Review: "Branded" by Ed Gorman

Branded by Ed Gorman Berkley, 2004   “He wanted to build himself a cigarette, but his hands were covered with the woman’s blood. There was something vile about cigarette paper soaked with blood.”   Branded—which is currently available as an ebook from Speaking Volumes—was originally published as a paperback original in 2004 by Berkley and (needless to say) it didn’t get the play it deserved. Andy Malloy is nineteen and preoccupied by the daydreams of youth. Andy, Sir Andrew as he is known in the realm, imagines himself a knight of King Arthur’s Court where he is brave, just, and admired. But his reality is much different. He works as a store clerk, his father is a drunk, and his stepmother, Eileen, is petty and unfaithful. Arriving home from work Andy discovers Eileen lying dead on the couch, a gunshot wound to her forehead. His father, Tom, is the obvious suspect and Andy hides the body until Tom convinces Andy he isn’t the killer. The only problem is the Sheriff, a hard man with a reputation for beating and killing suspects, doesn’t believe any of it. Branded is a superior western novel. It is a heady mixture of character, plot, and action. Populated by real people who act and behave, at different times, both rationally and irrationally. A town gossip whose only joy is causing trouble, a violent lawman with a suspicious background, a town drunk whose personal frailty and desire for respect is painful, an isolated woman with a burned face. And townspeople who do their best to ignore it. The plot is closer to crime, shadows of serial killings no less, than a traditional western and there is a satisfying, and surprising climactic twist. But it is also appealing as a traditional western and readers of both genres will find much to like here. *                      *                      * This is a slightly revised version of a review published on June 8, 2016.

Check out Branded on Amazon—click here for the Kindle edition.

 

Review: "Front Sight: Three Swagger Novellas" by Stephen Hunter

 

