, Lehane, and Cormac McCarthy have been dropping like rain to help explain its author’s talent. Look for American Rust later this month.

What Maxim Did Next

Maxim Jakubowski awaits the closing of Murder One.

Since the Murder One bookstore in London’s Charing Cross Road was due to close forever on Saturday, I felt I had to make a final trip to buy some books from that almost 21-year-old store, which has so long been a favorite haunt of mine. I also wished to thank owner Maxim Jakubowski and his crack staff for providing me with such excellent reading material over the years, as well as pass on my very best wishes for their future endeavors.

Murder One holds special memories for me. Perhaps most significantly, it was the site in 1999 of the launch of Hannibal, by Thomas Harris. The shop opened at midnight on June 7 of that year, its staffers greeting readers who queued up to buy their first copies of Harris’ latest novel with glasses of Chianti and bowls of fava beans. In line with me that evening was Mark Billingham (In the Dark). I remember vividly the world’s media descending upon Murder One to cover the event, and my own enthusiasm. As I was first in the queue (waiting six hours until the shop reopened), I was interviewed by the press--much to the embarrassment of my family, who saw my face in the newspapers and on television the next morning.

As I made my way through London to Murder One one last time, the weather was typically awful for this time of year, with rain pelting across the Charing Cross Road. So I was particularly grateful to reach the bookstore. The first thing I noticed there was that much of the stock had been marked down for quick sale, and there were many gaps on the shelves. I felt sad to witness this unexpected demise of the British capital’s foremost magnet for crime and thriller fans. Once Jakubowski closed his doors, I knew, the only London bookstore specializing in crime fiction would be Goldsboro Books on Cecil Court.

After grabbing up several books for my own collection, I wandered over to speak with Jakubowski. Despite the deluge of stories written about his shop’s fate, I found him to be in remarkably good form--jolly, in fact. Jakubowski explained that he had been really taken aback, and moved, by the generous comments people from all over the world had made following the announcement of Murder One’s closure. He told me that Orion Publishing, one of the UK’s foremost purveyors of new crime fiction, had couriered over a case of fine champagne. He’d also received letters, cards, e-mail messages, and flowers from customers, editors, publishers, bloggers, literary agents, and writers scattered across the four corners of the globe--and beyond, as Murder One carried a large science-fiction section (as well as a romance fiction department).

Jakubowski spoke with The Times of London in early January, explaining why he’d decided--reluctantly--that the time had come for him to close Murder One:

Mr. Jakubowski, anxious to retire, was negotiating to sell Murder One in September, but Lehman Brothers went bankrupt and the offers dried up. Five months later, he decided to place the store into voluntary liquidation.

“Over the last few years our sales have deteriorated,” Mr. Jakubowski said. “I was planning to retire this year, but this is earlier than expected. I would rather close the shop now and go out voluntarily with my head held high and no debts. Once the Internet came along, it was a slow and consistent decline for us. After the credit crunch I took a decision--one can’t be sentimental about it. It’s just a business.”

The city’s other quality newspapers have covered this store’s shuttering with equal respect and a due somberness of tone. From The Guardian’s Stuart Evers:

Inclusive and without snobbery, Murder One amply demonstrated that the best bookshops are places not just of commerce, but of community; places that make you feel you belong. It’s the kind of store that bibliophiles dream about: well-stocked, well-staffed and shabby enough to lose days browsing within. It’s just unfortunate that such shops don’t have enough paying customers to keep them afloat, or that these customers visit all too infrequently--something of which I’m certainly guilty.

These kinds of shops are facing a long, bloody battle--and one which, without significant reinforcements, they are likely to lose. As we hear of the travesty of another brilliant independent going down, we’ll mourn the loss, wring our hands and damn Amazon and the supermarkets and Waterstone’s. Yet perhaps the most important detail we’ll probably keep under wraps: the last time we actually spent any money there.

And from The Telegraph:

Charing Cross Road is renowned for its specialist and second-hand bookshops. Murder One--which is the only British bookshop where The Firm author John Grisham has carried out a book signing--is the second specialist bookshop to close or announce its closure on the street within a week.

On New Year’s Eve, specialist art bookseller Shipleys shut its doors for the last time.

The spate of closures will put the street’s position as a world-renowned book-buying destination under threat. Charing Cross Road’s status as one of London’s cultural centres has already been dealt a heavy blow by the imminent closure of the London Astoria, the concert theatre.

Mr. Jakubowski said that he was planning to retire at the end of 2009 but that the current economic climate meant that he could no longer run the store.

