Dating george herron knives
Read it on the beach by all means, but it’ll linger in your memory long after you’re back at your desk.
Skipping back to this side of the Atlantic, Anthony Horowitz’s is a dazzling delight: two murder mysteries for the price of one.
Now he’s writing books, largely about the drugs trade, for which the word “epic” wouldn’t be inappropriate: continues the same themes, its focus switching to those in authority. And as for the yet-to-appear, and which I haven’t managed to snaffle advance copies of, the big one-two punch of late summer comes from a father/son combo.
John le Carré, as has been widely heralded, will soon be back with .
Attica Locke examines racial issues without ever reducing them to black and white, and her prose sings on the page.
I’ve been an avid Winslow reader since the Neil Carey mysteries, and increasingly delighted by a series of novels which have been comic and tragic in turn: spy novels set in 50s Manhattan; noir thrillers set in sun-drenched California; and surfer-dude escapades which, come to think of it, pretty much define “beach reads”.
The author’s previous novels were all set in the not-too-distant past; this is set yesterday, more or less, and its action takes place along the fracture-lines of Obama’s America.
In a tiny town in East Texas, a middle class black man and a poor white woman are murdered within days of each other: Mathews, arriving to investigate, finds shadows cast by history wherever he looks.
In Horowitz’s book, the twists are integral to the plot: he has great fun recreating a Golden Age mystery which in itself will please Agatha fans, and takes equally obvious pleasure in deconstructing that story within the confines of another, contemporary, tale.
The in-jokes will entertain genre devotees; the brilliantly constructed whole will keep all readers glued to the page.