Le blues du libraire

After spending her girlhood writing gentle and thoughtful novels of the lesbian experience (SHADOWS, WARM AND WILLING, ENOUGH OF SORROW), Jill Emerson reinvented herself in the early 1970s, just when contemporary literature was experiencing an enormous flowering of sexuality. Even as the whole culture rocked with the sexual revolution, popular fiction echoed this change with a flinging off of censorship and a surge of sexual candor. And Jill wrote three books for Berkley. The first, THIRTY, was in the form of a diary, piling incident upon incident as the diarist, a woman in her thirtieth year, fled her safe suburban marriage and went off in search of her real self. The second, THREESOME, took the form of a collaborative novel in which the three participants in a menage a trois wrote a book together to chronicle their own experience-an experience that continued to evolve as each read what the others had written. A MADWOMAN'S DIARY, you won't be surprised to learn, is a return to the diary form. Once again the diarist is a young woman, seeking a richer and more fulfilling life in and out of bed. But the book owes its storyline to more than Jill Emerson's imagination. Interestingly enough, it grows out of a psychosexual case history previously reported by John Warren Wells. Jill, having read JWW's book in manuscript, couldn't get one particular case out of her head. It was, she thought, a perfect springboard for fiction. And the next thing she knew she was typing away, entirely caught up in the woman's story as it spooled itself out of her typewriter. John Warren Wells was unlikely to object. He and Jill, always friends, occasionally lovers, were comfortable sharing their work, and not infrequently would dedicate their books to each other. And, even if JWW found Jill's decorous plagiarism unsettling, what could he possibly do about it?Both he and Jill are in fact pen names-or, if you prefer, alternate selves-of author Lawrence Block. So they have all the reason in the world to get along. This ebook edition of A MADWOMAN'S DIARY includes as a bonus the opening chapter of the seventh Jill Emerson novel, THE TROUBLE WITH EDEN.

A Madwoman's Diary - The Jill Emerson Novels, #6

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 balade entre les tombes

A successful socialite's beautiful wife was raped and murdered in her own home -- and Matt Scudder believes the victim's "grieving" husband was responsible for the outrage. But to prove it, the haunted p.i. must descend into the depths of New York's sex-for-sale underworld, where young lives are commodities to be bought, perverted...and destroyed.

A Dance at the Slaughterhouse - A Matthew Scudder Crime Novel

Jill Emerson, whose first three works were gentle explorations of the lesbian experience, took a sharp turn toward candor in THIRTY, her first book for Berkley. As I've explained in the book description for that novel, around the time Berkley came calling (via my agent) I'd become disenchanted with the whole notion of fiction recounted by some disembodied third- or first-person narrator. It struck me as artificial, and my response was to pile artifice upon artifice and produce a novel in the guise of an actual document. In THIRTY, the novel pretended to be a diary. That worked fine, and the resultant narrative proved at once challenging and effortless to sustain. I enjoyed writing it, Berkley enjoyed publishing it-and they wanted something else. What they got in THREESOME was a novel pretending to be a novel. The premise, as you'll see, is that the book has been written by its three main characters, Harry and Rhoda and Priss, in the form of a lightly fictionalized chronicle of their own life as a menage a trois. They set about writing alternate chapters-and, reading one another's work as they go along, they learn things they hadn't known, and one thing leads to another, and-I think the phrase we want is tour de force, and how nice to be able to use it in the same book description as menage a trois. The book was also about as much fun as I've ever had while sitting at a typewriter. I've written before about THREESOME, but there's something I've never recounted, and I'm old enough now to just go ahead and do it. Back in the early 1970s I had come in from rural New Jersey to hole up in a New York hotel and work on a book-this one-and one evening after the day's work was done I drifted down to the Village and wound up in an establishment called the Kettle of Fish, on Macdougal Street. (It has since relocated to Christopher Street.) They serve strong drink there, and that night God knows they served more than enough of it to me. When I left I took a few steps and found myself in conversation with some folks in a car, a large station wagon, and they turned out to be six adolescent girls from the Convent of the Sacred Heart in Noroton, Connecticut, a very classy Catholic prep school. Their favorite teacher was driving, and the next thing I knew I was in the back of the vehicle with them. I guess they thought I was interestingly exotic, a drunk Bohemian writer indigenous to Greenwich Village. I in turn thought they were adorable. The teacher (an affable chap, but God only knows what he was about, and I'm sure in due course the school must have let him go) drove us back to Connecticut, and the rest of the evening was lost in nacht und nebel, as it were. I passed out on somebody's couch, woke up the next morning, and wound up taking the train back to the city with two of the young ladies. We went to my hotel room, where we may have smoked an illegal herb, and, um, necked a little. One of them saw my typewriter and asked what I was working on. I said it was a novel about a sexual relationship of two women and a man. Thoughtful pause. "I had no idea, " she said, "that you researched these things so thoroughly."They left and I never saw them again, and if the incident rings a muted bell, it's probably because I used it as the opening of another novel, RONALD RABBIT IS A DIRTY OLD MAN, which masquerades as the collected correspondence of its protagonist. And which I'll be republishing fairly soon, but in the meantime we have THREESOME. It's a personal favorite of mine; that's no reason why you should like it, but I hope you do. This ebook edition of THREESOME contains as a bonus the opening chapter of the fifth Jill Emerson novel, A MADWOMAN'S DIARY.

