In the twelfth installment of the Collins-Burke Mystery Series, Halifax author, Anne Emery, brings us an unforgettable hero in the guise of Seamus Rynne, or Shay, as he’s known to the lads.
If you’re an armchair traveler, this book will sweep you up and transport you to Ireland. If you’ve traveled Ireland, like I have, this book will remind you what you’ve forgotten and are longing to experience again. That charm that is Ireland. It’s both homely and worldly. Set, for the most part, in 1970s Dublin, Fenian Street is historical crime fiction at its finest. This is a lengthy, ambitious book (422 pages) and Emery doesn’t shy away from discussing “The Troubles” — the politics of the time, given that her main characters are Republicans, and some are I.R.A. Emery combines real historical personages with fictional characters to ground her story in fact.
These unforgettable characters, with hearts of gold and tongues that spin stories like a seanchaí (shanachie), will take you pub-crawling in Dublin where you’ll have to throw back a pint or two just to keep up with the cracking dialogue. Then, in part two, you’ll be transported to 1970s New York to brush up against the likes of Mickey Spillane and certain Irish gangsters.
So, what’s the craic?
Young Shay Rynne, who grew up in the impoverished Corporation flats on Fenian Street in Dublin, wants to become a member of An Garda Síochána (Guardians of the Peace), the national police force in Ireland. But Dubliners like himself are unwelcome. When a childhood friend, Rosie McGinn, is found “lying at the foot of the back staircase of Goss’s Hotel” with fingermarks bruising her neck, and the investigating DS deems her death accidental, Shay vows to find her killer. He gets on the force and shines, though he’s made an enemy of the investigating officer, DS McCreevy.
Then he’s called to the scene of the brutal death of local politician, Darragh McLogan, and becomes embroiled in a murder investigation that leads him all the way to Hell’s Kitchen in New York City.
Hell’s Kitchen NYC 1970s
Emery’s research is extensive and she includes an extensive bibliography. She also acknowledges several retired garda who helped her with answers to her procedural questions. She’s traveled often in Ireland, as several family members originated there, and knows it well. And she has first-hand experience of what Ireland was like during The Troubles. She took the train from Dublin to Belfast in the 1980s and “saw cars being stopped and searched at checkpoints, saw the tanks, and the British soldiers in the streets with their rifles.” When Shay and Father Burke travel to the refugee camps in northern County Meath to help out, you know it’s heartfelt. “People were streaming across the border from the North to escape the attacks: loyalists—loyal to Britain, not to Ireland—were shooting Catholics and setting fire to their homes” (28). This, sadly, was the climate of the times.
I asked Anne Emery what it was like to write an entire book in dialogue. She said: “Writing dialogue is my favourite part of the process. I could spend hours with a group of people and not remember a thing about what they wore. But I can recount conversations, often word-for-word, and I can remember the cadences and tones of voice.” This gift is apparent in Fenian Street.
Just for fun, I wrote a list of all the Irish terms I found intriguing, many of which pertain to drinking alcohol. They have “lashings of drink”, get “langered” and “gilled.” Shay’s “oul fella” (father) Talkie Rynne is often “on the batter.” Rosie’s killed at a “hooley” (party) thrown by politicians, and if that doesn’t give you “a case of the janglers” nothing will. Shay is “heart-scawded” (overwrought) with the news of his friend’s death and so becomes a “peeler” (policeman.) Later, he’s “cock-a-hoop” to hear from his old girlfriend. You’ll think you’re in a Dublin snug as you slip into this heartfelt story.
Emery assures me that she’ll keep writing the series indefinitely so there’s plenty more shenanigans to come. If you’ve never tried the Collins-Burke Mysteries, don’t think you must start at the beginning. You can start right here. Fenian Street stands alone. Though Father Brennan Burke makes his usual charming appearances, this is Shay’s book.
It might seem unusual to be publishing a memoir in your mid-forties but when you’re an old soul with miles of experiential wisdom to impart, it works beautifully.
This is a genuinely inspirational story of perseverance and resilience. Chris MacDonald is a Toronto tattoo artist who’s come a long way from his rural beginnings in Alliston, Ontario, where he ran wild with his brothers. Along the way, his parents divorced and his mother disappeared from his life. He lived the life of an at-risk kid—cutting school, imbibing, starving, skateboarding, playing punk rock—learning his trade, and building relationships along the way.
“I miss my mom all the time. Maybe if I had closure, things would be different. Unfortunately, I don’t. I only have the things I came here with” (257).
