45 books like Matthew Scudder

I could have chosen any Raymond Chandler novel for this list; he is such a brilliant stylist, one of the best in the language.

His lugubrious, heavy-drinking, first-person detective Philip Marlowe is my kind of fictional hero, a genre-defining character, perpetually alone though he yearns for the glamorous women he meets.

This book introduced me to the gritty world of Los Angeles police detective Harry Bosch. I love Bosch’s smarts and toughness, yet beneath his hard exterior lurks a sensitive heart. He is fond of saying, “Everybody counts, or nobody counts,” and he means it.

Whether the victim is a rich businessman or an impoverished drug addict, Bosch pursues justice with the tenacity of a bulldog. Not only that, he makes tough choices with an ironclad sense of right and wrong. After reading it, I devoured everything Michael Connelly has written. I’m that fan who pre-orders his next book as soon as the announcement hits my inbox.

The protagonist of this book has to be based on the writer’s worst nightmare, and the version of NYC he inhabits is one of the blackest in all of crime fiction.

This protagonist is merciless, and so is Vachss—I once watched him tear a suburban mom to shreds at one of his book events for daring to suggest that all it takes to keep children safe in these times is to teach them about “stranger danger.” According to Vachss, it’s not strangers that children need to worry about—it’s the people closest to them.

Many cops retire and decide they want to write, but I think Ed Dee is just about the best of the bunch. I write crime fiction, but I usually write from the criminal’s point of view because I can’t compete with guys like Dee; he’s too good and knows too much.

In this novel, his protagonist is another one of those guys, another ex-cop who made some seriously bad choices and who paid a heavy price. Maybe he can live with it and squeak by, but then he hits one of those bumps, and he has to make some choices.

I understand the consequences. I have a few scars, but I reserve the right to be human, to make mistakes, and to learn from them, hopefully. I love this book.

Early in his career, Stephen King wrote half a dozen books under the pen name “Richard Bachman,” and decades later, he revived Bachman for one last novel about a small-time crook who depends on advice from his deceased partner in crime when attempting to pull off the kidnapping of a millionaire’s baby.

It reminds me of Steinbeck, with its pairing of a hapless, brutish soul and a smarter, slicker partner who can’t save him from himself, and the windings of fate as King spins them out broke my heart.

Does a kidnapper deserve sympathy? No, but then again, yes, and the amazing thing is how powerfully Stephen King puts you in this unfortunate man’s shoes and makes you feel what he’s feeling. 

Malamud isn’t thought of as a crime writer, but this story of a robber who goes to work for the man he robbed as a kind of silent penance is very much a story of crime and punishment, of sin and redemption, and it directly inspired one of my own stories about a killer who winds up working for the mother of the man he killed.

A sad and troubling book, this book is about how even good intentions can lead to bad outcomes and how atonement might never be enough but is still necessary.

This is how good Mosley is: I couldn’t escape the feeling that I knew his protagonist the whole time I was reading this. I swear I had met the guy somewhere. I walked those same Brooklyn streets, and Mosley’s portrait of them was strong enough and real enough to make me miss the place, even though Brooklyn is overrun with lawyers and stock brokers these days.

And Mosley’s secondary characters are just as real, and if you screw up, you just might meet some of them. One last thing: when Mosley writes about race, he does it in lowercase. That way, the story sneaks under your defenses and hits you much harder than if it was all in caps. Walter Mosley is not just a writer; he’s an artist.

I love the way this book got me beneath the glossy veneer of our national capital and made me come to grips with the cold reality hiding there. And the perfectly imperfect guides who took me on that trip are unforgettable creations, which I ultimately discovered is par for the course for Pelecanos. 

This is another author I read religiously, and the connection between Spenser and Hawk is one of the primary reasons why. But this book has stayed with me in a way the others haven’t because of the dramatic way Parker clarified the difference between these two characters in one of the most impactful closing scenes in the entire series.

Patricia Cornwell’s book series with medical examiner Dr. Kay Scarpetta never disappoints, with clever plots, lots of action. In Flesh and Blood, Scarpetta receives a bizarre Mother’s Day poem and finds seven shiny 1981 pennies on the old brick wall behind her house. A sniper kills several seemingly unrelated people with a new rifle capable of incredible accuracy up to one thousand yards. One of the victims, a man involved in a lawsuit against the city, was being followed by the same sketchy insurance investigator as Scarpetta. All clues point to Scarpetta’s techno-genius millionaire daughter, Lucy. Scarpetta, her FBI husband Benton, and her ex-head of security Morino work to find out what’s really going on. The answer turns out to be Scarpetta’s worst nightmare. This book in the Scarpetta series includes a clever plot and the twists and turns that bring out the best in Cornwell’s characters.