Posts Tagged ‘mystery’

A tale of two writers

Tuesday, October 11th, 2011
a-tale-of-two-writers

Two contemporary American authors recommend themselves for their use of the English language, mystery writer Will Thomas and poet Barbara Hamby. They have little in common. Their subject matter and style don’t match. Yet each handles the language with vigor and grace without sacrificing the forward motion often missing in literary works.

In the five novels in which he chronicles the adventures of Cyrus Barker and his assistant Thomas Llewelyn, Thomas writes at a studied rate that matches the pace of the Victorian England he portrays.  As narrator, Llewelyn describes action with a sharp ferocity, which is to be expected in mysteries and thrillers. It’s in the descriptions and transitions that the author shines, passages that in lesser hands would read as filler, or asides.

Here Llewelyn describes Irish beauty Maire O’Casey in Thomas’s second book in the series, To Kingdom Come: “With her hair pulled back loosely, she looked fresh out of one of the paintings by the fellow Renoir, who obviously had a passion for redheads. A jolt of electricity ran down my spine as if I were a tree trunk split in half.”

Poet Barbara Hamby abandons quiet passion for the full-throated kind. Here’s the beginning of her tour de force, “Mambo Cadillac,” from her book All-Night Lingo Tango:

Drive me to the edge in your Mambo Cadillac,
turn left at the graveyard and gas that baby, the black
night ringing with its holy roller scream. I’ll clock
you on the highway at three a.m., brother, amen, smack
the road as hard as we can, because I’m gonna crack
the world in two, make a hoodoo soup with chicken necks,
a gumbo with plutonium roux, a little snack
before the dirt-and-jalapeño stew that will shuck
the skin right off your slinky hips, Mr. I’m-not-stuck
in-a-middle-class-prison-with-someone-I-hate sack
of blues.

Remind you of the early short stories of T.C. Boyle? You can hear Garrison Keillor read “Mambo Cadillac” on The Writers Almanac and Hamby’s own reading for the Southeast Review in Tallahassee, available from the iTunes store.

If you like a little kick to your writing, you’ll want to ride with these two.

 

 

 

Rules of engagement: author Laurie King on marketing, Twitter and the power of social media

Wednesday, April 14th, 2010
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The author of The Beekeeper’s Apprentice is buzzing over social media.

With a website, author and character blogs and a presence on Facebook, MySpace and Twitter, Laurie R. King is a champion of social marketing. She posts in the voice of one of her characters, runs several writing contests for fans and invites readers to discuss the books among themselves. Her efforts go beyond promoting the work to promoting engagement with readers. That reveals an understanding of the collaborative nature of social media many corporations should envy.

“Mostly what I use the social networking sites for is to tie together my readers—I set up a site, or suggest an approach, and then more or less stand back while they play with it,” she told me in an email that previews the interview here. But first, some background on the Californian who has become famous for portraying the life of perhaps the world’s most-famous detective, and the woman who has become, some would say, an equal or better.

LaurieRKingCreating a voice
Over the past 20 year Ms. King has written 20 novels, including two series, one featuring San Francisco police detective Kate Martinelli and a second with Mary Russell and Sherlock Holmes. Her first book, A Grave Talent (1993), received the 1994 Edgar Award for Best First Novel and a 1995 John Creasey Memorial Award. She followed with the 1996 Nero Award for A Monstrous Regiment of Women and the 2002 Macavity Award for Best Novel for Folly.

Her books about Russell and Holmes have been applauded as “the most successful recreation of the famous inhabitant of 221B Baker Street ever attempted” (Houston Chronicle) “with the power to charm even the most grizzled Baker Street irregular” (New York Daily News). The first in the series, The Beekeeper’s Apprentice, appeared in 1994. The tenth, The God of the Hive, will be published on April 27.

She has more than 2 million copies of her novels in print.