Those things are a creative soul, a solid work ethic, and a talent for music and art. Chris’s writing is lyrical and impressive, flowing from his fingers like the tattoos he respectfully etches on his client’s skin.
“Tattooing is a hulking chimerical beast, startling and beautiful when spotted. It’s a shape-shifter: a cosmic, chrome scorpion; a crude, grey-scale beauty; a Zulueta tribal badge” (240).
This page-turner is divided into three parts: early life in the small town of Alliston, surviving Toronto on his own, and finally, becoming a tattoo artist and getting his own shop. Part One flows like poetry as his memories paint the page. Part Two is tougher as he crawls through the underbelly of the city. And Part Three reads like prose. By then, MacDonald is head-down into the business of becoming an entrepreneur so he can support his new family. His poetic soul never leaves, though; it’s just transferred to his art and music.
Through a series of descriptive vignettes, we wend our way through MacDonald’s life. He’s sensitive, caring, wounded, emotional, and most of all, honest. You’ll find yourself rooting for him and identifying with him. An eighties’ kid, his first crush was a “safari-guide figurine” and then he saw Olivia Newton-John.
If you know Toronto at all, you’ll paint yourself into the many places where MacDonald skates and crashes. Poor and starving, he does what he must to survive.
I can only applaud Chris for his perseverance, and for using the talents he came here with.
You can find Chris at Under My Thumb on the “western edge of Little Portugal” in Toronto. You can even book some time with him, enjoy the therapy being tattooed offers, and emerge wearing one of his creations. Go to Instagram and view his work. But first, read this, his first book.
PD TORONTO, ON – MARCH 11 – – Chris MacDonald, owner/operator of Under My Thumb Tattoos poses for pictures in his shop.__The drawing on the left is his. Vince Talotta/Toronto Star
Once upon a time in a house deep in the woods of Northern BC, a strong, thoughtful woman invited all her family and friends to Thanksgiving dinner—her parents and in-laws, convict brother-in-law, divorcing neighbours, and her two children: ten-year-old Tommy and his teenage sister, Charlotte. There were twelve in all, as one couple didn’t appear; at least, not in their human forms. It wasn’t quite “The Last Supper” but close.
Wolf at the Door is a kick-ass tour de force, a brilliantly plotted and masterfully written debut novella that will keep you sitting up in bed with your eyes and ears wide open long after its done. You may never venture out in the dark again.
This enchanting 125-page-story is told in six parts: Before Dinner, Cocktails, The Dinner, Dessert, Second Helpings, and A Late Night Snack. McKay treads the fantasy/horror trail but his psychological deep-dive into the characters of these people-next-door is what impresses most. When I taught English we often gave out an assignment: create a dinner party with several characters. Explain who and why and what transpires during the dinner. In a shorter story, an author must be concise and discriminatory with psychological details, and as I read the carefully selected backstories, personalities, and foibles of Char’s dinner guests, this came to mind.
How will Char and her husband Doug save their family and friends from being the main course for a couple of vicious werewolves equipped with mythic speed, superstrength, razor teeth and claws, and a hinged jaw that opens wide enough to take in Grandma’s whole head? Even the quintessential minivan can’t stand up to this brutality. “The monster’s arms broke through the window next to Owen like a knife through an eggshell. The glass shattered inward, scattering across the seats and floor in tiny square little chunks. Char tried to reach for Owen, but the seat belt locked and held her back” (104). I’ll stop there in case werewolf horror isn’t to your taste.
Joel McKay is a superhero in a suit. Trained as a journalist, McKay made Prince George his home a decade ago when he joined the Northern Development Initiative Trust. He’s now CEO. The Trust works with First Nations, local governments, and businesses to invest in Northern economic development. By day, McKay distributes millions of dollars in grants to create a stronger BC but by night he turns his literary skills to the realm of Sci-Fi, fantasy, and horror. His short story, “Number Hunnerd” was recently published in Tyche Books’ anthology, Water: Selkies, Sirens and Sea Monsters. I honestly cannot wait to read his first novel.
Wolf at the Door is a TV show waiting to happen. McKay’s sensory writing, keen dialogue, relatable characters, and perfect plotting creates a screenwriter’s dream. But don’t wait for that. Read it today, preferably in the daylight hours.
Fans of Thomas King and his serene, sensible, and sly, alter-ego, Thumps DreadfulWater, will be delighted to know his latest DreadfulWater Mystery is out, and it’s one of the best yet—a mischievous, slow-paced, cozy, infused with King’s trademark comedic wittiness, characters who are old friends, and a cup of sugar. Both down-to-earth and defying gravity as an eco-mystery, Deep House follows closely on Obsidian.
