‘Redbone’ by Matt Phillips, reviewed by Gunnar Davíðsson.

When you swing, swing hard.

“A little bit of bourbon, too much silence and enough walking and work to make a 38-year-old man’s feet hurt like hell. That’s what Calvin got today, and that’s what he’d get tomorrow. Until he got something else, something different.”

Well, something different was what he got. Calvin G. Redbone’s day starts off with a little coffee and a little bourbon just like it does every other day but after that it’s all downhill from there. First he loses his friend, Mister Salmons, then he loses his job courtesy of the slimy two-faced Seymour Aiken. It’s around now that he realises that “Calvin G. Redbone was a poor man, he was one poor sonofabitch.” And that ain’t no shit.

He hasn’t got much left apart from the saucy Marnie who lives in the same rundown trailer park they call Paradise and it’s getting so that he doesn’t have much left to lose at all. His day goes from bad to worse as he’s confronted by the greed of the tedious Ronald Grimace, asshole extraordinaire and Mister’s son, Grayson Salmons. Two men who enjoy making money for the sake of making money and treating men like shit for the sake of treating men like shit. Because, “When things are too easy for people, they turn into pricks.”

The local cop, Deputy Peach-fuzz does his best to keep Calvin on the straight and narrow but it becomes an ever-increasingly difficult task as it seems that everything he touches turns to dust. “The roses died and went to hell. Like a lot of people do. You try to bring a little beauty to the world and you end up killing something.”

The final back-breaking straw comes in the form of the lawyer his wife hired to fuck him over during their divorce.

“You’re the one she’s fucking?”

“Not how I’d put it, Mr. Redbone – nobody gets fucked in my house.”

“Nobody besides me, I guess.”

When a man’s had enough, he’s had enough. There are many things bourbon can fix but this seemingly isn’t one of them.

In Calvin G. Redbone Matt Phillips has created a character Jim Thompson would have been proud of and that ain’t no shit either. The pressure builds and builds inside the man’s head until the release valve blows its top and the tiny town of Bumblefuck Nowhere is swept away in his new-born rage. Armed with his trusty Louisville Slugger, Calvin is left with little choice but to do what must be done to set things straight again. So that’s just what he does.

Apparently the author’s favourite bourbon is Wild Turkey and it’s mine too. Why? Because that’s what Hunter S. used to drink and if it’s good enough for the doctor, then it’s good enough for me.

‘Redbone is out now through Number Thirteen Press.

http://www.numberthirteenpress.com/

The wit and the wisdom of Bob Mould and Hüsker Dü.

My brother gave me this album (Warehouse: Songs and Stories) for my twenty-third birthday. He knew that Hüsker Dü were my favourite band and now another twenty-three years later they still are. As incredible as the album is for some reason the part that has always stuck with me is Bob Mould's liner notes on the fold-out cover (we're talking about vinyl records back in those days). 

As the band matured and the members grew up hard and fast over the nine years they were together there appeared a reluctant maturity from within the maelstrom of their existence. The existence that was to be torn apart shortly after the release of this album by the drummer's heroin addiction and their manager's suicide. I still wear one of their t-shirts to gigs and am always approached by musicians who share my love of the band and their irrepressible and hugely emotional music. They were definitely not everyone's cup of tea but if everybody were to agree with you there would absolutely no chance that you were right.

"Sometimes you feel real old, older than you are. Check the aches and pains, the hairline, the demands of life. Responsibilities, responsibilities. Worse things have happened to all of us; the circus wasn’t as good as you thought it would be, the movie stunk, etc., etc…

"Punching the clock, punching the wall, hating your boss. You can’t go if you don’t know, and you can’t know if you don’t go. And everybody in the world has their own song in their heads. The best songs ever. Problem is figuring a way to get them out and present them to others.

"You’ve got to know where the brakes are. Enjoy life at a realistic pace. You crazy youngsters, what with your nightlife and everything. And it’s important to trust other people while putting stock in yourself as well. Re-evaluating your priorities, checking yourself daily.

"Not everybody is a victim of circumstance; conversely, nobody should feel like a martyr all the time. Problem? It’s hard enough to communicate these days; some of us don’t even get the chance. Some others don’t know they have a chance.

"When you travel frequently, you find a lot of images. And sometimes, you have to try and make the best of a bad situation: more often than not, we grin and bear it. Other times, you learn to enjoy some small facet of your predicament. Nothing too elaborate, just an attempt to adjust priorities. Revolution starts at home, preferably in the bathroom mirror.

"Example? Winter always comes too soon. This year was the worst I can remember, except when I was five years old. Pushed open the front door, got lost in the snow." - Bob Mould

Review of the new Arnaldur Indriðason novel 'Oblivion' by Grant Nicol.

