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A Soundtrack for The Highway Kind

Oct 19, 2016 in Guest Posts, Mulholland Authors, Music, Short Stories

The Highway Kind edited by Patrick Millikin

It was a thrill and an honor to work with such an exceptional group of writers for The Highway Kind, and, as music plays such a vital role to the theme and mood of the book I wanted to put together a soundtrack that captured its eccentric spirit. What I didn’t want was a collection of the familiar road songs that we all know; my hope was to take listeners on an interesting and fun musical journey. Whenever possible I matched songs with particular stories, and I made sure to take suggestions from the contributors. For instance, Joe Lansdale suggested Woody Guthrie’s “Car Song” as the perfect companion to his Depression-era tale of two East Texas kids on the road. Wallace Stroby suggested Dave Alvin’s wonderful “Interstate City,” while Gary Phillips contributed Rihanna’s “Shut Up and Drive.” Jim Sallis reminded me to include Robert Johnson’s seminal “Terraplane Blues.” Robin Trower’s “Daydream” features in George Pelecanos’s story and perfectly evokes its mood. Two of the contributors, Willy Vlautin and Patterson Hood, are also well-known musicians and songwriters, and I couldn’t resist giving them both a serious shout out here: Vlautin’s “Stateline” from his band The Delines’ sublime “Colfax” album perfectly fit the vibe I was looking for, and Hood (The Drive-By Truckers) graciously suggested his band mate Mike Cooley’s “Zip City.”

For better or worse, most of the other selections were my own. I hope you enjoy the playlist. I sure had fun putting it together…

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Start Reading IQ by Joe Ide

Oct 18, 2016 in Excerpts

IQ by Joe IdeJoe Ide’s debut novel, IQ, is one of the most fun novels we’ve read in the long time. IQ is a raucous take on Sherlock, if Sherlock were young, black, and lived in East Long Beach. Washington Post hails IQ as “one of the most original thrillers of the year,” and the New York Times Book Review calls it “a total laff-riot.” All we can say is buckle up, enjoy a few pages from Chapter One, and pick up a copy of IQ at a bookstore near you.

Chapter One: Unlicensed and Underground
July 2013

Isaiah’s crib looked like every other house on the block except the lawn was cut even, the paint was fresh, and the entrance was a little unusual. The security screen was made from the same heavy-duty mesh they used to cage in crackheads and bank robbers
at the Long Beach police station. The front door was covered with a thin walnut veneer but underneath was a twenty-gauge steel core set in a cold steel frame with a pick-proof, bump-proof, drill-proof Medeco Double Cylinder High Security Maxum Deadbolt. You’d need some serious power tools to get past all that and even if you did there was no telling what you’d be into. Word was, the place was booby-trapped. A cherry eight-year-old Audi S4 was parked in the driveway. It was a small, plain car in dark gray with a big V8 and sports suspension. The neighborhood kids were always yelling at Isaiah to put some rims on that whip.

Isaiah was in the living room, reading emails off his MacBook and drinking his second espresso, when he heard the car alarm go
off. He snatched the collapsible baton off the coffee table, went to the front door, and opened it. Deronda was leaning her world-class badonk against the hood, smothering a headlight and part of the grill. She wasn’t quite a Big Girl but damn close in her boy shorts and pink tube top two sizes too small. She was pretending to sulk, sighing and sighing again while she frowned at the sparkly things on her ice-blue nails. Isaiah chirped off the alarm, one hand shading his eyes from the afternoon glare.

“No, I didn’t forget your number,” he said, “and I wasn’t going to call you.”

“Ever?” Deronda said.

“You’re looking for a baby daddy and you know that’s not me.”

“You don’t know what I’m looking for and even if you did it wouldn’t be you.” Except she was shopping around for somebody who could pay a few bills, and Isaiah would do just fine. Yeah, okay, he did make her uneasy, he made everybody uneasy, checking you out like he knew you were fronting and wanting to know why. He looked okay, not ugly, but you’d hardly notice him at a club or a party. Six feet tall, rail thin, no chain, no studs in his ears, a watch the color of an aluminum pan, and if he was inked up it was nowhere she could see. The last time she’d run into him he was wearing what he wore now: a light-blue, short-sleeve shirt, jeans, and Timberlands. She liked his eyes. They were almond shaped and had long lashes like a girl’s. “You not gonna invite me in?” she said. “I walked all the way over here from my mama’s house.”

