Nigel Bird's Blog, page 10

One Man's Opinion: FOR KICKS by DICK FRANCIS

It's my own fault, really. A week in France and I had my Ed McBain for the flight over, followed by a substantial looking Michael Chabon (Telegraph Avenue) for which I had high hopes (The Amazing Adventures Of Kavalier & Clay being a big favourite of mine). 

It turned out that I developed an aversion for the Chabon very quickly. I'm not sure what it was, but I was disorientated early on and couldn't recover. My younger self would have ploughed on regardless, but my old mind wouldn't let me (not enough years left and too many books). 

When it came to finding an alternative, the amount of reading material in English that I could lay my hands on was extremely limited. The only book that caught my eye was For Kicks by Dick Francis. 

An alternative was to give Hemingway's Le Vieil Homme Et La Mer a go. The problem with that is my lack of proficiency in French (something of an understatement). Though Hemingway's use of language is so clean and lean that I can gain the gist of what's going on much of the time, to do it properly would take far too much use of a dictionary or Google Translate to make it satisfying.    

For Kicks won out on account of the simplicity of the process of reading and it gave me plenty to think about. 

It's an older novel. Published in January 1965 just after I was born, like me it's pretty dated stuff. Not that it's without charm. 

The Earl of October drives into the life of Australian Daniel Roke with a slightly implausible offer. October is seeking out someone who understands horses to investigate curious goings on in the English National Hunt scene. Eleven horses with little hope have finished first and none have shown any signs of being doped. It's a scandal that could ruin the sport and October is too big a fan to let that happen. He's tried before, hiring a journalist who died in a car accident at the point where he may have been gaining headway with his investigation. Now he's desperate enough to pay Roke a huge sum of money on account of a chance conversation in a nearby town. It's all rather quaint and comforting. 

Roke, bored by a life where he is responsible for the upbringing of his younger siblings, jumps at the chance. So what if he'll have to slum it with some rough types around the training yards of the UK? He can fit in by growing an pair of sideburns, donning a leather jacket and twisting his Aussie twang into a cockney patter. 

There's lots of over explanation and the characters are like a bunch of hammy actors trying to make their way in am-dram. Occasionally there are hints of sex and glimpses of naked women or their undergarments that seem to be aimed at appealing to the 1960s male and helping to shift a few extra copies. The observations of class structure are stereotyped, the action is slow and the dialogue overlong. There are twists and turns along the way and as the story comes to a close the danger hinted at in the opening chapter is finally realised. 

Which doesn't sound like a great set of ingredients and makes me wonder why I was willing to carry on with this when Telegraph Avenue was added so quickly to the DNF pile. 

I think that has to be because of the plot. Underneath all the faults, the intrigue is sown early on. The world of horse racing and gambling is perfect for a crooked tale. And Roke himself, though he may go on a bit, carries himself with dignity and charm throughout.

If it were a horse, For Kicks would be a bit of a plodder. It might win a couple of long races on soft ground when stamina was of a premium, especially if the handicapper shaved off ten thousand words or thereabouts. Even so, it was fun to read on account of its subject matter and the underlying concept of the mystery. 

Worth the effort and passed the time.    

One Man's Opinion: FUZZ by ED McBAIN

Following a series is an interesting thing. I think you build a sense of loyalty to an author and a set of characters that softens the critical eye. That's particularly the case when a series has a lot of entries. The 87th Precinct books were published between 1956 and 2005 and there aren't many that can claim such a span of time. The run is almost as long as that of Coronation Street and they're able to change writing teams when necessary. 

Fuzz was published in 1968 and at only 12 years into the process, it could be seen as a fairly early addition. 

This one interested me as it answered a question that raised itself after reading Doll. Doll is definitely one of my favourites and I wondered if that was because the quality of the writing and storytelling was simply getting better as McBain polished his craft and further understood those occupying his creations. Having read Fuzz, I think the answer has to be no. 

Here we have the return of the Deaf Man. Having read several of the Deaf Man books (because of my early random approach to the series) I was delighted to see him back on the scene. No doubt deep deeds, merriment and drama were to follow. Sadly, and perhaps because of the anticipation his presence spawned, I was slightly disappointed by this one. 

