When last I saw Mycroft he was standing on the banks of a river in an unnamed Southern State watching me sink below the muddy surface, my arm chained...moreWhen last I saw Mycroft he was standing on the banks of a river in an unnamed Southern State watching me sink below the muddy surface, my arm chained to the rail of a houseboat. Mycroft had the key, he'd also been the one to blow a hole in the bottom of the boat. Did he really think that would be the end of me? As though I was some mere Max Cady? It takes will to allow an Alligator to eat through your forearm Mycroft. But will is something that I have in copious supply. As you will soon find out! Write the sequel quickly my friend for I am coming!
And you really should write that sequel because Sweet Money Won, which I read during my convalescence and the intense training that followed, is really quite good. A fast moving tale of low prospect men caught in over their heads in the tradition of Messrs Lansdale and Crais. Like those fellows Mycroft has a knack for heaping misfortune after misfortune upon his hapless protaginists, as well as a real feel for the bonds and rhythms of male friendship as well as the absurdities of fate. The writing is direct and vivid and Magnusson writes about that stinking Miasma pit Los Angeles with such a knowledge, and a glow of inextinguishable affection that cannot be extinguished by his level eyed look at the cities problems. Why he almost has me looking forward to the trip I will be taking there shortly in order to seek my revenge. That and Cici's cafe on Ventura Blvd. Best Steak and Eggs and Pancakes in the city!
Anyway as far as criticism go the only real advice I would give young Mycroft would be to reacquaint himself on Ebert's rule of funny names, and to allow himself the luxury of longer chapters to allow momentum to build, rather than the short punchy POV shifts he favors. Other than that it is a thoroughbly honorable debut. Pity he won't be around long enough to put this advice to good use. I. DRAW. NEAR. (less)