Books like Devil's Garden

A history of the early 1960s in America, leading up to the assassination of JFK, seen through the eyes of the mobsters and criminals, crooked cops, spies, and sleazos who power the machines of history.

A comprehensive romp through the underbelly of American crime and politics (and you might, after reading this book, wonder what’s the difference), it’s a novel about characters you don’t like—but they’re vivid and fascinating.

Much more than a gritty gangster novel, it’s a tale about the people in history’s shadows, and, ultimately, history and the “never innocent” America itself. 


I was pulled in by the concept of the birth of a private eye.

Easy Rollins, a guy with no background in law enforcement, a day laborer, accepts money to find a missing woman, and a shamus is born. Did I mention that Easy is black, and has to deal with all the prejudices and difficulties that entails?

In addition to being a great whodunit of who and why, it’s a cool trip riding along with Easy on his maiden voyage into gumshoe land.

I loved this book because it contains everything that attracts me to this time period, the thirties.

There’s Prohibition, a popular mobster who paints himself as a religious member of the community, politically corrupt NYC, and the story of a young man’s journey from rags to riches.

Doctorow’s brilliant pacing kept me awake, provoking me to jealousy of his genius.

You have to love this book if only because the author, Loren D. Estleman, pounded out the words on a manual typewriter. Why would he do that in the 21st century? So he can keep working during power outages, that’s why.

There’s not a single one of Estleman’s books or stories I would not recommend. However, I chose Whiskey River for this review because it is historical crime fiction, taking place in the days of Prohibition. 

Whiskey River is the story of a young, ambitious reporter who risks his life to expose police and city hall corruption.

As always, Estleman brings his characters and settings to life in a way few others can.

I fell in love with Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Milhone in the first paragraph of this book. She’s learned to protect her heart from significant damage, and she’s got a toughness that makes her equal to any drug lord or cold-blooded killer in the streets of L.A. or anywhere else.

She’s hired by a woman who was convicted of killing her husband. She swears she didn’t do it. Of course, right? Kinsey is tasked with finding out who actually did it, and yes, she takes it with the proverbial grain of salt—until the bodies start piling up. Her investigation ranges from Beverly Hills to Las Vegas. Who says rich streets aren’t mean? Trust me, the lady can handle herself while keeping her ethics intact.

I not only loved this book (and all of Ross Macdonald’s writing) but he wrote his only screenplay for me as a producer in Hollywood, based on this book, The Instant Enemy. Working with him closely on this book taught me a great deal about writing complicated character-driven thrillers. He was a master at that, and it was an extraordinary education for me.

Like other private detectives, LA-based Lew Archer sees too much—too much bad or at least questionable behavior. Here, it seems to take the form of a runaway—a rich kid who has “escaped” confinement from his exclusive 60’s reform school. Despite his lack of style and color, Archer acts confident he’ll find him. The only problem: The parents—his client—aren’t helping him very much.  

His disappearance case threatens to disappear, providing an especially clever irony and supporting what I believe is author Macdonald’s favorite insight: The problem begins and ends in the family. The only question is, with all the darkness the parents create and Archer encounters, will he see enough to solve the case? I love this story, in part, becomes it’s more noir than any other Lew Archer story. 

The Dawn Patrol is the first in Winslow’s Boone Daniels detective series. It has many hallmarks of a Winslow novel: a Southern California backdrop (San Diego), a host of morally ambiguous characters, a generally good guy trying to do what’s right, snappy writing, and surfing. This book also presents a surf culture we’ve come to recognize from television and movies, with a language, that while not universally shared by all surfers, is understood as the sport’s lingua franca—dude, gnarly, epic, wipeout. Where this book excels, however, is in capturing surfing’s dualistic nature as both a solitary pursuit and a place of a tight-knit community. Main character Boone Daniels is both the lone wolf and a member of a pack, one that can both have his back in the lineup and turn on him on dry land.

I love this book because it perfectly blends the surreal with noir and science fiction and comes together with its own brand of dark humor. While parts of this book are unsettling and strange, there’s a solid throughline of the investigator seeking the truth in a broken world.

Of all the books here, I think this one has the most damaged society, and the main character, Conrad Metcalf, is a match for it. Drugs that make you forget everything and be complacent. Baby heads. Uplifted animals. The book is never afraid to get stranger, but it also tackles some pretty heavy themes. This is a world where asking questions is taboo, and the moral and ethical implications of that shape the entire world in which Metcalf lives.

To my mind, Macdonald is the greatest of American mystery writers, yet he appears to be all but forgotten. Writing in the tradition of Chandler and Hammett—and sharing their California setting—he surpasses them both as a writer and a student of human nature. I find his detective, Lew Archer, a believable and appealing character. A decent and compassionate man, he’s as tough as needs be, but no tougher. The Underground Man is Macdonald’s best, a complex and haunting story in which a routine search for a missing person leads Archer into a twisted family heritage of death and betrayal that has festered, hidden, for decades, and has now burst forth in deadly fashion.