Saturday, May 07, 2016

How I Came to Write Tommy Red, Charlie Stella



How I came to write this book …

Tommy Red
Tommy Red Dalton was born the day Laura Lippman wrote me about her need for a quickly written short story for Baltimore Noir anthology. My story, Ode to the O’s, had to do with 1969 in Baltimore—a horror story year for sports there. I’d wanted to write a Tommy Red novel for a long time afterward, and I made a few starts, but I also sidetracked myself with other projects. It wasn’t until I was in the MFA program when the idea for a workable novel hit home.

We did a residency on Star Island (a.k.a., Shutter Island), where I wrote something I was comfortable with and it wound up being the start of the novel: a scene with a guy spewing how much he disliked Star Island. Insert 4 years of jerking around with several other projects, including doing the work for the MFA, and I finally finished the thing. I had no idea so much time had passed since my last crime novel because the Dogfella project came along and I was still trying out literary short stories. My daughter and son-in-law are writing a screenplay based on one of those, Tangle Argentina, a morphed version of a very hot dance/musical from back in the 70’s (I think), Tango Argentina. It is truly amazing, by the way, how much faster time flies when we’re having fun.  I don’t regret taking 4 years between crime novels at all, and it may well be another 4 years before my next one. Right now I’m playing with one in my head, but it’s far back in my head, and my head is enormous, with lots and lots of cluttered, as well as empty, space.

Anyway, when I was finally serious about Tommy Red again, the Eric Garner situation happened on Staten Island, and I felt a need to spew some social and political rants. I also needed to make a hit man have some redeeming qualities. Tommy would’ve been a Bernie Sanders supporter, but it’s safe to say he’d reject Bernie’s call for non-violent political revolution. I also needed to attack that politically correct bullshit about 99% of police being honest and honorable. That’s the biggest crock of shit since hearing Hillary Clinton switch her “guilty of being a moderate” moment to a “progressive who likes to get things done.” If I had to bet, I’d say the percentages are a lot close to 60-40, and I’m not quite sure which side is the 60 or the 40. That doesn’t mean 60 or 40 suggests all cops are killers or violent offenders, but if four or five cops see one cop beating a handcuffed woman (an incident recently caught on film in Florida), those four or five cops are guilty too. I have friends who’ve retired, and some friends and relatives through marriage with kids still on the force, and I’d take the gamble in assuming they’re all honest and honorable, but I’ve known some from my past who weren’t anything close to honest and honorable, and I suspect that they were taught to be closed mouthed about giving up (or even stopping) other cops from doing wrong very early on in the training process, mostly likely at the academies. Basically, I believe what Frank Serpico suggested in a few articles he penned after the Eric Garner incident, including one titled: Nothing Has Changed in Police Work regarding the blue wall of silence. Substitute that for omerta and what you have is a gang with badges making it legal. It may be more prevalent in urban areas, but I suspect it’s everywhere, including at the federal level, or situations like Greg Scarpa in New York and/or Whitey Bulger up in Boston never happen.

As a writer, those social issues and the idea of perpetual wars being fought by the children of the suckers (i.e., the voting public) and not the kids of politicians or their owners, all made Tommy Red, a guy who kills to earn a living, an easier character to develop. The fact his wife tells their oldest of 3 daughters that her father kills for a living was another way to lend the guy some sympathy, especially once the reader understands why she’d do something like that.

In the end, this crime novel pits one man against the mob, some exposed corruption within law enforcement, and ultimately his conscience as it relates to his children. I had a ton of help with the very last paragraph of the novel, because I wanted to go one way with the ending, but both my wife and my editor, Merle Drown, wanted me to go another way. They won out. In retrospect, I believe they were right.

http://temporaryknucksline.blogspot.com/

Friday, May 06, 2016

Links Problems

I think part of the problem with links I sometimes have is when contributors make the title on your blog too long and I can't pick up the entire link.

So maybe your post title should just have the title of the book and author. If I have been missing yours this would apply. The shorter the better for our purposes.

Also if you don't have the book title or author in the title, I can't see them in the link I am picking up.

