Clergymen sleuths are not that common, and Canon Sidney Chambers of Cambridge is a welcome addition to their ranks in his second outing after The Shadow of Death. Set in 1955 during a time of intense Cold War suspicions, the mystery, which plays out in six intertwined novellas, begins with Chambers out for a late night walk on the campus Corpus Christie, where he is stationed. The front gates of the college are closed for the night, but in an attempt to escape detection by the proctors, three tardy young men led by research fellow Valentine Lyall attempt to enter the grounds by climbing the spires of Kings College Chapel’s rooftop. To Chambers’ horror, he witnesses Lyall spiraling to his death and one of the other climbers disappearing.
The third climber, when questioned, claims not to recall details of the expedition, other than the fear he experienced during the daring and dangerous climb. Soon, the police label Lyall’s death murder and the master of Corpus College asks Chambers to utilize his friendship with Police Inspector Geordie Keating to keep tabs on the investigation. Chambers reluctantly agrees, well aware that Cambridge is still smarting from the Kim Philby affair, a real-life incident when students from the prestigious university were recruited as double agents.
That first death is followed by a poisoning of a star cricket player and a fire that ravages the studio of a fashion photographer. As Chambers is pulled deeper into the case, he travels to Berlin, where he reunites with the mysterious and attractive Hildegard Staunton, for whom he developed a fondness in his earlier adventure.
As the series of novellas and Chambers’ investigations continue, soon the Communist menace, as perceived in the early days of the Cold War, comes to the fore in a maelstrom of murder and espionage. Searching for spies in a divided Germany is rampant. Chambers falls into the hands of the East Germany Stasi just as the wall, which will divide Berlin into East and West, is beginning to loom.
Runcie is a master at capturing the mood of the 1950s, replete with the loathing and fear of Communism—as well as the enthusiasm of its advocates. The author is a master wordsmith, writing in delicate, lyrical prose as exemplified when he describes a chapel with “the stained glass darkened, as if waiting for something to happen; a new Reformation perhaps, an air raid, or even the end of the world.” Runcie also exhibits a sly sense of humor, as when he describes the rooftop rambling tradition: “Onions had been rolled off the appropriately shaped dome of the Divinity School, umbrellas had been left on the Tottering Tower of the Old Library and a Canadian student at King’s had become obsessed by a fanatical desire to put a herd of goats on his college roof.”
Readers definitely are in for a treat when they meet this gentlemanly but worldly man of the cloth. I cannot but hope there are many more cases in his future.
There and back again
“She saw the Welsh as more romantic than the English,” says Margaret Lewis, author of the critical biography Edith Pargeter: Ellis Peters (revised edition, 2003). “The contrast between the English and Welsh ways of life was a theme consciously addressed in many of the book and she explored the notion of very different social and legal systems existing so close to each other. For example, in The Holy Thief she refers to the little-known fact that the Normans condoned slavery—but the Welsh did not.”
The Chronicles of Brother Cadfael 
On writing together
On reading together
Inspector Ian Rutledge series
On writing together
On writing together
On reading together
Wolf Stalker (1997)
On writing together 
Deck the Halls (2000)
Those novels include Till Death Do Us Bark by Judi McCoy, The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon by 
In THE OUTSIDER, Ash Rashid stands alone. A 12-year veteran of the Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department and one of the few Muslim-Americans on the force, he’s unafraid of bending the rules in the pursuit of justice. But now Ash wants out. He’s finished law school and is aiming to become a prosecutor. The last thing he wants is to become embroiled in a new homicide investigation. That changes when he hears that the mother of one of his daughter’s friends was murdered in front of her home—a crime that members of his department would seemingly rather ignore than investigate. Ash launches an inquiry and quickly becomes entangled in a case involving a dangerous mix of election-year politics, crime, and street justice. And what he finds may have repercussions for the entire city….
Jonny Quest redirected the course of popular cartooning. It paved the way for every action, sci-fi, and mystery cartoon series that followed. And it was one of the coolest things on the tube.