Arnaldur Indriðason’s ‘Hypothermia’ was the first Icelandic crime novel I ever picked up and read. I can’t remember exactly when that was but it feels like an awfully long time ago now and it’s hard to believe that this is the eleventh book in his Reykjavík Murder Mysteries series. The eleventh translated into English anyway. When he first started writing crime fiction in the late 90s many people here in Iceland laughed at him as it had never really been done before and wasn’t taken at all seriously by the literary crowd on this little island.

My how times have changed.

In 2003, he had five novels on the Icelandic best-sellers list for a week and is the only author other than J.K. Rowling to simultaneously hold the top three spots. In 2004, his books were 7 of the 10 most popular titles borrowed in Reykjavík City Library. He single-handedly launched Icelandic crime fiction as a legitimate international entity and since then it has not only joined the ranks of its Scandinavian counterparts but in many ways overtaken them with the hugely successful Yrsa Sigurðardóttir and the much more recent phenomenon Ragnar Jónasson. Other Icelandic crime writers to have been translated into English include Viktor Arnar Ingólfsson and Árni Þórarinsson who I am sure will be joined by the likes of« FYRRI

Sólveig Pálsdóttir and Lilja Sigurðardóttir (no relation to Yrsa) in the not too distant future such is the

depth of talent here now.

In ‘Oblivion’ we are once again heading back in time as we did in ‘Reykjavík Nights’. It’s 1979 and Erlendur and Marion Briem, his mysteriously genderless boss, are investigating the discovery of a body found sunken in a remote milky-blue pond that sounds suspiciously like the predecessor of today’s internationally famous ‘Blue Lagoon’ spa. The unlucky chap didn’t drown in the warm run-off water from the nearby Svartsengi power station though but rather died elsewhere after a fall from a great height before being dumped in the blue soup in an awkward attempt to hide his body from the world.

And if it hadn’t been for an imaginative psoriasis sufferer trying to relieve her itching arms he might just have stayed there until the recent tourist boom when he would have been charged retrospectively for all those hours spent lolling about at their precious resort. He is soon identified as one of the local contractors who work at the American Naval Air Station at Miðnesheiði where he had access to the enormous Hangar 885 that was designed to be large enough to hold even the mighty B-36 bombers. Iceland’s relationship with their American ‘friends’ is strained at the best of times and this really puts their ability to work together to the test. A number of conspiracy theories emerge as motives for the murder involving America’s intelligence agencies, illegal movement of weapons, nuclear deterrents and an airbase in Greenland. Hangar 885 seems to be the most exciting and dangerous place in the whole country and with the help of an outsider on the inside Erlendur and Marion are determined to get to the bottom of it all.

As if he doesn’t already have enough to do Erlendur is also obsessed with a cold case that dates back to the days of the American barracks on the site of the modern day Vesturbæjarlaug swimming pools. Once the Americans abandoned the barracks they became ghetto housing for impoverished locals known as Camp Knox (Kamp Knox was the original title of the book). When he’s not chasing shadows at the secretive air-base he’s reopening old wounds with questions about the disappearance of Dagbjört on her way to school past Camp Knox one day. There’s a creepy connection reminiscent of a scene in ‘American Beauty’ with her oddball neighbour Rasmus but no real leads of any sort to go on apart from an alleged boyfriend from the ‘Camp’. This doesn’t deter Erlendur in the slightest because he’s not the sort of guy who gives up on anything. Elsewhere in the country two men are lost in a blizzard bringing back painful memories of Erlendur’s childhood for him. A theme that is revisited in the later books and which plays a central role in the detective’s psyche.

Indriðason’s writing is short and clipped in the same way that Ellroy’s is but without the alliteration and epoch-defining colloquialisms. It’s simple, sometimes disarmingly so, and that is why it works so well. Good crime fiction needs straightforward ideas and short sentences. There are very few writers in this genre who deliver such consistent quality as this guy does and this book is no exception. I used to read his books so that I would learn something about Iceland until the day came when I would finally make the place my home. I’m living here now and I’m still learning about the history of the place from him. Just another reason why I love this guy’s books so much.

'My Petrochemical Romance'

Gunnar Davíðsson’s review of ‘The Abrupt Physics of Dying’ by Paul Hardisty.

 

On New Year’s Eve if you had come up to me and told me that my favourite book of 2015 was going to be an ‘ecological thriller’ set in Yemen I would have laughed my ass off. In fact I would have rolled around in the snow laughing so hard that champagne would have come out my nose. And then everybody would have figured out that I’d been drinking. And then I would have assumed that you were drunk too. Really drunk. Shitfaced drunk in fact. I would have got back up on my feet, lit the rest of our fireworks and howled at the moon as you told me all about Claymore Straker and his Middle East antics in the pursuit of truth, justice and the Yemeni way. But I would have been wrong. And you my friend would have been very, very right. This is probably one of the biggest surprises I’ve had reading for quite some time.

