Bookwitch bites #97

Let’s start with a stolen photo, shall we? (My thieving is getting worse. Or better, depending on how you look at it.) Here is a photo, which might have been taken by Gill Lewis, winner of the Salford award last week. It was on her Twitter, anyway. And the lady between Jamie Thomson and Josh Lacey is not Gill, but Barbara Mitchelhill, who narrowly avoided that dinner.

Another award is Sefton Super Reads. They have announced their shortlist for the summer, and it’s pretty good. The lady above is on it, for instance. And so are some of my other favourites, and some unknowns (to me).

• Ruth Eastham, Messenger Bird
• Fabio Geda, In the Sea There Are Crocodiles
• Caroline Green, Cracks
• Barbara Mitchelhill, Road to London
• J. D. Sharpe, Oliver Twisted
• David Walliams, Ratburger

In fact, there are awards absolutely everywhere. Declan Burke could be in for an Edgar for his hard work on Books To Die For, along with John Connolly. I don’t know who or what they are up against, but if ever a book and its creators deserved an Edgar, Books To Die For must be it.

While we are in an awards kind of mood, it appears Adrian McKinty is on the shortlist for The Last Laugh for The Cold Cold Ground, which will be awarded at Crimefest later this year.

Finally – in more ways than one – Nick Green’s The Storm Bottle is available to buy. That’s over three years since I reviewed it, which happened by some odd fluke (me looking into the future, kind of thing). So far it’s ‘only’ on Kindle, but if you only ever buy one Kindle book in your life (although that sounds a bit unlikely, now that I stop and think) this has to be it. The Storm Bottle! Very good book! Sad. Funny. Exciting. Does not end the way you expect it to.

Dolphins can definitely talk.

… and rock ‘n’ roll

This week we’ve mentioned the sex, and the alcohol. That leaves the rock ‘n’ roll. Wine, women and song. All bad stuff.

There’s so much music in novels these days. Perhaps there always was, and I’ve been deaf and blind. Adrian McKinty (yes, him again) puts lots of music in his books. Sergeant Duffy listens to a wide repertoire. He’s a bit of a show-off, that Duffy.

In Adrian’s YA novel The Lighthouse Keepers, which I’ve read but not yet reviewed, the young main character raves about music. Not so sure he’s not too precocious in his musical taste, but never mind.

Might be an Irish thing? When I first ran into John Connolly – outside the Ladies, before an event, and before he knew who I was – he pressed a CD into my hands. I gather he listens to a selection of music each time he writes a book, and those tracks end up belonging to that particular novel.

I added John’s favourites to my iTunes, and every time a track I can’t identify pops up on shuffle, I can be certain it’s one of his. I only added the CD because it contained a Lee Hazlewood track. I used to be a great fan.

A Jodi Picoult novel from a couple of years ago also included a CD. I passed the book and CD on to someone else, while making sure I put the tracks into iTunes first. I like them a lot.

It can be inspiring having an author’s choice of music for when you read. But what if you don’t like the music that helped them write? If every time the characters play their favourite tracks, you just can’t stand the music? Would you rather do without it?

Rather like when you find out which actor inspired someone’s character. If it’s the ‘wrong’ actor, you’ll have to quickly re-imagine them as someone you’d prefer. (Nobody tell me their heroine was inspired by that Keira woman! I’d have to burn your book.)

Music is an age thing, too. Adrian – again – is the wrong age for me. He doesn’t pick the music I listen to, nor the stuff forced on me – I mean, made available to me – by Offspring. I have a whole decade, that’s been almost completely blacked out. (When Son did a GCSE project on a decade in pop music, he was given the 1980s. Naturally. And we could offer no help.)

It’s not only the music behind a book, or the albums enjoyed by a fictional character. The whole book can be based on music. Obviously. Recently Son translated extracts from a couple of music based novels written by a Norwegian author. That was 20,000 words featuring an opera and all the backstage stuff. Luckily it was a made-up opera, so it ended up being less of a fact checking nightmare.

And we get YA books about pop groups, and wannabes. With the current talent programme epidemic on television we will probably end up with many more of them. It beats vampires, though.

Although having said that, I seem to recall that one of Anne Rooney’s vampires played in a band.

And Elvis lives.

Two more bests

There are two more books I really feel deserve another mention for their general excellence. My ‘best of’ for the year is for children’s books. But 2012 had a lot of good books to offer, and some of them are for the ‘older reader.’

