Books like The Last King of California — picked by fans

I write what I call civic noir, crime fiction where the real antagonist isn’t a person but an institution: a courthouse, a precinct, a city hall that already knows how the story ends. I’m drawn to these books because the most frightening thing in them is never the gun; it’s the machinery, the procedure, the quiet way a system decides who’s guilty before anyone enters a courtroom. As a writer, I’m less interested in the villain than in the architecture that produces him. These five novels taught me how to make a building feel dangerous, and how to keep ordinary people from disappearing into the gears.

I’m a former rock writer turned television critic, but in my teens, I became hooked on Raymond Chandler’s hardboiled Philip Marlowe detective sagas. The plotting was intricate, the writing exquisite and poetic. I also loved the no-nonsense pulp fiction of Mickey Spillane and his Mike Hammer character. So I’m always on the lookout for authors who combine realism and pace with great prose–like James Crumley, whose writing was like Chandler crossed with Hunter S. Thompson. Through journalism and band management, I came into contact with real gangsters and have always aspired to reflect their three-dimensional reality rather than glorifying them as television and Hollywood tend to do.

I’m a former rock writer turned television critic, but in my teens, I became hooked on Raymond Chandler’s hardboiled Philip Marlowe detective sagas. The plotting was intricate, the writing exquisite and poetic. I also loved the no-nonsense pulp fiction of Mickey Spillane and his Mike Hammer character. So I’m always on the lookout for authors who combine realism and pace with great prose–like James Crumley, whose writing was like Chandler crossed with Hunter S. Thompson. Through journalism and band management, I came into contact with real gangsters and have always aspired to reflect their three-dimensional reality rather than glorifying them as television and Hollywood tend to do.

I’m a former rock writer turned television critic, but in my teens, I became hooked on Raymond Chandler’s hardboiled Philip Marlowe detective sagas. The plotting was intricate, the writing exquisite and poetic. I also loved the no-nonsense pulp fiction of Mickey Spillane and his Mike Hammer character. So I’m always on the lookout for authors who combine realism and pace with great prose–like James Crumley, whose writing was like Chandler crossed with Hunter S. Thompson. Through journalism and band management, I came into contact with real gangsters and have always aspired to reflect their three-dimensional reality rather than glorifying them as television and Hollywood tend to do.

I grew up watching old Bogart movies on TV with my father. From Phillip Marlowe to Sam Spade, I was taken with the life of the P. I. Once I was old enough to read and enjoy the irony as well as the sex and violence in Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer tales, I’d pull the detective novels from under my old man’s bed and spend time with all the lowlifes. Guess I’ve never grown out of my love for noir. That’s why I started writing P. I. novels as well as reading them. I hope they bring as much entertainment to others as those old-school sagas brought to me.

I began writing after reading multiple novels and watching the masters unfold stories page after page. With a background in homicide (working them, not committing them) and the move to forensics, a homeless man’s murder prompted me to write my first novel after I identified the deceased by skin removed from his thumb. I was hooked. Experience in the medical examiner’s office taught me how inciting incidents develop into an abundance of mystery, suspense, and thrills. It’s never as bad as it seems; it’s worse. The dead, unlike witnesses, tell the truth about what happened. More ingenious ways to die than ever imagined. This is why I write.

I write what I call civic noir, crime fiction where the real antagonist isn’t a person but an institution: a courthouse, a precinct, a city hall that already knows how the story ends. I’m drawn to these books because the most frightening thing in them is never the gun; it’s the machinery, the procedure, the quiet way a system decides who’s guilty before anyone enters a courtroom. As a writer, I’m less interested in the villain than in the architecture that produces him. These five novels taught me how to make a building feel dangerous, and how to keep ordinary people from disappearing into the gears.

My favorite books are funny/sad. In my own writing, I aspire for balance between satire and sympathy, going to dark places and shining a light of hilarity on them. I’m compelled by the psychological complexities of desire, particularly in female characters—flawed, average women, struggling for empowerment. For me, desire is inextricably bound with loss. I’m inspired by loss both superficial and profound, from misplaced keys to dying fathers. Many voices clamor in my head, vying for my attention. I’m interested in ambitious misfits, enraged neurotics, pagans, shamans, healers, dealers, grifters, and spiritual seekers who are forced to adapt, construct, reinvent and contort themselves as reality shifts around them.

Carrie Gibson is a London-based writer who grew up in the US and spends as much time as she can in Latin America and the Caribbean. She started out as a journalist, working at UK newspapers, including the Guardian and the Observer, before diving into a PhD and historical research on European colonialism and its legacy in the Americas. She is the author of two books and continues to contribute to media outlets in the UK and US.

At some point I decided that if I was going to teach US history, I better have a good sense of what the place looked like. So I drove across the country—and then back again—and then again, and then once more, each time at a different latitude. I drove through North Dakota and South Dakota, Montana and Idaho, Nebraska and Kansas, Arkansas and Oklahoma, Louisiana and Texas, up and down California, Oregon and Washington, and on and on. I got addicted to seeing the landscape in all its amazing variety and vastness, and seeing the landscape made the histories come alive.