Creating a buzz
To highlight the 20 books she’s written, and the publication of her newest novel Mary Russell/Sherlock Holmes novel, Ms. King embarked this year on what she calls “Twenty weeks of buzz.” In addition to the traditional methods of promotion—book tours, radio and TV appearances—Ms. King has taken to the Internet with a passion usually reserved for her characters.

Her presence on the Internet is considerable. She created a website and a blog about her activities called Mutterings. She also created another blog, this one in Mary Russell’s voice, on MySpace. Mary, in character, posts regularly on Twitter (@mary_russell)—a technique used effectively by Helen Klein Ross (@AdBroad) to promote the TV show “Mad Men.” Ms. King writes as a guest blogger on other sites and runs a Yahoo! Group. She has a page on Facebook. She’s even posted author interviews and scenic footage of the British landscape where Mary Russell first met Sherlock Holmes on YouTube.

King beekeeper coverTo share her tastes in literature, Ms. King created an account on Goodreads, where some 3 million members recommend books, compare and discuss books.

She has also bolstered reader engagement with the creation of twin writing contests. To celebrate the publication of The God of the Hive, she authorized the 2010 Mary Russell Fan Fiction Writing Contest. The contest is also sponsored by the Letters of Mary Yahoo! group. Contestants are asked to write about a character in one of the Russell novels as a teenager. The second contest, to celebrate National Library Week, invites readers to create their version of the ideal library, complete with drawings.

She even runs contests for artwork about Russell, Holmes, and their world where fans submit and judge the works.

I interviewed Ms. King (who goes by LRK online) through a series of email exchanges on April 11 of this year. Here’s her reaction to the question about her social-media efforts, and their results.

Creating a community
“I have to say, it’s funny to be considered a ‘champion of social marketing’ since I never feel I know much about what I’m doing!” she wrote. “Mostly what I use the social networking sites for is to tie together my readers—I set up a site, or suggest an approach, and then more or less stand back while they play with it. I’m kept in the loop of course, and I’ll drop in regularly, but making use of enthusiastic volunteers means that I don’t have to do all of the day-to-day work, while at the same time letting a group of key readers—‘fans’ if you will—have the fun of working with a writer they enjoy and making her job just a little bit easier.

King God of the Hive cover“I think a number of writers do this in some form or another—Dana Stabenow’s ‘Danamaniacs’ are a powerhouse of networking, for example—and so long as it is kept fairly clear which is the author speaking and which is one of the administrators, I find people are happy.

“Mostly I write and post my blog ‘Mutterings’ and stop in once a day on both the personal and fan Facebook pages. I visit regularly on the Virtual Book Club [a community on her site], reading the discussion and dropping in on some of the other threads, but I don’t tend to post a lot there unless I have something in particular to contribute—the VBC is a place for the readers to freely discuss and get to know each other, and I don’t want to give the impression that I’m in charge of what they say. A great side-effect of the VBC is that whenever LRK readers meet at an event or a conference, they often already know each other remarkably well, even if they have never met in person.

“As for Twitter, Russell’s MySpace page and Goodreads, those I work with volunteers on, answering letters sent to me (or to Russell) through the sites, helping promote things like the recent Twitter Party (I helped set this up beforehand but, being in a far distant time zone, I had very little to do with it at the time.) That last, by the way, was an absolute gas—you can see the transcript of its silliness at What the Hashtag.

“All in all, I probably average an hour a day on this stuff, more when I’m producing something like ‘A Case in Correspondence’ or working up to a book launch. [“Case” is a series of communications between Mary Russell and other important people, a running mystery of sorts on Ms. King’s various sites, the significance of which won’t become clear until readers finish The God of the Hive.

“As for results, who can tell? Last year we put a lot of effort into online venues and I came onto the New York Times’ bestseller list at #9. This year, we shall see.”