“Stop lying,” he said. “Wherever you came from you didn’t walk.”

“How do you know?”

“Your mama lives on the other side of Magnolia. Are you telling me you walked seven miles in the heat of the day in flip-flops
with all those bunions growing out of your feet? Teesha dropped you off.”

“You think you know so much. Could have been anybody dropped me off.”

“Your mama’s at work, Nona’s at work, Ira still has that cast on his leg, and DeShawn lost his license behind that DUI. I saw his
car in the impound yard, the white Nissan with the front stoved in. There’s nobody left in your world but Teesha.”

“Just because Ira got a cast on his leg don’t mean he can’t drive.”

Isaiah leaned against the doorway. “I thought you said you walked.”

“I did walk,” Deronda said, “just, you know, like part of the way and then somebody else came and I—” Deronda slid off the hood
and stamped her foot. “Dang, Isaiah!” she said. “Why you always gotta fuck with people? I came over here to be sociable, aight?
What’s the damn difference how I got here?”

It made no difference at all but he couldn’t help seeing what he saw. Things different or things not right or out of place or in place when they shouldn’t be or not in sync with the words that came with them.

“Well?” Deronda said. “You gonna make me stand out here and get heatstroke or invite me in and pour me a cocktail? You never
know, something good might happen.”

Deronda looked down at her ankle, turning it to one side like something was stuck to it, probably wondering where Isaiah’s eyes
were. On her dark chocolate thigh gleaming in the California sunshine or her dark chocolate titties trying their best to escape over that tube top. Isaiah looked away, uncomfortable deciding for the both of them what would happen next. She wasn’t his type, not that he had one. Most of his love life was curiosity sex. A girl intrigued by the low-key brother who was so smart people said he was scary. That hadn’t happened in a while. He opened the screen.

“Well, come on then,” he said.
Continue reading ›

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Ruler of the Night: Illustrious Dove Cottage

Oct 12, 2016 in Guest Posts, Mulholland Authors

nullDavid Morrell’s Ruler of the Night is set on the harrowing, fogbound streets of 1855 London. A gripping Victorian mystery/thriller, its vivid historical details come from years of research. Here are photo essays that David prepared about the novel’s fascinating locations. Read the first essay about Euston Station, and the second essay about Wyld’s Monster Globe.

At the start of Ruler of the Night, opium-eater Thomas De Quincey and his daughter, Emily, are rushing from London to Grasmere in England’s Lake District. To his alarm, De Quincey has learned that a collection of rare books he stored in a house there is about to be auctioned because he failed to pay the rent for the house. This in fact happened many times in De Quincey’s life. Often the houses were so filled with books that they were uninhabitable.

One of these houses was among the most famous literary dwellings in England—Dove Cottage—where William Wordsworth lived from 1799-1808 and De Quincey lived from 1809-1820.

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The story behind the intersection of the two authors is fascinating. In 1803, when De Quincey was 18, he wrote a fan letter to Wordsworth at a time when critics ridiculed Wordsworth’s poetry. Delighted by De Quincey’s enthusiasm, Wordsworth sent a letter in return, suggesting that if De Quincey were ever in the Lake District, he should drop by for a visit.

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Twice—in 1805 and 1806—De Quincey journeyed to the Lake District to pay that visit, but in both cases, he stood on a ridge, stared down at the white wall of Dove Cottage, and suffered such nervousness that he turned away. Continue reading ›

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Character Building: Melina Marchetta on Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil

Oct 11, 2016 in Fiction, Mulholland Authors, Writing

Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil by Melina MarchettaMelina Marchetta’s Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil is “an electrifying contemporary detective thriller” that “explores Europe’s simmering anti-Muslim sentiments” in the aftermath of a bus bomb, writes Australian reviewer Fiona Hardy. She spoke to the author.

Hardy: Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil is set in Calais and England. What compelled you to set your book in Europe instead of Australia?

Marchetta: I really needed the English Channel because of the short distance between two countries and the fact that, on a good day, you can see all the way across. An image from my childhood bible was of Moses sitting on a rock looking across to a land in the close distance. He’d been instructed to lead his people to the Promised Land, but as a punishment, he knew he’d never reach it himself. So the first mental image I had for this novel was of Jamal Sarraf looking across the channel towards Dover, knowing he’d never be permitted to return to his homeland.

