An Ode to the TBR

By Renee Asher Pickup

Ah, the TBR pile.

The digital age hasn't made it easier to get through that long list of "To Be Read" but it's made it a hell of a lot easier to grow it. My relationship with the TBR is a mix of excitement and horror - every time I open a new book I think of all the others left behind, waiting, collecting dust.

Here are some of the books that have been on my TBR list for too long.

It's been over ten years since I worked at Borders book store in Columbia, Maryland, which is where I first encountered STIFF, shelving books. I'd worked in the schoolhouse where the USMC and Army trained service members to retrieve casualties and done a few morgue visits, and an interest in death, dying, and bodies remained. Mary Roach has gone on to pen several other books I really want to read, and haven't actually gotten around to. 

As soon as I added the photo for this book I felt like I had to duck - the readers of Do Some Damage are very likely throwing rotten vegetables at me for skipping this one. If not, wait for this - I've never read ANY Ellroy (if I'm not here next week it's because I've been asked politely to leave). I don't know how something like this happens. I know I should read Ellroy. I actually really want to read Ellroy. My growing interest in true crime says - for chrissakes, woman, read Black Dahlia! Yet, here it sits in the TBR, under a book I borrowed so I really, really need to read it before I get to anything else.

I look at this book every day. It is on a shelf in the living room and I can't walk into that room without looking at this book and yet... Ed Brubaker doing a mix of crime noir and Lovecraftian horror, somehow isn't the first thing on the TBR. I went back and read Deadpool vs. The Marvel Universe but didn't read Fatale. This blog entry is starting to make me feel bad about my life choices.

In addition to never reading Ellroy, I also never watched Justified. Not on purpose, really, I just didn't. I'm a big Elmore Leonard fan, though, and according to Goodreads I'm "currently reading" Pronto. Except, I'm not. A few years ago I downloaded the Raylan novels to see what the fuss was about, and apparently had really high hopes for tearing through them without delay. I also seriously intended to watch Justified. The intricacies of Raylan Givens remain unknown to me.

I've been a huge Stephen King fan since I was ten years old, sneaking books off the shelf. I have a huge collection of first editions, promotional items, and other random book-nerd junk I'm really proud of. Somewhere along the way though, King stopped being an author I bought and read overnight and became an author with a spot saved on the TBR. 11/22/63 was the first King novel to go TBR, and each subsequent release has followed. It's like I don't even know who I am anymore.

This is just a small selection from my ever-growing TBR. If I were to combine the actual pile with the digital list, and look at it long enough - I'm sure the length of the resulting list would make me feel my mortality in a very real way. The "To-Be-Read" is like a pile of hopes for the future and failures yet-acknowledged. 

What's been in your TBR for too long?

The Books That Haunt Us

By Alex Segura

I try not to be too self-promotional in this space, mainly because I think these blog posts shouldn’t serve as hype machines but, you know, share some droplets of knowledge I’ve gained during my relatively new career. That said, I’ve had my books on my mind a lot - in the macro sense. As some of you know, my first novel Silent City is being reissued by Polis Books in March. The following month will see the release of my second novel, Down the Darkest Street. Both books are part of the same series starring washed-up journalist/reticent detective Pete Fernandez.

So, as part of the whole “publishing a book” thing, I have to write new acknowledgements for the Silent City. Doing that got me to thinking about this journey I’m on, and the books that not only got me hooked on reading noir/mystery/crime - but made me want to create it, too.

I was always a reader - whether it was comics, sci-fi, "literary" novels, Sherlock Holmes, what have you. But it wasn’t until my early-to-mid twenties that I got truly tapped into mysteries. I burned through a lot of the classics (though, there are many lost/forgotten classics I need to seek out), like Chandler, Hammett, MacDonald, Highsmith and so on. I was digesting these books as a member of the audience. That said, I very clearly remember a turning point where I went from being a passive reader, enjoying the experience to someone who wanted to do the same thing. To write a book. And while the classic pulps and noir novels certainly helped get me there, it was another batch of books, more contemporary and relatable, that spurred me to take a stab at it myself. I want to talk about a few of them.

