As you may expect, I do a lot of reading, about two books a week on average, and lately, as I write my own John Simon Thrillers noir detective seriesJohn Simon Thrillers noir detective series, I have been reading a ton of mysteries, not all of them set in the U.S. My preference is toward darker, noir tales, though I do venture into cozies and lighter comedic tales from time to time. The following are five of my favorite Non-U.S. mystery series, all but one ongoing (i.e. new releases coming regularly):
Charlie Parker by John Connolly—Written by an Irish author, this series tells the story of a private detective in Maine, after the death of his beloved wife and daughter, as he not only hunts those responsible but takes on other cases of evil actors plaguing his community. Noir, with incredible prose, well drawn characters and settings, and a touch of supernatural, this is simply one of the best written detective series being written today. And a major influence on my own writing.
Rebus by Ian Rankin—The story of a Scottish police inspector, John Rebus, this story has rich settings and characters as Rebus probes criminal cases in the Scottish underworld around Edinburgh. Dark, noir, and intense with great procedural accuracy and depth, this series is one of the top selling detective series in Europe for a reason, going on 26 books strong to date with more to come. Michael Connelly of Bosch cites this series as one of his inspirations for creating Bosch and it’s certainly one of mine.
Ann Lindell by KJell Eriksson—this Swedish set series follows the adventures of a female detective as she investigates the dark underbelly of Sweden’s cities and countryside. To me, this one has a similar feel to Wallenberg and the TV series Shetland in many ways, though its richly drawn characters and setting are uniquely told and the female protagonist offers a different perspective than many of the male leads on this list.
Darko Dawson by Kwei Quartey—A Ghanaian American author, Quartey’s Darko is a Ghanaian police inspector working in Accra, Kumasi, and other locations throughout the small African country as he investigates murders, rapes, fraud, and much more, revealing a rich, nuanced world and culture filled with colorful characters. One of the few noir series set in contemporary Africa, this one stands out for the uniqueness of its voice and approach, and as one who has spent significant time in Ghana, I can say it truly brings the place to life in a powerful, relevant way.
Wallender by Henning Mankell—Kurt Wallender, now a TV show starring Kenneth Branagh (Wallender), is a classic Swedish detective working the coast of Sweden south of Stockholm where he investigates a variety of dark cases. He also struggles with relationships—from his adult aged daughter, who is also an aspiring detective, to his ex-wife, lovers, and co-workers. Mankell, now deceased, has written an incredible series of novels and short stories exploring a rich world and fascinatingly real but flawed character.
Now before you ask why there’s no female authors on this list, it’s because I haven’t discovered any I have fallen in love with who fit this category, but I know they are out there and I continue to look. I do have several female mystery authors I regularly read including Karin Slaughter, Hank Philippi Ryan, and Sara Peretsky, and I am always looking for more. But I am a new reader of foreign procedural thrillers so I am just speaking based on what I have read at the moment, which is about two books a week.
Now that I’ve introduced the world to my first thriller, Simon Says, I thought it’d be fun to look back at the thrillers that most inspired my love for the genre and have stuck with me over the years. Here are the top 10. All highly recommended.
1. The Brotherhood of The Rose by David Morrell—a classic espionage thriller about orphans taken in by a politically connected spymaster and raised as assassins and special agents who work all over the world taking out undesirables for their “dad” and his powerful friend. An amazing thrill ride with great twists and turns. This one is so good I like to reread it every few years. It was made into a weak TV movie and never got the same respect as the author’s more famous Rambo books.
2. The Firm by John Grisham—actually Grisham’s second book but the one that put him on the map. Published in 1991 2 years after his debut A Time To Kill went almost unnoticed, this one sold millions and put Grisham on the map, also inspiring a hit 1993 film starring Tom Cruise. This is the book that really established Grisham’s legal thriller formula with an idealistic hero finding himself caught up in a corrupt system that winds up threatening his life and everything he believes in. A great read, one I couldn’t put down, it remains a great example of great pacing, plotting, and characterization, whatever you think of the author’s simpler literally style.