If I had had a best adult novel category, the award would go to Adrian McKinty for The Cold Cold Ground, which is as close to perfect as you get with a crime novel.

And I don’t often read reference books, but Books To Die For, edited by Declan Burke and John Connolly, is just that. A reference book to die for. Except we don’t want to die. We only want to read about the most fantastic crime novels, in which people might well die.

Those Irish know a thing or two about crime.

To finish off in style – it is the weekend, after all – I give you the glamorous face of Irish crime. The other one just writes books.

The Books To Die For Tour

Waterstones Deansgate is a good place to go to if you want the attention of several young men at once. (Staff, I mean. And it helps if you’re difficult. Like me.)

I was there to hear Declan Burke and John Connolly – and as it turned out, Barbara Nadel – talk about how they forced hundreds of authors to write essays on their favourite crime writers, and to do so by the deadline. (I have to get back to Waterstones here. Last year I was in that same room to hear John speak about one of his children’s books. It was the children’s department. Yesterday he was there as an adult writer, and it was an adult’s fiction department. Very obliging of them to keep switching.)

Anyway, there we were, around fifty crime fans or so, to hear the gossip about the participating authors of Books To Die For. And how much work it had been putting this wonderful ‘reference’ volume, conceived in wine, together. I believe John said yes to Declan’s idea, while really meaning no. These things happen.

They insulted each other, which was only to be expected. John reminisced about young people, suddenly feeling old doing so. (Having stumbled across a photo of John last week, I can assure you he was himself very young once.)

Apart from age issues, we learned that John has a marvellous black book of contacts, and he really entered into ‘the spirit’ of this job. I’d say they both did.

According to Barbara the participating writers were given very little time to write their essays. A mere six months, which left the editors to hunt people down ‘like assassins’ (hope they really didn’t mean that) after the deadline, literally chasing people across continents.

They had to fact check everything from often inaccurate quotes to people who couldn’t remember their own date of birth or the titles of their books. (It’s always so hard, that.) Both John and Declan gave examples of authors they didn’t know, and also listed some of the more unusual writers that cropped up. (No, I’m not listing them here. Read the book!)

There was a worried moment when it looked like no one was going to pick Agatha Christie, which indicates that people didn’t necessarily go for the obvious names first. Some essays revealed a lot about those who’d written them, and whereas they tried to be really strict on word count (2000), some essays did end up twice as long.

Lee Child wrote the shortest one. Declan and John were amazed that he remembered the cover of ‘his’ book in such detail, and the price he paid, and not much else… Sara Paretsky’s contribution is ‘wonderful.’

In the Q&A I finally had my explanation as to why crime writers are so nice. According to Ruth Dudley Edwards, murdering all day long makes you nice. Although as regards bad reviews, John prefers knockdown fights in the pub. More honest. (He doesn’t read reviews. Except he seemed to have read mine…) We are all so nice, because these days we want to be able to meet an author in the bar, and still be friends. So true. Sometimes.

There was a lovely long queue to have books signed, and I fought for my place last in line with another big fan. We both won. More or less. There were trading cards. With duplicates. We now have to meet up again and swap. And make friends. John also handed out postcards, which left Declan wishing he’d thought of that.

Afterwards I hobbled towards my train at such utter lack of speed that my lovely Irishmen returning to their hotel would surely have caught up with me, had I not been rescued by a tram.

The Irish are coming

To Waterstones Deansgate. Wednesday 12th at 7pm. Be there, if you can. (I was going to say ‘or else’ but decided against such heavy handed tactics.)

They are Declan Burke and John Connolly, who will be talking about Books To Die For and possibly also their recently published The Wrath of Angels and Slaughter’s Hound. Both John and Declan are such fantastic writers that I suspect people will want a copy of all three books, if not careful. And why be careful?

Books To Die For. The reference book for the crime novels you want to read.

Personally I’d have loved to be at the – Dublin – launch last week. It seems as if the creamier end of Dublin’s (or shall we say Ireland’s?) crime world was present, and whereas I suspect neither Eoin Colfer nor Colin Bateman will follow Declan and John to England, I am sure we will have a fantastic night, anyway.

After all, I will be there, and I will add all the glamour required.

(Maybe just bring a little pixie glam? Just in case?)

