100 Books Like The Troubled Deep

It’s hard to pinpoint where my interest in cold cases began, but I remember reading about the Isdal Woman and being intrigued. She was found in Norway in 1970, badly burned, with the labels cut off her clothes. Police discovered fake identities and disguises in suitcases left at the railway station, but, to this day, have no idea who she was. I’m a member of several Facebook groups where people investigate cold cases, and I’m always amazed at how these clues can be put together so many years later. Or, in some cases, how some people go unnamed, or crimes unsolved despite all the resources at our fingertips.

It’s hard to pinpoint where my interest in cold cases began, but I remember reading about the Isdal Woman and being intrigued. She was found in Norway in 1970, badly burned, with the labels cut off her clothes. Police discovered fake identities and disguises in suitcases left at the railway station, but, to this day, have no idea who she was. I’m a member of several Facebook groups where people investigate cold cases, and I’m always amazed at how these clues can be put together so many years later. Or, in some cases, how some people go unnamed, or crimes unsolved despite all the resources at our fingertips.

It’s hard to pinpoint where my interest in cold cases began, but I remember reading about the Isdal Woman and being intrigued. She was found in Norway in 1970, badly burned, with the labels cut off her clothes. Police discovered fake identities and disguises in suitcases left at the railway station, but, to this day, have no idea who she was. I’m a member of several Facebook groups where people investigate cold cases, and I’m always amazed at how these clues can be put together so many years later. Or, in some cases, how some people go unnamed, or crimes unsolved despite all the resources at our fingertips.

It’s hard to pinpoint where my interest in cold cases began, but I remember reading about the Isdal Woman and being intrigued. She was found in Norway in 1970, badly burned, with the labels cut off her clothes. Police discovered fake identities and disguises in suitcases left at the railway station, but, to this day, have no idea who she was. I’m a member of several Facebook groups where people investigate cold cases, and I’m always amazed at how these clues can be put together so many years later. Or, in some cases, how some people go unnamed, or crimes unsolved despite all the resources at our fingertips.

I’ve always adored mysteries. My dad has the entire collection of Agatha Christie books, but even before I read those, I worked through his ancient original hardbacks of Enid Blyton's Famous Five books and the less well-known Malcolm Saville Lone Pine series. I love getting totally engrossed in a series, so I really get to BE the main character–I am one of four siblings, and when I wasn’t too busy reading, we were the Famous Five. I was George. I think I still am, to be perfectly honest–she was fiery, passionate, loved her dog, and wanted to serve justice and out the bad guys. What a role model!

When writing about women's lives, it's important to me to get below the surface and question the things that really have an impact on how we live and breathe, how we relate to others as friends or lovers, how we feel guilt, pain, joy, and ecstasy, how we relish triumph and mitigate disaster, how we grow old and hope and think and make our way from start to finish in a turbulent world. I try to tell the truth as a writer and make new discoveries along the way. I’ve published two novels and two collections of short stories, and I’m a reviewer and writer on literature, a teacher too.  

I have a deep-set interest in and passion for human and civil rights, particularly children’s rights. I see the law, with which I have had a fascination since the age of 14, as the primary vehicle for advancing those rights. My research on the law has always been on my own, and apart from several legally themed high school and university courses, I am a layman in this field. Nonetheless, I have extensively studied law privately for many years, with a particular focus on how it affects relations among people, including those between children and adults. Activism for social change is one of my primary motivators in life, my main purpose and direction, and my reason for being. 

When I was a little boy growing up in Philadelphia, I couldn’t have dolls. So I collected Hot Wheels, gave them all wild names and backstories, and moved them around through scandal and adventure on our pool table. As a voracious reader, I devoured hefty novels from my parent’s bookcase as a teenager, and in the 1980s, I adored prime-time soaps like Dallas and Dynasty. I also discovered great midcentury melodramas from filmmakers like Douglas Sirk and Mark Robson, leading to reading related books. Today I review books for the New York Times, and I remain passionate for period melodrama. (Don’t get me started on my Mad Men obsession!)  

I grew up in Santa Fe, New Mexico. My mother’s family traces their ancestry to the arrival of Spanish settlers in the Southwest, and my family taught me to draw strength from our sense of being deeply rooted in the region. I attended the United World College of the American West, which has an extensive outdoors education program, and I learned there to value the natural world that I had previously taken for granted. I left New Mexico at nineteen and haven’t lived there a full year since. Reading and writing are my salve for my homesickness and my portal to the ever-changing world that is the American Southwest.

I teach and publish short stories, novels, and flash fiction. I’m also interested in the language people use to critique writing. Concepts (suspense, for example) can be helpful, but they often co-opt the imagination and become gold standards for what good fiction should be. In addition to the writer’s voice, I’m interested in the alchemy of the story, which is always greater than the sum of its parts. Right now, I’m writing a book called Accordion Fiction. It's about the shape and rhythm of stories—how they contract and expand like an accordion.