It’s A Long Way From Licking Goobers Off The Cobbles

You hear a lot of guff these days from Ireland’s literati about Irish literature’s failure to produce the Great Celtic Tiger Novel. ‘Where, oh where, is the Great Celtic Tiger Novel?’ is the general gist of it, followed by, ‘Why, oh why?’ and ‘Oh when, oh when?’. Well, a little birdie tells me that the wait is almost over. Once Amadán O’Lungamhain concludes IT’S A LONG WAY FROM LICKING GOOBERS OFF THE COBBLES, his five-volume epic ring cycle on the eradication of TB, he’s setting his sights on the Celtic Tiger years. A HILL OF MAGIC BEANS should be arriving on shelf near you by 2051 at the very latest.
  At the risk of sounding a tad more obtuse than usual, I really don’t get this obsession with the Great Celtic Tiger Novel. Yes, I understand that Ireland is a post-colonial country that has yet to shuck off its inferiority complex, and that a reluctance to engage, as Brian Cowen might say, with ‘we are where we are’ is a symptom of that. And yes, I understand that writing novels about the past offers the opportunity of rewriting the past, and thus making the official version of our tawdry history that bit more palatable. And I understand too, if the post-boom years are any marker, that Ireland is one of the very few modern nations for which the past is not another country where they do things differently; Ireland, as the newspaper headlines on any given day will tell us, is a country that bears an eerie similarity to the psychological landscape of Flann O’Brien’s THE THIRD POLICEMAN, in which past, present and future are locked into a hellish cycle of eternal return. If our politicians, financiers, bishops and electorate are all doomed to repeat their mistakes over and over again, never truly escaping tragedy into farce, then why should our novelists be any different?
  Maybe it’s the case – and bear in mind that some days I’m more wilfully obtuse than others – that I’m simply too callow or uneducated to appreciate the subtle nuances of a body of literature that glories in its inability to come to terms with the present, or at least to try. But it seems to me that any self-respecting novel should be more interested in raising pertinent questions than providing belated answers, in wrestling with current dilemmas than offering quasi-philosophical interpretations of historical events. The point of any art, surely, is to reflect and / or investigate the culture from which it springs. That’s not as easy as it sounds, of course, especially when it comes to the novel. A good book can take an author years to write, so that he or she finds that the zeitgeist has long sailed by time the book lands on a shelf. It’s also true that a crucial moment in a nation’s development can take many years for all the sediment to sift down, so that an author can see it clearly enough for what it really was. By which time, unfortunately, the novel is no longer relevant as a tool to aid our understanding of ourselves, which is the fundamental point of art.
  You wouldn’t know it if you only listened to the Irish literati, but there is a body of writers engaging with modern Ireland. Only time will tell if they are entitled to call themselves artists, but right now they are asking hard questions of our society, our mores, challenging our ethical stances. This is the kind of thing that good crime fiction does as a matter of course, and that a number of Irish crime writers are doing on a regular basis. Brian McGilloway, Ken Bruen, Tana French, Declan Hughes, Gene Kerrigan, Alan Glynn, Stuart Neville – these are some of the writers who do not allow themselves the luxury of elapsed decades before confronting the issues that are relevant to a country bedevilled by corruption at virtually every strata of society. Yes, yes, I know I cut a pathetic figure bleating on yet again about the relevance of Irish crime fiction, but you’d need to be a far more obtuse figure than I not to appreciate the fact that there is a phenomenon at play here; and more, that such writers – like Liam O’Flaherty publishing THE ASSASSIN in 1928, or Colin Bateman publishing DIVORCING JACK in 1995 – deserve credit for their courage in grappling with crucial issues when they are still live, messy and important.
  All of which protracted preamble leads me to the ever-radiant Arlene Hunt, who appeared on TV3 last Thursday morning chatting about her new tome, BLOOD MONEY. I can’t say too much about the novel just yet, as I won’t get to start reading it for another day or two, but I do know that the story dips a toe into the murky waters of organ tourism, aka the black market in organ transplants, and subsequently tip-toes through an ethical minefield. Now, I have no idea of how prevalent organ tourism is here in Ireland, although I’ve no reason to believe it’s not as common-place here as it is anywhere else; nor do I know how qualified or otherwise Arlene Hunt is to write about the topic. I do know that Arlene Hunt is a terrific story-teller, though, and that I’m looking forward to reading a topical novel about contemporary Ireland.
  Topical novels about contemporary Ireland, eh? When literary Ireland finally gets around to pulling its head out of its ass, and stops whining about how the Arts Council trough is no longer as full as it used to be, and realises that it’s not entitled to consider itself an heir to Joyce, Beckett, Shaw, O’Casey, et al simply because there’s a harp on its passport, it might want to consider the following question: Is a topical novel about modern Ireland once in a blue moon really too much to ask?

Is Eileen Battersby Fit For Purpose?

There’s an interesting piece in today’s Irish Times from Eileen Battersby, who (belatedly) leaps to the defence of those Irish authors traduced by Julian Gough’s assertion that our literary heroes are hopelessly out of touch with modern Ireland. That she does so without mentioning the words ‘Julian’ or ‘Gough’ is strange enough, but the fact that she answers the question ‘Do Irish writers engage with contemporary life or are they stuck in the past?’ without referring to a single Irish crime writer would be hilarious if it weren’t so pathetic.
  Actually, that’s not strictly true. Ms Battersby does mention John Banville’s alter-ego, Benjamin Black, albeit in order to laud his investigation of the past. And you can also include Eoin McNamee, if you’re willing to concede that THE BLUE TANGO, RESURRECTION MEN, 12:23 et al, are crime novels, which Ms Battersby doesn’t, and overlook the fact that McNamee writes thrillers under the pseudonym John Creed, which she does.
  That said, how can the Irish Times’ literary correspondent answer the question of ‘Do Irish writers engage with contemporary life or are they stuck in the past?’ without citing the likes of Declan Hughes, Tana French, Brian McGilloway, Gene Kerrigan, et al? Even if she confined herself to literary authors – which Julian Gough did – then Adrian McKinty’s mischievous treatment of ULYSSES in THE BLOOMSDAY DEAD was surely worth a mention. But Ms Battersby is happy to include the chick-lit writers Sheila Flanagan and Cecilia Ahern, while ignoring the likes of Alan Glynn’s WINTERLAND or Ken Bruen’s PRIEST. Meanwhile, and leaving aside the fact that the political entity of Northern Ireland is composed of six rather than nine counties, how can you praise David Park’s (very fine) novel THE TRUTH COMMISSIONER for engaging with ‘post-Good Friday Ulster’ and ignore Stuart Neville’s THE TWELVE, which was recently nominated one of the best crime novels of the last year by the New York Times and the LA Times?
  Now, it can be argued that I’m getting my knickers in a twist over nowt, because Ms Battersby is as entitled to her opinion as anyone, and you can’t please everyone, because the Irish literary landscape is teeming with contenders for ‘Most Relevant Chronicler of Our Times’. By the same token, Ms Battersby mentioned 58 writers, playwrights and poets, and didn’t find room for a single Irish crime writer bar Benjamin Black. And, given that the Irish Times is the paper of record, and that Ms Battersby is the paper’s literary correspondent, any tourist reading that piece in Dublin today would be entitled to conclude that Ireland is a most peculiar modern country in that it has no indigenous crime writers dealing with contemporary matters. As the government talks up an export-led recovery, Irish publishers with Irish crime writers on their books must be gnawing their knuckles with frustration.
  It’s not as if Irish crime writing is hiding its light under a bushel. Or has it entirely escaped the notice of the Irish Times’ literary correspondent that Irish crime writing has its own category in the Irish Book Awards? Fintan O’Toole noticed. Meanwhile, Ms Battersby lauds Keith Ridgeway for nailing the Celtic Tiger phenomenon, and ignores the fact that Declan Hughes, Gene Kerrigan and Alan Glynn were last year already writing about the post-boom/bust Perhaps the article’s leading question should be rephrased as, ‘Do Irish literary correspondents engage with contemporary life or are they stuck in the past?’
  Given that those 58 writers mentioned cover virtually every kind of fiction bar sci-fi and crime, the only conclusion to be drawn from Ms Battersby’s piece today is that Irish crime writers were omitted from her article on the basis of taste, ignorance or prejudice. Regardless of which it happens to be, and in the light of today’s farrago, very fine authors such as McGilloway, McKinty, Hughes, French, Neville, Bruen and Kerrigan, to name but a few, are surely entitled to ask: Is Eileen Battersby fit for purpose?

