Slide - Ken Bruen and Jason Starr

 Slide is the second in Bruen and Starr's Max & Angela Trilogy and every bit as much fun as the first (see Bust, reviewed 30.11.25).   Max, broke and unemployed, finds himself in an Alabama motel celebrating July 4 being shagged by a Chinese guy.   Angela is back in Ireland, having spent the money she stole from Max, and back on the game.   But every setback is the prelude to a new opportunity.   Max figures out that the desk clerk at the Golden Star Motel is selling crack and muscles in on the game; Angela gets picked up by a wannabe serial killer who goes by the soubriquet Slide.

Obviously, things are not always coming up roses.   Detective Miscali still wants Max for the murder of his partner in Bust, and Slide's slapdash methods force him and Angela to gravitate back to New York, where Max is happily turning on his contacts from the computer business to the wonders of crystal meth.   But Kyle, the desk clerk, comes to the Big Apple with news that his Colombian friends want to meet Max in person.   Max's live-in lapdancer Felicia plans to hijack the meeting with her cousin Sha Sha and at the same time briefs Detective Miscali on the meet.   Kyle, a little naive, has been introduced to the wonders of sex by both Felicia and Angela.   They in turn have been introduced to Kyle's prodigious member, which in itself becomes a plot point in the tale.

What can possibly go wrong?   It's a question that obviously answers itself.

Like I say, great fun.   I've still got the third part, The Max, to read in this collected version from Hard Case Crine.   They also do Pimp by Bruen and Starr and at least one solo work by Starr.   Hard Case however have got a new issue by Joyce Carol Oates, whose The Triumph of the Spider Monkey first introduced me to the publishing house, due out any day now.   That, I feel sure, will be my next acquisition.

The Schoolgirl Murder Case - Colon Wilson

 When I was around 18 I loved Colin Wilson.   He seemed to be interested in everything I was, and even came from near where I lived (and still lived).   He was always on TV, the Common Man's polymath.   I read everything by him that I could find: The Occult, God of the Labyrinth, Ritual in the Dark.   A couple of years later I gave up on him completely.   His interest in murder seemed morbid, his interest in the occult slightly outdated.

Then for some reason, at the end of last year I became interested in him again.   Where once you could buy his books in any decent bookshop, now you can't find them for love nor money.   So I bought a whole bunch of them online.   I'm currently reading his 'reappraisal' of George Bernard Shaw, which I don't like at all but hoping to like better when he finally gets on to the plays, and just finished The Schoolgirl Murder Case, which I liked a whole lot more.

The title seems deliberately prurient.   It was probably a lot more so when the novel was written in 1974.   I should note that this was just before Wilson started publishing his true crime murder books.   In fact the victim is an adult woman who prostitutes herself to punters with a penchant for schoolgirls.   She is found in the front garden of a Hampstead house.   When Scotland Yard finally get permission to enter the house, they find the body of the owner's nephew, who was almost certainly the girl's client.

The dead man was a debauched dilletante with interests in the occult.  This leads Chief Inspector Saltfleet into an unfamiliar world of escoteric bookshops, occult artists and modern day witches.   Greg Saltfleet makes the book work by being resolutely normal, middleaged, happily married, good at his job and popular with his underlings.  The solution is perfectly reasonable and satisfactory.   I also liked the realism with which Wilson conveys the real nitty gritty of policing.   So many crime novelists find ways to get their cop out of the office and out of day-to-day policing.   Not Wilson; Saltfleet is a line manager with lots of cases to keep an eye on; Saltfleet also has higher-ups to inform and answer to.

Overall, very satisfactory.   I think I might try The Mind Parasites (not one of my recent purchases) next.   Either that or re-read Ritual in the Dark...  

She Kills - Skip Hollandsworth

 A surprise find in my local library, She Kills is an anthology of features written over the years for Texas Monthly magazine.   All are, naturally enough, Texas-based and, as the titles suggest, are about women killers, most of whom Hollandsworth has met and interviewed.   They range from killer nurse Vickie Dawn Jackson to Mozelle McDaniel who shot her abusive father in the late 1930s and went on to become yodeller with an all-female group of convicts that became a radio sensation immediately before WW2.   There is glamorous Sixties socialite Candace Mossler, who may have persuaded the nephew she was sleeping with to murder her elderly husband, but whom no jury would convict, and Peggy Jo Tallas, aka 'Cowboy Bob', who robbed banks disguised as a man and didn't even carry a gun; the only person Peggy Jo killed was herself when the cops came to arrest her.

A fascinating true crime read - I devoured it in a single day.

Imposter Syndrome - Joseph Knox

 I've now read four out of five Knox novels.   I remain somewhat ambivalent.   He is clearly a first-rate writer; his literary style is excellent.   He has a gift for titles.   You get hooked in by his storytelling but, in the end, it's often not quite as good as it seems.

