New crime fiction
Fred Vargas is the nom de mystère of French writer/anthropologist Frédérique Audoin-Rouzeau. Her Commissaire Adamsberg, of the Paris police, "a small man with vague eyes," is sloppy, ironic, prone to the mystical — and an intuitive genius at making connections between seemingly random elements of his life and caseload.
"This Night's Foul Work" (Penguin, 409 pp., $14 paperback), in a lively translation by Sian Reynolds, finds Adamsberg grappling with the murders of lowlife drug dealers, a serial "angel of death," animal mutilations in rustic Normandy and a vengeful fellow from his past. It's a full, rich and strange plate.
Seattle thriller writer Mike Lawson has quickly established himself as someone to watch. His work is a potent combination of high good humor, deft prose and insider smarts; it's reminiscent of the late, great Ross Thomas, and that's saying something.
"House Rules" (Atlantic, 371 pp., $22) continues the adventures of Joe DeMarco, a pretty regular guy who happens to be a clandestine fixer for a powerful congressman. DeMarco has to figure out, in an overheated and panicky D.C., what connects several deaths with a proposed law to curtail the rights of Muslim Americans. He enlists the help of a few friends, notably his enigmatic ex-spook friend Emma.
That wily pro Lawrence Block is up to his old tricks again with another bittersweet and casually brilliant novel about John Keller, lonely-guy professional killer. Keller is a wistful and reflective fellow who collects stamps (he's got to spend his money somehow) and — when he travels someplace on business — can't help imagining what it would be like to settle there and lead a straight life.
"Hit and Run" (Morrow, 287 pp., $24.95) finds Keller far from home and framed for a bumped-off politician — for once, a murder he didn't do! Worse, he can't get to his money stash and has spent the last of his cash on stamps.
"Not in the Flesh" (Crown, 304 pp., $25.95) is from the wonderful (and sometimes wonderfully perverse) mind of Ruth Rendell. Part of her Inspector Wexford series, it sticks close to the established rules of the police procedural, British style, and is somewhat less creepy than Rendell's stand-alone books of psychological suspense.
Not that there's anything wrong with that! The Wexford books are always substantial and satisfying. Here, the inspector must identify two long-dead corpses — one in the woods, one in the basement of an abandoned house — and discover who was responsible for their passage from this world.
A subplot involving the genital mutilation of Somali women, while clearly a topic that concerns the writer deeply, seems bizarrely out of place. Nonetheless, it's always a pleasure to spend time with the methodical Wexford and his loyal minions.
I continue to proudly point out that Alan Furst is a former Seattleite, simply because he's so damn good — in the opinion of many, me included, very nearly the best espionage writer alive. (I still give John le Carré pride of place.)
Furst continues to find gold in his particular literary stomping grounds, Europe circa WWII. "The Spies of Warsaw" (Random House, 266 pp., $25) is set amid the chaos and danger of Warsaw in 1937. The French embassy's aristocratic military attaché, Jean-François Mercier, has much to do, including romancing a beautiful Polish agent and protecting a nervous German arms-engineer-turned-spy. It's a characteristically atmospheric, intelligent and memorable tale.
Finally, two high-quality legal thrillers from Northwest writers: "Shadow of Power" (Morrow, 390 pp., $26.95) finds Bellingham resident Steve Martini's series hero, Paul Madriani, defending an unpleasant young racist from a charge of killing a contentious law professor whose fiery book has been creating a mountain of controversy.
Meanwhile, Portlander Philip Margolin offers "Executive Privilege" (HarperCollins, 360 pp., $25.95), about a private detective in D.C. who sees something she shouldn't, then teams with a Portland attorney to find the truth behind a chilling thought: Is the president of the United States a murderer?
Seattle writer Adam Woog's column on crime fiction appears on the second Sunday of the month in The Seattle Times.
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posted by alfredclowes1983 @ 17:55
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