The “perhaps” love of his life, Claire, has adopted a young child named Ivory, and Thumps is embracing the idea of fatherhood; the only problem is, Claire doesn’t seem to be embracing Thumps with the same vigor she once did. In fact, she finds his presence “disconcerting.” Oh oh. Add to this, his trepidation around changing his photographic mode from film to digital during a waning pandemic, and Thumps is left facing a true “Thelma and Louise moment.”
King’s always told us his version of the truth, so doesn’t shy away from that “dreadful” subject Covid. As the pandemic “normalizes” people are beginning to gather outside again as they are now. The locals convene at Al’s café for the usual hijinks and witty political philosophizing. King invites us into discussions involving everything from photography to paint shades to prostate problems. And with surprising literary agility, he describes the passing of gas from Pops, the neighbour’s Komondor (big shaggy dog) without ever mentioning the word—“which is when the air on the porch went black … Thumps stumbled backwards, momentarily blinded by the smell that had exploded out of the dog … tried to get his eyes to focus” (100).This takes skill.
Many crime novels are plot driven. This one is not. Yes, Thumps inadvertently photographs a body in the boulders at the bottom of Deep House—a treacherous canyon on the local reserve near Chinook—and unravels a mystery. But what makes this story are the characters. Cooley Small Elk, big-hearted and anything but small, and his grandfather, Moses Blood; Archie Kousoulas, book store owner, who invites everyone to the pre-opening of Pappou’s, his new Greek restaurant; the laconic sheriff Duke Hockney; and the charming “ninja assassin” Cisco Cruz.
But more’s been tossed over the canyon wall into the crater than ancient appliances and a body. Folks have been using it to get rid of their junk for years, and the discovery of several painted panels pushes this eco-mystery into the landscape of corporate conspiracy.
Now the sugar. Fans will remember the disappearance of Thumps’s cat, Freeway. In this story, the cat comes back with a passel of surprises that draw out the man’s sensitive nature, making book six the sweetest installment of the series.
If you’ve never waded into the dry waters of Chinook, this is a great place to start to feel the true genius of the man and his imperturbable crime-fighting personality, Thumps DreadfulWater.
I’ve been hooked on Holly Black since I first read her Young Adult fantasy series in 2002. That’s when Tithe: A Modern Faerie Tale was published. She followed that up with Valiant in 2005 and completed the trilogy with Ironside in 2007. If you’ve never read these stories, I suggest you do.
Holly Black and her friend, Cassandra Clare are the Empresses of Urban Fantasy. Clare beta-reads Black’s manuscripts and, I assume, Black returns the favour. How cool is that?
After writing YA and middle grade stories for the past twenty years, Black is now venturing in the realm of adult books. This is her debut Adult fiction. I don’t really know the difference. In Book of Night the sex is not explicit, and there’s minimal profanity and violence only when warranted. It’s certainly nothing that would surprise teens and I’m sure they’ll be all over this book. Perhaps, it’s because her protagonist, Charlie Hall AKA The Charlatan, tends bar at Rapture and seems to be in her early twenties.
Black is a #1 New York Times best-selling author and Book of Night will illustrate why. Her concepts are original, her descriptions electrifying, her characters unique and relatable (even in their weirdness). I inhaled this book as if possessed. Here’s the blurb:
Charlie Hall has never found a lock she couldn’t pick, a book she couldn’t steal, or a bad decision she wouldn’t make.
She’s spent half her life working for gloamists, magicians who manipulate shadows to peer into locked rooms, strangle people in their beds, or worse. Gloamists guard their secrets greedily, creating an underground economy of grimoires. And to rob their fellow magicians, they need Charlie Hall.
Now, she’s trying to distance herself from past mistakes, but getting out isn’t easy. Bartending at a dive, she’s still entirely too close to the corrupt underbelly of the Berkshires. Not to mention that her sister Posey is desperate for magic, and that Charlie’s shadowless, and possibly soulless, boyfriend has been hiding things from her. When a terrible figure from her past returns, Charlie descends into a maelstrom of murder and lies.
Determined to survive, she’s up against a cast of doppelgangers, mercurial billionaires, gloamists, and the people she loves best in the world―all trying to steal a secret that will give them vast and terrible power.
http://blackholly.com
The cover is brilliant! Simple but striking, the font one of my favourites. I actually just used it on my romantic suspense novel Lure. It’s called Cinzel Decorative.
