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Admin_99

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  1. It’s officially fall in the northern hemisphere and you might well be thinking this is a good weekend to stay indoors with a bottle of something earthy and the bounty that is the contemporary international streaming scene. For me, late September is a time for things that are unusual, inventive, and in that vein I’m personally going to be watching Reservation Dogs this weekend. It’s not exactly an international thriller, or else it would be the answer to the headline above, but by all means you, too, should feel free to enjoy Reservation Dogs, now streaming on FX on Hulu, since it is sort of a
  2. Thomas Byrnes was still in his Sunday best on the morning of October 27, 1878, when he heard that the Manhattan Savings Institution had been robbed. It was unimaginable that this venerable bank, located at the corner of Bleecker Street and Broadway, within Byrnes’s own Fifteenth Precinct, had been breached. Thought to be an impregnable fortress, it featured a maze of bolts, locks, and thick steel doors that opened to a steel vault with a separate safe within. In addition to holding millions in cash and securities, the bank was a repository for the money, jewelry, and other valuables of wealthy
  3. When Keats described autumn as a “season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,” he probably didn’t have doomsday religious cults, deathbed confessions, and Silicon Valley intrigue in mind, but that (and so much more!) is exactly what’s in store for this fall. So grab your sweater, a warm beverage of your choice (no judgment if it’s the much-pilloried PSL), and your headphones, because autumn 2021 is a veritable buffet of just-in-time-for-Halloween true-crime goodness. The Dropout: Elizabeth Holmes on Trial (ABC News) and Bad Blood: The Final Chapter (Three Uncanny Four) Okay, I know thes
  4. Whenever I’m asked about my favorite reads, my go-to recommendations are almost always YA mysteries. I have an expensive habit of auto-buying any and every new release in the genre and devouring the books the moment I get my hands on them! My own YA mystery, This Is Why We Lie, is set to be released September 21st with Inkyard Press. The story follows Jenna and Adam as they race against time to solve the murder of a local teenager. With prep school sandals and small-town secrets, someone will take the fall. In the lead up to the release of This is Why We Lie, I thought I’d take a more in-dep
  5. In one of the best considerations of mystery writing that I’ve heard, American historian Karen Halttunen argued in a lecture that the genre has its foundations in public execution. Murderers used to be put to death on a public scaffold, and they were expected to confess their crimes to the crowd before they died. Often these confessions (or imagined versions of them) were then made into ballads that were printed and sold to the public. With the decline in these executions, there was a decline in public confessions, and the gap was filled by mysteries: people need to know what prompted a murder
  6. “Tell me, tell me Delia, how can it be/You said that you loved another man, and you don’t love me” —Reese Du Pree, “One More Rounder Gone” Time can erase. Time can bury. Time can shift what was known into what was thought, what was felt. It has a way of doing that. It has a way of taking names, and dates, and faces, and shifting them, combining them, until all that’s left is story and myth. It’s happened throughout history, but rediscovery can fill in the spaces that time has left behind. Take the story of Delia Green, her name has been on the lips of singers through history— Josh White, Joh
  7. Edwin Torres turned 90 this year. The author of Carlito’s Way, Q&A, and After Hours, Torres is the Granddaddy—¡El Abuelo!—of Latinx crime fiction in the U.S. For a brief while in the 1970s, Torres picked up the mantle of Chester Himes and Miguel Piñero, keeping the door cracked open for crime fiction writers who happen to be ethnically diverse. Without Torres we might not have gotten Ernesto Quiñonez’ Bodega Dreams, Carolina Garcia-Aguilera’s Lupe Solano series, or even Walter Mosley’s Devil in a Blue Dress. “His books are a brass knuckle to the groin,” said Richard Price, author of Cloc
  8. The summer is officially over, the days are beginning to turn cold, the leaves are falling, and the pumpkins proliferating…which all means it’s time to put on your flannels, brew some tea, and cozy up with a chilling international thriller or two! September brings plenty of new international releases, including Scandi noir, French historical fiction, and an Italian meta-mystery. Max Seeck, The Ice Coven Translated by Kristian London (Berkely) Max Seeck burst onto the international scene with last year’s chilling debut, The Witch Hunter. Now, the story continues, as Seeck’s heroine tries