Dublin photos by Ger Holland

Books To Die For

At one point I almost got blood on my copy of Books To Die For, but after chastising myself I came to the conclusion it would have been really very appropriate. Maybe I’ll smear a few drops on later for the sheer excitement of it.

It’s most unusual to read all of a ‘reference book’ and I admit I haven’t got there quite yet, but I would have if I could have. I am simply saving some for later, because it’s one of these pleasurable reads you want to last. Preferably forever.

Declan Burke and John Connolly (two of those nice Irish boys I like so much) have worked on a real must-have book for crime lovers and others, who are thinking of entering the world of crime. They, and over a hundred of their crime writing peers, have got together to write essays – admirably short ones, at that – on the ‘greatest mystery novels ever written’ and it is wonderful beyond words.

The contents pages read like a Who’s Who, and I have been dipping in and out, trying to decide whether to pick essays about people I like, or by people I like, or about books I know and love. Or just go for the odd ones where I’ve never heard of either the novelist or the essay writing fan.

I have done all of these, and it’s been immensely satisfying, and I could go on and on. I’m quite pleased with myself for having such good taste, and it’s enlightening to see who I share it with. It’s also tremendously good to find that some of these successful writers are putting forward surprising suggestions. Liza Marklund was inspired by a Nancy Drew book, and I admire her for daring to say so.

If you are missing tags of all participating authors, let me remind you that the list would run into hundreds. Admittedly, some are both recommenders and recommended, and John and Declan get more than one essay each, but this book has one long list of the cream of crime.

You could always get the book. It’s even got its own website. You can read more on there. And you can hear some authors talk about their choices. If you play your cards right, you can also go and hear Declan and John talk about the book at various events.

Me, I’ll go back to checking out which ones I’ve read, and which ones I must read. As if I actually needed a longer must list than the one I already had. But it’s crime. Lovely crime. Recommended by the best. And because much of it is old, I reckon I can spread it out, find a book every now and then.

Time to get excited about the AZC launch

It’s a cool title, albeit weird. I’ve read Absolute Zero Cool, except when I did, it was called something else. Declan Burke (yes, it’s him again) keeps working on his novels, and this one he’s been twiddling with for nine years, or something.

I still need to read it in its new form, but the paper version has not reached me yet. It can reach you, dear reader, if you pop along to the launch in Dublin. Which is at The Gutter Bookshop (and how apt is that?) on August 10th. I won’t be there. Declan forgot to clear the date with me, so I’m busy.

And you know, you could always pop along just to see John Connolly, who is launching the book. I imagine it will be the usual champagne bottle banged against the book and away it goes.

For a noir crime novel about a hospital porter trying to blow up a hospital, it’s got a really cool cover, wouldn’t you say? Generally I don’t approve of that kind of behaviour, but seeing as the weirdo is called Karlsson he’s got some sympathy from me.

Let’s just say the novel is anything but average, and quite possibly the launch will be un-average too.

Bookwitch bites #56

All together now.

How I wish I could have popped over to Dublin last week. It was positively teeming with crime writers. I know it’s the latest vogue but this strikes me as exceptional. It was the launch of crime anthology Down These Green Streets; Irish Crime Writing in the 21st century, edited by our very favourite Declan, Declan Burke. (Sorry Hughes.)

And I do realise some of you will find it a little hard to drop everything and pop in the Belfast direction for the NI launch tonight. But do try. I would. If I could. There are multi-signed copies of the book for sale from The Gutter Bookshop (which I believe is a lot nicer than the name suggests). I want one. It’d be the next best thing to having been there. But it’s this idea of actually paying…

It’s not just those criminally minded Irish who are ganging up. We have the History Girls. I’ve been hearing rumours for a while, and now they have got their act together. Almost. You can get them on facebook already. And from the 1st July you can enjoy their new blog.

They are girls who write historical fiction. I’m amazed they managed to get so many together for a photo, and very nice they look too. I understand they launched with a lunch, or possibly vice versa, at the home of Michelle Lovric. Should have known someone like Michelle would have an interesting house!

I suppose I shouldn’t ignore that large group of people who have their day tomorrow. The Daddies. We are an unfriendly kind of witch family, so don’t celebrate this kind of event at all. Not even with socks. (And he got a tie for his birthday, so there.) But can you really not go wrong with the books ‘advertised’ below?