Jonny was a remarkably rounded character for a television cartoon. Brave, intelligent, precociously skilled in the operation of motorized vehicles, yet still a kid with a fun-loving, mischievous streak, he was something of a Cold War-era Huck Finn. He could think his way out of jams and even go on the offense when necessary, but he never fell into the trap of phony invincibility. Whenever Jonny was in danger, whether the threat came from a criminal mastermind, a band of sea pirates, or a living mummy, the danger was real, and we knew it. When he escaped that danger, it was through real resourcefulness and courage, and we knew that, too.
In 1996, new management at Hanna-Barbera decided to do an updated, “hipper” version of Jonny called The Real Adventures of Jonny Quest. While the result pleased no one, it did demonstrate by comparison why the original worked so well: it was fast-paced, colorful, and sensory (its wailing soundtracks were punctuated by Hoyt Curtin’s dynamic, driving jazz scores), but most importantly it was honest…and innocent. No matter how fantastic the stories or the settings were, the show was played straight, without a trace of self-conscious spoofery. Young actor Tim Matthieson (who as Tim Matheson later starred in such films as Animal House and 1941) gave Jonny’s voice just the right mix of I’m-in-trouble gravity and gee-whiz awe, and achieved the kind of retro simplicity that is impossible to replicate for today’s edgier, more cynical era.
Ben McKenzie left far behind his days on The O.C. On Southland, he played Ben Sherman who started the series as an idealistic rich boy wanting to make a difference. His descent into becoming a corrupt cop was disheartening to watch, yet felt realistic and added to the show’s tension. 
He respected the genre, which is to say he respected us.
Now I asked myself: Was this innovation, like Crumley’s and Burke’s, a case of “respecting the genre”? Isn’t trying to add something distinctive and unique to the genre a case of respecting it? Why work so hard to add something new to a form of artistic expression you don’t respect? Then again, playing devil’s advocate, I wondered whether Parker’s innovation wasn’t instead just a backhanded attempt to “transcend the genre,” that odious phrase that gets tossed around whenever literary authors go slumming in crime fiction.
Until he revealed his true identity in 2011, K.C. Constantine was something of an enigma to the publishing world. But whether under his own name—Carl Kosak—or a pseudonym, the Mario Balzic mysteries have won a legion of fans.
The characters, even the minor ones, are skillfully written. Vinnie the bartender is so well drawn he's spooky, and Muscotti’s, the bar where he works and Balzic drinks, may be the best written joint in the history of detective fiction. Mo Valcanas, the lawyer who defends many of the people caught in Constantine’s contradictions, drinks too much, lusts too much, and complains too much, though his reasons make perfect sense. The list goes on—Iron City Steve, the itinerant alcoholic who serves as a Greek chorus; Father Marrazo, the poker-playing priest; Sal Bruno, who runs a local funeral home; Mrs. Comito and Mrs. Viola, the neighbor ladies who watch Carlucci’s mother during the day.
Sunshine Enemies (1990)
INGREDIENTS 
INGREDIENTS 
DIRECTIONS 
Who says you can't have your ice-cream donut sandwich and eat it too?
A slap in the face to notions of what film noir is supposed to be.
But the film not only subverts the inherent romance of much PI fiction; it's also pretty much a slap in the face to the notions of what film noir is supposed to be. Gone are the crowded and claustrophobic play of light and shadows so beloved of classic film noir; instead much of Hickey and Boggs is played out in light-bleached emptiness: deserted stadiums and parking lots, desolate beaches, and the wide-open (and eerily deserted) city streets of Los Angeles.
The crime field’s past is rich with memorable works both long and short; I’m always surprised that some mystery readers have no interest in it.
Elizabeth Sanxay Holding is in my top ten list of all-time finest crime writers. Raymond Chandler called her the best suspense writer of his generation. That wasn’t hyperbole. She began by writing romances but when she needed better money she started writing mysteries unlike any that had come before. Her novels are miasmas of darkness and dread. Dorothy B. Hughes certainly learned from her and her influence can be found today in both suspense and horror. She was able to mix tart social commentary (she was not exactly a fan of the wealthy) with anxiety-attack twists and turns from start to finish. Stark House Press has brought back several of her novels. 