Sarasota Noir, part 5: a three-ring heist

Thursday, February 25th, 2010
sarasota-noir-part-5-a-three-ring-heist

He sped past the Van Wezel center, a purple bunker that sits on the waterway between Sarasota and the keys, and watched the marquee flash the names of the performers: the Moody Blues, Joffrey Ballet, “Mama Mia!” As he pulled into the Ringling museum complex off Tamiami Trail, he hoped he wasn’t too late. Dukat and the Pelican Boys had a head start. And then there was McGee. A great but volatile detective. Gulls were no match for his powerful hands, even with a splinted finger, and he wanted Dukat alive.

Asolo Theater webThe Asolo Theater was empty, its huge red curtain and gilded crown molding glowing in the dim light. He jogged to the visitors’ center and down to Ca d’Zan, the Venetian palace circus impresario John Ringing and his wife Mabel built in 1925 as their winter home on the intracoastal waterway between Sarasota and the keys. It seemed every surface was covered in ornamentation, a riot of gilded, carved and bejeweled ceilings, walls and floors. Rococo squared. He didn’t know how the couple slept at night.

Tons of tourists but no Dukat.

He ran up the walkway to the Ringling Museum of the American Circus, which housed the Ringling Bros. human canon, bandwagon, calliope and Pullman car John Ringling used to travel the country when booking his shows. No sign of Dukat or McGee, although he did see the patchwork hat and suit of Emmett Kelly, the sad-faced clown who would sweep his spotlight into a dustpan.

Ca d Zan front webThere were several other buildings but little time. John Ringling had made a good living by running the Ringling Bros. Circus and selling real estate in the circus’s winter home of Sarasota, Florida. He’d used that money to buy art from around the world, including works by Rubens, Titian and Velazquez. He’d also acquired Cypriot, Greek and Roman antiquities, along with hundreds of pieces of sculpture. That’s where he’d find Dukat.

He dashed in the door of the Ringling Museum of Art and took a hard right into grand hall that was dimly lit. Ahead loomed a series of paintings by Peter Paul Rubens called “The Triumph of the Eucharist.” One in particular caught his eye. At the far end of the hall stood the massive “The Meeting of Abraham and Melchizedek,” 175 by 224 inches, painted around 1625. In it Abraham the returning warrior was offering the priest a tithe in return for bread and wine for his army. The skin on the figures was luminous, the muscles so well-defined they look real.

And then one of the men moved. Carving knife poised, Dukat paused just before slashing through the edge of the painting. But in that second’s distraction, he lunged for the thief and his henchmen.

Rubens Meeting of Abraham webThey scattered, gulls and pelicans flying everywhere. He bounced hard on the floor. By the time he caught his breath, Dukat was gone. Outside he saw a car streak south toward the Van Wezel. He followed, hanging a right into the parking lot and nearly toppling a row of palms. Up the steps and into the lobby, where even the interior of the building was painted in that strange color. No sign of the gull. He ran to the left, through the concession area and around to stage left, leaping onto the boards just in time to see McGee grab the gull by the throat.

“Wait,” he yelled to McGee. “I want him alive.”

McGee was having trouble with the chokehold. With its splinted finger his hand refused to close.

“Don’t do it, McGee. What do you think this is?”

“With due respect to the master,” McGee said, looking heavenward to where the late John D. MacDonald might or might not be resting, “it’s a purple place for dying.”

Sarasota Noir, part 3: trouble in paradise

Wednesday, February 24th, 2010
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He decided not to do the beach this morning so he ran the eight-tenths of a mile to St. Armands Circle in shirtsleeves. Out the side of the hotel, across Cleveland Drive, north on the Boulevard of the Presidents on a sidewalk that divided the four-lane road like a banana split. A patriotic as well as a commercial hub, with all the cross streets named for presidents: Monroe, Jackson, Tyler, Grant, Garfield, Harrison. On Cleveland, the houses hunkered into the shell-covered driveways, squinting at the upper crust through slatted windows. The closer he got to St. Armands Circle, the more elaborate the homes became: a palatial estate with leaded oval windows in its front doors, a house on a canal with an empty boat slip.