X Hits The Spot

That’ll be the X chromosome, folks, rather than the happy tabs that makes you want to dance your small but perfectly formed ass off, not that I’d know anything about the latter, mainly because I like my small but perfectly formed ass exactly where it is. Anyhoo, here’s a couple of pieces I had published recently, the first being a Sunday Indo piece covering some Irish crime fiction novels coming your way from Arlene Hunt, Tana French, Niamh O’Connor, Ellen McCarthy, Alex Barclay, Cora Harrison and Ava McCarthy. To wit:

Last year was something of an annus mirabilis for Irish crime writing, with superb novels on offer from John Connolly, Declan Hughes, Gene Kerrigan, Stuart Neville, Adrian McKinty and Brian McGilloway, among others. It was also a year, as that list suggests, that was rather light on X chromosomes. This year, however, sees a whole slew of Irish women crime writers hit the shelves, a fact to be celebrated not so much for its quantity as for the sheer diversity of crime novel on offer.
  Sunday World crime correspondent Niamh O’Connor has published non-fiction titles in the past, but IF I NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN is her debut fiction. A police procedural featuring DI Jo Bermingham, its edgy tone taps into O’Connor’s personal experience of her day job.
  “I needed an outlet for this perverse reaction I was having when various gangland bosses got knocked off,” she says, ‘which was a feeling of ‘good riddance’. I’d heard and seen first hand the devastating injuries suffered by Dr James Donovan, who founded the forensic science laboratory, and who was blown up in a car bomb by the ‘General’, Martin Cahill, because of his incredible work making society safer for the rest of us.”

  For the rest, clickety-click here …
  Elsewhere, I reviewed THE LOSS ADJUSTOR by Aifric Campbell, which kicks off thusly:

Aifric Campbell’s debut, THE SEMANTICS OF MURDER (2008), offered a sophisticated, literary take on the murder mystery novel. While there is a violent death at the heart of THE LOSS ADJUSTOR, however, the mystery being investigated here is the nature of the loss that has left the narrator, Caroline – Caro to her very few friends – perilously close to emotional stasis, unable or unwilling to engage with life in all its glorious messiness.
  Ironically, Caro works as a loss adjustor for a London insurance company, putting a price on the losses people incur every day through theft, fire, or random act of God. So why has this intelligent, attractive and professionally successful woman so few friends? Why so very few lovers? Why, at the age of 27, did she go seeking sterilisation?

  For the rest, clickety-click here …

Deadlier Than The Male

Yes, yes, 2009 was a terrific year for the Irish crime novel, blah-de-blah. But it was all a bit, well … blokey. Next year, the ladies are back with a vengeance – literally, in some cases. Arlene Hunt has just posted the very snazzy cover to her latest tome, BLOOD MONEY, in which Sarah Kenny and John Quigley of QuicK Investigations are back in business – albeit without the missing Sarah. Can John cope? Given the man’s previous form, I have my doubts, but all will be revealed on March 4th …
  Tana French is also back in the game next year, after a year out, with FAITHFUL PLACE. This one features Frank Mackey, the handler who ‘ran’ Cassie Maddox in THE LIKENESS, and is another sequel-of-sorts in the sense that it develops a relatively minor character from a previous novel into a main protagonist. “This one spins around family,” says Tana, “the way THE LIKENESS spun around identity.” Nice. The bad news? It isn’t due until July 13th … Boo.
  Aifric Campbell’s debut THE SEMANTICS OF MURDER was well received as a literary thriller when it appeared last year: “A storyteller of really immense gifts. She combines a unique sensibility with a prose of shimmering beauty,” said Joseph O’Connor. So hopes are high for the follow-up, THE LOSS ADJUSTOR, which arrives on February 25th. Details are still sketchy on the content, with Amazon’s book description contenting itself with, “Haunting and humane, THE LOSS ADJUSTOR speaks of grief, forgiveness and redemption.” Consider our breath well and truly bated …
  Busily beavering away over in Clare’s beautiful Burren, Cora Harrison appears to have grown an extra arm or three. Not only will she be publishing EYE OF THE LAW on March 25th, the latest in the Brehon series featuring the investigator Mara, she’ll also be publishing the YA novels I WAS JANE AUSTEN’S BEST FRIEND, also in March, and THE MONTGOMERY MURDER, in May. Crikey. That makes me feel like the laziest slacker in Christendom …
  There’s at least one debutant next year, when Niamh O’Connor publishes IF I NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN, a police procedural featuring Detective Inspector Jo Birmingham – although, to be strictly pedantic about it, O’Connor has published a number of true crime books to date. Will her day job as a crime reporter with the Sunday World give her a cutting edge when it comes to crime fic? Only time, that notoriously doity rat, will tell … IF I NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN appears on April 29th.
  Ava McCarthy debuted last year with THE INSIDER, and the follow-up, THE COURIER, again features that novel’s protagonist, feisty IT girl Harry Martinez. Last time out, Harry’s trials took her from Dublin to the Caribbean; this time she’s off to South Africa and the illegal diamond trade for her most audacious heist to date. THE COURIER delivers on April 15th …
  Another McCarthy, this one of the Ellen variety, publishes SILENT CROSSING on December 20th, a follow-up (but not a sequel) to 2008’s GUILT RIDDEN. Melanie is a woman with blood on her hands (literally, as she walks into a Garda Station) and a missing boyfriend. But the secrets of Raven House mean that nothing is as it first appears …
  Lastly, but by no means leastly, Alex Barclay returns to the fray with TAINTED, a follow-up to BLOOD RUNS COLD which features FBI agent Ren Bryce and is again set in Colorado. BLOOD RUNS COLD won the inaugural TV3 / Irish Book Awards crime fiction gong, so expectations are higher than usual. TAINTED hits a shelf near you in the near future, although confusion reigns as to exactly when: according to some sources it’s today, December 1st, but others are saying it’s as far away as next October. Can anyone out there clarify?