I’ve talked about influences on the blog before, so I’ll spare you a grocery list of people I think have played a part in how I write. But I did want to take a minute and write about some of the books that stuck around and still take up real estate in my head, and make up a big chunk of Pete Fernandez’s literary DNA.

I’m not going to do a deep-dive plot description for these - but know that I think each of them is excellent and you should read them all.

George Pelecanos - A Firing Offense

A Replacements song in prose form. Shambling, bruised, daring and kinetic, this book crackles with energy and introduces one of my favorite fictional characters ever in Nick Stefanos. Pelecanos has written a ton of great books, but I’ll always have a soft spot for his first three Stefanos novels.

Dennis Lehane - Darkness, Take My Hand

Hands down, one of the creepiest books I’ve ever read. Featuring two compelling protagonists in Pat and Angie and a Boston setting that feels all too real. I loved Lehane’s first PI novel, but this one just blows it out of the water - dangerous, disturbing and the kind of book that keeps you awake.

Laura Lippman - Baltimore Blues

 I love Tess Monaghan. It’s hard to put into words what a great character she is - charming, flawed, funny, brave and self-aware, unique and more. My favorite part about Tess is she refuses to remain static - and evolves from chapter to chapter. If you haven’t read this series, do yourself a favor and remedy that immediately.

James Ellroy - White Jazz

The outlier of Ellroy’s magnificent “L.A. Quartet,” Jazz is pure style and is the kind of book only Ellroy can pull off. While you should read the first three, you don’t have to, and I find myself going back to this weird little closing chapter more often than the earlier installments, though they’re great, too.

Michael Connelly - The Black Echo

The first Harry Bosch novel also seems to be the most noir of the series, which is probably why I like it so much. A little more raw and jagged than future installments, we meet Bosch and learn a bit about his past as it comes back to haunt him during a particularly trying time. Connelly hit it out of the park in his first at bat - supremely impressive.

Vicki Hendricks - Miami Purity

Miami is a shadowy, sweaty place full of double-crosses, weird characters and a heaping dose of menace. Miami Purity captures it perfectly. The Miami novel I measure all others against. A classic.

I could list books I like/loved/was influenced by for days. But this seems like a good place to stop. Feel free to share your essential, influential reads in the comments below.

Thrill Your Idols

By Alex Segura

I've had the honor of meeting a lot of authors and creative people I admire - in comics, literature and music. As a publicist (my day job), you have to steel yourself a bit, because the last thing you want to do in a professional setting is geek out about someone you're working with. That being said, I think all of us have other writers we hold up as pseudo-rock stars. We read all their work. They were hugely influential to us, etc.

Last night, I got to listen to James Ellroy read from his latest (and he'll tell you his greatest) novel, Perfidia, at The Mysterious Bookshop. I had a blast. It was something I'd been looking forward to for months and was kind of nervous about. I've read almost every word Ellroy's published and he - along with Pelecanos, Lehane, Block, Lippman and a few others - are on that list for me. Authors that I not only admire, but point to as huge influences and reasons for me even considering the idea of becoming a novelist myself.

So, yeah, this was a big deal. But it got me to thinking about idols and mentors and putting people up on a pedestal - and the downside of that. I've been lucky enough to meet most of the living authors I look up to and feel inspired by, but what I found most rewarding from those exchanges is discover the writers were funny, charming and friendly - they're people, too. It sounds silly to type, but it's the truth. Yes, they have foibles, bad days and their own problems. But we all do.

I think you gain a lot more being in the moment and enjoying a quick conversation with someone whose work you greatly admire as opposed to building it up to be something it can never be - or being disappointed at the end result because it didn't meet some unrealistic expectation.

Anyway, this was a quickie, mostly because I'm curious to hear stories from you guys about similar instances and how they went. Have you had positive or not-so-positive moments with authors you look up to?

Rules: Do They Matter?

Guest Post from Chris Rhatigan

Recently I read James Ellroy’s L.A. Confidential. This is a phenomenal book, as anyone reading this blog probably already knows. It’s epic and crazy, filled with distinctive characters and wicked twists. I devoured it--really addictive stuff.