Things start strongly. The Deaf Man promises to kill a member of the city council if $5000 isn't left in a lunch pail on a park bench in a freezing cold Isola. The money is left and, true to his word, the assassination is carried out. 

A second request is made. This time, the council official is higher in the food chain and the demand is now ten times bigger than the first time round. 

 As things play out, a couple of decorators are painting the whole of the department a shade of apple green. As well as the walls, they're spraying phones, files and suits as they work and this is adding to the tension at the station. To make things worse, Byrnes is getting it in the neck and he's giving it back to anyone who fails in any aspect of the case they're following. 

Steve Carella isn't working the extortion case. He's dressed as a homeless man and is hoping to catch the perpetrators of burnings of homeless fold in the district. Things don't go well. 

While Carella sleeps in frozen doorways, the rest of the squad are following their only lead to the assassinations. They focus a lot on this and it's entertaining enough. The issue for me is that this line of investigation is clearly so removed from the Deaf Man that its momentum soon begins to fizzle. It's also a line that is crucial to the denouement of the story and becomes tangled up with the ending in such a way as to make it unsatisfactory. It's all too complicated and indirect. 

Not that Fuzz fails to entertain. There are plenty of excellent set-pieces, Meyer's visit to a sleazy pool hall for one. Some fun then, but for me it dragged its feet (the Miranda references tiring, aspects of the investigation heavy, a need to suspend some belief and perhaps too many of the squad being involved at once). Distinctly below par, a fractured plot, necessary reading for maintaining the streak and still worth checking out.  

Hear more from Hark  episode 22, Chewing A Donkey, where they're a lot more positive than me. 

One Man's Opinion: EIGHTY MILLION EYES by ED McBAIN

It was so good to be back with the 87th that after reading Doll, I couldn't resist Eighty Million Eyes. Now I'm done with Eighty Million Eyes, I couldn't resist and so I'm reading Fuzz. After that, I'll need a break- I don't want to get through all the books any time soon, so I'll be changing direction for a while. 

The Eighty Million Eyes of the story are those watching TV comic Stan Gifford as he takes to the screen for another of his weekly shows. Two of those belong to a big fan of his, Steve Carella. It's because he's tuned in that Carella gets to see his favourite comedian collapse and die as it happens. 

In the madness that follows, Gifford's doctor anounces that his patient had a strong heart and that a heart attack should be ruled out. He also suggests that poison may have been involved. The autopsy confirms this, but doesn't rule out suicide as a possible cause of death. 

That's our main plot and, just for good measure, there are some throwaway jokes to maintain the comedy spirit. 

Our sideline here, and my prefered strand, is delivered as the opening in the form of six pages of perfection. A hard man is waiting in an office for a woman named Cindy. The boss wants him to leave, but he's not budging. A cop is called. He's a rookie who things he can handle the situation. He can't. Hard man demands Cindy is called. When she finally arrives, it turns out she has no idea who it is that wants to see her so badly. The heat is turned up, the cop intervenes, the cop takes a battering, the hard man exits. It's a brilliant set up and the plotline is hugely satisfying, not least because it confirms the sense from Doll that the real Kling is back with us. 

I took this with me on the train down to Newcastle to see the Magpies thrash Man Utd 2-0. What with the result, the read and the grin on my son's face, it was just about the perfect day.

Not quite the tension and excitement of Doll, but well worth a visit. 

There's more on this one over at Hark if you fancy the podcast. You might also enjoy Criminolly over at Youtube, who has a piece where he holds up every book of the series that he can with a few treats besidse. His recommendations on 'Pulp, Crime, Horror, That Kind Of Thing' are well worth checking out. 

One Man's Opinion: DOLL by ED McBAIN

 

I'm sure that in one of my more recent 87th Precinct reviews, I mentioned that I was distressed by the increasing bitterness and hard-heartedness of Bert Kling. In Doll, it's got to the point where Lieutenant Byrnes has had enough of Kling's style of policing; he's a bad apple and the mood and performance of the precinct is suffering because of him. 