I’ve Seen The Future, Baby, It Is Murder …

For all my recent piffling about quitting as a writer, it was still something of a shock to see my picture in yesterday’s Sunday Times’ Culture section (Irish edition) with the caption ‘ex-novelist Burke’. Mind you, as my lovely wife pointed out, at least I’ll be able to show it to the grandkids to prove that I’m not some senile old fool when I wibble on about the halcyon days when I used to be a writer.
  I write theatre reviews for the Irish Culture section most weeks, and very enjoyable work it is too. The editor of the Culture section was kind enough to get in touch last week to say that he’d read the post on the blog about my quitting the writing game, and wondering if I’d be interested in turning it into an article. I didn’t want to write a me-me-me piece, even if my experience of the last few years was the hook, so I suggested we make it an article about how 2009 was an excellent year for the Irish crime novel, but that forces beyond the control of the writers could mean that the future isn’t as bright as it could or should be. Basically, I didn’t want the piece to read as a bilious case of sour grapes.
  The piece that appeared yesterday (no link) was pretty much the one I submitted, although it had been subbed to give it a punchier opening, and the last two paragraphs were gone, presumably because they were weak and sentimental and because I had already made the relevant point. (This, of course, is pertinent writing advice: perhaps if my books had had punchier openings and stronger endings, I wouldn’t be ‘ex-novelist Burke’.) Anyway, the piece as it appeared yesterday comes below, and – because I’m weak and sentimental – I’ve included the excised final paragraphs beneath. To wit:

This year has been a vintage one for the Irish crime novel, as writers tackle our post-boom neuroses. But it could become a high water mark, too, warns the retiring Declan Burke

Few literary agents come much bigger or more influential than Darley Anderson, and few have keener snouts for new talent. Twenty years ago, when he was getting his agency off the ground, he signed the unpublished Martina Cole and set about turning the thriller writer into a bestseller. Eleven years ago, he secured an advance of £350,000 for John Connolly’s debut novel, Every Dead Thing, the then 29-year-old Dublin crime writer having been rejected by half a dozen publishers before he approached Anderson. For reasons such as these, the publishing world listens when Anderson speaks.
  It’s especially depressing, therefore, to see what Anderson looks for in authors, which he outlined in candid terms to a publishing trade journal last month: plot first, characters second. “Good writing is the last thing,” said Anderson, “and we can work with authors on that.”
  The success of his stable of writers is testament to the wisdom of Anderson’s approach, but is formula is a depressing one for anyone who appreciates good crime writing. Plot and character are the staples of any good genre novel, but they are equally integral to movies, plays and even computer games. In reducing the crime novel to its most basic building blocks, and marginalising the author’s voice, Anderson is doing what the market requires. Artistry is an option extra that can be applied if and when necessary.
  Many in the new generation of Irish crime writers have taken a different tack. There is no school of Irish crime writing, but writers such as Gene Kerrigan, Alan Glynn, Declan Hughes and Stuart Neville have something in common in the way they have looked for cues to America, where noir novels take inspiration from the trinity of Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler and Ross Macdonald, writers for whom matters of style were inextricably linked with matters of content. Their novels sold to a mass market but they also came to be recognised as works of art, and as having something to say about the societies in which they were set.
  In what may well come to be regarded as the watershed year for Irish crime fiction, Kerrigan, Hughes, Glynn and Neville this year published books that straddle the line between crime fiction ‘entertainments’, as Graham Greene referred to his crime narratives, and the social, or realist, novel. Political corruption, the fall-out from Northern Ireland’s Peace Process and the parlay of paramilitary gains into socially acceptable wealth were some of the themes explored. Angry, fresh and bracingly polemical, the novels are important contributions to our attempt to understand who we are and where we are going.
  They have a fair wind behind them. Writing about crime has become increasingly popular in Ireland over the last decade, and particularly in the last five years or so. The seismic shudders generated by the murder of Veronica Guerin shouldn’t be discounted, but the post-Troubles fall-out, the economic boom, an increasing urban anonymity and the commercial success of ‘chick lit’ have all contributed to a growing number of writers utilising crime narratives to tell their stories about modern Ireland.
  Connolly, who sets his supernatural thrillers in Maine, blazed a trail in the U.S. that Ken Bruen and Tana French have followed. There are movies being made from Irish crime novels, and awards are being won. Literary authors such as John Banville and Eoin McNamee write crime fiction under nom-de-plumes. All told, 2010 should be the year in which the Irish crime novel finally breaks out onto the international stage.
  If it does – and I hope it does – I won’t be along for the ride. Last month, and despite having two published novels under my belt (Eightball Boogie in 2003 and The Big O in 2007) I decided to hang up the gumshoes and abandon crime fiction. The problems of any struggling writer don’t amount to a hill of beans, but there can come a point, especially with a young family and a hefty mortgage, when the rational decision is to withdraw.
  For most aspiring writers, the business of writing involves working two to four hours per day, five or six days per week, all in the quixotic hope that someone, somewhere will like your book enough to pay you an advance that is enough, if you’re lucky, to pay two months’ worth of mortgage. Any business requires sacrifices to make it a success, but if you’re a writer, you’re asking others to make those sacrifices on your behalf, and that can come to seem wrongheaded, or worse, when you’re taking large chunks of time to write books that the market doesn’t want.
  Any sensible reflection on failure involves the realisation that, for one reason or another, one simply wasn’t up to delivering what was required. My problem, according to various rejection letters, was that my books aren’t big enough. By big, publishers mean books that will translate to an international audience and be easily adaptable for the movie screen. Ireland, in its post-Troubles, post-boom incarnation, is fertile ground for a writer, particularly given the prevalence of both blue- and white-collar crime, but the advice I’m being given is that Irish-set crime novels simply don’t have the appeal to cut it on the global stage.
  It’s not just me. In the last week alone I’ve had conversations with two well-respected and well-reviewed Irish crime writers, both of whom were pessimistic about their immediate futures because their books simply aren’t selling; one has already made the decision to stop writing. Their loss would not only impact on the potential of the Irish crime novel, it would raise a serious question mark as to whether the Irish crime novel can continue to generate the kind of momentum that would see it reach a tipping point of market acceptance.
  There are reasons for optimism. Hughes’s The Price of Blood was this year shortlisted for the Mystery Writers of America’s prestigious Edgar award in the U.S., while Kerrigan’s Dark Times in the City was nominated for the CWA Gold Dagger award in Britain. A fortnight ago, Neville’s debut The Twelve received top billing in the New York Times’ weekly review of crime fiction. Glynn’s recent release, Winterland, has been widely praised by reviewers.
  As any writer will tell you, however, you can’t eat good reviews. In any case, a review is just one person’s opinion. While Neville’s novel was recently praised by a South African reviewer for how it dealt with post-conflict politics, Hughes’s was given a negative verdict by a New Zealand reviewer on the basis that raking over the Troubles is in nobody’s interest. It’s telling, too, that Neville’s novel was published under its original title, The Ghosts of Belfast, in the U.S., but was rebranded for the British market because of perceived apathy or even antipathy to anything related to Northern Ireland.
  The next few years will be crucial for the development of the Irish crime novel. Are our stories big enough to compete on the international stage? Connolly sets novels in the U.S., and Bruen has recently taken to setting his standalone works in America too. Adrian McKinty’s most recent offering, Fifty Grand, was set in Cuba and Colorado, while Alex Barclay’s Blood Runs Cold, and her forthcoming Black Run, are also set in Colorado. French has proved that Irish-set crime novels can be both international best-sellers and award winners, but on current form she is very much the exception to the rule.
  Right now there is a very real danger that what appears to be the Irish crime novel’s annus mirabilis will in fact come to be seen as the high-water mark from which the tide rolled back, leaving some very fine writers high and dry.
  It’s a Catch-22 situation: to survive in the current publishing climate, Irish authors will have to write the big novels that publishers want; but doing so means they will no longer be writing the novels that made this year such a stand-out for the Irish crime novel. – Declan Burke