3. Every Dead Thing by John Connolly—One of the great first novels of a truly great series. It may be popular fiction but has all the literary style of a classic. Mixing supernatural horror with noir detectives, it tells the tale of a private detective haunted by the murders of his beloved wife and daughter who takes on the case of a missing girl at the request of his former partner and finds himself drawn into a world where the ghosts of the dead haunt the living, and thirty-year-old killings shrouded in mystery and lies haunt the survivors. Truly a stunning read with unparalleled characterization and lyrical prose. Winner of the Shamus Award for best first P.I. novel.
4. The Black Echo by Michael Connelly—another great debut, this novel introduced thriller fans to LAPD Detective Heironymous Bosch of Hollywood Division, who’s haunted by the death of his mother, as he investigates the murder of a homeless vet that seems connected to a spectacular underground bank robbery and finds himself drawn to FBI agent Eleanor Wish who’s assigned to the case. Winner of the Edgar Award for best first novel, it also loosely inspired season 3 of Amazon’s fantastic Bosch tv series. Not to be missed.
5. Hard Fall by Ridley Pearson—If ever a novel begged to be made into a movie, it was this one. Following FBI Agent Cam Daggett as he investigates the downing of commercial flight 1023 which killed his parents and son, Daggett is on the trail of a killer with only one clue: a name, Anthony Kort. This one had edge-of-your-seat plotting, great characterization, and fun twists and turns that keep you guessing. My favorite Pearson book, one that is far too often overlooked. From 1992.
6. Naked Prey by John Sanford—Not the first in Sanford’s terrific Prey series but the first I read, this book introduced me not only to Lucas Davenport of the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension but also to his soon-to-be adopted daughter Lettie, whom he encounters for the first time while investigating a murder case with his partner Del Capslock. All the core elements that make the series so addictive are in place here from the strong, engaging supporting cast to the mix of humor to solid plotting and genuine suspense. A great read from start to finish. After I finished, I started reading the rest of the series in series order and have eagerly anticipated each new Prey book every year since.
7. The Onion Field by Joseph Wambaugh—a 1973 nonfiction book written by a sergeant for the LAPD, it chronicles the kidnapping of two plainclothes LAPD officers by a pair of criminals during a traffic stop and the subsequent murder of one of the officers. Set in March 1963, the book reads like a novel and is highly gritty and compelling, an unforgettable read. It was later made into a 1979 film that starred a young Ted Danson as one of the two murdered cops and James Woods as one of the killers. A case with real life suspense and drama that led to a change in California law as well as inspired real life efforts on victim’s behalves. As good as nonfiction gets. Just as compelling as Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood or my next entry.
8. Helter Skelter by Vincent Bugliosi with Carl Gentry—Considered the best true crime book in history, prosecutor Bugliosi offers a first hand account of his prosecution and the investigation leading to it surround the infamous Manson murders by Charles Manson and his follows in 1969 Los Angeles. Another can’t put it down read that has inspired several films and a miniseries, it remains the definitive account of a real life case that even fifty years later continues to fascinate the public and law officers alike. Reading this book at home alone in my basement room prompted me to start locking doors in our house in a quiet Kansas suburb and consequently to locking my surprise parents out one night. Later, they both read it and my mother has insisted on locked doors ever since. Truly heartpounding suspense made all the more scary by the fact it is true.
9. The Hostage by WEB Griffin—Brimming with rich characters, strong action, and cutting-edge drama, this is the second in Griffin’s hit Presidential Agent novels, but the first I encountered, about homeland security agent Charley Castillo discreetly investigating an American diplomat’s murder in Argentina and searching for his kidnapped wife. Touching on the UN/Iraq Food oil-f0r-food scandal, it is a page turning read that hooked me on yet another series. By a surprisingly prolific author whose style reminds of Tom Clancy without all the endless technical and research gobbledy gook that bog down his pacing and clog his already thick tomes.
10. Red Storm Rising by Tom Clancy—My favorite of Clancy’s books, a rare standalone effort, this reads like a giant miniseries, a war novel co-written with Larry Bond, who is uncredited on the cover and title pages, which debuted at number 1 on the New York Times bestseller list in 1986 and chronicles a third world war in the mid-1980s between NATO and Warsaw Pact forces. It is considered unique for depicting the conflict as being fought exclusively with convention weapons, despite the existence of weapons of mass destruction on both sides. One of only two Clancy novels not set in the Jack Ryan universe.