Steve Carella, being the impressive human being he is, intervenes and persuades his boss to let him take Kling under his wing. One last chance, if you like. 

The case they take on is of the brutal murder of a beautiful model while her daughter was sitting in the next room overhearing it all. The murder is slow and violent, an almost literal death by a thousand cuts and we get to experience every slice through McBain's vivid description. 

When they find the little girl, she's clutching her doll. As typical with an 87th, this may be the doll of the title, but there's another surprising one that will be revealed later on in the plot. 

Kling and Carella go off together and, true to form, Kling makes a hash of it. Not even Carella can maintain a professional approach with Kling in tow, so he cuts him loose. Heated and frank words are exchanged as the two separate, words that will haunt Kling as the story develops. 

Now he's alone and has the space to think, Carella continues the investigation and solves the case. 

Normally, this would be the end of the book, but here it's only a new beginning. 

There's a major twist in this one. A huge turn of events that really did stop me breathing for a few moments. The shock almost had me crying out, but I was on a train to Newcastle, so I supressed it and stopped reading for a while as the development sank in. 

Thankfully, with a little bit of thought and application of my own reader skills, it all fell into place and it was only a few pages later that I knew I could continue without feeling sick, not that the book gets any less exciting. There are still events and sharp corners to turn that keep the pace of the story quick and the intensity of the white-knuckle ride high. 

Doll will stand out as a favourite of the series when I finally get to the end, I'm pretty sure of that. Everything about it works and I was especially pleased to get a sense that maybe Kling is on the way to recovery. 

When I finished, a particular episode of Starsky And Hutch came to mind (one I saw over forty years ago, I imagine). If you read it or have done so, I wonder if it will be/was the same for you. I'd be interested to hear. 

Anyway, this book is tops and I'm going in for more by heading straight for Eighty Million Eyes. 

Awesome.

And for another opinion, check out the HARK podcast.   

One Man's Opinion: RAZORBLADE TEARS by S.A. COSBY

 

Having recently been blown away by Cosby's Blacktop Wasteland , I was really excited about getting stuck into Razorblade Tear s . Perhaps because I was looking forward to this so much, I left it feeling slightly disappointed. That's not to say it wasn't a decent read, it just didn't quite measure up to my expectations. 
The premise is an excellent one. A gay couple have been murdered and their fathers are both struggling to come to terms with the way they handled their sons' sexuality. Their relationships were strained and the damage was significant, which leaves both Buddy Lee and Ike full of guilt and a sense of failure. 
Buddy Lee wants to do something about it, Ike is more concerned about maintaining his business. In the end, Buddy Lee persuades Ike that they need to go after the killers and seek their own kind of justice. It's handy that both have done spells in prison and are used to handling themselves in all kinds of situations. More helpful that Ike is about to release his alter-ego, Riot, on the world. 
In order to track down the killers, they have to get past several stumbling blocks: the LGBTQ+ community is reluctant to pass on information to either the authorities or to any outsiders; there's a biker gang called Rare Breed that is involved in protecting the man behind the murders; their main lead is a lady called Tangerine who has gone into hiding in order to save her own skin; and they don't seem to like each other very much. 
The journey of Ike and Buddy Lee is like many a 'buddy' story. They share one goal and their journey will be tough, but they're going to come to depend upon each other and, somewhere along the line, liking each other will creep in around the edges. They're a good team and bring the best and worst out of each other. Most importantly, they're able to work towards completing their quest by knocking down one of those stumbling blocks at a time. 
All was going well until I began to disengage from around the half-way point. In some ways, this is because the action scenes took over. Much as they were well put together, the older I get, the less I want to read long sections of brutality. There's a sense of inevitability about the outcomes of each set piece and also about the ending. I don't think I was invested enough in the characters or felt they had enough to lose.
I also struggled to a lesser extent with the similes here. Unlike in Blacktop Wasteland, where they're sharp and apt, here they lacked a cutting edge. It's a small point, but an important one. Perhaps it suggests that Cosby's improvement is significant and if that upward curve is maintained, All The Sinners Bleed is going to be an absolute peach. 
Not really for me, then, but if you're a lover of revenge novels or action stories, this may be right up your street. 