  So there you have it. Not just sour grapes, but dog-in-a-manger to boot.
  Finally, those excised concluding paragraphs in full:

  Not every author will change course or stop writing, of course. Many will persevere despite their economic circumstances and the lack of commercial success. Some will do so because they have no choice but to write the kind of novels they do. Personally, I hope they survive and thrive, because the realist literature being created by the new wave of Irish crime novelists is too important to be allowed wither away.
  That said, it would be a terrible pity if, having as a nation finally matured beyond Seamus Heaney’s “Whatever you say, say nothing” to broach the taboos that have historically blighted Irish society, we were to be left with “Whatever you say, keep it yourselves.”

The Gospel According To Genre

There was a good piece in Publishers Weekly titled ‘Breaking the Wall’, in which a variety of crime writers discuss what Michael Connelly describes as the ‘membrane’ (as opposed to ‘wall’) between genre and literary fiction. For my money, Tana French (right) nails it to the wall:

“When you’re working to make a sentence as perfect as it can be,” says French, “or to make a character real and vivid and three-dimensional, how and whether you do that isn’t dependent on where the book will be shelved.”

  Well said, that woman. Mind you, Tana is one of those writers for whom style appears to be every bit as important as plot or character. Could it be a coincidence that IN THE WOODS and THE LIKENESS are award-winning best-sellers? Erm, probably not …
  It’s also true that Ireland has its fair share of ‘literary crime fiction’: John Banville’s THE BOOK OF EVIDENCE and THE UNTOUCHABLE, Flann O’Brien’s THE THIRD POLICEMAN, Pat McCabe’s THE BUTCHER BOY, Eoin McNamee’s RESURRECTION MAN (and others), Brian Moore’s THE COLOUR OF BLOOD (and others), Liam O’Flaherty’s THE INFORMER and THE ASSASSIN, David Park’s THE TRUTH COMMISSIONER, Kevin Power’s BAD DAY IN BLACKROCK, Gerard Donovan’s JULIUS WINSOME, Edna O’Brien’s IN THE FOREST (and others) … It’s a long and noble tradition.
  Okay, your turn. Your favourite ‘literary crime fiction’ is ...

The Sharpest O’Toole In The Box

There was an interesting piece on Irish crime fiction from Fintan O’Toole (right) in yesterday’s Irish Times, in which he referenced Declan Hughes, Gene Kerrigan and Alan Glynn as exemplars of ‘the nearest thing we have to a realist literature adequate to capturing the nature of contemporary society …’. The gist runneth thusly:

“It is striking that the most successful Irish crime writer, John Connolly, who began his career just a decade ago, felt it necessary to set his books in the US and to insert himself directly into the American detective tradition. Connolly presumably decided that Ireland, even in the Celtic Tiger years, was not the place for crime fiction. Yet it is equally striking that in the last few years, Irish-set crime writing has not merely begun to blossom but has become arguably the nearest thing we have to a realist literature adequate to capturing the nature of contemporary society …
  “If that were the whole story, however, what we’d be getting now would be simply a local version of the established international genre. That we’re getting something rather more interesting than that is suggested by two intriguing ways in which the best writing is inflected by older Irish traditions …
  “In creating an Ireland with no faith in authority and no belief that the bad guys will be vanquished by naming their names, they get closer to reality than most literary fiction has managed.”

  The piece is short but it is wide-ranging enough to touch on the perversity of the Irish crime narrative, beginning with JM Synge’s play ‘The Playboy of the Western World’, in which the ‘murderer’ is not only discovered very early on in the story, but spends most of his time protesting his ‘guilt’, to no avail. In offering reasons for why the traditional crime novel didn’t find its place in Ireland until recently, however, O’Toole doesn’t mention the post-colonial Irish attitude summed up by Seamus Heaney’s phrase, “Whatever you say / Say nothing.” In Ireland, everyone loves to tell a story, but no one wants to be thought an informant. Hence the power of Liam O’Flaherty’s proto-noir THE INFORMER, a claustrophobic tale of treachery and insufferable guilt and the consequences of betrayal, a Greek tragedy set in Dublin’s red-light district and written in the brusque, staccato style that Dashiell Hammett would later pioneer in the U.S. (THE INFORMER was published in 1925).
  All in all, O’Toole’s is a thought-provoking piece, and could well prove a quantum leap in the ongoing struggle for the Irish crime novel to gain traction with the Irish reading public. Fintan O’Toole is one of the most clear-eyed observers among the Irish intelligentsia (he recently published SHIP OF FOOLS: HOW STUPIDITY AND CORRUPTION SANK THE CELTIC TIGER) and his tacit approval certainly won’t do Declan Hughes, Gene Kerrigan and Alan Glynn any harm.
  Naturally, given that the piece appeared shortly after yours truly went public with his decision to pack in the writing career, I’m a little sceptical about the prospects for the Irish crime novel. But it’s not just me: this week just gone by, I had conversations with two very fine Irish crime writers, both of whom were very pessimistic about the publishing industry in general, and Irish crime fiction in particular. Put bluntly, and despite high-profile awards and awards nominations for the likes of Connolly, Hughes, Ken Bruen, Tana French, Gene Kerrigan, Ruth Dudley Edwards and Brian McGilloway in recent years, Irish crime novels don’t sell, either in Ireland or (crucially) abroad. Without knowing exact figures, John Connolly is probably the exception to this rule, as he is to most rules - and apologies to any writer mentioned who is, in fact, rolling in dosh.
  Next year will see no less than three movies based on Ken Bruen novels hit the big screen, and – all going well – filming begin on Alan Glynn’s THE DARK FIELDS. On the surface, things appear to be going swimmingly for Irish crime writers, and it was heart-warming to see Stuart Neville’s THE GHOSTS OF BELFAST (aka THE TWELVE) get top billing in Marilyn Stasio’s NYT column last week. This year has been a terrific year for Irish crime writing: along with Connolly, Kerrigan, Glynn and Hughes, Fintan O’Toole could quite easily, given his terms of reference, have mentioned the likes of Adrian McKinty, Colin Bateman, Alex Barclay, Stuart Neville, Brian McGilloway, Ken Bruen, Ava McCarthy, Garbhan Downey and Sam Millar, and that’s in a year when we didn’t have any books from Arlene Hunt, Julie Parsons, Benjamin Black or Tana French. It was also the year when the Irish crime novel got its own category at the Irish Book Awards, with Alex Barclay the inaugural winner.
  All of which seems overwhelmingly positive, and a rising tide lifts all boats, but I can’t help wondering if Fintan O’Toole’s piece won’t come to be seen as the high-water mark of the Irish crime novel – usually, mainstream media picking up on a trend means sounding its death-knell. I certainly hope it doesn’t, because, leaving aside the fact that most of the writers mentioned above write well-written entertainments, they also write novels that are important in terms of our understanding of who we are and where we’re going. As Val McDermid says in today’s Sunday Independent:

