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I used to be a stalker. In college, I chose my study spots on the campus green so I’d have a direct line of sight to my crush’s dorm. A few years later, I pored over my work crush’s Facebook page, analyzing whether the woman he held close in a photo looked more like a sister or significant other. And sometimes, when that crush was in the break room, I made excuses to linger there too, washing out my mug so long my fingers nearly pruned—all to keep myself in his line of sight. This might be why it wasn’t a huge leap for me in my latest novel, Cross My Heart, to write a female character who engages in some stalking of her own—though, unlike my protagonist, Rosie, I’ve never stood outside a crush’s house at night, tracking him as he moves through the rooms. In fact, Rosie crosses all sorts of lines I never did, because her crush just happens to be the husband of her heart donor, a man she feels fated to meet, to fall in love with—no matter what she discovers as she scrutinizes his past and present. I’m certainly not the first to center a book around a female stalker. In the riveting Just One Look by Lindsay Cameron, a woman gains access to her coworker’s emails, obsesses over his seemingly perfect marriage—and becomes determined to take his wife’s place. Sarah Zachrich Jeng’s When I’m Her, a STEMinist delight best described as “Freaky Friday but make it a thriller,” features a protagonist who watches and memorizes every aspect of her former best friend’s life so she can literally switch bodies with her. And in the voicey and addictive Looker by Laura Sims, a woman begins to lose her grip on reality when she stalks a famous actress—who’s also her neighbor. These obsessive female characters have been popping up more and more in recent years, and one reason might just be the relatability factor. In fact, the reason I was so willing to write about my own instances of stalking at the beginning of this piece is because I’m confident I’m not the only woman who’s engaged in such behavior. Still, for most of us, keeping our eyes peeled for any sight of our crush, or investigating them on social media, is as far as we’ll go—which is why it’s so thrilling to follow a character who pushes the boundaries, who leans toward the extremes, who allows herself to act in ways we’d never let ourselves. “It’s like getting a peek into what might happen if we gave in to our most intrusive thoughts and desires,” says bookstagrammer Kayla of @kayreadwhat. “It’s a way to understand those raw, unfiltered impulses that drive us all.” At the risk of sounding a bit too unfiltered myself, there’s something almost aspirational about a stalker character. Briana of @brianas_best_reads says she loves “characters who are bold enough to take matters into their own hands—for better or worse. They’re compelling because they exude a level of confidence I can only imagine having.” In Cross My Heart, Rosie isn’t exactly confident; she’s frequently anxious about being perceived as “too much”—a phrase that more than one ex-boyfriend has ascribed to her—but every time she tries to put a lid on her enthusiasm, the intensity of her emotions boils over anyway. In short, she’s a mess, and in our society, messiness is not a characteristic to be celebrated in a woman. But when we read stalker-ish characters like Rosie, we get to watch women stray outside the lines, muck things up—in their own lives and others’—which can often scratch an itch for female readers that, in real life, they’ve been conditioned to ignore. Then there’s the power of it all. In crime fiction, there’s no shortage of female victims, whether they’re murdered, abducted, or forced to endure some other act of violence. This, of course, reflects the stark dangers that exist for women off the page, especially at the hands of men, and it’s important to shed light on those realities. But it’s just as important for readers to see that power dynamic flipped, to watch the woman become the danger instead of the endangered, to see the default male gaze swapped out for, in the case of stalkers, a literal female gaze. Sure, she’s got her eyes on someone who has no idea they’re being watched—her actions aren’t exactly ethical—but these days, our newsfeeds are clogged with stories of men behaving unethically, often with little to no consequences. While the #MeToo movement was a public reckoning that saw serial abusers like Harvey Weinstein finally held accountable, it was only four years after he was tried for his crimes that Weinstein saw his conviction overturned—not because of new evidence exonerating him, but because of a technicality: during the trial, the judge had allowed the testimony of women whose experiences with Weinstein predated the charges. In other words, there had been too much evidence of his crimes. Coming on the heels of the overturning of Roe v. Wade in 2022, this felt like another devastating blow to the decades of progress women have made, causing them to be more attuned than ever to the erosion of their rights and agency, and to the male-dominated groups making decisions about their lives and bodies. It’s understandable, then, that readers would find satisfaction in stories where female characters do exactly what they want, consequences and controversies be damned—just like so many men. For Gare of @gareindeedreads, it’s precisely the power-abusing men that make a female stalker character so irresistible. “You may not agree with her actions and behavior,” he says, but often it’s clear: “if it weren’t for the actions of a man, none of this would’ve happened.” Plus, he adds, “Women are smarter than men,” and what better way to showcase that than with a character who’s at her most calculated and cunning? Ultimately, though, whether you’re in it for the vicarious thrill or the feminist slant of it all, crime novels featuring female stalkers are just plain fun. Of course, it’s no surprise I would say that, having written one and having been a benign stalker myself, so don’t take it from me. Take it from Kendall of @sunflower_book_lover, who’s read plenty of books that use this trope: “These stories are wild and unhinged and oh so good. I’m obsessed with and addicted to the crazy ride!” *** View the full article

When my kids were little, I knew a momfluencer who rescheduled her kindergartener’s birthday party because the light wasn’t right for photos. I laughed, but underneath was jealous, because she clearly had the world’s most easygoing child. Mine would freak if I rescheduled a trip to the park, let alone a birthday party. I always knew that society judges mothers, but it wasn’t until I had children that I realized how much moms judge each other, and how much social media amps up the stress. Modern motherhood is struggle enough, and when you throw in the mommy-judging—which gets inside your head—well, the pressure can make a woman crack up. No wonder so many psychological thrillers, including my novel Clever Little Thing, feature a mother doing just that. Personally, I don’t pay much attention to momfluencers, and I have no interest in looking pretty for a photo while making sourdough pancakes in a prairie dress. But when I look in the mirror and worry that I look tired, or feel guilty for giving my kids boxed cereal for breakfast, who’s to say that these women haven’t wormed themselves into my brain anyway? It’s far worse if you take momfluencers seriously, as shown in Chelsea Bieker’s brilliant novel, Madwoman. Mother-of-two Clove obsesses about attaining the life of the perfect crunchy Instagram mom. She gets trapped in what Sara Petersen, author of the nonfiction book, Momfluenced, calls: a vicious cycle of aspiration, consumption, and self-loathing.” Clove compulsively shops for organic infant skin cream that costs $19 an ounce and performs #unplugged motherhood on Instagram with pictures of “my kids from the back skipping down narrow dirt paths.” But none of it makes her feel better until she realizes that what she needs to do isn’t to make motherhood look good, but to feel good, and she can only do this by resolving her relationship with her own mom. The second wave of momfluencers rebelled against curated perfection, and proclaimed their #authenticity. In Ellery Lloyd’s People Like Her, Emmy Jackson, aka @MamaBare, posts about endless bottom-wiping and splotches of spaghetti sauce on her shirt, and wants to start “a more authentic discussion about parenting.” But as long as a momfluencer is producing sponsored content, her life must be aspirational. When Emmy preps her home for a photo shoot, she makes sure the artful mess suggests #familyfun, including craft supplies and staging “a collapsed cushion fort.” Of course, truly authentic motherhood can’t be shown in #mamahoodinsquares, because the real thing is often too consuming and exhausting to document. In Clever Little Thing, my protagonist Charlotte watches videos other parents have posted of their kids’ meltdowns, hoping to feel solidarity about her daughter’s epic freakouts, but instead she feels alienated. “If you can take a step back and film it, it’s not that bad.” Chasing after the ideal #momlife is not only futile, but can interfere with actually being a mom. In novels, some desperate momfluencers put content first and kids second. In You Will Never Be Me, Aspen forces her young daughters to pretend to wake up and recite their lines ad nauseam until she has the perfect “morning routine” video. And in Erin Quinn-Kong’s Hate Follow, when her husband dies, momfluencer Whitney posts a shot of her eleven-year-old daughter, face contorted in grief, standing over his open coffin. When Mia later protests, Whitney doesn’t want to take it down, because the picture down, because it engages her fans emotionally. Mia eventually sues Whitney for violation of privacy. You can bet that other people judge Whitney and she judges herself. A mother internalizes the critical voices around her, whether she wants to or not. What mom hasn’t stressed about the right weaning food or sleep-training method and wondered if she’s doing it right? And when a child undergoes a mysterious and abrupt change—as Stella does in my novel—then the judgmental voices in her head can drive a woman mad. Charlotte’s task as a mother is to decide whether to listen to what everyone else is telling her is going on with her daughter, or to listen to her gut. And that isn’t easy, because when moms let momfluencers tell them what to do, they risk disconnecting from their own maternal instinct Motherhood today is overwhelming, thanks to the lack of traditional support networks, affordable childcare and neighborhood play. I’ve come to understand that judging others is a small way to get some power back when you feel powerless. In my novel, Charlotte judges other moms, but not because she’s a horrible person. She has no extended family support, everyone around her is telling her how to parent, and she gets no school support for her daughter’s neurodivergence. Judging others is her way of making herself feel a little better. I try not to judge other moms these days, even when their kid is seventeen years old and still only eats buttered pasta. I remind myself that nobody except the parents knows what it takes to take care of that particular kid, and that some of my parenting decisions doubtless seem eccentric to others too. This helps me to be more compassionate toward myself too, to blame myself less when my kids struggle. I don’t look at momfluencers on social media, because they test my resolve not to judge too much (as when @BallerinaFarm competed in a Mrs. World pageant days after giving birth). As for the momfluencer who rescheduled her kid’s birthday party, she made her way into my novel, as Charlotte’s friend Emmy, who always wears a chic, stripy ensemble, whose daughter Lulu sports Insta-worthy braids. Charlotte and Emmy judge each other. But over the course of the novel, they find that the one thing that can make you feel better than judging other moms is finding solidarity with them. I wish I could say that I made friends with the real-life momfluencer. I tried. I thought that despite her oversized sunglasses and invariably stripy sundress, despite her three well-behaved daughters in matching outfits, underneath she was surely just a mess like every other mom I knew. But I never got her to admit it. So I made friends with the women like me, whose idea of chic was a shirt that the kids had not wiped their noses on. Women who admitted they were cracking up under the pressure of motherhood. And these are the women I love to read about. It disturbs me to look the feed of a mom who seems to have it all figured out. But it’s strangely comforting to read a thriller about a mom who loses it. *** View the full article