One Man's Opinion: THE GALLOWS POLE by BENJAMIN MYERS

King David Hartley leads a band of Yorkshire menfolk in the dangerous act of clipping (cutting away at legitimate coins and using those clippings to forge new money). It's not something the authorities can allow and men are sent to close down the operation. The Gallows Pole tells us of the history from the point of view of coiner and crown in a way that's gripping from the off.  

Cards on the table, I'm a Lancastreen bastid at my core, those early roots strong and impossible to cut through. In spite of that, Jorvikshyre is a special place for me. I spent many happy days and nights visiting my brother when he lived in Hebden Bridge and my in-laws live in Holmfirth where the hills and vales are something to behold. 

Perhaps that's why the wonderful descriptions of the landscapes in this book struck me immediately, though I suspect anyone who has spent any time soaking up nature will be bowled over by the poetic musings and the vivid pictures painted in these words. I'm also certain that anyone who hasn't been exposed to the landscapes of the county will be desperate to get out there and soak up the wonder that is to be found there. 

The sense of time and place is one of the reasons that this is a stunning novel, but there are many of those and it's difficult to know where to start. Essentially, I don't think I can do it justice and probably don't have the breadth of reading experience or knowledge to offer a coherent review, but I'm going to have a go at picking out some of the things that stood out to me. 

Symmetry, reflection and cycles. They feel important. There's the way the seasons roll by and the endless power of nature. The clippers versus the representatives of the crown. The threads that tie generations together. The contrasts of rich and poor. The blurred lines of right and wrong. The passions of the loyal and the traitorous. The circle of the story that begins and ends seamlessly. And sometimes in the structure itself. Early on, for example, there's a hypnotic section that sees the men of the valley arriving for a meeting called up at the Hartley home. Four pages describe their journeys and characters, four pages that are a joy to behold. Later in the book, we have a similar list at a similar gathering, only this time it's the wealthy and the powerful who are coming together. It's a treat to behold.  

To have symmetry and reflection you need a centre point. Here the fulcrum is a time of change. The industrial revolution is growing and the old ways will never be the same. Land will be owned and torn up to allow for profit and then to more profit whatever the cost. It allows us to sympathise with the coiners, no matter how hardened and raw their lives, not least because their wealth is shared with the people of the area in a way that it never will be by the owners of mills and factories. 

Then there's the poetry of it all. 

King David's reflections are inserted regularly in his own voice. It's an old language and dialect that is direct and raw and echoes the toughness of the protagonist and his way of life. There's a little adjustment required to adapt to the words, but it's worth it because of the impact each of the entries brings. To my mind, there's a similarity here with A Clockwork Orange where the dexterity with sound and syllable is captivating. Here and in the rest of the novel, alliteration, rhyme, cadence and onomatopoeia work together to elevate the content and nail emotions, thoughts, tensions and descriptions. Think bastidly dastidly, to coin a phrase. 

And the alchemy. 

Central to the events, though not often to the fore, is the hooded figure of the forger. A man of mystery who is made up of shadows and visions. I know that the TV adaptation of the book is to come out soon. For me, the perfect casting for the alchemist would be Myers himself. Surely anyone who can string words together to create such a wonderful book as this has magic in his fingertips and in his soul. If any more proof was needed, then creating a work where the outcome of the story is never in doubt from the start, yet manages to conjures up tension that had this reader hanging on every development, is a remarkable achievement in itself.                  

I'm no expert, but if there's any justice (and I'm not sure whether The Gallows Pole shows us that there is or there isn't), this book is one of those that will outlive the author and be talked about for generations to come. A classic, if you will. A classic and an absolute belter.  

Congratulations due to Bluemoose Books for taking this on and for producing one of the finest covers ever. 

ps not a book for the fainthearted

One Man's Opinion: BLACKTOP WASTELAND by S A COSBY

 

Blacktop Wasteland, a book I can’t recommend highly enough.

SA Cosby is a magician of sorts. An alchemist. He has taken the elements required to create a wonderful story and smelted them back together into a tale that is even greater than the sum of its parts, in a similar way that Bug is able to strip down a car and fill it with secrets in order to make it durable enough and fast enough for whatever terrain is required.

