Gun, by Ray Banks

• One of the great things about Kindle and e-readers in general: the return of the novella. If no one else has already predicted this, I’ll do the honors. Novellas and short novels are coming back. And thank Christ for that, maybe the days of over-blown doorstop thrillers are nearing an end, eh? One can only hope.
• If Ray Banks novella, Gun, is any indication, there’s some seriously tight, noir-to-the-bone stuff to read. Although, to be honest, most of it won’t come anywhere NEAR Banks’ quality. He’s one of our finest writers, and all his formidable skills are on display with Gun.
• The story: our young hero, Richie, has a simple enough task: go to Florida Al’s place, pick up the gun his boss wants, and bring it back. Piece a’piss, right? If you answered “yes” to that question, then you clearly haven’t read enough modern noir. I want to avoid spoilers here, but I can safely tell you that Richie is in for one seriously shit day.
• One of my favorite things about Banks is his knack for great dialogue. Crime writers in England, Scotland and Ireland have a big advantage over us Americans in that their vernacular is so colorful and entertaining. Everyone’s always saying “Oh, aye,” and talking about “chining” someone or calling other people “lad”… let’s face it, Brit criminals talk cooler than American ones. And Banks knows how to pepper the dialogue with this great language without it ever becoming incomprehensible.
• If you haven’t read Ray Banks yet (and honestly, why haven’t you?) Gun is a good place to start. Short, hard, and brilliantly written. And it’s only 99 cents on the Kindle.

Smonk, by Tom Franklin

Reviewing a book prominently that came out several years ago? Why the hell not? Especially if it’s a book as remarkable as Smonk.
This was the first Tom Franklin I’ve read, and upon finishing it my first thought was “holy Christ, so THAT’S how it’s done. THAT’s how you mix the blackest of black humor, crazy action, bizarre-o characters, and some of the vilest and disgusting scenarios together in one nuthouse package.” Okay, I didn’t think ALL of that at once, but that’s what it comes down to.
Smonk is, nominally, a Western, in that it takes place in the wild days of the American frontier, but to call it simply a Western doesn’t really do it justice. In fact, it doesn’t even take place in the West—the small town of Old Texas, Alabama is the setting. This town is a creepy Southern Gothic nightmare, a cesspool of burning dog carcasses and dank water. Into this town comes gouty, cankerous, one-eyed E.O. Smonk, raising hell, beating up the men, seducing the women, and wreaking general havoc. The citizens decide they have enough of the old bastard, and so set up an ambush—but Smonk is as wily as he is vile, and turns the tables.
Meanwhile (to use a scene-changing stand-by that Franklin employs often)….
A teenage whore named Evavangeline is on the run from the foppish Captain Walton and his mutinous band of Christian Deputies. She experiences an ever-increasingly weird series of encounters that ultimately takes her to the town of Old Texas, where some dark, dark secrets await to be uncovered… and right into the path of E.O. Smonk’s deadly plans for the town.
There are scenes in this book that will make your stomach turn. But, as vile as Franklin’s imagination is, all the gross stuff is delivered with such rare humor and dead-pan language that you can’t help but laugh.
Do I sound like I’m gushing a little? Well, so be it. Smonk is by far the most original, entertainingly strange novel I’ve read in a long time.

Godchild, by Vincent Zandri

Zandri knows despondency. He knows the depths a human being can sink to in the worst of times, when the world around them has crumbled to ashes and nothing is left but dust. He gets it, and he knows how to convey it in sharp, non-sentimental prose.
The protagonist of Godchild, Jack Marconi, is a man who’s lost everything—he has seen his wife die in a horrible car “accident”, and, after several years, he’s somehow managed to put the pain behind him (but only just) and start building a new life for himself. In fact, he’s about to get married again, and the future is looking better than he could ever have imagined.
And then he sees the man—the driver responsible for the death of his first wife. It’s only a split-second glimpse, but it’s enough for Jack’s world to begin veering off again into the danger and moral ambiguity he thought he’d left behind.
Godchild is a sequel to The Innocent, which introduced Jack Marconi—The Innocent is a terrific book, but honestly, Godchild is even better. The pace is faster, the stakes feel heavier, and Jack himself is more fully fleshed out this time. He’s a bad-ass, no question, but a thoroughly sympathetic one. Of all Zandri’s terrific creations, Jack Marconi is my favorite.
Most of the book takes place in Zandri’s native Albany, but one of my favorite bits in Godchild is the strange and extended sequence where Jack winds up in Mexico to spring an American woman from jail—it falls into the structure of the book like a weird dream, with Jack out of his physical element but every bit of him right at home regardless. Even if every other aspect of his life is falling apart, Jack is a guy who knows what he’s doing when it comes to violence.
So what do you have with Godchild? You have an intriguing central character, a twisty-turny plot, relentless pacing, and stripped-to-the-bone style. Near as I can tell, those are all the ingredients needed for a seriously kick-ass thriller.