Category Archives: John D. MacDonald

It’s the Spirit of the Underdog*

For a lot of people, there’s just something about the ‘underdog.’ You know the sort of character I mean. Outgunned, as the saying goes, but not willing to give up the fight. Sometimes we cheer for the underdog because we want a fair fight; we want everyone to have a sporting chance. Other times, it’s because the underdog happens to be right, and we want right to prevail. There are other reasons, too, that people seem to love underdogs.

That’s just as true in crime fiction as it is anywhere else. And having a character in the role of underdog can add a layer of character development. It can also invite readers to invest themselves in a story.

For instance, in Agatha Christie’s The Man in the Brown Suit, we are introduced to Anne Bedingfield. Her father has recently died, leaving her with practically nothing. Still, she’s young and somewhat adventurous. One day, she happens to witness a tragic death at an underground station when an unknown man falls under an oncoming train. Naturally, she’s upset at the death, but she gets curious about a piece of paper that falls from among the dead man’s possessions. After a short time, she works out that the writing on the paper refers to the upcoming sailing of the Kilmorden Castle for Cape Town. Impulsively, she books passage on the ship, and is soon drawn into a web of international intrigue, stolen jewels, and murder. She’s up against considerable danger and a powerful enemy. But, although she’s far from perfect, she does have appeal. And part of that comes from the fact that she’s the underdog.

John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee knows all too well what it’s like to work with underdogs. In fact, he prefers them. McGee is a self-described ‘salvage consultant’ based in Lauderdale, Florida. He works with people who’ve been robbed and need to get their property back. They don’t have anywhere else to turn, and they don’t generally have money to spend on expensive PIs. McGee doesn’t charge a fee per se. Instead, he takes half of whatever he recovers for his clients. And for those down-and-out clients, it’s a bargain at twice the price, as the saying goes. And McGee is scrupulous about letting his clients know his terms before he goes to work for them. He has a soft spot for those who’ve been ‘taken’ by the corrupt, the dishonest, and the powerful. And that adds a layer to his character. It also invites readers to invest themselves in what happens to his clients.

The same might be said of the clients we meet in Ian Hamilton’s Ava Lee series. Lee is a Toronto-based forensic accountant. Her specialty is finding money that people want to keep hidden. She works for Chow Tung, who owns a Hong Kong based company that recovers stolen money. This company’s clients have been swindled, often of large amounts of money, and are desperate to get their money back. Most have no other options. And, much of the time, those who’ve stolen the money are well-heeled, well-protected, and formidable opponents. So, Lee is quite familiar with taking the underdog’s side against a strong adversary. But, she’s no slouch herself…

Fans of C.J.Box’s Joe Pickett will know that he’s often a sort of underdog. Pickett is a Wyoming game warden who often goes up against dangerous and powerful opponents. He does have the force of law on his side, but he’s also learned the law can be for sale. So, he sometimes finds himself very much on his own, going against wealthy developers, well-armed drugs and animal traffickers, and so on. His status as the underdog arguably adds to his character, and invites readers to care what happens to him, especially readers who don’t care much for big business and corruption.

Fans of legal mysteries and courtroom thrillers can tell you that the ‘underdog lawyer’ is a very popular plot point in such stories. There are lots of examples; I’ll just share two. I know you can offer lots more examples than I could.

Gordon Ferris’ The Hanging Shed isn’t really, strictly speaking, a legal novel. But it does have an important legal dimension to it. Hugh ‘Shug’ Donovan has been arrested and convicted for the abduction and murder of a young boy, Rory Hutchinson. He’s scheduled to be executed in a matter of weeks. But he claims he’s innocent, and asks his former friend Douglas Brodie to try to help clear his name (Brodie is a former police officer who’s now trying to start a career in journalism). Brodie’s not sure what he can do, but he travels from London, where he’s been living, to Glasgow to see if he can help. That’s when he meets Donovan’s lawyer, Samantha ‘Sam’ Campbell. She lost her court case, but is still convinced her client was framed, and is working to appeal his conviction. In this novel, she’s very much the underdog. For one thing, the prosecuting attorneys are skilled and experienced. Sam’s got the skills, but not a lot of experience. For another thing, she’s a woman in what is very much a man’s world (the novel takes place in 1947). What’s more, once she and Brodie find out who’s really responsible for Rory’s murder, they learn that they’re up against money and power. The underdog status adds tension to the plot as the two try to save Donovan.