It got me thinking about writing and rules. Some of the rules I follow are things other people told me (like only use “said” as a dialogue tag, don’t use adverbs, etc.), but many are self imposed. When I'm writing or revising, I'm not even necessarily aware that I'm following these rules. It’s more like I write with certain constraints without realizing it.

Ellroy broke three of my rules when he wrote:

1) A ridiculously complicated plot

2) A book that stank of research

3) A lot of monologues posing as dialogue.

Yet this made no difference. In fact, I think without breaking the first two, the book would have been much weaker.

One response is that we're mere mortals and Ellroy is a genius and, therefore, he can get away with this shit.

I disagree. Because if that was the case, he would've succeeded in spite of breaking these rules. But I think he succeeded because he broke the rules.

An epic book like this one demands a plot with a lot of moving parts--the reader is supposed to get lost and confused. Though the research frequently shines through (he even includes fictional newspaper articles and police reports written in the style of the time), this helps create a living, breathing world for the book to happen in. Even the monologues work well because they drive home each character's voice, which is essential when you have so many characters wandering in and out.

Ellroy knew what he had to do to tell his story and he did it. He didn't pay attention to any artificial constraints. (Of course, I have no idea what Ellroy's intentions were or if he even considered these factors--I'm just coming up with possible reasons for why he did what he did.)

I could use a bit more of that Ellroy spirit. Sometimes I eliminate material solely because it violates a rule. Don't get me wrong--I'm sure this has often made my work more readable. And for beginning writers, constraints are helpful. But at what point does it become  writing "safe"?

What rules do you follow? Do they you think they help your writing or hinder it? Are you willing to break them from time to time?


--

Chris Rhatigan’s fiction has been published in A Twist of Noir, Mysterical-E, Yellow Mama and Pulp Metal Magazine, and has work upcoming at the brand-spanking-new Pulp Carnivale. His blog, Death by Killing, is all about the world of short crime fiction.  

Thomas Pynchon: On Tour in the USA

By Steve Weddle

As Scott and Joelle mentioned this weekend, the DSD blog is now a year old, which means we oughta stop crapping our pants this year.  (It’s Monday, folks. You expected we’d start being classy on Mondays now?)

We plan to have our collection for you this month. It’s called TERMINAL DAMAGE, a series of eight, linked stories that touch each other. (Haha-hoho-heehee. Oh, and don’t get like that with me, now. Bryon’s story has a stripper, so don’t you go starting with me. Jay’s has a wrestler. I can’t remember whether those two stories collide, but I should probably go back and re-look.) Right now we’re negotiating a mountain of cash for the collection, with all proceeds to benefit The Human Fund. 

This last week of the DSD first-year has been batcrap crazy. Have you seen these Kindles? Seems you can now buy machines that allow to read books. Weird, huh? All this time I had all these books in my house and no way to read them. Now, for $189 I have a machine that allows me to read them.

Also, newspapers and magazines. What? You know all about this? I’m behind? Well, fine.

So I’m sitting out back of the bakery waiting for them to throw out the day-old bagels and I’m reading The New Yorker on my Kindle. (Hooray for birthday money.) I’m reading an article about this dandy of an entertainer called Brad Paisley. Nice looking fella. Sings all pretty the way the women in the suburbs like. And every time I make a joke about him, he’s probably made another ten million dollars. And not so much from his recordings. Sure, people download “[Insert some joke title here to see if anyone notices]” for a dollar online or buy his CDs in WalMart, but that isn’t where most of his money comes from. The dude makes serious bank by flying around the country, waking up at some coliseum and singing those same songs to tens of thousands of people who’ve paid hundreds of dollars to see him. To sing the song you listened to on the way to the concert. That you’ve already heard fifty times on the radio.

Let me try to explain. You fire up the 8-track and listen over and over again to “Cluster Pluck” (which I think is a play on the term “Cluster Fuck.” I have not heard the song, so I cannot in good conscience comment on the aptness of the title. I assume the word-play “Pluck” for “Fuck” is some sort of show of Paisley’s cleverness.) or “What a Friend We Have In Jesus” (a traditional song off the same album, undoubtedly as much a testament to Paisley’s Christianity as the “Cluster Fuck” song is to his cleverness).