St Armands Circle statue deserted webThere were few people on the street at this hour, a Spandex runner and a white-haired man walking a white-haired dog. But at the circle there was traffic, a half-dozen cars and a SCAT bus from Sarasota County Area Transit, laboring like a bull. The shops and restaurants were closed: the tourist attractions like Olivia’s Fashions and the Columbia Restaurant, the adobe-clad Chico’s and Starbucks, the Italianate marble columns of the Met fashion and day spa, with its three lion heads spouting water into a trough.

In the circle itself a lawn slopeed into a slight depression to catch the rain. Purple petals from what looked like hibiscus trees layered the ground and at the far end a stood a black statue of a naked man labeled “Borghese Warrior,” his penis pointing south. No need to ask for directions.

Back at the hotel an older waitress named Inka from St. Croix served them breakfast. They’d visited the island on a whim a few years ago and found it a strange mix of physical beauty and worn-out buildings in town, with an underlying tension among the workers. He mentioned the visit to Inka.

“What did it look like?” she asked in an accent that could have been German or Scandinavian.

“The homes were gated and the car lots surrounded by barbed wire.”

“Hooligans.” She screwed up her face and nearly spat the word.

“What’s it like to live there?” he asked.

“Dangerous.”

So much for paradise.

They drove around the ever-congested St. Armands Circle onto Longboat Key, land of the free and the home of the rich. North on Gulf Drive to Anna Maria Island, the northernmost part of the Sarasota keys, the place where the locals have preserved what they call “Old Florida.” Condos in adobe and terra cotta tile, smaller homes in cement block, but unlike St. Croix or Orlando, only one gated community. Through Bradenton Beach to Holmes Beach and the Art League gallery, a sky blue building with a rounded front and an oval overhang that could have been a Dairy Queen, or the home of George Jetson. Inside they viewed about two dozen photographs of “Old Florida,” which looked a lot like their backyard, only with water.

Menonite webThey walked the Anna Maria Pier on Sarasota Bay, out to the tin-roofed shack that served as bait shop and restaurant, guys casting lines into the water and drinking beer, a woman in a black dress with a baby stroller waiting with an older woman for a table inside, a row of Mennonite or Amish women in their white caps and black dresses lining one of the benches. Doubt they were waiting to fish.

Then across the street to the Waterfront Restaurant, sitting outside on the deck-like porch, watching the cyclists with their blue T-shirts and yellow caps and beak-like helmets. Road crews were stringing pipe to improve the drainage on a side street. Every few minutes a guy in a backhoe would troll by, the loader filled with muddy water. Each time he passed he’d turn his head toward the diners, a private eye looking for the errant husband, or a character in Tom Bodett’s End of the Road stories, the town’s loader operator who won first place in the parade by following the procession on his way to the gravel pit.

They had a crab sandwich and chicken croissant and iced tea, the motivational singer Cheryl Crow urging them to break down those personal barriers and live up to their fullest potential. If it makes you happy . . . . it’s probably bad for your digestion, your wallet or your marriage. They skipped dessert.

Anna Maria Island beach webOn the way back they swung to the other side of the island to see the Gulf. The water was approaching high tide (4:48 p.m.) and the wind stirred the waves, which rose to about 2 feet. There was a spatter of raindrops but not enough to deter a pair of kids who ran in the surf, or the birds, who patiently worked the shore. No tin cups, no stocking masks, yet something suspicious about the throng that gathered around his feet.

Pelican pair webThe Gull Syndicate. He recognized their colors: black do-rags over cream suits with dove-gray tails. Very elegant. Their sheer numbers startled him, but not as much as the outer guard: it was the Pelican Gang, down from the Bowery, muscle for a pending job.

Out of the crowd, strutting like a pigeon in Central Park, came a face he recognized as well as his own: Ducat, alert, wary, his head cocked to the side, one mischievous eye aglow. He’d called in reinforcements.

There was trouble in paradise.