Bug’s a genius. He drives cars better than anyone, with the possible exception of his estranged father. He’s inherited his father’s car, the Duster, and takes it out every now and again to make money in illegal races in which man and machine fuse into one in a way that brings just the right amount of driving excitement for this reader.

Problem for Bug is that circumstances have lined up to form the perfect storm where he needs more cash than he can get hold of. In order to pay mounting bills, he needs to raise the jeopardy. When a heist team that needs a driver gets in touch, it’s a job he can’t afford to turn down and the consequences of that will shake his life and the lives of those who are close to him like the meanest of earthquakes.

It works so well for a lot of reasons, not least because Bug is such a brilliant character. We want it to go well, but know it can’t. Every victory has a loss and sometimes it’s bits of himself that will be eroded. He’s damned if he does and if he doesn’t and isn’t that the core of a great noir story?

I don’t want to say anything else. Sure, I’m late to the party and you’ve probably already been there. If you haven’t, the advice is simple: get some.  

One Man's Opinion: THE WHEELMAN by DUANE SWIERCZYNSKI

 

What a firecracker. DS lights the fuse at the beginning and it explodes immediately. Then it explodes repeatedly until the final flame flickers and dies. Fast-paced, rollicking and highly entertaining. 

The wheelman aspect is done and dusted within a matter of pages. Planning, heist and outcome come hard and fast. The money from the bank is deposited into the boot of a car at a long-stay car park and the trio of criminals anticipate returning when things cool down. I don't think it's much of a spoiler to say that the plan doesn't come off. Our protagonist, Lennon, knocked out as they get away, becomes conscious at the point when he's about to be shoved down a pipe into the foundations of a huge building project that are soon to be filled with wet cement. 

Lennon doesn't fancy ending up calcified, fights back and finds himself naked in an unfamiliar city with an broken body and more questions than an Advanced Higher paper.

From then on the plot cuts between the key players in the scene. Lennon's nearest and dearest appears to be trying to save him. The Russian mob aren't happy at who Lennon has killed during his escape. The Italian mob have a gripe with the Russians and with Lennon and are about as fickle as politicians. 

There's a lot of blood spilled as things develop and players exit stage unexpectedly on a regular basis. 

DS revels in reveals. He hits with jabs from left and right when you're not expecting them and delivers the odd low blow. Wherever the punches come from, they come hard and it takes a moment for the world to come back into focus.

Tons of fun, then. Recommended for when you need pure escapism.   

GETAWAY DRIVERS

My latest reads have been about getaway drivers. 

Truth be told, I'm no lover of cars, especially modern ones. I don't recognise makes and models on the whole, but I do enjoy many of the shapes and lines of yesteryear. I don't particularly enjoy driving and the older I get the more that is the case, especially at night time. Nor am I a fan of car chases on screen- slick handbrake turns, tight manoeuvres, near misses and super stunts become boring for me when they go on for too long and just get in the way of the things I care about. 

That said, books and films about drivers can be utterly gripping. It's certainly the case for SA Cosby's Blacktop Wasteland and Duane Swierczynski's The Wheelman. The two books couldn't be further apart in their composition, but they are equally compelling and terrifically satisfying. 

Cosby's read has the right amount of car information for me and never becomes bogged down in detail because every mechanical aspect is totally credible and is explained just enough. Swierczynski jettisons the car early doors and the remaining lunacy of the proceedings are driven by the complex plot rather than by a steering wheel. One is rooted in character, the other in bamboozling action. Both hit the spot. 

Reviews to follow, but if you have any top driving stories to recommend, I'd be grateful.  

 

One Man's Opinion: 4 3 2 1 by PAUL AUSTER

 

‘a story about a young man writing a story about a young man writing a story about a young man writing a story about a young man…’

Does a book have to permeate every part of your being to be life changing? I’m not sure it does, especially after reading 4 3 2 1 by Paul Auster. I think this one has been life-changing for me for reasons I’ll outline and in ways that possibly only this novel could have managed.