And then there’s Ferdinand von Schirach’s Der Fall Collini (The Collini Case). Italian immigrant Fabrizio Collini has lived peacefully in his adopted Germany for decades. Then one day, he abruptly travels to Berlin’s Hotel Adlon, where he finds, shoots, and kills Jean-Baptiste Meyer. He’s promptly arrested and taken into custody, where he says almost nothing. German law requires that all defendants be represented by an attorney, but Collini doesn’t have one. So, Caspar Leinen, a newly-fledged lawyer who’s on stand-by duty for legal aid, takes the case. To Leinen’s frustration, Collini doesn’t try to defend himself. He admits to the shooting, but gives no motive. Leinen does his best, though, to prepare for the trial; and in this case, he’s the underdog. The prosecution has the confession, witness testimony, the weapon, and more. The only thing they don’t have is motive. Nor do they have any evidence that Collini is deranged or otherwise a threat. If he’s going to win his case, Leinen will have to go back to the past to find out the truth behind this murder.

There are plenty of other novels that feature underdogs. And that plot point can add a great deal to a story. Which ones have stayed with you?

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Europe’s Spirit of the Underdog.

16 Comments

Filed under Agatha Christie, C.J. Box, Ferdinand von Schirach, Gordon Ferris, Ian Hamilton, John D. MacDonald

Be One of Us*

cultsAs this is posted, it’s 38 years since the tragic deaths of over 900 members of Jim Jones’ People’s Temple group. Most people agree that that was a dangerous cult, but the line between spiritual group and cult is sometimes quite blurred. Whatever you call those non-conformist spiritual groups, they do attract plenty of people. And there are reasons for that. Some people are searching for a place to be accepted and to belong. Others want to make sense out of life, when it doesn’t always make sense at all. Others have other reasons for joining such a group.

And there’s no shortage of such groups in crime fiction. They can add a real layer of atmosphere, suspense and interest, too. There’s often a charismatic leader, a group of disparate people, plenty of secretiveness, and so on. All of those can combine to make for an effective context for a crime story.

For example, in G.K. Chesterton’s The Eye of Apollo, private investigator Hercule Flambeau gets a new resident in his building. The man calls himself Kalon, and claims he is the new Priest of Apollo. He’s quite charismatic in his way, and gets a following. One tragic day, Pauline Stacey, an heiress who lives two floors down from Kalon, dies from a tragic fall down an elevator shaft. Father Brown happens to be visiting Flambeau at the time, so he gets involved in investigating the death. And it turns out that this death was no accident, but a carefully planned murder.

Agatha Christie’s short story The Flock of Geryon also takes up the topic of cults and cult leaders. In that story, an acquaintance of Hercule Poirot’s, Miss Carnaby, is concerned about a friend of hers, Emmeline Clegg. It seems that Emmeline has gotten involved in new religious group, The Flock of the Shepherd, led by the charismatic and shadowy Dr. Anderson. Miss Carnaby is worried that her friend might be at risk, and Poirot agrees to help her look into the matter. He, Miss Carnaby, and Chief Inspector Japp and his team make a plan for investigating the group. They find that there’s much more at stake than spiritual well-being.

The focus of Ngaio Marsh’s Death in Ecstasy is a religious group called the House of the Sacred Flame. One night, Nigel Bathgate visits the group’s worship place on impulse, and witnesses one of their ceremonies. During the ritual, one of the group members, Cara Quayne, suddenly dies of what turns out to be poison. Bathgate calls in his friend, Chief Detective Inspector Roderick Alleyn, and the official investigation begins. In finding out who killed the victim and why, Alleyn and Bathgate look into the inner workings of the group, its leadership, and the interactions of its members. I agree, fans of Spinsters in Jeopardy.

John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee goes undercover in a cult group in The Green Ripper. In that novel, McGee’s girlfriend, Gretel Howard, dies of what looks like a fatal illness. But it turns out that she was murdered, and her death carefully planned. As he searches for answers, McGee finds a connection to a Northern California cult called the Church of the Apocrypha. Under the leadership of the charismatic Brother Persivel, the group is committed to the destruction of everything in society, so that everything can then be re-built. McGee joins the group to find out more information, and he discovers what the group’s plans are, and how they are linked to Gretel’s death.