Front Sight Three Swagger Novellas by Stephen Hunter Atria Books, 2024     I read Stephen Hunter’s first Bob Lee Swagger thriller, Point of Impact (1993), sometime during the Spring of 1994. And holy wow, it knocked me off my feet with its disturbingly realistic violence—the realism due as much to the emotional impact on the characters as the action itself—and the dizzying large screen conspiracy plot with a former Vietnam sniper, turned Arkansas drunk, nicknamed Bob the Nailer, at its core. I read the next two—Black Light (1996) and Time to Hunt (1998)—as they were released with the same satisfying awe as I’d had while reading the first. Frankly, all three are among the best thrillers published in the 1990s. After that, Hunter switched to telling the story of Bob Lee’s father, Earl. A rugged former Marine and legendary Arkansas lawman gunned down in 1954 by the nasty Lamar Pye—you should read the fantastic Dirty White Boys (1994) for Lamar’s tale. Hot Springs, which was the first of three books featuring Earl—the other two are Pale Horse Coming (2001) and Havana (2003)—hit bookstores in 2000. And then in 2007 Hunter returned to Bob Lee with the disappointing The 47th Samurai and again in 2008 with the so-so Night of Thunder. Which is when I lost interest in Hunter’s new releases and the Swaggers both. I mention all this because I recently read Hunter’s Front Sight (2024), a collection of three Swagger novellas—one each for Earl and Bob Lee, and another featuring Bob Lee’s grandad, Charles Swagger—and found myself wondering if I’d been too hasty in writing-off Hunter and the Swaggers. The first, “City of Meat,” featuring Charles Swagger, is a hard-as-nails story about an elusive drug syndicate working Chicago’s predominately Black 7th District in 1934. Charles is a former Arkansas sheriff and renowned gunfighter turned G-Man on an FBI team looking for the notorious bank robber, Baby Face Nelson. While investigating a possible sighting of Nelson at the Chicago Stockyards, Charles is confronted by a knife-wielding man soaring high on an unknown narcotic. Charles teams-up with the real-life depression-era Black lawman, Slyvester Washington, nicknamed Two-Gun Pete—rumored to be the source material for “Dirty Harry” Callahan in the Dirty Harry movies—and follows the trail of the narcotics gang into unexpected places. “City of Meat” is action-packed and violent, but its real-world setting, the plight of Blacks on Chicago’s Southside—nobody really cared what happened there so long as it stayed there—give it a panache and a depth unusual for anything published in the thriller category. As Hunter says in his intro, “City of Meat” is his attempt at writing the equivalent of “the message picture,” where the story is accompanied by a portrayal of a societal ill. And it worked well. “Johnny Tuesday,” which began life as an unproduced screenplay, is a hardboiled film noir in novella format. It is hardboiled in a Carroll John Daly way: fast-paced but at times frustratingly indecipherable with a black and white morality and, especially in the case of Earl, cartoonish characters. It’s 1945 and Earl Swagger is fresh from the South Pacific and now fighting a personal war in the small fictional city of Chesterfield, Maryland. He hits town using the name Johnny Tuesday to investigate a lethal bank robbery and finds pretty much everyone in town is a scoundrel. The style of this one is cool—it feels like one of those “complete novel” tales published in the pulps of the 1930s. A category I like, but the writing (as good as it is) felt a little too self-aware and the plot a little too busy. And even worse, Earl seemed like an altogether different man than he is in his novels. “Johnny Tuesday” would have worked better if the hero hadn’t been Earl Swagger, or if I hadn’t read any of Hunter’s excellent Earl Swagger novels before reading it. “Five Dolls for the Gut Hook,” which is my favorite of the stories, is a serial killer tale set in Hot Springs, Arkansas. It’s 1979 and Bob Lee is drowning his dark Vietnam memories—“whiskey dreams were the best, and this one was fine”—in his tiny Polk County, Arkansas trailer. But his slow suicide gets shunted aside when his old friend Sam Vincent comes asking for a favor. A killer is targeting young transient women working Hot Springs’ sex trade and the local force is out of ideas of how to catch the monster. They won’t go to the staties or the FBI because it would bring unwanted publicity as Hot Springs is trying to transition from a rough and tumble crime town into a family destination resort. And everyone is sure Bob Lee can bring something new to the investigation since he comes from lawman stock. And, of course, they’re right. In Hunter’s intro to “Five Dolls for the Gut Hook,” he says it is his attempt at writing a “notorious genre of bloody Italian mystery-horror films of the seventies,” called “Giallo.” A film style I’m unfamiliar with, but if any of the films are as good as this tale, I need to make amends and get acquainted with it quick-like. Besides the great title, “Five Dolls of the Gut Hook,” has that grand dusty feeling of the 1970s: pickup trucks, sweat, cowboy shirts, brutality, dark deeds, and corrupt cops all wrapped into a honky-tonk town darkened by its many secrets. And there’s Bob Lee, being Bob Lee, too. This one alone is worth the price of admission.

Check out Front Sight on Amazon—click here for the Kindle edition and here for the paperback.

Book Ads from The Armchair Detective (Fall 1991)

 

I love book advertising in all its forms—especially the printed variety. The ads below appeared in the Fall 1991 issue of the marvelous Armchair Detective. The Worldwide Books ad was on the inside front cover and the Viking / Dutton appeared on page 413, between an article about Joseph Finder’s first novel, The Moscow Club (1991), and William L. DeAndrea’s column, J’Accuse! I have a not-so-secret admiration for the Worldwide Mystery line—I tend to add them to my shelves when they cross my path—but I admit I haven’t read, nor do I own, any of the three titles advertised here. Although, I particularly like the sound of Paula Gosling’s Backlash (1989). How can you go wrong with an “intellectual cop” carrying a name like Jack Stryker around? As for the ten titles advertised by Viking / Dutton, the only one I’ve read is Gerald Petievich’s Paramour (1991) and wow did I like it; but as I recall I read the Pocket Books mass market reprint.     Click the images for a better view.

