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Back in the days of the actual wild west, America was actually wild. The landscape was unforgiving, the miners were rough, and the atmosphere was lawless. Who kept everything together?
Walt Longmire is back – taken down memory lane by a very special ghost of Christmas past.
On the streets of Detroit, there's an epidemic of drug crime ruining a generation of kids. Can one lone man on a mission take down a mighty drug lord, armed only with sheer determination?
If this was a funeral, it would be the loudest, drunkest wake ever, followed by a beery blether about the old dead bastard til the sun comes up.
The Iditarod dogsled race is one of the biggest and toughest races in Alaska. But amongst the distraction, there are some disturbing forces at work in Anchorage. Can one woman singlehandedly uncover the rot that goes deep into the Alaskan political landscape?
If this was put onto the desk of your average Hollywood producer, it would be bought for MILLIONS. "Goddammit Joel, get Murray in London on a conference right now! Somebody just dropped two hundred minutes of uncut Wacky Date Montage on my desk and I need Hugh Grant STAT!"
Kate Springer is trying to keep her own past under wraps and focus on the future. But her own face on a young victim brings everything flooding back. Can she solve the case and manage not to lose herself completely in the process?
If this was a house, it would be the one Curtis Holland lives in - a classy little Queenslander with a studio out the back in a granny flat, a great record collection and clean sheets for visitors.
Love him or hate him, Frank DeFauw is with you every night at five and eleven, bringing you the news live to your TV. And everyone in town knows him. But will Frank go all the way in the pursuit of justice, even if it hurts his oldest and closest friends?
If this was the central character from a film, it would be John Cusack in High Fidelity.
In a post-war England that is bleak and crime ridden, murder is par for the course. Can Detective Inspector Cooper solve this commonplace killing, this murder of one woman amongst many?
From a distance, it's not too bad. The shadowed, hooded figure is suitably mysterious - there's no indication of a hero or villain, and he appears to be bleeding from the eyes. The foiled copper text is appropriately twiddly, but at least avoids cheesy medievalisation. Likewise, the image, though not surprising, lacks the standard "tiny-figures-'gainst-an-epic-panorama" that makes every fantasy book published since 1981 look exactly the same. Bring back the nude chicks with swords, I say, just before they throw me out of the pub. Pricks. Regardless, close inspection is a bit less favourable. The image is simply a crude collage - you could knock it up in Photoshop in an afternoon. The foliage framing the central image appears in different resolutions simultaneously, there's only one leaf repeated a dozen times, and, as we learn in the first 2 pages of the text, the blood is supposed to be hair. Red hair, yes, but accidentally making the cover look like more Stephen King than Tolkein is really not something an "artist" should do. Goodkind's last books were a bit like this, too. What's going on? Doesn't anyone want to pay painters for beautiful, ornate wrap-arounds any more? Curse you, Photoshop! How many lives must you ruin!!!!!?!!!?
What makes a writer? Is it living the tortured life of an artist, or is it actually getting your shit together and... you know... writing?
If this was any less erotic, grandparents would be involved. (The fact that the author failed to include any was most likely an accident.)
Fun and Games is like coming of age in a hall of mirrors. Welcome to everything weird.
If this was as good as it could potentially have been, plus featured a giant walking robot, then Pinol would be my new favourite author.
Ah, Paris. City of love. Until a meticulous psychopath strikes, mutilating a beautiful and successful Parisian resident. And his murderous intentions have just begun...
If this was a bar, it would be one you stopped in out of desperation in a town you've never been to and to which you'll never return, that just happens to have the best fucking jukebox you've ever seen, frighteningly cheap drinks, and provides a blurry night you'll be retelling for years.
In the cut-throat world of publishers, literary agents, and authors, sometimes people get hurt. It's usually bruised egos, but for Jo Donovan, it's more... and it's quickly becoming murder. Can she figure out who's out to get her before she loses the plot?