78 books like The Spenser

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.

This book changed my life. Honest to God. I always wanted to be a novelist and TV writer, but this book made me believe I could. I can still remember exactly where I was when I read it–late at night, in a sleeping bag in an old wooden cabin at Loon Lake, Washington.

I marveled at how the characters and story emerged almost entirely through the dialogue, which is so snappy, clever, and funny that the original book cover was just an excerpt of it against a black background. But MacDonald also manages to strike a perfect balance between laugh-out-loud humor and the mystery-crime story he’s telling without sacrificing the puzzle's suspense or pleasure.

I didn’t know if I could ever be a prose stylist, but this book showed me that I didn’t have to be. I just needed to capture how people talked, how they saw the world, and… show more.

In the dark world of hardboiled literature, anything can happen at any time for any reason—or no reason at all. In my view, that makes things easy for this debut novel about an unemployed LA factory worker named Easy Rawlins, and that makes things challenging for the story—for the character—as well. 

A man with money and power offers Easy a job looking for a missing blond-haired, white-skinned beauty. Rawlins faces only two problems: He has no experience as a private detective, and he needs to do the detecting with black skin in a segregated, remarkably unequal 1948 America. 

But I think Mosley has found the perfect genre for his character, one whose tough and humane and even psychologically insightful qualities have enabled him to adjust to, learn from, and survive in a place where laws can break out or disappear, depending on the color of his skin. Rawlins finds it… show more.

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.

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.

You know what I like about Donald Strachey? His boyfriend. I’m kidding—Strachey’s fine.

He’s a smart, tough detective in the hard-boiled tradition so of course I like him, but do you ever think way more of someone because they had the good taste to pick the partner they did? Timothy Callahan is a Jesuit-educated political aide, former Peace Corps volunteer and one of those characters who gets called a “moral centre” because they are one.

I was half in love with him before he (accurately) dissed Mother Teresa but I adored him after that. I came to the Strachey books for canny, realistic and never twee gay detective fiction but I’ve stayed for Timmy. He’s a soothing, reaffirming, hilarious wonder and you never know—he might smack-talk Gandhi next.

Simmons’ battered PI, Joe Kurtz, is released from a ten-year stint in Attica and storms through this novel to borrow a line from the late, great Roger Ebert, “like a violent unmade bed.”

Hardcase is uncompromising, terse, drenched in noir, and not for the squeamish. Kurtz is matched up against several worthy foes, including a couple of the most memorable heavies I’ve ever read about. And the ending, well, it more than justifies the title.

This book takes place in Boston during the broiling hot summer of ‘74. The protagonist of Lehane’s sublime novel is Mary Pat Fennessy, a hard-bitten mother from the Southie projects who took a look at this list of tough guys, chuckled, punched the #5 guy in the throat, and took over his spot.

Mary Pat’s teen daughter is missing, the Irish mob may know more about it than they’re letting on, and all the while, the desegregation of the public schools has turned the city into a violent racial hotbox. In Small Mercies, Mary Pat navigates searing issues of loyalty and justice. Race and grief, and as intense pressures converge on both her and the city, she responds the only way she knows how—by coming out swinging. 

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 book grabbed me by the throat and threw me into a world I could literally feel spinning around me—a world in which good intentions don’t mean squat and random chance frequently outperforms the most carefully crafted of plans. Block always hits his target, but this one broke my heart along the way.