Available:*
Library | Call Number | Status |
---|---|---|
Searching... Stillwater Public Library | FICTION HUR | Searching... Unknown |
Bound With These Titles
On Order
Summary
Summary
A crime writer finds himself entangled in his own gruesome mystery in this fast-paced psychological thriller
Drew Danner, a crime novelist with a house off L.A.’s storied Mulholland Drive, awakens in a hospital bed with a scar on his head and no memory of being found convulsing over his ex- fianc e’s body the previous night. He was discovered holding a knife, her blood beneath his nails. He himself doesn’t know whether he’s guilty or innocent. To reconstruct the story, the writer must now become the protagonist, searching the corridors of his life and the city he loves.
Soon Drew closes in on clues he may or may not have left for himself, and as another young woman is similarly murdered he has to ask difficult questions not of others but of himself. Beautifully crafted and heartbreakingly told, The Crime Writer confronts our inherent fear of what we might truly be capable of—good or evil. Like nothing he’s written before, The Crime Writer takes Hurwitz in an exciting new direction and is sure to reach a whole new audience.
Author Notes
Gregg Hurwitz grew up in the Bay Area. While completing a BA from Harvard ('95) and a master's from Trinity College, Oxford in Shakespearean tragedy ('96), he wrote his first novel. He was the undergraduate scholar-athlete of the year at Harvard for his pole-vaulting expertise.
Hurwitz is the critically acclaimed, international bestselling author of The Tower, Minutes to Burn, Do No Harm, The Kill Clause, The Program, Troubleshooter, Last Shot, The Crime Writer, Trust No One, They're Watching, You're Next, and Tell No Lies. His books have been nominated for numerous awards, shortlisted for best novel of the year by International Thriller Writers, and nominated for CWA's Ian Fleming Steel Dagger. In addition to novels, he also writes comics for DC. He penned PENGUIN: Pain and Prejudice, and was recently tapped to write BATMAN: The Dark Knight.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (4)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Hurwitz's L.A. thriller has noir pulp chutzpah in spades, even if it does start out with a bang and end up shooting blanks. When Andrew "Drew" Danner, a crime novelist, is tried for the murder of his ex-fiancee, Genevieve Bertrand, beside whose body he was found holding a bloody knife, he pleads not guilty. He has no memory of how he got to the crime scene because of a breakdown caused by a recently removed brain tumor. Once he's found not guilty by reason of temporary insanity, Danner sets out to find the real killer-or discover some very nasty things about himself. Someone's also trying to frame him for a second murder that appears to be similar to that of Bertrand. Luckily, Danner gets help from old friend Chic, an ex-professional baseball player, and Lloyd Wagoner, a troubled police criminalist. A tense, page-turning first act leads to disappointing explanations involving the police and a misinterpreted phone message. Still, the fast pace and ingenious setup provide considerable tension. Hurwitz (Last Shot) may not have written a California classic, but it's a worthy effort. 5-city author tour. (July) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Booklist Review
Successful crime-novelist Drew Danner has gained true tabloid fame--as the murderer of his ex-fiance. Found by the police in the midst of a brain-tumor-induced grand mal seizure, with her blood covering his hands and his fingerprints on the murder weapon, Danner seems to be the only person in L.A. who isn't sure he is a killer. Emergency surgery after his arrest removes the tumor, and a temporary insanity defense frees him, but his comfortable life is shattered. He can't live without knowing if he killed a woman he once loved. His only choice is to become a character in a story he hasn't written. Danner's anguish is compellingly described, and the plot has more twists and turns than Mulholland Drive. At least half a dozen characters are vividly drawn, and nearly all are like Danner--struggling to recover from some tragic and life-altering event. Hurwitz's insights about L.A. life sound knowing and are often ruefully funny, e.g., L.A., where a porn star runs for governor and an action figure wins. Crime fans looking for something different will love this one. --Thomas Gaughan Copyright 2007 Booklist
Kirkus Review
When crime writer Drew Danner is discovered standing over the dead body of his ex-fiance, Genevieve, he quickly learns that real murder is a lot messier than the stories he pens. In the latest from Hurwitz (Last Shot, 2006, etc.), Danner wakes up in the hospital and learns two things: He has been accused of Genevieve's murder, and he has had brain surgery for the tumor that obliterated his memory of what happened. At his trial, the district attorney taunts him with his own writings: "I believe, in my darkest heart of hearts, that when fate and passion align, every last one of us...is capable of murder." After he is found not guilty by reason of temporary insanity, Danner struggles to remember the events leading to Genevieve's death. He can't imagine wanting to kill her, but doubts linger: What if he did do it? When a second woman is murdered and Danner's blood is found at the scene, he digs deeper to find the killer: Is it the convicted rapist whose brown Volvo was spotted at the scene? Is it a copycat killer? Who's trying to set Danner up? Is his own life in danger? With the help of his book editor, Preston, he begins to write down the story. Hector, a teenage graffiti artist in juvenile detention, and Danner's friend Chic help him dig into the case, as does Lloyd, the forensic specialist who has been his source for realistic details in his fiction. Hurwitz's carefully interwoven plot lines and taut writing--as well as his pulsing descriptions of Los Angeles--make for a deeply satisfying read, and the ending, revealed with masterful simplicity, shows the complex desires that make each of us capable of murder. A performance worthy of applause. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Library Journal Review