Another reason I set it overseas was because of the Australian character Violette. I wanted her “Australianness” to stand out. I wanted her journey to be epic. I’ve referred to the difference between a trip and a journey in a previous novel. Violette doesn’t go on a trip from the country to the city, or from one town to the next. She goes on a journey to the other side of the world, and only one person knows why. There are many characters in this novel, and I had to distinguish Violette from the rest.

Hardy: Your books frequently depict racial tensions while revealing the humanity of those subjected to the media’s misplaced scrutiny. Do you deliberately set out to create these situations?

Marchetta: I don’t feel as if it was deliberate. It all comes down to characterization. I have this wonderfully strange relationship with my characters. When they nudge at my psyche, I allow them in, but they have to tell a pretty good story for me to let them stay. Of course, those stories are part of my family’s early days in this country, or they’re a combination of what I’ve witnessed, experienced and been a part of.

Australia is a paradox. It has embraced diversity, but scratch the surface and racism is there. We’ve seen it when a footy star and Australian of the Year walks onto an AFL ground and is booed, when badly behaved tennis stars are told by a respected Australian sportswoman to go back to the country of their parents’ birth, and it’s there in the rhetoric that comes from our politicians when speaking about refugees. Ultimately, I wanted to scratch the other surface, and explore what makes us stay human and united when acts of terror, and the media’s response to it, gather enough power to challenge our ideology. Continue reading ›

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Start Reading “Power Wagon” by C.J. Box from The Highway Kind

Oct 10, 2016 in Excerpts, Short Stories

The Highway KindNext week we publish a short story collection called The Highway Kind, an anthology edited by Patrick Millikin with a unique premise: the world’s bestselling and critically acclaimed writers share thrilling crime stories about cars, driving, and the road. We’ve got new stories by Michael Connelly, George Pelecanos, Diana Gabaldon, and C.J. Box, who contributed the story “Power Wagon” excerpted below.

A single headlight strobed through a copse of ten-foot willows on the other side of the overgrown horse pasture. Marissa unconsciously laced her fingers over her pregnant belly and said, “Brandon, there’s somebody out there.”

“What?” Brandon said. He was at the head of an old kitchen table that had once fed a half dozen ranch hands breakfast and dinner. A thick ledger book was open in front of him and Brandon had moved a lamp from the family room next to the table so he could read.

“I said, somebody is out there. A car or something. I saw a headlight.”

“Just one?”

“Just one.”

Brandon placed his index finger on an entry in the ledger book so he wouldn’t lose his place. He looked up.

“Don’t get freaked out. It’s probably a hunter or somebody who’s lost.”

“What if they come to the house?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess we help them out.”

“Maybe I should shut off the lights,” she said.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said. “They probably won’t even come here. They’re probably just passing through.”

“But to where?” she asked.

She had a point, he conceded. The old two-track beyond the willows was a private road, part of the ranch, and it led to a series of four vast mountain meadows and the foothills of the Wyoming range. Then it trailed off in the sagebrush.

“I saw it again,” she said.

He could tell she was scared even though there really wasn’t any reason to be, he thought. But saying “Calm down” or “Don’t worry” wouldn’t help the situation, he knew. If she was scared, she was scared. She wasn’t used to being so isolated—she’d grown up in Chicago and Seattle—and he couldn’t blame her.

Brandon found a pencil on the table and starred the entry he was on to mark where he’d stopped and pushed back his chair. The feet of it scraped the old linoleum with a discordant note.

He joined her at the window and put his hand on her shoulder. When he looked out, though, all he could see was utter darkness. He’d forgotten how dark it could be outside when the only ambient light was from stars and the moon. Unfortunately, storm clouds masked both.

“Maybe he’s gone,” she said, “whoever it was.”

A log snapped in the fireplace and in the silent house it sounded like a gunshot. Brandon felt Marissa jump at the sound.

“You’re tense,” he said.

“Of course I am,” she responded. There was anger in her voice. “We’re out here in the middle of nowhere without phone or Internet and somebody’s out there driving around. Trespassing. They probably don’t even know we’re here, so what are they doing?”

He leaned forward until his nose was a few inches from the glass. He could see snowflakes on the other side. There was enough of a breeze that it was snowing horizontally. The uncut grass in the yard was spotted white, and the horse meadow had turned from dull yellow to gray in the starlight.