Threesome - The Jill Emerson Novels, #5

C'est à une réunion des Alcooliques Anonymes que Matt Scudder et Jack Ellery se retrouvent en 1980. Enfants, ils rêvaient d'être flics, mais seul Matt l'est devenu, Jack  ayant à l'inverse effectué  plusieurs séjours en prison pendant ce temps.  Huit mois passent. Scudder retrouve , qui ne boit toujours plus mais présente un visage tuméfié. Puis plus de nouvelles, jusqu'au jour où Gregory Stillman, le parrain AA de Jack, lui apprend que ce dernier a été assassiné et que, dans un écrit, il a raconté tous ses crimes, de sang pour certains.
Que faire ? Transmettre cette confession aux flics enquêtant sur le meurtre pour qu'ils aillent questionner des gens qui n'ont rien à voir avec cette histoire ou la cacher et courir le risque de laisser filer un assassin ? Scudder prend les choses en mains et de fil en aiguille, non seulement découvre la solution, mais aussi - et c'est ce qui fait toute la beauté de ce grand livre plein de nostalgie -, retrouve tous les carrefours de sa propre existence.

Entre deux verres

«Voler, c'est ma vocation depuis ma plus tendre enfance, mais commettre un meurtre, ça jamais ! Or, deux flics cherchaient à tout prix à me coller sur le dos un double assassinat, et un troisième poulet, pauvre mais vraie crapule, exigeait que je partage avec lui Ie butin d'un vol de bijoux, qui, hélas, avait lamentablement foiré. Sans compter un dentiste prêt, lui, à me bouffer. Mais qu'est-ce qui les poussait tous à s'en prendre à moi comme ça ?»

Le monte-en-l'air dans le placard

John Paul Keller a 45 ans, c'est un philatéliste passionné et un tueur à gages professionnel. Après L'amour du métier et Le Blues du tueur à gages, on le retrouve dans l'Iowa, où il s'apprête à exécuter un contrat des plus banals. Sauf qu'un petit malentendu l'amène à se retrouver en prime time sur CNN, accusé devant des millions de téléspectateurs d'avoir assassiné le gouverneur d'un état voisin. La journée commence mal.
Promis juré, cette mission sera la dernière. John Keller, tueur à gages professionnel et philatéliste amateur, en a sa claque. Un dernier job facile, bien payé, ni vu ni connu, et à lui la belle vie de retraité. Enfin presque : le meurtre commandité n'a jamais lieu, et Keller découvre son propre visage à la une du journal télévisé de CNN. Il est accusé d'avoir assassiné un sénateur célèbre. Et la commanditaire de Keller, sa vieille copine Dorothea, est retrouvée morte dans sa maison brûlée. Un coup monté, à l'évidence. De main de maître : comment fuir, où se cacher quand l'Amérique tout entière vous croit coupable ? Pour une retraite paisible, on a fait mieux.

Keller en cavale

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 oú 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.

Le blues du libraire

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