Robert B Parker – most specifically via his Spenser, Sunny Randall and Jesse Stone series – was my go-to author of the last decade or two. Then he died. Tragic, for his family, friends and loved ones. And slightly annoying for his fans. #joking #kinda
Once I discovered Robert B Parker I devoured everything he’d written.
Fortunately for me, Parker was a prolific writer and I had 35 years of novels to catch up on. It’s hard to describe what I found – and continue to find – so addictive about his work. There are no tricks, no fireworks, just witty banter, quirky and complicated multi-dimensional characters and a simple, but full-of-twists plot.
Sometime after Hercule Poirot’s little grey cells and before crime scene investigators, coroners and FBI agents there lived the trusty gumshoe.
The word itself might evoke images of Raymond Chandler’s Phillip Marlowe or Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer. Of trench-coated, chain-smoking detectives speaking unintelligibly out of the corners of their mouths. Of private eyes (PIs)…. almost irrelevant and unfashionable in today’s high-tech world.