Imposter Syndrome is a perfect example.   Great title.   We get instantly buttonholed by his narrator and swept along by a twisty storyline.   But yet again, when everything is unravelled, it turns out to be ever so slightly silly.   Obviously I won't say why.   Read it for yourself and make your own judgements.

Lynch is a con man who, in the best Hitchcockian tradition, gets involved in his next scam by accident.   He literally bumps into a beautiful woman in the lobby of the Heathrow Sofitel and she mistakes him for her long-losr brother.   This is not the silliness I mentioned earlier; all such adventures srart with a jaw-dropping coincidence and rely on the general view that 'coincidences happen, don't they?'   Bobbie Pierce, the beautiful woman, goes one step further.   She tattoos a broken heart under Lynch's eye to improve the resemblance to missing Heydon.   She then introduces him to the remaining members of the super-rich, dysfunctional Pierce family.   The mother, retired movie star Miranda, offers Lynch £35,000 and free tattoo removal to recover Heydon's bag from a local moneylender.   The bag contains Heydon's phone and a video message recorded on the night he disappeared.

Lynch is hooked and digs ever deeper into the mystery.   Because everybody involved is super rich, we get private security operators, millionaires who keep themselves young with blood transfusions from their twin sons, ex-SAS psychos who now run hi-tech solution companies for the stressed over-wealthy.   There is violence and gore and compelling characters (including the occasional dud, like the wannabe Tech Bro who uses the surname Control).   It all moves at an exhilerating pace.   I wasn't at all surprised at who was responsible for it all, but nor was I convinced.   Great fun, yes.   Classic of the genre, not quite.

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ALSO by Joseph Knox and reviewed on this blog: Sirens, Smiling Man, True Crime Story.   Use the search box on the right---

Introducing Swedenborg - Peter Ackroyd

 Talk about doing what it says on the tin...   Introducing Swedenborg is exactly and specifically what this short essay published by the Swedenborg Society does - and no more.   This is Swedenborg...  I'll leave you to get acquainted...  Must dash.

I've been increasingly curious about the Swedish polymath and mystic as I read more by Iain Sinclair and other psycho-geographers.   And that remains the case after reading Ackroyd's book.   I know a little more than I did, I will admit, but nothing significant.   I have learnt about his background in Sweden, how he started out as an engineer, became director of mines and a politician in the Swedish House of Peers.  I now know he spent a lot less time in London than I had thought and that Swedenborg House wasn't his actual house.   I have gained an overview of his mystical writing, which is the only part of his work that keeps his name alive, but nothing specific.   For example, who did he speak to when he was in the astral plane? 

This may be the point.   I will have to read Heaven and Hell.   I will have to look deeper into the work of writers I admire who also admire Swedenborg.   I was going to read more Sinclair anyway and I may even buy his Blake's London direct from the Swedenborg Society.

A Fall of Moondust - Arthur C Clarke

 I remember this as a study text in third form English.   I instantly recalled the opening: passengers board what is effectively a tour bus on the Moon.   But I don't remember finishing the book or, indeed, anything other than mild disappointment.   This was because I was a third former in the year of Space Odyssey.   None of us had seen it then, and I still haven't, but Kubrick's vision of waltzing space stations was our preconception of the imagination of Arthur C Clarke.   Not this...   Not the future, our future, as humdrum.

Now the world has reached the era in which A Fall of Moondust is set, the second quarter of the 21st century, and the disappointment is very different.   Now I am disappointed that I can't get on a moon-bus like the Selene and scoot across the Sea of Thirst where dust flows like water.   Sixty-plus years after the book was written, part of the fun is seeing what Clarke got right and what he didn't.  He was certainly right about communication satellites, which play a part here.   He was wrong is what names people would have and which population would oversee the future of space travel.   One thing he got spectacularly wrong but which is nevertheless fascinating is that by 2030 many people would be born and brought up on the Moon and thus unsuited to life back on Earth.   The stewardess of the Selene, for example, recoils from the idea of carrying a baby in Earth gravity.   That's a nice touch, I thought.

Something that Clarke got spot-on in 1961 was that the big thing in popular entertainment by the end of the Sixites would be disaste\r movies.   That is what A Fall of Moondust effectively is - a once in a millennium moon tremor sees the Selene sink into the Sea of Thirst without trace.   It's a brilliant concept.   I cannot fathom why no one turned into a sort of Posiedon Adventure in space.   Perhaps it's the mundanity of Clarke's style put producers of.   Clarke, for all his hard science, cannot envisage life in anything other than surbuban Middle English of the mid-1950s.   He does, however, do a good job of maintaining the tension throughout.

As a newly-minted teenager I seem to have scorned A Fall of Moondust in its drab school edition.   Almost sixty years later I stuck with it, learned quite a bit about attitudes and ideas of the time, and, frankly, had a great time with a good read.

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Other books by Arthur C Clarke reviewed here: Earthlight, Childhood's End and Prelude to Space.   Use the search box on the right to find them (I did).