Showing posts with label mystery novel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mystery novel. Show all posts

03 December 2018

In All Honesty, Smith Should Stick to Diet Books

The Ancient Nine - Ian K. Smith, MD


Spenser Q. Collins made his way from the mean streets of South Chicago to the ivy-covered halls of Harvard on the strength of his valedictory address and his jump shot. Now in his sophomore year, the young African-American premed student is flabbergasted to be “punched”¹ by a “final club”² - in fact, the finest of them all, Delphic. Upon hearing he’d been punched, Spenser’s best bud, filthy-rich Dalton Winthrop some number-or-other, informed him that Delphic is not just the best Harvard club, it’s also the most mysterious: some kid disappeared into their palatial clubhouse one night in 1927 and has never been heard from again. Ooooh: a mystery.

25 February 2016

McCallum's Fiction Debut a Misfire

Once a Crooked Man - David McCallum


I’ve always considered it rather depressing that one of the surest ways to get a novel published (at least back in the days before rampant self-publishing) was to already have a degree of celebrity. Take a look at all the dozens of actors and singers who’ve published children’s books – Madonna, Sting, Cate Blanchett, etc. – for example. Even in my favorite genre, the mystery, more than a few actors have been published. Some – Harley Jane Kozak or Hugh Laurie  – have actually done a fairly good job. Others (say, Gillian Anderson) haven’t done so well. Into the midst of that second group, regrettable, comes veteran actor David McCallum with his debut novel, Once a Crooked Man.

Harry Murphy , New York-based actor, had just finished yet another audition – spoiler alert: he wouldn’t win the part – and badly needed to pee. So he slipped into the Chinese restaurant he was passing, hoping to empty an overflowing bladder. The four men at the table chased him off, so a desperate Harry ducked into the neighboring alley and watered the brick wall instead. What he overheard standing under an open window was (somehow) sufficient to send the young man across the pond to London, planning to warn a complete stranger (for whom he had only a surname) that someone in America planned to terminate their arrangement, whatever it was – permanently.