C’est toute la vie de Matt Scudder, l’un des plus grands personnages de roman policier, que Lawrence Block nous laisse entrevoir au fil des onze nouvelles de ce recueil. Du privé alcoolique qui a quitté la police après avoir tué accidentellement une fillette lors d’une fusillade à celui qui, maintenant sobre, continue inlassablement de traquer le crime, nous assistons aussi à tous les changements de la ville que jamais il ne quitta. Cette ville, c’est la New York des années 70 à celle d’aujourd’hui. Portrait éblouissant, La Musique et la nuit est un savant mélange de dialogues à l’emporte-pièce, de moments d’une tendresse infinie et d’émerveillements inattendus. Une balade new-yorkaise dans la vie de Scudder, le personnage qui a valu à son créateur les plus belles récompenses internationales du roman policier.L’ouvrage est préfacé par Brian Koppelman, grand réalisateur, scénariste, entre autres, de Ocean’s Thirteen, et fan absolu des aventures de Matt Scudder.

La musique et la nuit

In the dark days, in a sad and lonely place, ex-cop Matt Scudder is drinking his life away -- and doing "favors" for pay for his ginmill cronies. But when three such assignments flow together in dangerous and disturbing ways, he'll need to change his priorities from boozing to surviving.

Le blues des alcoolos

Sometime in 1953, I knew with unusual certainty what I intended to do with my life. I would become a writer. I was then 15 years old, and the next several years were to prove eventful. I went to college, I got a summer job at a literary agency and dropped out of college to keep it, I sold two dozen short stories and articles to national magazines, and I completed a novel. By the time I was 25, I had a wife and two daughters and a house in a suburb. I had published over fifty books. Most of these bore pen names, and for a time I resisted acknowledging my early pseudonymous work. Then, in one astonishing and feverish week in 1994, I recalled those early years in fifty thousand words of memoir. A publisher contracted to bring out my memoir once I'd completed it. Instead I put it on a shelf and never looked at it again, and after a few years I bought it back from the publisher. Early in 2020, I had a fresh look at A Writer Prepares. Then I went back to work. It would occupy me, off and on, for the balance of the year. By the time I was ready to stop, I'd written about my life as a writer well into 1966, when I'd completed The Thief Who Couldn't Sleep; it was the first of eight books I would write about a fellow named Evan Tanner. According to A Trawl Among the Shelves, Terry Zobeck's exhaustive bibliography of my work, 2020 also saw the publication of my 209th book, Dead Girl Blues. It has been a long life, and seems to have been a busy one. A Writer Prepares is, for better or for worse, an undeniably curious book. My wife, a casual student of hagiography, loves the story of the church officials who took a long-delayed inventory of their collection of relics. They were surprised to discover that they possessed not one but two heads of John the Baptist. How could this be? They considered the matter until the explanation became clear: one was John's head as a young man, the other his head as an old man. A Writer Prepares, an examination of the first quarter century of a writer's life, is the work of two writers. There's the middle-aged fellow who wrote about half of it at a blistering pace in 1994, and there's the octogenarian who finished the job another quarter century later. The older fellow brought less raw energy to the task, and his memory is a long way from infallible, but one can only hope he's offset these losses with a slight edge in judgment, in perspective, in maturity. (I was about to add wisdom, but that might be a bridge too far.) I suspect this book's natural audience consists largely of those of you who are already enthusiastic readers of my work. And it seems likely that the book will get a favorable reception from persons who are somewhere in the process of finding themselves as writers. But I'm happy to let the the book find its true audience.  A very comforting aspect of publishing A Writer Prepares now rather than twenty-five years ago is that I'm so much less invested in its reception.

A Writer Prepares

Le couple Hollander a été assassiné. La cousine de leur fille Kristin, Lia Parkman, demande à Scudder d'enquêter sur ce meurtre, alors que la police a pourtant clos le dossier. Scudder vient de perdre sa première femme, celle qu'il a abandonnée du temps où il buvait. En outre, un de ses fils paraît se conduire comme lui à cette époque : il boit, est incapable de garder un travail et, plus grave, pique dans la caisse. Un sentiment de culpabilité le gagne, mais il y a plus. Lia Parkman est jalouse de sa cousine qui va hériter, et devant sa sincérité, Scudder est prêt à écouter. De plus, la disparition des deux meurtriers est trop belle pour qu'on se contente des explications un peu trop convaincantes de la police...

Trompe la mort (Matthew Scudder, #15)

Sheesh. What a lousy title. Flesh Mob was published by Midnight Reader, a fellow imprint of Nightstand Books, in 1962. I can tell at a glance that it's my work, although I don't specifically recall writing it. And I must have put a title on it, but I  an assure you that it wasn't Flesh Mob. It could only have been the inspiration of some editor in Illinois. Several notables filled that role over the years, including Earl Kemp, A. J. Budrys, and Harlan Ellison, but it's hard to imagine any of those three making a eureka moment of Flesh Mob. For years it struck me as merely a bad title, two works that when combined had a sort of reverse synergy, amounting to rather less than the sum of their parts. Then just this week I looked at the title and saw that it could only be a pun on the phrase "flash mob." That still didn't make it a good title, but at least it gave it a lame reason for being. Except not. Because a little internet research shows that "flash mob" came into existence, as both phrase and concept, sometime shortly after the turn of the present century, and approximately forty years after my humble little novel first appeared wherever bad books were sold. AJ and Harlan and Earl were grounded in science fiction, but that's not enough to account for a title that was a pun on a phrase nobody would utter for another four decades. Never mind. The book's a multiple-viewpoint novel, with a rich cast of characters. Here's a sample of two of them:#"I'M LEAVING MATT, " Kitty said. Linc digested this bit of information. She searched his face, trying to decide whether he approved or disapproved. His face was a mask. She couldn't tell how he felt about it. "I'm leaving him, " she said again. "He didn't even come home last night. And the fact doesn't even bother me. There's not a thing left between us, Linc. Nothing at all. He can go his way and I can go mine and neither of us gives a whoop in hell about the other one. That's no basis for marriage." "Will he give you a divorce?" "I think so. He barely knows I'm alive. He'll probably be glad to get rid of me." Linc shrugged. "His pride might be hurt. And he might be upset from a pure financial standpoint. Divorce can be costly to a man. Alimony." "I wouldn't want alimony from him." "Oh?" "Just freedom." He said: "What will you do after the divorce?" "Oh, " she said. "I don't know. I may stay in Clifton, at least until I decide where I want to go next. New York eventually, I think. Small towns can get to you. I think I'm ready for the city." "You'd fit right in." "But for the time being we can have our fun. Do you feel like. like some fun now, Linc?" "God, you're insatiable." "I've been inactive for a long time, " she told him. "Too long. It can get to you. Are you interested, Linc?" "I'll race you to the bedroom, " he said.#There you go, Gentle Reader. Flesh Mob. It is what it is.

