Crimedog One

LaSalle is Dead! Long Live LaSalle!

You do all know that there is an Emerson LaSalle tribute blog, right?  And that many of us fans and scholars of perhaps the greatest one-handed hack of the last three hundred and sixteen years have been contributing as a way to build an even larger body of legend and anecdotal musings.  Maybe we'll one day have volumes, even more than the actual number words in all the books LaSalle himself saw published, which is said to be over four hundred. 

LIVE ON THE WEB: STORYGLOSSIA'S CRIME FICTION ISSUE

For 27 issues now, Steven McDermott has consistently delivering the incredibly strong literary e-zine Storyglossia.com, with his keen eye for quality giving us a stunning archive that will keep you busy for quite a while.

But then he handed over the reins to me for this special Crime Fiction Issue...and that was nerve-wracking.  In the end, though, after all the submissions--ranging wildly from cozies to locked room to prison stories to mob guys to P.I.s, cops, thugs, femme fatales, and regular folks caught in an unholy mess--I think I pulled together a non-shabby, diverse, and exciting boundary-tempting stories that exploit crime fiction for all it's worth while taking literary risks.  Each one exemplifies the Harry Whittington epigraph I chose for the introduction (thanks to Bill Crider for helping me locate it again), which boils down to "Where are you aiming?" Literature?  Pulp?  You want cake and frosting?  Oh, aren't you a dangerous one!

With nineteen stories, it's tough to go through and name favorites give you the lowdown on each.  And that would spoil the surprise anyway.  Let's just leave it at this: of all the stories I read for the issue, these are the ones that got to me.  They reached inside my chest and give the ol' heart a mighty twist, and I'll see them in my nightmares for years to come.

Thanks, Steve, and three cheers for Storyglossia!  May your journal's audience grow and your reputation outshine those pretentious fucks over at McSweeneys.

PATTI'S BIG "WHAT TO READ ON FRIDAYS" BLOG THINGIE EXPERIMENT: HARRY CREWS

Roped into this web of recommending by Patti Abbot (bless you), I think it's tough.  I mean, there's plenty of stuff you people need to read that you've kind of ignored, like James Crumley's woefully underrated The Final Country, or Christopher Goffard's masterful Edgar-nominated (but still not talked about enough) Snitch Jacket.

But when I have the chance these days, I want to pimp the Southern wildman who influences so many, and yet his best works are out of print.  I'm talking about Harry Fucking Crews.  We're talking intensely (almost Biblically) violent, full of dirty, squishy sex, and people doing awful things to each other, all while looking for true love.  Yes, Crews believes fiercely in the power of love to heal us.  He's the spiritual heir to Flannery O'Connor (another one of my all-time faves), an evolution and devolution at the same time.  This is Southern Gothic Pulp Gonzo...to th extreme!  And yet, when's Hard Case or Vintage or Black Cat or any of these brave and risky presses going to give him a new life on the shelves for future generations?

The one I'll rec today is Scar Lover, mainly for the fact that it's one of the most readily available, still nearly new.  You can find Feast of Snakes pretty easy as well, but Scar Lover is a bit more off the beaten path.  So, the story here is Pete Butcher falling for Sarah Leemer, two wounded souls trying to heal themselves by hooking-up, and their coupling impacts an entire family in drastic fashion.  Plus they cremate someone.  It's weird shit.  It's wonderful.  It's something you need to read.  And then you can move on to The Gospel Singer and Body (the latter beginning with one of the silliest sex scenes of all-time).

Creeeeeeeeeews.

And now, I "tag" (Jesus, c'mon) William Boyle over at The Narrow Margin.  You try thinking one up.

JACK PALMS CRASHES THE BIG PARTY

Harwood sends along the good news: "The day has come!! I'm here today with some big, big news in the land of everything Harwood and Palms: Jack Wakes Up has just been bought by Crown/Random House for a release in 2009 as a trade paperback original!"

Congrats to the man.  He's worked really damned hard to build this boat, and by god, it's sailing right along.