If you enjoy thrillers like these, please be sure and check out my debut thriller, a hit with readers, Simon Says, first in my John Simon Thrillers series about a tough Kansas City Detective who hates technology but must team with an android witness to solve his partner’s kidnapping in 2029 K.C. Gritty, realistic, and heavily researched, it is plotted to follow how real investigations unfold rather than standard formulas. So far readers love it, and I think thriller fans like you will too. Find buy links, a 3 chapter sample, and more here.
Be sure and let me know your favorite thrillers in comments.
Last week, I wrote about The Key To Good Plotting—Asking The Right QuestionsThe Key To Good Plotting—Asking The Right Questions, this week I want to talk about more ways to build suspense in your storytelling, specifically through creating tension using dialogue and emotions. This post is longer because of numerous examples, so please stick with it.
“Holding readers’ attention every word of the way,” writes Donald Maass in The Breakout Novelist, “is a function not of the type of novel you’re writing, a good premise, tight writing, quick pace, showing not telling, or any of the other widely understood and frequently taught principles of storytelling. Keeping readers in your grip comes from something else…the moment-by-moment tension that keeps readers in a constant state of suspense over what will happen—not in the story, but in the next few seconds.” This kind of microtension comes not from story but from emotions, specifically conflicting emotions. So above all else, creating suspense is about making readers care.
Webster’s Dictionary defines suspense as: a. The state of being undecided or undetermined; 2. The state of being uncertain, as in awaiting a decision, usually characterized by some anxiety or apprehension.
What is undecided and undetermined are story questions. First and foremost, suspense is about questions. James N. Frey writes in How To Write a Damn Good Novel II: “A story question is a device to make the reader curious. Story questions are usually not put in question form. They are rather statements that require further explanation, problems that require resolution, forecasts of crisis, and the like.”
An hour before sunset, on the evening of a day in the beginning of October,1815, a man traveling afoot entered the little town of D------. The few personswho were at this time at their windows and doors, regarded this traveler with asort of distrust.
Thus opens Book 2 of Victor Hugo’s classic masterpiece Les Miserables. The story questions are “who is this man?” and “is he dangerous?” The first question intrigues, the second raises the suspense, and this is how story questions work. Other examples:
The great fish moved silently through the night water, propelled by great sweeps of its crescent tail.
(Jaws, Peter Benchley: “Who will be the shark’s lunch?”)
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortunemust be in want of a wife.
(Pride and Pejudice, Jane Austen: “Who’s the single man?” And “Who’s going to be the lucky girl?”)
Scarlett O’Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom
realized it when caught by her charms as the Tarleton twins were.
(Gone With The Wind, Margaret Mitchell: “What are the consequences of the twins being charmed? Will they fight over her?“ Etc.)
Expanding on last week’s post, Frey goes on to say: “Story questions, unless they are powerful, life-and-death questions that are strengthened, reinforced, and elaborated will not hold the reader long.” When they occur at the beginning of a story, they act as “hooks” that draw readers in. That’s why so many classic novels start with hooks and yours should, too. Ultimately, raising story questions—unanswered questions, characters we care about, and tension are the keys to suspense in any story.
Since we just discussed it, let’s start with dialogue. Dialogue in novels is not realistic. Every word is thought through and constructed to create the upmost tension and steadiest pace. Characters say what they mean, are rarely interrupted, don’t stumble over words, and all the same the words often seem unimportant if taken by themselves. The words are notwhat holds the power. The power comes from the meaning, the motivations of the speakers, and the underlying conflict. Here’s an example from John Sandford’s Rule Of Prey:
“Daniel’s hunting for you.” Anderson looked harassed, teasing his thinning blonde hair as he stepped through Lucas’ office door. Lucas had just arrived and stood rattling his keys in his fist.
“We might go for a warrant.”
“Yeah. Sloan spent the night going through his garbage. Found some wrappers from rubbers that use the same kind of lubricant they found in the women. And they found a bunch of invitations to art shows. The betting is, he knows the Ruiz chick.”
“I’ll talk to the chief.”
