Friday, 27 February 2015

The Sea Minor Interview: Damien Seaman

Blasted Heath, as I'm sure you know, are the purveyors of extremely fine fiction. Among the Heathen family is one Damien Seaman, an author who is producing work that is engaging, thought provoking and original. I reviewed his novel The Killing Of Emma Gross here and the new novella, Berlin Burning here.

There is some common ground between the two and there are also marked differences. I asked Damien a few questions in the hope that I could explore his thoughts on each and dig a little into his motivations.

Among the similarities between the two works is the fact that I'd have no hesitation recommending either of them to anyone who enjoys an engaging and powerful read.

Here's how it went down:

Q: Your novel The Killing Emma Gross is based upon a true crime in the Weimar Republic whereas the novella Berlin Burning is a work that is entirely fictitious.  Did you find working without the constraints of a factual tale to be liberating or did it add unforeseen problems to your writing?

A: God yes – BerlinBurning was much more liberating. Trying to mix fact and fiction the way I did with Emma Gross is like putting two ferrets in a sack.  It gets messy. That wasn’t a problem with the new book.

If there was an unforeseen problem, it was that the first draft made a godawful mess of having two lead characters instead of just one, as I had in Emma Gross. So I had to mature as a writer between the first and second drafts if I was going to make it work.

That’s why it then took me a whole year to write the second draft – much longer than I’d hoped. That was me bashing my brains out against my technical limitations until they stretched to encompass the story I wanted to tell. I fear that will be the case with every book.

Q: Both books are set in Germany at around the same time. What is it that drew you to this period and country?

A: I lived in Berlin for three and a half years. Before long I found myself responding to the way Berliners deal with their 20th century past – it was intoxicating to me. There’s a real honesty there. A willingness to confront the past. Most countries don’t do that – they lie to themselves about their past instead.

For instance, even though the Berlin wall is almost all gone, they decided to mark where it used to be using bricks in the ground. They didn’t just leave a scar there; they built one as a reminder.

The Weimar Republic appealed because of its air of doomed glamour. It was an inspiring time of creativity and breaking social, sexual and artistic boundaries. But of course the Nazis’ rise to power put the kibosh on all of that. This gives a palpable sense of tension and suspense because readers know what’s to come – broadly speaking – whereas the characters have no idea.

Actually that was one of the main appeals for me. Trying to depict a period that most see as a mere prelude to Nazism. It didn’t feel like that at the time to those who lived through it, and if nothing else I really wanted to get that across – that historical events don’t always feel so significant while they’re happening. We certainly have no idea what’s going to happen next. Much less how to avoid it.

You could also argue that the period appeals because of its relevance to today. But that wasn’t a conscious choice. After all, you can overdo the whole “Look how similar things were then” bit. For example, if I describe a charismatic politician who shook up the status quo, developed a manifesto that combined nationalism and socialism, blamed the ills of his country on an outsider race that had exploited his people for centuries… well, that could be Hitler or it could be Alex Salmond. I trust you can see right away that this analogy isn’t close enough for most people to accept as equivalent.

So I would downplay any attempt to see today’s world as similar to that of the 1930s. Any such similarities are purely at surface level. My main motivation has been to write a sort of love letter to the republic which intrigued me, and to the Germans who lived through it.

Q: The Killing Of Emma Gross focuses upon the drive of one detective, Thomas Klein, whereas Berlin Burning features two police protagonists. Did you shift to the two because of limitations in the novel or was it simply a case of the characters appearing to you as a pair?

A: The real question here is: what does it say about our culture that police novels are so popular in the crime genre? There’s something vaguely depressing about that, in my view.

Is there anything so questionable as being unequivocally on the side of the law when the law is so open to corruption? So dedicated to the preservation of property rights or the rights of the rich and powerful?  Where’s the respect for the individual? The dissident? The downtrodden?

I think this is why the best police novels take one of three routes. They either emphasise the ridiculousness of the job using humour and camaraderie, as Ed McBain’s novels do. Or they delve wholeheartedly into the corruption, a la James Ellroy. Or they show the individual kicking against social and institutional prejudices, as in the work of Philip Kerr – or even Simenon to some extent.

Actually, there are novels that cross these boundaries – these categories aren’t mutually exclusive. But generally an author tends to emphasise one of the three; for ease of reference let’s dub them Humorous, Corrupt, and Existential.

Emma Gross is an Existential police novel. For that, a lone hero is necessary. Berlin Burning is a Humorous novel. For that, you really need the banter. Hence the two detectives.

