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343 pages, Hardcover
First published February 9, 2017
They are so dark that pupil and iris are virtually indistinguishable, fringed by long lashes that might make them pretty until you take a closer look, and then you will see that they absorb all the light around them and refuse to budge an inch. When looking into them, if you ever do, you will suddenly remember appointments that you should be making and previous engagements that you’ve forgotten to put on your calendar.Nora Watts may be living in the basement of her employers’ building. She may have substance issues and been to rehab a time or three. She may not be beautiful, well dressed, or well to do, but she has a gift. Those intimidating deep-pool eyes of hers can see a part of the spectrum that is dark to the rest of us too much of the time. She sees the dark shade of dishonesty. Nora Watts is a lie-detector extraordinaire. This gift comes in handy working for a PI and a freelance journalist. And as there is never a shortage of bullshit to be detected, Nora has plenty to do. Of course everything she does is not necessarily part of her paid gig.
About two years ago, I was working as a TV researcher for a crime drama series when an idea began to form for a project of my own. A dark, psychological suspense novel. I’d never written a novel before, but the idea wouldn’t let go and I found myself at a crossroads. In a moment of righteous conviction, I took the least logical path available. I quit my job and moved across the country to Vancouver, because this is where my story would be set. I had no employment prospects on the West Coast, no money, no friends, nothing but the drive to write. For the next year, I took day work in the film and television industry to make ends meet, ate out of cans, pocketed food from set. One week I had nowhere else to go so I lived in a tent. I’m told some people do this for fun. I am not one of them. - from the Thrillerfest interviewNora Watts is an amazing character. I have seen her compared to Lisbeth Salander, and that seems a reasonable comparison. Unlike her Swedish predecessor she is not a computer whiz. But like her dragon-y counterpart, Nora has had a less than lovely past. It includes a missing mom, dead father, a slew of foster homes, and worse. The trials of her experience have given her a caustic view of the world, a thick skin, but it is all there to protect that very vulnerable central core. Maybe one of the self-protection mechanisms at play is a hole in her memory from a traumatic event she had endured many years before.
I can tell that the coffee here is terrible, but the muffins are not too bad. People exiting with takeout cups in their hands peel back the lid, gulp, and then grimace. Those with muffins never bat an eye. They shrug and move on, seeing the muffins as money well spent.Nora tracks the crumbs to the crimes, encountering the necessary batterings, misdirections and betrayals that so often line that path. Seeing when people are lying offers one a bit of a light in the woods, but one still has to traverse the forest and cope with its sometimes hostile fauna.
At first I thought it was a manifestation of my hangover, but after an hour of huddling in the corner, wrapped in a blanket, I got angry. Okay, that’s not true. I got paranoid, drank a beer to calm my nerves, and then got angry. When I went out, steel pipe in hand, I found a huge ball of matted furs sniffing distastefully at a carton of spoiled chow mein I had put in the garbage the night before. The ball of fur looked at me with baleful eyes, but made no move to beat a hasty exit when I tried to shoo her away. I’ve called her Whisper ever since.Not to be too cute, Whisper has issues as well, as you will learn. Still, though, an Asta-level pooch adds a bright element to a dark tale.
I could get into my complicated parentage. I could point out to him that my dubious genes are at least part indigenous from my father’s side and part something I don’t even know from my mother‘s. Because she left when I was a child and I don’t know a thing about her, not even where she came from. What I do know is that I look somewhat like my father, and girls who look like me are more likely to go missing, and less likely to have their disappearances investigated.The beauty of the land comes in for some appreciation, particularly when it looks likely to be spoiled by thoughtless development. As does consideration of the devaluation of investigative reporting.
They are so dark that pupil and iris are virtually indistinguishable, fringed by long lashes that might make them pretty until you take a closer look, and then you will see that they absorb all the light around them and refuse to budge an inch. When looking into them, if you ever do, you will suddenly remember appointments that you should be making and previous engagements that you’ve forgotten to put on your calendar.Nora Watts may be living in the basement of her employers’ building. She may have substance issues and been to rehab a time or three. She may not be beautiful, well dressed, or well to do, but she has a gift. Those intimidating deep-pool eyes of hers can see a part of the spectrum that is dark to the rest of us too much of the time. She sees the dark shade of dishonesty. Nora Watts is a lie-detector extraordinaire. This gift comes in handy working for a PI and a freelance journalist. And as there is never a shortage of bullshit to be detected, Nora has plenty to do. Of course everything she does is not necessarily part of her paid gig.
About two years ago, I was working as a TV researcher for a crime drama series when an idea began to form for a project of my own. A dark, psychological suspense novel. I’d never written a novel before, but the idea wouldn’t let go and I found myself at a crossroads. In a moment of righteous conviction, I took the least logical path available. I quit my job and moved across the country to Vancouver, because this is where my story would be set. I had no employment prospects on the West Coast, no money, no friends, nothing but the drive to write. For the next year, I took day work in the film and television industry to make ends meet, ate out of cans, pocketed food from set. One week I had nowhere else to go so I lived in a tent. I’m told some people do this for fun. I am not one of them. - from the Thrillerfest interviewNora Watts is an amazing character. I have seen her compared to Lisbeth Salander, and that seems a reasonable comparison. Unlike her Swedish predecessor she is not a computer whiz. But like her dragon-y counterpart, Nora has had a less than lovely past. It includes a missing mom, dead father, a slew of foster homes, and worse. The trials of her experience have given her a caustic view of the world, a thick skin, but it is all there to protect that very vulnerable central core. Maybe one of the self-protection mechanisms at play is a hole in her memory from a traumatic event she had endured many years before.
I can tell that the coffee here is terrible, but the muffins are not too bad. People exiting with takeout cups in their hands peel back the lid, gulp, and then grimace. Those with muffins never bat an eye. They shrug and move on, seeing the muffins as money well spent.Nora tracks the crumbs to the crimes, encountering the necessary batterings, misdirections and betrayals that so often line that path. Seeing when people are lying offers one a bit of a light in the woods, but one still has to traverse the forest and cope with its sometimes hostile fauna.
At first I thought it was a manifestation of my hangover, but after an hour of huddling in the corner, wrapped in a blanket, I got angry. Okay, that’s not true. I got paranoid, drank a beer to calm my nerves, and then got angry. When I went out, steel pipe in hand, I found a huge ball of matted furs sniffing distastefully at a carton of spoiled chow mein I had put in the garbage the night before. The ball of fur looked at me with baleful eyes, but made no move to beat a hasty exit when I tried to shoo her away. I’ve called her Whisper ever since.Not to be too cute, Whisper has issues as well, as you will learn. Still, though, an Asta-level pooch adds a bright element to a dark tale.
I could get into my complicated parentage. I could point out to him that my dubious genes are at least part indigenous from my father’s side and part something I don’t even know from my mother‘s. Because she left when I was a child and I don’t know a thing about her, not even where she came from. What I do know is that I look somewhat like my father, and girls who look like me are more likely to go missing, and less likely to have their disappearances investigated.The beauty of the land comes in for some appreciation, particularly when it looks likely to be spoiled by thoughtless development. As does consideration of the devaluation of investigative reporting.
Sometimes when I wake up, I dig out an old hand mirror and stare at my reflection in it. My face always comes as a shock to me. Like a vampire, I avoid looking at myself in mirrors....It's such an honour to read a first-time author who has real talent and a powerful story to tell. Honestly, I see this in perhaps only 1-in-20 new authors. Kamal is the real deal and I can't wait to read her future books (agonising for a year between, as usual!)
... ...
All I see now is a dusky wraith descending into middle age but with none of the milestones that usually go along with it. I cringe at the woman staring back at me in the dim morning light that filters reluctantly into the room....
... ...
There’s nothing more invisible than the middle-aged woman, and there’s no denying that middle age is creeping up in time with the descent of my ass, a sort of inverse gravitational relationship....
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Compared to some people, I am all right. Compared to others, I am an ex-alcoholic survivor, sober off and on for thirteen years, celibate for just as long, who owns no property, has no friends, and spends her nights wandering the city with no one to love except a dog that is perpetually in heat. Compared to those people, I am one country song away from leaping off a bridge....
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I need a drink so bad that my stomach is in knots. I’m shocked at how my body can remember how good it feels to be buzzed. How it’s always the one escape that I long for when everything else that I touch turns to shit.