Now, tension in this scene comes from two things. One, starting abruptly with dialogue that is a warning or feels urgent in a way before establishing setting and that Detective Lucas Davenport, our protagonist, has just arrived. Two, the underlying tension of the hunt for the killer and the chief wanting Lucas. The words themselves are fairly innocuous at face value, a bunch of information really. In another context, they might play very differently, but here they carry urgency, a sense of danger, emotional foreboding. A sex killer is loose and the cops are racing to find him. Yes, some of this was established in earlier scenes, but just from this little short scene alone, you get a lot of it. This dialogue drips with tension as a result. What makes dialogue gripping is not the information or facts imparted, but the tension, the urgency. The tension comes from the people, not the words.
Let’s look at another example from Every Dead Thing by John Connelly:
“Nice story, Tommy,” said Angel.
“It’s just a story, Angel. I didn’t mean nothing by it. No offense intended.”
“None taken,” said Angel. “At least not by me.”
Behind him there was a movement in the darkness, and Louis appeared. His bald head gleamed in the dim light, his muscular neck emerging from a black silk shirt within an immaculately cut gray suit. He towered over Angel by more than a foot, and as he did so, he eyed Tommy Q intently for a moment.
“Fruit,” he said. “That’s a…quaint term, Mr. Q. To what does it refer, exactly?”
The blood had drained from Tommy Q’s face and it seemed to take a longtime for him to find enough
saliva to enable him to gulp. When he did eventually
manage, it sounded like he was swallowing a golf ball.He opened his mouth but nothing came out, so he closedit again and looked at the floor in vain hope that it
would open up and swallow him.
“It’s okay, Mr. Q, it was a good story,” said Louis ina voice as silky as his shirt.
“Just be careful how you tell it.” Then he smiled a
bright smile at Tommy Q, the sort of smile a cat mightgive a mouse to take to the grave with it. A drop of sweat ran down Tommy Q’s nose, hung from the tip a moment, then exploded on the floor.
By then, Louis had gone.
The tension here comes from the characters, not the dialogue. Separate the dialogue out and there’s nothing particularly tense about it, but the context is that Tommy Q has just laughingly told Angel a story about a gay man’s murder. Louis and Angel are gay and they are killers, particularly Louis. Puts a whole new spin on it, doesn’t it? That’s how tension in dialogue works. I imagine that even not knowing everything beforehand, you felt the tension reading it, but now that I’ve told you, read it again. Even more tense, right? We keep reading at moments like this not because of what they say. We keep reading to see if they will reconcile or fight. Will the tension explode into a fight or resolve?
Ask yourself where the tension is in your dialogue? Look at every passage, every word. How can it be improved? Does the tension come from the words or the situations, the circumstances and characters? Make sure the emotional friction between the speakers is the driving force.
Tension in action works much the same way. Yes, there can be violence and that has an inherent tension. But even in scenes with action that is nonviolent, you need tension. Let’s look at a scene from Harlan Coban’s Tell No One:
I put my hands behind my head and lay back. A cloud passed in front of the moon, turning the blue night into something pallid and gray.The air was still. I could hear Elizabeth getting out of the water and stepping onto the dock. My eyes tried to adjust. I could barely make out her naked silhouette. She was, quite simply,breathtaking. I watched her bend at the waist and wring the water out of her hair.
Then she arched her spine and threw back her head.
My raft drifted farther away from shore. I tried to sift through what had happened to me, but even I didn’t understand it all. The raft kept moving. I started losing sight of Elizabeth. As she faded in the
dark, I made a decision: I would tell her. I would tell her everything.
I nodded to myself and closed my eyes. There was a lightness in my chest now. I listened to the water gently
lap against my raft.
Then I heard a car door open.
I sat up. “Elizabeth?” Pure silence, except for my ownbreathing.
I looked for her silhouette again. It was hard to make
out, but for a moment I saw it. Or thought I saw it.
I’m not sure anymore or if it even matters.
Either way, Elizabeth was standing perfectly still, and maybe she was facing me.
I might have blinked—I’m really not sure about that either—and when I looked again, Elizabeth was gone.
Lots of description, and fairly benign at that. Only one line of dialogue. But what lends tension to this is the descriptive details that follow what is obviously an important decision by the narrator to confess something to Elizabeth. Is she gone? Did someone else arrive? Who? That the narrator, David, is deeply in love and feels guilt over a secret is obvious. It doesn’t need to be stated. And that underscores the tension of otherwise mundane action. We want to see what happens. This is how action, even nonviolent, can drip with tension if written well, and it needs to if your book is to hook readers time and again and keep them reading.