Feeling the need to finish on a softer note; here is Barnaby Booth. Barnaby’s human Daddy is Stephen Booth. I believe Barnaby (I trust you can work out who Barnaby is named after?) helps with the murdering around the house.

A great re-writer

It was the Resident IT Consultant’s birthday, so I abandoned him for a younger man. Well, it’s not every day that John Connolly comes to a bookshop near me, is it? Though to be fair, people don’t have birthdays every day, either.

John’s on tour with Hell’s Bells, although his talk at Waterstone’s Deansgate was primarily a physics lesson, with some humour thrown in. I carefully arranged to bring my photographer-cum-physics student, and apart from the unfortunate ether (which apparently does not exist) she enjoyed John’s talk. And that’s high praise indeed.

Hodder’s Kerry had commiserated with me about the onslaught of children I’d have to face, but setting aside the fact that I’m used to the little creatures, the adults beat the children. Not literally, you understand. Just in numbers. We may have been old, but we sat in the nice and airy children’s department, and the air we breathed in (he told us to!) had previously been used by Elvis. Probably. Which somehow had some bearing on what Hell’s Bells is about.

Writers are magpies, who use the same shiny ideas over and over again (and I don’t think he meant you, Anthony). In good catholic schools you didn’t study biology, so it was physics for John, which was probably a good thing. There are lots of universes, all at the same time. In one of them you are down at the pub and in another you’re not.

When John asked for scariest Doctor Who monster it took three tries before we got to the weeping angels. I was on the verge of suggesting ‘are you my mummy’. Again.

He broke the sad news to the assembled children that life ends with something quite bad happening. One boy kept coming back with clever questions and John hates those who are younger and cleverer, but managed to keep his audience under control by pointing out we’d not get any freebies if we weren’t good. (That’s the drawback with these author types. Think they are boss.)

When he writes he sits down and writes and hopes for the best. He always hates his books after 20,000 words, and is now down to a mere ten drafts per novel. People ask him why he’s taken up writing for children (although as someone in the audience said, he doesn’t, really) and it’s so that he can be funny and let his imagination run riot.

Then he ended up in deep water, talking about little old ladies while seemingly staring at the lady whose birthday it was (see, good day for it!), but she was a born heckler and John didn’t get far.

The really good thing about printed books is that you don’t have to switch them off as the plane comes in to land. And you want books to enjoy, not to be improved by.

John could barely stop when his hour was up, so he was good value for money. Especially since it was free.

(Photos by Helen Giles)

All’s well that ends Hell

Heaven doesn’t exist. Or so Stephen Hawking claims. At the end of John Connolly’s latest novel Hell’s Bells, one of Professor Hawking’s ‘colleagues’ working on the Large Hadron Collider says that Hell doesn’t exist. So we’re all right, then. Maybe.

Hell’s Bells is the perfect title for a children’s book don’t you think? Witty, a little bit of mild swearing and a fair description of a book that takes ice cream to Hell, and back. Almost. Even the Resident IT Consultant once shouted the words Hell’s Bells while we were in the car. Offspring found this hilarious.

Beware of going trick-or-treating. You just never know whose door you will knock on and what the knock-on effects are likely to be. You could, like Samuel Johnson, inadvertently open the gates to Hell. And just as we thought that had ended well in The Gates, along comes this one, where poor Samuel and Boswell the Dachshund are snatched back to Hell.

Luckily a few other people are co-snatched and together they will just have to try and defeat millions of horned and red-hot demons and worse. But with true friendship and some home-brew you can achieve anything.

This is a very moral tale. It’s anti-war and anti all kinds of other bad things. Friendship is good and so are wine gums. When faced with Hell, even vaguely inept policemen can come up trumps. And as for those dwarfs…

It’s also the most tremendously funny story. There really does seem to be something in Ireland that makes for funnier books than anywhere else. How you can be amusing while writing about such vile creatures, I don’t know. Perhaps because they remind us of our own dear leaders? The angry Mrs Abernathy and her handbag? The double crossing army leaders. They’re all there. And they have ice in hell. Did you know?

John Connolly is very intelligent and he knows about the LHC and stuff and writes knowledgeably about all sorts of sciencey things. Or was he making it up? Anyway, we should clearly be careful with the LHC thingy. You just can’t know what it will do.

And I still need to grasp this Higgs Bosun chap. Doesn’t he work on a boat?