“The crime novel really has become the state-of-the-nation fiction. There’s an Irish writer called Alan Glynn, who has just published a novel WINTERLAND … This is a book that speaks to absolutely now. Good writers – good crime writers in particular – have a knack of plugging into the zeitgeist.”

  As a writer, I’ve been hearing for some time now from editors and agents and publishers that what the industry wants is ‘big’ books – crime stories with an appeal broad enough to propel the book into the mainstream. CHILD 44 and THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO are good recent examples, and it’s possibly the case that Ireland, despite its potentially fertile setting for crime fiction (post-Troubles, post-economic boom) simply isn’t ‘big’ enough to capture the imagination of the reading public at large. That shouldn’t be the case, in theory at least, because, like politics, all good novels are local, and if there’s one thing Ireland is producing in these benighted times, it’s damn fine novels.
  The irony, of course, is that the best way for a country to break out of an economic slump is to start creating unique indigenous products for export, which is very much the case when it comes to most of the writers mentioned above. Has it come time for Irish crime writers to band together in a union, the better to lobby the government for investment to market their high quality exports abroad? A little investment, cleverly used, would go a long way, particularly in terms of impacting on the media. Or has the time finally come for an Irish crime writing association? Are such associations of any practical use? Or are there any other ideas out there in left field that might be beneficial?
  I know that there are plenty of Irish crime writers out there who ‘lurk’ on Crime Always Pays, and it’s your prerogative not to leave a comment, or get involved in any way, because the writing game is at heart a solitary business, and (speaking for myself, at least) joining gangs goes against the grain. But the times they are a-changing, folks, and what worked in the past just ain’t cutting it anymore. And it would be horrible, truly horrible, if we were to look back in five years time and concede that Fintan O’Toole’s piece in the Irish Times was a high-water mark, and that the tide has gone out, leaving some very fine boats stranded.
  The floor is open, people …

O Come All Ye FAITHFUL. Just Not Yet

The faithful patiently (and not-so-patiently) awaiting the third Tana French novel, FAITHFUL PLACE, will have to twiddle yon thumbs a while longer – the novel isn’t due to hit a shelf near you until next July. Boo, etc. The story features Frank Mackey, who was Cassie Maddox’s boss when she went undercover in THE LIKENESS, with Tana describing him thusly:

“He’s a lot of fun to write, because his moral sense isn’t like most people’s. He’s willing to do anything, to himself or to anyone else, in order to get who he’s after. His conscience is not all that developed, and you find out why, in the course of the book. This one spins around family, the way THE LIKENESS spun around identity.”

  Colour us intrigued …

Fair Thee Well Then, ‘Good Writing’, I Hardly Knew Ye

Uber-agent Darley Anderson was profiled in The Bookseller last week, with this snippet appearing near the end of the piece:

What authors need
For fiction, he wants his agency to look for character first and plot second among the over 1,300 submissions it gets monthly. “Good writing is the last thing, and we can work with authors on that.”

  The first thing to say about that is Darley Anderson’s clients sell. Lee Child, Martina Cole, John Connolly … these are writers that any agent would be delighted to have on their books. The second thing is that, if Darley Anderson’s position in publishing’s pyramid is somewhere near the apex, yours truly is pretty much buried away in the rubble of said pyramid’s foundation. But a cat, as they say, can look at a king, and I hope you’ll pardon me if this cat looks askance at his particular king.
  When I read a novel by choice (as opposed to reading it for review, or as prep for an interview, say), I read it first and foremost for the quality of its writing. Two of Darley Anderson’s clients, John Connolly and Tana French, make a good case in point. Now, it’s worth say that ‘good writing’ takes many forms, whether that’s the prose poetry of Lawrence Durrell or the hardboiled staccato of James M Cain, the brutalised rhythms of James Ellroy’s recent work, the refined elegance of John Banville, or the heightened formality of Mary Renault. ‘Good writing’, for me, is writing that is persuasively authentic to the story it is telling. To paraphrase @allanguthrie’s tweet yesterday, plot and character are bound up in ‘good writing’.
  This notion that ‘good writing’ is somehow a decadent luxury, or an anachronistic optional extra, is an insidious one, and the phenomenal success of the likes of Dan Brown, John Grisham and (particularly) James Patterson suggests that it’s already too late to stamp it out. Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler and James M Cain weren’t just ‘good writers’, they were great writers for whom the medium was very much the message. When they employed a pared-back, direct style it wasn’t for fear that some feeble-minded reader might be jolted from his or her feverish page-turning, it was because the style created a mood and atmosphere vital to their stories.
  Anyone who has read either of my books (hi, Mum) will know that I’m unlikely to ever win a literary prize for the quality of my prose. So this isn’t me railing against market forces on behalf of my fragile, sensitive, elegant wordsmithery. What I’m railing against is the absurdly reductionist attitude that novels can be reduced to character and plot, (mangled metaphor ahoy) with ‘good writing’ finessed onto a framework once the meat and bones have been tossed into the pot. I mean no offence to screenwriters or graphic artists, or computer game programmers for that matter, when I say that a novel is not simply another mode of storytelling. The reductionism is the equivalent of eating a stew by picking out only the pieces of meat. It may be tasty, but it won’t be very satisfying in the long run. It won’t be very healthy, either.
  I’m offended, too, by the idea that the Darley Anderson agency ‘can work with authors on that’ when it comes to ‘good writing’. A good agent is a good editor, and I’ve been lucky enough to work with two good agent-editors to date. But editing is not writing. For that matter, plot and character (if I may belabour the ‘stew’ analogy one more time) have more to do with the preparation of ingredients than they have with actual writing. Good writing, for writers and readers alike, is an ineffable magic, or should be. A good writer is not simply a flesh-and-blood computer into which we feed ‘plot’ and ‘character’ and then print off the results.
  The Darley Anderson quote above was/is the single most depressing thing I’ve read in the two and a half years since I started this blog, and I include in that the email I received telling me that Houghton Mifflin Harcourt weren’t picking up the second book of the two-book deal they’d agreed on signing THE BIG O. A knock-back is one thing, and small enough beer in the grand scheme of things, and as often as not a matter of the opinion and taste of one person. On the other hand, the idea that Darley Anderson is making pots of money (for his agency and his writers, it must be said) according to a philosophy that explicitly states that ‘good writing’ is the least of his or his writers concerns, suggests that the race to the bottom just hit Mach speed.
  I love crime writing. It’s why I write crime novels, it’s why I run this blog. But no kind of writing can be reduced to plot and character without losing the unquantifiable essence of why we read.
  A couple of months ago, John Banville was pilloried at length by crime writers and readers for suggesting that he writes his Benjamin Black novels faster than he writes his John Banville novels. Banville’s slur, or so some suggested, was that crime novels didn’t require the same level of craft as his literary novels. Will those who pointed the finger at John Banville for denigrating crime writing now point the finger at Darley Anderson? Somehow I doubt it.