Betty Webb’s Desert Wives takes readers into a sect/cult called Purity, which has a compound straddling the Arizona/Utah border. PI Lena Jones has been hired to help rescue thirteen-year-old Rebecca Corbett from the cult, and that particular goal is accomplished. But then, she discovers that on the same night, the cult’s leader, Solomon Royal, was shot. And there’s evidence against Rebecca’s mother, Esther (who, incidentally, hired Jones in the first place). If she’s going to clear her client’s name, Jones will have to find out who killed the victim. For that, she goes undercover in the group, and finds that there is much more going on than just attention to the spiritual. Some of the things she discovers are frightening and very dangerous.

And then there’s Åsa Larson’s The Savage Altar (AKA Sun Storm). The novel begins with the murder of Viktor Stråndgard, whose body is found in a Kiruna church called The Church of the Source of All Our Strength. He was one of the leaders of the church, and had developed quite a cult-like following. The police, in the form of Anna-Maria Mella and Sven-Eric Stålnacke, investigate the killing. It’s not long before they learn that the victim’s sister, Sanna, is a very likely suspect. She found the body (which could very easily be because she’s the reason it’s there). And there are any number of possible motives. Sanna claims she is innocent, and asks for help from her former friend, Rebecka Martinsson. Rebecka’s reluctant, as she had her own reasons for moving from Kiruna to Stockholm. But she agrees, mostly for the sake of Sanna’s two children. She finds that the solution to this mystery is connected with her own past.

There are plenty of other crime novels that explore life in groups that we might call cults (right, fans of Emma Cline’s The Girls?). They are fascinating, if frightening, and they can form interesting contexts for murder mysteries. Which ones have stayed with you?

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from the Who’s Welcome.

17 Comments

Filed under Agatha Christie, Åsa Larsson, Betty Webb, Emma Cline, G.K. Chesterton, John D. MacDonald, Ngaio Marsh

Still the Rain Kept Pourin’ *

hurricanesHave you ever experienced a hurricane (they’re also called typhoons and cyclones, depending on where you live)? I have, and trust me, they can be frightening. On the one hand, people do now get advance warning about hurricanes, so that there’s a little time to evacuate if that’s necessary, or to lay in supplies, fasten the hurricane shutters and wait the storm out.

But the fact is, no matter how prepared one is, a hurricane is a furious storm. That’s even more the case if people don’t have the means or the infrastructure to withstand that kind of weather. As dangerous as hurricanes can be, they can make for a very effective context for a crime novel. There’s the element of danger, and there’s the suspense. All sorts of things can happen in a hurricane, too. So it’s no wonder that we see them in the genre.

Before he began his Travis McGee series, John D. MacDonald wrote several standalone novels that most people consider hardboiled. One of them was Murder in the Wind. In that novel, Hurricane Hilda forms, and slowly moves from the Caribbean towards Florida. As it does, many people try to leave the area and outrun the storm. The plot of this novel features six carloads of people who are driving north of Tampa when the bridge over the Waccasassa River goes out. Unable to turn back, they take shelter in an abandoned house to wait out the storm. As you can imagine, when a group of different sorts of characters is thrown together, anything can happen. And as MacDonald shows us, the storm itself adds to the conflict. I know, I know, fans of Condominium.

James Lee Burke’s The Tin Roof Blowdown takes place in the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Many people have been left stranded by the high water, and Father Jude Le Blanc sets off in a boat to try to save some of his parishioners. He goes missing (and has presumably been shot), and the boat he was using ends up in the hands of looters, police detective Dave Robicheaux makes a connection between them and Le Blanc’s disappearance. Since they two were old friends, Robicheaux feels an especially strong need to find out what happened to the priest. Among other things, this novel shows the devastation that was left behind after Katrina, especially in poor and remote areas.