When I read technology news these days, I feel impressed and excited—and mostly terrified. We’re advancing so quickly, with so many pitfalls. Self-driving cars that crash, Bitcoin scams that deplete retirement savings, deepfake videos that can change election outcomes, algorithms that redirect children to step-by-step instructions for self-harm. It’s sometimes hard to know how to talk about the risks of technologies that seemed implausible until about five minutes ago. Enter tech thrillers, which peel back the ethical layers of our relationship to technology, entertaining us while also forcing us to confront the consequences of constant innovation. The term “thriller” is notoriously vague. Some people think a thriller must have spies or gunfights. Others expect a marital cat-and-mouse. To me, a thriller is simply a novel that’s fast-paced and exciting (a subjective assessment, to be sure), with a dark tone and life-or-death consequences. In tech thrillers, that darkness is rooted in the ever-mounting tensions between technology and human nature. These novels usually involve some speculative element, exaggerating an existing technology to throw its dangers into relief. Robots become fully sentient. Virtual reality becomes completely immersive. Devices begin actively surveilling humans. Lately, these fictional scenarios tend to focus on artificial intelligence—not surprising, given the increasingly urgent public conversations about AI. When reading these novels, it can sometimes be hard to tell where the real technology ends and the speculative technology starts. With artificial intelligence and biotech evolving minute-to-minute, some readers might incorrectly identify some very real threats as imaginary. This is the challenge and the risk of writing about technology. In the years it takes to write a book (or even in the twelve months it takes to go from copyedits to bookshelves), the world can evolve to make the novel’s contents obsolete—or all too real. Some deepfake horrors that I added to my latest novel, Vantage Point, seemed speculative when I started writing it, and are now accepted parts of reality. Colin Winnette, whose recent novel Users offers a damning look inside a near-future virtual-reality company, had a similar experience: “I wrote what I thought was a kind of exaggeration of reality, and then over the course of the book’s publication, reality quickly caught up with that exaggeration and everything in the book seemed suddenly more possible in a way I hadn’t really anticipated. It was kind of thrilling, but also terrifying.” The best tech thrillers embrace this risk. The books on this list are living on the blade edge of progress, using fiction’s vast possibilities to imagine what comes next, for tech and for the people who use it. In a world where tech companies pursue innovation for innovation’s sake, these novels redirect our focus to the human element, trying to anticipate the potential social costs of these advances. And they do it in a way that keeps you on the edge of your seat the whole time. Michael Crichton, Prey You can’t talk about techno-thrillers without talking about Michael Crichton, and it’s almost impossible to choose a best novel from his famous body of work. But while Crichton is probably best remembered for his treatment of biological technology in The Andromeda Strain and Jurassic Park (for which I will always have a soft spot, having spent most of my childhood wearing out the VHS tapes of the movie adaptations), the book that best captures the potential horror inherent in artificial intelligence is his 2002 novel Prey, in which scientists develop a type of nanobots that become sentient and murderous, capable of infesting and devouring humans. As the killer swarms begin infecting the scientists who created them, a computer programmer must act quickly to destroy the swarms before they kill his loved ones. One section in which nanobots create perfect replicas of characters resonates with contemporary conversations about deepfakes, and the novel overall speaks to rising fears about artificial intelligence becoming autonomous. Samanta Schweblin, Little Eyes Have you ever had a conversation with a friend about an ocean-themed costume party and then gotten an Instagram ad for shark onesies a few hours later? Have you ever wondered how much our devices truly see into our lives? If so, you might empathize with the characters in Samanta Schweblin’s Little Eyes, translated into English by Megan McDowell. In the universe Schweblin imagines, the world has become enchanted with kentukis, an electronic pet equipped with a camera that allows people thousands of miles away to observe your every move. Through short chapters spanning the globe, Schweblin tracks the allure and danger of these Tamagotchis-on-steroids, exploring how far people will go in search of connection. The novel’s structure is more fragmented and experimental than your typical thriller, but the foreboding tone and pervasive violence can go head-to-head with the darkest crime fiction. Sierra Greer, Annie Bot Sierra Greer took the book world by storm last spring with Annie Bot, a novel narrated by a sex robot who gains sentience at her owner’s request, then starts to dream of a life beyond him. This novel is a clever twist on the classic domestic thriller, using the intimate environment of a home to broach broader societal conversations about freedom and artificial intelligence. After all, “sex and lies” has a whole new meaning when one party was invented for sex and has only learned how to lie. Greer executes the concept beautifully: Annie’s voice is the perfect blend of robotic and human. I loved seeing Annie gradually come into her autonomy, learning to fend for herself and protect others, even as her thwarted owner becomes increasingly violent and vengeful. In most of the other novels on this list, technological developments are the source of danger. In Annie Bot, the tech itself is the protagonist. This reversal creates a psychological thrill ride that also delivers a powerful commentary on power, identity, and humanity. Ken Liu, The Hidden Girl and Other Stories I learned about Ken Liu’s work from one of my students, Luis Ferrer, who wrote his senior thesis on Liu this fall. This collection pulls together eighteen stories and a novel excerpt, some of which take place in fantasy worlds or distant futures. But the collection also features other stories that speak to more specific present fears. There’s a series of several linked stories beginning with “The Gods Will Not Be Chained”—the series Luis focused on, and which was also the inspiration for the TV show Pantheon—set in a world where it has become possible to upload individuals’ brains to computers, turning them into digital consciousnesses and effectively allowing their minds to “live” forever. In another story, “Byzantine Empathy,” cryptocurrency-literate nonprofits begin turning real atrocities into violent VR experiences to shock users into donating. The story that hit me a little too close to home was “Real Artists,” in which an aspiring filmmaker learns that the films she loves are secretly made by artificial intelligence. An advanced algorithm called “Big Semi” tracks audiences’ real-time responses and creates countless story iterations until it reaches the “exact emotional curve guaranteed to make them laugh and cry in the right places”—then uses this information to make “perfect films.” When Big Semi’s film studio offers the protagonist a job, she discovers that in this world (as in our own), AI’s success depends on the exploitation of human creative expertise. *** View the full article

Imagine waking up one morning and deciding to become William Shakespeare. You have fantasized about it for years and now you’re taking the fateful step. Overcome by a heady mixture of zeal, naivete, and hubris, you’re freed from feelings of shame or guilt. Although you live in the late eighteenth rather than the early seventeenth century, time won’t be an impediment for you because you’re gifted, studious, and even visionary in a deranged sort of way. Your father is a renowned collector of the original Shakespeare’s works, an authority in the field, so this transition is in your blood. Most importantly, when you present him with your handiwork he will finally come to love you. You acquire some period paper, mix the correct tone of iron gall ink, sharpen your quill. Then, in secret, you write a love letter to your wife “Anne Hatherrewaye” and attach to it a lock of his—well, your—hair bound elegantly with pink and white silk thread you find in your mother’s sewing basket. Next, you scribe some hitherto unknown poems for Anne and, emboldened, fabricate passages of the original manuscripts of Hamlet and King Lear. You produce missives to Queen Elizabeth I. Careful not to create anachronisms, you autograph and annotate the margins of books printed before the original Shakespeare’s death in 1616. Out of fear that one of the Elizabethan playwright’s legitimate descendants might step forward to lay claim to the growing sheaf of valuable artifacts you’ve so expertly forged, you counterfeit a genealogy that proves the trove is rightfully yours. To this end, you prepare a legal document in which your alter ego—grateful for having been rescued by one of your imaginary ancestors from going to a watery grave in the River Thames—gifts him this archive in 1613. You even manufacture a coat of arms that combines your family’s with his. ___________________________________ William Henry Ireland’s elaborately forged love letter with hair locket from Shakespeare to Ann Hathaway. (Collection of the Massachusetts Historical Society.) ___________________________________ Your distinguished father is so proud of you for discovering these miraculous long-lost treasures that he publishes a book to memorialize your achievement. To your anxious delight, Miscellaneous Papers and Legal Instruments under the Hand and Seal of William Shakspeare [sic] becomes a bestselling cause célèbre in 1796, the same year Matthew Gregory Lewis’s The Monk appears, a lurid Gothic novel that also relies upon deceits and masked identities. It isn’t long before your worst fears come true, and your reputation is annihilated by the eagle-eyed critic Edmund Malone, who accuses you of fraud that same fraught year. Soon enough, you are forced to confess. Your real name is William Henry Ireland and you are destined to become one of the more notorious con men in the history of literary forgery. And you are far from alone in your criminal endeavor. * Literary forgery is as old as literature itself. “As soon as man set foot on the slopes of Parnassus,” wrote E. K. Chambers in his fascinating 1891 treatise The History and Motives of Literary Forgeries, “the shadow of the forger fell on the path behind him. The first historian records the first literary fraud.” Chambers here refers to Herodotus—heralded by Cicero as the “Father of History” and later excoriated as the “Father of Lies” by Plutarch since he played fast and loose with historical facts, concocting events in his Histories whenever he didn’t have first-hand knowledge and it suited his purposes. The faker of history, however, told the truth when he fingered its first forger. To wit, an Athenian scholar named Onomacritus (circa 530–480 BC), who was tasked with compiling and editing the oracles of poet-polymath Musaeus. For reasons we can only guess, based on the motivations of later forgers, this devious scribe, or chresmologue, started inventing his own prophecies and verses, interleaving them with Musaeus’s originals. Herodotus accurately states that when Onomacritus was inevitably caught—one Lasus of Hermione, a lyric poet, snitched—he was exiled to Persia where he simply continued his faux-oracular shenanigans, even urging Xerxes the Great to invade Greece. Which he did. These days when people think of forgers, Lee Israel comes to mind, in no small part because of Melissa McCarthy’s riveting performance in Can You Ever Forgive Me?. But compared to Onomacritus and William Henry Ireland and other high-stakes forgers of the past who manipulated the historic record in far more technically sophisticated, intellectually cunning, and ethically diabolical ways, Israel is a minor figure in an illustrious if corrupt pantheon of literary scammers. Just as Ireland the forger was the son of Ireland the pundit, many accomplished forgers—most of them men—have been the children not of finaglers and fraudsters but of upstanding literary citizens in their day (or else absent fathers). The son of the now pretty-much forgotten poet Eugene Field, genial nineteenth-century author of children’s verse like “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod” and “Little Boy Blue,” would himself be entirely forgotten were it not for his being a prolific forger. And because Eugene Field, Jr. specialized in faking Abraham Lincoln documents, forging the president’s ownership autograph in books from his uncle’s library, today is he part of a large rogues’ gallery of Lincoln forgers. After the president’s assassination in 1865 and well into the next century, members of this cohort