Git Along Li’l Dogie – Ye Olde Ende of Monthe Round-Up

Being a pick-‘n’-mix of Crime Always Pays posts for the month of June. To wit:

Reviews of John Connolly’s THE LOVERS, Stuart Neville’s THE TWELVE, and Declan Hughes’ ALL THE DEAD VOICES.

Tony Black gets interviewed to mark the launch of his second novel, GUTTED.

Some chancer called Declan Burke posts the first chapter of his work-in-progress.

Peter James is remarkably generous with his time …

Debutant Sean Black announces that he’s a fictional character.

John Connolly gets jiggy with ‘conservative critics’ who don’t like genre-bending.

Craig McDonald interviews Ken Bruen over at the Busted Flush interweb malarkeybus.

Euro Crime goes crazy all of a sudden and reviews Brian McGilloway, Paul Charles, Tana French, Declan Hughes, Adrian McKinty and Gene Kerrigan.

Score! Free signed copies of Adrian McKinty’s terrific thriller FIFTY GRAND.

A Hape of Reviews; and The Flat Lake Festival

A Scottish acquaintance gets in touch to ask if I’ve heard of a new Irish writer called Bill Ryan, who got a huge advance for his debut novel, sight unseen and based only on a synopsis. The answer is no, I haven’t, but if anyone else has, please feel free to share, because I’d love to call around to Bill’s house and congratulate him over the back of the head on securing a huge advance on the basis of a synopsis …
  In other news, Karen Meek at the very fine Euro Crime interweb malarkey has for some reason suddenly posted a whole hape (as we’d say in Ireland) of Irish crime fiction reviews, including new reviews of novels by Brian McGilloway (right), Tana French and Paul Charles. On the same page there are also reviews of Declan Hughes, Adrian McKinty and Gene Kerrigan. Why the sudden outbreak of Irish crime fic reviews? I don’t know and I don’t care. It’s all good …
  Stuart Neville has an interesting development over at his virtual hidey-hole, where he has posted up ‘deleted scenes’ from THE TWELVE. Which is a brave move, because in my experience, stuff gets ‘deleted’ from the final draft of a novel because it’s not good enough and / or unnecessary. For me, posting up ‘deleted scenes’ would give me the shudder factor equivalent to tossing my dirty laundry into a convent. But then, I’m not Stuart Neville, and I didn’t write THE TWELVE …
  Finally, there’s the Flat Lake Festival. Yep, you read it right – the Flat Lake Festival, which is a little bit country, a little bit rock ‘n’ roll, a little bit spoof of literary festivals, and quite a bit bonkers. It’s the third year for the Flat Lake Festival, I think, which happens in Monaghan sometime around mid-August. They’re having a crime fiction element this year, so I’ll be toddling along, and at the invitation of Pat McCabe, no less. There’s no list as yet as to who’s attending this year, mainly because the launch party isn’t happening until this coming Friday night, July 3rd, at Odessa in Dublin, 7pm. More details as they arrive, but if you can’t wait, there’s always the somewhat surreal ‘Radio Butty’ blog to get getting on with ...

And ‘The Sexiest Irish Crime Writer 2009’ Is …

Y’know, sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in the detail and lose sight of the Big Picture (detail pictured, right). Forget to remember what’s really important. I mean, sure, books are important, and well written books are even more important, and it’s nice that there’s so many terrific Irish crime writers out there these days that you’d need at least two adjoining phone boxes for the AGM, if such a happening were ever to come to pass.
  But waffling on about such obscure minutiae blinds us to the really important questions, and the kind of tough questions this blog isn’t afraid to ask. To wit: Who Is The Sexiest Irish Crime Writer?
  Some names for your consideration:

(The Artist Formerly Known as Colin) Bateman
Alex Barclay
Adrian McKinty
John Connolly
Arlene Hunt
Declan Hughes
Tana French
Brian McGilloway
Ken Bruen
Ava McCarthy
Gene Kerrigan

  Naturally, modesty and / or fear of getting no votes at all prevents me from including my own windswept-but-interesting features. Oh, and I’m voting for Dreamy Gene …
  Anyway, I’ll be hoisting a poll in the usual top-left position over the next few days, so if you think I’ve left out any sexy writers who should be included, please let me know …

BLOOD RUNS COLD: Hot Stuff, Baby

Ah yes, the wonders of technology. The news that Alex Barclay (right) won the inaugural Irish Books Awards crime fic gong filtered through by way of interweb blog (thank you, Bob), text messaging (commiserations, Brian), and Borg-style mind-meld (get out of my dreams, Alex, and get into my car, etc.).
  Yes indeedio – showing a blatant disregard for the exit poll conducted right here on Crime Always Pays, in which Alex Barclay came fourth, the good folks at the IBA, and the wider voting public, gave the thumbs aloft to BLOOD RUNS COLD. Which suggests that the IBA vote was rigged (boo!) or that the Crime Always Pays readership doesn’t know its arse from its elbow (there’s a new one for you, Peter). Personally, I’m inclined to believe the latter …
  Meanwhile, in other categories, Derek Landy scooped the Senior Children’s Award for PLAYING WITH FIRE, and Ronan O’Brien won the Best Newcomer Award for CONFESSIONS OF A FALLEN ANGEL. For the full list of winners, clickety-click here …
  Anyhoos, the crime fic award couldn’t have gone to a nicer home. I’ve met Alex Barclay on a few occasions, and rather than the high maintenance diva I was expecting from her ultra-glam publicity shots, she’s actually a down to earth gal, and very funny to boot. And, of course, she’s a terrific writer. Nice one, Ms Barclay.
  Commiserations to the nominees who didn’t make it onto the podium, being Arlene Hunt (UNDERTOW), Brian McGilloway (GALLOWS LANE), and Tana French (THE LIKENESS). Still, it’s always nice to be nominated, folks. And, like the Olympics, it’s the taking part that counts. Or is it the taking drugs that counts? I never can remember when it comes to the Olympics …

Irish Crime Writers: Yankee Doodling Dandies?