  9. Wesley Diggs was a tall, slender Black man who owned several bars in Harlem. A college graduate, he’d once been a hell of a b-ball player on courts throughout Harlem and had worked as an electrical engineer. In school, he developed an entrepreneurial spirit that led to him opening several bar businesses and a stationery store. One chilly Saturday afternoon in 1975, he drove across the George Washington Bridge, going home to his wife Jean and four kids in Teaneck, New Jersey for the first time in three days. Between work and mistresses, Diggs was spending less time at home than usual. It was D
  10. I am an epic fantasy writer by trade, but I cut my teeth on mysteries. My reading teeth that is. When I was 7, I was gifted a complete set of The Boxcar Children by Gertrude Chandler Warner right before summer vacation. The first evening of vacation I decided to open the eponymous novel and found myself sucked into this series of children who solve mysteries. It was the first (of many) series that I binge read—waiting for my Mom to tuck me in and then hiding under the covers with a flashlight, reading long into the night until finally I couldn’t keep my eyes open. (Reader take warning, the ne
  11. By dint of yelling and cursing and blasting his horn until his ears rang, he managed to carve a path through a crowd of fifty or so people who’d come running to the scene like flies to shit and were now blocking the entrance to Via Rosolino Pilo to anyone, like him, coming from Via Nino Bixio. The root cause of the blockage was a police car parked across the width of the entrance to the street, with beat cops Inzolia and Verdicchio—known on the force as “the table wines”— presiding over the scene. At the far end of the street, which gave onto Via Tukory, the “wild beasts”—that is, beat cops Lu
  12. The first thing that needs to be noted about the collected works of MacKenzie Bezos, novelist, currently consisting of two titles, is how impressive they are. Will either survive the great winnowing that gives us our standard literary histories? Surely not. Precious few novels do. Neither even managed, in its initial moment of publication, to achieve the more transitory status of buzzy must-read. But this was not for want of an obvious success in achieving the aims of works of their kind—that kind being literary fiction, so called to distinguish it from more generic varieties. In Bezos’s hands
  13. Photo: Tereza Červeňová/Morgenbladet When Amia Srinivasan published her essay “Does Anyone Have the Right to Sex?” in the London Review of Books in early 2018, several months into the public discussions surrounding #MeToo, it provoked many strong feelings—not to mention gave the world the sentence: “Sex is not a sandwich.” Opening with a reading of the incel manifesto written by the perpetrator of the Isla Vista killings, it became a far-reaching meditation on the ideological, political, and public dimensions of sexual desire and how we might begin to think more critically about them. Sriniv
  14. We live in age of “genre-bending” books. Every other novel of the shelf seems to offer up some new combination: coming-of-age zombie novel, Western space opera, postmodern horror, Gothic fantasy. And that’s just as it should be. Literature stays vital through the constant recombining, reconfiguring, and reinvention of styles and forms. But out of all these different mixtures, there’s one pair that seems especially potent: science fiction and noir. The mixing of SF with noir and hardboiled fiction dates back to at least Philip K. Dick’s classic 1968 novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (
  15. In 1969, Sam Melville and an activist group known as “the Crazies” conspired to bomb the Federal Office Building in downtown New York. He was later serving in Attica Prison during the uprisings, when he was shot and killed. His son, Joshua Melville, is the author of the new book, American Time Bomb, Attica, Sam Melville, and a Son’s Search for Answers. The following is an excerpt from that book. ___________________________________ The Sharon Krebs and Pat Swinton I met in mid-1988 looked nothing like the pictures of them I had found in archives at the Donnell Library. The one of Sharon was o
  16. I have long had a love affair with the Robin Hoods, scapegraces, and well-meaning criminals of the literary world. Given the popularity of western gunslinger and super hero movies, I’d venture to assume I’m not the only one with a fondness for good-hearted, well-meaning characters who are at odds with the laws of the land. Nickle, the main character in my new novel, Other People’s Things, is one of these. She’s quick to admit she has a problem with sticky fingers. But she’d also tell you—even though she’s been labeled as a thief and a kleptomaniac and by the age of thirty has accumulated an a
  17. CrimeReads editors select the month’s best debuts in crime, mystery, and thrillers. * Vera Kurian, Never Saw Me Coming (Park Row) Vera Kurian’s extraordinarily entertaining Never Saw Me Coming is one of a few books in a new trend I’m calling “yoga pants noir,” in which hot girls in athleisure wear are no longer the victims—and they might be the killers. College freshman Chloe has carefully cultivated her nonchalant Cool Girl personality, but she has a secret: she’s a psychopath, hell-bent on getting revenge against a boy from her past who’s also attending the same school. The problem is,