With each book I was trying to make a different point, I think.

Emma Gross is about a man so disconnected from society that he sometimes feels he has more in common with the serial killer he’s captured than with his colleagues, who he despises as venal idiots. He feels trapped and can’t see how to break out of his malaise. He’s probably a metaphor for how I felt at that point in life.

Berlin Burning is about two decent men trying to get on with their job while the world slowly turns upside down around them. Both of them despise Nazism for different reasons, but neither appreciate that they’ll soon be forced to work under that regime or resign. Despite that, they manage to rise above it all so that justice – of a sort – is done.

Of course, this is all justification after the fact. At the gut level, the implication in your question is spot on. These stories just appeared to me that way. Not fully-formed, I might add. They evolved through the writing.

Q: It’s clear that your work has been extremely well-received – you’ve had plaudits from the likes of Stuart MacBride, James Oswald, Helen Fitzgerald, Tony Black and William Ryan. Are such comments and reviews in general things that give you a lift or do you shy away from them?

A: Praise makes anyone feel warm and fuzzy inside, doesn’t it?

I did ask people for their opinions, certainly. Firstly because it’s a boost when people you respect like what you do. Secondly because some of their readers might also end up liking what I do and becoming my readers too. And, lastly, when you publish what other authors think –for example on Amazon – this helps casual readers make up their minds whether they might like what I’ve written even if they don’t know me or the folks giving the plaudits. 

Q: You clearly love to travel and have lived in some amazing places. Is there anywhere else that you are keen to write about?

A: Yep, I’ve been lucky to have been able to travel so much. I do have plans to write about Sudan, Cairo, London, South Africa, Crete and New York in the next year or so. But I’ve only been to half of those places. And these stories will be set in the past anyway, which – as we all know – is another country again, and not one that issues visas.

So I don’t base my ideas on where I’ve been, per se. Though I may do some travelling to help the research for some of them.

It’s probably worth mentioning there are plenty of places I’ve been that haven’t inspired any story ideas – Russia, for example. Don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because I find the Russian mind utterly impenetrable. Perhaps there’s no real reason. I suspect there isn’t a direct cause and effect relationship with this stuff – not for me, anyway.

Q: Does your taste in fiction reflect your love of history? Do you prefer modern interpretations of the past or novels that were written during a time you’re curious about?

A: Great question. I tend to prefer things written at the time I’m writing about – not just novels, but diaries, biographies, autobiographies, letters, magazine articles, films, plays….

I certainly haven’t read that many historical novels recently. In fact, a couple of years ago I tried to put together a top ten list of my favourite historical novels and I struggled to fill it.

If historical novels have a failing, it’s that they tend to strive for “relevance” by shoe-horning in some sort of modern comparison to the people or events depicted. Or, even worse, they try to offer some sort of lessons for readers to learn. God forbid. Humans are incapable of learning from history, and nothing proves that more than history itself. After all, the Holocaust didn’t stop ethnic cleansing in Bosnia or Rwanda. Or even anti-Semitism in developed countries, if recent studies are to be believed.

Also, too many historical novels take sides. There’s nothing more ridiculous than passing judgements on those who can’t answer back. If history has a point, it’s to understand, not to condemn. If you’re in any doubt, just consider that we’ll one day be judged according to some unguessable future standards that we might find horrifying. I propose that we treat our ancestors with the same respect we might hope to receive ourselves.

Right now I’m reading a lot of non-fiction – the books of Nassim Taleb about probability and randomness. Daniel Kahneman’s book about how we think. Essays by Christopher Hitchens. Stuff that challenges my preconceptions and makes me think a bit.

If you enjoyed that, then make sure you come back for more in the next posts from Damien where we'll find out about James Ellroy and get to explore the concept of free speech in a hugely thought-provoking piece. You really don't want to miss either of those.

Sunday, 22 February 2015


‘It was like the Wild West all over again, but with smart phones and better guns.’

Worm (US) opens with an intriguing, rather cinematic set-piece where a number of the main characters are introduced. Three men drive up to an oil-drilling station and the boss, Pancrazio, steps out to meet them. The bikers, members of the Sons Of Silence MC ask for a word with one of the workers, Gene Handy. Handy goes out to straighten things out while his friend Ferret watches from a safe distance. Pancrazio and Handy are very tough people and a visit from a biker gang isn’t going to phase them. Ferret, on the other hand, is a family man who is working for the benefit of his wife and child. Without revealing the outcome of the meeting, I can say that it provides a powerful opening that sets the tone extremely well and which made me want to press on quickly with the rest of the book. As opening chapters go, this is a great example to aspiring writers on how to go about things.

