I don't know what happened, but when the bell rings this old fire horse comes running. Apparently someone with little taste and less sense dissed The Pope (aka Ken Bruen) and I want to go on record by saying that I wasn't anywhere near a pub all weekend.
Sandra Ruttan, being too Canadian to kick the offender in his dangly bits, has asked everyone to show Ken a little love, so here we go.
I don't know Ken. I've never met him and I'm sure he's unaware of my existence on the planet, but he's a damn fine writer. The White Trilogy is so good that I've given away several copies. Right now I think my last copy is on its way to Iraq, so I couldn't look up the page I wanted to quote. It's a scene in a bar between a cop and a snitch and Ken does more in a page and a half than I can do in ten. It's as close to poetry as prose can get, with each word, each sentence, each paragraph communicating so much about the place, the people, and the crime that it takes your breath away. And he makes it look so damn easy.
So here's to Ken Bruen. If it wasn't first thing on a Monday morning, I'd raise a pint in your honor, sir, and express my gratitude for this opportunity to add my voice to the chorus of appreciation.
2 comments:
Oh David, first, thank you for chiming in.
Second... It took all of my willpower to restrain myself. I am so sick of people publicly bashing someone who's done nothing to them, for no good reason at all. In this case, a nasty post in response to the fact that someone had asked about reading Bruen and what fans of his work had to say about it, and (of course) several people praised his works and him as a person.
Some people are just so fucking petty, and the only reason I held off was because I didn't want that low life to get any attention over it.
But believe me, if this was in a bar I would have gotten my claws out.
I am with you all. Bruen writes some pages that make me so jealous, I want to drink Draino, punch out a few Galway winos, sober up, put on a Guards jacket and kick in a door while badmouthin' my own mother and fall in love with a lesbian...
Oh, wait, I've become Jack Taylor.
Guid on ya, Ken.
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