of Lincoln “specialists” were busy reinventing honest Abe’s life and work. Their backstories are often so freakish as to seem unreal. Take Mario Terenzio Enrico Casalengo, an Italian immigrant who changed his name to Henry Woodhouse after being released from prison for manslaughter in upstate New York. Unbowed, he reinvented himself as a credible scientist, aeronautics expert, economist, historian. And forger. Woodhouse—or Colonel Woodhouse, or Dr. Woodhouse, as he styled himself while ascending into higher echelons of society—produced fake Lincoln documents as well as missives by the signers of the Declaration of Independence. He even forged letters by his newfound friends Teddy Roosevelt, Amelia Earhart, and Alexander Graham Bell, to name a few. At some point Woodhouse decided to position his creations side by side with authentic materials—not unlike his ancient predecessor, Onomacritus—though he did so in order to sell them at Gimbels Department Store in Manhattan, not archive them in the repositories of the tyrant Pisistratus in Athens. And while he served time for killing a fellow cook (yes, he was a professional cook, too) and his illicit expertise was sometimes called into question, the good doctor Woodhouse was, astonishingly, never exposed as a forger during his lifetime. ___________________________________ Two Lincoln letters, one by Lincoln and one by the notorious Joseph Cosey, both dated 1863. (Alfred Whital Stern Collection of Lincolniana, Rare Book and Special Collections Division, The Library of Congress.) ___________________________________ If Abraham Lincoln has the unhappy distinction of being among the most forged of historical figures—maybe the most frequently forged of all—at least he attracted the best of the worst. Others famous for their first-rate simulacra of Lincoln documents are Harry D. Sickles (Field Jr.’s partner-in-crime), John Laffite (or Laflin—names are fluid in the forgers’ subculture), and the masterly if careless Charles Weisberg, who died in Lewisburg Prison in Pennsylvania, serving one of several sentences after being convicted on fraud charges. The ink he used in supposed Civil War documents was wrong for the era. He wrote lengthy Lincoln letters though Lincoln himself tended toward brevity. His last gaffe was to write an authorial inscription in Katherine Mansfield’s posthumously published The Dove’s Nest. You can, as a wise man once said, always get it right most of the time. Arguably, the greatest of them all was Joseph Cosey. Born Martin Coneely in 1887, he ran away from home and led a solitary, shady existence as a small-time crook, living hand to mouth as he developed a taste for alcohol and phony Lincoln letters. Under the alias “Cosey,” he produced with legendary ease many thousands of unsurpassed forgeries of Washington, Benjamin Franklin, and Edgar Allan Poe. If you bought him a drink at a bar, he would knock out a masterful forgery for you on the spot; buy him another, get another. An unknown but likely considerable number of his forgeries remain unidentified to this day, reposing in private collections and temperature-controlled archives of institutions around the country, indeed the world. Some of them have even been unwittingly cited in biographies of Poe and others, perverting our knowledge of influential writers and historical figures, revising American history itself. The mere mention of Cosey can provoke an apoplectic response from otherwise refined, mannerly collectors of 19th-century Americana. I’ve seen this fury first-hand and appreciate the exasperation of being deceived by Cosey even decades after his mysterious disappearance and probable death in 1950. To buy unknowingly an immaculate fake for the same money that an original fetches, only to learn later that it’s by Cosey, not Jefferson or Twain, is a vexing and expensive misstep. The most seasoned collector has at some point or another been duped, at least temporarily, by forgers nowhere near as sophisticated as Cosey. Myself included, details to follow. ** Equal in skill to Cosey, but with an antithetical lifestyle and approach to forgery, was Thomas J. Wise (1859-1937), the well-liked, esteemed dean of book collecting in his day as well as an illustrious bibliographer—president of the Bibliographical Society, no less. His Ashley Library was among England’s finest in private hands, subsidized by his shrewd dealings as a behind-the-scenes bookseller. He also covertly printed severely limited editions of pamphlets by the likes of Tennyson, Kipling, Rossetti, and Swinburne, editing them together from genuine published texts, then falsely dating them earlier than their first editions. Any serious, completist collector of one of his counterfeited writers really had to add these manufactured rarities to their holdings. Given Wise’s impeccable reputation in London and abroad, together with the fact that he catalogued his fakes alongside genuine first editions in his erudite, elegant bibliographies, the scheme was, for a long time, failsafe. When Wise personally offered a “newly discovered” Browning or Shelley or Ruskin to a prospective buyer, money usually passed hands and all involved were satisfied with the transaction. The British Museum was happy to pay the then-strong price of three guineas for a copy of his George Eliot pamphlet, Brother and Sister Sonnets by Marian Lewes. This fall I visited Washington University in St. Louis to speak at the centenary celebration of writer William H. Gass. While touring the library I noticed there was an exhibit of forgeries on display. In one glass case I saw a pamphlet that looked for all the world to be Wise’s Brother and Sister Sonnets. But here was a fake of a fake—strange as some two-headed calf, I remember thinking as I peered at it through the glass. Amazingly, I’d encountered a later fabrication of Thomas J. Wise’s original forgery from 1888 (which Wise had backdated to 1869 on the cover and title page, designating it “For Private Circulation Only”). Surely Wise might never have guessed that, years later, some obscure American forger would decide to counterfeit his counterfeit. They look—as good piracies are supposed to look—alike. The only way to tell the difference, as the curator of rare books, Cassie Brand, noted while touring me through her selection, is that the later “creation. . .used a fleuron on the corners of the cover and left out the horizontal line at the end of the text.” Without that devilment of a detail, none would be the— Wise was run to ground in 1934 by an intrepid pair of young rare book dealers, John W. Carter and Henry Graham Pollard, who published their shocking landmark bibliographic investigation, An Enquiry into the Nature of Certain Nineteenth Century Pamphlets, three years before Wise died. While the authors never explicitly accused him of wrongdoing, controversy swirled around him and he went to his grave denying any involvement. *** Given what a precision craft forgery is, it’s intriguing that pride, precociousness, diffidence, depression, alcoholism, and a tendency to suicide feature in the lives of many of its finest practitioners. While some are gregarious, like Wise, and others reclusive, like Cosey, most major forgers possessed the intellect, creativity, and energy to have pursued legitimate careers as historians, poets, professors, and the like, socially negotiable but for one countermanding trait. In some way or another, all forgers—even those who create fakes to make ends meet—share a compulsion to outwit experts and outmaneuver authorities. The elite among them try to transcend accepted reality, nudge their bizarre way into the known, be a player in history from a skewed and illegal angle. The genius of an authentic writer dovetails with, and is temporarily subsumed by, the forger’s own genius. With a defiant, willful, and full flowering of hubris, they aspire briefly to become the very person they forge. It is an intoxicating enterprise, this fusion of imagination and chicanery. A white collar (or ruff, as the case may be) crime as sophisticated as it is deplorable. It is also, largely, doomed. Just as most deceits eventually unravel, most forgeries sooner or later are identified and exposed. Examples abound. In one recent case, a Galileo document dating from 1610, with historically groundbreaking sketches and notes depicting the orbits of Jupiter’s moons, resided at the University of Michigan Library for a century before being outed in August 2022 as the work of the infamous 20th-century Italian forger Tobia Nicotra. Following extensive research into the document, focusing on a telltale watermark of the paper used by Nicotra, the library announced that their once-priceless “jewel” was a fake and, as a result, the revisionist history of Galileo prompted by this manuscript required yet another revision. While one might reasonably assume that all such proven forgeries would instantly lose their value, be relegated to the category of worthless curiosities, this is not always the case. Indeed, some counterfeits and forgeries are collectible in themselves and even boast values similar to the originals. In the Sotheby’s October 18, 2024 sale of books from the magnificent Renaissance library of T. Kimball Brooker, an authentic 1502 copy of Dante’s Le terze rime—the Divine Comedy—one of eight known copies printed on vellum in Venice at the Aldine press, beautifully illuminated, brought $165,100. Several lots later, the Gabiano-Trot forgery of the same book printed on vellum just a year or so after in Lyon, France—the first edition of Dante ever printed outside Italy—was hammered down at a competitive $158,750. The intrigue behind Lyonese Aldine counterfeits is the stuff of legend, and in the history of intellectual property theft it is hardly surpassable for prowess, guts, and mendacity. **** Were there a Forgers Hall of Fame—or, Infamy—influential sleight-of-handwriting artists would certainly include the precocious, deeply troubled Thomas Chatterton (1752-1770), who committed suicide in London by overdosing on alcohol at age 17, but not before brilliantly forging the spurious, inspired “Rowley” poems that would have a major impact on the Romantic poets Coleridge, Wordsworth, Keats, and Shelley. Scottish poet, politician, and collector James MacPherson (1736-1796) claimed to have discovered and translated a Scottish/Gaelic epic from the third century by a Bard named Ossian. Though the subject of withering attacks of critics like Samuel Johnson who claimed the “Ossian cycle” was a fraud, MacPherson’s forgery proved popular and is credited, for worse or better, with helping to fashion Scotland’s national self-image. The list is long. Denis Vrain-Lucas forged and sold over 25,000 documents beginning in 1854, including “original” letters from Cleopatra, Isaac Newton, Attila the Hun, Mary Magdalene, Pontius Pilate, and even the resurrected Lazarus—all in French. Alexander “Antique” Smith, a Scottish law office clerk turned forger in the 1880s, cranked out a vast number of “unpublished” letters and poems by Burns, Scott, and Thackeray. Robert Spring migrated from England to America, erased his past, and set up an antiquarian bookshop in Philadelphia where he commenced forging payment orders and letters by George Washington and others. He was arrested, fled to Canada, returned to America, leaving a trail of fake documents in his wake until he was apprehended again, confessed, and died in prison. Like Cosey and Wise, Spring now has the distinction of being collected in his own right as an upmarket forger whose work, whether or not identified as fake, is no doubt held in the archives of prestigious collections. It is safe to say that most university or public libraries of any size could mount a similar exhibit of literary forgeries as compelling as the one in St. Louis. Even my own book collection includes a problematic copy of the 1919 first English edition of Joseph Conrad’s The Arrow of Gold, with an elaborate armorial bookplate of Baron Leverhulme of Bolton-le-Moors, whose engraved insignia of a cock and rampant elephants lends it an impressive air of authenticity. Laid in is a clipping from an early bookseller’s catalogue offering this copy as having “Conrad’s autograph signature below his printed name on the title page.” Yet despite its persuasive provenance and expert assurances, despite its signature appearing to be contemporary and confident in its execution, my signed Conrad is surely a forgery. Many details of the autograph seem wrong, beginning with the shapes of the initial letters of his name along with an overall studied appearance—overly careful, deliberate, antiseptic, and simply misshapen. Fortunately, when I acquired it at auction, the lot included another first edition of Arrow in superlative condition, which was the one I actually wanted. To their credit, the auction house listed the signed copy as possibly spurious. ___________________________________ The authoritative provenance and early