An Afrikaans speaking ex-member of the South African Army, Claymore Straker finds himself in a very different field of work these days. He works the Yemeni oilfields doing environmental impact studies and procuring drilling licenses for some new faceless oil producing multinational. The locals are somewhat less endeared with his company’s work ethics than the local tax officials are as they watch their women and children dying from a mystery illness. So unimpressed in fact that Claymore and his driver are kidnapped and he is made an offer he can’t refuse. He is to uncover the cause of the sickness that is sweeping the community and publicise his findings or he will never see his friend and driver Abdulkader alive again. So he sets out on a mission to uncover what is happening to their water supply and in the process finds lies, pain, suffering and horrendous crimes on an international scale, and of course a girl. He is lied to, beaten up, shot at and loses a couple of fingers. And that’s just the first night with the girl. Boy oh boy!

The story is action packed, brilliantly paced and written in a voice that you simply don’t want to let go of. I found myself pulled back to its pages time and time again as I hungered to know what was going to happen to Clay next. At 430 pages it is a longer read than many other books I have read lately but is so beautifully written that you won’t mind it’s length one bit. In fact by the end you’ll find yourself wishing it was a little longer.

As I finished the book last night and put it down reluctantly for the last time my attention was instantly drawn to another tale of  unrest and injustice in the form of ‘Dirty Wars’ on RUV a real life tale of illegal killings and sanctioned assassinations by the US’s JSOC forces. The parallels are undeniable. The concerns of the Western world have literally become a law unto themselves. The difference between the ways our laws were written and the way they are now interpreted to suit the purposes of governments or multinationals has become truly disturbing. Lives count for nothing once they are viewed as an obstacle in the way of a money-making machine. It isn’t surprising that the West is hated the way it is and the saddest part is that we have brought this about ourselves.

When the sky is torn

When the stars are shattered

When the seas are poured forth

When the tombs are bust open

Then a soul will know what is given

And what is held back

So next New Year’s Eve my resolution will be to not blow champagne bubbles out my nose and to keep a much more open mind about what I will be reading in the year to come. I could have missed out on ‘The Abrupt Physics of Dying’ and that would have been a real tragedy.

Hummingbirds, punk rock and under-privileged puffins... all in a day's work in Finland.

Having just returned from CrimeFest15 in sunny Bristol I have to admit to having been slightly overwhelmed during my three days there by the number of authors to meet and the sheer volume of books to read or at least to put on my ‘to read as soon as I physically can’ list. I didn’t wind up with too much in the way of reading time anyway what with panels to listen to, sights to see and late night shenanigans to participate in but I did finish the one book I took with me as my CrimeFest travelling companion.

‘The Hummingbird’ by Finnish author and punk rock superstar Kati Hiekkapelto is about an immigrant police officer recently assigned to a small coastal town in the north of Finland. Anna Fekete soon finds herself investigating a string of seemingly random murders while also trying to help the daughter of a local immigrant family. An ongoing conflict with one of her workmates and a brother who is only slightly better than completely hopeless combine to give Anna plenty of doubts about her ability to stick things out in her new home.

‘The Hummingbird’ is the most interesting book in the genre I've read since Antti Tuomainen's 'The Healer' (also Finnish – I’m starting to see a pattern emerging here) and is well worth checking out. It is different (in a really good way) from the usual Nordic Noir fare and very intelligently written. Anna is an engaging and human protagonist who is easy to identify with as well as being easy to like. Kati's second book, 'The Defenceless' is coming out in the UK in September and on the evidence of this book will be well worth investigating.

In the meantime Kati and her band ‘The Bearded Women’, which consists of Kati on vocals, one of her friends playing guitar and a drum machine that is so stubborn it will only play one beat for them (Huh… Drummers!) will continue to attempt world domination from their outpost base on the island of Hailuoto at the top end of the Gulf of Bothnia. I also have it on good authority that becoming a bestselling author and chart-topping punk diva won’t even get close to satisfying this ambitious woman. She has much grander dreams in the pipeline.

In 2016 she intends to circumambulate Iceland using its famous Ring Road. This televised event - it will be covered in its entirety by Iceland’s national broadcaster RUV who will dedicate a new 24 hour channel to her exploits in an attempt to bring gripping Icelandic reality television to the rest of the world - will be done to raise money for immigrant puffins and in particular to finance the education of their children. Education of under-privileged seabirds has been a passion of Kati’s for many years now. As you see she is clearly a multi-talented woman who is continually pushing the boundaries of crime fiction, punk rock and imaginative fundraising campaigns.

At some point in the not too distant future I am going to be held accountable for the tiny portion of this article which I may have made up. In the meantime I am simply going to enjoy it as I think it will take people a ridiculous amount of time to figure it which bit it actually is. I was going to include Kati’s stage name in the article but have been warned by my publisher that the use of such language will have me fired from the company once again and I’m not ready to go back on a diet of dried fish and watered-down vodka. That shit really sucks!