After taking a couple of days off during heavy rehearsals for my burlesque recital (the mindset of “Chin up!  Arms out!” and “Gruesome ghost murder” don’t mesh very well), I’m back to work.  I also got my very last round of edits for The Witch’s Alphabet so tomorrow I’ll probably throw up a meter for that too, just to keep myself honest.

“The Curse of Four”

Things accomplished in fiction: Psychic crime scene investigation, Srs Character Development, more bad memories, throwing up in a planter urn, first inkling of just how bad the Big Bad really is
Things accomplished in real life: Danced.  Danced some more.  Went to the DMV.  Prepping to go home for the holidays on Monday.

And I read some.

28. Megan Abbott, Queenpin

I found a cache of Megan Abbott books a few days ago while trolling shelves, and was drawn in by their outrageous, retro-pulp covers.  (Yes Virginia, apparently I do judge books by their covers.)  I couldn’t decide between the three on the shelf so I bought them all.  I’m so glad.  This is the best noir I’ve read in a very long time (aside from the Criminal comics) and it’s written by a woman, about women, in a way that doesn’t betray the tenets of a noir story (and while I love noir, it’s an overwhelmingly masculine genre that offers few niches for women other than whores, victims or long-suffering background partners.)  The women here are none of those things.  The nameless narrator and her mentor, a mob boss named Gloria Denton, get into bad trouble, get themselves out again, and slowly fall apart as the secret they share eats them alive.  They are powerful, and flawed, and so goddamn vivid I actually had to set the book down a few times and take it all in.  The language Abbott uses cuts like a razor.  It’s so close to perfect I can only tell all you fellow fans of the dark, the gritty and the lowdown to go read it.  Right now.