bookseller’s assurance of authenticity (left) and the sad truth (right). (Author’s collection.) ___________________________________ Some years later, two Cormac McCarthy rarities I acquired from a highly respected auction house in London were so cleverly wrought that they fooled both the firm’s seasoned cataloguer and me, an experienced collector and sometime dealer. I had never before seen proof copies of the British editions of McCarthy’s early novels Outer Dark and Child of God, so I went for broke and outbid others anxious to get them. They arrived, clearly uncirculated and pristine, and after cataloguing them, I gingerly put them on my shelf with other McCarthy firsts. Alas, several months later I received an email from my friend at the house, apologizing as he told me they were forgeries. The design layout, the covers, the text itself were cleverly cobbled together. Even though it came out of a prominent collection belonging to one McCarthy’s own friends, it was wrong as rain. ***** Picasso once remarked that “Good artists copy. Great artists steal.” Forgers do both. And whether we think of them as twisted imitators, diabolical artificers, antiauthoritarian heroes, or whatever else, it is reasonable to believe that they will continue to cast shadows where legitimate writers tread. As E. K. Chambers long ago suggested, those of us who value originals over fakes will ever owe gratitude to the Lasus of Hermiones, Edmund Malones, Carter and Pollards of the world for revealing the truth. After all, the history of literary forgery is still actively being made. More than one bookseller friend of mine is even now involved in exposing brazen forgeries of iconic modern writers. Veteran rare book dealer Ken Lopez, just for instance, was asked by a client to authenticate Cormac McCarthy’s signature in a previously unrecorded proof copy of Outer Dark. With the help of his assistant, photographer Brendan Devlin, they caught “telltale inkjet color spots” on the proof and through a combination of technical scrutiny and decades of expertise, both proof and autograph were declared fakes. As Lopez wrote to me, with typical modesty, “It was just a matter of looking and paying attention.” What followed was the discovery of a massive cascade of far-flung forgeries meant to alter both McCarthy’s bibliography and biography. An impressive “Illustrated Edition” of Blood Meridian was even in the works. Thanks to Lopez’s “paying attention,” a collaborative pair of ambitious McCarthy forgers, whose methods were akin to Wise’s, was exposed. ___________________________________ Sophisticated McCarthy forgeries of British proof copy and illustrated Blood Meridian. (Photographs by by Brendan Devlin. Courtesy of Ken Lopez.) ___________________________________ This kind of ongoing work represents just the kind of erudite, diligent, passionate investigation that will bring forgers to heel at least most of the time. For, as long as writers write and forgers forge, there will be astute, idealistic book sleuths—often book dealers, auction houses, and librarians—shining true light into devious shadows. Indeed, on the very day I finished writing this piece, I attended online an auction taking place in Texas, where the first edition of H. P. Lovecraft’s ultra-rare first book, The Shunned House, was listed in the sumptuous print catalog of the William A. Strutz sale. But when the auction went live, I noticed the internet listing had been revised: “*Note: This description has been amended, and the references used have been updated. The present copy is the 1965 forgery as described by Joshi.” Unbeknown to one of the great collectors of his generation, The Shunned House had resided in a place of honor, shelved between Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Amy Lowell, for decades before a sophisticated auction cataloger flushed it out as a fake. Even at that, however, it was hammered down at well over a thousand dollars. And so it goes. ****** Note. The author is grateful to Janet E. Gomez whose essay in Fakes, Lies, and Forgeries (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 2014) was crucial to my research on Henry Ireland. Thanks also to Selby Kiffer and Fenella Theis at Sotheby’s, Cassie Brand at Washington University Library, Hannah Elder at Massachusetts Historical Society, Michael North at Library of Congress, and Ken Lopez, for their time and expertise. View the full article

When it comes to our understanding of crime and criminals, lawyers and novelists—and lawyers-turned-novelists—might offer the same caution: presume nothing. At the forefront of this elite group of storytellers is attorney Scott Turow, who redefined the legal thriller with 1986’s Presumed Innocent. A breakout bestseller now largely considered a contemporary classic, the book inspired a feature film starring Harrison Ford and a more recent streaming adaptation for Apple TV with Jake Gyllenhaal. Turow has now published thirteen novels and two works of non-fiction, which have been translated into more than forty languages and sold in excess of 30 million copies worldwide. His newest, Presumed Guilty (Grand Central Publishing; January 14, 2025), is his third to feature former prosecutor and retired judge Rusty Sabich. Sabich—twice tried for murder (in Presumed Innocent and its sequel), and twice acquitted—is living a quiet life in the Midwest, where he’s engaged to be married to school principal Bea Housley. They share a lakefront home with her and her 22-year-old son, Aaron, whom she adopted at birth. Aaron—a Black man raised in White America—is on probation for a drug offense and faces reincarceration after violating the terms to go camping with his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Mae. But things go from bad to worse when Aaron returns alone and Mae is later found dead, the victim of an apparent homicide. Aaron is soon charged with first-degree murder, and Bea implores Rusty to represent him. Doing so would be a personal and professional quagmire, and yet Rusty— failing to find a suitable alternative, and knowing full well how hard it would be for Aaron to get a fair trial—reluctantly agrees. With Aaron’s freedom at stake, not to mention his future contentment with Bea, Rusty must put it all on the line in the hopes of winning a case that has torn the community apart—and that will have consequences regardless of the outcome. Now, Scott Turow discusses the rules of law (and writing), race, and revisiting Rusty Sabich … John B. Valeri: As a title, Presumed Guilty isn’t simply a callback to Presumed Innocent but an acknowledgement that perceptions can beget judgments regardless of the actual truth. Please expand on this notion and how it relates to these two stories. Also, what compelled you to revisit Rusty Sabich at this moment in time — and did you find it a calculated risk to do so given how (and when) things were left in Innocent? Scott Turow: So many fruitful questions. Yes, perceptions are reality—until they’re not. Because my novels are more internal than some in this genre, my protagonists’ inner life often leads him/her astray. It often amazes me how frequently we blunder through life, living with wrong assumptions. But suspending judgment, reaching no conclusions at all about what is going on in the life of others, seems vaguely immoral—we need to try to understand what is transpiring outside the boundaries of our own skins. Fiction itself depends on that. As for why I went back to Rusty, I had suspected when I finished Innocent that Rusty and I were destined to spend intimate time once more. His life was so shattered at the end of Innocent that I felt he might have deserved better. As for what he’d been through, everybody in their later years has endured some stuff. Surviving cancer, loss of loved ones, time in war. Rusty has a little more unusual list to trot out on a first date—time in prison, tried twice for murder—but as he recognizes, he has an easier path than some, since it’s broadly accepted that he was framed—twice, in fact, by a vengeful prosecutor. This is yet another misperception, in some ways, the who if not the what, but he has condemned the real facts, as he understands them, to a tomb of silence. JBV: Aaron is a Black man who was adopted into a white family immediately after birth. In what ways does his race color (some) people’s attitudes and impressions of him, no matter how subtly, and might this impact his ability to get a fair trial? ST: I doubt that any white person in our country—certainly not this white person—can fully understand the lived experience of African Americans, as it occurs day by day, even though I am always cautious about any stereotype. I doubt racism affects all Black people equally. For some it’s a bitter fact most moments of everyday; for others, I suspect, it’s like bad weather, regrettable but something to be accepted in the category of things they can’t change. But as Aaron points out, growing up black in a white family is a special case, because the racial divide is less stark. Aaron came of age loving and being loved by his white family, which makes the prejudgments of other white people about him often more surprising and embittering. But he understands from the start that in a place like Marenago County, where most residents have had next to no exposure to African Americans, the racial prejudice, where it exists, will be strong. JBV: How did you approach capturing the essential truth of his experience despite not having lived it yourself? ST: First, I don’t accept that a white author could never fully recreate the experience of being black. But it’s a very steep hill to climb, starting with the number of readers who’d say to start that it can’t be done. At any rate, I was quite conscious that what I was relating, to a very large extent, were Rusty’s perceptions, not Aaron’s. Rusty knows what he’s seen—and as he says to Bea, no one in the U.S. is really well-adjusted about matters of race—but he accepts as a starting point that he has not lived with the same realities as Aaron. The last scene with Aaron in the jail delves deeply into these differences—but they are always acknowledged. And of course, I solicited the views of a reader who’d grown up in similar circumstances. She had some minor corrections but generally approved of what I’d done. JBV: Rusty – both very much the man for the job and very much not – is understandably conflicted about defending Aaron. Tell us about the factors he must weigh in making his decision. ST: You could not have put that better—Rusty is very much the man for the job and very much not. As a general matter, representing family members is not recommended for lawyers, because of the enormous challenges to objectivity. Can you really dispassionately judge the credibility of the client relative, who will never leave your life? In this case, Rusty has a thin veneer of protection because he and Bea are not yet married, so he has no legal relationship to Aaron. But it’s far from an ideal situation. On the other hand, in the unusual circumstances of this case, he comes with two pluses: first, as he puts it, he will work cheap, meaning he will not leave Aaron and his parents broke as a consequence of paying an enormous fee to another lawyer to conduct the trial. Second, he is far more experienced in first-degree murders trials than any other lawyer who is available in a rural area—and it’s very much the case that any attorney with a ‘city shine’ would be regarded with suspicion by a rural jury. Talk about prejudices! JBV: Also, what are the potential consequences of this decision, and how are they inordinately heightened by his personal involvement with both Aaron’s and the victim’s families? ST: The sharp irony is that in the end, it’s the factor that makes this a bad idea that moves Rusty to do it. He is desperate to preserve his relationship with Bea, and Bea is desperate to see Rusty take the case. He believes he has no way out. If he says no and Aaron is convicted, she will always believe he could have done better than whoever represented Aaron in the end and blame Rusty for the result. JBV: The victim, Mae, had a history of drug abuse and erratic behavior that could be relevant to her death and who may have caused it. But bringing out those things in court opens the door to the perception (there’s that word again!) of victim blaming and/or shaming, which can be off-putting. What was your intent in presenting her character, proverbial warts, and all – and how does this speak to the broader, real-life issue of attorneys towing the line between truth and tarnish? ST: Well, victim blaming may be looked down upon as a cultural matter, but in the courtroom it’s tried and true—and I would argue, for good reason. It is certainly the case, as Mae’s parents believe, that it seems like bringing out Mae’s problems diminish the crime, seeming to suggest that her life was ‘worth’ less. But her erratic behavior, which hardly started the day she died, also