Neither Handy nor Pancrazio are exactly who they seem. Before long, it becomes clear that they have bigger intentions and plan to supply the oil field workers with the drugs they want to help them unwind after a hard day’s toil.

As soon as Ferret gets a sniff of this, he wants in. It’s not that he’s an experienced criminal. He just wants to earn as much cash as he can for that wife and daughter of his. Unfortunately, his naivety means he has no real concept of what’s involved in joining such an operation and getting out isn’t ever going to be as simple as handing in notice to quit.

There are twists aplenty as the trio reveal their true colours and the plot is thickened by the crooked police chief Slow Bear and Pancrazio’s wing men, Good Russell and Bad Russell.
All of this takes place in a Wild West setting. The town is out of control. The workers are after booze and women and there’s a sense of anarchy about the whole thing. The law is weak and corrupt, the oilmen are stir-crazy and powerful and the women here are out to take advantage of their situation in any way they can.

This isn’t a novel that shines a torch on the wonders of humanity. Rather it looks down into the chaos of life and the extremities of existence and refuses to shirk away from the darker crevices. Smith pushes the characters hard and their flaws are ruthlessly exposed. 
What the depths of this world also does it to bring forward unlikely heroes who emerge from the mire when it becomes deep enough.

I thoroughly enjoyed this read and also admired the quality of the writing. Smith does a number of things extremely well. His work on setting is superb and there are at least four dimensions to this world. 

He deals with a huge scope and a complex plot and yet always keeps control. The dialogue is well delivered and the book is densely populated by brilliant phrases that speak volumes in few words. Add to that the constant surge of the characters and the story-line (even the back story moves forwards) and there’s one page-turning novel that will satisfy the appetite of many a crime reader. 

Friday, 13 February 2015

One Man's Opinion: UNCLE DUST by ROB PIERCE

“After enough beers, a leather jacket makes a fine blanket.”

This book grabbed my attention immediately. The cover’s fantastic. The title is superb. The publisher is All Due Respect. What more could I ask for?

I guess the answer to that is a story to match.

To my delight, the book did more than live up to my expectation.

I loved Uncle Dust. It’s a noir story of real depth.

Uncle Dustin tells the tale himself. He’s a small-time bank robber, a debt collector, an ex-con and a drinker. He’s the kind of character that you might find in a lot of novels, but author Rob Pierce does a wonderful job of exploring the whole of him rather than making his work the central line of the plot. Sure, there are some great and very engaging set-pieces as Dust shakes down a bank or deals with a failed gambler who can’t pay the bills. There are even some of the wonderful side-shows, like the doctor who’ll patch up a wounded criminal on the sly. I’d have been happy enough with all of that.
What really shines out for me is the way Dust’s relationships are explored.

He’s a fabulous creation, brought up in tough times that have moulded the way he sees the world and caused him damage that puts him beyond repair.

Dust is in a family situation when we meet him. Theresa presses 
most of his buttons in the way he’d like and her son Jeremy is in need of some direction.

The father-son relationship is particularly well explored. Jeremy is a victim. The only things he seems to be interested in are fantasy card games. Dust is happy to guide him in the direction of becoming tougher, but Dust is unable to keep to any boundaries. When he finds that Jeremy is still in contact with one of Theresa’s ex-partners, Davis, the emotions smoulder and burn. Things become much more complicated when Dust finds out that Davis controls some of the more sinister fantasy games in town and that his intentions for Jeremy may not be entirely pure.

The world is always going to go wrong for Dust. His life is always going to create wrecks along the way. As Pierce drives us forward, what isn’t clear is who is going to get hurt when the next smash happens or just how bad their injuries will be. What makes the book so engaging for me is that it’s impossible not to root for him, which makes his erring judgement really hard to handle.

Uncle Dust is told with a really strong voice. The dialogue is about perfect. The snappy lines and images are a real treat. Dust’s capacity to intimidate is alarming. The story has a number of facets that work really well together. All in all, it’s a really great book. You should try it.

Thursday, 5 February 2015


‘Brace yourself against something Roth. We’re about to jeopardise our pensions.’ Kriminalkommissar Trautmann

Berlin Burning takes place in the summer of 1932, a time when upheaval and economic depression were the order of the day and the nascent Nazi party are becoming increasingly powerful. It’s hard to imagine a more complex or engaging setting for a European crime novel.