Then a willow was illuminated and a lone headlight curled around it. The light lit up the horizontal snow as it ghosted through the brush and the bare cottonwood trees. Snowflakes looked like errant sparks in the beam. The light snow appeared as low-hanging smoke against the stand of willows.

“He’s coming this way,” she said. She pressed into him.

“I’ll take care of it,” Brandon said. “I’ll see what he wants and send him packing.”

She looked up at him with scared eyes and rubbed her belly. He knew she did that when she was nervous. The baby was their first and she was unsure and overprotective about the pregnancy.

During the day, while he’d pored over the records inside, she’d wandered through the house, the corrals, and the outbuildings and had come back and declared the place “officially creepy, like a mausoleum.” The only bright spot in her day, she said, was discovering a nest of day-old naked baby mice that she’d brought back to the house in a rusty metal box. She said she wanted to save them if she could figure out how.

Brandon knew baby mice in the house was a bad idea, but he welcomed the distraction. Marissa was feeling maternal, even about mice.

“Don’t forget,” he said, “I grew up in this house.”
Continue reading ›

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Ruler of the Night: Wyld’s Monster Globe

Sep 18, 2016 in Guest Posts, Mulholland Authors

David Morrell’s Ruler of the Night is set on the harrowing, fogbound streets of 1855 London. A gripping Victorian mystery/thriller, its vivid historical details come from years of research. Here are photo essays that David prepared about the novel’s fascinating locations. Read the first essay about Euston Station.

Wyld’s Monster Globe was constructed in 1851 to take advantage of the millions of curiosity seekers who traveled to London for the first world’s fair—the so-called Crystal Palace Exhibition. (See a separate photo essay about the amazing Crystal Palace.)

Sixty feet in diameter, one of the tallest buildings in the West End, the Monster Globe occupied much of Soho’s Leicester Square, a formerly pastoral area that had degenerated into weeds, trash, and dead cats. An entrepreneur named James Wyld persuaded the square’s owners to lease it to him, promising to improve the area immensely. To their dismay, they discovered that his idea of improvement was to fill the Square with his Globe.

Artist: Thomas H. Shepherd

For the price of a shilling, visitors could step inside and admire plaster models of the world’s continents, oceans, rivers, and mountains. As many as three million people did so, and none seemed to think it bizarre that they viewed a world turned outside in, where mountains that normally rose toward the sky now pointed inward toward the Earth’s core. In Ruler of the Night, this inverted world parallels Thomas De Quincey’s inside-out opium logic in which there are many realities. Lord Palmerston visits the Monster Globe for a crucial meeting with one of his spies.

Illustrated London News, 7 June 1851

As the attraction’s popularity diminished, Wyld allowed the building to deteriorate. When his lease expired in 1862, the owners of Leicester Square reclaimed the property and ordered Wyld to demolish the huge structure. Restoration of the gardens took several years, but by 1874, the area had indeed been improved immensely. The unusual building in the background is the Alhambra Theater, which remained standing until 1936.

leicester_square_with_the_alhambra_formerly_the_royal_panopticon_iln_1874

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A Soundtrack for Red Right Hand

Sep 13, 2016 in Guest Posts, Mulholland Authors, Music

Red Right Hand by Chris Holm

When people ask about my writing process, I usually describe it as “blind panic.” The fact is, my approach differs wildly from book to book. Sometimes I outline. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes the story pours out of me, and sometimes getting words down is like pulling teeth. But there’s been one constant throughout: I can’t listen to music while I write.

That tends to make any book soundtrack I cook up something of an afterthought—but not this time. Though I still wrote in silence, music played a huge role in the genesis of Red Right Hand.

Obviously, I borrowed my title from the Nick Cave song of the same name. He was kind enough to grant me permission to use a quote from it as an epigraph; it appears alongside the Milton quote that, in turn, inspired him.

The Freewheelin' Bob DylanRed Right Hand’s opening chapter features a man attempting to recreate a photo taken of his parents on their honeymoon. That photo was based on the iconic cover of The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan, on which “Masters of War” appears. (My first draft even name-checked the album.) I chose that song in particular because the book grapples with the privatization—and monetization—of global security.

Dylan sneaks into the soundtrack a second time as the songwriter behind Johnny Cash’s “Wanted Man.” It, too, appeared in an early version of the book, as the song Chet Yancey whistles at the end of chapter eighteen.

Neko Case’s “Knock Loud” is a cheeky homage to the weirdest meet-cute I’m ever likely to write, in which a retired gangster attempts to break into a wealthy ex-professor’s home.

Said retired gangster needed a distinguishing characteristic to tie his physical appearance to that of his younger self in the prologue. I was stumped as to what it should be until I took a walk and The Velvet Underground’s “Pale Blue Eyes” popped up on shuffle.

As for the other tracks, each is resonant in its own way. A mood, an image, a phrase. But to tell you much more would be to dip into spoiler territory, so instead I’m gonna shut up and let you listen in peace.

Oh, one last thing: in an ideal world, this playlist would include Morphine’s “Take Me With You,” but Spotify failed me. Feel free to find it elsewhere and give it a spin.

Chris Holm is the author of the Collector trilogy, which blends crime and fantasy, and the Michael Hendricks thrillers. His first Hendricks novel, The Killing Kind, was nominated for an Anthony, a Barry, a Lefty, and a Macavity Award and named a New York Times Editors’ Choice, a Boston Globe Best Book of 2015, and Strand Magazine’s #1 Book of 2015. Hendricks returns in Red Right Hand, now in bookstores. For more about Chris, including links to his Twitter profile and Facebook page, visit www.chrisholmbooks.com.

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Mulholland Books at Bouchercon 2016

Sep 02, 2016 in Industry News, Mulholland Authors, Mulholland News

Bouchercon 2016I love going to Bouchercon, the annual mystery reader conference. But this year, enthusiasm is at fever pitch, because Bouchercon will be held in New Orleans! Authors are turning out in record numbers, because who doesn’t love The Big Easy? And the same goes for your friends at Mulholland Books, who will be celebrating five years as a publisher of page-turning thrillers, brilliant mysteries, and genre-bending suspense.

Here’s where to find our authors this year—and by extension, where you’ll find us. You know, in case you have an extra birthday cake you want to unload.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 15

12:00-12:50 One More Time: Novels and characters taking on another life on screen with David Morrell, author of Inspector of the Dead (LaGalleries 6)

1:30-2:20 Something To Talk About: Open Topic with Lawrence Block, author of Hit Me, and Joe Lansdale, author of Honky Tonk Samurai (Mardi Gras E)

6:30-9:00 Opening Ceremonies. We’ve got our fingers crossed for Life or Death by Michael Robotham and The Killing Kind by Chris Holm to win the Barry Award for Best Novel. These same novels are also up for Macavity Awards: Life or Death is in the running for Best Mystery, and The Killing Kind is up for Best First Mystery. Congratulations, gentlemen! (Carondelet/Bissonet Ballrooms)

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 16

7:30-9 New Author Breakfast with David Swinson, author of The Second Girl in (Bissonet)

10:10-10:40 Lawrence Block signs books at Mystery Mike’s booth in the book room.

11:00-11:30 Get a free galley of Joe Lansdale‘s next Hap and Leonard novel, Rusty Puppy, in the book room. Lansdale will be signing ’em, too!

11:40-12:30 Join us at Mystery Mike’s booth in the book room for a MEGA-SIGNING with Chris Holm, Duane Swierczynski, David Morrell, David Swinson, Matthew Quirk, Joe Lansdale, and William Shaw. BYOB—and yes, that means Bring Your Own Book. Mystery Mike will have some for sale, too.

2:00-2:50 We Don’t Need Another Hero: Thunderdome competition with Duane Swierczynski, author of Revolver, and Chris Holm, author of Red Right Hand (Mardi Gras D)

3:30-4:00 William Shaw, author of the Breen and Tozer trilogy, is joining us for his first Bouchercon! Meet us in the book room to pick up a free copy of his forthcoming mystery, The Birdwatcher.

6:30-7:30 How special is this: as part of the Anthony Award festivities, Lee Child will be interviewing David Morrell, this year’s Lifetime Achievement Guest of Honor! (Orpheum Theater)

8:00-10:00 Stick around for the rest of the Anthony Awards—which Mulholland Books is proud to sponsor. We’ll be rooting for Chris Holm, whose first Hendricks thriller, The Killing Kind, is up for Best Novel!

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 17

9:00-9:50 All Tensed Up: Spy Thrillers with Matthew Quirk, author of Cold Barrel Zero (Mardi Gras FG)

10:30-11:20 Yesterday: Historical with Kathleen Kent, author of The Dime (Mardi Gras FG)

12:00-12:50 Bad to the Bone: Anti-Heros with Chris Holm, author of Red Right Hand, and David Swinson, author of The Second Girl (Mardi Gras ABC)

2:30-3:00 Get on board Kathleen Kent‘s new crime series with a free copy of The Dime signed by the author in the book room.

