Bill James. Gospel. 1992.

Another competent, cynical slab of genre fiction, suitable for treating insomnia.

Yeah, I been hitting the mystery novels for a year now, but that's because I'm a recovering Mankellaholic. But since I finished the last Kurt Wallander book available in English, and chain-read the four reputable Chandler novels-- feel as though I've picked the best chocolates out of the genre box and am gagging on coconut. This book didn't follow a totally predictable arc: I am not sure who committed the final murder, but all the characters are already guilty. Only in Swedish crime fiction does it seem like police and criminals may be fundamentally different sorts of people. The strength of this novel (or series, if it's safe to assume that the Harpur and Iles Mystery series is formulaic within formulaic) is the author's deftness when switching points of view between characters and showing how the characters interpret the world differently than each other and lie about it. Where to go from here?

13 April, 2006