My words could never do justice to the brilliance of a John Lawton novel. In the middle of reading one of his books I usually find myself musing at the type of household he grew up in, as good taste abounds throughout.
Over the years I’ve often come across music or book reviews and found myself wondering “where the f*%k did they get that from? I didn’t friggin’ hear that!” Also, I’m uneasy about passing judgement on other people’s work when I haven’t had the balls or bravery to attempt something similar myself. Hence I’m not even going to attempt a review of the fantastic Blue Rondo (2005). It’s easily the best novel I’ve read this year, and if there’s a better crime novelist alive, then I’m a monkey’s uncle.
Now that a number of production houses have made a mini-series of Alan Furst’s Spies of Warsaw, Robert Wilson’s Javier Falcón series, and are looking at doing likewise with Philip Kerr’s excellent Bernie Gunther novels, I’m wondering how long before someone cops the feck on and has a serious gander at Lawton’s oeuvre. His characters, plotting, and settings are so good it’s frightening.
Jude Law as the demonic Inspector Frederick Troy plodding about Soho and Covent Garden anyone?