Anyway, people pay money – much money – to hear Paisley perform LIVE the songs they’ve heard him perform on the album. Now, I’ve never knowingly heard any of his songs. I’m sort of loopy at the dentist’s where they do play the suburban country station, so it’s possible something from "Sleepin' on the Foldout" has seeped into my brain. I don’t have anything against Paisley and from The New Yorker article (which wasn’t written by Sasha Frere-Jones, so might well be trustworthy) he seemed like a nice young man.

I would not pay to see Brad Paisley perform because I’m not a fan of his work. Keep that in your head for a second. Now add in the idea that Paisley makes a ton of money from his concerts, as most big-name performers do. Their albums are meant to kick off their national tours, where they make the real money.

And they’re supposed to play the songs just as they sound on the albums. God forbid Dylan should plug in or Bruce Springsteen should go a cappella for “Thunder Road.”

With all the craziness in the book world, what would it take for authors to make bank on book tours? Brad Paisley makes money touring. Why can’t a best-selling author?

Can you imagine if BLOOD’S A ROVER was used to propel James Ellroy on his big national tour? Sure, twenty bucks for the book, but it’s two hundred to see him read from it. Would you pay for that? To see him perform the same chapters you’ve read? You know full well that the show will include Mr. Ellroy’s discussion about the size of his penis and insults aimed at Bill Clinton. As entertaining as a Brad Paisley concert? Would you have to have a light show included?

Why does Brad Paisley get serious buckage for performing while Charlie Huston doesn’t?

Heck, how many times have you heard about a writer you like having a hard time putting butts in chairs at the Barnes and Noble. And that’s probably about 30 seats to fill.

I guess David Sedaris can sell tickets to his readings. Who else? Can Laura Lippman or Michael Connelly?

Janet Evanovich just signed a four-book deal in which she was promised $50 million. Plus, she gets a million-dollar bonus for each home run she hits once she passes 30 in a season. And Eddie Van Halen has to come to her house and take out all the green M&Ms from her bowl. Could she get twenty-thousand people paying $200-per to hear her read?

I turn on CSPAN-2 and see historians at book festivals talking to half-empty (half-full, for you hippies) tents and wonder how many books they’re going to sell from that.

I paid good money to see Hank Williams, Jr. play. I’d pay more to see Hank3 play. I’ve paid for PIL, Deadeye Dick, Violent Femmes, Sonny Rollins, and many more. Heck, I even paid to see the Smithereens. Many, many other people did, too.

Why can’t Charlie Huston or JT Ellison make their livings by flying around the country giving readings to sold-out coliseums?

Who would you pay $200 to see read?

If I Ran HBO

Well, I'd sell my stock options and retire to write books before I bankrupted the place, but let's say I made one decision before I left.

It would be a series. I used to love movies, I used to go all the time but I don't much anymore. Now I prefer the longer story arcs of a good seriesor miniseries. The Sopranos, The Wire, Rome, Deadwood, Band of Brothers - I watched them all on DVD.

Now we have HBO Canada so I'm looking forward to The Pacific (my father-in-law spent a lot of the war in what we used to call Burma with the RCAF):



And I'm really looking forward to this one:



Let’s see, Emmy Award winner Terence Winter (The Sopranos), Martin Scorsese, Steve Buscemi, Gretchen Mol, based on the book by Nelson Johnson, set in Atlantic City during Prohibition, I guess it could be good.

So, the next big one I'd like to see as a series on HBO is this:









Such great characters, everybody from Howard Hughes, J. Edgar Hoover, Nixon, Kennedy (Big Brother and Little Brother), Jimmy Hoffa, movie stars, mobsters, HUAC, COINTELPRO – it’s Hollywood, Washington, Vegas – everything.

I really liked the movie version of LA Confidential but the material in these three books would make for such a great HBO show. Each book could be a ten or twelve episode season.

Let's face it, HBO is losing out to AMC and FX and other cable networks and stuff like Mad Men, Breaking Bad, Sons of Anarchy, Justified (the one based on Elmore Leonard's Fire in the Hole with US Marshall Raylan Givens) and so on.