The story begins with the central character, police detective Trautmann, trying to persuade an ex-girlfriend of his partner (Roth) to visit the man in hospital. Though not much is gleaned much of the story here, the fact that Trautmann has a burned face and Roth has previously lost an arm in the line of duty make the story that is about to unfold in flashback hugely tantalising.

The flashback begins with the reporting of a murder in an unsavoury district of the city. When Trautmann and  Roth arrive, the place is swarming with Schupo under the lead of a hard-nosed man called Kessler. Though Trautmann is going to take control of the case, it’s clear that Kessler isn’t going to let it go completely.

A young man has been murdered. His position in life helps to explain why there are so many at the scene. He’s a brownshirt and the case is therefore politically sensitive. It also happens that his girlfriend and lead suspect is Maria Fliescher, the niece of a local gangster.

There’s not a lot of evidence to go by, but Trautmann and Roth are determined to collect every scrap. In the end, their protection of the scene from the clumsy Schupo will prove crucial to their investigations.

What follows on from the murder scene is a journey of danger and adventure. As this is only a novella, it’s surprising just how much action takes place.

The plot thickens and little is quite as it initially seems. The characters are multi-faceted and are open to manipulation and misunderstanding. When the adventure slows and the plots thicken, the quick-thinking and articulate Trautmann keeps things straight - when the penny drops for him, the prospect of his reveals creates strong hooks..

The atmosphere throughout is oppressive and the tensions of the period are used well to maintain the mood.

The ending brings the complexities of the plot to a satisfying and rather surprising conclusion and the door is left open for future investigations from this intrepid pair. I’d be happy to find out more about this police duo and to watch history unfold when they go about their business. Bring it on. 

Wednesday, 28 January 2015

January Roundup

Along with many others, I'm sure, I normally find January to be a real grind as emotional lows and dark nights really start to take their toll. Not so this month. If anything, I feel more at ease with the world than ever. This could be due the the pain medication I'm on for my back, which also involves the taking of an anti-depressant for the nerve problems. Whatever it is, I'm not complaining.

The writing's fun just now. Even though the paths through my current novel haven't been quite as easy to find as I might have hoped, I've been able to hack my way through the mass of thoughts and return to the main drag often enough to keep up the momentum.


Favourite film of the month was one I stumbled into last night, The Perks Of Being A Wallflower. As I don't get out much, TV is my main access to movies, so they're not always current releases. This one was a real surprise, a well-handled coming-of-age piece that was able to use the odd cliche and still remain engaging and fresh. As well as being vibrant and energising, there was plenty of dark material in there as the story unfolded. I did cry at the end and that doesn't happen too often. 


I also picked up a couple of belated birthday gifts. The first was a pair of slippers (always welcome) and the second is photographed at the head of the page. It's the text of White Fang presented as an image. I love the result and am writing beneath it now. There are loads of other classics over at Spineless Classics if you're looking for a suitable gift for a book lover.

Reading's been slow but delicious. 


First off, a novel by George Simenon called Striptease. Essentially, it shines a microscope onto the lives and relationships of those who work in the club. Celita is the long-standing mistress of the proprietor of the club and is keen to keep her man even though his wife is constantly watching and all-knowing. Problems arise when a new and pretty young thing arrives and captivates Monsieur Leon with innocent ease. The result is not so much a love-triangle as a love-knot as bodies and stories are shared between the characters. Though not my favourite Simenon by quite some way, it's still a treat to read. Some of the descriptions of the relationships are possibly telling about the author's own attitudes to sex and I did occasionally feel like a voyeur as he pulled back the curtains and allowed me to gaze in. The ending has a real energy and power to it and I'd recommend you give it a go.

One of the reasons that my reading has been even slower than usual is that I took Willy Vlautin's The Free down from my shelves. I read it in small bites because I wanted to savour each section and as I came to the end, didn't really want to finish. It's a complex tale that builds up through the telling of a number of simple stories. Leroy is the veteran of the Iraq war who is a hospital patient and who survives in an imaginary world where he's on the run with his girlfriend. They're being chased by right-wing conservative vigilantes who are brutal and unflinching in their pursuit of the eradication of the mild. Though a central character in the piece, Leroy is also like the skeleton that allows the flesh of the novel to stand up. The flesh comes in the form of two wonderful people who work in Leroy's hospital. Pauline is a nurse with an enormous heart who gets by in spite of the weight of life she has to carry. Freddie is the night watchman who cares for the patients and also holds down a dead-end job in a paint store; the weight of medical bills and general misfortune are constantly threatening to wear Freddie's life down and every day brings a new battle. The celebration of Pauline and Freddie is surely also a celebration of those who care in general and the nursing profession in particular. Pick up a copy and see if you don't enjoy Freddie's routine stop at the donut shop as much as I did. It's a special story that makes me extremely grateful that we have the National Health Service here in the UK - let's not let that fall apart under any circumstances.