In Fly on the Wall, Mike Hirsh introduces volunteer Sheriff’s Deputy Paul ‘Fly’ Moscone. He’s retired from his job selling mainframe computers, and moved to Punta Gorda, Florida. Now, he works a few days a week as ‘an extra body on the streets.’  When Hurricane Charley slams through the area, there’s a lot of damage and chaos. And in its aftermath, there’s a dead body: wealthy John Catlett. His body is found in his upmarket apartment, and at first, it’s not clear that it’s a murder. But Moscone isn’t completely convinced, and he and his buddy Jinx, a recovering reporter, look into the matter. One of the other plot points in the novel is that someone has apparently been targeting the insurance claim adjusters who always move in on a hurricane-hit area. It’s an interesting look at that aspect of making it through this sort of weather.

Chris Grabenstein’s Free Fall doesn’t, admittedly, take place during a hurricane. But the fictional town of Sea Haven, New Jersey is one of many, many towns that were severely impacted by Superstorm Sandy. So, at the beginning of the novel, police detective Danny Boyle and John Ceepak, his former boss, now Chief of Detectives, are faced with budget cuts and a limited police force. All of this has come from trying to repair the damage and open the town for the all-important summer tourist season. One day, Boyle and his new partner are on patrol when they get a call about an alleged assault. The supposed assailant is Christine Lemonopolous, a friend of Boyle’s. She claims to be innocent, and Ceepak and Boyle believe her. Then, one of Christine’s home health care patients dies. Now the two detectives have to face the possibility that they’ve let a killer loose. This novel mentions, among other things, what it takes to get a place working again after a major storm.

There’s also David Holmberg’s The Hurricane Murders, which takes place in 1998. In that novel, Hurricane Angela strikes the West Palm Beach/Palm Beach, Florida area. Journalist Jake Arnett has been ‘sentenced to paradise,’ and now lives in West Palm Beach. In the aftermath of the hurricane, Arnett is assigned to the story when the bodies of Diane and Carolyn Madigan are found in their apartment. Both have been shot, and there are no signs of forced entry. So the police and Arnett start by looking among the people the victims knew. Arnett slowly builds a portrait of the women, the people they’d met, and the places they’d been. And in the end, he finds out who the killer is.

Jane Harrod’s Deadly Deceit finds British Diplomat Jess Turner on temporary assignment at the Governor’s Office of the Turks and Caicos Islands (TCI) in the Caribbean. She arrives to the terrible news that the Governor’s been in an awful hit-and-run accident, and been rushed away for emergency surgery. It’s not long, though, before Jess finds that this was no accident. In the meantime, Australian DI Tom Sangster is in Miami for talks on global solutions to criminal gangs who engage in smuggling migrants. Jess is a friend of his, so when he learns she’s in the Caribbean, he visits her to find out how the British government manages the problem in the islands, especially immigration from nearby Haiti. While he’s visiting her, there’s a brutal murder.  And an approaching hurricane means he and Jess are not going to have much time to look into the secrets the island is hiding. The storm certainly adds a layer of urgency to the story.

Real-life hurricanes can do an immense amount of damage. And as you know, Hurricane Matthew has shown us all very recently just how awful a hurricane can be. It’s not just a matter of providing physical shelter for people. It’s water, tents, medicine, food that’s not contaminated, functioning hospitals and more.

You can do something to help those who’ve been so badly affected by the hurricane. This is important in all the areas impacted, but perhaps especially in Haiti, where there’s little infrastructure and less money. How can you help? Check out the Haiti Emergency Relief Fund. G’wan, click it. I have it on trustworthy authority that this is a reliable way to do your part for those in so much need.

You can also donate to the Red Cross, which is helping those who’ve lost so much in Haiti, and in the US. Don’t live in the US? No problem. There’s a Red Cross in your country. Perhaps you can’t hop on a plane and go rebuild. But you can help.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Creedance Clearwater Revival’s Who’ll Stop the Rain?

20 Comments

Filed under Chris Grabenstein, David Holmberg, James Lee Burke, Jane Harrod, John D. MacDonald, Mike Hirsh

And Who’s That Deadly Piper Who Leads Them Away*

Charismatic PeopleOne of the books that’s been getting quite a lot of attention this summer is Emma Cline’s The Girls. The book tells the coming-of-age story of Evie Boyd. It’s 1969, and at the age of 14, Evie’s lost and aimless. Then, one summer, she meets a group of girls in a park, and finds herself drawn to them. In particular, she becomes obsessed with a young woman named Suzanne. For Suzanne’s sake, Evie gets involved with a charismatic man named Russell, who seems to have these young women under his spell. As the novel goes on, Evie gets more and more involved with Russell’s cult, and her obsession leads her to some very dark places. If this sounds a lot like the Charles Manson story, there’s a good reason for that. Many comparisons have been made between that real-life tragedy and The Girls.