So, what do you think? What material would you like to see adapted into a cable TV series?

On the QT and very Hush Hush

By Russel D McLean

Dig this:

One night only in Glasgow, the Demon Dog of crime writing is gonna reign supreme.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, malcontents and malingerers, pimps and perverts, Ellroy is here to save us from the death of publishing and the internet invaders.

I've been waiting for this for over a decade. Last time I had a chance to see the man in action, Ellroy cancelled his gig at the Edinburgh Book Festival for reasons that, to this day, remain shrouded in mystery (we were only told on arrival at the Box Office).

It was my dad who introduced me to the works of Ellroy. Like me, he thinks the ideal introduction is probably The Black Dahlia, being a prime example of his stripped down, stone-cold style in its earliest days. For sure, I dug the Dahlia, even if took me a while to understand what Ellroy was doing, how for the first time I could remember in the history of reading, every damn word counted.

Tonight's gig isn't just the man himself, of course. Oh, no, there's also a screening of what the Waterstones website described as “an Ellroy inspired film” which was vague, but intriguing. There were any number of movies they could have considered.

My fear, of course, was that they would choose The Black Dahlia. Of all the films they have made – inspired by and directly adapted from Ellroy's work – this one brings up the worst memories. A soul-searing work of purest, blackest noir that became, under the creative control of Brian De Palma, a parodic and melodramatic mess of a movie; the Batman and Robin of noir, if you will permit to indulge in some negative hyperbole (but seriously, I could hardly sit through The Black Dahlia, so overblown and obvious as it was with a talented cast turning in some of the most bored performances of their careers).

Luckily, the Glasgow Film Theatre chose to unveil their choice. I would have been happy with the Kurt Russell starring (and plotted by Ellroy) Dark Blue, set around the time of the LA Riots which was also, coincidentally, the time when I was visiting the US for the first time with my parents (and yes, we were in LA in the days before the riots started). I would even have been pleased to see Street Kings, again plotted by Ellroy and starring that master of underacting, Keanu Reeves (who is, given the chance, usually watchable if not usually stunningly good) as an amoral cop caught up in a political war between his corrupt Captain (Forrest Whitaker) and the head of IA (Hugh Laurie with his bizarre American accent). Not a perfect movie, but enough going on to keep things interesting.

Thank goodness, though, that they chose LA Confidential. I remember seeing this movie before reading the novel, and thinking, this is what I want from a cop movie. Layered, restrained and pitch perfect, it is a film made by people at the top of their game. Russell Crowe has rarely been as good as here, playing Bud White, all presence and anger and a sharp mind overshadowed by baser instincts. And Guy Pearce is twitchily perfect as the initially heroic but increasingly amoral cop who gives the audience their surrogate for the movie. Throw in Kevin Spacey and the farmer from Babe giving their all in what were at the time quite unexpected roles, and Danny Devito being incredibly sleazy as the editor of a tabloid gossip magazine, and you have a movie with a top notch cast working from layered script and under a restrained and still stylised direction that De Palma really should have paid more attention to when he came to make The Black Dahlia.

And it’s on the big screen. I haven't seen it in a couple of years, but its shot with the kind of rich textures that I remember making a huge impression on me when we went to see it on its initial release. We’re talking period detail, textured storytelling, nuanced performances, the whole lot. Seeing it on the big screen back when it was first released had a huge effect on me; made me realise the moral ambiguities inherent in the thriller, made me view the past as every bit as corrupt as the present.

By the time you read this, of course, I will have seen the Demon Dog, will have wowed at his words and his will. And I’ll have re-lived Confidential, too, there on the big screen, in all its glory. Yes, I have high hopes for this event, but Ellroy is one of those writers who sheer affect on me – even with the notoriously difficult The Cold Six Thousand – as a reader cannot be understated. Tonight I’ll have been a reader again, a true fan, someone there for the thrill of seeing one of their heroes do his thing, say his piece, give us entertainment (and from what I hear, Ellroy does just that).

So bring it on, tonight, and to whet my appetite (and yours), here’s a clip of the man himself in full flow: