The Bruen Blues

Mes Amis

I wrote it on the wall in yellow Day-Glo marker:

RUSSEL'S BAD FUCKED

A reminder to myself. That I hadn't read a book that blew me away in a while.

There'd been books that were

good
bad
indifferent
fucking terrible

But not

fucking amazing.

So over three nights I re-read books. Found them as fresh

(and as exciting)

as I had the first time.

Mad mixes of poetic genius, noiresque novelty and killer character.

The Hackman Blues was first and the reason for the day-glo marker.
Then I found Her Last Call to Louis MacNeice
I made The Guards part of my special display of "crime books you must read" at the day job.

Found myself talking in

lists
pop references, hell even,
literary references
oddly effective gramatical anomalies
and
a slight brogue (that most Irishmen would probably piss themselves laughing at).

Apparently today is Ken Bruen appreciation day. I didn't know that before I started re-reading these books. It should be. Not only is he a great writer, he's a very warm and genuine person who has put himself out on a limb for several people I know (and like) and, hell, he's even managed to put up with talking to me for a bit at a few Bouchercons now. He's friendly, patient and generous. Everyone seems to have a Ken Bruen story, but I think the best one to tell is that, fuckit, he's just a nice guy.

And one hell of a writer.

Au revoir

Russel
(with apologies to the man himself for such a hamfisted parody of his style)