3:30-4:00 David Morrell‘s bestselling Victorian thriller series comes to a close with Ruler of the Night. Get a free advance copy signed by the author in the book room.

3:40-4:10 Rev your engines: C.J. Box, James Sallis, Wallace Stroby, Gary Phillips, and Ace Atkins all sign at Mystery Mike’s booth in the book room, and the first 25 readers to arrive will receive a free galley of The Highway Kind, the car-themed short story collection to which these authors all contributed.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 18

9:00-10:00 Another Town, Another Train: Setting with William Shaw, author of A Song for the Brokenhearted (LaGalleries 6)

12:00-12:50 Guest of Honor panel with David Morrell (Carondelet)

 

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Ruler of the Night: Magnificent Euston Station

Aug 07, 2016 in Guest Posts, Mulholland Authors

Ruler of the Night by David MorrellDavid Morrell’s Ruler of the Night is set on the harrowing, fogbound streets of 1855 London. A gripping Victorian mystery/thriller, its vivid historical details come from years of research. Here are photo essays that David prepared about the novel’s fascinating locations.

The railway era began in 1830 with the first train between Liverpool and Manchester. Ten years later, almost two thousand miles of tracks crisscrossed Britain. By 1855, a mere twenty-five years later, six thousand miles of tracks united every corner of the nation, with more being planned. Materials, products, and coal could now be transported with such speed and profit that Britain became the first nation to take full advantage of the Industrial Revolution, achieving unprecedented world dominance.

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London’s first railway stations were monuments of power and prosperity, but none equaled the grandeur of Euston Station, one of the principal locales in Ruler of the Night. Euston Station was graced with an impressive entrance courtyard and a huge arch that rose 70 feet high and was 44 feet wide, the largest of its kind in the world. Massive ornate bronze gates added to its spectacle.

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There was further grandeur. Beyond the arch, to the right, travelers entered the Great Hall, with its twin staircases, numerous columns, and eight statues. It was 64 feet high, 126 feet long, and 61 feet wide.

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But while the arch and the Great Hall evoked the wonder of classical antiquity, the actual railway platform represented the industrial age. Composed of iron and glass, it now seems more bleak than awesome. The original station with its arch and Great Hall was destroyed in 1961 to make room for a larger but less impressive one.

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Ruler of the Night is based on an actual incident: the first murder on an English train and the terrifying consequences.

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Laird Hunt and Christopher Charles in Conversation

Aug 03, 2016 in Fiction, Mulholland Authors, Writing

The Exiled by Christopher Charles The Exiled is Christopher Charles’s debut thriller, featuring a detective named Wes Raney who seeks refuge from his ignominious past in NYC in the brutal and beautiful New Mexican desert. Of Charles’s novel, Shelf Awareness writes “The Exiled is a fine piece of crime fiction with a keen sense of timing and character.” Here to talk about timing and character is Christopher Charles in conversation with his former writing instructor, Laird Hunt, author of the critically acclaimed novel Neverhome.

Laird Hunt: Which came first: Raney in New York or Raney in the New Mexican desert? When did you know you were going to give both Raneys more or less equal portions of the novel?

Christopher Charles: Raney in the desert came first, largely because the desert came first. I started with the crime, or an image of the crime: three bodies in a Cold-War style bunker in the New Mexico desert. The detective grew from the case. The murders felt urban to me—out of place in the southwestern landscape. The detective had to be urban and out of place, too.

To be honest, I’m not sure the decision to give them equal portions of the novel was ever really a conscious one—the past just seemed to be catching up with the present as I wrote, and I went where the story took me.

Hunt: The later Raney obviously contains the earlier. In what ways does the earlier Raney contain the later?

Charles: They’re both motivated in ways they don’t necessarily understand. They’re driven, but their drive is like a foreign entity. Raney at any age would likely launch full-throttle into anything you put in front of him. Both Raneys have an idyllic vision of who they’d like to be, but they can’t stop themselves from chasing after whatever seems urgent in the present. Older Raney realizes that he can only control himself by controlling his environment. But how long can you sustain that? How long can you remain isolated in the desert—even if the desert itself has become your passion—before civilization calls you back? Continue reading ›

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