goes to explain some of the damning circumstances of the crime, like why Aaron left her behind in a sparsely inhabited area. JBV: While conventional storytelling wisdom extols the virtues of showing the reader something rather than telling them, trials are very much about telling in order to show (and many of this book’s most dramatic moments come from what is said in court). Can you talk about this seeming conflict and how you balance the two in your writing? ST: Well, clearly a lot gets said in court. And in terms of the circumstances of the crime, as the prosecutor perceives them, and as the defense reveals them to be, there are a lot of outright surprises (or so I hope) but as for Rusty’s emotional state, the strategy is more typical, shown more than told. JBV: Further, tell us how Rusty’s age and reflective state of mind play into how he narrates this particular book. ST: Rusty has never been anything other than self-conscious, a determined observer. Knowing that he is participating in a criminal trial for the last time, after a lifelong career centered in this forum, there is a lot to say—accumulated wisdom and knowledge of the shortcomings of the process. With so much at stake emotionally, his perceptions are to some extent a buffer for his feelings. He observes, rather than succumb to his dread of the outcome and the wreckage that might be his life in the aftermath. JBV: While trials are inherently dramatic, the proceedings can also be tedious. What liberties do you allow yourself to take for the sake of story – and, using that as a point of reference, what advice would you offer to others when considering creative license with the overall integrity of a piece? ST: Of course, when you are the lawyer trying a case every moment is dramatic, even the legal rulings that seem trivial or unintelligible to lay observers, because something is happening that you feel is important for your side—otherwise, there’d be no argument. That becomes the advantage of telling the story from the trial lawyer’s perspective, because he so often understands the stakes in moments outsiders might find boring—whether to move for a mistrial, for example, or a judge’s attitude toward an objection. I have no quarrel with the short handing of trials that is often necessary, especially in time-limited media like film. but I’ve never gone for changing the rules, maybe because I know that if I was in the audience it would totally disrupt my suspension of disbelief. I don’t go through the jury instructions conference in Presumed Guilty. but I’d never pretend that the judge doesn’t give the jury instructions. JBV: As a former practicing lawyer, you know better than most that justice isn’t always done. What satisfaction, or wish fulfillment, does fiction allow you that real-life sometimes doesn’t? ST: When I wrote the first draft of Presumed Innocent, I didn’t say who’d committed the crime. My excuse to myself was that was like what happens in court, where, after an acquittal especially, we don’t know who’s really guilty or how the crime occurred. That provoked a long heart to heart with myself, which took place over many months, in which I ultimately accepted that the premise of the mystery is that we can always know whodunnit and why. JBV: Since retirement, have you found that your relationship with the work has changed? If so, how? ST: I’m still not fully retired. I have one remaining pro bono case, which keeps me pretty engaged with the law at times. But I doubt surrendering the reins entirely will do much to change my perspectives. Being a trial lawyer is such an intense experience, that it is more or less burned into your soul like a brand. The one difference is that with less law to practice I’ve been able to write faster, which is a good outcome as you’re getting older when there still seems to be a lot to say JBV: Leave us with a teaser: What comes next? ST: I’m in the cogitative stage. But I believe the next book will start with a very old lawyer who consults the obituaries, as he does every day, and finds a death notice for a man he was certain had been murdered nearly fifty years before by a central figure in the old lawyer’s life. View the full article

I’m a TV writer by profession, and when I’m not staffing a show, I develop TV series adaptations with the goal of selling one to a buyer. My favorite novel genres to adapt are mysteries and thrillers because I love suspenseful, propulsive storytelling and because thrillers make damn good TV. TV shows demand action and surprises that compel a viewer to keep watching, and since suspense novels are built around twists, with chapters that end on cliffhangers, they lend well to adaptation. In the Age of Streaming, where thousands of TV shows across 400 networks compete for attention, it’s incredibly difficult for a series to gain traction, but a delicious thriller can quickly amass an audience. If I spark to a novel, I develop my “take”—a 20-minute pitch on how I would adapt the book into an on-going series. When pitching a series, the most important question I need to answer is Why Now? A thriller novel with a strong hook and a juicy twist is great, but one that has something to say, that sparks discussion around a timely, compelling theme, is undeniable. Think Big Little Lies, with its examination of domestic violence among the elites, or Codename Villanelle (the source material for Killing Eve), with its rare depiction of female obsession. The other important question I need to answer when pitching a series is Why You? I need to convince a potential buyer that I am the perfect person to adapt the novel, and I need to demonstrate how I will expand the world of the book into a series that could run for multiple seasons. After studying and deconstructing many thrillers, I decided to try my hand at writing my own. My debut novel, The Ends of Things, is a psychological suspense about a solo female traveler who disappears from a beach resort. My heroine, a fellow vacationer, becomes obsessed with the missing woman and embroiled in the police investigation that unfolds. At first, I didn’t set out to write a novel. I thought my idea would make a great movie, so I wrote an outline for a feature script. But then I realized all my favorite parts were scene descriptions and stage directions—none of which would make it from page to screen. I’ve always loved mysteries that feature protagonists who aren’t so much unreliable narrators as they are unaware that they’re unreliable narrators, like Rachel in The Girl on the Train. I wanted to explore a character who was her own worst enemy, and since my protagonist is a catastrophizer, it was crucial that I have access to her private thoughts. My problem was that interiority is notoriously difficult to express in a screenplay unless you use a trope like voiceover, which is generally considered to be a narrative crutch. (There are exceptions, of course. Some of the voiceover in the TV series You, for example, is lifted from the pages of the novel on which it is based and is used cleverly to endear the viewers to Joe, even though he’s a creepy stalker with homicidal tendencies.) Typically, though, a screenwriter needs to demonstrate character through action. What your character does or doesn’t do reveals who they are. Novels, however, allow you to express your character’s thoughts and feelings better than any other medium. That’s how I knew my story needed to be a book. I had never written a novel before, and I had no idea how to approach a project that was so, well, long. On a craft level, screenwriting and novel writing seemed completely different. But over the eighteen-month journey that followed, from conception to completed manuscript, I came to discover that for all the differences, the processes had some surprising similarities. My first hurdle was “breaking” the story. Television is typically written in a group setting, specifically in a Writers Room, so-called because it’s a (sometimes windowless) room where ten or so writers spend all day every day for months on end pitching storylines, brainstorming ideas, eating snacks, and breaking the Season together. The writers are then assigned scripts, which they write on their own and bring back to the room for feedback and dialogue punch up. The great thing about working in a Writers Room is that you can use the brain trust to help you solve your story problems. Discovered a plot hole while outlining? Take your beats back to the room. Spinning your wheels on a weak cliffhanger? Ask the room to brainstorm alternatives. The room is paid to solve problems, so you can see how an entire season of television can be conceived and written relatively quickly, in about six months or so, with a group of writers working collaboratively before the cameras start rolling, and then doing rewrites through production. Novel writing, though, is a solitary pursuit. If you’re lucky, you have one or two trusted readers to help you solve your story problems. But mostly you’re on your own. When I started, all I had was a long, unwieldy Word document full of stream of consciousness musings and fragmented observations, along with some ideas for plot twists. My next hurdle: How do you structure a novel? The only frame of reference I had was breaking story in a Writers Room. When you get hired to join a room, you typically spend the first few weeks discussing the Season as a whole, as well as delineating or “arcing” the emotional journeys of the characters. You do this by writing story beats on index cards and mounting them on a cork board or white board. Once the shape of the Season comes into focus, and once you have a general sense of where the characters are headed emotionally, you begin tackling individual episodes, ensuring that each one progresses the Season Arc, and that each episode fits, like a puzzle piece, within the larger serialized framework of the Season. Since I didn’t know how else to do it, I broke the structure of my novel the same way. I pulled out a giant stack of multi-colored index cards, and using Sharpies, the writing implement de rigueur of a Writers Room, I transposed every story beat from my Word document onto the cards. My story takes place in two timelines, so I color coded the cards: White for “present-day” action and purple for “flashbacks.” Then, I mounted the cards on a cork board. In a Writers Room, each column of cards on a Season Arc board corresponds to an episode. Thirteen columns = Thirteen episodes. In my case, every column corresponded to a chapter. Thirteen columns = Thirteen chapters. And because I was writing a suspense novel, I wanted each chapter to end on a cliffhanger, to compel the reader to turn the page. Once I had the structure figured out, it came time to sit down and actually write, and here’s where I found the mediums vastly different. When writing a screenplay, you write with blocking in mind—describing what your characters are physically doing and where they are in relation to their location and each other. (If you don’t properly block a scene on the page, your actors will definitely accost you on set with their notes, and this can be very embarrassing.) With novel writing, though, I found that my heroine could think thoughts for pages on end without having to physically move. It was liberating to explore her musings without having to worry about what she was doing with her hands! Another major difference had to do with time management. In the TV world, it’s common to develop multiple projects at the same time. When you get stuck on one script, you can move to another, in a constant rotation. I’ve found this can help when you get blocked: delving into one creative world sometimes helps unlock story problems in another. But what surprised me about writing my novel was how all-consuming the process was. Sustaining my book’s fictional world in all its granular detail demanded my undivided attention. All I did for eighteen months straight was eat, sleep, and breathe my characters. When you wrap a season of television, if you’re lucky, you’ve made a handful of lifelong friends. After being in the trenches for months on end, trauma bonding from tight deadlines and harsh network notes, and going feral from lack of sleep and daylight, you can’t help but feel a strong sense of camaraderie. You celebrate together, go to karaoke, buy each other wrap gifts, and group-watch the season premiere. Sometimes, the room’s group text keeps going for years after the show has been canceled. Finishing a novel, though, hits different. When I printed out my completed manuscript and spread the pages across my bedroom floor, I was overwhelmed by a deeply personal and very private sense of accomplishment I had never felt before. I had managed to write this big thing all by myself. And when my ARCs arrived in the mail, it felt incredible to hold my book in my hands. But this feeling of triumph was followed by vulnerability because unlike a TV show, my novel has only one name on the cover, and it’s mine. As proud as I felt, I couldn’t also help but feel a bit exposed. There’s a troubling new trend in Hollywood, where streamers are deleting entire seasons of television from their digital libraries to avoid paying creatives residual fees. This means that along with losing revenue, writers are losing access to their work. A book, though, is forever. It feels good knowing that no matter what happens, my novel will always have a place on my bookshelf. Now that pub day is approaching, my TV agents have asked me to put together my take for a potential series adaptation. Talk about a full circle moment. It’s a bit surreal crafting a pitch for why I am the perfect person to adapt my own book. But that’s Hollywood, for you. *** View the full article

