Review: Apostle Rising

Apostle Rising
Richard Godwin

Detective Chief Inspector Frank Castle never caught the Woodlands Killer and it almost destroyed him. Now years later, mauled by the press and traumatised by nightmares, he is faced with a copycat killer with detailed inside knowledge of the original case.

He and his partner DI Jacki Stone enter a deadly labyrinth, and at its centre is the man Castle believes was responsible for the first killings. He’s running a sinister cult and playing dark mind games with the police. The investigation has a shattering effect on the lives of Castle and Stone. The killer is crucifying politicians, and he keeps raising the stakes and slipping through their hands. Dark coded ritualistic killings are being carried out on high profile figures and the body count is rising. Castle employs a brilliant psychologist to help him solve the case, and he begins to dig into the killer’s psyche. But some psychopaths are cleverer than others.

Review: Godwin offers a brutal tale of murder, trauma and heartbreaking suffering. Castle and Stone face a villain whose chutzpah is matched only by his malevolence — and his seeming inability to get caught. Castle, haunted by the elusive killer years before, has been consumed by the case, drinking his way out of his marriage and nearly his job. Stone finds herself slipping toward the same fate, and begins fighting her way back from it. The addition of a second set of serial murders seems impossibly vicious — the only thing worse is that the two killers seem to be working in concert.

Not for the faint of heart, Apostle Rising offers a bloody bouquet of excruciating murders and bizarre religious mania. Right down to the final, cruel twist of discovery, each page offers more horror. But you read on in hopes that Castle and Stone will survive ad that they will finally stop the unrepentant mastermind behind the crimes. Prepare your heart for darkness — and like most of the characters in this book, you’ll probably want a strong glass of something to help you bear it.

~ K. A. Laity

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Review: The Secret Hour

“Un intenso e originale nuovo modo di viaggiare, e di leggere”

DESCRIZIONE

The Secret Hour is the time when Paris meets his lovers, and allows them to escape from their lives. He makes love to Viola in various locations in London. The wealthy, exclusive districts of Mayfair and Piccadilly form the backdrop to their erotic liaisons, as Viola becomes another woman. But she is married to gangster Max Reger, and he is watching her. As Twilight falls on Golden Square and Paris makes love to Viola, Max steals into the house where they are sharing their stolen time together. And Paris discovers something about Viola.

L’AUTORE

RICHARD GODWIN was born in London in 1963. He taught English and American Literature at the University of London before becoming one of the most successful British writers of the detective genre, noir and horror. He has published many short stories and novels, including Apostle Rising (Black Jackal Books, 2011) and Mr. Glamour (Black Jackal Books, 2012). His personal website is www.richardgodwin.net

REVIEW (er, il riesame?)

This story might surprise some Godwin fans at first. There’s a sensuality that may throw you off. The life of Paris Tongue seems an unusual subject for this writer who generally veers toward horror and bloody crime, but don’t worry — he gets there, too. The London of Paris’ “secret hour” has a likewise unexpected sexiness that the “dirty old town” wears with surprising ease. Like his Greek namesake Paris has an ethereal beauty and puts it to good use as a kind of gigolo. The life suits him well and he maintains a lucrative lifestyle spending his secret hours with clients. Until one day he beds Viola (a suggestively Shakespearean name) who decides she wants more than just the secret hour. Her gangster husband, however, wants to put an end to these shenanigans with extreme vengeance. The disparate threads weave tighter until the story reaches a wild and bloody climax. You’ll find it satisfying, I promise.

~K. A. Laity

Atlantis eBooks: Global Noir

Atlantis eBooks — a division of Lite Books — has launched a new publishing venture of noir stories that crisscross the globe. As you can see, they’ve developed a clear marketing identity and a slick design sense. You’ll find some familiar names like Richard ‘Mr Glamour’ Godwin, Paul D. Brazill and myself, but there’s also a wealth of names and stories from around the world. What they have in common is that they bring a sexy noir aesthetic to famous cities around the world. The site is still in the beta stage, although you can already buy the books (if you use the epub format). There’s an English language website coming and the books will also be in all the usual outlets like Amazon, iTunes and so forth (some already are). Check it out: the site offers generous samples from the stories.

Richard Godwin: The Secret Hour

Paris Tongue is an accomplished seducer. He has a blond fire about him. He can read a woman’s sexual needs as quickly as he used to pick pocket the tourists who frequent Piccadilly with cameras on their shoulders and maps in their eager hands. One day he seduces beautiful Viola. The Secret Hour is the time when Paris meets his lovers, and allows them to escape from their lives. He makes love to Viola in various locations in London. The wealthy, exclusive districts of Mayfair and Piccadilly form the backdrop to their erotic liaisons, as Viola becomes another woman. But she is married to gangster Max Reger, and he is watching her. As Twilight falls on Golden Square and Paris makes love to Viola, Max steals into the house where they are sharing their stolen time together. And Paris discovers something about Viola.

Paul D. Brazill: Red Esperanto

The winter night had draped itself over Warsaw’s Aleja Jana Pawla like a shroud, and a sharp sliver of moon garrotted the death black sky. I was in the depths of a crawling hangover and feeling more than a little claustrophobic in Tatiana’s cramped, deodorant-soaked apartment. I poked my trembling fingers through a crack in the dusty slat blinds and gazed out at the constellation of neon signs that lined the bustling avenue. Sex shops, peep shows, 24 hour bars, booze shops and kebab shops were pretty much the only buildings that I could see, apart from The Westin Hotel, with its vertigo inducing glass elevator. Looking it always made my stomach lurch a little.

K. A. Laity: The Claddagh Icon

He saw Clodagh by the Claddagh Icon when the sun lit her golden hair. Two drinks later he figured he was in like Flynn and ready for sin. Of course there was the small matter of her husband, but once she had him on his knees, there were all kinds of things a man might agree to do.