Dirk Robertson:	SHOTS' NY Correspondent
Date:	April 6th 2006

    This is my first piece from New York and will not be the last. This city has everything. Despite the sterling efforts of the good and the great here in the Big Apple, crime, fictional and otherwise is alive and kicking with a vengeance.

I am discovering things all the time which are new and wonderful to my untrained British eye. I was interviewed by The New York Sun, about my writing and I was a bit cautious as I thought I was going to get the “Sun” treatment like you would in the U.K. but I was quite mistaken. The New York Sun is a bit of a cross breed with the style of The Guardian and the sharpness of The Times and the size of The Independent. I'm hooked, Sun style.

It has been Tartan Week in New York. Lots of effort has gone into making it a true Scots fest of all things arty and literary. It kicked off with a launch event at The Half King near 10th Avenue. I was fortunate enough to have a very lively discussion with Alexander McCall Smith, the Patron of the Scottish Book Trust. He told me a blinding joke about pavements. I won't repeat this side-splitter here, but if you ever get the chance to chat with him, ask him about it.

As for the rest of the week?

I didn't really enjoy most of the readings. To be honest, good writers do not necessarily make good readers of their own work. Some of them mumbled and groaned and looked like they had been plucked out of a school room to read “what I did in the holidays.” Maybe other people should be employed to read their work, live. The best live reader of his own work, I have ever heard, is Irvine Welsh. He lives it. Great stuff.

There is another thing. British people can't seem to resist talking about bottoms, digestive systems and vomiting at every opportunity. The speakers were no different. I am not sure they if knew how unoriginal they were, which is a shame because their written work is, in the main, excellent. I haven't read it all but what I have read is not all about arses and farting, so I was a bit puzzled at this recurring theme in the spoken word. The New Yorkers weren't fazed. They have come to expect it of the Brits and the Scots did not disappoint.

I am not going to say who was crap, that is not my style. I hate it when reviewers and commentators stick the knife in to people. If a book sucks then I can't finish it so I am hardly in a position to review it. If a speaker is terrible, as in this case, then I can't stay till the end and flee the scene after three minutes. Which is what I did. So I cannot criticize fairly when I listened to so little. In addition, I have written books that suck so I can hardly come the Simon Pure on everyone else. What I will say is who was great.

That is Louise Welsh. She is a very clever writer and I think she is going to be massive. In the writing sense, of course. She flew in from somewhere exotic, I didn't quite catch where it was, but it wasn't Cumbernauld. She gave a witty and sharp reading of her work at Barnes and Noble on 6^th Avenue. The rain was pelting down and splattering off the sidewalk just like Glasgow on a greasy Saturday night. I think I even slipped on a fish and chip wrapper on my way home, but maybe that was imagined. What was not imagined was the maniac driver who nearly sent me flying through the window of Barnes and Noble. Since I was in New York I was about to give them the finger but changed my mind when they put their siren and flashing blue and red lights on.

I have no attention span for something I don't like. So you will realize from now on that I won't be slagging other peoples' work off. I will just say I couldn't finish it. There is nothing more damning than that, from my pen. I went to see Kevin Spacey in The Iceman Cometh at The Old Vic, in London, a few years ago. I didn't realize that the play was over four hours long. I lasted eleven minutes before I fled to the local Chinese takeaway.

I was not alone. A surprising amount of people followed my lead when I left the theatre banging and crashing into everyone. A few days later a very senior RADA luvvie, whom, I am sure, knew what he was talking about, went ballistic at me for walking out. Called me all sorts of names under the sun. I don't care. If I don't like something, I don't like it. That is all there is to it. I can't eat a meal and say I didn't like it – I just don't eat it. So now you know.

I am looking forward to bringing you all sorts of goodies from the U.S. East and West Coast. I am leading some workshops in different parts of the country and I will bring you a blow by blow account from them, if they are worth talking about. I am also going to Book Expo America in May where I will be signing copies of my new book. If it's worth signing.

I am going to strike a balance in these reports between well known and obscure artists. It would hardly be news to hear that Michael Connelly has written a new book and it's good. It would be more newsworthy if it was rubbish, but then I wouldn't know because I wouldn't have been able to finish it.

Otto Penzler of the Mysterious Bookshop* recommended The Butcher's Boy** by Thomas Perry. It has a got a riveting introduction by Michael Connelly. He says how upsetting it is when people say his first work was the best. The inference being that he has not improved. He goes on to say that he understands what people mean now. A first book is like a first love. A bit special. The Butcher's Boy was first published over twenty years ago and won the Edgar Award for the best first novel, from the Mystery Writers of America. They are very picky so it tells you a lot. Connelly thinks this book is a bit special and so do I.

In many ways it reminds me, in style and visual imagery of Lee Marvin and Point Blank which, for me, is a masterpiece of cinematography. This book has been brought back into print after popular demand. It is easy to see why. It has an economy of style and a focus which is a benchmark for top quality crime writing. The Butcher's Boy is a hit man. Like others in his profession he also has a real and legitimate trade. He is a butcher. Even writing this sends a shiver down my spine. The book tells the tale of his world of violence and death and how, no matter who you are, you cannot function in that universe without it coming back to roost. A true masterpiece. If the final book I ever write is even as half as good as this then my last breath will be one of contentment.

On the film front, I was invited to a premiere at the Tribeca FilmTheatre. It was a stunning screening room. They had to peel me off the seats and forcibly eject me at the end of the film. I was ready to move in and have my mail sent there, it was that comfortable. The screening was for a first time director, Silvia Vassao. Shot entirely in New York, “If It Wasn't For The Money***” was all about the sex industry, money and beautiful women. A winning formula, if ever there was one. But this sharply crafted short film was not predictable or obvious. Very classy piece of work from a director to keep an eye out for. The quality of the acting was high. Any fool can pull out the stops when they are starring in something. The real acid test of quality ensemble screen work is the supporting cast. One actress, in particular, produced a nice understated performance. Malia. Nice presence and resonance about her. One to watch out for.

I'll leave you with real life. The current case at the Brooklyn Federal Courthouse. (1)On trial for moonlighting as Mafia hitmen are retired Detective Louis Eppolito and Stephen Caracappa. It is alleged that they were responsible for eight gangland murders between 1986 and 1990. The trial is being attended by, amongst others, the family members of two of their alleged victims – alleged wiseguy Eddie Lino and diamond dealer Israel Greenwald. You couldn't make it up. Finally I was offered the opportunity to get my hands on a submachine gun and blast away, lawfully, to my heart's content. I passed. Real guns, like real crooks scare me witless. I prefer them where they belong in the pages of a well thumbed piece of fiction.

*The Mysterious Bookshop – 58 Warren Street New York NY 10007
**The Butcher's Boy by Thomas Perry (Random House) ISBN 0-8129-6773-9 U.S. $12.95 Canada $17.95
*** If It Wasn't For The Money (Dissolved Ego Production) directed by Silvia Vassao. Edited by Faisal Azam. Director of Photography Shaun Pai. Starring Guenia Lemos and Isabel Acosta. You can see a minclip of the film here: http://www.oneeye.net/ifitwasntforthemoney.html

 
The New York Post – 4^th April 2006