One thing those stories show clearly is the ability that some people have to lead young people (and sometimes, the not-so-young) away from their own lives and into things they never would have imagined. That’s the charisma some people have, and it gives them a real hold over others. The Girls presents one example of this sort of character; there are many others in crime fiction.

One character with that sort of persuasive power is Michael Garfield, whom we meet in Agatha Christie’s Hallowe’en Party. In that novel, detective-story writer Ariadne Oliver is visiting a friend, Judith Butler, in the small, commuter village of Woodleigh Common. During her visit, a young girl, Joyce Reynolds, is murdered at a Hallowe’en party that Mrs. Oliver is attending. She asks Hercule Poirot to come to Woodleigh Common and investigate. Poirot agrees and makes the trip. In the course of Poirot’s investigation, he meets Garfield, who was hired to create a garden for a wealthy widow, Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe, who has since died. In fact, according to her will, the garden is to be maintained, with Garfield at the helm. As we get to know Garfield, we can see that he has a certain charisma – an ability to get people to do what he wants. And that’s part of why the garden he’s created is so remarkable.

In John D. MacDonald’s The Green Ripper, PI Travis McGee has found happiness with his girlfriend Gretel Howard. Then, tragically, she dies of what looks like a fatal illness. The truth is, though, that she was murdered, and her death was carefully planned. As McGee learns more about what happened to Gretel, he begins to connect her death to a Northern California cult called The Church of the Apocrypha. Under the leadership of the very charismatic Brother Persival, the members of the church believe that everything in society must be destroyed if people are to have better lives. Once McGee makes the connection between Gretel’s death and this cult, he goes undercover in the group to find out who killed Gretel. There, he learns that Brother Persival has attracted people to his group with his vivid portraits of life in the new world he wants to create. He’s got a real hold over the members of the church, and has drawn them away from what most people would consider ‘normal’ lives.

Robert Barnard’s No Place of Safety introduces readers to Ben Marchant, who runs a temporary homeless shelter in Leeds for young people. Usually called the Centre, the shelter offers young people two weeks of food and a place to sleep. Then they need to leave for two weeks before they can return. Police detective Charlie Pearce comes into contact with Marchant when he goes in search of Katy Bourne and Alan Coughlan, two teens who disappeared on the same day. Pearce finds them at the Centre, where for some reason, Marchant has allowed them to stay well beyond the two-week limit. For several reasons, Pearce decides that the best thing for these young people is to stay at the shelter for the moment. But the shelter may not be all it seems. Certainly some of the local residents are not happy with it, or with Marchant. And just who is Ben Marchant? What hold does he have, and what’s really going on there? Pearce finds that the more he learns, the more he sees that this is far from a simple and safe place for young people to stay.

And then there’s Kathryn Fox’s Malicious Intent. New South Wales D.S. Kate Farrer is faced with an odd death. A young woman, Claire Matthews, disappeared just before taking her final vows to become a nun. Now, a few months later, her body has turned up at the bottom of a cliff, the result of an apparent suicide. But some things about the case don’t add up, and Farrer wants help from her friend, pathologist/forensic physician Anya Crichton. Shortly after agreeing to see what she can do, Crichton gets a new client, who wants her to look into the death of his sister. As it turns out, the two victims have in common that there are strange fibres in their lungs. This leads Crichton to suppose that they might have been at the same place. If so, this could present a real health hazard. There’ve been other deaths, too, all of young women who were otherwise healthy, but who had similar fibres in their lungs. Each from a different angle, Crichton and Farrer try to find out who or what is behind these deaths. It turns out that someone with unusual charisma and the ability to draw people in has played a major role in what happened.

There are other novels, too, in which we see this sort of charisma. Certain people have what it takes to draw others in and lead them to do things they’d never ordinarily do (I know, fans of Gail Bowen’s The Wandering Soul Murders). Which ones have stayed with you?

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from The Hooters’ Where Do the Children Go?

