Heartsick
Chelsea Cain
St. Martin’s Minotaur
U.S. hardcover, 1st ed.
ISBN 0-312-36846-1
336 pages; $23.95

There came a moment while reading Heartsick when I knew, I absolutely knew who had done it. There was no doubt in my mind. My heart sank, not only because I liked this particular character, but also because I’d figured it out too early in the book. This happens to me a lot, because I read a lot of mysteries, and it’s the rare author who can keep me guessing until the end. And I’ve never been wrong when I get one of these convictions.

Until now. Chelsea Cain is one clever lady. Even though the right answer is obvious in retrospect – as it should be in any mystery that plays fair – the solution eluded me with its many red herrings. This solid first effort, though clumsily written in spots, reveals an extremely promising talent, and I’m hoping we’ll be hearing a lot more from Ms. Cain.

Her tale involves the ghastliest criminal since Thomas Harris wrote The Silence of the Lambs, a woman named Gretchen Lowell, who claims to be responsible for at least 200 deaths. She is now safely locked up, but she still manages to control Portland Detective Archie Sheridan, who was in charge of the investigation to capture her for ten long years. Just before she was caught – she actually turned herself in – she spent many long days leisurely torturing Sheridan both mentally and physically, until he became hers in heart, mind and body. He still visits her every Sunday, ostensibly to get from her the names and locations of her kills, but really because he can’t help himself; he must see her.

Now a new serial murderer is loose in Portland, taking young teenage girls, killing and raping them. The old task force formed to catch Gretchen is reunited to catch this new murderer as quickly as possible, before the body count mounts. Sheridan’s work is either complicated or helped (it isn’t entirely clear which) by the constant shadow of Susan Ward, a young newspaper reporter who hopes to earn a Pulitzer with a series of articles about him. Ward is simultaneously likeable and unlikeable, an apparent case of arrested development who still favors torn jeans and pink hair despite her unquestioned talent as a mature writer. Her involvement with Sheridan becomes more complicated than either of them expected, and one soon begins to wonder who needs who the most.

Heartsick suffers from a number of the problems one expects in first mysteries: a few characters who are too obviously stereotypes, like the mayor who can’t wait to give the press conference announcing the identity of the murderer, or the partner who does things against his better judgment because he trusts and is protective of Sheridan. But Gretchen Lowell is a wonderful invention, on a par with but not derivative of Hannibal Lecter. I want to know more about what makes this woman tick. I hope that Cain has more books planned around her horrific misdeeds, because I can’t wait to read them.

I dropped into one of my two favorite genre bookstores today, M Is For Mystery in San Mateo. (The other is Borderlands Books in San Francisco. There used to be wonderful genre bookstores all over the United States, but they're dying out in favor of selling strictly over the internet, which really isn't the same for the browser.) I was intent on buying a signed copy of Michael Connelly's newest Harry Bosch mystery, The Overlook. Connelly is one of my favorites, and has been ever since I read his first Bosch novel, The Black Echo.

To my delight, when I arrived I discovered that John Connelly was there speaking with a small audience. I loved his most recent book, The Book of Lost Things. I also own a few of his Charlie "Bird" Parker thrillers, but somehow haven't gotten to them yet. If I'd known Connelly was going to be there, though, I'd definitely have brought his first book, Every Dead Thing, for him to sign. This is my penalty for not watching the M Is For Mystery events calendar!

Connolly was very casually attired in frayed jeans and a t-shirt, under which he appeared to be wearing a rather large cross on a strip of leather around his neck. The most definite impression he gave was one of passion for his work, difficult though it is for him (it takes him, he said, a good two years to write a book from beginning to end, and much of that two years is consumed by revising, revising and revising). He feels that there is a natural end to the Parker series, but can't predict how many more books there will be before he begins working on something totally different.

He also spoke about the one "totally different" book he's written, The Book of Lost Things. He mentioned that the recent film, Pan's Labyrinth, dealt with some of the same issues as his book, and both were set in fairy tale worlds. (I loved them both, and recommend them to you whole-heartedly.) Many of his readers were disappointed with The Book of Lost Things because it didn't fit his usual paradigm. Me, I think more writers ought to write outside their ordinary comfort zone more often, even if booksellers can't quite figure out where to shelve the books. (I had the same problem in my own home library: does The Book of Lost Things go with the other fairy tale books, with Connolly's mysteries in order to keep his work altogether, with the general literature, or in the special collection of fiction about reading? Things get very complicated around here sometimes.)

Rather to my surprise, Connolly stated that he does not read science fiction, mystery or horror, despite the fantasy and horror elements of The Book of Lost Things. He does feel that more experimentation is possible in those genres than in the mystery genre -- where he notes that not only will some readers not read anything else, but they won't even read mysteries that are not part of a series. He struck me as restless to be getting on with writing whatever bubbles up in him, regardless of whether it's a Parker thriller.

I am now the owner of an inscribed edition of Connolly's latest novel, The Unquiet. Oh happy accident, that brought me into that shop on this day!

Bad Luck and Trouble
Lee Child
Delacorte Press, May 15, 2007
U.S. hardcover, first edition
ISBN 0-385-34055-7
384 pages; $26.00

It’s a rite of spring: a new Jack Reacher thriller from the pen of Lee Child. That means I can spend a day completely lost to the joys of a violent yet strangely lovable anti-hero. This year’s adventure features a reunion of army buddies, a terrible threat and a very high body count. No scruples, morals, values, commandments or second thoughts are on display here, save one: loyalty to one’s fellows.

Bad Luck and Trouble opens with a scene of horrifying violence against one of Reacher’s former brothers-in-arms. As a result of this event, Reacher receives a message – an oddity in itself, given that all he owns are the clothes on his back, a travel toothbrush, an ATM card and a passport. With no fixed address or telephone number, he’s a hard guy to get ahold of. But he didn’t train his personnel for nothing, and between Frances Neagley’s detective work and his own, they are able to meet up in a city far from Reacher’s wanderings and miles away from Neagley’s home without ever exchanging a phone call or email. In a similar fashion, if a tad less mysterious and difficult, two others show up in short order. But the remaining three of the Army team of special investigators – those who did the most difficult, bloody and behind-the-scenes work military police can do – have disappeared.

The team votes to work together to find their comrades, with Reacher as their leader. And then the book is off like a hound after a rabbit, dealing out plot point after plot point, leaving the reader short on oxygen – and short on sleep, at least until the last page is turned. One thing is certain: you do not mess with the special investigators.

Reacher is more violent and even oddly greedy this time around, increasing the “anti” quotient of his “anti-hero” persona. He has no qualms about murder, much less robbery. He constantly compares himself to the other special investigators, all of whom seem to be happy in their fairly conventional lives with houses, wives, children and actual jobs with actual wages. The reader does the same: how much longer Reacher will be able to perform the type of manual labor to which he customarily resorts to pay for his motel rooms? He’s got to be in his early 40s by now, and digging ditches can’t be as much fun as it used to be. It makes me eager to see how this experience will affect Reacher, which means I’m already looking forward to next year’s thriller by Lee Child.