Short Stories

My short story cravings have been more than satisfied by the latest issue of All Due Respect magazine (number 5). This is a nicely varied collection of tales with twists. It kicks off with Steve Weddle and a novel excerpt. It's a great slice to be presented with as it seems to stand alone and yet completely whets the appetite for the whole story. I can't wait to get my hands on that when it's released. He's interviewed later by Jed Jedidiah Ayres and you wouldn't want to miss that. There are short stories in this collection by a range of talents - Paul D Brazill, Angel Luis Colon, Garnete Elliott, Gabino Iglesias and Joe Sinisi. These are all great pieces. There's also another story, Alkaline by Keith Rawson, which is my favourite in the pack. I loved the voice and the set-up from the opening and was keen to follow the story wherever it went even though I didn't have a clue where that might be. This rounds off sublimely and definitely has a real bite. If that weren't enough there are also a series of reviews including the latest Hard Case Crime pick and one for my own Southsiders. I'd like to thank Chris Rhatigan for his fine and kind words and for remaining an inspiration in the world of books. If you've not tried one before, please do yourself a favour and check it out. If you won't believe me, here's a tiny piece from a 5 star review that says:

'Take all these great stories and add reviews for Nigel Bird, Westlake, and Brewer and you have a must own collection here.
My TBR pile is extensive on any given day, and it just got bigger, as ADR just recently released a new one by Jake Hinkson and just published Uncle Dust by Rob Pierce. Guess what two books just jumped to the top of my TBR pile? I am in love with All Due Respect Books! Keep them coming!'


Younger by Therailsofficial
Bad Place For A Good Time by Kate Tempest
Metamorphosis by Pinkshinyultrablast 
Swing Like A Monkey from The Len Price Three (tops) which is from a film called Pub Monkey which looks fab.

Coming soon...

I'm hoping to get into the latest release from Anthony Neil Smith courtesy of Blasted Heath. It's called Worm and the cover is fab.
The same can be said of Uncle Dust by Rob Pierce and I can hear that one calling to me loud and clear. 
Bitter Water Blues by Patrick Shawn Bagley and published by the excellent Snubnose Press is also one for your list.
And if that wasn't enough, there was another release from Number Thirteen Press this January, The Mistake by Grant Nicol.

Here's to a good February. Thanks for coming.

Wednesday, 21 January 2015

Christmas Tree, My Christmas Tree

You know, I took my Christmas tree down ages ago, but I keep finding Needles all over the place.

Needle Magazine: made to make your mouth water.

Wednesday, 14 January 2015


Anyone who’s read Roger Smith’s fiction knows that the world he depicts is rife with the horrors of the human condition. He never flinches or pulls any of his punches – and that’s a big part of what makes the stories he mines from those horrors so compelling. Roger has kindly agreed to give some more insight into his vision.

Q: For you, where does the horror lie? Is it more in society or more in human nature itself? How do you see these forces counterbalancing?

I don’t know that I can separate the two, but for me writing is all about character and my characters are the beams that illuminate society’s horrors.

Q: In a 2012 interview, you responded to a question about censorship, by yourself or others, by saying “If people do it, I write about it.” Personally, how much of this horror can you take?

I try to reflect reality, even when that reality is uncomfortable and difficult—for the reader as well as for me. I’ve written a lot about the Cape Flats, Cape Town’s mixed race ghetto, whose inhabitants are stricken by all manner of hardships and horrors. What always shocks me is when readers from the Flats say to me, “Yes, you’ve got it right, but if anything the reality is even worse than your books.”

A video interview that I did with an ex-convict who lives on the Flats who describes a brutal prison gang killing gives some insight into this. 

Q: A couple of years before that, you told Keith Rawson of Spinetingler, “Writing crime set in South Africa isn’t only relevant now, for me it’s about the only way to stay sane.” How do you avoid becoming jaded?

This links to a later question of yours: with my new book, Man Down, I’ve taken a wider view, setting the novel both in South Africa and the U.S. which was an interesting challenge for me. I’m not saying that I won’t be writing about South Africa in the future, but the idea of a larger canvas is appealing.