In 2013, Tim Kreider achieved true Internet meme stardom when he concluded his New York Times essay, “I Know What You Think of Me,” with the line, “if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.” The meme-ification of this statement proves just how perfectly it encapsulates the human experiences. It taps into our deepest insecurities—that if someone truly loves us, then it means that they have seen us, all of us. And it is an active submission, to be loved. Just as it is an active acceptance, to love someone. As a thriller writer, I am often asked the ever-dreaded and ever-fascinating question, “Where do your ideas come from?” I tend to answer, quite honestly, “I write what frightens me.” Because this is the thrill that all crime readers seek. Crime novels make our fears real. Just as romance novels stoke our fantasies and assure us there is love and tenderness in this world, crime novels allow us to explore our deepest fears in a safe environment. And what are our deepest fears? For my first novel, Shutter, I used to joke that what frightened me most was, to put it bluntly, men. But if I tease this apart, if I look closer at the story, the answer is, more specifically, powerful men. More specifically still, falling in love with (or being manipulated by) a man. More specifically still, falling in love with a man, and thus giving him power over you. For my upcoming novel, The Lost House, I was preoccupied with a question: What if the world believed that the person who raised you was a murderer? And what if the person who raised you, who loved you most, actually was a murderer? If I continue to tease that line of questioning apart, what it actually comes down to is something similar to the mortifying ordeal of being known. It comes down to the inherent vulnerability of loving someone and being loved in return. Both novels reveal a preoccupation with the power structures within a loving relationship, whether it is romantic or familial, and a fear of being vulnerable, being hurt. For Agnes, the main character in The Lost House, the man in question is her grandfather. When she hears that a true crime podcaster will be recording a series about her grandfather’s infamous case (the murder of his wife and daughter, a crime that was never prosecuted except in the court of public opinion), Agnes travels to Iceland to clear her grandfather’s name. What I came to realize as I wrote this novel was that, for Agnes, the fear was not just that her grandfather couldn’t be a murderer because he was a good man. It was something far more subtle, and much more human: In her mind, her grandfather couldn’t have been a murderer, because he would have told her. The potential lie is a bigger betrayal than the grander moral implications of his history. She is more hurt by the lie because it betrays the intimacy of their relationship. It forces her to question everything. If it is true that he murdered his wife and daughter, what does it mean that he showed his granddaughter such tenderness? Who was he? Who, really, did she love? A murderer? A good man? A lie? I should say, very quickly, I’m not spoiling The Lost House for you. This is simply the fear I was exploring in the novel, the fear of vulnerability. Of intimacy. Of what it means to love the entirety of someone, which must include their potential for violence. It is the truth, both terrible and precious to our human experience, that the ones who are closest to us are the most dangerous. They have the greatest capacity to hurt us, because they know us and we know them. Because we have both supposedly submitted to that mortifying ordeal of being known. Because it is the most vicious betrayal to learn that the person you thought you knew, inside and out, is a stranger. And not just a stranger, but someone who has actively hidden their true self from you. In a thriller, this fear is made manifest into their extremes, our loved ones becoming murderers and serial killers and victims. I once read, but am unable to find again, an essay that covers this topic in comparison between two early-2000 coming of age horror movies, The Craft and Scream. Please forgive me, unknown writer, for paraphrasing, but the conclusion has stuck with me: In these two very different horror movies, the most dangerous threat to their young female protagonists isn’t a channeler of dark magic or some random serial killer, but their own boyfriends. Coincidentally both played by Skeet Ulrich. It is the horrible accusation that gets thrown around, after someone hurts us: You should have known better. It is the question we ask ourselves, after we have been hurt: Can I trust my own instincts? It is the fear of even letting someone get close to us, because once we submit to that ordeal, they have the potential to hurt us. Here are five novels that embody this fear, that make the mortifying ordeal of being known a reality: The Tommyknockers by Stephen King Though the competition is fierce, this is my favorite King novel, because of the relationship between the two main characters, because of the intimacy and heartbreak and love explored in this terrifying story. Bobbie Anderson, a young writer living alone, stumbles over a piece of metal on her land in Maine and becomes convinced that it is a long-buried UFO. She struggles to uncover this massive spacecraft, and let’s just say that it starts to affect her negatively. Meanwhile, her best friend and once lover, Jim Gardner, miles away has reached his own rock bottom after a bender. He stands on the precipice of committing suicide when he’s overcome with a deep certainty: Bobbie needs his help. Determined to help, he joins her in the struggle, and then it’s he who needs rescuing. The Sea of Lost Girls by Carol Goodman There are so many of Goodman’s novels to choose from that explore this particular topic, but this is the one that I return to again and again. A teacher at a remote private school, Tess, wakes in the middle of the night to a text from her troubled teenaged son, asking her for help. She finds him by the shore, alone, drenched, covered in what looks like blood, and unwilling to explain. Hours later, she receives a call from the school administration informing her that her son’s girlfriend has been found dead on that same shore. A mother’s fierce love is put to the test in this absolutely stunning, atmospheric novel. The Quiet Tenant by Clémence Michallon I can’t write about our beloved family members being murderers without mentioning The Quiet Tenant. Aidan Thomas is an upstanding citizen in his Upstate New York town, beloved by all, especially his teenage daughter, Cecilia. There’s just the matter of his locked shed in the backyard, where he’s imprisoned a young woman, Rachel, for the past five years. When Aidan’s wife dies, he’s forced to move and forced to bring Rachel out of the shed and into his home. I’ll say no more, except that there is an image at the end of this novel that still gives me goosebumps to this day. The Dry by Jane Harper This list is actually just an excuse to recommend all of my favorite thrillers! In a small farming town in Australia, a terrible tragedy has occurred: A well-respected man has supposedly killed his wife and son and then himself, leaving only his infant daughter alive. His estranged childhood best friend, Aaron Falk, comes home for the funeral and finds himself haunted by the question: Was his best friend really a murderer? If he killed his wife and son, was he responsible for the unsolved death of their childhood friend years ago? Blood Sisters by Vanessa Lillie Fifteen years ago, Syd Walker witnessed her best friend’s murder and barely escaped with her own and her sister’s life. Now, working far out of state as an archaeologist for the Bureau of Indian Affairs, Syd is called home by a threat: A skull placed near the scene of the crime, with her ID badge held in its teeth. Reluctantly, Syd returns to uncover old wounds and new horrors alike. Her sister, troubled and far too involved in the dark threads that hold their hometown together, has gone missing. I read this one so fast I was almost out of breath, both from the pace and the terrors within. *** View the full article

FIRST ASSIGNMENT: write your story statement. A father’s death forces his son to choose between good and evil. SECOND ASSIGNMENT: in 200 words or less, sketch the antagonist or antagonistic force in your story. Keep in mind their goals, their background, and the ways they react to the world about them. The reader is provided with competing narratives. First, after the death of his father Jacob Johnson developed a maniacal drive to provide for and protect his mother. That drive made his choice between morality and personal advancement complicated. In junior high Jacob was humiliated by the school bully, Mikey. After the beating, Jacob found sexually explicit information, that if exposed, would destroy Mikey’s tough guy reputation. Jacob struggled with whether or not to disclose the information. In college Jacob discovered his roommate assaulting a girl. The roommate, who was wealthy, told Jacob not to pursue the matter and if he did, he would implicate him. Jacob reluctantly agreed. Later, Jacob was to be named CEO of Carrington Enterprises. He was confronted by someone, from his past, who discovered Jacob had used deception and omission to attain success. Jacob’s choice was to give up the power he spent his life acquiring or return to the values he learned as a child. The second option, Bacchus, formerly enslaved, and murdered for escaping, it was said, visited young men without parents. His voice was accompanied by pain in the tongue during critical decisions. Jacob heard a voice and experienced pain during every critical decision. Create a breakout title (list several options, not more than three, and revisit to edit as needed). The Death of Jacob Johnson: The day Jacob Johnson’s father died his life’s trajectory altered. The boy who learned his father died in church changed through being bullied in junior high school, the love he found in college, and his ascension to CEO of Carrington Enterprises. His death was not a natural one, but one of mind, body, and spirit. Dreams: Jacob is visited by his father shortly after his death and is told to only trust Deacon Rose. This is central to the book in that it opens the door to the supernatural. Jacob is also visited two additional times in his dreams to preview events to come. Metaphorically, most of the characters in the book have aspirational dreams. Jacob dreams of protecting and providing for his mother. Deacon Rose dreams of helping Jacob deal with this voice, Eleanor Barber dreams of one last adventure before she retires, and Katie, his mother, dreams of her son going to college and becoming a businessperson. Jacob’s Voice: After Jacob is bullied in junior high, he hears a voice that makes his tongue feel pain. This voice appears during crucial decision points in the novel. It is that same voice that encourages him to make decisions that while in his best interest conflict with what he knows is morally acceptable. Develop two smart comparables for your novel. Who compares to you? And why? Trust by Hernan Diaz: Both books deal with the essence of truth. Trust is concerned with the accuracy of perceptions, power, and who tells the story. The Death of Jacob Johnson is concerned with perceptions, power, and belief. Most characters believe in God but have trouble believing in a more sinister power at work in their lives. The narrative itself, like Trust, offers the reader options on what version of the truth is accurate. Pet Cemetery by Stephen King: In this book, the author used the third person omniscient to build suspense and set a sense of dread for the reader. The Death of Jacob Johnson is told from the third-person omniscient point of view as well as from other character's points of view. Finally, the horror elements are present in both novels. Write your own hook line (logline) with conflict and core wound. A young boy’s father died shortly before his tenth birthday, in the aftermath, the boy propelled himself to a successful life which culminated in him becoming CEO of Carrington Enterprises, or is his ascension the result of