Twisted and gritty with a dash of kink, Book of Night will keep you flipping pages despite burning eyes and sagging lids. Why?
Lyrical language with strokes of hilarity. A to-die-for original premise. Intricate world building. A strong sympathetic protagonist who loses track of her lover, Vince, early on, and must face these dark, deceiving villains on her own. Charlie Hall is intelligent, witty, fearless, and skilled, though flawed by her past.
Black moves between past and present as they are intimately connected; something that really connects the reader with the character. If you can let go of this book, you will want more.
With all the hallmarks of urban fantasy—part-mystery, part-thriller, a dash of delicious fantasy, and a sprinkling of sexy—it’s perfect.
*****
P.S. For the most part I read books for review. When I get a chance to choose my own staycation adventure, I go to my favourite authors. Hence, Holly Black.
Welsh-Canadian crime aficionado, Cathy Ace, has been writing up a storm—in this case, a veritable dust storm—featuring her mystery-solving avatar, Cait Morgan. In Book Twelve, the criminal psychologist and her ex-RCMP husband, Bud, fly to Arizona as guests-of-honour of the Desert Gem, a posh new restaurant run by their sweet chef-friend, Serendipity Soul.
This is my favourite Cait Morgan crime romp for a few reasons.
Landscape. The landscape truly becomes a character in this novel. This story really couldn’t be set anywhere else. Before heading to the Desert Gem, Cait and Bud tour Frank Lloyd Wright’s desert oasis, Taliesin West with its “emerald grass and turquoise waters . . . rust-coloured paint . . . and saguaro cactus.” The Sonoran Desert in Arizona is a stunning location, rife with its own mythology, and like the infamous Sedona, attracts artists and eccentrics.
Imagination. Linda, leader of the Faceting for Life movement is the personification of a Navajo Goddess, the Turquoise Woman, right down to her turquoise toes. She actually dips her feet in dye weekly to keep them that way. She wears turquoise robes, and her dig is decorated in real turquoise. Linda is the cult leader until she’s discovered dead in her bed from an apparent, elaborate suicide. Zara then assumes her mother’s position and channels her dead father, Demetrius Karaplis. Ace’s foray into cult research is obvious—“let’s not drink the Kool-Aid”—but feathered by her brilliant imagination. The devotees “sway and hiss” their mantra, “Facet and Face It,” while Ace deepens our experience with an exploration of the “fourteen Critical Facets,” terms such as “buffing” (of the facets), and the billion-dollar business buffed by Zara using her father’s words.
Language. Speaking of words, Ace obviously had tons of fun naming her characters and acknowledges that several of the names pay homage to literary friends including KSue, Dru Ann, and Linda Karaplis. Chapter titles are a witty smorgasbord of oxymorons—“Serene Turbulence, Rustic Elegance, Unsettled Settling, Abnormally Normal,” and my favourite, “Uncommunicative Communicator.” We all know one of those.
The faceting language sets us squarely inside the cult. And, if that’s not enough, the text is peppered with unexpected terms and Britishisms (I’m unsure as to which are which) to remind us that both Ace and her counterpart, Cait Morgan, grew up in Wales—“chalk and cheese, mugged a salute, kerfuffle, slanging, yompy, lumpen substance.” Sleepy Bud makes “truffling” noises and Cait wears white “spudgy” shoes. Ace’s affinity with language surprises, delights and leaves us craving more.
Eco-everything. The Desert Gem is created in “pueblo revival architectural style” and illuminated by dancing flames of fire bowls around a central plaza. No electric lights are permitted after dark in this Earth-conscious community. Facetors and visitors live in small simple “digs” circling the plaza. Ace invites us into Cait and Bud’s dig with a vivid description that has me, for one, wanting to travel south. The Desert Gem is an eco-testament with a solar farm, waste-water treatment area, bio-digester, gardens, pool, amphitheatre, communications hub and refectory. Who wouldn’t want to stay awhile and buff their facets?
It’s all well and good until the bodies start piling up—all apparent suicides of major faceting players.
If you haven’t read any of Cathy Ace’s cozies, Turquoise Toes is a great place to begin. Each can be read alone, but your appreciation of Cait and Bud can be enriched by living their adventures in sequence. Cait is a strong, independent woman gifted with an eidetic (photographic) memory which allows her to decimate the villains triumphantly in her big reveal. Ace really kicks it up a notch in Turquoise Toes.