I’ve been in a reading slump for a good while, managing only to complete books over long periods of time and without being totally drawn in. Worse, I’ve been in a writing slump and this has been the cause of plenty of anguish. And worse still, I’ve been in a general slump that was beginning to seem never-ending. And here is Mr Auster, reaching out from somewhere and making things better like some mind-bending magician or higher being.

How did he do it? I’m not entirely sure. There’s the fact that the book contains so many of his familiar paths: modern US history; satisfying lists; newspaper reports; basketball; baseball; New York; book stores; the music of chance; lines that make you stop to re-read them more than once; rebellion; philosophy; wordplay and connection; Paris; rebellion; a delight in the history of prose and poetry; and writing. Each of these suggests echoes of previous work. The comfort of that is something difficult to measure. For me, taking me back to my twenties and the days when I first fell in love with his writing was a real treat.

My reading slump must surely now be over. 900 pages within a month is something I wouldn’t have been able to face until this one. I set myself the goal and managed it. It was a challenge at times, but I made it to the end and I’m delighted I did. Surely that means I now have the discipline and the desire to take on more (I have SA Cosby’s Blacktop Wasteland in the wings, so I’m pretty sure that the journey of joy will continue).

My writing slump was already coming to an end. The idea was in place and I was ready to start. What 4,3,2,1 has reminded me of is that the ability to write and create stories is an amazing thing to have. I’m back at the keyboard and have a chapter in the bag. I’ll never match Mr Auster for quality, nor will I match countless others, but I can knock out a decent novel and want this next piece to be the best I’ve managed yet.

And if one of the essences of this book is distilled, everything has the potential to be life-changing, each decision and action opening new doors and directions that lead to other doors and directions and so on.

4,3,2,1 is about Ferguson. Or 4 different versions of Ferguson. From the same beginning, each of the four lives out a life that is a consequence of different things happening. The stories work in sequence. People who die in one chapter are still living in another. Things that have been jettisoned by one Ferguson are embrace by another. Good things happen to all of them and so do terrible things. His sexuality may not be the same. Those around him change, depending on their own altered circumstances. Throughout it all, we see each Ferguson growing up and taking a voyage of self-discovery. The backdrop of the civil rights movement and anti-war movements are prominent and each individual’s interaction with each is fundamental to who they become.

The author managed to keep me on track most of the time. When fumbling to recall what had happened to whom, a key aspect of their life would remind me where I was. In truth, I’m not sure how important it was that the separation was maintained, for as much as each Ferguson was different, in other ways they were interchangeable (there’s only so much bending that one set of genes can tolerate).

I’m sure this is a profound novel. One that will have deep thinkers wallowing in material for an age. Being of little brain, I’m just happy I read it and that the food for thought I was able digest was nourishing and tasty.

For the most part, I loved the book. On occasion, I had to slog through pages when my attention wavered. I had to overcome some early doubts about my engagement when it occurred to me that it didn’t matter what was happening to Ferguson at any point because it would soon by thrown up in the air to come out differently at the next stop. Those moments aside, I was rooting for each of them all the way to their ends.

A little quote to finish, one I appreciated and that all writers out there are likely to have experienced at one time or another:

‘There were reviews. For the first time in his life, he was bussed and slapped in public, thirteen times over the next four months by his reckoning, long, medium and short reviews in newspapers, magazines, and literary quarterlies, five satisfying French kisses, a friendly pat on the back, three punches to the face, one knee to the balls, one execution by firing squad and two shrugs. Ferguson was both a genius and an idiot, both a wonder boy and a supercilious oaf, both the best thing that had happened this year and the worst thing that had happened this year, both brimming with talent and utterly devoid of it…try as he did to ignore both the good and the bad that were said about him, Ferguson had to admit that the stings went on stinging long after the kisses had worn off…Fuck it, he said to himself, as he filed away the reviews in the bottom drawer of his desk. If and when he ever published another book, he would stop up his ears with candle wax, cover his eyes with a blindfold, strap his body to the mast of a ship, and then ride out the storm until the Sirens could no longer touch him.’

Oh how those shrugs must have hurt.