Exposition always risks boring readers. Maass writes: “Many novelists merely write out whatever it is that their characters are thinking or feeling—or, more to the point, whatever happens to occur to the author in a given writing session. That is a mistake.” Most commonly, exposition fails because it merely restates what we have already learned from the story or information characters would already know. It becomes uninteresting or false because it feels unnecessary. The key to good exposition is to frame it so it offers new ideas and emotions into the tapestry of the story. Remember when I said you should only give us what we need to know to understand the story at any given moment? That’s why choosing placement of your exposition carefully is so important. Save it until we need it so it brings something useful and important to the story. Don’t just dump it all at once to be stored up for later use. Instead, leave it until it will advance the story.
In Pretties, Scott Westerfeld manages to offer exposition that creates conflicting feelings in the character at the same time.
As the message ended, Tally felt the bed spin a little. She closed her eyes and let out a long, slow sigh of relief. Finally, she was full-fledged Crim. Everything
she’d ever wanted had come to her at last. She was beautiful, and she lived in New Pretty Town with Peris
and Shay and tons of new friends. All the disasters and terrors of the last year—running away to Smoke, living there in pre-Rusty squalor, traveling back to
the city through the wilds—somehow all if it had worked out.
It was so wonderful, and Tally was so exhausted, that belief took a while to settle over her. She replayed Peris’s message a few times, then pulled off the smelly, smokey sweater with shaking hands and threw it
in a corner. Tomorrow, she would make the hole in the wall recycle it.
Tally lay back and stared at the ceiling for a while. A ping from Shay came, but she ignored it, setting her
interface ring to sleeptime. With everything so
perfect, reality seemed somehow fragile, as if the
slightest interruption could imperil her pretty future. The bed beneath her, Komachi Mansion, and even the. city around her—all of it felt as tenuous as a soap
bubble, shivering and empty.
It was probably just the knock on her head causing the
weird missingness that underlay her joy. She only needed a good night’s sleep—and hopefully nohangover tomorrow—and everything would feel solid again, as perfect as it really was.
Tally fell asleep a few minutes later, happy to be a Crim at last.
But her dreams were totally bogus.
So on the surface, she is happy to have accomplished her goal and become a Crim. But she has to try hard to convince herself of it. Too hard. That life is perfect. So hard that it is obvious she is not convinced it is real, that she fears it may be bogus. This underlying emotional conflict makes the exposition feel important and relevant in a way the words never would have. It advances the story and adds tension, keeping our interest.
The trick to making exposition matter is to dig deeper into your characters at such moments and examine what is going on with them. Why is this information important at this moment? What do they feel in saying it and why does it matter? Find the delimmas, contradictions, impulses, and conflicting ideas and questions that drive the character and readers will be fascinated. Maass writes: “True tension in exposition comes not from circular worry or repetitive turmoil; it comes from emotions in conflict and ideas at war.”
Description passages have a similar problem, which is why readers sometimes skim them. Maass writes: “Description itself does nothing to create tension; tension only comes from people within the landscape.” So the trick is to use description to reveal the conflict of the observer. How does observing various details affect the character? What makes the details stand out for the character? People tend to focus on details that mean something to them and ignore the rest. So pick the details that are important to the character and describe them so it’s clear why they count. Here’s a great example from Memory Man by David Baldacci:
The bar was much like every bar Decker had ever been in.
Dark, cold, musty, smoky, where light fell funny and everyone looked like someone you knew or wanted to know. Or, more likely, wanted to forget. Where everyone was your friend until he was your enemy and cracked a pool stick over your skull. Wherethings were quiet until they weren’t. Where you could drink away anything life threw at you. Where a thousand Billy Joel wannabes would serenade you into the wee hours.
Sounds like most bars I’ve been in for sure. There are elements of familiarity and elements of foreboding. Decker is both at home and ill at ease here, conflicting emotions. The history in the elements described keeps him on edge and we with him. And as a result, we feel the tension of anticipation that something will happen here. And in fact, it does. A confrontation follows moments later.
Maass writes: “Tension can be made out of nothing at all—or, at least, that’s how it can appear. In reality, it is feelings—specifically, feelings in conflict with each other—that fill up an otherwise dead span of story and bring it to life.” Finding ways to bring out those conflicting emotions through description is the key to keeping tension in every word.