Bacchus, a demon formerly enslaved who spoke to children without parents, who guided his steps, leaving everyone in his path homeless, hurt, or dead. Sketch out the conditions for the inner conflict your protagonist will have. Why will they feel in turmoil? Conflicted? Anxious? Sketch out one hypothetical scenario in the story wherein this would be the case--consider the trigger and the reaction. Before the inciting incident, Jacob’s life was filled with the love of his parents and his church family. He was taught the biblical principles of morality and to choose good over evil. His father’s death altered this trajectory. Without a father, Jacob sought the comfort of father figures. His want to take care of and provide for his mother became the driving force of his life which complicated his decision-making ability. His major decisions had an added layer of complexity due to the sharp pain he felt in his tongue and a voice that encouraged him to make the wrong choices. Would he choose the decision that was morally, right? Or would he choose the decision that allowed him to attain higher status and higher advancement to meet his goals? For example, Jacob attended the prestigious Hilderbrant University. Graduating from Hilderbrant meant connections, a great career, and lifelong friendships as long as one was able to maintain those relationships. While there, Jacob attended the most exclusive fraternity party on campus. Jacob was invited as his girlfriend’s (Megan) plus one. His roommate Dan also attended. Later that night Jacob found Dan sexually assaulting a female attendee. Jacob physically restrained Dan and called the police. The cops instructed Jacob to leave. The next few scenes Jacob grappled with what he had seen. He decided not to tell his girlfriend, but instead, he would confront Dan. The next day Jacob told Dan to turn himself in. He expressed how disgusted he was with him and that if Dan didn’t turn himself in Jacob would do it for him. Dan realized Jacob was serious and offered him a choice. First, to forget what he saw. His second choice was more of a threat. Dan insinuated that because Jacob was black it would be more believable that he assaulted the girl. He informed Jacob of his parent’s wealth, resources, and deep relationships with the campus police. Jacob, who had devoted much of his early life to position himself so that he could attend a college like Hilderbrant felt pain in his tongue and heard a voice as he weighed the pros and cons. Next, likewise sketch a hypothetical scenario for the "secondary conflict" involving the social environment. Will this involve family? Friends? Associates? What is the nature of it? Ricky Johnson, Jacob’s father, visited him in a dream the night of his death. He told Jacob to only trust Deacon Rose because something was coming after him. Jacob told this to Deacon Rose, who at first had a hard time believing that he could be of help, but as time progressed Deacon Rose believed he could be of use. Jacob explained to Deacon Rose that he heard a voice, and his tongue hurt during certain situations. Deacon Rose told the boy to pray, but he also went to the library to research ghost narratives. While there, he interacted with an old friend Eleanor Barber, who is also a friend of the Johnson family. She informed him that Franklin Roosevelt’s administration led a project to memorialize the ghost narratives of all living formerly enslaved people. Eleanor sent for all of the volumes for Bobby to read through. During his research, he found the name Bacchus, an enslaved person who was murdered for trying to escape with his daughter. The text stated “Reports reveal their tongues would turn black-during the episodes. Interviewees stated the only way to rid oneself of the presence was to—”, someone had deliberately removed the page from the book. Eleanor Barber stated, “It looks like the volume has been tampered with.” Bobby, a World War II veteran, who walked with a wobble and lost an eye during the war became determined to find out what happened. He needed to determine what the missing page said so that he could fulfill what Ricky Johnson told Jacob in the dream. Deacon Rose wanted to protect Jacob from whatever or whoever it was talking to him. Sketch out your setting in detail. What makes it interesting enough, scene by scene, to allow for uniqueness and cinema in your narrative and story? The book is divided into three acts and each act has a distinctive setting. Act I took place in Charlotte, NC from the years 1986-1994. The set pieces include Trinity Resurrection Baptist Church where Jacob learns of his father’s passing, the Johnson home, where friends and family congregate, and Englehart Junior High School where Mikey, the school bully intimidates Jacob. One of the key settings is Deacon Rose’s front yard. This is where he teaches Jacob how to play chess, where Jacob reveals that he hears a voice, and where Deacon Rose decides that he will help him. The final set piece is a small library off of Beattis Ford Rd where Deacon Rose and Eleanor Barber do their research. Act II was more expansive as the setting of Hilderbrant University came into focus. Jacob spent time at his girlfriend Megan’s apartment and then at a fraternity house he was warned in a dream not to attend. The setting then shifts briefly from Charlotte to Cape Cod as Jacob and Megan introduce each other to their families. While in Charlotte Jacob is confronted by Mikey, who bullied him during junior high. A mysterious place called The Fortress is introduced where Mr. Carrington, head of Carrington Enterprises, is a member of a secretive organization. Jacob and Megan move to Charlotte so he can take a job at Carrington Enterprises. They have an apartment together that is a place of love until Jacob’s drive for success in the name of taking care of his mother is too much for Megan to take. Act III took place where the story began, in Charlotte, NC. The story has narrowed. This time Jacob’s perspective of the city is different. Deacon Rose has died, and Jacob has purchased a lavish home on Lake Norman. The library Elanor Barber once loved now was a shell of itself. She decided to retire and at that retirement party, she received a call that set her off for one last adventure. Back at Jacob’s lakeside home, he built a guest house for his mother to live in. He outfitted the room in her favorite color, pink, and had so many roses sent to the house that it was scented with citrus and mint. Embedded in each act is a dream sequence. Jacob was visited three times. The setting of the dreams took on aspects of the real world which frightened Jacob. For instance, in his first dream, the setting foreshadowed a home Deacon Rose visited where he learned about the spirit Bacchus. Each set piece showed Jacob’s transformation. His world narrowed as his stature increased. As a young man, he was surrounded by loved ones and an older mentor. In college he created a network of friends and found love, but as his thirst for power and success increased his world narrowed. By the time he bought the lake home Megan was gone. He had no friends. His only mentor was Mr. Carrington who does not seem to have his best interests at heart.

As a hopeless romantic who writes mysteries, I’ve yet to write a mystery that doesn’t include a love story. In my latest novel, Missing Mom, Noelle is not only dealing with the disappearance of her mother, but with her growing romantic feelings for her closest friend and fellow dancer Ravi. Mystery romances are also definitely among my favorite reads. Below is a diverse assortment of five compelling mystery romances that I found thoroughly enjoyable. Bright Objects by Ruby Todd It’s been more than two years since Sylvia Knight lost her husband in a horrific hit-and-run car accident, and she remains determined to identify his killer and bring him to justice. Still lost in a haze of grief, she meets the enigmatic Theo St. John, the discoverer of a rare comet that’s about to become visible to the public. The attraction between the two is immediate, but Sylvia feels horribly guilty that she is betraying her dead husband by embracing a new love, and Theo’s reticence about his past puzzles her. Meantime, Sylvia’s concerned about her mother-in-law who seems dangerously caught up in the cult-like following of a local meditation teacher, Joseph Evans. The charismatic Evans turns out to be even more dangerous than Sylvia could have imagined. The shocking twist at the end of this tale speaks to the power of forgiveness and the healing renewal of love. If your reading tastes run more toward the literary, you’ll be swept up into Ruby Todd’s exquisite prose in her debut novel. A Lady’s Guide to Mischief and Mayhem by Amanda Collins Never mind that in 1865 London, proper ladies are not supposed to concern themselves with anything other than cookery and household matters. Newspaper columnist Lady Katherine Bascomb is keenly interested in crime. Having inherited her late husband’s newspaper, she insists on doing her own sleuthing and reporting her findings. When she discovers a key witness to the latest victim of a serial killer that Scotland Yard’s Detective Inspector Andrew Eversham’s team has overlooked, Eversham is pulled off the case and nearly loses his job. To make matters worse, he’s convinced they’ve arrested the wrong man based on her reporting. And when another victim shows up, discovered by Lady Katherine no less, the two are thrown together yet again. Understandably, Eversham detests the woman who nearly ruined his career. But what began as mutual distrust gradually morphs into a spirited romance and a partnership in solving the murders. The delectable sparring between these two characters makes this a thoroughly engaging read perfect for readers of historical romance. The Body In the Backyard by Lucy Score The latest entry in the Riley Thorn mystery series features a madcap cast of characters. Riley’s over-the-top narcissistic ex-husband, Griffin Gentry, unexpectedly shows up begging for help tracking down the person who’s trying to kill him. Not surprisingly, Riley’s sexy private investigator boyfriend, Nick Santiago, refuses to take the case. But he’s overruled by Mrs. Penny, his eighty-year-old business partner, who points out their nearly empty bank account. Their client’s selfish behavior and endless betrayals have enraged a bunch of people, so even with Riley’s psychic abilities and Nick’s skills as a detective, sorting through all the potential suspects is no easy task. There’s even a support group for women who hate the impossibly self-absorbed Griffin! Meantime, the roof of the mansion next door has collapsed, and Riley and Nick’s elderly neighbors move in. Nick longs for some alone time with Riley for romance and a marriage proposal, but finding time alone proves to be almost as difficult as identifying Griffin’s would-be murderer. For readers partial to romantic comedy capers and snappy dialogue, seasoned with a touch of the paranormal, this is a thoroughly entertaining read. Flashback by Iris Johansen and Roy Johansen The venerable mother-daughter writing team, Iris Johansen and Roy Johansen, offer another mystery romance/thriller, Flashback, their latest Kendra Michaels novel. Kendra is approached by retired detective Paula Chase who asks for her help in finding two missing sisters, Chloe and Sloane Morgan. Fifteen years ago, the girls’ mother was a victim of the Bayside Strangler, and the two girls have never stopped investigating the crime. Just as it appears they may have stumbled on to a lead, the two sisters vanish and after years of silence, the strangler has begun killing again. No sooner does Kendra take on the case than she barely escapes a brutal attack in her garage. Soon, her lover, government agent-for-hire Adam Lynch, returns home to protect Kendra and help her with her investigation. They make a strong team. Having spent the first two decades of her life sightless, Kendra’s other senses are unusually sharp, and she often notices clues other investigators have missed. But Kendra and Adam’s relationship is complicated. Kendra is fiercely independent and resists any intimation that she needs taking care of. And Adam is such a forceful personality used to taking charge that she’s not fully comfortable with making a commitment to him. Full of page-turning suspense as well as the ongoing tension between two strong characters desperately in love with one another, this is an exciting and pleasurable read. Plain Jane by Fern Michaels In high school and college, Jane Lewis was plump and plain, a source of embarrassment to her looks-conscious, vain mother. Jane envied Connie Bryan, the beautiful homecoming queen who was about to be married to a popular football player following their college graduation. But the night before their final exams, Jane and Connie are walking home from the library when a group of guys brutally rapes Connie, while two of their buddies hold Jane down and prevent her from helping her friend. Despite Jane’s pleas to Connie to report the rape, Connie refuses. Soon, Connie’s relationship with her fiancé collapses, and tragically. she commits suicide. Jane has never fully forgiven herself for not pushing her friend harder to report the rape. She has now blossomed into an attractive, successful psychiatrist with a thriving practice, her own radio talk show, and a gorgeous New Orleans mansion, complete with a resident friendly ghost who wants her help in “crossing to the other side.” Complicating matters is a male patient whose reported difficulties connecting to his wife after she’s been raped are eerily reminiscent of Connie’s story. Jane becomes determined to investigate Connie’s cold case, despite the reservations of fellow psychiatrist Michael Sorenson, someone she’d long had a crush on dating back to their college days. Jane and Michael encounter lots of challenges as they fall in love, while Jane draws closer to revealing the person who orchestrated the long-ago attack on Connie. Along the way, she’s also sorting out a new career path for herself. The fun twists and turns of the romance, Jane’s career, and her investigation make this a richly layered and delightful read. *** View the full article