Maxim Jakubowski spoke with The Bookseller about this closure:

“It’s tough for a specialist bookshop now: you are fighting the Internet and the chains, discounting almost at a loss sometimes. Publishers are not particularly sympathetic at improving their discounts or making authors available. We’ve had loyalty from authors, but it’s been an uphill struggle.”

Jakubowski said that there had been earlier interest in buying the shop but that the credit crunch had made it “the worst possible climate” for a sale.

Being familiar with this store owner’s energy, business connections, publishing assignments, and writing talent, I was reassured that he would not soon be heading off to a retirement home in Brighton. And he explained to me that the legal agreements for a transfer of ownership to the Murder One Web site would be taking place shortly (two of the operation’s senior staffers are taking it over), so at least Murder One will continue in the guise of an Internet bookseller. That made me feel at least a bit better.

I asked Jakubowski what plans he has for the near future. He explained that he intends to take off for the United States as soon as possible, and spend a few weeks there promoting Rome Noir, a collection of crime-fiction yarns that he co-edited with Chiara Stangalino for Akashic Books (and which pairs nicely with Paris Noir, which he edited for Serpent’s Tail two years ago). For readers who haven’t yet acquired a copy of Rome Noir, here’s part of the publisher’s briefing on the book:

Rome Noir looks beyond the tourist facade of Italy’s capital. This is the real city of Fellini, Pasolini, and countless other major artists who devoted their lives to depicting the grandeur and decadence of this ever fascinating metropolis.

Both a modern city suffocated by traffic fumes and cars and a repository of knowledge and Classical monuments, Rome (with its hills and ruins) is a perfect conduit for an excursion into the many facets of modern noir. Here, Rome takes a place of honor amongst Akashic’s growing collection of anthologies devoted to the dark streets of cities. Assembled by award-winning British editor and writer Maxim Jakubowski, who has enjoyed a long relationship with Italy, and Italian conference organizer and filmmaker Chiara Stangalino, Rome Noir collects some of the biggest talents of the Italian crime and literary scene: Carlo Lucarelli, Gianrico Carofiglio, Diego De Silva, Francesca Mazzucato, Antonio Scurati, Tommaso Pincio, Boosta, and many others.

From Stazione Termini, immortalized by Roberto Rossellini’s films, to Pier Paolo Pasolini’s desolate beach of Ostia, and encompassing famous landmarks and streets, this is the sinister side of the Dolce Vita come to life, a stunning gallery of dark characters, grotesques, and lost souls seeking revenge or redemption in the shadow of the Colosseum, the Spanish Steps, the Vatican, Trastevere, the quiet waters of the Tiber, and Piazza Navona. Rome will never be the same.

While on the other side of the Atlantic, Jakubowski intends, too, to promote one of his most interesting books, Confessions of a Romantic Pornographer. (Don’t let that title put you off; I read this novel several years ago and found it quite remarkable. Here’s an extract.) And after he returns home to the UK, he has more fiction to write and work to accomplish as the editor of anthologies. He’s also pretty busy with British publisher Constable and Robinson, working on several projects, and he is organizing this year’s Crimescene Festival in conjunction with the British Film Institute and Turner Classic Movies. Not surprisingly, Jakubowski is looking forward to some free time in between all of these ventures, when he can start to whittle down his looming pile of reviewable books.

After bidding Jakubowski good-bye, I took my weighty armload of books up to the sales counter and surveyed Murder One one final time. I realized that this would be the last occasion on which I’d leave Charing Cross Road with one of the shop’s familiar red, white, and black carrier bags marked with the Murder One logo. It was truly the end of an era for this crime-fiction enthusiast.

It was still raining--surprise, surprise--when I stepped outside again, heading off toward London’s Soho district and my second obligation of that day: lunch with American thriller writer Richard Montanari. I hoped our meeting would help fill some of the emptiness I carried away in my heart from Charing Cross Road.

(The second part of Ali Karim’s report can be found here.)

Prize Fighters

Some lists of annual crime-fiction award contenders are pretty predictable. The same cannot always be said of the Hammett Prize, which is given out by the North American Branch of the International Association of Crime Writers. As proof, here’s the list of nominees for the 2009 Hammett Prize, announced yesterday:

• Leading Lady, by Heywood Gould (Five Star)
• The Finder, by Colin Harrison, (Farrar, Straus & Giroux)
• City of the Sun, by David Levien, (Doubleday)
• The Turnaround, by George Pelecanos (Little, Brown)
• South by South Bronx, by Abraham Rodriguez (Akashic)

This year’s winner will be announced during the New Atlantic Independent Booksellers Association (NAIBA) Sales Conference, to be held in Baltimore, October 4-5.

(Hat tip to The Gumshoe Site.)