“Declan Burke is his own genre. The Lammisters dazzles, beguiles and transcends. Virtuoso from start to finish.” – Eoin McNamee “This bourbon-smooth riot of jazz-age excess, high satire and Wodehouse flamboyance is a pitch-perfect bullseye of comic brilliance.” – Irish Independent Books of the Year 2019 “This rapid-fire novel deserves a place on any bookshelf that grants asylum to PG Wodehouse, Flann O’Brien or Kyril Bonfiglioli.” – Eoin Colfer, Guardian Best Books of the Year 2019 “The funniest book of the year.” – Sunday Independent “Declan Burke is one funny bastard. The Lammisters ... conducts a forensic analysis on the anatomy of a story.” – Liz Nugent “Burke’s exuberant prose takes centre stage … He plays with language like a jazz soloist stretching the boundaries of musical theory.” – Totally Dublin “A mega-meta smorgasbord of inventive language ... linguistic verve not just on every page but every line.Irish Times “Above all, The Lammisters gives the impression of a writer enjoying himself. And so, dear reader, should you.” – Sunday Times “A triumph of absurdity, which burlesques the literary canon from Shakespeare, Pope and Austen to Flann O’Brien … The Lammisters is very clever indeed.” – The Guardian

Friday, September 7, 2007

Baby, You’re A Starrett

Camden Town’s twinkly-eyed finest, Paul Charles (right), plays his part in wrecking the rainforests with the release of The Dust of Death this week through Brandon, whose blurb elves may well be considering strike action given the amount of overtime they’ve been working recently. Anyhoo, the gist runneth thusly:
“The bloodied body of a crucified man is discovered in the Second Federation Church in the Donegal Heritage Town of Ramelton on the first Friday of summer. The investigation by Inspector Starrett of the Serious Crime Unit and his young team reveal a team that is not nearly as righteous as its many churches might suggest. The body is that of local carpenter James Moore, whom Starrett discovers was having a relationship with the wife of the pastor of the very same Second Federation Church, and she has mysteriously disappeared. Meanwhile, it transpires that Moore’s own wife had started to get close to her childhood sweetheart. While investigating Moore’s past, Starrett also discovers that the carpenter might have witnessed a local professional in action …”
Marvellous. So what’s yon Starrett like then, Mr Paul Charles, sir?
“Starrett is in his mid forties, has deep blue eyes, dresses well, likes a pint of Guinness and is a decade into his third career. The locals say he may have a sixth sense: he’s not so sure but has been eternally grateful when that special something or other has kept him out of trouble and come to his aid while on a few of his cases … ”
Oooh, spooky. And are there any advance reviews we could pop in here at the end, just so the post doesn’t end too abruptly?
“Well, Mark Billingham was kind enough to say: ‘From its killer first line to its last, The Dust of Death is compelling and elegant, like a well-woven garrotte.’ John Harvey added: ‘A mystery that’s as smooth as a good single malt and none the less satisfying.’ And who am I to argue?”
With Billingham? Too right, sir. Never argue with anyone who sounds like an English stately home, that’s our policy …

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