Flesh Mob - Collection of Classic Erotica, #25

BORDERLINE "In the summer of 1958, I turned twenty years old. I had been working for a little less than a year as an editor at Scott Meredith Literary Agency, even as I had begun selling stories to crime fiction magazines. (All of this is detailed in A Writer Prepares, if you care.) I'd decided to return in the fall to Antioch College, and I'd left my job in May and spent June in my parent's house in Buffalo, writing my first novel. (Shadows, by Jill Emerson-if you care.) Now I was off to Mexico with my freshman roommate, Steve Schwerner, for an interlude of debauchery before the fall semester."We flew to Houston, then spent a day hitchhiking to Laredo, where we found an inexpensive hotel. The following day we crossed the border to the Mexican town of Nuevo Laredo, where we found our way to the large public square. We began walking around the square, and when one of the locals asked if we were looking for anything in particular, one or the other of us asked tentatively if we could perhaps buy some marijuana. 'Oh, no, señores, ' was the reply. 'Marijuana is not legal in Mexico.' We walked a little further, and asked the same question of another helpful citizen, who gave us the same answer pretty much word for word."'I guess it's not as easy as I heard, ' Steve said."We walked the rest of the way around the little park, and a dapper fellow approached us, announcing himself as Ernesto. 'I hear you guys are in the market for a little pot, ' he said."It was an interesting couple of weeks, that trip to Mexico. It did not end well, but that's another story. And BORDERLINE is also another story, its background drawn from those few days in Nuevo Laredo, its storyline the outflow of a young man's fertile imagination." ~Lawrence Block"It is wonderful piece of old-fashioned pulp and one of the amazing things about it is that it was written so long ago. It combines many of the risqué elements of Block's early writings in the dimestore paperback industry with the mystery elements of his later writings. Here, you have hippie hitchikers, professional gamblers, divorced housewives out to experience life for the first time, and a serial killer stalking and mutilating his prey. Block takes the reader into an amazing journey, first focusing on one of these people and then on the next and weaving them into this tale." ~Dave Wilde, Amazon reviewer

Borderline - The Classic Crime Library, #22

From Publishers Weekly:"Standouts include Dennis Lehane's gilt-edged chiller, 'A Bostonian (in Cambridge), ' in which a wealthy collector of letters of abandonment falls prey to wily blackmailers, and Joe R. Lansdale's 'The Skull Collector, ' a gangster yarn featuring gun-toting female grave robbers. Overshadowing everything, though, is Lee Goldberg's 'Lost Shows, ' a delightful shocker about a fanatical collector of short-lived and unaired TV shows who has turned his Hollywood home into a mausoleum of lost dreams." A COLLECTION. OF COLLECTIONS What leads one person to collect stamps and another coins, one fine art and another butterflies? Who can say? But one thing is certain: those who've got the collecting bug care passionately-sometimes violently-about the objects of their obsession. No one covets like a collector; and as you will find in the pages of this brand new anthology from MWA Grand Master Lawrence Block, a truly dedicated collector will ignore the other nine commandments, too, in his quest for his personal Holy Grail. From Joyce Carol Oates' tale of the ultimate Marilyn Monroe collectible to Dennis Lehane's bookseller with a penchant for other people's tragic correspondence, from Lee Goldberg's Hollywood hustler with a collection of unaired TV shows to Joe R. Lansdale's stylish foray into noir, culminating in Lawrence Block's own classic story of a killer with a unique approach to choosing his victims, Collectibles illustrates the range of the collecting impulse and the lengths people will go to in their hunger to possess the perfect piece.

Collectibles

It's a jungle out there. Literally. At least for Evan Tanner, eternally sleepless sometime superspy, who finds himself in Africa on the trail of the AWOL ruler of tiny Modonoland. It seems the petty despot's gone missing, and he's taken the state treasury along with him. No stranger to impossible missions and international peril, Tanner's been in over his head before. This time, however, he's in imminent danger of being buried alive. And it all has to do with the CIA, white supremacists, moderate revolutionaries .

Me Tanner, You Jane

Big-time dope dealer Kenan Khoury is a wealthy man, and it comes as no surprise when his wife Francine is kidnapped and a ransom demanded. Kenan pays up and his wife is duly returned to him - in small pieces left in the boot of an abandoned car, leaving private eye Matt Scudder to speculate on the motives of a very unusual kidnapper. Soon he is on the trail of a pair of ruthlessly sadistic psycopaths whose insanely cruel games have only just begun...

La musique et la nuit

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