JEN JORDAN COMES CLEAN ABOUT BEING DIRTY

At DetecToday, Gerald So chats with Jen Jordan, the prophetic editor of the mighty Expletive Deleted anthology (which is better than the reviewers say because this book made them piss their pants).  From her perch at CrimeSpree, Jen's got a great perspective on the genre, and on how it's the ones out on the edge that just keep leading the way.  Onward!

PUNISH THIS, FOLKS

Wow, so, comics just keep getting better and better.  Mainly because my friends are writing cooler and cooler stories for them.  First Duane Sweirczynski takes over Iron Fist, and now he's having another shot at Punisher MAX. 

And, this is the topper, so is my good buddy Victor Gischler.  That's a good match right there: The Punisher meets "That Monkeys with Guns Fella".  Looking forward to his Bayou-inspired take on Frank, since those are my old-stomping grounds and Gischler's current ones down in Baton Rouge.

Sigh.  Well, there goes more money that could've been spent on, I guess, food or gasoline.  Damn your goodness, Comics!

NOW WITH EVEN MORE BLEAK

The Bleaksters of Bleak House have just posted a whole bunch of new titles to round out the year.  And just take a look at the cover for Craig McDonald's follow-up to Head Games called Toros and Torsos.  Isn't that just too cool?  Plenty of books I'm excited about on that list.  A Civil War novel from that bastard Peffer!  More Spinosa, Logue, and Stone!  The BH debut of Bill Cameron!  And the next great Jen Jordan anthology (after Ex Del), Sloppy Seconds. The title alone is awful enough to make me grab my wallet.  What awaits us inside?  Will it be filthy enough to satisfy Stan's Dad?  (A South Park joke, people.) [UPDATE: The YouTube version of the SP clip got yanked.  So here's the Comedy Central version, but you have to watch a friggin' commercial first.  Bastards.]

FOUR THINGS

• Tim Maleeny (Stealing the Dragon & "The Pride of Master Ling") also likes Yellow Medicine.  Even at the expense of his own work (I'm not buying that.  If it hadn't been my obok, it would've been Internet Reversi, so...).  Thank you, sir.
• We really like Ray Banks.  We even really like it when Ray Banks has a great interview.  But we also like a little peace and quiet now and then, so shut up already, will ya?
• Oh glory be!  Charlie Williams is writing something new.  And that means I now have to get out the posterboard and a Sharpie to chart the "Countdown Until I Can Get My Hands on Charlie Williams' New Book".  You have to take this sort of thing seriously.
• Gossip is an awesome fucking band.  Holy shit.  And their bio from MySpace seals the deal: "We were raised in Arkansas by women, wolves and cassettes...We are feminists, artists, disc jockeys and writers. We have collectively spent 80% of our lives in airplanes (just to sweat on you). We love flowers and we believe firmly in raw power. We all currently reside in Portland, Oregon. We believe in the power of Divine. We believe the best thing Elvis ever did was buy Bessie Smith a washing machine and the best thing Henry Rollins ever did (besides the 'Damaged' lp) was buy Roky Erickson a set of teeth."

GUTTER

Rod at Bookgasm.com gives a little (dirty) love to Out of the Gutter #4 today.  Now, reading just the descriptions of the stories should make you want to hunt down a copy, read it fast fast fast and hard hard hard and then smoke yourself a cig.

A SAVAGE NIGHT INDEED

My scheming literary agent is first and foremost celebrated noir/Grand Guignol novelist Allan Guthrie, and he's sent along this trailer for his upcoming Savage Night, which is one of the most impressive novels I've read in a long time.  Whatever you think noir and crime fiction should be, Guthrie turns it around on you.  The comedy is ultradark (to paraphrase Nigel Tufnel: How much more black can it be?  The answer is "None.  None more black."). When I think about how writers like Guthrie help to keep noir alive, well, and evolving after so many decades and well into the future (also considering the whining of some stuck in the mud critics who swear this is just "torture porn" horror and not at all cricket), I imagine the ghost of Jim Thompson overhead whispering, "Yeah, they said the same shit about me too, and look at me now."

Well, not literally, because he's been dead a long time.  But the legacy, there you go.  I can also imagine him saying, "Stop stealing my fucking titles." 

PS - Savage Night is also what I called the metal band in The Drummer.  Must mean that Thompson is one powerful book, eh?