A Hologram for the King on Crimespree Magazine

And Speaking of First Novels

 2016 Anthony Awards

BEST FIRST NOVEL
Concrete Angel – Patricia Abbott [Polis]
Past Crimes – Glen Erik Hamilton [William Morrow]
New Yorked – Rob Hart [Polis]
Bull Mountain – Brian Panowich [G.P. Putnam’s Sons/Head of Zeus]
On the Road with Del & Louise – Art Taylor [Henery]

I know a lot of you made this happen. Now you just have to come to New Orleans in September with me. That's part of the deal.

And added plus is Megan's short story THE LITTLE MEN is nominated for Best Story. 
You can find the other nominees almost everywhere.
 

Friday's Forgotten Books, Debut Novels

Some of my favorite crime fiction debut novels: A Kiss Before Dying, Ira Levin; In the Heat of the Night, John Ball, Friday the Rabbi Slept Late, Harry Kemmelman, Fletch, Gregory McDonald, When the Bough Breaks, Jonathan Kellerman, Postmortem, Patricia Cornwall, A Grave Talent, Laure R. King, A Cold Day in Paradise, Steve Hamilton, In the Woods, Tana French, The Expats, Chris Pavone, From Doon to Death, Ruth Rendell,Cover Her Face, P.D. James, Roseanna, Per Wahloo and Maj Sjowal, Love in Amsterdam, Nicholas Freeling, Starvation Lake, Brian Gruley, The Ice House, Minette Walters, The Moving Target, Ross Macdonald






It was the summer of 2003 perhaps. We were on Cape Cod, in a two-week rental when we got the call. Megan had sold her first novel to Simon and Schuster. It had all gone quickly, finding an agent and selling the book. Not at all what I had read about in the sort of online columns that rendered advice then. We did not know she was writing a book nor that she was looking for an agent or publisher much ahead of time. We believed she was settling into an academic career after earning her Ph.D. But the academic life didn't suit her. And her placement, in rural New York, wasn't right either.

I decided to read DIE A LITTLE again. I had not revisited it since 2005 when it debuted. I was amazed at how many of her writing riffs were already in place. Her love for research, her love for Hollywood, for femme fatales, seedy hotels and bars, glamour. In many ways, there is more of Megan in this book than any other. I can see all of her lifelong interests played out here.

Lora and Bill King are close siblings, who grew up on their own after their parents death. He is a cop; she a schoolteacher. When he falls for the glamorous Alice Steele, Lora's radar is up. She is both seduced and wary of her new sister-in-law. Clearly there is something off about her. Is it drugs? Is it a sordid past? Bad associations?  Lora will do anything to protect her brother. Just how far will she go?

DIE A LITTLE was nominated for an Edgar for best first novel. It lost to OFFICER DOWN by Theresa Schwegel. Like all of Megan's books is doesn't fall easily into categories.  It's a crime novel, yes, but it is more about the people than the crime. It's more about the place, the period. It is a very good first novel, I think.




 
Kent Morgan lives in Winnipeg, Manitoba where he is doing his best to downsize his book collection by donating to various charity sales. It's a difficult task.

Sanibel Flats - Randy Wayne White - 1990
I'm cheating a little by selecting this book as Randy Wayne White's first book. However, it is the first book he wrote under his own name. Before he started the successful series featuring marine biologist Doc Ford, which now numbers 23 books, he wrote two paperback original action-thriller series. The first series of seven under the name of Randy Striker was published in 1981 and 1982. White used the pseudonym Carl Ramm for the Hawker series of 11 books published between 1984 and 1986. The author was working as a fishing guide in Florida during this period. For many years it was reported that White refused to acknowledge that he wrote the books. The Striker series was republished several years ago and since 2008 the list of his books in the Doc Ford hardcovers states that he wrote them as Randy Striker. Still no mention of the Carl Ramm books.  
I was introduced to White and Doc Ford when I came across a paperback copy of Sanibel Flats in 1991. Rather than reread the book and write a new review, I went back into my book records and found the mini-review I wrote at the time. Here it is with no editing.
Doc Ford is a marine biologist running a small business on the southwestern coast of Florida. He once worked for the government in Central America, but he had to get out before he was killed. When an old high school friend, who works as a freelance pilot (no drugs), has his son kidnapped by a terrorist group, he asks Ford to help him get the boy back in exchange for some Mayan treasures. Doc has no desire to leave Florida and a developing relationship with a local artist, but under pressure he agrees to discuss the situation. However, when he goes to meet his friend in an old partying locale in the Sanibel flats, he finds him murdered. He then feels he is left with no choice and goes to Central America. Doc is a very complex character and White's story is excellent so I hope we see more.
Using my rating system with a maximum of four stars, the first Ford received three and one-half. In 2000, Sanibel Flats was selected as one of the 100 Favorite Mysteries of the Century by the Independent Mystery Booksellers Association.     
While on a baseball and books trip to Florida in the Spring of 1992, I was in a Waldenbooks in Clearwater waiting to make a purchase while the clerk behind the counter removed new books from a box. She pulled one out and exclaimed, "I want this for myself." Of course I looked and the book was the second Doc Ford titled The Heat Islands. There were two copies so I took the other, which I gave four stars. Since then I have purchased the new Doc Ford when it came out each spring. On several occasions I was able to get it signed by the author in one of the Doc Ford restaurants in the Fort Myers area. This spring on the day it was released, White signed my copy of Deep Blue in the original Doc Ford's Bar and Grill on Sanibel Island.
While I have enjoyed all the books in the series, I do prefer the ones where the  action takes place in the  Florida Gulf Coast area. If you haven't read Doc Ford, I would suggest that you start with the early books.


THE GREAT SANTINI (1976) by Pat Conroy

Reviewed by Barry Ergang


It is 1962, and W.P. “Bull” Meecham, U.S. Marine Corps light colonel and fighter pilot, whose self-proclaimed nom de guerre is the Great Santini, has been stationed in the Mediterranean for the past year. His family—wife Lillian, children Ben, Mary Anne, Karen and Matthew—has been living in Atlanta, Georgia with Lillian’s mother. They have lived all over the United States for years, depending upon where Bull has been stationed, but stay in Atlanta when he’s out of the country.

Now Bull is coming home, having been assigned to the Marine Air Station in Ravenel, South Carolina as the commanding officer of Squadron 367. His homecoming is a matter of ambivalence for his family, especially for the children and most especially for Ben, the oldest. Bull Meecham has so utterly embraced the disciplinary strictures of the Corps as to be a martinet not only toward those under his command, but also toward those in his family. He has come to expect the same kinds of responses to orders from his children that he expects from Marines. The children have been trained to respond in kind, not least because their father can be both verbally and physically abusive to them and to Lillian.

Very much an episodic novel, The Great Santini deals more focally with Meecham’s family life and his wife and children’s (particularly Ben’s and Mary Anne’s) lives and relationships with him and with one another. Extra-familial episodes include, among others, Ben’s friendship with an African-American man named Toomer, the son of Arrabelle Smalls, the Meecham family’s no-nonsense maid who gives as good as she gets—especially to Bull; Ben’s performance on the school basketball team; violent encounters with members of the lowlife Pettus family, particularly Red Pettus; and Bull’s interactions with Corps superiors and underlings.

As many a scene in the novel demonstrates, Bull Meecham seems simultaneously one-dimensional and complex. For instance, when Ben tells his high school principal that he hates his father, the principal replies: “No, you love him and he loves you. I’ve seen a lot of Marine fathers since I’ve been at the high school, Ben…They love their families with their hearts and souls and they wage war against them to prove it…All your dad is doing is loving you by trying to live his life over again through you. He makes bad mistakes, but he makes them because he is part of an organization that does not tolerate substandard performance. He just sometimes forgets there’s a difference between a Marine and a son.”

Bull Meecham is a memorable character, someone readers will love and laugh at and with one moment, then hate, curse and want to slug the next. The book’s other major characters are also superbly delineated. Loaded with moments which are by turns laugh-out-loud funny, tender, suspenseful, and moving, The Great Santini is a wonderful first novel by an excellent writer who is an exemplar of the adage “Write what you know.” Meecham is based on Pat Conroy’s Marine Colonel father and aspects of his son’s upbringing.    

The first work I read by Pat Conroy was his novel The Lords of Discipline, which I loved both for its story and the quality of the telling. Later on I read The Boo, the author’s first published book—a work of non-fiction—and still further on the novel The Prince of Tides, upon which the movie was based. After finishing The Great Santini, I watched its film version and was happy to see that it manages to effectively capture the crucial details of a 400-page-plus work of potent fiction, and one I can and do emphatically recommend, especially the print version—but with the caveat to sensitive readers that it contains some instances of raw language including f-bombs and racial epithets.  

© 2016 Barry Ergang

Sergio Angelini, NO ORCHIDS FOR MISS BLANDISH, James Hadley Chase
Yvette Banek, CROCODILE ON A SAND BANK, Elizabeth Peters
Joe Barone, LOVE STORIES WITH MURDERS, Harry Bingham
Brian Busby, THE WILD OLIVE, Basil King
Bill Crider, NORWOOD, Charles Portis
Martin Edwards, THE SIRENS SANG OF MURDER, Sarah Caudwell
Curt Evans, DEATH ON THE LAST TRAIN, George Bellairs
Rich Horton,  Another Ace Double: Empire of the Atom, by A. E. Van Vogt/Space Station #1, by Frank Belknap Long
Jerry House, BILTMORE OSWALD, J. Thorne Smith
Nick Jones, TIME RIGHT DEADLY, Sarah Gainham
George Kelley, THE DEMOLISHED MAN, Alfred Bester
Margot Kinberg, NEFARIOUS DOINGS, Ilsa Evans
B.V. Lawson, FIRST CASES, ed. Robert Randisi
Todd Mason, FFFirstB: MOTHER ISN'T DEAD SHE'S ONLY SLEEPING by Kit Reed (Houghton Mifflin 1961); SHORT STORY 2 by Arno Karlen, Sally Weber, Michael Rumaker and Gertrude Friedberg (Scribner's,1959)
J.F. Norris, MARE'S NEST,  Carlyn Coffin
Matt Paust, CONCRETE ANGEL, Patricia Abbott
James Reasoner, NIGHTRIDER DEPUTY, Ralph R. Perry
Richard Robinson, THE BLESSING WAY, Tony Hillerman
Sandra Ruttan, HUSH, Anne Frasier
Kevin Tipple, A BOND WITH DEATH, Bill Crider
TomCat, SILENCE IN COURT, Patricia Wentworth
TracyK, THE DEFECTION OF A.J. WINTER, Robert Littell
Westlake Review, THE FOURTH DIMENSION IS DEATH, Donald Westlake

Wednesday, May 04, 2016

First Wedneday Book Review, May 3, 2016


This is the first of the four books that make up what is called the Neapolitan series from Elena Ferrante. Whose identity has been kept a secret. Not sure why unless these books are too autobiographical to expose the author.
The first book details the early years of two good friends, Elena and Lila. They live in a poor section of Naples and the book examines quite a large cast of characters, even including a list of the families in the front of the book.
Elena and Lila are extremely competitive, especially when it comes to school. Both strive to earn top grades in classes like Latin, Greek, Italian. They study and read incessantly at an age when other girls thoughts have turned to boys. They get little encouragement from their families who see schoolwork as postponement of wage earning.  Their teaches though speak up for them.
Elena is able to persist whereas Lila, for various reasons, goes to work for her father, a shoemaker.
By the end of this first volume, their paths have widely diverged. Book 2 awaits.
We read this in my very large book group, which is about 35% men 65% women, The men liked this book a lot more than the woman, saying it gave them insight into the path to womanhood for girls. They called it brilliant, fascinating, and saw reflections of their own neighborhoods.
The women seemed to find it soap operatic. I think they missed the mark entirely. This is a very fine book. I vote with the men.

For other reviews, see Barrie Summy, right here.

Tuesday, May 03, 2016

Hey I am in the Portland Book Review

http://portlandbookreview.com/2016/05/the-difficult-centerpiece-of-shot-in-detroit-by-patricia-abbott/

Dear Murderer




This British movie from 1947 has a tight plot but suffers from resembling too much the stage play it came from. The actors seemed as fenced in as they would on a smallish stage. Cramped indeed,
When a man returns from an extended overseas trip to discover his wife is having an affair,  he decides to murder her lover and pin the crime on another lover. Greta Gynt makes a good femme fatale and Eric Portman, a decent murderer, but far too many scenes rely on lengthy explications with the actors standing there expectantly.

Monday, May 02, 2016

SHOT IN DETROIT-Wylie Edwards





And THEN THERE WERE THREE: Wylie Edwards

His whole life was about cars, and it was a flat tire that landed him here—that was one of his final thoughts as he lay dying on a deserted road outside Jackson. Deserted except for the two dudes who’d just stabbed him and were about to steal his truck. At least, that’s what it looked like from his view from the ground. What else could they want? It wasn’t even dark yet—he’d bet they were high on something. It was a back road, but someone could possibly come along.
            A huge fist had jabbed him as he put the jack away.  The hand was so quick he hadn’t spotted the flash of metal as the knife went into his chest. Only got a look at them as they walked away: two white guys with bullet-shaped heads, black tee shirts, swastikas on the backs of their necks. Nobody’d believe it. Except maybe they would. Hadn’t one of those Oklahoma City bombers come out of Michigan? He’d been a kid then, but he’d heard later they came from Lapeer or some farming community. Or deer-hunting country like this was.
 Wasn’t even a new truck they were hi-jacking—he’d bought it used, if not used up, last year. Made the mistake of fixing it up, drawing attention to it: decals, cool paint job. Well that’s what he’d done since he graduated in June. Fixed trucks up. He was learning how to customize vans right now. Don Blake, guy he worked for, was showing him the ropes.
“You got an artistic bent,” Don said, encouraging him with the personal use of the garage’s tools and paint ‘cause he couldn’t afford to pay him much. “You’re a decent mechanic but a better artist.” Don built a special down-draft paint booth for him and brought a fellow in from Indianapolis to give him some tips on the air-brushing technique. He picked it up quick. Too bad he hadn't been half as good at math.
Sometimes Wylie imagined putting his pictures on a canvass. Maybe not the graphics that looked like cartoons or tattoos, but the ones he sometimes was asked to do of nature. Last month he painted sand dunes and beach grass on a van. Those  dunes would look awesome on a piece of wood.
He guessed his future as an artist was coming to a quick end—along with everything else. Funny thing. He didn’t even feel that bad. Probably in shock. If someone—like his Mom, a nurse—was around he could probably be saved. She’d stick a tube in his chest and stop the air flow out. Keep his lung from collapsing; stop his insides from kinking up. He’d read a textbook or two when he wasn’t looking at car magazines or Playboy. No Mom around to save him today though; she was doing the night shift just a couple of miles away. No way to call. First thing the guy did after sticking a knife in him was take his cell and toss it.
 Knowing some medical stuff from living with a nurse, he thought he was probably a goner. He also couldn’t help but wonder what the guys were going to do with him. Probably leave him here to bleed out or die of an obstruction before bleeding to death.
If his whole life had been spent around cars, his whole life had also been spent around guys like those two. One of those guys was ripping the tab off a can of beer, lighting weed from the smell of it. Other one was examining the contents of Wylie’s toolbox. He heard a wrench fall, clattering against the side of his truck.
Cons—he could pick up the smell of the prison down the road from the ground he lay on. He’d bet they’d been out of the place less than a month. They still had the kind of haircuts men got at Jackson though. Everything about these guys shouted Jackson. Could have even climbed the wall, but he'd have heard the sirens.
He could hear the two guys debating what to do with him now. Telling each other that he’d probably be okay if they just let him lie where he was. But maybe someone would see him on the roadside before they could get away. He’d be alive to identify them, one of them said. Maybe it was better to take him along. Get out of here before someone else came along.
 Suddenly they were picking him up, dumping him in the back of the truck. The wind whistled through his chest as they fled down the road.