'Erma Bridges' life is far from perfect, but entirely ordinary. After years of dedication to academic research, her career is falling apart, all because of a mysterious workplace complaint. So, when she is shot twice by Jenny – a vindictive colleague who has seemingly disappeared – her quiet existence is shattered in an instant.
'With her would-be murderer dead, no one can give Erma the answers she needs to move on from her trauma. Why her? Why now?
'Panicked, overworked and on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Erma begins her quest for the truth – and a dangerous, thrilling journey into the heart of darkness. As a web of brutality unfurls around her, Erma uncovers a dark series of crimes on campus and discovers a side of herself unimaginable within the polite world of academia.'
'For this reviewer, the sign of a healthy crime-fiction ecosystem isn’t merely the success of the ‘big names’ but also the emergence of writers whose voices are so distinctive as to be singular. Sometimes these writers become commercially successful in their own right, and sometimes they remain literary outliers, drawing their readership from a smaller but avid following. When I think of the health of American crime fiction in the late 1960s and early 1970s, I recall not only the success of Mario Puzo, but also the kind of writing culture that sustained the dark vision of an author such as George V. Higgins. The same goes for Britain in the 1980s, where Dick Francis was still publishing prolifically when Derek Raymond emerged. Turning to twenty-first-century America and the success of writers like Michael Connelly and Karin Slaughter, it’s the rise of Megan Abbott and Richard Price that illustrates the full potential of that culture’s capacity for crime storytelling.' (Introduction)
'Inventive and brutal, there are good reasons why Iain Ryan’s third novel is being talked about.' (Introduction)
'Inventive and brutal, there are good reasons why Iain Ryan’s third novel is being talked about.' (Introduction)
'For this reviewer, the sign of a healthy crime-fiction ecosystem isn’t merely the success of the ‘big names’ but also the emergence of writers whose voices are so distinctive as to be singular. Sometimes these writers become commercially successful in their own right, and sometimes they remain literary outliers, drawing their readership from a smaller but avid following. When I think of the health of American crime fiction in the late 1960s and early 1970s, I recall not only the success of Mario Puzo, but also the kind of writing culture that sustained the dark vision of an author such as George V. Higgins. The same goes for Britain in the 1980s, where Dick Francis was still publishing prolifically when Derek Raymond emerged. Turning to twenty-first-century America and the success of writers like Michael Connelly and Karin Slaughter, it’s the rise of Megan Abbott and Richard Price that illustrates the full potential of that culture’s capacity for crime storytelling.' (Introduction)