Review: "How's Your Mother?" by Simon Brett

 

“How’s Your Mother?” by Simon Brett Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine Oct. 1983   Simon Brett’s, “How’s Your Mother?” is a traditional mystery with a humorous edge and a perfectly surprising twist. Humphrey Partridge and his ailing 86-year-old mother live quiet lives in a charming, if gossipy, English village. Humphrey is a doting son—he prefers the company of his mother over anyone else. But a rumor, started by a busybody at the post office, that Humphrey will inherit a bundle from his mother and that he would emigrate “to Canada if only he hadn’t got the old girl to worry about” raises suspicions about Humphrey when his mother mysteriously disappears. “How’s Your Mother?” is a snappy and funny whodunit—with a marvelously ironic ending—and a dead mother and gossip at its center. Brett adroitly plays with the reader’s expectations to deliver more than one surprise and he does it in his usual light-hearted style. But the real thrill is the smile it will spark on the readers’—at least this reader’s!—face with its perfectly ghoulish final words.

“How’s Your Mother?” was first published in the U.K. in The Mystery Guild Anthology, edited by John Waite (1980).

A Triptych of TV Reviews

A Triptych of TV Reviews     While I talk about television here at the blog every so often, I rarely review television or even talk much about what I’m watching. Which is crazy because I genuinely L-O-V-E television. Especially the dramatic stuff—with an eye towards mystery—and the occasional and often crass and utterly classless sitcom. The so-called reality stuff? Nah. So today I’m throwing something new into the interwebs with a look at three series I’ve watched over the past month. And it’s something I may do more of in the future if you’re receptive to the idea. The first, YOUR FRIENDS & NEIGHBORS (AppleTV+, 2025) is a funny and tart dramedy—what a stupid word that is, yeah?—about hedge fund trader Andrew Cooper (Jon Hamm). Coop, which is what everyone calls him, is at a crossroads. His wife Mel (played by Amanda Peet) cheated on him with one of his besties, his son and daughter hate him, he was fired from his job because his boss wanted his clients—and no one will hire him because he has a lengthy non-compete agreement—and Coop has a huge financial nut to cover every month. So Coop does what any good-natured guy living in Westchester County, New York, would do. He starts stealing from his well-heeled neighbors. What Your Friends & Neighbors lacks in originality it makes up for with zest and Jon Hamm’s simple watchability. Coop’s good nature is never overwhelmed by his quiet despair and the story is built with humor. A $30,000 toilet makes an appearance and the trunk of Coop’s Maserati won’t stay shut. Coop is something of a mash-up of Jay Gatsby and Fletch; a combination I liked. As one would expect from a show like this, the actors are all beautiful and there is a bunch of sex. I mean, too much sex for my easily embarrassed self. But boy did I have fun watching this one, even the sex!

LOUDERMILK (Netflix, 2017 – 2020), is a sitcom my wife and I originally watched during that first awful year of Covid. Much of what I watched in 2020 leaves me with a bad taste because it reminds me of how crummy life was and how helpless I felt watching civilization torch itself. And the pandemic was the least of the trouble. We took the risk of watching Loudermilk again and it was just as funny this time as it had been the first. It is centered on the cynical misanthrope and recovering alcoholic Sam Loudermilk, played perfectly by Ron Livingston, as he adjusts to his new post-drinking and -drugging normal. Loudermilk had been a high-flying music critic for Rolling Stone before a drunken automobile accident that nearly killed his then-wife scared him straight. Now Loudermilk makes his living shining a bank’s floors while spending most of his personal time leading an AA-type group in the basement of a local church. Every episode is centered around Loudermilk—he is a glowering and acid-tongued straight man to a litany of wacky side players from his roommates, who are both recovering addicts, to the almost men-only members of his recovery group, to whoever is driving him ape— in any given episode. There are hipster neighbors, Loudermilk’s deadbeat but likable dad, a possible love interest that Loudermilk can never get right, and a posse of ridiculous and hilarious situations always made more uncomfortable by Loudermilk’s acidity. The series builds on itself over time—there are jokes that pay off in later episodes and the characters, especially the addiction support group members, are fleshed-out over time. But if you like a semi-raunchy Gen-X comedy with good acting and better writing, you won’t have any trouble dipping your toes anywhere in Loudermilk’s too short three season run of 30 episodes.

