It's taken me way too long to jump on the bandwagon with this one, but as I'm in a reviewy kind of mood, allow me to hold up K Wignall ESQ.'s latest WHO IS CONRAD HIRST? as a fine example of the international thriller.
I was lucky enough to be handed a copy from the man himself at Harrogate this year (he would have got one of his butlers to do it, but they were busy complaining about the size of their master's suite at the time). After months of meaning to get round to it, I cracked the covers a wee while ago and delved inside.
W.I.C.H? is an 'international hit man tries to make good', kind of story with government agencies, conspiracies, first class rail travel, stays at the finest hotels, and tipping the bellboy more than he earns in a week. Incredibly Wignallesque. And very good with it.
I find it very difficult to read when I'm editing, especially towards the end of a book - I'm so focussed on picking my own stuff apart, that I can't stop doing it when I read someone else's. It's a testament to Mr Wignall that not only did I read W.I.C.H? in one go, I enjoyed it as well.
It moves at a cracking pace, the action sequences are almost casual in their violence, and for a cold-blooded killer, Hirst is strangely engaging.
In other news, I've decided to forgo time off following the Edit Of Doom And Despair as Agent Phil (will do monkey impersonations for money or alcohol) wants me to take a polishing brush over the novel HarperCollins were considering before the caught sight of COLD GRANITE. So I'm currently wading my way through a manuscript I wrote five books ago. Scary. And surprisingly swear-free too. So far I've only come across one 'shit' and an 'arse'. So far we are a 'fuck'-free zone.
Ah, they were simpler days...
Labels: books, stuff