Another week, another batch of books for your TBR pile. Happy reading, folks. * Bradford Morrow, The Forger’s Requiem (Atlantic Monthly Press) “Spellbinding . . . a brilliantly constructed story of revenge, redemption, deception, and betrayal . . . Spectacularly well written and fiendishly clever, this is both a terrific conclusion to a trilogy and a wonderfully satisfying standalone.” –Booklist Leah Konen, The Last Room on the Left (Putnam) “Tipping her literary cap to Stephen King’s The Shining, Konen serves up a superbly crafted novel of suspense that will thrill and delight fans of Lucy Foley, Alice Feeney, and Sarah Pearse.” –Library Journal Scott Turow, Presumed Guilty (Grand Central) “Turow keeps readers guessing… This easily ranks among Turow’s best.” –Publishers Weekly Melissa Larsen, The Lost House (Minotaur) “This atmospheric, slow-paced suspense from Larsen will appeal to readers who enjoy descriptive crime novels set in isolated Nordic countries.” –Library Journal Jonathan Ames, Karma Doll (Mulholland) “Idiosyncratic PI Happy Doll returns for another violent, darkly funny adventure in Ames’s outstanding sequel to The Wheel of Doll…Ames delivers lurid action, sterling prose, and a top-shelf cliff-hanger in one deliriously entertaining package. The next installment can’t come soon enough.” –Publishers Weekly Robert Crais, The Big Empty (G.P. Putnam’s Sons) “Crais masters compelling crime fiction by blending humor, terrific main characters, and suspense into a phenomenal package. Empty might be in the title, but this story is far from it.” –First Clue Thomas Perry, Pro Bono (Mysterious Press) “Gasp-inducing. . . . Fascinating financial crimes information, delivered by an extremely likable, resourceful hero, enhances this crafty game of cat and mouse.” –Booklist James Grippando, Grave Danger (Harper) “Spectacular. . . . Swyteck continues to be one of the more compelling legal-thriller protagonists, and Grippando continues to be one of the genre’s best craftsmen. Another winner in this consistently excellent series.” –Booklist Michael Cannell, Blood and the Badge (Minotaur) “Disturbing… jaw dropping… Cannell paces the proceedings like a thriller.” –Publishers Weekly Eric Dezenhall, Wiseguys and the White House (Harper) “Entertaining history in which mobsters often come off better than presidents.” –Kirkus Reviews Matthew Pearl, Save Our Souls (Harper) “This dramatic story of good and evil pits the power of teamwork and family against ruthless ambition and selfishness. An illuminating chronicle of perseverance and survival on a barren island, Save Our Souls brings history to life.” –Booklist View the full article

Queer authors have been writing great mysteries and thrillers since the 19th century, often living outwardly queer lives and featuring openly queer characters in their work. With four of the ten crime fiction authors on The New York Times Best Of list being queer, this is a pivotal moment for queer crime fiction—but it’s important to remember that queer crime writers have always been here, crafting compelling stories and paving the way for today’s diverse voices. This list could not possibly include all the amazing talent in our genre, but we’ve tried to include the legends and some of the “firsts.” While celebrating the contributions of these talented authors, it’s also necessary to acknowledge historical gaps, particularly the lack of representation of trans authors in queer crime fiction as well as the erasure of the bi community. We hope to see this change as the genre continues to evolve. If you haven’t heard of or read these trailblazing authors, now is the perfect time to explore the incredible variety of mysteries they’ve created. To learn about even more authors, visit queercrimewriters.com. Click to view slideshow. Nathan Aldyne Nathan Aldyne was actually a pseudonym for two men who wrote four books in a hilarious mystery series, each named after a color. The books feature Daniel Lovelace and Clarisse Starling, longtime friends who always get into trouble. With booze and wit, they are reminiscent of Nick and Nora Charles. The settings are realistic and evocative of the gay male community in the early 1980s, before the HIV/AIDS crisis. In Vermilion, the first book in the series, a gay hustler is killed and ends up on the front lawn of a homophobic politician. When the police come to Valentine’s bar, he and Clarisse must get involved. Sadly, both authors passed away after contracting HIV. Find Nathan Aldyne on Bookshop.org. Click to view slideshow. Nikki Baker Nikki Baker, the pen name of Jennifer Dowdell, published her first mystery novel, In the Game, in 1991 through Naiad Press. She became the first African American lesbian mystery author. Her character, Virginia Kelly, was also the first African American lesbian sleuth. Baker, who held an MBA in finance, drew from her own background as Kelly was a financial analyst. In her debut novel, Virginia meets a friend who reveals that her partner is cheating. The partner is found murdered the next day in the same bar where Virginia had met her friend. Baker was reclusive and divulged little about her personal life. She adeptly wove themes of intersectionality into her works. Baker wrote four novels and two novellas in the series before ending it without explanation. Two of the novels in the series were nominated for Lambda Literary Awards. Find Nikki Baker on bookshop.org. Mary F. Beal Mary F. Beal was part of the New York literati of the 1960s and 1970s. She wrote fewer than a handful of literary works. Angel Dance, published in 1977, is credited as the first lesbian mystery. Its main character, Maria Katerina Lorca Guerrera Alcazar, is a proud Chicana living in Manhattan. She takes on the Marine Corps and the CIA to protect the life of the woman she loves, author Angel Stone. Find Mary F. Beal on abebooks.com. Click to view slideshow. Katherine V. Forrest Katherine V. Forrest is known as the mother of lesbian mystery. Her widely read works, especially her Kate Delafield series, began with Amateur City in 1984. In this first outing, Delafield and her police partner investigate the murder of a CEO—while Kate struggles to keep her mind off one of the suspects. Forrest has won five Lambda Literary Awards and been nominated for twelve. Beyond her writing, she has blazed a trail in lesbian publishing, editing at Naiad Press for ten years. Find Katherine V. Forrest on bookshop.org. Click to view slideshow. Joseph Hansen Joseph Hansen, the father of the gay male mystery, was born in South Dakota but later moved to Minnesota and eventually California. Hansen began writing poetry as a teen before transitioning to mystery fiction. His protagonist, David Brandstetter, is an insurance investigator—a role chosen because sodomy laws prevented him from being a policeman or private detective. In Fadeout, Brandstetter investigates the death of a nationally known radio personality who harbors secrets. Hansen’s gritty style was often compared to Hammett, Chandler, and MacDonald. Over two decades, he wrote eleven more books about Brandstetter. Hansen received a Lambda Literary Award for his final Brandstetter novel and a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Private Eye Writers of America in 1992. Find Joseph Hansen on bookshop.org. Fergus Hume Fergus Hume, born in England, moved to New Zealand as a child, then to Australia in the late 1880s, and finally back to England in the early 1900s. He published over 130 novels and roughly a dozen plays. Most of his novels were mysteries, beginning with The Mystery of the Hansom Cab in 1886, which inspired Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s A Study in Scarlet. Hume’s A Black Carnation is considered one of the first novels with a gay main character. Lubore Press is republishing his works to make them widely accessible. Find Fergus Hume on bookshop.org. Val McDermid Val McDermid is a prolific mystery author known for her five series, including those featuring Tony Hill and Karen Pirie. Her debut series, featuring freelance reporter Lindsay Gordon, began with Report for Murder in 1987, the first of seven books that continued until 2003. McDermid’s journalistic background informs her detailed and gripping mysteries. Today, her works, including standalones, have sold over 19 million copies. McDermid has also authored a book on forensics and crime. Find Val McDermid on bookshop.org. Michael Nava Michael Nava is the author of the award-winning series featuring Henry Rios, a gay Latino lawyer. A Stanford Law graduate, Nava began the series with The Little Death (revised and reissued as Lay Your Sleeping Head) where Rios meets and falls for an addict, Hugh Paris. Paris works to get clean but is tragically found dead. Nava wrote five Lambda Literary Award-winning novels in the series. In 2021, he returned with Lies with Man, a new Henry Rios novel. Find Michael Nava on bookshop.org. Richard Stevenson Richard Stevenson, the pen name of Richard Lipez, was the first Hispanic author of gay mysteries. His series featured Donald Strachey, an Albany private investigator. In Death Trick, Strachey investigates the disappearance of a wealthy family’s heir, a prominent community activist. Four of the books were adapted into films starring Chad Allen. Stevenson won a Lambda Literary Award in 2012 and passed away in 2022 at 83. Find Richard Stevenson on Bookshop.org. 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Friends, you read that right. A new film is coming to theaters in January that is… Hamlet staged in the Grand Theft Auto video game. Yes, Hamlet acted out by video game avatars, shot in-frame, and edited into its own film. Before you wonder if something is rotten in the stage of filmmaking, or that the rest is violence, consider this… Directed and written by Sam Crane and Pinny Grylls, and co-starring Crane and his friend Mark Oosterveen, the film, which is called Grand Theft Hamlet, is part digital narrative, part documentary. The film’s frame narrative features Crane and Oosterveen, two out-of-work actors sheltering-in-place during the COVID pandemic in January 2021, who discover that their video game pastime seems capable of not only bringing them together (and giving them a project) during isolation, but also allowing them to engage with a foundational text and their beloved craft. The actors speak Shakespeare’s lines over the staging, in the modern, hyper-brutal world of GTA‘s Los Santos; underscoring the ways that Shakespeare’s words contain a kind of timelessness or malleability. According to critics, what ends up happening is not an attempt to make this as straight a Shakespeare production as possible, but to play with the text and the meaning of Hamlet in ways that only this new setting can unlock. Peter Bradshaw wrote, in The Guardian: “…as one of the lead players says, this is Shakespeare on a billion dollar budget, or Shakespeare as Elon Musk could afford to produce it. Crane and Oosterveen, with Pinny Grylls (who directs along with Crane), reflect absorbingly on the endless, bleak violence of the game, how close it is to the violence of Shakespeare’s world and how depressed they are due to the stasis of lockdown; it adds up to a new dreamlike insight into Hamlet’s melancholy. …The result is wild, like Baz Luhrmann’s gangbanger Romeo + Juliet or Tom Stoppard’s play Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, in which actors roam the land performing their show but suspect that no one is out there watching.” Suffice to say, I’m intrigued. There have been many, many, many Hamlets out there, but this one feels genuinely innovative. Let’s ride. Grand Theft Hamlet is in select theaters on January 17th, 2025. View the full article