Just wondering how many of our readers really read? Notice I didn’t say, “how many can read.” Obviously you’re here, and you’re reading, so you can do it. But I mean really read, in the sense of not just reading news articles or humor posts, and not just reading stuff for work, but for pleasure. My wife is one of the world’s all-time great pleasure readers. Those of you who know her well can attest this is true. She used to keep track of all the books she read on Goodreads. One of our less-than-literary friends from Valley Swim Club happened to notice this fact once during a summer swim meet, and they thought she must be lying. I mean, c’mon, who reads that much? Well, she does. And she’s got the lapel pin to prove it.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m a reader too. But not like that. She always has a couple of books going at once, while I only read a single book at a time. And her tastes are wide-ranging, while I’m pretty much just a one-genre guy: Noir. You can tell from my previous posts – here, and here, and here – who my favorite writers are and what kind of stories I like: If there’s not a dead body involved and some degree of uncertainty about how they got that way, then don’t even bother me with it. I mean, c’mon. Really.
All of this serves as prologue to a summary of the books I’ve been reading lately – thrillers all. So, without further ado…
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Ian Rankin’s “Inspector Rebus” series is winding down. In the most recent offering, titled “A Heart Full of Headstones,” our favorite (and now semi-retired) Scottish sleuth is having trouble walking up steps to his second-floor flat due to end-stage COPD. Much more concerning, though, is the fact that he’s been arrested for the murder of his long-time nemesis, the notorious gangster “Big Ger” Gerald Cafferty, who – himself feeling the ill effects of old age and being confined to a wheelchair – nonetheless meets his earthly end by getting himself smothered with a pillow. Now facing serious jail time, Rebus has handed off all hard-core detecting duties to his friend and colleague, Detective Inspector Siobhan Clarke.
My guess is that Rankin will take a page from fellow noir novelist Michael Connelly, who reinvigorated his series by passing the baton from aging hero Harry Bosch to his young female protege, detective Renee Ballard. Stay tuned for the next Tartan Noir installment from Edinburgh to see if Rankin is able to pull off the same switcheroo.
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I knew there was a good reason I love reading C.J. Box’s series about Wyoming game warden (and part-time detective) Joe Pickett. I mean aside from all the foreboding weather warnings and gorgeous Rocky Mountain scenery that is. Doing a little sleuthing of my own, I found out that Box and I were born in the same year and month, just a couple of weeks apart. No wonder I’m such a sucker for his brand of Carhartt Noir. But be advised: If you feel slightly less of a natal connection to the author than me, then you might have a harder time telling the plot of this latest one, titled “Storm Watch,” from the plots of any of the string of 20 previous Joe Pickett books he’s written. Yes, Joe’s 3 daughters are all grown up now. And yes, his mother-in-law now has a new rich beau who she’s likely to marry, then inherit from once he’s been summarily dispatched. And yes, Wyoming now has a new governor – but wait! The old governor may be making a comeback, so stay tuned.
Bottom line, and be forewarned: You’ll be hard-pressed to notice much of any difference between “Storm Watch,” and – say – “Dark Sky,” or “Stone Cold,” or “Cold Wind,” or “Below Zero.” Jeez, even the titles are all starting to blend together. But like a horseback trip up a steep mountain trail accompanied by an old familiar friend whose credo is “Always do the right thing,” you may find yourself comforted. Maybe you’ll find yourself dozing off in the saddle? Gotta be one or the other – or maybe both. You make the call.
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Jane Smiley’s not known as a thriller-writer. She’s a Pulitzer Prize-winner, fercryingoutloud. But she knows how to write period pieces, and this is a fine one. It’s about a couple of hookers in gold-rush California. Monterey, to be exact. And when her protagonist, Eliza Ripple, discovers there’s a serial-killer in town picking off prostitutes one by one? Well folks, it’s off to the literary races.
Smiley’s dialogue in this slim little volume is deadpan, as befits the pre-Civil-War-era setting. And the descriptions of 1850’s coastal California are dead-center accurate, both historically and geographically speaking. As a bonus? The ending’s a big surprise. All in all, not bad as Petticoat Noir pieces go, and well worth a Goodreads entry in any case. Oh, and for those who were wondering? The title refers either to the “business” of prostitution, or to the “business” of just plain being a woman, take your pick. Or maybe better: Pick your poison.
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In case you hadn’t figured it out yet, this one’s still on my desk. That means I haven’t finished reading it. It’s written by a relative newcomer, Ausma Khan. And her protagonist, Inaya Rahman, is also a newcomer to the area. Which area, I hear you ask? Well, that’s the thing that got me interested in this one in the first place: It’s exactly where I live. Not, “Colorado where I live,” nor even “Denver where I live,” but right here. The title (Blackwater Falls) is pure fiction, of course. But the street names (Titan Road), the neighborhoods (Castle Pines), the landmarks (Chatfield Reservoir), and even the buildings (the Lockheed Martin complex) – they’re all real, and really close by.
As you might expect from the main character’s name, our Pakistani-American hero wears a headscarf, so I guess one might be tempted to call this Hijab Noir? I can’t yet tell if the murder-in-a-mosque plot’s going to turn out to be believable or not. And obviously, because I’m still reading, I have no clue about the ending. But for now I’m thinking this woman must be one of my close-by neighbors – like, right next door. Hey, stranger things have happened. I mean, if C.J. Box and I were born in the same month and year, then absolutely anything’s possible.
Happy reading, y’all! What’s on your list? Whatever it is, try to get to it before lights out. Hey, it’s not called “noir” (i.e. “dark”) for nothing. And some of us are trying to get some shut-eye here.