  18. Every week, the editors of The Paris Review lift the paywall on a selection of interviews, stories, poems, and more from the magazine’s archive. You can have these unlocked pieces delivered straight to your inbox every Sunday by signing up for the Redux newsletter. Ali Smith, with Leo, in Cambridge, 2003. This week at The Paris Review, the leaves are changing, the air is cooling, and the autumn equinox approaches. Read on for Ali Smith’s Art of Fiction interview, Robert Walser’s work of fiction “From the Essays of Fritz Kocher,” and Reginald Shepherd’s poem “A Muse.” If you enjoy these free
  19. In the newest novel in Craig Johnson’s Longmire series, Sheriff Walt Longmire is called out to assist Tribal Police in an investigation. A local basketball phenom, Jaya One Moon Long, is receiving death threats. Her sister was one of the many Native women to go missing without a trace, and the fear is she will be the next. Daughter of the Morning Star is one of the most unsettling and deeply moving installments in the long-running series. In the lead-up to the novel’s release, Johnson answered a few questions about the people and events that inspired this story. What inspired you to write Dau
  20. Recently while stopped at a red light I pointed out to my wife a man with long white hair, sitting on a recumbent bike, wearing tie-dye, and waiting for the turn arrow so he could pull into the parking lot of Urban Ore, a scrapyard in Berkeley, California that sells household junk for upcycling. “That might be the most Berkeley guy I’ve ever seen,” I said. For Berkeley residents like me, it’s something of a local sport to scan our surroundings in search of people who are “really Berkeley.” Defining who is and is not “really Berkeley” is, of course, a highly subjective exercise, one that ul
  21. On January 21, 1958 in Belmont, Nebraska, 19-year-old Charlie Starkweather shot and killed 14- year-old Caril Ann Fugate’s mother and stepfather, and stabbed and beat her two-year-old baby sister to death. In the eight days that followed, seven more people would die along the route of Starkweather and Fugate’s sex-fueled teenage crime spree, including two fellow teenagers—Robert Jensen and Carol King—whose murders would eventually land Charlie on death row, and Caril in a Nebraska penitentiary for life. It looked like a 1950s version of Bonnie and Clyde: two young criminals on the run, fed up
  22. It’s no secret that social media revolutionized the way we see and interact with the world. Literally—the entire world is now at everyone’s fingertips, one login away. For many, this has been a blessing, as they reached stardom with little more than mirror selfies and tweeted shower thoughts. But for others, the ubiquity and addictive nature of social media has unintended consequences. I’ve always been interested in the many ways social media can go wrong, sometimes with deadly results. In my book THE LAST BEAUTIFUL GIRL, the protagonist rises to Internet fame by recreating the glory days of a
  23. In her monthly column The Moon in Full, Nina MacLaughlin illuminates humanity’s long-standing lunar fascination. Each installment is published in advance of the full moon. Pieter Brueghel the Elder, Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, ca. 1558, oil on canvas mounted on wood, 29 x 44″. Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons. In 1957, the first satellite was launched into orbit around the earth. A gleaming metallic sphere about two feet in diameter with four long antennae, it had the look of a robot daddy longlegs. It weighed a hundred and eighty-four pounds and sped through space at about eighte
  24. Last week, Sara Gran and I had an hour-long conversation on Zoom. We were supposed to be talking about her new publishing company, Dreamland Books, and its first release, Gran’s novel The Book of the Most Precious Substance. Instead, our conversation ended up touching on almost every hot button topic in the genre, from gender politics to publishing issues. Our conversation was also very 2020/1: both of us bragged about washing our hair before the interview (it was, indeed, the first time someone had seen me in days). Sara Gran had recently gotten a real haircut, but assured me that she’d spent
  25. You don’t notice her at first, but when you do, she’s peering over the garden hedge or through the lace curtains of a tea shop. She’s just another nosy old lady, absent-minded and a gossip, in hats and gloves when she goes out into the village, clutching her purse to her chest, ready to pester the police with a vaguely crackpot question or warning. When you think of the spinster sleuths of the Golden Age, who comes to mind? Christie’s Jane Marple, of course, followed by Patricia Wentworth’s Maud Silver, a retired governess turned private detective, and Dorothy Sayers’s Miss Climpson, who runs
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