The latest in a series of interviews TV3’s Ireland AM are running to support the forthcoming Irish Book Awards Crime Fiction gong is one with a difference, as it features experts in Irish crime fic (a small but perfectly formed fraternity, it has to be said) Professor Ian Ross and Michael Gallagher (right, holding up some chancer’s humble offering) giving their opinion on two of the shortlisted novels, Brian McGilloway’s GALLOWS LANE and Alex Barclay’s BLOOD RUNS COLD. Professor Ross of Trinity College is contributing a general overview-style piece to the work-in-progress that is GREEN STREETS, a collection of essays about Irish crime writing in the 21st Century, about more of which anon, while Michael Gallagher is the near-legendary proprietor of Murder Ink on Dawson Street, Dublin, a veritable Aladdin’s cave for the crime fic fan, and a man whose support of the Irish crime-writing brethren and sisthren is Atlas-like.
  Intriguingly, Michael makes the point in the vid below that 90% of Irish crime readers, if they realise a book is set in Ireland, aren’t interested, and that most of the books he stocks in Murder Ink are by U.S. writers. John Connolly, of course, sets his novels exclusively in the States, while the aforementioned BLOOD RUNS COLD is set in Colorado, as is Adrian McKinty’s latest offering, FIFTY GRAND, while Ken Bruen’s recent novels – AMERICAN SKIN, ONCE WERE COPS, BUST and THE MAX, and the forthcoming collaboration with Reed Farrel Coleman, TOWER – are set in the U.S. too.
  Of course, the majority of Irish crime writers (declaration of interest: your humble host included) tend to take the American hard-boiled novel for their stylistic cues, with the transmogrification of Irish society over the last decade making the transplant an all-too-believable one. But it’s a brave move to take on the Americans on their own turf, and kudos to all concerned. It’d be a huge pity, though, if Irish readers were to ignore the likes of Gene Kerrigan, Declan Hughes, Arlene Hunt, Tana French, Brian McGilloway, Colin Bateman, Stuart Neville, Alan Glynn (who set his debut novel in New York, incidentally), Garbhan Downey, et al, simply because their very fine novels were set in Ireland, and especially if it’s because of some kind of inferiority complex. And even if it was, the very fact that Connolly, Hughes, French and Bruen are hugely popular Stateside should tip them off that Irish scribes writing about Irish crimes are just as valid as American authors on American crimes, particular as Connolly and Bruen are bending over backwards to big up their compatriots.
  Hopefully the Ireland AM Crime Fiction Award will alert Irish readers to the quality of indigenous crime writing. Meanwhile, Professor Ian Ross and Michael Gallagher pronounce on Brian McGilloway and Alex Barclay here. Roll it there, Collette …

Get It On, Bang A Gong …

A big day today for Irish crime writing, folks, with our own Squire Declan Hughes (right) up for an Edgar ‘Best Novel’ gong, the winner to be announced tonight at the Edgar bunfight. Nominated for THE PRICE OF BLOOD, Squire Hughes has just released the fourth in the Ed Loy series, ALL THE DEAD VOICES, which my two cents reckons is his best yet, and augers well for award noms next year. Those of you who haven’t encountered the throbbing manliness that is Squire Hughes in the flesh can check him out over here, where he’s interviewed on TV3 alongside true-crime writer Niamh O’Connor on the nature and history of crime fic.
  Said interview is just one of a series of interviews TV3’s Ireland AM have been running over the last few weeks, all part of their coverage and sponsorship of the Irish Book Awards Crime Fiction gong, the winner of which will be announced on May 6th. The shortlist is: Alex Barclay / BLOOD RUNS COLD; Brian McGilloway / GALLOWS LANE; Tana French / THE LIKENESS; and Arlene Hunt / UNDERTOW. The outrageously glam Arlene had her 15 minutes in the arc-lights this week, and you can roll it there, Collette, just here …
  Finally, the most important Crime Fic award of ’em all: the Crime Always Pays pre-Awards ‘Who Should Win The Ireland AM Crime Fiction Award?’ Award, which has been running on the top-left of this here blog for the last couple of weeks. A whopping total of 50 votes or thereabouts later – yes, 50! – throws up a rather unexpected result, with Brian McGilloway topping the poll with 44% of the vote, Tana French coming second-first with 28%, Arlene Hunt third-first with 18% and Alex Barclay fourth-first with 8%. Unexpected, given that crime fiction – in fact, most fiction – is read by women, and Brian was surrounded by a bevy of female beauties. Not that I’m dissing GALLOWS LANE, because I think it’s a terrific novel, and Brian an excellent writer … but I’m wondering if all the ladies didn’t split the female vote and allow Brian in on the rails. Or, is it simply the case that there’s more male readers of Crime Always Pays? Or, is it the case that female readers respond positively to Brian’s Inspector Devlin, a family man who loves his kids? Or, does the male-female aspect of it matter not a whit?
  Questions, questions …
  Oh, one last series of awards: the Spinetingler Awards, which are due to be announced today, in which this humble blog was nominated for a ‘Services to the Industry’ award, and in which Declan Hughes and Brian McGilloway were also nominated in various categories. If you’re Irish, step up to the podium …

UPDATE: Just while we’re on the subject of world-dominating Irish crime writers … The Artist Formerly Known as Colin Bateman (right) launches the hilarious MYSTERY MAN at No Alibis, Belfast, tomorrow night (Friday May 1st), which should be fun, given that the ‘hero’ (I used the word advisedly) of the piece is the proprietor of a Belfast crime fiction store called No Alibis. Confused? You will be … although possibly not as confused as one David Torrans. And as if that wasn’t enough Bateman for you, he’s also turning up at Belfast’s Black Box venue on Monday evening, May 4th, alongside Gene Kerrigan, to do a crime fiction special, kick-off 6pm. No idea what ‘crime fiction special’ entails, but there’ll very probably be tap-dancing, ambient jazz and balloon animals ...