Drew Danner is a crime writer who's always done his homework. He's cultivated cops and forensic specialists to give his novels the necessary realism. He's researched everything from the guns his characters use to the ways in which bodies deteriorate. But in his latest effort, Drew is leaving fiction behind and exploring true crime. The result is almost more real than he can handle, because the murder he's researching for his newest book is one he may have committed. In the opening pages of Hurwitz's latest crime thriller (after Last Shot), Drew wakes in the hospital with a scar on his head, a cop by his bedside, and no memory of how he got where he is. The police think Drew killed his ex-fiancee in an angry frenzy. Four months later, Drew is acquitted of the murder by reason of mental defect (he had a brain tumor) but is driven to discover whether he is capable of the crime. Hurwitz has written a nice puzzler with a sympathetic hero and a great supporting cast. Recommended for all public libraries. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 3/15/07.]-Jane Jorgenson, Madison P.L., WI (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
The night was dark and January-sharp. People forget how cool LA can be in the winter--Pacific breeze, Santa Ana winds, angry spates of rain with half-assed lightning, like a constipated monsoon trying to find relief. A view heals all woes. A view makes you feel as if you own something bigger than yourself, as if you own a place on the planet. I watched the Valley twinkle in the heat below, like the ocean only prettier because it was a sea of lights, because it was movement and life, because it let me be separate but connected to a thousand people in a thousand houses with a thousand stories, many sadder than my own. The mainline of Sepulveda charging north into worsening demographics. Van Nuys, beautiful only from a distance, where Mexicans play soccer workday mornings, crossing themselves before kickoff as if God cares about the outcome of a hung-over pickup game. The 405, a curved waterfall of white headlights. Ventura moving east past the by-the-hour motels with glam studio names where johns bring broken street kids or vice versa. And around the Cahuenga pass where the city waits, an insatiable and inscrutable mistress, spread on a bed of neon with a Sphinx smile, her just-pounced paws set down on punctured dreams. I closed my eyes, cruising through Hollywood of the hipsters and wanna-bes, the culture consumers with brand names Roman-lettered across ass velour. Drifted behind the honk-oblivious Cutlass with Arkansas plates doing five miles per hour down the Boulevard as heads inside craned on substantial Southern necks, past black kids rat-a-tat-tatting on overturned white buckets, past peeling German noses, the sticky smell of suntan lotion, intoxicating smog, silver hoops piercing bronze belly buttons, Gap billboards of pop sensations in floppy hats, and up the alleys into real Hollywood, where hookers kneel over pools of vomit and junkies stumble from doorways, scratching their shoulders, mumbling their nighttime song, gotta get well, gotta get well . Through the run of comedy clubs, where husbands from Wichita laugh at Jesus jokes despite sideways glances from prim-mouthed housewives, where amateurs sweat through sets and maybe, just maybe, after the heard-it-all waitresses clear the second empty glass of the two-drink minimum, that big-name sitcom actor will pop in to work out some new material. Then west to Boys Town where gay couples come in shapes and sizes to defy the limited straight imagination, where soft-porn billboards overlook studded leather window treatments, glowing tarot cards, and tattoo parlors, where lovers sip coffee within scream-shot of porn palaces with purple polystyrene, and parking signs totem-pole atop one another, impervious to comprehension. Past the Urth Café, where washed-up divorcees munch organic lettuce, faces caved from pills and swollen with collagen, a war of fleshy attrition. Down the slick snake of Sunset with its old mansions, its bright and brazen Hustler store, its Carnation lights at the holidays. Through Beverly Hills' runs of palms oft-filmed but never captured, leisure suits riding Segways to Valentino, celebutantes strolling with purse dogs, agents with their invisible cell-phone earpieces mumbling solo outside restaurants and at stoplights, the nattering dispossessed. Come Westwood, come Brentwood, where three-one-oh moms push symmetrical children in designer strollers through farmer's markets and wax dreamily about Bali hotels. Onward to the Palisades, Santa Monica Canyon, and Malibu, up the sparkling coastline reeking of exhaust and covered with seagull guano, then through the runs of canyons, deep russet pleats like streaks of ore or a woman's folds, the air startlingly crisp and tinged with salt. My cheeks were wet with the breeze and the swell of my heart for the lights below. Los Angeles. A mirage of a town that sprang up like a cold sweat on the backs of gold diggers and railroad workers, and took form when pirate film distributors, fleeing Edison's patents, took a train and a gamble backed by East Coast muscle. Los Angeles, land of endless promise. And endless failure. Los Angeles of the petty cruelties. Los Angeles of the instant hierarchy, the spray-on tan, the copped feel. L.A. of the bandaged, post-operative nose, the chai menu, the slander lawsuit. Of the hyphenated job title. The two-SUV garage. L.A. with its wide-open minds and well-formed opinions. L.A. of the high-octane sunset, the warm night air that leaves you drunk. L.A. of the prolonged adolescence, the slow-motion seduction, the ageless, replaceable blonde. L.A. where a porn star runs for governor and an action figure wins. L.A. where anything can happen at any time to some poor schmuck or lucky bastard. Where anything can happen to you. Where anything had happened to me. Excerpted from The Crime Writer by Gregg Hurwitz All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.