Q: In another interview from 2012, you stated, “More and more I’m submerging myself in the worlds of increasingly dark and messed up people, and I’ve grown to trust that my readers will follow me there.” How do you find that your readership has evolved over time?

My books are not at the “easy listening” end of the crime spectrum, the police procedurals and P.I. novels that, while they depict brutality and amorality, are largely optimistic because good (shopworn and battered, perhaps, but still good) triumphs over evil, allowing readers to turn out the light and sink into their slumbers with their faith in the essential positivism of human nature unchallenged.

My novels take the reader on a more troubling ride and I’m pleased to say that over the years more and more people have happily jumped aboard for the trip and have come to expect a certain type of book from me. That’s very gratifying.

Q: With Vile Blood (under your Max Wilde pseudonym), you turned to a setting in an imaginary United States, influenced by horror comics, B-movies, and lurid American true crime. What are the differences between that breed of horror and your crime fiction? Or perhaps they’re not that far apart?

I chose to write Vile Blood as Max Wilde in order not to confuse—or piss off—readers who were expecting one of my more realistic crime novels. (Although, judging by a couple of on-line reviews, there were some who were still pissed off . . .)

Vile Blood was me having fun. It was liberating not to have to write about a real place with very real ills and the respect and diligence that those ills demand of a writer. But the themes of Vile Blood are not dissimilar to those of my “Roger Smith” books: corruption, the loss of innocence, moral ambiguity and regeneration through violence and the tormented heroine Skye has a lot in common with Sunday in Dust Devils, Dawn in Capture and Louise in Sacrifices who are victims of brutality and indifference and then (with mixed success) take charge of their lives and fight back, and the giant sheriff, Delbert Drum, could well be kin of Gatsby Barnard, Mixed Blood’s scumbag rogue cop.

Q: Your latest, Man Down, also has an American setting, not South African. What was behind this choice?

Well, as I said earlier, it’s set both in South Africa and America. In contemporary Tucson, Arizona, the home invasion of an expatriate South African and his family triggers a series of flashbacks to a crime he committed in Johannesburg ten years ago.

Over the last few decades an estimated one million white South Africans (of a total population of less than five million) have fled the political turmoil and violent crime in their country and settled in Australia, New Zealand, Canada, UK and the U.S. I wanted to touch on this in my book and also deal with the collision of a very American crime with a very South African one.

Q: How do you view the parallels in U.S. and South African society – issues of race and class?

Both South Africa and the U.S. were settled by Europeans at roughly the same time and in both countries those settlers took off into the vast hinterlands where they wreaked genocide upon the native inhabitants. The U.S. settlers were more successful in this due to their numerical superiority, but the two countries birthed frontier mentalities that share a vengeful Calvinist God and the implicit belief in the right to bear arms and use them with seeming impunity. When Jimmy Carter, while recoiling from apartheid, famously said “I am an Afrikaner” he was acknowledging this similarity. 

Q: One of the things that struck me after reading your books is the kinship (at some level) with some American naturalists, like Nelson Algren. I took the title of this Q&A from a critical study of Algren’s work. Other American authors from the past come to mind too: Frank Norris, James T. Farrell, and Hubert Selby Jr., to name a few. The sense of tragedy and doom is the common bond. Is that just a coincidence, or did any of them influence you at all?

I’ve read Algren and Selby and found them very powerful, particularly Selby, but it’s a later generation of American realists that influenced me more: the so-called Dirty Realists (or Kmart Realists) of the 70s and 80s, like Jayne Anne Phillips, Raymond Carver, Tobias Wolff and Richard Ford. They were mainly short story writers (although Ford, of course, has written great novels) with a fatalistic—or even deterministic—world view who were concerned with the “other America”: the dispossessed, the unemployed, the alcoholics and junkies, the people at the margins and in the trailer parks.

This struck a very real chord and, along with the more obvious influences of the darker crime novelists like James M. Cain, David Goodis and Jim Thompson, helped me find a way to tell my stories.

 Q: Your work is very, very bleak – but I don’t think it crosses into nihilism. You offer some rays of sunshine – for example, with Nick, Dawn, and Brittany in Capture. How do you strike this balance?

I’d like to believe that my books are moral and that those most deserving retribution receive it. This retribution doesn’t come from within the criminal justice system which is corrupt and toothless but is rather in the form of karmic payback. The bad choices that my characters make trigger their own downfall and the more vile the character, the more savage the reckoning.