UPDATE UPDATE: As exclusively revealed by our commenting correspondent Bob (thanks, Bob!), Bateman’s MYSTERY MAN has been picked as one of the eight books that will make up Richard and Judy’s ‘Summer Read’ campaign (link provided by Bob in the comment box), which can only fan the flames of the rumours that the BBC have snaffled the option to televisualise said novel on the goggle box. So farewell then, Bateman, as you ascend into the Ether of Greatness – it was nice knowing you, even electronically …

Git Along Lil’ Dogie: Yep, It’s The Monthly Round-Up

Being a pick-‘n’-mix of highlights from the Crime Always Pays archive for April. To wit:

The inaugural Irish Crime Fiction Awards are announced, with Tana French, Brian McGilloway, Arlene Hunt (right) and Alex Barclay shortlisted … and no, the absence of John Connolly is not an April Fool’s Joke.

A quick Q&A with Gene Kerrigan ahead of the launch of DARK TIMES IN THE CITY.

John Connolly announces that the follow-up to THE LOVERS will be THE GATES, a story about quantum physics and, erm, Satanism …

The Artist Formerly Known as Colin Bateman is interviewed ahead of the launch of MYSTERY MAN.

The latest casting announcement for the adaptation of Ken Bruen’s LONDON BOULEVARD, as Ray Winstone, David Thewlis and Anna Friel join Colin Farrell and Kiera Knightley … Mmmmm, Anna Friel

Pre-launch of BLEED A RIVER DEEP, Brian McGilloway offers his Top Ten Irish Crime Novels in The Guardian.

Stuart Neville’s THE TWELVE: It goes all the way up to eleven, apparently.

THE TWELVE: This One Goes Up To Eleven

Being the ornery kind of cynic who tends to assume that a book’s quality declines in inverse proportion to the amount of hype it generates (THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO being a case in point for yours truly), I’m delighted to say that, having just finished Stuart Neville’s THE TWELVE, it’s everything it’s cracked up to be. Which is terrific, not least because I know Stuart, and it’d have been embarrassing if it wasn’t. But – huzzah! – it delivers in spades, right from page one. A tale of an ex-paramilitary killer bedevilled by the ghosts of his victims, it’s a timely offering, a superb revenge thriller that is as tender in parts as it is brutal, and a courageously genre-bending story in the way it deploys supernatural elements. No wonder John Connolly loved it. James Ellroy was impressed too, as was Ken Bruen (see vid below for details).
  What’s a little scary for yours truly – this with my writer’s pork-pie on – is the extent to which Irish writers have stepped up a gear in 2009. We’ve already had Declan Hughes’ finest novel to date, in ALL THE DEAD VOICES (not bad going, when you consider his previous novel, THE PRICE OF BLOOD, is up for an Edgar Best Novel), Gene Kerrigan’s superb DARK TIMES IN THE CITY, Colin Bateman’s funniest novel in years, MYSTERY MAN, Adrian McKinty’s excellent FIFTY GRAND, and Alan Glynn’s forthcoming WINTERLAND, which is tremendous. Ken Bruen’s collaboration with Reed Farrel Coleman, TOWER (due in September) is a whole new departure, and we still have to get a sniff of John Connolly’s THE LOVERS. Brian McGilloway has delivered his best to date with BLEED A RIVER DEEP, and Tana French, Arlene Hunt and Alex Barclay are currently beavering away on their latest projects.
  Maybe 2009 will be seen as an annus mirabilis for Irish crime writing, but somehow I don’t think so – at least half of the writers mentioned above are relatively new to the game, and are still on their second, third or fourth novels. Exciting times, people. Very exciting times …
  Meanwhile, the vid below is the book-trailer for Stuart Neville’s THE TWELVE. Roll it there, Collette …

“Ah, The Roar Of The Sawdust, The Smell Of The Crowd …”

Yours truly tripped the lights fantastic and briefly stumbled into the bright glare of showbiz yesterday morning, courtesy of TV3, which is due kudos for its coverage of Irish crime writing, which has pretty decent for quite a while now, but which has cranked up a considerable few notches ever since Ireland AM announced it was sponsoring the inaugural Irish crime fiction gong at the Irish Book Awards. Shortlisted author Brian McGilloway (yep, it’s Brian McGilloway week on CAP) was interviewed last week, when he revealed that BLEED A RIVER DEEP was titled for an Ed Harcourt song, while another shortlistee, Tana French (right, and shortlisted for THE LIKENESS), got a grilling on Tuesday, although I can’t pretend to know what she actually said, being too distracted at how radiant the lady was looking.
  Thursday morning’s interview lowered the tone a little, as The Artist Formerly Known as Colin Bateman and The Artist Forthwith To Be Known as Some Dodgy Chancer gave it large about crime fiction and the movies, and the best book-to-movie adaptations of all time. My split vote goes to THE GODFATHER, a masterpiece derived from (if memory serves) a not particularly brilliant novel, and DO ANDROIDS DREAM OF ELECTRIC SHEEP? / BLADE RUNNER, which is a novel of uneven pleasures, but a terrific sci-fi neo-noir movie, and genre-bending at its best.
  Clickety-click here for Brian McGilloway …
  … here for Tana French …
  … and here for Bateman and S.D. Chancer. Roll it there, Collette …

The Irish Book Awards Crime Fiction Shortlist: Trumpet Please, Maestro

The Irish Books Awards crime fiction shortlist was announced today, for novels published in the last twelve months, and there’s nary a sign of John Connolly, Ken Bruen, Declan Hughes or Adrian McKinty. Sacrilege! X 4! Happily, there is Alex Barclay (right) (BLOOD RUNS COLD), Arlene Hunt (UNDERTOW), Tana French (THE LIKENESS) and Brian McGilloway (GALLOWS LANE). Quoth the blurb elves:

We are delighted to announce the addition of a new category in the 2009 awards, the Ireland AM Crime Fiction Award. Crime fiction ranks among the most vibrant genres in contemporary Irish publishing and the new award, adopted by one of our key media partners, Ireland AM, represents an exciting new addition to the Irish Book Awards.

  To vote for your favourite, clickety-click here …

As Well Read I Well May Be

It being Paddy’s Day tomorrow, or St Patrick’s Day, or – as it was in Georgia, when I was there for the Irish knees-up a few years ago – Patty’s Day, here’s a few choice Irish novels to watch out for in 2009. To wit:

MYSTERY MAN, Bateman;*
TOWER, Ken Bruen / Reed Farrel Coleman;
THE LOVERS, John Connolly;
WINTERLAND, Alan Glynn;
ALL THE DEAD VOICES, Declan Hughes;
DARK TIMES IN THE CITY, Gene Kerrigan;*
BLEED A RIVER DEEP, Brian McGilloway;*
FIFTY GRAND, Adrian McKinty;*
THE TWELVE, Stuart Neville;

  Apologies, by the way, if the list seems very male, but there’s nary a whisper of a novel forthcoming from the doyennes of Irish crime fic, Alex Barclay, Tana French, Julie Parsons – although we’re assured that there’ll be another Arlene Hunt on a shelf near you by October. Huzzah!
  I’ve already reviewed those asterisked; for more, clickety-click here … and happy Paddy’s Day, people, and particularly to those exiles who can’t be home for the debauchery. I trust you’ll all do us (hic) proud ...