18 Comments

Filed under Agatha Christie, Emma Cline, Gail Bowen, John D. MacDonald, Kathryn Fox, Robert Barnard

I Started Something I Couldn’t Finish*

DNFIf you read enough, sooner or later you’ll run across a book that you shove aside in exasperation, or even disgust. I think it happens to us all. There are a lot of reasons this might happen, of course. And the challenge for authors, editors and publishers is that different readers are put off by different things.

That said, though, there are some things that really do seem to pull readers right out of a story. One of those things – and the most important thing to some readers – is credibility. And there are all sorts of ways in which you can conceive of that word. For instance, readers want their characters to ‘feel’ real. They don’t, as a rule, want characters to have superhuman powers, or behave in ways that aren’t logical, given that character’s personality.

That’s one reason, for instance, why many people find Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch an appealing character. He’s a police detective, not a superhero. He’s a normal sort of person. He certainly has his issues, but he pays the consequences when he makes mistakes (and those mistakes add to his credibility).

It’s not just characters, though. Readers also like plot elements to ring true. And that’s possible even in thrillers. For example, Bill Selnes, who blogs at Mysteries and More From Saskatchewan, makes the well-taken point that the most engaging thrillers focus on catastrophes that could really happen. He’s right. And he mentions Drew Chapman’s The King of Fear (a novel I’ve not yet read, I admit) as an example of a thriller that is quite credible in that way.

Another element that can pull a reader out of a book is a lack of appealing characters. And, interestingly a character doesn’t have to be someone you’d like in person in order to be appealing.  But most readers want at least one character they care about – whose fate actually matters to them. It doesn’t bode well for a book if the reader doesn’t care whether a crime is solved or not, because both the victim and the sleuth are so annoying that it doesn’t really matter what happens to either.

And that’s one reason for which Arnaldur Indriðason’s series featuring Inspector Erlendur has been so highly regarded. As we learn about the different members of Erlendur’s team, those characters become fleshed out, and it’s easy for readers to care about what happens to them. The same is true for the various victims, witnesses and ‘people of interest’ in the Erlendur novels. Many readers find that they care about what happens to those people, and want to know what happened to the victims.

There’s also the matter of length (you were waiting for this one, weren’t you?). A book that’s very long runs the risk of being plodding. And when a plot drags on, with nothing to keep the reader’s interest, this makes the reader more likely to disengage. I’ll bet you’ve all had the experience of wading through far too many pages of description, so that you got thoroughly fed up.

That said, this doesn’t mean that a long book can’t also be really absorbing. C.J. Sansom’s Matthew Shardlake novels are long. So are Hilary Mantel’s (which, interestingly enough, take place during the same time period). And so is Eleanor Catton’s The Luminaries. And I’ll bet your personal list of top authors includes some who’ve written long books. It complicates matters, too, that we all have different ideas about what counts as a book that’s too long. But for the most part, readers want a plot to move along.

They also want a plot that doesn’t depend on a lot of extreme violence and brutality. Violence is, of course, pretty much inherent in crime fiction for obvious reasons. But violence for its own sake puts a lot of readers off.

Many of John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee novels are violent. And MacDonald doesn’t gloss over the ugliness, either. But at the same time, it’s not protracted violence. Fans will also tell you that the violence serves the plot. It’s not there for its own sake. That’s arguably one of the reasons that this series has had such lasting appeal. Of course, violence is another quite subjective element. The answer to the question, ‘How much is too much?’ often depends on which reader you ask.

And then there’s the matter of what readers think is offensive. If you’ve ever read a book that’s full of ‘isms’ that bother you, you know what I mean. Or, perhaps you’ve read a book with a lot of language that offends you, or with explicitness that you don’t like. Those kinds of things can really upset readers, so that they’re no longer interested in the story at all. Like everything else, what counts as ‘offensive’ varies, sometimes a lot. That doesn’t make it easy for authors, editors and publishers. But readers know what upsets them, and they will stop reading if a book pushes that ‘envelope.’

What about you? What’s the quickest route to the DNF pile for you? Let me know if you’d like in the poll below, and we’ll talk about it again in a week or so. Psst… You can choose more than one element in this poll if you want to.

 

 

*NOTE: The title of this post is the title of a song by The Smiths.

52 Comments

Filed under Arnaldur Indriðason, C.J. Sansom, Drew Chapman, Hilary Mantel, John D. MacDonald, Michael Connelly