PARANOID (Netflix, 2016) is a single season British mystery series with a wobbly structure and more than a few unintentional funny moments. Paranoid is a hot mess—but a hot mess I enjoyed watching. When a GP is murdered at a playground in rural Cheshire County—southeast of Liverpool—the evidence and witnesses point to a schizophrenic man that wanders the neighborhood. The local authorities want the case closed quickly and the police are comfortable with their suspect. At least, until they notice someone claiming to be a detective questioning their witnesses and they, the actual detectives tasked with the investigation, receive an envelope from the masked man filled with evidence contradicting their theory of the crime. They give this unknown detective the silly moniker of “ghost detective” and follow the trail from Cheshire to Dusseldorf, Germany, where a pair of German detectives join the chase. The plot is a clunky conspiracy thriller with familial intrusions—one detective’s mother is associated with a rather nasty psychiatrist that seems to be everywhere in the investigation and another gets into a relationship with a wacky witness—an emotionally destructing detective (played by Robert Glenister with a bunch of twitching and without any subtlety), a wildly happy German detective (played charmingly by Christiane Paul), a giant plastic Jesus filled with colorful pharmaceutical pills, a Quaker, and… It just goes on and on. But for all that—maybe because of all that—I don’t regret a single minute spent watching the eight episodes of Paranoid. But your mileage may vary on this one.

Passages: David Housewright's "What the Dead Leave Behind"

 

This tough guy line from David Housewright’s What the Dead Leave Behind (2017), the 14th book in the McKenzie series, caught my eye because of its simple truth. Of course, being a hardboiled mystery that truth is cached in bravado and a promise of violence. But still, it is a truth—bullies break the rules while expecting and using the rules to shackle their victims. A tactic we’ve seen almost daily over the past decade in national politics and one we haven’t figured out, as a society, how to deal with.  *               *               *

I spoke slowly and succinctly. “Pricks like you get away with your bullshit because you refuse to play by the rules, but you expect everyone else to. I’m not that guy. You dare threaten the people I care about? You should have done better research.”

Review: "Death of an Ex" by Delia Pitts

Death of an Ex by Delia Pitts Minotaur Books, 2025     Death of an Ex, which is Delia Pitts’s second Vandy Myrick mystery, is a thoughtful, deliberately paced private eye novel with a rich New Jersey setting and a heaping of emotional healing. A former Rutgers University cop, the middle-aged Vandy moved back to her small hometown of Queenstown and took a job as a lawyer’s “pet private investigator.” Her boss, Elissa Adesanya, is also Vandy’s best friend and the work tends to be low market rackets like divorce, insurance fraud, and process serving. Vandy is thrown into the deep end of the investigative pool after attending a glitzy event at the high-end Rome School—a private boarding school in Queenstown—where her young friend, Ingrid Ramirez, is receiving an award. Vandy’s ex-husband, Philip Bolden, which is a great surname for any character, is at the reception and even after twenty years he still makes Vandy’s pulse rise and her knees weak. A few days later Vandy takes Philip to her bed and for a moment she doesn’t mind being the other woman. That changes when Philip is gunned down a few blocks from Vandy’s apartment and Vandy is left to figure out who did it and why. All while traversing the mine field of Philip’s personal life—he was married with a teenage son and his wandering libido caused nothing but trouble. While also hoping to keep her and Philip’s indiscretion a secret. Death of an Ex, while rightfully a private eye tale, has the atmosphere of an amateur sleuth in a particularly well-done cozy. Vandy’s investigative style is circular and primarily based on emotion rather than the linear style most often used in detective tales. She bumps around the primary suspects, as sneakily as an English Village sleuth, looking for motive and opportunity. A wobbly tactic because of its use of repetition—a repetition of Vandy’s emotions and a repetition of questioning the same suspects over and over—to deepen the mystery, but one that ultimately works since it reveals the illogic and tragedy of murder. But the true charm of Death of an Ex is Vandy’s own struggle with the death of her only child and Pitts’s vivid rendering of a predominately Black New Jersey town.

Check out Death of an Ex on Amazon—click here for the Kindle edition and here for the hardcover.