69 books like X

I lived in Australia for several years and loved visiting historic buildings with their wrap-around verandas, pressed-tin high ceilings, and old-world grandeur. Greenwood’s books, set in 1920s Melbourne, remind me of those buildings. Her heroine, investigator Phryne Fisher, epitomizes 1920s glamour.

She’s wealthy, educated, sexy, and self-assured, and conducts her investigations in a dazzling array of sumptuous outfits. But what I like most about Phryne is her ability to talk to anyone, whether that’s the grandest society hostess or the roughest docker.

In this book, she’s investigating a series of murders in a theatre and also finds herself drawn to Melbourne’s Chinese community. She moves easily between worlds, often kind, always shrewd, never flinching.

I love the character of VI Warshawski: tough, brave, capable, and utterly loyal to her friends. VI (as she is known) is the archetypal ‘tart noir’–a female investigator in the mold of the hardboiled noir detectives but with empathy, vulnerability, and great style. VI can pack a punch, handle a gun, and is tenacious to the point of stubbornness, often at great personal risk, yet we also see her moments of self-doubt, her humanity, and her compassion towards others.

I couldn’t put this book down.

Although I love a good murder story, I also enjoy fiction about other sorts of crime.

In this book, Manchester-based private investigator Kate Brannigan has two cases to solve: a series of art thefts and a case of industrial sabotage that leads to two murders that seem at first glance to be unconnected. Kate is determined to solve the case, even if it involves using unorthodox methods to do so. 

I love her range of skills, from Thai boxing to going undercover to staking out a suspect. I find Kate a very likable character: funny, sarcastic, conflicted about her love life, and with a backing group of friends she genuinely cares for.

When I first read this book, I wanted to be the protagonist, Sam Jones. Sam is bold, confident, and very sexy, has numerous vibrant, arty friends, owns a wardrobe of fabulous outfits, and is never far from trouble.

She’s a sculptor who turns unofficial investigator when a dead body turns up at the theatre where she’s been commissioned to create a series of mobiles for a stage production.

When not solving crimes, her life is a round of making art, complicated love affairs, drinking cocktails, and going out clubbing. I love her dry wit, strength, and self-deprecating humor.

Like other private detectives, LA-based Lew Archer sees too much—too much bad or at least questionable behavior. Here, it seems to take the form of a runaway—a rich kid who has “escaped” confinement from his exclusive 60’s reform school. Despite his lack of style and color, Archer acts confident he’ll find him. The only problem: The parents—his client—aren’t helping him very much.  

His disappearance case threatens to disappear, providing an especially clever irony and supporting what I believe is author Macdonald’s favorite insight: The problem begins and ends in the family. The only question is, with all the darkness the parents create and Archer encounters, will he see enough to solve the case? I love this story, in part, becomes it’s more noir than any other Lew Archer story. 

If there is one central defining quality of noir crime fiction, it is the main character’s struggle to preserve his moral center in a fundamentally corrupt and evil world. The best P.I. novels are able to render this kind of character in brushstrokes that are both beautiful and subtle.

One of my favorites is Ross Macdonald’s Lew Archer, first introduced in this novel. When Archer is hired to find a missing rich guy in a tony, Southern California beach town, he finds himself knee-deep in violence, greed, and deceit, uncertain of who is guilty, who he can trust, and even who is worth saving. A moving target, indeed.

In the dark world of hardboiled literature, anything can happen at any time for any reason—or no reason at all. In my view, that makes things easy for this debut novel about an unemployed LA factory worker named Easy Rawlins, and that makes things challenging for the story—for the character—as well. 

A man with money and power offers Easy a job looking for a missing blond-haired, white-skinned beauty. Rawlins faces only two problems: He has no experience as a private detective, and he needs to do the detecting with black skin in a segregated, remarkably unequal 1948 America. 

But I think Mosley has found the perfect genre for his character, one whose tough and humane and even psychologically insightful qualities have enabled him to adjust to, learn from, and survive in a place where laws can break out or disappear, depending on the color of his skin. Rawlins finds it… show more.

Did you know that Ray Bradbury wrote mysteries? He wrote a few toward the end of his career, and they’re set in the deeply weird world of Southern California, which immediately makes them off-kilter. Death is a Lonely Business follows a nameless protagonist—a writer, by the way—who gets drawn into a mysterious series of…Disappearances? Murders? Perhaps just bad luck? Filled with noir-inspired settings but with that ineffable Bradbury twist of the fantastic, this is a book for late nights and nostalgia. Strange and puzzling, and always ready to twist your expectations.

I’ve long been a fan of James Lee Burke’s novels. His lyrical and likely heartfelt descriptions of Louisiana’s land, water, and people offset and illuminate the contrasting violence. Burke acknowledges the darkness in humanity and the possibility of redemption.

Into that mix goes Dave Robicheaux, the protagonist, who had his own ups and downs. Robicheaux can read between the lines and keeps a pretty clear eye on the truth. Here’s the opening sentence of this book, Robicheaux narrating in his own way:

“Years ago, in state documents, Vachel Carmouche was always referred to as the electrician, never the executioner.”

One of the best explanations I’ve read of the rise of Fascism in Hitler’s Germany. I agree that ignoring the lessons of history means we’ll be forced to endure repetition. And Kerr paints such a chilling scenario no one in their right mind would wish the maxim to come true. His prose applies color and form like an artist at the top of their game.

At times I found him reminiscent of Chandler in the way he portrays the Nazis as the worst gangsters in the game. This is the first book of the Bernard Gunther series, and I was so enthralled that I raced through the others in just a few days. His storyline is filled with horror, passion, fear, and pathos—a tour de force of emotions.