Books like Tripwire — picked by fans

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.

Parker’s Spenser is a reliable tough guy with a good heart. A former soldier and heavyweight boxer, he tends to make short work of anyone foolish enough to fight him. But in Small Vices, he is shot by the villainous Gray Man and left for dead. After he’s discharged from the hospital, Spenser has to readjust to a gravely weakened body as he struggles to physically and mentally recover from his wounds.

This journey brings a new level of emotional depth to the series and lends added resonance to round two with the Gray Man, during which Spenser describes himself as Lazarus, “back from the grave to tell all.”

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. 

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.

I love the setting and atmosphere of the book, first and foremost. New York City in 1932, just before the end of Prohibition, so there are still bootleggers and gangsters and all that jazz (literally).

I love the characters of Nick and Nora Charles – witty, sophisticated, glamorous, and living a life I can only dream of (literally – I was born 50 years too late!). While it has its humorous elements, this is a hardboiled detective story.

I love the contrast between Nick and Nora and the underworld characters that they encounter, as well as the strong undertone of cynicism that runs through it. It feels more like real life than many other detective stories, where everything is resolved by the end. 

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.

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.

If you love crime fiction there is no one who writes it better than Agatha Christie. Each one of her books transports you on an adventure where you become part of the crime scene, working to solve the murder before he or she gets away. In Death on the Nile, the vivid descriptions of the ship, the pyramids and the slow winding journey, and even the funny Belgian detective is so well developed you can’t help but be transported. It’s like traveling to exotic locals via armchair.

The intricacies of the investigation multiply, but all of the clues are laid before the reader, though often veiled. The suspects are intriguing characters. Poirot, the little Belgian, is arrogant, but his arrogance seems justified by his brilliant investigative insights.

I love this complex character immersed in a complex mystery. This is classic Christie.

I loved both the richly evoked setting of the Lincolnshire Fens and the detailed knowledge of bell-ringing. The latter is not just an add-on. The knowledge of change-ringing is crucial to solving the cipher in a document found in the bell-chamber. It also has a very real bearing on the death of the victim. 

I really enjoy books that leave me feeling I’ve been enriched and not merely entertained.

In other books by Sayers I warmed to the character of Harriet Vane and the frisson of the relationship between her and the investigator Lord Peter Wimsey.